Forum: HASA Birthday Cards Forum

Discussing: March 2006 birthdays, Part II

March 2006 birthdays, Part II

6th, Agape4Gondor: If someone would like to write a little something nice about Denethor.... or his two sons....

12th, Mar'isu: My birthday is March 12. This year's theme, Legolas and Gimli. If you need ideas, I have a playlist called Dwarves and Elves that should jumpstart things. I don't mind slash, but try to keep it at least semi-clean for the kiddies. ;D

14th, Elena Tiriel: I would really like either: - Elves, Rohirrim, Faramir, the Fellowship, or Dwarves (or other creatures of the light) demonstrating compassion in some appropriate way, or - Dark creatures being, well, dark ... however you wish to portray darkness. Obscure corners of canon are optional, but much appreciated.

20th, Vistula the Dunadin: I'd love to see interactions or conversations between Sam and Frodo. These can be pre, during or post Ring War and can be of any kind - including slash if you're so inclined. If Sam and Frodo as a pair don't inspire you, then how about your favorite character discovering something about Sam who, as you may surmise is my favorite character.

24th, obsidianj: I would like to see a drabble about Aragorn as Strider or Thorongil.

29th, Meril: I've often wondered what students would be like in Middle-earth. What would a lesson be like for an Elvish apprentice in Aman? A Gondorian student of literature after the War? A Numenorean learning the art of making those steel bows in the Guild of Weaponsmiths? A Haradric mumak herder? Write me something about a student of Arda: in any study, any place, any time.

31st, Forodwaith: I' ve always been intrigued by the elves' definition of magic. When Pippin asks if the Fellowship's cloaks are magic, an elf of Lothlorien answers "...they are elvish robes certainly, if that is what you mean. Leaf and branch, water and stone: they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lórien that we love; for we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make." I'd love to read drabbles about elvish craft or art and the way it borders on "magical" power, from the viewpoint of the elves.

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, Part II

Elena Tiriel:

So glad you liked the drabble. I hope your day was grand!

G.A.

 

 

For Elena Tiriel

It took some thinking on my part, but the muse finally deigned to speak to me.

Hope you like it.

Mar'isu

--------------

Mazes of the Mind

            He is old, terribly old.  He awoke to the love of the Entwives and to their laughter as they taught the "funny little river-folk" the ways of corn and cabbages.  New leaves grew and flowers fell.  Years passed and the river flowed.  Rooted in stone, he cannot move.  He cannot follow as the Entwives leave, in search of some other land in need of order.  Arien burns and Tilion pursues.  The thoughts of trees grow black and bitter.  The river drinks his songs and the wind carries his whispers, flinging them far and wide.  Now the forest is a labyrinth of his will, and all acknowledge the Willow Lord.

            Well, all save one.

            "None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master:
His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster."

 

 

Re: Mazes of the Mind

Hi Mar'isu!

Oh, this is terrific! I've always been fascinated by Old Man Willow! I love how you work in the Entwives and show the passing of long, long years of time... Very nicely done!

Thank you, Mar'isu!

- Barbara

 

 

March birthday drabble

Thank you, Lady Aranel! What a lovely surprise to find this gift waiting for me after a few days offline. And I like how you chose to show us someone learning her craft; not perfecting it yet, but still working with love.

 

 

A semi-late request...

*pops out of the woodwork*

Whoa... I haven't been around in ages, and I've been so wrapped up in school and such that I forgot to post my birthday request!

Well, I'm going to be turning 20 in on March 29th. Teen no longer!

I've often wondered what students would be like in Middle-earth. What would a lesson be like for an Elvish apprentice in Aman? A Gondorian student of literature after the War? A Numenorean learning the art of making those steel bows in the Guild of Weaponsmiths? A Haradric mumak herder? Write me something about a student of Arda: in any study, any place, any time.

Allie

PS- See, I already know what my request shall be for my 21st birthday... It was this one that had me stymied.

 

 

Re: A semi-late request...

Happy birthday, Meril! In honor of you, I made the student a female.

--Gandalfs apprentice

Apprentice to the Wind

As her flight feathers grew, the nestling tested her wings, reaching into the alluring air. Soon she dared to glide to nearby tree branches.

One bright day, she soared away. She dipped and turned over the lake, exalting in the susurrus of the wind. Gliding above, her proud parents watched.

Wheeling back toward the nest, the young eagle spied a thick branch, an ideal perch. Too fast! Talons gripping the branch, she swung till she hung upside down. She released her grip and fell, spreading her wings to gain height. The family nest was the better landing spot, after all.

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, Part II

Happy birthday, obsidianj! Here's a drabble about Captain Thorongil. If you don't count the poem, it's exactly 100 words.

--Gandalfs apprentice

Longing

Though all to ruin fell the world
and were dissolved and backward hurled,
unmade into the old abyss,
yet were its making good, for this,
the dawn the dusk, the earth the sea,
that Lúthien on a time should be.

In the Great Hall of Gondor the lords and ladies fell silent as the minstrel's tenor poured forth Beren's ardent love.

Captain Thorongil sat at the Steward's high table, his head bowed, dismayed at the painful leaping of his heart. Why must every young singer take on the test of this song? he asked himself irritably. And I cannot leave without drawing notice.

He sighed. Yet here no dangers loom, no watch must be kept, no men commanded.

For a little while, he could indulge the rapture and torment of his desire. He closed his eyes and sank into memory.

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, Part II

Thank you very much, Gandalf's apprentice. I don't mind that you count the poem extra. I take it as a special bonus

Poor Aragorn. Since this seems to be his favorite song which connected him to Arwen it had to be hard to hear it and be so far from home. And he can't even talk to anyone about what this song means to him.

Chris

 

 

Birthday-drabble for Obsidianj

24th, obsidianj: I would like to see a drabble about Aragorn as Strider or Thorongil.

Hope you have a good day, Chris!
Here's your requested drabble, right on time:

Other Tasks

Smudges of soot still marred his face, and the smell of ash and blood clung persistently to his clothes. With a weary gesture he combed through his tangled, sweaty hair, trying hard not to think too closely about some of the substances adhering to it.

He looked around the cabin, dismayed at the number of crumpled parchments lying around with their incomplete sentences and scratched-out lines.

How to explain his decision? He had to finish soon – Pelargir was near.

Once more he picked up the quill and dipped it in the inkwell.

„To the Lord Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, greetings...“

~*~

A/N:
- The title is a short quote from Thorongil’s letter to Ecthelion upon his departure, to be found in Appendix A I (iv)

~*~

Imhiriel

 

 

Re: Birthday-drabble for Obsidianj

I said already at HA that I love this drabble.

Thorongil is not happy about his state of cleanliness but otherwise he is not overly bothered. Just like later as Strider.

The letter to Ecthelion is more important. It seems to be a really difficult letter, since he has so much trouble writing it. Otherwise Aragorn always struck me as someone proficient with the pen.

Thanks again,

Chris

 

 

One for Meril

Hope you enjoy it!

Well begun is half done

"Begin with your name."

Begin, my master says -- as if I had not pressed ink-sticks, bound soft marten hairs into bristles, pulped paper rags for more than a year before he let me merely hold a brush in writing position.

I take up the brush, dabble it in ink, draw it over the page. Transfixed by the shock of dark ink on creamy paper, I strain to recall all his teaching. Move from the elbow, not the wrist. I trace the last stroke of lambe simply, not daring to flourish, and hold my breath.

He considers. "A good beginning."

---

Note: the speaker in this drabble is Tasariel from my story Fading Leaves.


 

 

 

Thank you, Gandalfs apprentice!

*squeals* It's so cute! Thank you!

I love the image of this little tiny eagle hanging upside down up in the Misty Mountains...

I absolutely love it. May I repost it in my LJ, please?

Allie

 

 

Re: Thank you, Gandalfs apprentice!

Hi, Allie

Of course you can repost it! It's yours.

FYI: by the time eagles leave the nest, they are not small. In fact, they often weigh more than their parents: they have to be in order to survive out of the nest, when they will begin hunting for themselves. It takes some time to get it right, just like flying.

This drabble is based on a true story I found on a birdwatching site.

Amy (G.A.)

 

 

Re: One for Meril

Ohhhh, it's beautiful. Thank you so much!

May I repost it in my LJ?

Allie

 

 

Happy Belated Birthday, ObsidianJ!!!

For ObsidianJ, who wanted to a drabble about Aragorn as Thorongil or Strider.  Sorry I was late!

THE FIRE OF HOPE

 

The young Ranger sits stiffly against a tall oak atop a hillock, watching the crossroads of the Greenway, as the Bree-folk called it, and the old North Road, below him. Not far beyond, the town of Bree sits in peace on its broad hill of stone and wood. The Ranger stretches his long legs to avoid cramp, thinking briefly of the generations before him who have secretly guarded the border-town. What did the Bree-landers know, sleeping in their warm beds in cozy houses, of the heartless evil lurking a half-day's ride from here? Nothing; which was why they felt free to whisper and mock at any Ranger who came in occasionally from the cold to warm hands and travel-weary feet at the Prancing Pony.

The Ranger shivers, then draws his green wool cloak close about him to ward off at least some of the evening chill. He can see the Prancing Pony from his cold berth, and imagines the stolid innkeep, Bartho Butterbur, stoking the fire in the inn's huge hearth. He can glimpse the shape of other dwellings in the village; and imagines the men and hobbits sitting down to tables, the goodwives bustling to finish their preparation of dinner, children playing, the cheerful chatter of happy families.

Someday, he tells himself. Someday, I'll have a seat grander than the Chieftain's Chair, and more than a broken sword to offer her. Someday, my people will come out of the hidden places and walk in the sun and the North and South will be one again. I shall rebuild Annúminas for her, or make a new home, where there will be fire in the hearth, and merriment, and song, and she will come to me and be my bride.

The Ranger sighs softly, remembering the fairest woman he had ever, and would ever, know: the musical voice, the heart-piercing glory of her eyes, the graceful figure that kindled desire, and the lovely face with those red, ripe lips. She had looked upon him as if he were a clever child when he spoke his admiration. Ah, but he was patient. He would take no other to wife or to bed. He would travel far, do great deeds, slay thousands of orcs and somehow find a way to cast down the Enemy's dark tower in distant Mordor itself, if that was what it took to win Arwen Undómiel.

She will be mine, he vows, keeping his eyes upon the empty road and the flickering lights of the town. We will have six, nay, seven, children! We shall name our firstborn son Eldarion, for her people and he who stands as father to us both.

The damp chill of the March evening seems a little less close now, as he fondly imagines taking the Evenstar in his arms, and holding a small black-haired, grey-eyed boy on his lap, all safe and well by a crackling fire. As the Star of Hope gleams in the darkening sky, the Ranger cannot help but smile.

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for obsidianj

24th, obsidianj: I would like to see a drabble about Aragorn as Strider or Thorongil.

I do wish my drabble-muse would stop handing ideas to my short-story-muse.

I hope your day was very happy and that this story suits.

Seeking to Please

Aragorn probably returned home to Rivendell at least once between leaving at age twenty and heading home from Gondor when he was forty-nine. What did Arwen see when she looked at him then? I think he was a sweet-talking devil she could never quite pigeonhole. For obsidianj who wanted a drabble about Aragorn as Strider or Thorongil and got me thinking about names. It's a bit longer than a drabble, about 1900 words.

Gwynnyd

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for obsidianj

Very nice, Gwynnyd - and a mature Aragorn/Arwen relationship isn't easy to write, or make believable; but you're beginning it here, with Aragorn very much in love but mature enough to entice and entertain rather than throwing his ardor in the lady's face.


RAKSHA

 

 

Re: Happy Belated Birthday, ObsidianJ!!!

Thank you very much Raksha! It doesn't matter if it is late. Then I can still pretend my birthday is not over ;-).

Aragorn probably had lots of lonely, cold vigils. This is a nice way to deter the cold. Having warm thoughts is often better than feeling lonely in front of a fire.

Chris

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for obsidianj

Gwynnyd, thank you very much. I love it.

Naughty Elrohir. But in a good cause.

Go, Aragorn. This is the way to woo your lady. I loved the encounter between them, Aragorn's playfulness and at the same time seriousness about his feelings without actually telling them. Arwen will find out soon enough. It was priceless to see her so caught and not knowing how to get out of it :-).

Chris

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, Part II

Happy birthday, Forodwaith.
I wanted all month to write something for you about elves and magic (a lovely choice) and the muse wouldn't take the bait.  Then I realized today, that I had already written a fragment for a future chapter in my current story that had that very theme. Hope this fits:
"It is so hot and noisy here. Such a crowd. I am pleased to find familiar faces," Legolas said, greeting Lothíriel and her brother with his seemingly artless smile. Lothíriel could not control an affectionate laugh at his well-practiced skill of charming everyone while appearing to be unaware he was doing so. She knew him well enough by now to know his exercise of this talent was anything but innocent. He has learned to cover his shyness with the effect of his beauty, she thought.
 

The musicians stopped for a second, beginning again in earnest with a volume intended to heard above the bustle. "Dance with me for while, please. So I can delay conversation with so many strange people," he implored.

Legolas and Lothíriel were the first to take the floor. She was conscious of the stir they caused, but refused to look away from his face, not wanting to see the curious eyes upon them. His partnering turned a common dance to a hackneyed tune into a poignant duet between a man and a woman that spoke of both the fragility and persistence of love. He is so easy to dance with, she mused. Elves raise simple arts to the level of magic.

 

 

For Vistula

Oh dear - I tripped and fell in an angsty puddle. I didn't mean to, honestly!  And look - it even ties in with what I wrote for you last year!

Recovered Gift

"Sam?" Rosie said worriedly, for he was sitting in the kitchen, staring at something on the table in front of him. "Sam, are you all right?"

He looked up, and his face was faraway and thoughtful.  "I thought I'd lost this," he said,  picking up the object. "I thought – I couldn't find it after we left Lothlorien."

She came, sat by him, and saw that he held the wooden figure of a pack-pony. "Is that your Bill? I didn't know you could carve so well!"

" I can't," Sam said with a distracted smile. "Master Boromir carved this for me." He grew silent, and Rosie wondered why he seemed so troubled. From what she understood, he and Lord Boromir hadn't been close friends.

She saw a letter lying unfolded on the table, and picked it up.

I found this at one of our campsites on the River, the end of it read, and I've only just remembered I had it. I thought you would want it back.  Strider.

Unexpectedly, Sam laughed, but there was a sad edge to the sound. "Look, he signed it," he said, showing her the pony's belly where the name was carved. "I'd forgotten that."

Rosie said nothing. She was learning that Sam didn't always want her to say anything when he fell into these rare, dark moods; he just wanted the strength of her presence.  So she put the kettle on, and let him talk about Lord Boromir.

 

 

Re: Happy Belated Birthday, ObsidianJ!!!

Oh, Raksha!  That was so very sweet.  He definitely gets to dream!

Gwynnyd 

 

 

Re: Happy Belated Birthday, ObsidianJ!!!

Thanx, Chris and Gwynnyd.  I figured that Aragorn was about 24 when I found him on that slope looking down at Bree and feeling cold and lonely.  Right now, all he's got is his pride, his heritage, and his dreams.  But for a young man, he dreams big, and he's not going to let go of that dream, despite all that stands in his way..

Happy VS (Victory Over Sauron) Day; and Happy Dol Guldur Downfall Day!

RAKSHA

 

 

March drabbles

Of course you can report my drabble, Meril, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.

And thank you for the excerpt, Oshun! I like the idea of Legolas hiding uncertainty beneath his outer manner.

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Mar'isu

12th, Mar'isu: My birthday is March 12. This year's theme, Legolas and Gimli. If you need ideas, I have a playlist called Dwarves and Elves that should jumpstart things. I don't mind slash, but try to keep it at least semi-clean for the kiddies. ;D

 I am not a slasher at heart. If it looks that way, it's your mind, not mine. 

 Hope your birthday was happy!

Recognition

Winter was no time for wilderness baths, and the tubs of the Galadrim were welcome. Men and wizard had accumulated the most grime and vermin. The Hobbits were not far behind and no more than men were they fair to look upon.  The last member of the Fellowship strode into the soaking room.  Muscles, hardened from use, slid smoothly.  Body, planed from arm to torso to thigh, radiated strength.  Clever hands that could create, not only kill.

Arms akimbo, he glowered at the tub's edge. "What are you staring at, elf?"

"Aulë's creation.  I had not realized dwarves were beautiful."
 

 Gwynnyd

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Mar'isu

Gwynnyd,

I love this.  I can see Legolas acknowledging beauty without going into slash territory.  And this would easily lead into the growth of a friendship between Legolas and Gimli.

Mar'isu

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Mar'isu

I can see Legolas acknowledging beauty without going into slash territory.

 
Yes, and I can't see Aule making anything less than beautiful.  He's the master craftsman  after all.

 Gwynnyd

 

 

ObsidianJ, here it is.

OK, just to warn you, my happy little drabble turned into a two page monster.  I hope you like it.

Striding by Mar'isu 3/22/2006          

            "Elladan!  Elrohir!  Wait up!"

The twin lords of Imladris turned to face their thirteen year old foster brother.  Elladan raised a questioning eyebrow in imitation of his father, but the young Man was too busy panting with exertion to notice.

"Let me come with you," Estel pleaded once he could breathe again.

"Can you keep up, gwador?" Elrohir asked. "We will not wait on small steps and short breath."

The boy squared his shoulders and raised his chin defiantly, "I can match pace; just watch me."

Despite the warning glare that Elladan threatened to roast him with, Elrohir shrugged as if it made no difference whether three hunters set out or only two.  "If you can stay close as we track, I see no reason why you shouldn't come.  It's not like you're actually going to hit anything." Elrohir teased.

A huge smile blossomed on the teen's face.  "Thank you," he said, giving the elf a bear hug before dashing off to retrieve his bow.

Elladan shook his head at his younger twin.  "You had to do it, didn't you?" he finally challenged.

Elrohir blinked in false innocence.  "And what have I done?"

"'Hope will fly if given wings,'" the saying rang true in more ways than one, "and you, mellon, just made and eagle of him."

----------------------------------

"By Manwë, Aragorn, can you not hurry?"  Legolas came darting back to his traveling companion.  "At this rate, I shall be old 'ere we cross Nimrodel."

The young Ranger smiled at the impatient prince.  "It is but a half-day's journey to the Golden Wood," he remarked.

"Yes, and Arien has already turned for home," Legolas replied, walking backwards to glare at his friend.  "I am not sleeping on the ground tonight, Arathornion."

"Peace, Legolas," Aragorn soothed, maintaining his pace. "We will reach Lothlórien by nightfall, and there is no need to push ourselves to arrive earlier."

"Ah, but we shall miss the farewell feast," the Mirkwood prince murmured, as if to himself.

"What was that, mellon?" Aragorn asked.

The young elf shrugged.  "It is nothing, mellon nin.  I had heard that the Evenstar was visiting her grandmother but returning home soon.  No mater."  Having said that, Legolas shot forward, eager light shining in his eyes.

Aragorn smiled and lengthened his stride.  It would not do to be left behind again.

----------------------------------

Before the éored could pursue the wildmen, a shout went up from the edge of the camp.  The grooms tried in vain to calm frightened horses, but one had broken his tether and was fleeing the camp with speed born of terror.

"Thengel King!" the master of horses cried, distressed.  "The colt!"

Before Thengel could even think, the Ranger who had recently joined their company took off running in the direction the horse had taken.  Rohirrim noble and commoner alike watched in awe as the dark figure chased the white horse . . . and caught him.  With a final sprint and a touch to the neck, the man had the gleaming animal still.

The high-spirited colt tossed its head, but allowed the Ranger to take hold of its lead rope and draw it back to the group.

"He has a good heart," Aragorn murmured half about the colt, half to it.  "But it is not meant for battle."

"My lord, how did you catch him?"  The horse master took the harness, stroking the spooked colt on the nose.  "Snowmane was sired by a Mearas, and his dam was Lightfoot, one of our swiftest horses.  Surely we should call you Wingfoot for such a display."

"I have pursued others just as swift," the newly christened Wingfoot replied, reaching up to absentmindedly stroke the silver pendant he wore about his neck.

----------------------------------

"My Lord Thorongil!"  Gondor's captain checked his pace as he heard his name shouted behind him.  The star broach on his right shoulder bumped slightly against his collarbone as Thorongil executed a smooth turn.

Denethor smiled as he approached the soldier.  "You walk as though Umbar itself is fleeing from you," he commented.  "There is no need to chase what is fixed in place."

"But not in time," Thorongil replied.  "I would see Gondor safe, and soon.  Before . . ." The captain trailed off, slightly distressed at to whom he had almost revealed himself.

"Before you claim what is yours," the Steward's son whispered.

"I claim nothing," Thorongil answered, hand automatically hovering over the pendant hanging beneath his leather shirt.  "I have no right."

"You mean 'not yet,'" Denethor corrected.

----------------------------------

The Dúnadan sat in the Hall of Fire, smoking a pipe with his dear friend and recounting some of his adventures.  Eventually, as it always seemed to do with Aragorn, the talk had fallen to names as a new round of "Label the Ranger" had come up.

"Quite frankly, I preferred Longshanks," Aragorn mused.  "The older inhabitants of Bree still call me that, but the younger . . ."

"Oh, you have to admit they're right," Bilbo chuckled.  "The way you go stalking up and down the Wilds as if life itself won't wait for you."  The elderly hobbit shook his head.  "There's just no two ways about it, my friend.  You are a 'Strider.'"

"'Twill be another twenty years ere I can shed that name," Strider groaned.

"Likely," Bilbo agreed, enjoying his friend's resigned sigh.  "And by then, who knows?  Perhaps the King will come again."

"Perhaps," Estel murmured.

 

 

Re: ObsidianJ, here it is.

Ohh, thank you Mar'isu. I love it. Nice little scenes accompanying Estel/Aragorn/Wingfoot/Thorongil/Strider. That man has more names than others have shirts ;-). But still he stays himself.

Thanks,

Chris

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Elena Tiriel

14th, Elena Tiriel: I would really like either: - Elves, Rohirrim, Faramir, the Fellowship, or Dwarves (or other creatures of the light) demonstrating compassion in some appropriate way,

 Slowly but surely I am catching up.  A nice quadribble for you!  Hope your birthday was happy!

Friendships

Dawn faded and the sun was almost high enough to shine down into the valley of Rivendell.  The five years at the Havens were well enough, but Edracar had missed the forests and was glad to be home.  He listened with half an ear to his father's admonitions on hunting safely while wishing, for the ten-thousandth time in the last twenty years, that Imros would - once! - be early.  Even the babies were already out and about. The four heads huddled together looked like they had not moved in the last five summers. 

His father ruffled his hair.  "Have you heard a word I said?"

Edracar grinned.  "Only aim at game, and do not stay out past supper."

"Good enough. I must go." He glanced over to the children gathered near the porch.  "Perhaps you and Imros can find another friend."

"They are all babies."

Edracar watched as his father talked with Elrond's sons.  A few minutes later Imros pelted across the courtyard.

"About time," Edracar said as Imros stopped and shrugged his quiver over his shoulder.

"Sorry."

"May I come, too?"  The voice belonged to one of the babies, but surely he had grown unnaturally fast.

Edracar looked over the boy; bow on his back, knife on his belt, eyes uncertain of his welcome.

"You still belong with the babies, Estel."  Imros stepped between and pointed towards the three wide-eyed smaller children watching them.  "I'll bet you can't even draw that bow."

Edracar saw, with a shock, that Estel was eye-to-eye with Imros, who had seen twenty summers. 

"I shoot just as good as you do."

"Who told you that?"  Imros thrust his chin at the boy's face.

Estel stood his ground. "Elladan."

There was no disputing that, with Elladan standing just across the courtyard.  Edracar felt the weight of his twenty-four years.  "We're going after game.  Did Elladan say you should come?"

"No, but…" Estel's eyes shifted to the smaller children and back.  "They are still babies.  I'd like to hunt with you, if that's all right.  I won't slow you down."

Imros shook his head and his eyes strongly signaled he was against it. 

Estel looked the same age as Imros, though he had arrived barely out of swaddling bands less than eight years ago.  Men were odd.  Edracar chewed his lip.  Estel's expression slid into disappointment and he started to turn away.

"You can come."

Gwynnyd 

 

 

Re: ObsidianJ, here it is.

my happy little drabble turned into a two page monster.  I hope you like it.

What a nice happy little drabble-ish monster!  I think it's marvelous!

Gwynnyd 

 

 

Re: Birthday-drabble for Obsidianj

The letter to Ecthelion is more important. It seems to be a really difficult letter, since he has so much trouble writing it. Otherwise Aragorn always struck me as someone proficient with the pen.

Yes, not only has to consider what to say/how much to say to Ecthelion (whom he liked a lot, IMO), but also else who might possibly see the letter.

And Aragorn strikes me as someone who could write good letters, in addition to him reciting/inventing poems and stories off the cuff.

Very glad you liked the drabble!

Imhiriel

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for obsidianj

I love how you describe him being able to even the score here--leaving her uneasy and more than a little intrigued. This is definitely not the boy whose heart she broke. (Love that unsympathetic brother spying on her!) 

Oshun

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Forodwaith

31st, Forodwaith: I' ve always been intrigued by the elves' definition of magic. When Pippin asks if the Fellowship's cloaks are magic, an elf of Lothlorien answers "...they are elvish robes certainly, if that is what you mean. Leaf and branch, water and stone: they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lórien that we love; for we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make." I'd love to read drabbles about elvish craft or art and the way it borders on "magical" power, from the viewpoint of the elves.

Happy Birthday!  One gift actually given on the day!  Hope your day is very happy and filled with good things.

 Connections

Trail carefully concealed, Aragorn huddled into the tumbled rock shelter. Pulling a flap of cloak over his face, he sat very still. The headman's wrathful guards stalked close behind him.  The cloak kept out the worst of the thin and bitter wind that blew off the steppes and he felt quite unaccountably safe in the cocoon of warmth.  His eyelids drooped.

Moss green, slate grey, madder red, ochre, birch-bark white, elm brown, cerulean, granite pink, earth and sky, rock and field and wood.  Surrounded by baskets of fibre, Arwen's feet danced over the loom pedals, the soft shrrr of the warp thread flying though the shed punctuated by the muted thuds of the beaters.  She plucked a bit of deep green fluff from a basket and deftly inserted it into the weave.  A wave of weariness washed over her.  Inhaling a deep breath, she focused on the cloth and felt rock behind her back.

"Sleep, beloved.  Unfriendly eyes will not see you."

The cloth for a new cloak grew beneath her hands. She sang, eyes unfocused, thoughts far away.


Aragorn woke refreshed as the sun slanted into his eyes.  At the edge of his vision, the guards plodded homeward, defeated.


Arwen remained in Rivendell, and when Aragorn was abroad, from afar she watched over him in thought;
   Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

Gwynnyd 

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Forodwaith

Eeeee! Another drabble full of my favourite things! Thank you so much, Gwynnyd -- this is lovely. The list of colours is so evocative.

 

 

One for obsidianj, a little late

Troubled

Strider has lived in the wild long enough to know that taking omens from the weather is folly. Yet the dark sky to the West fills him with anxiety. Where is Gandalf? Why has he sent no word?

Back and forth across the Road Strider casts for some sign of the wizard's passage. Others are out upon the hunt, he knows, and not all of them friendly. A thick mist shrouds the Barrowdowns and the wind carries keen cries to the edge of hearing.

Has he failed the ring-bearer, lost the wisest being in Middle-Earth, destroyed all hope of victory?

---

Sorry this one didn't turn out as cheerful as Raksha's! (I was rereading Chapter 10 for inspiration, in which Strider talks about his search for Gandalf and says "I have been watching the East Road anxiously." Poor Ranger, he must have had a worrying time.)

 

 

Re: A semi-late request...

Sorry this is late, Allie!

******

"Keep your blade up, boy! You've left a hole for your enemy the size of a horse's arse!"

Elfwine stumbled and fell back when the practice sword landed hard on his stomach. He coughed, trying to catch his breath, and scowled up at the man standing over him. He wanted to be angry at the swordmaster, but he also knew he should be grateful. Rank and privilege did not matter to Ecglaf. The swordmaster wouldn't coddle him, would make him work as hard as the other lads to learn the sword.

Ecglaf scowled back. "Get up. We'll do it again."

******

Aranel Took

 

 

For Meril

This is late, and I'm not sure it's what you really wanted, but here's my attempt at students in Middle Earth.

Fangorn by Mar'isu 4/2/2006

            I wake slowly.  There is . . . another.  I hear the voice.  Sweet and clear, like a warm shower on new leaves, laughing like the little brook that flows through this, my house.  I do not know the sounds it makes.

            Not so hasty, little one.  For you are little; I can see that now.  Bright soul, deep thought, long life in little body.  I have stood since the lamps fell and darkness came, and yet this is the first other I have met. 

And I cannot say it.  The rustle of leaves, the creak of branches.  The long, low groan of growing things.  Of these are my words fashioned.

O, teach me, shining one.  Teach me of this thing you call "language."

"The Elves began it.  Waking up the trees; teaching them to speak." –Legolas, TTT

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Vistula

20th, Vistula the Dunadin: I'd love to see interactions or conversations between Sam and Frodo. These can be pre, during or post Ring War and can be of any kind

Happy belated Birthday!  I hope your day was special!

 "A Bit More Queerness in These Parts"

Frodo stood in the main hall and peered down the passageways around the smial, familiarizing himself with his new home.  Smaller than Brandybuck Hall, Bag End still had enough nooks and crannies never explored on his previous visits, though the main areas were well known to him.  

Bilbo's study should be here.  He pulled open the door.  The small boy standing next to Bilbo's desk looked up at him, gasped, and scrambled backwards to stand pressed against the bookcase.  

"What are you doing?"  Frodo asked sharply.

"Nothing."  The boy's hand darted up to his head. Encountering no hat, he gave a quick tug to his unruly forelock and his head bobbed once down and up.  "Mr. Frodo, sir," he added still staring at Frodo wide-eyed.  Suddenly he relaxed and gave a disappointed shake of his head.  "Durn it. 'Taint true."

"What isn't true?"

"Halfred said folk were queer where you come from, and I thought you might have green hair or horns or some such." He fixed Frodo with an accusing look.  "But you're no different than Mr. Bilbo."  

Frodo swallowed a laugh at the boy's disappointment.  "You have the advantage of me.  Who are you?"

"Sam, sir. Samwise Gamgee."



The title quote is by the Gaffer Gamgee in Fellowship of the Ring.  "If that's being queer, then we could do with a bit more queerness in these parts. There's some not far away that wouldn't offer a pint of beer to a friend, if they lived in a hole with golden walls. But they do things proper at Bag End."

Following the dates given in the family trees, Sam is six years old to Frodo's twenty-one or, following the dates in the Tale of Years, Sam is nine.  Take your pick.

Gwynnyd 

 

 

Re: One for obsidianj, a little late

Thanks, Forodwaith, very nice.

I, too, just reread that chapter and was wondering how Aragorn watched that road and for how long. The hobbits' short cut must have caused a lot of anxiety for him. He surely got the message that the hobbits were on the road and then they just vanished for a few days without a trace.

Chris

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Agape4Gondor

6th, Agape4Gondor: If someone would like to write a little something nice about Denethor...

Agape:

This may be a bit more bittersweet than you wanted, but it's what came to the fore.  Hope your birthday, and your trip to New Zealand, went well and you had a great time! Because I didn't get this finished before you left, I held it until you came back.

Too Much

The warm light from the partially shielded lantern gave a deceptively rosy glow to Finduilas's sleeping countenance.  Denethor gnawed his lip as he examined his wife's thin face and the shadows under her eyes.  Her sheer gown with its froth of lace gleamed hardly whiter than the skin it framed.  Finduilas had retired with the subtle signals that always presaged a night of joy and comfort.  Though he had taken no longer than usual to join her, she already slept. 

Her radiance outshone the sun, and his passions nearly overwhelmed him, but his wife was dearer by far to him than any child.  Denethor reached out and with a gentle finger touched a strand of night-dark hair that strayed across the pillow. Evil is so close here, and I am safest in your arms.  He had given in to her pleas before, and nearly lost her. 

Never again.  He had strength enough for them both.  Denethor took a step back and Finduilas's face slid into shadow.  She was not yet well.  He would not disturb her rest tonight, nor for many nights to come.  Finduilas would understand that his care was necessary.  He loved her too much to risk her.

 Gwynnyd

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Agape4Gondor

A very prescient drabble, Gwynnyd! I especially liked this sentence:

Denethor took a step back and Finduilas's face slid into shadow.

Denethor doesn't realise that it's precisely his reluctance to stay close that causes the trouble. And he apparently doesn't think that there is a possibility to be close to her without any sexual meaning. Pity, pity.

The title somehow also touched me for some reason. It seems so fraught with meaning.

Imhiriel

 

 

Re: March 2006 birthdays, for Agape4Gondor

Denethor doesn't realise that it's precisely his reluctance to stay close that causes the trouble.

 
No, I don't think he does.  After all, who says, "I am safest in your arms."? Denethor, as much as Finduilas, needs comfort.

 I'm glad you liked it.  Thanks.

 Gwynnyd

 

 

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