4. April 2004
Ainaechoiriel: My Mortal Alter Ego's birthday is in April. A theme? Well, it would have to be something about Legolas. Well, my favorite quote of LOTR is when he is quoting the stones in Hollin. So maybe a drabble about all that, really getting into his head and heart?
I Hear the Stones Lament — by Avon
I hear the stones lament them:
deep they delved us; fair they wrought us; high they builded us; but they are gone.
My eyes see the holly’s thickly-clustered berries but my mind sees a tall city, streets thronged with hosts of fair Elven-folk. As I watch, I see it fall in flames and war and hear the clash of steel and a hundred voices crying out in loss,
They are gone.
In the cold, thin winter sun, I shiver in pity and dread. Soon may travellers in all Middle-earth hear only this lament of trees and stones.
They are gone… Strange to Us — by Elana Voice of stone in my soul. They are gone. They are gone. Gone across a sea I have never seen. How could they bear to leave, when the world is so fair? Leave new grass to sprout, new trees to spring from seed, grow to sapling and towering giant, never savoring their greenness? Leave their works of creation to fall into ruin? Leave, knowing even the bedrock will mourn them? Old as I now realize I am, with these younglings for companions, still I am only beginning to learn to love this Middle-Earth. I do not ever want to leave. Strange Vessels—by Elvenesse From the rocks about me, pours almost overwhelming sorrow. Such a strange and grievous thing I deem it! The affinity of my people is with the living things that grow; yet the trees here are strangely silent and they will not answer me. It is the stones themselves and the ground beneath them that speak to me. It is here that great power was wrought and wielded. From the earth were gathered metals and precious gems to form items of great beauty. Trees were hewn; fires built, and now only distant echoes remain of those who fell into unwitting folly. Longing—by Dwimordene In the line of walkers, Legolas trails last, listening. Holly-fenced Eregion is empty; the birds are silent; the holly stands mute, but the stones speak. They murmur in his dreams, filling them with strange desire. Who knew that stone might wish to grow? Poor tortured rock, that dreams of greatness and has it only through others' hands in the breaking and the working. And they cry out to him, grasping, hopeful: Remake us! Are you not their kinsman? But he has no craft, and only news to give: They are gone, they are gone. They sought the havens long ago. Lotr lover: I'd love a drabble about Glorfindel, if anyone's up for it; action or humor or contemplation or het romance, but no slash, please. Mae Govannen -- by Azalais "Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen!" Relief overflows me, for in the gathering shadow he brings hope to my heart and strength to my arm. Elf-lord of a house of princes, Balrog-slayer, what terrors should the black Nine hold for him? As their icy darkness closes upon the Ringbearer his otherworldly light but glows the brighter. Now Frodo is across the Ford, saved by Loudwater's rising, and those foul shadows would turn upon us - yet the white-hot flame of his fury sears them, and they scatter to terror and the flood. Ai na vedui Glorfindel; mae govannen! ("Elf-lord of a house of princes" is Gandalf's description of Glorfindel, from FoTR Book 2 Chapter 1, Many Meetings. And yes, I like and tend to subscribe to the notion that the two Glorfindels are the same as well :) ) Untitled -- by Wild Iris The stranger pledges fealty to the heir of his king. He is a puzzle to those that see him; his accent slants their words, and he is stern and golden like the sun. He has come as from long sleep, in the service of defiance so fierce it cannot spend itself in sleep. Yet he yields his sword gladly to his unproven lord. The watchers cannot know that having served mistaken pride makes it easy to embrace Elrond Peredhel. A kiss, laid on his brow, seals it. The stranger receives back his sword and his name, antique devices once more acknowledged. The Prince of Golden Flowers—Avon It was here he fell - he of the golden hair and golden heart. He fell in flames and darkness against a being of ancient evil, fell to save those of us that fled. The eagles brought us back his body – burnt and bloody and broken. We laid it on the turf here and raised a mound over it. He was a prince of the house of the golden flowers – and the golden flowers came to be his shroud. Here, here is one of his flowers. Tuck it into your hair, child, and remember the one who died for you. Hope—Marta Asfaloth plodded along the road, his gait lacking its usual vigour. His bells clang together, devoid of their normal music. Still we search, but for what? What hope is there to find them in the wilderness, with the Nine abroad? Hope. His mind lingered on that word. What hope did he claim, that he might find Hope? Estel was lost, and all Middle-earth's hope. He sank into his steed's back, and Asfaloth guessed his master's despair. But Asfaloth smelled a familiar scent on the wind. His step quickened, his bells sang. "Glorfindel!" the elf heard, and his heart rejoiced. Estel. fliewatuet: I'd really like a drabble about pre-Ring-War Aragorn. Upon This Hither Shore—by Dwimordene They say water draws Elves. Mayhap also the elven-reared, for there he sits—the foundling washed up on mortal shores. The stone skips twice, then sinks. Halbarad tsks. "Throw a round?" he asks when the other turns. Aragorn considers, then nods. Upon the riverbank they stand, casting stones in silence awhile. "You're often here," Halbarad says. Aragorn shrugs. "I was born between these rivers—" his last stone sinks "—but they speak nothing to me." The final stone skips thrice. "Silly game," Halbarad complains. A beat, then: "Again, tomorrow?" Reflections waver in the water. "Aye, tomorrow," Aragorn agrees. And then smiles. Another Name — by Elana There he is, I hear them whisper, thinking I cannot hear. That Ranger. That Strider. An apt enough description. Many long leagues these legs have traveled, many miles remain before I reach journey’s end. Very well then, Strider will I be, in this place. The inn is warm, the beer excellent. But I sit alone. They watch me, eyes suspicious, voices wary. Would they honor me, if they knew my heritage, if they realized that daily I risk death for their sakes? Would it matter? Telcontar will I surname my sons. That we may remember the purpose and the price. 'Peering in the water as the dark eve fell, I caught him, Gollum.’—Avon Through darkness and mire I drive him; through forest and briar he drives me. He is my prisoner - or I am his…. I can not remember. Can not remember warmth, sufficient food, ease. Can not remember when I did not hold him, drive him, drag him. Always in my ears are his moans and snufflings. Always in my nose is his smell – reeking of dark things and dark places. Always in my eyes are his eyes: they watch me and hunger for my throat. In the dark hours I watch what the ring has made him… and I fear. His Lady's Horse—Marta The dusk light had nearly faded to evening's grey, but no matter. A ranger's ears can hear a man approach. Eight hoofsteps. "Halbarad." He dismounted, leading the new horse toward me. "All was well in Imladris?" He smiled knowingly. "Aye, she lives." I turned to face him. "I did not ask of Arwen --" But then I saw the horse. I knew that proud back, that hardy coat. A horse of the Valley. Halbarad leaned close. "The lady is well, and wishes you the same." 'Twas good it was so dark. A ranger did not smile so foolishly at a horse. Heirlooms—Gwynnyd The ring was an unfamiliar heavy weight on my hand, pinning me to an unlooked for fate. "He gave me Narsil, too." Ellrohir laughed. "Narsil? What does father expect you to do with it?" I grin. "Put fear into the hearts of my foes. Drawing it, I declare, ‘Here is the Sword That Is Still Broken.’ They’ll flee my wrath unfought. ‘Twould be a good stabbing sword, with such a jagged point." "It was a hand-and-a-half! The hilt would unbalance such a short blade." "But not unmasterable, I think." "Estel, no!" "I am Aragorn." I go to commission a sheath. Untitled—Forodwaith "Be welcome to Lorien, Heir of Isildur," Celeborn said, yet his cold stare belied the words. Galadriel said nothing, only met Aragorn's eyes, and he gasped like a man plunged into icy water. So you would ask my granddaughter to make Luthien's choice. And what if Arwen consented? Have you the courage to take her life? He broke free from her gaze and looked down at his hands, relieved to see that they were not trembling. If it were her own free choice, he thought, yes. If she gave me her life, I would hold it close as my own.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.