2. March 24, 2005: Impromptu Birthday Drabbling
Agape4Gondor: Is there a chance I might find a Boromir drabble here for me? [The words were pristine, maternal, altered, and completed.] Memory’s Sake - Meril (double drabble) [Author's Note: The first half was instant drabbled. The second half was written later, to make it a double for belatedness.] A light touch along the dusty surface, raising the scent of old roses and musty perfumes. Once, this dresser was pristine and free of dust. Finduilas had arranged his collection of seashells here with such maternal pride that he thought his face would crack from smiling. She had spent hours with him, setting out arrangement after altered arrangement on the dark surface, until they finally completed it. “I am proud of you,” she said. The dead are gone, and they will ne’er return. Yet still, for memory’s sake, he took the small white handkerchief from the drawer, and pocketed it. Later that night, sleepless and studying the delicate embroidery, he slipped out of bed and began to roam the halls. His wandering feet led him all over the Citadel, until he finally ended up before his father’s study, seeing a flickering light from the door, which stood ajar. His father stood by the window, staring out at the skies. His gaze was absent, remote. When he glanced back to see his son waiting by the door, he beckoned, and Boromir walked over. Father and son stood in silence, watching the night pass by, and both thought of the same person. Comfort - Ithiliel Silverquill (drabble and a half) It has been four years, thought Boromir, fingering the square of cloth. It was a small white handkerchief, made for a fine lady. Now it was his. Finduilas had been the first one to see him in the entryway after the fistfight. She had gasped, then pulled out her handkerchief to dab at the blood on his nose, ignoring his proud refusal. Its pristine whiteness had been permanently altered by the crimson stain, but Finduilas had not cared. Her maternal instincts were stronger than his protests or common sense. Her task completed, she had laid the handkerchief in his hand, then kissed his forehead. “Be careful, Boromir,” she had said. It has been four years since she died. Boromir refolded the stained handkerchief, eyes stinging, and tucked it into the drawer in his desk. He shut the drawer violently. It would not do to let his family see him cry. [NOTE: Ithiliel and Meril would like you to know that they didn't communicate on this one: they both randomly came up with the same type of situation. Weird, huh?] Warrior - Arandil The pristine morning was too beautiful to mar with battle, but the whims of the fates can not be altered. Our journey almost completed, it was a pity it had to end this way. One. I refused to feel the pain spreading. The Halflings must be protected. Two. I was a warrior. I am a warrior. Three. I felt the earth beneath knees I hadn’t realized I fell on. It was only a matter of time before arrow number four hit. The haze began to grow and I felt death’s maternal embrace as the last of my consciousness slipped away.
Narwen Almiriel: Let’s see…Could I have a drabble about either a). Celeborn and Galadriel being reunited in Aman, or b). Finwë and either one of his wives (or both, even…) or c). Melian and Elwë. Please? Pretty please? Spirit of Fire - Arandil "I feel him stir within me." Finwë gazed fondly at his wife as he placed his hand on her protruding stomach. "Is he always this active?" he asked with a smile. Miriel nodded and leaned in to rest her head on her husband’s shoulder. "I shall call him ‘Feanáro.’ " "Spirit of fire?" Finwë asked, pulling away from his wife and raising an eyebrow. "What do you foresee for him?" Miriel held his gaze for a moment before answering. "Great shall be his deeds." Finwë beamed proudly and hugged her to him, not noticing the briefest shadow pass across her face.
Vistula the Dunedain: I would LOVE drabbles that have YOUR favorite character somehow interacting with MY favorite character. For those few of you who haven't already guessed who THAT may be, the answer is, of course, Sam. Anytime, any place, any situation is great! (And I don't mind slash either, if you are so inclined.) Of Elves and Horses - Arandil "He is quite fond of you. Did you know?" Samwise jumped when he heard the sound of the crystal clear voice speaking behind him. It was most unnatural the way the elf could appear behind you without your knowledge. "Begging your pardon, Mister Legolas, but I can’t say as if I understand." "Bill," the elf said with laughter in his eyes. He rubbed the horse’s nose, eliciting a happy sounding whinny from the animal. "He has never had a kinder master." Sam was glad for the dark. It would not do to blush in front of one of the Firstborn. Meril: I'm incredibly indecisive. I want (a) a happy moment between Feanor and Nerdanel, or (b) anything Houses of Healing, or (c) Galadriel and Celeborn anywhere. If you incorporate all of those (definitely not required!), I'll drop dead from shock. Truth - Arandil (double drabble) "Is there truth in the whisperings I hear? They say you murdered your mother." A powerful fury flashed through his eyes and Nerdanel saw his jaw clench even tighter. For a moment she feared to breathe until she saw the anger replaced by a deep sorrow. He held her gaze but his response was barely audible. "Do you believe them to be true?" Nerdanel’s heart filled with compassion, but it was not enough to overcome her disquiet. How to answer such a question of someone she barely knew? She focused her eyes on a point in the distance so she no longer had to bear the intensity of his gaze. It was wreaking havoc on her nerves, even if there was something about it that thrilled her.
"People who are capable of kin slaying are said to have no fea," she mused to herself. Turning her attention back to him, she continued. "But yours burns stronger than most." She watched his face, intent on catching any reaction to what she had said. His eyes no longer gave away what he was feeling as he waited silently to hear her judgment. "No, Curufinwe. I do not believe any of the whispers." Forodwaith: I'd love drabbles about Arwen (a criminally underwritten character IMO), especially if they focus on a part of her life other than her relationship with Aragorn. If you're an Arwen-hater, write me a drabble about Sam and his garden and I'll be just as happy. [The words were clothing, exotic, mysterious, and shipwreck.] Replacements - Meril Queen Arwen has dressed in the manner of our kingdom, abandoning elven styles in favor of our mortal variations. Rich velvets exchanged for flowing silks, embroidery for simple lines. She has replaced her clothing as well as her life, I muse. My father said the elven-folk feel sorrows and joys more intensely than we do. We feel a pang at the loss of a rowboat, he said, while the elves feel a shipwreck’s devastation. I feel sudden warmth for this exotic queen, who traded Valar’s grace for unbreakable love. “I am Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, my lady. Welcome to Gondor.” A Welcome Visitor - Arandil The tall stranger approached the innermost circle of the city. His clothing was exotic and not recognizable to the people of Minas Tirith. He wore a cloak about his shoulders, its hood pulled up over his head, increasing the mysterious aura surrounding him. Unexpected to those that watched, the Queen ran towards him and embraced him.
"I wondered when you would come." She said as he released her. "I heard of the shipwreck and feared the worst." The man threw down his hood exposing raven hair and bright gray eyes, intense as the night’s first star. "Worry not, muinthel nín."
Nasira: I'm not picky about my drabbles. Whatever anyone comes up with will be just fine. [Had to use the number 23, and four of the following: books, finite, play, impartial, and knots. Arandil said that bonus points go to anyone who includes Feanor! ;)] Mastery - Meril (half drabble) And twenty-three and twenty-four... Unraveling the crystal’s riddle has yielded dozens of failed attempts. Success is finite, and numerous scars now play across his hands: the flames are impartial and implacable masters. Knots of ruined gems mock him, and chant his failures for the world to hear. Brilliant light… Success. Twenty Three - Arandil My books mock me. For all their number, their information is finite. They speak of how wars of old played out, but not how to quell the knots of tension mounting now in the world. I turn to them for answers and they give me none. Twenty three days have past since I have last seen my eldest son, my pride, my heir. Fell have my thoughts become of late. I perhaps am not impartial, but I would he have stayed here where he is needed rather than journey off to consort with elves about the meaning of mythical dreams.
Juno requested Elrond smut drabbles, which will not be posted here to keep the rating of this story at General.
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