1. A Rainbow of Drabbles.
Red -The Haven
They had arrived. At last the long ride was over; the horses could take their ease and crop the lush grass, saddles and bridles removed. Their riders would need them no more.
Inside there were food-laden tables with jugs of water and flasks of wine all ready to fill glasses for inevitable toasts.
Then the setting sun shone through the windows that looked west; it cast a rosy glow on all within the hall, highlighting faces filled with longing, fear or hope.
"Red sky at night is the sailors' delight,' said Cirdan, "You will have smooth seas and fair winds."
Orange - The gardener
"Aw – please, Da…"
"No – I don't hold with them. And it's no good telling me they're good in a salad – you can have a nice yellow nasturtium for your salad. No, there'll be none of them in this garden, not whilst it's my garden, and that's an end to it."
Elanor went to her Ma to complain that Da was being 'streporous about her planting her seeds; but got no sympathy.
Rosie knew that, whenever her Sam had nightmares, he saw rivers of orange lava and woke up sweating. No wonder he didn't want a garden full of marigolds.
Yellow - When first we practice to deceive.
'Ah, good,' thought the goblin foot-soldier, 'this is a nice dark spot, away from the main paths. A good place to sit quietly and avoid work.'
There was so much work these days; patrols that took a week or more, heavy lifting and carrying when not on patrol, with not much by way of rations, either.
This tunnel was dry, quiet, not the slightest draught stirred the drifting spider webs. He rested his head back on his pack, his eyelids heavy; and didn't notice around him, as if someone had thrown a switch, hundreds of yellow eyes flick open.
Green - By Pastures Green...
Noise; blood, battle, pain; around, within.
He sees a face, beloved, yet unexpected here.
'Oh sister-daughter, what do you here in the field of the dead?'
"Weep not," he mouths, "For I have fought like a king."
His vision narrows until all that remains is a fluttering banner; his white horse galloping over a green pasture. This, too, fades; there is nothing but receding sound and then, briefly, silence.
The light returns and now he stands in that very pasture, verdant green, Snowmane beside him.
Loud from the distant golden hall, sun-kissed, he hears his father's voice; "Theoden, son, welcome!"
Blue - Deep as the Sea
Éomer began to feel that if one more matron of Gondor pushed their daughter in his direction, and more or less demanded that he dance with them, he would either be very rude or scream.
Daughters tall and short, overly thin to overly well-upholstered, plain to porcelain pretty; all were offered to him like a parade of brood mares to a particularly choosy stallion.
The herald announced the Princes of Dol Amroth, and Éomer strode purposely towards them, only to be brought up short by the figure at his friend's side. He looked into eyes of sea blue... and drowned.
Indigo - Bridges
He knew the colours in order; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.
He understood red – the colour of blood; orange, the colour of the coal in the smiths' forge; yellow, the yolk of his egg at breakfast. Green – the leaves and grasses were all shades of green; blue was the clear sky as he lay on his back and gazed upwards. Violet was simple – colour and flower a mirror one of the other.
But indigo? It was the space between two colours – the colour that bridged a gap.
"We are indigo," young Elros thought, "bridging men and elves."
Violet - On Naming Children
"Your Da and I have been thinking about names for your new brother or sister, when they arrive," Rosie told her son. "If it is a boy we will call him Pippin, if it is a little girl we think she will be Violet."
Frodo-lad's face was a mixture of disbelief and horror.
"Ma, she can't be! Not a girl!"
Rosie looked puzzled. "Violet is traditional for a girl – especially if she has blue eyes!"
Frodo-lad was close to tears.
"I don't want her then. It'd better be a boy. I don't want a sister who's going to be violent!"
Finally - Rainbow - The Battle of Dol Guldur.
His elves moved swiftly and silently through the woods. Woods they knew well; had wept over their destruction and decay.
All night it rained, unseasonably, and all were wet. Wet cloaks, wet packs, wet mail, wet hair.
When they saw their foes in the struggling light of day they loosed volley after volley; until they had to charge with swords drawn.
Then the sun broke through for moments; its light fragmented in the mist above them, then touched elven weapons, armour, flying hair.
As Thranduil charged he thought "Surely we must overcome the dark – for we have become rainbow warriors."
Disclaimer: The characters in these stories do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.