Henneth Annûn Story Archive

Welcome to all. The soft clouds float as March arrives.

If you have a March birthday, please post your request.

Birthday folk, please visit the workshop, put your story in it, and enter the March challenge.

If you have questions, please ask.

RiverOtter
************
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.


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.

 

I've posted my story in the workshop.

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

There you have it,

Mar'isu

 

Yay! I've been waiting for this time of year.

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."

My birthday is on March 31, and 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.

 

It's super early, but the muses had me by the throat and wouldn't let me go!

Happy birthday Forodwaith.  Have you got a story for the workshop yet?  I'll post my drabbles here in the meantime.  In no particular order.

~~Mar'isu

Senses of Love

Vision. (Sight)

The water ripples when I breathe on it.  Beneath the shelter of the Two Trees, there is a still pool, clearer than even Varda's mantle, and the light of the Trees seems to gather in the quiet water.  The calm surface is smooth and polished, like a mirror.  I stare into the depths . . . and find myself staring back.  A white star in my other-self's hand holds back the darkness as the last light of the Trees goes to one who walks openly into Shadow.  The water ripples as I fill the vial, knowing that Ages will pass before the Burdened One will have need of it.  Vision done, I stand and go, but I will return.

For this mirror shows many things.

AN: I realize that, technically, the star-glass is the light of Eärendil.  However, Eärendil gets his light from the Silmaril that Elwing brought to him.  And the Silmarils were made to hold the light of the Two Trees.  Therefore, I would argue that any light of the Two Trees could be said to be the light of Eärendil.

Voice. (Hearing)

He loves what he does.  That's why he's the Senior Master, while I'm still a Junior.  But sometimes I wonder if he doesn't love his craft too much.  This new journeyman, for example.  He's good, but he doesn't love the work.  I wonder if he loves anything.  But the Master will teach him, for the power of ring-making should not be hoarded.  For love of the craft, the craft is taught. 

I do not have a love powerful enough for truly great Ring-making, and I wonder that the journeyman does.  The newcomer makes Rings such as I have never seen, set with stones of great power.  Seven he has made and nine of another kind.  My three, weak attempts made for the love of the Master and Arda, pale in comparison.

Still, when the Black Tongue steals sleep, I flee.

Better Three made in love but weak, than One to Rule made in hate.

AN: I have a hard time believing that Celebrimbor thought nothing was wrong up to the point of the forging of the One Ring.  So this is where my mind goes.

Victuals. (Taste)

I sing over the bread.

Rest to the weary.  Strength to the faltering.  Clarity to the confused.  All this and more I knead into the dough, as I have done every day for millennia.

Yesterday I made a double batch, singing healing, courage, and hope into the wafers before wrapping them in the mallorn leaves with whispers of protection and peace.  They will keep as long as they must and will still be just as sweet as when I pulled them from the coals.

And the Dwarf thought it was cram.

Vicious. (Touch)

The fire burns and I thank Aulë for the heat.
Water cools and I thank Ulmo for the waves.
The blade slices air and I thank Manwë for winds to cleave.
Vines twine about the blade to honor Yavanna.
Your Evenstar, Varda, will grace the bearer of this sword.
Oromë grant safety as we hunt the Shadow.
Mandos receive those who fall.
Nienna weeps for them already.
The Aratar bless the King returned.
In this way is Narsil reforged and Andúril born.

AN:  The Aratar are the eight high Valar named in the previous.  No I did not make the word up.

Vital. (Smell)

I can smell the healing in this plant.  The Valar blessed my brother indeed when they gifted Númenor with asëa aranion.  Little more than a weed to some, in the hands of my line it is a gift beyond price to the wounded.  It smells to me of Celebrían, in the days when we were happy.  It is five hundred years since she sailed, but I remember her every time I teach another of my brother's descendants of this plant, and the love of a King which makes it heal.  As I do now.

"Estel, this is athelas.  Can you smell it?"

 

Just a question.  Is the March challenge up?  I tried to enter, but couldn't find it.

Mar'isu

 

Thank you, Mari'su! These are all fascinating & just what I was hoping for. I especially like the glimpse of Galadriel in the first one, and the indignant lembas maker.

I hadn't made a story area for these yet -- I'm still not used to the new system -- but I'll go give it a try right now.

 

*Vistula slinks out from a clever hiding spot, raises a shaking hand gripping her crumpled birthday drabble request.*

If it isn't too presumptuous of this "absentee" author of the drabble throng, I would like to humbly make a birthday drabble request.

*Looks around...hoping for assent amongst the peerage*

My birthday is on March 20th and 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.

Cheers!!

Vistula

 

I'm new here, so you haven't burned any bridges from this quarter yet! 

Anyway, I promised myself that I would drabble for anyone with a request, and I haven't broken that promise yet.  It's a bit more than a drabble, but that's just me.

Happy Birthday, Vistula.  Early, but here it is.

Mar'isu

Wizard or Warrior

"Sam, what did you pack?" Frodo asked, digging behind the spare cooking gear into the bottom of the sack for the requested seasonings to go with Strider's deer.  "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd packed Bag End in here."

"Well, I would have, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied from next to the fire where he was busy helping the Ranger clean his kill, "but Miss Lobelia glared fit to roast me when I mentioned it."

Frodo smiled at the uncommon humor from the sturdy gardener and would have laughed, but the presence of the strange man who had joined them only four days ago made him hold the laughter back.  Pippin, having no such inhibitions, giggled from his seat nearby.  "It's nought that he didn't carry to Crickhollow, Frodo," the youngest hobbit said between laughs, "and he's added since then."

"Now see here," Sam objected, wandering over to the nearest pool to clean the deer blood off his hands.  "There's none as say I can't carry a little extra if I choose."

"Indeed," Strider agreed, washing up with Sam.  "I find that sometimes, it's what you didn't think you'd need that is necessary."

Frodo, half buried in Sam's pack nodded in agreement.  The Ranger made a point.  Suddenly, his hand bumped something unusual in the very bottom of the pack.  It couldn't be . . . was it . . . a book?  Grabbing all the spices he had found and the book the Ringbearer backed out of the cavern Sam had been carrying.

"Sam, what is this?" he asked staring at the battered sheaf of parchment crudely bound together in his hand.

Hastily drying his hands, Sam scrambled to snatch the manuscript from his master's grasp and stuff it back into the pack before anyone else saw it.  "It's nothing," the gardener mumbled.  "I thought . . . . Well, if we were to see elves, maybe I could . . ."  The plain hobbit shook his head.  "It's a bit of foolishness, is all, Mr. Frodo.  Nothing more."

Frodo didn't argue, respecting Sam's reticence.  Yet even as he helped to roast supper, he couldn't help but ponder what he'd read on the cover of the much-used book Sam had brought along.

There, in an uncertain, but readable, hand was set:

Troll, and Other Poems by Samwise Gamgee.

The End, or not.

"It's out of his own head, of course," said Frodo.  "I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey.  First he was a consipirator, now he's a jestor.  He'll end up by becoming a wizard or a warrior!"

- FOTR, Flight to the Ford, just after Sam's poem "Troll."

 

*Squeeeeeee*

Ooooh! It's wonderful Mar'isu! Early presents are great, thank you so much!!

I did well writing drabbles myself for almost everyone last year...until I got to the fall. Then my muse went on vacation and I've not seen her since. *sigh* Very frustrating. I'm hoping wonderful drabbles (and double or triple drabbles) such as yours might help to inspire me once again.

I'll have you know that I love the Troll Poem and the fact that the scene shows that for all his knowledge, Frodo really doesn't know everything about Sam. How splendid that you'd chose the subject of Sam's creativity to write about. I've also always loved the concept of Sam's brimming pack, filled everything one could imagine. What a wonderful bit of discovery on Frodo's part.

I can't wait to save this in my birthday journal.

Thank you once again!!

Vistula

 

Four hours of delay in an airport yield this double drabble. I couldn't quite find the proper vehicle or moment for a discussion among Elves about magic and the way it differs from what they do. I'm not convinced Elves understand anything at all by the term "magic," so I don't know that they'd have a way of talking about how their craft "borders" on magic, only on how their art borders on and distinguishes itself from the Enemy's. However, I thought you might forgive me if I made Arwen the main character and squeezed in just a little playing around with what differentiates the elven arts from the arts of the Enemy, which are both called "magic" by mortals.

Dwim


Mother Wisdom

Thread uncoils and grows thin as the shuttle sends it out across the warp, gives thought a body. Arwen's voice rises, a thread of another sort, drawing all virtue from darkling strands:

Who am I?
I am that eye of understanding,
mastery that masters not,
I am eye of that revealing
seeing others I am taught
For I am eye that is an other:
making me, the thing is caught.

Thus is cloth formed not to fray nor fade, but that the least of what is made:

"Be grateful, daughter, that songs lie: we never catch the thing desired, but it escapes us, bears an otherness within it," Celebrían had taught, when first she'd permitted Arwen to join her in the winter weaving.

"But why should the songs lie?" Arwen had asked, and Celebrían, gazing critically upon their work, had answered:

"That we might learn that what we make, we must let go, for the sake of another—else we perish in madness, even as does the art of the Enemy."

For the sake of another. Hands tremble, but Arwen casts the shuttle through again:

Seven stars and stones and one white tree
In this making, his eye unmakes me.

 

Dwim, you managed to pack every one of my favourite things into this drabble. Arwen and her mother, the craft of weaving and the deceits of the Enemy -- thank you so much! And what a fascinating conception of the work of Sauron as innately sterile & selfish.

I'm not convinced Elves understand anything at all by the term "magic," so I don't know that they'd have a way of talking about how their craft "borders" on magic

That's a good point, and looking back I see I didn't write my request very clearly. I wasn't concerned with the elves' definition, so much as I wanted to see them making something that a human observer would consider "magic" -- the process of creation from the inside. And you delivered that beautifully. Thank you again!

 

Dwim, you managed to pack every one of my favourite things into this drabble.... -- thank you so much!

*notes favorite Forodwaith things down for future reference*

You're very welcome!

I wasn't concerned with the elves' definition, so much as I wanted to see them making something that a human observer would consider "magic" -- the process of creation from the inside.

Ah. That makes sense, although I must admit, I rather like the idea of a confrontation over the term magic. I'd like to see that point pressed, because if Elves think "magic" is undefined, what they do is most definitely also undefined (quotes not withstanding) and has to go consistently beyond what a human artisan can achieve.

Dwim

 

Mari'su, just thought I'd mention how much I liked this! The group dynamics were very nicely done—the slight awkwardness of a new companion, the familiarity of the hobbits with each other. You've really got the voices down. I loved the revelation that Sam has literary ambitions of his own that go beyond what he might make up off the top of his head. Brilliant!

Dwim

 

*Squeels and hops around like the 13-year-old she hasn't been for six years now.*  Thank you so much!  I thought that Frodo should have a way of knowing that Sam made "Troll" up on his own.  Also, it seems to me (and someone feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) that Sam makes up the most songs/poems in the whole book.  We know of three that he did make up ("Troll," the extra verse on Gandalf's farewell, and the star-song in the Black Tower)  and when pressed he recites "Oliphaunt."  It just made sense that he would start to write down his poems when he learned his letters.

Mar'isu

 

 To Vistula, Happy Birthday!

Well, as a fellow lurker, this is my first foray into this forum. Your request caught my eye because I just happen to have two Frodo/Sam drabbles. So, it if is alright with you, I will offer both.

The Utmost Limits (Drabble)

"Well, this is just great, Mr. Frodo. How am I supposed to feed eight people with one coney? 'Tis not enough that we lost our bag of mushrooms and onions coming out of Moria. Now, I've nothing to season the meat."

"Sam, I'm sure whatever you fix will be fine. If circumstances were different, you would not be so upset."

"Mr. Frodo, if circumstances were different, we would still be in the Shire."

"Yes, well," said Aragorn, "circumstances are what they are. I do believe I saw some tubers back a ways. Perhaps Merry and Pippin would go get some?"

Paradise Lost (Drabble)

Trudging up the mountainside, sunshine beating down on them, Sam chanced a glance behind them. None followed. Glancing at his companion, he frowned.

"Mister Frodo, we'd best rest a bit."

"No, Sam. We must keep on." Frodo's face showed the strain he was under. "The geas placed upon me pushes me. I cannot fight it. Sauron's pull ill affords any dalliances."

"If we keep to this pace, we will wear out before we reach our destination. Later, there will be no time. Later, there will be only death and darkness."

Sam turned away, knowing his plea fell on deaf ears.

I know they are not much, but I hope they suffice. Thank you for the opportunity to share them.

Rous

 

Happy Birthday, Mar'isu! 

I hope this is not too irreverent for you. It is the only drabble I have with Gimli and a mention of Legolas. No slash, but it is not clean. LOL

Gimli and Hygiene It is not easy. I am referring to this journey. It seems that most of it is to be spent out-of-doors. And that elf, he delights in his hygiene. Would that he find a louse in his hair. Ah, the Eldar, so persnickety. It just shows that they could not survive outside of their cloistered realms. How like him to be concerned with his hair. I will never understand their need for cleanliness. Look at the hobbits. They do not suffer. I think even Aragorn and Boromir disdain this constant bathing. Ah, well. Soon I will be home. No baths.

Thank you for the opportunity to share this.

Rous

 

For Vistula the Dunadan: Happy birthday from Gandalfs apprentice

A drabble featuring an interaction between Frodo and Sam, the night after leaving Bree.

Suspicion

"Just look at him, Mr. Frodo," whispered Sam.

Frodo looked. Strider sat cross-legged not far away, sharpening a lethal-looking blade, the firelight flickering on his grim face.

"He's got more metal on him than the blacksmith," insisted Sam. "Knives and a whole sword and that broken one, too. Does an honest fellow need all that?"

"In the Shire, no," said Frodo. "But here? I think he really is a friend of Gandalf's."

"Poppycock!" said Sam. "I'll believe that when I hear it from the old man himself. But don't worry, Mr. Frodo. I won't let that Strider get to you."

 

Hi, RiverOtter,

Thanks for keeping these birthday offerings going!

6 March - for Agape4Gondor

If someone would like to write a little something nice about Denethor.... or his two sons....

Thanks!

 

Oh Rous, what a delightful treat you've managed to provide for me. And it isn't even my birthday yet!

I love these little glimpses into the inner workings of my favorite character. I imagine that Sam would use cooking as a way for dealing with his pain over Gandalf's loss and can see his nurturing nature wanting to ease the other's hurts through something to eat.

In Paradise Lost I think you did a great job of capturing Sam's helpless feeling when it came to taking care of Frodo as they approached the end of the journey.

Thank you so much for your wonderful gift!!

Cheers,
Vistula

 

Thank you so much Gandalf's apprentice!! Honestly, I've been squeeing myself hoarse with all these wonderful drabbles I've been getting. *grins*

I just LOVE the suspicious Sam you've show here! I'm sure it was some time before he truly found feelings of trust toward their grim guide. And his protective stance toward Frodo...delightful. Don't worry, Mr. Frodo. I won't let that Strider get ot you. *giggles* How very Sam of him!

Thank you again!

Cheers,
Vistula

 

Just to let you know...I did set up a story in the Birthday cards workshop so I hope my wonderful drabble writers will be so kind as to put their works there.

Thanks!

Vistula

 

Hi, Vistula

Yes, that's Sam! Very loyal and slightly ridiculous.

May your birthday be joyous! I'm glad you enjoyed the drabble. I did put it in your Birthday story.

Gandalfs apprentice

 

Rous,

This is exactly what I was hoping to get.  Little things with Gimli or legolas shaking thier head at the strange manerisms of the other.  It's wonderful  Thank you so much.

Out of curiosity, where's your name come from?

Mar'isu

 

I actually managed true drabbles!  Each are 100 words exactly.  Yay for me.  I hope you like them Agape4Gondor.  The way I figure it, there needs to be some non-abusive Faramir/Denethor stuff out there.

Have fun,

Mar'isu

Father and Son by Mar'isu 3/8/2006

            I try to make him proud.  I'm not sure I succeed.

Boromir's the warrior, not me.  I'm a loremaster, I hope.  I'm a good Captain, a great Ranger.  Father knows this, I think.  I studied swords to please him, and I'm good with a bow.

But I love history and Mithrandir's lore.  I know of Thorongil and hope deferred, Father.  You and Grandfather had the strength to master Gondor.  I do not and my heart misgives that Boromir will have the chance.  To be a Steward, I will need a King.

Think well of me, Father.  I still have hope.

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

He looks like his mother, and I love him for it.  She was taken too soon, and I would have followed her but for him.  I hope I have shown him this.  I fear I have not.

It worries me, when Mithrandir comes, that Faramir is so eager to listen.  I, too, was eager once.  Then Thorongil came and left, refusing the kingdom where I wished to be Steward not Master.

Oh, be careful Faramir, my scholar son.  Mithrandir would have you hope.  But the king does not wish to rule.  Guard yourself.

I only wish to spare you pain.

 

Hi, Mar'isu:

A drabble from Legolas's POV.

Happy birthday!

Gandalfs apprentice

Hair

Legolas had never seen so much hair on inappropriate body parts in his long Elven life. Four pairs of hairy feet and four beards assaulted him at every meal. It was enough to kill his appetite, even after hours of walking.

On the other hand, the tough curls did keep the Hobbits' feet warm, and beards protected faces from the relentless wind.

But when Gimli changed his tunic for a warmer one, he saw the wiry, russet hair did not stop at the Dwarf's chin. The thick pelt coated Gimli's neck, chest, belly…Elbereth, did it go as far as that?

 

*picks herself up from where she fell on the floor laughing*

It's great!  I really love it.  Of course Legolas would have no clue just how hairy Dwarves are, and I could see him being slightly weirded out by all the fur.

Mar'isu

 

Mar'isu! 

Thank you - I love the idea of Faramir being a loremaster... hmmm - I am being greedy, but I'd like to see more of that side of him???  Greedy.

And the voice of Denethor was touching.  I loved him calling Faramir 'scholar son' - something poignant in that phrase....  that whole last paragraph is breathtaking - hope, rule, guard... wow.

Can't thank you enough!

Agape

 

Hmmmmm....if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Good philosophy where the steward's family is concerned IMO!

Happy late birthday my dear. My muse crawled out of hybernation JUST FOR YOU!! Hope this is a trend of things to come, honestly.

Cheers!
Vistula

~~~~

Lessons

“Step, step, hop. Now turn…”

Face pinched by concentration, the youth stumbled, tripping over his own foot. He grumbled with frustration.

“I’ll never get this right.”

Sympathetic, his partner smiled in reassurance holding out his hand again. “Of course you will Faramir. Just like archery or sword play, dancing takes practice.”

“Well, maybe I don’t really want to go to the stupid dance after all.”

“Now that’s a lie and you know it.” His teacher fixed him with a questioning look. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Swallowing hard, the boy nodded.

“Well?”

“You see, Father, there’s this girl…”

 

Agape, Happy Birthday.

I have a drabble for you.  It is not happy, but it shows something of what Faramir was made of.  I am not really into the whole Boromir/Faramir thingy, but I think I can give you something.  I also wrote an new story for you, but it kind of got out of hand.  I will post it anyway.  What do you call a drabble that is 400 words long?  A quadbble???  LOL

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 The Ghost Of Utterance Past

"It is mine!"

"No, it is mine!"

"What are you boys arguing about?" their mother interrupted.

"He says it is his right to accompany Father on his inspection tomorrow."

"Well, my son, he is to be the Steward one day.  He must learn the land and its people."

"But, Mother, it is dangerous out there.  Should not I go in his stead, for his protection?"

"No, child, 'tis his place, and he will return, I promise."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Years later, facing the river, Faramir silently cried, but, it should have been my right,
the ghost of his mother's words haunting him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 Bright Futures

"Boromir!"

The man in question heard his name and sighed in frustration.  Would the boy not learn?

"What?" he bellowed back from the arena. 

His sparring partner grinned, knowing that the distraction would be the future steward's downfall.  Sure enough, he found a hole and took advantage.  The fact that Boromir would take losing out on his brother was an added bonus.  Faramir made some of the soldiers uneasy, with his penchant for books rather than swords.

"Damn!  Look what…."  Boromir turned on his younger brother. 

Not yet out of his teens, Faramir had no sense of timing when a man was busy doing manly things.  He viewed swordplay as exactly that- play, and Boromir was tired of it.

"What was so infernally important that you caused me to lose the fight?" 

"I only wanted to tell you that lady Eldwyn has arrived and is asking after you."  Faramir smiled, seeing the shift in his brother's eyes.  Ah, yes, the one thing that meant more than swords, the fair daughter of lord Aldwulf. 

"Did she say…?"  Boromir was at a loss for words.  The answer to his proposal lay with the lady.

"She waits.  With her mother."  The implication was clear.

Boromir pick Faramir up and swung the smaller boy around, laughing with glee.  She says yes!  All the conniving of his father was come to naught.  The fair Eldwyn would be his bride, and not that pinch-faced sister of Denethor's friend.  Why, she was five years older than he was!  What kind of wife would she make? 

Rushing back to his rooms to bathe and prepare for dinner, Boromir ran through his head the hurdles on the path to their wedding.  He had two more years of training before he was free to wed.  Then, his father insisted on him spending another three years learning his duties as steward. 

Finishing up, he ran back down the stairs to the dining hall.  There she was, just as he remembered.  Her silky blond hair hanging in loose curls, a pale blue dress moulded against her slender body.  The epitome of beauty.

After dinner, they withdrew to Denethor's study to discuss dowry and bride price.  Their parents handling this part, Boromir and Eldwyn stared moonstruck at each other.  The hours passed as minutes.  They heard no one else.

Until a courier knocked on the door.

"Lord Denethor, I have a missive from Imladris."


~*~*~*~*~*~

Hope you enjoy them. 

 

Mar'isu,

It is NOT from the Princess Bride. As a matter of fact, I read the book and saw the movie and still did not get the references when someone would ask. I had to re-rent the movie. Ah, then the light dawned.

It is actually a bastardization of my real name. My nephew could not say Rheeta-Lou, and so it came out rous (pronounced rooz ) Since my mom and I shared a name, it stuck. She called me that, the Dude calls me that and my sister and a cousin all call me Rous. I hear it more than my real name.

Now, how about yours?????

PS, glad you liked the drabble. I stick mostly with elves and avoid Legolas like the plague, but this was just too juicy to pass on.

 

Maybe I'm missing something, but I never thought your name to be from the Princess Bride.  I just didn't recognize it at all.

As for mine.   Well . . . a long time ago (OK, about seven years now), in a junior high far, far away (hour and a half by car), a little girl was turning 13, and watched Star Wars for the first time.

This little girl decided she wanted to write about the beautiful world on the screen and set about writing (mostly bad) fan fiction which wasn't nearly as funny as she thought.  In the midst of this writing, I decided that I would create a character to be my avatar in the Star Wars universe.  I'd heard about the literary convention of the Mary Sue, and since that described what I thought I was doing, I named my Twil'lekk Jedi persona Mar'isu (Sounds just like Mary Sue only with a long "a").

In my defense, I have never written a true self-insertion.  Mar'isu appears in one fic of mine, an AU called "You Already Will" where Anakin survives the end of Return of the Jedi.  I love Leia, Padme, and Mara too much to take their men away from them, so Mar'isu is single and fine with that.

That was probably more than you ever wanted to know, but there you have it.

Mar'isu

 

Denethor and his sons, by your request! Have a great birthday!

Sights and Sounds of Spring

The wind which blows through the City has lost its edge; robins are singing merrily, trees are waving fresh green leaves, and everywhere, bright flowers are bursting into bloom.

Outside, I hear shrieks of glee from my sons – looking out the window, I see them below, in Finduilas' garden. Boromir is on all fours, roaring as if he were a monster, chasing Faramir. My youngest is not quite steady on his feet yet, but even from here, I can see the wide grin on his round face. Finduilas sits on a nearby bench, embroidery lying forgotten in her lap as she watches their antics.

Faramir trips and goes sprawling; for a moment, I think he is going to burst into indignant tears, but instead, he laughs delightedly, clapping his hands, and his mother and brother join in.

I smile at the three of them, then, to my surprise, Finduilas looks directly at me and smiles. She says something to the boys, pointing toward me, and they turn, waving frantically. I wave back, chuckling, wishing I could join them, but I have many things which need my attention today.

Then Finduilas begins to sing, an old sea ballad of a young bride who watches the shores for her husband's ship to return, and I must admire her subtle deviousness. She knows that I cannot resist her singing, that I will stop all else just to listen to her.

Feeling like a truant schoolboy, I leave the window and make my way down to the garden.

 

EdorasLass!

Bless you - that was perfect - so many delightful images... you caught me from the first flower blooming to the blooming of Denethor's truancy!

Thank you!

Agape

*goes off starry-eyed and heavily sighing*

 

I loved both of these Mar'isu...

I love the thought of Faramir being a loremaster.  I'd love to see more of him in that role, but we know he is in the battle of his life these days.  Thank you for that moment of peace...

And Thorongil and the wizard - hmmmm....  dearest Denethor.  And I loved Faramir's title here too - scholar son!

Very, very nice indeed!

Agape

 

Mar'isu,

Sorry about that.  Usually, they think it came from the book.  Rodents of Unusual Size.  Large man sized rats. I can see where they would get that.  But, nothing to do with it.  And, I like yours better.  LOL 

 

You're very welcome!  I think that even Denethor would be subject to a little spring fever.  g

 

Agape wanted a birthday drabble with Denethor and/or his sons.   Here's a late double-drabble of Denethor and a very young Faramir.  I'm not sure about how appropriately I used thee/thou, so any correction would be welcome.

Your Father Loves You

 

Look at you: a week in this world and already causing trouble.

Your mother nearly died to give you life; and still lies weakened. Against all odds, you survived, a small, mewling thing, and thrived, and now they tell me you will live. But she may not, my Finduilas, the light of my heart.

You were supposed to be a daughter, who I could watch grow in beauty and grace and never have to send out to battle as I will one day send your brother, the joy of my heart. We deserved a little girl, not another soldier.

Oh, do not gaze at me like that, my boy, with that sudden sage look in your clear grey eyes. I've seen that in the mirror; but in you it is just a baby trick. There is naught in you yet but hunger for milk and need for sleep.

Fear not, my littlest son. For now thou art safe. I can protect thee from harm, and assure thee has all that thou requires, even my thumb which thou grasps with such strength.

Would that I could keep thee safe forever! But even now, too close to our borders, our Enemy waits.

 

EdorasLass, what a delightfully happy image of the Steward's family. I've always enjoyed your portrayal of them and this drabble is no exception. The last line is what really killed me. It's hard to imagine Denethor as a truant schoolboy but you've made me do it.

Thank you for sharing!

Cheers,
Vistula

 

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!

Oh sure RAKSHA! Make me cry first thing in the morning.

You were supposed to be a daughter, who I could watch grow in beauty and grace and never have to send out to battle as I will one day send your brother, the joy of my heart. We deserved a little girl, not another soldier.

This line really got to me. I can just see Denethor, agonizing over his new little son, wishing for a girl to protect and nurture. I like the use of "girl" and "soldier" as if using the term soldier could distance him from the fact that this male child will likely one day sacrifice his life for Gondor.

*shivers*

Excellent!

Cheers,
Vistula

 

Hi everyone!

My scrumpty-umpth birthday is March 14, and 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.

Thank you!

- Barbara

 

Happy birthday, Agape, a little late!

I hope you find this drabble suitable to your request. "Nice" Denethor does not inspire me, and "nice" Faramir is too easy. So I give you Boromir at one of his most heroic and uncelebrated moments.

--Gandalfs apprentice

Tharbad Crossing

Half-drowned, bleeding, weeping as the wild water claimed his terrified, screaming horse, Boromir crawled onto the bank of the angry river.

He had lost horse, saddlebags and sword. He had now only the clothes on his back, his shield and, most precious, the great Horn of Gondor. What madness sent me on this mindless quest? Father was right—our despair compels us to chase moonbeams.

Then he remembered his brother's hopeful face as he spoke of the voice of the dream and the far light in the West. Whatever awaits me in the North, I will find it. For Gondor!

 

Happy birthday, Forodwaith! A drabble about the making of the Elessar.

--Gandalfs apprentice

Elfstone

The smith let the still-dark stone cool after the forging of the eagle's wings. Then, cradling it in his palm, he awakened its hidden power with his breath. 

At a quiet pond rimmed with moss and ferns, he dipped the stone into the water's green-gold depths and felt the power surge. He raised the stone to the light of the sky:

Jewel, heal wounds of despair;
Light, renew all worthy arts.
Eagle, bring hope to the children;
Fire, rekindle barren hearts.

In his exultant fingers a green sun blazed in the span of the fierce eagle's wings. It was done.

 

 

I like this one.  I'd forgotten Boromir's comment about losing his horse at Tharbad, but it must have been a terrifying event.  It amazes me that there are still unexplored canon moments like this!

Jay

 

GA, the Elfstone drabble was original and well-done, but it's Tharbad Crossing that thoroughly engaged me. Wow - excellent and heart-rending piece of work. And I just loved, loved, loved, Boromir's finding renewed inspiration in the memory of Faramir's hope in "the dream and the far light in the West". You link Faramir's connection to hope and dreams with Boromir's fierce determination and physical prowess, and at that instant the brothers, separated by distance, are united.

I will now go and sniffle quietly into my handkerchief over Boromir and Faramir never being physically reunited again....


RAKSHA THE DEMON

 

You may not be a Denethor/Boromir fan, but you sure can write one heck of a drabble.  Well done.

Tari

 

Thanks, Tari, Raksha, Jay, for your kind words about my drabble.

I am a fan of both Denethor and Boromir in my own way: I like writing about them as interesting characters. They just don't grab my heart the way many of the other characters do!

Tolkien says that the heroism of Boromir's journey was understated in LotR, so I thought I'd give him his due.

G.A. 

 

Very funny! Somehow, I do believe Legolas would think this way. Does remind me a little of my own reaction when I first read certain fanfic about Elves--the lack of beards and chest hair wasn't too disturbing, but they don't even have hair there?

 

Nice work. I love the line:

"He's got more metal on him than the blacksmith," insisted Sam. "Knives and a whole sword and that broken one, too. Does an honest fellow need all that?"

Wish I had written it.

 

Hmmmm....dark beings being dark. I think I might be able to manage that.

Happy belated birthday, Barbara. I had every intent of posting this on time, but found myself desperately under the weather yesterday.

Hope you...er...enjoy it?

Cheers!
Vistula

~~~~~

Temptation

Hunger gnaws my middle, whispers in my head, just like the circle of gold that sparkles against cousin Frodo’s chest.

Apples, it promises. Roast mutton… cheese… bitter ale, as fine as you please… pipeweed by the barrel…

How long has it been since we supped, hours? Seems like days…

Bread and butter… strawberries and cream… pie

Strider doesn’t care, doesn’t know an empty belly’s aching. Men don’t feel hunger like hobbits do…

Fowl and stuffing… wine…hot tea…

Cold, weary, starved in body and mind, I slide one leaden foot before the other.

Claim me Peregrin! You’ll never know hunger again…

 

Hi Vistula!

Oh, don't worry a bit about it being "late" -- I posted my request late. (I'm trying to ignore this birthday.) Besides, one day hardly qualifies as late!

This is delightful! I especially enjoyed the unexpected nature of who this "dark" creature is -- what a pleasant surprise!

But, it did have the unpleasant side effect of making me very hungry!

Thank you so much!

- Barbara

P.S. I'll set up a birthday card story today....
Edit: Done! Story added to the HASA Birthday Cards workshop....

 

A gift for Elena Tiriel.  You said something for elves.  I hope this fits the bill.  Elrond pacing his study waiting on the mail.

 A Gifting


Looking out, he felt something missing. Try as he might, he could not find the contentment that was once his. It was stripped away, and until matters were set to right, all would remain in a state of disarray. His home founded upon sanctuary, he felt vulnerable. .

The courier mounting the steps outside drew his attention. Suddenly hesitant, he waited, his hands shaking. Would this be the letter that destroyed his hopes, or allayed his fears?
Breaking the delicate seal, he read it, a tear coursing down his face. A gift more precious than life itself: her acceptance.

 

Hi Rous!

Oh, this is absolutely delightful! I really felt Elrond's unease... and his mounting panic as he saw the courier approach! And you ended the drabble on the perfect high note... which left *me* with a tear in my eye. Very nicely written!

Thank you!

- Barbara

 

Elena,

You are most welcome.  Just one of my little musings.  I have a million more where that came from (but, I will keep them to myself, mostly.  LOL). 

 

Happy birthday, Elena Tiriel! If you consider Shadowfax one of the Rohirrim, I think this fits your request. I don't know how obscure the canon needs to be to meet with your appreciation?

--Gandalfs apprentice 

 

Chivalry

On the first day, the grey stallion danced like wind across the field, his hooves spattering the wanderer with mud. What insolent beggar is this to claim the Lord of Horses?

On the second day, curiosity delayed his flight. What manner of man lies beneath those rags?

At the next day's dawn the grey one spoke to him in a strange tongue, courteous and rich with reverence for all growing things. Brother, I have need of your strength and speed. Will you not lend them to me? 

Shadowfax bowed his neck before the man's deep eyes. Brother, you may ride.

 

 

Hi GA!

Squeeeeeeeeeeee! Shadowfax and Gandalf! Oh, this is just perfect! Who can possibly be more "of the light" than the Grey Wanderer and the Lord of the Mearas?

I especially like Shadowfax's intelligent, growing curiosity, and desire to know more about this strange, persistent creature. And "courteous and rich with reverence for all growing things" so beautifully characterizes Gandalf!

Thank you, GA, for such a lovely birthday gift!

- Barbara

 

Thank you, Gandalf's apprentice! What a fascinating look at the moment of creation, and I love the poem your smith recites.

 

A Gimli & Legolas drabble. I've never written Legolas before -- hope I did him justice for you.

A Pledge of Good Will

"It is finished," Gimli announced.

Legolas looked up as the dwarf held forth the crystal casket, jointed with gold and set with splendid topazes, that encased the lock of Galadriel's hair. It should have been too rich; yet it was delicate and airy, enhancing the living gold it cradled.

The light of the lust for beauty kindled in Legolas' face. "Now I can almost understand the love of gold."

"We shall make a dwarf of you yet, my friend," Gimli said.

 "Nay, Master Gimli, I would say that you are becoming almost elvish. That is craftwork worthy of Celebrimbor himself."

 

My birthday is on the 24th. I would like to see a drabble about Aragorn as Strider or Thorongil.

Thanks, Chris

 

Frodowaith,

I'm not entirely sure this fits the bill, but it was inspired by your request, so I hope you enjoy it anyway! Oh, and it's almost a tribble. :-) ~Lady A~

A Shirt for Legolas

~*~

"A shirt for Legolas." Her father had said. It should be a simple thing. Yet it was not; had not been. Her fingers fumbled over the loom for a week, the fine silk cloth forming with her errors still intact. She ran her fingers over the small slubs again. Tears filled her eyes. She would rent the fabric in two! More! In twenty, if need be, and he would never know how inadequate she was!

He found her there, weeping over the loom.

He was alarmed at first and ran to kneel next to her.

"Thêl! What is the matter? Are you hurt?"

"I can not do it, Leg'las," she hiccupped. "Father said to make you a shirt for your journey, and it comes out like this!"

She showed him the silver fabric and all its tiny flaws.

"You wove this for me?" She nodded solemnly.

"Then it is perfect in every way," he smiled. "I shall wear it proudly."

Her lower lip quivered, and the tears that welled up in her eyes threatened to spill over once more.

"You will?" She hiccupped again.

He laughed, "Of course I will, if you finish it. I shall tell everyone I meet, 'my sister made this for me'." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I will even tell Lady Arwen and she is a weaver of great renown.  She will see the care that has gone into it and find it just as beautiful as I do."

"Oh, Legolas!" she threw her arms around his neck. "I love you!"

He hugged her close. "I love you too, Thêl." And then he thought the words he did not say: I know not what awaits me at the council, but what joy to keep your work, woven with love, stained with your tears, close to my heart.

 

Yay! I love this.  It's a good moment of friendship that still has the two disagreeing every other line. Thank you.

Mar'isu

 

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