4. Elves Through the Ages
Music of the Ainur
As the flame roared higher, the music expanded into the void.
As light and sound met, matter condensed. Born from fire and song, Arda grew into lands of greens and blues, fields and forests, mountains and glens.
Hand in hand, the Ainur gathered to sing life into form and shape.
From the music, words grew: a story.
The plot thickened and there was love in Arda, honesty, valour and dreams.
But then Melkor’s discord struck and destroyed that heavenly harmony.
Now there was hate, disrespect, loneliness and strife.
The way the world is today.
But still the Ainur keep singing.
To Honour Elbereth Gilthoniel
“What is that?” The elven woman looked at the object on the table.
It looked like an anvil. It was roughly the size of one, too. But it was not made of iron. It consisted of a crumbly, partially blackened substance, and it was covered with something…
“That is a cake,” Nerdanel declared. “To honour the Lady Elbereth for the spring festival. It even has icing on top!”
Once he made up his mind, no diversion would distract him from his goal.
It was the night of the spring festival. He watched the forest trail and waited.
Tonight he would lead her to his bed. Tonight he would feel her pure body writhing under his. His eyes flashed like heated steel.
Suddenly she was there. It looked as if she had stepped right out of the mist drifting up between the trees. She was soft, like the mists that parted around her. But she was also fiery, like the stars in the sky.
“Nerdanel! You look beautiful tonight!”
Fire and Water: For Allie
Metal and stone are my tools. Fire and water to temper the steel. Whetstone to sharpen the blade. The blade to carve jewels.
Without fire and water, heat and cold, no blade will be hard and sharp and beautiful.
Yet like weds like.
And yet… what is a sword without a jewel in its hilt? A ring without its diamond?
I stare at my father. Stubborn.
I feel Fëanor’s gaze upon me. There is steel in his eyes. I will be the fire and the water to temper this steel.
“I will have him,” I say. “Or none!”
Eärendil tried not to show fear, as the elvish guards led him to stand before the thrones of his judges. He hoped that they would not notice the way his hands trembled. He hoped that they did not see how he had to fight to hold back his tears.
Please, he thought, let me go home to see my wife again, and my sons!
But when he faced the Valar, standing alone in the square that was Máhanaxar, the only thing he said was: “Please, save Middle-earth!”
He remained silent, even when the ritual words of his sentence were proclaimed.
Lice, Edar and Edain
It was a dirty war. There was no other word for it. It was a dirty war and an ugly war.
Seven years in the dust and the stones of the plains of Gorgoroth. And still there was no end in sight.
Eldar and edain, side by side, in the tents and the trenches.
Eldar and edain… and the damn louse did not know the difference…
Gil-galad scratched his behind with a vengeance. Ahhhh… easy does it… The elf-lord sighed deeply with relief.
This only shows , the elf mused, that all of us are Eru’s children, Firstborn and aftercomers alike.
The objective was so clear in the beginning: get back the silmaril, restore the light of the trees, heal what was marred.
The reason was beyond any doubt. Evil must be defeated – and they had the courage and the weapons to see to that.
That was why they swore their oath.
That was why they declared themselves exiles.
That was why not even the lives of their kin could hinder them.
So many deaths lay between the oath and today, so many tears had been cried since Alqualondë…
Objectives and reasons were hazy today.
And Arda Marred – home.
“Greetings, my lady,” he said lightly.
He had heard about her. A war-leader of the Noldor, a magician of unfathomable powers… and, he realized, as he looked at her now, an extremely beautiful woman.
He offered her both hands in the gesture of greeting traditionally exchanged between Sindarin leaders.
She met his gaze without hesitation.
Her eyes shimmered in an almost turquoise shade like exquisite jewels. There was power in her gaze, cold and heat, intelligence and temperament. But there was more to her, he suspected. A hint of shadow? Sadness? Grief? Loneliness?
She touched his hands.
“I am Galadriel.”
It had not been easy to gain the golden-haired elf’s attention. In the end, the young elleth mused, only her prowess with bow and arrow had made Legolas notice her.
But now she was down on the ground, pinned under his body. He grunted, adjusting his position. She flailed her arms helplessly as he tightened his grip.
Then, at last, when she thought she could bear it no longer, her time came: she delivered a kick into his groin and was back on her feet.
Galdhremmin combat practice made her ready to take on almost anything and anyone – even Legolas.
What’s-His-Name (Legolas drabble 2)
“Look, that was really not necessary,” Legolas hissed at her.
She stared at her training partner, trying to keep calm. She would never admit it, but now that she finally had caught the attention of this aloof elf from the distant realm of Eryn Lasgalen, she was nervous.
“I was taught to use the most effective means at my disposal in close combat,” she replied.
“Yes, of course, but…” He seemed rather angry. “Who are you, anyway?”
She frowned at him. Sometimes those Mirkwood elves could be so infuriating!
“Don’t you think you should tell me who you are first?”
Arwen cautiously sidled away from her father’s desk. She looked at her ada out of the corners of her eyes, at the same time anxiously and guiltily – and yet, there was a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Would he notice the parchment with her artwork soon? Would he like it? Or would he yell like mad?
She was not quite sure what reaction she preferred. But she waited eagerly for whatever reaction she would get.
An hour later a roar shattered the quiet of Imladris.
“WHO IN ERU’S NAME PAINTED MULES AND MONKEYS ON THE REPORT FROM MINAS TIRITH?”
A Homely House, A Happy House
It was the sound of laughter that woke her.
Her home was a happy house, but the weight of the past and the future rested on it; a sombre responsibility at the best of times.
Now, her doll clutched firmly in her arms, Arwen followed the sound of laughter. But when she reached the Hall of Fire, the room was silent.
Arwen’s eyes grew very round. Her Ada was standing there! He was going to sing!
Much later, strong arms picked up an elfling who had fallen asleep hidden away in a corner and carried her away, back to bed.
Love of my Life – A Galadriel Drabble
This midsummer’s night held the promise of new beginning.
How many of these nights had he seen in his life?
He could not remember. All his centuries had been busy, filled with the comings and goings of Arda and her endless battles…
He was tired. Yet he could not give in to this fatigue; not while his wife laboured on, undaunted, determined to keep an oath she had not even sworn.
So he renewed his oath, just like every midsummer’s eve since he met her.
To have and to hold, from this day onwards, until her white ship would sail…
“You will find him changed; you might not even recognize him from my description,” Elrond cautioned his daughter.
Arwen glared at her father. As if she would not recognize her foster-brother… She might have not seen him very often, spending most of her time in Lothlórien. But not recognize him? Unthinkable.
“Don’t make such a fuss, ada,” she retorted. “Of course I will know him.”
When Aragorn stood in front of her, she did recognize him. She knew she would recognize him anywhere, anytime. And that was a change that made her catch her breath in a deep, surprised gasp.
Aragorn rode into the small copse and dismounted. Rivendell was a day’s ride behind him. Not far enough.He clenched his fists. What could he do, except comply with Elrond’s wishes?
Aragorn understood the righteousness of it. He accepted it.
A life for many lives. A life for a world saved, for a throne won.
His heart said this was more than just. The same heart that could not bear the thought that his love would one day kill his beloved. The same heart that was determined to win that prize nevertheless.
Who was he to know what was right?
The trees of this foreign country did not know him – he could not tell if that saddened him or relieved him. However, the watchfulness of the dark crows wheeling above them definitely did bother him.
During his watch Legolas moved uneasily among broken boulders that might have been buildings once. As he placed his hands on the stones, an icy draught swept through his hand. He drew back quickly. He knew it was only a ghost of an ancient time; but the pain he felt was still real and perhaps would never fade.
This was Hollin that once was Eregion.
Sunshiny Maiden: Galadriel
How would it be, their reunion, he mused. Would she be fierce, the way he first knew her?Or would she be sombre as he last saw her?
He hoped that during the century of their separation the blessing of Aman soothed her pain. He hoped that his own sunshiny maiden would welcome him on those white shores.
Thus he spent the weeks of the voyage: hoping.
The ship puts to shore, his hope is put to the test.
A shout of joy, a rush of air – golden curls flow over his arms and hot lips search for his.
Eärendil’s Memories: Seen From Afar – a drabble and a half
He stared off across the sea. With every grey wave he watched washing up against the remnants of the quays, his memories wandered back farther in time:
back to bleak-bright days witnessed from afar.
The days of Eregion in bloom: red berries bright against gleaming, dark green leaves – brilliant golden rings held in a hand blackened by fire.
That was the way Celebrimbor had come into the history of Arda as well: idolized his skills and his love, brilliant against the darkness of his forge and the shadow of the deceiver, gleaming just like his rings in the dark ashes of his forge.
That was also the way Celebrimbor was carried out of the history of Arda: bright-white in the darkening sky with his broken body wound around the standard of Sauron.
He had not been there.
But he had seen it, from afar:
bleak-bright days of Eregion in bloom.
Sacrifice (A “Tides of Time”-drabble)
Legolas did not hear the disputes raised in the Ring of Doom. His eyes were on Nihil and Elrond, meeting again, meeting again after whatever had happened between them in Alqualondë…
Elrond stared at the girl. The girl stared at the elf-lord.
Their hands met in polite greeting.
Their hold on each other tightened.
The shock of the touch flared through them like lightning.
Their gaze was on fire, but their expression was equally bewildered.
Legolas closed his eyes. They had no idea what had happened that moonlit night in Alqualondë…
And he was in no position to tell them!
Passion in the Moonlight (A “Tides of Time”-drabble)
“Some respite, my lord, please,” she gasped, exhausted from the night’s moonlit passion.
He stroked back her sweaty hair, curling in dark knots down to her shoulders and around the high mounds of her breasts.
His smile held just a hint of danger; his eyes glinted with a fiery light that was not quite devious, but almost.
He did not answer, but kept his silence. Instead he leaned forward, bringing his body so close to hers that she felt his heat against the most sensitive spot of her body.
And she knew that the night’s passion was not yet spent.
Aim Well (A “Tides of Time”-drabble)
He stroked her skin. Desire raced through his body in a wave of heat that made his thela stir. He traced the blue veins shimmering beneath her pale skin. His fingertips trailed scars that would forever remind him of the night when her blood had gushed across his hands in hot floods.
Her skin was an intricate picture of love and life.
A map of the roads they had travelled together.
A territory they had forged in many nights of shared passion.
She shuddered against him and gasped, “Nock your arrow now, melethron nîn! And let it fly!”
– He obeyed.
Answer to a Prayer (A “Tides of Time”-drabble)
His hard length pressed against her and she welcomed him. A flood of warmth bore him up and towed him in. The currents of her body undulated underneath him. Her heartbeat an inexorable rhythm, a tide that swept away all thought, all limitations of body and soul and heavenly law.
Inside her he drowned in her heat, but was held, held – forever in her body, in her love.
In a great release he spent his fruitfulness inside her womb. As he cried out “Oh Valar” and collapsed over her body, he knew that his seed would take root and flourish.
Water on my Skin (A “Tides of Time”-drabble)
His caresses were like water… pearlescent on her skin… and as he grew fiercer and harder, she felt herself becoming soft… she was virtually liquefying under his hands… she exhaled her passion in a sound that was more than a gasp, more than a moan… it was a scream, a joyful ululation that was born from an almost painful happiness… a happiness she could not contain within her… that had to burst forth from her skin – in kisses, in moans, in many touches…
There was no limit to her love, there never would be.
Neither in life, nor in death.
Dancing Quills (A “Tides of Time”-drabble)
The sound of laughter penetrated his musings. His quill hesitated in its scratching journey on the parchment. Slowed. Stopped. Continued its even flow of tengwar, indigo ink on cream-coloured parchment.
But again: giggles, bubbles of sound, floating into his study.
He frowned, then smiled and put down the quill. He who relied too much on duty might miss so much. He had learned his lesson.
He stepped outside. There she was: his wife, with his children on her hips, twirling round and round in a merry dance.
He held out his hands. “May I ask for a dance, my ladies?”
Elentar, son of Elrohir – (A “Return of the Shadow”- drabble)
He was at a complete loss. He had no idea how to proceed from here. He remembered the light of love in the eyes of his parents. But for himself, all alone in this strange and foreign world… he had given up on light. He had forced himself to forget about friendship or love.
But now… she was here. Kind, for no reason at all. Willing to help him, for no reason at all. Reaching out to him, for no reason at all.
And especially, speaking to him in his native tongue, Sindarin.
Who the hell are you?
Sneak Preview of “The Return of the Shadow”
The time has come.
An icy touch of darkness, he reaches out –
and with a soft sigh the Doors of the Night open.
Where his breath touches the golden ground of Aman, all life withers.
Unseen, unsubstantial, sustained by the endless power of the Void, he creeps up on them in their silken palaces and silver domes.
Valar… your time has come.
This time, no one will aid your children. They will die with your names upon their lips. But there will be no summons to lead them to the Halls of Rebirth.
This time, forever means eternity.
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.