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[ford-of-bruinen.livejournal.com]

 I know that not all of you who were lovely enough to make me icons before Christmas asked for something in return. But, I decided to write you all a drabble each anyway. I can’t do pretty icons but I can do drabbles, I think :) They do however get angstier as they go along.

Patricia, I know you gave me an icon before I asked but I thought it only fair that you received a drabble as well. It is Maedhros’ point of view and called Hope

Hope:

They are sleeping. We broke their world, tearing apart what they had known in their short life, as we did with their uncles. But these twins live, warmly wrapped in blankets, given the warmest places by the fire. I will not kill another child for this madness.

Macalaure watches me. He took them in, knowing what they would do to me. They are forcing me to live, to feel again, these foundlings of war - scared of their own shadows. Perhaps I see my redemption in them, easing my conscience of what I became after you fell. They give me hope.

Nienna, your drabble is non-elfy, it is a bit odd and takes place sometime after the end of the War of Wrath.

Snow

The northern lights are dancing in the quiet night, a path of the dead moving to the west, for rest, for penance, for rebirth. This is a silent land, filled of melancholy.

Here lies the shell of a the great dragon, huge ivory bones rising from glittering snow and ice. An eyeless skull buried deep under a mountain of ice. Hoarfrost decorates the bones in silver patterns, gleaming in the faint starlight.

A battle was fought once, in the sky, above this place - and the dragon fell, lost. A beautiful creation smashed upon the ground, now only the bones remain.

Tarion, your drabble is about Elladan’s choice but more melancholy than angsty I hope.

Mortality

I watch the sunset fading, night spreading across the sky, lighting stars. My brother sailed. The last of my kin has left. It caused us endless rows as ears were passing, his choice and mine debated in heated voices. Hers we already knew.

He sailed after our sister died, chosing, as he always wanted, kin and family and immortal life. I lingered, watching over a fading valley, empty of life and voices. She was buried here, many years ago, already married when we met. I will not leave my heart alone. I will die and go wherever she is waiting.

Agie, this is the best I could do…. Not too angst just…weird… I think (enis claimed it was cute if that counts). It is about cats… sort of…

Cats

Curled in front of the fire, warm, cosy. Satisfied after successful day, three mice caught, softened and then eaten, two sparrows likewise. Rain started, not good; hearth better, dry. Getting sleepy.  Milk served by slave, morning and night. I trained him well.

Tevildo taught us well, to disguise our otherness as furry creatures, sleek, beautiful, fluffy when newborn, it makes us welcome into the homes of elves and men. Good slaves, it is all they are good for. Give me cream before I claw you, pitiful ‘master’. Now - I do not like waiting.

Corrupting them , unnoticed, until they worship Tevildo.

Riina, yours is, as requested Thranduil. Starting with his father’s death.

The dead marshes

It happened fast. One breath he stood, facing darkness, the second breath fallen, trodden in mud. One moment and reality turned.

Grief was choked by war and death, blood and broken bodies scattering the ground. There was no time to feel, I was King. And beyond the mud and blood and broken bodies, under rain that fell for weeks on end, the war was won.

I returned there, thinking to see my father’s grave. I found a marsh, where the dead had lit their candles, luring the innocent into their graves. Is this what came of the defeat of evil?

Jane, for you I wrote the death of Aegnor in a sort of abstract way…

The sharp flame

The sudden flame spread quickly, unexpectedly, cutting through defences long grown lax with age. The blaze laid waste to the land and the scent of flesh burning clung to the air.

The blackness poured from the iron gates, wrought if flames. The dark one had emptied his halls and cellars, throwing his creatures against us, snakes breathing fire, valarauka and those he had twisted beyond recognition.

The battle raged for days, fires laying waste to Dorthinion as defences, unprepared for such power and rage, shattered. Severed from kin they fought and died. The sharp flame fell in the roaring fires.

Jai, yours is a very dark Maglor drabble which Enis claims is creepy…

A harp

I was greatest bard that the Noldoli ever knew. My voice was rich and clear and strong as I sang of love and joy, of tears and grief and other things that then were yet to come and my fingers flew across the strings of my harp of gilded wood.

After centuries of silence, my voice is rough and raw and hands that once were long and lithe are misshapen, ugly claws. And where once I played on wood and gold and strings of twisted wire, the harp I hold now in my hands is made of guts and bone.