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Title: The Twelve Days of Tolkien - Drabble Series (#3257)
Author: greywing
Chapters: 12
Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Based on a challenge on an external site. Estel gets stuck in an oak tree, Elrond joins the hobbits in a prank, Denethor suffers, Feanor obsesses, Arwen weeps, and Eomer and Lothiriel fall in love. A mix of humour and angst.
Published: 14 Jan 2007
Updated: 14 Jan 2007
Warnings: some wizard-bashing and much silliness
Type: General
Characters: Elrond;Arwen;Legolas;Estel;Gandalf;Glorfindel; etc
Chapter 1 - Stuck
Many thanks to Willow of GoI for her great idea!
On the first day of Christmas, my dear muse sent to me
Young Estel in an oak tree
Estel hastily ducked behind a clump of leaves as a very annoyed Elrond came striding through the garden, calling his name. He held his breath as Elrond passed under the oak, and was sorely disappointed when he looked up sharply.
“Estel,” said Elrond in a voice that boded doom for any who dared disobey. “Come down. This very instant.”
Knowing better than to resist, the child sullenly moved to comply, but the branch creaked and swayed precariously under his weight. Suddenly, he ground seemed terribly far down indeed.
“I can’t,” he cried, clinging in fear to the branch. “I’m stuck.”
Chapter 2 - Parting
On the second day of Christmas, my dear muse sent to me
Arwen’s sad tears
They walked in silence together. Strange, now they no longer had forever to speak, that no words came. Elrond’s eyes never left Arwen, gathering every precious detail to hoard for all eternity. To his eyes she appeared pale and wan, and it seemed that some of the brilliance had faded out of her grey eyes.
Tears glittered in those silvery pools now, and Elrond could not bear it; this fair face was not meant for sadness.
“Do not cry, “ he said, reaching out to touch Arwen’s cheek.
His own were wet with the first tears in five hundred years.
Chapter 3 - Message
On the third day of Christmas, my dear muse sent to me
Faramir’s dream
It was not the first of such prophetic visions, nor likely to be the last. This one, however, differed greatly from its predecessors. Previously, there were symbols – ravens for death, blackness for the encroaching Shadow. No such images this time; only a great voice speaking, neither male nor female, soft, yet commanding.
The voice had spoken of lost heirlooms, a mystical realm, and a forgotten race, things even stranger than any of the strange dreams he was wont to have. The words he could not forget, and surfaced often in his mind. A sign, but he knew not of what.
Chapter 4 - Blunt
On the fourth day of Christmas, my dear muse sent to me
Gimli's first axe
Glóin smiled indulgently as his young son reached out in awe to take the gift. The child’s fingers brushed against his callused palm, and he swelled with pride, for already they were rough and worn from much smith-work.
“It’s blunt,” complained the child, fingering the blade.
“’Course it is! Can’t have you chopping off your own head, can we?”
“But you can’t kill orcs with a blunt axe,” protested Gimli, swinging the weapon about experimentally. He had a natural feel for it, and Glóin knew he’d make a fine warrior some day.
“’Course you can,” he grinned. “Want to learn?”
Chapter 5 - Obsession
On the fifth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me
Feanor's love!
He lifts them carefully out of their casket, and his eyes betray his joy at seeing them again. He is almost tender towards them, stroking them, watching their light play on his fingers, whispering to them. He does not quite show so much love to me, these days.
Am I jealous? Admittedly, they are without compare. Their brilliance, purer than starlight, reverberates through my very soul. Yet, I fear they will bring great sorrow to us all.
He sees me, and frowns – he dislikes others seeing them. I breathe deeply, and step forward, to plead with my beloved once more.
Chapter 6 - Sailing
On the sixth day of Christmas my dear muse sent to me
Legolas sailing
The Sea! Ever has its song plagued my heart, whispering promises of a land beyond. It laps at my feet now, bidding me hurry.
I turn my gaze back to, to Ithilien’s woods. I see in my mind the Greenwood, verdant , unblemished, and my dear father, who will doubtless join me in time. I see Gondor, and Elessar, who has long passed away. Ai, to leave all this behind! But the longing now is too strong, too urgent.
A low grunt interrupts my thoughts, and reminds me that I dally.
At least, I do not leave these shores alone.
Chapter 7 - Romance
On the seventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me
Éomer and ‘Thiri
He saw her at dinner, raven locks spilling into the dessert. She spotted him at the dance, gravely hopping to a graceful tune.
He sought her out in the garden. Flattered, she peered shyly at him, discreetly wiping syrup from her hair. He asked her how she liked the food. She replied that it’d been fine, but she wished there had been lobster. She liked lobsters. He supposed he could afford them quite regularly. She giggled, thinking him very charming.
They kissed in the darkness, and did a great many things besides. Imrahil found them.
They wed the next spring.
Chapter 8 - Portent
On the eighth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me
Birds in the white Tree
Denethor burst out of the stifling room, away from the Stone, away from the horror he had seen. He staggered down shadowed corridors, past cold stone pillars, past the surprised guards into the Court of the Fountain, into the light and open air. Only the sun’s rays were pale and sickly behind a dark cloud, and the air reeked of smoke. He knew what burned.
He sank down by the Fountain, and saw in its reflection the dying Tree. Three carrion crows sat brazenly on its topmost branches, their beady eyes filled with malice. Portents of death. Hope fled him.
Chapter 9 - Spider!
On the ninth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me
Béma and Shelob
Elrond winced as the Rohirric bard struck another jarring chord and launched into an off-key account of Béma’s pursuit of Shelob through the lands of Arda.
He was startled by Glorfindel snorting rudely into his cup.
Frowning, he whispered, “My friend, I understand the music is harsh to Elven ears, but surely you can give them some credit for their efforts?”
“You would laugh also,” replied Glorfindel, “If you knew the true reason for Oromë’s hatred.”
Elrond did indeed chuckle, when he learnt how a certain infant spider had crawled into the Valar’s boot and bitten him on the toe.
Chapter 10 - Bride
On the tenth day of Christmas my dear muse gave to me
Tulkas and Nessa
‘Round and round she spun on the verdant lawn, light and graceful as one of those multicolored, tiny flying beasts, those recent fruits of Yavanna’s mind, which now swirled in rainbow clouds above Nessa’s head. The light of the Lamps illuminated her face and hair, and she laughed as she danced. It was like a balm to Tulkas, so weary after many labors. She was as lithe and quick-footed as he, thought Tulkas, and equally given to joy. Yet she was also different from him, being gentler of temper and more patient of mind. A perfect complement; a perfect bride.
Chapter 11 - Pipeweed
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me
Two hobbits pranking Gandalf
Quietly, the duo snuck into Gandalf’s empty room; the wizard had gone to another of his numerous meetings with the elves.
“You sure this will work, Pippin?” asked Merry, as they searched the room for Gandalf’s pouch of pipeweed. “He’s a wizard, and might not react like Fatty did.”
“Don’t be silly, Merry,” scoffed Pippin, as he triumphantly produced the item from a drawer. “He gets hungry and tired like everybody else, so there’s no reason why he shouldn’t. Pity about wasting all that pipeweed, though.”
**
Elrond wrinkled his nose as he passed the wizard’s door. Apparently Mithrandir was indulging in that distasteful habit again. Yet, something struck him as being not quite right. Tentatively, he took a longer sniff, and recognized the new constituent with some alarm. Hurrying into the room, he met the sight of Mithrandir sprawled on the floor, a silly grin plastered on his face, the reeking pipe forgotten in his hand. Quite aware of the low snickering coming from just outside the window, and deciding that his friend, for once, deserved as good as he got (and then some), he grabbed an ewer from the nearby washstand and emptied it unceremoniously over Mithrandir’s head.
Chapter 12 - Vanity
On the twelfth day of Christmas my dear muse gave to me
Vain Asfaloth
Glorfindel sighed as he carefully stitched another gem onto the leather. How had it come to this? Oh yes, Arwen and her brilliant idea of sewing bells and jewels onto her mare’s bridle. Now half the horses in the stables absolutely refused to budge from their stalls unless similarly bedecked. Asfaloth, of course, fancied himself king of the stable, and would settle for nothing less than extravagant.
Asfaloth’s hot breath blew into his hair, making him look up.
“Patience, Asfaloth.” The vain creature had already rejected eight previous headstalls, and Glorfindel decided it would make matters easier if he did his work where the horse could see it.
He added the last stitch and held the bridle up to the light. It glittered so much his eyes hurt. Asfaloth whickered in approval and lowered his head for Glorfindel to fit the bridle on.
“I hope you are happy,” said Glorfindel as he adjusted the straps. “I shall look like an utter fool, and that is half my fortune on your pretty head. Now, what about a ride?”
Asfaloth was only too pleased to comply, and before long the sound of elvish laughter and silver bells were ringing through the woods.
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