Forgotten Drabbles.
Firstly an observation - it is clear, when you look at my journal, that I was off work for the first week of this year - I posted every day. And then I went back to work...
It occurred to me that I posted a single drabble here at Halloween, as it was most certainly seasonal - Adding Insult to Injury - but it was actually the first one of a set.
So now I have got around to posting the whole set. They feature Tindómë in conversation with the sons of Elrond...
I have included that first one as well -
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
Adding Insult to Injury
“The Rohirrim have a tradition of guising at the equinox,” Elladan said. “There is some mystery to the equality of day and night that causes them to dress as the ghosts of their past… or caricatures of their enemies.”
“So when we stumbled…” Elrohir got no further.
“We never stumble. We walked slowly…”
“Walked slowly into the hamlet on that night, hoping for a chance to rest…”
“We were beaten off, unwanted, from the first house we approached…”
“And he was nearly crippled by a blow to his knee…”
“By a small goblin, and his grandmother, wielding a frying pan!”
……………………..
It Takes One to Know One
“Have you ever met a werewolf?” Tindómë asked her hosts.
“We have met, and bested, wolves, direwolves and wargs…” said Elrohir, “but I do not know about werewolves.”
“Um - they are shape changers - like the Beornings, but wolves not bears,” she explained. “Well, maybe not quite like the Beornings… werewolves lose all their sense of themselves when they change, they remember nothing except to fight, to kill…” she said.
“I have heard of none like that in this part of Middle Earth,” said Elladan.
“Not wolves,” he heard his brother’s inner voice, “But for too long, otherwise, that was us…”
……………………..
It was a Dark and Stormy Night...
“Remember Thuringwethil?”
Tindómë knew her history.
“No… the encounter! Although we had spoken of her that day; great leather wings, iron claws..."
Elladan paused, then continued dramatically, “It was a dark and stormy night. I was ahead; I heard a scream! I turned - he was caught, a leathery embrace. He fought, sword slashing…”
“Metal had ripped my skin,” Elrohir said, “the blood was in my eyes…”
“I could not help…” Elladan continued, “for laughing!”
“Laughing?” she echoed.
“Laughing. His foe, his vampire foe, the leather sail-cloth from the nearby wind-mill’s arm!”
She hadn’t known, before, that an elf could blush.
……………………………
... But Not Forgotten
“There was a barrow-wight…” Elladan said, “during the worst of times.”
He shivered, then continued. “We had fought and killed, fought and killed, orc after orc, for days without end, until we hardly knew who we were let alone where we were. When we were drawn by that embodied darkness we could not resist and would have, surely, joined them had Old Tom not saved us. As he did others, Eru be thanked.”
“Orcs, in the Barrow-downs?” Tindómë questioned. “I haven’t heard of orcs there.”
“Not since,” said Elrohir. “They came to feared us just as we feared the wight…”
…………………………….
A Haunted Look
They had met ghosts, of course. Even before they trod the Paths of the Dead they had encountered such whispery remembrances of men and, once or twice, the lost fëar of elves.
But, when the living foes had brought no fears, why would they have feared the ghosts?
Yet, as Tindómë got to know the brothers better, she realised that there were ghosts that travelled with them still; that haunted them even now. Their bodies showed no scars, their smiles came readily; but, nonetheless, behind those deep and star-filled eyes there flitted, now and then, the ghosts of their selves.
................................
It occurred to me that I posted a single drabble here at Halloween, as it was most certainly seasonal - Adding Insult to Injury - but it was actually the first one of a set.
So now I have got around to posting the whole set. They feature Tindómë in conversation with the sons of Elrond...
I have included that first one as well -
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
Adding Insult to Injury
“The Rohirrim have a tradition of guising at the equinox,” Elladan said. “There is some mystery to the equality of day and night that causes them to dress as the ghosts of their past… or caricatures of their enemies.”
“So when we stumbled…” Elrohir got no further.
“We never stumble. We walked slowly…”
“Walked slowly into the hamlet on that night, hoping for a chance to rest…”
“We were beaten off, unwanted, from the first house we approached…”
“And he was nearly crippled by a blow to his knee…”
“By a small goblin, and his grandmother, wielding a frying pan!”
……………………..
It Takes One to Know One
“Have you ever met a werewolf?” Tindómë asked her hosts.
“We have met, and bested, wolves, direwolves and wargs…” said Elrohir, “but I do not know about werewolves.”
“Um - they are shape changers - like the Beornings, but wolves not bears,” she explained. “Well, maybe not quite like the Beornings… werewolves lose all their sense of themselves when they change, they remember nothing except to fight, to kill…” she said.
“I have heard of none like that in this part of Middle Earth,” said Elladan.
“Not wolves,” he heard his brother’s inner voice, “But for too long, otherwise, that was us…”
……………………..
It was a Dark and Stormy Night...
“Remember Thuringwethil?”
Tindómë knew her history.
“No… the encounter! Although we had spoken of her that day; great leather wings, iron claws..."
Elladan paused, then continued dramatically, “It was a dark and stormy night. I was ahead; I heard a scream! I turned - he was caught, a leathery embrace. He fought, sword slashing…”
“Metal had ripped my skin,” Elrohir said, “the blood was in my eyes…”
“I could not help…” Elladan continued, “for laughing!”
“Laughing?” she echoed.
“Laughing. His foe, his vampire foe, the leather sail-cloth from the nearby wind-mill’s arm!”
She hadn’t known, before, that an elf could blush.
……………………………
... But Not Forgotten
“There was a barrow-wight…” Elladan said, “during the worst of times.”
He shivered, then continued. “We had fought and killed, fought and killed, orc after orc, for days without end, until we hardly knew who we were let alone where we were. When we were drawn by that embodied darkness we could not resist and would have, surely, joined them had Old Tom not saved us. As he did others, Eru be thanked.”
“Orcs, in the Barrow-downs?” Tindómë questioned. “I haven’t heard of orcs there.”
“Not since,” said Elrohir. “They came to feared us just as we feared the wight…”
…………………………….
A Haunted Look
They had met ghosts, of course. Even before they trod the Paths of the Dead they had encountered such whispery remembrances of men and, once or twice, the lost fëar of elves.
But, when the living foes had brought no fears, why would they have feared the ghosts?
Yet, as Tindómë got to know the brothers better, she realised that there were ghosts that travelled with them still; that haunted them even now. Their bodies showed no scars, their smiles came readily; but, nonetheless, behind those deep and star-filled eyes there flitted, now and then, the ghosts of their selves.
................................