zhie
in
shortfic_500
Whispers : Prompts 45, 71, 92, 128, 170, 297, 424, 434
Story Name: Whispers
Author: Zhie
Fandom: Tolkien
C/CP: House of Finwe
Prompt Word: 423. And; 434. Shout; 45. Crazy; 170. Displaced; 297. Caught; 71. Stage; 128. Boat; 92. Snow
Word Count: 125 each
Rating: G to NC17 range for series
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just playing in the sandbox. I promise to return them when done, without too much sand in their boots.
AND
“And you were worried you were going to hate it.”
Erestor barely opened his eyes. “I guess I was wrong.”
“And?”
“And... I guess you were right.”
Glorfindel propped himself up with one arm. “And?”
“And...” Erestor let his eyes close again. “And I am tired?”
“And?” prodded Glorfindel.
“And... I am going to sleep now.”
A finger poked Erestor’s shoulder. “And?”
“Hmm? What?”
“And?”
“Persistent little thing you are.”
“Little?”
“Oh, so you can start a sentence with a word other than ‘and’!” Erestor grinned, eyes still closed as the pillow whacked him gently.
Glorfindel sighed. “Why must you be difficult?”
“Because.”
“And?” Glorfindel practically pleaded.
“And, I love you.”
“See? Was that really so hard?” Glorfindel asked as he snuggled up against Erestor.
SHOUT
There was a problem with putting Maedhros and Maglor on the third floor, and the rest on the first.
“Russ-an-dol!! Where is my dog?!”
“Wherever you left him!” came the bellowed reply.
“No, he is not!”
“Well, call him, Celegorm!! Stop shouting at me!”
“Yes, please, do stop.” Feanor took hold of Celegorm by the neck and yanked him down from the landing. “That goes double for you, Maitimo!” he yelled upwards.
No answer.
“Maitimo!”
Still no answer.
“Russ-“ Feanor cleared his throat as Maedhros appeared at the top of the steps. “Why were you not answering?”
“I thought I would come here instead of shouting.” Maedhros looked past his father at Celegorm. “I saw Ambarussa with Huan through the window, in the yard.”
CRAZY
“I must be crazy,” muttered Caranthir.
“Why is that?” For the first time in a very long time, the remaining brothers were together, sharing a campfire. Curufin waited patiently for his older brother’s answer.
“After all this time, and how far we have come, my focus should be clear.”
“But?” prodded Celegorm.
Caranthir shook his head, staring at the fire. “I just keep thinking of her.”
“Her?”
“That woman,” clarified Celegorm for Curufin.
“She has a name,” growled Caranthir.
Curufin nodded, but Celegorm had to push things.
“Had a name. How long has she been dead now? A century?”
“Leave him alone.” Maedhros motioned for Caranthir to come around by him, and the dark haired brother did so. “You miss her?”
“Constantly,” Caranthir quietly admitted.
DISPLACED
“Where are we going?” Curufin finally dared to ask. He and his brothers had spent the day packing as instructed, though the reason and destination were yet untold.
“Away,” ground out Feanor as he threw a cloak across the room, knocking a box off of the table.
“I want to go live with Nana instead,” Ambarussa said quietly to his twin.
Caranthir hefted a sack across the room. “If grandfather is coming, then we should bring the cat and board up the windows.”
Feanor seethed, but instead of answering, shoved his way past his own father. Finwe shook his head but continued to pack. “Your uncle will be moving into the house for the time being. Someone must rule the Noldor while we are away.”
CAUGHT
Elrond’s favorite naughty thing was sneaking up on Celebrian... and catching her. Catch perhaps was not the right term... more, sneak up and tickle her or some silly thing. However, about three steps away, no matter how stealthy he was, she knew. She just knew. The trouble was being a peredhel trying to prey on... oh, there she was!
It was dark-- that always helped. She was bent over the wash basin, long wavy hair obscuring her sight. Thick towel wrapped around her, washing her face, readying for bed... all too easy!
Elrond took three quick steps into the tiny chamber, and grabbed her behind. “Caught you, my dear,” he growled.
Imagine his surprise as he heard Glorfindel’s tenor voice cheekily answer, “Now what, darling?”
STAGE
“The theatre... is an art. Just like this is,” explained Glorfindel from the center of the practice field. His sword was drawn, an extension of his arm, shining, and polished just that morning. “This, gentlemen, is my stage, you, my actors, I, the director. This is rehersal; the battle is the play, and no matter what, the show must go on.”
“The uniforms are your costumes and your these weapons your props. There are but two differences, of course,” he continued as he motioned to various trainees, pairing them off for sparring. “Unlike most plays, we will use no script. Ad lib, I suppose.”
“And the other, sir?” asked one of the recruits.
“That you would not want to ‘break a leg’ on this stage.”
BOAT
“There are days such as this one when I think of how nice it would be to climb into a boat and set sail on the sea.”
Elrond turned in his chair and gave his mentor a sad smile. “We could go fishing this afternoon.”
“No, it would only depress me more.” Gil-Galad sighed. “If only I were not me, I would just find a canoe and paddle it to Valinor.”
“If it is your wish to sail, perhaps you should.”
“You are supposed to counsel me not to think such things.”
“I learned long ago that it is wiser to encourage decisions like this.”
For a minute, Gil-Galad stared out the window. “I will never sail, will I, Elrond?”
Elrond shook his head. “No.”
SNOW
“Snow! There is snow!”
Elrohir rolled over, pillow covering his head. “Why are you so happy-hey! Give my blanket back!”
“Come on! Hurry!”
“Why, Elladan? It is not going anywhere!”
Elladan put his pants and boots on over his nightclothes. His sweater was backwards, but he grabbed a pair of mittens and playfully smacked his brother’s head with them. “I want to see it fresh and white. See you down there!”
“Not if I can help it,” mumbled Elrohir, but Arwen roused him soon after.
When Elrond joined them outside, Arwen and Elladan were building a fort. He found Elrohir at the door, bundled in a fur cloak. “Not joining them?”
“I hate snow,” mumbled Elrohir.
“So did your uncle,” whispered Elrond to himself.
Author: Zhie
Fandom: Tolkien
C/CP: House of Finwe
Prompt Word: 423. And; 434. Shout; 45. Crazy; 170. Displaced; 297. Caught; 71. Stage; 128. Boat; 92. Snow
Word Count: 125 each
Rating: G to NC17 range for series
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just playing in the sandbox. I promise to return them when done, without too much sand in their boots.
AND
“And you were worried you were going to hate it.”
Erestor barely opened his eyes. “I guess I was wrong.”
“And?”
“And... I guess you were right.”
Glorfindel propped himself up with one arm. “And?”
“And...” Erestor let his eyes close again. “And I am tired?”
“And?” prodded Glorfindel.
“And... I am going to sleep now.”
A finger poked Erestor’s shoulder. “And?”
“Hmm? What?”
“And?”
“Persistent little thing you are.”
“Little?”
“Oh, so you can start a sentence with a word other than ‘and’!” Erestor grinned, eyes still closed as the pillow whacked him gently.
Glorfindel sighed. “Why must you be difficult?”
“Because.”
“And?” Glorfindel practically pleaded.
“And, I love you.”
“See? Was that really so hard?” Glorfindel asked as he snuggled up against Erestor.
SHOUT
There was a problem with putting Maedhros and Maglor on the third floor, and the rest on the first.
“Russ-an-dol!! Where is my dog?!”
“Wherever you left him!” came the bellowed reply.
“No, he is not!”
“Well, call him, Celegorm!! Stop shouting at me!”
“Yes, please, do stop.” Feanor took hold of Celegorm by the neck and yanked him down from the landing. “That goes double for you, Maitimo!” he yelled upwards.
No answer.
“Maitimo!”
Still no answer.
“Russ-“ Feanor cleared his throat as Maedhros appeared at the top of the steps. “Why were you not answering?”
“I thought I would come here instead of shouting.” Maedhros looked past his father at Celegorm. “I saw Ambarussa with Huan through the window, in the yard.”
CRAZY
“I must be crazy,” muttered Caranthir.
“Why is that?” For the first time in a very long time, the remaining brothers were together, sharing a campfire. Curufin waited patiently for his older brother’s answer.
“After all this time, and how far we have come, my focus should be clear.”
“But?” prodded Celegorm.
Caranthir shook his head, staring at the fire. “I just keep thinking of her.”
“Her?”
“That woman,” clarified Celegorm for Curufin.
“She has a name,” growled Caranthir.
Curufin nodded, but Celegorm had to push things.
“Had a name. How long has she been dead now? A century?”
“Leave him alone.” Maedhros motioned for Caranthir to come around by him, and the dark haired brother did so. “You miss her?”
“Constantly,” Caranthir quietly admitted.
DISPLACED
“Where are we going?” Curufin finally dared to ask. He and his brothers had spent the day packing as instructed, though the reason and destination were yet untold.
“Away,” ground out Feanor as he threw a cloak across the room, knocking a box off of the table.
“I want to go live with Nana instead,” Ambarussa said quietly to his twin.
Caranthir hefted a sack across the room. “If grandfather is coming, then we should bring the cat and board up the windows.”
Feanor seethed, but instead of answering, shoved his way past his own father. Finwe shook his head but continued to pack. “Your uncle will be moving into the house for the time being. Someone must rule the Noldor while we are away.”
CAUGHT
Elrond’s favorite naughty thing was sneaking up on Celebrian... and catching her. Catch perhaps was not the right term... more, sneak up and tickle her or some silly thing. However, about three steps away, no matter how stealthy he was, she knew. She just knew. The trouble was being a peredhel trying to prey on... oh, there she was!
It was dark-- that always helped. She was bent over the wash basin, long wavy hair obscuring her sight. Thick towel wrapped around her, washing her face, readying for bed... all too easy!
Elrond took three quick steps into the tiny chamber, and grabbed her behind. “Caught you, my dear,” he growled.
Imagine his surprise as he heard Glorfindel’s tenor voice cheekily answer, “Now what, darling?”
STAGE
“The theatre... is an art. Just like this is,” explained Glorfindel from the center of the practice field. His sword was drawn, an extension of his arm, shining, and polished just that morning. “This, gentlemen, is my stage, you, my actors, I, the director. This is rehersal; the battle is the play, and no matter what, the show must go on.”
“The uniforms are your costumes and your these weapons your props. There are but two differences, of course,” he continued as he motioned to various trainees, pairing them off for sparring. “Unlike most plays, we will use no script. Ad lib, I suppose.”
“And the other, sir?” asked one of the recruits.
“That you would not want to ‘break a leg’ on this stage.”
BOAT
“There are days such as this one when I think of how nice it would be to climb into a boat and set sail on the sea.”
Elrond turned in his chair and gave his mentor a sad smile. “We could go fishing this afternoon.”
“No, it would only depress me more.” Gil-Galad sighed. “If only I were not me, I would just find a canoe and paddle it to Valinor.”
“If it is your wish to sail, perhaps you should.”
“You are supposed to counsel me not to think such things.”
“I learned long ago that it is wiser to encourage decisions like this.”
For a minute, Gil-Galad stared out the window. “I will never sail, will I, Elrond?”
Elrond shook his head. “No.”
SNOW
“Snow! There is snow!”
Elrohir rolled over, pillow covering his head. “Why are you so happy-hey! Give my blanket back!”
“Come on! Hurry!”
“Why, Elladan? It is not going anywhere!”
Elladan put his pants and boots on over his nightclothes. His sweater was backwards, but he grabbed a pair of mittens and playfully smacked his brother’s head with them. “I want to see it fresh and white. See you down there!”
“Not if I can help it,” mumbled Elrohir, but Arwen roused him soon after.
When Elrond joined them outside, Arwen and Elladan were building a fort. He found Elrohir at the door, bundled in a fur cloak. “Not joining them?”
“I hate snow,” mumbled Elrohir.
“So did your uncle,” whispered Elrond to himself.