25 First Lines Meme
I'm stealing this from misscam. The meme is to write the first lines of your last twenty-five drafts. And like Miss Cam, I'm including paragraphs here, too, because in some instances, I feel as though they're needed. And for the curious, some of these first lines (read: paragraphs) are going to be from unpublished chapters of published WIPs. I know it's not the actual chapter that some of you have requested, but at the moment, it's the best I can do. I'll break it down in lj cuts, and if you're interested, there are links to the three published stories. The rest of these exist only on my computer. So here they are:
Recently Published Stories
For reasons he did not yet understand, Legolas felt restless.
(Hunting)
Morning dawned crisp and fresh over Rivendell. Working its way through the clefts and passes of the Misty Mountains, sunlight streamed down to touch upon golden leaves that still clung to their branches in protest of the coming frost. Elven voices rose in cheerful song to greet the new day, and the mists of the rivers rose with them, clouding the valley in a cleansing veil. The very air whispered of comfort and calm, evoking a sense of security that was as deep as the elven arts that protected the valley. Here those who suffered found healing, and here those who grieved found peace.
At least, that was the accustomed way of things. But leaning wearily against his staff, Gandalf discovered that this morning brought him little in the way of comfort.
(The Dooming of Small Hands)
She was a small ship. Practically a toy when compared with the lofty vessels that dotted the horizon and crowded the busy harbors of Dol Amroth. But her sleight frame was more than compensated by the care that had gone into her construction, and she rocked in her cradle as a gust of wind caught her mast, seemingly weary of the land beneath her and eager to join the larger ships in the frothy waves. Ropes creaked, wood groaned, and as though to soothe her, Legolas put a steadying hand upon her hull, humming softly.
(Seaworthy)
Next Chapters of Published WIPs
The arrow struck hard, sinking deeply into Dashnir’s side despite Legolas’s failing strength. A rush of blood burst forth, spilling over the elf’s hands, and Dashnir cried out, arching back before collapsing to the ground with a hissing groan. Moving over the man and holding tight to the arrow, Legolas surveyed those around him and allowed the low hum in the back of his throat to die, ending the song that had bewildered his enemies. It was a desperate gamble. A hopeless bluff. But at this point, it was all that remained to him; he had neither the strength nor the will for anything more.
(Land of Light and Shadows, Chapter 39: Amidst a Sea of Sand)
Lying awake in the darkness, his mind racing over vague memories of a journey long ago through Moria, Gandalf suddenly found himself thinking of cats. Specifically, he found himself thinking of herding cats.
(During a journey in the dark..., Chapter 7: January 14, 3019 (Day))
Arwen was bending over a pile of freshly laundered linen when she felt the change.
(Fear No Darkness, Chapter 31: Untitled)
When Faramir set out to find Legolas, Gimli, Eldarion, Elladan, and Elrohir, he did so with an overwhelming sense of relief. He was concerned about the situation developing in the Houses of Healing, but this concern was greatly lessened by the knowledge that Eowyn was taking command in the Houses. And if Faramir knew anything of his wife, he knew that she would demand order and decorum from all involved, even if she had to sever a few heads to make her point. Indeed, given the individuals involved, she was probably a better choice than he, and by the time he reached the tunnel that led to the Citadel, Faramir had decided that this was the possibly the best thing to happen to him all day.
(New Year's Eve, Chapter 12: Untitled)
Unpublished Stories Nearing Completion
The moment his pony set foot in the entry cavern, Gimli knew that something was different. There was an…expectant feel in the air. This feel did not lend itself to excitement or celebration, but neither did it evoke fear or unease. Rather, it was as though the dwarves of the Blue Mountains were waiting for something, and they did not yet know if this something boded good or ill for them.
(Questing, Chapter 1: Of Family)
Gimli’s mind was feverish. The magnitude of what he was about to undertake gave rise to shivers of fear, but the call of family was as a furnace in his blood. Perhaps this was what the elders meant when they spoke of their longings for Khazad-dûm and how the yearnings for home burned within their hearts. If that was indeed the case, then little wonder that Thorin could not refuse the desire to return to the Lonely Mountain. And little wonder that Glóin had agreed to go with him. There was a comfort of sorts in surrendering to the flames. They fueled the heart and shielded it against the colder influences of prudence and fear.
(Questing, Chapter 2: Of Kin)
As a general rule, Legolas avoided the deeper rooms of his father’s cavernous stronghold. He rarely descended as far as the cellars, and even the bustling lower kitchens-a haven for patrols coming in late at night-were seldom graced with his presence. His father might remember the bejeweled splendor of Thingol’s subterranean Menegroth, but Legolas had been born long after the last of the kinslayings and knew only the forest. The woodcraft of the Silvan elves had more influence in his rearing than the memories of his Sindarin family. None of his Silvan tutors were particularly relaxed in Thranduil’s halls, and despite all efforts to the contrary, Legolas had adopted their discomfort to an unusual degree.
(Lengths and Measures, Actually, this is published in one place as part of a collection, but it's undergoing SERIOUS revisions and will hopefully soon be published in other places under my profile.)
Gorp was the food developer for Isengard.
It was an unusual position for an orc. One might even term it a rare position, but the idea of rare tends to imply that the position was coveted, which was certainly not the case. Very few orcs aspired to be food developers, and it must be said that Gorp was less than satisfied with his calling in life.
(Maggoty Bread)
The night was still and tense. Gripping his bow tightly, Legolas held his breath, reaching out with elven senses to brush at that which mortals could not comprehend. And from within the forest, a deep sense of anger teased at his awareness, rolling through Fangorn in waves that crashed against the fields of Rohan and there faded into a brooding silence.
(Hooded and Cloaked)
Unpublished Stories still in Beginner or Intermediate Mode
He chose to enter on a clear but moonless night.
It was a deliberate decision on his part. That much was certain. Less certain was the deliberation behind the decision. Perhaps it was a tribute to a time long ago when starlight was all that graced the Hinter Lands. Perhaps it was to avoid the watchful moon that stirred too many memories. Perhaps it was an urging of the Song that he did not yet fully comprehend. Or perhaps there was no reason at all. Perhaps it was simply a decision seized upon by his wandering sanity and clutched tightly in an effort to grasp at something real.
(Where Many Paths and Errands Meet, Crossover, Prologue: From End to Beginning)
Down a long, dark road raced a small company of horses. They were driven hard, and their hooves pounded a sharp staccato into the ground while all around them lay blanketed in the stillness of night. Had they been ordinary horses, they might have been stumbling in their haste. Yet they kept their footing despite their speed, despite the shadows, and despite the great distance they had already traveled. Their like was not to be found outside their own lands, for the riders were of the Rohirrim, and their horses knew their need.
(Where Many Paths and Errands Meet, Crossover, Chapter 1: An Unexpected Journey)
When she woke suddenly in the middle of the night to find herself alert and filled with foreboding, Arwen spared a moment to wonder if this was a normal occurrence.
Five years after shouldering the mantle of mortality, there were many things about her new state that still took the Queen of Gondor by surprise. Most of these things seemed to be centered around sleep. It was a development that Arwen had not anticipated. She had given ample thought to the fact that mortality meant death and illness, and she was very aware of an altered sense of time. But strangely enough, the things that concerned her most seemed to be the things most easily accepted. Instead, it was the realm of sleep-and in particular, dreams-that managed to confound her.
(Where Many Paths and Errands Meet, Crossover, Chapter 2: Curioser and Curioser)
Beneath churning clouds and rain that fell like spear shafts, a lone figure raced. Though his feet sank deeply in the squelching mud, he did not slow his pace, for the flames were nearly upon him. Flames that no amount of rain could quench. Flames that had hounded him ever since the touch of an enemy had stirred darkness within his mind.
(Working Titles: From the Shores of the Beginning or Sons of Mahal, Chapter 1: Amid the Storm)
Far to the west of the River Carnen, the rains that pounded the upper steppes of Rhûn lessened until they were no more than a steady drizzle. A steady drizzle that had persisted for three weeks, but a drizzle, nonetheless. And for that, Nori was grateful. Elated by this slightest of victories-as well as the fact that only five ponies had become stuck in the mud this day-he had decreed that his merchant party would have as much of a feast this night as could be had under such conditions. To compliment this feast, Bifur had amassed his talents and produced a miracle that, in Nori’s wet and weary opinion, was matched only by the act of ousting Smaug from Erebor.
Bifur had started a fire.
(Working Titles: From the Shores of the Beginning or Sons of Mahal, Chapter 2: Journey's End)
Far out in the remote backwaters of Eriador, at the unfashionable western end of the Great East Road, was a small, unregarded little land known as the Shire. Within the Shire was an equally small and unregarded little hole in the ground known as Bag End. And in this rustic but comfortable little hole, there lived a hobbit.
(The Rangers' Guide to the Hinter Lands, Prologue)
Sunlight streamed down towering windows, reflecting against lazy dust motes drifting high above the table. The stone floor was cool, but the air was already warm as the summer sun climbed above the dark peaks to the east. The lingering smells of a large breakfast wafted through the room, and patting his stomach with satisfaction, Aragorn leaned back and closed his eyes. He had begun this meal with some trepidation, but now that he neared its conclusion, he was beginning to wonder if his fears had been baseless.
(Of Mayors and Kings and Mid-Morning Politics)
They said it was a lovely funeral.
(Twilight)
Erestor of Imladris was nursing a large and torturous headache.
Among the elves, headaches were unusual and viewed as heralds of ill portent. Of course, the last few days had also been unusual, and certainly recent events could be heralds of ill portent. So while he stiffened at every loud noise and winced with every movement that required him to turn his head, Erestor was forced to concede that perhaps circumstances warranted a headache.
(Smoking Zone)
“So it is here I find you.”
Flinching violently, Gimli whirled about, lost his pipe amid a wild flail of arms, and wondered if he would ever become accustomed to Legolas’s sudden and silent appearances. Catching himself upon the outer wall of the Citadel, he composed his face and tried to look as though spinning around was a natural response. “I did not know that I had become lost,” he greeted, hoping that his voice was steady.
(Working Title: Underpinnings)
The first time the messenger came, the dwarves were unprepared.
(Working Title: Horatio's Philosophy)
The chill in the air marked the coming of evening as surely as did the lengthening shadows creeping forth from the hills. The western sky was a parade of colors as the sun sank beneath the scattered clouds, and far to the east, the snow-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains turned a fiery red. It was a powerful display of nature’s grandeur, but the warmth and beauty of the autumn sunset did not reach any lower than the mountain heights. Below their peaks, the world lay blanketed in a cheerless cold, and laboring forward on wandering feet, a weary traveler cursed the Valar that tempted his heart with the hope of beauty when despair always came heavy at nightfall.
(Working Title: Unlooked For, Chapter 1: Untitled)
Buried in a deep and dreamless sleep, Eldarion, son of Aragorn, did not hear the door to his chambers open. He did not see the glow of a small lantern or hear the tread of nearly silent feet. He did not stir when the door closed and a dark figure moved toward his bed. When the lantern was placed upon the bedside table with a quiet clink, he continued to sleep on unawares, exhausted from his recent travels.
But he did feel the touch of a hand upon his shoulder. And at that touch, he woke.
(Untitled)
Recently Published Stories
For reasons he did not yet understand, Legolas felt restless.
(Hunting)
Morning dawned crisp and fresh over Rivendell. Working its way through the clefts and passes of the Misty Mountains, sunlight streamed down to touch upon golden leaves that still clung to their branches in protest of the coming frost. Elven voices rose in cheerful song to greet the new day, and the mists of the rivers rose with them, clouding the valley in a cleansing veil. The very air whispered of comfort and calm, evoking a sense of security that was as deep as the elven arts that protected the valley. Here those who suffered found healing, and here those who grieved found peace.
At least, that was the accustomed way of things. But leaning wearily against his staff, Gandalf discovered that this morning brought him little in the way of comfort.
(The Dooming of Small Hands)
She was a small ship. Practically a toy when compared with the lofty vessels that dotted the horizon and crowded the busy harbors of Dol Amroth. But her sleight frame was more than compensated by the care that had gone into her construction, and she rocked in her cradle as a gust of wind caught her mast, seemingly weary of the land beneath her and eager to join the larger ships in the frothy waves. Ropes creaked, wood groaned, and as though to soothe her, Legolas put a steadying hand upon her hull, humming softly.
(Seaworthy)
Next Chapters of Published WIPs
The arrow struck hard, sinking deeply into Dashnir’s side despite Legolas’s failing strength. A rush of blood burst forth, spilling over the elf’s hands, and Dashnir cried out, arching back before collapsing to the ground with a hissing groan. Moving over the man and holding tight to the arrow, Legolas surveyed those around him and allowed the low hum in the back of his throat to die, ending the song that had bewildered his enemies. It was a desperate gamble. A hopeless bluff. But at this point, it was all that remained to him; he had neither the strength nor the will for anything more.
(Land of Light and Shadows, Chapter 39: Amidst a Sea of Sand)
Lying awake in the darkness, his mind racing over vague memories of a journey long ago through Moria, Gandalf suddenly found himself thinking of cats. Specifically, he found himself thinking of herding cats.
(During a journey in the dark..., Chapter 7: January 14, 3019 (Day))
Arwen was bending over a pile of freshly laundered linen when she felt the change.
(Fear No Darkness, Chapter 31: Untitled)
When Faramir set out to find Legolas, Gimli, Eldarion, Elladan, and Elrohir, he did so with an overwhelming sense of relief. He was concerned about the situation developing in the Houses of Healing, but this concern was greatly lessened by the knowledge that Eowyn was taking command in the Houses. And if Faramir knew anything of his wife, he knew that she would demand order and decorum from all involved, even if she had to sever a few heads to make her point. Indeed, given the individuals involved, she was probably a better choice than he, and by the time he reached the tunnel that led to the Citadel, Faramir had decided that this was the possibly the best thing to happen to him all day.
(New Year's Eve, Chapter 12: Untitled)
Unpublished Stories Nearing Completion
The moment his pony set foot in the entry cavern, Gimli knew that something was different. There was an…expectant feel in the air. This feel did not lend itself to excitement or celebration, but neither did it evoke fear or unease. Rather, it was as though the dwarves of the Blue Mountains were waiting for something, and they did not yet know if this something boded good or ill for them.
(Questing, Chapter 1: Of Family)
Gimli’s mind was feverish. The magnitude of what he was about to undertake gave rise to shivers of fear, but the call of family was as a furnace in his blood. Perhaps this was what the elders meant when they spoke of their longings for Khazad-dûm and how the yearnings for home burned within their hearts. If that was indeed the case, then little wonder that Thorin could not refuse the desire to return to the Lonely Mountain. And little wonder that Glóin had agreed to go with him. There was a comfort of sorts in surrendering to the flames. They fueled the heart and shielded it against the colder influences of prudence and fear.
(Questing, Chapter 2: Of Kin)
As a general rule, Legolas avoided the deeper rooms of his father’s cavernous stronghold. He rarely descended as far as the cellars, and even the bustling lower kitchens-a haven for patrols coming in late at night-were seldom graced with his presence. His father might remember the bejeweled splendor of Thingol’s subterranean Menegroth, but Legolas had been born long after the last of the kinslayings and knew only the forest. The woodcraft of the Silvan elves had more influence in his rearing than the memories of his Sindarin family. None of his Silvan tutors were particularly relaxed in Thranduil’s halls, and despite all efforts to the contrary, Legolas had adopted their discomfort to an unusual degree.
(Lengths and Measures, Actually, this is published in one place as part of a collection, but it's undergoing SERIOUS revisions and will hopefully soon be published in other places under my profile.)
Gorp was the food developer for Isengard.
It was an unusual position for an orc. One might even term it a rare position, but the idea of rare tends to imply that the position was coveted, which was certainly not the case. Very few orcs aspired to be food developers, and it must be said that Gorp was less than satisfied with his calling in life.
(Maggoty Bread)
The night was still and tense. Gripping his bow tightly, Legolas held his breath, reaching out with elven senses to brush at that which mortals could not comprehend. And from within the forest, a deep sense of anger teased at his awareness, rolling through Fangorn in waves that crashed against the fields of Rohan and there faded into a brooding silence.
(Hooded and Cloaked)
Unpublished Stories still in Beginner or Intermediate Mode
He chose to enter on a clear but moonless night.
It was a deliberate decision on his part. That much was certain. Less certain was the deliberation behind the decision. Perhaps it was a tribute to a time long ago when starlight was all that graced the Hinter Lands. Perhaps it was to avoid the watchful moon that stirred too many memories. Perhaps it was an urging of the Song that he did not yet fully comprehend. Or perhaps there was no reason at all. Perhaps it was simply a decision seized upon by his wandering sanity and clutched tightly in an effort to grasp at something real.
(Where Many Paths and Errands Meet, Crossover, Prologue: From End to Beginning)
Down a long, dark road raced a small company of horses. They were driven hard, and their hooves pounded a sharp staccato into the ground while all around them lay blanketed in the stillness of night. Had they been ordinary horses, they might have been stumbling in their haste. Yet they kept their footing despite their speed, despite the shadows, and despite the great distance they had already traveled. Their like was not to be found outside their own lands, for the riders were of the Rohirrim, and their horses knew their need.
(Where Many Paths and Errands Meet, Crossover, Chapter 1: An Unexpected Journey)
When she woke suddenly in the middle of the night to find herself alert and filled with foreboding, Arwen spared a moment to wonder if this was a normal occurrence.
Five years after shouldering the mantle of mortality, there were many things about her new state that still took the Queen of Gondor by surprise. Most of these things seemed to be centered around sleep. It was a development that Arwen had not anticipated. She had given ample thought to the fact that mortality meant death and illness, and she was very aware of an altered sense of time. But strangely enough, the things that concerned her most seemed to be the things most easily accepted. Instead, it was the realm of sleep-and in particular, dreams-that managed to confound her.
(Where Many Paths and Errands Meet, Crossover, Chapter 2: Curioser and Curioser)
Beneath churning clouds and rain that fell like spear shafts, a lone figure raced. Though his feet sank deeply in the squelching mud, he did not slow his pace, for the flames were nearly upon him. Flames that no amount of rain could quench. Flames that had hounded him ever since the touch of an enemy had stirred darkness within his mind.
(Working Titles: From the Shores of the Beginning or Sons of Mahal, Chapter 1: Amid the Storm)
Far to the west of the River Carnen, the rains that pounded the upper steppes of Rhûn lessened until they were no more than a steady drizzle. A steady drizzle that had persisted for three weeks, but a drizzle, nonetheless. And for that, Nori was grateful. Elated by this slightest of victories-as well as the fact that only five ponies had become stuck in the mud this day-he had decreed that his merchant party would have as much of a feast this night as could be had under such conditions. To compliment this feast, Bifur had amassed his talents and produced a miracle that, in Nori’s wet and weary opinion, was matched only by the act of ousting Smaug from Erebor.
Bifur had started a fire.
(Working Titles: From the Shores of the Beginning or Sons of Mahal, Chapter 2: Journey's End)
Far out in the remote backwaters of Eriador, at the unfashionable western end of the Great East Road, was a small, unregarded little land known as the Shire. Within the Shire was an equally small and unregarded little hole in the ground known as Bag End. And in this rustic but comfortable little hole, there lived a hobbit.
(The Rangers' Guide to the Hinter Lands, Prologue)
Sunlight streamed down towering windows, reflecting against lazy dust motes drifting high above the table. The stone floor was cool, but the air was already warm as the summer sun climbed above the dark peaks to the east. The lingering smells of a large breakfast wafted through the room, and patting his stomach with satisfaction, Aragorn leaned back and closed his eyes. He had begun this meal with some trepidation, but now that he neared its conclusion, he was beginning to wonder if his fears had been baseless.
(Of Mayors and Kings and Mid-Morning Politics)
They said it was a lovely funeral.
(Twilight)
Erestor of Imladris was nursing a large and torturous headache.
Among the elves, headaches were unusual and viewed as heralds of ill portent. Of course, the last few days had also been unusual, and certainly recent events could be heralds of ill portent. So while he stiffened at every loud noise and winced with every movement that required him to turn his head, Erestor was forced to concede that perhaps circumstances warranted a headache.
(Smoking Zone)
“So it is here I find you.”
Flinching violently, Gimli whirled about, lost his pipe amid a wild flail of arms, and wondered if he would ever become accustomed to Legolas’s sudden and silent appearances. Catching himself upon the outer wall of the Citadel, he composed his face and tried to look as though spinning around was a natural response. “I did not know that I had become lost,” he greeted, hoping that his voice was steady.
(Working Title: Underpinnings)
The first time the messenger came, the dwarves were unprepared.
(Working Title: Horatio's Philosophy)
The chill in the air marked the coming of evening as surely as did the lengthening shadows creeping forth from the hills. The western sky was a parade of colors as the sun sank beneath the scattered clouds, and far to the east, the snow-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains turned a fiery red. It was a powerful display of nature’s grandeur, but the warmth and beauty of the autumn sunset did not reach any lower than the mountain heights. Below their peaks, the world lay blanketed in a cheerless cold, and laboring forward on wandering feet, a weary traveler cursed the Valar that tempted his heart with the hope of beauty when despair always came heavy at nightfall.
(Working Title: Unlooked For, Chapter 1: Untitled)
Buried in a deep and dreamless sleep, Eldarion, son of Aragorn, did not hear the door to his chambers open. He did not see the glow of a small lantern or hear the tread of nearly silent feet. He did not stir when the door closed and a dark figure moved toward his bed. When the lantern was placed upon the bedside table with a quiet clink, he continued to sleep on unawares, exhausted from his recent travels.
But he did feel the touch of a hand upon his shoulder. And at that touch, he woke.
(Untitled)