Fic: ‘His precious.’
Title: His precious.
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (movies).
Rating: (PG)
Time Period: Before events in the Two Towers.
Summary: A precious treasure.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
The images for this came to mind and I just had to get them out.
Disclaimer
With the exception of original characters created purely for the purpose of the story, all characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh & Philippa Boyens (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
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He listens and smiles; a soft sly smile hidden by the comforting dark. A quick glance; the guards are at their posts and they’ve not come this far into this sanctum. Careful of the lamps nearby, casting a gentle glow, he sidesteps quietly, carefully, into the room.
She stirs and the blanket falls from her feet.
He stops, a shadow not far from the door. She shivers as the cold caresses her feet but her eyes do not open and she turns to her side.
A breathless sigh, his relief caught within, and he closes the distance between himself and the sleeping figure. Light glints off the blade revealed from his sleeve. He lifts a solitary curl; the sharp steel slices through the silken hair easily and vanishes, with the curl, into his sleeve.
Rain patters ceaselessly on the roof above when, later, he sits on the floor of his room with a single golden curl in the palm of his hand.
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (movies).
Rating: (PG)
Time Period: Before events in the Two Towers.
Summary: A precious treasure.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
The images for this came to mind and I just had to get them out.
Disclaimer
With the exception of original characters created purely for the purpose of the story, all characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh & Philippa Boyens (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
He listens and smiles; a soft sly smile hidden by the comforting dark. A quick glance; the guards are at their posts and they’ve not come this far into this sanctum. Careful of the lamps nearby, casting a gentle glow, he sidesteps quietly, carefully, into the room.
She stirs and the blanket falls from her feet.
He stops, a shadow not far from the door. She shivers as the cold caresses her feet but her eyes do not open and she turns to her side.
A breathless sigh, his relief caught within, and he closes the distance between himself and the sleeping figure. Light glints off the blade revealed from his sleeve. He lifts a solitary curl; the sharp steel slices through the silken hair easily and vanishes, with the curl, into his sleeve.
Rain patters ceaselessly on the roof above when, later, he sits on the floor of his room with a single golden curl in the palm of his hand.