Falling Leaves

One: Far Away

Celebrían treaded gently through Caras Galadon, her eyes searching. She found whom she was looking for leaning over a bowl of water, gazing into its depths. She was there often as of late.

"Mother?" she asked.

Galadriel looked at Celebrían, her face passive. It was her eyes that betrayed her. They were filled with a deep, tearing sorrow that she couldn't mask.

"How does the Last Alliance fare?" Celebrían ventured.

"The Shadow ever darkens," Galadriel said quietly.

After a moment, Celebrían added, "And Elrond?"

"The Mirror does not show," Galadriel said, holding her, "but I am sure he is fine."

Falling Leaves

Two: Meeting Uncle Strider

King Elessar dismounted his stallion, Queen Arwen lithely slipping off her mare behind him.

"Greetings, Master Samwise, Mistress Rose," said the king, bowing politely. The hobbits returned the salutation.

Elessar looked at the little hobbit girl beside them, who was barely fifteen years old her hair golden bright. "And who is this lovely golden flower?" he asked.

The hobbit girl blushed as Sam stroked her hair. "This is Elanor, our pride and joy," he said. "Elanor, meet Stri – I mean, King Elessar."

Elessar kissed Elanor's brow. "Uncle Strider is fine."

She blushed. "'Tis an honor to meet you, Uncle Strider."

Falling Leaves

Three: Fly Far Away

The bird rises from my windowsill, its wings beating gently at the air, wind ruffling through its feathers as it takes to the sky. I sigh. How I wish I could take flight, could soar somewhere no one else knows, could leave behind the troubles and torments that plague me ruthlessly.

But alas, I've no wings. I am trapped, like a caged bird. It flaps its wings, knowing it cannot be free.

Flight is for the birds. I know that. But the White Lady of Rohan is strong, and one day I'll fly far away.

One day, I'll be free.

Falling Leaves

Four: Dusty Memories

"My, Mr. Frodo. Things get awfully dusty while you're away, don't they?" asked Sam, swiping the grey film from a shelf of books with an old cloth.

Frodo brushed a hand across his forehead, wiping away perspiration. "Indeed. I can't believe everything that's happened."

Sam nodded. "'Tis amazing the things hobbits can do when they put their minds to it."

Frodo blew dust from the surface of a book. "But I would never do it again. I could have lost so much." He glanced at Sam. "We might not have survived to clean this dust together, my friend."

Sam smiled.

Written for the "Dust" challenge at the tolkienweekly community at LiveJournal.

Falling Leaves

Five: Lifting Shadows

I recall when Lord Glorfindel returned from the siege. Though still tall and proud, his eyes were haunted. Horrors that only war brings had been seen through those eyes and had brought back others, worse. I, Erestor, had feared I could not restore the brightness they once held. He played and laughed, but not in mirth. It was only to cheer others.

Slowly, the light returned, the shadows faded. His laughter was enough to lift the darkest soul, and his spirit flared as brightly as the sun on his hair.

He was back.

He was Glorfindel again, my dear friend.