Title: Eclipse
Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to the Tolkien Family.
Rating: G
Author: Endaewen
Notes: For the Eclipse prompt of the Weekly Writing Prompts at the Lord of the Rings Fanatics Forum:

As the eclipse progressed, the shadows deepened, making it look like the twilit hours in Pippin's appartment in the Great Smials. The elderly Thain went around the room lighting extra candles after he closed the shutters on the window. Before he closed the window, he stood there for a moment or two lost in thought. He shuddered before pulling himself out of his thoughts. A couple of his nephews in their teens and tweens were visiting their uncle.

"Why do you hide away from eclipses this way? They're nothing to harm you?" the younger of the two visiting hobbits asked. There was a faint note of superiority in his voice.

"It's not the eclipse, it's the memories it brings," the older hobbit said. "You've heard my tales of my journey with Frodo, and of the Dawnless Day, as they call it in Gondor now. Staring into the mid-day gloom, I almost expect to hear the terrifying cries of the Ring-wraiths, and the sounds of battle." As the deepest part of the eclipse passed by, the former soldier of Minas Tirith told the two youngsters about his experiences during the siege of Minas Tirith. Somehow the gloom of the eclipse made it all the more real to the two listeners.

Title: Mordor
Author: Endaewen
Summary: The thoughts of one of Sauron's servants.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. The setting and all else came from the briliant mind of J.R.R. Tolkien.
Rating: G
Note: For the Mordor contest at the Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza.

As much as I am unable to criticize the workings of our Lord and Master, I have to wonder why he sent out the recruiters he did. Although they brought in large numbers of orcs from the Misty Mountains and other places, it might almost be better had He just had the numbers bred from the orcs of Mordor. The new orcs have been nothing but problems. Weaker, smaller, though cunning. The problem is that they were brought in unwilling, so they have employed all their cunning into subverting the training they are given. The only thing controling them is fear, the same as the others, but they need the fear in more immeadate forms, such as myself. We evidently didn't need an army right away, as it has been over a decade, closer to two in fact, since they were brought in, and no signs that we are to move.

My brethren and I have spent the years in our city, though in the last decade or so, our leader, and the most powerful among us has been sent out to some purpose. I know not what it is. Only recently, months ago did he return. Rumor has it that he was in Mirkwood rebuilding our Lord's stronghold and sanctuary there.

In the mean time, the Mordor-bred orcs have been fighting with the Mountain orcs, killing each other off almost faster than they breed, particularly the smaller orcs brought in from the Mountains. The streets of the city have rung constantly with the sounds of fighting, and the same is true of the border-forts nearby. We will no longer send the mountain orcs there, as they do not survive for long and we need the numbers.

We have spent the last decade improving their breed. The weakest and dullest have been culled by the constant fighting, and those ruled by fear have not survived either. Living in the city with eight of us present has seen to that. In fact, as they were first marched into the city the weakest still alive (the truly weak and injured did not survive the journey) often expired in fear on the spot.

In the last weeks, the armouries and smithies have been running with double shifts day and night. This signals that we are moving soon, as soon as everything is ready and everyone is equipped. Unfortunately, the improved weapons will mean increased casualties among our armies as tempers rise and they fight each other.

I have heard that this is a problem throughout His lands. For some reason our Lord and Master has decreed that there is to be no sign of our armies outside His borders. Even our regular skirmishes with the border-patrols of Gondor have decreased as He has called our forces back into the heartland of Mordor.

Deserters are becoming a problem now too, as companies of orcs decide to strike out on their own. Most are killed by our border-patrols, but sometimes both disappear. Sometimes the border-patrol is found later, dead, but sometimes neither is seen again. It is assumed then that both groups have deserted together.

The problem is severe enough now that we are sent out at random to properly motivate our Lord's armies. Generally our mere presence is enough to set things right, at least for a while after we leave, but soon enough we are sent back to do it all over again.

This will continue until we are sent out to war at last. War! I have waited at my Master's command, for an age or more, I've lost count, to conquer, to fight and to spread the fear I gained with his gift of the ring.

Title: The Mallorn
Author: Endaewen
Summary: Response to one of Shirebound's Shirebunnies
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his family. The original idea for this story came from one of Shirebounds adoptable (and often adorable) plotbunnies.

Pippin heard Sam talking to Frodo as he passed by the windows of Bag-End to visit. He couldn't help but laugh quietly when he overheard their conversation. He knew he'd have to tell this to Merry later. The two hobbits inside were musing on why the Mallorn seed in Galadriel's gift was growing so fast.

"It's not natural," Sam said.

"Perhaps it is for this type of tree," was Frodo's reply.

Pippin had his own suspicion as to the answer. He and Merry had learned a couple of words of entish. Though not entirely certain of the full meanings of the words, he knew they were words of welcome. He’d attempted to use them on the young sapling a couple of months before. Since then, it had almost doubled its rate of growth.

Title: Boats and Blisters
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Author: Endaewen
Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien.
Summary: Shirebound inspired nonsense, really. The aftermath of one of the days of paddling. From a shirebunny.
Rating: G

“They’re blisters, Frodo,” Merry said. He inspected his cousin's hands carefully. “If you’d spent more time in Rivendell practicing with your sword, and less time reading about Elvish history, you would have had all this over and done by now.”

“It was not Elvish history most of the time,” Frodo replied, still staring at his hands in the red light of the fire. “Most of the time it was maps and descriptions of the lands we're likely to pass through.” He winced as he tried to close one of his hands. Most of the palm of each hand was swollen, whitish and tender. It was particularly bad at the base of each finger. There, the blisters had long since broken. “Anyway, I know what blisters are. I've just never seen them this bad before.”

All of the hobbits though, were affected by the strain of paddling the boats. Some more than others though, and Frodo was the worst off by far. Not only was he affected by the blisters, but also, his arms and shoulders were rapidly stiffening up. However, both Merry and Pippin weren't much better in that sense. All three of them knew that the next morning was going to be a trial, at least until they had gotten warmed up again. Sam was spared the ordeal as he never spent time on the paddles.

That night, Frodo found himself dreaming of a steaming hot bath. He wondered about his two cousins, and their dreams, as they had to be equally sore.

The next morning, he found his hands to be still badly blistered, but not quite as sore, though it still hurt to close them, or to lift anything too heavy. At any rate, they had decided that they didn't need to paddle that day, and spent it drifting down the river again. A decision which was appreciated by all the hobbits, especially the three stiff ones.