Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

"I never could get away unnoticed with you around, could I?" Arwen asked, turning to the elf-lord behind her.

"Nay. You can thank your brothers for that." Arwen laughed, and Glorfindel's heart warmed to hear it. He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "I shall miss that sound."

Arwen caught his hand. "And I shall miss my balrog-slayer." She pressed something into his hand. "For Nana, and Ada," she said, then turned and swiftly mounted. "Namarie, Glorfindel," she called.

"Namarie, Arwen," he whispered, as she disappeared forever. He looked down to find a thick packet of letters.

Take three days of rain, one open door, and one inattentive ada. Mix thoroughly. Sift through doorway two cooped-up, overly active elflings. (For best results, use Elladan and Elrohir) Combine with one large garden puddle and coat thoroughly with mud. Let marinate for half an hour. Using the now anxious ada, remove elflings from puddle. Caution: they will be slippery. Top with bits of grass and flowers and allow to dry slightly while being chased through hallways. Decorate with wide grins and sparkling eyes before serving directly into Nana’s lap. Pairs well with Ada’s sheepish grin.

Eldarion came awake, blinking into the darkness. Something was… off. He shifted slightly, and felt something slide from his pillow with a thump. He froze, barely breathing until his eyesight adjusted enough to see folded parchment. Sitting up and lighting a candle, he unfolded the note to find just two lines of flowing elvish script: “It is finished. We sail at first light.”

Eldarion threw off the blankets and hurriedly dressed. He did not wish for the last two members of the Fellowship to pass from Middle Earth unmarked by anyone. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

Boromir scowled. “This is ridiculous,” he groused. “If someone sees me, they’ll know I want to talk to you.”

“Not necessarily. Besides that, you could give away our position with your shouting. You don’t want that, do you?” Faramir raised an eyebrow.

“As you wish, little brother.” Boromir dutifully took a deep breath and puckered his lips. The ear-splitting shriek that followed had Faramir quickly covering his ears.

“He would need a plant that only grows on cliffs,” Glorfindel muttered, checking behind some boulders. He shook his head. He’d agreed to help Elrond, and so he would. He lifted aside a branch to find only plain rock. He started to move on, but paused. Brushing away debris, he revealed a crudely wrought, yet still visible, inscription.

Glorfindel sucked in a painful breath. Elrond had explained how violent seas had tossed far ashore Beleriand’s ruins, but he had not expected this.

Glorfindel sighed. The Valar help him if her ever got married. He doubted he would even survive the preparations! “If you two do not cease second-guessing yourselves, I will throw you into the Bruinen!”

Elrond and Erestor looked horrified. “If I’ve forgotten anything, Celebrian will kill me!” Elrond exclaimed.

“I doubt it,” Glorfindel shrugged. “All you really need is yourself and the ring.”

“Pui-en-orch!” Glorfindel swore, chasing after the panicked groom, leaving a stunned Erestor behind.

A/N: It's been a rough week for me, so I wasn't able to post when I planned to. So here are two new drabbles to make up for it. :)

Challenge: Writing: Poem

Summary: Finrod is having a little trouble.

No Words

Finrod reread his finished verses. He growled, balling the parchment and aiming for the opening door.

Orodreth neatly caught the projectile. “I thought you’d like to come hunting, but I see you’re busy.”

Finrod snorted. “It’s this poem honoring Amarië. I cannot find the words!”

Orodreth unfolded the parchment. “This is terrible,” he chuckled. “Might I suggest, brother, that you would honor her better with your harp?” He held out the instrument.

Finrod sighed, but took it. “This doesn’t feel right, either,” he grumbled.

“Perhaps, but she loved it,” Orodreth said pointedly, tossing the poem on the fire.

He always found them when he wasn’t looking to. Stashed in a robe pocket, behind herb jars, or between book pages. Each one recalling precious memories- all ending the same way: with the sweetest words, and a little less pain.

Until one day, a ship arrived bearing a letter for her. And when she had savored all he could tell her, she found again the sweetest words: P.S.: I love you.

A Little Fall of Rain

Elrond sighed and peered from the cave. A summer storm had interrupted his perfect picnic.

Slender arms slipped around him. “It’s only a little rain, love,” Celebrian soothed.

“Only a little rain!? Our lunch is drowned!” he gestured to the soggy mess.

“We still have an afternoon together. And I can think of something equally as fun as a picnic.” Too late, Elrond caught the mischief in her voice. Celebrian pushed him into the rain. “Dance with me!” she laughed, twirling around him.

Elrond grinned, catching and spinning her. Perhaps the rain wasn’t so bad.

The ring of hammer on steel carried clearly to the porch. A muted red glow lit up the space before Imladris's forge.

Elrond sighed deeply. So much uncertainty surrounding those he loved... So lost in thought was he that he did not notice the ellon behind him until a hand rested on his shoulder.

"Have I?" Elrond asked, uncertainty lacing his words. "Is he really ready for this?"

Retreat

“I can’t keep this up, El! They’ll run us down!”

“There! Into the trees, Ro!”

The twins raced for a stand of pines nearly a league distant. The sounds of pursuit added speed to their already aching limbs.

Elros leaped for the nearest branch, some ten feet from the ground. Elrond was right behind him. The tree shifted and whispered to them, promising what protection it could give. Elrond placed a hand on the trunk in gratitude.

The goblins could dimly be seen atop the far ridge. Despite the tree’s assistance, it would not be long before they were spotted.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Running straight for Anor, the twins leapt over a rocky outcropping and hunkered down. “We cannot keep this up,” Elrohir panted. “There are too many of them. They’ll run us down.”

Elladan nodded, silently searching the rugged landscape. A single pine caught his attention. He turned to peer over the rock. “Goblin’s pursue in daylight, but their pets don’t appreciate her touch. Run straight east, then break for that pine,” he pointed, “ and hope to Eru that it blinds them long enough.” Elrohir nodded, ready to run. “Now!” Elladan cried, and they took off like arrows from the string.

Refuge

Elros got the thick bolt in place just before the beast hit the cellar door.

Elrond quickly dismantled some old shelves to get to their upright supports. “Help me get them under the door, Ro,” he called. Together they wrestled the heavy timbers into place, bracing the ancient entry.

They stood silent a moment, panting hard and watching the door shudder with each warg’s blow. “Where’s Cirdan?” Elros asked.

Elrond concentrated. “Too far away. They’ll break through before he can get here.”

Elros scanned the dirt walls. “Then we’ll just have to find another way out,” he said grimly.

Thousands of years later…

“We can’t stay here. They’ll catch our scent.”

“I know, I know,” Elladan muttered, his grey eyes scanning the landscape for a sturdier refuge. He spotted an abandoned stone farmhouse. “There,” he pointed.

Elrohir peered between branches. “Will that door hold?”

Before Elladan answered, they both heard a familiar voice in their minds. We’re coming. Elladan’s lips flattened into a grim line. “We’ll make it hold.”

They jumped from the pine and ran. A cry went up behind them. They gained the entry and slammed the door shut, throwing the bolt just as the lead warg hit the timbers.

Elrond heard his twin maneuvering several barrels before the tunnel entrance. Above that was the more ominous rasp of claws on wood as the Wargs destroyed the door.

Elros emerged from the crawl space, followed by a mighty crash. "Is there anything we can use to block this side?"

A triumphant roar reached their ears. They shared a look, and as one drew their swords. The blades flickered blue. "Let's see where this tunnel leads."

Elrohir gritted his teeth and pressed hard against the door. With each blow, the Twins lost a little more purchase. "We're not going to last," Elrohir gasped.

"We have to hold out," Elladan said. A shower of wooden splinters hit their heads. The Wargs were tearing the door apart.

Elrohir readied his bow, then pushed away from the door. He locked eyes with Elladan, who nodded once, drew his sword, and slipped to the side. With a final rasp of claws on wood, the door splintered.

"Yes. He's on his way," Elrond said. His younger brother nodded, looking back at the river. Although they had not been pursued, Elrond remained on edge.

The prow of a swan ship pulled into view, and Elros turned to him. His eyes widened with horror, and he cried, "Look out!"

Elrond wheeled to see a huge Warg rushing straight at him. With no time to move, Elrond felt its razor-sharp teeth come down on his arm in a vice-grip.

The bright swords sang, and the foul creatures died, piled around the door. But the Goblin masters remained outside, letting their pets have fun.

Elrohir thrust his sword deep into a Warg's eye. Beside him, Elladan dispatched another, while yet more rushed in. In a storm of steel and fur they clashed.

An elven horn sounded close by, and it seemed that the Twins might survive. But as Elrohir turned, the largest Warg he'd ever seen leapt into the room and straight for him. Too late to dodge, Elrohir felt its vice-like teeth clamp down on his arm.

Elrond stood in shadows, observing his son in the garden. Bandages swathed Elrohir's left arm, but the father's mind remembered the terrible rents in the son's flesh.

Elrohir recovered well, yet still unconsciously rubbed the injured limb, his eyes dark. Elrond knew the look, for he'd carried it after his own narrow escape. Forged by blood and pain, the expression of the warrior declared he had felt death's hot breath, and cheated it.

Elrond returned to his study. It was only when he reached for his quill that he realized he'd been rubbing the scars on his left arm.

For his part, Thranduil wanted only to see if the rumors were true. On his way south to visit Legolas, he detoured through Lothlorien.

Expecting to find brilliant golden boughs, he saw only yellowed leaves, scattered and pale. Where once there had been songs and light, there was naught but a profound sadness, as if the whole wood grieved.

Once, he caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure- an elleth, he thought- but before he could call out, she glided away and was lost. No, there was nothing now but ghosts beneath the fading trees

After a week in Imladris, the dwarves had finally relaxed enough to set their axes aside while they learned to make friends. Their king, however, clearly still had something on his mind.

He sat across from Elrond now, drinking wine before the fire. The flames glittered in the young king's eyes. Elrond sipped his wine and watched Thror over the rim of his goblet. Whatever the dwarf was planning, it was taking a good deal of courage to ask his question.

*Note ithildin s a substance created by the elves that can only be seen in starlight and moonlight. The "moon-runes" on Thror's map of the Lonely Mountain, while created by the dwarves, are likely made partly from ithildin.

He'd fought, at first. Until his eyes had sharpened in the darkness, and he'd learned to relish the screams of others, for it meant he was not alone.

After days of hunger and thirst beyond count, they brought him food and drink. His nose knew the substance, and a last shred of decency within him rebelled. They forced it down his throat, and with the first taste of metallic sweetness, he was lost. From then on, he knew only that he wanted more.

Covered in water, Isengard hardly looked like much, but Aragorn knew that beneath the water, hundreds of caverns had hidden an army of thousands. As Hasufel sloshed through the detritus, an odd figure caught Aragorn's eye. He reigned in, leaning over to get a better look.

Curled around the end of a crate, it appeared to be a half-formed Warg, but its' shape wasn't right. Aragorn drew his sword and prodded it. The creature floated free and turned over. Aragorn thought he might be sick.

Goldberry stood utterly still. That alone spoke volumes to Tom as he joined her.

Tom followed her gaze and saw Dunedain winding among the barrows, led by a bier. His keen sight made out the hallowed cheeks and skeletal frame left by plague. The procession rounded a hill, and what once was fair was lost to their sight forever. He put his arm around Goldberry, and she wept.

Years later, Tom took great delight in reclaiming the jeweled brooch of this dearest friend from the evil that had stolen it.

The Road Goes Ever On by Little Mouse