Lost at sea

Water pushes through the ship's seams in trickles, then streams, then jets stronger than fountains in the King's garden. Wood groans and shrieks as the ice rends it. The stones do not see or hear; they are locked away in ebony caskets bound with silver. Lifted gently by the water, the boxes float, nudging a ringed hand drifting in the current.

Do they call out silently, or are they dumb as well as blind? Do they sleep in the frigid water, fathoms deep, where nothing ventures but the furred seals? What does the eye of Manwe see of these things?

City of the stars

The stone plummeted from a vast height, yet it bears no chip nor score nor dent. The riverbed's mire broke its fall, of course, but still the glancing flight between fire and stone, earth and water left no trace on its shining curves.

It watches weeds scrolling in the current, incurious fish mouthing its glossy side, black-bottomed boats sliding above. Light flares briefly in its centre, like signals from a beacon far away, if any but the fish were there to see them. Slowly it sinks as the silt settles around it. Soon it will hold no fire at all.

Elostirion

This stone waits alone in the white tower of Emyn Beraid, where it lay untouched for years until Gandalf came to retrieve it. An unmarked film of dust blurs its sight. The wizard cannot resist; he blows away the dull gauze and bends to look into the West.

Swiftly the straight road unrolls before him. For a breath he sees another white tower far away, like a needle scratch on the horizon of a grey sea, before the vision is veiled in mist again. He sighs and takes up the stone, wrapping it carefully in silk for its last voyage.

[for the lovely & wise Altariel, who wanted drabbles about the Seeing Stones]