Her Ring
"Do you see my ring?" the Golden Lady asked of him. Sam wondered greatly at what she meant by it. Her fair hands were lifted up, the moonlight lighting them, no - her own luminesence lifting from them, a shimmer and a shine. A daughter of both moon and sun she seemed. There was no ring to be seen, no bearing of any gilt burden to weigh upon her grace. Her hands stayed free, but for one of them. A star seemed to light upon it, a star from the heavens shone upon her hand, a blessing of the nighttime.
- Primula
Lockholes
Michel Delving's white chalk earth was packed, cold and hard. Fatty knew no matter how he shifted he would sit in water that dripped down the walls with nowhere to go. It was no wonder that his cell, little more than a storage closet, had been abandoned long ago. The darkness was unbearable, the food scarce. He sat with bowed head, listening to the weeping of other prisoners, newer ones. There was a movement from the cell next to his. Something poked him; something hard, pointy, like the end of an umbrella.
"Don't worry, youngster. They'll soon get theirs."
- Primula
Sweet Mithlond
Sweet were the breezes across the sea, fresher than anything ever scented, even beyond the memories of fresh, rain-driven springtimes mad with blossoms and dew. Bright were the waters with the sunlight sparkling and dancing across them, and above the seabirds danced as well. The gold-brown-grey of the sand swirled amid the waves as they ever-reached their way up towards the land. What finer birthing place could creation ever conceive for the maiden voyage of such ships? What further beauty could this dying land give, than to place its timbers upon the gentle waves and watch them as they found eternity?
Sweet Mithlond
Sweet were the breezes across the sea, fresher than anything ever scented, even beyond the memories of fresh, rain-driven springtimes mad with blossoms and dew. Bright were the waters with the sunlight sparkling and dancing across them, and above the seabirds danced as well. The gold-brown-grey of the sand swirled amid the waves as they ever-reached their way up towards the land. What finer birthing place could creation ever conceive for the maiden voyage of such ships? What further beauty could this dying land give, than to place its timbers upon the gentle waves and watch them as they found eternity?
- Primula
Gollum in the Lake - a double drabble
What was it? What was this fumbling about on the gravelly strand that edged his lovely dark waters? It was not a goblin, he could see that, yes he could see it and it could not see him. Gollum's pale, large eyes narrowed with thought.
It was not a goblin, yet not a monster of any kind either. He sniffed the air that it stirred up, sniffed scents of pipesmoke caught in woolen twists, campfire and the tang of mountain air washed in rain. What was it, that sat flummoxed upon the pebbly shore? A tiny glimmer of something shone in the recesses of Gollum's mind, glimmered and was lost; a firefly at midnight, quenched... an ember of some fire long forgotten lest it burn. He frowned, and sniffed again.
It spoke. Not goblin-speech, no.... He knew the words, understood them. He was drawn to it, as a fish drawn to the wiggling tips of fingers because it seemed as the memory of something else, something real, filled with substance.
He dipped his hands in the waters and paddled them a bit. Perhaps he would find out.
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The Calling Forth of the Dead
The terrible grey, a mist of fog and fear was all around them. A nightmare that seemed to never end; the dim shreds of banners and spears always on the edge of sight, never fully there. The echoes of ghostly voices, a presence, not of evil but rather of the ghostly cobwebs of dishonor clinging, dragging across their souls.
A cold, dead stone of memory stood before them. His voice was raised, a single living voice among the Dead, the only voice that could grant them their release.
The light of morning broke at last, tearing away the crumbled shrouds.
Gollum in the Lake - a double drabble
What was it? What was this fumbling about on the gravelly strand that edged his lovely dark waters? It was not a goblin, he could see that, yes he could see it and it could not see him. Gollum's pale, large eyes narrowed with thought.
It was not a goblin, yet not a monster of any kind either. He sniffed the air that it stirred up, sniffed scents of pipesmoke caught in woolen twists, campfire and the tang of mountain air washed in rain. What was it, that sat flummoxed upon the pebbly shore? A tiny glimmer of something shone in the recesses of Gollum's mind, glimmered and was lost; a firefly at midnight, quenched... an ember of some fire long forgotten lest it burn. He frowned, and sniffed again.
It spoke. Not goblin-speech, no.... He knew the words, understood them. He was drawn to it, as a fish drawn to the wiggling tips of fingers because it seemed as the memory of something else, something real, filled with substance.
He dipped his hands in the waters and paddled them a bit. Perhaps he would find out.
- Primula
This Shining Ember Burns my Hand
For Beren and Luthien
When at last he met her eyes again it was like falling into the sea. Wild and shining and deep with an ancient love he could barely comprehend; a jewel of the heavens that he’d captured with the net of his heart. The star forever upon his brow.
Why, he wondered, were all the finest and brightest things in life so rendered with pain, if only in the knowing the years would so soon be lost?
She was a plucked flower in his hand, beautiful and perfect and beginning even now to die.
Yet it was she that had chosen.
This Shining Ember Burns my Hand
For Beren and Luthien
When at last he met her eyes again it was like falling into the sea. Wild and shining and deep with an ancient love he could barely comprehend; a jewel of the heavens that he’d captured with the net of his heart. The star forever upon his brow.
Why, he wondered, were all the finest and brightest things in life so rendered with pain, if only in the knowing the years would so soon be lost?
She was a plucked flower in his hand, beautiful and perfect and beginning even now to die.
Yet it was she that had chosen.
- Primula
The Calling Forth of the Dead
The terrible grey, a mist of fog and fear was all around them. A nightmare that seemed to never end; the dim shreds of banners and spears always on the edge of sight, never fully there. The echoes of ghostly voices, a presence, not of evil but rather of the ghostly cobwebs of dishonor clinging, dragging across their souls.
A cold, dead stone of memory stood before them. His voice was raised, a single living voice among the Dead, the only voice that could grant them their release.
The light of morning broke at last, tearing away the crumbled shrouds.
- Primula
The River
The River was the best way for them to travel and avoid any pursuit, but it was fraught with its own perils also. Great slime-ridden rocks rose up all frothing from the deep, white foam surging around them in endless striving. Other rocks could be seen below the clear waters, vague shapes, to Sam's mind, they threatened to rip out the bottoms of their boats. Icy, stony dragons hidden away, malicious. The waters of the Anduin were swift and deep, deeper than the cold, running fears of all the world it seemed to Sam. No, he did not care for boats.
- Primula
Gimli's Homecoming
Thwack went the silver axe, neatly cleaving the roast once again. The meat dripped with juices, wafted its aroma among the bushy beards that eagerly gathered around. Another thick slice fell from the bone to the waiting golden plate, another thick-handled foaming tankard of ale was pulled to go with it.
"Ah! What a fine feast, and what a fine day for it!" said Gloin happily. "My son has once more brought us great honor, and thankful we are for the peace we enjoy as well. To Gimli!"
"To Gimli!" chorused the others. "May his beard ever grow longer!"
Another September AlreadyGimli's Homecoming
Thwack went the silver axe, neatly cleaving the roast once again. The meat dripped with juices, wafted its aroma among the bushy beards that eagerly gathered around. Another thick slice fell from the bone to the waiting golden plate, another thick-handled foaming tankard of ale was pulled to go with it.
"Ah! What a fine feast, and what a fine day for it!" said Gloin happily. "My son has once more brought us great honor, and thankful we are for the peace we enjoy as well. To Gimli!"
"To Gimli!" chorused the others. "May his beard ever grow longer!"
- Primula
Heaped and Overflowing
Merry and Pippin shook their heads at the many-sized flock of children gathered around Rosie at this reunion. There were more every year, it seemed, with no end in sight. The tables had been set and all was ready, but they were still missing one person. It was to the children's delight when Sam finally entered the room, kneeling and opening his arms. They all ran to fill them.
"Hullo pumpkin! Hullo sweetie-pie! How's my dumpling? My honey? The apple of my eye? I love you too, sugar-plum, and why there's my little half-pint!"
"I'm hungry." said Pippin.
Heaped and Overflowing
Merry and Pippin shook their heads at the many-sized flock of children gathered around Rosie at this reunion. There were more every year, it seemed, with no end in sight. The tables had been set and all was ready, but they were still missing one person. It was to the children's delight when Sam finally entered the room, kneeling and opening his arms. They all ran to fill them.
"Hullo pumpkin! Hullo sweetie-pie! How's my dumpling? My honey? The apple of my eye? I love you too, sugar-plum, and why there's my little half-pint!"
"I'm hungry." said Pippin.
Had it really been another year? Bilbo leaned upon the hobbit-height balustrade, gazing over peaceful Rivendell.
How many years, since he had gone down that familiar path, jumping the gap in the hedge? How old would Frodo be this September? He shook his head at his own thoughts; he couldn't even keep track of his own age sometimes much less someone else's.
He had no birthday presents for the Elves but had promised a new song to hear, a translation he'd set to rhyme. A hobbit birthday song... Maybe someday they could sing a birthday song together, one last time...
- Primula
