Inklets - Serious...3

Serious 1  2  3  4  Light or Humorous 1  2  3  4 
Collections of vignette tales, too long for drabbles and too short for short stories.


Growed - Agape4Rivendell
Hope Stirs - Linaewen
Joy and Shame - Eruvanne
Just Another Dream - Jimbo Baggins
Last Words - Eruvanne
Not a Curse but a Gift - Agape4Rivendell
The Pit - Agape4Rivendell
Smeagol's Birthday - Jimbo Baggins
Songs and Tales - Eruvanne
Torment - Agape4Rivendell



Just Another Dream

Garden, flowers, The Gaffer
Bag End, The Shire
Elves, Dwarves and Rangers
Black Riders, Orcs, Darkness, Moria
Gandalf! No! Run, run!
The Lady, river flowing, Boromir lost.
Run Frodo run. Sneaky Gollum.
Spiders, Frodo dead! Must carry the burden.
Run! Dark land, hot, thirsty.
Mt Doom, so tired, Gollum, Gollum.
So hot, Master Frodo, Throw it! Throw it!
Nooo! Gollum, gone, It’s done. Run.
Carry Frodo. Never getting back. Lava, hot, tired, so tired.
Gandalf. The Eagles, The Eagles are coming!
Rest, rest…
“Wake up Sam, wake up”, said Rosie. “Were you having another dream, my love?”
“Yes Rosie. It’s Ok now. Lets get some breakfast for the little ones. Have I told you how much I love you? The garden is sure looking beautiful today, isn’t it?”
“Yes Sam, it is.”
- JimboBaggins


Growed – A Quadrabble

"Am not!”
"Are too!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"

The voices rose in pitch and heat. Boromir spurred himself forward. As he rounded the corner, he stopped in startled disbelief. One of the guards' sons was straddling Faramir, holding him down. Not thinking, not caring what the altercation was about, Boromir pitched forward and shoved the boy off his beloved brother.

The lad went flying and Boromir knelt over Faramir. "Are you well?" he asked as he watched, sickened, as blood spilled from his brother's lip.

The younger boy's eyes filled with tears. "He said I'm not growed."

Boromir blinked, more than once. He stood and held his hand out. Faramir grabbed it and pulled himself up. Boromir noted the officer's son had run. He would find him later, he vowed. Now, his concern was for his brother. "Tell me exactly what he said."

"We were playing soldier. Oh!" Faramir stopped and began looking around wildly. "Oh! Here it is!" He ran and picked up a toy sword. "I thought I had lost it." He looked up at his big brother. "He hit me with it and I…" Faramir bit his lip. "I cried. Then he said I wasn't growed. I am growed, are I not, Boromir?" The tears filled the little one’s eyes again.

"Of course you're growed," Boromir sighed at the term. "You are growing still, in fact. And well, too. I am proud of you."

Faramir hugged him tightly, as if he would never let him go.

The memory sent a shudder through the Captain-general of Gondor as he lay, panting for breath on the banks of the Anduin, the collapsed bridge off to his left. Faramir lay beside him – alive. His little brother had 'growed' after that year of loss, the year their mother... From that time on, Boromir had watched over and protected his little brother. From that moment on, during the many rescues of Faramir, the caring for broken bones, fevered brow, cuts and scrapes, he had protected his little brother. ‘For what purpose?’ he wondered.

It hit him - full force. Took his breath, what little left he had, away from him. Seared his heart with such pain that his eyes welled with tears. It was in that moment that Boromir, Son of Gondor, was graced with the foresight his father and his brother had; the knowledge overwhelmed him – he would never be Steward.
- Agape4Rivendell

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Torment

"I do not know why you bother with me." He felt the slap, though it never reached him. Instead the table was hit, fiercely. Shock caused the grunt that escaped.

Boromir's eyes filled. "I am sorry, Faramir. I did not… Why do you say these things?" he hissed and Faramir knew that Boromir wanted to scream.

Faramir's brow crinkled. "I…"

Boromir’s men turned away. Not oft did their captain lose his temper, but when he did, it was best they either did what was needed or make themselves scarce. Tonight, they made themselves scarce. The inn quickly emptied, much to the innkeeper’s chagrin.

"Nay. Speak not. I am ever the fool. It is not you." He grit his teeth, then stood and pulled Faramir by the arm. Roughly, he led him into the back, into the brothel area. He opened a door and found a woman waiting. “Get out!” he shouted and she left. The door, however, slammed behind her. He turned to Faramir. Rage filled him.

"You encourage him with your subservience. Do you not know he longs for you to stand up to him! When you say things like that about yourself, I go mad. Faramir, look at yourself." He pushed him before a mirror and held his chin up "Look! You are a son of Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith. You are not some fop, some ne'er-do-well. You are even more like unto him than I am!"

Boromir turned in disgust and his brother's shoulders sagged. "Boromir?"

"What?"

"His eyes burn into me."

"Oh!" Boromir cried, turned and took Faramir into his arms. "I know."

"What can I do?"

"You have looked into the faces of more Orcs than many can even imagine; you have ridden your horse into battles more fierce than the fires of Mount Doom; you have faced a Mûmak and lived. How can you ask, 'What can I do?'”

He walked away from his brother and sat heavily on the bed. “Stop seeing the wizard, stop quoting the wizard, stop trying to be like the wizard. You are captain of a garrison. Would he have given you that title and garrison if he did not believe in you? How is he supposed to act when you scorn him and his wisdom? Faramir,” he said quietly, eyes filled with sadness, “You are his heir, if aught should happen to me.”

Faramir’s face went white.

- Agape4Rivendell
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The Pit

He fell into the pit while in the company of the Lady, and he wept, for what – he knew not. As he plunged deeper, every fibre of his body and soul turned to fiery ice; he wished for death, or life – he knew not which. His mind screamed in horror. Further and further he fell.

His heart cried out for help, but his mind knew he was alone. There would be no comfort, no pity. He clawed at the sides of the pit as he fell, but knew it was hopeless. The pit was in his mind and he could not escape it. ‘Father!’ Tears stung his eyes. ‘Faramir!’ The cry of a wounded animal fell from his lips. ‘Mercy!’

He put his hands over his ears, begging the Valar for surcease from the whispers that sliced and tore through him. Yet, they did not stop; they grew louder the more he moaned and cried. ‘Alone! Elbereth, I am alone and doomed.’

A hand touched his shoulder. The fall slowed, then stopped. He opened his eyes. He was no longer on the talan, but in a glade. Aragorn stood close by, watching him quizzically.

“Rest, Boromir. There is nothing to fear here in the Golden Wood.”

He shivered, listened, and sighed. The whispers, at the very edge of sound, hid, but his heart heard them. He turned fear-filled eyes to the Ranger.

“There is hope, Boromir. You are not alone, nor is Gondor.”

“Nay. Evil I spoke of when we entered this place. You chided me. Yet, it is here.” His voice fell to a whispered gasp.

Aragorn sat next to him. “I will shield thee, if thou needest that.”

Tears trickled down Boromir’s cheeks. “There is no shield that can protect me.” He stood and walked into the forest.
- Agape4Rivendell


Not a Curse but a Gift

Why could they not see that this was not a curse- but a gift?

All of them, every one of them! They must all be blind- blind to wisdom, blind to reason.

Why else would the Ring be here, if not to act as an aid- as a weapon!- against our enemies.

It is so close… if only I reach out my hand, caress its cool surface, take it, use it-

I could save us all.
- Luthiena


I have never been able to manage a drabble except once, ages ago, because I just could never say what I wanted to in so few words! But in trying to write something special for Agape for her (recent) birthday, I came up with this. It's still long, but it is exactly 400 words!
So here it is, for my friend Agape4Rivendell -- a "could have been" Denethor quaddrable!


Hope Stirs

"...thou shalt not defy my will: to rule my own end!"

Torch in hand, Denethor cast one last disdainful glance at Gandalf, then sprang for the door of the House of Stewards. But he got no farther than the threshold when a shout rang out in the street behind him. He stopped, listening, frozen still as if turned to stone.

"Father!" came the cry again, this time closer, now accompanied by the sound of booted feet, running, coming towards him.

He turned swiftly, and the torch in his hand guttered and smoked.

"Father!"

It was Boromir.


**

They stood stunned, amazed at the sight of him. Pippin tried to speak, but words failed. A glance, a soft smile, a brief touch of his hand on Pippin's cheek was all Boromir could spare; then his attention was all on Denethor.

Denethor stood pale and astounded, hesitating on the threshold. Frowning, he shook his head in disbelief. Lifting the torch once more, he made to turn away.

Suddenly Boromir was at his side, his hand gently gripping the hand holding the torch.

"Give it to me, my father," he whispered. "No need for flames. I am here."

**

Reaching up with trembling hand, Denethor touched the face next to his. He felt the roughness of a beard on his palm, the dampness of tears on the cheek. Hope stirred.

Boromir? Alive?

"How can this be?" he breathed, again doubtful. "Is this a lie of the Enemy to deceive me?"

"No, my father!" said the son. "I live, and I am here, in the very nick of time."

Boromir drew him away from the door and closed it behind him.

"Come, let us go from here. This is no place for the living."

**

"The living!" cried Denethor. "We shall all die. It is the end, my son! You come too late. No hope remains..."

"No hope, Father? None at all? I cannot believe it!"

"Faramir..."

"He lives, and shall be healed. The tide turns, Father. The end you have foreseen is by no means certain. There is hope, indeed, and we shall not lose sight of it again. Will you come with me to find it?"

Denethor hesitated, then relented.

"Yes, my son," he replied, grasping Boromir's outstretched hand. "I will come, and attempt hope once more."
- Linaewen
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Last Words

The young Rohirric man gathered his things together. Today was the day he left to be a soldier. In his mind, he reviewed all the days, weeks, and years that had gone by during his training. A grin spread across his face.

His family was at the door waiting for his departure. As he came from his room, he looked intently at each of his family members. His younger sister with tears already streaming down her cheeks and eyes reddened from crying. His mother trying to be strong for her little girl but her own tears threatening to escape. His father looking proud and grave for though he was proud that his son was following in his footsteps, he knew what dangers and horrors also awaited the young soldier.

Gallantly, the young man said farewell to his mother and sister. When he reached his father, he stood and looked deeply into the older man’s wise gray eyes. The father gazed back into the younger’s naïve blue ones. He then placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and said,

“My son, don’t forget what I have taught you. Do not forsake your mother’s principles. Never be willing to compromise those principles whatever the cost. Now go and be brave, my son.”

With a final manly embrace, the young soldier left his family. Little did Eomer know that these were the last words he ever heard from his father.
- Eruvanne


Songs and Tales

I wonder if we’ll ever be put into any songs or tales. ~Samwise Gamgee

“Story time, story time!” shouted the young hobbits as they ran into the parlor of their hobbit hole. This was always their favorite time when Daddy would tell them stories.

“So, children,” asked their father, “what will the story be this time?”

“Frodo and the Ring!” one of the children cried. Resounding agreement followed.

“Oh, that’s one of my favorite stories,” said the father.

“Frodo was really courageous, wasn’t he, Dad?” questioned one of the young hobbits.

“Yes, my boy. One the bravest hobbits there ever was and that’s saying a lot.”

The mayor had been taking an evening stroll when he had happened upon the story time conversation. Tears glistened in the older hobbit’s eyes as he heard the tale of Frodo Baggins and his trusty servant Samwise Gamgee as they toiled together to destroy the Ring of Power. Sam closed his eyes at the memory. Once the story finished, he opened his eyes and walked home. He arrived back at Bag End and went into his study. Papers cluttered the room. Toys were strewn everywhere. Books piled high in every corner. But a red book sat quietly, free from the room’s squalor, on the writing desk. To this book, Sam strode and lifted with tenderness.

“If only you could of heard what I heard, Mr. Frodo. You would of enjoyed it. All them young hobbits gatherin’ round their dad to hear your story. Do you remember when we were wanderin’ around followin’ Gollum and I asked if we would be put into any songs or tales? Well, it seems I was right.” He sighed as tears threatened to reappear and he held the book close to his chest. “I miss you, Frodo.”
- Eruvanne


Joy and Shame


The air was cool and crisp. The wind whispered across the plains. The yellow sun shone fiercely but didn’t scorch. Two men on two horses rode forth with their company to fight a band of Uruk-hai. The two men, Gárulf and Eomund, were best of friends as were their horses, Hasufel and Arod. Laughing together, both men and horses enjoyed their ride to battle. The men spoke of loved ones back in Rohan. The horses discussed the loved ones on their backs. All were happy until nightfall.

The air was thick and cloudy. No wind stirred the endless fields. A red sun rose cold and uninviting. Two horses rode forth with their company after a fight with a band of Uruk-hai. The two horses, Hasufel and Arod, were the best of friends. But neither laughed nor spoke. The largest disgrace that could have befallen a horse had fallen on the two friends. Both hung their heads in shame for losing their closest human companions, their riders. Both were unhappy until nightfall.
- Eruvanne


Sméagol’s Birthday

Sméagol and Déagol took up their canes and went fishin’ one bright summers day.
To celebrate ones birth they snuck from their work, ate 2 breakfasts then went off to play.

It happens that living by the river Anduin, spending time on the water was fun. Unusual for hobbits who keep their feet high and dry and a hat brim shading the sun.

With a tug on his line and setting his hook, Deagol hollered, “I gots one”, and was pulled by what felt like a whale. Afraid to let go, face first he was dragged through the water, reeds, rocks and shale.

Whilst being yanked by this fish and his eyes wide with fright, down below in the sand spied something shiny and bright. Letting go of his pole reaching down to the ground snatched a trinket gleaming gold in the light.

Gasping for breath swam to shore and jumping for joy yelled, “Sméagol, look what I found!” Instant greed or was he jealous? With fingers tight ‘round his throat, Sméagol smiled, “It’s my birthday, it’s my Precious”.
- Jimbo Baggins


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