Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 11 |
| Impromptu Insta-Drabblings: March 25 & 27, 2005 |
The first two were written on the 25th, the second two on the 27th. Same drill: four random words into a drabble (or half drabble, if you wanted a real challenge). |
| Survival Skills - dash, balm, hutch, grass, nuisance "Ow!" After applying a copious dash of balm to my ankle, I start towards the cluster of hutches on the grassy hillside. "Another new nuzgûl, how do they expect me to survive?" I grumble. "Damned nuisances! I already have stories: Celebrimbor’s bugging me about Renewal, Fëanor will explode if I don’t write more on Capture the Fire, and Nerdanel won’t talk to me! What gives?! "And now another #%&*ing drabble! Honestly, how can I use these ridiculous words to talk about Fëanor?!" I stop, eyeing a doe-eyed specimen that has just popped out of thin air. "Oh, no you don’t." Turning - notice, square, sentence (missed on ritual) No more needless deaths, I had vowed. Not while I live. Blades kill girls as easily as warriors, and it hurts none the less. Fortune’s circle (and father’s favor) smiled, and my shieldmaidens became forces to notice and take pride in. Now the circle turns to a hard winter bringing death and battle. I look around the square, half ashamed. Cwen and Geliefan are beside me, with their steadfast, unspoken loyalty. Your fault, my people’s silence accuses. Our sentence of exile to the Deep is because of you. She is innocent, the silence of my shield-sisters retorts. She is innocent. Gatherers - surrender, hammer, gleam, priority. Half drabble. Everything reminds him of her. The half-finished sculpture, her drawings on the wall, a hammer sitting atop the gleaming pile of copper: everything she left behind, gathering both dust and his hatred. Bitterness rises in his throat. Let her be damned, and let her "priorities" rot. I will not surrender. Leave It Unspoken - fear, pain, death, sword "It was madness…" Her brother’s voice broke the silence, and she flinched. It had been madness: nothing but pain, blood, her blade against her people, and the overwhelming fear that this could be the end, oh Eru, why? Look at the blood, the bodies Listen to the screams. Mother’s people, her kin, my kin, our kin. Why? Oh, Eru! Save us! I didn’t know, didn’t know, didn’t know that it would be like this. He’s bleeding red blood flowing-dripping-pouring onto the white-white sand.. She’s dying choking-gasping-rasping last-last-very-last breath Save me… She shivered. "Leave it, Finrod. Do not talk about it." |