The following drabbles were written for individuals on LiveJournal.com. The challenge was to write someone a drabble based on his/her LJ interests (and the person had no say as to what the topic would be). All written in March 2005.
For Ithiliel Silverquill: Glorfindel, reading, and a cat.
Stalker [March 3, 2005]
The lithe figure slunk silently, eyes fixed on her target. She watched as he lazily turned the page of his book. Hypnotized, she watched the wind teasingly blow his golden hair. Well, far be it from her to back down from a challenge! Body tensing, preparing to spring, she—
“Tinúviel! Where have you been?” A pair of arms picked her up, ignoring her shriek of protest. “Are you trying to go after his hair again? Honestly…”
Realizing defeat, she settled into her mistress’s arms, watching regretfully as her quarry continued to read.
Another time, elf. There will be another time.
For Ann: vegetarian cooking (no mockery intended, though, really!). Double-and-a-half drabble.
Fine Dinings [March 3, 2005]
“Master Gamgee, Gondor and the world is greatly indebted to you,” Lady Emlin cooed, fluttering her fan.
“We have heard great repute of your skills in the kitchen,” Lady Tuilinn interjected, “and being purveyors of the finest fare, we simply had to come see if the rumors were true.”
Sam was wide-eyed. What were these fine ladies coming to wait on him for? He was surrounded by four, wrapped in silk and perfume and impeccable manners.
“I have heard rumors of a famous roast chicken—” Lady Emlin chattered happily.
“Oh, but I am on a strictly no-meat diet,” Lady Niphredil said with a gasp. “I couldn’t—”
“Do forgive me, Niphri. It slipped my mind.”
“Or a lovely, home baked loaf?” said Lady Brennil hopefully.
“Renn, you know I am not to have breads, for my figure!” Tuilinn scolded. “For shame!”
“You change your eating habits twice in a fortnight, Linn: how am I to keep track?”
“We could simply have a nice, wholesome meal of spiced fruits; I am sure Master Gamgee can accomplish that,” Lady Niphredil said with authority.
“For the sake of Elbereth, Niphri! You know I cannot have spices: what it does to my complexion, I shall not say…!”
“Perhaps some of those elfish wafers, then…”
Shaking his head, Sam back up and crept out of the kitchen. Once safely in the hallway, he exhaled. Fine ladies. They were mighty fair to look on, but none of ‘em had a grain of good, solid hobbit-sense.
For Earengil: hobbits and quilting.
The Circle [March 3, 2005]
The Shirriffs were just leaving (“We’re watching you and your crowd, Cotton.”) when he got there. “Did they search the secret root cellar?” he asked wearily. “Tell me.”
“Yes, Da. They did.”
He sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands. His family, his friends: they’d starve.
“But look what we did.”
Rosie tugged the quilt aside, revealing a jumble of baskets, bushels, and sacks. His daughter’s face was so proud that it made Tolman want to weep. “They’re not going to break us, Da. Not so long as we keep together, and keep doing what’s right.”
For Elvenesse: Legolas, the twins, and weaponry.
Teachers [March 15, 2005]
“You think you can do better, Mirkwood whelp? Have the spiders taught you something that we do not know?”
Flashing him an irritated glare, Legolas rose and peered at the distant target. His opponent’s shot had missed the center by no more than an inch, and yet it was perfection they all strove for. Watch and learn, Noldorin upstart. Nocking an arrow, taking careful aim—
THWAP! A clean, straight shot thudded into the target, splitting the preceding arrow directly down the middle.
“Well,” Legolas said conversationally to the glowering twins, “clearly, the spiders are far better teachers than the orcs.”
For JunoMagic: Spices, stars, and reading mentioned (however briefly) in this one.
Remembrance [March 15, 2005]
She has been clad in the finest silks, and anointed herself with jasmine, sweet almond, and the faintest hint of galbanum. Shadows of kohl darken her eyes, and golden ornaments hang at her wrists, ears, and neck; bells chime around her ankles. It is for you, her eyes say. Not for him.
“They say,” she whispers, “that the star-readers prophesy doom, the wise men mumble chants to the gods, and the sheikhan has called on your people.
“So if you are to leave with the black banners, then let not your last night with me pass unnoticed.
“Come with me.”