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Author Topic: Becca's Drabbles and One Shots  (Read 3124 times)


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Becca's Drabbles and One Shots
« on: November 22, 2015, 10:52:38 PM »
Dol Guldur

Celeborn never liked it when Galadriel put herself in danger and her deciding to go to Dol Guldur was one of those times. He understood her reasons for heading there when she heard from Radagast that Gandalf needed rescuing from that accursed place. She had sent word to both Elrond and Saruman and he watched as she prepared to leave for Dol Goldur. She would not take many and he needed to be there with her, to make sure she was alright. Yet they both knew that he would be more a distraction for her than a help.

Yet he didn't stay in their home. He had gone with her but stayed with the small contingent of troops, both from Lothlorien and Rivendell, crouched in a nearby tree, watching and waiting for something, anything to happen at the fortress. He could sense eyes on him as his people and Elrond's watched him for any sign that their Lord and Lady were in distress. Plus, there was always the threat of orcs. Yet his gaze and thoughts did not waver from where his wife was.

He was acutely in tune with her and while he did not know exactly what was going on, he could sense her strongest emotions and every surge of power. He gasped at her fear, fear which could only be caused by one being: Sauron. Morgoth's Lieutenant had not been destroyed. It was as the Wise had long feared. He felt his own fear rise, partly because in reaction to his wife but a general sense of foreboding. There was a sting of sorrow and for a moment Celeborn feared that the Grey Wizard had passed, though he quickly dismissed it for he knew that her sorrow would be far greater if he had. So he was badly wounded then.

Yet that knowledge did not make him breathe any easier. For he had felt her fear spike again and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate, she had blocked him so he wasn't going to distract her. While her fear never decreased, he could sense the moment that Sauron appeared. He knew it was Sauron for he sensed that she recognized him. And well she should for he had come to Ost-in-edhil in fair form while they were there and he could almost sense him via her mind. All the sudden, he tensed as something changed in her, something dark that he somehow knew had to do with Nenya, but with her own power coming out.

The release of power made him sag against the tree, and he pulled a few ragged breaths as he willed himself down the tree. He needed to be there when she came out, to hold her close to him and make sure she was well, or at least would in time. His eyes were worried as she saw that Elrond needed to carry her and he nearly ran to meet them, taking her from their son-in-law's arms into his own, cradling her against his chest protectively.

He glanced at Haldir. ”We need to get her to Lothlorien, to rest.” He saw the nod and he carried her to his horse, letting her go for a moment while he mounted his horse and settled, before making sure she was comfortable and secure in front of him. It did not take long for the rest of those gathered to be ready to leave and the Lord of Lothlorien turned his horse towards home, humming a Doriathrin lullaby quietly to ease his wife into sleep, pressing a kiss to her hair when he could sense she was asleep, though he doubted her sleep would restful. Maybe once they were home, one of the healer could give her something help her sleep. She needed it and would need it.

Yet even as they rode away, he glanced back, getting the feeling that this would not be the last time he would be her. But he would deal with that when the time came, and looked forward once more. There would be enough to worry about later. Right now, he needed to bring his wife home and see to her needs. He would ask her what had happened later but he could guess much of what had happened simply from their bond.
« Last Edit: January 31, 2016, 09:44:34 PM by Celeborn »


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Re: Becca's Drabbles and One Shots
« Reply #1 on: January 31, 2016, 09:45:24 PM »
Sack of Doriath

He could hardly believe that this was happening once again. Hadn't the Iathrim been through enough at the expense of the Simarils. It had been bad enough that their kin in Aman had been slaughtered in pursuit of them but then to have their own city attacked twice for them was the final straw. Plus, Elu Thingol had been slain by the very Dwarves that had created Nauglamír, a necklace with a Simaril, the very simaril that had cost Beren his hand and eventually his life, and that of Luthien. And now the sons of Feanor were in Menegroth, searching for the Simaril.

Celeborn had lost track of Galadriel, though normally he could easily find her anywhere. He once thought he had seen her golden head but blond was not uncommon both among the Sinda or the Noldo so he couldn't be sure. He sagged against a wall when he heard footsteps, pressing against the cool stone amongst the shadows to wait to see who it was, though he knew that he needed to get to the throne room to find Dior and Nimloth and the children, as well as Galadriel. He had already fought off several Noldor and while he hated the feeling, he needed to kill them, lest they killed him. But he finally thought he could understand the pain and horror that his wife had gone through as she saw Elf slaying Elf.

The threat passed and he let his ax hang slightly, his face pained partly due to his wounds. He had been stabbed a few times and though they were not fatal, he still had lost and fair amount of blood and was in considerable pain. But he forced himself off the wall and took the shortest route to the throne room, thankfully not running into anymore trouble along the way. Yet the sight that met him as he stood in the shadows of the throne room nearly made him faint. He could easily make out the bodies of both Dior and Nimloth, almost unrecognizable but to those that knew them well. The only other person was young Elwing, standing there terrified with a knife shaking in her hand.

His eyes were sorrowful as he approached, slowly so that he didn't startle his grand-niece. She looked even more terrified when he first moved but when she saw it was him, she ran into his arms and burrowed her face in shoulder as he sank to his knees and wept bitterly for his niece and her husband. Yet where were Eluréd and Elurín? He stroked Elwing's hair and gently asked where her brothers were, horrified as she sobbed that some soldiers had taken them away, his lips a thin line.

Yet suddenly there was movement in the corner of his eye and he tried to cover Elwing the best he could as he turned slightly to see who it was, sighing at the sight of his wife, though he could see she was haunted, perhaps more haunted than even he was. He quickly stood, keeping Elwing in one arm and drew his wife to him with the other. Yet Celeborn knew that they had to leave, and find the twins, desperately hoping they were still alive. But one look at his wife told him that she knew of their fate and he wept once more.

She murmured against his neck that they needed to get moving, to leave before the attackers came back. He nodded against her, slightly hesitant to let her go but knowing that time was of the essence. He straightened suddenly, pulling out of his wife's embrace and handing her Elwing, who clung to her like she had to him when he first found her, purposefully avoiding looking at the bodies of her parents. The trek out of Menegroth was slow going for Celeborn would often halt the growing group of Iathrim as they moved forward every time he thought he heard something.

People looked to him for leadership since he was still a Prince of Doriath, the only surviving one with only Elwing the only other surviving member of the Royal family. But they finally left the caves and headed towards the Havens of Sirion, where he knew they would find shelter with Cirdan and his people. But their journey was slow due to the wounded and the weather, snow falling heavily around them. He led them that first night to a system of caves where they could find shelter, clean water, and some dry wood, since he had used it with the Wardens before and they kept it stocked with wood and jerky, so there would be some food.

He sat towards the back, near a fire that had been recently started, and leaned heavily against the walls, the adrenaline of the day wearing off and the pain and exhaustion setting in. He closed his eyes but all he could see was Nimloth, lying there on the throne room floor, and his eyes flew open only to see Galadriel kneeling in front of him eyes concerned and with rags to clean his wounds.

She helped him remove his shirt and didn't say anything at his hisses of pain as the hot water touched his wounds. She sewed a few of the worse wounds up, the two of them silent as she worked, the sorrow and the horror and the exhaustion of the day hovering like a thick cloud over them and the rest of the survivors. As she finished, he was dropping off to sleep and the last thing he remembered was her settling against him and pulling a blanket around him, though he his dreams would be unsettled, visions of the dead, both from this attack and the previous one, haunting him.

Elrond Peredhel

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Re: Becca's Drabbles and One Shots
« Reply #2 on: October 24, 2016, 04:33:27 AM »

Elrond was for the first time in his life unsure of what his twin was thinking. They both knew that they were going to be given the rare choice of being counted as fully Elven or fully Mortal, and that whatever they chose would impact their descendents. But thoughts of children were not what was foremost on Elrond's mind as he considered what to do, and what Elros was going to do. The twins had by unspoken agreement blocked the other as they considered what they were going to do and it was in some ways killing Elrond not to know what Elros was going to choose.

He was almost certain that he was going to be considered Elven yet doubt clouded his thoughts as the two stood before the Maia that were emissaries for the Valar, ready to hear what the two Half-Elves were going to do. What if his choice was not the same as Elros'? Up until this moment he could have sworn that they both were going to be Elven yet what if he was wrong? He was going to be separated from his beloved twin for all eternity, after watching him grow old and die, if Elros chose to be Mortal. Should he change his decision? Yet what if Elros did indeed decide to be Elven and his change of heart would mean his twin would see him grow old and die.

He glanced up to see that they were waiting for him to make his choice. He took a deep breath, remembering something that Erenion had told him: to follow his heart and not too worry too much. Gil-galad was there, watching the twins and he gave a nod of encouragement when Elrond caught his eye. ”I choose to be Elven.” He refused to look at his twin, afraid to see what the decision did to Elros. He held his breath as those gathered waited for Elros' answer. ”Mortal.” Elrond suddenly collapsed, not able to stand, crumbling to ground as the impact of his twin's words hit him.

No! He couldn't lose Elros. Not after he lost his mother and father. Not after...He felt Elros' fea try to touch his and he couldn't help but recoil from it. ”Elrond, gwanunig nin, I'm-” ”Don't!” He looked up to see the face that was so like his looking at him, full of remorse. They stared at each other, silently speaking like only twins can. Elros' fea was already becoming almost foreign to Elrond, not like before where it was a near copy of his own. Elrond was the first to look away, eyes full of tears and he could hear Elros leaving him, along with everyone else. Erenion's hand brushed against his head as he left the grieving Half-Elf, grieving for the twin he has all but lost. Yet he did not look up.

Once he was sure he was alone, he let tears fall, eventually sobbing as the all the implications of his choice hit him: he was going to see his twin, the other half of his soul, grow old and die, never to be seen even once Arda was made whole again. He sobbed for his twin yes, but he mostly cried for himself. Their different choices would leave him parted from the one he had shared a womb with, whom he had never truly been parted from. Though as his tears subsided, he did suppose he should have seen this coming. Elros had always been less Elven than he had, always been more fascinated by their Mortal heritage than Elrond, who in many ways saw it as almost a curse. Yet that did not mean it made the situation easier.

In time, he would forgive his twin and Elrond was one of the few that stayed by Elros' side while he was on his deathbed. And it was there, while Elros lay dying centuries later that Elrond would promise to look after his descendents. And as Elros drew his last breath, Elrond bent over him and pressed a lingering kiss to his twin's forehead, whispering, ”Namárië, melda onóna!”

Elrond Peredhel

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Re: Becca's Drabbles and One Shots
« Reply #3 on: October 28, 2019, 04:18:26 AM »
Elrond paced in front of the library in Imladris, in front of the library he built (with the help of others of course). He was nervous, something that most people would think to be impossible for Gil-galad’s herald but then they had never seen him speak to an elleth’s father for permission to marry their one and only daughter and child. Elrond would have given a dreamy sigh over the fact that after years of longing from afar, he had finally found the courage to admit his feelings to the fair Celebrian, found she felt the same, and secured her hand in marriage. Of course, he still had to ask her parent’s for permission, particularly her father.

Elrond liked Celeborn very much, even if he did not often appreciate the silver-haired ellon’s dry wit, having gotten to know the former Prince of Doriath (and his great-great-uncle) when he had brought troops to try and help Celeborn attack Sauron’s rearguard and then fought beside him in the Battle of Dagorlad. But that was very different than asking the older Elf for permission to marry his daughter. Elrond might have been a fair bit taller than Celeborn but Celeborn’s skill with the axe was nearly unrivaled. Plus, the near smirk that seemed to be almost perpetually curled in the corners of his mouth was almost as unnerving as his wife’s all-knowing stare.

The Half-elf stopped his pacing and squared his shoulders. He had was not going to let Celeborn intimidate him without even speaking the Sinda first. He pushed open the doors and almost laughed at seeing Celeborn sitting and reading a book on Doriath, though he swore he heard the silver-haired Elf mutter corrections under his breath. At least there was no quill in his hand to make corrections. Celeborn must have heard something because he set down the book and stared at Elrond, a smirk already beginning to form on the corners of his lips, almost as though he knew what Elrond was going to ask and was amused by it.

Elrond swallowed and decided to speak in a rush and just get it over with. “I want to marry your daughter.” He watched as a silver eyebrow went up inquiringly and Celeborn simply said, “Oh?” Elrond waited a few beats for anything more and when nothing else was forthcoming from the Sindar before him, he knew he needed to say something more. “Yes. I love her more than anything, more than even Imladris, my greatest accomplishment, and she loves me as well.” He had been pacing in front of Celeborn and was less than encouraged by Celeborn’s noncommittal grunt. What Elrond missed was the outright grin Celeborn had as he watched the distress of the Elrond.

Elrond was surprised when Celeborn fluidly stood and despite being shorter than Elrond somehow towered over him. “If you ever hurt my little girl, I will have you for lunch.” Then Celeborn sauntered out the library, leaving a stunned Elrond behind. But not without a this parting, which gave Elrond his answer, “I expect the traditional year-long betrothal period, Peredhel!” As Elrond watched Celeborn’s retreating back, his words sunk in and he nearly gave a shout. He could marry Celebrian! He knew that he had to find his beloved and let her know they had her father’s permision.


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Re: Becca's Drabbles and One Shots
« Reply #4 on: October 28, 2019, 05:00:12 AM »
It had been who knows how long since Celeborn last held a newborn. Likely when Elwing was born. His niece had eventually given the little girl to him and his heart had melted. But that was nothing compared to the feeling right now when as he held his own daughter in his arms. And while it had been sometime since he had held such a tiny babe, his arms still knew where to hold her to support her head and generally keep her secure. He and Galadriel had long talked of a name for their child and the name Celebrian was fitting.

The silver wisps on her head proclaimed to all whom her father was and to whose royal bloodline she belonged. And Celeborn was curious to see whether she would have her mother’s eyes or his. At this age, it was impossible to tell but Celeborn hoped that she had Galadriel’s blue eyes. “Your naneth and I are so pleased to finally meet you, little one.” He knew that it was odd for a married couple to wait as long as they did to have children but they had their reasons, even if Celeborn would have wanted one earlier so Nimloth and their child could have grown up together.

But his thoughts of the past were banished when his daughter stirred slightly to wake up and stare at him in awe and curiosity. “Hello, little one.” He didn’t think he needed to introduce himself as her father and had to admit that it felt a little silly to do so. He had taken the newborn to give Galadriel some rest and so those that knew them and were present could admire the silver-haired babe, not that he was going to let her be passed around. No, for the time being, the only person he was going to give her up to was Galadriel. And everyone seemed to understand his reluctance, particularly those that were parents.

That had been some moments ago and he was content to hold her and see if he could lull her to sleep with a lullaby. He sang softly while cradling his daughter against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat and the vibrations as he sang. His song was an old one from Doriath that his mother sang to Galathil and likely him and that he had sung to his niece. And he let the memories of the children in Doriath come to him but not of their deaths but rather them as small children sleeping in an adult’s arm.

He smiled down at the sight of his sleeping daughter’s face and gently stroked down her forehead before he gently moved her from being cradled his arms to leaning against his shoulder, his opposite hand cupping her head to support it. He wasn’t quite ready to put her down, despite the lateness of the hour and how tired he was. He settled in a chair that was a rocker and continued to hum the lullaby as he rocked, pressing kisses to his daughter’s head and breathing in her scent. “I love you, iell nin.”


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Re: Becca's Drabbles and One Shots
« Reply #5 on: August 30, 2020, 04:09:20 PM »
The scent of smoke, blood, and death hung heavy over the refugees as they fled through the tunnel to escape the burning ruined city that was once Gondolin. Glorfindel was grim as he led his now small band of warriors from the House of the Golden Flower as the rearguard to protect the Noldor in their escape. It wouldn’t be long before their exit was noticed as they crossed over the Cirith Thoronath and Glorfindel wasn’t at all sure they could survive another onslaught. They had already lost so many: especially Turgon and his dear friend Ecthellion. But Tuor and Idril seemed to be up for the challenge of leading their band of survivors.

There was a sharp cry of eagles as the majestic birds circled overhead and if things weren’t so dire, he might even smile, though he was sure at the moment it would be more of a grimace more than anything  resembling a true smile. There was little to smile about the last few days and he doubted there would be for sometime for the survivors of Gondolin. There would always be scars, and not just ones that blemished the skin. There was another sharp cry and seemed to be more urgent and spoke of danger.

And he and the rest of the refugees saw what the eagles had seen: Orcs and another Balrog. And Glorfindel knew what he had to do. Someone needed to stop the Balrog so the others escaped. The eagles were already in motion to help drive back the orcs but they stood no chance against the Balrog. ”Tuor! Idril! Lead them to safety.” And with grim determination, Glorfindel stood to face the beast of flame and shadow, waving those of his house back as he prepared himself for the fight, the fight that he was sure would end his life.

The battle was fast, furious, and bloody. Glorfindel was fast and quick, darting in and out like lightening. He managed to cut off one of its arms at the elbow and then stabbed it in the stomach, which proved to be the fatal blow. He had been injured but he also thought his victory was complete as the Balrog fell off the side of the pass, headed for the ground far, far below. But as it started to fall, it grabbed onto his flowing, golden locks and yanked him down with him. And as he fell and watched the  fast approaching rocky ground with an oddly morbid detachment, Glorfindel did not feel triumph at his deeds, for they were as bitter as the strongest Dwarven beer. All he could feel was peace. Though there was a brief moment of searing pain as his body hit the ground below. And there was nothingness.

And despite the pain of the impact, when the Eagles found and returned his body, there was a peaceful smile on his pale lips.


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