thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Dwarves hirsute pursuit by me)
A quick aside: it can take hours to update one's fic website when it hasn't been touched in 9 months. I knew I'd written a Rohirric/Dwarvish cultural study fic last winter but in scouring my LJ and various other sites, I discovered I only published it one place for an exchange I now can't remember. So quite happily, I have a Tolkien genfic to post, seven months after writing it.

Title: An Explorer in His Own Land
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: G
Beta: [ profile] brumeux77. Thank you again, belatedly!
Word Count: 3127
Request: New Beginnings
Summary: A man of Rohan decides to introduce himself to his new neighbors in the caves of Helm's Deep.

Read more... )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Dwarves hirsute pursuit by me)
This was originally posted to [ profile] lotr_community for their 'Believe it or Not' challenge for October. It's very short, but boy was it fun to write Tolkien again!

Title: A Rose Among Thorns
Rating: G
Theme: Believe It Or Not
Elements: "dim"
Betas: [ profile] booneda and [ profile] brumeux77
Author's Notes: I've not written any Tolkien in a while; I hope you enjoy this fanciful tale involving my favorite race in M-E.
Summary: What would be truly unexpected within Dwarvish society? Maybe someone like Dimvin.
Word Count: 1086

Read more... )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (No star be dark)
[ profile] brumeux77 kindly offered up a suggestion for me when I asked for drabble-to-vignette length prompts. He wrote: Could you stand Neville/Remus? Non-compliant I guess, in order to have Remus alive when Neville's of age.

So this is a proper 100 word drabble.

Title: A Time to Sow
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Neville/Remus
Rating: General
A/N: AU, obviously.

The jingling bell over the door made Neville smile, no matter how many times he went into Remus' record shop.

"Just a minute!" Remus called from the back.

A new find bought at auction had had him enthralled. Neville had stopped by, just for a moment, because he needed to see the laugh lines at his lover's mouth. After a quick glance around the empty shop, Remus kissed Neville on the cheek. Neville countered with one on the lips, a wordless declaration of gratitude.

"See you tonight," Remus murmured.

The words were promise seeds; Neville watered them daily with tea.
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Ashmael by me)
So the dear [ profile] heartofoshun stepped up to my request plate and requested this: Give me a Wraeththu ficlet! I'm thinking about Ashmael and Cal. It can be any kind of interaction that you choose. Doesn't have to a big aruna scene if something else strikes your fancy, of course, I wouldn't complain if you wrote one.

This does have aruna, though it's not super-explicit. Set a few days after Cal has come to Immanion and sent Thiede off into another astral plane. Thanks so much for the request!

Title: A First Time for Everything
Rating: General
Fandom: Wraeththu
Pairing: Ashmael/Cal
A/N: self-beta'ed. Short. 1355 words. Cross-posted to [ profile] raythoo

Read more... )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Pippin service to Gondor)
This vignette is particularly timely in its setting, because today is the Gondorian New Year!!! Happy New Year to all who celebrate. ;)

Title: Elusive Scents in Wartime
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: G
Word Count: 1350
Prompt: Smell
Summary: Reassurance and comfort can appear unexpectedly, especially during time of war.

Read more... )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (hope is dauntless)
Title: Unanswerable Questions
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Gimli, Legolas, Rohirrim, Aragorn
Word Count: 1250
Rating: G
Summary: The night before following Aragorn on the Paths of the Dead, Gimli struggles with his purpose and questions which have no easy answers.
Author's Notes: Another short gapfiller for my fanfic100 table, this time with the prompt of Why? Self-beta'ed and crossposted to [ profile] fanfic100. Perhaps a slight nod to movieverse, but this is definitely extracted from canon. Gormgloine is the name for Gimli's axe that I gave him within my own fanon, initially from the story "Speak, Friend, and Enter." My notes about it were these: "blue-glass" (Irish) My vision is that Narvi's axe handle has two sapphires embedded in it, and I love that it has the word "Gloin" in it. Many of the weapons in Middle-earth have names, including Orcrist, Thorin's sword. To my knowledge Gimli does not name his axe, but perhaps he's being coy in that secretive Dwarvish way that they have. I considered his axe to have been handed down the family line from Narvi ultimately to him.

Unanswerable Questions )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Gimli by AragornLover)
Title: In the Shelter of Destroyed Dreams
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Gimli, The Ring Fellowship
Prompt: Breakfast
Word Count: 1291
Rating: G
Summary: After several days, even Gimli is ready to leave Khazad-dûm.
Author's Notes: My Gimli-Muse has finally returned! This is just a short vignette gap-filler set during The Fellowship of the Ring. Cross-posted to [ profile] fanfic100 as part of my very long-languishing 100-prompt table.

In the Shelter of Destroyed Dreams )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (slave to the muse)
It's nearly the conclusion of 2008, and while I do have a couple of stories which haven't yet had the author reveals, I'm going to go ahead and do a summary of the year. It's been another productive one, in which I dove head-first with great gusto into a new fandom, which really surprised me. I thought my head would be full with Harry Potter and Tolkien and I'd never get involved in any others. Instead, Storm Constantine's Wraeththu series of books totally took over, but I also wrote a few short selections in Ellen Kushner's Swordspoint world as well. I'd love to write some Mary Renault The Persian Boy fanfiction one day, but it hasn't yet happened. ;)

I'm going to organize these by fandoms rather than by date, but here's what I've written and posted in 2008 (not including 2 fest stories not yet revealed):

All of my Wraeththu fics can be found here at my website. You can't leave reviews, but for the first fic below, I do have it saved as a pdf there, and there are pictures of 'Castlegar' as well as some other yummy pictures.
§ Maelstrom and Mage, Desire Thine Darkling
49,083 words; Ashmael/Vaysh and OCs, adult
Available here at Forever Wraeththu [where you can leave a review! ;) ] or here as a pdf file to download.

§ Down the Whispering Well
44,523 words; Vaysh/Ashmael and OCs, adult
Available here at Forever Wraeththu. I didn't get around to making a pdf of this one, though maybe I will soon.

§ Passion's Acolyte
3,015 words; Cal/Swift, adult
Available here on LJ or here at Forever Wraeththu

§ Interpret Me the Savage Whirr
6,198 words; Seel/Ashmael, adult
Available here on LJ or here at Forever Wraeththu

§ Quare Clausum Fregit (Wherefore he broke the close)
3,364 words; Vaysh/OC [Yazdyar, from 'Down the Whispering Well'], adult
Available here on LJ and here at Forever Wraeththu

§ Mere Trifles
1,723 words; Seel/Swift (not adult), Cobweb
Available here at Forever Wraeththu or here at my website. I don't seem to have ever posted it at my LJ!

§ Swooping to Landward
13,800 words; Chithra/Lemuel (OCs), a study of Fioan/Colurastes cultural interaction, adult
Available here on LJ (link is to part one) or here at Forever Wraeththu

§ After the Storm, Restless Fire
4,979 words; Ithiel/Cobweb and Ithiel/Terzian, adult
Available here on LJ or here at Forever Wraeththu

§ Reap the Wild Wind
24,402 words; Kelp/Blackspur, Kelp/Hunt (OCs), adult
Link to the first post on my LJ here, or you can read the whole thing here at my website. It hasn't yet been uploaded to Forever Wraeththu.

§ Libertine
389 words; Terzian, PG-13
Available here at my LJ

A few Wraeththu drabbles written along the way are here at my website

Harry Potter
§ Cloudscape of Ravens
18,030 words; Ron/OC, Ron/Severus, adult
Written for the [ profile] ginger_lust Ron-centric fest I hosted with a lot of help. The link there is locked to ensure no-one underage in the community got to it, but you can read it here at my website or here at Skyehawke if you'd care to leave a review.

§ No Shame, This Life, Beloved
14,792 words; Ron/Draco, adult; in all likelihood, the last story in the "Magic Immunity" story arc.
Available here at my LJ

§ A Rally Toward Exalted Moments
5,567 words; Harry/Charlie, adult
Available here at my LJ or here at the [ profile] weasley_fest community

§ Scotch Game
9,144 words; Ron/Remus, adult
Available here at my LJ; it's locked at the [ profile] remus_ron_slash community to prevent underage folks from reading it there.

§ The Sensibility of Wantonness
3,181 words; Ron/Draco ["Crown of Rope" universe], adult
Available here at my LJ

I also seem to have written a slew of various drabbles by request on a few different days. Rather than organize them, there are a bunch of requested HP drabbles here (some Wraeththu, too, but I put them on my website), a rare het Ron/Hermione drabble here and Ron/Charlie drabble from the vampire!Charlie incest story I wrote a year or so ago for [ profile] wolfiekins

I also have one lingering WIP, a Dean/Ron for the very patient Callum James. I actually printed out what I had when I was at his flat in England in October, and I really will finish it. It's just taken a back burner, to my chagrin.

These are nearly all drabbles, though I think I did write a vignette. LOL. I've written a lot this year and can't keep it all straight! Hence the annual wrap-up.

Basil's Banquet, Fall of the Kings drabble
Untitled Richard/Alec drabble
Revenge Effloresces, Richard/Alec drabble

Hmmmm. Thought I'd written more Swordspoint than that; I think I just wish I had!

Lord of the Rings
Unbelievably after my start in the Ardaverse, the only things I've written in LotR fandom this year have been drabbles, but I do seem to have written a few. All are general rating unless otherwise noted.

Untitled Halbarad-centric drabble
Alliances, Gimli-centric
Untitled Gimli-centric drabble
Untitled Éowyn-centric drabble
Untitled Celeborn/Aragorn drabble, adult
Another untitled Gimli-centric drabble

Wow. So, looking at the non-drabbles, it appears as though I've written around 200,000 words of fanfiction this year. I'm not a real word-counter usually; it's just good for me to look at the year and see where my focuses have been. Obviously it's been with Wraeththu more than anything else, and I don't know what my focus will be next year. I will be expanding "Maelstrom and Mage," trying to double it in length to get it ready to be a proper novel available from Immanion Press, and my slashy_santa fic is Tolkien. This year I also started out trying NaNoWriMo, so I wrote about 3K of actual original fiction. Wheeeeeee.

For those of you who have read and enjoyed my stories and let me know, thank you so much! Feedback, commentary, and enthusiasm are always gratifying for an author.
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Gimli by AragornLover)
Yes, it's been forever. Still, here's another entry for my table. For all five or six of the people on my flist who like/remember my Tolkien writing, hope you enjoy yet another glimpse into Gimli's psyche.

Title: The Ground Portends
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Gimli, Legolas, Éomer
Prompt: 53: Earth
Word Count: @ 3,000
Rating: G
Summary: Gimli muses on his active dislike of horseback riding and is grateful for a walk on the Rohirric plains.
Author's Notes: This gap-filler takes place during The Two Towers, referencing events at the very end of "The King of the Golden Hall" and the beginning of "Helm's Deep." Vram is an original character and kinsdwarf from the Lonely Mountain.

The Ground Portends )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Ron- love him by proofpudding)
Title: Nightmare
Author: Thevina
Prompt: Skin
Rating: G
A/N: Magic Immunity universe

Ron woke up, totally discombobulated and thrown out of a dream he'd had that was so vivid he was still shaking. He'd never been in a Muggle aeroplane, and yet, the one he'd just been in had crashed, though he'd survived. As his breathing slowed, it slowly registered that he had two hands full: one bunched at the sheets, the other grasping claw-like at Draco's downy chest hair.

"Wake up," Draco said groggily, a warm palm fingering Ron's fist. "It's okay. You're alright, Ron. Hold me."

The relief shuddered through Ron as he spooned against Draco's skin, unrelenting and real.
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Ronald by ethericons)
I don't think I've posted any of my [ profile] rondracodrabble or [ profile] harryron100 drabbles at my own LJ; they just seem more relevant over in those communities.

But I just wrote one for the R/D folks. In under five minutes. And I think it's one of the most evocative I've ever written, so I'm posting it here. I've gone all over the place with my drabbles, filling in all parts of the 3-part story. If you've not read my Magic Immunity series, it's Ron/Draco, and in a parallel to my George/Remus, Percy and wife were hit by a Muggle car, and Ron (and eventually handfasted partner Draco) has adopted their young son Xavier, named for Fred (who in my "Together, Alone" story has a middle name of Xavier. George's middle name is Xanadu. I'm terribly incestuous in my own fics).

Shutting up now. Here's 100 strategically-chosen words. Dunno why I resonate to it so much, but I do.

Title: Non Pater Familias
Prompt: Fathers
Rating: G
A/N: Magic Immunity universe.

Ron was asleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest an inexorable magnet to Draco's gaze. Ron sprawled on the floor, jumper-clad arm draped protectively over Xavier's side, both of them facing the fireplace. Draco wasn't far away from them; he'd been leaning forward to rub Ron's scalp while Ron mumbled through some bedtime story of his childhood until both Weasleys had dropped off, quite nearly in tandem.

Draco had been cradled; been sung to, been told fanciful tales while tucked into a riot of pillows and cloudscape of bedcoverings.

But Draco didn't know how to be a father.
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (dwarves- hirsute pursuit)
This (my most recent for my [ profile] fanfic100 table, All About Gimli) has been written in fits and starts, and recently completed after looking at some delightful and kind comments left to me as part of the MEFAs in regards to my Dwarf-centric fic. It reminded me that I need to get back to my Tolkien roots, and having [ profile] llembas's fave samples from the extended LotR soundtrack haven't hurt, either.

Boy, do I miss Middle Earth. So glad that it's there for me when I'm ready to revisit. Have already put a bookmark into my copy of LotR for the next in my Gimli table. I think it'll be from Legolas' POV, which would be totally… new territory.

This was initially inspired by [ profile] celandineb and [ profile] annmarwalk's visit earlier in the summer, which made me think about Dwarvish culture and tattoos. Me being me, I've imposed the ritualism of tattoos on my other favorite culture already, the Rohirrim, with my first long story, "Daughters of Oromë." But when Cel and Ann visited and we all talked out loud about what we love about the cultures we adore and their attributes, JRRT-given and otherwise, I recognized that the secretive Dwarves might very well have tattooing of a sort as an element to what I see as a very hierarchial societal framework. JRRT in The Hobbit tells us that each Dwarf wears a hood of a different color (we'll overlook the fact that their beards are ALSO different colors; it was a children's bedtime story, after all, in its earliest incarnation). I thought it would make sense to intimate that the different colors indicate different professions, and so I've run with that in many of my Dwarf-centric stories. Because it's not like there are heaps of Dwarvish culture scholars out there to tell me my musings are crap. Bit of a shame, that. Further inspiration came when it was pointed out to me that I often write about Gimli and Pippin's relationship, one that must be somewhat unique in that Gimli goes seeking Pippin out after the battle of the Pelennor. "Black Diamond," which expounds on that, was one of my first Gimli-centric stories, and perhaps it colors my perception of things. But I really didn't know I was focusing on that until somebody showed me how blatantly obvious it had been in my writings.

Onward to fic!

Title: Via Media
Prompt: Passing
Rating: G
Gap-filler, just prior to the Fellowship leaving Rivendell

Via Media )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Default)
I'd been holding off of posting my paper as it's under consideration for the inaugural edition of Distraction, an online journal focusing on critical studies on fan fiction. Due to a variety of factors, however, that edition has been pushed back and won't happen until after Lumos, so I've been given the okay to put it out in the public. So without further ado, here's my paper as it will be presented on Friday. If I get any feedback at the conference I may modify it a bit. My thanks to [ profile] llembas for editing it for me a couple of months ago. I didn't code it; it's saved as a pdf. Go here to my non-adult HP page for the link and brief commentary.

Read and ruminate, should you be interested!
thrihyrne: Portland, OR ("Antiphon to Light" Gimli)
The Muse has been busy, cross-fandom and everything. I'm especially pleased with this one.
edit, 4/28: have changed errant 'stocky' word to more appropriately Dwarvish sentiment.
edit, 12/4: I was a Best Bet!!

Title: Antiphon to Light
Characters: Gimli, Galadriel, Pippin, Legolas
Prompt: 85: She
Word Count: 1,548
Rating: G
Summary: Gimli meets Galadriel, and is forever changed.

Antiphon to Light )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (dwarves- hirsute pursuit)
This one is for prompt 84: He.

Fandom: LotR
Rating: PG for referenced M/M Dwarvish relations and oblique adult innuendo (Gimli/OMD)
Word count: 1200

otherwise untitled )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Default)
First new ficlet for my fanfic100 table, all about Gimli. Prompt #37: Sound.

The Stones' Lament

It was after a fortnight of walking when I realised I'd begun humming some of our old travel songs under my breath. I stopped immediately, only to catch myself at it an hour or so later. It didn't matter that I was with none of my kind, resigned to the fact that after spending two eternities of months surrounded by Elves I still had not managed to escape their company entirely. Even the worrisome presence of the childish hobbit who had no business accompanying a mad enterprise such as this adventure couldn't dampen my thoughts. My feet itched to set a pace faster than my limbs could sustain; the incessant wind had calmed and my gear felt light as leather.

I knew what caused it, this sturdy tune of heel to ground, drumming steps against the hard earth.


Though I'd yet to explore its wonders, from far-off I'd seen the companion mountains once before. As we drew ever closer, I believed I felt the spirit of Mahal; he was manifest in the regal rocky spires whose names spilled forth from me in my native tongue in my hasty enthusiasm to identify them to our small band. Gandalf raised an amused eyebrow at that, Aragorn nodded, and Peregrin gaped at the smattering of Khudzul.

We were on the edge of Hollin, the hallowed place where my distant ancestors had crafted their greatest achievements, wonders worthy of song and legend. The great lake of Kheled-zâram was there, with its shimmering, inky waters, silently beckoning me to its banks. Narvi, brilliant rockwright and inspiration for all Khazad who build with stone, had once dwelt in this land. It was no wonder I found myself more verbose than usual. This was a true homecoming, in the most tangible, solid sense of the word. Legolas began to speak and I rounded to face him, readying myself for a counter-attack against any possible slur.

"Only I hear the stones lament them," he said, the melancholy statements unexpected and bewildering. "'Deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us, but they are gone.'"

His words turned my world upside down. I stared at his face, which betrayed no emotion save a pinch of curiosity. I was silver, struck with tuned precision and ringing with incredulity. I felt sure my shock at his comments must have been painfully obvious to all in our company. And yet— apparently not. Chatter sprang up between the hobbits, Boromir set to tending camp. I alone appeared affected by the inconceivable fact that an Elf from Mirkwood could hear the speech of stone.

I went through the motions of readying my bedroll and ate my meal as the sun rose higher above the horizon. Sam took the first watch with Aragorn as company as I lay on my makeshift bed, hidden by thickets. I turned on my side, making sure my back was to Legolas. From my time spent in Rivendell, I knew that Elves noticed much, even when it appeared that their focus was elsewhere. This was a private moment, as I pressed my ear against the rock.

Silence. I closed my eyes, willing the stones to surrender their sorrows to me. I was the child of Mahal; stone-language was my birthright. This wood-dwelling Elf from the north had no business listening to the sighs of the earth, even as I grudgingly acknowledged that in this land, the rock seemed to mourn the Elves, not the Dwarvish masons. I passed fitfully into sleep, straining to hear the dark pulse of ancient loss.

* * * * *
Author's Notes

Inspiration for this came from 'The Ring Goes South' in Fellowship. Gimli's outpourings included a rather shocking amount of Khudzul, naming the mountains both in Westron and Dwarvish. Then he gets positively poetic:
    'Dark is the water of Kheled-Zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla. My heart trembles at the thought that I may see them soon.'

Dwarves carry adoration in their hearts as much as any Elf, says this author, only slightly smug.
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (The Standard-Bearer for llembas)
[ profile] llembas answered thusly to my offer:

    Hmmmmm… something LOTRs. I request an introspective drabble featuring Halbarad. I don't much care the time period, or topic or whatever. I'd just really love to read something about him.

For you, who I'm thinking of especially today and sending über-positive thoughts in regards to your phone interview and also enjoying the LotR exhibit- here is your Christmas giftfic and accompanying icon, lol. I do hope you like it. :D Thanks also to [ profile] celandineb for her beta.

Title: The Standard-Bearer
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: G
Summary: When Aragorn struggled with his thoughts in the Hornburg after the battle at Helm's Deep, he asked another Ranger to accompany him. A vignette of Halbarad's musings on his life and future during a long, uncertain night.

The Standard-Bearer

The air is troubled here, muddied and fey. Unease mingles with anticipation and wariness; our horses sense it, though not to any greater degree than the fine steeds of these horselords with whom we tarry. There is an immediate release from these muddled realms, however; all I need do is look up to the black sky. Despite our path leading ever nearer to Mordor and the evil in the South, the stars shine here as bright and clear as in the Angle. Would that their familiar patterns could somehow illuminate my role in this journey, for I remain willing, but unenlightened.

Tonight Aragorn asked me to accompany him to this upper lookout. I accepted, of course; I could deny him anything as soon as will myself to cease breathing altogether. He shines with knowledge, his purpose blazing as the sun's light — but perhaps only others whose blood pulses with the faded blood of Númenor are privileged enough to perceive that quality in him.

He remains as dear to me as my own kin, though the years he served as mentor to me are long since passed. Regardless of how much I have learned while guarding borders that others do not even realize are being watched, it pales to nothing in comparison to what I have seen in my teacher and friend. His recent summons came in my dreams: needy, and urgent. It is with regret that I have noticed we grow few, those who receive and understand such messages in sleep.

The dull pain of a stone edging into my thigh prompts me to shift while I engage in my silent watch, and I pull my cloak closer around my shins. A piece of parchment crinkles in my chest pocket, a map of sorts guiding us to find our comrade who called to us in language beyond words. In the austere moonlight, I pull out the paper. It is odd, holding such a small representation of what is a vast land. I am no cartographer, able to scale down mountain ranges and swaths of forest, transforming turbulent rivers to mere squiggles of ink. The terrain of my own country is as familiar and dear as the skin of my palm, but until now I had never ventured this far from my lands. Aragorn's situation must be dire indeed for him to have summoned me without known intent. Foreboding has crept uninvited into my thoughts, and I wonder if I shall ever again see the rugged landscape of my people.

Dirt under my fingernails catches my attention. I examine the dry, cracked flesh of my fingers, currently gloveless. Aragorn did not ask for my company to act as a bodyguard, but rather to stave off what I sense is a profound loneliness. He is of the Dúnedain, of that there is no doubt, yet he has experienced and seen so much that he now appears to carry some of each race within himself. The price paid for that wealth is that he now belongs utterly to none of us.

A pale jagged scar on the back of my wrist captures the silvery light and my thoughts return to myself. These hands felt the skin of the Elven-king's daughter as she handed me the standard whose weight I still bear, her flesh as soft and unblemished as a rose petal. The chapped fingers now holding a worn parchment, years ago once stroked the slick red skin of my newborn son, Lorabar, clutched to me as my wife passed on away from this world. Leather, steel, fur, flesh, rock, water — their tactile shadows reside in the creases of my palm, caught in the circular memory of whorled fingerprints.

I wonder at the meaning of the banner I have carried. Like our distant kin in Gondor, we have no king; chieftans have sufficed admirably through centuries of self-rule. Only a star marks our heraldry; I find it a fitting symbol, as we of the North are as far-flung and scattered across the rough-hewn lands as the pebbled lights above. When I was younger and insatiable, I asked all of the learned folk about our past, our heritage. How could an entire land be swallowed by the sea? Why had our line of kings faded into the mist of time? We had once been a strong, powerful people, but all that remains of our former glory are broken stone structures. Now we grow as weathered as the mountains; we are honorable, unsung guardians of others.

Until Aragorn. Wholly man, and yet his years with the Elves lie on him like the graceful drape of a fine cloak. Unlike myself and the other Rangers, he has roamed far into the distant wilds of this world. Now again I am by his side and bearing a portent of great hope, yet my spirit wrestles with our daunting tasks ahead. As I look over at my kinsman, troubled and struggling with thoughts that certainly would consume a lesser man, I sense that we ride ever-nearer to disaster. But Aragorn called to me, and I heeded his summons. If I am to be slain, may it be fighting at his side, so that he may tell Lorabar what I have done was not in vain. For surely Arathorn's son will survive.


At long last, a fine film of grey seeps over the horizon, drawing my gaze to it. Perhaps it is my age, or the dread darkness to which I know we journey, but the nights seem ever longer.


"Yes, Aragorn."

I place my map back in my tunic and get to my feet as he approaches. His footfalls are deliberate and sure on this stony fortress. He looks at me, seeming to have aged half a lifetime while traversing the maze of his thoughts. Would that I could share some of his burden.

"You are well?" he asks.

I pause, seeing a flicker of determination in his tired eyes, the irises the color of the ramparts on which we stand.

"I am with you, and would be nowhere else."

He does not smile, but his features soften; one furrow, at least, is smoothed on his brow.

"You have my eternal gratitude. Come, I need to speak with the others."

With parallel strides, we walk down the rock causeway as dawn resolutely reclaims the sky.

* * * * * * * *

Author's Notes

This scene was inspired by these lines from "The Passing of the Grey Company":
    'Where is Aragorn?' he asked.

    'In a high chamber of the Burg,' said Legolas. 'He has neither rested nor slept, I think. He went thither some hours ago, saying that he must make thought, and only his kinsman, Halbarad, went with him; but some dark doubt or care sits on him.'

Further inspiration comes from the song "Half Acre" by Hem.
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (A Liminal Patience for cim_halfling)
My dear [ profile] cim_halfling requested this:

And I have no idea what I'd request from you, if I could. Hmmmm, I love your Harry Potter, but I love your Tolkien even more. Please, could I have a little something about my beloved Eowyn?? Just a snippet if you please, and before FOTR.

For you, my dear heart who continues to beta for me and whom I am ever grateful to have met at TORn's Two Towers party, an early Solstice gift. I walked out of my building tonight in tears, but looked up and saw a nearly full moon, and thought of you. Blessings. You are one to me.

Title: A Liminal Patience
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: G
Summary: Beauty burrows resolutely in the eye of the beholder.

The POV came rather out of the blue, but I hope that you like it. And my thanks to [ profile] llembas for her beta.

A Liminal Patience

Only she could make the sound of a crashing sword-blade seem like birdsong. The affectionate murmurings he overheard as she bequeathed them to Léoma, her steed, were rain spatters on the dry earth of his ears, parched with the King’s affairs and ever-widening responsibilities sent from his true master in his tower of Orthanc. Many nights he lay awake, the moon battering her light through his window, as he tried to trace the path of his heart. There had been another, in the more isolated folds of his youth, but her wounding and memory had dimmed as he threw himself into the workings of the court in the Golden Hall.

During his years in Meduseld, he had proven himself insightful and vigilant in matters of state. As time passed and he grew in favor with Théoden, so had the King's precocious niece matured. Éowyn, now fifteen years of age, resembled nothing so much as a silver birch; slender, pale, and grounded in the soil of Rohan. She was shrewd and deliberate, possessing a beauty so untarnished it bruised his spirit. Always aware of the lingering suspicion in the eyes of the King’s son, he was careful as he managed occasions to watch Éowyn ride. To his mind, her body shimmered with joy astride her horse, thundering across the plain or simply riding in the royal paddock, her goldspun hair in a heavy plait. He admired her strong, lithe form as she practiced for battles she would never see. She determinedly engaged in the thrusts and parries taught to her brother, wielding a foreign sword, surreptitiously discovered to have belonged to her Gondorian grandmother. The darkness forgave him his thoughts, as he imagined himself a tear of her sweat, sliding from pulsing temple to jaw, down her creamy column of neck.

Too late he had realized that his patron, the wise, gracious wizard, used his skills of speech to encourage him to reveal more than he had wished about his affections. Saruman had not chided him for his longing, but he now restrained his tongue to speak only of the tidings of Rohan and her rulers. His visions of Éowyn he treasured like aged wine, and he savored them as such, unhurried and alone: a crooked lower tooth, glimpsed as she laughed unabashed at a tale of questionable propriety told by her cousin; an expression of utmost resignation as she sat through the tedium of an embroidery lesson; a faint flush in her throat when one of the royal stableboys grasped at her wrist, vying for her attention. The last brought with it the icy burn of jealousy, molten ire which he assuaged with calm self-assurances. Time would reveal to Théoden that he, Gríma of the Westemnet and devoted, loyal councillor, had from his first days cherished her. She, too, would see how he had willed for her protection, that through these many years he had served as watchful, loving guardian, patiently awaiting the day when she would turn at the sound of his footfalls —

and hold out her hand.

Only she, Éowyn of the House of Eorl, could proffer herself, necessary air to his soul. For without her, the grasses of Rohan were a sea, and he, a drowning man.

* * * * *

A/N: Tolkien doesn't say where Gríma is from, but if Saruman is to have picked him out, it made sense to me to have him be from the Westemnet in the middle of Rohan and a strategic location.
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Ron on horse)
I think that these past few days being a primary assistant caregiver to my grandfather have really rubbed off on me. I wrote this yesterday while watching him do his workout with a personal trainer he has at a nearby healthcare facility.

Not sure that it even warrants a title.
edit: Now titled 'Home, Despite it All'
Not beta'ed, and it's in American English.
Rating: G (unless you feel like thinking about Snape naked; I didn't provide details)
Length: Short (just under 800 words)
Pairing: Ron/Draco, set vaguely after "The Ties that Bind" and the Snape in this doesn't quite jive with the way I have him in that series, but there you go.
Summary: Snape was hit by something that has left him physically incapacitated, but mentally as all there as he ever was, and he's been taken in by Ron and Draco.

*_*_* )
thrihyrne: Portland, OR (Default)
I'm exhausted and already sore, having spent several hours today with an industrial strength hot gun in my left hand and a putty knife in my right, scraping paint of my parents' wood banisters on their outside porch. :P A definite plus for today, though: two new CD compilations from [ profile] llembas!! Thanks, dear- I'm listening to #1 now. Can't wait to hear The Decemberists after your comment ('I would like to crawl inside this guy's voice and live there.').

Well, I haven't stopped writing in the Ardaverse, and as proof, included in this post is an Éowyn-centric vignette set in the Houses of Healing I started a few weeks ago. On the whole today, however, I'm feeling listless and uninspired, and I need some fic recommendations. I'm reading [personal profile] geoviki's sure-to-be extraordinary (as they all are) story, Delicate Sound of Thunder, but I don't want to rush it and I'd like something a little shorter, just for this evening. I also recently read DementorDelta's "Absolutely Anybody" and fell in love. She writes about the possibilities of parseltongue like none other. I can always reread that one, but here's what I'm looking for: something newish (or old enough that I probably haven't read it, LOL), 70 pages or under, can be angsty or not, Ardaverse or HP, and I'd like some well-written, hot smut, too. A tall order, perhaps, but not amongst you, my fellow well-read friends. So rec away!

Another quick aside: my closest buddy from rehab, a retired banker, sent me a cry-inspiring gift yesterday, a Mont Blanc pen, complete with turquoise ink. Everybody from rehab wanted me to write a book, and when I do, I can guarantee it'll be written with this pen.

Here's the ficlet- hope you enjoy, and I'll look forward to the recs.

In the Shadow of Hope )

May 2016



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