Thrihyrne

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: 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... )

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.

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.

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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 fanfic100 as part of my very long-languishing 100-prompt table.

( In the Shelter of Destroyed Dreams )

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 )

I don't think I've posted any of my rondracodrabble or 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.

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 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!

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 )

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 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.

Surely…

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.

"Halbarad?"

"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.

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.

( *_*_* )