hhimring

Fannish to-do list:
1) Vote for Tree & Flower Awards (deadline!!)
2) Write reviews on nominated T & F stories.
2) Write rave reviews for excellent SinS stories.
3) Read more excellent SinS stories and at least leave kudos.
4) Catch up with commenting on Tolkien Weekly.
5) Cheer on SoWD projects.

Not entirely compatible at present with the requirements of RL or the need to sleep at regular intervals... But my intentions were good!

Meanwhile, archiving my second-ever drabble sequence, written for the Petrology Challenge at Tolkien Weekly, on the friendship of Narvi and Celebrimbor:

5 single drabbles, in the order they were written (they will probably stay that way).
Rating: PG. Warnings: none.
Not-so-secret agenda: He's Curufin's son. He's in love with Galadriel. He gets betrayed by Sauron. Give the guy a break! 
Nevertheless, I hope you will feel that this is as much about Narvi as about Celebrimbor.


The House of a Friend
(Chalk)

After careful planning, Narvi takes a piece of chalk and begins to mark up the rock face, while Celebrimbor stands well back, checking the position of the marks against the sketch. Finally, Narvi moves to the lower centre of the design and positions his first stroke…
‘Narvi, wait!’ cries Celebrimbor.
‘Too far to the left?’ Narvi asks.
There is silence behind his back—and he realizes this is not about a flaw in execution.
‘It is the sign of your House; it belongs on the Doors,’ Narvi says.
And between moon-shaped tree branches, he chalks out the Star of Feanor.

[Written for Zdenka, in response to her drabble Let the Star Rise]

Duchesses for the Roof
(Slate)

‘Shale, schist, slate!’ sings Narvi in his deep gravelly voice.  ‘Shale, schist, slate! Shale for the roads of Elven Town, slate for its roofs!’
Meticulously, he positions his chisel and splits the foliated rock, again and again.
‘Slate for the roof: duchesses for the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, narrow ladies for Celebrimbor…’
He trims leaves of rock into flat, thin squares: larger ones, smaller ones…
‘Narvi, my friend,’ says Celebrimbor, ‘you have the strength of ten dwarves, but I see your apprentices failing on their feet. How about a brief rest and a glass of the red wine I just received from Edhellond?’

Shell-like, Translucent
(Marble)

For Galadriel, Celebrimbor insists on marble. Narvi presents samples and, unsurprised, watches his friend choose a delicately blue-veined, near-translucent white reminiscent of the Lady’s shell-like complexion. Another gift for the woman Celebrimbor fervently admires but simply cannot get along with! Never, not in a thousand years, even if she weren’t married already. Even a dwarf can see that but Narvi knows better than to say anything.
But after work, as he watches Celebrimbor crouching on the floor and playing marbles with the children of the Khazad, laughing uproariously at being beaten by Narvi’s great-niece, Narvi sighs, thinking: What a waste!

[From Gimli's rhapsody about Aglarond: "folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel"]

Shadow on the Wall
(Obsidian)

‘I saw the Father of Dragons, Glaurung—twice’, says Celebrimbor. ‘I saw Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs. They carried the dark flame of Morgoth inside their hearts. When it was strongest in them, it was as hot as a volcano, as hot as fabled Mount Orodruin in the Southlands!  Where they went, the rocks beneath them melted into a trail of black glass... They were terrible, Narvi.’
The hearth-fire flickers, throwing an abrupt shadow on the cave wall. Narvi shudders inwardly. Nightmares of the First Age!
‘There are no balrogs here,’ he murmurs, soothingly, ‘and no dragons. We have peace.’

[Alluding to the fact that obsidian consists of volcanic glass]


Physic and Metaphysics
(Granite)

‘I would quite like to revert to rock,’ grumbles Narvi. ‘Granite doesn’t hurt as much as I do!’
‘What would Arda Unmarred be without Dwarves!’ protests Celebrimbor. ‘It would be Marred by that very lack!’
He is rubbing something elvish into Narvi’s back. He says he begged it off Celeborn! It even works on dwarvish swollen joints.
‘Elves claim Mahal was at fault in making us!’ remarks Narvi provocatively.
But Celebrimbor’s ageless face is sad.
‘It is an elvish fault-—not to want to say goodbye forever.’
Oh Mahal!
Narvi clears his throat.
‘Ah—we’ll have to wait and see.’

[Allegedly, Elves are supposed to believe that Dwarves have no role in Arda Unmarred and revert to the stone they were made of after death. Dwarves believe that their creator, Aule or Mahal, has set halls aside for them in Mandos.]