Look, look, look - LOTR fanfic!
Am very, very glad to know that the London people on flist are okay.
Small pimp for the
cues 'Other People's Characters' challenge, to be found here. Also below.
Excited because its been a longish time since I wrote LOTR fic, and it felt reassuringly nice. Just nice.
EDIT: Celeborn is back. And I feel so snuggly. *big huge cheesy grin*
There are three of them on the ship: Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel. Gandalf is turning into Olorin, Elrond is seasick and Galadriel doesn’t weep.
In the evenings they stand on the deck to watch the sunset that is increasingly strange to them, silent except for the fairytales told by the wind and the sea and the twilight. Three hands clutch the railing of the grey ship. Number One is old, restless and shifts a lot, drumming a soundless tune in beat with the waves, the clang of a red ring providing the crescendo. Number Two is long-fingered, lily-white, manicured, whose knuckles are bloodless but not sparkling like the adamant on the forefinger. Number Three is suntanned, the fingers of a pianist or a flutist, where fingers tell a story better than a voice, with character, unmoving, still, because the sea winks in harmony with the blue sapphire mounted in gold when it catches the sunlight.
One day, Galadriel asks Elrond about Celeborn, and Elrond doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s been a long time since she mentioned her husband. Not since the day she left Imladris on her white horse in her white cloak surrounded with her white light, past the autumn of the Shire and its falling red leaves, past the forests where spirits commune to play and dance, past the wide marble arches of the Havens and its oyster-pearl beaches, past the plank of the grey, graceful ship on which they are both stranded.
No, Elrond thinks, she has not mentioned Celeborn for a very long time. Celeborn, for Galadriel, has become unmentionable.
So it is a surprise when she casually turns to Elrond, in the presence of Gandalf the Wise, and asks him about Celeborn’s favourite method of fletching an arrow. It is possible she knew the answer once. It is even possible that she has forgotten.
Elrond gives her the answer as well as he can, because he too knew Celeborn. He talks of Celeborn, and Galadriel listens with a blank, uninterested smile on her face.
He goes to her later, when the stars light the path to the unknown blessed land, holds her but does not dare to kiss her, murmurs to her but does not dare to call her Galadriel.
In other news, watched a three movies in two days - Sarkar (Squee!), Closer (Suqee!) and Mr. and Mrs. Smith (*groan*).
*nudges
august_showers* Am so terribly thankful PVR Plaza was shut. Honest. Got it at home and it so wasnt worth the 50 bucks even.
Small pimp for the
cues 'Other People's Characters' challenge, to be found here. Also below.Excited because its been a longish time since I wrote LOTR fic, and it felt reassuringly nice. Just nice.
EDIT: Celeborn is back. And I feel so snuggly. *big huge cheesy grin*
There are three of them on the ship: Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel. Gandalf is turning into Olorin, Elrond is seasick and Galadriel doesn’t weep.
In the evenings they stand on the deck to watch the sunset that is increasingly strange to them, silent except for the fairytales told by the wind and the sea and the twilight. Three hands clutch the railing of the grey ship. Number One is old, restless and shifts a lot, drumming a soundless tune in beat with the waves, the clang of a red ring providing the crescendo. Number Two is long-fingered, lily-white, manicured, whose knuckles are bloodless but not sparkling like the adamant on the forefinger. Number Three is suntanned, the fingers of a pianist or a flutist, where fingers tell a story better than a voice, with character, unmoving, still, because the sea winks in harmony with the blue sapphire mounted in gold when it catches the sunlight.
One day, Galadriel asks Elrond about Celeborn, and Elrond doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s been a long time since she mentioned her husband. Not since the day she left Imladris on her white horse in her white cloak surrounded with her white light, past the autumn of the Shire and its falling red leaves, past the forests where spirits commune to play and dance, past the wide marble arches of the Havens and its oyster-pearl beaches, past the plank of the grey, graceful ship on which they are both stranded.
No, Elrond thinks, she has not mentioned Celeborn for a very long time. Celeborn, for Galadriel, has become unmentionable.
So it is a surprise when she casually turns to Elrond, in the presence of Gandalf the Wise, and asks him about Celeborn’s favourite method of fletching an arrow. It is possible she knew the answer once. It is even possible that she has forgotten.
Elrond gives her the answer as well as he can, because he too knew Celeborn. He talks of Celeborn, and Galadriel listens with a blank, uninterested smile on her face.
He goes to her later, when the stars light the path to the unknown blessed land, holds her but does not dare to kiss her, murmurs to her but does not dare to call her Galadriel.
In other news, watched a three movies in two days - Sarkar (Squee!), Closer (Suqee!) and Mr. and Mrs. Smith (*groan*).
*nudges
august_showers* Am so terribly thankful PVR Plaza was shut. Honest. Got it at home and it so wasnt worth the 50 bucks even.