Drabble Set; Love Token.
27 Jun 2011 05:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatThis is a set of six true drabbles written for the Hairdressing challenges at Tolkien Weekly.
They feature the inhabitants of Ithilien and would fit into the Returnverse series - but they work perfectly well even if you don't recognise Tindómë's name.
Rated G
600 words.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
Finders Keepers
Resting with her back against the ancient tree, amongst whose roots she had discovered this treasure, the girl carefully examined her find. Turning it this way and that she traced curves and swirls that became leaves, flowers, and birds when she looked carefully.
Such a comb would surely give great pleasure as it slid through her hair – or the hair of a lover. It was so beautiful that she could believe it magical…
Perhaps, she thought as she slipped the comb into her pocket, people were right and once, long ago, the fair folk really had dwelt here in Ithilien.
The Gift
Her beloved gave her a comb one day when he returned from the fences of this, their new home. Even here the elves kept watch; but there were many quiet times which he had filled by carving the intricate design and the small, smooth teeth.
He combed her hair for her; long, slow, sensual strokes, until she ached for more.
Then she turned and slowly curled one of his braids around her finger, reeling him in towards her like a fish on a line, until their breath mingled, their lips met and, for a little while, the comb was forgotten.
First Flowering
Tindómë looked at herself this way and that in the mirror. The pale, fine, fabric of her dress moved with her and swirled in soft pink drifts around her feet.
“Beautiful!” her friend said. Then, “Sit down whilst I do your hair for you.”
She picked up the comb and slid it through Tindómë’s thick, wavy hair, before working in first the jewels and then the roses. Roses cut that morning from the first bushes to bloom here in Ithilien; a sign of earth renewed.
“There!” she said, finally satisfied, “It is time to go out and meet your bridegroom."
Waiting
It was summer. The long winter and short spring were both past and, in the warm sunshine, Tindómë felt indolent; her condition made her too lethargic to do more than lie against her husband’s chest and simply ‘be’.
He combed her hair; the act as much a token of love as the comb itself. Her breathing and his strokes became synchronised, as one.
“Will you comb my hair like this when the time comes?” she asked him.
“Of course,” he answered, “if it will help.”
“It will,” she said. “And I will be beautiful when our son first sees me.”
Farewell, My Lovely
On a whim he worked a plait into her hair and then threaded flowers through it. So many times he had done this, over the years, and this would be the last time; at least with her. But he wanted her to look her best; her and all the others.
So much they were leaving behind, accompanying their Lord to the West, so much they couldn’t take and, today, though he loved her, he would hand her to another. Trade her for gold to use when they landed.
“You will be well,” he whispered, “for the Rohirrim love their horses…”
Sail Away. Sail Away...
Everything was ready now. Trunks held items to set up a new home, somehow, somewhere, in the West; what they could not take had been given to elves who were remaining, or to men.
Tindómë looked back at their home for the last time. Her tear-filled eyes caused her to trip, dropping the bag of personal possessions. Half-blinded still she scooped everything up and walked, head high, away.
When she realised, at sea, that she had lost her comb she wept again.
“I will make you a new one, meleth,” he said - and took out a piece of Ithilien wood.
.....................
They feature the inhabitants of Ithilien and would fit into the Returnverse series - but they work perfectly well even if you don't recognise Tindómë's name.
Rated G
600 words.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
Resting with her back against the ancient tree, amongst whose roots she had discovered this treasure, the girl carefully examined her find. Turning it this way and that she traced curves and swirls that became leaves, flowers, and birds when she looked carefully.
Such a comb would surely give great pleasure as it slid through her hair – or the hair of a lover. It was so beautiful that she could believe it magical…
Perhaps, she thought as she slipped the comb into her pocket, people were right and once, long ago, the fair folk really had dwelt here in Ithilien.
Her beloved gave her a comb one day when he returned from the fences of this, their new home. Even here the elves kept watch; but there were many quiet times which he had filled by carving the intricate design and the small, smooth teeth.
He combed her hair for her; long, slow, sensual strokes, until she ached for more.
Then she turned and slowly curled one of his braids around her finger, reeling him in towards her like a fish on a line, until their breath mingled, their lips met and, for a little while, the comb was forgotten.
Tindómë looked at herself this way and that in the mirror. The pale, fine, fabric of her dress moved with her and swirled in soft pink drifts around her feet.
“Beautiful!” her friend said. Then, “Sit down whilst I do your hair for you.”
She picked up the comb and slid it through Tindómë’s thick, wavy hair, before working in first the jewels and then the roses. Roses cut that morning from the first bushes to bloom here in Ithilien; a sign of earth renewed.
“There!” she said, finally satisfied, “It is time to go out and meet your bridegroom."
It was summer. The long winter and short spring were both past and, in the warm sunshine, Tindómë felt indolent; her condition made her too lethargic to do more than lie against her husband’s chest and simply ‘be’.
He combed her hair; the act as much a token of love as the comb itself. Her breathing and his strokes became synchronised, as one.
“Will you comb my hair like this when the time comes?” she asked him.
“Of course,” he answered, “if it will help.”
“It will,” she said. “And I will be beautiful when our son first sees me.”
On a whim he worked a plait into her hair and then threaded flowers through it. So many times he had done this, over the years, and this would be the last time; at least with her. But he wanted her to look her best; her and all the others.
So much they were leaving behind, accompanying their Lord to the West, so much they couldn’t take and, today, though he loved her, he would hand her to another. Trade her for gold to use when they landed.
“You will be well,” he whispered, “for the Rohirrim love their horses…”
Everything was ready now. Trunks held items to set up a new home, somehow, somewhere, in the West; what they could not take had been given to elves who were remaining, or to men.
Tindómë looked back at their home for the last time. Her tear-filled eyes caused her to trip, dropping the bag of personal possessions. Half-blinded still she scooped everything up and walked, head high, away.
When she realised, at sea, that she had lost her comb she wept again.
“I will make you a new one, meleth,” he said - and took out a piece of Ithilien wood.
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no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 05:54 pm (UTC)You didn't really think he'd be willing to leave his wife behind... or perhaps he might have...
no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 09:01 pm (UTC)This is just A. N. Elf - quite possibly Rumil from my Returnverse stories - as they'd really all have to leave their horses behind to sail west, I reckon.
no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 06:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 07:40 pm (UTC)Wonderfully written. :)
no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 27/06/2011 11:08 pm (UTC)On a completely unrelated note: I was at the world(?)première of "Albatross" at the Edinburgh Film Festival. Partly made by Isle of Man Film and the entire thing shot on location on the Isle of Man. Very enjoyable.
no subject
Date: 28/06/2011 07:30 am (UTC)The very last line gave me associations to the Beatles song...
Oh yes! I see what you mean as soon as you mention it.
We have a small but active film industry - I must look out for that one myself.