"This Taste of Shadow"

Genre:Everything
Rating: K - T
Time Frame: Everywhere
Characters: Everyone

Summary: When Shadow returned to Arda marred, it fell upon a land long accustomed to living beneath a veil of darkness. The light of its people was never one so easily dimmed, you see. A collection of ficlets and drabbles.

Author's Notes: Hello once again, dear readers! This latest venture of mine is a collection of ficlets - all pieces beneath a thousand words, along with fixed-length drabbles - set within the timeframe of the Silmarillion. Once or twice these may dip into The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, but these are primarily about the early days. I have a long list of prompts I am working from - 600 of them, to be exact, but I do not expect to reach them all ;) - all of which I am writing as warm-ups before working on my original novel this winter - so expect anyone and everything doing anything and everything.

That said, I welcome any who look to follow where these drivels lead, and I hope you enjoy my humble foray into Tolkien's truly breathtaking world as much as I am enjoying writing it.

First up, we have a two-fer set. With Finarfin and Galadriel as the main focus. Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

Wall

The Sea was an impassible distance between them. It was a wall he could not climb; with waves as brick and tide as mortar. And it stretched so far . . .

Though Tirion was locked by land, surrounded by golden stretches of fields and embraced by copses of green leafed trees, he imagined that he could hear the waves as they brushed upon Eastern shores beyond. He imagined that he could see the infant sun above them as it set over the straight blue horizon of Middle-earth. He imagined that he could hear the gulls in his ears; that he could feel the pulse of the tide in his heart.

She has arrived, the knowledge reverberated in his mind, settling in his heart. With the knowledge, his pulse quickened. He could not quell its frantic beat.

"Artanis," Arafinwë whispered his daughter's name to the wind, as if she could hear him from such a distance and knew comfort from his voice. He closed his eyes, imagining each of his sons in turn before looking up again. His children had survived the crossing, and now they walked upon a shadowed land. They walked where he could not see . . . see naught but glimpses, as intangible and substantial as mist. He could see Artanis' eyes trained unmovingly ahead, looking at the wood just past the seashore. He looked, and saw Ingoldo's smile. Angaráto as he splashed Aikanáro in the surf.

His hands fisted as he tried to seize the visions, as he tried to make them last. But it was not enough. It never was.

Time passed, much time before the atmosphere in both Tirion and Alqualondë allowed the new King of the Noldor to journey north to Oiolossë. But journey eventually he did, seeking out Ingwë's house and walking the familiar halls to the rooms his mother and sisters shared.

Centuries had passed since he was a small boy running with mischief in mind and trailing giggles behind him, and yet Arafinwë still felt small beneath the arch of Indis' stare when she rose to greet him. He bowed low and kissed the back of his mother's hand, even though she wore her crown not, and had been far from Finwë's side even before his death at the Dark One's hands. The young sun was setting beyond them, painting Indis' face with a warm golden light. There was a time when he had looked on her and saw only a beauty too great for words; a celestial beauty that seemed too ethereal to touch. Now, he could see only weariness on Indis' face. Her flesh seemed to be parchment, letting the light shine through her rather than upon her. There were times lately when she did not look quite real before his eyes. Aman had darkened around her, and she had not yet found her light again.

"They arrived," he whispered his news, taking her hand in his own once they both were seated. Indis looked not at him, but out the open windows behind him. The room had been built with a wide and open plan – designed to face the summit of the mountain and the light of the Trees with a reverence that only the Vanyar could truly understand. Now, it just let in the light of the setting sun.

"I cannot tell what horrors the Ice took from them," he admitted, and at the words, his voice ached in his throat. " . . . but they arrived. They walk upon the shores of the Hither Lands."

Over his hand, his mother's fingers played. Absently, she traced nonsense patterns over the top of bones and skin. "And yet, you ask me a question," she said at long last. Her head was tilted delicately to the side. Her pale eyes knew the answer he sought, even when they did not glance his way.

"I . . ." he swallowed. Setting about him, the new light was too warm. It was too bright. He blinked, and saw shadow. "I saw . . . I could see bits and pieces when I Looked, but only just. Once you offered to teach me your gift, and yet I scorned it . . . for what need was there of the Sight in the hallowed lands, in these lands of peace and light? And yet . . . now the light has been destroyed and created anew. Now . . ."

"Now those you love travel past where you can see," Indis finished gravely. Her eyes still searched beyond the view of her balcony; as if she could see into Mandos' dark halls and beyond.

He did not fight the twisting he felt in his lungs at her words. He had no need to. "Yes," he breathed simply. And he waited for her answer.

A heartbeat passed. Then another. When Indis squeezed his hands, the color of her eyes was darker. For the first since his father's death, she looked real before him. She looked tangible enough to touch.

"I shall teach you, my son," she inclined her head in answer. Her grip about his hands was strong. "And together, we shall see what we shall see."

.

.

Bridge

The waves lapped gently against the rocks below.

Alone, Galadriel knelt in the long grass that grew atop the cliffs overlooking the harbor of the Grey Havens below. This close to the Sea, the song within her soul was sounding with a feverish beat, pulling her towards what she could feel in the distance, calling home. Though she yearned, she could not yet give in to it's siren's call, not with the Shadow that was still growing behind her, stretching from the East. None were beside her as she took her moment to work through her grief alone. All in her family hurt that day, the grief of sundering pulling upon their spirits as a whole, but in that moment, she preferred her solitude. She needed . . .

She took a deep breath, centering herself. Against her mind, she felt Celeborn's touch as it turned in concern, but she waved him away after assuring him that she was well. As well as she could be, at least. A matching pain bit at his own soul, and she filled their bond with warmth . . . with peace as best she could.

When she looked below, she could see her husband's silver head amongst the workers milling on the docks. Celeborn was keeping their grandsons busy, she knew, not giving them a moment in which to think about their grief. Elladan and Elrohir were nothing but strife and discord in their bones with their mother's passing, and even across the distance their hate and anger tugged on her spirit with a rabid fervency. They wore their guilt as a cloak of fury, even though all had assured them that they were not to blame – even Celebrían herself, but still their hearts knew pain, and Galadriel feared . . .

When she swallowed, she did so around a stone. She looked away from her grandsons, seeking out the empty dock where Celebrían's ship had been berthed not even an hour ago. On the edge of the dock, Arwen stood unmoving at her father's side. As close to Elrond as the twins had been with their mother, she had scarce left his side since the ship had disappeared over the horizon. Galadriel reached out with her senses, but Arwen looked up first. Though her eyes were heavy with grief, she reached out with a comfort of her own before she could be given comfort in return, and Galadriel felt her heart twist as she accepted the gift her granddaughter gave. The young one was a bulwark in her family's storm, and for her, Galadriel was more grateful than words could say. At Arwen's side, Elrond had not even blinked at the interchanging of power. He noticed not of Arwen's hand around his own, nor Galadriel's searching presence at his mind. Instead, he was unblinking as he stared at the horizon beyond. Galadriel felt, and knew that he was clinging to his bond with Celebrían, unwilling to let her go until the Straight Road tore her forcibly from him.

She looked, and felt a fresh stab of pain for how her son-in-law appeared to be years older than any Elf had a right to be – for he had poured nearly the entirety of his fëa into Celebrían's soul in his desperation to heal her. He had been pulled away by force - Glorfindel and Mithrandir ending the connection only before he gave everything. Even for all of his efforts – for all of her own efforts, and Mithrandir's too – they had only been able to heal her daughter's body. Her mind . . . Celebrían's fëa was fractured and torn, and nothing but the Uttermost West and the touch of Estë and Irmo themselves would heal what was so broken.

She had sailed, and now Galadriel was alone, and she . . .

She took in a deep breath before letting it out again. Above her, the twilit sky was darkening. Varda's stars bathed the land in their light as they had since times long gone by, and upon the horizon Galadriel looked, and thought to see a light even greater than they. She could see . . .

As she had not in centuries, she opened her mind to the part of her fëa that was still bound to her parents – to Arafinwë and Eärwen, each reigning over bright Tirion in hallowed Aman. Though the Sea laid between them – pale in comparison to her own stubborn pride and blatant refusal to take the pardon the Valar offered, for she had committed no crime to warrant such a gracious forgiveness - she looked with another set of eyes. She looked with the eyes of her Sight, and saw . . .

. . . Arafinwë's surprised gaze . . . grey-blue eyes, just like her own, blinking and widening . . . a breath held . . . her father placing down both quill and parchment so that he could grasp the connection she sought and flame it higher . . .

Artanis? She felt more than heard his voice whisper across her mind. Though she would admit it not, the merest touch of their minds turned all of her great strength to dust before the wind. Brokenly, she leaned into his mental presence like a sapling finding its roots in a storm. She did not realize the weight of her own grief until opening herself up to her father's soul, and now . . .

She felt warmth and love consume her as Arafinwë filled her with a peace of spirit – and all of her fears about her parent's anger, their anger and their disappointment, faded when she felt love instead. When she felt a concern so strong that it rippled across her soul, even across so great a distance.

Child? he whispered, as if fearful of her answer, What is it? What is this burden that swallows you? She could feel him search against her mind, a lifetime of dark deeds and even darker hours having taught him to expect the worst.

"Atar," she whispered her reply to the wind. Her voice was a choked, hoarse sound from her mouth. "What I treasure most in this world comes to you, and I cannot yet follow where she goes. I would ask . . . nay, I would beg of you to . . ."

Cherish her, she let her spirit ask what her mouth could not say. Give her a home while she is sundered from all that she has loved and held dear . . . Give her love until . . .

. . . until I too can return home, she finally admitted the desire of her heart in her mind, and she felt her father turn as such a light in her mind. Such a warmth.

When she opened her eyes, the connection broken, she looked to the West again. This time, she did not have to strain her eyes to see. Aman was as a light on the horizon; the harkening of a promise against the backdrop of sky and sea. She looked, and she could feel the light as it grew even warmer still.

Not yet, she thought as she turned from the song of the Sea. But someday, she knew . . . someday soon.

Handy Dandy Tolkien Terms:

Arafinwë: Finarfin
Artanis: Galadriel
Ingoldo: Finrod
Aikanáro: Aegnor
Angaráto: Angrod
Mithrandir: Gandalf
Fëa: Quenya for 'soul'.
Oiolossë: The Vanyar's name for Taniquetil

And if I missed anything, please let me know. :)