B9| The Sport of Your Own Crows
Mar. 20th, 2012 06:09 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: “The Voice of Saruman” (Alternate Viewpoints)
Format: Double drabble
Genre: General
Rating: G
Warnings: *shrug*
Characters: Gandalf, Saruman, OC
Summary: One of the folk of Isengard observes the confrontation between Gandalf and Saruman.
Author's Note: Um yeah it's still wizards (who are eating my brain all month, hopefully with curry), but it's NOT my big WIP for once. For the first time to date during B2MeM, I have produced drabbles!
____
There are two, white against the dark stone of the tower. Moril knows the difference. The one on the stairs is an interloper.
Moril sits on a barrel to look closer; yes, this one was grey, before, atop the tower in the waning summer, and walking with eight in the winter lands far northeast. This grey one always escapes, and now he returns to the ruined circle and brings brazen others with him. Moril does not know many of their words, but she knows enough for contempt.
“Come back, Saruman!”
Moril gapes indignantly, still unheeded, baffled.
“Your staff is broken.”
____
Moril follows the grey intruder and those flocking round him to the tumbled gate, berating. Satisfied that they’ve left, she returns and finds a tower window open and looks in. The wizard, like a pale cornered cat, curls in an armchair.
Moril enters the room, concerned, confused. “Curunír.”
He turns his eyes slowly toward her. “Get out.”
Moril tilts her head, uncomprehending. Usually the instructions are follow somebody or seek something. “Grey one leaves. Gone,” she announces, helpfully.
“Grey,” Curunír mumbles, contemptuous.
“Curunír.”
“Leave me alone.”
Moril reckons she has done something wrong. Crestfallen, she flies away from the tower.
Format: Double drabble
Genre: General
Rating: G
Warnings: *shrug*
Characters: Gandalf, Saruman, OC
Summary: One of the folk of Isengard observes the confrontation between Gandalf and Saruman.
Author's Note: Um yeah it's still wizards (who are eating my brain all month, hopefully with curry), but it's NOT my big WIP for once. For the first time to date during B2MeM, I have produced drabbles!
____
There are two, white against the dark stone of the tower. Moril knows the difference. The one on the stairs is an interloper.
Moril sits on a barrel to look closer; yes, this one was grey, before, atop the tower in the waning summer, and walking with eight in the winter lands far northeast. This grey one always escapes, and now he returns to the ruined circle and brings brazen others with him. Moril does not know many of their words, but she knows enough for contempt.
“Come back, Saruman!”
Moril gapes indignantly, still unheeded, baffled.
“Your staff is broken.”
____
Moril follows the grey intruder and those flocking round him to the tumbled gate, berating. Satisfied that they’ve left, she returns and finds a tower window open and looks in. The wizard, like a pale cornered cat, curls in an armchair.
Moril enters the room, concerned, confused. “Curunír.”
He turns his eyes slowly toward her. “Get out.”
Moril tilts her head, uncomprehending. Usually the instructions are follow somebody or seek something. “Grey one leaves. Gone,” she announces, helpfully.
“Grey,” Curunír mumbles, contemptuous.
“Curunír.”
“Leave me alone.”
Moril reckons she has done something wrong. Crestfallen, she flies away from the tower.
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Date: 2012-03-21 01:48 am (UTC)