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b2mem2019-03-09 12:28 am
kayleearafinwiel) wrote in b2mem2019-03-09 12:28 am
On the Banks of the Anduin, by Kaylee Arafinwiel
B2MeM Prompt, Card and Number: G54: Echoes in the Water, Of the Sea, Shirish, Snippets of Verse, Color Burst - Green
Format: vignette? drabble-ish bit?
Genre: drama, deathfic
Rating: PG-13 for death
Warnings: canon death
Characters: Deagol, Smeagol (Gollum), Thranduil
Pairings: none
Creator’s Notes (optional): Characters belong to Tolkien. Dialogue is from LOTR and are not mine.
Format: vignette? drabble-ish bit?
Genre: drama, deathfic
Rating: PG-13 for death
Warnings: canon death
Characters: Deagol, Smeagol (Gollum), Thranduil
Pairings: none
Creator’s Notes (optional): Characters belong to Tolkien. Dialogue is from LOTR and are not mine.
Summary: In the Third Age, the Elvenking witnesses a momentous event, though he does not realise its import.
Thranduil stood hidden amongst the verdant trees at the edge of the wood, looking out over the green vales of the Anduin. His small neighbours, who had burrowed homes for themselves in the banks, boating and fishing amongst the reeds, were mostly absent from view – presumably about their work inside their homes, though he knew a few hunted and gathered on the borders of his wood. He did not particularly mind these small ones, for they were harmless enough, though two of the youngsters fishing below seemed to be having a loud discussion over something. He moved nearer. One was dripping with water; it seemed the other youth had pulled him out of the river.
“Give us that, Deagol, my love,” the dry one said. The wet one, Deagol, grew defensive.
“Why?” he demanded.
Thranduil frowned. Where had he heard that tone before? He did not give himself time to puzzle it out, though, watching silently. Whatever it was Deagol held, it bathed him in a hoary light, almost elvish - but not. He wondered if the other young Mortal could sense it.
“Because it’s my birthday, my love, and I wants it,” Deagol’s companion said, pouting.
When Deagol refused again, his friend flew into a rage, and Thranduil did not know whether to intervene or not; before he could make up his mind, Deagol’s face turned blue, and Thranduil heard a telltale snap. Sickened, he retreated into the wood, shaking his head at the obstinacy of Mortals, even small ones. What could they fight over that could be so precious? A frisson of fear ran through him, and he shoved it away. Whatever it was, it could not be that!
“Give us that, Deagol, my love,” the dry one said. The wet one, Deagol, grew defensive.
“Why?” he demanded.
Thranduil frowned. Where had he heard that tone before? He did not give himself time to puzzle it out, though, watching silently. Whatever it was Deagol held, it bathed him in a hoary light, almost elvish - but not. He wondered if the other young Mortal could sense it.
“Because it’s my birthday, my love, and I wants it,” Deagol’s companion said, pouting.
When Deagol refused again, his friend flew into a rage, and Thranduil did not know whether to intervene or not; before he could make up his mind, Deagol’s face turned blue, and Thranduil heard a telltale snap. Sickened, he retreated into the wood, shaking his head at the obstinacy of Mortals, even small ones. What could they fight over that could be so precious? A frisson of fear ran through him, and he shoved it away. Whatever it was, it could not be that!