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b2memB2MeM Prompt:B7 Card:Rivendell (Bruinen) and Number:160
Format:vignette
Genre:gen
Rating:gen
Warnings:none
Characters:Elrond Gandalf
Pairings:none
Creator’s Notes (optional):none
Summary:Behind the scenes at the Fords of Bruinen
(I don't own them...much as I'd like to.)
Elrond clasped Gandalf's hand tighter as the wizard made to rise, determinedly finishing a knot upon the bandage he was applying.
Nonetheless, it was barely done as the grey wizard surged to his feet. “It is here!”
Elrond wiped ointment from his hands as he joined his friend in looking to the west. “I know.” His gaze narrowed as a tiny blue and yellow bird settled upon the balustrade. Cocking it's head, it fixed Elrond with one black-bead eye as it breathed out a stream of delicate trills and chirps. Before the creature had even finished delivering whatever message he had, Elrond leapt over the low wall. Robes billowing, he landed lightly upon the lawn twelve feet below, before breaking into a ground-eating sprint toward the trees.
Gandalf wore the persona of an old man for form's sake, but even he drew the line at jumping that far, and made use of a convenient staircase. For all that delay, he caught up with Elrond only moments after the elf lord had dropped to his knees by a small rivulet to thrust his hand into the icy flow. Gandalf leaned low, unkempt beard tickling Elrond's ear as he gasped, “What did the bird say?”
Voice as distant as his eyes, still Elrond's breathing betrayed no sign of his recent acrobatics. “The One is not alone. I had hoped you had distracted them from Frodo, but I should have known better. The One draws them like a fly to the corpse.”
“They are here too? This is ill news.”
“Indeed. I must do what I can to allow our Ringbearer in, whilst keeping our enemies out.”
“No mean feat, but you will have my aid.” Gandalf reached down to place his hand upon Elrond's in the rill.
Elrond nodded as he followed the molecules of the rivulette down a steep slope, between trees, where it joined a wider stream, to feed a tributary of the noisy Bruinen. It was not his fate to bear the elven ring that governed water, but he had founded Imladris years before Vilya was handed into his keeping. He and Imladris were as bound now, as Galadriel to her golden wood. Elrond sensed every creature that crossed the wards he set about his land, and he knew every inch of the river Bruinen, from ice born mountain stream to distant joining with Mitheithel.
“What is your intent?” Gandalf asked, when Elrond appeared to be taking no visible action.
Elrond's reply was calmly uttered, but betrayed a certain impatience, nonetheless. “I intend to stop our enemies, but I cannot do so while you keep distracting me, Master Wizard.”
“My apologies, Lord Elrond.” Gandalf pursed his lips but said nothing more, instead slipping into the mental rapport that was suddenly opened to him. Their conjoined minds slid swiftly down rivulet and stream, until they jostled upon Bruinen's swift and icy highway. That was when Gandalf felt them …
They rode horses as, surprisingly, did the ringbearer. Whilst one horse was elven bred, it's spirit as light and pure as sunlight at summers noon, the ones that followed it into the fords were mortal bred. They could be no other, for elven steeds would die, rather than be broken and perverted so. Their fae' were knots of fear and anger, as black as those who rode them. Gandalf was grateful that Elrond made no attempt to see those riders, concentrating instead upon the water that flowed across the shallow fords.
As Elrond whispered to the river, somehow coaxing it into forming an invisible dam, Gandalf guessed his intent and leant his power... elemental and older even than Elrond's. Those startled fish and crustacea who could, took shelter in tributories or within deep crevasses as swirling eddies began to pry boulders from the river bed. Once this deluge was released it was clear that Elrond intended no land-birthed creature to survive in its wake. Gandalf gave as much of himself as Elrond, neither daring to openly use elven rings in such close proximity to the One. Even in extremis, the wizard could not help but fashion some embellishments however, and he sensed a thread of tolerant amusement from Elrond when the elf lord became aware of his efforts.
The elven mount stood in shallows by the nearest bank with it's enemies massing in water at the far side. The leading mount took a step and Gandalf felt, rather than heard, Elrond's decision to wait no longer. He was ready when the Master of Imladris drew himself up, gathering all power to himself, before thrusting forth his arm upon a mighty shout. Water dripped, unheeded, from Elrond's sleeve, and trees shook as churning water rumbled past, barely contained within deep banks. A wide wave of water thundered toward the fords, white spume about its crest morphing into ghostly steeds.
Somewhere within the chaos Gandalf sensed the elven horse surging up a bank to safety. The steeds of the Black Riders were not so fortunate, and he felt others, leaping into the rock churned flood as though chased thence. As they were tumbled far downstream by the torrent Elrond released his hold, sagging, so that Gandalf had to support him for a moment.
“That was a close run thing,” the wizard noted dryly.
When he had gathered himself once more Elrond turned a rueful smile upon his collaborator. “Indeed. Now we had best send out riders to collect your hapless hobbits.”
END
Format:vignette
Genre:gen
Rating:gen
Warnings:none
Characters:Elrond Gandalf
Pairings:none
Creator’s Notes (optional):none
Summary:Behind the scenes at the Fords of Bruinen
(I don't own them...much as I'd like to.)
Elrond clasped Gandalf's hand tighter as the wizard made to rise, determinedly finishing a knot upon the bandage he was applying.
Nonetheless, it was barely done as the grey wizard surged to his feet. “It is here!”
Elrond wiped ointment from his hands as he joined his friend in looking to the west. “I know.” His gaze narrowed as a tiny blue and yellow bird settled upon the balustrade. Cocking it's head, it fixed Elrond with one black-bead eye as it breathed out a stream of delicate trills and chirps. Before the creature had even finished delivering whatever message he had, Elrond leapt over the low wall. Robes billowing, he landed lightly upon the lawn twelve feet below, before breaking into a ground-eating sprint toward the trees.
Gandalf wore the persona of an old man for form's sake, but even he drew the line at jumping that far, and made use of a convenient staircase. For all that delay, he caught up with Elrond only moments after the elf lord had dropped to his knees by a small rivulet to thrust his hand into the icy flow. Gandalf leaned low, unkempt beard tickling Elrond's ear as he gasped, “What did the bird say?”
Voice as distant as his eyes, still Elrond's breathing betrayed no sign of his recent acrobatics. “The One is not alone. I had hoped you had distracted them from Frodo, but I should have known better. The One draws them like a fly to the corpse.”
“They are here too? This is ill news.”
“Indeed. I must do what I can to allow our Ringbearer in, whilst keeping our enemies out.”
“No mean feat, but you will have my aid.” Gandalf reached down to place his hand upon Elrond's in the rill.
Elrond nodded as he followed the molecules of the rivulette down a steep slope, between trees, where it joined a wider stream, to feed a tributary of the noisy Bruinen. It was not his fate to bear the elven ring that governed water, but he had founded Imladris years before Vilya was handed into his keeping. He and Imladris were as bound now, as Galadriel to her golden wood. Elrond sensed every creature that crossed the wards he set about his land, and he knew every inch of the river Bruinen, from ice born mountain stream to distant joining with Mitheithel.
“What is your intent?” Gandalf asked, when Elrond appeared to be taking no visible action.
Elrond's reply was calmly uttered, but betrayed a certain impatience, nonetheless. “I intend to stop our enemies, but I cannot do so while you keep distracting me, Master Wizard.”
“My apologies, Lord Elrond.” Gandalf pursed his lips but said nothing more, instead slipping into the mental rapport that was suddenly opened to him. Their conjoined minds slid swiftly down rivulet and stream, until they jostled upon Bruinen's swift and icy highway. That was when Gandalf felt them …
They rode horses as, surprisingly, did the ringbearer. Whilst one horse was elven bred, it's spirit as light and pure as sunlight at summers noon, the ones that followed it into the fords were mortal bred. They could be no other, for elven steeds would die, rather than be broken and perverted so. Their fae' were knots of fear and anger, as black as those who rode them. Gandalf was grateful that Elrond made no attempt to see those riders, concentrating instead upon the water that flowed across the shallow fords.
As Elrond whispered to the river, somehow coaxing it into forming an invisible dam, Gandalf guessed his intent and leant his power... elemental and older even than Elrond's. Those startled fish and crustacea who could, took shelter in tributories or within deep crevasses as swirling eddies began to pry boulders from the river bed. Once this deluge was released it was clear that Elrond intended no land-birthed creature to survive in its wake. Gandalf gave as much of himself as Elrond, neither daring to openly use elven rings in such close proximity to the One. Even in extremis, the wizard could not help but fashion some embellishments however, and he sensed a thread of tolerant amusement from Elrond when the elf lord became aware of his efforts.
The elven mount stood in shallows by the nearest bank with it's enemies massing in water at the far side. The leading mount took a step and Gandalf felt, rather than heard, Elrond's decision to wait no longer. He was ready when the Master of Imladris drew himself up, gathering all power to himself, before thrusting forth his arm upon a mighty shout. Water dripped, unheeded, from Elrond's sleeve, and trees shook as churning water rumbled past, barely contained within deep banks. A wide wave of water thundered toward the fords, white spume about its crest morphing into ghostly steeds.
Somewhere within the chaos Gandalf sensed the elven horse surging up a bank to safety. The steeds of the Black Riders were not so fortunate, and he felt others, leaping into the rock churned flood as though chased thence. As they were tumbled far downstream by the torrent Elrond released his hold, sagging, so that Gandalf had to support him for a moment.
“That was a close run thing,” the wizard noted dryly.
When he had gathered himself once more Elrond turned a rueful smile upon his collaborator. “Indeed. Now we had best send out riders to collect your hapless hobbits.”
END
