Word Count: 200
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Frodo
Source Text: LotR
Disclaimer: Nope, still not making money.
Author's Comments: The first evening of the first day after Sam and Frodo meet again across the sea. (Confession time: I'm cheating- I already had this written as a gift for Jeodo Brandybuck a long time ago. But the muse is being uncooperative, and it seemed to fit the March Friendship challenge-hope this summer rerun is okay. Feel free to scold me harshly if it's not. References a previous story, but it's not necessary to have read that one first, I hope.)
Eternal summer lies sweetly over Elvenhome, but even there the day, no matter how joyful, must draw to a close. The blue twilight has fallen and two friends, having laughed and talked and wept over the joys and sorrows of sixty years apart, now sit in chairs before the fire. At Frodo's feet is a chest filled with all the affection and longing of a lifetime: Letters, faded autumn leaves, ribbons, locks of hair, Shire-earth brown and darkest gold.
Frodo holds a page in his hands and murmurs words Sam had written long ago, on the other side of the sea. "And someday, Master dear, if what I hope comes true, I'll bring all these birthday greetings to you..." Frodo can scarcely speak. This gift of kindly memory Sam has brought to him is more precious than jewels.
"Someday," Sam whispers, his face filled with growing wonder and joy, like one waking at last to find his most impossible dream come true. "Why, this is it, isn't it, Master Frodo? This is our Someday."
"It is indeed, my dear Sam," Frodo says, taking his hand, and they sit then in a deep and loving silence that needs no more words.
Beyond the World
Word Count: 200
Source Text: LotR, the Appendices, smidge of movie
Characters: Arwen, Legolas
Disclaimer: Love, yes, money, no.
Author's Comments: Legolas sits with Arwen after the passing of Aragorn. (And I'm cheating again: I wrote this for myself quite some time ago, but it fits the winter, fire, snow/fear prompt. Mostly.)
Another loss in this city of stone, one of many, but each loss remains in memory: Time does not heal all wounds. This the Elves know well. My brother Elessar has departed and I sit with his queen in the Courtyard of the White Tree. The waters of the fountain play and the White Tree blooms, rejoicing in the coming of spring, but there will never be another springtime for Undomiel. All the winters of her life have fallen upon her at last, as bitter snow upon a hill once green and fair, and her eyes are haunted and old, dark with grief. I have no words of comfort for her, so I hold her hand, and together we are silent. As we watch, a curled leaf falls from the tree and floats upon the water, a small white ship filled with reflected sunlight.
"Home, Legolas," she sighs. My sorrow is such that I cannot speak. Undomiel, sister of my heart, I know it is not Rivendell, nor even Lothlorien that you sigh for, but that far place beyond the world where all mortal things must go, where you fear to tread, where your love stands in the light, waiting.