A little bit of writing... - that yellow bastard

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May 19th, 2003

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2003.0519.2139::A little bit of writing...
Yes. I wrote fanfic. This was for random_hundreds. I've since revised what I placed there--this is the result.

Title: Still untitled...
Summary: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Timeline: Second Age, sometime. Prior to the forging of the One Ring.

He found her at her mirror.

He watched her as her seemingly empty stare fixed on the near-overflowing pool of water--he made no motion to interrupt her, fearing to break her concentration.

"Celebrimbor," she called out to him.

"Lady, it is finished," he replied as he hurried forward. The cloth bundle he carried was slightly longer than his arm, and he unwrapped it as he proffered it to her. Inside, an axe head glinted silver in the moonlight.

"The blade is without compare, shaped from the Mithril of Hadhodrond by the hand of Narvi--and just as you asked, my handle--" He turned the axe and traced a finger down the studded handle to where it joined to wood--a solid section that tapered to a point.

"Splendid," she replied, and took the weapon from him.

From all around, a throng of women--human women--crept from the shadows of the forest. She gave them the axe, and they retreated to a clearing close by.

Celebrimbor watched as each woman, softly muttering, reached her hand beneath her own underclothes and brought it out, smeared with blood. Together, they touched the blade and handle, painting the weapon red.

"Lady?" he asked, incredulous. "We are at peace. What man requires such an enchanted weapon?"

"No," she countered. "No man." The Lady gestured to the mirror.

In the rippled images, Celebrimbor spied a peasant girl striking at a giant bat; a shield-maiden, sword in hand, her flesh melting as she grappled with a balrog. Girls, countless faces--some in braids, some dressed as men--all fighting the unknown and unspeakable.

And a young, fair-haired girl, bloodied and bruised, standing strong in strange clothing, ready for battle against an array of beasts.

"It is for her alone."

Notes: My first real foray into fanfic. In Tolkien lore, Celebrimbor forged the Three Elven Rings, he and Narvi created the Durin's Door ("Speak 'friend'..."), and Hadhodrond is the Elven name for Moria. I think from now on, I'm going to call what everyone's mislabelling "The Scythe," the "mmglih."

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