Before it was Broken
Title: Before it was Broken
Rating: G
Theme: Letters
Elements: Thank you letter
Beta: Raksha and Virtuella. With grateful thanks.


These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

Arwen could delay the dreaded task no longer. Eldarion was asleep, watched over by his nurse, Estel was at a meeting of the Council, she had no engagements that morning, and for once, no one was desiring an audience with the Queen of Gondor and Arnor.

Sighing, Arwen sat down at her desk and dipped the quill in the ink. She had told Estel of her dilemma over breakfast that morning, but her husband had simply laughed. “It cannot be that bad,” he had said. “A simple note of thanks will suffice.”

“But the Peredhil do not lie!” Arwen had protested. “It is truly hideous! Yet, I would not hurt the feelings of two kind and well meaning friends.”

“You excel at diplomatic skills,” Estel had assured her. Then with a kiss on her cheek and another on Eldarion’s dark curls, he was gone, leaving Arwen with the object of her nightmares.

The Queen studied the vase again. 'Hideous' was only one way to describe it. 'Garish' would be an equally apt description. About a foot tall, the vase was decorated with a clashing array of purple irises and yellow tulips, far too lavishly embellished with thick bands of gold leaf, under the rim and at the base, which overshadowed the flowers and made it glitter so brightly that it would hurt sensitive eyes to look upon it for long. Estel had told her that gold was highly prized in Southron lands .which meant that the ugly vase was a gift betokening great respect. This only added to Arwen’s dilemma. She must thank Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva properly, but how could she without lying?

Her eyes wandered across the room to where a beautiful vase of silver, inlaid with pearl, stood holding a few sprigs of evergreens. The cherished heirloom, which had belonged to her grandmother, was exactly what a vase should look like, elegant and understated, so that the eye was drawn to the greenery or flowers and not the container they stood in.

But then, the Elves had dwelled for centuries in temperate climes where abundant flowers and foliage flourished, unlike the Ambassador from Harad and his lady.

Arwen took a deep breath and began to write

My dear Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva,
It was kind of you to think of us this Mettarë

That much at least was true; the Haradrim had no similar festival, their desert clime having little variation in seasons or length of days.

How thoughtful that you should remember how much I love flowers.

Another sincere sentiment, Lady Adiva had noticed that the Queen’s sitting room was never without a vase of whatever flowers were in season. She was not to know that of all flowers Arwen liked irises and tulips the least, considering them stiff and formal. Tulips originated in Harad and were much prized there as a rarity that flourished only in the cooler highland regions. Irises, too grew in the region, and as for the hue, Arwen made no secret that purple was a favourite shade of hers. Who was to know that she much preferred the humble violet to the haughty iris?

I will think of you both whenever I behold your kind gift.

Arwen paused. Much as she would like to, she could hardly consign the vase to the back of a cupboard, or donate it to be sold for the poor. Tahir and Adiva were fairly regular visitors. But the thought of using such a monstrosity to display flowers when she had such beautiful vases made her cringe!

“Naneth!” A miniature whirlwind burst through the slightly open door as Eldarion toddled towards his mother.

“My apologies, my lady, I could not catch him!” the breathless nursemaid gasped as she vainly pursued her charge.

“He can stay with me for a while. He is almost due to be fed.” Arwen dismissed the girl with a smile. She handed her son one of the quills off her desk to play with. His chubby little legs exhausted, Eldarion started to crawl around the floor, brandishing the quill in a manner reminiscent of the way his father held Andúril.

Arwen returned to contemplating her letter, but something, maybe a mother’s instinct, caused her to look up after a few moments. Eldarion had crawled towards the table where the precious pearl inlaid silver vase stood and was about to pull off the cloth.

“No, Eldarion!” Arwen cried sternly, leaping to her feet. Reaching a decision, she called for her maid.

An hour later, and after a full and sleepy Eldarion had been returned to the nursery, Arwen returned to writing her letter. On the table a vase full of greenery still stood, but instead of her cherished heirloom, it was the gift of the Harad Ambassador and his wife. Better that she should endure this monstrosity for a time in order to still enjoy something of nature that meant so much to her kind, rather than have Eldarion shatter the heirloom that had been cherished in her family for centuries.

She picked up the quill and concluded.

The vase will most useful for my sitting room, as I love to always have flowers about me. It was just what I needed this winter.

I hope you will both visit us very soon and look forward to seeing you and hearing all the latest news about your children. Maybe your youngest would like to play with Eldarion?

Arwen smiled as she signed and sealed the letter. Maybe as a mother of five, Adiva knew that treasured processions had to be locked out of the way of lively young children and had considered something that she had not?

‘Perhaps the vase was not such a hideous gift after all?’ Arwen mused. And was not an even greater gift that former enemies could now be good friends? She gave the letter to a servant to deliver, inwardly congratulating herself that every word was true!

A/N

This story is a prequel to “The Vase that was Broken”
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/the-vase-that-was-broken.php

Arwen’s favourite vase is mentioned in “A Time to Reap” chapter 4.
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/a-time-to-reap.php

Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva appear in “Dies Irae”
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/dies-irae.php

Written for the LOTR Community March Challenge - Letters.

Hues of Middle-earth

Cherry Ripe
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.




icon - Nerwende

The bowl of cherries stood in the centre of the table, each fruit almost glowing with ripe, juicy sweetness.

Eldarion eyed the fruit longingly. He had been told not to eat them, but they looked so tasty! How could he resist?

“Surely no one would miss just one?” the little boy asked himself.

Soon the bowl was filled only with stones while Eldarion’s fingers and mouth were crimson with the juice of the forbidden fruit.

“Eldarion!” cried his mother accusingly. “Those cherries were meant for us all to share for dessert.”

Eldarion’s face turned as red as the purloined cherries.


A Cat may look at a King





Mewing loudly, the orange cat rubbed against Aragorn’s legs as he paused to speak to some children near the Citadel.

“That’s Marmalade,” a little girl informed him. “He follows me everywhere!”

Aragorn smiled at the child and stroked her pet. The cat was a magnificent feline. It reclined on the warm stones as if it owned them, the sun gleaming on its tawny fur.

“You are like Marmalade,” said the little girl.

Aragorn was about to protest when the cat stretched and regarded him with a regal air.

Whether cat or King was more lordly would be difficult to say!


Bright as the Sun




icon - Kissmygrass

Faramir had dreamed of the wave again last night. Was Middle-earth doomed to be destroyed like Númenor of old?

The Steward wandered through the gardens trying to dispel his dark thoughts. A single primrose bloom caught his eye. Every year without fail, the dainty yellow flowers returned as heralds of spring’s return. His spirits rose.

“My Lord?”

Faramir turned and saw the Warden with a stranger. His head spun, while his heart soared. Never had he beheld a maiden so fair! The darkness, could not, would not prevail; not now a maid with sun bright hair had stolen his heart!

Into the woods



icon- Fileg



Singing softly to himself, Estel, or Aragorn, as he now knew his true name to be, wandered through Imladris’ leafy glades. The woods were ever fair, but never more so than in their fresh spring garb of verdant hue. The trees sang too, as the breeze rippled through their branches.

A maiden danced beneath the birches, moving gracefully in time to their music.

Aragorn gazed enthralled. Fairer than the Evening Star, she was both young and ancient of days. He stood abashed: young and green as a fresh sapling buffeted by the wind.


Adorned with Stars



icon - Fileg - art - Alan Lee



Faramir carefully opened the chest, hesitating before he unwrapped its contents. He lifted the cloak and held it in his arms with something like reverence.



Sometimes he fancied he could still smell his mother’s perfume on the soft blue folds, which remained unfaded, and untouched by moth, even after three long decades.



If only she could have remained by his side! Alas, his mother was as far away as the stars adorning the robe’s throat and hem.



He had met another lady, fair as the stars but closer, worthy of this mantle.



Faramir smiled. Surely Finduilas would have blessed him.





Mightier than the Sword






With grateful thanks to Raksha


A loud scream emanated from the King’s private apartments. The guards drew their swords and raced to the rescue. Whatever could be wrong? Had an intruder assaulted their lord?

Aragorn stood in the centre of his chamber, clad only in breeches, boots, a half finished shirt, and a deep scowl.

“Do stand still, Estel!” chided the Queen, brandishing a pincushion.

“You might stick another pin in me!” growled Aragorn. To think that the Haradrim had bested him, not with the sword, but with indigo silk!

Seeing their lord's fierce look, the guards hastily left the room, suppressing their laughter.


Hidden treasure







“The irises are especially beautiful this year,” said Éowyn proudly as she escorted the Queen around her garden in Ithilien. “Faramir had corms for some rare varieties sent from Harad.”

Arwen, though, seemed oblivious to the gaudy purple and yellow blooms. Her attention was caught by a patch of delicate flowers under the shade of a large oak. “I love these!” she exclaimed. “They are so pretty!”

“You prefer violets? But violets are as common as weeds. I only grow them for medicinal use.”

“They remind me of the flowers of my homeland,” said Arwen. “Small, hidden and most fair.”





After the Storm





icon- elanordh


The storm had raged fiercely all day, the torrential rain, thunder and lightening mirroring the turmoil within Arwen’s heart.

She sensed that today would either see her beloved triumph, or destroy her hopes of happiness forever, together with all that was good in Middle-earth.

Suddenly the tumult ceased. Imladris was bathed in brilliant sunlight. Sunbeams danced between the still gently falling raindrops.

Arwen laughed for sheer joy as her heart felt the darkness lift. She caught sight of a perfect rainbow resplendent in the heavens. The jewel-like hues had never seemed so fair. The darkness was past. Hope had endured.