The Burly Axegrinder

Written by: Primsong
You can read the original here:
All Credit goes to the original author

The Burly Axegrinder

-

There was a burly axegrinder,

A taxminder, a warrior

He sought some orcs whose passengers

Were passing for some couriers,

Although they were no carriers,

No ferriers of frippery,

No ring of heavy golden shine

Beholden midst their livery.

.

The orcs ploughed through topography

No pause to breathe, so tauntingly

They hauled their prey potato-sacked

And cracked their whips most constantly

The hunters three, persistantly

(Consistent in their tracking feat)

A leaf of Lorien they found,

All pounded down in loam and peat.

.

The dwarf revelled in runabout,

This turnabout of who's pursued.

With friends he tracked, and puffing far

For ruffians whose spoils accrued

His feet pumped on through grassy plains,

Swift passage, leagues of gasping toil

To reclaim both lest handling rough

Should shuffle off their mortal coil.

.

There came a troop of horseriders

Their course beside the selfsame track

With hoof and spear they hemmed them in

By pennant green they waved them back.

Pressed in and questioned to confess

They jested not, stared merciless

As those who know betrayal's jess

And hood would fail their hawkeyed test.

.

The dwarf he gave a measured glace

At dancing hoof and sharpened lance

With his companions looking on

He forsook all courtly variance;

To their alarm he challenged them,

And malleable his enmity

By whether they'd free passage trade:

Give Lady's due, or penalty!

.

Eomer gave an answer swift

A gift of passage through the land

But challenge of the Lady's grace...

Through facing dwarvish axe at hand,

He'd not agree that golden nets

Weren't waiting yet in wooded cove.

Though they'd slaughtered orcs and "child"less

They'd piled the mess on flaming stove.

.

With a growling overture,

The Dwarf turned back from man and horse

To seek again his halflings' fate

With unabating dwarvish force

And barring any sophistory

In history to find his place down

Underneath his braided beard,

Unfearing grin upon his face.

When All Was Right With the Warrior

Written By: water lillies and fangs
You can read the original here
All credit goes to the author

What can you do when all the battles that need fighting have been fought, all the forfeits that need winning are won, and all the words that need to be said have been spoken? What can you do when the strangers that became friends become strangers again, forsaking this land, and you, to sail across the sea? What can you do when the remnants of fellowship die?

Does the warrior lie down his axe and cease to exist? Disappearing into memories of the past battles and forfeits, longing for his days? The days when, though the world was ravaged by darkness and war, all was right with the warrior, because in this he had purpose.

Does the heart cease to beat in the chest of said warrior? Because though he spoke all the words that needed to be said, words were not enough to bind to him the one he longed for. Words were fleeting, flimsy things that could do nothing to counteract the distance between two straining races. Nothing to counteract the distance of the sea.

Does the spirit of the warrior die slowly? Crushed by the ache felt only by the lovelorn? With nothing for comfort or company but memories of shining eyes and golden hair, nothing but half-remembered songs whispered to him at night by his pining heart in a yearned for elvish tongue.

Does the warrior forget the faces of the comrades he fought beside before the fellowship fell away? Does he forget what it felt like to be vital to another's survival? Does he forget what it meant to belong? Does he forget the partnership of the elf?

These were the things Gimli asked himself as the minutes crawled by to make themselves hours and the hours to make themselves days, each one paramounting closer and closer to the end of his existence, or to the beginning of his madness. Which one? It didn't matter. They both meant the same thing. No more pain. No more hopeless longing. It was quite some time before he realized the truth, and while it took none of the pain away, he was happier for it.

Yes, the warrior had lain aside his axe, but he was no less real, no less a warrior for it.

No, Words had not bound Legolas to him, and though his heart ached because of it, it would continue to beat. Because Legolas was beautiful, and Legolas was free. A creature borne of the sun and the wind. To bind him to anything would be a sin beyond all forgiveness.

The warrior's spirit would not die, no matter the pressure of the pain. Because Gimli had just that; the spirit of a warrior, which meant he had the strength to endure. If all he ever had for comfort was the knowledge that somewhere, across the deep, dark sea Legolas was living happily amongst his people, then all would be well with Gimli, and memories of shining eyes and a lilting voice singing, always singing, in little snatches of Sindarin, would be more than enough company. They were a greater gift than he had ever anticipated receiving.

And if all of this was true, then Gimli would certainly never forget. Not the faces, not the feelings, not the fellowship. He would never forget guarding another's life, and he would never forget his partnership with an elf.

Memories would just have to be enough. Enough to keep him content until his time came once again. And it would come again, because though the largest threat had been removed, the earth could not forever remain peaceful. The nature of man would not allow such a thing. And when conflict gripped the land once more, Gimli would be on the frontline. Filled with the purpose and determination that came to him only through defending what was his. The purpose that came to him only through being a necessity to another's survival. Satisfied with this knowledge, a slow smile crept over Gimli's face. He would be alright.

Happiness was not an option in the waking present, so he let his soul to slip down into the cool, reminiscent waters of the dreaming past until it became one. Allowing himself to be transported back to a time when all was right with the warrior.

Corruption

Written By : Hawki
You can read the original here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4780311/1/Corruption
All Credit goes to the Original author

Corruption

Nine kings of men were they all once,

Enticed by Sauron’s power.

Serving Mordor became their task,

Each and every hour.

...

The first, the greatest of the nine,

Was Angmar’s future king.

First among the future wraiths,

Put on Sauron’s ring.

...

Khamûl, he of eastern lands,

The second Ringwraith he,

Thus quickly fell to Sauron’s will,

Not once would he be free.

...

Other Ringwraiths too there were,

Seven more in all.

Loyally did they all serve,

Until their master’s fall.

…

The Shadow Lord, of a small land,

Fell to promised might.

Dark cloak worn in darker pride,

A herald of the night.

…

In the Dark Marshal evil dwelled,

Before he took his ring.

Embraced the path to Nazgûl ways,

In victory he’d sing.

…

The Tainted one was easily took,

Thus embraced Sauron’s will.

His evil ways did Sauron bless,

Death’s coffers did he fill.

…

The Undying fought hard and long,

Sauron’s will defied.

But in the end he fell to dark,

His soul from body pried.

…

Six of nine are titled here,

Three are not yet known.

But other names have come to pass,

In circulation grown.

…

Morgamir the first was named,

In Arnor’s ancient battles.

Insight into a rare truth,

Or were defenders rattled?

…

Er-Murazor, another name,

To he, Angmar’s Witch King.

Two names for the same Ringwraith?

Indeed that’s a strange thing.

…

Dwar, Ji Indur, Akhorahil,

More names to title fear.

Uvatha, Ren, Adunaphel,

And Hormurath, oh dear!

…

Westmarch’s Book yet still has gaps,

But these may not be filled.

Suffice to say, those Nazgûl shrieks,

They’re all painfully shrill.

…

Fear’s a weapon in itself,

And fear need not be named.

So examining these dark lieutenants,

From this I will refrain.