“Drabbles: Hobbits – Happy, Homely and Heroic” by JunoMagic
~ A Collection ~
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Preface: A “drabble” is a short piece of prose of exactly 100 words. A double drabble (exactly 200 words) is a “drouble”. A “tribble” has 300 words. A “quabble” has 400 and a “quibble” 500. More than that and you’ve got yourself a “ficlet”.
Drabbles and any variations thereof that are posted here were counted with MS Word.
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“What time of day is it?”
belatedly dedicated to Anglachel Gurthang for her birthday
It was an invention of the hobbits, for once the most innovative people of Middle-earth. Actually, this was not very surprising.
For elves, used to measuring time in the blooming and blossoming of trees, time was moving like a river. For dwarves, intent on their craft, the important thing about time was to spend it productively. For men, wishing to hold onto it even as it flew away with their dying breaths, there was no reason to measure this bitterness.
But hobbits really needed clocks.
How else would it be possible to space six meals a day at regular intervals?
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Bravery
It was a scheme worthy of any dragon, Bilbo thought, shuddering. He should never have opened the door of his hobbit hole that morning. He gulped nervously.
If he took another moment to consider just what other dangers to his life and limbs this plan entailed – apart from the dragon – he would be too frightened to move another inch.
He would go down in history as the cowardly hobbit that was found frozen with fear and cold of winter somewhere on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain.
That simply would not do. Bilbo put on the ring and started running.
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Curiousity Killed the Cat, But Satisfaction Brought it Back
The itch of curiousity was almost more than he could bear. But Merry eyed the hall suspiciously and carefully.
He must not be seen… Bilbo would be most displeased…
He hesitated on the threshold. The door was open, so he was not really sneaking around… And he knew the study so well, from many evenings of slouching and giggling with Frodo on the green sofa sagging in the corner.
Would he really dare to do this?
Already he was in the room, silent, soft-footed, shadow-like –
there it was, the Red Book, that would tell him the secret of the ring…
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Adventurous Tooks and Bagginses
“There’s water-snakes in there!” Pippin whispered.
“Never,” Frodo raised his eyebrows at the adventurous Took. “How d’you know?”
“Weeeellllllll,” drawled the Took, enjoying the moment of suspense, his bright eyes twinkling.
“They are pursuable!”
“And?” Instinctively Frodo shied away from deep waters such as had claimed the lives of his parents.
“You can catch them, in other words!”
Their eyes were trained on the shallow pools at the water’s edge of the Brandywine. Creatures of many persuasions might lurk in the reeds and holes along the banks of the river.
And some of them might go gollum in the night.
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What I Fear
– dedicated to my beta-reader Narwen Almiriel aka Wewantsprecious –
It is not death that I fear.
It is not pain that chills the blood in my body.
It is not the bite of a sword that makes my mind go blank with dread.
It is the thought of losing you, my precious.
The exhilarating touch of your weight upon my finger…
The thrill of your touch racing through my body and my soul…
The way you tighten around me…
Pain, but pleasure, too…
Heavy…
Choking…
Yet sweet…
Almost unbearably sweet…
Why did I ever fear you?
When the only thing to fear in this world is losing you?
Gollum…
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Destiny
Thousands of gnats clouded towards the firelight. Swirling masses, disregarding the sweet hobbit-flesh completely for the first time. It was the herbs that Strider put into the fire, Sam realized. Somehow the midges were at once repelled and drawn by it. The light drew them, even as the heat and the fragrance of the herbs repulsed them.
Sam watched the spectacle before him, thousands of lives extinguished without a sound. How like their own lives, he mused, caught between forces they could neither fathom nor resist.
How would it end, he wondered. Hopefully not in a fiery death like this.
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Fellowship at Night
Farts were curiously noisy in the night. Gandalf snored. Aragorn moved closer towards the warming flames of the fire. He could not sleep. Merry and Sam were deeply asleep, their snores rivalling the wizard’s nightly growling. Frodo never slept anyway.
Pippin watched the other man that was a member of the Fellowship. Boromir of Gondor. There was something special about him. Strong he was, yet bent down with the uncertainty that was heavy on all of their hearts.
Tonight Boromir muttered in his sleep. “Faramir, Faramir…”
Who was this Faramir, Pippin wondered, that a warrior cried for him at night
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Ropes and Miracles
Sam was about to give up. He would have to go forward without the rope. Disgruntled he gave the rope a jerk. He cursed under his breath, as the rope burned the inside of his thumb.
Without thinking he put his thumb into his mouth and began to suckle it to alleviate the pain.
When he wanted to turn and follow Frodo into the fog, a noise alerted him. With a slithering sound the rope slid down and landed in front of his feet, neatly coiled.
A miracle, he thought. They would need more miracles like that before the end.
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A Wraith and a Shadow
My skin bears the shadow of a knife.
On some days I am nothing but the shadow of a knife.
On those days, pain flashes through my mind and tears the one I know away from the one I do not ever want to face again.
A shadow, I whisper, you are naught but a shadow of the past.
But you smile your icy smile at me from inside the mirror.
You know there will be no escape in this world.
You know you will catch me here.
No tears will help me.
No escape will be left to me.
Only shadows.
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Life Goes On
Bungo Burrow was a farmer, Meril was his wife. They had a farm near Hobbiton.
It was time to plough his largest field after the harvest. Bungo bent down to check the hooves and pasterns of his faithful farmhorse. Old she might be, his Jen, but nonetheless she was still up to a good many more miles of ploughing. Same as he was.
“Giddy up,” he called to his horse. Old Jen started moving.
Frodo watched them for a long time. His miles were spent, his life lived. But it was good to see that for others, life went on.
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Sam and Elrond
There was the quay. The white ship lay waiting.
Sam felt out of place in this exalted company of gentlehobbits, elves and wizards.
But his master had bid him farewell in kind words. Frodo had reminded him of his Rosie, and his Ellie, happily asleep in her cradle at home in their hole right now.
So now Sam kept back, watching the others making their goodbyes.
Suddenly there was someone next to him. Sam looked up and into Elrond’s calm, grave face.
“A daughter is the most precious flower any gardener can have. Take good care of your little Elanor!”
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Summerwind
The treetops shifted in the gentle zephyr of a summer-evening. A blackbird, perching on the mallorn in the party field, was singing a hymn to this peaceful Wedmath-day.
Sam was tired. His joints ached from the day’s hard work. There was dirt under his fingernails, but it was the dirt of rich, fertile soil. The trade of his small gardening business was picking up.
Sometimes dark dreams still woke him. But when he turned to embrace his wife, when he thought of his golden-haired daughter asleep in the other room, he knew that this life had been worth any sacrifice.
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Mallorn Day – A Holiday for Hobbits
“We don’t need a holiday to remember that day,” Sam told Merry and Pippin. He remembered that day too well…
“We are Hobbits,” Pippin agreed. “We don’t need the fancy holidays of the Big Folk.”
It was six months since the ship had sailed. Six months of quiet living in the Shire. Six months of watching Elanor grow from baby to toddler.
Sam looked at the mallorn in the party field. Much as his golden-haired daughter the mallorn had grown and was ready to flower now.
“How about a party?” Sam asked.
“Sure,” Pippin answered and smiled. “We are Hobbits!”
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A Gardener’s Delight
Sam blushed beet-red.
They were on a visit in Gondor, the Gamgees, the Tooks and the Brandybucks. An adventure to enjoy with their wives and families!
But Sam did not enjoy himself at all, as he sat on a bench in the gardens of the Citadel, next to the Queen of Gondor.
“‘Tis not only the clothin’ if ye take my meanin’, my lady. That’s exotic, to be sure. But quite pretty. Really, quite pretty. But -” He stopped short. How to continue? However, he really needed advice. Female advice!”‘Tis quite mysterious… I simply don’t grasp it, what me wife wants me to do… really, I feel all shipwrecked and helpless…”
Arwen smiled at the hobbit’s embarrassment and handed him a book. “Read that. It will help you!”
The title was “The Garden of Pleasure”.
A gardener’s book!
Sam heaved a sigh of relief. Now, that couldn’t be bad!
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The Joys of Gardening
Well-tilled earth and blooming gardens were deemed a grace in the Shire. But thinking about tilling, this was not the kind of grace to come to Sam’s mind first.
The hobbit tried to turn an innocent look at his flowers. But he knew that his face had acquired the becoming red shade he adored in his roses and even more in his Rosie’s sweet lips.
Those were furrows he enjoyed ploughing! There was a fertile soil that was far more inviting for his seeds than the earth clinging to his fingers.
Sam turned around and went to wash his hands.
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Seasons and Flowers
The sunflowers his Elanor had planted in the garden had wilted. It was time to cut off the stalks and clear out the garden for the winter.
“Look, you can see where the birds have picked out all the seeds!”
He held out the dried and empty head of a sunflower.
“But how will I make new flowers next year?” she asked, her lower lip trembling.
“Don’t worry, sweetling,” Rosie called from the hobbit-hole. “I saved some seeds. Your flowers will bloom again next year.”
Sam’s gaze rested on Rosie’s body. Another kind of flower would bloom next year, too!
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New Armour (A drabble set in Aranel Took’s Ivyverse – see A/N!)
For a moment, Pippin simply stared. Then he collapsed. He laughed, until tears rolled down his cheeks.
Merry had stepped out of the cottage, his baby-girl in his arms. Now he looked at his friend, his eyes round and puzzled, his locks slightly drenched with sweat.
“What’s so funny?” The sturdy hobbit asked.
Pippin only flailed his arms in helpless mirth. He pointed at the hero of the Fellowship in his new armour.
Here was Merry in all his new splendour: a frilly pink apron, liberally adorned with spots of spit-up milk.
But the baby in Merry’s arms smiled happily.
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Fashion Advice (Another drabble set in Aranel Took’s Ivyverse)
Rose twirled her parasol around. The newest fashion in Bree last summer, they were available in Hobbiton only this Wedmath. Rose thought them silly, but Goldi was so delighted with this mythical affair of frothy white lace that she gave in.
Now they walked to the party field with their new parasols and little Tom.
Under the mallorn-tree Diamond, Pippin’s vile-tempered wife, happened on them.
“Why, Rose, but aren’t we stylish?”
Somehow Goldi stumbled over toddling Tom. Somehow the parasol embedded itself in Diamond’s foot.
“Oh, I am so sorry, Diamond,” Rose smiled sweetly. “But thank you, yes, we are.”
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Anniversary (Another Ivyverse drabble)
“You are such an oaf,” Ivy whispered.
But there were tears of happiness in her eyes. This was day, their anniversary. After a day spent alone, without children, dinner was a picnic at the edge of the forest.
Pippin waited until after dinner to give her his present. Now she stared at the magnificent sword and did not know what to say.
“This is much too grand for me, Pip!”
But he only smiled and kissed her. Then he gathered her into his arms and settled back down on the grass with her to watch the fireflies in the dusk.
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Teatime At Tuckborough (Yet another Ivyverse drabble)
For once they were alone in the hole – the children were off to the mallorn party. Time enough for Ivy to be a good housewife…
She smiled to herself as she pulled the hangings closed. With the sunlight shaded, the room was drenched in warm orange shadows. She heard the door of Pippin’s study open and close. He would be hungry now. And there was no uncertainty in her mind as to what he would be hungry for most of all.
Quickly she shed her clothes and picked up the tray with the tea.
The door to the livingroom opened…
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Furry Feet and Naked Skin (And another Ivyverse drabble)
She longed to touch him. She wanted so much to feel his furry feet pressed against her naked body. But she barely dared to talk to him.
Now she was alone with him.
As she stared at him, spellbound by his green gaze, the expression on his face suddenly changed from friendliness to burning desire.
She longed to run her fingers through his curly dark hair and caress his delicately pointed ears.
All at once, she was in Pippin’s arms, and her vision grew hazy as his kisses found the most sensitive area at the base of her throat.
“Ivy!”
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A tribute to J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings” and Aranel Took’s “Ivyverse”:
Size Doesn’t Matter
There was a saying in Rohan that it was not the size of the wæpen that mattered, but its edge. However, she could not help gasping lightly at the sight of him aroused. He might be small in height, but not in his…
She felt her face flush with the heat of desire. It had been so long since she had been held in more than a comforting embrace. As he closed that last distance between them, she remembered that his wæpen was not only of an impressive size, but that he also knew very well how to wield it.
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A Took
“This is then, what exemplifies a Took,” Pippin proclaimed.
Then he fell silent.
Merry, Éowyn, Ivy and the rest of their friends and relations waited for Pippin to continue – if not with bated breaths, at least with polite attention. It was, after all, the naming-ceremony for his youngest sons.
But Pippin remained lost in the wonder of two small faces smiling up at him.
Finally Ivy prompted. “What did you want to talk about, dear?”
Pippin came back to reality with shudder.
“This is then, what exemplifies a Took: that he can forget everything over the love for his family.”
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Only A Hobbit (A drabble for Aranel Took’s third long story, “The Wanderers”)
How should he ever live up to the pair of men he was named for? How should he ever follow in the footsteps of a hero and a king?
For Boromir I. had been a king of the edain, the first Lord of Ladros in the First Age – and Boromir II. had been a hero of the Fellowship, who died to save his grandfather from orcs at Amon Hen.
He watched the other recruits, glad for some respite.
Bori clenched his teeth. He might be only a hobbit.
But his grandfather had been a hero.
And he would be, too.
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A Hobbit of Gondor
Quit stalling.
Quit balking.
This is an orc.
A vile creature.
Evil.
Even if it is lying there, helpless, squealing like a piglet.
The last gasp.
The black blood.
He comes to in a puddle of vomit, smelling sour, making him blush.
The captain does not look away. “It may be of little comfort to you, Master Periannath, but one of my kinsmen… well, the experience got to him. You are not the only one who cannot see a life extinguished with no reaction at all. Boromir Denethor’s son puked just as much as you did after his first Orc.”
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A/N: If you like hobbits and are not scared by wild AUs, if you want exciting, believable stories rich in dialogue and action, then check out Aranel Took’s stories at FFNet!
:-B one can only admire such cunning craftsmanship. XD
Thank you very much! It’s such an honour that you’ve stopped by! *beams*