“Not all tears are evil…” He stood on the deck of the majestic
ship, watching the three hobbits in the distance grow ever smaller. He
knew his time had come, but his heart insisted that there was still
more to see, to do, and to learn. Always there was more to taste, to
touch, to feel. He would miss this place. Tears glistened in his eyes,
and one escaped its prison and eased down his weathered cheek into his
beard. A tiny hand crept into his, and brilliant blue eyes looked up at
him. “Gandalf? Don’t cry. I am here.”
She hovered over Theodred; caressing his cold, limp hand. Her tears
fell upon his face like little jewels, a rainbow captured inside each
drop of sorrow. Eowyn had never felt more alone. Her brother was
missing, her uncle incapacitated, and her cousin lay dying under her
watchful eye. The snake tried to comfort her, but she knew his tricks,
and did not play into his waiting hands. Theodred’s death would break
her; her sorrow would wash over her soul like the ocean waves over the
shore, and there was no one to help her bear this burden. She was alone.
Eomer desperately searched the valley for any sign of his kinsman. A
fetid stench brought them to the river, and the slaughter. Dozens of
horses lay slain; their riders lay near them in eternal slumber. The
Rohirrim spread out at Eomer’s word, searching for signs of life
amongst the fallen; searching for Theodred. A shout from one of his men
brought Eomer to his cousin at last, lying in a shallow pool of water,
barely breathing but alive nonetheless. Eomer’s heart seized in its
great joy, and he gently cradled his cousin in his strong arms. He
would save Theodred.
The procession marched down the hillside; all clad in black and somber
of face and mind. Theoden led the people to the tomb, his face drained
of all color, and his eyes distant. He shed no tears. He could not
believe his son was dead; stolen from him while he slumbered under the
wizard’s spell. “I am a fool” he whispered to himself, as his niece’s
melodious voice sang out an ode to Theodred in the old tongue. The body
was placed in the tomb, and as it was sealed shut, her felt his heart
shatter into a million pieces.
A drabble for Legolas
So light is his footstep that he can walk upon the snow without
breaking through. His far-seeing eyes are keen, and Aragorn relys on
them time and again. He is swift: "I will bring back the sun," he says,
without boasting, and he does. Quick is he with his bow; arrow after
arrow is strung in succession and let loose, his hands feeling the
task, his eyes never leaving their target. He can sleep while his eyes
remain open, and is refreshed by the green smell alone. No woodland elf
is he - he is the son of a king.
For Sam at the Dead Marshes
The stench was thick in the breezeless rotting mires. The landscape was
grey upon grey, the dark waters slimy and inhabited by slimier
creatures. He watched The Stinker bound from each clump of dead grass
and scum-covered hollow.
He closed his eyes.
He was walking the lane where Rosie lived and gardened. His heart would
leap at the sight of her, loosely-tied hair caught in the breeze. She
would hum and flit from plant to plant, much as a bird to each
He opened his eyes. The silence shattered the dank air.
“Not even a bird,” he mourned.
Oh, to be in the Shire again! Where I could be free to walk in the
lanes unhindered and the green of the grass rivals the most brilliant
emeralds. Where the water sings over rocks in the rivers and tastes
like heaven. Where the food is plentiful and seems to me to be pure
ambrosia. Where the hearts of our people are large enough to encompass
everyone in love. Where the trees stretch to the heavens. Where I can
touch the beautiful earth. Oh, to be in the Shire again where my heart
will ever reside no matter where I've been!
Galadriel had told him he would find his courage. He didn't know if he
really believed her, but, he hoped it was true with all his heart. To
be a true help to the Fellowship was his deepest desire. Being young
and untested had left him unsure of himself, yet, as the journey went
on Pippin began to slowly see that deep down, there was courage in him.
He found he could make a difference and be a Hobbit of great worth. He
did overcome his fears and became a Shireling that could be counted on
in times of trouble.
Can it be?
Can it be? Is it possible? Can this man be who he says he is? Can he
truly release us from this fate we have brought on ourselves? To be
free once and for all from this Hell on Middle-Earth? To never have to
see this mountainous wasteland again? Is it possible to regain the
honor we so callously threw away those thousands of years ago? Can we
finally be at peace? Can he truly be Isildur's heir? The only one who
can hold our oaths fulfilled? I am ready to stand and fight for good.
Yes, So Say I!!
a drabble for boromir
Proud and noble he was, but compassionate and tender also.
He took the
two young hobbits under his protective mantle, keeping the wolves at
bay in the gloom of night, carrying them through drifts of snow and
telling them tales of Gondor. He comforted Gimli at Balin's tomb and
consoled him after Gandalf's fall, begging Aragorn for more time to
grieve. He followed his heart and in doing so fell under Its spell. He
wasn't evil, but evil used him for its will. The spell was
broken in the end, and although he lost his life, he kept his soul.
a drabble for the King
He was born with the name Aragorn but before he reached his teens his
name became Estel. Once on his own, he became known as Strider, even
called Longshanks by some less civil. Fourty-nine years of wandering
earned him the title 'Thorongil' in one country, and he remained
un-named in the other realm. By some he was called Bearer of the Star
of the North. During the War of the Ring, he became Envinyatar - the
renewer - as he healed many from the black breath. After the fall of
Sauron, Elessar put aside all other names, and became the rightful
a drabble for pippin
What have I done? why cann'a leave things alone? All I wanted to do was
touch that arrow embedded in the poor skeleton's chest. How was I to
know that it would topple old 'bones' over the edge and into the well?
And then the chest and the huge chain go clankin' in after 'im! Well
now, gave me a right fright it did as it bounced and clattered all the
way down to the deep bottom. And worse yet was the total silence that
followed. But the real rub is how Gandalf is still looking at me and
The Gates of Moria
“Here at last.” said Gandalf.
They stood gazing, expectantly, at the wall.
“Where are the doors?” inquired Pippin.
“Dwarf doors are invisible and secret.” replied Gimli.
So they tap the stone walls looking for signs. Then, by the moonlight,
they see the magical doors, their beautiful designs etched in silver
It was Gandalf who solved the riddle, awakening the sleeping portal. –
‘Speak friend and enter’.
“Mellon” he commanded.
What tricksey words are these? Heed them not! They invite you to your
But the choice is made.
They follow Gandalf into the darkness that is deeper than the night.
- Daisy Gold
For Eowyn on a windy day
She stood outside the Golden hall, her white dress billowing
around her and her blonde hair floating in the wind. She clasped her
hands together, and stood elegantly squinting into the distance, as if
she was expecting someone to appear on the horizon. A sentry walked
past on his way to change the guards, and briefly wondered what she
could be thinking on such a fine morning.
Little did he realise that her only thoughts were "Drat, I should have
paid more attention when my mother taught me knitting, I could have
done with a warm jumper and some mittens"
The end of all things
Frodo lay cushioned in air, suspended but solid, the ground
rushing away beneath him. "I must be dreaming, or dying," he thought,
and the idea brought no sorrow. "My task is done. I have fought the
good fight, I have run the race, I have won my battle." Sighing, he
closed his eyes as the world continued to whirl at breakneck speed, the
wind warm on his face. There was no joy, no feeling of peace, no
despair, no exhaustion: just weightlessness and softness and light. And
the sound of the air being beaten up and down by two gentle wings.
a drabble from Sam: Strider
I still do not trust him, this man, this 'ranger
Where does he lead us to and why does Mr. Frodo take his council so
willingly? He looks a rascally, dirty character and he smells funny,
like leather that's been left out in the rain too long. His stride is
so long that we can't keep up, and he has to stop and wait for us.
Granted, he never complains about that, but his face is grim to look at
and he seldom smiles. He carries a great sorrow upon him, a burden -
not unlike Mr. Frodo. Oh! Poor Strider.
....a Boromir Drabble
Look at them run away, fading midst the forest haze, the sweet scents
of pine and maple, the sun streaming through the branches, the copper
taste of my blood, the dull thick pain in my chest, I can't seem to get
enough air, the pain, where's Frodo run off to?
Aragorn, Aragorn, I'm sorry, I have failed you...
The gulls cry, so far from home they are...
Oh the pain, my sword, where is my sword?
ld have followed you my brother.
Mother there you are, take my hand and let’s walk together...
Do Not Worry
My Love, do not worry. You have everything you need to be a great King
within you. I know you think that having Isildur's blood flowing
through your veins means you will fall prey to the same weaknesses he
had, but, you are so much more than he ever was. Everything you have
seen and done in your life time points to this. Anyone who has known
you over the years, Elessar, knows your heart is true. You are so
honorable, brave, compassionate and steadfast, that you could be
nothing if not a Great Leader and King of your people.
Pippin, why did you have to look? You've always been an inquisitive
Hobbit, of course, but this time it was a bad thing. This time you've
ended up getting hurt.
The Dark One looked into your mind and hurt you. That was only the
beginning. That led to Gandalf calling you foolish again, which hurts
you every time.
But, the worst hurt by far for both of us came when we had to be
separated because you looked. They had to get you away from Rohan
because the Dark One thought you had the One Ring with you there.
This is a scene from "The Scouring of
the Shire" when Frodo and Merry are talking to Farmer Cotton. I've
included excerpts from the book to begin and end my story. The 100 word
drabble is in-between.
Sam went off. Merry arranged for look-outs round the village and guards
at the barriers during the night. Then he and Frodo went off with
Farmer Cotton. They sat with the family in the warm kitchen, and the
Cottons asked a few polite questions about their travels, but hardly
listened to the answers: They were far more concerned with the events
in the Shire
“Mr. Frodo,” said Mr. Cotton, “What made you leave Crickhollow, if you would, sir?”
“I was sent for by Uncle Bilbo, “ began Mr. Frodo. He did not want to
trouble Mr. Cotton with all the details of their story, but Merry had
“There’s more than that, Mr. Cotton. Frodo saved the Shire, all Middle
Earth for that matter, from the evils of the Dark Lord. There was a
ring. Do you remember when Mr. Bilbo disappeared under the Party Tree?
That ring was—“
“The Party Tree, you say, “ interrupted Tom. “You won’t believe what has happened to it.”…
"It all began with Pimple, as we call him," said Farmer Cotton: and it began as soon as you'd gone off, Mr. Frodo...."
Spring surpassed his wildest hopes. His trees began to sprout and grow…
“Mr. Frodo, “ Sam called out. “A sprout has
come up in the Party Field. I know it’s no weed. I saw it first thing
this morning. Please come and see.”
Frodo could use some fresh air as he was always writing. He finished elevenses and joined Sam.
As they walked past Sharkey’s End, they
could not help but admire the early spring flowers, and their feet
enjoyed the new soft grasses as they entered the Party Field. Suddenly
they stopped and stared.
“Sam, that is no sprout. That is a sapling.”
“But, Mr. Frodo, it was a sprout this morning!”
Sam and Frodo are watching Merry and Pippin during the feast, (after King Aragorn has praised them with great praise.)
Pippin and Merry returned to their duties with Prince Imrahil and King Eomer, refilling their lords’ glasses.
“Look at that, Mr. Frodo. Pippin is all royal and actually properly
serving his lordship. This is the same young Pip who splashes up the
bath ‘til the tile floor is swimming.”
“I understand he’s made a splash around here, but not in that way. He’s
a hero now, too, Sam. He’s become quite a sword-master. And Merry as
“Rather tall sword masters. Mister Frodo, look carefully. Do you think
Pip and Merry have not just grown in renown, but stature?”
Waiting for Boromir
A tall, dark-haired woman with a stern face stood still, staring into a
blood-red sky. Her grey eyes are sharp and she scans the horizon for
any sign of a rider. She has kept this vigil for over a hundred days.
She has seen autumn pass into winter and winter pass into a stillborn
spring. “Wait,” she thinks, “there is a rider coming.” It is not him
and she sees what it is the messenger bears to Lord Denethor, cloven in
two. She knows. She turns without a word, boundless sorrow curdling
into a knot of anger in her stomach.
- Orangeblossom Took