Middle-earthThanksgiving Drabbles

And over here are some recipes.

Why shan't the inhabitants of Middle-earth have a Thanksgiving too? Write us something small, to fill up the corners.

The pumpkin pies in the oven were nearly done, Sam was sure of it. He'd been hard pressed to wait for the middles to stop being wobbly-like, they smelled so nice. Rosie brushed past him with a baby on one hip and a basket of fresh rolls on the other, and the love of all three was so intense in him he had to close his eyes and just inhale deeply.

"Don't forget the turkey!" she called over her shoulder, "The Captains will be here soon enough, and you know you won't remember a thing once you're all into that pie."
- Primula

There was a pumpkin pie in the oven at Bag End. Bilbo was glad he’d invited the family to visit. Primula smiled as young Frodo tugged at her skirt.

“Is it ready, Mum?”

“No, Frodo-love, not yet.”

A moment passed, then another tug. “Not yet. You’ll smell when it’s done.”

His eyes grew wide. “You can smell it?”

“The spices will fill the room. In fact, I want you to tell me when it’s finished, but if it’s too soon, it’s no good. Get your nose ready. Mayhap you should clear it with fresh air.”

“Outside!” And out he ran.
- Ladyhawk Baggins

No Money for Extras

There was the contest, of course. Sam had long waited for it. His palms fairly itched at the thought of the prize money and the seeds he would buy with it. Seeds for his own mother’s garden, not Bilbo’s this time. He smiled at the thought. His mum would be so happy, once the flowers bloomed. The Gaffer didn’t have money for extras like flowers. Enough that they had plenty of food on the table: that was the important thing.

But if his Gaffer was known for his potatoes, well then, why could not Sam be known for his pumpkins!
- Agape4Rivendell

The turning of the seasons came and went in the south with an ebb and flow so different from the north, thought Aragorn. The sharp frosted nights of fall had already turned the leaves that shaded his faraway friends to brilliant oranges, yellows and reds. He loved his kingdom, but this Autumn it seemed dull, and cold.

"Look, beloved," said a soft voice beside him. "The banners for the day of Thanksgiving, how they stream in the wind. Behold how the sun shines over thee and thy realm."

"We have much to be thankful for," he said. "So very much."
- Primula

A double drabble...

The sea beat boats against their docks. A winter storm, the first of the season, loomed in the distance. Great black clouds roiled across the sky, whipped by western winds. The wind felt good on his face. He could smell the salt air and hear the gulls calling their lonely cry, preparing to feast on the banquet that would be laid before them, after the storm passed.

He looked towards the horizon and thought of Westernesse. The yearning had left his heart and for that, he was grateful. Peace had settled upon the land. Those warriors who had survived the Pelennor had returned. But where was Finduilas? Where was Boromir? Where was Denethor? His family had been decimated by the War of the Ring. Had too much been given? Would surrender have been preferable to this great loss?

Elboron ran towards him, arms wide open, smile splitting the boy’s face and Imrahil smiled. ‘Nay, all would have been lost. All. I can now rejoice in this lad and in the sacrifice of my people. They will not be forgotten as we raise our goblets high. Hail, Denethor, Hail Boromir, Hail Gondor. And Hail Belfalas.’ A wave crashed over the seawall.
- Agape4Rivendell

Thwack went the silver axe, neatly cleaving the roast once again. The meat dripped with juices, wafted its aroma among the bushy beards that eagerly gathered around. Another thick slice fell from the bone to the waiting golden plate, another thick-handled foaming tankard of ale was pulled to go with it.

"Ah! What a fine feast, and what a fine day for it!" said Gloin happily. "My son has once more brought us great honor, and thankful we are for the peace we enjoy as well. To Gimli!"

"To Gimli!" chorused the others. "May his beard ever grow longer!"

- Primula

The waves crashed gently against the shore. How long had it been? He could not remember. But his heart was lighter than it had ever been. As he turned towards the sea, the light silvered on the crest of the mountain. Skipping a beat, his heart slowly settled down. It was only a mountain, a slip of land pushed upwards towards the sky.

He smiled. In ages past, he would have felt an answering pain in his shoulder. But those days were long past. Now, he could acknowledge the thought and pass on; he could smile at mountains and rings.
- Agape4Rivendell

And now for something Completely Different...

The night was still as Shelob heaved her body out of its nest to seek dinner. Ever since she had run afoul of that stinging light she had been forced to move further, with little energy for fresh catches... It had been a hungry year, the orcs no longer so plenteous.

She squeezed out the last crack into cold night air. A night wonderfully dark, darker than it had been for an Age. No horrid lights blazed from the nearby tower-city. No glaring Eye, even the fire-mountain had subsided. It was dark, and the last scrawny orc still hung where she had left him. She was thankful.
- Primula

A Hobbit Thanksgiving – A Drabble

“I know there’s a word for this but I can’t think of it,” Legolas said to Aragorn while they watched the hobbit’s Thanksgiving Day feeding frenzy.





Suddenly a single red apple rolled quickly past them with several hobbits in hot pursuit.



“Hey look everyone! They’re serving pumpkin pie!” a hobbit with gravy on his waistcoat cried out.

Now drool flowed anew while the hobbits stampeded for the dessert table. Soon globs of pumpkin and whipped cream flew everywhere some of which hit Aragorn in the face.

“The word is priceless especially now.”

Aragorn laughed.
- Dinledhwen

Merry and Pippin shook their heads at the many-sized flock of children gathered around Rosie at this reunion. There were more every year, it seemed, with no end in sight. The tables had been set and all was ready, but they were still missing one person. It was to the children's delight when Sam finally entered the room, kneeling and opening his arms. They all ran to fill them.

"Hullo pumpkin! Hullo sweetie-pie! How's my dumpling? My honey? The apple of my eye? I love you too, sugar-plum, and why there's my little half-pint!"

"I'm hungry." said Pippin.
 - Primula


Hroom-hoom. Ent draught always taste best this time of year. It sparkles and tickles my nose. I wish Merry and Pippin were here. They would most enjoy this year’s harvest. Though they would have been hasty, and drunk the first spill, not waiting for the better draught that comes behind.

Hrum, Hoom, I think I am happy they came into my forest. Oh! That is a hasty thing to say. Yet – they did brighten things up a bit. Root and twig, I wish them well. Perhaps they would have brought news with them, too. News of the Entwives. Hm, hroom.

- Agape4Rivendell

I'm not much of a drabbler, but here's a little ditty for the occasion
To the tune of Mary had a little Lamb

Merry had a little lamb
and Pippin had some pie
Merry ate some mushroom soup
and Pippin the stir-fry
As for the turkey, I can't say
Just where that bird did go
But when they threw the bones away
they were picked white as snow
- mousechief

It had been right hard times this past year, Barliman had to admit it. The company at the fireside had been sullen or worse, afraid. When all was so sorrowed, they only picked at their food, and wasted the good ale in their fisticuffs.

What a difference it had made, having the news of the King returned! Already spirits were higher, the sun was brighter and the ale had a better top on it than any could remember. The harvest had been slim, but he felt no anxiety for the winter, not any more. He was truly thankful.
- Primula

Of Airs and Heirs

The air of Ithilien was sweet. He closed his eyes and drank in the scent of herbs and flowers. ‘Twas good to smell beauty again. His mind went back to the smell of smoke, pungent in the stale air of the Steward’s House. ‘Nay,’ he thought, ‘I will not remember that time again. ‘Tis over and done with. Gondor has been saved.’

Opening his eyes, he walked towards the newly planted shrubs that outlined the buildings on this side of the Anduin. The Elf had done well. The grounds were beautiful. His master had an heir and Beregond had peace.
- Agape4Rivendell

The grasses grew thick and shining; the last of the battle scars quickly being taken over by the softened loam, hidden by the creeping green of life. The earth no longer shuddered with the passing of heavily booted feet, the grinding wheels or the hooves of hard-driven beasts. The wind was fresh, untainted by smoke, sweat or battle on this blessed Thanksgiving morn.

Cooler autumn winds were blowing sweetly, the warren was well hidden. Few were the traps that had been set of late, and the older rabbits relaxed near the tunnel entrance.

For the pheasants that had been taken the day before, the coney were truly grateful.
- Primula

Leftovers, leftovers... what shall we do with them?

If there was ever a day in the year when Faramir loved to visit the commisary this was it. He made the rounds, finding the guards well-fed, cheerful after their day of feasting and thanks. He had saved the buttery for last.

A place of magnetism in his youth, for all young men have magnetic appetites, now he watched, amused, as the younger soldiers gathered tight, packing tables for their share of leftovers, unconstrained by holiday tradition or dress uniforms. What nobler cause could exist for game-hen or tuber than to strengthen the arms of Gondor, even in a food-fight?
- Primula