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A Foolish Double Drabble
(This was too long for a drabble, so I made it a double.)
“Fool of a Took!” Pippin was getting a little tired of that appellation. He was not a fool. A little impulsive, maybe. Okay, more than a little impulsive - and inquisitive, yes he would admit to that. No-one had ever minded those traits in him before the Quest. But he did seem to have a knack for annoying Gandalf especially. And this last time even Merry had been angry with him. He paused a moment and sighed before continuing on. Now, “Guard of the Citadel”, that was a title he liked better. And despite Gandalf’s remarks, he planned to show how well he deserved it. They wouldn’t have a fool for a Guard, would they? A Guard would serve the Steward and even (he gulped at the thought) fight to the death to protect the City. It was serious work. Guards didn’t have time for pranks and foolishness. Like sneaking up a rock cliff in broad daylight to disobey the Steward’s command and light the beacon. Only a fool would do something like that. He grinned as he crept over the top and snuck up to the pile of wood. Maybe there was a need for fools sometimes after all!
A Foolish Double Drabble
(This was too long for a drabble, so I made it a double.)
“Fool of a Took!” Pippin was getting a little tired of that appellation. He was not a fool. A little impulsive, maybe. Okay, more than a little impulsive - and inquisitive, yes he would admit to that. No-one had ever minded those traits in him before the Quest. But he did seem to have a knack for annoying Gandalf especially. And this last time even Merry had been angry with him. He paused a moment and sighed before continuing on. Now, “Guard of the Citadel”, that was a title he liked better. And despite Gandalf’s remarks, he planned to show how well he deserved it. They wouldn’t have a fool for a Guard, would they? A Guard would serve the Steward and even (he gulped at the thought) fight to the death to protect the City. It was serious work. Guards didn’t have time for pranks and foolishness. Like sneaking up a rock cliff in broad daylight to disobey the Steward’s command and light the beacon. Only a fool would do something like that. He grinned as he crept over the top and snuck up to the pile of wood. Maybe there was a need for fools sometimes after all!
- Nuroreiel
Gimli’s Humor
When Legolas saw the teenage girl dressed in a black wizard style robe running towards him waving a clipboard his fair face went white.
“How did she find me?!” he moaned out loud as he ran into the Golden Hall at Edoras and hid behind a pillar. Now this didn’t go unnoticed by Aragorn and Gimli who were seated at a nearby table smoking their pipes.
“Alright Legolas I know your in here!” Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter story said while stopping close to his hiding place. “I got a message from a secret informant that you wish to be free and join my S.P.E.W. cause to help liberate your fellow house elves! See I even have a pair of socks for you so you can be free right now!”
Meanwhile Gimli was shaking all over as he tried hard not to laugh out loud and the tears were rolling down his face and soaking into his beard.
“Your humor is twisted secret informant,” Aragorn said calmly between puffs on his pipe as he watched Legolas cringe with fright when Hermione found him and tried to get him to accept a pair of pink and purple argyle socks. Something the Elf obviously didn’t want to do and he ran off with the teenager chasing after him.
By now Gimli’s booming laughter filled the hall and Aragorn sighed.
“Definitely twisted,” he muttered around his pipe stem.
Gimli’s Humor
When Legolas saw the teenage girl dressed in a black wizard style robe running towards him waving a clipboard his fair face went white.
“How did she find me?!” he moaned out loud as he ran into the Golden Hall at Edoras and hid behind a pillar. Now this didn’t go unnoticed by Aragorn and Gimli who were seated at a nearby table smoking their pipes.
“Alright Legolas I know your in here!” Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter story said while stopping close to his hiding place. “I got a message from a secret informant that you wish to be free and join my S.P.E.W. cause to help liberate your fellow house elves! See I even have a pair of socks for you so you can be free right now!”
Meanwhile Gimli was shaking all over as he tried hard not to laugh out loud and the tears were rolling down his face and soaking into his beard.
“Your humor is twisted secret informant,” Aragorn said calmly between puffs on his pipe as he watched Legolas cringe with fright when Hermione found him and tried to get him to accept a pair of pink and purple argyle socks. Something the Elf obviously didn’t want to do and he ran off with the teenager chasing after him.
By now Gimli’s booming laughter filled the hall and Aragorn sighed.
“Definitely twisted,” he muttered around his pipe stem.
- Dinledhwen
Upon it being noted that only a fragment of the poem could be found upon the Ring, due to space constraints...
Sauron should have written it on something bigger if he was going to be so wordy...
Bilbo: What's this...? A huge metal shield that I can barely lift? Ooof... urgh...
Gollum: No! My precious!
Bilbo: But - you can't even move this thing.
Gollum: It's mine! It's mine, it is. My birthday present - we rode it down the snow from the topses of the mountains and crashed here, long ago, long agooo...
Bilbo: Riiight. *drags the shield along the ground leaving deep furrows* Oof... dang. You wouldn't happen to have a nice dolly, would you?
Gollum: A...dolly?
Bilbo: You know, one of those handy little things with wheels. Very useful for carrying luggage and such.
Gollum: No, we don'ts haves a dolly.
Bilbo: I was afraid so, well - heave ho and all that, eh what? *yanks the shield slowly out of the tunnels*
Gollum: Where's it going? What's it doing?!
Bilbo: Trying to wrestle this strangely attractive platter of metal out of here, what's it look like? Give me a hand, will you?
Gollum: Ach, sssss! Lazy hobbitses...
Upon it being noted that only a fragment of the poem could be found upon the Ring, due to space constraints...
Sauron should have written it on something bigger if he was going to be so wordy...
Bilbo: What's this...? A huge metal shield that I can barely lift? Ooof... urgh...
Gollum: No! My precious!
Bilbo: But - you can't even move this thing.
Gollum: It's mine! It's mine, it is. My birthday present - we rode it down the snow from the topses of the mountains and crashed here, long ago, long agooo...
Bilbo: Riiight. *drags the shield along the ground leaving deep furrows* Oof... dang. You wouldn't happen to have a nice dolly, would you?
Gollum: A...dolly?
Bilbo: You know, one of those handy little things with wheels. Very useful for carrying luggage and such.
Gollum: No, we don'ts haves a dolly.
Bilbo: I was afraid so, well - heave ho and all that, eh what? *yanks the shield slowly out of the tunnels*
Gollum: Where's it going? What's it doing?!
Bilbo: Trying to wrestle this strangely attractive platter of metal out of here, what's it look like? Give me a hand, will you?
Gollum: Ach, sssss! Lazy hobbitses...
- Primula
The Mistletoe Incident
While the decorations for the winter solstice party were being put up in the Golden Hall at Edoras, someone had slipped in a small bunch of mistletoe and hung over one of the doorways. Then the arriving couples would use this entrance so they could pause briefly under it to kiss one another as was the tradition before moving on.
But not everyone was familiar with this custom so when Legolas and Gimli paused under it to survey the party going on inside laughter erupted. Confused both friends looked at each other which sent the on lookers to laughing even more. Finally Aragorn and Arwen stepped forth and pointed out the mistletoe and explained what was to be done under it.
Now Gimli’s bearded face turned a deep red. “Not in a million years!” he exclaimed loudly while quickly moving on into the hall while more laughter erupted.
As for Legolas he had paled and looked absolutely horrified. “I couldn’t agree more!” he exclaimed as Aragorn took him by the arm and gently pulled him inside. After a goblet of wine the Elf had returned to his old self as had Gimli now with a tankard of ale in his hand.
From then on the Dwarf and the Elf always arrived separately to all parties at Edoras and eyed suspiciously any greenery above doorways.
(this was the result of a 'first line' challenge)
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it,to the arm of the chair beneath.
"Now, that's quite odd," he thought, noting with some irritation that, though he could, indeed, make out the sinuously curved Elvish letters upon the page lying open beneath said hand, he no longer comprehended their graceful twining.
"More of the consequences of that Blasted Quest, or I'm a Stoor's stool-pidgeon," he sighed, leaning his head back upon the comfort of over-stuffed cushions, and closing his by now tired eyes.
And so it was that Samwise Gamgee, Master Gardener of Bag-End, Faithful Companion, and Erstwhile Hero, found Frodo, (for the five-hundreth time since their Return to the Shire), fast asleep (and with his cuffs ruined by neglectful ink-stains) in what proved to be a most horribly spine-compromising position.
For the five-hundreth time, Sam put gentle hand to slender shoulder, for the five-hundreth time noticed that the early morning spill of light through the transparency of his master's hand had limned, as though by fire, the outline of Frodo's ruined hand upon the arm of the chair.
Sam's breath left him in a soft sigh of exasperation. He looked about the walls of the smial. Every wall.....nay, every surface, held the imprint of Frodo's hand.
"I suppose, " he muttured to himself, lugging more than an armful of somnolent hobbit off to the master bedroom, "he'll be blaming this one on my poor little Elanor, as well."
The Mistletoe Incident
While the decorations for the winter solstice party were being put up in the Golden Hall at Edoras, someone had slipped in a small bunch of mistletoe and hung over one of the doorways. Then the arriving couples would use this entrance so they could pause briefly under it to kiss one another as was the tradition before moving on.
But not everyone was familiar with this custom so when Legolas and Gimli paused under it to survey the party going on inside laughter erupted. Confused both friends looked at each other which sent the on lookers to laughing even more. Finally Aragorn and Arwen stepped forth and pointed out the mistletoe and explained what was to be done under it.
Now Gimli’s bearded face turned a deep red. “Not in a million years!” he exclaimed loudly while quickly moving on into the hall while more laughter erupted.
As for Legolas he had paled and looked absolutely horrified. “I couldn’t agree more!” he exclaimed as Aragorn took him by the arm and gently pulled him inside. After a goblet of wine the Elf had returned to his old self as had Gimli now with a tankard of ale in his hand.
From then on the Dwarf and the Elf always arrived separately to all parties at Edoras and eyed suspiciously any greenery above doorways.
- Dinledhwen
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(this was the result of a 'first line' challenge)
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it,to the arm of the chair beneath.
"Now, that's quite odd," he thought, noting with some irritation that, though he could, indeed, make out the sinuously curved Elvish letters upon the page lying open beneath said hand, he no longer comprehended their graceful twining.
"More of the consequences of that Blasted Quest, or I'm a Stoor's stool-pidgeon," he sighed, leaning his head back upon the comfort of over-stuffed cushions, and closing his by now tired eyes.
And so it was that Samwise Gamgee, Master Gardener of Bag-End, Faithful Companion, and Erstwhile Hero, found Frodo, (for the five-hundreth time since their Return to the Shire), fast asleep (and with his cuffs ruined by neglectful ink-stains) in what proved to be a most horribly spine-compromising position.
For the five-hundreth time, Sam put gentle hand to slender shoulder, for the five-hundreth time noticed that the early morning spill of light through the transparency of his master's hand had limned, as though by fire, the outline of Frodo's ruined hand upon the arm of the chair.
Sam's breath left him in a soft sigh of exasperation. He looked about the walls of the smial. Every wall.....nay, every surface, held the imprint of Frodo's hand.
"I suppose, " he muttured to himself, lugging more than an armful of somnolent hobbit off to the master bedroom, "he'll be blaming this one on my poor little Elanor, as well."
- jan-u-wine
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it, to the arm of the chair beneath.
The chair arm needed dusting, and rather badly at that. The chair was overstuffed, and the stuffing leaked out from around the wood where it extended from the faded upholstery, scattering the wood with its tiny fibers of ancient horsehair and straw, which then adhered to sticky spots and the veneer of hand-grease and candle-wax that adorned it. He had always meant to have it fixed, but somehow other things always seemed more pressing when he came right down to it, like napping, or having a snack. But now, right when the lately rather fussy Rosie Gamgee was about to be returning from her marketing to clean the den!
He had always managed to hide the dust and debris of his bachelor ways, making excuses, finding reasons to keep her muscular, befrilled biceps, well-armed with rag, bucket, scrub-brush and feather-duster out of his den. But she had finally put her foot down after the children had gotten into the room in a high-spirited game of hide-and-seek and emerged covered in balls of dust, crumbs and other debris, clear up to their ears. He had lain awake that night, listening to her tirade, declaring his den a pig-sty, she didn't care what kind of hero he was, he wasn't going to keep on living like that, not in her house, and no Sam, you be quiet! You aren't gettin' in the way this time!
It was the very next morning that he had received his formal notice, just after breakfast, that his den would be invaded for a 'Proper Cleaning' right after the marketing was done. Sam had delivered the news in a most apologetic fashion, with Rosie standing by, giving him a good nudge in the ribs each time he faltered. She was brooking no arguments, and Frodo knew it.
He had spent part of the morning trying to cover up and disguise some of the worst of it; hoping she wouldn't touch his Important Papers he had placed them strategically over much of the den. But the chair, his dear old chair that had served dear old Bilbo so well before him! He had planned on sitting in it, covering it with his most voluminous overcoat that he could reasonably wear indoors. He looked at his hand again. And now, now of all times to be going transparent! It was just his luck. There was no hope now, no hiding, nothing he could do... alas, for the fate of the Ringbearer! Alas!
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it, to the arm of the chair beneath.
The chair arm needed dusting, and rather badly at that. The chair was overstuffed, and the stuffing leaked out from around the wood where it extended from the faded upholstery, scattering the wood with its tiny fibers of ancient horsehair and straw, which then adhered to sticky spots and the veneer of hand-grease and candle-wax that adorned it. He had always meant to have it fixed, but somehow other things always seemed more pressing when he came right down to it, like napping, or having a snack. But now, right when the lately rather fussy Rosie Gamgee was about to be returning from her marketing to clean the den!
He had always managed to hide the dust and debris of his bachelor ways, making excuses, finding reasons to keep her muscular, befrilled biceps, well-armed with rag, bucket, scrub-brush and feather-duster out of his den. But she had finally put her foot down after the children had gotten into the room in a high-spirited game of hide-and-seek and emerged covered in balls of dust, crumbs and other debris, clear up to their ears. He had lain awake that night, listening to her tirade, declaring his den a pig-sty, she didn't care what kind of hero he was, he wasn't going to keep on living like that, not in her house, and no Sam, you be quiet! You aren't gettin' in the way this time!
It was the very next morning that he had received his formal notice, just after breakfast, that his den would be invaded for a 'Proper Cleaning' right after the marketing was done. Sam had delivered the news in a most apologetic fashion, with Rosie standing by, giving him a good nudge in the ribs each time he faltered. She was brooking no arguments, and Frodo knew it.
He had spent part of the morning trying to cover up and disguise some of the worst of it; hoping she wouldn't touch his Important Papers he had placed them strategically over much of the den. But the chair, his dear old chair that had served dear old Bilbo so well before him! He had planned on sitting in it, covering it with his most voluminous overcoat that he could reasonably wear indoors. He looked at his hand again. And now, now of all times to be going transparent! It was just his luck. There was no hope now, no hiding, nothing he could do... alas, for the fate of the Ringbearer! Alas!
- Primula
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it, to the arm of the chair beneath.
Well, he really couldn’t see through it, just through the spaces between his fingers, but that was enough to scare the pants off him. The chair was the ugliest thing he had ever seen, and he wondered who the carpenter was who conceived such a hideous object. He hadn’t realized he spoke the thought aloud, when a bellow washed through the hall as the owner of the chair roared into the room, knocking down the door as it came through.
‘How dare you criticize my chair, you little pipsqueak?’ it cried. ‘Son of a halfling!’
'Hey!' Pippin yelled. 'Be careful how you use that phrase!'
Frodo was appalled. How could anyone call him such a thing, slur his dear father? He strode towards the troll who had been distracted by Sam’s lovely curls, and tapped it on the knee.
‘My dear fellow,’ he said politely, as all Hobbit’s tend to be polite. ‘What you said of my father was not very nice. We prefer the name Hobbits to halflings, and I would have you remember that.’
‘Aaarrrrggggghhhh,’ the troll roared again. ‘You have the taste of an elf!’ he screamed, at which comment Legolas stride forth, arrow ready in his bow, with a retort on his lips.
Aragorn pulled him aside and turned to the troll himself. ‘What say you?’ he asked, and asked, and asked.
Legolas apologized for his friend. ‘He gets like that sometimes, stuck on a phrase that he happens to like.’
‘What is this,’ the troll screamed, ‘a diversion?’
‘There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world,’ said Gandalf, ‘and that chair is definitely one of them. I must agree with Frodo.’
‘I think it is quite lovely,’ said Pippin. ‘It reminds me of the cheese and sausage omelet that Sam made on Weathertop.’ He almost sobbed at the memory of the lost omelet.
‘Fool of a Took,’ Gandalf snarled. ‘Throw yourself into its cushions and rid us of your stupidity.’
The troll slammed its huge body into the chair. A contented sigh escaped its lips.
‘What new devilry is this?’ Boromir demanded.
‘In a little while, I will take you on a nice tour of my abode, but for the moment, I must rest; all this bellowing has tired me out.’
‘Your abode,’ Gimli sputtered at which Legolas immediately placed his hand over the Dwarf’s mouth and pulled him out the door. The rest of the Fellowship tiptoed out.
‘Don’t look at your hand again, will you dear Frodo,’ Merry pled. ‘I couldn’t stand the thought of what you might see next.’
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it, to the arm of the chair beneath.
Well, he really couldn’t see through it, just through the spaces between his fingers, but that was enough to scare the pants off him. The chair was the ugliest thing he had ever seen, and he wondered who the carpenter was who conceived such a hideous object. He hadn’t realized he spoke the thought aloud, when a bellow washed through the hall as the owner of the chair roared into the room, knocking down the door as it came through.
‘How dare you criticize my chair, you little pipsqueak?’ it cried. ‘Son of a halfling!’
'Hey!' Pippin yelled. 'Be careful how you use that phrase!'
Frodo was appalled. How could anyone call him such a thing, slur his dear father? He strode towards the troll who had been distracted by Sam’s lovely curls, and tapped it on the knee.
‘My dear fellow,’ he said politely, as all Hobbit’s tend to be polite. ‘What you said of my father was not very nice. We prefer the name Hobbits to halflings, and I would have you remember that.’
‘Aaarrrrggggghhhh,’ the troll roared again. ‘You have the taste of an elf!’ he screamed, at which comment Legolas stride forth, arrow ready in his bow, with a retort on his lips.
Aragorn pulled him aside and turned to the troll himself. ‘What say you?’ he asked, and asked, and asked.
Legolas apologized for his friend. ‘He gets like that sometimes, stuck on a phrase that he happens to like.’
‘What is this,’ the troll screamed, ‘a diversion?’
‘There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world,’ said Gandalf, ‘and that chair is definitely one of them. I must agree with Frodo.’
‘I think it is quite lovely,’ said Pippin. ‘It reminds me of the cheese and sausage omelet that Sam made on Weathertop.’ He almost sobbed at the memory of the lost omelet.
‘Fool of a Took,’ Gandalf snarled. ‘Throw yourself into its cushions and rid us of your stupidity.’
The troll slammed its huge body into the chair. A contented sigh escaped its lips.
‘What new devilry is this?’ Boromir demanded.
‘In a little while, I will take you on a nice tour of my abode, but for the moment, I must rest; all this bellowing has tired me out.’
‘Your abode,’ Gimli sputtered at which Legolas immediately placed his hand over the Dwarf’s mouth and pulled him out the door. The rest of the Fellowship tiptoed out.
‘Don’t look at your hand again, will you dear Frodo,’ Merry pled. ‘I couldn’t stand the thought of what you might see next.’
- Agape4Rivendell
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it, to the arm of the chair beneath. With wide eyes, his head jerked up, and he saw Sam beside him, also staring down at the frightening sight. A chill wind brushed his face, and he glanced down again at the weird sight.
Looking up, he saw he was seated in a huge, throne-like chair made of a dark, intricately carved wood, set in the midst of a vast chamber. The ceiling rose far, far above him until it was lost in shadows, and the walls of that mighty chamber were also lost to his sight. The floor beneath him was paved with worn grey flagstones, and a cold mist crept along, just at the edge of his vision. Sam stood before him, looking very small in that huge room.
That's strange, Frodo thought. Only a moment ago, Sam and I were playing hide-and-seek with Merry and Pippin. He was just going to get up, when a booming voice startled both of them.
"Losing 'is arm, eh?" it said. "Well, that's what comes from trying to get the best of one's cousins. The young 'obbit shouldn't 'ave tried so hard to give 'em the slip."
Frodo struggled to respond. "It was just a game, er...sir. Whoever you are, please, can you help me! My arm is disappearing!"
A voice chuckled somewhere above them. Then it sighed. "So sad young 'obbitlings should be caught in such a plight. Very well, young laddie. If you would save your arm, you must......"
"Young Frodo, lad?" It was Bilbo's voice. Frodo awoke with a start, squinting against sudden sunlight in his eyes. Sam stirred beside him, and Frodo realized that Sam had been lying on his arm...which was nearly numb. "Frodo, wake up! It's nigh suppertime, and Merry and Pippin gave up looking for you two long ago. They were quite put out when they couldn't find you." He chuckled. "You might have made it a bit easier on them, lad. They're still young, you know." He looked closer at the two hobbits. "Why, bless me, you two lads have gone and fallen asleep! No wonder you didn't hear Merry and Pippin...they caused quite a stir when they couldn't find you." He laughed to himself, clearly amused, both by Frodo's young cousins' disappointment in their failure to find Frodo and Sam, and also at finding them asleep in the wine cellar.
Frodo stretched himself and winced. His right arm was painfully coming back to life, and felt as though a hundred needles were stabbing it. He scrambled to his feet, turning to give Sam a hand up. They both joined Bilbo at the entrance to the wine cellar. At the entrance to the cellar, he turned and looked back. A small, stone-flagged hobbit cellar met his glance, and he turned back to the door, shaking his head a bit. Dreams could be mighty strange, sometimes....
Frodo stared, aghast, at his right hand; he could see through it, to the arm of the chair beneath. With wide eyes, his head jerked up, and he saw Sam beside him, also staring down at the frightening sight. A chill wind brushed his face, and he glanced down again at the weird sight.
Looking up, he saw he was seated in a huge, throne-like chair made of a dark, intricately carved wood, set in the midst of a vast chamber. The ceiling rose far, far above him until it was lost in shadows, and the walls of that mighty chamber were also lost to his sight. The floor beneath him was paved with worn grey flagstones, and a cold mist crept along, just at the edge of his vision. Sam stood before him, looking very small in that huge room.
That's strange, Frodo thought. Only a moment ago, Sam and I were playing hide-and-seek with Merry and Pippin. He was just going to get up, when a booming voice startled both of them.
"Losing 'is arm, eh?" it said. "Well, that's what comes from trying to get the best of one's cousins. The young 'obbit shouldn't 'ave tried so hard to give 'em the slip."
Frodo struggled to respond. "It was just a game, er...sir. Whoever you are, please, can you help me! My arm is disappearing!"
A voice chuckled somewhere above them. Then it sighed. "So sad young 'obbitlings should be caught in such a plight. Very well, young laddie. If you would save your arm, you must......"
"Young Frodo, lad?" It was Bilbo's voice. Frodo awoke with a start, squinting against sudden sunlight in his eyes. Sam stirred beside him, and Frodo realized that Sam had been lying on his arm...which was nearly numb. "Frodo, wake up! It's nigh suppertime, and Merry and Pippin gave up looking for you two long ago. They were quite put out when they couldn't find you." He chuckled. "You might have made it a bit easier on them, lad. They're still young, you know." He looked closer at the two hobbits. "Why, bless me, you two lads have gone and fallen asleep! No wonder you didn't hear Merry and Pippin...they caused quite a stir when they couldn't find you." He laughed to himself, clearly amused, both by Frodo's young cousins' disappointment in their failure to find Frodo and Sam, and also at finding them asleep in the wine cellar.
Frodo stretched himself and winced. His right arm was painfully coming back to life, and felt as though a hundred needles were stabbing it. He scrambled to his feet, turning to give Sam a hand up. They both joined Bilbo at the entrance to the wine cellar. At the entrance to the cellar, he turned and looked back. A small, stone-flagged hobbit cellar met his glance, and he turned back to the door, shaking his head a bit. Dreams could be mighty strange, sometimes....
- Firiel
