Juno's Drabbles: 5. Hobbits: happy, homely and heroic

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5. Hobbits: happy, homely and heroic


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.


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…


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?




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.


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


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.


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.


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!”



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.


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!”


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.


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.”


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.


Teatime (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…


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.



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.


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 http://www.geocities.com/araneltook/!

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: JunoMagic

Status: General

Completion: Ongoing Serial

Era: 4th Age

Genre: General

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 12/17/06

Original Post: 03/25/05

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