Drabbledom by elwen of the hidden valley

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Gems and Jewels

Gems and jewels aint naught but trouble.

Mr Bilbo now, ran into all manner of mishap over a fancy stone and dwarf gold.

It was him told me tales ‘bout elves, high and mighty as they was, killin’ each other over them Silmaril baubles.

And my Master Frodo? Well, I can’t say as he wanted stuff like that at the start. But even he was wantin’ at the last. It nearly killed him and he aint the same since.

Just give me good earth so I can grow enough to feed me and mine and you can keep yer baubles.




We been ‘round longer un them. They’s not five minutes out o’ the mud and still wet behind the ears. What they need to be so big for anyway? Orcs is short an’ always has been.

An’ what’s Saruman want these scrawny pets for? Never trust a wizard I says. They’s not big enough for more ‘an a mouthful and there’ll be even less of ‘em if they run all the way to Isengard.

Not them though, with their bloomin’ long legs. But I reckon we can still take these stinkin’ Uruk-hai.

So that Ugluk fella ‘ad better watch out.




They had not spoken at the end. What more love could they have wrested from words?

Sam’s hand drifted down, unheeded to the harbour wall. His had not been a wave. The arm had risen at mind’s command but his heart was not willing to condone such a frivolous gesture.

Broad stone, salt crystal dusted, pitted his palm and he remembered how perfectly Frodo’s three-fingered grasp had fitted his, remembered and held it close because memory was all that remained. Would that memory could erase the flat azure gaze and pale face.

Above the gulls gave voice to his loss.




Touching shore Elrond staggers. Piercing light scatters the bleakness of his soul and colours cavort and spin as his inward gaze seeks the fount of this fearful, wondrous gift.

Then the soothing caress of her soul, flooding the aching hollows of his heart draws him to her embrace, to bury a face hot with tears in the perfumed fall of her silver hair. Mind and body find their haven as Celebrian coaxes with warm, remembered touch of heart and soul. Gathering him in as she always has, she knows all, accepts all, loves all.

And he is whole once more.





“Your furniture’s back in the rooms it came from, cousin,” Merry announced, whipping off Frodo’s blindfold.

“T'aint what it was,” Sam apologised. “What didn’t go to Crick-hollow with you was only fit for burning after Sharkey had finished with it.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job. All of you.” Frodo’s vision misted as he circled slowly, absorbing every familiar inch of home, and he had to hold back a sob as he noticed Pippin standing in the hallway, having just finished painting dear Bag End’s round green door.

Would that he could be set to rights so easily.



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