Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m finished. Hanghobbit is the M.E. equivilent to hangman. I didn’t write the song, I’m just doomed to a life of Renaissance Faires, although I changed two words.

For the Love of Hobbits

By Elendiari

Aragorn, the King Elessar, was beginning to wonder about the strength of his personal guard. How was it that one tiny hobbit lad, scarcely a foot and a half high, could infiltrate the heavily guarded personal study of the High King? Still, he had, and he was sitting under said High King’s desk. On his feet. Aragorn set aside his pen and sighed.

"Faramir Took," he said. "How did you get in here?"

The tiny lad grinned up at him. "A wizard has many secrets," he replied with typical eight year old sauce.

Aragorn rolled his eyes and hauled the youngster up onto his lap. Merry and Pippin, along with their young families, had travelled to Gondor one month ago, and were set to stay for some time. Faramir had taken a great interest in the King, often dogging him as he walked down a hall, and telling him of his grand adventures in the evenings as their families sat together. Aragorn, soon to have his own children with Arwen, could only laugh about it.

"What are you about, Master Took?" he queried, sternly. "You do realize that the King is very busy."

Faramir leaned comfortably into the King’s soft velvet tunic and shook his head. "No, you’re not. You’re playing hanghobbit. See? And the word you’re trying to spell is Eriador. You’re bored, aren’t you?"

The king did not deign a response, but crumpled the paper up and tossed it into the fire. It was quite true, he had finished his work for the evening, and had been amusing himself with the old word game, though he was loath to admit it. He yearned for the quiet freedom of the hills, and the life of a ranger, again.

"Would you like to hear a song that I learned in Rohan? Mamma says it’s horrid, but I can’t figure out why," Faramir said.

"Aye," said Aragorn, knowing he would get a full recital whether he said yes or not.

Faramir grinned up at him and climbed up onto the desk. Putting his hands behind his back, he began to sing in a loud voice, "Where are me jewels, me precious family jewels? They’ve all gone for ale and pipeweed! I keep ‘em in a sack that I throw across my back, and you’ve all got dirty minds for what you’re thinking!"

Aragorn bit back a squawk of totally inappropriate laughter and buried his face in his hands. "Where did you learn that?" he demanded.

"In Rohan, like I said before," the young Took replied. "Some guards were singing it in the barns when Father and I went to see the horses."

"Well, your mother is right, it is quite horrid," Aragorn said, and stood up. "Come on, I believe that it is time for dinner. We musn’t keep your parents and the Queen waiting."

"Yes, that would be bad," agreed Faramir, allowing himself to be lifted up and carried out of the study. "King Elessar, I think you’re a grand king!"

"Thank you," replied Aragorn, remembering why he loved these hobbits as his own family. They were too incorrigible not to be somehow related.

The End

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done!

 Author's Note: This was written for Marigold's Challenge #2. It stands on its own, but I thought that it would work well with the Gondor Tales. Let me know how you like it! Enjoy!

Meetings

      Frodo sighed happily and wiggled himself into a state of luxurious, comfortable, decadent bliss in the soft featherbed. He hadn’t thought that he would ever be able to get used to sleeping in such comfort after Mordor, and yet here he was, snuggled down into the huge bed like the most innocent hobbit bairn.

    The day had been long and eventful, but hardly boring. The citizens of Minas Tirith lauded Frodo as a prince of the land, and though he was rather uncomfortable with it, he had yet to be bored by it. Everyone in the Company was honored, but Frodo especially so. It seemed that people liked to give him things, he mused as he tucked the quilt over his shoulders. So far, he had acquired beautiful new clothes, a silver circlet, and a trunk load of books from a wizened bookseller in the Fourth Circle.

    Those same books were lying on his bed now, waiting for him to pick them up and devour them. The fact that it had been a cool, rainy sort of day that had passed into a cool, rainy night helped. A bowl of crisp green apples sat on the table next to his bed, and Frodo picked one before opening his selected book and reading.

     He had been reading for quite some time when he first became aware of the feeling. It was one that he was familiar with, although it was not nearly so unwelcome as before. It was the feeling of being watched intensely. Frodo lowered his book and looked around. What he saw startled him greatly.

   A small hobbit lad stood next to his bed, regarding him with serious green eyes. Frodo was so surprised that he could only say, “Hullo.”

      “Hullo,” the lad answered. “Who are you?”

      “Frodo Baggins,” Frodo replied. “And who are you?”

       “Faramir,” said the lad, and climbed up onto Frodo’s bed.

       Frodo set his book down and moved over to make room for the lad. Faramir settled himself on the soft featherbed and proceeded to stare at Frodo. Frodo stared back at him, wondering why on earth the lad looked so much like Pippin, who was, to the best of his knowledge, asleep in the next room. He also wondered why a hobbit lad shared the name of Captain-Prince-Faramir.

     “Are you the Ringbearer?” Faramir finally asked.

     “Yes,” replied Frodo.

     “I thought so,” little Faramir said. “You look just like your portrait.”

      Frodo frowned. “What portrait, my lad?”

      Faramir took an apple from the bowl and bit it. “The one that hangs in the portrait hall,” he said. “That the King commissioned.”

      “The King? Do you mean Aragorn?” Frodo asked, rather faintly.

      Faramir nodded. “I call him King Strider sometimes. So does Eldarion. We only do that when he isn’t working.”

      Frodo gazed at the lad in amazement. Who was he? Who was Eldarion? What was going on?

     “Tell me, Faramir,” Frodo began in his kindest voice. “What are you doing here?”

     “Visiting the King and Queen, of course. Isn’t Queen Arwen beautiful? She’s not as pretty as my mamma, though,” Faramir replied.

     Frodo shook his head. “No, I meant, why are you in my room?”

     Faramir froze, and stared at him with large eyes. “Was I not supposed to? I’m sorry! It’s just that we were playing hide and seek, and I needed a place to hide, so I came in here. I didn’t think that anyone was here, but you were. I’m sorry, I can leave.”

    “No, that’s quite alright,” Frodo replied. “You can stay awhile.”

   Then, at a loss of what else to say, he lapsed into silence. Faramir quieted as well, thoughtfully munching his apple. Frodo felt his eyelids grow heavy, but fought it until he had asked Faramir one more question.

     “Faramir, who is your father?” he asked, leaning back on his pillows.

     “Don’t you know?” Faramir asked, surprised. “I thought that you knew everything! You’re the Ringbearer!”

    Frodo smiled and yawned. “I’m not that brilliant, Faramir, I’m just a hobbit like yourself. Now tell me, I’m about to fall asleep.”

     Faramir looked at the Ringbearer. It was true, he looked very tired. His blue eyes were closing; he was almost asleep.

     “My father’s Peregrin Took,” he said quickly, in a loud voice. “He’s the Thain of Tuckborough.”

      Frodo smiled. So that was why Faramir looked so familiar. “That’s very good, my lad. I must rest now; my strength isn’t what it used to be. Good night.”

     Frodo’s eyes closed; when he opened them again, it was daylight. His books were still on his bed, his unfinished apple lay close at hand, browning. The book that he had been reading was open on his chest, not where he had laid it to one side. He frowned.

    “Was it a dream, then?” he said aloud. “It was so real.”

    Still, there was no use wondering about it. Frodo got up and dressed, and joined his friends in the kitchen for breakfast. He was none too surprised when Aragorn asked him, later that day, to sit for his portrait. He mentioned the dream in passing to Pippin, as it was only fair to say, “I dreamed that your son came and talked to me. He sat on my bed and ate an apple while hiding from the seeker in hide and seek.”

     Many years later, when Frodo had crossed over the Sea, and Pippin indeed had a small son named Faramir, a curious thing happened when they were visiting Minas Tirith for a few months. Pippin was reading in the library when Faramir ran up to him, and exclaimed, “I met Cousin Frodo in his bedroom! He was very nice to me; he gave me an apple!”

    Pippin asked Faramir to show him the room where he had seen Frodo, and was led to the house where the Company had lived during their days in Minas Tirith. When Faramir opened the door, he frowned and cried, “But it was his room, Father! And he was reading, and had a bowl of apples, and said that it was very good that you were my father. Where is he?”

   Pippin reassured his son as best as he could. Secretly, he was very happy that Frodo had been able to see Faramir. He didn’t know how, but their two very separate worlds had combined that night, for a short meeting. He closed the door to the empty room that had been Frodo’s, and led Faramir away to a late supper.

Tea Between Faramirs’

   “It’s teatime, my lord.”

   Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, looked up from the paper he had been going over. His namesake was standing across the desk from him, the top of his curly head barely showing over the top. Faramir glanced towards the door, wondering how the hobbit had managed to get in unnoticed. He smiled wryly to himself and stood up.

    Faramir Took held a loaded tea tray, staggering slightly under the weight of the load. The steward quickly came around his desk and took it from him, bowing to the tiny hobbit lad who looked so much like Pippin. The lad grinned back at him, and bowed shyly.

    “My mamma thought you’d like some tea, and Queen Arwen said that you had been working all day, so I brought you some food,” he said.

  Prince Faramir smiled and set the tray on the desk. “Thank you, Faramir,” he replied. “Would you care to join me?”

    Faramir Took nodded and the steward looked around for a suitable chair for him to sit on. Finding none, he lifted the lad up onto his desk with a muttered, “Don’t tell.” Young Faramir giggled and settled himself comfortably onto the gleaming, paper-strewn desk.

   “Don’t you think it’s strange that we have the exact same name?” he asked, helping himself to a cake.

    Prince Faramir grinned and poured the tea. “Aye, but it’s an honor.”

    “I know,” the Took replied. “You’re one of my heroes. You and my father. And the King. And Lady Eowyn. Oh, and King Eomer. I have lots of heroes, you know.”

  Prince Faramir laughed and helped himself to a sandwich. It was refreshing to have hobbits in the City again. They visited far too infrequently, just every few years, and this was the first time that he had met young Faramir. Pippin and his wife, Diamond, had come to Gondor on their wedding trip, and Pippin had written to them two years later to tell them of the birth of his son. Faramir had been terribly pleased to have the child named for him. Still, they had not seen the lad, and he had been born several years ago…

  “How old are you, Faramir?” the Prince asked, setting aside the sandwich in favor of the tea.

   “Eight years old, sir,” Faramir Took replied cheerfully. “How old are you?”

   Prince Faramir grinned. “As old as dirt.”

   “No, Legolas is as old as dirt,” the lad said. “He is old!”

   The steward laughed, and Faramir grinned. He liked Prince Faramir; he was a nice man, even though he was very, very tall.

    “Do you know any stories?” he asked eagerly.

    “I know some,” Prince Faramir said guardedly. Hobbits asking for tales could be dangerous, he had learned.

    Faramir Took grinned. “That’s good. I know stories. I learned some songs in Rohan, too, but Mamma says I shouldn’t sing them.”

  The steward laughed again, thinking of some of Eowyn’s songs. “Yes, they are not songs for young lads.”

   Faramir had taken a bite of cake, so he just nodded. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Prince Faramir marveling at the amount of food that the hobbit consumed. Between them, the tray was clean in a short time.

    “I guess you have to get back to work now,” Faramir Took said, gathering up the empty plates and teacups. “It was nice having tea with you, Prince Faramir.”

   “And with you, Lord Faramir,” Prince Faramir replied, rising with his little guest.

    Faramir giggled, then suddenly gave the steward a hug. Prince Faramir hugged him back, slightly surprised, then the hobbit pulled back.

    “See you at dinner!” he cried, jumping off the desk and taking the tray down. “Bye!”

    Faramir, Steward of Gondor, grinned to himself as he got back to work. Yes, it was definitely refreshing to have hobbits back in the City.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done.

Author’s Note: This is just a little more solemn then the others, but it fit. Enjoy!

Queen Arwen’s Gift

    Arwen, Queen of Gondor and Arnor, was sitting in her bright little parlor, sketching, when she heard a tiny knock at the door. She looked up, curious, for the knock had sounded as though the knocker was rather shy.

  “Come in,” she called, and the door opened.

  Faramir Took stood there, looking in at her shyly. Arwen smiled and beckoned him to come in. Merry and Pippin, and their families, had arrived in Minas Tirith just two days before, and she had not yet had time to become acquainted with Pippin’s young son. The lad looked much like his father, with his curly blond-brown hair and green eyes. He was holding a small, wrapped package tightly.

   “Hullo, Faramir,” Arwen said. “What are you up to this afternoon?”

   Faramir bowed shyly and held out the small package. “I brought you a present from the Shire. It’s not very good, or anything, but I didn’t think you had one, and thought that you might like it.”

   Arwen took the package and unwrapped it. Inside a wooden box was a small flute, unlike any that Arwen had seen before. It was made of smooth silver, and was highly polished, with a tiny design of stars around it.

   “It’s a whistle,” Faramir explained. “Frodo Gamgee made it, but it was my idea. I thought that you might like to have a hobbit instrument.”

  Arwen grinned at the little hobbit and reached out to hug him. “Thank you, Faramir! I love it. Would you like to stay for a bit?”

  Faramir nodded, beaming. “Do you knit? I can hold the yarn for you, like I do for my mamma.”

  Arwen handed him a box of drawing pencils. “I’m sketching, so you can hold these for me. Here, have a seat on that cushion.”

  Faramir never forgot that day in Arwen’s parlor. He had been very shy of Arwen, because she was so tall, and so beautiful. Still, he felt that she was a very kind lady. He knew with the simple intuition of a child that she was someone he could confide in.

   “Queen Arwen? Can I ask you a question?”

   “Certainly, Faramir. What is it?” Arwen asked.

   Faramir toyed with one of the pencils, gazing at his hands. “What should I do about bad dreams? I have them a lot, and they scare me, and I didn’t think that Elves have bad dreams, so I thought I’d ask you…” he trailed off, realizing that he was rambling.

   Arwen set down her drawing and regarded the hobbit thoughtfully. Now that she looked, she could sense the fear in him, the fear of the dark that lurked under the naturally sunny surface. He was a happy lad, she could tell that, but he was subject to night terrors. Arwen reached out her hands to him.

    “Do you know the star of Earendil, Faramir?” Arwen asked.

    Faramir nodded. “Yes, I can see it from my window at home.”

    Arwen nodded back. “That’s my grandfather, Faramir, whom I never met. He was put in the heavens by the Valar to be a guiding light to all of us. They say that he often casts down a rain of star-crystals, to those that he loves.”

   Faramir stared at her as she stood and crossed the parlor to a cabinet by the fireplace. Arwen reached into it and pulled out a small grey box, one with a star engraved on the lid. She opened this, and withdrew a small rock on a silver chain.

   “I have gathered many such star crystals, Faramir, and made them into necklaces. Anyone who wears them cannot be subjected to petty fears, such as bad dreams. Here, take this,” Arwen said, and knelt and set the necklace around the hobbits neck.

    Faramir raised the necklace and looked at the star-crystal. It was a small, round crystal set in a silver holder. He looked back up at Arwen.

   “Shouldn’t Eldarion have this, your highness?” he asked. “I mean, I love this, but really, one of your children should have it.”

   Arwen grinned at him. “Eldarion has one of his own, Faramir. This is for you.”

   Faramir looked back at his crystal. Suddenly, he felt much more brave about the approaching bedtime. He looked back up at Arwen and suddenly threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you.”

   Arwen hugged him back. “You’re quite welcome, Faramir.”

   “May I go show my mamma, Queen Arwen? I think that she would like this.”

   Arwen nodded, and smiled as the hobbit skipped from the room, waving a cheery good bye over his shoulder. Let the others bewail the exuberance of hobbits, she thought. I think they are quite charming.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Author’s Note: This tale comes a bit before the rest of the ones in this series, but I liked it when it sprang into my head, and so here it is. I hope you all enjoy it!

The King of the Golden Hall

   There was a hobbit sitting on his throne. As he neared, Eomer saw that it was the young one, the lad named after his brother in law. Faramir Took, Pippin’s son.

   “Master Holbytla,” he began, a menacing tone in his voice, “You are sitting in my seat.”

   The hobbit grinned up at him, completely unabashed. “It’s a very comfortable seat, King Eomer. Very nice for sitting and reading.”

   Eomer glanced around the Golden Hall; it was mostly empty but for one old servant lighting a fire in the fireplace. He turned back to Faramir, trying to look menacing and failing spectacularly. The hobbits had arrived the night before, as the sun had gone down. Pippin had carried his sleeping son into the Hall, and so Eomer had not met him, as yet. Faramir, Eomer reflected, seemed an awful lot like his father. He pitied Aragorn already.

   “Why are you sitting on my throne? Do you want to be King?” Eomer asked, sitting amiably down on the counselor’s seat.

   Faramir leaned back in the throne and considered. “No,” he said at last. “I’d rather have adventures.”

   Eomer grinned to himself. “Being the king is always an adventure.”

   Faramir seemed willing to consider this. His father had always told him stories of the Rohirrim, and how they rode around on horses all of the time. Faramir was rather afraid of the giant animals, but running on one must really be an adventure.

   “I like being a hobbit,” he declared finally, grinning up at Eomer. “We aren’t underfed, like Men and Elves.”

   Eomer raised an eyebrow at that. “Underfed?”

   Faramir nodded. “You only get three meals a day. How can you survive? Everyone knows that you must eat six to be healthy.”

  Eomer rolled his eyes and grinned. He had often wondered, in the past, how hobbits managed to eat so much without dying of indigestion. They were bottomless pits, it seemed.

  “Have you eaten yet today, Faramir?” Eomer asked. When the hobbit shook his head, he continued. “Then I suggest that you come raid the kitchens with me. The food is always freshest when taken straight from the ovens.”

   Faramir stared at the king in amazement. “You steal from the kitchens?!”

   “Yes, of course. An old campaigner, me. Come on, then.”

   Faramir jumped off the throne and followed Eomer as he set off towards the kitchens. Eomer looked down at him when the hobbit seized his hand. “I think you’re a funny king,” Faramir declared.

  Eomer grinned and acquiesced. He doubted that having hobbits in Rohan would be dull. If, that is, the land survived.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done!

Lessons on Horses

   Lady Eowyn, Princess of Ithilien, was in both physical and mental discomfort. The physical discomfort stemmed from that fact that her new, relatively untrained horse, Flieg, had just bucked her from his back onto the sandy riverbank. The mental discomfort was being caused by a tiny hobbit, who looked terribly like a childish Peregrin Took. He had come running to her right after she had fallen, and was currently clutching her head to his chest and sobbing.

    Now, Eowyn reasoned, there was no way that this child could be Pippin. For one thing, he was much too tiny, more like a large doll than a child. For another, Pippin was a full-fledged adult, and this child was just that-a child. Then, with a flash of sudden insight, Eowyn knew exactly who he was.

   “Here now, you can let me go now, Faramir,” she said soothingly, reaching up to disentangle his arms from around her head. “I am quite alright.”

   Faramir Took released her head, but kept a firm grip on her jacket. His green eyes were large and tear filled, and his lower lip was trembling.

   “You’re not hurt?” he whimpered. “I thought you were dead! The big horse threw you, and you lay still!”

   Eowyn gingerly pushed herself upright, wincing at the sore spots that would be bruises tomorrow. Seeing that young Faramir still looked distraught, she reached out and ruffled his curly hair, and pulled his into her lap.

    “Do you know who I am, lad?” she asked, noting out of the corner of her eye that Flieg was returning, head low, demeanor sheepish.

    The hobbit nodded and wiped his eyes. “Yes, you’re Lady Eowyn. You and Cousin Merry slew the Witch-king.”

    Eowyn nodded. “That’s right. Now, tell me where you came from. I have not met you before.”

    Faramir seemed calmer now, and he smiled sunnily up at Eowyn. “We came with the guards from Minas Tirith-Father and Cousin Merry and I. Everyone else is coming tomorrow, you know. I went exploring right as soon as we arrived, and I saw you fall, and that’s how I came here.”

   Eowyn nodded. She was not far from the house at Emyn Arnen, and where she lived with her family, and if she paused to listen, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of men grooming horses and unloading baggage. Doubtless, they were what had caused Flieg to spook.

   Thinking of Flieg made Eowyn look around for the horse. He was quietly standing near her, watching them sheepishly. Faramir Took followed her eyes and gasped.

   “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Help!”

   “What’s wrong?” Eowyn asked, frowning curiously.

   Faramir clung to her jacket, pale with terror. “I’m afraid of horses!”

   Eowyn nodded. Such a thing was not unheard of, but it always perplexed her, daughter of the Rohirrim that she was. “Don’t worry, my lad, he’s just as frightened of you as you are of him. To Flieg, you are just the size of a small, yappy puppy.”

    Faramir smiled weakly. “Flieg?”

    “The horse. That it his name,” Eowyn explained. “Here, I’ll show you that he’s not as terrifying as you think. Stand up.”

   “Stand up?!” Faramir squeaked. “Why?”

   Eowyn set him on his feet and knelt next to him. “So that he can get to know you. You’ve been sitting on my lap, so you smell like me, and Flieg trusts me. He’ll trust you once he smells you, and then you’ll be one of the herd.”

   Faramir considered this, small face screwed up, and nodded. “Alright. Do I just stand here?”

   “Yes,” Eowyn said, and whistled. “Here, Flieg. Hold still, Faramir.”

   The horse came forward, and the tiny hobbit lad gasped and stood stock still as he was snuffled all over. Eowyn grinned, watching him. Flieg nosed Faramir’s chest, then whuffled in the hobbit’s hair, clearly accepting him. Faramir giggled, then shyly reached up to pet the horse’s nose.

    “He’s nice,” he said, grinning over at Eowyn.

    Eowyn grinned back. “Yes, he is. He only shied because he’s young. Would you like to ride him?”

    Faramir nodded and Eowyn lifted him onto Flieg’s back. Then she bounded up behind him, and nudged the horse in the direction of home.

    “Father is going to be so surprised I met you!” Faramir told her, fingers buried in Flieg’s mane. “He and Cousin Merry tell me loads of stories about you. I’m so glad that I finally met you!”

    Eowyn laughed and gave the lad a one-armed hug. This child would certainly be an interesting houseguest.