Gollum.

His eyes brightened as he spotted his prey.

Gollum, Gollum.

He slowly crept upon the two small, innocent beings.

“Sméagol shall please Master, yes.” It was then that his prey noticed him. Before the two small beings could move, Gollum pounced upon them. The first nearly escaped, but he soon snapped its neck and its life came to an end. The second tried to flee, but it too was soon dead.

Gollum took the two rabbits. “Sméagol has rabbitses! Master shall be pleased.” Content with himself, he took the two dead conies and went to find his two companions.

CRASH.

He jumped as he heard something loud drop to the floor. Again.

“Dad, Robin made me crash into the table and knock over the vase!”

“It wasn’t me, it was Ruby!”

“No, it was Bilbo!”

“I was playing with Hamfast! It was Primrose!”

“What?! No, it was Goldilocks!”

“I wasn’t in the room! It was Hamfast!”

“I was playing with Bilbo. It was Elanor!”

“Elanor isn’t even here right now! It was you!”

“I was playing with Bilbo!”

“It was Primrose!”

“No, it was Goldilocks!”

“Hamfast!”

“NOT ME!”

Sam sighed; now knew why no other hobbit had 13 children.

I am in the middle of going through the laborous task of organizing my LJ and I found this. It was originally written September 22, 2006. Thought it would be best if I put it up here for the rest of the world to see.

Bilbo had many relations; indeed, he could hardly keep track of them, so numerous they were. There were a few out of the bunch that stood out, however, and the tween that sat beside him in the cart was one of them.

He had only met the lad a couple of times; the first time was eight or nine years ago. Bilbo was visiting a few of his relations in Brandy Hall when he first saw him. He was unnaturally quiet for his young age, and when Bilbo had asked about him, he was told about his parents' recent deaths. The poor lad was still grieving at the time; interestingly enough, if the lad had not been grieving, Bilbo may have never noticed him.

As the years passed, the young hobbit became lively again, adapting well enough to the busy lifestyle in Brandy Hall. He was, after all, part Brandybuck. The few times Bilbo had visited in the last few years, however, he had always stood out. Bilbo could not say what it was about him, but there was a light in his eyes that he saw in few folk; one could say even elvish.

Just within the last year, Bilbo had realized his age, and realized that he needed an heir. He did not want the Sackville-Bagginses getting their hands on Bag End once he passed away; that would be a nightmare that would hopefully never come to pass. He had then remembered the small lad in Brandy Hall; a very lively chap, yet one with a bit of a different air about him. Personally, Bilbo was not quite sure if he belonged there. The Brandybucks were taking excellent care of him, yes, but he personally believed that the intelligent lad would thrive in a bit more relaxed, quiet environment.

So, he had sent off a letter, just a couple of months ago. The reply had come relatively quickly; it was a short reply, which was uncommon for hobbits, but had made him very happy.

This young lad, this Frodo Baggins, had agreed to move to Bag End with him.

And now here they were, riding in a cart to Bag End. Frodo had never been so far away from the Brandy Hall before, so the tween was looking around with great delight and fascination. On the way to Hobbiton, Bilbo made conversation with the lad whenever he could grab his attention.

"Do you know that we share the same birthday?" asked Bilbo.

"Really?" the young hobbit asked.

"Yes," Bilbo said. "That is why I chose this day to pick you up; birthdays are a most important day, and I thought this would make a great birthday present for my birthday."

"Oh, but I haven't given you anything yet for my birthday!" Frodo said, suddenly realizing his mistake. "In my excitement of moving in with you, I completely forgot!"

"You being here with me is the best gift you can ever give me," Bilbo said, a soft smile on his face. Frodo gave a small smile back, and then returned his attention to their surroundings.

Perhaps an hour later, or even less, they saw their first view of Hobbiton. Frodo gasped at the lovely sight; never before had he seen such a place. Bilbo smiled at his reaction, and then pointed up to a big hill at the edge of the town. "See that hill, the one with the big tree? Over there is Bag End. Home."

Frodo followed his finger, and then smiled in absolute delight. "It looks wonderful!"

"It is," the older hobbit nodded. "It will be absolutely wonderful having you around." Frodo just smiled in response, and that was all Bilbo needed. Things were truly going to be wonderful.

Originally written and posted on LJ Dec 08

Erestor and Glorfindel. Two characters I have written little, if anything, about. Rather than rising up to the challenge of presenting these elf lords in dignity and grace, my mind decided it would rather take the easy way out.

Besides, NiRi asked for an Erestor acting “out of the normal way”, so this is completely her fault.

Glorfindel sat and watched the two dancers on the floor. The dance of the bride with her father was one tradition that belonged to both Elves and Men, and so it seemed very appropriate for this dance to be the first at Arwen’s wedding. They did not speak with one another, but both Elrond’s and his daughter’s eyes spoke volumes. There was great happiness within their depths, but underneath it an underlying grief. Glorfindel wished, not for the first time, that Aragorn had been born an elf. He hated seeing that sadness in his lord’s eyes.

The dance ended, and soon other couples joined the dance floor and swung to the merry tune played by the minstrels. Wine and ale flowed freely among the guests, and any sadness that was in Elrond’s eyes disappeared for the time being.

The golden-haired elf was quietly keeping an eye on his lord from afar when he was suddenly joined by Erestor. The elf had a full glass in hand and a bright sparkle in his eye; it was quite unlike his usual demeanor.

“Glorfindel, my friend!” said the dark-haired elf in greeting. “You look solemn on such a fine Midsummer eve.”

“And you look... unnaturally cheerful,” said Glorfindel as he glanced him over.

“My cheer to outweigh your sobriety,” retorted the other. “And this is a good night to be cheerful! Weddings are rather wonderful occasions.”

“I never thought you were one to be into such celebrations,” he replied with a raised brow. “Tell me, how many times have you filled your cup tonight?”

“I am not quite sure,” said Erestor. “The number hardly matters at this point.” He drank from his cup. “Besides, this is absolutely wonderful- it is Dorwinion! I cannot even imagine how it came to be here, but I shan’t see it go to waste!”

“Sounds to me that you have been seeing Greenwood elves far too often for your own good and have developed some of their habits,” Glorfindel said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Erestor looked slightly baffled by the statement, but he quickly brushed it off. “Nonsense. I haven’t been to Greenwood in many a year, and they rarely enough come to Rivendell. But come now, I did not seek you to talk about Greenwood and solemnity.”

“Then what did you come for?”

“I came for an answer to a question.” Erestor’s cheerful manner suddenly fell and he became as solemn as his companion. “I have been wondering about this for a long time, yet for some reason I have not asked until now.”

“What have you been wondering?” Glorfindel’s amusement died as Erestor became serious. “You may ask me anything.”

The counselor nodded and said, “The bells.”

Glorfindel blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“The bells upon Asfaloth’s harness.”

The other elf was completely confused. “What about them?”

“What in the world made you put them there?”

He blinked once more. “Nothing made me put them there. I made the decision to put bells on his harness quite freely.”

“Very well then, but why? What in the world possessed you to clad that noble beast with those terrible noise-makers?”

Glorfindel frowned. “They are not terrible noise-makers. They make a lovely sound.”

“Hardly. They are loud and bothersome and hardly appropriate for Asfaloth.”

“Why would they not be appropriate?”

“You take him into battle. I do not believe that little tinkling bells fits stealthy operations nor the atmosphere of such skirmishes.”

“I do not have Asfaloth clad in bells in battle; the bells are only for special occasions such as celebrations,” Glorfindel argued.

“You took it when you went out to find Frodo,” Erestor pointed out. “That was hardly a celebratory errand.”

“I did it so Aragorn would recognize me!” he said defensively. “You can ask him yourself; he knows the sound of those bells well.”

“Aye, because you have Asfaloth wear them all the time,” Erestor said triumphantly.

Glorfindel only stood up. “Before we continue this conversation, I am going to need some of that Dorwinion you mentioned earlier.”

“Of course!” Erestor stood up as well, heedless of the slight spill his sudden action made. “Come, follow me! It is an excellent vintage.”

“I dearly hope so.” And so Glorfindel followed his merry companion to the Dorwinion. Once his sobriety was gone, he would be happy to discuss anything Erestor wished to discuss.

Even little tinkling bells.

Based on the fact that Tolkien made it quite clear that Aragorn and the hobbits heard a tinkling before Glorfindel’s arrival and this small passage:

“The wind whistled in his ears, and the bells upon the harness rang wild and shrill.” -Frodo running away on Asfaloth in Flight to the Ford.

Originally written and posted on LJ Nov 2008.

"She was little changed, for the mortal years had passed her by; and yet her face was more grave, and her laughter was now seldom heard." -The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

Summer 2980 TA

When Arwen had come back to Lórien only after a few years in Rivendell, Galadriel had been surprised. While half a dozen years may seem a great while to mortals, six years was nothing to one of the Eldar. What immediately concerned her, however, was the sudden change in her granddaughter's countenance. She had greeted her grandparents gladly and she wore a smile on her face, but the smile was shallow. What had most changed about her, however, was her eyes. They wore a haunted look that was unnatural for an elleth as young as she. At first Galadriel had thought that this unhappiness was but a phase that would soon pass, but as time went on Arwen remained the same.

She had spoken with her daughter's child about her time in Rivendell, and Arwen's eyes would become light again when she spoke about her brothers or her father. Her eyes would absolutely sparkle with delight, however, when she spoke of a young man she called 'Estel'. Galadriel had known that Elrond had taken in the latest of Isildur's heirs as his own and called him such, but the glint in the elf's eyes was more than sisterly affection. At one time she asked Arwen what she thought about this Estel, but for the first time in her life Arwen was not open with her on her thoughts, and she dropped the subject.

Galadriel had a feeling that her granddaughter was unsure as to what to make of her emotions, but Arwen did not see the light that the Lady saw when she spoke of Estel.

So when Isildur's heir unexpectedly came to the borders of Lórien, weary and looking for rest, Galadriel felt some hope for her granddaughter for the first time in over twenty years.

Arwen often took refuge in the Lady's private gardens, and that is where Galadriel found her the day Estel came to Caras Galadhon. She was watching two birds dancing with one another throughout the glade, and the haunted look was stronger than she had seen for many years. Hopefully Estel would live up to his name.

"My dear child," said Galadriel in greeting as she sat down beside her, "your thoughts darken your eyes. Will you allow me to help you and let me share your burden?"

Arwen sighed, and for the first time since her arrival in Lórien, shared some of her darkness with her grandmother. "I feel that I ever come closer to a decision that will change many things, and break many hearts."

"Do you know which path is the right one?"

"The right one? Both seem wrong, for both would cause hurt to those I love. But- but I know which road I will choose when the time comes to make the decision, for it is the one my heart would bid me choose."

"Then follow that road," said Galadriel. "Pain is inevitable on Arda Marred, yet I know you are wise enough to make the right choice."

"We shall see," was her only reply.

To her grief Arwen's eyes were still shadowed, and so Galadriel made a decision of her own. "At the sun's setting," she started, "go to Cerin Amroth, and there wait. You may find something there that will lighten your heart."

Her granddaughter looked startled by the sudden advice, but Arwen knew well never to take her grandmother's words lightly. "I shall."

"Good," said Galadriel. She stood and smiled down upon the other. "I will speak with you further if you wish, but for now there is something I must see to." Arwen only nodded and went back to watching the two birds.

Galadriel quickly left the glade and headed to her own talan. There were a few things she needed to prepare before she sought out Isildur's heir.

Notes:

I came to quite a few conclusions from the passage at the beginning.

*I figure that Arwen stuck around Rivendell when there was chance for Aragorn to come wandering by. When he left for Rohan, I imagine she left Rivendell soon after. There is no given date in the Appendices.
*Because of this quote, I think she knew she felt something for Aragorn, but wasn't quite sure what to make of it, nor what to do with her own life.
*Galadriel saw this and meddled. Because she's Galadriel.

Originally posted in LJ March 09.

So. I tried to stray from the path of humor onto darker, less trodden paths.

It failed miserably.

Halbarad stared at the shapeless, brownish-grey blob in front of him. He was rather sure it had just moved; he wouldn't be surprised if it somehow came alive. Beside the grey thing was his cousin, who was looking at it worriedly.

"Perhaps I didn't cook it long enough," he muttered.

"Did you cook it at all?" asked Halbarad incredulously. "It is completely limp! And why is it grey?"

"It's not grey, it's brown, and that is the color it is supposed to be." Aragorn glanced at it once more, and then looked expectantly at Halbarad. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to try it?"

The Dúnadan looked as if he was just asked to jump into Mount Doom. "Do you wish me dead, Aragorn? Of course I won't!"

The other Dúnadan frowned. "I spent a lot of time making it, you know."

"I appreciate the gesture, truly, but I have no desire to spend the next week violently ill."

"You do not need to exaggerate, Halbarad. It doesn't look that bad."

"Really? Well then, how about you share it with me? I simply could not indulge myself while you stand around."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's your birthday, and the cake is all yours."

"This thing is not a cake, Aragorn. Look!" He let out a shrill whistle, and his hound came barreling into the room, tail wagging. The dog soon spotted the blob and took one sniff before leaving the room in disgust.

"That was not necessary," the other man glared at his cousin.

"Anything Huan does not eat I will not," said Halbarad firmly. "If my sons were here they would agree with me."

"Do not bring the whole family into this!" said Aragorn. "This is the last time I do anything for you, Cousin."

Halbarad rolled his eyes. "There is no need to be offended. You simply cannot bake to save your life."

Aragorn took the thing off of the table. "I'll bring it to your wife and sister. I'm sure they'll enjoy it, if you will not."

"Mireth and Lothwen will take one look at that thing and laugh you out of the house!" Halbarad called after him. Aragorn did not respond to him as he left the small home. "Stubborn mule," he muttered. The man glanced at the table, and saw that part of the cake-blob had fallen onto it. He tentatively picked it up, glanced at it in disgust, and then threw it into the fire with a shudder.

Within a few minutes Aragorn was back, his face deceptively blank as he joined Halbarad at the table. He waited expectedly for his chieftain to speak, but the other man was content to remain silent.

"Well? What did my wife and sister say?" Halbarad asked.

"They did not see it."

"Then where is your creation?"

"I gave it to the pigs. They mistook it as mud."

He looked at his cousin sympathetically. "Well, I'm sure they appreciate it."

"You are not helping the matter, Halbarad."

"I never meant to."

Aragorn glanced at the other man, and his stoic expression cracked. He chuckled and shook his head. "I haven't baked a cake in over fifty years, you know, and the last time I had Elrond's cooks to help."

"I figured," Halbarad shrugged. "Mireth and Lothwen are making something that I expect both you and I will enjoy, if that is any comfort."

"It is a great comfort, Cousin. Too rarely do we enjoy their meals- and I appreciate that they include me."

"You are our chieftain," Halbarad said, "but you are also family. My sister will never look at you as anything but her older cousin who needs feeding when he's around."

"I would have Lothwen look at me no other way," Aragorn smiled. "Come, let us join the women and see if they need any help."

"I am not sure they'd want you helping if they saw that thing you made," Halbarad pointed out as he stood.

"I can cook other things just fine," Aragorn retorted.

The other man shrugged. "I suppose. In the end, I'm sure that your creation was breathing."

"Now you're exaggerating."

"I swear upon my blade that it breathed!"

The two continued to banter good-naturedly as they left the house as only two kinsmen can do, content that the most pressing matter at that point of time was the true nature of a blob that pretended to be a cake.

This uses some 'canon' established in my Tales of Life series. For those unacquainted with it, I made Aragorn and Halbarad close in age and Sarnhold is where the chieftains have resided for many years (and is Halbarad's home, as well).

Unbetaed. Apologies for any mistakes in advance. It's the muses' fault.

2952 TA

She was beautiful. How had he not seen it before? He surely must have been blind all of these years.

"Halbarad?"

Her long, dark tresses reflected the firelight as a pool reflected stars twinkling in the deep night sky- and yet no water could ever begin to compare to the beauty of her hair.

"Halbarad, are you well?"

Her eyes were a light grey, as if they were made of silver- nay, mithril! Her eyes surely were crafted with mithril, for no eyes could glisten so brightly otherwise.

"Halbarad!"

The young man broke out of his musings and glanced to his cousin. "Yes?"

Aragorn raised his brow at the expression on the other's face. "You haven't been listening to me at all, have you?"

He felt his cheeks burn slightly and hoped that his kinsman would not notice in the dim, flickering light of the bonfire. "I am afraid my thoughts were elsewhere, Cousin," he admitted. "My apologies. What were you saying?"

The other man only shook his head, a slight smile on his lips as he glanced at the dancers near the bonfire. "What I have to say is not nearly as important as the lady who encompasses your thoughts," he said.

Halbarad's gaze, which had already strayed back to her lithe form, swiftly turned away to look at the man who, given a bit more time, would be his chieftain. "I beg your pardon?" he said hurriedly.

Aragorn laughed at his startled expression. "I am neither daft nor blind, Halbarad! Your eyes have been upon Mireth ever since we returned, and this night is worse than all others. You haven't stopped looking at her ever since the feast ended."

He said nothing in response for a moment, unable to deny his cousin's words. Rather he turned once more to the young lady who danced merrily about the large fire with his sister Lothwen; both girls had been friends for many years, yet it was not until his return to Sarnhold a couple days ago when he noticed just how beautiful she was. "Is she not the fairest woman you have ever seen?" he finally muttered.

"Fair indeed," said Aragorn, but his thoughts turned to another lady with hair darker and skin lighter than Mireth's. He had told no one in the Dúnedain community about his passion for Elrond's daughter, and he had no plans to; he did not desire to hear their rebukes that would only echo those he heard from his mother and foster father. He swiftly turned his attention once more to his kinsman's plight. "Go and ask her to dance," he suggested.

Halbarad visibly blanched. "I cannot dance!"

"Do you think she will mind? Go on, ask!"

"I- I will not take her from my sister, they are obviously enjoying each other's company," Halbarad rebutted. "Lothwen would not like being alone."

The other laughed. "Very well, I will take your sister as partner and then she will not be alone." He pulled Halbarad to his feet and the young man had no time to protest as he was all but dragged to the bonfire. Before he could gather his wits and make his way back to the edge of the circle, they were with the two girls.

"Lady Mireth," said Aragorn with a short bow and a wide smile, "I hope you do not mind if I cut in and ask my fair cousin for a dance?"

Mireth, who had little contact with the son of Arathorn and found herself still uncomfortable in his presence quickly replied with a curtsey. "Of course, my lord."

Lothwen, who was four years Aragorn's junior, giggled at the formality. "I would be delighted, Cousin. I remember your dancing when you first came here and the elves taught you well!" She quickly pulled him away, sending her brother a quick wink as they joined the other dancers.

'The little wretch, she is onto this ploy too!' he thought, but his attention was soon turned to the lovely woman by his side. Mireth looked at him silently, though Halbarad was unable to read her in his nervousness. "I-" he started, and then cleared this throat. "Err, shall we?" he said, hoping that his stutter was only imagined.

She smiled gently, causing his heart to melt. "I would be delighted," she said, and he saw no mocking in her eyes. He slowly took her by the hand and she laid her other upon his shoulder and they began to dance. He danced long after Aragorn and Lothwen had abandoned the bonfire, yet he did not notice for his attention was only upon Mireth, and she upon him. They danced long into the night, heedless of all others but themselves and the light in their eyes.