Bard stared at the thing in his hand, beautiful beyond any imaginings, it seemed to glow with a light of its own.  He shuddered, and very carefully laid it down upon the table.  With effort he let go, one finger at a time.  He looked up to see the Elven-king looking at him with an expression of pity and understanding in his eyes.  Then both of them turned to look at the pavilion's opening, through which a very valiant, clever little creature had so recently passed.

He had never before seen such bravery and generosity in such a small package 

  B2MeM Challenge: Art Supplies, I-22, "Stone"
Format: Drabble
Title: Heart of the Mountain
Genre: Gapfiller
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Thrain I of Erebor, OMC Dwarf
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Someone had to cut and polish the Arkenstone.
Author's Notes: ...Thrain I, Nain's son, came to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, near the eastern eaves of Mirkwood, and there he began new works, and became King Under the Mountain. In Erebor he found the great jewel, the Arkenstone, Heart of the Mountain." (Appendix A, III, "Durin's Folk")

Thrain nodded. "Nor have I. Even in its rough state it is magnificent, and not merely for its size. It must be treated with utmost delicacy. I would entrust it to none but you."

Borin scarcely heard him; he was already planning which of his tools would be needed to bring out the best of each facet of the immense gem.

It was nearly three years before he presented the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain, to his King.

B2MeM Challenge: Canon Couples, I-22, "Celeborn and Galadriel"
Format: Dribble
Title: Grey Sails at Sunset
Genre: Poetry
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Celeborn, Galadriel
Pairings: Celeborn/Galadriel
Summary: Someone else besides three hobbits watched that ship sail from the Grey Havens.

For three ages of the world they have been together;
The fourth sees them apart. She passed the test.
She passes into the West, sailing, sailing West.
She is not diminished in his eyes.
Nor will her beauty fade away.
He watches the grey sails.
His time will come.
She will wait.
Love is
Strong.

B2MeM Challenge: Hobbits: O-68, "Sharkey"
Format: Ficlet, Inner Monologue
Title:
Genre: Gapfiller
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Saruman, Grima Wormtongue, Lotho Sackville-Baggins
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Saruman's impressions of his arrival at Bag End.

This smug and serene little land offends me. I was pleased to see the evidence of my men's industry about me, but there is still much to be done if I am to have my revenge on Olórin and his little pawns. I look behind me. My servant is lagging again. "Come along, Worm." He flinches. "We are nearly there."

I open the gate and walk up the path; in spite of being neglected, the garden is prolific. I shake my head-- if I have my way it will not stay that way.

I use my walking stick to rap smartly upon the green door. It is a poor substitute for my staff! I feel the anger building up again at Olórin's temerity in daring to judge me. How dare he? It was I who first chose to come here; it was I who was given authority over the other Istari!

The pox-faced fellow who opens the door is typical of these creatures, save that he exudes a certain amount of ambition lacking in most of them. "Mr. White! Your people told me you would be arriving today! Welcome to Bag End! I hope you will be comfortable in my abode." I know from my spies that this was once the home of the Ringbearer; I look forward to his expression when he sees what I will make of it.

I enter, Worm trailing behind me, carrying our few possessions. "Thank you, Mr. Sackville-Baggins," I say. "The road has been long and uncomfortable, and travelling conditions are deplorable these days!"

He introduces a wizened hagling with a sour expression as his mother. Her words of welcome are overly gracious, but I can tell from her narrowed eyes she is suspicious. I will find some way to be rid of her soon.

I am led to a room which he tells me is especially built for "Big Folk" as a guest room. I can easily guess who the room was intended for, and indeed, it stinks of him-- not only of the pipe-weed he favours, but also it stinks of Pity.

I smile. He and the Ringbearer will pity themselves when they finally return to this place. 

  B2MeM Challenge: Art Supplies: N-41, "Easel"; Food: N-41, "Tarts"
Format: Tribble (tripple drabble, 300 words)
Title:The Portrait
Genre: Character Study
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Bilbo, Frodo, Calla Brandybuck (OFC)
Pairings: N/A
Author's Notes: Calla Brandybuck is one of my OCs, and has appeared in a few stories, most notably "Cousin Calla". She is one of Frodo's Brandybuck cousins, and he took art lessons from her during the time he lived in Brandy Hall. Dahlia, who is briefly mentioned, is another OFC, Merry's nursemaid.
Summary: Cousin Calla is painting a very special portrait.

Calla tucked a stray curl behind her ear, glancing from the sketch upon her easel to the subjects in front of her. From Halimath to Foreyule one of her subjects had grown.

Never mind, she anticipated that, and it was no problem. A few swift adjustments to the sketch and she picked up her palette to begin painting.

They sat before her, the older hobbit seated, holding a book, the younger standing behind, his hand on the older one's shoulder. Both looked stiff and nervous.

But Calla wasn't the sort of artist who required her subjects to sit unmoving for hours. She was far more interested in capturing the play of light and shadow upon faces animated and unaware. Without looking up from her paints, she said, "Frodo, have you told Cousin Bilbo what Merry did to the mince tarts last Mersday?"

She was rewarded by a peal of laughter from Frodo, and glanced up. There! That was the glow of paternal pride and genuine interest she'd hoped for on Bilbo's face, and Frodo was flushed with glee as he spoke. "Ha! Uncle Bilbo, the little imp slipped away from Dahlia. He and Beri sneaked into the second kitchen, lifted the tops off the mince tarts and ate the filling!"

Now Bilbo laughed. Calla found herself falling into that state of mind in which part of her was utterly absorbed with the task of choosing brush, stroke and colour, while another part was acutely aware of every nuance of her models.

"They might have got away with it, if their breath had not reeked of fruit and spices when the trick was discovered. Merry was angry when Uncle Rory blamed Beri on account of his being older. 'It was my idea, Grand-da!' "

Calla laughed. This was going to be fun.

  B2MeM Challenge: Canon Couples: N-41, Thingol/Melian
Format: Dribble
Title: While Long Years Were Measured by the Wheeling Stars Above
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Elu Thingol, Melian
Pairings: Thingol/Melian
Summary: That famous encounter in Nan Elmoth.

He wandered in wonder in the forest of Nan Elmoth,
and hearing the songs of the nightingales became entranced.
She sang among the birds, her voice sweeter
than any other, and she drew him
all unknowing. He found her there.
And love fell on them,
a spell of power
like none before.
They waited,
Enthralled.

B2MeM Challenge: Crossover 1: N-41, "with mythology"
Format: Fable
Title: Why Hobbits Don't Like Heights
Genre: Crossover, Myth
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: OCs
Pairings: N/A
Author's Notes: This is a hobbitified version of the myth of Icarus, with a somewhat happier ending…
Summary: Why hobbits don't like heights…

Buttercup was a hobbit lass who lived long, long ago, before hobbits came West over the Mountains to the Shire. She was not the oldest child in her large family, nor was she the youngest. She was right in the middle.

Now there were many mouths to feed in her family, and so she decided to go out and make her way into the world, so that they would have one less child to feed. She packed up all she had into a kerchief and set off down the road.

She left her village and went down to the next town, and there she met an Old Man. Now Men are peculiar things, but he needed someone to keep his house and help him with his projects. Now keeping house is a thing Buttercup knew well, and the wages he offered were good enough that she could send them to her family, and so she took the job.

Keeping his house was easy. She dusted and swept and cooked his meals and washed the dishes. But his projects were a different thing altogether. He wanted to make a carriage that would go without a horse; he wanted to harness the lightning.

But most of all he wanted to figure out how people could fly. This strange idea was funny enough to Buttercup—until she learned that he wanted her to be the one to do it.

"You are smaller and lighter than I am," he said, and she had to admit that was true.

"I am paying you very good wages," he said, and she had to admit this also was true.

"I can turn you out if you don't do it," he said, and knowing this was true, she agreed.

And so she found herself standing near a cliff with a huge wing-like device strapped to her back. It was tied to a large ball of cord which her master kept hold of, "For see," he said, "I will not risk you flying off and getting lost in the sky."

Buttercup thought, "How kind." But she did not say it aloud.

"Run!" he ordered.

And closing her eyes she ran towards the edge of the cliff, wondering what her parents would say to seeing her doing such a fool thing. Off the edge she ran, and to her surprise, it worked. She felt the wind come up under her and soon she was borne aloft. She could look down and see her master, running about the field near the cliff holding on to the string and letting more and more of it out, as she rose higher and higher. Soon he was only a tiny dot. But the winds were stronger, and she found herself being buffeted about. To her dismay, she suddenly felt the string go slack.

It was nearly dark now, and Buttercup was feeling frightened. How was she to get back to the ground? But as she blew about the sky willy-nilly, she heard a sound behind her.

"Whatever are you doing up here?" asked a kindly voice. A coach, drawn by six white horses drew abreast of her; it was driven by an old Man with a long white beard. She knew at once it was the Man-in-the-Moon. When she explained her predicament, he drew her into the coach and took her back down to the Earth.

She found her master standing in the field looking very dejected, and he looked even more so after the Man-in-the-Moon finished scolding him for putting her into a danger which he would not try himself.

As for Buttercup, she gave notice at once. Her master, now much chastised, paid her double wages. She tied them up in her kerchief and went back to her village and her family, who were much pleased both at her return and at her wages.

But her tale of what she had been through made her and all her family after resolve to keep their feet firmly planted on the ground. 

B2MeM Challenge: Canon Couples, B-7, " Imrazôr /Mithrellas"; Crossover2, "Romance", B-7
Format: Dribble
Title: Storm Debris
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Imrazôr , Mithrellas
Pairings: Imrazor/Mithrellas
Author's Notes: I borrowed the term "Ossë's wrath" from surgicalsteel. In Unfinished Tales we are told that it was in just such a storm that Amroth's ship was swept from shore. Nimrodel's party was lost in the mountains at the time. I am imagining here that Mithrellas is found unconscious afterwards, alone and separated from the rest of the party, as Imrazôr and his people are surveying the storm damage.
Summary: Imrazôr comes upon Mithrellas.

Amid the mighty wrack and awful ruin of Ossë's wrath
there in wild disarray was found the senseless form
of a maiden, her hair an inky pool
in which her pale face was framed.
Clearly she was of Elven kind,
lost, far from her people.
Imrazôr looked upon her
and being moved
lost his
heart.

B2MeM Challenge: Poetic Forms: B-7, "Haiku"
Format: Haiku
Title: March 25, T.A. 3019
Genre: Poetry
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: (implied) Frodo
Pairings: N/A
Summary: A new year, a new era, begins

Not birds or flowers,
But fire and sacrifice brought
A happy new year.

B2MeM Challenge: N-31, Art Supplies, "Beads"; N-31, Crossover, "Folk or fairy tale", N-31, Food, "Pasta (including noodles)"
Format: Short Story,Frame Story
Title: Gone is Gone (the Hobbit Version)
Genre: Folk tale
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Rose Gamgee, the younger Gamgee children
Pairings: OMC/OFC
Author's Notes: This Middle-earth adaptation is based on "Gone is Gone", a translation of a Bohemian folk tale by Wanda Hazel Gág. It is in the third volume of the 1954 edition of Childcraft. Those orange-backed books were a main source of my early childhood reading, and I still own them, worn as they are. This particular tale was definitely a favorite of mine and always makes me giggle hysterically.
Summary: Rose Gamgee tells the children the tale of Noddy Button, who gets more than he bargained for.

It was a very quiet evening at Bag End. Sam-dad was away at the Great Smials, reporting on some Mayoral duties to Thain Peregrin, and he had taken Elanor and Frodo along with him. The babies, Bilbo and Ruby, were already sound asleep in the nursery. Rose-lass had recently learned to make beads out of flower petals, and was patiently showing her younger sibs how to string them. Mother Rose sat in her armchair by the hearth, knitting and enjoying the unusual peacefulness, and knowing it would not last long. She was surprised though, at what broke it.

"Mam, could you tell us a story?" asked Rose-lass. "I know Sam-dad or Elanor usually tell the stories, but you know some, too, don't you?"

Rose was startled at the request. It was true enough, evenings at Bag End most often found the family listening to Sam telling stories of his Adventure in the wide world, or Elanor entertaining them with fanciful tales of the Elves. It was rare for Rose to even have the opportunity to tell stories.

She smiled. "Why, let me think...ah, I know!"

"Now your Grandmother Lily, she says this story is about a farmer named Button who lived over Michel Delving way. Some as tells it says 't was a Puddifoot from Needlehole, and your Uncle Merry swears he was a Sandybanks from Stock. But I'm going to say it was Noddy Button, who lived on a little farm on the White Downs, because I never knew my ma to be less than truthful."

"Noddy Button had a pretty and clever wife named Blossom, a daughter named Posy who was not yet even a faunt, and they had a little dog named Brownie.

The had a shaggy cow, two goats, a pig, and a dozen chickens. They lived in a small smial dug into the side of a little hill in the center of the farm.

Noddy had to plow in the spring, and sow, and then hoe the ground. He had to cut the hay and rake it and bind it into haystacks. He was a hard-working hobbit, as most hobbit farmers are.

Blossom had the hole to clean, six meals a day to cook, the butter to churn, the chickens to feed, the garden to tend and little Posy to take care of. She worked just as hard as most farm wives do.

Yes, they both worked hard, but Noddy always thought he worked hardest. Every evening when he came in, he'd fall down in his chair and wipe his brow with a large yellow handkerchief and he'd say: "Oh, it was so hot today I thought I'd melt! And the plow was so heavy. Blossom, you just don't know how hard I work, little do you know! Your work is like nothing at all."

Now most days Blossom just listened to him talk, but one evening, she got tired of hearing about it, and she said, "It's not as easy as you might think, Noddy Button!"

"Pshaw!" said Noddy. "All you have to do is potter around the house a bit. There's nothing hard about it."

Blossom had her back turned to him as she scrubbed a pot, and he didn't see her purse her lips. "Well, if you think so, then maybe we should take turns. Tomorrow I'll go out in the fields and do the sowing, and you can stay here at the smial and potter around. If you think you can, of course."

Noddy smiled at the idea. He'd lie in the grass and keep an eye on Posy, sit in the shade and churn, cook some soup, play with the dog. He could do that easily.

Well, Blossom got up early, ate some toast and porridge and tea for first breakfast, and packed up her provisions for second breakfast, elevenses, and luncheon, and headed out for the fields with a big smile on her face.

Noddy decided to fry himself a nice string of sausages for his second breakfast, and so he put the skillet on the fire, and the sausages were just sizzling away when Noddy had an idea: a mug of ale would go well with those sausages. So he set the pan down on the hearth and went down to the cold cellar to draw a mug of ale. He pulled out the bung, and watched the ale foam into his mug. He grinned in anticipation.

But just then he heard a clatter and and clang above! The sausages! The dog! He dashed back to the kitchen, and no sooner had he done so than he saw Brownie race by, the sausages in his mouth. "Hoy!" shouted Noddy. "Come back, dog!" But Brownie was off like an arrow, and Noddy stood no chance of catching him.

He sighed. "Well, what's gone is gone." He started to reach for his handkerchief and noticed something in his hand: the bung! He had run off with the bung, and now the ale was pouring out. He turned around and ran back as quickly as he could, but too late-- the barrel was empty and there was a puddle of ale on the cellar floor.

Nobby looked sadly at the ale, and then sighed. "Ah, well, gone is gone..."

Since second breakfast did not look likely, he decided to get on with his next chore, which was to churn the butter. He took the churn and his little daughter out to the shade of a large chestnut tree. The breeze was pleasant, and the tree was filled with birdsong, which made a pleasant accompaniment to Posy's wordless singing.

"Now this is the way to work," said Nobby, as he churned away. But pretty soon, he began to hear a very pathetic sound; it took him a moment to realise it was their cow! She'd had no water all morning! Leaving the churn behind, he raced first to the well and then to the barn with a bucket of water. The cow was very glad to have water, but Noddy could tell she was hungry too. He decided to take her to the meadow. But wait-- he couldn't leave Posy alone that long!

Suddenly he had a wonderful idea! He'd take the cow up to the roof of the smial! It was just a hilltop, wasn't it? And covered with nice fresh grass, as well! He could just take her up there. So he took the cow, and led her up the back of the hill to the rooftop. But from the rooftop, he could see little Posy, who was trying to find out what was in the churn. Before he could even shout, she'd pulled it over on herself. Now she lay on the ground, laughing and covered in butter and whey!

"Oh dear!" he said. "That's the end of today's butter. Oh well, what's gone is gone." He climbed down and picked up Posy and took her to dry in the sun. Realizing how late it had become, he knew he needed to start the soup. He rushed out to the garden and began pick all sorts of vegetables: beans and peas, carrots and parsnips, onions and potatoes, celery and parsley. In fact, his arms were so full that he couldn't latch the gate behind him. He scurried into the kitchen, and sitting down on a bench, began to cut and pare the vegetables. He worked quickly, peelings and parings flying about the room like leaves in a storm.

But now there was a loud noise above him. "Bother!" he exclaimed. " It must be that pesky cow!" He put down the knife and went out to the shed, where he grabbed a coil of rope. Then he went up on the roof and tied one end about the cow. But there was no handy tree to tied the other end to. So he dropped the other end of the rope down the chimney. Then he went back into the kitchen, took that end and tied it about his waist. He grinned to himself at his cleverness. Now she could not easily get loose without his knowing it. 

He set a pot of water on the hob. "Now for some of those noodles Blossom dried the other day…" But he never got that far.

The cow slipped off the roof with a loud bump, and Noddy? Well, poor Noddy was pulled right up to be stuck in the chimney!"

"Noddy's silly!" said Goldilocks emphatically.

"Indeed he was, my chicklet," said Rose. She waited until the laughter from her brood had died down to occasional giggles and snickers, before taking up the thread of the story once more.

Well you can imagine Blossom walking home from the fields. She was tired, and had to admit that ploughing and sowing were very hard work—but they were much more peaceful a task than any she had to do at home! But what was the first thing she saw? The cow, hanging down half-throttled, with her eyes bulging out. Quickly, she ran and cut the poor creature down. It wobbled about looking very confused, but at least it was alive, thank goodness!

She looked around and the next thing she saw was the garden gate wide open, and there were the the goats, the pig and all the chickens, full as could be—but the garden was cleaned out.

Blossom walked on, and what did she see next? The churn upside down and little Posy, sticky with dried whey, asleep in the grass. Next to her, lying on his back and moaning a little, was Brownie, his belly clearly full of something he should not have been eating! Blossom picked up Posy, who barely stirred, but murmured "Mama". On into the kitchen she went, only to see the floor covered with vegetable peels and parings, and littered with dirty dishes and pans. Where on earth was Noddy?

Finally she looked over at the hearth! There in the fireplace was the soup kettle and sticking out were two arms and two wet furry feet, and she heard a weak gurgle.

"Stars and garters!" she exclaimed, as she rushed over to pull Noddy out of the soup pot. For of course, when she had cut the cow loose, poor Noddy had fallen right down, splash! into the pot! Thank goodness the fire had not been lit.

"Noddy Button!" she said, looking at her dripping husband, "Is this the way you keep a hole?"

"Oh, Blossom! Your work is a lot harder than I thought it was!"

" 'Tis a little hard to begin with, I suppose, but you'll get used to it. I'm sure you'll do better at it tomorrow…"

"No! No!" cried Noddy. "You are much better at it than I am! I'll go back to my plowing and sowing and reaping after this, and never again will I say my work is harder."

"Never?" asked Blossom.

Noddy shook his head as hard as he could. "Never!"

Blossom folded her arms and stared at him for a moment. "If that's how it is, we can live in peace then. But not before you clean up the mess you've made."

The children were all howling with laughter. Merry and Pippin were rolling around on the floor, beating it with their fists and kicking their feet, and Rose-lass was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

Hamfast sat up, still giggling and chortling. Finally, he managed to speak. "Mam, you should tell us stories more often! You are funnier than Sam-dad!"

Rose smiled, gratified. Maybe she should, once in a while. 

B2MeM Challenge: G-51: Canon Couples, "Arathorn/Gilraen"
Format: Dribble
Title: Ivorwen's Foresight
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Ivorwen, Arathorn, Gilraen
Pairings: Arathorn/Gilraen
Summary: Ivorwen knows her daughter's heart...

My daughter is yet young and he is anything but.
Yet it is clear her heart has found home;
and his eyes light up in her presence.
Nothing we can do can save her
from a fate so freely chosen.
He'll meet a warrior's end;
she will be left
with the child
who is
Hope.

B2MeM Challenge: Canon Couples N-38, "Valacar/Vidumavi"
Format: Dribble
Title: Alliance
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Valacar, Vidumavi
Pairings: Valacar/Vidumavi
Summary: Valacar finds more than he meant to on his mission to Rhovanion...

He rode North to a distant land, young and untried,
at his father's bidding, seeking knowledge, adventure and alliance.
What he found was an alliance most unexpected.
Fair she was, with hair like sunlight,
and eyes like a summer sky.
She had an unbridled laugh
and an honest tongue.
He loved her:
to Gondor's
ruin.

B2MeM Challenge: Canon Couples, O-67, "Faramir/Eowyn" (this does not count, as it wasn't done in time.)
Format: Dribble
Title: Blue Mantle
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Faramir, implied Eowyn
Pairings: Faramir/Eowyn
Summary: Faramir goes in search of a special gift.

He climbed the stairs to that part of the Tower
where none had dared to go for many years.
Behind the locked door lay his mother's rooms,
kept untouched, shrine to his father's sorrow.
Within he found what he sought:
soft star spangled twilight,
a waterfall of velvet.
It will suit
his shieldmaiden
well. 

B2MeM Challenge: I-27: Canon couples, "Pippin/Diamond", I-27: Shirish, "Astron ("spring is in full bud")
Format: Dribble
Title: Astron Wedding
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Pippin, Diamond, assorted hobbit wedding guests
Pairings: Pippin/Diamond
Summary: It's a perfect day for a hobbit wedding.

Spring is in full bud and the clouds skitter high
in the heavens, a perfect day for a wedding.
Family and friends, kith and kin, all gathered
to celebrate an event most eagerly awaited—
especially by the bride and groom.
His heart is in his eyes;
he sees only her:
dashing Captain Peregrin
and his
Diamond. 

B2MeM Challenge: B-4, Canon Couple, "Beren/Luthien"; Food, "Bread
Format: Dribble
Title: Together Always
Genre: Romance, Poetry
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Beren, Luthien
Pairings: Beren/Luthien
Summary: The simple life can be appreciated after long trials and adventures...

We walked hand in hand in the forests of Ossiriand;
and beyond the River Gilion we found Tol Galen.
On that green isle we made our peace--
a quiet home such as mortals treasure.
There we brought forth our child,
And Beren tilled the soil
and I made bread.
We lived happily
and died
together.

B2MeM Challenge: O-64, Crossover1 (with one of Tolkien's other books); Hobbits, "The Lockholes"
Format: Ficlet
Title: Hope Is a Waking Dream
Genre: Crossover
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Fatty Bolger, Lórien, the Man-in-the-Moon
Pairings: N/A
Author's Notes: This is a crossover, LotR with Roverandom and The Silmarillion. I like to think that one way in which the Powers could help the peoples of Middle-earth was through the gift of rest and hope. And as for the Man-in-the-Moon, his realm (in my mind) encompasses and exceeds Arda, though his charges are any children who can see the Moon from whatever universe they dwell. It seemed possible to me that he might collaborate with Lórien to provide a respite for a weary prisoner. The title is a quote from Aristotle.
Summary: In dreams may sometimes come rest and surcease from sorrow...

Fatty woke up feeling strangely refreshed. He had not had one of those dreams since he was a very young child; he never talked about those dreams, but they had always felt so real. He had been a child again, playing in a garden of silver and grey and white, under stars brighter than he'd ever seen before, but the only colour to be seen was a large blue and green moon... All those friends of his childhood whom he most missed were there: Frodo, Merry, Pippin—even Folco, which should have made him melancholy, but did not. They played and romped and leapt high in the air. They were being watched over by an old Man, who looked rather like Gandalf, but was not quite—and one who seemed remarkably like an Elf—but somehow Fatty knew he was not, he was more…

Even though he lay in filth on a hard dirt floor, his good mood remained, and he felt so hopeful. Something good was going to happen; these evil Men and their Lockholes could not endure. There was still beauty in the world outside these walls and high beyond the reach of the Ruffians, or even the Great Enemy who had been searching for Frodo. He drifted once more into sleep.

Lórien looked down at the peaceful smile on the face of the dreamer, and then to the one who sat beside him. "Thank you!"

The Man-in-the-Moon chuckled. "My garden is usually for children; adults cannot usually find their way here. But this one has a valiant spirit and a good heart and a great need to remember more innocent days…he is more than welcome."

B2MeM Challenge: N-32, Art Supplies, pastels; Hobbits, The Tooks (won't count for Bingo; too late)
Format: Frame story; Ficlet
Title: Tookish Tradition
Genre: Story
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Pippin, OFC (his oldest daughter, Primrose)
Pairings: N/A
Author's Notes: This has been part of my headcanon for years, that Great Smials Tooks say 'mother' and 'father' instead of using diminuitives for their parents; at last I have the chance to explain the story behind it.
Summary: Pippin explains a Tookish custom to his daughter.

"Papa?" Pippin gave a start; in the pleasant spring afternoon, sitting with his back against a tree overlooking the green hills, he'd nearly dozed off with a pipe in his hand, which would not do with daughters, nieces, nephews and cousins to watch over. Most of them were racing about just below him, but Primrose had chosen to sit with him, plying her pastels and her sketchpad. She was a rather accomplished young artist. He and Diamond had considered sending her to Buckland to study under Cousin Celandine for a while to develop her talent even more.

"Papa?" she repeated, impatient that he'd not spoken immediately.

"Yes, Prim?"

"Why does Cousin Rosamunda disapprove of us?"

" 'Us'?" Pippin asked sharply. "Which 'us' does she disapprove of? She's half-Took herself!"

"She thinks it is quite disgraceful that we-- er, your children-- still call you and mama, well, 'papa' and 'mama' instead of 'mother' and 'father'. She says that Tooks always say 'mother' and 'father' once they are out of faunthood, and that it is 'common' for us to be saying 'papa' and 'mama' at our age."

Pippin burst out laughing. "Cousin Rosamunda thinks too much of appearances, Prim. I have no intention of enforcing that silly rule anymore. It only goes back to the Old Took anyway, and I don't think it would have continued as long as it did if it hadn't been for Mistress Lalia and her own obsession with appearances. It suited her to have something that set the Tooks apart."

"But why did the Old Took make the rule in the first place, Papa? And why didn't you and mama make us call you 'mother' and 'father'?"

"Well, to answer your last question first, we were living in Buckland at the time, and your mother and I always thought it a very silly rule; from the way the story was told to me, so did the Old Took-- he only made the rule out of frustration."

Prim put down her sketchbook and turned to him, intrigued. "Frustration?"

As I heard the story, a Took cousin who had always lived in Tookbank married a lass from Bywater. He got a position here at the Great Smials as a recordkeeper for the pony stables and moved here with his bride. All was well until she found herself in the family way and they began to prepare for the coming of the babe. One day as they were preparing the nursery they had a discussion about what the child would call them when he or she got old enough to talk. Well, the wife was all for 'mam' and 'dad' as that was how she was brought up, while the husband favored 'papa' and 'mama' as they had always said in his family. Probably their argument would have been settled comfortably if they had been living in a little place of their own, but they got rather loud, and pretty soon people began to put their own opinions in and to take sides. In only a few days, the Great Smials was in an uproar, and a number of hobbits old enough and up until then, presumably wise enough, were no longer speaking to one another; or worse yet, were only speaking to argue.

Perhaps it didn't help that this all happened when folks were cooped up from a spell of rainy gloomy days. The Old Took had just about as much as he could stand after only a few days.

And so he sent out a message that all Tooks who lived in the Great Smials were to be at supper in the main hall that night. He stood up and made an announcement:

"No more will Tooks argue over what children are to call their parents! 'Mother' and 'Father' are perfectly serviceable and useful words. Therefore, and until I say otherwise all Took children above faunthood will say 'mother' and 'father'! There will be no more arguments on the subject from now on!"

Well, that was the Took's word, and a lot of Tooks were embarrassed about the way they'd behaved, and some Tooks thought that 'mother' and 'father' sounded grander than 'mama' or 'mum' or 'papa' or 'da', and so it came to be the custom until many had forgotten the origins. I've heard the Old Took came to regret his fit of pique, but for fear of starting the whole mess up again, he never rescinded the order.

"And when Lalia came along, it suited her fine, because she liked the idea of Tooks sounding 'better' than other hobbits. My father grew up with the whole idea, so it never bothered him. But I spent a lot of time in Buckland and Hobbiton as I was growing up, and I always thought 'papa' and 'da' sounded much more affectionate and friendly. Cousin Rosamunda was brought up in the Great Smials during Lalia's heyday, so you can see why she thinks as she does. Just ignore her; your Uncle Merry does-- she sniffs every time she hears her grandchildren calling their father 'Da'."

Primrose looked up at Pippin, and giggled. "She does! I've noticed that!"

"Yes, she does! But she can't object, because they are Brandybucks, not Tooks."

"Thank you for telling me about that. We Tooks are interesting, I think!"

Pippin burst out laughing. "I think we are, too, my little flower, and what's more, I know people from one end of the Two Kingdoms to the other who would agree!"

B2MeM Challenge: O-62, Crossover2, Poetry; Food, Potato; Shirish, Solmath
Format: Poetry
Title: Ode to Potatoes
Genre: Poetry, Parody
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: Sam Gamgee
Pairings: N/A
Author's Note: I've tried poems in Ogden Nash's style in the past—but this particular grouping of prompts woke up my Ogden Nash muse again. One of the hallmarks of Nash's humorous style are lines which are very mismatched in length and scansion. Also you will notice a famous line from movie-verse in this one.
Summary: Another poem in the style of Ogden Nash.

Solmath's wet and grey and gloomy;
Makes a room feel not so roomy.
Gets a gardener feeling doomy,
Thinking that this bloody month will last forever, and spring will never bloom-y.

Potatoes.
I want to plant potatoes.
Potatoes.
Not tomatoes.

Cut those little spuds up and put them in the ground,
Where they will grow down, down, down,
And then form little potatoes nice and round,
And never make a sound.

Potatoes are delicious when they are very new—
Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew
Whether you have many or a few,
But best of all is you can cut them into nice little chips and fry 'em up nice and crusty, too!

But potatoes are delicious when they have grown big,
Nice earthy ovals that a gardener can dig
And some say big ones are only fit for the pig,
But I say bake 'em nicely in the embers 'till they're roasted to a turn, and fill 'em up with sour cream and butter which some folks say is bad for you but I don't give a fig.

Potatoes.
I want to plant potatoes.
Potatoes.
Not tomatoes.

Not that I have anything against tomatoes; everything in its own time.
When its warm enough for tomatoes, perhaps I'll make another rhyme… 

B2MeM Challenge: B-13, Hobbits, "The Battle of Bywater"; Poetic Forms, "free verse"
Format: Poetry, Free Verse
Title: Open Eyes
Genre: Poetry
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters: An unnamed ruffian
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Not all were ruffians from the start...

I didn't know when we came here, I didn't.
There was a few of us, just a few, I'm sad to say even that many,
of us who closed our eyes to all but the coin and the chance to make a bit, easy.
They came up from the South to Bree and Archet and Staddle
with golden coins and promises.
We learnt soon enough, but we dursn't say a thing,
not even to one another,
soon enough not even to cringe or roll our eyes at one another.
We'd find ourselves in hot water if we did.
The others, the ones who'd promised us the coin,
the ones who bragged of easy pickings--
they kept a tight hold on us,
made us do some of the dirty work, too,
till we were as dirty as them.
A couple of recruits managed to slip away before it all came down on us,
the lucky birds.
The rest of us, us who had closed our eyes till we got here,
well, we got our eyes opened for us.
And even if we didn't like what we had to do,
we did it anyhow.
I did it anyhow.
Just to save my own neck.
And just to save my own neck
I was glad to see the end.
Some of us, we just sat down and let it happen,
let the little folk take their own back
and show us over the border;
I thought I'd leave my shame behind, go back to Bree.
But how can I ever look in a mirror again?
I did it to make a little coin.
I did it to save my own neck.
I can't say now it was ever worth it.
What am I worth now?

B2MeM Challenge: Shirish: B-7, shirriff, "a feather in your cap"
Format: Ficlet
Title: Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds
Genre: Character Study, Gapfiller
Rating: G
Warnings: N /A
Characters:Robin Smallburrow, Sam Gamgee, Tom Cotton, Merry Brandybuck
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Robin Smallburrow becomes a shirriff.

Robin Smallburrow gave a miserable nod. "Aye, I am that nervous, Sam, my palms are sweating."

Tom Cotton, on his other side, gave a chuckle. "You'd think you were going a-courting, Rob, instead of just going for shirriff."

Rob turned to him, his eyes wide. "Just going for a shirriff? It's only what I've wanted to do since I were a faunt! To go about the Shire, helping folks out, with a fine feather in my cap!"

"Well," said Tom, with a teasing glint in his eye, "I can help folks out here at home, and with a mort less walking!"

Sam chuckled. "Someone might think you were lazy, talking like that, Tom Cotton! You better not let the Gaffer hear you. He might think twice about you courting my baby sister!" Truthfully, Sam knew Tom didn't have a lazy bone in his body, but it was fun to see him blush.

"I've been waiting so long," said Robin earnestly. "With only three to Shirriffs to a Farthing, a post don't come open too often."

Sam slapped his hand on Robin's shoulder. "Yes, but you've volunteered to help ever since you was a tween. Now that Old Matty Puddifoot is ready to retire his spot as the head of the Westfarthing patrol, you'll be the natural pick to fill the last position." Sam kept his mouth shut about the fact that no one else was interested. Who'd want to spend so much time away from home? But he knew how important this was to Robin.

Robin nodded, and then stiffened up as Merry Brandybuck came his way-- he knew Merry, who was a frequent visitor to Hobbiton where he came to spend time with his cousin Frodo-- but Merry was gentry, and made Robin more than a little nervous.

"Uncle Paladin and Mayor Whitfoot are having a little word as to who will be head of the Westfarthing patrol. Carl Twofoot and Ruddy Sandybanks both started around the same time; but I'm pretty sure the Mayor is going to choose Carl-- he's lived in Hobbiton all his life, and Ruddy only moved here twenty years ago."

Sam looked at Robin's anxious face-- he could tell that Robin was dying to ask about the junior position, but didn't dare. "Mr. Merry? Any idea if they've decided about the last place?"

Merry chuckled. "Well, it won't be Pippin. He's still not of age yet, and even though Uncle Paladin at one time thought it might be a good way to get some of the Took restlessness out of him, after that trick he tried to pull with that minstrel a couple of years back, he won't dare let Pippin roam so close to the Bounds."

Merry glanced at Robin. It wasn't his place to say anything; that was up to the Mayor-- even more than to the Thain, although it was the sort of thing the two of them consulted on. But he allowed himself a hint of a smile-- perhaps that would be clue enough for Sam's friend.

The younger hobbits observed the group standing next to the Shirriff-bell. The Mayor reached out and clasped Carl's hand first, and the other hobbit at his side clapped Carl's shoulder in agreement. Carl nodded, and then the older hobbits looked up the hill to the waiting young ones. Carl strode up to them.

"Robin?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you still of a mind to be a shirriff?"

Robin's round face split into a joyful grin. "Am I, sir? Oh yes, sir!"

Carl nodded, smiling back at him. "Report to the Post Office tomorrow at eight o' clock, then, and get your feather! I know you'll work hard, Robin, and make a very good shirriff!"

Robin waited until Carl had strode away before leaping into the air, pumping his fist, and shouting "Yes!"

Sam, Tom and Merry all grinned at him, Sam giving him a slap on the back, and Tom a quick hug. Merry stood back, knowing such attentions from him would be embarrassing, but he said: "How about a visit to the Green Dragon? I'll stand a round of drinks to celebrate!"

And so it was, though his friends made sure he did not have so many beers that he'd be miserable in the morning.

Robin Smallburrow wandered home under the stars that night, knowing he'd never regret becoming a Shirriff...