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Tolkienolgoist's Creative Endeavors Hall!

Manveru

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Not only memory, but also feä... truly believe in that.
It has felt it all, feels and will always feel... especially that grass which grows on Rohan fields...
Oh, and thanks a lot, miss H. for "loving" it;).

*awaiting other "dares" *
 
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Hirila

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Thinking of feelings. Here is a little story... Unfortunatly story, but one of my favourite childrens' stories. I have to retell it from the memory.


It was spring and the grass was growing fast. So were all the other plants, the trees and the flowers.
And there was the daisy. For the first time it sticked it's tiny little head out of the earth and looked around. It wanted to grow and delight the world with its blossoming. But the grass around it wouldn't let it. The grass had old roots, that reached deep and it wouldn't step aside one bit to give the daisy more space, but it laughed at it. And so all it could do was try to reach directly upwards towards the sun with its leaves. So it was for a while.
Then a ladybug came by and he saw the daisy and flew down to it. It was crying.
"What's the problem, little one, what is it that bothers you?"
"Oh," said the daisy "I want to grow and blossom here, but the grass lets me not, and it is so strong and mean, it doesn't give me the space I need."
The ladybug replied "Daisy, why do you think the grass is stronger than you? See, you've got those wonderful strong leaves. Just place them in a circle all around you, press them down and tell the grass this is the spot were you inted to grow." And he moved on.
The daisy thought about this and then it took its leaves, arranged them in a circle around itself and then pressed them down on the earth, so they were lying flat around it, building the wonderful green circle of leaves we all know.
And it said firmly: " Here I am and here I intend to stay!"
The grass didn't laugh at this, but had to step aside and give the daisy the space it needed to grow into a beautiful flower.
And if chance leads you by the daisy when you walk on the grass, stop for a second and look, just how beautiful it is.
 

Eledhwen

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Death of a Worm

Frodo had invited Saruman’s cowering servant to break free. After all, Grima Wormtongue had done him no evil.

Saruman repeated Frodo’s words with an evil cackle that tore at Grima Wormtongue. “No evil?”

Grima trembled and the blood drained from his face. He knew his master was about to betray him.

He who had betrayed a nation was crushed. The noise and bustle of the angry crowd of Holbytla faded as his master’s cruel words continued. He realised that the old wizard was now addressing him: “But did I hear someone ask where Poor Lotho is hiding? You know, don’t you Worm? Will you tell them?”

Grima's mouth went dry. Oh yes, he had done evil to Master Frodo Baggins; a dark, secret deed that none would ever know of – he had his master’s word! He felt sick at the thought, and cowered under it. “No, no!” he whimpered, as he recalled the terrible power of his master’s voice on that night.

One of the large brutes of men in the master’s thrall had come with the news: the Ringbearer had returned; he and his companions had caused trouble at the gates and were now approaching along the East Road. Saruman dismissed him with orders, and turned to his servant. His expression was one of concern and pity. “It seems, Worm, that our little army may not be a match for these war-hardened travellers." He paused, then looked Grima in the eye with an urgent expression. "And you, my friend, are in some peril.”

Grima was puzzled. Had his master not said that they would never return, but spend their days in Imladris? No. He had misunderstood. Master was never wrong.

Grima’s mind tried to grasp this fresh news as the old lies he had believed dissolved from his memory like sand through fingers. Saruman continued: “Yes, Worm. Lotho, the Chief, the one you have been guarding as your prisoner for the past two weeks, is a kinsman of the fiercest and bravest of these Hobbits – the very one who contended with the Dark Lord Sauron and defeated him.” Saruman paused to let his words take effect. “I expect he will be wanting to see how things have been ordered in The Shire by Master Lotho, and I suspect that Master Lotho will not say kind things about his jailer.”

“You will save me. You will protect me!” Grima whimpered, pawing at his master’s cloak.

“Yes, Worm. I still have great power and authority; they know that. Why else did they treat us so courteously on the road? Yes, they still fear me. And yet…” Saruman paced. He seemed to be deep in thought and concern for his servant. “And yet, Worm, Lotho will betray you. He is one of them, and his kinsman is now a mighty Lord of whom songs are sung. And he has friends! There are hundreds, maybe thousands of these Shire rats, who were not always willing to share their harvest with those who have so kindly come to protect them and their lands. They are led by Lotho’s kinsman. You, Worm, shall need my constant protection. You should not be able to leave my side for one moment, lest you meet a knife in the dark or the shaft of an arrow. It would have been better if you had never lived, or if the Chief had never lived. And yet…”

“Yes?” Grima was eager to hear of any solution that would free him from his impending doom and give him even occasional relief from being within range of his master’s boot.

“And yet, you and I are the only ones who know what has befallen our little Chief, are we not?”

“Yes, master!”

“And if more should befall him, who would know except you or I?”

“Master?”

“It seems to me, Worm, that it is either you that receives the knife in the dark, or it is he. Your fate, Worm, is in your own hands, did you but know it.”

Saruman drew a short dagger from under his cloak and whispered softly as he held it out to his servant. “It is either you, or he.”

Grima took the blade. Saruman stood up straight and spoke again. “The earth is sandy, and soft to dig at the back of the hill. You would do well not to risk the fierce wrath of his kinsman, Worm, slayer of the Dark Lord!”


Grima trembled as he remembered, as if in a dream, the murder and burial of Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Fear, instilled by the words of Saruman, compelled him. “You or he!” They whispered over and over in his head.

He had vomited as Lotho’s blood was spilled – he had never taken anyone’s life with his own hands before, but he thought it would not be discovered. He shrivelled as Saruman revealed his terrible deed with such glee, and felt the anger of the crowd grow thick around him. He glanced up at Saruman, furtively, through the corner of his eye. His master’s mouth was curled into a joyless grin around his white teeth, mocking, his melodic voice still weaving its spells.

Saruman’s voice.

The voice had made him do it; the voice that must be obeyed; the voice that weaves dark spells with its very melody. Then he heard his own terrified voice escape through his clenched teeth, "You told me to; you made me do it".

The voice, still mocking, spoke again. Blinding pain and blackness followed. As Grima's vision cleared and blood trickled from his nose and lip, he recognised the feel of his master’s boot. Saruman’s voice, now matter of fact, was calling him to follow.

Fuelled by pain and betrayal, Grima's fear turned to blind fury. Under his cloak, he still carried the short dagger that had ended Lotho’s life. He closed his hand around its cold hilt and leapt at Saruman. I will silence the voice. I will silence it forever. And with a bound fuelled by fury, he leapt at Saruman and sliced into his throat.

Blood.

Flee! said the inner voice that had been silent. Flee! Maybe he yet lives.

Grima fled but a few short paces, and knew no more. And the voice of evil was silent.
 

Hirila

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Wow... Eledhwen.. that was a truelly creative and masterful piece of writing... It seemed to come right from the original. If there ever were amendments to the book to be made.. you should be one of the involved writers.
 

Eledhwen

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Hirila said:
Wow... Eledhwen.. that was a truelly creative and masterful piece of writing... It seemed to come right from the original. If there ever were amendments to the book to be made.. you should be one of the involved writers.
Thanks Hirila, but I wouldn't have the audacity to amend Tolkien (though I'm sure you don't think the books need improving). Tolkien himself hoped that others would build on his mythology, "I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama. Absurd." (Letter 131 to Milton Waldman). I hope the Professor would not mind my writing a little infill on a Great Tale.
 

Eledhwen

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Goldilocks And The Three Bears

I'm on a roll now (when am I ever going to get on with my book?).

This is a lighter one, from Hobbiton, in the beginning of the Fourth Age.
(time warning: it's about 4000 words long)

GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS -part 1 of 3

Goldilocks was beautiful. Her sister Elanor was ten years older, and was already known as ‘Elanor the Fair’, but Goldilocks had tresses of gold that twisted and curled down her back and bounced as she ran. Her laughter was like a ray of sunshine to the hearts of those who heard it, and many heard it for Goldilocks was a happy child.

It was a spring day just after Goldilocks’ seventh birthday. Elanor was busy in the kitchen with their other sister Rose, while their mother fed baby Ruby. The three oldest boys, Frodo, Merry and Pippin, had all gone out with their father, Mayor Samwise Gamgee, to the Three Farthing Stone. They were wearing their best clothes because they were to meet Thain Peregrine I, who ruled The Shire for the King. As Master Peregrine Took, The Thain had journeyed many years earlier with their father to far lands. The Master of Buckland, Meriadoc the Magnificent, who took that long journey with them when he was plain Meriadoc Brandybuck, would also be there; and they were all coming back to Bag End.

Goldilocks knew it was an important day, because her father had gone out wearing the Star of the Dunedain, given to him by the King. She had so wanted to go too, but was needed at home. She thought of the stories she had heard from the Red Book, of how Elanor had been named after the star flowers of Lothlorien. All her older siblings had been named after important people, she thought, Frodo after the Ringbearer, Rose after their mother, and Merry and Pippin after the Thain and the Master of Buckland. “And then I came.” She thought, “Goldilocks!” I’m just named after my own hair.

Goldilocks was not her usual happy self because she wanted to go too, but her mother needed help with her younger siblings, Hamfast, Daisy, Primrose and Bilbo. She wasn’t even allowed to wear her best dress. She had been given riding culottes on her birthday so she could mount a pony more easily, and Granddad Cotton had let her sit on his big old pony to try them out. But today, Goldilocks had to keep the little ones out of trouble, as best she could, and it wasn’t easy. Hamfast liked to dig holes in the garden and just stuck his tongue out if Goldilocks told him not to. Daisy and Primrose seemed to enjoy teasing each other, but sooner or later it ended in tears, and they seemed to be in competition as to who could wail the loudest. Little Bilbo had just learned to crawl, and Goldilocks had already had to pull him out of Samwise’s study twice that morning.

Her bout of self-pity was suddenly interrupted. “They’re Here!” Elanor happened to look out from the round kitchen window as a file of ponies began to plod up the slope towards Bag End. “Oh my!” exclaimed mother. “Quick, Goldilocks, help me with this apron.”

Soon even Bag End, the largest hobbit hole in Hobbiton, looked full as old friends swapped recent stories and old reminiscences. Goldilocks loved these visits, but this time was extra special. Faramir, The Took’s son, had come on his own little pony. Goldilocks was wide-eyed with delight. Already taller than most eight year olds, Faramir looked very tall and important on his brown pony, with its shiny saddle and plaited mane. The Thain stood next to her father and smiled at the two children. Samwise looked a little concerned. “Are you sure you want to do this, Pippin?” he asked. “Yes, Sam, I’m sure. She is ready. Carl!” The Thain called to his groom, a young, eager hobbit with a big smile. He stepped in front of the crowd leading a small dappled pony and stopped by Goldilocks.

“Oh he’s beautiful!” she exclaimed as she stroked his neck. “Whose is he?”

“I’m sorry it’s late,” smiled the Thain. “Happy Birthday Goldilocks!”

Goldilocks’ mouth opened wide. “Birthday? For me?”

“I’ve seen you with beasts, Goldie,” laughed the Thain. “You will take good care of him, I know. What are you going to call him?”

“He shall be named after someone very important.” Answered Goldilocks. “I shall call him Elrond.”

The Thain laughed again. “It gets better! Merry, I hope that saddle is fine enough for master Elrond here.” Meriadoc pushed his way forward carrying a beautiful saddle just like Faramir’s “The very finest!” he laughed. “Happy Birthday Goldilocks.”

“Thank you Uncle Merry! Thank you Uncle Pippin!” She ran and hugged them both, her eyes glistening with joy. “Can I ride him now?”

Carl secured the saddle and helped Goldilocks onto her new pony. “Can I take him for a ride?” she asked, pleadingly.

“Of course, my little golden girl,” said her father. “Faramir will go with you in case you get lost.”

“I never get lost,” argued Goldilocks, “I know the way home from everywhere.”

Mayor Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc the Magnificent and Peregrine, Thain of the Shire, looked knowingly at one another, and remembered a time when they thought the same; when The Shire was all the world they knew. Samwise smiled at his little girl. “Everywhere is a bigger place than you think, Goldilocks. On a pony you can find yourself quite far away without realising it. Off you both go, and take care now.”

“We will,” answered Faramir. “I thought we might cross the fields to Bindbole Wood; the bluebells should be in flower and they are best there.”

“Mind you go straight North,” warned Samwise. “and stay clear of the bog.”

The children gave their assurances. Rosie had finished feeding baby Bilbo and came out with a covered basket. “You’ll be hungry by the time you get there, no doubt; and you can’t beat a bluebell wood for a picnic, but be back before nightfall.”

“Thank you Mother,” said Goldilocks gratefully as Rosie strapped the basket securely, “we will.” The children bowed politely and set off down the lane.

As the ponies trotted through the narrow lanes between the fields, people stopped their work and waved; and children ran indoors to announce that Goldilocks Gamgee and Faramir Took were riding past. The two young riders were unaware that they were held in high respect, owing to the fame of their fathers; and for those who did not get to Hobbiton often to see the wonderful Mallorn tree from the Elf woods, Goldilocks’ bouncing golden curls were a reminder to all of Samwise Gamgee’s generous use of his magical Elf-dust when The Shire was despoiled and devastated, turning it instead into a rich flowering garden-land.

“Everyone’s noticed my new pony!” laughed Goldilocks. Faramir did not answer. In the narrowest lanes, he chose to ride behind her, so he could watch her golden curls bouncing and swaying as she rode along, and could not believe that anyone would want to admire her pony when the rider was so beautiful.

Presently they came to the woods, and the bluebells were just coming into full flower. They rode side by side at a walk. Faint gusts rustled in the tall beech trees, and caught up the scent of the bluebells. The woods smelt as beautiful as they looked. The children found a clear glade carpeted with short emerald grass. “I think the Magic reached these woods too.” Said Faramir as he spread a blanket and unpacked the basket, “Look at these daisies, proud as any garden flower in high summer.” They gave the ponies a long tether; the grass seemed to be much to their liking and the children did not relish trying to catch them if they were loose.

The glade was warm in the afternoon sunshine, and it was early enough in the year for the picnic not to be plagued by insects, which sometimes wafted in from the Rushock Bog. After they had eaten, Goldilocks sat in the grass and made daisy chains. She made a daisy crown for her head, and a necklace. “Look at me, Faramir, I’m a queen!” she said. There was no answer. Faramir had fallen asleep on the blanket. Goldilocks sighed. She wasn’t feeling in the least bit sleepy, and now she had no-one to play with. “I shall go and pick some bluebells for Mother,” she decided. Picking up her cloak and the empty basket, she walked a short distance into the wood and looked around for the best bluebells: just a day or two short of full bloom.

The warmth of the glade had made the nearest bluebells bloom early, and they were already fully open. Beautiful though they were to look at, they would spoil too quickly. Goldilocks walked a little further into the woods where it was cooler, and put on her cloak. She found what she was looking for. She carefully picked one bloom then walked a few paces before picking another, so as not to spoil the display for other picnickers. She had picked about half a dozen blooms this way when, in the distance, she saw a rare clump of white bluebells. She gave a little squeal of delight and ran to pick some. Mother will love these, she thought. Their scent seemed especially sweet too. She covered her basket and turned to walk back to the glade. Her heart sank. The glade was no-where to be seen. “Faramir!” she called, “Where are you?” No answer. How far had she strayed? She could only guess.

“Oh no. What shall I do now?” She sat on a fallen log and tears welled up in her eyes. But she was Samwise Gamgee’s daughter. Plain Hobbit sense soon took over from despair. She would wait until the sun came out from behind its cloud, then she would know which way to go.

... continued ...
 

Eledhwen

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GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS -part 2 of 3

An hour went by. Goldilocks noticed that instead of the sun coming out, the afternoon was becoming gloomy. It would soon be dark. “How can I have been such a fool?” she wondered. “Faramir will never find me before dark. I will have to guess the way.” She looked around for any signs she could remember. She had seen a great hollow tree, ivy clad not long ago; but now it was nowhere in sight. All the time it was growning darker. Goldilocks took a deep breath and strode purposefully in the most likely direction.

As she walked, the day waned to gloom, and then to darkness. Soon she could see stars peeking between the young leaves in the tree canopy. Unseen roots tripped her up, and strange rustling noises alarmed her as the night creatures began to venture out. Goldilocks was so determined to find the glade that it was well into the night before she realised that she was not heading for the edge of the wood, as she had hoped. She wrapped her cloak around her and settled down on a bed of dry beech leaves to sleep.

Goldilocks awoke at the first light of morning. Her daisy chain had wilted and fallen off. Her cloak was wet with dew and she ached. “Now for another march.” The language of adventure came easily, as scarcely an evening went by when the Gamgee children did not pester their father for a story of the Ring or the Battle of Byewater. Goldilocks took her basket and marched resolutely forward. She knew the woods were not over large, and must come to an end if she just went in a straight line, which was easier said than done when there were always trees in the way.

The morning sun was high when she thought she smelt woodsmoke. Her heart grew lighter as she thought of finding a friendly hobbit family going about their morning business on the edge of the wood. She followed the scent as best she could, and was surprised to find that it led to a man-sized cottage right in amongst the trees. A glade alongside was cultivated as a vegetable garden, spangled with flowers and white beehives. Goldilocks thought it very beautiful, if a little large.

She walked up to the front door of the cottage and knocked boldly. Never in her short life had it occurred to her that she would receive anything short of a warm welcome at any door in The Shire; why should this one be any different? However, there was no answer. She knocked again, louder, and bruised her fingers. She waited and listened. Maybe they could not hear her. Near the door stood a pile of logs. She chose one easy to roll and pushed it up to the door. Standing on it, she could just reach the latch. The door swung open.

“Hello!” called Goldilocks. No reply. She stepped inside. “Hello!” she called again. A merry fire was blazing in the hearth. She set down her basket and looked around. A table was set with three bowls of porridge. Goldilocks loved porridge. She went to the table and climbed upon the largest chair. From there she could just reach to climb onto the table, where she sat cross-legged. She took the wooden spoon from the largest bowl and sipped the porridge. “Ow!” she cried. The porridge was far too hot. She tried the next bowl, which was smaller, but the porridge had already gone cold and lumpy. “Yuk!” she said. Just then she noticed a small bowl at the other end of the table. It also had porridge in it. By now, Goldilocks was really hungry, so she shuffled along the table and sampled the porridge in the smallest bowl. It was just right and ready to eat. She tried a second spoonful, then a third. Before long she had eaten the whole bowlful. I do hope they don’t mind, she thought. I was so hungry.

She crawled back along the table to climb down onto the large chair for a rest, but when she sat on it, it was so big and hard that she just could not get comfortable. She jumped down and climbed on the next chair, which was a bit smaller and covered in cushions. In fact, it had so many cushions on it that she kept falling between them. “This won’t do!” she muttered, and climbed down to the floor. At the far end of the table, she saw a little chair, which she would not have to climb to sit on. She ran up to it and sat down. It was just the right size. She smiled and gazed at the burning logs in the fire. How sleepy she felt all of a sudden. She swung the chair onto its back legs, but it was not made for such treatment and the legs broke beneath her. With a crunch, she fell to the floor, shattering the rest of the chair beneath her.

“Oh no!” she said. “Now I’m for it. I shall have to stay and explain, I suppose.” She stood up. The fall had made her ache even more, and she was still sleepy. She decided that she might stay awake better if she explored the house. She pushed a large wooden door, and it swung into a cosy room with three beds in three sizes. That’s the last thing I wanted to find if I intend to stay awake, she thought. A bedroom!

There was a stool next to the largest bed, which was next to a window. She climbed up using the stool, and looked out of the window. There was no one about. She tried a quick bounce, but the bed was very hard. “What do they stuff the mattress with?” she wondered, “Logs?” There was a table between the bed and the next one, which was a little smaller. Goldilocks stepped onto the table and balanced between brushes, combs and a washbowl to get to the next bed. As soon as she stepped on it, she fell over, plump! Her face was buried in a thick down quilt topping several soft blankets. “How does anyone sleep in this without drowning?” she wondered. With difficulty, she slid off the bed and arrived next to the smallest of the three beds, which she could get onto without climbing. It was springy, stuffed with fresh meadow hay and covered with smooth sheets and a soft blanket. It was so comfortable she laid her head on the pillow, and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

As mid-day approached, a family of bears, two adults and a cub, entered the glade by the small house, and sniffed at the beehives. They seemed content, until the cub gave a squeal. He was looking at the door of the cottage, which was ajar. A log was lying across the entrance. The large male growled, and all three trundled swiftly towards the cottage. They paused at the door then entered slowly.

Carefully, they walked around the table, inspecting the sampled porridge bowls and the shattered chair. The cub whined pitifully, and his mother nuzzled him to console him. The adult male pushed open the bedroom door and entered, followed closely by the other two bears. He sniffed at the stool and the large bed then leapt up, sniffing the coverlet and growling softly. The mother bear examined the soft bed and did not look happy. The cub squealed excitedly, and the adult bears looked across. A little hobbit lass was lying there, fast asleep. Her golden tresses cascaded down the pillow and over the side of the bed.

At the cub’s squealing, Goldilocks woke up. There, staring at her, were three bears! Now Goldilocks should have been quite alarmed at this sight, especially on awaking, but she had heard far too many stories of adventures to see her own predicament. She was excited and delighted.

“Good morning, bears!” she said, leaping out of the bed and curtseying so suddenly that the bears took a step back. “I am sorry to intrude in this way, but I am lost. I was picking bluebells and it got dark, and I did not sleep well. I’m afraid I fell asleep waiting for you, and oh!” she put a hand over her mouth. “I am afraid I broke a chair!”

The bears looked at each other. Father bear grunted and left the room. The other two followed close behind. With no invitation to follow, Goldilocks sat on the bed again. She could hear their noises in the kitchen. Presently, she heard voices. “Visitors!” she said excitedly. She stood up and ran to the door, where she bumped into a small boy, about four years old, but already taller than herself, as he was a Man-child. Behind him stood a woman with a kind face. “Come into the kitchen, dear,” she said. “I will make you some more porridge if you like; or maybe you would prefer some warm milk if you’ve already eaten enough.” She smiled kindly. Goldilocks thanked her, introduced herself, and followed them through to the kitchen. The man was outside, bodging new legs for the broken chair.

“Where are the bears?” asked Goldilocks presently. She was drinking fresh warm goats milk from a wooden cup. The little boy looked up and laughed.

... continued
 

Eledhwen

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GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS -part 3 of 3

“Don’t you know?” asked the woman. “We thought you understood straight away, when you woke up and saw us without taking fright.”

“You are Beornings!” exclaimed Goldilocks with sudden delight, “Shapeshifters!” I thought you were east of the Misty Mountains on the far side of the River Anduin.”

“Most are,” answered the woman. “Though only a few of our clan now have the gift. It is fading as our sons and daughters marry ordinary folk.” She poured more milk into Goldilocks’ cup as she spoke. “I am Bronwen. This is Beodda. Outside is my husband, Albeorn. When Beorn moved into the Misty Mountains, his family grew and spread. We moved to Evendim, where the hills and water are now clean and safe; and now we have come close to the borders of your own land, where our bees may cross over and drink from the Elf-blessed flowers, though we will not cross it. And you, Goldilocks, we have heard of already. For are you not the daughter of Samwise, who went with Frodo the Ringbearer and brought back the Elf-blessing?”

"Yes, of course," said Goldilocks. "Everyone knows that."

"And everyone stops to look at you as you pass by; for your hair shines with the light of the Elves, a token of the blessing of the Lady of the Wood."

"I never thought of it like that," admitted Goldilocks, and she fell silent while she finished her drink. Presently, her mind returned to the woods, and how far she was from home.

“So I am not in The Shire here. Can you tell me where the border is?” she asked.

“It runs through these woods, child, though it is not marked.”

“Please,” asked Goldilocks, “Will you help me find my way back?”

“Of course!” answered Bronwen. “Right after you’ve finished eating.”

Bronwen and Beodda went outside to speak to Albeorn while Goldilocks finished her breakfast. She jumped down off her stool and went outside to join them. Bronwen and Beodda were there, but where Albeorn had been there now stood a great brown bear. Goldilocks curtseyed low.

“Albeorn will carry you on his back. We know the glade you described, though he takes a great risk – men like to shoot bears, and they will be searching for you.”

“They are hobbits, not men,” answered Goldilocks, “and I will call out as we go so they know not to shoot.”

“That will be a help,” answered Bronwen. “May the Great Ones of the West keep you safe.”

Goldilocks thanked Bronwen and Beodda again, and Bronwen lifted her onto Albeorn’s back. “Don’t forget this,” she said, and handed Goldilocks her basket, which was quite heavy. Almost immediately, Albeorn sped off into the woods.

Goldilocks shouted “Hello!” over and again as the great bear ran through the bluebells, just in case an archer was lurking in the shadows; and more than once she thought she had seen one, only to see them transformed into a broken tree stump or bramble bush as they got closer.

Goldilocks thought the day would be over before Albeorn found the glade, but the sun was still strong as he broke through the trees and startled a group of hobbits preparing a meal around a campfire. Two had bows nearby, and reached for them, but Goldilocks shouted, “Don’t shoot! It’s me!” at the top of her voice. Albeorn lowered himself gently to the ground and Goldilocks slid off his soft, furry back. Before she could thank him, he turned and ran back into the forest.

“Goldilocks!” Samwise ran out of the woods opposite, where he had been searching. He swept his little daughter off her feet and wet her cheeks with his big tears. “I thought we’d lost you!” As he spoke, Meriadoc ran up with the Thain and Faramir close behind. Faramir was leading his own pony, Billy, and Elrond.

Goldilocks began to cry. “I got lost, Father. I am sorry, I didn’t notice until it was too late and then I couldn’t find my way back. The Beornings rescued me.” Samwise set his daugher down on the grass and looked at her in wonder. Immediately Faramir rushed up and gave her a big hug. “I was so scared, Goldie. I waited in case you came back. I knew they would come to find us when we didn’t return. I kept Elrond safe for you.” Goldilocks hugged him back.

"Thank you, Faramir. Though I have decided not to call him Elrond after all. I think he will have a name like mine, named after his own hair. I will call him Misty."

Samwise, Merry and Pippin all laughed together. "Well, not quite so grand, but more appropriate maybe," said Thain Peregrine at last. "But did I hear you say Beornings, Goldie? Are they here in The Shire?” asked Meriadoc in wonder.

“No, not inside; just outside, to the North.” Answered Goldilocks. “That was Albeorn who brought me back. His family still have the gift.”

The Thain looked very concerned. “I have been told that bears wander these woods. There have been hunting parties out trying to snare them, but they have been too clever. Now we know why! I will have the hunting stopped immediately. We cannot have the descendants of Beorn murdered in The Shire.”

“They don’t cross into The Shire, Uncle Pippin,” answered Goldilocks, “just their bees, and no-one’s going to shoot them! To drink from the Elf-blessed flowers of The Shire is all they want.”

“The Beornings do not cross the border, but it is not marked; so hobbits might. I’ll make the Law anyway,” said the Thain.

The scare of losing Goldilocks made the friends remember how much love they all shared. That night, the story of Bilbo’s visit to Beorn was told over buttered toast and the finest honey they had ever tasted. The group all stayed at Bag End more days than they originally intended as the story carried on in the following nights to the Lonely Mountain and the Battle of the Five Armies.

Goldilocks grew even more beautiful, and when they were both full grown, Faramir Took asked for her hand in marriage. They were married under the Mallorn tree, and Goldilocks wore flowers from Albeorn’s garden in her hair, in a garland specially woven by Bronwen. Thain Peregrine I, the groom’s father, read out a message of congratulations from King Elessar.

Goldilocks and Faramir made their home in Tuckborough, though they often went to Bindbole wood for picnics and to visit old friends, especially at Bluebell time.

THE END

*Edited because I missed a bit of the story out.
 
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Eledhwen

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Fair was she, long ago, who wore this on her shoulder

Who was it wore the blue set brooch
That Goldberry now wears
In memory of maiden fair,
Who long ago had tarried there.
What were her loves and cares?

Who was it wore the blue set brooch
With many shaded hue?
To match bright shining eyes, maybe
or memory of the western sea
Glinting icy blue.

Who was it wore the blue set brooch?
Bright Elf, or mortal Queen
Of Westernesse by blood and bone,
Now lying in the cold dark stone
Beneath the barrow green?

Who was it wore the blue set brooch?
Whose shoulder, long ago
Was Iarwain remembering,
His deep respect rekindling?
Will I ever know?

Eledhwen
 

Gandalf The Grey

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TINU BRONIOL

In snow-sifted darkness I stretch burning hands,
follow down Silmaril slivers encircling
the green medallion of the Party Tree.
Piercing shafts through patchwork clouds
shake starlight even to the realm of those
whose reach is small.

Soon even the memory of snow
melts like lembas untasted.
But in my quest to carry the memory of starlight,
I shall touch the steaming surface
even as it draws itself away at my grasp
into an invisible impression of handprints,
mine no longer.

Candle-flame rises from a spark enduring.
Specks of answering flame peer
through round windows not my own.
Outside, I stretch a tapered handful of burning
in farewell, to leave with the snow.
There will be other snows, if less magical.
And I hope to return to the warmth
of the Party Tree in midsummer
under the clearest sky.

-- Gandalf the Grey
 

Gandalf The Grey

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Thank you, Lonna and Eledwhen! * bows * :)

Eledhwen, I am in your debt ... for if I intended to write about fireworks, it was purely subconscious, and awaiting your serendipitous interpretation! :)

As for your most recent poem, "Fair was she, long ago, who wore this on her shoulder," you pay a wonderful tribute to Tom Bombadil, Goldberry, and the long-lost (original?) wearer of the redeemed heirloom ... Sooth, as a writer you play your own part in carrying on the legacy of transforming fallen treasure into a keepsake more beautiful for the personalizing and the sharing of it.
 

Manveru

(former)blue angel of GoT
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if i had a heart that beats
it would be cracked at this
seeing this lovely thread hits
the bottom of the forgotten valley, forgetting gentle breeze
and sunshine and all that's good for growing...
but, luckily my heart's taken, stolen and held tight
so i just write this way to lift this thread once again into the light
crying: don't let it so simply die out!

(thank you for enduring this "reminding-blabla";))
 

Finduilas

Hope brings Death...
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And while in light of aglow sun,
respectfully I step and bow to Man.
;)
 

Manveru

(former)blue angel of GoT
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Man bows and rises
(or rather trying)
comp's caused his spine-crisis
all muscles are dying
so, pls, give a hand
help the old rascal
don't let him fall nose-to-sand
isn't it logical?
;)
 

Finduilas

Hope brings Death...
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I give a helping branch,
but it breakes with a crunch.
I pass a 'mighty' belt.
Hey, look how it fell! ;)
So what I gave at last
was my hand and dying past;
to use it and so to create,
'cause to make beauty is your fate.


(Invites Man to start the season!) ;)
 

Manveru

(former)blue angel of GoT
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the season has started already
with your helping hand
together let's find some remedy
for this noble thread to stand
once more, on the ground still firm
with mighty lines marching...
(and not only in short term)

come join us, friends
well known and those not yet met
lonesome keeper greetings sends
let us shame all - i bet
there are better word-weavers
that every finds in oneself
let's make Daeron's ego quiver
and outrun even Feanor himself...
:p
 

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