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Odds and Ends - A Collection of Curious Drabbles
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Preface: A "drabble" is a short piece of prose of exactly 100 words. A double drabble (exactly 200 words) is a "drouble". A "tribble" has 300 words. A "quabble" has 400 and a "quibble" 500. More than that and you've got yourself a "ficlet".

Drabbles and any variations thereof that are posted here were counted with MS Word.



Odds and Ends

- a collection of curious drabbles -


"If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them…

What do you have left? Is it an odd or an end?"



There was the gleam of precious jewels, almost hidden behind dark rocks. A thrill of excitement swept through the dwarf. It felt almost like the sweet touch of a dwarf-girl’s silken beard upon his chest.

He raised his hammer, willing his heart to surrender to the beauty of jewels and precious ores.

But alas! The priority of his people was forever lost to him.

Worldly riches would never satisfy him again.

He clasped the crystal pendant around his neck and remembered her gentle words.

You will be safe from greed, Gimli son of Glóin.

And Gimli knew that he was.


The Bell of Truth

- dedicated to my beta-reader Riverotter

There is a truth to the heart of things and creatures, be they tree or stone, elf or men. It is a truth deeper than what you can see, a truth that lies beyond what you can touch, a truth that says more than any name.

As my hands glide down your body and your golden hair flows over my brown skin, I feel the great bell of this truth begin to toll, a deep solemn sound reverberating through our bodies and our souls.

You are the one for me.

I am the one for you.

Goldberry and Tom.



Quantum Physics

- dedicated to my beta-reader ObsidianJ

It is not very likely that a ranger and four hobbits will come knocking on your door. But as far as electrons are concerned, likely is all you are going to get in this world.

Imagine them in front of your door!

Strider – nobly dishevelled, looking forward to a pint.

Four hobbits – cheerfully hungry. Frodo, thoughtful. Sam, rather shy. Pippin, with a birthday-trick in his pocket. Merry, ready to give you a song.

It is not very likely that they are outside right now.

But if someone knocks on your door in a minute, are you going to open it?


A tribute to Werecat’s haiku “Brown Spirit”

“Put aside that old injury. It is time to let go!” The white wizard advised. He was on his way to the Grey Havens and had come to bid a friend farewell.

The younger man stroked a black cat that was curled up on his lap.

“A fool, he called me,” he said in a low voice. His eyes were gentle and brown, the same colour as his robes. A sparrow on his shoulder nibbled at his earlobe.

“But I have only praise for you, and respect,” said Gandalf. “Walk the vast forests of Arda, and be happy, my friend.”


Wizards, Fireworks and Fairy Tales

The dwarf boy was tiny still; barely able to look over the table – but his bright eyes showed that an equally bright mind was at work in that small head. With bated breath the still beardless dwarf listened to the stranger.


Incombustible armour, to wear when fighting against dragons!

Rings that could make their bearer invisible!

Gimli son of Glóin gave a rapturous applause, when the old wizard finished his tale.

One day, the dwarf boy promised himself, one day he would go out adventuring with Gandalf the Grey – and then it would be him to tell those tales!


A Wedding Invitation

With forceful strides he covered the distance.

Soon the landscape changed. The change was subtle at first, then more and more noticeable. He left the plains of Rohan behind him, as well as the forests of Fangorn and the steppes of Dunland.

It was a long way, to be sure.

But he had walked greater distances with less cause in his long forgotten youth.

However, Treebeard could not help but feel apprehensive; he knew that the wedding invitation had been nothing but an excuse.

What if the rumours were true, and there were indeed entwives still alive in the Shire?


The Peacock’s Lament

The song of the peacocks echoed in melancholy wails under the blood-red dawn of the desert sun.

He stretched. His bones ached from the cold that had crept into his thin mattress during the night. All around him the tents were struck. Get up at daybreak and ride all day, make haste, make haste, for another war.

Another worthless war. He clenched his teeth. Worthless?

At least his taking up the sword for the Dark Lord in that Black Land far to the North had saved his family’s freedom. Once more.

But what if he did not return this time?


A Real Expert

The wizard watched with interest as the black tomcat approached the table. The cat was an expert; there was no doubt about that. He melted into the shadows of benches and chairs, twined swiftly around legs and feet, his gaze unerringly on his aim: the bacon on the plate.

The wizard leaned back, his hat to tilting forward, assuming the posture of an old man dozing off after a filling meal.

The cat moved smoothly, every whisker, every feel-hair under control, only the slightly twitching tail a sign to betray his concentration.

How he made it onto the table, even the wizard did not see. But he caught the bacon in the last second before it fell prey to this hunter of the night.

Gandalf clapped his hands in applause. “Excellent, excellent, Master Cat! I may have a task that might interest you. A task that requires a real expert…”


Shadows in the Darkness

When the guard beheld the darkly looming shape, he tried to make himself believe that this was just another stranger… but there was that whispering in the fog… a sigh creeping into the very marrow of his bones… so soft that he should not be able to understand one word … yet so evil that he felt his hair turning white on the spot, including the bush between his legs…

“Show this to the king under the mountain! A message from the king of shadows! Think again: do you really not know of the whereabouts of this one tiny ring?”


An Obscure Paradise

With every step into the caves, the elf grew quieter. His eyes, used to tracing the light of dewdrops caught on gossamer, delved deep into soothing shadows. His ears, accustomed to the warble of woodland birds, became attuned to the echo of crystal-clear water dropping to shape shimmering stalagmites. His heart, normally speeding up at racing the wind over wide plains, began to beat heavily at columns of green beryl aglow in the flickering light of Gimli's torch.

"You were right," he said at the closing of the day, his voice filled with astonishment. "This is indeed an obscure paradise."


Hope? Not

Not a particular beast, she was. Neither strong, nor brave. An in-between-beast, she was.

Eldest, she was, the last of her kind, caught between the darkness of primeval forests and the light of stars.

Youngest, she would be, the first of her kind, mother of all that would fly in the dawn of this new age.

Now she was nothing but a beast of burden, carrying this black man to war.
And she was beginning to doubt the truth of his master's words.

The wind did not taste of a new age for her kind.

It just stank of death.


A Pirate of Umbar

He sang to the sea.
He sang to the wind.
He was a sailor out of Umbar, singing to the sea and listening to the wind.

Aiaiaiaiai… his girl was so pretty…
Aiaiaiaiai… the gods smiled at him…
Aiaiaiaiai… they would see him safely home…

Across the sea,
across the wide, wide sea…

Aiaiaiaiai… so he could drown in her beauty…
Aiaiaiaiai… so he would not drown in the sea…
Aiaiaiaiai… so he could tell her –

So he could tell her –
Tell her –

That wherever he'd been –
There had never been –

No girl prettier than she –

And then he drowned.


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