Disclaimer: All the settings and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. These drabbles and ficlets are my way of working out or interpreting ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's Note: This page of drabbles is centred around the theme of stories, legends and tales. I never planned such a theme, but people's individual requests seem to create one on their own.

Chapter Eight: Stories, legends and tales

With this drabble (written for Shirebound's birthday), who the questioner and the replier are is up to your imagination.

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O what is a library to a hobbit?

An odd and dangerous place where Shirefolk seldom go.

Tell me--what is a library to the eldest of Bilbo’s young cousins?

It is promise, adventure, and knowledge.

Please tell me about the ancient library of Imladris.

It is an oasis. It is calm. It is reassurance.

And he who is troubled will find heart’s ease.

And will that respite help carry him through his trials?

It will not, for knowledge alone cannot help him in his darkest hours.

But for a short time it will bring him comfort.

It is enough.

This drabble, for Riddlemaster's birthday, was written to answer the request: "Though [Frodo] is a tragic figure in a sense, I would like his drabble to be filled with hope."

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The children of Brandy Hall clamoured for more of the Travellers' tales. But when an older lad asked for one of the Dark Lord, a younger hobbit piped up in confusion. "Who was he?"

And when the youngest were led away by Esmerelda, and Merry began his story, Frodo sat back and closed his eyes in quiet joy.

The young did not know, at first hand, of the evils that could have been. They had no need or occasion to know until they were deemed old enough for tales.

The Shire had truly been saved, even if not for him.

Finally, this drabble for Westmoon only needed to feature Frodo prominently in order to make her content.

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The Orphan of Brandy Hall throve upon stolen mushrooms in the Marish.

The Master of Bag End did not grow much hobbit-sense, yet the lads and lasses of Hobbiton seemed not to mind.

The wise Ring-bearer saved Middle-earth and the people were grateful.

The blessed pherian Iorhael lived out the remainder of his years on Tol Eressea.

"He was from Buckland," said Merry proudly.

"He was from Hobbiton," said Sam stoutly.

"He belongs to all the peoples of Middle-Earth," cried the scholars.

But Círdan only smiled and heard the waves of the Sea murmur against the shores of Mithlond.