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auntiemeeshLast post of the night, folks. Honest, I promise!
I've been working on my untitled Merry!fic and chapter three is ready for your viewing pleasure.
Part Three
By the time he returned from Rushy the next day, Merry was feeling very tired and discouraged. He’d had a restless night, with vague, formless dreams that had none the less been unsettling. Then he arrived in Rushy and surveyed the amount of damage from the most recent floods. It was a very low-lying area and the river had overflowed its banks the previous week. While the water had mostly receded by now, the fields were a sodden mess. One farmer had lost nearly his entire flock of sheep, and several others had suffered as well. Merry spent most of the day in meetings with Tom Tunnelly, Mayor of Rushy, and the town councilors, negotiating supplies and aid to help the area recover.
Arriving back at Brandy Hall late in the day, Merry wiped his feet on a foot-scraper at the door and went in search of his father.
“I really think building a dike is the only solution,” he insisted, a short time later, comfortably settled into a chair in front of a fire in his father’s study, pipe lit and a glass of port at his side.
“And who’s going to pay for this dike?” Sara asked challengingly.
“I’m not stupid, Dad,” Merry responded, trying hard to keep his temper. “I know it’s going to be expensive, in terms of time, money and labor. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t need to be done.”
“Humph,” Saradoc mumbled around his pipe stem.
“Look,” Merry stood and moved over to his father’s desk, pulling out a map of the area in question. “It only needs to stretch about a mile and a half in length, on the west bank of the river, and there’s no need at all on this side. It will cost a lot, yes, but sending relief to them two and three times a year when they get flooded out is far costlier in the long run.”
Merry proceeded to flesh out the idea he had, and his father listened attentively. By the time they separated to seek their beds, Saradoc was, if not entirely convinced, at least willing to consider the idea. His main objection, when it came right down to it, was that the Brandywine had been flooding its banks at that spot for more years than anyone could recall and folks had been dealing with it just fine, and he regarded any new idea with suspicion. It would take a little while before he would feel truly comfortable with the idea, but the seed had been planted. There would have to be a great deal of considering and researching before any decisions could be reached, but Merry was pleased with the evenings discussion.
It was well after midnight when Merry awoke with the smell of burned flesh in his nostrils. He’d had that dream again, the one with Frodo and Sam, the one with burnt flesh and skeletal grins. The first time he’d had this dream, while traveling to Cormallen and not knowing if any of his friends were alive, he’d thought it was just fear and uncertainty speaking. Now, knowing that his friends were safe and well, he didn’t know what inspired that particular dream to continue to haunt him. None of the other dreams that he’d had that first horrible time had recurred, his mind choosing instead to create new horrors for him each time the Shadow afflicted his sleep, but this one, with Sam and Frodo grinning fleshlessly at him while playing dice, had continued to haunt him.
It was a long while before his breathing settled and the smell faded from his awareness. Slipping out of bed, he pulled on his robe and padded silently through the corridors of Brandy Hall, thinking that a warm drink from the kitchen might help him return to sleep. An hour later he was still in the kitchen, a cup of warmed (and now mostly cooled again) milk forgotten between his hands.
He should return to bed, he thought, but he didn’t want to dream again and if he just sat here long enough, morning would come and he would have plenty of things to do to keep him busy and distracted. He was interrupted in this plan a few minutes later, when his mother wandered into the kitchen.
“What are you doing up in the middle of the night, Mum?” Merry asked in surprise.
“The same as you, I’d imagine,” Esme replied as she poured milk from a large jug into a pot which she set to warming. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get myself some warm milk. It usually helps.”
“Do you get up often, in the night?” Merry was somewhat startled by this idea.
“When I was young,” Esme explained, “I never woke in the night. Mother sometimes said the Smials could collapse around me and I would continue sleeping, with a smile on my face. That all changed when you were born.” Her eyes glowed warmly as she looked at her son. “When you were a baby, you were such a night owl. Always wanting to be held and played with instead of sleeping.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever told me that before,” Merry said, an amused smile crossing his face.
“And when you were older,” she continued, “I learned how to be a light sleeper so that I could catch the sound of a little hobbit lad attempting to sneak out of his room at night. Luckily you were a sound sleeper for the most part and you didn’t wake often, but there were a few nights that you gave me quite a scare.”
Esme chuckled as a particular memory surfaced. “Do you remember when you broke your collarbone, swinging on that old vine? You were laid up for days and when you had started to feel better, you kept us all hopping. And not just during the day, either. You seemed to think that if you just waited until after dark, no one would be watching and you could get out of bed and walk about. We had to watch you like a hawk and I almost despaired of you ever resting long enough to heal.” She chuckled and Merry wondered at how she could find humor in a situation that must have been so worrisome at the time.
“I don’t think I slept one night straight through, while you were away,” Esme said, her voice dropping into more serious tones. “At first we thought you’d just taken it into your head to go on a silly little jaunt, and your father was so angry that you’d just take off like that. Then poor Fredegar was attacked and it all came out. I thought I might never sleep again, not knowing if you were well, or even still alive.”
There was silence for a moment then, broken by Esme as she turned her attention to the milk heating on the stove. “Almost ready, I think. Can you find me a mug, Merry-mine?”
Wordlessly, Merry stood and walked over to the hutch that held a collection of somewhat roughly made clay cups and dishes. They’d been made by the potters’ apprentices over the years and put here for the use of the servants, but Merry’s family had long since fallen into the habit of using them when eating or drinking in the kitchen.
As he handed the mug over, his hand brushed against his mother’s for a moment and she gasped. “Oh, Merry, your hand is cold.” She looked at him intently, milk forgotten. “Has it started, then?”
TBC
I've been working on my untitled Merry!fic and chapter three is ready for your viewing pleasure.
Part Three
By the time he returned from Rushy the next day, Merry was feeling very tired and discouraged. He’d had a restless night, with vague, formless dreams that had none the less been unsettling. Then he arrived in Rushy and surveyed the amount of damage from the most recent floods. It was a very low-lying area and the river had overflowed its banks the previous week. While the water had mostly receded by now, the fields were a sodden mess. One farmer had lost nearly his entire flock of sheep, and several others had suffered as well. Merry spent most of the day in meetings with Tom Tunnelly, Mayor of Rushy, and the town councilors, negotiating supplies and aid to help the area recover.
Arriving back at Brandy Hall late in the day, Merry wiped his feet on a foot-scraper at the door and went in search of his father.
“I really think building a dike is the only solution,” he insisted, a short time later, comfortably settled into a chair in front of a fire in his father’s study, pipe lit and a glass of port at his side.
“And who’s going to pay for this dike?” Sara asked challengingly.
“I’m not stupid, Dad,” Merry responded, trying hard to keep his temper. “I know it’s going to be expensive, in terms of time, money and labor. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t need to be done.”
“Humph,” Saradoc mumbled around his pipe stem.
“Look,” Merry stood and moved over to his father’s desk, pulling out a map of the area in question. “It only needs to stretch about a mile and a half in length, on the west bank of the river, and there’s no need at all on this side. It will cost a lot, yes, but sending relief to them two and three times a year when they get flooded out is far costlier in the long run.”
Merry proceeded to flesh out the idea he had, and his father listened attentively. By the time they separated to seek their beds, Saradoc was, if not entirely convinced, at least willing to consider the idea. His main objection, when it came right down to it, was that the Brandywine had been flooding its banks at that spot for more years than anyone could recall and folks had been dealing with it just fine, and he regarded any new idea with suspicion. It would take a little while before he would feel truly comfortable with the idea, but the seed had been planted. There would have to be a great deal of considering and researching before any decisions could be reached, but Merry was pleased with the evenings discussion.
It was well after midnight when Merry awoke with the smell of burned flesh in his nostrils. He’d had that dream again, the one with Frodo and Sam, the one with burnt flesh and skeletal grins. The first time he’d had this dream, while traveling to Cormallen and not knowing if any of his friends were alive, he’d thought it was just fear and uncertainty speaking. Now, knowing that his friends were safe and well, he didn’t know what inspired that particular dream to continue to haunt him. None of the other dreams that he’d had that first horrible time had recurred, his mind choosing instead to create new horrors for him each time the Shadow afflicted his sleep, but this one, with Sam and Frodo grinning fleshlessly at him while playing dice, had continued to haunt him.
It was a long while before his breathing settled and the smell faded from his awareness. Slipping out of bed, he pulled on his robe and padded silently through the corridors of Brandy Hall, thinking that a warm drink from the kitchen might help him return to sleep. An hour later he was still in the kitchen, a cup of warmed (and now mostly cooled again) milk forgotten between his hands.
He should return to bed, he thought, but he didn’t want to dream again and if he just sat here long enough, morning would come and he would have plenty of things to do to keep him busy and distracted. He was interrupted in this plan a few minutes later, when his mother wandered into the kitchen.
“What are you doing up in the middle of the night, Mum?” Merry asked in surprise.
“The same as you, I’d imagine,” Esme replied as she poured milk from a large jug into a pot which she set to warming. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get myself some warm milk. It usually helps.”
“Do you get up often, in the night?” Merry was somewhat startled by this idea.
“When I was young,” Esme explained, “I never woke in the night. Mother sometimes said the Smials could collapse around me and I would continue sleeping, with a smile on my face. That all changed when you were born.” Her eyes glowed warmly as she looked at her son. “When you were a baby, you were such a night owl. Always wanting to be held and played with instead of sleeping.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever told me that before,” Merry said, an amused smile crossing his face.
“And when you were older,” she continued, “I learned how to be a light sleeper so that I could catch the sound of a little hobbit lad attempting to sneak out of his room at night. Luckily you were a sound sleeper for the most part and you didn’t wake often, but there were a few nights that you gave me quite a scare.”
Esme chuckled as a particular memory surfaced. “Do you remember when you broke your collarbone, swinging on that old vine? You were laid up for days and when you had started to feel better, you kept us all hopping. And not just during the day, either. You seemed to think that if you just waited until after dark, no one would be watching and you could get out of bed and walk about. We had to watch you like a hawk and I almost despaired of you ever resting long enough to heal.” She chuckled and Merry wondered at how she could find humor in a situation that must have been so worrisome at the time.
“I don’t think I slept one night straight through, while you were away,” Esme said, her voice dropping into more serious tones. “At first we thought you’d just taken it into your head to go on a silly little jaunt, and your father was so angry that you’d just take off like that. Then poor Fredegar was attacked and it all came out. I thought I might never sleep again, not knowing if you were well, or even still alive.”
There was silence for a moment then, broken by Esme as she turned her attention to the milk heating on the stove. “Almost ready, I think. Can you find me a mug, Merry-mine?”
Wordlessly, Merry stood and walked over to the hutch that held a collection of somewhat roughly made clay cups and dishes. They’d been made by the potters’ apprentices over the years and put here for the use of the servants, but Merry’s family had long since fallen into the habit of using them when eating or drinking in the kitchen.
As he handed the mug over, his hand brushed against his mother’s for a moment and she gasped. “Oh, Merry, your hand is cold.” She looked at him intently, milk forgotten. “Has it started, then?”
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 12:43 am (UTC)But his mother coming to the kitchen like that was nice; I liked the easy way she joined him, and her stories of how he was as a baby and child. I'm really looking forward to more.
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Date: 2005-10-31 10:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 02:55 am (UTC)I'm glad Esmie came though and the memories she told him were all very nice. I love how you fill the story with everyday details from the life at the Hall too, that is so nice to see. Eagerly anticipating more! :D
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Date: 2005-10-31 10:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 05:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 10:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 10:24 am (UTC)