auntiemeesh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
auntiemeesh) wrote2006-01-21 06:47 pm
auntiemeesh) wrote2006-01-21 06:47 pm
Entry tags:
more fic for you
Well, I'm just in the ficciest fic writing mood ever, so here you go, a bit more of Luster.
Chapter two
betaed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pipspebble
Pippin wandered aimlessly through the woods for well over an hour, breathing deeply of the fresh air and relishing the quiet. Only when the light of the setting sun glanced through the trees did he begin to think about retracing his steps. Looking around to get his bearings, he frowned. He’d gone farther into the woods than he’d realized; it was going to be a long walk back to Tuckborough.
“No matter,” he told himself, speaking aloud, his voice echoing through the stillness of the snowy woods and startling a hare; the creature bounded off in a flurry of disturbed snow, bringing a smile to Pippin’s face. Taking his cue from the departed hare, he adjusted his pack and set off in the direction of home.
The snow was not as deep under the trees, a fact Pippin appreciated more and more as he walked. Unaccustomed to wearing boots, he found them cumbersome and uncomfortable. They were heavy, slowing him down, and the back of his left heel was starting to burn painfully with every step. At least it wasn’t still snowing, he reflected. Or at least, no new snow was reaching him under the trees, aside from the occasional clump that fell from an overloaded branch.
It wasn’t until the last light from the setting sun disappeared that Pippin realized he’d failed to bring a lantern along. “Well, that was just daft,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t sure exactly when his lovely, idyllic afternoon had turned sour, but it was definitely feeling less lovely by the minute now. It grew quite dark very quickly, with clouds covering what little bit of the sky showed through the trees. There was a faint illumination from the snow, but only just enough to let Pippin pick a path around shadowy trees and indistinct lumps that might be drifts of snow or fallen limbs and no way to tell the difference until he banged a toe against something solid. To make matters worse, the temperature was dropping and a bitter wind had risen with the setting of the sun.
Wrapping his cloak tightly about him and pulling his hood close to his face, Pippin slogged on, muttering to himself about the stupidity of a hobbit who couldn’t even remember to bring a lantern when going for a ramble in the woods late in the afternoon in the winter. Luckily, he knew these woods well and even the unfamiliarity of dark and snow was not enough to turn him around. He knew where he was and it wouldn’t take more than half an hour or so to make his way to the edge of the trees, he reasoned, and from there it was a short walk to Tuckborough. To distract himself from the cold while he walked, Pippin allowed himself to daydream about arriving at the Sheaf and Shears, where a pert young serving lass would bring him a piping hot bowl of lamb stew, or maybe some lovely fried potatoes with sausage. Yes, that sounded like just the thing.
Walking briskly and thinking about a hot meal and a pretty lass soon had Pippin feeling much better and he began to enjoy his walk again. He was humming a popular walking song under his breath when an ominously loud crack caught his attention. He paused for a moment as he tried to locate the source of the sound, which echoed through the woods confusingly, but saw nothing that looked out of the ordinary. He took another step forward just as there was another sharp crack, this time clearly coming from above. He looked up in time to see a thick pine branch, overly laden with heavy snow, break away from a tree directly to his right. He had just enough time to register his danger but not enough time to get clear before the limb struck him.
***
The common room of the Floating Log, Frogmorton’s only inn, was crowded with hobbits come to complain about the snow, drink a pint with their pals or just escape the cold for a bit. Merry sat at one end of a long common table, nursing a half and finishing up his supper. He was bored, having been cooped up in Frogmorton all day with very little to do. He’d stopped here last night on his way to Bag End for a visit and the overnight snow had stranded him. If only he hadn’t insisted on walking, he lamented again. Sometimes Frodo was just a bad influence, and Merry vowed to tell him that as soon as he reached Bag End. If he ever reached Bag End.
“Ah, Mr. Merry,” the innkeeper came over to his side. “I’ve some good news for you. The post rider just made it through, and he said the roads are in pretty good shape between here and Hobbiton. Provided we don’t get any fresh snow overnight, you should be able to go on tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ham,” Merry said with a grin. “In that case I’ll wish for clear skies tonight.” Downing the last of his ale, he stood. It was early yet, and there were hours to pass before bed. Merry decided to take a stroll around the town before retiring to his room. Bidding the landlord good afternoon, he pulled on his cloak and headed out.
It was cold and dark outside, with a thin veil of clouds covering most of the sky. Looking up, Merry saw a few bright, intrepid stars peeking through the veil, but most would stay hidden tonight. Sighing, Merry just hoped the clouds would hold off dumping any more snow on the Shire until after he’d finished his journey.
Frogmorton was a thriving town, straddling the East Road, with several smaller lanes and byways branching off on each side. Merry spent an hour diverting himself by wandering up and down the lanes. Most of the shops were closed at this hour, but he found a glassblower’s shop that was still open. A little bell above the door tinkled when he walked in, and a young lass came out of a back room to greet him.
“Hello, sir. May I help you with anything?” She was a bonny lass, Merry decided, with rosy cheeks, light brown hair pulled back in a braid and covered with a kerchief, and a pleasingly plump figure. Taking a second glance, he thought she looked familiar.
“Estella Bolger?” he asked, uncertain.
“Aye,” she paused in her own turn, scrutinizing him. “Ah, Meriadoc Brandybuck. I thought you looked familiar when you came in.” She blushed, only slightly, as she said his name.
“And has your family taken up glassblowing, then?” Merry asked, thinking it odd that Fatty hadn’t mentioned such.
“This is my uncle’s shop,” she answered pertly. “Mum’s brother Boldin. His wife is feeling poorly right now, so I’m helping out with the store until she’s better.”
“I see,” Merry murmured. He felt oddly unprepared for this encounter and couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. The last time he’d seen Estella, she had been a skinny little teen with dirty feet and a sunburnt face. Now, well, now didn’t bear too much thinking about with her standing right there waiting to find out how she could help him.
“I…ah…I’m looking for a…gift…for my Aunt,” he said, thankful for the inspiration. He had, after all, planned to stop at the Smials at some point during this visit with Frodo, and it would be a nice gesture to take Aunt Teenie something.
“Well, feel free to look around, and if there’s anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.” Estella smiled and a dimple appeared on her cheek.
Merry smiled back, feeling suddenly much less disgruntled about being stuck in Frogmorton. With new purpose, he began to wander through the shop, looking for just the right thing for his aunt and thinking about the unexpectedly fetching Estella Bolger.
***
Frodo wasn’t at all surprised when Merry didn’t make it to Bag End that day. Poor Sam had barely been able to make it down to Hobbiton that morning to get some much needed supplies for the Widow Rumble. It took time for all the roads and lanes to get shoveled out, and Frodo knew that Merry had planned to walk. What that lad was thinking, walking all the way from Buckland in the middle of winter, Frodo didn’t know, but Merry had insisted it would be fine, and he was old enough to make his own decisions.
A knock at the door brought Frodo out of his introspection. It was Gaffer Gamgee, looking unhappy at having disturbed the Master.
“Good evening, Hamfast,” Frodo greeted him warmly. “Is there something I can do for you?” It was unusual for the Gaffer to come up to Bag End so late and Frodo hoped nothing was amiss.
“Nay, t’is nothin’ like that,” the Gaffer replied. “T’is just that my Bell did the bakin’ today. I would’a sent it up with Sam, but t’poor lad’s done in, with all the snow-clearin’ he done today, and I couldn’t send the lasses out in this weather.”
Frodo accepted the basket handed over to him by the Gaffer. “Please come in for a moment while I put this away.”
Ham stepped through the door, scraping his feet on the sill first, and then stood awkwardly in the hallway. For all the years he’d served first Bilbo and now Frodo, he’d never become comfortable at being in Bag End, not the way Sam was. But then, Sam helped Frodo inside more than the Gaffer ever had for Bilbo, doing the odd cooking and such.
“Why don’t you come back to the kitchen and I’ll get you something to drink.” Frodo led the way, talking over his shoulder. “I have a nice beer that was sent up from the Green Dragon, or if you prefer, I’ve got some wine mulling by the fire. It’s a cold night.”
They had reached the kitchen by this time and Frodo motioned Ham to a seat while he opened the basket and began pulling out baked goods.
“Oh, I don’t need nothin’, Mr. Baggins, but thank’ee kindly, all the same. My Bell’s got a toddy waitin’ for me when I get back.”
Not surprised at the Gaffer’s answer, Frodo slipped a small pouch of coins in the basket and handed it back to Ham. “Well, I won’t keep you then. Tell Sam there’s no need to rush tomorrow. I have a few jobs for him, but nothing that needs to be done early. Ten-thirty or so would do nicely.”
“Aye, I’ll do that, thank’ee.” Ham rose and made his way out, tugging on a forelock as he went.
Frodo shook his head fondly, once the old hobbit was out of sight. He wished that Ham could relax a little more in his presence, but he’d long ago given up on expecting that to really happen. Thankfully, Sam was another sort all together. Always proper, of course, always that, but willing to sit down over a cup of tea or a mug of beer and have a good chat once all the work was done.
The sweet smell of warm pastries drew Frodo back to the kitchen and he stood for a long moment, debating whether to eat the cinnamon rolls now, or save them for breakfast. They were best when fresh, he argued to himself, and they smelled far too good to pass up. Humming quietly to himself, he set two rolls on a plate, made himself a fresh cup of tea, and carried his snack into the study. Taking one of his favorite books down off a shelf, he settled down in front of the fire for a quiet, cozy evening.
***
“Pal, have you seen Pippin this afternoon?” Eglantine was frowning as she swept into her husband’s office. “The seamstress is here and I wanted to have her measure him for a new coat.”
Paladin looked up from the book he was poring over. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and lines creasing his forehead. Sighing, he closed the book with ink stained fingers and turned his attention to his wife.
“I saw him shortly after lunch. He’s working too hard, Tina; I gave him the afternoon off.”
“Do you know where he went?” Eglantine eyed her husband with compassion. He was working too hard himself, she thought, noticing the grey streaks in hair that had once been the color of walnuts. Ferumbras’ illness was difficult for everyone.
“He didn’t tell me, but I’m fairly sure he was heading outside. Judging by the look on his face when I spoke to him, he felt as though he was the only tween in the Shire who wasn’t having fun out in the snow.” Paladin managed a little laugh at the melodramatics of tweens.
“He might have been right, too,” Tina replied with a small laugh of her own. “Even the younger serving lads and lasses were given a chance to go outside for a little while this afternoon. Oh well, I suppose he’ll be in soon, it’s well after dark, after all.” She brushed her finger down the side of Pal’s face. “Don’t work through supper, dear. You need to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Paladin replied. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
He lied, of course. Eglantine thought fondly. She knew that after supper, he would return here to his books and continue to work late into the night, but at least he would come to supper tonight. That was better than yesterday, when he worked right through. With one last concerned look she left, returning to the waiting seamstress and several other tasks that she still had ahead of her before supper.
***
Pippin lay on his back, stunned. The heavy tree limb had hit him in the chest, knocking him to the side and down. He’d fallen over something solid, a boulder or log, and a second branch, dislodged by the first, crashed down on his exposed legs. He was very thoroughly pinned, dazed, and in a great deal of pain. Struggling, he tried to free himself, but could get no leverage and every movement brought more pain.
Pushing aside the panic that threatened to choke him, he tried to take stock of his situation. It was late, well past sunset, and cold. Surely someone would miss him soon and set out to find him. It was only a matter of time before he was found and freed. He clung to that thought as waves of pain washed over him and consciousness faded.
tbc
Chapter Three
Chapter two
betaed by
pipspebblePippin wandered aimlessly through the woods for well over an hour, breathing deeply of the fresh air and relishing the quiet. Only when the light of the setting sun glanced through the trees did he begin to think about retracing his steps. Looking around to get his bearings, he frowned. He’d gone farther into the woods than he’d realized; it was going to be a long walk back to Tuckborough.
“No matter,” he told himself, speaking aloud, his voice echoing through the stillness of the snowy woods and startling a hare; the creature bounded off in a flurry of disturbed snow, bringing a smile to Pippin’s face. Taking his cue from the departed hare, he adjusted his pack and set off in the direction of home.
The snow was not as deep under the trees, a fact Pippin appreciated more and more as he walked. Unaccustomed to wearing boots, he found them cumbersome and uncomfortable. They were heavy, slowing him down, and the back of his left heel was starting to burn painfully with every step. At least it wasn’t still snowing, he reflected. Or at least, no new snow was reaching him under the trees, aside from the occasional clump that fell from an overloaded branch.
It wasn’t until the last light from the setting sun disappeared that Pippin realized he’d failed to bring a lantern along. “Well, that was just daft,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t sure exactly when his lovely, idyllic afternoon had turned sour, but it was definitely feeling less lovely by the minute now. It grew quite dark very quickly, with clouds covering what little bit of the sky showed through the trees. There was a faint illumination from the snow, but only just enough to let Pippin pick a path around shadowy trees and indistinct lumps that might be drifts of snow or fallen limbs and no way to tell the difference until he banged a toe against something solid. To make matters worse, the temperature was dropping and a bitter wind had risen with the setting of the sun.
Wrapping his cloak tightly about him and pulling his hood close to his face, Pippin slogged on, muttering to himself about the stupidity of a hobbit who couldn’t even remember to bring a lantern when going for a ramble in the woods late in the afternoon in the winter. Luckily, he knew these woods well and even the unfamiliarity of dark and snow was not enough to turn him around. He knew where he was and it wouldn’t take more than half an hour or so to make his way to the edge of the trees, he reasoned, and from there it was a short walk to Tuckborough. To distract himself from the cold while he walked, Pippin allowed himself to daydream about arriving at the Sheaf and Shears, where a pert young serving lass would bring him a piping hot bowl of lamb stew, or maybe some lovely fried potatoes with sausage. Yes, that sounded like just the thing.
Walking briskly and thinking about a hot meal and a pretty lass soon had Pippin feeling much better and he began to enjoy his walk again. He was humming a popular walking song under his breath when an ominously loud crack caught his attention. He paused for a moment as he tried to locate the source of the sound, which echoed through the woods confusingly, but saw nothing that looked out of the ordinary. He took another step forward just as there was another sharp crack, this time clearly coming from above. He looked up in time to see a thick pine branch, overly laden with heavy snow, break away from a tree directly to his right. He had just enough time to register his danger but not enough time to get clear before the limb struck him.
***
The common room of the Floating Log, Frogmorton’s only inn, was crowded with hobbits come to complain about the snow, drink a pint with their pals or just escape the cold for a bit. Merry sat at one end of a long common table, nursing a half and finishing up his supper. He was bored, having been cooped up in Frogmorton all day with very little to do. He’d stopped here last night on his way to Bag End for a visit and the overnight snow had stranded him. If only he hadn’t insisted on walking, he lamented again. Sometimes Frodo was just a bad influence, and Merry vowed to tell him that as soon as he reached Bag End. If he ever reached Bag End.
“Ah, Mr. Merry,” the innkeeper came over to his side. “I’ve some good news for you. The post rider just made it through, and he said the roads are in pretty good shape between here and Hobbiton. Provided we don’t get any fresh snow overnight, you should be able to go on tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ham,” Merry said with a grin. “In that case I’ll wish for clear skies tonight.” Downing the last of his ale, he stood. It was early yet, and there were hours to pass before bed. Merry decided to take a stroll around the town before retiring to his room. Bidding the landlord good afternoon, he pulled on his cloak and headed out.
It was cold and dark outside, with a thin veil of clouds covering most of the sky. Looking up, Merry saw a few bright, intrepid stars peeking through the veil, but most would stay hidden tonight. Sighing, Merry just hoped the clouds would hold off dumping any more snow on the Shire until after he’d finished his journey.
Frogmorton was a thriving town, straddling the East Road, with several smaller lanes and byways branching off on each side. Merry spent an hour diverting himself by wandering up and down the lanes. Most of the shops were closed at this hour, but he found a glassblower’s shop that was still open. A little bell above the door tinkled when he walked in, and a young lass came out of a back room to greet him.
“Hello, sir. May I help you with anything?” She was a bonny lass, Merry decided, with rosy cheeks, light brown hair pulled back in a braid and covered with a kerchief, and a pleasingly plump figure. Taking a second glance, he thought she looked familiar.
“Estella Bolger?” he asked, uncertain.
“Aye,” she paused in her own turn, scrutinizing him. “Ah, Meriadoc Brandybuck. I thought you looked familiar when you came in.” She blushed, only slightly, as she said his name.
“And has your family taken up glassblowing, then?” Merry asked, thinking it odd that Fatty hadn’t mentioned such.
“This is my uncle’s shop,” she answered pertly. “Mum’s brother Boldin. His wife is feeling poorly right now, so I’m helping out with the store until she’s better.”
“I see,” Merry murmured. He felt oddly unprepared for this encounter and couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. The last time he’d seen Estella, she had been a skinny little teen with dirty feet and a sunburnt face. Now, well, now didn’t bear too much thinking about with her standing right there waiting to find out how she could help him.
“I…ah…I’m looking for a…gift…for my Aunt,” he said, thankful for the inspiration. He had, after all, planned to stop at the Smials at some point during this visit with Frodo, and it would be a nice gesture to take Aunt Teenie something.
“Well, feel free to look around, and if there’s anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.” Estella smiled and a dimple appeared on her cheek.
Merry smiled back, feeling suddenly much less disgruntled about being stuck in Frogmorton. With new purpose, he began to wander through the shop, looking for just the right thing for his aunt and thinking about the unexpectedly fetching Estella Bolger.
***
Frodo wasn’t at all surprised when Merry didn’t make it to Bag End that day. Poor Sam had barely been able to make it down to Hobbiton that morning to get some much needed supplies for the Widow Rumble. It took time for all the roads and lanes to get shoveled out, and Frodo knew that Merry had planned to walk. What that lad was thinking, walking all the way from Buckland in the middle of winter, Frodo didn’t know, but Merry had insisted it would be fine, and he was old enough to make his own decisions.
A knock at the door brought Frodo out of his introspection. It was Gaffer Gamgee, looking unhappy at having disturbed the Master.
“Good evening, Hamfast,” Frodo greeted him warmly. “Is there something I can do for you?” It was unusual for the Gaffer to come up to Bag End so late and Frodo hoped nothing was amiss.
“Nay, t’is nothin’ like that,” the Gaffer replied. “T’is just that my Bell did the bakin’ today. I would’a sent it up with Sam, but t’poor lad’s done in, with all the snow-clearin’ he done today, and I couldn’t send the lasses out in this weather.”
Frodo accepted the basket handed over to him by the Gaffer. “Please come in for a moment while I put this away.”
Ham stepped through the door, scraping his feet on the sill first, and then stood awkwardly in the hallway. For all the years he’d served first Bilbo and now Frodo, he’d never become comfortable at being in Bag End, not the way Sam was. But then, Sam helped Frodo inside more than the Gaffer ever had for Bilbo, doing the odd cooking and such.
“Why don’t you come back to the kitchen and I’ll get you something to drink.” Frodo led the way, talking over his shoulder. “I have a nice beer that was sent up from the Green Dragon, or if you prefer, I’ve got some wine mulling by the fire. It’s a cold night.”
They had reached the kitchen by this time and Frodo motioned Ham to a seat while he opened the basket and began pulling out baked goods.
“Oh, I don’t need nothin’, Mr. Baggins, but thank’ee kindly, all the same. My Bell’s got a toddy waitin’ for me when I get back.”
Not surprised at the Gaffer’s answer, Frodo slipped a small pouch of coins in the basket and handed it back to Ham. “Well, I won’t keep you then. Tell Sam there’s no need to rush tomorrow. I have a few jobs for him, but nothing that needs to be done early. Ten-thirty or so would do nicely.”
“Aye, I’ll do that, thank’ee.” Ham rose and made his way out, tugging on a forelock as he went.
Frodo shook his head fondly, once the old hobbit was out of sight. He wished that Ham could relax a little more in his presence, but he’d long ago given up on expecting that to really happen. Thankfully, Sam was another sort all together. Always proper, of course, always that, but willing to sit down over a cup of tea or a mug of beer and have a good chat once all the work was done.
The sweet smell of warm pastries drew Frodo back to the kitchen and he stood for a long moment, debating whether to eat the cinnamon rolls now, or save them for breakfast. They were best when fresh, he argued to himself, and they smelled far too good to pass up. Humming quietly to himself, he set two rolls on a plate, made himself a fresh cup of tea, and carried his snack into the study. Taking one of his favorite books down off a shelf, he settled down in front of the fire for a quiet, cozy evening.
***
“Pal, have you seen Pippin this afternoon?” Eglantine was frowning as she swept into her husband’s office. “The seamstress is here and I wanted to have her measure him for a new coat.”
Paladin looked up from the book he was poring over. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and lines creasing his forehead. Sighing, he closed the book with ink stained fingers and turned his attention to his wife.
“I saw him shortly after lunch. He’s working too hard, Tina; I gave him the afternoon off.”
“Do you know where he went?” Eglantine eyed her husband with compassion. He was working too hard himself, she thought, noticing the grey streaks in hair that had once been the color of walnuts. Ferumbras’ illness was difficult for everyone.
“He didn’t tell me, but I’m fairly sure he was heading outside. Judging by the look on his face when I spoke to him, he felt as though he was the only tween in the Shire who wasn’t having fun out in the snow.” Paladin managed a little laugh at the melodramatics of tweens.
“He might have been right, too,” Tina replied with a small laugh of her own. “Even the younger serving lads and lasses were given a chance to go outside for a little while this afternoon. Oh well, I suppose he’ll be in soon, it’s well after dark, after all.” She brushed her finger down the side of Pal’s face. “Don’t work through supper, dear. You need to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Paladin replied. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
He lied, of course. Eglantine thought fondly. She knew that after supper, he would return here to his books and continue to work late into the night, but at least he would come to supper tonight. That was better than yesterday, when he worked right through. With one last concerned look she left, returning to the waiting seamstress and several other tasks that she still had ahead of her before supper.
***
Pippin lay on his back, stunned. The heavy tree limb had hit him in the chest, knocking him to the side and down. He’d fallen over something solid, a boulder or log, and a second branch, dislodged by the first, crashed down on his exposed legs. He was very thoroughly pinned, dazed, and in a great deal of pain. Struggling, he tried to free himself, but could get no leverage and every movement brought more pain.
Pushing aside the panic that threatened to choke him, he tried to take stock of his situation. It was late, well past sunset, and cold. Surely someone would miss him soon and set out to find him. It was only a matter of time before he was found and freed. He clung to that thought as waves of pain washed over him and consciousness faded.
tbc
Chapter Three