The Silver Horn
Summary: The years have passed and an old member of the Fellowship ponders on the past.
~S~
Ah, memory!
It does well to serve me when there is food in my belly and a lit pipe in my hand. Come, sit by me here, in front of the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. Go on, grab a blanket. The nights are getting colder. No? You are not cold? The resilience of youth! Here I am, shaking like a leaf. No, no, I don't need another blanket... thank you. It is very kind of you. Let me set this one properly over my legs.
Come, sit by me. I don't get many visitors these days. Humour this old Hobbit, will you? It's rather dark in this living room, isn't it? Would you be so kind as to light a few more candles?
Thank you, dear child. My eyes aren't what they used to be. I often miss things in the dark. Now sit by me and let me look at your face.
My, you have a love for food, don't you! Be careful of eating too much, lad, because Hobbits don't grow any taller but they can grow sideways!
Now, what can I tell you tonight about my past? I can certainly say it wasn't as peaceful as it is now! Do you see that horn resting on top of the mantelpiece? Get up and pick it for me. These rickety old bones don't carry me too far and I am too comfortable in this seat! Give it here. Look! Do you see these bands of beaten silver circles around the horn? It was given to me as a gift by the Lady Éowyn.
It is called the Horn of the Mark. It belonged in the treasury of the royal house of Éorl. It was once their heirloom, you know. What? Speak up, child; my ears weren't what they used to be. Oh, no, the Horn doesn't bear the emblem of Rohan- the rearing white horse. Look at these designs on the silver bands. This horn was made by the Dwarves, you see. And it has a tale of its own to tell.
Long ago, in the Third Age, there was a war between dragons and dwarves. Dragons loved treasures, you see, and the dwarves had uncountable amounts of it. They had jewels, gold, silver, the lovely 'mithril', weaponry and armour. There was one by the name of Scatha the Worm and it was one of the greatest dragons at the time. It swooped down on the Dwarves living in the Grey Mountains, drove them from their homes and covered their treasury.
In that era, lived Fram, son of Framgur, who was the leader of Éothéod, the ancestors of the Rohirrim. Scatha terrorised his people, since they lived at the foot of the mountains and covered the lands in and around the Vale of Anduin. So Fram went up and challenged the dragon. He slew it! With nothing but his sword.
Fram had the claim on the treasury now.
When the dwarves heard, they demanded that the claim was theirs. But Fram refused. Instead, he pulled the dragon's teeth from its jaws and sent them to the dwarves with a message:
"Jewels such as these you will not match in your treasuries, for they are hard to come by."
The Dwarves were angered by his words and it started a dispute… at the end of which, they killed him for it.
The horn remained, until it passed into the treasury of the House of Éorl. It remained as an heirloom. And so, centuries later, after even I presumed the dragon's bones were ground to dust, the White Lady of Rohan gave the horn to me. And this horn served me greatly, because you see, when we came back from our adventure, the Shire was not the way we left it.
Oh, you should have seen it. The Shire is a sleepy land, you see. But back then, there was fire and smoke, vigilance and bravery. We Hobbits are Free People. We don't bow down to outsiders like Saruman and his lackey! No, we chased them out. This little horn played a magnificent role. We rounded up every Hobbit, male or female, who could bear something like a weapon.
"Fear, fire, foes! Awake! Awake!" We called out into the night. Every Hobbit came out to fight for our precious little land. We drove them out to the edge of the Shire, sent them on their merry way and this horn, this beautiful horn in my lap, helped me gather my people together. Then the people trusted me, enough that they followed me when I became the Master of Buckland, and the Counsellor of the North-Kingdom.
I have something else to show you. Go to that desk in front of the window. Yes, the one with its wood stained red. It's a beautiful desk to sit by and write. You will see a thick heavy book with a red cover lying on top of it. Yes, that's the one. Bring it here.
Ah! Here we are. We call it the Red Book, you know. Look at the spine. We have reopened and rebound the bindings so many times. It started as a small project by Mister Bilbo Baggins, you see, when he on to a hurried and epic adventure. It took him to strange lands with Elves, Dwarves, and the Big People… and a dragon waiting for him in the very end. He even took part in the Battle of the Five Armies! When he came back, he wrote in his diary his entire adventure with maps and sketches of scenery- Ah, yes! Clever young one, aren't you! It is true, this used to be his diary. He had this red leather as a cover. When he left, there were blank pages still, and Mister Frodo filled them with the story of Lord of the Rings and the War of the One Ring. It was Mister Samwise who succeeded the book after dear old Frodo left. We shared the Book amongst ourselves, as each one gave our own accounts of the tale. We penned down the cultures and noble lineages of Gondor and Rohan. Strider- King Elessar, I mean- sent us the treasured scrolls of Gondor as additions to the Book. The pages were consumed with ink. We unbound the Book, added more pages, and then rebound it numerous times over.
…
Thank you, dear child for the water. The night is cold and it brings about this infernal coughing! Sit down, sit down! I am alright, thank you. Now where was I? Ah, yes, the Book. Open it, go on. Ah, now look at those sketches of Imladris. Those drawings aren't ours, you see. Lord Erestor was kind enough to illustrate some parts for us. But that one- the one of the dragon- is Mister Bilbo's. He had a good hand for writing and drawing.
Hm? What was that? No, no, I am not tired of your company, dear child. The warmth of the fire and these memories has made me too comfortable in this chair, I think! I would like to sleep here for a while, before going off to bed. It is late for you as well. Hurry now! Before mother comes and seeks you.
Close the door behind you, young one. I need to shut my eyes for a moment and then I will be off to bed. Wake me up early tomorrow; for tomorrow, of course, I set out for Rohan.
And I don't think I shall return.
~S~
Author's Note:
-Originally written for the December challenge "memories", I discarded this complete one-shot and submitted another one in its place. (This story is NOT in the challenge.)
-As soon as I read the prompt "memories", the first thought that came to me was "grandparents". Nothing beats curling up by the fire by the feet of the elderly and listening to their stories and struggles of their youth. That was what I wanted to capture here.
-The person Merry is talking to is anonymous. :) Think any young character from the next generation… or pretend he was talking to you all along. Entirely your choice!
- The story behind the Horn of the Mark is canon.
-Please leave a review!