Title - A Harvest of Ashes
Author - Mbradford
Rating - R (Violence, mild cursing, adult situations.)
Pairings - Frodo/Bramblethorn (Non-consensual)
Frodo/Sam (Implied)
Disclaimer - The only thing I own here is Rushford Bramblethorn. The rest belongs to the Tolkien Estate.
Summary - A story to follow "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". Frodo's old enemy, Rushford Bramblethorn, troubles Buckland from afar by causing the ruin of the harvest. When Merry, Sam and Frodo travel to Bree to attempt to obtain enough grain to get the Bucklanders through the winter, they get more than they bargained for!
Movie verse, pre - quest.
Author's note - You might have met Rushford Bramblethorn before. He is the hobbit villain from my stories "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". He originated from a plotbunny at Library of Moria that required an aggressive male admirer to attempt to force himself on Frodo, fail, and be dealt with by Sam. These stories have a certain slash aspect to them, mainly due to Bramblethorn's intentions toward Frodo.
Bramblethorn's behavior got him banished from the Shire at the end of the first story, but he just wouldn't keep still. He came back bigger and nastier than ever in "The Way of Vengeance", kidnapping Frodo and attempting to force him to recant his testimony regarding the previous incident. Bramblethorn was thwarted in that effort by Merry, Sam and Pippin, and was publicly humiliated throughout the Shire and sent into exile again, this time more permanently.
Now, Bramblethorn is causing trouble for all of Buckland, and Frodo will find himself once again in the clutches of this evil creature.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Fore - word, by Rushford Bramblethorn
Well, what have we here? What a pleasant surprise it is to find that you've come to visit me! What was that? You came to hear a tale? Splendid! But before I begin, I must make certain statements - lay the cards on the table, if you will.
Firstly, let me note that this tale is able to be classified "slash" because of my infatuation with Frodo. If such stories are not to your liking, I will not be offended if you choose to depart without hearing the tale. It does bear mentioning that unfortunately, Frodo does not share my sentiments.
Secondly, this tale is rather dark at times. Let's just say that I know what I want, and I will do whatever it takes to get it. Threats, violence, intimidation - they are all in my repertoire.
By the way, the argument has been made on occasion that my kind are all but incorruptible. I beg to differ. While behavior such as mine is an anomaly among hobbits, no race is immune from such things as greed and violence. Witness Frodo's own cousin, that Sackville - Baggins fellow. Now he might have made something of himself if he had chosen his companions more wisely, but I digress.
Oh, and by the way - this is a work of fiction. Please understand, no hobbits were truly harmed in its making.
Those things being said, I will gladly tell you the story of a certain harvest in Buckland, the ruin thereof, and the events that followed. My story begins about two years after my second and quite permanent exile from the Shire....
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Prologue
~*~Bree~*~
Rushford Bramblethorn sipped his ale thoughtfully as he surveyed the motley crowd in the inn that evening, a sense of pride swelling within him. It had taken two years, but he had done it. He had returned from his now very final expulsion from the Shire and slowly restored himself to some semblance of success. His wealth now rebuilt, he felt things were finally going his way.
Through a series of shrewd business deals and some other practices which were best not closely examined, Bramblethorn had come into control of the majority of the locally grown and stored supply of grain, which he hoarded and sold at premium prices, having spread the rumor that the grain was in short supply. He smiled again as he thought of how far he had come since he had been exiled to Bree. A Shire hobbit by birth, he had finally begun to adjust to life among the hobbits and big folk of Bree. Whatever he failed to accomplish by wit alone, he accomplished with might, most of it provided by hired individuals who knew how to apply a little pressure here and there.
Two of those individuals now strode into the common room, making directly for Bramblethorn's table. Stocky and grim faced, they approached and stood glowering to themselves.
"What news, dear fellows?" Bramblethorn intoned lightly, still in his self - congratulatory mode.
"Only this," one of the hobbits said as he tossed a half - wilted sprig of a plant on the tabletop.
Bramblethorn bent to examine it, setting his ale aside for a moment. The vine - like plant had waxy green leaves and elongated red seedpods protruding from the stem here and there. "What is it, and why have you bothered to bring it here?" Bramblethorn asked, eyeing his hired help with interest.
Monto, the hobbit who had dropped the sprig on the table, waved at it in disgust. "Only the most noxious weed ever found in these parts," he informed his employer. "Found it growin' in ol' Longbanks' fields, chokin' out his wheat crop."
"Choking out the crop, you say?" The news chased the smile from Bramblethorn's face. Longbanks was a local hobbit who owned a small farm near Bree. Bramblethorn had made an ally of him and several others by paying them a better price for their grain crops than anyone else around could manage. With the price the grain commanded at resale, Bramblethorn could afford to pay his suppliers well.
"This stuff takes over any field it grows in, no matter what the crop," Anson, the other hobbit, explained. "If Longbanks doesn't get rid of it and replant in short order before it spreads, there really will be a grain shortage in Bree."
Bramblethorn's eyes narrowed. "Keep your voice down, fool," he admonished. "I want you two to - " he paused and considered his words - "encourage Longbanks to get busy getting that stuff out of his fields. We don't need our suppliers drying up on us."
The other hobbits nodded their assents as Bramblethorn considered the weed again. He thought of the thing ruining a perfectly good field of wheat or barley and grimaced. The thought of the fields immediately led to thoughts of the Shire, and to old bitterness. How he would love to see something like that proliferating in the fields of Buckland!
Thoughts of Buckland evolved into thoughts of that upstart Brandybuck, Meriadoc, and his cousin. Ahh, yes. Frodo. Bramblethorn new he would never forget Frodo, and he also knew he would never forgive that Brandybuck for his interference. Bramblethorn had managed to get Frodo right where he had wanted him, only to have that Bucklander burst in. That ridiculous Took had also been present, of course, and that dratted gardener, Samwise Gamgee. Together the three of them had fought Bramblethorn off, setting Frodo free after a harrowing week of captivity and constant abuse.
But Frodo had brought it on himself, after all, Bramblethorn reminded himself. If Frodo had not been so stubborn, had not spurned him so utterly right from the beginning, none of those things would have been necessary.
Bramblethorn shook the memories from his mind, and as he stared at the weed on the table, a new thought began to grow and take root in his brain. An idea, a plan. The fields of Buckland. What a fine revenge it would be to ruin the Bucklanders' harvest! Better still, if no surplus grain was to be had in the Shire when the harvest failed, the Bucklanders might have to go so far as to procure a supply from outside the borders of their safe, peaceful green lands. They would come to Bree. They would come to him!
"My friends, I have a task for you," Bramblethorn said briskly. "After you remind Longbanks of how important his work is to us, I want you to gather more of this. I want you to take the seeds to Buckland and dump them in the wheat and barley fields, and the corn if you've any left. Then, we shall see who has bested whom!" A gleeful smirk slithered across the hobbit's face.
"Will do," Monto responded, taking up the sprig from the table. It was a long way to go just to throw some seeds into a field, but if it lined their pockets with gold, it was a worthwhile pursuit. Bramblethorn paid well for dirtier work than seed sowing, so the assignment sounded like an easy one.
Bramblethorn watched his hired muscle leave the inn and smiled. How he wished he could be nearby to see the look on Meriadoc Brandybuck's face when that weed killed Buckland's cash crops en masse! That would teach the upstart to trifle with Rushford Bramblethorn!
~*~A few days later, in Buckland~*~
Monto pulled a blood red seedpod from his pocket as he stood in the wheat field, dusk falling around him. He glanced about surreptitiously, making certain that he was not being observed as he crushed the pod and threw the seeds to the wind.
The seeds fell where the breeze dropped them, into the rows of the young crop. After Monto had gone, those seeds would sprout in the coming weeks, becoming long tendrils of vines with searching, questing roots that crowded out all other growing things in their path and greedily drained the water from the ground. They would choke out the crop to the point of causing utter destruction, leaving only a few patches of weak and struggling wheat stalks waving in the wind.
The growing season was already well underway, so any re - planting of the fields would have to be done swiftly, and would likely yield only marginal results. The previous year's harvest had been less than expected, after long spells of dry weather had caused crop damage and loss. There was bound to be little grain left in storage, and the large population of Buckland would be in great need of a good harvest to offset the disappointment of the last one. They weren't going to get it.
Monto turned and left to rendezvous with Anson, who had been out sowing destruction among the barley. With no wheat to make bread and no barley to make beer, a dire season would come upon Buckland ere winter fell. Stomachs would rumble hungrily and purses would go empty as kegs of mead and lager would stop rolling out of Buckland for sale to the inns in the four farthings of the Shire.
Small shoots of grain waved and whispered in the breeze, oblivious to their fate as something settled in between them - small, dainty seeds, ready to set disaster in motion with callous disregard for the existence of all else around them. The sun set upon Buckland, and would rise upon the beginnings of evil things.
~*~To be continued~*~
Author - Mbradford
Rating - R (Violence, mild cursing, adult situations.)
Pairings - Frodo/Bramblethorn (Non-consensual)
Frodo/Sam (Implied)
Disclaimer - The only thing I own here is Rushford Bramblethorn. The rest belongs to the Tolkien Estate.
Summary - A story to follow "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". Frodo's old enemy, Rushford Bramblethorn, troubles Buckland from afar by causing the ruin of the harvest. When Merry, Sam and Frodo travel to Bree to attempt to obtain enough grain to get the Bucklanders through the winter, they get more than they bargained for!
Movie verse, pre - quest.
Author's note - You might have met Rushford Bramblethorn before. He is the hobbit villain from my stories "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". He originated from a plotbunny at Library of Moria that required an aggressive male admirer to attempt to force himself on Frodo, fail, and be dealt with by Sam. These stories have a certain slash aspect to them, mainly due to Bramblethorn's intentions toward Frodo.
Bramblethorn's behavior got him banished from the Shire at the end of the first story, but he just wouldn't keep still. He came back bigger and nastier than ever in "The Way of Vengeance", kidnapping Frodo and attempting to force him to recant his testimony regarding the previous incident. Bramblethorn was thwarted in that effort by Merry, Sam and Pippin, and was publicly humiliated throughout the Shire and sent into exile again, this time more permanently.
Now, Bramblethorn is causing trouble for all of Buckland, and Frodo will find himself once again in the clutches of this evil creature.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Fore - word, by Rushford Bramblethorn
Well, what have we here? What a pleasant surprise it is to find that you've come to visit me! What was that? You came to hear a tale? Splendid! But before I begin, I must make certain statements - lay the cards on the table, if you will.
Firstly, let me note that this tale is able to be classified "slash" because of my infatuation with Frodo. If such stories are not to your liking, I will not be offended if you choose to depart without hearing the tale. It does bear mentioning that unfortunately, Frodo does not share my sentiments.
Secondly, this tale is rather dark at times. Let's just say that I know what I want, and I will do whatever it takes to get it. Threats, violence, intimidation - they are all in my repertoire.
By the way, the argument has been made on occasion that my kind are all but incorruptible. I beg to differ. While behavior such as mine is an anomaly among hobbits, no race is immune from such things as greed and violence. Witness Frodo's own cousin, that Sackville - Baggins fellow. Now he might have made something of himself if he had chosen his companions more wisely, but I digress.
Oh, and by the way - this is a work of fiction. Please understand, no hobbits were truly harmed in its making.
Those things being said, I will gladly tell you the story of a certain harvest in Buckland, the ruin thereof, and the events that followed. My story begins about two years after my second and quite permanent exile from the Shire....
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Prologue
~*~Bree~*~
Rushford Bramblethorn sipped his ale thoughtfully as he surveyed the motley crowd in the inn that evening, a sense of pride swelling within him. It had taken two years, but he had done it. He had returned from his now very final expulsion from the Shire and slowly restored himself to some semblance of success. His wealth now rebuilt, he felt things were finally going his way.
Through a series of shrewd business deals and some other practices which were best not closely examined, Bramblethorn had come into control of the majority of the locally grown and stored supply of grain, which he hoarded and sold at premium prices, having spread the rumor that the grain was in short supply. He smiled again as he thought of how far he had come since he had been exiled to Bree. A Shire hobbit by birth, he had finally begun to adjust to life among the hobbits and big folk of Bree. Whatever he failed to accomplish by wit alone, he accomplished with might, most of it provided by hired individuals who knew how to apply a little pressure here and there.
Two of those individuals now strode into the common room, making directly for Bramblethorn's table. Stocky and grim faced, they approached and stood glowering to themselves.
"What news, dear fellows?" Bramblethorn intoned lightly, still in his self - congratulatory mode.
"Only this," one of the hobbits said as he tossed a half - wilted sprig of a plant on the tabletop.
Bramblethorn bent to examine it, setting his ale aside for a moment. The vine - like plant had waxy green leaves and elongated red seedpods protruding from the stem here and there. "What is it, and why have you bothered to bring it here?" Bramblethorn asked, eyeing his hired help with interest.
Monto, the hobbit who had dropped the sprig on the table, waved at it in disgust. "Only the most noxious weed ever found in these parts," he informed his employer. "Found it growin' in ol' Longbanks' fields, chokin' out his wheat crop."
"Choking out the crop, you say?" The news chased the smile from Bramblethorn's face. Longbanks was a local hobbit who owned a small farm near Bree. Bramblethorn had made an ally of him and several others by paying them a better price for their grain crops than anyone else around could manage. With the price the grain commanded at resale, Bramblethorn could afford to pay his suppliers well.
"This stuff takes over any field it grows in, no matter what the crop," Anson, the other hobbit, explained. "If Longbanks doesn't get rid of it and replant in short order before it spreads, there really will be a grain shortage in Bree."
Bramblethorn's eyes narrowed. "Keep your voice down, fool," he admonished. "I want you two to - " he paused and considered his words - "encourage Longbanks to get busy getting that stuff out of his fields. We don't need our suppliers drying up on us."
The other hobbits nodded their assents as Bramblethorn considered the weed again. He thought of the thing ruining a perfectly good field of wheat or barley and grimaced. The thought of the fields immediately led to thoughts of the Shire, and to old bitterness. How he would love to see something like that proliferating in the fields of Buckland!
Thoughts of Buckland evolved into thoughts of that upstart Brandybuck, Meriadoc, and his cousin. Ahh, yes. Frodo. Bramblethorn new he would never forget Frodo, and he also knew he would never forgive that Brandybuck for his interference. Bramblethorn had managed to get Frodo right where he had wanted him, only to have that Bucklander burst in. That ridiculous Took had also been present, of course, and that dratted gardener, Samwise Gamgee. Together the three of them had fought Bramblethorn off, setting Frodo free after a harrowing week of captivity and constant abuse.
But Frodo had brought it on himself, after all, Bramblethorn reminded himself. If Frodo had not been so stubborn, had not spurned him so utterly right from the beginning, none of those things would have been necessary.
Bramblethorn shook the memories from his mind, and as he stared at the weed on the table, a new thought began to grow and take root in his brain. An idea, a plan. The fields of Buckland. What a fine revenge it would be to ruin the Bucklanders' harvest! Better still, if no surplus grain was to be had in the Shire when the harvest failed, the Bucklanders might have to go so far as to procure a supply from outside the borders of their safe, peaceful green lands. They would come to Bree. They would come to him!
"My friends, I have a task for you," Bramblethorn said briskly. "After you remind Longbanks of how important his work is to us, I want you to gather more of this. I want you to take the seeds to Buckland and dump them in the wheat and barley fields, and the corn if you've any left. Then, we shall see who has bested whom!" A gleeful smirk slithered across the hobbit's face.
"Will do," Monto responded, taking up the sprig from the table. It was a long way to go just to throw some seeds into a field, but if it lined their pockets with gold, it was a worthwhile pursuit. Bramblethorn paid well for dirtier work than seed sowing, so the assignment sounded like an easy one.
Bramblethorn watched his hired muscle leave the inn and smiled. How he wished he could be nearby to see the look on Meriadoc Brandybuck's face when that weed killed Buckland's cash crops en masse! That would teach the upstart to trifle with Rushford Bramblethorn!
~*~A few days later, in Buckland~*~
Monto pulled a blood red seedpod from his pocket as he stood in the wheat field, dusk falling around him. He glanced about surreptitiously, making certain that he was not being observed as he crushed the pod and threw the seeds to the wind.
The seeds fell where the breeze dropped them, into the rows of the young crop. After Monto had gone, those seeds would sprout in the coming weeks, becoming long tendrils of vines with searching, questing roots that crowded out all other growing things in their path and greedily drained the water from the ground. They would choke out the crop to the point of causing utter destruction, leaving only a few patches of weak and struggling wheat stalks waving in the wind.
The growing season was already well underway, so any re - planting of the fields would have to be done swiftly, and would likely yield only marginal results. The previous year's harvest had been less than expected, after long spells of dry weather had caused crop damage and loss. There was bound to be little grain left in storage, and the large population of Buckland would be in great need of a good harvest to offset the disappointment of the last one. They weren't going to get it.
Monto turned and left to rendezvous with Anson, who had been out sowing destruction among the barley. With no wheat to make bread and no barley to make beer, a dire season would come upon Buckland ere winter fell. Stomachs would rumble hungrily and purses would go empty as kegs of mead and lager would stop rolling out of Buckland for sale to the inns in the four farthings of the Shire.
Small shoots of grain waved and whispered in the breeze, oblivious to their fate as something settled in between them - small, dainty seeds, ready to set disaster in motion with callous disregard for the existence of all else around them. The sun set upon Buckland, and would rise upon the beginnings of evil things.
~*~To be continued~*~