Hey guys, this is my first LOTR story so be kind to me! Please review and
let me know what you think. This takes place before Frodo goes on this
quest and if the story is popular enough (Hey I can dream!) then maybe I'll
do a sequel of how they are after the quest. Anyways I'm not sure if this
is actually going to be PG-13ish it might be more like PG but I thought I'd
stick it up to PG-13 just in case! Okay on with the story!
I remember a long time ago, my name was Lily. Not, "Hafling", not "You", but a real name. Lily. I haven't been called that in a long time, and now I'm starting to forget. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one of my kind left. It has been so long since I have seen any of my kind. So long that I can't recall if what I remember is delusion or just half truth. I think I remember parents. And then there is a fire. A horrible fire, and then screams. Then all I remember is the bars. The first home of my recent memories. His hollering interrupts the swirling thoughts of my past.
"Halfilng! Get over here and refill my cup! I don't know what I give you all that bread for when you don't even do half the chores I ask of you!"
I walk slowly over to my Master, limping on my right leg. I had twisted my ankle a few days ago when my Master shoved me. It still pained me greatly but I did not complain knowing what the consequences would be. I stare down at the table on which the meager breakfast sits. Sitting there is a chipped teapot faded in such a way that it's impossible to tell the color. There is also some sort of pattern, possibly flowers. The table itself is of simple oak wood with splinters still blatantly visible. My Master never had taken the time to sand it down. Everything in the small cabin is simple. There is one small unadorned window, the table with one small chair, a hearth and kettle to cook the meals upon. There had obviously never a woman's touch in my Master's home; no curtains or flowers, nothing pretty or feminine. The cabin consists of only two rooms and a cellar. The main room with table and hearth, and my Master's sleeping quarters. I sleep on the hard cold stone floor, and more often then not the cold, wet, dark cellar.
My hands shake slightly as I pick up the cup, rough with use, and attempt to poor the dark bitter liquid my Master refers to as coffee. I am weak from hunger. There has been less to go by then usual these last few weeks because my Master had been in to town gambling away the few coins he possessed. The few morsels that are around go mostly to him. I try to force one of my hands to grip the cup flat on the table, and the other hand to carefully lift the kettle up to pour slowly in his cup. The first splash of liquid shoots steam into my face and I blink a few times trying to clear my vision.
Too late.
"Cursed Hafling!" My master leaps up in rage, as he wipes frantically at his now wet looking pants.
Stumbling backward, I try and move out of the way as fast as possible. I trip clumsily over the tattered folds of my skirts and ended up flat on my back with my Master standing over me. The feel of his warm, wet, drops of saliva hit my face and I know I should be moving my arms to cover my face for protection but once again I am paralyzed with fear.
"I don't even think you're worth the coins I parted with! Why did I pick you up you worthless thing?!"
I try and shut my mind down as I feel his booted foot kick me in my side. I briefly wonder with deranged amusement what a bruise on top of a bruise looks like. But then I am jerked out of my stupor by the feeling of scalding hot liquid splashing my legs. I scream and stare up in shock realizing my Master has dumped the entire contents of the kettle over my legs. My eyes silently plead with him to stop as he bends down and takes hold of my hair.
"Worthless," I hear him mutter, "Utterly worthless. Not worth even trading a crippled old horse for."
I curl myself up into as tight a protective ball as I can manage, feeling the tears leak out of the corner of my eyes at the burning sensation on my legs, and the newly burning sensations of being dragged across the small room by my hair. I then hear the familiar creaking sound of the cellar and know it is to be another night of blackness. He then lets go of my hair and gives me another booted kick shoving me towards the cellar entrance.
"Get in there! Go on with you!"
I somehow manage to maneuver myself into the small dank little hole and I fall a few feet to the dirt ground below. Dust rises in a dim cloud around me only visible slightly through the thin filter of light coming from the area that is not blocked by my Master's bulky frame. I want to plead with him not to make me stay down here again. Where it smells like a pigs sty and feels like oozing piles of slime. Where the air is so hard to breathe I feel like my head is immersed in some thin stream of murky water. But I know my plea would never be heard and I'm not sure I even remember how to form those words anymore. It has been so long since I have spoken. It is no matter, for now I watch as my master moves to close the door to the cellar and once again I am swallowed by the night.
I remember a long time ago, my name was Lily. Not, "Hafling", not "You", but a real name. Lily. I haven't been called that in a long time, and now I'm starting to forget. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one of my kind left. It has been so long since I have seen any of my kind. So long that I can't recall if what I remember is delusion or just half truth. I think I remember parents. And then there is a fire. A horrible fire, and then screams. Then all I remember is the bars. The first home of my recent memories. His hollering interrupts the swirling thoughts of my past.
"Halfilng! Get over here and refill my cup! I don't know what I give you all that bread for when you don't even do half the chores I ask of you!"
I walk slowly over to my Master, limping on my right leg. I had twisted my ankle a few days ago when my Master shoved me. It still pained me greatly but I did not complain knowing what the consequences would be. I stare down at the table on which the meager breakfast sits. Sitting there is a chipped teapot faded in such a way that it's impossible to tell the color. There is also some sort of pattern, possibly flowers. The table itself is of simple oak wood with splinters still blatantly visible. My Master never had taken the time to sand it down. Everything in the small cabin is simple. There is one small unadorned window, the table with one small chair, a hearth and kettle to cook the meals upon. There had obviously never a woman's touch in my Master's home; no curtains or flowers, nothing pretty or feminine. The cabin consists of only two rooms and a cellar. The main room with table and hearth, and my Master's sleeping quarters. I sleep on the hard cold stone floor, and more often then not the cold, wet, dark cellar.
My hands shake slightly as I pick up the cup, rough with use, and attempt to poor the dark bitter liquid my Master refers to as coffee. I am weak from hunger. There has been less to go by then usual these last few weeks because my Master had been in to town gambling away the few coins he possessed. The few morsels that are around go mostly to him. I try to force one of my hands to grip the cup flat on the table, and the other hand to carefully lift the kettle up to pour slowly in his cup. The first splash of liquid shoots steam into my face and I blink a few times trying to clear my vision.
Too late.
"Cursed Hafling!" My master leaps up in rage, as he wipes frantically at his now wet looking pants.
Stumbling backward, I try and move out of the way as fast as possible. I trip clumsily over the tattered folds of my skirts and ended up flat on my back with my Master standing over me. The feel of his warm, wet, drops of saliva hit my face and I know I should be moving my arms to cover my face for protection but once again I am paralyzed with fear.
"I don't even think you're worth the coins I parted with! Why did I pick you up you worthless thing?!"
I try and shut my mind down as I feel his booted foot kick me in my side. I briefly wonder with deranged amusement what a bruise on top of a bruise looks like. But then I am jerked out of my stupor by the feeling of scalding hot liquid splashing my legs. I scream and stare up in shock realizing my Master has dumped the entire contents of the kettle over my legs. My eyes silently plead with him to stop as he bends down and takes hold of my hair.
"Worthless," I hear him mutter, "Utterly worthless. Not worth even trading a crippled old horse for."
I curl myself up into as tight a protective ball as I can manage, feeling the tears leak out of the corner of my eyes at the burning sensation on my legs, and the newly burning sensations of being dragged across the small room by my hair. I then hear the familiar creaking sound of the cellar and know it is to be another night of blackness. He then lets go of my hair and gives me another booted kick shoving me towards the cellar entrance.
"Get in there! Go on with you!"
I somehow manage to maneuver myself into the small dank little hole and I fall a few feet to the dirt ground below. Dust rises in a dim cloud around me only visible slightly through the thin filter of light coming from the area that is not blocked by my Master's bulky frame. I want to plead with him not to make me stay down here again. Where it smells like a pigs sty and feels like oozing piles of slime. Where the air is so hard to breathe I feel like my head is immersed in some thin stream of murky water. But I know my plea would never be heard and I'm not sure I even remember how to form those words anymore. It has been so long since I have spoken. It is no matter, for now I watch as my master moves to close the door to the cellar and once again I am swallowed by the night.