TITLE: "Brandywine"
AUTHOR: Mainframe
RATING: PG
PAIRING: None so far
Disclaimer: The Hobbits belong to J. R.R. Tolkien and are not of my creation and I make no money from this or other stories involving them, this is purely a non-profit fiction of my creation in honour of the book & movies. However this storyline is mine.
SUMMARY: It's been raining none stop for over a month in the shire and Bilbo is being driven mad by three young hobbits with too much energy to spend. But is his solution to the problem a wise one or could it led to disaster?
NOTES: Hi again! Thanks again for your kind interest, and I'd like to say thank you to the following: Trianne, Emerald, Lynne and MelodySongSinger! Thanks also to Mindel – Ye s I am wicked to the hobbits but aren't we all?
Now I've been consulting my huge Tolkein Encyclopaedia on the shire and for some reason even though the shire actually comprises of FIVE main areas: Hobbiton, Tuckborough, Michel Delving, Oatbarton, and Frogmorton, and a dozen other smaller areas. They still call it The Four Fathings. I don't know hands up! Hobbits!
Brandywine
1 Chapter 5: The Lonely
Frodo chocked, as ice cold water rushed into his mouth and the world around him was abruptly snatched away. He managed to fight his way to the surface and gulp down as much air as he was able before the current pulled him under again. Kicking his legs with all his might he managed to break the surface a second time and stay there, through stinging slightly blurred eyes he looked around. With a small cry he realised that he had been washed into the very centre of the river and was moving fast! Faster then any horse he had ridden. The bank flew past in a blur and he realised that his friends were very far away from him now.
"Frodo! Noooooooooooooo!" Sam screamed as he watched his beloved Master disappear round the rivers bend. He couldn't remember how, but found himself standing, his earlier weakness shrugged off. He looked to Merry who was making agonizing sounds of pain as he tried to rise and failed, slumping back to the ground.
No matter how he willed them, his knees would not lock to hold his weight. He was freezing cold and a mess, his shirt hung wide open where the river had ripped the buttons from it and he could just make out his breath in the dark as he exhaled. His light-brown locks had fallen into his eyes and were making it difficult for him to locate the younger hobbit he knew was somewhere near by. He located Sam by the painfully loud chocks he was making as he tried to breath. Merry's limp curls parted enough for him to see Sam had managed to stand; their eye's meet and Merry could see him hesitate in his dilemma.
"Go!" Was all he managed to pant, barely above a whisper, as his head grew heavier then it should and he sank back to the ground, allowing his cheek to rest uncomfortably in the mud.
Sam heard and it was enough.
He ran down the path, unable to call out, he didn't have the strength to waste. His pace was slowing and his lungs burned as he sucked in and choked on the cool air. He felt awful, his head was pounding and every joint ached, but refused to give up. He was walking now and great sobs shook his body as he realised there was no way he could outrun the river, he slumped to the floor as his strength failed. He felt so tired. He couldn't remember a time when he had felt so sleepy, he thought of Frodo and tears leaked from his eyes, he then thought of his father. How disappointed he would be when he found him.
Hamfast was extremely proud of his youngest Son; his mother had always said to Sam's delight that he and his father were alike. But Sam felt wretched; his Father would never have allowed anything as terrible as this to happen. He would have found a way!
Sam's eyes surrendered and he saw no more as he allowed the darkness to take him.
When Merry opened his eyes again he was alone in the dark. The sound of the river to his left drown out all other noises that he would have expected to hear from the forest. He felt the thick fabric of his breeches, they were soaking wet and yet the water they held felt strangely warm against his flesh. His braces were missing and his shirt was ripped, and only held in place by its sleeves. One pale shoulder lay exposed to the night air and it hurt worse then the time he had been stung from head to toe.
Merry remembered how he and Frodo used to go off adventuring. The shire comprised of four main areas, called the Four Fathings. He and Frodo had made a pact to explore each area together, and over many months they made great progress. They had already explored Hobbiton (though Frodo knew it well Merry did not), and Oatbarton (Bilbo would have been very angry to know they had strayed that far), and Tuckborough.
They were returning from a daylong trip to Michel Delving, Frodo was anxious for it had taken them much longer to walk back then he had anticipated and he knew that Bilbo would be worried. Merry had suggested that they take a short cut across some of the farmland; they had done it before long ago when scrumping for mushrooms. But to their dismay, halfway across the last empty field they realised, with quite a measure of panic, that a huge dark boar was pursuing them. It had been watching them since they first entered its territory and had hidden itself in the surrounding undergrowth and had slowly crept up on them until it trotted less then a few yards behind them.
They ran as fast as their legs would carry them towards the opposite wall, the boar in hot pursuit. Merry had launched himself headfirst over the thick stone wall while Frodo had scuttled up the old lightning-tree that leaned heavily against the wall. The boar had squeaked and squealed and butted the tree in fury at their escape, tearing chunks from the base of its dead trunk. But it had only been a temporary save for they had a lot of explaining to do when they returned to Bag-End. Frodo's arms and legs covered in splinter, and Merry covered from head to toe in Nettle rash. Yes, those were the days. Less then two years had passed since then and yet it was a lifetime ago, when Merry still felt young and carefree.
He tried to lift his head to look around for the others but it was too heavy.
"Sam?" He choked. His head hurt and for a moment he wasn't quite sure where he was. Then it all came back to him. Frodo. He sobbed and tried to rise again, but he couldn't feel anything, his body was as cold as ice, yet strangely he didn't feel cold, or hot. He felt nothing at all.
Frodo fought against an overwhelming desire to close his eyes, if only for a moment. He realised that if he did he would never open them again, and he did not want to leave his Uncle.
"Bilbo" He sobbed softly.
Suddenly he found himself sucked down by the current once more. It was so strong! It was hard to remember which way was up, for the water was very clouded with mud and weed that had been ripped from the riverbed.
His eyes burned as dirt washed into them and he squeezed them tightly shut as he tumbled through the depths. The back of his outstretched hand brushed thick mud and his kneel scraped across stone and thick soft weed. He was dimly aware that his knee was starting to sting and he knew that it was bleeding. He was at the very bottom of the river, and the undercurrents were working hard to ensure that he stay there as he found himself spinning round and round in a whirlpool. He managed to blindly right himself so that he faced upwards at least, and gave a sharp kick at the ground with all his remaining strength.
It wasn't enough. His lungs felt like they were on fire, his ears hurt and he shook uncontrollably. Then his body stopped shaking and he felt a wave of warmth flow through him. He opened his eyes for they no longer hurt and stared into the thick nothingness that had enveloped him, nothing had changed and yet it had. He felt the last of the air leave his body and watched as the bubbles floated from his open mouth to be swept away. With surprising calm and a tinge of regret he realised that he had nothing more to give.
One name reached his blue lips and was formed before they too, like the rest of his body became slack and lifeless.
"Sam"
Tbc
AUTHOR: Mainframe
RATING: PG
PAIRING: None so far
Disclaimer: The Hobbits belong to J. R.R. Tolkien and are not of my creation and I make no money from this or other stories involving them, this is purely a non-profit fiction of my creation in honour of the book & movies. However this storyline is mine.
SUMMARY: It's been raining none stop for over a month in the shire and Bilbo is being driven mad by three young hobbits with too much energy to spend. But is his solution to the problem a wise one or could it led to disaster?
NOTES: Hi again! Thanks again for your kind interest, and I'd like to say thank you to the following: Trianne, Emerald, Lynne and MelodySongSinger! Thanks also to Mindel – Ye s I am wicked to the hobbits but aren't we all?
Now I've been consulting my huge Tolkein Encyclopaedia on the shire and for some reason even though the shire actually comprises of FIVE main areas: Hobbiton, Tuckborough, Michel Delving, Oatbarton, and Frogmorton, and a dozen other smaller areas. They still call it The Four Fathings. I don't know hands up! Hobbits!
Brandywine
1 Chapter 5: The Lonely
Frodo chocked, as ice cold water rushed into his mouth and the world around him was abruptly snatched away. He managed to fight his way to the surface and gulp down as much air as he was able before the current pulled him under again. Kicking his legs with all his might he managed to break the surface a second time and stay there, through stinging slightly blurred eyes he looked around. With a small cry he realised that he had been washed into the very centre of the river and was moving fast! Faster then any horse he had ridden. The bank flew past in a blur and he realised that his friends were very far away from him now.
"Frodo! Noooooooooooooo!" Sam screamed as he watched his beloved Master disappear round the rivers bend. He couldn't remember how, but found himself standing, his earlier weakness shrugged off. He looked to Merry who was making agonizing sounds of pain as he tried to rise and failed, slumping back to the ground.
No matter how he willed them, his knees would not lock to hold his weight. He was freezing cold and a mess, his shirt hung wide open where the river had ripped the buttons from it and he could just make out his breath in the dark as he exhaled. His light-brown locks had fallen into his eyes and were making it difficult for him to locate the younger hobbit he knew was somewhere near by. He located Sam by the painfully loud chocks he was making as he tried to breath. Merry's limp curls parted enough for him to see Sam had managed to stand; their eye's meet and Merry could see him hesitate in his dilemma.
"Go!" Was all he managed to pant, barely above a whisper, as his head grew heavier then it should and he sank back to the ground, allowing his cheek to rest uncomfortably in the mud.
Sam heard and it was enough.
He ran down the path, unable to call out, he didn't have the strength to waste. His pace was slowing and his lungs burned as he sucked in and choked on the cool air. He felt awful, his head was pounding and every joint ached, but refused to give up. He was walking now and great sobs shook his body as he realised there was no way he could outrun the river, he slumped to the floor as his strength failed. He felt so tired. He couldn't remember a time when he had felt so sleepy, he thought of Frodo and tears leaked from his eyes, he then thought of his father. How disappointed he would be when he found him.
Hamfast was extremely proud of his youngest Son; his mother had always said to Sam's delight that he and his father were alike. But Sam felt wretched; his Father would never have allowed anything as terrible as this to happen. He would have found a way!
Sam's eyes surrendered and he saw no more as he allowed the darkness to take him.
When Merry opened his eyes again he was alone in the dark. The sound of the river to his left drown out all other noises that he would have expected to hear from the forest. He felt the thick fabric of his breeches, they were soaking wet and yet the water they held felt strangely warm against his flesh. His braces were missing and his shirt was ripped, and only held in place by its sleeves. One pale shoulder lay exposed to the night air and it hurt worse then the time he had been stung from head to toe.
Merry remembered how he and Frodo used to go off adventuring. The shire comprised of four main areas, called the Four Fathings. He and Frodo had made a pact to explore each area together, and over many months they made great progress. They had already explored Hobbiton (though Frodo knew it well Merry did not), and Oatbarton (Bilbo would have been very angry to know they had strayed that far), and Tuckborough.
They were returning from a daylong trip to Michel Delving, Frodo was anxious for it had taken them much longer to walk back then he had anticipated and he knew that Bilbo would be worried. Merry had suggested that they take a short cut across some of the farmland; they had done it before long ago when scrumping for mushrooms. But to their dismay, halfway across the last empty field they realised, with quite a measure of panic, that a huge dark boar was pursuing them. It had been watching them since they first entered its territory and had hidden itself in the surrounding undergrowth and had slowly crept up on them until it trotted less then a few yards behind them.
They ran as fast as their legs would carry them towards the opposite wall, the boar in hot pursuit. Merry had launched himself headfirst over the thick stone wall while Frodo had scuttled up the old lightning-tree that leaned heavily against the wall. The boar had squeaked and squealed and butted the tree in fury at their escape, tearing chunks from the base of its dead trunk. But it had only been a temporary save for they had a lot of explaining to do when they returned to Bag-End. Frodo's arms and legs covered in splinter, and Merry covered from head to toe in Nettle rash. Yes, those were the days. Less then two years had passed since then and yet it was a lifetime ago, when Merry still felt young and carefree.
He tried to lift his head to look around for the others but it was too heavy.
"Sam?" He choked. His head hurt and for a moment he wasn't quite sure where he was. Then it all came back to him. Frodo. He sobbed and tried to rise again, but he couldn't feel anything, his body was as cold as ice, yet strangely he didn't feel cold, or hot. He felt nothing at all.
Frodo fought against an overwhelming desire to close his eyes, if only for a moment. He realised that if he did he would never open them again, and he did not want to leave his Uncle.
"Bilbo" He sobbed softly.
Suddenly he found himself sucked down by the current once more. It was so strong! It was hard to remember which way was up, for the water was very clouded with mud and weed that had been ripped from the riverbed.
His eyes burned as dirt washed into them and he squeezed them tightly shut as he tumbled through the depths. The back of his outstretched hand brushed thick mud and his kneel scraped across stone and thick soft weed. He was dimly aware that his knee was starting to sting and he knew that it was bleeding. He was at the very bottom of the river, and the undercurrents were working hard to ensure that he stay there as he found himself spinning round and round in a whirlpool. He managed to blindly right himself so that he faced upwards at least, and gave a sharp kick at the ground with all his remaining strength.
It wasn't enough. His lungs felt like they were on fire, his ears hurt and he shook uncontrollably. Then his body stopped shaking and he felt a wave of warmth flow through him. He opened his eyes for they no longer hurt and stared into the thick nothingness that had enveloped him, nothing had changed and yet it had. He felt the last of the air leave his body and watched as the bubbles floated from his open mouth to be swept away. With surprising calm and a tinge of regret he realised that he had nothing more to give.
One name reached his blue lips and was formed before they too, like the rest of his body became slack and lifeless.
"Sam"
Tbc