Author's note I did switch to third person when I added in a new character. I've been having a bit of trouble with first person lately.
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CHAPTER NINE -- Icicles in the Night
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Marigold stood with her back to the door, regarding the Master of Bag End with an expression that bordered on a mixture of pity and fear. She didn't really have a choice at the moment. She was practically stuck here for the next few hours at any rate. Hopefully she could get home by then and explain to Mamma that it had taken longer than she thought at the cottons to bring the baby's fever down. But this one…she couldn't tell exactly what was wrong with him though she suspected it had a great deal to do with too much wine given the glassy look in his bloodshot eyes. No sleep? That was likely the case too. He held his hands under both arms, crossed over his waist, warming them, and he still shivered every now and then, trying not to let her see. In turn…she knew he was studying her. He wouldn't find much to look at for she was quite bundled in -proper- winter clothing. Why someone would go out in only a coat and a scarf in weather like this she would never know.
Marigold cleared her throat, advancing towards the fire. She frowned as Frodo's eyes followed her every move. "Your hands should warm up soon, Mr. Frodo." she said cheerily, "Should I make some tea? Could be just the thing to warm you up."
"There's a bottle of wine in my study, I would appreciate it if you would get it." Frodo said mildly.
"Wine." she repeated, eyeing him with a hint of disproval in her eyes. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo…but I think that tea…"
"I'll thank you not to recommend what is or is not good for me, Miss Gamgee. I can take care of myself. " he snapped, his eyes flashing. "Now, are you going to get it or not?"
She meant to speak...but drew her lips together in a thin line. With a frown she began to unwrap her scarf as she walked in the direction he indicated. "Yes, Sir." She nodded crisply. Shaking her head, she had no idea why Sam liked working for him. He had the manners of a goat. She paused as she opened the door to his study and took a look inside…and frowned.
Not the tidiest of hobbits...certainly...papers were strew about from an open window. No -wonder- it was so cold in Bag End. She moved towards the window and shut it. She screwed up her nose at the stale smell of wine and glanced about her eyes falling down upon a tray of...barely eaten dinner...and more than one empty bottles of wine. Afraid of disturbing anything less he take her to task for it she found one that was half full and bit her lip. He needed more than wine. Sam wouldn't like it if she let him drink himself to sleep. She smiled a bit...and opened the window...and poured the wine bottle out. It appeared to be the last one in the room too. Poor Mr. Frodo would have to settle for Tea.
Marigold chuckled a little to herself, and made her way quickly to the kitchen, hoping that there would be something already prepared and perhaps it would need heating up. She carried the tray of day old half eaten food and dumped it. Thankfully...Sam had control over the kitchen and it -was- in order.
"Marigold?" Frodo called irritably. "What are you doing back there?...I'm thirsty..." She thought she might have heard a whimper...but decided it was her imagination.
"I'll be along in a minute, Mr. Frodo." she called back earnestly.
Frodo fretted a little, he really didn't -want- anyone there. Sighing he was beginning to wonder why his hands weren't warming up...they seemed awfully cold...he stared at the fire, his mouth desperately dry. He needed a drink.
"I'm...having trouble locating that wine..." Marigold stalled as she began the task of preparing something a little better for her brother's master.
There was no answer from Frodo.
She finally returned to the front room, holding a small tray after about five or ten long...anxious minutes. What on earth was she doing back there? Frodo wondered...and then he scowled when he saw her. She held a tray...he looked at it with a grimace...there was a bowl...and a cup of tea. Certainly no wine in sight! She'd been in his kitchen.
Marigold was of course smart enough not to bring the tray right over to him and set it down just out of reach, she had taken off her coat and was wearing a nice…faded green sweater and woolen skirt. Had he been alert…he would have noticed how tired and drawn she looked having spent the last fourty-eight hours caring for the Cotton baby who had been sick with a raging fever. She was certainly not going to let someone like Frodo Baggins get to her after that. Had he realized that, he probably would have just let her do what she wanted to do and that was to get something in his stomach and put him to bed. But sadly…..Frodo was not himself.
"How -dare- you!" the young master blurted out, his eyes flashing, he almost stood up, but his head reeled and he fell back down on the chair shaking. Marigold frowned and went over to him, he flinched away…but she wasn't about to put up with any nonsense…even though had he been in a normal state…he'd be quite capable of pushing her away. She felt his cheeks…ice cold…and glanced down to how he was holding his hands underneath his arms. She frowned a little,
"Let me see one of your hands…" she ordered softly, in the tone an older relative would give to a younger one.
Frodo hesitated at first. All he really wanted was something to drink…his throat felt like sandpaper. Sighing…he finally pulled one out for her to look at. She took it gently…hers weren't hard and calloused…like he'd expected them to be…most working class hobbits did not have soft hands. He allowed his mind to marvel at them for a while, forgetting everything else. They were also warm.
She turned his hand over and peered carefully at it under the firelight. It was freezing to touch, and with both her hands she began to rub it gently on both sides. She saw with regret that the tips of his fingers were near blue with cold.
Frodo started…then he half smiled, looking up at her. His mind had been focusing on her hands, but really she was quite a comely lass. He looked away though, controlling himself as best as he could. She wasn't Chloe…he had to keep that in mind. She was Sam Gamgee's sister and he had no right to even -think- anything. Come on Frodo…He willed himself. You haven't had that much wine have you? His mind swam and the room was beginning to spin. His stomach didn't feel at -all- well.
His mind was reeling....and he felt nautious. He could hear her words..."Some tea may help you feel better, Mr. Frodo..." But she wasn't who he wanted to hear. His lips trembled. He remembered another face...another who had not looked at him with pity...Not her...no...his stomach churned and he was going to be sick...very very sick.
He whimpered, clutching the girl to him, but as he moved his stomach disagreed with him -entirely -...and the bitter contents of a night spent in self degradation came churning upwards and the unfortunate Gamgee encountered the worst of Frodo Baggins...down her back.
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CHAPTER NINE -- Icicles in the Night
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Marigold stood with her back to the door, regarding the Master of Bag End with an expression that bordered on a mixture of pity and fear. She didn't really have a choice at the moment. She was practically stuck here for the next few hours at any rate. Hopefully she could get home by then and explain to Mamma that it had taken longer than she thought at the cottons to bring the baby's fever down. But this one…she couldn't tell exactly what was wrong with him though she suspected it had a great deal to do with too much wine given the glassy look in his bloodshot eyes. No sleep? That was likely the case too. He held his hands under both arms, crossed over his waist, warming them, and he still shivered every now and then, trying not to let her see. In turn…she knew he was studying her. He wouldn't find much to look at for she was quite bundled in -proper- winter clothing. Why someone would go out in only a coat and a scarf in weather like this she would never know.
Marigold cleared her throat, advancing towards the fire. She frowned as Frodo's eyes followed her every move. "Your hands should warm up soon, Mr. Frodo." she said cheerily, "Should I make some tea? Could be just the thing to warm you up."
"There's a bottle of wine in my study, I would appreciate it if you would get it." Frodo said mildly.
"Wine." she repeated, eyeing him with a hint of disproval in her eyes. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo…but I think that tea…"
"I'll thank you not to recommend what is or is not good for me, Miss Gamgee. I can take care of myself. " he snapped, his eyes flashing. "Now, are you going to get it or not?"
She meant to speak...but drew her lips together in a thin line. With a frown she began to unwrap her scarf as she walked in the direction he indicated. "Yes, Sir." She nodded crisply. Shaking her head, she had no idea why Sam liked working for him. He had the manners of a goat. She paused as she opened the door to his study and took a look inside…and frowned.
Not the tidiest of hobbits...certainly...papers were strew about from an open window. No -wonder- it was so cold in Bag End. She moved towards the window and shut it. She screwed up her nose at the stale smell of wine and glanced about her eyes falling down upon a tray of...barely eaten dinner...and more than one empty bottles of wine. Afraid of disturbing anything less he take her to task for it she found one that was half full and bit her lip. He needed more than wine. Sam wouldn't like it if she let him drink himself to sleep. She smiled a bit...and opened the window...and poured the wine bottle out. It appeared to be the last one in the room too. Poor Mr. Frodo would have to settle for Tea.
Marigold chuckled a little to herself, and made her way quickly to the kitchen, hoping that there would be something already prepared and perhaps it would need heating up. She carried the tray of day old half eaten food and dumped it. Thankfully...Sam had control over the kitchen and it -was- in order.
"Marigold?" Frodo called irritably. "What are you doing back there?...I'm thirsty..." She thought she might have heard a whimper...but decided it was her imagination.
"I'll be along in a minute, Mr. Frodo." she called back earnestly.
Frodo fretted a little, he really didn't -want- anyone there. Sighing he was beginning to wonder why his hands weren't warming up...they seemed awfully cold...he stared at the fire, his mouth desperately dry. He needed a drink.
"I'm...having trouble locating that wine..." Marigold stalled as she began the task of preparing something a little better for her brother's master.
There was no answer from Frodo.
She finally returned to the front room, holding a small tray after about five or ten long...anxious minutes. What on earth was she doing back there? Frodo wondered...and then he scowled when he saw her. She held a tray...he looked at it with a grimace...there was a bowl...and a cup of tea. Certainly no wine in sight! She'd been in his kitchen.
Marigold was of course smart enough not to bring the tray right over to him and set it down just out of reach, she had taken off her coat and was wearing a nice…faded green sweater and woolen skirt. Had he been alert…he would have noticed how tired and drawn she looked having spent the last fourty-eight hours caring for the Cotton baby who had been sick with a raging fever. She was certainly not going to let someone like Frodo Baggins get to her after that. Had he realized that, he probably would have just let her do what she wanted to do and that was to get something in his stomach and put him to bed. But sadly…..Frodo was not himself.
"How -dare- you!" the young master blurted out, his eyes flashing, he almost stood up, but his head reeled and he fell back down on the chair shaking. Marigold frowned and went over to him, he flinched away…but she wasn't about to put up with any nonsense…even though had he been in a normal state…he'd be quite capable of pushing her away. She felt his cheeks…ice cold…and glanced down to how he was holding his hands underneath his arms. She frowned a little,
"Let me see one of your hands…" she ordered softly, in the tone an older relative would give to a younger one.
Frodo hesitated at first. All he really wanted was something to drink…his throat felt like sandpaper. Sighing…he finally pulled one out for her to look at. She took it gently…hers weren't hard and calloused…like he'd expected them to be…most working class hobbits did not have soft hands. He allowed his mind to marvel at them for a while, forgetting everything else. They were also warm.
She turned his hand over and peered carefully at it under the firelight. It was freezing to touch, and with both her hands she began to rub it gently on both sides. She saw with regret that the tips of his fingers were near blue with cold.
Frodo started…then he half smiled, looking up at her. His mind had been focusing on her hands, but really she was quite a comely lass. He looked away though, controlling himself as best as he could. She wasn't Chloe…he had to keep that in mind. She was Sam Gamgee's sister and he had no right to even -think- anything. Come on Frodo…He willed himself. You haven't had that much wine have you? His mind swam and the room was beginning to spin. His stomach didn't feel at -all- well.
His mind was reeling....and he felt nautious. He could hear her words..."Some tea may help you feel better, Mr. Frodo..." But she wasn't who he wanted to hear. His lips trembled. He remembered another face...another who had not looked at him with pity...Not her...no...his stomach churned and he was going to be sick...very very sick.
He whimpered, clutching the girl to him, but as he moved his stomach disagreed with him -entirely -...and the bitter contents of a night spent in self degradation came churning upwards and the unfortunate Gamgee encountered the worst of Frodo Baggins...down her back.
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