Author: Rachel Stonebreaker
Title: Jack of the Lantern
Rating: G
Summary: Co-authored story with Amy Sweetwater. Amy's version is slightly different and posted under her pen name Amaryllis Sweetwater (246551)on FanFiction.net and Yahoo's List Merry_Piplovers. This story is based on the European myth of Jack and the Lantern, a story about a man who rescues his true love from Hades by using his wits, his friends and a turnip. It's been modified to fit Hobbit fanfiction. Five chapters.
Characters: Our favorite hobbits, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin and Bilbo
Genre: Drama, Friendship
Disclaimer: All hail JRRT, the master. I hope he doesn't mind us playing with his creation. I certainly don't make any money, fame or fortune off of my writings. I WISH I did, but I don't so don't sue me. Authors Notes: Amy conned me into writing this story. She'd heard me tell the Jack-o-lantern story about a zillion times to anyone who would listen as they passed by my ale stand at the Renaissance Faire where I work in the fall. Yeah, until the final Sunday of the Faire, it would get pretty slow the hour before closing, so I'd tell pagan and Elizabethan stories to entertain the crowds. Jack of the Lantern was one of the favorites.
~ Chapter 2 ~ Memory
"Tell us a story, Uncle!" Frodo asked as he wrapped up in his throw and settled into his chair by the fire after handing his old, dear Uncle Bilbo a mug of steaming chamomile tea. He and Sam had already set out mugs for everyone else. The smell of the crushed green leaves and tiny white flowers lent a sweet top note to the stout oak burning down to glowing charcoal in the back of the hearth.
"Well, perhaps. Though it is rather late..." Bilbo sipped at his tea and smiled up knowingly at his oldest "nephew". Frodo had found the brandy and slipped in a hearty spoonful. Bilbo had wondered why Frodo insisted on helping their servant, Samwise, find the tea in the kitchen. Samwise knew perfectly well where the tea resided. Ah, yes, Frodo could be such an intuitive lad. He wasn't really Bilbo's nephew. None of the youngsters crowded close to fire were. Except for the gardener's son, they were all cousins of one sort or the other. But at 110, a seriously ripe old age for any hobbit, Bilbo was called "Uncle". And at his advanced age, he certainly enjoyed a nip now and then, the brandy helping to ease those rare few aches that seemed to be creeping up on him.
He also rejoiced in anyone taking the interest to listen to him mutter and potter and go on about old half forgotten stories and unfinished tales.
"Yes, please do, tell us a tale! I think one full of boogies and ghouls..."
"Now, now, Meriadoc, you don't want to send your youngest cousin to bed with nightmares forming in his head. Not on tonight of all nights."
"I won't have nightmares!" Indignantly, the youngest in the group, sat bolt upright. He'd been laying curled up, as close as he could get to the coals and not catch fire. Slight, almost as much as Frodo, Pippin chilled easy. Though unlike his wiser, much older cousin, he refused to bundle up. He was 22 years younger than Frodo and though they shared Took blood, Frodo seemed to have picked up some common sense about staying warm and healthy. Especially on such a bitter night as this particular All Hallows Eve.
"Are you sure now, Peregrin? I don't want to be responsible for you waking the whole household..." Bilbo chuckled. Of all the children in the entire Shire, Peregrin was the least likely to wake with nightmares. Now, Bilbo suspected, the lad probably instigated a few, what with the pranks he pulled on his sisters. Slimy newts bundled into their underdrawers, squashed frogs in their lesson books, and the worst (or best depending on your point of view) a coney skin sewed up to look like a rat, complete with a whipcord tail and bead eyes and string whiskers, stuffed with barley which had been soaked plump and mixed with whey. When he wailed away on his oldest sister with that monstrosity and the "guts" started to fly, even a number of adults lost their tea. Yes, the lad was a terror and not in the least sensitive. Perhaps that would change as he aged. Bilbo hoped so. The youngster had potential. Bilbo knew he wasn't going to be around to help mold it. He'd have to ask Gandalf to keep an eye on the practical joker just to make sure nothing untoward happened to him before he came of age and finally got some of the wily wisdom his elders were known to eventually possess. It was a wonder that Meridaoc didn't inherit the foolishness of the Tooks. After all he was really as much Took as Peregrin when it came right down to it. Meriadoc inherited his father's Brandybuck name and apparently the infamous Brandybuck courage and common sense. Certainly not that of his mother's line, his mother being the Took's younger sister. Ah, those two lads would make a fine team when their time came to inherit. If Peregrin survived childhood disasters, he'd be Thain. When Meriadoc came of age and his father deemed it the right time, he would become Master of Buckland. Perhaps they'd be lucky enough to have children who fell in love and being second cousins could then marry and keep the two family lines interwoven. More Brandybuck in the Took line wouldn't hurt. And then more Took in those Brandybucks couldn't help but ... well.... help...
"Mister Bilbo, sir? Would there be a story before I'm off to my gaffer's?" Sam, the affable gardener's son, asked ever so quietly thinking perhaps it was time for him to go as maybe Mister Bilbo had nodded off.
"What? Oh, my yes, dear boy, yes! I can't send you off on All Hallows Eve without a proper story to set your hair on end, now can I?"
"Oh, no sir! Not one with ghosties and ghouls. Master Peregrin might'n not be having nightmares, but I'm not too proud to say I would! No, sir, if I could, I'd like to ask for a nice story. One about someone brave and fierce and loyal. Or one about a lass what needs rescuing from a dragon?"
"Oh, Sam, not some sappy love story! I want nasties and imps and hedge witches..." Merry boldly announced his request. "It's All Hallows Eve! We simply must have a terror story!"
Not to be outdone, Pippin chirped up, "YES! I should want a story suitable for tonight!"
Frodo, ever the peace maker, and feeling terrible about his friend Sam's request going under at the insistence of the louder, younger audience, spoke up. "I think we can have it all, don't you Uncle? The one about Jack's son and the lantern, perhaps with an addition or two, eh?"
"Yes, Frodo, I think I could modify it somewhat to appease our entire audience. Yes. Now, let me think." Bilbo tapped his forefinger to his chin and gazed off in thought.
~ End Chapter 2
Title: Jack of the Lantern
Rating: G
Summary: Co-authored story with Amy Sweetwater. Amy's version is slightly different and posted under her pen name Amaryllis Sweetwater (246551)on FanFiction.net and Yahoo's List Merry_Piplovers. This story is based on the European myth of Jack and the Lantern, a story about a man who rescues his true love from Hades by using his wits, his friends and a turnip. It's been modified to fit Hobbit fanfiction. Five chapters.
Characters: Our favorite hobbits, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin and Bilbo
Genre: Drama, Friendship
Disclaimer: All hail JRRT, the master. I hope he doesn't mind us playing with his creation. I certainly don't make any money, fame or fortune off of my writings. I WISH I did, but I don't so don't sue me. Authors Notes: Amy conned me into writing this story. She'd heard me tell the Jack-o-lantern story about a zillion times to anyone who would listen as they passed by my ale stand at the Renaissance Faire where I work in the fall. Yeah, until the final Sunday of the Faire, it would get pretty slow the hour before closing, so I'd tell pagan and Elizabethan stories to entertain the crowds. Jack of the Lantern was one of the favorites.
~ Chapter 2 ~ Memory
"Tell us a story, Uncle!" Frodo asked as he wrapped up in his throw and settled into his chair by the fire after handing his old, dear Uncle Bilbo a mug of steaming chamomile tea. He and Sam had already set out mugs for everyone else. The smell of the crushed green leaves and tiny white flowers lent a sweet top note to the stout oak burning down to glowing charcoal in the back of the hearth.
"Well, perhaps. Though it is rather late..." Bilbo sipped at his tea and smiled up knowingly at his oldest "nephew". Frodo had found the brandy and slipped in a hearty spoonful. Bilbo had wondered why Frodo insisted on helping their servant, Samwise, find the tea in the kitchen. Samwise knew perfectly well where the tea resided. Ah, yes, Frodo could be such an intuitive lad. He wasn't really Bilbo's nephew. None of the youngsters crowded close to fire were. Except for the gardener's son, they were all cousins of one sort or the other. But at 110, a seriously ripe old age for any hobbit, Bilbo was called "Uncle". And at his advanced age, he certainly enjoyed a nip now and then, the brandy helping to ease those rare few aches that seemed to be creeping up on him.
He also rejoiced in anyone taking the interest to listen to him mutter and potter and go on about old half forgotten stories and unfinished tales.
"Yes, please do, tell us a tale! I think one full of boogies and ghouls..."
"Now, now, Meriadoc, you don't want to send your youngest cousin to bed with nightmares forming in his head. Not on tonight of all nights."
"I won't have nightmares!" Indignantly, the youngest in the group, sat bolt upright. He'd been laying curled up, as close as he could get to the coals and not catch fire. Slight, almost as much as Frodo, Pippin chilled easy. Though unlike his wiser, much older cousin, he refused to bundle up. He was 22 years younger than Frodo and though they shared Took blood, Frodo seemed to have picked up some common sense about staying warm and healthy. Especially on such a bitter night as this particular All Hallows Eve.
"Are you sure now, Peregrin? I don't want to be responsible for you waking the whole household..." Bilbo chuckled. Of all the children in the entire Shire, Peregrin was the least likely to wake with nightmares. Now, Bilbo suspected, the lad probably instigated a few, what with the pranks he pulled on his sisters. Slimy newts bundled into their underdrawers, squashed frogs in their lesson books, and the worst (or best depending on your point of view) a coney skin sewed up to look like a rat, complete with a whipcord tail and bead eyes and string whiskers, stuffed with barley which had been soaked plump and mixed with whey. When he wailed away on his oldest sister with that monstrosity and the "guts" started to fly, even a number of adults lost their tea. Yes, the lad was a terror and not in the least sensitive. Perhaps that would change as he aged. Bilbo hoped so. The youngster had potential. Bilbo knew he wasn't going to be around to help mold it. He'd have to ask Gandalf to keep an eye on the practical joker just to make sure nothing untoward happened to him before he came of age and finally got some of the wily wisdom his elders were known to eventually possess. It was a wonder that Meridaoc didn't inherit the foolishness of the Tooks. After all he was really as much Took as Peregrin when it came right down to it. Meriadoc inherited his father's Brandybuck name and apparently the infamous Brandybuck courage and common sense. Certainly not that of his mother's line, his mother being the Took's younger sister. Ah, those two lads would make a fine team when their time came to inherit. If Peregrin survived childhood disasters, he'd be Thain. When Meriadoc came of age and his father deemed it the right time, he would become Master of Buckland. Perhaps they'd be lucky enough to have children who fell in love and being second cousins could then marry and keep the two family lines interwoven. More Brandybuck in the Took line wouldn't hurt. And then more Took in those Brandybucks couldn't help but ... well.... help...
"Mister Bilbo, sir? Would there be a story before I'm off to my gaffer's?" Sam, the affable gardener's son, asked ever so quietly thinking perhaps it was time for him to go as maybe Mister Bilbo had nodded off.
"What? Oh, my yes, dear boy, yes! I can't send you off on All Hallows Eve without a proper story to set your hair on end, now can I?"
"Oh, no sir! Not one with ghosties and ghouls. Master Peregrin might'n not be having nightmares, but I'm not too proud to say I would! No, sir, if I could, I'd like to ask for a nice story. One about someone brave and fierce and loyal. Or one about a lass what needs rescuing from a dragon?"
"Oh, Sam, not some sappy love story! I want nasties and imps and hedge witches..." Merry boldly announced his request. "It's All Hallows Eve! We simply must have a terror story!"
Not to be outdone, Pippin chirped up, "YES! I should want a story suitable for tonight!"
Frodo, ever the peace maker, and feeling terrible about his friend Sam's request going under at the insistence of the louder, younger audience, spoke up. "I think we can have it all, don't you Uncle? The one about Jack's son and the lantern, perhaps with an addition or two, eh?"
"Yes, Frodo, I think I could modify it somewhat to appease our entire audience. Yes. Now, let me think." Bilbo tapped his forefinger to his chin and gazed off in thought.
~ End Chapter 2