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This is the first work of fanfiction that I have actually sat down and written, so I hope you like it! Reviews are welcome, even and especially with criticisms. I realize that I may vary from Tolkien's work, and I know that I am not as well-versed in the Lord of the Rings series as I should be, but I hope I can make up for that with a good story.
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The Story of Bill the Pony
The golden tides of summer poured over the swaying grasslands on the wings of a gentle breeze. In the shade of the ancient pines in the far corner of the meadow, four young horses settled down eagerly at the feet of a graying chestnut pony, their bright eyes fixed on him. They were only foals, still young, playful, and apt to be frivolous, but they at least seemed serious in the matter of this old fellow who had so captured their attention. He was called Bill, and he was reputed not only to be a rock of good sense, but a fabricator of some marvelous tales. He cleared his throat in the manner of horses, which really came out to be more of a snort, and looked down benignly at the raptly attentive colts.
"Now for that story I promised, eh?" he asked. Now you see, the talk he used was not a language you or I could understand, or one that equines would condescend to use around us. Indeed, several times they have tried to teach us their dialect in the past, but humans are consistently too dense to quite get it. So horses and ponies now hold speech only among themselves, as this chap was doing.
"Yes, please! The one about the ving and the fellowshift!" several voices all babbled at once. The old fellow smiled and chuckled to himself.
"Now, then," he said slowly, working himself into his storytelling mood. The younger set nodded and leaned closer. "This is my story, exactly as it happened, though it has been many years since it occurred. Are you all ready?" It was rather an alarming question, as they seemed practically about to leap to their feet in anticipation. They nodded profusely, and so he began his story.
"I spent my younger days in the countryside around Bree, you know. I belonged to an old farmer called Ben. He was a kind man, and good to his animals, and my mother was a favorite of his. I can't rightly remember all that happened to me in my four years there, it has been so long, but I know that it was a pleasant place.
"Despite my long years, there is a day that I have always been able to recall clearly: the day I was sold. Yes, sold. In the world of men, a horse can never be assured that he shall stay with the same master. It is a place of constant change, you see. Anyway, the day came when Farmer Ben had to let me go. The old farmer brought a rather nasty-looking man up to my pasture, and the two of them stood watching me frolicking with the others. After a few minutes, my master called to me, holding up my halter and lead rope. I was used to his call, and I gladly trotted over to the fence, searching his pockets for sugar. He settled my halter over my head, as always, but then he handed my lead to the stranger. Now this was odd, and not to my liking, but I trusted Ben, and Ben seemed to trust the stranger. I watched with a rather bored expression as gold passed between them, and I remember wondering when the master would let me go back to the fields. And then the stranger started to lead me away. That I would not stand for! I stopped in my tracks, turned my head, and whinnied plaintively for my master. But this spiteful stranger just tugged on the rope and tried to lead me on. But Master bade him wait a moment. He walked to my side and spoke to me soothingly, explaining that I was to go with this new master, Bill Ferny. He patted my flank and sent me onward. It was the last time I was to see old Ben.
"Bill Ferny brought me to the city of Bree, where I soon learned the ways of the town. The first day was terrible, I remember. I was brought to a tiny stable at the back of Ferny's muddy yard, where the only sustenance available was a bucket of water and some musty hay. He hung my halter upon a peg near the door, glanced my way with a grunt, and then he promptly turned and shut the door. Dismally I hoped that not every evening would be this way, but I was later to find that no such hope existed.
"The mornings were not much better. I was rented out to neighbors who had me pull their carts or wagons. Farmer Ben had, of course, trained me to the harness, but their driving was far different from my old master's gentle hand. They were rough with me and had little consideration. They overloaded the cart, yanked at the rein, or were too severe with the whip. I was awkward with them at first, shying at their every harsh misdemeanor, but I soon grew too exhausted to care. And the night held no respite for me either, for I was not well-treated at home. Bill Ferny never groomed me, never kept me in good condition, and never had an encouraging word to say in all my days there. My life, which had once been so free and promising, had fallen into a pattern of misery.
"My only consolation was Aladiel, the girl child who lived down the street. I do believe she was the only one who really cared for me. She was the daughter of the man whose wagon I pulled on Mondays, and she provided the only love I ever recieved in Bree. The first day she saw me, she came over to pat and stroke me and talk to me, and after that first meeting, I adored her. When she began to see me worn down by hard work and ill treatment, she started to slip into my stable at night when she could. There she would brush the dust from my coat, comb the tangles and snags from my mane and tail, and rub the soreness from my muscles. Many an eve she would step quietly in the doorway, and I would nudge her and place my nose in her hands so that she would know how much I appreciated her. She did her best to keep me company, and for that I loved her.
"But the real story, the one that you are so eager to hear, really began one night in Bree when four hobbits arrived in the town of Bree..."
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Well, what do you think? I suppose it's a good sign if you're still with me. I know I haven't gotten to the actual LotR part yet, but I figured that if no one likes this, I shouldn't bother keeping on with it. Please review so that I can figure out what's wrong with it and what's not! I hope to have the second chapter up as soon as I get a favorable reaction to this story.
This is the first work of fanfiction that I have actually sat down and written, so I hope you like it! Reviews are welcome, even and especially with criticisms. I realize that I may vary from Tolkien's work, and I know that I am not as well-versed in the Lord of the Rings series as I should be, but I hope I can make up for that with a good story.
*******************************
The Story of Bill the Pony
The golden tides of summer poured over the swaying grasslands on the wings of a gentle breeze. In the shade of the ancient pines in the far corner of the meadow, four young horses settled down eagerly at the feet of a graying chestnut pony, their bright eyes fixed on him. They were only foals, still young, playful, and apt to be frivolous, but they at least seemed serious in the matter of this old fellow who had so captured their attention. He was called Bill, and he was reputed not only to be a rock of good sense, but a fabricator of some marvelous tales. He cleared his throat in the manner of horses, which really came out to be more of a snort, and looked down benignly at the raptly attentive colts.
"Now for that story I promised, eh?" he asked. Now you see, the talk he used was not a language you or I could understand, or one that equines would condescend to use around us. Indeed, several times they have tried to teach us their dialect in the past, but humans are consistently too dense to quite get it. So horses and ponies now hold speech only among themselves, as this chap was doing.
"Yes, please! The one about the ving and the fellowshift!" several voices all babbled at once. The old fellow smiled and chuckled to himself.
"Now, then," he said slowly, working himself into his storytelling mood. The younger set nodded and leaned closer. "This is my story, exactly as it happened, though it has been many years since it occurred. Are you all ready?" It was rather an alarming question, as they seemed practically about to leap to their feet in anticipation. They nodded profusely, and so he began his story.
"I spent my younger days in the countryside around Bree, you know. I belonged to an old farmer called Ben. He was a kind man, and good to his animals, and my mother was a favorite of his. I can't rightly remember all that happened to me in my four years there, it has been so long, but I know that it was a pleasant place.
"Despite my long years, there is a day that I have always been able to recall clearly: the day I was sold. Yes, sold. In the world of men, a horse can never be assured that he shall stay with the same master. It is a place of constant change, you see. Anyway, the day came when Farmer Ben had to let me go. The old farmer brought a rather nasty-looking man up to my pasture, and the two of them stood watching me frolicking with the others. After a few minutes, my master called to me, holding up my halter and lead rope. I was used to his call, and I gladly trotted over to the fence, searching his pockets for sugar. He settled my halter over my head, as always, but then he handed my lead to the stranger. Now this was odd, and not to my liking, but I trusted Ben, and Ben seemed to trust the stranger. I watched with a rather bored expression as gold passed between them, and I remember wondering when the master would let me go back to the fields. And then the stranger started to lead me away. That I would not stand for! I stopped in my tracks, turned my head, and whinnied plaintively for my master. But this spiteful stranger just tugged on the rope and tried to lead me on. But Master bade him wait a moment. He walked to my side and spoke to me soothingly, explaining that I was to go with this new master, Bill Ferny. He patted my flank and sent me onward. It was the last time I was to see old Ben.
"Bill Ferny brought me to the city of Bree, where I soon learned the ways of the town. The first day was terrible, I remember. I was brought to a tiny stable at the back of Ferny's muddy yard, where the only sustenance available was a bucket of water and some musty hay. He hung my halter upon a peg near the door, glanced my way with a grunt, and then he promptly turned and shut the door. Dismally I hoped that not every evening would be this way, but I was later to find that no such hope existed.
"The mornings were not much better. I was rented out to neighbors who had me pull their carts or wagons. Farmer Ben had, of course, trained me to the harness, but their driving was far different from my old master's gentle hand. They were rough with me and had little consideration. They overloaded the cart, yanked at the rein, or were too severe with the whip. I was awkward with them at first, shying at their every harsh misdemeanor, but I soon grew too exhausted to care. And the night held no respite for me either, for I was not well-treated at home. Bill Ferny never groomed me, never kept me in good condition, and never had an encouraging word to say in all my days there. My life, which had once been so free and promising, had fallen into a pattern of misery.
"My only consolation was Aladiel, the girl child who lived down the street. I do believe she was the only one who really cared for me. She was the daughter of the man whose wagon I pulled on Mondays, and she provided the only love I ever recieved in Bree. The first day she saw me, she came over to pat and stroke me and talk to me, and after that first meeting, I adored her. When she began to see me worn down by hard work and ill treatment, she started to slip into my stable at night when she could. There she would brush the dust from my coat, comb the tangles and snags from my mane and tail, and rub the soreness from my muscles. Many an eve she would step quietly in the doorway, and I would nudge her and place my nose in her hands so that she would know how much I appreciated her. She did her best to keep me company, and for that I loved her.
"But the real story, the one that you are so eager to hear, really began one night in Bree when four hobbits arrived in the town of Bree..."
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Well, what do you think? I suppose it's a good sign if you're still with me. I know I haven't gotten to the actual LotR part yet, but I figured that if no one likes this, I shouldn't bother keeping on with it. Please review so that I can figure out what's wrong with it and what's not! I hope to have the second chapter up as soon as I get a favorable reaction to this story.