The Monster of Bywater
Chapter Four - Monster-Hunting
By Talking Hawk
Bilbo was at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the spots off one of the white dining plates. Suds overflowed from the water basin that the dishes were in, so the hobbit had to take extra care as not to dip his hand in too hastily and withdraw a knife (at the wrong end, mind you). He continued scrubbing away as he heard the front door quietly creak open then snap shut behind the visitor. The elderly hobbit smiled to himself, and waited for the being to come into the kitchen before acknowledging his presence.
When he was sure that the pair of feet now stood at the entrance of the kitchen, Bilbo spoke, "Well, well, it's good to see that you're back! While you were gone, I got to thinking, and I realized I did the silliest thing--" he bent over, so overcome with laughter at his own absentmindedness "-I realized that when we made our bet, we never decided what you would do if you los. . ." Bilbo turned around, and he halted his speech. Needless to say, he did not expect the sight that lay before his eyes. . .
Frodo's brunette curls were a darker shade of brown than usual, having only been hastily shaken dry. The boy no longer yielded his lily pad, and assumabley had discarded it after the run-in at Bywater. He was now fully- dressed, but in places his white shirt stuck uncomfortably to his damp skin, having not taken the time nor energy to dry himself before putting on his clothes once more. The painting of the disturbed youth was finished with a somber expression upon his face.
"Why, Frodo. . ." Bilbo said, his worry founded mostly by the boy's facial expression than anything else, "what happened. . .? Did you not find something to bring back?" It was superficial thing to ask, yes, but the hobbit could not imagine what else the tweenager could be so stunned over.
For the longest time, blue eyes remained blank and unblinking, deep in thought and reflection. Finally, the lad withdrew something from behind his back. . .
A water bucket.
* * *
"Stay right here. . ." Hamfast whispered, releasing the boy's hand. His son gulped apprehensively, but obeyed. The Gaffer walked out a bit into the water until he was ankle-deep in the pond. He eyed his surroundings, his hands set upon his hips, then tentatively sniffed the air.
Hamfast had a practiced nose for deciphering different scents. Sam even went as far as to brag to the other hobbit lads and lasses (though it was usually only little Rosie Cotton that appeared interested at all by Sam's stories) that his father could tell the difference between a petunia and a snapdragon merely by the smell of their pollen.
So, it was no wonder that Hamfast chose to try out his nose before doing anything else. He was all too familiar with the smell of "wet dog" (for which was the main reason why he never yielded to Hamson and Halfreds' pleas to ever get one), so his keen sense of smell knew exactly what it was looking for. Even a remnant hair drifting through the air could be the key.
No such deciding factor existed. After smelling about for a good twenty minutes, the Gaffer stepped out of the water and began searching among the reeds, looking for some sort of footprint or other clue. There were no dead animals either. Coming back empty-handed, Hamfast towered over his son, his arms folded strictly.
"Sam. . ." he began, his voice sounding strained, "there *was* no warg, was there. . .?"
"Well," the boy said, dabbing a finger to his cheek thoughtfully, "I wouldn't rightly say that it was a *warg*, but it was definitely somethin'. . ." He received a hard glare from his father, so Sam decided to elaborate. He lifted a hand high over his head. "He was *ye* tall. . ." The lad compared his hand's height, however inaccurate, to his father's, and realized the thing he saw hadn't been that tall after all. . . "W- well," Sam stammered, cupping two hands about his eyes, "he had *huge* eyes, the color of water. Like a ghost even! And then there was that lily pad growing out of his head. . ."
A heavy sigh emitted from Hamfast, and he shut his eyes for a moment as to remain calm. When he opened his eyes once more, Sam was peering up at him with a frown.
"Sam-lad," the Gaffer spoke, "when you said that you saw somethin', I believed you. I was countin' on you to tell me the truth."
"B-but. . .I *was* tellin' the truth. . ." Sam insisted, tears welling up in his eyes. He turned his gaze downward, watching as his right foot began making imaginary circles on the pebbles.
Hamfast sighed once more. "Now, my boy, I can understand that you didn't want me to be mad about losing the water bucket - even though it was our only one. . ." Sam's eyes widened horrifically. He had completely forgotten about it!
'Oh no. . .' Dread filled Sam's soul. His father was right; the bucket *had* been the only one they owned. Oh, how humiliated Hamfast will be when he has to ask to borrow someone else's. . .
More than anything, Samwise wanted to burst into remorseful tears right then and there, but he knew it would only make things worse than they already were. Hamfast hated to see his children cry, and even went as far as to scold them when the boys were doing it. So, for the sake of himself and his father, he bit his bottom lip with all the strength left in him.
". . .But you can't go 'round lyin'."
"I *wasn't* lying though!" Sam countered weakly. "I. . .I saw a monster!"
"Now, Sam," the Gaffer said, his voice becoming more strained with suppressed anger, "a man admits when he's made a mistake. No more of this monster nonsense."
"It was big, and when I saw it, I dropped the water bucket. . . It might've eaten me if I'd given it the chance!"
Hamfast's eyes narrowed venomously, his arms tensing about his chest. "I will have no more of this!" A silence ensued, angry vibes traveling through the air. Sam's face was flushed with frustration, then shame, and the Gaffer took this time to become calm once more. A small sigh from the man marked the end of the silence. "Sam. . .I'm afraid I can't trust you no more. Not with you lyin' like this."
Hamfast turned away, but not in time to miss seeing his son's fallen face. The boy's arms hung limply at his sides, a crestfallen look in his eyes. Sam's heart broke and crumbled into pieces at the accusation.
The very worst thing that could happen in his little world did - the boy lost his beloved father's trust. . . And that was much worse than any sort of punishment that anyone could ever inflict upon him.
Chapter Four - Monster-Hunting
By Talking Hawk
Bilbo was at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the spots off one of the white dining plates. Suds overflowed from the water basin that the dishes were in, so the hobbit had to take extra care as not to dip his hand in too hastily and withdraw a knife (at the wrong end, mind you). He continued scrubbing away as he heard the front door quietly creak open then snap shut behind the visitor. The elderly hobbit smiled to himself, and waited for the being to come into the kitchen before acknowledging his presence.
When he was sure that the pair of feet now stood at the entrance of the kitchen, Bilbo spoke, "Well, well, it's good to see that you're back! While you were gone, I got to thinking, and I realized I did the silliest thing--" he bent over, so overcome with laughter at his own absentmindedness "-I realized that when we made our bet, we never decided what you would do if you los. . ." Bilbo turned around, and he halted his speech. Needless to say, he did not expect the sight that lay before his eyes. . .
Frodo's brunette curls were a darker shade of brown than usual, having only been hastily shaken dry. The boy no longer yielded his lily pad, and assumabley had discarded it after the run-in at Bywater. He was now fully- dressed, but in places his white shirt stuck uncomfortably to his damp skin, having not taken the time nor energy to dry himself before putting on his clothes once more. The painting of the disturbed youth was finished with a somber expression upon his face.
"Why, Frodo. . ." Bilbo said, his worry founded mostly by the boy's facial expression than anything else, "what happened. . .? Did you not find something to bring back?" It was superficial thing to ask, yes, but the hobbit could not imagine what else the tweenager could be so stunned over.
For the longest time, blue eyes remained blank and unblinking, deep in thought and reflection. Finally, the lad withdrew something from behind his back. . .
A water bucket.
* * *
"Stay right here. . ." Hamfast whispered, releasing the boy's hand. His son gulped apprehensively, but obeyed. The Gaffer walked out a bit into the water until he was ankle-deep in the pond. He eyed his surroundings, his hands set upon his hips, then tentatively sniffed the air.
Hamfast had a practiced nose for deciphering different scents. Sam even went as far as to brag to the other hobbit lads and lasses (though it was usually only little Rosie Cotton that appeared interested at all by Sam's stories) that his father could tell the difference between a petunia and a snapdragon merely by the smell of their pollen.
So, it was no wonder that Hamfast chose to try out his nose before doing anything else. He was all too familiar with the smell of "wet dog" (for which was the main reason why he never yielded to Hamson and Halfreds' pleas to ever get one), so his keen sense of smell knew exactly what it was looking for. Even a remnant hair drifting through the air could be the key.
No such deciding factor existed. After smelling about for a good twenty minutes, the Gaffer stepped out of the water and began searching among the reeds, looking for some sort of footprint or other clue. There were no dead animals either. Coming back empty-handed, Hamfast towered over his son, his arms folded strictly.
"Sam. . ." he began, his voice sounding strained, "there *was* no warg, was there. . .?"
"Well," the boy said, dabbing a finger to his cheek thoughtfully, "I wouldn't rightly say that it was a *warg*, but it was definitely somethin'. . ." He received a hard glare from his father, so Sam decided to elaborate. He lifted a hand high over his head. "He was *ye* tall. . ." The lad compared his hand's height, however inaccurate, to his father's, and realized the thing he saw hadn't been that tall after all. . . "W- well," Sam stammered, cupping two hands about his eyes, "he had *huge* eyes, the color of water. Like a ghost even! And then there was that lily pad growing out of his head. . ."
A heavy sigh emitted from Hamfast, and he shut his eyes for a moment as to remain calm. When he opened his eyes once more, Sam was peering up at him with a frown.
"Sam-lad," the Gaffer spoke, "when you said that you saw somethin', I believed you. I was countin' on you to tell me the truth."
"B-but. . .I *was* tellin' the truth. . ." Sam insisted, tears welling up in his eyes. He turned his gaze downward, watching as his right foot began making imaginary circles on the pebbles.
Hamfast sighed once more. "Now, my boy, I can understand that you didn't want me to be mad about losing the water bucket - even though it was our only one. . ." Sam's eyes widened horrifically. He had completely forgotten about it!
'Oh no. . .' Dread filled Sam's soul. His father was right; the bucket *had* been the only one they owned. Oh, how humiliated Hamfast will be when he has to ask to borrow someone else's. . .
More than anything, Samwise wanted to burst into remorseful tears right then and there, but he knew it would only make things worse than they already were. Hamfast hated to see his children cry, and even went as far as to scold them when the boys were doing it. So, for the sake of himself and his father, he bit his bottom lip with all the strength left in him.
". . .But you can't go 'round lyin'."
"I *wasn't* lying though!" Sam countered weakly. "I. . .I saw a monster!"
"Now, Sam," the Gaffer said, his voice becoming more strained with suppressed anger, "a man admits when he's made a mistake. No more of this monster nonsense."
"It was big, and when I saw it, I dropped the water bucket. . . It might've eaten me if I'd given it the chance!"
Hamfast's eyes narrowed venomously, his arms tensing about his chest. "I will have no more of this!" A silence ensued, angry vibes traveling through the air. Sam's face was flushed with frustration, then shame, and the Gaffer took this time to become calm once more. A small sigh from the man marked the end of the silence. "Sam. . .I'm afraid I can't trust you no more. Not with you lyin' like this."
Hamfast turned away, but not in time to miss seeing his son's fallen face. The boy's arms hung limply at his sides, a crestfallen look in his eyes. Sam's heart broke and crumbled into pieces at the accusation.
The very worst thing that could happen in his little world did - the boy lost his beloved father's trust. . . And that was much worse than any sort of punishment that anyone could ever inflict upon him.