The Monster of Bywater
Chapter Six - A New Sort of Company
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: Started school yesterday.birthday's tomorrow.yuh-huh. Inspiration hasn't quite struck me yet, so it's a good thing that this was already written before I started school again. @__@ Enjoy - it's the chapter everyone's been waiting for!
Frodo exhaled in satisfaction, closing his eyes and allowing the wind to blow through his hair and grace his face with its touch. Despite the green hills that surrounded the location on all sides, the long blades of grass in this particular meadow were golden. The lad did not mind it, and if anything, liked this new change of pace. He had taken a seat beneath the shade of a tree, leaning back against his unfolding arms, his drawn-up shoulders nearly touching his cheeks. His legs lay strewn out before him, and he merely enjoyed the tranquility of this new place.
"Ah. . .not a person in the world. . ." he whispered, a smile crossing his lips. It was so peaceful. . .
WHOOSH!
Frodo heard the sound after something fell over his face - a network of strings tied together. His eyelids snapped open, and he found himself staring through small white boxes.
"Aha!" a voice cried out. "I *caught* ya!!"
Frodo blinked, and saw that the thing over his head was, indeed, a net. A small one at that - not even the kind that one catches fish with. A brown pole extended from the net, and was held by.
"YOU. . .!"
"I *knew* you talked! They didn't believe me!" the boy shouted, half out of excitement and half out of resentment to his family members.
The shock faded from Frodo's face, and annoyance took its place. He glared angrily at his captor.
"Now," the little hobbit announced, "Mr. Monster, now, I'm goin' to have to show you to me Gaffer, so if you would, you could come right along with me. . ." He turned about, pulling the net along with him, expecting the other to follow suit.
Frodo's glare sharpened, and with a flick of his fingers, the net went sailing off his head. The other boy turned about, and gaped in surprise.
"How did you escape?! W. . .W. . .What *are* you?" The boy seemed to cower in fright, afraid of what the freed monster might do to him. After all, monsters *eat* hobbits.!
Frodo's eyes softened somewhat, but he was still ticked, and his voice reflected it. "Rather easily, I must say. . ." He paused, pondering how to answer the second question. The questions he had imagined that the lady hobbits in the village would ask him suddenly came back to mind. Eyeing the boy curiously, he figured, 'Oh, he's probably just as nosey as they are. . .' He drew a deep breath before answering,
"I'm Frodo, I'm from Buckland, I know I smell, and no, not everyone smells like I do in Buckland."
Silence fell upon the meadow, and the Baggins thought that the other lad might be stunned by this answer. However, a very blank look remained on the boy's face.
". . .I'm Sam, and my mum says that, after I take me bath like I'm supposed to, I smell like angels."
This was all that was needed to break the ice. The discomfort immediately melted away, and Sam went as far as to take a seat beneath the tree as well. So, for the longest time, the two hobbits discussed one of the universe's greatest mysteries - what did angels smell like?
"Peach blossoms," Frodo declared.
"Flowers," Sam countered, smiling fondly at the memory of his father's flowers in the springtime.
"My mum." Frodo immediately regretted these words, and bit his bottom lip. He did not want to take that route of conversation. . .
Sam stared at him a minute, then after blinking his eyes once, a wide smile crossed his round face. "All mums smell pretty, don't they?" Frodo sighed internally with relief, thankful that the lad did not bother to probe about Primula Baggins. Samwise continued, unaware of his companion's unspoken gratitude, "I think mums have to smell pretty or they don't get to be mums!"
Frodo chuckled heartily at this. "Perhaps, Sam. . . .And maybe dads don't get to be dads if they don't tell the mums that they smell pretty!" Both giggled incessantly at this notion, only to find out years later that they were, indeed, closer to the truth about married couples than they thought.
As it is with youngsters, the conversation took a sharp turn, traveled ten feet, and stopped upon the topic of songs.
"I hear that Elves sing real pretty songs," Sam said, his eyes twinkling with wonder. "How I'd like to meet an Elf someday. . .a singin' Elf even!" Frodo smiled at the boy.
"Ah, maybe you will someday." A pause. "Well, Sam. . .I don't know any Elven songs, but I know another one, if you'd like to hear it. . ." Frodo blushed a bit at Sam's joyous outburst - "Oh, yes, please do! I'd love to hear you sing!" The elder of the two couldn't help but chuckle as the Gamgee folded his hands in his lap and began bouncing excitedly, impatiently awaiting the song.
"All right, all right, Sam. . ." Frodo coaxed, the smile upon his lips refusing to fade. "I'll sing for you. . ."
The song that Frodo chose to share was one that was very close to his heart, having first heard it when he was reluctant to fall asleep at night in his crib. His mother had made it up just for him, and the first time he ever sung it to anyone else was a few days before when one of his little female cousins cried and wouldn't settle down into sleep. Even then, the words felt foreign to his lips, having mostly only heard it rather than sung it. However, a memory laid deeply embedded into his soul - that of the first night after the Accident. He had sung that song to himself. . .he hadn't even finished it when he began crying endlessly into his pillow once more.
But, now, he knew that the remnants of his mother - even both of his parents - needed to be shared with others, so that they might cherish it as he did. So, he sang. . .
"Baby bird, Open up your wings and fly Baby bird, If you wanted to, you could soar high Baby bird, Sing your lovely melodies Baby bird, Please give your songs to me. . ."
Frodo's lips pressed together in foreboading. 'Please don't laugh at me.' he silently begged. He watched the other's features very closely, ready to shrink at the smallest hint of mocking laughter. Nothing was said for the longest time, and Sam stared wide-eyed at him.
". . .That was beautiful," Sam whispered, his eyes shining with sincerity. Frodo breathed an internal sigh of relief for the second time that day. The tweenager's heart thanked him many times over for not bringing forth any harm to it, and though this gratitude was never spoken of in their lifetimes, their mutual understanding of each other shined through like a beam of light on a cloudy day.
Sam knew not what it meant to Frodo to have said that, but in his heart, he knew it was the right thing to say.
Smiling, Sam continued, "It sounds like something an Elf might sing." Frodo's face beamed at this, not so much for the compliment in it, but because of his amusement; he chose *not* to tell the other lad that Elves sing in *Elvish*, as opposed to the Common Tongue.
His brow lowering, the younger spoke, "Hm. . .I wish I had a pretty song to give to you. . ." He cupped his hand over his chin, thinking long and hard. Frodo, still sitting up in the same position he had been before the episode with the butterfly net, smiled once more at the other's deep concentration. Finally, Sam lifted his head from his hand, a look of approval with his decision upon his face.
The song he was about to sing was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in the fashion of rhymes. From the depths of his soul, he wanted to share with the other lad his affection for this song. He had only heard it from the finest gentlehobbits that ever came to live in Hobbiton. . .
Swinging his right arm to the beat as many did during the song's duration, Sam sung unbeatably, "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beeeeeer!"
Frodo roared with laughter, wrapping his arms tightly about his midsection in pain from doing so in such an overwhelming manner. His eyes beginning to wet from his incessant crowing, his knees came to his chest and he rolled back, laughing still all the more.
Sam continued his song, seemingly unaware of his companion's condition. "Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the waaaall.!"
Chapter Six - A New Sort of Company
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: Started school yesterday.birthday's tomorrow.yuh-huh. Inspiration hasn't quite struck me yet, so it's a good thing that this was already written before I started school again. @__@ Enjoy - it's the chapter everyone's been waiting for!
Frodo exhaled in satisfaction, closing his eyes and allowing the wind to blow through his hair and grace his face with its touch. Despite the green hills that surrounded the location on all sides, the long blades of grass in this particular meadow were golden. The lad did not mind it, and if anything, liked this new change of pace. He had taken a seat beneath the shade of a tree, leaning back against his unfolding arms, his drawn-up shoulders nearly touching his cheeks. His legs lay strewn out before him, and he merely enjoyed the tranquility of this new place.
"Ah. . .not a person in the world. . ." he whispered, a smile crossing his lips. It was so peaceful. . .
WHOOSH!
Frodo heard the sound after something fell over his face - a network of strings tied together. His eyelids snapped open, and he found himself staring through small white boxes.
"Aha!" a voice cried out. "I *caught* ya!!"
Frodo blinked, and saw that the thing over his head was, indeed, a net. A small one at that - not even the kind that one catches fish with. A brown pole extended from the net, and was held by.
"YOU. . .!"
"I *knew* you talked! They didn't believe me!" the boy shouted, half out of excitement and half out of resentment to his family members.
The shock faded from Frodo's face, and annoyance took its place. He glared angrily at his captor.
"Now," the little hobbit announced, "Mr. Monster, now, I'm goin' to have to show you to me Gaffer, so if you would, you could come right along with me. . ." He turned about, pulling the net along with him, expecting the other to follow suit.
Frodo's glare sharpened, and with a flick of his fingers, the net went sailing off his head. The other boy turned about, and gaped in surprise.
"How did you escape?! W. . .W. . .What *are* you?" The boy seemed to cower in fright, afraid of what the freed monster might do to him. After all, monsters *eat* hobbits.!
Frodo's eyes softened somewhat, but he was still ticked, and his voice reflected it. "Rather easily, I must say. . ." He paused, pondering how to answer the second question. The questions he had imagined that the lady hobbits in the village would ask him suddenly came back to mind. Eyeing the boy curiously, he figured, 'Oh, he's probably just as nosey as they are. . .' He drew a deep breath before answering,
"I'm Frodo, I'm from Buckland, I know I smell, and no, not everyone smells like I do in Buckland."
Silence fell upon the meadow, and the Baggins thought that the other lad might be stunned by this answer. However, a very blank look remained on the boy's face.
". . .I'm Sam, and my mum says that, after I take me bath like I'm supposed to, I smell like angels."
This was all that was needed to break the ice. The discomfort immediately melted away, and Sam went as far as to take a seat beneath the tree as well. So, for the longest time, the two hobbits discussed one of the universe's greatest mysteries - what did angels smell like?
"Peach blossoms," Frodo declared.
"Flowers," Sam countered, smiling fondly at the memory of his father's flowers in the springtime.
"My mum." Frodo immediately regretted these words, and bit his bottom lip. He did not want to take that route of conversation. . .
Sam stared at him a minute, then after blinking his eyes once, a wide smile crossed his round face. "All mums smell pretty, don't they?" Frodo sighed internally with relief, thankful that the lad did not bother to probe about Primula Baggins. Samwise continued, unaware of his companion's unspoken gratitude, "I think mums have to smell pretty or they don't get to be mums!"
Frodo chuckled heartily at this. "Perhaps, Sam. . . .And maybe dads don't get to be dads if they don't tell the mums that they smell pretty!" Both giggled incessantly at this notion, only to find out years later that they were, indeed, closer to the truth about married couples than they thought.
As it is with youngsters, the conversation took a sharp turn, traveled ten feet, and stopped upon the topic of songs.
"I hear that Elves sing real pretty songs," Sam said, his eyes twinkling with wonder. "How I'd like to meet an Elf someday. . .a singin' Elf even!" Frodo smiled at the boy.
"Ah, maybe you will someday." A pause. "Well, Sam. . .I don't know any Elven songs, but I know another one, if you'd like to hear it. . ." Frodo blushed a bit at Sam's joyous outburst - "Oh, yes, please do! I'd love to hear you sing!" The elder of the two couldn't help but chuckle as the Gamgee folded his hands in his lap and began bouncing excitedly, impatiently awaiting the song.
"All right, all right, Sam. . ." Frodo coaxed, the smile upon his lips refusing to fade. "I'll sing for you. . ."
The song that Frodo chose to share was one that was very close to his heart, having first heard it when he was reluctant to fall asleep at night in his crib. His mother had made it up just for him, and the first time he ever sung it to anyone else was a few days before when one of his little female cousins cried and wouldn't settle down into sleep. Even then, the words felt foreign to his lips, having mostly only heard it rather than sung it. However, a memory laid deeply embedded into his soul - that of the first night after the Accident. He had sung that song to himself. . .he hadn't even finished it when he began crying endlessly into his pillow once more.
But, now, he knew that the remnants of his mother - even both of his parents - needed to be shared with others, so that they might cherish it as he did. So, he sang. . .
"Baby bird, Open up your wings and fly Baby bird, If you wanted to, you could soar high Baby bird, Sing your lovely melodies Baby bird, Please give your songs to me. . ."
Frodo's lips pressed together in foreboading. 'Please don't laugh at me.' he silently begged. He watched the other's features very closely, ready to shrink at the smallest hint of mocking laughter. Nothing was said for the longest time, and Sam stared wide-eyed at him.
". . .That was beautiful," Sam whispered, his eyes shining with sincerity. Frodo breathed an internal sigh of relief for the second time that day. The tweenager's heart thanked him many times over for not bringing forth any harm to it, and though this gratitude was never spoken of in their lifetimes, their mutual understanding of each other shined through like a beam of light on a cloudy day.
Sam knew not what it meant to Frodo to have said that, but in his heart, he knew it was the right thing to say.
Smiling, Sam continued, "It sounds like something an Elf might sing." Frodo's face beamed at this, not so much for the compliment in it, but because of his amusement; he chose *not* to tell the other lad that Elves sing in *Elvish*, as opposed to the Common Tongue.
His brow lowering, the younger spoke, "Hm. . .I wish I had a pretty song to give to you. . ." He cupped his hand over his chin, thinking long and hard. Frodo, still sitting up in the same position he had been before the episode with the butterfly net, smiled once more at the other's deep concentration. Finally, Sam lifted his head from his hand, a look of approval with his decision upon his face.
The song he was about to sing was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in the fashion of rhymes. From the depths of his soul, he wanted to share with the other lad his affection for this song. He had only heard it from the finest gentlehobbits that ever came to live in Hobbiton. . .
Swinging his right arm to the beat as many did during the song's duration, Sam sung unbeatably, "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beeeeeer!"
Frodo roared with laughter, wrapping his arms tightly about his midsection in pain from doing so in such an overwhelming manner. His eyes beginning to wet from his incessant crowing, his knees came to his chest and he rolled back, laughing still all the more.
Sam continued his song, seemingly unaware of his companion's condition. "Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the waaaall.!"