Bronwe: Watching (14/?)
By ALBA
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DISCLAIMER: The characters mentioned in this story do not belong to me, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate. I merely borrowed them and will return them when I'm finished with them. I am making no money off this fiction. I am merely using them for my own enjoyment. ;) So don't sue me because I am flat broke.
DEDICATION: For Kris, my beloved, nasty elfslut. :) For Janelle, my smutmuse who gives me the needed boots to the head. And to Daisy Gamgee for her kind words and her go-ahead for me to write this series. A big thank you to everyone who's reviewed this little fic of mine. It's a real blast writing it!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Bronwe" is Sindarin for "enduring, lasting quality, faith" (according to http://www.jrrvf.com/~hisweloke/cgi-bin/sintrans.cgi). No, Elves don't have anything to do with the story. I just liked the word. :)
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BRONWE - Watching
I remember when I was just a little girl and Mr. Bilbo would tell us all tales of the adventures he'd been on. We'd all sit around his knee and gasp in all the right places when he talked about the trolls. We cheered when he described the defeat of the dragon, Smaug. And we laughed when he told us of his dealings with the dwarves and their strange ways.
I believed those tales, somehow, yet I could never believe his tales of the elves. Nobody could be as beautiful as Mr. Bilbo described them. And everyone knew it was impossible to live forever. But whenever I said so, he'd just laugh at me and tell me "Rosie-lass, you'll learn." And then everyone else would laugh, too, ending the discussion for yet another day. But I knew I wasn't the only one who thought that way.
But what do elves have to do with anything? Nothing, really, except that I remember that while Mr. Bilbo was telling his tales, one of the hobbit- children who always believed in the elves was Merry. And because Merry believed, so did Pippin. It's them I'm watching now, standing here as I am, helping my Mam with the wash. I can see Merry and Pippin in the field across the lane, rooting around for something. Sticks, probably. It's been their game as of late to throw sticks at each other to see who has the best aim. They did that in the gardens of Bag End yesterday and my Samwise got a stick in the forehead. The Gaffer was madder than a wet bee when he saw the mark, but Mr. Bilbo defended them and the Gaffer went away, grumbling. I don't know how Mr. Bilbo punished them, but I imagine his punishment was a lot better than the Gaffer's would have been!
"Rosie-girl, what are you staring at?"
"Nothing, Mam." Nothing other than one almost-grown hobbit and one hobbit who's old enough to know better behaving like a pair of misfit children. But I do have to admit that I love watching them play, un-adultlike as it is. Pippin still has an excuse, but Merry really should know better than to behave like this. Not that I'll ever tattle on them!
"Rose, please tell me your brothers never acted like that," Mam's voice breaks into my thoughts. Merry is currently sitting on Pippin's chest, much to the annoyance of his Took relation. I often wonder when Pippin will learn that when Merry is sitting on him like that, Pippin can't get him off because Merry's bigger than he is, and stronger, although Pippin will never admit to being weaker than Merry. "ROSE!"
"I'm sorry, Mam! My thoughts wandered away on me."
"Right across the road, I'd wager." My Mam's eyes are sharp and I have to look away. She knows me too well. "No daughter of mine would ever behave like those two!" Merry is now mercilessly tickling Pippin and golden laughter spills across the lane.
"Of course not."
"I wouldn't put it past your brothers, though."
"They're boys. They're supposed to act like that." Giving my Mother what I hope is a knowing smile, I fold the last piece of washing and hand it to her to put in her basket.
"Such children," she clucks with a last disparaging look at the pair across the lane. Pippin is yelling something rude at Merry, who is ignoring him and continuing his tickle attack. I wonder if his fingers ever get tired or sore from tickling Pippin so much? "Rose, bring in the other basket, will you?"
"Yes, Mam."
"Will they never grow up?" Muttering under her breath, she makes for home, leaving me standing, still watching.
"I hope they never grow up, Mam," I whisper to myself. Giving a fond smile over my shoulder, I trail behind my mother with my basket of laundry under my arm.
******
DISCLAIMER: The characters mentioned in this story do not belong to me, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate. I merely borrowed them and will return them when I'm finished with them. I am making no money off this fiction. I am merely using them for my own enjoyment. ;) So don't sue me because I am flat broke.
DEDICATION: For Kris, my beloved, nasty elfslut. :) For Janelle, my smutmuse who gives me the needed boots to the head. And to Daisy Gamgee for her kind words and her go-ahead for me to write this series. A big thank you to everyone who's reviewed this little fic of mine. It's a real blast writing it!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Bronwe" is Sindarin for "enduring, lasting quality, faith" (according to http://www.jrrvf.com/~hisweloke/cgi-bin/sintrans.cgi). No, Elves don't have anything to do with the story. I just liked the word. :)
******
BRONWE - Watching
I remember when I was just a little girl and Mr. Bilbo would tell us all tales of the adventures he'd been on. We'd all sit around his knee and gasp in all the right places when he talked about the trolls. We cheered when he described the defeat of the dragon, Smaug. And we laughed when he told us of his dealings with the dwarves and their strange ways.
I believed those tales, somehow, yet I could never believe his tales of the elves. Nobody could be as beautiful as Mr. Bilbo described them. And everyone knew it was impossible to live forever. But whenever I said so, he'd just laugh at me and tell me "Rosie-lass, you'll learn." And then everyone else would laugh, too, ending the discussion for yet another day. But I knew I wasn't the only one who thought that way.
But what do elves have to do with anything? Nothing, really, except that I remember that while Mr. Bilbo was telling his tales, one of the hobbit- children who always believed in the elves was Merry. And because Merry believed, so did Pippin. It's them I'm watching now, standing here as I am, helping my Mam with the wash. I can see Merry and Pippin in the field across the lane, rooting around for something. Sticks, probably. It's been their game as of late to throw sticks at each other to see who has the best aim. They did that in the gardens of Bag End yesterday and my Samwise got a stick in the forehead. The Gaffer was madder than a wet bee when he saw the mark, but Mr. Bilbo defended them and the Gaffer went away, grumbling. I don't know how Mr. Bilbo punished them, but I imagine his punishment was a lot better than the Gaffer's would have been!
"Rosie-girl, what are you staring at?"
"Nothing, Mam." Nothing other than one almost-grown hobbit and one hobbit who's old enough to know better behaving like a pair of misfit children. But I do have to admit that I love watching them play, un-adultlike as it is. Pippin still has an excuse, but Merry really should know better than to behave like this. Not that I'll ever tattle on them!
"Rose, please tell me your brothers never acted like that," Mam's voice breaks into my thoughts. Merry is currently sitting on Pippin's chest, much to the annoyance of his Took relation. I often wonder when Pippin will learn that when Merry is sitting on him like that, Pippin can't get him off because Merry's bigger than he is, and stronger, although Pippin will never admit to being weaker than Merry. "ROSE!"
"I'm sorry, Mam! My thoughts wandered away on me."
"Right across the road, I'd wager." My Mam's eyes are sharp and I have to look away. She knows me too well. "No daughter of mine would ever behave like those two!" Merry is now mercilessly tickling Pippin and golden laughter spills across the lane.
"Of course not."
"I wouldn't put it past your brothers, though."
"They're boys. They're supposed to act like that." Giving my Mother what I hope is a knowing smile, I fold the last piece of washing and hand it to her to put in her basket.
"Such children," she clucks with a last disparaging look at the pair across the lane. Pippin is yelling something rude at Merry, who is ignoring him and continuing his tickle attack. I wonder if his fingers ever get tired or sore from tickling Pippin so much? "Rose, bring in the other basket, will you?"
"Yes, Mam."
"Will they never grow up?" Muttering under her breath, she makes for home, leaving me standing, still watching.
"I hope they never grow up, Mam," I whisper to myself. Giving a fond smile over my shoulder, I trail behind my mother with my basket of laundry under my arm.