What Frodo Did
1/?
Frodo Baggins, Orc Slayer, Elf Friend, and Saviour of Middle Earth, began the perilous climb up the scaly hide of the latest dragon he had killed, with his sword, Sting, stuck in his belt, in his quest to claim the huge ruby it wore in place of its left eye. Not that he had killed the dragon to claim its hoard, but to stop it terrifying the local villagers, eating their cows and burning their homes. He wanted the ruby to present to Orangeblossom Underhill, she of the fair skin, auburn curls and elvish blue eyes.
Happy with his story Frodo continued his ascent of the apple tree/dragon, his goal that early ripened apple, so high above him.
Orangeblossom would probably swoon into his arms when he presented her with the ruby. He would have to carry her into the Kind's great banqueting hall and, well, have a really big feast, while everyone sang ballads about his bravery.
Oh look, a birds nest!
Frodo peered in but the lofty residence was deserted. A few bits of feather clinging to the round of twigs testified to its earlier occupancy.
He looked down to the ground. Wow! He was really high up!
He loved this tree, but, on his other visits to Hobbiton, had never got this high up before. It was on the edge of the orchard and had caught the brunt of the East wind which had twisted it slightly into the perfect shape for an imaginative tween to turn into an elvish sailing ship, or, as at present, an ex-fire breathing, village terrifying dragon.
Frodo resumed his climb. Some of the braches were a bit fragile looking and he had grown a lot over the winter. He almost reached Bilbo's shoulder now. But he was sure he could reach his goal.
And at the very moment he had reassured himself, and was reaching for the next branch, an irate red furry form appeared inches from his blue eyes and chattered furiously as only squirrels can when confronted with a hobbit lad too close to its hoard.
Frodo took an involuntary step backwards to compensate for his hand having missed its hold; the branch supporting his foot creaked in protest and gave way.
Flailing arms and legs Frodo plummeted from the tree and the squirrel retreated in a flash of fluffy tailed satisfaction at having seen the monster off.
***
Frodo opened his eyes to a stream of sunlight through gently swaying leaves in the canopy of the tree above him
He groaned and winced. He had fallen out of trees before - and the worst injury he had got was a spanking from his father for being up one in the first place, and for putting his mother to the trouble of repairing torn clothing - but he had never fallen from so high before.
Carefully at first he moved one arm; bringing the hand up to brush bits of tree debris from his face. His hand encountered something wet and sticky. He looked at his fingers in puzzlement, not understanding. One moment he had been in the middle of a glorious adventure and now he was flat on his back beneath the apple tree trying to remember how to breathe. There was blood on his fingers. He must have caught his face on a branch as he descended. Yes, his lower jaw was congealed with the stuff. He moved it experimentally -ow! That hurt!!
Blast!! He would catch it now from Bilbo; there would be no concealing a grazed chin. Fool! He told himself. Felled by a squirrel. Maybe he could say he just tripped over.
Both arms were working so he moved to push himself up on his elbows to see if he had torn any of his clothes.
His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open despite his resolve not to move his jaw. The shock of the sudden pain took his breath away and once more he was staring up at the tree from his prone position, tears starting to his eyes.
He had really done it this time! He felt gingerly under his back - had he fallen onto a rock, or taken a branch down with him? He could feel nothing but he knew he had hurt himself badly for it to hurt so much. Black spots were swimming before his eyes and he willed back the rising nausea. Throwing up from flat on his back would not be very pleasant and he was not about to risk the experiment of trying to move again. The memory of the pain was still far too clear.
Frodo lay still for a while wondering what to do. This side of the orchard was too far from any roads to allow for shouting for help. He would just have to lie here till he felt better. Once he was on his feet he was sure he could make it back to Bag end - even if once there he had to confess his tree climbing to Uncle Bilbo and accept the consequences.
Fool of a Baggins! Well, he had paid for it now. He would probably be sent to bed with out supper - a dire punishment - one usually reserved for when he had been caught out pilfering mushrooms. He would rather clean out the woodshed again. And he HATED cleaning out the woodshed on account of those horrid big spiders that lurked in wait in shadowy corners to run over his feet. He could never see why the woodshed needed cleaning out in the first place. It was not like you needed to keep the wood clean.
Pull yourself together Frodo, he prep talked himself. One good heave and you will be on your feet and home before teatime. Maybe he could sneak in the window of his room and change before Bilbo noticed. He took a deep breath; one, two, three.
The squirrel was checking over its stock when a half strangled cry of anguish startled it. Curious as to what had made such a noise it peered down through the branches. The felled monster was lying still again, blood seeping from a deep gash across its chin and legs twisted beneath it in a strange manner.
1/?
Frodo Baggins, Orc Slayer, Elf Friend, and Saviour of Middle Earth, began the perilous climb up the scaly hide of the latest dragon he had killed, with his sword, Sting, stuck in his belt, in his quest to claim the huge ruby it wore in place of its left eye. Not that he had killed the dragon to claim its hoard, but to stop it terrifying the local villagers, eating their cows and burning their homes. He wanted the ruby to present to Orangeblossom Underhill, she of the fair skin, auburn curls and elvish blue eyes.
Happy with his story Frodo continued his ascent of the apple tree/dragon, his goal that early ripened apple, so high above him.
Orangeblossom would probably swoon into his arms when he presented her with the ruby. He would have to carry her into the Kind's great banqueting hall and, well, have a really big feast, while everyone sang ballads about his bravery.
Oh look, a birds nest!
Frodo peered in but the lofty residence was deserted. A few bits of feather clinging to the round of twigs testified to its earlier occupancy.
He looked down to the ground. Wow! He was really high up!
He loved this tree, but, on his other visits to Hobbiton, had never got this high up before. It was on the edge of the orchard and had caught the brunt of the East wind which had twisted it slightly into the perfect shape for an imaginative tween to turn into an elvish sailing ship, or, as at present, an ex-fire breathing, village terrifying dragon.
Frodo resumed his climb. Some of the braches were a bit fragile looking and he had grown a lot over the winter. He almost reached Bilbo's shoulder now. But he was sure he could reach his goal.
And at the very moment he had reassured himself, and was reaching for the next branch, an irate red furry form appeared inches from his blue eyes and chattered furiously as only squirrels can when confronted with a hobbit lad too close to its hoard.
Frodo took an involuntary step backwards to compensate for his hand having missed its hold; the branch supporting his foot creaked in protest and gave way.
Flailing arms and legs Frodo plummeted from the tree and the squirrel retreated in a flash of fluffy tailed satisfaction at having seen the monster off.
***
Frodo opened his eyes to a stream of sunlight through gently swaying leaves in the canopy of the tree above him
He groaned and winced. He had fallen out of trees before - and the worst injury he had got was a spanking from his father for being up one in the first place, and for putting his mother to the trouble of repairing torn clothing - but he had never fallen from so high before.
Carefully at first he moved one arm; bringing the hand up to brush bits of tree debris from his face. His hand encountered something wet and sticky. He looked at his fingers in puzzlement, not understanding. One moment he had been in the middle of a glorious adventure and now he was flat on his back beneath the apple tree trying to remember how to breathe. There was blood on his fingers. He must have caught his face on a branch as he descended. Yes, his lower jaw was congealed with the stuff. He moved it experimentally -ow! That hurt!!
Blast!! He would catch it now from Bilbo; there would be no concealing a grazed chin. Fool! He told himself. Felled by a squirrel. Maybe he could say he just tripped over.
Both arms were working so he moved to push himself up on his elbows to see if he had torn any of his clothes.
His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open despite his resolve not to move his jaw. The shock of the sudden pain took his breath away and once more he was staring up at the tree from his prone position, tears starting to his eyes.
He had really done it this time! He felt gingerly under his back - had he fallen onto a rock, or taken a branch down with him? He could feel nothing but he knew he had hurt himself badly for it to hurt so much. Black spots were swimming before his eyes and he willed back the rising nausea. Throwing up from flat on his back would not be very pleasant and he was not about to risk the experiment of trying to move again. The memory of the pain was still far too clear.
Frodo lay still for a while wondering what to do. This side of the orchard was too far from any roads to allow for shouting for help. He would just have to lie here till he felt better. Once he was on his feet he was sure he could make it back to Bag end - even if once there he had to confess his tree climbing to Uncle Bilbo and accept the consequences.
Fool of a Baggins! Well, he had paid for it now. He would probably be sent to bed with out supper - a dire punishment - one usually reserved for when he had been caught out pilfering mushrooms. He would rather clean out the woodshed again. And he HATED cleaning out the woodshed on account of those horrid big spiders that lurked in wait in shadowy corners to run over his feet. He could never see why the woodshed needed cleaning out in the first place. It was not like you needed to keep the wood clean.
Pull yourself together Frodo, he prep talked himself. One good heave and you will be on your feet and home before teatime. Maybe he could sneak in the window of his room and change before Bilbo noticed. He took a deep breath; one, two, three.
The squirrel was checking over its stock when a half strangled cry of anguish startled it. Curious as to what had made such a noise it peered down through the branches. The felled monster was lying still again, blood seeping from a deep gash across its chin and legs twisted beneath it in a strange manner.