This Life
Written by Northelle
Summary: Elanor Gamgee stumbles upon a very special hobbit, without a memory, who has come from across the Sea.
Rating: PG-13 (some violence, battle-wounds and their aftermath)
Disclaimer: Of course; I don't own anything (like the characters) in this fic, but the text and plot is mine. I don't make any money off of this. It is purely for 'fun' and for the enjoyment of others, if they wish. I am not a medical professional. I do not claim to be one.
Feedback: Feedback is awesome, but please, no flames!
Author's notes:
Finally, after at least a few months of delay, I have updated 'This Life.' I will finish it, time willing, but lately I have been busy with work, school, bills, that sort of thing. I hope everyone isn't *too* angry at me. But here it is! Chapter Four!
To EloraCooper4: Thank you for reviewing again! Bronwe is the name that-- I think it was the minstrel-- gave to Frodo before he left for the Shire after the War of the Ring. You can find the information in Book Four of the History of the Lord of the Rings (It's titled 'The End of the Third Age'). It's actually Bronwe Athan Harthad, or 'Endurance beyond Hope'.
Aemilia, JadeiteZ, Krista, Endymion: Thank you so much for reviewing! Now, onwards!
----------
Chapter Four
Dusk had come to Westmarch by the time Fastred was able to sit at his desk. He had always loved his study, how it always smelled like books, and how the sunlight hit the window just at the right angle for it to light the desk, but not get into the writer's eyes. It was one of his favorite places in the entire smial, and by the time he got around to writing a letter back to Samwise, it was even more precious-- for it kept him safely out of the range of Elfstan. His son was never too keen on getting to bed on time.
Fastred lit the lamp and settled down slowly on the chair, worn out from riding the ponies in the past few days. He sighed and took in the silence of the locked room, watching the shadows dance to the lamp's light. After a few moments, he opened his desk and took out a sheet of clean paper. Taking up one of his lesser-used quills, he dipped it in the dark ink.
He bent down to write the letter, bringing his face close to the page, as he always did. When he began to put pressure on the pen to write, he noticed a dull pain in his hand. Putting the quill down, he turned his hand in the light, expecting to find a cut or blister on the inside of his thumb. Instead, he saw the faded purple of a bruise, a dark stain mottling his palm and running between his thumb and forefinger.
Sitting back, thinking it was a trick of the light, Fastred gently closed his hand into a fist, and then opened it. Yes, there was definitely a bruise there. He couldn't remember how he had gotten it, until his memory wandered back to the other day. Bronwe had clutched his hand so tightly in pain that he had left a bruise. Fastred furrowed his brows, wondering how strong the older hobbit was. Perhaps, when he got better, he would be able to help Fastred in the stables.
The Warden took the quill back up again, and, ignoring the pain, began to write.
----------
It was late by the time that Fastred was able to get to sleep. All the candles in the house were blown out, and a chilly blue fog had settled around the smial like a sleeping beast. Fastred padded through the hallway quietly, in no need of any light. He knew his home like he knew the back of his hand.
Ghostly shadows of trees and window panes fell onto the wooden floor of the smial, black silhouettes framed by cold moonlight. The wind hissed silently outside, tugging at the leaves of the trees and battering gently upon walls and doors. Fastred passed through the main hallway and opened the door to his own room. The hinges creaked quietly, but in the still silence of the night, the sound was a sudden groan.
Fastred closed the door behind him, wincing at the creak. Nobody had awoken; Elanor lay peacefully on the bed, curled up, barely covered by the blanket. Fastred walked through the bedroom as quietly as possible. He slipped under the covers next to his wife, and tugged the blanket up to her chin. Then he lay comfortably on his back, watching the dusty moonlight on the far wall, in silence, until he drifted off to sleep.
----------
The next day dawned with the flash of lightning and a sudden outburst of cool rain. Thunder rumbled ominously over the smial of the Warden, the dark clouds overhead seemingly reaching down to touch the earth. The dry grass waved happily in the wind, glad to get any amount of water in the dry spell.
A curtain of rain was falling all around the smial, running off of the thatched rooftop and foaming on the cobblestone steps. The ponies stuck their heads out of the stables into the rain, letting the refreshing water run all down their faces and manes. Few birds came out into the storm, but instead huddled over their hatchlings, under the protection of simple leaves.
Elfstan frowned unhappily, sitting against his father's chair with his arms crossed. Elanor drifted past him, sweeping the floor. She had to gently brush the wheat-stalk broom around his legs.
"Quit sulking like that, Elfstan. Get up so I can clean, alright?"
Reluctantly, the three-year-old stood and climbed into his father's chair, nestling against the dusty stuffed arms.
"Now, get off of your dad's chair. I thought I told you not to go on it."
Elfstan huffed. "Can't I do anything t'day?!"
Elanor paused, looking at him. "Sure. You can clean. You can help me do dishes, or you can dust. I'm sure you'd easily fit into all those hard to reach corners..." Elanor smiled at her son, who looked up at her tearfully, as if cleaning, to him, were the worst thing in the world-- even though he had never cleaned in his life. "Oh, Elf, I was just kidding around. Go and see if Bronwe's awake. I'm sure you can do something with him."
Fastred came out from the other end of the house, his curly hair tousled. Elfstan sulked deeper into the chair. "He scares me," he said bluntly.
"Who? Bronwe? Don't be silly, Elfstan. He's just a little lost, is all. We'll help him find his way."
Oblivious to this conversation, Fastred pulled a coat on. "Elf, you want to come with me to feed the ponies?"
The young lad crawled down from the chair and moved quickly to catch up with his father, excited to go outside. Fastred opened the front door. The incoming wind ruffled his coat like a flag.
"Don't get all muddy out there," Elanor called after the pair.
Elfstan screamed and ran out into the rain, waving his arms like one of his 'h'eagles.' He stomped his feet hard, trying to bring up as much water as possible. Fastred hurried over and grabbed him. "Now," he said, "we're out to feed the ponies, not play in the water, alright?"
The young hobbit ignored the warning, tugging out of his father's grasp. He started running back out into the rain, when a sudden flare of lightning lit the entire front yard, and the path to the stables, and the miles of hills beyond. Elfstan, gasping, scrambled back to his father. He had always been afraid of lightning. Fastred smiled gently and picked Elfstan up, carrying him breathless to the stables.
Oddly silent compared to the wind and rain of outside, the stable seemed a sanctuary. The ponies hit their hooves on the wooden floor, eager to eat. Elfstan slowly walked around, shaken up by the experience of outside. Thunder exploded overhead, and this frightened him even more. He stuck close to his father. "I'm scared," he said.
Fastred began carrying armfuls of hay over to the pony stalls. "Thunder won't harm you, Elfstan. But it is real. A sudden flash of lightning, an unexpected flare of wildfire, warns us that nature is very real. It's all around us." Elfstan listened, obviously looking for a distraction from the storm. "Alot of others say that nature can be controlled. Like the use of windmills. But that isn't a form of controlling nature. It's just a form of brushing up against it and obtaining energy. How easily a bolt of lightning could level that windmill! We are all in the hands of nature. You understand, Elfstan?"
"Kind of."
"Good enough," Fastred laughed, giving Eowyn a pat. "Well, let's go back to the house. You need to wash yourself up."
Elfstan stuck close to his father as they walked down to the house, but he refused to be carried. He didn't stray from his father's side, but he did flinch when another twinkle of lightning alit the hills far away, flaring bright against the silhouette of the smial.
When father and son came back into the house, they saw Bronwe awake, talking to Elanor. He looked alot better, not as pale as before, with a soft smile in his eyes instead of blank nothingness. Elfstan walked around his father and ran to the washroom, trying to make sure that his mother didn't see him.
Fastred nodded a hello to Bronwe. "Feeling better?"
Bronwe nodded, still inclined to be silent. Elanor looked around for Elfstan, and then noticed the muddy footprints running from the doorway to the kitchen. Huffily, she picked up her skirt ends and followed the trail of dirt. Fastred took his coat off and hung it on the rack. He smiled at the muffled, frustrated voice of his wife as she talked to Elfstan. "Did you rest well, Bronwe?"
"Not really... storm woke me up."
"Oh. I'm sorry. But we can really thank the sky for this rain. Most of the crops around here were dying out, because of the draught."
Bronwe nodded as if he were just remembering something. "Crops. Those are farmer's plants, right?"
"That's right..." Fastred turned his head slightly as Elanor came out of the kitchen with Elfstan in her arms, wrapped in a towel, dripping water on the floor.
"Whose idea was it to let Elfstan run in the rain?"
"I won't do it again, momma. I swear."
"Go ahead and go to your room, Elfstan. Put some clean clothes on," said Fastred. He watched the three-year-old walk off, then he looked back at Elanor. "I don't think he'll be running around in the middle of a storm anymore. The lightning and thunder scared him so much when he was out there. I think it was because there wasn't a roof over his head."
"Or maybe because his mother wasn't there," Bronwe said from the other side of the room. He had been silent this entire time, and neither of them had expected such a comment from him. After all, he had only known them for about two days, and Elfstan preferred to not be near him. Elanor looked at Bronwe. "Oh, that's right. I'm making breakfast. It should be done soon."
Elanor rushed off to the kitchen. The thunder rumbled overhead, and the storm continued through the entire day, lighting the Shire with majestic but spasmodic flares of heavenly light. It was as if the storm knew that something bad was coming, and it was simply bringing tidings of such things...
~TBC~
Written by Northelle
Summary: Elanor Gamgee stumbles upon a very special hobbit, without a memory, who has come from across the Sea.
Rating: PG-13 (some violence, battle-wounds and their aftermath)
Disclaimer: Of course; I don't own anything (like the characters) in this fic, but the text and plot is mine. I don't make any money off of this. It is purely for 'fun' and for the enjoyment of others, if they wish. I am not a medical professional. I do not claim to be one.
Feedback: Feedback is awesome, but please, no flames!
Author's notes:
Finally, after at least a few months of delay, I have updated 'This Life.' I will finish it, time willing, but lately I have been busy with work, school, bills, that sort of thing. I hope everyone isn't *too* angry at me. But here it is! Chapter Four!
To EloraCooper4: Thank you for reviewing again! Bronwe is the name that-- I think it was the minstrel-- gave to Frodo before he left for the Shire after the War of the Ring. You can find the information in Book Four of the History of the Lord of the Rings (It's titled 'The End of the Third Age'). It's actually Bronwe Athan Harthad, or 'Endurance beyond Hope'.
Aemilia, JadeiteZ, Krista, Endymion: Thank you so much for reviewing! Now, onwards!
----------
Chapter Four
Dusk had come to Westmarch by the time Fastred was able to sit at his desk. He had always loved his study, how it always smelled like books, and how the sunlight hit the window just at the right angle for it to light the desk, but not get into the writer's eyes. It was one of his favorite places in the entire smial, and by the time he got around to writing a letter back to Samwise, it was even more precious-- for it kept him safely out of the range of Elfstan. His son was never too keen on getting to bed on time.
Fastred lit the lamp and settled down slowly on the chair, worn out from riding the ponies in the past few days. He sighed and took in the silence of the locked room, watching the shadows dance to the lamp's light. After a few moments, he opened his desk and took out a sheet of clean paper. Taking up one of his lesser-used quills, he dipped it in the dark ink.
He bent down to write the letter, bringing his face close to the page, as he always did. When he began to put pressure on the pen to write, he noticed a dull pain in his hand. Putting the quill down, he turned his hand in the light, expecting to find a cut or blister on the inside of his thumb. Instead, he saw the faded purple of a bruise, a dark stain mottling his palm and running between his thumb and forefinger.
Sitting back, thinking it was a trick of the light, Fastred gently closed his hand into a fist, and then opened it. Yes, there was definitely a bruise there. He couldn't remember how he had gotten it, until his memory wandered back to the other day. Bronwe had clutched his hand so tightly in pain that he had left a bruise. Fastred furrowed his brows, wondering how strong the older hobbit was. Perhaps, when he got better, he would be able to help Fastred in the stables.
The Warden took the quill back up again, and, ignoring the pain, began to write.
----------
It was late by the time that Fastred was able to get to sleep. All the candles in the house were blown out, and a chilly blue fog had settled around the smial like a sleeping beast. Fastred padded through the hallway quietly, in no need of any light. He knew his home like he knew the back of his hand.
Ghostly shadows of trees and window panes fell onto the wooden floor of the smial, black silhouettes framed by cold moonlight. The wind hissed silently outside, tugging at the leaves of the trees and battering gently upon walls and doors. Fastred passed through the main hallway and opened the door to his own room. The hinges creaked quietly, but in the still silence of the night, the sound was a sudden groan.
Fastred closed the door behind him, wincing at the creak. Nobody had awoken; Elanor lay peacefully on the bed, curled up, barely covered by the blanket. Fastred walked through the bedroom as quietly as possible. He slipped under the covers next to his wife, and tugged the blanket up to her chin. Then he lay comfortably on his back, watching the dusty moonlight on the far wall, in silence, until he drifted off to sleep.
----------
The next day dawned with the flash of lightning and a sudden outburst of cool rain. Thunder rumbled ominously over the smial of the Warden, the dark clouds overhead seemingly reaching down to touch the earth. The dry grass waved happily in the wind, glad to get any amount of water in the dry spell.
A curtain of rain was falling all around the smial, running off of the thatched rooftop and foaming on the cobblestone steps. The ponies stuck their heads out of the stables into the rain, letting the refreshing water run all down their faces and manes. Few birds came out into the storm, but instead huddled over their hatchlings, under the protection of simple leaves.
Elfstan frowned unhappily, sitting against his father's chair with his arms crossed. Elanor drifted past him, sweeping the floor. She had to gently brush the wheat-stalk broom around his legs.
"Quit sulking like that, Elfstan. Get up so I can clean, alright?"
Reluctantly, the three-year-old stood and climbed into his father's chair, nestling against the dusty stuffed arms.
"Now, get off of your dad's chair. I thought I told you not to go on it."
Elfstan huffed. "Can't I do anything t'day?!"
Elanor paused, looking at him. "Sure. You can clean. You can help me do dishes, or you can dust. I'm sure you'd easily fit into all those hard to reach corners..." Elanor smiled at her son, who looked up at her tearfully, as if cleaning, to him, were the worst thing in the world-- even though he had never cleaned in his life. "Oh, Elf, I was just kidding around. Go and see if Bronwe's awake. I'm sure you can do something with him."
Fastred came out from the other end of the house, his curly hair tousled. Elfstan sulked deeper into the chair. "He scares me," he said bluntly.
"Who? Bronwe? Don't be silly, Elfstan. He's just a little lost, is all. We'll help him find his way."
Oblivious to this conversation, Fastred pulled a coat on. "Elf, you want to come with me to feed the ponies?"
The young lad crawled down from the chair and moved quickly to catch up with his father, excited to go outside. Fastred opened the front door. The incoming wind ruffled his coat like a flag.
"Don't get all muddy out there," Elanor called after the pair.
Elfstan screamed and ran out into the rain, waving his arms like one of his 'h'eagles.' He stomped his feet hard, trying to bring up as much water as possible. Fastred hurried over and grabbed him. "Now," he said, "we're out to feed the ponies, not play in the water, alright?"
The young hobbit ignored the warning, tugging out of his father's grasp. He started running back out into the rain, when a sudden flare of lightning lit the entire front yard, and the path to the stables, and the miles of hills beyond. Elfstan, gasping, scrambled back to his father. He had always been afraid of lightning. Fastred smiled gently and picked Elfstan up, carrying him breathless to the stables.
Oddly silent compared to the wind and rain of outside, the stable seemed a sanctuary. The ponies hit their hooves on the wooden floor, eager to eat. Elfstan slowly walked around, shaken up by the experience of outside. Thunder exploded overhead, and this frightened him even more. He stuck close to his father. "I'm scared," he said.
Fastred began carrying armfuls of hay over to the pony stalls. "Thunder won't harm you, Elfstan. But it is real. A sudden flash of lightning, an unexpected flare of wildfire, warns us that nature is very real. It's all around us." Elfstan listened, obviously looking for a distraction from the storm. "Alot of others say that nature can be controlled. Like the use of windmills. But that isn't a form of controlling nature. It's just a form of brushing up against it and obtaining energy. How easily a bolt of lightning could level that windmill! We are all in the hands of nature. You understand, Elfstan?"
"Kind of."
"Good enough," Fastred laughed, giving Eowyn a pat. "Well, let's go back to the house. You need to wash yourself up."
Elfstan stuck close to his father as they walked down to the house, but he refused to be carried. He didn't stray from his father's side, but he did flinch when another twinkle of lightning alit the hills far away, flaring bright against the silhouette of the smial.
When father and son came back into the house, they saw Bronwe awake, talking to Elanor. He looked alot better, not as pale as before, with a soft smile in his eyes instead of blank nothingness. Elfstan walked around his father and ran to the washroom, trying to make sure that his mother didn't see him.
Fastred nodded a hello to Bronwe. "Feeling better?"
Bronwe nodded, still inclined to be silent. Elanor looked around for Elfstan, and then noticed the muddy footprints running from the doorway to the kitchen. Huffily, she picked up her skirt ends and followed the trail of dirt. Fastred took his coat off and hung it on the rack. He smiled at the muffled, frustrated voice of his wife as she talked to Elfstan. "Did you rest well, Bronwe?"
"Not really... storm woke me up."
"Oh. I'm sorry. But we can really thank the sky for this rain. Most of the crops around here were dying out, because of the draught."
Bronwe nodded as if he were just remembering something. "Crops. Those are farmer's plants, right?"
"That's right..." Fastred turned his head slightly as Elanor came out of the kitchen with Elfstan in her arms, wrapped in a towel, dripping water on the floor.
"Whose idea was it to let Elfstan run in the rain?"
"I won't do it again, momma. I swear."
"Go ahead and go to your room, Elfstan. Put some clean clothes on," said Fastred. He watched the three-year-old walk off, then he looked back at Elanor. "I don't think he'll be running around in the middle of a storm anymore. The lightning and thunder scared him so much when he was out there. I think it was because there wasn't a roof over his head."
"Or maybe because his mother wasn't there," Bronwe said from the other side of the room. He had been silent this entire time, and neither of them had expected such a comment from him. After all, he had only known them for about two days, and Elfstan preferred to not be near him. Elanor looked at Bronwe. "Oh, that's right. I'm making breakfast. It should be done soon."
Elanor rushed off to the kitchen. The thunder rumbled overhead, and the storm continued through the entire day, lighting the Shire with majestic but spasmodic flares of heavenly light. It was as if the storm knew that something bad was coming, and it was simply bringing tidings of such things...
~TBC~