~~* Sadly. I am not the great Tolkien. * tear * I do own Eámanë though,
and this gorgeous stranger. Yes indeed.. he is mine! * grabs him and hold
on tight. *
He was just outside her window, staring at her. Her anger returned
ten-fold, and she ran outside to confront him.
"What do you think you were doing?" she growled.
"Checking on a helpless halfling that is very wrong in believing she
can take care of herself." He said matter-of-factly.
"And what makes you think I am helpless?"
"You cry in your sleep, for a man that died 1350 years ago." He said
simply again. His eyes dared her to contradict him.
"Showing emotion doesn't make one helpless, being overwhelmed by them
does." She spat. "Now if you please, I am going inside to eat, and
then I am getting as far away from you as I can."
"Fine. Run like you always do. Any trouble comes along, and your
solution is to use your nimble feet to flee, like a wounded animal."
"At least I stay alive." She growled. Then she turned and walked
back inside. She couldn't believe him! He didn't even know her, and
all he could do was judge her, ridicule her, and insult her. She
wouldn't stand for it, and by this evening, he would be but a horrible
memory.
"Is something wrong my dear?" Said the barkeep Mr. Butterbur.
"Oh no sir, I just had a terrible dream, and haven't quite shaken it
off yet." She smiled. Mr. Butterbur was the son of the absent-minded
barkeep of the days of the Ring. While a bit more together then his
father, he was still just as forgetful sometimes, but always kind.
Bree had been a haven for her, until now. She may never be able to
come back again, thanks to that awful elf.
"Oh, I'm sorry, do you want to talk about it?" He asked concerned.
"It is that same dream I have every year Mr. Butterbur, it's okay.
I'll be fine soon." She smiled bravely and looked at the kind man.
Every year she came here for the anniversary, so she could be
somewhere familiar while she grieved.
"How do you stand it? Reliving that horrible day year after year?
Could it be trying to tell you something?" Mr. Butterbur asked
sitting down after ordering her breakfast.
"I wish I knew. I would love to be rid of the dream, it is already
burned into my memory, and I don't need to be reminded year after
year." She sighed.
"Well, you know that you are always welcome here, anytime of the
year." Mr. Butterbur patted her hand.
"I know Mr. Butterbur, thanks." She ate her breakfast and prepared to
leave again.
"I'll see you next year then Mr. Butterbur?" She asked hugging him
close.
"If not sooner dear, if not sooner." Mr. Butterbur wiped a tear from
his eye and waved her off. He had given her a pack full of food, and
new clothes to replace her own tattered ones. She really loved Mr.
Butterbur, he had been her second father, but she couldn't stay. She
was a forbidden being, and Mr. Butterbur would loose all of his
customers.
He had known who she was from the moment she stumbled into his pub
1300 years ago, a sick, sad young child. He had known both her father
and her mother very well, and had harbored them while they got their
own place set up. Now they were both dead, and there was nothing that
could be done.
Every year Mr. Butterbur offered for her to stay with him, but she
loved him too much to bring that upon him. So she stayed for the
anniversary, then made the ten-mile hike to her old home. After that,
it was off to wherever her feet lead her to. She had been all over
Middle-Earth, but always, her feet found their way home again.
Sometime later, she wasn't exactly sure when, she stood in her old
home. It hadn't changed much, the garden had grown over, and the
vines made the house almost invisible from the road, but it was still
her home. Sitting on the floor, she could still hear her mother
singing in the kitchen, and her father whistling as he came up the
walk from his job. She pulled the ring from her new clothes and
smiled at it.
"I've kept my promise Daddy, I've never taken it off. I never will."
She whispered to the silence. A breeze fluttered and the sunlight
spilling in from a hole in the ceiling warmed her. Closing her eyes,
she could almost feel her father hugging her again. Never did she
feel most comforted then she did sitting on this dusty old floor.
Sometimes she'd sit here until nightfall, just listening and
remembering.
A twig cracked nearby, rupturing her reverie like a bubble. Eámanë
froze, praying it had just been a bird. She cursed her own
carelessness. If someone was out there, and killed her, it was her
own fault.
Okay. any guesses as to who is outside the door. All those that have
read my earlier post.DON'T tell! No Megan, it is not a pouncing scene
yet. I must figure out how to work that in. Plenty pouncing in your
story though ;)
He was just outside her window, staring at her. Her anger returned
ten-fold, and she ran outside to confront him.
"What do you think you were doing?" she growled.
"Checking on a helpless halfling that is very wrong in believing she
can take care of herself." He said matter-of-factly.
"And what makes you think I am helpless?"
"You cry in your sleep, for a man that died 1350 years ago." He said
simply again. His eyes dared her to contradict him.
"Showing emotion doesn't make one helpless, being overwhelmed by them
does." She spat. "Now if you please, I am going inside to eat, and
then I am getting as far away from you as I can."
"Fine. Run like you always do. Any trouble comes along, and your
solution is to use your nimble feet to flee, like a wounded animal."
"At least I stay alive." She growled. Then she turned and walked
back inside. She couldn't believe him! He didn't even know her, and
all he could do was judge her, ridicule her, and insult her. She
wouldn't stand for it, and by this evening, he would be but a horrible
memory.
"Is something wrong my dear?" Said the barkeep Mr. Butterbur.
"Oh no sir, I just had a terrible dream, and haven't quite shaken it
off yet." She smiled. Mr. Butterbur was the son of the absent-minded
barkeep of the days of the Ring. While a bit more together then his
father, he was still just as forgetful sometimes, but always kind.
Bree had been a haven for her, until now. She may never be able to
come back again, thanks to that awful elf.
"Oh, I'm sorry, do you want to talk about it?" He asked concerned.
"It is that same dream I have every year Mr. Butterbur, it's okay.
I'll be fine soon." She smiled bravely and looked at the kind man.
Every year she came here for the anniversary, so she could be
somewhere familiar while she grieved.
"How do you stand it? Reliving that horrible day year after year?
Could it be trying to tell you something?" Mr. Butterbur asked
sitting down after ordering her breakfast.
"I wish I knew. I would love to be rid of the dream, it is already
burned into my memory, and I don't need to be reminded year after
year." She sighed.
"Well, you know that you are always welcome here, anytime of the
year." Mr. Butterbur patted her hand.
"I know Mr. Butterbur, thanks." She ate her breakfast and prepared to
leave again.
"I'll see you next year then Mr. Butterbur?" She asked hugging him
close.
"If not sooner dear, if not sooner." Mr. Butterbur wiped a tear from
his eye and waved her off. He had given her a pack full of food, and
new clothes to replace her own tattered ones. She really loved Mr.
Butterbur, he had been her second father, but she couldn't stay. She
was a forbidden being, and Mr. Butterbur would loose all of his
customers.
He had known who she was from the moment she stumbled into his pub
1300 years ago, a sick, sad young child. He had known both her father
and her mother very well, and had harbored them while they got their
own place set up. Now they were both dead, and there was nothing that
could be done.
Every year Mr. Butterbur offered for her to stay with him, but she
loved him too much to bring that upon him. So she stayed for the
anniversary, then made the ten-mile hike to her old home. After that,
it was off to wherever her feet lead her to. She had been all over
Middle-Earth, but always, her feet found their way home again.
Sometime later, she wasn't exactly sure when, she stood in her old
home. It hadn't changed much, the garden had grown over, and the
vines made the house almost invisible from the road, but it was still
her home. Sitting on the floor, she could still hear her mother
singing in the kitchen, and her father whistling as he came up the
walk from his job. She pulled the ring from her new clothes and
smiled at it.
"I've kept my promise Daddy, I've never taken it off. I never will."
She whispered to the silence. A breeze fluttered and the sunlight
spilling in from a hole in the ceiling warmed her. Closing her eyes,
she could almost feel her father hugging her again. Never did she
feel most comforted then she did sitting on this dusty old floor.
Sometimes she'd sit here until nightfall, just listening and
remembering.
A twig cracked nearby, rupturing her reverie like a bubble. Eámanë
froze, praying it had just been a bird. She cursed her own
carelessness. If someone was out there, and killed her, it was her
own fault.
Okay. any guesses as to who is outside the door. All those that have
read my earlier post.DON'T tell! No Megan, it is not a pouncing scene
yet. I must figure out how to work that in. Plenty pouncing in your
story though ;)
