A/N: Wow, you're back! waves Hi! I guess you've gotten over the worst of it- at least, I hope that was the worst...looking at this chapter, maybe not...j/k! Feel free to flame me, it warms my toesies at night.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Only some socks. Which also keep my toesies warm at night.
A fly buzzed on the windowsill, fanning its ever-seeing face with ragged wings. That, Estella thought, must be bliss. The afternoon sun flooded through the open windows of the Hobbit holes all across Hobbiton, and Fern Harfoot's parlor was sweltering. Estella and a group of half a dozen other young Hobbit maids were seated in a semi-circle around Fern, who was attempting to show them a basic knit stitch around her swollen stomach. Her five other children were sleeping off the heat, which Estella wished desperately she was doing as well. Silently she reprimanded herself and tried- tried very hard- to pay attention. Somehow, though, she couldn't imagine ever needing a nice, thick woolen sweater when even her thin cotton dress was pasted to her skin.
Finally the lesson ended and the lasses were free to go. Estella was all to eager to flee the village to run down to the stream. Of course, being a good, respectable Hobbit from a good, respectable family, she could not swim, but it did no harm to sit on the dock and dangle her toes in the water. Besides that, her mother had told her before Lessons that she may, so of course it was alright. Rushing along with her head bowed, so as not to trip on any stones, it seems Estella was a little too eager, and not careful enough. In her haste, she plowed right into another Hobbit.
With a cry of dismay, she got up of the ground and looked down to the poor Hobbit she had knocked down. She grimaced, noticing a large, flat rock near her victim's head. "Oh, no...." she groaned softly. With some trouble, she managed to roll the comatose Hobbit over so as to see his face. She stopped cold, and rolled her eyes, shoving the Meriadoc Brandybuck:s head off her lap. He was still unconscious, but she wasn't about to revive him. The longer his mouth could stay shut, the better.
She walked off the way she came, her hopes of visiting the stream dashed. She didn't feel regretful, or embarrassed, or even a bit of pity for Merry. She was just angry at him for ruining a perfectly fine, if not uncomfortably warm, afternoon. Merry awoke a few hours later in the gathering dusk and wondered how he had gotten so drunk as to not remember how he came to be unconscious in the middle of the street. He hadn't had any ale- or at least, none that he remembered having- but he shrugged it off, deciding, after all, it had happened before and would most likely happen again.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully for the Bolger family, and the night was just as hot and still as the day. Estella retired to her room early with a candle, meaning to read some, but decided against it at the last minute, merely blowing out her candle and crawling between the cool sheets instead. The heat made her feel drunk and heavy headed, and she fell asleep soon after.
Fatty was woke up in the wee hours by a scream, seemingly coming from his sister's room. Pulling on his robe, more for decency than warmth, he dashed down the hall, expecting to find his sister maimed and dying. Instead she was sitting on the bed, her arms around her knees, face in her lap, rocking back and forth in the moonlight, shivering despite the warm air. She seemed to be humming, or possible chanting, to herself. Fatty rushed to her right away and threw his arm around her shoulder. "Estella, what's wrong?" he asked urgently. "Did someone break in? Did anyone hurt you? Are you-"Estella cut him off with a wave of her hand. "It's much worse than that," she said shakily, "It may threaten my very life!"
Fatty, despite his own reproaches, was curious. No one seemed to have broken in, or to have hurt his sister, yet here she was, untouched but obviously traumatized. After a moment of silence broken only by Estella's chanting/ murmuring/ humming, Fatty prodded his sister gently. "Well?" he asked. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" Estella looked to her brother with tears in her eyes. "I had that dream again..." she whispered. Fatty stifled a laugh. "But I saw the faces this time. It was me...me and..." She shuddered violently and put her face back in her lap. "Come now," Fatty said, "surely it wasn't that bad? Won't you tell old Fatty who you were romancing with?" He gave her his best smile. "Please?"
For a moment, all was silent. Then,
"Mrrhdkk." came the muffled response. "What's that, dear? I can't hear you unless you face me." Fatty said sweetly. Estella looked him square in the eye and sighed, exasperated. "Well...If you must know..." "I must!" Fatty cut in. This would be good for a few laughs, if nothing else. Estella glared at him. "Alright..." she said, adding dramatic pauses. "It was...."
Whoever had not been awake in that particular Hobbit-hole was certainly snapped out of slumber by the loud thunk of Fatty rolling off of Estella's bed, followed by screams of laughter and muffled shouts. Odovacar and Rosamunda burst into their daughter's bedroom expecting to find her grappling with a sable-clad thief, but found instead their son, helpless with laughter, being attacked by pillows wielded by his furious younger sister. The wise parents chose not to intervene, but instead to merely close the door and walk away. Smart Hobbits.
A/N- again, thank you for reading through. Just some wildly fluffy fluff that's been floating around my head for awhile. Ch. 3 up soon, if anyone cares. [Tidbit: They don't.] slaps Tidbit I think- well, I hope, anyway- everyone can guess who was in Miss Estella's dream until next time!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Only some socks. Which also keep my toesies warm at night.
A fly buzzed on the windowsill, fanning its ever-seeing face with ragged wings. That, Estella thought, must be bliss. The afternoon sun flooded through the open windows of the Hobbit holes all across Hobbiton, and Fern Harfoot's parlor was sweltering. Estella and a group of half a dozen other young Hobbit maids were seated in a semi-circle around Fern, who was attempting to show them a basic knit stitch around her swollen stomach. Her five other children were sleeping off the heat, which Estella wished desperately she was doing as well. Silently she reprimanded herself and tried- tried very hard- to pay attention. Somehow, though, she couldn't imagine ever needing a nice, thick woolen sweater when even her thin cotton dress was pasted to her skin.
Finally the lesson ended and the lasses were free to go. Estella was all to eager to flee the village to run down to the stream. Of course, being a good, respectable Hobbit from a good, respectable family, she could not swim, but it did no harm to sit on the dock and dangle her toes in the water. Besides that, her mother had told her before Lessons that she may, so of course it was alright. Rushing along with her head bowed, so as not to trip on any stones, it seems Estella was a little too eager, and not careful enough. In her haste, she plowed right into another Hobbit.
With a cry of dismay, she got up of the ground and looked down to the poor Hobbit she had knocked down. She grimaced, noticing a large, flat rock near her victim's head. "Oh, no...." she groaned softly. With some trouble, she managed to roll the comatose Hobbit over so as to see his face. She stopped cold, and rolled her eyes, shoving the Meriadoc Brandybuck:s head off her lap. He was still unconscious, but she wasn't about to revive him. The longer his mouth could stay shut, the better.
She walked off the way she came, her hopes of visiting the stream dashed. She didn't feel regretful, or embarrassed, or even a bit of pity for Merry. She was just angry at him for ruining a perfectly fine, if not uncomfortably warm, afternoon. Merry awoke a few hours later in the gathering dusk and wondered how he had gotten so drunk as to not remember how he came to be unconscious in the middle of the street. He hadn't had any ale- or at least, none that he remembered having- but he shrugged it off, deciding, after all, it had happened before and would most likely happen again.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully for the Bolger family, and the night was just as hot and still as the day. Estella retired to her room early with a candle, meaning to read some, but decided against it at the last minute, merely blowing out her candle and crawling between the cool sheets instead. The heat made her feel drunk and heavy headed, and she fell asleep soon after.
Fatty was woke up in the wee hours by a scream, seemingly coming from his sister's room. Pulling on his robe, more for decency than warmth, he dashed down the hall, expecting to find his sister maimed and dying. Instead she was sitting on the bed, her arms around her knees, face in her lap, rocking back and forth in the moonlight, shivering despite the warm air. She seemed to be humming, or possible chanting, to herself. Fatty rushed to her right away and threw his arm around her shoulder. "Estella, what's wrong?" he asked urgently. "Did someone break in? Did anyone hurt you? Are you-"Estella cut him off with a wave of her hand. "It's much worse than that," she said shakily, "It may threaten my very life!"
Fatty, despite his own reproaches, was curious. No one seemed to have broken in, or to have hurt his sister, yet here she was, untouched but obviously traumatized. After a moment of silence broken only by Estella's chanting/ murmuring/ humming, Fatty prodded his sister gently. "Well?" he asked. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" Estella looked to her brother with tears in her eyes. "I had that dream again..." she whispered. Fatty stifled a laugh. "But I saw the faces this time. It was me...me and..." She shuddered violently and put her face back in her lap. "Come now," Fatty said, "surely it wasn't that bad? Won't you tell old Fatty who you were romancing with?" He gave her his best smile. "Please?"
For a moment, all was silent. Then,
"Mrrhdkk." came the muffled response. "What's that, dear? I can't hear you unless you face me." Fatty said sweetly. Estella looked him square in the eye and sighed, exasperated. "Well...If you must know..." "I must!" Fatty cut in. This would be good for a few laughs, if nothing else. Estella glared at him. "Alright..." she said, adding dramatic pauses. "It was...."
Whoever had not been awake in that particular Hobbit-hole was certainly snapped out of slumber by the loud thunk of Fatty rolling off of Estella's bed, followed by screams of laughter and muffled shouts. Odovacar and Rosamunda burst into their daughter's bedroom expecting to find her grappling with a sable-clad thief, but found instead their son, helpless with laughter, being attacked by pillows wielded by his furious younger sister. The wise parents chose not to intervene, but instead to merely close the door and walk away. Smart Hobbits.
A/N- again, thank you for reading through. Just some wildly fluffy fluff that's been floating around my head for awhile. Ch. 3 up soon, if anyone cares. [Tidbit: They don't.] slaps Tidbit I think- well, I hope, anyway- everyone can guess who was in Miss Estella's dream until next time!
