There and Back Again
Hello to all!!
My name is Maddy, and this is There and Back Again, the first chaptered story of The Namesake Chronicles. The Namesake Chronicles is basically a record of the adventures shared by Aragorn and Legolas, and their part in the coming of the War of the Ring. This story takes place on their first meeting (which won't come for a while...sorry!), and how their friendship started off on an interesting foot. So far, the stories that fall under this category are:
The Namesake Chronicles:
300 Ways to Prepare Kiwi
There and Back Again
Story Summary: TA 2949. Slightly AU because of timeline change. When 18-year-old Estel leads a certain group of dwarves to Hobbiton, a seemingly innocent adventure turnes suddenly life-threatening.
Disclaimer: If anyone here thinks I deserve the right to own the Tolkien enterprise, please allow me to introduce you to this lovely new sweater from Mental Inc. Pure white fabric with intertwining sleves make a perfect holiday gift for anyone who lives life on the wild side...
Author's Note: Hey there! It never fails! Every time I post a new story, I get complaints that what I write isn't to-the-letter correct. GRRRRR!! Well, here are some little F.Y.I's for the nit-pickers who read this, LOL.
I'm not going to pretend that I know all there is to know about the Lord of the Rings, but I do know some of the history from the Silmarillion and the books. If I make a technical mistake, I appologize, I'm only human (we all hope).
Second, I'm not a grammar teacher for a reason...I HATE IT! My English should be correct for the most part, but if it isn't, sue me. J/K
And about languages, the only ones that I have used so far are Quenya and Sindarin, and none that are unrecognizable are in this chapter. If there are prolonged sentences is Elvish, I'll provide a translation before the chapter.
Lastly, I have yet to finish the rest of this story. I have most of the chapters finished, but the last few need some finishing touches. Please remember that this is my first year of high school (gasp, oh the horror), and I'm trying to adjust, so have a little pitty on the downtrodden freshman! I'll try to post every week on Sunday, but don't kill me if I don't. I have a very busy schedule with Jazz Band at 7 every few mornings and a crapload of homework every night. I promise I'll try!!!!! ;-)
Now that I've had my ranting session, please enjoy the first chapter!!!!!!
Chapter One: Tears of Rain
Lost in on the chesterfield
Or maybe on a gambling wheel
Lost it in a diamond mine
It's dark as hell and hard to find
It ain't carved out of stone or made of wood
And if you pay for it then it ain' t no good
And you still won't know
What I'm looking for
Nickleback
Rain fell softly on the soft ground of Middle Earth. The greedy, parched ground soaked up any drop that touched it. The trees in the great forest seemed to whisper to one another, questioning the unseen presence in their midst. As the time drew sluggishly onward, the now increasingly soaked ground could hold no more, and the now heavily falling rain ran in rivulets down the side of the hill. The mud-caked ground could barely hold a passing salamander without collapsing under its weight. But still, as though unaware of this, a dark figure pressed onward.
The figure, cloaked in a brown, slightly dirtied traveling cloak trudged onward through the pouring rain, determined to reach his destination no matter how long it took him. His knee-high boots squished loudly through the mud, and ringlets of wet, raven hair hung out of his hooded head. His arms were crossed over his chest, laboring desperately to keep the piercing wind from reaching his vulnerable skin. And still, he pressed onward.
The young man of only 18 was Estel, and he was a man shrouded with mystery. He did not know his father, his race, or even his true name. All he knew was that he was a human, and that he had to get to Bree as soon as possible. That was, assuming he could make it through the relentless storm that stretched on for miles around him. All he could do was hope.
Hope. That was what his name meant. 'Estel' was the elvish word for that, a name he had been given when he was a mere babe by the Lord Elrond of Imladris. But why hope, no one knew, save for Elrond, his two older brothers, and perhaps even Gandalf. Sometimes, Estel would catch them shooting him sympathetic looks, even on the happiest of days.
Estel looked up and caught sight of the tree line just ahead. Unconsciously, he quickened his pace. He could already see the small village of Bree in the far distance. The tiny town looked as though it was a ramshackle mess of driftwood to the untrained eye, but Estel knew for a fact that it was an economic town bustling with activity. It was filled not only with men, but of a great number of hobbits, too, and a great many travelers flocked to the Prancing Pony Inn regularly, if only to taste their famous malt beer.
o-o-o
Life at the Prancing Pony was business as usual; drunken men and merry, jovial hobbits mingled about in the cramped space in the inn. And tonight, it also held two completely separate groups of beings.
Far in the corner, drinking a mug of Bree's finest malt beer was a stout, bearded dwarf. He sat alone at the table, but he was far from companionless. No less than twelve similar beings surrounded him as inconspicuously as they could, either smoking long, wooden pipes or entertaining guests with their foreign music. They seemed to be waiting for someone to appear, someone who took especially too long to do so.
Suddenly, the lone dwarf felt a sharp breeze, and turned toward the door. The soft trickling they had been hearing consistently due to the rain multiplied to a roaring thunderstorm as the door opened. In strode a tall, elderly looking fellow, equipped with a pointed hat and a long, wooden staff. Over his back, he carried a pack of what were most likely essentials, and he looked about him before his eyes landed on what he was looking for.
"No rooms today, I'm afraid, Tom. I'm here strictly on business only," he explained kindly to the innkeeper, who looked slightly put out on the prospect of no payment for housing such a constant customer. The man then hobbled over to the dwarf and settled himself down. For a minute he looked as though he was about to say something, but no sound escaped his lips. The dwarf waited impatiently, and, finally frustrated, spoke in a harsh tone to the old man.
"May I ask why you asked us to meet you here of all places, Gandalf?"
Gandalf, for that was the old man's name, looked thoughtfully at the ceiling before he replied, "I wish for you to meet a friend of mine." He then fell comfortably silent, although the dwarf was far from calmed. His beard still held droplets from the rain he had been forced to travel through to get here. He shot the wizard a scrutinizing glare before he continued to speak.
"Are you telling me, wizard, that my company traveled hundreds of miles off coarse just so we could meet an acquaintance of yours?" demanded Thorin angrily. For a while the wizard didn't reply. Then, he laid his pipe across the table, looked the dwarf in the eye, and asked, "Are you aware, master dwarf, that thirteen is a very unlucky number?" Thorin pondered this for a second. True, his company did number thirteen, but did the old superstition actually mean anything?
"So...you wish for this friend to accompany us to the mountain?" asked Thorin. Gandalf shook his head.
"No. He shall only..." But Gandalf was cut off by someone else entering the pub. A very tall, hooded stranger walked through the door, just barely able to fit through the door that was not accustomed to those of his size. His large, booted feet echoed around the crowded room every time he took one of his large strides. His cloak was weather-stained, as though he had traveled for years in it. Gandalf smiled.
"Ah. I see he has arrived...at last." The tall man gazed slowly around the room, taking in every last detail, down to the earrings the lady in the corner was wearing. Then, his eyes landed on the wizard and his companion.
"Mithrandir!" he exclaimed, hurrying to get over to their table. Thorin sat gaping.
"You want us to keep the company of an elf?" he cried. Gandalf smiled humorously but did not reply. The man had finally reached their table.
"Mae Govannen, mellon-nin," greeted the man, sitting down next to Gandalf. Gandalf chuckled and whispered in elvish, "Must you speak that nonsense everywhere you trod? You're scaring these poor dwarves out of their wits." The man chuckled.
"Mithrandir, you know I'm rusty at Westron, and even worse at the Dwarfish. But, if you insist..." Gandalf smiled at this, and turned to Thorin.
"Thorin Oakenshield, I would like you to meet Estel, foster-son of the Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Estel is going to help us with our little journey," Gandalf explained to the curious bearded being. Estel removed his hood, and revealed to Thorin a fair, young face that didn't look to be a day past twenty. He had long, sleek hair that was braided on the sides, and his gray eyes were filled with mirth, as though he knew something no one else did.
"Pleased to meet you, master dwarf," grunted Estel as politely as he could manage. He didn't like dwarves very much. Secluded, annoying little pests they were. At least, that's what Elladan always said.
"Son of Elrond?" the dwarf laughed, "True, you may resemble an elf vaguely, but you are far from being immortal, master human." It took Estel all his self-control not to reply in a string of harsh elvish curse words.
"Perhaps your ears did not hear the word 'foster'. True, I am not his physical son, but I was raised by him, and consider him my father," he replied briskly. Gandalf cut in suddenly, sensing the tense atmosphere.
"As I was saying to Thorin earlier, Estel will not accompany the party of dwarves to the Lonely Mountain." At this, Estel was forced to stifle a sigh of relief. "However, he will guide you to the Shire. More specifically, a little town called Hobbiton. You do know where that is, don't you, Estel?" Gandalf asked. Estel thought for a moment. He had heard of some of the towns that lay hidden in the Shire. If he wasn't mistaken, Hobbiton was one of the larger towns, though that wasn't saying much.
"Yes, I think I can. I've never been there myself, but Elladan is a very good instructor," Estel replied. Elladan had taught him everything there was to know about the lands of Middle Earth so well that he was sure that he would have no trouble at all finding the home of the little people.
Gandalf smiled behind his gray beard and long pipe. "Very well then. We shouldn't waste any time. I've heard rumors of a particularly nasty party of beings headed this way right now. Don't want to run in to them, now do we?" Estel laughed with amusement.
"And where did you hear that from, old friend?" he asked, switching again to elvish. It seemed so uncouth to joke in the Common-Tongue.
Gandalf's eyes twinkled as he replied, "A little bird told me."
o-o-o
Gandalf had left some time ago, much to Estel's displeasure, as he was left most decidedly alone with the party of dwarves. The stubborn little pests had decided not to heed the wizard's well-placed warning, and had instead bunked in for the night. Estel, having no money for a room, and having no desire to sleep in the same room as what he considered a backstabbing brute, kept watch all night. He was not a happy camper.
It was nearly dawn now, and the dwarves had still not awoken from their slumber. Estel shifted in his chair impatiently. It was not wise to let the word of a wizard-especially one as esteemed as Mithrandir-go unheeded. But the dwarves cast the words away with a wave of their hand, and toasted another round of mead. Estel's grip on his anger was slowly beginning to fray as he waited yet another half hour without the group showing any signs of waking, and Estel wasn't planning on waiting for them forever.
Standing up, Estel paced around the bar, kicking the hardwood floor with his boot heel every time he took a step. By the name of Iluvatar, where were those dwarves? By now, Estel would've gladly stridden into their rooms to shake them none too gently awake, but was held back by the knowledge that it wouldn't help their already unsteady relationship.
Estel looked up when he heard a small sigh from the corner of the bar area. A small boy barely even ten years old sat alone and looked as though he was freezing. Estel took pity on the young boy, as he looked exceedingly lonely. Seeing no one else around him, Estel walked quietly over and sat down across from the boy. The boys eyes went wide; he obviously hadn't been expecting company anytime soon, and not from someone so...creepy. Estel smiled as he remembered a similar feeling from not too long ago.
"What's your name?" he asked the boy kindly. The boy looked hesitant for a moment, but knew of no reason as to why he should withhold his name.
"Hasof, sir," the boy replied. He looked up at Estel from under his strands of sandy-blonde hair. His blue eyes seemed to be questioning why the man was here at all.
"I'm Estel," Estel said, answering the boy's unasked question. The boy smiled slightly back at him, and then looked down quickly. He rubbed his bare arms with his hands, obviously cold again, and the two fell into awkward silence for a few moments. The boy's discomfort did not go unnoticed to Estel, and when he could stand it no longer he shrugged off his coat and held it out to Hasof. Hasof looked up, not quite sure what this stranger wanted him to do with his coat.
"Here, take it for now. You look dreadful cold," coaxed Estel. Hasof looked for a moment like he was going to accept the offer, but then something clicked in the back of his mind and he shook his head.
"No, sir, I couldn't..." he mumbled, but Estel held up his hand to stem off any protests.
"Call me Estel. And please, it's no trouble. You need it more than I," he assured the boy.
"It's not that sir...Estel," Hasof protested. Estel quirked an eyebrow in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked. Hasof shifted uncomfortably under his curious gaze.
"It's...." he started, and then clamped his mouth shut before he could say anything. Estel bit back a sigh.
"Don't worry, you can tell me," he said.
Hasof lowered his eyes and said, "My mother wants me to keep this pair of clothes clean."
Estel stared at the boy for a moment, an unbelieving look in his eyes and his mouth slightly open. He looked down at his coat. It had been originally a deep, midnight blue; a gift from his father, Elrond. It had been his father's coat long ago, but it no longer looked the part. Dark, brown, dirty splotches decorated the sleeves, and the hem of the coat had a brown ring from being dragged in the mud. It wasn't even as soft as it had originally been, for the rain had made the coat stiff, like thick leather.
Realizing all of this, Estel threw his head back and laughed. Hasof, seeing the older man's reaction to what otherwise would have been an offensive remark, grinned at the man and couldn't stop himself from giggling slightly. Even though he had just met Estel, there was something about him that made his trustworthy, something about him that demanded to be listened to. He seemed familiar somehow, but Hasof knew that he had never seen him before.
Estel was about to reply to Hasof's remark about his abominable coat when he heard footsteps from the hallway that led to the dwarves' rooms. But the steps where too lightly taken to be of dwarfish origin, and he soon found himself gazing upon a short woman who bore a striking resemblance to Hasof. The woman had long, sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She, not unlike Estel, had donned a traveling garb, and had a small pack slung over her shoulder. She stopped when she saw the pair sitting together at the pitiable wooden table, and paced softly over until she was behind Hasof.
"Hasof, why are you troubling this man? Come, we must leave now," she whispered into his ear, no doubt intending to escape Estel's hearing. Estel, however, had not grown up with elves and gained nothing. Years of striving to equal the exceptional abilities of his surrounding family had not been in vain, and he picked up every word said.
"I assure you, ma'am, he was no trouble," he supplied quickly. The woman looked up, surprised that this stranger had picked up the whispered statement. She smiled slightly at the larger man and gently tapped her son on the shoulder, signaling that it was time for him to leave.
"Excuse me...?" she trailed off uncertainly, glancing up at Estel.
"Estel," he replied quickly after realizing the reason for her hesitation. The woman nodded her head and continued.
"Well, Estel, my son and I must be going. You'll excuse us, please," she said briskly, obviously in a hurry to depart. Estel stared quizzically at her retreating back. Queer folk, these people of Bree. They went against many things that he had been brought up to believe in the haven of Imladris. Perhaps he wasn't ready for the world of men just yet.
Estel pushed the chair back into its previous niche and resumed his pacing. If those damned dwarves didn't wake up soon...
Estel sighed. What would his brothers say?
TBC...
Well, did you like! I hope so! Please, please, please review, it encourage me to post more often (winks inconspictuously). Also, please visit my web page, which can be found on my bio page.
Stay tuned for the next chapter: Unexpected Company
I would also like to say that, for once, I KEPT MY OWN DEADLINE! I promised that I would post by October, and I did! Yay for me, LOL!
Happy Halloween!!! ;-P
CzechChicka