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b2memPrompt:“I love the silent hour of night, For blissful dreams may then arise, Revealing to my charmed sight What may not bless my waking eyes. “ Anne Brontë. Path:Purple
Format:Ficlet
Genre:Gen
Rating:Gen
Warnings:None
Characters:Sam, Aragorn
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes (optional):None
Summary:Sam and Aragorn find that they have something in common.
I don't own anything. This is fanfic based on the amazing work of JRR Tolkien.
THE SILENT HOUR
“It's a cold day, Sam.” Aragorn dropped a soft blanket over Sam's shoulders even as the hobbit started at his quiet voice.
Sam pulled the edges close as the tall ranger folded long limbs to sit, cross-legged at his side, back toward the fire. “Thank you. 'Tis that. I reckon that wind blows straight down off the snow on them mountains. I don't see how folks could survive here in deep winter.”
Although hidden in this deep hollow of land they dare only set a small fire, for fear of unfriendly eyes. It gave off little light and even less heat, so everyone had set out their bedding as close to it as was safe. Sam had rolled himself in cloak and blanket like everyone else but sleep eluded him so he had got up as silently as possible just to try a pipe or two.
Aragorn fished about inside his tunic to produce pipe and the weed to pack it. He held out his pouch to Sam who was just knocking out the spent fillings of his own pipe. Sam accepted it, thumbing fragrant shreds into the bowl and accepting a light from the fire. For a moment both drew deeply, sitting in companionable silence.
About their small fire various sized bundles of cloaks and blankets indicated the presence most of the rest of the Fellowship. Of course, Legolas was not among them. Aragorn knew that the young elven prince was perched in the uppermost branches of a tree behind them. As always, Legolas took more than his share of time on guard duty and, although Gimli was the one officially on watch, he provided another pair of eyes.
Sam used the long stem of his pipe to point to a grey line of low tumbled wall nearby. “Looks like someone was tryin' to keep animals here once. Are there still farms?”
Aragorn shook his head. “Not for many years. The people who farmed this land left many generations ago. Hollin is an empty place.”
Sam took another draw on his pipe. “Tis thin soil. Only fit for sheep but I reckon you could make a livin' if you'd a mind to.”
Aragorn's lips quirked. “Were you thinking of moving, Sam? Is that what's keeping you awake?”
“No indeed, Sir!” Sam spluttered. “Move from the Shire? My Rose wouldn't allow it.” He looked down at his feet. “And she certain, sure, wouldn't come with me, even if she is a farmer's lass.”
Aragorn grew curious. “Who's Rose? You've not spoken of her before.” He wrapped cold fingers about the bole of his pipe, aware that above them Legolas had grown still.
Sam continued to look at his feet in silence for so long that Aragorn wondered if he had fallen asleep after all. Then the little gardener spoke, his voice only for the ranger's ears. “Rose is daughter to Farmer Cotton. He's got land just outside Hobbiton and, well, me and Rose have been walkin' out a bit. I was goin' to speak to her Da.” He paused to sigh. “But then Mr Gandalf came back and things got a bit mixed.”
“I imagine they did. Walking out sounds serious. Does your master know your plans.”
Sam shook his head, his tone growing urgent. “No sir and I hope as how you won't tell him, neither. I told Rose we was goin' to be away for a while and she says she'll wait. I didn't tell her all, 'cause it's not my place to tell Mr Frodo's business. But I made a promise to Mr Gandalf and I aint had time to make one to Rose yet.”
Aragorn laid a gentle hand upon Sam's shoulder. “I understand, Sam. It is difficult to leave behind those we love, not knowing when or even if we will ever see them again. Is that what is keeping you awake?”
Sam's eyes widened in sudden insight. “Have you got a sweetheart waitin' for you too?”
Aragorn's face was turned away to the horizon, and for a few moments Sam thought he may have overstepped the mark. It was difficult enough to keep his place in the Shire when Mr Frodo was so free with his friendship, but it was harder still to know how to talk to wizards and elves and men. Mr Aragorn did not seem cross when he answered, however.
“I have set my sights upon the Lady Arwen. You saw her in Rivendell I think. She is the daughter of Lord Elrond.”
Sam was impressed. “The beautiful lady with the long dark hair? The one who sat under a canopy at the feast?”
“Aye. She has been compared to Luthien of old and I believe there is no-one alive among all the races so fair of face and heart.”
Something in his wistful tone made Sam ask, “Have you an understandin' then? Was you thinkin' of getting' wed when you come back?”
Aragorn's shake of the head was barely visible. “We have what I think you would call an understanding. But her father has decreed that I may not wed her until I return, and I may not return until certain events have taken place. More than that I am not free to impart at present.”
Sam drew on his pipe, bending to examine it more closely when it produced no smoke. “Seems like we're both in a bit of a pickle, if you don't mind me saying so, Mr Aragorn, Sir.”
Aragorn held out a glowing twig but Sam shook his head, knocking out the ashes of his pipe on a nearby stone. “I reckon I've had enough for tonight.” He stifled a yawn and added another branch to the fire.
“Why don't you take some rest, Sam? You look tired and your watch is not until near noon.” Aragorn touched the twig to his own pipe, hoping for a couple more draws.
Sam only shuffled uncomfortably however. “I'm not sure I want to sleep. I dream, see.”
Aragorn thought he could see only too well. “You dream of Rose and it hurts that you are so far apart.”
“Aye, Sir. I could almost wish for bad dreams but most often I see Rosie and that hurts even more. You'd think after all we've been through and what's maybe still to come that I'd have fodder enough for nightmares. But when I close my eyes all I see is my Rose.” Sam tried to sound nonchalant when he asked, “Is it the same with you?”
Aragorn scraped the ashes from his pipe with a small knife. “Do I dream of Rose Cotton?” he asked with a twinkle.
Sam snorted. “Now, don't you go makin' fun of me. You know what I mean. Do you dream of your Lady Arwen?”
Aragorn tucked away his pipe, his tone again serious. “I do. And I thank the Valar for that pleasure for as long as she is before me I am reminded why I have agreed to undertake this quest.” He reached aside to squeeze Sam's arm gently. “Take heart from your dreams, Sam, however bittersweet. There may come a time when they are all that stands between you and the darkness.” He nodded to the small bundle of blankets that was Frodo. “I could almost wish that he had such dreams. But then, perhaps not.”
Sam's wide yawn prevented him from asking Aragorn to elaborate upon that observation and the ranger chuckled. “I think you had best take to your blankets, Sam. Your master needs you awake and rested this evening.”
“Yes sir. I think I can, now. Will you be takin' some rest too?”
Aragorn stood, helping his smaller companion to his feet and accepting the return of his blanket. “One more round of the perimeter and then I will.”
Sam tiptoed to his place next to Frodo and rolled himself in his blanket but just before he settled down he whispered. “Good day to you Mr Aragorn. Sweet dreams, Sir.”
Aragorn nodded before turning to look up into the tree. His searching eyes soon found the answering glitter of Legolas' gaze and the elven warrior's sueded voice was cobweb soft. “The perimeter is secure. Take your own advice and dream while you may.”
END
Format:Ficlet
Genre:Gen
Rating:Gen
Warnings:None
Characters:Sam, Aragorn
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes (optional):None
Summary:Sam and Aragorn find that they have something in common.
I don't own anything. This is fanfic based on the amazing work of JRR Tolkien.
THE SILENT HOUR
“It's a cold day, Sam.” Aragorn dropped a soft blanket over Sam's shoulders even as the hobbit started at his quiet voice.
Sam pulled the edges close as the tall ranger folded long limbs to sit, cross-legged at his side, back toward the fire. “Thank you. 'Tis that. I reckon that wind blows straight down off the snow on them mountains. I don't see how folks could survive here in deep winter.”
Although hidden in this deep hollow of land they dare only set a small fire, for fear of unfriendly eyes. It gave off little light and even less heat, so everyone had set out their bedding as close to it as was safe. Sam had rolled himself in cloak and blanket like everyone else but sleep eluded him so he had got up as silently as possible just to try a pipe or two.
Aragorn fished about inside his tunic to produce pipe and the weed to pack it. He held out his pouch to Sam who was just knocking out the spent fillings of his own pipe. Sam accepted it, thumbing fragrant shreds into the bowl and accepting a light from the fire. For a moment both drew deeply, sitting in companionable silence.
About their small fire various sized bundles of cloaks and blankets indicated the presence most of the rest of the Fellowship. Of course, Legolas was not among them. Aragorn knew that the young elven prince was perched in the uppermost branches of a tree behind them. As always, Legolas took more than his share of time on guard duty and, although Gimli was the one officially on watch, he provided another pair of eyes.
Sam used the long stem of his pipe to point to a grey line of low tumbled wall nearby. “Looks like someone was tryin' to keep animals here once. Are there still farms?”
Aragorn shook his head. “Not for many years. The people who farmed this land left many generations ago. Hollin is an empty place.”
Sam took another draw on his pipe. “Tis thin soil. Only fit for sheep but I reckon you could make a livin' if you'd a mind to.”
Aragorn's lips quirked. “Were you thinking of moving, Sam? Is that what's keeping you awake?”
“No indeed, Sir!” Sam spluttered. “Move from the Shire? My Rose wouldn't allow it.” He looked down at his feet. “And she certain, sure, wouldn't come with me, even if she is a farmer's lass.”
Aragorn grew curious. “Who's Rose? You've not spoken of her before.” He wrapped cold fingers about the bole of his pipe, aware that above them Legolas had grown still.
Sam continued to look at his feet in silence for so long that Aragorn wondered if he had fallen asleep after all. Then the little gardener spoke, his voice only for the ranger's ears. “Rose is daughter to Farmer Cotton. He's got land just outside Hobbiton and, well, me and Rose have been walkin' out a bit. I was goin' to speak to her Da.” He paused to sigh. “But then Mr Gandalf came back and things got a bit mixed.”
“I imagine they did. Walking out sounds serious. Does your master know your plans.”
Sam shook his head, his tone growing urgent. “No sir and I hope as how you won't tell him, neither. I told Rose we was goin' to be away for a while and she says she'll wait. I didn't tell her all, 'cause it's not my place to tell Mr Frodo's business. But I made a promise to Mr Gandalf and I aint had time to make one to Rose yet.”
Aragorn laid a gentle hand upon Sam's shoulder. “I understand, Sam. It is difficult to leave behind those we love, not knowing when or even if we will ever see them again. Is that what is keeping you awake?”
Sam's eyes widened in sudden insight. “Have you got a sweetheart waitin' for you too?”
Aragorn's face was turned away to the horizon, and for a few moments Sam thought he may have overstepped the mark. It was difficult enough to keep his place in the Shire when Mr Frodo was so free with his friendship, but it was harder still to know how to talk to wizards and elves and men. Mr Aragorn did not seem cross when he answered, however.
“I have set my sights upon the Lady Arwen. You saw her in Rivendell I think. She is the daughter of Lord Elrond.”
Sam was impressed. “The beautiful lady with the long dark hair? The one who sat under a canopy at the feast?”
“Aye. She has been compared to Luthien of old and I believe there is no-one alive among all the races so fair of face and heart.”
Something in his wistful tone made Sam ask, “Have you an understandin' then? Was you thinkin' of getting' wed when you come back?”
Aragorn's shake of the head was barely visible. “We have what I think you would call an understanding. But her father has decreed that I may not wed her until I return, and I may not return until certain events have taken place. More than that I am not free to impart at present.”
Sam drew on his pipe, bending to examine it more closely when it produced no smoke. “Seems like we're both in a bit of a pickle, if you don't mind me saying so, Mr Aragorn, Sir.”
Aragorn held out a glowing twig but Sam shook his head, knocking out the ashes of his pipe on a nearby stone. “I reckon I've had enough for tonight.” He stifled a yawn and added another branch to the fire.
“Why don't you take some rest, Sam? You look tired and your watch is not until near noon.” Aragorn touched the twig to his own pipe, hoping for a couple more draws.
Sam only shuffled uncomfortably however. “I'm not sure I want to sleep. I dream, see.”
Aragorn thought he could see only too well. “You dream of Rose and it hurts that you are so far apart.”
“Aye, Sir. I could almost wish for bad dreams but most often I see Rosie and that hurts even more. You'd think after all we've been through and what's maybe still to come that I'd have fodder enough for nightmares. But when I close my eyes all I see is my Rose.” Sam tried to sound nonchalant when he asked, “Is it the same with you?”
Aragorn scraped the ashes from his pipe with a small knife. “Do I dream of Rose Cotton?” he asked with a twinkle.
Sam snorted. “Now, don't you go makin' fun of me. You know what I mean. Do you dream of your Lady Arwen?”
Aragorn tucked away his pipe, his tone again serious. “I do. And I thank the Valar for that pleasure for as long as she is before me I am reminded why I have agreed to undertake this quest.” He reached aside to squeeze Sam's arm gently. “Take heart from your dreams, Sam, however bittersweet. There may come a time when they are all that stands between you and the darkness.” He nodded to the small bundle of blankets that was Frodo. “I could almost wish that he had such dreams. But then, perhaps not.”
Sam's wide yawn prevented him from asking Aragorn to elaborate upon that observation and the ranger chuckled. “I think you had best take to your blankets, Sam. Your master needs you awake and rested this evening.”
“Yes sir. I think I can, now. Will you be takin' some rest too?”
Aragorn stood, helping his smaller companion to his feet and accepting the return of his blanket. “One more round of the perimeter and then I will.”
Sam tiptoed to his place next to Frodo and rolled himself in his blanket but just before he settled down he whispered. “Good day to you Mr Aragorn. Sweet dreams, Sir.”
Aragorn nodded before turning to look up into the tree. His searching eyes soon found the answering glitter of Legolas' gaze and the elven warrior's sueded voice was cobweb soft. “The perimeter is secure. Take your own advice and dream while you may.”
END
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Date: 2017-03-24 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-24 04:02 pm (UTC)