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b2memB2MeM Prompt:Things That Go Bump In The Night. Path:Purple
Format:ficlet
Genre:Gen
Rating:Gen
Warnings:None
Characters:Merry, Pippin, Frodo, Sam
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes: None
Summary:Early morning conversation in Minas Tirith
I don't own hobbits, Minas Tirith or the adventure of the Ring. They all belong to JRR Tolkien. I'm just filling up the corners of his tale.
Merry came awake so suddenly that his eyes were still closed when his feet touched the floor and still bleary when he stubbed his toe on the leg of the table. “Ouch!”
“Wah?” Across the room Sam rolled over and raised a tousled head but Merry just waved him back down.
“I'm alright. I just need the privy,” Merry offered by way of explanation as he rubbed his toe.
Sam needed no prompting, pulling the covers over his head once more. Merry sighed as he noted that Pippin's bed was empty, although Frodo had not even moved throughout the exchange. Only needing a moment's consideration Merry drew on his jacket over his borrowed nightshirt and headed off down the stairs.
Gandalf's house in Minas Tirith was small but comfortable enough. Gandalf had his own bedroom on the floor below and the four hobbits had been set up on the top floor. Merry yawned as he tiptoed past Gandalf's door and continued down to the kitchen. Once there, were it not for the rack of lit candles, he would have thought himself alone. Then a mop of brown curls popped up from behind the table, followed by Pippin's surprised face.
“Hello Merry. Couldn't you sleep either?” Pippin stood, a bowl of mixed eggshells and raw eggs in one hand and a wet cloth in the other.
Merry scowled at his younger cousin. “I was sleeping just fine until something woke me up,” he hissed.
Pippin tried one of his most endearing smiles. “Sorry about that. I fancied some scrambled eggs but I dropped the basin.” He glanced down at the contents of the bowl. “I suppose I could switch to bacon and mushrooms.”
“Have you any idea what time it is?” Merry asked, around another yawn, as he sat at the table.
Pippin tipped the contents of the bowl into the rubbish pail and began to rinse basin and cloth in the sink. “It was four o'clock when I came down so it's probably about half past now. Why?”
“Why? Why? Because it's the middle of the night and you're supposed to be sleeping. I'm supposed to be sleeping! The whole of the rest of the world is sleeping.” Merry scratched his behind. “I like to eat as well as the next hobbit but it's a bit early, even for first breakfast.”
“I'm sorry, although you know there are some guards on duty, so they'd have to be awake,” Pippin offered as he wrung out the cloth. Then his face suddenly grew serious. “A dream woke me up and I thought a little something to eat would help me to go back to sleep.”
Merry blinked, coming wide awake now. He had looked after his cousin for most of Pippin's life, even though they lived at opposite ends of the Shire. “A dream? What was it about?”
Pippin bit the inside of his cheek as he picked up a knife and began to trim rind off a slice of bacon. “Sometimes I dream of his voice,” he replied softly.
“Who's voice?”
Pippin tackled another slice, adding it to the first in a large frying pan and then tossing in some little mushrooms. “That Sauron chap.” He shuddered. “I dream about that palantir thingy and his voice.” Pippin's voice was barely more than a whisper and Merry was disturbed to see the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes.
Merry stood, going to the range to poke at the coals. “I think we're all going to have bad dreams for a long time, Pip.”
Pippin added another handful of mushrooms and a knob of lard to the pan and set it atop the now glowing range. “Do you have them too, then?”
Merry pulled plates from the cupboard and began to lay the table for two. It was clearly going to be some time before either of them would be going back to bed, if at all. While Pippin watched the pan he began to slice and butter some bread. “Sometimes I dream I'm stabbing that Witch King but the Lady Eowyn isn't there to finish the job,” he confessed.
Pippin immediately switched from feeling sorry for himself to being concerned for his older cousin. “Oh Merry, I'm so sorry. It must have been awful.”
Merry shook his head on a faint smile. That was so like the Pip he knew and loved. “I'll be alright. They're just dreams after all. They can't hurt us.” He arranged the buttered bread on a plate and poured milk into cups.
Pippin turned back to the pan, turning the gently sizzling bacon and mushrooms. “Right.” His voice carried little conviction, however. “My head says that Sauron and the Witch King are gone but my dreams don't seem to be listening.”
Merry sat down again, tugging his jacket closer against the night's chill. “Mine neither. Gandalf said they'll fade with time, though.”
Pippin brought the pan to the table, dishing out the mushrooms and bacon between them. If Merry noticed that Pip gave himself a larger portion of mushrooms he chose not to mention it. “At least we don't have Sam and Frodo's dreams.”
Pippin paused in his chewing. “There is that. I wish Bilbo had not found that ring and we could go back to the way things were. We could have been sitting in The Ivy Bush now, with a nice half pint.”
Merry snorted. “No we couldn't. The Ivy Bush closes at ten.” He took a big swallow of milk. “Anyway, I'm not sure that I would want to go back to how I was,” he surprised himself by confessing.
Pippin considered. “You may be right. I've changed and I don't think I've changed altogether for the worse . . . apart from the dreams.”
“I'm sorry, Pip.”
“No need to be sorry. It's not exactly your fault, is it?”
“No. It's mine,” came Frodo's sleepy voice from the doorway. Sam was at his side.
“Hello Frodo. You're up early,” Pippin offered with a sunny smile.
“The smell of bacon woke me up and then the voices.”
Pippin's brows rose. “Voices?”
Frodo's lips quirked. “Your voices, you goose.” Then he grew serious. “But I am sorry. It's my fault both of you have those dreams. I should not have roped you into that awful adventure.”
Sam had slipped past and was now examining the pan. “Begin' your pardon, Mr Frodo, but as I see it we could go blamin' each other, or we could blame Mr Bilbo for findin' the ring or Gollum for losin' it. We could blame King Isildur for not destroyin' it and Lord Elrond for not makin' him. We could even blame the elves for makin' those rings. But my gaffer always says lookin' back is only good for teachin' you what not to do in the future. You can't change it and you can only go on from where you are now.” Ever practical he added, “Considerin' that, as we're up, maybe you'd like a bit of breakfast, Mr Frodo?”
Frodo sighed. “We may as well, Sam. And your gaffer is right, as always.” Then his eyes grew distant. “The moving finger writes and having writ, moves on. Not all your piety or wit can call it back to cancel half a line.”
Merry spoke around a mouthful of mushroom. “Is that one of Bilbo's bits of doggerel? He always knew how to turn a phrase.”
Frodo smiled, pulling up a chair to the table and slicing some more bread. “I think I heard it from him but he probably translated it from some elven text.”
“The movin' finger writes. I like that. I'd like to learn it.” Sam threw more bacon and mushrooms in the pan.
Frodo smiled. “I'll write it out for you, although whether you'll be able to read it with my present writing skills is another matter.” His smile grew rueful as he stared down at his maimed hand.
“You'll get there, Mr Frodo. I reckon we all will, with time.”
-0-
In the chamber above Gandalf rolled onto his back and folded his hands upon his chest as he listened. Only yesterday he had been considering intervening to get the hobbits to speak of and examine the traumas of their journeys, but it seemed that they had taken matters into their own hands in the best possible way for hobbits . . . with friendship and food.
END
Format:ficlet
Genre:Gen
Rating:Gen
Warnings:None
Characters:Merry, Pippin, Frodo, Sam
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes: None
Summary:Early morning conversation in Minas Tirith
I don't own hobbits, Minas Tirith or the adventure of the Ring. They all belong to JRR Tolkien. I'm just filling up the corners of his tale.
Merry came awake so suddenly that his eyes were still closed when his feet touched the floor and still bleary when he stubbed his toe on the leg of the table. “Ouch!”
“Wah?” Across the room Sam rolled over and raised a tousled head but Merry just waved him back down.
“I'm alright. I just need the privy,” Merry offered by way of explanation as he rubbed his toe.
Sam needed no prompting, pulling the covers over his head once more. Merry sighed as he noted that Pippin's bed was empty, although Frodo had not even moved throughout the exchange. Only needing a moment's consideration Merry drew on his jacket over his borrowed nightshirt and headed off down the stairs.
Gandalf's house in Minas Tirith was small but comfortable enough. Gandalf had his own bedroom on the floor below and the four hobbits had been set up on the top floor. Merry yawned as he tiptoed past Gandalf's door and continued down to the kitchen. Once there, were it not for the rack of lit candles, he would have thought himself alone. Then a mop of brown curls popped up from behind the table, followed by Pippin's surprised face.
“Hello Merry. Couldn't you sleep either?” Pippin stood, a bowl of mixed eggshells and raw eggs in one hand and a wet cloth in the other.
Merry scowled at his younger cousin. “I was sleeping just fine until something woke me up,” he hissed.
Pippin tried one of his most endearing smiles. “Sorry about that. I fancied some scrambled eggs but I dropped the basin.” He glanced down at the contents of the bowl. “I suppose I could switch to bacon and mushrooms.”
“Have you any idea what time it is?” Merry asked, around another yawn, as he sat at the table.
Pippin tipped the contents of the bowl into the rubbish pail and began to rinse basin and cloth in the sink. “It was four o'clock when I came down so it's probably about half past now. Why?”
“Why? Why? Because it's the middle of the night and you're supposed to be sleeping. I'm supposed to be sleeping! The whole of the rest of the world is sleeping.” Merry scratched his behind. “I like to eat as well as the next hobbit but it's a bit early, even for first breakfast.”
“I'm sorry, although you know there are some guards on duty, so they'd have to be awake,” Pippin offered as he wrung out the cloth. Then his face suddenly grew serious. “A dream woke me up and I thought a little something to eat would help me to go back to sleep.”
Merry blinked, coming wide awake now. He had looked after his cousin for most of Pippin's life, even though they lived at opposite ends of the Shire. “A dream? What was it about?”
Pippin bit the inside of his cheek as he picked up a knife and began to trim rind off a slice of bacon. “Sometimes I dream of his voice,” he replied softly.
“Who's voice?”
Pippin tackled another slice, adding it to the first in a large frying pan and then tossing in some little mushrooms. “That Sauron chap.” He shuddered. “I dream about that palantir thingy and his voice.” Pippin's voice was barely more than a whisper and Merry was disturbed to see the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes.
Merry stood, going to the range to poke at the coals. “I think we're all going to have bad dreams for a long time, Pip.”
Pippin added another handful of mushrooms and a knob of lard to the pan and set it atop the now glowing range. “Do you have them too, then?”
Merry pulled plates from the cupboard and began to lay the table for two. It was clearly going to be some time before either of them would be going back to bed, if at all. While Pippin watched the pan he began to slice and butter some bread. “Sometimes I dream I'm stabbing that Witch King but the Lady Eowyn isn't there to finish the job,” he confessed.
Pippin immediately switched from feeling sorry for himself to being concerned for his older cousin. “Oh Merry, I'm so sorry. It must have been awful.”
Merry shook his head on a faint smile. That was so like the Pip he knew and loved. “I'll be alright. They're just dreams after all. They can't hurt us.” He arranged the buttered bread on a plate and poured milk into cups.
Pippin turned back to the pan, turning the gently sizzling bacon and mushrooms. “Right.” His voice carried little conviction, however. “My head says that Sauron and the Witch King are gone but my dreams don't seem to be listening.”
Merry sat down again, tugging his jacket closer against the night's chill. “Mine neither. Gandalf said they'll fade with time, though.”
Pippin brought the pan to the table, dishing out the mushrooms and bacon between them. If Merry noticed that Pip gave himself a larger portion of mushrooms he chose not to mention it. “At least we don't have Sam and Frodo's dreams.”
Pippin paused in his chewing. “There is that. I wish Bilbo had not found that ring and we could go back to the way things were. We could have been sitting in The Ivy Bush now, with a nice half pint.”
Merry snorted. “No we couldn't. The Ivy Bush closes at ten.” He took a big swallow of milk. “Anyway, I'm not sure that I would want to go back to how I was,” he surprised himself by confessing.
Pippin considered. “You may be right. I've changed and I don't think I've changed altogether for the worse . . . apart from the dreams.”
“I'm sorry, Pip.”
“No need to be sorry. It's not exactly your fault, is it?”
“No. It's mine,” came Frodo's sleepy voice from the doorway. Sam was at his side.
“Hello Frodo. You're up early,” Pippin offered with a sunny smile.
“The smell of bacon woke me up and then the voices.”
Pippin's brows rose. “Voices?”
Frodo's lips quirked. “Your voices, you goose.” Then he grew serious. “But I am sorry. It's my fault both of you have those dreams. I should not have roped you into that awful adventure.”
Sam had slipped past and was now examining the pan. “Begin' your pardon, Mr Frodo, but as I see it we could go blamin' each other, or we could blame Mr Bilbo for findin' the ring or Gollum for losin' it. We could blame King Isildur for not destroyin' it and Lord Elrond for not makin' him. We could even blame the elves for makin' those rings. But my gaffer always says lookin' back is only good for teachin' you what not to do in the future. You can't change it and you can only go on from where you are now.” Ever practical he added, “Considerin' that, as we're up, maybe you'd like a bit of breakfast, Mr Frodo?”
Frodo sighed. “We may as well, Sam. And your gaffer is right, as always.” Then his eyes grew distant. “The moving finger writes and having writ, moves on. Not all your piety or wit can call it back to cancel half a line.”
Merry spoke around a mouthful of mushroom. “Is that one of Bilbo's bits of doggerel? He always knew how to turn a phrase.”
Frodo smiled, pulling up a chair to the table and slicing some more bread. “I think I heard it from him but he probably translated it from some elven text.”
“The movin' finger writes. I like that. I'd like to learn it.” Sam threw more bacon and mushrooms in the pan.
Frodo smiled. “I'll write it out for you, although whether you'll be able to read it with my present writing skills is another matter.” His smile grew rueful as he stared down at his maimed hand.
“You'll get there, Mr Frodo. I reckon we all will, with time.”
-0-
In the chamber above Gandalf rolled onto his back and folded his hands upon his chest as he listened. Only yesterday he had been considering intervening to get the hobbits to speak of and examine the traumas of their journeys, but it seemed that they had taken matters into their own hands in the best possible way for hobbits . . . with friendship and food.
END
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no subject
Date: 2017-03-17 09:29 pm (UTC)And back on the topic of the story- I know that quote about the moving finger! From... somewhere. Well, from being quoted in a Darwin Award book, but I can't for the life of me remember who... *calls upon the power of The Great Google* ah, Omar Khayyam. All hail The Great Google.
And Sam is so- so the personification of hobbit sense. "Lookin' back is only good for teachin' you what not to do in the future" indeed.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-17 10:14 pm (UTC)He provided the paternal support and love I only wish I could have had from my bio father, even if it was from thousands of miles away. And in every way that matters, I see him as my father. He called me his yelde, with affirmations of his love for me, so I know it was reciprocated.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-18 12:00 pm (UTC)