i22 The Jay and the Moon
Mar. 5th, 2012 10:53 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
huinare.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Challenge: Alternate Viewpoints ('A Thief in the Night')
Format: ficlet ~600 words
Genre: Character study?
Rating: G
Warnings: Author enjoys trying to do some justice to under-appreciated characters, does that count?
Characters: Bombur, Bilbo
Summary: Bombur's thoughts on the eve of Bilbo's little excursion with the Arkenstone.
“That stone, of all the treasure, I name unto myself,” Thorin says, and voice is as cold as the lonely watches, and Róac the raven says, “The treasure is likely to be your death, though the dragon is no more!”
Has everybody forgotten already that a talking bird is a fine and unusual thing? Perhaps its words have some wisdom. Perhaps wise counsel is more than a whole waterfall of gold.
I used to hear of this Arkenstone when I was younger, and mightily impressive did it sound. I should say now that the real heart of the mountain, back in the days of Thráin and Thrór and their fathers, was the fellowship in its halls. For certain I should say that good food and drink and a warm fire are worth more than rivers of gold when all’s said and done.
I don’t say it out loud of course. Any time I mention food or comfort, it’s remarked that I’m saying such things because I’m old fat Bombur. Would Dwarves heed me more if I was haler or leaner? That’s never seemed fair, but then it was never fair that the Dragon came and ruined everything to begin with. It wasn’t fair how they treated our Burglar either, like baggage, like a smaller one of me, until he proved himself so truly.
I may be Bombur and old and fat, but I’ve better and deeper reasons for being of a mind that food and drink and fellowship are worth more than a sea of gold. When we were wandering in dark Mirkwood there, lost and starving, did we want anything more than sustenance and a warm fire? Did we think anything of treasure or lordship?
“You may eat your gold, if you will,” the messenger from the armies down there said. It was rude, to be sure, but I wager he had a point.
I’ve been having different thoughts like this since I fell in that stream, and dreams too. I wander along dim paths, and lights and musics that dazzle the eye and ear come from some direction I can’t find. Animals with bright eyes look out of the brush, Thorin is a wolf, Balin is a pale elk, Mr. Baggins is a jay, and they melt back into the dream when I stop to talk to them.
It’s cold on watch and the others are all off poring over their treasure or their plans. It is good to see Mr. Baggins come up to the wall. He climbs up and sits nearby. We talk about warm fires, food and drink, sunlight. If Mr. Baggins is a typical Hobbit, I daresay I would get on with those little folk just fine.
He offers to take the rest of my watch. He hasn’t had watch duty in a while and can’t sleep. Meanwhile, sleep is all I want to do right about now, since any of the other things I should like to have aren’t in reach.
“You are a good fellow, Mr. Baggins.”
A peculiar look crosses Mr. Baggins’s face, but it is gone and then he suddenly looks very clever in the dimness, like a small knowing bird. “Off you go!” he says kindly, and I find that is wise counsel indeed.
I am very tired. Soon I have dreams where laughing and crying and animal noises echo. The Arkenstone rises like a moon floating through the deep shadow under the looming trees, and the animals chase it. It hardly looks to be moving, but they run after it and can never catch it up.
Format: ficlet ~600 words
Genre: Character study?
Rating: G
Warnings: Author enjoys trying to do some justice to under-appreciated characters, does that count?
Characters: Bombur, Bilbo
Summary: Bombur's thoughts on the eve of Bilbo's little excursion with the Arkenstone.
“That stone, of all the treasure, I name unto myself,” Thorin says, and voice is as cold as the lonely watches, and Róac the raven says, “The treasure is likely to be your death, though the dragon is no more!”
Has everybody forgotten already that a talking bird is a fine and unusual thing? Perhaps its words have some wisdom. Perhaps wise counsel is more than a whole waterfall of gold.
I used to hear of this Arkenstone when I was younger, and mightily impressive did it sound. I should say now that the real heart of the mountain, back in the days of Thráin and Thrór and their fathers, was the fellowship in its halls. For certain I should say that good food and drink and a warm fire are worth more than rivers of gold when all’s said and done.
I don’t say it out loud of course. Any time I mention food or comfort, it’s remarked that I’m saying such things because I’m old fat Bombur. Would Dwarves heed me more if I was haler or leaner? That’s never seemed fair, but then it was never fair that the Dragon came and ruined everything to begin with. It wasn’t fair how they treated our Burglar either, like baggage, like a smaller one of me, until he proved himself so truly.
I may be Bombur and old and fat, but I’ve better and deeper reasons for being of a mind that food and drink and fellowship are worth more than a sea of gold. When we were wandering in dark Mirkwood there, lost and starving, did we want anything more than sustenance and a warm fire? Did we think anything of treasure or lordship?
“You may eat your gold, if you will,” the messenger from the armies down there said. It was rude, to be sure, but I wager he had a point.
I’ve been having different thoughts like this since I fell in that stream, and dreams too. I wander along dim paths, and lights and musics that dazzle the eye and ear come from some direction I can’t find. Animals with bright eyes look out of the brush, Thorin is a wolf, Balin is a pale elk, Mr. Baggins is a jay, and they melt back into the dream when I stop to talk to them.
It’s cold on watch and the others are all off poring over their treasure or their plans. It is good to see Mr. Baggins come up to the wall. He climbs up and sits nearby. We talk about warm fires, food and drink, sunlight. If Mr. Baggins is a typical Hobbit, I daresay I would get on with those little folk just fine.
He offers to take the rest of my watch. He hasn’t had watch duty in a while and can’t sleep. Meanwhile, sleep is all I want to do right about now, since any of the other things I should like to have aren’t in reach.
“You are a good fellow, Mr. Baggins.”
A peculiar look crosses Mr. Baggins’s face, but it is gone and then he suddenly looks very clever in the dimness, like a small knowing bird. “Off you go!” he says kindly, and I find that is wise counsel indeed.
I am very tired. Soon I have dreams where laughing and crying and animal noises echo. The Arkenstone rises like a moon floating through the deep shadow under the looming trees, and the animals chase it. It hardly looks to be moving, but they run after it and can never catch it up.
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