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b2memB2MeM Prompt:o67(kitchen),i18(elves who live there) Card:Rivendell and Number:160
Format:vignette
Genre:gen
Rating:gen
Warnings:none
Characters:Pippin
Pairings:none
Creator’s Notes (optional):Rivendell and Pippin belong to JRR Tolkien
Summary:No self respecting hobbit goes to bed without his supper.
SUPPERTIME SCAVENGES
As Pippin tiptoed toward the kitchen he was dismayed to hear low voices. It was the wee small hours of the morning, after all. Surely even elves did not eat at this time? Even as he considered this, hesitating outside the threshold, the door swung open and he found himself, face to hip, with an elf.
From somewhere way above his head came a slightly amused female voice. “Why to you hesitate without, little master?”
Pippin stepped back, a move he was used to making by now, and followed the line of a plain white tabard up and up. A benign face smiled down at him. “Please come in. We are only making dough for the morning's bread.” The lady stepped aside.
“Thank you, but I do not wish to disturb you.”
The lady laughed, grey eyes twinkling. “You do not. The kitchens are relatively quiet at this hour.” She ushered him in, and he followed her to a stool by the huge hearth. “I fear we have no chairs to accommodate one such as you, but this foot stool should be comfortable enough. Would you like a cushion?”
“This will do nicely, thank you.” Pippin settled himself and the lady lowered herself into a chair opposite. An act for which Pippin's aching neck offered silent but deep thanks.
“What brings you to our little hive, Master Took?” The lady indicated the huge room, which Pippin had only previously glimpsed through windows. Hive, was indeed a good description.
Several elves, hair tightly braided and pinned close to their heads, clothing covered with long white tabards, worked steadily. Here and there a couple would sing softly, whilst others talked or simply worked in silent concentration. Several huge troughs of dough were being worked by elves in two's and three's, whilst others tended ovens or shaped loves, and the air was filled with the sweet odour of warm yeast. Their rhythms almost formed a dance and it wasn't until the lady cleared her throat that Pippin realised he had become quite mesmerised.
“Well, you see...Merry and I were just taking to our beds...and...well...we felt a bit peckish,” Pip confessed with a shrug. “We hobbits are used to a little supper before bed, you see.”
The lady's mouth formed a silent, O. “And you hoped you could find a few titbits in our deserted kitchen?”
Pip gave one of his most engaging smiles. “I didn't want to disturb anyone, just to fetch two little hobbits a bit of cheese, and perhaps a slice of your excellent bread, with a jug of milk, and a few bits of fruit. Then, Merry was wondering if there would be any of that succulent chicken or a slice of ham going spare, with a few pickles or a tomato. And those honey cakes we had for tea were...”
The lady raised a hand to cut short his list. “I believe I have your gist, and I am certain we can put together a tray for you.” She nodded to one of those tending fires, who grabbed the biggest tray Pippin had ever seen in his life and disappeared through a door. Pippin sincerely hoped he was going to fill it.
“Thank you!” His mouth already beginning to water, Pippin he tried for distraction by looking about the huge room once more. To one side, two elves who could only be sisters, were washing and drying basins and bowls, and by one of the tables, a golden haired male hummed as he swept up a dusting of flour. “It's funny. I know somebody has to do it, but I never considered elves washing dishes or cleaning floors.”
His host's brows drew down in apparent confusion. “Why ever would you say that?”
“It seems such a menial task for a people so high born. If you will excuse me for saying so, Lady...?”
“My name is Merilinith. And a task is surely only menial if one does not wish to do it.”
Pippin grinned. “That's true. I suppose I only imagined elves writing music and poetry, and making beautiful things.”
Merilinith smiled, beckoning him to follow her to a table, where one of her companions stood making loaves. “Would you permit me?” she asked, indicating a tall stool nearby. When Pippin nodded she lifted him easily to sit.
From here Pippin could see several large trays, filled with loaves, destined for the ovens. There were all kinds. Most were rounds, but there were also rolls of varying sizes, some in oblong tins, others with a smaller round perched upon a larger, and the elf at their side was busy forming intricately plaited loaves. There were loaves of fine white flour and some of coarser brown flour, along with ones containing fruits or nuts, and dusted with all kinds of seeds.
Merilinith nodded to the huge selection. “Are these not things of beauty?”
Pippin could only nod and the baker chuckled, pausing in his work to wink. “You will find them more beautiful when baked I think, Master Perian.”
Pippin laughed merrily with him. “I cannot disagree with you in that regard. We hobbits can discover much beauty in a slice from a fresh crusty loaf, still warm from the oven and spread thickly with butter.”
At that moment the tray was returned and the covering cloth whisked aside. Pippin's eyes widened in delight, for not only were there plates with the foods he had mentioned, but a large selection of sweet cakes and pies, along with hot tea and several kinds of sandwich. “Is this sufficient?”
“Sufficient for several hobbits,” Pippin announced with delight. “And that is saying much, for we hobbits are very partial to eating. I may even have to awaken Frodo and Sam to help us polish off this lot.”
Merilinith helped him down, then recovered the tray. “I shall carry it. It is a little heavy for you, I think.”
“Thank you.” Pippin rushed ahead to open the door for his new friend. “I must tell you the tale of Frodo supervising Merry's first attempt at bread making. It was quite an event.”
The door swung closed behind them, leaving the bakers to their work.
END
Format:vignette
Genre:gen
Rating:gen
Warnings:none
Characters:Pippin
Pairings:none
Creator’s Notes (optional):Rivendell and Pippin belong to JRR Tolkien
Summary:No self respecting hobbit goes to bed without his supper.
SUPPERTIME SCAVENGES
As Pippin tiptoed toward the kitchen he was dismayed to hear low voices. It was the wee small hours of the morning, after all. Surely even elves did not eat at this time? Even as he considered this, hesitating outside the threshold, the door swung open and he found himself, face to hip, with an elf.
From somewhere way above his head came a slightly amused female voice. “Why to you hesitate without, little master?”
Pippin stepped back, a move he was used to making by now, and followed the line of a plain white tabard up and up. A benign face smiled down at him. “Please come in. We are only making dough for the morning's bread.” The lady stepped aside.
“Thank you, but I do not wish to disturb you.”
The lady laughed, grey eyes twinkling. “You do not. The kitchens are relatively quiet at this hour.” She ushered him in, and he followed her to a stool by the huge hearth. “I fear we have no chairs to accommodate one such as you, but this foot stool should be comfortable enough. Would you like a cushion?”
“This will do nicely, thank you.” Pippin settled himself and the lady lowered herself into a chair opposite. An act for which Pippin's aching neck offered silent but deep thanks.
“What brings you to our little hive, Master Took?” The lady indicated the huge room, which Pippin had only previously glimpsed through windows. Hive, was indeed a good description.
Several elves, hair tightly braided and pinned close to their heads, clothing covered with long white tabards, worked steadily. Here and there a couple would sing softly, whilst others talked or simply worked in silent concentration. Several huge troughs of dough were being worked by elves in two's and three's, whilst others tended ovens or shaped loves, and the air was filled with the sweet odour of warm yeast. Their rhythms almost formed a dance and it wasn't until the lady cleared her throat that Pippin realised he had become quite mesmerised.
“Well, you see...Merry and I were just taking to our beds...and...well...we felt a bit peckish,” Pip confessed with a shrug. “We hobbits are used to a little supper before bed, you see.”
The lady's mouth formed a silent, O. “And you hoped you could find a few titbits in our deserted kitchen?”
Pip gave one of his most engaging smiles. “I didn't want to disturb anyone, just to fetch two little hobbits a bit of cheese, and perhaps a slice of your excellent bread, with a jug of milk, and a few bits of fruit. Then, Merry was wondering if there would be any of that succulent chicken or a slice of ham going spare, with a few pickles or a tomato. And those honey cakes we had for tea were...”
The lady raised a hand to cut short his list. “I believe I have your gist, and I am certain we can put together a tray for you.” She nodded to one of those tending fires, who grabbed the biggest tray Pippin had ever seen in his life and disappeared through a door. Pippin sincerely hoped he was going to fill it.
“Thank you!” His mouth already beginning to water, Pippin he tried for distraction by looking about the huge room once more. To one side, two elves who could only be sisters, were washing and drying basins and bowls, and by one of the tables, a golden haired male hummed as he swept up a dusting of flour. “It's funny. I know somebody has to do it, but I never considered elves washing dishes or cleaning floors.”
His host's brows drew down in apparent confusion. “Why ever would you say that?”
“It seems such a menial task for a people so high born. If you will excuse me for saying so, Lady...?”
“My name is Merilinith. And a task is surely only menial if one does not wish to do it.”
Pippin grinned. “That's true. I suppose I only imagined elves writing music and poetry, and making beautiful things.”
Merilinith smiled, beckoning him to follow her to a table, where one of her companions stood making loaves. “Would you permit me?” she asked, indicating a tall stool nearby. When Pippin nodded she lifted him easily to sit.
From here Pippin could see several large trays, filled with loaves, destined for the ovens. There were all kinds. Most were rounds, but there were also rolls of varying sizes, some in oblong tins, others with a smaller round perched upon a larger, and the elf at their side was busy forming intricately plaited loaves. There were loaves of fine white flour and some of coarser brown flour, along with ones containing fruits or nuts, and dusted with all kinds of seeds.
Merilinith nodded to the huge selection. “Are these not things of beauty?”
Pippin could only nod and the baker chuckled, pausing in his work to wink. “You will find them more beautiful when baked I think, Master Perian.”
Pippin laughed merrily with him. “I cannot disagree with you in that regard. We hobbits can discover much beauty in a slice from a fresh crusty loaf, still warm from the oven and spread thickly with butter.”
At that moment the tray was returned and the covering cloth whisked aside. Pippin's eyes widened in delight, for not only were there plates with the foods he had mentioned, but a large selection of sweet cakes and pies, along with hot tea and several kinds of sandwich. “Is this sufficient?”
“Sufficient for several hobbits,” Pippin announced with delight. “And that is saying much, for we hobbits are very partial to eating. I may even have to awaken Frodo and Sam to help us polish off this lot.”
Merilinith helped him down, then recovered the tray. “I shall carry it. It is a little heavy for you, I think.”
“Thank you.” Pippin rushed ahead to open the door for his new friend. “I must tell you the tale of Frodo supervising Merry's first attempt at bread making. It was quite an event.”
The door swung closed behind them, leaving the bakers to their work.
END
