I am so sorry!! Here it is for real...
Aug. 25th, 2004 05:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603I apologize for yesterday. For those of you who read this already, thanks for your indulence! I made some minor tweaking changes, adding a few paragraphs here and there.
Title: Under the Starlight: Gossip
Author: Claudia
Rating: G through R (?)
Summary: This is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time and only just gotten the courage to try -- it will be a tale that goes from pre-quest through post-quest, from a variety of viewpoints. There will be slash, but there will be warnings on slashy chapters so that if slash isn’t your cuppa, you can pass on those chapters. Basically I’m just filling in some gaps in the book and hoping it comes out all right! ;-)
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
A/N: Though 33 is considered coming of age, I pretty much think hobbits mature at nearly the same rate as humans, albeit just slightly slower. So an 18-year-old hobbit lad to me is maybe like a 15 or 16-year-old, not a wee child (at least in my opinion and for the interest of this story).
Gossip
There was only one hobbit in all the Shire as could get away with calling Sam by his real name, and that was Mr. Frodo Baggins. Most everyone else ignored his full name, which was just as well. A few years back Lotho Sackville-Baggins made up some dirty poetry about his name. Lotho had ended up with a black eye out of the affair, but Sam still burned up to this day. Some folk were handed money and a name and yet had not a clue about class. Never had there been a better stroke of luck as when Bilbo Baggins came back from his adventures and stopped the auction in front of Bag End.
Sam splashed water on his face, shuddering. Yes, life was mighty fine if he considered he could be working for Lotho right now instead of Bilbo and Frodo.
Bag End was just where he was off to this morning. The Gaffer was feeling the creaking in his bones and so Sam was off alone this morning to check on Bag End. There were sunflowers and snap-dragons that needed to be tended, as well as potatoes and plump, succulent tomatoes that had all seemed to ripen at once.
A thrill curled in his belly when he thought about being alone in the garden, without the Gaffer’s good intentioned correcting of nearly everything Sam did. Of course he knew that was the only way he’d ever learn, but sometimes it was just good to kneel in the moist earth with the late summer sun warm on the back of his neck with only the chattering of birds to be heard.
Another thing he liked about going up to Bag End without the Gaffer was that Frodo was more likely to come out and join him – that is, if he didn’t have his own affairs to mind. If Sam begged to hear one of Bilbo’s tales, Frodo’s eyes would flicker and he would sit clutching his knees, rocking back and forth to the soft rhythm of his lyrical voice. Sometimes Frodo knelt in the dirt with him and helped pull weeds with his pale slender hands that somehow always managed to be much stronger than Sam expected. The Gaffer disapproved heartily – it wasn’t proper and all – and so Frodo never stayed out for long when he was around.
Other folk poked fun at Frodo and Bilbo at the Green Dragon – said they weren’t right in the head. Some claimed Frodo was of fairy blood, that Drogo had found him in the Forest and that he and his Brandybuck wife had paid for it with their lives. According to those stories, Bilbo had learned sorcery from his time abroad and had just the right spell to keep the fairy lad in line. But no good would come of it, they said. What foolishness folk came up with when there was nothing real to complain about.
As Sam made his way from the washing room to the kitchen, the aroma of baking dough and tart berries wafted down the tunnel. Sam’s belly growled, and he blinked against the harsh sunlight that glared in through the round open window in the kitchen.
“Good mornin’,” Bell Gamgee said, poking at the fire in the hearth. “Sit yourself down at the table, Sam lad. I’ve just fixed eggs and pancakes.”
She wiped flour from her hands onto her apron, but the flour had sprinkled everywhere – in her hair, on her clothes, all over the counter.
“What are you doing, Ma?”
“I’m fixing to sell some of my blueberry pies at market tomorrow morning. Now sit yourself down to eat, and if you wait around a bit, I’ll have one ready for you to bring with you up to Bag End.”
Daisy Gamgee fanned herself against the heat coming from the hearth. “That Frodo Baggins is just about of age – and he’s not courting anyone.” She pursed her lips in disapproval she felt of all eligible lads who chose not to court. She was courting a certain Tom Wilthorn right now and so thought anyone not in love was worthy of her scorn.
“Sam lad,” Bell Gamgee said without turning around. “Don’t you forget your manners today. Don’t hang around longer than you’re wanted.”
“Sam just goes up there to hear more tales of moonshine,” Marigold Gamgee said, twirling her finger near her ear to show how cracked she thought her older brother.
Sam scowled at her. “Just you hush.”
“Hush both of you!” Bell said with an exasperated sigh.
Marigold stuck her tongue out at Sam. Sam let out a good-natured growl and set his hands before him like two spiders. “I’m knowing that someone at this table who is ticklish!”
Marigold squealed and leaped from her chair, knocking it to the ground. “Don’t you dare!”
Sam sprang at her, cornering her against the wall, attacking her stomach with his stubby fingers until she collapsed in uncontrollable giggles and gasps.
“Oh, gracious me!” Bell said, barely hiding a smile. “Get out, get out -- both of you!” She whacked Sam on his bottom with a kitchen towel. “You’re not too old for a whipping, Sam lad…”
***
Soon enough Sam was on his way up to Bag End, a steaming pie in hands and his belly filled with tea and eggs. The day was as fine as could be, the kind of day one gets in mid September. The air was fresh, the grass still covered in dew bubbles. He found both Bilbo and Frodo sitting in the garden smoking an early pipe.
“Good morning, Sam,” Bilbo called out as Sam shut the gate behind him.
“Morning, sirs. I’ve brought you a pie from home.”
“Excellent!” Bilbo said, jumping up from the garden bench. “I’ll take it inside and cut it up right now and you can join us for a second breakfast before you get started on the garden.”
If the Gaffer were here, he’d not hear of such nonsense. But being invited in for a meal was the surest way to get to hear a good tale or see something he’d never seen in Bag End before. Always there was something new to see – a faded, crinkled map that hadn’t been out before, a trinket brought from afar, a book in a language he’d never seen.
“Why don’t we save it for lunch?” Frodo asked. “We’ve not eaten that long ago.”
Bilbo dismissed Frodo’s nonsense with a flap of his hand, and beckoned Sam to follow him with the pie. “Pay no attention to the boy’s improper appetite.”
Frodo turned to Sam and smiled apologetically. His smile could throw anyone off. Anyone saying the lad was aloof, that he walked under the moonshine had never been caught in those eyes of his. When he turned his attention to Sam, Sam could tell there was nobody or nothing else in the world that he was thinking of just then. He had that way of making Sam feel like he was the most important person in Hobbiton.
Now Frodo closed his eyes and breathed in the pie’s aroma with a smile. “It smells wonderful. You’ll send our thanks back to Mrs. Gamgee, will you not?”
“That I will.”
At last the three hobbits sat around the heavy wooden table. The table was set properly -- tea, silverware, and plates, as if it were a fancy dinner party and not a casual second breakfast. Ma’s steaming blueberry pie had been cut into three generous slices, and Bilbo had fried up some bacon.
“Marvelous,” Frodo said, chewing on a generous forkful of pie and sighing. Sam chuckled. As much as Frodo claimed to deny his appetite, he did so get pleasure out of eating.
“So, Master Gamgee,” Bilbo said, dropping his voice and clasping his hands together with a mischievous grin. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course I can,” Sam said, pausing in his chewing. Frodo smiled at Bilbo, his eyes twinkling with shared conspiracy. “Are you going to tell him?”
“We shall soon need his help,” Bilbo said, nodding.
“What is it then, sir?” Sam asked.
“Of course you know that Frodo and I share the same birthday.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “No, sir, I didn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I knew they were close together and all since you share the same parties often, but I hadn’t a clue it was the very same day…”
“Well,” Bilbo said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes twinkling. “This year is a special year indeed. I’m to be eleventy-one years old, and Frodo here will come into his inheritance. We’re planning a party of a magnitude never before seen in the Shire. Everyone is to be invited, and Gandalf the wizard will even be here.”
Sam could not contain his excitement as he jumped up to take the dishes to the sink. “Gandalf! Gandalf the Conjurer? Will he bring fireworks?” He cringed as his voice cracked with excitement and sounded for a moment like a small child.
“More than likely,” Bilbo said. He did not seem disturbed at all by Sam’s eagerness.
“It will rain food and snow drink,” Frodo added, looking at his cousin with fondness. “And there will be presents beyond your imagination. Bilbo’s ordered some specially made from Dale. And jokes!” He turned to Bilbo.
Bilbo laughed. “And jokes.” He then nodded. “And you coming of age and coming into your inheritance means it’s about time we ought to give thought to finding you a wife so you can settle down and be a respectable hobbit like your dad was.”
Frodo snorted, but his eyes hardened, and Sam knew, no matter what some of the other lads said, that Frodo didn’t have a soft bone inside him and that he had the beginnings of that same eccentric stubbornness that had kept Bilbo strong into such ripe old age. “Do not be silly, Bilbo. I do not wish to be respectable. I don’t want to get married…at least until I have an adventure of my own, like you. Sam, would you like more tea?”
Sam shook his head before settling into his chair again. He bubbled under his skin, itching to run outside and tell anyone who had an ear about the party. He could not imagine how he’d keep his mouth shut about the party. Gandalf the wizard…fireworks…food and drink for all…magical toys from Dale, everyone in the Shire!
“Hobbits should never leave the Shire,” Bilbo said, and for a moment, a shadow passed over his face and he fidgeted with something in his pocket.
“Trouble can come of it, that is to be sure,” Sam said, nodding. He wanted neither of them to leave. As long as he was breathing, he wanted both of them to stay right here in Bag End.
“And another thing, Sam.” Frodo added, his eyes brightening again. “Keeping the party a secret is too much to ask out of any one person. Tell whoever you wish about it.”
Well, Sam wasn’t fooled for one minute. Spreading the word on the party had been Frodo’s intention all along, of course.
TBC
Title: Under the Starlight: Gossip
Author: Claudia
Rating: G through R (?)
Summary: This is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time and only just gotten the courage to try -- it will be a tale that goes from pre-quest through post-quest, from a variety of viewpoints. There will be slash, but there will be warnings on slashy chapters so that if slash isn’t your cuppa, you can pass on those chapters. Basically I’m just filling in some gaps in the book and hoping it comes out all right! ;-)
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
A/N: Though 33 is considered coming of age, I pretty much think hobbits mature at nearly the same rate as humans, albeit just slightly slower. So an 18-year-old hobbit lad to me is maybe like a 15 or 16-year-old, not a wee child (at least in my opinion and for the interest of this story).
Gossip
There was only one hobbit in all the Shire as could get away with calling Sam by his real name, and that was Mr. Frodo Baggins. Most everyone else ignored his full name, which was just as well. A few years back Lotho Sackville-Baggins made up some dirty poetry about his name. Lotho had ended up with a black eye out of the affair, but Sam still burned up to this day. Some folk were handed money and a name and yet had not a clue about class. Never had there been a better stroke of luck as when Bilbo Baggins came back from his adventures and stopped the auction in front of Bag End.
Sam splashed water on his face, shuddering. Yes, life was mighty fine if he considered he could be working for Lotho right now instead of Bilbo and Frodo.
Bag End was just where he was off to this morning. The Gaffer was feeling the creaking in his bones and so Sam was off alone this morning to check on Bag End. There were sunflowers and snap-dragons that needed to be tended, as well as potatoes and plump, succulent tomatoes that had all seemed to ripen at once.
A thrill curled in his belly when he thought about being alone in the garden, without the Gaffer’s good intentioned correcting of nearly everything Sam did. Of course he knew that was the only way he’d ever learn, but sometimes it was just good to kneel in the moist earth with the late summer sun warm on the back of his neck with only the chattering of birds to be heard.
Another thing he liked about going up to Bag End without the Gaffer was that Frodo was more likely to come out and join him – that is, if he didn’t have his own affairs to mind. If Sam begged to hear one of Bilbo’s tales, Frodo’s eyes would flicker and he would sit clutching his knees, rocking back and forth to the soft rhythm of his lyrical voice. Sometimes Frodo knelt in the dirt with him and helped pull weeds with his pale slender hands that somehow always managed to be much stronger than Sam expected. The Gaffer disapproved heartily – it wasn’t proper and all – and so Frodo never stayed out for long when he was around.
Other folk poked fun at Frodo and Bilbo at the Green Dragon – said they weren’t right in the head. Some claimed Frodo was of fairy blood, that Drogo had found him in the Forest and that he and his Brandybuck wife had paid for it with their lives. According to those stories, Bilbo had learned sorcery from his time abroad and had just the right spell to keep the fairy lad in line. But no good would come of it, they said. What foolishness folk came up with when there was nothing real to complain about.
As Sam made his way from the washing room to the kitchen, the aroma of baking dough and tart berries wafted down the tunnel. Sam’s belly growled, and he blinked against the harsh sunlight that glared in through the round open window in the kitchen.
“Good mornin’,” Bell Gamgee said, poking at the fire in the hearth. “Sit yourself down at the table, Sam lad. I’ve just fixed eggs and pancakes.”
She wiped flour from her hands onto her apron, but the flour had sprinkled everywhere – in her hair, on her clothes, all over the counter.
“What are you doing, Ma?”
“I’m fixing to sell some of my blueberry pies at market tomorrow morning. Now sit yourself down to eat, and if you wait around a bit, I’ll have one ready for you to bring with you up to Bag End.”
Daisy Gamgee fanned herself against the heat coming from the hearth. “That Frodo Baggins is just about of age – and he’s not courting anyone.” She pursed her lips in disapproval she felt of all eligible lads who chose not to court. She was courting a certain Tom Wilthorn right now and so thought anyone not in love was worthy of her scorn.
“Sam lad,” Bell Gamgee said without turning around. “Don’t you forget your manners today. Don’t hang around longer than you’re wanted.”
“Sam just goes up there to hear more tales of moonshine,” Marigold Gamgee said, twirling her finger near her ear to show how cracked she thought her older brother.
Sam scowled at her. “Just you hush.”
“Hush both of you!” Bell said with an exasperated sigh.
Marigold stuck her tongue out at Sam. Sam let out a good-natured growl and set his hands before him like two spiders. “I’m knowing that someone at this table who is ticklish!”
Marigold squealed and leaped from her chair, knocking it to the ground. “Don’t you dare!”
Sam sprang at her, cornering her against the wall, attacking her stomach with his stubby fingers until she collapsed in uncontrollable giggles and gasps.
“Oh, gracious me!” Bell said, barely hiding a smile. “Get out, get out -- both of you!” She whacked Sam on his bottom with a kitchen towel. “You’re not too old for a whipping, Sam lad…”
***
Soon enough Sam was on his way up to Bag End, a steaming pie in hands and his belly filled with tea and eggs. The day was as fine as could be, the kind of day one gets in mid September. The air was fresh, the grass still covered in dew bubbles. He found both Bilbo and Frodo sitting in the garden smoking an early pipe.
“Good morning, Sam,” Bilbo called out as Sam shut the gate behind him.
“Morning, sirs. I’ve brought you a pie from home.”
“Excellent!” Bilbo said, jumping up from the garden bench. “I’ll take it inside and cut it up right now and you can join us for a second breakfast before you get started on the garden.”
If the Gaffer were here, he’d not hear of such nonsense. But being invited in for a meal was the surest way to get to hear a good tale or see something he’d never seen in Bag End before. Always there was something new to see – a faded, crinkled map that hadn’t been out before, a trinket brought from afar, a book in a language he’d never seen.
“Why don’t we save it for lunch?” Frodo asked. “We’ve not eaten that long ago.”
Bilbo dismissed Frodo’s nonsense with a flap of his hand, and beckoned Sam to follow him with the pie. “Pay no attention to the boy’s improper appetite.”
Frodo turned to Sam and smiled apologetically. His smile could throw anyone off. Anyone saying the lad was aloof, that he walked under the moonshine had never been caught in those eyes of his. When he turned his attention to Sam, Sam could tell there was nobody or nothing else in the world that he was thinking of just then. He had that way of making Sam feel like he was the most important person in Hobbiton.
Now Frodo closed his eyes and breathed in the pie’s aroma with a smile. “It smells wonderful. You’ll send our thanks back to Mrs. Gamgee, will you not?”
“That I will.”
At last the three hobbits sat around the heavy wooden table. The table was set properly -- tea, silverware, and plates, as if it were a fancy dinner party and not a casual second breakfast. Ma’s steaming blueberry pie had been cut into three generous slices, and Bilbo had fried up some bacon.
“Marvelous,” Frodo said, chewing on a generous forkful of pie and sighing. Sam chuckled. As much as Frodo claimed to deny his appetite, he did so get pleasure out of eating.
“So, Master Gamgee,” Bilbo said, dropping his voice and clasping his hands together with a mischievous grin. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course I can,” Sam said, pausing in his chewing. Frodo smiled at Bilbo, his eyes twinkling with shared conspiracy. “Are you going to tell him?”
“We shall soon need his help,” Bilbo said, nodding.
“What is it then, sir?” Sam asked.
“Of course you know that Frodo and I share the same birthday.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “No, sir, I didn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I knew they were close together and all since you share the same parties often, but I hadn’t a clue it was the very same day…”
“Well,” Bilbo said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes twinkling. “This year is a special year indeed. I’m to be eleventy-one years old, and Frodo here will come into his inheritance. We’re planning a party of a magnitude never before seen in the Shire. Everyone is to be invited, and Gandalf the wizard will even be here.”
Sam could not contain his excitement as he jumped up to take the dishes to the sink. “Gandalf! Gandalf the Conjurer? Will he bring fireworks?” He cringed as his voice cracked with excitement and sounded for a moment like a small child.
“More than likely,” Bilbo said. He did not seem disturbed at all by Sam’s eagerness.
“It will rain food and snow drink,” Frodo added, looking at his cousin with fondness. “And there will be presents beyond your imagination. Bilbo’s ordered some specially made from Dale. And jokes!” He turned to Bilbo.
Bilbo laughed. “And jokes.” He then nodded. “And you coming of age and coming into your inheritance means it’s about time we ought to give thought to finding you a wife so you can settle down and be a respectable hobbit like your dad was.”
Frodo snorted, but his eyes hardened, and Sam knew, no matter what some of the other lads said, that Frodo didn’t have a soft bone inside him and that he had the beginnings of that same eccentric stubbornness that had kept Bilbo strong into such ripe old age. “Do not be silly, Bilbo. I do not wish to be respectable. I don’t want to get married…at least until I have an adventure of my own, like you. Sam, would you like more tea?”
Sam shook his head before settling into his chair again. He bubbled under his skin, itching to run outside and tell anyone who had an ear about the party. He could not imagine how he’d keep his mouth shut about the party. Gandalf the wizard…fireworks…food and drink for all…magical toys from Dale, everyone in the Shire!
“Hobbits should never leave the Shire,” Bilbo said, and for a moment, a shadow passed over his face and he fidgeted with something in his pocket.
“Trouble can come of it, that is to be sure,” Sam said, nodding. He wanted neither of them to leave. As long as he was breathing, he wanted both of them to stay right here in Bag End.
“And another thing, Sam.” Frodo added, his eyes brightening again. “Keeping the party a secret is too much to ask out of any one person. Tell whoever you wish about it.”
Well, Sam wasn’t fooled for one minute. Spreading the word on the party had been Frodo’s intention all along, of course.
TBC