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Sep. 30th, 2004 06:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: Ranger From the North
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: PG
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire.
A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk. Little do they know of our long labour for the safekeeping of their borders, and yet I grudge it not.
Halbarad in The Return of the King
Chapter 3
Before Frodo opened his eyes, the snapping of twigs in crackling fire came to his ears and hot air brushed his cheeks. A blanket had been wrapped over him, tucked around his body so tightly that he could move neither his legs nor his arms. Each breath caused his lungs to ache, as if they were bruised inside and out.
Everything came back to him – the icy water rushing over his head, the bright fluttering panic, and the strong hands that had ripped him from a watery death.
He opened his eyes, struggling to sit up, or at least to lean on one elbow. He lay bundled in blankets on a thick fur rug just in front of a fireplace. The room was barely the size of the sitting room in Bag End and much plainer. The wooden floor had obviously not been swept in a long time. Only a wobbly wooden table and the fur rug decorated the room.
Halbarad had removed his cloak and Frodo was free to observe him, as the man seemed unaware that Frodo had awakened. He wore a faded gray shirt covered by a leather tunic, laced up the front. He had rolled his sleeves up, revealing tan ropy arms.
Halbarad turned suddenly, as if sensing Frodo’s gaze, and offered him a gentle smile. “How do you feel?”
Frodo’s voice came out in a croak. “Much better.” His stomach rumbled, and he realized he had never had a chance to eat the food he had intended to spread out in the clearing. “I’m hungry.” He struggled to free his arms from the blanket, and Halbarad helped him loosen it just enough to free his arms. Frodo shifted the blanket so that his arms secured it around his torso, like the cotton towel he wrapped around himself after a bath. He moved into a sitting position, smiling into the glowing fireplace heat.
“I foresaw that you may be hungry,” Halbarad said. Frodo could not tear his gaze him. Whenever Halbarad frowned in grim concentration, as seemed most natural for him, his eyes gleamed, and he seemed a frightening and unyielding enemy. But then he would smile, and his lips seemed shy from it, as if he had been out of practice from smiling. His eyes softened, though they never lost their noble steel. “I know of hobbits. I have wandered in the wilderness near your Shire for many years.”
“You have?” Frodo laughed. “Then you have an advantage, because I know nothing of Big People. Do you live in this cottage?”
“Nay.” Frodo waited for him to continue but he did not.
“I’ve never seen any of the Big People here in the Shire. I know in the South Farthing they’ve had trouble with them—“ Frodo stopped, biting his lip against the rudeness that nearly spilled from his lips about Men thinking they had the right to trample about the Shire harassing those weaker and smaller than themselves.
But Halbarad did not seem to take offense. His eyes darkened. “We are aware of the danger. We are doing what we can, such as we can.”
Halbarad seemed suddenly distraught and grim -- dangerous, just as Gandalf often acted when asking questions about Bilbo’s Ring.
“Who are you?” Frodo asked.
Halbarad seemed to come back to himself and he smiled again. “I am a Ranger of the North, one of the Dunadain, Men of the West. “
“One of the people of the old Kings?” Frodo cried out in surprise, nearly letting fall the blanket tucked under his arms. His heart sped to an alarming rate. Bilbo had told him about the last remnant in the North of the Men of the West.
Halbarad looked at him in surprise. “You know of the Dunadain? I was certain we had passed out of all tales of simple folk--” He cut off, glancing elsewhere, and Frodo was surprised to see a flush tint his swarthy cheek. “I am sorry. That was not courteous.”
“You are right on most counts,” Frodo said. “But I lived with my cousin Bilbo for many years, and he was possibly the only hobbit of the Shire who traveled beyond the borders to go anywhere besides Bree.”
“You no longer live with your cousin?”
Frodo shook his head and looked away from Halbarad’s intent gaze. Halbarad wandered the wild, friendless, and he would hardly think Frodo’s grief over Bilbo’s departure comparable. “What of you?” he asked.
“There is naught to tell.” Halbarad’s voice was curt. “Are you still hungry, Frodo? I am afraid I have nothing to offer but dried meat, but at least it will satiate your belly. I shall boil water for tea.”
Frodo had heard that Big People ate strange and savage things, like wild berries and meat fresh off the hunt, with the blood still trickling down. He supposed dried meat was mild in comparison, but he longed for a hot meal.
“Ah, then,” Frodo said with a laugh. “It is a pity you could not have taken me back to my home. I could have fixed you a dinner not to be forgotten.”
As soon as he spoke, his cheeks heated. This kind man had saved his life and taken him to his cottage to offer him what hospitality he could.
Frodo’s heart lifted when Halbarad smiled. “Now we have both misspoken. I do not take insult from your honesty. Nay, it would cause an uproar if I strode into your village.”
“All the same, I am sorry,” Frodo said, clutching the blanket in a tight fist. “I did not mean to seem ungrateful…” He smiled. “Ah, this is uncomfortable.”
“No matter.” Halbarad reached suddenly and took Frodo’s hand in his, rubbing it between the two of his in a friendly fashion. His touch warmed Frodo from toes to the tip of his ears, and he held his breath, hoping Halbarad would not release him. “If we were at my home in the Northlands, I should show you greater hospitality.”
Halbarad did release his hand, intent suddenly on the boiling water on the hearth, and Frodo let out a silent sigh of disappointment that both puzzled and excited him.
TBC
Previous parts here:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: PG
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire.
A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk. Little do they know of our long labour for the safekeeping of their borders, and yet I grudge it not.
Halbarad in The Return of the King
Chapter 3
Before Frodo opened his eyes, the snapping of twigs in crackling fire came to his ears and hot air brushed his cheeks. A blanket had been wrapped over him, tucked around his body so tightly that he could move neither his legs nor his arms. Each breath caused his lungs to ache, as if they were bruised inside and out.
Everything came back to him – the icy water rushing over his head, the bright fluttering panic, and the strong hands that had ripped him from a watery death.
He opened his eyes, struggling to sit up, or at least to lean on one elbow. He lay bundled in blankets on a thick fur rug just in front of a fireplace. The room was barely the size of the sitting room in Bag End and much plainer. The wooden floor had obviously not been swept in a long time. Only a wobbly wooden table and the fur rug decorated the room.
Halbarad had removed his cloak and Frodo was free to observe him, as the man seemed unaware that Frodo had awakened. He wore a faded gray shirt covered by a leather tunic, laced up the front. He had rolled his sleeves up, revealing tan ropy arms.
Halbarad turned suddenly, as if sensing Frodo’s gaze, and offered him a gentle smile. “How do you feel?”
Frodo’s voice came out in a croak. “Much better.” His stomach rumbled, and he realized he had never had a chance to eat the food he had intended to spread out in the clearing. “I’m hungry.” He struggled to free his arms from the blanket, and Halbarad helped him loosen it just enough to free his arms. Frodo shifted the blanket so that his arms secured it around his torso, like the cotton towel he wrapped around himself after a bath. He moved into a sitting position, smiling into the glowing fireplace heat.
“I foresaw that you may be hungry,” Halbarad said. Frodo could not tear his gaze him. Whenever Halbarad frowned in grim concentration, as seemed most natural for him, his eyes gleamed, and he seemed a frightening and unyielding enemy. But then he would smile, and his lips seemed shy from it, as if he had been out of practice from smiling. His eyes softened, though they never lost their noble steel. “I know of hobbits. I have wandered in the wilderness near your Shire for many years.”
“You have?” Frodo laughed. “Then you have an advantage, because I know nothing of Big People. Do you live in this cottage?”
“Nay.” Frodo waited for him to continue but he did not.
“I’ve never seen any of the Big People here in the Shire. I know in the South Farthing they’ve had trouble with them—“ Frodo stopped, biting his lip against the rudeness that nearly spilled from his lips about Men thinking they had the right to trample about the Shire harassing those weaker and smaller than themselves.
But Halbarad did not seem to take offense. His eyes darkened. “We are aware of the danger. We are doing what we can, such as we can.”
Halbarad seemed suddenly distraught and grim -- dangerous, just as Gandalf often acted when asking questions about Bilbo’s Ring.
“Who are you?” Frodo asked.
Halbarad seemed to come back to himself and he smiled again. “I am a Ranger of the North, one of the Dunadain, Men of the West. “
“One of the people of the old Kings?” Frodo cried out in surprise, nearly letting fall the blanket tucked under his arms. His heart sped to an alarming rate. Bilbo had told him about the last remnant in the North of the Men of the West.
Halbarad looked at him in surprise. “You know of the Dunadain? I was certain we had passed out of all tales of simple folk--” He cut off, glancing elsewhere, and Frodo was surprised to see a flush tint his swarthy cheek. “I am sorry. That was not courteous.”
“You are right on most counts,” Frodo said. “But I lived with my cousin Bilbo for many years, and he was possibly the only hobbit of the Shire who traveled beyond the borders to go anywhere besides Bree.”
“You no longer live with your cousin?”
Frodo shook his head and looked away from Halbarad’s intent gaze. Halbarad wandered the wild, friendless, and he would hardly think Frodo’s grief over Bilbo’s departure comparable. “What of you?” he asked.
“There is naught to tell.” Halbarad’s voice was curt. “Are you still hungry, Frodo? I am afraid I have nothing to offer but dried meat, but at least it will satiate your belly. I shall boil water for tea.”
Frodo had heard that Big People ate strange and savage things, like wild berries and meat fresh off the hunt, with the blood still trickling down. He supposed dried meat was mild in comparison, but he longed for a hot meal.
“Ah, then,” Frodo said with a laugh. “It is a pity you could not have taken me back to my home. I could have fixed you a dinner not to be forgotten.”
As soon as he spoke, his cheeks heated. This kind man had saved his life and taken him to his cottage to offer him what hospitality he could.
Frodo’s heart lifted when Halbarad smiled. “Now we have both misspoken. I do not take insult from your honesty. Nay, it would cause an uproar if I strode into your village.”
“All the same, I am sorry,” Frodo said, clutching the blanket in a tight fist. “I did not mean to seem ungrateful…” He smiled. “Ah, this is uncomfortable.”
“No matter.” Halbarad reached suddenly and took Frodo’s hand in his, rubbing it between the two of his in a friendly fashion. His touch warmed Frodo from toes to the tip of his ears, and he held his breath, hoping Halbarad would not release him. “If we were at my home in the Northlands, I should show you greater hospitality.”
Halbarad did release his hand, intent suddenly on the boiling water on the hearth, and Frodo let out a silent sigh of disappointment that both puzzled and excited him.
TBC
Previous parts here:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2