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Apr. 26th, 2004 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Some of you will love me for this...at last...
Warning: a tiny bit of violence
Title: The Shire Slave 3/?
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG13 through R
Summary: Way AU (there’s a shock!). Pre-coming of age, Frodo is kidnapped and sold to Anborn of Gondor as a toy for Denethor's sons.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
The Shire Slave 3
When Frodo woke, his hands were no longer bound, and his foot throbbed miserably. He shifted and groaned loudly, biting his lip, tasting the salt of his blood. He could not seem to stop shivering, though he heard the crackle of a strong fire nearby.
“Do not move,” Anborn said. Something heavy bound Frodo’s foot, and he remembered everything now – his attempt at escape, the chase, the sickening pain that shot through his foot as it had twisted. Now there was no chance to be free from this nightmare.
“I am sorry you were injured,” Anborn said, swallowing. “I cannot blame you for trying.” Frodo did not know what to make of this man who dressed like Estel – *dear Estel*, he thought with a yanking of his heart — and spoke in a kind voice, yet was relentless in keeping him captive. As kind as he looked now, Frodo would not soon forget the look of fury in his eyes when Frodo had struggled against him.
Frodo shuddered as new pain clutched his foot. If only he had been more careful. If only the Man had not awakened, Frodo might have already reached Bree by now – and freedom. Anborn should not have been able to hear him creep away from the camp. Hobbits were supposed to have the stealth to hide from the Big Folk. Then again, if Anborn was some kind of Ranger, like Estel, then he would have special skills that went beyond the usual bumbling of the Big Folk.
“There’s not much I can do for the pain,” Anborn said, shaking his head in regret. “I have no such herbs to curb it. I am sorry.”
Sweat beaded on Frodo’s forehead and he tried to divert his mind from his misery by focusing on the clear sky sprinkled with stars, the breeze, and the chattering of pre-dawn birds. Anborn put a gentle hand on his brow. “There, now, little one. We’ll be home soon, and you’ll have the best care. Faramir will take good care of you.”
Frodo scrunched his eyes closed. He did not want to meet this Faramir. Faramir was likely just another bully. So far, with the exception of Estel, he had not met a single Man who did not wish to hurt or conquer him. His heart clutched with loneliness as he pictured Estel again. He would pay any price to see him and Gandalf and most of all, Bilbo again. And this had happened to him because he had foolishly tried to wait for Gandalf and Estel in the woods outside of Hobbiton. Already it seemed an age ago, something faraway and dream-like.
***
Frodo had walked along the path, humming a tune, occasionally breaking into actual song, all the while listening for hooves. Estel and Gandalf had left Hobbiton for a few days, but they were due to arrive again this very evening. Frodo could not sit still under the tree where he had been reading, so excited he was for another evening of tale telling. This time he would make Estel tell more about his time in Rivendell among the elves. And he would not be too shy to practice his Elvish with him. Bilbo would be proud, as he was the one who had taught Frodo enough Elvish to hold a stuttering conversation.
He had just broken into a merry song he had picked up in Brandy Hall about swigging ale at the local tavern when he heard the welcome sound of hooves. He ran to the road, a greeting cry on his lips.
He froze, stumbling to his knees when he saw it was not Gandalf and Strider. He was dismayed and frightened to find a band of five men, two of them still on horses, the other three exploring the immediate ground. The first thing to cross Frodo’s mind was that perhaps like Estel, they were Rangers, bound to protect the Shirefolk.
Still, Frodo’s heart battered with alarm, and he tried to back up the incline.
“Hoy, halfling!” One of the men pointed to him. “Do not flee. We shall not harm you.”
Frodo’s legs froze. He wanted to turn around and ran as fast as he could back into the woods, where at least he’d feel safe and hidden. At any moment, Estel and Gandalf would come, and he would feel safe again. Meanwhile, it wouldn’t harm him to be friendly. Perhaps these men would be friendly, like Estel, and they would surely have more tales of the Outside. Frodo offered a tentative smile, though he still hesitated to come any closer.
Another man approached him, holding his hands out cautiously, as if he feared to frighten a skittish animal. “I wonder if you might help us,” he said in a kindly voice. “We’re a little lost, I’m afraid.”
Frodo swallowed. “Where…where do you wish to go?” Of course, this would make an exciting tale to tell Estel and Gandalf. Thinking in terms of how he would tell the tale later made him braver.
The man laughed and shook his head. “We had no idea we’d reached the land of halflings,” the other said. “We’re trying to reach Bree.”
“We’ve a batch of mushrooms to take there.”
“Mushrooms?” Frodo asked, suddenly not afraid. “Are they for sale?”
How nice if he found some exotic mushroom that he could purchase and take home to Bilbo for the evening meal!
“Would you like to look?” the man asked. “I’m not sure you’ve seen this variation of mushroom here in your parts.”
“Oh, I would love to.” Frodo quickly closed the distance between himself and the men. As he approached, his heart sped up with sudden warning. There was something tense about the way the men stood, as if they waited for some sign, watching Frodo carefully. Frodo halted, whirled around to flee back into the woods, but the man closest to him grabbed his upper arms.
“Let me go!” Frodo struggled against his grip. “I’m waiting on one of your kind and a wizard!”
The man shook him, his eyes no longer filled with kindness. “Stop your struggling or you’ll get hurt!”
Frodo’s stomach sank, and he was sickened by how easily he had been tricked. If he could get out of this and get home safely, he would be fully satisfied to listen to Estel’s tales. He did not need to add any of his own. He renewed his struggle, which earned him a harsh slap across the cheek.
“He’s young,” another said. “Pretty strong.”
“And fair, too. I’ve never seen such skin on a lad.”
“He’s more like small Elfkind. How much you think they will pay for him?”
“We could ask a hefty price. I’ve never seen such eyes as he has.”
These words swarmed through Frodo’s mind, and with horror, he realized that they were discussing buying and selling him. He kicked and struggled with all his strength, his only goal to free himself. The harder he struggled, the more unyielding the man’s grip became and in turn, the more panicked he grew, like a small animal in a snare. He kicked, but his toes merely stubbed against the boots worn by these men. He bit at the arm that held him, but it only resulted in him being thrown to the ground and kicked soundly in the side until he was breathless. He curled on the ground, clutching at the grass until his hands were yanked behind him and tied none too gently. A filthy cloth was shoved in his mouth, which caused him to gag, and one of the men yanked him back up by his hair. He cried out, though the gag muffled any sound.
Where were Gandalf and Estel? If they showed up now, this nightmare would end, and the three of them could go back to Bag End.
“Just carry him in front of you on your horse,” the first man said to his friend. “We’re not likely to run into anyone until Bree.”
“We’re actually taking him to Bree?”
“Don’t be a fool! Where else will we get a buyer? We’re going to make a lot of coins from this one.”
“We’d best not beat him anymore then, and save his precious skin. And we’ve got to walk into Bree all natural and all. Them Rangers are all over the place and they don’t love any abuse on the Shirefolk.”
“It’s gonna look unnatural anyways. No halflings interact with men anyway. If the halfling asks for it, I’m going to beat him, regardless. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s uppity halflings. I seen enough of them in Bree and I’m not afraid to teach them a lesson when need be. I don’t care about any Rangers. I figure if we’re going to get caught for this, we’re going to get caught anyways, whether we beat this one or not.” The man spit. “Make these little rats work for their living for a change instead of living off the land like little kings.”
Frodo was losing consciousness. The pain in his side, the nauseating stench from the cloth in his mouth, the shock of having just been snatched off the road and bound up…all of it crashed over him and he slumped forward on the horse in front of the cruel man.
***
Anborn’s heart thudded uncomfortably against his chest as he watched Frodo toss and turn, biting his hand to stifle groans of pain. There were no villages nearby, at least none closer than Bree, and nowhere to find a healer who might have such herbs to ease pain. If he returned him to Bree, someone would catch on to what he was doing, and the hobbit would go free.
*Is that not what you wish, to overturn this wrong that you’ve done?*
Anborn had a sudden freeing thought that he could take this creature back home and then disappear. He need not return to Denethor empty-handed. He never need return to Minas Tirith at all. He could make a simple life for himself in this wild country. The Lord Denethor would assume he had come to an untimely end on his mission and would think nothing of it. Or would he? Anborn shuddered. His lord had a way of knowing things, and he bore little love for deserters. He might take great glee in hunting Anborn down, and bringing him to unpleasant judgment.
Anborn put a wet cloth over Frodo’s brow.
TBC
Warning: a tiny bit of violence
Title: The Shire Slave 3/?
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG13 through R
Summary: Way AU (there’s a shock!). Pre-coming of age, Frodo is kidnapped and sold to Anborn of Gondor as a toy for Denethor's sons.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
The Shire Slave 3
When Frodo woke, his hands were no longer bound, and his foot throbbed miserably. He shifted and groaned loudly, biting his lip, tasting the salt of his blood. He could not seem to stop shivering, though he heard the crackle of a strong fire nearby.
“Do not move,” Anborn said. Something heavy bound Frodo’s foot, and he remembered everything now – his attempt at escape, the chase, the sickening pain that shot through his foot as it had twisted. Now there was no chance to be free from this nightmare.
“I am sorry you were injured,” Anborn said, swallowing. “I cannot blame you for trying.” Frodo did not know what to make of this man who dressed like Estel – *dear Estel*, he thought with a yanking of his heart — and spoke in a kind voice, yet was relentless in keeping him captive. As kind as he looked now, Frodo would not soon forget the look of fury in his eyes when Frodo had struggled against him.
Frodo shuddered as new pain clutched his foot. If only he had been more careful. If only the Man had not awakened, Frodo might have already reached Bree by now – and freedom. Anborn should not have been able to hear him creep away from the camp. Hobbits were supposed to have the stealth to hide from the Big Folk. Then again, if Anborn was some kind of Ranger, like Estel, then he would have special skills that went beyond the usual bumbling of the Big Folk.
“There’s not much I can do for the pain,” Anborn said, shaking his head in regret. “I have no such herbs to curb it. I am sorry.”
Sweat beaded on Frodo’s forehead and he tried to divert his mind from his misery by focusing on the clear sky sprinkled with stars, the breeze, and the chattering of pre-dawn birds. Anborn put a gentle hand on his brow. “There, now, little one. We’ll be home soon, and you’ll have the best care. Faramir will take good care of you.”
Frodo scrunched his eyes closed. He did not want to meet this Faramir. Faramir was likely just another bully. So far, with the exception of Estel, he had not met a single Man who did not wish to hurt or conquer him. His heart clutched with loneliness as he pictured Estel again. He would pay any price to see him and Gandalf and most of all, Bilbo again. And this had happened to him because he had foolishly tried to wait for Gandalf and Estel in the woods outside of Hobbiton. Already it seemed an age ago, something faraway and dream-like.
***
Frodo had walked along the path, humming a tune, occasionally breaking into actual song, all the while listening for hooves. Estel and Gandalf had left Hobbiton for a few days, but they were due to arrive again this very evening. Frodo could not sit still under the tree where he had been reading, so excited he was for another evening of tale telling. This time he would make Estel tell more about his time in Rivendell among the elves. And he would not be too shy to practice his Elvish with him. Bilbo would be proud, as he was the one who had taught Frodo enough Elvish to hold a stuttering conversation.
He had just broken into a merry song he had picked up in Brandy Hall about swigging ale at the local tavern when he heard the welcome sound of hooves. He ran to the road, a greeting cry on his lips.
He froze, stumbling to his knees when he saw it was not Gandalf and Strider. He was dismayed and frightened to find a band of five men, two of them still on horses, the other three exploring the immediate ground. The first thing to cross Frodo’s mind was that perhaps like Estel, they were Rangers, bound to protect the Shirefolk.
Still, Frodo’s heart battered with alarm, and he tried to back up the incline.
“Hoy, halfling!” One of the men pointed to him. “Do not flee. We shall not harm you.”
Frodo’s legs froze. He wanted to turn around and ran as fast as he could back into the woods, where at least he’d feel safe and hidden. At any moment, Estel and Gandalf would come, and he would feel safe again. Meanwhile, it wouldn’t harm him to be friendly. Perhaps these men would be friendly, like Estel, and they would surely have more tales of the Outside. Frodo offered a tentative smile, though he still hesitated to come any closer.
Another man approached him, holding his hands out cautiously, as if he feared to frighten a skittish animal. “I wonder if you might help us,” he said in a kindly voice. “We’re a little lost, I’m afraid.”
Frodo swallowed. “Where…where do you wish to go?” Of course, this would make an exciting tale to tell Estel and Gandalf. Thinking in terms of how he would tell the tale later made him braver.
The man laughed and shook his head. “We had no idea we’d reached the land of halflings,” the other said. “We’re trying to reach Bree.”
“We’ve a batch of mushrooms to take there.”
“Mushrooms?” Frodo asked, suddenly not afraid. “Are they for sale?”
How nice if he found some exotic mushroom that he could purchase and take home to Bilbo for the evening meal!
“Would you like to look?” the man asked. “I’m not sure you’ve seen this variation of mushroom here in your parts.”
“Oh, I would love to.” Frodo quickly closed the distance between himself and the men. As he approached, his heart sped up with sudden warning. There was something tense about the way the men stood, as if they waited for some sign, watching Frodo carefully. Frodo halted, whirled around to flee back into the woods, but the man closest to him grabbed his upper arms.
“Let me go!” Frodo struggled against his grip. “I’m waiting on one of your kind and a wizard!”
The man shook him, his eyes no longer filled with kindness. “Stop your struggling or you’ll get hurt!”
Frodo’s stomach sank, and he was sickened by how easily he had been tricked. If he could get out of this and get home safely, he would be fully satisfied to listen to Estel’s tales. He did not need to add any of his own. He renewed his struggle, which earned him a harsh slap across the cheek.
“He’s young,” another said. “Pretty strong.”
“And fair, too. I’ve never seen such skin on a lad.”
“He’s more like small Elfkind. How much you think they will pay for him?”
“We could ask a hefty price. I’ve never seen such eyes as he has.”
These words swarmed through Frodo’s mind, and with horror, he realized that they were discussing buying and selling him. He kicked and struggled with all his strength, his only goal to free himself. The harder he struggled, the more unyielding the man’s grip became and in turn, the more panicked he grew, like a small animal in a snare. He kicked, but his toes merely stubbed against the boots worn by these men. He bit at the arm that held him, but it only resulted in him being thrown to the ground and kicked soundly in the side until he was breathless. He curled on the ground, clutching at the grass until his hands were yanked behind him and tied none too gently. A filthy cloth was shoved in his mouth, which caused him to gag, and one of the men yanked him back up by his hair. He cried out, though the gag muffled any sound.
Where were Gandalf and Estel? If they showed up now, this nightmare would end, and the three of them could go back to Bag End.
“Just carry him in front of you on your horse,” the first man said to his friend. “We’re not likely to run into anyone until Bree.”
“We’re actually taking him to Bree?”
“Don’t be a fool! Where else will we get a buyer? We’re going to make a lot of coins from this one.”
“We’d best not beat him anymore then, and save his precious skin. And we’ve got to walk into Bree all natural and all. Them Rangers are all over the place and they don’t love any abuse on the Shirefolk.”
“It’s gonna look unnatural anyways. No halflings interact with men anyway. If the halfling asks for it, I’m going to beat him, regardless. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s uppity halflings. I seen enough of them in Bree and I’m not afraid to teach them a lesson when need be. I don’t care about any Rangers. I figure if we’re going to get caught for this, we’re going to get caught anyways, whether we beat this one or not.” The man spit. “Make these little rats work for their living for a change instead of living off the land like little kings.”
Frodo was losing consciousness. The pain in his side, the nauseating stench from the cloth in his mouth, the shock of having just been snatched off the road and bound up…all of it crashed over him and he slumped forward on the horse in front of the cruel man.
***
Anborn’s heart thudded uncomfortably against his chest as he watched Frodo toss and turn, biting his hand to stifle groans of pain. There were no villages nearby, at least none closer than Bree, and nowhere to find a healer who might have such herbs to ease pain. If he returned him to Bree, someone would catch on to what he was doing, and the hobbit would go free.
*Is that not what you wish, to overturn this wrong that you’ve done?*
Anborn had a sudden freeing thought that he could take this creature back home and then disappear. He need not return to Denethor empty-handed. He never need return to Minas Tirith at all. He could make a simple life for himself in this wild country. The Lord Denethor would assume he had come to an untimely end on his mission and would think nothing of it. Or would he? Anborn shuddered. His lord had a way of knowing things, and he bore little love for deserters. He might take great glee in hunting Anborn down, and bringing him to unpleasant judgment.
Anborn put a wet cloth over Frodo’s brow.
TBC