The Shire Slave: Prologue
Sep. 6th, 2003 03:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603ONE more story spam. It's not that like I've been so productive today, but I was tying up loose ends that I've worked on all week...and now things are getting done :-)
So new story that will eventually be developed.
Title: Shire Slave - Prologue
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG13 through R
Summary: Way AU (there’s a shock—from me?!). Pre-coming of age, Frodo is kidnapped and sold to Anborn so that he can be brought to Minas Tirith to be a companion to his sons. Non-slash at this point, but if that changes, I will post warnings.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
The Shire Slave - Prologue
Denethor glanced up, his eyes glittering, and Anborn halted, holding his breath. He had been pleased to receive his scouting instructions without Denethor’s full attention falling on him. There was something in Lord Denethor’s cold gaze that made him feel as if the steward could read every dark corner of his mind.
“There is yet one more task I require of you while you are in the North kingdom.”
Anborn still bristled under the initial request, which was to scout the North kingdom, bring back as many reports about the peoples and the villages as he could. But it was absurd, a waste of effort in Anborn’s opinion, as the North Kingdom was not under the protection of the steward. But according to the steward’s heir, Denethor’s oldest son Boromir (and such a warrior would that boy be when he was fully grown; Anborn had seen the powerful swing of his sword in practice) Denethor slipped frequently into these morose moods. If he were king then the North and South kingdoms would be reunited. He would rule over much of Middle earth and Mordor would have no dominion.
“Yes, my lord?”
“In the North kingdom we have rumors that there live halflings, little folk who dwell in holes in the earth without a care in the world.” Anborn detected the bitterness in Denethor’s voice. "I wish you to bring me back one of these creatures.”
“My lord?” Anborn hoped his astonishment did not show too fully on his face. Denethor knew so well how to manipulate, and it was always far better to look aloof and indifferent to everything. “Will such a creature come willingly?”
“Willingly or not, I wish one brought here.”
Anborn could not conceive of kidnapping, which is what this task would involve, should the halfling not wish to come willingly.
Denethor continued. “I want a male, one suitable to be a companion to my sons…particularly Faramir, who needs to learn responsibility. You shall not go into the North kingdom dressed as a guard of the citadel. You shall dress as one of the Rangers of the North, in worn muddy green.”
“But my lord, is it right to take such a creature from his home—“
“He shall not be mistreated here,” Denethor’s voice had grown dangerous, and Anborn knew better than to pursue further argument.
***
Butterbur’s inn was crowded, more so than usual. A rowdy fight had already broken out, and Butterbur had bid the Bree lawmen to arrest two of the men involved. After such a ruckus, nobody much paid attention to the group of three men in the back corner of the Common Room.
The two men that Anborn addressed looked as though they had lived in the wild for weeks. They were filthy, and their clothes tattered and muddy. Anborn tried not to visibly wrinkle his nose at the stench. He gulped down the ale, which he had to admit was far better than anything he had tasted in Minas Tirith.
“I hear you’re the men I come to for well…special favors.”
“Anything you need, for a price.”
The second man revealed a toothless smile. “You need someone killed or beaten, a nasty lesson taught to?”
“Hush,” the first said before looking Anborn straight in the eye. “You’re a Ranger. How do I know you’re to be trusted?”
“I may have been raised as a Ranger, but we cannot always follow a code of honor at all times.” Anborn managed a cynical laugh.
“On with it. Just as long as you don’t ask my name.”
“Agreed.” Anborn rubbed his hands together. “It is just this…My wife died not too long ago, and-”
“Whores you want?” The second man said gleefully. “We can arrange a night with anyone.“
“No, no, no,” Anborn said hastily. “I wish to take home with me one of the halflings as a present for my sons. They’ve been nearly inconsolable over their mother’s death and I wanted to give them something to make them forget their sorrow.” Anborn dropped his voice. “I had heard that some folk can be bought and sold in these parts.”
His stomach twisted sickeningly. He was actually speaking aloud of buying and selling a human being. Well, perhaps the halflings were not precisely humans, but perhaps they were in all matters but size.
“A halfling, eh?” The two men looked at each other eagerly. “Do you want a lass or a lad; a child or one already of age?”
“I want a lad, one young enough to be as a companion to my sons but old enough to labor around our home in a responsible manner.”
The first man nodded soberly. “Halflings come of age later than men, so you probably want one in his twenties.” The two filthy men looked eagerly at each other again. “We captured a young halfling in the woods of the Shire not more than a week ago. He’s fair to look upon, and I do not think he has come of age. He looks frail, but he is strong — he put up a terrible fight when we captured him until we taught him a lesson and tied him up proper. How much are you prepared to pay?”
“Is he healthy then, after your rough handling? We have a long journey and I cannot have him die on route.”
“Eh,” the second man waved his hand scornfully. “He’s got a few new bruises, but nothing that won’t be healed quickly. These halflings, you have to slap them around at first, show them who is boss right away. They tend to get uppity, for all their small size.”
“How small is he?”
“This one’s about the size of a child of eight summers.”
“Are you certain he is full grown?”
“He’s as big as he’ll ever get.”
“I shall pay you 50 coins for him.” Anborn’s throat felt thick, just uttering such words.
The two rough men looked at each other and laughed. “He’s worth 100.”
“100!” Anborn breathed carefully. He could afford to pay even much more than that, but it would not do to appear to have too much coinage on him. “No creature is worth that amount. Since you say he is healthy and young, I will pay you 70, but no more. Not since you put bruises on him, which will certainly make him less likely to trust me.”
“80,” the first ruffian said. “Halflings can be trained to cook very well.”
“75, since I shall have to put much time into training. And that is my final offer.”
The men grinned. “You have yourself a halfling. And an extraordinary one from the looks of him.” His voice dropped. “If you enjoy that sort of thing, he could probably make you a lot more money on the side. Most men, even those who would never think of laying with a man, would find him most tempting.”
***
Anborn looked upon the halfling in wonder. The creature had to be myth, much like the elves. He had, of course, already seen a few halflings in Bree. The first sight had shocked him and then it had charmed him. And he suddenly could see with great clarity how Faramir’s eyes would light up at the sight of one of these doll-like creatures.
But this one was of incredible beauty. Smooth, pale skin now somewhat marred by a few bruises on his cheeks, dark hair, blue eyes which would no doubt sparkle if not for the battered fear in them. His hands were bound tightly behind him and he looked up at Anborn with weary hopelessness.
“This here is your new owner. Maybe you’ll talk to him.”
“Do not fear,” Anborn said, not sure how else to reassure one that he was taking by force, but the halfling did not answer.
“By the way, he does not speak,” the first man said with a cruel chuckle.
“He cannot…or he chooses not to?”
“That is for you to determine.” The man smiled humorlessly. With no warning, he whirled around and gave the halfling a sharp slap across the face. The halfling’s eyes widened, and he staggered, nearly falling. Tears filled his eyes, but he did not make a sound.
“I imagine if he can talk,” the man said. “You could eventually beat it out of him.”
“I paid for him,” Anborn said through clenched teeth, grasping the halfling’s shoulder and pulling him toward him. “And you will not lay a hand on him again.”
The man shrugged. “He’s yours…Oh, I’m pretty sure his name is Frodo. At least that’s the name of one from the Shire missing that some folk have been asking about here in Bree that fits his description. That’s also a hint for you to move on out of our village.”
“Aye,” Anborn said, shivering. Not a moment too soon. He had done as his liege lord wished and now he wanted to wash his hands of it, which meant getting to Minas Tirith with as much speed as possible.
TBC
So new story that will eventually be developed.
Title: Shire Slave - Prologue
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG13 through R
Summary: Way AU (there’s a shock—from me?!). Pre-coming of age, Frodo is kidnapped and sold to Anborn so that he can be brought to Minas Tirith to be a companion to his sons. Non-slash at this point, but if that changes, I will post warnings.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
The Shire Slave - Prologue
Denethor glanced up, his eyes glittering, and Anborn halted, holding his breath. He had been pleased to receive his scouting instructions without Denethor’s full attention falling on him. There was something in Lord Denethor’s cold gaze that made him feel as if the steward could read every dark corner of his mind.
“There is yet one more task I require of you while you are in the North kingdom.”
Anborn still bristled under the initial request, which was to scout the North kingdom, bring back as many reports about the peoples and the villages as he could. But it was absurd, a waste of effort in Anborn’s opinion, as the North Kingdom was not under the protection of the steward. But according to the steward’s heir, Denethor’s oldest son Boromir (and such a warrior would that boy be when he was fully grown; Anborn had seen the powerful swing of his sword in practice) Denethor slipped frequently into these morose moods. If he were king then the North and South kingdoms would be reunited. He would rule over much of Middle earth and Mordor would have no dominion.
“Yes, my lord?”
“In the North kingdom we have rumors that there live halflings, little folk who dwell in holes in the earth without a care in the world.” Anborn detected the bitterness in Denethor’s voice. "I wish you to bring me back one of these creatures.”
“My lord?” Anborn hoped his astonishment did not show too fully on his face. Denethor knew so well how to manipulate, and it was always far better to look aloof and indifferent to everything. “Will such a creature come willingly?”
“Willingly or not, I wish one brought here.”
Anborn could not conceive of kidnapping, which is what this task would involve, should the halfling not wish to come willingly.
Denethor continued. “I want a male, one suitable to be a companion to my sons…particularly Faramir, who needs to learn responsibility. You shall not go into the North kingdom dressed as a guard of the citadel. You shall dress as one of the Rangers of the North, in worn muddy green.”
“But my lord, is it right to take such a creature from his home—“
“He shall not be mistreated here,” Denethor’s voice had grown dangerous, and Anborn knew better than to pursue further argument.
***
Butterbur’s inn was crowded, more so than usual. A rowdy fight had already broken out, and Butterbur had bid the Bree lawmen to arrest two of the men involved. After such a ruckus, nobody much paid attention to the group of three men in the back corner of the Common Room.
The two men that Anborn addressed looked as though they had lived in the wild for weeks. They were filthy, and their clothes tattered and muddy. Anborn tried not to visibly wrinkle his nose at the stench. He gulped down the ale, which he had to admit was far better than anything he had tasted in Minas Tirith.
“I hear you’re the men I come to for well…special favors.”
“Anything you need, for a price.”
The second man revealed a toothless smile. “You need someone killed or beaten, a nasty lesson taught to?”
“Hush,” the first said before looking Anborn straight in the eye. “You’re a Ranger. How do I know you’re to be trusted?”
“I may have been raised as a Ranger, but we cannot always follow a code of honor at all times.” Anborn managed a cynical laugh.
“On with it. Just as long as you don’t ask my name.”
“Agreed.” Anborn rubbed his hands together. “It is just this…My wife died not too long ago, and-”
“Whores you want?” The second man said gleefully. “We can arrange a night with anyone.“
“No, no, no,” Anborn said hastily. “I wish to take home with me one of the halflings as a present for my sons. They’ve been nearly inconsolable over their mother’s death and I wanted to give them something to make them forget their sorrow.” Anborn dropped his voice. “I had heard that some folk can be bought and sold in these parts.”
His stomach twisted sickeningly. He was actually speaking aloud of buying and selling a human being. Well, perhaps the halflings were not precisely humans, but perhaps they were in all matters but size.
“A halfling, eh?” The two men looked at each other eagerly. “Do you want a lass or a lad; a child or one already of age?”
“I want a lad, one young enough to be as a companion to my sons but old enough to labor around our home in a responsible manner.”
The first man nodded soberly. “Halflings come of age later than men, so you probably want one in his twenties.” The two filthy men looked eagerly at each other again. “We captured a young halfling in the woods of the Shire not more than a week ago. He’s fair to look upon, and I do not think he has come of age. He looks frail, but he is strong — he put up a terrible fight when we captured him until we taught him a lesson and tied him up proper. How much are you prepared to pay?”
“Is he healthy then, after your rough handling? We have a long journey and I cannot have him die on route.”
“Eh,” the second man waved his hand scornfully. “He’s got a few new bruises, but nothing that won’t be healed quickly. These halflings, you have to slap them around at first, show them who is boss right away. They tend to get uppity, for all their small size.”
“How small is he?”
“This one’s about the size of a child of eight summers.”
“Are you certain he is full grown?”
“He’s as big as he’ll ever get.”
“I shall pay you 50 coins for him.” Anborn’s throat felt thick, just uttering such words.
The two rough men looked at each other and laughed. “He’s worth 100.”
“100!” Anborn breathed carefully. He could afford to pay even much more than that, but it would not do to appear to have too much coinage on him. “No creature is worth that amount. Since you say he is healthy and young, I will pay you 70, but no more. Not since you put bruises on him, which will certainly make him less likely to trust me.”
“80,” the first ruffian said. “Halflings can be trained to cook very well.”
“75, since I shall have to put much time into training. And that is my final offer.”
The men grinned. “You have yourself a halfling. And an extraordinary one from the looks of him.” His voice dropped. “If you enjoy that sort of thing, he could probably make you a lot more money on the side. Most men, even those who would never think of laying with a man, would find him most tempting.”
***
Anborn looked upon the halfling in wonder. The creature had to be myth, much like the elves. He had, of course, already seen a few halflings in Bree. The first sight had shocked him and then it had charmed him. And he suddenly could see with great clarity how Faramir’s eyes would light up at the sight of one of these doll-like creatures.
But this one was of incredible beauty. Smooth, pale skin now somewhat marred by a few bruises on his cheeks, dark hair, blue eyes which would no doubt sparkle if not for the battered fear in them. His hands were bound tightly behind him and he looked up at Anborn with weary hopelessness.
“This here is your new owner. Maybe you’ll talk to him.”
“Do not fear,” Anborn said, not sure how else to reassure one that he was taking by force, but the halfling did not answer.
“By the way, he does not speak,” the first man said with a cruel chuckle.
“He cannot…or he chooses not to?”
“That is for you to determine.” The man smiled humorlessly. With no warning, he whirled around and gave the halfling a sharp slap across the face. The halfling’s eyes widened, and he staggered, nearly falling. Tears filled his eyes, but he did not make a sound.
“I imagine if he can talk,” the man said. “You could eventually beat it out of him.”
“I paid for him,” Anborn said through clenched teeth, grasping the halfling’s shoulder and pulling him toward him. “And you will not lay a hand on him again.”
The man shrugged. “He’s yours…Oh, I’m pretty sure his name is Frodo. At least that’s the name of one from the Shire missing that some folk have been asking about here in Bree that fits his description. That’s also a hint for you to move on out of our village.”
“Aye,” Anborn said, shivering. Not a moment too soon. He had done as his liege lord wished and now he wanted to wash his hands of it, which meant getting to Minas Tirith with as much speed as possible.
TBC