Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2005-08-26 01:48 pm
sophinisba) wrote2005-08-26 01:48 pm
Entry tags:
A Brief Adventure, chapter 3
Oh, hello, yes, I suppose I did start a fic back in June, put up two chapters and then leave Frodo and you in an unpleasant place before skipping off to go gallivanting across Eastern Europe. Sorry about that.
Chapter 3 is rather short. Chapter 4 should go up in the next few days. Thank you for your patience!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Title: A Brief Adventure, chapter 3/?
Author: Sophinisba Solis
Rating: PG
Summary: Gen. Frodo and Merry attempt an adventure to celebrate Merry's coming of age. They find much has changed since news last traveled from Bree. Frodo (surprise!) gets in some trouble.
Disclaimer: Of course, of course I don't own these characters or their setting, and I make no money by writing about them.
A/N: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lilybaggins for the beta! Remaining errors and flaws are my own damn fault. If you happen to notice any, please drop me a line to let me know.
Warnings: AU and fairly silly. Some violence.
***
Frodo had no way of keeping track of time, no real notion how long it took them to carry him through the streets. Ben held onto his legs, and the hobbit was folded over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his head hanging down and his face against the other's back. He felt sensations, pain in his stomach where he had been hit, the jerking motion of the man's walk, a deep chill as the rain quickly soaked through his clothes. He couldn't understand why this was happening, but he wanted to be aware of as much as possible, so at first he made an effort to look around, an attempt to recognize the paths they took, but it was useless. Between the deep dark and the drenching rain, the streets were transformed, and what had looked merely unpleasant an hour or two before was now like the scene of a nightmare.
Apart from that, whenever he moved he had to deal with the men's reaction -- an insult he could only half hear, or a slap on the face or on the backside, or maybe having his face pressed into the wet cloth of Ben's cloak, making it difficult for Frodo to breathe. Or perhaps Ben would simply shift his weight, readjust his grip on the burden he carried, and this too was painful for Frodo.
So he did his best to settle into a position where he was less likely to be jolted around, and he concentrated on breathing. It seemed safest to accept that this was, in fact, a nightmare, and not to pay too much attention to details like the route they took, the idle men standing on street corners who ignored or laughed at them, or how much time passed. Instead, Frodo thought something like this: It doesn't matter, there's nothing you can do, just keep still. Let them get you to the jail and they'll leave you alone. There's nothing you can do but get through this part and you'll be safe, and you'll get out of the rain, and they'll leave you alone. There's nothing you can do…
He repeated such thoughts to himself so many times on the seemingly endless journey that he started to despair of ever getting through "this part," and it was something of a shock when they actually did carry him through a doorway, into a dim light and warmth and out of the rain. For only a moment, the two men stood in an empty stone room and breathed, and let the rain drip from their clothes. But without bothering to take off their wet cloaks or to set down the hobbit, they almost immediately started down a steep staircase; and the pain each step caused Frodo felt more real and immediate without the dark and rain to drown it out. When they reached the bottom of the stairs Frodo heard some words exchanged between men, and then loud metal clanking as a gate was unlocked and opened. Only after stepping inside did Ben lift Frodo up off his shoulder and brought him down on the cold stone floor. Still bound at wrists and ankles, and dizzy after so much hanging up-side-down, Frodo stayed on his hands and knees at first. He struggled to get a deep breath and a sense of orientation, and to make out words in the voices that, while clearly only a few feet away, somehow sounded and felt quite distant.
He looked up to see Ben grinning down at him, wet and dirty but apparently none the worse for the burden he'd carried across town. Before he could register any more of his surroundings, Frodo realized that his teeth were chattering and his whole body shaking -- he couldn't tell how much from cold and how much from fear. He hated looking ridiculous in the presence of these men, so he closed his eyes and fought to control himself. Nothing could be done about the chill as long as he was left in these wet clothes and these bonds, but he tried to reason away the fear.
This is it then, he thought, the jail, the worst they could threaten you with, and it's really not so bad. This was their charge, to bring you here, and now they've done it and they'll leave you alone. This is the law, this is official, they won't hurt you here.
And, again almost to his surprise, they didn't. When Frodo had calmed a bit and opened his eyes, he saw past Ben to where the other, Bert, was leaning over a small table and speaking in a low voice with a third man, who was seated on the other side of it. Although Ben still stared at Frodo, the other two seemed rather more preoccupied with paperwork than with Frodo himself.
After a few moments, the third man, the jailer, motioned to Ben and said, "You can bring him over here now. And undo his feet, I've no notion to be carrying him around down here."
The big man picked Frodo up by the shoulders and placed him on his feet next to the table. He then knelt down to undo the knots at the hobbit's ankles.
The table was rather small for the men but was at a level with Frodo's chest. On it Frodo saw several open ledger books and a quill and ink. A lantern flickering on the table was the only illumination in the small, bare room. Behind Frodo the metal gate led to the stairway and back to the street. To the right of the jailer's post stood another such door, made of thick metal bars in a rectangular grid. Frodo thought he could make out the shape of a tunnel and hear low voices from that direction.
"And you say he's got no papers?" The jailer addressed Bert.
Bert, in turn, looked inquiringly at Frodo, who shook his head. Ben stood up, finished untying the cord, and Frodo was glad to have the use of his legs back, although he didn't dare step away from where he stood.
"So, we'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way," the jailer sighed. Frodo had expected to meet another burly man more like to the hosteller or the two brutes who had brought him here, but the man at the desk was a good deal older and rather thin. He wore spectacles and looked at his book rather than at Frodo. "Your name, halfling?" Unlike the others, he seemed more bored than malicious.
"You've got everything under control then?" Bert interrupted. "Ben and I'll be heading out, if you don't mind."
They were dismissed with a wave, and Frodo was left alone with the old man. He provided his name, his age, his place of birth and residence, all the information he was asked for. He hesitated somewhat when asked his reason for coming to Bree. We were looking to have an adventure did not seem quite appropriate, under the circumstances.
"We were just visiting," Frodo tried.
"Visiting who?"
"Visiting the village, you know, to see a place we hadn't seen before." The jailer stared at him. Frodo tried to peer at the book, which was up-side-down to him and only dimly lit anyway, and soon a large hand passed over the new writing as well, as if to indicate that it was not Frodo's place to be looking at it. "Can't you just write that, though?" asked Frodo. "Reason for coming to Bree: visiting." The man moved his hand away, nodded, and wrote.
"Turn out your pockets, would you?" he said without looking at Frodo. "And hand over anything you've got with you. We'll return it when you're released."
"Sir," was all Frodo said, enough to make the other look up and remember that the hobbit's hands were still bound. The man huffed in annoyance as he stood up and came around the table to Frodo, who wondered if he himself was being held responsible for the inconvenience. The jailer pulled up Frodo's hands in one of his own and made a halfhearted attempt to pick at the tight knots, but he soon let go. He then reached into Frodo's breeches pockets himself and pulled them inside out. Frodo tensed at the contact but held himself still. He hadn't been carrying anything.
"Your clothes are soaked through," the man observed.
Frodo had already been aware of this. "I don't have--" he began, "they took away my things at the hostel."
Frodo thought the jailer looked like he would offer a reassuring response to this if he could, but there was none, so he only said, "Have one of the others get your hands free once I get you to the cell. I'm no good with knots."
The whole interaction was like that. There were no kind or reassuring words or gestures, but there were no insults or sneers either. Frodo felt humiliated to stand still and answer questions with his hands tied, to have a stranger's hands dig through his pockets. He was afraid for what might happen next, but at the same time he longed to get this procedure of admittance over with and get to the cell, just as earlier he had longed to reach the jail and come in from the heavy rain.
Who would "the others" be, he wondered. Would he share a cell with true criminals? Would they be, could there be men more horrible than the ones he had met already this evening, and would Frodo be left alone with them? Or would the others be like him, hobbits caught unaware in violation of curfew or some other senseless rule? He had little time to worry about it though as the jailer soon turned the key and opened the gate to the rest of the jail. He carried the lantern with him and the entry room became quite dark as the light was carried away. Frodo hastened to follow him.
A few more lanterns hung on the left side of the passageway where they walked, but they cast little light into the cells that were dug into the earth on the right side. So it was a shock whenever the wavering light in the guard's hand lit up the face of one of the large quiet men behind the bars. They did not mock Frodo, as others had on the street or at the hostel. They didn't call out or threaten him. But whenever Frodo was able to see one of the men, that man was staring straight back at him, taking in his whole slight frame, considering, judging. There was always some low murmuring after he'd passed, but no words that Frodo could make out. Frodo was frightened more by their cold stares than by anything else that had happened since his arrival in Bree.
next part | series tag | fic index
Chapter 3 is rather short. Chapter 4 should go up in the next few days. Thank you for your patience!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Title: A Brief Adventure, chapter 3/?
Author: Sophinisba Solis
Rating: PG
Summary: Gen. Frodo and Merry attempt an adventure to celebrate Merry's coming of age. They find much has changed since news last traveled from Bree. Frodo (surprise!) gets in some trouble.
Disclaimer: Of course, of course I don't own these characters or their setting, and I make no money by writing about them.
A/N: Thanks to
lilybaggins for the beta! Remaining errors and flaws are my own damn fault. If you happen to notice any, please drop me a line to let me know.Warnings: AU and fairly silly. Some violence.
***
Frodo had no way of keeping track of time, no real notion how long it took them to carry him through the streets. Ben held onto his legs, and the hobbit was folded over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his head hanging down and his face against the other's back. He felt sensations, pain in his stomach where he had been hit, the jerking motion of the man's walk, a deep chill as the rain quickly soaked through his clothes. He couldn't understand why this was happening, but he wanted to be aware of as much as possible, so at first he made an effort to look around, an attempt to recognize the paths they took, but it was useless. Between the deep dark and the drenching rain, the streets were transformed, and what had looked merely unpleasant an hour or two before was now like the scene of a nightmare.
Apart from that, whenever he moved he had to deal with the men's reaction -- an insult he could only half hear, or a slap on the face or on the backside, or maybe having his face pressed into the wet cloth of Ben's cloak, making it difficult for Frodo to breathe. Or perhaps Ben would simply shift his weight, readjust his grip on the burden he carried, and this too was painful for Frodo.
So he did his best to settle into a position where he was less likely to be jolted around, and he concentrated on breathing. It seemed safest to accept that this was, in fact, a nightmare, and not to pay too much attention to details like the route they took, the idle men standing on street corners who ignored or laughed at them, or how much time passed. Instead, Frodo thought something like this: It doesn't matter, there's nothing you can do, just keep still. Let them get you to the jail and they'll leave you alone. There's nothing you can do but get through this part and you'll be safe, and you'll get out of the rain, and they'll leave you alone. There's nothing you can do…
He repeated such thoughts to himself so many times on the seemingly endless journey that he started to despair of ever getting through "this part," and it was something of a shock when they actually did carry him through a doorway, into a dim light and warmth and out of the rain. For only a moment, the two men stood in an empty stone room and breathed, and let the rain drip from their clothes. But without bothering to take off their wet cloaks or to set down the hobbit, they almost immediately started down a steep staircase; and the pain each step caused Frodo felt more real and immediate without the dark and rain to drown it out. When they reached the bottom of the stairs Frodo heard some words exchanged between men, and then loud metal clanking as a gate was unlocked and opened. Only after stepping inside did Ben lift Frodo up off his shoulder and brought him down on the cold stone floor. Still bound at wrists and ankles, and dizzy after so much hanging up-side-down, Frodo stayed on his hands and knees at first. He struggled to get a deep breath and a sense of orientation, and to make out words in the voices that, while clearly only a few feet away, somehow sounded and felt quite distant.
He looked up to see Ben grinning down at him, wet and dirty but apparently none the worse for the burden he'd carried across town. Before he could register any more of his surroundings, Frodo realized that his teeth were chattering and his whole body shaking -- he couldn't tell how much from cold and how much from fear. He hated looking ridiculous in the presence of these men, so he closed his eyes and fought to control himself. Nothing could be done about the chill as long as he was left in these wet clothes and these bonds, but he tried to reason away the fear.
This is it then, he thought, the jail, the worst they could threaten you with, and it's really not so bad. This was their charge, to bring you here, and now they've done it and they'll leave you alone. This is the law, this is official, they won't hurt you here.
And, again almost to his surprise, they didn't. When Frodo had calmed a bit and opened his eyes, he saw past Ben to where the other, Bert, was leaning over a small table and speaking in a low voice with a third man, who was seated on the other side of it. Although Ben still stared at Frodo, the other two seemed rather more preoccupied with paperwork than with Frodo himself.
After a few moments, the third man, the jailer, motioned to Ben and said, "You can bring him over here now. And undo his feet, I've no notion to be carrying him around down here."
The big man picked Frodo up by the shoulders and placed him on his feet next to the table. He then knelt down to undo the knots at the hobbit's ankles.
The table was rather small for the men but was at a level with Frodo's chest. On it Frodo saw several open ledger books and a quill and ink. A lantern flickering on the table was the only illumination in the small, bare room. Behind Frodo the metal gate led to the stairway and back to the street. To the right of the jailer's post stood another such door, made of thick metal bars in a rectangular grid. Frodo thought he could make out the shape of a tunnel and hear low voices from that direction.
"And you say he's got no papers?" The jailer addressed Bert.
Bert, in turn, looked inquiringly at Frodo, who shook his head. Ben stood up, finished untying the cord, and Frodo was glad to have the use of his legs back, although he didn't dare step away from where he stood.
"So, we'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way," the jailer sighed. Frodo had expected to meet another burly man more like to the hosteller or the two brutes who had brought him here, but the man at the desk was a good deal older and rather thin. He wore spectacles and looked at his book rather than at Frodo. "Your name, halfling?" Unlike the others, he seemed more bored than malicious.
"You've got everything under control then?" Bert interrupted. "Ben and I'll be heading out, if you don't mind."
They were dismissed with a wave, and Frodo was left alone with the old man. He provided his name, his age, his place of birth and residence, all the information he was asked for. He hesitated somewhat when asked his reason for coming to Bree. We were looking to have an adventure did not seem quite appropriate, under the circumstances.
"We were just visiting," Frodo tried.
"Visiting who?"
"Visiting the village, you know, to see a place we hadn't seen before." The jailer stared at him. Frodo tried to peer at the book, which was up-side-down to him and only dimly lit anyway, and soon a large hand passed over the new writing as well, as if to indicate that it was not Frodo's place to be looking at it. "Can't you just write that, though?" asked Frodo. "Reason for coming to Bree: visiting." The man moved his hand away, nodded, and wrote.
"Turn out your pockets, would you?" he said without looking at Frodo. "And hand over anything you've got with you. We'll return it when you're released."
"Sir," was all Frodo said, enough to make the other look up and remember that the hobbit's hands were still bound. The man huffed in annoyance as he stood up and came around the table to Frodo, who wondered if he himself was being held responsible for the inconvenience. The jailer pulled up Frodo's hands in one of his own and made a halfhearted attempt to pick at the tight knots, but he soon let go. He then reached into Frodo's breeches pockets himself and pulled them inside out. Frodo tensed at the contact but held himself still. He hadn't been carrying anything.
"Your clothes are soaked through," the man observed.
Frodo had already been aware of this. "I don't have--" he began, "they took away my things at the hostel."
Frodo thought the jailer looked like he would offer a reassuring response to this if he could, but there was none, so he only said, "Have one of the others get your hands free once I get you to the cell. I'm no good with knots."
The whole interaction was like that. There were no kind or reassuring words or gestures, but there were no insults or sneers either. Frodo felt humiliated to stand still and answer questions with his hands tied, to have a stranger's hands dig through his pockets. He was afraid for what might happen next, but at the same time he longed to get this procedure of admittance over with and get to the cell, just as earlier he had longed to reach the jail and come in from the heavy rain.
Who would "the others" be, he wondered. Would he share a cell with true criminals? Would they be, could there be men more horrible than the ones he had met already this evening, and would Frodo be left alone with them? Or would the others be like him, hobbits caught unaware in violation of curfew or some other senseless rule? He had little time to worry about it though as the jailer soon turned the key and opened the gate to the rest of the jail. He carried the lantern with him and the entry room became quite dark as the light was carried away. Frodo hastened to follow him.
A few more lanterns hung on the left side of the passageway where they walked, but they cast little light into the cells that were dug into the earth on the right side. So it was a shock whenever the wavering light in the guard's hand lit up the face of one of the large quiet men behind the bars. They did not mock Frodo, as others had on the street or at the hostel. They didn't call out or threaten him. But whenever Frodo was able to see one of the men, that man was staring straight back at him, taking in his whole slight frame, considering, judging. There was always some low murmuring after he'd passed, but no words that Frodo could make out. Frodo was frightened more by their cold stares than by anything else that had happened since his arrival in Bree.
next part | series tag | fic index
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Running in place - catching up as per usual. Will fb later ; )
Did you get photoEd to work? Have you gotten in contact with Shoe? I told her to email you? I haven't had a chance to ask her.
((hugs))
Later tater ; )
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((hugs))
Go with the familiar - I tried. I think you have to open the folder and then the pieces will install?
Yes, with classes starting again you won't have time for the frillies! And there are so many people making beautiful icons that they give away it is kinda silly to slave over them.
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goodness, with all the inspiring new Elijah pics showing up this week... But no, education is important.
*is serious student* *frowns*
*hugs you*
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Thank you for this update. :)
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Thanks for your e-mail, by the way. I'm feeling a lot better today, hope you are too. *more hugs*
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I very much enjoyed your last chapter!! :-) Squee!
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