(no subject)
Title: Under the Starlight: Fireworks 2/?
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.
There couldn’t be a finer night for the party. The sky was deep indigo, smattered with stars. The breeze was unusually balmy for a mid-September evening, and yet not stiff enough to whip around the flames inside the many lanterns strung across the field. Sam had dressed up in his best and he rather enjoyed strolling around in his brocaded vest and stiff linen shirt. Gardening didn’t lend too much opportunity to dress up - he didn’t bother much with fine clothing. The only place he ever left home for was the Green Dragon, and he could well imagine the fits of laughter the lads at the Green Dragon would have if he ever showed up there all dressed up.
That evening, before he and the rest of the Gamgees had set off for the party, he had glanced at his reflection in the hall mirror. His shoulders had filled out since working day in and day out in Bag End’s garden and his skin had turned golden brown. Even Marigold gave him a nod of approval.
Sam heard Daisy arguing with their mother in Daisy’s bedroom. “Ma, just a squirt, please?”
Bell’s voice sounded brash and strident. “There’s no need for you to be putting on airs tonight. If that fellow’s serious, he won’t need no perfume to give him more cause to sniff around you.”
“Oh, Ma!” Daisy cried, clearly scandalized. “He’s a gentlehobbit. This night is special - there’ll be dancing!”
“Oh, I just bet he is the gentlehobbit,” Bell said with warm sarcasm. “My answer is no. I’ve let you put on my ear bobs. I’d say that’s quite enough.”
“Rosie Cotton will likely be there,” Marigold whispered to Sam with a wink.
Sam couldn’t stop a deep flush from reddening his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “That’s no matter to me. She’s welcome to come as anyone else as is invited.”
“She likes you.”
Marigold liked to tease, of course, but Sam felt uncomfortable all the same. He had seen Rose looking at him from afar on more than one occasion. He hoped he did not run into her at the party - he would have no idea what to do.
The party was better than anything Sam could have imagined - raining drink and snowing food had been no exaggeration on Frodo’s part. Sam hadn’t quite learned to hold his ale properly yet, and within less than an hour of arriving, he found himself stumbling in embarrassing circles, barely able to focus on anything and unable to keep straight where he wanted to go and how to get there.
“Samwise!” Lotho called out, raising a mug of ale to him. He and Ted Sandyman and a variety of others laughed together. Sam’s stomach sank. He resented these fellows trying to ruin a pleasant night, even if he was dizzy from drink already. He fixed himself to come up with a really nasty reply, but he was interrupted.
“Sam!” Rosie called out to him and waved. She was in a gaggle of hobbit lasses, all dressed in their finest dresses with ribbons tied in their curls.
Sam waved, giving Rose a shy smile that caused her friends to erupt into giggling. He stumbled on, his ears so hot he thought he had to throw cold water on them or they’d catch on fire. It would never do to have Rosie see him in such a state. There was nothing to do but to get more ale.
A strong hand caught his elbow as he staggered. “Goodness, Samwise,” Frodo stood so close that the sides of their feet touched. “It seems to me you need something in your belly.”
“Oh…well…” Sam felt embarrassed at having been caught by one of the masters of Bag End stumbling around in a drunken haze.
“Come, let me help you.” Then he whispered, and his voice sent gentle puffs of air to tickle Sam’s ear. “It takes time to learn to hold your ale. You can fake it better if you’re sitting. Let me get you some desert.”
“Oh, no, sir,” Sam said in dismay, flushing up to his ears. The very idea of Frodo serving him made him squirm all over. If the Gaffer got a peek at him now, he’d have something to say about that. But Frodo darted off on lithe steps to a table piled with dainties from near and far.
Frodo returned with two plates piled high with cakes and biscuits. He sat beside Sam and sniffed the air.
“It turned out perfectly,” he said, though to Sam, his smile looked strained and he seemed to be talking to someone else entirely. “There couldn’t be a better night for it.”
“Is everything all right, sir?” He felt a marvelous surge of giddiness that Frodo had chosen to sit by him, for even a short time, this special night.
“Right?” Frodo laughed and his attention turned fully to Sam again. “Of course.” Still, he seemed a mite more fidgety than usual. He took his plate in hands, balancing it above the table and as he did, his arm accidentally brushed against Sam’s. Sam jumped just a little and an odd shiver passed up his back. Frodo did not notice, but he only went on eating, watching folk dance with a half smile on his face, as if he were above it all.
Finally he said. “I know a lot of secrets about many of these guests.”
“Is that so?” Sam asked.
“Well, when you’re a child left to your own devices inside a smial as big as Brandy Hall, what else do you have to do? Look at old Mr. Marmadas there. I can tell you that he loves the widows. He looks stodgy and dull, but inside the bedroom he’s quite the captain.” Frodo laughed, but he did not blush.
Sam, however, blushed up to his ears, hearing Frodo talk this way, and he began to wonder if Frodo’s ability to hold his ale was not any better.
“And,” Frodo continued with a giggle. “I can tell you something about Uncle Amaranth.”
But before he could continue, a loud whistle filled the air, followed by a pop, and fountains of fiery butterflies filled the sky.
“Fireworks!” Sam cried, forgetting Frodo’s gossip and jumping to his feet and clapping his hands like a child.
Frodo jumped to his feet beside him, linking his slender arm through Sam’s. Flowers of fire rained down from the sky, leaving an aroma like perfume. He and Frodo laughed together, unabashed by their enthusiasm, as all the hobbits at the party squealed with delight at every new trick. Silver sailing ships filled the sky, and they echoed with haunting music. Frodo’s smile faded and his eyes looked distant. An unexplained lump filled Sam’s throat. But as soon as hissing snakes filled the sky, they were both laughing again, and the odd melancholy moment had passed. As Gandalf’s fireworks filled the sky again and again, Sam thought his heart might burst - a party beyond reckoning, Rose’s sweet smile, fireworks that left him breathless, and then this. Sam’s heart ached from the affection he felt for his master, and here was Frodo laughing, his eyes sparkling, and treating him like he did Bilbo or his Tookish cousins.
***
Sam hadn’t had an inkling of what Bilbo and Gandalf had been up to, planning Bilbo’s farewell speech. Gandalf had conjured a flash of light, but it had come just a bit too late. Sam saw had seen too much before the light flashed - Bilbo there one moment and gone the next. Sam sat slack-jawed, unable to figure how a hobbit could just disappear into thin air like that, even sitting next to a wizard as he was. Sam was not alone in his shock, as the party-goers had fallen into a stunned and open-mouthed silence.
But all at once, hobbits young and old found their voices, and an indignant roar replaced the previous gentle chatter and laughter.
Frodo sat at a distant table alone with a glass of wine in his hand. His lips were turned up in a half smile that barely hid deep anguish. Surely he had been in the know. Why then, Sam wondered, had he not run off to join Bilbo, to laugh together over their little joke? But he simply sat, his lips pale, like someone had just hit him hard in the chest and he was trying to look like he was not hurt.
His lips moved and he drained the last of his glass. He no longer looked youthful and mischievous, as he had during the fireworks. He stood, slightly stooped over, his hands splayed on the table for support, and Sam caught a glimpse of what Frodo would likely become when he was old, tottering around Bag End with silver in his curls. But the vision passed as quickly as it had come and Frodo straightened, grasping the stem of the wineglass. He looked inside it, as if puzzled by its emptiness. He called for a round of drinks, and the indignant folk around him forgot for just a moment how insulted they had been by Bilbo’s trick.
Sam caught glance of his ma. With heavy heart, as he could not stand seeing Frodo so anguished on what was supposed to have been a grand day, he walked over to make sure his ma was doing all right.
“I’m just fine, thank you,” she said, hands on her hips. “Now where did Mr. Bilbo Baggins go off to this time anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Neither of them said a thing to me about it. It’s all very queer, if you ask me.”
“All I can say is it’s a mighty good thing he adopted that young Frodo.” She shook her head, her lips tight. “If he’s to disappear into the blue again, that is. Here’s to hoping that Mr. Frodo Baggins settles down now and grows some hobbit sense.”
Sam looked back at the table where Frodo had been sitting in dazed silence, but it was empty, and now neither master of Bag End was anywhere in sight.
Go on to next part
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.
There couldn’t be a finer night for the party. The sky was deep indigo, smattered with stars. The breeze was unusually balmy for a mid-September evening, and yet not stiff enough to whip around the flames inside the many lanterns strung across the field. Sam had dressed up in his best and he rather enjoyed strolling around in his brocaded vest and stiff linen shirt. Gardening didn’t lend too much opportunity to dress up - he didn’t bother much with fine clothing. The only place he ever left home for was the Green Dragon, and he could well imagine the fits of laughter the lads at the Green Dragon would have if he ever showed up there all dressed up.
That evening, before he and the rest of the Gamgees had set off for the party, he had glanced at his reflection in the hall mirror. His shoulders had filled out since working day in and day out in Bag End’s garden and his skin had turned golden brown. Even Marigold gave him a nod of approval.
Sam heard Daisy arguing with their mother in Daisy’s bedroom. “Ma, just a squirt, please?”
Bell’s voice sounded brash and strident. “There’s no need for you to be putting on airs tonight. If that fellow’s serious, he won’t need no perfume to give him more cause to sniff around you.”
“Oh, Ma!” Daisy cried, clearly scandalized. “He’s a gentlehobbit. This night is special - there’ll be dancing!”
“Oh, I just bet he is the gentlehobbit,” Bell said with warm sarcasm. “My answer is no. I’ve let you put on my ear bobs. I’d say that’s quite enough.”
“Rosie Cotton will likely be there,” Marigold whispered to Sam with a wink.
Sam couldn’t stop a deep flush from reddening his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “That’s no matter to me. She’s welcome to come as anyone else as is invited.”
“She likes you.”
Marigold liked to tease, of course, but Sam felt uncomfortable all the same. He had seen Rose looking at him from afar on more than one occasion. He hoped he did not run into her at the party - he would have no idea what to do.
The party was better than anything Sam could have imagined - raining drink and snowing food had been no exaggeration on Frodo’s part. Sam hadn’t quite learned to hold his ale properly yet, and within less than an hour of arriving, he found himself stumbling in embarrassing circles, barely able to focus on anything and unable to keep straight where he wanted to go and how to get there.
“Samwise!” Lotho called out, raising a mug of ale to him. He and Ted Sandyman and a variety of others laughed together. Sam’s stomach sank. He resented these fellows trying to ruin a pleasant night, even if he was dizzy from drink already. He fixed himself to come up with a really nasty reply, but he was interrupted.
“Sam!” Rosie called out to him and waved. She was in a gaggle of hobbit lasses, all dressed in their finest dresses with ribbons tied in their curls.
Sam waved, giving Rose a shy smile that caused her friends to erupt into giggling. He stumbled on, his ears so hot he thought he had to throw cold water on them or they’d catch on fire. It would never do to have Rosie see him in such a state. There was nothing to do but to get more ale.
A strong hand caught his elbow as he staggered. “Goodness, Samwise,” Frodo stood so close that the sides of their feet touched. “It seems to me you need something in your belly.”
“Oh…well…” Sam felt embarrassed at having been caught by one of the masters of Bag End stumbling around in a drunken haze.
“Come, let me help you.” Then he whispered, and his voice sent gentle puffs of air to tickle Sam’s ear. “It takes time to learn to hold your ale. You can fake it better if you’re sitting. Let me get you some desert.”
“Oh, no, sir,” Sam said in dismay, flushing up to his ears. The very idea of Frodo serving him made him squirm all over. If the Gaffer got a peek at him now, he’d have something to say about that. But Frodo darted off on lithe steps to a table piled with dainties from near and far.
Frodo returned with two plates piled high with cakes and biscuits. He sat beside Sam and sniffed the air.
“It turned out perfectly,” he said, though to Sam, his smile looked strained and he seemed to be talking to someone else entirely. “There couldn’t be a better night for it.”
“Is everything all right, sir?” He felt a marvelous surge of giddiness that Frodo had chosen to sit by him, for even a short time, this special night.
“Right?” Frodo laughed and his attention turned fully to Sam again. “Of course.” Still, he seemed a mite more fidgety than usual. He took his plate in hands, balancing it above the table and as he did, his arm accidentally brushed against Sam’s. Sam jumped just a little and an odd shiver passed up his back. Frodo did not notice, but he only went on eating, watching folk dance with a half smile on his face, as if he were above it all.
Finally he said. “I know a lot of secrets about many of these guests.”
“Is that so?” Sam asked.
“Well, when you’re a child left to your own devices inside a smial as big as Brandy Hall, what else do you have to do? Look at old Mr. Marmadas there. I can tell you that he loves the widows. He looks stodgy and dull, but inside the bedroom he’s quite the captain.” Frodo laughed, but he did not blush.
Sam, however, blushed up to his ears, hearing Frodo talk this way, and he began to wonder if Frodo’s ability to hold his ale was not any better.
“And,” Frodo continued with a giggle. “I can tell you something about Uncle Amaranth.”
But before he could continue, a loud whistle filled the air, followed by a pop, and fountains of fiery butterflies filled the sky.
“Fireworks!” Sam cried, forgetting Frodo’s gossip and jumping to his feet and clapping his hands like a child.
Frodo jumped to his feet beside him, linking his slender arm through Sam’s. Flowers of fire rained down from the sky, leaving an aroma like perfume. He and Frodo laughed together, unabashed by their enthusiasm, as all the hobbits at the party squealed with delight at every new trick. Silver sailing ships filled the sky, and they echoed with haunting music. Frodo’s smile faded and his eyes looked distant. An unexplained lump filled Sam’s throat. But as soon as hissing snakes filled the sky, they were both laughing again, and the odd melancholy moment had passed. As Gandalf’s fireworks filled the sky again and again, Sam thought his heart might burst - a party beyond reckoning, Rose’s sweet smile, fireworks that left him breathless, and then this. Sam’s heart ached from the affection he felt for his master, and here was Frodo laughing, his eyes sparkling, and treating him like he did Bilbo or his Tookish cousins.
***
Sam hadn’t had an inkling of what Bilbo and Gandalf had been up to, planning Bilbo’s farewell speech. Gandalf had conjured a flash of light, but it had come just a bit too late. Sam saw had seen too much before the light flashed - Bilbo there one moment and gone the next. Sam sat slack-jawed, unable to figure how a hobbit could just disappear into thin air like that, even sitting next to a wizard as he was. Sam was not alone in his shock, as the party-goers had fallen into a stunned and open-mouthed silence.
But all at once, hobbits young and old found their voices, and an indignant roar replaced the previous gentle chatter and laughter.
Frodo sat at a distant table alone with a glass of wine in his hand. His lips were turned up in a half smile that barely hid deep anguish. Surely he had been in the know. Why then, Sam wondered, had he not run off to join Bilbo, to laugh together over their little joke? But he simply sat, his lips pale, like someone had just hit him hard in the chest and he was trying to look like he was not hurt.
His lips moved and he drained the last of his glass. He no longer looked youthful and mischievous, as he had during the fireworks. He stood, slightly stooped over, his hands splayed on the table for support, and Sam caught a glimpse of what Frodo would likely become when he was old, tottering around Bag End with silver in his curls. But the vision passed as quickly as it had come and Frodo straightened, grasping the stem of the wineglass. He looked inside it, as if puzzled by its emptiness. He called for a round of drinks, and the indignant folk around him forgot for just a moment how insulted they had been by Bilbo’s trick.
Sam caught glance of his ma. With heavy heart, as he could not stand seeing Frodo so anguished on what was supposed to have been a grand day, he walked over to make sure his ma was doing all right.
“I’m just fine, thank you,” she said, hands on her hips. “Now where did Mr. Bilbo Baggins go off to this time anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Neither of them said a thing to me about it. It’s all very queer, if you ask me.”
“All I can say is it’s a mighty good thing he adopted that young Frodo.” She shook her head, her lips tight. “If he’s to disappear into the blue again, that is. Here’s to hoping that Mr. Frodo Baggins settles down now and grows some hobbit sense.”
Sam looked back at the table where Frodo had been sitting in dazed silence, but it was empty, and now neither master of Bag End was anywhere in sight.
Go on to next part