Fic: By the fire.
Title: By the fire.
Fandom: the Hobbit
Rating: (G)
Time Period: Just after the events in the third film.
Summary: The flames crackle and snap.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Once upon a time, Bilbo Baggins had a dressing gown. It was a nice dressing gown.
It's also a way to ease myself back in.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens & Guillermo del Toro (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
He taps his pipe on his knee while he sits, blanket across his lap, and sighs contentedly. His hand stills while, eyes half-lidded, he looks at the flames, jumping and hissing for the sky.
His feet cross and his hand slackens on the pipe until it almost falls into his lap. The dressing gown opens a little as he shifts in his seat, his gaze unmoving from those leaping, crackling flames.
He yawns slightly, not bothering to cover his mouth. A plate sits beside him on a stool but the heat lulls. Wood snaps. His eyelids lower. He yawns again, loudly. The pipe falls through his fingers.
The flames whisper, of faraway lands and kings under stone.
Fandom: the Hobbit
Rating: (G)
Time Period: Just after the events in the third film.
Summary: The flames crackle and snap.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Once upon a time, Bilbo Baggins had a dressing gown. It was a nice dressing gown.
It's also a way to ease myself back in.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens & Guillermo del Toro (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
He taps his pipe on his knee while he sits, blanket across his lap, and sighs contentedly. His hand stills while, eyes half-lidded, he looks at the flames, jumping and hissing for the sky.
His feet cross and his hand slackens on the pipe until it almost falls into his lap. The dressing gown opens a little as he shifts in his seat, his gaze unmoving from those leaping, crackling flames.
He yawns slightly, not bothering to cover his mouth. A plate sits beside him on a stool but the heat lulls. Wood snaps. His eyelids lower. He yawns again, loudly. The pipe falls through his fingers.
The flames whisper, of faraway lands and kings under stone.