Winter's Now Come Fairly
Let's kick off this challenge, shall we?
Author: linwesingollo
Title: Winter’s Now Come Fairly
Challenge: Nursery Rhyme
Rating: G, but you may read into it what you like.
Pairing/Characters: Frodo, Sam
Warnings: Snow and lots of it. Sorry.
Author’s Notes: A short, fluffy winter vignette. (roughly 1600 words)
Summary: Sam gets his wish and then some when it snows in the Shire.
Frodo woke from his nap with a start. The wind was humming beneath the eaves and hooming in the chimney ~ it had dragged him rudely from pleasant dreams of Bag End gardens filled with blooming flowers. He blinked sleepily, reluctant to leave the cozy warm nest of his feather comforters. The Shire had been surprised by an early spring snowstorm, snowing and blowing heavily for the last three days, and he’d decided to take advantage of being smial-bound by slipping in some extra naps. May as well, what with the snow trapping them indoors. It wasn’t fit for hobbit or beast out there. The pantries were well stocked, thanks to Sam, and so was the wood bin. All they had to do was wait it out. If it weren’t for that dratted wind, a hobbit could have some peace and extra sleep. He buried himself deeper into his comforters, trying to muffle the noise. He really must speak to Sam later about seeing to those loose dampers and nailing down the shutters…
Just as he was about to drift off again, the wind suddenly roared to a mighty crescendo. He groaned softly and reluctantly rolled out of bed, pushed the curtains aside and looked out the window. Odd…All was still outside, the sun was shining, and not a breath of wind stirred the thick blanket of snow that covered all of Hobbiton. The hooming resumed.
“Ah,” murmured Frodo, now more than half awake. The source of the ‘hooming’ was inside and seemed to be coming from the other end of Bag End.
Sam was behind it, of course. And a very happy Sam, by the sound of it. He could now just make out the words that his gardener was singing lustily at the top of his lungs:
“Cold and raw the north winds blo-o-o-o-w!
Bleak in the morning e-e-e-arly!
All the hills are covered with sno-o-o-o-w! Oh!
And winter’s now come fa-a-a-airly! Hey!”
Frodo slipped into his dressing gown and walked into the parlor where Sam was hard at work in front of the fireplace polishing something that glinted with firelight.
“Indeed, it has come,” he said, interrupting yet another round of singing while carelessly knotting the belt of his robe. “But must you inform the entire Four Farthings? And I shouldn’t say ‘fairly’ --- unfairly, rather, and inconveniently, just when I was planning and dreaming of my flower beds.”
Sam stopped his polishing and reddened.
“Beg your pardon, sir! I woke you! I saw all that snow covering the fields and hills and I just couldn’t help myself, I was that excited.”
“So I see. Or heard, rather. It’s all right, Sam. It was time I got up anyway, I suppose. The snow does make a pretty picture, doesn’t it? I see you’ve found Bilbo’s old sledge.”
“Just giving it a bit of a wax and polish. I hope you don’t mind. I found it in the cellar.”
“No, I don’t mind. I’d nearly forgotten about it.”
“I hadn’t. I’ve been waitin’ for a proper winter to use it and it seems I’ve finally gotten my wish. Remember the stories old Bilbo told us about the sledge and the Fell Winter when we were young lads?”
“Of course, I do. I also remember how frightened you were of that wolf pelt of his, too. I see you forgot to take that out of the cellar.”
Sam shook his head. “That I didn’t. I won’t have no wolf’s eyes watchin’ me, dead or alive.”
Frodo laughed. “Come now! Surely you’re not still afraid of that old thing? Let's have a look at the old fellow!”
Sam shrugged as Frodo headed for the cellar and then emerged a few minutes later with a large bundle of white fur in his arms. He unfolded it and laid it in front of the fireplace, the huge wolf pelt like a drift of snow and the fierce golden eyes glinting uncannily in the firelight while its jaws curled in a silent snarl.
“Remember how Bilbo would have us sit on the pelt when he told his Fell Winter tales?”
“I allus liked to have my back to the eyes,” said Sam, eyeing it warily. “Seemed like it was watchin’ and waitin’ to have me for his next meal. I’d druther hear about elves.”
Frodo kneeled on the pelt next to Sam’s feet.
“Nobody could tell a story like Bilbo. I think I loved some of his Fell Winter stories the best - how the Rangers came with their elven sledges across the frozen river to deliver food to the poor trapped hobbits. Bilbo said he and his parents had been close to starving to death. Even the Bag End pantries were nearly bare.”
Frodo absently stroked the wolf’s head, pausing for dramatic effect. He’d learned a thing or two from Bilbo. He dropped his voice:
“Then when night fell, this great wolf would be waiting for them to come out, prowling around and around Bag End, circling, always circling, looking in each of the windows, watching them, licking his jaws, waiting, stopping only to stare and reach up a paw to scratch at the pane. Night after night he watched and waited and stared and scratched. Just when they wondered whether their nerves or the windows would break first, a Ranger arrived in the nick of time and killed the wolf with an arrow through the heart, right on the doorstep - he came with this very same sledge piled with food. Bilbo always said you could still see faint traces of its blood on it if you looked hard enough.”
Sam didn’t care to look too closely. The howling wind of the past few days had sounded far too much like a pack of the beasts - or worse - for his liking. He rubbed the sledge harder with his polishing cloth.
“Hi! Enough talk of wolves and prowling! You needn’t go on. I know the story and it still gives me the shivers. And I remember how you’d howl like one o’ the beasts just to frighten me. I’d run all the way home to me Gaffer scared that one o’ them would be waiting in the hedge to make a meal o’ Sam Gamgee.”
“And I was sent to bed supperless and with a scolding,” said Frodo, laughing. “Yet you always came back for more stories.”
“I bet this sledge has elvish magic in it,” said Sam, changing the subject. “Bilbo said the runners were made of mithril and would glide on top of snow light as a feather, never mind how much was piled on top of it.”
“That’s true,” answered Frodo, chuckling. “They are made of mithril. Whether it’s magic or not, I couldn’t say.”
“Well, the snow’s stopped and I’ve shoveled a path to the gate…”
Sam’s voice trailed off hopefully.
“And you thought you’d like to try the sledge?”
Sam grinned. “I’ve been wantin’ to give it a go ever since Bilbo first spoke of it. I thought we’d ride down the Hill, if you’d like…”
Frodo looked into the eager eyes of Sam and thought of his warm winter bed with regret. He still felt sleepy and had hoped to finish his nap after a quick visit to the pantries for a light snack.
“A ride down the Hill would pearten’ you up proper,” added Sam firmly, as if he had read his mind.
You always think I need ‘peartenin’ up’,” said Frodo mildly. “Can’t a poor hobbit be left alone to take a winter’s nap? Oh, very well. I’ve always wanted to try the sledge myself. Anyway, what does one wear for sledging?”
Sam quickly got to his feet.
“I took care o’ that while you were sleeping. There’re two pairs o’ felt boots in one o’ the closets and some wool cloaks. I’ve got me winter wedge and an extra if you’d like to borrow it.”
“You may keep your wedge. A wool muffler will do fine for me. Let’s have our supper first and wait until the full moon is up and meet in the front hallway.”
~~~~~~
Thus was Samwise granted his wish that early spring, flying down The Hill on runners of elven mithril, light as light, with Frodo snugged up behind him, his breath warming the back of his neck; his high, fey laughter ringing in his ears, as they flew through the frosty air, skimming and swooping like two small birds down, down the moonlit Hill, leaving a trail of gleaming quick-silver.
And when Frodo began howling like wolf half-way down as a joke to frighten Sam, and at the same time, propping the snarling jaws of the wolf pelt he had insisted they wrap themselves with, on Sam’s shoulder? Any sensible hobbit fed on Fell Winter stories would have been startled --- startled enough so that a sudden accidental nudge of a toe made the sledge swerve sharply and send the prankster flying head first into a snowdrift with the wolf pelt flying after him like it was alive again and on the hunt for hobbit. Well, who could really blame him? Elven sledges were uncanny things at best. At any road, no harm was done in the end.
Sam dutifully trudged back up the Hill to fetch his fallen master, who was buried in snow with only his feet showing, being careful to suppress any look on his face that didn’t convey a proper sense of remorse and sympathy as he brushed him off thoroughly and helped him back on the sledge. Later, a few pints of hot chocolate at the Dragon warmed them both up and set everything to rights again --- then a slow walk home up The Hill to a warm bed to warm anything that got left out. Besides, a little snow --- Sam decided --- went a very long way towards peartenin’ up a certain hobbit.
Author: linwesingollo
Title: Winter’s Now Come Fairly
Challenge: Nursery Rhyme
Rating: G, but you may read into it what you like.
Pairing/Characters: Frodo, Sam
Warnings: Snow and lots of it. Sorry.
Author’s Notes: A short, fluffy winter vignette. (roughly 1600 words)
Summary: Sam gets his wish and then some when it snows in the Shire.
Frodo woke from his nap with a start. The wind was humming beneath the eaves and hooming in the chimney ~ it had dragged him rudely from pleasant dreams of Bag End gardens filled with blooming flowers. He blinked sleepily, reluctant to leave the cozy warm nest of his feather comforters. The Shire had been surprised by an early spring snowstorm, snowing and blowing heavily for the last three days, and he’d decided to take advantage of being smial-bound by slipping in some extra naps. May as well, what with the snow trapping them indoors. It wasn’t fit for hobbit or beast out there. The pantries were well stocked, thanks to Sam, and so was the wood bin. All they had to do was wait it out. If it weren’t for that dratted wind, a hobbit could have some peace and extra sleep. He buried himself deeper into his comforters, trying to muffle the noise. He really must speak to Sam later about seeing to those loose dampers and nailing down the shutters…
Just as he was about to drift off again, the wind suddenly roared to a mighty crescendo. He groaned softly and reluctantly rolled out of bed, pushed the curtains aside and looked out the window. Odd…All was still outside, the sun was shining, and not a breath of wind stirred the thick blanket of snow that covered all of Hobbiton. The hooming resumed.
“Ah,” murmured Frodo, now more than half awake. The source of the ‘hooming’ was inside and seemed to be coming from the other end of Bag End.
Sam was behind it, of course. And a very happy Sam, by the sound of it. He could now just make out the words that his gardener was singing lustily at the top of his lungs:
“Cold and raw the north winds blo-o-o-o-w!
Bleak in the morning e-e-e-arly!
All the hills are covered with sno-o-o-o-w! Oh!
And winter’s now come fa-a-a-airly! Hey!”
Frodo slipped into his dressing gown and walked into the parlor where Sam was hard at work in front of the fireplace polishing something that glinted with firelight.
“Indeed, it has come,” he said, interrupting yet another round of singing while carelessly knotting the belt of his robe. “But must you inform the entire Four Farthings? And I shouldn’t say ‘fairly’ --- unfairly, rather, and inconveniently, just when I was planning and dreaming of my flower beds.”
Sam stopped his polishing and reddened.
“Beg your pardon, sir! I woke you! I saw all that snow covering the fields and hills and I just couldn’t help myself, I was that excited.”
“So I see. Or heard, rather. It’s all right, Sam. It was time I got up anyway, I suppose. The snow does make a pretty picture, doesn’t it? I see you’ve found Bilbo’s old sledge.”
“Just giving it a bit of a wax and polish. I hope you don’t mind. I found it in the cellar.”
“No, I don’t mind. I’d nearly forgotten about it.”
“I hadn’t. I’ve been waitin’ for a proper winter to use it and it seems I’ve finally gotten my wish. Remember the stories old Bilbo told us about the sledge and the Fell Winter when we were young lads?”
“Of course, I do. I also remember how frightened you were of that wolf pelt of his, too. I see you forgot to take that out of the cellar.”
Sam shook his head. “That I didn’t. I won’t have no wolf’s eyes watchin’ me, dead or alive.”
Frodo laughed. “Come now! Surely you’re not still afraid of that old thing? Let's have a look at the old fellow!”
Sam shrugged as Frodo headed for the cellar and then emerged a few minutes later with a large bundle of white fur in his arms. He unfolded it and laid it in front of the fireplace, the huge wolf pelt like a drift of snow and the fierce golden eyes glinting uncannily in the firelight while its jaws curled in a silent snarl.
“Remember how Bilbo would have us sit on the pelt when he told his Fell Winter tales?”
“I allus liked to have my back to the eyes,” said Sam, eyeing it warily. “Seemed like it was watchin’ and waitin’ to have me for his next meal. I’d druther hear about elves.”
Frodo kneeled on the pelt next to Sam’s feet.
“Nobody could tell a story like Bilbo. I think I loved some of his Fell Winter stories the best - how the Rangers came with their elven sledges across the frozen river to deliver food to the poor trapped hobbits. Bilbo said he and his parents had been close to starving to death. Even the Bag End pantries were nearly bare.”
Frodo absently stroked the wolf’s head, pausing for dramatic effect. He’d learned a thing or two from Bilbo. He dropped his voice:
“Then when night fell, this great wolf would be waiting for them to come out, prowling around and around Bag End, circling, always circling, looking in each of the windows, watching them, licking his jaws, waiting, stopping only to stare and reach up a paw to scratch at the pane. Night after night he watched and waited and stared and scratched. Just when they wondered whether their nerves or the windows would break first, a Ranger arrived in the nick of time and killed the wolf with an arrow through the heart, right on the doorstep - he came with this very same sledge piled with food. Bilbo always said you could still see faint traces of its blood on it if you looked hard enough.”
Sam didn’t care to look too closely. The howling wind of the past few days had sounded far too much like a pack of the beasts - or worse - for his liking. He rubbed the sledge harder with his polishing cloth.
“Hi! Enough talk of wolves and prowling! You needn’t go on. I know the story and it still gives me the shivers. And I remember how you’d howl like one o’ the beasts just to frighten me. I’d run all the way home to me Gaffer scared that one o’ them would be waiting in the hedge to make a meal o’ Sam Gamgee.”
“And I was sent to bed supperless and with a scolding,” said Frodo, laughing. “Yet you always came back for more stories.”
“I bet this sledge has elvish magic in it,” said Sam, changing the subject. “Bilbo said the runners were made of mithril and would glide on top of snow light as a feather, never mind how much was piled on top of it.”
“That’s true,” answered Frodo, chuckling. “They are made of mithril. Whether it’s magic or not, I couldn’t say.”
“Well, the snow’s stopped and I’ve shoveled a path to the gate…”
Sam’s voice trailed off hopefully.
“And you thought you’d like to try the sledge?”
Sam grinned. “I’ve been wantin’ to give it a go ever since Bilbo first spoke of it. I thought we’d ride down the Hill, if you’d like…”
Frodo looked into the eager eyes of Sam and thought of his warm winter bed with regret. He still felt sleepy and had hoped to finish his nap after a quick visit to the pantries for a light snack.
“A ride down the Hill would pearten’ you up proper,” added Sam firmly, as if he had read his mind.
You always think I need ‘peartenin’ up’,” said Frodo mildly. “Can’t a poor hobbit be left alone to take a winter’s nap? Oh, very well. I’ve always wanted to try the sledge myself. Anyway, what does one wear for sledging?”
Sam quickly got to his feet.
“I took care o’ that while you were sleeping. There’re two pairs o’ felt boots in one o’ the closets and some wool cloaks. I’ve got me winter wedge and an extra if you’d like to borrow it.”
“You may keep your wedge. A wool muffler will do fine for me. Let’s have our supper first and wait until the full moon is up and meet in the front hallway.”
~~~~~~
Thus was Samwise granted his wish that early spring, flying down The Hill on runners of elven mithril, light as light, with Frodo snugged up behind him, his breath warming the back of his neck; his high, fey laughter ringing in his ears, as they flew through the frosty air, skimming and swooping like two small birds down, down the moonlit Hill, leaving a trail of gleaming quick-silver.
And when Frodo began howling like wolf half-way down as a joke to frighten Sam, and at the same time, propping the snarling jaws of the wolf pelt he had insisted they wrap themselves with, on Sam’s shoulder? Any sensible hobbit fed on Fell Winter stories would have been startled --- startled enough so that a sudden accidental nudge of a toe made the sledge swerve sharply and send the prankster flying head first into a snowdrift with the wolf pelt flying after him like it was alive again and on the hunt for hobbit. Well, who could really blame him? Elven sledges were uncanny things at best. At any road, no harm was done in the end.
Sam dutifully trudged back up the Hill to fetch his fallen master, who was buried in snow with only his feet showing, being careful to suppress any look on his face that didn’t convey a proper sense of remorse and sympathy as he brushed him off thoroughly and helped him back on the sledge. Later, a few pints of hot chocolate at the Dragon warmed them both up and set everything to rights again --- then a slow walk home up The Hill to a warm bed to warm anything that got left out. Besides, a little snow --- Sam decided --- went a very long way towards peartenin’ up a certain hobbit.