Waymeet Hijinks Challenge
Title: The Tree
Author: linwesingollo
Rating: G
Pairing: Frodo, Sam
Word Count: 1500+
Challenge: Written for the Waymeet Hijinks challenge
Synopsis: The passing of Frodo and Sam from the Shire at the onset of their quest does not go unnoticed by a silent spectator.
Author’s Note: The game I chose was “Prickle Me Tickle Me”. As it often happens, I went off on a tangent and ended up writing something completely different from what I had originally intended.
Triggered by movie Treebeard’s complaint of tickling squirrels and Inspired by the scene where Frodo is sitting in a tree smoking his pipe.
On a quiet, sun-warmed slope on the eastern border of the Shire, away from the well-worn paths of travelers, there stood a tall, broad-limbed Tree. More than a hundred years ago, when the fullness of time came, Yavanna herself reached down to unlock and bless the sealed seed and it began to grow with eager diligence upward and downward; its roots gradually growing deeper, its branches reaching ever higher, and at the same time gathering to itself all the secrets of the sky and of the earth and the quiet, unnamed creatures that crawled and burrowed at his feet. Every spring time, it lifted its grateful boughs to the nourishing rain and listened to the promises of the wind and suffered without complaint the sharp prick of the woodpecker’s bill in its skin.
Ever deeper the Tree’s roots burrowed into the living rock until it met the deep, ancient springs that sang the old creation songs of Ulmo and his kindred. The Tree drank deeply and bore all the seasons with equal patience but it especially rejoiced in the spring when it could clothe its naked winter branches once again with new leaves so as to shelter the birds and squirrels that built nests in its branches, and cloak with shadow the fox that hunted at night.
Down through the years, the Tree and his kindred shared news of the Shire and its inhabitants amongst themselves. The wind and the clouds murmured their comings and goings, the leaves sighed over their births and deaths while the Sun numbered joys and sorrows. In the velvet clarity of mid-summer night, the stars gathered up the simple songs of the holbytla and sang them while the flowers nodded and scented the fields beneath their naked feet.
The Tree spoke seldom but listened much, taking joy in its simple life. As a youthful sapling it had, on occasion, loosed its roots and moved freely and secretly (or so it thought) abroad the Shire, desiring to see the Shire folk for itself, but gradually over the years its bark had stiffened and furrowed and its limbs became less supple. More often now it was growing sleepy and eventually it chose as a final home for its roots to settle, the sunny slope of its birth that was near the Great East Road but not of it.
One day in the slanting autumn Sun, the Tree sleepily roused itself from its long summer dreams to set to work providing seed for the squirrels and birds whose tiny feet pricked and tickled his branches as they ran to and fro. As it did so, it felt for the first time, a slight trembling in the earth at the coming of two creatures treading upon its far-spreading roots.
Days ago, the Tree had rumor of the Coming of two of the hobbit folk, whispered by the wind and gossiped about by the squirrels. Even the silent Owl and cryptic Fox had disturbed its sleep and spoken to it one lonely night of their coming. The Tree trembled. It had long felt a darkness stirring in the earth, a great Evil awakening again and disturbing its roots, and it did not wish to be troubled. The rhythm of the deep springs sang now with a discordant note and the Tree had often dreamed uneasy dreams.
The Tree watched and listened as the two hobbits came near and laid wood for a fire at its very feet. The stouter of the Two searched for dead wood while the other, dark of hair and eyes like that of Elemmirë heralding the awakening of the First-Born, nimbly climbed its trunk and settled himself in the elbow of the lower limb.
At that moment, all sleep fell from the Tree and he became fully Aware once again. All his long life, he had felt only the prick and tickle of bird claws and tiny squirrels’ paws and the rough caress of wind and rain. Now his limbs cradled the One who bore the mark of Great Danger upon his body. The Tree felt the curve of the hobbit’s head and the sweet warm heft of his back and marveled as he absorbed his brief story into his being. The spirit of the Tree and that of the hobbit met and knew one another and the Tree learned much that had not been talked about by the wind or the Sun. What the hobbit learned of the Tree is unknown, for he kept his own counsel.
The Tree’s knowledge of the coming of the Two mingled with that of the discordant songs of the deep springs and both flowed together into the heart of the Tree and went forth again into the veins and springs of the earth to herald and warn of their coming. For the first time, fear came upon him, and the flow of his sap nearly froze and ceased altogether, but the Tree, remembering his duty, surrendered with grace and bore his strange new burden with the long-suffering courage of his kind. He bowed and lowered his branches to shield and cool the face of the hobbit resting in his limbs and then generously dropped a dead branch near the feet of his companion.
As evening drew near and it came time for the Sun to leave him alone with his thoughts, the Tree listened as the two hobbits sat close together next to their small fire and talked quietly over their simple meal. The Tree liked their comfortable talk of home and hearth, but then their conversation faltered and disquiet crept in ~ hints of a long journey and dark roads and unknown dangers were murmured.
Over the shoulders of the Tree, the stars had gathered round, and they too, had long ceased their merry song and also watched and been silent, but now as the hobbits curled up to sleep trustingly among the Tree’s roots, the stars began to sing a low bittersweet song that foretold the passing of all that was fairest in the land.
The Tree listened and wept and stirred restlessly in sorrow. Meanwhile, the stout hobbit rolled over and grumbled in his sleep, so the Tree quieted himself again and carefully smoothed his roots beneath him. The stout hobbit then rested his hand on his companion that slept close to him as if to reassure himself, and the Tree felt a strange peace.
Throughout the night, the Tree did not sleep, but as the stars burned with a cold and brilliant light, he watched over the small ones with great vigilance and sent ahead what messages of protection that he could. Few could be trusted in these darkening days and many had long stopped visiting him, but the Tree in his long-gathered wisdom was able to discern friend from foe and he called forth those few of his remaining friends and sent them away burdened with his messages.
Just before the Sun approached the Gates of Morning, the Two awoke at his feet and broke their fast. After they had poured water over the ashes of their fire, the dark-haired hobbit paused to rest his hand on the skin of the Tree as if to draw from its rooted strength. The Tree stood still and gave all that he could and in return stored away in his heartwood the soft words of farewell the small one spoke to him. Then the Tree bowed ever so slightly in the light morning breeze and watched as the Two shouldered their packs and left him.
Autumn came and went and the Tree dutifully unclothed himself and returned his leaves to the earth. Then winter came and the Tree in his nakedness continued to watch and listen and wait. The squirrels abandoned him to burrow and sleep. The birds flew to the warmer lands in the south and the land grew silent. Even the Stars hid themselves and the Sun seldom visited. Still the Tree waited and listened and feared as he felt the great Darkness creeping closer to the land that he loved. When the Darkness finally descended and numbed his roots, in that day he no longer felt the comforting presence of the Two upon the earth. Despair halted the flow of the Tree’s sap and the Tree became Unaware again and slipped into a long and dreamless sleep.
The stars wheeled above and seasons came and left until one golden autumn day, the Tree was awakened suddenly by the touch of One he had long listened for. He shook his stiffened branches as if in a dream and looked down and knew the small dark-haired hobbit that had rested in his limbs many years ago.
The hobbit rested his hand on his furrowed bark and the Tree learned all that had changed and passed while he had allowed his courage to fail and shamefully slept, and he also saw before the hobbit the Road that was yet to come. With great joy and sorrow the Tree gathered the small hobbit’s final words of gratitude and farewell into his heartwood and through his roots sent it forth into the deep springs of the earth, and so the whole of the land sang and wept with him at this the final passing of all that was fairest from the earth.
Author: linwesingollo
Rating: G
Pairing: Frodo, Sam
Word Count: 1500+
Challenge: Written for the Waymeet Hijinks challenge
Synopsis: The passing of Frodo and Sam from the Shire at the onset of their quest does not go unnoticed by a silent spectator.
Author’s Note: The game I chose was “Prickle Me Tickle Me”. As it often happens, I went off on a tangent and ended up writing something completely different from what I had originally intended.
Triggered by movie Treebeard’s complaint of tickling squirrels and Inspired by the scene where Frodo is sitting in a tree smoking his pipe.
On a quiet, sun-warmed slope on the eastern border of the Shire, away from the well-worn paths of travelers, there stood a tall, broad-limbed Tree. More than a hundred years ago, when the fullness of time came, Yavanna herself reached down to unlock and bless the sealed seed and it began to grow with eager diligence upward and downward; its roots gradually growing deeper, its branches reaching ever higher, and at the same time gathering to itself all the secrets of the sky and of the earth and the quiet, unnamed creatures that crawled and burrowed at his feet. Every spring time, it lifted its grateful boughs to the nourishing rain and listened to the promises of the wind and suffered without complaint the sharp prick of the woodpecker’s bill in its skin.
Ever deeper the Tree’s roots burrowed into the living rock until it met the deep, ancient springs that sang the old creation songs of Ulmo and his kindred. The Tree drank deeply and bore all the seasons with equal patience but it especially rejoiced in the spring when it could clothe its naked winter branches once again with new leaves so as to shelter the birds and squirrels that built nests in its branches, and cloak with shadow the fox that hunted at night.
Down through the years, the Tree and his kindred shared news of the Shire and its inhabitants amongst themselves. The wind and the clouds murmured their comings and goings, the leaves sighed over their births and deaths while the Sun numbered joys and sorrows. In the velvet clarity of mid-summer night, the stars gathered up the simple songs of the holbytla and sang them while the flowers nodded and scented the fields beneath their naked feet.
The Tree spoke seldom but listened much, taking joy in its simple life. As a youthful sapling it had, on occasion, loosed its roots and moved freely and secretly (or so it thought) abroad the Shire, desiring to see the Shire folk for itself, but gradually over the years its bark had stiffened and furrowed and its limbs became less supple. More often now it was growing sleepy and eventually it chose as a final home for its roots to settle, the sunny slope of its birth that was near the Great East Road but not of it.
One day in the slanting autumn Sun, the Tree sleepily roused itself from its long summer dreams to set to work providing seed for the squirrels and birds whose tiny feet pricked and tickled his branches as they ran to and fro. As it did so, it felt for the first time, a slight trembling in the earth at the coming of two creatures treading upon its far-spreading roots.
Days ago, the Tree had rumor of the Coming of two of the hobbit folk, whispered by the wind and gossiped about by the squirrels. Even the silent Owl and cryptic Fox had disturbed its sleep and spoken to it one lonely night of their coming. The Tree trembled. It had long felt a darkness stirring in the earth, a great Evil awakening again and disturbing its roots, and it did not wish to be troubled. The rhythm of the deep springs sang now with a discordant note and the Tree had often dreamed uneasy dreams.
The Tree watched and listened as the two hobbits came near and laid wood for a fire at its very feet. The stouter of the Two searched for dead wood while the other, dark of hair and eyes like that of Elemmirë heralding the awakening of the First-Born, nimbly climbed its trunk and settled himself in the elbow of the lower limb.
At that moment, all sleep fell from the Tree and he became fully Aware once again. All his long life, he had felt only the prick and tickle of bird claws and tiny squirrels’ paws and the rough caress of wind and rain. Now his limbs cradled the One who bore the mark of Great Danger upon his body. The Tree felt the curve of the hobbit’s head and the sweet warm heft of his back and marveled as he absorbed his brief story into his being. The spirit of the Tree and that of the hobbit met and knew one another and the Tree learned much that had not been talked about by the wind or the Sun. What the hobbit learned of the Tree is unknown, for he kept his own counsel.
The Tree’s knowledge of the coming of the Two mingled with that of the discordant songs of the deep springs and both flowed together into the heart of the Tree and went forth again into the veins and springs of the earth to herald and warn of their coming. For the first time, fear came upon him, and the flow of his sap nearly froze and ceased altogether, but the Tree, remembering his duty, surrendered with grace and bore his strange new burden with the long-suffering courage of his kind. He bowed and lowered his branches to shield and cool the face of the hobbit resting in his limbs and then generously dropped a dead branch near the feet of his companion.
As evening drew near and it came time for the Sun to leave him alone with his thoughts, the Tree listened as the two hobbits sat close together next to their small fire and talked quietly over their simple meal. The Tree liked their comfortable talk of home and hearth, but then their conversation faltered and disquiet crept in ~ hints of a long journey and dark roads and unknown dangers were murmured.
Over the shoulders of the Tree, the stars had gathered round, and they too, had long ceased their merry song and also watched and been silent, but now as the hobbits curled up to sleep trustingly among the Tree’s roots, the stars began to sing a low bittersweet song that foretold the passing of all that was fairest in the land.
The Tree listened and wept and stirred restlessly in sorrow. Meanwhile, the stout hobbit rolled over and grumbled in his sleep, so the Tree quieted himself again and carefully smoothed his roots beneath him. The stout hobbit then rested his hand on his companion that slept close to him as if to reassure himself, and the Tree felt a strange peace.
Throughout the night, the Tree did not sleep, but as the stars burned with a cold and brilliant light, he watched over the small ones with great vigilance and sent ahead what messages of protection that he could. Few could be trusted in these darkening days and many had long stopped visiting him, but the Tree in his long-gathered wisdom was able to discern friend from foe and he called forth those few of his remaining friends and sent them away burdened with his messages.
Just before the Sun approached the Gates of Morning, the Two awoke at his feet and broke their fast. After they had poured water over the ashes of their fire, the dark-haired hobbit paused to rest his hand on the skin of the Tree as if to draw from its rooted strength. The Tree stood still and gave all that he could and in return stored away in his heartwood the soft words of farewell the small one spoke to him. Then the Tree bowed ever so slightly in the light morning breeze and watched as the Two shouldered their packs and left him.
Autumn came and went and the Tree dutifully unclothed himself and returned his leaves to the earth. Then winter came and the Tree in his nakedness continued to watch and listen and wait. The squirrels abandoned him to burrow and sleep. The birds flew to the warmer lands in the south and the land grew silent. Even the Stars hid themselves and the Sun seldom visited. Still the Tree waited and listened and feared as he felt the great Darkness creeping closer to the land that he loved. When the Darkness finally descended and numbed his roots, in that day he no longer felt the comforting presence of the Two upon the earth. Despair halted the flow of the Tree’s sap and the Tree became Unaware again and slipped into a long and dreamless sleep.
The stars wheeled above and seasons came and left until one golden autumn day, the Tree was awakened suddenly by the touch of One he had long listened for. He shook his stiffened branches as if in a dream and looked down and knew the small dark-haired hobbit that had rested in his limbs many years ago.
The hobbit rested his hand on his furrowed bark and the Tree learned all that had changed and passed while he had allowed his courage to fail and shamefully slept, and he also saw before the hobbit the Road that was yet to come. With great joy and sorrow the Tree gathered the small hobbit’s final words of gratitude and farewell into his heartwood and through his roots sent it forth into the deep springs of the earth, and so the whole of the land sang and wept with him at this the final passing of all that was fairest from the earth.