Story Fodder
Jan. 12th, 2002 06:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveFodder. FOTR. Get it? O-K, moving on. This is the first part of a story that appeared, full blown, in my head this evening. I'm writing as fast as I can, but here is part one to amuse you while I keep writing. Oh - it gets worse. Honest.
Fellowship of the Ring, Revisited
Strider could have gone another half mile, at the least. But he didn't, for he could see that his companions were beginning to tire. They'd kept up well enough during the day of walking, and the ranger had been able to gauge how far they could travel and how soon they would be able to reach Rivendell. He'd been impressed by the hobbits' stamina, and their determination. But now, though still an hour before dusk, they were obviously ready to stop for the night.
Frodo was still walking just a few paces behind him, and Strider suspected he would keep up no matter how far their guide chose to go, tonight. The others, however, were beginning to lag slightly, and they'd been talking among themselves about how much further and when was supper.
Strider would have preferred to get to Rivendell as quickly as humanly possible -- but they weren't, and it was unfair to expect them to keep the pace of a Ranger, regardless. Alone, he would make the trip in half the time he'd mentally allotted for their group to make the trip. But it wasn't he who had to get to Rivendell, so he kept his pace to that of his companions.
He began looking out for a spot for camp, and fifteen minutes later he'd found one and halted the party. The hobbits had cheered up immediately, and Sam and Pippin began gathering twigs for a fire while Merry dug into the bags for foodstuffs. Strider shook his head. At least he didn't have to worry about eating well, on this journey.
While they ate, he sat with Frodo, talking a bit about Rivendell and what they could expect of the journey there. It seemed to talk the hobbit's mind off his worries about Gandalf, and the Black Riders, and those stories led into others, and soon all of them were sitting around the fire they were letting die off quickly before nightfall, talking.
When he judged, by the yawns the younger hobbits were no longer hiding, that they would soon all be asleep, he excused himself. "I'll stand first watch, tonight, and give the surrounding area a quick look over, first." The hobbits just nodded, and continued their story-telling as Strider walked out of the camp, into the trees and growing darkness.
He began walking a circuit about fifteen years away from the edge of the campsite. There was nothing out in the night which alarmed him -- nothing close by. Satisfied they were safe, at least for the moment, he headed back to the camp to sit watch.
When he stepped into the small clearing, he stopped. There was a large...pile of hobbits, on the ground. He had a second to be alarmed, before he realized the pile was moving.
Rhythmically.
"What the bloody fuck are you doing?" came the startled whisper, and he clamped his jaw shut as soon as he said it.
The four hobbits paused, and turned -- some of them from rather interesting angles -- to look at him.
"Getting ready for bed," came Merry's voice, sincere and confused.
"You're--" Strider stopped himself, for they obviously knew what they were doing, and didn't need him standing over them, gaping and stammering like he'd never done anything of the sort, himself. Even if he hadn't, at least not...well, they were hobbits, and hobbits were said to be odd creatures. He cleared his throat. "I'll go check the perimeter again. Just-- um, don't make any noise. The Black Riders could be anywhere."
Four head bobbed up and down in acknowledgement, and as he stepped away, they returned to their...night rituals.
Strider took his time walking around the camp.
In the morning, he was wakened by a soft sound. His eyes flew open, and he was half-sitting up before he saw what had made the noise. Pippin was lying on his bedroll, head thrown back and mouth open...and one of the other hobbits had his head buried in his nether regions. Strider felt his face go red and he turned away quickly enough that he wasn't even sure who it was down there. He stood up and excused himself, pleading a call of nature.
He took his time with that, too. When he returned, all four hobbits were fully dressed and sitting around a small fire watching Sam make breakfast. They moved aside to make a spot for Strider to sit, which he did. He had to clear his throat twice, before he was able to say, "You know, it might be...wiser, to..forego certain things. We are in a hurry, and being chased by Ringwraiths, and all."
Four pair of wide, disbelieving eyes stared at him. "Forego?" Merry laughed. "Next you'll say we shouldn't stop for second breakfast and elevensies!"
Strider blinked. "For what?" He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.
"Second breakfast," Pippin repeated, patiently. "Elevensies -- second and third meals of the day."
Strider was pretty sure he was going to regret saying this, but, "Um, no, actually we won't be stopping until nightfall, again. We'll rest for lunch, of course, but not...twice."
"What about afternoon tea and dinner? We missed dinner last night," Pippin said, sadly.
"You want to stop four times, for meals?" He was beginning to understand why hobbits weren't known for roaming around the countryside.
"Well," Merry said, thoughtfully. "We could, I suppose, make sandwiches for afternoon tea, and carry them with us. Eat while we walk. And a bag of fruit for second breakfast...."
Strider put his head into his hands. They were never going to get to Rivendell.
Fellowship of the Ring, Revisited
Strider could have gone another half mile, at the least. But he didn't, for he could see that his companions were beginning to tire. They'd kept up well enough during the day of walking, and the ranger had been able to gauge how far they could travel and how soon they would be able to reach Rivendell. He'd been impressed by the hobbits' stamina, and their determination. But now, though still an hour before dusk, they were obviously ready to stop for the night.
Frodo was still walking just a few paces behind him, and Strider suspected he would keep up no matter how far their guide chose to go, tonight. The others, however, were beginning to lag slightly, and they'd been talking among themselves about how much further and when was supper.
Strider would have preferred to get to Rivendell as quickly as humanly possible -- but they weren't, and it was unfair to expect them to keep the pace of a Ranger, regardless. Alone, he would make the trip in half the time he'd mentally allotted for their group to make the trip. But it wasn't he who had to get to Rivendell, so he kept his pace to that of his companions.
He began looking out for a spot for camp, and fifteen minutes later he'd found one and halted the party. The hobbits had cheered up immediately, and Sam and Pippin began gathering twigs for a fire while Merry dug into the bags for foodstuffs. Strider shook his head. At least he didn't have to worry about eating well, on this journey.
While they ate, he sat with Frodo, talking a bit about Rivendell and what they could expect of the journey there. It seemed to talk the hobbit's mind off his worries about Gandalf, and the Black Riders, and those stories led into others, and soon all of them were sitting around the fire they were letting die off quickly before nightfall, talking.
When he judged, by the yawns the younger hobbits were no longer hiding, that they would soon all be asleep, he excused himself. "I'll stand first watch, tonight, and give the surrounding area a quick look over, first." The hobbits just nodded, and continued their story-telling as Strider walked out of the camp, into the trees and growing darkness.
He began walking a circuit about fifteen years away from the edge of the campsite. There was nothing out in the night which alarmed him -- nothing close by. Satisfied they were safe, at least for the moment, he headed back to the camp to sit watch.
When he stepped into the small clearing, he stopped. There was a large...pile of hobbits, on the ground. He had a second to be alarmed, before he realized the pile was moving.
Rhythmically.
"What the bloody fuck are you doing?" came the startled whisper, and he clamped his jaw shut as soon as he said it.
The four hobbits paused, and turned -- some of them from rather interesting angles -- to look at him.
"Getting ready for bed," came Merry's voice, sincere and confused.
"You're--" Strider stopped himself, for they obviously knew what they were doing, and didn't need him standing over them, gaping and stammering like he'd never done anything of the sort, himself. Even if he hadn't, at least not...well, they were hobbits, and hobbits were said to be odd creatures. He cleared his throat. "I'll go check the perimeter again. Just-- um, don't make any noise. The Black Riders could be anywhere."
Four head bobbed up and down in acknowledgement, and as he stepped away, they returned to their...night rituals.
Strider took his time walking around the camp.
In the morning, he was wakened by a soft sound. His eyes flew open, and he was half-sitting up before he saw what had made the noise. Pippin was lying on his bedroll, head thrown back and mouth open...and one of the other hobbits had his head buried in his nether regions. Strider felt his face go red and he turned away quickly enough that he wasn't even sure who it was down there. He stood up and excused himself, pleading a call of nature.
He took his time with that, too. When he returned, all four hobbits were fully dressed and sitting around a small fire watching Sam make breakfast. They moved aside to make a spot for Strider to sit, which he did. He had to clear his throat twice, before he was able to say, "You know, it might be...wiser, to..forego certain things. We are in a hurry, and being chased by Ringwraiths, and all."
Four pair of wide, disbelieving eyes stared at him. "Forego?" Merry laughed. "Next you'll say we shouldn't stop for second breakfast and elevensies!"
Strider blinked. "For what?" He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.
"Second breakfast," Pippin repeated, patiently. "Elevensies -- second and third meals of the day."
Strider was pretty sure he was going to regret saying this, but, "Um, no, actually we won't be stopping until nightfall, again. We'll rest for lunch, of course, but not...twice."
"What about afternoon tea and dinner? We missed dinner last night," Pippin said, sadly.
"You want to stop four times, for meals?" He was beginning to understand why hobbits weren't known for roaming around the countryside.
"Well," Merry said, thoughtfully. "We could, I suppose, make sandwiches for afternoon tea, and carry them with us. Eat while we walk. And a bag of fruit for second breakfast...."
Strider put his head into his hands. They were never going to get to Rivendell.