New Fic: Guests
Dec. 30th, 2012 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grav_ityAN: I swear, this was supposed to be a bit more meaningful than "the dwarves suck at guessing human ages and accidentally get baby!Estel drunk" but, um, that's kind of what happened.
Spoilers: The Hobbit
Rating: Kid-Friendly (mentions of alcohol)
Disclaimer: Let's be honest, it's probably for the best that I don't.
Characters: Aragorn (Estel), Gandalf, Elrond, Gilraen, Bofur, etc.
Summary: They have guests at Imladris, sometimes.
+++
Guests
They have guests at Imladris, sometimes.
The men, his kin by his father, come to see how his mother is faring. They bring him trinkets and baubles, objects crafted in the Wild in what spare time they have. They tell him stories of their journeying, until his mother says "Hush, that's enough for now. The Road is not for this one, not yet."
The elves come less frequently, but bide longer. They sit for hours, never sleeping, and talking in low voices or singing songs in a language he is only just coming to be master of. Mostly, they ignore him. He is, after all, quite small.
He has not seen dwarves before, nor anything like the smallest creature in their company, and as he looks down at them, crouched behind the railing on the balcony that offers the best view of the courtyard, he wonders what has brought them here.
Lord Gandalf always has a smile for him, but Lord Elrond calls the wizard away to a more private council before Estel can make his way across the hall to where they sat. His mother is reluctant to let guests of any ilk she does not know see him, for reasons he does not fully understand. It has something to do with his father, he thinks, and the way his father died, but he is not sure. He knows only that the guests, the dwarves, were awkward at the table, picking at their food and fidgeting while Elrond and Gandalf held forth at length. That is something Estel can sympathize with all too well.
Estel waits until the dwarves are escorted to their quarters for the night before he slips away from his mother’s watchful gaze. She often takes a walk through Elrond’s evening gardens, and Estel is of the opinion that he spends more than enough time with plants during his lessons, so he is happy to be left alone, particularly tonight.
By the time he reaches the uppermost floor, the dwarves have broken several chairs Estel thinks might be from the Second Age and are happily roasting unfamiliar food on sticks over the fire. When one of them throws a piece to the other, and the table groans and gives way beneath him, their laughter is not quite loud enough to cover his own, somewhat higher pitched, giggling.
“Careful now, lads,” says the dwarf by the fire. He has a kind smile, and Estel is not afraid of him, though the same cannot be said of the other dwarf who sits roasting lettuce on the flames as if he hadn’t an axe in his head. “I think the elves have set a spy us.”
“Come out, elfling,” says a grey-haired dwarf with a beard so elaborate, Estel cannot follow one braid to its end. “Have a sausage.”
“I’m no elf,” says Estel, though he does not come closer. “And what’s a sausage?”
There is general outcry at that, as though not knowing what sausage is might be the worst fate in Middle Earth.
“Durin’s Beard, he’s worse than Bilbo,” says one.
“Oh, I don’t know,” says another. “He looks like he might actually know one end of a sword from t’other.”
“I’m better at archery,” Estel says, edging forward.
“Then pull up a seat, laddie,” says a dwarf with a beard so red and bushy, there might be a whole other person inside it. “You can tell young Kili here how Elvish archery is different from our Dwarvish kind.”
Even though Kili is almost certainly at least five decades his elder, Estel sits down and patiently examines the bow. He can see a few differences at once, which makes sense as dwarves have stockier arms than do elves, though they hardly lack for strength. The dwarves pass him all kinds of food, some familiar, if scorched, and some entirely new. He gets a very large mug with a very small amount of something that is certainly not water in the bottom of it, and his head feels fuzzy after he drinks it. The dwarves laugh and talk amongst themselves, and Estel thinks that while he loves his home, his foster-father, and his place at Imladris, there is something to be said for the rowdier folk of Middle Earth.
“Bofur, have you taken complete leave of your senses?” comes of the voice of Gandalf the Grey. He’s not angry, Estel can tell, but he’s not quite amused either. “What were you thinking, giving ale to a child?”
“It’s not so easy to tell their ages,” the dwarf called Bofur protests. “They’re all the wrong height and so on.”
“I’m all right, Gandalf,” says Estel, getting to his feet and then sitting down quickly when he realizes that his feet aren’t quite where he left them.
“I’m sure you are,” Gandalf huffs. He’s laughing, Estel is sure of it. “But you must away, now, and quietly. I am called to council and must speak to my friends before I go up.”
Estel takes the stairs slowly, a warm buzz in his ears and a newly learned song humming on his lips. He hears Gandalf tell the dwarves that they must pack their things, and quickly, but does not think on it further. There is his mother to avoid, after all. Things that make Gandalf laugh do not always have the same effect on Gilraen.
When he wakes in the morning, the dwarves are gone and his head aches. Gandalf, looking mildly abashed, passes him an oddly shaped leaf, and when he chews on it, he feels better. There might be something to plant craft after all. Elrond is unhappy about something, but also relieved, and Gandalf departs shortly after breakfast without further conversation.
Estel climbs up to the top of the tower where the dwarves had slept and cleans away the last of the burnt furniture. For the first time, he looks up beyond the borders of the hidden valley, and wonders if his path will ever take him out there. He knows that someday he could join the Rangers, and keep watch over the North and West, but today the sun shines on the East in a way that looks new and interesting. The mountains do not call to him, but something does, and, someday, he will follow it.
+++
fin
Gravity_Not_Included, December 30, 2012.
Spoilers: The Hobbit
Rating: Kid-Friendly (mentions of alcohol)
Disclaimer: Let's be honest, it's probably for the best that I don't.
Characters: Aragorn (Estel), Gandalf, Elrond, Gilraen, Bofur, etc.
Summary: They have guests at Imladris, sometimes.
+++
Guests
They have guests at Imladris, sometimes.
The men, his kin by his father, come to see how his mother is faring. They bring him trinkets and baubles, objects crafted in the Wild in what spare time they have. They tell him stories of their journeying, until his mother says "Hush, that's enough for now. The Road is not for this one, not yet."
The elves come less frequently, but bide longer. They sit for hours, never sleeping, and talking in low voices or singing songs in a language he is only just coming to be master of. Mostly, they ignore him. He is, after all, quite small.
He has not seen dwarves before, nor anything like the smallest creature in their company, and as he looks down at them, crouched behind the railing on the balcony that offers the best view of the courtyard, he wonders what has brought them here.
Lord Gandalf always has a smile for him, but Lord Elrond calls the wizard away to a more private council before Estel can make his way across the hall to where they sat. His mother is reluctant to let guests of any ilk she does not know see him, for reasons he does not fully understand. It has something to do with his father, he thinks, and the way his father died, but he is not sure. He knows only that the guests, the dwarves, were awkward at the table, picking at their food and fidgeting while Elrond and Gandalf held forth at length. That is something Estel can sympathize with all too well.
Estel waits until the dwarves are escorted to their quarters for the night before he slips away from his mother’s watchful gaze. She often takes a walk through Elrond’s evening gardens, and Estel is of the opinion that he spends more than enough time with plants during his lessons, so he is happy to be left alone, particularly tonight.
By the time he reaches the uppermost floor, the dwarves have broken several chairs Estel thinks might be from the Second Age and are happily roasting unfamiliar food on sticks over the fire. When one of them throws a piece to the other, and the table groans and gives way beneath him, their laughter is not quite loud enough to cover his own, somewhat higher pitched, giggling.
“Careful now, lads,” says the dwarf by the fire. He has a kind smile, and Estel is not afraid of him, though the same cannot be said of the other dwarf who sits roasting lettuce on the flames as if he hadn’t an axe in his head. “I think the elves have set a spy us.”
“Come out, elfling,” says a grey-haired dwarf with a beard so elaborate, Estel cannot follow one braid to its end. “Have a sausage.”
“I’m no elf,” says Estel, though he does not come closer. “And what’s a sausage?”
There is general outcry at that, as though not knowing what sausage is might be the worst fate in Middle Earth.
“Durin’s Beard, he’s worse than Bilbo,” says one.
“Oh, I don’t know,” says another. “He looks like he might actually know one end of a sword from t’other.”
“I’m better at archery,” Estel says, edging forward.
“Then pull up a seat, laddie,” says a dwarf with a beard so red and bushy, there might be a whole other person inside it. “You can tell young Kili here how Elvish archery is different from our Dwarvish kind.”
Even though Kili is almost certainly at least five decades his elder, Estel sits down and patiently examines the bow. He can see a few differences at once, which makes sense as dwarves have stockier arms than do elves, though they hardly lack for strength. The dwarves pass him all kinds of food, some familiar, if scorched, and some entirely new. He gets a very large mug with a very small amount of something that is certainly not water in the bottom of it, and his head feels fuzzy after he drinks it. The dwarves laugh and talk amongst themselves, and Estel thinks that while he loves his home, his foster-father, and his place at Imladris, there is something to be said for the rowdier folk of Middle Earth.
“Bofur, have you taken complete leave of your senses?” comes of the voice of Gandalf the Grey. He’s not angry, Estel can tell, but he’s not quite amused either. “What were you thinking, giving ale to a child?”
“It’s not so easy to tell their ages,” the dwarf called Bofur protests. “They’re all the wrong height and so on.”
“I’m all right, Gandalf,” says Estel, getting to his feet and then sitting down quickly when he realizes that his feet aren’t quite where he left them.
“I’m sure you are,” Gandalf huffs. He’s laughing, Estel is sure of it. “But you must away, now, and quietly. I am called to council and must speak to my friends before I go up.”
Estel takes the stairs slowly, a warm buzz in his ears and a newly learned song humming on his lips. He hears Gandalf tell the dwarves that they must pack their things, and quickly, but does not think on it further. There is his mother to avoid, after all. Things that make Gandalf laugh do not always have the same effect on Gilraen.
When he wakes in the morning, the dwarves are gone and his head aches. Gandalf, looking mildly abashed, passes him an oddly shaped leaf, and when he chews on it, he feels better. There might be something to plant craft after all. Elrond is unhappy about something, but also relieved, and Gandalf departs shortly after breakfast without further conversation.
Estel climbs up to the top of the tower where the dwarves had slept and cleans away the last of the burnt furniture. For the first time, he looks up beyond the borders of the hidden valley, and wonders if his path will ever take him out there. He knows that someday he could join the Rangers, and keep watch over the North and West, but today the sun shines on the East in a way that looks new and interesting. The mountains do not call to him, but something does, and, someday, he will follow it.
+++
fin
Gravity_Not_Included, December 30, 2012.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2012-12-31 12:59 am (UTC)I was supposed to do things today! Instead I am flailing about the internet having an Unexpected Journey to Dwarf Feelings. :p
BABYYYYY HANGOVERRRRR.
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Date: 2012-12-31 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 07:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 03:39 pm (UTC):)
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Date: 2012-12-31 07:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 02:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 03:49 pm (UTC)LOL!!!
I just knew that this character was hanging about Rivendell during these scenes. ;)
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Date: 2012-12-31 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 04:07 pm (UTC)You have put a big, fat smile on my face this morning. Thank you! :D :D
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Date: 2012-12-31 04:18 pm (UTC)THEY ARE JUST SO CUTE. :)
Thank you, darling.
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Date: 2012-12-31 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 01:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 12:09 am (UTC)Absolutely delightful! :D
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Date: 2013-01-01 01:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 01:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 01:44 am (UTC)This line really made me giggle:
“It’s not so easy to tell their ages,” the dwarf called Bofur protests. “They’re all the wrong height and so on.”
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Date: 2013-01-01 01:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 04:06 am (UTC)Cheers!
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Date: 2013-01-01 02:11 pm (UTC)Those chairs! I noticed them all "Wait...they're just BREAKING STUFF? That's kind of rude!" but at the same time, it's a little bit funny.
Thank you!
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Date: 2013-01-01 04:21 pm (UTC)PJ Dwarf: Let's break stuff! And belch!
Tolkien Dwarf: Let's take this Second Age chair and enhance with with jewels for strength and beauty. Also some ale, please!
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Date: 2013-01-01 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 04:26 am (UTC)Loved it all. I giggled. Muchly. Thanks for writing! ;-)
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Date: 2013-01-01 02:12 pm (UTC)Thank you, darling.
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Date: 2013-01-01 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 02:13 pm (UTC)Anyway, I am very glad you liked it. Thank you for commenting!
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Date: 2013-01-01 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-03 03:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-02 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-03 03:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-03 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-03 03:03 pm (UTC)And yes, I didn't really have a direction until I got to the part about the sausage, but I love that scene so much.
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Date: 2013-01-03 11:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-03 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-03 01:23 pm (UTC)Things that make Gandalf laugh do not always have the same effect on Gilraen.
Truer words. :-)
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Date: 2013-01-03 03:04 pm (UTC)And yes. Wizards tend me be more understanding about some things than are mothers. :)
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Date: 2013-01-03 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-03 09:38 pm (UTC)Thanks for the review!
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Date: 2013-01-08 08:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 05:23 pm (UTC)