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rabidsamfanA snippet of "The Errand Lad" for you.
He looked up, expecting to see Sam and Frodo back from breakfast, but it was his father standing in the doorway.
It wasn't until after he'd flung himself at his father that Bergil remembered that Beregond's wounds were tender, and he loosened his hold reluctantly and stepped back, looking up into his father's grey eyes. "Are you all right?" they asked each other, and Bergil felt himself smiling at the unexpected chorus.
Beregond ruffled his hair with a gentle hand. "Ansell tells me you have been given the honor of guiding the Ringbearers."
"Yes, Father," Bergil said, "The king asked me to stay with them, and I thought I should." He straightened up, to look taller. "He said I have good eyes."
"Good eyes, but damp," Beregond said, offering a handkerchief. "What troubles you?"
Bergil made himself busy with the handkerchief as he asnwered. "It is an honor to guide the Ringbearers, but I would rather be with you." He studied his toes, uncertain. "I'm sorry the house wasn't very clean."
Beregond patted his shoulder. "You have had other duties," he said, excusing Bergil's lapse. "As do I."
"You do?" Bergil looked up eagerly. "Are you in the Guard again?"
A shadow passed over his father's face, answering Bergil without words. Beregond shook his head. "Nay, I could not take up my post in any case until I am healed. Still I am summoned to the Citadel this day."
Belatedly, Bergil realized that his father was wearing his best tunic, the one that Grandfather had given him for festivals when they visited Lossarnach, and that it had a wet blotch in the middle of it, right at his own eye level. "To see the King?" he asked, using the handkerchief to try to dry the tearstain.
"I go to the Steward, for now. I have much to tell him."
Bergil relaxed. "Oh, I understand. Pippin... Sir Pippin, I mean, he said that you had to tell Lord Faramir what happened. That won't take very long. When he comes to fetch me at noon we can all go and find something to eat together."
He smiled at his father, but Beregond was still somber. "Perhaps," he said, without hope. "But if I cannot come to you, you must go to your Uncle Iorlas, and he will see to you. Do you promise?"
Bergil felt a chill, the merest ghost of the cold of a Nazgul's presence, but one that made his knees want to knock together nonetheless. "What would keep you from coming?" he asked in a small voice.
Beregond stood a little straighter. "My duty," he said, and now he smiled at his son. "Nothing else could keep me from you."
Bergil could think of several ways his father might be prevented from ever coming again, but he recognized the answer as the truth he had accepted ever since he was three years of age. He straightened too, "And if I'm late coming," he said, "it's because of my duty to the Ringbearers. So you should go home and rest, instead of cleaning without me."
That was the right thing to say, because his father laughed and hugged him hard. "And so I shall, young sir, if it comes to that. Not a speck of dust shall I disturb until you come to help me."
and another snippet
He looked up, expecting to see Sam and Frodo back from breakfast, but it was his father standing in the doorway.
It wasn't until after he'd flung himself at his father that Bergil remembered that Beregond's wounds were tender, and he loosened his hold reluctantly and stepped back, looking up into his father's grey eyes. "Are you all right?" they asked each other, and Bergil felt himself smiling at the unexpected chorus.
Beregond ruffled his hair with a gentle hand. "Ansell tells me you have been given the honor of guiding the Ringbearers."
"Yes, Father," Bergil said, "The king asked me to stay with them, and I thought I should." He straightened up, to look taller. "He said I have good eyes."
"Good eyes, but damp," Beregond said, offering a handkerchief. "What troubles you?"
Bergil made himself busy with the handkerchief as he asnwered. "It is an honor to guide the Ringbearers, but I would rather be with you." He studied his toes, uncertain. "I'm sorry the house wasn't very clean."
Beregond patted his shoulder. "You have had other duties," he said, excusing Bergil's lapse. "As do I."
"You do?" Bergil looked up eagerly. "Are you in the Guard again?"
A shadow passed over his father's face, answering Bergil without words. Beregond shook his head. "Nay, I could not take up my post in any case until I am healed. Still I am summoned to the Citadel this day."
Belatedly, Bergil realized that his father was wearing his best tunic, the one that Grandfather had given him for festivals when they visited Lossarnach, and that it had a wet blotch in the middle of it, right at his own eye level. "To see the King?" he asked, using the handkerchief to try to dry the tearstain.
"I go to the Steward, for now. I have much to tell him."
Bergil relaxed. "Oh, I understand. Pippin... Sir Pippin, I mean, he said that you had to tell Lord Faramir what happened. That won't take very long. When he comes to fetch me at noon we can all go and find something to eat together."
He smiled at his father, but Beregond was still somber. "Perhaps," he said, without hope. "But if I cannot come to you, you must go to your Uncle Iorlas, and he will see to you. Do you promise?"
Bergil felt a chill, the merest ghost of the cold of a Nazgul's presence, but one that made his knees want to knock together nonetheless. "What would keep you from coming?" he asked in a small voice.
Beregond stood a little straighter. "My duty," he said, and now he smiled at his son. "Nothing else could keep me from you."
Bergil could think of several ways his father might be prevented from ever coming again, but he recognized the answer as the truth he had accepted ever since he was three years of age. He straightened too, "And if I'm late coming," he said, "it's because of my duty to the Ringbearers. So you should go home and rest, instead of cleaning without me."
That was the right thing to say, because his father laughed and hugged him hard. "And so I shall, young sir, if it comes to that. Not a speck of dust shall I disturb until you come to help me."
and another snippet
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 03:57 am (UTC)I hope that more comes soon!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 04:06 am (UTC)You just take my heart with this. . . .
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 06:11 am (UTC)And to think I nearly didn't check LJ tonight.
Just got back from two days camping in the rain and sleeping on the ground and all that good stuff and am really looking forward to a pillow and a REAL BED and sleeping all night through and all...
But to sign on and find, not only Bergil, but BEREGOND, and possibly on the way to his hearing with the King (though you left it a little ambiguous, or did you?)... and the heart-wrenching bit, and...
Well, am speechless.
But well done. Well done indeed. So glad you got back to this. Hope the writing continues to go so well as this. (Yikes! If this was forced, and every word a drop of blood, I apologise for the glibness!)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 06:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 06:34 am (UTC)*dances*
Bergil's back! Bergil's back!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 09:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 11:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 11:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 12:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 05:00 pm (UTC)jodancingtree
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 10:49 pm (UTC)I love the little details you put in... Bergil belatedly remembering his father's tender wounds, them saying the same words at the same time, Bergil brushing the tear-dampened spot on his father's "new tunic" with the handkerchief.
And the little heart-twists you throw in, such as "without hope" and "Do you promise?" and the "merest ghost of the cold of a Nazgul's presence"--I can certainly believe it makes his knees want to knock together, poor lad. And of course he could think of several answers...
And Beregond's final statement is truthful, no matter what is about to happen, I suppose.
Ah, my heart is in my throat, even though I know the outcome.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-11 11:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-14 06:54 pm (UTC)Lovely.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-15 05:25 am (UTC)Thank you so much for this!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-19 03:46 am (UTC)