Five More Days to Rivendell
Jul. 3rd, 2006 03:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanhttp://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/243852.html -- part one
http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/245239.html -- part two
http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/246353.html -- part three
http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/247905.html -- part four
Sam found himself smiling as he listened to Merry and Pippin talking theirselves out of being frightened. He was still frightened himself, of course, but at least he knew where and when he was, and he was fair certain the same couldn’t be said of Strider. A hoof to the belly, Merry had said, though it looked as though the Man had taken most of the blow with his left arm instead of his gut. But it had knocked him hard into one of the trolls, and he’d hit a corner of his head on a knobbly bit. In Sam’s experience the blow to the head was as likely to be why Strider was throwing up as the hoof blow, but it wasn’t a good sign either way.
He managed to get Strider to loose his hold of Pippin, and tucked the large hand gently against the Man’s chest. “Easy, Strider,” he repeated, seeing as how the low-voiced talking seemed to be getting through the large ears. “Easy.” He unclasped his cloak and made a pad of it for a pillow before signalling Merry to help him lay Strider back again. There was a fading spark of consciousness there at least, for Strider resisted moving for a moment before giving way. Sam adjusted the cloak, trying to make the Ranger more comfortable looking, even though he’d have to move him again to bandage the head wound. Strider was moving his lips, whispering, and not any words that were like to be used in the Shire. Elvish or Sam was a Dwarf, and how did a Man come to speak Elvish even with a broken head? “Wisht I knew your real name,” Sam said as he stooped to take a better look at the bleeding. “You might hear me then.”
“Isn’t Strider his real name?” Pippin asked, still rubbing at his arm where the Man had gripped it.
“No,” Merry said, working his way around Strider to go to Pippin’s aid. “That’s just what they call him in Bree, at least that’s what the innkeeper said.”
“I didn’t hear him say that,” Pippin protested.
“You were up at the bar, getting a pint. And blabbing about Frodo being a Baggins… you remember that part, don’t you?” Merry sounded disgusted, but Sam could see that he was being very gentle about helping Pippin take his coat off.
Pippin blushed. “I’m not even sure who asked me,” he muttered, as he let Merry roll up the sleeve to reveal the bruises that were starting to blossom on his arm. “I just…” he shrugged, “I just seemed to hear the name ‘Baggins’.”
Sam frowned, and not just because he didn’t like the look of Strider’s head wound. “I heard it too,” he said. “Or thought I did.” He glanced over to Merry, who bit his lip and nodded -- so he’d heard the voice as well. Sam felt a surge of frustration, and had to stop and clench both fists to keep from letting the emotion make him handle Strider too roughly. “He had It in his hands, same as he did by the road when that first one was sniffing after us.”
“What? Who?” Pippin was confused, but Merry – who had some sense when he bothered to use it – was looking grim.
“Frodo,” he explained. “He was holding the Ring. Turning it in his fingers. And he had the oddest look on his face – almost as if he were listening for something.”
“Gandalf said It wants to be found,” Sam remembered. “I didn’t see how a ring could want anything, but I’m starting to reckon as he was right.” He shook his head fiercely, trying to clear the dread that lingered after the Nazgul’s attack. “But there’s nowt we can do about it. Not yet.” He tried to estimate the distance around Strider’s head. No hobbit handkerchief was going to do. But he thought perhaps that the piece of towelling he’d brought along might go so far.
Best to keep busy.
http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/245239.html -- part two
http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/246353.html -- part three
http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/247905.html -- part four
Sam found himself smiling as he listened to Merry and Pippin talking theirselves out of being frightened. He was still frightened himself, of course, but at least he knew where and when he was, and he was fair certain the same couldn’t be said of Strider. A hoof to the belly, Merry had said, though it looked as though the Man had taken most of the blow with his left arm instead of his gut. But it had knocked him hard into one of the trolls, and he’d hit a corner of his head on a knobbly bit. In Sam’s experience the blow to the head was as likely to be why Strider was throwing up as the hoof blow, but it wasn’t a good sign either way.
He managed to get Strider to loose his hold of Pippin, and tucked the large hand gently against the Man’s chest. “Easy, Strider,” he repeated, seeing as how the low-voiced talking seemed to be getting through the large ears. “Easy.” He unclasped his cloak and made a pad of it for a pillow before signalling Merry to help him lay Strider back again. There was a fading spark of consciousness there at least, for Strider resisted moving for a moment before giving way. Sam adjusted the cloak, trying to make the Ranger more comfortable looking, even though he’d have to move him again to bandage the head wound. Strider was moving his lips, whispering, and not any words that were like to be used in the Shire. Elvish or Sam was a Dwarf, and how did a Man come to speak Elvish even with a broken head? “Wisht I knew your real name,” Sam said as he stooped to take a better look at the bleeding. “You might hear me then.”
“Isn’t Strider his real name?” Pippin asked, still rubbing at his arm where the Man had gripped it.
“No,” Merry said, working his way around Strider to go to Pippin’s aid. “That’s just what they call him in Bree, at least that’s what the innkeeper said.”
“I didn’t hear him say that,” Pippin protested.
“You were up at the bar, getting a pint. And blabbing about Frodo being a Baggins… you remember that part, don’t you?” Merry sounded disgusted, but Sam could see that he was being very gentle about helping Pippin take his coat off.
Pippin blushed. “I’m not even sure who asked me,” he muttered, as he let Merry roll up the sleeve to reveal the bruises that were starting to blossom on his arm. “I just…” he shrugged, “I just seemed to hear the name ‘Baggins’.”
Sam frowned, and not just because he didn’t like the look of Strider’s head wound. “I heard it too,” he said. “Or thought I did.” He glanced over to Merry, who bit his lip and nodded -- so he’d heard the voice as well. Sam felt a surge of frustration, and had to stop and clench both fists to keep from letting the emotion make him handle Strider too roughly. “He had It in his hands, same as he did by the road when that first one was sniffing after us.”
“What? Who?” Pippin was confused, but Merry – who had some sense when he bothered to use it – was looking grim.
“Frodo,” he explained. “He was holding the Ring. Turning it in his fingers. And he had the oddest look on his face – almost as if he were listening for something.”
“Gandalf said It wants to be found,” Sam remembered. “I didn’t see how a ring could want anything, but I’m starting to reckon as he was right.” He shook his head fiercely, trying to clear the dread that lingered after the Nazgul’s attack. “But there’s nowt we can do about it. Not yet.” He tried to estimate the distance around Strider’s head. No hobbit handkerchief was going to do. But he thought perhaps that the piece of towelling he’d brought along might go so far.
Best to keep busy.
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 06:31 pm (UTC)“You were up at the bar, getting a pint. And blabbing about Frodo being a Baggins… you remember that part, don’t you?” Merry sounded disgusted, but Sam could see that he was being very gentle about helping Pippin take his coat off.
and
“What? Who?” Pippin was confused, but Merry – who had some sense when he bothered to use it – was looking grim.
(Just because. Also, I'm me, aren't I?)
I really am liking this story.