Bergil's story
Dec. 22nd, 2004 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanNot much tonight, because I'm still staring at my computer with my eyebrows trying to climb up my head. You know, there are stories which are WIPS -- actual stories with identifiable senses of plot, that are only waiting for the author to flesh out the bones and elaborate the details.
And then there are bunny chases. And sometimes the bunnies hop sideways...
part one (There are links at the end of each section.)
He didn’t know how long he stood there, clutching the cloth so hard his fingers ached, fighting down the trembling. There was nothing left to fear! Everyone said so. Now that the King had come, the enemies of Gondor were vanquished, the shadows were made safe, the darkness filled with peace. That’s what the songs said. Only a coward would still be afraid. And he couldn’t be a coward. He didn’t dare…
The sound of the outer door opening startled him out of his reverie, and he dove for the hearth without thinking. Master Tollovand would beat him if he was found standing witless in the perians’ bedchamber. Hastily he began to mend the fire, laying kindling across the last few embers and kneeling to blow the sparks that alit on the ragged edges of the wood into flames. He’d just enough fire to begin placing the coals when the light from the doorway changed.
“Pippin?” At the word he jumped -- that voice he had not expected -- and scrambled to his feet, bowing to the King as deeply as he could.
“No, my lord, I mean, King Elessar,” he stammered, not daring to look up too far. “Just the errand boy.” He gestured at the hearth nervously. “I thought… I was going to heat some water. For washing, and for tea at first breakfast.”
“I see the hobbits have not been long in teaching you their ways,” the king said, speaking so soft that Bergil blushed for forgetting to do the same. But there was no anger in his voice and Bergil dared to peek a little higher.
The king was dressed in black and silver, and in his arms he bore a silver tray, with bread and pots for jam and butter, as well as a silver teapot and an ewer that must hold milk. Behind him one of the sons of Elrond carried another tray, with cups and plates and spoons. Bergil watched in amazement as the two came cat-footed into the chamber and placed their burdens on the table. The Lord Steward had never done anything like that, not that Bergil had ever heard.
Without discussion they laid out the table, and then the King came toward the Ringbearer’s bed, and reached for the edge of the curtain. Bergil’s astonishment was washed away in a moment of bright fear. “Oh, please don’t wake him,” he said, before he could stop himself. The King stopped and looked at Bergil, asking a question with his eyebrows. Bergil licked dry lips and wished he were somewhere else. “He had a headache,” he explained, hoping that the King wouldn’t keep the Ringbearer in bed for a week because Bergil had told on him. “In the night. From too much wine.”
part sixteen
And then there are bunny chases. And sometimes the bunnies hop sideways...
part one (There are links at the end of each section.)
He didn’t know how long he stood there, clutching the cloth so hard his fingers ached, fighting down the trembling. There was nothing left to fear! Everyone said so. Now that the King had come, the enemies of Gondor were vanquished, the shadows were made safe, the darkness filled with peace. That’s what the songs said. Only a coward would still be afraid. And he couldn’t be a coward. He didn’t dare…
The sound of the outer door opening startled him out of his reverie, and he dove for the hearth without thinking. Master Tollovand would beat him if he was found standing witless in the perians’ bedchamber. Hastily he began to mend the fire, laying kindling across the last few embers and kneeling to blow the sparks that alit on the ragged edges of the wood into flames. He’d just enough fire to begin placing the coals when the light from the doorway changed.
“Pippin?” At the word he jumped -- that voice he had not expected -- and scrambled to his feet, bowing to the King as deeply as he could.
“No, my lord, I mean, King Elessar,” he stammered, not daring to look up too far. “Just the errand boy.” He gestured at the hearth nervously. “I thought… I was going to heat some water. For washing, and for tea at first breakfast.”
“I see the hobbits have not been long in teaching you their ways,” the king said, speaking so soft that Bergil blushed for forgetting to do the same. But there was no anger in his voice and Bergil dared to peek a little higher.
The king was dressed in black and silver, and in his arms he bore a silver tray, with bread and pots for jam and butter, as well as a silver teapot and an ewer that must hold milk. Behind him one of the sons of Elrond carried another tray, with cups and plates and spoons. Bergil watched in amazement as the two came cat-footed into the chamber and placed their burdens on the table. The Lord Steward had never done anything like that, not that Bergil had ever heard.
Without discussion they laid out the table, and then the King came toward the Ringbearer’s bed, and reached for the edge of the curtain. Bergil’s astonishment was washed away in a moment of bright fear. “Oh, please don’t wake him,” he said, before he could stop himself. The King stopped and looked at Bergil, asking a question with his eyebrows. Bergil licked dry lips and wished he were somewhere else. “He had a headache,” he explained, hoping that the King wouldn’t keep the Ringbearer in bed for a week because Bergil had told on him. “In the night. From too much wine.”
part sixteen
