Happy Anniversary
Mar. 17th, 2005 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanIn honor of my lj anniversary, I'm going to attempt to pick up the thread of my Bergil story:
It starts here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/rabidsamfan/102626.html
And the last bit was here: http://www.livejournal.com/~rabidsamfan/125732.html
There are links taking you from bit to bit throughout.
*******
"I'll have it ready in two shakes, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered sleepily, fumbling open the bedcurtains and searching for the floor with one foot while his eyes were still closed and his head was still on the pillow. The fever rag that Bergil had set on his forehead had gone askew, slipping down the side of his face as it dried and lodging in the neck of his nightshirt like a fancy scarf.
Bergil fought down his laughter, at least until Mithrandir and Frodo gave up on fighting their own, and Sam sat up and opened his eyes, bestowing a look upon them that was somewhere between a glare for their laughter and an apology for lying abed. "Now, Mr. Frodo," he said, "if you was wanting your bath you should ha' wakened me sooner."
"No need," Frodo laughed. "Young Bergil here had the water ready when I opened my eyes. I turfed Pippin out so I could wash, but there's no time for you before breakfast. Can't you smell it cooking?"
Sam sniffed the air and brightened, "I can at that," he said, pushing aside the blankets to get out of bed. "Is that Mr. Merry cooking? Do you suppose he's made some of those cheese rolls we et in Crickhollow?"
Gandalf laughed, "No, Sam. Two of the ladies from the palace kitchens have come down to prepare our meal. We shall have to prevail upon Merry for cheese rolls on another occasion."
Sam, who had bent to retrieve the underbed crockery, straightened up at Gandalf's words and blushed as he retreated back onto the bed and closed the curtains for privacy.
"Bergil," Frodo tapped the bucket and the boy remembered that he was supposed to be rinsing the Ringbearer's hair.
"Yes, Mr. Frodo," He raised the bucket and poured carefully, trying to be sure that he got most of the soap off the dark curls. "Do you want another bucketful?"
"This ought to do," Frodo said. "Please run and tell the cooks that I like my eggs soft boiled, and Sam likes his scrambled, with cheese."
"Yes, sir!" Bergil said. He started to turn, but his eye fell on one of the dark scars and he remembered that they hadn't done anything to keep them soft yet. "Don't forget the ointment, Mr. Frodo," he reminded Frodo and headed out.
As he was going through the door he heard Frodo saying to Mithrandir, "Even the lad! Honestly, Gandalf, I can take care of myself!"
But I'm supposed to take care of you, Bergil thought. What's wrong with that? I don't understand grownups.
It starts here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/rabidsamfan/102626.html
And the last bit was here: http://www.livejournal.com/~rabidsamfan/125732.html
There are links taking you from bit to bit throughout.
*******
"I'll have it ready in two shakes, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered sleepily, fumbling open the bedcurtains and searching for the floor with one foot while his eyes were still closed and his head was still on the pillow. The fever rag that Bergil had set on his forehead had gone askew, slipping down the side of his face as it dried and lodging in the neck of his nightshirt like a fancy scarf.
Bergil fought down his laughter, at least until Mithrandir and Frodo gave up on fighting their own, and Sam sat up and opened his eyes, bestowing a look upon them that was somewhere between a glare for their laughter and an apology for lying abed. "Now, Mr. Frodo," he said, "if you was wanting your bath you should ha' wakened me sooner."
"No need," Frodo laughed. "Young Bergil here had the water ready when I opened my eyes. I turfed Pippin out so I could wash, but there's no time for you before breakfast. Can't you smell it cooking?"
Sam sniffed the air and brightened, "I can at that," he said, pushing aside the blankets to get out of bed. "Is that Mr. Merry cooking? Do you suppose he's made some of those cheese rolls we et in Crickhollow?"
Gandalf laughed, "No, Sam. Two of the ladies from the palace kitchens have come down to prepare our meal. We shall have to prevail upon Merry for cheese rolls on another occasion."
Sam, who had bent to retrieve the underbed crockery, straightened up at Gandalf's words and blushed as he retreated back onto the bed and closed the curtains for privacy.
"Bergil," Frodo tapped the bucket and the boy remembered that he was supposed to be rinsing the Ringbearer's hair.
"Yes, Mr. Frodo," He raised the bucket and poured carefully, trying to be sure that he got most of the soap off the dark curls. "Do you want another bucketful?"
"This ought to do," Frodo said. "Please run and tell the cooks that I like my eggs soft boiled, and Sam likes his scrambled, with cheese."
"Yes, sir!" Bergil said. He started to turn, but his eye fell on one of the dark scars and he remembered that they hadn't done anything to keep them soft yet. "Don't forget the ointment, Mr. Frodo," he reminded Frodo and headed out.
As he was going through the door he heard Frodo saying to Mithrandir, "Even the lad! Honestly, Gandalf, I can take care of myself!"
But I'm supposed to take care of you, Bergil thought. What's wrong with that? I don't understand grownups.
