a schnibble tonight... it's been busy!
Dec. 13th, 2004 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanpart one (There are links at the end of each section.)
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
belegcuthalion for letting me borrow Mardil.
They hadn’t come back by the time Bergil had filled his lantern and lit it with a taper from the fire, so he examined some of the herbs and things that Mardil had left on the table, picking them up to sniff at carefully when he wasn’t sure of the names -- which was most of the time, but he was careful not to break any of the blossoms or leaves and to put everything back in the same place he’d found it. Only a few of the books were in plain language, and he’d only started studying Elvish last winter, but he could look at the pictures and whisper the names written underneath, even when he didn’t know what they meant. He couldn’t be a healer -- he wasn’t a girl, and everyone said he’d be as tall as his father someday, and they always needed the strongest men to be in the guard unless they were blacksmiths or something like that -- but he liked Mardil’s room anyway. He wished he could have his lessons here. Listening to the Herbmaster was never boring the way that declining nouns was, or reciting the names of all the kings and stewards with a rap waiting for your knuckles if you missed one. Knowing which leaves to chew on when your stomach hurt was at least useful. And Mardil never minded explaining, at least not about plants, even if he forgot to send you to luncheon sometimes.
When Mardil and Sam came back in they each had a basket filled with packets, and Mardil was going on at length about adjusting the strength of tisanes. Sam had an expression of polite interest, but Bergil thought the darkmoons under his eyes made him look tired -- and worried too. He must be thinking about his Mr. Frodo. And it was the middle of the night. Not the best time for explanations, even from Mardil. He went and got his lantern, and then took the basket from Mardil’s hands. “Thank you, Herbmaster,” he said, right into the middle of one of Mardil’s sentences. “If we need any more, we can come back in the morning.”
“Yes, thank you,” Sam said, jumping into the opening. “I’ll come along by day to see your garden, but right now I’d like to get this willow brewing.”
“Of course, of course,” Mardil said, as if he‘d never noticed the interruption. “And should you run into difficulties, send the boy and I‘ll come. Any time. Any time at all.” He bowed and went to the table, already muttering something about worts as he turned pages. Sam and Bergil ducked out the door and hurried down the corridor. When they reached the porch the giggles that Bergil was trying to keep in defeated him and he was glad that Sam felt like laughing too.
“Reminds me of old Mr. Bilbo when he was working out a translation,” Sam said, chuckling. “All them books laid out for looking through and I’ll bet he knows every word in every one.”
“Mardil knows more about plants than anyone in Gondor,” Bergil said loyally as he led the way across the lawns to the main gate of the gardens. “But he gets so interested he forgets to eat.”
“I can’t say Mr. Bilbo ever did that,” Sam said. “Many’s the time when I was a lad he’d tell me to put by my slate and set out the plates for second breakfast. ‘No use trying to think when your belly’s empty,’ he’d say.”
part eight
Thanks to
belegcuthalion for letting me borrow Mardil.They hadn’t come back by the time Bergil had filled his lantern and lit it with a taper from the fire, so he examined some of the herbs and things that Mardil had left on the table, picking them up to sniff at carefully when he wasn’t sure of the names -- which was most of the time, but he was careful not to break any of the blossoms or leaves and to put everything back in the same place he’d found it. Only a few of the books were in plain language, and he’d only started studying Elvish last winter, but he could look at the pictures and whisper the names written underneath, even when he didn’t know what they meant. He couldn’t be a healer -- he wasn’t a girl, and everyone said he’d be as tall as his father someday, and they always needed the strongest men to be in the guard unless they were blacksmiths or something like that -- but he liked Mardil’s room anyway. He wished he could have his lessons here. Listening to the Herbmaster was never boring the way that declining nouns was, or reciting the names of all the kings and stewards with a rap waiting for your knuckles if you missed one. Knowing which leaves to chew on when your stomach hurt was at least useful. And Mardil never minded explaining, at least not about plants, even if he forgot to send you to luncheon sometimes.
When Mardil and Sam came back in they each had a basket filled with packets, and Mardil was going on at length about adjusting the strength of tisanes. Sam had an expression of polite interest, but Bergil thought the darkmoons under his eyes made him look tired -- and worried too. He must be thinking about his Mr. Frodo. And it was the middle of the night. Not the best time for explanations, even from Mardil. He went and got his lantern, and then took the basket from Mardil’s hands. “Thank you, Herbmaster,” he said, right into the middle of one of Mardil’s sentences. “If we need any more, we can come back in the morning.”
“Yes, thank you,” Sam said, jumping into the opening. “I’ll come along by day to see your garden, but right now I’d like to get this willow brewing.”
“Of course, of course,” Mardil said, as if he‘d never noticed the interruption. “And should you run into difficulties, send the boy and I‘ll come. Any time. Any time at all.” He bowed and went to the table, already muttering something about worts as he turned pages. Sam and Bergil ducked out the door and hurried down the corridor. When they reached the porch the giggles that Bergil was trying to keep in defeated him and he was glad that Sam felt like laughing too.
“Reminds me of old Mr. Bilbo when he was working out a translation,” Sam said, chuckling. “All them books laid out for looking through and I’ll bet he knows every word in every one.”
“Mardil knows more about plants than anyone in Gondor,” Bergil said loyally as he led the way across the lawns to the main gate of the gardens. “But he gets so interested he forgets to eat.”
“I can’t say Mr. Bilbo ever did that,” Sam said. “Many’s the time when I was a lad he’d tell me to put by my slate and set out the plates for second breakfast. ‘No use trying to think when your belly’s empty,’ he’d say.”
part eight
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-14 05:42 am (UTC)“I can’t say Mr. Bilbo ever did that,” Sam said. “Many’s the time when I was a lad he’d tell me to put by my slate and set out the plates for second breakfast. ‘No use trying to think when your belly’s empty,’ he’d say.”
*applauds with a huge grin on her face*
You know that I'm collecting all those "schnibbles" to translate them as soon as this is finished, don't you?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 06:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-14 09:12 am (UTC)Hee! I'm SO loving Bergil's perspective here. I'm most exceedingly happy that you're continuing with this!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 06:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-14 10:40 am (UTC)“I can’t say Mr. Bilbo ever did that,” Sam said. “Many’s the time when I was a lad he’d tell me to put by my slate and set out the plates for second breakfast. ‘No use trying to think when your belly’s empty,’ he’d say.”
*chuckle* And there you have it in a nutshell, folks, the essential difference between Hobbits and Men!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 06:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-14 02:13 pm (UTC)Hee! Just wait until King Elessar gets things set to order. Lovely!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 06:31 am (UTC)Yet... (is that a possible plot bunny? hmmmm.)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-14 02:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 06:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 12:52 am (UTC)He couldn’t be a healer -- he wasn’t a girl, and everyone said he’d be as tall as his father someday, and they always needed the strongest men to be in the guard unless they were blacksmiths or something like that -- but he liked Mardil’s room anyway. He wished he could have his lessons here. Listening to the Herbmaster was never boring the way that declining nouns was, or reciting the names of all the kings and stewards with a rap waiting for your knuckles if you missed one.
Oh, this made my heart ache. . . . Poor kid. :(
“Yes, thank you,” Sam said, jumping into the opening. “I’ll come along by day to see your garden, but right now I’d like to get this willow brewing.”
I'll bet! Poor Mr. Frodo needs it, you know. . . . :D
“Of course, of course,” Mardil said, as if he‘d never noticed the interruption. “And should you run into difficulties, send the boy and I‘ll come. Any time. Any time at all.”
However, poor Frodo might die from having his ears talked off. . . . ;D
MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE *BEGS BEGS BEGS*
Love,
Febobe :)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 06:32 am (UTC);D
*goes to bed now*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-26 01:37 pm (UTC)“Reminds me of old Mr. Bilbo when he was working out a translation,” Sam said, chuckling. “All them books laid out for looking through and I’ll bet he knows every word in every one.”
Exactly what I was thinking!
:)