Happy Baggins Birthday!
Sep. 22nd, 2007 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
illwyndHappy Birthday to Bilbo and Frodo! Hope everybody had fun today!
To celebrate, I offer up a couple of double-drabbles written for the "Bilbo & Frodo's Birthday Masquerade" at BoG.
Another Night at the Prancing Pony
By illwynd
Disclaimer: not mine!
Rating: G
Things had just got back to normal in Bree after all the excitement a few weeks before, and the Prancing Pony was brimming with a particularly festive crowd because of it. Barliman, who seemed scattered at the best of times, was trying to keep up with greeting all his guests and seeing to their needs and filling their mugs, the many little things that kept his mind and his feet busy all the time. He listened with only half an ear to the talk and the singing.
One of the tunes, though, reminded him of the song Mr. Underhill had sung—the one that had ended in all the uproar—and he found himself trying to recall it. Something about a cat with a fiddle, was that right? As the night wore on, the song came back to him bit by bit, except for a few lines which still escaped him…
A loud crash from the back room brought him at a clip, and he arrived just in time to see an unbroken dish spinning to a halt among the shards on the floor, next to a silver Sunday spoon.
“Ah!” he snapped his fingers, laughing. “That’s what it was!”
Fiddlesticks
By illwynd
Disclaimer: not mine!
Rating: G
Jealously guarded for years, at the same time objects of bitterness and devotion, they sat in a wooden box in the cupboard. Carefully tended, and occasionally taken out and put on prominent display when company of the finest sort came by, but certainly not used by any but her.
Perhaps it was her age telling on her, or the recent events, but it all seemed quite silly now. Lobelia stirred her tea, took a sip, and looked again at the silver spoon.
Three days later, Lobelia smiled as her friends and relations chattered and ate all around her. She had not had so many guests for her birthday in many years—the crowd now was, one gathers, partly the result of her newfound popularity—and this meant that she had to give more presents than usual. Among the guests was a cousin of hers who had been dealt a poor hand by the recent events. The younger lady was still trying to remake something like a comfortable home after so much had been stolen by the ruffians, and Lobelia felt for her. She watched as her cousin opened the clinking package bound with cheerful green ribbon… and felt suddenly lighter.
To celebrate, I offer up a couple of double-drabbles written for the "Bilbo & Frodo's Birthday Masquerade" at BoG.
Another Night at the Prancing Pony
By illwynd
Disclaimer: not mine!
Rating: G
Things had just got back to normal in Bree after all the excitement a few weeks before, and the Prancing Pony was brimming with a particularly festive crowd because of it. Barliman, who seemed scattered at the best of times, was trying to keep up with greeting all his guests and seeing to their needs and filling their mugs, the many little things that kept his mind and his feet busy all the time. He listened with only half an ear to the talk and the singing.
One of the tunes, though, reminded him of the song Mr. Underhill had sung—the one that had ended in all the uproar—and he found himself trying to recall it. Something about a cat with a fiddle, was that right? As the night wore on, the song came back to him bit by bit, except for a few lines which still escaped him…
A loud crash from the back room brought him at a clip, and he arrived just in time to see an unbroken dish spinning to a halt among the shards on the floor, next to a silver Sunday spoon.
“Ah!” he snapped his fingers, laughing. “That’s what it was!”
Fiddlesticks
By illwynd
Disclaimer: not mine!
Rating: G
Jealously guarded for years, at the same time objects of bitterness and devotion, they sat in a wooden box in the cupboard. Carefully tended, and occasionally taken out and put on prominent display when company of the finest sort came by, but certainly not used by any but her.
Perhaps it was her age telling on her, or the recent events, but it all seemed quite silly now. Lobelia stirred her tea, took a sip, and looked again at the silver spoon.
Three days later, Lobelia smiled as her friends and relations chattered and ate all around her. She had not had so many guests for her birthday in many years—the crowd now was, one gathers, partly the result of her newfound popularity—and this meant that she had to give more presents than usual. Among the guests was a cousin of hers who had been dealt a poor hand by the recent events. The younger lady was still trying to remake something like a comfortable home after so much had been stolen by the ruffians, and Lobelia felt for her. She watched as her cousin opened the clinking package bound with cheerful green ribbon… and felt suddenly lighter.
