and so it begins...
May. 12th, 2005 02:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaydeefalls
The Jewels of the Sea, part 1/?
a Fourth Age hobbit fic
by kaydee falls
In a tower by the sea, there lived a hobbit.
If you had told him that hobbits were meant to live in holes in the ground, he would have laughed derisively and said, "Well, that's all well and good for the rustic folk back in Hobbiton, but this is the Westmarch." He would then have gone on to tell you at length about the history of his family, the estimable Fairbairns of the Towers, and precisely how it came about that such earthy folk as hobbits were living in towers a good ten times their own modest heights. "We look out to Sea," he would finish simply. If pressed to explain further, he would just shake his head obstinately and reply, "That's how it's always been."
He would be mistaken in this, for there is no such thing as "always," and every tradition has its roots somewhere in the distant past. But as far as this hobbit knows, the Sea has played an integral role in his family for untold generations – although they only look at it from afar, and rarely visit its shores themselves.
This particularly stubborn specimen of the Little People was called Tom. He was proud of his name; it was a good, solid, hobbity sort of name, short for Tolman, which was a name that had always been in his family – inasmuch as there exists any sort of "always" in hobbit genealogy. Tom thought quite highly of himself, being of such good family, and carried himself with the sort of confident swagger quite common among hobbits who have only recently come of age and feel that they now know all there is to know.
The tower in which Tom lived was by far the tallest and grandest in all of the Westmarch, and, indeed, in all the Shire – which wasn't difficult, as most hobbits in the non-Westmarch bits of the Shire (that is, the vast majority of the Shire) still maintained the quaint tradition of living in holes in the ground. Hobbits who claimed to know such things declared it was even taller and grander than the mythic tower at Isengard, although the handful of scholarly hobbits who really did know such things said that was ridiculous. This often led to minor skirmishes among the rival factions of tweens, especially when the victors might argue the losers right out of a supper. But at any rate, it was quite a tall and grand tower by hobbit standards, and as non-hobbit visitors to the Shire were rare, that was all that mattered.
Tom lived in this tower because his uncle Holfast was the Warden of Westmarch, and therefore Holfast's son Ayer (who was much of an age with Tom) was his cousin. This is important to our tale because without Ayer, the whole journey and all that followed would never have happened.
It began with Ayer bursting into Tom's rooms one unimportant spring morning with this rather odd announcement: "I've built a boat."
Or rather, it would have been an odd announcement from most hobbits, but decidedly less so for Ayer. When Tom thought of it, he was rather surprised that it had taken Ayer this long. After all, Ayer had learned to swim at some point just after he'd mastered walking and somewhat before he'd managed talking in full sentences. While the hobbits of the Westmarch were no strangers to water – the Lune River, only a few days' journey from the Tower Hills, was a popular holiday spot – such an affinity for it was still unusual, and it was not considered to be entirely fitting that the next Warden should spend so much of his time splashing about in streams.
The general consensus was that it was all Ayer's mother's fault.
She had been a queer, scholarly sort of hobbit who enjoyed spending days on end locked in her library, poring over old books and scrolls. Some muttered that she'd only married Holfast to get her hands on the Red Book. She'd had a special fondness for tales of the elves, a mythical race whose presence in Middle-Earth was little more than ancient memory. When her son was born, she'd obstinately insisted on giving him an elf name and, after much dithering, settled on Earendil. "With the Sea so close, it's only fitting," she'd maintained, though few understood the connection between the Sea and that outlandish name.
When she died a year after her son's birth, Holfast decided that Earendil was far too lofty a name for any hobbit to bear, and promptly shortened it to Ayer. The nickname stuck; it was a queer name, but simple enough to be proper. But the damage was done: Ayer had clearly inherited his namesake's love of water. As soon as his nurse's back was turned, he'd toddled straight to the river.
And now, he had built a boat.
"A boat?" Tom said. "Well, that's no great feat. People build little boats all the time nowadays, to trade with the Men of the North. And over in Buckland, they've got all manner of ferries and dinghies."
"Not a river boat," Ayer said mildly. He crossed the room to gaze out the round window on the far wall. "Tom," he said, leaning against the window frame with a wistful sort of air, "do you ever wonder why all our towers look out to Sea?"
"I don't wonder; I know," Tom said promptly. "It's what we've always done."
Ayer shook his head. "But when did we start? Hobbits have only been living in the Westmarch since the beginning of the Fourth Age – our own Age, Tom. Historically speaking, that was not so long ago. So why look out to Sea? Hobbits are hardly predisposed toward water."
"Well, it's practical," Tom suggested. "You can see a storm blowing in from miles away."
"True," Ayer agreed. "And it certainly is a lovely view." He gazed out over the long valley to the vast stretch of blue-green-silver glittering on the horizon.
He was silent for a time, looking out to Sea. Finally, Tom spoke. "What do you believe, then?" he asked. "I know that look; this is no idle speculation. You've a thought or two on the matter, I can tell. Well, out with it!"
Ayer smiled. "And you should know! I certainly spent enough time in your poor company when we were tweens, though I see you but rarely these days. Yes, I've my own theory."
"Well?" Tom prompted.
"I found some of my mother's old books of notes," Ayer said. "She wrote that Elanor the Fair instructed that the towers should be built to look out to Sea. Elanor loved the elves, you see, and she feared nothing more than their passing. She longed always to keep watch on the Sea, so that she might glimpse the elven ships leaving Middle-Earth. Her own private farewell, you might say."
"That's a pretty tale, and a sad one," Tom said. "And I hope she said enough farewells for the rest of us; for the elves are gone, and no mortal man or hobbit shall ever see them again."
"So it is said," Ayer murmured, as though to himself. He straightened abruptly and strode towards the door. "Come, Tom. Ride with me."
*
They hitched up two of the Warden's ponies and set off northwest. Ayer set the course; in their childhood adventures, he had always played the leader, and it felt only natural for Tom to follow him now.
For the most part, they rode in companionable silence. Once, Tom did ask where they were going. "Can you not guess?" was Ayer's only response, and Tom did not ask again.
Lost in thought and taking little notice of their surroundings, they were nearly there before Tom recognized the road they were taking. "Baggins Crossing!" he exclaimed. "So that's where we're headed! Ayer, what's to see there? It's little more than ruins."
Ayer smiled. "You know the old joke? About the last ferry?"
"Of course," Tom said. "'Go to Baggins Crossing, but don't look for Baggins Ferry; it takes you away but never returns.'"
"Yes," Ayer said. "But there shall be a ferry again."
Dusk had fallen by the time they reached their destination. They tethered the ponies to a tree by the great gates of Mithlond. These gates would stand open until the end of time: they had rusted in place, and no man or beast could budge them. Not that any would care to try. There was nothing beyond them worth guarding – just the decaying ruins of walls and towers, and an abandoned harbor. Hobbits called it Baggins Crossing; once, many generations ago, it had been called the Grey Havens, but few remembered the old names anymore.
Tom shivered a little as they passed through the gates. Twilight lent the place a ghostly sort of air; Tom fancied he could make out shadowy figures moving along the walls and down to the quay. When he blinked, the visions vanished. He pulled his cloak close about himself and hurried along after Ayer.
Ayer glanced back and saw the state his cousin was in. He laughed. "Don't worry, Tom, moonrise will soon be upon us."
Sure enough, as they descended the stairs to the harbor, the moon just barely crept up above the walls of Mithlond. Silver light spilled over the walls, bathing the Havens with its gentle glow. Tom looked down at the water and gasped; there was a ship waiting for them.
It was like something out of a dream, or the pages of a book. It was all crafted out of dark, rich wood, so polished that it gleamed in the moonlight. The prow was curved like the neck of a swan, regal and elegant. The sails shone white as with the light of mythical jewels, as though they had once glimpsed a Silmaril and still glittered with the memory. The likes of this ship had not been seen by hobbits since Frodo of the Ring passed over the Sea.
"You see, Tom?" Ayer said softly. "I told you I had built a boat."
on to part 2
This is being written for a course on Tolkien, for which I will be graded, and therefore would greatly appreciate feedback of any kind...
a Fourth Age hobbit fic
by kaydee falls
In a tower by the sea, there lived a hobbit.
If you had told him that hobbits were meant to live in holes in the ground, he would have laughed derisively and said, "Well, that's all well and good for the rustic folk back in Hobbiton, but this is the Westmarch." He would then have gone on to tell you at length about the history of his family, the estimable Fairbairns of the Towers, and precisely how it came about that such earthy folk as hobbits were living in towers a good ten times their own modest heights. "We look out to Sea," he would finish simply. If pressed to explain further, he would just shake his head obstinately and reply, "That's how it's always been."
He would be mistaken in this, for there is no such thing as "always," and every tradition has its roots somewhere in the distant past. But as far as this hobbit knows, the Sea has played an integral role in his family for untold generations – although they only look at it from afar, and rarely visit its shores themselves.
This particularly stubborn specimen of the Little People was called Tom. He was proud of his name; it was a good, solid, hobbity sort of name, short for Tolman, which was a name that had always been in his family – inasmuch as there exists any sort of "always" in hobbit genealogy. Tom thought quite highly of himself, being of such good family, and carried himself with the sort of confident swagger quite common among hobbits who have only recently come of age and feel that they now know all there is to know.
The tower in which Tom lived was by far the tallest and grandest in all of the Westmarch, and, indeed, in all the Shire – which wasn't difficult, as most hobbits in the non-Westmarch bits of the Shire (that is, the vast majority of the Shire) still maintained the quaint tradition of living in holes in the ground. Hobbits who claimed to know such things declared it was even taller and grander than the mythic tower at Isengard, although the handful of scholarly hobbits who really did know such things said that was ridiculous. This often led to minor skirmishes among the rival factions of tweens, especially when the victors might argue the losers right out of a supper. But at any rate, it was quite a tall and grand tower by hobbit standards, and as non-hobbit visitors to the Shire were rare, that was all that mattered.
Tom lived in this tower because his uncle Holfast was the Warden of Westmarch, and therefore Holfast's son Ayer (who was much of an age with Tom) was his cousin. This is important to our tale because without Ayer, the whole journey and all that followed would never have happened.
It began with Ayer bursting into Tom's rooms one unimportant spring morning with this rather odd announcement: "I've built a boat."
Or rather, it would have been an odd announcement from most hobbits, but decidedly less so for Ayer. When Tom thought of it, he was rather surprised that it had taken Ayer this long. After all, Ayer had learned to swim at some point just after he'd mastered walking and somewhat before he'd managed talking in full sentences. While the hobbits of the Westmarch were no strangers to water – the Lune River, only a few days' journey from the Tower Hills, was a popular holiday spot – such an affinity for it was still unusual, and it was not considered to be entirely fitting that the next Warden should spend so much of his time splashing about in streams.
The general consensus was that it was all Ayer's mother's fault.
She had been a queer, scholarly sort of hobbit who enjoyed spending days on end locked in her library, poring over old books and scrolls. Some muttered that she'd only married Holfast to get her hands on the Red Book. She'd had a special fondness for tales of the elves, a mythical race whose presence in Middle-Earth was little more than ancient memory. When her son was born, she'd obstinately insisted on giving him an elf name and, after much dithering, settled on Earendil. "With the Sea so close, it's only fitting," she'd maintained, though few understood the connection between the Sea and that outlandish name.
When she died a year after her son's birth, Holfast decided that Earendil was far too lofty a name for any hobbit to bear, and promptly shortened it to Ayer. The nickname stuck; it was a queer name, but simple enough to be proper. But the damage was done: Ayer had clearly inherited his namesake's love of water. As soon as his nurse's back was turned, he'd toddled straight to the river.
And now, he had built a boat.
"A boat?" Tom said. "Well, that's no great feat. People build little boats all the time nowadays, to trade with the Men of the North. And over in Buckland, they've got all manner of ferries and dinghies."
"Not a river boat," Ayer said mildly. He crossed the room to gaze out the round window on the far wall. "Tom," he said, leaning against the window frame with a wistful sort of air, "do you ever wonder why all our towers look out to Sea?"
"I don't wonder; I know," Tom said promptly. "It's what we've always done."
Ayer shook his head. "But when did we start? Hobbits have only been living in the Westmarch since the beginning of the Fourth Age – our own Age, Tom. Historically speaking, that was not so long ago. So why look out to Sea? Hobbits are hardly predisposed toward water."
"Well, it's practical," Tom suggested. "You can see a storm blowing in from miles away."
"True," Ayer agreed. "And it certainly is a lovely view." He gazed out over the long valley to the vast stretch of blue-green-silver glittering on the horizon.
He was silent for a time, looking out to Sea. Finally, Tom spoke. "What do you believe, then?" he asked. "I know that look; this is no idle speculation. You've a thought or two on the matter, I can tell. Well, out with it!"
Ayer smiled. "And you should know! I certainly spent enough time in your poor company when we were tweens, though I see you but rarely these days. Yes, I've my own theory."
"Well?" Tom prompted.
"I found some of my mother's old books of notes," Ayer said. "She wrote that Elanor the Fair instructed that the towers should be built to look out to Sea. Elanor loved the elves, you see, and she feared nothing more than their passing. She longed always to keep watch on the Sea, so that she might glimpse the elven ships leaving Middle-Earth. Her own private farewell, you might say."
"That's a pretty tale, and a sad one," Tom said. "And I hope she said enough farewells for the rest of us; for the elves are gone, and no mortal man or hobbit shall ever see them again."
"So it is said," Ayer murmured, as though to himself. He straightened abruptly and strode towards the door. "Come, Tom. Ride with me."
They hitched up two of the Warden's ponies and set off northwest. Ayer set the course; in their childhood adventures, he had always played the leader, and it felt only natural for Tom to follow him now.
For the most part, they rode in companionable silence. Once, Tom did ask where they were going. "Can you not guess?" was Ayer's only response, and Tom did not ask again.
Lost in thought and taking little notice of their surroundings, they were nearly there before Tom recognized the road they were taking. "Baggins Crossing!" he exclaimed. "So that's where we're headed! Ayer, what's to see there? It's little more than ruins."
Ayer smiled. "You know the old joke? About the last ferry?"
"Of course," Tom said. "'Go to Baggins Crossing, but don't look for Baggins Ferry; it takes you away but never returns.'"
"Yes," Ayer said. "But there shall be a ferry again."
Dusk had fallen by the time they reached their destination. They tethered the ponies to a tree by the great gates of Mithlond. These gates would stand open until the end of time: they had rusted in place, and no man or beast could budge them. Not that any would care to try. There was nothing beyond them worth guarding – just the decaying ruins of walls and towers, and an abandoned harbor. Hobbits called it Baggins Crossing; once, many generations ago, it had been called the Grey Havens, but few remembered the old names anymore.
Tom shivered a little as they passed through the gates. Twilight lent the place a ghostly sort of air; Tom fancied he could make out shadowy figures moving along the walls and down to the quay. When he blinked, the visions vanished. He pulled his cloak close about himself and hurried along after Ayer.
Ayer glanced back and saw the state his cousin was in. He laughed. "Don't worry, Tom, moonrise will soon be upon us."
Sure enough, as they descended the stairs to the harbor, the moon just barely crept up above the walls of Mithlond. Silver light spilled over the walls, bathing the Havens with its gentle glow. Tom looked down at the water and gasped; there was a ship waiting for them.
It was like something out of a dream, or the pages of a book. It was all crafted out of dark, rich wood, so polished that it gleamed in the moonlight. The prow was curved like the neck of a swan, regal and elegant. The sails shone white as with the light of mythical jewels, as though they had once glimpsed a Silmaril and still glittered with the memory. The likes of this ship had not been seen by hobbits since Frodo of the Ring passed over the Sea.
"You see, Tom?" Ayer said softly. "I told you I had built a boat."
on to part 2
This is being written for a course on Tolkien, for which I will be graded, and therefore would greatly appreciate feedback of any kind...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-05-12 01:06 pm (UTC)Oh, you evil, evil person. I love this! How long does it have to be for the class?
no subject
Date: 2005-05-12 03:45 pm (UTC)There's no length requirement, although I'll have to write a 5-7 page paper accompanying it. I have a very clear idea of where the story is going, but I don't know how long it'll take to get there.
Thankee. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-12 01:41 pm (UTC)One question (because I'm too lazy to go try to look up the canon): Did Elanor have the towers built, or were they already there? Were the "White Towers" that Frodo mentions in the film (which is NOT necessarily canon) something different?
no subject
Date: 2005-05-12 03:50 pm (UTC)I actually don't know when the towers were built. Geographically, the region is known as the Tower Hills, or sometimes just the Towers, so there were almost certainly towers there before the hobbits ever got to them. But those towers may well have fallen into ruin by the Third Age, or remained only in the memories of the elves. In either case, it doesn't matter for the purposes of this story, which takes place several hundred years into the Fourth Age. Ayer's theory is based on his mother's scholarship, which may have only been fanciful speculation on her part. It was probably just a legend, with little connection to reality. I just think it makes a good story. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-12 01:51 pm (UTC)Baggins Crossing is just -- perfect. Of course that's what it would end up being called...
no subject
Date: 2005-05-12 03:53 pm (UTC)I'm having a lot of fun with "changing" things, trying to figure out how stories and names would have developed over several hundred years. Even hobbits, who like to think of themselves as rather constant and resistant to change, would evolve a little. And they certainly would have changed all those queer elvish names to something more...hobbity!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-12 09:13 pm (UTC)One clause struck me as odd: the Lune River, only a few days' journey from the Tower Hills, was a popular vacation spot
maybe change "vacation" to "holiday" or just leave it out entirely?
no subject
Date: 2005-05-13 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-09 07:49 pm (UTC)This is amazing!
no subject
Date: 2005-06-10 12:03 am (UTC)Great Story
Date: 2005-06-16 08:16 am (UTC)Keep it up!
Hope you get top grades.