i haven't quite given up writing yet.
May. 31st, 2005 05:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaydeefalls
The Jewels of the Sea, part 2/6
a Fourth Age hobbit fic
by kaydee falls
part 1
They set up a small camp on the quay. "We'll set off at sunrise," Ayer said, which meant a few good hours of sleep in preparation. Preparation for what exactly, Tom wasn't sure, but as long as it involved that wondrous ship, he was looking forward to it.
He slept soundly, without any dreams that he could remember, although when he awoke it was with a sense of adventure and forgotten glory – a warm, tingling sort of sensation that faded all too quickly.
It was not yet dawn when Tom awoke. The sky was lightening in anticipation of the coming day, and a few birds chirped sleepily in the trees. When Tom sat up on his blankets, yawning, he saw that Ayer was already awake, staring absently off into the distance.
After a few moments, Tom grew tired of watching him. "What are you thinking about, then?" he asked.
Ayer started, as if suddenly awoken. He blinked at Tom. "Oh. Good morning to you, too."
"What were you thinking, just then?" Tom asked again. "It seemed as though you were looking at something very distant."
Ayer shrugged, a little self consciously. "I was just wondering what this haven was like, back in the old days."
"What, when Frodo and Bilbo passed over Sea?"
"No," Ayer said. "It had already long fallen into disuse by then. I meant before that, when there were always ships in the harbor, and elves dwelt in the Towers."
Tom blinked. "Our Towers, you mean? But I thought you said that Elanor had them built, and that would have been years after the Ring was destroyed."
"That was just a tale," Ayer said. "I think my mother made it up. No, our Towers – like most of what is beautiful in this world – were built by the elves, long ago. And we're left with naught but ruins." He looked about wistfully, indicating the high walls and ancient gates of Mithlond. "Just imagine – they made the Towers, and this harbor, and the empty halls of Rivendell, and so much more. And now they're gone, and mostly forgotten. No one speaks of the elves anymore, and we only remember a few of their tales – hobbits are not particularly good at writing down the stories that don't directly pertain to us," he added bitterly. "So much has been lost."
"I never paid much attention to the tales about the elves," Tom admitted. "I always liked Bilbo's story best; dragons and treasure and dwarves! All very exciting, but not much in the way of elves. I never really cared for them; they always seemed very grand and aloof, and didn't really do much."
Ayer shot him a pained look, which said quite clearly that Tom was completely missing the point.
"Well, I can hardly help what I like or don't like, can I?" Tom said defensively. "And anyway, I was just a bairn then."
"But you still think that elves just sort of looked grand and didn't do much," Ayer scoffed, a trifle condescendingly.
Tom bristled. "Don't you take that tone with me, cousin. Remember, I was the one who always told the best tales for getting you out of trouble, while you were too busy staring at your feet and stammering."
Ayer laughed. "If you had to get me out of trouble, it was generally because you had gotten me into it in the first place!"
"Yes, well, perhaps I took to adventure tales a bit too much—"
"A bit too much! You always made me play Gandalf, come to fetch you off on another adventure! Only you never liked the stories I came up with, so you made them up yourself and then made me repeat the lines after you!"
"Yes, because you were never any good with adventures. You always liked Frodo's tale better. I don't know why; it only had a handful of your precious elves in it – although I admit the one in the Fellowship did kill a lot of orcs, and was more than usually useful."
Ayer looked thoughtful, and oddly solemn. "I think I preferred the tale of the Ring of Doom because it really meant something," he said. "It wasn't just a silly lark like Bilbo's brush with adventure. It mattered."
"Yes," Tom said, "but I hated the ending, or at least Frodo's part in it. It was too sad. The whole point to a good adventure is coming home at the end of it. There and back again, like Bilbo. But for Frodo, it was more like there and back again, but only sort of, and not for long. Or there and back and then somewhere else. Good adventures are supposed to end happily."
"It did end happily, though, in its way," Ayer insisted. "They saved Middle-earth in the end. And Frodo got to go off to Valinor with the elves, which is the best sort of ending for anyone, I should think."
Tom snorted and shook his head. "You never did know much about adventures."
Ayer smiled. "Perhaps not," he said. "But I've built an adventure of our very own, Tom." He stood, stretching, then glanced back towards the east. "Look, the sun's about to come up. It's time to go."
Tom was struck with a sudden panic. It was all very well to sit and talk about adventures, but another thing entirely to actually go off and have one – and this was real, not one of their childhood games. And it was all very well for Ayer to build a boat, but quite something else for Tom to know what to do with it. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, somewhat frantically, as he rolled up their blankets and scrambled after Ayer.
"Of course," Ayer said, laughing.
"But you haven't told me where we're going," Tom said plaintively, and without thinking about it, stepped from the quay to the deck of the ship. Just like that, and for the first time in his life, he was actually on a boat.
The deck was sturdy beneath his feet, but it had swayed slightly with his weight as he stepped aboard – a very subtle rolling sensation that made Tom's heart skip a beat. The first rays of dawn lit up the white sails with a warm glow, lending them a light quite different from the ghostly sheen of moonlight, but no less beautiful. And somewhere under his feet, below several planks of wood, was the water of the harbor itself. He was standing on water, could feel the gentle swell of waves vibrating through the deck to the soles of his feet. Oh, it was glorious – and they hadn't even set off yet!
"Where? Why, you haven't guessed yet?" Ayer said playfully, taking in Tom's awe with some amusement. "We're going to follow Frodo and Bilbo, Tom. We're going to find Valinor."
on to part 3
a Fourth Age hobbit fic
by kaydee falls
part 1
They set up a small camp on the quay. "We'll set off at sunrise," Ayer said, which meant a few good hours of sleep in preparation. Preparation for what exactly, Tom wasn't sure, but as long as it involved that wondrous ship, he was looking forward to it.
He slept soundly, without any dreams that he could remember, although when he awoke it was with a sense of adventure and forgotten glory – a warm, tingling sort of sensation that faded all too quickly.
It was not yet dawn when Tom awoke. The sky was lightening in anticipation of the coming day, and a few birds chirped sleepily in the trees. When Tom sat up on his blankets, yawning, he saw that Ayer was already awake, staring absently off into the distance.
After a few moments, Tom grew tired of watching him. "What are you thinking about, then?" he asked.
Ayer started, as if suddenly awoken. He blinked at Tom. "Oh. Good morning to you, too."
"What were you thinking, just then?" Tom asked again. "It seemed as though you were looking at something very distant."
Ayer shrugged, a little self consciously. "I was just wondering what this haven was like, back in the old days."
"What, when Frodo and Bilbo passed over Sea?"
"No," Ayer said. "It had already long fallen into disuse by then. I meant before that, when there were always ships in the harbor, and elves dwelt in the Towers."
Tom blinked. "Our Towers, you mean? But I thought you said that Elanor had them built, and that would have been years after the Ring was destroyed."
"That was just a tale," Ayer said. "I think my mother made it up. No, our Towers – like most of what is beautiful in this world – were built by the elves, long ago. And we're left with naught but ruins." He looked about wistfully, indicating the high walls and ancient gates of Mithlond. "Just imagine – they made the Towers, and this harbor, and the empty halls of Rivendell, and so much more. And now they're gone, and mostly forgotten. No one speaks of the elves anymore, and we only remember a few of their tales – hobbits are not particularly good at writing down the stories that don't directly pertain to us," he added bitterly. "So much has been lost."
"I never paid much attention to the tales about the elves," Tom admitted. "I always liked Bilbo's story best; dragons and treasure and dwarves! All very exciting, but not much in the way of elves. I never really cared for them; they always seemed very grand and aloof, and didn't really do much."
Ayer shot him a pained look, which said quite clearly that Tom was completely missing the point.
"Well, I can hardly help what I like or don't like, can I?" Tom said defensively. "And anyway, I was just a bairn then."
"But you still think that elves just sort of looked grand and didn't do much," Ayer scoffed, a trifle condescendingly.
Tom bristled. "Don't you take that tone with me, cousin. Remember, I was the one who always told the best tales for getting you out of trouble, while you were too busy staring at your feet and stammering."
Ayer laughed. "If you had to get me out of trouble, it was generally because you had gotten me into it in the first place!"
"Yes, well, perhaps I took to adventure tales a bit too much—"
"A bit too much! You always made me play Gandalf, come to fetch you off on another adventure! Only you never liked the stories I came up with, so you made them up yourself and then made me repeat the lines after you!"
"Yes, because you were never any good with adventures. You always liked Frodo's tale better. I don't know why; it only had a handful of your precious elves in it – although I admit the one in the Fellowship did kill a lot of orcs, and was more than usually useful."
Ayer looked thoughtful, and oddly solemn. "I think I preferred the tale of the Ring of Doom because it really meant something," he said. "It wasn't just a silly lark like Bilbo's brush with adventure. It mattered."
"Yes," Tom said, "but I hated the ending, or at least Frodo's part in it. It was too sad. The whole point to a good adventure is coming home at the end of it. There and back again, like Bilbo. But for Frodo, it was more like there and back again, but only sort of, and not for long. Or there and back and then somewhere else. Good adventures are supposed to end happily."
"It did end happily, though, in its way," Ayer insisted. "They saved Middle-earth in the end. And Frodo got to go off to Valinor with the elves, which is the best sort of ending for anyone, I should think."
Tom snorted and shook his head. "You never did know much about adventures."
Ayer smiled. "Perhaps not," he said. "But I've built an adventure of our very own, Tom." He stood, stretching, then glanced back towards the east. "Look, the sun's about to come up. It's time to go."
Tom was struck with a sudden panic. It was all very well to sit and talk about adventures, but another thing entirely to actually go off and have one – and this was real, not one of their childhood games. And it was all very well for Ayer to build a boat, but quite something else for Tom to know what to do with it. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, somewhat frantically, as he rolled up their blankets and scrambled after Ayer.
"Of course," Ayer said, laughing.
"But you haven't told me where we're going," Tom said plaintively, and without thinking about it, stepped from the quay to the deck of the ship. Just like that, and for the first time in his life, he was actually on a boat.
The deck was sturdy beneath his feet, but it had swayed slightly with his weight as he stepped aboard – a very subtle rolling sensation that made Tom's heart skip a beat. The first rays of dawn lit up the white sails with a warm glow, lending them a light quite different from the ghostly sheen of moonlight, but no less beautiful. And somewhere under his feet, below several planks of wood, was the water of the harbor itself. He was standing on water, could feel the gentle swell of waves vibrating through the deck to the soles of his feet. Oh, it was glorious – and they hadn't even set off yet!
"Where? Why, you haven't guessed yet?" Ayer said playfully, taking in Tom's awe with some amusement. "We're going to follow Frodo and Bilbo, Tom. We're going to find Valinor."
on to part 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-05-31 04:43 pm (UTC)A couple of typos I noticed: staring absently off into the distant. and "But you still thing that elves...
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Date: 2005-05-31 05:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-31 05:51 pm (UTC)And, >_< yeah, I noticed those typos too...belatedly. I've fixed them now (as well as a couple in part 1).
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Date: 2005-05-31 05:55 pm (UTC)And the deadline for this for my Tolkien class is in a week, so for better or worse, it's all going to be written fairly soon...
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Date: 2005-05-31 06:18 pm (UTC)And look at me -- I went and gushed.
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Date: 2005-05-31 06:22 pm (UTC)Oh, man, I actually really needed that just then. Thank you so very much.
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Date: 2005-06-01 01:04 pm (UTC)You're very welcome -- and it needed to be said.
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Date: 2005-06-09 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-10 12:07 am (UTC)