B2MeM fic: On The Subject of Pie
Mar. 10th, 2012 09:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cairistionaB2MeM Challenge: O65: Roles and Names of Aragorn, "Son"; Smells, "Soap"
Format: Ficlet
Genre: H/C, fluff
Rating: G
Warnings: Vague mention of a wound
Characters: Aragorn, Elrond, Barliman Butterchurn, er, Butterbur
Pairings: None
Summary: Written mostly because I wanted Aragorn h/ccccccc. And all I had for prompts were the smell of soap and the fact that Aragorn was a son. And I was also craving peach pie. And Embarrassed Aragorn is so doggone cute. So... make of this what you will!
Edit: Consider this version AU, as Radbooks kindly pointed out that it more likely that Barliman's father or grandfather would have been the innkeeper at this time in Aragorn's life. So, thank you, Radbooks, and a revised version to come in April, when I post to the archives. :)
“Estel,” a voice came softly, breaking into his slumber. Or he supposed it was slumber. He felt... disconnected. Like he was floating somewhere, and he feared that coming back to earth would be unpleasant. So he frowned and kept his eyes shut.
“Son, can you hear me?”
Elrond. It was his father’s voice. He should answer.
A hand touched his cheek, and he smelled the clean scent of soap and athelas. “Estel, can you wake up for me? Can you open your eyes?”
Such a simple request, that. To open his eyes. He tried... he tried so hard, but they would not answer. He whimpered, frustrated and embarrassed. He hated disappointing his father...
“Shh, my son. Do not fret. All is well, all is well.” The hand moved from his cheek to his hair and then he felt Elrond lay a kiss on his brow.
He took a deep breath and finally pried open his eyes. Elrond smiled down at him. “Ah, there you are.”
“What...”
Another touch, this time a hand laid softly on his shoulder. “You were on duty, patrolling with Elladan and Elrohir.”
Memory rushed back. A wooded ridge. Ambush. Arrows. A sharp pain in his leg. Burning, numbness, darkness. “Orcs,” he murmured. “Brothers... all right?”
“They are, though worried, as you can well imagine. They are not most pleased that you were so wounded on only your second patrol, but there was no way to avoid the attack, from what they reported. I will send them in later, after you’ve slept some more.” He patted his arm. “Fret not, for you will be well, in time. The arrow was poisoned, which is why you no doubt feel your mind is not quite connected to your body. That will pass, and the wound itself is not overly serious. Had it not been for the poison, you likely could have bandaged it and kept on with your duties, the wound was that shallow. As it is, you will rest for a few days and allow us to wait on you hand and foot as though you were a guest in the best inn in Bree, and no doubt by week’s end you will be climbing the walls and demanding to be released from your convalescence.”
“In... Bree?”
“There is an inn there, or so I’m told by those who travel through there. The dwarves praise its ale, and Elladan admits that the pies there rival even those prepared in our kitchens.”
“Sounds... nice.”
“I’m sure it must be,” Elrond said briskly. “But it must await your custom for some other day. Sleep, now, and rest so you can start climbing the walls sooner rather than later.”
Estel nodded. He couldn’t imagine climbing anything at the moment. Sleep beckoned, and he drifted lazily toward it. “Ada... love... you.”
Darkness enfolded him before he heard Elrond’s reply, but not before he felt his Ada squeeze his hand.
~~~
The young Ranger sat quietly in the corner, looking with interest around the keeping room, which was homey in a way that all good inns should be. Not that he’d had much experience with inns of any sort, but he liked the feel of this place. The innkeeper... what was his name? Barliman Butterchurn? No... that was wrong. Butterbur! He blushed a bit. How excruciating would it have been if he’d addressed the man as Master Butterchurn!
Said bustling innkeeper hurried over with a plate and set it before him. “Peach today, and you’re lucky to get some as that was the last pie made from the last of the peaches this year. There won’t be any more until next summer. Would you like anything to go with it? Some cheese or perhaps a plate of cold meat?” he asked, not unkindly but the rush of words was undergirded with an odd reserve that made Aragorn feel all the more shy and out of his depth.
“No, thank you. Just the pie, thank you,” he stammered, and immediately felt his face burning again. He cleared his throat and wished he might think of something more clever than please and thank you.
“Then it’ll be three pence, since all you had was the pie and the ale.” He seemed to disapprove of Aragorn’s meager appetite, which did nothing to ease Aragorn’s discomfiture, but it was more a matter of not emptying a nearly hollow purse than filling a hollow belly. He carefully counted out the coins and despite their paucity added another few for good measure. Barliman did seem kind, after all, despite his cool demeanor, which warmed slightly when he counted the coins and found the extra. He nodded. “Enjoy your pie. And... well, yes, then. Come again.” The words once more came in a tumble, as though the man felt he must say it quickly lest he decide to withhold the invitation entirely. Aragorn was left with the distinct feeling that Butterbur might be happier if he didn’t come again. He wished he knew what he’d done to offend.
Aragorn waited until the man moved off and then took a small bite, then immediately took a larger bite. He remembered his father’s words, so long ago. Elladan admits that the pies there rival even those prepared in our kitchens...
He shut his eyes with pleasure. Oh yes. He would definitely come again, even if Butterchurn didn’t especially want him to.
Format: Ficlet
Genre: H/C, fluff
Rating: G
Warnings: Vague mention of a wound
Characters: Aragorn, Elrond, Barliman Butterchurn, er, Butterbur
Pairings: None
Summary: Written mostly because I wanted Aragorn h/ccccccc. And all I had for prompts were the smell of soap and the fact that Aragorn was a son. And I was also craving peach pie. And Embarrassed Aragorn is so doggone cute. So... make of this what you will!
Edit: Consider this version AU, as Radbooks kindly pointed out that it more likely that Barliman's father or grandfather would have been the innkeeper at this time in Aragorn's life. So, thank you, Radbooks, and a revised version to come in April, when I post to the archives. :)
“Estel,” a voice came softly, breaking into his slumber. Or he supposed it was slumber. He felt... disconnected. Like he was floating somewhere, and he feared that coming back to earth would be unpleasant. So he frowned and kept his eyes shut.
“Son, can you hear me?”
Elrond. It was his father’s voice. He should answer.
A hand touched his cheek, and he smelled the clean scent of soap and athelas. “Estel, can you wake up for me? Can you open your eyes?”
Such a simple request, that. To open his eyes. He tried... he tried so hard, but they would not answer. He whimpered, frustrated and embarrassed. He hated disappointing his father...
“Shh, my son. Do not fret. All is well, all is well.” The hand moved from his cheek to his hair and then he felt Elrond lay a kiss on his brow.
He took a deep breath and finally pried open his eyes. Elrond smiled down at him. “Ah, there you are.”
“What...”
Another touch, this time a hand laid softly on his shoulder. “You were on duty, patrolling with Elladan and Elrohir.”
Memory rushed back. A wooded ridge. Ambush. Arrows. A sharp pain in his leg. Burning, numbness, darkness. “Orcs,” he murmured. “Brothers... all right?”
“They are, though worried, as you can well imagine. They are not most pleased that you were so wounded on only your second patrol, but there was no way to avoid the attack, from what they reported. I will send them in later, after you’ve slept some more.” He patted his arm. “Fret not, for you will be well, in time. The arrow was poisoned, which is why you no doubt feel your mind is not quite connected to your body. That will pass, and the wound itself is not overly serious. Had it not been for the poison, you likely could have bandaged it and kept on with your duties, the wound was that shallow. As it is, you will rest for a few days and allow us to wait on you hand and foot as though you were a guest in the best inn in Bree, and no doubt by week’s end you will be climbing the walls and demanding to be released from your convalescence.”
“In... Bree?”
“There is an inn there, or so I’m told by those who travel through there. The dwarves praise its ale, and Elladan admits that the pies there rival even those prepared in our kitchens.”
“Sounds... nice.”
“I’m sure it must be,” Elrond said briskly. “But it must await your custom for some other day. Sleep, now, and rest so you can start climbing the walls sooner rather than later.”
Estel nodded. He couldn’t imagine climbing anything at the moment. Sleep beckoned, and he drifted lazily toward it. “Ada... love... you.”
Darkness enfolded him before he heard Elrond’s reply, but not before he felt his Ada squeeze his hand.
~~~
The young Ranger sat quietly in the corner, looking with interest around the keeping room, which was homey in a way that all good inns should be. Not that he’d had much experience with inns of any sort, but he liked the feel of this place. The innkeeper... what was his name? Barliman Butterchurn? No... that was wrong. Butterbur! He blushed a bit. How excruciating would it have been if he’d addressed the man as Master Butterchurn!
Said bustling innkeeper hurried over with a plate and set it before him. “Peach today, and you’re lucky to get some as that was the last pie made from the last of the peaches this year. There won’t be any more until next summer. Would you like anything to go with it? Some cheese or perhaps a plate of cold meat?” he asked, not unkindly but the rush of words was undergirded with an odd reserve that made Aragorn feel all the more shy and out of his depth.
“No, thank you. Just the pie, thank you,” he stammered, and immediately felt his face burning again. He cleared his throat and wished he might think of something more clever than please and thank you.
“Then it’ll be three pence, since all you had was the pie and the ale.” He seemed to disapprove of Aragorn’s meager appetite, which did nothing to ease Aragorn’s discomfiture, but it was more a matter of not emptying a nearly hollow purse than filling a hollow belly. He carefully counted out the coins and despite their paucity added another few for good measure. Barliman did seem kind, after all, despite his cool demeanor, which warmed slightly when he counted the coins and found the extra. He nodded. “Enjoy your pie. And... well, yes, then. Come again.” The words once more came in a tumble, as though the man felt he must say it quickly lest he decide to withhold the invitation entirely. Aragorn was left with the distinct feeling that Butterbur might be happier if he didn’t come again. He wished he knew what he’d done to offend.
Aragorn waited until the man moved off and then took a small bite, then immediately took a larger bite. He remembered his father’s words, so long ago. Elladan admits that the pies there rival even those prepared in our kitchens...
He shut his eyes with pleasure. Oh yes. He would definitely come again, even if Butterchurn didn’t especially want him to.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 04:10 pm (UTC)Lovely little story. :)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 04:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 04:40 pm (UTC)It's little details like that that make stories like these so delightful to read.
Butterchurn, LOL!
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Date: 2012-03-10 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:05 pm (UTC)My only thought would be that perhaps it should be Barliman's father or even grandfather tending the inn as Aragorn is just a young ranger, some 60 years before Frodo and gang show up in Bree.
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:54 pm (UTC)That's kind of you to offer your character! I'll probably come up with my own version of either a father or grandfather (I'm leaning toward father, but I'll have to dig out ye ol' calculator and play with ages). I'm kind of funny in that I've learned over the years that when I'm in "cairistiona-verse" building mode in the Tolkien sandbox, I need to stop reading stories by other writers who also write in that same genre so I don't accidentally borrow ideas without realizing it (so I'm trying to avoid long-form Bree tales and also long Halbarad tales... the short stories don't seem to affect me the same way, so I do still read those, although I'm trying to limit myself there as well). When I'm done with my own version of Bree (and Halbarad!), I'm going to really enjoy reading all the other takes on it out there, including your Brothers story, which I read and enjoyed but it's been long enough now that the details have faded.
Thus is your unlooked-for scary glimpse into my writing mind. LOL
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 06:11 pm (UTC)I also think that is why one of my favorite series of mine is my young Eomer/Eowyn stories. I don't know of any other stories like those and so it's fun to write those. Well, when I was actually writing. :) I have so many stories in different stages, I just need to pick one and finish it!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:07 pm (UTC)LOL at Butterchurn and his qualified welcome.
And now I want peach pie... I suppose all I have to do is be in Bree at the right time *g*
(or make my own...)
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Date: 2012-03-10 05:16 pm (UTC)I'm looking forward to peach season myself. *g*
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Date: 2012-03-10 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 01:42 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 01:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 01:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 04:10 am (UTC)Also, I am now extremely hungry for pie, even though I'm not particularly fond of it on a normal basis. And mildly put out, because it's highly unlikely I'll be able to get any in the near future. Unless I can talk Neffie into making some... *eyes her speculatively*
no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 01:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-19 06:45 am (UTC)Love Elrond's tender gentleness with young Estel as well :)
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Date: 2012-03-19 11:46 am (UTC)And yes, I think Butterbur's attitude was indicative of the general distrust Bree-landers held toward Rangers in general and not anything personal toward Aragorn. Tolkien describes the Prancing Pony as a "resort for Rangers" so I have to assume for the most part its proprietors through the years were on a friendly(ish) basis with the Rangers. Of course, that might be driven by money... if a customer behaved, his coin was always welcome!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 06:40 am (UTC)Aragorn is SO doggone cute when he's embarrassed, I have to agree. Oh wow, I thoroughly enjoyed this---most especially Elrond's TLC and reassurance. *melts* Very, very nice.
Poor Aragorn, completely clueless in his early days as to the effect his no-doubt-scary-even-when-younger presence has on Butterchurn---er, Butterbur---and the naive Bree-folk.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 12:53 pm (UTC)