Title: The Well
Author: Orangeblossom Brambleburr
E-Mail: [email protected]
Completed: Yes
Characters or Pairing: Sam Frodo
Slash: No
Rating: G
Genre: General.
Summary: The greatest friendships can begin in the oddest ways.
Disclaimer: I only creatively share the story. I do not own it. Do I profit by it? Yes; in my heart and in my soul, but not in my pocketbook.
Story Notes: /bSam is about nine in this story, converted to human years, that's around five. Pur mi amman kuduk atta, mi gragaron du ic batti mam sega. Mehero pur geliphan on mi
The sun was lying in long patches across the grass. It was a quiet afternoon and Sam had finished what chores his father had given him, so he had made a game of leaping between them, trying to keep his feet from touching a patch of shade, though he couldn't have explained why if he'd been asked. The lawn at Bag-End was perfect for such games, the grass soft and lush with a sweet-soft scent that clung to his clothes for hours afterwards. Carefully he made a hopping, crosspatch way across the yard, finally reaching the well with a quiet but triumphant whoop.
The well was not much more than a low hump of sod, round and ringed with low stones, a winch and bucket latched to the side, and a smaller dipper tied to a string. Sam took up the dipper and dropped it, waiting to hear the faint splash before he hauled it back up. He drank deeply and sighed, setting the dipper aside before peering curiously into the darkness. Far below him were flecks of glimmering silver-white on the black water. And *movement*. Something down there was moving and flickering.
"Fish!" he cried with delight. Sam loved fish; his father had taught him to wade in the shallows to catch small silver minnows to use as bait--usually he used a bit of netting to catch them, but he was sure if he kept his hands still in the cool water the minnows would swim between his fingers and he could catch them that way. Rapidly a plan formed in his mind; he'd catch a fish large enough for supper and surprise his father. He eyed the bucket and then looked back into the well. It was a long way down, but he was certain if he stretched he could reach.
Resolved, he leaned over the stones and stuck his hands out before him, but the water remained maddeningly out of reach. Frowning determinedly, Sam reached further, his feet hooked over the side of one of the stones. He drew a deep breath and stretched his whole body, making himself as long as possible; forgetful of his unstable position, he pointed his toes, and suddenly found himself tumbling head over feet into the cool blackness. He yelped in surprise, hands groping against the slick walls to slow his fall, crying out again as he jolted to a stop.
Sam blinked and looked around; it took his eyes several moments to adjust, and there wasn't much to see when they had. In flailing as he fell, he'd managed to catch himself at an odd angle, bent in the middle with his feet almost level with his chest, his shoulder uncomfortably pressing into the sod. He could hear the water beneath him; it burbled and splashed like a river and he fancied he could feel spray from it soaking his clothes. The walls were wet, muddy and almost slimy; he reached out to find a handhold but found only yielding slipperiness.
He sucked his lip between his teeth. The Gaffer expected that he'd gone home so was unlikely to come looking for him, something he was quite grateful for as he didn't much fancy the scolding he'd surely receive for his foolishness. If it came down to it, though, he thought he'd rather his own Dad find him then Bilbo: that would be an embarrassment to his father and ten times worse than any scolding.
Fretfully he tried again to climb, succeeding only in slipping down a few inches lower. He could definitely feel splashes of water near him now and it chilled him terribly. His teeth chattered and he wondered uneasily if there were biting fish in the water. One of his brothers had told him a story about a big, toothy fish that lived in the swimming hole--Sam didn't believe the fish was real...but what if it was? Could it swim into the well? Could it *jump* perhaps? He squirmed anxiously and screwed his eyes shut. It *wasn't* real, his Dad had told him that. But if it *was* real...Sam whimpered.
There was a soft sound above him at the mouth of the well. He was battling in his mind whether or not to call attention to himself when something struck him in the head, bouncing off and landing in his lap. He yelled, more in surprise than pain and looked down. The dipper sat on his knees, winking in the dim light.
"Is someone down there?" an unfamiliar voice called.
"No!" Sam said desperately.
There was a laugh. Sam looked up. The opening of the well seemed very far away, a bright yellow circle with a dark hobbit shape blocking part of it. "I'll lower the bucket and draw you up."
"If you just lower the bucket I can climb out, you don't have to pull me up," Sam said, hoping that whoever it was would leave him to do so and not stay around to see what fool had fallen into the well.
The black shape vanished then returned, arms stretching across the bright circle with the round outline of a bucket between them. It lowered slowly, the winch giving an occasional squeak of protest, until it was bobbing merrily just before his eyes.
Sam sighed and carefully reached for the bucket, gripping the cord tightly before he tried to wiggle free. He grunted softly as he struggled; for a frightening moment it felt as though he was going to fall, but the cord held strong. He dangled for a moment, the tips of his toes splashing in the water before he scrambled up enough to wrap himself around the bucket itself, feet drawn up tight. Slowly he worked his arm up to begin climbing, but before he could the bucket gave a jerk and began to rise. Sighing, he resigned himself to being pulled up.
The sunlight was almost painfully bright at first; Sam had to squeeze his eyes shut against it. When he opened them he saw a smiling lad standing next to the well, the cord wrapped around both hands. Sam suddenly remembered that Bilbo had adopted an heir; surely this gray-eyed lad must be him. "Well," he said, "you're a big fish, aren't you?"
"I'm not a fish," Sam stammered, "I'm a hobbit."
"Ah, of course. But not many families live down the well, now, do they?" the lad said, still smiling. "Who are you?"
"Sam," Sam replied simply, hoping he wouldn't be recognized.
"Are you the gardener's son?" the lad asked.
He bit his lip. "Yes," he began, "but me dad doesn't know I was down the well, and he didn't put me down the well, I put myself there and..."
The lad laughed heartily. "You should go on home and get cleaned up before you get in trouble," he said, still chuckling.
Sam looked down. He was quite wet and muddy, and he realized with a start that he was still chilled. "Yes sir, thank you sir," he said politely and hurried off towards home, glancing once or twice over his shoulder at the lad, who was still smiling and standing by the well. Sam realized with a twist of embarrassment in his stomach that he hadn't even asked his name.
Author: Orangeblossom Brambleburr
E-Mail: [email protected]
Completed: Yes
Characters or Pairing: Sam Frodo
Slash: No
Rating: G
Genre: General.
Summary: The greatest friendships can begin in the oddest ways.
Disclaimer: I only creatively share the story. I do not own it. Do I profit by it? Yes; in my heart and in my soul, but not in my pocketbook.
Story Notes: /bSam is about nine in this story, converted to human years, that's around five. Pur mi amman kuduk atta, mi gragaron du ic batti mam sega. Mehero pur geliphan on mi
The sun was lying in long patches across the grass. It was a quiet afternoon and Sam had finished what chores his father had given him, so he had made a game of leaping between them, trying to keep his feet from touching a patch of shade, though he couldn't have explained why if he'd been asked. The lawn at Bag-End was perfect for such games, the grass soft and lush with a sweet-soft scent that clung to his clothes for hours afterwards. Carefully he made a hopping, crosspatch way across the yard, finally reaching the well with a quiet but triumphant whoop.
The well was not much more than a low hump of sod, round and ringed with low stones, a winch and bucket latched to the side, and a smaller dipper tied to a string. Sam took up the dipper and dropped it, waiting to hear the faint splash before he hauled it back up. He drank deeply and sighed, setting the dipper aside before peering curiously into the darkness. Far below him were flecks of glimmering silver-white on the black water. And *movement*. Something down there was moving and flickering.
"Fish!" he cried with delight. Sam loved fish; his father had taught him to wade in the shallows to catch small silver minnows to use as bait--usually he used a bit of netting to catch them, but he was sure if he kept his hands still in the cool water the minnows would swim between his fingers and he could catch them that way. Rapidly a plan formed in his mind; he'd catch a fish large enough for supper and surprise his father. He eyed the bucket and then looked back into the well. It was a long way down, but he was certain if he stretched he could reach.
Resolved, he leaned over the stones and stuck his hands out before him, but the water remained maddeningly out of reach. Frowning determinedly, Sam reached further, his feet hooked over the side of one of the stones. He drew a deep breath and stretched his whole body, making himself as long as possible; forgetful of his unstable position, he pointed his toes, and suddenly found himself tumbling head over feet into the cool blackness. He yelped in surprise, hands groping against the slick walls to slow his fall, crying out again as he jolted to a stop.
Sam blinked and looked around; it took his eyes several moments to adjust, and there wasn't much to see when they had. In flailing as he fell, he'd managed to catch himself at an odd angle, bent in the middle with his feet almost level with his chest, his shoulder uncomfortably pressing into the sod. He could hear the water beneath him; it burbled and splashed like a river and he fancied he could feel spray from it soaking his clothes. The walls were wet, muddy and almost slimy; he reached out to find a handhold but found only yielding slipperiness.
He sucked his lip between his teeth. The Gaffer expected that he'd gone home so was unlikely to come looking for him, something he was quite grateful for as he didn't much fancy the scolding he'd surely receive for his foolishness. If it came down to it, though, he thought he'd rather his own Dad find him then Bilbo: that would be an embarrassment to his father and ten times worse than any scolding.
Fretfully he tried again to climb, succeeding only in slipping down a few inches lower. He could definitely feel splashes of water near him now and it chilled him terribly. His teeth chattered and he wondered uneasily if there were biting fish in the water. One of his brothers had told him a story about a big, toothy fish that lived in the swimming hole--Sam didn't believe the fish was real...but what if it was? Could it swim into the well? Could it *jump* perhaps? He squirmed anxiously and screwed his eyes shut. It *wasn't* real, his Dad had told him that. But if it *was* real...Sam whimpered.
There was a soft sound above him at the mouth of the well. He was battling in his mind whether or not to call attention to himself when something struck him in the head, bouncing off and landing in his lap. He yelled, more in surprise than pain and looked down. The dipper sat on his knees, winking in the dim light.
"Is someone down there?" an unfamiliar voice called.
"No!" Sam said desperately.
There was a laugh. Sam looked up. The opening of the well seemed very far away, a bright yellow circle with a dark hobbit shape blocking part of it. "I'll lower the bucket and draw you up."
"If you just lower the bucket I can climb out, you don't have to pull me up," Sam said, hoping that whoever it was would leave him to do so and not stay around to see what fool had fallen into the well.
The black shape vanished then returned, arms stretching across the bright circle with the round outline of a bucket between them. It lowered slowly, the winch giving an occasional squeak of protest, until it was bobbing merrily just before his eyes.
Sam sighed and carefully reached for the bucket, gripping the cord tightly before he tried to wiggle free. He grunted softly as he struggled; for a frightening moment it felt as though he was going to fall, but the cord held strong. He dangled for a moment, the tips of his toes splashing in the water before he scrambled up enough to wrap himself around the bucket itself, feet drawn up tight. Slowly he worked his arm up to begin climbing, but before he could the bucket gave a jerk and began to rise. Sighing, he resigned himself to being pulled up.
The sunlight was almost painfully bright at first; Sam had to squeeze his eyes shut against it. When he opened them he saw a smiling lad standing next to the well, the cord wrapped around both hands. Sam suddenly remembered that Bilbo had adopted an heir; surely this gray-eyed lad must be him. "Well," he said, "you're a big fish, aren't you?"
"I'm not a fish," Sam stammered, "I'm a hobbit."
"Ah, of course. But not many families live down the well, now, do they?" the lad said, still smiling. "Who are you?"
"Sam," Sam replied simply, hoping he wouldn't be recognized.
"Are you the gardener's son?" the lad asked.
He bit his lip. "Yes," he began, "but me dad doesn't know I was down the well, and he didn't put me down the well, I put myself there and..."
The lad laughed heartily. "You should go on home and get cleaned up before you get in trouble," he said, still chuckling.
Sam looked down. He was quite wet and muddy, and he realized with a start that he was still chilled. "Yes sir, thank you sir," he said politely and hurried off towards home, glancing once or twice over his shoulder at the lad, who was still smiling and standing by the well. Sam realized with a twist of embarrassment in his stomach that he hadn't even asked his name.