Quenore
New Member
This is an early work of mine written for a class in high school some years ago. I'm putting it up here because I only recently came across it again and find it a rather enjoyable story for anybody. Based off the works of J.R.R. Tolkien it's really nothing more than a bit of fan fiction, and as lame as that can sometimes be, I tried to breath new life into an otherwise terribly over-used medium. Enjoy!
“It was all Nob’s fault!” proclaimed the grumpy old hobbit tipping back in his chair. It was a rich summer’s evening in the South Farthing and over the last couple years everything had slowly returned to normal, or so it seemed, but nobody cared to split hairs over the matter. The beautiful tree they called Brave Samwise was growing tall and beautiful in the middle of Hobbiton and when the sun would set, its silver bark would keep the fields alight with a soft blue glow. Some of the hobbits dared to proclaim they could see its light from Longbottom, calling it the marvel of the Shire, though nobody really believed them.
“That slowcoach would always go too far out of his way to ‘pease the travelers! Why he should just’ve minded his own business! I daresay we’d be a lot happier!” The old Bolger threw his hands up in the air with his eyes wide and made a crackling sound mimicking an explosion, frightening the wee ones about him, nobody really knew why. It was almost bed time and ever since the coming back of the Four Heroes, it was customary for Fredegar - Uncle Fatty the children called him - to tell them stories on the weekends, though they all knew he made up most of them.
“It’s because of that slowcoach that Dîn came through our fields, blast the name.” Some of the younger hobbits covered their ears readying themselves for a string of swears, although they never came. “Poor, poor Puffer got tangled up in ‘is no good web of lies, ‘ed been a lot better off without ‘im!” Fredegar turned around and threw another faggot on the fire, the rich smell of pine fresh in the halls. The children would clap and cheer as the air-pockets would burst, finding it rather amusing.
“What happened to Mr. Puffer?” asked one of the Tooks, a rather obese little hobbit. “Well, I’ll get to that if you’d let me!” exclaimed Fatty with a big grin from cheek to cheek. “It’s when that good for nothing dwarf Dîn came into town that poor Master Hornblower got mixed up in the wrong business, if you take my meaning. He’d been better off just staying put tending the fields like ‘e used to. Now, blast all, who knows where ‘e is.”
The children, sure that their story would break off into a tangent, skooched closer to Fatty’s chair, chins raised, reminding him to stay on track. “Well, well, let me see, it all happened about twenty years ago I believe, right here in Longbottom at Hornblower Hall,” he picked up his cane and rapped it on the floor, “with a knock at the door.”
“Blast!” cried Dîn as the door almost hit him in the nose. “I need to try a different angle!”
The dwarf was dressed in jester’s clothes of impeccable fashion, something that would sell for a pretty penny if he had the brains to part with them. He had been traveling the reaches of Eriador for some time looking for a partner in his crooked business, looting and plundering. He found some luck in past towns, especially Bree, with his bright clothes and irresistible charm, but these Shire folk seemed much more adamant about hard work and tall pints than adventuring of any type. Maybe old Nob was wrong. Maybe there wasn’t any brand of adventurers in the Shire.
He turned his back on the massive wooden hall, but as he was walking away, the doors were flung open again and out came a young hobbit calling behind him, “I’m going to Tom’s, mom!” The lad came flying out of the hall, then, crashing blindly into the dwarf, knocked them both to the ground. “So sorry!” cried the hobbit blushing with embarrassment. Staggering to his feet, he helped the dwarf up. “I should have been paying more attention.”
“Worry not,” said the Dwarf springing into character instantly. “Worry not, worry not, all will be well. You seem to be young and brave, voice clear as a bell!” ‘That was terrible,’ Dîn thought to himself, knowing it would have been better had he rehearsed it.
The hobbit stood up with the exact same look in his eyes as Bongo had displayed when he first saw the oddly-clad stranger. “Just knock on the door and my uncle Bongo will tend to your needs,” he said, turning his back, ready to head to Tom’s.
“Not so fast, not so fast! Slow down wild boy! I may have some news that could fetch you some coin!”
The young hobbit was weary of his act already (patience not being one of his virtues) and turned again to leave. The dwarf finally leveled with him. “Ah, come on kid, give an old dwarf a chance!” he cried, his voice dropping two whole octaves. “The name’s Dîn, Dîn the Smuggl… the Daring.” A quick recovery.
“What business brings you to Longbottom?” said the lad, almost identical to how his uncle had said it before, a family thing.
“Just looking for business,” Dîn groaned, sensing that yet another customer was lost.
“Well, what kind of business would that be?” replied the hobbit with sympathy.
“Finding gold,” he said, surprised by his own honesty. “I find gold,” lowering his gaze trying not to look as excited as he really was. ‘Maybe this kid will actually take the bait!’ he exclaimed inwardly.
Now that he could see the tween might actually be interested, he sprung back into the act and said reversely, “well, it doesn’t seem like a little kid would be interested in something like that though,” turning away. “Good day master… master… I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”
The hobbit, now more or less intrigued by this strange fellow replied, “Puff Hornblower sir, but my friends call me Puffer.”
“Well Puffer, Dîn the Dwarf is glad to meet thy acquaintance!” he pitched, charlatan once more. “Sound heavenly trumpets and devil trombones,” he roared jovially, “for this evening we dine!” The dwarf threw an arm over the hobbit’s shoulder and dragged him along down the road towards the inn, young Puff overcome by his pomposity.
The Legend of Puff Hornblower
“It was all Nob’s fault!” proclaimed the grumpy old hobbit tipping back in his chair. It was a rich summer’s evening in the South Farthing and over the last couple years everything had slowly returned to normal, or so it seemed, but nobody cared to split hairs over the matter. The beautiful tree they called Brave Samwise was growing tall and beautiful in the middle of Hobbiton and when the sun would set, its silver bark would keep the fields alight with a soft blue glow. Some of the hobbits dared to proclaim they could see its light from Longbottom, calling it the marvel of the Shire, though nobody really believed them.
“That slowcoach would always go too far out of his way to ‘pease the travelers! Why he should just’ve minded his own business! I daresay we’d be a lot happier!” The old Bolger threw his hands up in the air with his eyes wide and made a crackling sound mimicking an explosion, frightening the wee ones about him, nobody really knew why. It was almost bed time and ever since the coming back of the Four Heroes, it was customary for Fredegar - Uncle Fatty the children called him - to tell them stories on the weekends, though they all knew he made up most of them.
“It’s because of that slowcoach that Dîn came through our fields, blast the name.” Some of the younger hobbits covered their ears readying themselves for a string of swears, although they never came. “Poor, poor Puffer got tangled up in ‘is no good web of lies, ‘ed been a lot better off without ‘im!” Fredegar turned around and threw another faggot on the fire, the rich smell of pine fresh in the halls. The children would clap and cheer as the air-pockets would burst, finding it rather amusing.
“What happened to Mr. Puffer?” asked one of the Tooks, a rather obese little hobbit. “Well, I’ll get to that if you’d let me!” exclaimed Fatty with a big grin from cheek to cheek. “It’s when that good for nothing dwarf Dîn came into town that poor Master Hornblower got mixed up in the wrong business, if you take my meaning. He’d been better off just staying put tending the fields like ‘e used to. Now, blast all, who knows where ‘e is.”
The children, sure that their story would break off into a tangent, skooched closer to Fatty’s chair, chins raised, reminding him to stay on track. “Well, well, let me see, it all happened about twenty years ago I believe, right here in Longbottom at Hornblower Hall,” he picked up his cane and rapped it on the floor, “with a knock at the door.”
Chapter 1
‘Knock, knock,’ came a sound from the door on a spring afternoon. Bongo came scuttling to the door covered in red and blue paint, and threw open the mighty hatch to find on the other side a dwarf, barely any taller than he. “What business brings you to Longbottom?” asked Bongo inquisitively, eyeing him up and down. The dwarf, at first spoke no reply but rather tossed off his cloak and threw it on the coat rack, bowing low. “Greetings to you my furry-footed friend!” said the dwarf, his voice rhythmically coy. “I come from lands afar with knowledge of old; hear you my tales of riches and gold!” Bongo stood their bewildered as the charlatan danced about with his flamboyant clothes soaring in the breeze. Bongo, unable to contain his confusion any longer, erupted “what in the devil are you blowing about?” wishing to shut the door on this vagabond and return to his work. “Why, have you listened to nothing I said?”, quothe the dwarf. “Riches and gold and rubies of red!” Bongo rolled his eyes and sighed, slamming the door in the dwarf’s face. “What a nut!” he exclaimed as he went back into the hall and grabbed his brush.
“Blast!” cried Dîn as the door almost hit him in the nose. “I need to try a different angle!”
The dwarf was dressed in jester’s clothes of impeccable fashion, something that would sell for a pretty penny if he had the brains to part with them. He had been traveling the reaches of Eriador for some time looking for a partner in his crooked business, looting and plundering. He found some luck in past towns, especially Bree, with his bright clothes and irresistible charm, but these Shire folk seemed much more adamant about hard work and tall pints than adventuring of any type. Maybe old Nob was wrong. Maybe there wasn’t any brand of adventurers in the Shire.
He turned his back on the massive wooden hall, but as he was walking away, the doors were flung open again and out came a young hobbit calling behind him, “I’m going to Tom’s, mom!” The lad came flying out of the hall, then, crashing blindly into the dwarf, knocked them both to the ground. “So sorry!” cried the hobbit blushing with embarrassment. Staggering to his feet, he helped the dwarf up. “I should have been paying more attention.”
“Worry not,” said the Dwarf springing into character instantly. “Worry not, worry not, all will be well. You seem to be young and brave, voice clear as a bell!” ‘That was terrible,’ Dîn thought to himself, knowing it would have been better had he rehearsed it.
The hobbit stood up with the exact same look in his eyes as Bongo had displayed when he first saw the oddly-clad stranger. “Just knock on the door and my uncle Bongo will tend to your needs,” he said, turning his back, ready to head to Tom’s.
“Not so fast, not so fast! Slow down wild boy! I may have some news that could fetch you some coin!”
The young hobbit was weary of his act already (patience not being one of his virtues) and turned again to leave. The dwarf finally leveled with him. “Ah, come on kid, give an old dwarf a chance!” he cried, his voice dropping two whole octaves. “The name’s Dîn, Dîn the Smuggl… the Daring.” A quick recovery.
“What business brings you to Longbottom?” said the lad, almost identical to how his uncle had said it before, a family thing.
“Just looking for business,” Dîn groaned, sensing that yet another customer was lost.
“Well, what kind of business would that be?” replied the hobbit with sympathy.
“Finding gold,” he said, surprised by his own honesty. “I find gold,” lowering his gaze trying not to look as excited as he really was. ‘Maybe this kid will actually take the bait!’ he exclaimed inwardly.
Now that he could see the tween might actually be interested, he sprung back into the act and said reversely, “well, it doesn’t seem like a little kid would be interested in something like that though,” turning away. “Good day master… master… I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”
The hobbit, now more or less intrigued by this strange fellow replied, “Puff Hornblower sir, but my friends call me Puffer.”
“Well Puffer, Dîn the Dwarf is glad to meet thy acquaintance!” he pitched, charlatan once more. “Sound heavenly trumpets and devil trombones,” he roared jovially, “for this evening we dine!” The dwarf threw an arm over the hobbit’s shoulder and dragged him along down the road towards the inn, young Puff overcome by his pomposity.