milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Bar has, for some incomprehensible reason, given Smeagol a funny red hat.

He doesn't understand the significance, but puts it on anyway, because it's Afteryule, people are still celebrating, and he's in the mood for funny red hats. The hat settles comfortably on his curly hair and makes his pointy ears stick out.

The first person to call him an elf gets the mun's firstborn child. ~~Only, not.~~

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"Hail, Smeagol and Well met."

An Elrond is there.

Smeagol twitches at Elrond's voice, and his face falls only slightly as he spots the elf.

But no! He is in a Good Mood! And good it shall stay!

Smeagol jumps off his stool and executes a quick bow. When he stands up, the puffball on his hat falls in his face, and he swipes it out of the way with a grin.

"Hail, Master Elrond, and merry Yule to you."

And lo and behold a smile comes to Elrond's face.

"And to you as well. This is for you."

He holds out a small present, carefully wrapped. Inside, by Bar's aid and the power of Elrond's ring, are three items. A ancient book of hobbit poetry, a knife engraved with old runes, and a simple suit of clothes not unlike what Smeagol always wears, but neaw.

Smeagol's mouth drops open as Elrond hands him the gift. For a moment he doesn't remember that he should take it, because he's too shocked that it's there.

Eventually he takes it, quickly, as is his way, and removes the paper.

He looks from the contents of the box to Elrond's face and back again, still agape, and slightly confused, and possibly moved to tears.

". . . thank you!" he says, eventually.

He dares not mention that he can't read. Yet.

Elrond then does a thing he might not have done except once before, he bows to a Hobbit.

"You are most welcome, Smeagol. I hope that you have a good time of this holiday, whatever may come."

Smeagol blinks rather quickly at the bow, and at his presents.

". . . I didn't get you anything," he says, rather faintly.

"You dont have to. Kindness is not about getting and Christmas and Yule are not an exchange. you just get a present for someone. It is as simple as that. I hope that you like them. I am afraid I didnt know much about what you might like."

"I . . . I like them. A lot."

Pause.

"I expect I'll like the book, once I've learned how to read. Is it stories?"

"It is poetry, from the hobbits of ancient times. I wasnt sure if where you lived kept such, but it is a part of your heritage I hope tyou will like."

He smiles a little.

"Ah, I didnt know that you could not read either. It seems tonight I am learning a lot. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Val is going to teach me. Valentine Wiggin. She's my friend."

She's my friend. He says it almost defensively, as though Elrond might contest it.

He looks at the book, at the incomprehensible letters.

"They had poetry," he says, vaguely. "I've forgotten most of it, but they had it. Where I came from."

Elrond nods.

"If she is, then good. I hope it goes well for you."

He nods, listening.

"Then, when you can read, I hope it reminds you of the good things of your old home. I admit to not knowing much of that place in the world in that time."

Good things. Maybe it will.

"Fishing," he says, suddenly. "There was lots of fishing. The river, that was important. I could swim before I could walk, because if you couldn't then you drowned, and sometimes you did even if you could." He looks up at Elrond, solemnly. "Winter was cruel."

Elrond nods.

"Yes, even in my woods, the winter was harsh some years, bad and dark and crule as you say."

He shakes his head.

"I did my best to keep the wamrth in but even I had only so much power."

"Power?" repeats Smeagol, curiously.

He's felt something, but he's not sure what.

"I am one of the Eldar, touched by the Valar and taught some small part of power, I also weild the Ring Vilya, power of air, which aided me in holding Rivendell."

He smuiles just slightl;y.

"It is no great thing, but it aided me mightily in darkest times."

Most everything but the part about the ring goes in one ear and out the other.

Smeagol blinks a few times and stares wide-eyed at Elrond.

". . . oh. One of them."

"One of the Rings? or One of the Eldar?

He looks curiously at Smeagol.

"Um.

That first one."

"Then yes. I wield one of the Rings. Vilya, Ring of Air. Changed, cleansed, and repowered."

He lifts his hand where Vilya pulses with soft blue light.

. . . Smeagol may be drooling a little.

It's so shiny.

He puts it down again.

"Ah, are you well, Smeagol?"

Long pause as Smeagol recovers from the Ring and thinks for a good answer.

"I have a problem," he admits, hanging his head.

Elrond's response is slightly hesitant.

"Is it because of...the One?"

"Most of mine are."

Elrond nods.

"Then I am sorry. An Elf aided int he creation of many of those rings, an I am sorry you were harmed by that."

Smeagol nods. "I know."

Pause.

"I saw him, once."

"Truly? I didnt know that. It was one of the darkest moment in my people's history. A Shame we still wear. And you were one of the victims."

He heaves a sigh.

"I sorrow fo that."

Smeagol looks uncomfortable.

"Me too," he says, eyeing the floor.

Elrond nods.

"If I can ever do anything to aid you... let me know."

he rises and bows his head to Smeagol.

"Be well."

Smeagol watches him closely. "And yourself."

A book (http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0812504798/104-7247145-8379918?v=glance&n=283155) appears next to him, and a familiar voice sounds in his ears. "This one book you will be able to read. My last gift to you."

He keeps quite still for a moment after the voice has faded, then touches the book tentatively. Nothing happens, so he opens it, and looks curiously at the title.

And he comprehends it, almost like he used to comprehend everything, but only this.

He quietly opens the book, and begins to read.

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