A Rainy Night at the Pony

Got a song, a tale, some news of far off places or Orcs gathering? Step up and loose your word hoard.

Moderator: Greg

User avatar
Mirimaran
Thangailhir
Posts: 2110
Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
Location: North Carolina
Contact:

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Mirimaran »

Have a brave heart, Greg, help is on its way!
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
User avatar
Greg
Urush bithî 'nKi ya-nam bawâb
Posts: 4496
Joined: Tue Dec 02, 2008 8:50 pm
Location: Eriador; Central Indiana

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Greg »

You and your suspense are going to be the end of me, Ken.
Now the sword shall come from under the cloak.
User avatar
Mirimaran
Thangailhir
Posts: 2110
Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
Location: North Carolina
Contact:

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Mirimaran »

I hope this suits you then! 8)
--------------------------------------
Suddenly, all was silent. Even the thing in shadow froze, for there was a Presence in Daffodil's heart, one that with its coming brushed the darkness away, forcing the thing back out of her heart. Slim hands of alabaster reached out and took up the child, and held her close against a bosom clad in shimmering blue silk adorned with silver stars. Her long hair, silver as the moonlight, bound by a diadem of adamant and pearl, framed the most beautiful face that Daffodil had ever seen, and the blue eyes of the Lady who comforted Daffodil filled her with a warm light.

'Do not be in despair', said the Lady in a soft voice, 'for I am always with you, even here. You carry me in your heart.'

Daffodil blinked away her tears as she clutched tightly to the Lady.

'Will you save me?' asked Daffodil.

The Lady laughed, and it sounded like silver bells.

'Oh, I think you are more than capable to do that for yourself, Daffodil Underhill of Staddle. But I will aid you, for this thing that you battle, I name it unwholesome and an enemy. Call my name, child, and I will aid you.'

She set Daffodil to her feet, and then bent and took Daffodil's face in her hands.

"This is only the first of many trials and dangers for you, my child. Know that I am always with you." She then kissed Daffodil on her forehead, and turned to walk away.

'Wait', cried Daffodil, 'who are you?'

The Lady smiled and said,

'Listen to your heart', and then she disappeared.

Behind her the thing in shadow growled, but it did not advance.

'My heart', said Daffodil, growing strong, 'it is my heart! You cannot have it!' She stepped forward, and the thing began to retreat.

'Get out!' she cried, her heart filling with light with each step, ' this is not your place, for I know the Splendid Lady's name!'

'No!', whined the thing in shadow as Daffodil stood in the doorway.

'Elbereth', said the whisper of her heart.
-----------

Daffodil found herself standing over the Ranger, the thing in shadow pressed against the wall. Outside the rain stopped, and the clouds began to break as the moon shone through the small window.

"Elbereth!" called Daffodil, and the thing trembled.

She raised the eket, and cried again,

"Elbereth!"

A single ray of moonlight alit upon the blade, so that the dull steel began to shine, and Daffodil knew what she must do.
Image
Suddenly the door burst open, and the Ranger's two companions rushed inside, their own weapons drawn, followed by the troop of Dwarves, their axes and mattocks raised, their beards wild and unbound!

"Master!', cried the first, dropping to the Ranger's side while the other ran to detain the two thieves. The Thing then roared and rushed for the window, but Daffodil struck, and there was such a cry that none in the Pony would soon forget. Daffodil felt as if she were brushed by the wings of a thousand birds as the thing rent in two, and then the window shattered as it flew into the night, never to bother the world of Men (or hobbits) again.

"Master! Are you dead?" cried the young apprentice.

The Ranger stirred, sitting up slowly.

"Bah! Not yet', he said slowly, "but I know not the reason why. How come you here?"

"We were asleep", said the apprentice, "and then there was a voice, clear as a silver bell."

"She called to us", said the second, his blade held to the throats of the thieves, who did not move an inch.

"Who?" asked the Ranger.

"We know not", said the first, "but the voice said, 'Awake! Awake! For the Dunedain are in need!' And then we heard our battle-cry, and we came to aid."

"We heard a voice as well", said a Dwarf, lowering his axe, "it boomed over our revelries like the ringing of Durin's Hammer." Behind him the other Dwarves agreed and even the pretty girl with the long brown hair nodded, gasping, her bodice still too tight.

"What did the voice say?" asked the Ranger.

"It cried, 'To arms! To arms! For a foe of the Free Peoples is in your midst!"

There was a rush as it seemed the whole of the Pony showed up at the door, faces young and old, tall and short, peered inside.

"And what of her?", asked the Dwarf, motioning to Daffodil, "what does she have to do with this business?"

The Ranger turned and then cried,

"Daffodil!"

For the girl still stood in the same place, the eket still raised, her grip so tight that her fingers were white against the dark grip, her eyes wide.

"What is it girl? What did you do?" he asked.

There was a great shouting, and then pushing and shoving, as a fat hobbit burst into the room, followed by his plump wife and a half dozen round children. Otto Underhill's jowls shook as he saw his daughter standing in the light of the moon, a sword in her hands!

"Daffodil Underhill! Whatever is going on?" he demanded.

Everyone looked at the hobbit girl, who did the most sensible thing in a time such as this. She dropped the eket ringing to the floor, walked two steps, and then fainted dead away into the Ranger's arms.
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
User avatar
Mirimaran
Thangailhir
Posts: 2110
Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
Location: North Carolina
Contact:

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Mirimaran »

Daffodil awoke from dreams filled with darkness and rain. Her eyes opened, expecting to see the dark cloak room of the Pony, but her eyes blinked as the warm sunlight hit them. She struggled to keep them open as dark, shadowy figures loomed over her.

"She's coming round!", she heard her father say.

"Quite, yes", came another voice, low and gravelly, Doctor Rootwell, she thought.

"Daffy, my darling, please wake up!" her father pleaded. She struggled but finally opened both eyes to find herself in her own bed, the warm May sun streaming through her own round window.

"Father?" she asked weakly.

"Oh my stars", said her father, grasping her small hand, "you are back with us!"

"Quite", said the good doctor with a slight ting of disdain, "you've been under the influence, you know."

Daffodil looked to both her father and the doctor for explanation.

"The sweetmilk", said her father, "much too strong for you."

"Quite", agreed the doctor, "an infatuation of the youth, bad for the humors and the head." With that he whipped out a pipe almost as long as himself, settled it on his quite round belly, and lit it up.

"How long have I been asleep?", she asked, her voice groggy.

"Three days and nights!", exclaimed her father, "when we found you in that", he paused and then said, "condition, we rushed you straight away home. The good doctor here has been at your bedside a good half-dozen times treating you."

"Quite", said the good doctor, "and I see that I have worked yet another miracle." He slowly moved towards the door.

"Otto, no more sweetmilk for that one, her blood is too thin for it, much too thin. She needs to eat, double-portions, dare I say triple! Any more consumption of that vile stuff is guaranteed to bring on another episode."

" 'Episode?'" she asked, sitting up in bed, "whatever are you talking about?"

"Sweetmilk induced madness, my dear. I have seen this before, but never so pronounced. Consider yourself lucky that you have all your facilities!"

Daffodil was about to launch into a tirade questioning the good doctor's facilities when he said,

"Well, I'm off, late for second-breakfast, part of the job, don't you know. Otto, you will receive the bill for my services within the week. Goodbye."

He made his way out the door, the smoke of his pipe following him in a long trail.

"Father, the sweetmilk had nothing to do with anything!", she exclaimed, "I've had an adventure!"

"Oh my", said her father, his face downcast, shaking his head, "you mustn't say such things! Especially around your mother! Even now she is planning a demonstration with the good ladies of the Garden Society against sweetmilk. Oh, the Sweetmilks will not be happy at all."

One family in the whole of Bree made sweetmilk, supplying every hobbit hole from Staddle to the Shire, and had grown fat and rich off of its production, even changing the family name of 'Chudchew' to 'Sweetmilk' to emphasis the importance of the drink to their fortune. Now Otto held his head low, his jowls hanging.

"Oh, this is going to be terrible", he said, "for the Sweetmilks deny any responsibility in your...um, condition."

"There is no condition", she interjected, grasping his hand, "I am fine. Something terrible was lurking in the walls of the Pony!"

"Oh, that I do know", he said, his face growing angry, "those Big Folk and their problems! And involving my own daughter!"

"No!", she cried, "the Ranger is my friend!"

"Bah, that old Man?" he asked, "why Butterbur says he is as bad as the lot! One of those Men who go wandering", he waved his hand in the air, "and just walk around in the Wilds. Now, I ask you, what sort of decent folk do that? He avoids a home because he doesn't want to pay his share! Coming and going, Butterbur, who has more hobbit sense for one of the Big Folk than most hobbits I know, can see right through that sort! I think it was", he paused and then whispered, "a scheme of kidnapping and ransom!"

Daffodil could not help but laugh, but seeing the storm brewing on her father's face, quelled her giggles.

"That is not the case", she said, "for he was telling me stories of his people."

"Oh, and that is another thing, talking to strange folk, especially", he paused and raised a finger, "the Big Folk. Have I not told you of their ways? I deal with them in business, Daffy. Of course, some like Butterbur are decent enough, why the Man even refunded our stay after he saw what a mess was done by that, that..." he struggled with the word and finally spat, "ranger."

"Do not say it like that!" she exclaimed, "for they are a noble people, Father, much more than their ragged ways let on! Please, I wrote his tales down!"

She panicked then, scanning the room for her books.

"My Leavings", she cried, "are they lost?"

"No child", he said, reaching down and coming up with her books, "but I must confess, your mother is insisting that I burn them. You gave us all quite a scare."

Daffodil snatched the books and clutched them close like long lost friends.

"Father, no please", she said, tears welling, "these are mine."

"Yes they are", he said, sighing. "You know, your mother insists that I overindulge this need of yours to be difficult."

"Mother would rather have me a gossip like the other girls, sipping and playing at patty-fingers. There is more to life, Father, have you not said so?"

He nodded.

"Yes, Daffy. You are so much different from the others, and while a father cannot play favorites with his children, let us just say that while all stars shine, others twinkle just a bit more." He smiled and squeezed her hand.

"I could not bring myself to destroy that, for whatever reason, makes you happy, my Daffy. But you must realize that the time of childhood games and make-believe is coming to an end. You are quite the young lady now. I have been approached by many eligible gentlehobbits, asking if you have seen fit to name a suitor. I have to decline, and I must admit, the more I do, the less they seem interested."

Daffodil looked down, slowly worrying the edges of the books with a finger.

"You think no one will want to marry Daffy Underhill, is that it, Father?" she asked, "that I will become an spinster and live in this hole until I die from loneliness? My only friends my stories and poems, my only confidant books and journals? Is that truly the only life you see for me?"

"I want you to be happy", her father said, "and yes, I want you to be married to someone that you love. I cannot deny that.

"So, what is it then? Did I embarrass the name of Underhill? Did you lose business because of me?"

"Daffodil", he began, and then thought better of it, "that was quite a scene. Two of the Big Folk were stabbed. The Watch was called. Butterbur had to kick that old Man and his cohorts out! Oh, that was a sight to behold!"

Daffodil gasped.

"What happened?"

"Oh, let me tell you, he would not let you go! He was trying to force a weed into your mouth! Imagine that! Kingsfoil", he chuckled, "my grandmother used to give it to the cat for hairballs."

"Athelas", she said, "they use it for healing."

"Well, not on my daughter he didn't! And those dwarves! I've always held kind to the bearded folk, but that rabble were downright rude!"

Daffodil could not help but grin.

"That I can imagine", she giggled.

"The lot of them, out the door!", he exclaimed, "and that Man, saying the most terrible things to me!"

"Oh my", she stifled a laugh.

"Well, that is over and done with. No more adventures at the Pony for you! Your mother wants you to be an advocate for sweetmilk temperance. She wants you dressed as soon as you are able, and then after breakfast she wants the whole of Staddle to see you have made a full recovery."

"But Father!" protested Daffodil.

"No buts, I have saved your books for you. Now, save some face for your mother, please." He rose to leave and then said,

"Oh, and by the way, the post has deluged us with well wishes and your correspondence." He motioned to the dresser, where a large pile of letters teetered.

"I have business in Bree", he said, "meeting with the Sweetmilks solicitor, young hobbit by the name of Willwright. He's just hung up his shingle, and to make matters even worse, I've retained him in another matter. He is a bachelor, so I hear."

"I hear you", she said, "I hope it goes well."

"Let us hope so", he said, "if not, perhaps I can marry you off to some boy from the Shire. A pig farmer or some such."

His smile lent to her own.

"Oh yes Father", she said, "a good and messy one!"
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
Jon
Amrod Rhandir
Posts: 646
Joined: Mon Jun 21, 2010 11:52 am
Location: Cumbria

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Jon »

Awesome, Mirimaran. Can't wait to hear the rest!

Life before Death.
Strength before Weakness.
Journey before Destination.
User avatar
Greg
Urush bithî 'nKi ya-nam bawâb
Posts: 4496
Joined: Tue Dec 02, 2008 8:50 pm
Location: Eriador; Central Indiana

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Greg »

Good stuff, Ken! The story's progressing very nicely.
Now the sword shall come from under the cloak.
User avatar
Mirimaran
Thangailhir
Posts: 2110
Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
Location: North Carolina
Contact:

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Mirimaran »

Glad that it's going over well! A BIG thanks to my wife Morielda for doing the illustration!
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
User avatar
Mirimaran
Thangailhir
Posts: 2110
Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
Location: North Carolina
Contact:

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Mirimaran »

After her father left Daffodil sat for a long time in bed, reading again and again the stories and poems of the Rangers that she had written down. From time to time she would look up, her eyes misty, remembering the emotion of the old Ranger as he told his tales, how she just knew every word was true, and shivered when she remembered what she could of her own adventure; for in truth parts were lost to her, even now, and as a writer it vex her to no end that the one good tale in which she was the hero was lost to her.

Finally, knowing that she put off the public humiliation that was going outdoors with her mother long enough, she rose from bed, walking unsteady for a moment or two, and then walked past the correspondence. The large stack of letters swayed for a moment, and then in a wave of postage, spilled out on the floor.

"Drat and drattle!", she cursed under her breath as she bent over and began scooping up letters. Most hobbits begin corresponding almost as early as they learn their letters, in fact, it is considered a mark of breeding for most gentlehobbits to have a hundred or more correspondents at a time, which means that hobbits are either very fast letter-writers, or very slow responders. In any case, Daffodil was related to the lot of them through blood or marriage, so unless there was a letter of interest from the Shire, she usually relegated most of her letters to the W.R.O.A.R.D.* bin of her writing desk. (* Will Respond On A Rainy Day*) But as she picked up the last of the letters, most from her most youngest cousins, who still could not spell Daffodil correctly, she espied a large brown envelope, its bulky contents secured with a bit of brown cord. She picked it up, and marveled at the script of Common that flowed across the face of the envelope:

To: Mistress Daffodil Underhill (with the presumption that there can be only ONE of her!)
Primrose Lane
Staddle
Bree-land

"My", she said to herself as she sat back on her bed, feeling the weight of the thing, "I wonder who this is from."

She untied the string, letting it fall to the floor, and then slowly unwrapped the heavy paper to find two small items wrapped in linen, and a note written on parchment, apparently torn from the ledger of the Prancing Pony! She read off names of people that she knew, and then flipped the note over and her eyes grew as wide as her smile when she read the first lines.

"My Ranger!", she exclaimed, and what the note says is related below, so valuable it was to her that she copied it word for word in her journal. It read:

"To Mistress Daffodil Underhill of Staddle!

I hope this note finds you well. The last time I saw you, that fat hobbit of a father of yours had carried you away, even as I was attempting to revive you. So, I do hope you survived. Despite the recent misunderstandings, rest assured that I am alive and well, and I hold you responsible for that. I have no idea exactly what happened on that night, but I do know this Ranger would be long dead if not for you, and imagine the embarrassment you have saved me. I would be ashamed to enter the Halls of my Fathers knowing that the song of my life ended with the line:

"and he died in the lavatory of the Prancing Pony."

I shiver at the thought still.

You are quite the remarkable hobbit, Mistress Underhill, and though I have the understanding through that fat fool Butterbur (and a very annoying hobbit who just hung up a shingle) that I am not to seek out your company, counsel, or companionship in any way (which I have no idea how they would intend to stop me!) I would very much like to see you again, for you see, as you slept, and I was hurried on my way by your father and that fool Butterbur, I made my way back to the Wilds (which, you must know by now are much closer than you first thought) where my people are beginning to gather for the Mid-Summer Moot. There I related the events of the night to our Captain in the Wild, who is very much interested in this young hobbit writer of tales! He bids me to invite you to our Moot, in June under the stars and the full moon, and have you relate, in your own words, that which happened.

If this is agreeable to you, please hang a red handkerchief from your bedroom window. It will be seen, and in a fortnight I will be waiting for you in the tall hay, and will escort you.

Hoping again that you are recovered and rested!

At your service!

I remain,

Mirimaran Dunadan, Ranger of the North.

P.S. I would not mention any of this to your father, or your mother. In fact, to any family member who might be excitable.

P.P.S. Thank you again for saving my life.

P.P.P.S. Enclosed are two items for you. The first is the coin that you were so fond of. I have carried it for most of my life, and now I would very much wish it that you accept it as a token of both my gratitude and friendship, for I cannot think of anyone else who would treasure it as much as I. The second is a gift from our Captain in the Wild, a small token of our office. He requests that you wear it to our Moot, where you will receive a more formal awarding. This is a most high honor, Daffodil, for our office is one of the upmost responsibility.

P.P.P.P.S. I would write more, but that fool Butterbur is looking my way again. Must make off with this note! Hope to see you in June, under the stars!"

Daffodil read and re-read the letter until she memorized every word.

"Mirimaran", she whispered, "what a grand name!" Then she took out the coin and held its heavy weight in her hand. No mathom this, she thought, and placed it in a box under her bed, hidden under a loose floorboard. The other object she slowly unwrapped and then stared at for a long moment.

It was old, she could tell, for the silver shone in places and was dull from wear and age in others. The rays were straight and fine, and she had to wonder at the fine craftsmanship of the brooch, and if it were of the Ranger's people. She held up the star, feeling herself grow flush with realization.

Like a shot she went to her wardrobe and flung the double doors open wide. She dug down through the pile of frocks, frumps and frillies that seemed to drop to the bottom of the wardrobe on their own until she came up with an old gray shawl that had been her grandmother's, and a favorite of her own when she was very small. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, brought part over her head like a hood, and pinned the shawl closed with the star to her left shoulder. Then she stood in front of Belladonna Took's old mirror and beamed proudly at her reflection.

"Daffodil Underhill, Ranger of the North!", she pronounced herself.
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
User avatar
Greg
Urush bithî 'nKi ya-nam bawâb
Posts: 4496
Joined: Tue Dec 02, 2008 8:50 pm
Location: Eriador; Central Indiana

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Greg »

A grand name, indeed!

I laughed with delight at reading of a hobbit playing dress-up, fancying herself a ranger of the wilds. Most excellent writing, my good sir.
Now the sword shall come from under the cloak.
kaelln

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by kaelln »

Rather like one of us, (I say as I glance at my own reflection,) playing dress up and fancying himself a Ranger of the North. :wink:

This is really enjoyable, Ken!
Cleddyf
Silent Watcher over the Peaceful Lands
Posts: 243
Joined: Thu Nov 11, 2010 3:40 am

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Cleddyf »

I feel a bit sorry for the Sweetmilk's
:lol:
User avatar
Mirimaran
Thangailhir
Posts: 2110
Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
Location: North Carolina
Contact:

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Mirimaran »

Not to worry about the Sweetmilk's, I am sure they will come out of this just fine.

Kaelin and Greg, while dress-up is fine from time to time, Daffodil does learn a very valuable life lesson from her emulation of the Rangers, one that happens very soon after the end of this story, which I will post this weekend. Many thanks to all who have commented!
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
User avatar
Ernildir
Haeropada
Posts: 1089
Joined: Mon Aug 09, 2010 3:02 am
Location: Los Angeles, CA

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Ernildir »

I finally got around to reading this, Mirimaran. Beautiful! I loved the active metaphor involving the door.

And, unexpectedly, I very much enjoyed Daffodil's voice as I read her words. I suppose my mind attempted to conjecture it from your description of the character, and it was the sweetest and innocentest voice I ever heard! :mrgreen:
And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.
User avatar
Mirimaran
Thangailhir
Posts: 2110
Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
Location: North Carolina
Contact:

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Mirimaran »

Many thanks, Ernildhir! I am glad that you liked the story! That is how Daff sounds to me too, she is a combination of many young women I have had the honor to know. I still have to finish this story and get on to the next one, if folks would like to read more about her.
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
Jon
Amrod Rhandir
Posts: 646
Joined: Mon Jun 21, 2010 11:52 am
Location: Cumbria

Re: A Rainy Night at the Pony

Post by Jon »

Great story. Is that the end?

Life before Death.
Strength before Weakness.
Journey before Destination.
Post Reply