All posts in category Blithe the Days of Summer

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part Four

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part 4

Beldrieth was fetched by Aldish (who was probably the shyest out of the hobbits of Aubergine’s company, and had hemmed and hawed and respectfully doffed his cap a great number of times to the tall, impeccable elfess before managing to convey the message he’d been sent with). Despite her fluency in Westron and kindness and grace towards the small assemblage of hobbits, most of them were struck dumb and tongue-tied by Beldrieth. Brassica found herself wondering why the elfess carried such an air of gravity about her. Perhaps it was simply difficult not to sense her age, and to know how how to comport oneself around someone thousands of years old.

The appearance of Celebarad and Llythne lightened the mood considerably, as Beldrieth gently examined Bungo’s bruising wrist. Llythne was bouncing her dice merrily on her palm, and despite Brassica’s warning, soon she had Hal and Aldish rolling against her for trinkets and a handful of silver coins. Well recovered from any shyness of his own, Celebarad sat in the shady grass and chattered merrily to ‘Bergine, who seemed glad of the distraction now that her brother was in good hands.

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by preludeinz on May 16, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Blithe the Days of Summer, LotRO Stories, Uncategorized

Posted by preludeinz on May 16, 2012

https://thehobbitsinthestories.wordpress.com/2012/05/16/blithe-the-days-of-summer-part-four/

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part Three

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part 3

The breakfast that Aubergine Took had provided was a tasty and welcome start to the morning, and went a long way towards piquing Llythne’s curiosity towards the Summerday’s Festival, which she knew about, but was not actually really celebrated in Evendim. Brassica had been fortunate in borrowing ‘Bergine’s dress instead of Primmy’s–Primmy was stout even as hobbits went, and Brassica was closer in build to ‘Bergine, who was trim and perky. Once everyone had eaten, the tarts and the jammy bread having been washed down with fizzy sweet cider, Brassica retreated to the privacy of a bush, and wiggled into the soft yellow dress. It fit like a glove, and she spun and twirled girlishly, wishing for a mirror.

Now endowed with the capacity to flounce about, Brassica did so emphatically, her dress swirling about her every movement in a thoroughly pleasing fashion, as they tidied the camp and prepared to ride for the festival grounds. It had taken some cajoling to convince Beldrieth that they could spare a day for some relaxation and merriment, and that supplies could be just as easily purchased at the festival ground as they could in Bree Town, and probably with less fuss and bother. Once she had consented–and not unkindly, for she knew the value of a day of fun to the young hobbit–her charges had begun to prepare in earnest for the excursion.

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Blithe the Days of Summer – Part Two

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part 2

There was a strange fluidity between the pair of them–the mare and the elf. Brassica had noticed that Celebarad seemed to have a soft spot where the horses were concerned, especially his own Miriel. If Brassica hadn’t been clinging quite as tightly as she was, she might not have glimpsed the pure, unbridled joy that they both seemed to get from simply running free.

Brassica, tragically, didn’t quite manage any emotion other than stark terror until Miriel was urged to the crest of a hill and then slowed to a stop with a word from the elf. From this vantage point, Brassica could see the Festival Grounds, and see that they were indeed a place of great merriment, and there were certain to be more fireworks to come. “There!” she cried, and pried her fingers free long enough to point, and thump the elf on the shoulder. “Go slowly!” she scolded. “I feel about to fly off the back of your silly horse, for whatever the two of you think you’re flying on the ground.”

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Blithe the Days of Summer – Part One

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part 1

It had taken an entire day to calm Brassica down after they had left Trestlebridge.

Never mind that the town was half in ruins. Never mind that the guard were hard pressed to fend off from the Orcish camps that filled the canyon of Cirth Nur, and that Brassica and company had been fortunate to pass through Trestlebridge in a rare lull in the increasingly vicious assaults by the Tarkrip Orcs. Never mind that they were lucky that the inn was even still standing. And certainly never mind that it had been Llythne’s first time in a building less than a century old. Brassica had been shocked at the notion of what the big people allowed to pass for an inn.

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