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lotrchallengesAuthor: Dreamflower
Title: In the Courtyard of the Fountain
Rating: G
Theme: The White Tree
Elements: This story starter sentence: The only sound was the music of the fountain.
Author's Notes: This story will be a fragment of my larger story, In the Court of the High King. It tells of the time that eight hobbits spend in Minas Tirith. Among those eight is Frodo's cousin, Mosco Burrows. This tells of a brief encounter shortly after the hobbits have arrived in Minas Tirith.
Summary: Mosco Burrows has a conversation with the Steward...
Word Count:1,274
In the Courtyard of the Fountain
Mosco stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The only sound was the music of the fountain. It trickled soothingly beneath the slender boughs above it. The evening was young and only a few stars had made an appearance in the East, while in the West there was still the faintest rosy tinge of sunset still painting the horizon. The White Tree nearly glowed in the twilight. He'd heard it called "White", but he'd never known before how many sorts of "white" there could be. The bark of the trunk was striated in very pale shades and textures, from smooth to rough. There was an opalescent silver sheen to the underside of the leaves, but the uppersides were a velvety dark green, scarcely visible due to the myriad of snowy blossoms that nearly obscured the leaves altogether. He tried to ignore the forms of the Guardsmen, who were as still and silent as the statues he'd seen in the King's Throne Room. It was rather unnerving, and somewhat unnatural to see living things be so very still. He glanced over at one of them, at the gleaming silver and white embroidery against the black of his livery and then looked again.
"It's not quite what I expected," he muttered to himself as he stared at the young Tree.
"And what did you expect, Master Burrows?" asked a low voice behind him.
Mosco jumped, startled nearly out of his wits, for he had not heard the Man coming up so close. He turned, blushing to the tip of his ears. It was Prince Faramir! How embarrssing, to be caught gawking at the Tree and talking to himself by the Steward! "P-prince Faramir, I-- I--" he stammered, and then stopped, feeling himself flush even more.
"I am sorry, Master Burrows, I did not mean to interrupt you, or to intrude on you. I often come out to look upon the White Tree, and was pleased to see you here doing the same."
"N--no, my Lord! I- I mean you're not intruding..." He took a deep breath and straightened up. "What did I expect? I expected it to be beautiful, and it is. And I expected it to be white. And it is. But I didn't expect it to be so treelike, although I know it's a tree. But--" He stopped again, trying to explain what he meant. He looked up, and the Prince gave him a kindly and encouraging smile. He furrowed his brow, as he tried to gather the right words. "I guess I expected something more like, well--" he stopped and gestured at one of the silent Guardsmen with one hand, and at his chest with the other. "I thought it might look like the Tree does on the uniforms and on the banner, perfectly shaped with all the boughs even on both sides, just like the Tree we see everywhere. I've seen trees trimmed and trained to grow just so, I suppose I thought this one would be like that." He stopped and blushed again. "I know now it must have been a rather silly notion..."
The Prince chuckled, but his mirth was warm and not mocking. "It is a charming notion, I think, that the White Tree might look like the White Tree we use as our symbol. But none, I think, would dare to prune or constrain this Tree. It grows naturally, although some might think it grows unnaturally quickly."
Mosco nodded. "I understand that now. It just seems odd to me that I did not understand it sooner. A picture of something is not often a truly accurate likeness."
"No," the Prince replied, "not often. And yet those of us who behold a likeness very often expect that it is."
The hobbit chuckled ruefully. "It's not very sensible, though. And I think it is much more beautiful as it really is. It reminds me in some ways of the new Party Tree Sam planted. That grew too quickly as well. But even though they are both beautiful, they do not look alike. But there is something about them that makes them seem more--" Mosco stopped and turned his attention to the object of their discussion once again. "More alive than the things around them, and they both seem to be ancient, even though they are still slender and not much more than saplings."
"You are very discerning, Master Burrows," Faramir replied. Mosco blushed again, this time with pleasure at the compliment. Faramir continued, "I think that you see the air of the Tree from whose line this one is sprung, all the way back to the beginning, and the light of the Two Trees when the world was young, before the Sun and the Moon."
Mosco looked startled. "You mean to say that's a true story? I mean about the Two Trees? I recall Cousin Frodo telling that one at Yuletide in Brandy Hall one year! It seemed to me to be just a pretty fancy!" He laughed. "Of course, most of us thought the King returning was a pretty fancy! And there were some of us who even thought Elves were only a pretty fancy!" He made a rueful face; he had been one of those youthful doubters.
Faramir laughed as well. Then he leaned down and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Master Burrows, I know some within the sound of my voice right now who once thought that the pheriannath were only a pretty fancy!"
"But--" Mosco stopped, as he realised that the Prince had spoken so low that no one but the two of them could have heard what he said. "You mean to say you did not believe in hobbits?"
"Not even after my dream. Not until I saw two of them spring up out of the wilderness of Ithilien, walking out of fable and into my life, and carrying the fate of the world in their hands." He straightened up and looked down at Mosco seriously. "And they were not at all as my fancy would have painted them either. But, Master Burrows, I most assuredly believe in them now. I believe very firmly in hobbits."
Mosco knew he did not merely mean that he believed hobbits existed. "Some hobbits are worthy of being believed in. I think most of us have yet to prove we are worthy."
Faramir shook his head. "Never doubt it, Master Burrows. Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee did a deed worthy of song for so long as Arda shall endure. But they could accomplish that deed only because of the love of their home and the people they had left behind."
"I could never have been so brave as Frodo or Samwise. Or as Merry and Pippin for that matter," Mosco murmurred ruefully.
"Master Burrows, from what I know of hobbits, they find their courage as Mithrandir-- Gandalf-- always called 'in a pinch'. And I have no doubt that if you were 'in a pinch' you would find your courage."
Mosco looked back at the White Tree, and then once more at the Tree on the guardsmen. "I would like to think you are right, my Lord. But I doubt if I ever have occasion to put it to the proof."
Faramir placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. "Let us hope no such occasion does arise, for I would hate to think of you in such danger. Shall we rejoin your friends in the Merethrond?"
Mosco nodded, and followed the Steward back to the Feast Hall. But he turned and gave one more look back at that Tree. He would never forget the sight of it.
Title: In the Courtyard of the Fountain
Rating: G
Theme: The White Tree
Elements: This story starter sentence: The only sound was the music of the fountain.
Author's Notes: This story will be a fragment of my larger story, In the Court of the High King. It tells of the time that eight hobbits spend in Minas Tirith. Among those eight is Frodo's cousin, Mosco Burrows. This tells of a brief encounter shortly after the hobbits have arrived in Minas Tirith.
Summary: Mosco Burrows has a conversation with the Steward...
Word Count:1,274
Mosco stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The only sound was the music of the fountain. It trickled soothingly beneath the slender boughs above it. The evening was young and only a few stars had made an appearance in the East, while in the West there was still the faintest rosy tinge of sunset still painting the horizon. The White Tree nearly glowed in the twilight. He'd heard it called "White", but he'd never known before how many sorts of "white" there could be. The bark of the trunk was striated in very pale shades and textures, from smooth to rough. There was an opalescent silver sheen to the underside of the leaves, but the uppersides were a velvety dark green, scarcely visible due to the myriad of snowy blossoms that nearly obscured the leaves altogether. He tried to ignore the forms of the Guardsmen, who were as still and silent as the statues he'd seen in the King's Throne Room. It was rather unnerving, and somewhat unnatural to see living things be so very still. He glanced over at one of them, at the gleaming silver and white embroidery against the black of his livery and then looked again.
"It's not quite what I expected," he muttered to himself as he stared at the young Tree.
"And what did you expect, Master Burrows?" asked a low voice behind him.
Mosco jumped, startled nearly out of his wits, for he had not heard the Man coming up so close. He turned, blushing to the tip of his ears. It was Prince Faramir! How embarrssing, to be caught gawking at the Tree and talking to himself by the Steward! "P-prince Faramir, I-- I--" he stammered, and then stopped, feeling himself flush even more.
"I am sorry, Master Burrows, I did not mean to interrupt you, or to intrude on you. I often come out to look upon the White Tree, and was pleased to see you here doing the same."
"N--no, my Lord! I- I mean you're not intruding..." He took a deep breath and straightened up. "What did I expect? I expected it to be beautiful, and it is. And I expected it to be white. And it is. But I didn't expect it to be so treelike, although I know it's a tree. But--" He stopped again, trying to explain what he meant. He looked up, and the Prince gave him a kindly and encouraging smile. He furrowed his brow, as he tried to gather the right words. "I guess I expected something more like, well--" he stopped and gestured at one of the silent Guardsmen with one hand, and at his chest with the other. "I thought it might look like the Tree does on the uniforms and on the banner, perfectly shaped with all the boughs even on both sides, just like the Tree we see everywhere. I've seen trees trimmed and trained to grow just so, I suppose I thought this one would be like that." He stopped and blushed again. "I know now it must have been a rather silly notion..."
The Prince chuckled, but his mirth was warm and not mocking. "It is a charming notion, I think, that the White Tree might look like the White Tree we use as our symbol. But none, I think, would dare to prune or constrain this Tree. It grows naturally, although some might think it grows unnaturally quickly."
Mosco nodded. "I understand that now. It just seems odd to me that I did not understand it sooner. A picture of something is not often a truly accurate likeness."
"No," the Prince replied, "not often. And yet those of us who behold a likeness very often expect that it is."
The hobbit chuckled ruefully. "It's not very sensible, though. And I think it is much more beautiful as it really is. It reminds me in some ways of the new Party Tree Sam planted. That grew too quickly as well. But even though they are both beautiful, they do not look alike. But there is something about them that makes them seem more--" Mosco stopped and turned his attention to the object of their discussion once again. "More alive than the things around them, and they both seem to be ancient, even though they are still slender and not much more than saplings."
"You are very discerning, Master Burrows," Faramir replied. Mosco blushed again, this time with pleasure at the compliment. Faramir continued, "I think that you see the air of the Tree from whose line this one is sprung, all the way back to the beginning, and the light of the Two Trees when the world was young, before the Sun and the Moon."
Mosco looked startled. "You mean to say that's a true story? I mean about the Two Trees? I recall Cousin Frodo telling that one at Yuletide in Brandy Hall one year! It seemed to me to be just a pretty fancy!" He laughed. "Of course, most of us thought the King returning was a pretty fancy! And there were some of us who even thought Elves were only a pretty fancy!" He made a rueful face; he had been one of those youthful doubters.
Faramir laughed as well. Then he leaned down and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Master Burrows, I know some within the sound of my voice right now who once thought that the pheriannath were only a pretty fancy!"
"But--" Mosco stopped, as he realised that the Prince had spoken so low that no one but the two of them could have heard what he said. "You mean to say you did not believe in hobbits?"
"Not even after my dream. Not until I saw two of them spring up out of the wilderness of Ithilien, walking out of fable and into my life, and carrying the fate of the world in their hands." He straightened up and looked down at Mosco seriously. "And they were not at all as my fancy would have painted them either. But, Master Burrows, I most assuredly believe in them now. I believe very firmly in hobbits."
Mosco knew he did not merely mean that he believed hobbits existed. "Some hobbits are worthy of being believed in. I think most of us have yet to prove we are worthy."
Faramir shook his head. "Never doubt it, Master Burrows. Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee did a deed worthy of song for so long as Arda shall endure. But they could accomplish that deed only because of the love of their home and the people they had left behind."
"I could never have been so brave as Frodo or Samwise. Or as Merry and Pippin for that matter," Mosco murmurred ruefully.
"Master Burrows, from what I know of hobbits, they find their courage as Mithrandir-- Gandalf-- always called 'in a pinch'. And I have no doubt that if you were 'in a pinch' you would find your courage."
Mosco looked back at the White Tree, and then once more at the Tree on the guardsmen. "I would like to think you are right, my Lord. But I doubt if I ever have occasion to put it to the proof."
Faramir placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. "Let us hope no such occasion does arise, for I would hate to think of you in such danger. Shall we rejoin your friends in the Merethrond?"
Mosco nodded, and followed the Steward back to the Feast Hall. But he turned and gave one more look back at that Tree. He would never forget the sight of it.