See Chapter 1 here.
See Chapter 2 here.
See Chapter 3 here.
Chapter 4. Dissonant Chords: Bingo Bolger-Baggins
[All the usual disclaimers apply. Some of the characters and places mentioned herein are based on those of J.R.R. Tolkien, though I hardly think he'd want them back when I'm finished with them, and as Bingo reminds me, he wasn't even wanted in the first place. Many images here are inspired by Jackson/Walsh/Boyen's film adaptation of LotR. There's no money in this, so don't even think it. I bet every kid would like to get paid for playing dolls, but life's tough. Credit lavendertook, if you will, because the following text and pictures are nobody else's damn fault, but my own.]
There are times when even a hobbit as loquacious as Bingo must halt his narration and concentrate on the task at hand, and this was one of those times. Having fallen from the back of the mumakling, battered by branches, he reached to find some grip, but found the bark slippery due to spray from the fast waters of the shallow stream below. And though the fall would not be all that far, he quickly surmised the jagged and slippery rocks beneath would promise an injurious landing, or worse.
So finding a hold among the branches was his only course, and with all of his hobbit fortitude, he scrambled to secure it. There would be time enough for complaint once he procured some purchase. He swung until he was able to fix a firm grip with both his agile hands.
There. *gets his breath, sighs with some relief to have a firm hand hold* This is a bit frightening. I don't relish a landing on those rocks below, and I need some foot hold before I can rest. Oh, this is a bit of a scrape I'm in! It's certainly not what I had in mind for an afternoon's ramble.
I need to work my way in to the trunk so I can climb down. . . . Or perhaps I should climb up . . . and out of mumakling reach. If Saffron comes back for me, should I risk going with her? Even if she means well . . . and I don't know that for sure . . . or she may . . . but she may have been sent by someone who doesn't . . . Come to think of it, if it weren't for the f's, her name would be most unfortunate, wouldn't it? The f's, as always, are all important, though, right? Of course they are.
Oh, ow! I rather rue not undertaking an arm strengthening regimen now, and if I get out of this scrape, there will certainly be a gym membership with my name on it. And the Elves can laugh at me all they want. And I can, in turn, laugh at their work-out dress. All right, let me try swinging that way to get a toe hold.
Here we go, good and solid closer in to the trunk. Errf! There, this is the way. What's one more bruise and cut now. I've certainly had far worse, when the reach was more perilous, as you well know.
The sun has been in and out, but I should be able to follow her well enough to find my way back, no matter how the light of Galathilion and Celeborn mingles. We really haven't gotten that far into the wild. I wonder if Saffron has noticed the loss of her passenger yet. And that's what I get for getting on the back of an untrained mumakling with no experience of bearing passengers.
My life has been so secure here with Bilbo, I suppose I've gotten a bit careless. I need to watch out for that. No wonder there is room for adventures, and those among the Eldar who undertake them, in the wilds this side of the Pelori. It's the dissonant chords that make the harmonies so much richer. Though, I'm hardly feeling much affection for dissonance at the moment. Ah, and there's my arrant oliphaunt now, coming back to fetch me. I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad . . . .
Click on any picture for enbiggenment.
To be continued . . . here.