Remembrance in Bree
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hobbit_holidaysAuthor: Surgical Steel
Title: “Remembrance in Bree”
Rating: Likely PG
Pairing/Characters: Serindë (my OFC healer), her children Thorongil and Tarië, Merry, Pippin, Barliman Butterbur, Glory Underhill (an OFC of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gloryunderhill’s…
Warnings: Angst, implied character death in the past
Summary: Halbarad’s widow establishes a memorial for him in Bree – and the Bree-folk express their gratitude for his service.
Author's Notes: Cross-posted tosurgsteelfic. For Veteran’s Day (or Remembrance Day, or whichever holiday you use to honor those who’ve served in the armed forces)
CREDITS:shirebound for the initial idea that there should be a memorial for Halbarad in the Northlands. gloryunderhill for Glory and Berilac and Bree hobbit burial customs. The song at the beginning is “The Lark in the Clear Air,” Irish traditional.
Serindë smiled a bit sadly at Thorongil as she heard Tarië singing from the next room.
Dear thoughts are my mind and my soul it soars enchanted,
As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day,
For a tender beaming smile to my hope has been granted,
And tomorrow he shall hear all my fond heart longs to say.
I will tell him all my love, all my soul's pure adoration,
And I know he will hear my voice and he will not answer me nay,
It is this that gives my soul all its joyous elation,
As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day.
“She’s very definitely in love,” Thorongil observed with a grin
“Wonder if it’ll be Tarië or Hador that screws up the courage to ask the question?” Serindë asked.
“My money’s on Tarië,” Thorongil said with a smile.
They’d come back to Bree with a twofold purpose – Tarië had been back in Eriador for two years, patrolling mainly around Bree and the Shire, the lands that she’d worked so hard to protect alone during the Troubles. From the letters exchanged while Tarië was still in Gondor, it was clear that she and Hador were friendly. From letters that Serindë received from every Underhill female capable of writing - and Polly Butterbur – it was even more clear that a romance was blossoming. It was oddly appropriate to Serindë that her daughter was now the Ranger staying at the Pony while courting the healer who lived across the street.
She’d tried to pay Barliman for the rooms she’d taken, and he’d folded the coins back into her hand. “Your coin’s no good here, healer. You’re too much like family for me to accept your coin. And it’s just too good to see you again. You’re welcome here for as long as you care to stay.”
It was clear to Serindë that most of Bree had no idea what to say to her about Halbarad’s death, the fact that she still wore her marriage ring five years later, that she wore Halbarad’s marriage ring on a chain around her neck. But he was, in fact, her second purpose. Tarië had written in one letter that one of the few things she truly missed about Minas Tirith was the ability to visit Daddy’s grave – and after giving it some thought and discussing it with Thorongil, she’d come to a decision. There was no reason why they couldn’t establish some sort of a memorial here – under that old tree, next to the graves of Níniel and Mat Underhill seemed to be the most appropriate place that either could think of.
“Ready?” Thorongil asked.
Serindë nodded and picked up the small bag – she’d still had some of Halbarad’s personal effects in her house in Minas Tirith that she’d had no idea how to dispose of. Spare boots with worn soles – Tarië’s feet were too short, Thorongil’s too narrow. And the pipe? Thorongil had never picked up the pipesmoking habit, and Tarië certainly hadn’t. She’d kept his cloak, the cloak clasp, the saddlebags that she’d embroidered for him.
Burying these items might at least be a symbolic funeral for those in Bree who cared for him - and for me, as well, she reflected wryly. She hadn’t intended to neglect burial arrangements for him before, but she’d just been so abominably busy, and having so much difficulty dealing with the simple fact that he was gone without trying to decide what to do with his remains… She’d likely have put him with the other fallen of the Pelennor, in that graveyard outside of the main gates, looking out over the fields and over the Anduin – but having left it to Aragorn, Halbarad had been interred in the Hallows.
Tarië entered from the next room – and it seemed that no words needed to be said among mother and children, at any rate, and the three headed down the stairs and out into the streets of Bree, wending their way through the market, out to the outskirts of the city, up to the old pecan tree on the eastern edge of the Underhills’ land. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Serindë much that Glory and Berilac Brandybuck had made their way there – nor that Berilac waited with a shovel. What did surprise her was the presence of Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took. Serindë dropped down to her knees, hugging first Glory as one of her oldest friends in Bree, and then Merry and Pippin.
“We’d heard you were coming up, and Glory hinted you might be thinking of a memorial here,” Merry said. “He was an adopted Brandybuck, it only seemed right.”
“And you’re an adopted Took,” Pippin added, squeezing her arm.
“And you can’t imagine that we wouldn’t be here,” Glory added. “Barliman paid for the stone, Berilac carved it – we always thought you’d do something here, even if his body – oh, I’m sorry,” she said, trailing off as Serindë began blinking rapidly.
Serindë waved impatiently. “I know that, Glory dear. But not mentioning it doesn’t make me miss him less.”
Thorongil had picked up the shovel, turned the first few spadefuls of earth over.
“His birthday today, isn’t it?” Glory murmured.
“He’d have been fifty-eight,” Serindë answered, watching as Merry and Pippin and Berilac each in their turn took the shovel, enlarging the hole until it was wide enough and deep enough for the bag containing his old boots and pipe. “I wasn’t even there when…” she trailed off. “We’d marched off to Mordor, you know, and by the time we got back to Minas Tirith…”
Glory had begun singing softly, and Serindë couldn’t even make out the words completely – something intended to ease the spirit’s passage, she knew, and Serindë found herself weeping quietly as she placed the small bag into that hole and the lads covered it back over with earth, and finally placed the stone marker over it.
Halbarad, son of Vёantur
Beloved Husband and Father
Your Body Lies Elsewhere, Your Spirit Is Remembered Always
With Gratitude for Service Rendered to the People of Bree
“Barliman said he never really understood until the ruffians entered Bree just how much danger Daddy and the other Rangers regularly put themselves in for the people of Bree,” Tarië murmured.
“He never expected thanks,” Serindë said. “Thought it was part of the work; that the people being protected should never know how much danger they’d otherwise be in, should never know that there was a reason to be grateful. And half of Bree only welcomed him in life for my sake.”
Thorongil put an arm around her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Goodness knows they’re grateful enough for Rangers now,” he said.
“They’re having a bit of a do at the Pony later – remembering everyone we lost in the Troubles,” Glory said. “Drinks, food – a few tales. You’ll be there?”
Serindë nodded. “I’d just like a few moments?”
The hobbits withdrew quietly – and she’d expected Tarië and Thorongil to do the same, but they stayed with her as she sat on her heels, silently tracing the lettering of the stone, and pulled her into a hug as she stood. The three walked back into Bree together, back into the Pony.
And finally, Barliman pulled her into a hug himself, murmuring, “I didn’t say anything earlier – seemed like it was too long after the fact to matter and all – but I’m sorry for your loss, and grateful for what he did while he was still alive. He was a good man, and a kind one, and always treated you and the children well.”
“Thank you, Barliman,” Serindë said with a small smile.
Barliman squeezed her arm gently, saying, “We’ve heard you played a bit of a part in the wars in the South yourself – and we’re grateful for your service, too, healer. Suppose the battle-surgeons are as much a part of the armies as the soldiers fighting in them. If there’s any stories you’d care to tell us from the wars…”
Serindë laughed through her tears at that, but at his insistence, she sat down by the hearth and began with, “Does everyone know the difference between a fairy tale and a war story? The fairy tale starts, ‘once upon a time.’ The war story starts, ‘No lie, there I was.’”
Barliman laughed, the hobbits laughed. Hador laughed from where he was walking in through the front door, but then quickly found a seat, pulling Tarië into his lap. Tarië seemed to struggle for a moment, but then allowed the familiarity with a laugh and a kiss on Hador’s cheek – and Hador gave Serindë a look and a shrug and mouthed the single word ‘patients.’
Serindë blinked at that. She hadn’t even known he’d meant to be there – he must be very close to Tarië, indeed - and took a breath, and continued, “No lie, there I was, in a tiny aid station within spitting distance of the Black Gates…”
With gratitude to those who have served, and those who continue to serve
Surgical Steel, formerly Major, USAF, MC
Title: “Remembrance in Bree”
Rating: Likely PG
Pairing/Characters: Serindë (my OFC healer), her children Thorongil and Tarië, Merry, Pippin, Barliman Butterbur, Glory Underhill (an OFC of
gloryunderhill’s…Warnings: Angst, implied character death in the past
Summary: Halbarad’s widow establishes a memorial for him in Bree – and the Bree-folk express their gratitude for his service.
Author's Notes: Cross-posted to
surgsteelfic. For Veteran’s Day (or Remembrance Day, or whichever holiday you use to honor those who’ve served in the armed forces)CREDITS:
shirebound for the initial idea that there should be a memorial for Halbarad in the Northlands. gloryunderhill for Glory and Berilac and Bree hobbit burial customs. The song at the beginning is “The Lark in the Clear Air,” Irish traditional.Serindë smiled a bit sadly at Thorongil as she heard Tarië singing from the next room.
Dear thoughts are my mind and my soul it soars enchanted,
As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day,
For a tender beaming smile to my hope has been granted,
And tomorrow he shall hear all my fond heart longs to say.
I will tell him all my love, all my soul's pure adoration,
And I know he will hear my voice and he will not answer me nay,
It is this that gives my soul all its joyous elation,
As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day.
“She’s very definitely in love,” Thorongil observed with a grin
“Wonder if it’ll be Tarië or Hador that screws up the courage to ask the question?” Serindë asked.
“My money’s on Tarië,” Thorongil said with a smile.
They’d come back to Bree with a twofold purpose – Tarië had been back in Eriador for two years, patrolling mainly around Bree and the Shire, the lands that she’d worked so hard to protect alone during the Troubles. From the letters exchanged while Tarië was still in Gondor, it was clear that she and Hador were friendly. From letters that Serindë received from every Underhill female capable of writing - and Polly Butterbur – it was even more clear that a romance was blossoming. It was oddly appropriate to Serindë that her daughter was now the Ranger staying at the Pony while courting the healer who lived across the street.
She’d tried to pay Barliman for the rooms she’d taken, and he’d folded the coins back into her hand. “Your coin’s no good here, healer. You’re too much like family for me to accept your coin. And it’s just too good to see you again. You’re welcome here for as long as you care to stay.”
It was clear to Serindë that most of Bree had no idea what to say to her about Halbarad’s death, the fact that she still wore her marriage ring five years later, that she wore Halbarad’s marriage ring on a chain around her neck. But he was, in fact, her second purpose. Tarië had written in one letter that one of the few things she truly missed about Minas Tirith was the ability to visit Daddy’s grave – and after giving it some thought and discussing it with Thorongil, she’d come to a decision. There was no reason why they couldn’t establish some sort of a memorial here – under that old tree, next to the graves of Níniel and Mat Underhill seemed to be the most appropriate place that either could think of.
“Ready?” Thorongil asked.
Serindë nodded and picked up the small bag – she’d still had some of Halbarad’s personal effects in her house in Minas Tirith that she’d had no idea how to dispose of. Spare boots with worn soles – Tarië’s feet were too short, Thorongil’s too narrow. And the pipe? Thorongil had never picked up the pipesmoking habit, and Tarië certainly hadn’t. She’d kept his cloak, the cloak clasp, the saddlebags that she’d embroidered for him.
Burying these items might at least be a symbolic funeral for those in Bree who cared for him - and for me, as well, she reflected wryly. She hadn’t intended to neglect burial arrangements for him before, but she’d just been so abominably busy, and having so much difficulty dealing with the simple fact that he was gone without trying to decide what to do with his remains… She’d likely have put him with the other fallen of the Pelennor, in that graveyard outside of the main gates, looking out over the fields and over the Anduin – but having left it to Aragorn, Halbarad had been interred in the Hallows.
Tarië entered from the next room – and it seemed that no words needed to be said among mother and children, at any rate, and the three headed down the stairs and out into the streets of Bree, wending their way through the market, out to the outskirts of the city, up to the old pecan tree on the eastern edge of the Underhills’ land. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Serindë much that Glory and Berilac Brandybuck had made their way there – nor that Berilac waited with a shovel. What did surprise her was the presence of Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took. Serindë dropped down to her knees, hugging first Glory as one of her oldest friends in Bree, and then Merry and Pippin.
“We’d heard you were coming up, and Glory hinted you might be thinking of a memorial here,” Merry said. “He was an adopted Brandybuck, it only seemed right.”
“And you’re an adopted Took,” Pippin added, squeezing her arm.
“And you can’t imagine that we wouldn’t be here,” Glory added. “Barliman paid for the stone, Berilac carved it – we always thought you’d do something here, even if his body – oh, I’m sorry,” she said, trailing off as Serindë began blinking rapidly.
Serindë waved impatiently. “I know that, Glory dear. But not mentioning it doesn’t make me miss him less.”
Thorongil had picked up the shovel, turned the first few spadefuls of earth over.
“His birthday today, isn’t it?” Glory murmured.
“He’d have been fifty-eight,” Serindë answered, watching as Merry and Pippin and Berilac each in their turn took the shovel, enlarging the hole until it was wide enough and deep enough for the bag containing his old boots and pipe. “I wasn’t even there when…” she trailed off. “We’d marched off to Mordor, you know, and by the time we got back to Minas Tirith…”
Glory had begun singing softly, and Serindë couldn’t even make out the words completely – something intended to ease the spirit’s passage, she knew, and Serindë found herself weeping quietly as she placed the small bag into that hole and the lads covered it back over with earth, and finally placed the stone marker over it.
Halbarad, son of Vёantur
Beloved Husband and Father
Your Body Lies Elsewhere, Your Spirit Is Remembered Always
With Gratitude for Service Rendered to the People of Bree
“Barliman said he never really understood until the ruffians entered Bree just how much danger Daddy and the other Rangers regularly put themselves in for the people of Bree,” Tarië murmured.
“He never expected thanks,” Serindë said. “Thought it was part of the work; that the people being protected should never know how much danger they’d otherwise be in, should never know that there was a reason to be grateful. And half of Bree only welcomed him in life for my sake.”
Thorongil put an arm around her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Goodness knows they’re grateful enough for Rangers now,” he said.
“They’re having a bit of a do at the Pony later – remembering everyone we lost in the Troubles,” Glory said. “Drinks, food – a few tales. You’ll be there?”
Serindë nodded. “I’d just like a few moments?”
The hobbits withdrew quietly – and she’d expected Tarië and Thorongil to do the same, but they stayed with her as she sat on her heels, silently tracing the lettering of the stone, and pulled her into a hug as she stood. The three walked back into Bree together, back into the Pony.
And finally, Barliman pulled her into a hug himself, murmuring, “I didn’t say anything earlier – seemed like it was too long after the fact to matter and all – but I’m sorry for your loss, and grateful for what he did while he was still alive. He was a good man, and a kind one, and always treated you and the children well.”
“Thank you, Barliman,” Serindë said with a small smile.
Barliman squeezed her arm gently, saying, “We’ve heard you played a bit of a part in the wars in the South yourself – and we’re grateful for your service, too, healer. Suppose the battle-surgeons are as much a part of the armies as the soldiers fighting in them. If there’s any stories you’d care to tell us from the wars…”
Serindë laughed through her tears at that, but at his insistence, she sat down by the hearth and began with, “Does everyone know the difference between a fairy tale and a war story? The fairy tale starts, ‘once upon a time.’ The war story starts, ‘No lie, there I was.’”
Barliman laughed, the hobbits laughed. Hador laughed from where he was walking in through the front door, but then quickly found a seat, pulling Tarië into his lap. Tarië seemed to struggle for a moment, but then allowed the familiarity with a laugh and a kiss on Hador’s cheek – and Hador gave Serindë a look and a shrug and mouthed the single word ‘patients.’
Serindë blinked at that. She hadn’t even known he’d meant to be there – he must be very close to Tarië, indeed - and took a breath, and continued, “No lie, there I was, in a tiny aid station within spitting distance of the Black Gates…”
With gratitude to those who have served, and those who continue to serve
Surgical Steel, formerly Major, USAF, MC
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Date: 2006-11-11 03:18 am (UTC)And Serinde was uncommonly circumspect: all the war stories I've heard start out "No s**t,there I was..." LOL!
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Date: 2006-11-11 12:43 pm (UTC)Trying to keep it PG, ma'am. *salutes*
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Date: 2006-11-11 04:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-11 12:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-21 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-02 12:38 pm (UTC)