[piosenniel]

Nurumaiel's post

Anson Brandybuck stood outside the door to his father's room, fiddling with one of the buttons on his coat. He didn't want to talk to his father. Every time they discussed something, whether it was important or not, they got into a fight. But this was so important... he had to have his father's permission. Otherwise he would be running away, and he didn't want it to come to that. As a matter of fact, he didn?t even want to go on this adventure. But Gorby asked him, and he couldn't refuse Gorby. Gorby was, after all, a bit nervous about this whole search party himself, and he might need someone he knew to come with him, and since they had grown up together...

"I can't let Gorby down," Anson murmured, and knocked on the door, making up his mind he wouldn't say something clever like the last time that would make his father angry. It made his father angry because his father couldn't say something equally as clever. Anson was known as very clumsy, but nobody knew how really intelligent he was.

"Come in!" his father cried, sounding annoyed. Anson took a deep, shuddering breath. That wasn't good. If his father was annoyed, then his father wouldn't be willing to listen. Sure, he and his father might not get along very well, but the latter was just as protective and he wouldn't like the idea of his son joining and going off with a search party. Not at all.

Anson pushed open the door and put a forced smile on his face, preparing himself to sound pleasant. Not that Anson ever sounded unpleasant, but sometimes he sounded intelligent and that annoyed his father.

The room was very spacious though rather bare of furniture. Posco preferred it that way. One side of the room had a large bed, while the other had a desk. Posco's job, a postman, didn't require a desk, but he wanted one. It made his job seem more professional. Anson could not say, however, that the desk did not come in handy. Posco was in charge of sorting out letters and delivering them, and the desk gave him all the room he needed to sort them out. At the moment letters were scattered all over the desks, and Anson felt deeply annoyed. He himself was very neat and tidy, and he felt a strong urge to clean them up.

When his father, whose name was Posco, saw who it was, he ducked his head and grumbled, "Oh, it?s you." The memory suddenly came to Anson that only that morning that had gotten into another fight. That decreased his chances of getting his father's willing approval. But he most likely wouldn?t have had it anyway.

"Well, Dad, I have something to tell you," Anson said. "I was talking to Orb today, and he wants me to go somewhere with him."

"Oh yes?" Posco said, acting as though he hadn't really heard. His hands were moving quickly, sorting through the letters, but Anson could see that his father had heard and was listening eagerly. "Where does he want you to go?"

Anson put his hands behind his back and took a deep breath, feeling rather like a rabbit being guarded closely like a hawk. The hawk wouldn't kill until the rabbit gave it the signal to in this case. Oh no, if Anson remained silent the hawk wouldn't kill. But he had no choice. After all, Gorby was depending on him. So Anson told his father all that Doderic had told Gorby (which Gorby had then passed on to Anson).

There was no hesitation from his father. "No." That was all that was said.

Relief was Anson's first feeling, but then as he thought of Gorby he stiffened. "Yes," he replied.

Posco's face twitched, but he controlled his anger and, leaning back in his chair, looked his son right in the eye. "You can't say that until you've come of age, son, and you still have nine good years. Since I'm your father I have the authority to say no, and I do say no."

"But Gorby-"

"I don't care what Gorby says or doesn't say. You're not going. Why, you ask? It might be dangerous, and you'd be safer at home."

"And what happens when I do come of age and go out travelling and I don't know anything about the Shire beyond the front steps of my own home?" Anson asked. He didn't care that he wasn't going to go travelling when he was older. He said that to make a point, regardless of whether it was true or not.

"No, and that's all. You can go now."

Anson did go. He left the room, he went into the kitchen and grabbed a few things to eat, put on a coat in case it grew chilly, and left the hole. Unsure of where he was going or how long it would take, he turned east and began to walk. Whether his father liked it or not, he was going to Bree to attend the meeting.

And now, two days later, he had entered Bree. He shivered a little as he thought of what had happened back at his home. It brought a cold feeling upon him. He had run away. He had told himself he didn't want to run away, and that he wouldn't leave without his father's permission. And he here was, in Bree. He hadn't even said goodbye to his mother. That was the worst of all. What would she think?

"I hope you're grateful after what I've done for your sake, Gorby," Anson muttered. He wanted to ask someone for directions to the Prancing Pony, where Gorby had told him everyone was, but he was too afraid. After all, it couldn't be that difficult to find it, could it? Well, he had already been wandering around for an hour. What was another two or three.

But there it was! And Gorby was probably there. Anson, forgetting all his troubles back at his home, rushed forward with delight. Grasping the handle of the door, he pushed it open. His journey was over... for now. There was always, of course, the search party. But in that journey he'd have Gorby.

[ October 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]