2. An Empty Pantry
Barely able to walk, Scaldo could not get through the door. Rather, it was the Dwarf who squeezed him through.
"Which way to the pantry, flat face?"
Scaldo limply pointed ahead. The Dwarf left him. Eventually, Scaldo was able to think again, but before he could even comprehend what he had just done, the Dwarf returned picking his teeth. "That all?"
"You..." squeaked the disheveled hobbit. "You ate... pantry... everything!?"
"Yeh can get me more victuals later. Now to business, Waldo."
"Scaldo, actually." He had some dignity, after all.
"Wha' ever!" The Dwarf turned down the hall. Scaldo realized he had left the front door open and slammed it. He then scrambled after the Dwarf, who was making a beeline for the kitchens. From the front door was the main hall, which led to the bathroom, bedrooms, and the focal point of the house, the pantry. From the pantry, the spring, winter, autumn and summer kitchens branched off in a cross. Scaldo's bedroom was next to the kitchen area. Finding it inconvenient to get out of bed and trudging all the way to the kitchens, he kept a mini-pantry (at least to his reckoning) by his bedside. I will be certain, thought Scaldo, to not tell him that.
Going through the pantry, he looked up at the barren shelves and a whimper escaped his mouth. First the garden, then the pantries. You can imagine how unstable he was at this point.
The Dwarf sniffed around the summer kitchen, after licking up what remained of Scaldo's third breakfast.
"Come 'ere, Chubb."
Scaldo, feeling uneasier and more numb by the moment, complied. The Dwarf reclined in Scaldo's large chair, muddy boots on the table, checking for crumbs.
"Wait!" said Scaldo. "My name, how did you know my name?"
Finishing his search, the Dwarf replied, "What's it to yeh?"
Scaldo, irritated of the Dwarf's invasion and rudeness, grew bolder. "Then what is your name, sir?"
The Dwarf stood up suddenly, knocking over the chair with a crash. "Bla, bla, bla! Who needs a name? I ain't in this stinkin' place to gossip!"
That shut Scaldo up, for a little while.
"Now, where was I?" The Dwarf rubbed his large hood, and Scaldo placed his fat bottom on the floor in fatigue. (It had been a rough day already.)
"Right!" the Dwarf said, pounding the table. "Time to go!"
So overwhelmed with relief, Scaldo could scarcely squeal; the nightmare was almost over.
Walking out of the summer-kitchen, the Dwarf said, "Come, fatty!"
Scaldo would have gotten up in shock, if he could. But his weight overbalanced him, and he became stuck on his back. "Wh- wh- wha- wha-!"
"Yeh heard me. Come!"
Like a fat, dying beetle, all Scaldo could do was kick in the air.
The Dwarf prodded him with a boot. "Don't got all day!" A well-aimed kick got Scaldo up again.
"No time!" The Dwarf grabbed the collar of Scaldo's shirt and half dragged him into the hallway. There, he stopped. The long nose protruding from under his hood sniffed. Scaldo was confused until he realized the Dwarf was sniffing towards his bedroom. Suddenly, the Dwarf flung him away.
Here was Scaldo's last chance for retaliation. "No!!" he cried and flung himself at the gluttonous trespasser. Unfortunately, he fell short and hit the floor instead.
When Scaldo looked up, there towered the Dwarf licking his lips. Sacks and jars lay spewed from his open bedroom door.
"Now," said the Dwarf with a final lick. "Now we can go."
Scaldo heaved his bulk up and wretchedly followed the Dwarf out the door. With all food gone, he really had nothing else for it.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.