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Apr. 20th, 2008 10:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Next fic, written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
febobe!!
Title Crown of Healing
Rating G
Pairing None
Summary Frodo faints during the King's coronation.
On the morning of the King’s coronation, the sun rose into a cloudless sky, and by midday, it burned hot and merciless, more reminiscent of summer in the deserts of Harad than of spring in Minas Tirith. Frodo and the other hobbits had rejoiced to see the dawning of such a stunning day. Aragorn deserved such grand weather for his greatest hour. In the darkest hour of the War, the night had stretched on endlessly until everyone despaired of ever seeing the sun again. And now, as The White City prepared to celebrate the beginning of a new age, it only seemed proper that the sun blazed in its full glory.
The four hobbits had dressed in the finest silks and linens that the royal tailor could sew for them. They gathered in front of the crowd in a place of honor.
“Do you suppose he’s nervous?” Pippin asked.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Frodo said. “I suppose he might be.” Sweat trickled down his back, and the sun burned his cheeks. “So many years in the wild alone, friendless, and now to be a King of Men. I can’t begin to imagine.”
“He’s striven his whole life for this,” Merry said. “Do you remember when we first met him in the inn in Bree? Gave me quite a nasty start. I just saw this scruffy man grab poor Frodo and push him up the stairs.”
“I knew even then that he meant no harm,” Frodo said. His voice sounded faint to his own ears. His legs felt weak and his stomach rolled. He had never been so affected by the heat of the sun. He wondered if he might always be more sensitive to the heat after nearly perishing amidst the rolling lava in Mordor.
An awed hush fell over the crowd, and the ceremony began.
Frodo waited for the signal from Gandalf to step forth and take the crown from Faramir.
As time went on, he wanted more and more to sit down. A slight cramping had taken hold of his stomach, and he felt weak. So weak that he feared he might drop the crown once it was in his hands. Gandalf’s voice faded, and a rushing filled his ears. Frodo focused on taking one breath at a time. The dark thoughts encroached, and he tried to push them away - how dare they come to plague him under the midday sun - but they seeped into his mind, casting a shadow over his heart. He blinked against the darkness. He would not interrupt the coronation. This moment was far too important and well-deserved. He forced his smile and hoped that it reached his eyes. After this ceremony, what then?
When the hobbits were stronger, they would begin their journey home. But it all seemed so pointless. How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?
Frodo had not told his friends, not even Sam, especially not Sam, that he often wished that Aragorn had not brought him back. He would be at peace now if only Aragorn had let him go, if only he had given up the fight in calling to the faint song still weaving inside Frodo, that one frayed thread that had kept him from floating away.
Sam nudged him. He blinked. Gandalf had beckoned to him. He stepped forward, hoping beyond hope that he would not faint in front of all these people. This was Aragorn’’s moment. Frodo forced a smile at Faramir and took the crown from him. It felt terribly heavy, and the short distance between himself and Gandalf felt long and arduous, impossible.
Then he met Gandalf‘s gaze. Something in Gandalf’s joyful eyes lifted Frodo’s heart and cleared some of the darkness from his vision. A new vigor warmed his limbs. He offered Aragorn a happy smile as he gave the crown to Gandalf. He walked back to his place beside the other hobbits, and already the shadow had crept back over his heart.
The crowd had erupted into cheers, and Frodo sagged against Sam in relief that he had made it through his part of the ceremony. Aragorn stood with the crown upon his head, smiling at everyone, offering a special smile to the hobbits. Through the darkening veil before his eyes, Frodo thought he perceived a light upon Aragorn’s brow that shone with more brilliance than the crown upon his head. Sam turned to Frodo in concern, and the world whirled and tilted. Frodo buckled forward and knew no more.
Frodo first became aware of crisp linen against his burning cheek. Next he felt a cool wet cloth resting on his brow. Also, he was hungry.
He cracked open his eyes. He felt weak but no longer sick. Éowyn sat beside his bed. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders, trickling down her back like golden rain.
“Good morning.” She smiled. “How are you feeling?”
Frodo blushed. “My lady, I hope you’re not inconvenienced by being here.””
“Nay, it’s a great honor. I’ve not yet had the chance to offer you my thanks for all your deeds. May I assist you in any way?”
Frodo touched the wet cloth. “I’m afraid the heat got to me at the coronation.”
“You were not the only one,” Éowyn said. “The Southern heat in spring can be harsh to those unused to it.”
“I am all right now, but I am awfully hungry.”
“Rest now, little one.” Éowyn stood. She touched Frodo’s cheek with the cool back of her hand. “And while you do, I will fetch you some food.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Frodo said. “Oh, and Éowyn.””
Éowyn paused at the door.
“I hear that you and Faramir are to be married. I must offer you my good wishes.””
Éowyn’s face lit up with a happy smile. “Thank you.”
Frodo fell into a gentle sleep.
He woke again to the creak of the opening door. Éowyn and Aragorn walked in. Éowyn carried a large tray. The fragrant broth made Frodo’s stomach rumble in anticipation. Aragorn knelt beside Frodo’s bed and touched his brow. “How do you feel, little one? You gave us quite a scare.”
“I am all right. I am only sorry that it happened during your ceremony.”
“Hush, it was but a ceremony. You are my dear friend.”
“Really, I am all right. Just weary is all. Where are the others?”
“I have sent your cousins and Sam off with Faramir for a tour of the city. I knew if they hovered around worrying about you all day it would be unproductive to your healing. They should be back shortly.”
Frodo laughed. “However did you convince Sam to leave?”
“I promised he’d be the first to visit you when he returned.”
Éowyn set the tray down on the bedside table with a gentle laugh. She then arranged the pillows behind Frodo so that he could sit up in bed.
With Aragorn’s help, she had pulled together a delightful meal. Clear broth with bits of mushroom in it, a chunk of bread freshly out of the oven with a slab of butter beside it. A few slices of cut-up roast chicken, baked in savory herbs. Mashed potatoes swimming in a chicken gravy. Plump, juicy strawberries had been cut into delicate slices - topped with a
dollop of cream.
“Oh, this looks marvelous,” Frodo said, smiling up at his friends.
“Is it enough?” Éowyn asked. “The King claims the appetites of hobbits surpass the greediest cravings of the Big People.”
Frodo laughed. “This is plenty. More than enough, I should guess.”
He tried to lift his arm, but he found that he had lost all strength.
“Oh.” He looked up at Éowyn. He flushed. “I am sorry, my lady, but…”
“Would you like help, little one? There is no shame in it. Faramir had to feed me for many days when my arm lay useless in a sling. Come, it will be an honor to feed the Ring-bearer.”
“Please do not call me that.”
“Sorry.” She laughed. “Master Baggins.”
“Frodo.” Frodo’s cheeks heated.
Aragorn cleared his throat. “I will be back very soon.” He left the room.
Éowyn settled once again on the stool beside Frodo. She spooned some of the broth into Frodo’s tiny mouth. Frodo swallowed with the eagerness of a baby bird, and the broth only served to whet his appetite.
Spoonful by spoonful, Éowyn helped Frodo to eat the entire meal. Frodo patted his stomach.
“I cannot thank you enough. Nothing tastes better than a meal just after an illness.”
Frodo heard familiar voices outside the door.
“Mr. Strider made a promise to me to go in first.”
“All right, then go in first. We’ll just be right behind you.”
The door burst open and Sam pushed his way in, followed closely by Merry and Pippin. Aragorn came in after them and closed the door.
“He’s awake!” Pippin said. “Mmm.” He picked a strawberry off the tray and popped it in his mouth. “Delicious!”
“Maybe Frodo was going to eat that,” Merry chastised, but he fished a mushroom piece out of the bottom of the broth bowl. “We’ve got to fatten him up for his next public appearance. I’m quite sure the King expects him to be at the feast tomorrow night.”
Pippin dipped his finger into some of the leftover cream and licked it. “I do like this Gondorian tradition of feasts.”
“Forget not,” Aragorn said, “that as a Guard of the Tower, you shall be on duty that night, Peregrin Took.”
“In that case,” Frodo said, protecting the last bite of his bread from his cousin‘s greedy hands. “I shall be just as happy to feast in right here in bed.” He glanced at Éowyn, who smiled back at him.
febobe!!Title Crown of Healing
Rating G
Pairing None
Summary Frodo faints during the King's coronation.
On the morning of the King’s coronation, the sun rose into a cloudless sky, and by midday, it burned hot and merciless, more reminiscent of summer in the deserts of Harad than of spring in Minas Tirith. Frodo and the other hobbits had rejoiced to see the dawning of such a stunning day. Aragorn deserved such grand weather for his greatest hour. In the darkest hour of the War, the night had stretched on endlessly until everyone despaired of ever seeing the sun again. And now, as The White City prepared to celebrate the beginning of a new age, it only seemed proper that the sun blazed in its full glory.
The four hobbits had dressed in the finest silks and linens that the royal tailor could sew for them. They gathered in front of the crowd in a place of honor.
“Do you suppose he’s nervous?” Pippin asked.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Frodo said. “I suppose he might be.” Sweat trickled down his back, and the sun burned his cheeks. “So many years in the wild alone, friendless, and now to be a King of Men. I can’t begin to imagine.”
“He’s striven his whole life for this,” Merry said. “Do you remember when we first met him in the inn in Bree? Gave me quite a nasty start. I just saw this scruffy man grab poor Frodo and push him up the stairs.”
“I knew even then that he meant no harm,” Frodo said. His voice sounded faint to his own ears. His legs felt weak and his stomach rolled. He had never been so affected by the heat of the sun. He wondered if he might always be more sensitive to the heat after nearly perishing amidst the rolling lava in Mordor.
An awed hush fell over the crowd, and the ceremony began.
Frodo waited for the signal from Gandalf to step forth and take the crown from Faramir.
As time went on, he wanted more and more to sit down. A slight cramping had taken hold of his stomach, and he felt weak. So weak that he feared he might drop the crown once it was in his hands. Gandalf’s voice faded, and a rushing filled his ears. Frodo focused on taking one breath at a time. The dark thoughts encroached, and he tried to push them away - how dare they come to plague him under the midday sun - but they seeped into his mind, casting a shadow over his heart. He blinked against the darkness. He would not interrupt the coronation. This moment was far too important and well-deserved. He forced his smile and hoped that it reached his eyes. After this ceremony, what then?
When the hobbits were stronger, they would begin their journey home. But it all seemed so pointless. How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?
Frodo had not told his friends, not even Sam, especially not Sam, that he often wished that Aragorn had not brought him back. He would be at peace now if only Aragorn had let him go, if only he had given up the fight in calling to the faint song still weaving inside Frodo, that one frayed thread that had kept him from floating away.
Sam nudged him. He blinked. Gandalf had beckoned to him. He stepped forward, hoping beyond hope that he would not faint in front of all these people. This was Aragorn’’s moment. Frodo forced a smile at Faramir and took the crown from him. It felt terribly heavy, and the short distance between himself and Gandalf felt long and arduous, impossible.
Then he met Gandalf‘s gaze. Something in Gandalf’s joyful eyes lifted Frodo’s heart and cleared some of the darkness from his vision. A new vigor warmed his limbs. He offered Aragorn a happy smile as he gave the crown to Gandalf. He walked back to his place beside the other hobbits, and already the shadow had crept back over his heart.
The crowd had erupted into cheers, and Frodo sagged against Sam in relief that he had made it through his part of the ceremony. Aragorn stood with the crown upon his head, smiling at everyone, offering a special smile to the hobbits. Through the darkening veil before his eyes, Frodo thought he perceived a light upon Aragorn’s brow that shone with more brilliance than the crown upon his head. Sam turned to Frodo in concern, and the world whirled and tilted. Frodo buckled forward and knew no more.
Frodo first became aware of crisp linen against his burning cheek. Next he felt a cool wet cloth resting on his brow. Also, he was hungry.
He cracked open his eyes. He felt weak but no longer sick. Éowyn sat beside his bed. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders, trickling down her back like golden rain.
“Good morning.” She smiled. “How are you feeling?”
Frodo blushed. “My lady, I hope you’re not inconvenienced by being here.””
“Nay, it’s a great honor. I’ve not yet had the chance to offer you my thanks for all your deeds. May I assist you in any way?”
Frodo touched the wet cloth. “I’m afraid the heat got to me at the coronation.”
“You were not the only one,” Éowyn said. “The Southern heat in spring can be harsh to those unused to it.”
“I am all right now, but I am awfully hungry.”
“Rest now, little one.” Éowyn stood. She touched Frodo’s cheek with the cool back of her hand. “And while you do, I will fetch you some food.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Frodo said. “Oh, and Éowyn.””
Éowyn paused at the door.
“I hear that you and Faramir are to be married. I must offer you my good wishes.””
Éowyn’s face lit up with a happy smile. “Thank you.”
Frodo fell into a gentle sleep.
He woke again to the creak of the opening door. Éowyn and Aragorn walked in. Éowyn carried a large tray. The fragrant broth made Frodo’s stomach rumble in anticipation. Aragorn knelt beside Frodo’s bed and touched his brow. “How do you feel, little one? You gave us quite a scare.”
“I am all right. I am only sorry that it happened during your ceremony.”
“Hush, it was but a ceremony. You are my dear friend.”
“Really, I am all right. Just weary is all. Where are the others?”
“I have sent your cousins and Sam off with Faramir for a tour of the city. I knew if they hovered around worrying about you all day it would be unproductive to your healing. They should be back shortly.”
Frodo laughed. “However did you convince Sam to leave?”
“I promised he’d be the first to visit you when he returned.”
Éowyn set the tray down on the bedside table with a gentle laugh. She then arranged the pillows behind Frodo so that he could sit up in bed.
With Aragorn’s help, she had pulled together a delightful meal. Clear broth with bits of mushroom in it, a chunk of bread freshly out of the oven with a slab of butter beside it. A few slices of cut-up roast chicken, baked in savory herbs. Mashed potatoes swimming in a chicken gravy. Plump, juicy strawberries had been cut into delicate slices - topped with a
dollop of cream.
“Oh, this looks marvelous,” Frodo said, smiling up at his friends.
“Is it enough?” Éowyn asked. “The King claims the appetites of hobbits surpass the greediest cravings of the Big People.”
Frodo laughed. “This is plenty. More than enough, I should guess.”
He tried to lift his arm, but he found that he had lost all strength.
“Oh.” He looked up at Éowyn. He flushed. “I am sorry, my lady, but…”
“Would you like help, little one? There is no shame in it. Faramir had to feed me for many days when my arm lay useless in a sling. Come, it will be an honor to feed the Ring-bearer.”
“Please do not call me that.”
“Sorry.” She laughed. “Master Baggins.”
“Frodo.” Frodo’s cheeks heated.
Aragorn cleared his throat. “I will be back very soon.” He left the room.
Éowyn settled once again on the stool beside Frodo. She spooned some of the broth into Frodo’s tiny mouth. Frodo swallowed with the eagerness of a baby bird, and the broth only served to whet his appetite.
Spoonful by spoonful, Éowyn helped Frodo to eat the entire meal. Frodo patted his stomach.
“I cannot thank you enough. Nothing tastes better than a meal just after an illness.”
Frodo heard familiar voices outside the door.
“Mr. Strider made a promise to me to go in first.”
“All right, then go in first. We’ll just be right behind you.”
The door burst open and Sam pushed his way in, followed closely by Merry and Pippin. Aragorn came in after them and closed the door.
“He’s awake!” Pippin said. “Mmm.” He picked a strawberry off the tray and popped it in his mouth. “Delicious!”
“Maybe Frodo was going to eat that,” Merry chastised, but he fished a mushroom piece out of the bottom of the broth bowl. “We’ve got to fatten him up for his next public appearance. I’m quite sure the King expects him to be at the feast tomorrow night.”
Pippin dipped his finger into some of the leftover cream and licked it. “I do like this Gondorian tradition of feasts.”
“Forget not,” Aragorn said, “that as a Guard of the Tower, you shall be on duty that night, Peregrin Took.”
“In that case,” Frodo said, protecting the last bite of his bread from his cousin‘s greedy hands. “I shall be just as happy to feast in right here in bed.” He glanced at Éowyn, who smiled back at him.