fic for aprilkat
Oct. 22nd, 2008 03:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603This ficlet was for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aprilkat because she was kind of sad a week or so ago. Hope she is feeling better!
The fields of Ithilien were golden with the fall harvest. With the sun so brilliant in a clean, blue sky, Frodo felt guilty for his low mood. He sat beside the window, hunched in his cloak, shivering in the cool breeze.
These were the times when the grief hit with cruel clarity. Harvest, that time just after his birthday when orchards in the Shire produced sweet apples and honey and the air turned crisp and chilly enough to make cheeks pink with health. There would be fairs a plenty and farmer‘s markets. Sam Gamgee’s young daughter would be toddling by now, and Frodo imagined Sam taking her to market. Elanor’s eyes would shine with wonder. She had never known darkness. Nor would she, if the world was kind to her.
The Shire was where Frodo had been meant to live. Before the quest, he had always imagined himself retiring to a grand old age like Bilbo or the Old Took, tottering around in his garden in Bag End. Days such as these, so far from home, he longed to holler as loud as he could at the fury and the injustice of all that had been ripped from him. He rubbed the missing space on his hand where there had once been a finger.
Frodo sensed Faramir standing behind him, but he did not turn to greet him. He could not bear to let Faramir see his melancholy.
Faramir did not speak, but he pulled a chair beside Frodo’s and looked out the window at the vivid autumn colors -- the gold fields, the sapphire sky, the rust-colored leaves. “It is no shame to grieve,” he finally said.
Frodo turned to look at him, into gray eyes that probed deeply into Frodo’s heart.
“I am broken,” Frodo said, twisting his cloak in his hands. “Sometimes it seems that the pain will never ease, that I will never be whole again.”
“Nay, I disagree,” Faramir said, taking Frodo’s left hand in his, rubbing to give him warmth. “You will be whole again, but you will not be as you were before. The dark and broken parts you must release. The Frodo I love is here.” Faramir placed his hand on Frodo’s breast. “That is the most important part and that part, I deem, shall never break. The rest? Well, we have time to build it up. And while you are here, you shall know nothing but love and care.”
Frodo met Faramir’s gaze, and warmth filled his throat. “There is a tree in the courtyard that produces apples,” he said. “Last year it failed to thrive, but it has had another year without the Black Breath of Mordor on it. I wonder if we might find more apples if we looked now?”
“Apples?” Faramir said with a smile. “Shall we go look?”
Frodo returned the smile. Already he felt better. He and Faramir made their way outside into the courtyard. In the far back corner was the tree, gnarled and bent at odd angles from years of barely surviving against the Black Breath that had cloaked Emyn Arnen.
Rotten apples had dropped to the ground at the base of the tree. Faramir placed his hand on the tree trunk, stroking the rough bark. “This tree shall thrive more every year, I believe.”
“There are many more ripe apples still on the tree than there were last year!” The crisp air gave Frodo new strength and he began to pick the few apples that were within his reach.
“What will we do with all of these apples?” Faramir asked, chuckling, picking several himself.
“Eat them, silly man,” Frodo said. “Either by themselves or pies or jams or sauces. Tonight, I believe we shall have some apple pie.”
He stumbled over one of the rotten apples. He knelt to touch its slimy surface. Rotten, unneeded. He marveled at nature’s ability to gently release the parts of itself that were not needed in order to flourish.
“What is it?” Faramir asked.
“I think I understand something now is all,” Frodo said quietly, letting the rotten apple fall. Then he smiled at Faramir. “Come, let’s go bake.”
aprilkat because she was kind of sad a week or so ago. Hope she is feeling better!The fields of Ithilien were golden with the fall harvest. With the sun so brilliant in a clean, blue sky, Frodo felt guilty for his low mood. He sat beside the window, hunched in his cloak, shivering in the cool breeze.
These were the times when the grief hit with cruel clarity. Harvest, that time just after his birthday when orchards in the Shire produced sweet apples and honey and the air turned crisp and chilly enough to make cheeks pink with health. There would be fairs a plenty and farmer‘s markets. Sam Gamgee’s young daughter would be toddling by now, and Frodo imagined Sam taking her to market. Elanor’s eyes would shine with wonder. She had never known darkness. Nor would she, if the world was kind to her.
The Shire was where Frodo had been meant to live. Before the quest, he had always imagined himself retiring to a grand old age like Bilbo or the Old Took, tottering around in his garden in Bag End. Days such as these, so far from home, he longed to holler as loud as he could at the fury and the injustice of all that had been ripped from him. He rubbed the missing space on his hand where there had once been a finger.
Frodo sensed Faramir standing behind him, but he did not turn to greet him. He could not bear to let Faramir see his melancholy.
Faramir did not speak, but he pulled a chair beside Frodo’s and looked out the window at the vivid autumn colors -- the gold fields, the sapphire sky, the rust-colored leaves. “It is no shame to grieve,” he finally said.
Frodo turned to look at him, into gray eyes that probed deeply into Frodo’s heart.
“I am broken,” Frodo said, twisting his cloak in his hands. “Sometimes it seems that the pain will never ease, that I will never be whole again.”
“Nay, I disagree,” Faramir said, taking Frodo’s left hand in his, rubbing to give him warmth. “You will be whole again, but you will not be as you were before. The dark and broken parts you must release. The Frodo I love is here.” Faramir placed his hand on Frodo’s breast. “That is the most important part and that part, I deem, shall never break. The rest? Well, we have time to build it up. And while you are here, you shall know nothing but love and care.”
Frodo met Faramir’s gaze, and warmth filled his throat. “There is a tree in the courtyard that produces apples,” he said. “Last year it failed to thrive, but it has had another year without the Black Breath of Mordor on it. I wonder if we might find more apples if we looked now?”
“Apples?” Faramir said with a smile. “Shall we go look?”
Frodo returned the smile. Already he felt better. He and Faramir made their way outside into the courtyard. In the far back corner was the tree, gnarled and bent at odd angles from years of barely surviving against the Black Breath that had cloaked Emyn Arnen.
Rotten apples had dropped to the ground at the base of the tree. Faramir placed his hand on the tree trunk, stroking the rough bark. “This tree shall thrive more every year, I believe.”
“There are many more ripe apples still on the tree than there were last year!” The crisp air gave Frodo new strength and he began to pick the few apples that were within his reach.
“What will we do with all of these apples?” Faramir asked, chuckling, picking several himself.
“Eat them, silly man,” Frodo said. “Either by themselves or pies or jams or sauces. Tonight, I believe we shall have some apple pie.”
He stumbled over one of the rotten apples. He knelt to touch its slimy surface. Rotten, unneeded. He marveled at nature’s ability to gently release the parts of itself that were not needed in order to flourish.
“What is it?” Faramir asked.
“I think I understand something now is all,” Frodo said quietly, letting the rotten apple fall. Then he smiled at Faramir. “Come, let’s go bake.”