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FIC: "Into the East" (PG, 9/?) by Febobe
Feeling loads better this morning...thanks, y'all. :) A special thanks to i_o_r_h_a_e_l, who may have said one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard about suffering. We may have different beliefs, dear friend, but I love what you believe about it more than anything else I've ever heard, and you are a sister to me in spirit. Thank you for reaching out. A special thanks to ramblin_rosie as well, for the loveliest reminder of our faith...thank you, darling. And claudia603? Thanks for reserving a spot for me back in our cosy little fanfic corner of the world! *thankiesnugs EVERYONE who wrote in or listened*
And now, without further ado...Chapter Nine! :)
Title: Into the East
Author: Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End)
Rating/Warnings: PG (graphic food descriptions, some occasionally graphic medical angst - NO CANON CHARACTER DEATH. I promise! It may seem at first that I'm headed that direction, but I absolutely guarantee, NO canon characters will be killed off in this fic!)
Summary: After the Quest, Frodo comes down with a serious illness, and journeys to Harad in search of better health.
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Elrond, Eowyn, Faramir, Merry, Pippin, an OC named Kalil (partly in tribute to Claudia's own Khalil), other supporting OCs, appearances by Aragorn and possibly Arwen. Others TBA, if any.
Disclaimer: I do not own and have not created any of J.R.R. Tolkien's work, neither characters nor world nor any of his concepts. I'm just playing in the sandbox, with no ill intent. Original characters, including (but not limited to) Kalil are my own creation, and I would appreciate it if they weren't used without asking. (Unlike Tolkien, I'm not dead!) This fic meets FrodoHealers standards and is free from profanity, sex, and slash.
Notes: Sam lovers, I think this is a fic you'll enjoy, as it strongly features his voice and viewpoint. Frodo lovers, this is definitely a fic you'll enjoy, especially if you're an old-school FrodoHealers fan. Faramir and Eowyn, Merry and Pippin will all have significant roles to play throughout this fic, though it takes a few chapters to get there. Also, please note that I have chosen Indian food for the predominant culinary culture of Harad. I realize that it may well be closer to Middle Eastern cookery, but I wanted to give it a distinctive tie and recognizable flavor, and I chose Indian. No ill will intended if you prefer a different interpretation; just know that this is my interpretation only and I realize it isn't the only potential take on Haradraic food out there. A word about Kalil and the Haradrim: I intend absolutely no disrespect to any culture or language. But the people of Harad would look and seem strange to Sam, Shire hobbit that he is, and more so than the fair-skinned elves and Big Folk he knew well. As for Kalil's language, I realize some people are fluent in multiple languages, but Kalil isn't as fluent as some people. I think he does pretty well myself!
CHAPTER NINE
Well, it didn't take us that long to find it, mostly 'cause we met another servant coming down the hall, and he showed us where it was quick enough. It was a big place, with so many pots and pans everywhere - hanging from the ceiling, or stacked beneath tables on low shelves, or sticking out o'great cupboards. Fair did my heart good, it did, seeing all those familiar-looking things in this strange place.
There were foreign servants down there too, dark-skinned like the other folk here, but they lined up right nice when the one who took us told 'em who Faramir was, and apparently who I was too, and they all bowed. He spoke our tongue, plain Common Speech, so I reckoned they must have learned it too. Some of 'em stared at me, but most were polite enough, and they none of 'em said a word.
"They are at your service," said the one man. "All you have to do is ask what you wish, and it shall be done."
Well, I weren't used to that, but I reckoned in this big a kitchen I'd have to have some help, so when Faramir looked at me, I started talking.
"I'll need a stool I can get up on, if you don't mind, and carrots and celery, and a big yellow onion." I waited to see if they knew what I was saying, and thankfully they seemed to, 'cause one brought a tall stool, and two others went and brought back some right pretty vegetables like I wanted. Well, that encouraged me, so I went on. "Is there any chicken stock around, and maybe some chicken I could cut up?"
Well, they pointed to a big pot, and brought out a right pretty chicken from cold storage somewhere along the wall, and then I knew I might be able to make something nice and homey.
"Milk? I only need about a cup. And a bit o'butter."
I kept on asking for stuff, salt and pepper and nutmeg and the like, and sure enough, soon I had everything I needed, so I sat on the stool and cut up some chicken and got one o'them peeling carrots, and another slicing up celery, and somebody chopping that onion, and didn't it feel strange to be giving the orders instead o'taking some. But it was getting things done a sight faster, so I kept talking. Faramir, he just stood there out o'the way and let me do it.
Finally, I got 'em to get me a big ol' pot. It looked right proper, so I had 'em set it on what looked to be a stove and then I got up and stood on that stool, real careful, and melted butter and heated up some oil in it. Then I cooked those pieces o'chicken and added in the stock and carrots, celery and onion, a bit o'parsley, salt, and pepper. Then while that was simmering good, I mixed up milk and nutmeg and a bit o'this and that in a little bowl, and stirred that in so it could thicken up. Before you could say knife I had a nice pot o'creamed chicken soup ready, and dipped Mr. Frodo out a piping hot bowlful, which we put on a real nice tray with a spoon and a cup o'fresh milk and some little triangles o'bread I toasted up and spread a little butter on. It weren't much, but then he hadn't eaten much of anything since we left Minas Tirith, not even that bread we'd brought, and I remembered Aragorn telling us it weren't good to eat too much after days of eating too little.
Faramir carried the tray back up the stairs for me, and we went back to find Mr. Frodo all clean and tucked up in bed, in a clean night-shirt, and Eowyn sitting next to him. He looked a little less peaked, which gave me some heart, so we put that tray down on the bed and I sat down with it.
"Mr. Frodo, sir, d'you think you could try a little soup and toast? There's milk, too. It's just like I make at home, I promise. Chicken and good vegetables and all."
Mr. Frodo looked kind of interested. "That does smell nice, Sam," he said. "Perhaps I could try a little. And to think, you have proven yourself bravest of all in our new home, cooking a homey meal in such a strange place!"
"Anything to help you, sir." And I meant it, too. "Here, let me help you."
Well, I fed him soup and little bites o'toast and sups o'milk, and he ate good for me. Eowyn sat close by, looking ready to take over if I needed her to, and Faramir, he went back out o'the room, after he made sure we didn't need nothing else. But finally he came back, about the time Mr. Frodo was finished.
And he weren't alone.
-to be continued-
And now, without further ado...Chapter Nine! :)
Title: Into the East
Author: Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End)
Rating/Warnings: PG (graphic food descriptions, some occasionally graphic medical angst - NO CANON CHARACTER DEATH. I promise! It may seem at first that I'm headed that direction, but I absolutely guarantee, NO canon characters will be killed off in this fic!)
Summary: After the Quest, Frodo comes down with a serious illness, and journeys to Harad in search of better health.
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Elrond, Eowyn, Faramir, Merry, Pippin, an OC named Kalil (partly in tribute to Claudia's own Khalil), other supporting OCs, appearances by Aragorn and possibly Arwen. Others TBA, if any.
Disclaimer: I do not own and have not created any of J.R.R. Tolkien's work, neither characters nor world nor any of his concepts. I'm just playing in the sandbox, with no ill intent. Original characters, including (but not limited to) Kalil are my own creation, and I would appreciate it if they weren't used without asking. (Unlike Tolkien, I'm not dead!) This fic meets FrodoHealers standards and is free from profanity, sex, and slash.
Notes: Sam lovers, I think this is a fic you'll enjoy, as it strongly features his voice and viewpoint. Frodo lovers, this is definitely a fic you'll enjoy, especially if you're an old-school FrodoHealers fan. Faramir and Eowyn, Merry and Pippin will all have significant roles to play throughout this fic, though it takes a few chapters to get there. Also, please note that I have chosen Indian food for the predominant culinary culture of Harad. I realize that it may well be closer to Middle Eastern cookery, but I wanted to give it a distinctive tie and recognizable flavor, and I chose Indian. No ill will intended if you prefer a different interpretation; just know that this is my interpretation only and I realize it isn't the only potential take on Haradraic food out there. A word about Kalil and the Haradrim: I intend absolutely no disrespect to any culture or language. But the people of Harad would look and seem strange to Sam, Shire hobbit that he is, and more so than the fair-skinned elves and Big Folk he knew well. As for Kalil's language, I realize some people are fluent in multiple languages, but Kalil isn't as fluent as some people. I think he does pretty well myself!
CHAPTER NINE
Well, it didn't take us that long to find it, mostly 'cause we met another servant coming down the hall, and he showed us where it was quick enough. It was a big place, with so many pots and pans everywhere - hanging from the ceiling, or stacked beneath tables on low shelves, or sticking out o'great cupboards. Fair did my heart good, it did, seeing all those familiar-looking things in this strange place.
There were foreign servants down there too, dark-skinned like the other folk here, but they lined up right nice when the one who took us told 'em who Faramir was, and apparently who I was too, and they all bowed. He spoke our tongue, plain Common Speech, so I reckoned they must have learned it too. Some of 'em stared at me, but most were polite enough, and they none of 'em said a word.
"They are at your service," said the one man. "All you have to do is ask what you wish, and it shall be done."
Well, I weren't used to that, but I reckoned in this big a kitchen I'd have to have some help, so when Faramir looked at me, I started talking.
"I'll need a stool I can get up on, if you don't mind, and carrots and celery, and a big yellow onion." I waited to see if they knew what I was saying, and thankfully they seemed to, 'cause one brought a tall stool, and two others went and brought back some right pretty vegetables like I wanted. Well, that encouraged me, so I went on. "Is there any chicken stock around, and maybe some chicken I could cut up?"
Well, they pointed to a big pot, and brought out a right pretty chicken from cold storage somewhere along the wall, and then I knew I might be able to make something nice and homey.
"Milk? I only need about a cup. And a bit o'butter."
I kept on asking for stuff, salt and pepper and nutmeg and the like, and sure enough, soon I had everything I needed, so I sat on the stool and cut up some chicken and got one o'them peeling carrots, and another slicing up celery, and somebody chopping that onion, and didn't it feel strange to be giving the orders instead o'taking some. But it was getting things done a sight faster, so I kept talking. Faramir, he just stood there out o'the way and let me do it.
Finally, I got 'em to get me a big ol' pot. It looked right proper, so I had 'em set it on what looked to be a stove and then I got up and stood on that stool, real careful, and melted butter and heated up some oil in it. Then I cooked those pieces o'chicken and added in the stock and carrots, celery and onion, a bit o'parsley, salt, and pepper. Then while that was simmering good, I mixed up milk and nutmeg and a bit o'this and that in a little bowl, and stirred that in so it could thicken up. Before you could say knife I had a nice pot o'creamed chicken soup ready, and dipped Mr. Frodo out a piping hot bowlful, which we put on a real nice tray with a spoon and a cup o'fresh milk and some little triangles o'bread I toasted up and spread a little butter on. It weren't much, but then he hadn't eaten much of anything since we left Minas Tirith, not even that bread we'd brought, and I remembered Aragorn telling us it weren't good to eat too much after days of eating too little.
Faramir carried the tray back up the stairs for me, and we went back to find Mr. Frodo all clean and tucked up in bed, in a clean night-shirt, and Eowyn sitting next to him. He looked a little less peaked, which gave me some heart, so we put that tray down on the bed and I sat down with it.
"Mr. Frodo, sir, d'you think you could try a little soup and toast? There's milk, too. It's just like I make at home, I promise. Chicken and good vegetables and all."
Mr. Frodo looked kind of interested. "That does smell nice, Sam," he said. "Perhaps I could try a little. And to think, you have proven yourself bravest of all in our new home, cooking a homey meal in such a strange place!"
"Anything to help you, sir." And I meant it, too. "Here, let me help you."
Well, I fed him soup and little bites o'toast and sups o'milk, and he ate good for me. Eowyn sat close by, looking ready to take over if I needed her to, and Faramir, he went back out o'the room, after he made sure we didn't need nothing else. But finally he came back, about the time Mr. Frodo was finished.
And he weren't alone.
-to be continued-
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Sam is master of the kitchens, and no mistake.
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Anyway, I guess Sam has a lot of fun in the kitchen. His taking care of his master is so touching. :)