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febobeInspired by this Shirebunny. . .
F37. When Frodo awakens in Rivendell, he’s startled to see in a mirror “a much thinner reflection of himself than he remembered.” The next time Frodo sees himself in a mirror is in Minas Tirith -- what does he see this time?
No death warnings of any kind this time. ;) You're all safe. Click away!
Happy reading,
Febobe :)
Yawning, Frodo stretched comfortably, slowly sitting up. The pleasure of an afternoon nap, unhindered by fears of who - or what - might be watching them felt like true luxury, and he loved it. . .almost as much as he loved the sweet taste of freshly squeezed orange-juice, the comfort of creamed mushrooms on toast and mushroom omelettes and baked mushrooms, the feel of the soft, fluffy featherbed to which Aragorn had brought him only that very afternoon, promising that he was now well enough to be away from the Houses of Healing, and could stay with his friends in the King's halls. His room adjoined Sam's, and Merry and Pippin were just across the hall, so that if he had need of anything he had only to call and a friend would hear.
But it would soon be time for tonight's feast, and now, Frodo thought, he had better turn his attention to getting dressed. The soft night-shirt he had put on to nap in would hardly do as banquet attire! Opening the cupboard, he found that Aragorn had left garments of fine blue cloth that proved to be an excellent fit.
Along one wall stood a full-length mirror. Eagerly Frodo ventured over for a closer view.
At once he stopped.
Thin.
The figure before him was far too thin for any real hobbit. Its movements looked stiff, like those of someone in pain, or still injured.
The face looked pale and sallow, like a hobbit's who had been ill for many years, or a very old hobbit in poor health.
The eyes. . .the eyes were hollow, deeply shadowed with pain.
Frankly, it looked surreal that the entire figure was even standing upright on its own two feet.
Swallowing hard, Frodo reached out with slender fingers to brush the mirror.
"We didn't want to tell you."
He started at the voice behind him, but he did not turn, and gradually Merry's sturdier frame came into view over his shoulder in the mirror, confirming his worst fears: it was his image after all. Merry laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.
"We wanted to spare you as long as we could. But we all dreaded this day."
"Why did no one tell me? Everyone keeps saying how *good* I look, how much improved I am. . .are those then lies?"
"No, Frodo, no." Merry pulled him close, embracing him warmly. "If you could only have seen yourself when you were brought back to us. . .I mean, most people didn't think you'd last out the hour, much less the day. But I knew better. I know you. Believe me, dear cousin, when I say that you do look much better, and will look better still. All you need is time. . .and good food. . .and plenty of rest. And us."
Silently Frodo folded into Merry's arms and wept.
~the end~
F37. When Frodo awakens in Rivendell, he’s startled to see in a mirror “a much thinner reflection of himself than he remembered.” The next time Frodo sees himself in a mirror is in Minas Tirith -- what does he see this time?
No death warnings of any kind this time. ;) You're all safe. Click away!
Happy reading,
Febobe :)
Yawning, Frodo stretched comfortably, slowly sitting up. The pleasure of an afternoon nap, unhindered by fears of who - or what - might be watching them felt like true luxury, and he loved it. . .almost as much as he loved the sweet taste of freshly squeezed orange-juice, the comfort of creamed mushrooms on toast and mushroom omelettes and baked mushrooms, the feel of the soft, fluffy featherbed to which Aragorn had brought him only that very afternoon, promising that he was now well enough to be away from the Houses of Healing, and could stay with his friends in the King's halls. His room adjoined Sam's, and Merry and Pippin were just across the hall, so that if he had need of anything he had only to call and a friend would hear.
But it would soon be time for tonight's feast, and now, Frodo thought, he had better turn his attention to getting dressed. The soft night-shirt he had put on to nap in would hardly do as banquet attire! Opening the cupboard, he found that Aragorn had left garments of fine blue cloth that proved to be an excellent fit.
Along one wall stood a full-length mirror. Eagerly Frodo ventured over for a closer view.
At once he stopped.
Thin.
The figure before him was far too thin for any real hobbit. Its movements looked stiff, like those of someone in pain, or still injured.
The face looked pale and sallow, like a hobbit's who had been ill for many years, or a very old hobbit in poor health.
The eyes. . .the eyes were hollow, deeply shadowed with pain.
Frankly, it looked surreal that the entire figure was even standing upright on its own two feet.
Swallowing hard, Frodo reached out with slender fingers to brush the mirror.
"We didn't want to tell you."
He started at the voice behind him, but he did not turn, and gradually Merry's sturdier frame came into view over his shoulder in the mirror, confirming his worst fears: it was his image after all. Merry laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.
"We wanted to spare you as long as we could. But we all dreaded this day."
"Why did no one tell me? Everyone keeps saying how *good* I look, how much improved I am. . .are those then lies?"
"No, Frodo, no." Merry pulled him close, embracing him warmly. "If you could only have seen yourself when you were brought back to us. . .I mean, most people didn't think you'd last out the hour, much less the day. But I knew better. I know you. Believe me, dear cousin, when I say that you do look much better, and will look better still. All you need is time. . .and good food. . .and plenty of rest. And us."
Silently Frodo folded into Merry's arms and wept.
~the end~
