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febobeAnd another fic. . .
-Febobe
Title: Shattered
Fandom: J.R.R. Tolkien
Characters: Frodo Baggins, Rosie Cotton
Prompt: 071. Broken.
Word Count: 562
Rating: PG for mild thematic darkness
Summary: Frodo breaks a mirror. . .and is increasingly troubled.
Author's Notes: These ficlets are set within my Silence AU, in which Frodo never sailed West, but instead continued to live in the Shire with Sam, Rosie, and their growing family. Not a perfect happily-ever-after, thanks to Frodo's continued ill health, but still a warm AU. Warning: I am a foodie writing about hobbits, so some of my ficlets are heavy on the food and/or drink imagery. Consider your notice served! WARNING: All herbal remedies are purely anecdotal and are used here as hobbit remedies - I do not intend to imply any information about the treatment of actual non-imaginary person illness or injury. Please consult a qualified health care practitioner should you require medical assistance! An extra-special thanks to SurgicalSteel for medical beta work!
"Mr. Frodo?"
"It's all right, Rosie! I've only broken a mirror. I'll clean it up."
As he looked into the broken pieces scattered across the floor, his reflection shattered into a dozen distorted pieces, Frodo gazed down aimlessly, numb. He could not even recall what had caused him to drop the mirror. One of the sudden bouts of faintness he was occasionally prone to of late? A noise from the kitchen which had startled him?
It mattered not. The pieces still had to be gathered up, and they were beyond repair.
Fetching the broom and dust-pan, he began to sweep the bits into a little pile. The creak of the door opening once more caused him to start, and he looked up to find Rosie slipping in with a tray.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Frodo, but you shouldn't be doing that. Here, let me; it's time for your medicine."
Reluctantly Frodo stepped back as she set the tray on his night-table, allowing her to take over as he began work on the cup so neatly arranged on its clean white napkin. Hawthorn and goldenseal, lily of the valley and licorice. Valerian, too. That made him a little drowsy, he suspected, but he was so tired now he could never be certain what was the medicine and what was his own body's betrayal. Rosie had remedies aplenty; there was even another - foxglove, she'd heard, was good for the heart, but "hard to get dosed proper," and so he was spared an addition to his medicines.
"Reckon you'll be wanting second breakfast soon, sir?"
Frodo hesitated between sips of tea, bitter despite the licorice and honey she had stirred into it. He could tell his frequent (albeit polite) refusals were beginning to grate on Rosie's nerves, much as she tried not to show it. Sam simply kept trying to coax him into eating, patient as ever, and Frodo only wished he could help it. He would have given the world over to feel hungry again, but he felt full so quickly, and when he felt too full, it seemed his breathing grew shorter, leaving him able to eat only so much at a time. Some days were better than others.
Lately the days weren't good.
"I. . .Rose, I'm not very hungry today. Perhaps a bit of toast and an egg?"
She looked mournful, though a trace of hope lit up her eyes. "I reckon that's a start, at least. Scrambled or poached? Or soft-cooked?"
"Poached, please."
"A poached egg on toast's a right fine thing," Rosie nodded approvingly, finishing up the cleaning. "Now, mind, and don't you go walking here, Mr. Frodo, till Sam and I put another rug down, in case there are any slivers o'glass left. Don't want that to hurt you none."
Frodo watched as she carried the broken pieces from the room, still sipping his tea. Taking a seat on his bed, he waited.
What if you broke it on purpose?
The thought startled him.
Why would I do that?
Because you didn't like what you saw. Because only then could you truly see yourself.
It mattered little that walking made him feel short of breath. Frodo rose and started for the kitchen. Better Rosie's conversation than to be alone with his thoughts. But still he could not drive it from his mind.
Only then could you see yourself.
-the end-
-Febobe
Title: Shattered
Fandom: J.R.R. Tolkien
Characters: Frodo Baggins, Rosie Cotton
Prompt: 071. Broken.
Word Count: 562
Rating: PG for mild thematic darkness
Summary: Frodo breaks a mirror. . .and is increasingly troubled.
Author's Notes: These ficlets are set within my Silence AU, in which Frodo never sailed West, but instead continued to live in the Shire with Sam, Rosie, and their growing family. Not a perfect happily-ever-after, thanks to Frodo's continued ill health, but still a warm AU. Warning: I am a foodie writing about hobbits, so some of my ficlets are heavy on the food and/or drink imagery. Consider your notice served! WARNING: All herbal remedies are purely anecdotal and are used here as hobbit remedies - I do not intend to imply any information about the treatment of actual non-imaginary person illness or injury. Please consult a qualified health care practitioner should you require medical assistance! An extra-special thanks to SurgicalSteel for medical beta work!
"Mr. Frodo?"
"It's all right, Rosie! I've only broken a mirror. I'll clean it up."
As he looked into the broken pieces scattered across the floor, his reflection shattered into a dozen distorted pieces, Frodo gazed down aimlessly, numb. He could not even recall what had caused him to drop the mirror. One of the sudden bouts of faintness he was occasionally prone to of late? A noise from the kitchen which had startled him?
It mattered not. The pieces still had to be gathered up, and they were beyond repair.
Fetching the broom and dust-pan, he began to sweep the bits into a little pile. The creak of the door opening once more caused him to start, and he looked up to find Rosie slipping in with a tray.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Frodo, but you shouldn't be doing that. Here, let me; it's time for your medicine."
Reluctantly Frodo stepped back as she set the tray on his night-table, allowing her to take over as he began work on the cup so neatly arranged on its clean white napkin. Hawthorn and goldenseal, lily of the valley and licorice. Valerian, too. That made him a little drowsy, he suspected, but he was so tired now he could never be certain what was the medicine and what was his own body's betrayal. Rosie had remedies aplenty; there was even another - foxglove, she'd heard, was good for the heart, but "hard to get dosed proper," and so he was spared an addition to his medicines.
"Reckon you'll be wanting second breakfast soon, sir?"
Frodo hesitated between sips of tea, bitter despite the licorice and honey she had stirred into it. He could tell his frequent (albeit polite) refusals were beginning to grate on Rosie's nerves, much as she tried not to show it. Sam simply kept trying to coax him into eating, patient as ever, and Frodo only wished he could help it. He would have given the world over to feel hungry again, but he felt full so quickly, and when he felt too full, it seemed his breathing grew shorter, leaving him able to eat only so much at a time. Some days were better than others.
Lately the days weren't good.
"I. . .Rose, I'm not very hungry today. Perhaps a bit of toast and an egg?"
She looked mournful, though a trace of hope lit up her eyes. "I reckon that's a start, at least. Scrambled or poached? Or soft-cooked?"
"Poached, please."
"A poached egg on toast's a right fine thing," Rosie nodded approvingly, finishing up the cleaning. "Now, mind, and don't you go walking here, Mr. Frodo, till Sam and I put another rug down, in case there are any slivers o'glass left. Don't want that to hurt you none."
Frodo watched as she carried the broken pieces from the room, still sipping his tea. Taking a seat on his bed, he waited.
What if you broke it on purpose?
The thought startled him.
Why would I do that?
Because you didn't like what you saw. Because only then could you truly see yourself.
It mattered little that walking made him feel short of breath. Frodo rose and started for the kitchen. Better Rosie's conversation than to be alone with his thoughts. But still he could not drive it from his mind.
Only then could you see yourself.
-the end-
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