FIC: "Starved" (PG) by Febobe (3/?)

[febobe]

Warnings, Notes, Disclaimers, etc. on Part 1/?

CHAPTER EIGHT

That afternoon, Frodo sat poring over notes while his seed-cakes baked and Sam worked on a beef and mushroom stew for supper. As usual, he worked in the kitchen; it seemed - easier, somehow, and there was always something at hand to nibble on or to sip if one wanted. And the table made a comfortable work-desk. But he simply felt more *at home* in a kitchen these days, for reasons he could not put into words even to himself.

Sam had gone off to answer the door, leaving Frodo to watch over the food, so he snuck a taste of mushroom out of the stew now that no one was looking. Not that Sam would have minded, of course. Checking his seed-cakes, he pulled them from the oven and set them to cool, for they looked perfect, delicious and golden and done to a T.

"Mr. Frodo, look who's here!"

Frodo looked up with a start to find Faramir following Sam into the kitchen. On his back was a pack filled with - something, so heavy did it look. Curiously Frodo met them at the table, where Faramir proudly set down his pack.

"Good afternoon, Frodo. I hope you are feeling well?"

"Better, yes, thank you." He was. . .just the simple act of cooking seemed to calm something in his raw nerves. Already he began to see why Sam felt so much at home in the kitchen.

"Good, good. I have brought something that I thought you might enjoy." Unfastening the latch on his pack, Faramir slid out several more receipt-books and an assortment of rolled and folded pages. "Here are some more cookery-books and menus. I thought you might enjoy them more than the library would, and the inns and eateries where I obtained these always have a copy to spare for one so important as the Ringbearer."

Frodo blushed, but he could hardly contain his delight. "Faramir, it's - it's wonderful! Thank you!"

"What's all the fuss about?" Merry's voice, from the door. At the sight of the array spread across the table, he looked confused, but said no word, save to greet Faramir warmly. "I've got to go right back," he added, still eyeing the books and papers curiously, "but I wanted to come back home and make certain everything was all right."

"Quite all right, Merry; we're fine. Thank you," Frodo reassured him.

"Then I'll see you this evening for supper." With that, Merry turned on his heel and left, bidding a swift farewell to each of the three on his way out.

Frodo could hardly have cared less whether Merry understood about the cookery-books and menus. He felt so eager to have them, and Sam seemed to understand. . . . "Oh, chicken in the style of the hunter's wife - that sounds interesting - "

"It is very interesting. It was Boromir's favorite. I believe that you would like it. The vegetables would do you good, and chicken is healthful for one recovering from serious illness."

Frodo nodded sadly, thinking of Boromir's laughing face, his solid arms. It hadn't always been as it had at the end between them. . .and had not the Ring taken even him in the very end? How, then, could he blame Boromir?

"This place seems to do a lot with pork chops - The Bird and Baby, they call it? Pork chops with mushroom-tomato sauce. . .pork chops with rosemary and apples. . .pork chops with fennel and white wine. . . ."

"Pork chops with cabbage," Sam added helpfully, reading alongside Frodo.

"Yes. It is an excellent place to visit; when you are feeling strong enough, we must take you there. The owner will be absolutely delighted; he was overjoyed when I came to ask him for a menu."

"Creamy baked stuffed mushrooms!" cried Frodo, spotting another item on the menu.

Faramir laughed. "I thought that you might like that." He rose. "I must return to the Citadel. But I did wish to bring those to you myself."

"Thank you. . .thank you so much. . . " If Frodo could have seen his own face, he would have realized that his blue eyes fairly shone. As Sam showed Faramir back to the door, he delved into the pile of menus as one diving into the Sea, prepared to drown and happy to do so.

-to be continued-

CHAPTER NINE

"Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo, sir, wake up."

Frodo turned sleepily in bed, yawning as Sam eased a tray over his lap. "Sam. . .this isn't right. You shouldn't be waiting on me."

"And just why not, sir?" Spreading out a crisp white napkin, Sam smiled. "I've got your favourite first breakfast this morning - toast and butter and marmalade, and o'course fresh milk. Now, Master Merry, he'll be making your second breakfast, seeing as how I've got to run down to market with Captain Faramir. That's what I wanted to talk to you about - with your leave, sir."

"It's all right if you go, Sam." Frodo nodded vaguely, sitting up and spreading butter on a piece of toast.

"Well, Captain Faramir, he says as how they have the nicest fish here in the city, fresh as can be and light as a feather. He thinks it would do you some good, and I was wondering - if I got some, do you think you could try and eat a bite? Fixed in a blanket, or with mushroom sauce, or proper fish and chips, whichever way you want it."

Frodo considered for a moment. "Yes - yes, I think I could try that. Fix it whatever way you think best, Sam, though I especially think I would like it with mushroom sauce."

"Then I'll see what I can do about that, sir." Sam smiled warmly. "You eat up now, Mr. Frodo. I'll be back from market as soon's I can, with some nice fresh fish and vegetables for you."

"I don't suppose you can find any cherries to go on top of teacakes? That would be nice. Or berries to make a tart. I'd like to do some baking this afternoon." Frodo yawned drowsily, spreading lime marmalade carefully across the slice of toast he held.

"Of course, sir. I'll see what I can do." Sam rose. "I'll be back soon, master. Eat up for Master Merry, now." And with that, he patted his master's feet and left,

Frodo finished his toast, munching slowly, elaborately spreading butter and marmalade over each bite, following mouthfuls with small sips of the sweet milk.

He was safe. And he would never go hungry or thirsty again. The others would see to that.

Then why did he feel so hollow inside?

***

"It's the strangest thing," explained Sam as he wandered through the market with Faramir, studying stalls filled with goods and inspecting fresh produce and fish with a critical eye. "He just don't seem right to me, but - beggin' pardon, sir - at the same time, it - what he does - it don't seem to make sense to Master Merry and Master Pippin, but - it does to *me*, and I don't rightly know why that is. Like - he was right pleased with them men-yous you brought, and the cookery-books too, but they don't seem to understand that that's almost like medicine to him. I do; I'd about as soon hear him read from 'em as anything. 'Course I can read, too," the gardener added proudly, "only I'm usually so busy, and poor Mr. Frodo don't need to be on his feet too much yet, so I don't let him."

Faramir nodded understandingly, steering Sam into a quiet pub which appeared to have few enough customers at this hour. Those who were there greeted Faramir warmly, and he in return did likewise.

"Sam, I am sorry to tell you that these things are common in those who have been starved, as the two of you have been," he explained gently, as he called for the attendant and pointed Sam in the direction of a scrawled menu on a board beside the door. "Choose anything you like; this place has some of the best fish in town. We may safely continue talking here; 'tis mostly my men, and they will be discreet."

Sam ordered the fish and chips, delighted to see such a thing even in Gondor, with all its elegant food, and a mug of beer. Faramir, to his astonishment, specially requested a basketful of fried mushrooms for "Master Gamgee" and placed an order to match.

"Then how can we help him?" asked Sam anxiously as they awaited their food. "If it can't be helped, then surely there's something we can do for it?"

Faramir's countenance was grave. "We in Gondor have had little success, I fear. I can tell you what has been best for us, but I fear it never restores full health, and even less so in a hobbit. I will ask the King to consider the matter further and speak with you himself, for he has more skill in healing than all the healers of Gondor combined."

"All right, then." Sam eagerly speared a mushroom as the basket was placed upon the table and Faramir gestured for him to eat. "I'm listening."

"Allow Frodo his own way in such matters as will not harm him. If he is strong enough to cook, or to sit up and look at menus and cookery-books, then do nothing to hinder him. Those activities may help to calm him. In addition, you should give him his favourite foods - try him on new ones, for he may discover new favourites here in Minas Tirith, but - do not neglect those he has loved in the past. If he has ever cared for creamed soups, small sandwiches, baked custards, omelettes, toast. . .now is the time for those. Soothing foods, to comfort and reassure him, and hot drinks, to help him rest. Not only hot tea, but warm milk with honey, and if he likes the hot chocolate that we have here, he may enjoy that as well."

"Oh, he loves all that. I reckon he's as fond of mushrooms on toast for supper and jammy toast or toast with marmalade for first breakfast as he is anything, and I ain't never seen him say no to creamy mushroom soup, not even when he's been so sick he could barely hold his head up." Sam smiled triumphantly. "Leastways not my creamy mushroom soup."

"Excellent. Making certain that he has plenty to eat will be as medicine for both of you, I think." Faramir smiled. "I do not worry so much about you; a cook has to constantly taste and test. And Merry and Pippin have returned more to their natural way of eating. But I see in Frodo evidence that he may never regain that balance. . .and so he may require special care for the rest of his life." Clear grey eyes met Sam's face. "Are you prepared for that, Sam?"

"Aye, sir, I am." Sam lifted his chin proudly. "I said I'd carry him up that Mountain, if it broke my back and heart. And I meant it, too."

He speared another mushroom.

"This here's just one more mountain, that's all."

-to be continued-

CHAPTER TEN

"Frodo, may I come in?"

Frodo looked up from his writing-desk with a start. Faramir stood waiting at the door, his face brightened by a merry smile.

"Well, *you* look as if you're happy. Come in and tell me what it is!" Closing his book, Frodo motioned the steward inside, settling back in his cushioned chair. At this, Faramir took on an expression of slight chagrin, but came inside anyhow.

"How is your cook-book coming?"

Frodo shook his head, scowling. "It isn't. My hand gets cramped writing, and Aragorn says I should not practise for so long at a time. But I do not see how I am to finish it otherwise."

"I see." Faramir nodded gravely. "How would you feel were I to assign you a scribe?"

"A scribe?" Frodo blinked. He had never had anyone assigned to him before. At home, Sam had assisted him with things, but never writing, and that - well, that simply felt different. All the same, if it would help finish the book. . . .

Eagerly he nodded.

"Please. . .I should like that." A horrible thought suddenly entered his mind, and swiftly he added, "So long as it will not be someone interested in gawking. I do not wish to be stared at, or gossiped about after hours."

"I understand *completely.*" Nodding, Faramir smiled. "I have in mind a most excellent fellow, someone who attended my father and myself personally. Therefore, he has had much experience in keeping confidence, and in conducting himself as a young man of honour. I think you will find his behaviour suitable. If you do not, I would not, of course, expect you to continue working with him."

"Then my answer is yes." Frodo rubbed his fingers. "I should welcome the respite."

"How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Truthfully?"

"Truthfully." Faramir's grey eyes, filled with concern, met Frodo's blue ones.

"Well, honestly, I am not sure." Frodo sighed. "I get so hungry, and - nothing seems so good as looking at a menu or a cook-book, or cooking something when I am not too tired. I still do not feel quite *myself* again, if you take my meaning."

"Indeed I do." Rising, Faramir brushed Frodo's shoulder gently with one large hand. "Keep doing what you are doing, Frodo. I cannot tell you that you will ever feel at peace, but I can assure you that at least you will not want for amusement or nourishment, so long as your friends are near."

And with that, he made his farewell and departed, slipping into the corridor like a spring wind rustling away.

-to be continued-

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Is all this food for us?"

Queen Arwen smiled gently in response to Sam's awed query. "Yes, Samwise. Aragorn and I wished to have a little feast in your honor. . .to spend time with you, for we so seldom get to see you these days." Gesturing to their seats, she motioned for them to sit. "Aragorn will join us momentarily. In the meantime - please, eat."

Dishes filled with marinated mushrooms and olives stood before them. Frodo blushed; was it that obvious how fond he was of them? But there was no critique in Arwen's sincere gaze, so shyly he began to eat, and Sam followed suit, each trying a few polite bites, and more as Arwen coaxed them.

"Please pardon my tardiness." Aragorn hurried to join them, motioning for them to remain seated even as they made to rise. "Remind me to get a gag for one of the lords from Dol Amroth - where were we, friends?"

Frodo could not help smiling, but his smile broaded as the main course was carried out and placed before them: a rich pasta dish with mushrooms and a strange green-coloured sauce, delicious and smooth on his tongue.

"This is wonderful. What do they call it?"

"Mushroom pesto lasagne," explained Arwen. "The pesto is the sauce; the lasagne is the pasta. The mushrooms I am sure I need not explain."

Everyone laughed, and Frodo's heart felt lighter than it had in many weeks.

The dishes continued to march out: something called chicken marsala, a chicken in wine dish with mushrooms; carrots, also in marsala wine; the delicious herby bread called rosemary focaccia and olive oil for dipping it in; mushroom salad. . . . By the time they reached the fresh fruit course, Frodo was feeling quite relaxed, and to judge from the look Sam, he felt the same.

"It is so nice to feel full," murmured Frodo after a long moment between bites.

There was a long pause.

"As you often did not during the Quest."

Aragorn's voice. A statement, not a question. Frodo looked up at him guiltily, half-startled, but there was no accusation in his eyes. Frodo shook his head.

"No. I - we - I mean - we are used to having enough to eat, and - while we can get used to lean rations for travelling, it - toward the end - "

He swallowed nervously. Beside him he could feel Sam tense.

"There wasn't enough, even with what Faramir gave us. I wouldn't have cared about eating, only about water, except Sam made me eat, and I know he shorted himself and went without for my sake."

"What you needed weren't lembas," Sam cut in anxiously, "just a good pot o'tater soup, or some creamed mushrooms over toast, or somethin' like that."

Tears welled in Frodo's eyes as he nodded. "The elves' bread is a good thing," he explained, "but - it isn't - hobbit food, as you might say."

Quietly Arwen rose and walked around the table on soft slippered feet. Gingerly she took a seat on the bench beside Frodo and put her arm around him.

"Of course it is not," she murmured tenderly. "We can do nothing to ease the suffering you endured, tithen min. But we will ensure that neither of you ever have to starve again."

-to be continued-