Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2006-02-18 09:33 am
sophinisba) wrote2006-02-18 09:33 am
Entry tags:
Frodo drabbles
Wednesday I went to yoga class for the first time in almost two months, and Thursday morning's sore muscles (not to mention Friday's and today's) inspired a set of eight Frodo drabbles. They start out pretty close to book canon, then they go more movie-ish, and then they go happy slashy. The other person in number eight is whoever you want him (or her, I suppose) to be, or you can just skip the last two if you'd rather have a gen drabble set. I'm accommodating, see. PG-13 if you do read the whole thing.
1.
They set off from Crickhollow at daybreak, and Frodo can feel the restless night and the past days' walking with every stride the pony makes. Still, riding is easier than walking, and even in silence Merry and Pippin's unexpected company lightens his heart. It helps him imagine this is not the start of a long exile, but one more ramble through the Shire with dear friends. The pony quickens its step as Frodo flexes his calves; Frodo smiles, for the soreness is familiar from the first days of every such journey, and every other journey brought him safe home again.
2.
The sixth morning after Weathertop, Frodo wonders if they'll ever see Rivendell, if it even exists at all. He's on a pony again, as on those first days, but the others are on foot and seem very far away. It is hard to see through his clouded vision, hard to perceive anything beyond the cold and pain in his own body. He hopes Strider will call a halt to their march soon, and perhaps take him down and rub more of that good, warm, sweet stuff into his wound. But he fears it will be long hours before they rest.
3.
They've left the rest of the broken Fellowship on the other side of the river, and Frodo awakes at Sam's side feeling stiff. Surely, he thinks, after five months away from home his body should be accustomed to long days on foot, nights on hard ground. This won't get any easier, will it, Sam? he murmurs, and winces as he twists his arm back to put on his pack. Sam doesn't speak but helps ease the strap over Frodo's shoulder, and his hand lingers, squeezing briefly, easing that knot next to his shoulder blade. Frodo stands and smiles his thanks.
4.
With a last burst of effort he heaves himself onto the next ledge, and a shudder of pain rips through his whole body, followed by a shiver of disgust as his feels the clutch of Gollum's bony fingers through his cloak. Sméagol only means to sooth him, Frodo knows, but this creature is incapable of softness, generosity, or comfort. Frodo nearly cries out as the clammy cold skin touches his own neck. Every day I'm more like him, he thinks. Soon there'll be naught left but skin and bone, aching muscle and gaping hunger. He struggles up to his knees.
5.
Frodo's body is nothing but pain, and yet he is barely aware of it. He collapses again, and Sam's words at his ear hold no meaning for him; Sam's hands kneading the muscles of Frodo's arms and legs have no effect. (Sam won't try to touch Frodo's shoulders or his neck, for Frodo always shoves the hands away if they come too close to the chain.) It is only when greedier hands close around his neck, when that angrier voice hisses, Wicked masster, that Frodo finds he has some strength left in him to fight, and to climb once more.
6.
Frodo stretches cautiously on the pallet and cannot help but gasp at the pain, but he completes the movement anyway, glad to have control and sensation again. The twinge in his muscles reminds him of strong, gentle hands rubbing warm, fragrant oil over him as he lay here yesterday. The others told him not to move too quickly after so many days unconscious. But Frodo was too overjoyed to see all his friends alive and triumphant to care much for consequences. It's true, this morning he can feel the consequences quite plainly, but he is prepared to live with them.
7.
They've brought ponies for the hobbits to ride back to Minas Tirith. Frodo hasn't ridden one in months, and he guesses there'll be some new aches tomorrow. Still, riding is better than walking, and each day seems to hold less pain than the last. You're getting stronger, his friends tell him, and he believes them. Being with them reminds him of those early days, when there was more hope than desperation, when the gravity of their task did not yet prohibit a secret smile, like the one he glimpsed this morning, or a desire to share more secrets come nightfall.
8.
Frodo wakes, stretches, feels the sting in arms, arse, all over, and purposefully bends into it, wanting to feel it more. He moves to kiss the lover stirring at his side, and laughs to realize that even his tongue is sore. The morning's tenderness is the legacy of love like a wrestling match, interpenetrating flesh, wracking orgasms. The pain will also make a good excuse for a massage later -- not that they need one. For now, Frodo nestles into the warm embrace, and a thousand miles from the Shire, he knows he is safe in these arms, home again.
1.
They set off from Crickhollow at daybreak, and Frodo can feel the restless night and the past days' walking with every stride the pony makes. Still, riding is easier than walking, and even in silence Merry and Pippin's unexpected company lightens his heart. It helps him imagine this is not the start of a long exile, but one more ramble through the Shire with dear friends. The pony quickens its step as Frodo flexes his calves; Frodo smiles, for the soreness is familiar from the first days of every such journey, and every other journey brought him safe home again.
2.
The sixth morning after Weathertop, Frodo wonders if they'll ever see Rivendell, if it even exists at all. He's on a pony again, as on those first days, but the others are on foot and seem very far away. It is hard to see through his clouded vision, hard to perceive anything beyond the cold and pain in his own body. He hopes Strider will call a halt to their march soon, and perhaps take him down and rub more of that good, warm, sweet stuff into his wound. But he fears it will be long hours before they rest.
3.
They've left the rest of the broken Fellowship on the other side of the river, and Frodo awakes at Sam's side feeling stiff. Surely, he thinks, after five months away from home his body should be accustomed to long days on foot, nights on hard ground. This won't get any easier, will it, Sam? he murmurs, and winces as he twists his arm back to put on his pack. Sam doesn't speak but helps ease the strap over Frodo's shoulder, and his hand lingers, squeezing briefly, easing that knot next to his shoulder blade. Frodo stands and smiles his thanks.
4.
With a last burst of effort he heaves himself onto the next ledge, and a shudder of pain rips through his whole body, followed by a shiver of disgust as his feels the clutch of Gollum's bony fingers through his cloak. Sméagol only means to sooth him, Frodo knows, but this creature is incapable of softness, generosity, or comfort. Frodo nearly cries out as the clammy cold skin touches his own neck. Every day I'm more like him, he thinks. Soon there'll be naught left but skin and bone, aching muscle and gaping hunger. He struggles up to his knees.
5.
Frodo's body is nothing but pain, and yet he is barely aware of it. He collapses again, and Sam's words at his ear hold no meaning for him; Sam's hands kneading the muscles of Frodo's arms and legs have no effect. (Sam won't try to touch Frodo's shoulders or his neck, for Frodo always shoves the hands away if they come too close to the chain.) It is only when greedier hands close around his neck, when that angrier voice hisses, Wicked masster, that Frodo finds he has some strength left in him to fight, and to climb once more.
6.
Frodo stretches cautiously on the pallet and cannot help but gasp at the pain, but he completes the movement anyway, glad to have control and sensation again. The twinge in his muscles reminds him of strong, gentle hands rubbing warm, fragrant oil over him as he lay here yesterday. The others told him not to move too quickly after so many days unconscious. But Frodo was too overjoyed to see all his friends alive and triumphant to care much for consequences. It's true, this morning he can feel the consequences quite plainly, but he is prepared to live with them.
7.
They've brought ponies for the hobbits to ride back to Minas Tirith. Frodo hasn't ridden one in months, and he guesses there'll be some new aches tomorrow. Still, riding is better than walking, and each day seems to hold less pain than the last. You're getting stronger, his friends tell him, and he believes them. Being with them reminds him of those early days, when there was more hope than desperation, when the gravity of their task did not yet prohibit a secret smile, like the one he glimpsed this morning, or a desire to share more secrets come nightfall.
8.
Frodo wakes, stretches, feels the sting in arms, arse, all over, and purposefully bends into it, wanting to feel it more. He moves to kiss the lover stirring at his side, and laughs to realize that even his tongue is sore. The morning's tenderness is the legacy of love like a wrestling match, interpenetrating flesh, wracking orgasms. The pain will also make a good excuse for a massage later -- not that they need one. For now, Frodo nestles into the warm embrace, and a thousand miles from the Shire, he knows he is safe in these arms, home again.
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These are absolutely lovely, a real quiet, gentle delight to read. Thank you :)
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:D
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I know you question your writing skills all the time and I actually think that's a good thing, yhou know, to keep pushing and all that. But you really are a good writer, I hope you know that some of the time. These are gorgeous drabbles.
Am slightly partial to the last one, what with it starring my OTP and all :-)
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And thanks, about the other thing. I don't mean to be one of those people who goes around saying "I suck" in order to get her friends to shower her with compliments, just need to let those feelings out every once in a while. I do like my own writing sometimes, especially before it's posted, lol. Anyway, I'm glad you liked these and thank you for letting me know.
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Aw. Lovely, Sophie. A journey in 8 movements. :)
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This made me tear up. It's absolutely beautiful what you've done here - Frodo's physical sensations echoing and enforcing what he feels, and it's done so lightly it feels natural without being overwrought. The feeling of hope at beginning and end are perfect.
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