FIC: "Starved" (PG) by Febobe (1/?)
May. 23rd, 2009 06:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
febobeHere it is at last - my Finish-a-Thon fic, finished! (Dreamflower, where DO we notify the mod of our links so she can post them to the multific comm?)
Yes, I'm just putting all the chapters in a few long posts rather than doing a bunch of short posts. Please bear with me. . .I have to see how many it takes to get them all up; that's why it's 1/?. . .it's all finished, I assure you!
Enjoy - or should I say, perhaps, bon appetit? ;)
TITLE: Starved
AUTHOR: Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End - FBoBE - "Febobe")
FANDOM: Lord of the Rings
PAIRING: N/A - Gen (Characters: Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, Faramir, Arwen, Eowyn, members of the Fellowship, brief appearance by Ioreth)
GENRE: Hurt/comfort; angst
RATING: Teen/PG for thematic darkness
WORD COUNT: 12,139 words
SUMMARY: Following the Quest, Frodo and Sam find that returning to life as usual isn't as easy as it might seem. . .particularly when it comes to eating.
WARNINGS: Rating for mild thematic darkness only; no sex, slash, or profanity. Probably bookverse apart from Frodo's appearance, but you could go either way on the interpretation. Additionally, this series is heavy on the food imagery - I *am* writing about a hobbit, after all, and a hobbit with a food obsession at that, so please bear with me! Seriously, this is a foodie h/c Frodo fic, so if you don't like those, DON'T CONTINUE. Just STOP NOW. Otherwise, you will NOT enjoy yourself. Trust me!
NOTES: The foods cited in this fic are drawn from a wide variety of sources, including an online BBC website for the English foods of the Shirefolk (I'd give you the URL, but it doesn't seem to be functioning fully these days, so I don't know how much good that would do!) and from 1,000 Italian Recipes by Michele Scicolone for the "Italian" recipes of Minas Tirith and Gondor (Minas Tirith sits at about the latitude of Florence, according to JRRT in the Letters, which inspired some of us in discussion to give Gondor a somewhat "Italian" flavor). Eowyn's recipes come from One Potato, Two Potato, from 500 Soups, and from general personal experience (in short, I could find you a recipe for it, but I didn't look at a specific book this time to find it). In addition, some of my ideas about the effects of starvation/food deprivation on the human psyche and the body come from the Ancel Keys experiment, summarized nicely at http://www.possibility.com/wiki/index.php?title=EffectsOfSemiStarvation (just in case you're interested in my source material).
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tolkien's characters; I just like to play with them from time to time. I make no claim of ownership on his creations. Any and all treatments used in this series are purely for fictitious purposes and not to be attempted on humans (having been designed for fictitious hobbits instead). Please consult a qualified health care professional for all your medical needs.
CHAPTER ONE
Frodo would never forget his first glimpse of Minas Tirith. Level upon level it stretched, far below to the ground, until Frodo grew dizzy with looking and put his face to Aragorn's shoulder. How could Men endure so much walking up different levels? Didn't it make their feet sore? At least in the Shire one was on ground, not on stone as everything was here. . .but Minas Tirith seemed to be nothing but a city of massive white stone. He shivered.
"Shall we go back inside now, little one?"
Frodo nodded eagerly. He hoped his tray would arrive soon; he was hungry, and Aragorn had promised something to eat. They were alone now, the rest of the company having departed to allow Frodo rest, and he could not say that he was entirely sorry, for he had so many questions!
"Aragorn?"
"Yes?"
"What are they like - the Men of Minas Tirith?"
Aragorn came to sit beside him, his tone warm and compassionate. "They are much as you have experienced, Frodo, in Faramir and Boromir - noble and brave, but like all of us in their fallibility. But there is yet some of the grace of Numenor about them, and that perhaps you will sense, particularly among the noblest and most loyal of those who have survived this long war." He smiled. "The Steward is giving a feast soon in your honour, as soon as you are up and able to eat well enough to enjoy it, which should be very soon. I think you will fare well when we begin to get you properly fed."
"A feast?" Frodo eyed Aragorn curiously. "What are their feasts like? I know only of their ordinary meals, from dining with Faramir and his men."
Aragorn laughed. "Well, why do you not speak more to me of hobbit dining, and let me explain what is different? I fear that I know little of hobbit meal practises, apart from your habit of eating six times a day or more and your penchant for mushrooms."
Frodo flushed. The latter had come out during a story about his own past, and he was not eager to touch upon it again. "Well, my Aunt Dora wrote positively reams on good manners at table. How the first Conversation should always be about the Food Before One, after which the conversation may gradually turn to Food in General, and from there, as the meal nears its End and one has progressed to Filling Up the Corners, to more general conversation, provided One keeps to Topics of a Congenial Nature. All sorts of things like that."*
Aragorn nodded. "In that, the Men of Minas Tirith are not so different. It is considered polite to keep to congenial topics at table, though not necessarily to food." He hesitated. "I believe, from some of the descriptions you and your cousins have given me, that it is not uncommon among hobbits to have meals with seconds and thirds. This is not usual at such feasts as we will attend, but I think you will find the number of courses served - while served one or two at a time, and not all at once - quite satisfying."
"Oh?" Frodo paused as there came a knock at the door and Aragorn rose, going to the door and returning with a covered tray which, once uncovered, revealed small servings of food: dry toast, stewed apple, and hot tea with honey. Gently Aragorn offered him a spoonful of stewed apple.
"We must be careful what you eat at first; you have been with little food for such a long time that you require careful refeeding. Soon you may have some soup and mashed potato and even a bit of plain roast chicken, if you tolerate this well. But first things first."
Frodo swallowed gratefully, blinking back tears. The taste was delicious. At once he opened his mouth for more of the warm, soothing nourishment. This Aragorn offered, even as he continued to speak.
"There will be many courses - first, the antipasti, or appetizer - which will consist this time of marinated mushrooms and marinated olives. The second course is a pasta - it is a dough cut into shapes and cooked, somewhat thin; it may have a filling or a sauce. The pasta we will have is pappardelle with mushroom marsala sauce - that is a mushroom and wine sauce. I think you will especially like that. Next we have a meat course: that will be roasted chicken with rosemary, lemon and garlic. The vegetable is a roasted mushroom medley. Following those we have a salad - a mushroom salad, in this case; next, chilled fresh fruit. After that, we have dessert: something called strawberry tirithmist, which is like nothing you have ever eaten. It is absolutely light and delicious and refreshing, and you will love it, I believe. And of course there will be plenty of wine. I believe Faramir has also arranged for a bread called rosemary focaccia to be served."
Frodo's eyes widened. "It sounds so strange. . .but delicious! Anything with mushrooms must be wonderful."
"Faramir spoke with Pippin and Merry about what might best please you. They told him of your fondness for mushrooms." Aragorn smiled. "Would you like a bath after you have eaten?"
Frodo nodded. "Please. I have not had a good wash in so long - "
"You were bathed well when you were brought in, but there is nothing quite like sitting in a tub filled with warm water." The king offered a bit of toast. "I understand that you will feel better when you have had a real bath."
"Yes." Frodo yawned, and a sudden guilty thought struck him. "Has Sam had plenty to eat?"
"He has. I have had more food sent to his room." Aragorn held another spoonful of stewed apple to Frodo's lips, watching as it was nipped up gratefully. "He is tolerating it well. Of course, he is hungry, as are you, but that we can remedy, I think."
"Mmm." Frodo nodded through a mouthful of apple. "I feel better already." He fell quiet for a moment. "Aragorn - do you think the men of Minas Tirith will react very strangely to us? I mean - everyone will be expecting a great hero."
"I see one." Aragorn's grey eyes softened. "I think they will understand, though some may stand in wonder."
"Aragorn?"
"Yes, little one?"
Frodo yawned. "Are the Men of Minas Tirith more like Faramir - or Boromir?"
Aragorn hesitated for a long moment, offering a bite of toast and sip of tea in the interim. At last he met Frodo's gaze thoughtfully. "It depends very much upon the man. There are some like each."
"Oh." Frodo blinked wearily, but continued to eat until every bite and drop was consumed. "I don't suppose I could have that bath and something more to eat when I wake?"
"Of course, little one. Of course." Easing the pillows from behind his shoulders so that only one remained, allowing Frodo to lie down comfortably with his head and shoulders only slightly raised, Aragorn smoothed the covers and tucked his charge in warmly. "Rest now, and pleasant dreams to you. One of your companions, whether myself or another, shall remain with you while you sleep."
Somehow the knowledge gave Frodo peace, and he found himself drowsing at once. And this time his dreams were not dreams of fire, or of the Eye, but of plain Shire food - sausages and apples, freshly baked white bread, poached eggs, bramble bread and butter pudding, roast chicken, mashed potato, double ginger cake, apple pie. . . .
-to be continued-
CHAPTER TWO
Frodo sat quietly. In his own chair, Sam tugged uneasily at his finery, looking for all the world as if he would rather disappear.
Frodo felt likewise.
They had been seated upon the dais, on either side of Aragorn, Frodo on his right and Sam upon his left. The separation itself felt strange after so many months of constant togetherness - Frodo was only just reconciling with the sense of sleeping in a room by himself again. Even so, he did not care for it. It felt unsafe. Alone. Vulnerable.
A dish of marinated mushrooms and marinated olives was set before him, however, and abruptly Frodo forgot his dark musings. The savory treats looked so appealing that he could hardly wait to try a bite, though he managed to remember Aunt Dora's instructions to watch the head of one's table and follow his lead before digging into one's food. He was grateful that the table was quickly served and Aragorn did not wait for the entire room before beginning to eat.
Within minutes, though, his water-glass was nearly empty. Guiltily he began to look about for a pitcher, but almost the instant he turned his head, an attendant was there, filling his glass.
"Thank you." Blushing, Frodo took an appreciative sip.
So good.
Nothing had ever tasted so good.
But soon enough he had cleaned his plate, though admittedly he seemed to be last at the table to finish, and they were bringing out something new: something that looked almost like a pile of ribbons in sauce, with - could it be? - yes, mushrooms! Aragorn leaned closer, speaking in low tones.
"This is called pappardelle with mushroom wine sauce. I think you will like it. The trick is to cut the pappardelle up so you will not end up with one long bite dangling from your fork."
Frodo smiled. "If you say it is so! Such food is strange to me. But it does smell good."
"Good." Aragorn left him to the intricacies of consuming the dish. It was fortunate, Frodo mused wryly, that he had had time for his finger-stump to heal, and time to practise using knife and fork in such condition; else he would have been hard-pressed to manage on his own, and it would be humiliating to require assistance before so many men and women, all the great folk of Gondor. He bit into the doughy strips with relish, using each bite to clean sauce from the plate, spearing mushrooms on the tines of his fork.
Then came roasted chicken with rosemary, lemon, and garlic, and Frodo began to feel slightly awkward in the matter of dealing with food. Cutting up chicken proved challenging, and more than once he could see Sam eyeing him with a pained expression of sympathy from Aragorn's opposite side. Aragorn, too, glanced in his direction, and looked very much as if he would move to help on more than one occasion, but a look from Frodo stopped him where he sat.
Frodo took another bite. The taste brought tears to his eyes, and he blinked them quickly back: rosemary, memories of his mother's kitchen. Lemon was a new taste to him, but so fresh and cleansing that he loved it at once. Garlic was always nice to spice anything up, and the combination was a pleasant enough one.
The next course was a roasted mushroom medley, and Frodo felt that this dish must have been created especially for him, so much to his liking did it seem. The blend of herbs and mushrooms melted exquisitely on his tongue. He felt he could eat a mountain of such mushrooms and never be full. . .why? he wondered, remembering the pleasantly full feelings after meals in the kitchen at Bag End or even Rivendell. It was hardly as if Aragorn had starved him since his awakening. True enough, they had begun with light foods, but Aragorn had advanced his diet as promised, and he had had enough to eat.
Hadn't he?
Some sort of herbed bread was placed before him, along with a dish of oil.
"You may dip the bread into the oil," explained Aragorn quietly. "It is delicious that way."
Frodo broke a piece and tentatively dipped it into the oil before tasting it. It was utterly delicious, and he finished his piece, even the extra pieces Aragorn gently nudged in his direction, lingering over each morsel.
"More wine, my lord?"
Frodo blushed, but nodded. The wine was good, though it was the water he craved most. "A bit more water, too, if you please."
"A wise choice, Frodo." Aragorn smiled. "After so long without adequate water, your body needs to replenish itself. We have been trying to help it along by giving you plenty to drink, but it will take time, and drinking plenty of cool, clean water is the best cure of all."
Frodo could only nod as an attendant set a mushroom salad before him. Again he watched Aragorn for his cue, then began to eat. He knew he should feel full, but. . .not yet. Still he did not feel full inside.
The next course, though, was a pleasant change: as much as he loved mushrooms, Frodo loved fresh fruit, and Minas Tirith had some of the best, war notwithstanding. Berries in the outer country and in the gardens of the Citadel had survived, yielding a fruit medley the like of which he had never seen - strawberries, fresh and sweet; blueberries, deliciously tart; and some strange pink berry he had never seen before. A "roseberry," Aragorn called it. Frodo thought it tasted rather like sweet grapes, only better.
But rather sooner than he would have liked, though again last of all the table, he was scraping the crystal goblet clean, and an attendant reached to replace it with something absolutely beautiful - a layered dessert Frodo had never seen before.
"Aragorn," he whispered, "what is this? I know you told me about it, but I have forgotten."
"Strawberry tirithmist," came the reply. "It is a Gondorian specialty. They make a plain tirithmist as well, but we thought the strawberry might please you on this occasion."
Frodo took a small mouthful.
And another.
And another.
He could not stop until the dish was clean, and had he been alone in his kitchen at Bag End he migiht well have licked the plate. But, being in company, he merely set his fork aside and finished his water, sipping comfortably.
He was full.
But the feeling lay uneasily in the pit of his stomach, as if something slept fitfully, waiting only to be stirred to life once more.
-to be continued-
CHAPTER THREE
Hungry.
Frodo shifted uneasily in bed, his stomach rumbling uncomfortably. He felt hungry again, though it could not have been more than an hour since he left the feast. Turning over, he tried to ignore the sensation, but it was no use. He was too hungry to sleep, and he could think of nothing but food - namely, of finding some. What would anyone say, if they knew?
He couldn't think about that now. He had to find something to eat, whether they liked it or not.
Cautiously he slipped out of his room on silent hobbit feet, wincing slightly - they were still sore, and he shuddered to think how Sam's must feel, when at least he had been carried for the last leg of the torturous journey.
Sam.
If he felt hungry, surely Sam must too. Frodo made a mental note to slip a snack into his pockets for Sam as well and deliver it to his room on the way back. Yes, he would like that.
"Master Frodo!"
He stopped dead in his tracks. The voice was that of Ioreth, the healer-woman assigned to tensely before turning, schooling his voice to calm.
"Yes, Mistress?"
She stooped to his eye level, looking for all the world as if she would prefer to sweep him up in her arms and gather him back to bed. "What in the world are you doing up, Master Frodo? 'Tis late, and you must be tired! Is there aught I can do for you?"
"No, thank you. 'Tis only a trivial matter; I - I - "
"Are you hungry?"
Relief swept over him, and he nodded. Ioreth looked utterly delighted with herself.
"The King said that; he said you might get hungry. He gave me special instructions. 'Ioreth,' he said to me, 'at no time during the day or night are either of the Ringbearers to go without food if they wish for it. This is in addition to their daily meals and the snacks I have ordered for them. Do you understand?' 'Yes,' I said, 'I understand perfectly.' And so I do." She paused for breath. "Is there anything else you require, little master?"
"Please - Sam. He will be hungry too, I think, though he will be too shy to speak of it. If you could take something to him as well - "
"Never fear, Master Frodo. It shall be done." She patted his shoulder gently. "Why don't you return to your room and rest while I prepare your snack? I shall return swiftly with it."
Reluctantly Frodo yielded, returning to his room in silent slow pace. It seemed an eternity that he sat in the oversized chair by the bed, waiting for Ioreth. At last he climbed back onto his bed; the chair was not cushioned, and it hurt him to sit too long without some sort of padding between his thin body and the chair.
At last he heard footsteps in the hall, and his door opened. But it was not Ioreth who entered.
Frodo blinked.
Faramir.
"Good evening, Frodo." The man brought a small tray to Frodo's bed, setting it down gently, presenting the contents for approval. "I hope you will not mind a change in company? Ioreth was in quite a flurry, and I assured her than I was quite capable of ensuring that you received your nourishment while she took something to Sam."
"Thank you." Blushing furiously, Frodo looked down. So much trouble to so many great folk. . . . But the strange bars on the tray and the cup of milk looked so appealing that he could not help picking up a bar and investigating it.
"These are called biscotti. They are a kind of what you call biscuit in your land, I believe. This sort is gingerbread-flavored."
Gingerbread? Eagerly Frodo nibbled the tip of a stick. Faramir was correct: the delicious taste of spices warmed his mouth.
"Thank you so much."
"You are most welcome." Faramir smiled, settling himself in the large chair by the bed. "Frodo. . .there is something I wished to speak with you about, if you are willing. Would you permit me a question or two while you are eating?"
Frodo nodded, taking a sip of milk. "Yes, of course."
Faramir leaned forward, folding his hands. His grey eyes were sombre. "Frodo. . .are you happy?"
Taken aback, Frodo paused with a stick of biscotti halfway to his mouth. "I. . .I *should* be."
"But *are* you?"
"I don't know." Frodo swallowed anxiously. "I. . .in truth, I feel so alone. It does not feel natural to be alone so often after so many months with Sam close by, and before that, the others too."
Faramir nodded knowingly. "Is there anything else?"
"I. . ." Frodo hesitated. "I cannot understand why I am so hungry."
"Sometimes, Frodo, this is common in men who have been starved." Faramir sighed softly. "I have seen it in my own men who were taken prisoner and later reclaimed in battle. . .we recovered them and gave them food, but we could not assuage that feeling."
Frodo shuddered. "Is there then no hope for us?"
"Of course there is." A soft smile tugged at the corners of Faramir's lips. "Already I see improvement in Sam. I am no healer, but he seems much better to me. As for you. . ."
He paused, as if considering his words carefully.
"Some of my men found great comfort in poring over menus from our city's eating-houses, and of course receipt-books. Would you like to have some brought for you?"
Frodo's eyes widened. "Are you certain it would not be too much trouble?"
"None at all." Faramir's smile warmed. "And - should you prefer to sleep in the same room as Sam tonight, I believe we have a room large enough to accommodate you both."
Frodo beamed and took a sip of milk.
Perhaps tonight he would sleep without dreams.
-to be continued-
Yes, I'm just putting all the chapters in a few long posts rather than doing a bunch of short posts. Please bear with me. . .I have to see how many it takes to get them all up; that's why it's 1/?. . .it's all finished, I assure you!
Enjoy - or should I say, perhaps, bon appetit? ;)
TITLE: Starved
AUTHOR: Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End - FBoBE - "Febobe")
FANDOM: Lord of the Rings
PAIRING: N/A - Gen (Characters: Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, Faramir, Arwen, Eowyn, members of the Fellowship, brief appearance by Ioreth)
GENRE: Hurt/comfort; angst
RATING: Teen/PG for thematic darkness
WORD COUNT: 12,139 words
SUMMARY: Following the Quest, Frodo and Sam find that returning to life as usual isn't as easy as it might seem. . .particularly when it comes to eating.
WARNINGS: Rating for mild thematic darkness only; no sex, slash, or profanity. Probably bookverse apart from Frodo's appearance, but you could go either way on the interpretation. Additionally, this series is heavy on the food imagery - I *am* writing about a hobbit, after all, and a hobbit with a food obsession at that, so please bear with me! Seriously, this is a foodie h/c Frodo fic, so if you don't like those, DON'T CONTINUE. Just STOP NOW. Otherwise, you will NOT enjoy yourself. Trust me!
NOTES: The foods cited in this fic are drawn from a wide variety of sources, including an online BBC website for the English foods of the Shirefolk (I'd give you the URL, but it doesn't seem to be functioning fully these days, so I don't know how much good that would do!) and from 1,000 Italian Recipes by Michele Scicolone for the "Italian" recipes of Minas Tirith and Gondor (Minas Tirith sits at about the latitude of Florence, according to JRRT in the Letters, which inspired some of us in discussion to give Gondor a somewhat "Italian" flavor). Eowyn's recipes come from One Potato, Two Potato, from 500 Soups, and from general personal experience (in short, I could find you a recipe for it, but I didn't look at a specific book this time to find it). In addition, some of my ideas about the effects of starvation/food deprivation on the human psyche and the body come from the Ancel Keys experiment, summarized nicely at http://www.possibility.com/wiki/index.php?title=EffectsOfSemiStarvation (just in case you're interested in my source material).
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tolkien's characters; I just like to play with them from time to time. I make no claim of ownership on his creations. Any and all treatments used in this series are purely for fictitious purposes and not to be attempted on humans (having been designed for fictitious hobbits instead). Please consult a qualified health care professional for all your medical needs.
CHAPTER ONE
Frodo would never forget his first glimpse of Minas Tirith. Level upon level it stretched, far below to the ground, until Frodo grew dizzy with looking and put his face to Aragorn's shoulder. How could Men endure so much walking up different levels? Didn't it make their feet sore? At least in the Shire one was on ground, not on stone as everything was here. . .but Minas Tirith seemed to be nothing but a city of massive white stone. He shivered.
"Shall we go back inside now, little one?"
Frodo nodded eagerly. He hoped his tray would arrive soon; he was hungry, and Aragorn had promised something to eat. They were alone now, the rest of the company having departed to allow Frodo rest, and he could not say that he was entirely sorry, for he had so many questions!
"Aragorn?"
"Yes?"
"What are they like - the Men of Minas Tirith?"
Aragorn came to sit beside him, his tone warm and compassionate. "They are much as you have experienced, Frodo, in Faramir and Boromir - noble and brave, but like all of us in their fallibility. But there is yet some of the grace of Numenor about them, and that perhaps you will sense, particularly among the noblest and most loyal of those who have survived this long war." He smiled. "The Steward is giving a feast soon in your honour, as soon as you are up and able to eat well enough to enjoy it, which should be very soon. I think you will fare well when we begin to get you properly fed."
"A feast?" Frodo eyed Aragorn curiously. "What are their feasts like? I know only of their ordinary meals, from dining with Faramir and his men."
Aragorn laughed. "Well, why do you not speak more to me of hobbit dining, and let me explain what is different? I fear that I know little of hobbit meal practises, apart from your habit of eating six times a day or more and your penchant for mushrooms."
Frodo flushed. The latter had come out during a story about his own past, and he was not eager to touch upon it again. "Well, my Aunt Dora wrote positively reams on good manners at table. How the first Conversation should always be about the Food Before One, after which the conversation may gradually turn to Food in General, and from there, as the meal nears its End and one has progressed to Filling Up the Corners, to more general conversation, provided One keeps to Topics of a Congenial Nature. All sorts of things like that."*
Aragorn nodded. "In that, the Men of Minas Tirith are not so different. It is considered polite to keep to congenial topics at table, though not necessarily to food." He hesitated. "I believe, from some of the descriptions you and your cousins have given me, that it is not uncommon among hobbits to have meals with seconds and thirds. This is not usual at such feasts as we will attend, but I think you will find the number of courses served - while served one or two at a time, and not all at once - quite satisfying."
"Oh?" Frodo paused as there came a knock at the door and Aragorn rose, going to the door and returning with a covered tray which, once uncovered, revealed small servings of food: dry toast, stewed apple, and hot tea with honey. Gently Aragorn offered him a spoonful of stewed apple.
"We must be careful what you eat at first; you have been with little food for such a long time that you require careful refeeding. Soon you may have some soup and mashed potato and even a bit of plain roast chicken, if you tolerate this well. But first things first."
Frodo swallowed gratefully, blinking back tears. The taste was delicious. At once he opened his mouth for more of the warm, soothing nourishment. This Aragorn offered, even as he continued to speak.
"There will be many courses - first, the antipasti, or appetizer - which will consist this time of marinated mushrooms and marinated olives. The second course is a pasta - it is a dough cut into shapes and cooked, somewhat thin; it may have a filling or a sauce. The pasta we will have is pappardelle with mushroom marsala sauce - that is a mushroom and wine sauce. I think you will especially like that. Next we have a meat course: that will be roasted chicken with rosemary, lemon and garlic. The vegetable is a roasted mushroom medley. Following those we have a salad - a mushroom salad, in this case; next, chilled fresh fruit. After that, we have dessert: something called strawberry tirithmist, which is like nothing you have ever eaten. It is absolutely light and delicious and refreshing, and you will love it, I believe. And of course there will be plenty of wine. I believe Faramir has also arranged for a bread called rosemary focaccia to be served."
Frodo's eyes widened. "It sounds so strange. . .but delicious! Anything with mushrooms must be wonderful."
"Faramir spoke with Pippin and Merry about what might best please you. They told him of your fondness for mushrooms." Aragorn smiled. "Would you like a bath after you have eaten?"
Frodo nodded. "Please. I have not had a good wash in so long - "
"You were bathed well when you were brought in, but there is nothing quite like sitting in a tub filled with warm water." The king offered a bit of toast. "I understand that you will feel better when you have had a real bath."
"Yes." Frodo yawned, and a sudden guilty thought struck him. "Has Sam had plenty to eat?"
"He has. I have had more food sent to his room." Aragorn held another spoonful of stewed apple to Frodo's lips, watching as it was nipped up gratefully. "He is tolerating it well. Of course, he is hungry, as are you, but that we can remedy, I think."
"Mmm." Frodo nodded through a mouthful of apple. "I feel better already." He fell quiet for a moment. "Aragorn - do you think the men of Minas Tirith will react very strangely to us? I mean - everyone will be expecting a great hero."
"I see one." Aragorn's grey eyes softened. "I think they will understand, though some may stand in wonder."
"Aragorn?"
"Yes, little one?"
Frodo yawned. "Are the Men of Minas Tirith more like Faramir - or Boromir?"
Aragorn hesitated for a long moment, offering a bite of toast and sip of tea in the interim. At last he met Frodo's gaze thoughtfully. "It depends very much upon the man. There are some like each."
"Oh." Frodo blinked wearily, but continued to eat until every bite and drop was consumed. "I don't suppose I could have that bath and something more to eat when I wake?"
"Of course, little one. Of course." Easing the pillows from behind his shoulders so that only one remained, allowing Frodo to lie down comfortably with his head and shoulders only slightly raised, Aragorn smoothed the covers and tucked his charge in warmly. "Rest now, and pleasant dreams to you. One of your companions, whether myself or another, shall remain with you while you sleep."
Somehow the knowledge gave Frodo peace, and he found himself drowsing at once. And this time his dreams were not dreams of fire, or of the Eye, but of plain Shire food - sausages and apples, freshly baked white bread, poached eggs, bramble bread and butter pudding, roast chicken, mashed potato, double ginger cake, apple pie. . . .
-to be continued-
CHAPTER TWO
Frodo sat quietly. In his own chair, Sam tugged uneasily at his finery, looking for all the world as if he would rather disappear.
Frodo felt likewise.
They had been seated upon the dais, on either side of Aragorn, Frodo on his right and Sam upon his left. The separation itself felt strange after so many months of constant togetherness - Frodo was only just reconciling with the sense of sleeping in a room by himself again. Even so, he did not care for it. It felt unsafe. Alone. Vulnerable.
A dish of marinated mushrooms and marinated olives was set before him, however, and abruptly Frodo forgot his dark musings. The savory treats looked so appealing that he could hardly wait to try a bite, though he managed to remember Aunt Dora's instructions to watch the head of one's table and follow his lead before digging into one's food. He was grateful that the table was quickly served and Aragorn did not wait for the entire room before beginning to eat.
Within minutes, though, his water-glass was nearly empty. Guiltily he began to look about for a pitcher, but almost the instant he turned his head, an attendant was there, filling his glass.
"Thank you." Blushing, Frodo took an appreciative sip.
So good.
Nothing had ever tasted so good.
But soon enough he had cleaned his plate, though admittedly he seemed to be last at the table to finish, and they were bringing out something new: something that looked almost like a pile of ribbons in sauce, with - could it be? - yes, mushrooms! Aragorn leaned closer, speaking in low tones.
"This is called pappardelle with mushroom wine sauce. I think you will like it. The trick is to cut the pappardelle up so you will not end up with one long bite dangling from your fork."
Frodo smiled. "If you say it is so! Such food is strange to me. But it does smell good."
"Good." Aragorn left him to the intricacies of consuming the dish. It was fortunate, Frodo mused wryly, that he had had time for his finger-stump to heal, and time to practise using knife and fork in such condition; else he would have been hard-pressed to manage on his own, and it would be humiliating to require assistance before so many men and women, all the great folk of Gondor. He bit into the doughy strips with relish, using each bite to clean sauce from the plate, spearing mushrooms on the tines of his fork.
Then came roasted chicken with rosemary, lemon, and garlic, and Frodo began to feel slightly awkward in the matter of dealing with food. Cutting up chicken proved challenging, and more than once he could see Sam eyeing him with a pained expression of sympathy from Aragorn's opposite side. Aragorn, too, glanced in his direction, and looked very much as if he would move to help on more than one occasion, but a look from Frodo stopped him where he sat.
Frodo took another bite. The taste brought tears to his eyes, and he blinked them quickly back: rosemary, memories of his mother's kitchen. Lemon was a new taste to him, but so fresh and cleansing that he loved it at once. Garlic was always nice to spice anything up, and the combination was a pleasant enough one.
The next course was a roasted mushroom medley, and Frodo felt that this dish must have been created especially for him, so much to his liking did it seem. The blend of herbs and mushrooms melted exquisitely on his tongue. He felt he could eat a mountain of such mushrooms and never be full. . .why? he wondered, remembering the pleasantly full feelings after meals in the kitchen at Bag End or even Rivendell. It was hardly as if Aragorn had starved him since his awakening. True enough, they had begun with light foods, but Aragorn had advanced his diet as promised, and he had had enough to eat.
Hadn't he?
Some sort of herbed bread was placed before him, along with a dish of oil.
"You may dip the bread into the oil," explained Aragorn quietly. "It is delicious that way."
Frodo broke a piece and tentatively dipped it into the oil before tasting it. It was utterly delicious, and he finished his piece, even the extra pieces Aragorn gently nudged in his direction, lingering over each morsel.
"More wine, my lord?"
Frodo blushed, but nodded. The wine was good, though it was the water he craved most. "A bit more water, too, if you please."
"A wise choice, Frodo." Aragorn smiled. "After so long without adequate water, your body needs to replenish itself. We have been trying to help it along by giving you plenty to drink, but it will take time, and drinking plenty of cool, clean water is the best cure of all."
Frodo could only nod as an attendant set a mushroom salad before him. Again he watched Aragorn for his cue, then began to eat. He knew he should feel full, but. . .not yet. Still he did not feel full inside.
The next course, though, was a pleasant change: as much as he loved mushrooms, Frodo loved fresh fruit, and Minas Tirith had some of the best, war notwithstanding. Berries in the outer country and in the gardens of the Citadel had survived, yielding a fruit medley the like of which he had never seen - strawberries, fresh and sweet; blueberries, deliciously tart; and some strange pink berry he had never seen before. A "roseberry," Aragorn called it. Frodo thought it tasted rather like sweet grapes, only better.
But rather sooner than he would have liked, though again last of all the table, he was scraping the crystal goblet clean, and an attendant reached to replace it with something absolutely beautiful - a layered dessert Frodo had never seen before.
"Aragorn," he whispered, "what is this? I know you told me about it, but I have forgotten."
"Strawberry tirithmist," came the reply. "It is a Gondorian specialty. They make a plain tirithmist as well, but we thought the strawberry might please you on this occasion."
Frodo took a small mouthful.
And another.
And another.
He could not stop until the dish was clean, and had he been alone in his kitchen at Bag End he migiht well have licked the plate. But, being in company, he merely set his fork aside and finished his water, sipping comfortably.
He was full.
But the feeling lay uneasily in the pit of his stomach, as if something slept fitfully, waiting only to be stirred to life once more.
-to be continued-
CHAPTER THREE
Hungry.
Frodo shifted uneasily in bed, his stomach rumbling uncomfortably. He felt hungry again, though it could not have been more than an hour since he left the feast. Turning over, he tried to ignore the sensation, but it was no use. He was too hungry to sleep, and he could think of nothing but food - namely, of finding some. What would anyone say, if they knew?
He couldn't think about that now. He had to find something to eat, whether they liked it or not.
Cautiously he slipped out of his room on silent hobbit feet, wincing slightly - they were still sore, and he shuddered to think how Sam's must feel, when at least he had been carried for the last leg of the torturous journey.
Sam.
If he felt hungry, surely Sam must too. Frodo made a mental note to slip a snack into his pockets for Sam as well and deliver it to his room on the way back. Yes, he would like that.
"Master Frodo!"
He stopped dead in his tracks. The voice was that of Ioreth, the healer-woman assigned to tensely before turning, schooling his voice to calm.
"Yes, Mistress?"
She stooped to his eye level, looking for all the world as if she would prefer to sweep him up in her arms and gather him back to bed. "What in the world are you doing up, Master Frodo? 'Tis late, and you must be tired! Is there aught I can do for you?"
"No, thank you. 'Tis only a trivial matter; I - I - "
"Are you hungry?"
Relief swept over him, and he nodded. Ioreth looked utterly delighted with herself.
"The King said that; he said you might get hungry. He gave me special instructions. 'Ioreth,' he said to me, 'at no time during the day or night are either of the Ringbearers to go without food if they wish for it. This is in addition to their daily meals and the snacks I have ordered for them. Do you understand?' 'Yes,' I said, 'I understand perfectly.' And so I do." She paused for breath. "Is there anything else you require, little master?"
"Please - Sam. He will be hungry too, I think, though he will be too shy to speak of it. If you could take something to him as well - "
"Never fear, Master Frodo. It shall be done." She patted his shoulder gently. "Why don't you return to your room and rest while I prepare your snack? I shall return swiftly with it."
Reluctantly Frodo yielded, returning to his room in silent slow pace. It seemed an eternity that he sat in the oversized chair by the bed, waiting for Ioreth. At last he climbed back onto his bed; the chair was not cushioned, and it hurt him to sit too long without some sort of padding between his thin body and the chair.
At last he heard footsteps in the hall, and his door opened. But it was not Ioreth who entered.
Frodo blinked.
Faramir.
"Good evening, Frodo." The man brought a small tray to Frodo's bed, setting it down gently, presenting the contents for approval. "I hope you will not mind a change in company? Ioreth was in quite a flurry, and I assured her than I was quite capable of ensuring that you received your nourishment while she took something to Sam."
"Thank you." Blushing furiously, Frodo looked down. So much trouble to so many great folk. . . . But the strange bars on the tray and the cup of milk looked so appealing that he could not help picking up a bar and investigating it.
"These are called biscotti. They are a kind of what you call biscuit in your land, I believe. This sort is gingerbread-flavored."
Gingerbread? Eagerly Frodo nibbled the tip of a stick. Faramir was correct: the delicious taste of spices warmed his mouth.
"Thank you so much."
"You are most welcome." Faramir smiled, settling himself in the large chair by the bed. "Frodo. . .there is something I wished to speak with you about, if you are willing. Would you permit me a question or two while you are eating?"
Frodo nodded, taking a sip of milk. "Yes, of course."
Faramir leaned forward, folding his hands. His grey eyes were sombre. "Frodo. . .are you happy?"
Taken aback, Frodo paused with a stick of biscotti halfway to his mouth. "I. . .I *should* be."
"But *are* you?"
"I don't know." Frodo swallowed anxiously. "I. . .in truth, I feel so alone. It does not feel natural to be alone so often after so many months with Sam close by, and before that, the others too."
Faramir nodded knowingly. "Is there anything else?"
"I. . ." Frodo hesitated. "I cannot understand why I am so hungry."
"Sometimes, Frodo, this is common in men who have been starved." Faramir sighed softly. "I have seen it in my own men who were taken prisoner and later reclaimed in battle. . .we recovered them and gave them food, but we could not assuage that feeling."
Frodo shuddered. "Is there then no hope for us?"
"Of course there is." A soft smile tugged at the corners of Faramir's lips. "Already I see improvement in Sam. I am no healer, but he seems much better to me. As for you. . ."
He paused, as if considering his words carefully.
"Some of my men found great comfort in poring over menus from our city's eating-houses, and of course receipt-books. Would you like to have some brought for you?"
Frodo's eyes widened. "Are you certain it would not be too much trouble?"
"None at all." Faramir's smile warmed. "And - should you prefer to sleep in the same room as Sam tonight, I believe we have a room large enough to accommodate you both."
Frodo beamed and took a sip of milk.
Perhaps tonight he would sleep without dreams.
-to be continued-
