Fic repost
This fic was written for the Chocolate challenge at fffc and posted last week.
Author: bagma
Prompt: Chocolate
Pairing: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: about 2000. I got a little carried away.
Summary: Frodo loves chocolate, but chocolate doesn't always loves him back.
A/N: I was inspired to write this silly ficlet after seeing the picture I've placed in the middle of the text. I'm not sure, but I think the photo comes from Cakewrecks. So, Brace yourself!:)
It was no secret amongst Frodo's friends that he was a fervent chocolate lover, so they always made sure his birthday cake was filled and decorated with every chocolate-flavoured confection known to hobbit. It was entirely possible, though, that this time they got a bit carried away, Frodo thought as he watched Merry, Pippin, Fatty and Folco entering the dining room, reeling under the combined weight of a huge tray and the cake it supported, a round affair covered in orange icing and as big as a waggon wheel.
With many a curse and a lot of huffing and puffing, the birthday cake was put down in the middle of the table. Licking his lips in anticipation, Frodo stood up, eager to examine the massive pastry more closely, and froze. He stared incredulously at the thing lying before his eyes, wondering whether it was a prank -it would have been a very bad one indeed- or his friends sincerely thought he'd enjoy eating a chocolate cake that looked, both in shape and colour, exactly like Sauron's Eye.
Frodo peered suspiciously at his guests' faces, trying to decipher their expressions; they all looked happy, more than a little tipsy, and perfectly guileless.
"What're you waitin' for?" Merry said loudly. "Cut that cake, and take your revenge on 'im at lasht!" Yes, Merry definitely had a few too many, if his scarlet ears, watery eyes and slurred speech were any indication. Despite a growing feeling of uneasiness, Frodo decided he'd better humour him and asked gamely for a knife.
"Ah, but you can't cut that special cake with an ordinrar... odrinar... simple knife, my dear Frodo. You'll need something exshepshional... Sam! Bring your mighty sword over here!" Merry's tirade ended in a uncontrollable fit of giggles that quickly affected the whole company. Hobbits doubled over with laughter, tears were running down ruddy cheeks, hearty slaps were exchanged as the atmosphere in the room was growing more hysterical by the minute.
As for Frodo, he was speechless.
He took the large knife Sam (who, to Frodo's relief, wasn't laughing at all) handed him and nearly dropped it. It was much heavier than any kitchen knife he had handled before, which was entirely normal because it was not a kitchen knife: it was Sting, as sharp and deadly as ever.
Interpreting Frodo's stormy expression correctly, Sam took him aside and whispered: "I know Sting wasn't intended to cut cakes, but I thought it was fitting for you to attack that... that monstruosity with it."
"Monstruosity would be an understatement. Honestly, I don't know what came over our friends. I guess I'd better slice that thing and be done with it, then. I'll remember my sixtieth Birthday, I tell you!"
Grasping Sting firmly, he marched towards the cake, which looked like it was hovering menacingly over Frodo's table. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but the orange frosting looked almost incandescent, and as Frodo approached it, he noticed in alarm that Sting had started gleaming, and that the closer he got to the cake, the bluer the blade shone. His guests didn't seem troubled by what was happening; it was almost as though they were expecting it. The guffaws had dimmed, and only a few giggles could still be heard. All eyes were on him.
Well, it was just a bad prank, then. How bad? Frodo would discover it very soon.
He reached the table, aware he was sweating and his right hand trembled slightly. The cake was now a fiery red, and from the dark pupil in its centre rose a thin stream of black smoke. The whole thing seemed on the verge of catching fire, and whatever they had put in the dratted pastry, it looked like the pranksters would be hoist with their own petard. Frodo was about to ask for a bucket of water when the pupil started to swell and blow bubbles as black as hot tar.
Before Frodo's horrified eyes, the cake split open and an arm sprang out from the crack, dripping with melted chocolate and holding what looked like a steaming doughnut. A skeletal body, entirely covered in chocolate and fire-coloured frosting, followed the arm out of the ruined cake and unfolded itself with a relieved groan. Then the creature caught sight of Frodo, who was rooted to the spot, and shrieked with glee.
"Master! We found you at last! And look! Sméagol found another Precious. Better than the first one, it is, and we can share it, and eat it!" With a strident laugh, the creature -Gollum?! Impossible!- broke the golden doughnut in two and handed a part to Frodo, who recoiled in horror.
"I don't want another Precious, Sméagol! Getting rid of the first one was hard enough as it was, and this one is bigger yet!" Gollum rolled his eyes and padded over to Frodo, leaving chocolate foot prints all over the floor.
"Master doesn't understand! This new Precious is good! Good to eat, and filled with chocolate. We want Master to have his share of the Precious. You must eat your part. Eat it! Eat it!" Gollum grabbed Frodo's shoulder and shook him in time with his increasibly shrill Eat it! Eat it!. To make things worse, all the company started chanting along with Gollum, clapping rhythmically and drowning Frodo's attempts at protesting.
"Eat it! Eat it! EAT IT!"
"No! No! NO!" He kept screaming at the top of his lungs, but nobody seemed to hear him. Where was Sam? Sam wasn't amongst the pranksters, Frodo was sure of it, and he'd certainly come to Frodo's rescue.
"Sam! Sam! Where are you? I need your help!" He called in despair.
"I'm here, Frodo, right beside you, and you'd know it if you deigned to stop screaming that you won't eat it and opened your eyes." Sam's voice was soft and tender as usual, if a little weary, as though he had been saying the same words again and again for quite some time.
Confused, Frodo stopped screaming. Opening his eyes? But they were open, unfortunately, and assaulted by the most frightening sight. He'd better try to close them and...
"You're right, Sam! My eyes were closed!" Frodo cried in astonishment. Sam sighed.
"Of course they were closed, as they are every time you're sleeping, me dear. Now that you're awake and your eyes open, would you care to tell me why you've been screaming the place down for the last ten minutes?" Clutching Sam's hand, Frodo sat up and looked around, bewildered.
He was in his peaceful bedroom, in his bed with his lover beside him. Frodo remembered suddenly that they had celebrated his birthday the night before with a few friends, and that the chocolate cake had been, as usual, a three-tiered affair decorated with red and white marzipan mushrooms and tiny birds made of spun sugar.
He fell back against the pillow with a deeply relieved sigh.
"Sam, I just had the most awful nightmare!"
"I thought so, considering all the thrashing and yelling you did. I told you you'd better not have that fourth slice of cake, but you wouldn't listen."
Chastened, Frodo rubbed his sore stomach; he felt nauseous, and he was sure his breath would have knocked an Orc out. A battalion of Orcs, even, with a couple Balrogs thrown in for good measure. Sam was watching him, a slight smile on his lips.
"Well then, I guess a little camomile tea is in order. I'll fix you a cup. And after drinking it, you'll tell me about your nightmare. Stay put, I'll only be a tick."
Frodo nodded, and Sam, donning his robe, headed towards the bedroom door. He was about to reach it when Frodo, changing his mind, jumped down the bed and caught up with him.
"I'd prefer to go with you, if you don't mind; I still feel a tad shaky."
"Of course I don't mind. To tell you the truth, you gave me a fright with your nightmare. It lasted an eternity, and I wasn't able to wake you up. I'd feel better if I can keep an eye on you. And put your robe on, please. There's a chill in the air." Frodo shuddered, but not from the cold.
"Don't talk about eyes, please!"
"There were eyes in your nightmare?" Sam asked as they entered the kitchen. The place was still a mess, but an organised one, thanks to Sam; the dirty pots had been filled with water, the plates and cutlery were soaking in buckets, the remaining food secured in the pantries.
"Only one, but it was enough," Frodo answered as he sat down at the table and Sam busied himself with rekindling the fire. "It was a cake, actually. And Gollum was hidden inside, and it was all Merry's fault," Frodo concluded somewhat indignantly.
Sam burst out laughing and nearly dropped the kettle.
"What? You dreamt about Gollum hiding inside your birthday cake? That's just silly!", he chuckled. He filled the kettle and put it on, then, raising his head, was struck by Frodo's sombre expression. Sam sobered and went to sit across the table from him. He took Frodo's cool hands between his and smiled apologetically.
"You'd better tell me the rest of your nightmare while we're waiting for the water to boil. My mam was always saying that the best way to made a nightmare vanish was to lit a candle and tell the dream to someone. There's more than a candle lit in the kitchen, and I'm here. Go on, I'm all ears."
Frodo gave Sam's warm hands a grateful squeeze, and started speaking. And as Sam predicted, the more he talked, the more his nightmare sounded ridiculous, unimportant and insignificant, the mere ravings of a sleeping brain saturated with chocolate instead of the portent of a threatening future. By the time the kettle whistled, Frodo and Sam were both laughing at the image of Gollum dripping with melted chocolate and brandishing a donut.
"I wonder if the real Gollum would've liked chocolate," Sam mused as he poured hot water into the teapot. "I doubt it. Not enough fish in it. Though if you used the chocolate as sauce for the fried fish..." A distressed moan interrupted Sam's culinary ramblings.
"Sam, I beg you, stop talking about chocolate and fried fish!" Frodo had his hands pressed against his stomach, and he looked definitely green around the gills.
"I'm sorry! I'll stop! It wasn't very appetising anyway, was it?" Frodo shook his head, grimacing. "There, the camomile is ready. I'll put the teapot and the mugs on a tray, and we'll drink it comfortably in bed."
As they went past the bedroom Merry and Pippin shared, the door opened and Pippin appeared. His hair was mussed, his face had the same greenish hue as Frodo's and he had his pillow and eiderdown on his shoulder.
"You're not sleeping?" Frodo asked, a little stupidly. Pippin made a face.
"I wish I was! But Merry's snoring has reached fortissimo a few minutes ago. He's always like this when he's drunk, but I'm not in the mood for this kind of nasal achievement. I'll sleep on the couch."
"Wait!" Sam called as Pippin started to drag himself down the hall. "Do you want a cup of camomile tea? Maybe it'll settle your stomach." Pippin turned round, his bleary eyes filled with hope.
"I'd give my kingdom for a cup of camomile! But I don't want to deprive Frodo: he looks like he needs a gallon of the stuff."
"Pot, meet kettle..." Frodo crooned.
"Now, now, will you behave, the both of you?" Sam chuckled. "You'd better go to bed, Frodo. I'll help Pippin settle on the couch, give him a cup of tea and I'll join you in a moment."
"Sam, you're a treasure. If you weren't so ridiculously happy with Frodo, I'd be tempted to steal you from him," Pippin said as Sam divested him of the duvet and hoisted it on his left shoulder, deftly balancing the tray on his right hand.
"I know," Frodo murmured, watching his friend and his lover enter the drawing room. "He's the only treasure I've ever wanted."
Author: bagma
Prompt: Chocolate
Pairing: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: about 2000. I got a little carried away.
Summary: Frodo loves chocolate, but chocolate doesn't always loves him back.
A/N: I was inspired to write this silly ficlet after seeing the picture I've placed in the middle of the text. I'm not sure, but I think the photo comes from Cakewrecks. So, Brace yourself!:)
It was no secret amongst Frodo's friends that he was a fervent chocolate lover, so they always made sure his birthday cake was filled and decorated with every chocolate-flavoured confection known to hobbit. It was entirely possible, though, that this time they got a bit carried away, Frodo thought as he watched Merry, Pippin, Fatty and Folco entering the dining room, reeling under the combined weight of a huge tray and the cake it supported, a round affair covered in orange icing and as big as a waggon wheel.
With many a curse and a lot of huffing and puffing, the birthday cake was put down in the middle of the table. Licking his lips in anticipation, Frodo stood up, eager to examine the massive pastry more closely, and froze. He stared incredulously at the thing lying before his eyes, wondering whether it was a prank -it would have been a very bad one indeed- or his friends sincerely thought he'd enjoy eating a chocolate cake that looked, both in shape and colour, exactly like Sauron's Eye.
Frodo peered suspiciously at his guests' faces, trying to decipher their expressions; they all looked happy, more than a little tipsy, and perfectly guileless.
"What're you waitin' for?" Merry said loudly. "Cut that cake, and take your revenge on 'im at lasht!" Yes, Merry definitely had a few too many, if his scarlet ears, watery eyes and slurred speech were any indication. Despite a growing feeling of uneasiness, Frodo decided he'd better humour him and asked gamely for a knife.
"Ah, but you can't cut that special cake with an ordinrar... odrinar... simple knife, my dear Frodo. You'll need something exshepshional... Sam! Bring your mighty sword over here!" Merry's tirade ended in a uncontrollable fit of giggles that quickly affected the whole company. Hobbits doubled over with laughter, tears were running down ruddy cheeks, hearty slaps were exchanged as the atmosphere in the room was growing more hysterical by the minute.
As for Frodo, he was speechless.
He took the large knife Sam (who, to Frodo's relief, wasn't laughing at all) handed him and nearly dropped it. It was much heavier than any kitchen knife he had handled before, which was entirely normal because it was not a kitchen knife: it was Sting, as sharp and deadly as ever.
Interpreting Frodo's stormy expression correctly, Sam took him aside and whispered: "I know Sting wasn't intended to cut cakes, but I thought it was fitting for you to attack that... that monstruosity with it."
"Monstruosity would be an understatement. Honestly, I don't know what came over our friends. I guess I'd better slice that thing and be done with it, then. I'll remember my sixtieth Birthday, I tell you!"
Grasping Sting firmly, he marched towards the cake, which looked like it was hovering menacingly over Frodo's table. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but the orange frosting looked almost incandescent, and as Frodo approached it, he noticed in alarm that Sting had started gleaming, and that the closer he got to the cake, the bluer the blade shone. His guests didn't seem troubled by what was happening; it was almost as though they were expecting it. The guffaws had dimmed, and only a few giggles could still be heard. All eyes were on him.
Well, it was just a bad prank, then. How bad? Frodo would discover it very soon.
He reached the table, aware he was sweating and his right hand trembled slightly. The cake was now a fiery red, and from the dark pupil in its centre rose a thin stream of black smoke. The whole thing seemed on the verge of catching fire, and whatever they had put in the dratted pastry, it looked like the pranksters would be hoist with their own petard. Frodo was about to ask for a bucket of water when the pupil started to swell and blow bubbles as black as hot tar.
Before Frodo's horrified eyes, the cake split open and an arm sprang out from the crack, dripping with melted chocolate and holding what looked like a steaming doughnut. A skeletal body, entirely covered in chocolate and fire-coloured frosting, followed the arm out of the ruined cake and unfolded itself with a relieved groan. Then the creature caught sight of Frodo, who was rooted to the spot, and shrieked with glee.
"Master! We found you at last! And look! Sméagol found another Precious. Better than the first one, it is, and we can share it, and eat it!" With a strident laugh, the creature -Gollum?! Impossible!- broke the golden doughnut in two and handed a part to Frodo, who recoiled in horror.
"I don't want another Precious, Sméagol! Getting rid of the first one was hard enough as it was, and this one is bigger yet!" Gollum rolled his eyes and padded over to Frodo, leaving chocolate foot prints all over the floor.
"Master doesn't understand! This new Precious is good! Good to eat, and filled with chocolate. We want Master to have his share of the Precious. You must eat your part. Eat it! Eat it!" Gollum grabbed Frodo's shoulder and shook him in time with his increasibly shrill Eat it! Eat it!. To make things worse, all the company started chanting along with Gollum, clapping rhythmically and drowning Frodo's attempts at protesting.
"Eat it! Eat it! EAT IT!"
"No! No! NO!" He kept screaming at the top of his lungs, but nobody seemed to hear him. Where was Sam? Sam wasn't amongst the pranksters, Frodo was sure of it, and he'd certainly come to Frodo's rescue.
"Sam! Sam! Where are you? I need your help!" He called in despair.
"I'm here, Frodo, right beside you, and you'd know it if you deigned to stop screaming that you won't eat it and opened your eyes." Sam's voice was soft and tender as usual, if a little weary, as though he had been saying the same words again and again for quite some time.
Confused, Frodo stopped screaming. Opening his eyes? But they were open, unfortunately, and assaulted by the most frightening sight. He'd better try to close them and...
"You're right, Sam! My eyes were closed!" Frodo cried in astonishment. Sam sighed.
"Of course they were closed, as they are every time you're sleeping, me dear. Now that you're awake and your eyes open, would you care to tell me why you've been screaming the place down for the last ten minutes?" Clutching Sam's hand, Frodo sat up and looked around, bewildered.
He was in his peaceful bedroom, in his bed with his lover beside him. Frodo remembered suddenly that they had celebrated his birthday the night before with a few friends, and that the chocolate cake had been, as usual, a three-tiered affair decorated with red and white marzipan mushrooms and tiny birds made of spun sugar.
He fell back against the pillow with a deeply relieved sigh.
"Sam, I just had the most awful nightmare!"
"I thought so, considering all the thrashing and yelling you did. I told you you'd better not have that fourth slice of cake, but you wouldn't listen."
Chastened, Frodo rubbed his sore stomach; he felt nauseous, and he was sure his breath would have knocked an Orc out. A battalion of Orcs, even, with a couple Balrogs thrown in for good measure. Sam was watching him, a slight smile on his lips.
"Well then, I guess a little camomile tea is in order. I'll fix you a cup. And after drinking it, you'll tell me about your nightmare. Stay put, I'll only be a tick."
Frodo nodded, and Sam, donning his robe, headed towards the bedroom door. He was about to reach it when Frodo, changing his mind, jumped down the bed and caught up with him.
"I'd prefer to go with you, if you don't mind; I still feel a tad shaky."
"Of course I don't mind. To tell you the truth, you gave me a fright with your nightmare. It lasted an eternity, and I wasn't able to wake you up. I'd feel better if I can keep an eye on you. And put your robe on, please. There's a chill in the air." Frodo shuddered, but not from the cold.
"Don't talk about eyes, please!"
"There were eyes in your nightmare?" Sam asked as they entered the kitchen. The place was still a mess, but an organised one, thanks to Sam; the dirty pots had been filled with water, the plates and cutlery were soaking in buckets, the remaining food secured in the pantries.
"Only one, but it was enough," Frodo answered as he sat down at the table and Sam busied himself with rekindling the fire. "It was a cake, actually. And Gollum was hidden inside, and it was all Merry's fault," Frodo concluded somewhat indignantly.
Sam burst out laughing and nearly dropped the kettle.
"What? You dreamt about Gollum hiding inside your birthday cake? That's just silly!", he chuckled. He filled the kettle and put it on, then, raising his head, was struck by Frodo's sombre expression. Sam sobered and went to sit across the table from him. He took Frodo's cool hands between his and smiled apologetically.
"You'd better tell me the rest of your nightmare while we're waiting for the water to boil. My mam was always saying that the best way to made a nightmare vanish was to lit a candle and tell the dream to someone. There's more than a candle lit in the kitchen, and I'm here. Go on, I'm all ears."
Frodo gave Sam's warm hands a grateful squeeze, and started speaking. And as Sam predicted, the more he talked, the more his nightmare sounded ridiculous, unimportant and insignificant, the mere ravings of a sleeping brain saturated with chocolate instead of the portent of a threatening future. By the time the kettle whistled, Frodo and Sam were both laughing at the image of Gollum dripping with melted chocolate and brandishing a donut.
"I wonder if the real Gollum would've liked chocolate," Sam mused as he poured hot water into the teapot. "I doubt it. Not enough fish in it. Though if you used the chocolate as sauce for the fried fish..." A distressed moan interrupted Sam's culinary ramblings.
"Sam, I beg you, stop talking about chocolate and fried fish!" Frodo had his hands pressed against his stomach, and he looked definitely green around the gills.
"I'm sorry! I'll stop! It wasn't very appetising anyway, was it?" Frodo shook his head, grimacing. "There, the camomile is ready. I'll put the teapot and the mugs on a tray, and we'll drink it comfortably in bed."
As they went past the bedroom Merry and Pippin shared, the door opened and Pippin appeared. His hair was mussed, his face had the same greenish hue as Frodo's and he had his pillow and eiderdown on his shoulder.
"You're not sleeping?" Frodo asked, a little stupidly. Pippin made a face.
"I wish I was! But Merry's snoring has reached fortissimo a few minutes ago. He's always like this when he's drunk, but I'm not in the mood for this kind of nasal achievement. I'll sleep on the couch."
"Wait!" Sam called as Pippin started to drag himself down the hall. "Do you want a cup of camomile tea? Maybe it'll settle your stomach." Pippin turned round, his bleary eyes filled with hope.
"I'd give my kingdom for a cup of camomile! But I don't want to deprive Frodo: he looks like he needs a gallon of the stuff."
"Pot, meet kettle..." Frodo crooned.
"Now, now, will you behave, the both of you?" Sam chuckled. "You'd better go to bed, Frodo. I'll help Pippin settle on the couch, give him a cup of tea and I'll join you in a moment."
"Sam, you're a treasure. If you weren't so ridiculously happy with Frodo, I'd be tempted to steal you from him," Pippin said as Sam divested him of the duvet and hoisted it on his left shoulder, deftly balancing the tray on his right hand.
"I know," Frodo murmured, watching his friend and his lover enter the drawing room. "He's the only treasure I've ever wanted."