Mushrooms 3
Title: Mushrooms 3
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG
Summary: Frodo mistakes mushrooms found in Hollin for a harmless species from the Shire.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Don’t make any money off it.
A/N: I apologize for it being over a year before I finished this (*embarrassed cringe*). Anyway, it is a very short ending and while I've agonized over that, that's the ending that was insisting on being...so here it is!
Previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The sun rose, only there was no actual sun that they could see. Only gloom and fog and chill. Frodo dozed on and off, limp with exhaustion. The worst had passed, and he knew now that he would live. Boromir’s fur cloak warmed him, and he was almost comfortable. His brow beaded with sweat. His breathing was calm and serene, no longer did he groan and twist and turn under Boromir’s cloak. Slight nausea churned in his belly and his backside burned (although not as hot as his cheeks when he remembered the previous night and how everyone in the fellowship had at one point gotten a good view of his bottom in the most undignified act), but neither bothered him too much anymore. Now his greatest concern was that he could not imagine when he’d be able to march again. Just like on Weathertop, when he cursed his decision to put on the Ring, he regretted plucking the mushrooms with so little thought. Everyone in the company could have fallen ill. Somebody might have even died.
“He will recover,” Aragorn whispered to Gandalf, wiping Frodo’s brow with a clean cloth with tender care. “I am certain of it now. Although it was touch and go for awhile.”
Gandalf released a tense sigh. “He is a Baggins, and there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye.” He ruffled Frodo’s sweat-soaked curls. “That toadstool might have felled a warrior of the Big Folk.”
“His strength astounds me,” Boromir said, looking down at Frodo with new admiration.
Gimli turned to Merry and uttered in a grumble, “It doesn’t astound me. I noted that nobody else volunteered at the Council to do this deed.” He crossed his arms and smiled.
“Humph,” Merry said. “That’s because nobody else could do this deed.”
“But there is one thing that puzzles me,” Boromir said, kneeling on the ground. He adjusted his cloak under Frodo’s chin. “If you hobbits have such a passion for mushrooms and such knowledge about them, then surely Frodo would have recognized a toadstool when he saw one.”
Merry and Pippin glanced at each other before Merry answered, “Even the most expert mushroom hunter can make a deadly mistake. And while we know about toadstools in the Shire, they are not common there. They are mostly used as tales to scare hobbit children from pilfering mushrooms.”
“It’s like this,” Sam added when Boromir still looked puzzled. “You’re a warrior, sir. And I’m sure you’ve known men with your…er…well, nearly your skill who have died in battle, have you not?”
“Certainly. Even the strongest, most well trained warrior can be felled-” Boromir laughed. “Ah, ha, I see what you are doing, Master Samwise. Fair enough. Even the wisest hobbit about mushrooms can be felled by a stray arrow…in this case, a tricky toadstool.”
Frodo dozed on and off throughout the rest of the day. At times, the merry and much beloved sound of his cousins laughing woke him up. Once he opened his eyes to see Boromir teaching them sword play. He managed a weak smile before slipping back into a doze.
Finally he woke again in the late afternoon. Aragorn sat beside him, smoking a pipe. The sun had broken through the clouds.
“How do you feel, Frodo?” Aragorn asked him in a gentle voice.
Frodo cracked his eyes open. “Far better. I feel limp and weak, like a potato that’s been overcooked. But the pain is gone. I don’t suppose I shall ever eat again, though.”
Aragorn smiled. “I have no doubt that you’ll be eating six meals a day in no time.”
“But I do not know when I shall be able to go on. I feel so weak. And we must press forward. It is not wise for us to stay for so long in one place.”
“Fear not,” Aragorn said. “The quest cannot continue without the Ringbearer.”
“But it must continue, for better or for worse.”
“And it shall. In good time. Take comfort in your rest now. Days in which you get such uninterrupted rest may be few and far between in the coming days.”
Frodo pulled Boromir’s cloak to him and curled on his side. Just before his eyes closed again, he caught the golden gleam of a single ray of sun breaking through the dense clouds. His heart caught fire with hope renewed, and he slipped deep into a healing rest for many hours.
END
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG
Summary: Frodo mistakes mushrooms found in Hollin for a harmless species from the Shire.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Don’t make any money off it.
A/N: I apologize for it being over a year before I finished this (*embarrassed cringe*). Anyway, it is a very short ending and while I've agonized over that, that's the ending that was insisting on being...so here it is!
Previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The sun rose, only there was no actual sun that they could see. Only gloom and fog and chill. Frodo dozed on and off, limp with exhaustion. The worst had passed, and he knew now that he would live. Boromir’s fur cloak warmed him, and he was almost comfortable. His brow beaded with sweat. His breathing was calm and serene, no longer did he groan and twist and turn under Boromir’s cloak. Slight nausea churned in his belly and his backside burned (although not as hot as his cheeks when he remembered the previous night and how everyone in the fellowship had at one point gotten a good view of his bottom in the most undignified act), but neither bothered him too much anymore. Now his greatest concern was that he could not imagine when he’d be able to march again. Just like on Weathertop, when he cursed his decision to put on the Ring, he regretted plucking the mushrooms with so little thought. Everyone in the company could have fallen ill. Somebody might have even died.
“He will recover,” Aragorn whispered to Gandalf, wiping Frodo’s brow with a clean cloth with tender care. “I am certain of it now. Although it was touch and go for awhile.”
Gandalf released a tense sigh. “He is a Baggins, and there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye.” He ruffled Frodo’s sweat-soaked curls. “That toadstool might have felled a warrior of the Big Folk.”
“His strength astounds me,” Boromir said, looking down at Frodo with new admiration.
Gimli turned to Merry and uttered in a grumble, “It doesn’t astound me. I noted that nobody else volunteered at the Council to do this deed.” He crossed his arms and smiled.
“Humph,” Merry said. “That’s because nobody else could do this deed.”
“But there is one thing that puzzles me,” Boromir said, kneeling on the ground. He adjusted his cloak under Frodo’s chin. “If you hobbits have such a passion for mushrooms and such knowledge about them, then surely Frodo would have recognized a toadstool when he saw one.”
Merry and Pippin glanced at each other before Merry answered, “Even the most expert mushroom hunter can make a deadly mistake. And while we know about toadstools in the Shire, they are not common there. They are mostly used as tales to scare hobbit children from pilfering mushrooms.”
“It’s like this,” Sam added when Boromir still looked puzzled. “You’re a warrior, sir. And I’m sure you’ve known men with your…er…well, nearly your skill who have died in battle, have you not?”
“Certainly. Even the strongest, most well trained warrior can be felled-” Boromir laughed. “Ah, ha, I see what you are doing, Master Samwise. Fair enough. Even the wisest hobbit about mushrooms can be felled by a stray arrow…in this case, a tricky toadstool.”
Frodo dozed on and off throughout the rest of the day. At times, the merry and much beloved sound of his cousins laughing woke him up. Once he opened his eyes to see Boromir teaching them sword play. He managed a weak smile before slipping back into a doze.
Finally he woke again in the late afternoon. Aragorn sat beside him, smoking a pipe. The sun had broken through the clouds.
“How do you feel, Frodo?” Aragorn asked him in a gentle voice.
Frodo cracked his eyes open. “Far better. I feel limp and weak, like a potato that’s been overcooked. But the pain is gone. I don’t suppose I shall ever eat again, though.”
Aragorn smiled. “I have no doubt that you’ll be eating six meals a day in no time.”
“But I do not know when I shall be able to go on. I feel so weak. And we must press forward. It is not wise for us to stay for so long in one place.”
“Fear not,” Aragorn said. “The quest cannot continue without the Ringbearer.”
“But it must continue, for better or for worse.”
“And it shall. In good time. Take comfort in your rest now. Days in which you get such uninterrupted rest may be few and far between in the coming days.”
Frodo pulled Boromir’s cloak to him and curled on his side. Just before his eyes closed again, he caught the golden gleam of a single ray of sun breaking through the dense clouds. His heart caught fire with hope renewed, and he slipped deep into a healing rest for many hours.
END