(no subject)
A very, very happy birthday to dear mews1945!
Well, I'm a bit late with this, as I got home tonight late, and for that I apologize. But I AM just under the wire---it's still the 18th here for a wee bit yet.
Julia, it's hard to believe that a time existed here on LJ when I hadn't yet met you, because my life has been so much richer with you in it! Thank you for your kindness and support over the years. ♥
But wait, but wait---this wouldn't be a complete post without thanking you, as well, for the lovely fics (and fic recs) you've given us. In that vein, I'm going to excerpt here one of my favorite parts of one of my favorite fics of yours---"The Secret."
Oh, I love this fic, in which Frodo faces . . . some little critters. But not the cute baby animals we all know and love from your LJ. Nope, not those at all. :)
***
"Frodo Baggins, I am your King, and I command you to open this door."
After a long pause, the latch was withdrawn and the lock clicked, but the door remained closed until Aragorn himself opened it. Frodo gave Sam one look, his huge blue eyes filled with reproach, then turned and strode across the room to the bedside, where he turned and faced Aragorn with defiance, arms crossed over his chest.
Aragorn stepped into the room, noting with approval that it was warm and well-lit and had been thoroughly cleaned that day. It was neat and tidy. Not so the Ringbearer.
He had seen Frodo in conditions on their journey that had precluded all but the most cursory of cleansing, and even then Frodo had contrived to keep his hair ordered, his clothing straightened and the luxuriant curls that adorned his feet combed. Only after Mordor and Mount Doom, only after the rescue by the eagles, had Frodo been so bedraggled, wounded, and filthy as to be all but unrecognizable. Even during his recent confinement to the sickroom, Frodo had insisted that his personal grooming be attended when he was unable to do it for himself.
To see him as was now, his hair wildly tangled, sticking up every which way, the marks of his fingernails on his skin showing red and raw, his foothair as disheveled as the hair upon his head, was shocking. The misery that wrenched the small face as Frodo whimpered and began to scratch desperately at his scalp, then at his left shin, raising his foot to do so, wrung Aragorn's heart.
"My friend," Aragorn said, approaching the frantically scratching hobbit slowly, peering at him as he tried to discern the cause of his distress. "What afflicts you?"
Frodo pressed his lips together, still busily scratching here and there, disarranging his clothing, his maimed hand digging at his scalp while the other crept toward the waistband of his breeches. He struggled visibly to restrain that hand and pressed it against his thigh, fist clenched.
Sam also approached, hesitant but desperate to aid his master. "Mr. Frodo, won't you tell us what we can do to help you?"
"You must tell us, Frodo," Aragorn added firmly. "What is it that causes this distress?"
Frodo's hand again crept toward the waist of his breeches and again he forced it back and down to his side. He looked at Aragorn with eyes of tragedy and whispered, "I am infested, Aragorn."
***
Ah, this story has some fine, fine Frodo h/c in it. I absolutely adore the tending by Aragorn. And because you have a number of stories containing gentle Frodo h/c, it was very difficult to restrain myself to just one excerpt.
Story link:
http://mews1945.livejournal.com/4506.html
I hope you have had a lovely, lovely birthday, Julia.
*love and hugs*
Lily
Well, I'm a bit late with this, as I got home tonight late, and for that I apologize. But I AM just under the wire---it's still the 18th here for a wee bit yet.
Julia, it's hard to believe that a time existed here on LJ when I hadn't yet met you, because my life has been so much richer with you in it! Thank you for your kindness and support over the years. ♥
But wait, but wait---this wouldn't be a complete post without thanking you, as well, for the lovely fics (and fic recs) you've given us. In that vein, I'm going to excerpt here one of my favorite parts of one of my favorite fics of yours---"The Secret."
Oh, I love this fic, in which Frodo faces . . . some little critters. But not the cute baby animals we all know and love from your LJ. Nope, not those at all. :)
***
"Frodo Baggins, I am your King, and I command you to open this door."
After a long pause, the latch was withdrawn and the lock clicked, but the door remained closed until Aragorn himself opened it. Frodo gave Sam one look, his huge blue eyes filled with reproach, then turned and strode across the room to the bedside, where he turned and faced Aragorn with defiance, arms crossed over his chest.
Aragorn stepped into the room, noting with approval that it was warm and well-lit and had been thoroughly cleaned that day. It was neat and tidy. Not so the Ringbearer.
He had seen Frodo in conditions on their journey that had precluded all but the most cursory of cleansing, and even then Frodo had contrived to keep his hair ordered, his clothing straightened and the luxuriant curls that adorned his feet combed. Only after Mordor and Mount Doom, only after the rescue by the eagles, had Frodo been so bedraggled, wounded, and filthy as to be all but unrecognizable. Even during his recent confinement to the sickroom, Frodo had insisted that his personal grooming be attended when he was unable to do it for himself.
To see him as was now, his hair wildly tangled, sticking up every which way, the marks of his fingernails on his skin showing red and raw, his foothair as disheveled as the hair upon his head, was shocking. The misery that wrenched the small face as Frodo whimpered and began to scratch desperately at his scalp, then at his left shin, raising his foot to do so, wrung Aragorn's heart.
"My friend," Aragorn said, approaching the frantically scratching hobbit slowly, peering at him as he tried to discern the cause of his distress. "What afflicts you?"
Frodo pressed his lips together, still busily scratching here and there, disarranging his clothing, his maimed hand digging at his scalp while the other crept toward the waistband of his breeches. He struggled visibly to restrain that hand and pressed it against his thigh, fist clenched.
Sam also approached, hesitant but desperate to aid his master. "Mr. Frodo, won't you tell us what we can do to help you?"
"You must tell us, Frodo," Aragorn added firmly. "What is it that causes this distress?"
Frodo's hand again crept toward the waist of his breeches and again he forced it back and down to his side. He looked at Aragorn with eyes of tragedy and whispered, "I am infested, Aragorn."
***
Ah, this story has some fine, fine Frodo h/c in it. I absolutely adore the tending by Aragorn. And because you have a number of stories containing gentle Frodo h/c, it was very difficult to restrain myself to just one excerpt.
Story link:
http://mews1945.livejournal.com/4506.html
I hope you have had a lovely, lovely birthday, Julia.
*love and hugs*
Lily