LOTR drouble - Quills
Title: Quills
Author: trust_n0_1
Word Count: 200
Characters/Pairing: Frodo
Source text: LOTR movie-verse
Rating/Warning: PG Angst
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was, never will be…precious.
Author’s Notes: Written for the 'Letters' challenge at toilanddrouble. The letters R, I, N, G.
Roiling thoughts draw him under to a reality distant yet fiercely familiar. He looks at the pointed end of his quill and it reminds him of an upside down spear, drawing black blood from the surface of the parchment, so wounded already by the horrors he has inflicted on it, and he is but halfway through his tale.
It seems a blink of time when his tale finally comes to the moment that he dreads, the moment of his weakness. He knows he has to keep his head clear enough and his quill sharpened to empty the contents of his mind of those events and thrust them to the paper. His ivory skin blends into the page like it were made from the same crumbling texture and he smiles bitterly because he knows that, even once all has been written down, It will still not leave him.
No other knows about it, and it is only fair that it should be so, even though he is sure that Sam suspects it. He cannot bear to embellish his tale and so it will be rendered like an impartial, cold history.
Glory and restful peace would not be his. His quill trembles.
Author: trust_n0_1
Word Count: 200
Characters/Pairing: Frodo
Source text: LOTR movie-verse
Rating/Warning: PG Angst
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was, never will be…precious.
Author’s Notes: Written for the 'Letters' challenge at toilanddrouble. The letters R, I, N, G.
Roiling thoughts draw him under to a reality distant yet fiercely familiar. He looks at the pointed end of his quill and it reminds him of an upside down spear, drawing black blood from the surface of the parchment, so wounded already by the horrors he has inflicted on it, and he is but halfway through his tale.
It seems a blink of time when his tale finally comes to the moment that he dreads, the moment of his weakness. He knows he has to keep his head clear enough and his quill sharpened to empty the contents of his mind of those events and thrust them to the paper. His ivory skin blends into the page like it were made from the same crumbling texture and he smiles bitterly because he knows that, even once all has been written down, It will still not leave him.
No other knows about it, and it is only fair that it should be so, even though he is sure that Sam suspects it. He cannot bear to embellish his tale and so it will be rendered like an impartial, cold history.
Glory and restful peace would not be his. His quill trembles.