Cuppa angst for your Monday?
A trifle from the Far From Home series, that I really, really, want to get back to this summer. And I entirely blame the angst on the nursery rhyme. What was the poor writer to do?
Title: Whither Do I Wander
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, M/P
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1651
Summary: A sudden and tragic event causes reassessment on the part of several members of the Fellowship. Part of the Far From Home series, and it should be noted that this is Shire Morns F/S, not canon F&S. Just in case you were wondering. Written for the Waymeet Nursery Rhyme Challenge.
Oh that I were
Where I would be,
Then would I be
Where I am not;
But where I am
There I must be,
And where I would be
I can not.
His feet lagged, stumbled. One unwilling step after another. But there was no wishing it otherwise, for there was no gain in that. There was immeasurable loss in his heart, and no solace for that, either.
Oh that I were
Where I would be
The stone steps had been roughly hewn, and meant for longer legs than his. But there had certainly been no turning back, at this point, and there had never been any alternative, really. So it had been a matter of one step after another, over and over, until his mind was dull with fatigue and vain regret. It was then that that familiar voice caught his ear.
It wasn’t what he was saying, exactly, but it was the tone, the rhythm of Sam’s voice, that had not altered despite all that they gone through since they had left the Shire. He was chiding Pippin for chuffing stones down some forsaken bottomless pit or another, but he might as well have been scolding him for an unnecessarily hearty pounding on the front door of Bag End.
“There’s no need t’be a-doin’ that, Pippin,” he heard the stern but gentle Hobbiton inflection, and felt something in his heart suddenly fall into place. The next thing he would have heard would have been an offer to put up Pippin’s cloak, as well as Merry’s, most likely, and a quick mutter, as Sam passed him in the hall, that he’d put the kettle on, and wasn’t it a piece of luck that he’d baked a spice cake that very morning.
And then his wayward cousins would have dumped themselves into their favorite seats in the Bag End study, and spun out their latest plight, and Sam would have brought in a tray with a steaming pot and plates piled high with all manner of special treats, and the afternoon would have drifted into evening in the very most pleasant of ways, until finally the boisterous guests would have been shooed into the guest room, to spend the rest of the night as they saw fit (and an exceedingly noisy process that frequently was), and he would have curled up to Sam, in their fine feather bed, and would have exchanged a laugh, and a kiss, and then a few more, until the guests down the hall were completely forgotten, and nothing remained but the touch of the beloved, the caress of the adored one, and the slow seductive sensation of skin against skin and heart against heart.
But those times were gone, and did not seem likely to return. With an ache in his heart he saw the gleam of daylight ahead.
Then would I be
Where I am not;
How many times had he asked himself, during these last few months, if he had made the right decision for himself and Pippin. But there had been Frodo, and needless to mention Sam, and they really seemed to need of a bit of a hand. And then there had never been any point where it would have been decent to slap Frodo heartily on the back and exclaim, “Well, old thing, I think you’ll be set now. Pip and I best be heading back, for his mother will be in a proper state, and you well know mine won’t bear telling.”
There were many times he silently cursed the unexpected lack of his normally shrewd tongue, at the Last Homely House, as they trudged through the misery that was the ruined halls of Moria. But now? Now matters looked bleak beyond all measure.
Somehow, he had always thought that as long as Gandalf and Frodo were leading the way, things would sort themselves out. Somehow, even though Frodo had been frightfully injured while Gandalf had gone missing, they had made it to shelter with the Elves, just in time, and he seemed all right now. Somehow, the wizard would ensure that all would go well in the long haul, and he and Pippin might have the occasional close call, and the random dodgy moment or two, but in the end, they would find themselves comfortably ensconced in front of the hearth, mug of something warm and stimulating in hand, and plenty to laugh and reminisce about. Now that didn’t seem likely by half, and he was entirely sure matters were just about to go from bad to worse.
And the fault would be entirely his. He unconsciously tightened his grasp about the uncontrollably sobbing Pippin’s shoulders. Strider was right. Time to move on.
But where I am
There I must be,
He knew he wasn’t meant to be on this journey. He knew this was all over his head, a matter in which a tween had no business getting mixed up. But he had forever been where he was not supposed to be, and that was not likely to change now.
He had always followed Merry as quietly and persistently as metal filings lined up behind a lodestone, and this situation was no different than the myriad of less dangerous but similar situations in which he had found himself, ever since his unshakable heart had aligned itself with Merry’s, back in those days when he had been hardly more than a fauntling.
But now he and Merry, it appeared, were quite extraneous and beside the point. Silently he sought Merry’s comforting presence, throwing his arms around that strong, well-known form, and closed his eyes in speechless gratitude as Merry’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Letting all else go, he lost himself in the solace of being loved. Despite all the pain and grief about them, there was still nowhere else he would ever want to be than exactly where he was.
And where I would be
I can not.
Sam cast a worried eye ahead. Frodo had gone off, stumbling, across the shale as they had exited that horrific tomb under the mountain, and Sam knew all too well that it was time to let him be. As much as Sam yearned to catch Frodo up in his arms and kiss away his grief, years with Frodo had taught him that now was not that time. Frodo’s grief was overwhelming, for the moment, and there was no comfort, not even from him, until that pain began to subside. So he tagged along at a distance, although the tears ran down his face as well, and kept Frodo within sight. When Frodo was ready for him, he would be there.
Truth was, he did not know what comfort he could give Frodo. The loss of the kindly wizard, a venerated figure in his life ever since he had been a fauntling, had struck him hard as well, and he wished, with all his heart and not for the first time, that they could hand this impossible task off to others and make their way back to the Shire where they truly belonged.
Glancing ahead, he saw Aragorn quietly speaking with Frodo. But the set of Frodo’s shoulders was unmistakable, to his experienced eye. They would be moving on, and never back to the Shire.
***
It was much later, when the company had eventually halted in their tracks for the night, and threw themselves into the bushes at the side of the faint path, that he at last held Frodo in his arms, and felt the stiffness slowly drained from that beloved form. “Do you think he knew, Sam?” Frodo finally murmured into his ear, Sam’s chin firmly tucked against his chest. “He seemed so reluctant to take that route.”
“He was a wizard, Frodo-love. What he knew or thought was beyond the likes of us, I’d be thinking.”
“Of course you’re right, Sam,” Frodo sighed, and tightened his embrace just the slightest amount. There was a long pause before he barely heard Frodo’s faint voice, “I suppose it’s up to us now.”
“Aragorn?” Sam asked softly.
“Strider will help if he can, of course,” Frodo rolled to his back and stared sightlessly up at the starless sky above. “But he has other concerns. This is not his task.”
“Meaning you think it’s yours, Frodo-love.”
“Not that I ever asked for it, but I’m afraid it is, now.”
“Long as you ain’t a’thinkin’ that it’s just yours,” and Sam’s voice became ever so slightly more stern.
“Ah, Sam,” Frodo rolled to his side and tucked a knee in between the both of Sam’s. “Don’t you worrit, m’dear. You ought to know better than that. The day I go on without you is the day I leave my heart behind.”
“Then it’ll all work out somehow.” With a hidden sigh of relief, Sam lifted a gentle hand, and slowly ran it along the side of Frodo’s face, tucking the unseen curls behind his ears. “The sun will come again; it alus does. And we’ll set one foot afore the other, and do what Gandalf told us to do, and once done, set out faces back to the Shire. And we’ll find ourselves back in Bag End, in our own feather bed. And we won’t be settin’ foot out of it for at least a week, no matter who’d be a-poundin’ on the front door.”
Frodo couldn’t help but give a shaky laugh at that thought. “It sounds so very simple, doesn’t it, Sam-love? Well, then, that is precisely what we shall do.”
***
The night sky above was dark and clear, sprinkled with a dusting of glistening white stars, as four of the Fellowship dreamed of the green fields and hills of the Shire, and the smiling faces of those whom they loved, dreams that would become forever lost during the grim days which lay waiting ahead.
Title: Whither Do I Wander
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, M/P
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1651
Summary: A sudden and tragic event causes reassessment on the part of several members of the Fellowship. Part of the Far From Home series, and it should be noted that this is Shire Morns F/S, not canon F&S. Just in case you were wondering. Written for the Waymeet Nursery Rhyme Challenge.
Oh that I were
Where I would be,
Then would I be
Where I am not;
But where I am
There I must be,
And where I would be
I can not.
His feet lagged, stumbled. One unwilling step after another. But there was no wishing it otherwise, for there was no gain in that. There was immeasurable loss in his heart, and no solace for that, either.
Oh that I were
Where I would be
The stone steps had been roughly hewn, and meant for longer legs than his. But there had certainly been no turning back, at this point, and there had never been any alternative, really. So it had been a matter of one step after another, over and over, until his mind was dull with fatigue and vain regret. It was then that that familiar voice caught his ear.
It wasn’t what he was saying, exactly, but it was the tone, the rhythm of Sam’s voice, that had not altered despite all that they gone through since they had left the Shire. He was chiding Pippin for chuffing stones down some forsaken bottomless pit or another, but he might as well have been scolding him for an unnecessarily hearty pounding on the front door of Bag End.
“There’s no need t’be a-doin’ that, Pippin,” he heard the stern but gentle Hobbiton inflection, and felt something in his heart suddenly fall into place. The next thing he would have heard would have been an offer to put up Pippin’s cloak, as well as Merry’s, most likely, and a quick mutter, as Sam passed him in the hall, that he’d put the kettle on, and wasn’t it a piece of luck that he’d baked a spice cake that very morning.
And then his wayward cousins would have dumped themselves into their favorite seats in the Bag End study, and spun out their latest plight, and Sam would have brought in a tray with a steaming pot and plates piled high with all manner of special treats, and the afternoon would have drifted into evening in the very most pleasant of ways, until finally the boisterous guests would have been shooed into the guest room, to spend the rest of the night as they saw fit (and an exceedingly noisy process that frequently was), and he would have curled up to Sam, in their fine feather bed, and would have exchanged a laugh, and a kiss, and then a few more, until the guests down the hall were completely forgotten, and nothing remained but the touch of the beloved, the caress of the adored one, and the slow seductive sensation of skin against skin and heart against heart.
But those times were gone, and did not seem likely to return. With an ache in his heart he saw the gleam of daylight ahead.
Then would I be
Where I am not;
How many times had he asked himself, during these last few months, if he had made the right decision for himself and Pippin. But there had been Frodo, and needless to mention Sam, and they really seemed to need of a bit of a hand. And then there had never been any point where it would have been decent to slap Frodo heartily on the back and exclaim, “Well, old thing, I think you’ll be set now. Pip and I best be heading back, for his mother will be in a proper state, and you well know mine won’t bear telling.”
There were many times he silently cursed the unexpected lack of his normally shrewd tongue, at the Last Homely House, as they trudged through the misery that was the ruined halls of Moria. But now? Now matters looked bleak beyond all measure.
Somehow, he had always thought that as long as Gandalf and Frodo were leading the way, things would sort themselves out. Somehow, even though Frodo had been frightfully injured while Gandalf had gone missing, they had made it to shelter with the Elves, just in time, and he seemed all right now. Somehow, the wizard would ensure that all would go well in the long haul, and he and Pippin might have the occasional close call, and the random dodgy moment or two, but in the end, they would find themselves comfortably ensconced in front of the hearth, mug of something warm and stimulating in hand, and plenty to laugh and reminisce about. Now that didn’t seem likely by half, and he was entirely sure matters were just about to go from bad to worse.
And the fault would be entirely his. He unconsciously tightened his grasp about the uncontrollably sobbing Pippin’s shoulders. Strider was right. Time to move on.
But where I am
There I must be,
He knew he wasn’t meant to be on this journey. He knew this was all over his head, a matter in which a tween had no business getting mixed up. But he had forever been where he was not supposed to be, and that was not likely to change now.
He had always followed Merry as quietly and persistently as metal filings lined up behind a lodestone, and this situation was no different than the myriad of less dangerous but similar situations in which he had found himself, ever since his unshakable heart had aligned itself with Merry’s, back in those days when he had been hardly more than a fauntling.
But now he and Merry, it appeared, were quite extraneous and beside the point. Silently he sought Merry’s comforting presence, throwing his arms around that strong, well-known form, and closed his eyes in speechless gratitude as Merry’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Letting all else go, he lost himself in the solace of being loved. Despite all the pain and grief about them, there was still nowhere else he would ever want to be than exactly where he was.
And where I would be
I can not.
Sam cast a worried eye ahead. Frodo had gone off, stumbling, across the shale as they had exited that horrific tomb under the mountain, and Sam knew all too well that it was time to let him be. As much as Sam yearned to catch Frodo up in his arms and kiss away his grief, years with Frodo had taught him that now was not that time. Frodo’s grief was overwhelming, for the moment, and there was no comfort, not even from him, until that pain began to subside. So he tagged along at a distance, although the tears ran down his face as well, and kept Frodo within sight. When Frodo was ready for him, he would be there.
Truth was, he did not know what comfort he could give Frodo. The loss of the kindly wizard, a venerated figure in his life ever since he had been a fauntling, had struck him hard as well, and he wished, with all his heart and not for the first time, that they could hand this impossible task off to others and make their way back to the Shire where they truly belonged.
Glancing ahead, he saw Aragorn quietly speaking with Frodo. But the set of Frodo’s shoulders was unmistakable, to his experienced eye. They would be moving on, and never back to the Shire.
***
It was much later, when the company had eventually halted in their tracks for the night, and threw themselves into the bushes at the side of the faint path, that he at last held Frodo in his arms, and felt the stiffness slowly drained from that beloved form. “Do you think he knew, Sam?” Frodo finally murmured into his ear, Sam’s chin firmly tucked against his chest. “He seemed so reluctant to take that route.”
“He was a wizard, Frodo-love. What he knew or thought was beyond the likes of us, I’d be thinking.”
“Of course you’re right, Sam,” Frodo sighed, and tightened his embrace just the slightest amount. There was a long pause before he barely heard Frodo’s faint voice, “I suppose it’s up to us now.”
“Aragorn?” Sam asked softly.
“Strider will help if he can, of course,” Frodo rolled to his back and stared sightlessly up at the starless sky above. “But he has other concerns. This is not his task.”
“Meaning you think it’s yours, Frodo-love.”
“Not that I ever asked for it, but I’m afraid it is, now.”
“Long as you ain’t a’thinkin’ that it’s just yours,” and Sam’s voice became ever so slightly more stern.
“Ah, Sam,” Frodo rolled to his side and tucked a knee in between the both of Sam’s. “Don’t you worrit, m’dear. You ought to know better than that. The day I go on without you is the day I leave my heart behind.”
“Then it’ll all work out somehow.” With a hidden sigh of relief, Sam lifted a gentle hand, and slowly ran it along the side of Frodo’s face, tucking the unseen curls behind his ears. “The sun will come again; it alus does. And we’ll set one foot afore the other, and do what Gandalf told us to do, and once done, set out faces back to the Shire. And we’ll find ourselves back in Bag End, in our own feather bed. And we won’t be settin’ foot out of it for at least a week, no matter who’d be a-poundin’ on the front door.”
Frodo couldn’t help but give a shaky laugh at that thought. “It sounds so very simple, doesn’t it, Sam-love? Well, then, that is precisely what we shall do.”
***
The night sky above was dark and clear, sprinkled with a dusting of glistening white stars, as four of the Fellowship dreamed of the green fields and hills of the Shire, and the smiling faces of those whom they loved, dreams that would become forever lost during the grim days which lay waiting ahead.