Mushrooms 1
I think I might be insanely "writey" this evening.
Title: Mushrooms
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: just some old fashioned hurt/comfort on quest. Nothing more, nothing less. :-)
It was a mighty fine thing to once again feel the sun upon his cheeks. Frodo threw back the hood of his cloak and tilted his face upward, closing his eyes and basking in the gentle warmth on his skin. His heart lifted, just like it did on a Shire morning in early spring, after a string of chilly, gray days, when the clouds parted just enough to allow a few golden rays through the window to splash over the kitchen table.
Night after night, the fellowship had marched against a brutal wind with merciless claws, hunched forward, clutching their cloaks close. At last the wind had died, leaving a spring-like fragrance in the air, like freshly turned soil after the winter ice melts. And better than sun and fresh air, Gandalf had just announced that they might rest on this ridge shielded by holly-trees through the night, which meant a real fire and a hot meal. Boromir had already gone in search of quick prey, perhaps rabbit, for a stew. Frodo felt a happy flutter in his breast. His stomach rumbled, already anticipating a warm meal around a fire. Perhaps there would even be a song or tale.
Whatever fell darkness was yet to come, Frodo hoped that he should never forget a good meal or the laughter of friends or gentle sun on his cheeks.
Aragorn’s voice startled him. “We’ve not seen the sun since Rivendell. It’s a hopeful sign.”
“It feels nothing short of miraculous.” Frodo laughed and looked up at him. “I feel…” He paused. “I feel like it’s pierced right into my heart.” He patted his chest, and his smile faded when the Ring under his clothing pressed against his skin, so cold.
“It is not only the sun that lifts your heart,” Aragorn said, settling on a nearby boulder so that he was eye to eye with Frodo. “We have reached the borders of Hollin, where in happier days, Elves dwelled.”
“Perhaps that explains it better,” Frodo said. “I should think that much darkness must come to a land where Elves once lived before their presence is wholly forgotten.”
“Much darkness indeed,” Aragorn said, and he suddenly looked grim and melancholy. He lit his pipe, gazing toward the distant snowcapped mountains in deep thought, seemingly forgetting that Frodo was still standing beside him.
Frodo backtracked on their path, just far enough to find a private place to relieve himself. He did not want to go too far, or the others would worry and come after him. He rounded a bend, and was pleased when he came upon a tiny, winding stream that he remembered earlier jumping over.
After relieving himself behind a cluster of bushes, he kneeled in front of the stream and immersed his mud-caked hands in the icy water. He yearned to wash his entire body and especially his clothing, which felt stiff with filth and sweat. The water was too cold, and the winter air far too chilly, so he made do with washing his hands, feet, and the back of his neck and ears.
At the corner of his eye, he caught glimpse of a cluster of white, wide-capped mushrooms clustered around a nearby dead log. With a delighted gasp, he wiped his wet hands on his breeches and hastened toward them. Kneeling in front of the log, he stroked the velvety cap of one of the mushrooms. They looked exactly like the Southfarthing Snail Mushroom, a popular species often gathered for fall celebrations in the Shire. He could not believe his luck at finding the same mushrooms so far from home! The other hobbits would be delighted, and oh, Frodo longed for his young cousins and Sam to smile again. Or better yet - he could surprise them by adding them to the supper that night. Mushrooms always went very well in stews, and he was certain the Big Folk wouldn’t mind.
He plucked one of the mushrooms and held it to his nose, breathing in the scent of fresh soil. A wave of homesickness passed through him, but it was a good kind of homesickness, the delightful feeling of finding a piece of home far away from home. First the sun on his face and then this, a sure sign that there was yet hope to be found.
He rinsed the mushroom in the stream and took a big bite of it. The texture was just right, neither too stiff nor slimy, but it tasted a little different from the Snail Mushroom in that it had a wilder, an almost woodsy flavor. After just a few bites, Frodo’s rumbles of hunger faded. A plateful of these mushrooms would satisfy even the greediest of hobbits. Frodo took off his cloak and shaped it into a sack, into which he added as many of the mushrooms as he could pluck.
When he returned to the campsite, he was immediately surrounded by the other hobbits.
“And where have you been?” Pippin demanded.
Merry elbowed him. “Frodo’s always needed more privacy when it comes to certain things.”
“Never mind that,” Frodo said with an embarrassed grin. “But you’ll never guess what I’ve brought back for supper.”
“I can’t begin to guess, but if it’s made you smile, then I completely approve,” Merry said.
Pippin clutched at Frodo’s cloak. “Out with it!”
Frodo pivoted away from him. “Don’t be greedy, and I’ll show you.” He glanced toward the other members of the fellowship. Gimli was leaned against a tree, snoring, Aragorn and Gandalf stood together, looking toward the mountains with troubled expressions on their faces, Boromir had still not returned from his hunting quest, and Legolas was sitting quietly, deep in thought.
Frodo opened his cloak, and the other hobbits gasped with delight.
“Snail Mushrooms!” Merry shouted, his eyes lighting up with greed.
“Wherever did you find them, Mr. Frodo?”
“Oh, give me one right now!” Pippin began to reach inside the cloak.
“Take your greedy hands away, Peregrin Took,” Frodo said, closing up his cloak so that the mushrooms were unseen again. “These are for later. Sam, you can add these to the stew tonight. They will go well with whatever Boromir catches.”
“Most likely rabbit,” Sam said. “And I was just thinking about how much I wished we had some potatoes to go along with it--”
“Who cares about potatoes,” Pippin interrupted. “We have mushrooms! Oh, sweet, delectable mushrooms,” Pippin moaned. “And supper is such a long time from now. Please, Frodo, can’t we have just one?”
“No,” Frodo said firmly. “Because then there won’t be enough for everyone. For now, I shall put them in a pile, and,” and he turned a severe glance to Pippin. “I will have you know that I am fully aware of just how many mushrooms I have here. I expect there still to be that many by supper time.” He didn’t really, but it was the only way he could think of to assure that there would still be any mushrooms left by supper.
“Hmph.” Pippin turned away. “And of course, you were far too restrained to have one yourself.”
“That’s none of your concern,” Frodo said with a mischievous smile. He winked at Sam, who shook his head in a good-natured manner.
“See here, my good hobbits!”
Boromir had returned with a triumphant smile, holding a dead rabbit upside down by its feet.
Now it was official. There would be a hot stew of rabbit and mushrooms, and it would be the best meal they had had since leaving Rivendell.
The sun began to set, and Pippin and Sam got a fire started. Aragorn skinned the rabbit so that Boromir could work on mending a tear in his cloak.
Frodo sat in front of the fire, stretching his fingers out to be warmed by the fire. His stomach felt uneasy. He rested one arm over his belly, as if that might ease the uncomfortable churning inside. A chilly sweat had broken on his forehead, and now that the sun was going down, a cold wind had picked up again. He very much hoped his stomach discomfort would pass. He had so looked forward to supper - rabbit stew with herbs and mushrooms, cooked in a thick broth that only Sam knew how to make just right.
“You’re awfully quiet, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. “And you’re apt to catch a chill without your cloak. You oughta let me put them mushrooms in the pan straight away so that you can wear your cloak again.”
“I’m all right, Sam.” But he swallowed several times as his stomach turned more insistently.
Sam looked worried. “You don’t look none too fine. Well, just sit tight then. I can start cooking as soon as I get the skinned rabbit from Strider. I’m glad he was willing to do the dirty work.”
Frodo smiled weakly. “Me too, Sam.” His cheeks felt clammy, and suddenly the idea of rabbit stew and mushrooms seemed noxious. His mouth filled with saliva, and he swallowed with desperation. He fervently wished that Sam would stop patting his arm. He suddenly jumped to his feet, shoving Sam’s hand away. “Let me be alone a moment.” He swayed from a sudden bout of dizziness, throwing his arm over his mouth, and he fled, heart pounding, until he reached the shadows behind a thick cluster of shrubs where he fell to his knees. He dug his fingers into the earth, and vomited several times. The world spun in violent circles as he gagged and retched, no longer caring that his retching surely echoed all the way to the campfire.
TBC
Go onto next part
Title: Mushrooms
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: just some old fashioned hurt/comfort on quest. Nothing more, nothing less. :-)
It was a mighty fine thing to once again feel the sun upon his cheeks. Frodo threw back the hood of his cloak and tilted his face upward, closing his eyes and basking in the gentle warmth on his skin. His heart lifted, just like it did on a Shire morning in early spring, after a string of chilly, gray days, when the clouds parted just enough to allow a few golden rays through the window to splash over the kitchen table.
Night after night, the fellowship had marched against a brutal wind with merciless claws, hunched forward, clutching their cloaks close. At last the wind had died, leaving a spring-like fragrance in the air, like freshly turned soil after the winter ice melts. And better than sun and fresh air, Gandalf had just announced that they might rest on this ridge shielded by holly-trees through the night, which meant a real fire and a hot meal. Boromir had already gone in search of quick prey, perhaps rabbit, for a stew. Frodo felt a happy flutter in his breast. His stomach rumbled, already anticipating a warm meal around a fire. Perhaps there would even be a song or tale.
Whatever fell darkness was yet to come, Frodo hoped that he should never forget a good meal or the laughter of friends or gentle sun on his cheeks.
Aragorn’s voice startled him. “We’ve not seen the sun since Rivendell. It’s a hopeful sign.”
“It feels nothing short of miraculous.” Frodo laughed and looked up at him. “I feel…” He paused. “I feel like it’s pierced right into my heart.” He patted his chest, and his smile faded when the Ring under his clothing pressed against his skin, so cold.
“It is not only the sun that lifts your heart,” Aragorn said, settling on a nearby boulder so that he was eye to eye with Frodo. “We have reached the borders of Hollin, where in happier days, Elves dwelled.”
“Perhaps that explains it better,” Frodo said. “I should think that much darkness must come to a land where Elves once lived before their presence is wholly forgotten.”
“Much darkness indeed,” Aragorn said, and he suddenly looked grim and melancholy. He lit his pipe, gazing toward the distant snowcapped mountains in deep thought, seemingly forgetting that Frodo was still standing beside him.
Frodo backtracked on their path, just far enough to find a private place to relieve himself. He did not want to go too far, or the others would worry and come after him. He rounded a bend, and was pleased when he came upon a tiny, winding stream that he remembered earlier jumping over.
After relieving himself behind a cluster of bushes, he kneeled in front of the stream and immersed his mud-caked hands in the icy water. He yearned to wash his entire body and especially his clothing, which felt stiff with filth and sweat. The water was too cold, and the winter air far too chilly, so he made do with washing his hands, feet, and the back of his neck and ears.
At the corner of his eye, he caught glimpse of a cluster of white, wide-capped mushrooms clustered around a nearby dead log. With a delighted gasp, he wiped his wet hands on his breeches and hastened toward them. Kneeling in front of the log, he stroked the velvety cap of one of the mushrooms. They looked exactly like the Southfarthing Snail Mushroom, a popular species often gathered for fall celebrations in the Shire. He could not believe his luck at finding the same mushrooms so far from home! The other hobbits would be delighted, and oh, Frodo longed for his young cousins and Sam to smile again. Or better yet - he could surprise them by adding them to the supper that night. Mushrooms always went very well in stews, and he was certain the Big Folk wouldn’t mind.
He plucked one of the mushrooms and held it to his nose, breathing in the scent of fresh soil. A wave of homesickness passed through him, but it was a good kind of homesickness, the delightful feeling of finding a piece of home far away from home. First the sun on his face and then this, a sure sign that there was yet hope to be found.
He rinsed the mushroom in the stream and took a big bite of it. The texture was just right, neither too stiff nor slimy, but it tasted a little different from the Snail Mushroom in that it had a wilder, an almost woodsy flavor. After just a few bites, Frodo’s rumbles of hunger faded. A plateful of these mushrooms would satisfy even the greediest of hobbits. Frodo took off his cloak and shaped it into a sack, into which he added as many of the mushrooms as he could pluck.
When he returned to the campsite, he was immediately surrounded by the other hobbits.
“And where have you been?” Pippin demanded.
Merry elbowed him. “Frodo’s always needed more privacy when it comes to certain things.”
“Never mind that,” Frodo said with an embarrassed grin. “But you’ll never guess what I’ve brought back for supper.”
“I can’t begin to guess, but if it’s made you smile, then I completely approve,” Merry said.
Pippin clutched at Frodo’s cloak. “Out with it!”
Frodo pivoted away from him. “Don’t be greedy, and I’ll show you.” He glanced toward the other members of the fellowship. Gimli was leaned against a tree, snoring, Aragorn and Gandalf stood together, looking toward the mountains with troubled expressions on their faces, Boromir had still not returned from his hunting quest, and Legolas was sitting quietly, deep in thought.
Frodo opened his cloak, and the other hobbits gasped with delight.
“Snail Mushrooms!” Merry shouted, his eyes lighting up with greed.
“Wherever did you find them, Mr. Frodo?”
“Oh, give me one right now!” Pippin began to reach inside the cloak.
“Take your greedy hands away, Peregrin Took,” Frodo said, closing up his cloak so that the mushrooms were unseen again. “These are for later. Sam, you can add these to the stew tonight. They will go well with whatever Boromir catches.”
“Most likely rabbit,” Sam said. “And I was just thinking about how much I wished we had some potatoes to go along with it--”
“Who cares about potatoes,” Pippin interrupted. “We have mushrooms! Oh, sweet, delectable mushrooms,” Pippin moaned. “And supper is such a long time from now. Please, Frodo, can’t we have just one?”
“No,” Frodo said firmly. “Because then there won’t be enough for everyone. For now, I shall put them in a pile, and,” and he turned a severe glance to Pippin. “I will have you know that I am fully aware of just how many mushrooms I have here. I expect there still to be that many by supper time.” He didn’t really, but it was the only way he could think of to assure that there would still be any mushrooms left by supper.
“Hmph.” Pippin turned away. “And of course, you were far too restrained to have one yourself.”
“That’s none of your concern,” Frodo said with a mischievous smile. He winked at Sam, who shook his head in a good-natured manner.
“See here, my good hobbits!”
Boromir had returned with a triumphant smile, holding a dead rabbit upside down by its feet.
Now it was official. There would be a hot stew of rabbit and mushrooms, and it would be the best meal they had had since leaving Rivendell.
The sun began to set, and Pippin and Sam got a fire started. Aragorn skinned the rabbit so that Boromir could work on mending a tear in his cloak.
Frodo sat in front of the fire, stretching his fingers out to be warmed by the fire. His stomach felt uneasy. He rested one arm over his belly, as if that might ease the uncomfortable churning inside. A chilly sweat had broken on his forehead, and now that the sun was going down, a cold wind had picked up again. He very much hoped his stomach discomfort would pass. He had so looked forward to supper - rabbit stew with herbs and mushrooms, cooked in a thick broth that only Sam knew how to make just right.
“You’re awfully quiet, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. “And you’re apt to catch a chill without your cloak. You oughta let me put them mushrooms in the pan straight away so that you can wear your cloak again.”
“I’m all right, Sam.” But he swallowed several times as his stomach turned more insistently.
Sam looked worried. “You don’t look none too fine. Well, just sit tight then. I can start cooking as soon as I get the skinned rabbit from Strider. I’m glad he was willing to do the dirty work.”
Frodo smiled weakly. “Me too, Sam.” His cheeks felt clammy, and suddenly the idea of rabbit stew and mushrooms seemed noxious. His mouth filled with saliva, and he swallowed with desperation. He fervently wished that Sam would stop patting his arm. He suddenly jumped to his feet, shoving Sam’s hand away. “Let me be alone a moment.” He swayed from a sudden bout of dizziness, throwing his arm over his mouth, and he fled, heart pounding, until he reached the shadows behind a thick cluster of shrubs where he fell to his knees. He dug his fingers into the earth, and vomited several times. The world spun in violent circles as he gagged and retched, no longer caring that his retching surely echoed all the way to the campfire.
TBC
Go onto next part