Solicitude: n. being solicitous.
Solicitous: adj. showing interest or concern
Disclaimer-only the narrator belongs to me, and I'm not making one red cent off this, more's the pity.
A/N----this story is directly inspired by Key's wonderful short-short "One Moment, Untainted" and it's companion piece "The Haven". Go read them. Now. And leave many glowing reviews, because she deserves them. This young lady is a wonderful writer, a treat for any fan to read. So this story is dedicated wholly to Key, a most impressive teenager if I ever met one.
This story takes place shortly after "Taken Far Too Literally", but it is not necessary to have read that in order to enjoy this. But I hope you DO read it and review it as well, for I am hopelessly under-reviewed and fragile of ego. Go ahead and flame if you like, but make it as obscene as humanly possible. Points are awarded for creative sacrilegious and/or sexually deviant cursing. And now, I present for your consideration, this short-short story.
Solicitude
I open the portal, and step out into Mordor. I have been here before, as a victim of sorts, not protector, and it is still every bit as vile as I remember. The same stench, the same gloom, the same damned rocks. The only thing that's changed is that this time, I'm here of my own free will.
No, that's not the only thing that's changed. The two sleeping before me are also different. This time, they're pure, if anything in Mordor can be called "pure". At least they're not corrupted by some crazed female's lust for, well, lust. Or angst. Or adventure. Or any of the thousand other reasons they get turned into something they're not. Here, the only corrupting influence on them is the Ring. Which is as it should be.
I watch them sleep for a little while. They are curled up spoon-style, all cloaks and feet. Sam has his arm thrown protectively over Frodo. If he cuddled any closer, he'd be in the Ringbearer's skin. Even asleep, Samwise comforts his master.
Frodo begins to murmur in his sleep. The murmurs grow to mumbles; the mumbles become anguished. He starts to toss, then thrash in the throes of a nightmare. I worry that he will wake Sam, and I will be seen where I should not be. I squat down next to him, stroke his brow, whisper meaningless reassurances until he calms back into something like restful slumber.
In his thrashing, Frodo has rolled on top of his cloak. Nights are cold in Mordor; I cannot let him catch a chill. I pull the cloak out from under him with the trick that mothers and nurses all know, and tuck it tightly back around him. I smooth back sweat-damp curls, then gently kiss his forehead. "Be at peace, little one," I whisper. "Or as much peace as you can find here."
He sighs in his sleep, rolls over and cuddles up to Samwise, who promptly hugs him close. I notice then that Frodo has begun to suck his thumb. I wonder if he's aware he does that? Probably not. It's not the sort of thing a full-grown hobbit would think he does. But this hobbit has more than cause to look for whatever comfort he can find. If sucking his thumb in his sleep calms him, then I will not be the one to stop him. Besides, it's very cute.
I settle down to watch them some more. I hear footsteps behind me. "You should not be here," my partner says, quietly so as not to wake the hobbits.
"I know," I reply, just as softly. "But Jasper's friend Key's trips inspired me. They're asleep, they don't know I'm here. I just wanted to see them as they're supposed to be, instead of how we normally find them. They remind me of how they were when I first met them, back when I was caught in a Story."
"Key got caught, by Gandalf no less. She's on probation for stunts like this. Do you want to be put on probation, too?" Penn says. She's nothing if not persistent.
"No," I mutter resentfully. "It's just....he's so very much like Connor," I go on, stroking Frodo's hair again.
"Your son?" Penn asks. I don't talk much about my boy to her. I know my work is important, even satisfying in its way, but I miss my child more than I thought possible to miss anyone. My bosses claim that when they finally do find a way to return me to Real Life, it will be as though no time has passed there. Only my memories will remain. Still, I want nothing more than to hold my son again, stroke his hair as he sleeps. Since I cannot, this hobbit will have to do.
"Yeah," I say. I stand up. Penn is correct, it's nearly time for me to go. Just a few things to take care of first.
I take Sam's waterbag, and dump out Mordor's foul excuse for water. Then I refill it with bottled water from my sack. I know that by the time the hobbits awaken, the smell lingering from the old water will taint the new enough to let it pass unnoticed. Frodo, at least, won't notice a thing, and if Sam tastes the change, I'm confident he will write it off as his own wishful thinking. I add only the tiniest bit more than was there before, maybe two swallows. Just enough to keep them going that much longer, but not enough to damage the canon. Then I replace their stale crust of bread, the last of Faramir's rations, with slightly larger, slightly fresher fare. I wish I could do more, but I cannot. More would destroy my oath as protector, and drag me down to the level of those I fight. Still, I wish I could spare these little ones what's in store for them. Especially Frodo. He deserves the happily-ever-after he will not get.
I can feel Penn's stare on my back. But since she says nothing, I am content to let her glare at me. We will have words once we return, but for now, nothing can ruin my moment.
"Are you done here?" she asks. I nod. "Then let's get back before you get me in trouble."
Again I nod. I crouch down once more, stroke Sam's hair out of his face. "Take care of him, Samwise. Take care of you both."
Then I turn to Frodo. I kiss his forehead once more, but do not say anything. There is nothing left for me to say. I must be going now. I have work to do. I stand again, Penn activates her portal, and we both leave the scene, the hobbits none the wiser. But my heart is much lightened.
Disclaimer-only the narrator belongs to me, and I'm not making one red cent off this, more's the pity.
A/N----this story is directly inspired by Key's wonderful short-short "One Moment, Untainted" and it's companion piece "The Haven". Go read them. Now. And leave many glowing reviews, because she deserves them. This young lady is a wonderful writer, a treat for any fan to read. So this story is dedicated wholly to Key, a most impressive teenager if I ever met one.
This story takes place shortly after "Taken Far Too Literally", but it is not necessary to have read that in order to enjoy this. But I hope you DO read it and review it as well, for I am hopelessly under-reviewed and fragile of ego. Go ahead and flame if you like, but make it as obscene as humanly possible. Points are awarded for creative sacrilegious and/or sexually deviant cursing. And now, I present for your consideration, this short-short story.
Solicitude
I open the portal, and step out into Mordor. I have been here before, as a victim of sorts, not protector, and it is still every bit as vile as I remember. The same stench, the same gloom, the same damned rocks. The only thing that's changed is that this time, I'm here of my own free will.
No, that's not the only thing that's changed. The two sleeping before me are also different. This time, they're pure, if anything in Mordor can be called "pure". At least they're not corrupted by some crazed female's lust for, well, lust. Or angst. Or adventure. Or any of the thousand other reasons they get turned into something they're not. Here, the only corrupting influence on them is the Ring. Which is as it should be.
I watch them sleep for a little while. They are curled up spoon-style, all cloaks and feet. Sam has his arm thrown protectively over Frodo. If he cuddled any closer, he'd be in the Ringbearer's skin. Even asleep, Samwise comforts his master.
Frodo begins to murmur in his sleep. The murmurs grow to mumbles; the mumbles become anguished. He starts to toss, then thrash in the throes of a nightmare. I worry that he will wake Sam, and I will be seen where I should not be. I squat down next to him, stroke his brow, whisper meaningless reassurances until he calms back into something like restful slumber.
In his thrashing, Frodo has rolled on top of his cloak. Nights are cold in Mordor; I cannot let him catch a chill. I pull the cloak out from under him with the trick that mothers and nurses all know, and tuck it tightly back around him. I smooth back sweat-damp curls, then gently kiss his forehead. "Be at peace, little one," I whisper. "Or as much peace as you can find here."
He sighs in his sleep, rolls over and cuddles up to Samwise, who promptly hugs him close. I notice then that Frodo has begun to suck his thumb. I wonder if he's aware he does that? Probably not. It's not the sort of thing a full-grown hobbit would think he does. But this hobbit has more than cause to look for whatever comfort he can find. If sucking his thumb in his sleep calms him, then I will not be the one to stop him. Besides, it's very cute.
I settle down to watch them some more. I hear footsteps behind me. "You should not be here," my partner says, quietly so as not to wake the hobbits.
"I know," I reply, just as softly. "But Jasper's friend Key's trips inspired me. They're asleep, they don't know I'm here. I just wanted to see them as they're supposed to be, instead of how we normally find them. They remind me of how they were when I first met them, back when I was caught in a Story."
"Key got caught, by Gandalf no less. She's on probation for stunts like this. Do you want to be put on probation, too?" Penn says. She's nothing if not persistent.
"No," I mutter resentfully. "It's just....he's so very much like Connor," I go on, stroking Frodo's hair again.
"Your son?" Penn asks. I don't talk much about my boy to her. I know my work is important, even satisfying in its way, but I miss my child more than I thought possible to miss anyone. My bosses claim that when they finally do find a way to return me to Real Life, it will be as though no time has passed there. Only my memories will remain. Still, I want nothing more than to hold my son again, stroke his hair as he sleeps. Since I cannot, this hobbit will have to do.
"Yeah," I say. I stand up. Penn is correct, it's nearly time for me to go. Just a few things to take care of first.
I take Sam's waterbag, and dump out Mordor's foul excuse for water. Then I refill it with bottled water from my sack. I know that by the time the hobbits awaken, the smell lingering from the old water will taint the new enough to let it pass unnoticed. Frodo, at least, won't notice a thing, and if Sam tastes the change, I'm confident he will write it off as his own wishful thinking. I add only the tiniest bit more than was there before, maybe two swallows. Just enough to keep them going that much longer, but not enough to damage the canon. Then I replace their stale crust of bread, the last of Faramir's rations, with slightly larger, slightly fresher fare. I wish I could do more, but I cannot. More would destroy my oath as protector, and drag me down to the level of those I fight. Still, I wish I could spare these little ones what's in store for them. Especially Frodo. He deserves the happily-ever-after he will not get.
I can feel Penn's stare on my back. But since she says nothing, I am content to let her glare at me. We will have words once we return, but for now, nothing can ruin my moment.
"Are you done here?" she asks. I nod. "Then let's get back before you get me in trouble."
Again I nod. I crouch down once more, stroke Sam's hair out of his face. "Take care of him, Samwise. Take care of you both."
Then I turn to Frodo. I kiss his forehead once more, but do not say anything. There is nothing left for me to say. I must be going now. I have work to do. I stand again, Penn activates her portal, and we both leave the scene, the hobbits none the wiser. But my heart is much lightened.