Disclaimer: Frodo is the property of Tolkien, etc, no copyright
infringement intended.
Scene: How Frodo decided where his heart belonged.
Unrealised Dreams
Frodo Baggins whistled an old tune as he made his way through the trees that bordered the lane towards Bag End. His feet made no sound on the soft summer grass, and the stick he carried brushed the colourful flowers gently aside as he passed.
It was more than a year since he'd returned from Mordor, and he already knew deep inside that he'd leave The Shire before long. His work on the Red Book was progressing well - he might finish before the end of the year and then he could pass the book on to Sam, to add his story.
The tune changed without Frodo noticing. It went from a light walking tune to a lonely one, that brought up images of leaving things behind. Frodo shuddered imperceptibly and stopped whistling. Although the sun was warm on his back, he felt a cold chill in his neck where he'd received the wound from Shelob so long ago.
Frodo was now come to a small stream that ran through the woods. He'd been coming to this place for as long as he could remember; every time he wanted to lie on the grass and look through the multi-coloured canopy at the shifting sky above; every time he wanted to think things through, or just every time he needed to be alone. Right now he needed to be alone.
Stooping down at the water's edge, he dropped his stick and picked up a small stone, throwing it out into the wide pool that gathered here in a natural depression in the forest floor. It sank beneath the water with a splash, and Frodo's eyes followed the ripples as they fanned out, eventually reaching the bank beneath his feet. Gandalf had said that you could see a lot if you knew where to look for it, and now, looking at his own reflection in the water, Frodo saw not the youthful Hobbit staring back at him, but an ageing one who'd given life a good go but had grown tired of it.
Frodo had friends around him, and he considered Sam and Rosie to be family, but there was something in him that wasn't content, and hadn't been since he'd come back to The Shire. Before his Quest, he'd been happy taking walks in the countryside, conversing with the odd Elf that strayed in these parts, eating and drinking and making merry with other Hobbits, and he'd taken joy in being alive.
He still was thankful to be alive...most of the time. When his old wounds were paining him, which was often now, or when he looked at the unconcerned faces of those around him, he felt dissatisfied. He remembered all that he'd been through, and how no one, not even Sam, knew about his inner turmoil.
Middle Earth no longer held the simple joys it used to. Now everywhere he looked he saw the pain and death of Galadriel's mirror, behind all the smiles and laughter.
The worst thing was, Frodo knew it was inside himself that he felt this pain. He felt the evil of The Ring still lingered on his skin and in his mind, even though it never came forth to affect him visibly. Perhaps he was getting paranoid, but he felt that there was nothing for him here. Nothing to fill the gaping hole that grew within him every day.
The reflection in the pool blinked, and pulled back to stand looking out across the water. Frodo did the same, and watched as a green leaf, disturbed by some woodland creature, came floating gracefully down on an unseen breeze, brushing his face as lightly as a feather.
Frodo was so entranced by the leaf he didn't see the horse until it was too late. It's hooves muffled by the soft earth, it bolted out of the trees to the right of Frodo without him hearing it. With an ear-piercing neigh it reared up, and Frodo's head snapped up in surprise even as he instinctively leapt back to defend himself against the frightened creature.
Leapt back, straight into the pool.
A/N: Finally a Frodo fic! What do you think so far? No flames please!
Scene: How Frodo decided where his heart belonged.
Unrealised Dreams
Frodo Baggins whistled an old tune as he made his way through the trees that bordered the lane towards Bag End. His feet made no sound on the soft summer grass, and the stick he carried brushed the colourful flowers gently aside as he passed.
It was more than a year since he'd returned from Mordor, and he already knew deep inside that he'd leave The Shire before long. His work on the Red Book was progressing well - he might finish before the end of the year and then he could pass the book on to Sam, to add his story.
The tune changed without Frodo noticing. It went from a light walking tune to a lonely one, that brought up images of leaving things behind. Frodo shuddered imperceptibly and stopped whistling. Although the sun was warm on his back, he felt a cold chill in his neck where he'd received the wound from Shelob so long ago.
Frodo was now come to a small stream that ran through the woods. He'd been coming to this place for as long as he could remember; every time he wanted to lie on the grass and look through the multi-coloured canopy at the shifting sky above; every time he wanted to think things through, or just every time he needed to be alone. Right now he needed to be alone.
Stooping down at the water's edge, he dropped his stick and picked up a small stone, throwing it out into the wide pool that gathered here in a natural depression in the forest floor. It sank beneath the water with a splash, and Frodo's eyes followed the ripples as they fanned out, eventually reaching the bank beneath his feet. Gandalf had said that you could see a lot if you knew where to look for it, and now, looking at his own reflection in the water, Frodo saw not the youthful Hobbit staring back at him, but an ageing one who'd given life a good go but had grown tired of it.
Frodo had friends around him, and he considered Sam and Rosie to be family, but there was something in him that wasn't content, and hadn't been since he'd come back to The Shire. Before his Quest, he'd been happy taking walks in the countryside, conversing with the odd Elf that strayed in these parts, eating and drinking and making merry with other Hobbits, and he'd taken joy in being alive.
He still was thankful to be alive...most of the time. When his old wounds were paining him, which was often now, or when he looked at the unconcerned faces of those around him, he felt dissatisfied. He remembered all that he'd been through, and how no one, not even Sam, knew about his inner turmoil.
Middle Earth no longer held the simple joys it used to. Now everywhere he looked he saw the pain and death of Galadriel's mirror, behind all the smiles and laughter.
The worst thing was, Frodo knew it was inside himself that he felt this pain. He felt the evil of The Ring still lingered on his skin and in his mind, even though it never came forth to affect him visibly. Perhaps he was getting paranoid, but he felt that there was nothing for him here. Nothing to fill the gaping hole that grew within him every day.
The reflection in the pool blinked, and pulled back to stand looking out across the water. Frodo did the same, and watched as a green leaf, disturbed by some woodland creature, came floating gracefully down on an unseen breeze, brushing his face as lightly as a feather.
Frodo was so entranced by the leaf he didn't see the horse until it was too late. It's hooves muffled by the soft earth, it bolted out of the trees to the right of Frodo without him hearing it. With an ear-piercing neigh it reared up, and Frodo's head snapped up in surprise even as he instinctively leapt back to defend himself against the frightened creature.
Leapt back, straight into the pool.
A/N: Finally a Frodo fic! What do you think so far? No flames please!