Hello all. I see that no one has reviewed, -sigh- I understand. This story is extremely bad, I should have known.
But, I'm going to continue because I have nothing better to do.
A friend of mine asked me why I decided to call it 'Beauty From Pain'. Well, there's actually a Superchick song that inspired it. Called 'Beauty From Pain', and she asked me if it was a songfic. No, inspiration and songfics are two totally different things. Eruwaedhiel thinks of herself very lowly, sort of like I do, and has never really thought of herself as 'beautiful', again like me, and what was left of her high esteem totally vanished when she left. So, in the last chapter I am thinking of having her tell her father that she has become beautiful through pain, hence the song name. Understand?
Oh yeah, I had a line where I had to guesstimate Frodo's age, so review me and tell me what his real age is by the time of this story. Or when ever I said it was. Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of The Rings, or the Superchick song this story was inspired by.
Enjoy!
Eruwaedhiel's POV
I finally agreed to Eleanor's request to get me food and fresh clothes.
You'd be surprised to know that even the tiny hobbit's clothes, fit me perfectly. Maybe hybrids are just built like that or something.
The food was something entirely different for me though.
I was used to making my own meal, usually consisting of homemade bread with olive oil, the occasional pear, and cheese. I cooked for my father, but he and I ate the same things and never asked for anything more.
But here, I was fussed over like a sick child is constantly being fussed over by her father.
A plate overflowing with food was placed in front of me along with a large jug. Presumably ale.
I remembered my father as he watched the sunsets with me whenever I had writers block. Whenever the sky turned a rich golden color, he would always murmur, "This looks like the ale of fourteen-twenty."
Looking helplessly at the tower of food set in front of me I weighed my options.
Eat the food and look polite, risking a terrible stomach ache later?
Or eat my fill, and then politely say that I'm done.
Things were so confusing here in the Shire.
I decided to just eat my fill, and so I did.
"Thank you Eleanor, it was really quite delicious," I told the hobbit that stood beside me.
"You're done? You've barely touched it!" She exclaimed.
Did I do something wrong?
"Oh er, I don't really eat much." I mumbled.
Eleanor huffed and slid the plate towards her and away from me.
Sighing, I looked around.
This house, these people, this place, it was all so different from where I lived with my family.
"You're homesick, aren't you," Eleanor asked me, her eyes brimming with sympathy.
I nodded and brushed the hair from my eyes.
"I never should've left," I mumbled.
"Well, what would you usually be doing right now? It might help for you to settle down here if you acted familiarly," Eleanor suggested.
"Writing," I said instantly, "I write all of the time. Except when I'm practicing with my uncles, it's kind of hard to write when you're shooting with a bow and arrow or sword fighting."
Eleanor cringed.
"Violence? You're actually violent," She asked incredulously.
"No, not violent, just trying to live in a house consisting of dwarves, elves, wizards, and hobbits, all male!" I laughed, realizing for the first time in my life, I was the only woman in my family.
Eleanor still looked displeased; she wasn't used to a difference in the way people lived away from her own apparently.
"Anything else," She asked.
"Never mind, I'll just be outside," I sighed.
I walked out the door, hoping my tears were going unnoticed by her.
Frodo's POV
I didn't know which was worse.
The fact that today was the anniversary of my being stabbed on Weathertop.
Or the fact that my daughter was gone.
I was ill and so the first answer to my own question was the pain from my wound.
But, behind that pain, something with immense power waited behind it. Like the cats Eruwaedhiel used to observe pouncing.
Oh, that's what it was.
Eruwaedhiel.
Eruwaedhiel.
As soon as I let her name touch my train of thought, every memory of our time together ran through me like an electric current.
Watching her practice with Gandalf or Legolas, seeing her improvement and her skill.
Listening to her recite her poems and stories to nothing but the wind and trees, as if she saw more in them than what the average being could see.
Walking with her in our garden, just her and I, when she was only a few years old; she looked so much like her mother used to when she was that young.
Her smiles, her tears, her laughter, her sighs.
I sobbed and curled into myself.
I needed her back.
"Frodo," A voice wafted into my room.
"Are you alright," Legolas stepped gracefully to my side.
"I miss her," I wailed quietly.
"As do I," Legolas nodded, "I walked past her room and almost broke down. She was what kept us all going around here."
Legolas and I locked eyes.
I saw the same hidden desperation in his eyes.
He was right; Eruwaedhiel was what kept all of our spirits light, now that she was gone we were all suffering.
Was she?
Eruwaedhiel's POV
I never should have run away.
When I thought about leaving my family, I thought of a life away from the world; a place where I could just have some time to think to myself.
I certainly couldn't do that here.
A party of some kind was proceeding down the hill and the people at it were joyful and loud.
Hardly the correct soundtrack for time to think.
If my father were here, we would take a walk in the garden and just enjoy our time together.
But, of course, I couldn't do that here; my father was off in the West, today was his anniversary of his wound on Weathertop.
I thought back to the day Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli told me the story while my father lay ill in bed.
*flashback*
"What's wrong with daddy," I cried as Gandalf blocked the doorway to my father's room.
I was only three at the time, a delicate age.
"Come, Eruwaedhiel, come away from here. Why don't we go out into the garden?" Gandalf asked in an annoyingly high pitched voice that he used when speaking to younger children.
But I was less than normal, I knew how to tell him I wasn't like the other imbecilic children who develop much slower than I did.
"Uncle Gandalf, please tell me what's going on with my father," I begged.
Whether Gandalf was swayed by the maturity of my plea or the fact that I had a right to know what was happening to my own father, I would never know.
But, he told me the story, with Legolas and Gimli there to help.
"Well, there was once a powerful Ring that your father was sent to destroy," Gandalf began.
A few years later, my tenth birthday and my father's sixty-fourth birthday (we had the same birthday, September 22nd) they told me of what happened before I was born, and went further into detail of my father's incident on Weathertop. But now was not that time.
"On the way to destroy the Ring, your father and his three friends stopped at a place called Weathertop," Legolas continued.
"Your father encountered the foulest of beasts, the Nazgul," Gimli helped.
"Your father was protected by a friend, Aragorn, but Aragorn could not protect Frodo alone. One of the Nazgul noticed the Ring that Frodo had and he came forward to him. The Nazgul wanted the Ring very much, so he stabbed your father and poisoned him. And today your father relives that attack."
I nodded, because I understood. My father was in pain because of some guy that stabbed him with a poisoned blade, all for a Ring, many years ago.
*end flashback*
I wished I were back in my yard with our olive tree. I could just sit inside of it or in its shade and write up a storm.
I couldn't do that here either.
I wished Gandalf were here to comfort me while I felt so much despair.
That couldn't happen.
I wished Gimli were here to make me laugh while I felt so close to crying.
That couldn't happen.
I wished that Legolas were here to be my best friend, like he was at home. I missed Legolas the most out of my uncles.
That couldn't happen.
I wished I could comfort my father while he relived the attack on Weathertop, like I did before I ran away.
I wished I were back at home, I didn't even remember what I planned to do once I left my home.
I wished I'd never run away from home, I wished I'd never made such a stupid decision.
I wished I could stop this wishing and take action.
But what could I do?
Nothing, because of my idiotic resolution, I was stuck here.
I needed to see my father again.
I needed to see him like I needed the air to breathe.
It was then that I allowed my tears to flow.
How was that? Was it seriously stupid? Was it kinda sorta good? Please review and tell me!
Oh yeah, how many people liked the 'I wished I could stop this wishing and take action'? If you can tell me what song that is from and who it's by, I'll make you a character in the story! Please?