Strawberries and Cream

By The Last Evenstar

Disclaimer: I own nothing good. When I was seven, I wanted a dog. I didn't get it. When I was ten, I wanted a pony. I didn't get it. Now, I want Lord of the Rings (and still wouldn't mind that pony). So it should come as no surprise to you that I do not, in fact, own it. Bummer.

A/N: Just a little thing I felt like writing after seeing RotK AGAIN. My first fic with no A/A fluff! I'm really branching out! Please review, it takes, what, ten seconds? And flames shall be used to light the beacons of Gondor. The Rohirrm will be mustered and ride to my aid. YAY!

Gimli sighed contentedly. "Ahhhh. Nothing like a relaxing pint of ale after a battle."

Legolas screwed up his nose. "My friends, behold the foul company that is a dwarf."

In reply, Gimli belched loudly.

"I, for one, happen to agree." Merry rose a bit unsteadily. "There's nothing wrong with a well-deserved drink now and then."

"Ah, but it's the 'now and then' that Gimli has trouble with," laughed the elf.

Sam paused and looked up at Merry, who was lurching drunkenly as he walked. "I dunno if Merry's too keen on that, either."

Pippin, however, had a more direct mind. "When's the food coming, Strider?"

Aragorn shrugged and leaned back in his tall wooden chair. "I guess it would take a while to prepare a banquet."

"Don't be hasty, Peregrin," warned Gandalf. "Often a good meal is preceded by a good wait."

Frodo stretched luxuriously. "Does anyone else realize how wonderful it feels to be worrying only about food and not the fate of Middle-Earth?"

Sam nodded wisely. "You've cast off a heavy burden, Mr. Frodo. As have we all."

Pippin leaned forward eagerly, his hunger forgotten. "Tell us again, Frodo. Tell us how you found the strength to destroy it."

The hobbit groaned good-naturedly. "Why does it seem I'll be telling you for years to come?"

Gandalf laughed heartily and lit his pipe. "Tell him, Frodo. Once more can't hurt."

"All right, then! We were all alone, Sam and I, on the crest of Mount Doom. Our water had run out and I could feel myself tottering on the edge of death. My hand closed around it and I thought, this is it. This is the end." He looked up fondly. "And it would have been, if not for good old Sam."

Good old Sam picked up the tale. "Mr. Frodo'd gone all limp-like, and I wasn't sure whether he was with me or not. Mind you, I was about ready to give up at this point. I was thinking of the Shire; of how I never ought have left, if all I'd get for it was death. I remembered the Shire in the Springtime; how the harvest is reaped and everybody has strawberries and cream to eat. Mr. Frodo said he couldn't recall the taste." At this point he got a faraway look in his eye. "How the people there are happy. How they never should know a place like this, like the dark I was in. And all of a sudden I realized, and I said to myself, Samwise, you may never get back to the Shire but you can still save it. Make it right for those still there." He shook himself out of his reverie and smiled a bit. "So I picked up Mr. Frodo and carried him right to Mount Doom."

"But then Smeagol happened along," interrupted Frodo, "and Sam fought him off me."

"Mr. Frodo!" said Sam, blushing.

"Go on!" Pippin was peaked with curiosity. "You never told us about Mount Doom! What it was like inside!"

All of a sudden, Frodo's face went dark. "I'd rather not speak of it just yet, Pip, if it's all the same to you."

Legolas nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure you'd rather forget it."

Sam shuddered. "Right you are. I'll never forget running out there, then huddling on that rock, knowing for sure the end was coming. But then we were saved, and everything was right again."

Frodo chuckled. "I still thought I was dead! I awoke, surrounded by bright light in a comfortable bed, and there's Gandalf – what was I supposed to think?"

Meanwhile, Aragorn leaned back in his tall chair, chewing the stem of his empty pipe.

"What troubles you, Mr. Strider, sir?" asked Sam.

The King sat up and smiled. "Nothing, Sam. I was just contemplating the bravery of hobbits." He grinned. "Gandalf, you were right about them, though no one would ever suspect."

Merry snorted. "The bravery of hobbits! Wasn't it you who stood against the King of the Dead, upon whose face no man has looked and lived to tell? Didn't you muster the armies of Gondor in a hopeless attempt on Mordor?"

"And wasn't it you, Master Meriadoc, who faced down the Witch-King of Angmar, of whom it was said no man could kill?" reminded Gandalf, his eyes twinkling.

Aragorn laughed. "One day you'll find, Merry, that even the bravest of deeds are performed in fear. Fear of loss, fear of defeat, fear of death - they all drive men to their most valiant hours."

Pippin looked up. "Which was it for you, Strider?"

"Loss." Aragorn seemed to drift off once more into thought. "Fear of loss. Loss both for the whole of Middle-Earth, and, for myself, a loss that which I love." He straightened up and put down the empty pipe. "Loss, I think, is what everyone fears deepest in their heart of hearts."

" . . . Mist and shadow, cloud and shade. All shall fade. All shall fade," murmured Pippin. "Loss. I understand it now."

Merry nodded. "The night after the battle all I could think about was how I could have saved him. If I had been bigger, stronger, faster . . . I might have. But now, it all seems to fade." He looked up sadly.

Gimli snorted. "Enough of this! There is a time to mourn, and there is a time to feast, and those times should not be mixed!"

As the remnants of the Fellowship laughed, servers came to the table and laid the first course down. Pippin dug in hungrily. "Gimli, you are wise indeed."

As the rest of the table began to eat, Frodo looked at Sam in wonderment, then took a bite. "Sam. Oh, Sam, I remember now, and it's the most wonderful taste in the world!"

Sam looked down at the dish in front of him. "It is," he murmured. "Strawberries and cream."