Summary: Frodo is quite an unusual hobbit in many fashions. However, his
greatest oddity, (as thought by many) is his lack of passion for food. But
one glorious day in the Shire, in the kitchen of Bag End, Frodo discovers
the one food that makes his taste buds sing: delicious, tasty, luscious,
delectable, sweet, savory DONUTS! (There is no slash. Frodo's heart belongs
solely to his Beloved Donut.)
Disclaimer: I am sorry to say that I do not own Frodo, or the Lord of the Rings. I also do not own the sonnet which Frodo composes about this tasty treat. This is a mere parody of Shakespeare's Sonnet XV.
Author's Note: The darkness of ME is beginning to run me down, so I decided to write this bit of nonsense. I've been looking through all the poetry I have written, looking for stuff that I can post, and I found the sonnet that is included in this work. I had to memorize Sonnet XV for my English class. Then, one day, I purchased donuts to be consumed by my fellow Sporadic Poet's Club members. This club is headed by my mad English teacher. Later that day, I would have to recite the sonnet in class (our club meetings were in the morning) so I had it in my head. As I was sitting in the car, the box of donuts in my lap, I composed this parody because of my sheer boredom. So, when I found this sonnet, it struck me as a very hobbity sonnet, and thus I included it in my story.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------
A Hobbit's Ode to the Creation of the Donut
Today has indeed been the most wonderous day of my otherwise monotonous existence. Today, I have experienced true ecstasy, that my words surely can do no justice. And yet, I shall attempt the impossible and try to describe unto you the delicious, sticky pastry of perfection that is the donut, for I feel that the world must be told of this scrumptious, godly creation.
To be sure, members of my own race, namely hobbits, believe me to an unhealthy person; an oddity altogether. I shall not argue, for this statement does not stray very far from the truth. I enjoy reading, and spend most of my time doing such. I suppose they would accept that, owing to the fact that I am a gentehobbit. But what is truly unforgivable is what I read about. Elves, dragons, wars, and a plethora of other adventurous nonsense. But to that, most would say, "Strange blood flows through the poor lad's veins, don't you doubt that. Then his parents went and got themselves drownded, poor things, and Frodo-lad got stuck in Bag End with that mad uncle of his. Couldn't much worse have happened, let me tell you. Cracked, he is, and a right terrible influence for any young hobbit. How did you expect Frodo to turn out? You surely can't blame the poor lad for what happened."
Ah yes. Such I have heard many a-times, and have given it no heed. But my true oddity, for which they have not yet been able to find an excuse, is (or was) the fact that I lacked a hobbit's passion for food. True enough, I was possessive of my mushrooms, (who in there right mind would not be so?) but I lacked the vigor with which most hobbits would either steal from others, or protect their own stash against their many foes. As a lark, I would accompany my cousins to pilfer mushrooms from old Maggot, but this was more so I could experience the joy of seeing him seethe with rage and charge at us like a crazed beast. Then, of course, I was caught. That was the end of my career in thieving mushrooms. I, unlike the others, did not think our rewards merited the risks that we were forced to undertake.
Ah, but all that changed on this glorious spring day. Foolish as I was, I was sitting in the kitchen of Bag End, pouring all of my energies into a frivolous Elvish translation. Alas! The memory of my idiocy pains me so!
And then came Sam; my dear, sweet Sam; the deliverer of my salvation! He knocked on the door, as he does every morning. I used to tell him repeatedly that he needn't knock, for he was always welcome. But of course, being Sam, he would blush and politely refuse. I, soon realizing that my words were wasted on his ears, made deaf by pure stubbornness, stopped arguing. It had now become our ritual, every morning since Bilbo had left, for him to give the door a pair polite taps, no more and no less, and I would rise and greet him on the threshold. He would simply announce that he was here (as if I did not already know!) and then turn about to head to his beloved garden. I would ask him to, pray, come in, he would politely refuse, and then I would insist. So Sam would come in and seat himself at the kitchen table. I would offer him some food, and he would decline, and I would not press the matter. I would then take my seat across from him. Mostly we would talk about trivial things, like the weather or a coming festival. Other times we would share news from our families and laugh at the latest escapades of Merry and Pippin. But after fifteen minutes, Sam would always rise and say that, really, Mr. Frodo, he had to get to work. I would then send him off, with an apple in his pocket, and would not see him again until teatime, save if I looked through the window and saw him laboring amongst the flowers.
I do tend to stray from the topic, do I not?
Today, Sam broke the ritual. He knocked on the door with two smart taps, as always, but when I saw him on the threshold, he had under his arm a mysterious white box, whence drifted the most delicious aroma my nose had ever had the pleasure of smelling! I breathed heavily through my mouth, for if I had again breathed through my nose, I might have just drifted away in a state of pure ecstasy! I recovered my composure, and if Sam noticed anything odd about my demeanor, he did not let onto it.
Things had nearly returned to normal, so I invited him in. And lo! he answered me not with his customary decline. Instead, he said, "Alright, Mr. Frodo. Anyhow, I need to set this" (he shifted the box in his arm) "down in your kitchen, if it please you, sir."
Did it please me? Did it please me?! Ah, Sam is such a silly lad. Of course it would please me to have that mysterious box, full of the scent of some hidden wonder yet to be revealed, to occupy the same space as me, making sacred the very air I breathed! Ah, to spend all morning within the very same room as this wonder, breathing in its sweet aroma! What would I like better?
Barely able to contain my elation, I beckoned him in. He set the box down on the table and we began our typical morning's conversation.
I had never realized before how truly boring Sam is. A nice lad to be sure, but what was this meaningless tosh of which he spoke? I found my eyes drawn to that beautiful box, in which was held some secret treasure. What right had he to keep it hidden from me? I found myself salivating and licking my lips in a manner which would have sent Bilbo into a tizzy.
"Mr. Frodo?" It seemed that Sam had taken note of my odd behavior. But no matter. I would merely tell him what was on my mind.
"Sam-lad," I said, not prying my eyes away from that glistening box of pearl, "would you be so kind as to tell me what you have in that box?"
Sam looked slightly puzzled, but answered me strait away, "Ah, that? Something me ma made for you, sir. Donuts, I think she called them. I've never heard of them, and that's a fact. They do smell good, though."
And here was an opening! "You could have one now, Sam, if you like. We could try them together." Oh please say yes! Don't be such a stubborn ass!
"Oh, no thank you, sir," said Sam blushing. O, how I hated him. "I'm not hungry. Daisy cooked us breakfast this morning, and, well, you know how she is. Would have started crying if I didn't eat every last bite. But I will say, Mr. Frodo, if it isn't too bold, I am quite keen on trying one. Just you wait until teatime, and then we can try them together."
"Alright, then," said I, and I sent him out the door without his apple.
That fool! Now I had to wait all the way until afternoon tea until I could set my teeth to these mysterious and delightful donuts! And every second, my nose would be filled with the sweet aroma of Bell's masterpieces. How could I ever resist?
I could, of course, have them now, and not wait for the stupid gardener to join me. These donuts were, after all, Bell's gift to me, and me alone, and no other mortal could lay a claim to them. But, I argued with myself, it would be terribly impolite to eat them without Sam after I promised I would wait for him. Even if I was angry at the lad for now, (through no fault of his own, I might add) it would not be right to do him this discourtesy.
Thus, I sat myself at the table and carried on with my translations. However, I found that it was impossible to write, for my hands were twitching in a dreadful manner, obviously brought on by my longing.
Ah, I thought, but what is one donut? Sam will never have to know that I strayed from the terms of our agreement.
I opened up the box and drew a deep breath as I beheld the wonder greater than any my mortal eyes had ever seen, hidden inside the box of pearl.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------
Sometime later, I was rudely awoken from my heavenly state by a loud chuckle. "Well, Mr. Frodo, you've done a right good job with those donuts. Naught but one left, save for the half that's hanging out of your mouth!... sir!" he added a split second later. "I daresay Bell will be right pleased that she got you to eat, Mr. Frodo!"
I hung my head, ashamed. (but not before removing the donut half so attractively dangling from my mouth.) Blushing, I gave poor Sam the last donut and the rest of the day off. He told me there was no need, but I too can be stubborn, and I told him just that.
Sometime later, I was still sitting at the kitchen table, staring dully at the last remnant of what had been two-dozen donuts. I had now recovered enough from my embarrassment to once again desire its sweet flavor to set my taste buds alight. But, looking at it glumly, I realized that once I ate it, that would be the end. Never again would I have that scrumdilyumptious donut assail my senses and make my mouth water greedily. Never again would I lick that sweet icing from my lips!
But how silly of me! I really do tend to be overly dramatic; Merry is not lying about that, at least. (but don't believe anything else he tells you about me!) Sam surely has gone home and told Bell how much I loved them straightaway. Without a doubt, another box will soon be making its way to my kitchen; perhaps it will even arrive tomorrow. (It's unnatural how much Bell enjoys cooking, let me tell you. The poor woman should get out a little bit more!)
It is very rare that I am moved to write verse. I usually leave that sort of thing to Bilbo. But my love of donuts has moved me to words, which I shall write upon this very page, as they come to me.
When I consider everything I eat
Tastes like perfection for but a little moment
That this huge box presenteth naught, but shows
Whereon the sprinkles in their secret influence comment.
When I perceive that donuts, as hobbits, do not increase
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky
Vaunt in their youthful icing, at height decrease
And wear their brave taste out of memory.
Then the conceit of this inconsistent stay,
Sets thee rich in taste before my mouth.
Where wasteful teeth debateth with Hunger
To change thy day of taste to sullied mush!
All in war with Huger, for love of you;
As he takes from you, I shall bake you new!
--------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, that was... odd... but the question remains, did you like it? It was quite strange for me to be writing this, namely because in my other fic, which I am writing at this very moment, Frodo is very much evil and has locked Sam away in a torture chamber wherein he shall be at the mercy of the Mouth of Sauron! What a difference, eh?
Please do review... ::puppydog face::: Please?
---Nymredil
Disclaimer: I am sorry to say that I do not own Frodo, or the Lord of the Rings. I also do not own the sonnet which Frodo composes about this tasty treat. This is a mere parody of Shakespeare's Sonnet XV.
Author's Note: The darkness of ME is beginning to run me down, so I decided to write this bit of nonsense. I've been looking through all the poetry I have written, looking for stuff that I can post, and I found the sonnet that is included in this work. I had to memorize Sonnet XV for my English class. Then, one day, I purchased donuts to be consumed by my fellow Sporadic Poet's Club members. This club is headed by my mad English teacher. Later that day, I would have to recite the sonnet in class (our club meetings were in the morning) so I had it in my head. As I was sitting in the car, the box of donuts in my lap, I composed this parody because of my sheer boredom. So, when I found this sonnet, it struck me as a very hobbity sonnet, and thus I included it in my story.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------
A Hobbit's Ode to the Creation of the Donut
Today has indeed been the most wonderous day of my otherwise monotonous existence. Today, I have experienced true ecstasy, that my words surely can do no justice. And yet, I shall attempt the impossible and try to describe unto you the delicious, sticky pastry of perfection that is the donut, for I feel that the world must be told of this scrumptious, godly creation.
To be sure, members of my own race, namely hobbits, believe me to an unhealthy person; an oddity altogether. I shall not argue, for this statement does not stray very far from the truth. I enjoy reading, and spend most of my time doing such. I suppose they would accept that, owing to the fact that I am a gentehobbit. But what is truly unforgivable is what I read about. Elves, dragons, wars, and a plethora of other adventurous nonsense. But to that, most would say, "Strange blood flows through the poor lad's veins, don't you doubt that. Then his parents went and got themselves drownded, poor things, and Frodo-lad got stuck in Bag End with that mad uncle of his. Couldn't much worse have happened, let me tell you. Cracked, he is, and a right terrible influence for any young hobbit. How did you expect Frodo to turn out? You surely can't blame the poor lad for what happened."
Ah yes. Such I have heard many a-times, and have given it no heed. But my true oddity, for which they have not yet been able to find an excuse, is (or was) the fact that I lacked a hobbit's passion for food. True enough, I was possessive of my mushrooms, (who in there right mind would not be so?) but I lacked the vigor with which most hobbits would either steal from others, or protect their own stash against their many foes. As a lark, I would accompany my cousins to pilfer mushrooms from old Maggot, but this was more so I could experience the joy of seeing him seethe with rage and charge at us like a crazed beast. Then, of course, I was caught. That was the end of my career in thieving mushrooms. I, unlike the others, did not think our rewards merited the risks that we were forced to undertake.
Ah, but all that changed on this glorious spring day. Foolish as I was, I was sitting in the kitchen of Bag End, pouring all of my energies into a frivolous Elvish translation. Alas! The memory of my idiocy pains me so!
And then came Sam; my dear, sweet Sam; the deliverer of my salvation! He knocked on the door, as he does every morning. I used to tell him repeatedly that he needn't knock, for he was always welcome. But of course, being Sam, he would blush and politely refuse. I, soon realizing that my words were wasted on his ears, made deaf by pure stubbornness, stopped arguing. It had now become our ritual, every morning since Bilbo had left, for him to give the door a pair polite taps, no more and no less, and I would rise and greet him on the threshold. He would simply announce that he was here (as if I did not already know!) and then turn about to head to his beloved garden. I would ask him to, pray, come in, he would politely refuse, and then I would insist. So Sam would come in and seat himself at the kitchen table. I would offer him some food, and he would decline, and I would not press the matter. I would then take my seat across from him. Mostly we would talk about trivial things, like the weather or a coming festival. Other times we would share news from our families and laugh at the latest escapades of Merry and Pippin. But after fifteen minutes, Sam would always rise and say that, really, Mr. Frodo, he had to get to work. I would then send him off, with an apple in his pocket, and would not see him again until teatime, save if I looked through the window and saw him laboring amongst the flowers.
I do tend to stray from the topic, do I not?
Today, Sam broke the ritual. He knocked on the door with two smart taps, as always, but when I saw him on the threshold, he had under his arm a mysterious white box, whence drifted the most delicious aroma my nose had ever had the pleasure of smelling! I breathed heavily through my mouth, for if I had again breathed through my nose, I might have just drifted away in a state of pure ecstasy! I recovered my composure, and if Sam noticed anything odd about my demeanor, he did not let onto it.
Things had nearly returned to normal, so I invited him in. And lo! he answered me not with his customary decline. Instead, he said, "Alright, Mr. Frodo. Anyhow, I need to set this" (he shifted the box in his arm) "down in your kitchen, if it please you, sir."
Did it please me? Did it please me?! Ah, Sam is such a silly lad. Of course it would please me to have that mysterious box, full of the scent of some hidden wonder yet to be revealed, to occupy the same space as me, making sacred the very air I breathed! Ah, to spend all morning within the very same room as this wonder, breathing in its sweet aroma! What would I like better?
Barely able to contain my elation, I beckoned him in. He set the box down on the table and we began our typical morning's conversation.
I had never realized before how truly boring Sam is. A nice lad to be sure, but what was this meaningless tosh of which he spoke? I found my eyes drawn to that beautiful box, in which was held some secret treasure. What right had he to keep it hidden from me? I found myself salivating and licking my lips in a manner which would have sent Bilbo into a tizzy.
"Mr. Frodo?" It seemed that Sam had taken note of my odd behavior. But no matter. I would merely tell him what was on my mind.
"Sam-lad," I said, not prying my eyes away from that glistening box of pearl, "would you be so kind as to tell me what you have in that box?"
Sam looked slightly puzzled, but answered me strait away, "Ah, that? Something me ma made for you, sir. Donuts, I think she called them. I've never heard of them, and that's a fact. They do smell good, though."
And here was an opening! "You could have one now, Sam, if you like. We could try them together." Oh please say yes! Don't be such a stubborn ass!
"Oh, no thank you, sir," said Sam blushing. O, how I hated him. "I'm not hungry. Daisy cooked us breakfast this morning, and, well, you know how she is. Would have started crying if I didn't eat every last bite. But I will say, Mr. Frodo, if it isn't too bold, I am quite keen on trying one. Just you wait until teatime, and then we can try them together."
"Alright, then," said I, and I sent him out the door without his apple.
That fool! Now I had to wait all the way until afternoon tea until I could set my teeth to these mysterious and delightful donuts! And every second, my nose would be filled with the sweet aroma of Bell's masterpieces. How could I ever resist?
I could, of course, have them now, and not wait for the stupid gardener to join me. These donuts were, after all, Bell's gift to me, and me alone, and no other mortal could lay a claim to them. But, I argued with myself, it would be terribly impolite to eat them without Sam after I promised I would wait for him. Even if I was angry at the lad for now, (through no fault of his own, I might add) it would not be right to do him this discourtesy.
Thus, I sat myself at the table and carried on with my translations. However, I found that it was impossible to write, for my hands were twitching in a dreadful manner, obviously brought on by my longing.
Ah, I thought, but what is one donut? Sam will never have to know that I strayed from the terms of our agreement.
I opened up the box and drew a deep breath as I beheld the wonder greater than any my mortal eyes had ever seen, hidden inside the box of pearl.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------
Sometime later, I was rudely awoken from my heavenly state by a loud chuckle. "Well, Mr. Frodo, you've done a right good job with those donuts. Naught but one left, save for the half that's hanging out of your mouth!... sir!" he added a split second later. "I daresay Bell will be right pleased that she got you to eat, Mr. Frodo!"
I hung my head, ashamed. (but not before removing the donut half so attractively dangling from my mouth.) Blushing, I gave poor Sam the last donut and the rest of the day off. He told me there was no need, but I too can be stubborn, and I told him just that.
Sometime later, I was still sitting at the kitchen table, staring dully at the last remnant of what had been two-dozen donuts. I had now recovered enough from my embarrassment to once again desire its sweet flavor to set my taste buds alight. But, looking at it glumly, I realized that once I ate it, that would be the end. Never again would I have that scrumdilyumptious donut assail my senses and make my mouth water greedily. Never again would I lick that sweet icing from my lips!
But how silly of me! I really do tend to be overly dramatic; Merry is not lying about that, at least. (but don't believe anything else he tells you about me!) Sam surely has gone home and told Bell how much I loved them straightaway. Without a doubt, another box will soon be making its way to my kitchen; perhaps it will even arrive tomorrow. (It's unnatural how much Bell enjoys cooking, let me tell you. The poor woman should get out a little bit more!)
It is very rare that I am moved to write verse. I usually leave that sort of thing to Bilbo. But my love of donuts has moved me to words, which I shall write upon this very page, as they come to me.
When I consider everything I eat
Tastes like perfection for but a little moment
That this huge box presenteth naught, but shows
Whereon the sprinkles in their secret influence comment.
When I perceive that donuts, as hobbits, do not increase
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky
Vaunt in their youthful icing, at height decrease
And wear their brave taste out of memory.
Then the conceit of this inconsistent stay,
Sets thee rich in taste before my mouth.
Where wasteful teeth debateth with Hunger
To change thy day of taste to sullied mush!
All in war with Huger, for love of you;
As he takes from you, I shall bake you new!
--------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, that was... odd... but the question remains, did you like it? It was quite strange for me to be writing this, namely because in my other fic, which I am writing at this very moment, Frodo is very much evil and has locked Sam away in a torture chamber wherein he shall be at the mercy of the Mouth of Sauron! What a difference, eh?
Please do review... ::puppydog face::: Please?
---Nymredil