TITLE: "Famished" (1/1)
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis
EMAIL: mc@fangy.net
PAIRING: Samwise/Frodo
SUMMARY: Rivendell. Frodo has yet to wake up. Sam is disheartened.

* * *

I don't like Rivendell. I longed to see it, but it's lost its charm. The bed looks too big for him. His feet barely reach the middle. I want to go home.

"Would you like anything to eat, little one? You haven't had anything in days."

"I'm not hungry. And I'm not little. You're just... very tall."

Not a very clever retort, I admit, but this scrawny white thing has been hovering behind me all afternoon. I would welcome his presence if he had something to offer aside from food. I doubt even the best elvish stew would be enough to open Frodo's eyes. Unless he's hungry. What if he's hungry? Or cold? He looks cold. All this water in Rivendell. That must be it. I hate Rivendell. Elves are not what I thought they would be.

They can't make him open his eyes. All this talk about elvish medicine, and yet there he is, nestled in impossibly white linen, alive, yes, but what good is it if he just lays there? They say he's well. I'm looking very hard, but I can't see it. The bed looks like it might swallow him whole. I'm making sure it doesn't. Someone has to.

This is not what he usually looks like when he sleeps. He is never this still. His hair never flattens into such stringy strands, clinging moistly to feverish skin. And his lips, his lips, they are never like this, the same colour as his skin, a sickening yellowish paleness only accentuated by this ridiculous elvish decor. They told me not to move him. I suppose I will have to wait to take him back where he doesn't look like he's about to disappear. What if he disappears?

Perhaps they're not doing their best because they haven't seen him awake. If they did they wouldn't want him like this, would they? Surely they'd understand the importance of having him laugh when he looks at you. This won't do, not at all.

I'm going for a walk. A watched pot never boils. Maybe when I come back he'll have awakened. Then I can sleep. Gandalf wanders in just as I hop off the chair, my feet stinging against the rugs after being still for so long.

"I'll take over for you, Samwise. Have someone prepare you a meal. You haven't had anything for days."

Neither has he. Does he look hungry to you?