TITLE: Starved

AUTHOR: Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End - FBoBE - "Febobe")

FANDOM: Lord of the Rings

PAIRING: N/A - Gen (Characters: Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, Faramir, Arwen, Eowyn, members of the Fellowship, brief appearance by Ioreth)

GENRE: Hurt/comfort; angst

RATING: Teen/PG for thematic darkness

WORD COUNT: 12,139 words

SUMMARY: Following the Quest, Frodo and Sam find that returning to life as usual isn't as easy as it might seem. . .particularly when it comes to eating.

WARNINGS: Rating for mild thematic darkness only; no sex, slash, or profanity. Probably bookverse apart from Frodo's appearance, but you could go either way on the interpretation. Additionally, this series is heavy on the food imagery - I *am* writing about a hobbit, after all, and a hobbit with a food obsession at that, so please bear with me! Seriously, this is a foodie h/c Frodo fic, so if you don't like those, DON'T CLICK. Just STOP NOW. Otherwise, you will NOT enjoy yourself. Trust me!

NOTES: The foods cited in this fic are drawn from a wide variety of sources, including an online BBC website for the English foods of the Shirefolk (I'd give you the URL, but it doesn't seem to be functioning fully these days, so I don't know how much good that would do!) and from 1,000 Italian Recipes by Michele Scicolone for the "Italian" recipes of Minas Tirith and Gondor (Minas Tirith sits at about the latitude of Florence, according to JRRT in the Letters, which inspired some of us in discussion to give Gondor a somewhat "Italian" flavor). Eowyn's recipes come from One Potato, Two Potato, from 500 Soups, and from general personal experience (in short, I could find you a recipe for it, but I didn't look at a specific book this time to find it). In addition, some of my ideas about the effects of starvation/food deprivation on the human psyche and the body come from the Ancel Keys experiment, summarized nicely on a website that I'm sure you can find if you Google; I can't seem to get the link to post here due to some site quirk. Apologies!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tolkien's characters; I just like to play with them from time to time. I make no claim of ownership on his creations. Any and all treatments used in this series are purely for fictitious purposes and not to be attempted on humans (having been designed for fictitious hobbits instead). Please consult a qualified health care professional for all your medical needs.


"Is everyone ready?"

Frodo nodded as he checked the stirrups on Strider, his pony. He could not bear to admit that he was sorry to leave Rohan. Eowyn had been kind to them, and he still felt tired from his recent illness. Pippin's cheery chatter was almost more than he could bear at this early hour; he was no longer so early a riser as he once had been.


Turning, Frodo found Eowyn catching up to their gathering-party, something in her hand - a small bundle, wrapped in cloth and tied up with bright blue ribbon. This she held out to him, drawing him aside.

"A gift. Consider it a parting-gift."

Frodo blushed.

"Go ahead, open it." She beamed.

Obediently he began to work the bow with careful fingers, unwrapping the gift to reveal a book. He folded back the cover carefully to reveal hand-writing:

"From Eowyn of Rohan

To Frodo of the Shire

May peace find you."

"It's beautiful," he managed softly at last.

"It is a receipt-book. It belonged to my mother."

"Then you should keep it for yourself - "

"Nay, little one." Eowyn bent to reassure him. "I have plenty of resources at my disposal. This may bring you comfort some cold winter's night, and what better use for it than that?"

Suddenly she knelt, bringing her face to his height, her clear eyes intense as she looked into his gaze.

"We are both of us changed irrevocably," she whispered, "and I know not that it is all for the better. But, for better or for worse, we are changed, and we must live as we are. Go now, Frodo Baggins, and live! Whether your journey take you no farther than your homeland, or to roads I shall never see, go and live, and find a measure of happiness."

And she embraced him.

It was not until they were some distance away that Frodo saw his last glimpse of the White Lady fade from view. . .and even then, he thought he saw her waving, from afar, for some while to come.

That night his dreams were sweet.

-the end-