Disclaimer:  All the settings and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. These drabbles and ficlets are my way of working out or interpreting ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's Note: These ficlets were all written in 2004 with the exception of the last which was written in December 2003. These are the drabbles that have h/c elements, but focus a little more on the comfort as opposed to the hurt.

Chapter 10: Comfort

Cellibella asked for "more comfort in the A Simple Touch universe." To understand this drabble-and-a-half, it is helpful to have read that story, though not fully necessary. This small scene occurs at the same time.

Embers

When a piece of wood splits apart in the fire, it first crackles and embers flare along the edges. Then it sighs and hisses to itself as hidden moisture is suddenly exposed.

Stones scrape together as they are nudged closer to the flames. In a faint rustle of movement, a fully heated stone is wrapped in clothes.

Someone approaches. Frodo knows it is Strider -- his shadow is larger than the others and his feet treat the earth more slowly.

There is hardly any jostling or pain as Strider holds Frodo still while Merry smoothly slides out from between him and the cliffside. There is even less as Strider settles Frodo against him and blankets are folded around.

As Strider's long arms encircle Frodo, the fire pops and crackles. And even though Frodo can only see shadows of grey, in his mind the embers glow redly, while warmth steals over him.

Tangelian simply requested a bit of h/c for her birthday, although for some strange reason when I proposed a storyline of an aching Grima who had returned to a caring Saruman after being kicked down the steps at Edoras, she didn't go for it. There is no accounting for taste...

So instead I offered this:

Void

In a void he floated, bereft of light, sound and smell. Not all senses were denied him however, for an ache hovered at the edges: dim but teasing.

Some strange thing wound itself around his hand, passing in and out among his fingers. Yes -- there, the ache! And what was touching him? Spider web?

Frodo flinched and drew back his hand, but a cool hand laid itself upon his brow even as the silken stuff continued to wind.

The ache eased and Frodo stilled.

And when the hand began to stroke his hair, feeling fled and he slept once more.

Elwen is as much an Elrond fan as she is a fan of Frodo. This "double drabble" written for her birthday includes both (with some Sam).

Simplicity

Sam hovered by and fretted.

"I could do that for you, Mr. Elrond, sir. There's no need to trouble yourself with such a simple thing."

Lord Elrond paused and fixed his keen gaze upon the flustered hobbit.

"And why should such a "simple thing" trouble me, Master Samwise?"

Sam stammered. "Surely it's better for the likes of me to do that..."

Lord Elrond looked down at the sleeping hobbit, free of evil and at peace at last. It was the third night since the arrival in Imladris.

His gaze settled once more on Sam. "You should not put yourself down, Master Samwise. Nor should you put down the value of... simple things."

And once Sam had reluctantly left, Lord Elrond gently took another wisp of dark curl between his fingers and eased an exquisitely wrought comb through it.

And the art and careful thought that had given rise to the crafting of that comb returned in the very tilt of the fingers and the meditative sweep of silver tines through dusky curls.

For it was that in the minds of Elves simple things and simple deeds held as much importance and healing as did great and complicated things.

And silence settled.

At Christmas in 2003, I had to write an h/c story, A Simple Touch, as my assignment for the Frodo New Year Mathom exchange. I wrestled with it at first before I hit my stride, and one of my "warm-up" attempts is a one-page excerpt that has been gathering dust.

Perhaps it could possibly be seen as a continuation of A Simple Touch -- certainly it is chronologically; although in reality it was more a precursor to the story I actually ended up writing...

As it is, here is a little bit of cousinly h/c fluff.

Troll's Nest

Crack!

The hobbits looked at one another. The stick lay in two pieces on the ground.

"At least you were right about one thing," Frodo said and he smiled gently at his two abashed cousins. "They were trolls once."

"And there aren't many in the Shire," added Sam, "who could say that they've seen trolls, live or dead. So I would say that you are ahead on that score, Master Pippin."

Strider said nothing, but as he approached with his back to Pippin, Frodo could see a quiet smile play about his lips.

Bill stood still as Strider carefully lifted Frodo from the saddle and carried him to a nest of blankets that Sam was busily arranging.

Old Bert's leg made a very nice back rest, Frodo decided, as he leaned against it in relief. Upon further reflection, however, he thought it seemed cold. Sunlight was dappled throughout the glade, but Frodo sat in the troll's shadow. He stirred restlessly and tried to pull the blankets higher, but his one-handed efforts were clumsy.

Pippin was beside him in a trice. "Allow me, cousin," he said gallantly and he pulled a blanket closer about Frodo's shoulders.

"Ah," said Frodo, but the cold seeped through from the stone and he shivered again. Pippin looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then his face lit up.

"Hang on," he said and, grasping the blankets, pulled Frodo along the grass. A moment later, the young hobbit was sitting on the sunlit grass, with his back solidly and comfortably wedged against his elder cousin's.

"What are you doing, Pip?" asked Merry. "We need water."

Pippin smiled sweetly up at him. "I'm helping Frodo much more by letting him lean against me here in the sunlight."

And to that Merry had no reply.

But it was at night, at the next encampment, that Pippin felt the cold. Any spare blankets, by common agreement, had been wrapped around Frodo, and so the youngest hobbit was left shivering. His pack made for a lumpy and uneven pillow which hitherto had not bothered him. But now Pippin shifted and squirmed and could not sleep.

Frodo watched Pippin toss and turn. Beyond the firelight, Strider and Merry sat talking quietly, their backs to the sleepers.

"Pippin," he whispered softly.

Pippin looked at him, instantly alert. "What's wrong, Frodo?" he asked.

Frodo thought for a moment. "I'm feeling cold, Pip," he said at last. "these blankets don't seem to help. I'm sorry to bother you, but would you mind awfully if you could lie here beside me?"

Pippin frowned and looked at the two talking at the edge of camp.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, cousin," he said. "What if I jostle you in my sleep?"

"I'll take that chance," said Frodo with a smile.

And so, when Merry came to check on Frodo, he found Pippin nestled within his older cousin's embrace. Blankets securely covered them both, and Frodo's left arm was carefully supported -- laid over top of Pippin... who was fast asleep.

"Don't wake him," Frodo said softly.

"I won't," Merry whispered back. "But what about you? How are you doing?"

Frodo closed his eyes. "I feel a little better with Pip here. He is warm, and it comforts me."

End of excerpt