I'm stuck.
Apr. 26th, 2004 11:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanI've been trying to come up with a movieverse Sam wakes up after Mt. Doom scene, and I've got a beginning, but I keep getting tangled up... I've got to get Aragorn in the room, and delay him long enough to be the second to last one in to see Frodo and I can't think of anything that will work because once I go beyond where I am the pattern of the piece doesn't work any more!
So comments are welcome. No matter how blunt!
In his dreams he was flying, spiraling upwards like a spark from the fire. He hadn’t known that you could dream when you were dead. He hadn’t known that you could still ache after you’d been burned to ash. At least it was a distant ache; as distant as the voices he was only just beginning to hear. He could stay in the air where it was cool.
"Be careful, Pippin, you'll spill it!"
"I am being careful. You're just jostling the bed."
"Where are the towels?"
“You’re sitting on them.”
“Oh, so I am. Here. Careful… he’s still got a nasty lump on the back of his head.”
He dreamed of water, sunwarmed and sweet, falling on his face and trickling through his hair. He dreamed of gentle hands kneading his curls, and a soft cloth on his skin, smoothing away the sensation of grime and sweat and blood that clung to him like cockleburs.
"Do you think he'll ever wake up?"
"The King said they need to rest. He’ll wake up when he’s ready to wake up, and so will Frodo.”
Frodo?
“I think his eyelids moved. Well, maybe not. He looks better than he did, though. Don’t you think so, Merry?”
“Yes, Pippin, he does. He could hardly look worse, could he? And he’ll look even better once we get finish getting his hair clean and make him comfortable.”
He wanted the voices to come closer. Or to go away and stop talking about people he would never see again. He wanted to come to land again, instead of drifting helpless. He wanted the water…
“He did move! Did you see it?”
The cough surprised him; he had a body, clearly, if it needed to be washed, but surely if he were dead he wouldn’t feel the air exploding painfully past the dry ache in his throat, or the sharp pain of bruised ribs.
“Quick, fetch, Strider!”
“He’s with Frodo!”
“Fetch someone!”
“Right! Right!”
Another cough like torment waiting for its chance. He swallowed it, trying to force it to stay inside, and failing. Another cough and another, and stars bursting like fireworks inside his eyelids. Arms around him, easing him upright, and bracing him against the coughs.
“Here, I will take him.”
Larger hands gathered him into a warm lap and he felt a chill curve of metal against his lips.
“Easy, Sam, easy. Try to drink a little.”
Liquid, bitter with herbs, but cool in his mouth, easing his throat.
“Is he all right? Why is he coughing? We didn’t do anything wrong, did we?”
“He’ll be fine, Pippin. Won’t he, Legolas?”
“Yes, Merry. He’ll be all right. He’s almost awake now.”
His hands came up and found the smoothness of the cup, preventing it from being taken away again. His breath echoed softly in the confines of the vessel, like wind in a bell, and he dared to open his eyes a little, glimpsing reflected light on wavelets inside the bowl before him. He closed his eyes again and drank more deeply. If the rest was a dream, the water was real, and for the moment, that was all he cared to know.
“See? It is as I have said.”
“The King will be here soon. And Gandalf wishes to know if he should also come.”
“No, Gimli. One of us should stay with Frodo.”
Frodo.
Gandalf…
Gandalf was dead. He was certain of that. This was a cruel dream, then. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe they were all dead and together somehow. Except that he didn’t think Elves went the same place as hobbits. Or Dwarves neither.
“Why doesn’t he wake up?”
“Patience, Pippin.”
“I’m tired of being patient! Come on, Sam, wake up!”
Small fingers trailed across his ankle, tickling until they hit a half-healed scar. He flinched and the water spilled cold across his face and down his neck as the cup was hastily removed.
“PIPPIN!”
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
So comments are welcome. No matter how blunt!
In his dreams he was flying, spiraling upwards like a spark from the fire. He hadn’t known that you could dream when you were dead. He hadn’t known that you could still ache after you’d been burned to ash. At least it was a distant ache; as distant as the voices he was only just beginning to hear. He could stay in the air where it was cool.
"Be careful, Pippin, you'll spill it!"
"I am being careful. You're just jostling the bed."
"Where are the towels?"
“You’re sitting on them.”
“Oh, so I am. Here. Careful… he’s still got a nasty lump on the back of his head.”
He dreamed of water, sunwarmed and sweet, falling on his face and trickling through his hair. He dreamed of gentle hands kneading his curls, and a soft cloth on his skin, smoothing away the sensation of grime and sweat and blood that clung to him like cockleburs.
"Do you think he'll ever wake up?"
"The King said they need to rest. He’ll wake up when he’s ready to wake up, and so will Frodo.”
Frodo?
“I think his eyelids moved. Well, maybe not. He looks better than he did, though. Don’t you think so, Merry?”
“Yes, Pippin, he does. He could hardly look worse, could he? And he’ll look even better once we get finish getting his hair clean and make him comfortable.”
He wanted the voices to come closer. Or to go away and stop talking about people he would never see again. He wanted to come to land again, instead of drifting helpless. He wanted the water…
“He did move! Did you see it?”
The cough surprised him; he had a body, clearly, if it needed to be washed, but surely if he were dead he wouldn’t feel the air exploding painfully past the dry ache in his throat, or the sharp pain of bruised ribs.
“Quick, fetch, Strider!”
“He’s with Frodo!”
“Fetch someone!”
“Right! Right!”
Another cough like torment waiting for its chance. He swallowed it, trying to force it to stay inside, and failing. Another cough and another, and stars bursting like fireworks inside his eyelids. Arms around him, easing him upright, and bracing him against the coughs.
“Here, I will take him.”
Larger hands gathered him into a warm lap and he felt a chill curve of metal against his lips.
“Easy, Sam, easy. Try to drink a little.”
Liquid, bitter with herbs, but cool in his mouth, easing his throat.
“Is he all right? Why is he coughing? We didn’t do anything wrong, did we?”
“He’ll be fine, Pippin. Won’t he, Legolas?”
“Yes, Merry. He’ll be all right. He’s almost awake now.”
His hands came up and found the smoothness of the cup, preventing it from being taken away again. His breath echoed softly in the confines of the vessel, like wind in a bell, and he dared to open his eyes a little, glimpsing reflected light on wavelets inside the bowl before him. He closed his eyes again and drank more deeply. If the rest was a dream, the water was real, and for the moment, that was all he cared to know.
“See? It is as I have said.”
“The King will be here soon. And Gandalf wishes to know if he should also come.”
“No, Gimli. One of us should stay with Frodo.”
Frodo.
Gandalf…
Gandalf was dead. He was certain of that. This was a cruel dream, then. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe they were all dead and together somehow. Except that he didn’t think Elves went the same place as hobbits. Or Dwarves neither.
“Why doesn’t he wake up?”
“Patience, Pippin.”
“I’m tired of being patient! Come on, Sam, wake up!”
Small fingers trailed across his ankle, tickling until they hit a half-healed scar. He flinched and the water spilled cold across his face and down his neck as the cup was hastily removed.
“PIPPIN!”
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
