bloom

[bronwe]

Who: Frodo and YOU!
What: fail gardening
When: morning of April 4
Where: by the orchard
Rating: PG

It is warm enough now that Frodo can walk about barefooted without worrying that he might lose both legs to the frost. He remembers how Sam would start his planting at around this time of the year, just when the seasons turn and the sweet smell of spring is almost here. But not quite.

There is a tin bucket of flower bulbs some ways from the apple tree, set beside the small crouched figure digging little holes into the ground with his hands. He has a pile of pulled weeds and rocks on his other side, having cleared a small patch there for his makeshift garden. Planting the bulbs confuses him though. Which way is up and how deep should it go?

Times like these, more than ever, makes him wish Sam were here to give him all sorts of wise advice, and not only for gardening. He can already imagine one hundred and one quips from the hobbit. But his friend isn't here, yet, so Frodo just keeps squinting at the bulb, hoping some revelation will miraculously come to him eventually.

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[bronwe]

He believes in some sort of coincidence, that is hopefully guided by something good rather than evil. He believes in it because he wants to, has to, else there is no hope for him.

He stares at the offered hand a moment and then to his dirt-stained ones, to see if she would mind, but he does wipe as much of it on his pants before taking her hand gently. "Frodo. I know someone named Rose too. Someone very important to my friend."

[fluthlu]

Rose smiles amusedly when he wipes off his hands; what a strange, polite young man. She gives his hand a firm, quick shake.

"Truly? It's a fairly old-fashioned name where I come from. I can't say that I've heard yours before, though."

[bronwe]

He's a little gentleman!

"Mine isn't so common, but there you have it. I can see why parents would call their children 'rose' when it is the loveliest of flowers."

[fluthlu]

Her smile softens, into something a bit more genuine. "I'm pleased that you think so. I have admittedly never been one to stop to appreciate flowers, though a good friend of mine was working to change that." She looks around a bit gingerly at the garden, then back at him, in thought.

"If you don't mind my asking, what world are you from?"

[bronwe]

"What world... when I thought there is really only one. The elves call it Arda, and I live in a region called Middle Earth."

[fluthlu]

She raises an eyebrow just a bit at that. Elves? Middle Earth? She's met one elf here, quite a time ago, but she doesn't make the connection.

"Yes, I'd say there are several dozen represented here just in the residents I've spoken to. More, if you take into consideration the differing iterations of the same world. I used to live on a version of Earth myself, once."

[bronwe]

"Versions..." Oh have mercy on his brain. He tries not to seem too baffled in case that just troubles her. His world can be a sort of Earth too, really.

"Which version did you come from?"

[fluthlu]

"The version without elves or anything of the sort, unfortunately. Just ordinary humans and their troubles."

She gives a soft smile, hoping that she isn't confusing the poor boy. It's a bit difficult to explain one's own planet it relation to what one supposes a stranger might be familiar with.

[bronwe]

"Oh," it even seems strange to him that a world would be without elves when they were the ones who came first and gave names to things. That seems much like the Shire though, to an extent, folks there didn't believe in dragons, dwarves or dark lords. Or magic rings.

"That may be a simpler world, is it?" If it is anything like his home.