Fugue by uirgiliana
Mar. 31st, 2019 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Prompt, Card and Number: "Cake and Ale and Coffee" (N32) from "Eat, Drink, and Make Merry", "baking" (O64) from "Talents and Skills", "Friends, Family, and Interpersonal Relations" (B11) from "Worldbuilding"
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Recipe fic, angst
Rating: General
Warnings: No specific warnings, but this fic deals with a heavy topic.
Characters: Arwen, Celebrían
Pairings: None
Summary: Celebrían has sailed, and Arwen is alone with her grief.
Mother is gone.
The thought was too immense to be understood. It filled Arwen’s mind to the brim, leaving no room for anything else. She had ceased to be herself – she had been hollowed out to become only a receptacle for the terrible knowledge.
Mother is gone.
To speak to anyone would be awful; to sit alone with the thought was intolerable. She must act, but there was no action to be taken. Nothing could be changed.
Arwen had nearly made her choice then and there, on the dock beside the ship that would take Celebrían away. I choose Elf-kind, she wanted to say, so we will not be parted forever – but the words caught in her throat. Something, she knew not what, restrained her, and bound her to this: grief without certainty, parting with no sure ending.
Mother is gone.
The house was near-silent. Father sat in his room and did not come out; her brothers rode out on their orc-hunt and did not come home. Mother’s form was everywhere: a billowing curtain, seen from the corner of an eye, became her silvery hair; the breeze carried with it the sound of her voice. Yet when Arwen turned to look, the curtain was nothing more than it had ever been.
A memory: Mother’s hand on her shoulder, a heavy bowl in Arwen’s hands, a voice in her ear. The duties of the lady of the house: to offer the cup of hospitality to guests, and to prepare bread for travelers. To offer succor to the grieving – oh, I think you can put the flour in now, dear...
Mother is gone.
Arwen stood and wiped the tear-stains from her cheeks. Whatever else could or could not be done in the face of grief, however dull and hollow the spirit might become, the body remained, and must be fed. She did not imagine that her father would come to the hall at mealtime, but she might bring something. Not much; cake and ale, and coffee, perhaps – something to warm the body when the spirit was cold.
She saw no one on the way to the kitchens, and she was grateful for it – she felt like an eggshell, as though she might fall to pieces at a touch. She placed the ingredients on the table, flour, sugar, butter, one right after the other, thinking of nothing more than the immediate: the heft of the flour-sack, the smooth curve of an egg in the palm of her hand.
Mother is gone.
The thought was no less massive, but although she could not shift it she found she could peer around the edges, just a little. Enough to see what was in front of her: the cake baking in the oven, water for coffee boiling on the hearth.
Mother is gone, and I am here.
“Elvish” Wine Cake Recipe
Ingredients:
1 2/3 cups flour
1 cup butter
3/4 cup sugar
4 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1 1/2 cups port wine or sweet sherry
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour bundt pan. Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, stirring well after each. Add vanilla and about 1/3 cup of flour, beat for about five minutes. Add the rest of the flour, salt, baking powder, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Stir a little, then add the wine. Stir just until blended. Pour into bundt pan and bake until a toothpick inserted comes out clean - about 25 minutes.
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Recipe fic, angst
Rating: General
Warnings: No specific warnings, but this fic deals with a heavy topic.
Characters: Arwen, Celebrían
Pairings: None
Summary: Celebrían has sailed, and Arwen is alone with her grief.
Mother is gone.
The thought was too immense to be understood. It filled Arwen’s mind to the brim, leaving no room for anything else. She had ceased to be herself – she had been hollowed out to become only a receptacle for the terrible knowledge.
Mother is gone.
To speak to anyone would be awful; to sit alone with the thought was intolerable. She must act, but there was no action to be taken. Nothing could be changed.
Arwen had nearly made her choice then and there, on the dock beside the ship that would take Celebrían away. I choose Elf-kind, she wanted to say, so we will not be parted forever – but the words caught in her throat. Something, she knew not what, restrained her, and bound her to this: grief without certainty, parting with no sure ending.
Mother is gone.
The house was near-silent. Father sat in his room and did not come out; her brothers rode out on their orc-hunt and did not come home. Mother’s form was everywhere: a billowing curtain, seen from the corner of an eye, became her silvery hair; the breeze carried with it the sound of her voice. Yet when Arwen turned to look, the curtain was nothing more than it had ever been.
A memory: Mother’s hand on her shoulder, a heavy bowl in Arwen’s hands, a voice in her ear. The duties of the lady of the house: to offer the cup of hospitality to guests, and to prepare bread for travelers. To offer succor to the grieving – oh, I think you can put the flour in now, dear...
Mother is gone.
Arwen stood and wiped the tear-stains from her cheeks. Whatever else could or could not be done in the face of grief, however dull and hollow the spirit might become, the body remained, and must be fed. She did not imagine that her father would come to the hall at mealtime, but she might bring something. Not much; cake and ale, and coffee, perhaps – something to warm the body when the spirit was cold.
She saw no one on the way to the kitchens, and she was grateful for it – she felt like an eggshell, as though she might fall to pieces at a touch. She placed the ingredients on the table, flour, sugar, butter, one right after the other, thinking of nothing more than the immediate: the heft of the flour-sack, the smooth curve of an egg in the palm of her hand.
Mother is gone.
The thought was no less massive, but although she could not shift it she found she could peer around the edges, just a little. Enough to see what was in front of her: the cake baking in the oven, water for coffee boiling on the hearth.
Mother is gone, and I am here.
“Elvish” Wine Cake Recipe
Ingredients:
1 2/3 cups flour
1 cup butter
3/4 cup sugar
4 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1 1/2 cups port wine or sweet sherry
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour bundt pan. Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, stirring well after each. Add vanilla and about 1/3 cup of flour, beat for about five minutes. Add the rest of the flour, salt, baking powder, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Stir a little, then add the wine. Stir just until blended. Pour into bundt pan and bake until a toothpick inserted comes out clean - about 25 minutes.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-01 11:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-01 05:12 pm (UTC)I'm really glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2019-04-01 11:40 am (UTC)What a fascinating detail. This is a wonderful glimpse into such a heartbreaking experience.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-01 05:06 pm (UTC)