Work Text:
Aragorn narrowed his eyes as a door closed somewhere out of sight. A man’s voice drew rapidly nearer, singing a cheery song about bells jingling, until the singer appeared at the mouth of the hall. He looked rather like a hobbit, but twice the height and with pointed black slippers instead of furry feet.
“ Oh what fun it is to— ” He cut off abruptly when he noticed Aragorn sitting in the corner with his hood down. But to Aragorn’s surprise, the newcomer’s face lit up. “Hey! You must be my breakfast buddy!” He struck a pose, throwing his hands wide. “Merry Christmas!”
Aragorn raised his eyebrows, unsure what the greeting meant.
“Well, not Christmas just yet, but they said you’d have to have Christmas early. You’re saving the world tomorrow, right?”
Aragorn waggled his hand. “Moving in that direction, or so I hope.”
“Where are my manners?” The newcomer smacked his forehead. “My name is Buddy. I’m a human who was raised by Elves.” He thrust a hand across the wooden table.
“I am called Strider,” said Aragorn, standing to clasp the hand. “I am also a human who was raised by Elves.”
“Really?” Buddy gasped with childlike delight. “I’ve never met another human raised by Elves!”
“Yes, I grew up in the hidden valley of Rivendell in the North.”
“Oh, this is amazing!” He dove across the table and threw both arms around Aragorn, who stiffened in surprise. Buddy let go and sat back on his heels, still on the table. “Oh, sorry, you don’t do hugs?”
“I do, but usually with more warning.”
“Oh, good! Because hugs are vital for mental health.” Buddy opened his arms wide again. “I’m gonna hug you!”
Aragorn chuckled, patting the exuberant stranger on the back of his spring-green coat.
Buddy crushed him for a moment, then let go, spun around, and hopped to the floor. “And now for breakfast!” he said, clapping his hands; and he disappeared into an adjacent room, singing to himself about Yule decorations.
Aragorn stood there for a moment, wondering if he should follow. Before he could decide, Buddy returned with two bowls and spoons in one hand, a large bottle in the other, and a rattling box tucked under his arm.
“Sit down, Strider!” he said, distributing the bowls with near-elven speed. “I’ve got it all here. Fruit loops are the best I could do; they’re a bit bland, but with enough syrup you won’t even notice.”
He opened the box as he spoke, dumping a flood of small colorful rings into each bowl. Aragorn wondered what they were made of, and what type of syrup the bottle held. Something flavorful… and he had never thought of cough syrup as bland. He certainly hoped it was something more pleasant, though; Buddy had just given his mysterious meal a veritable dousing.
“Dig in!” said Buddy, sitting down across from him. “Breakfast might not be much, but we are gonna have the best day today! We’ll go to the park and build a snowman, and then snow forts, and we’ll have a snowball fight. Then we’ll come back and bake cookies…”
Aragorn took a cautious bite of some of the un-doused rings. They crunched like cracklings from a griddle cake, but it was the flavor that made his eyes widen. It would indeed take cough syrup to balance out such sweetness!
“…and go caroling, then come home and make hot chocolate—wait! That’s what I forgot! You can’t have breakfast with nothing to drink.” Buddy leapt up just as Aragorn took his first syrup-drenched bite.
Aragorn’s eyes widened and he forced himself to swallow.
Buddy grimaced in sympathy. “I’ll get you some more toppings first. Hang on!” And he dashed out again.
Just as Aragorn decided that he could appreciate this dizzyingly sweet concoction in small doses as an after dinner treat, Buddy returned with two jars in each hand.
“First, jelly beans!” he said, dumping varicolored bean-shaped objects into both bowls.
Aragorn nibbled one skeptically. It was as chewy as a raw bean, but at least as sweet as his fruit loops.
“Then gumdrops and caramels!” Buddy sloshed a liberal dose of yet more small colorful objects out of the next two jars. One held something that looked like sugared candy but with more garish colors, while the other held little orbs of a comfortingly dull toffee color.
Aragorn snuck another nibble. The sugared candy was even sweeter than it looked. He would have enjoyed two or three pieces, but the sight of two or three dozen was rather alarming. He glanced apprehensively at the fourth jar, which seemed to be made of metal.
“‘Scuse me while I get a can opener,” said Buddy, skipping off again. “And a spoon! Don’t want to contaminate the icing…”
Aragorn took a small spoonful of his breakfast, wondering how to avoid offending his host. If he ate all this in one hour, he would make himself sick!
Buddy was back long before Aragorn had found an answer, whistling as he spooned a great dollop of impossibly white paste onto the top of Aragorn’s bowl. Aragorn barely had time to wonder if it was pudding or some sort of cream whipped stiff, before four more dollops appeared atop his bowl.
“Tell me when!” said Buddy cheerfully.
“Oh, that’s enough,” Aragorn said hastily. “It looks very… good.” According to the beauty standards of Pelargir.
“Let me know if it’s still too bland!” said Buddy, heaping even more of the strange substance onto his own bowl. He sat down, shoveled a large bite into his mouth, and moaned around it, “Oh, this is awesome! Not like my dad’s, but pretty good…”
Aragorn stared for a moment, blinked, then lowered his eyes to face his own task. The paste was too solid to be snow or slush, but what else could be that white?
He picked up his spoon, braced himself, and took a bite of the unnatural snowy stuff.
It was thick—probably had butter, and even more sugar than anything else in the bowl. Aragorn blinked and swallowed his bite. He took the next one from the mixture underneath. It was marginally less sweet, but overwhelmingly varied.
“Everything okay?” asked Buddy, looking at his still-heaping bowl with concern.
“Oh, yes. I eat slowly. Taste the food better that way.”
“You’re a really chill one, Strider,” Buddy said, pointing at him with a gooey spoon. “And that’s a good thing. Spreads Christmas cheer: chill, get it?”
“Chill like winter?”
“Exactly!” Buddy gasped and shot up from the table. “Oh, that’s what I forgot! I’ll get us drinks.”
Aragorn had a wild urge to throw out the larger part of his meal, but no idea where to do it. And if he were caught, his trick might offend Buddy worse than the truth.
Buddy returned a moment later with what looked like two large glass beer bottles. He handed one to Aragorn, then opened the other and took an impossibly long swig.
Aragorn looked at the bottle in his hand. It felt too flimsy to be made of glass. He tried to pull off the cap. It would not budge.
“Let me get that for you.” Buddy leaned over the table, gave the cap a firm twist, and removed it. “There! Drink up.”
Aragorn took a cautious sip. His eyes widened. Whatever it was, it was not beer. More importantly, it was almost as sweet as the fruit loops.
This was getting out of hand. He looked at his host, once more engrossed in his meal.
“I must confess,” said Aragorn, “I have never eaten so much sweet food at one meal.”
Buddy paused and looked up at him in shock. “You were raised by stingy elves? No wonder you’re so thin!”
“No, no, they fed me plenty, but they rarely eat such sweet food, and never so much at once.”
“Why?” Buddy asked, looking utterly perplexed.
The question itself perplexed Aragorn. Why should they not use reasonable moderation? But Buddy’s definition of ‘reasonable’ was evidently different. “Well,” said Aragorn, “I suppose because our bodies are not designed to handle it. It messes with our digestion.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We cannot safely eat so much sweet stuff.”
“You poor people. Why not?”
“Truth to tell, I do not know. I never dreamed any person could handle a meal like this.”
“How do you survive?”
“We eat other food.”
“Like what? Bland stuff?”
“We put honey with our bread sometimes, and I would not call fruit or wild game bland.”
Buddy shook his head incredulously.
“The point is this,” said Aragorn. “You have taken a great deal of trouble over my meal, and I apologize for the discourtesy, but I will make myself sick if I finish this.”
Buddy’s face fell. “I suppose you can’t eat cookies either?”
“What are cookies?”
Buddy’s mouth fell open. “You’ve never tried cookies?”
“Perhaps under a different name. What are they like?”
“Like… little cakes, I guess.”
“I have eaten that sort of thing before. I am sure I could eat one, at the very least.”
“Oh, no,” Buddy sighed, resting his forehead on his fists. Then he sat up resolutely. “I’m going to give you a great Christmas anyway! You can sing, can’t you? And play in the snow?”
“Certainly.”
“Then we’re all set! Come on!” He shot up again and dashed off. A few seconds later, he reappeared. “You coming?”
“I am,” Aragorn laughed, gladly abandoning his breakfast. “I just need to get out from behind this table.”