Chrysalis by Lbilover

I originally posted this bit of total crack!fic at The Happy Smial to go with the accompanying manip that I found on Tumblr.


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Once upon a time, there was a caterpillar named Frodo. Frodo wasn't considered a very attractive caterpillar by the others in the shrubbery. In fact, they often made fun of him for being small in size and pale in colour, and for having queer blue eyes and spiracles instead of proper brown ones, and extravagant antennae with auburn tufts. Unnatural, they called him.

His only friend in the shrubbery was Sam, who had green-gold eyes and spiracles and a thorax and abdomen of a lovely chestnut-brown, and who watched out for Frodo and made sure he always got the tenderest leaves and shoots to eat. The other caterpillars, in particular Ted Sandyworm, made fun of Sam, too, because he was always daydreaming about becoming a butterfly, instead of wanting to turn into a moth like any respectable Hobbiton caterpillar would. 'I want to build my chrysalis on a rosebush,' he'd say stubbornly. 'Like Frodo.'

Sam's dad wasn't pleased. 'Butterflies and rosebushes!' he scolded his son whenever he flew over for a visit. 'Moths and milkweed are better for you and me. Don't go getting mixed up in the business of your betters, or you'll land in trouble too big for you.'

But Sam wouldn't listen, only gaze longingly at Frodo, munching on a nearby leaf.

When the day arrived for the caterpillars to create their chrysaleses, Frodo bade Sam a sad farewell and trundled off to the rosebush where he would undergo his metamorphosis. His uncle Bilbo, an eccentric old butterfly of the most exotic hues anyone had ever seen, and who the local moths considered completely cracked, had reserved a spot for him there after Frodo's parents got blown away in a gale down in Buckland.

Frodo knew that once he was a butterfly and Sam a moth, they could never be friends again. He would spend the summer days sunning his wings in the garden and gaining strength so he could fly away come autumn, to the exotic lands far to the south. But Sam would remain in Hobbiton, and spend his evenings fluttering around lamps and eventually mate with a female moth, like that Rosie Cottonpillar, and have many larvae.

It was beyond depressing.

Frodo sadly spun his chrysalis around him, and then fell into a long, deep sleep. He dreamed that when he emerged, a gorgeous butterfly with chestnut-brown wings and green-gold eyes was waiting for him. It was Sam. They launched themselves from the rose bush and flew through the garden, fluttering madly around each other, and then hovered in mid-air so that their antennae could kiss...

When he finally awoke from his long sleep, Frodo felt horribly claustrophobic and very un-caterpillar-like. In fact, his only desire was to break out of the confines of his chrysalis and take flight. Inching along the ground, as he'd used to do, seemed the dullest fate in the world.

The chrysalis's shell was hard, though, and Frodo was exhausted by the time he broke through and staggered out on to a rose twig. His wings were limp and damp, but he spread them out as best he could and let the hot sun dry them, and tried not to think about Sam and Rosie Cottonpillar, who were probably choosing names for their larvae at that very moment.

'Frodo?'

Frodo almost toppled straight off the twig. 'Sam? Is that you?' On a nearby twig, where a broken chrysalis dangled, was a gorgeous butterfly who looked exactly like the one in Frodo's dreams. He had glossy chestnut-brown wings and stunning green-gold eyes and the most attractive antennae Frodo had ever imagined.

'Aye, it's me, your Sam.'

'But Sam, what miracle is this? Your father said he would never let you become a butterfly.'

'Twas Mr. Bilbo's doing. He said to me, 'Samwise, if you want to be a butterfly, a butterfly you will be. I've reserved a spot for you on the same rosebush as Frodo. But don't tell him, lad; let it be a surprise.''

'Dear Bilbo! How can I ever thank him?!' Joy filled Frodo, along with an overwhelming urge to touch Sam's antennae with his own. Without a second thought, Frodo flung himself from his twig. His wings, nicely dry now and fully spread, carried him weightlessly through the air toward Sam, and as he flew, Frodo noticed that they were milky white, with teardrop-shaped markings of brilliant sapphire-blue outlined in ebony black. He hoped Sam would like them.

Sam had taken off, too, and they met above the rose bush and flew through the garden, fluttering madly around each other, and then they hovered in mid-air and shyly let their antennae kiss for the first time. From that day on, Frodo and Sam were inseparable, and in the autumn they flew away to the south, and were never seen by any moth in Hobbiton again.

~end~


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