A/N: Mostly book-verse. Written for Frodo Baggins of Bag End; a sequel of sorts to "Rest". Many thanks to LilyBaggins for her critical eye on a draft of this story.

Frodo blinked groggily and tried to remember where he was and what he'd been doing. There was a vague recollection of the loud clatter of dishes, the clamor of many folk tallking at once . . . ah, yes, a feast. . . at Minas Tirith? No, they'd left well over a week ago. Rohan, then. Yes, that would make sense . . . and the wooden beams overhead looked like the ones in the bedroom he and the other hobbits had been using. Wait a minute. His last memory was of the feast; how and when did he get here? And why did his face feel sticky?

He rubbed his eyes and when he opened them again, Lady Eowyn's face appeared above him, her hair falling over her shoulder and tickling his ear. "Was the cake not to your approval?" she asked with a grin as she wiped his face with a warm, damp cloth.

"Pardon?" Frodo asked stupidly.

"You fell asleep in your dessert."

"Oh. I don't remember that."

"Evidently not," Eowyn teased. "Now, do you care to tell me why you decided to use your cake as a pillow?"

Frodo shrugged. "I am tired," he replied with a yawn.

"Have the beds not been sufficient? You need only tell me if something is awry."

"No, no, the bed is fine. It's just . . . " he trailed off, unable to find an adequate explanation.

She looked concerned, and touched his face briefly. "You are feverish again. Are you certain you are well? This is not the first time you and I have met thus."

"You are not required to continue looking after me," Frodo countered. "I can look after myself."

Eowyn laughed merrily. "Does looking after yourself usually include putting your nose in your dessert?"

Frodo blushed. "Well, no. But I'm sure Sam would have woken me before I did myself harm."

"Perhaps, but you are again changing the subject. Are you well or not?"

"I'm as well as can be expected," Frodo hedged. "What with all the travelling, the endless feasts, and being a spectacle to be continually gawked at so soon after a very long, very wearying journey into a very unpleasant place."

Eowyn smiled briefly and clasped his hand gently. "True enough. But I remain concerned that you do not seem to be recovering as quickly as one would expect in comparison to the other hobbits."

"The other hobbits are considerably younger than I," he reminded her with a hollow laugh. "And we each had our own struggles . . . is it so hard to believe that we recover differently?"

"No, but the fact remains that you are here in bed while the others are still in the hall, celebrating." She released his hand and began briskly undoing the buttons on his jacket, then his waistcoat.

"But I will remind you that I would also be in the hall, if someone hadn't intervened," he said pointedly, batting her hands away. "I tell you, I am fine. A bit sleepy, but fine, and perfectly capable of managing my own buttons. What would Faramir say?"

"He would say that you ought to allow her to do what she will. She is more than capable in this regard." Faramir entered the room with a grin and put his hand gently on Eowyn's shoulder, leaning down to speak to her. "Your brother bade me tell you he still wishes to make the announcement this evening."

"Yes, yes. There is time yet," Eowyn answered briskly as she helped Frodo sit up so she could take his jacket and waistcoat off him.

"Announcement?" Frodo asked curiously.

"Eowyn has agreed to marry me," Faramir said tenderly, and Eowyn glanced at him with a soft smile.

Frodo felt a warmth seep through him as he saw how truly happy they were. "Eowyn, go. Don't worry about me. You deserve your happiness."

Eowyn rubbed his back gently. "As do you. Now lie back down." She wet a cloth with the drinking water and folded it on his forehead. "Are you feeling any better?"

"All I've felt is tired. Let me sleep and I'll be fine." Frodo made shooing motions. "Go on." He yawned for good measure and closed his eyes.

Eowyn touched his arm briefly. "I will return to check on you."

"And I will be asleep," Frodo promised. "There won't be much to check on."

Frodo was indeed asleep when Eowyn returned, but it was a restless sleep. He had shaken the cloth off his forehead and his clothes and the covers on his bed were all awry. Eowyn rescued the cloth and, upon rewetting it, put it back in its place after touching Frodo's forehead to gauge his fever. He was warmer than before. Eowyn sighed, and impatiently pulled her hair back out of her face as she sat on the edge of the bed and debated how best to care for him.

"Lady Eowyn? Is anything the matter?" Sam ventured hesitantly into the room.

"Frodo is feverish," she replied.

"Aye, 'tis usual this time of night," Sam commented as he came beside the bed.

"What?" Eowyn asked in disbelief. "How long has that been occurring?"

Sam shrugged. "A bit now. Some weeks, I'm guessing. When it first started happening, I asked Strider 'bout it. He said it would be all right and I should give Mr. Frodo some tea every evening so he could sleep better. By morning he's right as rain."

"Weeks? Does Lord Aragorn know the problem has persisted?"

"Nay. Mr. Frodo said it did not matter and I should not trouble Strider with it." He searched her face anxiously. "Is that bad?"

"I do not know, Sam. What is in the tea you give him?"

"Some o' the usual herbs for fever. Strider made it up for me." He crossed the room, fetched a small packet from his pack, and handed it to her. "I was goin' to ask Strider about the fever when I ran out."

Eowyn nodded as she examined the plant bits in the packed. Sam was correct; they were all the usual fever remedies, but she wondered if it had served only to suppress the fever rather than eliminate its cause. "Sam, would you fetch Frodo's nightshirt? I know not where to look, and I'd like to make him a bit more comfortable."

Sam easily located the desired item -Eowyn had to wonder if he'd been the one to put it away, he found it so quickly- and brought it to her. "What are we to do for the fever?" he asked worriedly.

"Nothing," she said simply. "We let it run its course, and I have hope it will then leave him." Eowyn efficiently divested Frodo of his shirt and, after running a cool cloth over his chest and back, slipped the nightshirt onto him. "We can make him more comfortable with cool cloths and plenty of water, but it would be best to stay away from teas and the like unless absolutely necessary. Would you take his trousers off? I know how he is about that."

Sam nodded his understanding, then grinned and quickly took care of the trousers. As they finished tugging the nightshirt into place, Frodo roused a bit. "Hoy . . . what do you think you're doing?" he asked indignantly.

"Making you more comfortable for the sleep you insist you need," Eowyn said lightly. "Would you like anything else before you return to sleep?"

Frodo's brow furrowed and he looked at her with great concentration, as if not entirely sure what he was seeing was real. "Water?" he ventured hesitantly. His request was easily filled, and Frodo returned to oblivion soon after.

Once he was obviously asleep again, Eowyn said, "He should be watched, to be sure the fever does not become overly great."

"I can sit for a spell," Sam offered immediately. "Begging your pardon, but you should change out of them fancy clothes afore sitting around for a long while. And you could also find a chair more your size. Everything in here is too small, most like."

Eowyn had to bow to his logic on that point. The hobbits were staying in the nursery, where everything was sized for a child's convenience. Even the bed was shorter than normal, though it was just as wide, to accommodate multiple youngsters at once. It had worked well for the hobbits, but it was true that she'd be most uncomfortable in one of the small chairs. "All right, Master Gamgee," she laughed. "I submit to your common sense. I shall return more suitably dressed and with proper accommodation."

Eowyn was almost to the doorway before Sam spoke up again. "My Lady, if I may be so bold, you might also want to rest a bit. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin will be here soon, and we can take care of him long enough for you to sleep. He won't be better by morning, most like, and someone needs to watch him then."

"You speak wisely," Eowyn acknowledged with a smile. "Then I shall return rested, as well."

Eowyn returned with the dawn, after stopping by the kitchens to arrange for breakfast to be brought to the hobbits, get some fresh water and additional cloths, and borrow a lad to carry a chair for her since her arms were already occupied. When she stole into the hobbits' room, Merry and Pippin were lying atop the bed's covers, fully dressed and fast asleep next to Frodo, who was sleeping quietly. Sam sat slumped in a chair next to the bed, looking groggy but at least semi-aware. He acknowledged her presence with a nod as the lad set her chair down near the bed and stole away without a sound.

"How is he?" she asked softly, placing the basin of water on the convenient bedside table and touching Frodo's cheek gently before sitting down next to Sam.

"A bit cooler now, but not back to normal. He was a mite restless after you left, but Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin calmed him right down."

"Good. Were you able to sleep at all?"

"Some, but mostly in the chair."

"That can't be good for your poor neck," Eowyn said with a chuckle. "Why don't you lie down for a while? Breakfast won't be here for a couple of hours yet."

"Not until one of them gets up. I don't want to disturb poor Mr. Frodo by piling atop everyone."

"No need to worry," came Frodo's voice from the bed. "Poor Mr. Frodo is already disturbed by a need for the chamberpot."

Sam swiftly handed it to him and, with a glance at Eowyn, Frodo slid it under the covers to take care of matters in privacy. Shortly thereafter the pot reappeared and Sam tucked it discreetly under the edge of the bed.

"Did you sleep well?" Eowyn asked Frodo once he was finished.

"Well enough," he said briefly, then slowly sat himself up. "Here, Sam, lie down a while. A turn in that chair won't do me any harm."

"Begging your pardon, but it could," Sam contradicted.

"I would feel better knowing you had some time in an actual bed," Frodo insisted.

"Now that's hard," Sam said with some hurt -Frodo was manipulating him and he knew it. He looked to Eowyn for aid, but she just nodded and gestured toward the bed. He would have to trust the lady knew what she was doing, then. "All right, as long as you promise to do as Lady Eowyn bids."

"Fine, I promse," Frodo said somewhat irritably as he threw back the covers and slid out of bed, lurching on slightly unsteady legs toward the chair. Sam unhappily vacated the chair and saw Frodo into it before he would lie down.

Frodo curled into the chair and watched Sam silently until the exhausted gardener fell asleep. Then he turned on Eowyn. "So what is this all about?" he asked bluntly.

"Your fever," Eowyn replied evenly. "It has been a problem for quite some time, so we are attempting to rid you of it."

"By making me suffer through it?" Frodo retorted, shivering slightly.

"Sometimes suffering through the fever is the best way to treat what is causing that fever," she said gently. She rose and went to the linen chest at the end of the bed, selected a light quilt from within and took it to Frodo. "Perhaps once the fever is completely gone you will find that you won't fall asleep at the dinner table."

Frodo humphed and took the quilt, but Eowyn didn't stop there. She swept him up, quilt and all, into her arms, and sat them both in her chair. Frodo tried to struggle free, but her grip was intractable and he had to admit defeat.

When they suddenly began moving, Frodo was taken aback and felt somewhat dizzy, then he felt foolish for being startled by a rocking chair. He settled back against her, the quilt thoroughly covering him, and tried to relax. Eowyn began humming softly and Frodo had to admit his situation wasn't terrible. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

Eowyn wasn't the least surprised when Frodo's breaths deepened and his face relaxed into sleep. That was the entire point, after all. Now the trick would be keeping him that way, since good, wholesome rest was the best remedy for any illness. At the very least, he should have a couple quiet hours before breakfast arrived.

Merry and Pippin woke before breakfast arrived, but they were careful to move quietly after receiving a glare from Eowyn for making too much noise in taking off their livery from the night before. Both disappeared behind her chair and out of sight, presumably to change, and there was the sloshing of water, then Merry materialized at her arm, watching Frodo's face in contemplative silence.

"How is he?" he asked finally.

"Sleeping," Eowyn answered cheekily, then continued more seriously, "The fever remains. I have no idea how long it will take to leave him."

"But he'll be better after that? Truly better?" Merry looked at her with pleading in his eyes.

She met his gaze openly. "I do not know. I hope so. He has worried you." It was not a question.

Merry nodded. "He's not himself still. It makes us sad. Sometimes I wonder if he'll ever be like he was."

"Will you?" Eowyn challenged. "You have changed, and in more than just your height. Frodo defied the Dark Lord himself; do you really think such will leave him unmarked?"

"I suppose not," Merry said thoughtfully, idly playing with a few strands of Frodo's hair that laid upon Eowyn's sleeve. "But I miss him. He hardly laughs anymore."

"Perhaps once he recovers he will rediscover some of his cheerful spirit. Illness can be terribly draining."

A sound at the doorway made Merry look up, and he said joyfully, "It's breakfast!"

He left Eowyn's side to dictate where the victuals should go, and Eowyn looked down at Frodo to see the hobbit's eyes were open and staring into nothingness. "Am I truly so dull?" he asked with a sigh.

"I do not think you dull," Eowyn assured him. "But I also did not know you before, so there may be things your kinsmen see that I do not."

Frodo nodded slightly, then Eowyn was distracted by one of the kitchen girls asking where to put the food for the ill holbytla. She had her balance the tray on the arms of the small chair Sam had been using, where she could reach it without unseating Frodo.

"What do you have to inflict on me now?" Frodo asked cynically.

"Nothing you'll mind eating," Eowyn retorted. "There is much the same as what the other hobbits have, but in smaller quantities, since there is only one of you. Which would you prefer to begin?" she asked as she whisked away the cloth covering and left him to contemplate porridge with a light dusting of cinnamon, flaky apple turnovers, a bit of scrambled egg, two sausages, steaming biscuits with tiny dishes of jams and jellies to be spread upon them, a mug of apple juice, and a short glass of milk.

While Frodo was deciding, Pippin approached Eowyn. "Lady Eowyn, should we wake Sam? Or do we get to finish what's there?"

Eowyn laughed. "Call me Lady Eowyn and I'll call you Sir Peregrin. And you may finish what you see -the kitchen will be sending more when Sam wakes."

"Yes, Eowyn," Pippin said, purposely overemphasizing her name. Dashing away, she could hear him excitedly tell Merry, "We can have it all!"

"I'll have some biscuit, with the . . . what is that, blueberry?" At her nod, Frodo continued, "With some blueberry jam, please."

Eowyn delivered the requested item, and waited for his next request.

"Umm . . . a piece of sausage with some egg." That was definitely agreeable; Frodo kept asking for it until Eowyn caught on and offered the combination until both were gone. Hmm... some juice to wash that down while seriously considering his next choice. Ah, yes, of course. Apple turnover. Then porridge, then more of the biscuits, and some milk as well.

And so, with gradual bites and tastes, Frodo worked his way through the tray's contents. When he had finished, Eowyn teased, "Was that really so bad?"

"No," Frodo sighed contentedly and was soon asleep once again.

Eowyn felt him growing warmer as the morning drew on, which was to be expected, but it was a mite uncomfortable for her with him on her lap, as well as being too warm for him, judging by his growing restlessness. She was able to move him back to the bed -with the other hobbits preparing the bedding and fluffing the pillows beforehand and holding the topsheet out of her way- without waking him.

Sam, who had woken some time earlier, almost immediately began cooling his master with cloths on Frodo's brow and wrists. Merry and Pippin stood aside and let him, and made sure to keep him adequately supplied with water and rags.

Eowyn took the opportunity to walk a bit outside to get fresh air, and to speak with Aragorn, Faramir, her brother, and the cooks in their turn. When she returned, Frodo was resting quietly, a cloth still on his brow, and the other three hobbits were discussing something in low voices. They acknowledged her presence, but did not share their conversation, and she was content to leave them be.

Lunch came and went; as Eowyn anticipated, Frodo did not desire much to eat, and did not finish even a single dish. He looked exhausted, and seemed to feel equally exhausted, and easily returned to slumber once Eowyn ceased pestering him with food. He did not voice any complaints about anything paining him or irritating him aside from the fever, so Eowyn was satisfied with how things were progressing.

Frodo slept for much of the afternoon, gradually becoming more restless, his fever worsening as the day progressed, until the discomfort kept him from sleep. But it wasn't as if the sleep was really doing him any good, he reflected sourly, since he felt tired all the way to his toes and to the ends of his foothairs, and his eyes were as scratchy as when he didn't get any sleep at all. Little drops of sweat trickled down his back when he sat up, but his fleeting wish for a cold bath vanished as he shivered and had to pull the bedclothes up to his chin.

Pippin and Merry were his watchers when he decided to stop trying to sleep for a while; they entertained him with the tale of Gimli trying to ride a horse, which they had witnessed earlier that afternoon. It seemed that horses and dwarves shared a mutual dislike of each other, a dislike that led to one being tossed into the dust and the other gleefully prancing about, riderless.

Merry and Pippin had to leave soon after, there being some sort of function that required their presence to attend their respective lords. They left with a promise that dinner couldn't be far away, and if they crossed paths with Sam, they would send him to Frodo straightaway so Frodo wouldn't perish of boredom. Or starvation. Whichever might come first. Frodo laughingly assured them he would die of neither, and he would be fine alone for a while.

Frodo must have dozed off after that, for next thing he knew, Sam was calmly sitting in the chair (Frodo still marveled that a chair of hobbit-sized proportions could even be found amongst Men), and wordlessly offered him a glass of water. Frodo accepted it gratefully, and while he drank, Sam informed him it was now well past supper, and would he like some? Eowyn had instructed the kitchens to provide anything the holbytlan needed, no matter the time.

Frodo acquiesced reluctantly, and only at Sam's urging, requesting just a bit of something. He wasn't all that hungry, but he didn't think he could survive the night without eating, either. To his relief, Sam brought only a mug of weak chamomile tea and a bowl of chicken broth laced liberally with soft, thick noodles and chopped vegetables. He could stomach that.

Once his meagre appetite was sated, Frodo drowsily curled up against his pillows, listening as Sam read from a small sheaf of papers he'd discovered that contained some simple children's stories. Frodo coached him as he stumbled over some of the unfamiliar Rohan words, but soon fell asleep to the lull of Sam's voice. Sam didn't realize Frodo had fallen asleep until he tripped over another word and there was no gentle voice correcting him. He tucked the blankets more securely around Frodo, then went back to the stories, reading silently to himself. It had been a long time since he'd had any practice, so he might as well make the best of the opportunity.

Eowyn appeared briefly later in the evening, checking on Frodo and making sure Sam needed naught, then departed with a promise to return in the wee hours of the morning so the hobbits could have an opportunity to sleep. Merry and Pippin returned shortly thereafter -whatever the function had been, it was evidently a short one. As was usual in their company, time flew by, and it seemed but mere moments until Eowyn arrived to spell them.

Frodo realized only then how tired his cousins and Sam must have been. They seemed to fall asleep almost immediately after they'd arranged themselves on the bed so they would all fit but still give Frodo enough room that they wouldn't disturb him. He watched them fondly and had nearly dozed off himself when Eowyn spoke for the first time since she'd shooed the others to bed. "How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

Frodo shrugged. "Too hot and too cold by turns, which I'm aware is perfectly normal for a fever."

"You're sweating," she pointed out. "That can be a good sign."

"Yes, well, I've been unpleasantly damp for some hours now," Frodo said with some disgust. "Yet I still feel the same otherwise. Isn't a fever supposed to induce a large amount of sudden sweating, then be over?"

Eowyn chuckled. "I think you've been reading too many tales. Some fevers do quite suddenly resolve themselves, but most take some time to gradually leave. Considering how long you have been plagued by this fever, I would venture that this will be slow to resolve."

Frodo scowled. Eowyn touched his face lightly, both cheeks then his forehead, and sat back in her chair. "You are slightly cooler to the touch, Frodo. Perhaps that sweat is doing some good after all." She winked. "Would you be more comfortable if I helped you wipe down a bit? I know sweat can be quite itchy when left to dry."

Frodo looked thoughtful and absent-mindedly scratched his chest. Realizing afterward what he had done, he said wryly, "Perhaps I ought to consent . . ."

Eowyn grinned, then stood and curtseyed. "In that case, I shall return in a trice with the necessaries." When she returned with a basin of steaming water and a stack of cloths under her arm -they must have washed what had previously been used, for Frodo recognized some of them- Eowyn directed him to sit up and take off his nightshirt.

Frodo balked at being both upright and unclothed -if she was going to make him take off the shirt, couldn't he at least remain lying down? Eowyn would have none of it, pointing out that he still had his linens on, and arguing that she would not let him become chilled. Frodo eventually conceded, and perched somewhat dejectedly on the edge of the bed, a quilt firmly across his lap.

Eowyn shook her head and sighed but let him keep it -she was more focused on the top half anyhow, since legs do not sweat as readily as one's torso. She mixed a good amount of cool water into the steaming water she'd brought until the basin swirled with water just on this side of warm. Once that was prepared, she pushed it to the side of the stand closest to the bed, then settled herself on the edge of the bed next to Frodo.

"Lean forward, please," she requested. With a sigh, Frodo hunched forward, his elbows on his knees. "That will do nicely," she said, wetting a cloth. Frodo jumped when she touched his lower back, but he quickly relaxed as she rubbed soothing circles across his skin from one side to the other and back again. She slowly, ever so slowly, worked her way up his back, not only cleaning the skin but also working the tension and stiffness from his muscles.

Frodo had to admit it felt heavenly, and he nearly mumbled a protest when it stopped.

"Sit back up for me, Frodo, if you can," Eowyn said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

He drowsily complied, then sat looking at her, blinking sleepily.

Eowyn efficiently captured his closest arm and gave it the same treatment as his back, then made certain to thoroughly wipe down that side, as well. "Here, lean against me," she invited. He complied with all the grace of a sack of feed falling off a wagon, and she had to chuckle. "A little longer, and I'll have you tucked back into bed, nice as you please," she assured him. He bobbed his head in what she could only assume was agreement.

His other arm and side were tended, then Eowyn had him turn a bit so his chest was more accessible. Before doing his torso, she gently wiped his face, down his neck, and behind his ears, then ventured down to his shoulders and chest. Eowyn took an extra moment to massage the scar on Frodo's shoulder, as she had for the scars on his back, and could feel him relax under her fingertips. "Does it pain you often?" she asked.

"Hmm? No . . ." Frodo said dreamily, without opening his eyes. "It just feels stiff sometimes."

"Of course." Eowyn pressed a little more deeply to make sure the area was no longer tight, then moved on to the rest of Frodo's chest and stomach, covering it with the same careful circles she'd used on his back.

"Are you more comfortable now?" she asked when she'd finally finished.

Frodo's only response was "Mmmm . . ."

"Do you have any other nightshirts? Or would you prefer to sleep in just your linens?"

Frodo shrugged noncommittally. "This is fine," he eventually replied.

"Then let's get you settled. Would you like any water before you lie back down?"

"All right," he said. While Eowyn allowed him to take the cup from her, she kept on hand close to ensure he would not accidentally spill it down himself since it can be difficult to drink when in a semi-reclined position. But he managed just fine, and drank the entire contents before letting Eowyn have the cup back. Frodo sat back up so Eowyn could move, then curled up on his side after she stood to return the cup to the table. Frodo felt her pull a quilt up over him, and he sank into slumber.

Frodo woke periodically throughout the night and into the following day. Whoever was tending him would wipe him down and give him water, broth, or juice until he felt comfortable enough to sleep again. But Frodo found that, while the attentions of the other hobbits were nice, they just couldn't sponge him down nearly as nicely as Eowyn. Merry wasn't quite thorough enough, Pippin touched him so lightly with the cloth that it tickled more than anything else, and Sam was a touch too efficient, for he was finished before Frodo could truly enjoy the coolness on his skin.

When Frodo awoke in the late afternoon, he wasn't feeling nearly so tired, and he might've actually been a bit hungry. He was still sweating a bit, but it didn't feel nearly so uncomfortable as it had before. Eowyn was pleased when he told her such, but warned him against becoming too optimistic, as fevers can wax and wane during illness. Frodo understood her reasoning, but privately suspected he would only improve from this point forward.

As if to prove himself, Frodo ate a hearty dinner which, while not holding a candle to what Merry or Pippin could consume at one meal, was far better than the broths and soups he'd barely managed earlier. He did end up retiring early, but after all, he was still recuperating.

He slept soundly that night, rousing only once, when Eowyn touched his face and neck to check his temperature. She shushed him when he tried to ask the time, and he quickly returned to his dreaming. When he woke for the morning, it was time for second breakfast. Merry and Pippin had already begged food from the kitchens and were setting it out on the table across the room, while Sam was straightening the side of the bed that Frodo wasn't occupying. Without really thinking, Frodo sat up, rubbed some water over his face, and went to join his cousins at the table.

Merry raised an eyebrow. "Feeling better, I take it?"

"I'd feel better if he'd put some clothes on," Pippin piped in.

It was then that Frodo realized he still only had his linens on. He flushed, and was eternally grateful to Sam for appearing at his side, holding out a dressing robe. He quickly donned the robe and said wryly, "I am feeling better, but it would seem my memory is still ailing." His cousins laughed, then they all set to eating breakfast, for if there is anything hobbits take seriously, it is mealtime.

When they were nearly finished, Eowyn paid a visit. "Frodo, I can see that you are feeling better, so I will not ask. I suppose I should have known better than to expect to find you still in bed!" she laughed, and crossed the room to stand next to him and survey the damage that hobbits can wreak on food. "But you should go easy today, Frodo. Your party will be leaving in a few days' time, and it would be wise to save your strength for the journey. A relapse in the Wild would do you no good."

Frodo nodded thoughtfully. He'd wondered in the back of his mind when they would be leaving, not because he wasn't enjoying the hospitality of Eowyn and her people, but because he so longed to see Bilbo again, to see what his cousin would think of Frodo's adventure . . . most of all, he wanted to be within a reasonable journey of home, to know that it would not be long before he would see the Shire again and bask in the familiar landscapes once more. Funny how the meaning of a "reasonable journey" changes once you've crossed a large part of Middle-Earth on only your own two feet!

The intervening days passed too quickly, and all too soon Frodo had to say farewell to those who would be staying at Edoras. Finding himself at a loss for words, he avoided Eowyn until the last possible moment, hoping something eloquent and fitting would pop into his head. No such luck. It was time to leave, Eowyn had spotted him from across the hall, and was quickly coming toward him.

Eowyn crouched down to face him and smiled. "Safe journey and happy homecoming to you, Frodo," she said.

"Thank you for your care and generosity towards me," Frodo answered, then threw his arms around her in an impromptu hug. "Thank you for everything," he said again, and added, "I wish you and Faramir a long and happy marriage."

Eowyn laughed and hugged him back. "He and I thank you," she replied. "Fare well, Frodo."

He pulled away and waved shyly before hurrying to catch up to the other hobbits on their way out to collect their ponies. Eowyn watched him go with fondness, hopeful that he would remain well for the journey.

As he left, Frodo felt a tinge of regret, but let even that go; there was nothing more he could do now. He would just have to trust that Eowyn understood his appreciation for her care. Now all that lay before him was a long journey, and Bilbo waiting at the end of it . . . he was looking forward to seeing Bilbo already.