Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 6,349 for this part
Chapter Summary: Frodo apologizes to Sam and tells more of their story.
Sam sat with Frodo for much of the night, dozing in the chair beside the bed. He wasn't entirely sure why they were still sitting with him almost constantly, as he didn't seem to need the attention, but he knew when to let Rosie have her way. He'd agreed to wake Rosie in the wee hours of the morning so he could rest, but he fell asleep and it was nearly dawn when he left Frodo peacefully sleeping to fetch Rosie.
She scolded him for letting her sleep so long while he helped her dress, but she kissed him before leaving. Sam was in the middle of debating whether to put on his nightshirt or just go to bed in his clothes when Rosie reappeared. "Why didn't you tell me he was a-sweatin'?" she asked sharply.
"Sweatin'?" Sam repeated, bewildered. "He weren't sweatin' when I left."
Rosie's frown deepened. "Strange. Come and help me get him settled?"
Sam followed her back out of their bedroom. Rosie went to fetch Goldilocks to help while Sam continued on to Frodo's room. Frodo was awake by then and looked confused. "Sam?" he asked hesitantly. "Why am I wet?"
He was, indeed, wet. Sam was surprised at the extent of the 'sweating,' with Frodo's nightshirt obviously wet, and his top pillow looked damp, and so did the edge of the sheet that was pulled over Frodo's chest. "I don't rightly know," Sam replied honestly.
Further conversation was halted with Rosie's arrival. "I have Merry, Pippin, and Hamfast fetching and heating water for a bath. Goldi and I will change the bed linens if you can pick him up and, oh, set him in the chair, I suppose."
"I'm capable of getting out of bed myself," Frodo objected, pushing back his covers so he could prove his point.
"Aye, but damp clothes chafe bad, and there will be less chafing if Sam picks you up instead," Rosie said gently. "Unless you'd like to add to your collection of sore spots?"
"No," Frodo grumbled, but allowed Sam to lift him and set him in the chair. "I suppose it's good I didn't have a bath last night," he observed wryly as Goldi and Rosie efficiently stripped the bed and remade it with linens from the chest at the foot of the bed.
Sam chuckled. "Aye, so 'tis." Rosie gave him a light quilt, which he handed Frodo, who gladly spread it out over himself to stop his shivering.
When the flurry of activity ended in a freshly-made bed and a fresh nightshirt set out, Rosie sent Goldi back to bed, then crouched in front of Frodo. "Now, how are you feeling?"
"The same as I did yesterday, though my skin feels . . . clammy, right now. And I'm a bit thirsty."
"We can fix that." Rosie motioned for Sam to give Frodo a glass of water. "Well, then, were you feeling too warm? Did you have a nightmare?"
"I don't think I felt too warm . . . my bed has had the same number of quilts for days, and I've been fine until now. And no, I didn't have a nightmare . . . I dreamt of Gandalf," Frodo said slowly. "I can't think of any reason why . . . this happened."
"We may never know," Rosie soothed, patting the sweat off his face with a handkerchief. "But we'll have to keep a close eye on things for the next few days, just in case."
Frodo nodded wearily, letting his head rest against the wing of the chair. He nearly dozed off before the bath was ready, so it was good that riding in Sam's arms didn't require any effort. Getting into the tub required that he stand long enough for Sam and Rosie to help him undress and divest himself of the various bandages, but soon enough he was basking in warmth. "How are you feeling now?" Rosie asked once he was settled.
"I'm all right," Frodo said lazily. "A little wetter, but it's a good kind of wet."
Rosie chuckled and left him in Sam's care to start tending to first breakfast. When Frodo didn't speak for a while after Rosie left, Sam decided to break the silence. "You dreamt of Gandalf?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes . . . it was rather odd; it almost seemed he was right there in my room." Frodo gave a little laugh. "He wasn't, of course. He wouldn't actually be able to sit in that chair."
"Did he say anything?"
"He had quite a lot to say. Scolded me a bit, and gave some advice . . . much like any other conversation with him, really. Then he left and I woke up just before you came in." Frodo thought it best not to say that Gandalf had called him a bitter, selfish hobbit that didn't in the least resemble the Frodo he'd known and didn't deserve the care and love being lavished on him.
"What was he scolding you about?" Sam couldn't help asking.
Frodo fidgeted, making waves that raced toward the end of the tub, bounced back, and splashed up against his chest. "Your Rosie is a smart lass."
Sam wasn't sure what to make of the non sequitur, but decided to follow along. "Aye, too smart for the likes of me, I reckon."
"She . . . said some things to me, yesterday. She was right, and I guess dream Gandalf thought he needed to pop in and make sure I knew she was right." Frodo shifted uneasily. "You both are too good to me, and I've been horribly ungrateful." Sam drew a breath as if to speak, but Frodo raised a dripping hand and said, "No, no, hear me out. I was very unkind to you yesterday, and I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to even think such things, considering all you have done for me. I hope you can forgive me."
It was Sam's turn to shift uneasily. "Aye, I forgive you, though Rosie would say I'm too soft." An awkward silence followed, so Sam asked if Frodo was done in the tub, which he was, and Sam set to helping him out. Frodo started coughing as soon as he stood, and Sam was hard put to keep a hold on the jerking body so as not to let him fall. Rosie came in to help, and between the two of them, they managed to get Frodo out of the tub and onto the stool while he continued coughing.
When the coughing stopped and Frodo was catching his breath, Rosie moved to start tending his sores, but Frodo stopped her. "If you don't mind, I need to use the privy first," he said, nodding his head toward the indoor privy seat in the corner.
Rosie apologized for not asking if he needed to use it, and had Sam help him up from the stool. Frodo insisted on walking the few steps to the seat, holding on to Sam's arm for support since he didn't have the cane. Rosie left again to make sure the children were up; Frodo's knees buckled just before he reached the wooden seat, but Sam managed to keep him from falling and set him onto the seat.
Frodo rearranged the towel that was wrapped around himself, and did his business, marveling once again how nice it was not to have to kneel or squat over the chamberpot. He was almost tempted to ask if one of these could be put in his room to save his knees, but such an accommodation felt like admitting his age was getting the best of him. Which it was, but Sam didn't need to know that (he suspected Rosie already knew, somehow -she was quite insightful about such things).
Rosie returned before he was quite finished. "Tom asked about you, Mr. Frodo. He's hoping you're well enough to tell them a story soon."
Frodo smiled tiredly. "I hope so, too. Do you think tomorrow would be all right? I think I'll need to sleep more today."
Rosie glanced at Sam, who nodded to confirm that Frodo had apologized. "We'll see how you feel tomorrow morning, mind, but if you rest today that should be fine."
Frodo beamed. Rosie wetted a cloth in the bathtub water and wrung it out. "If you're finished, we ought to carry on. Can you clean yourself up?" She gestured with the damp cloth.
"Yes, I'm finished, but . . . I think I could use some help. Just about everything aches already," he said, grimacing.
Rosie passed the cloth to Sam, then had Frodo lean forward against her while Sam wiped his bottom. "We can give you a rubdown, see if that helps. And maybe some liniment would be a good idea, despite the smell."
"If it helped, the smell wouldn't matter," Frodo said, muffled against her stomach. "But it usually doesn't help." He sighed. "I'll try it, if you think it best."
"I think it's worth a try," Rosie said diplomatically, stepping aside to let Sam pick Frodo up to carry him back to the stool. Rosie set to tending Frodo's sore spots, and directed Sam in wrapping Frodo's hands. Frodo tried desperately not to fall asleep, but Rosie seemed determined to make that difficult, as she started massaging his feet and lower legs once she was done bandaging everything she could get to.
Then Sam was picking him up and set him on his knees next to the cushion, helping him lie down on it. Frodo settled down, mostly comfortable but for the ache that seemed to be in his very bones. Rosie efficiently tended the bedsores while Sam gingerly rubbed his back, afraid of damaging the fragile skin or otherwise causing Frodo harm. Then Rosie took over the back rubbing, and Frodo relaxed into sleep.
Rosie snickered when Frodo started snoring. "Guess he won't be complaining about the liniment smell," she commented. "Will you fetch it for me? Goldi should know where 'tis if you can't find it."
.
Frodo woke briefly when Sam was putting him into bed. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Here now, Mr. Frodo, stay with us for a bit," Rosie coaxed, settling the covers over him and patting his cheek. "How are you feeling? Are the aches any better?"
Frodo sighed again, this time in annoyance. "They're . . . better, yes, except for my back. May I sleep now?"
"Not if you want breakfast-" Frodo wrinkled his nose. "-or your morning teas." Frodo didn't look convinced.
"You're certainly free to feel awful later, which is what will happen if you skip your teas," Rosie commented.
Frodo eyed her sleepily. "I think I'll take my chances, but thank you for your concern," he replied dismissively.
"Have it your way, then. But don't think I won't say I told you so," Rosie said with a smirk.
"Mmm. Well, if you're right, I'll let you say it, since it'll be true." Frodo replied with a tired smile. He was asleep soon after.
"He'll regret this," Rosie told Sam. "But it will be useful to see how he's doing without being all dosed up."
Sam was shaking his head ruefully "And here he was telling me that you were right in whatever it was you said to him yesterday. He sure ain't showing it now."
"Did he really?" Rosie asked in surprise as she came around to the side of the bed Sam was on.
"Aye. The Gandalf in his dream agreed with you," he told her, slipping an arm around her waist.
"Well now, I ain't had a wizard agree with me before, in a dream or no," Rossie said, somewhat pleased. They moved toward the door. "I'll have Rose sit with him while we eat, then I'll come back. I want to see how he does. Will you be all right planning the rest of the meals for the morning?"
"I think I can manage it," Sam assured her with a wink.
Frodo was ripped from his comfortable slumber by a sudden inability to breathe. He panicked, flailing and struggling against what felt like an iron band around his chest. There was a grunt near his head, then something grabbed his wrists and held them down. He tried to pull them free, but his strength was no match for the one holding him.
The iron band gradually seemed to loosen, and at length he was able to discern the words being spoken to him, encouraging him to calm down, breathe slowly, and stop struggling. He listened to the voice, realizing with relief that he could, indeed, breathe. It was more difficult than he was used to, but it was certainly still possible.
When he came to himself, Frodo was shivering, leaning against Rosie, with his wrists being held by Frodo-lad, who was perched over Frodo's knees. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely, his throat feeling raw.
Frodo-lad let go of his wrists and climbed off the bed at a gesture from his mother, and Rosie replied, "You were coughing in your sleep. I sat you up, but you started struggling and Frodo-lad had to help me."
"I felt like I couldn't breathe. I . . . I panicked."
"I can believe it. Will you be all right if I lie you back down?"
Frodo nodded. "Did I hurt you?" he asked meekly as she helped him lie back down.
Rosie chuckled. "Nay, I just wasn't expecting it." She offered a cup of water, and he sipped from it carefully.
When he'd taken as much water as he could stomach for the moment, Frodo closed his eyes and took stock. Just as Rosie had promised, he felt awful. He cracked open an eyelid to see Rosie watching him, and he said, "All right, you can say it. You were right."
"I don't like being right in this case, but I *did* tell you so," Rosie said mildly. "Tell me how you're feeling."
"E-everything aches, including my head, and my back . . . feels like it's on fire. Probably from coughing." He had to take a few breaths before continuing. "Hard to breathe, feels like . . . something is sitting on my chest. My throat feels raw, and there's a . . . tickle, like I could start coughing again." A few more breaths. "And I'm so cold . . . so tired." Rosie nodded and fetched another quilt from the trunk and laid it over him. "Thank you."
"Would you like your teas now?"
Frodo's brow creased. "What time is it? Would having it now . . . be a problem? With when you normally . . . give it to me, I mean?"
"Bless your heart. It's nearly luncheon, so it's almost time for the next round anyhow. I'll go have the girls get things started," she said, rising from the chair. "You just sit tight, now."
"But I was going to go for a nice, long walk," Frodo protested wryly, his eyes already closed again.
Rosie laughed and left the room. She returned with a tray, which she settled over his lap. "Guess what I have for you," she said in a sing-song voice as she tucked a hand behind his back and helped him sit up.
"Oh, my favorite," Frodo said sarcastically. He stared down at the dishes for a few moments, not seeing what was in them, then said quietly, "I'm sorry for how I have been acting lately . . . you were right to scold me so."
"Aye, but you'd not be in the right to let your food get cold to tell me so," she said with a grin.
Frodo blinked and peered at her, then back at his food, finally noticing what was before him. "Is that . . . steak and mushroom pie?" he asked, not willing to believe his eyes.
"'Tis," she confirmed.
"You are too, too good to me," Frodo said fervently. He took several careful bites, then frowned. "Did you do something different with the mushrooms?"
"No, we made it just the same as we have before. Why?"
"It tastes different. The mushrooms almost seem . . . slimy," Frodo said unhappily, then hurried to add, "It's still quite good, of course. Maybe it's just me."
"That could be it," Rosie agreed. "Things sometimes taste different when you're ill."
"But why does it have to be mushrooms?" Frodo asked, pouting but continuing to eat.
"It does seem a mite unfair," Rosie soothed. This was going to make it that much more difficult to find things to coax Frodo to eat -she'd been counting upon his love of mushrooms to entice him with a variety of dishes, but if the consistency of cooked mushrooms troubled him, that would rule out some of the obvious choices.
"More than a mite," Frodo mumbled, giving up on the crust of the pie and poking at the cooked apples instead. "At least these still taste right."
"Good." Rosie was just as relieved as he was.
A knock at the door, and Rosie opened it for Rose-lass, who carried in two steaming mugs and placed them on Frodo's tray. "Good afternoon, Mr. Frodo," she said with a smile.
He returned the greeting and the smile, and slowly continued eating. Rosie stepped out into the hall with Rose-lass briefly, then Rosie reappeared and asked, "Are you feeling up to answering a few questions?"
Frodo considered for a moment, leaning against the pillow against his back that was helping him sit up. He was feeling a bit more awake now that he'd eaten, but . . . "Questions about what?" he asked warily.
"About what you'd like to eat."
"Oh, I suppose that's all right," Frodo conceded.
Rose-lass returned, with some paper and a pen and ink. "Rose is going to take some notes for me," Rosie explained. Frodo nodded and started sipping at one of his mugs -willowbark, from the taste. That would help.
The conversation lasted longer than Rosie expected, but it was very helpful, and Frodo seemed happier afterward, too. He expressed concern that he would be causing them more work, but Rosie assured him that the types of things he was asking for -thick noodles with chicken, stew and dumplings, and bread pudding, to name a few- would be fine for everyone to eat, so it wouldn't be any trouble. This seemed to satisfy him, and shortly after she helped him lie down so he could nap. Frodo was quite ready for a nap, especially now that he didn't feel like he was going to cough at any second and his head no longer felt like it was being crushed by an oliphaunt. Rose-lass stayed with him while Rosie took his tray away, and while Frodo appreciated seeing someone other than Rosie or Sam, he found that he simply didn't care at the moment.
.
Rosie was pleased by Frodo's high spirits the next morning; it seemed he was looking forward to telling a story as much as Tom and the others were looking forward to hearing it. She watched him carefully throughout breakfast, but he did seem to be doing better, particularly since the overnight sweating hadn't recurred, so she thought it safe to allow the storytelling early in the afternoon. Even his appetite seemed better, though Rosie suspected he was eating more simply because she was watching.
Frodo was on his best behavior all morning, and he could tell Rosie knew it, but that didn't bother him. He'd been difficult long enough. Despite the anticipation, he took a long morning nap, and tried to eat a good luncheon, but couldn't manage nearly as much as he had for breakfast. Rosie assured him it was all right, for he didn't want to eat so much as to fall asleep. Before Rosie left with the tray, she supervised Frodo getting out of bed so he could stand and walk a bit before he settled into the chair.
A few minutes later Frodo-lad backed his way into the room, carrying a stool and the notes he'd made previously. He set the stool next to the chair, but paid no mind to Frodo until he spoke. "It looks like a nice day."
Frodo-lad looked up to see Frodo standing in front of the small window, peering out at the sun-drenched, frozen garden. "Oh, 'tis, but it's much colder than it looks."
Frodo chuckled. "It usually is, in the wintertime. Have we had much snow since Yule?"
"Only a touch, but there's still time -it's only the first of February."
"February already? I've been ill longer than I thought," Frodo murmured thoughtfully to himself, turning away from the window and adjusting his grip on the cane for the trudge to the chair. It was a small room, but distances have a way of extending themselves when a body is old and sore. He stopped to straighten his nightshirt and dressing gown before slowly setting himself in the chair. When he was sitting comfortably, he unfastened the first several toggles of his nightshirt and, after pulling it slightly open, pulled the fabric closed again.
"What are you doing?" Frodo-lad asked curiously.
"If they ask about my scar, I want to be ready to show it to them."
Frodo-lad nodded his understanding. "Do you need to go over the notes again?" he asked as he shifted his stool and sat, too.
"No, I remember quite well, thank you."
"Then why did you have me read you the chapter and everything?"
"I needed a reminder of what everyone else was up to," Frodo said patiently, peering at him around the wing of the chair. "The parts that concern me directly, well, let's just say it would be hard to forget, hmm?"
Frodo-lad was spared having to answer by his mother bustling in. "Are you ready, Mr. Frodo? Here, put this quilt over you so you don't get chilled."
"Thank you, Rosie. Yes, I'm ready," Frodo replied serenely.
Rosie touched his cheeks and forehead briefly. "Aye, I suppose you are. Now remember, if you need some water, just ask." She opened the door to admit the eager audience.
Naturally, Tom was first through the door. "May I sit on your lap, Uncle Frodo?" he asked shyly.
"I don't think that would be a good idea today," Frodo said gently. "But you can sit right here in front of me, or up on the bed, if you like."
Tom immediately plopped himself right at Frodo's feet and grinned up at him. "This is good."
The rest of Tom's siblings chose their own spots, the younger ones sitting with Tom on the floor, while the elder ones sat on the bed or the trunk. Sam leaned against the doorway until Rosie tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a chair, and brought one in for herself, as well.
"Since it's been a while, can any of you tell me what has happened so far?" Frodo asked, looking around at each of the young faces.
"From the beginning?" Primrose asked doubtfully.
Frodo smiled. "Yes, from the beginning. That is, if any of you can remember so long ago," he teased. "Well, except for Tom here, who I know can tell the whole thing, perhaps better than I can."
Tom squirmed in his seat, blushing. Merry kicked at his head from the bed, muttering, "Obnoxious little runt."
Frodo saw Sam start up in his seat, but gestured with his hand. "The point of this story, your father's story, is that even the smallest, most... frustrating person can make a difference. Pippin -your uncle Pippin, I mean- could be quite annoying, I assure you." He chuckled and added, "I think your father agrees with me." Every head in the room swiveled to look at Sam, who was caught mid-nod and coughed uncomfortably.
"The point is," Frodo resumed, "that Pippin came with me on this journey when he was your age, Merry, and he did some very great things by the time we came home. Tom is the youngest -through no fault of his own, I would add- but none of us know what he or any of you might do in life. Every person has their part to play, so treat everyone well. Understand?" Merry nodded sullenly. "Besides, what would you do if Tom were Mayor one day? He could make you regret all of your teasing then!" Frodo added with a wink.
Tom giggled behind his hand.
"So, Merry, can you tell us the beginning of the story?" Frodo asked, settling back in his chair.
"Bilbo had a big party," Merry said, sighing heavily.
"He certainly did," Frodo confirmed. "Hamfast, what happened next?" In this fashion, Frodo had each of the children -and Rosie and Sam, too- recount what had been told before. Tom was last, and tried to include far too many details, but eventually finished with the four hobbits, Strider, and the pony trudging through the Midgewater Marshes.
"Very good," Frodo said encouragingly, and started the tale from the night he and Strider saw a flashing light to the east. Sam watched him with interest, finding that he almost enjoyed the retelling of that dark night and the fear and misery that followed. Rosie took his hand when the black figures rose from the shadows and held it tightly until Frodo stopped talking.
No one spoke or even moved for several moments. Frodo took a deep breath and mopped his face with a handkerchief; storytelling was hard work. He surveyed his wide-eyed audience with satisfaction.
"You-you can't stop there," Ruby protested, twirling her hair nervously.
"Of course I can," Frodo said.
"We have to know what happens," Daisy chimed in from the other side of the chair, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth anxiously.
"What happened to the Black Riders? Did you hurt yourself when you fell off the horse?" Robin asked.
"I don't think I hurt myself when I fell off the horse. At least, not more than I was hurt already," Frodo replied, realizing he'd never thought to ask that particular question.
Tom tugged on Frodo's lap blanket. "Were you all right?"
Frodo grinned. "Tom, I'm right here. Do you think I was all right?"
Tom caught on quickly. "Yes," he said with a giggle.
"Well, I was mostly all right," Frodo amended sheepishly upon seeing Sam's raised eyebrow. "But I'll save that for the next part of the story. I still have a scar."
"Could we see it?" Bilbo wanted to know.
"Certainly." Frodo pushed back the shoulder of his nightshirt and exposed the thick white line. Several of the children stood up and came closer to look at it.
"Can I touch it?" asked Pippin.
"May I," Rosie corrected.
Pippin rolled his eyes. "May I?"
"Only if you don't press on it. It still feels sore sometimes." Pippin, Bilbo, and Daisy carefully touched his scar, their touches tickling his skin.
"But it's been a long time," Primrose pointed out.
"Yes, but sometimes hurts just . . . linger, and this wound was special. You'll find out why in the next bit of the story," Frodo promised.
"When will you tell us the next part?" Tom asked eagerly.
Frodo looked to Rosie, who shrugged. "We'll have to see how I feel after this -telling tales is hard work," he answered, winking at Tom. "I think I'll be ready for more the day after tomorrow. Does that suit you?"
"No, I want it now!" Tom said with an impish grin.
Frodo laughed and ruffled his hair. "I know you do. But your mother will scold me if I stay out of bed too much longer, and you know how unpleasant it is to be scolded."
Tom nodded solemnly, and out of the corner of his eye Frodo saw Ruby and Bilbo nodding, too.
"You can come and say hullo later, if you like," Frodo assured them. Rosie followed his cue and rose, shooing everyone out of Frodo's room so he could rest. Frodo-lad would have stayed, but Sam had him take the stool and the chairs out so that when the chaos settled it was only the three adults in the room.
As soon as the door closed behind Frodo-lad, Frodo let his head drop against the side of the chair. "Oh, my," he said with a sigh. "That was fun, but I'm knackered."
"That's no surprise," Rosie said, setting to work straightening the bed. "You ain't been out of bed this long since Yule."
"You sure you're just tired? You're awful pale," Sam asked in concern, crouching in front of Frodo's chair.
Frodo sighed and grimaced. "My back aches terribly," he admitted.
"The bed is ready for you," Rosie said. "Do you want to try a hot water bottle against your back? And I can put on some willowbark tea for you, if you like."
Frodo hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I'll take both, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Rosie assured him. She caught Sam's eye and gestured toward the bed, then left the room, closing the door behind her.
"Will you need help to get back in bed?" Sam asked, patting Frodo's knee.
"I don't know. Maybe." Frodo slowly worked on standing up, eventually -and with a great popping and creaking of joints- raising himself onto his own two feet, though he couldn't seem to stand up straight. Perhaps future storytelling sessions should be shorter . . . just in the interest of being able to move afterward.
Sam stood with him, ready to help if necessary. "Hold still a moment," Frodo instructed, grabbing on to his elbow and using Sam's arm to pull himself a tiny bit straighter. It helped some, but not much. Frodo sighed and shuffled to the bed, carefully sitting and inching his way toward his nest in the middle. Sam offered to pick him up and set him in place, but Frodo refused. He was still getting himself into place when Rosie returned with the hot water bottle and tea.
"All right, dear, why don't you stop a moment and drink this," she suggested, holding out the cup.
Frodo conceded and paused long enough to gulp it (and burned his tongue in the process), but he really just wanted to find a comfortable position, which seemed like it might be too much to ask. At length, at Rosie's suggestion, he laid on his side with the hot water bottle held against his back with a pillow, a position that at least wasn't excruciating.
Sam sat with him for a while and they talked a bit, though Frodo let Sam do most of the actual talking. When Rosie came to check on Frodo and found Sam chattering away, she shooed him from the room so Frodo could rest. Frodo did manage to sleep despite his discomfort, but only in short bits.
It wasn't until his evening bath that his back began to feel better. Even better was the rubdown Rosie gave him after his bath; he was asleep even before she was finished. She reluctantly had Frodo-lad wake him for supper and his medicine -he needed his rest, but he needed the medicines more, and food as well. Predictably, Frodo was not pleased to be awake and did not eat much, but Rosie didn't push him this time.
Frodo slept for most of the next day, waking only for meals and the healer's brief visit between afternoon tea and dinner. Rosie had managed to convince him to come, though she suspected he only did so because he now considered Frodo a curiosity, what with still being alive and all.
Healer Mugwort arrived between afternoon tea and dinner. Rosie stayed with Frodo -as they had agreed earlier in the day- while he was poked and prodded, and Rosie in turn prodded Toby for answers. After listening to Frodo's breathing and coughing, feeling his back, and asking a few questions about Frodo's fever, Toby admitted, "I still think it sounds like the lung sickness, but how it's possible that he's had it this long without any real changes, I have no idea."
"What about his back?"
"Stiffness from lying abed, no doubt," Toby said dismissively. "If the liniment didn't help, I can provide a different salve."
"Please do," Rosie replied.
"I don't have it with me, but if you send one of your lads down after dinner, I'll have some ready."
Rosie agreed to this. "Is there anything else we can do for the rest? The coughing and such like?"
Toby shrugged. "Not if what you're doing is helping well enough. There are very few options if those stop working, especially at this time of year. But do let me know if you need something else, and I'll see what I can put together." He fastened his bag and added, "If that's all . . . "
"That's all," Rosie confirmed.
"Have a good evening, Mistress Gamgee, Mr. Baggins," Toby said, nodding to both of them and showing himself out. Rosie heard him greet Sam in the hall, then the footsteps receded.
"He was civil enough," Frodo said with some amusement. "But he sure doesn't seem to know much. Or else I scare him enough that he loses his wits."
Rosie sighed and rolled her eyes. "He don't have many wits to lose, that's for certain," she said, adding a bit of wood to the fire. "But tending to you does seem to unsettle him somehow."
"How long has he been the healer in these parts? He seems awfully young."
"Don't he? He's been the healer for, oh, nigh on a half-dozen years, at least. It's been since Tom was born, but aside from that, I can't say for sure."
"I see." Frodo lapsed into silence for a few minutes while Rosie bustled about fussing with various things, though he couldn't tell why she was fussing in the first place. "So will it be all right to have another story time tomorrow?"
"I don't see why not," Rosie said, finishing whatever it was she was doing in the trunk at the end of the bed. "I'll send Sam in with your dinner in a bit. Will you be all right until then?"
Frodo nodded and closed his eyes to think for a while.
.
Even after his bath and supper, Frodo found himself feeling rather awake, probably as a result of sleeping most of the day away. Frodo-lad was poring over a large book while Frodo ate, so Frodo asked about it when he'd finished eating. "It's the accounts-book," Frodo-lad told him with a bit of a grimace. "Da wants me to take over managing most things when I come of age this year."
"Really? Might I take a look?"
Frodo-lad eyed him doubtfully. "I thought you had trouble reading."
"My handwriting, yes. Your father's handwriting, perhaps not. He always wrote very carefully, and I doubt that has changed much."
"All right," Frodo-lad relented and settled the book on Frodo's lap.
Frodo had to move the book forward and back until he could make out the letters, but even then he had to squint some to bring it in focus. Finally he found a good position, holding the book out almost at arm's length. He perused the columns, flipping back to the beginning and skimming the numbers recorded. His eyebrows rose as he calculated the difference between what he was reading and what he could remember being the state of affairs when he'd turned the estate over to Sam's care. "Your father has done quite well for himself," Frodo said finally. "Has he taken you on a trek through the lands yet?"
"I've gone with him a few times, but I won't have to do that part by myself yet. He says he might as well come along, what with needing to visit the folks as Mayor yet." Frodo-lad took the book back when Frodo offered it, and they fell to discussing the lands under the control of the Master of Bag End. Frodo felt a vague sense of satisfaction at how much he still remembered of the duties he'd carried out so long ago -it felt like a different life, almost- and Frodo-lad seemed surprised at how much he knew.
The conversation lagged after a while, and Frodo asked curiously, "Has there ever been talk of changing the name of Bag End?"
Frodo-lad slowly nodded. "Aye, but Da wouldn't hear of it. Says it's always been Bag End, and so it always shall be. But folk still talk, sometimes, especially while you were . . . shut away."
"Of course they did," Frodo said reasonably. "And I'm certain it will come up again when I die, for then there won't even be any Bagginses living in Bag End, much less as Master."
Frodo-lad said nothing.
"Would you change the name?" Frodo asked.
"Oh, I don't know. I can't imagine what else to call it," Frodo-lad said lamely.
Frodo chuckled. "Names are such a bother," he said musingly. "But don't let it worry you. If you ever decide to rename it, I'm sure you'll find a suitable name."
"Elanor probably wouldn't let me change it, anyhow," Frodo-lad said with a shrug.
"Ah, but she won't be Master," Frodo reminded him. "She may be older, but you have the final say. Or you will, anyway. Ask for advice, by all means, but go with your heart and your gut."
Frodo-lad nodded, wide-eyed. He thought he knew Mr. Frodo pretty well by now, but this was a side he'd never seen before. His Da's stories about the young Master of Bag End made a lot more sense now. Come to think of it, Mr. Frodo had to completely take over as Master when he came of age . . . Frodo-lad had to admit he was downright impressed. "H-how did you manage, running everything after Mr. Bilbo left?"
Frodo smiled. "With a lot of help from older, wiser folks." He yawned. "My, it must be getting late. Your mother will hurt us both if she finds out we've been talking so long. But, lad, while I doubt I can tell you anything that your father doesn't know, but if you have any questions, you're welcome to ask."
"I will," Frodo-lad said, suddenly feeling shy. "Do you need some water or anything before you go to sleep?"
"No, thank you, I think I'm all right." Frodo smiled a bit and added softly, "Good night."
"Good night, Mr. Frodo."