Febobe gave me the prompt:-

"But the mushrooms don't *belong* in the soup!" cried (fill in the blank with character name)

-Frodo turned an unhealthy shade of white, looking as if he might faint or be sick, not that anyone could say which it might be.

The Mushroom Mishap

I don't own the hobbits or Strider and the only mushrooms I know well come in tubs from the grocer.

Strider set a punishing pace as they travelled through Chetwood and the hobbits had to stumble along behind as best they could. Even their new pony found the going hard, having to be coaxed by Sam through some of the thicker copses.

As they approached evening of the first day Merry noticed that Frodo was walking more and more stiffly and he dropped back to see what was the matter. He knew his cousin well enough to realise that he would say nothing about any discomfort, unless confronted directly.

"I can see why they call him, Longshanks." Merry grinned as he fell into step.

"He certainly doesn't believe in taking time to admire the scenery. Have you noticed how silently he moves?"

"All the big folk I ever saw went crashing about in their clomping great boots, so that we could hear them a mile away." Merry caught Frodo's elbow as he stumbled. "Almost as noisy as you're being now. You're stumbling about like a bear in a thicket. What ever is the matter, cousin?"

Frodo grimaced as he accepted Merry's help to step over a fallen log. "Remember when I fell off the table at the Prancing Pony?"

"How could I ever forget? I thought we were sure to be thrown out."

"Well, let's just say that landing on my behind on a hard wood floor is not an experience I want to repeat any time soon." Frodo rubbed his rear and winced.

Merry chuckled. "Is that all? I thought you had at least broken a leg."

His words had the desired affect and Frodo snorted a laugh. "I see this old and decrepit hobbit will get no sympathy from you."

"Of course not, because you're neither of those."

Nonetheless, he continued to pace his cousin, helping him when he stumbled, until up ahead Strider called out, "We shall stop here for the night, gentlemen. Do not make the fire too large."

Pippin threw himself down with a dramatic huff as Sam began to unpack their cooking gear. Merry helped lower Frodo onto a log, wincing in sympathy when he saw him favour the left side as he sat. "You stay here while I help collect wood for the fire," Merry instructed.

A few minutes later Strider hunkered down before Mister Baggins. "What ails you?"

Frodo had to admit that the big man could be as forthright as a hobbit. "It's nothing. Just a bit of a bruise . . . from when I fell in the Pony."

Strider nodded. "Have you no embrocation to put on it?"

"We had to leave most of our non-food supplies behind when we lost the ponies," Frodo confessed. "Liniment or bread? Not a difficult choice for a hobbit," he added with a rueful smile.

For the first time Frodo saw their dour guide chuckle. "I am beginning to learn that. Sit here and once we have a fire going I shall see what I can do to ease you." He disappeared into the trees and within a few steps was lost to sight or hearing.

-0-

An hour later the hobbits sat around their small campfire, eating the thick vegetable stew that Sam had created. Frodo even had a portion of fried mushrooms that Sam said Mr Strider had brought specifically for him. Their guide was off in the woods somewhere doing something he called, "Checking the perimeter," whatever that meant. The mushrooms were delicious and Frodo was touched by the consideration, even as he fended off Pippin's wayward fork.

"I do not think we have been followed. My ploy seems to have worked." Strider settled, cross-legged by the fire and accepted the bowl Sam offered. "I ran back as far as the road and spotted some recent boot prints heading east but they showed no signs of turning off after us. They will probably travel a few more miles before they realise we are not ahead of them. By then it will be too dark for them to backtrack and pick up our trail."

Frodo's nose wrinkled. "At least you saw no hoof prints."

"Not fresh ones, no. Sam, where have you put those mushrooms I brought earlier? I need to set them to boil for a few minutes."

"Oh, there's no need, Mr Strider. I fried 'em up myself."

"And very nice they are, too. How ever did you know that mushrooms were my favourite food?" Frodo chewed another mouthful of the delicious treat but paused when he saw all colour drain from Strider's face.

"The mushrooms were not intended for eating. I brought them to make a poultice for your bruise. They are not edible!"

Frodo turned an unhealthy shade of white, looking as if he might faint or be sick, not that anyone could say which it might be. Everything seemed to slow down in Frodo's mind. It took him an age to set down his plate of mushrooms and days to spit out the half chewed piece in his mouth. Then he felt a hot flush race through his body, followed by the sensation of being dowsed in freezing water, and time returned to normal as he stumbled off into the trees.

Strider was only half a step behind him as Frodo dropped to his knees behind a convenient tree and was violently sick. For some time he was aware of nothing else, certain that he must have rid his stomach of at least a week's worth of food. When he leaned back on his heels Strider wiped his lips with a wet cloth and held out a water pouch with the instruction, "Swill and spit, then take slow sips."

Frodo accepted a little sheepishly. "You must think us very stupid," he murmured.

Strider rubbed soothing circles on his back. "No. I must learn to be more specific in my instructions. I am unused to travelling much with others and you are all new to the wilds. I shall be more careful in future."

"Will I take any further hurt from the mushrooms?"

Strider wrinkled his nose at the evidence of Frodo's reaction so far. "I doubt your body had much time to absorb the toxins and their effects are not deadly, just unpleasant."

Frodo smiled ruefully. "It pains me to say this, Strider, but in future will you please assume we are all faunts when it comes to plants in the wild."

"Faunts?" Strider helped him to his feet.

"Children. The young ones who, given a toy, will take it straight to their mouths."

Strider chuckled as he led his companion back to the fire. "Understood."

END