Author Notes : I'm really, really in a rush, no time for a reviewers' section. Sorry, guys ! I love you all ! To my new reviewers – so glad you found this story and are enjoying it ! *cookies for everybody* You're all the greatest, I love you forever, etc, etc. ^_^
Sam ? Sam, where are you ? Where did you go ? Frodo thought to the child. A heavy anxiety was on him, though he didn't know why, and he felt like he had been searching for ages. He was walking through trees, tall trees, and the long grass caught about his feet, slowing him down. He pulled free and walked more quickly, and his uneasiness increased. Something's wrong, he knew. Something's wrong with him. The stars burned like torches in the sky, unnaturally large and bright and close. It's so hot, he thought. Hot and breathless. Sam ? Faint silver laughter glittered on the air, and he went towards the sound. He walked forward and came to the end of the trees, and found himself standing on the edge of a wide field.
…barefoot in the night, I'll dance, with starlight in my hair. His own soft voice sang back to him, and an unseen flute took up the melody, sounding hushed in the still, heavy heat. In the center of the field, his Elf-child danced, clad all in white with a silver circlet shining in his thick, golden hair. Faint with relief, Frodo ran to him, but he slipped, falling hard to the ground. When he moved to raise himself again, he felt a wetness on his hands, and saw they were slick with blood. He stared at them, horrified, and then at Sam, whose dancing feet left a spreading red pool on the ground behind them.
Sam ! he cried, but his voice fell dead in the heat, reduced to a strained whisper. Sam didn't hear him, and danced on, heedless of his wounds. Sam ! Frodo cried again, reaching out for him. Wait ! Stop ! The music quickened, and still the child danced, moving to the rhythm effortlessly as the pace grew faster and the song, louder. The noise made Frodo's head ache, the heat was thick and suffocating, and the stars grew huge and blindingly bright. Their white light merged together and the sky was filled with flame, against which he could see Sam's dancing silhouette. Then there was a tremendous crash, the white sky turned blood red, and the child disappeared.
No ! Frodo screamed, and woke. He was sitting up in the bed, breathing hard and sweating more, his heart pounding. The room was cool and dark and quiet, with no light but the faint red glow of the embers on the hearth, and no sound but his own ragged breathing and the soft chime of his beside clock sounding two. He jerked around to where Sam slept, and saw Sam was half-kneeling, bending over the edge of the bed as though looking for something. His first reaction was intense relief, and crawling over to where Sam knelt, he threw his arms around him and held tight. Blue surprise flashed bright in his mind. Frodo ? Sam asked, looking to him.
« You're alright, » Frodo whispered. Praise the Father, you're alright, you're alright, you're alright… *Are* you alright ? he asked, and sat back, noticing now how badly Sam was shivering. I'm cold, the boy answered. I can't sleep, so I was goin' to get some more of those blankets from th' chest. But it feels like knives when I move my leg, an' I can't reach. I didn't mean to wake you… ~ No, you didn't that was – something else. Hold on a moment, Frodo instructed, and fumbled with the matches on his bedside table. Striking one, he lit the candle there and leaned over the end of the bed. He opened the chest and pulled out all the extra blankets and threw them onto the bed. Then, closing the chest quietly, he sat back and looked at Sam.
Sam's eyes looked very strange, and Frodo couldn't make out why. Look at me, he said, laying his hands on the boy's slim shoulders and looking at him intently. What's wrong with his eyes ? I don't – then realization struck him. Sam's eyes were so glassy Frodo could see his reflection in them and his pupils were hugely dilated. This is bad, this is very bad. I *knew* you were sick ! Why didn't they believe me ? Oh, what do I do ? I don't know what to do…
Sam's shoulders shook under Frodo's hands as he shivered. I'm cold, he whimpered, but Frodo felt the heat rising from his skin. Little one ? he thought worriedly, and pressed his wrist to Sam's forehead. « Ilbereth ! » he swore, barely remembering to keep his voice down. Even Frodo could tell that Sam's temperature was dangerously high. Listening, he heard the roughness in Sam's breathing, and he became aware of a stickiness on his legs. He looked and saw the spreading red stain on the sheets below. Sam's white linen bandages were soaked through, and stiff with dried blood on the edges.
There was a smell, sweet and faintly putrid, in the air. Infection, Frodo thought. Oh, dear Father, not that. People died of infected wounds, he knew, or were permanently crippled by them. Some had whole limbs amputated, including his cousin Rollo, who had torn his foot on a piece of rusted wire and almost died from the ensuing fever. Now he had only one leg – the other stopped at the knee. It was the only way to stop the spread of gangrene, they said, but Rollo had been Frodo's friend at times, and when Frodo went to see him, he had been appalled. They took your leg ? ! he remembered saying, his young soul filled with pity and horror. Rollo did well enough with just one, but he would always be a cripple and it burned him with shame.
It can't be infected, it just can't, Frodo thought, his mind turning again to the present, and to the child who shook with fever-chill. Taking one of the blankets, he wrapped it around Sam's shoulders and held him close. His thoughts were racing. What do I do ? He's so sick, he's so hot, he's got an infection, oh Father, what do I do ? Mistress ! She'll know ! But Bell had gone home long since, leaving shortly after the boys fell asleep. Frodo, however, didn't know this, and getting shakily to his feet, he picked Sam up. Come on, I'm taking you to your mother. She'll know what to do, he said with as much confidence as he could muster. Sam nodded wearily and set his teeth against the pain that shot through his leg. I will not cry, he told himself harshly. I won't, I won't, I won't. He's got me an' I'm safe an' we're goin' to get Mum, so I'm alright an' I've got no business crying. I won't cry. I won't. None of this stopped the tears from sliding heavily down his flushed cheeks and making Frodo's shoulder damp.
Frodo carried him through the hallways, looking in every bedroom for Bell – but, of course, she wasn't in any of them. Bag End was a veritable mansion, and Frodo had looked in ten bedrooms already. The blood-dark waves of pain that drowned the child's thoughts washed over him and made him feel sick and faint. He needs help, you idiot, he reprimanded himself. Faint now and you'll be no good to him – nor to anyone else, either. Be strong. But Frodo, too, was sick, and his fever was high and his breath came short and with difficulty. Being strong was already hard, and it was getting harder. Only Sam's slight body burning in his arms gave him the resolve to keep looking, or he would have sunk down with his back to the wall and fallen asleep again.
Where is she ? Frodo thought, a bit panicked. Alright. Alright, calm down, he ordered himself. She might not be here. This is taking too long. Get Bilbo. Yes, Bilbo he can help… He hadn't thought of his cousin before, but now it seemed like an excellent idea. I'm taking you to Bilbo, Sam, he said, but the boy was in too much misery to answer. Right, then, Frodo thought, and walked back down the hallways to his cousin's room. Sam's small foot was still bleeding badly, and the drenched bandages began to drip. The blood made a soft, splashing sound as it hit the ground, and Frodo grimaced. He walked as quickly as he dared and came to Bilbo's door. He half-considered knocking, but decided the gravity of the situation outweighed ritual courtesies by far, and opened the door.
There you are, Frodo said to Sam, laying him in the fireside chair. Stay still, I'll wake him. He walked over to the bedside and shook Bilbo's shoulder lightly. « Bilbo ! » he whispered. Bilbo frowned in his sleep, but did not waken. Frodo shook harder. « Bilbo ! » he whispered again, more loudly. « Bilbo, wake up ! » Bilbo woke with a start and looked up at him crossly.
« What ? What is it ? Is the house on fire ? » he asked.
« No, » Frodo answered, confused. Why should the house be on fire ? he wondered.
« Well, then, » said Bilbo, and closed his eyes again. Frodo breathed out shortly, annoyed.
« Bilbo ! » he said, and raised his voice. It hurt his throat to do it, but he overlooked that for the time being.
« Oh, for the Father's sake, » Bilbo muttered under his breath, opening his eyes again. « Cousin, do you know what time it is ? » Frodo glared at him.
« Yes, I know what time it is ! » he said. « It's two o'clock. »
« Well, whatever it is, it can wait until a less ungodly hour, » said Bilbo, and started to close his eyes again.
« Bilbo ! » Frodo said sharply. His tone made Bilbo sit up and look at him closely. His pale cheeks were now darkly flushed and his blue eyes glittered with fever. Bilbo remembered now that Frodo was ill, and was wondering whether he might be delirious. It would explain this behavior, anyway, he thought.
« Yes ? » he asked, in far more civil tones than before.
« Sam's sick, » said Frodo. « Very sick. »
Sam ? Bilbo had forgotten temporarily that Sam was even in the house. Oh, Sam. Oh, dear, he thought. « How – that is to say, when did you – ? » he asked.
« Half an hour ago, quarter of an hour. I don't know, » said Frodo irritably. « But he's burning up and his foot's bleeding something awful. » Bilbo got out of bed and put on his bathrobe.
« Where is he ? » he asked, expecting Frodo to lead him back to his bedroom. Consequently, he was extremely surprised when Frodo turned round and lifted the child out of his fireside chair.
« I brought him here, » Frodo said in answer to Bilbo's look. « I thought Mistress was still here, but we looked and she wasn't. So I brought him to you. I thought you might know what to do with him, » he said, and raised his brows questioningly. Bilbo hesitated.
« Well – set him on the bed, I suppose, » he said, and Frodo sat down on the bed with Sam in his lap. First things first, Bilbo Baggins, he told himself. Temperature. He laid his hand against Sam's cheek and then his wrist against Sam's forehead. « Varda in Valinor ! » he swore, and he didn't keep his voice down. Both Sam and Frodo flinched at the pain the sound caused them, and Bilbo bit his lip apologetically. « Sorry, » he said more quietly. « How long has he been like this ? » he asked Frodo, who shrugged.
« I've been awake less than an hour, » he answered. « I don't know. Could be that long, probably longer. Bilbo – » Frodo paused, looking down to Sam and then up to his cousin.
« Yes ? » said Bilbo. Frodo looked down at Sam again, and his expression was almost afraid.
« Bilbo, he – he's got an infection, » Frodo said, looking as though he half-expected lightning to strike him for the remark. Bilbo's eyes widened.
« Are you sure? » he asked. « Don't go jumping to conclusions, now it may be something else. »
« I'm sure, » Frodo whispered.
« Absolutely sure ? » Bilbo asked, wishing fervently for a 'no'. His heart sank when Frodo nodded, and sank even further at the tears that filled his cousin's large blue eyes. Oh, *no*, he thought grimly, and looked to Sam again. The child lay shivering in Frodo's arms, his fair face flushed and heavy tears slipping from behind his long, black lashes. His bandaged foot dripped dark blood onto the floor, and Bilbo, too, could smell the sick-sweetness of infection. He closed his eyes a moment. Pull yourself together, Bilbo, or you'll be no good to either of them.
« Sam ? » he said, crouching down beside them. « Look at me. Can you look at me ? »
Open your eyes, little one, Frodo said gently, and Sam opened them. Bilbo stared at him, trying to make out why he looked so strange. Then, as with Frodo, he realized – I can see my reflection ! Dear Eru, his eyes are like glass ! Sam's pupils were so large his eyes looked black, and the pain in his young face was almost too much to bear. Bilbo could see he was trying to be brave, and gave him a half-hearted smile. « I need to check your foot, » he said softly. « I'm going to have to take off the bandages. Alright ? Can you hold still for me ? » With his strange, self-controlled maturity, Sam nodded.
« I'll try, » he whispered.
« Bravo ! » Bilbo congratulated him, patting his shoulder lightly. But the instant he began to unwind the bandages, Sam cried out, startling him. What startled him even more was that Frodo had cried out as well. Looking up at them, their expressions were the same, and Bilbo felt very odd. He moved to continue unwinding them, and Sam bit back a scream.
« Bilbo, stop, » said Frodo breathlessly. « Please, just stop. » Tears were running down his face, and had Bilbo not known better, he might have assumed Frodo was the injured one of the two. His nephew looked down from him to Sam, who had his arms around Frodo's neck and his face buried in Frodo's shoulder, sobbing quietly. Frodo's expression changed, and Sam hiccuped and nodded. He looked up and their eyes met, and again – as two days before – Bilbo saw the strange intensity that burned between them. Frodo kissed Sam's burning forehead and looked to Bilbo again.
« He wants his mother, » Frodo whispered. « Please. » Bilbo hesitated, and nodded.
« I'll – I'll go get her, then, » he said. « They said anything, anytime… I hope two in the morning isn't too early, » he said under his breath, and got to his feet. « Stay here, » he instructed the boys. « Or rather – Frodo, take him to the adjoining room and light the fire in there. »
« Why there ? » Frodo asked.
« You said he bled everywhere, I assume that means the sheets as well, » Bilbo said. « So go to the room adjoining to yours and light the fire there. You can stay there for the rest of the night. Meantime, I'll go get Bell. » Frodo nodded and stood, slowly. He walked haltingly from the room and disappeared down the hallways, and Bilbo frowned after him anxiously.
Complications, he thought. I had hoped we could avoid them. Sighing heavily, he threw on some clothes, grabbed his cloak, and walked out the front door sloshing his way to Bagshot Row through the driving rain.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: I'll make him better, I promise! Please don't throw things at me!