Author Notes : First things first – reviewers' section. tiggivon – aww, I made you cry ? That means it was a good description, yes ? ^_^ Have a Kleenex and a cookie. And another chapter. Amanda – oh, no, Frodo's perfectly right to be so anxious. *sniffs* Poor Sam… *lower lip begins to tremble* But I'll make him better ! Just not in this chapter… *grins* thanks for not throwing the spork. Butterfly - *quirks an eyebrow* Bubblegum Crisis ? You people in Hampshire are weird. j/k ! It's such a – such a boof-like thing for you to watch ! ^_^ F.C.A.S., yes, I'm a chronic sufferer, apparently. Love you, will write soon ! shirebound – I know, my head hurts so awfully when I have a fever. Icky. And wouldn't it be terrific if people could actually communicate like that ? (Well, between soulmates, anyway. If just anybody could read my thoughts, I'd be terrified.) And you'll have to endure, 'cause they're being so brave. Our sweet boys… IloveSam – yes ! I got your email ! And I'll write soon, very soon, I promise, but my crappy mail server is down again and when it's not, I don't have time to write ! *sighs heavily* Hey ! Don't throw things at me ! I love Sam, too ! But angst is essential to the plotline… ^_^ Mistress-Samwise – angel wings ? Oh, c'mon ! You've gotta explain that ! I'm dying of curiosity, seriously ! *pleads for explanation* Please ? Please please pretty please ? You can't refuse the Queen, can you ? Criminy, how much does your backpack weigh ? *hands you several aspirin and another chapter* Hope this helps. *looks at you worriedly* Mish – poor, deprived reviewer. ^_^ Here's another chapter for you to work on, and sorry it took so long for me to update ! Yes, angst is good, very good. Have some more ! Tigrin – if you love reading it, I love writing it ^_^ TK – ooo, perfect timing on my part then, huh ? ^_^ I love Bilbo, he's so great. Tersa – hi ! I love new reviewers ! Mackrel, herring – it's still very weird, so – I wrote another chapter ! Yay ! ElvenPickle – yeah, I really wanted to show the closeness between them. I'm glad you approve of the way I went about it. So, finally. Onto the story. Major, major angst !
Frodo had to pause several times to catch his breath as he carried Sam back to the bedroom, and his head kept spinning with dizziness. He stopped just outside the bedroom door and sat down with his back to the wall. Sorry, Sam, he said. I need to sit for a moment catch my breath. His lungs burned as though he'd just run a race, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to get enough air. He felt faint, lightheaded, and decided that sitting down was a far better idea than fainting and dropping the boy. Sam didn't seem to care either which way, being barely half-conscious, so Frodo sat and closed his eyes. Bilbo's gone to get your mother, he told Sam. So she can … she can take… care.. of .. you… He was young, he was sick, he was achingly tired, and closing his eyes was all it took for that to catch up with him. He had been moving on adrenaline, born of his extreme anxiety for Sam, but the adrenaline was gone and in moments, he was fast asleep. The soft, grey mist of his tiredness covered Sam's thoughts, and the child slipped gratefully into unconciousness.
So Bell and Bilbo found them, some twenty minutes later. The walk down the Hill and back up again was very slippery, and took time, and Bell had naturally had to get dressed. But now she was here, and Bilbo led her through the halls to Frodo's room and the room adjoining. They halted, surprised to see the boys sitting in the hallway, and it took a moment for them to realize that they were asleep. Bell knelt down beside them and stroked Frodo's hair.
« Wake up, lad, » she said softly, but Frodo didn't. She turned to Bilbo. « Help me carry them, » she said, lifting her son from Frodo's arms. This brought Frodo fully awake, with a suddenness that set him coughing again. His cough sounded worse, much worse than it had earlier, and it took longer for the fit to pass. Bilbo pounded him on the back, but Frodo coughed nothing up, and this was worrying to Bell. Hmmm. Infusion of bluebells should bring that phlegm up, she thought. We'll try that. « Carry him in, sir, » she said to Bilbo, and walked into the bedroom.
Bilbo picked up his nephew with an ease that surprised him greatly. Dear gods, but he's thin ! he thought. Frodo was unnaturally slender for a hobbit, so was Sam, but Bilbo had never before realized just how slender he was. The teenager in his arms weighed practically nothing, and Bilbo found himself wondering whether anyone so thin could survive the ravages of fever. And infection, in young Samwise's case. He shook his head and carried Frodo into the bedroom.
Bell had laid Sam on the bed and was busy lighting the fire. The room was a little too cool for comfort, and to the boys it felt positively frigid. Sam, half-awakened by his separation from Frodo, was convulsed with shivers, and Frodo wasn't doing much better. Bilbo placed him on the bed next to Sam and went off to fetch all the extra blankets he could find. He went to Frodo's room first – it being the closest – and grabbed the blankets from the bed there. As he did, he pulled back the sheets a little, and his eyes widened.
Bleeding something awful, Frodo had said. Now Bilbo believed him. The great, dark stain spread across the lower half of the bed and had soaked through the sheets above. The blood was still sticky and wet, and the smell of infection was strong. Bilbo grimaced in disgust and threw the covers back over the stain. We can take care of that later, he decided, carrying the blankets back to the boys. The fire was burning brightly and had taken the chill from the room already. Bell had tucked Frodo in, but not Sam, under whose bleeding foot she had placed her folded cloak. Bilbo handed the blankets to her and went off in search of more. As he left the room, he heard Sam's small, soft voice saying, « I'm so cold, Mum, I'm just so cold. »
« I know, baby, » Bell murmured. « An' we're trying to help, so you just lay still. »
He will, too, Bilbo knew, surprised, as always, by the small boy's maturity. How many children would be throwing a fit right now, and screaming, and crying, and refusing to cooperate – but not him. He's like Frodo. They're both so… self-controlled. Self-contained. Two of a kind, they are. Small wonder they've become friends. Though it would be easier if they weren't absolutely inseparable. I wish I knew what that was all about. They only met two days ago one generally doesn't think of friendships this close forming that fast. But they're both a little strange. Not very hobbitish at all. They suit eachother, I suppose. He sighed as he went from bedroom to bedroom collecting blankets till he couldn't carry any more. This ought to be enough, even for them, he thought, and, staggering a little for his load, brought them back to the room and dropped them on the floor by the side of the bed.
Frodo had turned on his side and wrapped his arms around Sam, in a manner that was quickly becoming familiar to them. His body heat warmed the child somewhat, and Sam pressed closer to him. Bell was gone, and Bilbo looked around, confused. « Cousin, do you know where she went ? » he asked.
« To the kitchen, » Frodo mumbled, his face pressed against Sam's neck. Bilbo walked from the room and met her coming down the hallway, her arms full of things.
« Want some help ? » he asked. Bell nodded gratefully.
« Please, » she said, and Bilbo took from her a bowl, several towels, and the bottle of brandy. She carried a larger bowl, full of cold compresses, a huge roll of bandages, and the small, blue bottle that contained the poppy-juice. When they had brought these to the bedroom and placed them on Frodo's desk – the largest space available – Bell walked back to the kitchen and returned with the tea-kettle, honey, and a basket of various teas and herbal what-nots that she had grabbed off the shelves. She was listing them in her head and considering what her cousin had taught her. Chamomile for their sore throats, valerian to help them sleep, peppermint to soothe their stomachs – high fevers cause stomach upset… That leaves bluebell for the coughing an' deer's tongue for the fever…if an infection's what Sam's got, then echinacea's the thing.
Once these had been set down, she went to the bathroom, filled the tea-kettle, and hung it over the fire to start the water boiling. Then they turned their attention to the boys. They could hear Sam's teeth chattering from across the room, and his small form shivered violently in Frodo's arms. Bell, removing her cloak from beneath his foot, found it soaked almost all through, and was alarmed. Makes no sense why should it be bleeding so badly ? she thought. Hobbits have amazing healing abilities, being an extremely resilient people, and Sam's wound should have been healing already. It definitely should not be bleeding as though freshly opened. Bell considered taking the bandages off immediately, but remembering the pain Sam had been put through when the bandages were first wrapped on, she paused. I should make him that tea, first. That'll make this easier on both of us. Wait – does he still have some left from last night ?
She got up abruptly and walked into Frodo's room. Sure enough, the half-full mug was still there on the bedside table. She took it and brought it back to Sam. Alright, baby, sit up, she thought, and slipped her arm beneath his shoulders to support him. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, and she held the mug to his lips. He swallowed, made a face, and swallowed again, drinking till it was empty. He had already learned that, awful as it tasted, it worked, and worked fast. Bell gave it a few minutes to take its full effect, and laying him back down, placed a towel under his foot and began the careful task of unwinding his bandages.
Sam was aware of a terrible pain that went through his foot and leg at each movement, but it was as if he were detached from it, an impartial observer. The shivering slowed, too, though he was still bitterly cold. All his muscles relaxed, and he went limp. He didn't like this feeling, this – detachedness, that made him feel a stranger to his own body, but it was better than the alternative. He lay still as his mother unwound the bloody bandages, that stuck to eachother and smelled strongly of infection.
When, at last, Bell was finished, she threw the dripping mess into the bowl Bilbo had carried. The deep wound on Sam's small foot hadn't even begun healing on the contrary, it looked even worse than before. Dark blood ran freely from it, and the edges were inflamed and discolored. There's our infection, she thought. Adder's tongue ointment for that – do I have any ? She rummaged through the jars, bottles, and boxes she had thrown into the basket, frowning deeply. No, no, no – ah, what's this ? She held up a small, ceramic jar. It had something painted on its side in Elvish, but Bell couldn't even read the Common Tongue, so that was no help. She opened it to see what was inside, and a slightly acrid scent reached her nose. That's the stuff, she thought with satisfaction. But I'll have to clean 'im up, first.
Bilbo, meanwhile, had managed to ease Frodo's grip around Sam's waist sufficiently to lay his nephew on his back, instead of his side. Then he took the cold compresses and began applying them to Frodo's forehead. Not *again*, Frodo groaned mentally. As if I wasn't cold enough already ! The water trickled into his dark curls and down his scalp. It felt like ice, and Frodo, who was already shivering, fought the urge to pull the washcloth from his forehead and fling it at Bilbo. Be reasonable, he told himself sternly. He's trying to help. Yeah, well, I'm freezing to death, came the rather petulant answer. Frodo was not at his most rational at two o'clock in the morning, and especially not with a high fever.
When Bilbo took the one washcloth from his forehead and replaced it with another, Frodo lost his temper and his struggle. Letting go of Sam abruptly, he grabbed the washcloth, sat up, and – with a supreme effort of constraint – pressed it firmly into Bilbo's hand. He had really wanted to throw it across the room, but he sensed that this would not ingratiate him with his cousin. Nor would it be a seemly thing to do in front of his best friend, who, Frodo had to admit, was behaving far better than he himself was. And he's twelve years younger and in much more pain, he knew. So behave yourself, Frodo Baggins. Having given the washcloth back to his astonished cousin, he lay back against the pillows and wrapped his arms around Sam again.
« Frodo, cousin, » Bilbo said. « You need to sit up. I need to put this on your forehead again. »
« No, you don't, » Frodo said. Bilbo raised his brows.
« Yes, I do, » he protested.
« Well, I won't sit up, » Frodo said stubbornly.
« Why not ? » asked Bilbo. Frodo paused. He hadn't expected Bilbo to ask he had expected an argument, or a lecture of sorts.
« I'm cold, » he said. « And those things are only making it worse. And I'm dead tired and I just want to sleep and I can't do that when you're busy putting those things on me. And they're wet, and they make my hair wet, and I don't like them. » Bilbo considered this.
« Those are all very reasonable arguments, » he consented. « But you're cold because your temperature's so high, and you're tired because you're sick, and unless we can bring your fever down, you're only going to get sicker. So I have to put 'these things' on your forehead to try and cool you off. I'm sorry you don't like them, but Sam doesn't like the poppy-tea Bell keeps giving him, and he drinks it. » Frodo sighed heavily, defeated.
« Well, hurry it up, already, » he said crossly, letting go of Sam and sitting up again. Bilbo smiled.
« Alright, lad, alright… » He caught Bell's eye and amusement sparked between them – amusement they didn't dare voice for fear of offending the young man who sat there, frowning. But hidden laughter, all the same, at Frodo's show of temper. They shared one thought – teenagers. Bell shook her head, surpressing a smile, and began to wash Sam's foot.
She had filled her bowl with the water she'd been boiling, and dipped Sam's foot into it. The water turned red instantly, and darker red when she rubbed some of the dried blood off with her hands. She placed a towel under his foot and went and poured the water down the bathroom sink. Then she came back, refilled the bowl, and washed his foot again. And again. And again, till she had to boil more water, because she'd used it all up. And again, she washed it, but it still kept bleeding. I give up. It's been washed. Now I've got to try an' disinfect it.
Emptying the bowl and rinsing it out, she came back to the bedroom and sat down again. She was picking up the bottle of brandy when she heard her son's soft voice. She came closer to him and leaned to hear his words.
« Hmmm ? » she asked. Sam's eyes were half-closed in exhaustion and his lips barely moved. He was hardly audible, but she could make out some of what he was trying to say.
« … cold, Mum, I'm .. . don't feel… could I… stomach hurts… so cold… a blanket ? »
« Yes, » she whispered, and stepped round to the pile Bilbo had placed near the side of the bed. She picked up the thickest, heaviest ones she could find and laid them over him, leaving his right leg exposed. « Better ? » she asked. Sam made a queer movement somewhere between a nod and a shake of his head. His lips moved again and she strained to hear him.
« … hurts, I don't feel good.. .think I'm… be sick, » he murmured.
« When ? Right now ? » Bell asked, alarmed. Sam nodded, and she grabbed the bowl. Helping him to sit up, she held his head while he retched with a breathy, coughing sound. Three glasses of water, two mugs of tea, and vegetable soup all came up – fortunately, it didn't amount to much, but he was still miserable. He choked up bile for a few minutes before he was finished. Bell laid him back gently against his pillows and went to clean out the bowl.
Frodo turned to him, feeling rather sick himself and fully aware of what had just happened. He touched Sam's fevered brow softly and stroked his sweat-damp hair. I'm going to die, the child thought to him. Frodo smiled half-heartedly. You said that before, when they were binding your ankle, and you didn't die then, he reminded him. Aye, but that was then, Sam said. I wasn't throwing up then. An' I didn't have an infection. ~ Don't be stupid. Just because you have an infection doesn't mean you're going to die ! Frodo said sharply. Sam said nothing to this, and cold fear settled on Frodo's heart. Please, Father, don't make a liar out of me, he prayed. doesn't mean you're going to die, he said again. It *doesn't*, Samwise. Sam opened his eyes and looked at Frodo sidelong for a moment. Frodo moved his hand to the back of Sam's neck and massaged there, gently, till the child bowed his head and relaxed against Frodo's touch. It doesn't, Frodo soothed. I promise.
A single tear trickled down the boy's cheek and dripped onto the blankets. Sam was, after all, only four years old. He was wounded, aching, completely exhausted his temperature was 'through the roof', as Bilbo had put it to Bell he was sick to his stomach, his head was aching horribly, the pain in his foot and his ankle was beyond description, and he had an infection. Being altogether too precocious, he knew what happened to people with infections. They died. Oh, some lived, but most times they ended up crippled – by the fever or the loss of a limb, it made no difference. They were crippled for life, and to a four year-old, that seemed just as bad as dying. Of course, there were those who survived the infection and the fever it brought and lived on without any sign that they had ever been ill. But they were few and far between, and Sam didn't really have any hope of being that lucky. So he fought back his tears as Frodo rubbed his neck and shoulders, and wondered why life was so unfair.
It's alright, you'll be alright, Frodo whispered to him, and he looked up. Frodo's eyes were kind, so kind, and his hands were so gentle, and his thoughts were so comforting, and his love was so steadying. Sam wanted to scream for the unfairness of it all. I just met him ! Why do I have to die now ? he asked the Father. I don't *want* to die ! I love him, I want to be with him, why is this happening to me ? His dark green eyes swam with tears and Frodo pulled him over so his head lay on Frodo's chest.
Bilbo, who had gone out to make more cold compresses, because the ones he'd used hadn't worked so far, came back in and found them thus, with the little boy weeping soundlessly in his nephew's arms. He paused in the doorway, watching them, and held up his arm to stop Bell when she came back with the now-clean bowl. He didn't want to startle them, disturb them. Frodo looked so strange, sitting there, so much older than his years, with a look on his face that Bilbo had never seen on any hobbit – a deep, inward expression sorrow and fear and love beyond all reckoning shone in his distant blue eyes as he looked down at the child. He ran his fingers listlessly through the boy's soft hair and laid his cheek to the top of Sam's head.
Still, Bell and Bilbo stood there, watching them, till it occurred to them that Sam's foot still needed bandaging. I'll pass on the ointment for tonight, Bell thought, and walked quietly into the room. They didn't notice her Frodo didn't even look up until she began wrapping Sam's foot. Be gentle, his eyes pleaded with her, and she was. Sam kept crying – why look up ? It was just pain and more pain on what he already had. Frodo tried to think of something to calm him, and a picture of the glen formed in his mind. He thought harder, till the picture was clear, and thought it to Sam. It worked. The silent glen, with its canopy of trees and soft, gold-green light, soothed him, and he quieted. Sing me that song again, he whispered. In my head.
So Frodo thought of the music and then of the words, and before he was finished, Bell was done with her bandaging and Sam had fallen asleep. Frodo eased them from their sitting postion till they were lying down, and Bilbo came and laid more blankets over them. Frodo smiled up at him gratefully, surprised when he remembered that only two days ago, he had been furious with him. How could I ever doubt he loves me ? he wondered as Bilbo smiled back.
« We'll check on you later, » Bell whispered, and kissed the boys before she and Bilbo walked quietly from the room. Frodo turned and tightened his arms about Sam again. You'll be alright, he whispered fiercely, and fell asleep humming his song to himself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*