CHAPTER 6

With acknowledgement to Frodo Baggins of Bag End . . . who taught me everything I know about setting an invalid tray.

Frodo closed the door to Bilbo's room and leaned against the wall. Silent tears, which he had been holding in check for the past half-hour, now spilled down his cheeks and he slid to the floor, drawing up his knees and wrapping his hands about his ankles. Thus it was that Elrohir found him a few minutes later.

"Are you feeling unwell, Frodo?" He knelt down and touched a hand to Frodo's brow. "Father sent me to remind you to go to your bed."

"I'm sorry, Elrohir." Frodo sniffed and brushed his sleeve across his face. "I'm being silly. Yes. I am rather tired. Tell him I'm on my way to bed now." He accepted Elrohir's hand to help him up and headed back down the hall to his own room. Once safely inside, however, he started crying again and, climbing onto the over-large bed he fell asleep sobbing into his pillow.

He was being moved . . . someone was tugging gently at his coat sleeve and unbuttoning his weskit. Frodo opened his eyes as Elrond lifted him to pull the weskit off and laid him back onto the pillows.

"Do you want to do the rest of it yourself?" The elf stood back and pointed to a clean nightshirt draped at the foot of the bed.

Pinking a bit at the thought that such a mighty lord should have to undress him, Frodo sat up and began pulling at the buttons of his shirt. "I'm sure I can manage. I didn't know you were here. I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep."

To save him further embarrassment, Elrond turned his back and crossed to the hearth to prod the logs in the grate to life. Then he moved to a small table by the wall and began to sort through his herbal. Frodo had not noticed the box when he entered the room earlier, but then he had not noticed much of anything and he swallowed back more threatening tears as he finished changing. The healer returned to his bed with a small cup, just as Frodo was fastening the last button on his nightshirt.

Setting the cup on the bedside table, the elf helped Frodo under the covers and plumped up the pillows so that he was sitting up. Once he was settled he offered the cup.

"Drink it all, please. It will help you sleep."

Frodo sipped and found that it was camomile tea, laced with the rich honey that he had come to associate with Lord Elrond's teas.

"Where do you get this honey from? I have never tasted anything like it." He felt a little embarrassed that Lord Elrond would care for him personally and tried to draw the conversation to a safe topic.

Elrond complied, for a moment.

"It comes from Lothlorien. From the flowers of the Mallorn trees."

Elrond pushed aside the distraction and smiled as he pulled up a chair to the bedside. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His patient blinked. "Talk about what?"

"Talk about why you were found sobbing on the floor outside Bilbo's room and why you just cried yourself to sleep?" There was no note of censure in Elrond's voice and his face showed only concern.

Frodo tried to take a deep breath and broke into a fit of coughing. Elrond waited patiently, wiping Frodo's face with a cool damp cloth when it subsided.

"It's . . . " Frodo found his bottom lip beginning to quiver and tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He clamped his jaw shut and swallowed, then tried again. "It's Bilbo."

He looked into Elrond's face, pleadingly. "He's always been there for me and I had hoped . . . but he has aged so. He doesn't seem to understand." He broke off as tears began to track down his face again.

The elf reached into his pocket and offered a clean white hanky, which Frodo accepted and wiped at his eyes. "You probably think I'm very silly. It's just that, for most of my life he has been my anchor. He was the only parent I really knew, as well as a friend."

Elrond merely nodded. "Go on."

Frodo began to feel more comfortable and settled back as his body relaxed, sipping the warm fragrant tea. The elf's presence was calming and he felt that he could open his heart. For his part, Elrond watched as the sedative began to take hold on the tiny, worn out soul.

"I wanted to share with him . . . to tell him . . . what happened . . . what it was like . . . how much it hurt." He wiped away a fresh stream of tears. "But I don't think he even understands . . . where I went . . . or why." Frodo snuggled down into the covers a little. The fire was warming the room and the bed was soft and inviting to his aching body.

Elrond's voice was gentle and comforting. "It is the way of mortals. As they reach the end of their span on this earth they begin to fade. Possession of the Ring has given him a longer span than is usual but once it left, all those years caught up with him."

His eyelids were heavy and Frodo decided to rest them for a moment. Elrond said nothing as they fluttered closed, the dark lashes settling on flushed cheeks. When the hobbit spoke next his words were hardly more than a whisper.

"But, who can I talk to, now?"

Elrond snagged the tilting cup from Frodo's fingers and pulled up the covers, tucking them under the little one's chin. The tiny form turned on to his side and curled into a ball, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he sank into fretful sleep.

He was too hot but something cool and damp was dabbing at his face and neck. Frodo forced open sticky eyes and struggled to sit up, collapsing as soon as he started to cough. Hands lifted him up and supported him until the deep hacking stopped, then leaned him back against extra pillows. With a great act of will Frodo managed to bring the world into focus and found Sam perched on his bedside, holding a cloth in his hand.

"I'm sorry, Mr Frodo. I didn't mean to wake you, but you looked a mite flushed," Sam apologised.

"It's alright, Sam. What time is it?" Frodo leaned back gratefully into the soft pillows, glancing out of the long windows at the grey, rainsoaked world, outside.

"It's about ten o'clock, sir. Happy birthday."

Frodo blinked and smiled. "Oh my. I had forgotten." His face fell. "And I have no presents for anyone."

"Having you back and here safe is enough present for us," came Merry's voice from the doorway. He entered, carrying a covered tray and followed by Pippin. The knight of Gondor set a small table at Frodo's bedside and Merry placed the tray upon it.

"Complements of Lord Elrond. With instructions that you are to "eat as much of it as you can manage and stay in bed"," announced Merry in a passable imitation of Elrond's sternest voice. All four hobbits burst into fits of giggles, although Frodo's deteriorated into another bought of coughing.

Sam pulled aside the cover on the tray and all four stared at the contents. All the dishes were small but there were so many of them . . . each designed to tempt a flagging appetite.

Tiny points of toast were arranged on a small plate surrounding a cup of light chicken broth, redolent with herbs. A dish of softly scrambled eggs sat next to a bowl of creamy oatmeal, dressed with a large swirl of honey. Two soft bread rolls, still warm from the oven, shared a plate with a tiny dish of strawberry conserve and a pat of golden butter. A large spoonful of creamed mushrooms sat upon a slice of toast and a bowl of applesauce was mixed with soaked plump raisins. A little bunch of pale green grapes nestled on another plate with some slices of purple skinned amber fleshed plum. A tumbler of warm milk was sprinkled with nutmeg and honeyed steam curled lazily from a large cup of camomile tea.

Merry grabbed Pippin's hand as it hovered over a bread roll. "Oh no you don't, Pippin, my lad. Our breakfast waits down the hall. Let's leave our cousin to eat in peace." With that he steered Pippin towards the door.

Pippin turned and winked as he left. "Happy birthday, Frodo."

Sam sat down in the chair occupied by Elrond the night before. "Do you need help with anything, Mr Frodo?"

Frodo stretched to pick up a spoon and paused. "Well, if you don't mind putting the tray on my lap . . . I don't think I can reach everything from here."

Jumping to oblige, Sam placed the tray on his master's lap.

"Thank you." Frodo dipped his spoon into the pale yellow eggs and took a bite. They tasted as good as they looked.

Sam was setting the tray aside when Elrond arrived and the elf surveyed the contents with pursed lips. Although Frodo had tasted everything there the only dishes he had finished were the oatmeal and the eggs, although both tea and milk had been drunk. Making no comment, Elrond stepped to the bedside.

Practised fingers found a pulse at Frodo's wrist and a cool hand was laid on the hobbit's brow. Leaning down Elrond set his ear to his patient's chest for a moment. When he straightened, Frodo looked hopefully into his face.

"Sam says that a birthday party has been arranged for Bilbo this afternoon. I should very much like to attend."

The healer shook his head. "You are stilling running a fever and your lungs are not yet clear. You could not manage more than a few minutes out of bed without suffering a relapse."

"Surely, if I just sat down. I wouldn't have to do anything strenuous. There may not . . .there may not be . . . many more."

"I am sorry, Little One. But it is not possible." His face showed a genuine sadness. "Perhaps I will be able to arrange for him to visit you a little later," Elrond offered, handing over a small cup containing a dose of syrup.

"That would be nice. Thank you," he replied, dejectedly. The syrup was accepted and swallowed without further protest and Frodo settled down and closed his eyes, waiting for the sedative to begin its work.