_Rest_
Frodo rubbed his eyes and tried to find a new position on the windowseat cushions before attempting to return his attention to the book propped open on his knees. It was a rather dry account of city history that he'd picked up randomly and he considered finding a different book, but didn't feel like getting up. His purpose in coming here was not to read -though naturally the library was a good place to do that- but to escape the crowds and continual gaiety of the city as its people celebrated the recent victory and the crowning of their new King. It was all just a little too much to handle all at once, so he'd escaped the festivities and come here.
He yawned, rubbed his eyes again, and sighed, not wanting to give up on the book just yet despite his inability to read past the first few paragraphs. Someone would come in search of him soon enough, and he wanted to relish the little time alone he had left. He curled deeper into the cushions and allowed the book to fall closed. Perhaps he could take a short nap before facing the hordes once again . . .
Eyelids slowly drooped shut and fingers relaxed in slumber, allowing the thick tome to slide noiselessly to the seat beside him.
~~~~
Ah, there. The dimness of dusk shrouded most of the library in shadow, but enough light filtered in the windows to discern the small figure curled up on a windowseat. He looked so peaceful and comfortable that she was loath to wake him; she would inform the King of the absent hobbit's whereabouts and allow him to decide whether or not to disturb him. She picked up a light throw from one of the chairs before the dying fire and gently covered him. Lighting a taper on a nearby table, she added a few logs to the fireplace and quietly departed, carefully closing the door behind her.
Sam saw her emerge as he came down the corridor. "Lady Eowyn, did you-"
She quickly shushed him and replied softly, "He's sleeping. Let us go tell the King."
~~~~
Frodo blinked groggily and yawned. When did it get dark? He must have slept longer than he'd expected. He shivered and pulled the quilt closer, then realized what he was doing. Where did the quilt come from? Someone must have been here . . . He turned over a bit and scanned the room but saw no one. The light of the fire and that candle felt like it stabbed straight into his head and he winced, turning away from the light. His head pounded and his face felt on fire, even as the rest of him shivered with chill.
He groaned inwardly and buried his face in the cushions, relishing their coolness upon his fevered skin. He didn't want to cause bother to anyone, but knew that if he fell ill a number of people would worry over him, including the King, who already had so much to do and to deal with. 'Twould be better to carry on as if nothing was wrong. He sat up with resolve, swaying a bit as his balance adjusted to the change, and became abruptly aware of someone entering the room.
The person approached and became Lady Eowyn. "Awake at last?" she teased lightly, crouching next to his perch. He was flushed and appeared groggy, which could be explained by having just woken up, but then there was also the matter of why he'd snuck off in the first place . . . "How are you doing?"
He shifted a little and realized his good clothes were now completely wrinkled and mussed. "Sam's going to kill me," he muttered, brushing at the creases in vain.
Eowyn laughed and chided, "You're changing the subject. And I think Samwise cares more about his master than the clothes on his master's back."
Frodo knew she was correct -on both counts- and reddened. "I'm-I'm all right," he said. "It's all just... a little overwhelming," he admitted, suppressing a yawn but unable to keep from shivering again.
She regarded him seriously, paying closer attention now to his manner and appearance, but for the moment responding to his words. "I imagine you are not accustomed to so many Big Folk in so small a place." He nodded in agreement, and she added, "It is difficult to get used to, particularly if you are not well."
He looked sharply at her, then had to close his eyes as his head's throbbing responded to the movement by growing in intensity. She was gazing at him intently when he opened his eyes again; he sighed and defended, "I'm just a little tired."
"Which is why you're flushed," she said skeptically. "And warm," she added as she put a hand to his brow. He leaned into her touch, for her skin was blessedly cool. When she removed her hand, he wanted to protest but didn't, knowing if he did so it would only prove her point.
But her mind was already made up. "You should get some rest." He started to insist he was fine but was cut off by a yawn and Eowyn chuckled. "Come, I'll take you to your room."
He blinked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment before understanding she meant to carry him there. His eyes widened and he shook his head. "But-"
"-someone will see?" she supplied. "All are at the banquet, and it is not far."
"No... I don't need to be carried," he insisted.
"Perhaps not," she conceded, "but allow me to do this small thing for you."
He regarded her doubtfully. "What about your arm? It has but recently healed."
She saw the thoughtfulness of his concern, but also saw it as the delaying tactic it was. "I thank you; it is fine," Eowyn assured him. "But for your ease, I shall use the other."
"Can you lift me?" he asked, quickly running out of excuses.
"You doubt my strength?" she asked with mock indignation. She leaned forward and said conspiratorially, "I don't know how much your cousin has told you, but he could not mount that horse by himself, leaving a certain someone to lift him on." Her words were rewarded with a small smile as Frodo imagined Merry being hauled onto the horse like a piece of baggage. She continued, "I assure you, if I could lift him, I can most certainly carry you."
Frodo could do nothing else but concede, and without further ado, Eowyn settled him on her hip for the short stroll to the hobbits' shared room. Frodo enjoyed being carried more than he would ever readily admit, and soon relaxed, resting his head on her velvet-clad shoulder. They encountered one lone servant in the hall who was most eager to bring everything the lady requested.
Entering the room, Eowyn noted with satisfaction the fire in the grate and the new linens on the bed -the servants must have been busy during the day. She pulled back the covers on the nearest side of the bed, and gently sat Frodo on the edge. There was a knock on the door, and she opened it to admit the serving-woman bearing the items she'd asked for -a cup of soup, a basin of lukewarm water with a hint of lavender, and a few small cloths. The woman left the tray upon a side table and left, and Eowyn turned her attention back to her patient, now sleepily regarding her with one eye peeking over the curve of the pillow he'd buried his face into, his legs still dangling over the side of the bed. She moved his errant legs onto the bed and pulled the light covers over him as he rolled to a more comfortable position on his back.
"Now," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, "will you take some soup?"
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before answering, "I don't suppose you'll take no as an answer."
"You are quite correct," she affirmed, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. He sighed dramatically in exasperation before sitting up and accepting the cup and spoon from her. The rich, creamy broth was soon gone, Frodo finishing it with a flourish before handing the empty vessel back and flopping again on the pillows.
"I can send for more if you would like," she offered, but he declined. "All right, then. Let's get you properly suited for sleep." He let her unbutton his vest and shirt and help him off with them, but then froze as she motioned for his breeches to come off, too. Making sure the blankets were covering all, he quickly unbuttoned his breeches, did a bit of wriggling, and the fabric pooled on the floor after dropping from under the covers.
Eowyn folded the clothes neatly and placed them on a nearby chair. "So Samwise won't be overly annoyed with you," she explained with a wink. That coaxed a half smile from the hobbit, his heavy-lidded eyes following her as she returned to the bed and sat, immersing a cloth in the basin of lavender water. Wringing it nearly dry, she used it to gently wipe his face, soothing way lines of tension with careful, massaging strokes. He closed his eyes and sighed, her motions methodically chasing all thoughts from his mind and leaving only lavender-scented contentment behind. She immersed and wrung the cloth again, this time folding it upon his brow.
Taking up another cloth she moved her ministrations to his bare chest. Frodo sighed again, enjoying the simple pleasure of a cool cloth on his face, a calming touch upon his skin. When Eowyn deemed his torso sufficiently cool, she moved to his arms, lifting them one by one to ensure attention was paid to all parts. Then she focused upon his hands, wiping them first, then putting aside the cloth for a moment as she massaged stiff muscles, sore from so many things.
All the while she quietly hummed a simple, relaxing tune, and he would soon have surrendered to sleep but for something tickling the back of his mind. It wasn't until she began on the first hand that he put a finger on what troubled him. "Aren't you . . . supposed to be . . . at the dinner?"
Without even pausing, she replied with a smile in her voice, "They will not miss a simple maiden when they have the King to fawn over. And like you, I have grown weary of the endless banqueting."
He nodded a bit in comprehension and loosened his insistent grip upon consciousness. As he began to slip into dream, he murmured, "Don' . . . tell Aragorn . . . 'bout this . . . has 'nough . . . to worry 'bout . . ." and fell asleep without finishing his thought.
Eowyn smiled briefly. "You are dearer to him than all matters of state, little one," she said softly, though he paid no heed. She finished the massage soon after, freshened the cloth upon his brow, and pulled a chair close to guard his slumber.
A while later, when Faramir entered with the task of carrying news back to the King, Frodo slept deeply and Eowyn dozed in the chair. He woke her with a gentle touch to her face and a knowing smile. "How fares he?"
"He was slightly feverish, but mostly wearied by the crowds and endless celebration. The fever has gone; all he needs now is rest."
"As do you, it seems," he noted.
"I can wait until the others return so he is not alone."
He smiled at her tenderly, squeezing her hand before turning to leave. "I shall report such to the King."
She nodded and he left. Eowyn brushed back some stray curls from Frodo's face, checking his temperature again and finding no uncustomary warmth. Exhaustion was all it had been, then. It made her glad the small being would not need to fight an illness so soon after regaining his health, especially with as much as he'd endured in past months. Perhaps life would yet go back to normal for him.