__A Little Walk chapter 7__



The afternoon passed about as uneventfully as the morning had, with Frodo sleeping the entire time, Merry and Pippin acting properly subdued, and Sam simply sitting watch, occasionally bathing Frodo's face with a damp cloth, but most often just content to watch and think. All of the Big Folk had left the room after Aragorn and Jael finished discussing Frodo, Aragorn and Gandalf to return to the endless debates with the foreign ambassadors, and Esli and Jael to gather a few medicinal items and collect some of Jael's belongings so she would be able to stay for several days without needing to return home.

When evening came, Merry and Pippin dressed in their respective liveries: silver and sable, green and white; ready to do noble service at the banquet tables that night, which was sure to include enough food and drink to satisfy even the hungriest of hobbits. Esli arrived escorting Jael and carrying her things: a small bag and a basket of the herbs and such she'd collected for Frodo's care, and left with Merry and Pippin, headed to the banquet.

Once Sam and Jael were left with only themselves for company, it was difficult to tell which one of them was more bashful in the presence of the other. Sam was a mite uncomfortable being alone in the presence of a lady -Frodo, as he was sleeping, did not count- and Jael was unsure of herself in the company of these halflings, only having heard of them in stories and rumours prior to that afternoon.

Given the uncertain atmosphere, they were forced to interact based on the only thing they had in common: Frodo, which provided conversation enough, especially at first.

"Has he woken at all recently?" Jael inquired, visually assessing the patient before moving to the physical examination.

Sam shook his head. "Nay, Lady Jael. He's slept all afternoon, though I can't say I'm surprised." He watched rather skeptically as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Frodo's forehead for several moments before withdrawing.

Jael noticed his expression and explained with a rueful grin, "The lips are much more reliable at measuring temperature, especially since my hands tend to be chilly." She briefly touched Sam's knee to demonstrate and he about jumped out of his skin. He would definitely have used a stronger word than 'chilly'!

She placed her hands gently on the sides of Frodo's face, who seemed to enjoy the chill on his fevered skin, and moved his head slightly as if searching for them when they were removed. "His breathing sounds more congested than it did earlier," she commented.

Sam listened carefully, then realized she was right. It must've slowly been getting worse, for he had not noticed the change. "Should we do something?" he asked, immediately concerned.

Jael paused, seeming to weigh her options before replying. "No, not just yet..." she answered slowly. "He still seems to be sleeping deeply, so it is not bothering him much at the moment. But if it gets much worse, I have something I'd like to try."

Sam nodded, and silence reigned for long moments as he sat on the bed and she bustled purposefully around the medicine table. When she finished whatever she was doing, she pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat with a sigh. "And please, just call me Jael. You are... Master Samwise, correct?"

"J-just Sam, if you please, L... I mean, Jael..." he stammered uncomfortably.

"All right. Sam. And the two taller ones are... Meriadoc and Peregrin, yes? Or do they have shorter names too?"
"Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin," Sam confirmed with a nod.

Jael gave him a questioning look. "Why are they so much taller?"

Sam shrugged. "Ent draughts or some such nonesense. I don't understand it none myself, though Mr. Frodo might."

"How do the four of you know each other? If you don't mind me asking, that is," she added hastily.

He was amused at her sudden discomfiture, as if she'd abruptly remembered her manners. "Mr. Frodo, Mr. Merry, and Mr. Pippin are all cousins of each other. It's rather complicated by Men's standards..."

"What about you? Are you related?"

Sam had to resist the temptation to laugh. "No, no. I'm just Mr. Frodo's gardener."

"And very close friend," added a soft rough voice from next to Sam, who looked down, startled. "Don't sell yourself short, dear Sam. I love Merry and Pippin dearly, but I doubt they would have carried me..." he trailed off with a pained expression, swallowing hard against yet another cough tickling his throat.

"Sh, Mr. Frodo. No use dwelling on that now; it's over and done with," Sam reassured him.

Jael listened with interest, though she moved away from the bed to allow them some semblance of privacy. Of course, she'd heard rumors and stories of the halflings' deeds in the war, but she had doubted the truth of most of the tales. Yet it seemed that some of the more fantastical parts were indeed true, which made her wonder about the rest. She busied her hands with ladling some broth into a bowl from the pot keeping warm in front of the fire.

Sam silently accepted the bowl from Jael, and as she turned to make some tea, she could hear him coaxing his master into reluctant cooperation. He obviously knew just how to wheedle and blackmail his employer into obedience.

When Jael returned with the tea, Sam handed her the bowl as he took the mug. Not even half the broth had been eaten; she gave Sam a questioning glance and he shook his head-he couldn't get Frodo to take any more. Frodo drank the tea no more willingly than the broth. After a few swallows, he had to break off to breathe, gasping shallowly, trying to force enough air into his lungs. His face glistened in the firelight, slick with sweat. Abruptly he struggled to sit up, chest heaving from the effort. Sam supported him, anxiously searching Frodo's face for an explanation for this sudden movement. Frodo's eyes were distant, unseeing, clouded with confusion and illness.

"How much farther, Sam?" he finally whispered. "...it's getting so hard to breathe..." Sam sat puzzled for a few moments, trying to figure out where Frodo's memory had gone to. His best guess was Mount Doom, where the foul vapors of Mordor were at their thickest and breathing was both difficult and painful. "...it's so heavy..." Frodo's hand began an upward motion Sam knew all too well; he gently caught Frodo's searching hand, cupping it in both of his. "It's all right, Mr. Frodo. It's over. Just rest now, me dear." He helped Frodo lie back down, stopping mid-motion when Frodo's breath caught in his throat and he choked. Everything froze for an agonizing moment, then Frodo began to cough, deep, wrenching coughs that left him breathless.

Sam automatically moved to support him, leaning him forward and keeping him upright with an arm across his shoulders, his other hand on Frodo's forehead.

Jael watched critically for a few moments, then moved away and placed a large kettle on its hook above the fire. She bustled over to the table, picking up this and that, though Sam could not guess what she intended to do, his view blocked by her back as she bent over to make some preparations.

Frodo's coughing did not last long, after which he sagged limply against Sam, panting heavily. In the relative silence, Sam could hear Jael humming as she worked, a haunting melody that almost seemed Elvish. Though of course it must be admitted that Sam thought most music sounded Elvish, except for the bar songs Merry and Pippin enjoyed so. Unable to contain his growing curiousity, he asked, "What song are you humming?"

Startled, Jael turned around quickly, and seemed quite embarrassed that she'd been heard. Coloring slightly, she looked down and said, "Oh, it's nothing. Just a little melody I used to play..."

"Play? What did you play?" Sam scolded himself after blurting out the question; it seemed obvious she wasn't comfortable talking about it, so he had no business asking.

But before Sam could apologize for his rash words, Jael spoke. "I used to play the harp," she admitted, looking wistful. She stared into space, seeing another time and place in her mind's eye. After a moment, she snapped herself back to the present, and said briskly, "But it's no use trying to live in the past. How is he?"

Sam had even more questions following her admission, but these he kept to himself. Looking down at Frodo resting against him, pale and sweating, he replied, "Well nigh exhaustion, I'll warrant. An' his breathing still don't sound too good."

"All right, let's try this," Jael said, picking up the basin she'd been stooped over and placing it on the bed along with a folded sheet. She retrieved an invalid tray and placed it over Frodo's lap, also bringing the basin to put on the tray. There was a pile of very pungent crushed and chopped herb in the bottom of the basin, and Sam's eyes watered from the strength of it when he took an experimental sniff.

Jael chuckled dryly at his expression as she fetched the now-boiling kettle from the fire, and poured the water into the basin. Clouds of heady steam billowed up, the minty smell refreshing and soothing. "I need you to lean him over this, just how you were holding him earlier," she instructed Sam, who quickly did as he was told. Jael pulled the folded light sheet off the bed and expertly dropped it over Frodo's head and the basin, keeping all of the beneficial steam concentrated.

Sam could feel the steam condensing and cooling on his hands underneath the sheet, making them feel uncomfortably clammy and chill, but he didn't move. He remained still for some time, the treatment continuing until the water emitted steam no longer, and by then, Frodo's breathing seemed to have eased somewhat. Jael moved the bowl to the table next to the bed and took away the other supplies, and Sam eased Frodo against him once again. His master's hair was soaked through and his curls were plastered to his head, from either the condensing vapor or sweat from the combined heat of fever and steam. Jael knew that would happen, and returned with a towel to gently dry Frodo's hair. Then she wiped Frodo's face and neck with a cloth dipped in the herbal water, and asked Sam, "Would you pull off his nightshirt so I can wipe his chest and back too?"

"Yes, of course," he assured her, moving to do so. Carefully arranging the covers as he gradually moved the shirt, it wasn't too long before the damp fabric was free. Frodo slept through it all, seeming to bask in the attentions of the warm aromatic cloth as Jael gently bathed him.

Soon she was finished with the front of his torso, and motioned for Sam to lean Frodo forward so she could bathe his back. Neither of them were quite prepared for what they saw when he did.

To say his back was quite bruised would have been an understatement. Black, purple, and blue thickly mottled his skin, broken neatly in half by the white ridge of his spine. Sam swallowed hard as he thought about how much force would be behind so many dark bruises, and wished he hadn't thought about it at all. He knew Strider only did it because he had to, but to think of anyone hitting Frodo that hard made him rather upset.

Jael had seen such bruising before, of course, but to see it on one so small was difficult. Especially as it brought back memories from a time in her life she'd rather forget. She steeled herself for the task, and gingerly wiped the halfling's back, afraid to put any pressure on the bruises for fear of hurting him further. Frodo stiffened when she first touched him, but as she continued her massaging motions, he slowly relaxed as if reassured she wasn't going to inflict any more damage to his aching back.

~~~~

Some time later, Frodo had been washed and redressed, and was sleeping peacefully under the soft quilts. A servant had come by shortly thereafter, bearing a tray laden with some of the choicest dishes from the banquet, courtesy of the King. Sam was reluctant to leave Frodo's side, even for food. Jael tried several tacks to convince him to come down, and, hands on her hips, had to resort to blackmail. "Master Samwise, you will do your master no good if you become as ill as he! Now come and eat something before I send for the King to reason with you."

Her tone sounded so much like his mother that Sam sheepishly climbed down, half expecting her to assign him extra chores for giving her sauce. Once the food was in front of him, his appetite certainly wasn't lacking, and Jael watched in amazement as he ate. He assured her that this was normal for all hobbits, though of course Merry and Pippin could outeat him anytime, owing to their size. She was skeptical for a while, but his earnest manner convinced her he was being completely serious, so she accepted his statement as true and was in awe at the amount of food that must be necessary to support a whole community of these ravenous beings.

Once the dishes were empty, hobbit and woman returned to their former places around the invalid, who still slept, albeit uneasily. Had he been in full health, it was likely he'd be tossing and turning, but instead he clenched fistfuls of quilt, fitfully worrying the fabric into damp bunches. Sam tried to reassure him, holding one hand and rubbing it soothingly as he murmured reassurances, but to no avail. Jael placed one cool hand onto the hobbit's fevered brow and the other on his other arm, and began to hum soothingly. The lullaby did its work almost immediately; after a few minutes, not only was Frodo sleeping deeply, Sam was having trouble keeping his own eyes open, his eyelids seeming to have a will of their own. As he visibly drooped, Jael guided his head down to a pillow, easing a quilt over his drowsing form. She continued to hum, enjoying the opportunity to utilize her musical knowledge from childhood.

Sam was still napping when Aragorn came in, having excused himself briefly from the festivities. He and Jael were softly conferring, discussing what to do next, when Sam began to rouse.

". . . tried the . . . helped, but . . . perhaps with . . ."

"Hmm . . . might work . . . earlier I tried . . ."

". . . could tell . . . bruising . . . hesitate to . . ."

". . . let's do that . . . now?"

A pause. "Yes . . . be best . . ."

Sam blinked slowly as he tried to reconcile what he last remembered with where he now found himself. He sat bolt upright as he recalled more, and heard Jael laugh softly. "He's still sleeping. Don't worry."

"Good morning, Sam," Aragorn said, amused. "I'm glad you're awake. You can help us."

Sam looked confused, peering past them to see darkness still settled around the window; it wasn't really morning, then. "What are you going to do?"

Jael answered him, Aragorn having moved to the medicine table. "We're going to try the inhalation therapy again, so we'll need you to hold him up like last time." She held Frodo in a sitting position as Sam scooted into place.
Aragorn brought over the basin, the crushed mint accompanied this time by some athelas as well. He poured in the water and the steam billowed up, the combined fragrance of mint and athelas very refreshing and uplifting. To Sam, the time spent waiting for the steam to do its work seemed interminable, though in actuality it took no longer than last time.

Thankfully the addition of the athelas seemed to make a difference, and Frodo didn't sound nearly so congested when Aragorn finally deemed him finished. Before they laid Frodo down again, Aragorn took a quick look at his bruised back, winced, and shook his head. "I definitely don't want to do that again," he murmured.

When a servant appeared at the door, saying the visitors were noticing the King's absence, Aragorn left reluctantly, and promised to come by again once the banquet was over. Jael settled back in her chair, resuming work on the mending she had brought along, and picking up her humming where she had left off. Sam sat beside Frodo still, torn for the moment between keeping vigil and listening to his eyelids' desire to go back to sleep. With an encouraging nod from Jael, his eyelids won out.