"Frodo, I honestly don't know how you survive with the way you eat. You haven't eaten half of what I made for you. Here eat some more eggs and bacon." Merry said practically shoving the half empty plate of food into Frodo's face.
"Merry unless you wish me to retch all over you, I strongly suggest that you remove the plate from my face and stop trying to force feed me. Besides I know that you will have no problem finishing my plate as well as your ,with that bottomless pit, that you call a stomach." Frodo said while looking defiantly into Merry's face.
"Fine I give up, you win." Merry said while removing the plate. "Since I lost, my loser's compensation will be… eating the rest of your bacon and eggs… and maybe some of your fruit. And although it pains me, I will also force my self to finish your sausage."
"If that's the prize for losing, I'd hate to think what prize you would receive if you won." Frodo said with his arms crossed.
"Hmm… What would be my prize?" Merry turned to Sam who was sitting on a chair by Frodo's bedside. "Sam, what do you think my prize would be?"
"Oh no you don't. Yer not draggin' me into this nonsense." Sam said shaking his head.
"Come on, Sam, it just a bit of fun." Urged Merry.
Frodo was took a slip of his milk. Sam thought for a second then replied, "Well then, how about indulging in Bag End's Brew Collection, down in the basement."
Frodo nearly choked on his milk. "Sam! Don't give him any ideas. Besides although Merry has made what seems to be a full recovery, drinking in excess could cause his headache to come back ten fold. Plus being ill and getting a hangover hardly mixes well."
"Cousin, do you speak from experience?" Merry said with a devilish grin on his face.
"That is none of your business young hobbit." Frodo said in a voice that reminded him a lot of Bilbo. Frodo turned to look at the window wondering where and how the old hobbit was doing. Frodo missed Bilbo terribly. It was so hard for him to get used to living without the eccentric hobbit. 'Mad Baggins', he thought as he smiled to himself. Now he was 'Mad Baggins of Bag End' And as people said he was cracked as ever."
"Frodo?" Merry said concerned by Frodo's silence.
Frodo jumped slightly at the sound a Merry's voice. "Huh?"
"Frodo you are starting to worry me. Are you ok?"
"I was just thinking about Bilbo." Frodo said in a dreamy state.
"Mr. Frodo you should really get some more rest you are still ill." Sam said as he got up from his chair.
"Maybe your right Sam. I think I will just rest my eyes for a moment." Frodo said. He rested his head on his pillow and closed his eyes.
"Sam you're a marvel." Merry commented. "You must understand that Baggins are stubborn and Frodo here is unusually stubborn."
"I heard that." Mumbled Frodo.
"There was this one time when Frodo had Scarlet Fever—"
"Mr. Frodo had Scarlet Fever?" Sam interjected knowing all to well the fatality rate of the disease. It sent a shiver down his spine to think about his Master having such a life threatening disease.
"Yes it was really bad. The healers said he wasn't going to pull through at one point, but I was the only one that knew."
"Knew what, Mr. Merry?"
"That Frodo is as stubborn as they come and with that stubbornness comes the heart of a fighter. It just so happened that one week after the healers said he was going to die, that he and I were back to catching frogs in The Brandywine River." Merry turned to Frodo. "Isn't that right Frodo?"
After Merry heard no answer he looked down at Frodo face. Merry's tense muscles relaxed as he saw that his cousin was sleeping peacefully. Frodo's breathing was soft and unhindered. Merry looked down at him with a certain awe as he saw how Frodo's dark hair contrasted sharply with his white pillow and porcelain skin. Merry leaned down and kissed Frodo's brow gently. Sam got up to quietly to close the blinds, while Merry placed the bed sheets over Frodo's sleeping form.
"Sweet dreams, cousin."
Bywater
Falstead and Prisca were sitting vigil by Mosco's bedside. Prisca looked down at her tweenager's sweat soaked face, in a great sadness. Each time she heard him breath in a raspy labored breath she felt as if her heart would break. A tear slid down her cheek as she was haunted by the words that the healer had spoken earlier that morning. The words played over and over again in her head, like the continuous falling of leaves in autumn.
Earlier that Morning
"Dr Grubb what is wrong with our son?" Demanded Falstead.
"I honestly am not completely sure, Mr. Goodbody. I have never seen anything like this. Mosco's symptoms seem very common of most infectious diseases, but yet he doesn't fit into the category of any disease that I know of. I will have to run some further tests and look through some more of my medical books. All that I can do for him now is give him medicine for the pain and give him a tonic to help the congestion in his chest thin out some. You must keep him as cool as possible. That is extremely important. His temperature is higher than I'd like, and I fear that if it gets any higher he could receive brain damage or worse." Dr. Grubb said grimly.
Prisca leaned heavily on her husband as she felt her legs began to quiver with fear. Tears filled her eyes as she looked down at Mosco.
"Is there nothing else we can do?" Said Falstead in a shaky voice.
"We cannot heal him until we know exactly what is wrong with him. I am not going to lie to you. Whatever Mosco has is very serious, and if we do not find a cure soon I fear he will not survive."
TBC