Title: Hungry
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd/Febobe)

E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com

Characters: Frodo, Sam, Aragorn. (Others to appear later.)
Rating: PG. This story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content.

Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.

Summary: After their rescue, Aragorn wants Frodo and Sam to only gradually return to eating solid food - but the appetites of hobbits will not be denied.

Story Notes/Announcements: A baby plot bunny from Shirebound's hutch, its tiny nose still wet, fed on lots of carrots and lettuces and love.

A special note for those concerned: it has been -weeks- since Frodo and Sam were rescued. That's why our little hobbit heroes are getting so tired of their liquid diet:)

For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please contact febobe at yahoo dot com.

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters presented are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.

HUNGRY

Part II: Samwise

Poor Mr. Frodo.

I don't reckon I ever did see a hobbit look so miserable. He hardly would move from his bed - and when he did try and move, he seemed so weak I fair thought he might faint. It was all right for me; my stomach felt fair empty, but I'd gotten strong faster than Mr. Frodo. I hadn't been through half so much as he had. Carrying him was one thing, but he didn't weigh hardly nothing by then, and it weren't nothing compared to what he went through carrying that awful ring.

And after all that. . .to get through Mordor only to starve in Minas Tirith. . . .

I stood by Mr. Frodo while Strider - I mean King Aragorn - checked him over, listening to his chest and pressing on his stomach (too flat - a hobbit's ought to be round and full, not so hollow it almost caves in like - well, like that Gollum's). He weren't in too pleasant a mood, and I couldn't say as I blamed him, but I didn't say anything, only tried to make him comfortable with extra blankets and pillows when Strider finished.

"I find nothing the matter apart from the fever. However, you must alert me at once if you begin to feel worse, or if new symptoms arise - pain in your chest or your belly or your limbs, cough, sore throat - "

"I have pain in my belly now. From emptiness. A malady which I suspect Sam shares."

I bit my lip as Mr. Frodo glared up at Strider, who simply shook his head. "No, Frodo. I am sorry."

Mr. Frodo only scowled silently at him as he got up.

"I must attend to a few matters briefly, but will return just before luncheon to carry you outside, so that you may enjoy lying in the fresh air. We can place you, Frodo, in the shade so that the sun does not worsen your fever, but you will need to drink. Sam, you will be able to move about in the sunshine, and both of you will have the Prince's Garden to enjoy. That is what I am told this one is called. I think you will like it very much; everything is scaled so that a hobbit might find it suitable, for it was intended for the children of the Kings and Queens of old."

He turned to go, but I followed him out into the hall, keeping my voice low as I caught up to his long legs.

"Sir - isn't there any way you can let him have a bit o'something? Please - you can see how he is. I've hardly ever seen him so upset. Couldn't he have just some mashed potato and creamed chicken with mushrooms, or some milk-toast, or something like that? He loves those, and it'd calm him right down, I'm sure; he's only hungry. . .and after all he's been through, it does seem a right shame that he can't have what he'd like to eat. . .don't it?"

Strider stopped and sighed, looking down at me, his face suddenly looking much older. "Yes, it does, Samwise. A shame indeed. But I was taught this, and I dare not contradict it; all my experience has been that when this rule is broken, naught but ill comes of it. Patients have died from indulgence in desired foods too soon after such privation after you have endured, and I dare not risk your lives. . .even if it means that Frodo hates me. And even if it means that I must ask that you be unhappy for a time, though it pains me to ask further sacrifices of you." He bent and kissed the top of my head. "I will ask the cooks to send up extra jam-custard for dessert with luncheon, and to puree some boiled potatoes down to nearly liquid with milk and butter, so that it will be almost like a soup, but something like mashed potatoes, at least. And ice-cream for afternoon tea. They have made peach ice-cream, since Frodo likes that so much."

I knew that he did, but wanted to point out that he'd rather have a plain peach by now. But Strider had already straightened, turning to go.

"Forgive me, Sam. I will come back after second breakfast and elevenses to take you both to the Prince's Garden."

And he was gone, striding off down the hall on them long legs.

Trying to ignore my belly growling at his disappearing shadow, I sighed and turned to push the door open, going back inside to Mr. Frodo's room.

He lay curled up in his bed, legs pulled up like his stomach hurt - which I reckon it did, bless him. I bent over him, stroking his hair.

"Mr. Frodo, sir - will you take some water? Strider says you ought to drink, after all."

"Don't care." He remained motionless.

There was a knock, and I looked to Mr. Frodo, who only half-nodded, before calling, "Come in!"

One of the kitchen-assistants entered, pushing a cart with two trays. "Second breakfast, sirs."

I expected to see no enthusiasm from Mr. Frodo, but a sudden gleam in his eyes startled me. At once he turned, pushing himself up in bed, and I hurried to help, propping pillows behind him as he spoke.

"Thank you. I - I'm trying to remember - you're - "

The lad bowed. "Berged, sir."

"Berged." Mr. Frodo nodded, but I could see a certain absent look in his gaze. . .a look that reminded me an awful lot of how he got with that ring. Yet the serving-lad seemed not to notice it as my master continued: "There's. . .what is it? Coddled eggs, I think, and juice?"

A quick nod. "Aye, my lord."

Mr. Frodo wrinkled his nose. "The coddled eggs are wonderful, mind you. . .but. . .do you think you could. . ." He gestured regally. ". . .bring up something else. . .some hot buttered toast, if you please? Buttered toast and jam, scrambled eggs or an omelette, spiced apples, a bit of ham - or sausage - or bacon, fried crispy. . . ."

A deep bow. "I'll see what I can do, sir."

"Thank you." Mr. Frodo smiled as the boy slipped out and closed the door.

"Mr. Frodo, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Yet for my words, I could hardly get my tone to carry much of a scolding: Lor' knows poor Mr. Frodo deserved a good meal. Several, in fact. A lifetime of them. And it still wouldn't make up for all he'd been through.

Besides, I was famished.

Mr. Frodo smiled innocently. "Whatever for, Sam? I only asked one of our attendants whether he thought he could bring something else up."

---

"Sirs?"

At once we looked up, and Mr. Frodo nodded. "Yes?"

"Here you are. . .I think this is everything, my lords, but you have only to ask. The cook says that he sends his compliments to the Ringbearer and his brave companion, and hopes you enjoy your meal."

I fair wanted to gape as he lifted them silver covers off the dishes. Hot buttered toast, little chilled pots o'jam, fluffy scrambled eggs fixed real nice in butter, spiced apples, warm scones in a basket, apple juice, a pot o'tea with milk and sugar and cream, ham and sausage and crispy bacon, fresh grapes, chilled glasses of fruit-balls - that melon stuff. . . .

"The cook was not certain which you would prefer, so he sent a sampler of breakfast-meats. Is there anything I may fetch for you, my lords?"

Mr. Frodo shook his head, and I could tell he was having trouble holding back a smile of relief. "No, thank you. Only. . .please thank the cook for us, and tell him that we shall be wishing more of his delicious scones and muffins for elevenses today."

"Of course, sir." The lad bowed deeply and departed, leaving us in peace with our first decent meal in Lor' knows how long.

"We're safe for a while." Mr. Frodo fair beamed, his poor hand trembling as he reached for his fork - he was still that weak, though Strider encouraged him to try feeding himself, to get accustomed to the loss of his finger and to regain his strength (though truthfully I thought a good diet of minced roast chicken and roast beef and plenty of vegetables would do a sight better toward that than anything else).

"Unless someone else comes."

"They won't know. And if they do, we can stall them." Mr. Frodo shrugged off this concern, taking up a forkful of egg and reaching for a piece of toast, following the bite of egg with a bite of the buttery stuff.

I sighed and dug into my own tray. He had a point.

No sense letting good food sit.

And then the door swung open.

Mr. Frodo nearly choked.

I had to clap him on the back, though I was close to choking myself.

Strider.

At once he pulled up a chair, sitting down by the bed as if the trays were the most natural things in the world.

"I became concerned about you, Frodo. Have you eaten your second breakfast yet?" As he spoke, he calmly set the silver covers back over the dishes, and my heart wept.

Mr. Frodo scowled. "I don't get a second breakfast. If you mean that egg that was sent up and called second breakfast, then no, I have not yet eaten it."

A sad smile. "The kitchen staff would do anything for the Ringbearer, Frodo. But I have just now told them that I will return to explain the importance of this diet, and that your requests must come to me for approval unless they are in line with what I have already prescribed for you. I am not angry with them; I am not angry with you. But you must continue to take it slowly. . .and already we have taken great strides by adding eggs and thicker soups back in. I dare not rush the pace."

Silence. Mr. Frodo turned away, pulling out some of the pillows as best he could, shoving them aside in frustration as he curled up tightly. Strider sighed and rose, both trays gathered in his arms.

"I am sorry. But it is only with your best interests at heart that I ask this."

And he was gone. . .along with the lovely toast and bacon and scones and sausage and apples and ham.

-to be continued-