Title: Lavender's Blue
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FBoBE/"Febobe")
Rating: T for thematic darkness, graphic medical detail, and major canon character death. WARNING: Not for sensitive readers, those opposed to major canon character death, and/or those who cannot bear deviation from canon. Very, very AU. Read at your own risk. This does not have a happily-ever-after ending, folks; I'm warning you now. No profanity, no sexuality, no slash included, intended or implied.
Summary: After the war, plague strikes Minas Tirith. . .including one of its smallest and most honoured inhabitants, and there is nothing Elrond can do to save him. . . .
Author Notes: See Rating for warnings. Please don't flame me for canon character death or AUness; I do realise this is pure deviation from Tolkien, and I make no claim that it even attempts to follow the spirit of the tale as he wrote it. This story may not be the cheeriest I've ever written, but it demanded to be told, and told honestly and openly, so here it is. I can only hope that I've managed to do it some justice. To me it has a deep and sorrowful beauty all its own. I do hope some of you have read this far and will read and find value, if tears, in it along with me. Thank you.

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 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.

LAVENDER'S BLUE

CHAPTER TWO: Truth

Returning to Frodo's bedside, Elrond managed a smile for the little one as he pulled up a chair. Frodo, however, looked like anything but smiling; his face was chalk white beneath the fever-flush, and he coughed painfully into the cloth handed him by his caregiver. Each time the cloth came away stained with more blood.

"What's the matter with me?"

Wringing out a cloth in a basin of lukewarm water by the bed, Elrond began to stroke the small face with a damp compress, choosing his words carefully. "You have a very dangerous and very contagious fever. That is why I have written to have things sent up so that I may step outside the door and get them rather than asking to have them brought up by your friends."

"Oh." This seemed to satisfy for the moment, but not for long. Frodo paled, suddenly going clammy beneath the elven healer's hands. "Sick - please - help - "

Fortunately, Elrond was swift, and the basin caught the results of that episode, but it left Frodo shaken and anxious, trembling despite the warm blankets piled about his slender frame. Yet this did not seem to be with cold, for a minute later, Frodo pushed irritably at the blankets, shoving them away.

"You are too warm, tithen min?"

Frodo nodded. "It's like I'm on fire inside. . .burning. . .burning from the inside out. Make it stop. . . ."

Elrond swallowed a sigh at this further confirmation of his worst fears. "I will do what I can. But you must lie still and rest. Allow me to try and help. Soon Captain Faramir will return with plenty of supplies, and those, I think, will help you feel more comfortable. I fear there is little more we can do for you, he added in silent afterthought.

"All right. Only. . .please try to make it stop." Frodo's voice was pleading as he settled down, beginning to cough afresh.

After a light sponge-bath and some gentle reassurance, Frodo seemed to settle down somewhat, save for the cough and the occasional episode of vomiting. Elrond administered small bits of candied ginger interspersed with sips of ginger tea, and that appeared to answer as well as could be expected in controlling the nausea. It was just past six that evening when another knock sounded at the door.

"My lord - your daughter the queen sends this to the Ringbearer."

Elrond accepted the tray and stepped back inside, carrying it to Frodo's bed, where the little hobbit at least managed to look remotely interested. "Frodo. . .look what Arwen has sent for you."

"What is it? It must be lovely. . . ."

Carefully Elrond lifted the cover, revealing a small bowl of mushroom soup. . .and little dishes of ices in pale colours, each labelled with a tiny name-card: orange sherbet, blueberry ice-cream, strawberry ice-cream.

At once Frodo looked delighted. "Oh, that is nice!"

"Do you think you could eat any of it?"

"Oh, yes. . .the ices, at least. . . ."

Elrond brooked no protest. At any other time, he would have tried to get some of the warm, nourishing soup into the hobbit first, but Frodo would likely die within less than a day. . .if he lasted that long. It was now a matter of his pleasure, not sustaining life. Tenderly he took up the spoon and gathered Frodo into his arms, beginning to feed the little one as he had his own children when they were very small.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

The question startled Elrond, who paused mid-feeding. "Why do you ask that?"

"Because I feel as though I am." Frodo looked for another spoonful of the ice-cream, and at once his caregiver slipped it into his mouth, much to his delight, though his blue eyes were mournful. "I have the strangest all-out feeling, and I've never felt like this before. . .the closest was after. . .after Mordor, and it wasn't this bad even. . .even then. . . ."

Elrond drew a deep breath.

"I will not lie to you, Frodo. Very few people ever recover from this illness." He supplied another spoonful of the ice-cream. "I have seen none live. . .much less those already weakened by long privation and trial."

Frodo drew a long, shuddery breath that ended in a fit of coughing, getting blood on his night-shirt. "I thought so. I am - glad - to know the truth. Thank you." He looked down at his gown, reddening. "Forgive me - "

"'Tis all right, tithen min. You cannot help it. We will get you changed after you have eaten your fill." Elrond smiled kindly, if sadly, and continued to offer small spoonfuls of treats. "Try and eat a little more. Your stomach will feel better for it."

"My stomach hurts, too."

"This will not hurt it, and may help it. I promise that the liquids will be good for you." Elrond schooled his voice to soothe the little one, trying to coax some more of the soft nourishment down the tiny throat.

And. . .success. Like a baby bird, Frodo opened his mouth for more, eating dutifully until the ices had been consumed.

"Do you think you might try a little mushroom soup, too?"

"Perhaps." Frodo eyed the bowl warily. "I suppose I could try a little."

Gently Elrond spooned up a bit for his tiny charge, offering only the tiniest of mouthfuls until Frodo was satisfied, then putting his little patient back down and removing the tray. It was, at least, better than he had dared hope. Now if it would only stay down. . . .

"Will anyone remember me, do you think?"

Startled, Elrond turned.

"Of course, tithen min. You will be mourned by all of Gondor and Eriador."

"No." Frodo shook his head, burying his face half into the pillow. "I mean. . .will anyone remember me? Not the Ringbearer. . .me, Frodo Baggins. Son of Drogo and Primula Baggins. The rascal that used to steal mushrooms from Farmer Maggot. I had measles when I was a lad and I went to stay with Bilbo afterward and he got me a puppy. He taught me Elvish." Blue eyes began to fill with tears.

Elrond knelt beside the bed, reaching to stroke the dark curls tenderly.

"I will remember," he said softly, "and your friends will remember. On that you have my word."

-to be continued-