Quick warning, Frodo's behavior at the beginning of the chapter is loosely based on how I experience a seizure aura, so if that's triggering for you please skip :)
Chapter 4: Nightfall
On the fourth of October, Frodo woke late, and he didn't know where Sam had gone.
"Sam?" he called, wandering into the hall. For some reason, he felt like his legs had turned to jelly, and his eyes were blurred. Perhaps he was just tired. Where was Sam?"
"In the kitchen, darlin'," called a familiar voice. Frodo followed the sound and stumbled into the kitchen, where he stood looking blankly at the floor. He needed help, he knew that much, but he wasn't sure what was happening. Then he was aware of Sam next to him, and felt strong, gentle hands on his shoulders, and he was guided to sit in a chair.
"I should have come to get you," Sam was saying in a regretful tone. "I'm sorry; I'm here now, Frodo. Do you want some breakfast?"
Frodo felt vaguely nauseous. He still couldn't see very well, and it was rather disorienting. He opened his mouth to explain this all to Sam, but he found that he couldn't speak. Then he felt himself being lifted, and Sam carried him into the parlor and sat him in Bilbo's old rocking chair in front of the fire and tucked blankets around him.
"It's all right, sweetheart," he said gently, stroking Frodo's cheek. "It's all right."
After a moment, Frodo's head seemed to clear a little, and he blinked.
"Sam..."
"Yes?"
"Um, I...I can't see very well?"
"You can't see very well?" Sam repeated. Frodo couldn't understand what Sam's facial expression meant, but somehow he gathered that Sam was concerned or unhappy. "What can you see?"
"Everything is rather...misty." Frodo hesitated. He wasn't sure how to explain it. "It's like my eyes are clouded over."
"All right. Do you want somethin' to eat?"
Frodo thought for a moment. Thinking was such hard work right now. "Yes. Um, I might need help-" he added hesitantly. He didn't feel at all sure that he could hold a spoon or put anything in his mouth without spilling.
"I can help you," Sam assured him. He kissed Frodo's brow and left for a moment, then came back with a bowl of hot cereal. True to his word, he fed Frodo with a spoon, wiping his mouth between bites. Frodo chewed and swallowed obediently, and at last he realized that Sam had asked him a question.
"How's your shoulder doin', sweetheart?" Sam was saying.
Frodo wasn't sure. "Um...it hurts."
"Do you want to take some medicine?"
Again, Frodo wasn't sure. "Well, I...I don't know. Should I?"
Realizing that Frodo was quickly moving past the point where he could make decisions on his own, Sam decided to take charge. "I think you oughta have some, if you're agreeable. Can I give you some?"
Frodo frowned suddenly. "How does it taste?"
Sam laughed. "That's more like the Frodo I know! It's not too bad, an' I'll give you some peppermint tea afterwards to wash the taste out."
"All right."
When Frodo had had some medicine and a cup of tea, Sam helped him to the bathroom.
"Let's get you a bath, me dear," he said.
"I'm cold," Frodo protested.
"I know. A bath will warm you up."
Frodo saw the sense in that, and Sam helped him undress and get into the tub. The warm water was soothing, and Frodo began to relax, even smiling softly at Sam.
"May I have the soap, please?" he asked at last.
Sam blinked in surprise. "Yes, you may! You feelin' better?"
"A bit. Well enough to wash myself."
"All right. If you need help, just say the word." Sam kissed his head and got up from the stool he had been sitting on, but Frodo reached over and took his hand.
"Love you, Sam."
Sam smiled. "I love you too, Fro."
While Frodo bathed himself, Sam tidied up the bathroom and then went to fetch some clean clothes and towels from the basket in their room, where he had put all the laundry earlier.
"I may need some help getting out," said Frodo when Sam came back, looking dubiously over the side of the tub. The floor seemed very far away somehow, and his vision was still a bit cloudy.
Luckily, Sam was strong enough, and Frodo was light enough, that Sam could easily lift him out of the tub and stand him on the bath mat. He wrapped Frodo from shoulders to toes in a big, fluffy towel, then began drying his sopping hair with a smaller towel.
"The weather's still rather nasty," he informed Frodo. "I went out to the garden early this mornin' an' all the plants are lookin' very droopy. But it's stopped rainin' for now. We can go outdoors for a bit, if you'd like."
Frodo thought about that for a moment. "I could try," he finally agreed.
The hobbits did go outside, and they sat on the bench in the garden. Frodo was well bundled up in several sweaters and a big blanket, but he shivered. His eyes looked glassy and he kept staring at the dying garden as if he didn't know what it was. Sam rubbed his back and talked softly to him. He wasn't really sure if Frodo could hear him, but the fresh air seemed to do Frodo some good. After a while he livened up a bit and began to respond to Sam's chatter. He mostly just made "mmhm" sounds, but Sam still took it as a good sign.
"I think you've been out long enough, me dear," he said when Frodo's shivering became more noticeable. "C'mon, let's go sit in the parlor for a bit."
Frodo tried to get up, but he instantly sank to his knees. Sam caught him by the elbow to keep him from falling.
"I've got you, darling."
He carried Frodo indoors and shut the door tightly behind them.
"Would you rather go to bed for a while?" he asked Frodo.
A tiny motion of Frodo's head sent him in the direction of their bedroom, and he got Frodo changed into a warm flannel nightshirt and tucked him into bed, with extra blankets.
"Don't leave," Frodo murmured, closing his eyes. He was going very pale, and he shivered violently.
"I've just got to fill up a hot water bottle for you. Then I'll come right back," promised Sam.
But Frodo clutched his hand. "No, Sam-"
Sam stroked his hair and kissed him softly. "Darlin', I'll be right back. I promise. Can you trust your Sam?"
Frodo slowly released him. "Yes."
Sam kissed him again and hurried into the kitchen. Although he had moments where he was lucid, Frodo was getting rapidly worse, and Sam knew that it wouldn't be long before Frodo completely lost himself. Sam quickly gathered Frodo's medications, including a large bunch of athelas, several hot water bottles, and the rice bag for Frodo's shoulder, and then he went back to their room. Frodo was lying very still, looking up at the ceiling. He turned his head when Sam entered the room.
"Am I going to die?" he asked softly.
Sam almost dropped the supplies he held. "No! No, you're not. You're not gonna die, Frodo."
Frodo looked away. Sam set everything down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of their bed, taking Frodo's hand. "What makes you ask that, darling?"
Frodo still didn't look at him. "I feel so lost," he whispered. "Like I've died already."
Sam stroked his hand gently. "I know, Frodo. But it's just your illness that's makin' you think like that. It's not true. You're alive, an' you're strong an' you've made it through this before, an' I'm here to help you. We'll do it together."
"But what if I stop being able to talk to you, or being able to recognize you?" Tears were filling Frodo's blue eyes now.
"Then I'll still be here. You bein' sick can't make me go away. I'm still here, an' I'll be here no matter how you feel."
Frodo squeezed Sam's hand weakly. "I'm afraid," he whispered.
Sam didn't tell him that he was afraid too.
