febobe

Warnings, Notes, Disclaimers, etc. on Part 1/4, listed as 1/?

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Mr. Frodo, it's past noon, sir."

"Please, Sam, I don't care." Frodo turned his face to the pillow, and Sam instantly began to fret: his master looked as if he were feeling utterly miserable. A gentle brown hand laid on the pale forehead explained much: Frodo felt feverish to the touch. Irritably he tried to pull away, but Sam put a hand upon his shoulders, swift and soothing.

"There now, master! Why don't you let me bring you something proper to eat, and we'll see whether that don't help you feel a sight better."

"Don't feel like it," mumbled Frodo, but his eyes followed Sam hungrily, interest kindled by the mention of the word eat.

"Just lie still while I fetch you a cool cloth, and then I'll see to a proper luncheon for you. If you want elevenses while I'm making up lunch, I could bring in some muffins, or toast a bit o'bread - "

Frodo shook his head. "No, thank you. I'd rather just wait until luncheon. I'm afraid if I don't, I shan't be able to eat it at all."

"Are you sure, sir? You need to eat up," coaxed Sam anxiously as he wrung out a cloth in the washbasin, laying it gently over Frodo's brow.

Again the dark curls bobbed. "No. Can't."

"Very well, then, sir." With a soft sigh, Sam trotted back out into the kitchen, setting to work at once on a suitable luncheon-tray.

Creamed mushrooms on toast, Mr. Frodo would eat those. He'd about always eat those, even when he was feeling right poorly. And Sam had put some cream of asparagus soup on, hoping his master could eat that. . .well, wouldn't that be just the thing to go down nice and easy, with some toast sippets besides? And some smashed potatoes and carrots to get something hot and filling and nourishing down him as well. Something sweet? A baked custard, o'course, with one o'them fresh peaches sliced up on top of it.

Yes, that was what Mr. Frodo needed. Sam set to work at once, gathering ingredients and climbing up to stir. It would be all right. It had to.

***

"Mr. Frodo, sir?"

Frodo turned in bed, blinking sleepily, to find Sam carrying a tray into his room. "Sam, please, I said I wasn't - "

"Beg pardon, sir, but this is one time I didn't figure I ought to listen to you." Setting the tray carefully over the bed, the gardener smiled proudly. "See whether any of that suits you; if it don't, I'll take it back and fix what you fancy."

Frodo examined the contents, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Creamed mushrooms? Sam - "

"Just you eat up while that's hot, Mr. Frodo. If you need a bit of help, just say the word." Quietly Sam set to straightening up the room a bit, laying aside Frodo's discarded cool cloth and propping his master firmly in bed before turning his attention to the bedside-table. Frodo set to work on the creamed mushrooms first, alternating mouthfuls of the favoured treat with spoonfuls of the creamy soup. He felt tired, but blast if he was going to ask for help.

It took some time, but at last Frodo finished, Sam working unobtrusively close by throughout the meal and nodding with approval when he finally retrieved the tray.

"Now, that's enough eaten to do you a sight of good. Just let me take this back to the kitchen, and I've an idea that might suit you fair well."

Curiously Frodo waited while Sam disappeared with the tray, returning only to gather up Frodo's collection of menus and books, laying them in a basket on the chair by Frodo's bed.

"There now, sir! All ready for you to read as you like! I thought you might get some pleasure out of browsing them this afternoon - I can read to you if you'd rather, but I know you like to read to yourself mostly."

Frodo nodded with delight. "A splendid idea - I think I could manage that! Let me try reading to myself for a while; if I tire, I shall call upon you, but I think it will be all right."

But by the time Sam looked in upon him a bit later, he was fast asleep, a cookbook open on his chest. Gingerly Sam placed one of the tasseled markers given them by Faramir between the pages, closed the book, and set it with the others, then eased his master back and tucked him in more securely.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Frodo," he whispered, "and don't you dream of being hungry ever again."

-to be continued-

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Are you sure this will help?" whispered Pippin nervously. "I mean, they wouldn't let us lift a finger to come in and do anything for them, and they've been in there an awfully long time. . . ."

"Patience, Pippin." Gandalf smiled. "I think this is precisely what Frodo and Sam need right now. So sit back and enjoy the dinner your hosts have so thoughtfully prepared for you! No doubt it will be absolutely delicious, if I know hobbits."

Just then Frodo put his head in at the door, beaming from ear to ear. "Dinner," he announced proudly, "will be served momentarily."

Faramir and Eowyn exchanged a delighted, warm glance; Arwen slipped her hand gently into Aragorn's. The rest of the Fellowship watched curiously as Sam and Frodo began to carry out dishes - well, mostly Sam carrying, Frodo explaining each dish.

"The appetizers we have chosen, stuffed mushrooms and nutty stuffed eggs, are Shire favourites. They are very popular throughout the Shire, anywhere one might go, and are suitable for any occasion."

Everyone tried the treats and agreed that they were most delicious.

"The next course," Frodo continued when the had finished, "is a velvet chicken soup - one of my personal favorites and Sam's specialty. If any of you were lost as to what I kept wanting not long after I woke up, this would be it. Sam's velvet chicken soup is the envy of every cook this side of Bree, and probably past, as is his freshly baked bread, which you will find in baskets on the table, accompanied by sweet butter for your enjoyment."

Sam flushed pink as he served up the pale, creamy soup.

After the wonderful soup, the main course and side dishes were served, neatly plated, and Frodo began to explain these as well.

"We thought you might like to try roast chicken with stuffing and bread sauce. And of course there's nothing to go with it like roast potatoes and glazed carrots, with some fresh peas on the side. Please, eat up - Sam and I spent rather a long time shelling peas!"

Everyone laughed, but no one left a full plate.

Frodo beamed proudly as Sam produced not one, but three beautiful desserts. "Here we have a blackcurrant and mint crumble - that would be my creation, for those who are interested! - as well as marbled rose cream and a raspberry rose roulade. The latter two are popular at upscale affairs in the Shire and Buckland, though you might see them most often in the region where Pippin is from. I have often enjoyed them at Great Smials, his home."

Pippin pinked, but couldn't help smiling a little, pride shining in his bright eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this will conclude our meal, which I hope you have enjoyed as much as Sam and I enjoyed preparing it for you." Frodo hesitated, and it seemed for a moment that tears shimmered unshed in his blue eyes. "Thank you. You are each dear to us, and this is not an evening we shall soon forget."

It was Eowyn who rose, and went to his side, embracing him.

"Nor shall we, dear one," she murmured. "Nor shall we."

-to be continued-

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"You *will* have a copy made for Eomer, then?"

Aragorn nodded gravely. "Of course. You have my word, Frodo. I will order our finest scribe to personally attend the matter, and Arwen shall oversee it herself. When it is completed, we shall present it as a a gift to Rohan from the Ringbearer himself."

Frodo flushed. "I didn't mean that - only - I wanted to - well, I suppose I would like to leave something of hobbits behind in the South, for I know not when nor indeed whether our kind shall pass this way again. It gives me peace to think that something of Sam's thoughts and my own shall stay behind."

"They shall, my dear friend. That I assure you." Embracing Frodo warmly, Aragorn accepted the book to cradle in his arms. "It is a wonderful gesture, and it shall be treasured in Gondor for many generations to come."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you."

***

"He seems a little better."

"The improvement is largely temporary, I fear." Aragorn sighed. He and Gandalf rode together in Theoden's funeral procession, some distance from the hobbits, who were just out of earshot. "It rises and falls like the tide in his spirit."

"What, then, is to become of the two of them?"

Aragorn shrugged. "Sam I do not fear for. He fares very well. . .most likely he will return to his old self within even a few more months of care. But Frodo. . ."

He hesitated, watching the slender hobbit.

"It is likely that Frodo will carry the scars of this torment forever, in more ways than we can fathom. . .and this way may always be one of the most visible. Among his own people, though, he will be well tended, for have you ever known a hobbit to allow anyone to go hungry? His own folk will not understand why this troubles him so, but they will not allow him to suffer thus without solace. At home, Sam and the others will, I have no doubt, see that his needs are met."

"They will." Gandalf sighed deeply. "I only wish that they had never had to know such loss."

"Aye." Aragorn nodded. "It is a grievous cruelty of war when little ones - even little ones who are not children - must know such suffering."

He paused in conversation.

"All we can do now is hope for the best. . .and do all that we can for them while they are in our care."

-to be continued-

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Frodo looked about his room. It was spacious enough - too large, if anything; he was hardly used to such large quarters. But Eowyn and Eomer had insisted that he and Sam must have the finest rooms, and only Aragorn and Arwen had such a large chamber as theirs were.

But something was missing.

Water.

Frodo stiffened as the thought struck him. Never, in all the places he had stayed since his rescue, had they left him without a pitcher of cool, clean water for drinking ready at hand. Perhaps this was not the custom in Rohan; all the same, it disconcerted him endlessly.

There came a soft knock at his door, and a familiar, sweet voice.

"Frodo? May I enter?"

Lady Eowyn.

"By all means, my lady." Blushing at having had any thoughts of criticism, he rose from his seat upon the soft bed and waited. In she came, studying him curiously.

"Is the room to your liking? I made sure it was the very best. But I know little of how hobbits like things, save that you have a penchant for mushrooms, and unfortunately I could not make things round in design, nor build into the earth."

"It is - quite all right, my lady."

She motioned for him to sit, and sat upon the bed as well. "Now, Frodo, I know better than that. I can hear in your voice that something is amiss. Will you not tell me what is the matter?"

Frodo hesitated. . .but at last he began to spill out his heart, explaining that there was no water, and how he longed to have it close by, and at once her face opened with understanding.

"Of course that is unacceptable!" she exclaimed at last. "Let me but have a few words with someone, and then you may come to *my* chambers until all has been remedied. We shall fetch Sam, and the two of you shall come with me until matters are much improved."

Frodo watched with curiousity as she went into the hall and apparently spoke with someone, returning shortly with a broad smile.

"Come now, let us fetch Sam."

***

In Eowyn's chambers, she showed them two comfortable chairs, inviting them to sit. And - wonder of wonders - she presented to them a tray bearing hot and cold food and drink!

"You shall have water and fresh fruit in your own chambers when you return. But I thought you might wish for something in the meantime, and I had already set the cooks to work on this. See, there is wild mushroom and potato soup, chicken and mushroom pie, gingerbread, and fresh applesauce. And there is plenty to drink - water and wine."

Delighted, Frodo set to work on some soup, pleased when Sam followed his example. "Thank you, Lady."

"Eowyn, please, Frodo. Just Eowyn will do." She smiled warmly. "We shall have no formalities between friends."

Nodding, Frodo continued to eat.

She understood.

Formalities or not, she *understood*.

-to be continued-

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cold.

So cold.

Frodo awoke feeling chilled and feverish, trembling, his limbs aching. He longed for something to warm him, something to make him feel better. . .but he did not feel well enough for fresh fruit, or even to get up to fetch a drink of water. . . . Vaguely he wondered what time it might be. It could be hours before he was missed. . .but light already shone into the room, so surely someone would come to look for him soon. . . .

"Mr. Frodo, sir?"

The light knock at the door reassured him that someone had, indeed, come in search of him. "Come in, Sam, please."

His companion entered, alarm promptly registering on his face as soon as he discovered Frodo's state. "Mr. Frodo, you're not well, sir, and no mistake! Let me get you a sup of water, and then I'll go and fetch the Lady. She'll know what to do."

Frodo felt too weak to protest. He allowed Sam to raise his head and touch a tumbler of cool, sweet water to his lips. It soothed his dry throat, though he was glad to lie back against the pillow.

"Now, just you rest here, sir, and we'll be right back."

Closing his eyes, Frodo nodded faintly.

And waited.

Soon enough, he heard footsteps, and a gentle hand brushed his brow, feeling his forehead. A soft exclamation followed.

"Frodo! Tell me how you are feeling; I will do my best to ease you, if I can. Sam, if you would fetch us some fresh cloths and a basin of water - just a touch on the warm side, if you please."

Frodo opened his eyes, looking up at Eowyn, who bent over him with concern, smoothing back his curls. "I'm so cold. And I ache all over."

"Have you any difficulty breathing?"

He shook his head.

She looked relieved. "Good. Is there any place that especially hurts?"

Again he shook his head. Talking seemed to consume too much effort.

"It may be simply a light fever such as is common during our summers. We shall soon have you feeling better. But until the fever has gone, you must remain abed."

Nothing could have sounded better at the moment. Frodo lay quietly as Sam returned with water and cloths, presenting them to Eowyn, who wrung out a cloth in the water and began to bathe Frodo's face.

"Do you think you could eat a little something good? Something warm and nourishing and not too heavy on your tummy?"

Frodo answered with a weak nod. "Maybe."

She smiled. "Good. Then try and sleep. I shall wake you when it is ready."

Letting his eyes slide shut, Frodo snuggled against her touch and slipped into a peaceful slumber. The last thing of which he felt aware was her stroking his back gently.

***

"Frodo."

A delicious aroma wafted past Frodo's nose, and he blinked his eyes open sleepily to find Eowyn at his shoulder, calling gently to him.

"Do you think you can take some soup now? I think that you will enjoy the taste, and it will help make you more comfortable."

Nodding, Frodo pushed himself up in bed, allowing her to help by propping him on pillows.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

The bowl of appealing tan-grey soup that sat before him looked *most* intriguing, and smelled even better than it looked. Eowyn smiled proudly.

"Mushroom soup with chicken and sage," she explained. "How does that sound?"

It could not have sounded better, and as Eowyn spooned it up for him, Frodo had the thought that being ill might not be the worst thing in the world. Not when one had a soft bed and a lovely lady and warm mushroom soup for comfort.

-to be continued-

Chapter Eighteen ("What Eowyn Said"): The hobbits depart Rohan with a gift of a receipt-book from Eowyn to Frodo.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Is everyone ready?"

Frodo nodded as he checked the stirrups on Strider, his pony. He could not bear to admit that he was sorry to leave Rohan. Eowyn had been kind to them, and he still felt tired from his recent illness. Pippin's cheery chatter was almost more than he could bear at this early hour; he was no longer so early a riser as he once had been.

"Wait."

Turning, Frodo found Eowyn catching up to their gathering-party, something in her hand - a small bundle, wrapped in cloth and tied up with bright blue ribbon. This she held out to him, drawing him aside.

"A gift. Consider it a parting-gift."

Frodo blushed.

"Go ahead, open it." She beamed.

Obediently he began to work the bow with careful fingers, unwrapping the gift to reveal a book. He folded back the cover carefully to reveal hand-writing:

"From Eowyn of Rohan
To Frodo of the Shire
May peace find you."

"It's beautiful," he managed softly at last.

"It is a receipt-book. It belonged to my mother."

"Then you should keep it for yourself - "

"Nay, little one." Eowyn bent to reassure him. "I have plenty of resources at my disposal. This may bring you comfort some cold winter's night, and what better use for it than that?"

Suddenly she knelt, bringing her face to his height, her clear eyes intense as she looked into his gaze.

"We are both of us changed irrevocably," she whispered, "and I know not that it is all for the better. But, for better or for worse, we are changed, and we must live as we are. Go now, Frodo Baggins, and live! Whether your journey take you no farther than your homeland, or to roads I shall never see, go and live, and find a measure of happiness."

And she embraced him.

It was not until they were some distance away that Frodo saw his last glimpse of the White Lady fade from view. . .and even then, he thought he saw her waving, from afar, for some while to come.

That night his dreams were sweet.

-the end-