FIC: "Lavender's Blue" (1-4/4) by Febobe
Jan. 28th, 2007 11:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
febobeI'm posting all four chapters in one fell swoop here, since they're short, but I'll be posting them as individual chapters on ff.net. . . . PLEASE be warned that this is the aforementioned darkfic, okee?
Shirebound, THIS is the story I warned you against, so DO *NOT* CLICK!!!! You don't want to read it; trust me!!!! The rest of you, feel free to click and read the warning in the rating and notes and then decide for yourselves whether you wish to read the story itself. I think I've been pretty explicit (to the spoilerish point) in my warnings in this one.
This story meets my usual standards regarding slash, sex, and profanity; it's just. . .well, it's an AU darkfic, okee? 'Nuff said. See the rating/warnings for details.
Title: Lavender's Blue
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FBoBE/"Febobe")
Rating: R 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
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Rosemary's green,
When I am king
You shall be queen.
-Traditional Nursery Rhyme
CHAPTER ONE: Dark Tidings
"You wished to see me, Frodo?"
Anxiously Elrond bent over the bed, sliding his arms around the tiny hobbit to gather him up as Frodo nodded weakly, his fair features at once pale and flushed.
"Mmm-hmm. . .thank you. So cold. . . ."
Indeed: the little one shivered violently, as if with chill, yet the heat rising from his body was unmistakable. Settling onto the bed with his small charge, Elrond cradled him close, listening acutely to the sound of difficult breathing. "How are you feeling otherwise?"
"Chest hurts. . .and my head aches. And I feel sick. . . ." Frodo began to cough, pressing a hand to his mouth in an effort to cover it politely. . .but when his hand came away, it was sticky with bright red blood.
Elrond suddenly felt sick himself.
It all made a horrible sort of sense. . .first the war, in which Frodo had, in his own fashion, been involved. . .and now symptoms such as these. . . .
No.
But he could not ignore the truth, and reluctantly he eased Frodo onto his bed, settling a clean basin close beside his pillow as he tucked him in warmly.
"Be at peace, Frodo. I will help you. I need only a few minutes to write a note to ask Captain Faramir and Queen Arwen to have some things sent up for your comfort."
Making his way to the small writing-desk, he settled himself and began to write. Nine bars of rosemary soap for the other hobbits and the immediate members of the Fellowship and royal house, to ward off the sickness. . .two bars of lavender mint soap for Frodo, who had been fond of it in Imladris. . .candles.
"Frodo, Bilbo once mentioned that you are very fond of apples, and their smell, as well as of lavender and mint. Was he correct?"
Frodo perked up. "Oh, yes. I love apples."
Candles: lavender, mint, and apple, enough for at least three days, in case it went - well, not so badly as he feared. Shrubs: blueberry, strawberry, blackberry, raspberry, and/or elderberry, as many bottles as you can safely pack.
To Arwen he began to write the request for quarantine. . .and for ginger tea, peppermint tea, lemon barley-water, blueberry lemonade, strawberry lemonade, peppermint iced tea, and Frodo's beloved sparkling strawberry tea. The little one would need fluids. . .and soon, though it would be challenge enough to get them to go down and stay down.
Elrond sighed as he rose and handed the sealed notes out to the guard, keeping the door shut all but the slightest crack.
The plague. Here. Now. In Minas Tirith.
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."
CHAPTER THREE: Memory
By the time Captain Faramir had returned and sent up the supplies, Frodo's condition was notably worsening. His breathing had become more difficult, and he was no longer able even to turn in bed unaided by his caregiver. Fortunately, everything that had been requested was there, so Elrond was able to set at once to the task of making Frodo more comfortable, lighting scented candles to freshen the air of the sickroom, giving cooling fruit shrub to drink, and promptly setting to giving the little one a sponge-bath with the lavender mint soap. This Frodo seemed to enjoy greatly despite his weakened condition, perhaps because it gave comfort from the high fever. Elrond felt almost sorry to end it, though he promised another soon: it would be a long night, he knew, and most likely the bath would be required more than once more during the dark hours between dusk and dawn.
As night drew on, Frodo's condition worsened further: he began to grow delirious at times, and sometimes thought himself back on the Quest, or in the Shire with Bilbo. He would demand the Ring, or beg piteously for his uncle, and no amount of reassurance from Elrond could comfort him until the delirium passed and he was sufficiently himself to recognise that he was, in fact, safe and the Ring destroyed. More than once he required physical restraint to prevent his doing himself and others an injury by getting out of bed and running to the window or door; fortunately, Elrond's greater size and strength rendered that easy enough to accomplish, though it broke his heart to do so.
In between, however, there were moments of peace. . .when Elrond would bathe Frodo with lavender mint soap and talk to him of better things. . . .
"What is your favourite memory?"
"Mmm." Frodo contemplated this for a long moment. "I don't know. I would have to divide it up into my favourite memory with Mamma and Papa, my favourite memory with Bilbo, and my favourite memory since Bilbo went away."
"Any of those."
"Mmm." Frodo sighed contentedly as Elrond turned him and bathed his back. "My favourite memory with Bilbo. He took me walking up to the Woody End to camp one night. We saw elves, and we talked with them - well, Bilbo did mostly. They talked to me a little too. I couldn't speak very much Elvish yet. But they called me 'little elf-friend' anyhow."
"Wise indeed." Elrond smiled. "You had many good times with Bilbo, did you not?"
"Yes." Frodo sighed. "You *will* tell him I love him, won't you? How sorry I am that I did not get back to see him?"
"I will indeed. I promise."
"And the others? You'll tell them? I do wish I could see them again, but I. . .I understand. I don't want them sick too."
"I promise, tithen min."
"Good. Thank you." Frodo turned his face to the pillow once more and closed his eyes.
It was three o'clock in the morning, and the only sound in the room was the sound of soft, laboured breathing.
CHAPTER FOUR: Lullaby
The last hours of the night were proving the most difficult for Elrond. Frodo was complaining of feeling nauseated yet thirsty, and had to be coaxed to take ice-chips and sips of ginger tea. His skin was clammy, and his breathing grew more shallow and difficult with each passing half-hour. Still he complained of aches, so Elrond took it upon himself to continue offering gentle baths and rubdowns now and again until nearly dawn, when he wrapped Frodo warmly and tucked him in. But the little hobbit proved restless, and so Elrond gathered him up and took him to the rocking-chair by the window, cradling the swaddled bundle in his lap.
"Is there anything else you would like, Frodo?"
The little hobbit shook his head. "Not that I can have. . .I mean, I wish I could see my friends again, but I can't, and I don't really have anything specific enough to say worth dictating a letter to them. You know what I want to say. Tell them."
"I will."
"And I would have liked to have seen the Shire again." Frodo laughed softly. "But that can't be either. Sam will have to see it for me. Sam and Merry and Pippin."
"They will, little one." Elrond could only pray that the contagion had not spread. But by all reports, the other hobbits had remained healthy - a good sign thus far.
"And Bilbo. I am sorry to miss Bilbo."
"Perhaps you will see him again soon, tithen min. We do not know what happens to hobbits when they die, but I believe that perhaps they are reunited with their loved ones, as much as they love home and family. So perhaps you shall see your parents. . .and soon, Bilbo, for his days cannot be many more."
Frodo smiled sadly. "I wonder what my parents would think of me now. . . ."
"They would be proud, tithen min, and they would be right to be so. You saved your home, and indeed all the world. Without you, the world would have fallen into darkness. . .including the Shire. They should be very proud."
A violent fit of coughing seized Frodo, this time bringing up more blood than usual - enough that Elrond had to seize the basin placed beside their chair. When it was over, Elrond helped Frodo rinse his mouth and set the basin aside, cradling his little charge close.
"It. . .was worth. . .it all. . .to know. . .that the Shire. . .can be safe." Frodo mustered a weak smile. "Worth. . .everything."
Elrond found he had no words. Rocking Frodo back and forth gently, he began to hum an elvish lullaby sung to his children many ages past.
It was only then that he felt the tiny figure go limp in his arms.
Slowly he continued to rock Frodo back and forth, humming the gentle lullaby, singing the Ringbearer to sleep at last.
-the end-
Shirebound, THIS is the story I warned you against, so DO *NOT* CLICK!!!! You don't want to read it; trust me!!!! The rest of you, feel free to click and read the warning in the rating and notes and then decide for yourselves whether you wish to read the story itself. I think I've been pretty explicit (to the spoilerish point) in my warnings in this one.
This story meets my usual standards regarding slash, sex, and profanity; it's just. . .well, it's an AU darkfic, okee? 'Nuff said. See the rating/warnings for details.
Title: Lavender's Blue
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FBoBE/"Febobe")
Rating: R 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
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Rosemary's green,
When I am king
You shall be queen.
-Traditional Nursery Rhyme
CHAPTER ONE: Dark Tidings
"You wished to see me, Frodo?"
Anxiously Elrond bent over the bed, sliding his arms around the tiny hobbit to gather him up as Frodo nodded weakly, his fair features at once pale and flushed.
"Mmm-hmm. . .thank you. So cold. . . ."
Indeed: the little one shivered violently, as if with chill, yet the heat rising from his body was unmistakable. Settling onto the bed with his small charge, Elrond cradled him close, listening acutely to the sound of difficult breathing. "How are you feeling otherwise?"
"Chest hurts. . .and my head aches. And I feel sick. . . ." Frodo began to cough, pressing a hand to his mouth in an effort to cover it politely. . .but when his hand came away, it was sticky with bright red blood.
Elrond suddenly felt sick himself.
It all made a horrible sort of sense. . .first the war, in which Frodo had, in his own fashion, been involved. . .and now symptoms such as these. . . .
No.
But he could not ignore the truth, and reluctantly he eased Frodo onto his bed, settling a clean basin close beside his pillow as he tucked him in warmly.
"Be at peace, Frodo. I will help you. I need only a few minutes to write a note to ask Captain Faramir and Queen Arwen to have some things sent up for your comfort."
Making his way to the small writing-desk, he settled himself and began to write. Nine bars of rosemary soap for the other hobbits and the immediate members of the Fellowship and royal house, to ward off the sickness. . .two bars of lavender mint soap for Frodo, who had been fond of it in Imladris. . .candles.
"Frodo, Bilbo once mentioned that you are very fond of apples, and their smell, as well as of lavender and mint. Was he correct?"
Frodo perked up. "Oh, yes. I love apples."
Candles: lavender, mint, and apple, enough for at least three days, in case it went - well, not so badly as he feared. Shrubs: blueberry, strawberry, blackberry, raspberry, and/or elderberry, as many bottles as you can safely pack.
To Arwen he began to write the request for quarantine. . .and for ginger tea, peppermint tea, lemon barley-water, blueberry lemonade, strawberry lemonade, peppermint iced tea, and Frodo's beloved sparkling strawberry tea. The little one would need fluids. . .and soon, though it would be challenge enough to get them to go down and stay down.
Elrond sighed as he rose and handed the sealed notes out to the guard, keeping the door shut all but the slightest crack.
The plague. Here. Now. In Minas Tirith.
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."
CHAPTER THREE: Memory
By the time Captain Faramir had returned and sent up the supplies, Frodo's condition was notably worsening. His breathing had become more difficult, and he was no longer able even to turn in bed unaided by his caregiver. Fortunately, everything that had been requested was there, so Elrond was able to set at once to the task of making Frodo more comfortable, lighting scented candles to freshen the air of the sickroom, giving cooling fruit shrub to drink, and promptly setting to giving the little one a sponge-bath with the lavender mint soap. This Frodo seemed to enjoy greatly despite his weakened condition, perhaps because it gave comfort from the high fever. Elrond felt almost sorry to end it, though he promised another soon: it would be a long night, he knew, and most likely the bath would be required more than once more during the dark hours between dusk and dawn.
As night drew on, Frodo's condition worsened further: he began to grow delirious at times, and sometimes thought himself back on the Quest, or in the Shire with Bilbo. He would demand the Ring, or beg piteously for his uncle, and no amount of reassurance from Elrond could comfort him until the delirium passed and he was sufficiently himself to recognise that he was, in fact, safe and the Ring destroyed. More than once he required physical restraint to prevent his doing himself and others an injury by getting out of bed and running to the window or door; fortunately, Elrond's greater size and strength rendered that easy enough to accomplish, though it broke his heart to do so.
In between, however, there were moments of peace. . .when Elrond would bathe Frodo with lavender mint soap and talk to him of better things. . . .
"What is your favourite memory?"
"Mmm." Frodo contemplated this for a long moment. "I don't know. I would have to divide it up into my favourite memory with Mamma and Papa, my favourite memory with Bilbo, and my favourite memory since Bilbo went away."
"Any of those."
"Mmm." Frodo sighed contentedly as Elrond turned him and bathed his back. "My favourite memory with Bilbo. He took me walking up to the Woody End to camp one night. We saw elves, and we talked with them - well, Bilbo did mostly. They talked to me a little too. I couldn't speak very much Elvish yet. But they called me 'little elf-friend' anyhow."
"Wise indeed." Elrond smiled. "You had many good times with Bilbo, did you not?"
"Yes." Frodo sighed. "You *will* tell him I love him, won't you? How sorry I am that I did not get back to see him?"
"I will indeed. I promise."
"And the others? You'll tell them? I do wish I could see them again, but I. . .I understand. I don't want them sick too."
"I promise, tithen min."
"Good. Thank you." Frodo turned his face to the pillow once more and closed his eyes.
It was three o'clock in the morning, and the only sound in the room was the sound of soft, laboured breathing.
CHAPTER FOUR: Lullaby
The last hours of the night were proving the most difficult for Elrond. Frodo was complaining of feeling nauseated yet thirsty, and had to be coaxed to take ice-chips and sips of ginger tea. His skin was clammy, and his breathing grew more shallow and difficult with each passing half-hour. Still he complained of aches, so Elrond took it upon himself to continue offering gentle baths and rubdowns now and again until nearly dawn, when he wrapped Frodo warmly and tucked him in. But the little hobbit proved restless, and so Elrond gathered him up and took him to the rocking-chair by the window, cradling the swaddled bundle in his lap.
"Is there anything else you would like, Frodo?"
The little hobbit shook his head. "Not that I can have. . .I mean, I wish I could see my friends again, but I can't, and I don't really have anything specific enough to say worth dictating a letter to them. You know what I want to say. Tell them."
"I will."
"And I would have liked to have seen the Shire again." Frodo laughed softly. "But that can't be either. Sam will have to see it for me. Sam and Merry and Pippin."
"They will, little one." Elrond could only pray that the contagion had not spread. But by all reports, the other hobbits had remained healthy - a good sign thus far.
"And Bilbo. I am sorry to miss Bilbo."
"Perhaps you will see him again soon, tithen min. We do not know what happens to hobbits when they die, but I believe that perhaps they are reunited with their loved ones, as much as they love home and family. So perhaps you shall see your parents. . .and soon, Bilbo, for his days cannot be many more."
Frodo smiled sadly. "I wonder what my parents would think of me now. . . ."
"They would be proud, tithen min, and they would be right to be so. You saved your home, and indeed all the world. Without you, the world would have fallen into darkness. . .including the Shire. They should be very proud."
A violent fit of coughing seized Frodo, this time bringing up more blood than usual - enough that Elrond had to seize the basin placed beside their chair. When it was over, Elrond helped Frodo rinse his mouth and set the basin aside, cradling his little charge close.
"It. . .was worth. . .it all. . .to know. . .that the Shire. . .can be safe." Frodo mustered a weak smile. "Worth. . .everything."
Elrond found he had no words. Rocking Frodo back and forth gently, he began to hum an elvish lullaby sung to his children many ages past.
It was only then that he felt the tiny figure go limp in his arms.
Slowly he continued to rock Frodo back and forth, humming the gentle lullaby, singing the Ringbearer to sleep at last.
-the end-
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