febobe

Title: Into the East
Author: Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End)
Rating/Warnings: PG (graphic food descriptions, some occasionally graphic medical angst - NO CANON CHARACTER DEATH. I promise! It may seem at first that I'm headed that direction, but I absolutely guarantee, NO canon characters will be killed off in this fic!)
Summary: After the Quest, Frodo comes down with a serious illness, and journeys to Harad in search of better health.
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Elrond, Eowyn, Faramir, Merry, Pippin, an OC named Kalil (partly in tribute to Claudia's own Khalil), other supporting OCs, appearances by Aragorn and possibly Arwen. Others TBA, if any.
Disclaimer: I do not own and have not created any of J.R.R. Tolkien's work, neither characters nor world nor any of his concepts. I'm just playing in the sandbox, with no ill intent. Original characters, including (but not limited to) Kalil are my own creation, and I would appreciate it if they weren't used without asking. (Unlike Tolkien, I'm not dead!) This fic meets FrodoHealers standards and is free from profanity, sex, and slash.
Notes: Sam lovers, I think this is a fic you'll enjoy, as it strongly features his voice and viewpoint. Frodo lovers, this is definitely a fic you'll enjoy, especially if you're an old-school FrodoHealers fan. Faramir and Eowyn, Merry and Pippin will all have significant roles to play throughout this fic, though it takes a few chapters to get there. Also, please note that I have chosen Indian food for the predominant culinary culture of Harad. I realize that it may well be closer to Middle Eastern cookery, but I wanted to give it a distinctive tie and recognizable flavor, and I chose Indian. No ill will intended if you prefer a different interpretation; just know that this is my interpretation only and I realize it isn't the only potential take on Haradraic food out there. A word about Kalil and the Haradrim: I intend absolutely no disrespect to any culture or language. But the people of Harad would look and seem strange to Sam, Shire hobbit that he is, and more so than the fair-skinned elves and Big Folk he knew well. As for Kalil's language, I realize some people are fluent in multiple languages, but Kalil isn't as fluent as some people. I think he does pretty well myself! Also, a special thank-you to Riddlemaster for medical assistance and culinary coaching. She's a gem, folks...applaud her! :)

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was a long journey and no mistake.

To be fair, though, it didn't seem any worse than getting from Bree to Elrond's house was, back that fall before, when Mr. Frodo was so bad off and there weren't much we could do. If anything, it was a lot better, 'cause Lady Eowyn sat in the wagon with us, and she had water for Mr. Frodo, and little tidbits of food we'd try to get him to eat, though he didn't want much of anything to eat, and was real hard to coax. When we'd stop I'd do what Lord Elrond taught me to - turn Mr. Frodo so's he wouldn't get sore places on him from lying in one position too long, and I'd check what they called his "temperature" with that strange instrument Lord Elrond taught us to use, something called a thermometer. He'd taught Mr. Frodo how to hold it under his tongue and taught us both how long I should wait before taking it out and squinting at the numbers on the little glass tube. It worried me an awful lot, and when it read one-oh-three or one-oh-four like it did so often these days, I'd wring out cloths in a bucket o'water, and put compresses on his head to soothe him. Lord Elrond said that might help his fever. I hoped so. I wasn't used to measuring and couldn't see the good in it, but Lord Elrond said if I could tell this Kalil what the instrument said, it might help him know how to help Mr. Frodo better. So I did it real regular.

It was hard on poor Mr. Frodo, all that jouncing about in the wagon, but we made it the best we could for him with cushions and pillows and soft blankets. Even so, he shook and sweated, and half the time he was out of his head with fever. His cough weren't doing no good, neither, and a day into our journey it started bringing up bloody-streaked gunk. Not much red, mind you, but enough it worried me, and I could tell it kinda bothered Mr. Frodo too.

Well, I didn't know then but what we should have stayed in Minas Tirith. That set me back, and no mistake. But Lady Eowyn was real calm about it, said we shouldn't alarm Mr. Frodo, and just keep things like they were, that soon we'd be in Riavod and he could rest in his bed and the doctor might could help him.

But I could see her eyes.

They were worried.

Real worried.

Well, I understood about not alarming Mr. Frodo, so I kept my trap shut about it all, and kept giving Mr. Frodo sips of water, and keeping him sponged down when we stopped, and o'course Master Merry and Master Pippin, who rode their ponies along behind us with the rest o'the guard on horseback, would help me and try to talk to Mr. Frodo, tell him stories and sing songs from their tales. They carefully avoided anything about the Quest itself, which made me feel real grateful to them. Instead they'd sing funny songs the men had taught them, or old Shire songs, good comforting things that would either make you laugh or make you smile.

Not that Mr. Frodo did much of either these days.

Well, we jounced around in that cart for a few more days before finally Faramir turned around to us and said, "Look."

I don't reckon even Minas Tirith looked as grand as what rose up before us.

It was a great city, with towers and strange buildings, some o'them round, and that pleased me, being as it reminded me of the round doors and our holes back home. Big! You never saw someplace so big. And it was busy as we drove through the streets, and there were people everywhere, strange dark-skinned folk in colourful clothes - bright colours like back home, none of the drab and somber look that the folk of Minas Tirith had. These folk wore colours like red and orange, blue and green, yellow and purple, and it was a pretty sight.

"We're here, Mr. Frodo," I said to him. "Soon you can rest in your own new bed."

But Mr. Frodo was that tired, he barely even smiled, and didn't even try to look out, and that told me just how poorly he was feeling, 'cause he always did like new places, and was always interested in wherever we went. This time he just barely seemed to be hanging on, and his hand curled around mine felt so weak, like he didn't hardly have the strength to hold my fingers.

Well, we pulled up and stopped in front of a great, grand place, with rounded towers and big doors. I couldn't help hoping we didn't have to go up lots o'them stairs to get where we were going; I never did care much for heights, and Mr. Frodo, he'd have to be carried anyhow, even if we were on the first floor. Faramir helped Lady Eowyn down first, her being his wife and all, and then he got me down and set me on the ground real easy, and then he reached into the wagon for Mr. Frodo, who moaned and whimpered so it fair broke my heart. But he scooped him up real gentle-like, and pulled him close to his chest, so that Mr. Frodo reclined against him and was real secure. He looked so pale I felt my stomach tie up in knots. Surely we didn't come all this way only for him to die our first day here.

And then a dark-skinned servant opened the front door, and Lord Faramir led the way in, and we went inside....

-to be continued-