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!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kalil had strange cushions brought in, with holes in 'em, like they was made that way, and put 'em under Mr. Frodo's heels and elbows, real gentle. He said them strange cushions would help keep the bed from rubbing sores on Mr. Frodo's poor thin body, and showed me a place or two on his hips we'd need to take special care with, 'cause those places were already getting red and sore. He tried to get Mr. Frodo to swallow a little more medicine and some o'that tea, but Mr. Frodo, he weren't having none of it.

"Here, sir, let me try." I took the spoon o'medicine. "Mr. Frodo, sir, now you've got to swallow this medicine for me. It'll make you feel better. Please try?"

Well, that did it. He opened up and let me give him the medicine, and swallowed it pretty as you please, so I tried with the tea.

"A little more, sir, just a few sips."

He drank that, too. "Sam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Sam...I'm so thirsty, Sam...."

I gave him some water. "I'm right here, sir."

"How...much...farther?"

I knew then he still weren't in his right mind, and was thinking we was back in Mordor, trying to get to that mountain.

"Humour him," Kalil whispered to me. So I did.

"Not too far, sir, but we can't go any farther today. So you just rest here now, and your Sam'll take good care o'you."

He sighed, then, and lay still, his breathing slowing down a little, though he reached up to his neck, where the Queen had gave him that gem, and clung to it for dear life. I think he still thought it was the Ring, but long as it gave him comfort, I weren't going to tell him otherwise.

I was right worried about Mr. Frodo. I couldn't never remember seeing him this out o'his head, and I couldn't hardly remember a time when I didn't take care o'him. First winter he was at Bag End, he took sick with the Northfarthing flu and Mr. Bilbo called for Mam to come up and help nurse him, he was that scared o'hurting Mr. Frodo. Well, I'd already had the Northfarthing flu, so Mam took me with her to help out, though I was young still, only about ten or so. But in our house, you were old enough to help soon's your feet hit the floor, so I went with her.

I still remember how sick Mr. Frodo was, all tucked up in his big bed, trying to toss the covers off and not wanting to eat a bite, and thin as a willow-wand. I hadn't never seen no hobbit that thin. Mam put plasters on his chest and bruised mint in steaming bowls o'water and made him breathe it in, and she got me in the kitchen working on some mushroom soup, 'cause Mr. Bilbo said he were exceptionally fond o'mushrooms, even for a hobbit, and we reckoned that might get him to eat. I'd been cooking in some fashion for half my life already, so I didn't reckon it were that much work to stand on a little step-stool and make soup, but it worked. Mr. Frodo ate up half a bowlful for Mam once I had it made, and started asking for soup now and then, so I kept a pot made up all hours, just in case we could get a few mouthfuls down him. We got him through that bout and stayed on till he was up and about again, and Mr. Bilbo felt like he could take care o'him proper.

I wished and wished it were still that simple.

"Sam," Eowyn said, real quiet next to me, "is there anything you can think of that we could do to make Frodo more comfortable?"

I knew then what she meant. She was afraid Mr. Frodo was dying, and I was afraid too. I turned around and looked at her, and she looked real worried. "I don't know. I ain't never seen him this sick, I don't reckon."

"I know, Sam. I know." She hugged me, but there were tears in her eyes. "I want you to sit here with your master, and try to make him feel safe, and I will go fetch Faramir. He will want to know. Merry and Pippin as well."

I nodded, snuffling. I was afraid maybe this was it, but I couldn't think of just letting it pass. Mr. Frodo had fought too long and too hard to die here, his first full day in this strange foreign place.

I wouldn't let him.

I looked up at Kalil. "Begging your pardon, sir, but if you could go and make more o'that hot milk drink you made for him last night, I'd like to try and get that down him. He's a hobbit, and half his problem is he's not getting enough nourishment, so let's start with that. I'll sit with him." Kalil looked at me kind of funny, but he got up and went, and I leaned over to talk to Mr. Frodo.

"Now, Mr. Frodo, you know you can do this. You have to fight. You have to try and get better, 'cause people need you. We aren't giving up on you, so don't you give up on us! Hold on. I'm right here."

Well, his hand tightened its grip on mine. I knew better than to think that meant he knew exactly what I was saying, but I wanted to believe maybe he did know, so I kept talking.

"Don't you want to see all the strange people here? And the markets, with all that good fruit and things to eat? I hear tell they even cook mushrooms a different way here, with spices and stuff. Wouldn't you like to taste that?"

Merry and Pippin hurried in, and they both looked white as ghosts. I kind of motioned them over. "Talk to him," I said, "only don't say nothing bad, 'cause I don't want him giving up now!"

Merry seemed to understand first, and gave a firm nod. "Frodo," he said, kneeling down beside the bed, "you can't give up. We've only just gotten here, and we don't know how to talk to people like you do, or what things are. You've always been better at learning new people and places than I have. I need you to hold on...but mostly, I want you to. You're very dear to me, cousin."

Well, Master Pippin, he looked like he was half ready to cry, but he bucked up real fast, and sat down cross-legged on the floor by the head o'the bed. "That's right!" he said. "Frodo, I haven't anyone who understands me here, not the way you do. Merry half treats me like a faunt still, and you know I get on Sam's nerves sometimes, and I can't talk to other people the way I can you. And I miss you. You have to get better so I can show you the market. It's huge! And they have the loveliest food there, like nothing you've ever seen. I know you're tired, but please try."

Just then Mr. Frodo took his other hand and reached out for Pippin. He was still weak as a kitten, and his eyes were closed, but I reckon he could hear Pippin's voice, and he put out his hand, and Pippin took it in both o'his, rubbing it real gentle.

Slowly Mr. Frodo's big blue eyes opened.

"I'm tired," he murmured.

"I know, Mr. Frodo, dear," I said. "But we don't want you to do anything other than rest, and try to get better. Now, in just a few minutes here, I'm going to have some milk for you, a warm drink, and I want you to sup it all down for me. And later I'll have something more for you, and I want you to drink that up too. Do you think you can do that?"

"I'll...try...." Mr. Frodo clung to my hand for dear life. "Sam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell me again...about...Nine-fingered Frodo."

Well, that set my jaw dropping, but Mr. Frodo smiled a little, and that set my jaw dropping so far I 'bout needed my hands to pick it up.

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Of course....I'm....sure. Pippin...could...use...a good...story."

Pippin grinned, then, for all he still looked like he might cry, and Merry nodded.

"Go on, then, Sam. Let's hear it."

"Well, I can't tell it like them minstrels do, but let me see...."

-to be continued-