FIC: "Nuts"
Oct. 23rd, 2006 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
febobeJust a bit of fic. . . Shirebound and LB, I think/hope you'll find that this rather fits in with your requests from last night, which is ironic, b/c I've been at it for ages, as Elwen can tell you, and had only recently picked it back up!!!
Enjoy, everyone!!!
NUTS
"Lord Elrond?"
The master of Imladris turned, still unaccustomed to hearing the words in Common Tongue rather than Sindarin: though it was not a particularly rare occurrence, he had not left Rivendell for so long, and it had had fewer and fewer human guests of late, that he nearly responded in the elven-tongue from sheer habit. But no, he was in the White City for Estel's coronation.
And his daughter's doom.
Blinking abruptly, he turned, managing a smile for the sake of the woman behind him. "Yes, my lady?"
The woman gazed wide-eyed at him for a moment before catching herself to continue. "I - please, my lord, they say you are a great healer, and - my little one - he is suffering so; I hate seeing him ill in the midst of all the festivities - "
Immediately Elrond tensed, though he schooled himself to avoid any show of it. Illness often followed hard upon wars - fevers and diarrhea, strange plagues -
And a plague had come out of Mordor not so many years earlier, in his reckoning, though many lifetimes of men ago.
If there was any opportunity to contain such a thing, it must be taken at once.
He called to the twins, who were playing chess just across the room: this section of the library seemed to have become "P for Peredhil" of late, taken over by his family.
"Elladan, fetch my herbal. Elrohir, go and find Frodo. Stay close in case he has need of you."
They looked up, a bit startled, but nodded. "Yes, Ada." Within a moment both were away, and Elladan had returned with his father's travelling-herbal.
"Now. . .show me."
***
"In here, my lord."
They had reached a room in one of the houses closest to the King's home - this was one of Gondor's noble families, though the realisation came as little surprise to one who could hear the blood of Numenor, thinned as it was, singing softly within the woman. Inside lay a boy of perhaps eight years or so, tucked up into bed. Involuntarily Elrond smiled, suddenly reminded of two tiny peredhil whom he and Celebrian had rocked and sung to sleep and tucked into little beds not so very many years past to his memory.
"What ails the child?"
The woman kept her voice soft, sickroom-quiet. "It came on suddenly, only yesterday. He complained of earache, and said his head hurt; I could not get him to eat anything, and he seemed to sicken with fever." She led the way to the bedside, folding back the covers tenderly. "And then. . .this."
Elrond followed her gesture. . .and resisted the urge to laugh.
Plague out of Mordor, indeed!
The child's jaws were swollen - or, more properly, there were swellings in front and below the ears.
Poor Celebrian had borne that burden alone: their twins had had it, and Arwen too - all three at the same time, when Arwen was very small still, leaving Celebrian divided between her screaming, crying toddler-daughter and her whimpering sons, who had proven that they were not too old to want their Ami when ill. At last she had cleverly put all four of them in the same room and made an end of it thus, bringing in her best healers so that the twins would lack nothing when Arwen cried for her Ami's arms, so that Arwen could be held and rocked constantly without the boys never having the comfort of their Ami to kiss their fevered brows and reassure them.
All three children had cried for their Ada.
And Celebrian had threatened him within an inch of his immortal life upon the matter of leaving her alone with the three ever again.
Settling gingerly upon the bed, he stroked back the boy's hair, and the child looked up, pain-filled eyes widening in wonder. At once Elrond smiled gently.
"Hello, little one. I am Elrond, and I am here to help you. Do not be frightened."
"I'm Bergil, sir."
"An excellent name." Calmly he reached for the compress soaking in water upon the bedside table, wringing it out before sponging the child's face lightly. "I have two sons of my own, and they were ill like this when they were younger."
"Did. . .did they. . .die?"
Elrond winced, reading the fear in the little one's eyes. Of course - all the children of Gondor knew now was death. For so long there had been little else in their land. . . . "No. They lived." Let us not even attempt the discussion that they are immortal children of the Firstborn, he added silently. "They are fine; they were warriors alongside King Elessar in the war."
"Really?" At once the child's countenance brightened.
"Really." Elrond smiled. "I shall ask one of them to stop by and see you." He looked up, nodding to the anxious mother. "My lady, you need not fear. It is a sickness not uncommon among children. . .and quite self-limited. He will be better within a week, perhaps two. Convalescence should be taken slowly. In the meantime, give him plenty of liquids. . .soft foods. . .nothing sharp, like pickles or some fruit juices. Soothing foods will go down more easily; the others worsen the pain." He gestured to the child's jaws. "Keep him in bed and away from others until all swelling has subsided. Applications of heat or cold may help ease the pain. Though I must warn you - " He lowered his voice, chuckling. "It may be difficult to keep him in bed the full duration, if my daughter was any hint."
The woman's eyes widened. "Surely not! The Queen?"
Elrond nodded, still smiling. Too well he remembered Celebrian's complaint that Arwen refused to stay put, and trailed after her Ami or cried for attention. The twins had been old enough that they would have proven even more difficult, had they not felt so utterly miserable - the illness had, as with so many older males, affected their more private regions, and they had passed a full week with supports and ice, moaning and bickering about which of them had it worse.
He secretly suspected that his private regions might have been detached with blunt implements had he ever attempted to leave Celebrian alone with them thereafter.
***
Two Weeks Later
"Ada?"
Elrond looked up from his book, smiling as his daughter came to kiss his hair. "Yes, little one?"
"Estel is in council, and I would not interrupt him if I could help it. . .but I have just put Frodo to bed. He only picked at his meals today, Sam tells me, and when I came to speak with him alone, I found him lying in a window-seat, looking flushed. He has a fever, and though he says nothing of it, I think his head aches."
"I will see to him. Let Estel be. You were wise in your choice, my daughter." Rising, he crossed to the desk, selecting a few additional medicines to go with his travelling-herbal. The Ringbearer had not seemed really well since the Quest. . .no surprise, that. Perhaps a tonic. . .but the fever was deeply concerning, and he could only hope to Elbereth that it was something within his power to ease.
***
"Frodo?"
The small mass of blankets stirred.
"Frodo, my Ada has come to see you. . .will you let him look at you? He wishes only to make you feel better."
Another rustling of the blankets, and a small dark mop of curls emerged, huddling fretfully into Arwen's arms as she sat to comfort him, gathering him up.
"Here, Ada. . .need I undress him?"
"No. . .no, this is fine." Indeed, Arwen had managed to wrangle the stubborn hobbit out of his usual suit and into a soft night-shirt. Gently Elrond bent over the small bundle, touching his forehead.
Burning up.
"Arwen, put him over your lap. We must take his temperature."
Frodo whimpered, but voiced no further complaint, which worried the elven lord: normally any mention of taking Frodo's temperature thus provoked the little one to immediate protest. At once he readied the fever-stick, moistening it with a bit of soothing salve like that used on infants. Arwen, meanwhile, eased her small charge onto his tummy, supporting him with her arm, and pulled up the night-gown, allowing Elrond easy access.
Then they waited, Elrond holding the instrument in place.
A hobbit's temperature, by Elrond's reckoning, should not have been more than 100 at most by such a method.
Frodo's reading came to one hundred and three point eight. . .the equivalent of nearly one hundred and three degrees by mouth.
Anxiously Elrond wiped the small backside, then cleaned the fever-stick and washed his hands. "Frodo, where do you have pain?"
"My head aches. . .and I don't feel well all over."
"Anywhere else?"
"My ears ache. . .and swallowing feels strange. As if my mouth were full of splinters. My jaws hurt."
Elrond froze.
No.
"Let me have a look." Keeping his voice calm, he waited while Arwen eased Frodo back up and turned the little one to face him at last. At once he ran gentle fingers over Frodo's jawline, touching the neck along the area in front and below the ears. The little one winced, whimpering.
There was swelling. Not yet pronounced, but sufficiently distinct as to be unmistakable.
"Frodo. . .what childhood illnesses did you have? Besides colds and coughs, I mean."
For a moment Frodo eyed him warily. "Measles. I was terribly sick with measles when I lived at Brandy Hall. Caught them from my cousins. And chicken-pox, too, after I moved to Hobbiton. It went round there and I got it. And then there were the Brandywine Measles. . .the Westfarthing Measles. . .I had both those. . . ."
"What is the difference?" ventured Arwen softly.
Frodo looked up at her.
"Where you break out in a rash, how upset your stomach gets, and how badly you itch."
Elrond resisted the faint urge to smile.
"I think the Westfarthing ones are worse." He peered curiously at Elrond. "What is it?"
"Have you never had the mumps?"
Frodo shook his head. "I don't think so. My cousins did, but I wasn't at Great Smials or Brandy Hall when it went round those places. So Pip and Merry have had them. And I remember Sam couldn't come up to Bag End for a while because he and Marigold had them. But I never did."
"I believe you do now."
Blue eyes widened. . .and Frodo looked up at Arwen pitifully.
"I - please, could I - I think I need something to drink - "
"Water?"
He shook his head. "If I could have some juice. . .please? Not the sharp juice; there was some melon juice they gave me, and I liked it. . . ."
She smiled, rising as she eased him back into bed. "Of course." Within an instant, she was gone, and Frodo leaned forward anxiously.
"I do want some, truly. . .but. . .I couldn't say it with her here. . .not in front of a lady. . . ."
Elrond kept his voice gentle, attempting to soothe the little one. "What is it?"
"Is. . ." Frodo looked down. "Is that why I hurt. . .down there?"
"Let me see."
Frodo reddened, but lay back, allowing his caregiver to lift his gown once more.
"Spread your legs just a little, Frodo. This may hurt, but I promise - once I see what is the matter, I will do all I can to ease your pain."
A tiny nod. The small hobbit obeyed, and Elrond winced just looking at the hobbit's private area: Frodo's testicles were visibly swollen.
"Ow!"
And tender to the touch upon even the slightest efforts at examination.
"I will provide you with a support, Frodo. . .and we will provide ice-bags for that area. That will help you feel a little better." He rose and washed his hands before returning to stroke the little hobbit's hair. "We will put hot or cold applications on your jaws, whichever you find gives you more relief. And we will attempt to bring down your fever, though I fear that there may only be so much we can do."
***
The last thing Aragorn expected upon leaving his council chambers was to be met by his Ada - a very anxious Ada at that.
"What is it? Has something happened?"
Elrond sighed, and Aragorn winced, bracing himself as he saw the Eyebrows fold. "We must learn at once how many of the Fellowship and of the court - apart from those few of full elven blood, like Legolas - have had the mumps. Those who have not should be pressed to remain in their quarters, as we may be at the beginning of an outbreak."
Aragorn suddenly felt tense. "Frodo?"
A shake of the head. "He is very ill. I have left him in Arwen's care for the present. She and the twins have had them; they were alone with Celebrian at the time - it is something I have rather - vivid - memories of hearing about."
"The other hobbits?"
"Mercifully, Frodo says that they have all had them already. Only he had not. We must enquire to be certain, but I suspect he is right."
"Gimli has had them. I remember him telling a story while we travelled about looking like a chipmunk with full cheeks."
"Good. Good." Elrond nodded absently. "Ask Faramir. And have him make the necessary arrangements that I mentioned."
"I can do so. After all - "
Elrond shook his head, smiling grimly.
"I would not count on it, Estel."
Aragorn paused at the door, arching an eyebrow himself. "Adar - ?"
Another shake of the head. "You have never had mumps."
***
"Ada - "
"Ada, you should come - "
"Elrohir will watch Frodo - "
The twins' snickering always made Elrond suspicious by now, even - especially - after several ages. Sighing, he rose, stroking the little hobbit's hair. Frodo's fever showed no signs of breaking, and the swelling had not improved, leaving the tiny Ringbearer miserable, ill, and in need of constant care. Unlike most, Frodo did not feel well enough to get out of bed, but he bristled at the restriction nonetheless, insisting that at least he should be allowed up for the chamber-pot and to see out of the window and such. The fact that he was given privacy for use of the vessel and that Elrond moved his bed to easily see out of the window seemed to matter little.
Rising, he followed Elladan down the corridor. "'Dan, what is this about? You know I haven't time for jokes."
"It isn't a joke, Ada." Nevertheless, his firstborn tittered. . .but stifled it forcefully as he led the way into the room.
Elrond stepped in.
And promptly turned away to suppress a laugh.
Aragorn lay propped up in bed, looking for all the world like a wounded squirrel.
His face was flushed, his jaws were swollen, and he looked utterly miserable.
Turning back, Elrond swiftly crossed to the bed, sitting beside his adopted son.
"Well, Estel - I take it you are feeling unwell?"
A nod. "My ears ache. And my head. And that's not all." He glared up at Elladan, who merely grinned.
Elrond offered his firstborn the Eyebrow. "Elladan, go and fetch a support and an ice-bag for your younger brother. And something for him to eat and drink. You know what will go down easily."
"Yes, Ada." Sobered, Elladan promptly departed. Elrond folded back the blankets and lifted the night-shirt.
"Spread a little."
Aragorn obeyed.
Swollen.
"OW!"
"It will feel better with a support and some ice."
"I should hope so!"
Elrond rose and crossed to wash his hands at the basin.
Not, however, without hearing Aragorn muttering indistinctly about wondering whether kings could execute their fathers-in-law.
***
The epidemic seemed to be quite mild in comparison to most Elrond had seen, perhaps because they had reined it in so early. Fortunately, many of the Court members had already had the disease, proving immune. . .and the same was true of the remainder of the Fellowship. Only Frodo and Aragorn were vulnerable. Faramir proved a most valuable aide, having already had mumps himself, long ago, and promptly took over Aragorn's duties, providing organised daily reports and calmly dodging any threats, physical or verbal, flung at him by the cross King.
Elrond sighed, settling into his chair by Frodo's bed. The little one was still so ill. Not too ill to be thoroughly cranky, which was a good sign in its own way, but too ill to smile, too ill to be at all comfortable. . . .
And when Frodo was not whimpering for him, there was Estel, who had reverted to the level of a five-year-old.
Between the two of them, Arwen and Elrond were suddenly the two most highly-sought individuals in all of Minas Tirith.
To be fair, neither of the patients were at all well, mused Elrond. Not even convalescent, and there was so little to be done for the pain. . . .
He rubbed at his temples.
Speaking of pain, his head ached.
So did his ears.
No. . . .
***
"Come on, now, Ada. Don't make me send for Ioreth."
At this threat Elrond promptly turned onto his side, sighing as his secondborn coaxed him to adjust his legs, then slid a fever-stick up his backside.
Frodo was right about this.
Miserable process. Utterly miserable.
Minutes passed as slowly as ages.
"Ooooh."
"What *is* it, Elrohir?"
"Testy, testy, aren't we? Speaking of which, just a minute and I'll finish that examination. But look."
Elrond blinked at the thermometer.
One hundred and three point seven.
"Back over, Ada."
"OUCH!"
"Sorry, Ada!"
Elrond glared at his son, who stood over him, cupping the elven-lord's testicles in his hand. "I suggest that unless you wish me to remove yours by force you slow down and take a little more care."
"Sorry, Ada. I will." Elrohir frowned. "Ai, Ada, but you *are* swollen up! Let me go and get you a support. And an ice-bag."
He disappeared, leaving Elrond in bed.
With the night-shirt still pulled up.
Elrond swiftly readjusted both gown and covers, sighing.
Perhaps this was his punishment for sending Frodo off to Mount Doom.
***
"It's no good, Ada."
Elrond frowned in confusion as both twins faced him. "What do you mean?"
Two matching heads shook simultaneously. "We can't do it. Being stretched between you and Estel and Frodo - one of us can sit with each, but then if we have to leave - there are servants, but it isn't the same; sometimes they can't fix the right thing, not without help, or not at all."
"What are you suggesting, then?"
Elrohir sat down gingerly, as if fearing his father might bite. "We have prepared a large room - one of the halls. It's very roomy, but well-heated. Well-aired, but not drafty. And now it has - "
"Three beds."
"Chamber-pots."
"Washstands."
"Bath-tubs."
"Warming-racks."
"Clean linen, lots and lots and lots of it."
"Games."
"Bedside-tables."
"Lap-desks."
"A chair by each bed."
Two pairs of eyes met his.
"Please, Ada?"
***
"I still cannot believe you would move a sick man - a king, no less - from his own rooms," grumbled Aragorn from Elladan's arms as he was carried to the hall.
"For the same reason that they would move their own father, the herald of Gil-Galad, from his," quipped Elrond from Elrohir's.
"Must you be so loud?" whimpered a tiny voice, causing both to look up: Frodo was behind them, nestled in Arwen's arms.
And from the way he lay snuggled against her bosom, one might well have suspected he had no intention of moving.
Aragorn glowered.
Frodo merely sniffled pitifully, at which Arwen promptly stroked his hair and offered her husband a look that would have frozen Orodruin.
***
"But why isn't Arwen *my* nurse?" complained Aragorn for the fourteenth time.
"Because Frodo needs me." Arwen sighed, shaking her head, and exchanged a look with her father. "There is the fact that I cannot lift you, while I can lift Frodo, and my brothers can lift you. There is also the fact that Frodo deserves honour, and surely you would have no less than the Queen to care for him."
The look on Aragorn's face clearly said otherwise, but Arwen continued nonetheless.
"And Frodo is small, and needs special care. He has just endured so much - he is so frail - that he requires extra attention and loving care."
"*I* require loving care."
"I have forsaken immortality for you, Estel. I would think my love has been quite thoroughly demonstrated." Arwen arched an eyebrow in a manner so like her father that Elrond had to smile. "Now stop being so selfish."
Aragorn glared at her back as she went to gather Frodo into her arms like an infant.
Frodo said not a word, merely nestling gratefully into Arwen's arms as she lifted him.
***
Perhaps, Elrond mused wryly, the twins should have remembered their own childhoods enough to set up screens.
It had already begun, and they had only been together for an hour or two.
"I don't see why Frodo gets to be fed by my wife."
Arwen smiled serenely, ignoring her husband's complaints as she coaxed another spoonful of fresh strawberries to the lips of Frodo, who lay cradled in the crook of her arm.
"And I don't see why he gets to have everything he wants."
"Because, dear, he still can only eat soft, bland foods, while you are progressing nicely. And one of you cannot afford to lose any weight." She cleared her throat slightly, causing the twins - working nearby - to stifle giggles.
Frodo looked up from his tray of creamed mushroom toast, soft gingerbread, featherbed eggs, tea, apple juice, fresh milk, chilled grapes, and assorted sliced berries. . .and merely smiled innocently behind Arwen's back.
***
"At least Frodo is over the worst of it, and even a half-elf has an easier time of it. My temperature was a hundred and three last time."
"Unadjusted. Adjusted, it was a hundred and two." Elrond glared at his foster-son in the next bed. "Mine, however, was an adjusted one hundred and three point six."
"Mine was over a hundred and four. Queen Arwen said so." A pitiful sniffle from Frodo.
"Yes - I saw her giving you that sponge bath." Aragorn's eyes were dark with envy.
"She promised to sponge me down again soon. Every two hours until I'm better, she says."
A growl. For a moment Elrond feared he might have to forcibly restrain his foster-son. "I would think you would be embarrassed."
"Oh, I was!" Frodo snuggled in his covers, all wide-eyed innocence and sweetness. "I was terribly humiliated. But then she told me I shouldn't feel badly, because I couldn't help being ill. . .and besides, I had the sweetest little bottom."
Elrond reached to grab Aragorn's arm as the latter started to spring from bed. "Both of you. I think perhaps we should discontinue this line of conversation."
"Well, she did." Frodo nestled innocently.
"How is my sweet darling feeling?" Arwen hurried in, attention immediately directed to Frodo, and only Frodo.
Aragorn cast her a pitiful look.
She ignored him, her question evidently directed elsewhere. . .and slipped right on past. . .to Frodo's bed.
"A. . .about the same. . . ."
"Ai, poor love - there's my sweetheart - so brave!" Tenderly she folded back the covers, beginning to undress him. "How about another nice cool sponge-bath?"
Aragorn flopped onto his side, turning his face to the wall with a loud snort. Elrond shook his head.
"If you think it would help. . . . That. . .that does sound. . .awfully nice. . . . Thank you. . . ."
"Little manipulator," muttered Aragorn.
***
"Mine are bigger."
"No, mine are, I assure you."
"Mine were HUGE. They're still awfully big; it's not proportionate to height, you know."
Had Arwen been in the room, no doubt, such a conversation would never have occurred. . .not that this thought crossed her father's mind as he scowled at his roommates, arching The Eyebrow irritably. "Well, since we cannot measure, I suppose we shall have to agree to disagree."
Aragorn and Frodo looked at each other. . .then at Elrond.
"Mine are nearly as big as those blood oranges they sell at market here."
"Mine are as big as the regular oranges, the larger ones."
Elrond sighed. "Well, gentlemen - gentleman and gentlehobbit - mine feel as big as grapefruits."
Two pairs of eyes widened.
"Are they really?"
"Now that I must see - "
"I can't imagine - that really *must* hurt awfully - "
A glare from Elrond, and the banter stopped. The elven lord sighed.
It was going to be a long recovery.
***
Longer than he expected.
What had begun as conversation re-emerged a few hours later as action.
"I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."
"All right, then."
Well, at least they weren't arguing.
Two pairs of eyes turned to Elrond.
"Since you'll get to see, you have to show us yours too."
At once the elven lord shook his head. "No. I was not part of the agreement."
Frodo shrugged. "Not fair. But suit yourself." Sitting up on his bed, he folded back the covers and pulled up his night-shirt, rising onto his knees to reveal a full view of his privates, support and all.
Aragorn let out a low whistle. "Forgive me, Frodo. I underestimated your suffering. . .those are indeed large."
"Told you so." The little hobbit looked miffed. "They were even bigger. This is an improvement. And lots of ice later."
Nodding, Aragorn followed suit, going onto his knees and pulling up his night-shirt.
While Elrond had seen these areas on both before, this was not something he had particularly dreamt of experiencing.
At once Frodo's eyes widened. "Oh, Strider! That must hurt so!"
"It does. Dreadfully."
Elrond sighed and turned over, determined to go to sleep.
"Ada?"
"Lord Elrond?"
"Leave me alone."
Silence.
"Ours are worse anyhow. He's just whiny about his."
At the sound of Estel's commentary, Elrond sat bolt upright, glaring.
Going onto his knees on the bed, he pulled up his night-shirt. "THERE. Satisfied?"
Two low whistles.
"How do you *bear* it?" whimpered Frodo.
"Ada, you ARE swollen up like an allergic beekeeper," murmured Estel. "Just like the twins said. . . ."
Elrond made a mental note to kill his sons.
And then himself.
***
It was difficult to resist the urge to snicker.
After all, the sight of the king of Gondor and Arnor lying on his stomach, having his temperature taken, was no everyday event.
Particularly not with Aragorn whining copiously.
"I don't see why you have to do it THIS way. Isn't it possible to - to use it on some other part of the body?"
"We haven't seen you be quiet long enough, little brother."
Aragorn growled, and Elladan grinned.
Across the room, Arwen was taking Frodo's temperature as well, though with his small size she held him upon her lap like a child.
He was not complaining, in any event.
"Come on, Ada."
Suddenly Elrond froze, looking up to find Elrohir standing over him, shaking down a fever-stick.
"Time for temperatures. . . ."
***
"I want to get up!"
"Well, you can't, not for another day at least. See how patient Frodo's being? And he's had to wait MUCH longer than you have."
Aragorn glared at the little hobbit, who merely blinked innocently from his bed.
"Frodo has my wife to wait upon him hand and foot. Perhaps that should be taken into consideration."
Elladan shrugged. "It's for your own good, Estel."
A long sigh, and Aragorn flopped back against the pillows. Elrond sympathized: already he too was itching to get out of bed. But it was too early for him as well; only Frodo was allowed up at all, and Arwen fussed over him no end upon his return to bed with warm wraps and hot broths and toddies. Indeed, Frodo was tucked up in bed now with his afternoon mug of broth, sipping delicately as Arwen cooed affectionately over him.
But Elrond's attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere, for someone else bustled in.
Oh no.
Not her.
Galadriel.
She swept in briskly, carrying a small cloth-covered tray, which she set beside Elrond's bed. At once he cringed.
A bottle of medicine, a spoon, and a bolus rested upon it.
Elrond promptly sat up, shaking his head. "Oh, no. No."
Galadriel shook *her* head firmly. "Oh, yes. Elrohir tells me that you need loosening of your bowels."
Elrond reddened. "But - but - must *you* - ?"
"Elrohir is exhausted. Even peredhil require rest." She shook the medicine bottle vigorously, then poured a spoonful of its contents and held the bowl to Elrond's lips. "Now swallow."
Elrond dared not disobey. Reluctantly he opened his mouth, accepting the medicine with a grimace. The overly sweetish taste could not mask the bitterness beneath, and he shuddered, though he swallowed every drop.
"Good. Now turn over."
With an exasperated sigh, Elrond shifted onto his side, ignoring the snickers that erupted from Aragorn's bed. He felt his cheeks redden further as his marriage-mother pulled up his night-shirt. Sweet Eru, was there to be no dignity left to him? Evidently not, for half a moment later he felt the bolus being poked into his nether regions.
"Careful!"
"I *am* being careful!"
However grudgingly, he had to admit she *was* being careful. . .however, he was in no mood whatsoever to concede. Instead, he closed his eyes tightly.
And contemplated draining Galadriel's mirror.
***
Elrond had to admit that even he felt sorry for Frodo. While he and Aragorn had begun to improve rapidly, so much so that they were allowed up and advanced to convalescent diets, poor Frodo had developed a high fever and a cough, forcing him back to bed and the lighter diet of the acutely ill - not liquids alone, for he was so frail that they dared not deprive him of at least soft solids, but nothing like the proper diet of convalescents.
And he was not at all happy about it.
"Please. . .can't I have just a *bit* of bacon? It would go so well with scrambled egg and buttered toast, and you did say I could have those - "
"I know, tithen min. But bacon would be too much for you while you are still so ill." Arwen bent over the bed, trying to soothe her fretful charge. "I can have a mushroom omelette made for you, or applesauce toast, and there is a nice bit of fresh ginger cake. . . ."
"It isn't the same." Frodo sniffled pitifully, snuggling against her, and though Elrond would once have wondered at his tearfulness, now he considered the hobbit's upset well justified. To endure such privation as Frodo had, and now be forced to forego further dietary pleasures for a time, must have been misery indeed for a hobbit. . .it would be even for a man, much less for Frodo. Aragorn must have agreed, for when Arwen rose, he motioned her to his own bedside.
"Can no quarter be given him in this matter?"
Arwen joined her husband in whispering using Quenya. "None, my love I am sorry, but in his condition, it cannot be risked - for his own safety."
"Then perhaps something else can be done for him? I cannot bear to see him thus."
Arwen smiled softly. "Already I have plans for him. Do not fear, Aragorn! I will see to him."
Her husband nodded, gazing anxiously at the mournful little figure in the opposite bed.
Elrond watched as his daughter departed, pausing once more to soothe Frodo before leaving them alone with Elladan and Elrohir. Frodo fell swiftly into a fitful slumber, requiring only periodic attention from the twins, while Aragorn and Elrond passed the morning in playing at chess. By the time luncheon-trays arrived, Frodo was awake but showed no sign of eagerness for his meal: his blue eyes were shadowed, and he lay curled into a small ball, not even sitting up when told that luncheon was arriving.
Within moments, Arwen arrived to lift the lid from Frodo's tray, as usual. Gently she stroked his curls, her voice coaxing as she called him.
"Tithen min. . .it is time now to eat."
Frodo shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
"But you must try. At least look."
Reluctantly, after much coaxing, Frodo allowed the Queen to help him sit up, leaning back at once against the pillows she offered on which to prop him. With hesitation he watched as she uncovered the tray. . .and then he began to smile at last. Elrond studied the contents, curious as to what could evoke such a turnabout.
As usual, the hobbit's tray was prettily set - today with silver dishes interspersed with blue-and-white china. There was of course damask cream and hot tea with milk; there was chicken soup and creamed fish, mashed potatoes and snow pudding. But perhaps best of all to judge from Frodo's focus was a green pea soup faintly scented of. . .bacon?
"We can give you no bacon, dear one. But we were able to make soup for you with just a bit and strain the pieces out, to give you a taste."
At once Frodo embraced her gratefully.
Elrond smiled. The little one would be fine.
And perhaps - just perhaps - they might all survive this without going utterly mad after all.
~finis~
Enjoy, everyone!!!
NUTS
"Lord Elrond?"
The master of Imladris turned, still unaccustomed to hearing the words in Common Tongue rather than Sindarin: though it was not a particularly rare occurrence, he had not left Rivendell for so long, and it had had fewer and fewer human guests of late, that he nearly responded in the elven-tongue from sheer habit. But no, he was in the White City for Estel's coronation.
And his daughter's doom.
Blinking abruptly, he turned, managing a smile for the sake of the woman behind him. "Yes, my lady?"
The woman gazed wide-eyed at him for a moment before catching herself to continue. "I - please, my lord, they say you are a great healer, and - my little one - he is suffering so; I hate seeing him ill in the midst of all the festivities - "
Immediately Elrond tensed, though he schooled himself to avoid any show of it. Illness often followed hard upon wars - fevers and diarrhea, strange plagues -
And a plague had come out of Mordor not so many years earlier, in his reckoning, though many lifetimes of men ago.
If there was any opportunity to contain such a thing, it must be taken at once.
He called to the twins, who were playing chess just across the room: this section of the library seemed to have become "P for Peredhil" of late, taken over by his family.
"Elladan, fetch my herbal. Elrohir, go and find Frodo. Stay close in case he has need of you."
They looked up, a bit startled, but nodded. "Yes, Ada." Within a moment both were away, and Elladan had returned with his father's travelling-herbal.
"Now. . .show me."
***
"In here, my lord."
They had reached a room in one of the houses closest to the King's home - this was one of Gondor's noble families, though the realisation came as little surprise to one who could hear the blood of Numenor, thinned as it was, singing softly within the woman. Inside lay a boy of perhaps eight years or so, tucked up into bed. Involuntarily Elrond smiled, suddenly reminded of two tiny peredhil whom he and Celebrian had rocked and sung to sleep and tucked into little beds not so very many years past to his memory.
"What ails the child?"
The woman kept her voice soft, sickroom-quiet. "It came on suddenly, only yesterday. He complained of earache, and said his head hurt; I could not get him to eat anything, and he seemed to sicken with fever." She led the way to the bedside, folding back the covers tenderly. "And then. . .this."
Elrond followed her gesture. . .and resisted the urge to laugh.
Plague out of Mordor, indeed!
The child's jaws were swollen - or, more properly, there were swellings in front and below the ears.
Poor Celebrian had borne that burden alone: their twins had had it, and Arwen too - all three at the same time, when Arwen was very small still, leaving Celebrian divided between her screaming, crying toddler-daughter and her whimpering sons, who had proven that they were not too old to want their Ami when ill. At last she had cleverly put all four of them in the same room and made an end of it thus, bringing in her best healers so that the twins would lack nothing when Arwen cried for her Ami's arms, so that Arwen could be held and rocked constantly without the boys never having the comfort of their Ami to kiss their fevered brows and reassure them.
All three children had cried for their Ada.
And Celebrian had threatened him within an inch of his immortal life upon the matter of leaving her alone with the three ever again.
Settling gingerly upon the bed, he stroked back the boy's hair, and the child looked up, pain-filled eyes widening in wonder. At once Elrond smiled gently.
"Hello, little one. I am Elrond, and I am here to help you. Do not be frightened."
"I'm Bergil, sir."
"An excellent name." Calmly he reached for the compress soaking in water upon the bedside table, wringing it out before sponging the child's face lightly. "I have two sons of my own, and they were ill like this when they were younger."
"Did. . .did they. . .die?"
Elrond winced, reading the fear in the little one's eyes. Of course - all the children of Gondor knew now was death. For so long there had been little else in their land. . . . "No. They lived." Let us not even attempt the discussion that they are immortal children of the Firstborn, he added silently. "They are fine; they were warriors alongside King Elessar in the war."
"Really?" At once the child's countenance brightened.
"Really." Elrond smiled. "I shall ask one of them to stop by and see you." He looked up, nodding to the anxious mother. "My lady, you need not fear. It is a sickness not uncommon among children. . .and quite self-limited. He will be better within a week, perhaps two. Convalescence should be taken slowly. In the meantime, give him plenty of liquids. . .soft foods. . .nothing sharp, like pickles or some fruit juices. Soothing foods will go down more easily; the others worsen the pain." He gestured to the child's jaws. "Keep him in bed and away from others until all swelling has subsided. Applications of heat or cold may help ease the pain. Though I must warn you - " He lowered his voice, chuckling. "It may be difficult to keep him in bed the full duration, if my daughter was any hint."
The woman's eyes widened. "Surely not! The Queen?"
Elrond nodded, still smiling. Too well he remembered Celebrian's complaint that Arwen refused to stay put, and trailed after her Ami or cried for attention. The twins had been old enough that they would have proven even more difficult, had they not felt so utterly miserable - the illness had, as with so many older males, affected their more private regions, and they had passed a full week with supports and ice, moaning and bickering about which of them had it worse.
He secretly suspected that his private regions might have been detached with blunt implements had he ever attempted to leave Celebrian alone with them thereafter.
***
Two Weeks Later
"Ada?"
Elrond looked up from his book, smiling as his daughter came to kiss his hair. "Yes, little one?"
"Estel is in council, and I would not interrupt him if I could help it. . .but I have just put Frodo to bed. He only picked at his meals today, Sam tells me, and when I came to speak with him alone, I found him lying in a window-seat, looking flushed. He has a fever, and though he says nothing of it, I think his head aches."
"I will see to him. Let Estel be. You were wise in your choice, my daughter." Rising, he crossed to the desk, selecting a few additional medicines to go with his travelling-herbal. The Ringbearer had not seemed really well since the Quest. . .no surprise, that. Perhaps a tonic. . .but the fever was deeply concerning, and he could only hope to Elbereth that it was something within his power to ease.
***
"Frodo?"
The small mass of blankets stirred.
"Frodo, my Ada has come to see you. . .will you let him look at you? He wishes only to make you feel better."
Another rustling of the blankets, and a small dark mop of curls emerged, huddling fretfully into Arwen's arms as she sat to comfort him, gathering him up.
"Here, Ada. . .need I undress him?"
"No. . .no, this is fine." Indeed, Arwen had managed to wrangle the stubborn hobbit out of his usual suit and into a soft night-shirt. Gently Elrond bent over the small bundle, touching his forehead.
Burning up.
"Arwen, put him over your lap. We must take his temperature."
Frodo whimpered, but voiced no further complaint, which worried the elven lord: normally any mention of taking Frodo's temperature thus provoked the little one to immediate protest. At once he readied the fever-stick, moistening it with a bit of soothing salve like that used on infants. Arwen, meanwhile, eased her small charge onto his tummy, supporting him with her arm, and pulled up the night-gown, allowing Elrond easy access.
Then they waited, Elrond holding the instrument in place.
A hobbit's temperature, by Elrond's reckoning, should not have been more than 100 at most by such a method.
Frodo's reading came to one hundred and three point eight. . .the equivalent of nearly one hundred and three degrees by mouth.
Anxiously Elrond wiped the small backside, then cleaned the fever-stick and washed his hands. "Frodo, where do you have pain?"
"My head aches. . .and I don't feel well all over."
"Anywhere else?"
"My ears ache. . .and swallowing feels strange. As if my mouth were full of splinters. My jaws hurt."
Elrond froze.
No.
"Let me have a look." Keeping his voice calm, he waited while Arwen eased Frodo back up and turned the little one to face him at last. At once he ran gentle fingers over Frodo's jawline, touching the neck along the area in front and below the ears. The little one winced, whimpering.
There was swelling. Not yet pronounced, but sufficiently distinct as to be unmistakable.
"Frodo. . .what childhood illnesses did you have? Besides colds and coughs, I mean."
For a moment Frodo eyed him warily. "Measles. I was terribly sick with measles when I lived at Brandy Hall. Caught them from my cousins. And chicken-pox, too, after I moved to Hobbiton. It went round there and I got it. And then there were the Brandywine Measles. . .the Westfarthing Measles. . .I had both those. . . ."
"What is the difference?" ventured Arwen softly.
Frodo looked up at her.
"Where you break out in a rash, how upset your stomach gets, and how badly you itch."
Elrond resisted the faint urge to smile.
"I think the Westfarthing ones are worse." He peered curiously at Elrond. "What is it?"
"Have you never had the mumps?"
Frodo shook his head. "I don't think so. My cousins did, but I wasn't at Great Smials or Brandy Hall when it went round those places. So Pip and Merry have had them. And I remember Sam couldn't come up to Bag End for a while because he and Marigold had them. But I never did."
"I believe you do now."
Blue eyes widened. . .and Frodo looked up at Arwen pitifully.
"I - please, could I - I think I need something to drink - "
"Water?"
He shook his head. "If I could have some juice. . .please? Not the sharp juice; there was some melon juice they gave me, and I liked it. . . ."
She smiled, rising as she eased him back into bed. "Of course." Within an instant, she was gone, and Frodo leaned forward anxiously.
"I do want some, truly. . .but. . .I couldn't say it with her here. . .not in front of a lady. . . ."
Elrond kept his voice gentle, attempting to soothe the little one. "What is it?"
"Is. . ." Frodo looked down. "Is that why I hurt. . .down there?"
"Let me see."
Frodo reddened, but lay back, allowing his caregiver to lift his gown once more.
"Spread your legs just a little, Frodo. This may hurt, but I promise - once I see what is the matter, I will do all I can to ease your pain."
A tiny nod. The small hobbit obeyed, and Elrond winced just looking at the hobbit's private area: Frodo's testicles were visibly swollen.
"Ow!"
And tender to the touch upon even the slightest efforts at examination.
"I will provide you with a support, Frodo. . .and we will provide ice-bags for that area. That will help you feel a little better." He rose and washed his hands before returning to stroke the little hobbit's hair. "We will put hot or cold applications on your jaws, whichever you find gives you more relief. And we will attempt to bring down your fever, though I fear that there may only be so much we can do."
***
The last thing Aragorn expected upon leaving his council chambers was to be met by his Ada - a very anxious Ada at that.
"What is it? Has something happened?"
Elrond sighed, and Aragorn winced, bracing himself as he saw the Eyebrows fold. "We must learn at once how many of the Fellowship and of the court - apart from those few of full elven blood, like Legolas - have had the mumps. Those who have not should be pressed to remain in their quarters, as we may be at the beginning of an outbreak."
Aragorn suddenly felt tense. "Frodo?"
A shake of the head. "He is very ill. I have left him in Arwen's care for the present. She and the twins have had them; they were alone with Celebrian at the time - it is something I have rather - vivid - memories of hearing about."
"The other hobbits?"
"Mercifully, Frodo says that they have all had them already. Only he had not. We must enquire to be certain, but I suspect he is right."
"Gimli has had them. I remember him telling a story while we travelled about looking like a chipmunk with full cheeks."
"Good. Good." Elrond nodded absently. "Ask Faramir. And have him make the necessary arrangements that I mentioned."
"I can do so. After all - "
Elrond shook his head, smiling grimly.
"I would not count on it, Estel."
Aragorn paused at the door, arching an eyebrow himself. "Adar - ?"
Another shake of the head. "You have never had mumps."
***
"Ada - "
"Ada, you should come - "
"Elrohir will watch Frodo - "
The twins' snickering always made Elrond suspicious by now, even - especially - after several ages. Sighing, he rose, stroking the little hobbit's hair. Frodo's fever showed no signs of breaking, and the swelling had not improved, leaving the tiny Ringbearer miserable, ill, and in need of constant care. Unlike most, Frodo did not feel well enough to get out of bed, but he bristled at the restriction nonetheless, insisting that at least he should be allowed up for the chamber-pot and to see out of the window and such. The fact that he was given privacy for use of the vessel and that Elrond moved his bed to easily see out of the window seemed to matter little.
Rising, he followed Elladan down the corridor. "'Dan, what is this about? You know I haven't time for jokes."
"It isn't a joke, Ada." Nevertheless, his firstborn tittered. . .but stifled it forcefully as he led the way into the room.
Elrond stepped in.
And promptly turned away to suppress a laugh.
Aragorn lay propped up in bed, looking for all the world like a wounded squirrel.
His face was flushed, his jaws were swollen, and he looked utterly miserable.
Turning back, Elrond swiftly crossed to the bed, sitting beside his adopted son.
"Well, Estel - I take it you are feeling unwell?"
A nod. "My ears ache. And my head. And that's not all." He glared up at Elladan, who merely grinned.
Elrond offered his firstborn the Eyebrow. "Elladan, go and fetch a support and an ice-bag for your younger brother. And something for him to eat and drink. You know what will go down easily."
"Yes, Ada." Sobered, Elladan promptly departed. Elrond folded back the blankets and lifted the night-shirt.
"Spread a little."
Aragorn obeyed.
Swollen.
"OW!"
"It will feel better with a support and some ice."
"I should hope so!"
Elrond rose and crossed to wash his hands at the basin.
Not, however, without hearing Aragorn muttering indistinctly about wondering whether kings could execute their fathers-in-law.
***
The epidemic seemed to be quite mild in comparison to most Elrond had seen, perhaps because they had reined it in so early. Fortunately, many of the Court members had already had the disease, proving immune. . .and the same was true of the remainder of the Fellowship. Only Frodo and Aragorn were vulnerable. Faramir proved a most valuable aide, having already had mumps himself, long ago, and promptly took over Aragorn's duties, providing organised daily reports and calmly dodging any threats, physical or verbal, flung at him by the cross King.
Elrond sighed, settling into his chair by Frodo's bed. The little one was still so ill. Not too ill to be thoroughly cranky, which was a good sign in its own way, but too ill to smile, too ill to be at all comfortable. . . .
And when Frodo was not whimpering for him, there was Estel, who had reverted to the level of a five-year-old.
Between the two of them, Arwen and Elrond were suddenly the two most highly-sought individuals in all of Minas Tirith.
To be fair, neither of the patients were at all well, mused Elrond. Not even convalescent, and there was so little to be done for the pain. . . .
He rubbed at his temples.
Speaking of pain, his head ached.
So did his ears.
No. . . .
***
"Come on, now, Ada. Don't make me send for Ioreth."
At this threat Elrond promptly turned onto his side, sighing as his secondborn coaxed him to adjust his legs, then slid a fever-stick up his backside.
Frodo was right about this.
Miserable process. Utterly miserable.
Minutes passed as slowly as ages.
"Ooooh."
"What *is* it, Elrohir?"
"Testy, testy, aren't we? Speaking of which, just a minute and I'll finish that examination. But look."
Elrond blinked at the thermometer.
One hundred and three point seven.
"Back over, Ada."
"OUCH!"
"Sorry, Ada!"
Elrond glared at his son, who stood over him, cupping the elven-lord's testicles in his hand. "I suggest that unless you wish me to remove yours by force you slow down and take a little more care."
"Sorry, Ada. I will." Elrohir frowned. "Ai, Ada, but you *are* swollen up! Let me go and get you a support. And an ice-bag."
He disappeared, leaving Elrond in bed.
With the night-shirt still pulled up.
Elrond swiftly readjusted both gown and covers, sighing.
Perhaps this was his punishment for sending Frodo off to Mount Doom.
***
"It's no good, Ada."
Elrond frowned in confusion as both twins faced him. "What do you mean?"
Two matching heads shook simultaneously. "We can't do it. Being stretched between you and Estel and Frodo - one of us can sit with each, but then if we have to leave - there are servants, but it isn't the same; sometimes they can't fix the right thing, not without help, or not at all."
"What are you suggesting, then?"
Elrohir sat down gingerly, as if fearing his father might bite. "We have prepared a large room - one of the halls. It's very roomy, but well-heated. Well-aired, but not drafty. And now it has - "
"Three beds."
"Chamber-pots."
"Washstands."
"Bath-tubs."
"Warming-racks."
"Clean linen, lots and lots and lots of it."
"Games."
"Bedside-tables."
"Lap-desks."
"A chair by each bed."
Two pairs of eyes met his.
"Please, Ada?"
***
"I still cannot believe you would move a sick man - a king, no less - from his own rooms," grumbled Aragorn from Elladan's arms as he was carried to the hall.
"For the same reason that they would move their own father, the herald of Gil-Galad, from his," quipped Elrond from Elrohir's.
"Must you be so loud?" whimpered a tiny voice, causing both to look up: Frodo was behind them, nestled in Arwen's arms.
And from the way he lay snuggled against her bosom, one might well have suspected he had no intention of moving.
Aragorn glowered.
Frodo merely sniffled pitifully, at which Arwen promptly stroked his hair and offered her husband a look that would have frozen Orodruin.
***
"But why isn't Arwen *my* nurse?" complained Aragorn for the fourteenth time.
"Because Frodo needs me." Arwen sighed, shaking her head, and exchanged a look with her father. "There is the fact that I cannot lift you, while I can lift Frodo, and my brothers can lift you. There is also the fact that Frodo deserves honour, and surely you would have no less than the Queen to care for him."
The look on Aragorn's face clearly said otherwise, but Arwen continued nonetheless.
"And Frodo is small, and needs special care. He has just endured so much - he is so frail - that he requires extra attention and loving care."
"*I* require loving care."
"I have forsaken immortality for you, Estel. I would think my love has been quite thoroughly demonstrated." Arwen arched an eyebrow in a manner so like her father that Elrond had to smile. "Now stop being so selfish."
Aragorn glared at her back as she went to gather Frodo into her arms like an infant.
Frodo said not a word, merely nestling gratefully into Arwen's arms as she lifted him.
***
Perhaps, Elrond mused wryly, the twins should have remembered their own childhoods enough to set up screens.
It had already begun, and they had only been together for an hour or two.
"I don't see why Frodo gets to be fed by my wife."
Arwen smiled serenely, ignoring her husband's complaints as she coaxed another spoonful of fresh strawberries to the lips of Frodo, who lay cradled in the crook of her arm.
"And I don't see why he gets to have everything he wants."
"Because, dear, he still can only eat soft, bland foods, while you are progressing nicely. And one of you cannot afford to lose any weight." She cleared her throat slightly, causing the twins - working nearby - to stifle giggles.
Frodo looked up from his tray of creamed mushroom toast, soft gingerbread, featherbed eggs, tea, apple juice, fresh milk, chilled grapes, and assorted sliced berries. . .and merely smiled innocently behind Arwen's back.
***
"At least Frodo is over the worst of it, and even a half-elf has an easier time of it. My temperature was a hundred and three last time."
"Unadjusted. Adjusted, it was a hundred and two." Elrond glared at his foster-son in the next bed. "Mine, however, was an adjusted one hundred and three point six."
"Mine was over a hundred and four. Queen Arwen said so." A pitiful sniffle from Frodo.
"Yes - I saw her giving you that sponge bath." Aragorn's eyes were dark with envy.
"She promised to sponge me down again soon. Every two hours until I'm better, she says."
A growl. For a moment Elrond feared he might have to forcibly restrain his foster-son. "I would think you would be embarrassed."
"Oh, I was!" Frodo snuggled in his covers, all wide-eyed innocence and sweetness. "I was terribly humiliated. But then she told me I shouldn't feel badly, because I couldn't help being ill. . .and besides, I had the sweetest little bottom."
Elrond reached to grab Aragorn's arm as the latter started to spring from bed. "Both of you. I think perhaps we should discontinue this line of conversation."
"Well, she did." Frodo nestled innocently.
"How is my sweet darling feeling?" Arwen hurried in, attention immediately directed to Frodo, and only Frodo.
Aragorn cast her a pitiful look.
She ignored him, her question evidently directed elsewhere. . .and slipped right on past. . .to Frodo's bed.
"A. . .about the same. . . ."
"Ai, poor love - there's my sweetheart - so brave!" Tenderly she folded back the covers, beginning to undress him. "How about another nice cool sponge-bath?"
Aragorn flopped onto his side, turning his face to the wall with a loud snort. Elrond shook his head.
"If you think it would help. . . . That. . .that does sound. . .awfully nice. . . . Thank you. . . ."
"Little manipulator," muttered Aragorn.
***
"Mine are bigger."
"No, mine are, I assure you."
"Mine were HUGE. They're still awfully big; it's not proportionate to height, you know."
Had Arwen been in the room, no doubt, such a conversation would never have occurred. . .not that this thought crossed her father's mind as he scowled at his roommates, arching The Eyebrow irritably. "Well, since we cannot measure, I suppose we shall have to agree to disagree."
Aragorn and Frodo looked at each other. . .then at Elrond.
"Mine are nearly as big as those blood oranges they sell at market here."
"Mine are as big as the regular oranges, the larger ones."
Elrond sighed. "Well, gentlemen - gentleman and gentlehobbit - mine feel as big as grapefruits."
Two pairs of eyes widened.
"Are they really?"
"Now that I must see - "
"I can't imagine - that really *must* hurt awfully - "
A glare from Elrond, and the banter stopped. The elven lord sighed.
It was going to be a long recovery.
***
Longer than he expected.
What had begun as conversation re-emerged a few hours later as action.
"I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."
"All right, then."
Well, at least they weren't arguing.
Two pairs of eyes turned to Elrond.
"Since you'll get to see, you have to show us yours too."
At once the elven lord shook his head. "No. I was not part of the agreement."
Frodo shrugged. "Not fair. But suit yourself." Sitting up on his bed, he folded back the covers and pulled up his night-shirt, rising onto his knees to reveal a full view of his privates, support and all.
Aragorn let out a low whistle. "Forgive me, Frodo. I underestimated your suffering. . .those are indeed large."
"Told you so." The little hobbit looked miffed. "They were even bigger. This is an improvement. And lots of ice later."
Nodding, Aragorn followed suit, going onto his knees and pulling up his night-shirt.
While Elrond had seen these areas on both before, this was not something he had particularly dreamt of experiencing.
At once Frodo's eyes widened. "Oh, Strider! That must hurt so!"
"It does. Dreadfully."
Elrond sighed and turned over, determined to go to sleep.
"Ada?"
"Lord Elrond?"
"Leave me alone."
Silence.
"Ours are worse anyhow. He's just whiny about his."
At the sound of Estel's commentary, Elrond sat bolt upright, glaring.
Going onto his knees on the bed, he pulled up his night-shirt. "THERE. Satisfied?"
Two low whistles.
"How do you *bear* it?" whimpered Frodo.
"Ada, you ARE swollen up like an allergic beekeeper," murmured Estel. "Just like the twins said. . . ."
Elrond made a mental note to kill his sons.
And then himself.
***
It was difficult to resist the urge to snicker.
After all, the sight of the king of Gondor and Arnor lying on his stomach, having his temperature taken, was no everyday event.
Particularly not with Aragorn whining copiously.
"I don't see why you have to do it THIS way. Isn't it possible to - to use it on some other part of the body?"
"We haven't seen you be quiet long enough, little brother."
Aragorn growled, and Elladan grinned.
Across the room, Arwen was taking Frodo's temperature as well, though with his small size she held him upon her lap like a child.
He was not complaining, in any event.
"Come on, Ada."
Suddenly Elrond froze, looking up to find Elrohir standing over him, shaking down a fever-stick.
"Time for temperatures. . . ."
***
"I want to get up!"
"Well, you can't, not for another day at least. See how patient Frodo's being? And he's had to wait MUCH longer than you have."
Aragorn glared at the little hobbit, who merely blinked innocently from his bed.
"Frodo has my wife to wait upon him hand and foot. Perhaps that should be taken into consideration."
Elladan shrugged. "It's for your own good, Estel."
A long sigh, and Aragorn flopped back against the pillows. Elrond sympathized: already he too was itching to get out of bed. But it was too early for him as well; only Frodo was allowed up at all, and Arwen fussed over him no end upon his return to bed with warm wraps and hot broths and toddies. Indeed, Frodo was tucked up in bed now with his afternoon mug of broth, sipping delicately as Arwen cooed affectionately over him.
But Elrond's attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere, for someone else bustled in.
Oh no.
Not her.
Galadriel.
She swept in briskly, carrying a small cloth-covered tray, which she set beside Elrond's bed. At once he cringed.
A bottle of medicine, a spoon, and a bolus rested upon it.
Elrond promptly sat up, shaking his head. "Oh, no. No."
Galadriel shook *her* head firmly. "Oh, yes. Elrohir tells me that you need loosening of your bowels."
Elrond reddened. "But - but - must *you* - ?"
"Elrohir is exhausted. Even peredhil require rest." She shook the medicine bottle vigorously, then poured a spoonful of its contents and held the bowl to Elrond's lips. "Now swallow."
Elrond dared not disobey. Reluctantly he opened his mouth, accepting the medicine with a grimace. The overly sweetish taste could not mask the bitterness beneath, and he shuddered, though he swallowed every drop.
"Good. Now turn over."
With an exasperated sigh, Elrond shifted onto his side, ignoring the snickers that erupted from Aragorn's bed. He felt his cheeks redden further as his marriage-mother pulled up his night-shirt. Sweet Eru, was there to be no dignity left to him? Evidently not, for half a moment later he felt the bolus being poked into his nether regions.
"Careful!"
"I *am* being careful!"
However grudgingly, he had to admit she *was* being careful. . .however, he was in no mood whatsoever to concede. Instead, he closed his eyes tightly.
And contemplated draining Galadriel's mirror.
***
Elrond had to admit that even he felt sorry for Frodo. While he and Aragorn had begun to improve rapidly, so much so that they were allowed up and advanced to convalescent diets, poor Frodo had developed a high fever and a cough, forcing him back to bed and the lighter diet of the acutely ill - not liquids alone, for he was so frail that they dared not deprive him of at least soft solids, but nothing like the proper diet of convalescents.
And he was not at all happy about it.
"Please. . .can't I have just a *bit* of bacon? It would go so well with scrambled egg and buttered toast, and you did say I could have those - "
"I know, tithen min. But bacon would be too much for you while you are still so ill." Arwen bent over the bed, trying to soothe her fretful charge. "I can have a mushroom omelette made for you, or applesauce toast, and there is a nice bit of fresh ginger cake. . . ."
"It isn't the same." Frodo sniffled pitifully, snuggling against her, and though Elrond would once have wondered at his tearfulness, now he considered the hobbit's upset well justified. To endure such privation as Frodo had, and now be forced to forego further dietary pleasures for a time, must have been misery indeed for a hobbit. . .it would be even for a man, much less for Frodo. Aragorn must have agreed, for when Arwen rose, he motioned her to his own bedside.
"Can no quarter be given him in this matter?"
Arwen joined her husband in whispering using Quenya. "None, my love I am sorry, but in his condition, it cannot be risked - for his own safety."
"Then perhaps something else can be done for him? I cannot bear to see him thus."
Arwen smiled softly. "Already I have plans for him. Do not fear, Aragorn! I will see to him."
Her husband nodded, gazing anxiously at the mournful little figure in the opposite bed.
Elrond watched as his daughter departed, pausing once more to soothe Frodo before leaving them alone with Elladan and Elrohir. Frodo fell swiftly into a fitful slumber, requiring only periodic attention from the twins, while Aragorn and Elrond passed the morning in playing at chess. By the time luncheon-trays arrived, Frodo was awake but showed no sign of eagerness for his meal: his blue eyes were shadowed, and he lay curled into a small ball, not even sitting up when told that luncheon was arriving.
Within moments, Arwen arrived to lift the lid from Frodo's tray, as usual. Gently she stroked his curls, her voice coaxing as she called him.
"Tithen min. . .it is time now to eat."
Frodo shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
"But you must try. At least look."
Reluctantly, after much coaxing, Frodo allowed the Queen to help him sit up, leaning back at once against the pillows she offered on which to prop him. With hesitation he watched as she uncovered the tray. . .and then he began to smile at last. Elrond studied the contents, curious as to what could evoke such a turnabout.
As usual, the hobbit's tray was prettily set - today with silver dishes interspersed with blue-and-white china. There was of course damask cream and hot tea with milk; there was chicken soup and creamed fish, mashed potatoes and snow pudding. But perhaps best of all to judge from Frodo's focus was a green pea soup faintly scented of. . .bacon?
"We can give you no bacon, dear one. But we were able to make soup for you with just a bit and strain the pieces out, to give you a taste."
At once Frodo embraced her gratefully.
Elrond smiled. The little one would be fine.
And perhaps - just perhaps - they might all survive this without going utterly mad after all.
~finis~
