fic: Letting Go 12/18
Since I'm not sure if I'll have a chance to post this tomorrow, I'm posting it now. :)
Title: Letting Go, 12/18 "Two Visits"
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 6,796 for this part
Warnings: this fic will eventually involve character death
Story Summary: Letting go of someone you care deeply about is a very difficult thing.
A/N: This story is a sequel to " Holding On," which is in turn a follow-up to Skye's "Just Don't Have the Heart to End It" and Aemilia Rose's "Always There Beyond the Touch of Darkness." It's been in the works pretty much since I posted "Holding On" in June 2003, though obviously it took a while for me to get up the nerve to go through with it. ;)
A/N P.S.: The medical-type stuff in this fic has not been run by those who know more about such things than I do, so no guarantees that it is realistic despite the research I did.
Warning: We have progressed to the point in which Frodo's death is openly discussed. Also, there are bodily functions and other such things present (but you could probably guess that).
Chapter 1, "Story-telling"
Chapter 2, "A Birthday"
Chapter 3, "Recovery"
Chapter 4, "Old Troubles"
Chapter 5, "Winter Blues"
Chapter 6, "An Understanding"
Chapter 7, "Routines"
Chapter 8, "Compromises"
Chapter 9, "Despair"
Chapter 10, "Reconciliation"
Chapter 11, "Resignation"
Chapter Summary: Frodo is visited by his cousins.
Frodo stopped talking when Rosie stood to answer a knock at the door. She motioned for him to continue and quickly padded down the hall to the front door. "Pippin!" she said in surprise upon seeing the hobbit on the doorstep. "Please, come in."
Pippin entered hesitantly. "Is Frodo awake?"
"Oh, aye. He's telling more of his story," Rosie said, inclining her head toward Frodo's bedroom. "You can listen and talk to him after, if you like."
Pippin nodded, brightening. "That would be nice."
"Who's making all this noise out here?" Sam asked, coming to investigate who Rosie was talking to. "Ah, Pippin! Good to see you."
"Oh, Sam," Pippin said, patting his coat's pockets, then pulling out a piece of parchment and handing it to Sam. "A letter, for Goldi. From Faramir."
Sam unfolded the unsealed letter and skimmed the contents, nodded, and folded it again.
"I expect he and I will be paying you a visit by Midsummer for permission to court her," Pippin confided.
"Finally!" Rosie exclaimed. "They've only been eyeing one another since they was bairns."
Sam chuckled. "Can't say as I'd say no, though 'twould be fun to make him fret a while."
Pippin laughed. Rosie shook her head in exasperation and said, "We ought to go back in, if you're going to hear any of today's story, Pippin."
"Of course. Lead the way."
Sam fetched another chair and set it behind the chairs he and Rosie occupied. Frodo faltered when he saw Pippin, then smiled and continued. Pippin sat back in his chair and listened and watched with interest, having only rarely seen Frodo as storyteller and rather enjoying it.
When Frodo had concluded with the oliphaunt trampling through the forest of Ithilien, mere yards from Sam and the two Men who guarded the hobbits, it took a few moments for anyone to move or even breathe. Then several of the children noticed Pippin at once and swarmed around him for hugs and pig-a-back rides. Pippin herded them out into the hall so Sam and Rosie could put away the chairs they'd used. "Are you enjoying your uncle Frodo's story?" he asked them.
Several nodded at once, and Tom said eagerly, "Oh, yes!"
"He's not telling you everything, you know. Your uncle Merry and I had our own adventures."
"He said he didn't have enough time to tell us everything," Tom said with something resembling disappointment.
"Well, then I guess Merry and I will have to come and tell you our parts, hm?"
"Oh, would you?" Tom asked, nearly bouncing with excitement.
"I think we can do that," Pippin said, patting his shoulder and nodding. Several hopeful faces were watching the exchange, and he looked at them in turn. "Yes, we'll have to talk to your father to figure out when. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to go talk to your uncle Frodo." He left them in the hall and ventured into Frodo's room. "Have a few minutes for me, cousin?"
"Certainly," Frodo answered, opening his eyes and sitting up a bit straighter against his pillows. "What brought you here?"
"I was nearby," Pippin said, not meeting Frodo's gaze as he sat in the chair. "We're going up to Long Cleeve for a fortnight, for Diamond's birthday. I . . . got your letter yesterday, so I thought I'd stop in and see you along the way. I can't stay long, they're waiting for me at Waymeet."
Frodo nodded. "Do you go to Long Cleeve every year?" he asked, avoiding, for the moment, his letter and the news it conveyed.
"Only when we're not hosting the New Year," Pippin replied. "It keeps Diamond happy, which keeps me happy."
Frodo chuckled. "Naturally. I take it you'll be back from Long Cleeve in time for the New Year?"
"Oh, yes, we'll probably go straight from Long Cleeve to Buckland, and stay there until after."
"I have tea for you both," Rosie said as she entered, bearing a tray and settling it over Frodo's lap. "Eat what you can, Mr. Frodo, and I'm sure Pippin here will help you with the rest."
"I'm sure he will," Frodo agreed. "So, Pippin, tell me about this New Year celebration."
Pippin happily described the meals and the dancing and the sparklers and the attempts at fireworks -though Gandalf's were far superior to any they managed to make. Frodo listened attentively, sipping his tea and nibbling at a blueberry muffin, though by the time Pippin seemed to be near finished, he was having trouble keeping his eyelids from sagging. Pippin did notice his cousin's sleepiness, and brought his descriptions to a close, having long ago finished his tea and muffins. He set his cup on the tray, then picked up and held Frodo's hand that had settled atop the quilt.
Frodo opened his eyes and smiled slightly. "I'm sorry I'll miss such a grand party."
"Oh, don't fret about it. We'll just have to bring the party to you sometime."
"That might be nice," Frodo said slowly. They lapsed into silence, Frodo closing his eyes again and Pippin watching him, thinking about the letter and Frodo being ill and what it all might mean. He looked pale and tired, that was for certain, but he didn't seem too sick. Then again, this was Frodo, who would carry on with a smile until he passed out from exhaustion if that was what was expected of him. It was hard to tell the true state of things if he didn't want you to know.
Pippin involuntarily squeezed Frodo's hand as this train of thought roared through his mind. Frodo's lips curved into a smile and he said, "I love you, too."
"Who said anything about loving? I was just trying to make sure you weren't falling asleep on me!" Pippin immediately retorted, but he was also so very glad when Frodo squeezed his hand back.
"I'm not asleep just yet," Frodo said drowsily. "Should you be going? I don't want to keep you from your family."
"I see them all the time," Pippin replied dismissively. "Besides, you're family, too. But I don't want to keep you from resting, so I suppose I should leave now."
"It was very nice to see you," Frodo told him earnestly, clutching his hand.
"I'm glad I came," Pippin answered, meaning every word. "I'll come by again when I can."
"All right," Frodo said, releasing Pippin's hand. "Tell your family I said hello."
"I will." Pippin rose from the chair and took the tray from Frodo's lap. "And I do love you."
Frodo grinned. "I know."
Pippin took the tray to the kitchen, where he found Rosie putting the finishing touches on a shepherd's pie for dinner. She gave him some food for the road, and he asked for paper and a pen to write a quick note. She fetched them for him, and he penned a short letter to Merry, telling of his visit and suggesting that Merry also drop in and perhaps try to find out from Frodo how he was really feeling. Pippin took the letter straight to the post-office, then rode off to Waymeet.
~~~~
Merry had already been planning to pay a visit to Bag End after he went to Michel Delving to officially invite the Mayor and his folk to the Gondorian New Year in Buckland (he ordinarily sent the invitation via Post, but figured an in-person delivery wouldn't go amiss). Then he received Pippin's letter and decided to leave the very next day, sensing an unspoken worry in Pippin's words. He arrived at the Ivy Bush near midnight and started out for Michel Delving first thing in the morning.
Fatty was happy to see him despite the early hour, and they chatted comfortably for a short while about a number of things. After a bit, Merry steered the conversation toward Frodo and Fatty obliged, having gone to Bag End on a regular basis since stepping in as Deputy Mayor. Merry listened with growing unease as Fatty told him all that Rosie had told him, including Sam's refusal to accept that Frodo would never recover and the distress this was causing Frodo. When Fatty had said all he could, Merry took his leave and hurried back to Hobbiton, stopping briefly in Waymeet to grab a bite to eat for luncheon.
Merry stopped at the Ivy Bush to leave the poor pony at its stable -he had borrowed a pony that morning, since his was still exhausted from the ride the day before- and patted his own pony on his way out. He heaved a deep breath outside the stable and started the trudge up to Bag End. It was a familiar walk, so Merry turned his attention to his thoughts rather than the road.
He went around the hole and entered through the kitchen, somewhat surprised to find no one there. He washed his feet and went in search of the voice he could hear drifting through the smial. Merry stopped just short of Frodo's room so he wouldn't be seen, realizing that the voice he'd heard was Frodo's. Pippin had mentioned the story-telling, but Merry hadn't quite expected this.
Merry peeked around the doorway, watching Frodo and listening, impressed that he could keep his composure while describing the terror he and Sam felt in Shelob's lair. No one noticed Merry lurking in the doorway until Frodo had finished and Sam and Rosie rose to move their chairs so the children could leave the room. Sam greeted him warmly and Merry said something in reply, his eyes fixed on Frodo. One of the young ones -Tom, Merry thought he remembered- stopped by him and asked if he and Uncle Pippin would really come and tell their story. Pippin had mentioned that in his letter, as well, so Merry assented and Tom's face lit up. He hugged Merry's knees and scampered off.
Frodo's bedroom had emptied of all but Frodo himself and Frodo-lad by the time Merry had extricated himself from Tom and several of the other youngsters -sometimes he really wondered how Sam and Rosie could manage a brood of such size. "Ah, Merry, I thought that was you I saw," Frodo said as Merry entered the room.
"Yes, I'm here."
"Would you mind stepping out for a moment so I can get back in bed? We can talk after that."
"I can help you," Merry objected.
"I would rather you didn't."
"Why? What do you have to hide?" Merry knelt next to the chair and put his hand on Frodo's knee.
"I'm not hiding anything," Frodo insisted. "I simply prefer not to be watched while I do my business!" He gestured toward the wooden seat next to the bed.
Merry understood, but didn't back down. "Then have Frodo-lad leave and I'll stay."
"I can leave," Frodo-lad agreed quickly. "I'm sure Uncle Merry will do just as well as me."
Merry nodded in appreciation to the lad, who left the room and closed the door before Frodo could object. Frodo sighed. "It always seems like a conspiracy whenever you're involved. All right, help me up, then." Frodo moved his lap blanket aside and started to stand, leaning heavily on the arms of the chair.
Merry helped him to the wooden seat, noticing that Frodo's right leg didn't seem to move properly, but Frodo appeared to be adapting well enough to hobble along. When Frodo was finished, he insisted on getting back into bed himself, saying, "I'd rather do as much as I can for as long as I can. Surely you can understand."
Merry could indeed understand, so he stepped back and resigned himself to help only if Frodo needed it. But Frodo managed to get back into bed without assistance. Merry did help tuck him in, for once Frodo had settled against his pillows he seemed to lose whatever energy he still had left. All he could do was lie back and pant, periodically coughing into a handkerchief. Merry watched wordlessly, then used his own handkerchief to dab the sweat from Frodo's forehead. "How are you?" he asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Frodo's hand.
Frodo chuckled dryly. "Old and sick," he replied, still a little breathless.
Merry chuckled in turn. "I suppose that was a silly question," he admitted. "Maybe this is a better one: is there anything I can do or get for you right now?"
"That is a better question," Frodo agreed. "I don't know . . . some water, maybe." He started coughing again, and Merry waited for a moment, then decided the best thing he could do was get the water. He had to go around to the other side of the bed to the pitcher and cup on the bedside table, and even after he was ready with the cup, Frodo was still coughing.
Merry put the cup down and sat on the bed again and held Frodo while he coughed, wincing as he felt his cousin jerk against him and imagining how much it must be hurting him. When Frodo finally stopped coughing, he leaned against Merry for several moments, trying to catch his breath. "I think I need that water now," he said.
Merry let go of him and retrieved the water, carefully handing it to him and keeping one hand close to steady it if necessary. Frodo sipped slowly, breathing carefully; Merry watched him anxiously, relieved when Frodo didn't seem likely to start coughing again. "You missed a bit," Merry said, gesturing toward the corner of his mouth.
Frodo quickly raised his handkerchief to dab at the spot; the handkerchief came away with a bit of blood on it. Frodo grimaced. "I'm sorry . . . you shouldn't have to see that."
"Don't be sorry," Merry said quickly. "It is what it is. I'm just sorry you are suffering so."
"I have a bit of tea here for you," came Rosie's voice from the door. Merry rose to get out of the way of her putting the tray down over Frodo's lap and went to sit on the other side of the bed again. "Merry, if you need anything more, do let me know. You look like you've been travelling, and I'm going to guess you haven't stopped for every meal."
Merry laughed. "Your eyes do not deceive you," he replied. "But I think this will be enough, thank you."
Rosie turned her attention to Frodo a moment, her hand straying to cup his face, and they seemed to converse without speaking. Merry felt Rosie's eyes on him again, then she said, "Call if either of you need anything," and left the room.
Merry hungrily tucked into a scone, and after taking a few bites sufficient to curb the edge of his appetite, he said, "The lad that was in here earlier, that was the eldest, Frodo, yes?"
Frodo nodded. "Yes, Frodo-lad. He is . . . very protective, once he decides to like you."
Merry chuckled. "I take it he hasn't always favored you, then."
"Gracious, no. Last year I could have sworn he loathed me, but now he's as attentive as any hobbit could wish. Perhaps a little too much so, even."
Merry inquired further about Sam's heir, and was mostly satisfied with what he heard. He asked about Sam's other children, seeing that this was a good topic for Frodo. Frodo could tell him a good deal about each one's temperament and habits; he'd always been a good judge of character, and he'd obviously enjoyed the time he'd had to spend with them during the previous year. He was particularly fond of young Tolman, Merry could tell from his voice as he talked of the youngest lad, and he had to ask, "Do they know?"
Frodo sighed and seemed to age ten years in a moment. "The elder ones, those that help care for me, they know. I don't think the rest do, at least in part because Sam doesn't want to tell them. He seems to think I'll get better, or at least take a good long time to die."
Merry saw without saying that Frodo didn't agree. He put the tea tray on the floor -Frodo had long since stopped pretending to eat his scone, and Merry already finished the rest- and sat next to Frodo on the bed so he could put his arm around him. "How long do you think it will be?" he asked quietly. "Your letter said you were concerned about the thirteenth."
Frodo's shoulders shrugged against his arm. "I am concerned," he admitted. "Because I don't know what will happen. Part of me . . ." his voice trailed off.
"Part of you what? Wishes it would just be over?" Merry guessed.
Frodo's face crumpled and he began to weep. Merry held him tightly, rocking gently, and thought about shushing him, but decided it might be for the best to let him be. After a few minutes Frodo-lad stuck his head in the door. Merry gestured for him to leave, but Frodo-lad made a motion like he was carrying the tea tray and gestured behind him to indicate he would take it out for them. Merry thought that was all right, so he nodded and pointed to where he'd put it down; Frodo-lad quietly picked it up and left again, closing the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Frodo said after some time, sniffling and blowing his nose in his handkerchief. "I feel guilty for thinking such when they are taking such good care of me, and it seems especially foolish when I also think it's not fair that I'm going to die," he admitted quietly, still leaning heavily against Merry's chest.
"You shouldn't feel guilty," Merry told him. "My mum felt the same way."
Frodo remained silent for a moment, trying to think if he knew what happened to his aunt Esmeralda but coming up completely blank. "I'm sorry . . . what . . . when . . ." he couldn't seem to come out with the right question to ask.
"She died years ago," Merry told him, understanding his difficulty. "I apologize for not telling you."
Frodo waved his hand dismissively. "You may have told me; I don't always remember things well. How did she die?"
"She had the consumption," Merry said matter-of-factly, trying not to let his voice betray how his heart clenched when he said it.
"Oh, Merry," Frodo breathed, sliding his arm around Merry's chest in an awkward hug. "I'm so sorry. All of this must be difficult for you."
Merry hugged him back. "It doesn't change much, really. Now, if you're done being mopey, I have something that might make you laugh."
"Oh? What do you have?' Frodo asked curiously.
Merry carefully extricated himself from Frodo and rose. "Well, if I can find where I left my bag . . ." he scanned the floor, then opened the door to peer into the hallway. Spying his saddlebag by the doorway where he'd dropped it when he'd first come to Frodo's room, he picked it up and closed the door again. "Estella sent it. She said you gave it to her when she was barely more than a faunt, and she wanted you to have it for a while so you know we're thinking of you." With that explanation, he pulled out a threadbare stuffed bear, patched in several places and missing one of its button eyes.
Frodo stared at the bear with astonishment. "She still has Mr. Fuzzy? That thing was old when I found it!" He took it from Merry and grinned. "She called it Mr. Fuzzy because he didn't have any fuzz even back then. Somehow that made perfect sense to her."
Merry laughed. "She claims you're to blame for the name. I'll have to tell her I finally know the truth."
Frodo chuckled. "If she prefers to think it's my fault, I'm willing to let her. The bear won't be revealing his secrets anytime soon."
Merry dropped his bag on the chair and sat on the bed facing Frodo. "Do you need to sleep? You look exhausted."
"So do you," Frodo replied, trying unsuccessfully to get Mr. Fuzzy to sit on the edge of his bedside table. Finally he just let him lie there instead, the button eye staring vacantly at the ceiling.
"So you'll sleep if I do, is that it?"
Frodo shrugged. "Eventually I'll sleep no matter what, so I can't force you to do anything. I was just making an observation. Do you have to leave soon?"
"No, not yet. I'll be heading back to Buckland in the morning, so I can stay a while yet." Merry shifted so he was sitting the same direction as Frodo. "Move over a touch, I think this bed is big enough for both of us."
Frodo moved, and let Merry slide an arm behind his back as he laid down on his side next to him. With Merry next to him so, he felt warm and loved; he felt he could bear just about anything.
"How is that?" Merry's voice rumbled in his chest. "Is there anything you need before you sleep?"
"This is fine, and no, thank you. Just . . . I want to be buried by my parents . . . is that . . .?"
"I'll take care of it," Merry assured him.
Frodo sighed. "Thank you. It's much too early for that, I know, but I wanted to make sure . . ."
"Of course you did." Merry pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now sleep."
"Yes, sir," Frodo said, a hint of a smile on his lips as he closed his eyes.
Merry watched and listened for a while as Frodo slept, then fell asleep himself for a time. He woke to a sliver of light from the hallway falling across the bed from the slightly open door, darkness having fallen outside and the fire burned low from lack of attention. He raised his head a bit to peer at the figure outlined in the light, then asked quietly, "What is the time?"
"About dinnertime," Rosie's voice responded in just more than a whisper. "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake you. Are you staying for dinner, then? I made enough for you, just in case."
"Yes, if you don't mind, and for supper too, if it's no trouble. I'll be leaving for Buckland in the morning, so . . ."
He could see her head bob. "It's no trouble at all, you ought to know that by now. Will you want to eat in here with Mr. Frodo?"
"Please."
"Is he still asleep?"
"You can stop talking about me like I can't hear you," Frodo grumbled.
Rosie opened the door wider and entered, bringing a lamp that she set on his bedside table. "I'm sorry, dear, but how am I to know you're awake when it's so terribly dark in here?" she asked, lighting the candles on the wall, on the mantel, and on the windowsill.
"Dark is better for sleeping," Frodo pointed out. "And it's not my fault you put me in a room with a window that faces north."
Merry chuckled and Rosie shook her head good-naturedly. "But you're awake now, and I'm going to bring in your dinner," she said. "When I return, I expect to see you fully upright and smiling. Well, perhaps not smiling. Upright will do." She winked and left.
Merry remained in Frodo's room for much of the evening, leaving only when Frodo was taken to have his bath. Rosie had him sit in the kitchen then, and asked him for his thoughts on Frodo. He told her of Frodo's request, and that he was in more pain than he was admitting, judging by how he was breathing and not seeming to rest quite comfortably. Sam joined them partway through the conversation and sat down with Merry at the table with a cup of tea, but he spoke little and frowned often.
When Rosie told Merry of their trouble with the healer thus far, and that he still likely thought it was the lung ailment (as he hadn't been to Bag End since before Frodo admitted to coughing up blood), Merry offered to write to the Healer of the Hall to request anything she could send to make Frodo more comfortable. "She'd even be willing to come and see him personally, I'm sure of it," he said.
"He don't need that," Sam replied firmly.
"No, I don't think he does," Rosie agreed. "But anything that could be sent would be a great help. Trying to get anything out of young Toby is like pulling hen's teeth."
"I'll write to her before I leave, and have the Ivy Bush send it on its way tonight," Merry said resolutely. Being able to help in any small way was a great relief.
Rosie joined them at the table, sitting next to Sam and across from Merry and asked seriously, "From what you know of your mum's sickness . . . how do you think he is doing?"
Merry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, realizing as he did so that he couldn't remember combing it this morning. "Honestly? He wasn't strong even when he was well." He bit his lip, wishing she hadn't asked but knowing that this was the one question they most needed an answer to. "I could be wrong -Frodo has astonished wiser and smarter folk than me- but I'd say he has a month left, at most."
Rosie closed her eyes swiftly and clenched her hands together, but nodded. "Aye, 'tis about what I expected."
But Sam wasn't convinced. "You can't just give up on him," he argued. "Your mum was ailing for a good long time, why should Mr. Frodo be different?"
"My mother was not confined to bed for most of that time," Merry countered. "Once she was weak enough to require remaining in bed -as Frodo has been this entire time, I might point out- she left us rather quickly. And I'll thank you not to use my mother for your arguments; you have no right."
"But you've got the right to come in here and tell us we're not taking good enough care of Mr. Frodo? Where have you been all these years?" Sam asked angrily, held back from rising from his seat by Rosie's restraining hand on his arm.
"I never said you weren't taking good enough care of Frodo," Merry said patiently. "I'm offering you the help of someone who has dealt with someone in this condition before, since your healer doesn't seem willing or able to give you what you need to keep him comfortable."
"He's always been a bit of a bumbling idiot," Sam reluctantly agreed. "But I still think you're giving up on him, talking about burying and only having a month and all that."
"Frodo brought up the burying," Merry reminded him.
"You didn't tell him about the month thing, did you?" Sam abruptly demanded.
"No."
"So he doesn't know you think he'll die soon?"
"No, but it doesn't matter what I think. He knows he'll die sooner rather than later. Heavens, he said in his letter he's worried about the thirteenth, so I think he's realized it might not be too much longer," Merry replied, exasperated.
"Did you talk to him about it?" Sam pressed.
"About what? Being ill? Dying?"
"Aye, that. About him . . ." Sam seemed unable to say the word, so Merry finished the statement.
"Dying. You know, you can say the word without it causing him to keel over," he said gently. Sam stared down at his hands on the tabletop. "I let him talk, and I listened. He has to get used to the idea same as you, and it helps him to be able to talk to someone about it. But you can't bear to hear it, can you? You frown and change the subject or even leave the room, he told me." Merry could see his words were discomfiting Sam, but continued to push the matter for Frodo's sake. "It's making him anxious, not having you to talk to. He worries about you, about how you'll take it if he dies before you're ready to let him go."
"Stop!" Sam choked out, clenching his hands as if holding on for dear life. "Of course I can't bear to hear it! It's all nonsense. He'd feel better if he'd just stop obsessing about being gone."
Merry shook his head in disbelief. "Believe what you like, Samwise Gamgee, but it's not going to change what is. Facts are facts, and the fact is that Frodo is dying and there's nothing any of us can do about it." He rose, still staring at the top of Sam's bent head. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go spend a little while longer with my cousin before I leave."
He stalked out of the kitchen and partway down the hall; then the weight of the conversation and his parting words stopped him and he leaned against the wall, shoulders shaking. Frodo is dying. His own words haunted him, their full import only beginning to sink in. Impatiently he shut away the looming grief; he couldn't give in now, not when he still had to face Frodo. Tomorrow, on the road when there would be no one but him and the pony . . . then he could allow tears. But not now.
Straightening, he regained his composure and decided to check the bathing room for Frodo; he suspected his cousin would have greeted them from the hall if he'd gone past the kitchen during the . . . disagreement. He probably would have been distressed to see them arguing about him, Merry reflected with a bit of a smile.
Frodo was indeed still in the bathing room, perched over his cushion. "You certainly take your time in the bath," Merry teased.
Frodo lifted his head from his arms. "You'll understand when you get to be my age," he replied with a smirk. "Or perhaps a bit older. I feel far too creaky for my years."
"Serves you right for all those years that you didn't age at all," Merry replied, realizing after he'd said it that it may be a bad subject to broach.
Frodo chuckled. "I suppose it is." He peered at Merry for a moment, then said, "Let me guess, you've been trying to 'talk sense' into Sam."
"He's the stubbornest hobbit in the Shire," Merry said by way of confirmation as he sat on the floor near Frodo's head.
"I thought *I* was the stubbornest hobbit in the Shire," Frodo said, pouting. "You've told me so more than once."
Merry made a show of thinking for a moment. "You still are," he agreed. "Sam is the stubbornest hobbit in the West Farthing. How's that?"
"Better." Frodo glanced back toward Frodo-lad. "Remember that discretion is a large part of being a successful Master of Bag End."
"I wouldn't say a word," Frodo-lad replied, grinning. "Especially since I happen to agree."
Merry laughed. "I think he'll do fine," he said to Frodo, with a wink at Frodo-lad.
"Mhmm," Frodo assented, laying his head back down on his folded arms.
Merry offered to carry Frodo back to his room. By the time they made it into the hallway, Frodo was laughing. "You'd better not run me into the doorway, you big oaf. It's not my fault you're overgrown."
"Overgrown!" Merry said indignantly. "I ought to drop you for that. What do you have to say about that?"
"Ouch," Frodo replied as Merry shifted his hold slightly.
"Sorry," Merry said quickly.
"No, no, that's what I'd say if you dropped me," Frodo said, still laughing.
"Ah. Well, let's see if I can put you down without making you say ouch."
Though Merry was careful, Frodo had to grit his teeth as he was set down, his back flaring with pain as his weight shifted. When he was settled, he said, "There. No ouch."
"But you're hurting," Merry said.
Frodo wasn't sure how he could tell; it seemed uncanny. "They'll come and dose me for the evening soon. I'll be all right."
"Why don't you ever tell Rosie that what they're giving you isn't enough?"
"What do you mean?"
"You sleep like you're uncomfortable."
Truly uncanny. "Because I am, but that doesn't mean I'm in pain. Or that it's something that can be helped."
"Perhaps, but you could at least ask for something more."
"If I think I need it, I'll ask."
"Promise?"
"I promise." Frodo patted Merry's hand. "Really, Mer, I can take care of myself."
Merry smothered a smile.
Frodo grimaced. "Oh, stop. I meant they'll give me whatever I say I need."
"Do you always know what you need?" Merry asked shrewdly.
"Only sometimes," Frodo admitted. "Sometimes Rosie just does things, and I feel better afterward."
"Do you need anything right now?"
"I suppose I could use some of the stuff for my back."
Rosie came in with Frodo's supper in time to hear his statement. "I'll fetch that for you while you eat, Mr. Frodo. Is there anything else I can fetch you?"
"I could use some paper, a pen, and some ink," Merry said when Frodo remained silent, poking at his small bowl of stew with one lonely dumpling.
"All right, and you can use that tray to write on when he's done," Rosie said, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room for anything else that needed attention. "Will you help him with the liniment for his back, or should I send Frodo-lad in?"
"I think I can manage it," Merry assured her with a smile. "But he can come in whenever you're done with him."
Rosie nodded. "Make sure you come and see me before you leave?"
"I wouldn't dream of leaving without saying farewell."
"No food for you?" Frodo inquired after Rosie left.
"I ate while you were wallowing in the bath," Merry said, sprawling in a most undignified fashion in the chair.
"Did you help your mum when she was ill?"
"No, not really. She didn't want me to neglect the Hall in trying to care for her. Several of the cousins helped her with things, especially near the end. I spent time with her every day, but it never felt like enough."
"But you were Master, there were plenty of things you needed to be minding. I think she was right," Frodo said around a mouthful of dumpling.
Merry snorted. "Of course you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
"Merry," Frodo said in warning.
"I'm sorry, I'm just tired and feeling guilty for neglecting her like that."
"If that's what she wanted you to be doing, how is that neglecting her?"
Merry shrugged and stared into the flickering fire. "I don't know." He rose and shifted the smoldering logs with the poker until small tongues of flame began to flicker again.
Frodo finished playing with his stew and sat back with what remained of his tea. "Will you feel guilty for doing the things I ask of you?"
"Of course not. But that's different," Merry said to the fire.
"How is that different?" Frodo pressed.
"Wait, you said 'things,' but you've only asked me to do one thing. What else is on your mind, Frodo?"
"I'll tell you in a bit. First answer my question: how is that different?" It was getting harder to form complete thoughts in order to speak; he'd definitely overdone it today.
"You're not my mother, for one," Merry replied with an evasive grin as he returned to his chair.
Frodo had to grin back. "No, I'm certainly not."
"I do hope you're not exhausting poor Mr. Frodo," Rosie scolded Merry as she returned with the liniment and writing supplies.
"He's the one talking to me," Merry said, pouting and trying to look innocent.
Rosie laughed. "Well, if he ever decides to stop, you ought not start up yourself," she teased as she handed him the things she'd brought. She went to the bed and kissed Frodo on the forehead. "Sleep well, Mr. Frodo. Frodo-lad will be about if you need anything." Rosie took his dishes and gave the tray to Merry to use, then left again.
"I suppose we ought to put this on you before you fall asleep on me," Merry said, holding up the liniment jar.
Frodo nodded wearily. "Yes, that would be best." While he worked on rolling himself onto his side, Merry set the tray and writing supplies on the floor by the chair and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. Frodo rolled toward him and Merry reached over him to tug up the nightshirt. He daubed some of the strong-smelling cream onto Frodo's lower back at Frodo's direction, and carefully rubbed it in. As he pulled the nightshirt back down, Merry commented cheekily, "Nice diaper."
"It's not a diaper!" Frodo shot back before realizing that Merry was poking fun, and he pinched his cousin's leg.
"Ow! What was that for?" Merry yelped, rubbing his thigh.
"Making fun of your poor, sick, defenseless cousin," Frodo replied airily.
"With a pinch like that, you're not defenseless," Merry muttered darkly.
Frodo yawned and coughed, leaning against Merry more heavily, but didn't reply.
"What else did you want me to do?" Merry asked.
"Promise me something," Frodo said evasively.
"What?"
"Don't even think of cancelling your New Year party, no matter what happens with me between now and then. The fall of Sauron should be celebrated, even if they don't realize that's what it's about. Do you promise?"
"Yes, I promise." Merry wondered what on earth brought this up, but decided it wasn't worth asking.
"You do tell them, don't you? What it's all about?"
"Of course we do, Frodo. Sometimes we even mention you had something to do with it," he joked.
But Frodo didn't take it as a joke. "It's not about me," he insisted. "It's about . . . evil . . . overwhelming evil . . . everyone has a part . . ." he said, rambling on in the fashion Merry recognized as Frodo being exhausted but still feeling he has something to say. He'd been doing that since before he went to live with Bilbo -some things never change.
"Yes, I know, Fro," he soothed, rubbing Frodo's back.
Frodo sighed and coughed again. "I'd better roll back over. I'll hurt worse later if I sleep like this."
Merry helped him roll onto his back (Merry's weight on the bed made it impossible for Frodo to do it himself, as much as he might have liked to), but when Merry tried to pull away, Frodo held on to him.
"A hug before you go?" he asked plaintively.
Merry had no objection, and gingerly hugged his cousin's frail frame. "I'm not leaving just yet."
"I know, but I'll be asleep soon, and I don't know if . . . when I'll see you again." He sounded inexpressibly sad.
"I'll be back to visit after my little party," Merry found himself saying, only deciding on it at that very moment.
"Oh. All right, then. And in the meantime I'll have Mr. Fuzzy," Frodo said, humor creeping back into his voice.
"Yes, in the meantime you'll have Mr. Fuzzy," Merry agreed, grinning at him. Frodo smiled hesitantly, holding onto Merry's hand. "Go on to sleep, Frodo dear," Merry urged, squeezing his hand.
Frodo squeezed back, closed his eyes again, and his face relaxed. His hand soon grew limp in Merry's, and he slept, his breathing shallow but even.
Merry slipped off the bed carefully, and returned to the chair, watching Frodo meditatively before turning his attention to the blank sheets of paper he needed to fill.
Rosie looked up from her needlework as Merry entered the sitting room, carrying his saddlebag. "I'm going to go back to the Ivy Bush now," he said.
Rosie nodded, tucking her work into the basket beside her chair. "Mr. Frodo asleep, then?"
"He's been asleep nearly an hour," Merry confirmed. "Frodo-lad's in with him." He hesitated, then continued, "I have a favor to ask."
"Go on."
"I told him I'll be back to visit after the party, but would you write if . . . if it looks like he won't make it that long?"
"I would have even if you hadn't asked," Rosie responded.
Merry nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
Rosie stood and hugged him. "Don't you worry 'bout a thing. We're doing our best to care for him."
Merry hugged her back. "I know you are. You should receive a crate from my healer by the end of next week. I hope it will help."
"I'm sure it will. Now, get on with you, or you'll be falling off your poor pony tomorrow on the way home."
"I'll have you know I've perfected the art of sleeping while riding," Merry said with a laugh. "It comes in handy when you live on the other side of the Shire from many of your friends."
Continued here.
Title: Letting Go, 12/18 "Two Visits"
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 6,796 for this part
Warnings: this fic will eventually involve character death
Story Summary: Letting go of someone you care deeply about is a very difficult thing.
A/N: This story is a sequel to " Holding On," which is in turn a follow-up to Skye's "Just Don't Have the Heart to End It" and Aemilia Rose's "Always There Beyond the Touch of Darkness." It's been in the works pretty much since I posted "Holding On" in June 2003, though obviously it took a while for me to get up the nerve to go through with it. ;)
A/N P.S.: The medical-type stuff in this fic has not been run by those who know more about such things than I do, so no guarantees that it is realistic despite the research I did.
Warning: We have progressed to the point in which Frodo's death is openly discussed. Also, there are bodily functions and other such things present (but you could probably guess that).
Chapter 1, "Story-telling"
Chapter 2, "A Birthday"
Chapter 3, "Recovery"
Chapter 4, "Old Troubles"
Chapter 5, "Winter Blues"
Chapter 6, "An Understanding"
Chapter 7, "Routines"
Chapter 8, "Compromises"
Chapter 9, "Despair"
Chapter 10, "Reconciliation"
Chapter 11, "Resignation"
Chapter Summary: Frodo is visited by his cousins.
Frodo stopped talking when Rosie stood to answer a knock at the door. She motioned for him to continue and quickly padded down the hall to the front door. "Pippin!" she said in surprise upon seeing the hobbit on the doorstep. "Please, come in."
Pippin entered hesitantly. "Is Frodo awake?"
"Oh, aye. He's telling more of his story," Rosie said, inclining her head toward Frodo's bedroom. "You can listen and talk to him after, if you like."
Pippin nodded, brightening. "That would be nice."
"Who's making all this noise out here?" Sam asked, coming to investigate who Rosie was talking to. "Ah, Pippin! Good to see you."
"Oh, Sam," Pippin said, patting his coat's pockets, then pulling out a piece of parchment and handing it to Sam. "A letter, for Goldi. From Faramir."
Sam unfolded the unsealed letter and skimmed the contents, nodded, and folded it again.
"I expect he and I will be paying you a visit by Midsummer for permission to court her," Pippin confided.
"Finally!" Rosie exclaimed. "They've only been eyeing one another since they was bairns."
Sam chuckled. "Can't say as I'd say no, though 'twould be fun to make him fret a while."
Pippin laughed. Rosie shook her head in exasperation and said, "We ought to go back in, if you're going to hear any of today's story, Pippin."
"Of course. Lead the way."
Sam fetched another chair and set it behind the chairs he and Rosie occupied. Frodo faltered when he saw Pippin, then smiled and continued. Pippin sat back in his chair and listened and watched with interest, having only rarely seen Frodo as storyteller and rather enjoying it.
When Frodo had concluded with the oliphaunt trampling through the forest of Ithilien, mere yards from Sam and the two Men who guarded the hobbits, it took a few moments for anyone to move or even breathe. Then several of the children noticed Pippin at once and swarmed around him for hugs and pig-a-back rides. Pippin herded them out into the hall so Sam and Rosie could put away the chairs they'd used. "Are you enjoying your uncle Frodo's story?" he asked them.
Several nodded at once, and Tom said eagerly, "Oh, yes!"
"He's not telling you everything, you know. Your uncle Merry and I had our own adventures."
"He said he didn't have enough time to tell us everything," Tom said with something resembling disappointment.
"Well, then I guess Merry and I will have to come and tell you our parts, hm?"
"Oh, would you?" Tom asked, nearly bouncing with excitement.
"I think we can do that," Pippin said, patting his shoulder and nodding. Several hopeful faces were watching the exchange, and he looked at them in turn. "Yes, we'll have to talk to your father to figure out when. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to go talk to your uncle Frodo." He left them in the hall and ventured into Frodo's room. "Have a few minutes for me, cousin?"
"Certainly," Frodo answered, opening his eyes and sitting up a bit straighter against his pillows. "What brought you here?"
"I was nearby," Pippin said, not meeting Frodo's gaze as he sat in the chair. "We're going up to Long Cleeve for a fortnight, for Diamond's birthday. I . . . got your letter yesterday, so I thought I'd stop in and see you along the way. I can't stay long, they're waiting for me at Waymeet."
Frodo nodded. "Do you go to Long Cleeve every year?" he asked, avoiding, for the moment, his letter and the news it conveyed.
"Only when we're not hosting the New Year," Pippin replied. "It keeps Diamond happy, which keeps me happy."
Frodo chuckled. "Naturally. I take it you'll be back from Long Cleeve in time for the New Year?"
"Oh, yes, we'll probably go straight from Long Cleeve to Buckland, and stay there until after."
"I have tea for you both," Rosie said as she entered, bearing a tray and settling it over Frodo's lap. "Eat what you can, Mr. Frodo, and I'm sure Pippin here will help you with the rest."
"I'm sure he will," Frodo agreed. "So, Pippin, tell me about this New Year celebration."
Pippin happily described the meals and the dancing and the sparklers and the attempts at fireworks -though Gandalf's were far superior to any they managed to make. Frodo listened attentively, sipping his tea and nibbling at a blueberry muffin, though by the time Pippin seemed to be near finished, he was having trouble keeping his eyelids from sagging. Pippin did notice his cousin's sleepiness, and brought his descriptions to a close, having long ago finished his tea and muffins. He set his cup on the tray, then picked up and held Frodo's hand that had settled atop the quilt.
Frodo opened his eyes and smiled slightly. "I'm sorry I'll miss such a grand party."
"Oh, don't fret about it. We'll just have to bring the party to you sometime."
"That might be nice," Frodo said slowly. They lapsed into silence, Frodo closing his eyes again and Pippin watching him, thinking about the letter and Frodo being ill and what it all might mean. He looked pale and tired, that was for certain, but he didn't seem too sick. Then again, this was Frodo, who would carry on with a smile until he passed out from exhaustion if that was what was expected of him. It was hard to tell the true state of things if he didn't want you to know.
Pippin involuntarily squeezed Frodo's hand as this train of thought roared through his mind. Frodo's lips curved into a smile and he said, "I love you, too."
"Who said anything about loving? I was just trying to make sure you weren't falling asleep on me!" Pippin immediately retorted, but he was also so very glad when Frodo squeezed his hand back.
"I'm not asleep just yet," Frodo said drowsily. "Should you be going? I don't want to keep you from your family."
"I see them all the time," Pippin replied dismissively. "Besides, you're family, too. But I don't want to keep you from resting, so I suppose I should leave now."
"It was very nice to see you," Frodo told him earnestly, clutching his hand.
"I'm glad I came," Pippin answered, meaning every word. "I'll come by again when I can."
"All right," Frodo said, releasing Pippin's hand. "Tell your family I said hello."
"I will." Pippin rose from the chair and took the tray from Frodo's lap. "And I do love you."
Frodo grinned. "I know."
Pippin took the tray to the kitchen, where he found Rosie putting the finishing touches on a shepherd's pie for dinner. She gave him some food for the road, and he asked for paper and a pen to write a quick note. She fetched them for him, and he penned a short letter to Merry, telling of his visit and suggesting that Merry also drop in and perhaps try to find out from Frodo how he was really feeling. Pippin took the letter straight to the post-office, then rode off to Waymeet.
~~~~
Merry had already been planning to pay a visit to Bag End after he went to Michel Delving to officially invite the Mayor and his folk to the Gondorian New Year in Buckland (he ordinarily sent the invitation via Post, but figured an in-person delivery wouldn't go amiss). Then he received Pippin's letter and decided to leave the very next day, sensing an unspoken worry in Pippin's words. He arrived at the Ivy Bush near midnight and started out for Michel Delving first thing in the morning.
Fatty was happy to see him despite the early hour, and they chatted comfortably for a short while about a number of things. After a bit, Merry steered the conversation toward Frodo and Fatty obliged, having gone to Bag End on a regular basis since stepping in as Deputy Mayor. Merry listened with growing unease as Fatty told him all that Rosie had told him, including Sam's refusal to accept that Frodo would never recover and the distress this was causing Frodo. When Fatty had said all he could, Merry took his leave and hurried back to Hobbiton, stopping briefly in Waymeet to grab a bite to eat for luncheon.
Merry stopped at the Ivy Bush to leave the poor pony at its stable -he had borrowed a pony that morning, since his was still exhausted from the ride the day before- and patted his own pony on his way out. He heaved a deep breath outside the stable and started the trudge up to Bag End. It was a familiar walk, so Merry turned his attention to his thoughts rather than the road.
He went around the hole and entered through the kitchen, somewhat surprised to find no one there. He washed his feet and went in search of the voice he could hear drifting through the smial. Merry stopped just short of Frodo's room so he wouldn't be seen, realizing that the voice he'd heard was Frodo's. Pippin had mentioned the story-telling, but Merry hadn't quite expected this.
Merry peeked around the doorway, watching Frodo and listening, impressed that he could keep his composure while describing the terror he and Sam felt in Shelob's lair. No one noticed Merry lurking in the doorway until Frodo had finished and Sam and Rosie rose to move their chairs so the children could leave the room. Sam greeted him warmly and Merry said something in reply, his eyes fixed on Frodo. One of the young ones -Tom, Merry thought he remembered- stopped by him and asked if he and Uncle Pippin would really come and tell their story. Pippin had mentioned that in his letter, as well, so Merry assented and Tom's face lit up. He hugged Merry's knees and scampered off.
Frodo's bedroom had emptied of all but Frodo himself and Frodo-lad by the time Merry had extricated himself from Tom and several of the other youngsters -sometimes he really wondered how Sam and Rosie could manage a brood of such size. "Ah, Merry, I thought that was you I saw," Frodo said as Merry entered the room.
"Yes, I'm here."
"Would you mind stepping out for a moment so I can get back in bed? We can talk after that."
"I can help you," Merry objected.
"I would rather you didn't."
"Why? What do you have to hide?" Merry knelt next to the chair and put his hand on Frodo's knee.
"I'm not hiding anything," Frodo insisted. "I simply prefer not to be watched while I do my business!" He gestured toward the wooden seat next to the bed.
Merry understood, but didn't back down. "Then have Frodo-lad leave and I'll stay."
"I can leave," Frodo-lad agreed quickly. "I'm sure Uncle Merry will do just as well as me."
Merry nodded in appreciation to the lad, who left the room and closed the door before Frodo could object. Frodo sighed. "It always seems like a conspiracy whenever you're involved. All right, help me up, then." Frodo moved his lap blanket aside and started to stand, leaning heavily on the arms of the chair.
Merry helped him to the wooden seat, noticing that Frodo's right leg didn't seem to move properly, but Frodo appeared to be adapting well enough to hobble along. When Frodo was finished, he insisted on getting back into bed himself, saying, "I'd rather do as much as I can for as long as I can. Surely you can understand."
Merry could indeed understand, so he stepped back and resigned himself to help only if Frodo needed it. But Frodo managed to get back into bed without assistance. Merry did help tuck him in, for once Frodo had settled against his pillows he seemed to lose whatever energy he still had left. All he could do was lie back and pant, periodically coughing into a handkerchief. Merry watched wordlessly, then used his own handkerchief to dab the sweat from Frodo's forehead. "How are you?" he asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Frodo's hand.
Frodo chuckled dryly. "Old and sick," he replied, still a little breathless.
Merry chuckled in turn. "I suppose that was a silly question," he admitted. "Maybe this is a better one: is there anything I can do or get for you right now?"
"That is a better question," Frodo agreed. "I don't know . . . some water, maybe." He started coughing again, and Merry waited for a moment, then decided the best thing he could do was get the water. He had to go around to the other side of the bed to the pitcher and cup on the bedside table, and even after he was ready with the cup, Frodo was still coughing.
Merry put the cup down and sat on the bed again and held Frodo while he coughed, wincing as he felt his cousin jerk against him and imagining how much it must be hurting him. When Frodo finally stopped coughing, he leaned against Merry for several moments, trying to catch his breath. "I think I need that water now," he said.
Merry let go of him and retrieved the water, carefully handing it to him and keeping one hand close to steady it if necessary. Frodo sipped slowly, breathing carefully; Merry watched him anxiously, relieved when Frodo didn't seem likely to start coughing again. "You missed a bit," Merry said, gesturing toward the corner of his mouth.
Frodo quickly raised his handkerchief to dab at the spot; the handkerchief came away with a bit of blood on it. Frodo grimaced. "I'm sorry . . . you shouldn't have to see that."
"Don't be sorry," Merry said quickly. "It is what it is. I'm just sorry you are suffering so."
"I have a bit of tea here for you," came Rosie's voice from the door. Merry rose to get out of the way of her putting the tray down over Frodo's lap and went to sit on the other side of the bed again. "Merry, if you need anything more, do let me know. You look like you've been travelling, and I'm going to guess you haven't stopped for every meal."
Merry laughed. "Your eyes do not deceive you," he replied. "But I think this will be enough, thank you."
Rosie turned her attention to Frodo a moment, her hand straying to cup his face, and they seemed to converse without speaking. Merry felt Rosie's eyes on him again, then she said, "Call if either of you need anything," and left the room.
Merry hungrily tucked into a scone, and after taking a few bites sufficient to curb the edge of his appetite, he said, "The lad that was in here earlier, that was the eldest, Frodo, yes?"
Frodo nodded. "Yes, Frodo-lad. He is . . . very protective, once he decides to like you."
Merry chuckled. "I take it he hasn't always favored you, then."
"Gracious, no. Last year I could have sworn he loathed me, but now he's as attentive as any hobbit could wish. Perhaps a little too much so, even."
Merry inquired further about Sam's heir, and was mostly satisfied with what he heard. He asked about Sam's other children, seeing that this was a good topic for Frodo. Frodo could tell him a good deal about each one's temperament and habits; he'd always been a good judge of character, and he'd obviously enjoyed the time he'd had to spend with them during the previous year. He was particularly fond of young Tolman, Merry could tell from his voice as he talked of the youngest lad, and he had to ask, "Do they know?"
Frodo sighed and seemed to age ten years in a moment. "The elder ones, those that help care for me, they know. I don't think the rest do, at least in part because Sam doesn't want to tell them. He seems to think I'll get better, or at least take a good long time to die."
Merry saw without saying that Frodo didn't agree. He put the tea tray on the floor -Frodo had long since stopped pretending to eat his scone, and Merry already finished the rest- and sat next to Frodo on the bed so he could put his arm around him. "How long do you think it will be?" he asked quietly. "Your letter said you were concerned about the thirteenth."
Frodo's shoulders shrugged against his arm. "I am concerned," he admitted. "Because I don't know what will happen. Part of me . . ." his voice trailed off.
"Part of you what? Wishes it would just be over?" Merry guessed.
Frodo's face crumpled and he began to weep. Merry held him tightly, rocking gently, and thought about shushing him, but decided it might be for the best to let him be. After a few minutes Frodo-lad stuck his head in the door. Merry gestured for him to leave, but Frodo-lad made a motion like he was carrying the tea tray and gestured behind him to indicate he would take it out for them. Merry thought that was all right, so he nodded and pointed to where he'd put it down; Frodo-lad quietly picked it up and left again, closing the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Frodo said after some time, sniffling and blowing his nose in his handkerchief. "I feel guilty for thinking such when they are taking such good care of me, and it seems especially foolish when I also think it's not fair that I'm going to die," he admitted quietly, still leaning heavily against Merry's chest.
"You shouldn't feel guilty," Merry told him. "My mum felt the same way."
Frodo remained silent for a moment, trying to think if he knew what happened to his aunt Esmeralda but coming up completely blank. "I'm sorry . . . what . . . when . . ." he couldn't seem to come out with the right question to ask.
"She died years ago," Merry told him, understanding his difficulty. "I apologize for not telling you."
Frodo waved his hand dismissively. "You may have told me; I don't always remember things well. How did she die?"
"She had the consumption," Merry said matter-of-factly, trying not to let his voice betray how his heart clenched when he said it.
"Oh, Merry," Frodo breathed, sliding his arm around Merry's chest in an awkward hug. "I'm so sorry. All of this must be difficult for you."
Merry hugged him back. "It doesn't change much, really. Now, if you're done being mopey, I have something that might make you laugh."
"Oh? What do you have?' Frodo asked curiously.
Merry carefully extricated himself from Frodo and rose. "Well, if I can find where I left my bag . . ." he scanned the floor, then opened the door to peer into the hallway. Spying his saddlebag by the doorway where he'd dropped it when he'd first come to Frodo's room, he picked it up and closed the door again. "Estella sent it. She said you gave it to her when she was barely more than a faunt, and she wanted you to have it for a while so you know we're thinking of you." With that explanation, he pulled out a threadbare stuffed bear, patched in several places and missing one of its button eyes.
Frodo stared at the bear with astonishment. "She still has Mr. Fuzzy? That thing was old when I found it!" He took it from Merry and grinned. "She called it Mr. Fuzzy because he didn't have any fuzz even back then. Somehow that made perfect sense to her."
Merry laughed. "She claims you're to blame for the name. I'll have to tell her I finally know the truth."
Frodo chuckled. "If she prefers to think it's my fault, I'm willing to let her. The bear won't be revealing his secrets anytime soon."
Merry dropped his bag on the chair and sat on the bed facing Frodo. "Do you need to sleep? You look exhausted."
"So do you," Frodo replied, trying unsuccessfully to get Mr. Fuzzy to sit on the edge of his bedside table. Finally he just let him lie there instead, the button eye staring vacantly at the ceiling.
"So you'll sleep if I do, is that it?"
Frodo shrugged. "Eventually I'll sleep no matter what, so I can't force you to do anything. I was just making an observation. Do you have to leave soon?"
"No, not yet. I'll be heading back to Buckland in the morning, so I can stay a while yet." Merry shifted so he was sitting the same direction as Frodo. "Move over a touch, I think this bed is big enough for both of us."
Frodo moved, and let Merry slide an arm behind his back as he laid down on his side next to him. With Merry next to him so, he felt warm and loved; he felt he could bear just about anything.
"How is that?" Merry's voice rumbled in his chest. "Is there anything you need before you sleep?"
"This is fine, and no, thank you. Just . . . I want to be buried by my parents . . . is that . . .?"
"I'll take care of it," Merry assured him.
Frodo sighed. "Thank you. It's much too early for that, I know, but I wanted to make sure . . ."
"Of course you did." Merry pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now sleep."
"Yes, sir," Frodo said, a hint of a smile on his lips as he closed his eyes.
Merry watched and listened for a while as Frodo slept, then fell asleep himself for a time. He woke to a sliver of light from the hallway falling across the bed from the slightly open door, darkness having fallen outside and the fire burned low from lack of attention. He raised his head a bit to peer at the figure outlined in the light, then asked quietly, "What is the time?"
"About dinnertime," Rosie's voice responded in just more than a whisper. "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake you. Are you staying for dinner, then? I made enough for you, just in case."
"Yes, if you don't mind, and for supper too, if it's no trouble. I'll be leaving for Buckland in the morning, so . . ."
He could see her head bob. "It's no trouble at all, you ought to know that by now. Will you want to eat in here with Mr. Frodo?"
"Please."
"Is he still asleep?"
"You can stop talking about me like I can't hear you," Frodo grumbled.
Rosie opened the door wider and entered, bringing a lamp that she set on his bedside table. "I'm sorry, dear, but how am I to know you're awake when it's so terribly dark in here?" she asked, lighting the candles on the wall, on the mantel, and on the windowsill.
"Dark is better for sleeping," Frodo pointed out. "And it's not my fault you put me in a room with a window that faces north."
Merry chuckled and Rosie shook her head good-naturedly. "But you're awake now, and I'm going to bring in your dinner," she said. "When I return, I expect to see you fully upright and smiling. Well, perhaps not smiling. Upright will do." She winked and left.
Merry remained in Frodo's room for much of the evening, leaving only when Frodo was taken to have his bath. Rosie had him sit in the kitchen then, and asked him for his thoughts on Frodo. He told her of Frodo's request, and that he was in more pain than he was admitting, judging by how he was breathing and not seeming to rest quite comfortably. Sam joined them partway through the conversation and sat down with Merry at the table with a cup of tea, but he spoke little and frowned often.
When Rosie told Merry of their trouble with the healer thus far, and that he still likely thought it was the lung ailment (as he hadn't been to Bag End since before Frodo admitted to coughing up blood), Merry offered to write to the Healer of the Hall to request anything she could send to make Frodo more comfortable. "She'd even be willing to come and see him personally, I'm sure of it," he said.
"He don't need that," Sam replied firmly.
"No, I don't think he does," Rosie agreed. "But anything that could be sent would be a great help. Trying to get anything out of young Toby is like pulling hen's teeth."
"I'll write to her before I leave, and have the Ivy Bush send it on its way tonight," Merry said resolutely. Being able to help in any small way was a great relief.
Rosie joined them at the table, sitting next to Sam and across from Merry and asked seriously, "From what you know of your mum's sickness . . . how do you think he is doing?"
Merry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, realizing as he did so that he couldn't remember combing it this morning. "Honestly? He wasn't strong even when he was well." He bit his lip, wishing she hadn't asked but knowing that this was the one question they most needed an answer to. "I could be wrong -Frodo has astonished wiser and smarter folk than me- but I'd say he has a month left, at most."
Rosie closed her eyes swiftly and clenched her hands together, but nodded. "Aye, 'tis about what I expected."
But Sam wasn't convinced. "You can't just give up on him," he argued. "Your mum was ailing for a good long time, why should Mr. Frodo be different?"
"My mother was not confined to bed for most of that time," Merry countered. "Once she was weak enough to require remaining in bed -as Frodo has been this entire time, I might point out- she left us rather quickly. And I'll thank you not to use my mother for your arguments; you have no right."
"But you've got the right to come in here and tell us we're not taking good enough care of Mr. Frodo? Where have you been all these years?" Sam asked angrily, held back from rising from his seat by Rosie's restraining hand on his arm.
"I never said you weren't taking good enough care of Frodo," Merry said patiently. "I'm offering you the help of someone who has dealt with someone in this condition before, since your healer doesn't seem willing or able to give you what you need to keep him comfortable."
"He's always been a bit of a bumbling idiot," Sam reluctantly agreed. "But I still think you're giving up on him, talking about burying and only having a month and all that."
"Frodo brought up the burying," Merry reminded him.
"You didn't tell him about the month thing, did you?" Sam abruptly demanded.
"No."
"So he doesn't know you think he'll die soon?"
"No, but it doesn't matter what I think. He knows he'll die sooner rather than later. Heavens, he said in his letter he's worried about the thirteenth, so I think he's realized it might not be too much longer," Merry replied, exasperated.
"Did you talk to him about it?" Sam pressed.
"About what? Being ill? Dying?"
"Aye, that. About him . . ." Sam seemed unable to say the word, so Merry finished the statement.
"Dying. You know, you can say the word without it causing him to keel over," he said gently. Sam stared down at his hands on the tabletop. "I let him talk, and I listened. He has to get used to the idea same as you, and it helps him to be able to talk to someone about it. But you can't bear to hear it, can you? You frown and change the subject or even leave the room, he told me." Merry could see his words were discomfiting Sam, but continued to push the matter for Frodo's sake. "It's making him anxious, not having you to talk to. He worries about you, about how you'll take it if he dies before you're ready to let him go."
"Stop!" Sam choked out, clenching his hands as if holding on for dear life. "Of course I can't bear to hear it! It's all nonsense. He'd feel better if he'd just stop obsessing about being gone."
Merry shook his head in disbelief. "Believe what you like, Samwise Gamgee, but it's not going to change what is. Facts are facts, and the fact is that Frodo is dying and there's nothing any of us can do about it." He rose, still staring at the top of Sam's bent head. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go spend a little while longer with my cousin before I leave."
He stalked out of the kitchen and partway down the hall; then the weight of the conversation and his parting words stopped him and he leaned against the wall, shoulders shaking. Frodo is dying. His own words haunted him, their full import only beginning to sink in. Impatiently he shut away the looming grief; he couldn't give in now, not when he still had to face Frodo. Tomorrow, on the road when there would be no one but him and the pony . . . then he could allow tears. But not now.
Straightening, he regained his composure and decided to check the bathing room for Frodo; he suspected his cousin would have greeted them from the hall if he'd gone past the kitchen during the . . . disagreement. He probably would have been distressed to see them arguing about him, Merry reflected with a bit of a smile.
Frodo was indeed still in the bathing room, perched over his cushion. "You certainly take your time in the bath," Merry teased.
Frodo lifted his head from his arms. "You'll understand when you get to be my age," he replied with a smirk. "Or perhaps a bit older. I feel far too creaky for my years."
"Serves you right for all those years that you didn't age at all," Merry replied, realizing after he'd said it that it may be a bad subject to broach.
Frodo chuckled. "I suppose it is." He peered at Merry for a moment, then said, "Let me guess, you've been trying to 'talk sense' into Sam."
"He's the stubbornest hobbit in the Shire," Merry said by way of confirmation as he sat on the floor near Frodo's head.
"I thought *I* was the stubbornest hobbit in the Shire," Frodo said, pouting. "You've told me so more than once."
Merry made a show of thinking for a moment. "You still are," he agreed. "Sam is the stubbornest hobbit in the West Farthing. How's that?"
"Better." Frodo glanced back toward Frodo-lad. "Remember that discretion is a large part of being a successful Master of Bag End."
"I wouldn't say a word," Frodo-lad replied, grinning. "Especially since I happen to agree."
Merry laughed. "I think he'll do fine," he said to Frodo, with a wink at Frodo-lad.
"Mhmm," Frodo assented, laying his head back down on his folded arms.
Merry offered to carry Frodo back to his room. By the time they made it into the hallway, Frodo was laughing. "You'd better not run me into the doorway, you big oaf. It's not my fault you're overgrown."
"Overgrown!" Merry said indignantly. "I ought to drop you for that. What do you have to say about that?"
"Ouch," Frodo replied as Merry shifted his hold slightly.
"Sorry," Merry said quickly.
"No, no, that's what I'd say if you dropped me," Frodo said, still laughing.
"Ah. Well, let's see if I can put you down without making you say ouch."
Though Merry was careful, Frodo had to grit his teeth as he was set down, his back flaring with pain as his weight shifted. When he was settled, he said, "There. No ouch."
"But you're hurting," Merry said.
Frodo wasn't sure how he could tell; it seemed uncanny. "They'll come and dose me for the evening soon. I'll be all right."
"Why don't you ever tell Rosie that what they're giving you isn't enough?"
"What do you mean?"
"You sleep like you're uncomfortable."
Truly uncanny. "Because I am, but that doesn't mean I'm in pain. Or that it's something that can be helped."
"Perhaps, but you could at least ask for something more."
"If I think I need it, I'll ask."
"Promise?"
"I promise." Frodo patted Merry's hand. "Really, Mer, I can take care of myself."
Merry smothered a smile.
Frodo grimaced. "Oh, stop. I meant they'll give me whatever I say I need."
"Do you always know what you need?" Merry asked shrewdly.
"Only sometimes," Frodo admitted. "Sometimes Rosie just does things, and I feel better afterward."
"Do you need anything right now?"
"I suppose I could use some of the stuff for my back."
Rosie came in with Frodo's supper in time to hear his statement. "I'll fetch that for you while you eat, Mr. Frodo. Is there anything else I can fetch you?"
"I could use some paper, a pen, and some ink," Merry said when Frodo remained silent, poking at his small bowl of stew with one lonely dumpling.
"All right, and you can use that tray to write on when he's done," Rosie said, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room for anything else that needed attention. "Will you help him with the liniment for his back, or should I send Frodo-lad in?"
"I think I can manage it," Merry assured her with a smile. "But he can come in whenever you're done with him."
Rosie nodded. "Make sure you come and see me before you leave?"
"I wouldn't dream of leaving without saying farewell."
"No food for you?" Frodo inquired after Rosie left.
"I ate while you were wallowing in the bath," Merry said, sprawling in a most undignified fashion in the chair.
"Did you help your mum when she was ill?"
"No, not really. She didn't want me to neglect the Hall in trying to care for her. Several of the cousins helped her with things, especially near the end. I spent time with her every day, but it never felt like enough."
"But you were Master, there were plenty of things you needed to be minding. I think she was right," Frodo said around a mouthful of dumpling.
Merry snorted. "Of course you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
"Merry," Frodo said in warning.
"I'm sorry, I'm just tired and feeling guilty for neglecting her like that."
"If that's what she wanted you to be doing, how is that neglecting her?"
Merry shrugged and stared into the flickering fire. "I don't know." He rose and shifted the smoldering logs with the poker until small tongues of flame began to flicker again.
Frodo finished playing with his stew and sat back with what remained of his tea. "Will you feel guilty for doing the things I ask of you?"
"Of course not. But that's different," Merry said to the fire.
"How is that different?" Frodo pressed.
"Wait, you said 'things,' but you've only asked me to do one thing. What else is on your mind, Frodo?"
"I'll tell you in a bit. First answer my question: how is that different?" It was getting harder to form complete thoughts in order to speak; he'd definitely overdone it today.
"You're not my mother, for one," Merry replied with an evasive grin as he returned to his chair.
Frodo had to grin back. "No, I'm certainly not."
"I do hope you're not exhausting poor Mr. Frodo," Rosie scolded Merry as she returned with the liniment and writing supplies.
"He's the one talking to me," Merry said, pouting and trying to look innocent.
Rosie laughed. "Well, if he ever decides to stop, you ought not start up yourself," she teased as she handed him the things she'd brought. She went to the bed and kissed Frodo on the forehead. "Sleep well, Mr. Frodo. Frodo-lad will be about if you need anything." Rosie took his dishes and gave the tray to Merry to use, then left again.
"I suppose we ought to put this on you before you fall asleep on me," Merry said, holding up the liniment jar.
Frodo nodded wearily. "Yes, that would be best." While he worked on rolling himself onto his side, Merry set the tray and writing supplies on the floor by the chair and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. Frodo rolled toward him and Merry reached over him to tug up the nightshirt. He daubed some of the strong-smelling cream onto Frodo's lower back at Frodo's direction, and carefully rubbed it in. As he pulled the nightshirt back down, Merry commented cheekily, "Nice diaper."
"It's not a diaper!" Frodo shot back before realizing that Merry was poking fun, and he pinched his cousin's leg.
"Ow! What was that for?" Merry yelped, rubbing his thigh.
"Making fun of your poor, sick, defenseless cousin," Frodo replied airily.
"With a pinch like that, you're not defenseless," Merry muttered darkly.
Frodo yawned and coughed, leaning against Merry more heavily, but didn't reply.
"What else did you want me to do?" Merry asked.
"Promise me something," Frodo said evasively.
"What?"
"Don't even think of cancelling your New Year party, no matter what happens with me between now and then. The fall of Sauron should be celebrated, even if they don't realize that's what it's about. Do you promise?"
"Yes, I promise." Merry wondered what on earth brought this up, but decided it wasn't worth asking.
"You do tell them, don't you? What it's all about?"
"Of course we do, Frodo. Sometimes we even mention you had something to do with it," he joked.
But Frodo didn't take it as a joke. "It's not about me," he insisted. "It's about . . . evil . . . overwhelming evil . . . everyone has a part . . ." he said, rambling on in the fashion Merry recognized as Frodo being exhausted but still feeling he has something to say. He'd been doing that since before he went to live with Bilbo -some things never change.
"Yes, I know, Fro," he soothed, rubbing Frodo's back.
Frodo sighed and coughed again. "I'd better roll back over. I'll hurt worse later if I sleep like this."
Merry helped him roll onto his back (Merry's weight on the bed made it impossible for Frodo to do it himself, as much as he might have liked to), but when Merry tried to pull away, Frodo held on to him.
"A hug before you go?" he asked plaintively.
Merry had no objection, and gingerly hugged his cousin's frail frame. "I'm not leaving just yet."
"I know, but I'll be asleep soon, and I don't know if . . . when I'll see you again." He sounded inexpressibly sad.
"I'll be back to visit after my little party," Merry found himself saying, only deciding on it at that very moment.
"Oh. All right, then. And in the meantime I'll have Mr. Fuzzy," Frodo said, humor creeping back into his voice.
"Yes, in the meantime you'll have Mr. Fuzzy," Merry agreed, grinning at him. Frodo smiled hesitantly, holding onto Merry's hand. "Go on to sleep, Frodo dear," Merry urged, squeezing his hand.
Frodo squeezed back, closed his eyes again, and his face relaxed. His hand soon grew limp in Merry's, and he slept, his breathing shallow but even.
Merry slipped off the bed carefully, and returned to the chair, watching Frodo meditatively before turning his attention to the blank sheets of paper he needed to fill.
Rosie looked up from her needlework as Merry entered the sitting room, carrying his saddlebag. "I'm going to go back to the Ivy Bush now," he said.
Rosie nodded, tucking her work into the basket beside her chair. "Mr. Frodo asleep, then?"
"He's been asleep nearly an hour," Merry confirmed. "Frodo-lad's in with him." He hesitated, then continued, "I have a favor to ask."
"Go on."
"I told him I'll be back to visit after the party, but would you write if . . . if it looks like he won't make it that long?"
"I would have even if you hadn't asked," Rosie responded.
Merry nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
Rosie stood and hugged him. "Don't you worry 'bout a thing. We're doing our best to care for him."
Merry hugged her back. "I know you are. You should receive a crate from my healer by the end of next week. I hope it will help."
"I'm sure it will. Now, get on with you, or you'll be falling off your poor pony tomorrow on the way home."
"I'll have you know I've perfected the art of sleeping while riding," Merry said with a laugh. "It comes in handy when you live on the other side of the Shire from many of your friends."
Continued here.