fic: Letting Go 17/18
OMG, almost done!! Hard to believe. The opening scene in this chapter was written before most of the rest of this story, and was waiting for years for me to get the story to this point. I think it was originally a dream, actually, but it's been so long I can't be sure if it was a dream or just a particularly vivid scene in my (waking) imagination. ;)
Title: Letting Go, 17/18 "Waiting"
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2,704 for this part (yeah, it's a short-ish one...)
Warnings: this fic will 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 12, "Two Visits"
Chapter 13, "Memories"
Chapter 14, "Anniversary"
Chapter 15, "Comfort"
Chapter 16, "Acceptance"
Chapter Summary: Frodo and Sam talk; Frodo's cousins are sent for.
Rosie stole silently into the darkened room, her ears listening for the slight variance in the shallow breaths that indicated whether the bed's occupant was asleep or awake. He was awake, but his eyes were closed, so she quietly set her burdens on the cluttered table, gestured for Goldi to go ahead and leave, and watched him for a moment. There was no color in his face, not even a fever blush on his cheeks, and were it not for the bits of darker hair amidst the grey on his head, he would be pale enough so as not to be distinguished from the white of his sheets.
All of him save his head was tucked under a pile of blankets and quilts, and still he shivered -he seemed unable to get warm no matter what they did. Still, she would need to warm some new water bottles in hopes that would finally do the trick, even though every other time it had not. She had to at least try to make him more comfortable, though at this point she supposed only one thing would actually make him comfortable. That was the one thing she could not do for him.
The watery eyes finally swam open and regarded her tiredly. "Morning, Mr. Frodo," she greeted as she lit a lamp on the table so she could see more clearly. Not waiting for a response -he didn't talk much now because it was too much effort most times- she said, "I have some tea for you. Just a bit, mind, but I thought it might help dull the pain."
His eyes held something like surprise, perhaps because he never ever mentioned that he was in pain, not anymore -it was a constant complaint. Answering the unspoken question, she said, "I don't need you to tell me you're in pain, dear. It's plain as can be when I just look at you. Now open up and I'll give this to you nice and easy like. And don't you worry, it's not the strong stuff that you don't like."
The one mercy of his current state was that where it was easiest for him to breathe -sitting nearly upright- was also where it was easiest to help him drink. He parted his almost colorless lips obediently and Rosie tipped the cup ever so slightly so he got the tiniest of sips.
It took the better part of a half hour, but she successfully fed him all of the tea. She set the cup aside and poured water from her pitcher into the basin already there. The water was hot when she brought it in, but had cooled to lukewarm, which was better for her purposes. She wet a cloth and began sponging the sweat from his face, for simply breathing took enough effort to make him sweat. His limp curls clung wetly to his forehead; she brushed them aside before dotting the cloth on his brow. He had closed his eyes again and sighed almost imperceptibly, but even that made him cough. It sounded different than earlier -weaker, more desperate- and even now it made her blood run cold, for she knew it meant the end drew ever nearer.
Frodo's breath settled back into more of a rattling wheeze, and Rosie mopped his face with the cloth again. "Poor dear," she murmured, "I wish I could make you more comfortable." She added under her breath, "But I fear there is only one way out of this for you."
He must have heard her, for his eyes flew open and he looked at her urgently. "Please help Sam understand," he begged in a hoarse whisper as a tear trickled down his face. "He must let me go."
Rosie gently wiped the tear from his cheek. "I'm trying, really I am. Our Sam can be stubborn as a mule when he has a mind to. And he's been trying to keep you alive so long that the thought of letting you die rankles him." She paused, then said, "I will speak to him again. He finally came out of that dratted study, so perhaps he's open to reason."
Frodo mouthed the words 'thank you.'
Rosie patted his shoulder through the blankets. "No need to thank me, dear. I'd do most anything for you, if it would help." She fussed with his blankets for a moment, smoothing them out and tucking them more securely around his shoulders. "Is there anything you need before I fetch the next batch of warm bottles? A drink of water, perhaps?"
He slightly shook his head no, so she patted his shoulder again and stood. "I'll be back in a trice."
Elanor was in the kitchen making tea when she entered. "Help me with these bottles, Elly?" she asked quietly. "Mr. Frodo is still shivering something fierce."
"Of course, Mum," she replied, easily lifting the larger bottles and slipping them into their quilted covers.
Rosie prepared her burden likewise, and they were soon in Mr. Frodo's room, carefully sliding the warm bottles in place of those that had lost their heat. Mr. Frodo had fallen asleep, which was fortunate; the constant lifting of the covers always chilled him no matter how careful they were. After they collected the cold bottles and returned them to the kitchen, Elanor volunteered to sit with Mr. Frodo and Rosie agreed absently, lost in thought.
"Mum? Is Da sleeping, then?" Goldi asked from the table where she was finishing her breakfast.
"Hm? Oh, aye, he's sleeping. Did ye see him last night?"
"This morning, aye. Came to Mr. Frodo's room 'round about three, asked me to leave them alone for a bit," Goldi told her seriously. "He stayed for maybe a quarter hour, then went hurrying off toward your room. I think he was talkin' to Mr. Frodo, but whatever Da said, Mr. Frodo didn't hear it -Fro told me he asked for some of the poppy after you went to bed."
Rosie nodded, some of the pieces falling into place in her mind. "I'll let 'im sleep a while longer," was all she said aloud. "Go on to bed if you're done eating, lass. And thank you." She hugged her daughter tightly. "Oh, make sure Rose is awake. She's running late today, it seems."
Sam awoke to find Rosie staring at him, a pensive look on her face. "Sam," she sighed, touching his cheek when she saw he was awake. "It's been a bit since you've spent time in our bed."
"I know, and I'm right sorry, lass," Sam said repentantly, capturing her hand and kissing its palm. "I'll try not to worry you anymore."
Rosie searched his eyes and saw sorrow and pain. "Are you . . . ?" She couldn't find it in herself to finish the question, as she was not quite sure what she meant to say in the first place.
"I understand now," Sam said in answer. "Is Mr. Frodo awake?"
That question was sufficient to settle most of her doubts. "Nay, not last I checked. If you want to sit with him, I'm sure he'll be awake sometime."
Sam nodded and sat up. "I tried to talk to him . . . he didn't hear. He was . . . he was dreaming, I think. He was seeing his Mum . . ." He buried his face in his hands but couldn't hold back a sob. Rosie sat next to him and drew his head to her shoulder, and they both wept.
After finally rising, dressing, and eating a bit of breakfast, Sam settled himself by Frodo's bedside, not to be moved until he'd managed to make himself understood. Most infuriatingly, Frodo was oblivious to his surroundings until well into the afternoon, which Rosie tried to assure Sam was likely the result of Frodo-lad being a tad over-generous with the poppy the night before. But the wait was all worthwhile, for when Frodo finally opened his eyes, he smiled to see Sam. "Sam!" he said hoarsely, licking his lips. "It's been a while. I feared I'd offended you somehow," he teased gently.
"No, I needed to get me head on straight," Sam admitted shame-facedly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and helping Frodo drink a bit of water. "I'm a right ninnyhammer, you know. I . . . I need to apologize. I . . ." he couldn't continue and hung his head to hide his eyes filling with tears.
Frodo grasped his hand weakly. "Sam," he whispered. "You don't-"
"No, let me say my piece," Sam insisted. "I-If you . . . need to go, I understand . . . I'll miss you . . ."
With effort, Frodo managed to move his hand to Sam's cheek, where his fingertips brushed against warm wetness. "Oh, Sam," he said unhappily. His arm shook, and he had to drop his hand back to the coverlet. He took a careful breath and said the only thing that came to mind. "I'll wait for you, wherever it is that hobbits go."
This made Sam weep all the more, and Frodo was at a loss, feeling his own eyes prick with tears to see Sam so overwrought. At length Sam began to calm, sniffling and blowing his nose. Frodo watched him with half-lidded eyes, aware that he was near the end of his strength and would soon be asleep whether he wanted it or no.
"I'm sorry," Sam said finally.
Frodo smiled slightly. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered and closed his eyes. Sam shifted to move off the bed and Frodo grabbed his wrist. "Don't go," he pleaded.
"I'm not going nowhere, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I'm just moving back to this here chair so's I don't bother your rest." He kept Frodo's hand in his while he did so.
"All right," Frodo said, and let himself drift. He slept for a time, then floated toward awakening, feeling Sam's hand still holding his before giving way to dreams again.
Sam watched Frodo sleep for many hours, studiously listening to every sigh, gasp, and moan, his senses on alert whenever the regular rhythm of his breathing altered. On two occasions Frodo's breathing slowed until it nearly ceased and Sam felt his own heart nearly stop, afraid that he might be witnessing his dear master's last moments. Then Frodo gasped and coughed and resumed his normal rate of respiration, and Sam first felt relieved, then felt guilty for grudging poor Mr. Frodo release from his illness. He stubbornly remained on his lone watch, through meals and without so much as taking a turn up and down the hall, until Rosie caught him napping in the chair. She kissed him and told him to eat something and go to bed, for he was no use to Mr. Frodo if he was dead on his feet. Frodo stirred and woke when Sam finally removed his hand.
"How are you feeling, dear?" Rosie asked, and Sam remained in place to hear the answer.
"Sleepy," Frodo said in a whisper.
"I could have guessed that," Rosie teased, running her hand through his hair. "All right, we'll stick with simple questions. Could you eat something?"
"Maybe." He appreciated it when she asked him things he could answer with only one word, and she knew it.
"I'll bring you some soup, then. Or would porridge suit you better?"
"Soup."
"Do you want us to turn you after?"
"Yes."
"Do you need to be changed?"
Frodo frowned. "Dunno."
"We'll check in a bit. Which pain draught would you like for tonight?"
"Middle." They had designated the three options as low, middle, and high, corresponding with their strength, so Frodo wouldn't have to remember what they were called.
"Do you feel up to a bath?"
"No."
"Sponge bath?"
"Maybe."
"Do you need a rubdown?"
Frodo had to weigh the pain of movement against the warmth and fleeting relaxation of being rubbed down. Pain won. "No."
"Is there anything else you need that I can do or get for you?"
"No, thank you."
The interrogation thus ended, Sam left and crossed paths with Frodo-lad in the hallway. He waited anxiously in the kitchen for Rosie, who appeared moments later. He told her about Frodo's breathing and to his surprise, she merely nodded. "He started doing that two nights ago, nearly scared Goldi out of her wits." She fetched Mr. Frodo's soup and a few other things, and bustled back out of the room, leaving Sam to his melancholy thoughts.
Frodo had some of the soup and drank all of his tea and some water besides, so he considered the meal a reasonable success. He assented to a sponge bath and drifted off under Rosie and Frodo-lad's gentle ministrations.
When he awoke with a start, it was some time later, though he couldn't see the mantle clock when he was on his side.
Frodo-lad was whittling and looked up from his work when he heard Mr. Frodo make a small sound; Frodo looked disoriented and confused. "What is it, Mr. Frodo?"
"What's the date?" he asked vaguely.
"The twenty-first, for a couple hours more, anyway."
Mr. Frodo muttered under his breath for a few moments, then said with a sigh, "Too far away."
"What's too far away?"
"Merry's visit," Mr. Frodo said almost mournfully. He coughed raggedly. "She said three, maybe four days."
"She? Who's she?" Frodo-lad asked, befuddled by the entire conversation. He was almost relieved when his mother arrived to say good-night. He quickly told her what had passed thus far.
Rosie sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Frodo's back. "What's this about?"
"I . . . I'll be going soon," he said hesitantly.
"Are you sure?" Rosie asked, tears rising unbidden to her eyes.
Frodo nodded once. "I saw Aunt Esme . . . she sat right there too . . . she said it won't be too much longer . . ."
"And you believe her?" Rosie prodded gently, not prepared to accept that his aunt's ghost or spirit or what-have-you had really talked to him.
"I can feel she's right," Frodo whispered. "Hard to breathe . . . so cold . . ."
Rosie mentally added to his list the vague bluish tint some of his skin ws acquiring, and the growing coldness of his feet. She knew he was right, whether or not that dream-ghost was. "What do you want us to do?"
"Merry . . . Pip," he managed.
"You want us to send for your cousins?" Rosie asked to confirm.
"Yes."
"Do you want me to wake Sam?"
Frodo smiled slightly. "Not that soon."
Rosie caressed his cheek. "We'll send for your cousins, dear, and tell them you'll try to wait until they arrive. Does that sound all right?"
"Yes." It was almost a sigh rather than a word, and his eyes drifted closed.
Rosie stood and beckoned for Frodo-lad to come talk to her in the doorway. "If I fetch the supplies, will you write a note to them? I believe Pippin and his family are in Buckland by now, so we'll only need to send one."
"Of course, and I'll take it to the Post-Office, too, if you'll sit with him."
"Aye, that would work. And find out if Fatty is at home or not; I can send someone for him in the morning."
A note was quickly written, and Frodo-lad was on his way into Hobbiton soon after. The Quick Post clerk was difficult to rouse; Frodo-lad had to ring the bell a good half-dozen times before the middle-aged hobbit in dressing gown and nightcap blearily opened the door. Once the clerk knew it was business for the Mayor, well, he was a good deal less grumbly, though he did mutter about decent hobbits waiting until daylight. Frodo-lad impatiently waited for him to shuffle through his papers to locate the note about the Deputy Mayor's whereabouts. Finally, it was determined that he would be returning home by luncheon the next day, and Frodo-lad hurried home.
Just before noon the next day, Rosie sent Pippin with a note to Fatty, telling him to come and stay with them for a few days, for it was nearly time. Fatty arrived at the front door within an hour, bags in hand, and settled in to the household routine, gladly sitting with Frodo from time to time. After that, all they could do was keep Frodo comfortable and wait.
Continued here.
Title: Letting Go, 17/18 "Waiting"
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2,704 for this part (yeah, it's a short-ish one...)
Warnings: this fic will 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 12, "Two Visits"
Chapter 13, "Memories"
Chapter 14, "Anniversary"
Chapter 15, "Comfort"
Chapter 16, "Acceptance"
Chapter Summary: Frodo and Sam talk; Frodo's cousins are sent for.
Rosie stole silently into the darkened room, her ears listening for the slight variance in the shallow breaths that indicated whether the bed's occupant was asleep or awake. He was awake, but his eyes were closed, so she quietly set her burdens on the cluttered table, gestured for Goldi to go ahead and leave, and watched him for a moment. There was no color in his face, not even a fever blush on his cheeks, and were it not for the bits of darker hair amidst the grey on his head, he would be pale enough so as not to be distinguished from the white of his sheets.
All of him save his head was tucked under a pile of blankets and quilts, and still he shivered -he seemed unable to get warm no matter what they did. Still, she would need to warm some new water bottles in hopes that would finally do the trick, even though every other time it had not. She had to at least try to make him more comfortable, though at this point she supposed only one thing would actually make him comfortable. That was the one thing she could not do for him.
The watery eyes finally swam open and regarded her tiredly. "Morning, Mr. Frodo," she greeted as she lit a lamp on the table so she could see more clearly. Not waiting for a response -he didn't talk much now because it was too much effort most times- she said, "I have some tea for you. Just a bit, mind, but I thought it might help dull the pain."
His eyes held something like surprise, perhaps because he never ever mentioned that he was in pain, not anymore -it was a constant complaint. Answering the unspoken question, she said, "I don't need you to tell me you're in pain, dear. It's plain as can be when I just look at you. Now open up and I'll give this to you nice and easy like. And don't you worry, it's not the strong stuff that you don't like."
The one mercy of his current state was that where it was easiest for him to breathe -sitting nearly upright- was also where it was easiest to help him drink. He parted his almost colorless lips obediently and Rosie tipped the cup ever so slightly so he got the tiniest of sips.
It took the better part of a half hour, but she successfully fed him all of the tea. She set the cup aside and poured water from her pitcher into the basin already there. The water was hot when she brought it in, but had cooled to lukewarm, which was better for her purposes. She wet a cloth and began sponging the sweat from his face, for simply breathing took enough effort to make him sweat. His limp curls clung wetly to his forehead; she brushed them aside before dotting the cloth on his brow. He had closed his eyes again and sighed almost imperceptibly, but even that made him cough. It sounded different than earlier -weaker, more desperate- and even now it made her blood run cold, for she knew it meant the end drew ever nearer.
Frodo's breath settled back into more of a rattling wheeze, and Rosie mopped his face with the cloth again. "Poor dear," she murmured, "I wish I could make you more comfortable." She added under her breath, "But I fear there is only one way out of this for you."
He must have heard her, for his eyes flew open and he looked at her urgently. "Please help Sam understand," he begged in a hoarse whisper as a tear trickled down his face. "He must let me go."
Rosie gently wiped the tear from his cheek. "I'm trying, really I am. Our Sam can be stubborn as a mule when he has a mind to. And he's been trying to keep you alive so long that the thought of letting you die rankles him." She paused, then said, "I will speak to him again. He finally came out of that dratted study, so perhaps he's open to reason."
Frodo mouthed the words 'thank you.'
Rosie patted his shoulder through the blankets. "No need to thank me, dear. I'd do most anything for you, if it would help." She fussed with his blankets for a moment, smoothing them out and tucking them more securely around his shoulders. "Is there anything you need before I fetch the next batch of warm bottles? A drink of water, perhaps?"
He slightly shook his head no, so she patted his shoulder again and stood. "I'll be back in a trice."
Elanor was in the kitchen making tea when she entered. "Help me with these bottles, Elly?" she asked quietly. "Mr. Frodo is still shivering something fierce."
"Of course, Mum," she replied, easily lifting the larger bottles and slipping them into their quilted covers.
Rosie prepared her burden likewise, and they were soon in Mr. Frodo's room, carefully sliding the warm bottles in place of those that had lost their heat. Mr. Frodo had fallen asleep, which was fortunate; the constant lifting of the covers always chilled him no matter how careful they were. After they collected the cold bottles and returned them to the kitchen, Elanor volunteered to sit with Mr. Frodo and Rosie agreed absently, lost in thought.
"Mum? Is Da sleeping, then?" Goldi asked from the table where she was finishing her breakfast.
"Hm? Oh, aye, he's sleeping. Did ye see him last night?"
"This morning, aye. Came to Mr. Frodo's room 'round about three, asked me to leave them alone for a bit," Goldi told her seriously. "He stayed for maybe a quarter hour, then went hurrying off toward your room. I think he was talkin' to Mr. Frodo, but whatever Da said, Mr. Frodo didn't hear it -Fro told me he asked for some of the poppy after you went to bed."
Rosie nodded, some of the pieces falling into place in her mind. "I'll let 'im sleep a while longer," was all she said aloud. "Go on to bed if you're done eating, lass. And thank you." She hugged her daughter tightly. "Oh, make sure Rose is awake. She's running late today, it seems."
Sam awoke to find Rosie staring at him, a pensive look on her face. "Sam," she sighed, touching his cheek when she saw he was awake. "It's been a bit since you've spent time in our bed."
"I know, and I'm right sorry, lass," Sam said repentantly, capturing her hand and kissing its palm. "I'll try not to worry you anymore."
Rosie searched his eyes and saw sorrow and pain. "Are you . . . ?" She couldn't find it in herself to finish the question, as she was not quite sure what she meant to say in the first place.
"I understand now," Sam said in answer. "Is Mr. Frodo awake?"
That question was sufficient to settle most of her doubts. "Nay, not last I checked. If you want to sit with him, I'm sure he'll be awake sometime."
Sam nodded and sat up. "I tried to talk to him . . . he didn't hear. He was . . . he was dreaming, I think. He was seeing his Mum . . ." He buried his face in his hands but couldn't hold back a sob. Rosie sat next to him and drew his head to her shoulder, and they both wept.
After finally rising, dressing, and eating a bit of breakfast, Sam settled himself by Frodo's bedside, not to be moved until he'd managed to make himself understood. Most infuriatingly, Frodo was oblivious to his surroundings until well into the afternoon, which Rosie tried to assure Sam was likely the result of Frodo-lad being a tad over-generous with the poppy the night before. But the wait was all worthwhile, for when Frodo finally opened his eyes, he smiled to see Sam. "Sam!" he said hoarsely, licking his lips. "It's been a while. I feared I'd offended you somehow," he teased gently.
"No, I needed to get me head on straight," Sam admitted shame-facedly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and helping Frodo drink a bit of water. "I'm a right ninnyhammer, you know. I . . . I need to apologize. I . . ." he couldn't continue and hung his head to hide his eyes filling with tears.
Frodo grasped his hand weakly. "Sam," he whispered. "You don't-"
"No, let me say my piece," Sam insisted. "I-If you . . . need to go, I understand . . . I'll miss you . . ."
With effort, Frodo managed to move his hand to Sam's cheek, where his fingertips brushed against warm wetness. "Oh, Sam," he said unhappily. His arm shook, and he had to drop his hand back to the coverlet. He took a careful breath and said the only thing that came to mind. "I'll wait for you, wherever it is that hobbits go."
This made Sam weep all the more, and Frodo was at a loss, feeling his own eyes prick with tears to see Sam so overwrought. At length Sam began to calm, sniffling and blowing his nose. Frodo watched him with half-lidded eyes, aware that he was near the end of his strength and would soon be asleep whether he wanted it or no.
"I'm sorry," Sam said finally.
Frodo smiled slightly. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered and closed his eyes. Sam shifted to move off the bed and Frodo grabbed his wrist. "Don't go," he pleaded.
"I'm not going nowhere, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I'm just moving back to this here chair so's I don't bother your rest." He kept Frodo's hand in his while he did so.
"All right," Frodo said, and let himself drift. He slept for a time, then floated toward awakening, feeling Sam's hand still holding his before giving way to dreams again.
Sam watched Frodo sleep for many hours, studiously listening to every sigh, gasp, and moan, his senses on alert whenever the regular rhythm of his breathing altered. On two occasions Frodo's breathing slowed until it nearly ceased and Sam felt his own heart nearly stop, afraid that he might be witnessing his dear master's last moments. Then Frodo gasped and coughed and resumed his normal rate of respiration, and Sam first felt relieved, then felt guilty for grudging poor Mr. Frodo release from his illness. He stubbornly remained on his lone watch, through meals and without so much as taking a turn up and down the hall, until Rosie caught him napping in the chair. She kissed him and told him to eat something and go to bed, for he was no use to Mr. Frodo if he was dead on his feet. Frodo stirred and woke when Sam finally removed his hand.
"How are you feeling, dear?" Rosie asked, and Sam remained in place to hear the answer.
"Sleepy," Frodo said in a whisper.
"I could have guessed that," Rosie teased, running her hand through his hair. "All right, we'll stick with simple questions. Could you eat something?"
"Maybe." He appreciated it when she asked him things he could answer with only one word, and she knew it.
"I'll bring you some soup, then. Or would porridge suit you better?"
"Soup."
"Do you want us to turn you after?"
"Yes."
"Do you need to be changed?"
Frodo frowned. "Dunno."
"We'll check in a bit. Which pain draught would you like for tonight?"
"Middle." They had designated the three options as low, middle, and high, corresponding with their strength, so Frodo wouldn't have to remember what they were called.
"Do you feel up to a bath?"
"No."
"Sponge bath?"
"Maybe."
"Do you need a rubdown?"
Frodo had to weigh the pain of movement against the warmth and fleeting relaxation of being rubbed down. Pain won. "No."
"Is there anything else you need that I can do or get for you?"
"No, thank you."
The interrogation thus ended, Sam left and crossed paths with Frodo-lad in the hallway. He waited anxiously in the kitchen for Rosie, who appeared moments later. He told her about Frodo's breathing and to his surprise, she merely nodded. "He started doing that two nights ago, nearly scared Goldi out of her wits." She fetched Mr. Frodo's soup and a few other things, and bustled back out of the room, leaving Sam to his melancholy thoughts.
Frodo had some of the soup and drank all of his tea and some water besides, so he considered the meal a reasonable success. He assented to a sponge bath and drifted off under Rosie and Frodo-lad's gentle ministrations.
When he awoke with a start, it was some time later, though he couldn't see the mantle clock when he was on his side.
Frodo-lad was whittling and looked up from his work when he heard Mr. Frodo make a small sound; Frodo looked disoriented and confused. "What is it, Mr. Frodo?"
"What's the date?" he asked vaguely.
"The twenty-first, for a couple hours more, anyway."
Mr. Frodo muttered under his breath for a few moments, then said with a sigh, "Too far away."
"What's too far away?"
"Merry's visit," Mr. Frodo said almost mournfully. He coughed raggedly. "She said three, maybe four days."
"She? Who's she?" Frodo-lad asked, befuddled by the entire conversation. He was almost relieved when his mother arrived to say good-night. He quickly told her what had passed thus far.
Rosie sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Frodo's back. "What's this about?"
"I . . . I'll be going soon," he said hesitantly.
"Are you sure?" Rosie asked, tears rising unbidden to her eyes.
Frodo nodded once. "I saw Aunt Esme . . . she sat right there too . . . she said it won't be too much longer . . ."
"And you believe her?" Rosie prodded gently, not prepared to accept that his aunt's ghost or spirit or what-have-you had really talked to him.
"I can feel she's right," Frodo whispered. "Hard to breathe . . . so cold . . ."
Rosie mentally added to his list the vague bluish tint some of his skin ws acquiring, and the growing coldness of his feet. She knew he was right, whether or not that dream-ghost was. "What do you want us to do?"
"Merry . . . Pip," he managed.
"You want us to send for your cousins?" Rosie asked to confirm.
"Yes."
"Do you want me to wake Sam?"
Frodo smiled slightly. "Not that soon."
Rosie caressed his cheek. "We'll send for your cousins, dear, and tell them you'll try to wait until they arrive. Does that sound all right?"
"Yes." It was almost a sigh rather than a word, and his eyes drifted closed.
Rosie stood and beckoned for Frodo-lad to come talk to her in the doorway. "If I fetch the supplies, will you write a note to them? I believe Pippin and his family are in Buckland by now, so we'll only need to send one."
"Of course, and I'll take it to the Post-Office, too, if you'll sit with him."
"Aye, that would work. And find out if Fatty is at home or not; I can send someone for him in the morning."
A note was quickly written, and Frodo-lad was on his way into Hobbiton soon after. The Quick Post clerk was difficult to rouse; Frodo-lad had to ring the bell a good half-dozen times before the middle-aged hobbit in dressing gown and nightcap blearily opened the door. Once the clerk knew it was business for the Mayor, well, he was a good deal less grumbly, though he did mutter about decent hobbits waiting until daylight. Frodo-lad impatiently waited for him to shuffle through his papers to locate the note about the Deputy Mayor's whereabouts. Finally, it was determined that he would be returning home by luncheon the next day, and Frodo-lad hurried home.
Just before noon the next day, Rosie sent Pippin with a note to Fatty, telling him to come and stay with them for a few days, for it was nearly time. Fatty arrived at the front door within an hour, bags in hand, and settled in to the household routine, gladly sitting with Frodo from time to time. After that, all they could do was keep Frodo comfortable and wait.
Continued here.