fic: Letting Go 5/18
Note: For those who want to bail before the character death part, you're still safe, though the illness discussed in the latter half of this chapter is (unsurprisingly) what will eventually cause him to expire. Just so you're aware. I'm not sure exactly when you'll want to bail... the actual death doesn't occur until chapter 18, but in chapter 11 they realize the true nature of his illness and that it will kill him, so you've got a bit of time at any rate. :-p
Title: Letting Go, 5/18 "Winter Blues"
Rating: PG-13 overall for dark themes, G for this part
Wordcount: 3,132 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: 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. ;)
Chapter 1, "Story-telling"
Chapter 2, "A Birthday"
Chapter 3, "Recovery"
Chapter 4, "Old Troubles"
Chapter Summary: Winter sets in, and Frodo finds his health is not what it was.
Frodo never quite regained his full health after his October illness. His bad days were more numerous and severe, requiring that he stay abed rather than simply needing the cane to move around. The cane was a constant presence now, even on his best days. The colder weather of that time of year did not help, and as Yule approached, Frodo grew discouraged and despaired of ever feeling truly like himself again. He did not express his frustration to Sam and Rosie, knowing all too well that they would only fret more about him, and they had Yule preparations to concern them.
His one satisfaction in the dreary winter days was that he could entertain the children with his stories, for he needed only to sit and talk, which he could do on all but the very worst days. When the weather was blustery, the young ones would settle around him for the next part of The Story, as Frodo had taken to calling the tales in the Red Book which he had begun telling with Sam's permission. He would omit some of the most frightening portions, of course, when he got to them, but he'd only just made it through Bilbo's adventure and begun his own. They had made it all the way to Bree (only skimming over the Barrow-wights) when Primrose, Ruby, and Tom came down with the latest illness making its rounds through the Hobbiton youngsters.
Tom, of course, begged that Frodo come and tell them more of The Story while they were on strict bed rest. Rosie disapproved of this idea, for Frodo had come down with every single illness the children had brought home so far that winter and was only just getting over the most recent cold. When Tom's illness developed into a mild case of the lung sickness, Rosie strictly forbade Frodo from going into any of the children's rooms, for she was acutely aware of what the lung sickness could mean for a hobbit with Frodo's poor health -it had taken her mother.
Try as she would, Rosie couldn't keep Frodo from going to see Tom once the healer declared the lad was on the mend about a week before Yule. Several of his older siblings had picked up the original ailment while Tom was quite ill, but all of them recovered fairly quickly and Frodo appeared to be unaffected, so Rosie hoped for the best. She let her children gather in the room where Tom was resting to listen to Frodo's next story installment.
When Frodo remained healthy (for him, anyway) in the days leading up to Yule despite telling a story in the sickroom each evening, Rosie assumed all would be well with him and focused on the last preparations for the holiday. Merry and Pippin were due to visit from Tuckborough with their families on the first day of Yule and return to Tuckborough immediately after, then the family would go to Marigold and Tom's house in Bywater on the second day for a gathering of the remaining Cottons and Gamgees, while the third day would be spent at Bag End with just their family, a quieter day to recover from the previous two. Rosie would have preferred to have the calmer day in between the other two, for Frodo's sake, but this was the only way it would work for most of her family and Sam's.
First Yule dawned clear and cold, a light layer of snow on the ground. Rosie let Frodo sleep through second breakfast, for Merry and Pippin weren't due until luncheon. Frodo felt reasonably well when he rose, and looked forward to seeing Merry's and Pippin's children, though he wondered what they would think of old cousin Frodo.
The arrival of the day's guests began chaos that did not end until they left after supper. Pippin's son Faramir seemed to be taking a fancy to Goldilocks, and they spent much of the day huddled in corners, whispering to one another. Merry's three lads enjoyed tearing around the smial with Sam's lads and they hardly even acknowledged Frodo, though he watched them with amusement. The womenfolk spent most of their time in the kitchen, so Frodo didn't see Diamond or Estella much besides at meals, but he spent several hours in deep conversation with Merry, Pippin, and Sam.
As befitted the occasion, food was plentiful and served frequently. Frodo did his best to keep up with the appetites of the others, feeling self-conscious about his meagre appetite in front of Diamond and Estella, and ate until he felt almost ill at each meal. By the end of the day, he felt distinctly unwell and was relieved when Merry and Pippin and their families left. He retired almost as soon as the door shut behind them, saying he'd eaten too much and needed to lie down, which Rosie could easily believe.
Changing out of his clothes resulted in the undeniable need to retch into his chamberpot. That helped relieve some of the pressure, but his stomach felt uncomfortable afterward, persisting even as he fell asleep.
When he woke to the sounds of Sam's family loading the wagon and preparing for a day at the Cotton's, he still didn't feel well. The discomfort lingered in his stomach and seemed to radiate into his chest as well. Besides that he was quite achy and stiff, and the thought of going out into the cold was extremely unappealing.
Rosie was surprised to see him awake when she came to rouse him, but was sympathetic when he explained his trouble. "If you would rather stay home and rest, I won't say you nay. I feared the two parties in a row would be too much for you, so this might be better. A quiet day to rest certainly wouldn't hurt."
Frodo had to agree, and she told him to rest easy. She evidently told Sam he wouldn't be coming, for Sam came to check on him shortly afterward. "Will you be all right here alone?" he asked worriedly.
"Yes, Sam, I'll be quite all right. I expect I'll hardly budge from this bed, so there's not much trouble I can get into," Frodo reassured him with a smile.
"If you say so," Sam said uncertainly. "We'll be back by early evening, I expect. I think Rosie is getting out a little food for you if you get hungry."
"I really doubt it, considering one of my complaints is having overeaten yesterday, but I appreciate the thought," Frodo replied. "Really, Sam, I will be fine."
Frodo rose and pulled on his dressing gown to see them off, but returned directly to bed afterward. He slept for several hours, rising only to attend to certain bodily functions. He felt a little dizzy, perhaps, as he took care of that business and ventured a brief trip to the kitchen for more water, but he dismissed it as lingering exhaustion.
Nearly the entire day was spent in sleep, with the few waking periods devoted to spending time on the indoor privy pot in the bathing room. It seemed his body was reacting to the excess of rich food yesterday by expelling it, which Frodo considered a perfectly acceptable solution. If it was no longer in him, he would no longer feel ill from it. At some point he noticed it was getting dark outside, so the family would be returning sooner or later.
Sam and Rosie arrived back at Bag End later than anticipated, and they sent their overtired brood straight to bed. Sam tended to the wagon and ponies while Rosie took the few leftovers into the hole. After putting the platters in the pantry, she looked in on Frodo. He was sound asleep, snoring softly; she smiled and closed the door, hoping he would feel much improved on the morrow.
Sam volunteered to wake Frodo the next morning -the task usually fell to Rosie as Sam was often called away from home on business. Frodo was twitching slightly in his sleep, so Sam gently stroked his face to coax him toward wakefulness. The sleeper's eyes slowly opened, and he smiled. "Sam," he said groggily.
"Good morning, Mr. Frodo. Did your day of rest help?"
"I think so," Frodo said slowly. "I have to get up before I'll know for sure." He propped himself up on his elbows, sniffling a bit. "My stomach feels better, but it should, since it should be pretty well empty by now."
"We'll need to remedy that," Sam teased. "Will you need help getting up?"
"No, I don't think so."
"I'll let you get dressed then, and we'll see you in a little while." The door closed and Frodo flopped back down on his pillow. He felt a vague sense of uneasiness, but couldn't pinpoint the source, for he truly was feeling better than he had the day before.
That feeling persisted through the morning, and with a bit of effort he ignored it. He didn't eat much, not wanting to renew the misery from yesterday, but ate enough that Sam didn't try to convince him to have more. Despite the day of sleep, he took an afternoon nap as usual and found upon waking that the uneasiness must have been the early signs of illness, for he now felt like he had a full-blown cold.
Frodo avoided Rosie as long as he could, knowing what she would say about this new development. Indeed, her reaction when he sat down for tea was about what he expected: she looked disapproving and wagged her finger at him as if chiding him without words, and he was sure she would say more when they weren't surrounded by children. So he remained at the table and waited as the young, satiated hobbits dispersed.
"Frodo Baggins, you know what I told you about being around the sick 'uns," she scolded. "How long have you been feeling poorly?"
"Like this? Just since I woke from my nap."
"You weren't feeling ill yesterday?" she persisted.
"Only from eating too much," he said honestly, and sneezed.
She crossed her arms and looked at him closely. "All right, then. I want you either in bed or resting in the sitting room until we know if this is just a cold or what the little ones had a few weeks ago."
Frodo nodded meekly. Truth be told, he didn't feel like doing much of anything with his head all stuffed up as it was. So he spent most of the next several days in the sitting room -while he would rest better in his room, that would also separate him from the goings-on of the family- soiling numerous handkerchiefs with his congested nose. While he did not feel particularly ill (he could definitely remember occasions where he'd felt worse), he also did not feel particularly well; this affected his appetite in the negative direction and greatly increased the amount of sleep he sought each day. But overall, he knew it could be much worse.
Then he woke up with his chest aching in addition to his head, and he knew it had gotten worse. He was able to suppress the coughs for the first day or two, and spent much more time in his bedroom rather than the sitting room, but Rosie, that quick-witted, sharp-eyed mother of many, noticed that he seemed to be fevering and cornered him in his room after she woke him the next morning. "Cough for me," she instructed once she was sure Frodo was awake.
He looked at her beseechingly, and shook his head no.
"Why not? Because it will hurt? Or because you know it sounds like the lung sickness?"
Frodo simply nodded.
"And you ain't talking because that will make you cough."
Frodo nodded again.
She sighed and felt his forehead. "I'll send for the healer, see if there's anything I should do for you aside from what we did for Tom."
Frodo made the mistake of sighing at her cool touch and spent the next minute or two coughing until he could hardly breathe. Rosie hauled him upright to help stop the coughing and listened carefully to the coughs and the sounds between them. When he stopped, she made him drink some water before lying back down.
"I'll get you a few more pillows so you're not lying so flat; that should help," she said. "I won't lie to you, Mr. Frodo: it don't sound good to my ears, but we'll see what the healer says. I hope you'll be lucky like our Tom and not need the pounding."
Frodo hoped so, too. It was always painful to be struck until you coughed up whatever was in your lungs, and with his normal aches and pains, it could be excruciating. He shuddered and desperately wished to escape that fate.
When Rosie returned with an armful of pillows, Rose-lass followed with a mug and a bowl, which she put on the bedside table while her mother put the pillows on the bed at Frodo's feet. "Would you sit up, Mr. Frodo?" Rosie asked, then cautioned, "Slowly, now."
Frodo sat up as directed, and watched as Rose-lass passed her mother several pillows, which Rosie arranged behind him.
"Lie back and tell me if that's comfortable," Rosie instructed. She kept a hand just behind his back as he laid down to help him and to feel how he settled onto the pillows. "How does that feel?"
"Better, thank you," Frodo said, shifting slightly before relaxing fully. "What are you going to do with the rest of the pillows?"
"We'll stack them on your trunk, just in case you need more behind you at some point. Right now you've only got three extra back there. Now, do you think you could eat a little something for me? Our Merry is off fetching the healer, and I'd look mighty foolish if he gets here and you haven't even eaten breakfast."
"What is it?" Frodo asked warily.
"Applesauce," she said cheerily, handing him the bowl. "And there's some chamomile tea here for you. If you want anything more substantial to eat, I'll get you whatever you would like after the healer leaves."
"This is more than enough for now, thank you," Frodo said, slowly and carefully lifting the spoon to his mouth.
"Can you reach the mug all right?"
Frodo looked at it, reached out experimentally, then nodded.
"Then if you're set, I'll be back when the healer arrives," Rosie said.
"I'll be right here," Frodo said with a wan smile. Rosie patted his leg and left, followed by Rose, and closed the door almost all the way.
When she returned to make sure he was awake -the healer had arrived and would be in shortly after he warmed his hands in the kitchen- he had just finished the applesauce and was sipping his tea. Rosie led the healer to Frodo's room, explaining what she knew of this current illness and his previous health, then leaving the two alone.
"Well, Mr. Baggins, Mistress Gamgee tells me that you're feeling a mite unwell," healer Toby Mugwort said briskly, setting his bag on the bed at Frodo's feet. "Tell me what's been going on."
Frodo described his cold, and the tightness in his chest and the coughing of the past two days. Toby nodded and felt Frodo's pulse point as Frodo talked, then picked at the skin of Frodo's hand before speaking again. "If you'll lean forward, I'd like to have a listen," he said, pulling a cup-like instrument from his bag. It took a little effort, but Frodo obeyed and leaned his elbows on his legs to keep him upright while Toby did his listening. "Can you cough?" Frodo chuckled -what a silly question!- and started coughing as a result.
When Frodo was no longer coughing and settled back on the pillows, Toby spoke. "You need to drink more fluids, but you do not at this moment have the lung sickness. If you don't want to get it, you will remain in bed and not exert yourself in any way for at least two weeks. If you don't have any questions, I need to give Mistress Gamgee some instructions for your care."
"I have no questions," Frodo said quietly.
"Then I'll see you in a week or so." Toby closed Frodo's door behind him, and found Mistress Gamgee in the kitchen. "It is not the lung sickness. Yet," he told her as he sat at the table. "Right now it's simply a chest cold, but it could easily become worse. I've told him he must be on complete bed rest for at least two weeks to prevent it, but . . . "
"He could still get worse," Rosie supplied.
"Yes," he said, relieved that she understood. "Allow me to be honest: with his . . . other difficulties, I expect him to develop the lung sickness within the week even with bed rest. I'll send you more of that salve for his sores when I have it ready; you'll probably need it."
Rosie nodded and set a cup of tea and a plate of cookies in front of him. "Is there anything else I should know?"
"He's dehydrated. You'll need to have him drink as much water, broth, and the like, as he can."
"Easier said than done, but I'll do my best. His appetite isn't good."
"So I would guess, by looking at him," Toby said wryly. "He looks like he'd blow away in a stiff breeze."
"Aye, that he does," Rosie agreed sadly. "But he can do quite a bit for himself in spite of that. Is he permitted to take a bath if someone carries him to it? His baths can be the only way to help with his pain."
"If he does not exert himself in doing so, yes, taking baths is acceptable. The steam should help his breathing, as well."
"Good, he'll be pleased."
"Thank you for the tea and cookies, but I should be going," he said, rising. "I'll return in a week to check on him, but send for me if his illness gets worse before then."
"Of course. Thank you," Rosie said, walking with him to the front door. When the healer had departed, Rosie peeked in on Frodo. He was awake, so she went in. "Do you need me to bring you anything?" she asked, brushing his hair off of his face. His skin felt warm to the touch.
"No, thank you," he said quietly.
"Not even a book?" she teased gently.
He smiled slightly. "Now that you mention it, that might be a good idea. And perhaps some water -he said I need to drink more."
"Yes, he told me that, too. I'll get you some water and a book, then, and let you rest."
Continued here.
Title: Letting Go, 5/18 "Winter Blues"
Rating: PG-13 overall for dark themes, G for this part
Wordcount: 3,132 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: 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. ;)
Chapter 1, "Story-telling"
Chapter 2, "A Birthday"
Chapter 3, "Recovery"
Chapter 4, "Old Troubles"
Chapter Summary: Winter sets in, and Frodo finds his health is not what it was.
Frodo never quite regained his full health after his October illness. His bad days were more numerous and severe, requiring that he stay abed rather than simply needing the cane to move around. The cane was a constant presence now, even on his best days. The colder weather of that time of year did not help, and as Yule approached, Frodo grew discouraged and despaired of ever feeling truly like himself again. He did not express his frustration to Sam and Rosie, knowing all too well that they would only fret more about him, and they had Yule preparations to concern them.
His one satisfaction in the dreary winter days was that he could entertain the children with his stories, for he needed only to sit and talk, which he could do on all but the very worst days. When the weather was blustery, the young ones would settle around him for the next part of The Story, as Frodo had taken to calling the tales in the Red Book which he had begun telling with Sam's permission. He would omit some of the most frightening portions, of course, when he got to them, but he'd only just made it through Bilbo's adventure and begun his own. They had made it all the way to Bree (only skimming over the Barrow-wights) when Primrose, Ruby, and Tom came down with the latest illness making its rounds through the Hobbiton youngsters.
Tom, of course, begged that Frodo come and tell them more of The Story while they were on strict bed rest. Rosie disapproved of this idea, for Frodo had come down with every single illness the children had brought home so far that winter and was only just getting over the most recent cold. When Tom's illness developed into a mild case of the lung sickness, Rosie strictly forbade Frodo from going into any of the children's rooms, for she was acutely aware of what the lung sickness could mean for a hobbit with Frodo's poor health -it had taken her mother.
Try as she would, Rosie couldn't keep Frodo from going to see Tom once the healer declared the lad was on the mend about a week before Yule. Several of his older siblings had picked up the original ailment while Tom was quite ill, but all of them recovered fairly quickly and Frodo appeared to be unaffected, so Rosie hoped for the best. She let her children gather in the room where Tom was resting to listen to Frodo's next story installment.
When Frodo remained healthy (for him, anyway) in the days leading up to Yule despite telling a story in the sickroom each evening, Rosie assumed all would be well with him and focused on the last preparations for the holiday. Merry and Pippin were due to visit from Tuckborough with their families on the first day of Yule and return to Tuckborough immediately after, then the family would go to Marigold and Tom's house in Bywater on the second day for a gathering of the remaining Cottons and Gamgees, while the third day would be spent at Bag End with just their family, a quieter day to recover from the previous two. Rosie would have preferred to have the calmer day in between the other two, for Frodo's sake, but this was the only way it would work for most of her family and Sam's.
First Yule dawned clear and cold, a light layer of snow on the ground. Rosie let Frodo sleep through second breakfast, for Merry and Pippin weren't due until luncheon. Frodo felt reasonably well when he rose, and looked forward to seeing Merry's and Pippin's children, though he wondered what they would think of old cousin Frodo.
The arrival of the day's guests began chaos that did not end until they left after supper. Pippin's son Faramir seemed to be taking a fancy to Goldilocks, and they spent much of the day huddled in corners, whispering to one another. Merry's three lads enjoyed tearing around the smial with Sam's lads and they hardly even acknowledged Frodo, though he watched them with amusement. The womenfolk spent most of their time in the kitchen, so Frodo didn't see Diamond or Estella much besides at meals, but he spent several hours in deep conversation with Merry, Pippin, and Sam.
As befitted the occasion, food was plentiful and served frequently. Frodo did his best to keep up with the appetites of the others, feeling self-conscious about his meagre appetite in front of Diamond and Estella, and ate until he felt almost ill at each meal. By the end of the day, he felt distinctly unwell and was relieved when Merry and Pippin and their families left. He retired almost as soon as the door shut behind them, saying he'd eaten too much and needed to lie down, which Rosie could easily believe.
Changing out of his clothes resulted in the undeniable need to retch into his chamberpot. That helped relieve some of the pressure, but his stomach felt uncomfortable afterward, persisting even as he fell asleep.
When he woke to the sounds of Sam's family loading the wagon and preparing for a day at the Cotton's, he still didn't feel well. The discomfort lingered in his stomach and seemed to radiate into his chest as well. Besides that he was quite achy and stiff, and the thought of going out into the cold was extremely unappealing.
Rosie was surprised to see him awake when she came to rouse him, but was sympathetic when he explained his trouble. "If you would rather stay home and rest, I won't say you nay. I feared the two parties in a row would be too much for you, so this might be better. A quiet day to rest certainly wouldn't hurt."
Frodo had to agree, and she told him to rest easy. She evidently told Sam he wouldn't be coming, for Sam came to check on him shortly afterward. "Will you be all right here alone?" he asked worriedly.
"Yes, Sam, I'll be quite all right. I expect I'll hardly budge from this bed, so there's not much trouble I can get into," Frodo reassured him with a smile.
"If you say so," Sam said uncertainly. "We'll be back by early evening, I expect. I think Rosie is getting out a little food for you if you get hungry."
"I really doubt it, considering one of my complaints is having overeaten yesterday, but I appreciate the thought," Frodo replied. "Really, Sam, I will be fine."
Frodo rose and pulled on his dressing gown to see them off, but returned directly to bed afterward. He slept for several hours, rising only to attend to certain bodily functions. He felt a little dizzy, perhaps, as he took care of that business and ventured a brief trip to the kitchen for more water, but he dismissed it as lingering exhaustion.
Nearly the entire day was spent in sleep, with the few waking periods devoted to spending time on the indoor privy pot in the bathing room. It seemed his body was reacting to the excess of rich food yesterday by expelling it, which Frodo considered a perfectly acceptable solution. If it was no longer in him, he would no longer feel ill from it. At some point he noticed it was getting dark outside, so the family would be returning sooner or later.
Sam and Rosie arrived back at Bag End later than anticipated, and they sent their overtired brood straight to bed. Sam tended to the wagon and ponies while Rosie took the few leftovers into the hole. After putting the platters in the pantry, she looked in on Frodo. He was sound asleep, snoring softly; she smiled and closed the door, hoping he would feel much improved on the morrow.
Sam volunteered to wake Frodo the next morning -the task usually fell to Rosie as Sam was often called away from home on business. Frodo was twitching slightly in his sleep, so Sam gently stroked his face to coax him toward wakefulness. The sleeper's eyes slowly opened, and he smiled. "Sam," he said groggily.
"Good morning, Mr. Frodo. Did your day of rest help?"
"I think so," Frodo said slowly. "I have to get up before I'll know for sure." He propped himself up on his elbows, sniffling a bit. "My stomach feels better, but it should, since it should be pretty well empty by now."
"We'll need to remedy that," Sam teased. "Will you need help getting up?"
"No, I don't think so."
"I'll let you get dressed then, and we'll see you in a little while." The door closed and Frodo flopped back down on his pillow. He felt a vague sense of uneasiness, but couldn't pinpoint the source, for he truly was feeling better than he had the day before.
That feeling persisted through the morning, and with a bit of effort he ignored it. He didn't eat much, not wanting to renew the misery from yesterday, but ate enough that Sam didn't try to convince him to have more. Despite the day of sleep, he took an afternoon nap as usual and found upon waking that the uneasiness must have been the early signs of illness, for he now felt like he had a full-blown cold.
Frodo avoided Rosie as long as he could, knowing what she would say about this new development. Indeed, her reaction when he sat down for tea was about what he expected: she looked disapproving and wagged her finger at him as if chiding him without words, and he was sure she would say more when they weren't surrounded by children. So he remained at the table and waited as the young, satiated hobbits dispersed.
"Frodo Baggins, you know what I told you about being around the sick 'uns," she scolded. "How long have you been feeling poorly?"
"Like this? Just since I woke from my nap."
"You weren't feeling ill yesterday?" she persisted.
"Only from eating too much," he said honestly, and sneezed.
She crossed her arms and looked at him closely. "All right, then. I want you either in bed or resting in the sitting room until we know if this is just a cold or what the little ones had a few weeks ago."
Frodo nodded meekly. Truth be told, he didn't feel like doing much of anything with his head all stuffed up as it was. So he spent most of the next several days in the sitting room -while he would rest better in his room, that would also separate him from the goings-on of the family- soiling numerous handkerchiefs with his congested nose. While he did not feel particularly ill (he could definitely remember occasions where he'd felt worse), he also did not feel particularly well; this affected his appetite in the negative direction and greatly increased the amount of sleep he sought each day. But overall, he knew it could be much worse.
Then he woke up with his chest aching in addition to his head, and he knew it had gotten worse. He was able to suppress the coughs for the first day or two, and spent much more time in his bedroom rather than the sitting room, but Rosie, that quick-witted, sharp-eyed mother of many, noticed that he seemed to be fevering and cornered him in his room after she woke him the next morning. "Cough for me," she instructed once she was sure Frodo was awake.
He looked at her beseechingly, and shook his head no.
"Why not? Because it will hurt? Or because you know it sounds like the lung sickness?"
Frodo simply nodded.
"And you ain't talking because that will make you cough."
Frodo nodded again.
She sighed and felt his forehead. "I'll send for the healer, see if there's anything I should do for you aside from what we did for Tom."
Frodo made the mistake of sighing at her cool touch and spent the next minute or two coughing until he could hardly breathe. Rosie hauled him upright to help stop the coughing and listened carefully to the coughs and the sounds between them. When he stopped, she made him drink some water before lying back down.
"I'll get you a few more pillows so you're not lying so flat; that should help," she said. "I won't lie to you, Mr. Frodo: it don't sound good to my ears, but we'll see what the healer says. I hope you'll be lucky like our Tom and not need the pounding."
Frodo hoped so, too. It was always painful to be struck until you coughed up whatever was in your lungs, and with his normal aches and pains, it could be excruciating. He shuddered and desperately wished to escape that fate.
When Rosie returned with an armful of pillows, Rose-lass followed with a mug and a bowl, which she put on the bedside table while her mother put the pillows on the bed at Frodo's feet. "Would you sit up, Mr. Frodo?" Rosie asked, then cautioned, "Slowly, now."
Frodo sat up as directed, and watched as Rose-lass passed her mother several pillows, which Rosie arranged behind him.
"Lie back and tell me if that's comfortable," Rosie instructed. She kept a hand just behind his back as he laid down to help him and to feel how he settled onto the pillows. "How does that feel?"
"Better, thank you," Frodo said, shifting slightly before relaxing fully. "What are you going to do with the rest of the pillows?"
"We'll stack them on your trunk, just in case you need more behind you at some point. Right now you've only got three extra back there. Now, do you think you could eat a little something for me? Our Merry is off fetching the healer, and I'd look mighty foolish if he gets here and you haven't even eaten breakfast."
"What is it?" Frodo asked warily.
"Applesauce," she said cheerily, handing him the bowl. "And there's some chamomile tea here for you. If you want anything more substantial to eat, I'll get you whatever you would like after the healer leaves."
"This is more than enough for now, thank you," Frodo said, slowly and carefully lifting the spoon to his mouth.
"Can you reach the mug all right?"
Frodo looked at it, reached out experimentally, then nodded.
"Then if you're set, I'll be back when the healer arrives," Rosie said.
"I'll be right here," Frodo said with a wan smile. Rosie patted his leg and left, followed by Rose, and closed the door almost all the way.
When she returned to make sure he was awake -the healer had arrived and would be in shortly after he warmed his hands in the kitchen- he had just finished the applesauce and was sipping his tea. Rosie led the healer to Frodo's room, explaining what she knew of this current illness and his previous health, then leaving the two alone.
"Well, Mr. Baggins, Mistress Gamgee tells me that you're feeling a mite unwell," healer Toby Mugwort said briskly, setting his bag on the bed at Frodo's feet. "Tell me what's been going on."
Frodo described his cold, and the tightness in his chest and the coughing of the past two days. Toby nodded and felt Frodo's pulse point as Frodo talked, then picked at the skin of Frodo's hand before speaking again. "If you'll lean forward, I'd like to have a listen," he said, pulling a cup-like instrument from his bag. It took a little effort, but Frodo obeyed and leaned his elbows on his legs to keep him upright while Toby did his listening. "Can you cough?" Frodo chuckled -what a silly question!- and started coughing as a result.
When Frodo was no longer coughing and settled back on the pillows, Toby spoke. "You need to drink more fluids, but you do not at this moment have the lung sickness. If you don't want to get it, you will remain in bed and not exert yourself in any way for at least two weeks. If you don't have any questions, I need to give Mistress Gamgee some instructions for your care."
"I have no questions," Frodo said quietly.
"Then I'll see you in a week or so." Toby closed Frodo's door behind him, and found Mistress Gamgee in the kitchen. "It is not the lung sickness. Yet," he told her as he sat at the table. "Right now it's simply a chest cold, but it could easily become worse. I've told him he must be on complete bed rest for at least two weeks to prevent it, but . . . "
"He could still get worse," Rosie supplied.
"Yes," he said, relieved that she understood. "Allow me to be honest: with his . . . other difficulties, I expect him to develop the lung sickness within the week even with bed rest. I'll send you more of that salve for his sores when I have it ready; you'll probably need it."
Rosie nodded and set a cup of tea and a plate of cookies in front of him. "Is there anything else I should know?"
"He's dehydrated. You'll need to have him drink as much water, broth, and the like, as he can."
"Easier said than done, but I'll do my best. His appetite isn't good."
"So I would guess, by looking at him," Toby said wryly. "He looks like he'd blow away in a stiff breeze."
"Aye, that he does," Rosie agreed sadly. "But he can do quite a bit for himself in spite of that. Is he permitted to take a bath if someone carries him to it? His baths can be the only way to help with his pain."
"If he does not exert himself in doing so, yes, taking baths is acceptable. The steam should help his breathing, as well."
"Good, he'll be pleased."
"Thank you for the tea and cookies, but I should be going," he said, rising. "I'll return in a week to check on him, but send for me if his illness gets worse before then."
"Of course. Thank you," Rosie said, walking with him to the front door. When the healer had departed, Rosie peeked in on Frodo. He was awake, so she went in. "Do you need me to bring you anything?" she asked, brushing his hair off of his face. His skin felt warm to the touch.
"No, thank you," he said quietly.
"Not even a book?" she teased gently.
He smiled slightly. "Now that you mention it, that might be a good idea. And perhaps some water -he said I need to drink more."
"Yes, he told me that, too. I'll get you some water and a book, then, and let you rest."
Continued here.