Too Long to Wait: A Royal Mess

[claudia603]

Title: Too Long to Wait: A Royal Mess
Rating: PG (for gross illness)
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn (non-explicit)
Summary: Ellohir comes down with a stomach bug at just the wrong time and spreads the love.
Warnings: Implied former mpreg, lots of h/c to go around.
A/N: Ellohir is about 2 here.



Ellohir kicked his polished boot off, using his left foot to slide the right boot off and then the right foot to wrangle the left boot off. “No! No party!”

“Come, Ellohir, enough,” Frodo said. He felt worn out, but he was looking forward to the Midwinter feast. The days had been dreary as of late, an endless series of gray and fog and chilly drizzle. Frodo didn’t remember the last time he had seen the sun. “It’s time to go.”

“No.” Tears welled in Ellohir’s eyes. Frodo looked down at the babe’s feet and was pleased to see how hobbit-like they were. Not nearly enough hair on their tops, but they were large and sturdy, much more so than the children of Men, who were the same age and taller than Ellohir. “Stay home!”

Whatever was the matter with him? Frodo thought with exasperation. Come to think of it, Ellohir had been in a foul mood all day, it seemed. He had broken into tears at the slightest provocation. He had hardly eaten anything, and he had thrown a puzzle to the floor in frustration when he could not make two sides match. Wooden pieces had clattered to the ground, scattering everywhere. Not even the prospect of going to the feast and getting to stay up past his bedtime with the older children and the grown-ups had perked him up.

As for Frodo, he had not even had time to prepare himself for the feast. He had changed his clothing, but his curls were tangled and uncombed and he had not washed his face.

“Are you ready, Frodo?” Aragorn called from the front room.

“Ellohir will not put his shoes on,” Frodo said, unable to hide the frustration in his voice.

“Then let him go as a hobbit.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Frodo said. He felt inordinately irritated by Aragorn’s flippancy. After all, he was not helping. “He’ll catch a cold or step on glass.”

Ellohir stopped crying and looked at Frodo’s feet. “No shoes. Like Frodo.”

“No, Ellohir,” Frodo sighed, determined to control his temper. He was not in the mood for yet another clash with his headstrong son. “Maybe when you are older. Your feet haven’t toughened up enough. Someone may have dropped glass somewhere or a nail and you may step on it and fall ill.”

Ellohir started to cry again.

“We must go right now if we’re to go all together,” Aragorn called again from the other room. “I must be there for the opening ceremony.”

“Then go on yourself! We’ll be there soon.”

“See you very soon,” Aragorn said, failing to catch, or perhaps purposefully ignoring, the fury in Frodo’s voice.

“You must stop at once,” Frodo said to Ellohir. “I want to see a hobbity smile now. Come now, you want to eat biscuits and cakes, do you not? And candy? So much candy, more than one little boy can handle on his own. And if you wear your shoes like a good boy--”

“Gandalf,” Ellohir said. And he threw up down the front of his brand new vest. Frodo had never been able to understand why, but the few times that Ellohir had vomited, he had said Gandalf just before. He could not imagine what the real Gandalf the White would have to say about it, but it remained a mystery.

“Oh, darling,” Frodo said, his heart melting. He gathered Ellohir in his arms. Nothing made his heart ache more than when Ellohir was ill.

“Aragorn!” he cried. There was no answer.

The scoundrel must have indeed left us, he thought, his breast stirring with unreasonable rage. Of course Aragorn had left. He had to attend the feast and he had assumed Frodo and Ellohir were merely delayed because of Ellohir’s usual stubbornness. All the same, Frodo now felt fiercely protective of Ellohir and he wanted to pummel Aragorn for not coming in to investigate. He was a healer. He might have seen immediately that Ellohir was ill.

Frodo smoothed back Ellohir’s curls. His brow was warm. “You should have said that your tummy hurt. Let’s get these fancy clothes off you. We’ll not be attending the feast, I suppose.” Frodo let out a wistful sigh. Oh, how he longed for the scrumptious meat pies and potatoes mashed with herbs and butter, and the goose with its skin browned and sizzling to perfection. Not to mention the fruit tarts and cakes and biscuits with sugar frosting. Well, if he could get Ellohir to sleep, perhaps he could step out and bribe a guard to bring him back a plate.

Ellohir groaned, and Frodo felt downright orcish for longing for the feast. He helped Ellohir into his cotton nightshirt and tucked him into his boat-shaped bed. Ellohir whimpered, “Tummy hurt.”

“I know,” Frodo kissed Ellohir’s damp brow. “Let me make you something that will make you feel better.” He scurried into the other room to boil some water.

When he returned with the tea, Ellohir had curled into a ball, crying. His brow had broken out into beads of sweat. “Gandalf, Gandalf,” he sobbed, and he threw up again all over the floor near the bed. This time Frodo felt so alarmed that he did not even chuckle to himself about Ellohir’s use of “Gandalf.” He was not sure if he should send for the healer or whether this was just one of those bugs that would pass after a few hours.

He climbed into the other side of the bed and held Ellohir. “I’m so sorry my baby is sick. But I won’t leave you. I promise I won’t leave you.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted him.

“Master Frodo?”

It was the gruff voice of the Captain of the Guard.

“Yes?” Frodo called.

“Is everything all right? The King has sent me to check on you.”

“You may tell him that Ellohir is ill so we shall not be attending.”

“Shall I send for the healer?” the Captain asked in concern.

“No, I think it is unnecessary for now, but thank you.”

“Yes, Master Frodo.”

“I want Aragorn,” Ellohir whimpered.

“He’s at a feast right now, darling Ellohir. He will be back.”

“I want Aragorn.”

Frodo felt somewhat miffed. “Well, I’m here with you, Ellohir, and that will have to do for now.”

“My tummy hurts.”

The stench of Ellohir’s vomit had begun to make Frodo rather queasy. He groaned and climbed out of the bed. He rolled up his sleeves and cleaned the mess. He then fetched a pan for poor Ellohir, should another “Gandalf” moment come upon him.

Ellohir had started to drowse off then. Frodo settled beside him, and before long the two had fallen asleep.

“Frodo?”

Frodo snapped his eyes open. Full darkness had fallen, and Aragorn was but a hulking shadow in the doorway to Ellohir’s room. He still wore his crown.

“Is the feast over?” Frodo asked, blinking into the dark. He wondered how long he had slept.

“No, not by far. I came as soon as the Captain told me Ellohir was ill.”

“Aragorn!” Ellohir said in sleepy happiness.

Aragorn started toward Ellohir, but Frodo said, “Perhaps you should not get too close. This might be catching, and it will not do to have the King ill.”

“I care not,” Aragorn said. “I must be with my boy.” He knelt beside Ellohir and kissed him on the brow. Ellohir threw his arms around him. Frodo’s heart swelled with love for them both.

“Must you return to the feast?” Frodo asked. “Or…would you need me to go down in your place? Ellohir kept asking for you.”

Aragorn smiled. “Ah, my sweet Frodo, I have not forgotten you. I know that you must have sorely missed the food. There’s a plate in the other room.”

“You wonderful rascal!” Frodo said. He kissed Aragorn on the cheek with great enthusiasm before making his way into the front room to see what Aragorn had fetched for him. The fragrance of fresh bread hit him first, and he smiled. Aragorn had piled fresh bread, biscuits of every kind, meat pies, fruit tarts, pound cake.

“Bless him,” Frodo said to himself, “Oh, bless him.” Aragorn had remembered all of Frodo’s favorite dainties. “He didn’t miss a thing.” He felt another surge of love for Aragorn, that he had remembered the hardship it was for a hobbit deprived of a feast.

Frodo sat at the table and ate until he could scarcely breathe and the buttons to his breeches strained. He washed it all down with a goblet of Elvish wine. After he finished, he crept back to Ellohir’s room. Both Ellohir and Aragorn were asleep. Aragorn had Ellohir cradled in his arms, and Ellohir looked exhausted but utterly content.

Still smiling, Frodo undressed into his night clothes. Confident that dear Ellohir’s violent illness had passed, he felt free to slip between the cool sheets in his own bed.

In the middle of the night he woke with an uneasy stirring in his stomach, as if he had swung back and forth on a rope across a gorge. His first thought was that he must have drunk too much Elvish wine just before bed, but then he remembered that he had only had one glass. Then he remembered Ellohir. He sat up in bed, listening. Had Ellohir’s cry woken him up? He did not think so. Ellohir never cried just once. If he was upset with a nightmare or ill, he would have come running in by now.

Some time in the night Aragorn had joined him in their bed, and he was deep in sleep. Frodo sank back down to bed, and his stomach kept turning until he knew there was going to be only one end.

“Oh dear.” He groaned. “Thank you, dear Ellohir.”

Aragorn stirred and turned to him. “What is it?”

“I’m afraid I’m ill now,” Frodo said and barely made it out of the bed in time. He thought “Gandalf” in his mind but it was not nearly so funny now that he was the one emptying out his stomach onto the floor.

“Are you sure it wasn’t all that rich food?” Aragorn asked. He climbed out of bed and lit the lanterns in their bedroom. Frodo closed his eyes, and the room spun out of control. He felt like he had on Gondorian New Year years before Ellohir had been born, when he and Aragorn had drunk too much Dwarfish ale. The reminder of that misery made him heave again, and he clutched his knees, afraid to move. A pathetic whimpering filled his ears and he wished for it to stop until he realized he was the one making that sound.

Aragorn gathered him in his arms, and nothing felt better than to lean into his embrace. “There, now,” Aragorn said. “I’m here.”

“How’s Ellohir?” Frodo whispered.

“He was all right when I left him. Come, let us get you back into bed. I’ll clean up.” He glanced at the mess on the floor with a grimace.

Frodo managed a weak giggle. “The King? Clean up such soiling?”

Aragorn lifted Frodo into bed. He smoothed Frodo’s curls and kissed his clammy cheek before situating the blankets over him. The cool sheets felt wonderful on his damp cheeks.

“Forget not how long I was a Ranger of the wild. I’ve encountered far worse.”

Frodo groaned. “Oh, Aragorn, I suppose you’re doomed to come down with this illness, too. Who knows where Ellohir got it, the guards’ children again, perhaps.”

“Let me brew you some tea,” Aragorn said.

“No…no tea,” Frodo said. The very idea of swallowing anything at all was horrific. He pursed his lips closed.

“This tea you’ll like,” Aragorn said. He opened a window, but just slightly, enough to allow a chilly breeze in. Frodo snuggled under the covers, groaning his annoyance, but after a few moments, he understood why Aragorn had done it. The cool breeze danced over his clammy brow and freshened the air, allowing him to breathe easier.

He had nearly dozed off when Aragorn returned with the tea.

“Up you go,” He said, crawling in bed behind Frodo. He helped him to a semi-sitting position, still keeping him covered with blankets. He helped the cup to Frodo’s lips. “Just a few sips. I promise you’ll feel better in awhile.”

Frodo took a few sips before saying, “Do you know what Ellohir says before he’s about to be sick?” His stomach was starting to turn again. “He says, Gandalf. Why in the world do you suppose that is?”

Aragorn burst into loud laughter. “Does he now? I do wonder what our dear friend would make of that.”

“I can still see his laughter,” Frodo said with a sad smile. “He had, has such a soft heart when it comes to hobbit children. He would spoil Ellohir.”

Aragorn raised his brows. “Ellohir is only half hobbit.”

“He’s a hobbit child to me,” Frodo said. He clutched his stomach. “I’m sorry, but I’m about to be sick again. Help me to the edge of the bed so I don’t…”

Aragorn moved swiftly so that Frodo could make it into the pan and not all over the bed clothes.

“Thank you,” Frodo said. He sagged against Aragorn’s arms.

He felt extremely sleepy. Aragorn forced him to take a few more sips and then somehow he fell asleep.

In the morning, Frodo’s stomach felt much better, although he felt quite weak. He looked forward to napping on and off throughout the day. He could send for Alia to take care of Ellohir.

Aragorn had dressed, although he looked exhausted, and his shoulders slumped.

“You don’t look so well,” Frodo said with a wry smile. “Rough night?”

Aragorn collapsed to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, holding his stomach. He groaned.

“Aragorn!” Frodo called. “Are you all right?”

“I do not think so,” Aragorn said.

“Shall I fetch the healer?” Frodo asked with concern.

“I just need to rest. Send for the Captain, Frodo. I must relay some messages to him.”

Frodo climbed out of bed. His ribs ached from the violent stomach spasms. He checked into Ellohir’s room. The baby was still fast asleep. Frodo slipped out to deliver his message and to fetch Alia.

Aragorn became ill very fast. His pale face contorted with pain, and he threw up again and again. Who knew that an illness that had brushed over a small hobbit and a toddler would have manifested so much worse in a big, hardy man. Frodo curled beside Aragorn, holding back his hair when he emptied his stomach, wiping down his face with a cool cloth and easing him back into his pillows. Aragorn shivered and shuddered and groaned.

“Shall I fetch the healer?” Frodo asked. Aragorn was unable to keep even a tiny spoonful of water down, and Frodo was becoming more than a little alarmed.

“No, no,” Aragorn said.

“You’re the king,” Frodo scolded, “Not some Ranger who has to prove how tough he is.”

“No,” Aragorn said. “No healer.”

“All right,” Frodo said. “I’m giving you two more hours. If I see no improvement I will send for the healer, whether you approve or not.”

“You would defy a direct order from the King,” Aragorn managed a weak smile.

“Yes,” Frodo said. “My darling foolish Aragorn.” He kissed his brow with fierce love, relieved to see even the faint smile on Aragorn’s face.

Aragorn grasped his arm. “Wait. How are you?”

“You’re the one who is of concern here,” Frodo said.

“Yes, but you’ve been ill, too, and you should be resting. I suppose you should call for Koslorn just so you can get some rest. I’ve been selfish to deny you this.” He began to groan again, and Frodo knew he would need his pan again.

After two hours, Aragorn had fallen into a fast sleep, the worst of the stomach pains gone.

Alia, who had taken Ellohir out for some fresh air, returned with Ellohir by the late afternoon.

“How has he been?” Frodo asked.

“Just wonderful, Master Frodo. A little less bounciness than usual, but that’s to be expected, bless him.”

“Thank you. You may go now, Alia. The King is resting but he will be all right.”

Alia curtseyed and left.

“Where’s Aragorn?” Ellohir asked, looking around.

“Hush,” Frodo said. “He’s sleeping.”

“Aragorn!” Ellohir shouted.

“Shhh!” Frodo swept him up in his arms. Ellohir was getting so big that Frodo could barely hold him.

“It’s all right,” Aragorn said from the bedroom. “I’d like to see him.”

Ellohir squirmed out of Frodo’s arms, ran to the bedroom, and scampered up on the bed. He gave Aragorn several sloppy kisses.

“How’s my boy?” Aragorn asked, hugging him as best as he could with as weak as he was.

“How are you feeling?” Frodo asked.

“Much better. I’ll be up and having a hearty meal by nightfall.”

“Oh no, you won’t,” Frodo said. “It will be broth and toast for you for awhile. I don’t want any more Gandalf incidents.”

Ellohir curled against Aragorn on one side and Frodo climbed in on the other side, and they spent the rest of that day in bed, laughing and tickling and telling stories. The King’s meetings went on without him, and Gondor stayed intact and at peace. When the sun went down, they did not bother to put Ellohir in his own bed. They slept together as a family, and the moonlight put a shimmering silver blanket over them.

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