Fic: Sickly Green
Author: i_o_r_h_a_e_l
Title: Sickly Green
Challenge: The Long-expected Party Challenge
Rating: G, Gen, H/C
Pairing/Characters: Frodo, Sam
Quote: The hobbits stood now on the brink of a tall cliff, bare and bleak, its feet wrapped in mist; and behind them rose the broken highlands owned with drifting cloud. A chill wind blew from the East. Night was gathering over the shapeless lands before them; the sickly green of them was fading to a sullen brown. [The Taming of Sméagol]
Summary: Up on a tall cliff, Frodo caught a fever.
Author's Notes: Biggest thanks to mews1945 for the beta. ♥
The hobbits stood on the brink of a tall cliff, bare and bleak, its feet wrapped in mist; and behind them rose the broken highlands shrouded by drifting cloud. A chill wind blew from the East. Night was gathering over the shapeless lands before them, the sickly green of them fading to a sullen brown.
Sam loosened his backpack and put it down with the blanket and pans he had been carrying. As he spread the blanket on the ground, Sam thought he had to feel thankful that they would sleep on the dry rock instead of the damp bank of the bog. He looked far to the grayish surrounding before his gaze fell on his master. With his sagging shoulders, Frodo seemed subdued, too quiet for Sam’s liking. Frodo did not even acknowledge him when Sam called, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts.
“Mr. Frodo,” Sam tried again, touching his shoulder this time. “Are you all right?”
“It’s getting heavier, Sam.” Frodo’s voice was faint and hollow, and he was still not looking back.
Sam truly wished he could share the burden.
“You should sit down, Frodo. Have some rest.”
This time Frodo complied. He sat down on the blanket, pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tight.
Sam scratched his head, unsure of what to say or do.
“I’ll - I’ll get the supper ready,” he said finally.
When there was no reply, Sam sighed and started to unpack.
The fire he built was small for fear of announcing their presence to the enemy but it was enough to heat the water and make some soup. That and the lembas bread would have to suffice.
When everything was ready, Sam poured some soup in a mug and got out a piece of lembas for Frodo. But Frodo only shook his head.
“Frodo, please.”
“I’m not hungry, Sam.” His eyes were squeezed shut.
“You must eat, Mr. Frodo.” Sam knelt beside Frodo. “Try a bit of this. Please?”
When Frodo opened his eyes and looked at him, Sam was alarmed by how feverish they looked.
“Frodo, are you sick?”
Frodo shook his head again.
“No, Sam.” His gaze wandered to the mug in Sam’s hands. “You made soup? You are marvelous, Sam.” There was a ghost of smile on his lips, making Sam blush but he waved it off.
“Here, Mr. Frodo. Drink up.” Sam put the rim of the mug to Frodo’s lips and lifted it up slowly for his master to sip. The chillness of the night had helped cool the soup off so it would not burn Frodo’s tongue.
When a blush rose in Frodo's fair cheeks thanks to the warm liquid, Sam felt he could cheer for joy. But then the colour faded, turning to a greenish pallor, and Frodo clamped his mouth with his hand, whirling around so fast he swayed and fell on all fours. He let out a painful sound as he retched heavily. Sam rubbed Frodo's back gently and massaged the back of his master's neck. Frodo was burning hot although he was shivering as if he were chilled. Sam dabbed his mouth with a piece of cloth before he got Frodo to sip water from his flask, careful not to make him sick again.
“Oh, Frodo, you're so sick. Why didn't you tell your Sam?”
Frodo only spared him a brief glance before he curled himself up on the blanket. Sam brushed Frodo's hair off his brow, his heart clenching at the heat radiating from his skin. Sam wetted another piece of cloth and laid it gently on Frodo's forehead. He saw Frodo close his eyes and hoped he would fall asleep soon. Sam moved to clear things up before taking the cloth that had dried up now from Frodo's head to soak it again in the water. Sam bent over, stroking Frodo's face, feeling the heated skin, and placed the rag again upon his brow.
“Mum?” Frodo murmured, his eyeballs frantic beneath the closed lids.
“Ssh, Frodo. You'll be all right. It's Sam.”
“Mum?” The voice rose. He was getting restless while starting to shiver harder.
Sam wiped tears he did not realize he'd been shedding. His Mr. Frodo was very sick. He should be lying on his bed covered in thick blankets with a cozy fire to warm him up and a cup of ginger tea to soothe his body. Sam peered up to the fogged sky and down to the harsh terrain at the feet of the cliff. Frodo should not be here.
“Oh, my dear.” Sam lowered himself to lie down behind his master and spooned Frodo into his arms. The slight quiver he felt urged him to tighten his hold, pressing his face into Frodo's nape, and Sam hummed softly, soothingly.
“Sam?” Frodo murmured.
Sam almost choked with joy. “Yes, Mr. Frodo, it's me.” He shifted his cloak so it covered Frodo, too.
But then Frodo was calling for his mother again.
“Your mother is with you, too, Mr. Frodo. But she assures you that you will be all right with me.”
Frodo's soft breathing was the only response Sam got and he thought his master had finally fallen asleep. Frodo's shivering had ceased and that made Sam grateful. But there was that faint voice again.
“I know, Sam,” Frodo breathed out. “I hope the winged beasts are not wandering above us tonight.” With that he fell deeply into sleep.
Sam took a deep breath. Even in illness, when he was clear-headed enough, Frodo was still thinking about other people around him. Still so caring. Sam fastened his arms around Frodo’s waist and peered into the ever-darkening sky.
“No, Mr. Frodo. Even they don’t want to go out in this bleak night.” Sam closed his eyes, and let himself drift into slumber.
~~~
Title: Sickly Green
Challenge: The Long-expected Party Challenge
Rating: G, Gen, H/C
Pairing/Characters: Frodo, Sam
Quote: The hobbits stood now on the brink of a tall cliff, bare and bleak, its feet wrapped in mist; and behind them rose the broken highlands owned with drifting cloud. A chill wind blew from the East. Night was gathering over the shapeless lands before them; the sickly green of them was fading to a sullen brown. [The Taming of Sméagol]
Summary: Up on a tall cliff, Frodo caught a fever.
Author's Notes: Biggest thanks to mews1945 for the beta. ♥
The hobbits stood on the brink of a tall cliff, bare and bleak, its feet wrapped in mist; and behind them rose the broken highlands shrouded by drifting cloud. A chill wind blew from the East. Night was gathering over the shapeless lands before them, the sickly green of them fading to a sullen brown.
Sam loosened his backpack and put it down with the blanket and pans he had been carrying. As he spread the blanket on the ground, Sam thought he had to feel thankful that they would sleep on the dry rock instead of the damp bank of the bog. He looked far to the grayish surrounding before his gaze fell on his master. With his sagging shoulders, Frodo seemed subdued, too quiet for Sam’s liking. Frodo did not even acknowledge him when Sam called, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts.
“Mr. Frodo,” Sam tried again, touching his shoulder this time. “Are you all right?”
“It’s getting heavier, Sam.” Frodo’s voice was faint and hollow, and he was still not looking back.
Sam truly wished he could share the burden.
“You should sit down, Frodo. Have some rest.”
This time Frodo complied. He sat down on the blanket, pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tight.
Sam scratched his head, unsure of what to say or do.
“I’ll - I’ll get the supper ready,” he said finally.
When there was no reply, Sam sighed and started to unpack.
The fire he built was small for fear of announcing their presence to the enemy but it was enough to heat the water and make some soup. That and the lembas bread would have to suffice.
When everything was ready, Sam poured some soup in a mug and got out a piece of lembas for Frodo. But Frodo only shook his head.
“Frodo, please.”
“I’m not hungry, Sam.” His eyes were squeezed shut.
“You must eat, Mr. Frodo.” Sam knelt beside Frodo. “Try a bit of this. Please?”
When Frodo opened his eyes and looked at him, Sam was alarmed by how feverish they looked.
“Frodo, are you sick?”
Frodo shook his head again.
“No, Sam.” His gaze wandered to the mug in Sam’s hands. “You made soup? You are marvelous, Sam.” There was a ghost of smile on his lips, making Sam blush but he waved it off.
“Here, Mr. Frodo. Drink up.” Sam put the rim of the mug to Frodo’s lips and lifted it up slowly for his master to sip. The chillness of the night had helped cool the soup off so it would not burn Frodo’s tongue.
When a blush rose in Frodo's fair cheeks thanks to the warm liquid, Sam felt he could cheer for joy. But then the colour faded, turning to a greenish pallor, and Frodo clamped his mouth with his hand, whirling around so fast he swayed and fell on all fours. He let out a painful sound as he retched heavily. Sam rubbed Frodo's back gently and massaged the back of his master's neck. Frodo was burning hot although he was shivering as if he were chilled. Sam dabbed his mouth with a piece of cloth before he got Frodo to sip water from his flask, careful not to make him sick again.
“Oh, Frodo, you're so sick. Why didn't you tell your Sam?”
Frodo only spared him a brief glance before he curled himself up on the blanket. Sam brushed Frodo's hair off his brow, his heart clenching at the heat radiating from his skin. Sam wetted another piece of cloth and laid it gently on Frodo's forehead. He saw Frodo close his eyes and hoped he would fall asleep soon. Sam moved to clear things up before taking the cloth that had dried up now from Frodo's head to soak it again in the water. Sam bent over, stroking Frodo's face, feeling the heated skin, and placed the rag again upon his brow.
“Mum?” Frodo murmured, his eyeballs frantic beneath the closed lids.
“Ssh, Frodo. You'll be all right. It's Sam.”
“Mum?” The voice rose. He was getting restless while starting to shiver harder.
Sam wiped tears he did not realize he'd been shedding. His Mr. Frodo was very sick. He should be lying on his bed covered in thick blankets with a cozy fire to warm him up and a cup of ginger tea to soothe his body. Sam peered up to the fogged sky and down to the harsh terrain at the feet of the cliff. Frodo should not be here.
“Oh, my dear.” Sam lowered himself to lie down behind his master and spooned Frodo into his arms. The slight quiver he felt urged him to tighten his hold, pressing his face into Frodo's nape, and Sam hummed softly, soothingly.
“Sam?” Frodo murmured.
Sam almost choked with joy. “Yes, Mr. Frodo, it's me.” He shifted his cloak so it covered Frodo, too.
But then Frodo was calling for his mother again.
“Your mother is with you, too, Mr. Frodo. But she assures you that you will be all right with me.”
Frodo's soft breathing was the only response Sam got and he thought his master had finally fallen asleep. Frodo's shivering had ceased and that made Sam grateful. But there was that faint voice again.
“I know, Sam,” Frodo breathed out. “I hope the winged beasts are not wandering above us tonight.” With that he fell deeply into sleep.
Sam took a deep breath. Even in illness, when he was clear-headed enough, Frodo was still thinking about other people around him. Still so caring. Sam fastened his arms around Frodo’s waist and peered into the ever-darkening sky.
“No, Mr. Frodo. Even they don’t want to go out in this bleak night.” Sam closed his eyes, and let himself drift into slumber.
~~~