S.R. 1391, April 28
Frodo felt a cool, damp cloth touching his face. He was so hot, and his head, neck, arms... everything ached. He forced his heavy eyelids open and saw Aragorn smiling down at him.
"What..." Frodo fought the grogginess. "What's happening?"
"Everything's all right," the Man said softly. "Your fever's just up a bit, that's all."
"I remember... Gandalf was talking to me..." Frodo tried to focus his thoughts. "Is it morning?"
"Around noon," said Aragorn gently, although 'late afternoon' was more accurate. Throughout the morning, Frodo had just barely awakened several times, managing no more than a little water or juice, or a few mouthfuls of soup, before slipping back into a deep, fevered sleep. Aragorn was relieved that Frodo seemed more alert this time, but it concerned him that the boy didn't remember anything since the previous night. He took the cloth from Frodo's forehead and wrung it out in fresh water.
"It's normal to sleep a lot when you're ill."
"That's what Bilbo told me." Frodo looked around, a little more awake. "Is he home?"
Aragorn smiled. "He wouldn't leave you, Frodo. He's been sitting by your side for hours. He and Gandalf are in the dining room, having a bit of..." To his dismay, Frodo suddenly shuddered deeply and burst into tears.
"What is it, little one? What hurts?"
"I broke my promise," Frodo sobbed.
"What did you promise?"
"D. . don't tell Bilbo."
"I won't. What did you promise?"
"B. . Bilbo didn't have to adopt me, Aragorn, but... but he did. I couldn't believe it. I was so happy..."
Aragorn lay the damp cloth back on Frodo's forehead. "It must have been wonderful news."
"Oh, it was. That day he came to get me, to bring me here, I promised myself..."
"What?"
Fresh tears slid down the sides of Frodo's face. "... that he'd never be sorry he adopted me... that I'd never give him a moment's worry. Ever."
Aragorn sighed. "Frodo, that's a promise no one can keep. We always worry about people we love, and your Uncle Bilbo is no exception. Believe me, he's not sorry he adopted you; it's obvious that he loves you with all his heart." He wiped away some of the tears. "Don't you worry about him, sometimes?"
"Yes," Frodo whispered. "He goes wandering about all alone, with no one to help him if anything should happen."
Aragorn remembered what Bilbo had said about Frodo possibly being afraid of being left alone or abandoned.
"He always comes back to you," the Man said quietly. "He would never leave you, Frodo."
"I know," Frodo whispered. "But what if something should happen to him?"
"I'm sure he's very careful. He seems very wise, to me." Aragorn took a dry cloth and patted Frodo's face, then dabbed at some of the tears that had slid into the boy's ears. He was surprised to hear a faint giggle.
"Does that tickle?"
"It's just that Bilbo is positively obsessed with me washing behind my ears..." Frodo smiled. "I was wondering if he told you to do that."
"No," the Ranger grinned. "but I suspect he'll be trying to come after me with more soap and water fairly soon." He felt Frodo's face and hands, noting that the fever had abated a little. The cool cloths were helping, but he knew it was only temporary. "Now, no more tears, all right? I suspect your headache is worse after all that crying, isn't it?"
"Yes," Frodo whispered. A heavy, uncomfortable drowsiness was settling over him once again. "Everything hurts, Aragorn. I'm so hot, and awfully dizzy."
"I know," the Ranger murmured gently. "I know." He picked up a small cup from the table, and slipped his hand underneath Frodo's shoulders and head, raising him gently. "This should help."
Frodo grimaced at the bitter taste, but he swallowed it all, and then drank thirstily from a mug of fresh juice. He felt too weak to even lift his arms, and Aragorn had to hold the mug for him.
"Aragorn," Frodo whispered. "Am I going to be all right?"
Aragorn looked straight into the boy's remarkable eyes. "Yes, you are," he said, without hesitation.
Frodo watched the Man's face carefully as he spoke. Years ago, he had learned to recognize when adults were keeping things from him, but he saw only truth in the Man's grey eyes.
"That's good," he said sleepily. "Bilbo needs me."
Aragorn settled Frodo back down. "Just rest."
"Bilbo..." murmured Frodo. He closed his eyes. "He didn't have to adopt me, you know.. I was so lucky..."
Aragorn felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes. He gently picked up one of the boy's hands, and held it.
"So was he," he said softly.
When Frodo had fallen back to sleep, Aragorn joined Bilbo and Gandalf at the dining room table.
"His fever's definitely up," said Aragorn, sitting down. "I suspect it will go higher still." He looked at Bilbo. "At least the regular doses of willowbark ease the aches somewhat, and let him sleep."
"Thank you, Aragorn," said Bilbo. "He.. he's very ill, isn't he?" The old hobbit looked haggard and drawn.
"Yes, Bilbo, he is," said Aragorn. There was no longer even a glimmer of hope that Frodo would have the 'mild case' of the malaise Gandalf had hoped for. The boy was already very weak, and was burning with fever.
The guilt Aragorn felt at the misery he had brought to these people was nearly overwhelming, and he could barely look Bilbo in the eye.
"You are blameless in this, Aragorn," said Gandalf. "The fault is mine."
"Do not say that, Gandalf," said Bilbo. "No one can anticipate everything --- not even you."
"Indeed, even a wizard can err in judgment." Gandalf's long fingers idly twirled his teacup back and forth. "You have gained wisdom with your years, my friend, but this is difficult for all of us." He looked up. "We must make a decision. You have both experienced this delirium that is surely to come. What should Frodo be told about it?"
Aragorn shook his head. "I see nothing to be gained by frightening him any more than he already is." He grew thoughtful. "If you had found me, Gandalf, in the midst of my delirium, and told me that what I saw was not real, I would not have believed you. There was no question in my mind that what I was seeing was truly before me."
"What did you see, Aragorn?" whispered Bilbo.
Aragorn looked at Bilbo, his eyes haunted. "Do you know what a Ranger does, Bilbo? What he is?"
"They protect weaker folk... keep them from danger or harm, if they can."
"Yes," said Aragorn. "I believe you are one of the few who knows that; not everyone thinks of us with such esteem. We are, for the most part, unknown and unthanked, but whatever we can do to preserve life and peace, we do. To fail in such a duty --- or to bring innocent people into danger --- is contrary to everything I am. And so, I saw..." He gripped the edge of the table and closed his eyes, remembering.
"Sometime in my second day of fever, or perhaps the third day, I know not, I awoke... to a nightmare. My fever must have been at its highest, but at the time I was unaware of that. I didn't even remember that I was ill. I stood up, although I was so weak by then I do not know how I had the strength to do so. And I saw..." He sighed. "All about me were bodies --- the dead bodies of my friends, my companions, my.. what remains of my family. Everyone I know and love. Bodies everywhere, gruesomely murdered. I knew..." Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at Gandalf, his eyes blazing. "I knew that my enemies had come in the night. They had massacred everyone and left me alive so that I would know they had discovered that I lived, and had found me; so that I would live with that knowledge for all of my days. Instead of safeguarding lives, I had been the cause of death and suffering.. I had been discovered, and everyone I loved had paid the price for my very existence."
Bilbo stared at Aragorn in horror. So this was why Gandalf had asked for his name and presence to remain a secret; he was a hunted man --- or would be, if his existence or location were known. His greatest fear had not been discovery, or for his own life, but that innocent people might come to harm because of who he was and whatever was pursuing him.
"I wanted to die," Aragorn whispered in anguish, his head in his hands. "I drew my knife..."
Gandalf reached over and clasped his hand on the Man's shoulder. "Enough, Aragorn."
Aragorn raised his head and met the wizard's compassionate gaze. "I was so weak, and the fever so high, I could not have remained on my feet more than a few minutes. I must have fainted. I know not how much time passed, but the next thing I saw was you, Gandalf, bending over me."
"Your fever was not very high when I found you," said Gandalf. "But you were weak and confused."
Aragorn nodded. "The fever must have broken and started to come down on its own. I have a vague memory of you helping me onto my horse, and riding a long way..."
"Here," said Bilbo. "He brought you here."
Aragorn took a deep breath. "I had known that this illness was feared, but did not fully understand why. Many fevers bring delirium, but nothing such as this; one's deepest fear come to life... everything seemed very clear and logical, and absolutely real. Bilbo, I truly doubt that warning Frodo about such a thing would be helpful.." He looked at the hobbit. "...but it is your decision."
Gandalf stood up. "I'll go and check on him." He walked down the hall and disappeared into Frodo's room.
Bilbo was silent, wondering what to do.
"Is there any ice in Hobbiton, Bilbo?" asked Aragorn.
"I have ice," said Bilbo absently.
"You do?"
Bilbo smiled and looked at Aragorn. "Shirefolk aren't quite as primitive as you might think. In winter, ice from the surrounding ponds and waters is cut and stored by most of us. In my deepest cellar are several large blocks, covered in a thick layer of hay. Certain wines and preserved meats are stored there."
"Forgive me. I meant no insult to you or the Shire."
"I know." Bilbo sighed. "I've been thinking about ice, as well. We may need it."
Gandalf returned to the kitchen.
"He's still asleep, but a bit restless."
Aragorn stood up, accustomed by now to the low ceilings. "Bilbo, why don't you show Gandalf and me where you keep those blocks of ice."
"No," said Bilbo. "Your fever may be gone, Aragorn, but swinging an axe or hatchet might be a bit premature. Gandalf and I will get the ice while you stay with Frodo."
"Very well," said Aragorn. "It should be chopped into small pieces."
"I have a large, sturdy bag we can fill," said Bilbo, getting to his feet.
Frodo was indeed restless, tossing and murmuring in his sleep, and his skin was hot and dry to the touch. Aragorn wrung out a fresh cloth in water from the basin and pressed it to Frodo's brow and face, then unbuttoned the top of the boy's nightshirt to gently wipe his neck, chest, and arms. The Ranger shook his head in frustration; there was little to be done except to keep the boy cooled down, press him to drink whenever he woke, and wait. Picking up the nearly empty basin, he left the room to refill it at the kitchen pump.
Something brushed past Frodo's face, and he awoke with a start. He could see that no one was in the room, but... something had just been there. All at once he heard a strange voice from the hallway, words hissed and spat. He strained to hear.
Baggins... Thief... We hates it.. We hates it forever...
Gollum! Frodo gasped and lay perfectly still, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never told Bilbo, but every time he heard that part of the adventure story, he was filled with a sense of dread. Why had Bilbo ever told that loathesome creature his name? It had wanted to kill him and get his "precious" back. Didn't Bilbo know it might come after him? And now, after all these years, that cunning, murderous thing had made its way to the Shire --- and had somehow entered Bag End!
Frodo thought about yelling, screaming a warning, but then Bilbo
would come and the creature would get him. Nothing could happen to
Bilbo, ever. He had to do something. He had to protect him. His
first thought was of Sting, hanging, as always, above the
fireplace in the parlor. It would serve that creature right.. But
no, it was too high to reach. Too far to go. What.. of
course!
Frodo sat straight up, his illness forgotten, unaware of the waves
of dizziness and the dulled, aching heaviness in his limbs. He
lowered his feet over the side of the bed and stood up, wavering a
bit, his vision alternately blurring and clearing. Making his way
unsteadily to the hallway, he looked both ways. He thought he
heard something in the kitchen, and from the direction of one of
the cellars he could just make out the faint, muffled voices of
Bilbo and Gandalf. The creature must be in the kitchen! Frodo took
a deep breath and crept soundlessly in the opposite direction,
down the hallway, focused solely on the only logical place to go.
He needed to reach Aragorn's room.
A room full of weapons.
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