Eternity and the Language of Flowers

As the sun was peeking her face around the side of the hill, Samwise Gamgee was making his way in the direction of Bag End. The heavy rainfall from the storm last night had refreshed many of the plants despite their autumnal colours.

Sam slowed his pace to make his plans for the day. “Them borders need special attention…some of the plants got fair trampled yesterday! And I’ve noticed quite a few weeds stickin’ their bit in where it ain’t any good…Oh, the grass needs a trim. And Mr Frodo will need more chopped wood…”

Frodo grunted and turned over in his sleep. Despite his deep dreams he felt his head pound unpleasantly and his throat burn. He mumbled a few incoherent syllables and buried his face in the soft pillows, effectively blocking out the strong sunlight shining through a gap in the drapes. What felt like only a moment later, Frodo heard a key scrambling in the lock of the front door. He forced his eyes open, winced when the sunlight hit them, and immediately shut them again. He took a few deep breaths then sat up. “Ohh…” Mistake. The room tried spinning around, and he ached all over. “Was I drunk last night? Did Farmer Maggot let his horse dance on me?” With a weary grumble, he fell back against the bed. He felt awful.

Sam was humming away cheerfully as he clattered pots and pans in the kitchen, setting about making first breakfast. He toddled over to the pantry and fetched a few rashers of bacon, a couple of eggs, a couple of tomatoes. Once they were all happily sizzling, Sam turned his attention to the fresh-baked bread he had brought from home. Frodo had always loved Bell’s cooking, and there was nothing Sam liked more than having his mother’s baking cheer him up when he was feeling down or ill. And Sam hoped it was the same for Frodo: he wanted to keep him cheerful and content, and keep his mind off the large empty spaces at Bag End. “Too big for one hobbit on his own,” he mumbled, then left the kitchen to wake his master.

Sam knocked lightly on Frodo’s bedroom door. Though the sound was no louder than usual, Frodo’s sensitive head decided it was like being disturbed by Gandalf’s fireworks, and he groaned, scrunching his face up.

“Mr Frodo? It’s Sam.”

“Mmhm…’m awake, Sam,” Frodo mumbled.

The door opened carefully and Sam quietly entered. “Mr Frodo? Are you…”

“Ill.”

Sam bent over Frodo’s prone figure on the bed. The covers were damp and crumpled in a heap by his feet. One arm was covering his face, as if shielding it from a bright light. Sam carefully placed his hand on Frodo’s hot forehead, and sucked his breath in sharply. “Dear me, Mr Frodo! Seems you’ve got rather a high temperature!”

“Could tell you that myself. Too hot.”

“What else? Does your head ache?”

“Head aches…not too bad for the moment. Feel like a giddy horse has trampled me. Eyes hurt. The light’s too bright.” Frodo paused for a moment, removing his arm from his face. “Throat’s dry. Need water.” He sat up slowly and swung his legs off the bed. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Frodo raised his hand. “I’m fine. I can get myself water. Need a bath anyway.” He stood and half-heartedly tugged his sweat-soaked nightshirt into place.

Sam stood back and cautiously watched the other hobbit as he took slow, shuffling steps towards the door. Half way across his room, Frodo stopped, looking like his legs would give out any moment.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, actually,” Frodo said, not moving from the spot, but wobbling precariously.

Sam went to him and guided him to a large armchair. He picked up a blanket and covered his poorly friend with it. “You let Sam take care of you. I suspect you’ve just come ill of a sudden because of all the stress these last couple of days. I’ll change the bedcovers and bring you water. I don’t think a bath is a good idea right now, Mr Frodo, sir, but I’ll bring some cloths and you can wash down then change that shirt. Now, you keep that blanket nice and snug ‘round you while I get things ready.”

One of Frodo’s hands weakly ran through his hair. “Sam, am I ill?” He was much too tired to be thinking about these things himself.

“Yes, I believe you are at that, Mr Frodo,” Sam said as he stripped down the old bedsheets. “You’ve the ‘flu, I think. Mari had it a couple of years ago. In bed for ten days, she was. Hot, then cold, then hot again. Slept a lot, and that did her the world of good. She also had Mam and Gaffer and me and Daisy to look out for her.” Sam turned to face Frodo. “And I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Frodo attempted a smile, but couldn’t quite make it. Instead he closed his heavy eyes and tried to sleep some more.

Sam tucked in the corners of the blankets and sheets, fluffed up the pillows, then crossed over to the window and closed the drapes. If Frodo’s eyes were sensitive right now, he wouldn’t want the sunlight pouring in and making it worse. A pity, since it was a gloriously clear morning, promising to stay constant throughout the day. Sam turned back to Frodo, who was dozing in the armchair, curled up like a little hobbit-child. With great care Sam picked him up and lay him in bed. He sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, watching his sleeping form, then quietly stood up and left the room.

***

Frodo awoke around mid-morning with a deep shudder, just as Sam was returning to his room with a tray. “Oh, hello again, Mr Frodo! Now, Mam told me when you’re ill, you’ve got to take lots of drinks, so I’ve brought you some tea, sir. If you’d prefer, I can get a big jug of cold water.”

“No, Sam, I’d like tea. I’m feeling rather cold right now,” Frodo replied. Truth be told, his teeth were starting to chatter, he was shivering so hard. “D-do you think you could fetch an-n-nother blanket, please?”

Sam hastily pulled three more blankets from the linen chest then tucked one of them around Frodo. “Are your feet cold? Shall I heat up--”

“N-no, that’s enough, th-th-thank you.” Frodo said, curling up in a tight ball and pulling blankets around his shoulders.

“I’ll light a fire for you. That will keep the room nice and warm--”

“B-but I don’t feel cold - to touch, I mean.” Frodo grimaced. “Ugh, this is awful.”

Sam placed his hand on Frodo’s forehead and gauged his temperature. “Aye, that’s mighty high, alright.” He took hold of the hand peeking out of the mass of blankets. “Hands feel cold though. Ah, no doubt you’ll feel too hot soon.” Sam murmured, feeling more than slightly useless at present, watching Frodo carefully until his shivers lessened and he looked towards the cup of tea waiting for him.

“Might I have that tea now, Sam? I think I’ve stopped shivering enough that I can hold the cup without spilling anything.” Sam carefully placed the cup in Frodo’s hands. He watched him closely for a moment, the let him be. “I’ll be around Bag End or in the garden should you need anythin’, Mr Frodo. I’ve left a little bell here if you want to use that to get my attention.”

“A bell, Sam? Ah, but such dreadful noise only aids in making my head ache and my ears ring!” Frodo sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes after setting his cup down.“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but it’s one that was sat on the mantelpiece. Mr Bilbo said he got it from the elves, sir, and that it has a very pleasant ring, even for sensitive ears, he told me!” Sam beamed as he recounted Bilbo’s words.Frodo smiled weakly.

“Then we shall trust his word, for he has gone to live with them now, Sam.” He closed his eyes. “I think I shall sleep some more now…”

***

Sam whistled softly as he raked the fallen leaves into neat piles around the garden. After they were raked, he would gather them in his wheelbarrow, put them into the covered compost heap, and let them dry out. Once dried, he could mulch them and use the mulch to spread on the garden. It was a simple enough job, and one that he had done so often, he allowed himself to daydream as he worked. At present, he was making a list - another list - of things to pick up from the market, as opposed to floating away on a dream. Bits and pieces that both he and Frodo would need in terms of provisions, and medicines, if he could find them…

The soft tinkling of a bell snapped Sam quickly out of his thoughts. He dropped the rake and scurried back into the hole, heading straight for Frodo’s room. He entered when he didn’t get a response to his knocking, and saw Frodo lying limp on the bed, blankets thrown aside and the lacing on his nightshirt loosened. One of his hands hung over the side of the bed, and from the position he was in, Sam puzzled over how Frodo had reached the bell at all. He crossed the distance between them quickly and knelt by his side.

“Mr Frodo, sir? You need me?” Sam asked. No response. Sam took Frodo’s hand in one of his and placed the other to Frodo’s flushed cheek. Heat was radiating from him: Sam could feel it through his shirt. To Sam it also sounded like Frodo’s breathing was much to slow and shallow. Worried now, he pressed his fingers to Frodo’s wrist, counting his pulse, before gently patting his face to get a response from him. “Frodo? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?” He didn’t move. “Oh, Frodo! Oh, come on, Sam, think…he needs to cool down, he’s far too hot…water...cloths and water...”

He got up and grabbed the cloths from the wash basin he left in the room earlier. Returning to the bed, Sam immediately pressed a cool damp cloth to Frodo’s fevered brow. With a second cloth, Sam bathed his neck and chest and arms. “Come on, wake up, please!” Re-soaking the cloths and wringing them out, he repeated the process. Sam could feel the time dragging its heels as he reapplied the cloths a third time. Frodo’s eyelids flickered. Another moment and he opened his eyes, and made a weak, disoriented noise.

“It’s alright, I’m here. Your fever knocked you out a bit, Frodo.” Sam replaced the cloth on his forehead for a cooler one. “Lucky I heard that bell ring when I did.”

“I…did I…” Frodo’s voice was small and cracked. “I didn’t--the bell, I couldn’t…”

Sam hushed Frodo with a gentle finger to his dry lips. His fingers trailed from mouth to cheek to soothe the weak hobbit. “Hush, don’t speak right now. Rest and let me take care of you.” He continued the calming caresses until Frodo's eyes drooped.

Frodo let weary eyes follow Sam as he straightened the sheets and blankets again. He smiled faintly as the pillows beneath him were plumped and fluffed again and two strong hands tucked him in like a child. “Sam--would you...sit with me--a while?” Frodo whispered. “Sing or...or...recite a poem, or some…thing? Like to hear your voice…”

With a little smile, Sam pulled up a comfy chair and sat facing Frodo. “Well, I don’t rightly know about song or poems, Mr Frodo, but I’ll think of something.” His smile widened. “How about one of Mr Bilbo’s stories? Plenty to chose from, and I’ve told a lot of them to Mari, and I…well, I-I can remember some of them.” He finished with a shy look.

“Sounds delightful, Samwise. Tell as many as you wish.”

Sam leaned forward, checking Frodo’s temperature once again, then settled down to delve deep into his imagination.

***

Late that afternoon, as Frodo slept, Sam took himself back home for a short time. He had decided that Frodo’s fever was still too erratic for him to be left alone, and so would stay at Bag End that night.

“Evenin’, sir,” Sam greeted his father as he walked through the door of Number 3.

“Where’ve ye been all day, Sam-lad? I took a wander by your Bag End just past midday, and not a sign of ye was there. Not even your tools outside in the garden - and the borders along the path such a mess, too!” The Gaffer walked up to his son and drawn himself up to his full height. “Have you been slackin’? Were you sittin’ inside all day listenin’ to faery tales?”

‘I was tellin’ them!’ Sam thought to himself. Out loud, he answered, “no, sir, I was not slackin’, not at all! Mr Frodo’s ill, you see. It’s the flu he’s got, and he’s in such a state that I spent most of the day lookin’ after him. He slept a lot, but I did a lot of in-door jobs.” He walked through to the kitchen with his father, where Marigold and Bell were preparing vegetables for dinner.

“Hello, Sam-love,” Bell said warmly, and turned to kiss her son’s cheek. “What’s this about Mr Baggins being ill?”

“Oh, uhm, it’s flu, Mam.” Sam explained, then began fidgeting as he continued, explaining his plans for the evening. “I was, well, planning to go back to Bag End and stay with Mr Frodo tonight.” His father turned and faced him, his ire visible. Sam’s eyes widened. “I-i-it’s just that he’s so ill right now, his fever could be dangerous, and he needs someone to be with him.”

“Did you speak to the healer?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I-I…didn’t think…” Sam mumbled, lowering his gaze to the floor.

“The healer will tell you if he needs someone to baby-sit him or no. Fetch the healer, come back and tell me his verdict, then sit down and eat your dinner with the rest of us!”

Sam bristled. Was his father telling him he couldn’t - in any sense - look after his master? He took a deep breath, and answered. “I take some stew and medicines to Bag End. I will look after my master. I will not leave Mr Frodo on his own tonight!”

Marigold’s eyes widened in surprise at Sam talking back to their Gaffer. Bell fussed with the carrots and potatoes, but listened intently.

“Samwise…” Hamfast started.

Sam held up a hand to stop him. “When Mari had the flu, you wouldn’t let her on her own for three days until her fever came down! You and Mam sat up all night, takin’ turns to sit in. I’m doing the same for Frodo!”

“Samwise Gamgee!” His father shouted. “It is MISTER Frodo to you, and me, and the rest of us. Don’t let me ever hear you say it any other way! And Marigold is *family*. Of course we’re going to sit up all night when one of you is ill, it’s only natural! But Heaven’s above, Samwise, Mr Baggins is your employer, and twelve years older at that - he can look out for himself!”

“It’s YOU who told me it’s up to US to look after them!” Sam shouted back at his stunned father. “It was YOU who stood through there almost fifteen years ago and said there was no point in me learnin’ letters or numbers, because I’d be workin’ for the likes of Mr Bilbo all my life - because they *need* us!”

“Don’t you answer back at me!”

“I’m not answerin’! I’m TELLIN’!”

At that point, Bell turned around and held her hands out between the shouting males. “Right, that’s enough, from both of you!” They quieted in an instant. Bell planted her hands on her hips and frowned at her husband. “Sam is right, that is what you told him. I have no doubts that if Sam stays up at Bag End tonight he’ll be kept busy enough. What you suggested fine - involve the healer, but let Sam stay the night.” Ham started a protest, and Bell raised a finger “Ah-ah! No!”

Marigold bit her lip to keep in her giggles. Her mother was able to whip the men of the house so easily.

“Sam, go and fetch Mr Hedgeworth.”

“But he trampled my borders!” Sam wailed.

“Half the Shire trampled them! Sam…fetch Mr Hedgeworth. Listen to what he tells you. Come back home an’ pick up some stew an’ broth to take up to Bag End. I’ll look out what medicine you need - whatever Hedgeworth tell you - an’ then Mari will help you take everything up the Hill. Is that fair?”

Sam knew it was, and he nodded.

“Good. Now, you two apologise for shouting at each other, then Sam, off you go.” Bell said, then tucked her loose brown curls behind her ears and turned her full attention back to dinner.

Hamfast looked at his son. Samwise looked at his father. They mumbled apologies as Bell had dictated, and Sam headed back outside.

***

Sam hovered beside Frodo’s bed as Mr Hedgeworth poked and prodded and umm-ed and ahh-ed around his patient. Sam was becoming annoyed and impatient - he just wanted to know what to do and get on with it.

At last the healer stood up and turned to Sam. “He has influenza – that is, flu - and needs total bed rest for at least three days until his temperature returns to normal and the aches and pains disappear. Get him to take an infusion of Echinacea, up to three times a day. Do you know how to do that?” Sam frowned in thought for a moment, but the doctor didn’t wait for him to remember. “You prepare a standard infusion by adding two to four teaspoons of fresh herb to a cup of boiling water. You infuse this for 10 minutes before straining. If the herb is left too long, the mixture becomes bitter.”

Sam had grabbed the healer’s notebook and pencil and was scribbling furiously. When he stopped talking, Sam looked up, awaiting further instruction. Hedgeworth looked at Sam curiously, then continued. “As well as infusions, you may give him this special cough mixture up to four times a day.” He placed a small brown bottle on the nightstand. “He has cough medicine in his medicine box, he doesn’t need this ‘special’ stuff.”

“He will.” Hedgeworth informed him flippantly. Sam reluctantly noted cough mixture on his list. “Now, oils and poultices. Oil infusions are for external use only. They can be prepared by hot or cold methods. For the hot method, fill a jar with fresh herbs and cover with sunflower or almond oil. Place the jar up to the neck in a saucepan of water and bring to a medium temperature. Simmer for up to three hours.” Sam looked up from his writing. “Yes, three hours. Then strain it into a bottle. The process can be repeated with the strained oil infusion and a fresh supply of herbs to make the oil stronger. Now, a poultice can be quite effective for chest infections. To make it up, mix chopped herbs or powdered seeds with boiling water to make a pulp. Place the pulp in a piece of cloth and apply to the affected area while hot. It should be replaced when it cool. A dab of this calendula cream will prevent the poultice from sticking and burning his skin.” He placed a small jar the ointment on the nightstand. “You may wish to use this if Master Baggins develops a nasty cough, or he complains his chest aches because of coughing.” The doctor paused for a moment, allowing Sam to catch up with writing.

“Now. You may find that a few drops of this-” he took out yet another bottle, “-will help him relax if he has problems sleeping.” The young gardener smiled and took the bottle. “I’ll need payment for all that.”

“Now?” Sam’s brow creased worriedly. Hedgeworth stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting.

“Oh, I…I don’t really have a-anything…”

“Sam…ask--ask Mr Hedgeworth to wait…in the parlour, please.” Frodo wrestled with his blankets and sat up stiffly. The doctor sniffed and paced out of the room, closing the door behind him. “Thank Eru…he was making my guts ache! Talking as…as if I wasn’t in the room with him! Now, if-if you could pass me that wooden box from my dresser, please.”

“I think he like listenin’ to himself talk, an’ all. And showin’ off, as I can see.”

“It surprised him when he saw you writing. He kept talking to try and confuse you.”

Sam nodded as he cast his glance over the dresser, picked up a small ornate box and brought it to Frodo.

“I cannot believe that hobbit wants payment immediately…I-I suspect this is some sort of...revenge for my shafting him the other day!”

“Deliberately stamped on the borders, he did, Mr Frodo!”

“Here, give him this. That should cover the visit as well.” Frodo held out a small leather pouch.

Sam left the room to hand over the payment to the healer, and like as not, exchange a few sharp words with him as well. “Here’s payment for the medicines and your visit, Mr Hedgeworth,” Sam held out the bag, which jingled when dropped into the healer’s outstretched hand. “You tread on my hard work again and I’ll be expecting that payment back!” Sam said, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Though you had no reason to even be up here!”

Hedgeworth scowled at the young hobbit. “You should learn to respect your elders, and those of higher station, Sam Gamgee. Mixing with your betters and getting notions above yourself, giving cheek….you’d be well to mind what your father taught you about manners and class. And you would do well to remember that before the rest of Hobbiton reminds you!”

Sam flinched, but answered confidently. “Tis only ignorance that can’t let folks see the truth. If they would take time as to ask questions and find proper answers, instead of spreading local gossip, they’d know all they need.”

Hedgeworth grabbed his bags and bowed curtly to Sam, who returned to gesture. “Indeed! Good evening to you Master Gamgee. Remember to take care of your patient!”

***

Frodo had fallen into a light slumber when Sam returned to his room an hour later, bearing various medicines and bits and pieces for bedside nursing. He strategically positioned his load in various places, all within reach by the bed. He sat by Frodo’s side and shook him gently. “Mr Frodo. Frodo, wake up. I have something you have to take before you go to sleep proper.”

Coming to, Frodo whined, “Nooo, let me sleep!” and pulled his blankets over his face. He overheated quickly, and pulled them down an inch again, so that only his fever-bright eyes peered over the edge.

“Now, then, Mr Frodo, I’ve to get you to take this three times a day - take some now and then you can sleep!” Sam held up a small teacup.

“I don’t want to drink any Echinacea tea!”

So he was a difficult invalid. Sam hadn’t expected that from Frodo. “Now, come on! Stop acting like a tweener!”

Frodo sat up indignantly. “I am not--” his voice cracked and he coughed until the irritating and painful tickling eased. “You’re only just into your tweens, Sam.”

“Aye, and you don’t see me kicking up a fuss about taking medicine!”

“You’re not ill!” Frodo retorted. He realised he was being completely irrational, but for the moment, he didn’t care: he wanted to sleep and hopefully get rid of the thumping headache afflicting him.

“Look, take a few sips. It’s really not that bad, Mr Frodo - I tasted it myself to make sure I got the infusion right.” Sam smiled softly and held out the cup. After a moment’s hesitation, Frodo took it from him and grudgingly took a sip, his face ready to screw up into a grimace. “There, not so bad, is it!”

The contortion on Frodo’s face disappeared and he looked sheepishly over the rim of the cup. After taking a longer draught, Frodo replied, “you’ve done very well, Sam. It tastes…well, quiet nice in comparison to other concoctions I’ve been fed in the past.”

Sam beamed happily when Frodo quickly drained the last of the tea from the cup and settled down against his pillows a quarter of an hour later.

“You will let me sleep now, Sam?” He asked wearily, eyes drooping.

“Aye. I will at that,” Sam whispered, and tucked that sheets and blankets close around Frodo. He brushed a few dark curls back from his forehead. “Goodnight, sir.” He extinguished the lamps and took the candle on the nightstand with him.

After going around Bag End once more to tidy up, Sam settled down in a chair next to Frodo, and closed his eyes to rest while he could. It wasn’t long before a distressed moan came from Frodo. Sam awoke immediately and leaned forward. Frodo’s temperature was up considerably from when it was last checked. “Here, now, this won’t do!” Sam murmured quietly and picked up a damp cloth and cooled Frodo’s brow with it.

“No…don’t touch me, please…” Frodo’s feverish voice could barely be heard, so high and delicate it was in the thick heaviness of the night.

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s just Sam. I’m just helpin’ you to cool down.” Sam lightly stroked Frodo’s cheek in an effort to pacify him

“Noo…” Frodo’s brow creased as if he was frightened of something. “Please…I don’t want to.” He didn’t seem to be calmed by Sam’s gentle actions, but became more agitated. “No, don’t! Where is Mama?!”

Sam’s hand drew back and chewed his bottom lip anxiously. He dipped the warmed cloth into a basin of cold water, wrung it out, and reapplied it to Frodo’s face. He took a second cloth and began an attempt to cool the rest of his body. With the blankets pushed down to the foot of the bed, it didn’t take long before Frodo began shivering involuntary, and Sam growled in frustration. How could he keep Frodo cool and warm at the same time?

He tucked a blanket around Frodo’s feet and continued to bathe his face, neck and chest and arms. While he did so, he unintentionally began to hum softly, occasionally singing a line or two that he remembered.

Frodo’s eyes opened slightly, with a great deal of effort, and he watched Sam go about nursing him. He swallowed and tried to form a sentence with his parched mouth, but merely gave out a tiny croak instead.

Sam looked up at his face and smiled slightly. “Just you rest yourself, Mr Frodo.”

Frodo raised an arm and swiped away the face cloth. “Nnn-mmm…”

“No, that’s to keep your forehead cool,” Sam said, chiding softly as he replaced the cloth. Frodo coughed weakly and groaned, his head lolling to the right to face his healer. “Would you like a drink of water?” he asked.

Frodo nodded and Sam carefully pulled him into a semi-sitting position. He didn’t let Frodo hold the cup, which frustrated the older hobbit, and he scowled to show Sam his disagreement with the situation. He was, however, immensely grateful for the cold water sliding gloriously down his throat. He sighed and smiled faintly.

“There we are. Now, you try and sleep again.” Sam manoeuvred him and brought the bedcovers back up to his chest. Frodo’s temperature had began to drop again, satisfactorily enough for Sam at this point in time to tuck him up nice and snug.

“Sing---sing some more, please,” came a cracked and hushed request.

Sam settled back in the armchair and granted his wish, and in a short space of time, Frodo was fast asleep, and for the time being, peaceful.

***

The rain rapped upon the windows softly, trying to awaken the two sleeping hobbits within the hole. Frodo’s eyes flickered, his brow creased slightly, and he inhaled sharply as he came to. Almost immediately he was seized by a violent fit of coughing. Sam’s eyes popped open as quick as a reflex. He winced as his neck protested to sudden movement, but moved to Frodo’s side straight away. “Here now, sit up. That’ll ease your coughing.” He placed his arms carefully around Frodo’s waist and slid him into a sitting position. The poor hobbit leaned forward, one hand covering his mouth and the other holding his chest.

“Oh, here now, it’s alright,” Sam rubbed his hand in circles on Frodo’s back as he stopped choking and slowly got his breathing under control.

“That…was-was not…fun,” Frodo wheezed, slumping weakly against his friend.

“Do you want a drink of water?” Sam asked as he settled Frodo against a stack of plump feather pillows.

“Oh, p-please, Sam,” Frodo replied wearily. “Why am I so tired? I’ve only just woken up!”

“You’re ill, an’ you’ve just had and nasty cough there,” Sam reasoned, tucking blankets around his ill friend again. “I’ll just go and get a glass of water for you. After that, you’ll have to take some more of that tea.”

“Yes, yes. Fair enough,” Frodo sighed and closed his eyes again.

***

A loud, confident knock came from the front door around midday. Sam scampered to answer it, drying wet hands on a tea towel as he left the kitchen. He flung the big green door open, then stopped short, a look of surprise settling on his features.

“Da? What- uhm, what are you doing up here?” Sam asked with a slightly frown.

“Thought I’d, ah…come up and see how y’were doin’, lad. See how your Mr Frodo was…coming along.” The Gaffer lifted a wrinkled hand and rubbed the back of his neck in an almost nervous manner. The other hand he stretched out, offering a large brown paper bag to his son. Sam accepted the gift, smiled warmly and stepped aside to let his father in. “He’s asleep right now. He’s been sleeping all morning. I think his temperature is gettin’ steady - not so high last time I checked…”

“So what did the healer say?” Ham asked as they walked back to the kitchen.

“Said it was flu and…left me with a long list of things to remember. Echinacea tea, medicines, funny smelling stuff that’s supposed to help ease aches in the chest…I think Mari had a lot of this to take, didn’t she?” Sam opened the bag and peered in: it was one of his mother’s honey sponge cakes. He would save that for when Frodo felt a bit better.

“Aye, that she did. Kicked up a right fuss about taking that tea,” Ham replied with a grimace as he sniffed something in a small box. “Look, lad. I came here to tell you something.”

Sam spun around to face his father with a worried crease on his forehead. “W-what?”

“Sit down, Sam, I’m not going to bite you.” With his son sitting tentatively opposite him, Ham launched straight in to his little speech. “I won’t keep you long, Samwise. I only popped by to see how you were coping, and-and to let you know that I’m sorry for arguing with you last night. I know your mam made us apologise to each other, but things were still tense and heated, and I think we said it just as we were told. But I am sorry, son. I didn’t want to suggest that…well, I guess I just didn’t want folks to be thinkin’ anythin’ out of sorts. Sam Gamgee stayin’ the night at Bag End like a relative of equal rankin’, without so much as a blink in the direction of his roots and those he grew up with.”

“But Da, you know…”

“Aye, lad. But other folks don’t. Remember where you’re from Sam. By all means serve your master, and serve him well, but don’t forget where you’re from.” Hamfast stood up, placed his cap back on his head and nodded. “We’ll see you home for dinner tonight?”

“Aye. Aye, I’ll be home.”

***

As Sam stood at the threshold of Bag End, waving his father goodbye, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took came running up the road, waving and calling out noisily.

“Sam! Hoy, Sam!” The eleven year-old Pippin bounced up the path energetically and hugged the startled older hobbit. “It’s very good to see you again!”

“Y-yes, you too, Mr Pippin…” Sam looked beseechingly at Merry, who poked his younger cousin in the sides, causing him to giggle and promptly let go of Sam.

“Merry! Stop it!” Pippin poked his cousin in retaliation, then turned back to face Sam again. “Can we see Frodo? Is he in? Are you making dinner for him tonight? Will you make us dinner too?”

“Pippin!”

As they walked into the hole, Sam quickly ran over the last couple of days for them. “But I thought you were going back to Buckland, Mr Merry?” Sam asked.

Merry smiled as he flopped wearily on to the sofa. “Yes, that was the plan, but Mother and Father wanted to spend a week at the Smials, so they left us in the capable hands of…well, Hobbiton. We’re booked to stay at the Green Dragon Inn with an older cousin to supervise, but I suppose they don’t expect to see a lot of us.”

“Yes, and it’s such a tiring distance to walk once we’ve been wandering all around Hobbiton and Bywater all day,” Pippin added with a dramatic sigh. He pulled his pack from his shoulders and clutched it to his front. “But may we please see cousin Frodo? I’ve been wanting to see him all day.”

“Well, he’s been sleeping a lot, and I don’t know if he’s up to visitors…” Sam trailed off as the soft tinkling of a bell could be heard. “I-I got to--” Sam indicated towards Frodo’s room.

“Very well, we’ll come with you, then!” Merry said, heaving himself out of the soft, comfy seat.

“You need me, sir?” Sam asked as he peeked around Frodo’s bedroom door.

“I believe I heard the voices of my cousins…” Frodo said drowsily and rubbed his eyes, before struggling to sit up. He coughed for a few moments then sighed. “Are they well? I thought they had left Hobbiton.”

“Frodo! We came by to see you again - Auntie Esme and Uncle Saradoc are visiting Mama and Papa at the Smials and so Merry and me got to stay here a bit longer!” Pippin high voice carried across the expanse of the room and filled it up as he and Merry appeared beside Sam.

“Ah, that’s nice Pippin…” Frodo said with a smile, which looked more like a grimace, as he tried to wrestle with the bedcovers that were tangled around his limbs.

Pippin grinned and ran across the room, leapt over the footboard and landed heavily on his older cousin’s feet.

“Oof! Pippin, would you please warn me if you are going to do that. You landed on my feet.”

Sam was immediately over at the bed, removing Pippin and dumping him - though not without proper respect - into the armchair nearby. He pulled the sheets and blankets back, allowing Frodo to wriggle free and reposition himself. “Now, sir, I’m afraid it’s time for another cup of that tea. But after that, if you feel up to it, I’ll bring you a large slice of warm honey cake. Gaffer left it when he stopped by earlier. So I could bring you that, and some ‘proper’ tea, if you would like that, sir, and Mr Merry and Mr Pippin could sit here with you?”

Frodo nodded, as another fit of coughing took his speech temporarily. It wasn’t as vicious as the previous bout had been, and Sam hoped that this meant it would not get any worse, nor lead to any secondary infection. “I-I don’t suppose you could make something for my sore throat, Sam?” Sam nodded while rearranging quilts and covers. “Oh, and some more handkerchiefs, please I’m going to need them. Oh, and a bag of those little apple-drop sweets? I think we would all like some.”

“Right you are then, Mr Frodo,” Sam acknowledged his requests then ambled out of the bedroom.

“Oh, I wonder if he would let me sit in the parlour for a while and change the bedcovers…”

The following week was a flurry of activities for Sam. Merry and Pippin had decided they wouldn’t stay at the Green Dragon, and also decided that Frodo wouldn’t mind if they occupied one of the spare rooms - each - for their special extended visit.

So now Sam was changing bedsheets in three rooms, administering medicine and balms to one sick hobbit, tripping over scattered toys and books, taking two loads of laundry to Miss Clover every day, and cooking enough to feed two growing hobbits. On top of that, he still had to chop wood for the fires, do minor repairs around the hole while Frodo was laid up, as well as take trips to the market for him, worrying all the time about the garden just as much as Frodo. After staying at Bag End for two nights, Sam returned home late in the evenings and slept in his own bed, glad for the peace and quiet. As much as he was fond of the young Took and Brandybuck, they tired him more than Mr Frodo’s constant requests for certain things every quarter hour.

The end of the week finally came around, and for the first time in his life, Sam was relieved and couldn’t wait to say goodbye to Pippin and Merry and see them off the premises of Bag End. He marched in through the green door and straight to the kitchen. After setting the kettle to boil and the first of the sausages popping and frying, he headed towards the guestrooms where Merry and Pippin slept. He knocked on the first door, waited a moment, then tiptoed in. Pippin lay on his back, an arm and a foot sticking out from under the mass of blankets, snoring softy, and looking calm and innocent.

With a shrug, Sam crossed the room and pulled the curtains open. “Up you get, Master Took. Breakfast will be ready soon an’ you have to head back to Tuckborough today.”

“Nnnnyyyuumph,” Pippin mumbled, and pulled a pillow over his face.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Sam said and yanked the covers back and removed the pillow in one fell swoop. “Up. Bath.”

“Oh, alright. Don’t be a grump, Sam,” Pippin sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes, then gawped at Sam gormlessly, mouth hanging open, eyes half shut, hair sticking up at odd angles. “Is it first breakfast?”

“Yes. I’ve brought fresh-made flat cakes and I’ll set about making the porridge, too.”

“And will there be toast and jam and sausages and bacon and eggs and tomato?”

“Give him time, Pippin, he only got in ten minutes ago!” Merry appeared in the doorway, hair mussed up and nightshirt crinkled. “Come on, I’ll fill your bath tub.”

With Pippin happily on his way to splash around and scrub up, Sam went back to the kitchen to keep a close eye on a spitting and popping frying pan. It wasn’t long before buttered bread, and various fried foods were piled onto plates and arranged on the kitchen dining table. It wasn’t long after that when Pippin came charging through and with a squeal, took his usual place at the table and reached over to begin loading up his plate.

“Hoy, Pip! Wait for me before stuffing your face!” Merry entered the room, buttoning up his weskit.

Rolling his eyes, Sam left the two cousins in the kitchen, bickering over who got the largest tomato. To his surprise, Frodo was tugging on his robe when he opened his bedroom door. “Are you well enough to be gettin’ up? I could bring you a tray and--”

“No, Sam. I am quite well now. I have spent six days in bed doing little more than sleeping and reading. The worst of the flu has left me, and I do believe I will be back to my normal self quite soon.” Frodo smiled at his surprised friend then headed towards the kitchen.

***

Sam was wrapped up in his hat, gloves, scarf and winter coat and still he felt cold. His eyes felt hot and stingy, and his head felt full of cotton. He reached Bag End and wandered in aimlessly. He found Frodo up and about already, humming to himself in the kitchen as he poked something in a pan.

“Good mornin’, Mr Frodo,” he said quietly and walked over to the fire to warm his hands.

Frodo stopped humming and turned his head to watch Sam. “Are you alright, Sam?”

Sam nodded even as he shuffled closer to the heat of the fire, shivering visibly despite layers of outdoor clothes. “Sam?”

“I-I’m fine, really.” He paused, stood up and held his hands behind his back. “Maybe a little under the weather, but I-I’m fit enough for work…”

The young Master of Bag End removed the frying pan from the heat and slid the contents onto a waiting plate. After placing the pan carefully into the sink, he turned back to his friend. “You do look under the weather. Everything here is fine, I have plenty of firewood and no repairs needing done.” Sam opened his mouth to speak but Frodo held up a hand. “I’ve been up and about for the past two days and feel perfectly fine, so don’t ask me. Like I said, everything is in order here, so you can go home and have a day in bed. Your family is out of town for the week, are they not?”

“Yes, sir. A funeral at Michel Delving.”

“Well then, I shall look in on you later to see how you feel.”

“But--” Sam began to protest.

“No ‘buts’. I shall be along at midday. Now, off you go.” Frodo waved his hand in the direction of the door. “Go on! Bed!”

Sam smiled gratefully and headed off home.

It wasn’t until he had closed the door of his home and shuffled into the unlit parlour that Sam realised how awful he felt. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he had probably picked up the flu from Frodo and would need more than a day in bed. But, if Frodo need him back at Bag End tomorrow, he would be there.

“But right now…bed…”

Frodo kept his word and turned up at the Gamgee’s doorstep right on midday. He had been standing there for a good five minutes now, and was becoming impatient and cold. After waiting a few minutes longer, he decided that he’d best just try the door and let himself in. It was unlocked, and he quickly stepped inside. He called out for Sam a few times, but never received a reply. The hole was silent, and neither of the fires were lit in the parlour or kitchen. “Sam? It’s Frodo.”

He wandered slowly through the smial, peering into every room in search of his friend. He found his room at the end of a dark, unlit passage.

“Here you are!” Frodo exclaimed with a small smile.

Sam blearily sat up in his bed and winced. His headache seemed to be worse now than when he had lain down a few hours earlier. “Is it afternoon already?”

“Yes, it is. And you look a lot worse for wear now than this morning.” Frodo sat himself down on the edge of Sam’s little bed and pressed a hand to his forehead. “That’s quite a temperature you’re running there, Samiwse. Let me go and fetch a cool cloth for you--”

“No!” Sam said, eyes wide. “I-I mean, I-I fine, really, just a little hot from all these blankets…I can look out for meself, honest.”

Frodo raised an eyebrow. “I thought the same thing myself last week, Sam. But I would probably be still in bed if you weren’t waiting on me constantly, feeding me medicine and keeping me cool and warm.”

“I don’t have flu, though. It’s only a little chill.”

“Your face is flushed, your forehead is burning. And I’ll bet this-” he tapped gently the side of Sam’s head “-feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton wool, threatening to pop out of your ears.”

Sam frowned, flopped back against his pillows, and pulled his woollen blanket up to his chin. “Alright, maybe... But I can look after myself!”

Frodo sighed and shook his head. “Sam, you looked after me the whole time I was ill. You have no one here to look after you, so allow me to. You deserve the same caring you show to others, Sam.”

“But I’m…”

“You’re ‘just a servant’?” Frodo carefully tucked the blanket into Sam’s body. “Do you forget that we are friends also? How often must I remind you?” He paused to watch Sam’s reaction, then ploughed on. “It is your job to keep the gardens tidy and healthy, and the smial respectable. Whatever else you do for me is out of the goodness of your heart for me. I know this because I pay you for your labours because I must, and these are our places in ‘society’, but everything else I do for you is because I care for you.”

“That…that’s a good way of puttin’ it, I guess…” Sam offered a lop-sided smile.

“So allow me to do this for you, as your friend. Until your family return.” Frodo stood, with the intention of gathering together some necessary ‘bits and pieces’. “Besides, you want to be fit again for Yule, and able to attend all the parties around the Shire, don’t you?”

“Well, in Hobbiton at least,” Sam agreed. “And it ain’t much fun havin’ to be in bed when ev’ryone else is up and eating th’ goose at the dinner table…”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll let me take care of you,” Frodo said, and headed towards the door.

“Yes…” Sam murmured and closed his eyes again. “For a short time, anyway.”



~End, part 7~