5. Fool of a Took!

Frodo awoke the next morning to see a robin perched on a branch above him, singing merrily. He sat up and stretched, and listened to the robin’s song while he gathered up their bowls from the night before and washed them in the nearby stream. Merry and Pippin still slept, in a tangled pile of arms, legs and tree roots.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Frodo soundlessly crept over to them, taking one of the bowls which he had filled with water. Pulling back the blankets that covered the two peacefully sleeping young hobbits, he suddenly turned the bowl over, dumping all the cold water on Merry and Pippin’s curly heads. Their eyes flew open and they both gave loud yelps of surprise.

“Rise and shine!” Frodo chirped cheerfully, laughing as his cousins jumped up, their eyes wide.

“Frodo!” Merry exclaimed, brushing his dripping curls from his eyes. “Y-you…you…” He spluttered for several moments before lapsing into furious silence.

Pippin, though uncomfortable and annoyed at first, was already able to see the humor in the situation. “Well, I wouldn’t have thought that of you, Cousin Frodo,” he said, grinning. “Although Merry and I probably deserved it.”

“Probably?” repeated Frodo incredulously. “I only wonder why I haven’t done it sooner.”

Merry, still sulkily silent (and having to turn away quickly to hide the grin that tugged involuntarily at the corners of his mouth), went over to his pack and rummaged through it, looking for an apple – one of his favorite breakfasts when on a hike.

After digging around for several minutes without success, Merry turned around. “Frodo,” he said, eyebrows knitting together with worry. “I can’t find any of my apples.”

“Are you sure you didn’t eat them all?” Frodo teased, rummaging through his own pack in search of an apricot to go along with the seedcakes they were having as a quick breakfast. He paused, and looked at Merry with a frown. “You didn’t eat all the rest of the fruit, too, did you?”

Merry placed his hands firmly on his hips. “Of course not,” he snorted indignantly. “I had three apples when I closed my pack last night, and I didn’t touch your fruit.”

Frodo held his hands up in defense. “All right, all right,” he said. “There’s no need to get cross about it.” He turned to Pippin. “You wouldn’t happen to know where all our food went, would you, Pip?”

Pippin swallowed the large bite of seedcake in his mouth. “No,” he said with a grin. “But at least I know where this food is going.”

Frodo stood up and stared at the packs with a frown. “What could’ve happened to them?” he wondered aloud. "The packs weren't torn open, so it couldn't have been an animal."

Merry’s eyes narrowed. “Someone stole them!”

“But who would have stolen fruit?” Frodo asked logically. “Even Lotho wouldn’t steal fruit,” he added, seeing Merry open his mouth to speak. They both remembered the time, six years earlier, when Lotho Sackville-Baggins had stolen Merry’s beloved wooden robin while they were camping with Milo Burrows near Bywater. The robin had been safely recovered, and Merry had given it to Pippin, who stored it safely and lovingly on a shelf in his bedroom.

“Perhaps the thief has stolen something else, too,” Merry persisted, looking through the outer pockets of his pack. “Aha!” he exclaimed suddenly, pulling his hand out of one of the pockets and revealing the silver coins that lay gleaming on his palm. “You see, I told you we’ve been robbed. I had eleven coins here last night – and now I’ve only got six. They were stolen!”

Pippin came over and looked anxiously up at Frodo, waiting for his older cousin to voice his opinion. “How could anyone have stolen from us when Iodaith said she’d stay all night?” he asked at last. “Surely she would have woken us if someone were coming near.”

“Perhaps she left early?” Pippin suggested.

Merry whirled around to face them. “Don’t you see?” he exclaimed. “Iodaith must have been the thief!”

Frodo shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, Merry,” he said firmly. “Iodaith would not steal from us.”

“Then who did?” Merry demanded, his grey eyes snapping.

Frodo sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “And let’s just leave it at that. There’s no serious harm done – we’ve plenty of other food, and plenty more money. Now let’s start; we’re going to have to pick up our pace if we want to get to Bag End by tomorrow morning.”

Within fifteen minutes, the hobbits were back on the road again, eating their breakfast of water, seedcakes and some wild strawberries that they found growing on the sides of the path.

Late that afternoon, they stopped for supper just past the Three Farthing Stone, under a large, spreading old pine tree. Merry’s usual cheerfulness had returned, and he joked and bantered companionably with his cousins.

“What do you say I make some soup,” said Pippin suddenly during a small silence, making the other two jump.

“But we had soup last night!” Merry protested quickly.

“You haven’t had soup made by Peregrin Took!” said Pippin proudly. “I’ve still got some carrots in my pack, and do you still have those potatoes Sam packed you, Frodo?”

“Ye-es,” said Frodo slowly, exchanging an anxious glance with Merry. Pippin’s infamous cooking attempts left unpleasant memories, and both of them seriously doubted that he’d improved at all since his last unsuccessful endeavor.

“Wonderful!” Pippin cried, jumping to his feet. “I’m going to look around and see if I can find anything to add. I can make some special soup from one of my mum’s old recipes…” He trailed off as he wandered away, grinning to himself in anticipation. Frodo and Merry swallowed hard and began to eat their seedcakes and strawberries with new relish, hoping that if they filled themselves up now, they’d have a truthful excuse not to try Pippin’s latest attempt at cooking.

Pippin wandered aimlessly, making sure to stay within earshot of his older cousins. Much to his disappointment, he couldn’t find any radishes or parsnips for his soup – two of the things he actually remembered from his mother’s recipes.

After about ten minutes of unsuccessful searching, Pippin suddenly stumbled over a large, bushy green plant. Grumbling as he picked himself up off the ground, Pippin eyed the plant carefully. It was nearly as tall as he was himself, and on it grew large eggshaped green bulbs covered with sharp-looking spines. These had opened at the top, and curiously peering inside, he saw that they were full of dark brown seeds.

Pippin carefully reached in and picked up one of the seeds, turned it over in his fingers, and sniffed it. It looked like some sort of bean or seed that his mother used to put in her soups sometimes… the name of it escaped him at the moment. “Perfect!” he said aloud to himself. “A perfect addition to the soup!”

He happily began collecting the little seeds, until he had a large handful. He dropped a few as he hurried back to Frodo and Merry, but he didn’t even notice, so enthusiastic was he at the prospect of making soup for his cousins all by himself. Whenever Peregrin Took did anything, he put all his heart and soul into it – whether it be cooking, or playing a prank on his older sisters.

If Frodo and Merry looked less than enthusiastic about his return, Pippin didn’t notice. He placed the seeds in a little pile on a cloth and ran off to fill the cooking pot with water. When he returned, Frodo – resigned to his fate – helped him light a fire and build a spit over it to hang the pot.

“I’ve got some carrots, potatoes…” Pippin checked them off on his fingers. “…a few of those mushrooms – what were they called, Merry?”

“Thorny Mushrooms,” Merry answered, absently rubbing the faint white scar on his palm from his own encounter with wild Thorny Mushrooms, years before. He now made sure to buy them in the marketplace instead.

“Right,” Pippin continued. “And I think I might have a bit of parsley left, and those seeds I just found – I can’t recall their name.”

“Oh dear,” Merry whispered discreetly in Frodo’s ear. “This doesn’t bode well for us, cousin. He can’t remember the names of the things his putting in the soup!” Frodo nodded with a gulp, watching anxiously as Pippin began to peel and cut up the soup ingredients.

“Would you like some help with that, Pip?” Frodo offered hesitantly.

Pippin shook his head, sandy curls bouncing around his face, and focused on cutting a potato into smaller pieces. “I’m all right,” he answered, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Within a few anxious minutes, Pippin had finished his cutting and peeling procedure, and the water was boiling. He happily dropped the vegetables, along with the seeds, into the pot, and producing a wooden spoon from his pack (Frodo and Merry knew better than to ask why he’d brought it along), stirred the ingredients thoroughly for a few moments.

When he was satisfied that the vegetables were stirred in sufficiently, he leaned back against his pack beside his cousins. “This should be a good soup,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been practicing.”

Merry and Frodo nearly had to bite their tongues to keep from groaning, and both managed small, if shaky, smiles. “I can hardly wait,” Frodo forced himself to say in as cheerful a voice as he could muster. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

Pippin was blissfully unaware of his cousins’ slightly pale faces and worried expressions as he happily watched his soup cook, stirring it occasionally.

Far too soon for Frodo and Merry, Pippin announced that the soup was done. Fortunately for Merry, he truly did have a stomachache from eating so many strawberries, and so was spared the suffering. Frodo, on the other hand, had no such excuse.

Pippin ladled the thick, greenish-yellow soup into a bowl, and then frowning, peered inside the cooking pot. “Hmm,” he said in disappointment. “It seems that I didn’t make as much as I thought. There’s only enough for one person.” He brightened, and patted Frodo’s hand. “But you can have it, cousin,” he said cheerfully. “You need it – you’re thin as a willow wand.”

Frodo managed a smile and deliberately ignored the slight snicker he heard from Merry. He ate the other items that their lunch composed of, and was able to put off the soup for a surprisingly long time. But after a while, Pippin noticed.

“Frodo,” he said with a frown. “Aren’t you going to try your soup? It doesn’t look like you’ve touched it.”

Frodo glanced nervously at Merry, whom he found was grinning at him. “Well, Pip,” he said with a sigh, “I was… I was saving the best for last.”

Pippin’s face brightened. “Oh, is that it?” he said brightly. “Well, it doesn’t look as though there’s anything left to stop you from trying it now.”

Frodo looked unhappily at the cloth where they had set out their lunch, now only holding crumbs. “No,” he said slowly. “It… does look that way, doesn’t it?” Merry turned a laugh into a cough and received a sharp elbow in the ribs from Frodo.

“Here goes,” said Frodo, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. He was keenly aware of Pippin’s gaze as he slowly, reluctantly scooped up a spoonful of the thick soup and took a sip of it. He held it in his mouth for a moment, trying not to grimace at the taste, and then swallowed, taking a hasty gulp of water.

“How is it?” asked Pippin expectantly.

Frodo forced a smile and had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Well, it’s certainly…” He paused as he searched for the right word. “…interesting. I can’t say that I’ve ever tasted anything like it.”

“Good!” Pippin exclaimed happily, a wide grin lighting up his face. “I can make some more when we get to Bag End!” He suddenly stopped and looked hard at Frodo. “But we can’t keep going to Bag End until you finish this batch.”

Frodo sighed resignedly, knowing that it was useless to try to change Pippin’s mind. “Yes sir,” he muttered, taking another reluctant spoonful of the bitter-tasting soup. He made a mental note to make sure that Merry was the first to try Pippin’s next cooking attempt.

Several sickening spoonfuls later, Frodo declared (truthfully) that he was full. Pippin eyed him suspiciously, but after glancing from the half-empty soup bowl to the genuinely honest look in his cousin’s eyes, he allowed him to push the bowl aside. “I think I might try a bite of it myself,” he said thoughtfully. “It looks good.” Frodo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and he and Merry watched in silence as Pippin took a spoonful of the soup and swallowed it. Almost immediately, he scrunched up his nose in disgust and began coughing.

“I think I’ll just throw the rest of this in the bushes over there,” he croaked, taking a quick gulp of water to soothe his throat and rinse the terrible taste out of his mouth. Getting his coughing under control, he picked up the bowl and dumped its contents into a thick bramble bush. ‘That was bitter! How did Frodo manage to eat so much?’ he thought as he turned back to his cousins.

Frodo, looking up at the sinking sun with a frown, announced that they would stay there for the night. They laid out their sleeping rolls, and Frodo and Merry built up a campfire.

As he unpacked their thick, warm blankets, Frodo paused as he felt the dull throb that had been building behind his eyes the last few minutes suddenly became a sharp, insistent ache, and he noticed for the first time that his mouth felt terribly dry.

Unnoticed by Merry and Pippin, he turned to his water bottle, lying near the fire. Hardly had his fingertips touched it when suddenly it seemed like the earth lurched sideways, and he had to place both hands firmly on the ground to keep himself upright. His headache had quickly turned into a throbbing, agonizing pain right above his eyes, which he squeezed shut in an effort to stop the world’s spinning.

Dimly, he heard Merry calling his name; but his cousin’s voice seemed muffled and far away. He whimpered, keeping his eyes shut, wishing, praying that it would be over soon. He felt as though he was on a ship, pitching wildly in a stormy sea, and he seemed to be thrown back and forth across the deck, hitting each hard wooden side with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs each time. He could hear his heart racing, hammering so hard in his chest he thought that surely it would break his ribs.

Then suddenly, the earth was still. Frodo hesitantly opened his eyes, and it took a few moments for him to be able to focus on the faces bending over him. When they did, he was surprised to discover that he was lying on his back on a bedroll, and Merry and Pippin were staring at him, worry clearly written on their features.

“Frodo, Cousin Frodo,” Pippin was saying urgently, a hint of panic in his voice. “Are you all right?”

“What…” Frodo had to swallow a few times before he was able to speak. “What h-happened?” He was surprised at his own voice, barely above a whisper; it sounded weak and trembling, and he found that even such a simple question was exhausting.

“We heard you give a cry, and then you just… fell over,” Merry explained, his grey eyes filled with concern. “Pip and I carried you over here to your bedroll.” He paused, his gaze fearful. “What is wrong?”

Frodo put a trembling hand to his throbbing temples and closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, he again had to wait a few moments before he could clearly see Merry and Pippin. “I… don’t know,” he answered at last, his voice still quivering. “I just felt dreadfully dizzy… and my head feels as though Lobelia took a swing at me with her umbrella." He swallowed, reminded again of his dry mouth.

“Can I have some water, please?” he asked slowly, becoming annoyed with the effort it took simply to form words. Pippin nodded quickly and his face disappeared from Frodo’s vision for a moment.

Then he felt a water bottle being pressed gently to his lips, and the wonderfully cool liquid carefully poured into his mouth. Frustration at being tended to like a child was over-ruled by the blissful feeling of the water cooling his mouth and throat, and his thirst being relieved.

When Pippin set the water bottle again on the ground beside him, Frodo found that his headache had lessened, and the dreadful, burning dryness of his mouth was gone. He attempted to sit up, but immediately, two pairs of hands pushed him gently but firmly back down.

“Oh no, you don’t, cousin,” said Merry sternly. “You’re obviously ill, and you are not moving from this spot. Pip, go get a few blankets, please.” Pippin nodded and hurried to obey, while Merry made sure that Frodo did not succeed in getting up.

“I’m all right, really, Merry,” Frodo protested, still struggling against Merry’s hand. “It was just a headache, but it’s gone now. Please, let me up!”

Merry stared at him a moment, and then suddenly drew back his hands. “Very well,” he said. “Sit up then.”

Frodo sighed and tried to push himself upright. His entire body was trembling, and he found it difficult to get his hands firmly planted on the ground. When at last he did succeed in sitting up, dizziness instantly assailed him.

“All right,” he said faintly, shutting his eyes against the dreadful spinning and lurching of the earth. “I’d better lie back down.” His arms suddenly gave out, and he fell backwards, painfully hitting the bedroll.

Frodo kept his eyes closed, waiting for the dizziness to fade. But it did not.

After several agonizing minutes of waiting for the dizziness to pass, Frodo hesitantly opened his eyes, hoping that perhaps it would help, as keeping them shut did not. When his eyes focused, he saw that the pine tree above him was whirling around, lurching from side to side, looking as though it was on the verge of snapping in two and falling on top of him.

Frodo gave a cry of fear as the tree did at last break, and he watched in helpless terror as the thick trunk slowly fell forward, filling all his vision with brown and green. Just as he thought it would land on him, the tree suddenly disappeared, and suddenly it was whole again above him.

The tree continued to sway and lurch, bending horrifically to one side as though in terrible winds. Frodo could almost hear the wind howling… or were those wolves? He suddenly seemed to see a tall, grey creature bending over him, teeth bared and snarling. He cried out in terror as its terrible red eyes fell upon him, and its mouth opened to swallow him whole. He felt himself falling into black oblivion…and then everything was still, and his thought fled, leaving him in painless, blessed darkness.

Merry and Pippin watched in helpless horror as their cousin shook violently, head tossing from side to side, his cries of pain or terror making their eyes fill with tears of helplessness. Pippin hesitantly reached out and put his hand on Frodo’s sweat-covered forehead, wincing at the fiery hot temperature he felt there. Merry was forced to pin Frodo’s arms to his sides as their cousin thrashed and struggled deliriously.

Frodo’s eyes were wide and unseeing, staring upwards at nothing. His pupils were so dilated that only a thin circle of blue showed around them, and they watched in dismay as his face drained of color.

Suddenly, they saw Frodo’s eyes fall shut, and he went still in their arms. Merry let go of their cousin’s now limp arms and frantically pressed his fingers to the side of Frodo’s neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, racing and erratic, and Frodo’s breaths came in shallow gasps.

Pippin, trembling with fear, looked at Merry, his green eyes wide and questioning. “W-what happened?” he asked shakily. “Why is he so still?”

Merry quickly blinked back tears and put his arm comfortingly around Pippin’s shoulders. “I don’t know, Pip,” he said softly. “I think he’s fainted.” Pippin swallowed hard and leaned against Merry for support, feeling suddenly as though he would swoon, himself. “What are we going to do?” he whispered hesitantly.

“I… suppose all we can do is…” Merry paused for a moment to make sure he didn’t let the tears in his eyes spill down his face. He was determined to be brave, if only for Pippin’s sake. “…is to keep him warm, and wait until he wakes up.”

“Will Cousin Frodo be all right?” Pippin asked, gulping back his own tears as he looked down at the pale, still face of his older cousin. He had never seen Frodo like this before, and it frightened him to the core.

“I don’t know, Pip,” Merry answered honestly, stroking his younger cousin’s curls as much for his comfort as for Pippin’s. “I don’t know…”

TBC...