23. Relief and Recovery

"All right, Hazel-lad. Here’s the first one—what do you think this looks like?"

Hazel cocked his head to one side as he peered curiously at the odd mark Gavin had just made with a quill pen on a sheet of paper. "Mhm. It looks, maybe, like a…" He hesitated for a moment, wrinkling his small round nose in thought, then suddenly brightened. "…like one o’ those—those lean-to ladders, like my da has." He looked at the mark again. "Only it’s broken—only one rung."

Gavin grinned. "Very good! A broken lean-to ladder—that will help you remember what the letter H looks like."

Hazel leaned closer to the paper to examine the suddenly identified shape curiously. "What’re we writin’, sir?" he asked. "I thought the first letter was A."

Gavin’s grin widened and his brown-grey eyes twinkled mischievously. "You’ll see," he said mysteriously, refusing to satisfy Hazel’s curiosity further. "But if it makes you feel better, we’re learning A next." He bent over the sitting-room table and made another black mark beside the first one. "Now… what does it look like to you?"

Hazel looked closely at the mark, thinking for a moment. "Like another ladder, Gavin!" he exclaimed—the young Ranger had insisted on him dropping the Mr. "Only it’s a different kind… a sort of step-ladder, like the one Mr. Bowles, next door, uses sometimes to help da fix the barn roof."

"All right, another ladder," Gavin chuckled. "That’s how you can remember A." He dipped the quill into the small inkpot. "All right, now for the next one. What does this letter look like, Hazel?"

Hazel stared in puzzlement at the strange, zigzag mark on the paper, chewing his lip as he examined it. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table, and looked at it from every angle, unconsciously sticking his tongue out as he concentrated. At last he sighed and looked up at Gavin with a hopeless shrug. "I don’t rightly know, sir," he said, shaking his head. "I can’t think of anythin’ that looks like." He frowned unhappily.

Gavin gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I would have been surprised if you had," he said. "I can’t think of anything it looks like either, but maybe that will help you remember the letter Z—the one letter we can’t work out!"

They laughed, and proceeded with the last two letters, E and L. When Gavin pronounced them finished, Hazel stared at the word for a long while. "What did we write, sir?" he asked eagerly. "What word did we write?"

Gavin smiled at his enthusiasm. "We wrote your name, Hazel!"

Hazel’s brown eyes grew round and his mouth fell open. "My name, sir?" he gasped rapturously. "That’s my name? Oh, thank you!" On impulse he suddenly startled Gavin with a hug, nearly knocking the Man off-balance.

"All right, all right," Gavin laughed, fondly pushing Hazel away. "Don’t you want to get back to work? We have to concentrate if we’re going to write your last name now…"

Jessimine and Faramond were together near the doorway of Frodo’s room, quietly discussing his condition and treatments for it, while Sam dutifully tucked extra blankets around his master, making sure he would be as warm as possible. Frodo was deeply asleep, and did not stir, and Sam stood by his bedside for a moment, watching him with an affectionate smile, still not quite able to believe that his master would be able to begin convalescence at last. After a moment of contemplation, he sat on the edge of the bed and studied Frodo’s face. Color was coming back into it, although it was still dreadfully pale; though naturally fine-featured it now seemed far too thin, and there were bruised rings beneath the thick dark lashes.

‘But,’ he reminded himself firmly, ‘the fever is broken, and after we get through these chills, he can start recoverin’! An’ if I know him, I’ll have my work cut out for me, keepin’ him a-bed.’ He let out a deep, relieved sigh, smiling with the pleasant thought of caring for an awake, recovering—and likely very stubborn master in the days to come.

Sam glanced at Jessimine and Faramond, but they were speaking too quietly for him to hear. He stood, and started towards them, but paused. He turned back to the bed, bent down and with his left hand he gently touched Frodo’s forehead. His skin was cool, only a little too much so, and Sam felt reassured once more. He pressed a quick kiss to his master’s forehead before joining Jessimine and Faramond.

Just as he reached them, the door opened and Halfred, occupied much of the day caring for the children, came in, looking weary. "Tansy’s asleep," he told Jessimine, shutting the door behind him, "an’ so is Fennel. An’ Hazel’s wi’ Gavin in the sittin’ room." He looked across the room with concern. "How is he?"

"He is sleeping now," said Faramond softly. "The fever has broken, and he is only troubled by chills now."

"Chills?"

"Another effect of the Wolf Bite," Faramond explained. "But a welcome one -- for it means that the infection is nearly through -- and a quick one, as well. I believe that by morning he will be able to begin recovery."

Halfred sighed with relief, glancing at Sam as he did so. "Sam-lad!" he exclaimed. "You look done in! Go get some rest." Sam started to protest but was interrupted with a yawn that he tried desperately to stifle. "Now, Sam," Halfred continued firmly, well acquainted with his brother’s stubbornness, "Frodo is sleepin’ now, an’ Jessi an’ Mr. Faramond an’ I can look after him."

"But he might wake…" Sam attempted weakly.

"Aye, he might, but you won’t do him much good if you’re asleep on your feet now, will you? Off with you, an’ I promise I’ll come in an’ wake you in a few hours."

"One hour," Sam argued.

"Three."

"One," Sam contended stubbornly.

Halfred sighed. "Two hours, and I’ll not take any less than that."

Sam considered it a moment, then nodded, swallowing another yawn. "Promise, now," he said firmly, and Halfred nodded dutifully. "But what if he wakes up while I’m asleep?"

Halfred exchanged an exasperated glance with Jessimine, who rolled her eyes. "Sam Gamgee!" she exclaimed, planting her hands on her hips. "If Mr. Frodo wakes up while you’re asleep, don’t think I’m goin’ to go an’ rouse you for that—I think you can trust us to take care of him until you get back. But you need some rest, and I’m quite sure that Mr. Frodo would say the same. Now go on—I’ll hear no argument."

Sam hesitated a moment longer, knowing full well that Jessimine was right, and with one last long look at his master, he sighed and obeyed, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Jessimine sighed, shaking her head. "That lad!" she muttered. "He can be a perfect mule sometimes."

Faramond chuckled. "You seem to know how to deal with him, though," he observed.

"Well, I’ve had plenty o' practice—his brother ain't much better!" Halfred attempted to look innocent as Jessimine shot him a meaningful glare. "Gamgees are dreadfully stubborn creatures altogether."

"Then perhaps Frodo has a bit of Gamgee blood in him," Faramond remarked, glancing at his patient. "For he seems to be just as stubborn as Sam, if not even more so."

Halfred grinned. "I reckon it’s the Brandybuck in ’im," he said; "they’re known for bein’ stubborn, even more'n Gamgees. So are the Tooks, come to think of it, not to mention the Bagginses—Master Bilbo was one o’ the only hobbits in the Shire who could beat my da for stubbornness. And Frodo’s got all of those in ’im."

As if through unspoken agreement the three made their way over to the bedside and the conversation turned from easy banter to more serious medical treatments.

"D’you think our two water-bottles will be enough to keep ’im warm overnight?" asked Jessimine after feeling Frodo’s forehead. "Even with all these blankets he feels awful cold."

Faramond was chewing his lip as he considered. "They should be enough, I think," he said slowly. "And if not, I’m sure we can find something else to help warm him."

"When I was little girl, only a tweenager, there was a bad snowstorm," Jessimine said thoughtfully, "and me older brother got caught outside in it for hours. By the time he got home he was soaked to the bone and chilled so bad he went into shock. We got ’im covered up wi’ blankets, did everythin’ we were supposed to, but he was still cold. Then my mum said that the best thing for ’im would be to have a warm body layin’ beside ’im, so I did that, an’ poor Jem got warmed up eventually. Mightn’t that work for Mr. Frodo?"

"Your mother is very wise," said Faramond quietly, a slow smile of admiration growing on his face. "And she has taught you well!"

"Hazel could come an’ lay beside ’im," Halfred suggested. "He’d do anythin’ to help his ‘Uncle’ Frodo."

Faramond nodded, pleased that they had come up with a solution. "Very good, Halfred," he said with satisfaction. "That will be perfect. Hazel needn’t come in yet; not until tonight, I think—he won’t object to sleeping in here?"

"O’ course not, sir," Halfred replied with a grin. "He’ll prob’ly feel better in here, anyway, knowin’ that Frodo is safe."

Faramond smiled. "Yes," he agreed. "Hazel has a great heart, and courage to match." He gave Halfred’s shoulder a light pat and changed the subject. "Now, I don’t expect Frodo to wake up soon—after so high a fever he will need all the sleep he can get to recover from it—and I do not think all three of us will need to keep watch. You both," he said, turning to look at them in turn, first into the earnest brown eyes then into the blue, "should go and enjoy dinner with your children. I shall be fine for a few hours."

"Are you sure, sir?" Halfred asked doubtfully. "You’ve been ’ere all day, an’ last night besides."

Faramond shook his head. "Rangers learn early on to go for great lengths of time without sleep—and I have snatched a few hours of rest when I could. I am well."

"If you’re sure," Halfred consented. "I’ll come in an’ take over in a few hours, then, while you an’ Jessi an’ Sam-lad get some rest."

Awareness returned slowly and reluctantly. At first, Frodo was only aware that although he did not feel the sharp thrusts of pain and fever-induced confusion, there was a dull ache in several places, and a sensation of warmth surrounding him yet not penetrating the chill that seemed to have settled into every inch of his body. This, he shortly realized, was uncomfortable, but the pillow and the pile of blankets were soft, even if their warmth was somewhat distant. He drifted contentedly for awhile without conscious thought, just the good feeling that he was safe and relatively comfortable, if still cold.

For a long minute he did not even try to think or remember—that would take too much effort, and he felt exhausted. But when he tried to roll over on his side and felt the sharp stab of pain the movement brought, memory came back unwillingly. It was somewhat distorted, but remembering his fever this did not alarm him—overmuch—and he felt rather grateful that many spots were so hazy. They had been especially unpleasant moments.

‘Hazel. The woods. The wolf. Faramond. Sam. Fever. Wolf Bite.’

Frodo sighed. Now that his memory was back and working thought restored, he would not be able to get back to sleep. He did not feel quite as badly as before, but after considering a moment he decided that he was certainly not up to getting out of bed any time soon. The realization was not cheering.

Gradually, other sensations began to return, and he realized that a soft droning had been going on since he had awoken, although his mind had not registered the sound at the time. Turning his attention to it, he realized that it was a tune, quietly and slowly repeated. Then he realized that it was, in fact, a tune he was quite familiar with… and right on the tail of that thought came the awareness that he was also quite familiar with the voice that was humming it.

‘Halfred?’

Frodo was not sure if he had spoken the name aloud, but the humming stopped, and he heard Halfred moving quickly over to the bedside and sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. "Frodo?" His voice sounded strangely strained—worried? Frodo could not tell. "Frodo, are you awake?"

Frodo tried to answer but as he parted his cracked lips to do so, Halfred’s voice interrupted him. "No, no, don’t speak yet. You need to save your strength."

That sounded perfectly agreeable to Frodo—for the present, at least. He nodded slightly and relaxed again. For a moment Halfred’s callused but gentle hand rested on his forehead. It felt wonderfully warm, and he turned his face into it a little. Halfred seemed to understand, and kept his hand there, stroking Frodo’s forehead lightly and bringing warmth to the surface, at least, of his chilled skin.

After a moment, Halfred removed his hand to slip it under the blankets and touch the hot water bottles that had been pressed against Frodo’s sides. They were still warm. He brought his hand back out and placed it again on Frodo’s forehead, frowning when he found that his skin was still icy cold.

Still, he was relieved and optimistic now that Frodo was awake and soon to be on the mend, and he said in a cheerful but still quiet voice, "Well, Frodo, I’ve a bit o’ broth from Jessi’s chicken soup ’ere once you’re feelin’ up to it, and some tea, too. Nice an’ warm."

Halfred watched in satisfaction as his words had the desired effect and Frodo began making more of an effort to fully wake up. After a moment of tentatively moving his arms and legs, which were bound tight with blankets, wincing as he discovered sore spots, Frodo was finally able to wriggle his arms free of the mound of blankets. That much accomplished, he lay still for a moment, frowning at the fatigue caused by such minor motions. Halfred could not help but smile as he saw the characteristic look of stoic determination spread across Frodo’s face.

Driven by the prospect of warm, soothing broth and tea—for Halfred’s words had made him realize that he was, in fact, extremely hungry—Frodo thrust his weariness aside and planned out the processes he would have to go through to sit upright. First, he would open his eyes, much as he disliked the idea. Then, he would see if he could loosen the confining layers of blankets. After that, he would have to ask Halfred to help him pile the pillows—of which there were several—behind him so that he could be propped up against them.

Frodo clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, wondering if they would be strong enough to hold the mug and spoon—his arms were already trembling from the struggle to free themselves from the blankets. Yes, yes they would, he decided firmly. Now that he was awake, aware, and hopefully recovering—the irritating chills notwithstanding—he would not need to depend so much on everyone else.

Thus determined, he slowly forced his heavy eyes open, blinking carefully a few times to bring the room into focus. There was no fever-induced blurriness or spinning now, he found with relief and a sense of triumph. Now for the next step—trying to loosen the layers of blankets.

"You know," Frodo gasped between his teeth as he struggled to peel back one blanket after another, "I really don’t think it was necessary to use quite so many blankets." He paused, panting, and glared wearily at Halfred, who was smiling broadly and obviously more than willing to let him wrestle with the blankets on his own. "Given my present condition," he went on slowly but doggedly, his increasing weariness battling with his stubborn determination, "I do not think that there is any reason to fear that I will leap out of bed and hurt myself."

Halfred laughed, partially admiring and partially concerned at Frodo’s obstinate battle with the blankets. He finally relented and helped him pull back the last few blankets as far as his waist. As he did so, he saw that Frodo’s nightshirt was plastered to his chest with the sweat from his exertions, but when Halfred placed a concerned hand on his shoulder, he found that the skin underneath was icy cold and trembling slightly.

"Are you sure there’s no reason for us to fear that you’ll hurt yourself, tryin’ too hard?" he asked pointedly, covering Frodo’s chest again with two of the blankets.

Frodo, whose eyes had been closed briefly as he had tried to catch his breath, opened them and found that even the effort of giving Halfred an irritated look was tiring. He sighed. "Point taken." He closed his eyes again, putting one hand up to his forehead and massaging the developing ache there with his fingers. "But besides these chills—"

"And besides your bein’ weak as a kitten," Halfred interjected, calmly pouring some tea into a mug.

Frodo shot Halfred a brief glare from beneath his hand but ignored his interruption. "I feel fine. Well, recovering, at least," he amended hastily. He opened his eyes again, dropping his hand. "I do not wish to be tended to any more than I must. If all I can do at the moment is sit up and feed myself, then I’m going to try and do it."

Halfred leaned back in his chair, studying Frodo. He noted that his friend was still chalk-white, with dark circles under his eyes and his dark hair sticking to his brow with sweat from his efforts. But his pale lips were set in a firm, stubborn line, and there was a spark in his blue eyes that Halfred knew well, but had not seen so clearly since his injury. He sighed. "Well, then. I can see well enough that I can say naught to change your mind. But you’ll let me help you?"

Frodo was trying to quell his headache again, and he paused midmotion to give Halfred a grateful smile. "Please!" he said with relief, nodding and then wincing at the ache the motion caused. "I do not think that I shall be able to do anything entirely on my own. Yet," he added firmly.

Halfred got up from his chair and sat on the edge of the bed. "If it were only a matter o’ determination, Frodo, you’d ’ave been out o’ bed an’ healthy as a horse long ago."

Frodo sighed. "A shame that it’s not—although if that were the case, Hazel would have had me up in that tree with him and I wouldn’t even be in this condition." There was a brief silence, until Frodo shook himself out of useless regrets. "But since I am in this condition, I’m afraid that will-power alone will not help me very greatly, so I shall have to rely on your strength and what remains of my own."

With Halfred lightly gripping one of his arms as leverage, Frodo slowly and with difficulty pulled himself upright. At first, however, the change of position made him dizzy, and he fell back against the pillows. He waited for the vertigo to pass and then, setting his teeth, he hauled himself upright again, carefully. This time the spinning was mild enough that after closing his eyes for a moment it went away.

Frodo was dismayed at his own weakness as he found that he was perspiring and breathing hard by the time he got himself into a sitting position, where even after the dizziness his arms trembled and he swayed. Halfred quickly propped up the group of pillows behind him, and with timing that Jessimine would have been proud of, caught Frodo just as his arms gave out and set him comfortably against the pillows.

"Thank you, Halfred," Frodo gasped, wearily leaning his head back. "That was… harder than I expected." He slowly caught his breath. "I shudder to think of the difficulties when I’m able to get out of bed at last." He managed a tired, crooked grin. "You may have to drag me about the house by my arms for a few days, until I’m able to walk!"

Halfred grinned back, remaining, in typical Gamgee-fashion, cheerful despite Frodo’s very true point that it would be a long and wearisome convalescence. "No," he replied, "I’ll probably just carry you over my shoulder ’til then—you’re too thin altogether to be gettin’ such fevers, Frodo. You probably weigh no more'n a feather, now."

Frodo grimaced. "You sound like my Aunt Dora—always badgering Bilbo to fatten me up." He chuckled wryly. "And it wasn’t just Aunt Dora, either; nearly every one of my female relatives was in on it. And even your mother joined them!"

"They never succeeded, though," Halfred remarked with a raise of his eyebrows. He was well acquainted with over-affectionate and extremely zealous aunts.

"No," Frodo agreed with another grin. "I think that was probably one of the reasons I took to walking with Bilbo—just to spite them." He chuckled as he thought of it. Then abruptly, he pulled himself back to the present. "But I think I will make an exception this once—I am famished, and if Jessimine’s soup can fatten me up a little, I’ll be grateful for it!"

By late that evening, the chills had deepened and effectively kept Frodo from trying to do anything drastic—which, by then, included moving too much or too quickly, or trying to sit up. But Frodo was feeling too miserable to even contemplate anything further than keeping as still as possible and trying to get warm. The broth and tea Halfred had helped him swallow a few hours earlier had done much to revive him, but nothing seemed to be able to penetrate the deep, hard chill that had set in.

Silence had fallen over the small room some time ago, both of them quiet in their own thoughts. Halfred was studying Frodo, who was all but buried beneath the blankets; only his face could be seen. But even so Halfred could see him shivering uncontrollably, could hear his teeth chattering, and frowned in concern. He knew he could not help, Faramond had told him so, but it agonized Halfred’s kind heart to stand by and watch another—especially so dear a friend—suffering.

At last, Halfred stirred and glanced at the small wall clock hanging across from the bed. Nearly nine o’clock. ‘Time to call Hazel in,’ he decided. Jessimine was asleep, as was Sam—despite all his protests, his body was wiser than his head and had proved that he was truly exhausted. But Halfred expected him to be waking soon, and coming in to fret once more. Well, once Hazel was here, and Halfred had seen him and Frodo comfortable, there would be no need for Sam to come in and keep watch. Sam would be hard to convince of that, but Halfred was determined to do so, somehow.

He cleared his throat to break the silence and winced as Frodo jumped involuntarily. "Sorry, Frodo," he apologized, as the other’s eyes turned and met his—and even his eyes looked cold, an icy, pale blue. "But I was thinkin’ that it might be ’bout time I called Hazel in. ’E’s probably still in the parlor with Master Gavin, worrittin’ about you. You don’t mind?"

Frodo gave a tired smile, and his voice was hoarse with weariness. "Not at all, Hal. And you’re sure Hazel doesn’t mind either?"

Halfred grinned reassuringly. "O’ course not, Uncle Frodo!" he said cheerfully. "’E’ll be pleased to be helpin’. Is there anythin’ I can get you before I get ’im?"

Frodo shook his head slightly. "No, thank you, Halfred. You’ve done more than enough already. I’ll be fine."

"Sure you don’t want another bit o’ tea?" Halfred persisted.

Frodo sighed. "All right," he relented. "Yes, a little tea would be nice. Thank you."

Halfred grinned triumphantly and quickly poured the tea into the mug, before sitting on the edge of the bed and gently raising Frodo’s head brought the mug to his lips. Frodo took a grateful gulp of it, stubbornly bringing both his own hands up to hold the cup himself. Halfred made no comment and continued to support him as he took another few mouthfuls before handing it back.

"Jessi makes excellent tea," Frodo remarked wearily as Halfred set down the cup and eased his head back down into the pillows. "You must tell her that. Perhaps she can send me some when I go back home, to Bag End." He managed to curve his trembling lips into a smile.

Halfred smiled back and adjusted the blankets. "I’m sure she’ll be delighted to ’ear you say so, Frodo," he said. "But as for sendin’ it to you, I should warn you that she’s a mite miserly with her tea recipes, and she may take some convincin’." He winked conspiratorially as Frodo chuckled. "I’ll put in a good word for you, though."

Frodo smiled and closed his eyes. "I’d be grateful if you did," he said drowsily.

Halfred watched him struggling to stay awake and placed a kind hand on his shoulder. "I’ll be right back, Frodo. Don’t worry if you’re asleep when ’e gets here. ’E’ll understand."

He stood up and quietly left the room, going into the parlor where Hazel had been—save for a brief stop to eat supper—all afternoon with Gavin. He paused in the doorway, however, when he saw that Hazel was asleep, curled up comfortably in Gavin’s lap. Raising his eyes to look at the young Man, Halfred saw that he, too, was sound asleep, on the floor leaning against the wall with his arms loosely but protectively wrapped around the small hobbit child resting against him.

Unwilling to disturb them, Halfred hesitated a moment, then silently crossed the room and bent over the two. "Hazel," he whispered, lightly shaking the boy’s shoulder. "Hazel-lad, wake up."

Hazel’s brown eyes opened and he blinked sleepily at his father for a few seconds before snapping wide awake. Then realizing that Gavin’s arms were around him and that the Man was asleep, he suppressed his first impulse to jump to his feet. "Is it time, da?" he whispered instead.

Halfred nodded. "Aye, lad. Let’s just see if we can get you out of ’ere without wakin’ Master Gavin." He studied the Man’s face for a moment, and thought that, relaxed in sleep, he looked very young indeed, and he felt a sudden surge of compassion welling up in his heart at the sight. After carefully maneuvering Hazel out of the Gavin’s arms, Halfred took a blanket, thick and hand-knitted by Jessimine, and gently draped it across him, stretching it as far as he could to cover his shoulders and chest. Then he brushed back a few stray locks of dark hair from Gavin’s eyes, before stepping back for fear of waking him.

Satisfied, Halfred gave a brief smile before taking Hazel’s hand in his and leading him back into Frodo’s room. When they got there, he could see in the flickering candlelight that Frodo had fallen asleep, still shivering beneath the blankets. He looked down at Hazel. "Try not to wake ’im," he whispered. "But if it happens, see if he’d like some more tea to help warm him up."

Hazel, his eyes fixed on Frodo’s sleeping face, nodded vaguely, only half-listening. He had hardly seen Frodo at all that afternoon, and he was studying him closely. The candlelight glinted on his dark, tousled chestnut curls, and he saw that for once they were not plastered to his brow with sweat. His face still looked white and drawn, and he could see him trembling from across the room, but there was a definite change, and one for the better. A hint of color to his cheeks, the slight smile flickering briefly on his lips -- neither of these had been there before.

Halfred led him over to the bed and carefully helped him get settled without waking Frodo. Once he had tucked the blankets snugly around them both, he stood back and nodded in satisfaction. "I reckon ye’ll get hot, though, Hazel-lad," he said after a moment. "If that ’appens, you can pull back the corner of the blankets a bit on your side and cool off, ’s long as you mind not to let Frodo get cold."

Hazel wriggled deeper into the nest of blankets. "I reckon I won’t need to, da," he said stoutly. "As long as I can keep Uncle Frodo warm, I won’t mind anything."

Halfred smiled at him, bent and kissed his forehead. "Ye’re a good lad, Hazel," he whispered. "An’ a brave one. I’m proud of you." He leaned over his son and laid his hand against Frodo’s cheek, frowning at the icy feel of his skin but assured that it would soon be mended. "Good night, both of you."

"Good night, da," Hazel whispered as Halfred blew out the candle and walked softly to the door, shutting it without a sound behind him.

Hazel lay still for a moment, thinking over his father’s words. I’m proud of you. His da had never been overly demonstrative about his emotions, although he could put warmth and love into simple words like no other Hazel knew. It made him feel bigger, and more confident somehow to realize that his father had seen something in him to make him open up and speak plainly of his feelings.

With a firm resolution to live up to that trust placed in him, Hazel burrowed himself closer against Frodo’s side, wrapping one arm across his chest and trying to pour every bit of warmth from his own body into his uncle’s. It made him want to shiver feeling the chill of Frodo’s skin, and he wondered how in the world anyone could be so cold when he was already sweating beneath the smothering pile of thick wool blankets.

"Don’t worry, uncle," he whispered firmly, brushing back a dark lock of hair from Frodo’s eyes. "You’ll get better soon, I’ll make sure o’ that."

It was several hours later when Hazel, after dozing on and off, felt Frodo begin to stir beside him. He felt warmer, if only a little, and at least his teeth were no longer chattering.

Hazel propped himself up on one elbow, one of Frodo’s hands in both of his own—warm from being held between them these last few hours. "Uncle?" he whispered hopefully. "Are you awake?"

Frodo rolled over slightly on his side, and in the darkness Hazel heard his sharp intake of breath as he put too much pressure on his injury. Then, "Hazel?" His voice was quiet, and hoarse with weariness, but to Hazel it was the most wonderful sound in the world.

"Yes, it’s me, uncle," he said, smiling broadly. "I’m here. Are you warmer?"

"Much." Frodo’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he was able to dimly make out Hazel’s small, stocky form beside him. "Thank you, Hazel."

"D’you want something, Uncle Frodo? Tea?"

Frodo smiled; he sounded just like his father, or Sam. "No, thank you. I’m fine. Really," he added, sensing Hazel’s distrust. "Now that I’m a bit warmer, I feel much better."

Hazel relaxed and gave a huge, relieved sigh. "I’m glad, uncle. Gavin taught me my letters this afternoon—well, most of them, anyway—an’ he helped me write somethin’ for you."

"Wonderful, Hazel! I can’t wait to see it. I’m sure Gavin is an excellent teacher."

Hazel rested his head on Frodo’s shoulder with a smile. "He is," he agreed sincerely. "I’ll be sorry to see him an’ Mr. Faramond leave tomorrow. D’you think we’ll see them again?"

"I’m sure we will, Hazel," Frodo replied cheerfully. "Rangers have a habit of dropping in when you least expect them, and when they are most needed, from what Bilbo used to tell me. He was rescued by a Ranger, once, on his way to visit Lord Elrond in Rivendell."

"Truly?" Hazel gasped. "What happened?"

"He was ambushed by a couple of goblins," Frodo said with a smile. "But I’m afraid I am too tired to tell you the story tonight. I promise that you shall hear it in the morning, though, first thing—if they will let me, that is."

Hazel giggled. "Mum says that Sam likes worrittin’ over you. She says it makes ’im feel like he’s got a real purpose, somethin’ that only he can do just right." He yawned hugely. "Or somethin’ like that, anyrate. Not sure I understand it m'self."

Frodo was quiet for a long moment, thinking over Hazel’s words. "I think I do," he whispered, more to himself than the boy beside him. Then he blinked, and shook his head. "Well, we shall have to hold off puzzling over the things your mother says until morning, I think, Hazel. Time for sleep."

Hazel rolled over on his side and nestled himself closer to Frodo. "Good night, uncle," he whispered drowsily. A moment later, confident that Frodo was almost on the road to recovery at last, he was sound asleep.

Frodo gently maneuvered Hazel’s head into a more comfortable position against his shoulder and wrapped one arm carefully around the boy, ignoring the small stab of pain the action brought. "Good night, Hazel," he murmured, kissing him lightly on the forehead. Then he closed his eyes and immediately joined him in sleep.

TBC...

Yes, I know, nothing really happened through the last half, but the "sweet, fluffy" stuff is my genre and I couldn’t resist. 0:) Originally, I was going to have Faramond and Gavin leave in the last half of this chapter, but then I decided that it needed more room, so I had to have something to fill up the empty space! ;)