A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter Two

Frodo was not sleeping well, a fact he didn’t find too surprising. It was not often that he did sleep well. It hadn’t been for a long time, anyway.

He had just decided to get dressed and see if he could find a book to read until morning, when he heard a large crash in the direction of the kitchen. He froze and his sharp ears picked up what sounded like pottery and cutlery, rolling on the floor. Without further hesitation, he threw back the covers and ran out to investigate.

He moved quickly down the hallway into the kitchen, where he came upon Pippin crouching among the remains of a tea tray, attempting to pick up the pieces of a broken teapot and cup while not burning his fingers on the scalding liquid puddled all around.

"Let me help," Frodo said, kneeling. Taking a large piece of busted teapot into his hands, he began to fill it with smaller shards.

"It’s all right," Pippin muttered, teeth chattering, "I’m sorry I woke you."

"You didn’t. Now tell me what’s the matter."

"Nothing’s the matter, unless you choose to count my clumsy, foolish hands."

"You’ve always had quite clever hands, Pip. But that’s not what I mean and you know it." He sighed. "So I’ll ask you something perhaps you will answer: why were you making tea at this hour?"

"Because it’s so dreadful cold in here and I can’t seem to start a decent fire to save my toes!"

"But it’s not cold, Pip. It’s midsummer. It’s almost entirely too warm…" Frodo’s head was bent as spoke, concentrating his eyes on the task. He accidentally bumped Pippin’s hand then and saw how it was shaking, "And you Are sick after all, aren’t you?"

Pippin shuddered. "It’s just a cold."

"There’s no such thing with you."

"Of course there is! Plenty of hobbits just get colds all the time." He glared at Frodo with as much sternness as he could muster, though it was a hard sell, as he did not look particularly menacing in his pyjamas, shivering on the kitchen floor.

Frodo started to speak and was startled at the amount of anger he found himself feeling toward his cousin at that moment. He knew it must be a combination of fear and frustration, but still, it was surprisingly strong stuff. He attempted to control his voice, keeping it low.

"To bed, Pippin. Now."

"But, Frodo…"

"Now!"

Pippin looked hurt by such sharpness and Frodo again struggled to soften his tone.

"You need to be in bed, even if it is just a cold. If it’s too chilly in your chamber, lay down in mine. There’s quite a good fire going in there now."

"Oh, salt and snakes." Pippin muttered the childish curse bitterly as he rose to his feet.

"You sound just like you did when you were ten," Frodo said through tight lips.

"You make me feel like I am still ten."

"Well, a reasonable hobbit would do as he was told and not stand about pouting."

Pippin had no good response for that (a sure sign that he was not himself, as Pippin always had a good response for everything) and so he opted to just stand. Obstinately.

"Pippin, please!" Frodo nearly shrieked.

Pippin’s resolve finally fell. The picture of misery, he gave up. Wrapping his arms around his shivering chest, he padded off quietly to lay down in Frodo’s room.

Not long after he had gone, Merry came home, entering through the back door and looking quite confused to find Frodo in the kitchen, not only awake, but cleaning up busted dishware. A teasing smile came to life on Merry’s face.

"Still haven’t mastered four fingers, cousin?"

Frodo didn’t return the smile. He said nothing as he moved past Merry, dumped the shards into the rubbish bin, then took the broom and dust pan from where they hung on nails near the door.

Merry could see that there was tea all over the floor as well, so he took the mop and set to work helping Frodo clean up. He could tell there was something wrong, that this was more than just moody Frodo. Yet, he also got an uneasy feeling in his stomach that perhaps it was something he didn’t want to know. He got his answer right then anyway.

"Pippin’s sick."

"What?"

"Sick. He’s sick. While you were out saying goodbye and farewell and gee the moon looks lovely tonight to Estella Bolger, Pippin was getting sick and, and, and, lying to me about it!"

Immediately, Merry began to worry, but he was also taken aback by the vicious tone of Frodo’s voice.

"It’s not my fault," he began quietly. "Honestly, Frodo, I…"

"No." Frodo cut him off. "I know that. I’m sorry. It’s not you I am angry with."

This struck Merry as even more odd. "It’s not Pippin’s fault, either."

Frodo’s face grew dark. "Of course it’s not."

Merry looked at his cousin and didn’t know what to do. He longed to embrace him, as they used to do so easily. But now…well, he hated to admit it, but he found himself almost afraid to, as if Frodo might bite in response.

He shook those thoughts away, though, ashamed of himself, and reached out his hand. He took Frodo’s in it and squeezed hard.

"I’m going to go see Pippin," he said, "I’ll come back."

Frodo nodded and slowly took his hand back, under the cover of needing it to sweep.

Just as Merry was leaving the kitchen, Frodo called out to him.

"Merry?"

Merry turned toward him. "Yes?"

"Is…is there another tea pot?"

~~~~

When Frodo returned to his room with the new tea tray, he found Pippin in bed and Merry sitting pensively beside him. It was difficult to tell which of the two was more pale.

"Is he asleep?" Frodo asked.

"I’m awake." Pippin murmured, eyes still closed.

"I’ve made some more tea if you will have it."

Merry scooted and made room so that Frodo could set a cup of tea on the bed table where Pippin could reach it. He did so and then set the rest of the tray further back so it couldn’t be easily upset but would be there if they wanted it.

He sat down beside Merry then and the two waited for Pippin to take his tea.

The youngest hobbit made no move for it, though. He remained where he was and lay perfectly still. After a moment they heard his breathing grow more heavy.

"Pip?" Merry whispered, leaning in close. Then he turned to Frodo with raised eyebrows. "He’s dropped off to sleep. Just like that."

Frodo smiled wryly. "I envy him."

"Well you won’t much longer. If his fever picks up, anyway."

Frodo shook his head and gazed at the floor. "It’s not right. This shouldn’t happen again. Not now."

"Perhaps it won’t be that bad," Merry said, though he could tell Frodo was not convinced. "He’s much healthier than he’s ever been. The Ents took care of that, if regular old growing up did not."

"I don’t think even the Ents can fix someone who shouldn’t even rightfully be here."

Merry was shocked. "How can you say such an awful thing?!"

Frodo bit his lip, then looked embarrassed. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…I’m just dreadfully worried about him and, well, I’m angry."

"At who?"

Frodo sighed and his eyes looked nearly black by the firelight. "At…well, at myself, I suppose. Or, or something else. I am not sure…All I know is that everything good seems to be taken away. Because of me."

Merry shook his head. "Oh, Frodo, you’ve got it all backwards. Everything good is still here because of you. And only because of you."

Frodo frowned at Merry, then looked to their sleeping cousin. "It isn’t right and it is not fair. This can’t happen again. Not now. I couldn’t stand it if it does."

Merry was quiet while he thought. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this situation was remarkably difficult. It was hard enough, after all, to have one cousin sick in body; it was doubly hard to have another sick in heart.

"Well," he said finally, "Hopefully it will not come to that again. I should think it would be bad for all of us if it did. You likely wouldn’t be the only one who couldn’t stand it."

Frodo’s form seemed to shrink visibly several sizes. He longed to tell Merry that he didn’t understand, that Merry couldn’t possibly know what Frodo meant---that he couldn’t stand to leave the Shire if his dear cousin were deathly ill again, but then if he did not leave…well, Frodo knew that would be just as unbearable. He had to leave the Shire and pass over the sea. He knew this in his self, he felt it in every fiber of his bones. And he knew that the time was fast upon him. He must go. He could not afford to stay much longer. Not for any matter.

‘Oh, why must everything always be such a trial?’ he thought to himself, ‘I should like just for once for things to be quite simple and painless!’

Then he looked at Pippin sleeping not at all soundly, but uneasily and, from the looks of it, feverishly. Frodo felt his anger lessen a bit. He put the back of his hand lightly to Pippin’s cheek.

"Do you think we should go for a healer now?" he asked Merry, who had more experience with the matter, mainly through proximity (being that he had spent far more of the past 31 years hanging around at Great Smials than Frodo).

"Is he very hot?" Merry asked, peering over Frodo’s shoulder.

"He is very warm, but I would not yet call it hot."

"Let us wait ‘til morning then," Merry said with a short nod, "Unless he becomes fast worse, I can’t see that it will make much of a difference and it’s better to have a well-rested healer than an unhappy, half-woken one."

"I’ll agree with that."

"But we should stay with him while he sleeps and make certain that he indeed does not become fast worse and we should be ready to go if that is the case."

"I’ll agree to that, too. But you should rest then, Merry. I will wake you if anything goes amiss."

Merry looked hurt. "How could you think that I can sleep any better than you would be able to at a time like this?"

Frodo smiled. "I doubt you could. But I should like you to try so that I may try myself when you are finished. Four sleepy eyes keeping watch are no better than two. You may have him all you like once you are rested and I will gladly give him up to seek sleep myself."

"Well, all right," Merry said reluctantly, "but you must alert me if there is any, mind you, any, sign of his being much worse. I won’t stand for anything else."

"Of course."

Frodo pulled a chair close to the bed and watched Merry leave the room, the Brandybuck’s face an exact replica of the miserable one worn by Pippin just a short time earlier when Frodo had sentenced him to bed as well.

After Merry had gone, Frodo poured himself a cup of tea and drank it with shaky hands. This was not going to be an easy night.