Chapter 4 – Recovery and Revelation

Rethe 29

Morning dawned pale and soft over the hills of Bree. Berwin stretched and yawned heavily, wondering vaguely at the mattress beneath him and the cool sheet that covered him. He opened his eyes and found himself in a small room. A washbasin stood in the corner and a hutch stood near the door. The dresser top was laden with bandages and bottles.

Berwin was up in an instant as he recalled the events of the previous night: the desperate ride to the healer’s house, the healer telling him to prepare to lose his friend and then quickly shepherding him down the hall, out of the way.

He had paced the small room for endless hours, listening intently to every muffled word and sound. He knew they had bathed Frodo in ice water at least once, and thought they may have again. Between baths, the healer and her young apprentice sounded to have taken Frodo to another room near the front of the house, and Berwin could make out nothing of what they said, nor could he decipher the meaning of the muffled sounds he heard.

Berwin had finally fallen asleep, too exhausted with hunger, worry and travel to stay awake any longer. The hour had been late and as he briefly glanced at the clock now, he realized he had only managed a few hours of rest.

He took three long strides to the door, opened it and made his way down the hall, checking each room for his friend as he passed. At the door second from the parlor, he stopped. Inside this room sat Hazel, at the side of a patient’s bed. The patient was an old woman, who had many bandages on her left arm and she was asleep.

“Good morning,” Hazel said without turning around. “I hope that you slept.”

“Where is Frodo? How is he?” Berwin asked, forgetting his manners.

“He is next door, and he holds onto life still,” Hazel answered and turned from her patient to regard the man carefully. “He has a strong will. If we can get the fever to break, I believe he may recover fully.”

“Then break the fever,” Berwin demanded.

Hazel smiled politely. “Rowan is attending to him. I will join her shortly. In the meantime, there is food prepared for you in the kitchen. You must eat.”

“Can’t I see him first?” Berwin asked, realizing he must sound childish to the healer but not caring.

“No,” she answered gently. “We will call you when it is time.” And with that, she turned back to her patient and said no more.

Berwin turned and walked slowly past the last room. The door was closed and he was tempted to open it and at least get a peek at Frodo. He resisted the urge with difficulty, knowing the healer was right. The less distractions they had, the better it would be for Frodo.

He walked through the parlor, which somehow seemed bigger and more inviting in the morning light than it had the night before. The curtains for one were pushed open, as were the windows. A breeze passed softly through the room, and outside, birds could be heard wallowing nearby. Berwin lingered briefly in the parlor and felt a sense of calm return to him despite his worry.

In the kitchen, which was equally as bright and soothing as the parlor, was a small table with seating for two. At one seat, breakfast was laid out. Berwin’s stomach grumbled loudly at the sight and he sat down to his meal: eggs with cheese, blackberry muffin, sausage and ham, and sliced fruit. A steaming cup of tea sat next to the plate.

Berwin picked up the fork and began to eat. He was surprised to find the eggs and meat still warm, and wondered how long ago the food was prepared. The healer and her apprentice must have just finished their own meals before he had woken. The food was delicious and he savored every bite. 

As he ate, he heard the door to Frodo’s room open and close. Hazel must be with him now. A few minutes passed, during which Berwin finished his tea and poured himself another cup. Then he heard the door open and close again. Berwin stilled himself and listened attentively. He could just faintly hear the soft pattering of the apprentice heading down the hall. Another door opened and he could hear the unmistakable sound of water being poured into a tub. So, it was another icy bath to keep Frodo cool. How many of those had there been?

Berwin forced himself to remain seated and finish his food. He took his last bite as he heard the door to Frodo’s room open again, and remain open. They were carrying Frodo to his bath. Berwin quickly stood and went to the parlor to catch a glimpse of his friend as they carried him down the hall. 

What he saw did not encourage him. Frodo was flushed with fever and drenched in sweat. His arm slid from his chest and hung down limply at his side and he was unconscious still. The bruises at least looked better, and the gash on his head was an angry red scar. Yet to Berwin, Frodo did not appear to be healing much at all.

Berwin turned and walked stiffly out of the house. Once outside, he took a deep, steadying breath and buried his face in his hands as he fought to regain control of his emotions. Then he lifted his face to the cloudless sky above. “Please,” he pleaded. “Please, let him live. Let him be spared.”

“Mistress,” Rowan said when Hazel entered the room. “His fever has gone up again.”

Hazel closed the door softly behind her and quickly came to her apprentice’s side. She turned an expert eye on her patient and examined him thoroughly. The fever had risen, but not drastically so and he was still cooler than he had been the night before. His breathing was easier, though still raspy and short, and his coughing has subsided substantially; what Berwin had believed to be water in the lungs was just the sound of restricted lungs trying to breath around broken ribs, the only good news she had been able to give him last night. 

She noted the fresh sweat breaking out over his body and she smiled, relieved. “I do believe his fever is beginning to break. It will pitch up again before it lets go completely. Let’s help it along shall we? Draw a bath, just cold water, no ice.”

Once Rowan was gone, Hazel prepared Frodo for the bath. She removed the soft, thin dressing gown they had placed him in, checking his cuts and bruises. They were already beginning to mend and fade, a good sign. She gingerly unwrapped the bandages that secured Frodo’s head and torso. A poultice of comfrey leaves had helped the gash to fully mend at last and the swelling had decreased to a bump. His ribs would take longest to heal, but they too were mending.

She checked the willow bark and linden tea Rowan had prepared. She added a dash of honey for flavor, then prodded Frodo’s mouth open and poured the tea, bit by bit, down his throat. She was encouraged to see that he was conscious enough to swallow on his own; she would not have to insert the feeding tube again. Once he swallowed it all, she placed the cup on the bedside table. At that moment Rowan returned, and together they carefully lifted him and carried him down the hall.

Once Frodo was situated in the water and Rowan was washing the sweat from his hair and face, Hazel went in search of Berwin. She had caught a glimpse of the man watching from the parlor and wanted to reassure him. She saw the front door standing open and stepped outside as Berwin was finishing his plea.

She waited a few moments, not wanting the man to know his words were overheard, then stepped next to him and stood silently. When he turned to look at her, she said, “His fever, I believe, is breaking. It will be a long wait until he awakens however, so if you have any business to conduct in town while you are here, I suggest you do so. You may see him as soon as you return.”

“You are certain?” Berwin asked, hope rising in his chest.

“I am,” the healer said. “You need fear for him no longer.”

Berwin was relieved more than he could say and only his sense of diplomacy kept him from sweeping the woman into a mighty bear hug. He did shake her hand heartily though, and thanked her repeatedly for her help. She accepted gracefully and returned to her patient, and Berwin saddled his horse. 

He did have business to take care of. He needed to order the supplies he would need for the longer road ahead. Then he needed to find The Prancing Pony and see if his traveling companions yet remained in town. Now that he knew Frodo would be well, he needed to be on his way as quickly as may be.

Frodo’s fever did break, as Hazel suspected. The final bath had cooled him enough that the fever gave way at last. Rowan took him from the water when he began to shiver and quickly wrapped him in warm blankets. They took him back to his room, redressed the ribs and forehead, and slipped the dressing gown back on him. They settled him into the bed and covered him in blankets. Rowan built a fire and prepared another cup of the strong, healing tea.

Hazel took over the vigil from there. She bade her apprentice to go and sleep, as neither of them had got a moment’s rest during the long, grueling night. She left Frodo briefly to check on her other patients and then slumped in the chair in the parlor to get a few hours of sleep herself; she did not want to be far away should one of her patients awaken and need something.

She woke as Berwin returned, shortly after the lunch hour. He was overjoyed to hear that Frodo was now officially on the mend, and he quickly forgot his own news. 

He had not found his friends in town as he had hoped. Barliman, the innkeeper of The Prancing Pony, confirmed that his companions left just yesterday morning. They had left a letter for him for whenever he eventually arrived, but it brought him little comfort. They said only that they would rest for half a day at Amon Sul and again at the Ford of Bruinen to await messengers from other regions. He supposed if he left tomorrow and traveled swiftly, he could try to catch them at the Ford. They would be traveling quickly themselves and would not be easy to catch.

“He sleeps still,” Hazel said and led him to Frodo’s room. “You may stay with him until he awakens.”

Berwin went to Frodo’s side and felt his forehead, warm still, but not dangerously so, and blissfully dry. He shook his head in wonder. “I cannot believe it,” he exclaimed with relief. 

Hazel handed him a compress and he placed it gently over Frodo’s forehead. “Hobbits are surprisingly sturdy folk,” she said. “I’ve seen them get up and walk away from falls that wound break most men, and survive many illnesses that have claimed the strongest men’s lives. That Frodo was alive still when you brought him to me speaks much of his constitution.”

“It does indeed,” Berwin said. “How much longer must he stay here? I know he will be eager to return to his home.”

“Once he awakens, I will be able to tell. It depends how well he’s feeling, but I will keep him here two days at the very least.”

Hazel allowed him to sit by his friend as promised then went to prepare the evening meal. When Rowan awakened, she came to help her mistress and check on the patients while dinner was cooking. Once everyone was fed, Hazel dismissed herself for a proper rest and Rowan and Berwin returned to Frodo’s room.

Rowan placed a tray laden with medicine and clean bandages on the bedside table. She slowly unwrapped the poultice from Frodo’s forehead, then picked up a garlic clove. She cut the clove in half then gently rubbed one half over the gash. “Prevents infection,” she explained at Berwin’s perplexed expression. “Honey does the same, but it’s a bit more messy and it can’t be reused.”

With that, she placed the other half into a mortar. She took up the pestle and began to crush the juice out of the clove and drained this into a waiting glass of warm water. She mixed the water thoroughly then prodded Frodo’s mouth open, a much easier task than it had been before, and in his sleep he drank the water down.

“That cannot taste good,” Berwin commented.

Rowan shook her head. “No, but it helps alleviate that little tickle that causes him to cough. It will also soothe his sore throat and improve his health overall. Very handy, garlic is.”

“I will have to remember that,” Berwin said. “All I had was peppermint tea, not very useful that.”

“Oh but it is,” Rowan assured. “Peppermint alleviates nausea. That will explain why he was able to eat as long he did, and that’s very important. Mistress was wondering about that.”

“What other kinds of tea do you suggest?” Berwin asked, eager to learn what he could while he was here. He did not want to ever again be in the position of helplessness he had experienced over the last few days.

They continued to talk long into the night, while Frodo dreamt between them.

Frodo stood in a meadow of clover and daffodils. Eagles circled high in the sky above him and the narrow creek trickled softly at his feet. The sun shined down brightly upon him but he felt no warmth from it. Neither did he feel the cool breeze that gently ruffled his hair and clothes. He wriggled his toes on the grass and laughed for the peace he felt.

Across the creek, at the far edge of the meadow, he saw two figures emerge from the silver trees. The figures were running and laughing, though he could not hear them, and they were tagging each other back and forth. He wondered who they were. 

“You’re it!” cried one voice, but it came not from the figures playing and instead sounded like it came from within his own head. Frodo recognized the voice as Pippin’s.

The two figures ran closer to the creek and Frodo could now see they were indeed his cousins. Pippin tagged Merry and darted away, closer to the water’s edge. Merry gave chase and he was crying as he laughed. But before they could reach the creek and look up to see Frodo standing there, they turned and ran back to the line of tall trees.

They were no longer alone. Many other figures now sat or stood at the edge of the meadow. Merry and Pippin joined them and Frodo saw it was a picnic and many of his friends and relatives were there. Merry and Pippin sat with Folco, Fatty and Sam, while Pervinca sang of a love unquenchable. 

Frodo sat down to watch from a distance and found that he was suddenly sitting on a seat of stone high on a hill, and he was looking down at the scene in the meadow, his friends at one side of the creek, himself on the other. He stared at himself in wonder. How could he be in two different places at the same time?

“What I want to know is, why aren’t you over there with your friends?” asked a jubilant voice from behind him.

Frodo jumped and turned around. “Bilbo!” He embraced his cousin fiercely and tears of joy sprang to his eyes.

“There, there, my lad,” Bilbo soothed and patted Frodo’s back.

“I’ve missed you Bilbo.”

“I know you have, my boy, and I’ve missed you.” Bilbo held Frodo at arm’s length and looked him up and down. “You’re still as thin as a willow wand. I’d hoped Sam would have fattened you up by now. And look how you’ve grown! If you don’t watch yourself, you’ll be a giant among hobbits.”

Frodo smiled and shook his head. “That’s Merry and Pippin,” he corrected. 

“Ah, so it is,” Bilbo said. “And that brings me back to my question. Why do you not join your friends Frodo?”

Frodo shrugged. “They’re fine on their own. I want to stay here with you.”

“But there is no ‘here’ Frodo. ‘Here’ is nowhere,” Bilbo said and waved his hand around them to prove his point. 

Frodo looked past his seat of stone to see a vast white nothingness spread out before him, surrounding him at every angle. It was nearly blinding in its intensity and Frodo found himself squinting to keep out the light. On the edge of this crystalline void, he could see black figures, nine small dots. They did not appear to be moving, but Frodo knew they were flying towards him as fast as their steeds could carry them. They filled him with dread but Bilbo seemed not to notice them.

Frodo turned back to the scene below and found that he was once again himself, standing by the creek and watching his friends. He looked behind him, up the hill, but could not see the top as it was shrouded now in mist. But Bilbo stood next to him still and he motioned for Frodo to cross.

“They are waiting for you.”

“But I cannot cross,” Frodo said and pointed to the creek, just a few feet wide. “It’s deeper than it looks. It will be the end of me.”

Bilbo laughed and shook his grey-curled head. “Really, Frodo, have I taught you that little? Use your Baggins sense. If you can’t go through it, go around it. And if you can’t go around it, then go over it.” He placed a long, thick log over the creek from bank to bank. “That will get you where you belong.”

“Thank you Bilbo,” Frodo smiled and stepped onto the log. Then he hesitated and turned back to his beloved cousin. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Not yet, my lad, but we’ll be crossing the water together one day. Sooner than you think.”

“But I need you now.”

“No you don’t. You’re doing a marvelous job of things Frodo, taking care of yourself and your friends.” He pointed and Frodo could see only Merry, Pippin and Sam now, smoking their pipes and humming mournfully. “They need you now, and you’ll need every single one of them before the end, especially the one you expect to need the least. Go to them lad, you’ll all be the gladder for it.”

Frodo took another step over the creek, then stopped again, suddenly remembering. He turned to his cousin fearfully. “But your ring Bilbo. I’ve lost it and I can’t find it.”

Bilbo laughed again and flippantly waved the concern away. “It’s not lost, you silly scamp. It’s right where you left it. Just get there before he can. Go on now, child, you haven’t a moment to lose.”

And just as he had appeared, Bilbo was gone. Frodo stared at the spot where his cousin had been standing and felt like weeping. He turned instead; he would do as Bilbo asked. He always would. He walked over the log, looked up and gasped.

The white void had returned, and the black figures with it. They were still small dots on the horizon, still unmoving, but somehow closer and getting closer all the while. Dread returned to him and he cast his eyes about, looking for his friends. They were nowhere to be seen.

He turned and fled over the log. He stepped down onto the grassy floor, but the earth disappeared as he did so and he was falling, fast and out of control through a wall of fire, which scorched and burned him mercilessly. A deep, rumbling laughter echoed all about him and darkness descended upon him so swiftly he thought he had gone blind.

He cried out for help and a soft, blue light appeared below him. He was slowing, floating now like a feather on a breeze, and the eagles soared in circles above him. He felt something soft beneath him, a mattress, and he smelled the fragrance of roses sweet in the morning breeze. Then footsteps could be heard pattering softly across the floor, near silent and wonderfully familiar.

“Mr. Frodo. Wake up, Mr. Frodo. Breakfast is ready.” Sam threw open the curtains.

Rowan was explaining the many different uses of willow bark when Frodo’s eyes fluttered open. Berwin was the first to notice he was awake.

“Frodo,” he said and squeezed his friend’s hand gently. He smiled warmly and easily. “You’re awake.”

“So it seems,” Frodo said, smiling weakly at his friend as the fright of his dream quickly faded to distant memory. He looked around the room curiously, his eyes coming to rest on a pretty young woman. “Hello,” he said shyly.

Rowan smiled. “Good evening Master Hobbit,” she said in a high, sweet voice like a bell chiming in the early morning light. “I am Rowan, the healer’s apprentice. Mistress Hazel is resting at the moment, but she will be with you in time. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Frodo answered truthfully, and Berwin and Rowan laughed knowingly.

“Mistress expected you would be,” Rowan said and stood. “I will get your meal.”

Frodo waited until Rowan gathered her tray and left before turning back to Berwin. He looked at the man questioningly. “Are we in Bree then? The last I remember clearly was camping on the Green Way.”

Berwin nodded. “We arrived last night and the healer has been attending to you nearly nonstop since. Your fever broke this morning and we were only waiting for you to awaken. I must say, I am extremely glad to see you awake.”

Frodo smiled softly but his eyes were worried. “I am sorry for all the trouble I caused you. I will forever be in your debt.”

“You owe me nothing,” Berwin insisted. “I fear to think what may have happened had I not found you when I did. I could not leave you, neither then nor now. And speaking of now, how are you feeling?”

Frodo turned inward and quickly assessed himself. His head no longer hurt, except when he touched it or moved it too suddenly. His throat was still a little dry, but he could breathe with little difficulty, though his sore ribs kept the breaths short. His muscles ached still, but he could move them with ease. He was neither hot nor cold, but perfectly comfortable under the quilted blanket. “I am better,” he said and Berwin nodded.

“I am glad to hear it,” the man said. Then he looked at the hand he was holding, at the scars upon the knuckles. Even the healer had felt those were not caused by the flood, but from being repeatedly scratched or rubbed against something. “Do you remember anything more, of why or how you came to be by the river?” he asked.

“I do,” Frodo answered. “I remember everything and it was all a silly thing really. I thought I lost something, but I think now I know where it is. It’s of little importance.”

“All of this for nothing then?” Berwin asked, hoping Frodo would elaborate. The hobbit was clearly thinking deeply on something, the way he cast his eyes about the room, not seeing anything.

“No, not for nothing,” Frodo replied, but was interrupted from saying anything further when Rowan returned with a tray.

The apprentice placed the tray on the table and Frodo could see that it held a deep bowl of chicken broth, plain rye bread and a cup of tea. She picked up the bowl and dipped a spoon into the warm liquid. Slowly, she fed Frodo the broth, with an occasional bite of bread, watching him carefully for signs of nausea. He showed none and took the food eagerly.

Frodo took advantage of having to eat to think about everything he remembered from the last two weeks. It has been a strange time, to say the least. The Feast, touring Buckland and remembering all those dreadful things, getting lost and falling into the River, and Berwin finding him only because he had been late in leaving for his destination. It could not simply be all coincidence. It happened for a reason and Frodo thought he knew what it was.

At the time, Frodo had thought losing Bilbo’s ring a horrible thing, but it had turned into an unlooked-for opportunity. All these years, yearning for information on Bilbo’s whereabouts, and now he not only knew where Bilbo was, but he also sat next to the man who would be passing that way on his return to his own home. It was too perfect, too tempting to pass up. It was the only thing he ever wanted and had always thought he would never be able to get. Now it was just within his grasp. He had only to reach out, stretch his hand, and grab it.

Some nagging, practical side of his mind told him he needed to go home, return to his friends and retrieve the ring. He had things yet to do in the Shire before he could leave it for good. It was too soon and the circumstances were not ideal. This is not how he would have chosen to leave his friends and home, but Frodo was too determined now to listen to any practicality. He would not sit idly by and let this opportunity pass him. Especially after that dream: it had turned so frightening after Bilbo had left.

He waited until Rowan left again, to take the tray back to the kitchen. Frodo turned to Berwin and found the man regarding him suspiciously. So, Berwin knew him that well already?

He bit the inside of his lip, deciding how to approach the subject. Finally, he decided to discern first Berwin’s intentions. “Were you able to find for your companions?” he asked.

Berwin shook his head regrettably. “I was not. They waited until yesterday morning and then could wait no more. I was able to put in all my orders, though they will take some time to be filled. I shall keep you company then as you recover, for a day at least. Then I must away.”

“Only a day?” Frodo exclaimed, dismayed. That was too soon.

“I am sorry, Frodo,” Berwin said regrettably. “I have grown fond of your companionship and will miss your presence on the road, especially now that I must travel it alone. But I must leave as soon as everything is in order; I’ve been too long delayed, though I no longer curse the lost time.”

Frodo shook his head. “Can’t you wait, just another day longer?” he asked, trying not to plead and failing miserably. “The healer will not let me go tomorrow, I know that much without having to speak with her.”

“I wish that I could,” Berwin said, confused about the hobbit’s dismay. “But as much I would like to wait and see you safely on your way, I must leave immediately.”

“But I do not want you to see me on my way, unless that way lies with you,” Frodo declared. “I wish more than anything to find Bilbo and this may be my only chance to do so. I will accompany you to Rivendell, if you will have me.”

Berwin felt his heart soar with gladness as he considered the brave little hobbit before him. Perhaps he would not have to be so lonely on the road after all. He squeezed Frodo’s hand gently and nodded. “I shall be glad to have you as my companion once more. I will wait then, and we will go together.”

To be continued…