7. Assessing the Damage

The next morning, Sam woke up and stared at the ceiling.  Something was wrong, and it took him a moment to realize that this was not the ceiling he normally woke up to.  He frowned in confusion, then abruptly remembered where he was.

“Good heavens!” Sam exclaimed, and sat up.

Hob was playing nearby, unobtrusively for once, and looked over at him.

“Hullo, Uncle,” the younger lad said quietly.

Sam blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared at his nephew.  “Are you feelin’ alright this morning, Hob?” he asked.

Hob nodded, but the child still seemed subdued.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’.”

“Go on, tell me.”

Hob sighed.  “I burnt down your smial, Sam!  An’ Mr. Frodo got hurt ‘cause of me.  My tummy hurts, but it isn’t hungry.  It feels bad in a diff’rint way.”

“Oh, Hob, everybody knows it were an accident.  No one blames ye.”

“I wish I could see Mr. Frodo, an’ say I’m sorry,” the wretched Hob went on.  “My tummy thinks that might make it feel better, if ye follow me.”

Sam smiled.  “Well then, I’ll take you ta see him as soon as I can, all right?”

Hob nodded, looking a bit happier.

Sam’s sluggish mind went back over the last few minutes.  “Hang on, it’s mornin’!  Why aren’t you hungry, Hob-lad?”

“’Cause Aunt Daisy came and got me for first breakfast ages ago,” Hob said.  “She said to let ye sleep.  She reckoned ye needed it.”

“Oh, sticklebacks,” Sam muttered.  “I meant ta be up in time ta help Daisy.”  He felt around for his shirt, but all he could find was a different shirt, neatly folded, that definitely wasn’t his.

“If you’re lookin’ for your shirt, Aunt Daisy took it for the washin’.  Mr. Merry left you that ‘un.”

Sam frowned, disturbed that so many folks had apparently tromped through here without Sam noticing.  “Whose shirt is it?” he asked.

Hob shrugged.  “I dunno.”

Sam unfolded the shirt, which was of a much finer quality than his own homespun clothes.  Along one seam, he noticed a monogram, “B.B.”  This was one of Bilbo’s shirts.  He put it on reverently.  It was big on him, of course, but not by much.  Sam was big for his age, and broad.

There was a bowl of water for washing, which Sam put to good use, thinking again how odd it was to be waited on like this.

“Come along, Hob,” he said to his nephew.  “It’s about time for second breakfast, I reckon.”

Hob put down the little wooden cart he’d been playing with and followed Sam to the kitchen.  There they were treated to the peculiar sight of May and Marigold standing at the hearth while Merry bounced little Petunia on his knee.  Pippin sat beside Merry, looking rumpled and drowsy.  Sam was glad he wasn’t the only one to have a lie-in.

“I tried to cook, but they wouldn’t let me!” Merry explained to Sam’s raised eyebrows.

“He was burnin’ the porridge!” Marigold said indignantly.  She stirred said porridge importantly.  May just smiled.

Merry shrugged.  “Wasn’t paying attention, I’m afraid.  At least I’m good with babies,” he said as Petunia giggled.

Sam couldn’t help laughing at the sight.  “Where’s Daisy?” he asked.

Marigold pointed at the back garden with an enormous wooden spoon.  “She’s hangin’ up the laundry.  All our stuff smelled like smoke.  Daisy said we’ll go home after we eat, and start cleanin’.  Some townsfolk are down there already.”

“All right,” Sam said, and hesitated.  “And Mr. Frodo?  How is he this morning’?”

Merry smiled at him tentatively.  “He was napping when I looked in earlier.  You can come with me when I bring him his breakfast, if you like.”

“Aye, I’d like that.  And Hob too, if he may.”

Merry nodded.  Daisy came in then, and they had second breakfast.  Merry ate in the kitchen with them, but he was not moody this morning and so Sam was not uncomfortable.  Breakfast was wonderful.  There was the porridge and cream, toast with marmalade, and fruit and pastries and sausage and thick slices of cold ham.  It was as nice a breakfast as Sam had ever tasted, and he said so, as they all sat filling in the corners. 

Daisy looked a little embarrassed.  “I thought it was too much, but Mr. Merry said we ought to have a good breakfast after yesterday.”

Merry shrugged.  “Mother always says nothing helps folks recover from a trying day better than good food, and lots of it.”  He grinned and took a big bite of sausage.

“Aunt Esme knows what she’s talking about,” Pippin proclaimed with a thoughtful nod.  “Why, look how much brighter we all are after that good meal.”

And they were, undeniably.  Sam actually felt a bit cheerful as he followed Merry to Frodo’s room.  Merry had an armload of clean bandages for Frodo, and Sam carried the breakfast tray, Hob walking hesitantly beside him.

When Merry knocked softly and pushed open Frodo’s door, Sam’s good cheer melted right out of him, to be replaced by concern for his master.

Frodo was asleep, but as pale as Sam had ever seen him.  Of course, Frodo was paler than most hobbits, but normally it was a healthy, radiant kind of fair.  Now, the dark sweep of his lashes contrasted sharply with a starkly white face. 

Merry went to Frodo’s side, and hesitated.  Sam realized suddenly that Merry must feel as out of his depth as Sam himself did.  He gave Merry an encouraging nod when Merry turned round to look at him uncertainly.

“Frodo,” Merry murmured, resting a hand lightly on his cousin’s shoulder.

Sam’s heart unclenched a little as Frodo stirred and the deep blue eyes opened.

“Merry,” Frodo croaked, and cleared his throat.  “Merry, what time is it?”

“You still sound so hoarse, Frodo,” Merry said in dismay.  “How do you feel?”

Frodo frowned and pushed himself into a sitting position.  “I’m all right, Merry.  You mustn’t worry, I’m sure my voice will get better soon.”

“We brought ye some breakfast, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said when Merry didn’t respond.  “I’ll just put this here, shall I?”  He set the tray down on Frodo’s bed-side table and arranged the pillows so Frodo could lean back.

“Honestly, Sam, you don’t need to fuss.  I’m fine, truly,” Frodo said.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you don’t look fine.”

“Nor sound it,” Merry added.

Frodo sighed.  “Honestly, the two of you!”  He looked back and forth between them.  “How have you been getting on, anyway?  Are you and your sisters settled in all right, Sam?  I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help.”

“I’m the one who ought to be sorry,” Merry mumbled.

Frodo looked at him oddly.  Sam said hastily, “Sir, I brought Hob-lad with me; he wanted ta see you, beggin’ your pardon.”  He stepped aside to reveal the small hobbit, who had been hiding behind Sam.

“Hullo, Hob,” Frodo said, a slight smile curving his pale lips.  “I trust you’re feeling better this morning?”

“Yessir,” Hob said quietly.  He looked up at Sam, who merely inclined his curly head.  “I just wanted ta—ta say ‘thankee very kindly’ for getting me out o’ the fire, and ta say I’m sorry ye got hurt,” Hob finished in a rush.

“You’re quite welcome,” Frodo said solemnly.  He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t pull away, when Hob suddenly came to his side and seized his hand.

“Also…” Hob murmured, “thankee for breakin’ the curse.”

“Curse?” Frodo asked.

“Aye, the curse on account that I broke mum’s mirror,” he said confidingly.  “Borro said I ‘ad to be saved from ‘mortal peril’ ta break the curse.  I reckon that fire was mortal enough.”

Frodo’s mouth twitched and he squeezed the little hand in his.  “Well, I’m glad the curse is broken,” he said.

“All right, Hob, let’s leave Mr. Frodo to his breakfast now,” Sam said, not wanting his master to tire when he had yet to eat and have his bandages changed.  He ushered Hob out of the room with a quick glance at Merry, carefully setting out the clean bandages.

Merry watched Frodo watching him.

“Is everything really all right, Merry?” Frodo asked.

“As all right as can be,” Merry replied with a shrug.  He folded back the blanket over Frodo’s feet and began hesitantly to unwind the bandages Dr. Hornblower had applied.  “Everyone’s gone down to Bagshot Row to help clean up.  May and Marigold have taken charge of your kitchen for the duration, I think.  Sam’s being more helpful than I probably deserve, and I…  I am managing as best I can, I suppose.  Goodness, that looks painful, Frodo.”

He had come to Frodo’s bare feet, the bottoms of which were red and blistered.

“Thank you for doing this, Merry,” Frodo said seriously.

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, truly.  It is a great comfort to have your help.”

Merry looked down at his hands, which blurred before his eyes.  “Please don’t say that,” he whispered.  “How can you?”

“Merry, what’s the matter?  Please, tell me,” Frodo begged.

Merry clenched his hands into fists, tortured by the sound of Frodo’s poor hoarse voice.

“Merry—“  After some awkward shuffling, Frodo pulled himself to the end of the bed, legs to the side.

“I didn’t come!” Merry whispered harshly, looking up into Frodo’s shocked blue eyes.  “You’re always there when I need you, but when you called me, I was in a mood and I didn’t come, and I left you to---to--“

“Merry, hush,” Frodo said.  “It’s not your fault I got a bit singed.”

Merry scrubbed at his eyes angrily.  “But it could have been.  There might have been something I could do to help…  Old Rory is right, I’m not responsible.”

Frodo sighed and put an arm around Merry’s shoulders.  “You’re just a lad, Merry.  You’ve plenty of time to become responsible.  I think you’re doing pretty well, in fact.”

Merry squirmed, wondering if—hoping it was true.  He looked at Frodo’s pale, earnest face, and felt a rush of warmth and affection.  “I promise I’ll always come if you need me, Frodo,” he whispered, laying his head on his cousin’s shoulder.  Frodo pressed a kiss to Merry’s messy curls.

Frodo awoke sometime later, not realizing he’d dozed off.  Merry had managed to change all his bandages and re-apply Dr. Hornblower’s salve, and then he’d gone to help the Gamgees.  Pippin had been left behind to make sure Frodo didn’t stir out of bed until Dr. Hornblower came that afternoon, much to Frodo’s annoyance.  It felt wrong to be laying here doing nothing while Merry and the Gamgees worked to salvage their home.  And he couldn’t even be a proper host in his own smial!  He knew Merry was capable of acting in his place, despite the hit his confidence had taken in Brandy Hall, but it was frustrating just the same. 

Frodo didn’t know if it was due to his early, largely unsupervised childhood in Buckland, but he strongly disliked needing help or putting people out.  He wondered if that was how Sam and his sisters felt now.  Ha!  If only he could go and ask them.

He stared blankly at the wall, wishing he were out aiding the cleanup effort.  Even without the doctor’s instructions, Frodo doubted he would get very far on foot.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d carried Hob out of a burning smial the day before, with his feet burnt as they were.  He hadn’t even noticed at the time, in his fright.  Now the salve was pleasantly cool on the soles of his feet, and by the light he could tell it was mid-afternoon.  It was also very quiet; he thought he should probably sit up and see what Pippin was up to.  His stomach growled, and something shifted in his arms.  He looked down in surprise to see a tousled head resting against his chest.

“Oops, I fell asleep on duty,” Pippin mumbled, peering up at him blearily. 

Frodo smiled and kissed the child’s forehead.  Pippin had always loved a cuddle as a babe; evidently he still did.  “Guard duty wore you out, did it, Pippin-lad?”

Pippin nodded and snuggled against Frodo’s chest. 

“Are you hungry?  It’s past luncheon, I think,” Frodo said.

“I know, I already had mine.  Yours is there, waiting for you.”

Frodo sat up and sure enough, there was an ample tray waiting for him.  He supposed if someone had remembered to feed him and Pippin, then Merry and Daisy had things reasonably under control.  His stomach growled again, and he pulled the tray closer.