He rode back to the Inn in a dazed and nauseous state, and went straight to his room. Sam, who was hanging about the common room, saw him come in, and followed. He found Frodo lying on the bed looking frighteningly pale.
"Are you all right, Frodo?"
"I'm going to be sick."
Sam asked no more questions, but immediately took a clean chamberpot out from under the bed. Crouched at the bedside, he held the pot steady with one hand, and tried to keep Frodo's hair out of his face with the other while Frodo retched.
After he'd emptied his stomach, Frodo turned away and curled up into a ball. Sam, efficient as always in tending to Frodo when he was ill, moistened a washcloth with cool water from the pitcher on the washstand to bathe the back of Frodo's neck and, when he turned over to lie on his back, his brow and temples, then dabbed around his mouth and chin. When Frodo was ready, Sam gave him a cup of water to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth.
"I knew you were coming to a bad turn," Sam said while he made Frodo drink more water in small sips. "I could see it when you were talking about Mrs. Camellia being dead-" He stopped there; he understood now why Frodo felt sick. "She is, isn't she? You know it for certain now."
Frodo nodded weakly.
"D'you know what happened to her?"
"I think so, but I need to find something to show that I'm right. I'd like to find Rolo and Betula Root to be sure. I also want a word with the Stillwaters' gardener. I need to know who was the hobbit-lad he saw with Camellia just before she disappeared."
"That Rolo says it wasn't him," Sam said skeptically. "In any case, you're not going out again today."
Frodo didn't feel like arguing, nor did he feel like getting up. His head was still whirling. "No, tomorrow," he agreed. "Will you run an errand for me today, Sam? I'm going to write a note. Will you take it to the Bolgers' house and give it to Fatty? Tell him I have one last task for him, and then we're through."
"All right," Sam consented, "but only if you stay here and rest."
"Of course," said Frodo, and reached out to take and squeeze his friend's hand. In spite of everything that was happening, he couldn't help being aware that, as long as he was in danger of having a bad spell, Sam was fully attentive to him without his having to ask for it. Frodo wryly thought that he ought to have bad spells more often.
There were footsteps pattering in the hall, and then Merry and Pippin stopped as they went past the doorway, seeing Frodo lying on the bed, and recognizing the distinctive smell of vomit from their own heavy drinking bouts.
"Frodo's not well," Sam told them, even though it was obvious.
"Had too much tea at Stillwater Hall?" Pippin asked.
"Something like that," Frodo replied with a faint smile. "Did you find him?"
Pippin shook his head and looked to Merry, who said, "Not a sign. I've been halfway up and down the north road, and Pip took the road west, and as far as we could tell, Rolo hasn't gone either way. No one's seen him."
"He probably went across the fields--it's the most direct way to the Wood. We all know that's where he's gone," said Pippin.
"Do you want us to go there and get him, Frodo?"
Frodo could see that neither was very keen to take another long journey, but they would do it if he asked them to. "No," he said. "We know where he is, just as Pip says. I have more questions to ask Rolo, but I think I'd better call on the local Chief Shirriff instead of sending you chasing after him."
"Tomorrow," Sam insisted.
"Yes, tomorrow."
After the turmoil and travel of the last few days, it was no surprise that the bad turn Sam had predicted should come that very night.
Frodo dreamt that he stood on the bank of the Brandywine River with Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Melilot. It was a place he knew well: the steep earthwork embankment with a footpath atop and long-stemmed blue asters growing on the slope that led down to the swift-flowing river; the rushes growing in the shallows; the long muddy flat where boats could be pulled ashore. It wasn't far from where his parents had drowned.
Camellia Stillwaters was standing knee-deep in the river, dragging her sodden skirts in the murky waters as she waded in deeper. They called out to her to stop, to turn back, but she went on all the same.
At the edge of the shallows, she turned toward them and smiled--a ghastly, heart-rending smile on a white face full of grief and agony, with eyes that were touched with madness. He would never forget that terrible smile. Then she flung herself into the water.
"No!" Frodo cried out. He would have dived into the river after her, but someone had taken hold of him. His wrists were captured and as he screamed incoherently and struggled furiously to free himself, he was only held all the more firmly. His arms were pinned to his sides and there was no hope of escape.
It was only when he heard the voice saying, "Frodo, stop it! Don't you know where you are?" that he fully awoke and realized he'd been fighting Sam.
"She's not in the river," Frodo said, and went limp. His head flopped back onto Sam's shoulder. He lay there in the strong arms that were still wrapped around him, breathing hard, slowly emerging from the depths of his dream. When there was a tap on the door, Sam set him gently down on the bed and got up to answer it.
Frodo heard Merry whisper, "We heard him scream. How is he?"
"It's just one of his bad dreams," Sam whispered back. "He's awake now. He'll be all right once he quiets down and gets back to sleep. I'll look after him--don't you worry."
There were more whispered words between them; Frodo thought he heard Ilbie and Pippin too, although they spoke so softly that he found it hard to distinguish one voice from the others. Then the door shut.
"I knew this was coming!" Sam said as he returned to the bed. "Thank goodness we aren't at home. I mightn't've heard you call out if I was with Rose."
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo said as he snuggled closer to burrow against the warm, cuddlesome body of his lover. "I didn't realize it was you. I was trying to go after her..."
"In the river," Sam repeated. "Was it her you were dreaming of, Frodo, of Mrs. Camellia?"
"Sort of, but it was really my cousin Mentha I was thinking of." Frodo saw why the two should be mingled in his mind: Mentha Brandybuck had been another woman he might have helped, if only he'd seen the truth in time. He'd been too late on that day as well.
He began to weep and Sam, as always, offered whatever comfort he could: he gathered Frodo up and held onto him tightly, cradled him, rocked him, stroked his hair and murmured soothing sounds. He placed gentle kisses on Frodo's brow and wet cheeks.
After awhile, Frodo lifted his face to return the kisses. "Will you stay right here with me tonight, Sam?" It was a nonsensical question under the circumstances--there was no other bedroom down the hallway here at the inn where Sam could go--but, nevertheless, he couldn't bear the idea of being left alone.
"Course I will," Sam promised him. "I wouldn't leave you, Frodo. I'll be right here all night, should you need me."
There was one more kiss, and then Frodo relaxed in his lover's embrace and shut his eyes. Though sleep would elude him for some time, he was comforted. "I don't know what I'd do without you, dear Sam. I don't ever want to find out!"
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
