Sweet Revenge
By Cúthalion

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For rabidsamfan - as a cure against foul mood and bad colds __________________________________________________________________

"Brandywine mud," Samwise Gamgee said, peering at the brown liquid in his cup with honest disgust, "this looks like Brandywine mud. After a long rain, with tons of loam from the fields." He shuddered and set the cup back on the tray, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Frodo Baggins turned back to his gardener. Right now Sam was completely at his mercy (while confined to his bed in a wide sickroom in the Houses of Healing, his right hand hidden under a thick, spotless bandage).

"Oh, come on, Sam... Lady Ioreth said it contains willow bark against the pain, several other herbs and - what was that? - it is mixed with a broth, extracted from a pound of rusty nails."

"A pound of rusty... what?!?"

"Of rusty nails," the master of Bag End replied in a calm, reasonable tone. "Because of the blood you have lost and need to replace, my dear Sam. Very good for you, she said." His eyes were dancing with mirth, but he still managed not to grin.

"And... and what comes next?" Sam sputtered. "Sucking on Sting for elevenses? A chain mail for dessert?" He shook his head. "That lady doesn't have all her marbles, if you ask m---" He hastily shut his mouth when said lady entered the room, bringing yet another tray... this time with something to eat. For a short moment Sam's eyes lit up, but the slimy, grey pap in the small bowl definetely did not meet his hopeful expectations.

"What," he asked, "is this?"

"Porridge with thinned milk, smooth and soft," Ioreth trilled, placing the tray on the nightstand. "But Master Samwise, you still didn't drink your tea!"

"Yes, indeed," Sam retorted, "I didn't. And I won't." He shot an accusing glance in the direction of the elder woman. "Herbs and rusty nails - you must be joking!"

Dark, birdlike eyes returned his gaze with unfazed composure.

"I can assure you I'm not joking. This tea was composed to meet your needs, Master Samwise, and you should at least try it before you refuse to drink the rest. Don't be stubborn, little sir... we have sworn to do everything to make you healthy and whole again, and the tea is an important part of the cure. And now..." She took the cup from the nightstand. "Would you please...?"

Sam accepted the cup, bravely trying to ignore the soft chuckle that came from the direction of the window; the shoulders of his master were shaking suspiciously. He took a cauteous sip... and set the cup down again. His face discolored to a blotchy red, then it turned downright green. He gave a squawking sound like a strangled goose, then gasped for air and started to cough. Ioreth leaned over the bed, heartily patting his back.

"Now, now, little sir...it can't have been that bad, can it?" 

Sam didn't even try to answer; his coughing fit became even worse, and he made weak, deprecating gestures with his unbandaged hand, trying to dry his watery eyes with his sleeve. Ioreth paled visibly.

"I'll have a word with the herb master!" she said with an unnaturally high voice. "It might well be that he has mistaken the dose of celandine... addle-brained old fool!" The last remark was barely more than a soft hiss between gritted teeth, and then she whirled out of the room, closing the door behind her with a bang. Frodo walked over from the window and sat down on the chair beside the bed, eyeing his gardener with growing concern.

"Sam?" he asked cautiously, "was it really that awful?"

"You have no idea, Mr. Frodo," Sam croaked laboriously, "it was worse!" He struggled to keep his composure and his good manners, but then he gave up and blurted out: "Beg your pardon, but next time that lady tries to force something on me that tastes like a mixture of horse piss and rat poison, I'll jump out of my bed and drink out of the chamber pot instead!" 

He blushed deeply and turned to the nightstand, then took the spoon from the second tray and gingerly dug it into the porridge.

"I can only hope they have used some honey to sweeten this slime," he said with the voice of a sorely afflicted martyr, "I must get the nasty taste out of my mouth." He licked the porridge from the spoon, shaking his head with a sour grimace. "No honey. Not even sugar! Heaven and earth, I have a bad hand and not a bad stomach - that lady tries to poison me, and no mistake."

He sighed and leaned back into his pillow. Before Frodo had the chance to answer, the door opened again and a man peered in. He had a mop of white hair and a friendly, wrinkled face with sky blue eyes.

"Mylords?" He stepped into the room and bowed deeply. "May I introduce myself? I'm Mardil, the herb master of the Houses of Healing."

The Ringbearer rose from his chair.

"You won't find any 'mylords' in here, but I am Frodo Baggins, at your service," he said, the laughter in his eyes visibly renewed. "So it is you who was responsible for all those brews I had to swallow while I lay here during my first weeks in the White City? And who is seemingly also responsible - if I may add - for the tea that Master Gamgee here just compared to a mixture of horse p---" He caught Sam's murderous, desperate gaze and suddenly decided not to finish the ominous sentence.

Mardil sighed deeply.

"I'm very sorry," he said, "I know this is not the tastiest of my teas. And  I have to confess that Master Gamgee is not the first one to compare it to... erh... horse pee."

He saw Sam's embarrassed wince and gave a small grin.

"Unfortunately the effect is partly ruined if we add some sugar or syrup to make it more sufferable." His eyes scanned the room. "Ioreth was the one who ordered the tea," he said with a certain air of unease. "Where has she got to?"

Sam swallowed.

"I fear the lady's on her way to get your head," he said miserably, "and it's all my fault, beg your pardon. After the first sip I refused to drink your tea, and now she believes that you made some kind of mistake."

Mardil shrugged. "Don't feel too bad about it, Master Gamgee," he said with a lopsided smile, "my mistakes have been causing her anger for more than forty years now, and your repulsion is only the confirmation of her general distrust towards my... ahm... skills."  He obviously planned to beat an orderly retreat, but the very next moment the door opened and Ioreth returned, armed with a new, steaming cup.

"My dear Master Gamgee, I've brought another sort of tea... and this time it even contains honey!" she announced with all signs of merry excitement. Then she discovered the herb master (who visibly shrunk under her gaze), and her good mood turned to acid contempt. 

"Mardil." she said, eyeing him from head to toe. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh... the herb master came here to tell me about the... well, the herbs he puts into his teas," Sam quickly piped in, feeling the sudden urge to run to Mardil's rescue, "and he just was about to explain that matter with the rusty nails to me."

"Oh." Ioreth took a deep breath. "Was he."

"Yes," Mardil thankfully agreed, raising a pontificating forefinger. "If you lose to much blood, your body loses iron, an element you need to be healthy and whole. And a broth, exctracted from rusty nails, should help to return the iron you've lost. I was also told that your abductors didn't feed you all too well. No red meat, I guess, and no green vegetables... no spinach or cabbage?"

"None of that," Sam replied grimly. "And no porridge either," he added with a rueful gaze at the small bowl.

"And therefore you should drink your tea, Master Gamgee," Mardil continued with a gentle smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "The first and the second one, if you ask me."

The Ringbearer caught Sam's horrified gaze and touched the herb master's shoulder. "Mardil... could I have a word with you? Outside?"

He went out of the room, the old man on his heels. Ioreth, left behind with the gardener as the only victim of her thirst for action, turned to the bed, hands on her hips.

"Master Gamgee," she said, visibly at the end of her patience, "will you drink your tea, please? Now?"

Sam clearly unterstood that this was the moment to end the fight and to hoist the white flag. He took the second cup and emptied it with a heroic effort. This time he managed neither to cough nor to retch; the tea stayed down where it belonged, and he raised his chin in a weak gesture of triumph. They gazed at each other, but before Ioreth could say anything, the door opened once more and let in the Ringbearer and the herbmaster. Both looked very satisfied.

"Your presence is required in the vestibule," Mardil said to Ioreth, exchanging a short side glance with Frodo. "And Master Gamgee should have the chance to rest, shouldn't he?"

"Yes, indeed," Frodo replied earnestly. "He looks rather... worn out."

"Oh." Ioreth pondered this for a moment. "I'll be back later, to see if he has recovered."

"Splendid idea," Frodo gave back, his face strangely unmoving. "Late this afternoon, perhaps? I am sure he needs three or four hours of sleep - at least."

"Very well." Ioreth straightened her back, turned around and walked out of the room... undefeated on her very own battlefield. Sam  - who didn't want to spoil her victory - waited until the door had closed behind her until he spoke.

"I'm not tired, Mr. Frodo," he stated with great dignity. "Quite to the contrary." He gave the abandoned bowl a last, disparaging gaze. "I am hungry... and I want something 'real' to eat."

"It happens that the kitchen of the Houses got a very special delivery today," Frodo casually remarked. "Brown and tasty if roasted with ham and onions in a creamy sauce..."

Sam's opened his mouth.

"M... mushrooms?" he whispered in blissful disbelief. 

"Mushrooms." Mardil said, the gleam of a true scholar in his blue eyes. "Rather rare... erh... plants in this part of the world. If you excuse me, I will retire into my study and do some research about their use and taste during the last three ages." He rushed out of the room, his robe fluttering behind him like the sail of a ship turning its bow into the morning tide.

"Thank you, sir. And I," Sam said with a happy sigh, "will do the research by emptying my plate down to the very last bit. --- Is there some beef, too? And... and beer?"

"You'll take care to protect your fine nightshirt and your covers, my dear Sam, to save us from Lady Ioreth's rage," Frodo said, "and I promise I'll take care for the beef and the beer."

With these words he collected the trays with tea and porridge and went out to fetch a much tastier meal. Sam stayed behind with shining eyes; he gave a soft laugh when he suddenly felt his stomach growl.

"Who'd ever have believed it," he murmured with great wonder. "If that isn't the crown of all  - mushrooms in Gondor!"

He settled between his pillows and covers as comfortably as possible. Then he closed his eyes, a dreamy smile on his face, and  began to wait with jubilant anticipation.

THE END