Rating: G
Disclaimer: Frodo and all recognisable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offence is intended, nor profit made.
AN: While this is as canon-consistent as I can make it, it is AU to my other stories.
Summary: Hurt/Comfort. It is Coronation time in Minas Tirith and Frodo reluctantly accepts the help of his friends.
(Written for Febobe, for the Spring 2006 Frodo Fic Exchange) 

OLD SORROWS
It was during the celebratory feast, the evening of the Coronation, when it dawned on Frodo. He overheard Faramir answer Pippin’s questions about Gondorian dates, and he suddenly realized what he had forgotten.

For the first time in thirty-eight years, it had completely slipped his mind. It had not even occurred to him once, the whole of yesterday. The enormity of it hit him like a wave, and he felt the blood drain from his face, felt his stomach give a lurch. How could he forget?

Merry and Sam noticed the change in his demeanor immediately. Simultaneously, Merry said “Frodo, what’s wrong?” as Sam asked “Mr. Frodo! Are you all right?” Pippin turned in concern, from his conversation with Faramir.

Frodo could feel Aragorn’s eyes on him, saw Gandalf give him a shrewd look beneath his bushy brows, noticed the concern as Legolas and Gimli turned in his direction. The other feasters, however, noticed nothing.

He tried to force a bit of normalcy in his voice. “Nothing is wrong,” he said with dignity. “I just find the room a bit close; and there are a good many people--more than I am used to recently. I believe I shall go ahead and retire.” He made to clamber down from the chair. Four had been prepared for the hobbits, with extra rungs across the two front legs, to assist in climbing up and down, and cushions, secured by ties to the back of the chair, to raise them up to table height.

“I’ll come with you Mr. Frodo.” Sam started to get down from his own perch.

“No, Sam, you stay here and enjoy the feast. I’ll get a bit of fresh air, and then go to the chamber they’ve prepared for me.” Frodo had been a bit nervous about sleeping alone in a room in a strange place, but now he began to think that it might be a good idea. At least he wouldn’t be keeping the other hobbits awake. He felt certain that he was in for a more than usually restless night.

Merry and Sam followed him with their eyes, and then looked at one another. Sam gave a shrug, and Merry a brief nod, acknowledging that either of them trying to follow him now would only create an embarrassing scene for everyone. Pippin still made as if to get down, but Merry stayed him with a hand on his arm. “Leave it, Pip. We will check on him before we turn in for the night.”

Aragorn had also watched him leave. He had a feeling it was more than just weariness of the day. He was all too aware of how far Frodo had come in his recovery, and how much further he had yet to go. He looked up and met Gandalf’s eyes, and saw there his own fear mirrored--that Frodo would never completely recover. He wished that he could go after Frodo, but that was impossible; this was his coronation feast, and if he left now, this early, it would cause a good deal of unpleasant speculation about the new High King. He allowed Éomer to distract him with a question, and did his best to put his small friend from his mind for the time being. He would check on him later.

Frodo managed to walk carefully and slowly, upright and without obviously showing his distress. He knew he wasn’t fooling his cousins or Sam, but they couldn’t come after him right away without making a scene. He exited the feasthall onto a wide terrace, where he stopped to take some deep breaths. It still amazed him to be able to breathe air that was not foul with the poisons of the Dark Land. Hopefully the fresh air would still the turmoil in his belly, and allow the whirl of thoughts to calm.

He needed to think. He had said he would retire. Yet where in this great maze of stone, were the chambers set aside for the hobbits? How would he find them? He needed to lie down soon.

How could he have forgotten? He felt the tears threatening to overwhelm him once more, and his stomach began to rebel again. Hoping against hope that there were no stragglers from the feast to observe his distress, he lurched to the nearest potted plant, and began to retch, bringing up all he had consumed at the feast.

But as he continued to heave, he gave a start when a large and comforting arm was placed around him. “Frodo,” said a gentle voice, and he found his face being wiped by a clean handkerchief.

Embarrassed beyond belief to have been found this way, he turned tear-filled eyes on his rescuer. “M-my Lord Elrohir?” he guessed. He saw the other brother standing behind, a concerned look on his fair face. Frodo thought it might be Lord Elrohir next to him, for he seemed to remember that Lord Elladan was the one clad in blue, and the twin who knelt beside him was clad in grey.

Elrohir nodded. Elladan stepped forward. “Frodo, I shall go and fetch Estel--”

“No!” Frodo cried sharply, earning an identical look of shock from both the twins. “No, please, do not fetch anyone. It will cause too much notice. Please.” He whispered, “All I would like to do is go to my chambers and try to sleep…”

Gently, Elrohir picked him up. “Please forgive my presumption, Frodo,” he said quietly, “but I do not believe you are strong enough to walk the distance to your chambers. I am sorry.” He spoke quietly and though Frodo should have felt humiliated at being carried like a faunt, he could not feel angry in the face of such humble practicality.

For an instant, he felt another wave of nausea. He bit his lip, and forced it away.

Elladan spoke to his brother. “I believe I know where the chambers assigned to the hobbits are.”

“Lead the way,” said Elrohir, holding Frodo gently against his shoulder.

The sensation of being carried was not one Frodo thought he could get used to, but it was not unpleasant to be enfolded by strong and safe arms. He could feel as they went up stairs--several landings of stairs. On what floor had they been placed? Hobbits certainly were not used to sleeping so high up. But, he told himself, it was not so perilous a height as the Endless Stair to Cirith Ungol.

He heard Elladan’s voice, apparently speaking to some servant or guard placed on the floor, asking which of the chambers belonged to the Lord Frodo. He could not summon enough strength even to be indignant at this use of his unwanted title.

His stomach empty, he began now to feel an increasing throbbing behind his temples. He would soon have a headache, a raging one, he feared. He hoped that Elrohir would leave him in the dark, where he could be alone in his misery.

The servant went before them with a candle, and Elladan turned down the bed. Frodo found himself being placed there in the wide expanse of linen and blankets. At first, he thought that he would be granted his wish of being left alone. He felt the covers pulled up over him gently, and the candle was blown out, and he heard steps going away and the door shut. But then he heard the sound of water being poured, and he felt the bed give, as someone sat next to him. His head had begun to pound.

But a large and gentle hand brushed across his brow, and then he felt a cool wet cloth placed over his brow.

He heard the brothers hold a brief whispered conversation in Sindarin. His head hurt too much for him to be able to translate, though he caught one or two words, they conveyed nothing to him in his miserable state. He heard the door close once more, and then Elrohir began to sing to him softly.

The feast had begun to break up, guests were leaving, and at last those who had watched with worried eyes Frodo leave the feasthall were free to speak of their fears.

“Strider,” said Merry, “we need to go see if Frodo is all right. He was pretending, I know he was.”

“Aye,” put in Sam. “I know he were more than just ‘tired’.”

“What are we waiting for?” asked Pippin impatiently. “Let’s go.”

In spite of being worried himself, Aragorn found himself amused at the hobbits. When it came to Frodo, they had no compunction whatsoever in issuing orders to the High King. He certainly was in no danger of becoming over-comfortable in his power as long as he had hobbits around.

Gandalf had been having a few words with Faramir, and turned back to the little group. “I, too, noticed something more in his demeanor. Something upset him.”

Just then, Legolas and Gimli came up, with Elladan at their side. The Dwarf and Elf had gone to the terrace, where Gimli was having a pipe, when Elladan found them.

“Estel--” he began, and all of them turned to him, “Elrohir and I found Frodo being sick. Elrohir is with him now in the hobbit’s chamber. But he has no herbs or anything with him. And something seems to be distressing the Ringbearer a good deal.”

“Take us there,” said Merry. He was not going to stand on any ceremony if Frodo was sick.

When they all arrived at Frodo’s door, they halted. Aragorn looked at all of the rest of them, and shook his head. “We do not all need to go crowding in there at once.” He glanced at the hobbits.

The three of them exchanged a look, and then Merry nodded. “You go, Sam. We’ll wait out here for our turn.”

Aragorn turned to Pippin. “Pippin, please go to the Houses of Healing.” He reached in his pouch and pulled out a small leaf of parchment and a silverpoint stylus, and wrote quickly. “Take this to the herb-master, and bring these back to me.”

Pippin took it with a tiny bow, and then flew down the passage as though he had wings to his feet.

Aragorn and Sam entered the room quietly, where Elrohir still sat, holding Frodo’s hand and singing softly in Sindarin.

“How is he, my brother?” Aragorn asked in that same language.

“He seems very melancholy and distressed, Estel. He has a headache, and earlier his stomach rebelled and he lost his meal.” Elrohir stood up, and surrendered his place to Aragorn.

“Frodo,” Aragorn said gently, smoothing back the dark curls from his sweaty brow. “Please won’t you tell us what is wrong?”

Sam took hold of Frodo’s hand as he sat with him on the edge of the bed. He gave it a squeeze. “Mr. Frodo, can’t you tell me?”

“There’s nothing to say,” he whispered.

“That cursed Ring!” Sam exclaimed.

“It’s not the Ring,” was the unexpected response. “It has nothing to do with the Ring.”

Pippin raced through the halls of the Houses of Healing, until he came to the herb-master’s chambers. He had been here once or twice before. He pounded on the door.

“Just a moment! Just a moment!” came a querulous voice. Pippin heard a bolt draw back and the door opened suddenly.

“Why, it’s the Ernil I Pheriannath! What is the urgency?”

Pippin took out the scrap of parchment. “King Elessar asks that I bring him these, immediately! My cousin, Lord Frodo the Ringbearer, is ill!”

The herb-master took the small scrap, and looked at the items listed there--”Hmm…hmm…let us see.” He moved over to the array of shelves and bottles and jars that stood to one side of the large room. “Lemon balm, valerian, hops--” He took down some of the jars, and then moved to another portion of the shelf “--chamomile, passion flower, athelas.”

Quickly he measured out the asked for herbs, into small bags of waxed linen, and handed them to Pippin.

“Thank you,” said Pippin with the briefest of bows. He turned and ran off, slamming the large door behind him.

Sam and Elrohir between them had kindled a small fire on the hearth and heated some water. When Pippin tapped on the door, Elrohir cracked it open and took the herbs from him.

Soon the soothing scent of athelas filled the air, and Aragorn brewed a draught which would calm Frodo’s stomach, ease his headache and help him to sleep. Frodo at first turned away, but finally he accepted it. Perhaps if he drank the draught, they would all just go away.

Aragorn took the empty tumbler from him, and replaced it next to the water pitcher on the nightstand. “Frodo, can you not tell us what it is distressing you?”

Frodo turned his head away, and gave a shrug. But his lips were set in a tight line. “I would just like to be left alone.” He scooted slightly further away. “Please, just leave me. Go.”

Aragorn, Sam and Elrohir exited the room rather sadly.

“I have given him something to settle his stomach, and to help him sleep. I do not understand--he seemed to be enjoying the festivities, and I know how pleased he was to take part in the coronation. He seemed to be faring well--this came on very suddenly.”

“He says it’s not the Ring,” said Sam, shaking his head. “But I don’t know what else it could be? There have been no reminders of our journey today, and the day has been as fine a spring day as a body could wish…”

Merry looked at Sam with a start. “Spring…what is the Shire date?” he asked abruptly.

“Oh, I know,” said Pippin. “Faramir was explaining the calendar to me at the feast--it’s the first day of Thrimidge back home.”

“I know what it is.” Merry bit his lip, and wondered that he had not understood sooner. For as long as he could remember, for Frodo spring had been a season of sorrow. When he had moved from Buckland, it was not so bad, but it was there nevertheless. “Yesterday was the anniversary of the date his parents drowned--and he probably did not realize it until he heard you talking.”

Sam and Pippin looked at one another. “Oh,” they said simultaneously, immediately nodding. Gandalf nodded sagely. Of course.

Aragorn cast a look back at Frodo’s door, and for a moment thought of going back in. This was a sorrow he could somewhat understand as an orphan himself. But he had been too young to remember the circumstances of his father’s death, and he had been an adult before he lost Gilraen. How much worse must it have been for a young child to lose both parents in such a sudden and tragic way? Certainly that sorrow would have continued to haunt Frodo.

“This is for me to deal with,” said Merry firmly.

Aragorn gave Merry a look of surprise, as the hobbit started to open the door and go into the room. Frodo had been firm that he wished no one in there.

But as he started to object, Gandalf shook his head. Gandalf knew hobbits and their ways better than any save other hobbits, so Aragorn subsided.

Merry entered the dark chamber, illuminated only by a shaft of cold moonlight through the large window. He could see Frodo’s form in the middle of the huge bed, the dark head turned away, the shoulders hitching.

“Go away, whoever it is,” came a soft voice.

“Not a chance,” said Merry gently. He clambered up to the bed, and lay down alongside his cousin, and put an arm around his shaking shoulders. “I know, Frodo, I know,” he murmured.

After a while, he felt Frodo relax, and as his older cousin finally gave in to the sleeping draught and drifted off, Merry also slipped into sleep.

Outside the door in the wide stone corridor, the others waited to see if Merry would come out. When he did not, Pippin and Sam exchanged a brief look.

“I wish I would’ve realized what it was bothering Mr. Frodo,” said Sam sadly.

Pippin shook his head. “No, Sam. That particular grief of Frodo’s has always been Merry’s job to handle, you know. I’ve heard it told often enough, that it was his job even when he was a baby.”

Now assured that the crisis was handled, Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, I think that we may all safely seek our beds. If Frodo needs anything in the night, Merry will let us know.”

As the others all turned to leave, Pippin and Sam slid down to sit on the floor next to the door.

“Good night all,” said Pippin briskly, leaning back against the wall.

Aragorn looked at them in surprise. “I think that you both should get some rest as well.”

“We will.” Pippin did not look up.

Gandalf reached up and scratched his nose to hide a smile. Legolas, Gimli, Faramir and the twins all halted to turn and watch.

“I could order you to go to bed,” Aragorn said sternly.

“Begging your pardon, Strider, but I ain’t one of your guards.” Sam looked up with a determined glint in his eye. “You can’t order me.”

The new King transferred his gaze to Pippin. “Sir Peregrin--”

Pippin looked up now with a very cheeky grin. “If you are telling me to go to sleep, then I am off duty. If I am off duty, then I can sleep where I like. And I like it just fine here--though a cushion or two to take the chill off my bottom would not come amiss.”

Aragorn laughed. “Hobbits! Very well, stay where you are, and I shall have some cushions sent to you. But I hope that your rebellion is rewarded by stiff necks in the morning.”

“Very likely,” was Pippin’s response.

“You really should get some rest, Strider. You’ve had a long day, you know, and you have to do a lot of king things in the morning.” And with that, Sam leaned back and closed his eyes.

Aragorn shook his head. “Please let me know as soon as Frodo wakens,” was all he said.

Frodo lay in a half doze, feeling the familiar form of his cousin Merry snuggled against his side. For the briefest of instants, he thought he was back in Brandy Hall, and then it came to him. Merry stirred, and looked at him.

“Merry, I--”

“Shush, Frodo, don’t apologize to me. I wish I had realized the date sooner.”

“And what good would that have done?” Frodo asked softly, the bleakness on his face almost a comfort to Merry--it was an old bleakness, an old sorrow from long before the Ring ever came to trouble Frodo’s life. It was a familiar and not unwelcome sorrow, and one rooted in their kinship. It was a sorrow Merry knew how to deal with. “I cannot believe that I, myself, had forgotten. What kind of son forgets the day his parents died?”

“Frodo, you did not forget.”

Frodo stared at his cousin in astonishment. “Of course I did! I did not remember a thing about it until I heard Faramir explain to Pippin what the date was in the Shire--I have been quite out of my reckoning, ever since I awakened in Cormallen.”

Merry chuckled, and shook his head. “And there you have it, cousin. You did not forget--you simply did not know.” Merry sat up and swung his feet over the side of the huge bed.

“But--” Frodo shook his head in confusion; even now Merry’s words, while they made sense, did not comfort him.

“Frodo Baggins,” Merry said firmly, “there are any number of things of which you might be guilty. Trying to keep your troubles to yourself being the first and foremost of your faults, and keeping secrets from your kin and friends another--but being an undutiful son is not one of them. You have always loved the memory of your parents.” He stood up on the floor, and then leaned across the bed, and placed a little kiss on Frodo’s brow, tip-toeing as he did so. “Now, since you so cleverly got rid of the fine supper you had last night, I do think that you might be hungry for first breakfast this morning.”

“Merry, I do not really think that I could eat anything--”

“We shall see about that!” Merry went to the door and opened it, gesturing to Pippin and Sam, who were waiting outside. “Sam, I think that Frodo might want a bit of help right now. Pip, Strider wanted to know right away when Frodo woke up, didn’t he?”

Pippin nodded. “Yes, I have orders to inform him as soon as Frodo wakened.” He peered into the room with a cocky grin and waggled his fingers at his oldest cousin. “Good morning, Frodo!” he said cheerily, “I am off to fetch the King--ah, ah, ah! Don’t shake your head at me! I’m under orders, you see!”

He and Merry went out, leaving Sam to help Frodo wash his face and hands and use the chamber pot. Frodo still felt very shaky.

“Here, now, Mr. Frodo, let’s get you tucked back up, nice and cozy. It may be spring, but these stone walls and floors make a room chill.” Sam spoke briskly and lightly, as he smoothed the covers up and then turned them back. He turned Frodo’s pillow over and plumped it up, before assisting Frodo to climb back into the bed, where he helped him sit back against the pillows, and pulled up the sheet and coverlet.

While Pippin went to find Aragorn in the Royal Chambers, Merry went to inform the servant stationed at the head of the stairs that the Ringbearer was awake, and would he please send to the kitchen for the Lord Frodo’s breakfast?

Sam had just finished getting Frodo settled back in the bed when Pippin returned with Aragorn.

Frodo looked at him and blushed. “You are king now. You have better things to do with your time than to attend on me. I am so sorry to be such a trouble--”

“Nonsense,” Aragorn replied, as he sat down on the bed next to Frodo and felt his brow gently. “Is your headache gone?”

Frodo sighed. “Yes, it is.”

“And how is your stomach this morning?”

“I must confess, I do think I am a little hungry.”

“Then,” came Merry’s voice from the doorway, “this is perfect timing.” He was followed into the room by a liveried servant bearing a large tray.

The tray was perfectly huge to hobbit eyes, and had short legs on either side, so that it could be placed across the lap and make a comfortable table. Frodo’s eyes grew large at the sight of the bounty: there was toast, made of bread baked with cinnamon and raisins, lightly buttered, and with more cinnamon sprinkled atop it; there was a coddled egg, with some sort of creamy sauce, fragrant with herbs; there was a small bowl of oatmeal, swirled with honey, and drizzled with melted butter and cream; there were two rashers of bacon, crisp and brown; on a small plate were slices of cold melon and some grapes and strawberries. In addition there was a tumbler of juice, orange in color, and very cold. A candied cherry floated atop the juice. To one side of the tray was another plate, stacked with several more slices of the lovely toast.

A second servant entered, with another smaller tray, bearing a teapot and several cups. He placed the tray on the night table, and with a deep bow to the King, and a nod to the pheriannath, the two servants withdrew.

“Oh my!” exclaimed Frodo softly. “I don’t know if I could possibly eat all this by myself!”

Pippin grinned. “Eat what you will, cousin! We’ll help!” He ducked and laughed as Merry aimed a swat at the back of his head. “Shall I pour?” he said, moving over to the table where the teapot stood.

Merry smiled. “Anyway, that’s what the extra toast’s for.” He reached over and took a slice.

Aragorn shook his head amused. He had learned early on that hobbits considered it very poor manners to allow someone to eat alone, and would always nibble on something to “keep them company”, so he did not refuse when Pippin passed him a cup of tea, nor when Sam offered him a slice of the toast. It would be more than enough of a breakfast for himself, and he knew the other three hobbits would go down soon enough to a “proper breakfast” for themselves, as soon as they were assured that Frodo was properly nourished.

At first Frodo merely picked at the food, but after a few bites he began to eat more enthusiastically, occasionally offering a bit of fruit to one of the others, who nibbled at their toast, and talked lightly of what they would do when they went home. Frodo said little, but listened, and smiled just a little, and soon had finished nearly every bite.

There was a slight rap on the edge of the open door, and all looked up to see Gandalf standing there, smiling, a twinkle in his dark eyes. But he said gruffly, “My Lord King Elessar, your Steward awaits your presence. You have too much to do today to waste time lollygagging about with this lot.” He turned a stern eye on Merry, Pippin and Sam. “And you three had better make your way to the kitchen if you want your own breakfasts! The cooks have better things to do than to be awaiting the whims of a lot of hobbits!”

Pippin hopped down at once from his perch at the edge of Frodo’s bed, and Sam did so a bit more slowly, but Merry just gave Gandalf a cool look from under a raised brow.

“None of your sauce, Mister Brandybuck! I will stay with your cousin.”

Aragorn stood and said, “Mustn’t keep my Steward waiting. I will check on you after luncheon Frodo. But I expect you to rest today!” He turned to look at Pippin. “Sir Peregrin, you had best make haste if you intend to have another breakfast, for I expect you to attend on me in one hour; and Sir Meriadoc, I am quite certain that Éomer King will be expecting you as well.” He strode from the room and Merry and Pippin scrambled to follow him.

Sam followed a bit more slowly, and looking back at Frodo said, “You keep warm now, Mr. Frodo. And have another cup of tea!” As he passed Gandalf, he whispered loudly “You keep an eye on him, now, sir.”

The wizard chuckled. “Of course, Samwise! Now move along with you or that Took will have left nothing for you!”

After Sam left, Gandalf shut the door. He crossed the room to the nightstand, and poured out a cup of tea for himself, and then turning, he removed the tray from the bed, and poured another cup for Frodo. “The stars forbid that I should not follow the orders of Lord Samwise the Brave!” he said as he handed it to Frodo, before sitting down in the chair that Aragorn had vacated.

Frodo took a sip, sighed, and leaned his head back against the pillows. “I do wish that everyone would not make such a fuss over me. I am so sorry for what happened last night. I did not wish to spoil the coronation feast.”

Gandalf placed his large and gentle hand atop Frodo’s head. “My dear Frodo! You have not been long recovered from your ordeal--” privately, as he studied the pale face, he thought that perhaps the Ringbearer had not recovered at all. That hint of translucence he had noted once in Rivendell seemed even more pronounced now. “--and yesterday was a long and busy one for you. And then to remember your own long-ago grief on top of that, well, it is only to be expected you should react so!”

“Still, it was exceedingly embarrassing.” Frodo closed his eyes.

Gandalf had begun to gently smooth the dark curls. “Have I ever told you the tale of how I first encountered hobbits?” Without waiting for an answer, he began to talk, in a soft and soothing tone, of those long days past, and his discovery of the Shirefolk, and their gentle and simple way of life. Slowly, Frodo drifted into a deep and untroubled dream of his home.

“Rest well, my friend,” murmured Gandalf. “Your parents would have been exceedingly proud of you…”

The End