"Sam," Frodo whispered. Halmir had just been seen to his room. Sam softly closed the door on a touching scene of the boy curled around his faithful dog. He looked at Frodo to acknowledge he had heard.

"I think something’s wrong with Halmir." Frodo said. The two companions had stopped in the hall between their two doors, out of hearing range of most of the rooms.

"I think you’re right, Mr. Frodo. I’m that glad you said something. I thought I was over reacting. I said to myself, ‘Samwise, he’s just tired and he was put through a big ordeal today. It’s just your over worryin’.’ But now that you said something too, I don’t think it was."

"Neither do I, Sam. I think the ‘big ordeal’ as you put it, was a bit too big for him. He’s got that haunted look in his eyes again. He seems to be a bit skittish, too. Jumping at every shadow and sound. He’s...he’s remembering, Sam."

Frodo didn’t have to explain. They both knew of the boy’s past. How his father was killed in battle by orcs. When the orcs attacked his village, his mother and sister had been ruthlessly murdered in front of him. He himself had been rescued in the nick of time by the Rhorrim. He was one of three survivors. And then he had joined the Rhohirrim, having no where else to go. The battles also served to traumatize the poor boy. When he was wounded, he would have given up on life, if not for Merry, and then Pippin as well. Living with the remaining Fellowship (but especially the Hobbits) had given Halmir life and love again. And now Frodo feared that all that was shattered.

"I’ll keep my ears open. That’s the best we can do for tonight, if you know what I mean. You don’t look so well, yourself, begging your pardon. But you do look a sight better since you heard of Mr. Merry’s being alight." Sam whispered. Frodo smiled at him and whispered,

"Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight, Mr. Frodo." They went their separate ways into their rooms, where they were lost in soft, warm blankets and welcomed sleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo sighed and rolled over in his cocoon of warm blankets. He didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to sleep. But his body wouldn’t sleep again. He had smelled mushrooms. His stomach growled and he realized he hadn’t eaten since yesterday at luncheon. Frodo swung his feet to the floor and instantly regretted it. The room swayed a bit, and his head felt heavy and felt like a troll was trying to bash his brains out. After a moment, the feeling dimmed, and then passed. Frodo slowly stood, and was rewarded with another onslaught. But when that fit passed as well, he carefully made his way to the kitchen.

"Mornin’, Mr. Frodo!" Sam chirped. "Lord Strider’s up and left for the palace, Gandalf with him. Legolas and Gimli both ate and left. Miss Miriel went to fetch more of her things and Halmir is still asleep." When Sam had finished his customary briefing, he heard that ominous cough and glanced at his master. "Why, Mr. Frodo! You look terrible! Are you feeling all right?"

Frodo did look terrible. Indeed, he felt terrible. His body ached all over. His limbs felt stiff and his eyes had that fever burn. Frodo’s brown curls stuck any which way they wanted to (and they each had a different opinion) and his eyes looked glassy and tired. He looked sick.

"I’m alright, Sam." It was an overstatement, and Sam knew it. Sam was about to protest even allowing Frodo to eat, if it weren’t for Frodo’s stomach growling.

"I’ll bring you breakfast in bed." Frodo didn’t even protest, rose slowly and shuffled back to his room. ‘That settles it.’ Sam thought to himself. ‘He’s most definitely not feeling well.’

When Sam brought the tray to Frodo’s room, he was surprised to find that Frodo was not in his bed. He set the tray down and knocked on the privy door. But then Sam’s ears caught a sound from down the hall. It was a strange sound, though one Sam was far too accustomed to hearing: muffled sobs. Sam followed the sound to Halmir’s room. Frodo was perched on the lad’s bed. Halmir was sobbing into Frodo’s shoulder. The hobbit looked over the boy’s head at Sam. The gardener couldn’t tell wether Frodo’s eyes were bright from the fever or from withheld tears. Or both.

Frodo comforted the weeping child and rocked him back and forth. This was difficult for Halmir was a bit bigger than Frodo. But Frodo didn’t mind in the least. He simply continued to comfort the boy with his mere presence.

Sam sat down in a chair by the bed. Halmir didn’t notice. After a while, the sobbing subsided. Wiping his nose, Halmir pulled away from Frodo. "Thanks." he said sheepishly.

"Anytime, Halmir."

And then Halmir noticed Sam. "How long have you been here?" The question wasn’t accusatory in the least, merely curious.

"A few minutes. You must be hungry. I can bring your breakfast in here. I can’t let Mr. Frodo eat in here, as he’s sick and I don’t want you catchin’ nothing. So how about if I eat with you?"

Halmir gladly agreed to the company.

Sam and Halmir enjoyed a quiet meal together. No mention was made of the tears. Sam let it pass, knowing that Frodo would tell him later. And if he chose not to, that was Frodo’s business, not his.

___________________________________________________

TBC...

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006