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In Plain Sight
Author: Aratlithiel Summary: Hobbits don’t take instruction very well Rating: PG-13 (language)
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May 04, 2004
~*~
A/N - Inset between the 'Ale' fics and 'Indigestion'. Thank you once, again, to Shadow for making me fix this one too.
~*~
IN PLAIN SIGHT
~*~ CHAPTER ONE In which Frodo finds that Men might not be as smart as they look
~*~
“Frodo,” came the whisper and Frodo paused, looked about.
“What is it, lad?” Bilbo wanted to know. “Why have you stopped?”
Frodo frowned, shook his head. “I thought I heard someone calling my name. Did you hear anything?”
“Frodo?”
Louder this time. Frodo put the book down, gaze traveling the room from floor to ceiling then back to his cousin.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, lad?” Bilbo followed Frodo’s gaze in confusion. “I don’t hear a thing but the crackle of the fire.”
“Frodo.”
Frodo jumped from the chair, book falling from his lap to the floor. “There it is again! Someone is calling my name, I tell you.”
“Hearing voices,” Bilbo harrumphed. “Carrying on the Baggins reputation rather too well, don’t you think?”
“Frodo, I’m sorry but you must wake up now.”
And suddenly, Bag End was gone, the warmth of the fire and the smell of pipeweed only a shifting memory as Frodo became aware of crisp linen against his cheek and a hand rudely shaking his shoulder. He cracked an eye open.
“Ah, there you are.” Aragorn’s face swam into view as Frodo blinked the sleep from his eyes, adjusting his vision to the violet-indigo of early dawn.
Oh, bugger. He clamped his eyes shut again.
“No.”
A pause, the clearing of a throat.
“Umm… Eh?”
“I’m sleeping,” Frodo pointed out.
“Yes, but--”
“Sleeping!”
“I’m sorry, Frodo, but I’m afraid I have an elixir for you. I hate to wake you, but…”
Frodo growled, sighed heavily. He ought to be used to this by now.
“I’m friend to the King, you know,” he slurred. “If he finds out you’re disturbing my rest, he may have to kick your arse for you.”
Aragorn chuckled. “I’m afraid this comes directly from the King, himself, Frodo. Come now – drink this down so I can leave you in peace.”
“Have you never heard the adage, ‘let sleeping hobbits lie?’ Very good advice, actually.”
“I believe I’ve heard a different version,” the King remarked wryly. “Nonetheless, I must insist that you take this now.”
He really wasn’t going to go away, was he? Bloody persistent Men, anyway.
Frodo sighed again. “What’s this one for?” he wanted to know.
“To help you sleep,” Aragorn answered.
“Well, it had better not--” Frodo’s eyes popped open, blinked. “I’m sorry, would you mind repeating that?”
“It’s to help you sleep, Frodo,” Aragorn answered. “And it actually has a rather nice flavor to it.” This last spoken with a touch of pride.
Nonetheless, Frodo was still having a bit of a problem believing his ears. “Are you joking?”
Aragorn frowned in confusion. “Of course not, Frodo,” he replied. “Why would I joke about it? Your health is not a joking matter and I assure you that I take it quite seriously.” He held out a small cup, swishing it back and forth expectantly.
Frodo only continued to blink at him for a moment then he sat, climbed down from the bed and began rummaging through the things Sam had brought him, stacked on a corner bureau. Obviously not finding what he wanted, he strode over to the bed, slipping his arms under the mattress and feeling about.
Aragorn’s frown deepened. “Frodo, what in the--”
“Mr. Strider, sir, what are you doing here at this hour?”
Aragorn turned to see Sam stepping into the room. “I might ask you the same--”
“Mr. Frodo, are you looking for something?” Sam breezed past the King, ignoring him, and turned his attention to his master.
“Yes, Sam,” Frodo answered, abandoning his search of his bedding and moving to peer beneath the washstand. “I’m looking for Sting. You wouldn’t happen to have brought it, would you? I know I gave it to you but I’ll only be a moment with it.”
“Well, it’s yours, sir, whether you like it or not,” Sam replied sternly. “But can I ask why you need it?”
“Certainly,” Frodo replied absently, now stooping to peer beneath the bed. “I just need to run the King through. I’ll give it right back. I’ll even clean it.”
Sam looked to Aragorn in alarm. “Has he been like this long, sir?”
Aragorn seemed just as surprised as Sam was himself. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I just came a moment ago to wake him for his sleeping elixir and it’s been nothing but nonsense since.”
Sam stopped, straightened, blinked at the King. “You woke him to give him a sleeping potion?”
Aragorn opened his mouth, closed it. Then again.
“Yes, Sam, he did,” Frodo answered for him. “Now you see why I need Sting. Would you mind running along and fetching it for me? There’s a good fellow.”
“Mr. Frodo, sir, I can see why you might think that would be a good idea.” Sam glared up at Aragorn, who reddened just a touch and made himself busy, peering intently into the cup. “But I think the people might have a bit of a problem with you running their new King through, if you see what I mean.”
“Surely not after they’ve heard the reason behind it,” Frodo protested reasonably.
“Aye, sir, and a good reason it is.” He again glared at the King but Aragorn was still enraptured with what was in the cup. “But Big People are a mite funny when it comes to people doing away with their kings. They might take on and such.”
“Yes, they are a bit odd that way, aren’t they?” Frodo sighed. “Well, all right, then. How do you suppose they’d feel about me taking a stick to his ears?” he asked hopefully.
Sam looked Aragorn up and down thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose there’d be an awful lot of uproar over that one,” he admitted. “But I doubt as you’d get him to kneel down so’s you could reach his ears.”
“Hmm…” Frodo eyed the King critically. “If the stick were long enough… But no, I suppose you’re right. He isn’t terribly cooperative in the first place. How about his knees?”
“Now, see here.” Aragorn had apparently examined the cup as thoroughly as he possibly could. “It may seem a silly thing to you but--” He stopped, looked quickly to Frodo then turned back to Sam and plunged on. “He’s much more manageable when he’s asleep.”
To Frodo’s utter chagrin, Sam nodded. “I’m sure he is, sir, but you can’t keep a body sleeping just so’s you don’t have to pay him no mind.”
Aragorn looked shocked. “I’d never, Sam! It’s only that he’s so much more compliant. He takes the draughts without too much bother and he’s far less… well, ill-tempered, to put it bluntly.”
“I can see your point there, sir,” Sam agreed. “But you should ought to know not to go poking sticks at sleeping bears.”
“Well, the point is rather to keep the bear sleeping, you see.”
Sam laughed. “Aye, sir, I can see as how that might be a bit more pleasant and all but still--”
“You do realize that I can hear you?” Frodo put in.
“Not only pleasant, Sam but sometimes very necessary. He can be horribly uncooperative, you know. Why, just yesterday he actually swore at me for touching his head to check for fever.”
“That’s nothing, sir,” Sam chortled. “You should have seen one time when he’d caught fever and Mr. Bilbo tried to get him to take off his shirt when Mrs. Smallburrow came to check on him.”
“Mrs. Smallburrow is a healer?”
“Aye and a fair lovely one, at that. Mr. Frodo didn’t take too kindly to the idea of lowering his defenses, so to speak.”
“Hullooooo? Hearing this.”
“I can fair imagine, Sam!” Aragorn laughed. “I’ve already gotten an earful from Ioreth about how he refuses to come out from beneath the quilts when she comes to tend him.”
“Oh, aye. Can you just imagine the fit he’d’ve thrown if he’d been awake when the Lady Arwen tended him in Rivendell?”
All right. That was it. Frodo flushed bright red and glared fire at Sam and the King.
“Hoy, now!” he shouted, startling the other two into silence. “I’m so very glad that I provide you both with so much amusement and I do hate to interrupt this fascinating conversation but do you suppose we can get back to the wisdom of waking patients up to give them sleeping potions? Because, believe me, if you thought I was uncooperative before--”
“Now, now, Mr. Frodo, sir,” Sam pacified. “You shouldn’t go getting yourself all excited. It ain’t good for you.”
“Excited? Good for me? Now, see here--”
“Sam’s right,” the King put in. “A relapse now would only serve to keep you here longer.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Frodo seethed. “There is no such thing as a relapse of a hangover and if you think for one moment I’m going to be staying in this madhouse where people poke at a person for the fun of watching them drag themselves from a restful sleep--”
“Frodo, I realize that waking you for a sleeping draught may have been ill-considered but--”
“But I think it would be wiser for you to save that bit of goo for this evening,” Sam interjected. “Don’t you think? Sir?”
Aragorn looked from Sam to the cup and chanced a glance Frodo’s way. He straightened, squared his shoulders, cleared his throat.
“Erm…”
“Aye, I think that’s the best idea, sir,” Sam told him as he took Aragorn by the elbow. Turning him and steering him to the door was surprisingly easy. “Very wise of you to think of it.”
“Yes, well…”
“And maybe some breakfast for Mr. Frodo would be a right good idea, too.”
“Of course--”
“Aye, sir, you do think of everything.”
“Well, it’s only…”
Whatever the King was muttering was lost on the two hobbits as Sam quickly pushed him over the threshold and closed the door. He leaned against it for a moment, pressed his forehead to it and closed his eyes, trying desperately not to laugh. With a heavy sigh, he turned to face his master.
Frodo stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest and thunder at his brow. He stared daggers at the door for a moment before turning to Sam. The black expression remained for only another second or two then was quickly replaced with muffled snickers. Sam let out his breath in relief.
“I’m sorry, sir. I got a little carried away.”
“I’ll say,” Frodo agreed. “You can make it up to me by helping me escape the King’s clutches.”
“You are a caution, if you don’t mind me saying, sir. You near scared ‘im to death, I think.”
“Serves him right,” Frodo chuckled. “Can you imagine? Waking someone to give them a sleeping potion? Of all the… Sam, I need you to spring me loose from here. They’re making me insane.”
“Oh, now, Mr. Frodo, you know full well--”
“Sam, please, I’m quite serious. I’ve not been poked at so thoroughly since Rivendell and that was for a stab wound! This was just a hangover, for pity’s sake, and I am, as you well know, at least a little experienced in dealing with those.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Be that as it may, sir, what you’re asking--”
“Is more than reasonable.” Frodo stepped quickly over to Sam, took hold of his arms before Sam had the chance to scuttle back and out of reach. “Sam, if I don’t get some real food and very soon, my stomach is likely to pack up and abandon me out of sheer frustration! You have to get me out of here!”
“Now, Mr. Frodo, I--”
Frodo clutched at Sam’s arms. “Sam, please! I’m going completely off my nut and I assure you I am fine. This is all just a conspiracy between Aragorn and Gandalf to get back at me for the ale. Couple of old gammers, they are and--”
“Mr. Frodo, they don’t seem the type to--”
“You don’t know that old wizard as I do,” Frodo insisted. “This would be just like him. I tell you, Sam, I’m fine. You have to help me get loose from here.”
Sam winced as Frodo’s thumbs dug into his biceps. He pried Frodo’s fingers from their death-grip and took a step back.
“All right, Mr. Frodo,” he said and Frodo sighed in relief. “But we’ll start with breakfast, sir, and if that goes well, I’ll see what I can do about the rest.”
“Sam!” Frodo exclaimed and clasped him in a hug that knocked the breath from Sam quite thoroughly. “I knew I could count on you! You’re a true friend, Sam, thank--”
“Save it all for later, sir,” Sam wheezed, peeling Frodo off. “My help is on the condition that you have a good breakfast and that it stays where you put it after.”
“Sausages?” Frodo asked hopefully.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sam promised.
“Maybe some of those pastry things with the cream in them?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sam repeated, edging cautiously toward the door and thinking uneasily of sticks and bears.
“Not the ones with the jelly, mind,” Frodo clarified.
“No, sir.” He was feeling behind his back for the knob now.
“And not the white cream but the yellow.”
“Certainly, sir.” Ah, there it was. Sam grasped the knob and turned it, swung the door open.
“And some bacon, as well--”
“Aye, sir,” Sam blurted then slipped out the door and slammed it shut behind him. He leaned back against it, heaved a sigh.
“And some nice, cold milk,” came the muffled order from the other side of the door.
Sam fled.
~*~
CHAPTER TWO In which Frodo has several bones to pick (and, unfortunately, none are on his plate)
~*~
Well, now this is just… Well it’s just bloody damned unfair, is what it is, and wrong in more ways than I care to count.
He scowled down at the plate in his lap and poked at the toast points with rather more ire than they probably deserved. He eyed the two runny eggs in the center and curled his lip into a snarl.
The eggs were unmoved and only stared blandly back at him. Well, bland is rather the word of the day, now, isn’t it? he thought with a fair measure of pique. Yes, he was being a bit of a pain and he really didn’t bloody well care at the moment. If they were going to have the cheek to tell him what he could and couldn’t eat, they could bloody well deal with the consequences, as far as he was concerned. What did they know about hobbits, anyway? And how dare they put him in a room downwind from the mess tent, of all places, and then send him a plate like this! And where the blue blazes was Sam, anyway?
Sausages. That’s what he wanted. And bacon. And potatoes, pan-fried in butter with those chopped green peppers and bits of onion and, if he was lucky and caught Maeglis at a lull in serving, he might even score some of that sharp, orange cheese grated on top and melted until the edges just began to brown. And there were griddlecakes as well – he could smell them. In fact, he could smell all of it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, cataloguing each scent as it wafted into his nose and made a direct path to his stomach, causing it to grumble and complain and--
Hold on a moment…
His brow wrinkled and he sniffed more deeply, paused. His face pulled into a black scowl and his eyes popped open then looked to his breakfast accusingly.
“They have coffee!” he told his tea, fully expecting it to blush with shame for not being rich and black and sweetened with two sugars. “I cannot believe they have coffee and haven’t sent me any! Have you any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had coffee?” The tea only sat meekly enduring his tirade, not looking nearly as repentant as he thought it ought.
He tossed his fork onto the plate and shoved the tray aside. “Fat lot of help you are,” he muttered morosely. “Sam!” he cried to the ceiling. “How could you?”
He wished they wouldn’t all sound so merry out there, chattering away as they lined up for their breakfast. He would have liked to shout out of his window for them to all stop their cheerful chewing, thank you very much, couldn’t they see there was a hobbit up here whose breakfast could just as easily be sucked through a straw and would someone mind hunting down the new king and throttling him very much, there’s a good fellow, thank you ever so and would someone else please see what they could do about the wind blowing those luscious smells right through his window while they were at it and if anyone knows who might be responsible for depriving him of the coffee they were all busily slurping down he’d certainly appreciate that information and right quick and by the way--
Voices in the hall and coming his way and he stopped his mental tantrum to listen. One was grave, low yet resonating, reminding him of the King yet unlike. The other, deep and rumbling and oh, if that wizard thought Balrogs were irritable, he’d never seen a hobbit deprived of a decent breakfast!
Frodo sat up straight, narrowed his eyes. Gandalf was on his way in to make judgment on his health and by all the stars, Frodo was going to be ready for him.
~*~
“So, what, exactly, is wrong with Frodo?” Faramir walked beside Gandalf, his light strides easily matching those of the wizard. “And why do you have him confined in the Houses of Healing? Surely Sam would--”
“Samwise would do everything I instructed him to do and then promptly cast all instruction out the nearest window the first time his master either turned on the charm or pouted,” Gandalf replied. “And we won’t even go into what might happen should his cousins decide to ‘assist’ the situation.”
“Yes, but Frodo is an adult, after all. It seems a bit…”
Gandalf stopped and fixed the Steward with a glare. “Yes?”
Faramir shuffled uncomfortably. “Well…” he began, not looking directly at the wizard but a bit over his shoulder. Not that he was avoiding Gandalf’s gaze, of course. “It just seems a bit… Well, I don’t know exactly what it seems, truth to tell, but Frodo doesn’t seem the type to appreciate it.”
“Of course he doesn’t appreciate it,” Gandalf answered with a bit of a twinkle. He reached for the doorknob, rested his hand on it. “That’s what makes things interesting.”
Faramir frowned, peered at the wizard. Gandalf chuckled and turned the knob.
~*~
“This isn’t even remotely funny anymore, Gandalf. I insist you call off your little game and allow me to leave here and right quick!”
Gandalf lifted an eyebrow and flashed a stern look to the hobbit. Frodo glared right back, his jaw set firmly. Gandalf was unimpressed.
“Game?” asked the wizard. “I assure you, dear Frodo, that your health is no game and just because you insist upon treating it as such--”
“Oh, balls!” countered Frodo. “We both know that I am being kept here against my will because wizards and kings apparently cannot accept that a hobbit can out-drink them. You could both take a lesson from Faramir, here-- Hullo Faramir--”
“Good mor--”
“-- and learn to lose gracefully.” Frodo finished.
“--ning, Frodo.” Faramir, caught in the reflexive gesture of a courteous bow, suddenly found himself the subject of a pointed glare from Gandalf. He straightened quickly, cleared his throat. “And, I never thought of it as losing, actu--”
“My good hobbit,” Gandalf rumbled severely, “you have been ill and whether it was the result of your two days of drink and debauchery or lingering effects of your journey is still in question. You are being kept here merely--”
“Debauchery?” Frodo cried. “Drink, certainly, but I have never engaged in debauchery in my life, I’ll have you know, and I do not appreciate the implication.”
Gandalf leveled a stony gaze to the hobbit. Frodo stared back for a good few moments before beginning to squirm.
“I haven’t,” Frodo insisted then looked to Faramir. “Really, I haven’t. I don’t know what he’s…” Faramir only gave a neutral shrug and Frodo looked back to Gandalf. “I haven’t! I don’t know what in the world you’re-- That time in Buckland can’t… well it doesn’t count, is all. The circumstances were entirely… well, at any rate it wasn’t as if… and I was only a tweener, after all and… Well, you try and say no to--” Frodo stopped, pounded both fists to the mattress. “It doesn’t count, I tell you!”
Gandalf chuckled and Frodo glared furiously. Faramir, having already been witness to the wrath of this particular hobbit, wisely kept his snickers lodged in the back of his throat and prayed to all the Powers that his face wasn’t nearly as red as he feared.
“Oh, certainly – laugh!” Frodo scowled. “You’ve no doubt had a very hearty breakfast, after all. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be well and merry, is there, then?”
“Well and merry is exactly the point, Frodo, and you can hardly pretend to be either,” Gandalf pointed out.
“And you’ve had coffee,” Frodo accused.
Gandalf’s mouth closed and he looked away quickly.
“I knew it!” Frodo crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Oh, the treachery! His only comfort came from the fact that he was treated to the unique sight of a wizard and a steward shuffling uncomfortably, although, to give Faramir credit, he looked more bewildered than uncomfortable.
“Mithrandir,” Faramir began then caught the wizard’s look, shut his mouth quickly then cleared his throat and pressed on. “Surely we can arrange to have coffee sent up. It’s been such a rare treat lately and if anyone deserves--”
“There is nothing I would like better than to indulge Frodo in his every whim,” Gandalf assured the Steward in something very akin to a warning tone. “But it is only since last evening that he has been able to keep even broth down and coffee would not sit well on an already sensitive stomach.”
“I had a hangover, Gandalf,” Frodo put in. “One does tend to get over these things eventually.”
“It was rather severe for a simple hangover, Frodo, as you well know. Neither the King, nor I, intend to allow you to take any further chances until we are quite certain that there is no additional reason for worry.”
“Both you and the King are sore losers,” Frodo growled.
“Think what you will but you are stuck here for at least another day.”
“I am not staying here another day, I tell you, I’m--”
“Fine, yes, I know,” the wizard said blandly. “We’ve heard. He’s looking a little flushed, don’t you think, Faramir? There may be fever. Perhaps two days.”
Frodo’s face turned red with wrath. “You cannot possibly--”
“Shall we go for three?”
Frodo’s mouth snapped shut, teeth clenched and face contorted in a mighty scowl. Eyes narrowed, lip curled, the hobbit appeared to be on the verge of implosion. Then, suddenly, his countenance cleared, the frown left his face and his expression smoothed. A slight smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.
“All right, Gandalf,” he said smoothly. “You are a dear friend to care for me so and I should not make things so difficult for you. Please accept my apologies.”
Gandalf eyed him suspiciously, bushy brows drawn together in a bewildered frown. Faramir looked from the hobbit to the wizard and back again, suppressing the disobedient smile that kept wanting to spread across his face.
“What are you up to, hobbit?” Gandalf wanted to know.
Frodo blinked innocently. “Why, nothing, of course. What suspicious creatures wizards are!”
“With more than plenty reason,” Gandalf defended. “You forget that I’ve known you since you were a lad, Frodo Baggins. And I assure you that my staff works just as nicely on hobbit shins as it always has.”
“How do you like that, Faramir?” Frodo asked, turning to the Steward. “I apologize quite nicely and he threatens me with bodily harm!”
Faramir lifted an eyebrow. “It does seem a little bit rude,” he admitted.
“And this after he just finished telling me how ill I am.”
“Most puzzling.”
Gandalf glared mightily. Faramir pretended not to notice.
“Now, see here--”
Frodo interrupted the wizard with a wide, noisy yarn. “Oh, pardon me,” he said. “I suppose I’m more tired than I’d realized. I hope you’ll both excuse me so that I might take a bit of rest?” Frodo smiled sweetly and Faramir was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud.
“What are you up to, hobbit?” Gandalf repeated.
Frodo again blinked innocently. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, feigning hurt. “I’m only wanting a bit of a lie-down. I say, Gandalf, you’re quite the suspicious one. You must try and shake off this wartime attitude, now that peace has come. Why don’t you think about taking a holiday?”
The wizard’s eyes narrowed. Faramir had suspicions of his own but, unlike Gandalf, he was more than willing to play along.
“Gandalf, why don’t we take our leave?” he said reasonably. “He does look weary and what could he possibly get up to from here?”
“You obviously have too little experience with hobbits,” Gandalf remarked blandly.
“Enough to keep me on my toes,” Faramir muttered.
Frodo continued to look innocently from one to the other but Faramir was sure he detected the ghost of a smirk at the corners of the hobbit’s mouth and didn’t that glint in his eye look a little familiar? Frodo yawned again, eyelids drooping.
“All right,” agreed the wizard. “Not because I trust him, mind, but you’re right – as long as he’s here, he can’t undo his health in a fit of foolishness.” He turned to Frodo, who blinked at him sleepily. “I expect to see pointed ears and a wooly mop in that bed the next time I come in to check on you,” he told him. Frodo opened his mouth to protest but Gandalf would have none of it. “Not another word,” he rumbled. He turned to Faramir. “Out,” he commanded. “Sleep, he says he wants and sleep he shall have. Stars forbid we should get between Frodo Baggins and what he wants.”
Frodo could have had some choice words to toss the wizard’s way after that bit of pique but he chose instead to keep his silence. He was getting what he wanted, after all. Well, part of it, anyway. He watched the wizard and the Steward exit, the Steward with one last smirk Frodo’s way. When the door was safely closed behind them, Frodo grinned.
~*~
Sam ducked against the wall as the wizard and the Steward made their exit. He held his breath, hoping against hope that the slight shadows in the hallway hid his presence sufficiently. He needn’t have worried; Faramir and Gandalf seemed completely oblivious to everything but the muttered conversation they were holding between themselves on their way up the hall.
Sam caught snatches of ‘…most irritating, maddening creature I’ve ever…’ and so Sam was fairly certain they were discussing his master. ‘…think you’re being a little peevish…’ followed soon after and Sam suppressed a chuckle. He mentally gave even more points to the Steward, who had just moved up a notch or two in Sam’s regard. Not many dared to gainsay a wizard, after all, and to call one peevish, of all things! Sam snorted, checked up and down the hallway then crept from his hiding place and slipped into Frodo’s room.
To his surprise, he found his master smiling. Sam closed the door behind him, moved cautiously to Frodo’s side.
“Everything all right, sir?”
“Oh, yes, just fine,” Frodo assured him, though Sam had a moment’s pause at the glint in his master’s eye. “Though I have a bit of a bone to pick with you, my friend.” Sam quirked his eyebrows and Frodo pointed to his pitiful excuse for a breakfast. “I was quite surprised to find this sad fare when I lifted the lid on my breakfast tray,” he said. “I expected more from you.”
Sam grinned, reaching into his pocket. “Then I’m glad not to be disappointing you, sir,” he answered as he pulled out a large napkin and began unfolding it.
The scent hit Frodo’s nose even before Sam had unwound the first layer. “You’ve brought sausages!” he exclaimed.
“Aye, sir, I have,” Sam smirked. “And a pastry, too, though that might not have traveled terribly well.”
“Bugger that, I’ll lick it off the napkin, if I have to.” Frodo fair bounced in his seat. “Give it here.”
Sam handed over the napkin from his other pocket then continued the job of extracting the sausages from the first. The tip of one sausage had hardly peeked from the fabric before Frodo had snatched it up and taken an enormous bite. He jammed the remainder between his teeth so as to free his hands for the matter of loosing the pastry.
“Oh, Sham, ish ish mahweoush,” he slurred, finally freeing the pastry – not quite as squashed as Sam had feared. Frodo chomped on the sausage, quickly reaching to catch the bit that was left before it landed in his lap. “Oh, my mouth is in shock, I think. This is brilliant!”
Sam watched his master with delight. It always did his heart good to bring his master even a joy so small as this. He was momentarily taken aback when Frodo dove at him and began ransacking his other pockets.
“Here, now!” Sam cried. “What in the name of all--”
“You promised me bacon,” Frodo returned reasonably. He dug a hand into Sam’s waistcoat pocket, wriggled it about.
Sam snorted. “That tickles, Mr. Frodo!” and he batted Frodo’s hand away. “Stop that, now. I haven’t any bacon.”
“Coffee?” Frodo asked hopefully.
“In my pockets?” Sam returned.
Frodo was only momentarily disappointed before turning his attention back to the bounty before him. “No matter,” he shrugged as he took another massive bite of the pastry.
Sam stood reluctantly. “I have to be going, Mr. Frodo,” he said. “Mr. Merry and Master Pippin were making some noise about popping in to see you and I have to work out the rest of my plan to spring you.”
“Oh, Sam, you really will?” Frodo asked around a mouthful of cream. “You’ll help me escape?”
“Aye, sir, I mean to,” Sam chortled. “I admit I had my doubts this morning but watching you dig in now… Well, you’re well enough to suit me and bother with the rest of ‘em.”
“How are we going to do it?”
“Far as I can tell, all we really need to do is get you by all of the healers without anyone seeing you. I’ll be the lookout and you can sorta walk behind both of your cousins, with their bulk blocking you from sight.” Sam shrugged and smiled. “Easy.”
“Oo ah ma berry mest fend,” Frodo managed around a great chunk of pastry.
Sam laughed outright. “Aye, sir,” he agreed. “As you’re mine.” He stood, went to the door and cautiously opened it, peering left then right. He turned back to Frodo. “Now you be sure to stash that, should any of the others pop in,” he warned. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious, would we?”
Frodo shook his head, eyes wide. He took another bite of a sausage.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Sam said, as he stepped out the door. “Wait for me and whatever you do, don’t try anything by yourself.”
Frodo nodded enthusiastically in agreement. He smiled, mouth stuffed so full his cheeks looked ready to burst. He waved at Sam happily.
Sam waved back, rolled his eyes and took off down the hall.
~*~
CHAPTER THREEIn which one cannot choose one’s family
~*~
“Hullo!” Merry called cheerfully. Gandalf and Faramir stopped, both looking rather aggravated. Merry frowned, turned to Pippin, who only looked back with apparently nothing useful to offer. Merry turned back to Gandalf. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing a hickory switch won’t set to rights,” Gandalf muttered.
“For me or for Frodo?” Faramir retorted.
“What would Frodo be needing with a hickory switch?” Pippin wanted to know.
“Don’t think that’s what he meant, Pip,” Merry said under his breath then turned his attention to the other two. “Has something happened to Frodo?” he demanded.
Gandalf visibly reigned in his irritation, forced a smile for the hobbits. “No,” he replied. “Your cousin is doing quite well and very nearly himself again.”
“Ah,” Merry said, understanding immediately the cause of the wizard’s chagrin. “Demanding release and just generally being his cranky self, then?”
“In every way possible,” the wizard mumbled and rubbed at his brow.
“We’re on our way over there now,” Pippin informed them with a smirk. “Shall I give him your love?”
Gandalf scowled. “Of all the cheeky little--”
“I believe your cousin has had all of the love from Gandalf that he can stand,” Faramir put in. “But thank you for your very kind offer.”
Merry took hold of Pippin’s arm and began pulling him down the hall. “Come on, Pip, before you say something to make him angry.”
“You mean he’s not already?”
“Meriadoc,” Gandalf called after them, “I shall be counting on you to make him stay put until I can get a guard on his door. And no wrestling matches!”
“Certainly, Gandalf,” Merry returned, quickening his pace and dragging Pippin along. “You can count on us!” He flashed a smile over his shoulder then yanked Pippin around the corner and out of sight.
Faramir turned to Gandalf with a lift of an eyebrow. “A guard?”
“Trust me,” Gandalf answered. “You have no idea what we’re dealing with. Can you find two guards? One for the door and one to place below his window?”
“Window? Mithrandir, do you really think--”
“I know what I’m doing,” was the sharp reply. “And make sure you choose men who are not easily swayed or intimidated. We are dealing with an individual who has never once, for as long as I’ve known him, taken ‘no’ for an answer.”
Faramir shook his head in obvious disagreement then he stopped, smiled a little. “I believe I know of at least one man I can place on guard,” he answered. He grinned at the wizard. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
Gandalf eyed him suspiciously for a moment then nodded slowly. Faramir bowed quickly then turned and strolled down the hall. Gandalf’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his neck, Faramir kept his pace slow and casual. As soon as he turned the corner and was out of the wizard’s sight, he grinned and then began to whistle.
~*~
Frodo only had a moment’s warning to stuff the remainder of the sausages under the coverlet before Merry and Pippin came bursting through the door. He wasn’t sure if Sam had approached them about his plans yet but, while he wasn’t especially worried that they would inform on him, he certainly wasn’t about to share.
“Good morning, Frodo!” Pippin bellowed as he crossed the room to Frodo’s bed, Merry right behind him. “How are you feeling today?”
“Quite well, Pippin, thank you,” Frodo replied, ready to fold himself protectively over his breakfast, should Pippin decide to leap.
“You look much better,” Merry observed, pulling up beside the bed. “Rather more color to you than yesterday.”
“Thank you, Merry, I’m really feeling very well.”
“Still not putting on any weight, I see.” Merry’s gaze shifted downward, eyeing his cousin from head to toe. He stopped, eyes widening then he lifted an eyebrow, smirked. “Has the Queen been by?” he asked.
“No, why?” Frodo demanded in alarm. “You haven’t heard she plans to visit, have you?” He couldn’t imagine the embarrassment of the Queen dropping by to visit a hobbit with a hangover, of all things – and him in his nightshirt!
“The Lady Eowyn?” Merry went on. “Or maybe one of those pretty nurses came by to bring you breakfast?”
“Actually, the nurse who brought breakfast was almost as unappetizing as the breakfast itself,” Frodo replied morosely. “Why? What is all this? Are all these people planning on coming by?”
“Not that I know of,” Merry grinned with a pointed shift of his gaze. “But I can’t imagine that’s for me.”
Frodo frowned, looked down then clamped his eyes shut and reddened to his roots. He hadn’t really paid attention to exactly where he’d placed the sausages or how the coverlet had tented as he’d done so and now it appeared as if… well…
“Frodo!” Pippin exclaimed. “Galloping the lizard at this time of the day?”
Frodo groaned. Oh, bugger. Well, it was either endure the teasing that would surely result for the next hundred years or so or fess up and right quick. He glared up at his cousins, shifted his hand beneath the coverlet.
“Oh, I don’t want to see it!” Pippin cried.
“Yes, Frodo, honestly,” Merry put in. “Round up the tadpoles all you like but keep it to yourself, why don’t you?”
“You two are the most-- I have no words for how disgusting you are. Are your minds always in the privy?” He pulled the handkerchief and what remained within out from beneath the covers.
“Oh, that’s all right, then,” Pippin said and snatched up a sausage.
“Pippin, that was in his lap!” Merry said with a grimace.
“What of it?” Pippin retorted. “I’ve seen you swallow grubs on a dare.”
Merry blinked. “Hmph. Right, then,” he replied and nabbed a sausage for himself.
“All right, then, both of you,” Frodo groused. “I’ll wager you’ve both already had a breakfast as big as this bed, so sod off and leave me to mine.” He grabbed up the rest of the sausages and held them protectively to his chest.
“Oh, I like that,” Pippin grumbled. “Steals my ale, won’t admit I out-drank him and now he won’t share. And this after I’ve gone out of my way to come visit him in his sickbed.” Pippin lifted an eyebrow at his cousin. “Should you even be having those sausages, Frodo? They may be too heavy for your delicate stomach. Shall I go ask Gandalf? He was just down the hall a few moments ago and it will be no trouble at all to--”
“Pippin, if you breathe one word--”
“Pippin, be nice to cousin Frodo when he’s being shirty, or he’s likely to take your head clean off,” Merry advised.
“I am not being--”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Merry. I’ve gotten rather used to having my head where it is.”
“Did you two come to cheer me up or to drive me completely out of my mind?”
“Here, now, what’s all this?” Sam demanded, stalking into the room and regarding Merry and Pippin with a dubious eye. “How did you two get past the guard?”
“Guard?” Frodo cried. “There’s a guard on my door?”
“Aye, I’m afraid so, Mr. Frodo. And it’s Gandalf’s doing, or I’m no judge.”
“Oh, that wizard! I swear, if I get my hands--”
“There wasn’t any guard five minutes ago,” Pippin put in. “And we just heard him speaking to Faramir about it not five minutes before that.”
“Yes, well, apparently wizards work quickly,” Merry offered.
“How will I ever get out of here now?” Frodo wanted to know. “I simply can’t stay here another two days, Sam, or I’ll be a bibbling idiot.”
“And that would be new, how?” Pippin snorted.
Frodo glared fire at him then turned back to Sam. “Please tell me you have another plan.”
“Aye, sir, I do but we’ll have to do it now, before they remember about the window.”
Merry frowned at Sam. “Window? Surely you’re not thinking of tossing my cousin out of the window like a sack of laundry?”
“And why not?” Pippin asked. “We’re not that high up, I don’t think.”
“How high is it, Sam, have you checked?”
“I have, Mr. Merry and it’s eight foot if it’s an inch.”
Frodo grimaced. “I’m not sure I could make that drop.”
“No, sir but if you give me a few minutes, I could maybe pile some things up and then one of your cousins could lower you down. That way, the drop won’t be so high.”
“I’m not sure I like this,” Merry said, shaking his head. “Helping you escape the nefarious clutches of do-gooders is one thing, Frodo, but I don’t think actually risking bodily harm is wise.”
“Merry,” Frodo said evenly and pointed at his tray, “take a look at the breakfast they served me.”
Merry’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, Frodo!” he cried. “I had no idea! Of course we’ll help. Pippin, get him his clothes.”
~*~
“Sam, have you finished? Is everything stacked and secure?”
“Yes, Mr. Merry, sir,” Sam’s voice came floating up from below. “I’ve got a table and some chairs from the mess tent over yonder. As many as I could manage.”
“How did you get them all the way over here? Aren’t those tables awfully heavy?”
“Nice and sturdy,” Sam agreed. “And some of the men were nice to enough to drag them for me, no questions asked.”
“I’m not sure I like that,” Merry said to Frodo suspiciously. “Surely someone will mention it to the King?”
“Very likely but we’ll just have to make sure I’m away before he gets word,” Frodo replied. He turned to the window. “How much of a drop is it, Sam?”
“With Mr. Merry lowering you and your height…” There was a thoughtful pause from below before Sam answered, “Maybe a foot but no more than two.”
“That’s not so bad, then,” Frodo told himself, though he still hadn’t chanced a look down. No sense in getting himself in a twist, or he might balk. And he had no intention of balking. He took a deep breath. “All right. I’m ready.”
“Just go slow-like, sir and I’ll guide your feet to the chair on top. Don’t let go until I’ve got you!”
“I’ve got him, Sam,” Merry called as he gripped Frodo by his forearms and steered him to the sill.
“Hold on just a minute,” Frodo said uneasily, batting his cousin away. “Don’t rush me, now.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly then nodded and allowed Merry to hoist him up onto the high sill. He closed his eyes for a moment, shook himself then opened his eyes and nodded again. “All right,” he said, reaching out his arms. “I think I’m ready.”
Merry renewed his grip. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Oh, yes,” Frodo answered firmly. “Well, not especially this in particular but it’s the only reasonable thing to do, considering the alternative.”
“I’d hardly call it reasonable,” Merry muttered. “Which way do you want to go?”
“I think I’d better face the wall,” Frodo said after a moment’s pause. “Don’t think it’s wise to take in the view, if you see what I mean.” He eyed Merry then his own position on the sill. “Merry, your face is going to be pressed right up against the wall. Are you sure you’ll be able to lower me?”
“Not by much,” Merry admitted. “But it will give you a few more inches, at any rate and I’ll have a hold on you, so you won’t have to be hanging off the other side of the window with your weak hand. How is your shoulder, by the way? Are you sure you’ll be able to manage this?”
“Oh, don’t you start, now,” Frodo groaned. “Honestly, Merry, if one more person--”
“Let’s get this done,” Pippin cut in. “I’m liking it less every moment.”
“It’ll be fine, Pip,” Frodo told him. “You hold Merry around the waist and he’ll have a good grip on my arms. And I think we all trust Sam to have arranged things below, eh?”
“Are you trying to convince us or yourself?” Pippin wanted to know.
“A little of both, I suppose,” Frodo admitted. “Here we go.” He got to his knees, Merry’s grip firm on his arms and began edging backwards out the window.
“Here he comes, Sam!” Pippin shouted and suddenly Frodo’s feet were dangling in empty air. All that held him above the ground was Merry’s death-grip on his arms and his own on Merry’s.
Come on, now, he told himself. You’ve scaled rocky crevices with longer drops than this. Of course, then he’d had the benefit of elven rope and he wondered suddenly why Sam hadn’t thought of that. Or bed sheets, for pity’s sake. What in the world had they all been thinking?
“Sam!” Merry was calling from above. “This is very awkward. Work fast, will you?”
Oh, dear. Merry wouldn’t drop him, would he?
“Sam?” Merry hollered again.
Frodo’s grip slipped a little and he jolted downward, caught at the wrists by Merry’s death-grip. He clung with all his strength and swore under his breath. That was about when Frodo noticed that Sam wasn’t answering. Oh, bugger.
“Um… Merry?” Frodo chanced.
“Sam!” Merry was sounding a little worried now.
“Can you see him?” Frodo wheezed. He pointed his toes, searching for something solid beneath them. Nothing.
“I can’t move, Frodo, or I’m like to lose my grip.”
“Where could he have gone?” Frodo heard Pippin ask.
“How the blue blazes should I know?” Merry cried angrily. “Frodo, I can’t hold this pose much longer, or you’re going to pull us both out the window.”
“Well, pull me back up, then!”
“What part of ‘I can’t move or I’ll lose my grip’ did you not understand?”
Oh, this was getting worse by the second. He again stretched his legs down, toes seeking any firm surface to light upon. He was edging on panic now and worse, so were his cousins above him. Where on earth could Sam be and why in all the bloody--
“Hello, there, Frodo.”
That voice was familiar. And it wasn’t Sam.
~*~
CHAPTER FOURIn which Frodo just may have to reassess his opinion of Men
~*~
Frodo chanced a cautious glance down. “Um… Hello, Faramir.”
“Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“It’s um… yes, I suppose… well, I wouldn’t really know, actually. Haven’t had the chance to notice yet.”
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