Rating: R
Pairing: Frodo/Merry
Disclaimer: Frodo and all recognisable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offence is intended, nor profit made.
Author’s Notes: Trying a new pairing, hope it works.
Summary: Frodo has a fever and his friends are there for him.

The very last thing that Merry wanted was to stand on the doorstep of Bag End in the middle of a downpour. He realized he was arriving earlier than he had planned, but since the spring rain showers had showed no sign of slackening, he thought it was best to just get to Bag End as quickly as possible. Yet, after such a long journey, and with the evening chill in the air, he grew even more anxious. He was about to break the door in when he finally heard the bolt release. Slowly, much too slowly, the green door opened to permit him entrance. He was completely dumbstruck as he looked upon the sight of Frodo’s sickly form.

“What has happened to you, Frodo? You look terrible!” Merry exclaimed, as he entered Bag End.

“I’m all right, but you’re early. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” Frodo replied, not wanting to admit to his ill health and feelings of vulnerability at all.

To Merry, it looked as if Frodo might fall flat on his face at any moment. He was so very pale, and yet his cheeks were blazing red with what, Merry believed, could only have been a raging fever. He threw his pack on the floor just in time to take hold of Frodo, as he collapsed.

He lifted Frodo up and carried him into his bedroom, laying him gently upon the bed. He went to search for a cool cloth and to ready a warm bath. He wanted to do whatever it would take to get Frodo’s fever under control. His usual greetings, complaints, and meal would just have to wait.

He never expected in his wildest dreams to find Frodo in such a condition as this. Since Frodo moved to Bag End, it had been rare that he was ever ill. This was the worst, by far, that he had ever seen him. He could not think at all what could have possibly happened to Frodo. ‘Why is he alone? Where are the Gamgees? Someone should have noticed that Frodo was ill long before this!’

The bleakness of the rain had started it all for Frodo. Looking back over the long, sunless days and stepping into, around, and over the many vast puddles that seemed to be everywhere had certainly made his feelings toward Astron even more uncomfortable than usual for Frodo. The winter chill had still not left his body when the spring rains began pouring in an endless stream.

Most mornings would start with a lull in the storm and just when you would begin to believe that it was finally over, another crash of thunder would shake the very ground you stood upon. Intense bolts of bright lightening would startle every living thing. Today, Frodo knew, would be no different.

For countless years, Frodo had been told of all the good that the spring rains did for the gardens of Bag End, along with the rest of the Shire. They were, in fact, much needed this year in particular, for the winter had been a mild one. Any moisture was a blessing if the crops were to grow at all this season. Yet, still he begrudged nature for the constant plummeting of the world.

Dawn was breaking, and just as the first colors of the sunrise began darting across the morning sky, Frodo looked out from his window to the horizon’s edge. He could see the rich colors of the red sunrise painting the bottoms of the heavy cloudbanks as he gazed out over the eastern sky. The knowledge of what light the sun had brought would soon be lost in the gloomy darkness that drifted above the Shire.

‘Maybe today,’ he thought, ‘the sky will clear enough to make my trip to Hobbiton easier than it had been last time I ventured out.’

Yet, in his heart, he knew better. The weather had only worsened since then, with days of rain uncounted, all blending into one sodden mess. Any pleasure he now took in this beautiful sight he knew would soon be gone, and replaced with endless tones of grey and muddy browns from the washed out world that surrounded the hill.

“Spring showers! Who needs them?” he said aloud, along with a deep, yielding sigh.

Merry returned to find Frodo shivering upon the bed. Worry and fear began to creep upon him as he looked at Frodo’s sickly form. ‘This does not look good at all. However did you get yourself into this condition, Frodo?’ Merry asked himself, though he knew Frodo would not be able to tell him. Not for a while, at any rate. He wiped Frodo’s face and placed the cool rag folded neatly upon his heated brow. He then pulled a blanket up over Frodo, hoping it might help him sweat enough to break the fever. Merry placed a light kiss upon Frodo’s head. “I will be back soon, dear Frodo.”

Merry gathered up his pack form the entranceway floor and closed the smial door. He put his belongings into the room he often used when he stayed at Bag End, looking in on Frodo each time he passed his bedroom door. Next, he went and tended to the bath water. He knew he would need it. Frodo’s fever was much too high to think otherwise. Merry would need to arrange everything beforehand to cause Frodo the least amount of suffering. He was determined to find out how Frodo ever got so ill without anyone noticing, but he had to attend to first things first.

Once he stabilized Frodo, he would call on the healer. He would then pay a visit to the Gamgees. He was determined to tell them a thing or two, as well!

Today was going to be a long, wet day and Frodo knew it all too well. Merry had sent word days ago that he would be arriving for a visit tomorrow. Frodo could no longer delay. His supplies were getting quite thin. There was nothing for it but to do the best he could and venture to the market, weather or no.

Frodo had hoped that Sam would have returned from his Uncle Andwise’s home in Tighfield by now and would have been able to help him. But that, too, had failed to occur. He would have sent the Gaffer, or one of his children, but he did not want the guilt that accompanied that idea.

The Gaffer had been struggling himself of late, and the thought of burdening his family any more than Frodo already had was a far worse thought than just directing his efforts and doing it for himself. Getting an early start, he also hoped, would make the trip much quicker and easier. Frodo sighed again, and left the view at the window to ready himself for what was to come.

The very first step out from the door of Bag End only reinforced his feelings, as he felt his foot lose grip on the muddy cobblestone surface. A cold, clammy feeling engulfed him; dread washed through his body as if he was already in the midst of a downpour. Frodo readjusted his pack, pulled his cloak tight about him and, cursing and mumbling to himself, headed off toward town.

Merry made sure the bathwater was not too hot or too cold, and that he had enough towels and blankets handy for afterwards. He did not want to startle Frodo, which would only make matters worse. He knew, from his own experiences, to be as gentle as possible or it could all take a turn for the worse once fever had taken hold. It would be bad enough just getting him undressed and into the water.

He returned to Frodo’s bedside only to find he had kicked off the cover and was mumbling incoherently. Merry knew there was no more time to dally. He lifted Frodo from the bed and hurried him into the bathing room, as Frodo struggled. He was weeping like a small child and sobbing “no… no… no” over and over again. Merry could only speculate as to what was going on in Frodo’s delirious mind. He had had no time to find out anything since he had walked in through the smial door. There had hardly been enough time to even think, with all the fear growing in his heart.

Merry laid Frodo upon the bench and began undressing him as carefully as possible. He found it more difficult than it should have been, because his own feelings kept getting in the way.

After he removed Frodo’s weskit and undid his shirt and cuff buttons, he lifted Frodo into his arms. He opened one side of the shirt and gently removed it from Frodo’s shoulder, sliding it down his arm. Frodo’s skin was as pale as moonlight on a cloudless night. He shivered in Merry’s arms, bringing him back into focus.

‘Quickly, Merry! This is not the time for such thoughts!’ Merry reprimanded himself. All too often, he had wondered what it might be like to hold Frodo’s naked body in his arms, and to touch his velvety skin. After all, Merry had come to Bag End today for the very that purpose, but it could not be, not now, and not like this. Frodo was ill and needed his help, not his lust!

He made quick work of removing the rest of Frodo’s clothes and laid him carefully in the bathwater, supporting his head and upper body in his arms so he would not drown. Frodo screamed the instant his body touched the water and began thrashing about. He seemed almost terrified of the water itself. Merry held on as firmly as possible to his wet, slippery charge, understanding his responsibility to keep Frodo safe, no matter how much he hated doing this. It was the only way Merry knew to quickly get the fever under control and help Frodo.

Merry let go only once, just long enough to allow Frodo’s head to dunk into the water and wet his head. Frodo seemed to be trying to stay down under the water, as if he wanted to drown. Merry pulled him up and into his arms, soaking himself in the process. Frodo grabbed him in a tight embrace and began to weep uncontrollably, which only left Merry more confused as to what had happened to Frodo.

It was a long and arduous task, and Frodo found nothing pleasant in the journey. Before he had even reached the end of Bagshot Row, he was coated halfway up to his knees with the thick muck that seemed to cover everything. His cloak was already damp, heavy with the soaked earth, not only weighing down his body, but his mood as well. The more he tried to avoid the puddles, the more they seemed to find him. His difficulty only worsened as he landed knee-deep into a gaping hole that he had not seen. He began to wish that he had brought two walking sticks, instead of just one, just as he heard the first clap of thunder, and felt the drops upon his head. Cursing to the shadowy skies above, he trudged on.

Most often, he enjoyed the rain, but this endlessness to it was becoming quite unbearable for Frodo. Dark feelings surrounded his heart. His thoughts and memories were as cloudy as the days had been. He could not seem to concentrate on anything as he struggled onward, dreading every step he took. It seemed as though hours had passed by the time he finally reached the edge of town, though he really was not sure how long it had actually taken him. He only wished to be done with it and back home, curled up by a warm fire and reading a good book. Anything to get away from this damp, dismal world.

Frodo made his way through the basic shops, purchasing fruits and vegetables, storing what he would immediately need in his pack. Along with that, he ordered milk, butter, and cheeses enough for a month, to be delivered the next morning, along with flour, yeast and other grains and potatoes. An old, musty smell seemed to linger everywhere he went. Mildew was creeping into even the finest places from all the constant rain, making it hard for Frodo to breathe.

Frodo struggled onward, making his way in and out of the shops as quickly as possible, avoiding the downpouring rain wherever he could. He was growing tired, muttering his displeasure with each and every step. Even though it was quite early, Frodo decided, after he had stepped out from the fourth shop, that mayhaps an ale would help see him through. The Green Dragon, he hoped, would help to ease the woes of this day and rid him of the feeling of foreboding that surrounded him.

Merry pulled Frodo out of the bath and wrapped a huge towel around them both. He grabbed another and threw it over Frodo’s head, which lay whimpering upon his shoulder. He grabbed up one of the extra blankets as Frodo’s legs wrapped tightly around him, like those of a child, and he carried him into his bedroom. Merry noticed, even more, how much thinner Frodo had become since the last time he had seen him. He was almost sure now that Frodo weighed even less than Pippin, and that brought even more concern to his heart.

Merry sat upon the bed with a wet Frodo in his arms, humming a soft tune. He began to dry Frodo’s willowy body. Frodo seem to relax as he worked. He quickly removed the wet towel and wrapped him tightly in the extra blanket, before laying him upon the bed. He tucked the blankets around Frodo, who whimpered again as he pulled a pillow closely to him, nuzzling it as he had done with Merry. Merry sighed at such a forlorn sight, still questioning what might have happened to bring Frodo to such a state.

Merry then found his way to the kitchen and lit a fire in the hearth. He realized then that he had not seen any other fires lit throughout the smial. He put water on to heat and then made his way about the place, lighting the other hearths to warm Bag End. The night was deepening and a definite chill was in the air.

Looking through the cupboards, he found just what he had hoped for. He knew it would help Frodo, if he could get some into him. A special tea mixture, which Bilbo had used whenever Frodo had taken ill before. He hoped it would do the trick, at least long enough to get Frodo through the night. He poured the water over the leaves and stood contemplating all that had happened since he had arrived, and the few words that Frodo had mumbled.

When all was ready, he placed the teapot upon a tray, as well as an extra cup. Honey, spoons, and a few scones that were left on the table he also grabbed up, as his belly grumbled. It reminded him just how long it had been since he had eaten, himself. Then he made his way back to Frodo’s bedroom. First placing the tray upon the small bed table, he moved to stir the low embers in the hearth and added more wood to bring the fire back up to a blaze. He lit a few candles and pulled a chair close to the bedside.

Frodo lay too still and it worried Merry. When everything was adjusted, he lifted Frodo into his arms again. He took the spoon he had used to stir in the honey and gave Frodo a small taste of the warm liquid. He seemed to like it, which made it easier for Merry to get more of the healing brew into him. It was a slow process, spoonful by spoonful, but Merry did not mind in the least. Rarely, if ever, before, had Merry been able to care for Frodo, as Frodo had done for him so often, back when they both lived in Buckland.

When he entered the Green Dragon, Frodo noticed that he was not the only one with the same idea in mind. In fact, he was very surprised to see how just many there were, at such an early hour. This helped to comfort him; just knowing he was not alone. A small smile even appeared, as the barmaid welcomed him and guided him to his favorite table, in the far back corner, close to the hearth. It felt as if it was welcoming him back as he removed his pack, eased into his seat, and ordered a large mug of ale.

He had worried a bit at first about the caked mud on his feet and clothing, until he saw that many others were in much the same condition as he, himself, was. The barkeep did not seem to take notice, or mind the condition of his guests, which also helped to relieve Frodo’s troubles. He liked this seat in the back, for he could either turn completely away from all peering eyes or turn to face all who entered. Today, he wanted no surprises and chose to watch the others within.

Most were the regular gaffers he saw most nights he ventured in, but many also had their gammers with them, and were quite lost in conversations of their own. Two voices stood out from the rest, though. The mere sound of them caused Frodo to feel nothing but revulsion: Lotho Sackville-Baggins and Ted Sandyman. He hoped they had not seen him enter and would cause him no trouble; it was the last thing he needed, today of all days.

The barmaid was swift in returning and recited the choices on the menu as she served him his ale. He declined the offer of food, but gladly welcomed the smile and the cold brew. Even here, he noticed the lingering smell of mildew, although it was not as overpowering as it had been in the smaller shops. Still, it made him a bit queasy and he wished for dry weather even more. He sighed and took a large gulp, hoping to ease his spirits.

Unfortunately, for Frodo, Ted and Lotho had taken notice of him when he entered. They enjoyed getting the best of Frodo whenever they felt they could get away with it. Today, they had decided, was definitely one of those days. They waited just long enough to see if Frodo was alone, before they began their torment. Their voices grew louder with every passing second, not caring at all whom they offended, as long as their words got to the ears of one Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

Frodo knew this game all too well. This was not the first time they had done such a thing and he knew it would not be the last. However, today, he really wished they would turn into rats, or some other loathsome creature that was as vile as they were, and leave him be. He just wanted a small bit of rest, away from the rain and the feelings that weighed heavy on him. His head began to throb, as their laughter grew louder. He did what he could to try to ignore their evil banter and would have made it, if only they had not brought up the deaths of his parents.

That was the last straw. Frodo stood up, downed the last of his ale, and pitched his mug at Sandyman. He hit him hard, square on the side of his head. Ted fell over, in slow motion it seemed to Frodo, as Frodo glared the rest of his wrath upon Lotho. Lotho almost whimpered his last words of threat as he bent over to pick up Ted and cursed at Frodo. Frodo did not care any longer and just wanted to go home. He made his apologies to the barkeep and paid for the damages, leaving almost as quickly as he had come in.

As he opened the door, a swift downpour of hard rain pelted him, almost pushing him back inside again. His rage of the moment forced him forward, out into the muddy street, with a splash and a vengeance. He had had enough of shopping, and was more than ready to get back home to a warm fire, where he could rest and forget this day.

Frodo began to shiver, so Merry finished up and placed Frodo back under the covers. He drank his own tea and ate the scones while watching over Frodo. He could not remember a time when Frodo had been in such a weak position, his very life in the balance, at risk before Merry’s eyes. When Merry touched Frodo’s hand lightly, his body trembled. It was cold to the touch. Frodo was chilling. Not a very good sign at all.

Merry wished he had taken the time to put Frodo into his nightshirt, but wrapping him up as quick as possible had seemed the better idea at the time. Without thinking twice, he removed his own damp clothes and climbed into the bed next to Frodo. He would warm Frodo with his own body heat, for he could not think of any other way. He wrapped himself around Frodo’s icy limbs, shivering at the touch. Merry pulled Frodo close and completely covered them both with the blankets, only leaving a small opening for air. Frodo melted easily into Merry’s body and the warmth he was gifted. Merry rocked him gently as he softly sang a lullaby. Frodo’s breathing smoothed out and soon they both drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Frodo could barely see through the torrential downpour, and cursed nature as he tried to find some shelter from it. The bookstore was nearby and he made his way to it. He was sure the shopkeeper would not mind him waiting there a while. After all, Frodo was one of his biggest customers. He was beginning to chill dreadfully as he pushed his way inside.

Normally, he loved the bookstore more than any other shop in town. For endless hours, he could browse down each and every isle, taking as long as he liked to sift through all they had to offer. New and unusual quills, inks and parchment had thrilled Frodo since the very first time Bilbo had taken him into the shop. Reading stories from far off places and histories of long ago and an almost forgotten past had always left Frodo feeling good inside. Believing that one day he, too, might have an adventure of his very own.

Today though, it was different. As he entered the store, he was hit by the worst smell ever. The overpowering odor of mildew did not mix well at all with the smells of the old books and parchment, and had a very adverse effect on him. From the first moment, he gasped for breath. His eyes began to water and his vision began to swim. Dizziness and strange visions encompassed him, as he began to lose consciousness. The shopkeeper just barely made it to his side before Frodo fainted straight away.

Frodo awoke with an intensely pounding headache, lying on a hard, cold bench. The aroma from the mildew was overpowering him still. The room itself was poorly lit, only one small candle flickering in the distance. He did remember pushing himself into the bookshop, but nothing else could he clearly recall.

A bit lightheaded, he slowly sat up, and looked around. He could see light coming from the bottom of what appeared to be the door, and shadows passing by it now and then. He knew he needed time to focus himself to his surroundings before venturing anywhere. Even from this room, where the air was heavy with the musty stench and he had to struggle to gain his breath. He desperately wanted to cry out for anyone, but felt foolish enough already.

Memories of a time long ago drifted through his mind. He struggled hard to understand the heaviness he felt in his heart, as he sat quietly in the darkened room, listening to the rainfall upon the rooftop. Shadows began to dance across the room, as some unknown fear encompassed him.

Thoughts of cloudy-wet-muddy-cold-mildew all swim through his mind as the room suddenly shifts. Frodo sees a thick fogbank drift upon the ground, between the trees, as he makes his way down the long, winding path. The fog is so thick, he pushes it away with his hands, trying to see his way, but to what end he does not know. He struggles onward, the damp air clinging to his body, leaving him cold and clammy, filling his nostrils with a musty scent. He wishes he could run and hide from it, yet something draws him onward.

Darkness is stealing about the edges of the thick fog, deepening with each step Frodo takes. In the distance, he sees a faint light and edges slowly toward it. The stench becomes stronger with ever step. More than anything, he does not want to be here, wherever here is, but he cannot stop himself. He then sees that the light is coming from the edge of a large, round door. Slowly he places his hand upon the rim. It is as cold as ice, sending shivers throughout his small body, and he notices that his hand is much small than he remembers.

Frodo enters the room and sees a large, high table in the center of it. Much too high for him to see what lays upon it, though he knows that this is why he is here. The room is colder than any he has ever ventured into before. A small stool sits in the corner, as if waiting for him. It seems to weigh more than he thinks possible, and grows taller, as he pushes it ever closer to the table. He grabs the legs of the stool and begins what seems like an endless climb to reach the top. He reaches over the edge to pull himself onto the smooth, cold surface of the stool. It is slippery and damp to the touch. He feels empty and very alone. A deep foreboding slinks into his mind and heart, as he steadies himself upon the stool. He stands to look at what lies upon the table. Terror fills him. His scream pierces the room; he loses his balance, falling backwards, down into the dark abyss.

Frodo woke at the break of dawn, wrapped warm in Merry’s loving arms. He felt better than he had in quite a while, safe, loved, and almost comfortable. The early morning colors were shining through the smial window. He could see a light blue, high above, in the distant sky. Finally, the rain was over and a new Spring day was upon the Shire. In his heart, Frodo welcomed it more than anything. Merry stirred and looked down at Frodo.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. However, I’m not sure at all how I got here. The last thing I remember was opening the door for you.”

“You were very sick, Frodo.”

“I want to thank you for all the help you must have given me, Merry.”

“I’m just glad to see you looking so much better. What happened to you, Frodo?”

“It was the rain, mostly, I suppose.”

“You suppose. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s a long story, but all the rains just made everything worse.”

“It’s all right, you can tell me anything, Frodo. I’m here for you.”

Merry was right, Frodo did need to tell someone, and Merry was there, holding him in his arms. Frodo snuggled closer to Merry’s side and began to speak.

“Long ago now, back when my parents died, it rained. It seemed like it rained for days and days, afterwards. Early one morning, I snuck out of the smial. I just wanted to be alone. It was very foggy. I did not know my way around Brandy Hall yet, and I lost my way. I walked for hours, trying to find my way back, when I came across a smial set off and away from everything. The door was cracked open and I decided to see if someone there could help me find my way. I pushed it open, and it smelled awful inside. I only saw a high table in the middle of the room. I could see something was on it, but could not see what it was. So I found a stool, moved it close to the table, and climbed upon it.”

Merry enfolded Frodo tighter in his embrace as he felt him begin to weep.

“It was the bodies of my parents, laid out upon that table. It scared me so much I fell off the stool, and hit my head. The next thing I remembered, I was back in my bed, and Aunt Esme was sitting next to it, holding my hand.”

“Oh, Frodo,” Merry said. “I’m so sorry, I never knew.”

“It’s not your fault, Merry. I had forgotten about it all until yesterday. The smell of mildew was everywhere from all this rain and it hit me all at once when I was in town. I do feel much better now, though. ”

“I’m glad to hear it. I was very scared I was going to loose you, Frodo. You were very ill.”

“Merry?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can, Frodo. Anything at all.”

“Why are we in bed together, naked?”

With that, Merry turned red from top to toe.

“Well that’s another story, Frodo. Mayhaps, I’ll tell it to you one day.”

Frodo only smiled.

The End