rabidsamfan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rabidsamfan) wrote2004-12-19 01:29 pm
rabidsamfan) wrote2004-12-19 01:29 pm
Entry tags:
Bergil's story
part one (There are links at the end of each section.)
The kitchen was through a different door than Bergil had thought it was, but he found it, and a spoon, without making too much noise and was soon back. Sam had gone over to stand beside the bed, a dripping fold of cloth in his hand.
“I don’t have a fever, Sam,” Frodo was protesting.
“Fever or no, the cool will feel good,” Sam said. “And you can use it on your eyes if you like, to keep the light out.” He nodded to Bergil, and indicated the cup of tea on the table with a motion of his head. “Give that tea a good stir, lad, and we’ll see how it tastes.”
“If Aragorn comes down and finds me with a fever rag on my head he’ll keep me in bed for a week,” Frodo grumbled. “It’s just the wine, Sam.”
“I expect so, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, sounding as if Frodo weren‘t the only one getting crotchety. “And if it frets you that much I’ll fetch it off you once you’ve got to sleep, but there’s no use in feeling worse when you could be feeling better.”
“No you won’t, because the minute I drink that tea you’re going to have a cup of it yourself and get some sleep,” Frodo ordered.
“Now, Mr. Frodo,” Sam began, but Bergil, fetching the tea he was stirring over, found himself saying, “I could do it.”
Both of them looked at him with raised brows and he felt his ears go red, but he knew that he wasn’t just being foolish. “I would be careful, like I was in the House of Healing. I wouldn’t waken you again,” he told the Ringbearer. He had changed the fever rags when they had grown dry when he was helping Ioreth those two awful days; it wasn‘t taking the old one away that woke people, but putting a new one into place, and that only sometimes. “I have to stay awake in any case, until the next boy comes to take my place,” he reminded Sam. “It’s my job to help in any way I can. And if you don’t both sleep at the same time, then you won’t be awake at the same time.”
Sam made a face, but Frodo laughed. “He’s got you there, Sam. And I‘d sleep better if I knew you were getting some rest.”
Sam sighed, but he nodded and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Very well, then, Mr. Frodo. If you insist.”
Frodo reached for the cup and Bergil gave it to him, trying very hard not to spill anything and wondering if it would be more proper to kneel as he offered it. Master Tollovand hadn’t explained which courtesies were due the Companions, and he had already forgotten to bow. He’d have to ask one of the other boys before tomorrow night.
Frodo sniffed at it and wrinkled his nose. “Do I smell catsbalm in there, Sam?”
“Aye, though Mardil called it all-heal and valerian and a dozen other things. Just a small slice of root, to help the willow do its work,” Sam said equably. “There were a couple of cockleburs in the mix too, though I expect you shan’t be able to taste them through the honey.”
Frodo sipped at the cooling tea. “No, no I can’t. Wish I could say the same of the willow.” He drank off a portion of it in a few gulps and then held out the cup toward Sam. “That’s plenty, I think. This cup is sized for Big Folk and I think the brew must be too. Try it and you‘ll see.”
Sam took it. “I didn’t think I let it steep too long,” he said, but he drank carefully and brought the cup down before he’d drained it. “Tis a bit strong,” he admitted. “Still, there’s more in the pot if we need it now. We can add water to thin it.” He set the cup on the bedside table. “Let’s just get you settled, sir, and then I’ll go to my own bed.”
“Bergil, you see that he does,” Frodo commanded as Sam fussed with pillows and blankets and put the damp cloth on his master’s forehead. “No washing cups, or straightening things, or seeing to breakfast since he‘s up already.”
“Now would I do that?” Sam asked, as he loosened the tieback on the bed curtains.
“Of course you would,” Frodo answered, closing his eyes and settling deeper into the bed. “But not tonight, Sam. Sleep well.”
“Yes, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said fondly, as he closed the curtain. “Good night.”
part twelve
BTW, if anyone's got some good ideas about just what forms of address Bergil should be using to the Companions I'd love to hear them. He calls Merry "Master Perian" at one point, but Merry hadn't been knighted then...
The kitchen was through a different door than Bergil had thought it was, but he found it, and a spoon, without making too much noise and was soon back. Sam had gone over to stand beside the bed, a dripping fold of cloth in his hand.
“I don’t have a fever, Sam,” Frodo was protesting.
“Fever or no, the cool will feel good,” Sam said. “And you can use it on your eyes if you like, to keep the light out.” He nodded to Bergil, and indicated the cup of tea on the table with a motion of his head. “Give that tea a good stir, lad, and we’ll see how it tastes.”
“If Aragorn comes down and finds me with a fever rag on my head he’ll keep me in bed for a week,” Frodo grumbled. “It’s just the wine, Sam.”
“I expect so, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, sounding as if Frodo weren‘t the only one getting crotchety. “And if it frets you that much I’ll fetch it off you once you’ve got to sleep, but there’s no use in feeling worse when you could be feeling better.”
“No you won’t, because the minute I drink that tea you’re going to have a cup of it yourself and get some sleep,” Frodo ordered.
“Now, Mr. Frodo,” Sam began, but Bergil, fetching the tea he was stirring over, found himself saying, “I could do it.”
Both of them looked at him with raised brows and he felt his ears go red, but he knew that he wasn’t just being foolish. “I would be careful, like I was in the House of Healing. I wouldn’t waken you again,” he told the Ringbearer. He had changed the fever rags when they had grown dry when he was helping Ioreth those two awful days; it wasn‘t taking the old one away that woke people, but putting a new one into place, and that only sometimes. “I have to stay awake in any case, until the next boy comes to take my place,” he reminded Sam. “It’s my job to help in any way I can. And if you don’t both sleep at the same time, then you won’t be awake at the same time.”
Sam made a face, but Frodo laughed. “He’s got you there, Sam. And I‘d sleep better if I knew you were getting some rest.”
Sam sighed, but he nodded and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Very well, then, Mr. Frodo. If you insist.”
Frodo reached for the cup and Bergil gave it to him, trying very hard not to spill anything and wondering if it would be more proper to kneel as he offered it. Master Tollovand hadn’t explained which courtesies were due the Companions, and he had already forgotten to bow. He’d have to ask one of the other boys before tomorrow night.
Frodo sniffed at it and wrinkled his nose. “Do I smell catsbalm in there, Sam?”
“Aye, though Mardil called it all-heal and valerian and a dozen other things. Just a small slice of root, to help the willow do its work,” Sam said equably. “There were a couple of cockleburs in the mix too, though I expect you shan’t be able to taste them through the honey.”
Frodo sipped at the cooling tea. “No, no I can’t. Wish I could say the same of the willow.” He drank off a portion of it in a few gulps and then held out the cup toward Sam. “That’s plenty, I think. This cup is sized for Big Folk and I think the brew must be too. Try it and you‘ll see.”
Sam took it. “I didn’t think I let it steep too long,” he said, but he drank carefully and brought the cup down before he’d drained it. “Tis a bit strong,” he admitted. “Still, there’s more in the pot if we need it now. We can add water to thin it.” He set the cup on the bedside table. “Let’s just get you settled, sir, and then I’ll go to my own bed.”
“Bergil, you see that he does,” Frodo commanded as Sam fussed with pillows and blankets and put the damp cloth on his master’s forehead. “No washing cups, or straightening things, or seeing to breakfast since he‘s up already.”
“Now would I do that?” Sam asked, as he loosened the tieback on the bed curtains.
“Of course you would,” Frodo answered, closing his eyes and settling deeper into the bed. “But not tonight, Sam. Sleep well.”
“Yes, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said fondly, as he closed the curtain. “Good night.”
part twelve
BTW, if anyone's got some good ideas about just what forms of address Bergil should be using to the Companions I'd love to hear them. He calls Merry "Master Perian" at one point, but Merry hadn't been knighted then...
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...when he was helping Iorhael those two awful days...
Do you mean Ioreth?
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Yes. (fixes entry)
Thank you, btw, and I may end up consulting you about herbs. I really do know nothing about them!
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But Google is good...
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AND - I've just mailed you the german translation of Chosen for your personal archive - I fear should I start writing emails on Christmas Eve (last update of my site this year) or putting links into my LJ, my husband will kill me. *grins*
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I shall have to look for the Gabaldon books. Yours is not the first recommendation I've seen, but I never seem to remember the name when I'm in the bookstore!