Work Text:
Nestled deep into the airy forests, Frodo Baggins was on yet another morning walk. Distracted by swirling thoughts and feelings of what was to come in the next couple of months, he suddenly found his feet sliding off the solid ground and stumbling off an eroding dirt ledge into a small ditch, planting his face into a grove of small plants below. Of all the confounded nuisances, this had to be the worst of them. In all his years and experience of walking the outskirts of the forests of Hobbiton, not once did he ever think he would make such an absent-minded mistake. The height he fell wasn’t high by any means but the impact of his face meeting the ground was enough to elicit an involuntary vulgar exclamation from his mushed face. Although no one was there to see his spectacular fall, Frodo still felt humiliated at his carelessness. He lifted himself from the ground and dusted off his light blue shirt, only slightly muted from the dirt. As he brushed his battered bangs out of his face he pulled a small stem entangled in the coils of his hair and held it up to his gaze.
Held by a red stem were three green leaves; the two bottom leaves looked like mittens while the prominent top leaf stood proud and pointed. As soon as he registered the number of leaves on the plant, he threw it with a swift flick of his wrist. As he palmed his hand to the ground, he felt another one of those plants and when he stood up, he felt his heart sink when he realized that the large grove of plants that broke his fall was none other than a patch of poison ivy. Frodo had his fair share of run-ins with the foul flora but landing face first into it was a new experience he had never wished to try, now it seems as if he has no choice. Defeated, he made his way back home.
—————
It was early afternoon when Frodo reached the main road. His usual journey home was much quicker but decided it would be best to take an alternative more private route as to not be seen in his current state. The left side of his face was swollen by now and irritated beyond belief. He concealed his face by posing his hand in a way that looked like he was merely blocking the sun from his gaze. When Frodo reached Bag-End, he noticed the blurry shape of Sam in his swollen vision, watering the hedges outside of the property. Although Frodo wasn’t enthusiastic about seeing anyone else today, he saw no use in avoiding Samwise Gamgee as it was futile to do so since his keen ears always seemed to pick up anything people wanted to keep quiet. Sure enough, as predicted, Sam noticed Frodo’s presence and he waved cheerfully.
“Hullo sir! Lovely day this mornin’! How was your w—“ as the words fell from his mouth he dropped the copper watering can with a sharp gasp.
Frodo nodded his head in greeting, tilting his head downward to avoid eye contact.
“Hullo Sam…” he said.
“Oh Mr. Frodo! Your face!—“ Sam exclaimed followed by a sympathetic hiss as he saw the forming blisters on the side of his face. “What happened?”
“Oh it’s nothing.” Frodo said. “I fell into some poison ivy, that's all, it’s really no big deal.”
“Oh no, sir— begging your pardon sir, but I don’t think I’ve seen someone with a case as bad as yours!” Sam looked closely at the rash and winced. “It looks mighty painful.”
“It is…” he replied, passing Sam to open the gate. “But I’ll manage, I believe I have something to treat it inside…”
Sam watched as his master meandered his way up the steps to the front door. Judging by the way he stumbled on the steps and pawed at the nearest walls, he could tell that Frodo could not see very well. Which was true, Frodo could only see about a squint’s worth of vision. It was an absolute miracle he got home but it was even more of a miracle that he hadn’t begun to claw his irritated eyes out. He fumbled with the door handle for a while before Sam called out from behind him.
“Oh sir, I can’t stand and watch this anymore.” He marched up the steps and opened the door. “Here, let your ol’ Sam take care of you,” With that he guided Frodo by the shoulders like an old man and sat him at the parlor table.
“Samwise I assure you I am fine! I do not need all this extra care!”
Sam crossed his arms much like his own Gaffer would do and gave a large huff. “Master Frodo, begging your pardon again when I say this but you look truly dreadful. It’s like…“ and then the sentence fell from his mouth and he hummed low.
“Well, what is it like, Sam?” Frodo crossed his arms to mimic Sam.
“Well sir, I’m not sure if I can get the point across without feeling a bit rude… nor could I possibly do it any justice— I’ll go fetch a mirror.”
Sam searched the many shelves dedicated to the plethora of mathoms the Baggins family had collected over many years and came across a small compact mirror, flipped it open and handed it to Frodo.
A loud groan erupted from Frodo’s throat at the foggy sight of his sorry state. Although the right side of his face seemed relatively unaffected apart from a small patch of redness by his cheek, the left side of his face was a bright scarlet with some raw patches by his lower jaw. He could barely see his eye through the swelling, only a faint slit was what remained. With all of this combined, he looked ancient, of course not that he was anywhere near young but he certainly never looked old.
“Oh, I look dreadful,” He set the mirror down and put his head in his hands.
“Oh sir, don’t touch your face! You’ll make it worse!” Sam said.
“Right! Sorry,” He wiped his hands on his shirt, which most likely didn’t do anything. “I just feel so incredibly foolish. Of all the things that have fallen into my lap—and that includes the business with Gandalf—I just feel like I am at my wits end… but I’ve somehow found a way to make it worse for myself! Adding more unnecessary fuel to the mental wildfire that rages inside my head!”
“Aye, but you’re forgetting one thing sir… your ol’ pal Samwise Gamgee! He- and I mean I— will help you however you like and whether you like it or not. Think of me as a very friendly burr seed. You’re stuck with me no matter what…Gandalf said so…”
Frodo chuckled, scratching the irritated side of his face before forcing himself to stop. “I guess that explains why you’re a huge thorn in my side.”
“A very helpful thorn in your side!” Sam exclaimed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’ve gotta take care of that nasty rash before it spreads any further.”
He guided Frodo to the kitchen sink to wash his face and hands. The cool, refreshing water soothed him and the lavender soap that just so happened to be in the sink made it all the more glorious. He almost didn’t want to remove his face from the running faucet but unfortunately for Frodo and all other hobbits, including those of Stoor heritage, he cannot breathe underwater.
“Oh that is sublime,” He muttered. His bangs were now drenched. If he didn’t look disheveled before he certainly looked like it now. He turned off the water and fumbled his way back to the parlor seat.
Sam called from a distance. “Mr.Frodo, I’ve searched the cabinets and I can’t find any ointment, lotion or what have you… Should I go fetch the healer?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary yet—maybe tomorrow. I have enough oatmeal in the pantry for an oatmeal bath, I don’t think I need a full bath but perhaps a small bowl for my face and hands.”
“Oh sir! You sound just like me ol’ mum when you say that, bless her heart, she used to treat me and my siblings with that,” He said from somewhere in the house. “Just hearing you say that brings back so many memories.”
“I hope good ones!” Frodo called from a distance, but Sam didn’t reply until after he found what he needed in the pantry and came to the kitchen.
“Aye good ones, but maybe some bad ones too, as you know poison ivy is no fun.”
“Tell me about it…”
Somehow one thing lead to another and as Samwise was preparing the oatmeal, they chatted with one another, mostly Sam going on about some poison ivy related story as he had the innate talent of being able to gab on and on about any given subject as long as he had air in his lungs.
Eventually, the conversation fell into a more sentimental tone, reflecting on the upcoming journey that they would soon be a part of.
“Are you nervous about the journey as I am Sam?”
Sam paused for a brief moment before softly replying. “Aye,” He paused again. “I think anybody would feel a bit nervous, I barely have set a toe outta Hobbiton let alone outside of the Shire. Even thinking about going to Buckland has my stomach in knots.”
“Is it because of Merry?” Frodo joked.
“No but last he was here he trampled the yellow peonies I had just planted! He’s a witty lad—funny too, but he’s gotta couple of screws loose.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Frodo said.
Sam finished the preparations and walked into the room with the oatmeal bath. It was in a large mixing bowl and filled with plenty of oats. As soon as he set it down, he scratched his scruffy chin in contemplation. Frodo soon followed the same contemplation.
“Sam, did you just make oatmeal?”
Sam looked at the bowl a bit longer. “I- I’m not sure…. I mean, I don't exactly remember how my mum used to prepare it— since I was young and I’d be all itchy of course— but I assumed she did it this way? I mean it’s an oatmeal bath.”
“If I recall correctly, I believe you are supposed to strain the oats in the oatmeal bath.”
Sam flushed to the tips of his ears. “Oh I should’ve known!”
As much as Frodo wanted to hold back his laughter for the dignity of Sam, he could not help but be amused at the absurdity. Sam conked his own noggin a couple times with his fist, mumbling an assortment of nicknames the ol’ Gaffer would give him when he made a stupid mistake.
Frodo dipped the tip of his finger into the oatmeal for a quick taste test. Despite looking unassuming on the surface, the oatmeal was warm and sweet with a comforting flavor.
“You even put cinnamon in it!” He exclaimed. “This is marvelous! I hope you won’t be offended if I end up eating my own bath.”
Sam, still red in the face, gave Frodo the go-ahead. “Well, it’s gotta be used for somethin’, might as well be for what it was originally intended for, I’ll get you a spoon.”
“And yourself too, you made so much I think it would only be fair to share. We shan’t let this go to waste!”
Sam smiled. “How right you are!”
And he left to fetch two spoons from a drawer.