From the door-frame, though, she could see him clearly: raised just a little bit on pillows, his head raised only enough to ease drinking and breathing. They couldn't keep him propped up too much; his heart was tired, she'd learned from Queen Arwen and Lady Eowyn. Even though her duties had been to the Queen, wherever they were, they'd found a fair bit of time to teach her things, just as Fo had taught her in preparation for her year with them. Slowly she ventured closer.
He was breathing such *short* little breaths. . .not so many of them, just. . .short little difficult breaths, the way he sometimes did when he wasn't well. He looked even whiter than usual, all pale and damp and feverish, like he might faint if you even tried to move him just a quarter of an inch. The room smelled heavily of the familiar athelas (galenas, kingsfoil, "that funny leaf" - as the younger ones called it), hot and steamy with extra wood on the fire and steam-kettles and basins everywhere. Fo was tucked in beneath the fluffy counterpane and a whole pile of patchwork quilts, but still he shivered, trembling as if he were buried in snow instead.
Strider.
She now understood the meaning of the strange name he sometimes called out, the name besides her father's, the one she'd heard only in stories. Oh, she'd thought she understood it. . .but now she found she hadn't at all, and she swallowed tensely, remembering the place they'd visited while staying at Evendim, near where Queen Arwen's brothers still lived.
Slowly she put out one hand, wringing out a fresh cloth from the stack on the bedside table, bringing her other hand to help as she shook off the drips and laid it over his forehead. His face felt burning hot to her hands. . .except the left side, which was cold as ice. The compress was nice and warm, at least.
"Elly-elle. . .there you are. . . ."
His eyes slowly opening, blue as ever, Fo looked up at her, his voice worn and tired as cracked leather. She smiled, taking another cloth and kissing his thin cheek before stroking his neck lightly with the other compress, and he fairly beamed, the corners of his pallid lips turning up in that little bow they became when he smiled.
"I'm sorry. . .I should. . . ."
"Sssshhh. . .it's all right, Fo."
Tears sparkled in his eyes, blue as the Sea. "I. . .wanted to. . .to come and. . .meet. . .you properly. . . . A few. . .more. . .days. . .and I. . .would have. . .been. . .able. . . ."
"A few more days would have been too long for me to wait. Winter's cold, and it's time for Summer to come melt away all the snow."
Reaching to her left wrist, she pulled loose the bow of a single purple ribbon tied about another, one bound to her wrist in decorative fashion. Slowly she lifted the covers, trying not to jostle the frozen left arm., so chilled in contrast to the fever that burned away at the rest of him, even though he shivered. . .he was always so cold. . . .
With careful touch, she tied the purple ribbon gently about his wrist, her voice a whisper.
"Summer's come home, Uncle Fo. Summer always comes back."
~