I am back again already!
I really should not put ideas into my own head.
Title: Old Winyards Finest Vintage Hobbit Ruination Author: Angie Rating: PG - Just don't try this at home children Warning: None - bar much little hobbit silliness and sickness Summary: In his 21st year Frodo gets his first taste of the forbidden
Frodo Baggins let his book fall closed on his desk and stretched his hands over his head as he yawned. The sunshine was streaming in at the study window bringing with it the inviting smells of the outside world. Cut grass and flowers, baking from a smial further down the hill - all beckoned to a tween age hobbits nose.
Bilbo was out at the market. He had trotted in earlier muttering something half heard by his cousin Frodo about running out of sugar or something. He had set Frodo a poem to memorise for the afternoon before bustling out.
Frodo had dutifully sat over his books until the elf lord in the poem got distracted from his heroic goings-on by some maiden fair. Quests for lost treasures gave way to poetic musings on the exact shade of gold of the lady's hair, the colour of her eyes and precisely how fair her skin was, which Frodo, at 21, found quite abhorrent. If he had to memorise the catalogue of some soppy girls features he was going to be sick!
Rocking back on his chair Frodo contemplated the ceiling. It was mid- afternoon - past dinner and not yet teatime. Afternoon snack time!
Frodo climbed off his chair and headed for the kitchen. Bilbo's usually tidy table was covered in an assortment of strange paraphernalia - cooking pots and muslin strainers, long spoons and a neat row of jam pots. There was a huge basket of damsons and two bowls - one of the prepared fruit and one of the discarded stones. Frodo knew better than to risk touching the fruit but he fished out a stone with some flesh left on it and popped it into his mouth to suck as he continued his inspection of the kitchen.
On the window were set to cool a half dozen pots of the dark fruit that smelt wonderfully on the way to being jam. Frodo looked at the pots. They all had a beautifully level, glistening surface. He reached out one finger, hesitated, and then stuck it very carefully into the first jar. The conserve was still warm from the pan. He sucked his finger clean. Oh - but it was wonderful! Sweet and full of fruity flavour.
With an almost resentful air the sticky content re-formed itself into a smooth layer, and Frodo breathed again. He just had to try some more, but he really ought to be a little more tidy about it.
Fetching a spoon from the dresser he chose the next pot along and tested that one too. Oh, but Bilbo was a wonderful cook! Deciding he had to make the jars all look level again Frodo proceeded down the line. The content of the forth jar proved still to be rather hot and Frodo burnt his tongue and the roof of his mouth on it. Waving his hand around in front of his open mouth Frodo grabbed up a dark tinted bottle from the kitchen table, which seemed to contain fruit cordial, and took a large swig to cool his mouth. It certainly was fruity enough to be cordial but it also seemed to give him rather a strange sensation as it slipped down his throat that left him coughing for a moment or two. Still, it was rather nice, once you got used to it, and it definitely seemed to help with the burning in his mouth. It must be a special sort of fruit drink! No wonder Bilbo brought it out only when the very best of guests were around, Gandalf or one of the dwarves, and never allowed Frodo to touch it.
Since coming to live with his older cousin Frodo had tried to show his appreciation of his 'Uncle' Bilbo's kindness by being very good. He had avoided mushroom crops, and tried not to do anything to tear or muddy his fine new clothes. He had not played a practical joke in months, nor hidden in the woodpile to see how long it would take Bilbo to think of looking for him there. He had done his lessons, eaten his greens and remembered to keep the hair on his feet neatly brushed. But this really was temptation above and beyond all possibility of withstanding.
Frodo grabbed a jar, and the cordial bottle, and ran for the back pantry.
*****
"Frodo my lad. I'm home!" Bilbo called as he hefted his basket in at the front door of Bag End. He had only gone down to the market for a few things but had found a lot of little extras that might come in useful. "Mrs Underhill had some of your favourite cinnamon sticks."
There was no reply. Bilbo went through to unpack his basket in the kitchen and busied himself putting his things away and mixing ingredients. He put a pan on the oven to start simmering and looked round. "Where is that boy?"
Bilbo checked the study and found Frodo's discarded book. He smiled indulgently to himself even as he shook his head. "Boys with be boys - and hobbit lads even more so. I'm sure I would have had a less eventful life bringing home a Spider from Mirkwood as my heir!"
And he trotted back off to the kitchen to stir the pot.
It was not until Bilbo came to mix his next lot of damson jam that he noticed that something was missing. He was just reaching for the bottle of Old Winyards Vintage Sloe Gin to add a little 'something' to his mixture when he realised that the bottle was no longer on the table. Bilbo scratched his head. "Fool of a Baggins. You're loosing your mind." He checked under the table just in case and turned a few circles of the kitchen. It was then that he spotted that a jar was also missing. The space in his neat row on the windowsill was gaping like the void in a gap toothed smile. Gapped tooth..
"Frodo Baggins!" Bilbo roared. "Where are you?"
Frodo was sitting in a dark corner of the back pantry in the furthest reaches under the hill, but he still heard Bilbo's bellow. Only he was not actually capable of responding to it. With the aid of some biscuits he had found in a barrel he had finished the jar of jam and washed it down with half the contents of the bottle, rounding that off with a couple of pickled mushrooms and an onion or two.
That was a half hour ago.
He now felt utterly appalling.
He had been all right - as long as he had sat still, but then the whole hill started to tilt and roll sickeningly around him, particularly when he shut his eyes. It was funny at first and he had giggled rather a lot, especially when he was searching for the pickled mushrooms. He had to climb a shelf for these and had fallen flat on his backside on a sack of flour - which had seemed very funny at the time, and quite a blessing as this had lead to the discovery of the onions which had rolled to the back of one of the lower shelves. He had eaten the mushrooms and then the onions, and was just deciding to go back for some more mushrooms when the room had started to go out of focus.
It was extremely funny to begin with to watch the shelves of provisions sway from side to side without once a jar or barrel falling off. Then he had fallen over again. It was a very strange view - looking up at the shelves from flat on his back. Oh look - there was one of last autumn's apples rolled under a sack by the wall and forgotten.
It took Frodo several attempts to fish the apple out. It kept moving! Several times he thought he had it with in his grasp but it turned out to be somewhere else entirely. He thought at one point there were two of them but he could only grasp one. Once he had it he sat up with it in the middle of the pantry floor and looked at it. It was very wrinkled. In fact, it looked just like Gandalf the wizard when he was frowning! Frodo fell over again laughing and the apple rolled away as if affronted by the comparison.
All the tipping around of the walls and shelves were doing was starting to upset his stomach. If it carried on much longer he was beginning to feel he might be sick. He was starting to wish he had not eaten that last onion. They were a bit old and maybe there had been something wrong with it. He crawled backwards until he had his back to the wall. His stomach was starting to rebel and there was a queer liquid feeling lower down in his tummy as though his insides were moving around.
*****
"Frodo Baggins!" Bilbo muttered to himself as he conducted a thorough search of Bag End. "When I get hold of you." Actually Bilbo did not know what he would do when he got hold of the lad. He had never been any good at punishing Frodo. He would much rather indulge the boy. He had tried taking Frodo's books away - but the lad had such an imagination that that did not work. Sending him to bed without supper only resulted in Bilbo losing his appetite and going hungry himself with guilt until he could bear it no more and took them both a late supper tray into Frodo's room.
Now he was starting to get worried. He had searched the rooms and guest rooms, been into each wardrobe and even looked into some of the larger chests, thinking back to his own youth and the places he used to hide when feeling mischievous. With lamp in hand he was searching the front two pantries and - was that moaning?
In a total fright by now Bilbo ran to the back pantry. It was a rather cold and dark place, rarely used except in winter. He could see nothing at first as he swung the lamp around but then heard again the groaning noise.
Frodo was sat in a corner on a bag of flour, white as uncooked pastry and sweating.
"Frodo my lad! What on earth is the matter?" Bilbo came to kneel in front of the ghastly looking tween and set the lamp on a biscuit barrel to feel Frodo's forehead. As he leant in closer Frodo hiccupped rather loudly and Bilbo got a waft of the unmistakable smell of very strong alcohol. Bilbo sat back on his heels in surprise and annoyance. Frodo was totally drunk! Bilbo quickly glanced around and caught sight of the now half empty bottle of Sloe Gin before turning back to regard his young cousin.
As Bilbo watched, Frodo actually started to turn green, and Bilbo realised he had to act fast! "Come on, my lad." Bilbo hauled Frodo up under the arms and supporting him as best he could fairly lifted him off his feet and ran for the nearest bathroom.
They only just made it before Frodo was violently and miserably sick down the privy. His stomach emptied itself of its rather obnoxious last meal in four or five wrenching heaves. Bilbo held Frodo's hair out of his face and tried to reach for a towel with his other hand. Choking and spitting foulness from his mouth Frodo leaned against the seat and moaned. He felt as soggy and weak as a dishrag. Ugh! Frodo felt worse than he could ever remember. He wished the room would stop moving so he could focus his eyes better. As it was, the blurry motion was just exacerbating the pulsing he could feel starting up behind his eyes and very soon his head was throbbing as though a cave troll were using it for club practice. There was that odd feeling again as though fish were flopping in his belly.
His body, which had been limp and shaking a moment before went suddenly ridgid. "Uncle!" Frodo clutched his lower belly as he staggered to his feet. He pushed his cousin violently away. "Go away! Out! Go!" he yelled even as he tore at the fastenings of his breaches and spun round to sit on the privy.
Bilbo, too shocked by these words to go far, had only made it as far as the bathroom door when the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place and he suddenly realised what was happening to his cousin. Then he shot out and leaned against the door. How embarrassed the lad must be!
He left it a few moments before he knocked on the partly closed door. Embarrassment or not he could not leave the lad unattended. "Frodo? Frodo my boy?"
There was a horrid groan from inside and Bilbo stuck his head round the door. Frodo was still sitting on the privy - well, slumped would probably be a better word, breaches around his ankles, clutching hold of the seat to stay on it. Bilbo made his way into the room - trying to avoid actually looking at the sick tween and wetted a few cloths at the sink, which he handed over to Frodo. He also moved to throw open the shutters and let in a bit of fresher air.
Once Frodo had cleaned himself up a bit he allowed Bilbo to help him up.
"Do you think you can make it to your room lad?" the older hobbit asked. Frodo nodded miserably.
They made a sorry sight as they progressed very slowly down the hall. Frodo was leaning against Bilbo to such an extent that without him the tween would have fallen over once again. In addition, he was finding it very hard to put one foot in front of the other. For some reason they kept wanting to tangle into each other. Finally they reached Frodo's room and Bilbo sat him on the side of the bed. Frodo did not even protest as his clothes were stripped off him and a nightshirt pulled over his head. He was starting to shiver horribly and was so relieved when Bilbo eased him down and tucked the quilt up around him. What concerned him more was that no matter how bad the shivering of his limbs, he seemed to be shivering inside even more, as if his torso were made of nothing but jelly and he were about to collapse into a small quivering pile.
"Will you be alright a moment while I get you something to drink and a hot water bottle?" Frodo nodded slightly, instantly wishing he had just spoken his confirmation. He tried to concentrate on moving as little as possible and keeping his eyes wide open - he had just discovered that closing his eyes quickly made the room spin like a little toy boat over the plughole when you let the water out of the bath.
In the kitchen Bilbo brewed up a cup of peppermint tea and filled a couple of the stone hot water bottles. Now he was over his shock he was really quite angry. Frodo had taken the strong wine when he knew he should not, and it was really entirely his own fault he was so sick. Barely into his tweens and drunk! Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered if he were really a suitable guardian for the lively and sensitive tweenager. He had thought they were doing so well together. A lot of the pranks and trouble which Frodo was always into at Brandy hall seemed to have curtained now the boy had the sole attention of his guardian and a secure and peaceful environment.
But this really was very naughty of the boy.
With a bottle under each arm and carrying a cup of tea Bilbo returned to Frodo's bedroom. He felt very aggrieved and more than a little betrayed by his younger cousin.
Frodo was still curled on his side staring at the wall. Bilbo set the tea on the nightstand and slid the bottles under the quilt, one under Frodo's feet and another by his stomach. Frodo moved a little, just enough to curve his body around the bottle.
"Thank you," he murmured barely audibly.
"Sit up and drink some tea," Bilbo told him a little sternly. "It will help settle your stomach."
"My head hurts terribly," Frodo whispered, "and my body feels like jelly!"
"I am not surprised," replied the older hobbit. "And frankly, Frodo it serves you right."
Frodo's eyes widened. "Oh, Bilbo. Please don't be too cross with me. I am terribly sorry for stealing the jam - but it was just so good."
"It's not so much the jam I mind, young hobbit. It is the bottle of Old Winyards you took. I know you are a tweenager but you are really still far too young to be drinking strong spirits of that sort."
"Spirits?" Frodo echoed and his enormous blue eyes suddenly filled and over flowed with tears. "But I just thought it was an extra nice fruit cordial!"
Bilbo sat back in the old rocking chair that had been his mothers. "You didn't know what it was?"
Frodo sobbed and shook his head, and then winced.
"I am an old fool," said Bilbo. "I am not fit to raise a child. I never should have left the bottle out in the first place. Oh Frodo lad, this is all my fault."
Frodo was crying in earnest now and his distress filtered through Bilbo's shock and remorse. The old hobbit came to sit on the side of the bed and eased Frodo into his arms. "There my boy. It is alright now." He stroked the damp curls.
"But. you won't send me back to Brandy Hall? For being so bad," Frodo gasped between the sobs that shook him.
"Oh no, lad, I am far too fond of you to let you go." Bilbo could see that Frodo was working himself up far too much. "Come on my boy, drink this tea now."
Frodo wiped his eyes on his nightshirt sleeve and let Bilbo raise his head up so that he could drink the tea. He was grateful for the peppermint taste to take away the awful taste in his mouth. "What's wrong with me?" he asked plaintively.
"I think you gave your stomach a bit too much to deal with. Damson jam is not meant to be eaten by the jar full. And you are drunk on the spirit. Being sick will have helped, no matter how bad it made you feel, but you will have a dreadful headache for a while and will wake up tomorrow feeling like .well. feeling very poorly indeed. We will just have to deal with that tomorrow. I'll leave a jug of water by your bed - try to drink as much of it as you can through the night. It should help."
"But Bilbo, I feel awful now. You mean it's going to get worse? That's terrible. Why do grownups drink that stuff if it makes you feel so bad afterwards?"
"Because Frodo, when drunk in moderation, it makes you feel pleasant and relaxed. It's not meant to be drunk by the half bottle, not even by grownups and certainly not by little hobbit lads."
"I shall never go near it again!" Frodo promised.
"Well now, my boy, leave it for a few years and we shall yet have you down the Green dragon enjoying a brew with your friends."
"Bilbo."
"Yes, dear boy?"
"I am going to be sick again."
Frodo was indeed turning quite green again and Bilbo quickly grabbed up the basin. He also took the precaution of lifting out the chamber pot and was very glad he had. No sooner had Frodo been sick again than the slippery fish feeling started in his stomach and he had to be sat on the pot. It felt as though his insides were falling out. Sick though he was Frodo still fell horribly mortified at being so ill. It was like being a little child again.
Bilbo helped him to clean up and then settled him back into the deliciously warm nest of quilt and pillows. Frodo hugged the hot water bottle close again. "Oh, my head!" he groaned.
"Shush, lie still and try to sleep, you will feel better later."
Frodo did not see how he could ever sleep. His stomach felt stiff and sore, as though he had been kicked in it, his bottom hurt and his head - aw! His head was beyond thinking of. It felt as though some one were trying to push his eyeballs out - from the inside, at the same time as some one was winding a barrel loop around it. Once more he stared at the wall, and at some point he fell asleep.
Frodo opened eyes that felt as though they had been nailed shut. He closed them again immediately. "Oh, yuck!" His mouth tasted as though orcs had been camping in it for a week.
"Gently now," Bilbo whispered and lifted Frodo's head enough to offer him a sip of water.
"What. time.?" Frodo managed, squeezing his eyes shut as the dim light sent piercing daggers into his brain and the sound of his husky voice vibrated from his throat, up and through his head, which felt very much as if it was about to explode - just like the over-ripe tomatoes that hobbit children occasionally flung at each other around harvest time. The troll that had set up camp in his head the previous night had brought along the rest of his family and quite a few friends, Frodo was certain.
"It is morning. You slept through the night. How do you feel?"
Frodo groaned quietly, yet eloquently. "Bilbo," he croaked, "I am so sorry!"
"Never mind that my lad. I think you punished yourself enough this time. Sip this for me."
The next offering was some horrid concoction of herbs, thick and syrupy and it tasted as though a raw egg had been mixed into that. "Oh, Bilbo," Frodo shuddered. "What ever was that!?" A spoonful of honey was offered as a sweetener, then Frodo had to drink some more of the vile brew.
"It is the Gaffer's best hangover cure," Bilbo told his nephew, before laying a cool wet cloth on the burning forehead. "You can try some toast later, and you must drink plenty of water or tea. More water than tea if you'll take my advice."
"I feel. dreadfully thirsty." Another glass of cool water was offered and Frodo drank gratefully. "Bilbo, I do not know how you put up with me."
"Neither do I my lad, neither do I." He gave Frodo a rueful smile.
By midafternoon Frodo felt just about well enough to sit up by the open window in the front parlour. He was still rather pale and the thought of anything other than lightly buttered toast turned his stomach. The light still hurt his eyes and any sudden movement sent his head pounding, but he was beginning to believe that he would be all right. Maybe not today. Maybe not even this week. But soon. He declaimed this to Bilbo with great fortitude, and was puzzled to see Bilbo look up at him and chuckle.
"Frodo, my boy, you're going to be fine. Come tomorrow morning you'll feel right as rain and be up to all your old tricks again, you mark my words, though you would be wise to remember this experience for it will stand you in good stead!"
"For once I think you're mistaken, Bilbo! I've learned my lesson!" He saw the sceptical look Bilbo's face. "Really!"
Bilbo smiled again and returned to his jams, carefully locking away a half bottle of Old Winyards Vintage Hobbit Ruination once he had finished, pocketing the key and patting it just to be sure that it, and therefore also Frodo, was now safe.
Title: Old Winyards Finest Vintage Hobbit Ruination Author: Angie Rating: PG - Just don't try this at home children Warning: None - bar much little hobbit silliness and sickness Summary: In his 21st year Frodo gets his first taste of the forbidden
Frodo Baggins let his book fall closed on his desk and stretched his hands over his head as he yawned. The sunshine was streaming in at the study window bringing with it the inviting smells of the outside world. Cut grass and flowers, baking from a smial further down the hill - all beckoned to a tween age hobbits nose.
Bilbo was out at the market. He had trotted in earlier muttering something half heard by his cousin Frodo about running out of sugar or something. He had set Frodo a poem to memorise for the afternoon before bustling out.
Frodo had dutifully sat over his books until the elf lord in the poem got distracted from his heroic goings-on by some maiden fair. Quests for lost treasures gave way to poetic musings on the exact shade of gold of the lady's hair, the colour of her eyes and precisely how fair her skin was, which Frodo, at 21, found quite abhorrent. If he had to memorise the catalogue of some soppy girls features he was going to be sick!
Rocking back on his chair Frodo contemplated the ceiling. It was mid- afternoon - past dinner and not yet teatime. Afternoon snack time!
Frodo climbed off his chair and headed for the kitchen. Bilbo's usually tidy table was covered in an assortment of strange paraphernalia - cooking pots and muslin strainers, long spoons and a neat row of jam pots. There was a huge basket of damsons and two bowls - one of the prepared fruit and one of the discarded stones. Frodo knew better than to risk touching the fruit but he fished out a stone with some flesh left on it and popped it into his mouth to suck as he continued his inspection of the kitchen.
On the window were set to cool a half dozen pots of the dark fruit that smelt wonderfully on the way to being jam. Frodo looked at the pots. They all had a beautifully level, glistening surface. He reached out one finger, hesitated, and then stuck it very carefully into the first jar. The conserve was still warm from the pan. He sucked his finger clean. Oh - but it was wonderful! Sweet and full of fruity flavour.
With an almost resentful air the sticky content re-formed itself into a smooth layer, and Frodo breathed again. He just had to try some more, but he really ought to be a little more tidy about it.
Fetching a spoon from the dresser he chose the next pot along and tested that one too. Oh, but Bilbo was a wonderful cook! Deciding he had to make the jars all look level again Frodo proceeded down the line. The content of the forth jar proved still to be rather hot and Frodo burnt his tongue and the roof of his mouth on it. Waving his hand around in front of his open mouth Frodo grabbed up a dark tinted bottle from the kitchen table, which seemed to contain fruit cordial, and took a large swig to cool his mouth. It certainly was fruity enough to be cordial but it also seemed to give him rather a strange sensation as it slipped down his throat that left him coughing for a moment or two. Still, it was rather nice, once you got used to it, and it definitely seemed to help with the burning in his mouth. It must be a special sort of fruit drink! No wonder Bilbo brought it out only when the very best of guests were around, Gandalf or one of the dwarves, and never allowed Frodo to touch it.
Since coming to live with his older cousin Frodo had tried to show his appreciation of his 'Uncle' Bilbo's kindness by being very good. He had avoided mushroom crops, and tried not to do anything to tear or muddy his fine new clothes. He had not played a practical joke in months, nor hidden in the woodpile to see how long it would take Bilbo to think of looking for him there. He had done his lessons, eaten his greens and remembered to keep the hair on his feet neatly brushed. But this really was temptation above and beyond all possibility of withstanding.
Frodo grabbed a jar, and the cordial bottle, and ran for the back pantry.
*****
"Frodo my lad. I'm home!" Bilbo called as he hefted his basket in at the front door of Bag End. He had only gone down to the market for a few things but had found a lot of little extras that might come in useful. "Mrs Underhill had some of your favourite cinnamon sticks."
There was no reply. Bilbo went through to unpack his basket in the kitchen and busied himself putting his things away and mixing ingredients. He put a pan on the oven to start simmering and looked round. "Where is that boy?"
Bilbo checked the study and found Frodo's discarded book. He smiled indulgently to himself even as he shook his head. "Boys with be boys - and hobbit lads even more so. I'm sure I would have had a less eventful life bringing home a Spider from Mirkwood as my heir!"
And he trotted back off to the kitchen to stir the pot.
It was not until Bilbo came to mix his next lot of damson jam that he noticed that something was missing. He was just reaching for the bottle of Old Winyards Vintage Sloe Gin to add a little 'something' to his mixture when he realised that the bottle was no longer on the table. Bilbo scratched his head. "Fool of a Baggins. You're loosing your mind." He checked under the table just in case and turned a few circles of the kitchen. It was then that he spotted that a jar was also missing. The space in his neat row on the windowsill was gaping like the void in a gap toothed smile. Gapped tooth..
"Frodo Baggins!" Bilbo roared. "Where are you?"
Frodo was sitting in a dark corner of the back pantry in the furthest reaches under the hill, but he still heard Bilbo's bellow. Only he was not actually capable of responding to it. With the aid of some biscuits he had found in a barrel he had finished the jar of jam and washed it down with half the contents of the bottle, rounding that off with a couple of pickled mushrooms and an onion or two.
That was a half hour ago.
He now felt utterly appalling.
He had been all right - as long as he had sat still, but then the whole hill started to tilt and roll sickeningly around him, particularly when he shut his eyes. It was funny at first and he had giggled rather a lot, especially when he was searching for the pickled mushrooms. He had to climb a shelf for these and had fallen flat on his backside on a sack of flour - which had seemed very funny at the time, and quite a blessing as this had lead to the discovery of the onions which had rolled to the back of one of the lower shelves. He had eaten the mushrooms and then the onions, and was just deciding to go back for some more mushrooms when the room had started to go out of focus.
It was extremely funny to begin with to watch the shelves of provisions sway from side to side without once a jar or barrel falling off. Then he had fallen over again. It was a very strange view - looking up at the shelves from flat on his back. Oh look - there was one of last autumn's apples rolled under a sack by the wall and forgotten.
It took Frodo several attempts to fish the apple out. It kept moving! Several times he thought he had it with in his grasp but it turned out to be somewhere else entirely. He thought at one point there were two of them but he could only grasp one. Once he had it he sat up with it in the middle of the pantry floor and looked at it. It was very wrinkled. In fact, it looked just like Gandalf the wizard when he was frowning! Frodo fell over again laughing and the apple rolled away as if affronted by the comparison.
All the tipping around of the walls and shelves were doing was starting to upset his stomach. If it carried on much longer he was beginning to feel he might be sick. He was starting to wish he had not eaten that last onion. They were a bit old and maybe there had been something wrong with it. He crawled backwards until he had his back to the wall. His stomach was starting to rebel and there was a queer liquid feeling lower down in his tummy as though his insides were moving around.
*****
"Frodo Baggins!" Bilbo muttered to himself as he conducted a thorough search of Bag End. "When I get hold of you." Actually Bilbo did not know what he would do when he got hold of the lad. He had never been any good at punishing Frodo. He would much rather indulge the boy. He had tried taking Frodo's books away - but the lad had such an imagination that that did not work. Sending him to bed without supper only resulted in Bilbo losing his appetite and going hungry himself with guilt until he could bear it no more and took them both a late supper tray into Frodo's room.
Now he was starting to get worried. He had searched the rooms and guest rooms, been into each wardrobe and even looked into some of the larger chests, thinking back to his own youth and the places he used to hide when feeling mischievous. With lamp in hand he was searching the front two pantries and - was that moaning?
In a total fright by now Bilbo ran to the back pantry. It was a rather cold and dark place, rarely used except in winter. He could see nothing at first as he swung the lamp around but then heard again the groaning noise.
Frodo was sat in a corner on a bag of flour, white as uncooked pastry and sweating.
"Frodo my lad! What on earth is the matter?" Bilbo came to kneel in front of the ghastly looking tween and set the lamp on a biscuit barrel to feel Frodo's forehead. As he leant in closer Frodo hiccupped rather loudly and Bilbo got a waft of the unmistakable smell of very strong alcohol. Bilbo sat back on his heels in surprise and annoyance. Frodo was totally drunk! Bilbo quickly glanced around and caught sight of the now half empty bottle of Sloe Gin before turning back to regard his young cousin.
As Bilbo watched, Frodo actually started to turn green, and Bilbo realised he had to act fast! "Come on, my lad." Bilbo hauled Frodo up under the arms and supporting him as best he could fairly lifted him off his feet and ran for the nearest bathroom.
They only just made it before Frodo was violently and miserably sick down the privy. His stomach emptied itself of its rather obnoxious last meal in four or five wrenching heaves. Bilbo held Frodo's hair out of his face and tried to reach for a towel with his other hand. Choking and spitting foulness from his mouth Frodo leaned against the seat and moaned. He felt as soggy and weak as a dishrag. Ugh! Frodo felt worse than he could ever remember. He wished the room would stop moving so he could focus his eyes better. As it was, the blurry motion was just exacerbating the pulsing he could feel starting up behind his eyes and very soon his head was throbbing as though a cave troll were using it for club practice. There was that odd feeling again as though fish were flopping in his belly.
His body, which had been limp and shaking a moment before went suddenly ridgid. "Uncle!" Frodo clutched his lower belly as he staggered to his feet. He pushed his cousin violently away. "Go away! Out! Go!" he yelled even as he tore at the fastenings of his breaches and spun round to sit on the privy.
Bilbo, too shocked by these words to go far, had only made it as far as the bathroom door when the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place and he suddenly realised what was happening to his cousin. Then he shot out and leaned against the door. How embarrassed the lad must be!
He left it a few moments before he knocked on the partly closed door. Embarrassment or not he could not leave the lad unattended. "Frodo? Frodo my boy?"
There was a horrid groan from inside and Bilbo stuck his head round the door. Frodo was still sitting on the privy - well, slumped would probably be a better word, breaches around his ankles, clutching hold of the seat to stay on it. Bilbo made his way into the room - trying to avoid actually looking at the sick tween and wetted a few cloths at the sink, which he handed over to Frodo. He also moved to throw open the shutters and let in a bit of fresher air.
Once Frodo had cleaned himself up a bit he allowed Bilbo to help him up.
"Do you think you can make it to your room lad?" the older hobbit asked. Frodo nodded miserably.
They made a sorry sight as they progressed very slowly down the hall. Frodo was leaning against Bilbo to such an extent that without him the tween would have fallen over once again. In addition, he was finding it very hard to put one foot in front of the other. For some reason they kept wanting to tangle into each other. Finally they reached Frodo's room and Bilbo sat him on the side of the bed. Frodo did not even protest as his clothes were stripped off him and a nightshirt pulled over his head. He was starting to shiver horribly and was so relieved when Bilbo eased him down and tucked the quilt up around him. What concerned him more was that no matter how bad the shivering of his limbs, he seemed to be shivering inside even more, as if his torso were made of nothing but jelly and he were about to collapse into a small quivering pile.
"Will you be alright a moment while I get you something to drink and a hot water bottle?" Frodo nodded slightly, instantly wishing he had just spoken his confirmation. He tried to concentrate on moving as little as possible and keeping his eyes wide open - he had just discovered that closing his eyes quickly made the room spin like a little toy boat over the plughole when you let the water out of the bath.
In the kitchen Bilbo brewed up a cup of peppermint tea and filled a couple of the stone hot water bottles. Now he was over his shock he was really quite angry. Frodo had taken the strong wine when he knew he should not, and it was really entirely his own fault he was so sick. Barely into his tweens and drunk! Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered if he were really a suitable guardian for the lively and sensitive tweenager. He had thought they were doing so well together. A lot of the pranks and trouble which Frodo was always into at Brandy hall seemed to have curtained now the boy had the sole attention of his guardian and a secure and peaceful environment.
But this really was very naughty of the boy.
With a bottle under each arm and carrying a cup of tea Bilbo returned to Frodo's bedroom. He felt very aggrieved and more than a little betrayed by his younger cousin.
Frodo was still curled on his side staring at the wall. Bilbo set the tea on the nightstand and slid the bottles under the quilt, one under Frodo's feet and another by his stomach. Frodo moved a little, just enough to curve his body around the bottle.
"Thank you," he murmured barely audibly.
"Sit up and drink some tea," Bilbo told him a little sternly. "It will help settle your stomach."
"My head hurts terribly," Frodo whispered, "and my body feels like jelly!"
"I am not surprised," replied the older hobbit. "And frankly, Frodo it serves you right."
Frodo's eyes widened. "Oh, Bilbo. Please don't be too cross with me. I am terribly sorry for stealing the jam - but it was just so good."
"It's not so much the jam I mind, young hobbit. It is the bottle of Old Winyards you took. I know you are a tweenager but you are really still far too young to be drinking strong spirits of that sort."
"Spirits?" Frodo echoed and his enormous blue eyes suddenly filled and over flowed with tears. "But I just thought it was an extra nice fruit cordial!"
Bilbo sat back in the old rocking chair that had been his mothers. "You didn't know what it was?"
Frodo sobbed and shook his head, and then winced.
"I am an old fool," said Bilbo. "I am not fit to raise a child. I never should have left the bottle out in the first place. Oh Frodo lad, this is all my fault."
Frodo was crying in earnest now and his distress filtered through Bilbo's shock and remorse. The old hobbit came to sit on the side of the bed and eased Frodo into his arms. "There my boy. It is alright now." He stroked the damp curls.
"But. you won't send me back to Brandy Hall? For being so bad," Frodo gasped between the sobs that shook him.
"Oh no, lad, I am far too fond of you to let you go." Bilbo could see that Frodo was working himself up far too much. "Come on my boy, drink this tea now."
Frodo wiped his eyes on his nightshirt sleeve and let Bilbo raise his head up so that he could drink the tea. He was grateful for the peppermint taste to take away the awful taste in his mouth. "What's wrong with me?" he asked plaintively.
"I think you gave your stomach a bit too much to deal with. Damson jam is not meant to be eaten by the jar full. And you are drunk on the spirit. Being sick will have helped, no matter how bad it made you feel, but you will have a dreadful headache for a while and will wake up tomorrow feeling like .well. feeling very poorly indeed. We will just have to deal with that tomorrow. I'll leave a jug of water by your bed - try to drink as much of it as you can through the night. It should help."
"But Bilbo, I feel awful now. You mean it's going to get worse? That's terrible. Why do grownups drink that stuff if it makes you feel so bad afterwards?"
"Because Frodo, when drunk in moderation, it makes you feel pleasant and relaxed. It's not meant to be drunk by the half bottle, not even by grownups and certainly not by little hobbit lads."
"I shall never go near it again!" Frodo promised.
"Well now, my boy, leave it for a few years and we shall yet have you down the Green dragon enjoying a brew with your friends."
"Bilbo."
"Yes, dear boy?"
"I am going to be sick again."
Frodo was indeed turning quite green again and Bilbo quickly grabbed up the basin. He also took the precaution of lifting out the chamber pot and was very glad he had. No sooner had Frodo been sick again than the slippery fish feeling started in his stomach and he had to be sat on the pot. It felt as though his insides were falling out. Sick though he was Frodo still fell horribly mortified at being so ill. It was like being a little child again.
Bilbo helped him to clean up and then settled him back into the deliciously warm nest of quilt and pillows. Frodo hugged the hot water bottle close again. "Oh, my head!" he groaned.
"Shush, lie still and try to sleep, you will feel better later."
Frodo did not see how he could ever sleep. His stomach felt stiff and sore, as though he had been kicked in it, his bottom hurt and his head - aw! His head was beyond thinking of. It felt as though some one were trying to push his eyeballs out - from the inside, at the same time as some one was winding a barrel loop around it. Once more he stared at the wall, and at some point he fell asleep.
Frodo opened eyes that felt as though they had been nailed shut. He closed them again immediately. "Oh, yuck!" His mouth tasted as though orcs had been camping in it for a week.
"Gently now," Bilbo whispered and lifted Frodo's head enough to offer him a sip of water.
"What. time.?" Frodo managed, squeezing his eyes shut as the dim light sent piercing daggers into his brain and the sound of his husky voice vibrated from his throat, up and through his head, which felt very much as if it was about to explode - just like the over-ripe tomatoes that hobbit children occasionally flung at each other around harvest time. The troll that had set up camp in his head the previous night had brought along the rest of his family and quite a few friends, Frodo was certain.
"It is morning. You slept through the night. How do you feel?"
Frodo groaned quietly, yet eloquently. "Bilbo," he croaked, "I am so sorry!"
"Never mind that my lad. I think you punished yourself enough this time. Sip this for me."
The next offering was some horrid concoction of herbs, thick and syrupy and it tasted as though a raw egg had been mixed into that. "Oh, Bilbo," Frodo shuddered. "What ever was that!?" A spoonful of honey was offered as a sweetener, then Frodo had to drink some more of the vile brew.
"It is the Gaffer's best hangover cure," Bilbo told his nephew, before laying a cool wet cloth on the burning forehead. "You can try some toast later, and you must drink plenty of water or tea. More water than tea if you'll take my advice."
"I feel. dreadfully thirsty." Another glass of cool water was offered and Frodo drank gratefully. "Bilbo, I do not know how you put up with me."
"Neither do I my lad, neither do I." He gave Frodo a rueful smile.
By midafternoon Frodo felt just about well enough to sit up by the open window in the front parlour. He was still rather pale and the thought of anything other than lightly buttered toast turned his stomach. The light still hurt his eyes and any sudden movement sent his head pounding, but he was beginning to believe that he would be all right. Maybe not today. Maybe not even this week. But soon. He declaimed this to Bilbo with great fortitude, and was puzzled to see Bilbo look up at him and chuckle.
"Frodo, my boy, you're going to be fine. Come tomorrow morning you'll feel right as rain and be up to all your old tricks again, you mark my words, though you would be wise to remember this experience for it will stand you in good stead!"
"For once I think you're mistaken, Bilbo! I've learned my lesson!" He saw the sceptical look Bilbo's face. "Really!"
Bilbo smiled again and returned to his jams, carefully locking away a half bottle of Old Winyards Vintage Hobbit Ruination once he had finished, pocketing the key and patting it just to be sure that it, and therefore also Frodo, was now safe.