Frodo was surprised to find himself in bed but still wearing his breeches and shirt, when he awoke. He shifted, a little groggily, and tried to clench the fingers of his right hand. He supposed he must have been lying on it during the night because it tingled and he couldn't seem to grip properly with it.
From the candle at his bedside he lit his lamp and arose to wash and dress, or at least put on a fresh shirt. He was just brushing his hair when Aunt Esmeralda knocked to call him to breakfast and he surprised Saradoc by arriving at the table only a couple of minutes late for first breakfast. His reward was a wide grin and Frodo basked in it.
"Morning, Frodo. Are you ready for lessons today?"
"Yes, Uncle." He enjoyed school even more nowadays for it helped to occupy his mind.
Saradoc frowned as Frodo dropped his butter knife for the second time. "A bit kack-handed today, aren't you, Lad? Not like you."
"Sorry Uncle. I think I must have slept on it. It will be alright in a little while."
The older hobbit returned to the letter he was reading and snorted, laying it on the table between them as he took a spoon to his porridge. "Would you just read that!" He poked at a paragraph half way down the page with the end of his spoon handle.
Frodo leaned forward, blinking. But the words would not come into focus. He rubbed his eyes and blinked again so that the words became less illegible, resolving into a meticulously rounded hand.
"Do pass on my kindest regards to that poor dear mite, Frodo, and make sure that he wraps up warmly for it is still early in the year and the air is prone to sudden frosts."
Frodo hardly needed to skim down to the bottom of the page to find Aunt Dora's signature.
Saradoc snorted again as he refolded the missive. "Anyone would think you were some early rose instead of a strong, healthy hobbit lad."
Frodo decided that his uncle's comment did not require a reply and turned back to his own breakfast. He was not really hungry and he still missed his Mama's cooking but did not want to upset his aunt. Managing to down a small bowl of porridge and a slice of bread and butter he wished he knew what his aunt did to food to make everything taste vaguely sour. Needless to say the meal did not sit comfortably in his stomach.
"You look pale, Frodo dear. Are you feeling sick?" his aunt asked as he pushed aside his plate.
Frodo considered telling her he felt well but in truth he was beginning to feel a bit odd. "I'm sorry, Auntie. Maybe I'm just tired. My tummy is not feeling good and my arm aches a bit." His hand still tingled and he was having trouble holding his cup.
Esmeralda exchanged a questioning glance with her husband, who merely shrugged his shoulders . . . apparently deciding that this was female territory. Esmeralda glared at him, and then her face softened as she looked upon the little lad opposite her, his blue eyes downcast.
"Why don't you settle down on the couch for a little while? Maybe you'll feel better if you stay quiet and I'll be close by if you need me. I can manage to clear up on my own this morning and I'll send word to your teacher." Her suggestion was met with a wan smile and a small grateful nod. "Thank you, Auntie."
Saradoc rose and planted a kiss on his wife's cheek. "I have work to do. Don't bother about second breakfast for me. I'll be eating with Denny."
He made no further comment but Esmeralda sighed as she watched him leave. She recognised the glimmer in her husband's eyes too well. As a lad Saradoc had been brought up with an iron rod, never allowed once to forget what responsibility would one day be his. Frodo's behaviour would have been called, "shirking", by his father and not pandered to. Esmeralda had determined long ago that no child of theirs would be raised in that way and that now included Frodo in her eyes. There would likely be words that evening, after Frodo had gone to bed and she did not relish the prospect.
She turned back to the table, to find Frodo looking at her expectantly. "May I leave the table, please?"
"Of course Poppet. Off you go. Why don't you finish your book?"
"Thank you for a nice breakfast, Auntie." With those words he slid off his cushions and went to fetch his book. By the time he returned Esmeralda was already clearing the table.
Settling back amongst the cushions, Frodo tried to concentrate on his book but the words kept blurring. He blinked as something flashed just beyond his line of sight but, turning quickly, he could see nothing that could have caught the sun. He returned to his book but became increasingly aware of discomfort in his stomach. Suddenly his auntie was bending over him, a soft hand on his brow and concern in her eyes.
"You really aren't feeling well, are you Poppet?" She plumped a couple of the cushions and set them at one end of the settee. "Why don't you put your feet up?"
Frodo complied willingly when she lifted his legs onto the settee and pushed his shoulders gently back into the cushions. She smiled, brushing his hair off his brow before lifting the book from his fingers.
"Close your eyes and see if you can nap for a while." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I won't tell your Uncle Sara."
Frodo curled up on his side and closed his eyes at once. Lying down certainly made his stomach settle a little but the bright sun streaming through the window was making his eyes hurt and giving him a headache. He felt the soft brush of lips on his cheek as his auntie kissed him . . . just as Mama used to do.
"Thank you, Auntie Esme," he murmured drowsily.
He had hoped to sleep until he felt better but it was not to be, for his headache grew worse with each heartbeat. Within minutes Esmeralda was drawn back to the settee by Frodo's whimpers. She sat down at his side, concernedly.
"What is it, Frodo?"
Frodo gave up any pretence of being able to cope with this level of pain and tears leaked from beneath his thick lashes. "My head hurts so." Suddenly he pushed himself upright, trying desperately to climb off the settee. "Sick!" was all he had time to say before he flung himself to one side and threw up all of his breakfast on the floor at Esmeralda's feet. For a moment his aunt was too stunned but when she heard his heartbroken wails she caught him up gently and laid him back on the cushions.
"I'm so sorry Auntie. I didn't mean to."
"Hush now, Poppet. You couldn't help it. I'll get something to clean it up and some ginger tea to settle your tummy," Esmeralda soothed as she wiped his lips and chin with her hanky and stood up. "You just stay there and I'll fetch you a bowl in case you need to be sick again."
Her words were almost lost in the pounding of Frodo's head, made worse by the sobs he could no longer contain. He felt as though knives were being pushed through the left side of his head again and again and again, and he had to screw up his eyes against the light. So intense was his discomfort in fact that he knew nothing but the pounding until a hand slipped carefully beneath his head and a little bitter liquid was trickled between his lips. Frodo tried to turn away but the cup followed him.
"Come on, Poppet. It will help you feel better. I promise."
He swallowed, trusting but unable to prevent a grimace at the bitterness. The cup was replaced with another and a little ginger tea filled his mouth. He allowed her to feed him small sips and it did, indeed, seem to settle his stomach a little.
It was difficult to suppress another whimper as the lowering of his head back into the cushions increased the throbbing but only moments later a warm damp cloth was draped over his eyes and Frodo was distantly aware of a soft blanket being tucked around him. Someone took his hand and stroked it gently.
A grey mist rose around him, cocooning him in soft layers of peace. Slowly, Frodo was prized away from the pain and nausea. The mist grew thicker and he floated away into blessed nothingness.
