For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS
Chapter Four: An Unexpected Visitor
"No. . .that' s not it. . . ."
Bilbo smiled nonetheless, easing his charge up once more to rearrange the pillows a bit. Frodo had been awake intermittently throughout the night, still vomiting and running a fever with chills. As a result, he was fretful and cross, a bit fussy as he tried to find a comfortable position in bed with Bilbo's help. Nothing seemed to feel right; he hadn't really eaten anything for over a day and a half, and the thought of trying nearly made him gag.
"There now. . .is that better?" Bilbo was attempting to settle him for the morning, having already given the requisite medicines and changed the tweenager's night-shirt again. "Another blanket?"
Frodo nodded, shuddering as his small frame trembled with chill, mustering a weak, exhausted smile as Bilbo tucked an extra quilt over him.
The sound of the door-bell broke the stillness - a loud, insistent pull, like someone strong or particularly intent upon getting an audience. Frodo winced, sighing as he attempted to curl back up, and Bilbo glanced up, an exasperated expression on his features.
"Just try and rest, Frodo-lad. I'll be right back, and I won't be far at all."
Frodo nodded weakly, closing his eyes as he tried to return to sleep. He heard Bilbo's voice, then another. . .deeper, though still rather quiet. . . . After some minutes, they gradually drew closer, enough that he could make out Bilbo's words, but not those of the other:
". . .been quite ill, poor lad. But I'm sure he'll. . ."
The rest was lost as Frodo shifted in bed, adjusting the covers and opening his eyes once more. Slowly the door of his room opened, admitting Bilbo once more. His face was alight, and he looked as excited as a young hobbit at a mushroom picnic.
"Frodo my lad, look who's here. . .someone would like to see you. . . ."
Frodo turned toward the door. . .and let out a small gasp, his countenance brightening. Stooping a bit to enter was a familiar figure: tall, draped in blue robes, with great black boots and a staff nearly the height of two young hobbits together. Straightening a bit, he smiled through his long grey beard, and at once Frodo smiled in return.
"Gandalf. . . ."
"Good morning, Frodo. Bilbo tells me you aren't well?"
Smiling despite the situation, Frodo shook his head. "I'm sick at my stomach. . . ."
The wizard laid a large hand on Frodo's forehead. . .comforting and cool, soothing the lad. "So I hear! Well, I wonder whether you might still be interested in something I happen to have with me. . . ." Keeping one hand on Frodo's brow, smoothing back the damp curls gently, he smiled, setting down his staff and reaching into one of the pockets mysteriously nestled in the folds of his cloak, bringing out a small bag. Laying it on the bed beside Frodo, he opened it, revealing emptiness. . .then pulls the edges back together for a moment, muttering something unintelligible and tapping his fingers against it before opening it again to reveal a small assortment of candied ginger, cleverly cut into bite-sized bits. Frodo beamed, laughing with delight. He'd long associated the wizard with pleasantries: indeed, he could not remember a time when Gandalf had visited and not produced some small surprise for him, whether sweets or special toys from faraway lands, like Dale and Beorn's country, or, as Frodo grew older, books or maps of interesting sorts.
"Thank you!"
Bilbo smiled, nodding his approval. "How kind, Gandalf. . .go ahead, Frodo; if you want to try a bit it's all right. Dr. Boffin said that would be fine. . .might help settle your stomach."
Gandalf took out a tiny piece, offering it to the sick child. Taking it slowly, Frodo simply held it in his mouth, nodding approvingly as the sense of nausea seemed to gradually ease off a little.
"You should get some rest, Bilbo," Gandalf urged softly after a moment. "I'll stay with Frodo. . .would you mind, lad?" He turned back to the younger Baggins, one large hand still stroking the boy's curls.
For a moment Bilbo stood in hesitation, coming to his ward's bedside and taking one of the small hands in his. "Frodo. . .what would you like? I don't mind staying right here with you. But I also won't be more than a room away. . . ."
"I don't mind Gandalf staying with me." Indeed, Frodo didn't - he suspected he might have the luxury of hearing some new stories and perhaps a few old favourites, and the nausea was beginning to ease off a bit. Almost as if to reassure both hobbits, Gandalf smoothed the boy's covers, wringing out a fresh cloth and laying it across the fevered brow.
"We'll be fine, Bilbo; if he wishes, I'll call you in at once."
Twisting the edge of the top cover nervously in his hands, Bilbo finally nodded, bending forward and kissing Frodo's brow. "All right, then! Be good, Frodo. . .and tell Gandalf the instant you're ready for me to return. . . ." He offered a few hurried instructions about the medicines and Frodo's care, then disappeared into the hall.
Settling back in his chair as best he can, Gandalf smiled warmly, keeping a hand close to freshen the lad's compress periodically and stroke the bark- brown curls reassuringly. "Well, then, Frodo. . .is there anything I can do for you, lad? A story, perhaps?"
Frodo laughed, nodding. "You seem to read minds sometimes, Gandalf - I'd love to hear one. Please?"
A broad grin settled in through the beard. "Then a story it is! Now, let's see. . . ."
~To Be Continued~
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS
Chapter Four: An Unexpected Visitor
"No. . .that' s not it. . . ."
Bilbo smiled nonetheless, easing his charge up once more to rearrange the pillows a bit. Frodo had been awake intermittently throughout the night, still vomiting and running a fever with chills. As a result, he was fretful and cross, a bit fussy as he tried to find a comfortable position in bed with Bilbo's help. Nothing seemed to feel right; he hadn't really eaten anything for over a day and a half, and the thought of trying nearly made him gag.
"There now. . .is that better?" Bilbo was attempting to settle him for the morning, having already given the requisite medicines and changed the tweenager's night-shirt again. "Another blanket?"
Frodo nodded, shuddering as his small frame trembled with chill, mustering a weak, exhausted smile as Bilbo tucked an extra quilt over him.
The sound of the door-bell broke the stillness - a loud, insistent pull, like someone strong or particularly intent upon getting an audience. Frodo winced, sighing as he attempted to curl back up, and Bilbo glanced up, an exasperated expression on his features.
"Just try and rest, Frodo-lad. I'll be right back, and I won't be far at all."
Frodo nodded weakly, closing his eyes as he tried to return to sleep. He heard Bilbo's voice, then another. . .deeper, though still rather quiet. . . . After some minutes, they gradually drew closer, enough that he could make out Bilbo's words, but not those of the other:
". . .been quite ill, poor lad. But I'm sure he'll. . ."
The rest was lost as Frodo shifted in bed, adjusting the covers and opening his eyes once more. Slowly the door of his room opened, admitting Bilbo once more. His face was alight, and he looked as excited as a young hobbit at a mushroom picnic.
"Frodo my lad, look who's here. . .someone would like to see you. . . ."
Frodo turned toward the door. . .and let out a small gasp, his countenance brightening. Stooping a bit to enter was a familiar figure: tall, draped in blue robes, with great black boots and a staff nearly the height of two young hobbits together. Straightening a bit, he smiled through his long grey beard, and at once Frodo smiled in return.
"Gandalf. . . ."
"Good morning, Frodo. Bilbo tells me you aren't well?"
Smiling despite the situation, Frodo shook his head. "I'm sick at my stomach. . . ."
The wizard laid a large hand on Frodo's forehead. . .comforting and cool, soothing the lad. "So I hear! Well, I wonder whether you might still be interested in something I happen to have with me. . . ." Keeping one hand on Frodo's brow, smoothing back the damp curls gently, he smiled, setting down his staff and reaching into one of the pockets mysteriously nestled in the folds of his cloak, bringing out a small bag. Laying it on the bed beside Frodo, he opened it, revealing emptiness. . .then pulls the edges back together for a moment, muttering something unintelligible and tapping his fingers against it before opening it again to reveal a small assortment of candied ginger, cleverly cut into bite-sized bits. Frodo beamed, laughing with delight. He'd long associated the wizard with pleasantries: indeed, he could not remember a time when Gandalf had visited and not produced some small surprise for him, whether sweets or special toys from faraway lands, like Dale and Beorn's country, or, as Frodo grew older, books or maps of interesting sorts.
"Thank you!"
Bilbo smiled, nodding his approval. "How kind, Gandalf. . .go ahead, Frodo; if you want to try a bit it's all right. Dr. Boffin said that would be fine. . .might help settle your stomach."
Gandalf took out a tiny piece, offering it to the sick child. Taking it slowly, Frodo simply held it in his mouth, nodding approvingly as the sense of nausea seemed to gradually ease off a little.
"You should get some rest, Bilbo," Gandalf urged softly after a moment. "I'll stay with Frodo. . .would you mind, lad?" He turned back to the younger Baggins, one large hand still stroking the boy's curls.
For a moment Bilbo stood in hesitation, coming to his ward's bedside and taking one of the small hands in his. "Frodo. . .what would you like? I don't mind staying right here with you. But I also won't be more than a room away. . . ."
"I don't mind Gandalf staying with me." Indeed, Frodo didn't - he suspected he might have the luxury of hearing some new stories and perhaps a few old favourites, and the nausea was beginning to ease off a bit. Almost as if to reassure both hobbits, Gandalf smoothed the boy's covers, wringing out a fresh cloth and laying it across the fevered brow.
"We'll be fine, Bilbo; if he wishes, I'll call you in at once."
Twisting the edge of the top cover nervously in his hands, Bilbo finally nodded, bending forward and kissing Frodo's brow. "All right, then! Be good, Frodo. . .and tell Gandalf the instant you're ready for me to return. . . ." He offered a few hurried instructions about the medicines and Frodo's care, then disappeared into the hall.
Settling back in his chair as best he can, Gandalf smiled warmly, keeping a hand close to freshen the lad's compress periodically and stroke the bark- brown curls reassuringly. "Well, then, Frodo. . .is there anything I can do for you, lad? A story, perhaps?"
Frodo laughed, nodding. "You seem to read minds sometimes, Gandalf - I'd love to hear one. Please?"
A broad grin settled in through the beard. "Then a story it is! Now, let's see. . . ."
~To Be Continued~