Author's Notes: I may be a bit slower this weekend posting chapters – my
writing's a bit slowed by the arrival of the new reel with TTT preview!
So. . .you know where I'll be tonight. ;) Add to that my husband's
birthday and Easter Sunday, and perhaps you can find it in your hearts to
be patient with me. =) In addition, I'm really trying to focus on the
writing: Chapters 8-12 are extremely important, and it's like building a
house of cards: you want to do that kind of work VERY carefully and VERY
precisely. But don't worry – the updates are still coming! Ideally I'll
finish Chapters 9 and 10 Saturday, March 30 and post them then. If I
really get rolling, perhaps I'll get all the way through Chapter 12 and
beyond this weekend, but we'll see. Again, thank you all SO much for
reading and reviewing!
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 Eight: The Shrew and the Sour One
RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP!
Frodo awoke, his head aching. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking weakly in the traces of morning sun filtering through the curtain-edges.
RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP!
Wincing, he turned. Gandalf was at his side, wringing out a fresh cloth.
"Someone's at the door?"
Gandalf nodded. "Bilbo's answering it. I imagine the noise will stop in a moment once whomever it is gets a piece of your uncle's mind – he was quite upset at it just a moment ago, when he went to answer it." He bent over Frodo's bed, a huge shadow, though a comforting one. "Perhaps a drink of water? You must be quite thirsty."
Frodo nodded, wincing a little as the wizard lifted his head from the pillow, though this time the tweenager managed to steady the cup with his own hands, guiding while Gandalf held it. Draining the cupful, he lay back, suddenly aware of raised voices in the hall.
"And just what difference do you think your displeasure makes to me?!?" Bilbo's voice, angry and stiff.
"We have JUST come from our lawyer's, and mind you, this will NOT be allowed to pass unchallenged!" A female hobbit's voice, shrill and pointed. "Why, I'm SURE there's some foul plot afoot! Goodness knows WHAT happened while you were gallivanting about, traipsing all over the world with those disgusting dwarves, not to mention that abominable wizard! He – he probably cast a spell on you!"
Frodo groaned, and Gandalf, who looked very much as if he were attempting to stifle a loud laugh, turned curious eyes toward him.
"Lobelia," Frodo murmured. "You know – Sackville-Baggins? They'd have inherited, you know. . .they came by when I first came to live here, but they didn't know about the inheritance yet, and I suppose they have now, by the sound of it. . . ."
"Now, you know good and well that's not right, doing things that way! I mean, really, old Bilbo, what WERE you thinking?!?" A third voice – Otho, Lobelia's husband, with a tone that would sour honey. "After all, you've probably gone and rigged the whole thing, but we'll get to the bottom of it, oh, yes, we will. . . ."
"Besides," Lobelia interjected petulantly, "not only is he not even yours. . .he's a BRANDYBUCK!" The name exploded on her tongue as if she were speaking of going without meals, and with considerable venom dripping from the edges of her tone.
At once Frodo whitened. He knew what people said, but Primula had been the sort of mother who played games and toys with him for hours on end. . .who always snuck a favourite food onto his plate no matter what. . .who taught him songs and stories and history. . . . When Frodo had had mumps, she sat up all night with him for days, rocking him in her lap and giving him soothing drinks that didn't hurt so much to swallow, When he'd complained of being bored on a rainy afternoon, rather than snapping at him and sending him off to play in the nursery with the other children, she'd taken him upstairs to the main library of Brandy Hall for the first time, introducing him to the vast array of books and maps. She'd brought him to one of Bilbo's parties for the first time, despite his father's worries that perhaps he was still a bit young for Bilbo's tales. He'd always been proud of his Brandybuck blood. . .but on Lobelia's lips, it sounded like poison.
"Now, listen, both of you!" Bilbo insisted loudly. "We'll have to address your concerns another time, preferably in the court! I can't stand here with you in the front hall all day; Frodo's ill in bed."
"Oh! The poor dear! I do hope it's nothing serious?" Lobelia's venomous tone dripped sugary acid.
Watching the young hobbit, Gandalf sighed, kneeling by the bed to stroke the boy's dark hair gently. "Never mind her, Frodo. She envies what is not hers, and what she cannot understand."
Frodo attempted to nod weakly, but the room suddenly seemed to blur and begin spinning. Suddenly he felt chilled and sick, shivering despite the warmth of his bed and room. Gandalf caught him, holding his head and offering a basin as the young hobbit began vomiting. He could no longer make out Bilbo's voice, but Lobelia's tone continued to slice through everything.
"What?!? You're telling * me * to be quiet because THAT BRANDYBUCK is ill? Spoiled is more like it! Coddled little brat – "
Fortunately, the next sound was that of the front-door being slammed, harder than Frodo had ever heard a door slammed. Quick footsteps soon followed. . .and before he knew it, he felt Bilbo'd hand on his back, rubbing gently.
"Oh, my poor boy – there now, ssshhhhhh – "
Frodo gasped as the fit passed, nearly choking. Hurriedly Gandalf helped him rinse and removed the basin before leaving him to rest in Bilbo's reassuring arms, the wizard arranging a few small things and offering them as Bilbo reached: a fresh damp cloth, a compress for the tweenager's forehead, a spoonful of the ginger syrup prescribed by the doctor. At once Bilbo began the chore of undressing him, easing the sweaty night-shirt off and wiping down the boy's fair skin. "There now. . .let's get you a fresh gown and tuck you back in. . . ." He looked up anxiously. "Gandalf, could you possibly step out and send a messenger for Dr. Boffin?"
"Of course." Ruffling Frodo's curls kindly and handing Bilbo the clean night-shirt, Gandalf steps out into the hall, and a few moments later, the door can be heard closing gently. Carefully Bilbo eased him into the fresh gown, buttoning it securely before rising to fetch some fresh hot-water bottles, tucking them in around Frodo, who was shivering. "What's the matter, my dear boy? Not feeling well again?"
"My stomach hurts." This in a weak whisper: Frodo remained very pale, trembling with chills as he curled up on his side, welcoming the hot-water bottle Bilbo placed against his small abdomen before tucking the quilts back over him.
"The doctor will be here soon, my lad. I'm sure he'll have some idea how to help. Try and rest if you can. I'm sorry you were disturbed earlier. . . ."
Frodo nodded a little. . .but began to cry softly, tears streaming down his face. At once Bilbo settled carefully on the bed, putting an arm around him and stroking his curls.
"It's all right, lad. . . ."
But somehow Frodo knew that it wasn't. Closing his eyes tightly, he sobbed, his stomach twisting in aching knots.
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 Eight: The Shrew and the Sour One
RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP!
Frodo awoke, his head aching. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking weakly in the traces of morning sun filtering through the curtain-edges.
RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP!
Wincing, he turned. Gandalf was at his side, wringing out a fresh cloth.
"Someone's at the door?"
Gandalf nodded. "Bilbo's answering it. I imagine the noise will stop in a moment once whomever it is gets a piece of your uncle's mind – he was quite upset at it just a moment ago, when he went to answer it." He bent over Frodo's bed, a huge shadow, though a comforting one. "Perhaps a drink of water? You must be quite thirsty."
Frodo nodded, wincing a little as the wizard lifted his head from the pillow, though this time the tweenager managed to steady the cup with his own hands, guiding while Gandalf held it. Draining the cupful, he lay back, suddenly aware of raised voices in the hall.
"And just what difference do you think your displeasure makes to me?!?" Bilbo's voice, angry and stiff.
"We have JUST come from our lawyer's, and mind you, this will NOT be allowed to pass unchallenged!" A female hobbit's voice, shrill and pointed. "Why, I'm SURE there's some foul plot afoot! Goodness knows WHAT happened while you were gallivanting about, traipsing all over the world with those disgusting dwarves, not to mention that abominable wizard! He – he probably cast a spell on you!"
Frodo groaned, and Gandalf, who looked very much as if he were attempting to stifle a loud laugh, turned curious eyes toward him.
"Lobelia," Frodo murmured. "You know – Sackville-Baggins? They'd have inherited, you know. . .they came by when I first came to live here, but they didn't know about the inheritance yet, and I suppose they have now, by the sound of it. . . ."
"Now, you know good and well that's not right, doing things that way! I mean, really, old Bilbo, what WERE you thinking?!?" A third voice – Otho, Lobelia's husband, with a tone that would sour honey. "After all, you've probably gone and rigged the whole thing, but we'll get to the bottom of it, oh, yes, we will. . . ."
"Besides," Lobelia interjected petulantly, "not only is he not even yours. . .he's a BRANDYBUCK!" The name exploded on her tongue as if she were speaking of going without meals, and with considerable venom dripping from the edges of her tone.
At once Frodo whitened. He knew what people said, but Primula had been the sort of mother who played games and toys with him for hours on end. . .who always snuck a favourite food onto his plate no matter what. . .who taught him songs and stories and history. . . . When Frodo had had mumps, she sat up all night with him for days, rocking him in her lap and giving him soothing drinks that didn't hurt so much to swallow, When he'd complained of being bored on a rainy afternoon, rather than snapping at him and sending him off to play in the nursery with the other children, she'd taken him upstairs to the main library of Brandy Hall for the first time, introducing him to the vast array of books and maps. She'd brought him to one of Bilbo's parties for the first time, despite his father's worries that perhaps he was still a bit young for Bilbo's tales. He'd always been proud of his Brandybuck blood. . .but on Lobelia's lips, it sounded like poison.
"Now, listen, both of you!" Bilbo insisted loudly. "We'll have to address your concerns another time, preferably in the court! I can't stand here with you in the front hall all day; Frodo's ill in bed."
"Oh! The poor dear! I do hope it's nothing serious?" Lobelia's venomous tone dripped sugary acid.
Watching the young hobbit, Gandalf sighed, kneeling by the bed to stroke the boy's dark hair gently. "Never mind her, Frodo. She envies what is not hers, and what she cannot understand."
Frodo attempted to nod weakly, but the room suddenly seemed to blur and begin spinning. Suddenly he felt chilled and sick, shivering despite the warmth of his bed and room. Gandalf caught him, holding his head and offering a basin as the young hobbit began vomiting. He could no longer make out Bilbo's voice, but Lobelia's tone continued to slice through everything.
"What?!? You're telling * me * to be quiet because THAT BRANDYBUCK is ill? Spoiled is more like it! Coddled little brat – "
Fortunately, the next sound was that of the front-door being slammed, harder than Frodo had ever heard a door slammed. Quick footsteps soon followed. . .and before he knew it, he felt Bilbo'd hand on his back, rubbing gently.
"Oh, my poor boy – there now, ssshhhhhh – "
Frodo gasped as the fit passed, nearly choking. Hurriedly Gandalf helped him rinse and removed the basin before leaving him to rest in Bilbo's reassuring arms, the wizard arranging a few small things and offering them as Bilbo reached: a fresh damp cloth, a compress for the tweenager's forehead, a spoonful of the ginger syrup prescribed by the doctor. At once Bilbo began the chore of undressing him, easing the sweaty night-shirt off and wiping down the boy's fair skin. "There now. . .let's get you a fresh gown and tuck you back in. . . ." He looked up anxiously. "Gandalf, could you possibly step out and send a messenger for Dr. Boffin?"
"Of course." Ruffling Frodo's curls kindly and handing Bilbo the clean night-shirt, Gandalf steps out into the hall, and a few moments later, the door can be heard closing gently. Carefully Bilbo eased him into the fresh gown, buttoning it securely before rising to fetch some fresh hot-water bottles, tucking them in around Frodo, who was shivering. "What's the matter, my dear boy? Not feeling well again?"
"My stomach hurts." This in a weak whisper: Frodo remained very pale, trembling with chills as he curled up on his side, welcoming the hot-water bottle Bilbo placed against his small abdomen before tucking the quilts back over him.
"The doctor will be here soon, my lad. I'm sure he'll have some idea how to help. Try and rest if you can. I'm sorry you were disturbed earlier. . . ."
Frodo nodded a little. . .but began to cry softly, tears streaming down his face. At once Bilbo settled carefully on the bed, putting an arm around him and stroking his curls.
"It's all right, lad. . . ."
But somehow Frodo knew that it wasn't. Closing his eyes tightly, he sobbed, his stomach twisting in aching knots.