Chapter 13
Cry Primula
(From the song "Cry Ophilia")
Intermittently throughout the next couple of days, Frodo awoke often times delerious and more than enough times cranky and irritable. He switched back and forth between wanting Bilbo, his mother or his father to sit up with him and that kept the elder hobbits on their toes. Gandalf went away for a few evenings, saying he had some business away South to take care of but that he would return as soon as he could. Bilbo stood in the doorway and watched as the wizard disappeared over the hills on his white horse before turning in again.
"BILBO!" A small cry erupted from down the hallway and Bilbo immediately abandoned his weariness and bolted for the guest room. Primula sat beside Frodo on the bed, holding him as he struggled to get loose. "BILBO!"
"He's having another fit," Primula sobbed as she tried not to hurt Frodo but in the meantime keeping him still.
"Shhhh...my dear lad. Everything's all right...Bilbo is here." Bilbo took Primula's place and hugged his nephew till the tears subsided into slight sniffles and disappeared. Primula stood shaking by the far wall and wiped a hand across her sweaty brow. "Primula--could you put a fresh pot of tea on the stove? I'll sit with Frodo for a while and let him calm down."
Primula nodded and hurried off. When she entered the darkened corridor she fell to her knees and began sobbing. She hated seeing her son so sick and not being able to do more than administer tea and place and replace cool compresses. There HAD to be a way to heal Frodo's pain and she wished she could be the one to do it. Drogo heard his wife's sobs from where he stood in the living room, traumitized a bit by his son's screams a few moments earlier, and immediately went to her side. "Primmie," He whispered, using the nickname. She looked up, swallowing hard but not bothering to wipe the tears away. "Everything is going to be just fine, my dear. Frodo is going to get well...he's a strong lad."
Primula burried her face into the soft but firm fabric of her husband's waistcoat and continued to cry. Being the gentlehobbit he was, Drogo did not force Primula to stand and move away but just sat and held her. "Shhhhh." He continued, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. He had never seen Frodo so ill since the epidemic of Chicken Pox raged through Brandy Hall the winter before.
"He will never be the same again," The healer had told them. In deed Frodo had not been as strong and full grown as a normal hobbit. He could barely keep up with his cousins on outings and was often out of breath within five minutes of running through a field. This often annoyed his companions who had to wait an extra two or three minutes for him to catch up before running off again and as a result he rarely went out with them.
"Let's go outside and get a breath of air," Drogo insisted once Primula had calmed down a bit. She let him help her stand and lead her out the front door. For a Spring afternoon it was awfully chilly but refreshing after remaining inside of Bag-End for so long. Primula made a mental note to ease Frodo outside so that the cool air wouldn't shock his lungs. The couple wandered around the back of the smial and entered the enormous colorful garden kept beautifully by Hamfast Gamgee, who in fact, was trimming the grass and watering the flowers as well.
"Good morning Hamfast." Drogo greeted trying his best to sound cheerful. The gardener tipped his large straw hat before setting his watering can down.
"Good morning, Master Baggins. How is young Frodo this morning?"
"Not very well." Drogo replied noticing the tears welling up in his wife's eyes again at the mention of her son.
"I'm sorry Miss Primula. I didn't mean to upset you." Hamfast immediately apologized as he fumbled for his pocket handkerchief. When he found it he offered it to her but she declined.
"No thank you." She whispered.
"It has been a difficult three days and nights for all of us," Drogo admitted. "However Dr. Narmadoc doesn't feel that Frodo will--" He couldn't bring himself to say the word. Hamfast understood and nodded.
"Childhood illnesses are very hard to deal with often times, sir. All of my children have been ill at least once an' it makes you realize just how much they mean to you."
"Isn't that the truth," Drogo replied as a statement and not a question.
"Papa!" A voice shouted from down the path and Daisy Gamgee hurried up to her father. "Mama wants your help with the butter. Oh! Good morning Master and Miss's Baggins." Daisy greeted Primula and Drogo, curtsying.
"Hello."
"Tell your mother I'll be there in a minute. I just have to collect my things." Hamfast replied and his daughter hurried away again, her curly blonde hair bobbing with her bouncy movement.
"Butter?" asked Primula smiling.
Hamfast grinned. "Yes ma'am. My wife Bell is cooking up a batch of our familie's great recepie. We'll conjur you up a jar if you'd like."
"That would be very nice but don't feel you have to," Primula insisted with a chuckle.
"Not a problem at all. Well--I'd best be off before my Bell has my hide." Hamfast said goodbye before heading back to his home, Number 3, Bagshot Row. Little did Primula and Drogo know that in the future what a big significance that particular smial would have in their son's life. (hint hint)
Eventually Primula's tears dried as she took in the beauty of the garden, breathing in the strong sent of lavender and basil from the small herb garden along the windowsill of Bilbo's study. At Brandy Hall Primula often helped Esmerelda and the other women in the garden during the spring, and even helped with the fall harvest.
Yet she could not help but wonder how the world could look so cheerful when inside her son was suffering. "Where did Bilbo say that wizard was going?" Primula asked as she and Drogo sat down on one of the old stone benches by the small fountain.
"Not exactly sure," Drogo told her. "Said he went towards Isenguard to speak with the head of his council about something. That Gandalf is cetainly a disturber of the peace in these parts. Bilbo would have been a perfectly normal hobbit hadn't it been for him!"
Primula shrugged. That was one thing she admired about Bilbo--his bravery for having accepted his role in the adventure. He had many wonderful stories to tell when they came to stay and she never tired of them--and neither did Frodo.
" 'Tis a bit chilly for late April, isn't it?" Primula asked as she wrapped her woolen shawl around her shoulders to keep out the breeze.
"What IS normal when it comes to the weather?" Drogo laughed. "Come on...let's go back inside and make sure everything is all right. Try to compose yourself--I wouldn't want Frodo to see you cry." Drogo helped her up again and they headed back into the smial.
Cry Primula
(From the song "Cry Ophilia")
Intermittently throughout the next couple of days, Frodo awoke often times delerious and more than enough times cranky and irritable. He switched back and forth between wanting Bilbo, his mother or his father to sit up with him and that kept the elder hobbits on their toes. Gandalf went away for a few evenings, saying he had some business away South to take care of but that he would return as soon as he could. Bilbo stood in the doorway and watched as the wizard disappeared over the hills on his white horse before turning in again.
"BILBO!" A small cry erupted from down the hallway and Bilbo immediately abandoned his weariness and bolted for the guest room. Primula sat beside Frodo on the bed, holding him as he struggled to get loose. "BILBO!"
"He's having another fit," Primula sobbed as she tried not to hurt Frodo but in the meantime keeping him still.
"Shhhh...my dear lad. Everything's all right...Bilbo is here." Bilbo took Primula's place and hugged his nephew till the tears subsided into slight sniffles and disappeared. Primula stood shaking by the far wall and wiped a hand across her sweaty brow. "Primula--could you put a fresh pot of tea on the stove? I'll sit with Frodo for a while and let him calm down."
Primula nodded and hurried off. When she entered the darkened corridor she fell to her knees and began sobbing. She hated seeing her son so sick and not being able to do more than administer tea and place and replace cool compresses. There HAD to be a way to heal Frodo's pain and she wished she could be the one to do it. Drogo heard his wife's sobs from where he stood in the living room, traumitized a bit by his son's screams a few moments earlier, and immediately went to her side. "Primmie," He whispered, using the nickname. She looked up, swallowing hard but not bothering to wipe the tears away. "Everything is going to be just fine, my dear. Frodo is going to get well...he's a strong lad."
Primula burried her face into the soft but firm fabric of her husband's waistcoat and continued to cry. Being the gentlehobbit he was, Drogo did not force Primula to stand and move away but just sat and held her. "Shhhhh." He continued, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. He had never seen Frodo so ill since the epidemic of Chicken Pox raged through Brandy Hall the winter before.
"He will never be the same again," The healer had told them. In deed Frodo had not been as strong and full grown as a normal hobbit. He could barely keep up with his cousins on outings and was often out of breath within five minutes of running through a field. This often annoyed his companions who had to wait an extra two or three minutes for him to catch up before running off again and as a result he rarely went out with them.
"Let's go outside and get a breath of air," Drogo insisted once Primula had calmed down a bit. She let him help her stand and lead her out the front door. For a Spring afternoon it was awfully chilly but refreshing after remaining inside of Bag-End for so long. Primula made a mental note to ease Frodo outside so that the cool air wouldn't shock his lungs. The couple wandered around the back of the smial and entered the enormous colorful garden kept beautifully by Hamfast Gamgee, who in fact, was trimming the grass and watering the flowers as well.
"Good morning Hamfast." Drogo greeted trying his best to sound cheerful. The gardener tipped his large straw hat before setting his watering can down.
"Good morning, Master Baggins. How is young Frodo this morning?"
"Not very well." Drogo replied noticing the tears welling up in his wife's eyes again at the mention of her son.
"I'm sorry Miss Primula. I didn't mean to upset you." Hamfast immediately apologized as he fumbled for his pocket handkerchief. When he found it he offered it to her but she declined.
"No thank you." She whispered.
"It has been a difficult three days and nights for all of us," Drogo admitted. "However Dr. Narmadoc doesn't feel that Frodo will--" He couldn't bring himself to say the word. Hamfast understood and nodded.
"Childhood illnesses are very hard to deal with often times, sir. All of my children have been ill at least once an' it makes you realize just how much they mean to you."
"Isn't that the truth," Drogo replied as a statement and not a question.
"Papa!" A voice shouted from down the path and Daisy Gamgee hurried up to her father. "Mama wants your help with the butter. Oh! Good morning Master and Miss's Baggins." Daisy greeted Primula and Drogo, curtsying.
"Hello."
"Tell your mother I'll be there in a minute. I just have to collect my things." Hamfast replied and his daughter hurried away again, her curly blonde hair bobbing with her bouncy movement.
"Butter?" asked Primula smiling.
Hamfast grinned. "Yes ma'am. My wife Bell is cooking up a batch of our familie's great recepie. We'll conjur you up a jar if you'd like."
"That would be very nice but don't feel you have to," Primula insisted with a chuckle.
"Not a problem at all. Well--I'd best be off before my Bell has my hide." Hamfast said goodbye before heading back to his home, Number 3, Bagshot Row. Little did Primula and Drogo know that in the future what a big significance that particular smial would have in their son's life. (hint hint)
Eventually Primula's tears dried as she took in the beauty of the garden, breathing in the strong sent of lavender and basil from the small herb garden along the windowsill of Bilbo's study. At Brandy Hall Primula often helped Esmerelda and the other women in the garden during the spring, and even helped with the fall harvest.
Yet she could not help but wonder how the world could look so cheerful when inside her son was suffering. "Where did Bilbo say that wizard was going?" Primula asked as she and Drogo sat down on one of the old stone benches by the small fountain.
"Not exactly sure," Drogo told her. "Said he went towards Isenguard to speak with the head of his council about something. That Gandalf is cetainly a disturber of the peace in these parts. Bilbo would have been a perfectly normal hobbit hadn't it been for him!"
Primula shrugged. That was one thing she admired about Bilbo--his bravery for having accepted his role in the adventure. He had many wonderful stories to tell when they came to stay and she never tired of them--and neither did Frodo.
" 'Tis a bit chilly for late April, isn't it?" Primula asked as she wrapped her woolen shawl around her shoulders to keep out the breeze.
"What IS normal when it comes to the weather?" Drogo laughed. "Come on...let's go back inside and make sure everything is all right. Try to compose yourself--I wouldn't want Frodo to see you cry." Drogo helped her up again and they headed back into the smial.