Chapter 13
Frodo awoke later that evening. Yawning and stretching his
arms over his head, Frodo turned and glanced at the clock on his
nightstand—it was nearly dinnertime. `Wonder what Gandalf cooked for
Bilbo and I tonight,' he thought, still a bit uncertain about the
wizard's capability.
Frodo lay in bed for a few moments, adjusting to the late
evening light that streamed through his bedroomw indow before forcing
himself to the floor. He became aware of a slight pressure between
his eyes, and rubbed his forehead with a small moan. He went to fetch
a handkerchief to blow his nose, but was startled to find that
nothing but air came out—he was so plugged up.
Still clutching the handkerchief, he shuffled out of his room
and headed for the kitchen, where the wizard stood at the stove
stirring something in a large pot. "Hullo." Frodo mumbled stuffily.
"Good evening, lad." Gandalf chortled. "Did a nice rest help?"
"I feel worse," Frodo sighed. "My nose is so stuffed up—can
barely breathe through it. And when I blow nothing comes out."
Gandalf clucked his tongue. "Your sinuses must be acting up
again. Poor Frodo. Well—hopefully you'll be able to taste what I've
made for you—cream of broccoli soup, and breaded chicken with string
beans."
"Sounds wonderful." Frodo sniffled before sneezing
loudly. "Is Bilbo still sleeping?" He asked.
"He is, Frodo. And thank goodness the fever has gone down
quite a bit—he will have to stop taking his pain medication for a
while, since it affects him this much."
Frodo's eyes widened. "He'll be hurting so much then. It's
not fair."
Gandalf raised a bushy-gray eyebrow. "Life is not always
fair, Frodo. Here—taste this soup and tell me what you think. Mind
you—if you have to sneeze, turn your head."
Frodo rolled his eyes as he walked up to stand beside Gandalf
and watched as the wizard took a small spoonful of the concoction,
and opened his mouth. "I think I might need a bit more salt."
Frodo accepted the mouthful and was glad that he could at
least taste a hint of it. "It's good from what I can detect, Gandalf.
Bilbo would be the better one to ask—he's not all stuffed up like I
am."
The wizard ruffled the tweenager's head of hair and told him
to go and see to his Uncle. When Frodo entered Bilbo's room, he found
the older hobbit awake in bed with his large, read, leatherbound book
open on his lap and the new quill in his hand. Bilbo's concentration
was so focused on what he was writing that he didn't even see or hear
Frodo walk in and nearly jumped three feet when Frodo gave him a kiss
on the cheek.
"Oh cricket—I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that."
Bilbo gasped, clutching at his heart. Frodo giggled and climbed up
onto Bilbo's bed.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Writing. You sound so clogged, my boy."
"I am. It hurts right in here." Frodo pointed to the space
between his eyes and lay down beside Bilbo again. The old hobbit
positioned his body so that Frodo's head was lying on his stomach and
his arm was around the lad.
"Is this your novel?" Frodo asked as he gazed at the neat
script on the parchment.
"It is in deed, Frodo. And one day, it will be passed to
you." Bilbo planted a kiss on Frodo's head.
"Dinner time," Gandalf eventually announced, carrying two
trays into the room.
"Oh Gandalf—thank you." Bilbo laughed once both of the
hobbits were leaning up against the headboard. "It smells wonderful."
"Cream of broccoli soup, breaded chicken and stringbeans,"
said Frodo as he accepted his tray.
"And a glass of ice cold lemonade." Gandalf added. "Let me
know what you think."
Bilbo took a spoonful and closed his eyes, savouring the
salty yet splendid taste of the soup. "It is wonderful. I would have
never guessed that you made this yourself."
Gandalf chortled. "You underestimate my abilities, Bilbo." He
watched as the hobbits continued eating, pleased by the expressions
of content on their faces. When supper ended, Gandalf brought the
trays, dishes, silverware and glasses back to the kitchen and Frodo
snuggled under the blankets with his Uncle.
"How does your ankle feel?" Frodo asked, once they were
facing each other.
"Still aches dreadfully, but of course the medicine makes me
sick so I have to suffer through it."
Frodo smiled as he watched Bilbo close his eyes, and listened
to the older hobbit's gentle breathing. The sound was enough to put
Frodo straight to sleep, and neither of them realized it when Gandalf
tiptoed back into the room, blew out the candle and walked out again.
Frodo awoke later that evening. Yawning and stretching his
arms over his head, Frodo turned and glanced at the clock on his
nightstand—it was nearly dinnertime. `Wonder what Gandalf cooked for
Bilbo and I tonight,' he thought, still a bit uncertain about the
wizard's capability.
Frodo lay in bed for a few moments, adjusting to the late
evening light that streamed through his bedroomw indow before forcing
himself to the floor. He became aware of a slight pressure between
his eyes, and rubbed his forehead with a small moan. He went to fetch
a handkerchief to blow his nose, but was startled to find that
nothing but air came out—he was so plugged up.
Still clutching the handkerchief, he shuffled out of his room
and headed for the kitchen, where the wizard stood at the stove
stirring something in a large pot. "Hullo." Frodo mumbled stuffily.
"Good evening, lad." Gandalf chortled. "Did a nice rest help?"
"I feel worse," Frodo sighed. "My nose is so stuffed up—can
barely breathe through it. And when I blow nothing comes out."
Gandalf clucked his tongue. "Your sinuses must be acting up
again. Poor Frodo. Well—hopefully you'll be able to taste what I've
made for you—cream of broccoli soup, and breaded chicken with string
beans."
"Sounds wonderful." Frodo sniffled before sneezing
loudly. "Is Bilbo still sleeping?" He asked.
"He is, Frodo. And thank goodness the fever has gone down
quite a bit—he will have to stop taking his pain medication for a
while, since it affects him this much."
Frodo's eyes widened. "He'll be hurting so much then. It's
not fair."
Gandalf raised a bushy-gray eyebrow. "Life is not always
fair, Frodo. Here—taste this soup and tell me what you think. Mind
you—if you have to sneeze, turn your head."
Frodo rolled his eyes as he walked up to stand beside Gandalf
and watched as the wizard took a small spoonful of the concoction,
and opened his mouth. "I think I might need a bit more salt."
Frodo accepted the mouthful and was glad that he could at
least taste a hint of it. "It's good from what I can detect, Gandalf.
Bilbo would be the better one to ask—he's not all stuffed up like I
am."
The wizard ruffled the tweenager's head of hair and told him
to go and see to his Uncle. When Frodo entered Bilbo's room, he found
the older hobbit awake in bed with his large, read, leatherbound book
open on his lap and the new quill in his hand. Bilbo's concentration
was so focused on what he was writing that he didn't even see or hear
Frodo walk in and nearly jumped three feet when Frodo gave him a kiss
on the cheek.
"Oh cricket—I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that."
Bilbo gasped, clutching at his heart. Frodo giggled and climbed up
onto Bilbo's bed.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Writing. You sound so clogged, my boy."
"I am. It hurts right in here." Frodo pointed to the space
between his eyes and lay down beside Bilbo again. The old hobbit
positioned his body so that Frodo's head was lying on his stomach and
his arm was around the lad.
"Is this your novel?" Frodo asked as he gazed at the neat
script on the parchment.
"It is in deed, Frodo. And one day, it will be passed to
you." Bilbo planted a kiss on Frodo's head.
"Dinner time," Gandalf eventually announced, carrying two
trays into the room.
"Oh Gandalf—thank you." Bilbo laughed once both of the
hobbits were leaning up against the headboard. "It smells wonderful."
"Cream of broccoli soup, breaded chicken and stringbeans,"
said Frodo as he accepted his tray.
"And a glass of ice cold lemonade." Gandalf added. "Let me
know what you think."
Bilbo took a spoonful and closed his eyes, savouring the
salty yet splendid taste of the soup. "It is wonderful. I would have
never guessed that you made this yourself."
Gandalf chortled. "You underestimate my abilities, Bilbo." He
watched as the hobbits continued eating, pleased by the expressions
of content on their faces. When supper ended, Gandalf brought the
trays, dishes, silverware and glasses back to the kitchen and Frodo
snuggled under the blankets with his Uncle.
"How does your ankle feel?" Frodo asked, once they were
facing each other.
"Still aches dreadfully, but of course the medicine makes me
sick so I have to suffer through it."
Frodo smiled as he watched Bilbo close his eyes, and listened
to the older hobbit's gentle breathing. The sound was enough to put
Frodo straight to sleep, and neither of them realized it when Gandalf
tiptoed back into the room, blew out the candle and walked out again.