Author's note: ". . . anything that hobbits had no immediate use for, but were unwilling to throw away, they called a mathom. Their dwellings were apt to become rather crowded with mathoms, and many of the presents that passed from hand to hand were of that sort."---Fellowship of the Ring, Prologue
Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews!! I'm bowled over. As a note to all, this fic is written for the FrodoHealers group on Yahoo, and as such, will heavily feature a sick Frodo. :)
***
Wrapped up in blankets and plied with teas and compresses, Frodo napped off and on in an overstuffed chair by the fire all that day. When he wasn't sleeping he read or wrote letters to friends until his headache forced him to stop. Bilbo considered calling the doctor, but by that evening the tween was feeling much better and even ate a light---for a hobbit---supper of tea, creamy potato soup, toast, and baked custard. And his eye, while still purple, no longer ached quite so badly.
After supper Bilbo drew Frodo a lukewarm bath, which he lay in for a long time, enjoying the smell of the herbs added to the water and the feeling of being clean. As Frodo scrubbed a bit at his foot he considered the events of the day. A messenger had arrived late that morning from Saradoc at Brandy Hall: five young hobbits had taken ill, but so far all Frodo's closer cousins had been spared. And of the five sick hobbits, only one had symptoms clear enough to identify the ague as the Bree palsy. But just the same, the doctors had advised anyone who lived at or had been visiting Brandy Hall---or even Buckland---to stay indoors and avoid social activities for at least a week.
After his bath Frodo sat curled up again in a fresh nightshirt and blanket in his favorite chair, content, wondering what Freesia was doing at that moment. Was she getting ready for bed, sitting in front of her looking-glass and brushing her long brown locks a hundred times? Frodo was certainly not well-versed in the manners of feminine grooming---the crazy things females did in the name of beauty quite stupefied him. But he knew most proper hobbit lasses brushed their hair every night without fail. And he also remembered his Uncle Saradoc declaring "ale is for drinking, not washing" and forbidding the girls at Brandy Hall to use the best ale as a hair rinse for added shine.
Freesia probably didn't need such things, Frodo thought to himself---her hair seemed to be always naturally glossy . She had actually let him touch her long braid at the Free Fair the day before . . .
"I think it's high time for bed, Frodo," Bilbo observed, coming into the room and smiling at his nephew's dreamy expression. "I'm exhausted and you look wiped out---and a bit flushed, too. Although that may not be from your cold." Bilbo winked kindly, and the younger hobbit felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. Wanting to head any conversations off at the pass that might have to do with his admittedly rather pitiful crush, Frodo agreed to go to bed.
"I guess I am rather tired, Bilbo," he said, rising with his blankets and heading down the hall. Bilbo followed, making sure he was well tucked in and checking his temperature before blowing out the lamps and going to his own room.
***
The next morning Frodo felt like his old self again, except for his swollen eye, and Bilbo heaved a great sigh of relief. It appeared, by the looks of things, that it *had* simply been a chill. He kept reminding himself that his nephew could still fall ill, but why borrow worry? Frodo was improving. He'd even gotten dressed that
morning and had eaten a good breakfast, but Bilbo had forbade him to leave Bag End or fraternize with any of his friends or neighbors until the week was out.
While Frodo cleared the breakfast dishes Bilbo took stock of their pantry items. He'd not been to the market in several days and was missing some key ingredients for baking, as well as fresh vegetables. And he figured he might stock up on his basic medicinal herbs as well, since his nephew was quite prone to illness.
"Well, my boy, it looks like I'm going to need to make a run to the market," Bilbo announced, his hands on his hips as he stared at the larder. "I would ask Hamfast to pick up something for me when he goes, but I'm needing several special items. Will you be all right while I'm out? I shan't be gone long."
Frodo scowled slightly. "Why don't you take me with you? I'm feeling much better and would like the fresh air."
"No . . . you need to stay in and rest. Just for another few days."
At that statement Frodo pursed his lips, his fine features crinkling up in disappointment. "Bilbo, I feel perfectly well, truly."
The older hobbit sighed and threw his hands up. "The answer is no, lad. Just for today---if you're still feeling well later in the week then perhaps we can go again."
"I will be feeling well, Bilbo. I will be."
***
Bilbo had left for the market and Frodo, tired of being cooped up indoors, found himself going stir-crazy. He wanted to be out and about . . . or even just out in the garden reading a book. With the sunshine on his face and a cool breeze . . .
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and he groaned. *Please don't let it be Lobelia,* he begged the powers that be. *Please, please, please . . . . *
Opening it, he found instead, to his great relief, young Samwise Gamgee, whose brown eyes grew gigantic as he stared up at Frodo's black and bruised---now turning yellowish--face.
"Mr. Frodo! Is that where Lotho belted you? It does look a sight, as my Gaffer would say."
Frodo was surprised as he stepped back a good distance to make sure he didn't breathe or sneeze on the younger hobbit. "How do you know about that fight, Sam? And were you looking for Bilbo? I'd ask you
in, but I'm not supposed to have visitors right now. Bilbo's gone to the market."
Sam nodded. "The Gaffer was asking as to whether he needed to go to market for Mr. Bilbo, but I `spose he don't, now." He paused. "Beggin' your pardon, but everybody knows you and Lotho were quarreling over a girl. Lotho's told everybody you started it, sir. I saw him at the maple tree swing just a bit ago with a lass, matter of fact. Well, bye, Mr. Frodo---my mum's waiting for me."
"Bye, Sam." As Sam walked off, Frodo's eyes narrowed, picturing Lotho bad-mouthing him at the tree swing . . . with a lass. Freesia? Probably. The more he thought about it, the madder Frodo's easily excitable tweenage mind got. How dare Lotho be off with Freesia at the maple tree swing?
In short order Frodo was fuming mad again, and he decided he was having none of it. Heedless of the fact that Bilbo had asked him to stay indoors, Frodo decided to go see for himself what Lotho was up to.
To be continued
Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews!! I'm bowled over. As a note to all, this fic is written for the FrodoHealers group on Yahoo, and as such, will heavily feature a sick Frodo. :)
***
Wrapped up in blankets and plied with teas and compresses, Frodo napped off and on in an overstuffed chair by the fire all that day. When he wasn't sleeping he read or wrote letters to friends until his headache forced him to stop. Bilbo considered calling the doctor, but by that evening the tween was feeling much better and even ate a light---for a hobbit---supper of tea, creamy potato soup, toast, and baked custard. And his eye, while still purple, no longer ached quite so badly.
After supper Bilbo drew Frodo a lukewarm bath, which he lay in for a long time, enjoying the smell of the herbs added to the water and the feeling of being clean. As Frodo scrubbed a bit at his foot he considered the events of the day. A messenger had arrived late that morning from Saradoc at Brandy Hall: five young hobbits had taken ill, but so far all Frodo's closer cousins had been spared. And of the five sick hobbits, only one had symptoms clear enough to identify the ague as the Bree palsy. But just the same, the doctors had advised anyone who lived at or had been visiting Brandy Hall---or even Buckland---to stay indoors and avoid social activities for at least a week.
After his bath Frodo sat curled up again in a fresh nightshirt and blanket in his favorite chair, content, wondering what Freesia was doing at that moment. Was she getting ready for bed, sitting in front of her looking-glass and brushing her long brown locks a hundred times? Frodo was certainly not well-versed in the manners of feminine grooming---the crazy things females did in the name of beauty quite stupefied him. But he knew most proper hobbit lasses brushed their hair every night without fail. And he also remembered his Uncle Saradoc declaring "ale is for drinking, not washing" and forbidding the girls at Brandy Hall to use the best ale as a hair rinse for added shine.
Freesia probably didn't need such things, Frodo thought to himself---her hair seemed to be always naturally glossy . She had actually let him touch her long braid at the Free Fair the day before . . .
"I think it's high time for bed, Frodo," Bilbo observed, coming into the room and smiling at his nephew's dreamy expression. "I'm exhausted and you look wiped out---and a bit flushed, too. Although that may not be from your cold." Bilbo winked kindly, and the younger hobbit felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. Wanting to head any conversations off at the pass that might have to do with his admittedly rather pitiful crush, Frodo agreed to go to bed.
"I guess I am rather tired, Bilbo," he said, rising with his blankets and heading down the hall. Bilbo followed, making sure he was well tucked in and checking his temperature before blowing out the lamps and going to his own room.
***
The next morning Frodo felt like his old self again, except for his swollen eye, and Bilbo heaved a great sigh of relief. It appeared, by the looks of things, that it *had* simply been a chill. He kept reminding himself that his nephew could still fall ill, but why borrow worry? Frodo was improving. He'd even gotten dressed that
morning and had eaten a good breakfast, but Bilbo had forbade him to leave Bag End or fraternize with any of his friends or neighbors until the week was out.
While Frodo cleared the breakfast dishes Bilbo took stock of their pantry items. He'd not been to the market in several days and was missing some key ingredients for baking, as well as fresh vegetables. And he figured he might stock up on his basic medicinal herbs as well, since his nephew was quite prone to illness.
"Well, my boy, it looks like I'm going to need to make a run to the market," Bilbo announced, his hands on his hips as he stared at the larder. "I would ask Hamfast to pick up something for me when he goes, but I'm needing several special items. Will you be all right while I'm out? I shan't be gone long."
Frodo scowled slightly. "Why don't you take me with you? I'm feeling much better and would like the fresh air."
"No . . . you need to stay in and rest. Just for another few days."
At that statement Frodo pursed his lips, his fine features crinkling up in disappointment. "Bilbo, I feel perfectly well, truly."
The older hobbit sighed and threw his hands up. "The answer is no, lad. Just for today---if you're still feeling well later in the week then perhaps we can go again."
"I will be feeling well, Bilbo. I will be."
***
Bilbo had left for the market and Frodo, tired of being cooped up indoors, found himself going stir-crazy. He wanted to be out and about . . . or even just out in the garden reading a book. With the sunshine on his face and a cool breeze . . .
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and he groaned. *Please don't let it be Lobelia,* he begged the powers that be. *Please, please, please . . . . *
Opening it, he found instead, to his great relief, young Samwise Gamgee, whose brown eyes grew gigantic as he stared up at Frodo's black and bruised---now turning yellowish--face.
"Mr. Frodo! Is that where Lotho belted you? It does look a sight, as my Gaffer would say."
Frodo was surprised as he stepped back a good distance to make sure he didn't breathe or sneeze on the younger hobbit. "How do you know about that fight, Sam? And were you looking for Bilbo? I'd ask you
in, but I'm not supposed to have visitors right now. Bilbo's gone to the market."
Sam nodded. "The Gaffer was asking as to whether he needed to go to market for Mr. Bilbo, but I `spose he don't, now." He paused. "Beggin' your pardon, but everybody knows you and Lotho were quarreling over a girl. Lotho's told everybody you started it, sir. I saw him at the maple tree swing just a bit ago with a lass, matter of fact. Well, bye, Mr. Frodo---my mum's waiting for me."
"Bye, Sam." As Sam walked off, Frodo's eyes narrowed, picturing Lotho bad-mouthing him at the tree swing . . . with a lass. Freesia? Probably. The more he thought about it, the madder Frodo's easily excitable tweenage mind got. How dare Lotho be off with Freesia at the maple tree swing?
In short order Frodo was fuming mad again, and he decided he was having none of it. Heedless of the fact that Bilbo had asked him to stay indoors, Frodo decided to go see for himself what Lotho was up to.
To be continued