FIC: MATHOM 4/?
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. This fic contains no sex, no slash, and no profanity.
In this fic, Frodo is 22, just a few months shy of turning 23. And while Frodo and Bilbo are cousins, since Bilbo referred to Frodo in FOTR as his "favourite nephew," I may occasionally refer to them as such . . . Warning: This is a sick Frodo fic written for the Frodo Healers group---if you don't appreciate sick Frodo, best to turn away. :)
***
A couple of miles from Bag End hung a sturdy wooden swing from a very large, very old maple tree. It was an altogether pleasant place to be and much used by courting hobbits. Pleasant, that is, unless courting hobbits went there to be alone only to find several other couples there. It was known to happen.
More proposals of marriage had occurred at the tree swing than perhaps anywhere else in the Shire.
And so it was that Lotho and an auburn-haired lass sat in the swing together sharing berries, both unaware of a pair of blue eyes peeping at them from around a nearby tree trunk. Eyes belonging to a very irritated, now very exhausted hobbit, who had run miles as fast as he was able only to see that the girl was not Freesia at all, but Amaryllis Goldwheat. Who, quite frankly, made Frodo's blood curdle with her impatience to marry and bear children. It was downright frightening how eager some of them could be, the tweenager thought to himself.
Frodo stood there for long moments battling a surge of vertigo and a pounding headache before carefully stealing away from the tree, trying to make certain the other lad didn't see him. He was just about to dive into a cluster of bushes when Lotho's irritating voice rang out.
"Hey! I see you, Frodo 'Brandybuck'---what do you think you're doing, spying on me, eh?"
Wasting no time, Frodo maneuvered through the bushes and began a dead run back to Bag End. He wasn't about to get into another row with Lotho---Bilbo would have his hide. But Lotho was coming after him---and fast. The older boy was taller, and before Frodo knew what was happening Lotho rushed him from behind and pushed him to the ground, yelling. For several minutes the two hobbits rolled over in the grass, fists flying, while Amaryllis looked on horrified.
A moment later Frodo grew unaccountably weak and went limp under Lotho's fists, breathing raggedly and feeling sick. Seeing his prey had obviously been bested, Lotho spat and stalked off, but not before turning around and shouting, "That'll teach you, you good-for-nothing mathom. Useless to everybody and taking what's rightfully mine!"
Frodo was left sprawled in the grass. He wiped Lotho's saliva from his face and lay there for a long time trying to get his strength back. Finally he was able to rise and pick his way back home, heedless of his bruises and cramping legs.
***
Praise be, Frodo thought to himself as he came within sight of Hobbiton Hill. He felt possessed by weakness and sharp pains were shooting up his legs. He had been forced to pause several times before he felt recovered enough to continue. But he must press on, and so press on he did, limping along. Feeling his face, he reckoned he'd probably have another black eye to show for his stupidity.
Yes, he would be punished. And Bilbo's punishments, while never cruel, could be *very* inventive and usually resulted in Frodo being cooped up indoors studying or cleaning out the cellars. Looking up at the clear blue sky, he regretfully bid it farewell for the next several days. Perhaps lasses weren't worth his freedom after all, he thought to himself.
He had made it partly up the road and could see Bag End far in the distance when he decided he must rest. Lying down in a comfortable bed of nasturtiums along the roadside, he curled up into a small huddle. He would rest a few minutes---just a few minutes---so that if his uncle was back at Bag End he would not see Frodo's weakness and know the younger hobbit had been bested in a fight.
Some time later Frodo woke with a start, wondering for a moment where he was. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and a fire was again building in his extremities. Around him the bees buzzed and the flowers swayed, oblivious to one tweenage hobbit's discomfort.
Sighing, he wiped the sweat off his brow and began to rise---he knew he needed to hurry before Bilbo came searching for him. But when he tried to uncurl his legs he realized, with some alarm, that his left one would barely budge.
Concentrating, Frodo tried to move it, but he succeeded only in getting sweat to break out on his brow. The stubborn limb would not obey. His heart pounding in a panic, the tweenager rubbed at the leg briskly with both hands but stopped and lay back down when a painful muscle spasm seized him mercilessly.
"Please," the small hobbit whispered to himself, tears beginning to form in his eyes, "please please please . . . it hurts . . . and I have to get home before Bilbo finds me gone . . ." Feeling miserable and trying his best not to give in to despair, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to control his rapid breathing. In a moment, when he had gained his strength back, he would attempt to crawl up the road.
"Frodo-lad?"
Frodo blinked, trying to focus on the older hobbit standing over him.
"Bilbo . . ."
"Frodo, what in Middle-earth are you doing out here? I was just coming to look for you, lad . . . where have you been? I asked you to stay inside, and you deliberately disobeyed. Here I've made you baked chicken and mushrooms and it's growing cold as we---"
Bilbo stopped suddenly, noticing the tweenager's distress at the mention of food, the teary eyes, and the flushed face. "My boy?" At once the older hobbit was kneeling at Frodo's side, feeling his face, his eyes growing wide in concern.
"You've a fever---let's get you home and in bed right away."
He moved to scoop Frodo up in his arms, but the younger hobbit stopped him, his mouth working soundlessly before he was able to talk. "Oh, Bilbo . . . I . . . I can't get it to move, Bilbo. My leg---it . . . I can't move it. I'm so sorry, Bilbo . . . I only meant to be gone a few minutes, really . . ."
Bilbo's eyes widened at this revelation but he carefully hid his overwhelming alarm. "I know . . . sssshhh . . ."
"Bilbo . . . I'm going to . . ." Frodo stopped abruptly, choking, and Bilbo held his brow and heaving shoulders as the tweenager began to vomit into the nasturtiums. When it was over the older hobbit retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Frodo's dripping mouth.
"There, my boy . . . just rest easy."
"I ruined the flowers," Frodo choked out, coughing. His head was pounding and a fire was spreading throughout his back and down his legs.
"Never you mind about that, lad. Let's get you into bed and call the doctor."
Carefully Bilbo picked his nephew up and, cradling him close, carried him back to Bag End, his own heart racing.
To be continued
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. This fic contains no sex, no slash, and no profanity.
In this fic, Frodo is 22, just a few months shy of turning 23. And while Frodo and Bilbo are cousins, since Bilbo referred to Frodo in FOTR as his "favourite nephew," I may occasionally refer to them as such . . . Warning: This is a sick Frodo fic written for the Frodo Healers group---if you don't appreciate sick Frodo, best to turn away. :)
***
A couple of miles from Bag End hung a sturdy wooden swing from a very large, very old maple tree. It was an altogether pleasant place to be and much used by courting hobbits. Pleasant, that is, unless courting hobbits went there to be alone only to find several other couples there. It was known to happen.
More proposals of marriage had occurred at the tree swing than perhaps anywhere else in the Shire.
And so it was that Lotho and an auburn-haired lass sat in the swing together sharing berries, both unaware of a pair of blue eyes peeping at them from around a nearby tree trunk. Eyes belonging to a very irritated, now very exhausted hobbit, who had run miles as fast as he was able only to see that the girl was not Freesia at all, but Amaryllis Goldwheat. Who, quite frankly, made Frodo's blood curdle with her impatience to marry and bear children. It was downright frightening how eager some of them could be, the tweenager thought to himself.
Frodo stood there for long moments battling a surge of vertigo and a pounding headache before carefully stealing away from the tree, trying to make certain the other lad didn't see him. He was just about to dive into a cluster of bushes when Lotho's irritating voice rang out.
"Hey! I see you, Frodo 'Brandybuck'---what do you think you're doing, spying on me, eh?"
Wasting no time, Frodo maneuvered through the bushes and began a dead run back to Bag End. He wasn't about to get into another row with Lotho---Bilbo would have his hide. But Lotho was coming after him---and fast. The older boy was taller, and before Frodo knew what was happening Lotho rushed him from behind and pushed him to the ground, yelling. For several minutes the two hobbits rolled over in the grass, fists flying, while Amaryllis looked on horrified.
A moment later Frodo grew unaccountably weak and went limp under Lotho's fists, breathing raggedly and feeling sick. Seeing his prey had obviously been bested, Lotho spat and stalked off, but not before turning around and shouting, "That'll teach you, you good-for-nothing mathom. Useless to everybody and taking what's rightfully mine!"
Frodo was left sprawled in the grass. He wiped Lotho's saliva from his face and lay there for a long time trying to get his strength back. Finally he was able to rise and pick his way back home, heedless of his bruises and cramping legs.
***
Praise be, Frodo thought to himself as he came within sight of Hobbiton Hill. He felt possessed by weakness and sharp pains were shooting up his legs. He had been forced to pause several times before he felt recovered enough to continue. But he must press on, and so press on he did, limping along. Feeling his face, he reckoned he'd probably have another black eye to show for his stupidity.
Yes, he would be punished. And Bilbo's punishments, while never cruel, could be *very* inventive and usually resulted in Frodo being cooped up indoors studying or cleaning out the cellars. Looking up at the clear blue sky, he regretfully bid it farewell for the next several days. Perhaps lasses weren't worth his freedom after all, he thought to himself.
He had made it partly up the road and could see Bag End far in the distance when he decided he must rest. Lying down in a comfortable bed of nasturtiums along the roadside, he curled up into a small huddle. He would rest a few minutes---just a few minutes---so that if his uncle was back at Bag End he would not see Frodo's weakness and know the younger hobbit had been bested in a fight.
Some time later Frodo woke with a start, wondering for a moment where he was. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and a fire was again building in his extremities. Around him the bees buzzed and the flowers swayed, oblivious to one tweenage hobbit's discomfort.
Sighing, he wiped the sweat off his brow and began to rise---he knew he needed to hurry before Bilbo came searching for him. But when he tried to uncurl his legs he realized, with some alarm, that his left one would barely budge.
Concentrating, Frodo tried to move it, but he succeeded only in getting sweat to break out on his brow. The stubborn limb would not obey. His heart pounding in a panic, the tweenager rubbed at the leg briskly with both hands but stopped and lay back down when a painful muscle spasm seized him mercilessly.
"Please," the small hobbit whispered to himself, tears beginning to form in his eyes, "please please please . . . it hurts . . . and I have to get home before Bilbo finds me gone . . ." Feeling miserable and trying his best not to give in to despair, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to control his rapid breathing. In a moment, when he had gained his strength back, he would attempt to crawl up the road.
"Frodo-lad?"
Frodo blinked, trying to focus on the older hobbit standing over him.
"Bilbo . . ."
"Frodo, what in Middle-earth are you doing out here? I was just coming to look for you, lad . . . where have you been? I asked you to stay inside, and you deliberately disobeyed. Here I've made you baked chicken and mushrooms and it's growing cold as we---"
Bilbo stopped suddenly, noticing the tweenager's distress at the mention of food, the teary eyes, and the flushed face. "My boy?" At once the older hobbit was kneeling at Frodo's side, feeling his face, his eyes growing wide in concern.
"You've a fever---let's get you home and in bed right away."
He moved to scoop Frodo up in his arms, but the younger hobbit stopped him, his mouth working soundlessly before he was able to talk. "Oh, Bilbo . . . I . . . I can't get it to move, Bilbo. My leg---it . . . I can't move it. I'm so sorry, Bilbo . . . I only meant to be gone a few minutes, really . . ."
Bilbo's eyes widened at this revelation but he carefully hid his overwhelming alarm. "I know . . . sssshhh . . ."
"Bilbo . . . I'm going to . . ." Frodo stopped abruptly, choking, and Bilbo held his brow and heaving shoulders as the tweenager began to vomit into the nasturtiums. When it was over the older hobbit retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Frodo's dripping mouth.
"There, my boy . . . just rest easy."
"I ruined the flowers," Frodo choked out, coughing. His head was pounding and a fire was spreading throughout his back and down his legs.
"Never you mind about that, lad. Let's get you into bed and call the doctor."
Carefully Bilbo picked his nephew up and, cradling him close, carried him back to Bag End, his own heart racing.
To be continued