Regarding Frodo's current illness : What he has is an obstruction in his stomach that will have to be removed by very delicate surgery. This story is based on a real life condition of a friend of mine, an incurable disease that she'll probably have to live with for the rest of her life. However, in this story, we won't be quite so dark, it is Middle Earth after all and Middle Earth has Gandalf. I plan on this fic spanning from Age 14 till Age 21 when the actual operation occurs.
TWILIGHT YEARS
Chapter Three
Frodo was not at all happy. Just before she let him go to sleep his aunt had given him a dose of the tonic. Since then he'd spent the night only half-asleep…constantly waking up due to churning pain in his stomach. He curled up in his bed, clutching his stomach, his eyes shut tight in pain. The tonic had done practically nothing to ease the turmoil within and he whimpered.
But no one heard him.
Saradoc and Esmerelda had already gone to sleep after Merry was fed and taken care of. Frodo had half watched from his bed while she coaxed Merry to sip the warm thick broth from the thin glass bottle in her hand. The small bottle was stoppered with only a tiny opening to allow for small amounts to be drawn out. Merry was a fussy child and had not taken to eating with spoons well yet. He had wished that she would feed him from something like that…for it would certainly be a lot easier than eating anything solid right now. However, he had not had the courage to ask and he had only watched.
He knew it wasn't because they didn't care that Esmerelda wasn't with him in his room right now. It was just that they felt he would get better quickly. It was just a normal stomach flu after all. The tonic should do the trick. It was just that Esmerelda's attention always seemed to be diverted by Merry…and he never got the kind of care that he wanted.
He supposed that if his parents had had more children, he would have had to deal with the same thing, but it hurt nonetheless. The young hobbit had never gotten over what had happened, no matter what anyone did to help him. They all tended to tell him to 'forget'. That was the -last- thing Frodo wanted to do…forget his parents.
Maybe if he wished hard enough? He'd tried that before though. He'd tried EVERYTHNG but still they never came back. Saradoc and Esmerelda weren't bad alternatives, he supposed but they weren't -his- parents. And his mother would -never- have left him in his room alone while he was sick, she would have checked on him at least once every thirty minutes, if not stayed with him all the time. She would not have let the Doctor leave so easily.
It hurt…
His stomach felt like he was going to throw up, but he had not eaten for most of the day! What did he have to throw up?? He had not really eaten anything all day. "Mamma…" he whimpered. The small child grabbed a hold of one of his pillows and began to cry softly into it.
Everything always hurt though, even when he wasn't sick he didn't stop feeling the pain of loss. It had only been a couple of years. Not even a full two years yet and he could still remember the scent of his mother's perfume and the way her hair felt when he curled his little fingers into it.
He also remembered how his father used to laugh, a rich and vibrant sound that had always made him feel very special. His father had been well known to be a remarkably cheerful person, having been able to marry the hobbit lass he loved and to have a young son to carry on his name. Drogo Baggins was always coming up with fun things for them to do during the day. Fishing trips, hiking…his father loved to walk about, then they would come home and dinner would be on the table.
Primula always seemed to know -when- they'd be back too and she'd have everything nice and warm and fresh. Her rolls were always so soft, and her pumpkin tarts. His mother always used to know what kind of foods to make that would get him to eat, and they always seemed to be geared to wards more of a liquidy and less solid nature unless it had to do with Apples or Mushrooms. Primula used to make the most excellent apple pudding and he could almost smell it. Tearfully he opened his eyes to look tentatively over at the glass of Blackberry juice that rested on his bedside table. He -was- thirsty…but he didn't want that. He wanted apple juice…he knew there was some in the kitchen.
It was no use wishing anymore…Frodo realized that now. His mother and father were gone…and they weren't coming back. One of the main things that used to ease his stomach before when it hurt -was- apple juice…all he would have to do would be to get up and go to the kitchen.
Frodo took a deep shuddering breath and crawled to the edge of his bed, his nightshirt half slipping off his shoulder as his small legs peaked out from under the quilts and he eased himself off the bed.
The small miserable child drew on his robe weakly and began to work his way out to the hall that lead to the kitchen. He held himself up by way of the walls and slowly but surely found himself where he wanted to be. As he got closer to the kitchen he was somewhat startled…for he could smell something…he wondered what on earth it could be this late at night.
He took another deep breath and a little smile tugged at his small lips as he realized what the scent was.
Baked Apples…
***TBC***
TWILIGHT YEARS
Chapter Three
Frodo was not at all happy. Just before she let him go to sleep his aunt had given him a dose of the tonic. Since then he'd spent the night only half-asleep…constantly waking up due to churning pain in his stomach. He curled up in his bed, clutching his stomach, his eyes shut tight in pain. The tonic had done practically nothing to ease the turmoil within and he whimpered.
But no one heard him.
Saradoc and Esmerelda had already gone to sleep after Merry was fed and taken care of. Frodo had half watched from his bed while she coaxed Merry to sip the warm thick broth from the thin glass bottle in her hand. The small bottle was stoppered with only a tiny opening to allow for small amounts to be drawn out. Merry was a fussy child and had not taken to eating with spoons well yet. He had wished that she would feed him from something like that…for it would certainly be a lot easier than eating anything solid right now. However, he had not had the courage to ask and he had only watched.
He knew it wasn't because they didn't care that Esmerelda wasn't with him in his room right now. It was just that they felt he would get better quickly. It was just a normal stomach flu after all. The tonic should do the trick. It was just that Esmerelda's attention always seemed to be diverted by Merry…and he never got the kind of care that he wanted.
He supposed that if his parents had had more children, he would have had to deal with the same thing, but it hurt nonetheless. The young hobbit had never gotten over what had happened, no matter what anyone did to help him. They all tended to tell him to 'forget'. That was the -last- thing Frodo wanted to do…forget his parents.
Maybe if he wished hard enough? He'd tried that before though. He'd tried EVERYTHNG but still they never came back. Saradoc and Esmerelda weren't bad alternatives, he supposed but they weren't -his- parents. And his mother would -never- have left him in his room alone while he was sick, she would have checked on him at least once every thirty minutes, if not stayed with him all the time. She would not have let the Doctor leave so easily.
It hurt…
His stomach felt like he was going to throw up, but he had not eaten for most of the day! What did he have to throw up?? He had not really eaten anything all day. "Mamma…" he whimpered. The small child grabbed a hold of one of his pillows and began to cry softly into it.
Everything always hurt though, even when he wasn't sick he didn't stop feeling the pain of loss. It had only been a couple of years. Not even a full two years yet and he could still remember the scent of his mother's perfume and the way her hair felt when he curled his little fingers into it.
He also remembered how his father used to laugh, a rich and vibrant sound that had always made him feel very special. His father had been well known to be a remarkably cheerful person, having been able to marry the hobbit lass he loved and to have a young son to carry on his name. Drogo Baggins was always coming up with fun things for them to do during the day. Fishing trips, hiking…his father loved to walk about, then they would come home and dinner would be on the table.
Primula always seemed to know -when- they'd be back too and she'd have everything nice and warm and fresh. Her rolls were always so soft, and her pumpkin tarts. His mother always used to know what kind of foods to make that would get him to eat, and they always seemed to be geared to wards more of a liquidy and less solid nature unless it had to do with Apples or Mushrooms. Primula used to make the most excellent apple pudding and he could almost smell it. Tearfully he opened his eyes to look tentatively over at the glass of Blackberry juice that rested on his bedside table. He -was- thirsty…but he didn't want that. He wanted apple juice…he knew there was some in the kitchen.
It was no use wishing anymore…Frodo realized that now. His mother and father were gone…and they weren't coming back. One of the main things that used to ease his stomach before when it hurt -was- apple juice…all he would have to do would be to get up and go to the kitchen.
Frodo took a deep shuddering breath and crawled to the edge of his bed, his nightshirt half slipping off his shoulder as his small legs peaked out from under the quilts and he eased himself off the bed.
The small miserable child drew on his robe weakly and began to work his way out to the hall that lead to the kitchen. He held himself up by way of the walls and slowly but surely found himself where he wanted to be. As he got closer to the kitchen he was somewhat startled…for he could smell something…he wondered what on earth it could be this late at night.
He took another deep breath and a little smile tugged at his small lips as he realized what the scent was.
Baked Apples…
***TBC***