A/N: Okay, for those of you who've already read what I posted as chapters
3 and 4, my apologies. I completely forgot that I had another chapter that
was supposed to come before those two, so I'm now fixing it. If I've
confused anyone, I'm sorry, but I was confused myself. :p At least now
you get two new chapters for the price of one! :)
Chapter 3
When Frodo next awoke, it was daytime. Or at least, he assumed it was daytime-the low gray clouds made it difficult to distinguish day from night. Perhaps it was evening. He hadn't woken up yet when it was evening, so he decided to make it evening, just to be different.
He knew he needed to get up to take care of certain business, but the sluggish feeling draping his limbs didn't want to let him move. He allowed himself to just lie there a moment or two before finally getting up to answer the call of nature. The dizziness almost floored him when he first stood up, but after a moment it passed enough that he could move without fear of immediately falling flat on his face.
Frodo went to the kitchen after finishing in the bathroom, ate a piece of bread and an apple-despite his (still) sore throat, and got a new pitcher of water and a fresh pot of tea. As he walked back to the study, he noticed the air of the hole seemed to be getting colder. So far this winter had been colder than usual; apparently that was still the case. The chill reminded him that he needed to bring more firewood inside; the stockpile in the pantry had been allowed to get low since he'd been planning on spending the holiday in Buckland.
So he went back to the kitchen, through the pantry, to the back door. 'Mr. Gamgee usually piles the extra wood just outside the door,' Frodo remembered. Sure enough, there was a neat stack of wood right next to the door, carefully arranged against the side of the smial. It *was* rather cold outside, but he still had his coat on so he didn't think it would be a problem.
He took an armful from the stack and piled it in the pantry, taking a couple of trips back and forth. Soon there was a significant heap in the pantry and Frodo surveyed his work with satisfaction. True, the pile was rather haphazard and seemed in danger of collapsing at any moment, but he did it *himself,* and while he was sick, besides!
Heading back to the study, he couldn't help but feel quite pleased with himself. 'Taking care of myself isn't so hard,' he thought complacently. 'I'm managing just fine. And I'm feeling better, too.'
Once back in the study, he wasn't tired enough to go right back to sleep, so he read a book for a bit. It wasn't too long before his eyelids began to droop once more.
'Maybe in the morning I'll be able to make the trip to Buckland . . . ' was the last thought running across his mind as he fell back to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But that was not to be. A few hours later saw him feeling even worse than before. Whatever respite Frodo had had from his illness was gone, leaving him overwhelmed by the ever-stronger waves of weakness and nausea. He barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, and had to lie limply on the floor until he felt strong enough to move again.
The trip back to the study exhausted him further, leaving him annoyed with himself and his weakness. 'I have traveled to all ends of the Shire with Bilbo, and now I can't even go from the bathroom to the study without a rest,' he fumed. He tried to drink some tea, to rid the taste in his mouth and because he was thirsty, and succeeded more or less, though his throat ached abominably in the process.
Frodo gave up all hope of making it to Buckland for Yule; he was obviously in no condition to travel. He tried not to think about his loneliness, it just made him feel even worse. He tried to convince himself that perhaps someone missed him, was worrying about him, but he soon gave that up as well. 'Who am I kidding?' Frodo thought miserably. 'Nobody cares where I am. That's part of being of age-no one to look out for you, making sure you show up where and when you need to. I'm not missed, I'm sure of it.'
With that morose thought in the front of his mind, Frodo succumbed to feverish dreams.
Chapter 3
When Frodo next awoke, it was daytime. Or at least, he assumed it was daytime-the low gray clouds made it difficult to distinguish day from night. Perhaps it was evening. He hadn't woken up yet when it was evening, so he decided to make it evening, just to be different.
He knew he needed to get up to take care of certain business, but the sluggish feeling draping his limbs didn't want to let him move. He allowed himself to just lie there a moment or two before finally getting up to answer the call of nature. The dizziness almost floored him when he first stood up, but after a moment it passed enough that he could move without fear of immediately falling flat on his face.
Frodo went to the kitchen after finishing in the bathroom, ate a piece of bread and an apple-despite his (still) sore throat, and got a new pitcher of water and a fresh pot of tea. As he walked back to the study, he noticed the air of the hole seemed to be getting colder. So far this winter had been colder than usual; apparently that was still the case. The chill reminded him that he needed to bring more firewood inside; the stockpile in the pantry had been allowed to get low since he'd been planning on spending the holiday in Buckland.
So he went back to the kitchen, through the pantry, to the back door. 'Mr. Gamgee usually piles the extra wood just outside the door,' Frodo remembered. Sure enough, there was a neat stack of wood right next to the door, carefully arranged against the side of the smial. It *was* rather cold outside, but he still had his coat on so he didn't think it would be a problem.
He took an armful from the stack and piled it in the pantry, taking a couple of trips back and forth. Soon there was a significant heap in the pantry and Frodo surveyed his work with satisfaction. True, the pile was rather haphazard and seemed in danger of collapsing at any moment, but he did it *himself,* and while he was sick, besides!
Heading back to the study, he couldn't help but feel quite pleased with himself. 'Taking care of myself isn't so hard,' he thought complacently. 'I'm managing just fine. And I'm feeling better, too.'
Once back in the study, he wasn't tired enough to go right back to sleep, so he read a book for a bit. It wasn't too long before his eyelids began to droop once more.
'Maybe in the morning I'll be able to make the trip to Buckland . . . ' was the last thought running across his mind as he fell back to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But that was not to be. A few hours later saw him feeling even worse than before. Whatever respite Frodo had had from his illness was gone, leaving him overwhelmed by the ever-stronger waves of weakness and nausea. He barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, and had to lie limply on the floor until he felt strong enough to move again.
The trip back to the study exhausted him further, leaving him annoyed with himself and his weakness. 'I have traveled to all ends of the Shire with Bilbo, and now I can't even go from the bathroom to the study without a rest,' he fumed. He tried to drink some tea, to rid the taste in his mouth and because he was thirsty, and succeeded more or less, though his throat ached abominably in the process.
Frodo gave up all hope of making it to Buckland for Yule; he was obviously in no condition to travel. He tried not to think about his loneliness, it just made him feel even worse. He tried to convince himself that perhaps someone missed him, was worrying about him, but he soon gave that up as well. 'Who am I kidding?' Frodo thought miserably. 'Nobody cares where I am. That's part of being of age-no one to look out for you, making sure you show up where and when you need to. I'm not missed, I'm sure of it.'
With that morose thought in the front of his mind, Frodo succumbed to feverish dreams.