***
"So, Master Baggins, you are suffering from pneumonia and rheumatic fever?"
Looking tiny and vulnerable as he lay on his back in the large bed--the effect heightened by his sleep-tangled hair and pale cheeks, Frodo's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open a bit. More female healers had come to see him, and he sincerely hoped there would *not* be a repeat of the day before.
"Uh, no," the hobbit said helplessly to the one who had questioned him---Febobe of Rivendell. "Master Elrond already told me I'm only suffering from a winter cold---a result of my increased vulnerability as a result of my Morgul blade wound---and that I should be as right as rain in a few days."
"I see," Febobe remarked, her voice grim. "And have you been given medication for it?"
"Yes, some herbal teas . . . I don't know what kind . . . ."
This time one of the other healers in the room---a hobbit of Michel-Delving, Tangelian, spoke up. "Well, Master Baggins, did it taste foul?"
Frodo shook his head, shrugging. "No, it was actually quite pleasant."
"Mmmm-hmmm," Febobe nodded. "Do you think you could recall if it was chamomile tea, peppermint tea, ginger tea, athelas tea, arnica tea, chokecherry tea, white willow bark tea, cherry bark tea, elecampagne tea, mullein tea, honeysuckle tea, raspberry tea, or St. John's wort?"
The hobbit didn't reply---he simply gaped at her in disbelief for long moments before scooting up as closely as possible to the headboard and curling up into a ball, drawing his covers close about him with a sigh.
Lily Baggins, another hobbit who claimed to be one of Frodo's distant relations (although he suspected she was only out to get his inheritance) raised her eyebrows. "Well, it cannot be the proper medication for you, then. I shall have to ask Aragorn to mix something for you that is highly efficacious and extremely bitter."
The hobbit grimaced, his small face screwing up in disappointment and disbelief. "But I don't *need*. . ."
"Leave it to us to decide what you need, Master Baggins," Febobe told him as she advanced to the side of the bed and laid her hand on the hobbit's brow. He looked up at her, scowling, but she took no notice. "Hmmm . . . I do believe he might be developing a fever---do you all think he's feeling feverish? Come have a feel."
At that, Tangelian and Lily strode up and had their turns pressing on Frodo's forehead, much to his discomfort.
"Definitely on the verge of the verge of possibly being feverish," Tangelian muttered.
"I agree," Lily comfirmed. "He could feel much hotter, but he could also feel a wee bit cooler than he does."
"Exactly what I thought," Febobe added. "He's not too hot yet but he's not too cool either. I'm thinking we should employ compresses rather soon to head it off."
A small voice tried to interrupt. "But I told you . . ."
Lily shook her head, ignoring the sounds of hobbit frustration coming from the bed. "Why wait? Why not steep him in an icewater bath now just to be on the safe side, in case his lukewarmness does start to tend toward heat?"
The other two looked at her and nodded their heads in agreement.
"Excellent idea," declared Febobe. For long moments, they discussed plans for it before turning back to Frodo.
Tangelian's eyes widened at the empty bed. "He's gone! Notify Lord Elrond. We must find him, quickly, before his warmness turns into a full-fledged fever."
Febobe sighed miserably. "Where could he have gone? Why would he have gone? After his treatment he was going to be tucked back into his nice warm bed and fed cozy Shire foods such as thick soups and hot puddings. What hobbit would turn that down?"
Lily looked about the room. "I have no idea---especially when when we were all going to take turns holding him, too." She shook her head. "No doubt about it---he's still in here, either hiding or wearing the Ring." She tapped her foot. "Perhaps we should call Gandalf."
In the corner, behind a large statue of a berobed Elven lady, Frodo huddled, shivering and miserable. He had not put the Ring on despite a terrible temptation to do so. Surely Sauron was not as threatening as these three strange ladies presently here? But no--Master Elrond kept mentioning that the Dark Lord's great eye was FIXED on Rivendell. Best to be safe.
The three healers were looking when Febobe spied a wisp of dark curly hair just behind a large statue in the room and the hobbit's trembling shoulders. Whispering to the others, she advanced.
Frodo heard the footsteps. Oh dear. They had found him. Turning, his eyes grew wide and he paled as they stood, all looking down at him. "Stay away!" he cried, his blue eyes flashing with anger. "By Luthien the Fair, you shall not give me icewater steeps nor bitter medicines!"
But it was for naught. Despite his protests, he felt three sets of arms lifting him--and the hobbit knew he was in trouble.
*Until the next Frodo sickness*
"So, Master Baggins, you are suffering from pneumonia and rheumatic fever?"
Looking tiny and vulnerable as he lay on his back in the large bed--the effect heightened by his sleep-tangled hair and pale cheeks, Frodo's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open a bit. More female healers had come to see him, and he sincerely hoped there would *not* be a repeat of the day before.
"Uh, no," the hobbit said helplessly to the one who had questioned him---Febobe of Rivendell. "Master Elrond already told me I'm only suffering from a winter cold---a result of my increased vulnerability as a result of my Morgul blade wound---and that I should be as right as rain in a few days."
"I see," Febobe remarked, her voice grim. "And have you been given medication for it?"
"Yes, some herbal teas . . . I don't know what kind . . . ."
This time one of the other healers in the room---a hobbit of Michel-Delving, Tangelian, spoke up. "Well, Master Baggins, did it taste foul?"
Frodo shook his head, shrugging. "No, it was actually quite pleasant."
"Mmmm-hmmm," Febobe nodded. "Do you think you could recall if it was chamomile tea, peppermint tea, ginger tea, athelas tea, arnica tea, chokecherry tea, white willow bark tea, cherry bark tea, elecampagne tea, mullein tea, honeysuckle tea, raspberry tea, or St. John's wort?"
The hobbit didn't reply---he simply gaped at her in disbelief for long moments before scooting up as closely as possible to the headboard and curling up into a ball, drawing his covers close about him with a sigh.
Lily Baggins, another hobbit who claimed to be one of Frodo's distant relations (although he suspected she was only out to get his inheritance) raised her eyebrows. "Well, it cannot be the proper medication for you, then. I shall have to ask Aragorn to mix something for you that is highly efficacious and extremely bitter."
The hobbit grimaced, his small face screwing up in disappointment and disbelief. "But I don't *need*. . ."
"Leave it to us to decide what you need, Master Baggins," Febobe told him as she advanced to the side of the bed and laid her hand on the hobbit's brow. He looked up at her, scowling, but she took no notice. "Hmmm . . . I do believe he might be developing a fever---do you all think he's feeling feverish? Come have a feel."
At that, Tangelian and Lily strode up and had their turns pressing on Frodo's forehead, much to his discomfort.
"Definitely on the verge of the verge of possibly being feverish," Tangelian muttered.
"I agree," Lily comfirmed. "He could feel much hotter, but he could also feel a wee bit cooler than he does."
"Exactly what I thought," Febobe added. "He's not too hot yet but he's not too cool either. I'm thinking we should employ compresses rather soon to head it off."
A small voice tried to interrupt. "But I told you . . ."
Lily shook her head, ignoring the sounds of hobbit frustration coming from the bed. "Why wait? Why not steep him in an icewater bath now just to be on the safe side, in case his lukewarmness does start to tend toward heat?"
The other two looked at her and nodded their heads in agreement.
"Excellent idea," declared Febobe. For long moments, they discussed plans for it before turning back to Frodo.
Tangelian's eyes widened at the empty bed. "He's gone! Notify Lord Elrond. We must find him, quickly, before his warmness turns into a full-fledged fever."
Febobe sighed miserably. "Where could he have gone? Why would he have gone? After his treatment he was going to be tucked back into his nice warm bed and fed cozy Shire foods such as thick soups and hot puddings. What hobbit would turn that down?"
Lily looked about the room. "I have no idea---especially when when we were all going to take turns holding him, too." She shook her head. "No doubt about it---he's still in here, either hiding or wearing the Ring." She tapped her foot. "Perhaps we should call Gandalf."
In the corner, behind a large statue of a berobed Elven lady, Frodo huddled, shivering and miserable. He had not put the Ring on despite a terrible temptation to do so. Surely Sauron was not as threatening as these three strange ladies presently here? But no--Master Elrond kept mentioning that the Dark Lord's great eye was FIXED on Rivendell. Best to be safe.
The three healers were looking when Febobe spied a wisp of dark curly hair just behind a large statue in the room and the hobbit's trembling shoulders. Whispering to the others, she advanced.
Frodo heard the footsteps. Oh dear. They had found him. Turning, his eyes grew wide and he paled as they stood, all looking down at him. "Stay away!" he cried, his blue eyes flashing with anger. "By Luthien the Fair, you shall not give me icewater steeps nor bitter medicines!"
But it was for naught. Despite his protests, he felt three sets of arms lifting him--and the hobbit knew he was in trouble.
*Until the next Frodo sickness*