Chapter 3
All he could see was darkness. It was so bitterly cold and every
muscle in his small body ached. Eventually, his vision cleared and
Frodo found that he was lying flat on his back in the snow. The air
had been knocked out of him, so it hurt to take a deep
breath. `Where am I?' he thought to himself. `What happened?' About
ten minutes after coming to, Frodo managed to force himself to his
feet. He found that he had fallen down a hill into a small valley-
type area. Snow as all around him and coming in gusts from the
sky. "Bilbo?" He asked in a weak voice as he broke into a fit of
harsh coughing. "Where—where are you?"
Almost immediately memories began to flood back into his mind. He
remembered now—he had been on the way home from Brandy Hall with his
Uncle, and his pony had been spooked by the coming snowstorm. In
fact—just now he could make out the sound of the rolling thunder.
Frodo sneezed and wiggled his frozen toes. Perhaps he could shout
and get someone's attention from above, but then who would be out in
this weather? No normal hobbit would, that was certain! Frodo
scratched the back of his head. Where had his pony gotten to?
"FRODO!"
Frodo gasped when he heard someone calling his name. "Bilbo?" He
asked no one in particular, coughing again. He had to try, though
his chest and throat hurt so badly. "BILBO! I'M DOWN HERE!" He
shouted, nearly falling over in pain.
"FRODO!"
"HERE, UNCLE!" Frodo grasped the side of the valley, attempted to
climb up. He got about halfway when he caught sight of his Uncle's
pony. "UNCLE!" He shouted. Then Bilbo turned and saw his nephew
clutching at the side of a hill for dear life.
"FRODO!" Bilbo charged straight towards his nephew. "Oh lad—you had
me so worried! Are you all right? Where is your pony?"
"I-it r-ran o-off," Frodo sobbed. "I-I'm s-so c-cold and e-
everything h-hurts."
"I knew we should have turned back to Brandy Hall." Bilbo cursed
himself as he aided his nephew out of the ditch. "As I thought—
burning up. My poor boy—I am so sorry."
" `S all right, Bilbo. I was stubborn too," Frodo shivered. "I
didn't think."
"Well—what's done is done, lad. But we have to get you to shelter
before you take worse. Take my cloak—you need to keep as warm as you
can."
"No, Bilbo—you'll be cold," Frodo protested. "And it won't do any
good to have both of us sick, will it?"
Bilbo, without another word, wrapped his nephew with his cloak and
set the horse as fast as it could go towards the town.
At the first inn they came to, Bilbo lifted Frodo's feverish body
into his arms and carried the lad inside. The Inn was called the
Triple Ale, and the owner—a hobbit by the name of Gilbo Glassburrow,
was happy to take them in. "I'll fetch the healer for the boy,"
Master Glassburrow told Bilbo. "But first let me take you to one of
our finest suits."
Frodo let out a few horrifying coughs and tried to snuggle closer to
Bilbo in order to keep warm. "Nasty storm, eh? Poor little tyke. How
come you were out if he was ill?"
"Well—it was my own fault. You see—we were visiting relatives in
Buckland and he had come down with a nasty cold. I thought it was
over so we decided to leave early this morning. If it hadn't been
for the snowstorm, he would have probably held on till we got back
to Hobbiton."
Gilbo nodded in understanding. "Ah, well—we all make mistakes, you
know. `Tis a part of life. There we are—nice and cosy. I'll get a
fire started in the fireplace and you just put the little lad into
bed."
Bilbo stripped Frodo's wet clothes and left the tweenager in just
his underwear. Frodo could hardly stand he was so tired, but Bibo
let him lean on his shoulder. "Up we go, love." Bilbo pulled the
sheet up first and then the down comforter.
"Thank you, Bilbo." Frodo whispered weakly. Bilbo stroked Frodo's
forehead.
"You're welcome, cricket. You must get well, my boy."
Frodo nodded. "I will try, Bilbo."
Gilbo stood up once the fire started going, and he turned to his
guests. "I'll have my assistant Lars send for the healer and we'll
get a good diagnosis on the lad. If it is the flu then we'd best
shut this section of the Inn off, for it's contagious."
"Yes. Thank you so much." Said Bilbo.
"No trouble at all. We welcome anyone from anywhere. That is our
motto it is." Gilbo headed out of the room, shutting the door behind
him.
All he could see was darkness. It was so bitterly cold and every
muscle in his small body ached. Eventually, his vision cleared and
Frodo found that he was lying flat on his back in the snow. The air
had been knocked out of him, so it hurt to take a deep
breath. `Where am I?' he thought to himself. `What happened?' About
ten minutes after coming to, Frodo managed to force himself to his
feet. He found that he had fallen down a hill into a small valley-
type area. Snow as all around him and coming in gusts from the
sky. "Bilbo?" He asked in a weak voice as he broke into a fit of
harsh coughing. "Where—where are you?"
Almost immediately memories began to flood back into his mind. He
remembered now—he had been on the way home from Brandy Hall with his
Uncle, and his pony had been spooked by the coming snowstorm. In
fact—just now he could make out the sound of the rolling thunder.
Frodo sneezed and wiggled his frozen toes. Perhaps he could shout
and get someone's attention from above, but then who would be out in
this weather? No normal hobbit would, that was certain! Frodo
scratched the back of his head. Where had his pony gotten to?
"FRODO!"
Frodo gasped when he heard someone calling his name. "Bilbo?" He
asked no one in particular, coughing again. He had to try, though
his chest and throat hurt so badly. "BILBO! I'M DOWN HERE!" He
shouted, nearly falling over in pain.
"FRODO!"
"HERE, UNCLE!" Frodo grasped the side of the valley, attempted to
climb up. He got about halfway when he caught sight of his Uncle's
pony. "UNCLE!" He shouted. Then Bilbo turned and saw his nephew
clutching at the side of a hill for dear life.
"FRODO!" Bilbo charged straight towards his nephew. "Oh lad—you had
me so worried! Are you all right? Where is your pony?"
"I-it r-ran o-off," Frodo sobbed. "I-I'm s-so c-cold and e-
everything h-hurts."
"I knew we should have turned back to Brandy Hall." Bilbo cursed
himself as he aided his nephew out of the ditch. "As I thought—
burning up. My poor boy—I am so sorry."
" `S all right, Bilbo. I was stubborn too," Frodo shivered. "I
didn't think."
"Well—what's done is done, lad. But we have to get you to shelter
before you take worse. Take my cloak—you need to keep as warm as you
can."
"No, Bilbo—you'll be cold," Frodo protested. "And it won't do any
good to have both of us sick, will it?"
Bilbo, without another word, wrapped his nephew with his cloak and
set the horse as fast as it could go towards the town.
At the first inn they came to, Bilbo lifted Frodo's feverish body
into his arms and carried the lad inside. The Inn was called the
Triple Ale, and the owner—a hobbit by the name of Gilbo Glassburrow,
was happy to take them in. "I'll fetch the healer for the boy,"
Master Glassburrow told Bilbo. "But first let me take you to one of
our finest suits."
Frodo let out a few horrifying coughs and tried to snuggle closer to
Bilbo in order to keep warm. "Nasty storm, eh? Poor little tyke. How
come you were out if he was ill?"
"Well—it was my own fault. You see—we were visiting relatives in
Buckland and he had come down with a nasty cold. I thought it was
over so we decided to leave early this morning. If it hadn't been
for the snowstorm, he would have probably held on till we got back
to Hobbiton."
Gilbo nodded in understanding. "Ah, well—we all make mistakes, you
know. `Tis a part of life. There we are—nice and cosy. I'll get a
fire started in the fireplace and you just put the little lad into
bed."
Bilbo stripped Frodo's wet clothes and left the tweenager in just
his underwear. Frodo could hardly stand he was so tired, but Bibo
let him lean on his shoulder. "Up we go, love." Bilbo pulled the
sheet up first and then the down comforter.
"Thank you, Bilbo." Frodo whispered weakly. Bilbo stroked Frodo's
forehead.
"You're welcome, cricket. You must get well, my boy."
Frodo nodded. "I will try, Bilbo."
Gilbo stood up once the fire started going, and he turned to his
guests. "I'll have my assistant Lars send for the healer and we'll
get a good diagnosis on the lad. If it is the flu then we'd best
shut this section of the Inn off, for it's contagious."
"Yes. Thank you so much." Said Bilbo.
"No trouble at all. We welcome anyone from anywhere. That is our
motto it is." Gilbo headed out of the room, shutting the door behind
him.