A/N: Thanks for all of the lovely reviews! :) I'm glad you're all enjoying the fic.

Katrine, thank you so much for your help! I had never even thought about using the ID numbers instead of pennames. :) I'm definitely going to take some time today and add people to my list. :)

I'm going to try to finish chapter 15 of "And In The Darkness Bind Him" and have it ready to upload sometime tomorrow. I've been working more on this fic lately for some reason; it seems easier to write. :) But I do want to get the other one finished soon.

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Chapter 3:

Frodo woke with the late-morning suns' rays in his eyes. The storm had left cloudless, blue September skies in its wake; he could smell the freshness of the breeze coming in through a raised window on the other side of his room. Frodo paid little heed to the weather; he was alarmed to find that the pain in his stomach had increased a great deal since its beginnings the night before. Though it was not unbearable, it certainly put a damper on ones spirits.

He struggled out of bed, slowly making his way over to the tall wardrobe in the corner of his bedroom. Frodo pulled the solid wood doors open and began searching for something decent to wear to Elevensies.

With trembling hands he hurried to fasten the brass clasps on his white blouse. Next he selected a bright green vest, with fine gold trim, to wear over top of it, and a nice pair of brown trousers. But Frodo's mind was on none of it; his only objective at the moment was to try to find some way to ease his pain- which didn't include the twisting of his sore middle, every which way, during the process of getting dressed.

"I'll tell Bilbo…" Frodo thought anxiously as he opened the bedroom door and headed towards the kitchen, "Bilbo will send for a healer. The healer will be able to help." He rationalized.

The smells that emanated from Bag End's kitchen made Frodo's upset stomach lurch, and he thought that he would surely be ill before he reached Bilbo. He paused in the hall, slightly hunched over, trying to ease the ache in his belly and calm his rebellious stomach.

At last he resumed, his unsteady legs carrying him the last few feet around the corner, and into the kitchen where his uncle was cooking.

At first, Bilbo was unaware of Frodo's presence. Frodo was glad of that, as he felt sure that his undignified walk and awkward posture would have alarmed his uncle. He meant to tell Bilbo of his discomfort, just not in such a way as to frighten the poor old hobbit.

Frodo quietly pulled a chair from beneath the table, and took a seat in it. The position it put him in wasn't terribly comfortable, but it was better than standing up; yet, not as comfortable as lying down on a soft bed.

Bilbo turned away from the cooking stove with a plate of fresh, still sizzling, bacon. "Oh! Good morning- or should I say, almost-afternoon?" he chuckled, "I trust you slept well Frodo, after you got back to sleep, that is?"

Frodo sat in his chair, trying not to gag over the smell of bacon. He tried his best to be sociable, though he didn't feel the part. "Yes, Bilbo. Thank you for staying with me last night." He forced a smile. "I'm sorry to have kept you in the chair all night… I suppose it is terribly immature of me to ask such things of you." Frodo ended, sheepishly. "After all, I am nearly a grown hobbit…" he added.

"Oh nonsense! I don't mind at all, Frodo." The old hobbit smiled lovingly at the tweenager. "Enough talk, how about some breakfast?" he inquired, "You must be famished, seeing as how you missed both Breakfasts'!" Bilbo placed a plate in front of Frodo, "…Though I thought it best to let you sleep late this morning. You were awake for a good while last night. I don't want you to wear yourself down." He finished, setting a bowl of apple flavored oatmeal beside the plate.

"Actually," Frodo managed, "I- I'm not hungry at all." He folded his hands in his lap, "I don't believe I could eat anything if my life depended on it!" Frodo jested, trying not to appear too out of sorts. He intended on telling Bilbo about his pain, but not while they were eating. That would have been inappropriate and selfish, he thought. "Have you any tea, Bilbo?" Frodo looked up to find his uncle regarding him seriously. Frodo smiled weakly.

"Are you feeling well, Frodo?" Bilbo questioned, "You look a bit pale… you looked it last night too." He put the back of a cool hand on Frodo's warm forehead. "Ah, and you're a mite bit warm as well I see." Bilbo had that tone in his voice. He wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Should I send for a healer?"

"No." Frodo tried, "I feel all right, uncle. You go ahead and eat. I'm going to get a bit of fresh air now." He smiled, and stood up from the table, nearly falling in the process. "I'll just be out front," Frodo struggled to regain his balance, looking pleadingly into his uncles' face.

Bilbo shot Frodo a stern glance, "Now you listen here, Frodo Baggins." He began, trying not to use too harsh a tone on his nephew. "I do wish to eat some of this food I've cooked. Only a little of it…you may go out to the front door for a few minutes. But not out of my sight, mind you!" he raised his voice at the last statement, emphasizing his point. "As soon as I'm done, I will send for the healer." Bilbo noticed Frodo favoring his middle, and the way he walked, how he had almost fallen… it was no good.

Frodo felt both relieved and worried at the same time. "Yes Bilbo." He smiled, turning to leave. He was relieved that Bilbo would send for a healer. But what would the healer say? Of course, it couldn't be avoided; he would have to find out what ailed him eventually. And, perhaps worse, accept whatever treatment was suggested.

Frodo made it no further than a few steps before his knees buckled. He gave a cry and fell to the floor, reaching his arms out to meet it. Before he could stop himself, he felt his dinner from the previous night rising in his throat. He sat back on his heels and clutched his stomach, in a weak attempt to keep the pain at bay.

Bilbo had seen Frodo fall and jumped out of his seat, reaching the tweenager's side just as he began to be sick. "Easy now, Frodo." Bilbo shushed the sick little hobbit, rubbing his back as he heaved. "I'm here…it's alright. Shh…" He soothed gently.

When the vomiting had passed, Frodo leaned forward gasping for breath, not caring that he put his hands down in his own dinner. The throbbing that had been ignited in his abdomen as a result of the vomiting made him want to scream. "It hurts…hurts, so much. So much." He cried out to Bilbo, rocking back and forth as he tried to cope with the pain.

Bilbo was terrified. The lad had looked sickly at a few minutes ago, but Bilbo had never expected this. "What hurts, Frodo?" he asked anxiously, "Where does it hurt? Please, tell me, I promise I'll try to help…" he pleaded.

Frodo shook his head, "My stomach hurts." He gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks as the pain flared, "Hurts so much…please help me, Bilbo."

"Wait here Frodo," Bilbo spoke urgently.

Frodo nodded, and stayed where he was.

Bilbo dashed to his study and picked up a piece of scrap paper, scrawling a message on it for the healer. He flew out of his front door, with the message, down Bagshot Row to the Gamgee residence. The Gamgee's eldest son, Hamson, ran the message to the nearest healers' residence while Bilbo returned home to care for Frodo.

Bilbo walked back into his hole, and then to the kitchen. Frodo was not where he left him. Fear seized Bilbo's heart as his mind began to race. He ran from room to room, searching for his sick nephew. Finally, Bilbo found Frodo. He was in his own bedroom, lying curled up on the bed. His dark curls were plastered to his pale sweat-coated face.

Bilbo walked to Frodo's bedside, kneeling so he could see eye-to-eye with the tweenager. "Is the pain any better, Frodo?" the old hobbit asked gently, stroking the damp curls from the young hobbits' eyes.

Frodo didn't answer; he just shrugged, and shook his head, not really giving a yes or no answer.

"Just try to rest, lad. I've sent for a healer, he should be here soon." Bilbo continued, putting a hand to Frodo's cheek once more. "Excuse me for a minute." The old hobbit added as he moved away from the bed and turned out of Frodo's room, heading for the kitchen.

He had to get out of Frodo's bedroom; it pained the old hobbit to see his nephew suffering when there was nothing he could to do help. Bilbo busied himself by cleaning up the vomit on the kitchen floor. Next he gathered fresh water and towels to clean Frodo up a little before the healer arrived. He set a kettle of water on to boil, and gathered the appropriate herbs for a nice calming tea.

"Why didn't he tell me before?" Bilbo wondered aloud as he waited for the water to boil. He had to remind himself that for the past ten years, Frodo hadn't had much coddling. The hobbit-lad simply dealt with whatever was wrong, until he could handle it no more, and was forced to find an aunt or uncle to help him with his problem. Bilbo realized that it wasn't Frodo's fault that he hadn't told him about his illness, it was simply the way he had lived for almost half of his young life. Bilbo sighed, he wasn't angry at the tweenager, he was more worried than anything; he only wished that Frodo didn't have to make things so difficult. He wondered how long his nephew had been keeping this from him.

Bilbo gathered the water, towels, and tea; and hastened back to Frodo's bedroom.

Frodo had turned over to lie on his back, one hand resting lightly on his sore tummy; his breathing was almost at a normal rate once more. It appeared as if nothing was wrong, save for the pained expression that still haunted his weary face.

The tweenager turned his head towards the door upon hearing Bilbo enter the room. He tried to smile at his uncle reassuringly, letting him know that he would be all right. Bilbo did not return the gesture though; he was far too worried.

"How are you feeling, Frodo?" Bilbo asked, getting to the point.

Frodo thought about it for a moment, choosing his words carefully, "It's a little better, Bilbo. When I got sick in the kitchen earlier it made the pain worse… But I feel better now, thank you." He lied.

"How long has this been going on?" Bilbo sighed, "When did you first notice it?"

"Last night." Frodo stated.

"Why didn't you tell me then, Frodo?" Bilbo nearly demanded, "I could have sent for a healer-"

"In the middle of the night?" Frodo interrupted coolly. "No Bilbo, it was hardly noticeable last night. There was no need to trouble you over it." Frodo explained, "I blamed it on my nerves. It wasn't until this morning that it caused me any real pain." He pointed out.

Bilbo nodded slowly, still not completely believing his nephew, "Alright then, lad, let's get you cleaned up before the healer arrives. We don't want him to find you in this mess." Bilbo smiled slightly.

"Yes, I know." Frodo realized that he was still wearing the soiled clothes from his earlier ordeal, and his hands and face needed washing. The whole of him could use a bath though, he thought.

Bilbo approached the bed, pulling over a chair to put the pan of water on, and drape the spare towels over. "Now then, if you will just get out of those dirty clothes, I'll fetch you a clean nightshirt, Frodo." Bilbo offered.

Frodo cringed visibly at the thought of having to undress again and move about too much. But nonetheless he began undressing himself while Bilbo went to the wardrobe to fetch clean clothes.

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A/N: As always, thank you so much for reading! :) Please review!