Bilbo sat quietly by Frodo's bed, reading while he waited for the healer to
arrive. It was nearly 1:00 in the afternoon and Fosco Fields, the most
prominent healer in Hobbiton, still hadn't arrived. Bilbo had stressed the
urgency of the situation in his message, so no doubt it was something
serious that was keeping Mr. Fields.
Frodo was growing restless, and Bilbo was becoming more and more concerned for his nephews' well being. Blue skies visible through the windows made it all the harder for Frodo to sit inside feeling wretched. He wished he felt well enough to be out of doors, or perhaps at his desk finishing arranging the party affairs.
"Bilbo?" Frodo whispered quietly, reaching a small hand out, seeking his uncles' larger one.
"I'm here, Frodo." Bilbo replied, taking Frodo's clammy palm into his own, "Just rest for a little while longer, the healer will be here soon enough…" the old hobbit tried to smile reassuringly through his own anxiety.
Frodo swallowed, shifting uneasily beneath the covers, "No Bilbo, I…it's just that it's… starting to get worse." He closed his eyes tightly, sucking in a sharp breath as knives of pain tore at his middle. He placed a hand lightly over the area around his bellybutton, as if by doing so he could block out the pain.
"I'm sorry, lad." Bilbo shook his head, looking down pityingly at the suffering tweenager, stroking Frodo's hand with his own. He tried to offer as much comfort as he could. Bilbo rose carefully from his chair, squeezing Frodo's hand gently. He then walked to the other side of the bedroom, gathering a face cloth, soaking it in a basin of cool water, and wringing it out before returning to Frodo's side.
"Here now," the old hobbit soothed, wiping the thin layer of sweat from Frodo's pale face. "Doesn't that feel better?" he tried his best to sound hopeful.
Frodo slowly shook his head yes, "It's not so bad if…if I hold really still," he said, "I feel sick again though, Bilbo." He whimpered, trying to focus on not making another mess for his uncle to have to clean up. "Stop, please" he begged, his voice faltering as he pushed Bilbo's hand away from his face. "I just need…I need t- to get comfortable." He murmured, turning over and curling up on his side.
Bilbo found it disheartening that a motion as simple as turning over in bed seemed to cause Frodo such effort, it must have, for he was breathing heavily and sweating as though he had been running. "What's wrong, Frodo?" Bilbo asked gently, though he already knew what the answer would be; but he felt that the question ought to be asked in any case.
A choked "Hurts." was the only answer Frodo provided, curling up even more and gripping the edge of his feather bolster tightly as sharp pains continued to shoot through the sore area of his abdomen with even the slightest movement.
Bilbo nearly began to cry at the sight of his dear nephew so ill. He ran a hand slowly through Frodo's damp hair, feeling tears run down his own face as he did so. They fell slowly at first, and then faster, just as Frodo's shallow breaths came faster while he fought a losing battle with the pain.
Bilbo's tears fell to make large wet splotches on his light-brown trousers, like rain from an unexpected summer shower dampening brown earth.
Frodo cried out to Bilbo when he could no longer bear the increasing ache in silence, "Bilbo," he whimpered, the anguish he felt was reflected clearly in his voice, and he reached for his uncle, "It hurts…"
"It'll be all right, Frodo." Bilbo assured his nephew, smoothing his damp curls back.
A series of quick raps on the front door roused Bilbo from his mournful state. He wiped his sleeves across his face to hide the fact that he had been crying, and leapt up from his place by Frodo's side, running for the door.
When Bilbo got to the door, a rather disheveled Mr. Fields greeted him. "Hello Mr. Baggins!" the healer puffed, pushing his way through the open door. Fosco Fields was a hobbit of considerable girth, and quite tall as well, making him appear rather intimidating upon first sight.
"Please, come in!" Bilbo offered, moving aside to avoid being trampled. "Let me take your coat," he hung Mr. Fields' large coat on one of the pegs behind the door.
"I'm truly sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Baggins. I got word at the last minute that little Daisy Boffin, you know, Lyra and Mardus' youngest, climbed up the chimney after a bird, and fell off." He rambled, wiping his muddy feet on the rug. "And then she rolled all the way down their smial and bumped right into a tree!"
Bilbo stood by, waiting patiently, though he desperately wished that the healer would get on with things. "Oh, how terrible!" he exclaimed with forced enthusiasm, turning to go down the hall, hoping that Mr. Fields would follow his lead.
"She is all right, just got a few nasty bumps." He sighed, "Though, 'tis nothing time won't mend."
"Yes, of course, Mr. Fields," Bilbo interjected, "Now, if you will, my lad's room is this way." He walked hastily down the corridor.
"Ah, yes! Forgive my incessant ramblings, Mr. Baggins. How has the dear boy been lately?" The healer asked earnestly, hurrying to catch up with Bilbo.
"Oh, he's been well, save for this illness that seems to have come upon him suddenly." Bilbo answered, "He's terribly excited about the birthday party. I've tried not to allow him to work himself too hard, there's still so much to be done though…"
"I'm sure of that!" Mr. Fields smiled, "I trust I'll be getting an invitation soon then?" he jested.
"Of course," Bilbo replied, smiling.
"So, what exactly is it that I'm seein' him today for?" Fosco asked curiously, "You never were clear about it in your message…"
"Well," Bilbo began, "To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure myself. He told me this morning that pain had started in his stomach last night, just a wee bit." He avoided mentioning Frodo's nightmare about his parents and how he sat up with him all night. Bilbo paused, thinking back to the days' earlier events, "Then this morning, I noticed that he looked a bit pale at Elevensies- he slept late, you know, so he missed both Breakfast's. He got up from the table to go get some fresh air, but he only got a few feet before he collapsed, then he was sick on his stomach straight away. He says the ache in his stomach is growing worse...the poor thing looks to be in quite a bit of pain this afternoon." Bilbo shook his head, "'Tis strange, I believe. Very sudden. Even just as of last night the boy had an appetite and appeared to be feeling well."
Before the healer had a chance to answer, Bilbo opened Frodo's bedroom door and both hobbits entered the room quietly. Fosco walked over to the tweenagers' bed, feeling Frodo's brow with the back of his hand, noting the warmness of it.
Frodo was still lying curled up on his side, his eyes half closed, and beads of sweat accumulating on his pale face.
"I heard you're not feeling well today, Master Baggins." The healer declared, setting his bag of medical instruments down on the corner of the bed.
"How do you feel, Frodo?" The healer inquired after a few moments of silence.
"Bad," Frodo breathed.
"I'm sorry to hear that, lad," Mr. Fields replied, "Now, would you mind telling me where it hurts?"
"My stomach hurts a lot." Frodo blurted, an impatient tone to his voice, muffled through the bedding that he was huddled under. "And I feel like I'm going to throw up again."
"Alright then, no need to be hasty… Where exactly on your stomach does it hurt?" Mr. Fields asked.
"Mostly right here," Frodo gestured to a place below, just to the right, of his bellybutton. "It was up here," he said, moving a small hand up to rest above where his bellybutton was, "And it hurts worse when I move, or if I take a deep breath." He added.
"I see…" A wave of concern passed over Mr. Fields face as he pondered the situation, it soon passed and he was ready to begin his examination, "Now, if you'll just turn over on your back so I can take a look at you…" the healer suggested.
Frodo whimpered, curling up tighter, "No…no I- I can't, it hurts so much." He begged weakly.
Mr. Fields sighed, beginning to force Frodo's knees gently into a straight position so he could roll him onto his back, "Now, lad, if you don't let me look at you then how will I be able to tell what's wrong?" he pointed out.
Frodo thought about it for a moment, looking pleadingly in Bilbo's direction, seeking an escape, before he finally complied, carefully turning himself over. He groaned, immediately trying to turn back onto his side as he felt the pain in his abdomen intensify as a result of trying to lie flat on his back.
Gentle hands forced him back down, holding him in place, "Just wait a minute now, lad, give me a moment. I'll be done soon, if you just hold still." The healer promised.
Mr. Fields then began gently prodding Frodo's middle, hoping that by doing so he would be able to discover the root of the problem. Or at least, he thought, get an idea of what the problem might be.
Frodo howled in pain as the healers' hands approached the sore area of his stomach. His hand shot up seemingly involuntarily, seizing Mr. Fields' arm with a surprisingly strong grip. Frodo forced the arm away from his stomach, tears building in his eyes, and he turned back onto his side in an attempt to ease the pain.
Bilbo rushed to his nephews' side, wiping Frodo's tears away with the corner of his own shirt. "Shh… There, there lad, easy now. I know it hurts..." He soothed.
Frodo jerked slightly, clamping his mouth shut as he tried to avoid being sick. But it was no use, before he knew what was happening, he felt Bilbo holding his head back as he retched, messing up his bedclothes and Bilbo's pants.
When it was over he lay on his side, rocking and clutching his stomach. He didn't know who was standing over him, or what they were saying. As hard as Frodo tried, he couldn't focus on anything through the pain, all he could hear were his own pitiful cries echoing in his ears.
"Just give him a moment to recover, Mr. Fields." Bilbo requested, his voice shaky as he gathered fresh towels to clean up the mess.
The healer nodded, a little taken aback by Frodo's actions. Then he gently lifted the tweenager from the soiled bedding, ignoring Frodo's cries of protest, "It's alright, little one," he soothed, carrying the trembling young hobbit across the room and settling him in a large chair.
Soon Bilbo was done changing the bedding, had gotten Frodo a clean nightshirt, and put the sick hobbit back to bed. The room was silent once more, save for Frodo's heavy breathing, and the noise of birds that could be heard chirping outside.
The cheerful noises almost seemed to transform into cruel, mocking laughs to Frodo's ears, how could they all be so happy, going about their day, when he was suffering so? Mr. Fields returned to his place by Frodo's bed, "Frodo?" he asked.
Frodo opened his eyes partially, acknowledging the healers presence.
"Your uncle tells me that you first started feeling poorly last night." Mr. Fields stated, "Did you also feel sick to your stomach last night, or did that just start this morning?"
"It just started this morning, when I woke up." Frodo answered.
"Ah, well then," Mr. Fields began, a slight hint of concern detectable in his voice, though the whole situation still perplexed him. He turned towards Bilbo, "Mr. Baggins, it appears as though your lad has got a rather bad case of what's been going around with tweenager's this fall. Though, he may be in for a rougher go of it than most," He continued slowly, "'Tis nothing too serious. Just make sure the boy gets plenty of rest, and lots of liquids." The healer finished, turning towards Frodo, "And you, lad, must put aside your party planning, for the time being."
"But…" Frodo protested weakly, "There is so much that is left to be done. How will it ever be finished if I am not able to help?" he worried.
"Now, Frodo, what kind of party would it be if you were too ill to attend? Bilbo will see to it that everything gets done, don't worry." he smiled. "I fully expect to see you there with a good appetite and rosy cheeks. You be a good lad now, and cooperate for your uncle Bilbo." Mr. Fields ended, turning back to face the older hobbit.
Frodo was relieved that he had been told to rest, he hardly felt like dealing with guest lists, gifts, and menus.
Mr. Fields and Bilbo turned away from the bed and walked to the other side of Frodo's room, speaking in hushed voices, "Well, Mr. Baggins, he ought to be back on his feet in a week or so. Though I'd not seen such severe symptoms accompanying this illness until now." He spoke gravely. Mr. Fields paused, turning around to look at Frodo, "You must send me word if he grows worse, especially if he is terribly worse by tomorrow morning," He continued, "If he refuses liquids, or the pain in his stomach increases drastically, and if his fever shoots up higher than it is now."
Bilbo listened closely, unable to speak, his eyes wide with fear.
"Oh, no Mr. Baggins, do not worry yourself too much about it." Mr. Fields tried to reassure Bilbo, "Believe me, the lad will let you know, voluntarily or not, if you need to send for me again; and the chances of it being necessary are very small." He assured Bilbo, "But remember, be sure that Frodo takes plenty of liquids, and stays in bed." The healer directed, "And," he added, digging in his bag, "Let him take this as needed, for vomiting." he produced a small bottle of clear liquid. "I don't want to give any medication for the pain right now, because he needs to be aware of himself. I don't want to inadvertently mask symptoms that may accompany the onset of a more serious illness."
Bilbo nodded vigorously, "Yes, of course, Mr. Fields," he said, "and thank you ever so much for coming!" he began escorting the healer to the foyer, retrieving Mr. Fields' large coat from a peg behind the door.
"'Tis nothing, Mr. Baggins," Mr. Fields assured Bilbo, "I love the boy, I have a soft spot for him…knowing all that he's been through… what, with losing his parents and all, and at such a young age too. The poor lad." He commented as he began pulling on his coat. "Coming at a moments notice is never a problem. And remember, do send for me if the need should arise." He shot a knowing glance to Bilbo. He was terribly concerned for Frodo's well being. In truth, he did not really believe that what Frodo had was actually what was going around. Though the illness appeared to be fairly typical, his instincts told him that it might be something more serious.
"I won't hesitate to send word," Bilbo smiled, "Have a safe trip home!"
Frodo was growing restless, and Bilbo was becoming more and more concerned for his nephews' well being. Blue skies visible through the windows made it all the harder for Frodo to sit inside feeling wretched. He wished he felt well enough to be out of doors, or perhaps at his desk finishing arranging the party affairs.
"Bilbo?" Frodo whispered quietly, reaching a small hand out, seeking his uncles' larger one.
"I'm here, Frodo." Bilbo replied, taking Frodo's clammy palm into his own, "Just rest for a little while longer, the healer will be here soon enough…" the old hobbit tried to smile reassuringly through his own anxiety.
Frodo swallowed, shifting uneasily beneath the covers, "No Bilbo, I…it's just that it's… starting to get worse." He closed his eyes tightly, sucking in a sharp breath as knives of pain tore at his middle. He placed a hand lightly over the area around his bellybutton, as if by doing so he could block out the pain.
"I'm sorry, lad." Bilbo shook his head, looking down pityingly at the suffering tweenager, stroking Frodo's hand with his own. He tried to offer as much comfort as he could. Bilbo rose carefully from his chair, squeezing Frodo's hand gently. He then walked to the other side of the bedroom, gathering a face cloth, soaking it in a basin of cool water, and wringing it out before returning to Frodo's side.
"Here now," the old hobbit soothed, wiping the thin layer of sweat from Frodo's pale face. "Doesn't that feel better?" he tried his best to sound hopeful.
Frodo slowly shook his head yes, "It's not so bad if…if I hold really still," he said, "I feel sick again though, Bilbo." He whimpered, trying to focus on not making another mess for his uncle to have to clean up. "Stop, please" he begged, his voice faltering as he pushed Bilbo's hand away from his face. "I just need…I need t- to get comfortable." He murmured, turning over and curling up on his side.
Bilbo found it disheartening that a motion as simple as turning over in bed seemed to cause Frodo such effort, it must have, for he was breathing heavily and sweating as though he had been running. "What's wrong, Frodo?" Bilbo asked gently, though he already knew what the answer would be; but he felt that the question ought to be asked in any case.
A choked "Hurts." was the only answer Frodo provided, curling up even more and gripping the edge of his feather bolster tightly as sharp pains continued to shoot through the sore area of his abdomen with even the slightest movement.
Bilbo nearly began to cry at the sight of his dear nephew so ill. He ran a hand slowly through Frodo's damp hair, feeling tears run down his own face as he did so. They fell slowly at first, and then faster, just as Frodo's shallow breaths came faster while he fought a losing battle with the pain.
Bilbo's tears fell to make large wet splotches on his light-brown trousers, like rain from an unexpected summer shower dampening brown earth.
Frodo cried out to Bilbo when he could no longer bear the increasing ache in silence, "Bilbo," he whimpered, the anguish he felt was reflected clearly in his voice, and he reached for his uncle, "It hurts…"
"It'll be all right, Frodo." Bilbo assured his nephew, smoothing his damp curls back.
A series of quick raps on the front door roused Bilbo from his mournful state. He wiped his sleeves across his face to hide the fact that he had been crying, and leapt up from his place by Frodo's side, running for the door.
When Bilbo got to the door, a rather disheveled Mr. Fields greeted him. "Hello Mr. Baggins!" the healer puffed, pushing his way through the open door. Fosco Fields was a hobbit of considerable girth, and quite tall as well, making him appear rather intimidating upon first sight.
"Please, come in!" Bilbo offered, moving aside to avoid being trampled. "Let me take your coat," he hung Mr. Fields' large coat on one of the pegs behind the door.
"I'm truly sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Baggins. I got word at the last minute that little Daisy Boffin, you know, Lyra and Mardus' youngest, climbed up the chimney after a bird, and fell off." He rambled, wiping his muddy feet on the rug. "And then she rolled all the way down their smial and bumped right into a tree!"
Bilbo stood by, waiting patiently, though he desperately wished that the healer would get on with things. "Oh, how terrible!" he exclaimed with forced enthusiasm, turning to go down the hall, hoping that Mr. Fields would follow his lead.
"She is all right, just got a few nasty bumps." He sighed, "Though, 'tis nothing time won't mend."
"Yes, of course, Mr. Fields," Bilbo interjected, "Now, if you will, my lad's room is this way." He walked hastily down the corridor.
"Ah, yes! Forgive my incessant ramblings, Mr. Baggins. How has the dear boy been lately?" The healer asked earnestly, hurrying to catch up with Bilbo.
"Oh, he's been well, save for this illness that seems to have come upon him suddenly." Bilbo answered, "He's terribly excited about the birthday party. I've tried not to allow him to work himself too hard, there's still so much to be done though…"
"I'm sure of that!" Mr. Fields smiled, "I trust I'll be getting an invitation soon then?" he jested.
"Of course," Bilbo replied, smiling.
"So, what exactly is it that I'm seein' him today for?" Fosco asked curiously, "You never were clear about it in your message…"
"Well," Bilbo began, "To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure myself. He told me this morning that pain had started in his stomach last night, just a wee bit." He avoided mentioning Frodo's nightmare about his parents and how he sat up with him all night. Bilbo paused, thinking back to the days' earlier events, "Then this morning, I noticed that he looked a bit pale at Elevensies- he slept late, you know, so he missed both Breakfast's. He got up from the table to go get some fresh air, but he only got a few feet before he collapsed, then he was sick on his stomach straight away. He says the ache in his stomach is growing worse...the poor thing looks to be in quite a bit of pain this afternoon." Bilbo shook his head, "'Tis strange, I believe. Very sudden. Even just as of last night the boy had an appetite and appeared to be feeling well."
Before the healer had a chance to answer, Bilbo opened Frodo's bedroom door and both hobbits entered the room quietly. Fosco walked over to the tweenagers' bed, feeling Frodo's brow with the back of his hand, noting the warmness of it.
Frodo was still lying curled up on his side, his eyes half closed, and beads of sweat accumulating on his pale face.
"I heard you're not feeling well today, Master Baggins." The healer declared, setting his bag of medical instruments down on the corner of the bed.
"How do you feel, Frodo?" The healer inquired after a few moments of silence.
"Bad," Frodo breathed.
"I'm sorry to hear that, lad," Mr. Fields replied, "Now, would you mind telling me where it hurts?"
"My stomach hurts a lot." Frodo blurted, an impatient tone to his voice, muffled through the bedding that he was huddled under. "And I feel like I'm going to throw up again."
"Alright then, no need to be hasty… Where exactly on your stomach does it hurt?" Mr. Fields asked.
"Mostly right here," Frodo gestured to a place below, just to the right, of his bellybutton. "It was up here," he said, moving a small hand up to rest above where his bellybutton was, "And it hurts worse when I move, or if I take a deep breath." He added.
"I see…" A wave of concern passed over Mr. Fields face as he pondered the situation, it soon passed and he was ready to begin his examination, "Now, if you'll just turn over on your back so I can take a look at you…" the healer suggested.
Frodo whimpered, curling up tighter, "No…no I- I can't, it hurts so much." He begged weakly.
Mr. Fields sighed, beginning to force Frodo's knees gently into a straight position so he could roll him onto his back, "Now, lad, if you don't let me look at you then how will I be able to tell what's wrong?" he pointed out.
Frodo thought about it for a moment, looking pleadingly in Bilbo's direction, seeking an escape, before he finally complied, carefully turning himself over. He groaned, immediately trying to turn back onto his side as he felt the pain in his abdomen intensify as a result of trying to lie flat on his back.
Gentle hands forced him back down, holding him in place, "Just wait a minute now, lad, give me a moment. I'll be done soon, if you just hold still." The healer promised.
Mr. Fields then began gently prodding Frodo's middle, hoping that by doing so he would be able to discover the root of the problem. Or at least, he thought, get an idea of what the problem might be.
Frodo howled in pain as the healers' hands approached the sore area of his stomach. His hand shot up seemingly involuntarily, seizing Mr. Fields' arm with a surprisingly strong grip. Frodo forced the arm away from his stomach, tears building in his eyes, and he turned back onto his side in an attempt to ease the pain.
Bilbo rushed to his nephews' side, wiping Frodo's tears away with the corner of his own shirt. "Shh… There, there lad, easy now. I know it hurts..." He soothed.
Frodo jerked slightly, clamping his mouth shut as he tried to avoid being sick. But it was no use, before he knew what was happening, he felt Bilbo holding his head back as he retched, messing up his bedclothes and Bilbo's pants.
When it was over he lay on his side, rocking and clutching his stomach. He didn't know who was standing over him, or what they were saying. As hard as Frodo tried, he couldn't focus on anything through the pain, all he could hear were his own pitiful cries echoing in his ears.
"Just give him a moment to recover, Mr. Fields." Bilbo requested, his voice shaky as he gathered fresh towels to clean up the mess.
The healer nodded, a little taken aback by Frodo's actions. Then he gently lifted the tweenager from the soiled bedding, ignoring Frodo's cries of protest, "It's alright, little one," he soothed, carrying the trembling young hobbit across the room and settling him in a large chair.
Soon Bilbo was done changing the bedding, had gotten Frodo a clean nightshirt, and put the sick hobbit back to bed. The room was silent once more, save for Frodo's heavy breathing, and the noise of birds that could be heard chirping outside.
The cheerful noises almost seemed to transform into cruel, mocking laughs to Frodo's ears, how could they all be so happy, going about their day, when he was suffering so? Mr. Fields returned to his place by Frodo's bed, "Frodo?" he asked.
Frodo opened his eyes partially, acknowledging the healers presence.
"Your uncle tells me that you first started feeling poorly last night." Mr. Fields stated, "Did you also feel sick to your stomach last night, or did that just start this morning?"
"It just started this morning, when I woke up." Frodo answered.
"Ah, well then," Mr. Fields began, a slight hint of concern detectable in his voice, though the whole situation still perplexed him. He turned towards Bilbo, "Mr. Baggins, it appears as though your lad has got a rather bad case of what's been going around with tweenager's this fall. Though, he may be in for a rougher go of it than most," He continued slowly, "'Tis nothing too serious. Just make sure the boy gets plenty of rest, and lots of liquids." The healer finished, turning towards Frodo, "And you, lad, must put aside your party planning, for the time being."
"But…" Frodo protested weakly, "There is so much that is left to be done. How will it ever be finished if I am not able to help?" he worried.
"Now, Frodo, what kind of party would it be if you were too ill to attend? Bilbo will see to it that everything gets done, don't worry." he smiled. "I fully expect to see you there with a good appetite and rosy cheeks. You be a good lad now, and cooperate for your uncle Bilbo." Mr. Fields ended, turning back to face the older hobbit.
Frodo was relieved that he had been told to rest, he hardly felt like dealing with guest lists, gifts, and menus.
Mr. Fields and Bilbo turned away from the bed and walked to the other side of Frodo's room, speaking in hushed voices, "Well, Mr. Baggins, he ought to be back on his feet in a week or so. Though I'd not seen such severe symptoms accompanying this illness until now." He spoke gravely. Mr. Fields paused, turning around to look at Frodo, "You must send me word if he grows worse, especially if he is terribly worse by tomorrow morning," He continued, "If he refuses liquids, or the pain in his stomach increases drastically, and if his fever shoots up higher than it is now."
Bilbo listened closely, unable to speak, his eyes wide with fear.
"Oh, no Mr. Baggins, do not worry yourself too much about it." Mr. Fields tried to reassure Bilbo, "Believe me, the lad will let you know, voluntarily or not, if you need to send for me again; and the chances of it being necessary are very small." He assured Bilbo, "But remember, be sure that Frodo takes plenty of liquids, and stays in bed." The healer directed, "And," he added, digging in his bag, "Let him take this as needed, for vomiting." he produced a small bottle of clear liquid. "I don't want to give any medication for the pain right now, because he needs to be aware of himself. I don't want to inadvertently mask symptoms that may accompany the onset of a more serious illness."
Bilbo nodded vigorously, "Yes, of course, Mr. Fields," he said, "and thank you ever so much for coming!" he began escorting the healer to the foyer, retrieving Mr. Fields' large coat from a peg behind the door.
"'Tis nothing, Mr. Baggins," Mr. Fields assured Bilbo, "I love the boy, I have a soft spot for him…knowing all that he's been through… what, with losing his parents and all, and at such a young age too. The poor lad." He commented as he began pulling on his coat. "Coming at a moments notice is never a problem. And remember, do send for me if the need should arise." He shot a knowing glance to Bilbo. He was terribly concerned for Frodo's well being. In truth, he did not really believe that what Frodo had was actually what was going around. Though the illness appeared to be fairly typical, his instincts told him that it might be something more serious.
"I won't hesitate to send word," Bilbo smiled, "Have a safe trip home!"