A/N: As promised, here's the next chapter (which means the following one is
done as well).
Thank you all so much for the reviews! :) I'm so glad you're still enjoying this story.
Ancalime: Don't worry! :)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
Chapter 14:
Bilbo sat at Frodo's desk as Dimhirion and Fosco worked hastily to change the bed linens. In his grief-stricken state Bilbo realized that he couldn't be of any real help to the two healers, so he agreed to get out of their way. He found a quite spot to sit until they were ready for him to return.
Bilbo noticed that Frodo's desk was cluttered with papers, much like his own. He couldn't help but smile as he thought about how much the two of them had in common. Frodo really was like the son he never had, he certainly considered the lad more of a son than a cousin. Bilbo decided that even if this day was the last they would ever have together, he knew that every moment since Frodo's coming to stay at Bag End earlier that year had been wonderful for both of them; they'd taught each other so much in such a short span of time. Then Bilbo realized that that was why this ordeal was so painful for him: Frodo was everything to him and the though that he might lose his dear lad was unbearable. The child really was more precious to him than any treasure he could dream of. What really hurt Bilbo was knowing that Frodo didn't deserve this, the hobbit-lad had already been through so much in his young life with losing his parents, and then years of struggling, unsuccessfully, to find his niche at Brandy Hall. Why should the boy have had to survive so much, only to succumb to this illness? It just didn't seem fair to Bilbo.
The old hobbit began absentmindedly sifting through a stack of disorganized papers. He soon discovered that these were Frodo's notes for the birthday celebration that the two of them were to have in the coming weeks. Now, it looked as though a celebration would be terribly out of place, so soon after. . . But Bilbo left the thought unfinished.
He never was one to give up while there was still hope, but this ordeal was playing out differently than any other he had ever endured. The elderly bachelor realized then what it really meant to be a parent, to have a young life to look after, to watch grow and mature into the striking gentle- hobbit that little Frodo was surely posed to be. Yet the most tragic thing would be losing that young life, its fire extinguished prematurely by cruel fate.
Frodo's neat script, written in black ink, appeared to blur on the pages as tears seeped into Bilbo's eyes. The old hobbit blinked them back, thinking himself selfish for crying when it was Frodo who was in pain, and Frodo who could very likely lose his life.
As Bilbo continued to look through Frodo's notes he soon found a small sketch, a diagram of sorts. He picked up that particular piece of paper, unique in that it had many measurements written beside the sketches, and amendments to the text, and in some places it was clearly not Frodo's handwriting. Upon reading the print Bilbo determined that it was a diagram of a small footstool that Frodo was working on. He smiled to himself when he thought of his book-loving lad cutting wood and hammering nails, "How odd," thought Bilbo.
Frodo had never openly displayed an interest in woodworking. Bilbo hadn't known that the boy even possessed the knowledge needed to build things such as that.
Upon closer inspection he noticed that on the diagram, written in a flowing script on what was meant to be the seat of the footstool, was his own walking song that he had taught to Frodo earlier that summer, in Westron, yet the script itself was Elvish. "Oh!" Bilbo thought to himself, "How clever it is to inscribe a walking song upon a footstool." He chuckled quietly, it seemed as though his dear lad always found new ways to surprise him.
On the diagram, written where the bottom of the small stool was meant to be, he could see that Frodo had written his own name, and then Bilbo's name with the year beside it and that it was dated "September 22nd".
Then it all fell into place for Bilbo. Obviously the lad had been receiving outside help to build the small piece of furniture. Perhaps it was one of the Gamgee children that had been assisting him, he felt sure that they were learned in such crafts. Then tears came to Bilbo's eyes again, he had been giving Frodo some basic lessons in Elvish, but his skills weren't as advanced as this; at least, Bilbo hadn't thought so.
It was obvious that the lad had spent a great amount of time and care translating Bilbo's walking song from Westron, and then spent additional time learning the skill of carving the characters onto wood. It was clear that he had worked very hard on the project.
Bilbo found it curious that Frodo was planning to give him a birthday gift; it was not common practice for a hobbit to receive gifts on his own birthday. But of course, since Bilbo and Frodo shared the same birthday, the each wound up receiving a gift from the other.
Bilbo smiled through his tears. Frodo was such a bright lad, *his* bright lad.
"Master Baggins?" The old hobbit looked up to find Dimhirion standing over him, "We're going to need your help for a moment."
"Alright," Bilbo answered, rising from his seat at the desk.
He followed Dimhirion to Frodo's bedside, and watched apprehensively as the Elf lifted Frodo gently from the bed.
The hobbit-lad whined in protest, but was quieted by the Elf's soothing voice. Dimhirion laid Frodo down on the hearth where Fosco was waiting with the opium burner.
Bilbo was at Frodo's side in an instant, stroking back the dark locks and comforting his lad as best he could.
Frodo groaned and his breathing became labored as the pain, brought on by being moved, caught up with him, "Bilbo," he cried quietly.
"'Tis all right, Frodo-lad." Bilbo promised. The elderly hobbit noticed with concern that drops of dark-red blood were dripping slowly from the reed that protruded from the incision in Frodo's abdomen, staining the brick hearth a different shade of red.
Dimhirion seemed to notice Bilbo's concern, "I know, Bilbo." He assured the hobbit, "hopefully it will stop once he is still again. But I could not cut Frodo without first giving him something strong for the pain."
"I understand," Bilbo answered, "I would not have wanted you to."
Fosco poured a small amount of the dark liquid onto the heated tile, "Alright, hold him up," the healer announced.
Dimhirion shifted Frodo's body carefully toward the burning apparatus. "Breathe in, little one, deep breaths now." He instructed a barely conscious Frodo.
The hobbit-lad fretted, trying to pull away from the fumes, but Dimhirion held him steady.
Bilbo rubbed his small back gently, and whispered soothingly into the tween's ear, encouraging him to comply, "Please breath Frodo," he pleaded, "Just a little bit, and then you can go back to the bed."
Eventually Frodo began to inhale the vapors. When they believed he had inhaled enough of the fumes, Dimhirion lifted the limp body and carried it back to the bed. The Elf instructed Bilbo to climb back onto the bed and sit behind Frodo.
Dimhirion deposited Frodo's body onto the mattress so that he was lying flat, and hoped that it would help stop the bleeding. He noticed with great concern that Frodo's face had gone deathly pale, and his lips carried an almost bluish tint.
"Master Fields," Dimhirion began, "Please boil some water for tea-- dandelion tea, and add some honey so it won't taste so bitter." He continued, "we may lose Frodo if he doesn't take some liquids soon." Whether the lad could keep anything down or not was also a concern, but they had to at least try.
The hobbit-healer nodded, and left the room heading towards the kitchen.
While Fosco saw to preparing the tea, Dimhirion spoke with Bilbo, "Master Baggins," he started, "I won't begin without your consent, but before you agree there are some things you need to be aware of."
Bilbo paled slightly, but nodded for the Elf to proceed.
Dimhirion looked down at Frodo and then began speaking, "Regardless of whether I continue with this operation, it is still very likely-or rather, there is a considerable chance, that Frodo could die. What we have already done today is, no doubt, quite a shock to his body, especially since he is already so weak-notice the pallor of his skin, and the tint of his lips, I am afraid it doesn't bode well." Dimhirion frowned, "If conditions were favorable, I would allow him to rest for a day or more between surgeries, but unfortunately time is not something we can spare." He continued, meeting Bilbo's eyes, "There is also the chance that he could lose too much blood, or die from infection. He has already lost more than I would like to see, and the more difficult operation still looms ahead of us." Dimhirion paused, allowing time for the news to sink in, "Of these things you must be aware, before I begin." Dimhirion shifted his gaze back to Frodo, and began gently stroking the soft hair on top of the lad's feet, "There are no guarantees."
Bilbo nodded slowly, "I understand. At least, by doing this, we give him a chance." The old hobbit added, his eyes filling with tears once more. It was terrible to feel so helpless.
Dimhirion nodded in agreement, "Yes, otherwise all hope would be lost." The Elf sighed, "He should feel little pain, if any," Dimhirion added, changing the subject, "Though I must work quickly to ensure that he does not."
Bilbo turned Frodo's face to his, and watched helplessly as the lad's blue eyes struggled unsuccessfully to focus on him. Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but Bilbo stopped him, "No lad, don't try to speak," he bit his lip to keep from sobbing, "I'm here with you, it's going to be all right, dear Frodo-lad." Bilbo promised, "Don't be afraid," Bilbo continued, attempting to quell the child's fears with his voice.
Shortly after the conversation between Bilbo and Dimhirion, Fosco returned with the kettle of tea and a cup. "This is a bit hot, I'm afraid," Fosco admitted.
Bilbo quickly recognized the smell of dandelion tea and wrinkled his nose, "Why dandelions?" asked the hobbit.
Dimhirion smiled wryly at Bilbo and answered, "Dandelion is an herb used to purify-meaning, it will help to clean Frodo's body of the infection." He paused, "Oh, I know the taste is bitter, that is why I requested that Fosco bring honey."
"I see," Bilbo replied, amazed to discover that something as unpleasant as dandelion could possibly serve any useful purpose.
"Here," Dimhirion began to pour some of the bitter tea into a waiting cup. "I'll taste it," he blew on the steaming liquid, and put the cup to his lips. The two hobbits almost chuckled upon seeing Dimhirion grimace at the taste of the tea. "I think it needs a bit more honey. . ." he admitted.
Fosco nodded vigorously, and produced a small container of the sweet substance.
"I cannot make it too sweet though, I fear Frodo's stomach may not be able to handle such things right now. Yet he may not be able to keep it down in any case. . . we shall see."
When Dimhirion was finally satisfied with the taste of the tea, he motioned for Bilbo to raise Frodo's head slightly so that he might drink some.
"Come now, Frodo-lad," Bilbo whispered, "This will help make you feel well again."
Frodo whimpered when he felt Bilbo moving him, "I d. . .don't want any. . . any tea, uncle." He managed.
"Shh. . .now lad, this will help. I promise." Bilbo assured Frodo, as he helped the hobbit-lad to sit up.
Frodo's breaths came in ragged gasps, the effort of moving had almost proven too great for the sick tween and Bilbo had to support his head to keep it from drooping to the side.
Dimhirion gently pressed the cup to Frodo's lips, instructing the lad to drink as much as he could.
Frodo recognized the smell of the tea, and puckered his lips in anticipation of the bitter taste.
"Don't worry, little one," the Elf promised, "It has been sweetened to your liking."
Frodo nodded gratefully before taking a small sip. He swallowed carefully before taking another. Bilbo was relieved to see the hobbit-child getting at least some liquid, though it was far from what he should have had, something was better than nothing, Bilbo decided.
By the time Frodo pushed the cup away, it was nearly half empty; and Bilbo didn't dare press him to take more than he would, for fear that he would lose what he had.
"That's a good lad, Frodo." He smiled, "just let me know when you're ready for more."
Frodo nodded weakly, "Thank you Bilbo," he whispered.
"Let us not postpone this any longer," said Dimhirion, "if we don't hasten to complete the surgery he may experience pain during the procedure."
"Yes, you are right," Bilbo admitted, stroking his lad's curls once more, "I'm ready."
With that, Dimhirion pushed the waiting knife carefully into Frodo's belly, just to the left of his right hipbone. If the lad survived, he would have two scars as a reminder of the illness.
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A/N: All right, that's 14. Chapter 15 will be uploaded when 16 is done. :) Let me know what you think!
Thank you all so much for the reviews! :) I'm so glad you're still enjoying this story.
Ancalime: Don't worry! :)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
Chapter 14:
Bilbo sat at Frodo's desk as Dimhirion and Fosco worked hastily to change the bed linens. In his grief-stricken state Bilbo realized that he couldn't be of any real help to the two healers, so he agreed to get out of their way. He found a quite spot to sit until they were ready for him to return.
Bilbo noticed that Frodo's desk was cluttered with papers, much like his own. He couldn't help but smile as he thought about how much the two of them had in common. Frodo really was like the son he never had, he certainly considered the lad more of a son than a cousin. Bilbo decided that even if this day was the last they would ever have together, he knew that every moment since Frodo's coming to stay at Bag End earlier that year had been wonderful for both of them; they'd taught each other so much in such a short span of time. Then Bilbo realized that that was why this ordeal was so painful for him: Frodo was everything to him and the though that he might lose his dear lad was unbearable. The child really was more precious to him than any treasure he could dream of. What really hurt Bilbo was knowing that Frodo didn't deserve this, the hobbit-lad had already been through so much in his young life with losing his parents, and then years of struggling, unsuccessfully, to find his niche at Brandy Hall. Why should the boy have had to survive so much, only to succumb to this illness? It just didn't seem fair to Bilbo.
The old hobbit began absentmindedly sifting through a stack of disorganized papers. He soon discovered that these were Frodo's notes for the birthday celebration that the two of them were to have in the coming weeks. Now, it looked as though a celebration would be terribly out of place, so soon after. . . But Bilbo left the thought unfinished.
He never was one to give up while there was still hope, but this ordeal was playing out differently than any other he had ever endured. The elderly bachelor realized then what it really meant to be a parent, to have a young life to look after, to watch grow and mature into the striking gentle- hobbit that little Frodo was surely posed to be. Yet the most tragic thing would be losing that young life, its fire extinguished prematurely by cruel fate.
Frodo's neat script, written in black ink, appeared to blur on the pages as tears seeped into Bilbo's eyes. The old hobbit blinked them back, thinking himself selfish for crying when it was Frodo who was in pain, and Frodo who could very likely lose his life.
As Bilbo continued to look through Frodo's notes he soon found a small sketch, a diagram of sorts. He picked up that particular piece of paper, unique in that it had many measurements written beside the sketches, and amendments to the text, and in some places it was clearly not Frodo's handwriting. Upon reading the print Bilbo determined that it was a diagram of a small footstool that Frodo was working on. He smiled to himself when he thought of his book-loving lad cutting wood and hammering nails, "How odd," thought Bilbo.
Frodo had never openly displayed an interest in woodworking. Bilbo hadn't known that the boy even possessed the knowledge needed to build things such as that.
Upon closer inspection he noticed that on the diagram, written in a flowing script on what was meant to be the seat of the footstool, was his own walking song that he had taught to Frodo earlier that summer, in Westron, yet the script itself was Elvish. "Oh!" Bilbo thought to himself, "How clever it is to inscribe a walking song upon a footstool." He chuckled quietly, it seemed as though his dear lad always found new ways to surprise him.
On the diagram, written where the bottom of the small stool was meant to be, he could see that Frodo had written his own name, and then Bilbo's name with the year beside it and that it was dated "September 22nd".
Then it all fell into place for Bilbo. Obviously the lad had been receiving outside help to build the small piece of furniture. Perhaps it was one of the Gamgee children that had been assisting him, he felt sure that they were learned in such crafts. Then tears came to Bilbo's eyes again, he had been giving Frodo some basic lessons in Elvish, but his skills weren't as advanced as this; at least, Bilbo hadn't thought so.
It was obvious that the lad had spent a great amount of time and care translating Bilbo's walking song from Westron, and then spent additional time learning the skill of carving the characters onto wood. It was clear that he had worked very hard on the project.
Bilbo found it curious that Frodo was planning to give him a birthday gift; it was not common practice for a hobbit to receive gifts on his own birthday. But of course, since Bilbo and Frodo shared the same birthday, the each wound up receiving a gift from the other.
Bilbo smiled through his tears. Frodo was such a bright lad, *his* bright lad.
"Master Baggins?" The old hobbit looked up to find Dimhirion standing over him, "We're going to need your help for a moment."
"Alright," Bilbo answered, rising from his seat at the desk.
He followed Dimhirion to Frodo's bedside, and watched apprehensively as the Elf lifted Frodo gently from the bed.
The hobbit-lad whined in protest, but was quieted by the Elf's soothing voice. Dimhirion laid Frodo down on the hearth where Fosco was waiting with the opium burner.
Bilbo was at Frodo's side in an instant, stroking back the dark locks and comforting his lad as best he could.
Frodo groaned and his breathing became labored as the pain, brought on by being moved, caught up with him, "Bilbo," he cried quietly.
"'Tis all right, Frodo-lad." Bilbo promised. The elderly hobbit noticed with concern that drops of dark-red blood were dripping slowly from the reed that protruded from the incision in Frodo's abdomen, staining the brick hearth a different shade of red.
Dimhirion seemed to notice Bilbo's concern, "I know, Bilbo." He assured the hobbit, "hopefully it will stop once he is still again. But I could not cut Frodo without first giving him something strong for the pain."
"I understand," Bilbo answered, "I would not have wanted you to."
Fosco poured a small amount of the dark liquid onto the heated tile, "Alright, hold him up," the healer announced.
Dimhirion shifted Frodo's body carefully toward the burning apparatus. "Breathe in, little one, deep breaths now." He instructed a barely conscious Frodo.
The hobbit-lad fretted, trying to pull away from the fumes, but Dimhirion held him steady.
Bilbo rubbed his small back gently, and whispered soothingly into the tween's ear, encouraging him to comply, "Please breath Frodo," he pleaded, "Just a little bit, and then you can go back to the bed."
Eventually Frodo began to inhale the vapors. When they believed he had inhaled enough of the fumes, Dimhirion lifted the limp body and carried it back to the bed. The Elf instructed Bilbo to climb back onto the bed and sit behind Frodo.
Dimhirion deposited Frodo's body onto the mattress so that he was lying flat, and hoped that it would help stop the bleeding. He noticed with great concern that Frodo's face had gone deathly pale, and his lips carried an almost bluish tint.
"Master Fields," Dimhirion began, "Please boil some water for tea-- dandelion tea, and add some honey so it won't taste so bitter." He continued, "we may lose Frodo if he doesn't take some liquids soon." Whether the lad could keep anything down or not was also a concern, but they had to at least try.
The hobbit-healer nodded, and left the room heading towards the kitchen.
While Fosco saw to preparing the tea, Dimhirion spoke with Bilbo, "Master Baggins," he started, "I won't begin without your consent, but before you agree there are some things you need to be aware of."
Bilbo paled slightly, but nodded for the Elf to proceed.
Dimhirion looked down at Frodo and then began speaking, "Regardless of whether I continue with this operation, it is still very likely-or rather, there is a considerable chance, that Frodo could die. What we have already done today is, no doubt, quite a shock to his body, especially since he is already so weak-notice the pallor of his skin, and the tint of his lips, I am afraid it doesn't bode well." Dimhirion frowned, "If conditions were favorable, I would allow him to rest for a day or more between surgeries, but unfortunately time is not something we can spare." He continued, meeting Bilbo's eyes, "There is also the chance that he could lose too much blood, or die from infection. He has already lost more than I would like to see, and the more difficult operation still looms ahead of us." Dimhirion paused, allowing time for the news to sink in, "Of these things you must be aware, before I begin." Dimhirion shifted his gaze back to Frodo, and began gently stroking the soft hair on top of the lad's feet, "There are no guarantees."
Bilbo nodded slowly, "I understand. At least, by doing this, we give him a chance." The old hobbit added, his eyes filling with tears once more. It was terrible to feel so helpless.
Dimhirion nodded in agreement, "Yes, otherwise all hope would be lost." The Elf sighed, "He should feel little pain, if any," Dimhirion added, changing the subject, "Though I must work quickly to ensure that he does not."
Bilbo turned Frodo's face to his, and watched helplessly as the lad's blue eyes struggled unsuccessfully to focus on him. Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but Bilbo stopped him, "No lad, don't try to speak," he bit his lip to keep from sobbing, "I'm here with you, it's going to be all right, dear Frodo-lad." Bilbo promised, "Don't be afraid," Bilbo continued, attempting to quell the child's fears with his voice.
Shortly after the conversation between Bilbo and Dimhirion, Fosco returned with the kettle of tea and a cup. "This is a bit hot, I'm afraid," Fosco admitted.
Bilbo quickly recognized the smell of dandelion tea and wrinkled his nose, "Why dandelions?" asked the hobbit.
Dimhirion smiled wryly at Bilbo and answered, "Dandelion is an herb used to purify-meaning, it will help to clean Frodo's body of the infection." He paused, "Oh, I know the taste is bitter, that is why I requested that Fosco bring honey."
"I see," Bilbo replied, amazed to discover that something as unpleasant as dandelion could possibly serve any useful purpose.
"Here," Dimhirion began to pour some of the bitter tea into a waiting cup. "I'll taste it," he blew on the steaming liquid, and put the cup to his lips. The two hobbits almost chuckled upon seeing Dimhirion grimace at the taste of the tea. "I think it needs a bit more honey. . ." he admitted.
Fosco nodded vigorously, and produced a small container of the sweet substance.
"I cannot make it too sweet though, I fear Frodo's stomach may not be able to handle such things right now. Yet he may not be able to keep it down in any case. . . we shall see."
When Dimhirion was finally satisfied with the taste of the tea, he motioned for Bilbo to raise Frodo's head slightly so that he might drink some.
"Come now, Frodo-lad," Bilbo whispered, "This will help make you feel well again."
Frodo whimpered when he felt Bilbo moving him, "I d. . .don't want any. . . any tea, uncle." He managed.
"Shh. . .now lad, this will help. I promise." Bilbo assured Frodo, as he helped the hobbit-lad to sit up.
Frodo's breaths came in ragged gasps, the effort of moving had almost proven too great for the sick tween and Bilbo had to support his head to keep it from drooping to the side.
Dimhirion gently pressed the cup to Frodo's lips, instructing the lad to drink as much as he could.
Frodo recognized the smell of the tea, and puckered his lips in anticipation of the bitter taste.
"Don't worry, little one," the Elf promised, "It has been sweetened to your liking."
Frodo nodded gratefully before taking a small sip. He swallowed carefully before taking another. Bilbo was relieved to see the hobbit-child getting at least some liquid, though it was far from what he should have had, something was better than nothing, Bilbo decided.
By the time Frodo pushed the cup away, it was nearly half empty; and Bilbo didn't dare press him to take more than he would, for fear that he would lose what he had.
"That's a good lad, Frodo." He smiled, "just let me know when you're ready for more."
Frodo nodded weakly, "Thank you Bilbo," he whispered.
"Let us not postpone this any longer," said Dimhirion, "if we don't hasten to complete the surgery he may experience pain during the procedure."
"Yes, you are right," Bilbo admitted, stroking his lad's curls once more, "I'm ready."
With that, Dimhirion pushed the waiting knife carefully into Frodo's belly, just to the left of his right hipbone. If the lad survived, he would have two scars as a reminder of the illness.
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A/N: All right, that's 14. Chapter 15 will be uploaded when 16 is done. :) Let me know what you think!