While her mother sat Frodo down to explain things, Clover slowly pushed
open the door to Bilbo's sickroom. As she entered the darkened room, she
could smell the sweetly pungent aroma of lavender and kingsfoil. Sure
enough, when she approached the bed, on the side table was a bowl of cool
water, with a small sachet in it. In the bowl was a soft cloth. Obviously
Mother had been laving Bilbo's face with it. Clover thought that an
excellent idea, so she settled down on the side of the bed to do the same.
She was shocked by the change in Bilbo's appearance. He had deteriorated visibly in the few short hours she had been searching for Frodo. His skin was waxen and white. His eyes had sunk into his head, and there were huge, bruise-like smudges under them. Beads of sweat shone on his face, which was screwed up in pain. He seemed……shrunken……somehow, as if his spirit was no longer big enough for his small body. He tossed restlessly in the bed, muttering incoherently. When Clover touched the fragrant damp cloth to his forehead, Bilbo arched up in a seizure. He quivered for several minutes, making no sound, before collapsing back onto the bed, panting.
Clover waited for the convulsion to pass before trying again. This time, when she touched the cloth to his face, Bilbo groaned in pain, but did not seize up. Clover counted that a vast improvement, so she continued her ministrations. As she did, she began to chatter.
"Oh, Bilbo," she said, at first lost for words. She wanted to talk, because that was her way of dealing with things, and because she knew patients in this condition often could hear, and find hope and strength in what they heard, but she did not know what to say. Too many thoughts were rushing willy-nilly through her brain, chasing each other round and round like a group of hobbit children at play. But there was nothing playful about this situation, or her thoughts. She wanted so badly to be away, perhaps by a nice little stream with a pipe, or even at home in the room she shared with her little sister, Thistle. She wanted to be anywhere that was not here, watching her favorite uncle suffer while she could do nothing for him. But here her duty lay, and here she would remain, at least until Mother was done with Frodo and he could take over this horrid vigil.
The image of Frodo as he looked just before they reached Bag End sprang unbidden into Clover's mind. She did not want to dwell on Frodo Baggins just then, so she pushed the image aside. She focused instead on Bilbo, on cleaning his sweat-stained face with the soft scented cloth.
"Poor Bilbo," she said as she worked. "What could possibly have brought you to this, so quickly? You're one of the healthiest hobbits I know! You're never sick, never have been in all the time I've known you! Mother always said that if all hobbits took care of themselves the way you do, we'd be out of business. It hurts my heart to see you like this. I do wish you'd hurry up and get better."
Bilbo began to cough, a painful hacking that came from deep inside. He spit up blood, mixed with some sort of foul brown goo. Clover did not want to ruin the lavender-kingsfoil cloth, so she got another one from the pile on the bedside table, and wiped the ick off Bilbo's face. He groaned with pain between the coughs.
Clover folded the goo-covered cloth up and put it aside. She didn't want to keep it, as the smell was truly vile, but she knew her mother would want to study it. If they were to cure whatever ailed Bilbo, every clue would be needed.
Eventually, the coughing fit subsided. Bilbo lay exhausted in the bed, moaning and gasping for breath. Clover wanted badly to do something for him. She had noticed a bottle of Mother's favorite cough medicine on the bedside table. She was tempted to give him a dose, but since she did not know when the last dose had been given, she refrained. The medicine was powerful stuff, an overdose could kill a weakened patient. Bilbo most certainly fit that category. So, no medicine.
She could, and did, give Bilbo some water. She had to tip his head back and pour it down his throat, as he was in no condition to sip on his own. Clover doubted he was even aware of what she did. He did wince in pain when she touched him, but there was no helping that.
"Bilbo, you simply MUST get better!" Clover said as she put the water glass back on the bedside table. "You are NOT allowed to die just yet. I know that you are old, but you are hale and hearty, you can beat this thing. Frodo needs you to beat it, and so do I. Who will tell me stories of the Elves, if you go? Who will understand when I talk about wanting to go on adventures? You're the only one who doesn't treat me like a lunatic for wanting to see some of the world before settling down. Even Mother, who had her adventures, acts like it's a horrid thing for me to want to go exploring. You're the only one who cares, the only one who listens without judging. I need you, Bilbo. You can't leave me alone!"
Bilbo sighed. His restless tossing settled down somewhat. Clover thought he might actually be listening to her. He was one of the only people in the Shire who did not seem to mind her incessant chattering about every little thing. In fact, he had always encouraged it, saying "If that's how you are, Clover, my lass, then that's how you must be. Don't let the narrow-mindedness of others dictate your way of living. Be yourself, and let everyone else learn to deal with you as you choose to be." Wise words from a wise hobbit.
"Bilbo, dear, please wake up," Clover murmured as she once again bathed his forehead with cool water. His fever was high, and nothing seemed to bring it down. Clover was worried, but she could do nothing except talk to Bilbo. So, talk she did.
"I need to talk to you, dear Bilbo, about Frodo. There's no one else I can discuss this with. It's so confusing! He's….well…..he's still annoying, but not in the way I'm used to him being annoying! I don't understand it. I just know I need to talk to you. I need you, Bilbo, now more than ever. And so does Frodo. You should have seen him, when I told him about what happened. I thought my heart would break, he looked so lost and helpless. He's afraid for you, Bilbo. We all are. So, please, come back to us! Please…"
Bilbo startled her out of her ramblings with another seizure. This one was much more violent than previously. Clover seriously worried that he would do himself an injury as he thrashed about on the bed. Everything breakable had already been removed from his reach, but still……
The lass fretted until the fit passed. It seemed to take forever, though in reality it only lasted a few minutes. She glanced at the door, wondering what in the Shire could be taking Mother and Frodo so long. She needed to get out of this sickroom, get by herself soon. Clover understood Frodo's need for privacy and quiet because she herself shared it. If she didn't get some time alone soon, she felt she would pop. The stress of sitting vigil with Bilbo was not helping her state of mind at all. Where on Middle Earth was Frodo?
Clover busied herself with rearranging Bilbo's covers, now that he had settled down. She tucked him in comfortably, then gave him more water. He moaned and began to babble. Clover could not make out many of the words. What she could sounded like "Gollum" and "Precious" and other nonsense. The only thing she clearly understood was when Bilbo moaned Frodo's name. The lass seized on that as something to talk about, since Bilbo was focused on it.
"Bilbo, you know Frodo needs you still. He's so young," Clover conveniently ignored the fact that she was a bare two months older than Frodo. She'd always felt so much more mature than her flighty cousin, the closeness of their ages made no impression on her. "If you die now, what will become of him? He can't inherit Bag End, he's not of age yet. Those horrible Sackville-Bagginses could try to have him ousted from here! Then where will he go? Back to Brandy Hall? That can't work. I remember how relieved he was to be away from there when you adopted him. Brandy Hall is too large, too overpopulated for a sensitive soul like Frodo. He needs space, peace and quiet to think in, and he can't get it there, that's certain. Mother might want to take him in but…" Clover paused. The thought of Frodo Baggins actually LIVING in her house was too much to be contemplated. Especially coming so close on the heels of her earlier confusion about that cousin. Clover shied away from that line of thought.
"Bilbo, what am I going to do? You have to get better! You have to wake up. You're needed by so many hobbits. Not just me or Frodo, but by many. What about the Gamgees? What about Mother? I know you're the only person she ever feels comfortable talking about her adventures to. You have to wake up, Bilbo! You can't die. You must come back to us," the hobbit lass moaned. She was so wrapped up in her worry over Bilbo, she did not hear the door open. She did not notice Frodo enter, and pause by the doorframe. Clover was not aware that he'd been standing there, working up his courage to enter, and had heard his cousin talking about him to Bilbo. She only noticed him when he softly called her name. For the second time today, Frodo managed to startle Clover out of her wits.
"Frodo!" she exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," Frodo replied wryly. He did not move from the doorway.
Clover blushed right down to her furry toes. She began to speak, "Frodo, I…" Then she changed her mind. "Come here. Bilbo needs to know you're with him. Talk to him. I think he can hear us," she said instead.
Frodo walked slowly over to the bed. He gasped when he saw Bilbo. This was worse than he imagined, and his imaginings were bad enough. Bilbo looked dead. If he hadn't begun to cough just then, Frodo might have truly believed he was dead.
The cough startled Frodo, and he began to back away. Clover caught his arm. "Stay, Frodo. I know this is hard for you, but Bilbo needs you here. You must be strong," she said.
Frodo gulped, and nodded. When the coughing subsided, he sat down on the edge of Bilbo's bed. He folded his lips in an obvious attempt to keep back a sob. Tears shone in his eyes.
"Would you like me to leave you alone with him?" Clover asked.
Frodo glanced up. He had quite forgotten she was there. He nodded, "Yes. Please."
"Very well," Clover replied. She handed him the lavender-and- kingsfoil scented cloth. "Dip this in that basin and bathe his forehead. It seems to soothe him, but be gentle. Touch causes him pain, I think," she instructed before taking her leave. Frodo was left alone with his unconscious uncle.
She was shocked by the change in Bilbo's appearance. He had deteriorated visibly in the few short hours she had been searching for Frodo. His skin was waxen and white. His eyes had sunk into his head, and there were huge, bruise-like smudges under them. Beads of sweat shone on his face, which was screwed up in pain. He seemed……shrunken……somehow, as if his spirit was no longer big enough for his small body. He tossed restlessly in the bed, muttering incoherently. When Clover touched the fragrant damp cloth to his forehead, Bilbo arched up in a seizure. He quivered for several minutes, making no sound, before collapsing back onto the bed, panting.
Clover waited for the convulsion to pass before trying again. This time, when she touched the cloth to his face, Bilbo groaned in pain, but did not seize up. Clover counted that a vast improvement, so she continued her ministrations. As she did, she began to chatter.
"Oh, Bilbo," she said, at first lost for words. She wanted to talk, because that was her way of dealing with things, and because she knew patients in this condition often could hear, and find hope and strength in what they heard, but she did not know what to say. Too many thoughts were rushing willy-nilly through her brain, chasing each other round and round like a group of hobbit children at play. But there was nothing playful about this situation, or her thoughts. She wanted so badly to be away, perhaps by a nice little stream with a pipe, or even at home in the room she shared with her little sister, Thistle. She wanted to be anywhere that was not here, watching her favorite uncle suffer while she could do nothing for him. But here her duty lay, and here she would remain, at least until Mother was done with Frodo and he could take over this horrid vigil.
The image of Frodo as he looked just before they reached Bag End sprang unbidden into Clover's mind. She did not want to dwell on Frodo Baggins just then, so she pushed the image aside. She focused instead on Bilbo, on cleaning his sweat-stained face with the soft scented cloth.
"Poor Bilbo," she said as she worked. "What could possibly have brought you to this, so quickly? You're one of the healthiest hobbits I know! You're never sick, never have been in all the time I've known you! Mother always said that if all hobbits took care of themselves the way you do, we'd be out of business. It hurts my heart to see you like this. I do wish you'd hurry up and get better."
Bilbo began to cough, a painful hacking that came from deep inside. He spit up blood, mixed with some sort of foul brown goo. Clover did not want to ruin the lavender-kingsfoil cloth, so she got another one from the pile on the bedside table, and wiped the ick off Bilbo's face. He groaned with pain between the coughs.
Clover folded the goo-covered cloth up and put it aside. She didn't want to keep it, as the smell was truly vile, but she knew her mother would want to study it. If they were to cure whatever ailed Bilbo, every clue would be needed.
Eventually, the coughing fit subsided. Bilbo lay exhausted in the bed, moaning and gasping for breath. Clover wanted badly to do something for him. She had noticed a bottle of Mother's favorite cough medicine on the bedside table. She was tempted to give him a dose, but since she did not know when the last dose had been given, she refrained. The medicine was powerful stuff, an overdose could kill a weakened patient. Bilbo most certainly fit that category. So, no medicine.
She could, and did, give Bilbo some water. She had to tip his head back and pour it down his throat, as he was in no condition to sip on his own. Clover doubted he was even aware of what she did. He did wince in pain when she touched him, but there was no helping that.
"Bilbo, you simply MUST get better!" Clover said as she put the water glass back on the bedside table. "You are NOT allowed to die just yet. I know that you are old, but you are hale and hearty, you can beat this thing. Frodo needs you to beat it, and so do I. Who will tell me stories of the Elves, if you go? Who will understand when I talk about wanting to go on adventures? You're the only one who doesn't treat me like a lunatic for wanting to see some of the world before settling down. Even Mother, who had her adventures, acts like it's a horrid thing for me to want to go exploring. You're the only one who cares, the only one who listens without judging. I need you, Bilbo. You can't leave me alone!"
Bilbo sighed. His restless tossing settled down somewhat. Clover thought he might actually be listening to her. He was one of the only people in the Shire who did not seem to mind her incessant chattering about every little thing. In fact, he had always encouraged it, saying "If that's how you are, Clover, my lass, then that's how you must be. Don't let the narrow-mindedness of others dictate your way of living. Be yourself, and let everyone else learn to deal with you as you choose to be." Wise words from a wise hobbit.
"Bilbo, dear, please wake up," Clover murmured as she once again bathed his forehead with cool water. His fever was high, and nothing seemed to bring it down. Clover was worried, but she could do nothing except talk to Bilbo. So, talk she did.
"I need to talk to you, dear Bilbo, about Frodo. There's no one else I can discuss this with. It's so confusing! He's….well…..he's still annoying, but not in the way I'm used to him being annoying! I don't understand it. I just know I need to talk to you. I need you, Bilbo, now more than ever. And so does Frodo. You should have seen him, when I told him about what happened. I thought my heart would break, he looked so lost and helpless. He's afraid for you, Bilbo. We all are. So, please, come back to us! Please…"
Bilbo startled her out of her ramblings with another seizure. This one was much more violent than previously. Clover seriously worried that he would do himself an injury as he thrashed about on the bed. Everything breakable had already been removed from his reach, but still……
The lass fretted until the fit passed. It seemed to take forever, though in reality it only lasted a few minutes. She glanced at the door, wondering what in the Shire could be taking Mother and Frodo so long. She needed to get out of this sickroom, get by herself soon. Clover understood Frodo's need for privacy and quiet because she herself shared it. If she didn't get some time alone soon, she felt she would pop. The stress of sitting vigil with Bilbo was not helping her state of mind at all. Where on Middle Earth was Frodo?
Clover busied herself with rearranging Bilbo's covers, now that he had settled down. She tucked him in comfortably, then gave him more water. He moaned and began to babble. Clover could not make out many of the words. What she could sounded like "Gollum" and "Precious" and other nonsense. The only thing she clearly understood was when Bilbo moaned Frodo's name. The lass seized on that as something to talk about, since Bilbo was focused on it.
"Bilbo, you know Frodo needs you still. He's so young," Clover conveniently ignored the fact that she was a bare two months older than Frodo. She'd always felt so much more mature than her flighty cousin, the closeness of their ages made no impression on her. "If you die now, what will become of him? He can't inherit Bag End, he's not of age yet. Those horrible Sackville-Bagginses could try to have him ousted from here! Then where will he go? Back to Brandy Hall? That can't work. I remember how relieved he was to be away from there when you adopted him. Brandy Hall is too large, too overpopulated for a sensitive soul like Frodo. He needs space, peace and quiet to think in, and he can't get it there, that's certain. Mother might want to take him in but…" Clover paused. The thought of Frodo Baggins actually LIVING in her house was too much to be contemplated. Especially coming so close on the heels of her earlier confusion about that cousin. Clover shied away from that line of thought.
"Bilbo, what am I going to do? You have to get better! You have to wake up. You're needed by so many hobbits. Not just me or Frodo, but by many. What about the Gamgees? What about Mother? I know you're the only person she ever feels comfortable talking about her adventures to. You have to wake up, Bilbo! You can't die. You must come back to us," the hobbit lass moaned. She was so wrapped up in her worry over Bilbo, she did not hear the door open. She did not notice Frodo enter, and pause by the doorframe. Clover was not aware that he'd been standing there, working up his courage to enter, and had heard his cousin talking about him to Bilbo. She only noticed him when he softly called her name. For the second time today, Frodo managed to startle Clover out of her wits.
"Frodo!" she exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," Frodo replied wryly. He did not move from the doorway.
Clover blushed right down to her furry toes. She began to speak, "Frodo, I…" Then she changed her mind. "Come here. Bilbo needs to know you're with him. Talk to him. I think he can hear us," she said instead.
Frodo walked slowly over to the bed. He gasped when he saw Bilbo. This was worse than he imagined, and his imaginings were bad enough. Bilbo looked dead. If he hadn't begun to cough just then, Frodo might have truly believed he was dead.
The cough startled Frodo, and he began to back away. Clover caught his arm. "Stay, Frodo. I know this is hard for you, but Bilbo needs you here. You must be strong," she said.
Frodo gulped, and nodded. When the coughing subsided, he sat down on the edge of Bilbo's bed. He folded his lips in an obvious attempt to keep back a sob. Tears shone in his eyes.
"Would you like me to leave you alone with him?" Clover asked.
Frodo glanced up. He had quite forgotten she was there. He nodded, "Yes. Please."
"Very well," Clover replied. She handed him the lavender-and- kingsfoil scented cloth. "Dip this in that basin and bathe his forehead. It seems to soothe him, but be gentle. Touch causes him pain, I think," she instructed before taking her leave. Frodo was left alone with his unconscious uncle.