The door clicked softly shut as Clover left. Frodo was left to face
Bilbo's illness on his own. He didn't feel strong enough or mature enough
to be dealing with this, but he knew he had no choice. Clover was right,
Bilbo needed him to be strong. He'd found a sort of undiscovered strength
inside himself before, when his parents died, and in a few other times of
crisis. He just needed to figure out how to access that part of himself
now. Unfortunately, he hadn't the faintest clue how to do it.
Frodo was silent for a long time, watching Bilbo and trying to figure out how to be strong for him. He tried gently washing Bilbo's face with the cool scented cloth, as Clover instructed, but with every touch, his uncle winced as if in horribly agony. Frodo could not bear to inflict pain on his beloved Bilbo, so he stopped and merely watched him sleep. If sleep it could be called.
For this was no proper sleep, borne of no proper illness. Bilbo was restless, thrashing and muttering in his delirium. Every now and then, he would fling his arms about, as if warding off a blow, or dealing one. It seemed to Frodo that Bilbo was lost in a dark place, reliving his most horrible memories. He muttered about spiders, barrels, armies and Smaug. But most of all, he talked of Gollum, and his Precious. Though Clover did not understand the references, not having heard the story, Frodo did. He wondered why his uncle was fixated on that, out of all his adventures. It made no sense.
Another coughing fit shook Bilbo, startling Frodo out of his reverie. He waited anxiously for the fit to pass. When it did, the older hobbit's face was covered in blood and some sort of repulsive brown goo. Frodo grimaced as he wiped Bilbo's face clean with a cloth. For a wonder, he did not wince in pain, so Frodo took the chance of bathing his face with the herbal water. If Clover said it would help, Frodo was inclined to believe her. She may be an irritant, but she knew her herbs. She was apprenticed to her mother and took her learning seriously.
"Oh Bilbo," Frodo said as he wiped the older hobbit's face. "How can I help you? I don't know anything about healing or herbs. I don't know anything about illnesses or how to treat them. I don't know anything about anything!"
Bilbo shuddered. Frodo immediately removed his hand, just in time. Bilbo reared up in another convulsion. He thrashed and twitched on the bed, kicking and flailing his arms. Frodo, standing too close, took a knee to the jaw and went down, dazed. By the time he got back up, Bilbo was quiet again.
Frodo sat back on the edge of the bed, rubbing his jaw. He could already feel the bruise forming. He knew it wasn't really Bilbo's fault. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little resentful. As he watched Bilbo and reflected on his own inability to help, the resentment grew. His mind touched on what Clover had said just as he entered, about the Sackville- Bagginses being able to evict him if Bilbo died, and the resentment turned to anger. Something in Frodo snapped.
"How can you do this to me, Bilbo??" Frodo screamed. "How can you leave me alone again??? Isn't it enough that my parents died??? Isn't enough that I spent all those years overlooked and suffocating in Brandy Hall, before you finally got around to adopting me?? Isn't enough that most of the Shire considers me odd, just because I'm a Baggins and your heir?? All that isn't enough, now you have to go and get sick and leave me alone and homeless!! How can you do this to me????"
Frodo fell sobbing onto Bilbo's chest, his tears mingling with the sweat on Bilbo's nightshirt. The lad wept until he could weep no more, then lay exhausted on Bilbo's chest, listening to his uncle's heartbeat. It was fluttery and weak, not the steady thud-thud he was used to. Bilbo didn't even smell like Bilbo, but rather musty and foul, like some dark, dank cave. Frodo breathed and listened with his eyes closed, trying to find something of his dear uncle in this wrecked shell of a hobbit.
For a long time, he felt nothing. It seemed to him a shadow lay over his uncle, driving out all the goodness and wisdom that made him so beloved in the Shire, leaving behind only a shrunken thing that used to be Bilbo Baggins. The thought so depressed Frodo, he began to cry again, softly and without hope.
"Bilbo," he whispered. "If you die, I don't know what I'll do."
Frodo felt a gentle hand on his hair, weakly stroking it once before laying still. He heard a thready whisper, "….my dear boy….." that startled him out of his despair.
He sat up and looked at Bilbo. Bright eyes twinkled back at him. Bilbo smiled wanly at Frodo, just for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" Frodo screamed, falling on Bilbo again. He grabbed his uncle by the shoulders and shook him. "No!!! Bilbo!! Come back!!! Wake up!!! I know you can wake up!!!!"
Frodo was still screaming and shaking Bilbo when strong hands pulled him off. Clover and Aunt Citrine had heard the noise and came running. Citrine wasted no time in pulling the distraught Frodo off. She handed him over to Clover and checked on Bilbo. "Keep Frodo back," was all she said.
Clover had her hands full. Frodo struggled against her, straining to reach Bilbo. In the end, Clover was forced to wrestle her cousin to the floor and sit on him to keep him out of Mother's way. Frodo protested, but eventually realized he was not about to be let up, and settled down.
Once Aunt Citrine satisfied herself that her patient had taken no additional hurt, she turned her attention to Frodo. She glared at him, hands on her hips, for several seconds before instructing Clover to let him up.
Clover did as she was told without argument, for once. She knew better than to cross her mother when she used that tone of voice. The lass stood up, helped Frodo up, and then stepped back out of the path of Mother's wrath.
"What, exactly, was that all about, Frodo Baggins?" Citrine asked, her voice dangerously soft. Clover winced, knowing what was in store. Frodo normally would have done so too, having been on the receiving end of Aunt Citrine's anger often enough before to know the warning signs. Right now, however, he was so tormented by Bilbo's illness, his own fear and those few seconds of clarity from his uncle, he disregarded his better judgment entirely.
"Bilbo woke up!!!" he cried, matching anger for anger.
That threw cold water on whatever dressing-down Citrine was about to give Frodo. "He did? When? For how long? What happened?" she wanted to know.
"Just now, for a second. He stroked my hair, spoke to me just for an instant, then fell back into….this…" Frodo said hurriedly, gesturing toward the bed.
Citrine arched her eyebrow at him. "And for this, you attacked him?"
Frodo looked down at his toes, suddenly ashamed. "I was trying to wake him again," he mumbled.
"I see," was all Citrine had to say on the matter.
Frodo looked up at his angry aunt. "I just….I got so scared……I can't lose him, Aunt, I just can't! I'll be kicked out of Bag End! And Bilbo….he's….." Frodo trailed off miserably.
"Where on earth did you get the idea you'll be kicked out of Bag End? For one thing, Bilbo's not dead yet, and if I have my way, he won't be for a long time. For another, he names a guardian for you in his will. Did you honestly think he wouldn't provide for you? After all, he IS over 100, that's a very advanced age for a hobbit, even one so well-preserved as Bilbo. At that age, hobbits plan for this sort of thing," Aunt Citrine replied, wiping her hands on her apron. She tried to keep the scorn in her voice to a minimum, with mixed results.
"It's just something I heard," Frodo muttered, strangely reluctant to get Clover in trouble. It was a vain attempt.
"He got it from me, Mother," Clover spoke up at last. "It's something I said to Bilbo, while you were talking to Frodo. I didn't hear him come in, and he must have overheard me. I'm sorry."
Citrine glared at her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to speculate about what you don't fully understand, child?" she asked in pure exasperation.
"I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't know about the will. I'm sorry," Clover said.
Citrine looked at the two tweenagers, both so forlorn, and sighed. "Well, enough of this. Both of you go now. I need to see to my patient. It's time for another dose."
On that note, Bilbo began to cough again. Citrine turned her full attention to Bilbo, trusting the youngsters to follow her instructions. When Frodo made no move to leave, Clover tugged at his shirtsleeve. He glanced at her. She gestured with her head to the door. "We should go, get out of Mother's way," she whispered.
Frodo glanced back at Bilbo, clearly unwilling to go. "Come on," Clover whispered again. "We'll just be in the other room. Come on," she repeated, dragging Frodo toward the door. He went with very little grace, glancing back at Bilbo until he was out of the room. Clover shut the door, obscuring his view.
Frodo was silent for a long time, watching Bilbo and trying to figure out how to be strong for him. He tried gently washing Bilbo's face with the cool scented cloth, as Clover instructed, but with every touch, his uncle winced as if in horribly agony. Frodo could not bear to inflict pain on his beloved Bilbo, so he stopped and merely watched him sleep. If sleep it could be called.
For this was no proper sleep, borne of no proper illness. Bilbo was restless, thrashing and muttering in his delirium. Every now and then, he would fling his arms about, as if warding off a blow, or dealing one. It seemed to Frodo that Bilbo was lost in a dark place, reliving his most horrible memories. He muttered about spiders, barrels, armies and Smaug. But most of all, he talked of Gollum, and his Precious. Though Clover did not understand the references, not having heard the story, Frodo did. He wondered why his uncle was fixated on that, out of all his adventures. It made no sense.
Another coughing fit shook Bilbo, startling Frodo out of his reverie. He waited anxiously for the fit to pass. When it did, the older hobbit's face was covered in blood and some sort of repulsive brown goo. Frodo grimaced as he wiped Bilbo's face clean with a cloth. For a wonder, he did not wince in pain, so Frodo took the chance of bathing his face with the herbal water. If Clover said it would help, Frodo was inclined to believe her. She may be an irritant, but she knew her herbs. She was apprenticed to her mother and took her learning seriously.
"Oh Bilbo," Frodo said as he wiped the older hobbit's face. "How can I help you? I don't know anything about healing or herbs. I don't know anything about illnesses or how to treat them. I don't know anything about anything!"
Bilbo shuddered. Frodo immediately removed his hand, just in time. Bilbo reared up in another convulsion. He thrashed and twitched on the bed, kicking and flailing his arms. Frodo, standing too close, took a knee to the jaw and went down, dazed. By the time he got back up, Bilbo was quiet again.
Frodo sat back on the edge of the bed, rubbing his jaw. He could already feel the bruise forming. He knew it wasn't really Bilbo's fault. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little resentful. As he watched Bilbo and reflected on his own inability to help, the resentment grew. His mind touched on what Clover had said just as he entered, about the Sackville- Bagginses being able to evict him if Bilbo died, and the resentment turned to anger. Something in Frodo snapped.
"How can you do this to me, Bilbo??" Frodo screamed. "How can you leave me alone again??? Isn't it enough that my parents died??? Isn't enough that I spent all those years overlooked and suffocating in Brandy Hall, before you finally got around to adopting me?? Isn't enough that most of the Shire considers me odd, just because I'm a Baggins and your heir?? All that isn't enough, now you have to go and get sick and leave me alone and homeless!! How can you do this to me????"
Frodo fell sobbing onto Bilbo's chest, his tears mingling with the sweat on Bilbo's nightshirt. The lad wept until he could weep no more, then lay exhausted on Bilbo's chest, listening to his uncle's heartbeat. It was fluttery and weak, not the steady thud-thud he was used to. Bilbo didn't even smell like Bilbo, but rather musty and foul, like some dark, dank cave. Frodo breathed and listened with his eyes closed, trying to find something of his dear uncle in this wrecked shell of a hobbit.
For a long time, he felt nothing. It seemed to him a shadow lay over his uncle, driving out all the goodness and wisdom that made him so beloved in the Shire, leaving behind only a shrunken thing that used to be Bilbo Baggins. The thought so depressed Frodo, he began to cry again, softly and without hope.
"Bilbo," he whispered. "If you die, I don't know what I'll do."
Frodo felt a gentle hand on his hair, weakly stroking it once before laying still. He heard a thready whisper, "….my dear boy….." that startled him out of his despair.
He sat up and looked at Bilbo. Bright eyes twinkled back at him. Bilbo smiled wanly at Frodo, just for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" Frodo screamed, falling on Bilbo again. He grabbed his uncle by the shoulders and shook him. "No!!! Bilbo!! Come back!!! Wake up!!! I know you can wake up!!!!"
Frodo was still screaming and shaking Bilbo when strong hands pulled him off. Clover and Aunt Citrine had heard the noise and came running. Citrine wasted no time in pulling the distraught Frodo off. She handed him over to Clover and checked on Bilbo. "Keep Frodo back," was all she said.
Clover had her hands full. Frodo struggled against her, straining to reach Bilbo. In the end, Clover was forced to wrestle her cousin to the floor and sit on him to keep him out of Mother's way. Frodo protested, but eventually realized he was not about to be let up, and settled down.
Once Aunt Citrine satisfied herself that her patient had taken no additional hurt, she turned her attention to Frodo. She glared at him, hands on her hips, for several seconds before instructing Clover to let him up.
Clover did as she was told without argument, for once. She knew better than to cross her mother when she used that tone of voice. The lass stood up, helped Frodo up, and then stepped back out of the path of Mother's wrath.
"What, exactly, was that all about, Frodo Baggins?" Citrine asked, her voice dangerously soft. Clover winced, knowing what was in store. Frodo normally would have done so too, having been on the receiving end of Aunt Citrine's anger often enough before to know the warning signs. Right now, however, he was so tormented by Bilbo's illness, his own fear and those few seconds of clarity from his uncle, he disregarded his better judgment entirely.
"Bilbo woke up!!!" he cried, matching anger for anger.
That threw cold water on whatever dressing-down Citrine was about to give Frodo. "He did? When? For how long? What happened?" she wanted to know.
"Just now, for a second. He stroked my hair, spoke to me just for an instant, then fell back into….this…" Frodo said hurriedly, gesturing toward the bed.
Citrine arched her eyebrow at him. "And for this, you attacked him?"
Frodo looked down at his toes, suddenly ashamed. "I was trying to wake him again," he mumbled.
"I see," was all Citrine had to say on the matter.
Frodo looked up at his angry aunt. "I just….I got so scared……I can't lose him, Aunt, I just can't! I'll be kicked out of Bag End! And Bilbo….he's….." Frodo trailed off miserably.
"Where on earth did you get the idea you'll be kicked out of Bag End? For one thing, Bilbo's not dead yet, and if I have my way, he won't be for a long time. For another, he names a guardian for you in his will. Did you honestly think he wouldn't provide for you? After all, he IS over 100, that's a very advanced age for a hobbit, even one so well-preserved as Bilbo. At that age, hobbits plan for this sort of thing," Aunt Citrine replied, wiping her hands on her apron. She tried to keep the scorn in her voice to a minimum, with mixed results.
"It's just something I heard," Frodo muttered, strangely reluctant to get Clover in trouble. It was a vain attempt.
"He got it from me, Mother," Clover spoke up at last. "It's something I said to Bilbo, while you were talking to Frodo. I didn't hear him come in, and he must have overheard me. I'm sorry."
Citrine glared at her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to speculate about what you don't fully understand, child?" she asked in pure exasperation.
"I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't know about the will. I'm sorry," Clover said.
Citrine looked at the two tweenagers, both so forlorn, and sighed. "Well, enough of this. Both of you go now. I need to see to my patient. It's time for another dose."
On that note, Bilbo began to cough again. Citrine turned her full attention to Bilbo, trusting the youngsters to follow her instructions. When Frodo made no move to leave, Clover tugged at his shirtsleeve. He glanced at her. She gestured with her head to the door. "We should go, get out of Mother's way," she whispered.
Frodo glanced back at Bilbo, clearly unwilling to go. "Come on," Clover whispered again. "We'll just be in the other room. Come on," she repeated, dragging Frodo toward the door. He went with very little grace, glancing back at Bilbo until he was out of the room. Clover shut the door, obscuring his view.