Frodo stared at the bedroom door, clenching his fists and trembling.
He looked to his cousin like he was debating the wisdom of simply pounding
the door down. Before he could do something rash, she put her arm around
his shoulders and dragged him to the couch. She sat him down. "You stay
put. I'll make us some tea," she ordered.
"I don't want any tea," Frodo replied sullenly.
"Of course you don't. But you'll drink it anyway, if I make it. You'll eat something, too," Clover retorted, her bossy streak showing itself.
"I'm not hungry," Frodo sulked.
"Not hungry? Nonsense! Since when is a hobbit lad not hungry?" Clover scorned.
"Since now," Frodo replied. Clover favored him with A Look, one she'd copied from her mother. Then she flounced off into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Frodo followed. He was unwilling to be alone. Clover's company was better than none.
His cousin kept up her usual nonstop stream of prattle as she puttered around the kitchen. She discussed the weather, this year's crops, Sam Gamgee's obvious yet unspoken crush on her friend Rose Cotton, the latest examples of snobbery from the Sackville-Bagginses, her little sister's new dress, her older brother's latest scheme for getting rich quick, the letter she received from Aunt Esmeralda, describing Merry and Pippin's latest transgressions, and anything else that came to mind. As she talked she rattled around the kitchen, preparing tea and setting out a hearty snack. She found some cake, a few apples, a nice cheese and some crackers to go with it, cold ham, a loaf of nutbread with fresh butter, half a berry pie, a jug of thick sweet cream, and several ginger cookies. Clover set everything out on the table in front of Frodo, then sat herself across from him. She poured him some tea, but let him do his own blasted cream and sugar. Then she pointed to the ginger cookies, which she knew were a favorite of his. "Eat," she instructed in no uncertain terms.
"I'm not hungry," Frodo murmured, his eyes straying toward the bedroom. He couldn't see the door from here, but that didn't stop him from staring.
"Don't hand me that nonsense, Frodo Baggins. You'll not do Bilbo any good whatsoever by starving yourself. You need to stay strong for him, and for that you need nourishment. So eat," Clover said.
Frodo looked askance at his cousin. Right now he needed someone soothing, someone supportive that he could lean on. He needed Sam, or Merry, or Pippin. Instead, he got Clover, ordering him about and insisting he be strong. Well, he wasn't strong. He couldn't be strong without Bilbo. His uncle WAS his strength, the anchor he clung to when life got stormy. Without him, Frodo felt he would simply crumble into a million pieces, never to be whole again. He didn't have the will to be strong, no matter what Clover Proudfoot so arrogantly ordered. And he did not want to eat.
Clover knew nothing of these thoughts. She could tell by Frodo's expression that he was brooding, but it did not occur to her that her attempts to help were the cause. She was under the impression Frodo simply worried about Bilbo, as she did. Sometimes, Clover understood her cousin completely, and sometimes, not at all. Unfortunately for them both, this was one of the latter.
"Frodo, you have to eat something," she began.
Frodo suddenly stood up, knocking over the bench. He pounded his fist on the table and upset the cream jug. "I HAVE TO DO NOTHING!!!" he bellowed, frightening his cousin. "Do you hear me??? NOTHING!! I don't have to be strong, I don't have to eat, and I DON'T have to sit here and listen to YOU order me around like a child!!!"
For a moment, Clover simply stared openmouthed at Frodo. He seldom showed his anger, and when he did it was primarily with a sort of cold, deadly quiet. Frodo never shouted in anger, never, and it surprised Clover into speechlessness for several seconds. Then her own volatile temper rose to match his, and she in turn stood angrily up. She put her hands on the table and leaned in toward her cousin, right up in his face, eyes flashing.
"Fine!" she hissed. "Be that way! Waste away to a shadow for all I care! Go ahead and let Bilbo down because YOU'RE too cowardly and childish to be there when he needs you!! Rot in your misery and give him nothing to hold onto, until he DOES die and you ARE left alone! See what I care!!"
With those harsh words, Clover turned on her heel and stalked out of Bag End. Frodo remained where he was, shaking with emotion, until he heard the door slam. Then he sank slowly to the floor as his legs gave out on him. He hid his face in his hands and wept.
A short time later, Citrine emerged from the sickroom. Seeing no one in the living room, she called out. "Frodo? Clover?"
"I'm in here, Aunt," came a weak reply.
Citrine followed the voice into the kitchen. She saw Frodo on the floor, still shaking with his face hidden in his hands. She saw the knocked-over bench, the upset cream jug, and noticed the absence of her daughter. "Where is Clover?" she asked.
"She left," Frodo replied simply from behind his hands.
"She left?" Citrine repeated. Clover may have her flaws, as all hobbits did, but she was not one to leave her duties. Citrine was confused and disappointed. Frodo's demeanor also alarmed her, for she was unaccustomed to talking to someone who would not look at her.
Frodo nodded without looking up. Citrine walked over to him, squatted down and gently pried his hands away from his face. She noted the fresh tear marks on his cheeks, the hollowness of them and the way Frodo avoided her eyes. She folded her lips to mask her irritation at her daughter's irresponsibility, and took a deep breath before speaking. "What happened?" she finally asked.
Frodo turned his face away in shame, and said nothing. Aunt Citrine was having none of that. She took Frodo's face in her hands and made him look at her. "I asked you a question, young Frodo," she said.
Frodo saw the determination in his aunt's expression, and knew he could not prevaricate. "We quarreled, and she left. It's my fault, Aunt. She was only trying to help, make me some tea and something to eat, and I yelled at her. I'm sorry," he confessed at last.
Aunt Citrine sighed. She knew full well how often her daughter clashed with her nephew. However, she had thought she'd seen a change in their interactions this day, a change for the better. She'd even begun to speculate on a budding romance, but apparently she was wrong.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, young Frodo. You have had a terrible ordeal today, and it is likely only to get worse. Clover should have shown more patience with you," Citrine said.
"Aunt, she was patient with me. More patient than she usually is. But I yelled at her, and she got mad. She said….." Frodo stopped. He did not want to tattle Clover's hurtful words to her mother. Especially as he had begun to think perhaps she had a point.
"She said what?" Citrine demanded.
Frodo shook his head. He finally found that core of strength he was searching for. He stood up proudly before his aunt and said "What was said was between me and Clover, and I will make it right with her as soon as I am able. You need not concern yourself with it. Just look after Bilbo, make him better. Please?"
Citrine stared long and hard at her nephew. He'd grown in the last few minutes, matured in some subtle way she couldn't put her finger on. Whatever Clover said, it must have been quite something. Still, if Frodo felt he would deal with it on his own, then she would do him the courtesy of respecting that. It wouldn't do to hurt the boy any more than she already had to. She nodded. "Very well, if that's what you wish."
"Yes, that's what I wish," he replied. Then he changed the subject. "How is Bilbo?" he asked, his concern not forgotten during the scene with Clover.
"He is sleeping now, or unconscious. I am not certain which. Still, he has not had a seizure since I went in, which is an improvement. You may go sit with him, if you like," she replied.
Frodo nodded. "Yes, I think I should. He needs me to be there for him. He needs me to be strong."
"I don't want any tea," Frodo replied sullenly.
"Of course you don't. But you'll drink it anyway, if I make it. You'll eat something, too," Clover retorted, her bossy streak showing itself.
"I'm not hungry," Frodo sulked.
"Not hungry? Nonsense! Since when is a hobbit lad not hungry?" Clover scorned.
"Since now," Frodo replied. Clover favored him with A Look, one she'd copied from her mother. Then she flounced off into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Frodo followed. He was unwilling to be alone. Clover's company was better than none.
His cousin kept up her usual nonstop stream of prattle as she puttered around the kitchen. She discussed the weather, this year's crops, Sam Gamgee's obvious yet unspoken crush on her friend Rose Cotton, the latest examples of snobbery from the Sackville-Bagginses, her little sister's new dress, her older brother's latest scheme for getting rich quick, the letter she received from Aunt Esmeralda, describing Merry and Pippin's latest transgressions, and anything else that came to mind. As she talked she rattled around the kitchen, preparing tea and setting out a hearty snack. She found some cake, a few apples, a nice cheese and some crackers to go with it, cold ham, a loaf of nutbread with fresh butter, half a berry pie, a jug of thick sweet cream, and several ginger cookies. Clover set everything out on the table in front of Frodo, then sat herself across from him. She poured him some tea, but let him do his own blasted cream and sugar. Then she pointed to the ginger cookies, which she knew were a favorite of his. "Eat," she instructed in no uncertain terms.
"I'm not hungry," Frodo murmured, his eyes straying toward the bedroom. He couldn't see the door from here, but that didn't stop him from staring.
"Don't hand me that nonsense, Frodo Baggins. You'll not do Bilbo any good whatsoever by starving yourself. You need to stay strong for him, and for that you need nourishment. So eat," Clover said.
Frodo looked askance at his cousin. Right now he needed someone soothing, someone supportive that he could lean on. He needed Sam, or Merry, or Pippin. Instead, he got Clover, ordering him about and insisting he be strong. Well, he wasn't strong. He couldn't be strong without Bilbo. His uncle WAS his strength, the anchor he clung to when life got stormy. Without him, Frodo felt he would simply crumble into a million pieces, never to be whole again. He didn't have the will to be strong, no matter what Clover Proudfoot so arrogantly ordered. And he did not want to eat.
Clover knew nothing of these thoughts. She could tell by Frodo's expression that he was brooding, but it did not occur to her that her attempts to help were the cause. She was under the impression Frodo simply worried about Bilbo, as she did. Sometimes, Clover understood her cousin completely, and sometimes, not at all. Unfortunately for them both, this was one of the latter.
"Frodo, you have to eat something," she began.
Frodo suddenly stood up, knocking over the bench. He pounded his fist on the table and upset the cream jug. "I HAVE TO DO NOTHING!!!" he bellowed, frightening his cousin. "Do you hear me??? NOTHING!! I don't have to be strong, I don't have to eat, and I DON'T have to sit here and listen to YOU order me around like a child!!!"
For a moment, Clover simply stared openmouthed at Frodo. He seldom showed his anger, and when he did it was primarily with a sort of cold, deadly quiet. Frodo never shouted in anger, never, and it surprised Clover into speechlessness for several seconds. Then her own volatile temper rose to match his, and she in turn stood angrily up. She put her hands on the table and leaned in toward her cousin, right up in his face, eyes flashing.
"Fine!" she hissed. "Be that way! Waste away to a shadow for all I care! Go ahead and let Bilbo down because YOU'RE too cowardly and childish to be there when he needs you!! Rot in your misery and give him nothing to hold onto, until he DOES die and you ARE left alone! See what I care!!"
With those harsh words, Clover turned on her heel and stalked out of Bag End. Frodo remained where he was, shaking with emotion, until he heard the door slam. Then he sank slowly to the floor as his legs gave out on him. He hid his face in his hands and wept.
A short time later, Citrine emerged from the sickroom. Seeing no one in the living room, she called out. "Frodo? Clover?"
"I'm in here, Aunt," came a weak reply.
Citrine followed the voice into the kitchen. She saw Frodo on the floor, still shaking with his face hidden in his hands. She saw the knocked-over bench, the upset cream jug, and noticed the absence of her daughter. "Where is Clover?" she asked.
"She left," Frodo replied simply from behind his hands.
"She left?" Citrine repeated. Clover may have her flaws, as all hobbits did, but she was not one to leave her duties. Citrine was confused and disappointed. Frodo's demeanor also alarmed her, for she was unaccustomed to talking to someone who would not look at her.
Frodo nodded without looking up. Citrine walked over to him, squatted down and gently pried his hands away from his face. She noted the fresh tear marks on his cheeks, the hollowness of them and the way Frodo avoided her eyes. She folded her lips to mask her irritation at her daughter's irresponsibility, and took a deep breath before speaking. "What happened?" she finally asked.
Frodo turned his face away in shame, and said nothing. Aunt Citrine was having none of that. She took Frodo's face in her hands and made him look at her. "I asked you a question, young Frodo," she said.
Frodo saw the determination in his aunt's expression, and knew he could not prevaricate. "We quarreled, and she left. It's my fault, Aunt. She was only trying to help, make me some tea and something to eat, and I yelled at her. I'm sorry," he confessed at last.
Aunt Citrine sighed. She knew full well how often her daughter clashed with her nephew. However, she had thought she'd seen a change in their interactions this day, a change for the better. She'd even begun to speculate on a budding romance, but apparently she was wrong.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, young Frodo. You have had a terrible ordeal today, and it is likely only to get worse. Clover should have shown more patience with you," Citrine said.
"Aunt, she was patient with me. More patient than she usually is. But I yelled at her, and she got mad. She said….." Frodo stopped. He did not want to tattle Clover's hurtful words to her mother. Especially as he had begun to think perhaps she had a point.
"She said what?" Citrine demanded.
Frodo shook his head. He finally found that core of strength he was searching for. He stood up proudly before his aunt and said "What was said was between me and Clover, and I will make it right with her as soon as I am able. You need not concern yourself with it. Just look after Bilbo, make him better. Please?"
Citrine stared long and hard at her nephew. He'd grown in the last few minutes, matured in some subtle way she couldn't put her finger on. Whatever Clover said, it must have been quite something. Still, if Frodo felt he would deal with it on his own, then she would do him the courtesy of respecting that. It wouldn't do to hurt the boy any more than she already had to. She nodded. "Very well, if that's what you wish."
"Yes, that's what I wish," he replied. Then he changed the subject. "How is Bilbo?" he asked, his concern not forgotten during the scene with Clover.
"He is sleeping now, or unconscious. I am not certain which. Still, he has not had a seizure since I went in, which is an improvement. You may go sit with him, if you like," she replied.
Frodo nodded. "Yes, I think I should. He needs me to be there for him. He needs me to be strong."