Title: Old Wives' Tales

Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)

Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Dora, various other hobbits (including Fredegar, Estella, and some original characters)

Rating: PG-13 (IMPORTANT: Future chapters of this story will be rated PG to PG-13, possibly R. I have struggled with this matter for several days, and after some beta-readings by members of FrodoHealers, have decided to proceed as planned, though with this disclaimer. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading beyond Chapter One of this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature. Chapters past Chapter One will be posted directly to our website at >http://bagend.fateback.com,> with an announcement posted to the FrodoHealers group. I do not intend to do this with the stories of others; my feeling is that there are a variety of conditions and treatments which can be employed in writing ailing Frodo fanfic, and by signing onto such a group, one accepts that there may be conditions used that present very dark or very painful situations. However, for this story of my own, I would like to take all possible precautions to avoid offending anyone's sensitivities, and as such am disclaiming now. Thank you. :) )

Summary: Following a summer picnic during a stay at Bag End, young Frodo becomes seriously ill and is cared for by Bilbo and his aunt Dora, Drogo's elder sister.

Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.

Story Notes: I have taken some liberty with ages - while I don't usually like to do so, I wanted to harness Estella's lack of culinary prowess, legendary on ElendorMUSH, but needed to make her a bit older to do so, given that she would be merely a toddler at this time in Frodo's life according to book canon! In keeping with this, I have also altered Merry and Fredegar ("Fatty") to fall closer to Frodo's own age. . .which, at the time of this fic, is all of seventeen years, though for a hobbit seventeen is more like nine to eleven years in human terms. In addition, Sam is now old enough to run errands. . .not really too much younger than Frodo. Please pardon the alterations. :)

For those who remember "Shadows in the Darkness," this is a *different* doctor. . .one gone from Hobbiton by the time Frodo is treated by Dr. Boffin some four years later. Most likely this is the one who moved to Buckland to plague the residents there. . . . ;)

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. This is a non-slash fiction: no slash or sexual connotations are implied or intended. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.

OLD WIVES' TALES

Chapter Two: Night Terrors

Running. . .he'd been running, and was soaked to the skin, hot and sweaty. . .and everything ached. . . . But he couldn't stop; he mustn't. . .behind him. . .close behind him. . . .

He turned to see a dark shadow. . .darkness sweeping down upon him. . . .

Frodo awoke with an abrupt start, trembling. He felt as if he'd been. . .no, that was only the dream. . . .

Wasn't it?

Dream or not, he was soaked with sweat, even his night-shirt and bedclothing damp. But he felt so cold. . .his teeth chattered as if he were lying in winter snow rather than his bed at Bilbo's. . .and yet. . . . Weakly he put the back of his hand against his forehead, trying to imitate what his mother had always done when he complained of feeling unwell.

Hot. Burning hot.

He considered rising to try and change his gown at least, but abruptly a wave of nausea washed over him, and he doubled over, trying desperately not to throw up. At once he reached for the chamber-pot beneath his bed, managing to vomit into that instead. . .but his stomach burned, and before he realised what was happening, he felt horribly damp. . .and not from perspiration. Face aflame from more than fever now, he groaned. No. . .he had to get everything cleaned up before Bilbo found out. . .what would his uncle say about such a slovenly house-guest, someone who couldn't even control himself as a lad his age should?

But there was nothing for it. . .as he rose to fetch sheets, he felt the burning sensation in his belly again. . .and, clinging to the chamber-pot handle, he dashed out to the indoor water-closet, fastening the door behind him with relief as he collapsed onto the seat, another rush of hot liquid escaping just as he managed to sit. Clutching the chamber-pot, he huddled in half, unable to hold back any longer, vomiting into the basin, his night-shirt clinging stickily to him.

"Frodo?"

There was a soft knock - Bilbo's voice, curious and patient.

"Frodo, lad, are you all right? I heard a bit of noise - "

He gulped, trying not to swallow - the bitter taste was too strong. "I. . ." Nothing more came from his lips as he tried to find words during the pregnant pause.

Bilbo's voice softened further. "Can you unlatch the door for me, lad? It's all right. I've seen you before, nothing to fret over. . .let me help you."

Let him in! Feeling as if he would faint, Frodo wryly half-wondered whether the illness or the idea of Bilbo seeing him in this state was the the worse offender. Slowly he set the pot aside and reached over, unlatching the door. Only an instant later, the door opened gently, Bilbo's anxious features peering in. At once he stepped inside.

"Oh, Frodo - poor lad, you should have woken me! There now. . . ." He laid his hand gently against Frodo's brow, shaking his head. "Do you think you could stand to be put back to bed, or do you need a bit more time here?"

"I. . .I don't kn-know. . . ." Trembling, Frodo let his uncle put gentle arms around him, rubbing his back through the sweat-drenched night-shirt.

"There now. . .easy, lad. . .we'll just get you back into bed and make you comfortable. . .and as soon as the Gamgees come up in the morning, I'll send for the doctor. Tell Uncle what hurts. . . ."

"M-My stomach. . .and my head. . .and I ache all over. . . ."

Bilbo nodded, still gently rubbing the young one's back. "Flu's a nasty uncomfortable disturbance, isn't it, my boy? We'll take care of that. . .easy now. . . ." Carefully he took Frodo in his arms, lifting the young hobbit carefully and carrying him into the nearby bath-room, fetching a fluffy towel from one of the shelves and spreading it on the rug, then topping it with another before laying his bundle down, positioning Frodo on his side. "Just stay like that, Frodo. . .there's a good lad. I'll only be a moment."

Frodo obeyed, lying quietly, still shivering, as he listened to the sound of water in a basin, the rustle of cloth. . . . At last Bilbo knelt beside him once more, dampening a cloth in some water and wiping his face and neck. It felt wonderful, and Frodo yielded eagerly. Continuing, the elder hobbit wrung out another cloth, folding this one and laying it against the overheated forehead, preparing another and pressing it to the back of Frodo's neck before gently turning him a little, taking yet another cloth and beginning to bathe Frodo's backside.

"Bilbo, I. . .I'm so sorry. . .this h-hasn't happened to me since I was a b-baby. . .honestly. . . ."

"Nonsense, lad. . .calm down!" Chuckling a little, Bilbo ruffled his curls. "I know you can't help it; once I had a dreadful bout with something and ended up soiling my aunt's best linens. Now just relax. . .we'll get you into bed with something warm to help your belly and something soft to lie on."

Nodding, Frodo closed his eyes. . .but suddenly his stomach knotted again. "Bilbo - " Even before his uncle had time to turn around from the cupboard, the young hobbit felt his bowels empty uncontrollably, soiling the towels upon which he lay. Thoroughly embarrassed, he looked up at Bilbo apologetically.

"I'm sorry. . .I didn't realise I had to go again. . . ."

"It's all right, Frodo. . .it's fine!" Calmly Bilbo returned, lifting Frodo's legs and sliding a clean towel beneath him, wiping him off before fetching a fresh wash-cloth and cleaning him carefully. "Poor lad, you can't help being ill. . .is there anything you can tell me that might help us figure out what's wrong? Just a nasty flu, or. . .something you ate today at the picnic, perhaps?"

"Maybe I just ate too much. . . ."

"I don't think that's all. . .you don't run fevers from that, my lad. Was there anything you ate that didn't seem to settle well?"

Frodo tried to think. . .it was difficult, with his head feeling like cotton-wool.

The mushrooms.

That cream.

He hadn't cared for the smell, but had assumed it was the result of some odd combination of ingredients such as Estella was prone to creating.

"I. . .felt s-sorry for 'Stella. . .so I. . .ate. . .some of h-her. . .mushrooms. . .in c-cream. . . ."

Bilbo groaned. "Oh, dear. . .no doubt that's what's made you ill, I'm sure. . . . Let's just get you back to bed, and we'll fetch the doctor 'round quick as we can if you don't find it's out of your system come morning. Sometimes these things ease off overnight. We'll just get you tucked in and give you some ginger tea to settle that tummy right down, all right?"

Frodo nodded weakly as Bilbo finished cleaning him and sat him up, pulling the sweat-soaked night-shirt off and taking a fresh cloth before lifting him, carrying him back to the bedroom and easing him into the window-seat, wiping him down all over and laying the cloth at last on his forehead. This done, he stepped aside, deftly changing the bed. . .then returned Frodo to it, laying him down gingerly and slipping a fresh night-shirt over the lad's head. Yet within only minutes Frodo felt his stomach rise in his throat - there was not even time to warn Bilbo before he began vomiting again, though this time he managed to double over, containing it in his night-shirt. Without complaint Bilbo helped him get the soiled gown off, wiping him down with another cool cloth. . .but they had not even finished that before Frodo felt the embarrassment of another attack. . .and this time, both bedclothes and small hobbit were covered with vomit and stool. Still, Bilbo responded calmly. . .though by now Frodo could see fear in his eyes. His uncle was worried. Nonetheless, the elder hobbit forced a smile as he changed his charge's bed, laying him on clean towels in the window-seat to bathe him, and finally carried the little patient back to bed, bundling him into a fresh night-gown and tucking him in, disappearing just long enough to produce a cup of something warm.

"All right, my boy. . .just a little ginger tea. . .how does that sound? Not strong at all. . .just a weak infusion. Could you try and take a sip or two for your Uncle Bilbo?"

Frodo nodded weakly, allowing Bilbo to raise his head and administer a tiny sip of the warm drink. . .then another.

They waited.

Not five minutes passed before it came back up. . .Frodo managed to sit up only with Bilbo's help, vomiting into the lap of his gown once more.

"Oh, my poor boy. . .sssshhh. . . ." Patiently Bilbo changed the child's night-shirt once more, then tucked him back in, propping him on his side with pillows and stroking the heavy curls. "I'll send Hamfast for the doctor; he'll be here in just a few hours. . .and I'll be right here with you, my lad. . .right here."

Frodo nodded through tears. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so miserably ill. . .measles had been a bit like it, and he'd had pneumonia more than once, but the sheer exhaustion of this made him feel limp and what he would have called "all-overish". . .shaky and weak, hot and cold at the same time. His tummy hurt, and no amount of getting rid of the poisons seemed to help very much.

"Try to sleep, Frodo. . .I'll be right here. . . ."

He closed his eyes obediently, feeling Bilbo lay a cool cloth upon his forehead as he drifted into a fevered slumber, full of terrors he could neither name nor see. . .only sense. . .somewhere in the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abruptly Frodo sat up with a start. Someone. . .no, some*thing* had been. . .been after him. . . .

But there was no time to think about it: before he knew it, he was vomiting again. . .and a too-familiar dampness warmed his bed, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

"Come along, my lad. . .there now. . . ."

Bilbo lifted him from the soiled bed as it passed. . .and resumed work on cleaning both child and bedcovers. Watching him from the window, Frodo reddened guiltily. . .and half wished he would just die. Then it would at least be over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly Frodo opened his eyes.

He was too tired to get up. Hopefully Bilbo wouldn't wake him for breakfast. . .ugh, breakfast. . . . But sunlight was filtering through the curtains. . .mid-morning, perhaps. . .or early afternoon?

The thought jarred Frodo back to reality: Bilbo was at his bedside, wringing out a fresh cloth for his forehead. He felt dizzy and faint, even though he was lying down. What. . .oh, yes. With a shudder he remembered the long night. . .he'd been up and down, extremely sick with what one of his aunts liked to call "the B-Es," short for "both ends." At the moment, it did not strike Frodo as particularly amusing.

"Good morning, my lad."

Bilbo's voice was soft and reassuring, and Frodo turned carefully to look up at his uncle, who bent over to stroke his face with a damp cloth. With sudden embarrassment, he realised he was naked beneath the covers.

"Uncle. . .where's my. . . ." He felt his voice trailing off, finding himself struggling to find the word despite having had it in mind half a moment earlier.

"Your night-shirt? We're laundering them, dear boy. . .you've just one clean one left, and I thought we'd save that just in case. . .not to mention that this is easier. Just wrap you up in a blanket and sit you up until it's over. . . . Our laundress was kind enough to go ahead and tend to those things right now; I've offered her some rather nice pay for a quick load. . . ."

He nodded. . .it did make more sense, and he couldn't bear the thought of being moved more than necessary.

"Hamfast's sent his lad Sam for the doctor, then for a few errands. . .he's here in case we need a bit more help. Right now he's getting some things aired, extra blankets and such."

"Sir?"

Frodo looked up. Hamfast's youngest son stood in the doorway.

"Mr. Bilbo, sir, I. . .I'm sorry to bother you, but. . .I. . .sir, the doctor's out on a 'mergency call. I went there to give 'im the message, but he said he couldn't come. . .he said to give Mr. Frodo plenty to drink and keep 'im in bed 'till his stomach settles and his fever breaks, said if he can't keep things down, try a tablespoon of water or apple juice till he can."

Bilbo sighed. "Thank you, Sam. . .you may put the things right there, on the chair, and go back to your father. I do wish he'd have come, though. . . . Ah, well, can't be helped, can it?" Returning his attention to his small nephew, he forced a smile. "All right, Frodo, my boy. . .let's try a little spoonful of cool water. . .shall we? No more than that. . .just a taste."

Frodo nodded weakly: he still felt sick, but he was terribly thirsty. . .and the thought of cool water seemed appealing. As Bilbo poured a cupful and dipped a spoon in, bringing the liquid to his lips, he tasted eagerly. . .welcome relief against his parched lips and mouth. . . .

Yet almost at once he regretted it: nausea overwhelmed him, and he began vomiting. Fortunately, Bilbo had a basin ready, and neither bedclothing nor patient (nor caregiver) became soiled. . .but Frodo lay back down, shuddering. . .and worrying. He hadn't had anything to drink since yesterday. . .and he was so thirsty. . .but he dared not try again. . . .

"It's all right, dear boy. We'll try again in a little while. . .just try to rest. . . ."

Somehow Frodo had the feeling it would not be all right. . .and yet he wanted to believe. Surely Uncle Bilbo was right. It had to be. It just had to be all right. . .

~To Be Continued~