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 to PG-13. 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.

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. I am not a medical professional: the information herein pertains to fictional hobbit diagnosis and treatment. Please consult a professional health care provider for your medical needs. (I don't think that should need saying, but this is called covering my bases. ;) )

OLD WIVES' TALES

Chapter Three: Family Relations

But it was not all right.

Not at all.

Both Bilbo and Frodo lost count of the number of times that the youngster vomited or suffered another bout of diarrhea. Every time Bilbo tried to administer a spoonful of water or apple juice, every time Frodo tried to sleep, every time he tried to sit up. . . .

"Frodo. . .try just a little, my lad."

"No. . .can't. . . ." Frodo stubbornly refused the offered spoonful of cool water. Secretly he longed for it: he was so thirsty. . .and yet the overwhelming sense of nausea reminded him that it would most likely come right back up.

"All right. . . ." Bilbo was too exhausted himself to argue the point: it was his second night up caring for the sick child, and he so wanted to get some liquid into his nephew's tiny mouth that he was trying desperately to keep the boy in a cooperative mood. He studied Frodo anxiously, noting the tousled mop of sweaty curls and the fretful blue eyes. . .the little one was weakening, too sick from the loss of fluids to combat the rising fever.

"Uncle Bilbo - "

But the reverie was broken by Frodo's soft cry. . .his small charge was sick again, doubled over, clutching his belly in pain, and there was no time to think on it further.

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

Frodo awoke to find himself alone. He could hear voices in the hall. . .Bilbo, of course. . .and. . .a lady's voice. . .Aunt Dora??? For an instant, he wondered if Bilbo had forgotten to cancel their luncheon for today. . . .

". . .been very ill all night. . . . . .to send for the doctor. . . ."

"What have you given him. . .anything? When I received your note, I packed up my herb chest and came anyhow. . .you should have sent for me."

"Nothing yet; we tried a bit of ginger tea earlier, and it came right back up."

A cluck of the tongue. "Ginger's good for nausea, yes, but blackberry root tea's the best thing for a child with stomach trouble. Barring that, a good spoonful of blackberry cordial or even blackberry wine."

"Well, he can't keep anything down, though - that's the trouble. The poor lad's not been able to hold anything on his stomach since the picnic, though we've tried the simplest things - water, weak ginger tea - "

"There's more than one way to get medicine into an ailing child, Bilbo, and I'm beginning to doubt how much you know about nursing sick children. . . ."

The door opened completely, admitting the greying ladyhobbit Frodo had met only a few times: pleasant, but formal and prim, though she did write a great many letters. . .to Bilbo, to people seeking advice, even sometimes to Frodo himself, often sending gifts to her young nephew - mostly stationery, but sometimes a book or some sweets. As usual, every strand of hair was in place, each fold of her expensive dress perfectly arranged. . .but she immediately sought the bed with concerned brown eyes so reminiscent of his father's, and Frodo felt himself redden with embarrassment.

"How's my little nephew? Bilbo tells me you've not been feeling very well."

Looking up at her, Frodo shook his head shyly, pulling the covers over himself as tightly as he could manage. "No, ma'am. . .I'm feeling rather ill today."

She pulled up a chair, taking a seat by his bed as she glanced back toward Bilbo, who carried a large box: Dora's herb chest. "Never mind me, Bilbo. . .just see to what you need for the child. Now, then - " Turning back to Frodo, she put out a perfectly manicured hand, soft and smooth, laying it upon his forehead. At once she clucked her tongue softly. "Poor pet! If Bilbo would permit. . .would you let your auntie try to help you feel better?"

Bilbo paused in gathering some more blankets from the trunk at the foot of Frodo's bed, but nodded approvingly. "Listen to what she suggests, Frodo; she's a wise lady. Perhaps she'll have some ideas."

Frodo nodded. . .but suddenly felt sick again, and whimpered with embarrassment, looking up at Bilbo pleadingly. Much to his relief, his uncle nodded, stepping to the bedside and discreetly reaching for the chamber-pot in the cupboard close by. "Dora, if you could bring some extra towels and warm a bit of water, that would be more help than anything else at present. . .would you mind?"

"Of course not. . .very well, then." She slipped out. . .just as Frodo felt he could hold it in no longer. At once he was violently sick, vomiting all over the sheets, though Bilbo had at least succeeded in easing him onto the chamber-pot, supporting him until the attack passed.

"My poor boy. . .there now. . . ." Carefully Bilbo selected a towel and spread it on the quilt in the window-seat, then lifted Frodo gingerly, carrying him over and putting him down gently. The young hobbit heard the door open and close. . .and promptly flushed scarlet. Aunt Dora, seeing him NAKED, of all things! If he were not already longing to die, he would have gained the urge from that thought alone. . . . Closing his eyes tightly, he tried not to think about it. However, as Bilbo brought a cloth to his backside, beginning to clean him, the small patient winced, pulling away.

"Hurts. . . ."

"Now, now, my boy. . . ."

"Let me have a go, Bilbo. . .you may be the traveller, but you're clearly not the most experienced with children." Stern admonition complete, Dora bent over her nephew: Frodo could smell the scent of lavender that always lingered around her. Trying to hide his face in the cushions, he squirmed a bit as she separated his buttocks gently, one hand on each. "Oh, dear, dear, dear - there's the problem! Take a look. . .red as a beet! Bilbo, how *have* you been cleaning up the poor child?"

Bilbo had never sounded, at least to Frodo, quite so taken aback. "Simple towels and soap and water, Dora, nothing complicated - "

"Better to just rinse him off and set him in the tub for a few minutes. I know he's probably feeling terrible, poor babe, but that wiping won't do him any good. Water, then pat him good and dry and put on a good layer of salve. . . ." Carefully she slipped her arms beneath Frodo, lifting him so that he faced her. "Put your arms around Auntie, dear. Legs too, if you like. There now."

Frodo complied, feeling like a very young child. . .and still embarrassed, though admittedly it was a relief not to have towels scratching over his raw skin. He allowed her to carry him to the bath-room and ease him over the back of the tub, seating herself on a small wooden stool, still holding him tightly. It was a startling experience: he could never have pictured prim Aunt Dora picking up a sick child at all, much less one as ill as he was. Yet she seemed completely unconcerned about anything besides him, directing Bilbo firmly as she held her nephew securely.

"Now. . .just pour a bit of water over his bottom there, several times. Then we can get some fresh bathwater in there and let him sit in the tub for just a bit. . .that'll help his temperature too, poor little thing." She rubbed Frodo's curls reassuringly. "Poor dear. . .I know you're burning up. . . . We'll put you back to bed soon."

Frodo managed a frail nod. . .but then, much to his horror, he felt the urge return. . .and promptly struggled to pull away, even if it meant a hard fall into the bath-tub. But Dora held him fast. . .yet there was no time for her even to ask what might be the matter before he began retching again. . .and before he could protest, she pulled him up into her lap. . . .

Of all the moments Frodo would later reflect upon as embarrassing, this would remain the worst, at least for many years to come.

As Dora secured him in her lap, reaching for the washbasin, Frodo felt his stomach twist sharply in complaint. . .and a rush of heat flooded his aching backside. At once he felt wet and soiled again. . .but worse than that was his location. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. . . .

That was more than enough. . .and yet Frodo's stomach proved less than empty as he vomited, covering the front of Dora's dress with a mixture of bitter yellow fluid and what little was left in his stomach.

"Oh, poor pet. . .here now. . . ."

To Frodo's shock, Dora did not so much as bat an eyelash. Gently she gathered him into her arms, reaching for a towel and tucking it into the collar of her dress, rising cautiously. "Let's get the little one lying down again, shall we? We can use basins to rinse him. . .and then if you don't mind, I'd like to send someone up to have my maid send a change of clothing, if possible."

"Dora, I'm terribly sorry. . .we'll be sending for the doctor again, and we'll manage until he comes," Bilbo apologised, coming to her side. Yet rather than giving Frodo to his uncle, the matron shook her head.

"Clearly *he* doesn't realise how ill the child is. . . . I may be no mother and no doctor, but I know my herbs, and I've cared for enough sick people in my time. I wouldn't leave Drogo's little one's welfare in the hands of that fellow. What emergency was it this time? Another fit of the vapors from a wealthy young lass? It's only proper for a child's family to look after him." Returning Frodo to his room, his aunt eased him onto the towels in the window-seat, rubbing his back gently. . .then eased him half over the edge. "Bilbo, if you can hold his legs, I can manage the basins. . . ."

Frodo closed his eyes, trying to imagine being somewhere else.

Killing Estella, perhaps.

He felt warm water poured over his backside, hearing it catch in the basin beneath him. This was repeated several times before they eased him back onto the window-seat of towels completely. Lightly Dora patted him dry, then spread his buttocks again.

"It's clear enough you've not had a child to look after. I've some salve in my valise; I was going to take it on over to Lilias for her little one, but I think Frodo needs it far more at present. We'll just put a bit of this on, a bit of powder if you have any of that, and he'll feel much better. This should help keep his skin from getting too irritated. Plenty of calendula in it, good for little hurts and sore spots." Gently she patted his backside, as one might comfort an infant. "Poppet, would you let Auntie put a bit of that cream on you, to make you feel better?"

Embarrassed as he was, Frodo still nodded: it hurt terribly, and the prospect of anything that might soothe the burning pain was a welcome thought. Trying to hide the increased rush of pink to his face, he curled up a little more, allowing Dora to scoop a fair bit of salve from a jar produced from her valise, patting the mixture on lightly. It *did* feel better. . . . He felt Dora step away and listened as she washed her hands in the nearby basin, returning to turn him gently onto his back. Reaching to the nearby chest, she opened it, taking out a small vial and opening it, applying a few drops of its contents to her hand. . .then doing the same with another, handling them deftly. Bilbo stood by the bed, changing the sheets and arranging fresh blankets and fluffing pillows. At last Dora brought her hand to her nephew's tiny stomach, beginning to massage gingerly in small circles.

"How does that feel, Frodo?"

He nodded weakly. "Thank you. . .that feels good. . . ." Indeed it did: the oils smelled wonderful, pepperminty and cool and comfortable, and the light rubbing eased the cramps knotting his tummy. Dora smiled, reaching with her other hand to stroke back his damp curls from his forehead.

"Sweetheart. . .if you can't keep anything on your stomach, we need to try and get that taken care of so you can have some fluids. . .and you need medicine. Auntie could give you something to bring down the fever and ease your stomach. . .all right?"

"All right. . .I don't think I could. . .dr-drink anything just. . .just n- now, Auntie. . . ."

"He has a point." Bilbo finished arranging the bed, bringing a light blanket over and standing beside his nephew. "When he's been so sick after everything we've tried to give him. . . ."

"The child has to have fluids, Bilbo. Especially with a fever as high as this. 'Twould be bad enough otherwise, but with such a high temperature and an upset stomach, there's no choice. The apothecary makes herbal boluses; three or four doses of those, with that salve, should soothe him enough that he could take a good enema."

Frodo stiffened. He'd had his share of experiences with *those* things when younger: Primula had often had to administer medicine by bolus when he was a sick toddler and young child, and every child in Buckland or the Shire had had at least one or two enemas by the time they reached their tweens; it was a favoured remedy for overindulgence as well as for a variety of illnesses.

"Dora. . .is that really necessary?" Bilbo stroked his nephew's hair gently, frowning as he studied Drogo's sister. "As I recall, won't that make the problem rather *worse*?"

"Quite the contrary. It all depends on what one uses. . .soothing herbs like catnip and slippery elm do wonders to ease loose bowels. And it'll help bring down the fever as well as get some fluids into him. Once his temperature's improving and his stomach starts to settle, he'll start being able to take some things by mouth. . .can start him on spoonfuls of blackberry juice alternated with broth and good strong herb tea." She tucked the covers back over Frodo, rubbing his back reassuringly. "If we could send 'round to the apothecary's for meadowsweet, catnip, and slippery elm boluses, we can alternate those to help calm down his tummy. . .the meadowsweet will help ease any aching along with that fever. And since I've brought my herb chest, I can prepare the enemas myself, if you'd like."

Bilbo frowned a bit more. "I hadn't said you could stay, Dora. Frodo and I will be fine by ourselves."

Dora snorted, laughing as she followed Bilbo in carrying their charge back to his bed. "You *look* fine by yourselves! Honestly, Bilbo Baggins, don't be so stubborn! He's my poor brother's child, too, and I've a right to take *some* interest in his care. He needs a good sponge-bath, not to mention those treatments, and nursing a sick child's a job best done by a ladyhobbit, like it or not."

Like it or not, Frodo had to admit she had a point. Bilbo was kind and gentle, but it wasn't the same as the touch of his mother's hands. . .and, nervous as he was about it, he liked Dora: she reminded him a great deal of his father, though with the same warmth he remembered in his mother. He struggled to remember why it was she had never married: his parents used to talk about it, usually with sad expressions. . .they had liked her very much, and she had been kind to him. . . .

And she hadn't so much as made a face when he was sick all over her earlier, even in her nice dress.

There was a soft knock. . .it seems Bilbo had sent someone for Dora's maid, and the matron tucked Frodo in gently before stepping out.

"Frodo, my lad?" Bilbo knelt beside him, clasping his hand gently. "What would you prefer? I won't put you through that unless you wish. . .but she's right; you need more care than I know how to give until I learn a bit more, and if she can make you feel better. . . ."

Weakly Frodo nodded. "I d-don't mind. . . ." He didn't like the idea of someone giving medicine back *there* at all, not in the slightest, but he didn't want her to go away. . .didn't want that nice scent and soft touch to go away. . .and he wanted to feel better. . . .

"Then she can stay. . .I'm sorry I don't know more about what to do for you, my boy. But trust Dora: she does know a great deal, and she loved your father very much. And she loves you."

"I know." Frodo huddled beneath the covers, still feeling miserable. He ached all over, and felt at once hot and cold. . .and he missed Dora's reassurance.

"There now. . .much better!"

Turning cautiously onto his back to look up at his aunt (now wearing one of her simpler frocks) once more, he sighed with relief as she not only smiled, but took him carefully into her arms, as if he were a porcelain doll.

"There now, poppet. . .it's all right. . . ."

He curled against her, letting her cradle him tenderly. Bilbo's hand ruffled his curls lightly.

"I'll just step out and have Hamfast or his lad run down to the apothecary's now. . .and I'll put a fresh kettle on."

Dora nodded. "We'll be fine, Bilbo. . .don't worry a bit. I'll go ahead and get him bathed."

~To Be Continued~