Aratlithiel - Thanks for persevering and finally getting through to read chapter 8. Sam's plain hobbit sense is one of the best things about him. I think I see a line forming full of people waiting to give Frodo a big warm hug right now. Yes, you can be first!
LotRseer3350 - Many warm Frodo fuzzies coming up. Our poor dear is in for a hard time for a bit, I'm afraid. (But what's new?)
Tavion - If you liked the sweetness, love and devotion shown in the last chapter, you'll enjoy the next few. Frodo's going to be surrounded by the people who love him while he deals with being ill as a result of falling through the ice.
Iorhael - Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. There's nothing like a nasty illness to make you feel sympathy for someone!
Bookworm2000 - Yes, Lotho's nasty tricks do add up - to no good at all! Frodo will eventually know in no uncertain terms what Lotho is about.
Krista2 - Of course I missed you! Lotho is a nasty devil indeed. Frodo has been sweet and polite, but everyone eventually has his limit!
FrodoBaggins1982 - If you're looking for Frodo comfort, look no further. You'll find it here! Frodo does need a wakeup call regarding Lotho, doesn't he? Just wait. The day will come.
Amelia Rose - Yes, poor Frodo is getting sick. If you could zap yourself into the story to give Frodo a big hug, would you take me with you? Closing Lotho up in a room with rabid wargs might be good fun. I wonder who would be nastier?
Midgette - I do want to give them all a big hug, especially Frodo and sweet, loyal Sam. We'll have to see about that swift kick for Lotho.
Camellia Gamgee - Took - Yes, we're going to have some angst as well as a lot of TLC.
~*~
Author's note - Frodo's illness was inspired by a nasty bug affectionately known as 'Russian flu' that tore through the small town I lived in around 1982. Closed the schools for a week and knocked its victims off their feet in a matter of hours, causing the worst headache, fever, dizziness and sore throat yours truly has ever endured.
~*~
Chapter 9 - In Harm's Way
~*~Morning, Bag End~*~
The sunlight crept through the window and woke Bilbo suddenly. He rubbed at his eyes and looked around the room in confusion. It was a moment before he remembered that he was in Frodo's room and that he and Sam had stayed by Frodo's side through the night.
Sam had eventually fallen asleep, curled up into a ball at the end of the bed. Bilbo rose from his chair and revived the fire at the hearth. He then pulled a quilt from the armoire and covered Sam with it. If Frodo were to be deprived of Merry's company, at least he had found a loyal friend in young Samwise, and Bilbo was glad of it.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of coughing. He turned to find that Frodo had awakened, pale and feverish, with a deep, ragged cough. Bilbo hurried back to the bedside, and clasped Frodo's hand in his own. "Frodo, lad," he said softly. "Rest easy, my boy. Can I do anything for you?"
Frodo opened his eyes slowly, to a blurry vision of Bilbo leaning over him. His head hurt terribly and his throat felt as though it were on fire. It hurt to breathe, to speak, even to think. "Uncle?" he whispered hoarsely. "May I have some water?"
Bilbo nodded and hurried from the room to get a glass of cold water. When he returned, Sam had awakened and was already lifting the pitcher from the washbasin. "He's awfully warm, Mr. Bilbo," Sam said worriedly. "I'll get a cloth for his forehead."
Bilbo nodded and helped Frodo to sit up so he could drink the water. "It seems you've taken ill as a result of your unplanned swim," Bilbo told the feverish tween. "I'm so sorry Frodo."
Frodo frowned slightly. "Why, Uncle?" he asked quietly. Each word felt like sandpaper in his throat. "It wasn't your fault."
"Was it not? Since your arrival here, several unpleasant things have befallen you, and I have prevented none of them." Bilbo wrung his hands in agitation. "Was I wrong about Brandy Hall, Frodo? Might it have been a better place for you, in light of these events?"
"Tweens get injured and sick at Brandy Hall too, Uncle," Frodo informed him. "You mustn't blame yourself." Frodo succumbed to a brief but harsh fit of coughing.
"But I do, dear Frodo," Bilbo replied sadly. "I promised to care for you and to keep you from harm, and here you are in harm's way again."
"Oh, Uncle, please don't give up on yourself." Frodo reached out for Bilbo's hand and squeezed it lightly. "I know you're trying your best, and I'm sorry if I've burdened you - "
"There shall be none of that talk, Frodo," Bilbo said softly, but sternly. "You are not, nor ever shall be a burden to me in the slightest. Please remember that, come what may." Bilbo brushed Frodo's hair out of his eyes as he spoke. "You are here because I love you, Frodo. You are here because I wish you to be. You do still want to remain at Bag End, do you not?"
"Yes, Uncle," Frodo responded. "No amount of ill luck will drive me away, I promise."
Ill luck. Perhaps the recent events were due entirely to circumstance, but something about the incidents still nagged at Bilbo's mind persistently. Lotho's presence at each event might just be coincidental, but Bilbo was inclined to believe otherwise. Lotho had been directly involved in Frodo's injury during the game. He had been with Ted when the barrels rolled out of the wagon. He had been present at the Yule party when Frodo had become - was 'ill' the right word? And now this.
A terrible possibility occurred to Bilbo. Did Lotho know? Had the tween guessed at his plan of naming Frodo as his heir? Was he trying to harm Frodo for that reason? A hard, cold lump of fear settled itself into Bilbo's stomach at the thought. But how could Lotho be aware of Bilbo's plans? Bilbo told himself he was being absurd and turned his thoughts back to the young hobbit he cared for so strongly.
"Here, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as he entered the room and placed a cool, damp cloth over Frodo's forehead.
"Oh, thank you, Sam. You've no idea how good that feels!" Frodo slowly mopped his face with the cloth, then laid it over his eyes.
Bilbo turned to Sam. "Samwise, do you think your mother could take time to watch over Frodo for a while today? I've an errand or two of some importance." Sam nodded. Bell Gamgee was always willing to help a neighbor, and with so many children of her own, she had plenty of experience with caring for sick tweens.
"I'm going to prepare breakfast," Bilbo announced, and he left the room. A few moments later, sounds could be heard coming from the kitchen. Frodo dozed while Sam sat patiently nearby. After a short while, Bilbo returned with a tray for Frodo.
"You and I can have our breakfast together at the table, Samwise. But first, ill or otherwise, Frodo must have something to eat." Bilbo prodded Frodo gently. "Frodo, lad, breakfast is ready."
Frodo groaned and rolled over. "My throat is awfully sore, Uncle, but I'll try," he said, as Sam helped him sit up against the pillows. Frodo was able to manage the tea, some eggs with soft biscuits and applesauce. Having done as well as he was able, he lay down to sleep again as Bilbo removed the breakfast tray.
Sam and Bilbo sat at the table in silence, eating breakfast and thinking worried thoughts about Frodo. When they had finished, Sam ran home to give Bilbo's message to his mother, and Bilbo made ready for his errands. A healer must be summoned, of course, just to make sure that Frodo was not seriously ill. He frowned as he thought of his other errand. An unpleasant prospect, but one that must be dealt with, he felt increasingly certain.
~*~
"Poor dear," said Bell, as she stood by the bedside. "Has himself a misery, to be sure." She took the chair by the bed and carefully took Frodo's hand. "Don't you worry for him, Mr. Bilbo. He'll be quite all right with me and Samwise to watch over him for a spell."
"Thank you, Bell, you are a treasure," Bilbo said in response as he donned his coat. "I'll not be gone long, now."
As Bilbo left Bag End, he noticed that the morning sun had already melted the snow from the path. He walked with a steady, purposeful stride toward his destination. First things first, he told himself grimly. If the Sackville - Bagginses were unaware of their son's attempts to harm Frodo, he would make them aware. Although Frodo seemed to think Lotho was not out to harm him, Bilbo felt that Frodo was being too kind in his assessment of his cousin's motives. A word with Otho and Lobelia was clearly in order.
~*~
Bilbo rapped grimly on the door of the smial, and waited. Lobelia opened the door and regarded him rather sourly. "Bilbo, what brings you calling this morning?" she asked, her voice devoid of anything resembling warm greeting.
"A matter of some importance, I'm afraid. Are Otho and Lotho at home?" Bilbo would rather speak with the whole lot of them if he could. He wanted Lotho in particular to see the look in his eyes and to know what it meant.
"They are out, I'm afraid," Lobelia said tartly. "You may come in if you wish, and I will inform them of your visit when they arrive home." She opened the door wider to admit Bilbo.
"Hmmm, yes," Bilbo said as he entered. He did not move to take a seat, nor did Lobelia offer him one. That suited him just fine since what he had to say could just as easily be said standing. "It has come to my attention that Frodo has become perhaps a little more accident prone than normal of late," he said briskly, looking Lobelia in the eye.
Lobelia's eyes narrowed. "And what has that got to do with anything? His clumsiness is none of our concern."
Bilbo kept his temper with difficulty. "Frodo is not clumsy, Lobelia. And it strikes me as very interesting that every time something has occurred to harm him, Lotho has been present, if not directly involved."
Lobelia's face reddened. "Are you saying that my son is to blame for that - that - Bucklander's ill fortune?" She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Bilbo.
Bilbo wasn't about to back down. "I am saying that he had better not be." Bilbo ran down a list of the recent incidents. "Lotho hit Frodo rather hard in that game of toss - ball a few months ago, and those barrels in Ted's wagon didn't just decide to roll down the hill by themselves. Frodo had naught to drink at the Yule party besides a tankard and a half, and Lotho seemed to take a keen interest in his condition. And the incident at the pond - "
"Lotho helped pull your precious orphan out of the water, if you recall," Lobelia spat angrily. "Or have you conveniently forgotten that he helped to save him?" She sneered at Bilbo as she spoke of the Yule party. "And how do you know how much Frodo had to drink at the Yule party? Were you with him all the while? I saw you talking with the Boffins and paying him no mind."
"Frodo was too busy dancing to be drinking to excess, Lobelia. Lotho was extremely quick to pass judgment against him and accuse him of overindulging. Why, do you suppose, would he be interested in doing so?" Bilbo raised an eyebrow and stood his ground.
"I don't know and I really could not care less," Lobelia intoned, still glaring. "As to the other things you're accusing Lotho of - "
"Let me get to the point, Lobelia." Bilbo took a step closer, and was satisfied to see Lobelia step back in response. "I think Lotho feels threatened by Frodo's presence. I think he's attempting to do mischief to the lad for some reason. I would much rather be proved wrong, mind you."
"And why should our Lotho feel threatened by someone like that?" She stressed the final word condescendingly.
"Two words, Lobelia - Bag End." Bilbo raised his hand palm outward, to forestall Lobelia's protest. "It is abundantly clear to me that you and your family expect you shall inherit my home and possessions when I finally have the grace to expire." He let his gaze bore into hers. "I have not yet finalized any such plans, mind you, and I would think you would wish to take care, lest I make my decisions in less than a good mood."
Lobelia tried to hide her dismay at Bilbo's words, and failed. "There is no need to be hasty, Bilbo," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "If Lotho has offended young Frodo, he shall apologize, certainly."
"Frodo is very difficult to offend, Lobelia," Bilbo said with a tolerant smile. "I, however, am another matter. I would much rather Lotho keep his distance from Frodo for the time being. The lad is just settling in, and he needs some peace. Do we understand each other?"
Lobelia eyed him disdainfully. "We do."
"Very well, then. No need to show me the door, as I know where it is. Good day, Lobelia." Bilbo opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him.
~*~
Lobelia stood seething in the parlor. Bilbo would never have dared speak so to Otho! Imagine, Bilbo Baggins accusing her son of causing harm to that ridiculous Bucklander he had taken in, and insinuating that their inheritance of Bag End had yet to be decided! Surely he wasn't considering leaving everything to Frodo?
She would raise the subject with Lotho, and she was certain of his reaction. He would be surprised at the accusations, and hurt, surely. If everyone just kept their tempers, all of this would blow over and things would be normal again. Wouldn't they? Surely that refugee from Buckland was just visiting and would go back where he belonged soon enough.
Still in a huff, Lobelia returned to her needlework, stabbing the fabric viciously.
~*~
"Master Goodbody, good day," Bilbo said politely as he stood at the healer's door. "I was hoping you had some time today to come by Bag End. Frodo has taken ill, I'm afraid."
Gordo Goodbody furrowed his brow as he searched his memory. "Ah, the young lad from Buckland," he said, and Bilbo nodded. "I heard about the unfortunate events of yesterday morning. I shall come with you to see to his condition immediately."
Suiting action to words, the healer donned his coat and slung a bag over his shoulder. He followed Bilbo out the door and to Bag End to see to his new patient.
As they entered the parlor and hung up their coats, Bilbo and the healer were met by the sound of coughing from down the hall. It wasn't a raspy cough just from the throat, but a deep, heavy sound from the chest, and Bilbo looked at the healer worriedly.
"Hmmm, sounds like the lad is ill indeed," the healer said, picking up his bag and heading down the hallway. "A dip in cold water like that, followed by even a few minutes of exposure can bode ill, it's true."
Frodo was sitting up in bed, wiping tears from his eyes as the coughing fit ended. Sam was rubbing his back and looking frightened, while Bell held Frodo's other hand in hers, patting it gently. "Frodo lad, you remember Gordo Goodbody? You met at the Yule party. He's a healer and he's come to look in on you."
Frodo was suddenly glad of the feverish blush that already colored his cheeks, for it hid the embarrassed one that surged in the wake of the mention of the Yule party. "Yes, Uncle," Frodo responded quietly. "Master Goodbody," he nodded, trying to keep from coughing again.
Bell relinquished her chair to Bilbo and gently drew Sam out of the room
"Just relax a moment, lad," the healer instructed. He felt Frodo's forehead and looked into his throat, shaking his head slightly at what his eyes beheld. "I'll bet that's pretty sore, isn't it?" Frodo nodded. Master Goodbody listened to Frodo's breathing for a moment, then raised his eyes to Bilbo's with a concerned expression.
"He must have a good deal of rest and plenty of liquids. The cold compress for his forehead is a good idea, and will help ease his fever. He has quite a bit of congestion in his chest, which can be dangerous if not treated." He opened his bag and removed a jar of salve. "This doesn't smell very nice, but it will release vapors that will help break up the congestion." To Frodo, he noted, "Coughing may be quite uncomfortable with your throat as sore as it is, but it's necessary. Don't try to hold it back, lad." He pulled a packet of something from his bag for Bilbo. "This is a medicinal tea that will ease his headache and fever, as well as help with the pain. He's to have some every four hours while the worst of the illness persists. You can reduce it to every 8 hours once he's breathing more freely."
Bilbo nodded to the healer and went into the kitchen to summon Bell and Sam back into the room. "Samwise, would you brew up a bit of this tea please?" Bilbo asked and Sam immediately set to work. "Bell, please stay with Frodo for a moment, won't you?" She said nothing but went straight back to the tween's room.
"Master Goodbody, it has occurred to me to ask you something, if you don't mind," Bilbo said nervously looking down the hallway.
"Anything, Master Baggins," the healer replied calmly.
"The Yule party. I assume you know what happened, or part of it at any rate?" Bilbo cast a quizzical look at the healer.
"Well, yes, that is, I saw the lad's condition," Goodbody said evenly, trying to be polite regarding the subject.
"And his condition was not what it appeared, I promise you." Bilbo searched the healer's face for any sign that he was not being taken seriously. "Frodo had very little to drink that evening. It should not have been enough even to make him slightly giddy. Is there anything someone might have slipped into his ale to have that sort of an effect?"
The healer looked surprised at the question, but considered it nonetheless. "If what you say is correct and the lad did not imbibe an undue quantity, a bit of sleeping powder might have a similar effect." He thought further. "If it were to be added to an alcoholic beverage in more than a minute amount, it might well cause distress to a lad of such slim build as your Frodo."
Bilbo nodded grimly. "Thank you, Master Goodbody, for answering that question."
"Of course, Bilbo," the healer said, resisting the urge to inquire as to the reason for Bilbo's interest in the subject. If Bilbo suspected foul play of some sort, it was no one's concern but Bilbo's, lest he voluntarily share his suspicions.
Bilbo escorted Master Goodbody to the door and thanked him again for his services as he made payment. His mind was whirling as he made his way back to Frodo's room. He remembered Lotho's snide comment about Frodo not being able to handle his ale, and grimaced. He regretted not a word that he had spoken in Lobelia's parlor that day.
~*~To be continued~*~
LotRseer3350 - Many warm Frodo fuzzies coming up. Our poor dear is in for a hard time for a bit, I'm afraid. (But what's new?)
Tavion - If you liked the sweetness, love and devotion shown in the last chapter, you'll enjoy the next few. Frodo's going to be surrounded by the people who love him while he deals with being ill as a result of falling through the ice.
Iorhael - Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. There's nothing like a nasty illness to make you feel sympathy for someone!
Bookworm2000 - Yes, Lotho's nasty tricks do add up - to no good at all! Frodo will eventually know in no uncertain terms what Lotho is about.
Krista2 - Of course I missed you! Lotho is a nasty devil indeed. Frodo has been sweet and polite, but everyone eventually has his limit!
FrodoBaggins1982 - If you're looking for Frodo comfort, look no further. You'll find it here! Frodo does need a wakeup call regarding Lotho, doesn't he? Just wait. The day will come.
Amelia Rose - Yes, poor Frodo is getting sick. If you could zap yourself into the story to give Frodo a big hug, would you take me with you? Closing Lotho up in a room with rabid wargs might be good fun. I wonder who would be nastier?
Midgette - I do want to give them all a big hug, especially Frodo and sweet, loyal Sam. We'll have to see about that swift kick for Lotho.
Camellia Gamgee - Took - Yes, we're going to have some angst as well as a lot of TLC.
~*~
Author's note - Frodo's illness was inspired by a nasty bug affectionately known as 'Russian flu' that tore through the small town I lived in around 1982. Closed the schools for a week and knocked its victims off their feet in a matter of hours, causing the worst headache, fever, dizziness and sore throat yours truly has ever endured.
~*~
Chapter 9 - In Harm's Way
~*~Morning, Bag End~*~
The sunlight crept through the window and woke Bilbo suddenly. He rubbed at his eyes and looked around the room in confusion. It was a moment before he remembered that he was in Frodo's room and that he and Sam had stayed by Frodo's side through the night.
Sam had eventually fallen asleep, curled up into a ball at the end of the bed. Bilbo rose from his chair and revived the fire at the hearth. He then pulled a quilt from the armoire and covered Sam with it. If Frodo were to be deprived of Merry's company, at least he had found a loyal friend in young Samwise, and Bilbo was glad of it.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of coughing. He turned to find that Frodo had awakened, pale and feverish, with a deep, ragged cough. Bilbo hurried back to the bedside, and clasped Frodo's hand in his own. "Frodo, lad," he said softly. "Rest easy, my boy. Can I do anything for you?"
Frodo opened his eyes slowly, to a blurry vision of Bilbo leaning over him. His head hurt terribly and his throat felt as though it were on fire. It hurt to breathe, to speak, even to think. "Uncle?" he whispered hoarsely. "May I have some water?"
Bilbo nodded and hurried from the room to get a glass of cold water. When he returned, Sam had awakened and was already lifting the pitcher from the washbasin. "He's awfully warm, Mr. Bilbo," Sam said worriedly. "I'll get a cloth for his forehead."
Bilbo nodded and helped Frodo to sit up so he could drink the water. "It seems you've taken ill as a result of your unplanned swim," Bilbo told the feverish tween. "I'm so sorry Frodo."
Frodo frowned slightly. "Why, Uncle?" he asked quietly. Each word felt like sandpaper in his throat. "It wasn't your fault."
"Was it not? Since your arrival here, several unpleasant things have befallen you, and I have prevented none of them." Bilbo wrung his hands in agitation. "Was I wrong about Brandy Hall, Frodo? Might it have been a better place for you, in light of these events?"
"Tweens get injured and sick at Brandy Hall too, Uncle," Frodo informed him. "You mustn't blame yourself." Frodo succumbed to a brief but harsh fit of coughing.
"But I do, dear Frodo," Bilbo replied sadly. "I promised to care for you and to keep you from harm, and here you are in harm's way again."
"Oh, Uncle, please don't give up on yourself." Frodo reached out for Bilbo's hand and squeezed it lightly. "I know you're trying your best, and I'm sorry if I've burdened you - "
"There shall be none of that talk, Frodo," Bilbo said softly, but sternly. "You are not, nor ever shall be a burden to me in the slightest. Please remember that, come what may." Bilbo brushed Frodo's hair out of his eyes as he spoke. "You are here because I love you, Frodo. You are here because I wish you to be. You do still want to remain at Bag End, do you not?"
"Yes, Uncle," Frodo responded. "No amount of ill luck will drive me away, I promise."
Ill luck. Perhaps the recent events were due entirely to circumstance, but something about the incidents still nagged at Bilbo's mind persistently. Lotho's presence at each event might just be coincidental, but Bilbo was inclined to believe otherwise. Lotho had been directly involved in Frodo's injury during the game. He had been with Ted when the barrels rolled out of the wagon. He had been present at the Yule party when Frodo had become - was 'ill' the right word? And now this.
A terrible possibility occurred to Bilbo. Did Lotho know? Had the tween guessed at his plan of naming Frodo as his heir? Was he trying to harm Frodo for that reason? A hard, cold lump of fear settled itself into Bilbo's stomach at the thought. But how could Lotho be aware of Bilbo's plans? Bilbo told himself he was being absurd and turned his thoughts back to the young hobbit he cared for so strongly.
"Here, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as he entered the room and placed a cool, damp cloth over Frodo's forehead.
"Oh, thank you, Sam. You've no idea how good that feels!" Frodo slowly mopped his face with the cloth, then laid it over his eyes.
Bilbo turned to Sam. "Samwise, do you think your mother could take time to watch over Frodo for a while today? I've an errand or two of some importance." Sam nodded. Bell Gamgee was always willing to help a neighbor, and with so many children of her own, she had plenty of experience with caring for sick tweens.
"I'm going to prepare breakfast," Bilbo announced, and he left the room. A few moments later, sounds could be heard coming from the kitchen. Frodo dozed while Sam sat patiently nearby. After a short while, Bilbo returned with a tray for Frodo.
"You and I can have our breakfast together at the table, Samwise. But first, ill or otherwise, Frodo must have something to eat." Bilbo prodded Frodo gently. "Frodo, lad, breakfast is ready."
Frodo groaned and rolled over. "My throat is awfully sore, Uncle, but I'll try," he said, as Sam helped him sit up against the pillows. Frodo was able to manage the tea, some eggs with soft biscuits and applesauce. Having done as well as he was able, he lay down to sleep again as Bilbo removed the breakfast tray.
Sam and Bilbo sat at the table in silence, eating breakfast and thinking worried thoughts about Frodo. When they had finished, Sam ran home to give Bilbo's message to his mother, and Bilbo made ready for his errands. A healer must be summoned, of course, just to make sure that Frodo was not seriously ill. He frowned as he thought of his other errand. An unpleasant prospect, but one that must be dealt with, he felt increasingly certain.
~*~
"Poor dear," said Bell, as she stood by the bedside. "Has himself a misery, to be sure." She took the chair by the bed and carefully took Frodo's hand. "Don't you worry for him, Mr. Bilbo. He'll be quite all right with me and Samwise to watch over him for a spell."
"Thank you, Bell, you are a treasure," Bilbo said in response as he donned his coat. "I'll not be gone long, now."
As Bilbo left Bag End, he noticed that the morning sun had already melted the snow from the path. He walked with a steady, purposeful stride toward his destination. First things first, he told himself grimly. If the Sackville - Bagginses were unaware of their son's attempts to harm Frodo, he would make them aware. Although Frodo seemed to think Lotho was not out to harm him, Bilbo felt that Frodo was being too kind in his assessment of his cousin's motives. A word with Otho and Lobelia was clearly in order.
~*~
Bilbo rapped grimly on the door of the smial, and waited. Lobelia opened the door and regarded him rather sourly. "Bilbo, what brings you calling this morning?" she asked, her voice devoid of anything resembling warm greeting.
"A matter of some importance, I'm afraid. Are Otho and Lotho at home?" Bilbo would rather speak with the whole lot of them if he could. He wanted Lotho in particular to see the look in his eyes and to know what it meant.
"They are out, I'm afraid," Lobelia said tartly. "You may come in if you wish, and I will inform them of your visit when they arrive home." She opened the door wider to admit Bilbo.
"Hmmm, yes," Bilbo said as he entered. He did not move to take a seat, nor did Lobelia offer him one. That suited him just fine since what he had to say could just as easily be said standing. "It has come to my attention that Frodo has become perhaps a little more accident prone than normal of late," he said briskly, looking Lobelia in the eye.
Lobelia's eyes narrowed. "And what has that got to do with anything? His clumsiness is none of our concern."
Bilbo kept his temper with difficulty. "Frodo is not clumsy, Lobelia. And it strikes me as very interesting that every time something has occurred to harm him, Lotho has been present, if not directly involved."
Lobelia's face reddened. "Are you saying that my son is to blame for that - that - Bucklander's ill fortune?" She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Bilbo.
Bilbo wasn't about to back down. "I am saying that he had better not be." Bilbo ran down a list of the recent incidents. "Lotho hit Frodo rather hard in that game of toss - ball a few months ago, and those barrels in Ted's wagon didn't just decide to roll down the hill by themselves. Frodo had naught to drink at the Yule party besides a tankard and a half, and Lotho seemed to take a keen interest in his condition. And the incident at the pond - "
"Lotho helped pull your precious orphan out of the water, if you recall," Lobelia spat angrily. "Or have you conveniently forgotten that he helped to save him?" She sneered at Bilbo as she spoke of the Yule party. "And how do you know how much Frodo had to drink at the Yule party? Were you with him all the while? I saw you talking with the Boffins and paying him no mind."
"Frodo was too busy dancing to be drinking to excess, Lobelia. Lotho was extremely quick to pass judgment against him and accuse him of overindulging. Why, do you suppose, would he be interested in doing so?" Bilbo raised an eyebrow and stood his ground.
"I don't know and I really could not care less," Lobelia intoned, still glaring. "As to the other things you're accusing Lotho of - "
"Let me get to the point, Lobelia." Bilbo took a step closer, and was satisfied to see Lobelia step back in response. "I think Lotho feels threatened by Frodo's presence. I think he's attempting to do mischief to the lad for some reason. I would much rather be proved wrong, mind you."
"And why should our Lotho feel threatened by someone like that?" She stressed the final word condescendingly.
"Two words, Lobelia - Bag End." Bilbo raised his hand palm outward, to forestall Lobelia's protest. "It is abundantly clear to me that you and your family expect you shall inherit my home and possessions when I finally have the grace to expire." He let his gaze bore into hers. "I have not yet finalized any such plans, mind you, and I would think you would wish to take care, lest I make my decisions in less than a good mood."
Lobelia tried to hide her dismay at Bilbo's words, and failed. "There is no need to be hasty, Bilbo," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "If Lotho has offended young Frodo, he shall apologize, certainly."
"Frodo is very difficult to offend, Lobelia," Bilbo said with a tolerant smile. "I, however, am another matter. I would much rather Lotho keep his distance from Frodo for the time being. The lad is just settling in, and he needs some peace. Do we understand each other?"
Lobelia eyed him disdainfully. "We do."
"Very well, then. No need to show me the door, as I know where it is. Good day, Lobelia." Bilbo opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him.
~*~
Lobelia stood seething in the parlor. Bilbo would never have dared speak so to Otho! Imagine, Bilbo Baggins accusing her son of causing harm to that ridiculous Bucklander he had taken in, and insinuating that their inheritance of Bag End had yet to be decided! Surely he wasn't considering leaving everything to Frodo?
She would raise the subject with Lotho, and she was certain of his reaction. He would be surprised at the accusations, and hurt, surely. If everyone just kept their tempers, all of this would blow over and things would be normal again. Wouldn't they? Surely that refugee from Buckland was just visiting and would go back where he belonged soon enough.
Still in a huff, Lobelia returned to her needlework, stabbing the fabric viciously.
~*~
"Master Goodbody, good day," Bilbo said politely as he stood at the healer's door. "I was hoping you had some time today to come by Bag End. Frodo has taken ill, I'm afraid."
Gordo Goodbody furrowed his brow as he searched his memory. "Ah, the young lad from Buckland," he said, and Bilbo nodded. "I heard about the unfortunate events of yesterday morning. I shall come with you to see to his condition immediately."
Suiting action to words, the healer donned his coat and slung a bag over his shoulder. He followed Bilbo out the door and to Bag End to see to his new patient.
As they entered the parlor and hung up their coats, Bilbo and the healer were met by the sound of coughing from down the hall. It wasn't a raspy cough just from the throat, but a deep, heavy sound from the chest, and Bilbo looked at the healer worriedly.
"Hmmm, sounds like the lad is ill indeed," the healer said, picking up his bag and heading down the hallway. "A dip in cold water like that, followed by even a few minutes of exposure can bode ill, it's true."
Frodo was sitting up in bed, wiping tears from his eyes as the coughing fit ended. Sam was rubbing his back and looking frightened, while Bell held Frodo's other hand in hers, patting it gently. "Frodo lad, you remember Gordo Goodbody? You met at the Yule party. He's a healer and he's come to look in on you."
Frodo was suddenly glad of the feverish blush that already colored his cheeks, for it hid the embarrassed one that surged in the wake of the mention of the Yule party. "Yes, Uncle," Frodo responded quietly. "Master Goodbody," he nodded, trying to keep from coughing again.
Bell relinquished her chair to Bilbo and gently drew Sam out of the room
"Just relax a moment, lad," the healer instructed. He felt Frodo's forehead and looked into his throat, shaking his head slightly at what his eyes beheld. "I'll bet that's pretty sore, isn't it?" Frodo nodded. Master Goodbody listened to Frodo's breathing for a moment, then raised his eyes to Bilbo's with a concerned expression.
"He must have a good deal of rest and plenty of liquids. The cold compress for his forehead is a good idea, and will help ease his fever. He has quite a bit of congestion in his chest, which can be dangerous if not treated." He opened his bag and removed a jar of salve. "This doesn't smell very nice, but it will release vapors that will help break up the congestion." To Frodo, he noted, "Coughing may be quite uncomfortable with your throat as sore as it is, but it's necessary. Don't try to hold it back, lad." He pulled a packet of something from his bag for Bilbo. "This is a medicinal tea that will ease his headache and fever, as well as help with the pain. He's to have some every four hours while the worst of the illness persists. You can reduce it to every 8 hours once he's breathing more freely."
Bilbo nodded to the healer and went into the kitchen to summon Bell and Sam back into the room. "Samwise, would you brew up a bit of this tea please?" Bilbo asked and Sam immediately set to work. "Bell, please stay with Frodo for a moment, won't you?" She said nothing but went straight back to the tween's room.
"Master Goodbody, it has occurred to me to ask you something, if you don't mind," Bilbo said nervously looking down the hallway.
"Anything, Master Baggins," the healer replied calmly.
"The Yule party. I assume you know what happened, or part of it at any rate?" Bilbo cast a quizzical look at the healer.
"Well, yes, that is, I saw the lad's condition," Goodbody said evenly, trying to be polite regarding the subject.
"And his condition was not what it appeared, I promise you." Bilbo searched the healer's face for any sign that he was not being taken seriously. "Frodo had very little to drink that evening. It should not have been enough even to make him slightly giddy. Is there anything someone might have slipped into his ale to have that sort of an effect?"
The healer looked surprised at the question, but considered it nonetheless. "If what you say is correct and the lad did not imbibe an undue quantity, a bit of sleeping powder might have a similar effect." He thought further. "If it were to be added to an alcoholic beverage in more than a minute amount, it might well cause distress to a lad of such slim build as your Frodo."
Bilbo nodded grimly. "Thank you, Master Goodbody, for answering that question."
"Of course, Bilbo," the healer said, resisting the urge to inquire as to the reason for Bilbo's interest in the subject. If Bilbo suspected foul play of some sort, it was no one's concern but Bilbo's, lest he voluntarily share his suspicions.
Bilbo escorted Master Goodbody to the door and thanked him again for his services as he made payment. His mind was whirling as he made his way back to Frodo's room. He remembered Lotho's snide comment about Frodo not being able to handle his ale, and grimaced. He regretted not a word that he had spoken in Lobelia's parlor that day.
~*~To be continued~*~