Concerns and Lullabies
A/N: "Into the West" belongs to PJ, Fran, and Annie. I no own, they no sue.
*bows*
Frodo's perdiction proved to be correct. What appeared to be a simple case of sniffles had turned into a nasty chest cold by the next day, and all plans of a snowy afternoon had been cut short as the lad lay miserably in bed, staring out the window at the falling flakes. He was in a foul mood, and try as he might, Bilbo could not cheer him up. He didn't complain, but rarely smiled, sighing occasionally as he watched the others have fun outside. His uncle tried to keep him amused the best he could during the day, playing quiet games with him and reading him Elvish tales from the book Gandalf had given Frodo for his birthday.
During afternoon tea, Bilbo mentioned that Yule was quickly approaching, and Frodo smiled. Yule was one of his favorite holidays, with all of its merrymaking, presents, and festivites. He always looked forward to seeing Merry and his other cousins, as well as his aunts and uncles, over the many trips and visits that would take place. His favorite time of all, however, was when everyone gathered at Bag End for a Yule dinner including Bilbo's famous stuffed goose. This would be the first year he was living there, as well. The first year he would truly be home for the holidays. This though cheered the lad quite a bit.
"Bilbo," he commented, "won't it be fun to go visiting during Yule? It's so soon, I just hope I'm well then." Bilbo smiled, but inside he thought the same thing.
"I'm sure you will be up and about by then," he said cheerfully, and Frodo grinned.
*********************************************************
Frodo wasn't any better the next day, however, or the day after that. Bilbo did the best he could to care for him, doing everything the healers had told him to do, but the lad only got worse. Finally, he realized he had to consult a real expert, and asked Bell to come see what she could do.
"My, the snow doesn't seem to be letting up a bit! We're in for quite a storm, I think!" Bell exclaimed, as she opened the door of Bag End, and took off her thick woolen cloak and scarf. Pulling her golden, gray- streaked curls back into a sensible bun, she rushed over to where Frodo sat looking small and miserable in the big velvet chair. Wrapped in blankets, he let out a strain of wracking coughs and Bell and Bilbo exchanged worried looks.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Bell. I didn't know whom else to ask." Bell smiled.
"Not a problem, Mr. Bilbo, not a problem at all. My little ones are cozy and warm at home with their Gaffer, and they won't miss me for a few hours. Now, tell me what exactly is wrong with the dear lad."
Bilbo sighed, running his hand through his silver hair. "It started as a simple cold, but now he'll barely eat, and you heard his dreadful cough." Bell nodded sadly.
"It's probably the flu, or something of the like. What did the healers tell you?" She asked, as Bilbo handed Frodo some handkercheifs and brushed errant curls out of his flushed face. The lad sneezed loudly, and began to cough wetly. Bilbo rubbed his back in soothing circles until he was through, and Frodo visibly relaxed, sinking into the chair weakly as his eyelids drooped.
"Nothing I couldn't see for myself. They gave me the usual teas and herbs, but nothing seems to be working," he said, the tiniest note of despiration visible in his tone.
"Not to worry, Mr. Bilbo. I think I have a few things that will help, and I'll teach you how to prepare them." She walked over to Frodo and put a rough hand to his forehead, frowning.
"He seems to be running a bit of a fever, sir. I'll run a cool bath, and if you can, set up a comfortable place for him to sleep. He needs his rest." Bilbo nodded, and hurried off, while Bell gently lifted the small boy from the chair, whispering soothing words to him as she carried him off in her arms. He seemed to be partially asleep, but let out strained coughing, trying to say something.
"What is it, love?" Bell asked gently. "Just speak slowly, and then try to rest your voice."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gamgee..." he whispered hoarsely, and she smiled, kissing him on his warm, pale forehead.
*******************************************************
After Frodo's bath and some teas Bell prepared, he seemed to feel a bit better. Bilbo managed to coax him into eating a few bites of toast with jam, some soft-boiled eggs, and creamy cinnamon custard, before tucking him into bed. Soon Frodo had drifted off to sleep, and Bell and Bilbo stepped quietly out of the room, and walked to the foyer so Bell could gather her things to leave.
"Is he going to be all right, Bell?" asked the old hobbit with concern. Bell sighed, and shook her head.
"I honestly don't know sir. He's very ill, and no mistake. Just keep caring for him the best you can, and make sure you give him the special tea I made every couple of hours. He should get plenty of rest, and whatever soft food he can handle. I'll come back tomorrow if he's worse, just send word."
"Thank you, Bell. You've been incredible help. I'm not used to caring for a lad his age, let alone one who's so ill. Is there anything I can do to repay you?" Asked Bilbo.
"Now, Mr. Bilbo, don't go saying nothin' of the sort. I'll take no payment; I only want Mr. Frodo to get well." Bilbo smiled, and bid Bell goodbye, as she walked out into the snowy evening.
After she left, Bilbo quietly entered his nephew's bedchamber, which had been temporarily moved to the master bedroom. It was cooler there, and easier for Bilbo to hear Frodo if he called. Sitting down next to the tweenager's bed, he noticed the lad was still awake, his blue eyes fever- bright and teary and his body wracked with coughs. He stared at his uncle misrabely, and Bilbo's heart broke in two. Hugging the lad closely, he tried his best to soothe him.
"Shhh, It's all right, silme. You'll be all right. I'm right here." Frodo closed his eyes, and leaned against his uncle's chest, as Bilbo lulled him to sleep with a lullaby his mother sang to him when he was ill as a lad.
"Lay down, your sweet and weary head...
Night is falling, you have come to journey's end.
Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before.
They are calling, from across the distant shore.
Why do weep? What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away, safe in my arms,
you're only sleeping."
Bilbo had a surprisingly beautiful singing voice, a trait shared by many of the Bagginses, including Frodo. More than anything, the lad desired to listen to the enchanting singing of the elves he had heard about in so many stories.
When Frodo had finally fallen into a deep sleep, Bilbo gave him a gentle kiss on his feverish forehead and tucked him in, blowing out the candle on his bedside table. He walked to his own room, sitting by his window, looking at the stars.
"I can't lose him. I can't," he whispered to himself, holding back tears. "Not my lad. Not...not my Frodo. He looks so helpless...I don't--I don't know what to do." He sighed, and turned away from the starry scene outside to ready himself for bed. "I only wish I had more help around here. I can't keep asking Bell to come; she has her own family to look after..." his thoughts were cut off by a loud knock. Surprised, Bilbo hurried to the door, doing his best not to wake his nephew. He opened it, yawning.
"Your help has arrived, my dear Hobbit." Bilbo gasped.
In front of him stood Gandalf.
A/N: "Into the West" belongs to PJ, Fran, and Annie. I no own, they no sue.
*bows*
Frodo's perdiction proved to be correct. What appeared to be a simple case of sniffles had turned into a nasty chest cold by the next day, and all plans of a snowy afternoon had been cut short as the lad lay miserably in bed, staring out the window at the falling flakes. He was in a foul mood, and try as he might, Bilbo could not cheer him up. He didn't complain, but rarely smiled, sighing occasionally as he watched the others have fun outside. His uncle tried to keep him amused the best he could during the day, playing quiet games with him and reading him Elvish tales from the book Gandalf had given Frodo for his birthday.
During afternoon tea, Bilbo mentioned that Yule was quickly approaching, and Frodo smiled. Yule was one of his favorite holidays, with all of its merrymaking, presents, and festivites. He always looked forward to seeing Merry and his other cousins, as well as his aunts and uncles, over the many trips and visits that would take place. His favorite time of all, however, was when everyone gathered at Bag End for a Yule dinner including Bilbo's famous stuffed goose. This would be the first year he was living there, as well. The first year he would truly be home for the holidays. This though cheered the lad quite a bit.
"Bilbo," he commented, "won't it be fun to go visiting during Yule? It's so soon, I just hope I'm well then." Bilbo smiled, but inside he thought the same thing.
"I'm sure you will be up and about by then," he said cheerfully, and Frodo grinned.
*********************************************************
Frodo wasn't any better the next day, however, or the day after that. Bilbo did the best he could to care for him, doing everything the healers had told him to do, but the lad only got worse. Finally, he realized he had to consult a real expert, and asked Bell to come see what she could do.
"My, the snow doesn't seem to be letting up a bit! We're in for quite a storm, I think!" Bell exclaimed, as she opened the door of Bag End, and took off her thick woolen cloak and scarf. Pulling her golden, gray- streaked curls back into a sensible bun, she rushed over to where Frodo sat looking small and miserable in the big velvet chair. Wrapped in blankets, he let out a strain of wracking coughs and Bell and Bilbo exchanged worried looks.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Bell. I didn't know whom else to ask." Bell smiled.
"Not a problem, Mr. Bilbo, not a problem at all. My little ones are cozy and warm at home with their Gaffer, and they won't miss me for a few hours. Now, tell me what exactly is wrong with the dear lad."
Bilbo sighed, running his hand through his silver hair. "It started as a simple cold, but now he'll barely eat, and you heard his dreadful cough." Bell nodded sadly.
"It's probably the flu, or something of the like. What did the healers tell you?" She asked, as Bilbo handed Frodo some handkercheifs and brushed errant curls out of his flushed face. The lad sneezed loudly, and began to cough wetly. Bilbo rubbed his back in soothing circles until he was through, and Frodo visibly relaxed, sinking into the chair weakly as his eyelids drooped.
"Nothing I couldn't see for myself. They gave me the usual teas and herbs, but nothing seems to be working," he said, the tiniest note of despiration visible in his tone.
"Not to worry, Mr. Bilbo. I think I have a few things that will help, and I'll teach you how to prepare them." She walked over to Frodo and put a rough hand to his forehead, frowning.
"He seems to be running a bit of a fever, sir. I'll run a cool bath, and if you can, set up a comfortable place for him to sleep. He needs his rest." Bilbo nodded, and hurried off, while Bell gently lifted the small boy from the chair, whispering soothing words to him as she carried him off in her arms. He seemed to be partially asleep, but let out strained coughing, trying to say something.
"What is it, love?" Bell asked gently. "Just speak slowly, and then try to rest your voice."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gamgee..." he whispered hoarsely, and she smiled, kissing him on his warm, pale forehead.
*******************************************************
After Frodo's bath and some teas Bell prepared, he seemed to feel a bit better. Bilbo managed to coax him into eating a few bites of toast with jam, some soft-boiled eggs, and creamy cinnamon custard, before tucking him into bed. Soon Frodo had drifted off to sleep, and Bell and Bilbo stepped quietly out of the room, and walked to the foyer so Bell could gather her things to leave.
"Is he going to be all right, Bell?" asked the old hobbit with concern. Bell sighed, and shook her head.
"I honestly don't know sir. He's very ill, and no mistake. Just keep caring for him the best you can, and make sure you give him the special tea I made every couple of hours. He should get plenty of rest, and whatever soft food he can handle. I'll come back tomorrow if he's worse, just send word."
"Thank you, Bell. You've been incredible help. I'm not used to caring for a lad his age, let alone one who's so ill. Is there anything I can do to repay you?" Asked Bilbo.
"Now, Mr. Bilbo, don't go saying nothin' of the sort. I'll take no payment; I only want Mr. Frodo to get well." Bilbo smiled, and bid Bell goodbye, as she walked out into the snowy evening.
After she left, Bilbo quietly entered his nephew's bedchamber, which had been temporarily moved to the master bedroom. It was cooler there, and easier for Bilbo to hear Frodo if he called. Sitting down next to the tweenager's bed, he noticed the lad was still awake, his blue eyes fever- bright and teary and his body wracked with coughs. He stared at his uncle misrabely, and Bilbo's heart broke in two. Hugging the lad closely, he tried his best to soothe him.
"Shhh, It's all right, silme. You'll be all right. I'm right here." Frodo closed his eyes, and leaned against his uncle's chest, as Bilbo lulled him to sleep with a lullaby his mother sang to him when he was ill as a lad.
"Lay down, your sweet and weary head...
Night is falling, you have come to journey's end.
Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before.
They are calling, from across the distant shore.
Why do weep? What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away, safe in my arms,
you're only sleeping."
Bilbo had a surprisingly beautiful singing voice, a trait shared by many of the Bagginses, including Frodo. More than anything, the lad desired to listen to the enchanting singing of the elves he had heard about in so many stories.
When Frodo had finally fallen into a deep sleep, Bilbo gave him a gentle kiss on his feverish forehead and tucked him in, blowing out the candle on his bedside table. He walked to his own room, sitting by his window, looking at the stars.
"I can't lose him. I can't," he whispered to himself, holding back tears. "Not my lad. Not...not my Frodo. He looks so helpless...I don't--I don't know what to do." He sighed, and turned away from the starry scene outside to ready himself for bed. "I only wish I had more help around here. I can't keep asking Bell to come; she has her own family to look after..." his thoughts were cut off by a loud knock. Surprised, Bilbo hurried to the door, doing his best not to wake his nephew. He opened it, yawning.
"Your help has arrived, my dear Hobbit." Bilbo gasped.
In front of him stood Gandalf.