Author's Notes: For those who notice differences between this and "Shadows
in the Darkness" - it would have been nice to do this as a companion piece,
in retrospect, but I really just wanted to get started writing, and as such
I've taken a somewhat different track. The relationship with Bilbo will
still be set up similarly, and Frodo's background is much the same, though
you'll notice it being a different aunt who has chief care of the
youngster, etc. Similar gist. :)
I am VERY sorry this took so long. . .the delays are unintentional. Presently I am in preparation, though, for quitting my job, because the stress is taking a horrendous toll on my health, which has progressively declined over the past few years. I hope to be able to provide updates on a much more appropriate and consistent basis once I'm away from here. In the meantime, thank you tremendously for your patience. . . . I'll be working on Chapter 5 ("A Bit of Thyme") while out of town for May 16-18, and hope to have absolutely all of my pieces updated within less than a week.
An anonymous reviewer penned, "I'm still trying to figure out what's wrong with him, based on your hints. I spent a long time looking through my dad's medical books and the only thing I've found that's close to what you describe is Post-Traumatic Menengitis. However, I haven't seen anything on photophobia in the disease's description. You've got me stumped here. I can't wait to see what poor little Frodo's got." Well, dear reader, you'll find out in this chapter! Anyone wishing to take a guess, place your bets now. . . . It's not quite on the level of meningitis, but you'll see. :)
Bad news: I am STILL attempting to get FrodoHealers setup moved for the younger group. Still no word from Yahoo help. *Good* news: FrodoHealers site is ready to roll, thanks to our wonderful webmistress! I'll include the URL once we have some stories up and running - FrodoHealers authors, don't forget to read Hope's instructions and get those in! :)
And, as always, thank you ALL so VERY much for reading and reviewing! I LOVE your reviews so much and am so grateful to all of you for bringing such joy to my life. :)
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com
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. Original characters, such as (but not limited to) Bryonia and Forsythia, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions.
COUNTERPANE
Chapter Four: Lost and Found
Hurt.
His stomach hurt, and his throat hurt, and he wanted a drink of water. The cup he had brought was long empty; he'd finished all that hours before, drinking between the fading fits of sleep. He really wanted some apple juice or maybe something warm, something sweetened with honey.
Daylight was already filtering into the library, forcing him to turn his face to the sofa-back, pulling the covers over his head in an effort to protect his aching eyes. His head throbbed, and he felt as if he had taken a bad fall, or been beaten. . . . Anxiously he wondered when one of the adults would come. He wanted to go back to bed.
"Frodo!"
Forsythia's voice. He looked up in panic. . .no, no, he was alone. Fretfully he tried to calm himself, to slow his breathing that caught at the least thing, inducing a dry cough.
Only my imagination, he insisted silently. Only my imagination. Bilbo says that fevers play tricks on the imagination.
"Frodo. . ."
Mamma! Mamma's voice, soft and sweet. . .so reassuring. . . . At once he put out his arms, knowing she would not laugh at him for wanting to be picked up and comforted, not when he was so sick. . . .
But no warm embrace greeted him. No soft shushing responded to his outstretched arms and exhausted whimpers. Disappointed, he folded back into a ball beneath the blankets, sobbing into the pillow, abandoning himself to the wait ahead.
"Frodo. . .Frodo. . . ."
An unfamiliar male voice, and not a hobbit's. . .this one had a strange accent, though fluent in Common Speech nonetheless. . .an. . .an elf? The tongue he used between speaking Frodo's name urgently sounded like the bits of elven-language Bilbo had begun teaching his nephew. . . . Weakly Frodo tried to answer, attempting to form a faint "Yes?" in Sindarin. . .but the effort caused him to begin coughing again. A searing pain shot through his left shoulder, and he felt himself fading into faintness, too dizzy to resist the unconsciousness claiming him. He could hear weeping, and it pained him to sadden anyone, if indeed it was that which was upsetting them. . .but he felt too ill to hold on. . . .
"Frodo. . .Frodo, sweetheart. . . ."
Someone touched him. . .someone's hand brushed his forehead gently, stroking back his hair. A soothing arm gathered him up, cradling him. . .and even with the sniffles he could detect the familiar, comforting scent of ginger and spice. . . .
"Oh, sweetheart. . .poor babe. . .Auntie's back. . . ."
He began to cry softly with relief, clinging to her. "You found me. . . ."
"Of course I found you, darling. . .I thought you might be here. . . ." She pulled him up, cradling him in her arms, holding him in her lap as she might an infant, rubbing his back. "I just got home, and came straight up to see you. When I found your room in such a state, I was worried, but thought you might be here since no one had seen you. . .and since you love it up here, I had a hunch you might have holed yourself up in here. . . ."
Sobbing, he nodded, gulping back sobs in his relief. "I. . .threw up. . .and the r-room was c-cold. . .the fire was o-out, a-and it w-was too. . .late. . .to. . .g-get anyone. . .to h-help. . . ."
"That was very clever of you, Frodo, coming here. . .not that I'm surprised, but VERY clever indeed! I'm only sorry you had to. . .poor darling. . . . They're cleaning it right now, though, and building a nice warm fire for you. Can you tell me how long you've been ill?"
"I'm n-not sure. . .days. . .I h-haven't f-felt well for almost a w-week. . .but I only started f-feeling really ill a f-few days a-ago. . . ."
"I'll send for the doctor as soon as we get you to bed. First I'm going to give you a bath, then put you to bed. . .after that, we'll see about something to eat. I'll bet you're thirsty. . .have you had anything at all?"
He shook his head. "Just some w-water. . .right after I g-got here. . . ."
"All right. . .we'll get you something to drink before your bath. . .you need to drink as much as you can, sweetie; now that I'm back you'll not have to do without, so I want you to try and take lots of sips for me. . . ." She hugged him tightly for another moment before rising, lifting him carefully. "Just a few minutes and we'll have you all nice and clean and back in bed, all right, pumpkin?"
Frodo nodded weakly. He felt too sick to think of anything but bed, though the thought of feeling clean and dry before getting into a fresh night- shirt and clean sheets was appealing: between the fever and the vomiting, he felt sticky and damp. Suddenly he felt a blanket being placed over his curls. . . .
"There now. . .I'm just going to put this blanket over your head long enough for us to get you back to your room, so the light won't hurt your eyes."
He nodded, grateful as she cradled him close, beginning the walk back to his room. It seemed so much faster than last night's journey. . .in only minutes, he heard the door close softly behind them and found the blanket being pulled from his head.
It was much better. A fire danced and leapt in the hearth, warming the room wonderfully. The floor was clean, and his bed stood ready, just folded down at the top, clean sheets and blankets crowning it beneath fresh, fluffy-looking pillows with crisp white cases. His bedside table had been cleared and cleaned, now boasting a fresh water-pitcher and several cups, with a glassful of tea-spoons and table-spoons standing beside it. The washbasin had been replaced, and a stack of folded flannels stood beside it; another washbasin stood by his bed. In the alcove where the bath-tub was, he could see a maid stacking towels on a chair beside the tub. Best of all, the curtains had been drawn closely: save for the fire, the only light was the glow of a few softly lit lamps. The room was quite dim.
"There now. . . ." Bryonia crossed to the window-seat, where a blanket had been spread out over cushions, and laid him down, beginning to undress him with gentle hands. "Tell me where it hurts, sweetheart."
"My stomach. . .and my throat. And I ache all over. . .my head especially. . . ." He winced a little as she eased his arms out of the night-shirt. "My eyes hurt terribly. . . ."
She nodded, bundling the blanket about him and brushing back the hair tumbling over his forehead. Frowning a little, she slid the fingers down, caressing his cheek lightly.
"It seems you're coming down with measles after all, pumpkin. Right here, along your forehead. . .and along your jaw. . .you're starting to break out. We'll have the doctor come and look at you to see if there's anything else we can do, but that's definitely it."
Frodo sighed, his bangs fluffing as he released the soft breath. He'd seen too many of his cousins suffering through miserable weeks of this to tolerate the thought very well; this meant he had at least a week and a half, possibly two weeks, of illness ahead. The thought was not a reassuring one.
Bryonia inspected his face and neck, then unwrapped him again briefly, checking over the rest of his body before wrapping him back up and motioning the maid over, signalling for. . .something. . . . To his delight, his aunt took a cup from the maid's hand, then lifted his head in the crook of her arm, tipping the drink to his lips. "Chamomile tea with a bit of honey, little one. Drink up; it'll ease your tummy and make you nice and drowsy again."
He drank eagerly. . .it *did* taste wonderful, and the warm liquid felt good against his aching throat. Aunt Bryonia helped him finish it all before setting the cup aside, lifting him into her arms once more.
"Ready for your bath, pumpkin?"
"Mmm-hmm." Resting his head upon her shoulder, he closed his eyes, allowing her to carry him to the tub and unfold the blankets, easing him into the water. At first, he shivered. . .but the water felt pleasant, neither hot nor cold, really. . .just warm enough to be comfortable. . .and he leaned back against the edge of the tub, where a folded towel lay ready for him to rest his head. Bryonia's soft hands dipped a flannel into the water, stroking his face with it before moving on to bathe his neck and shoulders, adding a small amount of soap. He still felt horribly ill, but the relief of having his aunt there was enough to reassure him.
At last he felt her lifting him from the bath, enveloping him in an enormous fluffy towel, warm and dry. She had even washed his hair, and began toweling it lightly, carrying him back to his bed and laying him on the downy blankets.
"There now, poppet. . .Auntie's going to tuck you right in. . . . Do you think you could eat a little breakfast for me? Nothing too hard on the stomach, just some porridge. . .crushed linseed with honey in warm milk. . .very good for upset tummies. . . ."
His stomach knotted a little at the thought of food, but he remembered being given that sort of porridge when he had had stomach flu. . .it did stay down, and the taste reminded him of his mother. . .of being rocked in her lap during his earlier toddler years. . . .
"I could try. . . ."
"Good. . .that's my sweetheart. . . ." Bryonia finished patting him dry, then eased him into a sitting position long enough to slip a clean night- shirt onto him before lifting his legs, pulling back the covers and sliding him into the nest of cool, clean sheets topped with warm blankets. "How's that feel? Any better?"
"Mmm-hmm. . . ." Oh, it DID. Much better. The sheets were soft flannel, the blankets comfortably warming, the pillows beneath his aching head blissfully fluffy. Everything felt soft and clean and comfortable.
"I'm glad. There's my good boy. Just lie nice and quiet there, and Auntie will get your porridge. . .and soon the doctor will be here and we'll see about some medicine to make you feel better. Is there anything you want? Anything I can bring you or do for you?"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, thank you, Auntie. . .just some juice, please. . . ."
"All right." Her voice was soothing, with much of the steady, calming lilt he remembered in his mother's tone. "Just a few minutes and Auntie will have that for you. . . ."
Frodo nodded gratefully, nestling into the covers as she tucked him in, so tired that he began to drowse again even while waiting, half-listening to her voice as she spoke to the serving-girl.
"Yes, apple, chilled if we have it, from the cellars – and send for the doctor at once. Go ahead and bring up plenty of cool water for washing; we'll need plenty of extra linens on hand, and see about a proper meal for when he's ready. . .soup, perhaps a nice baked custard, some applesauce. . . ." A little more murmuring. "No, no, nothing too spicy. . .I want something very soothing for him, nothing harsh or spicy. Let me know as soon as the doctor arrives." Footsteps. . .hers, comforting padding sounds against the floor before she laid her fingers against his forehead once more, stroking the mop of dark hair back from his brow. . . .
He was safe. Despite the continued sense of illness, that at least was a great relief. Closing his eyes, he curled up against the pillows, sighing as his aunt's gentle hand carefully stroked his hair.
~To Be Continued~
I am VERY sorry this took so long. . .the delays are unintentional. Presently I am in preparation, though, for quitting my job, because the stress is taking a horrendous toll on my health, which has progressively declined over the past few years. I hope to be able to provide updates on a much more appropriate and consistent basis once I'm away from here. In the meantime, thank you tremendously for your patience. . . . I'll be working on Chapter 5 ("A Bit of Thyme") while out of town for May 16-18, and hope to have absolutely all of my pieces updated within less than a week.
An anonymous reviewer penned, "I'm still trying to figure out what's wrong with him, based on your hints. I spent a long time looking through my dad's medical books and the only thing I've found that's close to what you describe is Post-Traumatic Menengitis. However, I haven't seen anything on photophobia in the disease's description. You've got me stumped here. I can't wait to see what poor little Frodo's got." Well, dear reader, you'll find out in this chapter! Anyone wishing to take a guess, place your bets now. . . . It's not quite on the level of meningitis, but you'll see. :)
Bad news: I am STILL attempting to get FrodoHealers setup moved for the younger group. Still no word from Yahoo help. *Good* news: FrodoHealers site is ready to roll, thanks to our wonderful webmistress! I'll include the URL once we have some stories up and running - FrodoHealers authors, don't forget to read Hope's instructions and get those in! :)
And, as always, thank you ALL so VERY much for reading and reviewing! I LOVE your reviews so much and am so grateful to all of you for bringing such joy to my life. :)
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com
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. Original characters, such as (but not limited to) Bryonia and Forsythia, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions.
COUNTERPANE
Chapter Four: Lost and Found
Hurt.
His stomach hurt, and his throat hurt, and he wanted a drink of water. The cup he had brought was long empty; he'd finished all that hours before, drinking between the fading fits of sleep. He really wanted some apple juice or maybe something warm, something sweetened with honey.
Daylight was already filtering into the library, forcing him to turn his face to the sofa-back, pulling the covers over his head in an effort to protect his aching eyes. His head throbbed, and he felt as if he had taken a bad fall, or been beaten. . . . Anxiously he wondered when one of the adults would come. He wanted to go back to bed.
"Frodo!"
Forsythia's voice. He looked up in panic. . .no, no, he was alone. Fretfully he tried to calm himself, to slow his breathing that caught at the least thing, inducing a dry cough.
Only my imagination, he insisted silently. Only my imagination. Bilbo says that fevers play tricks on the imagination.
"Frodo. . ."
Mamma! Mamma's voice, soft and sweet. . .so reassuring. . . . At once he put out his arms, knowing she would not laugh at him for wanting to be picked up and comforted, not when he was so sick. . . .
But no warm embrace greeted him. No soft shushing responded to his outstretched arms and exhausted whimpers. Disappointed, he folded back into a ball beneath the blankets, sobbing into the pillow, abandoning himself to the wait ahead.
"Frodo. . .Frodo. . . ."
An unfamiliar male voice, and not a hobbit's. . .this one had a strange accent, though fluent in Common Speech nonetheless. . .an. . .an elf? The tongue he used between speaking Frodo's name urgently sounded like the bits of elven-language Bilbo had begun teaching his nephew. . . . Weakly Frodo tried to answer, attempting to form a faint "Yes?" in Sindarin. . .but the effort caused him to begin coughing again. A searing pain shot through his left shoulder, and he felt himself fading into faintness, too dizzy to resist the unconsciousness claiming him. He could hear weeping, and it pained him to sadden anyone, if indeed it was that which was upsetting them. . .but he felt too ill to hold on. . . .
"Frodo. . .Frodo, sweetheart. . . ."
Someone touched him. . .someone's hand brushed his forehead gently, stroking back his hair. A soothing arm gathered him up, cradling him. . .and even with the sniffles he could detect the familiar, comforting scent of ginger and spice. . . .
"Oh, sweetheart. . .poor babe. . .Auntie's back. . . ."
He began to cry softly with relief, clinging to her. "You found me. . . ."
"Of course I found you, darling. . .I thought you might be here. . . ." She pulled him up, cradling him in her arms, holding him in her lap as she might an infant, rubbing his back. "I just got home, and came straight up to see you. When I found your room in such a state, I was worried, but thought you might be here since no one had seen you. . .and since you love it up here, I had a hunch you might have holed yourself up in here. . . ."
Sobbing, he nodded, gulping back sobs in his relief. "I. . .threw up. . .and the r-room was c-cold. . .the fire was o-out, a-and it w-was too. . .late. . .to. . .g-get anyone. . .to h-help. . . ."
"That was very clever of you, Frodo, coming here. . .not that I'm surprised, but VERY clever indeed! I'm only sorry you had to. . .poor darling. . . . They're cleaning it right now, though, and building a nice warm fire for you. Can you tell me how long you've been ill?"
"I'm n-not sure. . .days. . .I h-haven't f-felt well for almost a w-week. . .but I only started f-feeling really ill a f-few days a-ago. . . ."
"I'll send for the doctor as soon as we get you to bed. First I'm going to give you a bath, then put you to bed. . .after that, we'll see about something to eat. I'll bet you're thirsty. . .have you had anything at all?"
He shook his head. "Just some w-water. . .right after I g-got here. . . ."
"All right. . .we'll get you something to drink before your bath. . .you need to drink as much as you can, sweetie; now that I'm back you'll not have to do without, so I want you to try and take lots of sips for me. . . ." She hugged him tightly for another moment before rising, lifting him carefully. "Just a few minutes and we'll have you all nice and clean and back in bed, all right, pumpkin?"
Frodo nodded weakly. He felt too sick to think of anything but bed, though the thought of feeling clean and dry before getting into a fresh night- shirt and clean sheets was appealing: between the fever and the vomiting, he felt sticky and damp. Suddenly he felt a blanket being placed over his curls. . . .
"There now. . .I'm just going to put this blanket over your head long enough for us to get you back to your room, so the light won't hurt your eyes."
He nodded, grateful as she cradled him close, beginning the walk back to his room. It seemed so much faster than last night's journey. . .in only minutes, he heard the door close softly behind them and found the blanket being pulled from his head.
It was much better. A fire danced and leapt in the hearth, warming the room wonderfully. The floor was clean, and his bed stood ready, just folded down at the top, clean sheets and blankets crowning it beneath fresh, fluffy-looking pillows with crisp white cases. His bedside table had been cleared and cleaned, now boasting a fresh water-pitcher and several cups, with a glassful of tea-spoons and table-spoons standing beside it. The washbasin had been replaced, and a stack of folded flannels stood beside it; another washbasin stood by his bed. In the alcove where the bath-tub was, he could see a maid stacking towels on a chair beside the tub. Best of all, the curtains had been drawn closely: save for the fire, the only light was the glow of a few softly lit lamps. The room was quite dim.
"There now. . . ." Bryonia crossed to the window-seat, where a blanket had been spread out over cushions, and laid him down, beginning to undress him with gentle hands. "Tell me where it hurts, sweetheart."
"My stomach. . .and my throat. And I ache all over. . .my head especially. . . ." He winced a little as she eased his arms out of the night-shirt. "My eyes hurt terribly. . . ."
She nodded, bundling the blanket about him and brushing back the hair tumbling over his forehead. Frowning a little, she slid the fingers down, caressing his cheek lightly.
"It seems you're coming down with measles after all, pumpkin. Right here, along your forehead. . .and along your jaw. . .you're starting to break out. We'll have the doctor come and look at you to see if there's anything else we can do, but that's definitely it."
Frodo sighed, his bangs fluffing as he released the soft breath. He'd seen too many of his cousins suffering through miserable weeks of this to tolerate the thought very well; this meant he had at least a week and a half, possibly two weeks, of illness ahead. The thought was not a reassuring one.
Bryonia inspected his face and neck, then unwrapped him again briefly, checking over the rest of his body before wrapping him back up and motioning the maid over, signalling for. . .something. . . . To his delight, his aunt took a cup from the maid's hand, then lifted his head in the crook of her arm, tipping the drink to his lips. "Chamomile tea with a bit of honey, little one. Drink up; it'll ease your tummy and make you nice and drowsy again."
He drank eagerly. . .it *did* taste wonderful, and the warm liquid felt good against his aching throat. Aunt Bryonia helped him finish it all before setting the cup aside, lifting him into her arms once more.
"Ready for your bath, pumpkin?"
"Mmm-hmm." Resting his head upon her shoulder, he closed his eyes, allowing her to carry him to the tub and unfold the blankets, easing him into the water. At first, he shivered. . .but the water felt pleasant, neither hot nor cold, really. . .just warm enough to be comfortable. . .and he leaned back against the edge of the tub, where a folded towel lay ready for him to rest his head. Bryonia's soft hands dipped a flannel into the water, stroking his face with it before moving on to bathe his neck and shoulders, adding a small amount of soap. He still felt horribly ill, but the relief of having his aunt there was enough to reassure him.
At last he felt her lifting him from the bath, enveloping him in an enormous fluffy towel, warm and dry. She had even washed his hair, and began toweling it lightly, carrying him back to his bed and laying him on the downy blankets.
"There now, poppet. . .Auntie's going to tuck you right in. . . . Do you think you could eat a little breakfast for me? Nothing too hard on the stomach, just some porridge. . .crushed linseed with honey in warm milk. . .very good for upset tummies. . . ."
His stomach knotted a little at the thought of food, but he remembered being given that sort of porridge when he had had stomach flu. . .it did stay down, and the taste reminded him of his mother. . .of being rocked in her lap during his earlier toddler years. . . .
"I could try. . . ."
"Good. . .that's my sweetheart. . . ." Bryonia finished patting him dry, then eased him into a sitting position long enough to slip a clean night- shirt onto him before lifting his legs, pulling back the covers and sliding him into the nest of cool, clean sheets topped with warm blankets. "How's that feel? Any better?"
"Mmm-hmm. . . ." Oh, it DID. Much better. The sheets were soft flannel, the blankets comfortably warming, the pillows beneath his aching head blissfully fluffy. Everything felt soft and clean and comfortable.
"I'm glad. There's my good boy. Just lie nice and quiet there, and Auntie will get your porridge. . .and soon the doctor will be here and we'll see about some medicine to make you feel better. Is there anything you want? Anything I can bring you or do for you?"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, thank you, Auntie. . .just some juice, please. . . ."
"All right." Her voice was soothing, with much of the steady, calming lilt he remembered in his mother's tone. "Just a few minutes and Auntie will have that for you. . . ."
Frodo nodded gratefully, nestling into the covers as she tucked him in, so tired that he began to drowse again even while waiting, half-listening to her voice as she spoke to the serving-girl.
"Yes, apple, chilled if we have it, from the cellars – and send for the doctor at once. Go ahead and bring up plenty of cool water for washing; we'll need plenty of extra linens on hand, and see about a proper meal for when he's ready. . .soup, perhaps a nice baked custard, some applesauce. . . ." A little more murmuring. "No, no, nothing too spicy. . .I want something very soothing for him, nothing harsh or spicy. Let me know as soon as the doctor arrives." Footsteps. . .hers, comforting padding sounds against the floor before she laid her fingers against his forehead once more, stroking the mop of dark hair back from his brow. . . .
He was safe. Despite the continued sense of illness, that at least was a great relief. Closing his eyes, he curled up against the pillows, sighing as his aunt's gentle hand carefully stroked his hair.
~To Be Continued~