Author's Notes: As before, I am sorry this took so long. . .the delays are
purely unintentional. Thank you tremendously for your patience. . . .
This story is far from over, and I hope updates will be more frequent now
that I'm getting back into the swing of things.
And, as always, thank you ALL so VERY much for reading and reviewing! It was a tremendous delight to see the latest batches of reviews. . .I LOVE your comments and am exceedingly grateful to all of you for bringing the joy that you do to my life! :) It is a privilege to write for you all. :) I'm very behind on reviewing, but I'm reading. . .slowly catching up, bit by bit. The plot bunnies are bouncing, so in addition to updates of this fic, look for more from me soon. . .also feel free to check my sites. . .both my fanfic site at http://fbobe.deep-ice.com and the FrodoHealers group site at http://bagend.fateback.com. (A special thanks to HOPE for creating these sites - and all the updating she's done!)
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodoatbagend@yahoo.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 Six: Lost, Found, and Other Confusions
It was cold.
Too cold. Worse than winter. . .it felt as if he were outside without clothes in a winter like the Fell Winter of the tales his elders told, when the Brandywine River froze and wolves came across it. . . . The wind came through everything, howling in his ears.
He wanted to sleep, though. Just sleep. . .if he never woke up again, what would it matter? He was so cold. . .and so tired. . . .
Yet somehow there seemed to be something else. . .something that tormented him even through the drowsiness. . . . Something important. . . .
"Come on, sweetheart. . .just a spoonful. . .then I have something nice for you. . . ."
Frodo blinked, whimpering. His eyes ached, and opening them did nothing to help the matter. Someone cradled him in one arm, allowing him to rest against her soft bosom. . .he couldn't remember whom she was, though. . . . Not his mother; he was certain of that, but. . .someone who seemed to care about him, at least. . .she looked quite familiar. . . . She pressed a tea- spoon to his lips, rubbing them lightly. Reluctantly he swallowed, nearly choking on the strong taste: apple cider-ish, but still decidedly bitter. Yet as promised, something else touched his lips: something deliciously sweet and strong enough to rinse away the medicinal taste from before. . .currants! After the first sip, he drank eagerly, pleased by the taste of the hot liquid. Black currant jam, one of his favourite foods. . . .
"There now. . .there's a good lad. Sssssshhhhh."
The soft shushing was sufficient to induce him toward remaining very quiet, and he looked up at the lady again, still feeling rather confused. He was in bed, lying on clean sheets, tucked beneath quilts and soft blankets. As the lady eased him down, he found that pillows were propped behind him, keeping him comfortably raised. . .well, as close to comfortably as one could get, he thought, for he felt miserably achy. The room was very dim, lit only by the fire crackling in the hearth and a small lamp placed some distance from his bedside, for which he felt very grateful. The lady touched a cool cloth to his face, stroking his features with it, causing him to nestle a bit more securely into the array of blankets.
"Close your eyes now, poppet. There's a dear. Auntie's just going to put this nice compress on them to make them feel better."
He obeyed, glad of it as she settled something warm and damp over his face. Chamomile. Smelled of chamomile. But still he felt miserable, achy and depressed, and wanted nothing more than to get comfortable again. . .if such a thing were even possible, something he sorely doubted at the moment.
"I want my mamma, please - "
A soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I can't get your mamma for you."
No. . .oh!. . .yes, he remembered now. . .only. . .only for a moment it had seemed to him that. . .well, as if it had never happened. . . . Thirsty, though. . . . "Please. . .drink. . . ."
"Of course. . .of course, sweetheart." Another moment, and a cup touched his lips, tilted so he could sip. More of the delicious jammy-tasting drink, hot and sweet. He drank it down, ignoring the soreness in his throat, until the cup was taken away. "Try to sleep, if you can."
"Mmmmph." He still felt headachy and sick. Anything sounded painful, but it was too difficult to stay awake anyhow. Slowly he allowed it to overtake him, pulling him into uneasy dreams.
*********************************************
"No - now, not yet, little bunny! Come on. . . ."
Primula lifted him in her arms, away from the cake on the table, and carried him over to the window-seat, settling in with him in her lap. With a mischievous smile, she reached toward the plate set beside them, holding up a sandwich cut into the shape of a mushroom. Frodo laughed, and she promptly held it out for him to take a bite, watching with a delighted smile as he ate it all up. Its filling was just like the shape - fresh mushrooms, his favourite -
"There's my good boy! Cake after, Mamma promises. . .but first I want you to eat up your lunch. . .so you'll grow up good and strong." She gave him a drink of milk from his cup, then held out another sandwich, this little one cut like a heart, with a red line of strawberry jam trimming the edges. Again he ate every bite, evoking a bright smile from his mother once more.
"Do you two need anything else?"
Frodo looked up, squealing with delight as Bilbo came into the kitchen, nearly upsetting the cup of milk Primula coaxed to his mouth. At once he put out his arms, causing both adult hobbits to laugh.
"I think we're fine, thank you, Bilbo. . .but I think someone has his own opinion about everything today!" Laughing, Primula allowed the elder hobbit to take Frodo into his arms. "Careful, now, no bouncing him. . .he's only just eaten a bit, and I'm sure you don't want those clothes ruined. . . ."
"Oh, it's fine, fine, Prim. . .there now. . . ." Grinning, Bilbo took a seat at the table, rather close to the cake. Frodo struggled to reach it, nearly escaping Bilbo's grasp at first, but the master of Bag End caught on quickly, putting both arms firmly around the lad. "Not yet, Frodo! Soon, soon, I promise!" He looked over at Primula, sighing. "I'm so glad you brought the boy by for us to have an early birthday-celebration. . .though I do wish you could be here for the day itself."
"As do I. But Father insists on our coming back before then, and - well, you know Drogo; he won't object, given that there's always a splendid supper when we get home." She laughed, shaking her head, dark curls tumbling about her face. "I don't know what's keeping him - he was supposed to just deliver a few mathoms and come right back."
"He'll be back soon. No doubt Dora's talking his ears off." Chuckling, Bilbo reached for another tray on the table, taking a small apple tart from it and popping the treat into his charge's mouth. Frodo ate it up at once, beaming as he looked up at his cousin.
"More, Uncle Bilbo! More!"
Both adults laughed, and Primula shook her head. "Frodo! What do you say? And he's your *cousin*, sweetheart. . .not your uncle. . . ."
"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo. . .please more?"
Bilbo chuckled, rewarding him with another miniature tart. "It hardly matters, Prim, after all. Drogo and I both know how it is not to be on much of a speaking turn with the rest of the Baggins family. We might as well be brothers, I'm sure. . .it doesn't matter. He knows who I am. . .don't you, Frodo-lad?"
Frodo started to nod, but as he looked up at Bilbo, the elder hobbit's features changed: before his eyes, Bilbo transformed into a hideous monster, something as wicked as the goblins in the tales Frodo had heard him tell, with fierce teeth and a fiery gaze. . . .
*********************************************
"Sssshhhh. . .there now, poppet. . .it's all right. . . ."
He awoke in someone's arms. . .one of his aunts. . .again? Why? "Please. . .Mamma. . . ."
"Oh, Frodo, sweetheart. . . ."
Why would they not call her in? Didn't she know he was ill? "No. . .Mamma. . .I want Mamma. . .please. . .please, go and get Mamma!"
"Ssshhhhh. . .sssshhhh, sweetheart. . . ."
He sobbed, struggling to get down from her lap. She didn't understand! Why wouldn't she get his mother for him? Strong arms held him, refusing to let him go, and he cried harder, prompting a fit of coughing which forced him to stop struggling. At once gentle hands rubbed his back, his aunt rocking him carefully back and forth.
Why? Why wouldn't she fetch Mamma?
Unless. . .
"M. . .M-Mamma isn't. . .ill, t-too, is sh-she?"
"No. . .no, poppet, she isn't." Cradling him close, his aunt sighed, though he could not understand why. "She's. . .gone away. . .but. . .if she were here, she would want you to rest quietly, and not make yourself worse with trying to get up."
He sobbed, dropping his head against her shoulder. Too tired to argue. Everything ached, and he felt so sick. . .his head ached, and his throat hurt, and he wanted his parents.
Movement.
She was taking him somewhere. Where? After a moment, he felt her sit back down, easing him against her as she unwrapped the quilt, easing his arms out of the night-shirt and pulling it over his head. . .then there was the sudden sense of water against his toes. . .then feet. . .then legs. . .as she began lowering him into something. . .a bath. . . .
"Easy, sweetheart. . .a bath will make you feel better. Auntie's just going to get you cooled down a little. . .and then we'll put you back to bed. Would you like something to drink?" He nodded eagerly. "All right. Good. There's a good lad."
He drank greedily as she held a cup to his lips. Chamomile tea this time. . .he recognised the taste, somewhat apple-ish and warm. He didn't like it as well as the black currant stuff earlier, but it would do. . .anything to ease the thirst and the dryness in his aching throat. Maybe Mamma would make more of that for him when she came back.
As soon as he finished the drink, his aunt set the cup aside, wringing out a cloth in the water and running it lightly over his face and neck, working on down to his shoulders. . .then arms, paying special attention to raising each arm and sponging liberally beneath it.
"This will help bring down your fever, poppet. . .it will help you, I promise."
He made a face, scowling slightly as he finally opened his eyes. He wanted to go back to bed. . .sleep till Mamma came home. . . . His eyes hurt, and the room was awfully dark. . .but he didn't think he could bear it any brighter, either.
"Rest if you can, Frodo, darling. Auntie will just finish your bath and take you back to bed. . .you don't have to do anything but rest. Close your eyes."
Sighing, he obeyed. Within moments, he felt himself drifting off as his aunt sponged his chest and belly, splashing cool water over his tummy.
*********************************************
"His pulse is still quite quick, but that is to be expected. As is the temperature. But I am concerned how this child will bear up, given his state of health at the outset."
A lady's voice. "He seemed confused earlier, even before he became delirious, and that worried me."
"Mm. Yes, a bad sign. He may grow delirious again toward evening; you'll have to watch him closely. It's important you make sure he does *not* get out of bed: being carried to the bath or held and rocked, that's fine, but sometimes children try to get up when they're out of their heads like this. Try to calm him with chamomile tea and a sponge-bath if you can." The lower voice again, this was. . .a gentlehobbit's. . . .
"Yes. . .yes, he tried earlier already, poor lad. Believe me, I'm not going anywhere. One of my sisters will come and help out once she settles her children tonight. He'll have someone with him at all times, I assure you."
He recognised the lady's voice. . .Aunt Bryonia's. . .couldn't place the other at first. Hands lifted the covers from his feet, and he whimpered in protest.
"I see the rash is nearly out. He may feel a bit better once that's finished."
The covers were lowered back over his feet, someone rubbing them gently. He tried to concentrate on what else they were saying, but sleep crept back over him, and he found himself drowsing off once more.
*********************************************
A hall. He was in a hall.
Not an ordinary passageway, though. . .like something in a mountain. . . .
What was he doing there? There was something important. . .but he couldn't remember exactly what. Did it matter? Of course it did, but he wasn't sure what it was. . .perhaps if he kept moving forward?
The passage seemed to grow hotter, and there was the stench of sulphur and smoke.
A dragon!
Or one of the fire-mountains he'd heard about, maybe? There were books that spoke of such places, though mostly only books uncle Bilbo had; most hobbits preferred books on geneaology and hobbit history and cookery of all sorts. His parents and aunts and uncles had shelves full of books, mostly about the history of Buckland and the Brandybuck family, about making three hundred different kinds of soup and about raising children.
It was so hot. . .and he was so tired. . .just wanted to rest. . . .
*********************************************
"How has he been? I came at once."
"He's had a very bad time of it, I'm afraid. Running terribly high temperatures and all. . .none of mine were ever this ill with measles, but of course you know how this little one is, bless his heart. . . ."
"Yes. . .yes, ever since that bout with pneumonia. . . ." A deep breath. . .another male hobbit's voice. Not the doctor's, though. . . . "Well, Dora sent up a basketful of things, and so did Mrs. Gamgee, my gardener's wife, bless them both. . .elderflower and gooseberry jam, strawberry conserve, even a jarful of chicken broth, all sorts of good things. . .and I've brought a few things myself, stopped by the apothecary's on my way out of town: syrups to make a bit of shrub with, some barley sugar, mint humbugs and sugar mice for when he's well enough. . .it sounded in his letter as if he's been having rather a hard time of it. I don't think he wants to burden anyone with fretting over him, poor lad. Oh! I've candied ginger, too. . .that might help settle his stomach, always has. . . ."
"He'll love that - there's one medicine that's still bitter, apple cider vinegar and willow and such, and he hates taking it - but it's to help with the fever and the pain, and I can't leave it off - "
"Of course not, of course not. . . ."
Frodo tried to place the voice without opening his eyes: there was a compress over them, and they still ached. Wasn't the doctor. . .wasn't Papa. . .wasn't. . .no. . .could it. . . ?
Warm hands touched his face. He could smell hints of ginger and pipeweed. . .Longbottom Leaf, the favourite of. . . .
"Uncle Bilbo?"
"Yes! Yes, Frodo-lad. . .I'm here." The hands lifted the compress, and Frodo blinked, reaching up to rub his aching eyes.
He still looked younger than Papa, even, despite being older.
At once Frodo began to cry. It was all too much.
"Sssssshhh. . .there now, lad, it's all right. . . ." Lifting the sick child gently, Bilbo settled him against one shoulder, rubbing his back. "I won't be going anywhere until you're well; your Aunt Bryonia agrees it's for the best. . .sssshh now. . . ."
Frodo managed a nod, blinking back the tears that stung at his eyes, making them burn. Aunt Bryonia leaned over them, folding another compress and settling it over his eyes. Of course, he could not see Bilbo. . .but that hardly mattered. Uncle Bilbo was there.
~To Be Continued~
And, as always, thank you ALL so VERY much for reading and reviewing! It was a tremendous delight to see the latest batches of reviews. . .I LOVE your comments and am exceedingly grateful to all of you for bringing the joy that you do to my life! :) It is a privilege to write for you all. :) I'm very behind on reviewing, but I'm reading. . .slowly catching up, bit by bit. The plot bunnies are bouncing, so in addition to updates of this fic, look for more from me soon. . .also feel free to check my sites. . .both my fanfic site at http://fbobe.deep-ice.com and the FrodoHealers group site at http://bagend.fateback.com. (A special thanks to HOPE for creating these sites - and all the updating she's done!)
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodoatbagend@yahoo.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 Six: Lost, Found, and Other Confusions
It was cold.
Too cold. Worse than winter. . .it felt as if he were outside without clothes in a winter like the Fell Winter of the tales his elders told, when the Brandywine River froze and wolves came across it. . . . The wind came through everything, howling in his ears.
He wanted to sleep, though. Just sleep. . .if he never woke up again, what would it matter? He was so cold. . .and so tired. . . .
Yet somehow there seemed to be something else. . .something that tormented him even through the drowsiness. . . . Something important. . . .
"Come on, sweetheart. . .just a spoonful. . .then I have something nice for you. . . ."
Frodo blinked, whimpering. His eyes ached, and opening them did nothing to help the matter. Someone cradled him in one arm, allowing him to rest against her soft bosom. . .he couldn't remember whom she was, though. . . . Not his mother; he was certain of that, but. . .someone who seemed to care about him, at least. . .she looked quite familiar. . . . She pressed a tea- spoon to his lips, rubbing them lightly. Reluctantly he swallowed, nearly choking on the strong taste: apple cider-ish, but still decidedly bitter. Yet as promised, something else touched his lips: something deliciously sweet and strong enough to rinse away the medicinal taste from before. . .currants! After the first sip, he drank eagerly, pleased by the taste of the hot liquid. Black currant jam, one of his favourite foods. . . .
"There now. . .there's a good lad. Sssssshhhhh."
The soft shushing was sufficient to induce him toward remaining very quiet, and he looked up at the lady again, still feeling rather confused. He was in bed, lying on clean sheets, tucked beneath quilts and soft blankets. As the lady eased him down, he found that pillows were propped behind him, keeping him comfortably raised. . .well, as close to comfortably as one could get, he thought, for he felt miserably achy. The room was very dim, lit only by the fire crackling in the hearth and a small lamp placed some distance from his bedside, for which he felt very grateful. The lady touched a cool cloth to his face, stroking his features with it, causing him to nestle a bit more securely into the array of blankets.
"Close your eyes now, poppet. There's a dear. Auntie's just going to put this nice compress on them to make them feel better."
He obeyed, glad of it as she settled something warm and damp over his face. Chamomile. Smelled of chamomile. But still he felt miserable, achy and depressed, and wanted nothing more than to get comfortable again. . .if such a thing were even possible, something he sorely doubted at the moment.
"I want my mamma, please - "
A soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I can't get your mamma for you."
No. . .oh!. . .yes, he remembered now. . .only. . .only for a moment it had seemed to him that. . .well, as if it had never happened. . . . Thirsty, though. . . . "Please. . .drink. . . ."
"Of course. . .of course, sweetheart." Another moment, and a cup touched his lips, tilted so he could sip. More of the delicious jammy-tasting drink, hot and sweet. He drank it down, ignoring the soreness in his throat, until the cup was taken away. "Try to sleep, if you can."
"Mmmmph." He still felt headachy and sick. Anything sounded painful, but it was too difficult to stay awake anyhow. Slowly he allowed it to overtake him, pulling him into uneasy dreams.
*********************************************
"No - now, not yet, little bunny! Come on. . . ."
Primula lifted him in her arms, away from the cake on the table, and carried him over to the window-seat, settling in with him in her lap. With a mischievous smile, she reached toward the plate set beside them, holding up a sandwich cut into the shape of a mushroom. Frodo laughed, and she promptly held it out for him to take a bite, watching with a delighted smile as he ate it all up. Its filling was just like the shape - fresh mushrooms, his favourite -
"There's my good boy! Cake after, Mamma promises. . .but first I want you to eat up your lunch. . .so you'll grow up good and strong." She gave him a drink of milk from his cup, then held out another sandwich, this little one cut like a heart, with a red line of strawberry jam trimming the edges. Again he ate every bite, evoking a bright smile from his mother once more.
"Do you two need anything else?"
Frodo looked up, squealing with delight as Bilbo came into the kitchen, nearly upsetting the cup of milk Primula coaxed to his mouth. At once he put out his arms, causing both adult hobbits to laugh.
"I think we're fine, thank you, Bilbo. . .but I think someone has his own opinion about everything today!" Laughing, Primula allowed the elder hobbit to take Frodo into his arms. "Careful, now, no bouncing him. . .he's only just eaten a bit, and I'm sure you don't want those clothes ruined. . . ."
"Oh, it's fine, fine, Prim. . .there now. . . ." Grinning, Bilbo took a seat at the table, rather close to the cake. Frodo struggled to reach it, nearly escaping Bilbo's grasp at first, but the master of Bag End caught on quickly, putting both arms firmly around the lad. "Not yet, Frodo! Soon, soon, I promise!" He looked over at Primula, sighing. "I'm so glad you brought the boy by for us to have an early birthday-celebration. . .though I do wish you could be here for the day itself."
"As do I. But Father insists on our coming back before then, and - well, you know Drogo; he won't object, given that there's always a splendid supper when we get home." She laughed, shaking her head, dark curls tumbling about her face. "I don't know what's keeping him - he was supposed to just deliver a few mathoms and come right back."
"He'll be back soon. No doubt Dora's talking his ears off." Chuckling, Bilbo reached for another tray on the table, taking a small apple tart from it and popping the treat into his charge's mouth. Frodo ate it up at once, beaming as he looked up at his cousin.
"More, Uncle Bilbo! More!"
Both adults laughed, and Primula shook her head. "Frodo! What do you say? And he's your *cousin*, sweetheart. . .not your uncle. . . ."
"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo. . .please more?"
Bilbo chuckled, rewarding him with another miniature tart. "It hardly matters, Prim, after all. Drogo and I both know how it is not to be on much of a speaking turn with the rest of the Baggins family. We might as well be brothers, I'm sure. . .it doesn't matter. He knows who I am. . .don't you, Frodo-lad?"
Frodo started to nod, but as he looked up at Bilbo, the elder hobbit's features changed: before his eyes, Bilbo transformed into a hideous monster, something as wicked as the goblins in the tales Frodo had heard him tell, with fierce teeth and a fiery gaze. . . .
*********************************************
"Sssshhhh. . .there now, poppet. . .it's all right. . . ."
He awoke in someone's arms. . .one of his aunts. . .again? Why? "Please. . .Mamma. . . ."
"Oh, Frodo, sweetheart. . . ."
Why would they not call her in? Didn't she know he was ill? "No. . .Mamma. . .I want Mamma. . .please. . .please, go and get Mamma!"
"Ssshhhhh. . .sssshhhh, sweetheart. . . ."
He sobbed, struggling to get down from her lap. She didn't understand! Why wouldn't she get his mother for him? Strong arms held him, refusing to let him go, and he cried harder, prompting a fit of coughing which forced him to stop struggling. At once gentle hands rubbed his back, his aunt rocking him carefully back and forth.
Why? Why wouldn't she fetch Mamma?
Unless. . .
"M. . .M-Mamma isn't. . .ill, t-too, is sh-she?"
"No. . .no, poppet, she isn't." Cradling him close, his aunt sighed, though he could not understand why. "She's. . .gone away. . .but. . .if she were here, she would want you to rest quietly, and not make yourself worse with trying to get up."
He sobbed, dropping his head against her shoulder. Too tired to argue. Everything ached, and he felt so sick. . .his head ached, and his throat hurt, and he wanted his parents.
Movement.
She was taking him somewhere. Where? After a moment, he felt her sit back down, easing him against her as she unwrapped the quilt, easing his arms out of the night-shirt and pulling it over his head. . .then there was the sudden sense of water against his toes. . .then feet. . .then legs. . .as she began lowering him into something. . .a bath. . . .
"Easy, sweetheart. . .a bath will make you feel better. Auntie's just going to get you cooled down a little. . .and then we'll put you back to bed. Would you like something to drink?" He nodded eagerly. "All right. Good. There's a good lad."
He drank greedily as she held a cup to his lips. Chamomile tea this time. . .he recognised the taste, somewhat apple-ish and warm. He didn't like it as well as the black currant stuff earlier, but it would do. . .anything to ease the thirst and the dryness in his aching throat. Maybe Mamma would make more of that for him when she came back.
As soon as he finished the drink, his aunt set the cup aside, wringing out a cloth in the water and running it lightly over his face and neck, working on down to his shoulders. . .then arms, paying special attention to raising each arm and sponging liberally beneath it.
"This will help bring down your fever, poppet. . .it will help you, I promise."
He made a face, scowling slightly as he finally opened his eyes. He wanted to go back to bed. . .sleep till Mamma came home. . . . His eyes hurt, and the room was awfully dark. . .but he didn't think he could bear it any brighter, either.
"Rest if you can, Frodo, darling. Auntie will just finish your bath and take you back to bed. . .you don't have to do anything but rest. Close your eyes."
Sighing, he obeyed. Within moments, he felt himself drifting off as his aunt sponged his chest and belly, splashing cool water over his tummy.
*********************************************
"His pulse is still quite quick, but that is to be expected. As is the temperature. But I am concerned how this child will bear up, given his state of health at the outset."
A lady's voice. "He seemed confused earlier, even before he became delirious, and that worried me."
"Mm. Yes, a bad sign. He may grow delirious again toward evening; you'll have to watch him closely. It's important you make sure he does *not* get out of bed: being carried to the bath or held and rocked, that's fine, but sometimes children try to get up when they're out of their heads like this. Try to calm him with chamomile tea and a sponge-bath if you can." The lower voice again, this was. . .a gentlehobbit's. . . .
"Yes. . .yes, he tried earlier already, poor lad. Believe me, I'm not going anywhere. One of my sisters will come and help out once she settles her children tonight. He'll have someone with him at all times, I assure you."
He recognised the lady's voice. . .Aunt Bryonia's. . .couldn't place the other at first. Hands lifted the covers from his feet, and he whimpered in protest.
"I see the rash is nearly out. He may feel a bit better once that's finished."
The covers were lowered back over his feet, someone rubbing them gently. He tried to concentrate on what else they were saying, but sleep crept back over him, and he found himself drowsing off once more.
*********************************************
A hall. He was in a hall.
Not an ordinary passageway, though. . .like something in a mountain. . . .
What was he doing there? There was something important. . .but he couldn't remember exactly what. Did it matter? Of course it did, but he wasn't sure what it was. . .perhaps if he kept moving forward?
The passage seemed to grow hotter, and there was the stench of sulphur and smoke.
A dragon!
Or one of the fire-mountains he'd heard about, maybe? There were books that spoke of such places, though mostly only books uncle Bilbo had; most hobbits preferred books on geneaology and hobbit history and cookery of all sorts. His parents and aunts and uncles had shelves full of books, mostly about the history of Buckland and the Brandybuck family, about making three hundred different kinds of soup and about raising children.
It was so hot. . .and he was so tired. . .just wanted to rest. . . .
*********************************************
"How has he been? I came at once."
"He's had a very bad time of it, I'm afraid. Running terribly high temperatures and all. . .none of mine were ever this ill with measles, but of course you know how this little one is, bless his heart. . . ."
"Yes. . .yes, ever since that bout with pneumonia. . . ." A deep breath. . .another male hobbit's voice. Not the doctor's, though. . . . "Well, Dora sent up a basketful of things, and so did Mrs. Gamgee, my gardener's wife, bless them both. . .elderflower and gooseberry jam, strawberry conserve, even a jarful of chicken broth, all sorts of good things. . .and I've brought a few things myself, stopped by the apothecary's on my way out of town: syrups to make a bit of shrub with, some barley sugar, mint humbugs and sugar mice for when he's well enough. . .it sounded in his letter as if he's been having rather a hard time of it. I don't think he wants to burden anyone with fretting over him, poor lad. Oh! I've candied ginger, too. . .that might help settle his stomach, always has. . . ."
"He'll love that - there's one medicine that's still bitter, apple cider vinegar and willow and such, and he hates taking it - but it's to help with the fever and the pain, and I can't leave it off - "
"Of course not, of course not. . . ."
Frodo tried to place the voice without opening his eyes: there was a compress over them, and they still ached. Wasn't the doctor. . .wasn't Papa. . .wasn't. . .no. . .could it. . . ?
Warm hands touched his face. He could smell hints of ginger and pipeweed. . .Longbottom Leaf, the favourite of. . . .
"Uncle Bilbo?"
"Yes! Yes, Frodo-lad. . .I'm here." The hands lifted the compress, and Frodo blinked, reaching up to rub his aching eyes.
He still looked younger than Papa, even, despite being older.
At once Frodo began to cry. It was all too much.
"Sssssshhh. . .there now, lad, it's all right. . . ." Lifting the sick child gently, Bilbo settled him against one shoulder, rubbing his back. "I won't be going anywhere until you're well; your Aunt Bryonia agrees it's for the best. . .sssshh now. . . ."
Frodo managed a nod, blinking back the tears that stung at his eyes, making them burn. Aunt Bryonia leaned over them, folding another compress and settling it over his eyes. Of course, he could not see Bilbo. . .but that hardly mattered. Uncle Bilbo was there.
~To Be Continued~