Title: Counterpane
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd) E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com
Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Bryonia (OC - one of Frodo's relatives at Brandy Hall), various others
Rating: PG to PG-13. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature. At this point, I think the worst is over for the squeamish, but please don't blame me if you read and are offended. :)
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.
Summary: Young Frodo Baggins falls ill with the measles. (A short summary, but I'd rather avoid spoilers for this one.)
Story Notes/Announcements: Thank you all for your patience during my exceedingly long hiatus. . .my apologies; it's been rather a rough summer. Look for the next "Counterpane" update MUCH sooner, as Chapter 13 is nearly complete already!
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please contact febobe at yahoo dot 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. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.
Chapter Twelve: Lavender's Blue
It hardly seemed worth waking.
But awake he was, coughing too much to go back to sleep.
At once Bilbo was there, though. . .it was a great relief when Frodo felt himself eased up gingerly, his back rubbed in smooth, steady circles. Gratefully he clung, afraid to let go: his chest hurt, and he still felt breathless and unwell.
But the coughing fit was passing, at least for the moment.
"There's my lad. Thirsty?"
He nodded. His throat felt as if someone had pounded it with a little hammer.
A cup touched his lips, and he sipped eagerly: blueberry shrub again, much to his pleasure. It tasted better than anything else he could call to mind at the moment, even plain water. Opening his eyes, he blinked against the remaining discomfort, noticing with some pride that his bed remained as it had been: only one side still had the old railing up. Bilbo sat upon the edge of the bed, though a chair was pulled so close that clearly he must have been sitting there at first. But the room was dark save for a few shaded lamps, which left Frodo feeling somewhat disoriented. He finished the drink, finding his thirst slaked, and allowed the elder hobbit to ease him back down, settling him on his side in a soft nest of pillows and covers before moving to the chair.
"How are you feeling, my boy?"
"Lil' better, I guess." He gave a half-shrug, too tired to express much more. "I wish Mamma were here." A worried look flashed through Bilbo's eyes. "I know. . .I know, she. . .she can't; I 'member. . .but I miss her. . .'spec'ly right now. . . ."
A gentle hand stroked his brow: Bilbo pulled his chair closer, lowering his face closer to Frodo's level. "Of course, Frodo-lad. . .of course you do. I'm sorry."
Nodding faintly, Frodo curled up, snuggling into a ball. It was wonderful to have Bilbo here, really. . .it was only. . .only that Mamma would. . .well, Mamma did everything differently. She would make almost a game of it, with stories and rhymes and songs, even ones his aunts said he should be outgrowing by now.
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Rosemary's green,
When I am queen
You shall be king. . . .
He had been eleven then. . .the last winter before they died.
Yule had, as now, come and gone. . .and he'd come down with a miserable bout of the mumps, his jaws and tummy and throat aching terribly. She'd made snow cream for him, and offered nice soothing things to drink and eat while she sat with him. . .and she said there was a story to go with this rhyme, a story for which this was the perfect time of year. . . .
"What's a king, Mamma?"
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. "The Big Folk used to have a king, so the stories tell. Something like the Thain or the Master, only over a great deal more land and many more people. . .and of course, they like to do different things than we do, so it isn't quite the same. Sometimes kings make things very peaceful and proper between lands; other times they start or worsen great wars. And the queen is his wife, who has to run their home, which is like Great Smials and Brandy Hall put together and many times larger over than even that. She has the king's ear, which means she can speak to him on very important matters that might otherwise escape his attention, which is a very good thing for their people."
He frowned as she helped him turn in bed so she could sponge his back. "But. . .when people say 'when the king returns,' they say that about things like. . .well, about Uncle Bilbo acting like everyone else, or us living like 'proper Bagginses'. . .things they don't think will happen."
"That's because the Big People's king was killed a very long time ago. . .in a great war, and while there is talk that his son lived, which means the king could come again someday. . .it isn't likely. We sent hobbits to help. . .but my great-great-aunt said they were never heard from again, and word came that they never reached the king. No one knows what became of them."
The room suddenly felt colder, but Frodo felt decidedly less bored. "And what if the king ever did come again? If. . .Mamma, if you had the chance to help him. . .to help the Big Folk. . .would you?"
Turning him onto his back, she smiled, sponging his chest and tummy. "That depends, poppet. I don't believe in going away and getting involved in faraway Big Folk wars just for some sort of taste for adventure. . .but the king was good to the Shire, and what happens to one part of the world happens to all, sooner or later. If you don't help your neighbour put out the fire on his roof, before you know it, your own home may catch flame, and you've no-one to blame but yourself. But the chance of the king returning is about as likely as the chance of my becoming queen." She continued to bathe him, looking quite amused.
"Mamma?"
"Yes, poppet?"
"I think you'd make the most wonderful queen in all the world."
"Frodo?"
Frodo started from his reverie: Bilbo was stroking his brow with a damp compress, trying anxiously to capture his attention. "I'm sorry. . .I was just thinking about. . .just remembering. . . ."
The elder hobbit smiled tenderly, though there seemed a deep sadness in his eyes. "Of course, lad. Could you. . .would you mind sharing with me about. . .well, what did your mother do that made things better? I want to try and help; I can't replace her, or your father, but I'll do all I can. Talk to me, lad. . .please?"
A soft sigh escaped Frodo at the thought. What was it?
"I know having her here would be the largest part. . .but the rest. And I can listen. Your Aunt Bri doesn't like my talking to you about this, since it's important you stay quiet and warm and calm, but I don't know what we can do to best help you without asking. We can't bring your parents back, but. . .are things homelike enough for you?"
He hesitated. Wordlessly Bilbo began rubbing his back. "I. . .I think that's the worst. . .not being able to. . .see her again, or. . .or thinking I hear her and. . .I don't. . .but. . . ." He swallowed tensely against the lump in his throat. "Everyone here's always so busy. . .always with their own family. . .when I'm ill mostly I have to stay in my room alone, and if Aunt Bri's here, she takes care of me, but. . .even she's busy sometimes, and. . . ."
Bilbo nodded, his expression sombre. "What did your mother do?"
"She. . .mostly just the same things you and Aunt Bri do, I think. . .when I got ill she'd stay with me, and not leave me by myself, and give me nice things. . .things that didn't make me feel sick drinking or eating them. . .and she'd give me a bath and fresh sheets and nice blankets and all. . . . Sometimes she would sing, too. . .and. . ." He hesitated.
Bilbo might think it foolish.
Forsythia certainly said it was. A lot of his cousins said that.
Then again, he hardly cared.
"Yes, my boy?"
"She'd pick me up. . .she said I'd never be too big for her to rock. Never ever."
A warm smile reached all the way to Bilbo's eyes this time. "And you wouldn't, Frodo. I knew Prim well enough to know that. You could have grown as big as one of the Big Folk and she'd have found a way still, somehow, I suspect."
Frodo nodded weakly, his throat and eyes still stinging. . .and beginning to burn.
She was really gone.
Attempting to swallow a sob, he managed at best a shaky gulp, beginning to cry. At once Bilbo gathered him up, wrapping him in the quilt as he shushed, voice nearly a whisper.
"Oh, my poor boy. . .you've had a rough time of it since, haven't you? And I've been off down in Hobbiton thinking everything just needed to be left alone, that you'd be taken care of here just as well as if they were still alive. . .oh, Frodo. . .forgive a selfish old hobbit. . . ."
At once Frodo nestled gratefully into Bilbo's arms, clinging fretfully as he wept, responding with only a weak nod.
"I know you miss her, Frodo. . .we all do. But. . .we should have done better by you than we have."
A faint smile: that much he felt up to. Bilbo was different. Bilbo wasn't like the others. "You're nice, Uncle Bilbo. . .always coming to see me. . .and staying when I'm sick. . .and taking care of me. . .and bringing presents. . . ."
"You're a kind soul, my lad. But rest now. . .rest, if you can, and then we'll try you with something on your stomach once you're feeling a little better."
Frodo felt at first as if he should protest: his stomach still felt shaky and tight, though definitely not full. But it hardly seemed worth the effort.
And besides. . .perhaps he would feel a little better after more rest.
Snuggling comfortably against Bilbo's chest and shoulder, he curled up, allowing the elder hobbit to cradle him close. The sense of gradually-increasing movement half-startled him, causing him to close his eyes for a moment against the fear of returning dizziness. . .but then he realised.
The rocking-chair.
They were in Mamma's rocking-chair.
"Why ever would I want to be queen, poppet?"
"Because." He gazed up at her in confusion. "You're beautiful and smart and you'd be able to tell the king good things to do. . . ."
"Me?" Laughter: she continued to bathe him, finally tucking him gently, though firmly, back in beneath the counterpane. "Ay, poppet, I would hardly make a royal anything. But you. . ."
Her blue-grey eyes grew suddenly very serious, and she took his chin in her hand.
"Something tells me that it will not be my hand that guides a king's. . .but I have held a hand that will."
-to be continued-
Author's Notes: The nursery-rhymes and songs used in this chapter are adapted from My Very First Mother Goose, edited by Iona Opie and illustrated by Rosemary Wells, and from A Nursery Companion, "provided by" Iona and Peter Opie. Iona Opie and her late husband Peter are acclaimed scholars of this oft-forgotten area of study and have preserved many rhymes which, sadly, are rarely passed down in today's society. Given that many of the songs Tolkien himself wrote into The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and his poetry (see The Tolkien Reader) draw upon rhymes from these very collections (the man in the moon, anyone?), it seems plausible enough that Frodo's childhood might well have been filled with hobbit variations of these nursery-rhymes. . .hence Primula's whimsical little melodies, including this one, which is admittedly one of my personal favourites. If I do undertake a full-scale revision of "Counterpane" at some point, it may incorporate different rhymes, as I've now tracked down some of the larger works and am doing a close review.