Esmeralda surveyed the confused muddle before her. Frodo was lying upon his side, his limbs entangled amongst the wreckage of the chair. His eyes were closed and his face was pale beneath its summer tan, all sign of the blush of a few minutes ago now fled from his high cheeks. It was with some relief that she saw the small chest moving up and down and she began to hurriedly assess what damage had been done.
Suddenly other hands, large and rough, began to scoop Frodo up and Esmeralda reached out in alarm to catch Saradoc's wrists. "No! Stop!"
Her husband met her eyes, about to protest, but he stopped when he saw the calm certainty in Esmeralda's face. She let go his hands and he drew them back, resting them on his thighs as he awaited his wife's instruction. Esmeralda tried to smile reassuringly.
"We must be careful about moving him. If anything's broken we could cause more harm if we don't move him correctly."
She had done enough helping with the tending of sick children over the past few months to know what to do while waiting for the doctor, and she began to run her hands over his limbs and torso; searching for potential breaks and trying to determine where the growing pool of blood was coming from.
As she worked her mind processed the various bits of information being picked up by her ears. The doctor had been sent for . . . apparently he was somewhere in the Hall already, treating one of the older residents for gout. And someone had been dispatched to advise Bilbo and Rorymac.
It did not take her long to establish that Frodo had probably sprained or broken his left ankle, definitely broken his left arm, trapped beneath him when he fell, and that the blood came from a bad gash on his left calf and a small cut on his head. Esmeralda sighed with relief. They were serious, to be sure, but only the head wound could be considered dangerous and Esmeralda could find no trace of any depression in the bones of his skull around it. She listed the injuries out loud to Saradoc and then the two of them began to disentangle Frodo from the splintered wood of the chair.
By the time the doctor bustled in they had Frodo upon his bed, with a folded towel beneath his head and another wrapped about his leg, the limb supported on several pillows willingly supplied by the occupants of nearby rooms; most of whom were now clustered about the door, so that Bilbo had to push and elbow his way into the room behind the physician.
Esmeralda was quite gratified when the doctor concurred with her findings, declaring the ankle to be badly sprained and, upon checking Frodo's eyes, that he did not believe that there was any fracture to the skull. Both knew however, that it was still a possibility and the sooner Frodo regained consciousness the better were his chances that there was no damage.
Saradoc, meanwhile, ushered everyone back to their daily business and Bilbo took up station at the foot of the bed . . . fidgeting but trying to stay out of the way whilst Esmeralda and Dr Dunhill undressed Frodo and tended his various injuries. Frodo remained unaware throughout and all within the room were, to some extent, relieved. The setting of bones was a painful procedure, as was the cleaning and suturing of cuts and the doctor had to probe deeply to remove several large splinters that had become embedded in the leg wound. Esmeralda sighed as they drew the covers up over Frodo at last. They were not out of the woods. The lad would be in a great deal of pain when he awoke and there would likely be a fever too.
Esmeralda's husband returned as they were finishing, wordlessly removing the splintered chair and stained rug and returning with two sturdy new chairs. Esmeralda immediately set one by the bedside and led Bilbo to sit in it, for he looked almost as pale as his cousin and Frodo would likely want to see him when he awoke. Dr Dunhill left several bottles of medicine and a jar of salve, giving Esmeralda instructions on their use and left as quickly as he had arrived, apparently eager to reach home before dark.
Esmeralda moved quietly about the room for a while, setting it to rights and when she came back to the bedside it was to find Bilbo holding Frodo's right hand, stroking its back absently with his thumb. There was definitely more to Bilbo Baggins than the rumours told.
"I need to arrange for some supplies. Can you cope if I leave you for a few minutes?" Esmeralda asked. "There will be someone outside the door if you need me."
Bilbo met her gaze, blinking his way out of reverie. "Yes, of course. Please do whatever you need to for the lad. I'll send for you if he awakens," he replied.
Esmeralda nodded, wiping her hands upon her apron and quickly re-arranging the combs in her hair. In all the activity several of them had managed to worry themselves loose again. As she reached the door Bilbo's voice came again.
"Thank you, Esmeralda. Frodo said that you were very dear to him and now I can see why."
Esmeralda blushed and turned back to the hobbit that many called "Mad Baggins". "And in the past few days I have come to see why you are very dear to him too." She left to issue instructions for the things they would need.
000
By the time Frodo was stirring, some hours later, his room had been transformed. Clothes and toys had been tidied away, a cheery fire flickered in the grate and a kettle steamed gently over it. A narrow but long table had replaced the small one holding the oil lamp and arranged upon it were all the things needed to tend the sick child . . . medicines, fresh bandages, bowls and cloths and a pile of fresh linens. Bilbo sat in a chair at one side of Frodo's bed and Esmeralda sat at the other.
Thick dark lashes fluttered and then cracked slowly open to reveal dazed eyes. For a moment Frodo fought to focus but when his gaze finally settled it was upon Bilbo's smiling face.
"Hello, my lad. How are you feeling?"
Frodo blinked in confusion and tried to move. Bilbo caught him at once as a sharp cry escaped the child's lips. Frodo began to wail as all his hurts made themselves apparent at once, and Bilbo glanced helplessly across the bed at Esmeralda. At once she shook one of the bottles the doctor had left and poured a little dark syrup into a spoon.
Bilbo stroked Frodo's face, trying with little success, to brush away the tears, which flowed freely down his nephew's flushed cheeks. "Hush now, Frodo lad. Your Auntie Esme has some medicine for you that will make the pain go away. Come on now."
As he spoke, Bilbo slipped a hand beneath Frodo's pillow to raise his head a little. Unfortunately, the movement of his injured head brought a fresh cry and Bilbo nearly dropped him in alarm. His words seemed to have some effect however and Frodo curled towards him as best he could, the wails becoming quieter, although no less heart rending to the two tending him.
Esmeralda leaned closer and slipped the spoon into Frodo's mouth and the lad swallowed, too distraught to protest any unpleasant taste.
Once he was lying flat again Esmeralda brought a damp cloth and began to blot gently at his feverish and tear swollen face and Bilbo caught up the lads hand once more, wincing a little as Frodo squeezed hard in his pain. Only one word was repeated in between the wails . . .
"Bilbo."
Over a period of several long minutes the wails faded to whimpers and then died down to deep sobs and Frodo's fretful movements stilled as the medicine and the attentions of his carers, calmed and soothed him. The doctor had warned Esmeralda not to give Frodo the medicine too often because it was quite a strong sedative but with the level of pain and shock that Frodo was experiencing it was the only way to ease him.
Frodo's tears slowed and finally stopped and Esmeralda laid aside her cloth, watching the fever bright eyes become slightly unfocussed as the medicine took a firm hold on the small body. Suddenly Frodo swallowed and his face paled as he turned his head to his Auntie and whimpered. Esmeralda recognised the warning signs at once and grabbed a bowl; her action registering upon Bilbo, who raised Frodo and supported him while Esmeralda swung the bowl just below the lad's chin. Not a moment too soon.
Bilbo held his nephew's forehead and supported him against his side as Esmeralda rubbed his sweat slicked back and held the bowl. Frodo had consumed a lot of food at his party and his over-stressed body could no longer cope with trying to digest it. Esmeralda and Bilbo could only look on and support him as best they could as he retched over and over, the action in itself redoubling the pain in his damaged body and Frodo's tears returned. Slowly, the retching became dry heaves and then sobs as the boy sagged bonelessly against his Uncle, not even having the strength to swill and spit out the sip of water Esmeralda offered. It trickled from his lips and Esmeralda wiped it away gently with a damp cloth.
They settled him down again, arranging pillows to support his arm and leg and straightening the sheets and quilts. He should really have his perspiration sponged away but Esmeralda decided to leave him for a little while, not wanting to cause him any more pain, now that he did not have the full dose of sedative in him. She dare not give him any more for several hours for she did not know how much of the original dose he had digested and could only hope that he had taken in enough. It was with some relief that Esmeralda saw the blue eyes flutter closed once more and Frodo's breathing settle, although even in his sleep the occasional soft hitch of a sob could be heard.
She sighed as she collected and covered the basin and left the room to empty it. It seemed life was destined to be painful for this lad.