FIC: "Winter" (PG-13, 3/?) by Febobe

[febobe]

Title: Winter
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FBoBE/"Febobe")
Rating: PG-13 for angst and some medically graphic content in later chapters
Warnings: Angst and medically graphic content to come, lots of food detail and cuddling
Summary: Aragorn stops at Bilbo's one Shire winter, and meets a loving family...only to face the fight of his life when their little son, Frodo, falls gravely ill.
Notes: Inspired by a LilyBaggins plotbunny - "I would LOVE to read a fic like "Counterpane" with a very young Frodo being cared for by Aragorn. That is, Frodo is a child... and maybe a healer-ranger drops into Brandy Hall for some reason (bad weather, etc.) or is called upon by Gandalf in an epidemic... or maybe he stops by Bag End when Frodo is visiting (since Frodo should be a lot younger than 21)." LB, here you go...more to come! If you can just hang on a little longer, there's vomiting coming in another couple of chapters, I promise! :D

CHAPTER THREE

Aragorn awoke with a start.

Something had caused him to awaken, he was sure of it. But what? Here in Bilbo's parlor, all seemed peaceful enough: only the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth broke the silence, and Aragorn's bed was comfortable enough. Bilbo had wanted to put him up in a "proper bed, though they're small for you," or at least the long sofa, but Aragorn was quite content to lay out his bedroll on the floor, accepting only a pillow and an extra quilt ("just in case") from the master of the house - or, hole, as the case might be.

But he did not commonly awaken without cause, and so he sat up, listening carefully for any sound, even a slight stirring. From the hallway, he could hear Bilbo's snoring, and possibly Drogo's too, but that was not it.

Slowly he rose, and stepped to the hall door.

The kitchen.

Someone was in the kitchen.

Cautiously he moved down the hall, taking all stealth, though he left his sword behind. It would not do to startle anyone if it were only someone in search of a midnight snack, after all, and any intruder was more likely than not a hobbit, if indeed such a thing could happen here in the peaceful Shire. More than likely, Aragorn reasoned, someone was hungry and in search of a bite to eat.

He did not expect what he found.

Primula was sitting by the fading fire, a small blanket-wrapped bundle nestled in her arms. As Aragorn stepped gingerly into the kitchen, he cleared his throat, hoping to avoid startling her. She looked up, and he could see that her face looked tired.

"Oh!" she said. "I'm sorry; did we wake you?"

"It is fine. I am a light sleeper." He knelt beside her chair. "Is something the matter?"

"My little one can't sleep. He's burning up."

Winter had never been a good time for children, in Aragorn's experience. The few children he had known from visits back to his mother's village never fared well in winter, and epidemics thrived then - sometimes dangerous illnesses, such as measles, scarlet fever, and influenza. There was little to be done for these things save good nursing - and in that, he reasoned, the hobbits were more fortunate, for there were comforts here unknown to the Arnorians remaining, who sometimes found food scarce in winter, and whose homes lacked the secure warmth of hobbit-holes like Bag End.

"May I have a look?"

She studied him for a minute, as if making up her mind, then folded back the blanket. Frodo rested against her shoulder, a tiny flushed-faced bundle who looked as if he had been crying.

"Do not be afraid, little one," Aragorn murmured gently. "I only wish to see how you are." Carefully he laid two fingers along the tiny forehead.

Burning hot. Primula had not exaggerated.

"Has he any other symptoms - a rash, a cough?"

"He says his throat hurts terribly. I couldn't get him to swallow a mouthful of water."

Aragorn touched the little chin with one finger. "May I see, Frodo? Will you open up for me?" Frodo complied, and Aragorn peered inside as best he could in the dim light. It was quite difficult to tell, without better lighting, but he thought the throat looked red and swollen. Touching Frodo's chin lightly again to indicate that he could close his mouth, Aragorn sat back on his heels.

"It is difficult to tell. It could be a trifling indisposition; children sometimes have high fevers for small ailments - colds, sore throats. Or it could be something more serious - we should know within a day or two, I think."

"What's all this? Is Frodo hungry again - shall I scramble him an egg?" Bilbo's sleepy voice sounded from the doorway. Aragorn turned.

"It's Frodo," Primula answered. "He's ill."

"Ill? Oh, dear." Bilbo approached, reaching over to pat the little bundle on the back. "There now, my lad. It's all right."

"If you would not mind putting on a kettle, Bilbo, I think we might try some ginger tea," Aragorn advised. "Sometimes warm liquids go down easier. He might be willing to swallow some sips of that, and it is important that we get him to drink."

"Of course!" said Bilbo, hurrying to fetch the kettle and fill it. Primula nodded numbly.

"Perhaps we could try putting him back to bed?" suggested Aragorn. "If we give him something warm and tuck him in, he may fall back to sleep."

Primula rose, balancing the little hobbit on her hip, and led the way down the hall, turning, as if prepared for Aragorn to follow. He did, leaving Bilbo behind to work on the tea, and they made their way down to a very pleasantly appointed room with a bed (hobbit-sized, of course) and a large arm-chair beside it.

"Bilbo knows Frodo wants me to stay till he's asleep sometimes," Primula explained, "but Frodo was so proud to have his own room this time, and sleep in his own bed. But sometimes when he's ill, he gets a bit clingy."

Surprisingly, however, as Primula started to lay her child down, he shook his head.

"Do you want Mamma still?" asked Primula gently.

Frodo shook his head, dark curls bobbing...then pointed at Aragorn.

"He wants you," Primula said. "I am sorry; shall I hold him?"

"I think I can manage," said Aragorn with a smile. "Give him to me. I promise to be gentle!"

Carefully Primula handed over the little bundle, and Aragorn seated himself on the rug, leaving the chair for Primula.

At once the child smiled a little and snuggled up against him.

Aragorn felt utterly taken aback. This child, so trusting, and so - well, adventurous, for one of his kind - it was startling, but altogether endearing.

I never dreamed I would see a hobbit-child up close, he thought, and now I am holding one!

-to be continued-