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febobeThis is a treatfic for Milk_and_Glass, whom I offered fic to and asked what she'd like. When I asked, she said she'd like to see stomach flu in a young Frodo (the younger the better) with Primula or Bilbo. :) So here you go, sweetie - part one, the rest is coming; I couldn't get it all written tonight!!!! :D But I have a start past chapter one, so it's getting there. ;D
PG-13 purely for bare little hobbit backside. If you think I need to up it to an R for that reason, please let me know so I can do so when I do post it to ff.net, but I figured PG-13 would probably suffice. I mean, there's no sex, no slash, and no profanity, as usual. . . .
"Mm-mm."
Primula blinked as Frodo shook his head firmly. "But, darling, you *love* baked mushrooms for breakfast!"
"Mm-mm." Again a firm shake of the little head as her five-year-old son adamantly pushed away his untouched first breakfast, which normally he would have wolfed down like any healthy little hobbit.
Any healthy little hobbit. . . .
Well, then. Carefully she sat down at the table beside him. "Frodo, is something the matter?"
A tiny nod. She put out a hand to his forehead.
Hot.
Too hot.
Trying to contain her alarm, Primula rose, lifting her son into her arms. "Tell Mamma what's the matter, pumpkin."
He curled against her bosom and shoulder wearily, limp as a rag-doll. "Tummy hurts."
Tummyache. Tummyache. He hadn't eaten anything unusual the day before, nor more than usual. . .if anything, he'd been a touch off his feed. I should have known something was wrong! Primula berated herself as she turned to carry her sick child from the table. He brooked no protest, worrisomely enough, at being taken from table without a bite to eat, and Primula immediately took him back to his room, where she put him back to bed - an easy enough matter, since Frodo always took first breakfast in his night-shirt. Primula did not believe in formalities among family at first breakfast.
Even before she could get him tucked in, however, her little one paled, attempting to sit back up. At once Primula guessed what was going to happen, and fortunately she was quick with the chamber-pot. Frodo was violently ill. When the fit passed, she took the tumbler of water kept on his bedside table.
"Rinse, darling. Swish and spit. That'll help the nasty taste."
He obeyed, whimpering weakly. Suddenly, however, there was another problem, to judge from the look on his face.
"Mamma - mamma - "
Guessing his need at once, Primula picked him up and hurried to the water-closet, given that she had no other clean chamber-pot in the room, calling loudly to Drogo as she ran. Mother and son arrived just in time, Primula depositing Frodo on the seat in time for what she could tell was an explosion of diarrhea.
"Primmy?" A knock accompanied the familiar voice at the door. "Is everything all right?"
"Frodo's taken sick. I need you to gather up all the chamber-pots we have and put them in his room. Take out the soiled one that's in there. Then fetch me some lukewarm water and cloths. Once you've got that done, run for Dr. Goldworthy. Tell him Frodo's taken sick with fever and tummyache and can't eat."
"Of course." She could hear his footsteps hurry away. Meanwhile, her small son had folded against her, beginning to cry weakly.
"Tummy hurts, Mamma. . . ."
"Sshhh, I know, dear." She stroked his damp back. "The doctor will come soon, and he'll tell Mamma what to do for you. Just tell Mamma when you feel you can go back to bed. Do you think you're finished for now?"
He nodded piteously.
"All right, then. Let's get you cleaned up."
-to be continued-
PG-13 purely for bare little hobbit backside. If you think I need to up it to an R for that reason, please let me know so I can do so when I do post it to ff.net, but I figured PG-13 would probably suffice. I mean, there's no sex, no slash, and no profanity, as usual. . . .
"Mm-mm."
Primula blinked as Frodo shook his head firmly. "But, darling, you *love* baked mushrooms for breakfast!"
"Mm-mm." Again a firm shake of the little head as her five-year-old son adamantly pushed away his untouched first breakfast, which normally he would have wolfed down like any healthy little hobbit.
Any healthy little hobbit. . . .
Well, then. Carefully she sat down at the table beside him. "Frodo, is something the matter?"
A tiny nod. She put out a hand to his forehead.
Hot.
Too hot.
Trying to contain her alarm, Primula rose, lifting her son into her arms. "Tell Mamma what's the matter, pumpkin."
He curled against her bosom and shoulder wearily, limp as a rag-doll. "Tummy hurts."
Tummyache. Tummyache. He hadn't eaten anything unusual the day before, nor more than usual. . .if anything, he'd been a touch off his feed. I should have known something was wrong! Primula berated herself as she turned to carry her sick child from the table. He brooked no protest, worrisomely enough, at being taken from table without a bite to eat, and Primula immediately took him back to his room, where she put him back to bed - an easy enough matter, since Frodo always took first breakfast in his night-shirt. Primula did not believe in formalities among family at first breakfast.
Even before she could get him tucked in, however, her little one paled, attempting to sit back up. At once Primula guessed what was going to happen, and fortunately she was quick with the chamber-pot. Frodo was violently ill. When the fit passed, she took the tumbler of water kept on his bedside table.
"Rinse, darling. Swish and spit. That'll help the nasty taste."
He obeyed, whimpering weakly. Suddenly, however, there was another problem, to judge from the look on his face.
"Mamma - mamma - "
Guessing his need at once, Primula picked him up and hurried to the water-closet, given that she had no other clean chamber-pot in the room, calling loudly to Drogo as she ran. Mother and son arrived just in time, Primula depositing Frodo on the seat in time for what she could tell was an explosion of diarrhea.
"Primmy?" A knock accompanied the familiar voice at the door. "Is everything all right?"
"Frodo's taken sick. I need you to gather up all the chamber-pots we have and put them in his room. Take out the soiled one that's in there. Then fetch me some lukewarm water and cloths. Once you've got that done, run for Dr. Goldworthy. Tell him Frodo's taken sick with fever and tummyache and can't eat."
"Of course." She could hear his footsteps hurry away. Meanwhile, her small son had folded against her, beginning to cry weakly.
"Tummy hurts, Mamma. . . ."
"Sshhh, I know, dear." She stroked his damp back. "The doctor will come soon, and he'll tell Mamma what to do for you. Just tell Mamma when you feel you can go back to bed. Do you think you're finished for now?"
He nodded piteously.
"All right, then. Let's get you cleaned up."
-to be continued-
