When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

Chapter 15 ~Many Achoo’s

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            “Pippin?”

            I tried desperately to ignore the voice that wanted to bring me out of my peacefully unconscious state.

            “Pippin?”

            This time the voice was accompanied by the voice shaking my shoulders.  I tried to turn away, but as I did, I realized that I couldn’t turn away.  My face was stuck, and I couldn’t breathe.

            Now very much awake, I began to panic.  “Help!” I cried, but it came out as more of an “Mrph!”

            Now the voice was pulling my hair.  It hurt for a moment; then my face was free.  I opened my mouth and gasped for air.  As I did, the distinct taste of porridge filled my mouth. 

            “Pippin, are you all right?” Merry asked worriedly.

            I nodded. Judging by the food all over my face, I must have fallen asleep in my porridge.  I ran my tongue experimentally over my lips and made a face in disgust.  Porridge was not one of Cousin Bilbo’s strong points. 

            “ACHOO!”

            My thoughts were rudely interrupted by another of Bombur’s sneezes.  He had gotten progressively worse throughout the day; and his sneezing had caused many bumped heads (Bilbo had jumped while under an open cabinet), dropped dishes (none of them had broken, fortunately), and black eyes (Bilbo’s first defense against the enormous sneezes were to punch randomly, as if he were being attacked).

            Luckily, by now we had all gotten used to the interruption; and sneezes were now met only by light jumping.

            The porridge had been an attempt of Bilbo’s to care for Bombur.  When we had finally finished cleaning and bringing in the furniture, it had been well past afternoon tea.  Deciding that we did not have enough time to make soup, Bilbo had settled on porridge, much to all of our chagrin. 

            Frodo handed me a handkerchief.  I looked at it quizzically.  “Wipe your face,” he whispered discreetly.  I did so.

            Merry rubbed his eyes and gave a huge yawn.  We were all exhausted from the hard work and very little sleep of the previous night, and although I was the only one so far to have fallen asleep, we were all very muchly ready for bed. 

            “Bilbo,” said Bombur from the other room.  “I seem to be all out of handkerchiefs.  Might you have any?”

            Bilbo rose and went into the other room.  As he did, I noticed Frodo’s face dipping dangerously into his bowl.

            “Frodo!” Merry and I yelled together.

            “What is it?” he whined.

            “You were falling asleep again.”

            Frodo listlessly stirred his porridge.  “Bilbo, I don’t feel good,” he called.

            Bilbo came back in.  “Oh, Frodo, you’re not sick too!”

            “My head hurts.”

            Bilbo placed a hand on Frodo’s forehead.  “You are much too warm,” said Bilbo.  “I order immediate bed rest.”

            To my surprise, Frodo pushed away his plate and left without a complaint.  Bilbo watched him go and shook his head.

            “This porridge is awful.  Could you make me some soup?” Merry complained.

            “No.” Bilbo answered.  “Perhaps I should send you to bed as well.”

            “But I’m not tired!” Merry said, holding back a yawn.

            “Bed, Mr. Brandybuck.”

            Merry sighed and followed Frodo.

            Bilbo eyed me warily.  “I suppose that you have something to add to this as well, Mr. Peregrin?”

            I shook my head.  “I feel fine.  Just tired.”

            “Bed for you as well, Pippin.”

             Obediently, I abandoned my porridge and went to bed.  I didn’t even bother to change into my nightshirt or get under my blankets before falling asleep.

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            “ACHOO!”

            I sat up with a jerk.  The sun was streaming through my window, which meant that I had slept through the night.

            “ACHOO!”

            I hurried for my door and went into the front room.

            “Achoo!”

            Turning around, I saw Merry finish a glorious sneeze.

            “Bless you.”

            “Thank you.”

            Bilbo looked up from Bombur (who was lying on the bed, looking for the world like he was dying) and turned as we came in.  “Oh, goodness, Merry, don’t tell me that you are also sick!”

            “No,” Merry said crossly.  “Of course not.  I don’t (sniff) get sick.”

            Just then, Frodo came in the room as well.  He looked like death.  “Bilbo,” he whispered; then coughed hard.

            Bilbo put his head in his hands.  “Valar help us.”

            I was silently checking myself for any symptoms of illness.  “Sinuses clear?  Check.  Is my throat sore?  No.  Do I feel like coughing up my insides?  No.  Also, I have no symptoms of nausea, weak limbs, or achy joints.”

             Bilbo may have wanted the Valar’s help, but I was thanking them that I was not sick.  Well, I was until I saw the two foot high pile of dirty hankies that Bombur had used throughout the night.  How disgusting. 

              “Pippin, how feel you?” Bilbo asked.

            “Wonderful.”

            “Well, there’s one good thing.  Merry, Frodo, go back and lie down.  Pippin and I will be there with hot tea and porridge.”

            I opened my mouth in protest.  I had most certainly not volunteered to take care of my grumpy and whiney cousins.

            “Cousin Bilbo, I protest-”

            “I didn’t ask if you protested.  Now, come help me.”

            Bilbo set to making breakfast while I went searching for extra hankies.  We were most definitely going to need them, judging by the piles already forming in everyone’s respective rooms.  And I most certainly was not planning on washing them.

            That was where I faced my first problem.  There were no extra hankies to be found.  The second problem was that all there was for breakfast was porridge and tea.  Did I mention how much I hated porridge?

            Luckily for me, I managed to have some bread and jam while Bilbo was taking care of Merry (who did not want porridge, and said so very loudly).

            “Pippin,” said Bilbo when he had finished serving everyone; “I think that we have a problem.”

            “What is it?” I asked in dread.

            “We do not have enough clean handkerchiefs for the sick people in this house.  Bombur alone uses three every five minutes.”

            “Mightn’t we borrow some from the Gamgees?” I asked meekly.

            “Now, see here, Pippin, I will not be running to the Gamgees for every small thing, and especially not when the problem is easily resolved.”

            I knew what was coming, but I asked anyway.  “What are we going to do, then?”

            “We?  No, no, Pippin, there cannot be a we in this matter.  I must make hot soup for the patients (as my porridge does not meet their satisfaction).  No, you, Pippin, must wash the handkerchiefs.”

            I shuddered at the thought.  Mayhap being ill would have been better, after all.

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Author’s Notes: Everyone getting sick except Bilbo and Pippin is, I believe, a direct result from having read far too many stories of Pippin being a sickly, frail child.  This is my way of rebelling.  I do not think that Pippin would always be coming down with one cold or another, as is seen in far too many fanfics.  Did he ever get sick on the Ring quest?  No!  Did he die from complications of pneumonia?  No!  (Now, understand, getting sick does have its time and place, and when not overdone, is perfectly fine.  I draw the line at the sickly child who never saw the sun, however.)  My apologies for rambling, and kudos to you if you read this!

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