Chapter Two: A Took is Taken
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The 5th of Wedmath, 1396
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"Merry! Look at this!" squealed Pippin excitedly, eyes aglow. He held up a pretty rock in front of Merry's eyes, displaying the striped pattern to his older cousin. Merry sighed and gave Pippin a tired smile while he leaned on his legs. Chasing Pippin around was exhausting, and his legs were already sore from attempting to keep up with him, and the brand new puppy of Pippin's was no help. They each fed off each other's energy and made the other even more excitable. She had been given as a hopeful method of keeping the youngster occupied, been christened “Mop” by an extremely happy Pippin, and had been met with relative success, much to Eglantine's relief. The name was very fitting.

"That is quite lovely, Pippin. Say we head back now?"

Pippin shook his head, really having too much fun to leave the forest right now. They weren't very far in, as Merry had been warned numerous times not to go too far in or get separated. He was actually quite tired of hearing about safety measures, but asking the adults if they could go into the wood was rewarding. It was small, a mile or so from the Hall. Plenty of continuous begging and pleading had finally convinced Saradoc and Esmeralda to take the boys on a small picnic to the little wood on a day trip. This had pleased Merry immensely, and he had taken no time at all to get everything together and ready to go. They were now exploring a little, as Merry's Mum and Dad spread out the contents of the basket the servants in the Hall had packed for them.

"Merry, look at that!" Pippin said suddenly. He pointed at something further into the wood and ran towards it, leaving Merry behind in the small clearing.

"Pippin, not so far. You heard my Mum and Dad, we need to stay together," said Merry after he had caught up to the little lad and the dog he was holding by a rope harness. Pippin was fascinated with the bark on the tree he was looking at.

"Merry, look! It's like a puzzle, Merry, it flakes off," he said, ignoring Merry's warning. He enthusiastically held up a piece so Merry could get a closer look, "See? D'you see it Merry?"

"I see it, Pip! I don't know what it is called, but I called them puzzle bark trees when I was your age," replied Merry after he had gotten a closer look at the oddly shaped piece of bark. Pippin looked up at Merry with admiration.

"Let's make them into pictures," suggested Merry, content to keep Pippin sitting still for more then five seconds. Pippin nodded vigorously, thinking it was a grand idea. He plucked some more of the interlocking pieces off the tree and laid them on the ground, thinking about what to depict. The process was interrupted, however, by the puppy poking her shaggy head under Pippin's hand and sniffing curiously. Her fur scattered the pieces everywhere.

"Mop!" protested Pippin, laughing. He scratched her behind the ears and gave her a loud kiss on the forehead. "Silly dog."

Mop's ears suddenly perked up and she turned her head away from Merry and Pippin, looking deeper into the trees. There was a sudden rumble overhead, and Merry squinted up into the sky.

"Oh no," he grumbled, scratching his right arm, "It's going to rain. Look at the clouds!"

Pippin frowned as another rumble was heard, this time localized around his stomach.

"I suspect we'll eat in the buggy, Pip. Mum and Dad bring the cover ‘round everywhere this time of year."

Pippin's frown evaporated and he stood quickly, tugging on Mop's leash. "C'mon Mop, it's tea time!"

The puppy wouldn't move. She was fixated on a gap in the trees, firmly planted in her spot. Pippin pulled on the leash and Mop growled and began to bark, pulling against Pippin deeper into the woods.

"Mop!" said Merry, frustrated, "This is not the time to chase leaves!"

He took the leash from Pippin and tried to coax the dog to move, but she just continued to strain against the harness.

"What is wrong with her?" asked Merry, as a cold breeze began to blow through the trees. They began to sway and flutter like mad; showering them in leaves and making them shiver. Pippin crept closer to Merry, clinging almost painfully to his arm.

"I want to go back, Merry," he whimpered.

"We are going back," said Merry cheerfully, trying to keep Pippin from becoming afraid. "C'mere Mop! I'm serious!"

Just like that Mop gave a hard tug on her leash, startling Merry. He slackened his grip and the pup ran away into the wood, barking as she went.

"Mop!" cried Pippin, letting go of Merry's arm and chasing after her into the bush, "Come back!"

"Pippin, get back here!" cried Merry as he followed, "Pippin! Don't you--" Merry tripped midsentence over a log as lightning cracked overhead, and another large gust of wind carried away all noises except a strangled cry. Merry dragged himself to his feet, winded, but all he could see and hear was another shower of green leaves that obscured his sight. It was then that the sky opened up and released torrents of rain, soaking Merry almost immediately. His right arm began to throb horribly as the sky gave a deafening peal of thunder.

"Pippin!" he yelled, the wind and rain covering up his words. There was no answer, just the sounds of rain and wind.

xxxx

Frodo startled into wakefulness at the first distant crack of thunder. The wind was blowing strong outside, making an odd noise in the chimney. He gave a small moan as heat, pain, and nausea assailed him, along with the strange feeling of being suffocated in blankets. Bilbo quickly came to his side and gently touched Frodo's flushed forehead, which was hot to the touch. It had been a long night, and nothing had seemed to ease his rapidly climbing temperature. He had tossed and turned for hours, talking sometimes, but they had not been able to make out what he was saying. He had slept most of the morning away, waking only briefly as Gandalf and Bilbo attempted to get him to drink something.

"Frodo, are you awake?" Bilbo asked softly, dark circles under his eyes, "Come now lad, you've got to eat a little something. It's nearly luncheon."

Frodo's eyes opened partway and focused on him, trying to process what he said.

"I'm so hot, Bilbo," he whispered, weakly trying to remove the covers. Bilbo's worried expression deepened, as he stripped the thickest quilt off the bed and touched Frodo's forehead again.

"Is that better, lad?" he said, wringing out a wet washcloth and dabbing Frodo's head and neck with it. Frodo sighed as the nausea and heat relented slightly, letting his eyes close again.

"Yes," he whispered in reply as Bilbo put the washcloth in the water again, wringing it out and putting it on Frodo's head as a compress. Frodo felt too exhausted to say any more, but found sleeping difficult, especially as the sick feeling in his stomach began to return.

Gandalf entered the room then, and Frodo felt Bilbo turn and get up.

"I've brought the small stove from the small kitchen, Bilbo," said the wizard, carrying both the iron stove and stovepipe easily under one arm and setting it on the stone baking slab Bilbo had put on the floor earlier. "He has a stovepipe hole in here, I presume."

"Oh yes," replied Bilbo, helping Gandalf put the pipes back together, "Right up there. He just prefers the fire, no matter what the season is. I use a small heater in my study, we could have used that."

"Stoves are useful," replied Gandalf, gesturing to the teapot sitting on the mantle. Bilbo nodded and pointed at the small, brass-covered hole in the roof. Gandalf undid the latch and put the pipe through the small opening and connected the stove to it, proceeding to take the shovel from the stand and deposit some coals from the fire into the stove.

"I can close the flue dampers once the fire is out," said Bilbo, satisfied, "keep this infernal weather out. It couldn't have picked a worse time to storm."

All this time Frodo listened curiously, missing some of the finer points of the conversation because his eyes were kept closed. Tired of not fully understanding, he opened his eyes. The room was spinning fiercely, which made Frodo regret his decision very quickly as curiosity was replaced by the desire to vomit.

"Bilbo..." he said, as loudly and urgently as he could, struggling to sit up, "I...I'm going to be..."

Bilbo turned and saw the look on his face, and knew immediately what the problem was. He quickly grabbed a basin and went to Frodo's side and maneuvered Frodo so he was leaning over it, supporting the boy's head as he began to retch. It was mostly clear liquid, as he hadn't had anything other then water for hours, and the fit didn't last long. The spell slowly ceased and he collapsed against Bilbo. His side was aching and his head was pounding and he wanted nothing more then to sink into unconsciousness again. Bilbo held him and tried to comfort him as best he could as Gandalf took the basin away and went to empty it.

"It's all right Frodo, just take deep breaths...there we go, just relax. We're taking care of you, lad. Just tell us if you need the basin again."

Frodo nodded and sagged limply in Bilbo's arms, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

"The room is spinning," he said almost inaudibly, "I'll fall...it's spinning so fast..."

"I'll make sure you don't fall, Frodo," Bilbo replied, rubbing his back soothingly, "You're just dizzy, my boy. It will stop soon."

Frodo didn't have the energy to reply, holding tightly to Bilbo's shirtsleeve until the feeling became tolerable and he let Bilbo set him back down on his pillows. Gandalf came back with a clean basin which he put on the floor beside Bilbo.

"It's a good sign, you know," he said quietly as Bilbo took the washcloth from the water again, "that it was only water. The stomach seems whole, which I thought. He's very lucky he didn't get anything more then a flesh wound."

Bilbo nodded and smiled grimly, setting the washcloth over Frodo's eyes.

"Not what I'd call lucky," he sighed, "but close enough, I suppose."

"I'll make some tea for his nausea. Hopefully it won't bother him any more after this," Gandalf said and went back to the kitchen to fetch some herbs.

Bilbo let his hand rest on Frodo's shoulder, who sighed and sank into a level of partial awareness. The older hobbit let his eyes wander over the window and open curtains and noticed a little bobbing head under the window box which clearly belonged to Sam, Hamfast's son. He must have been weeding the flower bed, but he wasn't anymore. Bilbo could see the little lad's face peeking in through the crack, and when the little gardener's gaze was caught by Bilbo's he quickly returned to his work.

The older hobbit realized how much Frodo meant to the boy and was filled with an almost overwhelming feeling of worry and understanding. He went to the window, opened the glass and shutters and leaned out slightly with his arms on the sill. The air was so humid he began to perspire almost immediately, and Bilbo wondered how the gardener and his son could stand it.

Sam still avoided Mr. Baggins' eyes, concentrating on the flowerbed and the dandelion he was attempting to remove without leaving any roots. The Gaffer couldn't be seen at the moment, as he was probably on the other side of the garden near the shed. The old hobbit's knees had gotten bad with age and he left most of the bending to his son, taking care of the wheelbarrowing and pruning nowadays. Young Sam took his job very seriously, and heeded his Gaffer when he lectured him at length about various topics that could range from the care of 'mums to having a proper sense of propriety. Sam doubted that his Gaffer would have been pleased if he knew he had taken a look through the partially open shutter, no matter how much he insisted the first glance was an accidental one.

"Would you like to come in, Master Samwise?" asked Bilbo. Sam thought he looked slightly disheveled, a word that Bilbo had taught him the last lesson his father had let him have. That was two weeks ago, and the Gaffer didn't seem like he'd be relenting to any lessons again soon. There was too much work now for lessons to be weekly anymore.

"Oh no, Mr. Bilbo," Sam replied, bowing his head and shaking it slowly, "I can't desert my post when there's a storm comin', sir. I don't think the Gaffer'd be so understandin', if you understand me."

Bilbo nodded, he very much did understand. He turned his head back to look at Frodo for a moment.

"You know what, Sam? The garden can wait. Frodo could use a visitor, if you don't feel too uncomfortably about it."

"But sir, I'm all dirty and all. And the Gaffer'd--"

"Never mind your Gaffer, Master Samwise. I'll talk to him if he's against it. And I believe it is possible for me to let you use a washbasin and towels, if that makes a difference."

"All right then, Mr. Bilbo. I'll tell my Gaffer I'd be back soon."

Bilbo smiled, looking greyer and older then usual, "'I'll tell my Gaffer I will be back,' lad," he corrected him, Sam having asked him to right his grammar a few weeks ago. "Come right inside, if you will, and I'll show you where you can wash your hands. Would you like something to drink? It's very warm out here."

"Only if it isn't out of your way, Mr. Bilbo," said Sam, which Bilbo understood to mean yes.

"Nonsense, it isn't difficult to give one a drink, lad. Come right on in once you've spoken with your Gaffer."

Sam complied and gathered up his tools as Bilbo shut the shutters, then deposited them in the shed where the Gaffer was standing with a large set of shears. He looked at Sam with raised eyebrows and trimmed the last stray leaf off the hedge before closing the clippers and turning to his son, who was shuffling uncomfortably in the silence.

"What's the problem, laddie? I don' remember askin' you to stop weedin', and I doubts it's me memory pullin' wool over me eyes," the Gaffer asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence and putting a worn hand on Sam's shoulder, "Tell me quick what's the matter and git back t'work, Sam. There be a storm coming, and it's not just me bones that are tellin' me so."

Sam told of what Bilbo had asked of him and why, not looking his Gaffer in the eyes, as he preferred to examine his toes when he ran the risk of getting his father frustrated.

"Aye, you can go in, so long as you mind your manners and not take too long," said the Gaffer finally, after Sam had finished and he himself was done with deliberating.

"Thank you, Gaffer," mumbled Sam, looking up at his dad and helping him gather up the trimmings, "I'll be sure to do that."

"You best mind me," the Gaffer chuckled, clapping his boy on the back, "I'm too soft on you."

When Sam knocked on the door of the smial Bilbo was waiting for him in the front hall. The older hobbit put his arm around Sam's shoulders and led him to a little washroom off the hall, with water, towels, and soap waiting for his usage. Bilbo disappeared for a moment and then came back just as Sam finished with a glass of iced water in his hands. He promptly handed it to Sam, who took it as Bilbo disappeared once more without explanation.

It was very quiet today in Bag End, Sam thought. It wasn't as if it was normally loud, with both Frodo and Bilbo enjoying the silence very much, but this silence was of a different kind. Despite the sounds of someone moving in the kitchen and the low rumble of distant thunder, the stillness was almost suffocating, though Bag End's interior was cooler and less moist then the heavy air outside. Sam felt highly uncomfortable, like he shouldn't make the noise that even the softest breathing made.

"There you are," said Bilbo's voice from the door. Sam spun around, startled out of his thoughts. He looked up at Bilbo sheepishly. "Come, follow me." Sam obeyed, following Bilbo down the hall that led to Frodo's room in silence. Bilbo didn't look like he felt much like talking. "Sam, lad," he said slowly, once they had reached the door Sam knew led to Frodo's room.

"Yes, Mr. Bilbo, sir?" Sam replied, looking up at his father's employer respectfully.

"I know it may be...frightening to see Frodo ill, but try...well, I suppose...I just don't want you to worry, lad," Bilbo said, rocking on his feet rather anxiously.

"I won't sir, but only if you don't either," said Sam, rather boldly, he thought, but Bilbo smiled and opened the door letting Sam follow him inside.

Frodo was huddled in the blankets, his eyes firmly closed. Gandalf had given him some tea to soothe his stomach, but his discomfort with his side was getting the better of him and preventing him from resting. Gandalf knew this, but he hoped to get food in Frodo's stomach before he gave him anything to put him back to sleep. Frodo's face was hidden deep in the pillows, but he had removed several blankets while Bilbo and Gandalf were not looking, much to Bilbo's displeasure. The older Hobbit covered him again, fussing with the creases.

"Frodo," he called, touching Frodo's flushed cheek, "You have a guest. Sam is here."

Sam sat there mutely, feeling dreadfully out of place and uncomfortable. Bilbo seemed to sense this, for he gave Sam a chair and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Who?" Frodo mumbled almost inaudibly, turning his head slightly and opening his eyes. Sam thought he looked much too hot, and no wonder, the fire was burning and it was the beginning of Wedmath! It hardly seemed to make sense.

"Sam Gamgee, my silly lad." Bilbo kept his hand on Sam's shoulder, and the latter could feel the older hobbit trembling slightly, "Right here."

"Hullo, Sam," Frodo murmured, fretfully trying to remove the blankets once more.

"Don't do that, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo, smoothing back the folds, "I'll be right back with some food--" This elicited a faint groan from Frodo, who shook his head. "--and you will eat a little," finished Bilbo, giving a wan smile to Sam as he turned and left the room.

Frodo sighed and closed his eyes again, mumbling something Sam didn't quite understand, but he thought he had heard a curse word in there. He chose to ignore it.

"Sammie?" Frodo said, opening his eyes after a few moments of silence. They looked red and slightly unfocused, but he was at least partially alert. Sam wondered why his breathing was so shallow. "Are you sure...you should be...here?"

Sam took Frodo's hand and tried his best to smile comfortingly at him. He hadn't been called Samie in nearly two years. "Yes, I'm sure, Mr. Frodo. Mr. Bilbo brought me in here, remember?" he said, patting his hand.

"I suppose...I do. M'alright, you know..." Frodo's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Of course you are, Mr. Frodo," replied Sam reassuringly, "I never thought anything else."

"Good," Frodo mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

"Would you like me to tell you a story, sir?" Sam said, adjusting the blankets so Frodo was slightly more comfortable, even if he was still covered.

"Al'right," Frodo said, eyes closed. Sam began to speak, and as he was telling the tale of Bilbo and the dragon that he knew so well by now, the thunder gave another low rumble in the West.

TBC