The Seedcake’s Magic Charm
 
 

A startled squeak was emitted as a white cardboard box slid from the tabletop to the hands of a youngling – and then off those hands.
 

“Frodo, be careful dear!”  Primula almost screamed but immediately checked herself when she caught sight of her trembling son.
 

“Only wanted to help you, Mama,” Frodo whispered with a shaky voice, eyes shifting between his mother’s eyes to scattered crumbs of the cakes on the floor.  Primula sighed.  Those were a lot of work and she just lost several pence she might have earned from selling them at Baywater Early Autumn Fair.  Yet, she reached for Frodo’s shoulder and gave a warm squeeze.
 

“Never mind, Frodo.”  Primula smiled.  “Now off you go to the wagon and wait for me there.”  Remorse was clearly shading Frodo’s fair features, and his mother added quickly.  “You see to it that no one bothers the cakes, all right?”
 

Comprehension seeped into the fledgling and Frodo beamed at the fact that he could still help.
 

“Sure, Mama!”  he bounced and dashed out.  Such a vivacious wee lad.  High-spirited yet careless.
 

Not a second later, alarmed by Frodo’s pained screech coming from the front yard, the hobbit lady scurried down the hall from the kitchen to halt at the doorway.  Her heart sank as she stared at her son crouching down on the ground, face crumpled in pain and hands clutching at one of his ankles.  Primula started toward her son and stooped before him.
 

“Oh, Frodo.  Let me see.”  She asked not of what had happened, moving instead to touch Frodo’s leg.
 

The lad shrank away, screaming.  “No!”  and whimpered as searing pain snaked up from his twisted ankle.
 

Realizing Frodo would not willingly allow her to touch him, Primula rose.
 

“Stay,” she ordered.  Frodo needed not to be told twice.  He followed his mother only with his tear-clouded eyes as she went to the house.  He had hurt his leg so badly he wished his mother could bring a magical concoction that would rid him of the pain in the blink of an eye.
 

Primula returned a moment later with a bottle of eucalyptus oil and a small saucer but Frodo could not see its contents.  His mother hunkered down and took Frodo’s hurt ankle in hand.  The boy braced himself for a pain stab but Primula cradled the ankle so gently that the lad merely yielded.  Frodo let out a shaky breath and wiping his tears, he looked up and gave a faint smile.
 

Primula also smiled, reassuringly, at her much loved son, wanting with all her heart that she could take his place.  She poured the oil onto her palms.
 

“Do not fear, Frodo.  It will feel a tad warm in the beginning but it will soothe your muscles.”
 

Frodo nodded a little, squeezing his eyes shut as his mother smeared the oil on the already swelling part, and massaged it tenderly.  Primula hummed a little, trying to calm and make Frodo forget of his suffering.  Frodo slowly made his way to Primula’s lap, not caring if they both looked curious to prying eyes, lying on the dirt like that.  His eyes drooped sleepily, the scent of the oil slowly making him drift into sleep.
 

“Frodo?”
 

“Hm?”
 

“I have something for you that can also help you feel better.”
 

Frodo tilted his head.  “What is it, Mama?”
 

Primula brought the saucer close to Frodo.  “Try one of these seedcakes, darling.”
 

Frodo gazed at her in wonder.  “But – but you are going to sell them.  And I have ruined some of them…”
 

Primula shushed him and took one of the cakes with brownish caraway seeds, bringing it to Frodo’s parted lips.  The lad’s nose crinkled at the pungent smell of the cake.  He did not think he would like this kind of cake.
 

“Frodo, you have never tasted it before.  Give it a chance.  You like sesame seeds, don't you?  Well, it’s not so much different.  Besides, it’s good for your heart.  This can help relieve the pain.”
 

Frodo took the cake and chewed it slowly.  His mother was right.  It was not bad at all.  Instead, that was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.  Hearing his mother’s words, a small smile curved on his face.  He remembered his wish to get a magical concoction.  Well, this might not be exactly a concoction, but it surely had some uncanny power.  Muttering a thank you, Frodo let himself be lulled to slumber, the agonizing torture at his ankle now merely a faint throb.
 

~  *  ~  fin  ~  *  ~