Growing Pains

By: Elemmírë

Summary: Gandalf discovers another use as Keeper of the Flame of Arnor & yielder of Narya-- the Ring of Fire--when his visit to Bag End is interrupted.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters

Author's Note: This is my very first attempt at a FrodoHealers fic. .... Frodo is 21 (age 13½ in Man years)

Gandalf the Grey awoke to the sound of a high-pitched scream. He sat up quickly and grabbed for his staff before remembering that he was sleeping on the carpeted parlor floor of Bag End. His staff, along with his hat and sword, were tucked away safely in a corner of Bag End’s high-ceilinged foyer. Squinting at the ticking clock on the mantel, the wizard saw that it was nearly two o’clock in the wee hours of the morning.

He had been passing through the Shire and had arrived on Bilbo Baggins’ doorstep early last evening, arriving just in time for supper with the old hobbit and his young nephew. As was their custom after enjoying a fine meal together, he and Bilbo had sat outside on the bench and smoked their pipes while watching Frodo play with the young Gamgee children in the Party Field below.

The wailing that had awoken him grew louder. Careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling of the parlor, Gandalf got to his feet and stooped over, hurried down the long curving hallway to investigate. The commotion seemed to be emanating from the direction of Frodo’s bedroom. The round door to the room was ajar and he poked his grey-haired head inside. The cozy bedroom was ablaze with light from various candles and the fireplace. Bilbo was sitting on the bed atop the bunched-up covers that had been hastily pushed toward the intricately carved footboard. Frodo lay on his stomach, clad in his cream-colored nightshirt, his bare legs sprawled onto Bilbo’s lap where the older hobbit appeared to be rubbing them quite vigorously. The young hobbit’s face was paler than normal, his bright blue eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his dark curls were disheveled. Gandalf watched Frodo bury his head into his feather pillow, letting out another muffled cry, his tiny hand clenching tightly onto the sheet upon which he lay.

“Make it go away, Bilbo! … Please make it stop!” the lad sobbed, in obvious pain.

With one hand, Bilbo tried to wipe away his adopted heir’s tears to no avail before returning it to massage the small leg he held in his lap. “Oh Frodo, I’m doing everything I can, my dear lad.”

“It hurts, Uncle,” Frodo whimpered.

“Ahem,” Gandalf cleared his throat as he fully entered into the room. “Whatever is the matter, my dear hobbits?”

Bilbo looked up, surprised. He had been concentrating so hard on taking care of Frodo that he had forgotten the great wizard was even in Bag End. “Oh, Gandalf! I’m sorry that we woke you up, but I’m glad you’re here just the same.”

“It's all right, Bilbo. Whatever is wrong with Frodo? He seems to be in an awful amount of pain.”

Bilbo turned his attention back to rubbing Frodo’s little legs. “He’s been getting rather severe leg cramps on and off during the night for the past month or so now. The healer says it’s growing pains and that they are common in children around Frodo’s age, although he certainly doesn't seem that much taller yet for all the trouble they’re worth."

Bilbo let out a heavy sigh as he continued his gentle ministrations. "Nothing can be done to prevent the cramping and not much is useful in treating it either. The poor lad has sometimes woken up from a sound sleep screaming in the middle of the night, the cramps have been so bad ... but they’ve never lasted this long or been this severe before.”

Gandalf bent down further to have a better look at the small hobbit legs that were currently residing on top of Bilbo’s lap. Sure enough, he saw the calve muscles tightening and he felt them quiver and spasm painfully underneath the wrinkled hand he laid upon them. Frodo cried out in agony and tried to scrunch his body away from the onslaught of seemingly never-ending pain.

“I’ve been massaging his calves, which usually seems to work best for him, but it’s particularly bad tonight, Gandalf,” Bilbo explained. “I’ve also tried giving him willowbark tea and applying warm towels, all to no avail. I've been at it for the past hour now and the poor lad only seems to worsen ... I don’t know what else to do for him,” the old hobbit said quietly with eyes downcast.

Gandalf could see in that moment just how changed a hobbit Bilbo Baggins had become over the years since their journey together with the dwarves. Bilbo was now a parent and he would do anything to spare his adopted child any amount of pain. It was easy for any to see that the two hobbits, young and old, loved each other dearly.

Gandalf moved to kneel at the head of the bed. He smiled down at Frodo and ran a large hand through the orphaned lad’s dark hair, untangling the curls, his long fingers skimming over the curved edge of one small, delicately pointed ear. “I may know of something that will be able to better help you, Frodo, if you will let me try.”

“What is it?” Frodo asked. The hand upon his head felt so good and for the first time since he awoke in unrelenting agony, he felt a tad more comfortable.

The wizard smiled mysteriously. “A bit of magic, if you will.”

Frodo just sniffled and wiped away some of his tears with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “Will it hurt?” he whispered.

Gandalf chuckled. “No, my dear boy, it will not hurt. It will hopefully stop the spasms and draw the pain out, leaving you to sleep in peace.” He gave one final pat to Frodo’s head before standing up as much as could under the low ceiling of the hobbits' hole. “If you will excuse us for a moment, Frodo. I will return shortly; I just need to get something.” The wizard beckoned for Bilbo to follow him. The older hobbit was very reluctant to leave Frodo in this state even for a few short minutes. When he eased Frodo’s sore legs off his lap, the movement elicited another moan of pain from the tweenager.

Frodo clenched his eyes tightly as he rode out yet another series of leg cramps which left his calves burning. He was so tired that he did not open his eyes when he heard Gandalf re-enter his bedroom and so he missed what the great wizard placed on the wood floor near the stone hearth.

Gandalf scooped up Frodo gently into his arms and settled his own greater bulk onto the hand-crafted throw rug in front of the blazing fire. He maneuvered the small hobbit until Frodo was sitting upright and sideways on his lap, his dark curly head resting against the wizard’s shoulder.

“Are you comfortable, Frodo?”

Frodo nodded, then whimpered and scrunched his tear-filled blue eyes closed as yet another unbearable spasm overtook the muscles in his legs. Would this agony ever end tonight? He wondered if he would even be able to walk come morning.

“Here my boy, I need you to help me hold this,” Gandalf instructed. He picked up his wizard’s staff and placed it perpendicular to them. The gnarled top rested at the level of Frodo’s chest; its distal end rested against the brick of the fireplace.

Frodo’s eyes widened and the young hobbit looked up at Gandalf in disbelief, seeing the stern countenance soften. He was being allowed to touch one of the great wizard’s sources of magic! At Gandalf’s nod he placed his hands around the smooth wood, tentative at first and then with a firmer grip; his tiny fingers barely wrapped around its diameter. Wow, he thought, Sam will never believe this when I tell him ... nor will Merry!

Frodo watched with wary curiosity as Gandalf eased his left leg into his great big hands; Gandalf’s long fingers had plenty of room to spare as they encircled his calf. In his deep voice, Gandalf muttered words Frodo didn’t recognize and he nearly jumped from the wizard’s lap as the staff seemed to quake in his small hands. A brilliant white light emanated and glowed from the top of the staff and from Gandalf’s hands as he began to massage the hobbit’s leg with nimble fingers. As the wizard’s hands kneaded, Frodo felt a cozy warmth spread forth and envelope his sore muscles. The heat flowed deep within his cramped legs and for the first time that night, his pain was eased greatly under Gandalf’s gentle touch.

Frodo sighed in peace and contentment, snuggling into the wizard’s grey robes; one hand found its way into the long grey beard that always fascinated him so. “That feels wonderful, Gandalf. Thank you.”

Gandalf merely smiled down at the relaxing young hobbit. “Your uncle tells me these growing pains have been happening more frequently?” Without waiting for a reply, the wizard continued, “If that is the case, then I fully expect you to have grown as tall as a Man the next time I journey through the Shire.”

This remark elicited the expected and anticipated smile from the lad. Frodo shook his head, his near-ebony curls bouncing with the movement.

“No? ... Hmm ... perhaps you will grow as tall as an Elf then?” Gandalf mused nonchalantly, shifting his attention to the cramping in Frodo’s right leg.

Frodo’s smile turned into a giggle and he shook his head more emphatically this time, curls flying every which way.

Gandalf felt the little hobbit relax further into his embrace as he focused on his ministrations and channeling the fire of his hidden ring, Narya. “Then again, if these growing pains continue as they are, perhaps the next time I visit the Shire, I will be greeted by a young hobbit the size of a troll here at Bag End,” he mused.

* * * * *

In the kitchen, where Bilbo was busy preparing tea, he suddenly heard the bright spirited laughter of Frodo echo throughout Bag End’s numerous round hallways and he smiled. After the lad’s parents had died, he heard that beautiful sound too infrequently for his liking. Since coming to live with him at Bag End, his nephew was becoming more and more inclined to share his laughter and joy with those around him; the lad’s melancholy demeanor slowly being replaced with his shining spirit. Bilbo wondered what his old friend was saying that made his boy laugh so merrily and silently thanked him for it.

After the tea was done infusing, Bilbo poured it into three cups. Two were hobbit-sized and one was larger that he kept special for Gandalf’s visits. By this time, the laughter coming from down the hall faded into quiet. Bilbo placed the three cups of tea onto a tray and carried it down to Frodo’s room. He entered into a scene of utter tranquility.

Frodo’s slender body was curled up in Gandalf’s lap, the patchwork quilt from his bed tucked snugly around him. Stepping over the wizard's staff lying on the floor, Bilbo crossed the bedroom and placed the tray of tea on the nightstand before standing on his tip-toes to peer into the blanket-wrapped bundle. The tweenager was sound asleep, a smile gracing the corners of his mouth and his cheeks full of their rosy color once more in their fair setting.

“Well I guess he won’t be needing the chamomile tea I brewed for him,” Bilbo whispered, tucking a stray curl behind one of the lad’s ears. “I don’t know what you did, Gandalf, but thank you. He looks so peaceful now ... he’s a very special hobbit you know.”

Unwilling to relinquish his charge just yet, Gandalf shifted the sleeping hobbit lad carefully before gladly accepted the steaming cup of chamomile tea Bilbo handed to him. “He most certainly is, Bilbo my old friend. He most certainly is.”

* * * * *

The next evening before he left, Gandalf was once again enjoying a smoke on his pipe outside with Bilbo. In between blowing a multitude of intricate smoke rings, the two old friends watched the many hobbit children chasing one another on the Party Field below them. Frodo was leading the Gamgee and Cotton children, along with his friends and cousins Fatty and Folco, in a merry game of Follow the Leader. It was only months later, that Bilbo and Frodo would come to realize that after the night with Gandalf, Frodo’s growing pains never once returned.

~The End~

Author’s Note II: When I was real little, I used to wake up screaming my head off. My parents didn’t know what was wrong with me and all I could communicate was that my legs hurt. For many years I was privy to “growing pains,” the most wicked of Charlie-horses that anyone could want. There was little that my mom could do to help them go away when they happened. They, along with her ministrations, served as inspiration for this tale.