Chapter Rating: PG (mental anguish)
Chapter title: Walkabout
February S.R. 1420
Iris had suggested to Frodo that he could help arrange his thoughts on the Ring by completing Bilbo's Red Book of Westmarsh. Frodo had promised Bilbo he would do that anyway. He had been working all day on organizing Bilbo's notes concerning the War of the Ring and the Return of the King. Papers, maps and snatches of notes were stacked in piles all over the desk. But he was actually avoiding doing any writing on the book. Procrastination was the real order of the day.
Frodo had been embarrassed to wake up in the physicians spare bed after his episode. He couldn't remember what he had said or done that day. Iris had assured him that even thought he had a fever, he had not lost control of himself. But he was certain she now knew something.
He must have talked about the Ring, or (worse) about the voice which occasionally whispered dreadful things to him. This would not do. He didn't want to confront his memories. Perhaps if he ignored them, they would eventually go away. Or perhaps he could starve the voice into submission. He had to find some way of controlling it so that it did not control him.
"Perhaps Iris could help," he thought.
"Of course she can't help, stupid hobbit," the voice sneered. "She wasn't there. She doesn't know. Only Sam was there with you, and he didn't see. No one can help. Only I can bring you release. Claim me. Do as I say and you will be free."
"No!" Frodo silently cried in desperation, clutching his aching head. "Back! I have work to do. Leave me!"
It was a crisp, frosty Friday winter afternoon when Frodo heard the front door bells jingling. Another blazing fire was going in the study's fireplace. Rosie was in the pantry, cleaning it out and getting it ready for tomorrow's painting. Sam was installing a new support in one of the side hallway bedrooms. Frodo put down his pen and papers and went to answer the door.
Iris stood there. She was wearing a heavy grey traveling cloak and a light backpack, and had a walking stick in hand.
"Iris, please come it," said Frodo. "What a pleasant surprise. May I take your cloak?" One part of him was pleased to see her. Another, darker part was extremely annoyed.
"Thank you Frodo," said Iris, "but I think I'll keep them on. I was wondering if you would care to take a walk with me this afternoon? I really don't know this part of the Shire well, and I'm needing to familiarize myself with where everyone lives. When I get a call to come out to someone's house or farm, I need to know where it is and the quickest way to reach it. I know you've lived here all your life, and have done a bit of wandering about. So I was wondering if you would show me around the Hobbiton area? I do hope I've caught you at a good time and am not inconveniencing you."
"I can not think of a better way to spend a Friday afternoon than in your lovely company walking about the Shire," said Frodo. It was also another excuse to not start on the book. Anything to get away from those memories. And the voice.
"Let me get a coat and cloak and tell Rosie our plans. I'll be right back." He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, then came back with a well- worn greyish-green traveling cloak over his coat. He fastened it with a green Elvish broach, and lead Iris back to the front door, grabbing a walking stick along from the stand in the hallway. "Ready. Where would you like to go?"
"Let's start with Bag Shot Row going out of town," she said. They started down the newly resurfaced road. As they passed each hobbit hole along the way, Frodo described for her the family who lived there, who they were related to, and other background information about the family's history. Occasionally Iris asked a question, but she was mostly passive, letting Frodo talk freely.
It felt good to be out walking in the crisp afternoon air. Frodo loved walking. It was one of the few physical activities which didn't hurt. And walking took his mind off other, messier thoughts. He usually ended up with a cold throbbing ache in his left shoulder after the walk, but that pain was manageable.
They headed out of Hobbiton and Bag End and into the countryside. It was dotted with small, sleepy family farms and pastures. Frost covered the ground and crunched lightly underfoot. They were out walking for about two hours when the sun began to set. Thin clouds turned golden in the sunset, then quickly faded into dusk. The two hobbits decided to take a small rest at a sheltered bench set into a stone pasture fence. They shared the water and bread Iris had thoughtfully packed.
Frodo had been staring at the sunset. He suddenly looked at her intently. "Iris?"
"Yes?"
"What is the real reason you invited me out on this little hike?" he asked.
There was something in his voice which warned her to tell the complete truth. She could tell he didn't trust her yet.
"You are right," she replied, keeping her voice even-pitched and neutral. "There's more than one reason why I wanted to get you out of Bag End today. Partially because I do need to learn the geography around here. But mostly because of you. You see, part of my being a physician is to care for all aspects of my patients, not just their physical complaints.
Frodo, you've stopped most social interactions. You keep to yourself almost all of the time now that you've moved into Bag End. You're not eating enough. Something is really bothering you. Something you're not willing to tell anyone. Not even Sam, your best friend.
When you came over the other night, you talked about the Ring in your fever. I know you are suffering from its effects. You must have had many horrible experiences during the War. The only way I know to treat injuries of the mind is to get the patient to talk about what's bothering them. And I know you're not going to do so with Rosie and Sam around. I thought you might feel more comfortable outside, walking to a safe, secluded site from your past, such as these little lanes and dales. And I thought you might be more comfortable confiding in me, as I am a neutral party to the matters."
Frodo didn't answer for a long time. He stared off into the deepening gloaming.
"Miss Proudfoot," he finally replied, "you are a very cleaver hobbit. But I am not sure I am ready to talk about things that happened. You are right about some things though. Many times I do not want to remember. There are things I actually cannot remember, which I know happened. Sometimes when I see Sam I am suddenly reminded of things which we did or situations we found ourselves in. Painful things. And I do not want to bring them up again. Especially not to him. He seems to be adjusting to life in the Shire well. I do believe he was meant to be whole and live a peaceful, contented life. He and Rosie are so happy together. I do not think I shall ever find that peace and quietness, but I am glad he has and I do not want to ruin that for him or for Rose."
Iris reached out and took his maimed hand in hers. He initially resisted her touch, then gave way.
"You have been asking me to help you, Frodo. Maybe not out loud in words, but in your actions. You and Sam have been through more than any of us will ever know. But at some time you've got to start talking about what happened to you. If you don't, it will act like an infection, poisoning your mind and heart until life becomes unbearable. Or until you do something which endangers yourself or those you love. And Sam will notice. Please consider talking to me about what happened. Just the simple act of talking about them starts the healing."
Frodo gazed out over the frozen pastures and lanes. He could not bear to look at her for fear of loosing his composure. He continued to hold her hand tightly. Eventually he sighed and released his grip. "I shall consider it."
"That's all I can ask of you right now," Iris said. "Come. Let's return to Bag End."
They got up and began the return walk. For quite some time they walked in silence, each nursing their private thoughts. As the little lights of Bag Shot Row twinkled into view, Frodo stopped.
"Iris, I have been thinking about what you are trying to do for me. It might help. But there are things so terrible that I may not have the words for them." He whispered, "I do not know how Sam and I actually survived some things. And I do not know if I can live through it all again by talking about them. I have never told this to anybody. Not even Bilbo or Lord Elrond when I was last in Rivendale. But sometimes thinking about things I did makes me believe I am there again in the flesh. Memories and reality are so close for me. So close…" His voice trailed off.
"We'll take it slowly," she said. "Only what you think you can handle. Just as we walk one step at a time until we find we've reached our destination. We'll do this one step at a time. I will help you. I will stay with you through this. Make no mistake; this will be painful and it might be dangerous. But you've already taken your first step. You did it when you came to my door the other night. That took a lot of courage. Please don't stop now. May we continue our walks?"
"Perhaps," he replied, gazing over the darkened landscape. "You're right in that I cannot do this at Bag End. Walking relaxes me also. Yes. Let us continue these walks."
They had reached Bag End. They went in, set aside their walking sticks, packs and cloaks, and warmed themselves by the fire. Rosie heard them arrive, and brought in a pot of tea and a light supper. Afterwards Iris returned to Hobbiton while Rosie and Sam headed back to the Cotton farmhouse.
Frodo went into the study. There they were – all the notes and memories mocking him; taunting him. He closed the door to the study, grabbed his cloak, and vanished once more into the night.
Chapter title: Walkabout
February S.R. 1420
Iris had suggested to Frodo that he could help arrange his thoughts on the Ring by completing Bilbo's Red Book of Westmarsh. Frodo had promised Bilbo he would do that anyway. He had been working all day on organizing Bilbo's notes concerning the War of the Ring and the Return of the King. Papers, maps and snatches of notes were stacked in piles all over the desk. But he was actually avoiding doing any writing on the book. Procrastination was the real order of the day.
Frodo had been embarrassed to wake up in the physicians spare bed after his episode. He couldn't remember what he had said or done that day. Iris had assured him that even thought he had a fever, he had not lost control of himself. But he was certain she now knew something.
He must have talked about the Ring, or (worse) about the voice which occasionally whispered dreadful things to him. This would not do. He didn't want to confront his memories. Perhaps if he ignored them, they would eventually go away. Or perhaps he could starve the voice into submission. He had to find some way of controlling it so that it did not control him.
"Perhaps Iris could help," he thought.
"Of course she can't help, stupid hobbit," the voice sneered. "She wasn't there. She doesn't know. Only Sam was there with you, and he didn't see. No one can help. Only I can bring you release. Claim me. Do as I say and you will be free."
"No!" Frodo silently cried in desperation, clutching his aching head. "Back! I have work to do. Leave me!"
It was a crisp, frosty Friday winter afternoon when Frodo heard the front door bells jingling. Another blazing fire was going in the study's fireplace. Rosie was in the pantry, cleaning it out and getting it ready for tomorrow's painting. Sam was installing a new support in one of the side hallway bedrooms. Frodo put down his pen and papers and went to answer the door.
Iris stood there. She was wearing a heavy grey traveling cloak and a light backpack, and had a walking stick in hand.
"Iris, please come it," said Frodo. "What a pleasant surprise. May I take your cloak?" One part of him was pleased to see her. Another, darker part was extremely annoyed.
"Thank you Frodo," said Iris, "but I think I'll keep them on. I was wondering if you would care to take a walk with me this afternoon? I really don't know this part of the Shire well, and I'm needing to familiarize myself with where everyone lives. When I get a call to come out to someone's house or farm, I need to know where it is and the quickest way to reach it. I know you've lived here all your life, and have done a bit of wandering about. So I was wondering if you would show me around the Hobbiton area? I do hope I've caught you at a good time and am not inconveniencing you."
"I can not think of a better way to spend a Friday afternoon than in your lovely company walking about the Shire," said Frodo. It was also another excuse to not start on the book. Anything to get away from those memories. And the voice.
"Let me get a coat and cloak and tell Rosie our plans. I'll be right back." He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, then came back with a well- worn greyish-green traveling cloak over his coat. He fastened it with a green Elvish broach, and lead Iris back to the front door, grabbing a walking stick along from the stand in the hallway. "Ready. Where would you like to go?"
"Let's start with Bag Shot Row going out of town," she said. They started down the newly resurfaced road. As they passed each hobbit hole along the way, Frodo described for her the family who lived there, who they were related to, and other background information about the family's history. Occasionally Iris asked a question, but she was mostly passive, letting Frodo talk freely.
It felt good to be out walking in the crisp afternoon air. Frodo loved walking. It was one of the few physical activities which didn't hurt. And walking took his mind off other, messier thoughts. He usually ended up with a cold throbbing ache in his left shoulder after the walk, but that pain was manageable.
They headed out of Hobbiton and Bag End and into the countryside. It was dotted with small, sleepy family farms and pastures. Frost covered the ground and crunched lightly underfoot. They were out walking for about two hours when the sun began to set. Thin clouds turned golden in the sunset, then quickly faded into dusk. The two hobbits decided to take a small rest at a sheltered bench set into a stone pasture fence. They shared the water and bread Iris had thoughtfully packed.
Frodo had been staring at the sunset. He suddenly looked at her intently. "Iris?"
"Yes?"
"What is the real reason you invited me out on this little hike?" he asked.
There was something in his voice which warned her to tell the complete truth. She could tell he didn't trust her yet.
"You are right," she replied, keeping her voice even-pitched and neutral. "There's more than one reason why I wanted to get you out of Bag End today. Partially because I do need to learn the geography around here. But mostly because of you. You see, part of my being a physician is to care for all aspects of my patients, not just their physical complaints.
Frodo, you've stopped most social interactions. You keep to yourself almost all of the time now that you've moved into Bag End. You're not eating enough. Something is really bothering you. Something you're not willing to tell anyone. Not even Sam, your best friend.
When you came over the other night, you talked about the Ring in your fever. I know you are suffering from its effects. You must have had many horrible experiences during the War. The only way I know to treat injuries of the mind is to get the patient to talk about what's bothering them. And I know you're not going to do so with Rosie and Sam around. I thought you might feel more comfortable outside, walking to a safe, secluded site from your past, such as these little lanes and dales. And I thought you might be more comfortable confiding in me, as I am a neutral party to the matters."
Frodo didn't answer for a long time. He stared off into the deepening gloaming.
"Miss Proudfoot," he finally replied, "you are a very cleaver hobbit. But I am not sure I am ready to talk about things that happened. You are right about some things though. Many times I do not want to remember. There are things I actually cannot remember, which I know happened. Sometimes when I see Sam I am suddenly reminded of things which we did or situations we found ourselves in. Painful things. And I do not want to bring them up again. Especially not to him. He seems to be adjusting to life in the Shire well. I do believe he was meant to be whole and live a peaceful, contented life. He and Rosie are so happy together. I do not think I shall ever find that peace and quietness, but I am glad he has and I do not want to ruin that for him or for Rose."
Iris reached out and took his maimed hand in hers. He initially resisted her touch, then gave way.
"You have been asking me to help you, Frodo. Maybe not out loud in words, but in your actions. You and Sam have been through more than any of us will ever know. But at some time you've got to start talking about what happened to you. If you don't, it will act like an infection, poisoning your mind and heart until life becomes unbearable. Or until you do something which endangers yourself or those you love. And Sam will notice. Please consider talking to me about what happened. Just the simple act of talking about them starts the healing."
Frodo gazed out over the frozen pastures and lanes. He could not bear to look at her for fear of loosing his composure. He continued to hold her hand tightly. Eventually he sighed and released his grip. "I shall consider it."
"That's all I can ask of you right now," Iris said. "Come. Let's return to Bag End."
They got up and began the return walk. For quite some time they walked in silence, each nursing their private thoughts. As the little lights of Bag Shot Row twinkled into view, Frodo stopped.
"Iris, I have been thinking about what you are trying to do for me. It might help. But there are things so terrible that I may not have the words for them." He whispered, "I do not know how Sam and I actually survived some things. And I do not know if I can live through it all again by talking about them. I have never told this to anybody. Not even Bilbo or Lord Elrond when I was last in Rivendale. But sometimes thinking about things I did makes me believe I am there again in the flesh. Memories and reality are so close for me. So close…" His voice trailed off.
"We'll take it slowly," she said. "Only what you think you can handle. Just as we walk one step at a time until we find we've reached our destination. We'll do this one step at a time. I will help you. I will stay with you through this. Make no mistake; this will be painful and it might be dangerous. But you've already taken your first step. You did it when you came to my door the other night. That took a lot of courage. Please don't stop now. May we continue our walks?"
"Perhaps," he replied, gazing over the darkened landscape. "You're right in that I cannot do this at Bag End. Walking relaxes me also. Yes. Let us continue these walks."
They had reached Bag End. They went in, set aside their walking sticks, packs and cloaks, and warmed themselves by the fire. Rosie heard them arrive, and brought in a pot of tea and a light supper. Afterwards Iris returned to Hobbiton while Rosie and Sam headed back to the Cotton farmhouse.
Frodo went into the study. There they were – all the notes and memories mocking him; taunting him. He closed the door to the study, grabbed his cloak, and vanished once more into the night.
