Chapter Rating: PG
Chapter Title: Secret
March 14 S.R. 1420
Around 11:00 in the morning Frodo knocked at the Apothecary's door and entered. An elderly hobbitess was chatting with Tandy Bolger.
"Why, young Mister Baggins. How nice to see you," the matron smiled as Frodo stepped into the crowded room. "You've moved back to Bag End, have you not?"
"A pleasure to see you too Mrs. Weatherby," he politely replied. "Yes, I moved in at the end of last month. I do hope you are well."
"As well as can be expected when you're pushing 90," says Mrs. Weatherby. "But you need to put on some weight, Mister Baggins. Marry a nice Hobbiton lass and settle down. I can arrange to introduce you to my granddaughters." Frodo smiled politely and privately rolled his eyes at Tandy.
Mrs. Weatherby turned her attention back to the Apothecary. "Please tell the Doctor that the ointment is wonderful."
"I will certainly do that Mrs. Weatherby," Tandy replied. "Will that be all for you?" he asked as he carefully wrapped a yellow tin of ointment and placed it in his client's handbag.
"Yes indeed," she said. "Good day Mister Bolger. Good day young Mister Baggins." The two hobbits said their gooddays to Mrs. Weatherby as she hobbled out the door.
As soon as the door was closed Tandy laughed. "Watch out for that one! Her granddaughters are nice looking, but dull as the day is long."
"Is Iris in? I have an appointment with her this morning," Frodo asked.
"Right in back there Mister Frodo," said Tandy, pointing to the door on the left. "Go on in. She's not with a patient right now."
Frodo knocked on the door.
"Come in," said Iris. "Frodo. Please, sit down on the bed. Sorry about the state of this 'office.'" The surgical office doubled as her bedroom. "If you will please take off your shirt I'll get what I need for removing the stitches."
Frodo unbuttoned and removed his coat, vest and shirt while watching Iris take out some clean cloths, instruments, and an ointment tin. She came over and sat next to him on the bed, examining the rapidly-healing wound.
"Hmm. Very good," she said. "You heal remarkably fast. You'll not be needing these stitches. Hold still. This may sting a bit." She deftly snipped the stitches and pulled them out. Frodo didn't flinch or speak. He seemed rather disconnected. He watched passively as Iris dabbed away the pin pricks of blood, then applied the ointment.
"You seem to have recovered quite well," she said. "The only reason I'm putting this bandage on is so the ointment doesn't stain your shirt. Reapply this ointment each night just before bed. Do this for a week and I don't think you'll have any more problems with that infection returning."
Frodo merely nodded. He slipped the ointment tin into his breeches pocket and stood to put his shirt and vest back on. He was avoiding eye contact with her and she knew it.
"Frodo? Is something bothering you?" Iris inquired.
"I want to apologize. I am sorry if I caused you any problems yesterday," he said. "I appreciate how you handled talking with the Cottons about everything. They decided to not tell Sam about it when he returns, which is a great relief to me."
"You didn't cause any problems for me," she said. He was still avoiding eye contact. "What else is bothering you?" Frodo finally looked directly at her.
"Iris," he hesitated, suddenly sitting back down on the bed and blushing. "Iris, I believe I said some things yesterday which were not appropriate. I hope you did not take offense."
Iris smiled. "Oh, you mean like helping you with a bath someday?"
He glanced up at her, the tips of his ears and his cheeks fiery red, and nodded.
Iris scooted over to be close to him and took his hand in hers. "Frodo Baggins. If you think you're getting off the hook for that indiscretion just because you were drugged, you are sadly mistaken. I fully intend to live up to my end of that promise. I expect you to do likewise."
There was silence between them, then he suddenly smiled at her joke.
"Miss Proudfoot," he said, "You are the most amazing hobbitess I've ever met. Once again, I am in your dept. Perhaps I can remedy this situation by inviting you over for tea tomorrow?"
Iris and he stood. "It would be my pleasure. Now go on and get to work. I've other patients, you know."
He bowed deeply, grabbed his coat, and departed.
Iris remained suspicious. That last bit about the bath was only to keep her from learning a deeper truth, she reasoned. Someday Frodo Baggins would finally confess his fears. It would not be a pretty sight either.
March 15th
The past two days had been balmy and full of warmth from the South. Iris walked over to Bag End to join Frodo for the promised afternoon tea. The garden at Bag End was blooming with early spring flowers. Crocus, daffodils and early tulips competed with jonquil and tiny grape hyacinths for primary attention around the front door. If the Bag End garden was any indication of the success of Sam's gardening work, then this year would be a banner year for the Shire.
Iris pulled on the new doorbell strand, setting off the cacophony of tinkling jangles. Frodo appeared at the door in an uncharacteristic fashion, wiping his hands on a filthy towel. He had on an old work shirt and mismatched trousers, and was completely covered in mud and grout.
"Oh, Iris! What time is it? Is it tea time already? Sorry, please come in. Sorry about the mess. Here, let me take your coat. On second thought, you will have to do that yourself, as I am filthy."
Iris chuckled as she took off her coat and hung it up in the hallway. "What are you doing? You look like a five-year-old that's been making mud pies for his Gram."
Frodo rolled his eyes at her. "I will have you know that I am replacing the floor in the second bathing room. Look…I am not the neatest person when forced to do manual labor, but I can at least grout in a tile floor. And I want to hurry up and finish it before Sam gets back just so I can say 'Told you so.' He thinks he is the only one who can repair Bag End, and I am determined to prove him wrong. Well, give me a few moments to wash up." He disappeared into the kitchen.
Iris stopped in the front study and glanced over the piles of papers and maps on the desk. There were all kinds of stacks of notes, some in Elvish script, but most in the Common Speech written in a thin, wavy script. There was also a new, beautiful map titled "The Lonely Mountain" complete with illustrations of a dragon and some writing in Dwarvish rhunes. This handwriting was different.
"Good! Perhaps he's started writing down some of his memories," she thought as she examined the contents of the desktop. A bound red leather book was lying in the center of the space. Only the first quarter of the book contained writing, and most of that was in the elder handwriting. A few lines in the new handwriting continued the story, then stopped.
Iris carefully peeked at the small stack of loose papers to the right of the book. They also were covered in the strong, flowing script of the new handwriting. It was an outline. The words mentioned place names; some Iris recognized such as Buckelberry Ferry and Bree and even Rivendale. Some she did not, such as Helm's Deep, Anduin, Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes. She recognized Lothlorien only from Frodo's brief mention of it while under heavy sedation.
On a separate page she found the handwriting had changed somewhat. It listed Weathertop, Cirith Ungol and Orodruin. These words were written in red. And in very small print down at the bottom of the page was printed a single word: precious.
Iris was very curious about all this, but left the papers as she found them. She followed Frodo into the kitchen after giving him sufficient time to clean up.
The smell of strong black tea and fresh bread and jam saturated the room. Frodo had cleaned himself up at the sink and had discarded the old shirt. He was pulling on a fresh white linen blouse and tucking it into his breeches as Iris walked in. A little bouquet of yellow daffodils on the table brightened up the room. It was all very homey and warm.
"I am sorry," Frodo said. "I got to working and forgot what time it was."
"It's OK Frodo," Iris replied as she sat down at the table. He brought over the tea service and poured the tea.
"I hope you have not strained your shoulder injury with this tile-setting," she admonished.
"Oh, no. I am fine. Really. I will show you when we are finished with tea. I am rather proud of my work. You will have to tell me if you think Sam will give his stamp of approval, or have to rip it all out and start again. You will tell me the truth, won't you?"
Iris looked him squarely in the eyes, "I always do."
That comment stopped Frodo in mid-sip. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was a challenge.
"I mean I am truthful with you," she replied in an even, neutral voice. "I wish you would be truthful with me. You are not fine. Really. I don't think it's good for you to be doing this sort of heavy labor immediately after an episode such as you just had on the 13th. I think you are using the physical labor to avoid thinking and talking about how the Ring affected you. I wish you would talk about it."
Iris could hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece in the next room, the silence was so sudden and thick. Frodo looked like she had just slapped him. "Oh, NOT a good thing to say!" she mentally kicked herself.
"And who are YOU to lecture ME about the Ring?" His voice was low and quiet and sharp as a knife blade. He carefully placed the tea cup down on the table and spread his hands across the boards, palms down. It only emphasized his missing ring finger.
There was no turning back now. She tried to make her voice come out as even and non-judgmental as possible, but it betrayed her emotions. "I am your friend and I am your physician. I care about you and I care about your health. I do not understand the power this Ring still exerts over you, but I know you will continue to experience pain and anguish if you do not talk about it."
His blue eyes pierced her green. His voice sounded of ashes and bitter stone. "You know nothing about It. What you ask for is dangerous. We are quite capable of violence still." There was a threat in his voice she had not heard before.
"What violence have you committed?" Iris was relentless. Inwardly she was as frightened as she had ever been in her life. But her patient needed her to be steady.
Silence. He was debating within himself.
"Murder."
Frodo's eyes continued to bore into hers. "We killed him." He had not blinked nor changed expressions. It was as if someone else was answering in that flat, emotionless voice. Something dead and uncaring.
"Who did you kill?" Iris met his stare with her own. Again, she kept her voice calm and steady, even though her heart was pounding.
"Smeagol."
Chapter Title: Secret
March 14 S.R. 1420
Around 11:00 in the morning Frodo knocked at the Apothecary's door and entered. An elderly hobbitess was chatting with Tandy Bolger.
"Why, young Mister Baggins. How nice to see you," the matron smiled as Frodo stepped into the crowded room. "You've moved back to Bag End, have you not?"
"A pleasure to see you too Mrs. Weatherby," he politely replied. "Yes, I moved in at the end of last month. I do hope you are well."
"As well as can be expected when you're pushing 90," says Mrs. Weatherby. "But you need to put on some weight, Mister Baggins. Marry a nice Hobbiton lass and settle down. I can arrange to introduce you to my granddaughters." Frodo smiled politely and privately rolled his eyes at Tandy.
Mrs. Weatherby turned her attention back to the Apothecary. "Please tell the Doctor that the ointment is wonderful."
"I will certainly do that Mrs. Weatherby," Tandy replied. "Will that be all for you?" he asked as he carefully wrapped a yellow tin of ointment and placed it in his client's handbag.
"Yes indeed," she said. "Good day Mister Bolger. Good day young Mister Baggins." The two hobbits said their gooddays to Mrs. Weatherby as she hobbled out the door.
As soon as the door was closed Tandy laughed. "Watch out for that one! Her granddaughters are nice looking, but dull as the day is long."
"Is Iris in? I have an appointment with her this morning," Frodo asked.
"Right in back there Mister Frodo," said Tandy, pointing to the door on the left. "Go on in. She's not with a patient right now."
Frodo knocked on the door.
"Come in," said Iris. "Frodo. Please, sit down on the bed. Sorry about the state of this 'office.'" The surgical office doubled as her bedroom. "If you will please take off your shirt I'll get what I need for removing the stitches."
Frodo unbuttoned and removed his coat, vest and shirt while watching Iris take out some clean cloths, instruments, and an ointment tin. She came over and sat next to him on the bed, examining the rapidly-healing wound.
"Hmm. Very good," she said. "You heal remarkably fast. You'll not be needing these stitches. Hold still. This may sting a bit." She deftly snipped the stitches and pulled them out. Frodo didn't flinch or speak. He seemed rather disconnected. He watched passively as Iris dabbed away the pin pricks of blood, then applied the ointment.
"You seem to have recovered quite well," she said. "The only reason I'm putting this bandage on is so the ointment doesn't stain your shirt. Reapply this ointment each night just before bed. Do this for a week and I don't think you'll have any more problems with that infection returning."
Frodo merely nodded. He slipped the ointment tin into his breeches pocket and stood to put his shirt and vest back on. He was avoiding eye contact with her and she knew it.
"Frodo? Is something bothering you?" Iris inquired.
"I want to apologize. I am sorry if I caused you any problems yesterday," he said. "I appreciate how you handled talking with the Cottons about everything. They decided to not tell Sam about it when he returns, which is a great relief to me."
"You didn't cause any problems for me," she said. He was still avoiding eye contact. "What else is bothering you?" Frodo finally looked directly at her.
"Iris," he hesitated, suddenly sitting back down on the bed and blushing. "Iris, I believe I said some things yesterday which were not appropriate. I hope you did not take offense."
Iris smiled. "Oh, you mean like helping you with a bath someday?"
He glanced up at her, the tips of his ears and his cheeks fiery red, and nodded.
Iris scooted over to be close to him and took his hand in hers. "Frodo Baggins. If you think you're getting off the hook for that indiscretion just because you were drugged, you are sadly mistaken. I fully intend to live up to my end of that promise. I expect you to do likewise."
There was silence between them, then he suddenly smiled at her joke.
"Miss Proudfoot," he said, "You are the most amazing hobbitess I've ever met. Once again, I am in your dept. Perhaps I can remedy this situation by inviting you over for tea tomorrow?"
Iris and he stood. "It would be my pleasure. Now go on and get to work. I've other patients, you know."
He bowed deeply, grabbed his coat, and departed.
Iris remained suspicious. That last bit about the bath was only to keep her from learning a deeper truth, she reasoned. Someday Frodo Baggins would finally confess his fears. It would not be a pretty sight either.
March 15th
The past two days had been balmy and full of warmth from the South. Iris walked over to Bag End to join Frodo for the promised afternoon tea. The garden at Bag End was blooming with early spring flowers. Crocus, daffodils and early tulips competed with jonquil and tiny grape hyacinths for primary attention around the front door. If the Bag End garden was any indication of the success of Sam's gardening work, then this year would be a banner year for the Shire.
Iris pulled on the new doorbell strand, setting off the cacophony of tinkling jangles. Frodo appeared at the door in an uncharacteristic fashion, wiping his hands on a filthy towel. He had on an old work shirt and mismatched trousers, and was completely covered in mud and grout.
"Oh, Iris! What time is it? Is it tea time already? Sorry, please come in. Sorry about the mess. Here, let me take your coat. On second thought, you will have to do that yourself, as I am filthy."
Iris chuckled as she took off her coat and hung it up in the hallway. "What are you doing? You look like a five-year-old that's been making mud pies for his Gram."
Frodo rolled his eyes at her. "I will have you know that I am replacing the floor in the second bathing room. Look…I am not the neatest person when forced to do manual labor, but I can at least grout in a tile floor. And I want to hurry up and finish it before Sam gets back just so I can say 'Told you so.' He thinks he is the only one who can repair Bag End, and I am determined to prove him wrong. Well, give me a few moments to wash up." He disappeared into the kitchen.
Iris stopped in the front study and glanced over the piles of papers and maps on the desk. There were all kinds of stacks of notes, some in Elvish script, but most in the Common Speech written in a thin, wavy script. There was also a new, beautiful map titled "The Lonely Mountain" complete with illustrations of a dragon and some writing in Dwarvish rhunes. This handwriting was different.
"Good! Perhaps he's started writing down some of his memories," she thought as she examined the contents of the desktop. A bound red leather book was lying in the center of the space. Only the first quarter of the book contained writing, and most of that was in the elder handwriting. A few lines in the new handwriting continued the story, then stopped.
Iris carefully peeked at the small stack of loose papers to the right of the book. They also were covered in the strong, flowing script of the new handwriting. It was an outline. The words mentioned place names; some Iris recognized such as Buckelberry Ferry and Bree and even Rivendale. Some she did not, such as Helm's Deep, Anduin, Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes. She recognized Lothlorien only from Frodo's brief mention of it while under heavy sedation.
On a separate page she found the handwriting had changed somewhat. It listed Weathertop, Cirith Ungol and Orodruin. These words were written in red. And in very small print down at the bottom of the page was printed a single word: precious.
Iris was very curious about all this, but left the papers as she found them. She followed Frodo into the kitchen after giving him sufficient time to clean up.
The smell of strong black tea and fresh bread and jam saturated the room. Frodo had cleaned himself up at the sink and had discarded the old shirt. He was pulling on a fresh white linen blouse and tucking it into his breeches as Iris walked in. A little bouquet of yellow daffodils on the table brightened up the room. It was all very homey and warm.
"I am sorry," Frodo said. "I got to working and forgot what time it was."
"It's OK Frodo," Iris replied as she sat down at the table. He brought over the tea service and poured the tea.
"I hope you have not strained your shoulder injury with this tile-setting," she admonished.
"Oh, no. I am fine. Really. I will show you when we are finished with tea. I am rather proud of my work. You will have to tell me if you think Sam will give his stamp of approval, or have to rip it all out and start again. You will tell me the truth, won't you?"
Iris looked him squarely in the eyes, "I always do."
That comment stopped Frodo in mid-sip. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was a challenge.
"I mean I am truthful with you," she replied in an even, neutral voice. "I wish you would be truthful with me. You are not fine. Really. I don't think it's good for you to be doing this sort of heavy labor immediately after an episode such as you just had on the 13th. I think you are using the physical labor to avoid thinking and talking about how the Ring affected you. I wish you would talk about it."
Iris could hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece in the next room, the silence was so sudden and thick. Frodo looked like she had just slapped him. "Oh, NOT a good thing to say!" she mentally kicked herself.
"And who are YOU to lecture ME about the Ring?" His voice was low and quiet and sharp as a knife blade. He carefully placed the tea cup down on the table and spread his hands across the boards, palms down. It only emphasized his missing ring finger.
There was no turning back now. She tried to make her voice come out as even and non-judgmental as possible, but it betrayed her emotions. "I am your friend and I am your physician. I care about you and I care about your health. I do not understand the power this Ring still exerts over you, but I know you will continue to experience pain and anguish if you do not talk about it."
His blue eyes pierced her green. His voice sounded of ashes and bitter stone. "You know nothing about It. What you ask for is dangerous. We are quite capable of violence still." There was a threat in his voice she had not heard before.
"What violence have you committed?" Iris was relentless. Inwardly she was as frightened as she had ever been in her life. But her patient needed her to be steady.
Silence. He was debating within himself.
"Murder."
Frodo's eyes continued to bore into hers. "We killed him." He had not blinked nor changed expressions. It was as if someone else was answering in that flat, emotionless voice. Something dead and uncaring.
"Who did you kill?" Iris met his stare with her own. Again, she kept her voice calm and steady, even though her heart was pounding.
"Smeagol."
