"I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo, but you've got to drink it. Master Elrond bade me give it to you and ordered that you drink it all---every last drop of it."
"I don't want it, Sam. I just had some, didn't I?"
"That you did, sir. But you have to have it again---every half-hour's the dose, Master Elrond said, until you start getting better. Don't worry, Mr. Frodo---you'll be better soon enough."
Sighing, Frodo allowed Sam to raise his shoulders and help him drink the treacle---which had not improved with time. In fact, Frodo was quite certain it was now stronger and even more bitter than it had been previously, and truthfully, he was tired of drinking. Every time he wanted to rest someone seemed to come at him with a concoction to drink, telling him he needed liquids.
He drank a few sips of the treacle and then held his hand up, indicating that Sam should pause.
"Please . . . Sam," Frodo whimpered as he lay back, gasping, sweat breaking out on his face once again, "I have to stop for a moment. If I drink it all down at once, it will just come back up again."
Sam looked at his master with concern. "I understand. We'll just take tiny sips, like we've been doing with the other liquids. Does your stomach hurt badly, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo didn't answer---he curled up tightly on his side, trying to concentrate on keeping the pain and his churning stomach under control. It was beginning to be a losing battle. While the pain was not constant, he suffered occasional waves of terrible stomach cramping, and his leg now *was* a source of continual throbbing. His hands and feet, the hobbit didn't even try to think about---the pins-and-needles feeling he'd experienced earlier had only doubled. And he was sweating again---could not seem to stop---and felt his nightshirt becoming sticky with it.
If he squinted, Frodo found that he could just see two figures talking over at the far side of the room. Tall people. Not hobbits. Squinting harder, he could see they were Aragorn and Elrond. Of Gandalf he saw no sign---Frodo thought he remembered the wizard leaving the room a while ago to take a break, just after Elrond had examined Frodo.
Elrond had swept into Frodo's room a good while earlier and had immediately gone to Frodo's bedside, feeling his pulse and noting with concern the hobbit's pallor and gasping breaths as he fought the pain. The elf-lord had then lain his hand across Frodo's tiny brow (the hobbit was surprised he had any skin on his brow left, after the past month) and had whispered soothing Elvish words. A few seconds later, Frodo had felt the pain lower to tolerable levels.
"Frodo," Elrond had then asked him gently, "how is the pain? Better?"
Frodo had nodded, still unable to speak . . . and the elf-lord had felt Frodo's neck, murmuring something to Aragorn about "enlarged glands," after which he had pulled the covers back and gently disengaged Frodo's arms from around his middle so that he could prod the hobbit's belly and ask him where it hurt exactly.
A mumbled "I don't know--everywhere," had not been the answer Elrond was hoping for, and he had sighed, folding Frodo's covers back and smoothing the dark hair from Frodo's ear.
Then Elrond had removed the blankets from the hobbit's leg and had peered at hit, laying his hands on Frodo's calf for a several long minutes before standing and addressing Frodo with a gentle voice.
"I must go prepare some more medication for you," Elrond had told him then, "and then I will come back and change the compress on your leg, Frodo. Rest until then." That had been a bit ago, and the hobbit suspected he soon had the tending of his extremely painful leg to look forward to.
A voice brought Frodo back to the present and he opened his eyes wider, trying to focus on Sam.
"Mr. Frodo, beggin' your pardon, but you need to finish this," Sam told him, holding the cup closely so that he could see it. "And then there's more---ginger tea and some more chamomile to help you sleep."
"Very well," Frodo said weakly, allowing Sam to give him small, slow sips of the treacle. He shifted uncomfortably among his mounds of pillows---his stomach was beginning a dull ache again to go along with the nausea.
A moment later, Elrond and Aragorn returned to the side of Frodo's bed, looking down at him as he grimaced from a sip of the bitter infusion he was drinking. Elrond spoke first.
"I am sorry, Frodo, but it is my hope that the treacle will help greatly to slow the poison and help the pain. It is necessary." The elf-lord smiled. "It is a pity your stay at Imladris so far has been fraught with discomfort and illness, Master Baggins. But we will get you well quickly so you will be free to enjoy the time you have left here."
Frodo visibly paled at that---thinking about leaving Rivendell and going on the Ring quest was more terrifying than what he was currently facing. All he could do was stammer a bit. "Th . . . thank you, Master Elrond."
Patting his arm, Elrond sat on the bed by Frodo's leg and folded the covers back, piling them up so the hobbit could not view his leg. Frodo had to suppress a groan as the bed shifted with the elf-lord's weight. Carefully, Elrond removed the compress from the calf while Aragorn stood nearby, handing him herbs and towels as he needed them.
Frodo, still taking sips of the treacle from Sam, found himself watching wearily. "What does it look like?" he asked, his voice tremulous.
"What does what look like, Frodo?" Aragorn inquired, leaning forward.
"My leg. I haven't seen it lately."
"It is very swollen. And it will probably get worse before it gets better. That is normal."
"I want to see it."
"That's probably not a good idea, Frodo," the ranger told him, his voice stern. "It looks worse than it is---although I know it is quite painful for you. Let Elrond do his work."
"Please?"
Sighing, Aragorn lifted the heap of covers, exposing the leg to the hobbit, who leaned forward with Sam's help, squinting. The leg was blurry, but the sight was enough to cause Frodo's heart to nearly stop. The leg did indeed look bad---worse than the hobbit might have imagined---the wounded area swollen to twice its normal size and the entire lower half of the leg black with bruising.
Frodo sobbed and put a trembling hand to his mouth, falling back against his pillows as his stomach lurched. He had not the strength to control it this time---both Sam and Aragorn caught and held him as he vomited into a basin, tears and sweat running down his face to mingle with the basin's contents.
"Let it go, Frodo," Aragorn told him gently as he grabbed a soft wet towel and held it to the wet forehead, moving it down to wipe Frodo's quivering mouth as the hobbit finished.
"Here, take some water to swish, Mr. Frodo," Sam urged as he tipped a cup to Frodo's lips. Taking a small sip, Frodo did as Sam asked and then lay back with a groan. Aragorn ran the wet cloth over Frodo's face again as the hobbit closed his eyes, curling up as tightly as he could without moving his injured leg.
"Frodo," Aragorn told him as he removed the hot water bottles for Sam to refill, "listen to me. All snake bites look just like that---your leg will return to normal when you have recovered." He hoped, the ranger said to himself---but he wanted to do his best to be reassuring before Frodo went into shock.
The hobbit sniffed, drawing himself up more tightly. "My shoulder didn't look like that, Aragorn . . ." he managed to get out.
The ranger smoothed the dark curly hair back from Frodo's pale face. "That is because it was a different type of poison. Rest now---you will see, it will be all right." He tucked the covers more tightly around the shivering heap in the bed as Frodo moaned softly, his stomach aching again.
At that moment there came a soft knock at the door and Frodo could hear it being opened. A woman's voice---definitely Arwen, speaking Elvish to Aragorn and her father. Then soft footsteps, and Frodo felt a tender touch on his brow and opened his eyes a bit---considering it faintly ironic that just when the loveliest creature he had ever seen was now at his bedside, he was unable to view her clearly.
"Frodo," Arwen told him gently, "I know you are suffering. But you must drink something for me my father asked me to prepare---it should help to ease the pain and allow you to sleep for a bit."
He nodded, feeling too weak to answer and thinking, briefly, of how horrified he'd be if he threw up in Arwen's presence. Arwen eased herself to sit on the bed next to him, raising Frodo's head and shoulders and cradling him against her bosom. The hobbit was nearly a deadweight in her arms. Dimly, Frodo was aware of how sweat-soaked he was beginning to feel, and he hoped he did not muss Arwen's dress.
But the elf-maid didn't seem to be fazed. Bending over him so that her soft hair brushed against him, Arwen slowly fed Frodo sips of a sweet fruity tea he had never tasted before, rubbing his brow whenever he flinched in pain as her father finished applying a fresh poultice to the bite wound. After a while, the cramp in Frodo's belly receded to a dull throb and he felt himself relaxing. Done with tending to the leg, Elrond checked Frodo's vital signs again before he left for a time.
Over Frodo's head, Arwen's eyes met Aragorn's and she smiled faintly, looking back down at the groggy hobbit snuggled against her. Frodo's eyes were half-shut and slowly they closed as he drifted off to sleep, breathing heavily.
Gently, Arwen eased Frodo to lie back down among his soft bedclothes as Aragorn came over with a clean nightshirt. Together, they eased the sleeping hobbit's gown off and dried him a bit before dressing him in the fresh shirt.
Looking down at Frodo, Aragorn smiled faintly. "It is a good thing he is asleep, my love," he told Arwen, "else he would be quite embarrassed to have you tending to him so. I think he is a bit taken with you."
Arwen laughed softly, her voice musical in the quiet room. "Then it is good he does not remember me also taking care of him when he was ill from the Morgul-blade stabbing." She sighed as she bent to tuck the blankets about Frodo, then looked up at Aragorn, her eyes twinkling. "He is quite charming---as charming as Bilbo. Perhaps I will leave my ranger of the North for a halfling."
Aragorn raised his eyes to meet hers. "Hmmmm . . . somehow I doubt that, my love."
"You know me only too well, Aragorn," she told him, stroking his face. "Now go lie down and rest yourself---I will watch over Frodo while you do. And Sam will be back shortly---I doubt we will be able to pry that halfling away from Frodo's side. He is a loyal servant, that one."
The ranger nodded and took her hand gently before leaving.
Her eyes following him, Arwen turned back to Frodo and touched her lips to the hobbit's forehead before she sat down in the rocker next to his bed, keeping vigil.
To be continued
"I don't want it, Sam. I just had some, didn't I?"
"That you did, sir. But you have to have it again---every half-hour's the dose, Master Elrond said, until you start getting better. Don't worry, Mr. Frodo---you'll be better soon enough."
Sighing, Frodo allowed Sam to raise his shoulders and help him drink the treacle---which had not improved with time. In fact, Frodo was quite certain it was now stronger and even more bitter than it had been previously, and truthfully, he was tired of drinking. Every time he wanted to rest someone seemed to come at him with a concoction to drink, telling him he needed liquids.
He drank a few sips of the treacle and then held his hand up, indicating that Sam should pause.
"Please . . . Sam," Frodo whimpered as he lay back, gasping, sweat breaking out on his face once again, "I have to stop for a moment. If I drink it all down at once, it will just come back up again."
Sam looked at his master with concern. "I understand. We'll just take tiny sips, like we've been doing with the other liquids. Does your stomach hurt badly, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo didn't answer---he curled up tightly on his side, trying to concentrate on keeping the pain and his churning stomach under control. It was beginning to be a losing battle. While the pain was not constant, he suffered occasional waves of terrible stomach cramping, and his leg now *was* a source of continual throbbing. His hands and feet, the hobbit didn't even try to think about---the pins-and-needles feeling he'd experienced earlier had only doubled. And he was sweating again---could not seem to stop---and felt his nightshirt becoming sticky with it.
If he squinted, Frodo found that he could just see two figures talking over at the far side of the room. Tall people. Not hobbits. Squinting harder, he could see they were Aragorn and Elrond. Of Gandalf he saw no sign---Frodo thought he remembered the wizard leaving the room a while ago to take a break, just after Elrond had examined Frodo.
Elrond had swept into Frodo's room a good while earlier and had immediately gone to Frodo's bedside, feeling his pulse and noting with concern the hobbit's pallor and gasping breaths as he fought the pain. The elf-lord had then lain his hand across Frodo's tiny brow (the hobbit was surprised he had any skin on his brow left, after the past month) and had whispered soothing Elvish words. A few seconds later, Frodo had felt the pain lower to tolerable levels.
"Frodo," Elrond had then asked him gently, "how is the pain? Better?"
Frodo had nodded, still unable to speak . . . and the elf-lord had felt Frodo's neck, murmuring something to Aragorn about "enlarged glands," after which he had pulled the covers back and gently disengaged Frodo's arms from around his middle so that he could prod the hobbit's belly and ask him where it hurt exactly.
A mumbled "I don't know--everywhere," had not been the answer Elrond was hoping for, and he had sighed, folding Frodo's covers back and smoothing the dark hair from Frodo's ear.
Then Elrond had removed the blankets from the hobbit's leg and had peered at hit, laying his hands on Frodo's calf for a several long minutes before standing and addressing Frodo with a gentle voice.
"I must go prepare some more medication for you," Elrond had told him then, "and then I will come back and change the compress on your leg, Frodo. Rest until then." That had been a bit ago, and the hobbit suspected he soon had the tending of his extremely painful leg to look forward to.
A voice brought Frodo back to the present and he opened his eyes wider, trying to focus on Sam.
"Mr. Frodo, beggin' your pardon, but you need to finish this," Sam told him, holding the cup closely so that he could see it. "And then there's more---ginger tea and some more chamomile to help you sleep."
"Very well," Frodo said weakly, allowing Sam to give him small, slow sips of the treacle. He shifted uncomfortably among his mounds of pillows---his stomach was beginning a dull ache again to go along with the nausea.
A moment later, Elrond and Aragorn returned to the side of Frodo's bed, looking down at him as he grimaced from a sip of the bitter infusion he was drinking. Elrond spoke first.
"I am sorry, Frodo, but it is my hope that the treacle will help greatly to slow the poison and help the pain. It is necessary." The elf-lord smiled. "It is a pity your stay at Imladris so far has been fraught with discomfort and illness, Master Baggins. But we will get you well quickly so you will be free to enjoy the time you have left here."
Frodo visibly paled at that---thinking about leaving Rivendell and going on the Ring quest was more terrifying than what he was currently facing. All he could do was stammer a bit. "Th . . . thank you, Master Elrond."
Patting his arm, Elrond sat on the bed by Frodo's leg and folded the covers back, piling them up so the hobbit could not view his leg. Frodo had to suppress a groan as the bed shifted with the elf-lord's weight. Carefully, Elrond removed the compress from the calf while Aragorn stood nearby, handing him herbs and towels as he needed them.
Frodo, still taking sips of the treacle from Sam, found himself watching wearily. "What does it look like?" he asked, his voice tremulous.
"What does what look like, Frodo?" Aragorn inquired, leaning forward.
"My leg. I haven't seen it lately."
"It is very swollen. And it will probably get worse before it gets better. That is normal."
"I want to see it."
"That's probably not a good idea, Frodo," the ranger told him, his voice stern. "It looks worse than it is---although I know it is quite painful for you. Let Elrond do his work."
"Please?"
Sighing, Aragorn lifted the heap of covers, exposing the leg to the hobbit, who leaned forward with Sam's help, squinting. The leg was blurry, but the sight was enough to cause Frodo's heart to nearly stop. The leg did indeed look bad---worse than the hobbit might have imagined---the wounded area swollen to twice its normal size and the entire lower half of the leg black with bruising.
Frodo sobbed and put a trembling hand to his mouth, falling back against his pillows as his stomach lurched. He had not the strength to control it this time---both Sam and Aragorn caught and held him as he vomited into a basin, tears and sweat running down his face to mingle with the basin's contents.
"Let it go, Frodo," Aragorn told him gently as he grabbed a soft wet towel and held it to the wet forehead, moving it down to wipe Frodo's quivering mouth as the hobbit finished.
"Here, take some water to swish, Mr. Frodo," Sam urged as he tipped a cup to Frodo's lips. Taking a small sip, Frodo did as Sam asked and then lay back with a groan. Aragorn ran the wet cloth over Frodo's face again as the hobbit closed his eyes, curling up as tightly as he could without moving his injured leg.
"Frodo," Aragorn told him as he removed the hot water bottles for Sam to refill, "listen to me. All snake bites look just like that---your leg will return to normal when you have recovered." He hoped, the ranger said to himself---but he wanted to do his best to be reassuring before Frodo went into shock.
The hobbit sniffed, drawing himself up more tightly. "My shoulder didn't look like that, Aragorn . . ." he managed to get out.
The ranger smoothed the dark curly hair back from Frodo's pale face. "That is because it was a different type of poison. Rest now---you will see, it will be all right." He tucked the covers more tightly around the shivering heap in the bed as Frodo moaned softly, his stomach aching again.
At that moment there came a soft knock at the door and Frodo could hear it being opened. A woman's voice---definitely Arwen, speaking Elvish to Aragorn and her father. Then soft footsteps, and Frodo felt a tender touch on his brow and opened his eyes a bit---considering it faintly ironic that just when the loveliest creature he had ever seen was now at his bedside, he was unable to view her clearly.
"Frodo," Arwen told him gently, "I know you are suffering. But you must drink something for me my father asked me to prepare---it should help to ease the pain and allow you to sleep for a bit."
He nodded, feeling too weak to answer and thinking, briefly, of how horrified he'd be if he threw up in Arwen's presence. Arwen eased herself to sit on the bed next to him, raising Frodo's head and shoulders and cradling him against her bosom. The hobbit was nearly a deadweight in her arms. Dimly, Frodo was aware of how sweat-soaked he was beginning to feel, and he hoped he did not muss Arwen's dress.
But the elf-maid didn't seem to be fazed. Bending over him so that her soft hair brushed against him, Arwen slowly fed Frodo sips of a sweet fruity tea he had never tasted before, rubbing his brow whenever he flinched in pain as her father finished applying a fresh poultice to the bite wound. After a while, the cramp in Frodo's belly receded to a dull throb and he felt himself relaxing. Done with tending to the leg, Elrond checked Frodo's vital signs again before he left for a time.
Over Frodo's head, Arwen's eyes met Aragorn's and she smiled faintly, looking back down at the groggy hobbit snuggled against her. Frodo's eyes were half-shut and slowly they closed as he drifted off to sleep, breathing heavily.
Gently, Arwen eased Frodo to lie back down among his soft bedclothes as Aragorn came over with a clean nightshirt. Together, they eased the sleeping hobbit's gown off and dried him a bit before dressing him in the fresh shirt.
Looking down at Frodo, Aragorn smiled faintly. "It is a good thing he is asleep, my love," he told Arwen, "else he would be quite embarrassed to have you tending to him so. I think he is a bit taken with you."
Arwen laughed softly, her voice musical in the quiet room. "Then it is good he does not remember me also taking care of him when he was ill from the Morgul-blade stabbing." She sighed as she bent to tuck the blankets about Frodo, then looked up at Aragorn, her eyes twinkling. "He is quite charming---as charming as Bilbo. Perhaps I will leave my ranger of the North for a halfling."
Aragorn raised his eyes to meet hers. "Hmmmm . . . somehow I doubt that, my love."
"You know me only too well, Aragorn," she told him, stroking his face. "Now go lie down and rest yourself---I will watch over Frodo while you do. And Sam will be back shortly---I doubt we will be able to pry that halfling away from Frodo's side. He is a loyal servant, that one."
The ranger nodded and took her hand gently before leaving.
Her eyes following him, Arwen turned back to Frodo and touched her lips to the hobbit's forehead before she sat down in the rocker next to his bed, keeping vigil.
To be continued