Hi, and thank you soooo much for the lovely reviews!!
A/N in response to Elizabeth Wyeth's question: Truthfully, I have not specified what type of snake it is---primarily because I'm not certain what snakes would have dwelt in Middle-earth. I *can* tell you that I thoroughly researched various snake bite symptoms before beginning this story and am continuing to while working on it, and Frodo's symptoms correspond most with a bite from one of the pit vipers, such as rattlesnakes, copperheads, and coral snakes. However... in researching, I found that the symptoms for any given snake bite seem to be extremely variable depending on the *exact* type of snake, amount of venom injected, size of victim, etc. Excessive sweating, tingling, abdominal pains, blurry vision, and nausea seem to be the most common symptoms for most pit viper snake bites, and Frodo is suffering from those. However, there are many other symptoms that are entirely within the realm of possibility. Each snake seems to have a unique action to its venom, therefore, my "unnamed" snake might as well. Therefore, I may take author's dramatic license to vary his symptoms beyond what I've read in the research strictly for pit vipers.
Frodo's symptoms are worsening with time . . . as you will increasingly see. Of course, I must stop at a certain point before they get so bad they would automatically lead to death --- such as complete and total paralysis affecting the central nervous system and stopping breathing.
***
"Must you touch it? It . . . it hurts so badly," Frodo whimpered as Elrond folded back the covers to examine and care for the hobbit's leg.
"I am sorry, Frodo, but it must be done. I will do it quickly, I assure you---and will try to lessen the pain for you," said Elrond as he began his task. Small sounds came from Frodo as Elrond cleansed the leg, and the elf-lord would frequently pause to pour his Elvish healing powers into the wound, giving his small patient a break from the intense pain. Arwen, still sitting with Frodo, leaned over to clasp the hobbit's tiny hands in hers, squeezing them gently and rubbing them at the same time to ease the tingling and numbness. Next to her, Bilbo had nodded off in a chair. And across the room in the corner, Sam, who had brought in hot-water bottles earlier to tuck in around Frodo, was curled up in a sofa, dozing.
Elrond had just finished with tending to Frodo's leg when the door to the room opened to admit Gandalf.
"How is he, Elrond?" the wizard asked quietly as he approached, sighing at the appearance of Frodo's leg---and of the hobbit himself.
Frodo's eyes were closed but his restless movements and heavy breathing indicated he was not asleep. He still lay curled up on his side, but he appeared to have slipped down off his pillow and now lay with his head half under it; only a small part of his face visible and one hand curled up under his chin.
Folding the covers back over Frodo's leg, Elrond rose and drew the wizard away from the bed.
"He is being affected more by the poison with each passing hour, Gandalf. I am using the healing skills endowed to me such as I can, and we are giving him frequent doses of the treacle---which I know is not pleasant for him. We are giving him as much as we dare without overdosing him and must rouse him every half-hour to drink it. I fear, however, that we may have to increase the treacle's strength soon, regardless of the risk."
The wizard's eyebrows rose. "Is it that risky?"
Elrond nodded. "This treacle is potent---although we can make it more potent still, and can have unpleasant side-effect. You remember, Gandalf, how we warred with ourselves over how much medicine to give to Frodo during his recent injury. With a human or an elf, infusions can be risky---it is doubly difficult to judge when dealing with one so small. Especially when he is only able to keep down a small portion of everything he drinks and it is difficult to know how much is actually entering his system."
"Has he been able to sleep at all?"
Elrond shook his head as he turned to watch Arwen ease Frodo's head up and reposition his pillow, wiping the pale dewy face with a towel.
"He has been resting for brief periods before he awakes in pain. The herbal infusions seem to help, but not enough. And we dare not give him extremely strong sleep-inducing medicines---the venom is beginning to affect his system enough as it is."
"And what about his leg? It does not look good, Elrond."
"Truthfully, Aragorn and I are very worried about the condition of his leg, Gandalf. The swelling has increased and pressure is building up. That could lead to loss of blood flow, and the consequences of that might be very grave indeed."
"How so?"
"If the poison does not take his life, it might, at the very least, take his leg."
Biting his lip to control his reaction, Gandalf clapped Elrond on the shoulder. "You are doing your best, old friend. I do not doubt that. You will make him well."
Elrond nodded grimly as he walked to the head of Frodo's bed and checked the hobbit's pulse and temperature. At the elf-lord's touch, Frodo's eyes drifted open, but he had to blink several times to see who it was through his fuzzy vision.
"Lord Elrond?"
"Yes, Frodo. Are you feeling any better?"
He was feeling miserable, and he talked with difficulty. "I feel dizzy . . . and my body aches." He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "W . . was there a feast tonight---and . . . storytelling in the Hall of Fire?" His breath caught a bit as a wave of pain washed over him. His belly had started its cramping again. Seeing his grimace, Elrond pulled the covers back and made sure a hot-water bottle was snugly tucked against him.
"There is nearly always a feast, Frodo---and tales, singing, and poetry every night here in Rivendell, lasting long until after the shadows of evening fall," the elf-lord told him. "Do not worry---you will enjoy them again soon enough."
"I . . . I hope so," Frodo droned. "I'm sorry, Lord Elrond. You and Lady Arwen . . . should be there, instead of here . . . tending to me."
"Nonsense, Ring-bearer," Arwen told him. "You have borne a great burden here to Imladris. We would not be anywhere else but here, helping you through such an illness."
Frodo smiled weakly. "You're too . . . too kind. It's so . . . restful here. I wish I could stay here, where no evil comes, for a long time---it must be much like living in the Blessed Realm. But for us mortals, there is no escape."
Arwen looked at him for long moments, her eyes seeming to shine through him, and then her lips curved into a bit of a smile as she reached out and stroked his cheek. "Yes, it is so, Frodo. But who knows what the future may hold for any of us. Do not fear. Now, it is time for more of your medication."
Frodo cringed at the thought of the medicine---but by now he knew there was no way of getting around it and had stopped protesting, as it did not real good and only taxed his strength.
"I will give it to him, Lady Arwen," Gandalf told her, taking the cup of treacle. "You have been here long already."
Nodding, she stroked Frodo's hair and rose. "I will be back to check on you again soon, Ring-bearer," she said as she exited the door with her father.
Frodo seemed to be shaking with chill and Gandalf wrapped the covers more tightly about him as he lifted Frodo's shoulders to place the cup to his lips. But as he sipped, the hobbit began to choke, and Gandalf had to sit him up all the way and pat his back rather roughly to ease the fit.
Bilbo woke with a start at the sound of Frodo's coughing, popping up in his chair wide-eyed. "Is he all right, Gandalf? Frodo my dear---are you okay?"
Frodo couldn't talk---his face was feeling strangely numb. He nodded and Gandalf answered in the affirmative instead. When the fit was over, Frodo sank back with a moan into the wizard's arms, spent, his midsection hurting.
"Thank you . . . Gandalf," he whispered, finally able to get his mouth to work. "Bilbo . . . I'm all right."
"Hmmm . . ." the wizard grunted. "Perhaps we should try that again, now. Just a bit . . . slowly so that you can keep it down, and then we shall give you more in a few minutes."
This time the hobbit was able to take a few small sips---very slowly---before Gandalf helped him to lie back among the soft sheets. Frodo was grateful to lay down again and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut out his stomach cramps and the fierce ache in his leg. He tried to rest but found it difficult---instead he opened his eyes and watched Bilbo swaying in the rocking chair by his bed. But the swaying movement of the rocker began to make him feel sick and he found his nausea rising again.
He tried to hold it back---but his stomach had other ideas. Fortunately, Bilbo had seen him pale and had nudged Gandalf with the basin. As Frodo threw up, the basin was nicely under his chin as Gandalf rubbed his back to sooth him. When it was over, the wizard gave him a small drink of peppermint tea---but to Frodo's horror, he had difficulty keeping it in his mouth due to the numbness and most of came dribbling out of his mouth and dripped down his chin.
The wizard sensed his difficulty and wiped his face with a wet cloth, reassuring him at the same time.
"It will be all right, Frodo . . . you shall see. Elrond said you might have a bit of difficulty such as this from time to time---just relax and let it pass. Now," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "we shall have to get that sluggard Samwise Gamgee over there to fetch you some hot towels and a fresh nightshirt . . ."
Frodo nodded wearily and allowed Gandalf to lay him back down, face glistening with sweat, his hair streaming in wet ringlets on the sheets. As he curled up tightly, belly aching, he heard the door opening again and Aragorn's voice. Dimly he was aware of Gandalf and Aragorn talking in hushed whispers---whispers they obviously did not want Frodo to hear---and of Bilbo's gnarled hand taking Frodo's own trembling one.
To be continued
A/N in response to Elizabeth Wyeth's question: Truthfully, I have not specified what type of snake it is---primarily because I'm not certain what snakes would have dwelt in Middle-earth. I *can* tell you that I thoroughly researched various snake bite symptoms before beginning this story and am continuing to while working on it, and Frodo's symptoms correspond most with a bite from one of the pit vipers, such as rattlesnakes, copperheads, and coral snakes. However... in researching, I found that the symptoms for any given snake bite seem to be extremely variable depending on the *exact* type of snake, amount of venom injected, size of victim, etc. Excessive sweating, tingling, abdominal pains, blurry vision, and nausea seem to be the most common symptoms for most pit viper snake bites, and Frodo is suffering from those. However, there are many other symptoms that are entirely within the realm of possibility. Each snake seems to have a unique action to its venom, therefore, my "unnamed" snake might as well. Therefore, I may take author's dramatic license to vary his symptoms beyond what I've read in the research strictly for pit vipers.
Frodo's symptoms are worsening with time . . . as you will increasingly see. Of course, I must stop at a certain point before they get so bad they would automatically lead to death --- such as complete and total paralysis affecting the central nervous system and stopping breathing.
***
"Must you touch it? It . . . it hurts so badly," Frodo whimpered as Elrond folded back the covers to examine and care for the hobbit's leg.
"I am sorry, Frodo, but it must be done. I will do it quickly, I assure you---and will try to lessen the pain for you," said Elrond as he began his task. Small sounds came from Frodo as Elrond cleansed the leg, and the elf-lord would frequently pause to pour his Elvish healing powers into the wound, giving his small patient a break from the intense pain. Arwen, still sitting with Frodo, leaned over to clasp the hobbit's tiny hands in hers, squeezing them gently and rubbing them at the same time to ease the tingling and numbness. Next to her, Bilbo had nodded off in a chair. And across the room in the corner, Sam, who had brought in hot-water bottles earlier to tuck in around Frodo, was curled up in a sofa, dozing.
Elrond had just finished with tending to Frodo's leg when the door to the room opened to admit Gandalf.
"How is he, Elrond?" the wizard asked quietly as he approached, sighing at the appearance of Frodo's leg---and of the hobbit himself.
Frodo's eyes were closed but his restless movements and heavy breathing indicated he was not asleep. He still lay curled up on his side, but he appeared to have slipped down off his pillow and now lay with his head half under it; only a small part of his face visible and one hand curled up under his chin.
Folding the covers back over Frodo's leg, Elrond rose and drew the wizard away from the bed.
"He is being affected more by the poison with each passing hour, Gandalf. I am using the healing skills endowed to me such as I can, and we are giving him frequent doses of the treacle---which I know is not pleasant for him. We are giving him as much as we dare without overdosing him and must rouse him every half-hour to drink it. I fear, however, that we may have to increase the treacle's strength soon, regardless of the risk."
The wizard's eyebrows rose. "Is it that risky?"
Elrond nodded. "This treacle is potent---although we can make it more potent still, and can have unpleasant side-effect. You remember, Gandalf, how we warred with ourselves over how much medicine to give to Frodo during his recent injury. With a human or an elf, infusions can be risky---it is doubly difficult to judge when dealing with one so small. Especially when he is only able to keep down a small portion of everything he drinks and it is difficult to know how much is actually entering his system."
"Has he been able to sleep at all?"
Elrond shook his head as he turned to watch Arwen ease Frodo's head up and reposition his pillow, wiping the pale dewy face with a towel.
"He has been resting for brief periods before he awakes in pain. The herbal infusions seem to help, but not enough. And we dare not give him extremely strong sleep-inducing medicines---the venom is beginning to affect his system enough as it is."
"And what about his leg? It does not look good, Elrond."
"Truthfully, Aragorn and I are very worried about the condition of his leg, Gandalf. The swelling has increased and pressure is building up. That could lead to loss of blood flow, and the consequences of that might be very grave indeed."
"How so?"
"If the poison does not take his life, it might, at the very least, take his leg."
Biting his lip to control his reaction, Gandalf clapped Elrond on the shoulder. "You are doing your best, old friend. I do not doubt that. You will make him well."
Elrond nodded grimly as he walked to the head of Frodo's bed and checked the hobbit's pulse and temperature. At the elf-lord's touch, Frodo's eyes drifted open, but he had to blink several times to see who it was through his fuzzy vision.
"Lord Elrond?"
"Yes, Frodo. Are you feeling any better?"
He was feeling miserable, and he talked with difficulty. "I feel dizzy . . . and my body aches." He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "W . . was there a feast tonight---and . . . storytelling in the Hall of Fire?" His breath caught a bit as a wave of pain washed over him. His belly had started its cramping again. Seeing his grimace, Elrond pulled the covers back and made sure a hot-water bottle was snugly tucked against him.
"There is nearly always a feast, Frodo---and tales, singing, and poetry every night here in Rivendell, lasting long until after the shadows of evening fall," the elf-lord told him. "Do not worry---you will enjoy them again soon enough."
"I . . . I hope so," Frodo droned. "I'm sorry, Lord Elrond. You and Lady Arwen . . . should be there, instead of here . . . tending to me."
"Nonsense, Ring-bearer," Arwen told him. "You have borne a great burden here to Imladris. We would not be anywhere else but here, helping you through such an illness."
Frodo smiled weakly. "You're too . . . too kind. It's so . . . restful here. I wish I could stay here, where no evil comes, for a long time---it must be much like living in the Blessed Realm. But for us mortals, there is no escape."
Arwen looked at him for long moments, her eyes seeming to shine through him, and then her lips curved into a bit of a smile as she reached out and stroked his cheek. "Yes, it is so, Frodo. But who knows what the future may hold for any of us. Do not fear. Now, it is time for more of your medication."
Frodo cringed at the thought of the medicine---but by now he knew there was no way of getting around it and had stopped protesting, as it did not real good and only taxed his strength.
"I will give it to him, Lady Arwen," Gandalf told her, taking the cup of treacle. "You have been here long already."
Nodding, she stroked Frodo's hair and rose. "I will be back to check on you again soon, Ring-bearer," she said as she exited the door with her father.
Frodo seemed to be shaking with chill and Gandalf wrapped the covers more tightly about him as he lifted Frodo's shoulders to place the cup to his lips. But as he sipped, the hobbit began to choke, and Gandalf had to sit him up all the way and pat his back rather roughly to ease the fit.
Bilbo woke with a start at the sound of Frodo's coughing, popping up in his chair wide-eyed. "Is he all right, Gandalf? Frodo my dear---are you okay?"
Frodo couldn't talk---his face was feeling strangely numb. He nodded and Gandalf answered in the affirmative instead. When the fit was over, Frodo sank back with a moan into the wizard's arms, spent, his midsection hurting.
"Thank you . . . Gandalf," he whispered, finally able to get his mouth to work. "Bilbo . . . I'm all right."
"Hmmm . . ." the wizard grunted. "Perhaps we should try that again, now. Just a bit . . . slowly so that you can keep it down, and then we shall give you more in a few minutes."
This time the hobbit was able to take a few small sips---very slowly---before Gandalf helped him to lie back among the soft sheets. Frodo was grateful to lay down again and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut out his stomach cramps and the fierce ache in his leg. He tried to rest but found it difficult---instead he opened his eyes and watched Bilbo swaying in the rocking chair by his bed. But the swaying movement of the rocker began to make him feel sick and he found his nausea rising again.
He tried to hold it back---but his stomach had other ideas. Fortunately, Bilbo had seen him pale and had nudged Gandalf with the basin. As Frodo threw up, the basin was nicely under his chin as Gandalf rubbed his back to sooth him. When it was over, the wizard gave him a small drink of peppermint tea---but to Frodo's horror, he had difficulty keeping it in his mouth due to the numbness and most of came dribbling out of his mouth and dripped down his chin.
The wizard sensed his difficulty and wiped his face with a wet cloth, reassuring him at the same time.
"It will be all right, Frodo . . . you shall see. Elrond said you might have a bit of difficulty such as this from time to time---just relax and let it pass. Now," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "we shall have to get that sluggard Samwise Gamgee over there to fetch you some hot towels and a fresh nightshirt . . ."
Frodo nodded wearily and allowed Gandalf to lay him back down, face glistening with sweat, his hair streaming in wet ringlets on the sheets. As he curled up tightly, belly aching, he heard the door opening again and Aragorn's voice. Dimly he was aware of Gandalf and Aragorn talking in hushed whispers---whispers they obviously did not want Frodo to hear---and of Bilbo's gnarled hand taking Frodo's own trembling one.
To be continued