FIC: THE PINE-WOODS EXCURSION Part 8/?
Author: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG-13 (It could be PG, I just put PG-13 for general creepiness and wee hobbit pain and suffering. A lot of it.) Angst. No slash, no sex, no language.
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. Contrary to many of my other stories, this fic contains NO slash and is written for the FrodoHealers! group on Yahoo.
Feedback: I love it. Archiving: Feel free.
***
"Now, Pip, don't you go in there and talk Frodo's ear off, do you hear?" Merry whispered just before they entered the door to Frodo's room. "You do, and they won't let you in again."
Pippin glared at his cousin. "Why, Meriadoc Brandybuck, you know me better than that. I wouldn't do anything to harm Frodo."
Merry sighed. "Not intentionally, Pippin---but you *were* banned from his room for a time when he was very ill from his stab wound, remember? Just don't jump up on the bed this time---and try not to be too entertaining."
Pippin rolled his eyes and nodded, and the two hobbits quietly entered.
To Pippin's relief, only Sam and Aragorn were in the room at the moment, so he did not have to worry about Gandalf glaring at him under his bushy brows or Elrond crossing his arms and looking at him sternly whenever Pippin made so much as a squeak.
Sam and the ranger were sitting on the bed efficiently sponging Frodo down with warm athelas water, keeping his small shivering body covered with a sheet to avoid chilling him. They gently folded the sheet back to expose each part of the hobbit as they worked. Pippin grimaced---he'd been given sponge baths when he was sick and always found it a bit humbling.
But by the looks of his cousin, Frodo was at a point beyond caring. And indeed, Frodo was. The pain was afflicting him more often than not, and he was grateful for any type of relief. Now, he lay on his back amidst the piles of sheets and pillows, shockingly pale, his dark curls rather matted, and his blue eyes, which were staring at the ceiling, were weary with suffering. But he heard his two cousins approaching and turned his head toward them, his eyes narrowing as he did his best, unsuccessfully, to focus.
"M . . Merry?" he voiced shakily, speaking with effort. "Pip?"
"Yes, Frodo, it's us," Merry told him as he leaned over closer to the pale face, reaching for a hand to squeeze gently. It seemed that in the large bed, Frodo was rather far away. "How are you feeling? I know a mere snake bite can't keep a Baggins down."
Frodo opened his mouth again to speak, catching his breath as a wave of pain washed through his belly. Sam and Aragorn momentarily paused in their sponging to pat and soothe him through the pain. "I've . . . felt better," Frodo said with a weak smile when it had passed. "Aragorn and . . . and Sam . . . are helping. The warmth . . . feels good." He blinked, trying to focus. "Shouldn't . . . shouldn't you two . . . be asleep? It's . . . late, isn't it?"
Pippin smiled. "We did sleep for a time---it's very early morning, Frodo---not light outside yet. But we have nothing we have to do today, so we're in no hurry---I plan on having a lovely nap after our visit with you."
"I . . . I see. Can't you . . . can't you two c-climb up here and . . . sit with me? I can b-barely see you over there. You're so . .. so far away."
"But Frodo, won't that hurt your leg---jostling the bed, I mean?" Merry asked him, his eyes wide with fear at possibly causing his cousin more pain.
"H-hurts anyway." The corners of Frodo's mouth turned up and he winced slightly as Aragorn washed his numb and tingling fingers. "I would . . . rather have you . . . here. B-Bilbo does it, when . . . wh . . . when Aragorn . . . boosts him up."
"Well . . . if Aragorn says it is all right." Questioningly they looked at the ranger. Despite their misgivings that they might cause Frodo pain, Merry and Pippin *did* want to be near their cousin to offer comfort. When he had been ill with the Morgul-blade wound, it had seemed there was so little they could do. When they had been allowed into his room---which wasn't often the three days Frodo was the sickest---Frodo hadn't even been in his right mind enough to really know they were there.
"Go ahead, Merry, Pippin---Frodo was asking where you were just a few minutes ago," Aragorn told them as he sponged down Frodo's uninjured leg. He smiled. "Climb up and keep him company---it will help to distract his mind from the pain." He paused, pointing to the bedside table stacked with medicine bottles and pitchers. "In fact, would one of you mind helping Frodo drink some of that liquid in the pitcher on the table? You'll have to give it to him in spoonfuls, and very slowly---he occasionally has a bit of difficulty swallowing."
Pippin nodded and went to pour the golden drink out into a cup while Merry gingerly climbed up on the huge soft bed, leaning against the headboard. Moving the pillows out from under Frodo's head, Merry gently lifted Frodo's shoulders, trying to ignore his cousin's whimper of pain, and settled in behind him before gently easing Frodo to lay back against his chest. Frodo sighed . . . the warmth and reassurance of having someone holding him was soothing. It was childish, he thought absently to himself, but it was there, nonetheless.
Aragorn, having seen Frodo's grimace at the mention of the golden liquid, reassured him. "It's not the treacle, Frodo---although it will be time for more of that in a bit---and stronger than what we have been previously dosing you with, I'm afraid. This is the drink Elrond prepared to keep you from becoming more dehydrated---it is water, honey, apple juice, and just a bit of salt and soda---and it will help you to feel better, little one." He looked up at Merry and Pippin as the youngest hobbit climbed up on the bed and handed the cup to Merry. "Make sure he drinks it," the ranger ordered, "small sips every few minutes or so. We're giving it to him around the clock."
Taking the cup, Merry carefully spooned the bright liquid into Frodo's mouth, pausing as his cousin swallowed slowly, while Pippin settled himself at the head of the bed next to Merry, gently patting Frodo's shoulder.
"How does it taste?" Merry asked him between spoonfuls. "Better than the treacle?"
Nodding weakly, Frodo took another spoonful. It did taste fairly pleasant---quite sweet and a bit tangy, and wasn't too offensive to his stomach. "Anything . . . is . . . better than th-the treacle."
"Yes, Mr. Frodo, but it will help you get well," Sam interjected as he smoothed a cloth over Frodo's neck and face. "And it can't be as bad as some of the stuff my gaffer used to give me---I well remember this red medicine that he used to give me and the pigs both . . . I still wonder . . ."
"That's nothing, Sam," Pippin interrupted. "You should have seen the stuff my sisters used to make me take when I was sick . . ."
A brief discussion followed as the three healthy hobbits compared notes to see who had been forced to ingest the most foul-tasting tonics and concoctions. Aragorn smiled at them as he grabbed a stack of towels, noting that Frodo seemed more than usually relaxed as he listened sleepily.
Motioning for Merry to pause with his spoon-feeding, Aragorn and Sam gently turned Frodo over onto his side to wash and dry his back, grimacing at the sick hobbit's grunt of pain as they did so. Once Frodo lay on his side, Merry and Pippin saw for the first time Frodo's swollen leg in its entirety. Even with a bandage on it, the leg was still quite shocking to see. Pippin sucked his breath in, trying to still his fright and queasiness. He averted his eyes, but unfortunately, Frodo had heard his gasp.
"It . . . it looks bad, I know." Frodo's soft voice reached his ears and his blue eyes glanced up, blinking, at Pippin. "I'm . . . I'm sorry you had to see it."
Pippin flushed, embarrassed at his reaction. "No, cousin, no," he soothed, smoothing back Frodo's damp bangs. "Truly, it doesn't look nearly as bad as I had expected," he lied. Then he laughed. "Now, let me tell you about what Merry said today to that blond elf who's going on the journey with us . . . you won't believe this . . ."
Frodo's lips curved up a bit as Pippin related his story, while Merry protested, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He took the spoon up again and coaxed it into Frodo, stopping a moment when his cousin began to choke, forcing Merry to lift him slightly and rub his back until the fit was over.
Meanwhile, Aragorn and Sam finished drying Frodo and carefully sat him up away from Merry, easing a nightshirt over his head and lifting his hips to tug it down before settling him back to rest against Merry's chest. Placing the pillows back around Frodo's legs to keep the covers lifted up off his injury, Aragorn placed fresh hot-water bottles around the sick hobbit before pulling the sheets and comforters up and tucking Frodo in snugly. Closing his eyes, Frodo reveled for a moment at the feel of being clean---although he already felt himself sweating again.
The cupful of golden liquid was nearly empty, Merry noted with satisfaction as he continued to hold his cousin. Despite the sponge bath, Frodo's skin felt damp and clammy again, and his eyelids drooped in exhaustion. Sam was cleaning up, picking up used towels, while Aragorn was evidently preparing more treacle or medicine of some sort.
For his part, Frodo suddenly felt incredibly weak and dizzy . . . and he whimpered and tried to curl up as he felt the ever-present ache in his belly intensify. Merry held him tightly, soothing his dewy face with a wet cloth as Frodo closed his eyes and gasped at the pain. He was about to hand the damp towel to Pippin to rewet when he noticed a red streak marring the cloth. Quickly shifting Frodo, Merry bent down and looked at his cousin's pale face before immediately reapplying the towel to it with some pressure.
"Strider!" Merry called, quite alarmed. "Frodo --- his nose is bleeding!"
The ranger was at their side in a moment, Sam following, his brown eyes wide. Aragorn gently pulled the cloth away from Frodo's face to gauge the amount of bleeding. Thankfully, it did not look too bad---but Aragorn knew it was not an encouraging symptom. Quickly he pressed Frodo back further in Merry's arms and tilted the sick hobbit's head back. Frodo was gasping, each breath seeming to come as a sob, and Aragorn knew it was time for a strong dose of tea to ease his pain and restlessness.
"Keep his head back and continue to apply pressure to his nose, Merry. There's no cause for alarm---Elrond told me this might happen." He tried to put on a more cheerful countenance as Frodo's eyes opened slightly, looking up at him with alarm. "It is all right, little one," Aragorn soothed as he pushed the hobbit's wet bangs back. "The poison affects the blood clotting, but this is just a minor symptom, it appears. I am going to tell Elrond, however. He will want to know about this immediately. We will both return in a few minutes."
All four hobbits nodded---Frodo only slightly---and Aragorn had just turned to leave the room when suddenly, Frodo felt a blackness descend on him and he stiffened in Merry's arms. In an instant his body was out of his control, and as the other hobbits watched in horror, he arched his back and began to convulse, thrashing on the bed. Dimly he was aware of what was going but was powerless to stop it.
"Strider, help him!" Sam pleaded as he watched his master. Turning, Aragorn saw Frodo seizing and rushed back to the bed, grabbing a towel and forcing the edge of it into Frodo's mouth so the hobbit didn't choke on his tongue.
"He's having a seizure. Go get someone to fetch Elrond--now!" Aragorn ordered Pippin. Faster than he'd ever moved---maybe even faster than when the Nazgul were chasing---the youngest hobbit was out the door.
A moment later, Frodo shuddered one last time and with a low moan not unlike that of a small wounded animal he went limp, his body once again wet with sweat. He whimpered as he began to shake with weakness, the numbness in his hands and feet growing worse. Aragorn and Merry quickly turned him onto his side as the semi-conscious hobbit vomited into a basin under his chin, and Sam was right beside them with a clean wet cloth with which to wipe his master's face.
Frodo opened his glazed eyes for just a moment and regarded them tearfully. "W . . . what h-happened?" he mouthed weakly, but then a fierce agony clutched at him with dark fingers, and trying to quell the sob that escaped him, he passed out before they could answer.
To be continued
Author: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG-13 (It could be PG, I just put PG-13 for general creepiness and wee hobbit pain and suffering. A lot of it.) Angst. No slash, no sex, no language.
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. Contrary to many of my other stories, this fic contains NO slash and is written for the FrodoHealers! group on Yahoo.
Feedback: I love it. Archiving: Feel free.
***
"Now, Pip, don't you go in there and talk Frodo's ear off, do you hear?" Merry whispered just before they entered the door to Frodo's room. "You do, and they won't let you in again."
Pippin glared at his cousin. "Why, Meriadoc Brandybuck, you know me better than that. I wouldn't do anything to harm Frodo."
Merry sighed. "Not intentionally, Pippin---but you *were* banned from his room for a time when he was very ill from his stab wound, remember? Just don't jump up on the bed this time---and try not to be too entertaining."
Pippin rolled his eyes and nodded, and the two hobbits quietly entered.
To Pippin's relief, only Sam and Aragorn were in the room at the moment, so he did not have to worry about Gandalf glaring at him under his bushy brows or Elrond crossing his arms and looking at him sternly whenever Pippin made so much as a squeak.
Sam and the ranger were sitting on the bed efficiently sponging Frodo down with warm athelas water, keeping his small shivering body covered with a sheet to avoid chilling him. They gently folded the sheet back to expose each part of the hobbit as they worked. Pippin grimaced---he'd been given sponge baths when he was sick and always found it a bit humbling.
But by the looks of his cousin, Frodo was at a point beyond caring. And indeed, Frodo was. The pain was afflicting him more often than not, and he was grateful for any type of relief. Now, he lay on his back amidst the piles of sheets and pillows, shockingly pale, his dark curls rather matted, and his blue eyes, which were staring at the ceiling, were weary with suffering. But he heard his two cousins approaching and turned his head toward them, his eyes narrowing as he did his best, unsuccessfully, to focus.
"M . . Merry?" he voiced shakily, speaking with effort. "Pip?"
"Yes, Frodo, it's us," Merry told him as he leaned over closer to the pale face, reaching for a hand to squeeze gently. It seemed that in the large bed, Frodo was rather far away. "How are you feeling? I know a mere snake bite can't keep a Baggins down."
Frodo opened his mouth again to speak, catching his breath as a wave of pain washed through his belly. Sam and Aragorn momentarily paused in their sponging to pat and soothe him through the pain. "I've . . . felt better," Frodo said with a weak smile when it had passed. "Aragorn and . . . and Sam . . . are helping. The warmth . . . feels good." He blinked, trying to focus. "Shouldn't . . . shouldn't you two . . . be asleep? It's . . . late, isn't it?"
Pippin smiled. "We did sleep for a time---it's very early morning, Frodo---not light outside yet. But we have nothing we have to do today, so we're in no hurry---I plan on having a lovely nap after our visit with you."
"I . . . I see. Can't you . . . can't you two c-climb up here and . . . sit with me? I can b-barely see you over there. You're so . .. so far away."
"But Frodo, won't that hurt your leg---jostling the bed, I mean?" Merry asked him, his eyes wide with fear at possibly causing his cousin more pain.
"H-hurts anyway." The corners of Frodo's mouth turned up and he winced slightly as Aragorn washed his numb and tingling fingers. "I would . . . rather have you . . . here. B-Bilbo does it, when . . . wh . . . when Aragorn . . . boosts him up."
"Well . . . if Aragorn says it is all right." Questioningly they looked at the ranger. Despite their misgivings that they might cause Frodo pain, Merry and Pippin *did* want to be near their cousin to offer comfort. When he had been ill with the Morgul-blade wound, it had seemed there was so little they could do. When they had been allowed into his room---which wasn't often the three days Frodo was the sickest---Frodo hadn't even been in his right mind enough to really know they were there.
"Go ahead, Merry, Pippin---Frodo was asking where you were just a few minutes ago," Aragorn told them as he sponged down Frodo's uninjured leg. He smiled. "Climb up and keep him company---it will help to distract his mind from the pain." He paused, pointing to the bedside table stacked with medicine bottles and pitchers. "In fact, would one of you mind helping Frodo drink some of that liquid in the pitcher on the table? You'll have to give it to him in spoonfuls, and very slowly---he occasionally has a bit of difficulty swallowing."
Pippin nodded and went to pour the golden drink out into a cup while Merry gingerly climbed up on the huge soft bed, leaning against the headboard. Moving the pillows out from under Frodo's head, Merry gently lifted Frodo's shoulders, trying to ignore his cousin's whimper of pain, and settled in behind him before gently easing Frodo to lay back against his chest. Frodo sighed . . . the warmth and reassurance of having someone holding him was soothing. It was childish, he thought absently to himself, but it was there, nonetheless.
Aragorn, having seen Frodo's grimace at the mention of the golden liquid, reassured him. "It's not the treacle, Frodo---although it will be time for more of that in a bit---and stronger than what we have been previously dosing you with, I'm afraid. This is the drink Elrond prepared to keep you from becoming more dehydrated---it is water, honey, apple juice, and just a bit of salt and soda---and it will help you to feel better, little one." He looked up at Merry and Pippin as the youngest hobbit climbed up on the bed and handed the cup to Merry. "Make sure he drinks it," the ranger ordered, "small sips every few minutes or so. We're giving it to him around the clock."
Taking the cup, Merry carefully spooned the bright liquid into Frodo's mouth, pausing as his cousin swallowed slowly, while Pippin settled himself at the head of the bed next to Merry, gently patting Frodo's shoulder.
"How does it taste?" Merry asked him between spoonfuls. "Better than the treacle?"
Nodding weakly, Frodo took another spoonful. It did taste fairly pleasant---quite sweet and a bit tangy, and wasn't too offensive to his stomach. "Anything . . . is . . . better than th-the treacle."
"Yes, Mr. Frodo, but it will help you get well," Sam interjected as he smoothed a cloth over Frodo's neck and face. "And it can't be as bad as some of the stuff my gaffer used to give me---I well remember this red medicine that he used to give me and the pigs both . . . I still wonder . . ."
"That's nothing, Sam," Pippin interrupted. "You should have seen the stuff my sisters used to make me take when I was sick . . ."
A brief discussion followed as the three healthy hobbits compared notes to see who had been forced to ingest the most foul-tasting tonics and concoctions. Aragorn smiled at them as he grabbed a stack of towels, noting that Frodo seemed more than usually relaxed as he listened sleepily.
Motioning for Merry to pause with his spoon-feeding, Aragorn and Sam gently turned Frodo over onto his side to wash and dry his back, grimacing at the sick hobbit's grunt of pain as they did so. Once Frodo lay on his side, Merry and Pippin saw for the first time Frodo's swollen leg in its entirety. Even with a bandage on it, the leg was still quite shocking to see. Pippin sucked his breath in, trying to still his fright and queasiness. He averted his eyes, but unfortunately, Frodo had heard his gasp.
"It . . . it looks bad, I know." Frodo's soft voice reached his ears and his blue eyes glanced up, blinking, at Pippin. "I'm . . . I'm sorry you had to see it."
Pippin flushed, embarrassed at his reaction. "No, cousin, no," he soothed, smoothing back Frodo's damp bangs. "Truly, it doesn't look nearly as bad as I had expected," he lied. Then he laughed. "Now, let me tell you about what Merry said today to that blond elf who's going on the journey with us . . . you won't believe this . . ."
Frodo's lips curved up a bit as Pippin related his story, while Merry protested, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He took the spoon up again and coaxed it into Frodo, stopping a moment when his cousin began to choke, forcing Merry to lift him slightly and rub his back until the fit was over.
Meanwhile, Aragorn and Sam finished drying Frodo and carefully sat him up away from Merry, easing a nightshirt over his head and lifting his hips to tug it down before settling him back to rest against Merry's chest. Placing the pillows back around Frodo's legs to keep the covers lifted up off his injury, Aragorn placed fresh hot-water bottles around the sick hobbit before pulling the sheets and comforters up and tucking Frodo in snugly. Closing his eyes, Frodo reveled for a moment at the feel of being clean---although he already felt himself sweating again.
The cupful of golden liquid was nearly empty, Merry noted with satisfaction as he continued to hold his cousin. Despite the sponge bath, Frodo's skin felt damp and clammy again, and his eyelids drooped in exhaustion. Sam was cleaning up, picking up used towels, while Aragorn was evidently preparing more treacle or medicine of some sort.
For his part, Frodo suddenly felt incredibly weak and dizzy . . . and he whimpered and tried to curl up as he felt the ever-present ache in his belly intensify. Merry held him tightly, soothing his dewy face with a wet cloth as Frodo closed his eyes and gasped at the pain. He was about to hand the damp towel to Pippin to rewet when he noticed a red streak marring the cloth. Quickly shifting Frodo, Merry bent down and looked at his cousin's pale face before immediately reapplying the towel to it with some pressure.
"Strider!" Merry called, quite alarmed. "Frodo --- his nose is bleeding!"
The ranger was at their side in a moment, Sam following, his brown eyes wide. Aragorn gently pulled the cloth away from Frodo's face to gauge the amount of bleeding. Thankfully, it did not look too bad---but Aragorn knew it was not an encouraging symptom. Quickly he pressed Frodo back further in Merry's arms and tilted the sick hobbit's head back. Frodo was gasping, each breath seeming to come as a sob, and Aragorn knew it was time for a strong dose of tea to ease his pain and restlessness.
"Keep his head back and continue to apply pressure to his nose, Merry. There's no cause for alarm---Elrond told me this might happen." He tried to put on a more cheerful countenance as Frodo's eyes opened slightly, looking up at him with alarm. "It is all right, little one," Aragorn soothed as he pushed the hobbit's wet bangs back. "The poison affects the blood clotting, but this is just a minor symptom, it appears. I am going to tell Elrond, however. He will want to know about this immediately. We will both return in a few minutes."
All four hobbits nodded---Frodo only slightly---and Aragorn had just turned to leave the room when suddenly, Frodo felt a blackness descend on him and he stiffened in Merry's arms. In an instant his body was out of his control, and as the other hobbits watched in horror, he arched his back and began to convulse, thrashing on the bed. Dimly he was aware of what was going but was powerless to stop it.
"Strider, help him!" Sam pleaded as he watched his master. Turning, Aragorn saw Frodo seizing and rushed back to the bed, grabbing a towel and forcing the edge of it into Frodo's mouth so the hobbit didn't choke on his tongue.
"He's having a seizure. Go get someone to fetch Elrond--now!" Aragorn ordered Pippin. Faster than he'd ever moved---maybe even faster than when the Nazgul were chasing---the youngest hobbit was out the door.
A moment later, Frodo shuddered one last time and with a low moan not unlike that of a small wounded animal he went limp, his body once again wet with sweat. He whimpered as he began to shake with weakness, the numbness in his hands and feet growing worse. Aragorn and Merry quickly turned him onto his side as the semi-conscious hobbit vomited into a basin under his chin, and Sam was right beside them with a clean wet cloth with which to wipe his master's face.
Frodo opened his glazed eyes for just a moment and regarded them tearfully. "W . . . what h-happened?" he mouthed weakly, but then a fierce agony clutched at him with dark fingers, and trying to quell the sob that escaped him, he passed out before they could answer.
To be continued