FIC: THE PINE-WOODS EXCURSION Part 9/?
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. And I'm sure I don't have to say that the medicinal treatments are purely fictional---don't try this at home.
Feedback: I love it. Archiving: Feel free.
Thank you so much to everyone for the reviews!! I hope to have the next part up before Saturday, but if not, it will likely be next week as I'll be out of town.
***
Elrond rose from examining his small patient and turned to his foster son, sparing a brief glance for the other scared hobbits in the corner of the room. The sleeping chamber was quiet---almost ominously so---the only noise that of the Ring-bearer's uneasy breathing as he drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Since his seizure only a little while before, Frodo had been semi-conscious at best.
"Send Sam and Meriadoc and Peregrin out," Elrond bade Aragorn in a low voice the others could not hear. His expression was not encouraging, and the ranger regarded his foster father with some surprise, his brows knitting together in a frown.
"His condition is that grave? Surely . . ."
Shaking his head, Elrond cut him off as they both turned to look at Frodo. He lay on his side---to avoid the danger of choking should he throw up again---clutching fistfuls of the blankets. His skin was ashen and sweat-soaked, even though the others had sponged him off again just before Elrond had arrived. A large towel lay just under his cheek in case his nose began bleeding again---Aragorn had been forced to ease Frodo's head back and have Merry apply a towel with a bit of pressure to staunch it after the seizure.
"His condition *is* worsening," Elrond continued. "As you can see, the pain is greater, and the nosebleed was not a good sign---his blood is being affected. That means the poison will begin to invade his internal organs and eventually paralyze him, leading to a cessation of breating and death. But, his condition is not irreversible yet."
Aragorn took this news in. "But how do we stop it? By giving him more treacle?"
"Yes---a stronger version of it. Let us just hope he can continue to swallow adequately. It is my fault we must be aggressive now---I was loathe to risk more of the treacle because of possible side effects, and now, because he is a halfling, the poison is gaining hold. If he were a man, he would surely fare much better with this particular grievance." In an uncharacteristic gesture, the elf-lord ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "How is it that we can cure him of a Morgul-blade wound and yet not a snake bite, which should be very simple?"
It was a rhetorical question, but one Aragorn felt compelled to answer anyway. "You said it yourself, Elrond. He is a small patient---it is very difficult to judge the amount of medication to administer."
At that moment Frodo stirred a bit, his awareness returning somewhat. The vertigo and pain was overwhelming and he moaned slightly, curling up more. He did not open his eyes----could not see clearly anyway, but his ears still worked perfectly, and he could hear whispers several feet away---someone discussing his fate, he was certain. The low voices made him nervous, as if he was on his deathbed.
The thought made him gulp, which was a mistake, as then he began choking a bit. Maybe he *was* dying---and he just did not know it, for no one would tell a dying hobbit he was dying. At least not in the Shire---in the Shire, the deathly ill were to be spared bad news for as long as possible.
Frodo burrowed deeper into his pillows, trying to shut the whispering voices out---but then a dizzying nausea hit and the next thing he or anyone else knew, he was vomiting again, soaking his bedclothes before the others could react quickly enough.
Aragorn and Elrond were at his side in an instant, Elrond lifting his head to make certain he did not choke and Aragorn grabbing a basin. When it was over, Elrond wiped Frodo's face with a wet cloth and managed to get him to swallow a sip or two of ginger tea. After Frodo had, Aragorn gently gathered the hobbit up for a moment so the others could strip the sheets off the bed and replace them. Frodo objected to being lifted---it was painful, and he moaned loudly.
"Just one moment, Frodo," the ranger told him, "and then you can lie down again."
Soon the bed was ready---thanks to one elf-lord and three handy hobbits who had not bothered to call the housekeeper---and Aragorn deposited Frodo back onto the bed on his side. The hobbit was extremely groggy and was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open.
"No," Elrond told him, "lay him on his back for now---he has been lying on that side for too long, and it will be easier later, with him in this position. Although," he added ruefully, "if previous incidents are any indication, he will only turn over again to make the pain easier to bear."
Aragorn looked up at his foster-father as he gently arranged Frodo on the bed, grabbing the hot water bottles and handing them off to Sam. "Later, you say?" he asked as he unbuttoned the hobbit's nightshirt and gently began to ease it off. "I am assuming this has to do with the reason you asked me to send the hobbits out earlier."
Elrond nodded as sat on the edge of the bed and took Frodo's wrist, checking his pulse, then felt the hobbit's chest and face to gauge his temperature. "Yes, it does indeed. I shall tell you in a moment." His eyes clearly showed that he did not want to discuss the subject in Frodo's vicinity. Looking up, he spotted the two he had been looking for, over in the corner, trying to stay unobtrusive and out of the way to avoid being sent out of the room.
"Ah, Meriadoc and Peregrin . . . come here for a moment," Elrond called to them. "Meriadoc, please give Frodo more of the liquid you were administering earlier and clothe him in a fresh gown. Peregrin, you may assist. But leave the covers off of his injured leg---it will hurt far too grievously with the pressure of bedclothes. Aragorn and I have something to discuss."
Pleased to be able to take care of their cousin, the hobbits complied, and Elrond walked away from the bed, Aragorn following.
At last Elrond was ready to speak.
"I will immediately go prepare a very strong dose of the treacle to give to Frodo. However . . . it is not only the poison that worries me. His leg is looking worse and the pressure from the swelling will eventually cause tissue death. If that happens . . . I think I need not tell you what the end result could be."
The ranger nodded, his eyes grim. "He would lose his leg."
"Indeed," said Elrond, turning to face Aragorn with a weary expression. "That is why we must prevent it. Send the hobbits out when they have finished tending to Frodo, Aragorn---I will need your assistance and my daughter's as well."
"What do you propose to do?"
"There is a simple but delicate procedure that should greatly reduce the pressure from the swelling, thereby saving the leg and enhancing recovery. But it involves making an incision in his leg and will not be pretty. And unfortunately, we cannot give him any long-lasting sedative herbs for it---it is too dangerous in his condition and imperative that he remain awake so that we can continue dosing him with the treacle. However, the cutting will not take long, and with your and Arwen's help, I am hoping he will feel little."
Aragorn's eyes widened at the idea, but he knew better than to question his foster-father. "You are the master healer, Elrond. Do as you think best. However," and here he cast his eyes down a bit in thought, "I think you perhaps underestimate the support given to Frodo by his young friends. We have all seen that they help him bear the pain better. And they have seen worse----on the Road here, and still have worse things to see yet on the journey. He may cope better with them nearby."
Elrond considered for a moment and then shook his head, remembering young Peregrin's antics while Frodo was recovering from his earlier injury. "All the reason to spare them such as we can now. No, I will work better without them in the room, I am afraid. And he is comforted by you and Arwen---I daresay he is used to being tended by you now. And Gandalf as well---I shall seek him out."
"I will tell them, Elrond."
With a nod, the elf-lord left to prepare, and Aragorn went reluctantly to explain to Sam, who had returned with the water bottles, and Merry and Pippin, who had gotten Frodo cleaned up and settled in again, about the procedure Elrond was about to perform. Aragorn knew he needed to explain it to Frodo as well, but a glance at the hobbit told him that Frodo was in no condition to understand at the moment. His eyes were closed and he looked to actually be resting, although his breathing was still heavy from the pain and his face and hair dewy.
Looking at him, Aragorn shook his head and prayed that the treacle would work---and quickly. He gathered the three other hobbits with a glance and they came to him, their faces creased with worry.
"What is it, Strider, that you have to pull us away from Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, indignant. "He's in a lot of pain just now---I'll not be leaving him all alone over there."
"Easy, Sam," the ranger chided. "This will only take a moment." Briefly and succinctly, he told them of their friend's condition and what Elrond was about to do.
Pippin's face paled considerably. "He's not going to cut Frodo's leg off, is he?" the hobbit asked, his voice nearly a whisper.
"No, no, Pippin---this is just a precautionary measure. With luck, Frodo's leg will heal quite normally. And it will only be a small cut---in the long run, it will lessen the pain he is feeling."
Three pairs of eyes looked at him skeptically. Aragorn sighed. Two months ago, in the Shire, the hobbits would have accepted someone's word without question. A dangerous journey to Rivendell had cost them much of their naivete.
"I promise,"Aragorn told them again, "this is the best thing to do to make him better. I cannot say at the moment what the prognosis is for Frodo . . . none of us can. But if anyone knows what he is doing, it is Elrond. Now, I am very sorry, but you must leave for a bit. Elrond's wishes. I tried to convince him otherwise, but to no avail, and one does not argue with Elrond in matters of healing."
"Leave?" Sam asked, his voice a whisper. "Won't Mr. Frodo need someone with him during this?"
"Yes," Merry chimed in, "is it . . . is it going to hurt him badly?"
"It is a quick procedure, and Arwen and I will be there to assist and help ease his pain. We'll give him something to make him groggy for a time as well. Do not worry--- we shall take good care of Frodo. It will all be over shortly and then you can see him again."
The three hobbits nodded, going reluctantly out the door with a backward glance at their sick cousin, and Aragorn went back to Frodo's side.
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. And I'm sure I don't have to say that the medicinal treatments are purely fictional---don't try this at home.
Feedback: I love it. Archiving: Feel free.
Thank you so much to everyone for the reviews!! I hope to have the next part up before Saturday, but if not, it will likely be next week as I'll be out of town.
***
Elrond rose from examining his small patient and turned to his foster son, sparing a brief glance for the other scared hobbits in the corner of the room. The sleeping chamber was quiet---almost ominously so---the only noise that of the Ring-bearer's uneasy breathing as he drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Since his seizure only a little while before, Frodo had been semi-conscious at best.
"Send Sam and Meriadoc and Peregrin out," Elrond bade Aragorn in a low voice the others could not hear. His expression was not encouraging, and the ranger regarded his foster father with some surprise, his brows knitting together in a frown.
"His condition is that grave? Surely . . ."
Shaking his head, Elrond cut him off as they both turned to look at Frodo. He lay on his side---to avoid the danger of choking should he throw up again---clutching fistfuls of the blankets. His skin was ashen and sweat-soaked, even though the others had sponged him off again just before Elrond had arrived. A large towel lay just under his cheek in case his nose began bleeding again---Aragorn had been forced to ease Frodo's head back and have Merry apply a towel with a bit of pressure to staunch it after the seizure.
"His condition *is* worsening," Elrond continued. "As you can see, the pain is greater, and the nosebleed was not a good sign---his blood is being affected. That means the poison will begin to invade his internal organs and eventually paralyze him, leading to a cessation of breating and death. But, his condition is not irreversible yet."
Aragorn took this news in. "But how do we stop it? By giving him more treacle?"
"Yes---a stronger version of it. Let us just hope he can continue to swallow adequately. It is my fault we must be aggressive now---I was loathe to risk more of the treacle because of possible side effects, and now, because he is a halfling, the poison is gaining hold. If he were a man, he would surely fare much better with this particular grievance." In an uncharacteristic gesture, the elf-lord ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "How is it that we can cure him of a Morgul-blade wound and yet not a snake bite, which should be very simple?"
It was a rhetorical question, but one Aragorn felt compelled to answer anyway. "You said it yourself, Elrond. He is a small patient---it is very difficult to judge the amount of medication to administer."
At that moment Frodo stirred a bit, his awareness returning somewhat. The vertigo and pain was overwhelming and he moaned slightly, curling up more. He did not open his eyes----could not see clearly anyway, but his ears still worked perfectly, and he could hear whispers several feet away---someone discussing his fate, he was certain. The low voices made him nervous, as if he was on his deathbed.
The thought made him gulp, which was a mistake, as then he began choking a bit. Maybe he *was* dying---and he just did not know it, for no one would tell a dying hobbit he was dying. At least not in the Shire---in the Shire, the deathly ill were to be spared bad news for as long as possible.
Frodo burrowed deeper into his pillows, trying to shut the whispering voices out---but then a dizzying nausea hit and the next thing he or anyone else knew, he was vomiting again, soaking his bedclothes before the others could react quickly enough.
Aragorn and Elrond were at his side in an instant, Elrond lifting his head to make certain he did not choke and Aragorn grabbing a basin. When it was over, Elrond wiped Frodo's face with a wet cloth and managed to get him to swallow a sip or two of ginger tea. After Frodo had, Aragorn gently gathered the hobbit up for a moment so the others could strip the sheets off the bed and replace them. Frodo objected to being lifted---it was painful, and he moaned loudly.
"Just one moment, Frodo," the ranger told him, "and then you can lie down again."
Soon the bed was ready---thanks to one elf-lord and three handy hobbits who had not bothered to call the housekeeper---and Aragorn deposited Frodo back onto the bed on his side. The hobbit was extremely groggy and was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open.
"No," Elrond told him, "lay him on his back for now---he has been lying on that side for too long, and it will be easier later, with him in this position. Although," he added ruefully, "if previous incidents are any indication, he will only turn over again to make the pain easier to bear."
Aragorn looked up at his foster-father as he gently arranged Frodo on the bed, grabbing the hot water bottles and handing them off to Sam. "Later, you say?" he asked as he unbuttoned the hobbit's nightshirt and gently began to ease it off. "I am assuming this has to do with the reason you asked me to send the hobbits out earlier."
Elrond nodded as sat on the edge of the bed and took Frodo's wrist, checking his pulse, then felt the hobbit's chest and face to gauge his temperature. "Yes, it does indeed. I shall tell you in a moment." His eyes clearly showed that he did not want to discuss the subject in Frodo's vicinity. Looking up, he spotted the two he had been looking for, over in the corner, trying to stay unobtrusive and out of the way to avoid being sent out of the room.
"Ah, Meriadoc and Peregrin . . . come here for a moment," Elrond called to them. "Meriadoc, please give Frodo more of the liquid you were administering earlier and clothe him in a fresh gown. Peregrin, you may assist. But leave the covers off of his injured leg---it will hurt far too grievously with the pressure of bedclothes. Aragorn and I have something to discuss."
Pleased to be able to take care of their cousin, the hobbits complied, and Elrond walked away from the bed, Aragorn following.
At last Elrond was ready to speak.
"I will immediately go prepare a very strong dose of the treacle to give to Frodo. However . . . it is not only the poison that worries me. His leg is looking worse and the pressure from the swelling will eventually cause tissue death. If that happens . . . I think I need not tell you what the end result could be."
The ranger nodded, his eyes grim. "He would lose his leg."
"Indeed," said Elrond, turning to face Aragorn with a weary expression. "That is why we must prevent it. Send the hobbits out when they have finished tending to Frodo, Aragorn---I will need your assistance and my daughter's as well."
"What do you propose to do?"
"There is a simple but delicate procedure that should greatly reduce the pressure from the swelling, thereby saving the leg and enhancing recovery. But it involves making an incision in his leg and will not be pretty. And unfortunately, we cannot give him any long-lasting sedative herbs for it---it is too dangerous in his condition and imperative that he remain awake so that we can continue dosing him with the treacle. However, the cutting will not take long, and with your and Arwen's help, I am hoping he will feel little."
Aragorn's eyes widened at the idea, but he knew better than to question his foster-father. "You are the master healer, Elrond. Do as you think best. However," and here he cast his eyes down a bit in thought, "I think you perhaps underestimate the support given to Frodo by his young friends. We have all seen that they help him bear the pain better. And they have seen worse----on the Road here, and still have worse things to see yet on the journey. He may cope better with them nearby."
Elrond considered for a moment and then shook his head, remembering young Peregrin's antics while Frodo was recovering from his earlier injury. "All the reason to spare them such as we can now. No, I will work better without them in the room, I am afraid. And he is comforted by you and Arwen---I daresay he is used to being tended by you now. And Gandalf as well---I shall seek him out."
"I will tell them, Elrond."
With a nod, the elf-lord left to prepare, and Aragorn went reluctantly to explain to Sam, who had returned with the water bottles, and Merry and Pippin, who had gotten Frodo cleaned up and settled in again, about the procedure Elrond was about to perform. Aragorn knew he needed to explain it to Frodo as well, but a glance at the hobbit told him that Frodo was in no condition to understand at the moment. His eyes were closed and he looked to actually be resting, although his breathing was still heavy from the pain and his face and hair dewy.
Looking at him, Aragorn shook his head and prayed that the treacle would work---and quickly. He gathered the three other hobbits with a glance and they came to him, their faces creased with worry.
"What is it, Strider, that you have to pull us away from Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, indignant. "He's in a lot of pain just now---I'll not be leaving him all alone over there."
"Easy, Sam," the ranger chided. "This will only take a moment." Briefly and succinctly, he told them of their friend's condition and what Elrond was about to do.
Pippin's face paled considerably. "He's not going to cut Frodo's leg off, is he?" the hobbit asked, his voice nearly a whisper.
"No, no, Pippin---this is just a precautionary measure. With luck, Frodo's leg will heal quite normally. And it will only be a small cut---in the long run, it will lessen the pain he is feeling."
Three pairs of eyes looked at him skeptically. Aragorn sighed. Two months ago, in the Shire, the hobbits would have accepted someone's word without question. A dangerous journey to Rivendell had cost them much of their naivete.
"I promise,"Aragorn told them again, "this is the best thing to do to make him better. I cannot say at the moment what the prognosis is for Frodo . . . none of us can. But if anyone knows what he is doing, it is Elrond. Now, I am very sorry, but you must leave for a bit. Elrond's wishes. I tried to convince him otherwise, but to no avail, and one does not argue with Elrond in matters of healing."
"Leave?" Sam asked, his voice a whisper. "Won't Mr. Frodo need someone with him during this?"
"Yes," Merry chimed in, "is it . . . is it going to hurt him badly?"
"It is a quick procedure, and Arwen and I will be there to assist and help ease his pain. We'll give him something to make him groggy for a time as well. Do not worry--- we shall take good care of Frodo. It will all be over shortly and then you can see him again."
The three hobbits nodded, going reluctantly out the door with a backward glance at their sick cousin, and Aragorn went back to Frodo's side.
To be continued