FIC: THE PINE-WOODS EXCURSION, PART 11/?
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 medical treatments are purely fictional---don't try this at home.
And to everyone who asks, no, Frodo will not die in this fic, I *promise*!!!
Feedback: I love it. Archiving: Feel free.
***
The atmosphere in Frodo's room was almost *too* quiet, Elrond thought to himself as he swabbed a greenish liquid over the swollen and discolored area of Frodo's leg. It would numb the area some, but not by much. Outside, even the usual sound of birdsong and rushing waterfalls seemed far away and for a moment, the elf lord actually considered calling Pippin in simply to lighten the mood. But no, there was serious work to be done and all of his skills would be needed.
Frodo flinched a bit but otherwise showed no sign of additional pain at Elrond's touch. But Elrond knew the hobbit was in constant pain now, although he was hopeful that the green numbing liquid and a tonic they had given Frodo earlier would help. His patient's eyes were closed, but by the wheezing noises he made as he breathed, it was obvious he was not fully asleep. His head rested on a pillow in Arwen's lap as she kept one hand on his brow, smoothing the matted hair back, while dabbing his face with a towel. Pillows had been strategically placed so that Frodo couldn't see his leg.
Aragorn, standing at Elrond's side with water and other liquids to sluice the leg and towels to soak up blood, unwrapped a freshly boiled knife from its linens and handed it to Elrond, who bent to begin the delicate procedure.
"Hold on now, Frodo," the elf lord said loudly to make certain the hobbit heard him, "I am about to begin. I know you are strong and able to bear it, little master. The pain will be over quickly, I assure you."
The hobbit nodded woozily, opening his eyes as he clutched at his sweat-soaked bedclothes. Elrond had faith in him, and he was determined to bear it stoically---they were only doing what was best for him, he knew. But nevertheless, he dreaded it and wondered if he would die and never see his friends again, or Bilbo. Where was Bilbo? Since Frodo could not focus clearly, he was not altogether certain who was in the room. "B . . . Bilbo?" he slurred, his voice quaking.
Gandalf leaned forward in his chair, wishing he was close enough to touch Frodo. "Bilbo is waiting just outside, Frodo," he answered softly, with a glance at Elrond. "He will be in to see you when this is over." He sighed, listening to the soft voices of Elrond and Aragorn as they spoke.
"Get ready . . ."
"Might need to . . ."
As Elrond began to make the incision, Frodo jerked and was unable to stifle a small cry, and the elf lord was forced to pause as his patient squirmed. "Arwen, do what you can to get him to settle down," Elrond commanded, his voice harsh but his eyes pitying. "He must not move too much as I do this."
The elf maid moved both of her hands to Frodo's forehead, closing her eyes and concentrating harder, and Frodo's breathing eased a bit. Elrond resumed and the hobbit squeezed his eyes shut, his face set in a rictus of pain, as he fought to keep still. But a sudden wave of nausea hit him like a brick and he moaned loudly, causing Elrond to stop again as he realized his small patient was about to be sick. Arwen just managed to lift his shoulders and turn him toward her, placing a basin under his mouth, as he threw up. Luckily, it appeared that he had mostly vomited the clear liquids he had been given last, not the treacle.
Shaking, Frodo allowed Arwen to settle him back and wipe his face and chest down. Part of him knew he needed to be embarrassed---he had vowed not to do anything so unseemly in front of the elf maiden---but he was too sick to care anymore and closed his eyes, letting her tend to him.
But now he had to focus on remaining still and trying to ride this out---he had to---and he felt for one of his hot water bottles and picked it up, clutching it with white knuckles to his chest, just to have something to hold on to. "B . . . Bilbo?"
Gandalf rose to go to the other side of the bed and soothe the hobbit. But no---one other would be even better. "Elrond," Gandalf said, watching the small patient's face contort, "perhaps it would be best to let Bilbo in. His presence would not ease the pain, but it might comfort Frodo."
His compassion winning out over his logic, Elrond nodded. "Very well . . . ask him in if he wishes it."
***
The four hobbits in the hallway had began to engage in a light, rather stilted conversation to drown out their nervousness and any sound effects they might hear issuing from Frodo's room.
Finally Pippin could stand no more talk of the best way to plant tulip bulbs and who had the best ale in the Northfarthing. Restless, he stood up and put his hand on his hips.
"This is making me cracked. I can't stand it---Frodo's in there in pain and there's nothing we can do. I feel like I'm back to where I was a week ago or so when they pried that mortal-Morgul-whatever-it-is thing out of him."
Merry, just as troubled, tried to reassure him. "They're taking good care of Frodo, Pip. We'll be let back in soon enough."
Sam was staring at the floor, trying not to think about what Frodo was going through. Finally he met the others' eyes, except for Bilbo, who was still exceptionally quiet and examining his weskit buttons with intense interest. "Do any of you remember what happened to Mosco Burrows? It wasn't the same sort o' snake as bit Mr. Frodo, was it, do you think?"
Pippin shook his head. "I remember hearing about Mosco, but was still very young when he died."
This time Bilbo spoke up, his words quiet. "I remember little Mosco. You recall his father and I were good friends at one time. Frodo had only been living with me at Bag End a couple of years when Mosco was bitten. Never did know what type it was . . . but . . ." and here his voice caught, "he died an agonizing death I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Poor Frodo went with me to visit him and had terrible nightmares for days after. And now . . ." The old hobbit lowered his head in his hands for a moment, then raised his head, sniffing. "Well, Frodo will be all right. He has to be."
He dabbed at his eyes a bit with a handkerchief. "They buried little Mosco out back of their hole. Milo was never the same after that---became a recluse and stopped having any contact with anyone. I wrote him many letters, but he never answered."
Suddenly the door to Frodo's room opened and all four hobbits jumped, startled, as Gandalf stuck his head out. "Bilbo, if you would come in, Frodo . . ."
The old hobbit's heart clenched in fear and he raised a hand to his mouth, gasping, thinking he was going to pass out. "No, Gandalf, please . . ."
But the wizard shook his head, smiling. "No, no, Bilbo, Frodo is holding his own. He has been asking for you, and so Elrond agreed to let you---just you, I'm afraid---come in to sit with him. That is, if you wish it. I must prepare you---he is in quite some pain and this operation is not pretty."
"Yes, yes, of course I will come in, Gandalf. I've been sitting in this hallway waiting for what seems like forever. Frodo needs me." Standing, Bilbo shuffled as quickly as he could into the room. With small smile to the other hobbits in the hall, the wizard followed.
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 medical treatments are purely fictional---don't try this at home.
And to everyone who asks, no, Frodo will not die in this fic, I *promise*!!!
Feedback: I love it. Archiving: Feel free.
***
The atmosphere in Frodo's room was almost *too* quiet, Elrond thought to himself as he swabbed a greenish liquid over the swollen and discolored area of Frodo's leg. It would numb the area some, but not by much. Outside, even the usual sound of birdsong and rushing waterfalls seemed far away and for a moment, the elf lord actually considered calling Pippin in simply to lighten the mood. But no, there was serious work to be done and all of his skills would be needed.
Frodo flinched a bit but otherwise showed no sign of additional pain at Elrond's touch. But Elrond knew the hobbit was in constant pain now, although he was hopeful that the green numbing liquid and a tonic they had given Frodo earlier would help. His patient's eyes were closed, but by the wheezing noises he made as he breathed, it was obvious he was not fully asleep. His head rested on a pillow in Arwen's lap as she kept one hand on his brow, smoothing the matted hair back, while dabbing his face with a towel. Pillows had been strategically placed so that Frodo couldn't see his leg.
Aragorn, standing at Elrond's side with water and other liquids to sluice the leg and towels to soak up blood, unwrapped a freshly boiled knife from its linens and handed it to Elrond, who bent to begin the delicate procedure.
"Hold on now, Frodo," the elf lord said loudly to make certain the hobbit heard him, "I am about to begin. I know you are strong and able to bear it, little master. The pain will be over quickly, I assure you."
The hobbit nodded woozily, opening his eyes as he clutched at his sweat-soaked bedclothes. Elrond had faith in him, and he was determined to bear it stoically---they were only doing what was best for him, he knew. But nevertheless, he dreaded it and wondered if he would die and never see his friends again, or Bilbo. Where was Bilbo? Since Frodo could not focus clearly, he was not altogether certain who was in the room. "B . . . Bilbo?" he slurred, his voice quaking.
Gandalf leaned forward in his chair, wishing he was close enough to touch Frodo. "Bilbo is waiting just outside, Frodo," he answered softly, with a glance at Elrond. "He will be in to see you when this is over." He sighed, listening to the soft voices of Elrond and Aragorn as they spoke.
"Get ready . . ."
"Might need to . . ."
As Elrond began to make the incision, Frodo jerked and was unable to stifle a small cry, and the elf lord was forced to pause as his patient squirmed. "Arwen, do what you can to get him to settle down," Elrond commanded, his voice harsh but his eyes pitying. "He must not move too much as I do this."
The elf maid moved both of her hands to Frodo's forehead, closing her eyes and concentrating harder, and Frodo's breathing eased a bit. Elrond resumed and the hobbit squeezed his eyes shut, his face set in a rictus of pain, as he fought to keep still. But a sudden wave of nausea hit him like a brick and he moaned loudly, causing Elrond to stop again as he realized his small patient was about to be sick. Arwen just managed to lift his shoulders and turn him toward her, placing a basin under his mouth, as he threw up. Luckily, it appeared that he had mostly vomited the clear liquids he had been given last, not the treacle.
Shaking, Frodo allowed Arwen to settle him back and wipe his face and chest down. Part of him knew he needed to be embarrassed---he had vowed not to do anything so unseemly in front of the elf maiden---but he was too sick to care anymore and closed his eyes, letting her tend to him.
But now he had to focus on remaining still and trying to ride this out---he had to---and he felt for one of his hot water bottles and picked it up, clutching it with white knuckles to his chest, just to have something to hold on to. "B . . . Bilbo?"
Gandalf rose to go to the other side of the bed and soothe the hobbit. But no---one other would be even better. "Elrond," Gandalf said, watching the small patient's face contort, "perhaps it would be best to let Bilbo in. His presence would not ease the pain, but it might comfort Frodo."
His compassion winning out over his logic, Elrond nodded. "Very well . . . ask him in if he wishes it."
***
The four hobbits in the hallway had began to engage in a light, rather stilted conversation to drown out their nervousness and any sound effects they might hear issuing from Frodo's room.
Finally Pippin could stand no more talk of the best way to plant tulip bulbs and who had the best ale in the Northfarthing. Restless, he stood up and put his hand on his hips.
"This is making me cracked. I can't stand it---Frodo's in there in pain and there's nothing we can do. I feel like I'm back to where I was a week ago or so when they pried that mortal-Morgul-whatever-it-is thing out of him."
Merry, just as troubled, tried to reassure him. "They're taking good care of Frodo, Pip. We'll be let back in soon enough."
Sam was staring at the floor, trying not to think about what Frodo was going through. Finally he met the others' eyes, except for Bilbo, who was still exceptionally quiet and examining his weskit buttons with intense interest. "Do any of you remember what happened to Mosco Burrows? It wasn't the same sort o' snake as bit Mr. Frodo, was it, do you think?"
Pippin shook his head. "I remember hearing about Mosco, but was still very young when he died."
This time Bilbo spoke up, his words quiet. "I remember little Mosco. You recall his father and I were good friends at one time. Frodo had only been living with me at Bag End a couple of years when Mosco was bitten. Never did know what type it was . . . but . . ." and here his voice caught, "he died an agonizing death I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Poor Frodo went with me to visit him and had terrible nightmares for days after. And now . . ." The old hobbit lowered his head in his hands for a moment, then raised his head, sniffing. "Well, Frodo will be all right. He has to be."
He dabbed at his eyes a bit with a handkerchief. "They buried little Mosco out back of their hole. Milo was never the same after that---became a recluse and stopped having any contact with anyone. I wrote him many letters, but he never answered."
Suddenly the door to Frodo's room opened and all four hobbits jumped, startled, as Gandalf stuck his head out. "Bilbo, if you would come in, Frodo . . ."
The old hobbit's heart clenched in fear and he raised a hand to his mouth, gasping, thinking he was going to pass out. "No, Gandalf, please . . ."
But the wizard shook his head, smiling. "No, no, Bilbo, Frodo is holding his own. He has been asking for you, and so Elrond agreed to let you---just you, I'm afraid---come in to sit with him. That is, if you wish it. I must prepare you---he is in quite some pain and this operation is not pretty."
"Yes, yes, of course I will come in, Gandalf. I've been sitting in this hallway waiting for what seems like forever. Frodo needs me." Standing, Bilbo shuffled as quickly as he could into the room. With small smile to the other hobbits in the hall, the wizard followed.
To be continued