FIC: THE PINE-WOODS EXCURSION, PART 15/16
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG-13
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. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that all medical treatments contained herein are purely for entertainment value and are not meant to replace professional medical advice.
There are small non-graphic mentions of bodily functions here. If that disturbs you, I caution you not to read on. :)
***
Frodo stirred and looked warily at Arwen as she busied about the room gathering things. He had dozed off a bit and hadn't heard the last part of her and Aragorn's conversation, but he was quite certain she was there to dose him with various teas and broths as everyone else seemed to be doing. The other hobbits were asleep in the corner, exhausted by their vigil.
Arwen gathered a bowl and began to pour water into it from a pitcher by the bed, causing Frodo to grimace as he realized he needed to relieve himself. But he was certainly not going to mention it. He would just wait until she left and ask Sam for the chamber-pot---there were some things he did not feel it appropriate to discuss with the elf-maid, and his bladder was definitely one of them.
Finishing her task and adding a sweet-smelling liquid to the water, she strode to the bed and placed a hand on Frodo's brow, smiling down at him. "You've a bit of a fever," she said softly as she began to pull his blankets down, "and this should lower your temperature and make you more comfortable."
Unsettled, Frodo grasped the covers, gulping as he tried to find his voice. "I . . . I'm quite . . . naked under here," he said haltingly, prompting a girlish laugh.
"Well, Master Frodo, I could not very well bathe you if you were wearing clothes, could I?"
"Bathe . . . me?" The hobbit's face reddened. He had vague memories of Arwen sponging him down before, but he had apparently been too sick to care and not quite in his right mind. Now, he still felt ill, but not so ill that he would not die of embarrassment. And there was the bladder problem, as well. Thinking about having to relieve himself made him squirm, and he risked a longing glance at the small chamber-pot on his bedside table.
"Yes, indeed. Now---" Her voice trailed off as she noticed his discomfort. Leaning down, she smoothed his hair. "Frodo, are you in pain?"
"No . . . no, I'm all right . . ." He made another face though and decided he was just uncomfortable enough to risk humiliation. "Lady Arwen . . . might I . . . might I have the chamber-pot and a moment of privacy?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to stutter. He could feel his face flushing.
She smiled. "So that is your problem, Frodo. Why did you not speak of it before? I am relieved you are not in pain after all. Here, let us turn you onto your side. It will be easier for you that way."
Gently she helped him turn over, careful of his leg, and grabbed the pot. He started to take it from her but they both realized at once that it would be too heavy for him in his weakened condition. Patting his shoulder, she pulled the covers back, her eyes growing concerned as she glimpsed the hives on his torso, and set the pot in place before turning to give him privacy.
"I . . . I am finished," he told her a minute later and she took the chamber-pot away, quite unfazed by the whole affair. Frodo hastily pulled his covers back up, trying to shrink into a ball and disappear. He had been sick many times before and had been forced to rely on others, but they had always been male, his mother, or an older hobbit lady such as Bell Gamgee. He'd never had anyone quite like the Lady Arwen tending to him before.
"Now," she said as she wrung a clean cloth in the basin of fragrant water, "you will lie there quietly, correct, and rest while I do this?" Her eyes were twinkling, as if she knew he would cause trouble and was bracing herself for it.
Instead he nodded, feeling drowsy and realizing that protests would gain him nothing anyway.
"Good." Arwen sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his blankets back, covering him with large towels in caring for his modesty. Frodo could not quite place the scent of the water, but it did calm him, and he lay quiescent while she sponged him off, soothing with her voice as she did so. While she worked, he studied her, appreciating the fact that his vision was back to normal and he could see her flawless skin and bright eyes clearly. He sighed, thinking of how he longed to see Arwen and Aragorn happily united some day---and the odds against them.
Slowly some of the sick feeling left Frodo and he nearly found himself drifting to sleep as Arwen turned him over and sponged his back and lower body before lightly drying him off. Gauging his temperature with her hands, she was pleased to see that his skin was cooler. Now there was only the lotion.
"What . . . is that?" he asked weakly as she dipped her hands into a tub and scooped out a strong-but-pleasant-smelling white cream.
"An ointment to soothe your itchy skin, Frodo. Now just relax---this will make you feel better, I promise."
His eyes widened, but as she massaged the lotion on with soft hands, turning him this way and that to reach everywhere, his tired, fevered body began to relax. Indeed, even when she gently applied it to his hive-covered bottom he was able to quell the urge to squash a pillow over his head. And after a bit, Frodo could stay awake no longer.
***
"He is making excellent progress," Elrond said many hours later, rising from Frodo's bedside to face Aragorn and Gandalf. Now that the hobbit was out of danger they had given him sleep-inducing teas and he had dozed peacefully throughout the day, awake only when they spooned nourishing broths into him. They had still been obliged to keep a close eye on his temperature and sponge him down periodically as well, but the hobbit was so exhausted his eyes had but fluttered a bit when Arwen applied lotion to his rash a second time.
"His leg is healing quite well, although he will not be able to put pressure on it for some time," Elrond continued, "and he will be bedridden for many days more on my authority. Even if he feels like rising, I insist he stay in bed until he is fully recovered." He shook his head. "He has already endured far too much to risk a relapse."
The others nodded, their eyes showing obvious relief. "Keeping him in bed might be a trial, Elrond," Gandalf said, knowing Frodo far too well.
The elf-lord raised his eyebrows. "Then I will make certain I tell Samwise his master must remain in bed---and then I have no doubt it will be done."
Gandalf and Aragorn chuckled.
Elrond smiled, looking down at Frodo as he smoothed the hobbit's bangs back and felt his temperature again. "For now the best treatment is supportive care. Keeping him comfortable, making certain he rests, and getting him to take nourishment. He has been able to keep the broths down, and I would like to see him take in something more substantial when he comes awake next."
***
"Frodooooo . . . Frodo Bagginssss . . ."
"Sssshh, Pippin, you're not supposed to wake him up yet."
"Well, he needs to eat this food Strider brought up, Merry. Look at him---he's wasting away under there. I can feel every one of his ribs!"
If Frodo had not already been on the verge of awareness thanks to soft hobbit voices crooning in his ear, he definitely was jarred awake by small fingers prodding his ribcage through the blankets. "Ouch . . . Pippin, what are you doing . . ."
The bed was jostled a bit and Frodo felt his cousin's warm arms embrace him from behind and Pippin's curly hair graze his cheek as the younger hobbit settled against him. "Ah, just seeing if you were awake, Frodo---Strider says you need to eat something solid to get your bowels moving again. And if I may say, you are too thin, cousin. We need to fatten you up."
"Mmmmm . . ." Frodo replied, nearly drifting to sleep again and looking forward to being completely recovered and having no one but himself worrying over his blood, bladder, bowels, or other bodily functions. He squirmed a bit, feeling Pippin leaning over him again.
"Frodo, what's wrong?"
"I itch."
"Oh, you poor dear. Here." Gently Pippin rubbed his back through the covers, scratching lightly. It did feel good and Frodo sighed, actually opening his eyes a bit in surprise when his stomach grumbled. He still felt weak---but rather comfortable---and he thought he might be able to drink a bit of broth.
"What's on the tray?" he asked wearily, nodding toward the bedside table.
This time it was Merry, sitting across from them in the chair, who answered, lifting the tray's silver cover as tempting aromas wafted out. "It's all invalid food. Creamy soup, custard, applesauce---looks very good, I must say. The mushroom soup smells even better than the recipe served at Brandy Hall."
"It is better," Pippin said, then shut his mouth, embarrassed.
"Peregrin Took, did you steal Frodo's food off that tray?"
"I only had a little taste, is all."
"Right." Merry rolled his eyes before looking at Frodo again. "Anyway, why don't we help you have some of this, Frodo? You do need to take something, and Sam's gone off to grab a bite himself, since you were sleeping quite soundly."
"Hmmm . . . I suppose I could eat a bite or two, perhaps," Frodo agreed.
Merry shook his head. "Unless you eat half of the food on this tray, I am afraid you'll be in store for some unpleasant nourishing tonics."
"Pippin can have whatever is left and we can tell them I ate it. They won't suspect."
At this Merry laughed and shook his head. "Trust me, cousin, you shan't get off that easily. I've heard their conversations. They will be watching your bowels if they think you have eaten, and if your bowels don't move---well, you don't want to know what they will do to you."
"What will they do to him, Merry?" Pippin asked, a look of horror on his face.
Without answering, Merry turned to the bedside table and opened a drawer there, pulling out an enema syringe and waving it in front of Frodo's face, his eyebrows raised.
Frodo's eyes grew very wide and he gulped. "I . . . I think I am quite hungry after all."
Merry grinned. "I thought you would say that."
To be continued
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins
RATING: PG-13
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. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that all medical treatments contained herein are purely for entertainment value and are not meant to replace professional medical advice.
There are small non-graphic mentions of bodily functions here. If that disturbs you, I caution you not to read on. :)
***
Frodo stirred and looked warily at Arwen as she busied about the room gathering things. He had dozed off a bit and hadn't heard the last part of her and Aragorn's conversation, but he was quite certain she was there to dose him with various teas and broths as everyone else seemed to be doing. The other hobbits were asleep in the corner, exhausted by their vigil.
Arwen gathered a bowl and began to pour water into it from a pitcher by the bed, causing Frodo to grimace as he realized he needed to relieve himself. But he was certainly not going to mention it. He would just wait until she left and ask Sam for the chamber-pot---there were some things he did not feel it appropriate to discuss with the elf-maid, and his bladder was definitely one of them.
Finishing her task and adding a sweet-smelling liquid to the water, she strode to the bed and placed a hand on Frodo's brow, smiling down at him. "You've a bit of a fever," she said softly as she began to pull his blankets down, "and this should lower your temperature and make you more comfortable."
Unsettled, Frodo grasped the covers, gulping as he tried to find his voice. "I . . . I'm quite . . . naked under here," he said haltingly, prompting a girlish laugh.
"Well, Master Frodo, I could not very well bathe you if you were wearing clothes, could I?"
"Bathe . . . me?" The hobbit's face reddened. He had vague memories of Arwen sponging him down before, but he had apparently been too sick to care and not quite in his right mind. Now, he still felt ill, but not so ill that he would not die of embarrassment. And there was the bladder problem, as well. Thinking about having to relieve himself made him squirm, and he risked a longing glance at the small chamber-pot on his bedside table.
"Yes, indeed. Now---" Her voice trailed off as she noticed his discomfort. Leaning down, she smoothed his hair. "Frodo, are you in pain?"
"No . . . no, I'm all right . . ." He made another face though and decided he was just uncomfortable enough to risk humiliation. "Lady Arwen . . . might I . . . might I have the chamber-pot and a moment of privacy?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to stutter. He could feel his face flushing.
She smiled. "So that is your problem, Frodo. Why did you not speak of it before? I am relieved you are not in pain after all. Here, let us turn you onto your side. It will be easier for you that way."
Gently she helped him turn over, careful of his leg, and grabbed the pot. He started to take it from her but they both realized at once that it would be too heavy for him in his weakened condition. Patting his shoulder, she pulled the covers back, her eyes growing concerned as she glimpsed the hives on his torso, and set the pot in place before turning to give him privacy.
"I . . . I am finished," he told her a minute later and she took the chamber-pot away, quite unfazed by the whole affair. Frodo hastily pulled his covers back up, trying to shrink into a ball and disappear. He had been sick many times before and had been forced to rely on others, but they had always been male, his mother, or an older hobbit lady such as Bell Gamgee. He'd never had anyone quite like the Lady Arwen tending to him before.
"Now," she said as she wrung a clean cloth in the basin of fragrant water, "you will lie there quietly, correct, and rest while I do this?" Her eyes were twinkling, as if she knew he would cause trouble and was bracing herself for it.
Instead he nodded, feeling drowsy and realizing that protests would gain him nothing anyway.
"Good." Arwen sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his blankets back, covering him with large towels in caring for his modesty. Frodo could not quite place the scent of the water, but it did calm him, and he lay quiescent while she sponged him off, soothing with her voice as she did so. While she worked, he studied her, appreciating the fact that his vision was back to normal and he could see her flawless skin and bright eyes clearly. He sighed, thinking of how he longed to see Arwen and Aragorn happily united some day---and the odds against them.
Slowly some of the sick feeling left Frodo and he nearly found himself drifting to sleep as Arwen turned him over and sponged his back and lower body before lightly drying him off. Gauging his temperature with her hands, she was pleased to see that his skin was cooler. Now there was only the lotion.
"What . . . is that?" he asked weakly as she dipped her hands into a tub and scooped out a strong-but-pleasant-smelling white cream.
"An ointment to soothe your itchy skin, Frodo. Now just relax---this will make you feel better, I promise."
His eyes widened, but as she massaged the lotion on with soft hands, turning him this way and that to reach everywhere, his tired, fevered body began to relax. Indeed, even when she gently applied it to his hive-covered bottom he was able to quell the urge to squash a pillow over his head. And after a bit, Frodo could stay awake no longer.
***
"He is making excellent progress," Elrond said many hours later, rising from Frodo's bedside to face Aragorn and Gandalf. Now that the hobbit was out of danger they had given him sleep-inducing teas and he had dozed peacefully throughout the day, awake only when they spooned nourishing broths into him. They had still been obliged to keep a close eye on his temperature and sponge him down periodically as well, but the hobbit was so exhausted his eyes had but fluttered a bit when Arwen applied lotion to his rash a second time.
"His leg is healing quite well, although he will not be able to put pressure on it for some time," Elrond continued, "and he will be bedridden for many days more on my authority. Even if he feels like rising, I insist he stay in bed until he is fully recovered." He shook his head. "He has already endured far too much to risk a relapse."
The others nodded, their eyes showing obvious relief. "Keeping him in bed might be a trial, Elrond," Gandalf said, knowing Frodo far too well.
The elf-lord raised his eyebrows. "Then I will make certain I tell Samwise his master must remain in bed---and then I have no doubt it will be done."
Gandalf and Aragorn chuckled.
Elrond smiled, looking down at Frodo as he smoothed the hobbit's bangs back and felt his temperature again. "For now the best treatment is supportive care. Keeping him comfortable, making certain he rests, and getting him to take nourishment. He has been able to keep the broths down, and I would like to see him take in something more substantial when he comes awake next."
***
"Frodooooo . . . Frodo Bagginssss . . ."
"Sssshh, Pippin, you're not supposed to wake him up yet."
"Well, he needs to eat this food Strider brought up, Merry. Look at him---he's wasting away under there. I can feel every one of his ribs!"
If Frodo had not already been on the verge of awareness thanks to soft hobbit voices crooning in his ear, he definitely was jarred awake by small fingers prodding his ribcage through the blankets. "Ouch . . . Pippin, what are you doing . . ."
The bed was jostled a bit and Frodo felt his cousin's warm arms embrace him from behind and Pippin's curly hair graze his cheek as the younger hobbit settled against him. "Ah, just seeing if you were awake, Frodo---Strider says you need to eat something solid to get your bowels moving again. And if I may say, you are too thin, cousin. We need to fatten you up."
"Mmmmm . . ." Frodo replied, nearly drifting to sleep again and looking forward to being completely recovered and having no one but himself worrying over his blood, bladder, bowels, or other bodily functions. He squirmed a bit, feeling Pippin leaning over him again.
"Frodo, what's wrong?"
"I itch."
"Oh, you poor dear. Here." Gently Pippin rubbed his back through the covers, scratching lightly. It did feel good and Frodo sighed, actually opening his eyes a bit in surprise when his stomach grumbled. He still felt weak---but rather comfortable---and he thought he might be able to drink a bit of broth.
"What's on the tray?" he asked wearily, nodding toward the bedside table.
This time it was Merry, sitting across from them in the chair, who answered, lifting the tray's silver cover as tempting aromas wafted out. "It's all invalid food. Creamy soup, custard, applesauce---looks very good, I must say. The mushroom soup smells even better than the recipe served at Brandy Hall."
"It is better," Pippin said, then shut his mouth, embarrassed.
"Peregrin Took, did you steal Frodo's food off that tray?"
"I only had a little taste, is all."
"Right." Merry rolled his eyes before looking at Frodo again. "Anyway, why don't we help you have some of this, Frodo? You do need to take something, and Sam's gone off to grab a bite himself, since you were sleeping quite soundly."
"Hmmm . . . I suppose I could eat a bite or two, perhaps," Frodo agreed.
Merry shook his head. "Unless you eat half of the food on this tray, I am afraid you'll be in store for some unpleasant nourishing tonics."
"Pippin can have whatever is left and we can tell them I ate it. They won't suspect."
At this Merry laughed and shook his head. "Trust me, cousin, you shan't get off that easily. I've heard their conversations. They will be watching your bowels if they think you have eaten, and if your bowels don't move---well, you don't want to know what they will do to you."
"What will they do to him, Merry?" Pippin asked, a look of horror on his face.
Without answering, Merry turned to the bedside table and opened a drawer there, pulling out an enema syringe and waving it in front of Frodo's face, his eyebrows raised.
Frodo's eyes grew very wide and he gulped. "I . . . I think I am quite hungry after all."
Merry grinned. "I thought you would say that."
To be continued