CHAPTER 5
Leaving Gimli to stand protector over Frodo and Pippin, the others fanned out and began to hunt for the elusive plant. In the failing light, with only a verbal description to go on, it was a difficult task, but after several wrong identifications it was Sam who finally ran their quarry to ground, beneath a small gorse bush. Legolas cried out in delight and clapped the gardener on the back. Once back at camp with their prize, Merry and Boromir set about lighting a small fire and putting water to boil, while Aragorn chopped up a handful of the leaves, consulting Legolas on dosage and Sam relieved Pippin at Frodo's side.
It quickly became apparent to Sam that the poison was asserting itself more strongly in his master's body; almost as though it knew that a cure had been found and wanted to wreak as much havoc at possible in the remaining time available. Not for the first time in the past two days, Sam wished for Lord Elrond's gentle skills. Aragorn had studied beneath the healer but he did not have the Elrond's thousands of years of experience and there was something about the elf that made you feel better, just being in his presence. Sam shook himself.
"Well, he's not here, and there's no point wishing, Sam Gamgee. Mr Aragorn will do his best and that's better than most." He tried, once more, to rouse his master, long enough to take a couple of sips of water.
"Come on, now, Mr Frodo. Wake up and take a couple of swallows of this for me." Frodo whimpered and, although his eyes were open, he seemed to be seeing a different world.
Frodo was wrapped around in soft music. His eyes beheld two tall trees, silver with golden leaves, stirred by an ancient breeze from the birth of the world. Amongst their branches was a glimmer of crystal fruits, netted in the golden threads of loss and bitter sweet memory. A million stars shone in a deep velvet blue sky and a woman's voice chanted low and strong.
When Sam tried to raise Frodo a little to help him swallow the hobbit struggled and would have pushed his friend away, if he could have freed his arms of the blankets wrapping him so tightly. Sam was nothing, if not persistent however, and Frodo was finally persuaded to drink a little. If there was so much resistance to water, Sam tried not to think about the effort it would take to get Frodo to drink what was, from the smell now emanating from the pot over the fire, a rather unpleasant medicine.
Aragorn turned questioning eyes on Legolas, perched on his heals at his side. "Are you sure about this? I've been known to produce some pretty awful tasting medicines but this smells foul."
The elf grimaced in reply. "Oh yes. I could not forget that delicious aroma. I said it was an antidote but I said nothing about it tasting or smelling pleasant. My memories are a little hazy but on the one occasion I was given it I seem to remember being held down by three friends while another covered my mouth and pinched my nose until I had to swallow or suffocate."
Aragorn removed the pot from the fire and poured some of its contents into a cup, stirring in a liberal amount of honey, in a vain attempt to disguise what he assumed would taste as bad as it smelled. "Does this look the right dosage?" He held the cup out for Legolas' inspection and the elf glanced in quickly, and then, just as quickly, drew back as the smell assailed his nostrils.
"Half a cup would be the normal dose for an elf so I would not give him more than two or three mouthfuls. That looks about right." The elf looked as though he was trying hard not to throw up.
"How many doses does it take?" The ranger desperately hoped that his friend was going to say, "One," because he was not sure he could force any more doses down the Hobbit; indeed he was not certain that he would get the first dose down him.
Legolas smiled apologetically. "If it is going to work it will do so within an hour. Otherwise you will have to give another dose. You can administer no more than two, however, for it has some unpleasant side effects in large amounts. After that you will have to find some other remedy."
"You had better come and help. I have a feeling this is not going to be easy."
As the two approached a change came over the little hobbit. Suddenly, all colour drained from his face and his eyes rolled back. Frodo's back arched upwards and his arms and legs began to flail wildly, unravelling the blankets wrapped around him so carefully. Aragorn leapt forward, desperately forcing the edge of a blanket between Frodo's teeth and over his tongue, whilst trying to avoid being hit. Caught a hard blow on the shoulder by one of his master's hands, Sam fell backwards and sat, staring in helpless horror.
As quickly as it came, the convulsion ended and Legolas helped Aragorn roll Frodo on to his side, sliding one of the water bowls into place and holding his head as the hobbit began to vomit. When he had finished they waited a few minutes, wiping his face with a damp cloth and re-arranging the blankets.
Legolas winced. "That's the symptom I couldn't remember."
Aragorn raised one eyebrow, an expression that Legolas suspected he had picked up from his foster father. "I'm glad you finally remembered it."
Sam gathered himself. "What happened? Is he alright? Poor Mr Frodo."
Worried that Frodo may yet be sick, Aragorn was still holding the hobbit on his side, while Legolas continued to dab at Frodo's face with the cool cloth. Frodo's eyes were only half open and the iris' kept rolling upwards. Although Aragorn kept calling him gently, Frodo made only mumbled and incoherent responses and his face remained deathly pale.
"We need to get this antidote in to him but I'm not sure that he is capable of swallowing and whether he will keep it down." Sam could not remember when he had heard Strider so worried.
Legolas checked their patient's pulse. "If we do not try there will be other convulsions and I do not think his tiny body will take any more."
Aragorn collected the cup from where he had set it on the ground. "You are right, my friend. Can you hold his head up while I try?"
The elf turned Frodo on to his back, carefully supporting his head, so that Aragorn could feed him the medicine. In one way, Frodo's present condition was a blessing, thought Aragorn ruefully. The hobbit seemed totally unaware of the obnoxious smell and taste of the liquid that was being trickled into his mouth. His swallows were weak and slow but they managed to get it all down him and then they laid him back down on his side.
"All we can do now, Sam, is wait," said Aragorn and he settled down next to the gardener.
The rest of the fellowship shook themselves and began to set up camp, making the best use of what little cover they could find. The fire was doused and they had to make do with a cold supper, not that anyone had much of an appetite. Even Pippin ate only what was put in front of him, without asking for more.
There was little conversation and eyes kept straying to the small group at the other side of the dell. The woods of Lorien were but a distant grey smudge on the darkening horizon and all wished desperately that they were closer. Watches were set and the rest rolled themselves in blankets and tried to sleep although most did not attain it.
To everyone's intense relief the night passed uneventfully. Aragorn had awoken several times to check on his patient; giving the hobbit another dose of the medicine after the first hour. Unfortunately there was no abatement in Frodo's temperature and his pulse was still running at an alarming pace but there were no further convulsions.
Frodo did, finally, awaken with the quiet sounds of the rest of the fellowship breaking camp. With dawn they decided to risk a small fire and all were grateful for a cup of warm broth to start the day. Sam brought his master a mug but Frodo had only to smell it. He pushed himself on to his side and began retching, although by then there was nothing in his stomach but bile. Sam wrapped one arm around his Master's chest and slipped another under his brow as he waited for the awful heaving to stop.
Frodo leaned back bonelessly against Sam's chest, whimpering as each breath re-awakened the fire in his ribs. It was Boromir that scooped him up and carried him away from the mess and Merry that brought water and cloths to clean his cousin up, helping Sam to change the poor Hobbit's shirt and wipe his face and hands. Wordlessly, Pippin took Frodo's soiled shirt to a stream nearby and washed it as well as he could, wringing it out and hanging it from the back of his pack to dry.
It was difficult to see through the haze that seemed to swim before Frodo's eyes but he recognised Aragorn's face. He was pressing a cup to Frodo's lips and the hobbit recognised the clean scent of peppermint tea. He was not sure whether his stomach would even take that but allowed himself to be fed anyway, in the hopes that it would stop the nausea.