A/N: I'm glad you're all still enjoying the fic! :) And I thank everyone
for taking the time and leaving such nice reviews! You're all so nice! :) I
remember when I first posted a chapter on ff.net I was afraid I'd get
flamed for one reason or another, but I can honestly say never met a more
encouraging bunch of people than you guys, and I've never gotten a bad
review from anyone. :)
I would have updated yesterday, but I didn't get the chance to write because I got home from work and soon decided to watch a certain DVD (Yay!). I thought it would never come! :) *cough* Don't pre-order DVD's from that online store that shares its name with a river. . .;) It only had to come from TN, yet it still took seven days to get here. Oh well, at least it finally came. :)
Things should get more interesting for Frodo from here on out (for a little while at least), because they finally stop talking and start doing something for the poor hobbit. :)
Tathar: I'm glad you like my fic! :) Don't worry. ;) Let's just say that wouldn't be able to live with myself if I actually 'killed' Frodo.
ThE iNsAnE oNe: Don't cry! I like him too! :)
Manc Admirer: I'm glad I've been able to update regularly, I feel bad about not having finished my other fic! Ah! Hopefully it'll get done this week. :)
Dimhirion will find a way to help Frodo; at least he is going to try. He is a very resourceful Elf, and definitely has healing powers. Though he never became a healer in Rivendell, he did study it, and possesses his own natural ability as well.
Thank you for the review! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic. :)
Tiggivon: Thank you for the compliments! :) I have written a Weathertop story that is slightly AU, its called "And In The Darkness Bind Him", there is one more chapter left in it. It begins soon after Frodo's wounding at Weathertop, and goes through to his waking in Rivendell. If you do want to read it, there's a link to it on my profile. :)
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Chapter 11:
"One of you please build up the fire, Frodo mustn't become chilled while I examine him." Dimhirion told the other two hobbits.
"Stay with your lad," Fosco patted Bilbo's shoulder reassuringly before hurrying out to collect more wood for the fire.
Bilbo nodded slowly as he continued to stroke Frodo's small hand, his gaze never straying from his nephew's slight form.
"Do not despair, Bilbo," Dimhirion's songlike voice reached the old hobbits' ears. The Elf had no words of comfort to offer Bilbo; even he did not yet know what fate awaited little Frodo.
The elf rose from the bedside, and went to inspect Fosco's bag. He felt it wise to assess the stock of herbs that the hobbit healer kept handy before things went any further. Dimhirion was pleased to find various herbs that he was familiar with, including a dark brown liquid which, by the smell, he judged to be Opium suitable for burning to aid in pain relief, Dandelion root for cleansing, Dwaleberry lotion for pain- or to counter an accidental overdose of the Opium- a useful thing to have with such a small, unstable patient, and dried Honeysuckle blossom extract for the healing process.
Fosco soon returned with an armload of small logs. He carefully added several to the fire, and used a poker to stir the coals, watching absentmindedly as sparks flew up the chimney and out of sight.
Once the room began to grow warmer, Dimhirion spoke, "Master Baggins, please move to the other side of the bed."
Bilbo did as he was asked, and situated himself on the opposite side of Frodo's bed, closer to the window.
The elf gestured for Fosco to take Bilbo's place, and then instructed the healer to slip his arms beneath Frodo's shoulders.
"This is going to hurt him," Dimhirion warned, "Though I will try to be quick. I am afraid it is necessary that I do this, and he needs to be coherent enough to tell me when my touch hurts him. Mr. Fields, please lift Frodo's upper body carefully, and turn him onto his back. I will take the lower portion. Let us try to lift and turn at the same time, he doesn't need the added discomfort of having his midsection twisted."
Fosco nodded, tightening his grip beneath the hobbit-lads arms.
Frodo whimpered as he felt hands being laid upon him, though it still hadn't occurred to him what they planned to do.
"Hold on, Frodo. . ." Bilbo soothed, stroking the child's damp forehead.
Fosco and Dimhirion lifted Frodo's body simultaneously and gently placed the small hobbit on his back. Frodo gasped in pain, and immediately began to struggle beneath their hands. Any movement at all was nearly unbearable, but being forced to lie on his back was torturous for the sick lad. His breaths became shallower as the strain of lying on his back weakened his resolve to bear the pain in silence. He pushed the back of his head into his pillow as hard as he could, and bit his lip to keep from crying out, he felt familiar hands, Bilbo's hands, grip his, and he gripped back tightly. His whole body shook from chill and pain.
"Frodo," Dimhirion soothed, gathering an extra pillow to place beneath the child's knees, hoping to ease the strain on his sore belly, "Frodo, please try to relax. I'm going to make this as quick as possible." He placed a gentle hand the hobbit-lads chest. His eyes widened in dismay as he felt Frodo's heart racing, it wasn't a good sign.
"Help me get this off of him," the Elf requested of Fosco, and together they pulled the sweat-soaked nightshift up above Frodo's middle and then over his head. Dimhirion quickly covered the child's lower half with his blankets, and stood back, regarding the hobbit-lad's belly.
Dimhirion's gaze strayed to Frodo's face. The elf could see two wide, blue eyes, robbed of their former brightness, staring back at him in apprehension.
"What. . . are y- you. . . going to d- do?" the small hobbit panted, his voice strained and barely a whisper.
The Elf's expression softened, and he went to the lad's side. "Frodo," he began, smoothing back the wet curls with one hand, "Please trust me. I will not hurt you, though what I'm about to do will cause you pain." He saw fear grow in the child's eyes, they glistened with unshed tears.
"Bilbo. . ." Frodo cried weakly, his voice breaking, "Bil- bo!" he forced the last half out, groaning as he felt the pain intensify again. Though through it all, the small hobbit never shifted his gaze from the suspicious Elf.
Dimhirion sighed; he needed Frodo to relax if he were going to attempt to save him. "Frodo!" he called loudly, silencing all other activity in the room, "Frodo. . .shh. . ." he soothed, stroking the child's cheek methodically and trying to calm his nerves.
Dimhirion then instructed Bilbo to hold the lad's arms by his sides, and sooth him as much as he could. He instructed Fosco to keep an eye on his legs, though he doubted Frodo had the strength to kick them much, he couldn't be sure how Frodo would react to the pain that he may inflict while examining him.
He walked down to where he stood just over Frodo's abdomen, and then he knelt beside the low bed and put two hands out, allowing them to hover just above the hobbit's belly. The elf shook his head sadly as he felt the heat radiating from Frodo's body. Dimhirion slowly lowered his hands, barely making contact with the hobbit's stomach. He felt Frodo flinch beneath his hands, and the lad's shallow breaths quickened.
Bilbo fought to keep Frodo from interfering with Dimhirion's examination. The lad struggled hard to free both hands. Frodo whined miserably and tested Bilbo by forcing his hands up as hard as he was able before finally giving up.
The elf applied a small amount of pressure to Frodo's abdomen, feeling carefully for anything strange.
Bilbo nearly cried as he saw the agony reflected in Frodo's eyes. The small hobbit clenched his teeth and turned his head to face his uncle, his eyes pleading silently for someone to make the pain and uncertainty disappear.
"Shh. . .dear boy, I'm with you." He reassured his lad, rubbing Frodo's hand in a circular motion.
Suddenly Frodo's body tensed, he arched his back on impulse and screamed in pain as the Elf's probing hands suddenly pushed harder on his rigid belly, and quickly let up without warning, right in the area of where the infected organ had burst. The hobbit-lad had nearly blacked out from the pain.
As soon as he caught his breath, Frodo craned his neck around as best he could, trying to see who had brought this new and terrible pain upon him. Bilbo gently forced his head back down, "Don't struggle, Frodo, don't" the older hobbit chided gently, his voice shaking from fear, "please don't, lad, it will only hurt worse if you fight."
Frodo tilted his head as far back as he could, and stared at the rafters of his bedroom ceiling, unable to answer Bilbo, his mouth hung open as he gasped for breath.
Dimhirion repeated the push and release process several more times in several areas of Frodo's abdomen, all of which caused the sick hobbit-lad pain, but none so much as that one area. The Elf knew what was wrong with Frodo. Though never a healer himself, he was learned in their ways, and knew what this illness was, and how difficult it was to treat successfully. He immediately began forming a plan and creating a list of necessary supplies in his head.
"Alright," Dimhirion broke the silence that had settled heavily in the room, he covered Frodo's torso up once more, lifting the child gently and placing him back on his side. He beckoned to Bilbo and Fosco. "I wish to speak with the two of you in the hall, briefly."
Once in the hall, the Elf elaborated on his thoughts about Frodo's condition, "Judging by the feel of his abdomen, and the area which causes him the greatest pain, I believe that you were correct in your guessing, Master Fields." Dimhirion reported.
"Oh, no!" Fosco cried, all the color draining from his face. His worst fears had at last been confirmed, and by one of the Fair Folk, no less. "Is there. . . anything you can do for him?" the healer pleaded, his eyes searching Dimhirions'.
Bilbo swayed, unable to speak, and leaned heavily against the wall. Hearing this news all over again, after he had worked so hard to find someone who might could help. made the impact of Dimhirion's words that much harder on the old hobbit.
Dimhirion sighed, "The only thing I can do for him, is try to remove this organ." He admitted, "It will not be an easy task, I'm afraid. The pieces of it, where it burst, will have to be recovered and removed as well." He continued, watching the hobbits pale further, "The contents of the organ will also have to be removed, and his insides flushed clean with salty water." Dimhirion added, "It will be very traumatic, and possibly painful, for him. I do not know what strength reserves he has, though judging by his appearance, I don't hold out much hope for his recovery, this procedure will be quite a shock to his system. . ." he paused, allowing this grim news to sink in, "Though anything is possible, the little one clearly possesses much strength to have survived as long as he has. I do not wish to discourage you, though I also do not believe it is wise to raise one's hope's so high when the odds are so unfairly against Frodo." Dimhirion continued, ". . . I do want to try to save him, though I will also understand if you simply wish to let him live out the rest of his time without added stress. . .though I can assure you that won't be very much longer."
Bilbo stared ahead, his mind was elsewhere, and he looked at Frodo's small cloak where it hung on the coat-rack in the foyer, just where he had left it two nights before. Finally, the old bachelor nodded slowly, "Yes. . ." he said with tears in his eyes as he turned to face Dimhirion, "Yes, we must try. We mustn't give up when there is hope."
Fosco nodded in agreement, he wanted to see Frodo recover, though he was learned in the ways of healing, and he held out little more hope than the Elf. Perhaps what hope he did reserve was only there because of his strong desire to see the child live.
"Now," Dimhirion turned to Fosco, "I would greatly appreciate it if you would fetch a few things for me. . .write all of this down." Fosco gathered an inkwell and pen, and a scrap of parchment, then Dimhirion began listing the needed supplies: "I will need a sharp knife, the sharpest you can find; several sturdy, hollow pond-reed's; towels, bandages; and, more Opium if you have it to be spared, the procedure will be extremely painful without the proper amount of pain-numbing herbs. . .and bring anything else you believe may be useful." The Elf finished; he was unfamiliar with their culture and what tools they used during surgeries and knew that some improvising would, unfortunately, be inevitable. Then he turned to Bilbo, "You must stay with Frodo, it is imperative that he remain as calm as possible, and you're the person he trusts most, I believe he would be most calm with you caring for him." Dimhirion smiled slightly, despite the gravity of the situation.
Bilbo nodded vigorously, "Yes. I wouldn't dream of leaving him."
-------------------------------------------------
Frodo moaned as he was lifted from bed, sharp pains shot relentlessly through his tender abdomen. He felt someone carrying him again; he was so delirious from pain and fever that he wasn't quite sure of where he was or what was going on.
Then he smelled the familiar scent of the drug that Fosco had given him the previous day. He felt someone forcing his mouth shut, instructing him to breathe as deeply as he could, through his nose. He struggled to comply, breathing shallowly at first, and then as the medication began working, his breaths evened out and became deeper. Soon, the pain let up and he sighed with relief.
"Hold him up, in a standing position," Dimhirion instructed Fosco, "It must collect in one place."
Dimhirion had noted that Frodo's abdomen was been quite bloated from infection, and he meant to drain some of that infection off before attempting to remove the ruptured organ.
After a while of standing, Fosco began sweating from the effort of holding Frodo up, though the lad was small for his age, he was still a half grown hobbit and Fosco was supporting all of the child's weight. Frodo whimpered, feeling nausea beset him once more.
Dimhirion noticed the lad pale, and quickly carried Frodo back to bed, propping him up against the headboard so the fluid would remain in one area of his abdomen.
He tried to ease the lad's nausea; it wouldn't be good if Frodo began vomiting. His spell from earlier was rather violent and he had mildly injured himself, likely no more than a few scratches in his throat, partially contributed to by the repeated action of vomiting, though nonetheless, he could not afford to damage his throat further if it could be avoided.
-------------------------------------------------
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Let me know what you think!
I would have updated yesterday, but I didn't get the chance to write because I got home from work and soon decided to watch a certain DVD (Yay!). I thought it would never come! :) *cough* Don't pre-order DVD's from that online store that shares its name with a river. . .;) It only had to come from TN, yet it still took seven days to get here. Oh well, at least it finally came. :)
Things should get more interesting for Frodo from here on out (for a little while at least), because they finally stop talking and start doing something for the poor hobbit. :)
Tathar: I'm glad you like my fic! :) Don't worry. ;) Let's just say that wouldn't be able to live with myself if I actually 'killed' Frodo.
ThE iNsAnE oNe: Don't cry! I like him too! :)
Manc Admirer: I'm glad I've been able to update regularly, I feel bad about not having finished my other fic! Ah! Hopefully it'll get done this week. :)
Dimhirion will find a way to help Frodo; at least he is going to try. He is a very resourceful Elf, and definitely has healing powers. Though he never became a healer in Rivendell, he did study it, and possesses his own natural ability as well.
Thank you for the review! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic. :)
Tiggivon: Thank you for the compliments! :) I have written a Weathertop story that is slightly AU, its called "And In The Darkness Bind Him", there is one more chapter left in it. It begins soon after Frodo's wounding at Weathertop, and goes through to his waking in Rivendell. If you do want to read it, there's a link to it on my profile. :)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 11:
"One of you please build up the fire, Frodo mustn't become chilled while I examine him." Dimhirion told the other two hobbits.
"Stay with your lad," Fosco patted Bilbo's shoulder reassuringly before hurrying out to collect more wood for the fire.
Bilbo nodded slowly as he continued to stroke Frodo's small hand, his gaze never straying from his nephew's slight form.
"Do not despair, Bilbo," Dimhirion's songlike voice reached the old hobbits' ears. The Elf had no words of comfort to offer Bilbo; even he did not yet know what fate awaited little Frodo.
The elf rose from the bedside, and went to inspect Fosco's bag. He felt it wise to assess the stock of herbs that the hobbit healer kept handy before things went any further. Dimhirion was pleased to find various herbs that he was familiar with, including a dark brown liquid which, by the smell, he judged to be Opium suitable for burning to aid in pain relief, Dandelion root for cleansing, Dwaleberry lotion for pain- or to counter an accidental overdose of the Opium- a useful thing to have with such a small, unstable patient, and dried Honeysuckle blossom extract for the healing process.
Fosco soon returned with an armload of small logs. He carefully added several to the fire, and used a poker to stir the coals, watching absentmindedly as sparks flew up the chimney and out of sight.
Once the room began to grow warmer, Dimhirion spoke, "Master Baggins, please move to the other side of the bed."
Bilbo did as he was asked, and situated himself on the opposite side of Frodo's bed, closer to the window.
The elf gestured for Fosco to take Bilbo's place, and then instructed the healer to slip his arms beneath Frodo's shoulders.
"This is going to hurt him," Dimhirion warned, "Though I will try to be quick. I am afraid it is necessary that I do this, and he needs to be coherent enough to tell me when my touch hurts him. Mr. Fields, please lift Frodo's upper body carefully, and turn him onto his back. I will take the lower portion. Let us try to lift and turn at the same time, he doesn't need the added discomfort of having his midsection twisted."
Fosco nodded, tightening his grip beneath the hobbit-lads arms.
Frodo whimpered as he felt hands being laid upon him, though it still hadn't occurred to him what they planned to do.
"Hold on, Frodo. . ." Bilbo soothed, stroking the child's damp forehead.
Fosco and Dimhirion lifted Frodo's body simultaneously and gently placed the small hobbit on his back. Frodo gasped in pain, and immediately began to struggle beneath their hands. Any movement at all was nearly unbearable, but being forced to lie on his back was torturous for the sick lad. His breaths became shallower as the strain of lying on his back weakened his resolve to bear the pain in silence. He pushed the back of his head into his pillow as hard as he could, and bit his lip to keep from crying out, he felt familiar hands, Bilbo's hands, grip his, and he gripped back tightly. His whole body shook from chill and pain.
"Frodo," Dimhirion soothed, gathering an extra pillow to place beneath the child's knees, hoping to ease the strain on his sore belly, "Frodo, please try to relax. I'm going to make this as quick as possible." He placed a gentle hand the hobbit-lads chest. His eyes widened in dismay as he felt Frodo's heart racing, it wasn't a good sign.
"Help me get this off of him," the Elf requested of Fosco, and together they pulled the sweat-soaked nightshift up above Frodo's middle and then over his head. Dimhirion quickly covered the child's lower half with his blankets, and stood back, regarding the hobbit-lad's belly.
Dimhirion's gaze strayed to Frodo's face. The elf could see two wide, blue eyes, robbed of their former brightness, staring back at him in apprehension.
"What. . . are y- you. . . going to d- do?" the small hobbit panted, his voice strained and barely a whisper.
The Elf's expression softened, and he went to the lad's side. "Frodo," he began, smoothing back the wet curls with one hand, "Please trust me. I will not hurt you, though what I'm about to do will cause you pain." He saw fear grow in the child's eyes, they glistened with unshed tears.
"Bilbo. . ." Frodo cried weakly, his voice breaking, "Bil- bo!" he forced the last half out, groaning as he felt the pain intensify again. Though through it all, the small hobbit never shifted his gaze from the suspicious Elf.
Dimhirion sighed; he needed Frodo to relax if he were going to attempt to save him. "Frodo!" he called loudly, silencing all other activity in the room, "Frodo. . .shh. . ." he soothed, stroking the child's cheek methodically and trying to calm his nerves.
Dimhirion then instructed Bilbo to hold the lad's arms by his sides, and sooth him as much as he could. He instructed Fosco to keep an eye on his legs, though he doubted Frodo had the strength to kick them much, he couldn't be sure how Frodo would react to the pain that he may inflict while examining him.
He walked down to where he stood just over Frodo's abdomen, and then he knelt beside the low bed and put two hands out, allowing them to hover just above the hobbit's belly. The elf shook his head sadly as he felt the heat radiating from Frodo's body. Dimhirion slowly lowered his hands, barely making contact with the hobbit's stomach. He felt Frodo flinch beneath his hands, and the lad's shallow breaths quickened.
Bilbo fought to keep Frodo from interfering with Dimhirion's examination. The lad struggled hard to free both hands. Frodo whined miserably and tested Bilbo by forcing his hands up as hard as he was able before finally giving up.
The elf applied a small amount of pressure to Frodo's abdomen, feeling carefully for anything strange.
Bilbo nearly cried as he saw the agony reflected in Frodo's eyes. The small hobbit clenched his teeth and turned his head to face his uncle, his eyes pleading silently for someone to make the pain and uncertainty disappear.
"Shh. . .dear boy, I'm with you." He reassured his lad, rubbing Frodo's hand in a circular motion.
Suddenly Frodo's body tensed, he arched his back on impulse and screamed in pain as the Elf's probing hands suddenly pushed harder on his rigid belly, and quickly let up without warning, right in the area of where the infected organ had burst. The hobbit-lad had nearly blacked out from the pain.
As soon as he caught his breath, Frodo craned his neck around as best he could, trying to see who had brought this new and terrible pain upon him. Bilbo gently forced his head back down, "Don't struggle, Frodo, don't" the older hobbit chided gently, his voice shaking from fear, "please don't, lad, it will only hurt worse if you fight."
Frodo tilted his head as far back as he could, and stared at the rafters of his bedroom ceiling, unable to answer Bilbo, his mouth hung open as he gasped for breath.
Dimhirion repeated the push and release process several more times in several areas of Frodo's abdomen, all of which caused the sick hobbit-lad pain, but none so much as that one area. The Elf knew what was wrong with Frodo. Though never a healer himself, he was learned in their ways, and knew what this illness was, and how difficult it was to treat successfully. He immediately began forming a plan and creating a list of necessary supplies in his head.
"Alright," Dimhirion broke the silence that had settled heavily in the room, he covered Frodo's torso up once more, lifting the child gently and placing him back on his side. He beckoned to Bilbo and Fosco. "I wish to speak with the two of you in the hall, briefly."
Once in the hall, the Elf elaborated on his thoughts about Frodo's condition, "Judging by the feel of his abdomen, and the area which causes him the greatest pain, I believe that you were correct in your guessing, Master Fields." Dimhirion reported.
"Oh, no!" Fosco cried, all the color draining from his face. His worst fears had at last been confirmed, and by one of the Fair Folk, no less. "Is there. . . anything you can do for him?" the healer pleaded, his eyes searching Dimhirions'.
Bilbo swayed, unable to speak, and leaned heavily against the wall. Hearing this news all over again, after he had worked so hard to find someone who might could help. made the impact of Dimhirion's words that much harder on the old hobbit.
Dimhirion sighed, "The only thing I can do for him, is try to remove this organ." He admitted, "It will not be an easy task, I'm afraid. The pieces of it, where it burst, will have to be recovered and removed as well." He continued, watching the hobbits pale further, "The contents of the organ will also have to be removed, and his insides flushed clean with salty water." Dimhirion added, "It will be very traumatic, and possibly painful, for him. I do not know what strength reserves he has, though judging by his appearance, I don't hold out much hope for his recovery, this procedure will be quite a shock to his system. . ." he paused, allowing this grim news to sink in, "Though anything is possible, the little one clearly possesses much strength to have survived as long as he has. I do not wish to discourage you, though I also do not believe it is wise to raise one's hope's so high when the odds are so unfairly against Frodo." Dimhirion continued, ". . . I do want to try to save him, though I will also understand if you simply wish to let him live out the rest of his time without added stress. . .though I can assure you that won't be very much longer."
Bilbo stared ahead, his mind was elsewhere, and he looked at Frodo's small cloak where it hung on the coat-rack in the foyer, just where he had left it two nights before. Finally, the old bachelor nodded slowly, "Yes. . ." he said with tears in his eyes as he turned to face Dimhirion, "Yes, we must try. We mustn't give up when there is hope."
Fosco nodded in agreement, he wanted to see Frodo recover, though he was learned in the ways of healing, and he held out little more hope than the Elf. Perhaps what hope he did reserve was only there because of his strong desire to see the child live.
"Now," Dimhirion turned to Fosco, "I would greatly appreciate it if you would fetch a few things for me. . .write all of this down." Fosco gathered an inkwell and pen, and a scrap of parchment, then Dimhirion began listing the needed supplies: "I will need a sharp knife, the sharpest you can find; several sturdy, hollow pond-reed's; towels, bandages; and, more Opium if you have it to be spared, the procedure will be extremely painful without the proper amount of pain-numbing herbs. . .and bring anything else you believe may be useful." The Elf finished; he was unfamiliar with their culture and what tools they used during surgeries and knew that some improvising would, unfortunately, be inevitable. Then he turned to Bilbo, "You must stay with Frodo, it is imperative that he remain as calm as possible, and you're the person he trusts most, I believe he would be most calm with you caring for him." Dimhirion smiled slightly, despite the gravity of the situation.
Bilbo nodded vigorously, "Yes. I wouldn't dream of leaving him."
-------------------------------------------------
Frodo moaned as he was lifted from bed, sharp pains shot relentlessly through his tender abdomen. He felt someone carrying him again; he was so delirious from pain and fever that he wasn't quite sure of where he was or what was going on.
Then he smelled the familiar scent of the drug that Fosco had given him the previous day. He felt someone forcing his mouth shut, instructing him to breathe as deeply as he could, through his nose. He struggled to comply, breathing shallowly at first, and then as the medication began working, his breaths evened out and became deeper. Soon, the pain let up and he sighed with relief.
"Hold him up, in a standing position," Dimhirion instructed Fosco, "It must collect in one place."
Dimhirion had noted that Frodo's abdomen was been quite bloated from infection, and he meant to drain some of that infection off before attempting to remove the ruptured organ.
After a while of standing, Fosco began sweating from the effort of holding Frodo up, though the lad was small for his age, he was still a half grown hobbit and Fosco was supporting all of the child's weight. Frodo whimpered, feeling nausea beset him once more.
Dimhirion noticed the lad pale, and quickly carried Frodo back to bed, propping him up against the headboard so the fluid would remain in one area of his abdomen.
He tried to ease the lad's nausea; it wouldn't be good if Frodo began vomiting. His spell from earlier was rather violent and he had mildly injured himself, likely no more than a few scratches in his throat, partially contributed to by the repeated action of vomiting, though nonetheless, he could not afford to damage his throat further if it could be avoided.
-------------------------------------------------
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Let me know what you think!