A/N: Here's Chapter 17! Sorry it's late-between school and family I'm
amazed that I ever get anything done :p (lol). Unfortunately I failed to
meet my own deadline of finishing this fic by tonight (homework is a
drag!). :( But I do feel as though I've made good progress-about two more
chapters until it's finished. Hopefully, I can upload the next of the two
sometime tomorrow (it will most likely be rather long), and then the next
one by the following day.
Thank you all so much for your reviews and encouragement and compliments! :) It's wonderful to know that others are enjoying reading this fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it! :)
Tiggivon: I'm glad you like all of the remedies! :) It's truly amazing to discover how many uses these plants really have.
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Chapter 17:
Sometime during the wee hours of the morning Frodo woke with a start. He stared blankly up at the rafters in his room at Bag End. It was the first time in days that he had had a waking moment that wasn't plagued by the severe abdominal pain that accompanied his illness; yet the pain had been replaced by a terrible feeling of nausea.
The hobbit-lad swallowed several times, trying to force the feeling down and go back to sleep. He looked over and saw Bilbo sleeping next to him, a look of tranquility on his aged features. Across the room, he could just make out Dimhirion's form, sitting on the floor in front of the round window, gazing up at the bright stars.
Frodo carefully pulled the blankets up to his face, wincing as the fabric dragged across the cuts in his abdomen. Despite the fact that there was a steady fire burning in the hearth, the tween still felt chilled, and his stomach had begun cramping persistently.
He didn't feel comfortable at all on his back, he wanted more than anything to turn onto his side and curl up against Bilbo's warm body, but he couldn't muster the strength to do so. Everything in the room appeared to be shifting slightly, almost as if he had been spinning in circles and then suddenly stopped. Another wave of nausea hit him hard just then, and he gagged in anticipation of vomiting.
Dimhirion heard Frodo stir, and turned away from the window. He rose from his seat and went to Frodo's side. He could tell by the thin sheen of sweat on the hobbit-lads face, and Frodo's labored breathing that the child was feeling poorly.
"I was afraid this would happen," he thought aloud as he began absentmindedly stroking Frodo's dark curls away from his blue eyes. "Do not be afraid, little one, this is normal and it will pass." He assured the frightened tween.
Frodo nodded weakly, he gasped in pain as his stomach cramped again and he nearly lost his battle with the nausea.
Dimhirion looked to Bilbo, who was still asleep. He debated whether or not to wake the elderly hobbit. The Elf knew what it was that plagued Frodo, his body was in turmoil after having the opium taken away so quickly. Dimhirion had hoped that the effects would be minimal, but it was still too soon to tell. In any case it would likely subside as quickly as it had come. 'Better to get it over with now,' thought the Elf. There was nothing he could do for Frodo, just be with him as the sickness came.
The hobbit-lad gripped the sheets tightly and a barely audible cry escaped his trembling lips. He couldn't understand why he felt so wretched.
"Poor lad," Dimhirion soothed, "I know you don't understand why this is happening." He whispered.
Frodo groaned as he felt his stomach churn, he turned his head to the side and began vomiting. He cried out in pain as he somehow found himself lying on his side, putting stress on the fresh incisions. He felt Dimhirion's gentle hands rubbing his back and helping him through the spell. Tears began to run down Frodo's cheeks and he cried out again, this time loudly enough to wake Bilbo.
The elderly hobbit bolted upright in bed, alarmed to hear his nephew's strangled cries. "Oh dear, lad," He fretted upon seeing his nephew hunched over vomiting, "I'm so sorry. . ." he immediately fetched a cloth to wipe the lad's face with.
Frodo sobbed with relief and gripped a handful of bedding as the heaves finally let up. His stomach continued to cramp relentlessly, as though he had eaten something that disagreed with him.
Dimhirion used the moment of quiet to explain to Bilbo what was happening. The old hobbit had become very concerned about Frodo's apparent turn for the worse. "Don't worry, Bilbo," said the Elf, "I know you're alarmed, but this will pass quickly. His body is suffering from the abrupt removal of the painkilling drug."
"Oh, my poor lad," said Bilbo, his voice full of pity, "What can we do to help him?" he added quickly.
Dimhirion shook his head, "I'm afraid the only thing that will help is time, and it shouldn't be long before this passes. He did not have long- term exposure to the drug, so the withdrawal symptoms should pass relatively quickly." He assured the hobbit.
Bilbo nodded, but the look of concern on his face didn't diminish in the least.
Frodo panted for breath as he recovered from the bout of vomiting. His teeth were now chattering loudly, and goose bumps had formed on his arms and legs.
Dimhirion quickly lifted the covers, despite Frodo's cry of protest; he felt it necessary to check the incisions. To his relief, they were still fully intact, but blood was leaking from the newer of the two cuts. Bilbo handled Dimhirion the damp cloth, and the Elf gently dabbed at the blood that was seeping from the wound.
Frodo winced as the cold cloth came in contact with his tender belly, and Bilbo did his best to sooth him through the pain, but unfortunately his touch could do little to ease the lad's suffering.
Frodo's grip tightened as his stomach twisted, he felt the urge to be sick return again. "Bilbo!" he cried, "Bilbo, m- make it st- stop." The lad pleaded, "I feel s- so bad." He cried.
"Oh, Frodo I wish so much that I could make it stop, dear boy." Bilbo answered, his voice full of pity, "I'm so sorry, lad." He shook his head, "I promise I won't leave you."
Soon Frodo found himself enduring another painful spell of vomiting; it put a strain on his freshly stitched wounds, and further weakened his already weary body. Bilbo looked up anxiously at Dimhirion after a particularly sharp cry escaped Frodo; he was terrified that the lad was dying.
Dimhirion put a kind hand on Bilbo's shoulder, offering what comfort he could, and wordlessly reassuring the old hobbit that Frodo would survive this.
Fosco woke upon hearing all of the commotion; he entered the room and saw Frodo's back turned to him, his small figure shuddering with the force of each heave. The sight of it was disheartening, considering how well Frodo had been doing earlier that evening. Fosco felt a little better, however, when he remembered that he had brought peppermint for tea, to settle the lad's stomach. The hobbit-healer went straight away to the kitchen and lit a fire in the stove; he set a kettle of water on to boil.
After he started heating the water, Fosco returned to Frodo's room to see if he could be of any assistance. Dimhirion lifted Frodo from the bed, ignoring the child's protest, and instructed the two hobbits to change the soiled bedding.
Once fresh blankets were on the bed, Dimhirion replaced the sick lad and covered him well while Bilbo added wood to build up the fire. Frodo was still experiencing chills, and Bilbo wanted to ensure that the lad felt as warm as possible.
Fosco had just returned from the kitchen with the hot peppermint tea when Frodo experienced another wave of stomach cramps. The hobbit-lad hunched over and squeezed his eyes shut; a quiet moan escaped his lips then despite his best efforts not to cry out.
"I'm here, lad," Bilbo soothed, "It'll pass soon, I promise." Bilbo was a little more relaxed now that he was aware that the pain Frodo was in was not related to his illness, but to the drug he had been given.
Frodo shook his head in reply to Bilbo's comments; he was still unable to speak as the cramping continued.
Fosco approached the bed, and set the cup of tea down on Frodo's nightstand. He could only look on pityingly as the tween struggled to bear his pain in silence. The healer opened his mouth to speak, but Dimhirion stopped him.
"There is nothing we can do, Master Fields. This must run its course." The Elf answered Fosco's unasked question. "Though I will say, do not fear, for his life is not in danger over this. My only concern is that it weakens him further."
Dimhirion felt Frodo's small body relax beneath his hands. The Elf knew that it meant Frodo was experiencing relief, for the time being at least. Fosco took that time to offer the hobbit-lad some peppermint tea, which he accepted at his uncles urging.
After drinking the tea, Frodo settled down into his blankets and drifted into a restless sleep. However, the same cannot be said for Bilbo, who was up the rest of the night keeping watch over his lad, trying to ward off the boy's chills with his own warmth.
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A/N: I hope to have the next chapter uploaded by tomorrow night. Thanks again for reading! :)
Thank you all so much for your reviews and encouragement and compliments! :) It's wonderful to know that others are enjoying reading this fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it! :)
Tiggivon: I'm glad you like all of the remedies! :) It's truly amazing to discover how many uses these plants really have.
-------------------------------
Chapter 17:
Sometime during the wee hours of the morning Frodo woke with a start. He stared blankly up at the rafters in his room at Bag End. It was the first time in days that he had had a waking moment that wasn't plagued by the severe abdominal pain that accompanied his illness; yet the pain had been replaced by a terrible feeling of nausea.
The hobbit-lad swallowed several times, trying to force the feeling down and go back to sleep. He looked over and saw Bilbo sleeping next to him, a look of tranquility on his aged features. Across the room, he could just make out Dimhirion's form, sitting on the floor in front of the round window, gazing up at the bright stars.
Frodo carefully pulled the blankets up to his face, wincing as the fabric dragged across the cuts in his abdomen. Despite the fact that there was a steady fire burning in the hearth, the tween still felt chilled, and his stomach had begun cramping persistently.
He didn't feel comfortable at all on his back, he wanted more than anything to turn onto his side and curl up against Bilbo's warm body, but he couldn't muster the strength to do so. Everything in the room appeared to be shifting slightly, almost as if he had been spinning in circles and then suddenly stopped. Another wave of nausea hit him hard just then, and he gagged in anticipation of vomiting.
Dimhirion heard Frodo stir, and turned away from the window. He rose from his seat and went to Frodo's side. He could tell by the thin sheen of sweat on the hobbit-lads face, and Frodo's labored breathing that the child was feeling poorly.
"I was afraid this would happen," he thought aloud as he began absentmindedly stroking Frodo's dark curls away from his blue eyes. "Do not be afraid, little one, this is normal and it will pass." He assured the frightened tween.
Frodo nodded weakly, he gasped in pain as his stomach cramped again and he nearly lost his battle with the nausea.
Dimhirion looked to Bilbo, who was still asleep. He debated whether or not to wake the elderly hobbit. The Elf knew what it was that plagued Frodo, his body was in turmoil after having the opium taken away so quickly. Dimhirion had hoped that the effects would be minimal, but it was still too soon to tell. In any case it would likely subside as quickly as it had come. 'Better to get it over with now,' thought the Elf. There was nothing he could do for Frodo, just be with him as the sickness came.
The hobbit-lad gripped the sheets tightly and a barely audible cry escaped his trembling lips. He couldn't understand why he felt so wretched.
"Poor lad," Dimhirion soothed, "I know you don't understand why this is happening." He whispered.
Frodo groaned as he felt his stomach churn, he turned his head to the side and began vomiting. He cried out in pain as he somehow found himself lying on his side, putting stress on the fresh incisions. He felt Dimhirion's gentle hands rubbing his back and helping him through the spell. Tears began to run down Frodo's cheeks and he cried out again, this time loudly enough to wake Bilbo.
The elderly hobbit bolted upright in bed, alarmed to hear his nephew's strangled cries. "Oh dear, lad," He fretted upon seeing his nephew hunched over vomiting, "I'm so sorry. . ." he immediately fetched a cloth to wipe the lad's face with.
Frodo sobbed with relief and gripped a handful of bedding as the heaves finally let up. His stomach continued to cramp relentlessly, as though he had eaten something that disagreed with him.
Dimhirion used the moment of quiet to explain to Bilbo what was happening. The old hobbit had become very concerned about Frodo's apparent turn for the worse. "Don't worry, Bilbo," said the Elf, "I know you're alarmed, but this will pass quickly. His body is suffering from the abrupt removal of the painkilling drug."
"Oh, my poor lad," said Bilbo, his voice full of pity, "What can we do to help him?" he added quickly.
Dimhirion shook his head, "I'm afraid the only thing that will help is time, and it shouldn't be long before this passes. He did not have long- term exposure to the drug, so the withdrawal symptoms should pass relatively quickly." He assured the hobbit.
Bilbo nodded, but the look of concern on his face didn't diminish in the least.
Frodo panted for breath as he recovered from the bout of vomiting. His teeth were now chattering loudly, and goose bumps had formed on his arms and legs.
Dimhirion quickly lifted the covers, despite Frodo's cry of protest; he felt it necessary to check the incisions. To his relief, they were still fully intact, but blood was leaking from the newer of the two cuts. Bilbo handled Dimhirion the damp cloth, and the Elf gently dabbed at the blood that was seeping from the wound.
Frodo winced as the cold cloth came in contact with his tender belly, and Bilbo did his best to sooth him through the pain, but unfortunately his touch could do little to ease the lad's suffering.
Frodo's grip tightened as his stomach twisted, he felt the urge to be sick return again. "Bilbo!" he cried, "Bilbo, m- make it st- stop." The lad pleaded, "I feel s- so bad." He cried.
"Oh, Frodo I wish so much that I could make it stop, dear boy." Bilbo answered, his voice full of pity, "I'm so sorry, lad." He shook his head, "I promise I won't leave you."
Soon Frodo found himself enduring another painful spell of vomiting; it put a strain on his freshly stitched wounds, and further weakened his already weary body. Bilbo looked up anxiously at Dimhirion after a particularly sharp cry escaped Frodo; he was terrified that the lad was dying.
Dimhirion put a kind hand on Bilbo's shoulder, offering what comfort he could, and wordlessly reassuring the old hobbit that Frodo would survive this.
Fosco woke upon hearing all of the commotion; he entered the room and saw Frodo's back turned to him, his small figure shuddering with the force of each heave. The sight of it was disheartening, considering how well Frodo had been doing earlier that evening. Fosco felt a little better, however, when he remembered that he had brought peppermint for tea, to settle the lad's stomach. The hobbit-healer went straight away to the kitchen and lit a fire in the stove; he set a kettle of water on to boil.
After he started heating the water, Fosco returned to Frodo's room to see if he could be of any assistance. Dimhirion lifted Frodo from the bed, ignoring the child's protest, and instructed the two hobbits to change the soiled bedding.
Once fresh blankets were on the bed, Dimhirion replaced the sick lad and covered him well while Bilbo added wood to build up the fire. Frodo was still experiencing chills, and Bilbo wanted to ensure that the lad felt as warm as possible.
Fosco had just returned from the kitchen with the hot peppermint tea when Frodo experienced another wave of stomach cramps. The hobbit-lad hunched over and squeezed his eyes shut; a quiet moan escaped his lips then despite his best efforts not to cry out.
"I'm here, lad," Bilbo soothed, "It'll pass soon, I promise." Bilbo was a little more relaxed now that he was aware that the pain Frodo was in was not related to his illness, but to the drug he had been given.
Frodo shook his head in reply to Bilbo's comments; he was still unable to speak as the cramping continued.
Fosco approached the bed, and set the cup of tea down on Frodo's nightstand. He could only look on pityingly as the tween struggled to bear his pain in silence. The healer opened his mouth to speak, but Dimhirion stopped him.
"There is nothing we can do, Master Fields. This must run its course." The Elf answered Fosco's unasked question. "Though I will say, do not fear, for his life is not in danger over this. My only concern is that it weakens him further."
Dimhirion felt Frodo's small body relax beneath his hands. The Elf knew that it meant Frodo was experiencing relief, for the time being at least. Fosco took that time to offer the hobbit-lad some peppermint tea, which he accepted at his uncles urging.
After drinking the tea, Frodo settled down into his blankets and drifted into a restless sleep. However, the same cannot be said for Bilbo, who was up the rest of the night keeping watch over his lad, trying to ward off the boy's chills with his own warmth.
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A/N: I hope to have the next chapter uploaded by tomorrow night. Thanks again for reading! :)