Title: Alone in the Dark (2/?)
Author: Slipstream
Rating: PG (angst, medical drama)
Archive: Ask, please. (slipstream_chan@hotmail.com)
Summary: The journey through Mordor has left Frodo more deeply injured than any could fear, robbing him of the ability to see the first blossoming of hope in the land…
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, Frodo, Sam, Gandalf, and all other mentioned characters are not mine, never have been, and probably never will be. This fic is written simply as an expression of my enthusiasm for Mr. Tolkien's books, not for profit or any other reimbursement. (Other than feedback, I like that very much…) The healer Adelian is an original character created solely for the purpose of this story-arche, and will probably not play much more than a background role following part three. This chapter is his shining moment.
Notes: Great big shout out to Frodo!Healers and FBoBE, who helped me through the nutrition part of this fic. Note that the treatment listed here is the treatment Frodo would have received at the hands of a Medieval/ Victorian era healer, pre-antibiotics or full understanding of the workings of the body. Any herbs and foods listed herein would have had been discovered by trial and error, and considering the nature of Frodo's illness in this particular fic, guesswork was about as good as they could do. All of the ocular medicine is based on primitive forms of current procedures, i.e. tracking a candle and the later use of an eye patch. Sorry this post was a bit later than I expected, this chapter got rather longish as I wished to end it at a certain point and the middle connecting my beginning and ending just kept getting longer and longer and… Well, you get the drift. Enjoy!
~~~***~~~
Gandalf found Sam near the little creek the soldiers used to draw water, knees curled tightly to his chest as he gazed stiff-backed over the waters. One pointed hobbit ear twitched at the rustle of oncoming robes, but otherwise he gave no sign of noticing the wizard's presence. Gandalf sighed at the obstinate nature of hobbits and hitched up his robes as he attempted to coax his old joints into sitting on the bank, grunting a little as his bones settled with a loud popping.
"I fear that I have grown older while my mind was distracted. How terribly unfair of age to not give me any warning."
Sam made a non-committal noise. Picking up one of the smooth creek stones, he hefted its weight in his palm and hesitated, chewing his lower lip. "Frodo woke up."
Gandalf nodded. "Yes, Samwise, just as he would have, despite your worries." 'And mine as well,' he added within his own thoughts.
Sam sighed and tossed the little stone into the water, where it fell with a little splash. "He weren't the same, Gandalf. Right confused he was, and tired. Didn't talk no more'n a minute or two afore he fell back asleep. Weak as a kitten, he was, layin' there all helpless, like. He could barely even…" He gritted his teeth in anger, breath coming in little hisses through the gaps of his teeth, and wished he had not thrown away the stone so that he might have something hard to squeeze.
A warm hand, much larger than his own, found its way to his shoulder where it soothed with gentle kneading. "He has suffered a grave illness, Sam Gamgee, and his recovery will be a slow one, as will yours. You need not tax yourself in willing the quickening of nature, as I assure you that it will not work."
He shot the wizard a dark look, but his anger quickly faded, leaving behind an aching sorrow that burrowed into his every sinew. "I'm sorry, Gandalf, it's just that… We thought we were lost, lost to the ash and the rocks. All we'd counted on was the getting there, not the back again. And the further we got, well, I think Mr. Frodo said it plainest, there was no moon, no stars, no memory of good things, no memory at all. Only sharp rocks and burning flame…" His voice trailed off and he turned his face away.
"If we had meant for the both of you to make your journey alone, Samwise, the council would have never assembled the nine. It is my regret that our paths took us where they did, for none should have to bear a weight so great without guidance."
"I know, Gandalf," said Sam. "It is just that… I wish that I had done more, considering…"
The old wizard's mouth puckered and he shook his head. "Incorrigible hobbit…" he scolded. Sam looked up in surprise. "You have already done more than even the high elves of Rivendell would attempt. You did not see how many turned away from Lord Elrond's council, wishing to remain unaware of the Ring in their foolish ignorance. You, Samwise, have faced the Ring, stood by your master and brought it to its end." He snorted. "Wished to have done more, indeed."
Sam blushed and turned the matter of the conversation back to his master's health. "I have heard the healers speak, Gandalf, when they thought I was asleep or out of earshot. They say that though my master wakes, he may never see the refuge to which he's been brought." He gestured to the vast expanse of the Fields of Cormallen, which themselves were newly recovering from the reign of the Dark Lord, the tall grasses swaying in the slight breeze and the hidden parts of the creek grown thick with dark honeysuckle.
Gandalf could not long withstand the gaze of eyes grown far too old for the fair face that held them. "They speak the truth, Mater Gamgee, though none knows the severity with which it will come to pass. We must wait and see when Frodo awakens fully."
He growled in frustration. "But… but… why? He's suffered no head wound, not like the one that made my gaffer's cousin half-blind in the right eye." He turned, and Gandalf felt pity at the sight of unshed tears pooling across red-rimmed orbs. "What could have caused it, Gandalf? What?"
"You have seen the filth that coats the land of Mordor. It is in the very air, in the ashen dust with coats the land and any who pass through it like a dead thing. You were not aware of it, but when we first attempted to bathe you, several basins of water had to be emptied before it ceased to run black and foul." He sat in thought for a moment, wishing he had a pipe to puff. "The dust settled his eyes and irritated them to the point of infection, and you yourself know what ash does to the throat. Frodo has proven strong through the trials of the quest, and though they have hardened him in some aspects, they have weakened him in others, leaving him open to sickness. Therein lay the most danger to Frodo, and blindness is an illness not even the elves have been able to eradicate."
"Then there's no hope to be found then," spit Sam, his faith in elves dashed by the fact that they could no longer help his Frodo. He fisted tears away, hoping to hide them from Gandalf. "We should have died, then, for all the evil that vile thing has done him that can't be unmade."
Gandalf drew him near and let the young gardener bury bitter tears in his white robes. "Oh, Sam," he said. "You must keep hope, for both your kinsman and your master who need you most. Do not despair, I feel that Frodo was destined to live with his friends by his side, and it is you who must convince him of this. His body and mind will take long in healing, and he shall need all of his strength as well as yours to return to the hobbit we know and love."
Sam continued to cry softly for a bit, grateful for a chance to relieve his pent up emotions. When the last hitching sobs left him shuddering and weak, Gandalf was there to comfort him and help him stand.
"T-thank you, Gandalf. I am better, now. I don't know rightly what came over me…"
Gandalf smiled tenderly and guided Sam's steps back towards the camp. "Think nothing of it, Master Gamgee. Let us go and make our visit. Perhaps Frodo is again awake and, if I know that hobbit as well as I should, giving poor Adelian a very hard time of it."
Sam laughed at the memory of Frodo's stubbornness and thought that he would give anything to hear his master well enough to politely refuse any medications they forced upon him.
~~~***~~~
"Now Master Baggins, keep still, still, ahh, there's a good patient."
Frodo's own voice was hoarse from lack of use and dust damaged vocal chords. He squirmed slightly but was unable to escape the confines of the blankets. "I am not a child, young man, and do not enjoy being treated as one…"
Laughter rang out and the healer's smile could be heard in his mirth. "Ah yes, but then I am not child either, though you have not bothered to ask me my age, so I presume that we are even." He continued his unwrapping of the hobbit's bound feet, more careful now that he was aware of how the slightest pressure in the tender burns caused the Ringbearer to squirm.
Frodo gasped as even Adelian's most gentle tuggings ripped away some of the new flesh, causing precious blood to flow. "N-not a child, yes, but still an apprentice…" He gritted his teeth at the sting of cold air on fresh wound. "And I d-doubt you are in your fifties, such as I…"
Adelian patted the hobbit's knee gently as he wrapped together the soiled bandages. "You have me beat there, Master Hobbit. I had better do my best to mind you least my father scold me for cheeking my elders." His tone was light and humorous but Frodo did not smile, already too breathless for talking as he fought the bone-deep pain in his limbs.
The tent-flap opened and Aragorn, King of Gondor, entered, followed closely by a hobbling Samwise supported by the firm hand of the white-clad Gandalf. Seeing the healer nearly finished in his tasks, Aragorn beckoned him over and held a hushed council in the corner while the wizard and hobbit comforted their ailing friend.
"Has he been awake long?"
Adelian shook his head, casting a look over his shoulder at the sick bed. "Nay. Only since a few minutes before I began to change his bandages. He has spoken a little, and regained much of his tongue, I must say."
Aragorn could not help the small smile that twitched the corner of his mouth as he remembered the knack for cutting and witty retorts the young Baggins had inherited from his Uncle Bilbo. "So I heard. How are his wounds healing? Is there any sign of further illness or infection?"
"For the most part they are healing as well as could be expected, if slightly more so because our patient is a hobbit. There is some lingering infection in the left foot, near the toes, but I believe with continued treatment he will not loose the digits."
Aragorn nodded, curling one of his own frost-bitten toes subconsciously. "Hmm…" He flinched as Frodo suppressed a groan and was again shushed into stillness by the ever-vigilant Sam. "Can we not give him something for his pain? How full is your herb chest?"
Adelian shook his head. "No. I would not give it too him just yet, as I was planning to check the full damage to his eyes. He should be clear headed for that."
Aragon's hand shot out to still the words of the healer, glancing nervously at the small form on the bed. "Do not speak of it so lightly and loudly."
His eyes narrowed and Adelian shrugged off the hand angrily. "Why not? You do not do him a favor by ignoring it. He is not stupid; he as already sensed that something is wrong."
"Do not show your insolence. You are an apprentice yet, and I may have you replaced if your treatment does not please me."
He snorted. "You would not replace me. My father grinds the looking glasses for your telescopes and sundials, and not even the oldest of your healers has gazed as long as I have into the eye, know of its diseases and treatments." His anger faded, and he remembered his post, bowing again to Aragorn. "My apologies for my temper, I only ask to see through the end with this one, whatever it might be. It would be my honor."
The sounds of the old wizard humming a soft lullaby to the Ringbearer, the same tune that had brought them to ruin at the Prancing Pony what now seemed ages ago, broke the king's resolve, and he turned away. "So be it. See to your work."
~~~***~~~
Frodo lay still, trying to stop the trembling that had originated in his chest and spread to all of his limbs. His body, however, was not immediately bent on cooperating. How very frustrating. The healer had chatted politely with him while he changed his bandages but had left the one swathed about his eyes untouched, the one he wished removed the most. It was very disorienting to be caught forever in the darkness, to have no visual clues as to whether he was waking or sleeping. Was this what death would be like, a sea of dizzying darkness within which there existed no form or substance, only heat and pain?
A cool hand rested against his curls, brushing away fear and discomfort. "Come, Frodo, bring yourself away from such dark thoughts…"
He stiffened at the voice and his own wavered in uncertainty. "G-gandalf?"
"Yes, lad, I am here."
"Gandalf!" He groped blindly for the familiar warmth of the old wizards hand and gave a small cry when fingers finally wrapped around his own. "Oh, Gandalf, I thought…" The harsh sting of tears made it impossible to continue.
"Shh… shh…" he soothed, and the denting of the bed next to him and tentative touches to his right arm signaled to Frodo that Sam was also there.
Though Frodo couldn't see it, Sam met the wizard's gaze and smiled. "It's all right, Mr. Frodo. See? I told you Gandalf was here."
"Indeed, I would not have missed this merry meeting for all the adventures of Middle Earth." Galdalf gently squeezed the cool fingers of Frodo's left hand. "It is good to see you again at the end of your journey, my friend."
"Yes, my journey is over, isn't it? Or almost, at least…" Frodo's head felt light and his stomach queasy. Had the healer given him some medicine while he slept that made him feel and think so oddly? He sighed. "Bilbo will be disappointed. I had no time to gather the songs and tales he requested…"
He was glad when Gandalf's reply was neither condoning nor sarcastic. The deep rumble grumbled a while in thought, finally chuckling slightly to disguise some sorrow. "Though I could not be there when I wished to during your trial, in the matter of pleasing Bilbo I believe I can be of some help. A certain song has been repeated to me by soldiers of Rohan, to a tune you should remember very well." He paused, humming a bit to gain a pitch, and when he started the song rolled out much slower and deeper than Frodo remembered, the words changed drastically, but it was comforting and swept him away in bittersweet memories of home and times long past.
"There was an inn, a merry old inn
in a hilled country so bright,
And there the lasses danced so fair
That many a hobbit curly haired,
Came down to see the sight.
Full of curves the bar maids were
The half-pints even fuller.
Over and out the gold ale ran
So danced the lasses, hand in hand,
Cotton-maid, Took, and Bolger.
The gammers they were all aghast
To see skirts pulled to such hights;
But there rose a cheer up from the lads
Who were mighty glad to see those calves
And toasted to the sight.
In laughing fits they ended the dance
A kiss to the cheek in payment.
To dance away with other hobbit maids
The louder lads stamped the faster they swayed
In skirts of calico raiment."
Gandalf smiled softly. "There was more, but I shan't repeat it all as it got rather dirty in places."
Frodo laughed, a sweet, soft sound Sam had not heard since Rivendell, it seemed, and his heart swelled with joy at the clear chiming. "It was beautiful, Gandalf. Who wrote it?"
"None other than your cousin, that impeccable Meriadoc Brandybuck. The Knights of Rohan have informed me that Master Brandybuck thought the women of Rohan far inferior to those of the Shire, and composed this as a lay to their… physical perfections."
"How typical of Merry," Frodo mused, but he winced at little as the movement cased a slight pain in his head.
Sam's voice broke into the gentle reunion as he squeezed Frodo's hand, mindful of the bandages. "He and Pippin have grown frightfully tall, though as to why or how I have yet to figure out. They keep mentioning strange ales and giant trees called Ents but refuse to tell the whole tale without you there to hear. Pippin says he doesn't want to waste his breath."
"That'd be a first…" He lapsed into silence, frowning. "Gandalf, why is my head bandaged?"
He and Sam exchanged a look, the wizard's good humor falling. The matter finally must be addressed. "You have been very ill, Frodo. The dust and ash of Mordor has imbedded itself into your eyes, and while you have slept the healers have been fighting off the fever it has caused."
"My eyes?" Frodo whispered. He wished to touch the bandages wrapped around them, but two strong pairs of hands were holding still each of his. "Then… then I am blind?"
In the resulting silence, a heavy tread made its way across the room and a new voice rang out. "That we do not know, Frodo. You may be, you may not, and even if you are we do not know how severe it may be or whether it is even permanent. This is what the healer will soon test."
Frodo appeared not to have heard. He sunk further into the bed, the little color he had regained quickly draining from his cheeks. "Blind… blind… alone forever in this cursed darkness…" He twitched, and Sam squeezed his hand harder.
"Calm yourself, Master Baggins, it may not be that bad." Adelian bustled about the small tent. "Lord Aragorn, could you bank the fire? Not too much, just enough to dim it, and draw a screen in front of it. Yes, like that, it must be dark in order for me to focus on his eyes."
By some signal Sam and Gandalf began to prop him up on pillows, steadying him for some new medical ordeal while the healer and Aragorn made preparations. Frodo thought that he might have drifted back into dark dreams, surely this nightmare was too devastating to be real, but reality contradicted him with the light touch to his head.
"Now Frodo, I'm going to test your vision by having you try to track a candle. I need you to keep your eyes shut while I remove the wrappings, then we shall look at one eye at a time."
"All right," he sighed, relenting to the sure touch that began to unwind the linens from around his eyes. The cloth came away slightly sticky, as if they had been pressed against something foul. The cool air felt good against his eyelids, and someone brought a wet cloth to clean away the residue and dead skin.
"We'll start with the left eye. When I say so, I want you to open it and try to focus on the light of the candle. Do not worry, it is very dark in here save for that small light, and I will cover your right eye so that you do not open it beforehand. Sam, sit him up a bit farther… Thank you. Are you ready, Frodo?"
Frodo swallowed, his mouth achingly dry as a sudden fear gripped him. "Y-yes…"
A cloth was pressed against his right eye and the bed shifted as the healer settled before him. "Now then, open you eye, slowly, slowly…"
He stilled his shaking and willed himself to peek out at the world. For a brief instant he glimpsed the blurred image of four figures staring urgently at him, the closest middle one holding a small source of light, but the yellow flame quickly flared to a sudden brightness that dazzled him and sent him reeling in a cry of pain. All was darkness and the pounding of his blood in his ears.
~~~***~~~
"Frodo… Frodo… calm yourself. Awake."
Sam sat nervously fiddling with his friend's damp curls, glaring at Adelian occasionally, the one who had caused Frodo such pain. The three taller figures were pressed close with worry. Adelian had laid aside the candle briefly while he fought to bring Frodo back to the world of the living.
Frodo moaned and shifted, rolling his head from side to side and pressing into the pillow. Aragorn frowned. It was not a good sign. He had seen many animals in the wild blinded by disease who shook their head in such a fashion, rubbing against anything they could find as if to rid themselves of the ache behind their eyes.
Sam murmured unintelligible words of comfort and before long, Frodo's eyes fluttered open briefly before shutting again quickly.
"Ow."
Adelian's features were grim. "Tell me, little one, what did you see?"
The worry lines on Frodo's brow increased and Sam wiped away some of the sweat that was forming there. "I… I… At first there were dim shadows and forms, but the light burned too quickly to tell what…" He dared to open the eye again, and Adelian felt his hopes drop as the blue iris, the pupil alarmingly diminished, settled on him briefly before rolling back upwards and to the right, where it remained. "Now all is gray and blackness, as if a mist has descended on the world… but… but it seems that there should be a picture, glimpses of which I can see… but they do not make sense…" His voice trailed off, and the lid fluttered in weakness, surreally exposing only the white of the eye.
Gandalf saw that Sam was about to descend to hysterics, and he quickly devised an errand for him so that he would not panic Frodo further. "Samwise, I prepared a small meal for Frodo and left it warming beside the fire in my quarters down the way. Could you fetch it?"
Sam balked. "But Gandalf…"
"Fetch it, Sam." His voice was stern, but then it softened. "Please, Frodo will need nourishment after his long fast.
The hobbit hesitated, but he finally left, giving his master a final sorrowful glance before he slipped out. Frodo whimpered at his absence.
Aragorn shifted nervously, his mood not improved by the state of the Ringbearer's weakly roving eye. He exchanged glances with the healer, who nodded mutely as if to say 'And now for the other eye.'
Frodo was not so willing to face for a second time the sharp pain that sight brought, so Adelian was forced to pull back the right lids with gentle fingers. Gandalf was dismayed at what he saw in the place of a once brilliantly sky blue eye. What once twinkled in laughter and mirth was flat and dull, the color of the iris almost completely obscured by cloudy white cataracts. The pupil was completely covered, and only the barest of twitchings showed any response as Adelian moved the candle from side to side.
"What do you see now?"
Frodo squinted. "There is a dark red patch in a sea of blackness, but looking at it makes my head hurt."
Adelian nodded and placed the candle back on the table. "Thank you, Frodo. I am done now." He reapplied the compress over his eyes before moving to tend to the fire.
"Well, what do you think?" inquired Aragorn, part-way out of the halfling's earshot.
Frowning, he poked at the glowing embers. "Mind that I cannot be certain until I consult my books. You have seen the condition of his right eye, it is beyond repair, but perhaps some function can be salvaged from the other. But do not trouble him with this now. Presently rest and nourishment are the most important issues to be addressed. We will have to work hard to reverse the physical tolls of his journey, and he will need all of his health."
As if on cue, Sam returned, carrying a small tray with a steaming bowl of enriched broth and a small pitcher of water. Leaving the king and healer to their talk of herbs and methods for improving vision, the wizard motioned him over. Frodo had drifted back into a light doze, but the sound of soft feet and the clink of Sam settling the tray on the table woke him.
"Your Sam is back, Mr. Frodo, with food, to boot."
He blearily rubbed at his nose while Gandalf helped him into a semi-reclining position. "Ugh… I do not know if I can keep it down, as much as I'd like to…"
Gandalf rearranged the bedclothes around the too-thin hobbit. "Do not worry, Frodo. You shall start small, light broths and soft foods along with plenty of liquids, and only when you become accustomed to these shall we press you with more complicated dishes."
Sam settled next to Frodo on the bed, cradling the warm bowl. He spooned a small amount of the broth into Frodo's mouth and waited as his master swallowed slowly, testing his stomach's response. When, after a few moments, all was still well, Sam smiled and gave him another. Several minutes passed this way, Frodo slowly consuming the contents of the bowl while Gandalf observed with quiet contentment.
Sam reached back to the tray and produced a thin wafer from a leaf wrapping. It was a little dry and stiff, but it still released a faint scent of woods and springtime. The last of the lembas, fished from Legolas's pack and saved specifically for this purpose. He crumbled it into the broth, swirling it with the spoon and turning it into a white mush. Softened and flavored, he pressed it to Frodo's lips.
Initially Frodo looked as if he would take it, but the moment the taste hit his tongue he began to retch and choke. Adelian and Aragorn looked up in alarm but Gandalf was closer, and he quickly leaned the Ringbearer forward in time for him to vomit into a waiting basin.
Sam looked on, frightened, as Frodo heaved and coughed until nothing but bile remained. Gandalf put the bowl away and settled him back amidst the bedclothes.
"…no, sam…" Frodo gasped weakly. "…we can't eat it… not yet, not yet… have to save… still so far to go…"
The distressed look on Frodo's face was mirrored in Sam's eyes as he sought to comfort him. "Hush, Master. Don't fret. We've left that cursed land. We're safe now, and you'll never have to worry 'bout food or drink again, not while Sam's here."
Frodo continued to shiver and mumble incoherently while Sam and Gandalf soothed and it was some minutes before he was himself once more. When he at last caught enough breath for speaking, he shuddered and muttered, "I never want to taste the elven waybread ever again. I wish I had never grown to know its hollow taste that wills a body to live even when the mind wishes to die…"
"Oh, Frodo," Sam sobbed, clutching him harder. Frodo would have cried, too, but the salt tears made his eyes ache and burn, so he just clenched heated fists in frustration and pressed his face into the contrasting coolness of the pillow.
TBC….
Author: Slipstream
Rating: PG (angst, medical drama)
Archive: Ask, please. (slipstream_chan@hotmail.com)
Summary: The journey through Mordor has left Frodo more deeply injured than any could fear, robbing him of the ability to see the first blossoming of hope in the land…
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, Frodo, Sam, Gandalf, and all other mentioned characters are not mine, never have been, and probably never will be. This fic is written simply as an expression of my enthusiasm for Mr. Tolkien's books, not for profit or any other reimbursement. (Other than feedback, I like that very much…) The healer Adelian is an original character created solely for the purpose of this story-arche, and will probably not play much more than a background role following part three. This chapter is his shining moment.
Notes: Great big shout out to Frodo!Healers and FBoBE, who helped me through the nutrition part of this fic. Note that the treatment listed here is the treatment Frodo would have received at the hands of a Medieval/ Victorian era healer, pre-antibiotics or full understanding of the workings of the body. Any herbs and foods listed herein would have had been discovered by trial and error, and considering the nature of Frodo's illness in this particular fic, guesswork was about as good as they could do. All of the ocular medicine is based on primitive forms of current procedures, i.e. tracking a candle and the later use of an eye patch. Sorry this post was a bit later than I expected, this chapter got rather longish as I wished to end it at a certain point and the middle connecting my beginning and ending just kept getting longer and longer and… Well, you get the drift. Enjoy!
~~~***~~~
Gandalf found Sam near the little creek the soldiers used to draw water, knees curled tightly to his chest as he gazed stiff-backed over the waters. One pointed hobbit ear twitched at the rustle of oncoming robes, but otherwise he gave no sign of noticing the wizard's presence. Gandalf sighed at the obstinate nature of hobbits and hitched up his robes as he attempted to coax his old joints into sitting on the bank, grunting a little as his bones settled with a loud popping.
"I fear that I have grown older while my mind was distracted. How terribly unfair of age to not give me any warning."
Sam made a non-committal noise. Picking up one of the smooth creek stones, he hefted its weight in his palm and hesitated, chewing his lower lip. "Frodo woke up."
Gandalf nodded. "Yes, Samwise, just as he would have, despite your worries." 'And mine as well,' he added within his own thoughts.
Sam sighed and tossed the little stone into the water, where it fell with a little splash. "He weren't the same, Gandalf. Right confused he was, and tired. Didn't talk no more'n a minute or two afore he fell back asleep. Weak as a kitten, he was, layin' there all helpless, like. He could barely even…" He gritted his teeth in anger, breath coming in little hisses through the gaps of his teeth, and wished he had not thrown away the stone so that he might have something hard to squeeze.
A warm hand, much larger than his own, found its way to his shoulder where it soothed with gentle kneading. "He has suffered a grave illness, Sam Gamgee, and his recovery will be a slow one, as will yours. You need not tax yourself in willing the quickening of nature, as I assure you that it will not work."
He shot the wizard a dark look, but his anger quickly faded, leaving behind an aching sorrow that burrowed into his every sinew. "I'm sorry, Gandalf, it's just that… We thought we were lost, lost to the ash and the rocks. All we'd counted on was the getting there, not the back again. And the further we got, well, I think Mr. Frodo said it plainest, there was no moon, no stars, no memory of good things, no memory at all. Only sharp rocks and burning flame…" His voice trailed off and he turned his face away.
"If we had meant for the both of you to make your journey alone, Samwise, the council would have never assembled the nine. It is my regret that our paths took us where they did, for none should have to bear a weight so great without guidance."
"I know, Gandalf," said Sam. "It is just that… I wish that I had done more, considering…"
The old wizard's mouth puckered and he shook his head. "Incorrigible hobbit…" he scolded. Sam looked up in surprise. "You have already done more than even the high elves of Rivendell would attempt. You did not see how many turned away from Lord Elrond's council, wishing to remain unaware of the Ring in their foolish ignorance. You, Samwise, have faced the Ring, stood by your master and brought it to its end." He snorted. "Wished to have done more, indeed."
Sam blushed and turned the matter of the conversation back to his master's health. "I have heard the healers speak, Gandalf, when they thought I was asleep or out of earshot. They say that though my master wakes, he may never see the refuge to which he's been brought." He gestured to the vast expanse of the Fields of Cormallen, which themselves were newly recovering from the reign of the Dark Lord, the tall grasses swaying in the slight breeze and the hidden parts of the creek grown thick with dark honeysuckle.
Gandalf could not long withstand the gaze of eyes grown far too old for the fair face that held them. "They speak the truth, Mater Gamgee, though none knows the severity with which it will come to pass. We must wait and see when Frodo awakens fully."
He growled in frustration. "But… but… why? He's suffered no head wound, not like the one that made my gaffer's cousin half-blind in the right eye." He turned, and Gandalf felt pity at the sight of unshed tears pooling across red-rimmed orbs. "What could have caused it, Gandalf? What?"
"You have seen the filth that coats the land of Mordor. It is in the very air, in the ashen dust with coats the land and any who pass through it like a dead thing. You were not aware of it, but when we first attempted to bathe you, several basins of water had to be emptied before it ceased to run black and foul." He sat in thought for a moment, wishing he had a pipe to puff. "The dust settled his eyes and irritated them to the point of infection, and you yourself know what ash does to the throat. Frodo has proven strong through the trials of the quest, and though they have hardened him in some aspects, they have weakened him in others, leaving him open to sickness. Therein lay the most danger to Frodo, and blindness is an illness not even the elves have been able to eradicate."
"Then there's no hope to be found then," spit Sam, his faith in elves dashed by the fact that they could no longer help his Frodo. He fisted tears away, hoping to hide them from Gandalf. "We should have died, then, for all the evil that vile thing has done him that can't be unmade."
Gandalf drew him near and let the young gardener bury bitter tears in his white robes. "Oh, Sam," he said. "You must keep hope, for both your kinsman and your master who need you most. Do not despair, I feel that Frodo was destined to live with his friends by his side, and it is you who must convince him of this. His body and mind will take long in healing, and he shall need all of his strength as well as yours to return to the hobbit we know and love."
Sam continued to cry softly for a bit, grateful for a chance to relieve his pent up emotions. When the last hitching sobs left him shuddering and weak, Gandalf was there to comfort him and help him stand.
"T-thank you, Gandalf. I am better, now. I don't know rightly what came over me…"
Gandalf smiled tenderly and guided Sam's steps back towards the camp. "Think nothing of it, Master Gamgee. Let us go and make our visit. Perhaps Frodo is again awake and, if I know that hobbit as well as I should, giving poor Adelian a very hard time of it."
Sam laughed at the memory of Frodo's stubbornness and thought that he would give anything to hear his master well enough to politely refuse any medications they forced upon him.
~~~***~~~
"Now Master Baggins, keep still, still, ahh, there's a good patient."
Frodo's own voice was hoarse from lack of use and dust damaged vocal chords. He squirmed slightly but was unable to escape the confines of the blankets. "I am not a child, young man, and do not enjoy being treated as one…"
Laughter rang out and the healer's smile could be heard in his mirth. "Ah yes, but then I am not child either, though you have not bothered to ask me my age, so I presume that we are even." He continued his unwrapping of the hobbit's bound feet, more careful now that he was aware of how the slightest pressure in the tender burns caused the Ringbearer to squirm.
Frodo gasped as even Adelian's most gentle tuggings ripped away some of the new flesh, causing precious blood to flow. "N-not a child, yes, but still an apprentice…" He gritted his teeth at the sting of cold air on fresh wound. "And I d-doubt you are in your fifties, such as I…"
Adelian patted the hobbit's knee gently as he wrapped together the soiled bandages. "You have me beat there, Master Hobbit. I had better do my best to mind you least my father scold me for cheeking my elders." His tone was light and humorous but Frodo did not smile, already too breathless for talking as he fought the bone-deep pain in his limbs.
The tent-flap opened and Aragorn, King of Gondor, entered, followed closely by a hobbling Samwise supported by the firm hand of the white-clad Gandalf. Seeing the healer nearly finished in his tasks, Aragorn beckoned him over and held a hushed council in the corner while the wizard and hobbit comforted their ailing friend.
"Has he been awake long?"
Adelian shook his head, casting a look over his shoulder at the sick bed. "Nay. Only since a few minutes before I began to change his bandages. He has spoken a little, and regained much of his tongue, I must say."
Aragorn could not help the small smile that twitched the corner of his mouth as he remembered the knack for cutting and witty retorts the young Baggins had inherited from his Uncle Bilbo. "So I heard. How are his wounds healing? Is there any sign of further illness or infection?"
"For the most part they are healing as well as could be expected, if slightly more so because our patient is a hobbit. There is some lingering infection in the left foot, near the toes, but I believe with continued treatment he will not loose the digits."
Aragorn nodded, curling one of his own frost-bitten toes subconsciously. "Hmm…" He flinched as Frodo suppressed a groan and was again shushed into stillness by the ever-vigilant Sam. "Can we not give him something for his pain? How full is your herb chest?"
Adelian shook his head. "No. I would not give it too him just yet, as I was planning to check the full damage to his eyes. He should be clear headed for that."
Aragon's hand shot out to still the words of the healer, glancing nervously at the small form on the bed. "Do not speak of it so lightly and loudly."
His eyes narrowed and Adelian shrugged off the hand angrily. "Why not? You do not do him a favor by ignoring it. He is not stupid; he as already sensed that something is wrong."
"Do not show your insolence. You are an apprentice yet, and I may have you replaced if your treatment does not please me."
He snorted. "You would not replace me. My father grinds the looking glasses for your telescopes and sundials, and not even the oldest of your healers has gazed as long as I have into the eye, know of its diseases and treatments." His anger faded, and he remembered his post, bowing again to Aragorn. "My apologies for my temper, I only ask to see through the end with this one, whatever it might be. It would be my honor."
The sounds of the old wizard humming a soft lullaby to the Ringbearer, the same tune that had brought them to ruin at the Prancing Pony what now seemed ages ago, broke the king's resolve, and he turned away. "So be it. See to your work."
~~~***~~~
Frodo lay still, trying to stop the trembling that had originated in his chest and spread to all of his limbs. His body, however, was not immediately bent on cooperating. How very frustrating. The healer had chatted politely with him while he changed his bandages but had left the one swathed about his eyes untouched, the one he wished removed the most. It was very disorienting to be caught forever in the darkness, to have no visual clues as to whether he was waking or sleeping. Was this what death would be like, a sea of dizzying darkness within which there existed no form or substance, only heat and pain?
A cool hand rested against his curls, brushing away fear and discomfort. "Come, Frodo, bring yourself away from such dark thoughts…"
He stiffened at the voice and his own wavered in uncertainty. "G-gandalf?"
"Yes, lad, I am here."
"Gandalf!" He groped blindly for the familiar warmth of the old wizards hand and gave a small cry when fingers finally wrapped around his own. "Oh, Gandalf, I thought…" The harsh sting of tears made it impossible to continue.
"Shh… shh…" he soothed, and the denting of the bed next to him and tentative touches to his right arm signaled to Frodo that Sam was also there.
Though Frodo couldn't see it, Sam met the wizard's gaze and smiled. "It's all right, Mr. Frodo. See? I told you Gandalf was here."
"Indeed, I would not have missed this merry meeting for all the adventures of Middle Earth." Galdalf gently squeezed the cool fingers of Frodo's left hand. "It is good to see you again at the end of your journey, my friend."
"Yes, my journey is over, isn't it? Or almost, at least…" Frodo's head felt light and his stomach queasy. Had the healer given him some medicine while he slept that made him feel and think so oddly? He sighed. "Bilbo will be disappointed. I had no time to gather the songs and tales he requested…"
He was glad when Gandalf's reply was neither condoning nor sarcastic. The deep rumble grumbled a while in thought, finally chuckling slightly to disguise some sorrow. "Though I could not be there when I wished to during your trial, in the matter of pleasing Bilbo I believe I can be of some help. A certain song has been repeated to me by soldiers of Rohan, to a tune you should remember very well." He paused, humming a bit to gain a pitch, and when he started the song rolled out much slower and deeper than Frodo remembered, the words changed drastically, but it was comforting and swept him away in bittersweet memories of home and times long past.
"There was an inn, a merry old inn
in a hilled country so bright,
And there the lasses danced so fair
That many a hobbit curly haired,
Came down to see the sight.
Full of curves the bar maids were
The half-pints even fuller.
Over and out the gold ale ran
So danced the lasses, hand in hand,
Cotton-maid, Took, and Bolger.
The gammers they were all aghast
To see skirts pulled to such hights;
But there rose a cheer up from the lads
Who were mighty glad to see those calves
And toasted to the sight.
In laughing fits they ended the dance
A kiss to the cheek in payment.
To dance away with other hobbit maids
The louder lads stamped the faster they swayed
In skirts of calico raiment."
Gandalf smiled softly. "There was more, but I shan't repeat it all as it got rather dirty in places."
Frodo laughed, a sweet, soft sound Sam had not heard since Rivendell, it seemed, and his heart swelled with joy at the clear chiming. "It was beautiful, Gandalf. Who wrote it?"
"None other than your cousin, that impeccable Meriadoc Brandybuck. The Knights of Rohan have informed me that Master Brandybuck thought the women of Rohan far inferior to those of the Shire, and composed this as a lay to their… physical perfections."
"How typical of Merry," Frodo mused, but he winced at little as the movement cased a slight pain in his head.
Sam's voice broke into the gentle reunion as he squeezed Frodo's hand, mindful of the bandages. "He and Pippin have grown frightfully tall, though as to why or how I have yet to figure out. They keep mentioning strange ales and giant trees called Ents but refuse to tell the whole tale without you there to hear. Pippin says he doesn't want to waste his breath."
"That'd be a first…" He lapsed into silence, frowning. "Gandalf, why is my head bandaged?"
He and Sam exchanged a look, the wizard's good humor falling. The matter finally must be addressed. "You have been very ill, Frodo. The dust and ash of Mordor has imbedded itself into your eyes, and while you have slept the healers have been fighting off the fever it has caused."
"My eyes?" Frodo whispered. He wished to touch the bandages wrapped around them, but two strong pairs of hands were holding still each of his. "Then… then I am blind?"
In the resulting silence, a heavy tread made its way across the room and a new voice rang out. "That we do not know, Frodo. You may be, you may not, and even if you are we do not know how severe it may be or whether it is even permanent. This is what the healer will soon test."
Frodo appeared not to have heard. He sunk further into the bed, the little color he had regained quickly draining from his cheeks. "Blind… blind… alone forever in this cursed darkness…" He twitched, and Sam squeezed his hand harder.
"Calm yourself, Master Baggins, it may not be that bad." Adelian bustled about the small tent. "Lord Aragorn, could you bank the fire? Not too much, just enough to dim it, and draw a screen in front of it. Yes, like that, it must be dark in order for me to focus on his eyes."
By some signal Sam and Gandalf began to prop him up on pillows, steadying him for some new medical ordeal while the healer and Aragorn made preparations. Frodo thought that he might have drifted back into dark dreams, surely this nightmare was too devastating to be real, but reality contradicted him with the light touch to his head.
"Now Frodo, I'm going to test your vision by having you try to track a candle. I need you to keep your eyes shut while I remove the wrappings, then we shall look at one eye at a time."
"All right," he sighed, relenting to the sure touch that began to unwind the linens from around his eyes. The cloth came away slightly sticky, as if they had been pressed against something foul. The cool air felt good against his eyelids, and someone brought a wet cloth to clean away the residue and dead skin.
"We'll start with the left eye. When I say so, I want you to open it and try to focus on the light of the candle. Do not worry, it is very dark in here save for that small light, and I will cover your right eye so that you do not open it beforehand. Sam, sit him up a bit farther… Thank you. Are you ready, Frodo?"
Frodo swallowed, his mouth achingly dry as a sudden fear gripped him. "Y-yes…"
A cloth was pressed against his right eye and the bed shifted as the healer settled before him. "Now then, open you eye, slowly, slowly…"
He stilled his shaking and willed himself to peek out at the world. For a brief instant he glimpsed the blurred image of four figures staring urgently at him, the closest middle one holding a small source of light, but the yellow flame quickly flared to a sudden brightness that dazzled him and sent him reeling in a cry of pain. All was darkness and the pounding of his blood in his ears.
~~~***~~~
"Frodo… Frodo… calm yourself. Awake."
Sam sat nervously fiddling with his friend's damp curls, glaring at Adelian occasionally, the one who had caused Frodo such pain. The three taller figures were pressed close with worry. Adelian had laid aside the candle briefly while he fought to bring Frodo back to the world of the living.
Frodo moaned and shifted, rolling his head from side to side and pressing into the pillow. Aragorn frowned. It was not a good sign. He had seen many animals in the wild blinded by disease who shook their head in such a fashion, rubbing against anything they could find as if to rid themselves of the ache behind their eyes.
Sam murmured unintelligible words of comfort and before long, Frodo's eyes fluttered open briefly before shutting again quickly.
"Ow."
Adelian's features were grim. "Tell me, little one, what did you see?"
The worry lines on Frodo's brow increased and Sam wiped away some of the sweat that was forming there. "I… I… At first there were dim shadows and forms, but the light burned too quickly to tell what…" He dared to open the eye again, and Adelian felt his hopes drop as the blue iris, the pupil alarmingly diminished, settled on him briefly before rolling back upwards and to the right, where it remained. "Now all is gray and blackness, as if a mist has descended on the world… but… but it seems that there should be a picture, glimpses of which I can see… but they do not make sense…" His voice trailed off, and the lid fluttered in weakness, surreally exposing only the white of the eye.
Gandalf saw that Sam was about to descend to hysterics, and he quickly devised an errand for him so that he would not panic Frodo further. "Samwise, I prepared a small meal for Frodo and left it warming beside the fire in my quarters down the way. Could you fetch it?"
Sam balked. "But Gandalf…"
"Fetch it, Sam." His voice was stern, but then it softened. "Please, Frodo will need nourishment after his long fast.
The hobbit hesitated, but he finally left, giving his master a final sorrowful glance before he slipped out. Frodo whimpered at his absence.
Aragorn shifted nervously, his mood not improved by the state of the Ringbearer's weakly roving eye. He exchanged glances with the healer, who nodded mutely as if to say 'And now for the other eye.'
Frodo was not so willing to face for a second time the sharp pain that sight brought, so Adelian was forced to pull back the right lids with gentle fingers. Gandalf was dismayed at what he saw in the place of a once brilliantly sky blue eye. What once twinkled in laughter and mirth was flat and dull, the color of the iris almost completely obscured by cloudy white cataracts. The pupil was completely covered, and only the barest of twitchings showed any response as Adelian moved the candle from side to side.
"What do you see now?"
Frodo squinted. "There is a dark red patch in a sea of blackness, but looking at it makes my head hurt."
Adelian nodded and placed the candle back on the table. "Thank you, Frodo. I am done now." He reapplied the compress over his eyes before moving to tend to the fire.
"Well, what do you think?" inquired Aragorn, part-way out of the halfling's earshot.
Frowning, he poked at the glowing embers. "Mind that I cannot be certain until I consult my books. You have seen the condition of his right eye, it is beyond repair, but perhaps some function can be salvaged from the other. But do not trouble him with this now. Presently rest and nourishment are the most important issues to be addressed. We will have to work hard to reverse the physical tolls of his journey, and he will need all of his health."
As if on cue, Sam returned, carrying a small tray with a steaming bowl of enriched broth and a small pitcher of water. Leaving the king and healer to their talk of herbs and methods for improving vision, the wizard motioned him over. Frodo had drifted back into a light doze, but the sound of soft feet and the clink of Sam settling the tray on the table woke him.
"Your Sam is back, Mr. Frodo, with food, to boot."
He blearily rubbed at his nose while Gandalf helped him into a semi-reclining position. "Ugh… I do not know if I can keep it down, as much as I'd like to…"
Gandalf rearranged the bedclothes around the too-thin hobbit. "Do not worry, Frodo. You shall start small, light broths and soft foods along with plenty of liquids, and only when you become accustomed to these shall we press you with more complicated dishes."
Sam settled next to Frodo on the bed, cradling the warm bowl. He spooned a small amount of the broth into Frodo's mouth and waited as his master swallowed slowly, testing his stomach's response. When, after a few moments, all was still well, Sam smiled and gave him another. Several minutes passed this way, Frodo slowly consuming the contents of the bowl while Gandalf observed with quiet contentment.
Sam reached back to the tray and produced a thin wafer from a leaf wrapping. It was a little dry and stiff, but it still released a faint scent of woods and springtime. The last of the lembas, fished from Legolas's pack and saved specifically for this purpose. He crumbled it into the broth, swirling it with the spoon and turning it into a white mush. Softened and flavored, he pressed it to Frodo's lips.
Initially Frodo looked as if he would take it, but the moment the taste hit his tongue he began to retch and choke. Adelian and Aragorn looked up in alarm but Gandalf was closer, and he quickly leaned the Ringbearer forward in time for him to vomit into a waiting basin.
Sam looked on, frightened, as Frodo heaved and coughed until nothing but bile remained. Gandalf put the bowl away and settled him back amidst the bedclothes.
"…no, sam…" Frodo gasped weakly. "…we can't eat it… not yet, not yet… have to save… still so far to go…"
The distressed look on Frodo's face was mirrored in Sam's eyes as he sought to comfort him. "Hush, Master. Don't fret. We've left that cursed land. We're safe now, and you'll never have to worry 'bout food or drink again, not while Sam's here."
Frodo continued to shiver and mumble incoherently while Sam and Gandalf soothed and it was some minutes before he was himself once more. When he at last caught enough breath for speaking, he shuddered and muttered, "I never want to taste the elven waybread ever again. I wish I had never grown to know its hollow taste that wills a body to live even when the mind wishes to die…"
"Oh, Frodo," Sam sobbed, clutching him harder. Frodo would have cried, too, but the salt tears made his eyes ache and burn, so he just clenched heated fists in frustration and pressed his face into the contrasting coolness of the pillow.
TBC….