Mistral 2/?
Thank goodness the weather was holding out at least, thought Frodo as he clung to the sides of Sam's cooking pot in the rocking boat as it glided down the Anduin. He was feeling horrible - not only did he have to throw up every five minutes, but he had to relieve his poor irritated bowels in front of Aragorn, in a cooking pot! He'd already had to empty the thing three times in the last fifteen minutes, and he was about ready to cry. Aragorn, however, bless his soul, didn't seem to mind Frodo's indisposition. It came from being a healer, Frodo guessed. The future king of Gondor had turned his back wisely to save the poor hobbit some embarrassment, though not much. Frodo still felt like a child, more a baby than ever before. He looked eagerly ahead to where the beach was visible on the western shore of the river.
However, unfortunately for Frodo and the Fellowship, the aforesaid distance of three miles to the next clearing was doubled when the boats were becalmed on the sparkling water. Aragorn cursed and began to paddle as quickly as he could, but this had its effects on the sick hobbit lying on the blankets in the base of the canoe, as was manifested by the sudden groaning and then unmistakable gagging from the violent movements. Also, without the wind, the sounds of poor Frodo's sickness was quite audible as they travelled across the water to the other boats. By this time, everyone's heads were turned, staring at the boat that lay a few yards behind the others, Sam's blonde curly pate bobbing frantically as he tried to get a look at Frodo, who slumped further in the boat, trying to evade everyone's curious glances.
After an hour, where Frodo had thrown up countless times and had to relieve himself at least ten times more, the boats crunched up on the sand at the clearing on the western shore. Almost as soon as they docked, Sam was overboard in his haste to see Frodo, splashing through water up to his neck. Legolas swiftly lifted him back into the boat until they reached the shore, telling Sam to wait just another moment until they were tied.
Aragorn tied his canoe, then leaned back over it, wrapping Frodo securely in his blankets before carefully lifting him out, trying not to jostle him. By this time the rest of the Fellowship was on the beach and crowding around Aragorn, questions flying left and right as they tried to figure out what was wrong with Frodo. The poor little hobbit closed his eyes, trying to ignore the hubbub around him as the very sound of it made him dizzy. Aragorn waved them all away, sending Merry and Pippin to gather firewood, Legolas to find some berries and mushrooms for dinner and Boromir and Gimli to pitch the tents given to them by Galadriel's contingent two days earlier. Sam he let stay beside his master.
Once the fire was going, Aragorn gently laid Frodo beside its warmth and unwrapped him carefully, checking him over as he drew back the blankets. Frodo was as white as a ghost, shivering uncontrollably, to the point where he could barely speak. As Aragorn put his ear beside Frodo's chest, he could hear the hobbit's tummy and intestines gurgling, popping and growling ominously, and drew back just in time to avoid a spray of sour stomach contents flying past his left ear.
Frodo apologised miserably, blue eyes wide and overbright with tears. "I'm extremely sorry, Aragorn, I didn't realise . . ."
"Never mind, Frodo. Just rest while we get the ginger tea brewing." Aragorn looked at Sam, who was rummaging through his packs, looking for his big cooking pot to boil some water for tea and soup.
"Strider, sir, you haven't seen my big cooking pot, have you? Just that I want to get supper on, so I do." The hobbit's confused brown eyes met Aragorn's serious grey ones and the man stifled laughter.
"I'm afraid we'll have to make do with the smaller one, Sam. The other one is . . . damaged."
Sam nodded, his face still confused, as a tired laugh came from the blue-eyed bundle of blankets by the fire and Aragorn turned his face away from the good natured hobbit to disguise the twitching of his mouth. He bit the corners to keep from laughing and continued his gentle examination of Frodo. He took the frail little arm in his big brown hands and gently pressed the white skin - it gave under his finger, but stayed dented for a moment before it returned to its normal smooth state. Aragorn frowned; Frodo was very dehydrated.
By this point, the sun had set in a glorious painted sky over the tree line. The two tents were up, the fire started and Legolas and Gimli were back not only with a multitude of varieties of fruits and plants, but also two coneys that Legolas had shot while on their foraging mission. Sam accepted them happily and before they all knew it, a wonderful mushroom and coney stew was bubbling on one side of the fire, and ginger tea gave off its piquant scent on the other side. Aragorn had taken the vomit-stained blankets from around Frodo and was energetically splashing them clean in the river just beyond the fire. Two more blankets were already drying on an ingenious frame, built by Boromir, above the flames.
Aragorn returned from his labours to find that Frodo was huddled in a ball away from the others, shivering and looking miserable. The little hobbit was far from the fire and ignoring Sam's efforts to get him to drink some of the ginger tea. Aragorn stepped in, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and bidding him go back to cooking the supper with the others.
Aragorn settled himself with a sigh beside the fire and took down the warmed and dried blankets from the drying rack. He was shaking them out and getting them ready to wrap around Frodo when the hobbit stopped him, putting up a tiny hand. "Aragorn . . . oh, I hardly know how to tell you this . . ."
Aragorn looked up. "What is amiss, little one?"
"Well," said poor Frodo, "when you were washing the blankets, I'm afraid I had to relieve myself again . . . " He stopped, face flushing red in the light of the fire.
Aragorn began to see where this was going. "It's all right, Frodo, I've heard much worse than this. Go on."
"Well, I didn't exactly . . . make it." The little hobbit was blushing fiercely now and Aragorn saw that this explained his separation from the rest of the group. Frodo's blue eyes filled with tears. "I'm so very sorry . . ."
"Never mind. We'll remedy it." Aragorn didn't know exactly how he was going to bathe the sick hobbit in the freezing waters of the Anduin without making him more ill, but he didn't want to heat water and alert the others to Frodo's embarrassment. Conversely, he didn't want to leave Frodo in the soiled clothing, either.
Rising from his place by the fire, he took a rag from his undertunic, which was relatively clean compared to his other clothing, and went down to the river to wet it thoroughly. Coming back, he gently lifted Frodo and went into one of the tents, where Boromir had already lit a lantern, knowing from previous illnesses on the Quest that Aragorn would put Frodo to bed within the hour. He laid the sick hobbit on a bedroll, then paused, wondering how to make him more comfortable without making him feel like a baby. Although hobbits were child-sized, Frodo was well past his coming-of-age, and Aragorn knew that he secretly struggled with the annoyance that the two men, Dwarf and the Elf treated him younger than he really was.
In the end, Aragorn simply handed the wet cloth to Frodo and made to leave, but the little hobbit suddenly vomited again, thankfully turning onto his side, away from the blankets, so that the mess landed on the dirt floor of the tent. Frodo felt a sudden rush of damp heat as well, and he groaned audibly, refusing to meet Aragorn's eyes.
Aragorn came back in, tying the tent flap securely, and came over to the sick hobbit. "Would you . . . permit me to assist you, Frodo?"
Frodo cleared his throat, feeling younger and more vulnerable than ever. "That would be helpful, thank you." His voice was tight as he tried to keep it from breaking.
Aragorn silently took his place by the hobbit and drew off the minute soiled trousers and knickers. Boromir had helpfully placed Frodo's pack beside the hobbit's bedroll, and Aragorn took out some new clothing. He gently took the damp cloth and attended to Frodo's little bottom, then wrapped a towel around his loins, pinning it with a bone needle. He knew this wouldn't be the last accident and picked up the hobbit's dirty clothing, meaning to go and wash it before stains set in. However, Frodo stopped him.
"Aragorn . . . please don't leave me here alone," he begged the man, trying to keep his voice light. "I mean, I would appreciate your company." Damn! Why did his voice break every time he tried to speak? And did Aragorn really put him in a nappy? This was easily the worst day of the poor hobbit's life.
"I'll be back in a moment, Frodo, and we'll go and sit by the fire. It's too cold for you here." Aragorn left and washed Frodo's clothing, then spread them to dry. He passed the fire, where Legolas had thoughtfully placed the dropped blankets back onto the drying rack, and shooting a smile at the Elf, he took them and came back into the tent. Wrapping Frodo securely up, he lifted him carefully and sat down by the fire, settling Frodo comfortably in his lap.
Sam came up to them, bearing a mug of ginger tea and a bowl of broth from the stew, and Legolas brought another blanket to wrap around the hobbit. Merry and Pippin looked on, concernedly, and Boromir seemed in his own little world, though he had helped out with setting out the bedrolls and packs. Gimli harrumphed and started a story about jewel-setting for the hobbits to take their minds off Frodo's illness, while Aragorn gently spooned some tea into Frodo's pink little mouth.
The moon rose and Aragorn sighed - it would be a long night.
~To be continued~
Thank goodness the weather was holding out at least, thought Frodo as he clung to the sides of Sam's cooking pot in the rocking boat as it glided down the Anduin. He was feeling horrible - not only did he have to throw up every five minutes, but he had to relieve his poor irritated bowels in front of Aragorn, in a cooking pot! He'd already had to empty the thing three times in the last fifteen minutes, and he was about ready to cry. Aragorn, however, bless his soul, didn't seem to mind Frodo's indisposition. It came from being a healer, Frodo guessed. The future king of Gondor had turned his back wisely to save the poor hobbit some embarrassment, though not much. Frodo still felt like a child, more a baby than ever before. He looked eagerly ahead to where the beach was visible on the western shore of the river.
However, unfortunately for Frodo and the Fellowship, the aforesaid distance of three miles to the next clearing was doubled when the boats were becalmed on the sparkling water. Aragorn cursed and began to paddle as quickly as he could, but this had its effects on the sick hobbit lying on the blankets in the base of the canoe, as was manifested by the sudden groaning and then unmistakable gagging from the violent movements. Also, without the wind, the sounds of poor Frodo's sickness was quite audible as they travelled across the water to the other boats. By this time, everyone's heads were turned, staring at the boat that lay a few yards behind the others, Sam's blonde curly pate bobbing frantically as he tried to get a look at Frodo, who slumped further in the boat, trying to evade everyone's curious glances.
After an hour, where Frodo had thrown up countless times and had to relieve himself at least ten times more, the boats crunched up on the sand at the clearing on the western shore. Almost as soon as they docked, Sam was overboard in his haste to see Frodo, splashing through water up to his neck. Legolas swiftly lifted him back into the boat until they reached the shore, telling Sam to wait just another moment until they were tied.
Aragorn tied his canoe, then leaned back over it, wrapping Frodo securely in his blankets before carefully lifting him out, trying not to jostle him. By this time the rest of the Fellowship was on the beach and crowding around Aragorn, questions flying left and right as they tried to figure out what was wrong with Frodo. The poor little hobbit closed his eyes, trying to ignore the hubbub around him as the very sound of it made him dizzy. Aragorn waved them all away, sending Merry and Pippin to gather firewood, Legolas to find some berries and mushrooms for dinner and Boromir and Gimli to pitch the tents given to them by Galadriel's contingent two days earlier. Sam he let stay beside his master.
Once the fire was going, Aragorn gently laid Frodo beside its warmth and unwrapped him carefully, checking him over as he drew back the blankets. Frodo was as white as a ghost, shivering uncontrollably, to the point where he could barely speak. As Aragorn put his ear beside Frodo's chest, he could hear the hobbit's tummy and intestines gurgling, popping and growling ominously, and drew back just in time to avoid a spray of sour stomach contents flying past his left ear.
Frodo apologised miserably, blue eyes wide and overbright with tears. "I'm extremely sorry, Aragorn, I didn't realise . . ."
"Never mind, Frodo. Just rest while we get the ginger tea brewing." Aragorn looked at Sam, who was rummaging through his packs, looking for his big cooking pot to boil some water for tea and soup.
"Strider, sir, you haven't seen my big cooking pot, have you? Just that I want to get supper on, so I do." The hobbit's confused brown eyes met Aragorn's serious grey ones and the man stifled laughter.
"I'm afraid we'll have to make do with the smaller one, Sam. The other one is . . . damaged."
Sam nodded, his face still confused, as a tired laugh came from the blue-eyed bundle of blankets by the fire and Aragorn turned his face away from the good natured hobbit to disguise the twitching of his mouth. He bit the corners to keep from laughing and continued his gentle examination of Frodo. He took the frail little arm in his big brown hands and gently pressed the white skin - it gave under his finger, but stayed dented for a moment before it returned to its normal smooth state. Aragorn frowned; Frodo was very dehydrated.
By this point, the sun had set in a glorious painted sky over the tree line. The two tents were up, the fire started and Legolas and Gimli were back not only with a multitude of varieties of fruits and plants, but also two coneys that Legolas had shot while on their foraging mission. Sam accepted them happily and before they all knew it, a wonderful mushroom and coney stew was bubbling on one side of the fire, and ginger tea gave off its piquant scent on the other side. Aragorn had taken the vomit-stained blankets from around Frodo and was energetically splashing them clean in the river just beyond the fire. Two more blankets were already drying on an ingenious frame, built by Boromir, above the flames.
Aragorn returned from his labours to find that Frodo was huddled in a ball away from the others, shivering and looking miserable. The little hobbit was far from the fire and ignoring Sam's efforts to get him to drink some of the ginger tea. Aragorn stepped in, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and bidding him go back to cooking the supper with the others.
Aragorn settled himself with a sigh beside the fire and took down the warmed and dried blankets from the drying rack. He was shaking them out and getting them ready to wrap around Frodo when the hobbit stopped him, putting up a tiny hand. "Aragorn . . . oh, I hardly know how to tell you this . . ."
Aragorn looked up. "What is amiss, little one?"
"Well," said poor Frodo, "when you were washing the blankets, I'm afraid I had to relieve myself again . . . " He stopped, face flushing red in the light of the fire.
Aragorn began to see where this was going. "It's all right, Frodo, I've heard much worse than this. Go on."
"Well, I didn't exactly . . . make it." The little hobbit was blushing fiercely now and Aragorn saw that this explained his separation from the rest of the group. Frodo's blue eyes filled with tears. "I'm so very sorry . . ."
"Never mind. We'll remedy it." Aragorn didn't know exactly how he was going to bathe the sick hobbit in the freezing waters of the Anduin without making him more ill, but he didn't want to heat water and alert the others to Frodo's embarrassment. Conversely, he didn't want to leave Frodo in the soiled clothing, either.
Rising from his place by the fire, he took a rag from his undertunic, which was relatively clean compared to his other clothing, and went down to the river to wet it thoroughly. Coming back, he gently lifted Frodo and went into one of the tents, where Boromir had already lit a lantern, knowing from previous illnesses on the Quest that Aragorn would put Frodo to bed within the hour. He laid the sick hobbit on a bedroll, then paused, wondering how to make him more comfortable without making him feel like a baby. Although hobbits were child-sized, Frodo was well past his coming-of-age, and Aragorn knew that he secretly struggled with the annoyance that the two men, Dwarf and the Elf treated him younger than he really was.
In the end, Aragorn simply handed the wet cloth to Frodo and made to leave, but the little hobbit suddenly vomited again, thankfully turning onto his side, away from the blankets, so that the mess landed on the dirt floor of the tent. Frodo felt a sudden rush of damp heat as well, and he groaned audibly, refusing to meet Aragorn's eyes.
Aragorn came back in, tying the tent flap securely, and came over to the sick hobbit. "Would you . . . permit me to assist you, Frodo?"
Frodo cleared his throat, feeling younger and more vulnerable than ever. "That would be helpful, thank you." His voice was tight as he tried to keep it from breaking.
Aragorn silently took his place by the hobbit and drew off the minute soiled trousers and knickers. Boromir had helpfully placed Frodo's pack beside the hobbit's bedroll, and Aragorn took out some new clothing. He gently took the damp cloth and attended to Frodo's little bottom, then wrapped a towel around his loins, pinning it with a bone needle. He knew this wouldn't be the last accident and picked up the hobbit's dirty clothing, meaning to go and wash it before stains set in. However, Frodo stopped him.
"Aragorn . . . please don't leave me here alone," he begged the man, trying to keep his voice light. "I mean, I would appreciate your company." Damn! Why did his voice break every time he tried to speak? And did Aragorn really put him in a nappy? This was easily the worst day of the poor hobbit's life.
"I'll be back in a moment, Frodo, and we'll go and sit by the fire. It's too cold for you here." Aragorn left and washed Frodo's clothing, then spread them to dry. He passed the fire, where Legolas had thoughtfully placed the dropped blankets back onto the drying rack, and shooting a smile at the Elf, he took them and came back into the tent. Wrapping Frodo securely up, he lifted him carefully and sat down by the fire, settling Frodo comfortably in his lap.
Sam came up to them, bearing a mug of ginger tea and a bowl of broth from the stew, and Legolas brought another blanket to wrap around the hobbit. Merry and Pippin looked on, concernedly, and Boromir seemed in his own little world, though he had helped out with setting out the bedrolls and packs. Gimli harrumphed and started a story about jewel-setting for the hobbits to take their minds off Frodo's illness, while Aragorn gently spooned some tea into Frodo's pink little mouth.
The moon rose and Aragorn sighed - it would be a long night.
~To be continued~
