Learning to Stand Again
Rating: G
Summary: While recovering from the quest in Minas Tirith, Frodo suffers a fall that destroys more than his physical health, but his hope and emotional being as well. A familiar face from Ithilien will help him heal and learn to live again. h/c, no slash, no profanity, post-quest.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters nor am I making any money off of them. They belong to Tolkien, who is a greater writer than I'll ever be.
A/N: This story is dedicated with much love to my dear big sis Febobe who is responsible for my h/c obsession, who has been a friend to me through weather foul and fair, and for calling me Poppet. Thanks dear; your friendship means the world to me.
Chapter 1:
Frodo pushed his plate of half-eaten food away and sighed. After Minas Tirith had been restored to some sense of order and most of the wounded had recovered beyond the point of needing the healing powers of the King, the people of Rohan and Gondor a begun a series of celebrations in honor of the new King and the fall of the Dark Lord.
As the Ringbearer, Frodo had been forced to attend nearly all of these feasts. Aragorn and the other members of the Fellowship thought it necessary for him to be present so the people could see and honor the one responsible for the destruction of the Ring, but he had been excused from a few feasts because of the illness and weakness he had been experiencing since his and Sam's rescue from the Mountain of Fire.
Unfortunately, Aragorn had seen him walking about outside today, obviously feeling well enough to attend the banquet being held that night. Frodo had attempted to talk Aragorn into letting him retire early, but Aragorn was adamant that Frodo be there so everyone could come to appreciate how much he had sacrificed for their benefit. Frodo had finally given in and agreed to come, silently praying that the celebrating would end soon.
At the start of the feast, Frodo had felt fine, a bit grouchy, but not ill. Now he had taken a bad turn. He felt nauseous and chilled. His lower back was aching terribly. All he wanted was to lie down in a warm bed and rest, and maybe get a hot water bottle for his back.
Deciding that he had stayed long enough, Frodo stood from the long table and slipped through the large crowd of people gathered. He wasn't too happy about having to walk down to the house he, Gandalf, and the other Hobbits had been sharing by himself, but if he asked someone to assist him then it would surely get back to Aragorn that he wasn't feeling well. That could only lead to one thing: medicine. He'd been subjected to every foul-tasting brew and tonic Gondor had to offer in the previous weeks, and he didn't look forward to anymore of Aragorn's 'medicines.'
Stepping outside, he shivered against the night chill and drew his cloak tightly about himself. He sincerely hoped that a warm fire awaited him. Giving himself a moment before attempting to navigate the many stairs leading down to the garden below, he looked out over the city. He could see the road on the far side of the garden.
He began making his way unsteadily down the steps, regretting that he had not at least asked Sam to accompany him. Each time he stepped down, the distance between his foot and the next step seemed to change. Sometimes it seemed forever before his foot found the next step; other times the step came rushing up to meet him. This resulted in him staggering down the steps rather awkwardly as he tried to bring the world back into focus.
*****
The garden itself was full of chattering and lively folk, all enjoying the night air. Faramir, Captain of Gondor, was striding up the walkway greeting couples as he walked by. He had just escorted the Lady Eowyn back to her quarters for the night. As he approached the stairs leading back into the banquet hall, he beheld a strange sight.
Frodo was coming down the stairs, but he was obviously having a difficult time. His body was limp, and he was dragging each foot. He lifted a foot to step down, then brought it down on the same stair he was already on. Then he brought the other foot up, but as he stepped down he missed the next step entirely, landing two steps down from where he had been. This continued as Frodo stumbled to and fro on the stairs. He was now nearly to the bottom.
Faramir mused to himself, wondering if Frodo had perhaps taken more drink than was good for him. Perhaps he wasn't used to the strong brews that men drank. They certainly weren't meant for over consumption by such a small person.
Suddenly, Frodo's legs folded beneath him, and he fell, tumbling down to land in a heap at the foot of the stairs. Faramir gasped and rushed forward to help him. Several others in the garden rushed over as well.
*****
After the initial shock wore off, the pain set in. Frodo decided that it might be better to lie still for a moment to recover. He heard footsteps coming toward him from different directions. Now someone was leaning over him and asking if he was alright.
"Faramir?" Frodo attempted to push himself into a sitting position, but a flare of pain in his back forced him to lie still again.
"Frodo, are you unwell?" Faramir leaned over him, his face pale in the moonlight.
"Faramir, I." Frodo's voice broke off as he fought off the urge to throw up.He turned his head and rolled himself onto his side. The movement caused pain to rip through his back again, and he cried out, clutching Faramir's outstretched hand.
"Lie still, Frodo. Where is the pain?" Faramir gently stroked the dark curls back from Frodo's face. Frodo looked up at him pleadingly, his blue eyes glazed over with pain.
"My back! It hurts so much! I feel as though I can't move." Frodo broke off, shaking terribly. A wave of nausea broke over him, and he retched, vomiting all over himself. Faramir continued stroking his head soothingly while he wiped Frodo's mouth and chin clean with a handkerchief.
Frodo breathed in deep, unsteady gasps as he tried to get a grip on what was going on. He could feel the encroaching darkness descending. He felt the ground beneath him disappear, and he was falling. The world slipped away in a swirl of colors, lights, and voices.
TBC
Rating: G
Summary: While recovering from the quest in Minas Tirith, Frodo suffers a fall that destroys more than his physical health, but his hope and emotional being as well. A familiar face from Ithilien will help him heal and learn to live again. h/c, no slash, no profanity, post-quest.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters nor am I making any money off of them. They belong to Tolkien, who is a greater writer than I'll ever be.
A/N: This story is dedicated with much love to my dear big sis Febobe who is responsible for my h/c obsession, who has been a friend to me through weather foul and fair, and for calling me Poppet. Thanks dear; your friendship means the world to me.
Chapter 1:
Frodo pushed his plate of half-eaten food away and sighed. After Minas Tirith had been restored to some sense of order and most of the wounded had recovered beyond the point of needing the healing powers of the King, the people of Rohan and Gondor a begun a series of celebrations in honor of the new King and the fall of the Dark Lord.
As the Ringbearer, Frodo had been forced to attend nearly all of these feasts. Aragorn and the other members of the Fellowship thought it necessary for him to be present so the people could see and honor the one responsible for the destruction of the Ring, but he had been excused from a few feasts because of the illness and weakness he had been experiencing since his and Sam's rescue from the Mountain of Fire.
Unfortunately, Aragorn had seen him walking about outside today, obviously feeling well enough to attend the banquet being held that night. Frodo had attempted to talk Aragorn into letting him retire early, but Aragorn was adamant that Frodo be there so everyone could come to appreciate how much he had sacrificed for their benefit. Frodo had finally given in and agreed to come, silently praying that the celebrating would end soon.
At the start of the feast, Frodo had felt fine, a bit grouchy, but not ill. Now he had taken a bad turn. He felt nauseous and chilled. His lower back was aching terribly. All he wanted was to lie down in a warm bed and rest, and maybe get a hot water bottle for his back.
Deciding that he had stayed long enough, Frodo stood from the long table and slipped through the large crowd of people gathered. He wasn't too happy about having to walk down to the house he, Gandalf, and the other Hobbits had been sharing by himself, but if he asked someone to assist him then it would surely get back to Aragorn that he wasn't feeling well. That could only lead to one thing: medicine. He'd been subjected to every foul-tasting brew and tonic Gondor had to offer in the previous weeks, and he didn't look forward to anymore of Aragorn's 'medicines.'
Stepping outside, he shivered against the night chill and drew his cloak tightly about himself. He sincerely hoped that a warm fire awaited him. Giving himself a moment before attempting to navigate the many stairs leading down to the garden below, he looked out over the city. He could see the road on the far side of the garden.
He began making his way unsteadily down the steps, regretting that he had not at least asked Sam to accompany him. Each time he stepped down, the distance between his foot and the next step seemed to change. Sometimes it seemed forever before his foot found the next step; other times the step came rushing up to meet him. This resulted in him staggering down the steps rather awkwardly as he tried to bring the world back into focus.
*****
The garden itself was full of chattering and lively folk, all enjoying the night air. Faramir, Captain of Gondor, was striding up the walkway greeting couples as he walked by. He had just escorted the Lady Eowyn back to her quarters for the night. As he approached the stairs leading back into the banquet hall, he beheld a strange sight.
Frodo was coming down the stairs, but he was obviously having a difficult time. His body was limp, and he was dragging each foot. He lifted a foot to step down, then brought it down on the same stair he was already on. Then he brought the other foot up, but as he stepped down he missed the next step entirely, landing two steps down from where he had been. This continued as Frodo stumbled to and fro on the stairs. He was now nearly to the bottom.
Faramir mused to himself, wondering if Frodo had perhaps taken more drink than was good for him. Perhaps he wasn't used to the strong brews that men drank. They certainly weren't meant for over consumption by such a small person.
Suddenly, Frodo's legs folded beneath him, and he fell, tumbling down to land in a heap at the foot of the stairs. Faramir gasped and rushed forward to help him. Several others in the garden rushed over as well.
*****
After the initial shock wore off, the pain set in. Frodo decided that it might be better to lie still for a moment to recover. He heard footsteps coming toward him from different directions. Now someone was leaning over him and asking if he was alright.
"Faramir?" Frodo attempted to push himself into a sitting position, but a flare of pain in his back forced him to lie still again.
"Frodo, are you unwell?" Faramir leaned over him, his face pale in the moonlight.
"Faramir, I." Frodo's voice broke off as he fought off the urge to throw up.He turned his head and rolled himself onto his side. The movement caused pain to rip through his back again, and he cried out, clutching Faramir's outstretched hand.
"Lie still, Frodo. Where is the pain?" Faramir gently stroked the dark curls back from Frodo's face. Frodo looked up at him pleadingly, his blue eyes glazed over with pain.
"My back! It hurts so much! I feel as though I can't move." Frodo broke off, shaking terribly. A wave of nausea broke over him, and he retched, vomiting all over himself. Faramir continued stroking his head soothingly while he wiped Frodo's mouth and chin clean with a handkerchief.
Frodo breathed in deep, unsteady gasps as he tried to get a grip on what was going on. He could feel the encroaching darkness descending. He felt the ground beneath him disappear, and he was falling. The world slipped away in a swirl of colors, lights, and voices.
TBC