A/N: Just as a fair warning, this chapter does involve the 'alternative' treatment. I wrote it as sensitively as possible (I hope!), but it's still probably pushing the PG rating. Just so you all know beforehand. ;)
endymion-Thank you for appreciating the sarcasm-I find it's the only type of humor I can write (or even use in real life!) with any success, so I'm glad some of the readers are noticing it and not thinking I'm a complete moron or something. :) As for my portrayal of Frodo, yes, I try to avoid making him look like a wimp or act like a child; that type of stories doesn't accurately reflect his character as I see it in the books.
Kay-Thank you! There are many other excellent sick-Frodo authors out there, among whom I claim only a very small bit of recognition. If you don't know who I might be talking about, check out my Favorite Authors list or drop on by the FrodoHealers yahoogroup. :)
shirebound-I *greatly* appreciate your consistent positive reviews; it's always nice to see one from you. :) I'm also glad you're enjoying some of the details I throw in-they aren't always there for a reason, but I've found it can really help the atmosphere sometimes. :) Ah, yes, the "white monstrosity"... somehow it just seemed to fit! :p
Lily Baggins, QTPie-2488, lizmybit, and any others my swiss-cheese brain is forgetting, thank you for your reviews! They really do brighten my day. :)
__A Little Walk, chapter 5__
A short period of peace and quiet followed the flurry of activity involved in sponging Frodo off and redressing him in clean nightclothes. His fever seemed to go down a little, though whether it was due to the herbal brew or the cool sponge bath wasn't certain. Frodo's breathing didn't improve, but it also didn't worsen, making Aragorn reluctant to do anything just yet that may upset the fragile balance. He decided to go ahead and feed Frodo some broth; while it wasn't recommended to feed sleeping patients, Frodo needed all of the sleep he could get, but he also needed the nourishment the broth would provide. Sam and Merry volunteered to take care of the feeding, and Aragorn let them after first making sure they were doing it properly. Aragorn took the opportunity to steal a wink or two of sleep in the large chair in front of the fireplace. After all, he was in plain sight and certainly within earshot if the hobbits needed any help.
A scarce hour later, Aragorn deeply regretted his decision to wait, and wondered if perhaps things would be different if only he'd tried to do more-more herbs, or maybe try to have Frodo inhale herbal vapours to clear his lungs. At the very least, he should not have fallen asleep!
**He's getting worse!" the cry and the shake of his arm woke Aragorn from his doze in the chair before the fire. Merry shook his arm again for good measure, then disappeared from view, undoubtedly headed for the bed. Sam was kneeling next to Frodo on the bed, facing his master and holding Frodo's head still as he bathed his face with a cool cloth. The flush in Frodo's cheeks made it apparent his fever had spiked again, and when Sam let go of his head, he turned it slowly from side to side, as if searching for an escape from the oppressive heat entombing his body. His face was lax and grey, his parted lips distressingly blue. He had to struggle desperately for even the most meager breaths, and from the sound of it, Aragorn was amazed the hobbit was still able to breathe at all. Obviously the herbs weren't able to clear his lungs. Which left only one course of action.**
"Forgive me, Frodo. I was not thinking clearly," he said softly as he checked the hobbit's temperature and breathing rate in preparation for what he had to do. Aragorn did not want to do this, but Frodo's condition was deteriorating too quickly for any medicine to have time to work. All other options were unusable. Which left only this, despite its doubtful success and the amount of pain inflicted on the patient. Like many knowledgeable healers, Aragorn had abandoned this remedy except as a last resort. He much preferred using herbs, but they had completely failed. The time of the last resort had come.
Sam stood patiently next to the bed, holding the basin ready as Aragorn gingerly lifted and moved Frodo, carefully climbing onto the bed to assume the proper placement for the impending ordeal. Once Frodo was in place, Sam moved so the basin was directly below his face and, grasping it with one arm and holding it steady with his body, he reached out and clasped Frodo's hand. Frodo's other hand clenched and worried the embroidered quilt, gathering it into a handful of damp, wrinkled fabric.
Sam could just barely see a bit of Frodo's face, depending upon how he held his head; the other hobbit was pale and sweating already, and Sam dreaded to think what he may look like during, or after, the procedure. He wished he could have Merry hold the basin so he could reassure Frodo with a touch on the shoulder or by clasping his other hand as well, but Aragorn had sent Merry out on some errand. Sam was unsure whether the errand was real or simply an excuse to remove him from the situation, though he strongly suspected the latter. As Aragorn began, Sam couldn't help but momentarily wish he'd been given some errand as well, but he quickly and sternly rebuked himself for this lapse in sense.
~~
They were beating him again. He could feel it. He felt detached, floating again in that warm, wet embrace; his perception narrowed until all that kept him tied to awareness was his back and the blows that rained upon it. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Wasn't it obvious that he didn't have It? But they were Orcs, he knew they would abuse a creature long after it was dead, if that suited their purposes. He felt so sore, and the jarring impacts seemed to be unerringly targeted for every area that already ached. He longed to cry out, tell them to stop, but he had learned before that any sound only urged them on. If he stayed quiet, they would soon tire of their sport and leave him alone. Or so he hoped . . .
~~
Tears of pain dripped from Frodo's tightly closed eyes, splattering into the empty basin. Frodo remained eerily silent, uttering no sound despite being in obvious anguish. He gripped Sam's hand more and more tightly as the abuse continued, until he could hold back no longer. With a pained cry he started to cough. Aragorn ceased the pounding when Frodo began this new fit, and instead rubbed the overly warm back. Frodo coughed so hard he retched, bringing up everything in his stomach along with a portion of the substance in his lungs. As the coughing slowed, Frodo's head began to sag into the side of the mattress from weariness. "No, no, me dear," Sam murmured softly, disentangling his hand from Frodo's grip. He moved slightly closer to the bed and gently lifted Frodo's head so his forehead rested on Sam's shoulder. He gently patted the sweat-damp head in encouragement.
Frodo's coughs eventually calmed into gasping and wheezing. Sam set the basin on the table with the herbs as Aragorn bundled Frodo up in the light blanket that had been covering him. He found they would need to change the bed's linens, for in the severity of the recent bout, not only did Frodo retch, he lost control of another function. It was fairly normal for that to happen under those circumstances, but Aragorn was thankful that Frodo probably wouldn't remember it-he'd be mortified if he knew.
Aragorn was relieved by the improvement he could hear in the hobbit's breathing, and was thankful that the pain he'd inflicted on Frodo had a positive outcome. Frodo was deeply asleep by the time Aragorn moved him from the bed to the chair by the fire, exhausted by the exertions of anguish and illness. But it was not over yet for the hobbit-he still had a fever, and there remained infection in his lungs that still prevented him from breathing normally.
Sam lent what help he could in changing the linens on the huge bed, even though he could barely see over the edge. They again sponge-bathed Frodo and put him back to bed, Frodo obliviously sleeping the whole time.
The dawn crept in as they were so occupied, bringing with it the sounds of a city full of people waking up and getting to their daily business. With the gentle rays of sun creeping in the window came the sounds of people in the corridor outside the room, a few hesitant souls at first, then more traffic as the light outside strengthened. Then came the servants; just one or two at first, but then a whole flock of them came by as word spread that the King was attending to the halflings, one of them being dreadfully ill. Elessar directed two to dispose of the bathwater and replenish the linens; the rest he sent bearing messages to all the ambassadors quartered in the city that the day's councils would be delayed as he tended to other pressing matters.
As the servants left with the last of the bathwater, Merry returned, carefully closing the door against the hustle and bustle of the hallway. He went to Aragorn, who was carefully assessing his supplies to decide what he needed to send for from the Houses of Healing, and said, "Lord Faramir bids me tell you that a soldier of the guard is waiting to speak with you . . . a guard by the name of Esli."
Aragorn straightened from bending over the table and passed a hand over his weary face, muttering, "Esli. Of course... I had forgotten..." He paused, thinking, then said, "Tell Faramir to send Esli here. I will speak with him."
Merry nodded and left, again closing the door behind him, both to guard their privacy and keep out the noise. Sam looked to Aragorn from his seat next to Frodo on the bed and asked, "Are you going to talk to him in here?"
Aragorn looked up and answered, "I may. Or I may just step into the hall, depending upon the noise," he made a vague motion towards the door and the corridor beyond it.
His time to decide was cut short when Merry poked his head back in. "He's here," he announced, without preamble.
"Send him in," Aragorn responded, crossing to the other side of the fireplace.
Merry entered, followed by a hesitant Esli. He cast one curious glance around the room before reddening and looking straight at the floor in front of the King's feet. "I have come as you commanded, sire."
"So you have. Be at ease, son. I will not bite," Elessar regarded him kindly, and Esli ventured to meet his eyes as he shuffled his feet uncertainly. "You have acted most honorably in showing mercy and kindness to the hobbits. For that, you shall be rewarded generously. I am promoting you to the King's Personal Guard; you must report for duty in one week, but until then your time is your own."
Esli blushed. "*Thank* you, sire!" he said fervently, again casting his gaze to the floor. When he looked up again, his eyes were troubled. "How does the halfling, Frodo, fare? He has not been far from my thought since your departure."
Elessar sighed and let his kingly facade crack a little as he glanced toward the bed and the three halflings now huddled upon it. "He... he has had a difficult night, but for now is out of immediate danger."
The guard looked somewhat relieved, and said, "I and my wife will gladly be of service to you in any way we can."
The king looked slightly amused at this seemingly rash offer, and said, "You are married, then? Have you any children?"
"Alas! no, though very nearly we did. My wife was with child, but fell ill, and the terror of that Fell King laid heavy upon her heart. The child was lost the same day the Gates fell, or so I was told by the warden at the Houses of Healing..."
Elessar placed a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'm very sorry," he said earnestly.
Esli gave him a small smile. "We have managed. The warden assures us she will still be able to bear children, and she has spent the past few months at home recovering, under orders from the warden, of course." He sobered, and lowered his voice a bit. "Which is what concerns me. She needs something to dwell on, other than our loss. I would suggest that she assists the healers, but they have not had much to do of late, with even the most severely wounded from the battle being sent home."
Elessar considered him for a moment and replied, "You are very perceptive. It is likely that something can be found to occupy her time here. Now go home to your wife, tell her what you have offered on her behalf, and if she agrees to it, she may come hither when she will."
"Thank you, sire. I am sure she will agree to it. The empty time has been weighing upon her, and she will be glad for a change." Esli assured the king, bowing deeply before he turned and left.
Aragorn retreated into the depths of the room, coming to sit upon the edge of the bed wearily. Sam looked at him approvingly. "That was right good, what you did for him, but you forgot to give him back his cloak," he said, pointing to the freshly cleaned and mended bundle folded upon the back of the chair before the fire, brought in earlier by one of the servants.
"So I did," Aragorn said ruefully. "Well, he seems certain that his wife will come, so remind me to return it to one of them then."
"Aye. O' course I will." Sam nodded emphatically.
"How is Frodo doing?" Aragorn asked, after a moment's pause, as he looked over at the sleeping hobbit, too tired to get up from the end of the bed for the time being.
"He's still sleepin'. He looks a sight better than he did, and no mistake."
Aragorn laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. "Good. Keep feeding him the broth every couple of hours, and have him drink some tea or water as often as possible, especially after he coughs. He will probably still need to cough every once in a while, but if he starts sounding as bad as he did earlier, send for me at once. I shall be in many endless councils until all the ambassadors are satisfied."
Merry frowned and asked, "Shouldn't you get some sleep first?"
But Aragorn just sighed. "The sooner this begins, the sooner it will be over. I will sleep then."
"Can't Mr. Faramir do it? At least for a little while?" Sam pestered. "You need sleep sure as Mr. Frodo needs it."
Aragorn sat up and smiled grimly at them. "I'm the King now. I don't get sleep until my job is done. And the King's job, my friends, is never done." He stood and gave them a mock salute. "Maybe I'll send Gandalf by to keep you company. And remember, if Frodo gets worse..."
"...we'll send for you straight away." Sam nodded.
Aragorn nodded back and left the room in a few long strides. Frodo's soft half-snores filled the silence left by Aragorn's absence, and Merry and Sam settled down to watch and wait.
TBC