A/N: I wrote this about as quickly as I could, given that I do have other things calling for my attention (though not as many as I will once school begins again in a few short weeks! o_O). The next chapter will sadly be delayed by my going out of town this coming Friday for a week. If I can, I will come online long enough to post, if the chapter cooperates! ;)
Many thank you's to all of my reviewers! Especially those who have had trouble finding things in the wake of the mandatory renaming. You provide much encouragement, and it is greatly appreciated. :) And now without any further ado, I give you (the unlucky) chapter 13!
_Chapter 13_
Frodo coughed roughly, having choked on the last bit of tea, then grimaced as he tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. The empty tea mug had been taken from his hands and was now replaced, half full of water. He nodded his thanks, unable to form the words with his suddenly parched mouth. The cool liquid eased the dry cottony feeling in his mouth and throat at least temporarily, but he shivered with the chill of it even as he swallowed with some difficulty. It felt as though icy fingers were crawling across his skin, setting his hairs on end and freezing him to the bone.
Jael watched with some concern as Frodo seemed to pale several shades, his skin nearly matching the white of the sheets. He gave the cup to Sam as soon as he was finished, and collapsed back onto his pillows, pulling the blankets tightly over him. She was about to ask how he fared when he groaned, "Oh... I should *not* have had that tea."
"What is the matter?" she inquired, trying not to look bothered by this new turn in his symptoms.
At first he did not respond, instead squeezing his eyes shut and curling up on his side, in obvious discomfort. Sam and Jael exchanged a worried glance over his prone form; this, whatever it was, should not be happening. Sam reached to brush Frodo's hair off his forehead and tuck it behind his ear so he could see his master's face, as his back was now to him. Jael simultaneously clasped one of his small hands, just peeking out from under the blankets, and found it to be clammy and cold. She held it sandwiched between her warmer palms as she gently prodded, "What's wrong?"
"I-I don't know," he gasped. He bit back a cry before continuing. "It... hurts... and I'm cold... and I can't breathe." Ordinarily he wouldn't admit that much, but he knew as well as they did that this wasn't normal, that this shouldn't be happening... "I feel like throwing up," he added belatedly.
"Try not to," Jael urged even as she brought a basin within easy reach. "The tea should help, just give it some time." Frodo nodded slightly, his eyes still squeezed shut, as if by not opening them he could pretend the pain wrapping itself around his insides didn't really exist.
Jael eased her chair closer to the bed as she touched his cheek briefly before gently rubbing his back. Frodo felt alarmingly cool, an ironic occurrence after his fever a short time ago, and he was trembling, though whether from cold or something else she did not know. She met Sam's gaze again. "Go find the King," she mouthed silently, motioning with her free hand towards the door. Sam nodded and cast one more look at Frodo before crawling across the bed, dropping to the floor, and hurrying out the door.
~~~~
Sam dashed down the deserted corridor, heart pounding. What could be wrong with Mr. Frodo? Something niggled at the back of his mind about that tea, but he couldn't figure out what was bothering him about it.
When he reached the first intersection of hallways, his heart sank as he peered down first one, then the other. How was he supposed to find Strider in this maze when he didn't know where to look? And there was no one to ask, everyone either still at luncheon or in that council with Strider. He was about to give up hope of ever picking the right way to go when he heard familiar voices drifting down the corridor to the right. He began running in that direction, nearly weeping in delight when Merry, Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli came into view. Their good-natured banter ceased as he approached.
"What's the matter?" Merry cried when he saw Sam's desperate expression.
"Where's Strider?" Sam gasped in answer as he stopped and tried to catch his breath.
"In council," Merry replied automatically. "Sam, what is it? Is Frodo...?" he exchanged a horrified look with Pippin, and they both crowded closer to the panting gardener.
"'E's sick... don' know why... hafta get Strider..." he managed between gulping breaths.
"Come with me-I know where to find him!" Pippin said eagerly, turning and starting back the way they came without even making sure that Sam followed him. Once he realized this he stopped, only to have Sam run into him from behind. "Sorry," he muttered and was off again before the older hobbit could say a word.
Merry, Legolas, and Gimli watched them go, the heavy weight of worried silence settling over them. Once the pair turned a corner and was lost from view, they resumed their journey in the other direction. They had been intending to visit Frodo in the first place, but now their steps were more hurried, worried about what they would find.
~~~~
The trio entered the room to see Jael holding Frodo up as he retched into the basin in her lap. She didn't notice their entrance until Merry uttered an inarticulate cry and rushed over to the bed. Jael allowed him to embrace his cousin while she tried to induce Frodo to have a sip of water.
But Frodo refused. "No... can't," he wheezed, blinking back tears of pain and frustration. He looked so miserable, sagging against Merry, that she wanted to hold him close and reassure him that everything would be all right, but she had to admit she didn't know if it would be.
"All right then," she acquiesced, unwilling to force the matter, and helped Merry lay him back down. Frodo promptly curled up again, and Merry laid down behind him, holding him close and keeping him warmer, all the while murmuring reassurances.
Jael put the basin aside as she rose and was startled by the approach of Legolas. She had met him before; he and Gimli had visited a few times while Frodo was still so ill, but she had forgotten they came in with Merry.
"Would hot water bottles be of assistance?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you," she said gratefully. She watched as he returned to the fireplace, where Gimli was occupying himself by arranging every available pot and kettle over and around the fire to get warm.
Five minutes later saw them carrying over a half dozen pleasantly warm water bottles, which Jael strategically placed around the suffering hobbit. And still he trembled, still his hands and feet remained icy cold. She desperately hoped the King would arrive soon.
~~~~
"You don't understand! You *must* let us in! We have to speak to the King!" Pippin had taken it upon himself to act as spokesman in trying to get past the pair of guards standing at attention on either side of the door leading to the council chamber. Sam tried to use their distraction to sidle closer to the door handle, but the second guard gave him a disproving look and he shrank back in defeat.
The guards exchanged a dubious look. "The King *does* hold the small folk dear," the first admitted reluctantly. The second shrugged and nodded. "All right, we'll let you in," the first finally conceded and reached for the handle.
His motion, however, was interrupted when the door was swung open by none other than King Elessar himself. "By whom are we disturbed?" he demanded. The stern mask he wore for negotiations quickly melted into concern when he espied Samwise and Peregrin behind the guards. He stepped out into the hall, allowing the door to swing closed behind him, and sank to one knee. "Sam? Pippin? What's wrong?"
"Mr. Frodo's bad sick, all sudden-like," Sam burst out. "An' we don' know what ails 'im."
Aragorn frowned as his eyes searchingly roved Sam's face, finding concern, confusion, ....and fear. The frown deepened as he realized the situation *must* be dire for Sam to leave Frodo's side and seek him out in this manner. "Allow me a moment," he said finally, rising to re-enter the room.
The hobbits could not make out words, but they discerned Aragorn's authoritative voice, then a softer reply, and the door opened to reveal Aragorn once more. "Faramir will act in my stead. Let us make haste."
As they hurriedly walked back to the room -well, Aragorn strode while Sam and Pippin half-ran- Sam tried to explain all he could of what had happened and what may have brought on the fit.
~~~~
"Frodo, look at me." Aragorn's voice held a note of command, both to get the hobbit's attention and to encourage obedience of his words. Frodo slowly shifted his eyes from their distant stare to the face placed about a foot from his own. "Now, Frodo, I want you to tell me how you feel." He'd already listened to Jael and Sam tell of Frodo's complaints, and done what physical examination he could, but he knew from experience that having the sufferer list their symptoms often told more about their true physical and mental state than any poking or prodding could reveal.
Frodo sighed heavily and replied after a moment's thought, "Like a troll is sitting on me."
Aragorn wasn't sure if he should take this comment seriously, but Pippin commented first. "You'd be much flatter if there were, cousin!" he informed him cheerfully from his spot behind Merry, both curled against Frodo's back to keep him warmer. Frodo's mouth curved in a small smile, and for a moment Aragorn was relieved that he could still jest so.
But then Frodo began to cough as a chuckle became strangled in his throat, and all who could hear winced in sympathy. It hurt to listen to it, a gagging, choking sound as Frodo tried to draw in air through swollen, irritated passageways that would not permit it. Within seconds all who could aid him were in motion, drawing him to sit upright, rubbing his back, bringing a steamy kettle near in hopes the moisture would ease his breathing.
For a few tense moments no one was sure if Frodo could breathe or was getting enough air; he reassured them with a stifled gasp before settling down to the uneven wheezing from before as he collapsed against whoever was holding him. This time it was Aragorn, and he looked down anxiously as the curly head against his chest began to list sideways. "Frodo, you must stay awake until we know what's wrong."
"But... I feel so... weak... and tired. ...Why am I so tired, Aragorn?" he asked almost dreamily, staring again into space.
"I don't know, Frodo. And until we do, you can't give in. Understand?" He laid the hobbit back against his pillows to see Frodo struggling to stay focused on his face. His hand tenderly cupped the side of Frodo's face as he whispered, "Hold on, Frodo. Hold on."
With a sigh the hobbit closed his eyes and was insensate to the world, though not yet unreachable. Mirroring the sigh, Aragorn slid his hand down to check his pulse... there, but staggering and weak, like a wounded man's limp before he falls to the ground that final time.
His mind was still busily working, going through his knowledge for what could be causing this and how to counteract it. It had a sedating effect, so something stimulating was necessary... what could he give to Frodo without knowing the cause? Something that wouldn't interact...
"Merry, Pippin," he said suddenly. "Go get some of that brandy served at the last banquet."
The hobbits gave him strange looks from where they tried to peer over his shoulders, concerned about Frodo's state. "What-" began Pippin, but the King cut him off.
"Just go and get it. It should help counter Frodo's symptoms." They shrugged, still confused, and left in search of the leftover brandy.
"Sam, you said he had some tea before this came on?" Aragorn inquired, returning to his quest for the cause.
"Yes, sir," he stepped closer, also peering anxiously at Frodo as Aragorn tucked him back in with the hot water bottles and pile of quilts.
"What about before that? Did he eat anything?"
"Nay. Refused food, he did, and didn't look none too happy 'bout takin' tea, neither."
Aragorn sat back with a frown creasing his forehead, studying Frodo for any clues he may be neglecting. He mustn't miss the obvious. "All right, then. What kind of tea was it?"
Sam had to think a moment. "I don't rightly know. Jael made it, an' wi' lots o' honey, as he asked."
Jael had been silent all through the exchange, stepping back and out of the way once the King arrived, recognizing her meager skills were of no more use. Now she stood, wringing her hands anxiously, afraid she may have done something to unwittingly cause this and harm the poor soul who'd been through so much already. She stepped forward. "Aye, my lord. I made the tea, with chamomile and mint. And a couple leaves of that athelas, for good measure."
Aragorn looked over at her, startled. He'd half forgotten anyone else was still in the room, so intent was he on the vexing riddle before him. "That certainly wouldn't have done this," he mused, then came to a decision on his immediate course of action. He rose from the bed, intending to prepare some athelas for Frodo to inhale, his breathing still significantly impeded by the pneumonia and now this new malady; hopefully it would give him a bit more time to investigate. But the sight on the table gave him pause. The contents had been drastically rearranged. "Sam, what happened?" he asked, gesturing at the table.
"Oh, that man accidentally dragged the linens o'er the table," he replied moving to stand closer to Aragorn as the King surveyed the damage. "We tried to put everythin' back in order."
And indeed, most everything was placed back in the correct piles. But then Aragorn spotted something suspicious. There was another type of leaf in with the athelas. Very similar, yes, but his trained eye could discern a number of small differences.
He immediately set to separating the two, and quickly had the imposters weeded out. Aragorn peered at one of the four leaves he'd found, and his heart sank as he realized he knew what it was. Was it not enough for Frodo to be terribly ill, that he must be poisoned as well? All of the symptoms made perfect sense now, and he knew even before he looked that he would find some of that leaf amongst those used for the tea. And what of she who made that tea? Was she responsible for this? He couldn't be sure, so he had to proceed with caution...
"Lady Jael, you said Frodo threw up. How many times?" he asked with forced neutrality as he prepared the mixture for the steam, behaving as if nothing were amiss.
"Twice, my lord." She still hadn't moved from where she stood, and didn't seem to note anything out of the ordinary in his manner.
"How much came up?" Now he carried the basin and a boiling kettle to the bedside.
"It is all still in the basin on the table; I think he brought up all of the tea he drank."
Aragorn paused in pouring the water long enough to give a small sigh of relief. If none of the poison remained in his system, it was likely the symptoms would pass off given some time. They would merely need to keep Frodo comfortable until then.
"Legolas, Gimli, would you see if you can find a few more hot water bottles?" he requested, both for Frodo's comfort and desiring to have them out of earshot for what he needed to do next. He didn't want to embarrass her any more than absolutely necessary.
Once the elf and dwarf had left, he returned the empty kettle to the hearth and turned to face Jael and Sam. He paused; there was no good way to say this, so it would be better to say it flat out. "Frodo has been poisoned," he said stiffly, watching as both hobbit and woman paled. "I have found leaves of an entirely different nature mixed with the athelas. Someone has planted them there, undoubtedly with the intent of harming Frodo." And now for the difficult part... "Forgive me, Lady Jael, but I must ask that you return to your home until this matter is resolved."
Jael's senses were reeling as the full implication of the King's words sank into her consciousness. She really *had* caused this, and now she was being sent away. "Of course, my lord," she murmured through numb lips before walking slowly towards the door. Her movements were mechanical, her mind barely able to comprehend the sudden turn of events.
When she finally gave thought to directing her stumbling feet, she was halfway home and surrounded by the late afternoon crowd of those going to market. It seemed a lifetime before she reached her modest home along a lonely side street. Her neighbor's houses were lit from within, the cheerful sounds of children playing and supper being prepared ringing discordantly in her ears.
Jael shuffled inside her own dark home, grateful that no one had seen her return and that her husband had not yet returned from visiting friends in the second circle. There was no way she could have explained to him what she had done, albeit inadvertently, and that she had been dismissed. Here was yet another thing to add to her list of failures.
She sank to the floor and wept bitterly.
TBC
Additional author's note: The precise identity of the plant used will be discussed in the next chapter, for those curious. ;)