Frodo awoke late in the night with a start, breathing heavily. It was the
pain that had woken him; the heavy, intense pain that was increasingly
getting worse, coursing through his side and shoulder. He gritted his teeth
and shut his eyes tightly, trying to close it out of his mind.
A sudden sharp, shooting pain glanced through his shoulder, and before he could even think to stop himself he let out a cry.
Suddenly, Sam stirred next to him.
"Mr. Frodo?" he asked sleepily. "Are you all right, sir?"
"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo replied, cursing himself inwardly. "Go back to sleep."
Sam sat up.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asked. "Or eat? You hadn't any proper supper this last evening, you know, and I'm sure that isn't at all good for you."
"I'm not hungry, Sam, but thank you," said Frodo. "Really, you should get back to your rest; Strider says it is still a rather long way to Rivendell."
Frodo was leaning on his elbow, propping himself up somewhat on his good shoulder. Sam continued to sit on his bedcovers, seemingly having no intention of going back to sleep.
"Really, now, Mr. Frodo," he said, "Why don't you have some bread and butter? We have a few apples left, too. They'd do you good."
"But Sam, I-" Frodo started.
But before he could finish, that horrible pain overwhelmed him again, and he gasped.
Sam was by his side in an instant.
"There, there, now, Mr. Frodo," he cooed soothingly. Lie back down, now."
He eased Frodo gently back onto the ground, resting his head on the pillow there.
Frodo breathed heavily, his features twisted in pain. Sam had his hand on his good shoulder, trying to offer encouraging words to his master. After a moment, though, when Frodo's anguished groans did not cease, he whispered that he would soon return and crept over to Strider.
"Aragorn," he whispered, "Come quickly! Frodo is in pain again, and I do not know how to ease it."
Strider rose at once and went to where the Ringbearer lay, gasping and coughing though intense fits of pain.
"Relax," Strider advised, pouring water from his bottle into a kettle and setting it over the fire. "It will take a minute for the water to boil; until then, try and relax."
But Frodo was in such pain by now that that was nearly impossible. He had great wads of blankets balled up in his fists, digging his heals into the ground in an attempt to find a way to occupy himself so not to cry out.
At last the water was heated, and Aragorn again put the leaves of the athelas healing plant into the steaming liquid, and tugged Frodo's shirt down his shoulder. Frodo let out a screech as the cloth was pressed to his wound, struggling against the touch, his mind now so consumed with fever that he could not even understand that he was being helped, not hurt. He thrashed about wildly, breathing hard, eyes wide open, gasping with effort.
"Hold him down, Sam!" Strider said, struggling to keep the hobbit in place, so that he would not hurt himself.
Sam quickly knelt by his master's side, gently placing his calloused hands on Frodo's good shoulder and side. He soon found, however, that gentleness was not going to calm his master, and soon had to use force to keep him from struggling.
After a moment, though, Frodo relaxed, though Sam could not tell whether this was because he had exhausted himself or if the plant was taking effect.
Frodo lay still now, almost too still, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he shivered, though his skin was hot to the touch. He opened his eyes briefly, and they were bloodshot and bright with fever.
Sam ached for his master.
"Go and get some cool water, Sam," said Strider, "as cold as you can get it."
Sam nodded and sprinted off, heading towards the stream on the left side of the plateau. He dipped a cloth into the cool waters and hurried back with it, handing it to Strider, who took the cloth and gently placed it, still dripping wet, on Frodo's hot forehead.
Frodo shivered harshly and tried to sit up, clawing the cloth away, muttering "cold, cold" incoherently.
"Hush, Frodo," Strider said sternly, not out of unkindness but out of concern, knowing that Frodo would not listen in his fever-ridden state unless he was forced to. He pushed Frodo back to the ground as gently as he could, and placed the cloth back on his forehead, holding Frodo's hands by his sides so that he could not brush it away again.
"Quick, Sam, more cool water," he said. "Put it in a pot and bring some cloth; we'll see if we can't get this fever down."
More soon, for anyone interested!! If you want more, let me know, because I won't write more if there are no reviews!! Thanks so much to all who have reviewed so far!!
A sudden sharp, shooting pain glanced through his shoulder, and before he could even think to stop himself he let out a cry.
Suddenly, Sam stirred next to him.
"Mr. Frodo?" he asked sleepily. "Are you all right, sir?"
"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo replied, cursing himself inwardly. "Go back to sleep."
Sam sat up.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asked. "Or eat? You hadn't any proper supper this last evening, you know, and I'm sure that isn't at all good for you."
"I'm not hungry, Sam, but thank you," said Frodo. "Really, you should get back to your rest; Strider says it is still a rather long way to Rivendell."
Frodo was leaning on his elbow, propping himself up somewhat on his good shoulder. Sam continued to sit on his bedcovers, seemingly having no intention of going back to sleep.
"Really, now, Mr. Frodo," he said, "Why don't you have some bread and butter? We have a few apples left, too. They'd do you good."
"But Sam, I-" Frodo started.
But before he could finish, that horrible pain overwhelmed him again, and he gasped.
Sam was by his side in an instant.
"There, there, now, Mr. Frodo," he cooed soothingly. Lie back down, now."
He eased Frodo gently back onto the ground, resting his head on the pillow there.
Frodo breathed heavily, his features twisted in pain. Sam had his hand on his good shoulder, trying to offer encouraging words to his master. After a moment, though, when Frodo's anguished groans did not cease, he whispered that he would soon return and crept over to Strider.
"Aragorn," he whispered, "Come quickly! Frodo is in pain again, and I do not know how to ease it."
Strider rose at once and went to where the Ringbearer lay, gasping and coughing though intense fits of pain.
"Relax," Strider advised, pouring water from his bottle into a kettle and setting it over the fire. "It will take a minute for the water to boil; until then, try and relax."
But Frodo was in such pain by now that that was nearly impossible. He had great wads of blankets balled up in his fists, digging his heals into the ground in an attempt to find a way to occupy himself so not to cry out.
At last the water was heated, and Aragorn again put the leaves of the athelas healing plant into the steaming liquid, and tugged Frodo's shirt down his shoulder. Frodo let out a screech as the cloth was pressed to his wound, struggling against the touch, his mind now so consumed with fever that he could not even understand that he was being helped, not hurt. He thrashed about wildly, breathing hard, eyes wide open, gasping with effort.
"Hold him down, Sam!" Strider said, struggling to keep the hobbit in place, so that he would not hurt himself.
Sam quickly knelt by his master's side, gently placing his calloused hands on Frodo's good shoulder and side. He soon found, however, that gentleness was not going to calm his master, and soon had to use force to keep him from struggling.
After a moment, though, Frodo relaxed, though Sam could not tell whether this was because he had exhausted himself or if the plant was taking effect.
Frodo lay still now, almost too still, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he shivered, though his skin was hot to the touch. He opened his eyes briefly, and they were bloodshot and bright with fever.
Sam ached for his master.
"Go and get some cool water, Sam," said Strider, "as cold as you can get it."
Sam nodded and sprinted off, heading towards the stream on the left side of the plateau. He dipped a cloth into the cool waters and hurried back with it, handing it to Strider, who took the cloth and gently placed it, still dripping wet, on Frodo's hot forehead.
Frodo shivered harshly and tried to sit up, clawing the cloth away, muttering "cold, cold" incoherently.
"Hush, Frodo," Strider said sternly, not out of unkindness but out of concern, knowing that Frodo would not listen in his fever-ridden state unless he was forced to. He pushed Frodo back to the ground as gently as he could, and placed the cloth back on his forehead, holding Frodo's hands by his sides so that he could not brush it away again.
"Quick, Sam, more cool water," he said. "Put it in a pot and bring some cloth; we'll see if we can't get this fever down."
More soon, for anyone interested!! If you want more, let me know, because I won't write more if there are no reviews!! Thanks so much to all who have reviewed so far!!