A/N As a side note......I have always signed my reviews and e-mail 'trin'. But have decided to change that. My family always called me 'tree' as an endearment, and that is how I feel about all of you. You feel like family to me even though we will, most probably never meet, I wish to be known simply as 'tree'. Your response has been phenomenal. I feel very happy at this wonderful site, and thus, like family....so please don't hesitate to call me tree, or hey you, whatever...I answer to almost anything, but let's keep this clean, people. :D
Disclaimer: All characters and places are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien estate. Their use here is not meant as infringement of any kind. My simple claim to fame is this on going story.
Medical Disclaimer: While all efforts at researching possible cures and antidotes has been done, that in no way, means that these cures are a sure thing. Please consult a medical practitioner before attempting any of the procedures or cures mentioned in this fictional story.
Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 15
Valin quickly crossed to the bed of the stricken ringbearer. Drawing a small blade, he cut the bindings that restrained Frodo and rolled him onto his left side. Grasping a bowl in one hand he lifted the limp figure with the other, and held the bowl beneath his head, awaiting the inevitable. He was none to soon. Frodo violently retched into the bowl, spewing forth a mixture of tea and broth mixed with large amounts of bright red blood.
"As I feared," he said, almost to himself. He looked up at Gandalf. "We had need to pull the reed so quickly that we have damaged his throat and possibly, his stomach," he said gravely.
"What can be done for him?" asked Gandalf, anxiously.
"There is a very potent herb that seems to help stop bleeding in most cases. It is called cayenne, made into a tincture and added to water, it has proven most beneficial for internal and external bleeding. Apparently, we will have need of it. Mithrandir, could you call one of my assistants, please?" asked Valin.
"Of course," with that, Gandalf left the room and summoned not one, but two healers who were in conference in the corridor. They immediately turned with Gandalf, and entered the ringbearer's room.
"Please fill the copper tub with lukewarm water," Valin said. "And...," he hesitated. "Bring me two buckets of ice, broken into fist sized chunks," he finished slowly. The healers stopped and locked eyes with Valin, then nodding once, departed.
While one healer was occupied drawing the bath, the other took the buckets and started the long descent down into the catacombs of Minas Tirith. Deep under the city were caverns that never saw the light or heat of day. It took some time to reach the catacombs, but finally the healer found the precious ice and began chipping off large chunks to be carried back to the ringbearer's room.
The hot water was brought and mixed with cool in the small copper tub. Valin had finished cutting Frodo from his bindings, blankets and pillows and now was removing the nightshirt that clung to the frail body in a drenching sweat.
Gandalf then stepped to the bed and gathered the unconscious form of his dear friend, tenderly into his arms. Frodo was then lowered slowly into the cooling bath. Carefully, Gandalf and Valin sponged the feverish body. The healer returned from the caverns shortly and, with a sigh, sat the chunks of ice beside the tub holding the spent form of the ringbearer.
"You are certain of this, Valin?" he asked.
"We have no other choice. His fever has all but consumed him. If we allow it to linger, he will die," said Valin. The healer nodded knowing the risk that Valin now subjected the hobbit to. "Thank you, Melor. If you should see Saleth, please send him immediately here," said Valin.
"As you wish," he said. He bowed and left.
Valin took a smallish chunk of ice and placed it in the tub, allowing it to melt slowly. "We shall slowly add ice until the water temperature is quite cool," he explained, looking up at Gandalf who knelt by Frodo's head. "By doing this, we hope to lower Frodo's own temperature gradually. There is a mechanism, in all of our bodies, that seems to regulate our individual body temperatures. By bringing Frodo's own body temperature to the point of freezing, we hope to re-set this mechanism---have it counteract our cooling process, and stop the fever that now possesses him. It is very dangerous. Frodo's heart could stop or he could experience other symptoms of hypothermia. The other alternative is to wrap his body in steaming cloths which also attempts to reset the internal mechanism into counteracting our actions, by cooling him. This method can cause heat sickness, and, for that reason, I did not wish to use it ." He looked at Gandalf. "I felt for some reason, this was the better choice," he said softly.
Gandalf watched the face of his small friend and felt a rush of frustration and sadness. "You must be strong, Frodo. We need your shining light to return to our lives, healed and whole," he whispered gently, combing back the wet curls with his large, gnarled hand. Valin continued to add ice, one chunk at a time, letting each dissolve slowly into the bath water. Frodo seemed relaxed and calm even though the water temperature was becoming quite cool. They continued to sponge him gently, washing the cool water over his face, hair and body. Valin added more ice. They watched the serene face of the ringbearer for any change, anticipating some reaction to the now frigid water.
"I believe that is enough. We shall simply let him float here for a few moments then wrap and clothe him," said Valin. He moved Frodo to Gandalf's arms, stood and retrieved clean blankets and set them on a rack by the fire to warm. Suddenly, there was a harsh, gurgling gasp and he turned quickly. Frodo's eyes were open and held a look of surprise mingled with shock. He clutched at Gandalf convulsively as the wizard bent over him.
Sam was dreaming. The dream had started out nice enough, but now was something Sam sought only to escape from. Mr. Frodo was standing before him looking like his old self. He wore the travel worn jacket, shirt and breeches, but all looked brand new as the day they were made.
"Why, Mr. Frodo sir, you look right as rain. I see the healers have got you back to your ol' self once again," said Sam gleefully.
"Yes, Sam. I am right as rain," said Frodo, a large grin covering his healthy rosy complexion. His eyes were bright with the light of life and he chuckled easily at the look on Sam's face. "I've never felt better, my dear friend," he stated.
But something wasn't quite right and as Sam studied his Master, a small niggling doubt nudged at the base of his brain. A frown began forming on his face. Frodo did look wonderful, but it seemed almost too good to believe. He studied his Master and noticed that none of the bruises and battle scars of the trip through Mordor remained on the shining countenance. Frodo seemed calm and happy, the smile Sam had always loved, touching his eyes. All of these things were things Sam had hoped and prayed for and now he wondered at the confusion and dread that filled his thoughts. As he gazed at the lithe and healthy figure before him, he gasped. Frodo was shining like a bright beacon of starlight. But more than that, Sam could see a transparency about Frodo. He could see through his friend.
"Mr. Frodo? I don't understand. Why can I see through you? Is it an after effect of the ring?" Sam asked, his voice wavering in fear.
Frodo's high, lilting laugh suddenly sounded grating to Sam's ears. "Of a sort, I suppose. My dearest Sam, I feel so light and carefree like I could jump to the stars and land on the moon," he exclaimed. His expression turned to one of pity. "I am so sorry, Sam," he said softly. "If I could, I would be there for you and Rosie, and all of your children, but I can not," he said sadly. "My time is over. I regret none of it. I needed to say good-bye, that is why I am here now."
"No, Mr. Frodo. You can't go a leavin' us now. What will I do without you? You saved Middle Earth and you gotta live to see it grow and bloom again," Sam wailed. He reached out to Frodo, but Frodo stepped back.
"I'm sorry, Sam," he said as he became more and more transparent. "I love you, my dear, faithful friend," he whispered. And then he was gone, fading into air, a glimmer of light lingered where he had last stood until even that, blinked out of existence.
"No. Come back!! No, Mr. Frodo," Sam cried, sobbing hysterically.
Sam's eyes popped open as he panted and struggled to rise, the cry still echoing through his mind. As he began to realize it had only been a dream, his eyes fixed on his Master's frail form being lifted, lifeless, from the copper tub.
The synapses in the brain of Frodo Baggins were firing at an alarming rate of speed, leaving the ringbearer confused and disoriented. Every color of the spectrum flashed and pulsed, the universe seemed to pitch on waves of vertigo. Memories of his parents, friends and loved ones flashed past in rapid succession all surrounded in a brilliant halo of light. Thoughts past, present and future overwhelmed him as he tried to grasp each one. His mother rocking and singing to him as a child. His cousins', Merry and Pip, and he fishing under a tree on the Brandywine. His parents', walking down a road, a giggling, dangling toddler sized Frodo, between them. Gandalf falling in Moria. Sam planting flowers in the beloved window boxes at Bag End, a smile on his face. On and on the memories raced past surrounded by the brilliant, blinding light, infused with every color imaginable and swirling in a sea of vertigo. Until at last, it all coalesced into a tiny pinprick of white light. There was a loud rushing noise and then it was deadly calm and peaceful.
to be continued