Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional.
This story is AU.
A/N: This chapter was a real challenge. I struggled and rewrote it many times. I could have ended the story here, but decided to continue sensing there was more to tell.
Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 17
The first thing Frodo became aware of as he slowly drifted towards consciousness was the complete and total silence that pressed down upon him like a blanket. His desire to remain on that other realm was thwarted as his body struggled to the point of awareness. His eyes cracked slowly open, the blue depths adjusting to the dim light of the new day's dawn that tried to penetrate the shuttered windows. A great spasm of pain brought him to full wakefulness as he tried to swallow, causing him to jerk in response. He slowly moved his head to the left and saw Sam nestled closely into him, his left arm lay protectively over Frodo's chest. Turning slightly to the right he saw an unkempt figure, his head lie on the bed next to Frodo's right shoulder, slow, soft snores issuing from his mouth. A sudden wave of vertigo assaulted Frodo from even these small movements. He tried to focus on this unknown person who slept so near but he could not see his face. He thought it might be Aragorn by the look of the disheveled hair that lie on Frodo's pillow.
Frodo's right hand throbbed with each pulse of his heartbeat, an agony to his psyche and body. A dark reminder of his failure to part with the ring, except by force. His chest felt beaten and broken as if a troll had sat on him, his breaths coming in ragged, harsh gasps. His throat was on fire, each nerve ending a spasming agony , as he tried to swallow. It seemed that knives stabbed incessantly along the length. Weakness and exhaustion tore at him, and he closed his eyes, letting his mind attempt to muddle through the chaotic thoughts that now besieged him.
How long. How long had he slept. It felt like an eternity since he had felt well. Time had ceased to exist for him. He remembered speaking with Gandalf. Gandalf, dressed in pure white....perhaps he had dreamt that. Thoughts of his parents, excursions with Merry and Pip, coexisted with visions of healers with medicines and bathes...all were blended together in a cacophony and bewildering milange of indistinct impressions.
He inhaled a deep breath and tried to calm the turmoil of racing images. He wanted to know what had happened to him, he wanted to remember, but found the whole idea a bit overwhelming at present, and decided to approach the matter from a different angle. He had died. This he remembered. The feeling of contentment, belonging and serenity. The joyous realization that he was free of the pain and sorrow that had so racked his very soul and body. Suddenly a wave of deep depression assailed him. Loss overtook and suffused his being as realization set in. Bereft of the light and the warmth, and the fragile wisp of silk that he had briefly held, only to have it be broken and slip away, returning him back to the pain, sorrow and utter need for that which he could not have.
A tear slid down his cheek as he loosed a single sob. His throat painfully hitched as he thought longingly, of the passing that had been his, but was no more. Thinking of only how very trapped he now was within this feeble body with all of its hurts, guilt and remorse, only to prolong this empty existence that was his life, caused him to begin to weep in earnest.
Aragorn lifted his head slowly and gently wiped the tears from Frodo's face. "Ssshhhh, are you in great pain, little one?" he soothed.
Frodo
slowly turned his head to the right and locked sapphire eyes to
gray. The look of confusion, and want evident in those
blue depths caused Aragorn to recoil at the extent of pain his friend was enduring.
"It
will be all right, Frodo. I understand. I know what you
have lost. I too, have had the experience of passing from this mortal
plane and then being returned," his eyes took on a distant look.
"It will fade, with time," he whispered. "Would you like some cool
water? I admit, I have added cayenne tincture to it, but you
should not notice the flavor overmuch." Frodo nodded slowly.
Aragorn reached to the table and grasped the glass with the tincture.
Gently he lifted Frodo's head and gave him a small sip of the
mixture. Frodo's eyes opened wide with panic when he found he was
unable to swallow.
"Calm yourself, Frodo. Your throat has sustained substantial damage and is abraded. I will help you to swallow," he soothed. Gently he stroked the Ringbearer's throat until the muscles moved and he swallowed. A look of relief washed over Frodo's face. "More?" smiled Aragorn. Frodo nodded weakly. More sips were delivered, the throat gently stroked and the mixture swallowed until Frodo turned his head indicating he was done.
Sam, upon feeling Frodo stir beside him, awoke with a gasp. "My stars, Mr. Frodo, you gave us such a fright," he exclaimed. "But here you are back with us, thank the Valar," he continued chipperly. Frodo smiled wanly at his friend. Aragorn placed his hand on the pale forehead and released a slow sigh.
"The fever has broken. You are a constant amazement to me, Frodo," he laughed. Frodo wanted to respond, to ask his questions but was unable to speak, his throat a raw agony. He looked up in puzzlement, his eyes filled with pain, at Aragorn, who seemed to read his thoughts. "You have been most ill this last night, Frodo. You have had the 'brain fever' and suffered delirium and hallucinations uncounted. All hope seemed lost when we could not break the fever, but one of the healers....Valin came up with an ingenious method and the fever has now broken. You should make a full recovery. We had to put a reed down your throat to feed and medicate you, when it was removed the lining of the throat was abraded. You are bleeding in your throat and must not try to talk, as that will slow the healing time. We are treating you with a cayenne tincture that will stop the bleeding, and of course, we will continue your other medicines to continue to fight any residue of the fever. You are a very lucky hobbit, my friend. Almost all cases of brain fever, result in death. I will prepare some medicines for the pain and swelling. Your chest, I am sure is quite sore as well?" Frodo nodded, his eyes slipped closed as he tried to swallow and his face spasmed with fresh agony. "Let me examine the chest first all right ,Frodo?" Frodo nodded. It mattered little to him what they did anymore. Aragorn lifted the nightshirt and grimaced at the dark blue bruising and swollen red marks that covered the small chest. "I am sorry, mellon, for the new injuries I was forced to inflict upon you." He felt the ribs, Frodo groaned and tried to pull away, so intense was the probing. "I am sorry Frodo, but I must," said Aragorn as he pressed on each rib. "You have two maybe three cracked ribs. I will bind them so that they will heal properly," he said huskily. Strider turned to retrieve the materials required.
"Don't be too sorry there, Mr. Strider. I mean, after all, if it hadn't been for you, Mr. Frodo woulda' surely died what with him bein' so cold and all," said Sam conversationally. He gazed happily at his Master.
"Sam, perhaps now is not the time to regale Frodo with all the details..." he said slowly as he turned around. He looked at Frodo. Frodo's eyes were wide, full of accusation. They bore into Aragorn's and a look of betrayal crossed his face as he turned away from Aragorn's gaze.
"Nonsense, Mr. Strider. 'He who does...gets', as me gaffer always says," Sam continued, oblivious to the anger that was now flushing Frodo's pale face or the stunned look now covering Aragorn's.
"Sam, please excuse us just one moment," Aragorn whispered.
"Why....what's wrong? I haven't gone an' upset ya now, have I Mr. Frodo?" Sam looked anxiously at his Master. " I am a ninnyhammer, jus' like me gaffer says...'Sam, you ninnyhammer...' always goin' on and with you just awake and all," Sam rambled on apologetically. Frodo's eyes were closed and he was breathing in small gasps, tears falling freely down his gaunt face. "Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said in alarm.
"Sam, please...just...I need a few moments alone with Frodo," Aragorn murmured.
"All right. I'll jus' go an' check on Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry for a bit, if that's all right," Sam squeezed Frodo' hand and slowly lowered himself from the bed. He looked between Aragorn and Frodo, a concerned furrow between his eyes, then hesitantly left the room.
"Frodo, look at me," whispered Aragorn. Frodo refused to open his eyes, his head still turned away. "Please, Frodo. Look at me", implored Aragorn.
Frodo very slowly turned his head, opened his haunted blue eyes. "Why?" His voice a bare whisper. "It was over, why prolong my agony?" he croaked.
Aragorn moved to the bedside. "You should not speak," said Aragorn softly as he stroked Frodo's forehead. He lifted the hobbit to his chest and cradled him there. Frodo struggled weakly, trying to push away, but Aragorn held him tightly, and the hobbit was too weak to resist. He rocked him slowly. He looked down at Frodo who stared up at him, questioningly. "How could you?" he gasped.
"How could I not, Frodo? There is less darkness in Middle Earth now because of you and all you have done. I could not allow this new light to dim even but a little by your absence. You think me cruel to 'prolong your agony' as you say. But no man should choose his own time of death. You survived against hopeless odds and came back to us from death's door. I could not let Sauron claim one more friend, a friend who glows with such inner beauty and light. A light that is needed more now than ever, here in this world. I could not. It was selfish but I wanted you to live. I have great hopes that you will live a joyful life back in your Shire." Aragorn cried.
"There is no hope. There is no joy. You have taken the one chance of that from me. You should have let me die," Frodo rasped. Then he began coughing a wet, ragged cough. Aragorn turned him to his side as he coughed up a thick mucous mixed with bright red blood.
"Enough talk," said Aragorn brusquely. "You may still get your wish, Frodo Baggins, but it will not happen while you are in my care," a defiant look filled his eyes as he placed Frodo back in bed. Frodo's eyes were open, but gazed emptily into space. "You will get better, Frodo. You can not afford the luxury of feeling sorry for yourself. Had it been Sam, Pippin or Merry, would you have had me do any less for them? Would you have let them die if it had been in your power to save them?" Frodo's eyes filled with tears, he closed them trying to block out Aragorn's speech and the anger he could hear with each word. But a small niggling doubt now lay planted in his brain. He knew he would never have allowed his cousins or friends to perish if there had been even the smallest hope, of saving them.
Aragorn was now angry. "Look at me!" He grabbed Frodo's face and turned it towards him, holding it between his two hands. "Open your eyes!! Look at me." Frodo did so sobbing and gasping. Aragorn locked eyes with him. "They need you...we all need you...you will not give up. You will not die, do you understand?" Frodo tried to pull away and close his eyes, but Aragorn shook his face, "Do you understand, Frodo?" he fairly shouted into Frodo's face. Frodo just stared up at him in defiance, his eyes sad until Aragorn finally released his face from his grip.
Saleth rushed into the room upon hearing the raised voice of the King. "My Lord, is everything all righ......?" He stopped and smiled. "Frodo, welcome back to the land of the living," he said with warmth. Aragorn rolled his eyes and turned away at this. Frodo actually smiled weakly at the irony of Saleth's comment. "Was there a problem, my Liege?" he asked, looking at Frodo then at Aragorn in confusion..
"No. No problem. We were just....talking," said Aragorn quietly. "Frodo is still bleeding badly from his throat, we need to get it stopped now before he hemorrhages. Also he needs his other medicines and perhaps he could tolerate a little heavier broth," he said tiredly.
"Very well, my Lord." Saleth moved to the hearth and poured the cooled broth into a cup then gathered the teas---althelas, echinacea, Valerian root extract and the cayenne tincture. He brought them to the bedside. "I am increasing the cayenne tincture dosage and frequency to hopefully stem the bleeding." Aragorn nodded, exhausted after his tirade with Frodo. He turned around and looked at Frodo, Frodo met his gaze. Aragorn could tell their 'conversation' had taken it's toll on Frodo as well. He was trembling, his face flushed and a light sheen of perspiration shown on his lip and forehead. Aragorn moved back to his side and went to place his hand on Frodo's forehead. Frodo tried to pull away, but Aragorn was insistent.
"He is warm, but not feverish. The fever has broken, Saleth. Valin's cure worked," he informed the healer. Saleth sighed, relief evident on his face. Saleth wondered at the reaction the Ringbearer had shown towards the King as Aragorn had tried to check his temperature. There was more going on here than met the eye, he mused. The medicines were ready and he moved to Frodo's bedside. Perching on the edge of the bed he said "All right, Master Baggins, we are ready to give you a treatment if you will just open your mouth a little." Frodo looked up at the healer and set his jaw. Slowly he shook his head. "I don't understand. You must take your medicine, Frodo or you will not recover. You have already shown remarkable improvement, surely you want to get better?" Saleth smiled. Frodo's eyes looked sad and regretful as he shook his head slowly. He almost felt sorry for the healer who could not understand his decision on this matter. Saleth's eyes glanced quickly up to Aragorn's. Aragorn wore an expression of grim determination.
"Frodo has seen what awaits us all on the other side of this existence and is angry at being returned to endure this life. He has a death wish, Saleth," said Aragorn. Until we can make him see the error of his ways and open his eyes to the beauty that still exists here, in this world, we will have to force him to take our cures. Which means two things to me. Number one: Frodo is indeed, feeling much better if he can fight off healers and Kings and number two: if we can not get him to take the medicines orally..." he turned and looked pointedly at Frodo...."then we will prepare boluses and do it the hard way," he concluded with a slight smile. Frodo's eyes widened at the implications of having those "things" inserted into his bottom. He glared at Aragorn then slowly opened his mouth. A joyous Saleth began gently spooning the liquid in as Aragorn coaxed muscles in the small throat to swallow.
"Thank you, mellon," Aragorn whispered. "Let me help you to get well then show you that there is still beauty here on this plain, as well, and that you still have much to see and live for."
Frodo's left hand curled around Aragorn's right as tears fell from his sapphire blue eyes.
to be continued