Every Man for Himself

Disclaimer: The wish fairies are being mean and horrible and are not letting me have LOTR. So I have decided to retaliate by having a big pout and by writing about it anyway. ;)

Chapter 14: Reaping the Consequences

7 May 3019 – The Very Early Hours of the Morning

Breathe…

Stay calm…

Focus…

You know how to deal with people who have been poisoned.

Just think…

The Men had gone. Frodo had been poisoned. The gold had gone. Frodo had been poisoned. His plan had completely and utterly failed…

And Frodo had been poisoned. Frodo had been hurt. Frodo was ill. Frodo had a fever. Frodo… needed his help. Donning the carefully calm mask that had taken many years to truly master and perfect, Aragorn pushed aside his ferocious storm of thoughts and emotions as he knelt down beside his unconscious friend where he had been discarded like some piece of rubbish. Aragorn had to call in a lot of self-control to contain his sudden flare of anger, directed at both the Men and himself. A healer had to remain focused and clear-headed when dealing with a patient. A healer could not afford to miss a single clue that the body could tell, least he end up giving the wrong diagnosis, in turn prescribing the wrong treatment and medication.

As Aragorn conducted his quick but fairly thorough examination of Frodo, he distantly sensed Legolas kneeling down beside him, but not too close as to hinder him. Sam, Merry and Pippin had already positioned themselves around their beloved friend and cousin, even before Aragorn had moved towards him. The three hobbits now watched the proceedings as sharply as hawks, their complete and strained silence spreading to cover the entirety of the gardens. It seemed like an age and a lifetime before Aragorn at last sighed and lifted Frodo's rather battered and worn body into his arms. He rose to his feet with the others following his example.

"Is he alright?" asked Sam desperately, unable to go without solid factual information concerning his master's state any longer. The healer in Aragorn mentally cried out in further dismay as he spared a moment to observe how pale and shaken the young gardener obviously was. But the ranger in him told him that Sam's well-being could not yet take priority.

"No, Sam," said Aragorn as gently as he could. Realising that he had everyone's undivided attention, he rose his voice a little to address them all. "Not only has Frodo been poisoned, but he is ill, has a high fever and has been mistreated harshly. It is vital that we now get him back to the citadel as quickly as possible." After so saying, Aragorn turned to Legolas. The Elf was somewhat surprised to see the deadly fire burning in his friend's normally calm eyes.

"Legolas, I need you to run ahead and alert Gandalf and the others to what has happened. Get someone to send for the herb master from the Houses of Healing and to tell him that he is to bring all remedies for fevers and poisons that there are, along with all the athelas leaves that can be spared. Make sure that Frodo and Sam's room is ready and that there is a basin of cool water with some cloths, a pitcher of water and anything else you can think of that will be of help. Go now with all the speed that you and your kind have been graced with."

Legolas shot out of the gardens and towards the citadel as fast as his immortal legs would carry him. Aragorn, with Frodo safely in his arms and the other hobbits close beside him, followed in the Elf's wake, though they moved at a much slower pace.

"Strider," said Merry. "Why didn't you get Legolas to take Frodo with him?" Aragorn glanced down to the small beings buzzing around him like flies on a hot summer's day. All three of them were looking up at him curiously, though worriedly, each of them wondering the same thing.

"Although Legolas has a smooth gait," said Aragorn. "Running from here back to the citadel would still provide a rough and painful journey for Frodo if he were to awaken. The movement it would inevitably produce would induce more of the poison to enter his system and start effecting him quicker. That is something we must avoid happening at all costs."

The Prince of Mirkwood had never felt so relieved as he did when he burst into the citadel and found everyone he needed to right where he had first thought to look. Gandalf, Gimli and Faramir had been waiting rather impatiently in the Fellowship's apartments. When they had heard light but very hurried footfalls coming towards them, they had each frozen and stared intently at the direction in which the new sound came. When Legolas' strained features came into view, they all felt their hearts plummeting. A million questions surfaced in each of their minds, the first and foremost being – why was he alone?

"Legolas what-"

"Mithrandir!" cried Legolas, paying no heed to the disgruntled look that Gimli shot him at being interrupted.

"What happened?" demanded Gandalf quickly. "Where-"

"The Men discovered us," explained Legolas as rapidly as he could. How he wished that Gimli and Faramir understood Sindarin, so that he could expel the onslaught of Elvish that was accumulating on his tongue. "They poisoned Frodo in retribution. Aragorn is returning with him and the other hobbits now."

"The Ringbearer has been-"

"Poisoned. Yes. He is in a bad way. He has been physically harmed and is ill with a high fever. Aragorn has asked that the herb master in the Houses of Healing be sent for and that he bring all the remedies for fevers and poisons that he has, as well as all the athelas leaves that can be spared."

"I'll go and fetch him now," said Faramir. "But what poison should I tell him has been used?"

"Several," said Legolas. "Tell him we know not what must be specifically treated." Faramir's brows drew down into a worried and confused frown, but he quickly nodded and disappeared out of the citadel. Gandalf watched him leave for a moment before spinning back around to face Legolas. When Legolas and Gimli saw the deep pain and anxiety that had been etched into his ancient features, they found their very hearts stricken to the core. For here was not the Head of the Istari Order. Here was an old man suffering at the news of a loved one's hardships.

"My friend," he said. "You will have to tell us exactly what happened."

Even as Aragorn made his way through the city to home, he could feel the precious bundle in his arms growing increasingly warmer. He heaved a mental sigh of both worry and frustration. Already the poison was doing its work – for he did not doubt its potential influence on the illness and fever already wracking Frodo's frail form.

Carefully, he quickened his steps, the other hobbits jogging to keep up with the distance his long legs covered with each step. This silent journey back up through the city was costing them more than they would ever say. Already weary from the night's events, they each seemed to stumble along through some sort of nightmare plagued with anxiety and fear for their Frodo. Their minds returned them to a time and place not so long ago, when they had watched Glorfindel galloping out of sight with a fading Frodo in his arms. They and Aragorn had staggered along after him as quickly as they could, though the pace that the Ranger had set far outdistanced what they could manage in their exhausted and terrified states.

But the knowledge of the grave danger that Frodo was in had spurred them on, as had their desperation and need to be by his side. Glancing up at the pale hand nodding up and down in rhythm to Aragorn's steps, Sam mused grimly that things hadn't much changed since late October.

Sensing the weight of the gardener's gaze, Aragorn looked down at him and gave a small reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Sam," he said. "We're almost there." Sam nodded jerkily, not trusting his voice enough to do anything more. Instead, he focused his attention on the looming gates ahead.

At long last the doors to the citadel were thrown open to admit Aragorn and the hobbits. Their hearts flared with relief to be back in the King's home, and they quickened their steps as they moved ever towards the Fellowship's apartment. When they finally entered Frodo and Sam's room, they found themselves caught in a world of flurried activity. The atmosphere was one of chaos and confusion. Servants dashed about with towels, herbs, blankets, cloths, water pitchers, basins and more. Everyone was so distracted with their tasks that the five new arrivals almost went unnoticed.

But Gandalf had been tracking their progress as best he could since Legolas had returned, and he looked up at them with heavy eyes as they entered through the doorway.

"How is he?" he asked as he moved to Aragorn. The hobbits thought that the wizard looked older now than they ever remembered him looking before. Aragorn shook his head at the question, his expression grim.

"Not good," was his answer. He moved over to Frodo's bed and gently laid the unconscious hobbit on it. He began to undress him in preparation for a more thorough examination and to change him out of his filthy clothes into something more comfortable. Sam scurried up on the bed to help while Merry looked about the room until he spotted a hobbit-sized nightshirt that had been laid out on a chair. He moved to retrieve it, handing it to Aragorn just as he was about to ask for it. But even as the Man grasped the fine linen in his hand, he found his eyes glued to the sight that was before him. As a frown blossomed on his brow, he ran a careful hand over Frodo's discoloured torso. The bruising he saw looked far worse than the bruising he had helped heal after Moria.

"Merry," said Aragorn at last, not taking his eyes from the expanse of abraded skin. "Why don't you and Pippin go and make some athelas tea. You know how to do it. And mix in a couple of peppermint leaves while you're at it. It should help lower his fever."

Merry frowned in consternation. Was Aragorn trying to distract him and Pippin? His eyes trailed to Sam who seemed momentarily frozen, a look of horror mingled with barely bridled fury on his face. He too, had his eyes locked on the forest of bruises on Frodo's body. But from his vantage point standing on the ground, Merry could not see what the gardener could, despite his new superior height. He glanced up at Gandalf who nodded at him, seeming to understand the unvoiced question. Merry turned to Pippin and firmly steered him to the fireplace where laid a kettle sitting in readiness on the hearth, already filled with water.

"Come on, Pip," he said. "Get me some athelas leaves, will you? Three should be alright. I'll get the peppermint."

With the two youngest hobbits distracted for the time, Aragorn looked up at Gandalf himself. The look on the wizard's face was one of deep pain. Aragorn had only seen such a look cross the ancient features twice before. The first time had been on Frodo's first day in Rivendell, when Elrond had given his first full diagnosis of his small patient – that a shard of the Morgul knife was still implanted in Frodo's body and was slowly and painfully inching towards his heart. Only upon its removal would Frodo be able to recover, and he still might not at that.

The second time had been after the destruction of the Ring. When Aragorn had almost threatened the other soldiers and healers to not disturb him while he desperately tried to save Frodo and Sam's lives, Gandalf had been the only one to stay. The wizard had looked into the Ringbearer's mind, peering at flashes of memories of horrendous ordeals enough to make his heart quake in combined fear and awe. And the look on his face then had been heart wrenching in itself. It had taken some heavy persuasion to get Gandalf to divulge the information he had obtained from these memories. When he had at last spoken, Aragorn did not blame him for not doing so sooner. In the short amount of time that Aragorn had known him, Frodo had become dear to his heart and it pained him to think of the bright-eyed hobbit enduring such trials. Now, as he examined the bruised and slightly swollen torso, Aragorn was able to fully understand and appreciate that pain. Frodo Baggins had, after all, done absolutely nothing to deserve such ill treatment from anybody, much less these three Men whose lives he had inevitably saved in the accomplishment of his Quest. Frodo had suffered more than enough already, and didn't need to be put through another ordeal, especially so soon. And especially when he was in the keeping of the King.

A slight pause in his ministrations was the only sign Aragorn gave of how his thoughts troubled him. The pause went unnoticed by Sam, who was busy cleaning his master's face with athelas water. But Gandalf noticed it, and upon quietly probing Aragorn's mind, he resolved to speak with him later.

For now, Aragorn had finished cleaning the bruises on Frodo's abdomen, and was preparing to sit him up to bandage it. He had discovered two cracked ribs where the worst of the bruising was, and he could only guess that the cause had been a kick from a heavy boot. With the bandages at hand, he nodded to Sam who, with practised ease, moved his master into a sitting position. But just as Aragorn was about to begin, Sam gave a strangled cry.

Over by the fireplace, there was a crash and two answering cries as Pippin dropped the mug he had been holding and it shattered upon impact with the ground. But he gave it not another thought as he and Merry bolted over to the bed and had climbed up on it before anyone could say or do another thing. Older, heavier and more experienced, Merry had manoeuvred his way in front of Pippin, forcing the tween to wait his turn while Merry and Sam sat immobile on the bed, white horror radiating from their faces.

"By the Shire…" breathed Merry.

"What is it?" demanded Pippin impatiently.

"Pippin go and clean up the mess you made," said Merry in a voice that couldn't have belonged to him. His tone was deadened yet lined with anguish. He didn't take his eyes off Frodo's back.

"But Merry-"

"GO!"

Pippin was moving before he had quite realised it. After all, he knew that tone of voice and it evoked no argument. Though, he was not used to hearing it from Merry, but from Frodo himself. Pippin knelt on the ground and started carefully picking up the larger pieces of the broken mug first, his head lowered to shield the tears of fear swelling in his eyes.

While a distant part of Merry felt bad for yelling at his younger cousin, another part of him knew that it was for the best, while the rest of him was too distracted with the sight before him to give it another thought. He and Sam had carefully shifted Frodo's position so that he was lying on his stomach. Merry had been forced to move to give Aragorn the room he needed to carefully examine and clean the whiplashes littering Frodo's back. Merry moved to the other side of the bed to sit by Sam. The gardener had absently taken Frodo's limp hand in his own and was stroking it while Merry distractedly ran his fingers through his cousin's tangled curls.

"Don't worry, Frodo," murmured Merry. "We'll have you well again in no time."

Something wasn't quite right.

That was probably the only fact he knew for certain at that particular point in time. Everything else had been distorted into a hazy blur, and his world was even now crashing down on his aching body. He opened his eyes slowly to find, to his dim surprise, that everything was slowly being covered by a swirling white fog. Strange how this fog felt so warm… Usually they were cold enough to fully awaken a sleepy person. But this fog made him feel strangely drowsy…

"… are… awake? … hear…?"

So his eyes were looking at a foggy world and now his ears seemed to have been stuffed with wool as well. In some far-off recess of his mind, the notion came to him that this was not normal and his hearing should really only be impaired like this if he was under water. Concentrating as hard as his lethargic mind would allow him, he managed to discern that he was not under water, but was in some sort of reclining position. He absently frowned to himself. What in the name of Everything was going on?

"Frodo!"

He blinked and decided to try focusing his eyes. Eventually, as the fog began to clear a little, he realised that what he had been blankly staring at for the past few minutes was a circle of faces and a richly carved ceiling. Funny though, that the ceiling should look clearer than the faces. They all seemed rather familiar, but to his growing frustration, he could not quite pinpoint to whom these faces belonged, or where he had seen this ceiling before.

"Mr Frodo, please say something!"

He hadn't noticed the panic that had been mounting within him until he felt a sense of distinct relief wash over him and counteract it. He knew that voice and the hand that carefully clutched one of his own. How could he ever forget?

"Sam?"

The relief that had filled him seemed to migrate to the faces above him also. More than one pair of eyes filled with tears, though he did not see such details. "Yes, Mr Frodo," said Sam, not being able to hide the trembling in his voice. "It's your Sam here. We're going to look after you now."

Well that certainly sounded like a wonderful idea. But… if he was only being looked after now, then wouldn't that mean that something had happened before? "What happened?" he wondered aloud, only half expecting an answer. He felt his fingers start to tingle, as if in anticipation. Although, he wasn't exactly sure that he wanted to know. For a feeling of foreboding tainted the edge of his mind as he strove to remember.

"Frodo-" The hobbit was distracted from this thought as he realised that he knew this voice as well. Strider. "Frodo you have been poisoned."

That had not been the answer he had been looking for. He felt the panic return, and the warm haze that had surrounded him became hotter. His tongue began to tingle like his fingers, and his mouth very suddenly felt as dry as desert sand.

"Frodo this is very important," said Aragorn in as steady a voice as he could manage. "You have to try and remain as calm as possible. Right now you have some very bad poison in your body. If you move about too much or get too excited or worried, your blood will move faster about your body meaning that the poison will work faster. Do you understand?"

It took several moments for this new information to penetrate and process in Frodo's mind. But at last he thought he comprehended what this meant. "Yes," he said softly, struggling to wrap even that simple word around his uncooperative tongue.

"Good," said Aragorn, looking a little reassured. "But now, my friend, this is also very important. We need to know what poison the Men gave you so we can give you an antidote to make you better. The Men said that what they gave you was a mix of different poisons. Do you know what they were?"

The desperation and gravity in Aragorn's voice broke through the leaden fog clinging to Frodo's mind before anything else did. As the words spoken were then sorted into meaning, the hobbit thought as hard as he could to remember anything that might help his friends.

"I don't know."

At his answer, the very air in the room seemed to thicken so that Frodo felt he would choke on it at any given moment. It was a strange thought – to choke on air. Frodo imagined it would feel something like drowning, but you were being suffocated by too much air instead of too little. The thought gave him no comfort, instead making his stomach churn uneasily. He clutched it weakly, wishing his misery would just go away and leave him alone. After all, it would be just his luck if he started throwing up now…

Something in that thought gave him pause. Deep in the landscape of his mind where his garden of memories was, one tiny seed began to blossom and flower.

I've heard that those who've bin given larger and stronger doses spew out their own stomachs.

"Wait…" The memory was fading quite before he had gotten a good grasp on it. Beside his bed where he had been laid, Aragorn and Gandalf turned to him sharply.

"What is it Frodo?" said the wizard urgently.

Yeh see – this here stuff is a mixture o' the mos' deadliest animal and plant poisons in the world.

"Desmond said that it's a mix of the worst poisons from plants and animals."

"Did he say anything else about it, Frodo?"

"Yes…"

He knew there had been more. In his mind's eye, he saw himself huddling deep into the moth-eaten armchair as the Men stood over him, one of them holding that accursed poison and explaining to him what it was.

On'y way ter cure it is if yeh get the rem'dies of evr'y individual poison in the thing, and if the victim spews out enough o' the stuff.

"What did he say, lad?"

For as long as he had known Gandalf, Frodo had always reprimanded him (however lightly) for calling him 'lad'. He only ever let Bilbo call him that after all. But when he had come of age and the wizard still insisted on using the pet-name (if that's what you would call it), Frodo had decided to just let it go. After all, he supposed that most people would seem like lads and lasses in the eyes of one who had walked Middle Earth for hundreds of generations of Men (and Hobbits).

"He said you had to get the remedies for each individual poison," said Frodo slowly. "And then th- the victim still had to throw up enough of it. He said that was the only way."

Aragorn nodded as he carefully stored this information into his own memory. Even as he did, the door to the room opened to admit the herb master from the Houses of Healing. He bore a tray of several herbs and tonics, the variations being assorted into different groups to treat different symptoms. The herb master put the tray on a side table and Aragorn was already inspecting it when Frodo's weak voice trailed to his ears.

"I feel thirsty…"

Aragorn spun back around to face Frodo. Even as he had opened his mouth to speak, Sam beat him. "Sir," said the gardener worriedly. "He's getting hotter."

"He's not sweating anymore either," added Merry, his eyes widening as his fingers continued to brush through his cousin's hair, realising that the limp curls were no longer damp but dry.

"Frodo," said Aragorn. "Do you feel anything else other than thirsty? Does your stomach hurt, for instance? Think carefully, now."

Frodo frowned, seeming to have the need to concentrate hard on both the question and himself. He shifted slightly, a look of discomfort and annoyance crossing his pale features.

"It feels so hot," he murmured after a few moments.

"What does?" asked Aragorn.

"Everything," said Frodo, his frown deepening. "It all feels hot. But so dry. It's like I'm back in-" He abruptly stopped talking and clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about any of that right now. As if in testimony to his discomfort, his stomach churned again uneasily, what little it contained threatening to be expelled from his body.

"Like back in Mordor."

Unsurprisingly, it had been Sam that had spoken. When Pippin glanced across at him, he was startled to see that the gardener's usually warm brown eyes had suddenly aged, a slightly hollow look haunting their depths. In those earthy orbs, Pippin saw poignant memories of trials and ordeals beyond his own comprehension. Sam's face was lined where it hadn't been before, and Pippin suddenly realised fully how much he had been through, and how much the efforts of the Quest had cost him.

Pippin looked back down at his elder cousin in time to see him nod carefully. "But it's different," he continued, his voice rasping at the exertion. "I don't know how. But my hands feel strange. They keep tingling. It's the same with my tongue."

Aragorn nodded distractedly and moved to the desk that was against the wall between the two beds in the room. He searched for some parchment and a quill and opened a new bottle of ink. He quickly began scribbling down what Frodo told him.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"My stomach hurts," said Frodo. "It feels like its burning. And I feel so tired. I don't think I could move. But I want to. I can't get comfortable." Aragorn nodded as he moved back to the bedside, feeling for himself Frodo's dry, hot, but flushed skin. His hand moved down to Frodo's neck where he felt the hobbit's suddenly rapid pulse. He frowned. Not ten minutes ago his pulse had been almost too slow for safety. He sighed to himself as he realised that most poisons did cause an irregular heartbeat. He looked into Frodo's eyes, noting how the pupils were dilating. He frowned again.

"Frodo how is your sight?" he asked. "Can you see properly?"

"No," answered Frodo after a pause. "I can see the ceiling just fine. But everything else is bleary. It keeps going all foggy."

Aragorn sighed and wrote down this other symptom on the parchment. While Sam dutifully helped his master drink some of the peppermint and athelas tea that Merry and Pippin had made earlier, the King's eyes wearily scanned over the page while one of his hands absently massaged his temple. He sat down heavily on the chair at the desk, wondering what he was to do now.

"Well?"

Aragorn shook his head and averted his gaze from the parchment. "Most of these are effects shared by several poisons," he said softly as he met the wizard's piercing gaze.

"Most, but not all?" probed Gandalf, his voice also low so as not to disturb anyone else.

Aragorn nodded, his eyes once more reading down the list he had made. "This symptom concerning Frodo's eyes," he said. "While there is more than one poison that will cause the pupils to dilate, I only know of one that changes the lens to see things in the distance rather than things that are closer. That same plant causes just about all of these other symptoms, including making the skin both dry and hot – an unusual sign when dealing with poisons."

"And what is this plant?"

"Belladonna. Also known as Deadly Nightshade."

"Well that's one poison down," said Gandalf, his voice carrying a small hint of relief. "Can you identify any others?"

"This tingling sensation Frodo's feeling in the hands and tongue," said Aragorn, his brow contorting back into a frown as he concentrated on sorting out the right knowledge. "It's one of the symptoms of Wolfsbane poisoning."

"Wolfsbane?" exclaimed Gandalf, though he was careful to still keep his voice low. Aragorn nodded, understanding the new-found fear in the wizard's voice.

"Yes," he said. "It's one of the fastest-acting poisonous plants. Come to think of it, I'm surprised it hasn't done more damage already."

"Could-"

"Mr Frodo, what's wrong?"

The heads of both the wizard and king snapped around at the sound of Sam's worried voice. Frodo was struggling weakly in his position, muscles aching too much for him to move himself how he wanted to. In three strides Aragorn was by his side, feeling the hobbit's forehead and once more checking his pulse. "What's wrong?" he asked as he peered into Frodo's eyes.

"I'm going to be sick," choked Frodo, his eyes wide and his face taking on a decidedly green pallor. Aragorn wasted no time in shifting Frodo onto his side and looking about for an empty basin. Not finding the desired object nearby, he snatched up a towel that had been discarded by the bed and was just in time to hold it under Frodo's chin as the hobbit expelled what little his stomach contained.

"That's it," coaxed Aragorn softly as he gently rubbed the small back. "Let it all out."

"You mean you aren't going to help him?" exploded Pippin. He had been busy pouring a glass of water for Frodo to have when this sudden bout of sickness was over, but found himself distracted by what he had heard. His face had blanched, both at Aragorn's words and from witnessing his cousin being so violently ill, and his voice was becoming increasingly higher in pitch as he reached the end of his rope. Aragorn mentally sighed as he remembered that Pippin was not yet an adult by the standards of his own people. There was only so much a child could stand, after all – especially when a loved one was concerned.

"I am helping Frodo, Pippin," said Aragorn calmly. "Remember, he told us that he has to bring up as much of the poison as he can to help him get better."

"But-" Pippin looked around wildly, his hands making vague gestures at the room. Merry's eyes darted between him and Frodo, clearly torn between his cousins, at a loss as to which one needed him more. Sweet relief washed over him when Frodo made the choice for him.

"I'm alright, Pip," he managed to rasp as his stomach seemed to settle down a little. He grimaced as he watched Aragorn ball up the soiled towel and throw it into an empty corner of the room. He did not miss the doubtful look the Man shot him. "I'm feeling better already." Still kneeling on the bed beside him, Sam shook his head, muttering something inaudible under his breath. Pippin sniffled, tears building in his suddenly over-bright eyes.

"Are you sure, cousin?" he whispered, climbing back up on the large bed and holding out the glass of water. Aragorn quickly took it before Frodo could and held it for the hobbit to sip at. While Pippin might be oblivious to how weak the smile that Frodo gave him was, Aragorn saw it, and the uncertainty lingering in Frodo's fever-bright eyes. He mentally sighed again. If anything, Frodo would be feeling worse now that another symptom had thrown itself upon his body.

"Pippin," he said, deciding that the best thing he could do for the tweenager right now would be to give him a distraction. "I need you to run a special errand for me."

"What is it?" asked Merry, more than a little sharply. Considering how his younger cousin was at the moment, he did not think sending Pippin off to run errands was the best thing for him.

"Something very important," said Aragorn. "I need you, Pippin, to go back to the gardens and find the jar that the poison was in. I need you to bring it back here so I can see if it can tell me exactly what we're dealing with. Merry, you can go with Pippin if you like." He turned to look at Merry, catching the dilemma he had inexorably put the hobbit in. Merry bit his bottom lip, debating whether he should go with his younger cousin to keep an eye on him, or stay with his elder cousin to help out how he could.

"I think you should go with Master Pippin, Mr Merry," said Sam quietly. "I can look after Mr Frodo just fine while the two of you are out." Merry studied Sam's face for a moment before nodding. He kissed Frodo's brow and gave his hand a small squeeze.

"We'll be back soon, Frodo," he said as he climbed down from the bed. "Come on Pippin," he said to the tween. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll find this jar, and the sooner we can be back."

Less than ten minutes later, the room was devoid of servants, Elves, Dwarves, Stewards, healers and tweenagers. The only ones left were Frodo, Aragorn, Sam and Gandalf. For some moments they remained in silence, with Aragorn once more studying the various herbs decorating the tabletop and Sam sponging Frodo's face and neck with a cool cloth in an attempt to try and bring his temperature down – or at least try and make him a little more comfortable.

"It's going to get worse, isn't it?" said Frodo suddenly, his voice barely audible. The tingling in his fingers had spread up his arms and to his toes, making his hands and feet feel numb. His entire mouth felt like it was burning with a fire of ice, and this new coldness seemed to be slowly spreading through the rest of his body so that some of him wanted to shiver and curl up into a tight ball, while the rest of him wanted to jump into a tub full of ice. And all the while his stomach continued to insist upon rolling about so that there was not a single moment that he didn't feel nauseous.

"Yes," answered Aragorn with a sigh. He lifted his gaze from the new piles of herbs he had made to look across at the bed. "But I also think that it will get better."

Sam's head instantly snapped around to face the former Ranger, his eyes wide and shining with hope. "You've found something," he said eagerly.

"Yes," said Aragorn. "I believe I've identified two of the poisons as being belladonna and wolfsbane."

"Does that mean you're going to start giving Mr Frodo the remedies?" asked Sam.

"Not yet," said Aragorn. "There would be no point to do it now when Frodo will only bring up anything that I give him before it has a chance to have an effect on his system. We will have to wait."

"For how long?" asked Frodo. He did not know how much longer he would be able to stand feeling so wretched.

"I'm not sure," answered Aragorn heavily. "We can only wait and see."

"How are you going to find out what the other poisons are?" asked Sam.

"When Merry and Pippin come back with the jar the poison was in," said Aragorn. "I'm hoping to find a little still left in it. Hopefully it will give some clues as to what other plants have been used. If you could help me in doing that, Sam, it would be greatly appreciated. I do not doubt that you would be able to identify these plants more quickly than I. But to find out the animal poisons – that will prove more difficult. I have heard of these sorts of toxic mixtures before. They are mostly used down south. I have heard of some of the animal poisons that are used – perhaps one or two different types of snake and spider, as well as scorpion poison. I am hoping that a general remedy for the poisons of each type of animal will be enough."

"What if it's not?" said Frodo, his words slurring slightly. How he wished he tongue would co-operate. He looked up at Aragorn who regarded him with an unfaltering gaze.

"That is something I refuse to consider," he said.

TBC

A/N: I know! I know! I am amazingly cruel and horrible and mean for what I've done to Frodo lately! But hopefully it will all get better… eventually… But I promise to update as soon as I can – I always do. But I'm starting school again on Wednesday, so I won't have as much free time on my hands to write. But please be patient. Your responses have been great and have kept me going for so long. For that I thank you all muchly, and I hope you continue to enjoy this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Astron-meares – Thank you very much! :D I hope this chapter was okay too. I had lots of trouble writing some parts. But there will definitely be plenty more 'emotions passing between the characters' in the next chapter, especially as Frodo's condition will inevitably worsen. So keep a look out! :)

Breon Briarwood – Lol. You have certainly made your appreciation known, and I appreciate it very much. :D I hope your fingernails grow back alright. ;)

FrodoBaggins87 – (sighs). Well… I sent you an email concerning my plans and motives. I hope you got it, read it, and have reconsidered 'not wanting to know what happens next'. I've only tried to be a bit different, and if you don't like how it's turned out, well I suppose that's that then. I only ask for a little patience and that you just wait and see what happens…

heartofahobbit – Congratulations! You have sent me the 100th review for this fic and can now help create a character if you so choose. :D Thank you for your compliment. I do try my best and it was a challenge to get the whole sequence right. But there is certainly more suffering on the way…

Indolosse – Glad to keep people on the edge of their seats! I only hope you don't fall off your chair and hurt yourself. :D But I know – I am far too evil for my own good. But fear not, for I am indeed writing more. :D

Iorhael – I know, I know. I am terribly cruel. I feel amazingly bad for putting poor Frodo through all of this. But with Aragorn formulating another plan to help Frodo, hopefully things will get better and nothing will go wrong this time around.

Kaewi – Hehehe. I was quite proud of my elf too! ;) Erm… what you said about Seregon twisting Frodo's arm to get a reaction sounds about right (looks around shiftily). Lol – maybe I should get you to go through my chapters for me before I post. A fresh pair of eyes is always welcome after all… lol. But I hope you haven't suffered too much in your wait for this chapter. I tried to write it as quickly as I could but I did have a lot of trouble. So I hope you enjoy it. If not… well… I guess we'll find out, won't we? ;)

Kellie – Lol. I hope you were able to wait for this. I always update as soon as I can. I've had trouble with this chapter though, so I only hope the update is okay. But I do feel bad for leaving you all with such an ending. I think you must be right – looks like my evil side is definitely getting the better of me. ;)

Lexi – Yes, the goal has been achieved! Lol. And tell Megan thank you, I miss her too, and the audition went well enough. Hehehe.

lindahoyland – I'm glad you thought this was an exciting chapter. It was a good challenge writing it. But you were right – they did end up killing Arlyn. Seregon really is a big old meanie to put it lightly. ;) Concerning Aragorn's growing list of things-to-do, I suggest you watch this space! :P