Title: Counterpane
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)
Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Bryonia (OC - one of Frodo's relatives at Brandy Hall), various others
Rating: PG to PG-13. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature. Summary: Young Frodo Baggins falls ill with the measles. (A short summary, but I'd rather avoid spoilers for this one.)
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please contact frodoatbagend@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as (but not limited to) Bryonia and Forsythia, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.
Chapter Nine: Mathusgioloth
Where was he?
Frodo struggled to open his eyes, but there was something heavy over them. . .a very damp cloth, wet with some smelly stuff, like an herbal mixture. At once he reached to remove it, wincing, his body aching as if he'd tumbled down every flight of stairs in Brandy Hall thrice over.
"Ah-ah-ah, lad. None of that, now."
A hand caught his, clasping it tightly and lowering it once more. He tried again, and this time both hands were caught.
"Ssshhhhhh, Frodo. You have to lie still, sweetheart." Aunt Bryonia's voice this time. . .but. . .where was he? Surely he couldn't be in his room, not when it was still so hot. . . .
Someone laid a wet sheet over him. He struggled, whimpering, ready to fuss. . .this wasn't right, somehow. . .where was he, and why did he feel so miserable? Where was Mamma? Why wasn't she with him?
No. . .that's right. . . .
She was dead.
No doubt Aunt Bryonia, however, had decided he was too much of a bother. . .she was just saying those things.
. . . They must be trying to punish him somehow. . . . Perhaps that was it. . . .
Wait.
How did he know it was even her, and not some monster using her voice?
Maybe monsters had come and stolen everyone's voice. . .Auntie's, and Uncle Bilbo's, and Mamma's. . . .
Yes.
He had to get away.
He had to escape.
At once he struggled desperately, kicking and pushing, but it was not enough. . .there were too many, and he was too weak. Someone held his legs tightly, while someone else clasped his arms. . . . Abruptly he felt strangely careful hands against his bottom, and something being pushed in. . .then liquid. . . . With his legs held fast, he could do nothing save allow it, his dignity more pained than anything else.
They had him.
There was no hope.
*********
They had him.
Why had he been left alone?
Someone had been with him. . .someone he knew well, and loved dearly. . . .
Why had he been abandoned thus?
The monsters were everywhere, and seemed to delight most in tormenting him, kicking him and jeering. He had curled into as tiny a ball as possible, but the lashes of the whip made that position impossible to maintain: against his will, his muscles reacted, pulling him open, and another of them kicked him in the stomach, causing him to cry out with pain.
"Where is it, little filth? Whatever it is you're hiding, best give it up now!"
*********
He ached.
Every part of his body groaned in protest.
He wanted to die.
Surely that would be better than this. . .anything would, but. . .in death, it was said, families were reunited, ailments made whole.
Uncle Bilbo said that the elves sailed somewhere, far over the Sea, to the West, when they wearied of life in Middle-earth. And Big Folk, according to the great books in Elrond's library that Uncle Bilbo heard stories from, and was trying to translate, go to a special place prepared for them by the Valar.
Where do hobbits go, then?
Bilbo had had no answer for that.
*********
Words. . .strange, yet. . .clear, and. . .oddly beautiful, though he had no idea what they meant. . . .
And then he did.
He recognised them, somehow, though it was more that he somehow *knew* that he understood. His mind could not make them make sense in his head, and yet in this moment, he knew that he recognised them.
It was dark.
And it was raining.
But he smelled a sweet fragrance on the air.
And suddenly then it seemed to him that a grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass, and was rolled back. . .and he saw white shores. . .
. . .and beyond them. . .
. . .a far green country under a swift sunrise.
It was not the Shire.
And yet it was, he knew, home.
*********
Bed.
He was back in bed, with someone holding his legs.
Slowly he tried to move his arms, to reach out. . .but they were fastened tightly.
His bed had, long ago, been his crib as a toddler, and the thick wooden rails had evidently been re-attached, cushioned with pillows, his arms held fast at the wrists by sheet-pieces tied to the bars. Why?
Weakly he opened his eyes, blinking with pain that caused him to wince even in the dim light.
Bilbo held his legs, holding them up like an infant being diapered; the doctor was there, and held in his hand a bit of tubing that Frodo recognised all too well.
"Bilbo. . . ."
The look of relief that brightened his uncle's tired features surprised the young hobbit: Bilbo nearly droppped the small legs, barely catching himself as he bent over the bed, kissing Frodo's forehead.
"Frodo, my lad! There now. . .just rest. . .we didn't want to fasten your hands, my boy, but you were striking everyone that tried to get near you, and kept trying to get out of bed; we hadn't much choice, or you'd have done yourself an injury."
"Bilbo. . ." Frodo glared at the doctor, making a face. "Don't WANT him. . . ."
"I know, lad. . .I know, and I'm sorry." Bilbo stroked his hair, smoothing dark curls. "But you're very, very ill, and you've been delirious from the fever. We need to give you medicine to make your tummy better, and to help you sleep deeply, so you can get well. That part's been over for a while. . .you've had a bit of medicine to make you very drowsy. The doctor's about to give you something more to help, and then you can rest. We won't have to do this
again for a few hours, and then we'll try not to disturb you too much."
Frodo watched skeptically. . .the doctor *was* putting away the tubing. . . . "But I'll. . .I'll rest. . . . I'm not. . .out of. . .my head. . .now! Let. . .me. . .alone. . .please. . . ."
Bilbo shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, my lad. We can't. The fever is so high that you've already had a fit from it. We can't risk another. We had to give you the medicine, and we'll keep you sponged down with nice cool water." Still stroking Frodo's hair with his free hand, cradling the little legs in his other arm, he nodded toward the bedside table. "What about something to drink? Would you like something to drink, my boy?"
To drink?
At once Frodo nodded eagerly, indignities forgotten. "Mmm-hmm. . . ."
"Good. . .there's a good lad." Bilbo nodded to someone. . .Bryonia was there, hurrying over to pour something into a feeding-cup, which she held to his lips as Bilbo raised his charge's head slightly.
Cool water.
Deliciously cool water. . .lovely and wet and perfect. . . .
He drained the cupful, finishing it eagerly.
"More, please. . . ."
"All right, poppet. . .in just a moment." Bryonia set the cup aside, reaching for a spoon. Pouring some sort of mixture from a small bottle which she first shook vigorously, she turned back to the bed, offering. . .not the nasty syrups from earlier this time, but something else. . . . "Just swallow this down, blackberry and chamomile with ginger and peppermint, that's all it is. . .and then you can have some nice broth to wash the taste down. . .and as much water as you want."
He wrinkled his nose, but opened his mouth, swallowing the spoonful of medicine dutifully. The flavour seemed a little rich, and burned a bit. . .blackberry brandy with some herb things. . .but nothing like the vinegary mixture of earlier.
"Slowly now."
He sipped, tasting chicken broth. . .very plain, a little weak, but quite good. . .though he wasn't hungry. After three mouthfuls, he raised his hand as best he could in the restraint, turning his head away.
"No more? Not even another sip for auntie?"
"Can't. . . ." He didn't want any more, only water.
"All right, then. There, poppet."
Frodo closed his eyes, drinking with relief as cool water was brought to his lips once more. Bilbo lifted his legs, gently bending them back toward his belly, and the doctor bent over. At once the young hobbit whimpered, attempting to pull away. . .but Bilbo held his legs fast, though his expression seemed to wrinkle a bit with anxiety.
"No, Frodo. . .I'm sorry, lad. So sorry. But we have to. Just a bit more medicine. . .and then you can rest."
Scowling fretfully, Frodo pulled away from the cup as he had to cough again - a harsh, dry feeling that scraped viciously at his throat and pounded his chest. He saw the doctor's head come up sharply. Everyone was watching him, and he didn't like it. . .all he wanted was to be left alone to get better, with Bilbo there to give him water if he couldn't have his mamma and papa, which still seemed somehow a matter open for some question.
Bilbo folded the legs gently against Frodo's tummy as one would adjust a baby's, closing them in the grip of one arm and taking something from the doctor, allowing the other to come around to join Bryonia, replacing her at the bedside as he laid an icy-cold hand on the flushed, spotted forehead. At the same time, Frodo felt Bilbo's hand at his backside, inserting a bolus.
"There now, Frodo-lad. . .you're being such a good boy. . . . We'll let you rest for a while, and I'll fetch one of those bottles of shrub I brought for you. Blueberry. You'll like that. Sssshhhhh."
Did he have a choice?
His eyes hurt, and he closed them, tears trickling down the sides of his face as he felt his ankles being loosely tied with soft sheet-pieces, each fastened to its side of the bed.
He wanted to go *home.*
If only he knew what or where that was. . . .
~to be continued~
*Author's Note: Yes, Frodo's first "nightmare" in this sequence is a premonition of his imprisonment in the tower of Cirith Ungol, and the third is taken in part from "The Grey Havens," from Tolkien's detailed description of that first glimpse Frodo catches of the Undying Lands once the ship passes into the West. The chapter title means "Twilight Dream" or "Twilight Vision" in Sindarin - I have to use a translator, so I'm quite certain there are Sindarin experts out there who may take issue with the precise syntax or choice of roots used. If you have a suggested correction, please, by all means, feel free to e-mail me at frodoatbagend@yahoo.com. :)
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)
Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Bryonia (OC - one of Frodo's relatives at Brandy Hall), various others
Rating: PG to PG-13. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature. Summary: Young Frodo Baggins falls ill with the measles. (A short summary, but I'd rather avoid spoilers for this one.)
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please contact frodoatbagend@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as (but not limited to) Bryonia and Forsythia, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.
Chapter Nine: Mathusgioloth
Where was he?
Frodo struggled to open his eyes, but there was something heavy over them. . .a very damp cloth, wet with some smelly stuff, like an herbal mixture. At once he reached to remove it, wincing, his body aching as if he'd tumbled down every flight of stairs in Brandy Hall thrice over.
"Ah-ah-ah, lad. None of that, now."
A hand caught his, clasping it tightly and lowering it once more. He tried again, and this time both hands were caught.
"Ssshhhhhh, Frodo. You have to lie still, sweetheart." Aunt Bryonia's voice this time. . .but. . .where was he? Surely he couldn't be in his room, not when it was still so hot. . . .
Someone laid a wet sheet over him. He struggled, whimpering, ready to fuss. . .this wasn't right, somehow. . .where was he, and why did he feel so miserable? Where was Mamma? Why wasn't she with him?
No. . .that's right. . . .
She was dead.
No doubt Aunt Bryonia, however, had decided he was too much of a bother. . .she was just saying those things.
. . . They must be trying to punish him somehow. . . . Perhaps that was it. . . .
Wait.
How did he know it was even her, and not some monster using her voice?
Maybe monsters had come and stolen everyone's voice. . .Auntie's, and Uncle Bilbo's, and Mamma's. . . .
Yes.
He had to get away.
He had to escape.
At once he struggled desperately, kicking and pushing, but it was not enough. . .there were too many, and he was too weak. Someone held his legs tightly, while someone else clasped his arms. . . . Abruptly he felt strangely careful hands against his bottom, and something being pushed in. . .then liquid. . . . With his legs held fast, he could do nothing save allow it, his dignity more pained than anything else.
They had him.
There was no hope.
*********
They had him.
Why had he been left alone?
Someone had been with him. . .someone he knew well, and loved dearly. . . .
Why had he been abandoned thus?
The monsters were everywhere, and seemed to delight most in tormenting him, kicking him and jeering. He had curled into as tiny a ball as possible, but the lashes of the whip made that position impossible to maintain: against his will, his muscles reacted, pulling him open, and another of them kicked him in the stomach, causing him to cry out with pain.
"Where is it, little filth? Whatever it is you're hiding, best give it up now!"
*********
He ached.
Every part of his body groaned in protest.
He wanted to die.
Surely that would be better than this. . .anything would, but. . .in death, it was said, families were reunited, ailments made whole.
Uncle Bilbo said that the elves sailed somewhere, far over the Sea, to the West, when they wearied of life in Middle-earth. And Big Folk, according to the great books in Elrond's library that Uncle Bilbo heard stories from, and was trying to translate, go to a special place prepared for them by the Valar.
Where do hobbits go, then?
Bilbo had had no answer for that.
*********
Words. . .strange, yet. . .clear, and. . .oddly beautiful, though he had no idea what they meant. . . .
And then he did.
He recognised them, somehow, though it was more that he somehow *knew* that he understood. His mind could not make them make sense in his head, and yet in this moment, he knew that he recognised them.
It was dark.
And it was raining.
But he smelled a sweet fragrance on the air.
And suddenly then it seemed to him that a grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass, and was rolled back. . .and he saw white shores. . .
. . .and beyond them. . .
. . .a far green country under a swift sunrise.
It was not the Shire.
And yet it was, he knew, home.
*********
Bed.
He was back in bed, with someone holding his legs.
Slowly he tried to move his arms, to reach out. . .but they were fastened tightly.
His bed had, long ago, been his crib as a toddler, and the thick wooden rails had evidently been re-attached, cushioned with pillows, his arms held fast at the wrists by sheet-pieces tied to the bars. Why?
Weakly he opened his eyes, blinking with pain that caused him to wince even in the dim light.
Bilbo held his legs, holding them up like an infant being diapered; the doctor was there, and held in his hand a bit of tubing that Frodo recognised all too well.
"Bilbo. . . ."
The look of relief that brightened his uncle's tired features surprised the young hobbit: Bilbo nearly droppped the small legs, barely catching himself as he bent over the bed, kissing Frodo's forehead.
"Frodo, my lad! There now. . .just rest. . .we didn't want to fasten your hands, my boy, but you were striking everyone that tried to get near you, and kept trying to get out of bed; we hadn't much choice, or you'd have done yourself an injury."
"Bilbo. . ." Frodo glared at the doctor, making a face. "Don't WANT him. . . ."
"I know, lad. . .I know, and I'm sorry." Bilbo stroked his hair, smoothing dark curls. "But you're very, very ill, and you've been delirious from the fever. We need to give you medicine to make your tummy better, and to help you sleep deeply, so you can get well. That part's been over for a while. . .you've had a bit of medicine to make you very drowsy. The doctor's about to give you something more to help, and then you can rest. We won't have to do this
again for a few hours, and then we'll try not to disturb you too much."
Frodo watched skeptically. . .the doctor *was* putting away the tubing. . . . "But I'll. . .I'll rest. . . . I'm not. . .out of. . .my head. . .now! Let. . .me. . .alone. . .please. . . ."
Bilbo shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, my lad. We can't. The fever is so high that you've already had a fit from it. We can't risk another. We had to give you the medicine, and we'll keep you sponged down with nice cool water." Still stroking Frodo's hair with his free hand, cradling the little legs in his other arm, he nodded toward the bedside table. "What about something to drink? Would you like something to drink, my boy?"
To drink?
At once Frodo nodded eagerly, indignities forgotten. "Mmm-hmm. . . ."
"Good. . .there's a good lad." Bilbo nodded to someone. . .Bryonia was there, hurrying over to pour something into a feeding-cup, which she held to his lips as Bilbo raised his charge's head slightly.
Cool water.
Deliciously cool water. . .lovely and wet and perfect. . . .
He drained the cupful, finishing it eagerly.
"More, please. . . ."
"All right, poppet. . .in just a moment." Bryonia set the cup aside, reaching for a spoon. Pouring some sort of mixture from a small bottle which she first shook vigorously, she turned back to the bed, offering. . .not the nasty syrups from earlier this time, but something else. . . . "Just swallow this down, blackberry and chamomile with ginger and peppermint, that's all it is. . .and then you can have some nice broth to wash the taste down. . .and as much water as you want."
He wrinkled his nose, but opened his mouth, swallowing the spoonful of medicine dutifully. The flavour seemed a little rich, and burned a bit. . .blackberry brandy with some herb things. . .but nothing like the vinegary mixture of earlier.
"Slowly now."
He sipped, tasting chicken broth. . .very plain, a little weak, but quite good. . .though he wasn't hungry. After three mouthfuls, he raised his hand as best he could in the restraint, turning his head away.
"No more? Not even another sip for auntie?"
"Can't. . . ." He didn't want any more, only water.
"All right, then. There, poppet."
Frodo closed his eyes, drinking with relief as cool water was brought to his lips once more. Bilbo lifted his legs, gently bending them back toward his belly, and the doctor bent over. At once the young hobbit whimpered, attempting to pull away. . .but Bilbo held his legs fast, though his expression seemed to wrinkle a bit with anxiety.
"No, Frodo. . .I'm sorry, lad. So sorry. But we have to. Just a bit more medicine. . .and then you can rest."
Scowling fretfully, Frodo pulled away from the cup as he had to cough again - a harsh, dry feeling that scraped viciously at his throat and pounded his chest. He saw the doctor's head come up sharply. Everyone was watching him, and he didn't like it. . .all he wanted was to be left alone to get better, with Bilbo there to give him water if he couldn't have his mamma and papa, which still seemed somehow a matter open for some question.
Bilbo folded the legs gently against Frodo's tummy as one would adjust a baby's, closing them in the grip of one arm and taking something from the doctor, allowing the other to come around to join Bryonia, replacing her at the bedside as he laid an icy-cold hand on the flushed, spotted forehead. At the same time, Frodo felt Bilbo's hand at his backside, inserting a bolus.
"There now, Frodo-lad. . .you're being such a good boy. . . . We'll let you rest for a while, and I'll fetch one of those bottles of shrub I brought for you. Blueberry. You'll like that. Sssshhhhh."
Did he have a choice?
His eyes hurt, and he closed them, tears trickling down the sides of his face as he felt his ankles being loosely tied with soft sheet-pieces, each fastened to its side of the bed.
He wanted to go *home.*
If only he knew what or where that was. . . .
~to be continued~
*Author's Note: Yes, Frodo's first "nightmare" in this sequence is a premonition of his imprisonment in the tower of Cirith Ungol, and the third is taken in part from "The Grey Havens," from Tolkien's detailed description of that first glimpse Frodo catches of the Undying Lands once the ship passes into the West. The chapter title means "Twilight Dream" or "Twilight Vision" in Sindarin - I have to use a translator, so I'm quite certain there are Sindarin experts out there who may take issue with the precise syntax or choice of roots used. If you have a suggested correction, please, by all means, feel free to e-mail me at frodoatbagend@yahoo.com. :)