"What is it? A cold?" Aragorn conjectured, "…Pneumonia?"
"It is difficult to tell at this point… I would say- I would say I suspect infection, but his condition is so complicated. It's difficult to determine the source of his symptoms."
"The wound to the right of his chest, what do you know of it?"
"It appears to be some sort of sting or bite, I'd say." Ryndil replied, shrugging where he met the limits of his hypothesis, "I drained it the night he arrived and I noticed today that it looks to be in need of it again. I've doused it through and through with Narod, and the wound doesn't seem to be causing his condition to deteriorate. Still, it bothers me. I've been wary of pressing him for the details of his injuries. He has plenty of mysterious wounds, and though it's been tempting to inquire, he seems to become very upset and anxious when I near them. I do not wish to worsen his… Mental climate, if you will."
Aragorn nodded knowingly.
"It is wise to avoid such inquiries for now," Aragorn began, "-if we find it possible to treat him without the knowledge. Still, it is a hindrance to our aid, to know so little of his story."
"He has marks on his side…" Ryndil mused quietly, "Bruises. Whip weals, from their looks. A week old at least."
"Whip weals?"
Aragorn studied the wall sightlessly, wincing inwardly at the thought of all that Frodo might've endured.
"A cruelty he faced at the hands of the orcs." Came a third voice, and they turned to find the white-haired wizard turning the corner and approaching them.
"I have learned this from Sam." Gandalf continued, "Frodo was taken to the tower of Cirith Ungol and held there for a time."
Aragorn blinked slowly with a pained sigh.
"Cirith Ungol… 'The spider's pass' in the common tongue." Aragorn told Ryndil, "Long has there been rumour of a darkness dwelling high in the cliffs of Mordor."
"…A darkness?" Ryndil said, searching for more of the tale.
"A demon is said to lurk in the shadows of the cliffs." Gandalf explained in a low, ominous tone, "There are few who have seen it and lived to speak of it. It has taken on the form of a giant spider, known as Shelob."
"Could- …Could that have been what caused that wound?! No, surely not!" Ryndil said, turning to Aragorn and forcing his eyes to squint rather than flash open widely as they threatened to.
Aragorn answered only with a solemn, intensive gaze and the clenching of his jaw as Gandalf began to speak.
"It was difficult to hear Sam's words; he wept as he spoke of it, and he is injured; he struggles to summon up these memories… But... Yes. I believe they were attacked by this creature."
Ryndil's gaze flashed up toward the ceiling in disbelief.
"This- This goes far beyond my knowledge and capabilities. Perhaps he should be looked after by someone else entirely, I seem only to harm, not to help." Ryndil sighed, shaking his head, "And I was a fool not to've had him do more breathing exercises. I fear that his very life may be in danger because of this…"
"You have done well in looking after him. His condition is delicate and complicated, what may help him in one way can be detrimental in another. Some things can't be helped." Aragorn said, "What we must do now is to help him get through this- this… thing, whatever it may be, that is affecting him. We must do whatever it takes to make him well," Aragorn took hold of Ryndil's shoulder, looking into his eyes, "Even if it pains him greatly."
"If you would have me continue to tend to him, then you have my word that I will do all that I can." Ryndil told him, hand over heart.
"Perhaps it is nothing at all. His symptoms may pass on their own." Aragorn said, "-But whatever happens, I will help you. I am sure that between the two of us we will find a way to make him well."
Ryndil responded with a nod of determination, tinged with an air of regret.
With a thankful parting nod toward Gandalf, Aragorn opened the door to Frodo's room and followed Ryndil back in.
The water had come to a boil over the fire, and Ryndil and Aragorn had soon returned, collecting their things and coming to my bedside.
"What is that?" I asked as Aragorn crushed up the plant he'd been drying and dropped it into the water.
"Athelas." he replied.
The most appealing fragrance was released from the herb as it was submerged. It smelt of my childhood, and of a lavender field kissed by the warm spring sunlight- it smelt of honeysuckle, and of clean air and of everything good and pure and alive. Its very scent seemed to clear my mind and calm me. Aragorn poured the mixture into a bowl and uncovered my hand, examining it with great care while the mixture cooled.
"This may hurt at first." He warned me, lowering my finger into the water.
I groaned as the warm liquid surrounded the tender injury, but once it'd had time to adjust, much of the sting was relieved and I felt less pain in it than I had yet. After a moment, Aragorn lifted my hand from it.
"How does that feel?" He asked, carefully drying the wound.
"M-ch better." I said, my voice catching a bit.
"Drink." Ryndil commanded, raising his eyebrows and pointing at my cup.
There was a hesitation in Aragorn's work after he'd bound my finger in fresh gauze. He leaned closely again and lifted the edge of my shirt back to examine the sting for a second time. I was silent and tried to push the thought of it out of my mind, but as his fingers brushed the mark, carefully as they did, a shock of fear raced over me. It seemed by magic that the memory had been forced into my eyes, though I could not say whether it were that, or if it had merely been brought on by the peculiar way the mind settled after being subjected to such horrors.
Aragorn deemed the wound in need of another draining and took great care to cause as little pain as was possible. I might have saved him the concern of hurting me, had I told him of how I'd hardly had any feeling in the wound at the time, but I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge the injury in any manner. I could only screw my eyes shut and withdraw from the moment, which must have appeared to him as though he were indeed causing me a great deal of pain. The athelas he applied afterward brought a fresh peace to my weary soul, and a sense of the turning of another page in the story. Ryndil allowed me a moment to collect myself again before adjusting me to sit up straighter.
"Alright… I need you to take some deep breaths just like you did yesterday." He told me.
I knew there would be no point in arguing further, so I tried to be brave and inhaled deeply. The horrendous pain returned to my chest like red-hot spokes stabbing my body from the inside out. I held my breath once my lungs had inflated and then exhaled with a groan and a whimper.
"Again."
I forced another breath.
"Good. Again."
"Please… I can't…" I pleaded, "It hurts, it's so awful."
"You must, Frodo." Aragorn inserted, "It will be over soon if you press on."
"I can't… I need that other medicine." I said, "The stronger one."
"You can't have any more for another hour or so." Ryndil said.
"Then- Couldn't we- Couldn't we wait until then?" I begged, grabbing a pillow and pressing it to my chest.
"No, because you must do it then too. You'll have to do this every hour. It could very well save your life, you must understand." Ryndil told me.
I can't do this every hour… Nothing is worth that much pain… Nothing.
I clutched my temples with my shaking hand.
"Do it for Sam." Aragorn whispered to me.
Sam had been so strong. He had sacrificed so much for me and never wanted anything in return but for me to be alright. I couldn't give up now. I owed it to him not to give up now. If I did give up and allowed myself to become very ill… if I died… Oh, It would break his heart. It would crush him. I couldn't let that happen.
Do it for Sam…
Even if he was the only reason I had for pressing on in that moment, it was a good one and I kept him in the forefront of my mind as I faced the set of breaths. I endured about ten of the awful exercises before Ryndil felt I had done well enough. At the end of it, I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. All I wanted was to be left alone, but that was far from what I got. The deep breaths were just the beginning of an intricate sequence of desperate attempts to erase my symptoms.
A knock was tapped out upon the door and I was sure it was Sam just by the sound of it. My theory was confirmed as I heard his voice call to me from the other side. Ryndil went to open it and Aragorn stayed by me and pressed a cool, damp cloth to my forehead.
"Oh- I was uh, just wondering if I could see Frodo." Sam said to Ryndil.
"I'm sorry, you can't right now."
"But- why?"
"He isn't feeling well. He's ill."
"Wh-what do you mean? He was fine earlier!"
"He's just developed some symptoms. It may be a cold."
Sam was straining to see me between Ryndil's side and the door.
"He's feeling too poorly even to see me?"
"He may be contagious, you mustn't go any closer to him."
"Well… When can I see him?"
"That depends on a number of things. I think at the most in three or four days. You may be able to see him as soon as tomorrow if he does well."
Sam sighed and couldn't understand how I had gotten so ill in just a few hours- I can't say I understood, either.
"Don't worry, Sam… I'll see you soon, alright?" I forced out, trying to mask the pain in my voice.
"Here, Samwise, come with me. I want Darrion to have a look at you and-" Ryndil's words were muffled behind the closing door as he stepped into the hall with Sam, but I could hear him saying something like he wanted to be sure I hadn't given him any of my symptoms.
Aragorn did what he could to reduce my fever until Ryndil returned, then together, they engaged in a vigorous battle against my illness in which I was subjected to various types of creative (and often unpleasant) treatments:
I was given buckets of water to drink and chamomile tea infused with lavender and lemon to calm my nerves and "strengthen" my "body's natural defenses" as Ryndil had put it. I am not sure if my least favourite of the treatments was the repeated process of being turned onto my sides and enduring the dripping of some sort of irritating liquid into my ears, or if it was the disgusting, thick, smelly mixture of what seemed to be something like garlic, ginger, molasses and possibly raw eggs that was smeared out over part of my chest and most of my neck. Its stench was so strong that I almost felt I could taste it and I nearly gagged as it was rubbed into my skin. Soon, it was time again for another set of deep breaths and I desperately tried to express to Ryndil how very painful it was and convince him that I really did need the stronger medicine. Though he was opposed to giving it to me in fear that I may become dependent on it, he did eventually concede and begin to prepare the dose for me, but before he could administer it, he was suddenly interrupted by a meek knock at the door. Though he was annoyed by the interruption, being forced to pour the medicine back into the bottle before going to the door, I was, on the contrary, very relieved. That interruption meant I would have at least another moment or two before having to again face the deep breathing. I assumed it would be a visitor for me at the door- Gandalf or Pippin again maybe, but when it was opened, the person I saw standing there was no one I knew at all. It was a lovely young maiden- not a child, exactly, but not fully matured. She had wavy, light golden brown locks of hair that fell just below her waist, and Ryndil recognised her instantly.
"Niphredil!" He said, speaking in a low voice, "What do I always tell you about coming to me when I am working?"
I concluded that she must be the sister that had spoken of before, as one could tell they shared a close bond, but he was far too young to've been her father.
His manner became much more gentle once he realised she was very upset.
"What's wrong, flower?" He asked, in just above a whisper.
"It's Hildir… He- he asked for you." She said, in between sniffles, "They say he hasn't got long." she managed to say before bursting into tears.
Ryndil stepped out into the hall and thought he closed the door, but it had only been pulled-to and slowly swung open a bit on its own. I saw Ryndil kneel before the girl and take up her hands in his own, pressing them to his chest as he spoke softly to her. I felt so sorry for him, for I was sure I knew of whom the girl spoke. I had only known Ryndil for a few days, but in that time we had become rather close. The circumstances surrounding our meeting were unconventional to say the least, but the days he had spent by my side, tending to my every need- how I'd had to rely on him for nearly everything- how he had helped me through some of my most vulnerable moments- it opened the door to a very strange, but remarkable sort of bond between us and it pained me now to know of his grief.
"It's his brother…" I said, very quietly to Aragorn, whom I could tell was confused as to what was going on, "His brother is ill… He's dying." I said.
"That is terrible…" Aragorn said, with pity in his eyes.
"Yes… He cannot be very old." I said, thinking out loud, "Ryndil said he was injured in the battle… He was mending, but his wound became infected… I don't suppose there was much they could do…"
Aragorn stared off to some spot in the room as he reflected on what I had told him.
"…You say it's only an infection?" He eventually asked.
"…That's what he told me…" I said, "Why?"
"Well…"
I saw a contemplative gleam in his eye and had to inquire further.
"Is there hope for him yet?"
"…It is unlikely they have tried athelas as treatment. It is very effective in treating infection, and if that is all that ails him…"
"Oh, Aragorn, do you think- do you think you could save him?"
"Well- I'm not sure… You see-"
"Oh, please try! Please!" I said, straining to sit up.
"Hush, little one, you mustn't excite yourself." He said, easing me back down, "I will speak with Ryndil about it and see what I can do, hm?"
"Please do." I told him, "You'll go now, won't you?"
"Yes, I will." He said, rising from his seat, "Stay still. Rest."
He lifted the basket of athelas and carried it to the small table by the door before going out to speak with Ryndil. A moment later, he opened the door and took the basket back out with him. I hoped this meant he had discovered there was a good chance of Hildir making a recovery with the use of the athelas.
I was left to myself for several minutes, during which I had to constantly stop myself from my terrible tendency to bite my fingernails. I always did this when I was nervous. I would bite them down until there was nothing left to bite, but Ryndil had been strict in his prohibition of this, warning me of the possible contamination and such. His obsession over utter cleanliness annoyed me at times, but he only meant to help me. Still, knowing that did not always supersede my irritation. I was awakened from my daydreaming when Legolas entered the room.
"Hello, Frodo. Do you mind if I look after you for a while?" He said.
"I should be glad to have your company." I told him, "How have you been?" I asked.
"I have been well, thank you." He said, "I only wish that you were able to say the same of yourself."
I fiddled idly with the bandage on my hand as he took a seat by my right and after a moment, began to wipe the sweat from my brow with a fresh cloth. After he had done so, he placed his palm over my forehead and let it linger there for a time.
"…You mustn't dwell on the memories of the journey…" He said, delicately sweeping strands of damp hair from my face, "They lie with such weight on your mind… And on your heart…"
I could not understand how he knew I was doing this, but it was true.
"…It's hard to think of much else…" I said, quietly.
"Then we shall have to find something else to occupy your mind." He said, with a slight, understanding smile, rising and looking the room over for any possible form of entertainment.
Looking to the bookshelf, he spoke:
"Would you like to read?"
I nodded and asked him to pick one for me.
The book he chose was fascinating and kept me occupied for a long while - it was a tale about a mysterious castle in a faraway land where a man named Dominic lived an average life as a servant of the king, until one day, his life was changed when he came upon a secret passageway. He entered with a torch and explored through the twisting tunnels until he came to a massive rounded chamber in which there stood six great statues made of quartz and crystal. He looked up above to the tall ceiling and saw that there was a skylight in it so large it nearly stretched across the entire width of the room! He studied the crystal masterpieces in amazement, but as the clouds above cleared and the moon was revealed, he discovered the great secret that had been hidden- They all came alive. He watched in wonder as they moved and danced through the room gracefully. He was frightened, but too intrigued to run away. Now that the room was filled with light, he saw that in the furthest edge of the room, there was a seventh form.
Hidden beneath the folds of dark linen, there stood a seventh figure. Dominic stepped closer, feeling himself being pulled toward this mysterious form. He felt a sense of foreboding, but his curiosity enveloped him and he found himself- What time is it?…Enveloped him and he found himself pulling the shroud away to revel- RevealTo reveal an ominous dark statue made not of crystal as other, but of- … illuminated by the glow of- … Of crystal as the others were, but of dark obsidian rock. Dominic marveled and studied the outstretched hand that was illuminated by the glow of the moonlight, and suddenly- Owh, my ribs… Illuminated by the glow of the moonlight, and suddenly, the hand reached and- reached outand-
I sighed in frustration and shut the book. I couldn't focus on the story no matter how hard I tried- My eyes jumped all over the page and I found myself having to read the same lines over and over again.
"Are you alright?" Legolas asked.
"Yes… I just can't concentrate." I said.
"Would you like me to read it toyou?"
"That's very kind of you, but-" My voice caught and I coughed several times, the intense hurt ensuring I would not finish my sentence.
"Are you in pain?" He asked me.
I nodded and shut my eyes, holding my breath because I couldn't bear the shifting of my ribs that came with inhaling.
"How can I help?" Legolas asked, kneeling beside me and examining me with his keen senses.
"You can't…" I gasped out, "Nothing helps."
Nothing except that medicine. How long will Ryndil be gone?
I had shifted and slid down in the bed over time and my position was now putting a great deal of pressure on my ribs, so I struggled to right myself, but Legolas would not allow such arduous labor on my part and very gently lifted me back to my former position himself.
It was a moment or two before we spoke again, and in that time, I tried to breathe shallowly and turn my thoughts to more pleasant things in an attempt to recover from my pain and ever-growing nausea. I was having a hard time and Legolas knew this. He hated seeing his friends in pain, and though he never really outwardly showed it, I could tell he was agonising over the fact that there was nothing he could do to help me.
"Perhaps you would like to see Sam?" Legolas asked.
"I would… But I'm not allowed to. I'll make him sick." I replied.
He thought for a moment, then spoke again:
"There may yet be a way you may speak with him." He said, with a gleam in his eye and a faint smile.
I was puzzled by his remark, but did not have the energy, nor the mental clarity to interpret his meaning.
"If you will permit me to leave you for a moment, I will show you what I mean." Legolas said, rising.
I nodded indifferently, but he showed much enthusiasm as he went to the door.
"I won't be long." He told me, setting off on his miniature quest.