Title: Intoxication
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd/FBoBE/"Febobe")
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com
Characters: Frodo, Elrond, various others in cameos or secondary roles.
Rating: M for serious angst, alcohol abuse and addiction, painful and vivid PTSD and depressive symptoms as well as memories of violence and possibly some violent behaviour. Follows FrodoHealers standards - no sexual content, no slashiness, no profanity.
Warnings: Serious angst and some graphic medical detail, including vomiting, diarrhea, post-traumatic stress and depressive symptoms, and alcoholism. May be triggering for those easily squicked or for whom alcoholism is an emotionally distressing subject. No profanity or sexual content, slash or het. May include memories of violence or violent behaviour. No character death.
Summary: Following the Quest, Frodo's difficulty in adjusting drives him to excessive drinking and overindulgence. Is there hope that he can yet be helped, or is the pain of life after the Ring simply too great?
Feedback: Reviews are welcome, but (a) no flaming, please – flames will be used to warm Frodo's chilled body, and (b) I do this as a hobby, for pleasure, so before you take me to task about whether something "isn't canon" or "doesn't feel thematic" or how I left out a comma in paragraph 7 or made a typo in paragraph 3, please ask yourself whether that's really helpful. I'm not interested in being a canon purist or perfect – if I were, I wouldn't write this kind of thing; I'd just leave Frodo alone. In short – if you want to tell me you liked it, by all means, tell me, but if you just want to tell me how much better you would write Frodo, then go write your own stories with Frodo. (And if they're Frodo h/c, and suitable, by all means submit them to FrodoHealers. 😉 We could use some activity over there!)
Story Notes: Inspired in part by an RP (roleplay) session I did with Elwen circa 2014. If you haven't checked out her stories, you should - they're wonderful. :) I set up this scenario and threw myself into the angst full force, and she, as usual, rose to the challenge even more admirably than I had anticipated. :) Thanks, Elwen. 3 (You may interpret that as either a heart or a Frodo bottom. See in it what you will, but it's a compliment!)
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please contact Febobe.
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) Lossmeril, 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. No slash is intended or implied in this story.
INTOXICATION
Chapter 3: Absent & Present
I felt hesitant at the thought of relinquishing what little comfort I had through the wine. But - Lord Elrond had given me so much comfort before that I could not help trusting him. He had promised food, and he had mentioned soothing baths, and massage, and the thought of not having to see anyone unless I wished was so utterly appealing that I would not have refused anything which might afford me that privilege. I was weary of company for the most part, though I welcomed someone I could talk to the way I could always talk to Lord Elrond.
"So tell me," Lord Elrond said, returning to my bedside from sending down a servant with orders, "what food do you wish for, and which foods do you feel best able to tolerate? I shall do my best to accommodate both as best I can, thought Aragorn is right to be careful, for you have suffered long privation. But we must get nourishment into you - and, more importantly, get it to stay where it belongs. Often when people rely overmuch on drink, their bodies do not benefit fully from what food they do eat. If you are becoming sick every time you eat and drink, you have no chance to receive the nourishment of your food, and eventually you will die, if nothing is done."
Death did not sound like such a bad prospect, compared to the pain. But I did not want to suffer the horrible death of starvation from sickness. "Fruit," I said. I hardly had to think about it, so often had I thought of food since awakening. "Fresh fruit, and juices, and vegetables. We hardly had anything like that after leaving Rivendell. Sam - Sam found some fresh herbs in Ithilien, once, but - that was a long time before the end."
"And so now you feel the want of them."
"Yes. Terribly. I love them. Especially orange-juice. Strawberries. Those lovely drinks made with fruit, fruit-ades. One has strawberries and lemon juice and sugar."
"Those are very good for you, so long as they do not disturb your stomach. They hold great nourishment."
I felt relieved to hear that. "And milk. I like milk, especially warmed. It is even better with brandy or white wine, though."
"Perhaps some of your daily dose can be taken thus, then. It is better for you to have a little wine in milk, and sweetened, than to drink it straight up."
"It dulls the memories better straight up," I explained. "But it sometimes helps in milk."
"What foods do you wish for most?"
I thought about it a moment. "Cooked carrots. Mushrooms. Green beans. Sliced tomatoes. Mashed potatoes with gravy. And I like soups, but I tire of them sometimes, when they are so plain and thin. I - "
Suddenly I saw Gollum before the pool in Henneth Annun, eating the fish he had caught. The air smelled of water, and of his odor, and the faint scent of Faramir's leather boots and jerkin -
"Frodo? Frodo, you are in Minas Tirith. It is Elrond. You are safe."
I started back to myself with a snap as I felt Elrond's hands holding mine, rubbing them gently. It had seemed so very real -
"Fish," I murmured. "I can't eat fish. Please don't let them send me any fish at all."
"As you wish, little one." Elrond searched my face anxiously. "Can you tell me what you experienced just now? Where you were?"
"At - at the pool, where Faramir and his men captured Gollum." I swallowed, feeling bile rise in my throat. "He stole a fish from the pool. To look upon it alone meant death. They - I thought they would not hurt him. They promised. But then - they caught him."
"How did you feel about that?"
"Terrible." I swallowed, feeling sweat break out upon my brow and down my back. "I was supposed to protect him. Instead, I betrayed him. Twice."
"How so?"
"I denied knowing him. I thought it best. And then - I was supposed to protect him; I said they would not harm him, and then - I could not stop them."
"How could you have stopped them, so many men, and all of them armed?"
I blinked. I had never thought of it thus before. Had we not been their prisoners as well, in truth, for all they had accepted us more as guests?
"I don't suppose I could have done very much," I said at last. "There were only two of us, and they were so big, and very strong, all of them soldiers."
"And you made your promise based upon what Faramir had told you, did you not?"
"Well - yes."
"Then the betrayal was not yours in that, Frodo." Elrond pressed my hands gently. "As for your denial - who again can blame you, in such danger yourself, and your mission endangered as well? I know it is difficult for you to believe me when I say you did nothing wrong. But I have heard your story through Faramir's words, and I cannot see anything you did wrong."
I felt feverish and sick. I wanted to believe him, but still I could not silence the sense of guilt troubling my spirit. Lord Elrond seemed to sense it.
"Lie down, Frodo. Allow me to care for you."
I lay down obediently, trembling with the chill of the sweat drying on me. Within moments Elrond was wiping my brow with a damp cloth, bathing my face and then my neck and arms and hands. It felt a little better, so I closed my eyes and let him move me as needed. He turned me and sponged down my back as well as my chest and belly, working until the sick feeling abated a little. At last I opened my eyes again.
"Do you think you could drink a little water?" asked Elrond gently.
"A little." I did feel thirsty. Almost I wished for wine instead, because wine might have dulled the painful memories. But water did sound appealing.
Elrond poured a small tumblerful, then helped me sit up and take it. I held it in both hands, sipping cautiously, and he remained close enough to help if I might need it, though I did not.
"My daughter has been concerned for you as well," said Elrond, "and she would like to come and see you, if you will permit her to visit."
I shuddered. "A lady shouldn't have to see me like this. Especially not a lady who is a queen."
Elrond smiled. "Frodo, my daughter is old as your people would reckon it. She has lived many lifetimes of hobbit-kind. Her brothers have always been very fond of discussing orc-hunting and troll-killing at the dinner-table. And she used to speak with her mother about what had happened in the dens of the orcs in the final year before Celebrian sailed. Arwen is much stronger than you know. Allow her the opportunity to try and help you."
I had never thought of it like that before. I remembered being told in Rivendell that Elrond's wife Celebrian, Arwen's mother, had suffered a poisoned wound rather like the one I had endured, and that she had never really recovered, though Elrond had healed her body. At the time I had only begun to realise that such was my fate, though I did not have the choice of sailing West to find healing. It left me feeling so dejected that I did not let myself think of it very much. I was afraid that if I did, I might become too depressed even to leave my room ... which also was not a choice I could freely make.
"If she wants to come, I will not say no," I said at last.
Elrond smiled. "I will send for her this evening."
"Won't she have a feast to attend or something like that?"
"Frodo, I do not think you realise that you are one of the most important people in the world to our family." Elrond refilled my water-tumbler, encouraging me to continue sipping. "Aragorn had conditions which I had set without which he could not have wed my daughter. Had the Ring not been destroyed, he would likely have been unable to fulfill them at all. As sad as I am to see my daughter choose this life over sailing West to be with her mother and with me, I am glad that she will help renew a line long broken - and I am glad that she is happy. And we are all aware of the sacrifices you have made for the greater good. Though it may seem that others do not care because they are so busy, it does not mean that you are not much-loved. People may not always know how to show it, but Arwen has her own ways, and I think she wishes to share them with you."
There came a light knock at the door, and Elrond went to answer it, returning with a tray which he set upon my bed.
"There is food here to help you," he said, lifting the covers of the dishes. "I have asked for sliced bananas, and toast with honey, and, though I know it is not your favourite, a bit of chicken broth. You need something soothing on your stomach, and this may prove easier on your digestion for now. For supper I will see that you have something a little more substantial, but I thought your tea-time meal should be very easy on your stomach."
"Thank you." Somehow I did not mind it so much with Elrond looking after me. If he promised a more substantial supper, then I knew I would have one. But another thought struck me: what a sight I must look, after weeping like that, and sitting in corners drinking.
"Do you think I could have my bath before Lady Arwen comes up this evening?" I asked. "I must look a fright, and I'd like to be a little more presentable."
"Of course," said Elrond. "Perhaps after supper, to help you relax. I should warn you that you may be ill again, from your earlier indulgence, but you need not fear. I will be here with you."
"Thank you." I took another sip of water, but suddenly the room before me vanished.
But I was not in Mordor, nor on Weathertop.
I was in a hobbit-hole, a large one which went on and on, in a great room - Aunt Menegilda's sitting-room, a large parlor with green and gold furniture, with crocheted doilies hung over every sofa and chair-back. Aunt Menegilda was there, and Aunt Marigold, and Uncle Saradoc, and Aunt Esmie. Aunt Menegilda was talking to me as I stood before her, and Aunt Esmie and Uncle Saradoc each had a hand on one of my shoulders. I felt like a prisoner. I wondered what I had done wrong.
My stomach suddenly sunk and my throat went tight. Where were Mamma and Papa?
And then I heard Aunt Menegilda say, "both drowned last night ... "
Tears begin to well in my eyes, and my breath came faster and faster.
"Frodo! Frodo, you are in Minas Tirith. I am here. You are safe. Tell me what you see."
I gasped. I could not catch my breath. Who was talking to me? I recognised the voice, though it was not Bilbo's, nor Sam's - wait, it - it was Elrond. I blinked, and my vision seemed to clear, and I could see that I was sitting on my bed in my room in Minas Tirith, and Elrond was rubbing my hands gently between his, looking concerned.
"I - I was - at Brandy Hall," I managed at last, between breaths. "My - m-my parents - th-they - it was wh-when - they - drowned."
Elrond nodded. "Does the memory often trouble you?"
I shuddered. "More than I wish." I had not really thought of it. In Mordor, there had been the Ring, blocking out all other memories. And after, I had been too fragile to think of it for a while. But now that I was a little stronger, memories had begun to assail me more and more, though this was the first time I could recall being pulled so deeply into such an old memory.
"Tell me," said Elrond, once I had caught my breath, and drunk some water at his urging, and eaten a bit more banana, "what do you remember of that time? How you managed? I understand that Bilbo did not adopt you for ten years after it happened. What was life like in the meantime?"
"Hard." The word seemed to pop out even before I could think. Pain welled up in my throat. "I had my parents before. Overnight, I became nobody's son. Underfoot. Forgotten. A burden. They said they cared, but sometimes they forgot me, and the only time I got any notice was when they scolded me."
"Do you think that had anything to do with your becoming - one of the worst young rascals in Buckland, I believe Bilbo said?"
I felt my cheeks flush. "I - never really thought about it."
"Sometimes when children cannot get any attention any other way, they behave in ways which get their elders' attention, simply out of longing to be noticed."
"Even when I was ill people barely noticed me. Once I went with Bilbo to Bag End when I was getting over measles. I wished Bilbo would let me live with him, I loved it so. But he did not ask me to come for good till I was several years older." I sniffled.
"Did you ever misbehave when you were with Bilbo?"
"Actually - no, not really." The answer surprised me. I had not really thought about that either. "I mean, now and then I did something a bit reckless, and ended up somewhere I oughtn't have been. But really, I never did anything *bad*. I didn't ever steal anything when I was at Bag End. Not mushrooms. Not anything."
"So it was only when you felt 'underfoot' that you misbehaved."
"I suppose so." I dabbed at my nose with a pocket-handkerchief. "I - with - Bilbo, I never needed to misbehave. If I was hungry, no one shooed me out of the kitchen and told me they couldn't give food to one child when there were thirty in Brandy Hall. Bilbo always let me have the run of the house. If I was hungry, all I had to do was visit the pantry. There was always plenty of food there. Fresh fruit, bread and cheese, muffins Bilbo baked, seed-cakes, pickles, jam. And he never got angry, no matter what I took; he only asked me to tell him what we were out of if I saw, but even if I forgot, he wasn't angry. I – there, I forgot what it was to be hungry, because I could always eat when I wished."
"Were you often hungry at Brandy Hall?"
That, too, I had almost forgotten, but it all felt so real to think of it now. "Aren't elven children ravenous too? Hobbit-children stay hungry most of the time. Seven meals a day isn't enough. But in a place as big as Brandy Hall, it's hard to feed every mouth seven times a day and still have snacks for thirty or more. My grandfather kept quite a table, but - when my parents were alive, they would always take me to the market, and buy fruit for our rooms, and sometimes cookies or cakes or muffins for treats."
"So you did not feel as deprived when you had them to look out for you."
"No. Not in anything." I thought of my mother's smell, how she always smelled of lavender, and sometimes cinnamon and sugar and nutmeg if she had been baking, as she now and then liked to. I thought of my father's pipe, the warm scent of his favourite pipe-weed, and how angry I had been when I found out they had lost his pipe-collection - stolen, I always thought, by one of my relations. But I had been a child, and unable to do anything about it. "I never felt alone till they died," I said at last, "even though I had no brothers or sisters. I had cousins to play with, but afterward they treated me differently, and sometimes they liked to remind me that I had no parents, and they had."
"That must have felt very painful."
"It did." I poked savagely at my dish of banana. "Bilbo never let people talk to me like that. Anyone who came to Bag End was required to respect me the way they respected Bilbo. He treated me like - like - "
"Like you were his son?"
"Yes." Now that I thought of it, he had. I had always called him uncle, though we were really cousins, and never father. Bilbo would not have had me call him that. 'You remember your parents,' he used to say, 'so it does not make sense for you to call me Father. But Uncle works nicely, don't you think? Drogo was like my little brother, so really, I feel like your uncle.'
"How did you feel about your parents dying?" asked Elrond. "Other than underfoot, and alone."
"Abandoned." I thought about it for a moment, trying to dig through the mess time had made of what had never been orderly feelings from the start. "Sometimes I felt - angry. Angry that they weren't more careful. Angry that they were even out in a boat in the first place, not being able to swim. Angry that they hadn't made some sort of arrangement for me other than staying with everyone in Brandy Hall. They left me money, of course, but - I had no say in how to spend it, so I had to do without until - until Bilbo took me in, unless it was something my aunts thought I needed, like clothes."
"Do you ever feel angry about it now?"
The question surprised me, but my answer surprised me more. "Yes! Sometimes I wish that they had never died, and that Bilbo hadn't raised me - I mean, I love Bilbo, honestly, I do. But - that was how I came by the Ring, you know, and - otherwise - "
"Otherwise you might have never had to carry it?"
"Yes. I might still have been in the Shire, oblivious to - all - this." I swallowed, my throat tightening up again. The ache inside me grew stronger, and I knew only one thing to help it. "Please - may I have some wine?"
Elrond shook his head, though his expression did not seem unkind. "It would be better for you to continue to drink water, and talk a little more if you can. In a little while, I shall give you some wine."
I sighed. I wanted, needed, it now. "Please. Please, it is the only thing which eases the pain."
"Are you in pain now?"
"Yes!" Could he not see it? I felt as if everything in me ached, and I was beginning to feel cross.
"Tell me what hurts, no matter how little or how much of you it may be. And then I would like you to lie back down." He moved the tray aside, looking at me expectantly, and I had the distinct feeling that he was not planning to budge in the matter of the wine.
"Everything."
"Everything? Or something in particular? Is it inside or out?"
"Both." I thought about it for a moment. "Inside, I ache, thinking about my parents, and about Bilbo," I said. "And my chest feels tight. It hurts too."
"Let us see whether I can bring you a little ease. If you will lie back down, I will do what I can for you."
Slowly I began to undress, fumbling a little with my shirt-buttons, for my hands trembled. What I needed was more wine, but I had promised to let him try to help me, and going about it his way rather than mine, which had not helped me enough to take away my pain when the strong drink wore off, was part of the bargain. But Elrond took over for me, and finished undressing me. I I lay down on my stomach, and a moment later, he laid a soft blanket over me, folding it down to expose my back.
"There are things I can do," he explained, as I heard him moving about and doing something, probably with his herbal to judge from the sound, "which can help to bring back memory. I try to evoke only pleasant memories, but there is always a risk of triggering painful ones as well. Are you willing to let me try and bring back some memories to comfort you?"
"Yes." I knew elves had ways not common among men or hobbits, though I had not had much opportunity to do anything other than study maps and discuss travel plans when I had been in Rivendell. Right now, the thought of more memories felt almost too painful to bear. But it could not be any worse than the pain which drove me back to the bottle time and time again, surely, and so I thought I could at least let Elrond try.
A few moments passed, and then I smelled a hint of lavender.
My breath caught.
*Mamma.*
I closed my eyes, and it seemed almost as if Mamma was *there*, in the room, and it seemed her hands that stroked my back, though in my head I knew it must be Elrond, for his hands were larger and stronger. But it felt good, whomever was touching me, and so I kept my eyes closed, resting.
That was the last thing I remembered, before I slipped into sleep: the aroma of lavender, and someone stroking my back with tender, firm movements.
-to be continued-
