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 4: Not At All Well
Vaguely I became aware of lying in bed, comfortably positioned on my right side, the covers tucked over me warmly. The room was dimly lit, though a fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth.
But something was wrong.
Very wrong.
I felt sick, and my stomach lurched uneasily. I tried to sit up, though to my relief I felt Lord Elrond's arms around me, pulling me close as he held a basin beneath my chin. Violently I retched, vomiting over and over again, feeling the sweat rolling down my face and soaking the back of my night-shirt. I felt an alarming rush of wetness beneath me and realised with horror that I had soiled my bed. But I had no time to apologise, for I had to throw up again, and then again.
At last the fit passed, leaving me spent. This time, though, I was not alone, at least. Elrond held me close, stroking my hair.
"Let me get you cleaned up," he said softly. "I need to lay you down, though only for a moment."
"I didn't mean to make a mess," I murmured. "I am sorry."
"You could not help it. I will bring water for you to rinse your mouth, and we will get you out of that gown and change your bed. Perhaps this might be a good time for that bath, if you think you can bear sitting in a tub. I will fold a towel behind you so you can rest, and I will bathe you."
A bath certainly sounded like a good idea to me, though I felt too weak to move. I let Lord Elrond lay me on my side, turned so I was not lying in the mess I had made. I could hear him moving about the room. It was embarrassing to have been caught in such a situation - usually I managed to tend to my own needs, and on the rare occasions when I soiled my clothes I had always rinsed them out thoroughly before turning them over to servants for laundry. But this time I felt worse than ever. It was a relief when Lord Elrond returned and eased me out of my gown, wiping my bottom with a warm, damp cloth and patting me dry with a towel. He then folded the towel on the clean side of the bed and moved me so that I rested with my backside upon it, as if it were a cushion. After washing his hands, he brought back a clean basin and a tumbler of water, which he touched to my lips, holding out the basin for me with his other hand.
"Rinse your mouth, little one. Spit into the basin."
I obeyed. It felt better to have that awful taste out of my mouth somewhat, though I was even more relieved when Lord Elrond set aside the tumbler and basin and offered me something small from his pocket.
"Would you like to suck on a little candied ginger? Do not eat it, only hold it in your mouth. It may give you a little ease."
I nodded and held out my hand, taking the tidbit and slipping it onto my tongue. He smiled and covered me with a blanket, then began working on the side of the bed I had soiled. I was grateful I had managed to sneak some towels beneath the bedding before, for fear of this event. It always made my bed rather lumpy, but I had worried about such things happening, and now I realised how right I had been.
"My sons will arrive soon," said Lord Elrond, "and they will help with changing your bed. I will prepare your bath now, but while you have it, we should talk."
My stomach lurched again, though this time nothing seemed inclined to come out either end. "Talk?"
"Yes." Lord Elrond met my eyes with a sympathetic gaze. "I understand your need for food. It is real. Your body had been so long deprived that even now it cries out for nourishment, though you are being fed. But your body and mind are not to be trusted to act in your best interest. I am concerned that if you continue to try and sneak food and drink, you might do yourself a real injury - one which even I cannot heal. It could cost you your life."
"I'm fine. Really." I did not want to be told what I could and could not eat. I had consented to let him help me, but part of me bristled at the thought of being restricted thus.
"It seemed to me that you were not fine a few minutes ago. You were very ill, and so long as you are experiencing vomiting and diarrhea, your body cannot heal properly. Allow me to show you something."
I looked at him curiously, but in answer he only came to my side of the bed, gathered me in his arms, and carried me to the wall where a large mirror hung. I was prone to avoiding mirrors these days, having discovered early on that I looked rather poorly despite Aragorn's care. But it quickly became clear to me that Elrond did not wish me to avoid the mirror this time.
"Look in," he said, when we drew close.
Against my fearful judgment, I looked.
What I saw made my mouth open in an O of astonishment.
When I first had seen myself after getting out of bed, I had not looked at all well. I had seemed pale and sallow, like some sickly invalid close to death, and far too thin, with my cheekbones and nose and chin too sharp in my face. My clothes had seemed well fitted, for Aragorn had had them made especially for me as I was, and not as I had been. But now I looked even thinner and paler, with a sickly greyish-yellow cast to my skin that looked even worse than before. My cheeks were flushed, and sweat glistened on my face and body. My hair lay limp and lifeless against my face, and my eyes looked out hollowly from a starved-looking face which seemed all sharp angles.
"That," said Lord Elrond, still holding me close against him, "is an accurate reflection of how terribly ill you are. Without proper care, you will surely die, and while I know that death may seem an end to pain now, it would not be a very pleasant way to pass on. I am happy to care for you. It is an honour. But I cannot care for you if you will not *let* me care for you. I promised you a supper that would be a little more substantial, but after seeing you this ill, I think your difficulties may be more severe even than I discerned. I will have something brought for you, but you need to *talk* to me, and tell me more of what has been going on. You admitted to drinking rather a great deal for anyone, but especially for one your size." He turned and carried me to the bath-room attached to my bed-chamber, where he pulled up a stool beside the tub and sat with me on his lap, the towel beneath me. With one free hand he reached to turn on the running-water taps, testing the water with his fingers as he spoke. "You need to tell me how much you have been eating, and what, and how often. I believe there is more to this story than you have shared. I am not angry with you - it is natural to long for food, and plenty of it, after such privation - but there are good reasons why Aragorn has been loath to give you more, and if you have been eating much more, I need to hear about it."
I hesitated. It had been hard enough to admit the drinking, but somehow I felt greedy and foolish to admit the full extent of my eating. But I knew that Lord Elrond had a way of getting the truth out of me, and if I did not tell it now, he would find some way to coax it from me before the week was out. And if he was right, I had better tell him now, so he could help me.
A noise in my room startled me, and my heart pounded in my chest. Lord Elrond rubbed my back gently.
"It is only the twins," he said. "They have come to change your bed, and remove the soiled linens. And they will bring your supper shortly."
I had forgotten that elves had some strange way of talking without ever using words, or even being in the same room, though I had often noticed it when I had been in Rivendell, when Elrond would sometimes call for Arwen or Lossmeril to bring broth or bandages or some special treat for me.
"I have been eating whatever I could get," I said at last, as he eased me into the tub and positioned a folded towel behind my head and shoulders. "Aragorn sends me - well, I suppose he's told you what he sends, and I try to eat that, and it is good, I suppose. But I - I have eaten little fruit tarts, mashed potatoes with gravy and mushrooms - usually cold, roast beef - usually cold too, sometimes rich dessert dishes or things with cheese. Whatever I can find. And of course - the wine, or now and then brandy. Mostly I eat what Aragorn sends, but then two or three times a day I raid the kitchens. When they aren't looking."
"When you eat only Aragorn's food, and nothing else, does your stomach get upset?"
I thought about it for a moment. It had been a few weeks since I had eaten only Aragorn's food and nothing else. "Sometimes," I said at last. "But not so often. And when I did get sick and admit it, he would take me back a few steps on that diet and then I would get better. Which is why I haven't told him I'm that sort of ill now. I miss real food. And he won't even let me have real food."
One of the twins must have handed in Elrond's herbal, for he brought it over to the little dressing-table, and opened it, and took out a vial of oil, drizzling a few small drops into the water and swirling it around. The smell was comforting - peppermint - and it seemed to help me relax a little.
"Does not having the food you wish for make you feel uneasy?" asked Elrond.
"Yes. Very."
"What could we do to help you feel safe with regard to food? I would be happy to let you have as much as you want whenever you want, but it will only make you more ill, and I believe Aragorn shares my concerns. The food is too much for your stomach to bear, and so it makes your stomach upset, and then you lose what little nourishment you have taken. And then you feel worse, and more deprived, so you eat more food which is too rich for you, and again you become ill, and lose that nourishment, and feel worse. It is a dangerous cycle to be trapped in, and it could do you great harm, provided it did not kill you in the end. So we must break that cycle."
I thought about it as he took up a wash-cloth and some peppermint-scented soap and began to bathe me with gentle hands. "I want to have food more often," I said at last, "even if it means having less at a time. I would rather have a little something every hour than once every two or four hours. Even if it is only milk, or juice, it makes me feel better to know that there is food to have."
"I think we could manage that quite easily." Elrond finished with my face and neck and began to bathe my shoulders, taking special care with the left one. "I would like to do what Aragorn does, and restart you on the refeeding diet he has used. I realise that you would rather have creamy soups than sugared water, but I think that sugared water, and sweet milk, and perhaps sweetened fruit juices, will serve you much better than richer foods right now. And if you will trust me, perhaps we can build you up to more substantial food. But we must not let you have too much food or wine for now."
"When will I be better?" I felt almost afraid to ask the question. I was afraid I already knew the answer.
Elrond soaped the washcloth and bathed my chest with it. "I cannot say, tithen min. If you do not allow me to guide your diet and help you, then you will never be able to improve. But even if you do, I cannot promise how quickly you will recover, nor whether you will ever recover at all. The only thing I can promise with certainty is that I will make sure you have the best of care."
I had been afraid of that. Still, he did promise I would be taken care of, and that was something. Had he not done his best for me before, when I had arrived in Rivendell so ill that I had nearly died, or worse? Bilbo had said that Elrond had not left my side till I was sleeping well and my fever had begun to fall, and then he had only been willing to leave me with Gandalf watching over me. I had to trust that he would do all he could for me.
"I understand," I said as he rinsed my chest. "I might not get better."
"That is correct. But what I can also promise is that there are means by which I might be able to help you *feel* better, in mind and in body. I cannot promise a cure, but I can bring you ease which does not require either wine or rich food. I can teach you how to comfort yourself - and so long as you and I are in the same place, I am willing to comfort you as best as I can."
"Oh," I said glumly. I did not wish to think about the day when we would no longer be in the same place. I would have to return home, and he would sail West.
"Would you share what troubles you, little one?"
I started. How did Elrond always seem to understand what I was thinking? Could he read my mind too?
"I was only thinking that soon I will have to return home," I said.
"Do you wish to return home?"
The question shocked me. I had never thought of not returning home. But I had never quite been able to imagine my homecoming either. My home was a part of my past, and seemed as real as the idea of flying to me now. More than once I had envied Bilbo his peaceful life in Rivendell.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't know what I want. I only know how dreadful I feel."
"Perhaps when you are feeling better you might think about where you wish to go. No one would think of you leaving here any time soon - you are far too ill to travel, and it will be a long time before you are well enough to make even short journeys. What you need now is to be kept warm and quiet in bed, and to have suitable nourishment and nursing, and when things are a little better, you may consider whether you would like to remain here, in the care of my daughter and foster-son, or whether you wish to return to the Shire with your companions, or whether you would like to go with us as far as Imladris, and stay there with my household."
I could hardly believe it. Me, live in Rivendell, like Bilbo? "Do you really mean I could stay with you?" I asked hopefully. "I think I should like that very much."
"Of course. The choice will be yours. And you shall have plenty of time to think through your decision."
That made me feel better. Of course, it did not answer the matter of what would become of me when Lord Elrond sailed West. But I felt too spent to think of that at the moment. It felt easier to lean back and let Lord Elrond continue bathing me.
"Your supper should arrive by the time we have you back in bed," said Lord Elrond.
I could not resist what must have been a rather wan smile. "What, water and crushed ice?"
"A little better. I have asked for sugared water. They are preparing skimmed chicken broth for later, and closer to bedtime you may have a little rice with sugar. Sometimes those things will settle a troubled stomach."
"It seems like so little." Still, he was right. I had been so awfully sick. Part of me felt panicky at the thought of doing without food, real food, again, but I tried to remind myself that he was only trying to help. He would not allow me to starve. And from the look of it, I was starving already. How much worse could this be?
"I know, tithen min, and I am sorry. But if you fare well, perhaps soon we can give you a little fruit-juice with sugar and crushed ice. Would that taste good?"
I nodded eagerly. That did sound good. Perhaps I could bear it a little while after all. But suddenly I felt panicky. Wine! Lord Elrond had not mentioned wine. Would he give me any? I had not been in the habit of going very long without any, and I knew from the occasions when I had had to do so that it did not sit well with my stomach either.
"May I have some wine, though, this evening?" I asked nervously. "I haven't had any in hours."
Elrond looked me, his eyes filled with pity, which made me feel horribly embarrassed. "It may be hard on your stomach," he said, "but it may also be hard on your body to go without. I must weigh a choice of evils: whether to wean you down slowly, as I had planned, or whether to deprive you of it to avoid further compromising your recovery." He sighed. "But it is not unlike the decision I made for you when it looked as if you would not survive the operation to remove the fragment of blade. Then, it would have been the lesser evil to risk your life to get it out. Now, I deem it the lesser evil to give you a few sips and try to manage your digestion more effectively with diet. But please understand that it will be only a very small amount, and we will decrease it every day or two."
"I understand." As nervous as I felt about having so much less wine than I had grown accustomed to, it was better than having none. I only hoped I could manage.
But suddenly the room went black.
-to be continued-
