Chapter 18

A light breeze entered the sick room through the cracked window, carrying with it the heady aroma of flowers in full blossom. The refreshing fragrance bore testimony of the awakening of new life in the White City. Frodo slumbered, the bouquet lulling him into a warm half awareness. He drifted in this nether world, not quite asleep, not fully awake, allowing the earthy smells to soothe his distraught mind. Slowly he came to full wakefulness but kept his eyes closed, drinking in the feeling of security and serenity gathered from the sweet perfume. He took in a slow measured breath. He still ached from Aragorn's pummeling of his chest, but found the pain lessened each day. His throat and stomach were another matter. The pain was nearly intolerable. Teas made of comfrey, heavy with cream and honey, had been brought and he drank of them greedily, his malnourished body craving the sweet milk. His thoughts drifted to Aragorn and the tirade he had unleashed upon the King. Aragorn was right. He had been feeling sorry for himself and he knew he would have done everything in his power to save any one of his friends had they been on the threshold of this world and the next, as he had. Yet still he was confused, his mind in turmoil. He wished he had never seen that other world. That he could somehow forget the sheer seductiveness of the pure light and peace that resided there. He had to try. He needed to see if there really was yet a hope, no matter how minuscule, for him to have some semblance of happiness in this world. But how to accomplish this seemingly enormous undertaking? He was so very ill, the pain, at times, beyond succor. This, in and of itself, drove his mind to despair. He sighed and slowly opened his eyes. The deep blue depths cast about the room and settled on the white form seated to his left.

"Good morrow, my friend”, said Gandalf with a grin. Frodo smiled in return. He *hadn't* imagined or dreamt it after all. Gandalf was alive and well, and sitting here beside him. He opened his mouth to speak. "Ssshhhhush...tut, tut. Words are hardly necessary, dear fellow, your face and eyes are as a window into your soul. Besides, you are under very strict orders by the King himself, not to speak under any circumstances”, the wizard smiled and placed a warm hand on Frodo's forehead. "Do you remember how we "talked" before? Perhaps you could squeeze my hand and let me know how you are, my dear hobbit," he said, placing Frodo's left hand into his larger one. "Squeeze my hand if you are feeling any better,” a small squeeze. “Would you like to see Samwise or Aragorn now?" no squeeze was forthcoming. A furrow creased the Ringbearer's forehead and he turned away slightly. Gandalf's face became pensive. "Frodo, you have been through much. Are you regretful of your actions yesterday?" Frodo turned back and locked eyes with Gandalf, his gaze full of despair and self-loathing. "Dear boy, you have nothing to feel remiss about. What you went through would have had even the most content and happy of individuals wondering why they were here." Frodo looked hopeful at this. "No one *really* knows what awaits us on the next plane of existence, Frodo. I believe that it is kept a secret from us for the very reason of how it would effect each of us, should we glimpse it. First, you must decide how to live your life in this realm to the fullest, doing the best you can do with whatever time you are given. Do not dwell on "what ifs", ‘should haves" or "could haves". Allow yourself to take in all you can experience that the world has to offer." He smiled as he whispered to the attentive patient. Frodo listened carefully, hoping against hope that whatever the wizard said, he would feel better about himself and his actions. Gandalf was one of the wisest beings he had ever known. If there was hope or a reason for his being here, he held onto it coming from the kindly wizard. "Once you begin to feel more like yourself, I think you will view this experience differently...as a turning point. Perhaps a chance to start a new life with new hopes." He squeezed Frodo's hand and smiled. Frodo returned the smile, tentatively, pressing the larger hand. He hoped Gandalf was right, but still a cloud of uncertainty hung over his mind.

Suddenly his stomach roiled, a sharp pain stabbing at his abdomen. He tried to swallow down the nausea that had quickly come upon him. His mouth watered as he closed his eyes, trying to will it away. Gandalf noticing his distress reached for a basin and turned Frodo on his side. Frodo groaned and then retched repeatedly into the basin until nothing came up but bile tinged with blood. Gandalf wiped his pale face. Frodo's eyes grew wide again "More?" Asked, Gandalf his eyes widening. Frodo shook his head in the negative and squeezed Gandalf's hand tightly. The urgency was not lost on Gandalf and he swept Frodo up and seated him on the chamber pot, not a moment to soon. Frodo moaned, clutching his abdomen, a wave of vertigo overcoming him. Aragorn entered the room and upon seeing his friend in such distress, quickly closed the door. Frodo looked horribly drawn, his face gray and covered in a sheen of perspiration. Gandalf showed him the basin, looking up into Aragorn's eyes with deep concern. There were clots of blood floating amongst the emesis. Frodo shakily tried to stand, swayed violently, and was caught by Aragorn before he could crumple to the floor. The chamber pot too, was filled with bloody excrement. Frodo shivered violently, becoming a dead weight against Aragorn's chest.

"Gandalf, help me fill the copper tub with warm water please," Aragorn whispered. "And you, my friend try not to move or speak. Lie still and let us care for you," he murmured in soothing tones.

Frodo looked up at Aragorn, his eyes half opened, and gasped as he tried to breath. "I..am..sorry..Strider. You...were ...right. Help...me.," he said rasped.

"You MUST NOT speak, Frodo," Aragorn said sternly. Yet the ranger’s moist eyes belied his inner feelings. Frodo winced as he swallowed, then nodded slowly. "I am relieved that you are willing to give life a chance, Frodo. Our world would be lessened by your absence. Many would grieve dearly as you are loved more than you could ever know, and have already affected countless lives." Aragorn’s voice cracked and tears filled his eyes as he finger combed Frodo's curls back from the sweaty forehead. Frodo watched, transfixed by Aragorn's face and the tears filled the man’s eyes. He had never seen the King weep before and it moved him greatly. He clutched at Aragorn's hand. "First, little one, we must get you well then we will discuss the future," he said smiling. The bath was drawn and Frodo undressed and placed gently into the copper tub. Sweet smelling oils of lavender and thyme were added to the water. Aragorn first washed his hair and then his body, cleansing away the sweat and residue of illness that covered it. Finished, the King lifted Frodo out of the tepid water and wrapped him in warmed towels. The bed had been remade with soft linens, pillows, and blankets. An extra thick towel was placed under Frodo's bottom in case of any unforeseen accidents. Then Frodo was snuggled down into the soft haven, that enclosed him like an embrace. Aragorn called to Saleth who was just across the hall. He came immediately.

"Yes, my Lord."

"We will have need of more milk with comfrey and honey...and add some hypericum* to that as well, if you could." He lowered his voice "I will also need you to bring some boluses made with comfrey, cayenne, athelas, and catnip”. He added. Frodo's eyes widened as he heard this, but his grasp on consciousness was weakening and he was unable to object. "I am sorry Frodo," Aragorn said. "I was only bluffing earlier about the boluses," he smiled, “but, now it seems they *will* be necessary to replace the lost fluids and to give you the medicines you need to stop the bleeding." Frodo barely heard Aragorn as he said this, floating once again towards oblivion. Aragorn gazed down at the pale face and the glazed, half-opened blue eyes. "Before you rest, my friend, we must feed you," he whispered. He took the milk and comfrey mixture, heavily sweetened with honey, and then added the Valerian root extract. He began gently spooning small amounts into Frodo's mouth. Frodo swallowed, wincing and grimacing as the mixture slid down his abraded throat. The flavors awakened a ravenous hunger within the small body and he opened his mouth wider, hungrily swallowing the mixture in great gulps. "Slowly, Frodo, slowly," soothed Aragorn. "We want you to keep this down. No gulping, your throat can not tolerate it”, he smiled slowly. "It is good to see your appetite improving once more, I have to admit. I'll make sure you get as much as your stomach can hold, worry not." Frodo relaxed a little allowing Aragorn to feed him at a slower pace. Finally, he slipped into an uneasy doze, the liquid dribbling heedlessly down his chin.

Aragorn returned the cup to the table and washed the Ringbearer's face. Then he gently lifted Frodo onto his lap, his head resting in the crook of Aragorn's left arm. He looked to Saleth who had entered with the boluses, and with a nod, he gently bent Frodo's legs up to his chest. Frodo groaned but did not fight him. Aragorn then took the proffered bolus and gently inserted it into the small bottom. Frodo's eyes opened and his hand tightened on Aragorn's chest. "Try to relax, Frodo. We need to keep it in place as long as possible. Don't fight it”, Aragorn soothed. Frodo looked up at Aragorn, his eyes glassy, too ill to be humiliated at the intrusion. He sighed. Aragorn placed Frodo on his left side into the soft bed and covered him with the quilt. He placed pillows behind his curved back and legs. Then he took Frodo's right hand and gently started to unwrap the bandages. Frodo tried not to watch, the sight of the hand was like a dagger to his heart, forcing him to relive his failure at Mount Doom. Aragorn watched his expression and nodded to Gandalf, who came and sat beside him.

"You should not be ashamed of your wounds, Frodo. They were rendered in the service of Middle Earth and are symbols of courage and sacrifice. They hold a place of honor," said Gandalf. Frodo's eyes slit open and tears rolled down his face and onto the pillow. "Even if you *did* claim the Ring at the last, you must realize...and listen well, my young friend..." Gandalf's voice turned gruff "no other being...be it a mighty elf, a leader of men, a great wizard, or stout dwarf...no other being on this great world could have done what you have done. Frodo's chest hitched as he sobbed. "You were the only one who could carry it to Orodruin. This the council knew. But the key word here is *carry*, for that is what you said you would do. Not *destroy* It if you recall, that task was for another...but to *carry* it, and that you did. Never was more asked of one so small and innocent to the ways of evil." Gandalf's voice broke, his face crumpled in grief. "I would have done anything to have taken this burden from you, Frodo. Sauron would have you carry It still, but you must not allow this to happen, my friend, or he will be victorious after all that has been wrought. It is gone. You must rejoice at Its destruction and move on and rebuild your life.” He sighed, patting Frodo's hand. "We will help you bear this burden. We will help you recover from the torment that has been rent upon you," his voice was soft, and a thin smile touched his lips as he gazed into Frodo's eyes.

Aragorn wiped Frodo's face with a cool cloth. "No more tears, Frodo. The weeping will only irritate your throat. You will have to admit defeat, my friend; you are stuck with us whether or not you like it. We love you too much to lose you now,” he smiled. Frodo allowed a small smile to touch his lips. The hand lay exposed on the counterpane. The ring finger a blistered, blackened stump. Aragorn bent low over it, examining it closely. "It does not appear to be infected. We will remove this outer blackened skin, apply a healing balm, then re-wrap it," he murmured to himself. "Frodo, this may be a little uncomfortable." Frodo would have laughed out loud....a great roaring, howling, crazed, madman's belly laugh, if he'd had the energy to do so. The irony of the situation was unbelievable. Uncomfortable? In his current situation, his body wracked with pain, his head pounding, his chest aching, his bowels twisting...what was one more ache or throb? A weak smile on his lips, he closed his eyes and sighed. Tears still ran from the closed lids, tracking down his face. Aragorn carefully touched the ring finger causing Frodo to instantly recoil. It had not hurt, per se, he simply was loathe to have anyone examine or touch it. Aragorn glanced at Frodo's face and gently reached out again, capturing Frodo's hand in his. Then he carefully peeled off the blackened skin, revealing the shiny inflamed new skin underneath. He retrieved a bowl of warm athelas water and placed the hand in it to soak. Frodo gasped in surprise and pain. "I am sorry, Frodo, but I want to make sure the wound is completely clean before I re-wrap it. Frodo remained stoic, eyes closed. Gandalf began, in a lowered voice, to tell a story about Bilbo and how the hobbit had once crushed his finger between a gate and its post. Frodo knew the story and he knew Gandalf was trying to distract him, but the story was a humorous one and he found himself striving to listen, needing and enjoying the distraction. After some time, the story long finished, and Frodo smiling along with the wizard and King about the antics of his Uncle, Aragorn removed the hand from the basin and gently applied the balm of athelas and myrrh. He then re-wrapped the hand in many layers. "Now, my friend, let's check your chest." A loud sigh emanated from the Ringbearer and when the King locked eyes with him, he could tell the hobbit had nearly reached his limits. Aragorn and Gandalf both chuckled. "Why Frodo, it is not like you to be upset with my tending your injuries”, he quipped sarcastically. Frodo grinned slightly. "But, since you are my captive, I see no reason to not finish what we have started." Frodo rolled his eyes, but was too weak for any other form of resistance. Aragorn removed the quilt and lifting the nightshirt, revealed the battered chest. He took more of the balm and in a gentle circling pattern massaged it into the bruises. Frodo cried out, the pain intense even with the slight pressure. Aragorn apologized in soft tones then, pulling Frodo to him, began binding the chest with strips of gauze. Frodo was now openly weeping, gasping as each strip was laid tightly over the last. "I am very sorry to inflict further pain upon you, little one. But we must be certain the ribs are held firmly in place so that they will heal properly”, Aragorn explained in a low voice.

Once done, Frodo was completely spent. Never had he realized how tiring and painful being tended to could be. His eyes were half closed, his breaths harsh as he fought to remain awake. He tried to focus on Aragorn and Gandalf but could not get his eyes to clear. There was a fog descending upon him, muting all sound, until at last, he succumb and slipped into an exhausted sleep.

"That's right, Frodo. Don't fight it," Aragorn murmured. "Sleep a peaceful, dreamless sleep and tomorrow we will work on curing the non-physical injuries." A smile touched the King's lips. Injured even as he was, Frodo looked to be at peace as he lay resting.

"And how do you propose to do that, my dear Estel?" asked Gandalf.

"Ahhhh.....there are many things I hope to show our young charge, many faces and gifts of nature, to awaken in him that which he thinks is dead," Aragorn whispered cryptically, still gazing at the form of his friend as he placed Frodo’s hand atop the covers.

TBC

* Hypericum is also known as St. John's Wort, although that name would not have been given to it during this time period." name="chapter[content]" id="chapter_content" />