REPOST
Day Two of Frodo's Weaning
Aragorn could not remember having ever had a longer more tortuous night. Even the seemingly endless fighting at Helm's Deep could not compare to seeing his frail, sick friend turn from sedated, sick hobbit to the trembling, hysterical and pain wracked form he now saw before his eyes. He silently witnessed as Frodo went from near catatonia, where he lay for hours staring vacantly off into some other world, silent tears falling from unseeing eyes-- to begging, pleading and screaming as his body thrashed in agony, to spitting vitriolic obscenities and railing verbally and physically against Aragorn and all of humanity. Aragorn, frustrated and feeling impotent at his lack of ability to help or give succor to his friend, looked on helplessly as Frodo experienced the torment and torture of his withdrawal. Another side effect, and possibly the most heartbreaking for Aragorn to watch, was when Frodo could not discern reality from the chaos that held his mind. At those times, he became a frightened waif, cringing back from all who neared him, seeing things only he could see. Aragorn could not fathom what Frodo's mind had created to terrify him so, his mind and body desperate to overcome the loss of the drug, and trying desperately to compensate for the sudden imbalance that had been brought upon it.
Saleth and he had tried everything they could think of to calm and comfort the Ringbearer. Some things, like the hot baths and Valerian root, had worked for a time, but increasingly higher doses of the tea were needed at increasingly shorter intervals, to maintain even the slightest semblance of calm in their patient now. The Valerian root was not as addictive, for which Aragorn was grateful, but he worried because of Frodo's slight frame and weight that the heavy doses might catch up with him and slip the hobbit into too deep a sleep. Currently, that was not a problem, Aragorn mused. He looked over to the bed at the feverish, shaking form of his friend. Frodo's main problem now was dehydration. At first, they had force fed him the soups and tea every hour, but after every feeding Frodo had vomited violently. So they had gone back to the light broth and the sweetened cream, heavy with Valerian root and comfrey. This he drank greedily, but none of it had remained down for long. Frodo was now vomiting almost constantly, long past expelling any form of food, until now only bile came forth. Each time Frodo hovered retching over the basin, his movements had become weaker and weaker and each time Aragorn had emptied it he had noticed increasingly larger amounts of blood in the emesis.
The chamber pot had had its share of attention as well, as Frodo's body struggled to purge all fluids out of his fragile frame--a frame that seemed to grow more wasted as each hour passed. They feared the hobbit could not survive much more of the continuous abuse. Aragorn placed a damp cloth on Frodo's head and after gently wiping the small face clean, offered a sip of water to rinse his mouth with. Saleth was preparing another bath with steaming hot water and fragrantly scented oils to comfort the shuddering, anxious form. Frodo tossed back and forth upon his pillow, fighting some unseen attacker. He slowly opened his glazed eyes and stared up at Aragorn with a look that could only be described as terrified. His eyes became impossibly wide and he tried feebly, to crab crawl backwards into the far corner of his bed. 'What are you seeing that frightens you so, my dear friend?', thought Aragorn.
Frodo's POV
As Frodo had opened his eyes he had seen the dark shapes again, backlit by a dim light, as they moved about his bed. They spoke to him, but he did not understand their words, the sounds reminding him of people talking while he used to swim underwater. The room was full of these phantasms, all reaching towards him or forcing him to drink strange concoctions. He yearned for Sam or Bilbo to protect and save him, but they were gone and he was all alone. Alone. He wept as he tried to retreat from the nearest figure. He managed to get to the furthest corner of the large bed, adrenaline coursing through him, and slowly backed off the bed until his feet touched the floor. A violent wave of vertigo assailed him and he pitched towards the wall, bumping it hard. He regained his balance and slowly and continued to inch backwards. The figure was joined by a second and now both were garbling their strange tongue and approaching him with their long arms outstretched. Huge claws were making to grasp at him. He shrieked a long wailing cry and, trembling, backed away slowly.
"Sam!… Sam! Help me!", he screamed, but no one came to his aid. He continued creeping away, stumbling and swaying, but determined to escape the wraiths before him. He screamed again, calling out for his absent friend until finally, his voice failed him completely and he could only sob in terror at what surely, was his approaching doom. "Please...I don't have it. Don't touch me....please, stay away," he panted. His guts were on fire and he felt his bowels let go, but was too petrified to care, his only goal to elude his pursuers. The pain was all encompassing, his muscles cramped and spasomed, his stomach and chest a throbbing inferno and his hand seemed to pulse with a dull pain that matched his rapid heartbeat and ragged breaths. He bumped up against a cupboard of sorts and felt hastily around it until he found the end and eased himself easily behind it and up against the cool wall. He moved all the way down to the other end until he was well out of reach of his pursuers. His stomach cramped violently and he retched as he slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chin and sobbed hysterically. His body heaved in a sudden, shuddering, convulsion causing Frodo to arch his back and hit his head repeatedly against the cool stone, until his eyes rolled up into his head and blessed blackness claimed him.
Aragorn's POV
As Frodo moved to the corner of the bed, Aragorn spoke soothingly to him and raised his hands to show he was no threat to the Ringbearer. But Frodo continued backing away, slowly lowering his legs over the side of the bed. Aragorn called to Saleth, "Saleth, Frodo is hallucinating. I need you to help me." Saleth immediately moved with Aragorn to try and intercept the frightened hobbit. Aragorn studied Frodo as he gamely moved towards the cupboards on the far wall. His legs wobbled, looking incapable of holding even Frodo's slight weight for any length of time. He staggered and swayed with weakness, and his face wore a look of such pure terror that Aragorn could only guess at what the hobbit thought he was seeing before him. It was obvious that adrenaline was all that kept the Ringbearer focused on his attempt at escape. Aragorn grimaced as he noted how thin and ragged his friend looked, his nightshirt covered in vomit and clinging to his small frame in a drench of sweat. His hair was plastered to his head, and droplets of perspiration hung from the tangles. His face, dewy with sweat, was pale and dark black circles lay under his eyes. He was panting hoarsely and Aragorn could see the pulse point on his neck beating rapidly in fear and panic. Suddenly Frodo’s bowels released again, but Frodo seemed not to notice as he continued to inch backwards. He cried out for Sam to help him, causing Aragorn to weep openly at the panic evident on his pale features. Finally, Frodo’s voice gave out and he sobbed hysterically as he reached the wall whispering "Please, I don't have It. Don't touch me...please, stay away..." He slipped behind the narrow gap behind the cabinet and moved all the way to the end, into the corner and well out of reach of Aragorn's long arms. Then he vomited violently and his body, finally totally spent from these last efforts, convulsed and seized until he became unconscious.
"We must move the cabinet, quickly!" shouted Aragorn.
Saleth called two orderlies to assist them and the cabinet was moved out enough to allow Aragorn access to the slumped form. "Blessed Eru..." whispered Aragorn as he checked Frodo's pulse and breathing. As he touched the hobbit's forehead, he drew back, startled at the heat that radiated off the small person.
"Quickly, the bath. Then prepare boluses heavy with Valerian root and comfrey. Prepare a second with hypericum and athelas." The healers left hastily to do the King's bidding. The linens were changed, sideboards were re-attached to the bed and the boluses lay on a tray ready to be inserted. Aragorn swept Frodo up, quickly removing the filthy nightshirt, and slowly lowered him into the bath. Saleth and he worked together to thoroughly wash their friend, finally lifting and wrapping him in a soft blanket. As they placed him on the clean sheets, thicker toweling was placed under his bottom and strips of gauze were brought to bind him so that he would remain in the bed. Aragorn carefully unwrapped the hand, satisfied it had received no additional injury, applied a balm and rewrapped it in an extra layer of soft bandages in case their charge became violent. He examined the ribs and found that with all the movement, a slight misalignment had occurred. Only a yellowing bruise now remained as a reminder of Aragorn's resuscitation of a few days prior. He soaked a bandage in warm athelas water and lay it across the Ringbearer's chest. After a time he removed it and bound the small ribs back into place. Next, he looked closely at Frodo's head where he had struck it against the wall. Aside from a few lumps, he decided no real damage had been done. He palpated the stomach and abdomen and received whimpers and a groan in return. "I am very concerned that he has restarted the bleeding in his stomach. We should try to give him some mint tea to settle the cramping," Aragorn murmured. Saleth left and returned shortly with the requested tea.
"Here, my Lord. Let us first place the first bolus, dress him and then perhaps, the tea?" he inquired. Aragorn nodded, and turned Frodo onto his side. He lifted Frodo's knees to his chest and slowly inserted the bolus. A small gasp issued from the hobbit's mouth as he slowly began to regain consciousness. He had felt the intrusion of the bolus and now he trembled in fear, eyes widening slowly, to realize he was at the mercy of the strange captors. He began to struggle, whimpering as he tried to push away. The bolus was pushed out as he worked against the healers. He inched once more, towards the headboard, but his time Aragorn caught his wrists in his and held him still. Frodo became hysterical, howling in fear and loathing, as his imagination created before him a monster of such hideous visage, so horrible he thought his heart would stop. He screamed again, and again as Aragorn spoke softly to him, but he knew that Frodo was far past reason.
"Forgive me, mellon," he whispered as he struck Frodo hard across the face. The Ringbearer collapsed and Aragorn pulled him to his chest, tears flowing from his eyes. "Forgive me, but we must treat you or you will die. I can not allow that to happen to one I have grown to love almost as a brother," he murmured softly, stroking the dark curls. He turned to Saleth.
The healer looked on in sympathy for the King. "It was necessary, my Liege," he said, trying to comfort Aragorn.
"Perhaps, dear friend, but it gives me no comfort knowing I must subdue a dear friend physically in order to stop the madness, even if only for a short time. I am a monster. I feel not unlike a bully beating upon a frail and delicate creature," he lamented. Gently he lay the unconscious hobbit on his side and again pulled up the thin legs. Another bolus was brought to replace the first, and placed inside the small bottom. He then carefully covered his friend. Frodo's legs and arms were bound, loosely, to the bed frame to prevent him from moving and the cooled mint tea was once again, brought forward. He leaned Frodo against his chest and slowly trickled the tea into the side of Frodo's mouth. Reflexively, it was swallowed. Aragorn then placed a cool cloth on his friend's face where he had struck him, as silent tears filled his eyes. He curled up next to Frodo on the large bed, pulling him to him. He then slept, Frodo cradled protectively against him.
TBC
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