REPOST
Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 26
Sam awoke first and lay close enough to Frodo to see his Master's face as he struggled towards wakefulness. Slowly, the blue eyes opened and Frodo offered a tired, gentle smile, which Sam returned.
"How long have you been lying there watching me, Samwise Gamgee?" he whispered.
"Not long, Mr. Frodo. How do you feel, sir?" Frodo rolled languidly onto his back. His eyes closed slowly and he mentally took inventory of his body's aches and pains. Surprisingly, he felt somewhat better than he had thought he would.
"I'm thirsty," he said slowly, opening his eyes equally slowly. "Perhaps some mint tea," he murmured. "And my stomach is rumbling," he continued softly, his eyes closed again. His eyes opened wide and he gradually turned to face Sam again. "Sam...Sam...I think I'm a bit ...hungry," he said in astonishment.
Sam's eyes lit up. Frodo smiled wanly at his good friend. "Just a little hungry, mind you, Sam. Please don't over do it like you usually do, all right?" he looked at his gardener with trepidation, imagining a huge tray laden with all sorts of meats, breads and stews all of which sounded horrible enough to bring on another bout of nausea.
"Mr. Frodo! Would I do that to you?" Sam said, with a twinkle in his eye. Frodo truly did look worried."I promise, jus' a little somethin' to go with the tea," Sam smiled reassuringly. "Don't go worrin' yourself for nothin', I know you've been off your feed of late, I'll take good care of ya, you can depend on that, sir", he said earnestly.
"You always do, Sam. You always do," Frodo whispered as his eyes began to close once again. "Sam?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Could you help me up? I need to use the chamber pot before you go," he asked with some urgency.
"Of course, Mr. Frodo. But mayhaps I should get King Strider instead," he said anxiously.
"Nonsense, Sam. We can do this together, and I can't wait besides. Please, just gradually pull me up, no sudden movements, then you can go to the kitchens, all right?" Frodo looked pleadingly at Sam.
"All right, Mr. Frodo," Sam said hesitantly. He sat up, got down from the bed, retrieved the chamber pot, and came back to the bedside. He clambered back up onto the bed and began to unhurriedly lift Frodo's shoulders until he was in an upright position. Frodo's eyes were closed, his face a shade of gray it hadn't been a few moments before.
"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked with concern. Frodo swayed and trembled violently as another wave of vertigo washed over him. Sam looked worriedly at the sweating, ashen face. Feeling he was definitely out of his element here, he began calling for Aragorn.
"Sam, please, it will pass. Just lea' me sii' ’or amommmmen," Frodo slurred.
Aragorn rushed in and saw Sam supporting a very shaken looking Frodo against his chest while trying to clasp a chamber pot on the bed. He was at the bedside in two strides. "What happened, Sam?" he asked quickly.
"He wanted to use the chamber pot, sir. I was only tryin' to help him out, if you take my meanin', Mr. King, sir" Sam said breathlessly.
"I do, Sam," Aragorn smiled slightly at Sam. "I'll take over here, Sam. Why don't you go get Frodo some nice, hot tea?" he said softly.
"I was gonna get Mr. Frodo some breakfast. He said he was hungry," Sam's eyes sparkled at this revelation.
"Did he, now?" Aragorn's eyes shifted quickly to the barely conscious hobbit leaning heavily against the gardener. Deftly, he maneuvered himself between Frodo and Sam. "On your way, Sam" he said as he gently lowered the gardener to the floor. He grasped the chamber pot and placed it back under the bed, and retrieved a small jar from the table side for the task instead.
Sam backed towards the door. "He'll be all right, won't he, sir?" Sam said worriedly.
"He will be fine, Sam. He is just a little woozy. You hurry along and get that tea, I will attend to Mr. Baggins," Aragorn smiled reassuringly. Sam scurried away and down the hall towards the kitchens.
Aragorn's smile evaporated as soon as Sam turned his back, all of his attentions now focused on the small hobbit that was leaning, drunkenly against him. "Frodo,....Frodo..." he tapped the hobbit's face gently. Bleary blue eyes struggled to look up at him. Aragorn allowed a small grin at the hobbit. "Next time, call me to assist you, all right?"
"I'mm jes alill dissy," he slurred
"You've been lying down for about three weeks now, it is expected. I have a jar here so you can relieve yourself. It is all ready, just let *it* go and then we will lie you back down," he said softly.
"hummiliatinn," garbled Frodo.
"Yes, it is. But for now, it is the only way," whispered Aragorn. He placed the Ringbearer on his lap and the jar in its strategic location. But with the presence of Aragorn waiting and watching for him to produce the by product, Frodo found suddenly he could not go. He groaned in frustration.
"Cannnt do it," he sobbed and slumped heavily against Aragorn. Aragorn smiled.
"Very well, this calls for drastic measures, I see." He reached to the side for the water pitcher and began pouring a trickle of water into a cup. The tinkling sound of the water falling from the pitcher into the cup was too much for Frodo and, without conscious thought, he felt relief flood through him and his body. He smiled drunkenly at Aragorn who smiled back. "Works every time," Aragorn said as he grinned down at Frodo. He lay the Ringbearer back onto his pillows after depositing the make shift urinal onto the floor. "Feel better? he asked, as he tucked his friend in.
"Mussh," replied the small hero. The door cracked open and Aragorn looked around spying Merry as he popped his head in.
"May I come in, cousin?" he asked cheerfully.
"Merry!" Frodo gasped. "What a wonderful surprise," he smiled widely. His eyes had regained their clarity now that the room had stopped spinning. "Whatever are you doing here?" he asked.
"What, I can't visit my ailing cousin without a reason?" Merry said with mock indignation. "I, my dear love, am to give you a massage today."
"A what?" Frodo grinned.
"A massage. It means I gently rub the muscles until they relax. It feels wonderful, according to Pip. It's suppose to help with your muscle spasms," he said brightly.
Frodo frowned at being reminded of the cause of those spasms, being the withdrawal from the opiate.
"My muscle spasms. I see."
Aragorn sensed a definite change in Frodo's mood. He looked at the the hobbit and saw, what? anger?
"I don't need any special attention, Merry. The spasms arn't nearly as bad as they were," his eyes shifted away.
Merry looked aghast. "But Frodo, I want to help," he stammered.
"Frodo, perhaps you should know that this is therapy for Merry as well as yourself and Pippin. He has been most neglectful of his injured hand, and needs to work the muscles and ligaments in order to regain their former strength.," Aragorn said softly. Frodo's eyes widened and he turned quickly to look at Merry.
Merry cringed and backed away slowly, hiding his right hand behind his back. "Strider why'd you have to say that?" he stammered, his eyes tearing up.
"Let me see it," Merry looked up as Frodo said this. He shook his head. "It's nothing, Frodo, really," he whispered.
Frodo's eyes were moist. "Let me see your hand, Meriadoc. Now." Frodo held out a trembling left hand. Merry put his right hand in Frodo's Aragorn could see it was still curled unnaturally, the arm trembled as Merry stretched it towards Frodo. Frodo took the hand and looked up at Merry with grief stricken eyes. "It's so cold, oh.. Merry, I am so sorry." he sobbed.
"Sorry, but why Frodo? You didn't do this to me. It was the Witch King," Merry said softly. Frodo trembled at the mention of the Ringwraith that had not only stabbed him, but who had also brought this damage on his dear cousin, as well.
"But I *did* do this, Merry, I did. Don't you see? It's all my fault you were there. All my fault. You should've been back in the Shire, courting lasses and having bairns. You would've been safe if not for me," Frodo had worked himself up until now he was crying hysterically, his head leaned over Merry's maimed hand, his tears falling warm against the cold skin.
Aragorn had watched the exchange, lines of concern for both of his friends etching his face. "Easy, Frodo," he said and gently helped the hobbit roll back onto his back.
"It's all right, Frodo. The massages I'm giving Pippin are helping a lot. I can even pick up small things now. And Strider has me soak in hot athelas water morning and night. It will get better. Soon, no one will ever know I was injured, you'll see," Merry spoke desperately trying to calm is overwrought cousin. Frodo seemed irreconcilable as the guilt overwhelmed him. Aragorn soothed the hobbit quietly, placing a cool cloth on his forehead, and washing away the tears. Finally, Frodo's eyes slipped closed in exhaustion and his sobs became small hiccups. He still held Merry's hand, and he opened his eyes to mere slits, looking up at him.
Merry stood looking down at him, his eyes wide with worry, his face pale.
"Merry?" Frodo said quietly.
"Yes, Frodo?" Merry whispered.
"Would it be too much to ask you for one of your massages?" Frodo whispered back.
"Merry's face lit up with a wide grin. "It would be a pleasure, cousin." Frodo smiled wanly. Aragorn sighed in relief.
"I think I will leave you two gentlemen alone for now," Aragorn said, rising. "Sam will be bringing you breakfast shortly, Frodo. Absolutely no more adventures today," he said grinning.
"I'll take care of him, Strider," Merry said with a grin. Merry moved up on the bed and, straddling his cousin, looked into the blue eyes, so filled with pain. "It's really all right, Frodo. I did my part for the War, as did you. We all made sacrifices. The important thing is that we survived. We came through it. I have no regrets, and neither should you, cousin," he smiled softly. Frodo smiled back at this person before him whom he had once jounced on his knee, played hide and sneak and conkers with and who now, had grown into the great warrior hobbit before him. His eyes teared as he gazed up at his little cousin, little no more for so many reasons.
"Roll over, Frodo. Here, let me help you," Merry gently rolled Frodo onto his stomach, placing pillows about him to relieve the pressure off of his abdomen and making a comfortable nitch for his head. He took the warmed oil and, pulling back the sheet from Frodo's legs, began to work it into the taut muscles. He grimaced as he looked at the skin covered bones that once were Frodo's muscular legs. Suddenly afraid to apply too much pressure lest he break the legs like so many twigs.
"Am I hurting you, Frodo? he asked worriedly.
"Mmmph," came the reply.
Merry smiled, "Frodo, you have to tell me if this hurts or is uncomfortable, all right?"
"Feels wonderful," came the muffled response.
"Frodo, do you remember when you took Bluebell Bracegirdle’s best dress off her line of wash and dressed Hartle's prize pig in it?" Merry asked, chuckling at the memory.
Frodo was dimly aware that Merry was speaking, but his eyes had slipped closed of their own volition. He was dozing comfortably, lost in the hazy, ecstasy that Merry's fingers were working on his aching muscles. His last conscious thought was of Hartle Bracegirdle being thumped repeatedly by Bluebell's broom for dressing the huge pig, prize winner or not, in her very best dress. The pig had actually looked pretty good. A blissful smile touched his lips, as he relaxed for the first time in weeks.
TBC
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