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Smoke and Mirrors  by lovethosehobbits

REPOST

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

A/N: Here's 29, there's a bit of slurring in parts, so just go limp and pretend you're drunk, it's easier to understand.

Smoke and Mirrors 29

Aragorn held the small body next to his, grateful that the slender limbs had ceased their thrashing. In the background, the sound of weeping could be heard, but all else was now quiet. Slowly, he moved Frodo to the copper tub that Saleth had prepared, lowering the hobbit gently into it. He began to slowly move the scented soap over the sweaty curls and wash the blood from the small hands. Another pair of hands, significantly smaller than his, appeared opposite him and reverently, sponged the soap over the body of his cousin. Aragorn looked up into the grieving face. Merry's eyes had a haunted, glassy look to them.

"It was not your fault, Merry," said the King softly.

Merry's look of anguish mixed with anger startled the former ranger. "Not my fault? I'd like to know whose fault it was then?" he fairly spat the reply. "What did I do to him? How will he ever forgive me? And what will Sam think when he finds out that Frodo couldn't even be left in my care for one moment without me traumatizing him so?” A pause. “However shall I live with what I have done?" he sobbed. Aragorn looked at Merry with pity.

"I have seen this before in soldiers on the battlefield. Suddenly they become overwhelmed by some memory of a previous trauma. It is as if they are reliving that memory, and those around them are helpless to console them. It can be triggered by the simplest of things but it is generally not remembered afterwards as anything other than a waking dream. It is likely Frodo will not remember what happened. As to Sam, I would not tell him, unless you feel you must," said Aragorn.

"Not tell him?" asked Merry, incredulously.

"No, he will only fret over his Master all the more and to what end? If Frodo does not recall the incident, and Sam is told, he will no doubt, tell Frodo about it. You know Sam, he cannot keep a secret, especially from Frodo." Merry smiled slightly and nodded. "If Frodo cannot remember and Sam reveals what happened, this will only upset Frodo all the more; knowing that we have been witness to a side of him that he wishes kept secret."

"But what of his hand, how do we explain the cuts and bruises he will have?" asked Merry.

"Be creative, Merry. Say he fell out of bed while you were tickling him," said Aragorn.

"You mean lie." Aragorn grimaced but nodded. "I do not feel comfortable with this deception. I feel like I am just trying to cover my own foolishness by making up a story," Merry said softly.

"If Frodo remembers, then, of course, it will not be necessary for the deception, Merry. But if Frodo does not remember, would you really tell him what transpired this day? Imagine if you were Frodo, how would you react to such news?" asked Aragorn gently.

Merry thought about that. "I would be devastated. Especially knowing my cousin and how private he is with his feelings and remembrances of the quest. I would feel like my soul had been bared for all to see," said Merry slowly.

"I agree, Merry. What we need to do is get Frodo to talk of his experiences. I realize it will be difficult, but if he does not confront his demons, they will destroy him," he looked up into Merry's eyes. "They will destroy what peace is left in his life, Merry. You must do this. You are singularly and uniquely qualified to be his confidante. You have dealt with the Witch King and experienced the trauma and torture of the orcs." Merry paled noticeably and drew in a slow shaky breath. "I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to be so blunt," Aragorn apologized. "But witnessing your reaction just now has made me even more sure of my belief that you and Frodo both, have issues that need to be discussed."

Merry swallowed hard, "I will try, Strider."

"That is all anyone could ask," he said with a smile. "Now, let's get Frodo out of this tub and his wounds dressed before he gets too pruney," he chuckled.

Merry smiled. "He is getting rather wrinkled, I'd say."

Aragorn lifted Frodo, wrapped him in toweling and carried him to the bed. The linens had been changed while he was bathed and now he was bundled into the clean sheets and blankets until little more than his pale face was visible upon the pillows. Merry pulled up the counterpane and crawled up on the bed. He sat beside Frodo as Aragorn began arranging a tray of implements to stitch up the gash on the palm of Frodo's hand. He removed the bloody bandage from the right hand and bent over the palm, examining the cut. "About ten stitches," he murmured to himself. He dabbed at the wound with a cloth dipped in warm athelas water, dried it and then threaded a curved needle with a fine horsehair.

"Will this not hurt him?" asked Merry, nervously.

"I gave him a sizable portion of Valerian Root paste, I doubt he will feel much," answered Aragorn. He bent and made the first stitch. Frodo flinched slightly, but other than that, lay quiet. After the palm was stitched, Aragorn dabbed at the stitches with another athelas cloth, applied a balm and began examining the amputated ring finger. Satisfied that it was healing well and had not been re-injured in the fracas, he readied the hand in clean gauze.

"How long will he sleep, do you think, Strider?" asked Merry.

"It is hard to say. He will be sore and very tired, he used a lot of his energy struggling. He could awaken anytime due to hunger or thirst, but will be too exhausted to do much more than that." Aragorn looked over at Merry, "You must be prepared for his questions, just in case, but I am certain he will remember nothing of the experience. These phantasms that haunt him and yourself, must be brought out and spoken of, Merry, if you or Frodo are ever to truly heal." Aragorn said firmly.

"I understand, Strider, but what you ask is not an easy thing," Merry's voice quavered as his eyes met the King's.

"I understand. I do not envy either of you in this undertaking, but it is necessary or neither of you will truly be at peace again. I also can think of few other that are as strong as you and your cousin, and I know that you will be able to recover," said Aragorn with compassion.

Merry gave Aragorn a tiny smile then turned to look at Frodo. Crystal blue eyes were staring back at him. "Wha' won't be easy thing, Merry?" he asked in a low, slurred voice.

"Frodo. You startled me, cousin. We thought you would sleep all day, you lazy hobbit," exclaimed a surprised Merry.

Frodo smiled slowly and turned his gaze on Aragorn, "Have I been ill, Strider or are you jess vissiting an old hobbit?" he asked drunkenly.

"A little of both, my dear friend," grinned Aragorn at the groggy Ringbearer. "You took a tumble from the bed and I had to stitch your palm..."

"He took a WHAT?" Sam was standing in the doorway with a new tray, which he almost dropped in his haste to get to Frodo's bedside. "What 'ave you done to 'em, you crazy Brandybuck?" he said looking over the form of his Master.

Merry gulped and recoiled at the comment that hit too close to the mark in Merry's mind. Hadn't he done this after all? Caused this added grief for his cousin?

"Sam," Frodo smiled weakly. "I hamm fine. I *am* quite hungry, however, so calmm yourseff and come oer here," his words slipped and slurred as he tried to divert the gardener from brutally attacking Merry. He was feeling very dizzy and disoriented. He had caught the look on Merry's face at Sam's rebuke and felt there was more going on here than what was being said. It was not normal for his cousin to flinch at one of Sam's barbs. In fact, Merry would have jested or turned the situation around, normally, ending up embarrassing Sam in some way or another. Frodo tried to focus on Merry and worried at this change in him.

"Merry was giving Frodo, here quite the tickling, I hear...." started Aragorn.

"You WHAT?" Sam was livid. Merry flinched back from the wrath he could almost feel coming in waves off of the gardener. "You KNOW he's not himself yet, how could ya be so...so...brainless!" Sam stammered.

"Sam you should've heard him. He was giggling and laughing. A *real* laugh, like when we were lads. It was a wonderful thing to hear," Merry explained.

Sam's face relaxed a bit. He felt a sudden, desperate loss. He would have given anything to have been there to hear his Master's clear, sweet laughter like when they had been young.

"Sam, he is fine, but in his exuberance, Frodo fell out of the bed and cut his hand on this knife that was left on the tray," Aragorn finished with a quick surreptitious glance at Merry. Frodo's eyes had been glassy, fixed on Aragorn's eyes. He felt a sudden jolt of wakefulness as he saw the ranger send a meaningful glance at Merry. Something felt wrong. Something was not being said. He tried to concentrate, but his mind was a fog, his thoughts floating away before they could achieve cohesiveness. He slowly raised his hand to his head to try to clear his thoughts. His head pounded and then there was the dizziness. He closed his eyes trying to stem the swirling of the room, and strange nightmarish thoughts that seemed to lie at the back of his mind. He watched Sam, Merry and Aragorn speaking, but they seemed to be speaking very, very slowly and he was having a hard time focusing on their conversation. "...all right?....Frodo a... ight? "Frodo, are you all right?" Aragorn was asking him.

"Just a bit of a headache. I feel odd...drugged," he said slowly.

"We had to give you a heavy sedative in order to stitch up your wound, I'm afraid. It should wear off by morning," Aragorn said, reassuringly, but he looked worried, his eyebrows knit together.

"Ssamm?" he slurred.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" Sam took his Master's hand.

"Tell mee what you have brought for my meal?" he asked with a tipsy smile.
Aragorn smiled at Frodo, thankful for the change in subject. Frodo smiled back, a questioning look on his face. Aragorn simply gave a quick nod at this and pulled Frodo up slowly into a sitting position, propping pillows around him, so he could partake of his meal.

"Well, let's just see here. I brought you a bit more o' that porridge with that syrup, more custard with o' bit of nutmeg and cinnamon, carrot juice...you have to try it, Mr. Frodo, it's so cool and sweet...and some applesauce with honey and cinnamon, and oh, oh... a nice piece of blueberry tart baked special for you by them Gondorian chefs, Mr. Frodo..." Frodo watched Sam with increasing amusement, as the gardener proudly described each item that he had hand picked for Frodo's particular tastes.

"Sam...Sam...I can't possily eat all of dis," Frodo chuckled. " Yoo've ou' done yoorseff, as usual," he said laughing at how even he could barely understand what he was trying to say. A wave of giggles suddenly overwhelmed him, but then he lay back panting at the sudden fatigue that washed over him. Sam looked at him worriedly. "I'm all right, Sam....just very relaxed sss all. Shall we then?" he gestured towards the tray, giggling again.

Sam's eyes lit up with delight hearing the musical sound. "O' course, Mr. Frodo. Now, you understand this ain’t a proper meal for a healthy hobbit, but I wanted to see if I could tempt you, if you take my meanin', sir" Sam blushed.

"I do indeed, my friend. Le me see...I believe I'll try a lill carrot juice first and if that sellils well, I wouldn't mind a taste of that bloobewwy tar', " said Frodo as his eyes roved over the feast. The carrot juice was a delight going down his parched throat, cool and refreshing. Before he realized it, he had drank it all, with Sam's help. " Delissus, Sam, as you said," he commented. Next, was a bite of the tart. Frodo held it in his mouth for a bit savoring the sweetness of the juicy berries. It had been sometime since he'd had anything that truly needed chewing, but he managed the light crust as it almost melt in his mouth. "Verwy tassty, Sam, but juss the bloo bewwies thsss time," he whispered. While the crust had been wonderful, he didn't want to chew or swallow anything solid just yet.

"That's fine, Mr. Frodo. You're almost eatin' like yourself again, and indeed, it does my heart good to see it, sir." said Sam. His voice quavered and there were tears in his eyes.

Frodo felt a wave of emotion that of all the people who loved and cared for him the most, his illness had probably been the hardest for this devoted hobbit, his dearest friend. He felt his eyes grow moist. He was determined to eat as much as he could to make Sam happy. He found he was famished even though he had eaten that morning, so the task did not seem too hard to accomplish. The thought confused him. He *had* eaten this morning, hadn't he? He felt so tired, his body ached and his head pounded as it hung down slightly towards his chest. 'Why do I feel so horrible? I should have more energy than this, but I feel so weak,' he thought to himself. 'I must have fallen quite hard to feel so worn.'

He swiveled his head towards Sam, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear on the gardener's face. "'Ssssall right, Sam... I'm all right, you'll ssee." Frodo smiled, which caused Sam to smile with renewed hope. "Less try tha' powidge once again, Ssam," he said. Sam's eyes lit up.

"Comin' right up, sir," Sam was delighted at this increase in appetite and made a mental note to make the portions larger on the next tray. He spooned the porridge slowly into Frodo's mouth. Frodo loved the taste of the maple syrup, but found despite his best intentions he was becoming full and increasingly lethargic. He managed to finish the porridge, but had to struggle on the last few bites. He motioned to Sam that he could eat no more. Sam still looked radiantly happy at what had been consumed and didn't even try to coax him into sampling the custard or applesauce.

"Nesst time, Ssam, I'll try the other disshes firss, but now I'm near to essploding .. so full," Frodo said with a tired smile. The meal *had* tasted good, and seemed to be settling well on his sensitive stomach.

"No need to make yourself uncomfortable, Master. I know you're jes' gettin' back to yourself. It takes time to get back to eatin' right, don't it Mr. Aragorn, sir?" Sam smiled at Aragorn.

"Very true, Sam. I am most impressed with your skills. We were beside ourselves before Sam came along, as to what might taste good to you, Frodo," Aragorn grinned widely at Sam. Sam beamed at the praise.

"Well, I best take these dishes back to the kitchen, but I'll be back in a moment, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. He hummed to himself happily as he gathered the dishes from the morning and afternoon meals. When he came upon the knife, covered in blood, he stopped short. His eyes widened and he quickly looked up at Aragorn. "Is this what Mr. Frodo grabbed as he fell from the bed, Strider?" he asked slowly.

"Yes Sam, why do you ask?"

Sam's eyes filled with tears. "It's all my fault you cut yourself, Mr. Frodo. I am a ninnyhammer leavin' such a thing jes' lyin' about," he cursed at himself.

"Nonsesse Sam, it was no ones fault, it was juss a fooliss accident and I won't have you blaminn yourselff." Frodo's eyes closed on there own volition, he was so tired.

Merry looked down at his hands lying in his lap. Listening to Sam berate himself when it had been he who had caused the 'accident' was almost more than he could bear. Aragorn caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Samwise Gamgee." Sam looked up at Frodo, his eyes filled with grief as he looked into Frodo's smiling face. "I'll nott 'ave yoou talk about my bess friend like that," Frodo finished quietly.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo, sir. I'm right sorry if I upset you," Sam said quietly and giving him a small smile, turned with the dishes and left the room. They could hear him humming as he walked down the hall towards the kitchens.

"Frodo, you are exhausted. I believe you should rest some more. You as well, Master Brandybuck. It has been a trying morning for both of you," said Aragorn as he rose.

" No, Aragorn." Frodo reached out and stayed the King with a hand on his arm. He locked eyes with the King and then with Merry. "I think there'ss sa tale to be told here, and I *do* love a good story," he said seriously. Merry paled and started to tremble. Frodo saw this and reached over to him in concern. "Merry, love, what has happened to make you so sad? Tell me," asked Frodo quietly.

Aragorn stood tensely waiting for Merry to speak.

"It was all my fault, Frodo. I hurt you, and I shall never forgive myself," Merry sobbed.

Frodo pulled Merry to him and looked up at Aragorn. "I believe an essplanation 'snn order, my Liege," Frodo said slowly, his eyes drooping.

TBC






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