Chapter Fourteen: Complications

Frodo seemed to be lost in a dark, misty forest, as he ran, ran, ran… from what? He did not know, only that some nameless terror pursued him. There was a strange weight on his neck, as though he was bearing a heavy burden. What was it? He reached inside his shirt and brought something out. It was a small gold ring strung on a fine silver chain…Bilbo’s ring? However did he come to carry that, and why was it so heavy?

As he ran through the writhing, twisting mists, he heard a high-pitched, wailing shriek—not a bird nor beast, and it froze his blood. Suddenly, out from the trees ahead, a tall, pale figure, a white crown upon his head, robes fluttering about him… and a cold, black knife in his hand. Frodo knew not what it was, but at once he felt that this creature was the one pursuing him, and he turned and ran. But his feet seemed like lead, and the burden around his neck was so great… the figure was catching up to him, not seeming to move but advancing all the same. His face looked like a skeleton, and his sunken eyes gleamed coldly. Eight other figures suddenly appeared out of the trees, also tall and pale, with crowns upon their heads and swords in their hands.

He was surrounded now, and he heard a harsh, hissing sound. It was those figures—those wraiths, laughing at him. "The Ring!" they hissed. "The Ring!" Frodo’s trembling fingers went inside his shirt as if to bring the Ring forth, but he suddenly felt that he could not part with it, and instead, his fingers closed tightly around it. Seeing that he would not relinquish the Ring, the wraiths shrieked again, and Frodo covered his ears. They seemed to grow tall and more menacing, and the leader stepped forward and raised his knife. "No!" Frodo shouted as he scrambled backwards. "No!" The wraith’s knife came crashing down upon his right wrist, and Frodo felt himself falling to the ground… no, past the ground. He was falling into a black oblivion, hearing the wraiths cold laughter above him…

"No!" Frodo cried as he opened his eyes. At first, everything seemed blurry and unfocused, but as the mists in his vision faded, he saw a familiar face, clouded with worry, bending over him.

"Mr. Frodo?" said Sam softly. "It’s all right, Mr. Frodo, it was just a nightmare. You’re safe."

Frodo shook his head to clear it and looked around the room. Pale yellow walls, white ceiling, rocking chair in the corner…"Where am I?" he asked hoarsely.

Sam placed a cool cloth on his forehead. "We’re at the Broadbelts’, Mr. Frodo," he said. "Mrs. Broadbelt carried you here last night."

Frodo began to say something, but suddenly a wave of pain shot through his body and he gasped. Sam anxiously stroked his forehead with the cloth, whispering, "Don’t worry, Mr. Frodo, the doctor’s just gone to have a bit of sleep. He’ll be back soon."

When the pain subsided a bit, Frodo opened his eyes again. "Where is Merry?"

"He’s with little Daisy, sir," Sam answered. "He was ’ere just a minute ago to see you, but you were still asleep."

At that moment, Dr. Bolger came in. Seeing Frodo awake, he smiled. "Glad to see you, young Frodo," he said. "How are you feeling?" Frodo looked down at his wrist, moved it a little, and gasped at the pain that shot through him. The doctor came over and knelt beside the bed. "Not good, eh?" he said kindly. Frodo could only manage to shake his head. "Well, that’s to be expected." Dr. Bolger patted his good hand. "I could not give you anything for your pain while you were asleep, but now that you’re awake, I can." He stood up, ruffling Frodo’s sweat-dampened curls. "Half a moment."

He left the room, and again, Sam and Frodo were left alone. The only sound for several moments was Frodo’s harsh, raspy breathing. Then, Sam broke the silence. "How’re you feelin’, Mr. Frodo?" he asked softly.

Frodo smiled slightly. "Honestly? Not very good. I’ll be happy when the doctor gets back with the pain reliever. My wrist feels like fire…" Even as he said it, a searing pain formed in his wrist, and raced up his arm and through his entire body. He cried out, shutting his eyes tightly. Tears ran down his cheeks, and Sam gently dabbed the wound with the wet cloth. But even his gentle touch felt like a knife, and he could not stifle a sob. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam, brown eyes filled with tears, stroking his forehead with the cloth. "It’s all right, Mr. Frodo," he said. "I’m here, and the doctor’s comin’."

But the pain was unbearable, and a roaring filled Frodo’s ears, drowning out Sam’s voice. Stars formed in his vision, and the last thing he saw was Dr. Bolger entering the room, dropping the bag he was carrying and rushing over. Then, he was thrown into darkness.

"And then, the dragon spread his huge wings and flew up into the sky above the Prince. Princess Gwenllian ran forward toward the Prince, but suddenly…" Merry paused his reading dramatically.

"What, Mer?" Daisy asked, eyes wide.

"The dragon swooped down and picked her up! The Prince jumped up onto his horse, and—" He stopped abruptly as he saw the doctor rushing past the room, looking troubled. Taking Daisy off of his lap and setting her on the floor, Merry scrambled out of the rocking chair and ran to the doorway. "What is it, Dr. Bolger?" he called after the older hobbit who was racing down the hall.

"It’s Frodo," Dr. Bolger replied over his shoulder, without stopping or slackening his pace. "He’s gotten worse." With that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving Merry staring after him.

"What’s wrong, Mer?" Daisy asked, coming up beside him and slipping her hand into his.

Merry swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "It’s Frodo," he said softly, more to himself than to the little hobbit lass beside him. "He’s gotten worse… I must go see him."

"Daisy going, too," the little one said stoutly.

Merry looked down at her and smiled sadly. "No, Daisy, I don’t think you should come," he said gently. "I promise I’ll take you to visit Frodo when he feels better, all right?"

For a moment, it looked as though Daisy was going to protest, but instead, she nodded slowly. "All right, Mer," she sighed. "I goin’ find papa." She trotted off into the sitting room where her father sat, staring into the fireplace, and Merry dashed down the hall towards the guestroom.

Inside, he found Sam and Dr. Bolger huddled around the bed where Frodo lay, pale and sweaty, moaning in pain as the doctor put some salve on his wounds. Lila was stirring some herbs into a cup of water and soaking another cloth for Frodo’s forehead.

Dr. Bolger carefully looked his young patient over, frowning in concern. He gently took Frodo’s uninjured hand and felt his pulse, which was abnormally fast. Frodo’s skin had cooled down somewhat earlier, but now it was once again fiery hot to the touch, and damp with perspiration. He shook his head slightly as he gently rubbed some salve on the gashes. He secretly believed that Frodo had received a large amount of venom in the bite, and though he had treated mild cases of Fire Snake bites before, he was not entirely sure of how to treat a severe one.

Finishing his exam for the present, he looked up. "Mrs. Broadbelt," he said, "are the herbs dissolved yet?"

Lila nodded. "Aye, they’re ready," she said, handing him the cup.

The doctor turned to Sam, who was still dutifully bathing his master’s forehead with the cloth. "I’ll need your help, Samwise."

Sam looked up, glad to be of help. "Yes, sir?"

"Sit down on the bed above Frodo’s head… gently now, careful not to jar him overmuch… there. Now lift him up—carefully—so that he’s sitting upright."

Sam obediently did as he was told, gently lifting Frodo’s shoulders so that the upper half of his body was in his lap, his head resting against Sam’s shoulder. Frodo groaned softly as he was moved, and Sam heard him whisper, "S… Sam? Where… are… you? Sam! Don’t leave me… don’t leave…"

Sam’s heart ached for his master, and he gently brushed the damp curls back from Frodo’s forehead. "It’s all right, Mr. Frodo," he murmured. "I’m here. Everything’s goin’ to be fine."

Dr. Bolger stirred the water in the cup he held one last time, and then pulled up his stool closer to the bed. "Now Sam," he said quietly. "This is only pain reliever. I’m going to put a little of it in Frodo’s mouth, and see if he’ll swallow. If he does, I’ll give him more, but if not… well, I’m hoping he will," he ended abruptly.

Sam watched him suspiciously. "But you told him that you couldn’t give him the pain reliever while he was sleepin’."

Dr. Bolger looked at him with eyes almost the exact same color as his own. "I prefer not to give my patients anything while they sleep, and I avoided this as long as possible," he said carefully. "But I must give it to him now, or his pain will redouble when he awakes."

The doctor placed the cup to Frodo’s lips and carefully poured a small amount of water into his mouth. At first, it did not seem that he would swallow, but after a moment, he did, to Sam’s relief. He wasn’t sure what exactly Dr. Bolger would had to have done if Frodo hadn’t swallowed, but as the doctor had not wished to speak of it, he knew that it couldn’t be pleasant.

"Very good, Sam," Dr. Bolger said, pouring a little more into Frodo’s mouth and watching carefully as he swallowed. "This is a good sign. I’m going to go out and speak with the Broadbelts for a moment; can you keep giving Frodo small sips of the water? He needs to drink the whole cup." Sam nodded, taking the offered cup but not keeping his eyes on his master’s pale face. Dr. Bolger smiled and patted him on the shoulder as he got up. "Tell me if he wakes or gets worse."

"Yes sir," Sam said absently, and Dr. Bolger shut the door behind him. Sam could tell that whatever it was the doctor wished to discuss with the Broadbelts, he didn’t want him to hear, and that was not a good sign. He sighed sadly, giving Frodo a small sip of the water.

Merry, forgotten, came over and timidly sat down on the stool beside the bedside. "Sam?" he said softly, jerking Sam out of his thoughts.

"What?” Sam blinked. “Oh, Mr. Merry, you startled me. Is there somethin’ you need?"

Merry shook his head, staring at his cousin’s face. "I just wondered if I could help," he murmured.

Sam looked up at him. He knew that Merry had been feeling useless and desperately wanted to help somehow—he loved Frodo as much as Sam did himself. "Well, Mr. Merry," he said, "you could help me give him this here pain reliever—it’s mighty hard to do by meself. I’ll keep his head up while you pour it in."

Merry smiled, eager to at last be helping his cousin. He took the cup from Sam and gently placing it to Frodo’s lips, he poured a small amount of the water into his mouth.

It was not long before the entire cup was drained, and then Sam and Merry gently laid Frodo back down onto the pillow. He moaned softly at the movement, but with both younger hobbits whispering comfortingly to him and stroking his hot face, he quieted and his breathing eased. "Please get well, Frodo," Merry murmured in his cousin’s ear. "What would we do without you? I can’t teach Pippin everything—and what about poor old Uncle Bilbo? You must get better, Frodo… you must."

Meanwhile, out in the Broadbelts’ sitting room, Dr. Bolger was having a serious discussion with them. "The lad’s condition is worsening, I fear," he said slowly. "And I must confess I do not know exactly how to treat a serious Fire Snake bite." Seeing Lila’s face pale, he went on, "But we must not give up hope. I have not lost a patient yet, and I do not intend to start now. We must send for his uncle Bilbo—he is well traveled; perhaps he will know of something that will help. And besides, Frodo needs him to be here. What is the swiftest way to reach him?"

"Well, I reckon a letter would take too long," said Ferdirand thoughtfully, shifting the sleeping Daisy on his lap. "But I could ride there. That would take me… well, several hours, if I took the Bywater Road."

Dr. Bolger nodded. "Then I’m afraid that that is what we must do. I do not like asking you to ride so late at night—"

"I rode to get you earlier," Ferdirand pointed out.

"Yes," Dr. Bolger admitted. "So you did. Well, I—"

Ferdirand interrupted again. "Do you want me to start now?"

Dr. Bolger smiled apologetically. "Yes, I think that would be best."

Ferdirand stood up and carefully handed Daisy to her mother. "Very well then," he said. "I’ll ride fast as I can. Farewell!" Giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek, he hurried out the door and ran to the barn.

Inside, the black and white pinto pony, Pie, looked up, munching on some hay. "We have a long way to go, Pie, old boy," muttered Ferdirand as he quickly tacked him up. "And mighty quick, too." Pie whinnied and grabbed one last mouthful of hay before Ferdirand led him out of the stall and jumped up on his back. "Come one, Pie," he said, digging his heels into the pony’s sides. With an exasperated snort, Pie swallowed his hay and broke into a fast canter.

Through the woods they raced, and then onto the road, looking silver in the moonlight. Pie sensed his master’s urgency and galloped faster than he had in years. Lately, he had been mostly used for plowing, sometimes pulling the wagon or for pleasure riding. He was short enough to carry Daisy, but strong enough to carry a full-grown hobbit as well, and he was spoiled shamelessly by the entire family.

Fortunately, the Bywater Road was straight and even, and at their pace, Ferdirand and Pie reached Hobbiton in little over three hours. Tying the panting, sweating pony to the garden fence outside of Bag End, Ferdirand raced up the steps and knocked on the round, green door. There was no answer, so he rang the bell. This time he heard, "I’m coming, I'm coming! Half a moment!", and seconds later the door was opened by Bilbo. His curly, grey-flecked brown hair was somewhat tousled, and his clothes looked like they’d been hurriedly thrown on, but his grey eyes were bright and alert. "Hullo," he said cheerfully. "May I help you?"

"Hullo, sir," said Ferdirand somewhat timidly (who hadn’t heard of the famous ‘Mad Baggins’?). "My name is Ferdirand Broadbelt..."

Recognition flashed across Bilbo’s face and he smiled. "Oh yes, Frodo’s told me about you in his letters," he said. "Have they arrived yet?"

Nervously twirling his green cap around in his fingers, Ferdirand replied, "Well, yes sir, they have. They—well, I better come right to the point. Young Frodo was bitten by some kind of snake on the way and he’s very ill. Dr. Bolger’s with him, and he says to come right away."

Bilbo’s face paled and his smile vanished. "Dear me…" he murmured, eyes wide. "Yes, yes, of course I’ll come. Just let me grab my cloak." He dashed inside and Ferdirand waited nervously on the doorstep.

Bilbo emerged a moment later with his deep green cloak on and a key in his hand. "I have to tell Hamfast—my gardener—that I’m leaving," he said hurriedly as he locked the door. He and Ferdirand dashed down the steps and out the gate. "Sam is all right, isn’t he?" Bilbo asked, climbing up behind Ferdirand on Pie. "He’s Hamfast’s son, you see, and I don’t want him to worry."

Ferdirand urged Pie into a canter and they headed down the road to Bagshot Row. "Yes, Sam’s fine," Ferdirand reassured him. "Apart from being worried sick over Frodo—never a more faithful lad have I ever seen."

As the pony stopped at #3, Bilbo jumped down. "That he is," he said over his shoulder, running toward the door of the Gamgee’s smial. "That he is."

TBC...