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