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Smoke and Mirrors  by lovethosehobbits

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Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 24

Day 3

Frodo awoke slowly, feeling comfortably warm and secure, nestled
against another’s chest. He took in the scent of the other person, a
musky aroma of pine and pipeweed. He was content to lie so, unwilling
to wake the other as this solace enveloped him. His body ached as if
the muscles had been strained beyond their limits, and his face pulsed
with a dull throb. This alone sought to intrude on the illusion of
perfect warmth and contentedness. He moved still closer, enjoying the
small luxury and smells mixed with the slow, steady heartbeat of his
unknown benefactor.

Aragorn, sensing Frodo's awakening, pulled his head back and looked
down at the small form curled into him. "Are you well, my friend?" he
whispered. Frodo's answer was a frustrated sigh at the possibility of
being extricated from this delightful source of succor. Aragorn
smiled slightly and pulled the hobbit in closer to him, which yielded
another sigh, this of contentment, from his friend.

The door cracked open and Saleth entered the chamber bearing water and
teas. "How is he, my Lord?" he asked quietly.

Aragorn smiled, "He is quite comfortable, it would seem, and I am
quite trapped as he does not wish to release his embrace," he chuckled.

Saleth smiled. "The human touch, especially from one he considers a
dear friend, can sometimes be more curative than any elixir or tonic,"
he said.

"So true, and yet, I must rise even though I am want to disturb him,"
said the King.

"Perhaps later we could employ Sam to take your position. He is quite
beside himself with worry. I do not believe he has eaten or slept in
the past two days. He remains curled next to the door, refusing to
abandon his post or his Master. I believe we have very nearly broken
his heart," Saleth said this with a smile, but Aragorn detected a
distinct note of concern in the healer's voice, for the small gardener.

"An excellent idea," said Aragorn. "Frodo still has much to endure,
but I do believe he is well enough for his friends to visit and
comfort him. I have been meaning to ask you about Merry. Sam had
said something in passing earlier about Merry not using his right
hand, as he should."

"Sadly, it is true. He keeps it hidden and proclaims he is fine
whenever we ask about it. He seems to be under the impression that
our attentions should be divided between Master's Took and Baggins,
and that he does not need our ministrations," said Saleth grimly.

"Stubborn, willful and single-minded to the welfare of his cousins,"
muttered Aragorn. Aragorn's eyes then acquired a strange gleam and he
smiled slowly. "I know just the cure. It will benefit Pippin and
Frodo, but most of all, Merry," he grinned. Saleth looked confused.
"First, let us take care of this small one, then I will tell you of my
plan," he said mysteriously.

He gently disentangled himself from Frodo's embrace, and was met with
a whimper of discontent. He soothed the hobbit with soft words and
began to examine him. Frodo had a large, swollen, bruise on his
cheek, which caused Aragorn to grimace. He felt gently around the
bruise to ascertain that he had not, inadvertently, broken the fragile
cheek bone. Satisfied that the bone was undamaged, he turned to
Saleth. "His fever is much higher today and his skin is clammy. We
will need some water to bath him and try to bring it down." Saleth
nodded, and turning to his assistant, motioned for him to begin
filling the copper tub. After the assistant left, Saleth turned back
to the King. "He has bruises and abrasions everywhere from his
attempt to escape us yesterday. He lightly massaged Frodo's abdomen
which elicited a sharp intake of breath from the Ringbearer. Aragorn
looked up into Frodo's open eyes. "Frodo, do you know who I am?" he
asked.

Frodo's eyebrows quirked as if confused at the question but answered,
"You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, whom I owe my allegiance," he rasped.

Aragorn smiled widely. "No, my friend. To you, I owe mine. How are
you feeling this morn?" he asked.

"Thirsty..."

Aragorn poured a cup of water, and lifting the narrow shoulders,
brought the cup to Frodo's parched lips. Frodo drank greedily.
Aragorn pulled the cup away and a small whimper escaped Frodo's mouth.

"Slow sips, my friend, or it will not stay down. Swirl it around
your mouth, then swallow slowly," Aragorn chided. Frodo nodded,
anxiously and again the cup was brought. Slowly, he drank all of it.

"More?"

"Not right now, Frodo, Let us see how this settles and then you may
have more, all right?" Frodo nodded wearily.

"Where do you hurt, Frodo?" asked Aragorn.

"Everywhere...my stomach is giving me sharp pains, like cramps. My
legs keep cramping, but it is my stomach that hurts the worst. My
face hurts..." he said

"Yes...I am sorry, my friend, about your face. But it was necessary
to render you unconscious."

Frodo's eyes widened in disbelief. "You struck me?" he said, aghast.

"I did, I am sorry," as Aragorn said this, his eyes became moist.

Frodo looked at Aragorn closely. "I am sorry if I have been unruly,
Strider."

Aragorn laughed, "That is an understatement, my dear friend."

Frodo groaned and pulled his legs up to his chest, rolling to his
side. He was suddenly seized with intense cramping in his abdomen,
and without warning, heaved the water across the bed where Aragorn
had lain only moments ago.

"Chamber pot..." he croaked. Aragorn, still stunned by the quantity
and how fast the nausea had presented itself, quickly grabbed the pot
and, lifting Frodo gently, placed him on it. Frodo looked humiliated
as the sound of watery diarrhea poured from his other end.
Afterwards, feeling faint, he leaned forward precariously against
Aragorn's chest. Aragorn washed the sweat from the pale face, and
then cleaned Frodo’s backside. Gently he lifted his friend, removing the
saturated nightshirt and placing him gently, into the awaiting bath.

He gazed into the half opened eyes of his comrade as he washed his hair
and cleansed his body of all evidence of sickness.

"Aragorn," Frodo whispered, "I am dying, why do you not simply allow
me to pass?" he gasped.

Aragorn's eyes filled with tears. "You are *not* dying, I will not
allow it. It is the withdrawal that makes you feel as you are," he
replied huskily.

"How many more days must I endure this agony?" Frodo rasped.

"Not many, you are past the worse of it, I believe. You must be
strong, Frodo. You have many who love you, you have much yet to do in
this world. You must be brave," Aragorn whispered.

Frodo closed his eyes and turned away. "I have been strong and brave.
Now I am spent," he said quietly.

Aragorn felt like weeping at the sheer finality and despair he heard
in Frodo's voice. Frodo turned back and looked at Aragorn. "Could
you not give me but a small dose of the extract to ease my pain?" he
begged, his eyes pleading with Aragorn's. "Please, Aragorn. Just a
small amount to end my suffering?" he whimpered, tears running down
his face.

"No dear one, that would only prolong the agony for you," whispered
Aragorn. "I am sorry." As Frodo sobbed, Aragorn gently washed the
tears from his thin face. Finally, he lifted Frodo from the bath and
held him close as he would a small child, trying to console him with
his embrace. He lay him down into the clean sheets and placed pillows
about the increasingly thinning frame. Frodo's eyes were closed as if
in sleep, but Aragorn knew it was not so.

"Frodo, drink this tea. It is peppermint and will help to settle your
stomach." Frodo obediently drank the tea. It tasted wonderful to his
parched mouth. Next the honeyed milk mixture, heavy with Valerian
root and comfrey, was brought. He drank this eagerly. His body
desperately craving the nourishment. At last he was lain on his side
and a bolus of hypericum mixed with athelas and more Valerian root,
was placed inside his small bottom. Through it all, he remained
obedient and unmoving as a rag doll. The lack of response alarmed
Aragorn, who now worried whether Frodo had the strength of will to
continue this fight, or if he had decided to simply give up, wishing
for death. He covered Frodo with a heavy quilt and nodding to Saleth,
left the room in search of Merry. Merry had within him the ability to
bring calm to Frodo and himself, he just did not realize it yet. He
found Merry chatting with Pippin over breakfast, in the hobbits quarters.

"Strider, join us for tea. You look as if you could use some, I dare
say," piped Pippin. Pippin's leg was still propped up, the bandages
were being changed by Valin, as Aragorn approached the bed.

"Ooooh, it itches so," complained Pippin. Aragorn watched as Valin
washed the leg, removing the dead skin, bringing a look of utter bliss
to Pippin's face.

"Soon those muscles will be in use again," commented Aragorn. "But
they will be weak from disuse and need to be massaged daily to regain
some of their former strength," Aragorn said, shifting his gaze
slightly to Merry. "Merry, would you bring me the lavender oil there
on the table please?" he asked. The oil was easily within his reach
but he wanted Merry to bring it to him. Valin smiled knowingly, and
moved away from the leg after drying it. Aragorn gave Valin a small
nod. Merry, looked confused at the request, but rose nonetheless
and using his left hand, began to reach for the bottle.

"No, Merry, use your right hand," said Aragorn, evenly. Merry looked
quickly over his shoulder in alarm at Aragorn. Aragorn's gaze was
unreadable. Merry, slowly began to reach for the bottle with his
right hand, his arm trembled violently and sweat broke out on his face
as he lifted the arm up to the table. When he tried to open the
clenched fingers and grasp the bottle, the bottle fell sideways onto
the table. Aragorn recovered the bottle with a grab, then caught
Merry's hand in his. "You will exercise this arm and hand Meriadoc,
or it will shrivel up and become totally useless." He poured some of
the oil into his large hands and pressing his thumbs into the small
palm, began to massage it, causing Merry to utter a small gasp. Merry
was sweating profusely now, obviously in great pain. As Aragorn
rubbed the hand he watched Merry's face. "I have a task that only you
can accomplish, my friend," he whispered. Merry's face was quite pale
now as the muscles in the injured limb, jumped under the King's ministrations. "You will massage Pippin's leg, gently, twice a day. Once in the morning, once at night. Then you will come to Frodo's room. He is in extreme pain from the cramping in his legs, an unfortunate side effect of the withdrawal." Upon hearing this Merry looked up at Aragorn with alarm.

"Will he be all right?" he asked worriedly.

"He will, if you will help him," said Aragorn.

"I know nothing of massage, surely there are others better suited to
ease his aches?" asked Merry.

"There are, no doubt. But he needs the touch of someone he loves. He
needs a person he can speak with of his worries and woes. That person
should be someone who can relate to him, show him empathy and how
much he is loved in return. Wouldn't you agree?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"I would do anything for Frodo ...or Pip," Merry replied.

"I know, and I am counting on you to try and raise the spirits of your
cousin. He has endured much and has sunk into despair. I feel you can
help bring him out of this and help him see his worth once more. For now, I want you to gently work Pippin's leg muscles so that he may walk without crutches once the bandages are removed," said Aragorn.

Merry again looked alarmed. "You mean Pip will need crutches after he
has healed?" he cried.

"He wont need them as long or perhaps at all, if you will help him
now, Merry," smiled Aragorn. "You see, Master Brandybuck, you have
the ability to make a difference in both of their lives, if you will
but take some care with your own." Aragorn smiled. He handed the oil
to Merry who, after a brief struggle with the cork, poured some into
his hands. He set the bottle aside, using his left hand, Aragorn
noticed grimly, and began to gently massage Pippin's leg.

"I'm not hurting you, am I Pip?" he asked worriedly.

"No Merry, you could never hurt me," smiled Pippin. "It feels rather
wonderful, actually," he chirped.

"In the early mornings, before breakfast, you will submerge your right
arm for one half hour in hot athelas water. You will do this again
each night before you sleep," Aragorn said sternly. Merry looked
into the penetrating gray eyes. "If I hear you are not doing this,
Merry, I will have no choice but to have a healer do it for you. I
will also make sure you roll endless amounts of bandages until the
dexterity is restored in that hand and arm. You can forego rolling
bandages if you will willingly soak the arm night and day, and as
treatment, massage Pippin and Frodo's legs, morning and night. Are we
quite clear on this, Master Brandybuck?" Aragorn's face was stern.

"Yes, Strider. I will do as you ask," Merry said meekly.

"Very well. Valin, I'd like you to supervise as Merry works on
Pippin's leg to make sure the right amount of pressure is applied,"
said Aragorn to the healer.

"Yes, my Liege," replied the healer with a smile.

Aragorn rose and turned to go, "Good day, gentlemen," he said as he
exited. As he went into the hallway he spied the small form of the
devoted gardener huddled against Frodo's door. He sighed in pity at
how disheveled and thin the hobbit appeared. Sam, looked up at
Aragorn, his large hazel eyes hopeful. Without a word Aragorn swept
him up and held him close. Sam's head sank into Aragorn's neck with a
sigh of contentment as they continued into Frodo's quarters.


TBC





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