Burden, 15/?
This would have been up sooner, but I didn't realize I didn't have the right file in a place I could access it at work. Oops. :p Probably just as well -had to stay late as it was to finish up a project before I abandon them for a long weekend... so, here's a long chapter! :)
Title: Burden, 15/?
Rating: PG-13 (LB-esque examination warning on this chapter!)
Warnings: mpreg, implied non-con, sorta-hermaphrodite Frodo (you'll see what I mean)
Acknowledgment: Many, many thanks to lilybaggins for her ideas, squeeing, and research for this fic. :)
Summary: Pre-Quest, a young hobbit finds himself lost and in some trouble far from home.
A/N: In which Aragorn finally determines the cause of Frodo's continuing malaise.
Burden, 1/?
Burden, 2/?
Burden, 3/?
Burden, 4/?
Burden, 5/?
Burden, 6/?
Burden, 7/?
Burden, 8/?
Burden, 9/?
Burden, 10/?
Burden, 11/?
Burden, 12/?
Burden, 13/?
Burden, 14/?
Aragorn slipped out of the inn an hour and a half after sunrise. While he was anxious to complete his errands and would have preferred to leave by sunrise, the townsfolk did not operate on the same schedule and were only just opening their shops and stands when Aragorn passed by. He first went to the tailor, in hopes of obtaining clothing for Frodo. The stern-faced stick of a man visibly measured him with his eyes as he entered the spartan shop; when Aragorn explained his intent and displayed Frodo's worn garments, his expression grew inscrutable.
Aragorn was sure he was calculating just how much he could pry from this Ranger who desperately needed the items, and was pleasantly surprised when the amount named was less than he'd anticipated. That the man required full payment up front was not unexpected, and Aragorn willingly complied. The tailor seemed displeased that the lad could not come in to be properly fitted, so Aragorn left behind the items he'd brought, to give the tailor something to work from. Aragorn left the shop with the agreement that the nightshirt, which was to be done first, would be ready in one week.
Then he set out to obtain instruments to better examine Frodo. There was a midwife in the northern parts of Bree that had been sweet on him when she learned he was familiar with the healing arts. He'd met her at the apothecary's one of the times he stopped in Bree to resupply, and it seemed that a mere offer to escort her home was enough to spark her interest. He did nothing to encourage her, and tried to avoid her when his gentle denials were insufficient. She'd eventually learned he was betrothed, and they had not spoken since. He rather hoped she remembered enough of him to be willing to lend him a few things . . .
It was not an altogether pleasant encounter, but she did reluctantly agree to allow him the use of her tools to examine the ailing hobbit, provided that he cleaned them before bringing them back. Aragorn triumphantly returned to the Horse and Wagon inn, a leather bag in hand, just before midday.
Halbarad met him at the door of the room, nearly running into him. "I was on my way to see about lunch for Frodo," he said apologetically.
"Go on, and see about lunch for us, as well. Once we have eaten, we will attempt to find out exactly what is wrong with him," Aragorn replied, gesturing with the leather bag.
"Of course," Halbarad said, and disappeared for a time.
Aragorn closed the door quietly, and spent a moment looking at Frodo carefully. He lay still, breathing evenly, with a pallor on his skin and a touch of fever in his cheeks, and had nearly lost all of the weight around his middle from bearing the babe. A touch to the lad's forehead revealed his fever raged on, perhaps even a bit higher than before, and the rest of his skin felt clammy. Aragorn tucked the bedclothes a little closer around him and set to preparing the instruments for the examination after lunch.
Halbarad returned with stew and bread and ale for them, and what looked like chicken broth for Frodo (though in a place like this, you never could be sure exactly what might be in it). Frodo was disoriented and irritable when Aragorn woke him, and drank as little of the broth as he could manage without Aragorn reproving him. He did not particularly want water either, but at least that did not have any noxious smells, so he drank a whole glass of it. He fell back to sleep soon after Aragorn left him alone to rest.
"You mean not to tell him of the examination?" Halbarad questioned softly as they watched Frodo's eyelids droop, then close.
"No. I hope to do all while he sleeps, so he will wake none the wiser."
Thus, Aragorn waited a half hour past when Frodo slept to be sure he was deep in dreams and unaware of Aragorn's actions. While he laid out the tools on a towel at the base of the bed, Halbarad carefully uncovered Frodo and carried him to the end of the bed. Aragorn would sit on a chair at the end of the bed while Halbarad would kneel on the bed and hold Frodo's legs, with Frodo slid as close to the end of the bed as was possible without him falling off.
They were successful in getting Frodo properly placed at the end, and his legs angled and bent out of the way with Halbarad holding his feet up and out to hold the position. But when Aragorn lifted the shirt, pushed it back, and started to touch Frodo, everything went horribly wrong.
Frodo shrieked and began to struggle like a thing possessed, pulling his feet from Halbarad's grip as easily as if they had been covered in grease, then kicked and fought when they tried to hold him down, screaming and yelling "No!" the entire time. One hairy foot planted itself into Aragorn's chest and stomach with such force that the Ranger had to stagger backwards, clutching his chest and struggling to gasp for air, landing with a thump on the chair. Halbarad saw this and immediately let go of Frodo, fearing bodily harm to himself as well. Frodo, now freed, scrabbled backward across the bed until he landed in the far corner where he huddled himself, arms wrapped around his knees as he rocked back and forth, weeping and moaning.
Halbarad rushed to Aragorn, who was beginning to regain his breath. "He can kick . . . rather hard," Aragorn gasped.
"I can see that," Halbarad said wryly. "Though you have to consider you had it coming. He's been expressing a desire to kick you for several weeks."
Aragorn chuckled. "So he has. And he achieved that quite well. I think . . ." he paused as he probed for injuries, then wheezed in pain as he found a tender spot. "I think he cracked a rib. But no matter, it will heal. How is he?" He'd been too blinded by his own pain to see what had happened after he was struck.
"Huddled in the far corner, almost out of reach. I did not pursue him further, in consideration of my own ribs," Halbarad responded with a small smile.
"Better to let him have a moment to calm down before trying to fetch him," Aragorn agreed, finally able to sit up fully and look at Frodo himself. The lad was tightly wedged against the corner, his face buried in his knees, and he was visibly trembling as he wailed and murmured incoherently. Aragorn stood and slowly advanced along the bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress and calling Frodo's name softly.
Frodo didn't seem to hear him, so Aragorn slid a little closer on the bed and called his name a little louder. He still did not react. Aragorn edged onto the bed far enough to be able to touch Frodo, then gently shook his arm a bit, saying, "Frodo, listen to me!"
Finally Frodo responded. He stiffened and tried to pull away. "Go away! Leave me alone!" he begged, an edge of hysteria in his voice.
"Frodo, I just want to make sure you're all right. You might have hurt yourself," Aragorn cajoled.
Frodo lifted his tear-streaked face and, addressing himself to some point over Aragorn's left shoulder, shouted, "You shall not have me again! Get off me!"
Aragorn jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned. "I am ten times a fool, Halbarad," he said softly without taking his eyes from the anguished hobbit. "He's remembering the attack." He waited until Frodo stopped panting so hard and demanded, "Frodo, wake up! Hear me, Frodo. It is I, Aragorn. I want to make sure you're all right."
There was a knock at the door, and Halbarad moved to answer it. Aragorn heard him reassure the innkeep that all was under control, the lad was just delirious. He chuckled as the innkeep asked yet again if there was anything he could do for the poor thing; it took Halbarad a good while of convincing him that they would be fine before the door finally closed.
When Aragorn returned his full attention to the hobbit, Frodo was blinking dazedly. "Frodo?" he asked cautiously. "Are you with me now?"
His question was met with a blank look. "I had the most horrible dream," Frodo murmured.
"I must apologize for that," Aragorn admitted. "I'd hoped to examine you while you slept so you would not know of it, but instead woke the memory of what happened to you. I am sorry."
Frodo nodded as one in a dream. "Is that why I ache so?" he whispered.
"It is possible. Would you come here so I can make sure you were not injured?"
He slowly uncurled and crawled toward Aragorn, nearly tripping himself with his shirt several times. "Why did you want to examine me? Haven't I been through enough?" Frodo asked plaintively.
"I want to determine the cause of your illness. I fear you have an infection, which is not the usual course of things after giving birth." He quickly checked his arms and legs for bruises or cuts -nothing. "Please lay back; I need to be sure you did not pull any of the stitches out."
Frodo obeyed silently, only sighing and closing his eyes when Aragorn pushed the shirt up so he could see.
The area looked slightly irritated, but that could as easily be from sitting on the horse for three days as from his brief struggle, so Aragorn concluded that he was no worse for the wear. When he was about to tell Frodo so, he noticed Frodo was nearly back to sleep already; his ailment was certainly taking its toll.
He sighed and moved to stand, but was stopped by the sharp pain from his injured rib. "Bother," he muttered, and tried to stand again.
This time he was halted by Halbarad's hands on his shoulders. "We had better bind that before you do yourself harm," Halbarad reproved mildly. "Take off your shirt while I fetch some cloth."
Aragorn obeyed -he knew Halbarad was correct- while Halbarad went to Aragorn's pack and dug out the bandaging strips he always carried. Before Halbarad returned, Aragorn felt his lower ribs just left of center again, this time counting three cracked ribs and one broken one. "He did a number on me," he said ruefully when Halbarad pushed his hand away to probe it himself.
"He did, indeed. Three cracked, one broken but aligned? Is that correct?"
Aragorn nodded. "See, you aren't so bad at this," he teased.
Halbarad flushed. "You may want to make your determination after I'm done," he retorted. "Arms out." He briskly wrapped the injured area just tight enough to provide support without constricting breathing. He critically eyed his work before stepping back to allow Aragorn to redress.
"You did fine," Aragorn assured him as he slowly pulled his shirt on and buttoned it. "Now, for Frodo . . . It would seem he needs to be aware of what is going on, but it is uncertain whether he can remain awake long enough to complete the examination. We should have means on hand to sedate him if he begins to struggle again, just in case."
"With the medicine from before?"
"No, ether should be sufficient. I do not want to give him any more of the poppy if I can help it." He wandered over to his pack and rummaged around before shaking his head. "I will have to obtain some before we can proceed. I will return shortly."
"You should not overexert yourself," Halbarad contradicted stubbornly. "I will go for the ether."
"Going to the apothecary is not overexerting myself," Aragorn said with some amusement, but unwilling to back down.
"And what of Frodo? If he should wake confused, I may not be able to calm him."
"There you have a point," Aragorn conceded. "All right, go in my stead. I will await your return."
While Halbarad was gone, Aragorn fidgeted with the instruments and checked the level of oil in the mirrored lamp for the hundreth time before rising from the chair and pacing about the small room. His gait was unsteady at first as he adjusted to his bound ribs, but he quickly adapted to the inconvenience.
Halbarad eventually returned -Aragorn had to admit he was not gone long, it only seemed so to his restless state. Aragorn woke Frodo with a gentle hand on his shoulder, a calm voice reassuring him that he was not going to hurt him, he only wanted to help. Frodo roused reluctantly, but without incident. "You promise it won't hurt?" he asked in a small voice as Aragorn helped him lie down at the end of the bed.
"If I need to do anything that will hurt, I will make certain you do not feel it." It was not something he'd thought of in advance, but it seemed right to say at the time.
And it did seem to reassure Frodo, who laid back without further questions. They resumed the same positions as before after Halbarad lit the lamp and Aragorn washed his hands. Halbarad had to adjust his grip slightly on Frodo's ankles for Frodo's comfort, then he nodded to signal Aragorn could proceed.
"Frodo, what I am going to do is use a device that will allow me to look inside you, rather than simply putting my hand in and feeling around. So it will feel strange, but it won't be as large as my hand. All right?" Aragorn had decided to keep the hobbit awake and aware by talking to him and having him respond, and hopefully it would also help him relax a bit during the procedure.
"All right," Frodo answered shakily, a wave of warmth washing over him. And that was in addition to the flush of humiliation at being stuck in this position yet again. Would it never end?
"Right now I am putting some salve on the device so it will go in more easily. I apologize in advance for it being somewhat cold to the touch."
Lovely. Not only was he going to put some *thing* into him, it was going to be cold. Just wonderful. Could it possibly be any worse?
"Frodo, I need you to spread your legs a bit more."
Spread more? How far did Aragorn think he could go? But no, here's Halbarad doing it for him, dragging his legs apart by angling his ankles outward.
"Good. I'm putting it in now. Try to relax," Aragorn warned before sliding it in.
Frodo stiffened, but tried not to move -he knew Aragorn would reprimand him if he so much as twitched. When the strange, cold thing began to press outward against the passage, opening it for view, Frodo knew it could not be any worse. There was just no way it could be worse.
"You're doing well, Frodo. Now that it is in and open, I can see better to determine where the infection lies. To assist me, I have a special lamp that uses mirrors to direct the candlelight all in one direction."
. . . he was wrong. It *could* be worse. Not only was he open for view, there was a special lamp to light the way. Now his degradation was complete. If he could just melt through the floorboards, life would improve greatly.
"Frodo, you're tensing. Please try to relax, or will hurt."
Great, just great. Now he's being told to *relax*, as some strange device is holding him open to view and air is teasing parts that should never be exposed. And Aragorn was silent, no doubt peering intently at areas Frodo didn't even know were there a few weeks ago.
Then Aragorn spoke. "Frodo, there is some material in your passage that is hindering my view. I will need to insert an implement to clear it away so I can see better."
"Material?" Frodo questioned nervously, clutching at the sheets. He was spread open, lit up, and now things were getting stuck up him to clear away "material". Just lovely.
"The discharge you've been having. It's not uncommon, but its presence is preventing me from seeing clearly. Now do not move, or I could injure you unintentionally."
When he felt the slight pressure inside, Frodo couldn't help but try to pull away, even as Halbarad held his ankles more tightly to keep him in place. He whimpered; the scraping was grating on every raw nerve in his body, and each touch sent fire coursing through his veins.
"Just one more moment, Frodo," Aragorn reassured him, then said, "All right, that part is done."
Frodo was about to let out a sigh of relief, but then he remembered Aragorn was still down there, still staring up his private parts with that special lamp. He groaned and tried vainly to convince himself that he no longer existed. When that didn't work, he had to settle for waiting for Aragorn to be finished.
Time dragged on and Frodo began to wonder if Aragorn fell asleep down there. After all, what else could be taking him so long? But then Aragorn made a pleased-sounding grunt, and Frodo just had to ask. "What is it?" That came out more of a whimper than a question, but it would have to do.
"I believe I have found the source of your distress."
Frodo just barely kept himself from saying what he was thinking, but didn't keep himself from thinking it: '*You* are the source of my distress!' Instead, he asked reasonably, "What?" Well, it would have sounded reasonable if he weren't tired and ill and wishing mightily to be anywhere but here at this particular moment . . . to Aragorn it likely sounded rather abrupt and quite perturbed.
"It appears part of the womb's opening was torn during the birth, and the tear became infected and developed an abscess. I will need to drain it, clean it, and apply a poultice to it to be sure the infected material is removed. Once that is done, you should finally begin to feel better."
Frodo could not help whimpering at that description. It all sounded very intimidating. "Will it hurt?"
That seemed to give him pause, for it was a moment or two before he answered. "It very well could, so I will make it so you sleep straight through it, however long it may take."
"When are you going to do that?"
"Right now, if you consent to allow me to do so."
"Oh." Well, while doing it now would lengthen the already disagreeable situation, it would mean that the dratted thing would only have to go in him once, not to mention that he just might not ever have to lie like this in front of Aragorn again . . . "Go ahead," he whispered. "I could use a nap."
"All right, Frodo, I am going to put a piece of cloth over your nose and mouth. Breathe deeply, and you will be asleep in a moment or two. Ready?"
Frodo nodded. He felt Aragorn lean forward over him, and the cloth descended. He breathed in once, twice, and all was merciful blackness.
~~~~
Continued here
Title: Burden, 15/?
Rating: PG-13 (LB-esque examination warning on this chapter!)
Warnings: mpreg, implied non-con, sorta-hermaphrodite Frodo (you'll see what I mean)
Acknowledgment: Many, many thanks to lilybaggins for her ideas, squeeing, and research for this fic. :)
Summary: Pre-Quest, a young hobbit finds himself lost and in some trouble far from home.
A/N: In which Aragorn finally determines the cause of Frodo's continuing malaise.
Burden, 1/?
Burden, 2/?
Burden, 3/?
Burden, 4/?
Burden, 5/?
Burden, 6/?
Burden, 7/?
Burden, 8/?
Burden, 9/?
Burden, 10/?
Burden, 11/?
Burden, 12/?
Burden, 13/?
Burden, 14/?
Aragorn slipped out of the inn an hour and a half after sunrise. While he was anxious to complete his errands and would have preferred to leave by sunrise, the townsfolk did not operate on the same schedule and were only just opening their shops and stands when Aragorn passed by. He first went to the tailor, in hopes of obtaining clothing for Frodo. The stern-faced stick of a man visibly measured him with his eyes as he entered the spartan shop; when Aragorn explained his intent and displayed Frodo's worn garments, his expression grew inscrutable.
Aragorn was sure he was calculating just how much he could pry from this Ranger who desperately needed the items, and was pleasantly surprised when the amount named was less than he'd anticipated. That the man required full payment up front was not unexpected, and Aragorn willingly complied. The tailor seemed displeased that the lad could not come in to be properly fitted, so Aragorn left behind the items he'd brought, to give the tailor something to work from. Aragorn left the shop with the agreement that the nightshirt, which was to be done first, would be ready in one week.
Then he set out to obtain instruments to better examine Frodo. There was a midwife in the northern parts of Bree that had been sweet on him when she learned he was familiar with the healing arts. He'd met her at the apothecary's one of the times he stopped in Bree to resupply, and it seemed that a mere offer to escort her home was enough to spark her interest. He did nothing to encourage her, and tried to avoid her when his gentle denials were insufficient. She'd eventually learned he was betrothed, and they had not spoken since. He rather hoped she remembered enough of him to be willing to lend him a few things . . .
It was not an altogether pleasant encounter, but she did reluctantly agree to allow him the use of her tools to examine the ailing hobbit, provided that he cleaned them before bringing them back. Aragorn triumphantly returned to the Horse and Wagon inn, a leather bag in hand, just before midday.
Halbarad met him at the door of the room, nearly running into him. "I was on my way to see about lunch for Frodo," he said apologetically.
"Go on, and see about lunch for us, as well. Once we have eaten, we will attempt to find out exactly what is wrong with him," Aragorn replied, gesturing with the leather bag.
"Of course," Halbarad said, and disappeared for a time.
Aragorn closed the door quietly, and spent a moment looking at Frodo carefully. He lay still, breathing evenly, with a pallor on his skin and a touch of fever in his cheeks, and had nearly lost all of the weight around his middle from bearing the babe. A touch to the lad's forehead revealed his fever raged on, perhaps even a bit higher than before, and the rest of his skin felt clammy. Aragorn tucked the bedclothes a little closer around him and set to preparing the instruments for the examination after lunch.
Halbarad returned with stew and bread and ale for them, and what looked like chicken broth for Frodo (though in a place like this, you never could be sure exactly what might be in it). Frodo was disoriented and irritable when Aragorn woke him, and drank as little of the broth as he could manage without Aragorn reproving him. He did not particularly want water either, but at least that did not have any noxious smells, so he drank a whole glass of it. He fell back to sleep soon after Aragorn left him alone to rest.
"You mean not to tell him of the examination?" Halbarad questioned softly as they watched Frodo's eyelids droop, then close.
"No. I hope to do all while he sleeps, so he will wake none the wiser."
Thus, Aragorn waited a half hour past when Frodo slept to be sure he was deep in dreams and unaware of Aragorn's actions. While he laid out the tools on a towel at the base of the bed, Halbarad carefully uncovered Frodo and carried him to the end of the bed. Aragorn would sit on a chair at the end of the bed while Halbarad would kneel on the bed and hold Frodo's legs, with Frodo slid as close to the end of the bed as was possible without him falling off.
They were successful in getting Frodo properly placed at the end, and his legs angled and bent out of the way with Halbarad holding his feet up and out to hold the position. But when Aragorn lifted the shirt, pushed it back, and started to touch Frodo, everything went horribly wrong.
Frodo shrieked and began to struggle like a thing possessed, pulling his feet from Halbarad's grip as easily as if they had been covered in grease, then kicked and fought when they tried to hold him down, screaming and yelling "No!" the entire time. One hairy foot planted itself into Aragorn's chest and stomach with such force that the Ranger had to stagger backwards, clutching his chest and struggling to gasp for air, landing with a thump on the chair. Halbarad saw this and immediately let go of Frodo, fearing bodily harm to himself as well. Frodo, now freed, scrabbled backward across the bed until he landed in the far corner where he huddled himself, arms wrapped around his knees as he rocked back and forth, weeping and moaning.
Halbarad rushed to Aragorn, who was beginning to regain his breath. "He can kick . . . rather hard," Aragorn gasped.
"I can see that," Halbarad said wryly. "Though you have to consider you had it coming. He's been expressing a desire to kick you for several weeks."
Aragorn chuckled. "So he has. And he achieved that quite well. I think . . ." he paused as he probed for injuries, then wheezed in pain as he found a tender spot. "I think he cracked a rib. But no matter, it will heal. How is he?" He'd been too blinded by his own pain to see what had happened after he was struck.
"Huddled in the far corner, almost out of reach. I did not pursue him further, in consideration of my own ribs," Halbarad responded with a small smile.
"Better to let him have a moment to calm down before trying to fetch him," Aragorn agreed, finally able to sit up fully and look at Frodo himself. The lad was tightly wedged against the corner, his face buried in his knees, and he was visibly trembling as he wailed and murmured incoherently. Aragorn stood and slowly advanced along the bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress and calling Frodo's name softly.
Frodo didn't seem to hear him, so Aragorn slid a little closer on the bed and called his name a little louder. He still did not react. Aragorn edged onto the bed far enough to be able to touch Frodo, then gently shook his arm a bit, saying, "Frodo, listen to me!"
Finally Frodo responded. He stiffened and tried to pull away. "Go away! Leave me alone!" he begged, an edge of hysteria in his voice.
"Frodo, I just want to make sure you're all right. You might have hurt yourself," Aragorn cajoled.
Frodo lifted his tear-streaked face and, addressing himself to some point over Aragorn's left shoulder, shouted, "You shall not have me again! Get off me!"
Aragorn jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned. "I am ten times a fool, Halbarad," he said softly without taking his eyes from the anguished hobbit. "He's remembering the attack." He waited until Frodo stopped panting so hard and demanded, "Frodo, wake up! Hear me, Frodo. It is I, Aragorn. I want to make sure you're all right."
There was a knock at the door, and Halbarad moved to answer it. Aragorn heard him reassure the innkeep that all was under control, the lad was just delirious. He chuckled as the innkeep asked yet again if there was anything he could do for the poor thing; it took Halbarad a good while of convincing him that they would be fine before the door finally closed.
When Aragorn returned his full attention to the hobbit, Frodo was blinking dazedly. "Frodo?" he asked cautiously. "Are you with me now?"
His question was met with a blank look. "I had the most horrible dream," Frodo murmured.
"I must apologize for that," Aragorn admitted. "I'd hoped to examine you while you slept so you would not know of it, but instead woke the memory of what happened to you. I am sorry."
Frodo nodded as one in a dream. "Is that why I ache so?" he whispered.
"It is possible. Would you come here so I can make sure you were not injured?"
He slowly uncurled and crawled toward Aragorn, nearly tripping himself with his shirt several times. "Why did you want to examine me? Haven't I been through enough?" Frodo asked plaintively.
"I want to determine the cause of your illness. I fear you have an infection, which is not the usual course of things after giving birth." He quickly checked his arms and legs for bruises or cuts -nothing. "Please lay back; I need to be sure you did not pull any of the stitches out."
Frodo obeyed silently, only sighing and closing his eyes when Aragorn pushed the shirt up so he could see.
The area looked slightly irritated, but that could as easily be from sitting on the horse for three days as from his brief struggle, so Aragorn concluded that he was no worse for the wear. When he was about to tell Frodo so, he noticed Frodo was nearly back to sleep already; his ailment was certainly taking its toll.
He sighed and moved to stand, but was stopped by the sharp pain from his injured rib. "Bother," he muttered, and tried to stand again.
This time he was halted by Halbarad's hands on his shoulders. "We had better bind that before you do yourself harm," Halbarad reproved mildly. "Take off your shirt while I fetch some cloth."
Aragorn obeyed -he knew Halbarad was correct- while Halbarad went to Aragorn's pack and dug out the bandaging strips he always carried. Before Halbarad returned, Aragorn felt his lower ribs just left of center again, this time counting three cracked ribs and one broken one. "He did a number on me," he said ruefully when Halbarad pushed his hand away to probe it himself.
"He did, indeed. Three cracked, one broken but aligned? Is that correct?"
Aragorn nodded. "See, you aren't so bad at this," he teased.
Halbarad flushed. "You may want to make your determination after I'm done," he retorted. "Arms out." He briskly wrapped the injured area just tight enough to provide support without constricting breathing. He critically eyed his work before stepping back to allow Aragorn to redress.
"You did fine," Aragorn assured him as he slowly pulled his shirt on and buttoned it. "Now, for Frodo . . . It would seem he needs to be aware of what is going on, but it is uncertain whether he can remain awake long enough to complete the examination. We should have means on hand to sedate him if he begins to struggle again, just in case."
"With the medicine from before?"
"No, ether should be sufficient. I do not want to give him any more of the poppy if I can help it." He wandered over to his pack and rummaged around before shaking his head. "I will have to obtain some before we can proceed. I will return shortly."
"You should not overexert yourself," Halbarad contradicted stubbornly. "I will go for the ether."
"Going to the apothecary is not overexerting myself," Aragorn said with some amusement, but unwilling to back down.
"And what of Frodo? If he should wake confused, I may not be able to calm him."
"There you have a point," Aragorn conceded. "All right, go in my stead. I will await your return."
While Halbarad was gone, Aragorn fidgeted with the instruments and checked the level of oil in the mirrored lamp for the hundreth time before rising from the chair and pacing about the small room. His gait was unsteady at first as he adjusted to his bound ribs, but he quickly adapted to the inconvenience.
Halbarad eventually returned -Aragorn had to admit he was not gone long, it only seemed so to his restless state. Aragorn woke Frodo with a gentle hand on his shoulder, a calm voice reassuring him that he was not going to hurt him, he only wanted to help. Frodo roused reluctantly, but without incident. "You promise it won't hurt?" he asked in a small voice as Aragorn helped him lie down at the end of the bed.
"If I need to do anything that will hurt, I will make certain you do not feel it." It was not something he'd thought of in advance, but it seemed right to say at the time.
And it did seem to reassure Frodo, who laid back without further questions. They resumed the same positions as before after Halbarad lit the lamp and Aragorn washed his hands. Halbarad had to adjust his grip slightly on Frodo's ankles for Frodo's comfort, then he nodded to signal Aragorn could proceed.
"Frodo, what I am going to do is use a device that will allow me to look inside you, rather than simply putting my hand in and feeling around. So it will feel strange, but it won't be as large as my hand. All right?" Aragorn had decided to keep the hobbit awake and aware by talking to him and having him respond, and hopefully it would also help him relax a bit during the procedure.
"All right," Frodo answered shakily, a wave of warmth washing over him. And that was in addition to the flush of humiliation at being stuck in this position yet again. Would it never end?
"Right now I am putting some salve on the device so it will go in more easily. I apologize in advance for it being somewhat cold to the touch."
Lovely. Not only was he going to put some *thing* into him, it was going to be cold. Just wonderful. Could it possibly be any worse?
"Frodo, I need you to spread your legs a bit more."
Spread more? How far did Aragorn think he could go? But no, here's Halbarad doing it for him, dragging his legs apart by angling his ankles outward.
"Good. I'm putting it in now. Try to relax," Aragorn warned before sliding it in.
Frodo stiffened, but tried not to move -he knew Aragorn would reprimand him if he so much as twitched. When the strange, cold thing began to press outward against the passage, opening it for view, Frodo knew it could not be any worse. There was just no way it could be worse.
"You're doing well, Frodo. Now that it is in and open, I can see better to determine where the infection lies. To assist me, I have a special lamp that uses mirrors to direct the candlelight all in one direction."
. . . he was wrong. It *could* be worse. Not only was he open for view, there was a special lamp to light the way. Now his degradation was complete. If he could just melt through the floorboards, life would improve greatly.
"Frodo, you're tensing. Please try to relax, or will hurt."
Great, just great. Now he's being told to *relax*, as some strange device is holding him open to view and air is teasing parts that should never be exposed. And Aragorn was silent, no doubt peering intently at areas Frodo didn't even know were there a few weeks ago.
Then Aragorn spoke. "Frodo, there is some material in your passage that is hindering my view. I will need to insert an implement to clear it away so I can see better."
"Material?" Frodo questioned nervously, clutching at the sheets. He was spread open, lit up, and now things were getting stuck up him to clear away "material". Just lovely.
"The discharge you've been having. It's not uncommon, but its presence is preventing me from seeing clearly. Now do not move, or I could injure you unintentionally."
When he felt the slight pressure inside, Frodo couldn't help but try to pull away, even as Halbarad held his ankles more tightly to keep him in place. He whimpered; the scraping was grating on every raw nerve in his body, and each touch sent fire coursing through his veins.
"Just one more moment, Frodo," Aragorn reassured him, then said, "All right, that part is done."
Frodo was about to let out a sigh of relief, but then he remembered Aragorn was still down there, still staring up his private parts with that special lamp. He groaned and tried vainly to convince himself that he no longer existed. When that didn't work, he had to settle for waiting for Aragorn to be finished.
Time dragged on and Frodo began to wonder if Aragorn fell asleep down there. After all, what else could be taking him so long? But then Aragorn made a pleased-sounding grunt, and Frodo just had to ask. "What is it?" That came out more of a whimper than a question, but it would have to do.
"I believe I have found the source of your distress."
Frodo just barely kept himself from saying what he was thinking, but didn't keep himself from thinking it: '*You* are the source of my distress!' Instead, he asked reasonably, "What?" Well, it would have sounded reasonable if he weren't tired and ill and wishing mightily to be anywhere but here at this particular moment . . . to Aragorn it likely sounded rather abrupt and quite perturbed.
"It appears part of the womb's opening was torn during the birth, and the tear became infected and developed an abscess. I will need to drain it, clean it, and apply a poultice to it to be sure the infected material is removed. Once that is done, you should finally begin to feel better."
Frodo could not help whimpering at that description. It all sounded very intimidating. "Will it hurt?"
That seemed to give him pause, for it was a moment or two before he answered. "It very well could, so I will make it so you sleep straight through it, however long it may take."
"When are you going to do that?"
"Right now, if you consent to allow me to do so."
"Oh." Well, while doing it now would lengthen the already disagreeable situation, it would mean that the dratted thing would only have to go in him once, not to mention that he just might not ever have to lie like this in front of Aragorn again . . . "Go ahead," he whispered. "I could use a nap."
"All right, Frodo, I am going to put a piece of cloth over your nose and mouth. Breathe deeply, and you will be asleep in a moment or two. Ready?"
Frodo nodded. He felt Aragorn lean forward over him, and the cloth descended. He breathed in once, twice, and all was merciful blackness.
~~~~
Continued here