fic: Letting Go, 8/18
Title: Letting Go, 8/18 "Compromises"
Rating: PG-13 overall for dark themes, PG for this part
Wordcount: 2,311 for this part
Warnings: this fic will eventually involve character death
Story Summary: Letting go of someone you care deeply about is a very difficult thing.
A/N: This story is a sequel to " Holding On," which is in turn a follow-up to Skye's "Just Don't Have the Heart to End It" and Aemilia Rose's "Always There Beyond the Touch of Darkness." It's been in the works pretty much since I posted "Holding On" in June 2003, though obviously it took a while for me to get up the nerve to go through with it. ;)
Note: For those who want to bail before the character death part, you're still safe, though Frodo's current illness is (unsurprisingly) what will eventually cause him to expire. Just so you're aware. I'm not sure exactly when you'll want to bail... the actual death doesn't occur until chapter 18, but in chapter 11 they realize the true nature of his illness and that it will kill him, so you've got a bit of time at any rate. :-p
Chapter 1, "Story-telling"
Chapter 2, "A Birthday"
Chapter 3, "Recovery"
Chapter 4, "Old Troubles"
Chapter 5, "Winter Blues"
Chapter 6, "An Understanding"
Chapter 7, "Routines"
Chapter Summary: Frodo is getting restless, but Rosie has an idea.
Frodo-lad thought Frodo seemed a bit stronger now that the cough was controlled, so he put him to the test and had him stand a while before and after the bath. Frodo didn't seem to mind, and he did pretty well considering he'd been confined to bed for a number of days (which is to say, he was rather light-headed at first, but managed not to faint or even stumble). He was still rather tired and definitely feverish, and had to do some coughing occasionally, but in Frodo-lad's opinion, he should be allowed to do certain things under his own power. Like use the chamberpot.
Rosie, however, was not convinced. She did not want to risk him falling again, or overexerting himself. Sam agreed with Frodo-lad (as did Frodo, but since he was the subject of the argument, his opinion was not given much weight), and they agreed on a compromise that Frodo could get up to use the chamberpot as long as someone was in the room with him.
Frodo was not entirely pleased, but it was enough. He could get up, allay some of the soreness and stiffness by moving around just a bit (but not so much that he got tired), and Frodo-lad let him sit in the chair for a bit when he wanted to, which helped with a pain that seemed to be developing in his lower back.
When Frodo's condition didn't significantly change -for better or worse- the household settled into a routine of who did what and when. The daytime was the most variable, with just about any member of the household likely to sit a spell with Uncle Frodo while chores were done and meals were prepared and served. Sam probably sat with him the most during the day, since he would only be in the way if he tried to help with something like the washing or planning meals. Frodo-lad handled the evening bath, supper, and settling Mr. Frodo for the night, and minded him until about mid-night, when he would rouse Goldi. She watched him the rest of the night and into the morning and usually sat in the doorway with a lamp lit in the hallway so she could do some mending or other sewing without disturbing him with the light. She sometimes wondered what was the use of watching him sleep, but he did occasionally need to use the pot in the night, which Rosie deemed sufficient reason for there to be someone with him at every hour, day or night.
One evening after his bath, Frodo couldn't seem to get comfortable and asked Frodo-lad to help him lie on his side instead. "My sores are particularly sore this evening," he said by way of explanation.
Frodo-lad could believe it; none of the sores seemed to be healing, so he was going to ask his Ma to take a look at them on the morrow. It seemed their attempts to shift Frodo's weight during the day weren't helping enough. "All right, how much can you do yourself?" he asked, pulling the covers back so Frodo wouldn't get tangled in them.
"I don't know," Frodo said, pushing up onto his elbows. He started to turn his shoulders, but stopped abruptly with a gasp and returned to his former position.
"What's wrong?"
"That hurt my back. Let me try a different way." This time he tried to shift his hips first, but with the same result. "If I just roll onto my side, could you move the pillows afterward?" he asked finally.
"Aye, or I could pull you back onto the pillows, whatever suits you best."
Frodo nodded, and managed to roll himself onto his right side. Frodo-lad tugged the flannel until Frodo was again centered on the pillows. "Does this feel better?"
"Yes, I think so. Maybe one less pillow, though. And I'm not sure where my bottom arm should be."
Between the two of them, they figured out how to arrange Frodo's limbs so he was comfortable, which mostly involved moving his arm out from under his body and putting the extra pillow between his knees. "Thank you, that's much better," Frodo said. He slept that way for the night and slept fairly well, but moving onto his back again was a trial, and his back ached something fierce for several hours afterward.
Frodo-lad spoke to his Ma during the morning, and they agreed she would come to help him dress Mr. Frodo's wounds that evening. She told Frodo about Frodo-lad's request that she come, and obtained Frodo's assent to that proposal. Rosie knew how Mr. Frodo could be about others seeing him naked, particularly in his current state.
The day passed quickly for Rosie, and soon she was knocking on the bathing room door. Frodo's voice bade her to come in; he was towel-clad and sitting on the stool while Frodo-lad was drying his legs and feet. "Good evening, Mr. Frodo," she greeted as she patted his shoulder. "Shall we take a look?"
Frodo, who ordinarily did not pay much attention while Frodo-lad did the daubing and bandaging, watched and listened attentively as his caregivers discussed his wounds. Apparently his knees and heels were healing well, if rather slowly, and shouldn't need bandages by the end of the week. His elbows weren't doing as well, but the sores were small and not deep.
It took a few moments to don the nightshirt and walk carefully over to the cushion; Frodo-lad tried to suggest that he go on his hands and knees instead, but Frodo tetchily replied that his hands and wrists rather hurt today, or didn't Frodo-lad remember that he'd had to do almost all of the washing during the bath? Rosie tried not to laugh at Frodo-lad's expression -apparently he hadn't yet experienced the sharper edge of Frodo's tongue. She ruffled his hair and settled next to Frodo on the floor, watching as Frodo-lad pushed aside the nightshirt so they could work.
"You've got quite a collection there, Mr. Frodo," Rosie said, rubbing his back. Frodo stiffened but didn't respond. "This might hurt a bit," she warned, then touched a few of the larger sores, feeling the depth, the edges, the surface. "They could certainly be worse, and I'd like to keep them from getting that way."
"How could they be worse?" Frodo-lad asked.
"Deeper, mostly, and these aren't full of pus. Mr. Frodo, you still have control of your bowels, yes?"
"Yes!" he said indignantly.
"Good, that means we can try bandaging them."
While Frodo-lad applied the salve, Rosie investigated Frodo's newest complaint, the backache. She told him to tell her when it hurt, then began walking her fingers up his spine, gently pushing as she set each finger down. Frodo's responses went something like "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, no, everything else feels fine." Rosie returned to the sore spots and felt around more carefully, massaging the muscles on either side.
"Really, it's probably just sore because I've been cooped up in bed," Frodo said impatiently.
"Perhaps you're right, but since you didn't used to hurt there, I needed to check on it." Rosie patted his shoulder and helped Frodo-lad finish up. It took her a little while to figure out how to secure any sort of bandaging over all of the sores, but finally managed to wrap some strips of cloth over the pads in a manner that seemed secure.
"It feels like a diaper," Frodo griped as Frodo-lad carried him back to the bedroom.
Rosie laughed. "It's not a diaper. If we ever have to put you in one, believe me, you'll know the difference."
"I just said it feels like one. I know it isn't one," Frodo grumbled.
"My, aren't we cranky this evening! Is there a reason for the grumpiness that I can help, or are you just being difficult?" Rosie asked as they tucked him in to bed. She shooed Frodo-lad out, sat on the edge of the bed and held Frodo's hand.
Frodo sighed. "I'm useless and a bother. I'm sick of needing all of the help, but . . . I have to admit I need most of it." He coughed a bit, and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry, my dear. Well, how about you help me keep the young ones occupied? Would you feel up to telling the next bit of your story tomorrow?"
Frodo smiled faintly. "That would be nice, but . . . I don't remember where I left off."
Rosie chuckled. "Nor do I. I'll ask Tom before he goes to sleep and let you know."
"All right," Frodo agreed. "Could you have Frodo bring the Red Book in so I can refresh my memory? And . . . could I sit in the chair tomorrow? While I tell the story?"
"Sit in the chair . . . ?"
Frodo blushed. "Frodo lets me sit in the chair, sometimes. It feels better on my back. I . . . probably shouldn't have mentioned it."
"If he weren't taking such good care o' you otherwise, I'd have to kill that boy," Rosie said fondly. "If it makes you feel better, yes, you may sit in the chair. But only if you eat a good amount for supper -don't think I haven't noticed that you're playing with your food more than you're eating it."
"I know, I'm just never very hungry."
"Yes, but while you may not feel hungry, you still need to eat enough to keep body and soul together. We can talk tomorrow about what kinds of things I can give you that you'll want to eat even if you're not that hungry. All right?"
Frodo nodded reluctantly. "All right. But for supper, what do you consider to be 'a good amount'?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'll know it when I see it." Rosie winked as she stood. "Eat more than you have been, and I'll be satisfied."
Rosie left the room to find Frodo-lad hovering outside the door with Frodo's supper tray. "I didn't want to interrupt," he said.
"Good lad." She told him of the bargain and tomorrow's story arrangements before allowing him into the bedroom. Tom was thrilled to hear there would be more of the story told, and tried to tell her the whole story so far, but she managed to get him to tell her just where Frodo left off. She poked her head in the kitchen and gave Rose-lass some instructions, went to the study to retrieve the Red Book, and returned to Frodo's bedroom to drop off the book and tell him where he'd left off. She was pleased with what Frodo had eaten so far and told him so, but encouraged him to try a bit more.
After chasing the young ones off to bed and Sam took over to tuck them in and make sure the elder ones were behaving, Rosie checked in on Frodo again, complimented his efforts on supper, took the tray back to the kitchen, assembled Frodo's evening tonics and started the tea steeping, checked the pantry for market day tomorrow, decided what would be for breakfast, checked the tea, and dropped off the tray in Frodo's room. Frodo-lad was reading the part of the story that Frodo would have to tell tomorrow and taking notes on any changes -omissions, mostly, for the young ones weren't old enough for some of the specifics- so he could prompt Frodo if he lost his place. Rosie listened for a while, then left them to it and settled in the sitting room to work on a bit of embroidery. Fatty's son and daughter-in-law were due to have a baby soon, and she was bound and determined to finish at least a bib afore the wee bairn arrived.
Sam found her after all the children save Frodo-lad were in bed or at least in their bedrooms. "I stopped by his room, but he was already asleep. Frodo-lad tells me he was cranky this evening," he said as he sat next to her on the settee.
"Aye, feeling just ill enough to know he needs help and just well enough to resent needing it. I told him he could tell a story to the children tomorrow."
"Tom will be pleased."
"He was that pleased when I told him. I had to ask him where Mr. Frodo had left off -Mr. Frodo couldn't remember."
"Come to it, I don't remember either. It's been that long. What will he be telling tomorrow?"
"Weathertop and the journey to Rivendell."
Sam took a deep breath. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"
"He's mentioned it afore, and Frodo-lad was helping him decide what to tell and what to leave out. I think it will be fine."
"So he's doing well enough to tell stories, then."
Rosie laid her head on his shoulder. "I don't know if 'well enough' is what to call it. He's still ill, certainly, his sores aren't healing well, and now he's got a pain in his back. I've a mind to ask the healer to come by again, see if he has any explanation for how he's feeling."
"Last time he said it was lung sickness, aye?"
"Aye. But if so, it's the slowest case of lung sickness I've ever seen. And it couldn't hurt to ask for something to give him for his back."
"All right, we'll ask the healer to come by tomorrow."
"If you help him eat at all tomorrow, we'll be measuring his food, so Rose, Goldi, or I will have to see the dishes afore they're scraped."
"I didn't realize you did that. Why?"
"To see how much he's actually eatin', plain and simple. We've only done it a couple of times before, but I think we'll have to start doing it more often. His appetite just ain't good."
Sam laid his cheek on her head and sighed. "Come, it's time for bed. The morrow will be here soon enough."
Continued here.
Rating: PG-13 overall for dark themes, PG for this part
Wordcount: 2,311 for this part
Warnings: this fic will eventually involve character death
Story Summary: Letting go of someone you care deeply about is a very difficult thing.
A/N: This story is a sequel to " Holding On," which is in turn a follow-up to Skye's "Just Don't Have the Heart to End It" and Aemilia Rose's "Always There Beyond the Touch of Darkness." It's been in the works pretty much since I posted "Holding On" in June 2003, though obviously it took a while for me to get up the nerve to go through with it. ;)
Note: For those who want to bail before the character death part, you're still safe, though Frodo's current illness is (unsurprisingly) what will eventually cause him to expire. Just so you're aware. I'm not sure exactly when you'll want to bail... the actual death doesn't occur until chapter 18, but in chapter 11 they realize the true nature of his illness and that it will kill him, so you've got a bit of time at any rate. :-p
Chapter 1, "Story-telling"
Chapter 2, "A Birthday"
Chapter 3, "Recovery"
Chapter 4, "Old Troubles"
Chapter 5, "Winter Blues"
Chapter 6, "An Understanding"
Chapter 7, "Routines"
Chapter Summary: Frodo is getting restless, but Rosie has an idea.
Frodo-lad thought Frodo seemed a bit stronger now that the cough was controlled, so he put him to the test and had him stand a while before and after the bath. Frodo didn't seem to mind, and he did pretty well considering he'd been confined to bed for a number of days (which is to say, he was rather light-headed at first, but managed not to faint or even stumble). He was still rather tired and definitely feverish, and had to do some coughing occasionally, but in Frodo-lad's opinion, he should be allowed to do certain things under his own power. Like use the chamberpot.
Rosie, however, was not convinced. She did not want to risk him falling again, or overexerting himself. Sam agreed with Frodo-lad (as did Frodo, but since he was the subject of the argument, his opinion was not given much weight), and they agreed on a compromise that Frodo could get up to use the chamberpot as long as someone was in the room with him.
Frodo was not entirely pleased, but it was enough. He could get up, allay some of the soreness and stiffness by moving around just a bit (but not so much that he got tired), and Frodo-lad let him sit in the chair for a bit when he wanted to, which helped with a pain that seemed to be developing in his lower back.
When Frodo's condition didn't significantly change -for better or worse- the household settled into a routine of who did what and when. The daytime was the most variable, with just about any member of the household likely to sit a spell with Uncle Frodo while chores were done and meals were prepared and served. Sam probably sat with him the most during the day, since he would only be in the way if he tried to help with something like the washing or planning meals. Frodo-lad handled the evening bath, supper, and settling Mr. Frodo for the night, and minded him until about mid-night, when he would rouse Goldi. She watched him the rest of the night and into the morning and usually sat in the doorway with a lamp lit in the hallway so she could do some mending or other sewing without disturbing him with the light. She sometimes wondered what was the use of watching him sleep, but he did occasionally need to use the pot in the night, which Rosie deemed sufficient reason for there to be someone with him at every hour, day or night.
One evening after his bath, Frodo couldn't seem to get comfortable and asked Frodo-lad to help him lie on his side instead. "My sores are particularly sore this evening," he said by way of explanation.
Frodo-lad could believe it; none of the sores seemed to be healing, so he was going to ask his Ma to take a look at them on the morrow. It seemed their attempts to shift Frodo's weight during the day weren't helping enough. "All right, how much can you do yourself?" he asked, pulling the covers back so Frodo wouldn't get tangled in them.
"I don't know," Frodo said, pushing up onto his elbows. He started to turn his shoulders, but stopped abruptly with a gasp and returned to his former position.
"What's wrong?"
"That hurt my back. Let me try a different way." This time he tried to shift his hips first, but with the same result. "If I just roll onto my side, could you move the pillows afterward?" he asked finally.
"Aye, or I could pull you back onto the pillows, whatever suits you best."
Frodo nodded, and managed to roll himself onto his right side. Frodo-lad tugged the flannel until Frodo was again centered on the pillows. "Does this feel better?"
"Yes, I think so. Maybe one less pillow, though. And I'm not sure where my bottom arm should be."
Between the two of them, they figured out how to arrange Frodo's limbs so he was comfortable, which mostly involved moving his arm out from under his body and putting the extra pillow between his knees. "Thank you, that's much better," Frodo said. He slept that way for the night and slept fairly well, but moving onto his back again was a trial, and his back ached something fierce for several hours afterward.
Frodo-lad spoke to his Ma during the morning, and they agreed she would come to help him dress Mr. Frodo's wounds that evening. She told Frodo about Frodo-lad's request that she come, and obtained Frodo's assent to that proposal. Rosie knew how Mr. Frodo could be about others seeing him naked, particularly in his current state.
The day passed quickly for Rosie, and soon she was knocking on the bathing room door. Frodo's voice bade her to come in; he was towel-clad and sitting on the stool while Frodo-lad was drying his legs and feet. "Good evening, Mr. Frodo," she greeted as she patted his shoulder. "Shall we take a look?"
Frodo, who ordinarily did not pay much attention while Frodo-lad did the daubing and bandaging, watched and listened attentively as his caregivers discussed his wounds. Apparently his knees and heels were healing well, if rather slowly, and shouldn't need bandages by the end of the week. His elbows weren't doing as well, but the sores were small and not deep.
It took a few moments to don the nightshirt and walk carefully over to the cushion; Frodo-lad tried to suggest that he go on his hands and knees instead, but Frodo tetchily replied that his hands and wrists rather hurt today, or didn't Frodo-lad remember that he'd had to do almost all of the washing during the bath? Rosie tried not to laugh at Frodo-lad's expression -apparently he hadn't yet experienced the sharper edge of Frodo's tongue. She ruffled his hair and settled next to Frodo on the floor, watching as Frodo-lad pushed aside the nightshirt so they could work.
"You've got quite a collection there, Mr. Frodo," Rosie said, rubbing his back. Frodo stiffened but didn't respond. "This might hurt a bit," she warned, then touched a few of the larger sores, feeling the depth, the edges, the surface. "They could certainly be worse, and I'd like to keep them from getting that way."
"How could they be worse?" Frodo-lad asked.
"Deeper, mostly, and these aren't full of pus. Mr. Frodo, you still have control of your bowels, yes?"
"Yes!" he said indignantly.
"Good, that means we can try bandaging them."
While Frodo-lad applied the salve, Rosie investigated Frodo's newest complaint, the backache. She told him to tell her when it hurt, then began walking her fingers up his spine, gently pushing as she set each finger down. Frodo's responses went something like "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, no, everything else feels fine." Rosie returned to the sore spots and felt around more carefully, massaging the muscles on either side.
"Really, it's probably just sore because I've been cooped up in bed," Frodo said impatiently.
"Perhaps you're right, but since you didn't used to hurt there, I needed to check on it." Rosie patted his shoulder and helped Frodo-lad finish up. It took her a little while to figure out how to secure any sort of bandaging over all of the sores, but finally managed to wrap some strips of cloth over the pads in a manner that seemed secure.
"It feels like a diaper," Frodo griped as Frodo-lad carried him back to the bedroom.
Rosie laughed. "It's not a diaper. If we ever have to put you in one, believe me, you'll know the difference."
"I just said it feels like one. I know it isn't one," Frodo grumbled.
"My, aren't we cranky this evening! Is there a reason for the grumpiness that I can help, or are you just being difficult?" Rosie asked as they tucked him in to bed. She shooed Frodo-lad out, sat on the edge of the bed and held Frodo's hand.
Frodo sighed. "I'm useless and a bother. I'm sick of needing all of the help, but . . . I have to admit I need most of it." He coughed a bit, and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry, my dear. Well, how about you help me keep the young ones occupied? Would you feel up to telling the next bit of your story tomorrow?"
Frodo smiled faintly. "That would be nice, but . . . I don't remember where I left off."
Rosie chuckled. "Nor do I. I'll ask Tom before he goes to sleep and let you know."
"All right," Frodo agreed. "Could you have Frodo bring the Red Book in so I can refresh my memory? And . . . could I sit in the chair tomorrow? While I tell the story?"
"Sit in the chair . . . ?"
Frodo blushed. "Frodo lets me sit in the chair, sometimes. It feels better on my back. I . . . probably shouldn't have mentioned it."
"If he weren't taking such good care o' you otherwise, I'd have to kill that boy," Rosie said fondly. "If it makes you feel better, yes, you may sit in the chair. But only if you eat a good amount for supper -don't think I haven't noticed that you're playing with your food more than you're eating it."
"I know, I'm just never very hungry."
"Yes, but while you may not feel hungry, you still need to eat enough to keep body and soul together. We can talk tomorrow about what kinds of things I can give you that you'll want to eat even if you're not that hungry. All right?"
Frodo nodded reluctantly. "All right. But for supper, what do you consider to be 'a good amount'?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'll know it when I see it." Rosie winked as she stood. "Eat more than you have been, and I'll be satisfied."
Rosie left the room to find Frodo-lad hovering outside the door with Frodo's supper tray. "I didn't want to interrupt," he said.
"Good lad." She told him of the bargain and tomorrow's story arrangements before allowing him into the bedroom. Tom was thrilled to hear there would be more of the story told, and tried to tell her the whole story so far, but she managed to get him to tell her just where Frodo left off. She poked her head in the kitchen and gave Rose-lass some instructions, went to the study to retrieve the Red Book, and returned to Frodo's bedroom to drop off the book and tell him where he'd left off. She was pleased with what Frodo had eaten so far and told him so, but encouraged him to try a bit more.
After chasing the young ones off to bed and Sam took over to tuck them in and make sure the elder ones were behaving, Rosie checked in on Frodo again, complimented his efforts on supper, took the tray back to the kitchen, assembled Frodo's evening tonics and started the tea steeping, checked the pantry for market day tomorrow, decided what would be for breakfast, checked the tea, and dropped off the tray in Frodo's room. Frodo-lad was reading the part of the story that Frodo would have to tell tomorrow and taking notes on any changes -omissions, mostly, for the young ones weren't old enough for some of the specifics- so he could prompt Frodo if he lost his place. Rosie listened for a while, then left them to it and settled in the sitting room to work on a bit of embroidery. Fatty's son and daughter-in-law were due to have a baby soon, and she was bound and determined to finish at least a bib afore the wee bairn arrived.
Sam found her after all the children save Frodo-lad were in bed or at least in their bedrooms. "I stopped by his room, but he was already asleep. Frodo-lad tells me he was cranky this evening," he said as he sat next to her on the settee.
"Aye, feeling just ill enough to know he needs help and just well enough to resent needing it. I told him he could tell a story to the children tomorrow."
"Tom will be pleased."
"He was that pleased when I told him. I had to ask him where Mr. Frodo had left off -Mr. Frodo couldn't remember."
"Come to it, I don't remember either. It's been that long. What will he be telling tomorrow?"
"Weathertop and the journey to Rivendell."
Sam took a deep breath. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"
"He's mentioned it afore, and Frodo-lad was helping him decide what to tell and what to leave out. I think it will be fine."
"So he's doing well enough to tell stories, then."
Rosie laid her head on his shoulder. "I don't know if 'well enough' is what to call it. He's still ill, certainly, his sores aren't healing well, and now he's got a pain in his back. I've a mind to ask the healer to come by again, see if he has any explanation for how he's feeling."
"Last time he said it was lung sickness, aye?"
"Aye. But if so, it's the slowest case of lung sickness I've ever seen. And it couldn't hurt to ask for something to give him for his back."
"All right, we'll ask the healer to come by tomorrow."
"If you help him eat at all tomorrow, we'll be measuring his food, so Rose, Goldi, or I will have to see the dishes afore they're scraped."
"I didn't realize you did that. Why?"
"To see how much he's actually eatin', plain and simple. We've only done it a couple of times before, but I think we'll have to start doing it more often. His appetite just ain't good."
Sam laid his cheek on her head and sighed. "Come, it's time for bed. The morrow will be here soon enough."
Continued here.