Iphegeneia

GAWD - I love being on holiday! All the things one never has enough time to proceed with actually get done!
So - here - another installment. Let me know what ye' all think, so don't forget to review. :-)

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Iphegeneia 6


"Gandalf! How good to see you. Have you found out anything?"

The average person would probably be delighted to be bestowed such a hearty welcome. However, Gandalf the White was not your average person. Gandalf the White was an ancient, revered and extremely wise mage. Seeing his old Hobbit friend's beaming and happy face with twinkling eyes, he instantly understood what had caused this drastic change in the former Ringbearer's mood.

Before the enignatic newcomer had arrived, Frodo had been well under the circumstances; still somewhat haunted by his cruel destiny, but managing the pain nonetheless on account of the healing power of the Land.
Now, however, he was radiant. It didn't take a mathematician to figure out what had opted this. Apparently the female human was waking up long forgotten emotions dwelling within the Hobbit. Gandalf shook his head inwardly; there was a terrible risk that Frodo might get hurt beyond healing this time.

Frodo took his friend through his home to the sunny terrace on the other side of the house where his patient sat in a comfortable chair, fully enjoying the generous sun. The tall white wizard was almost equally surprised to see Malou. She looked so much better than the last time he had seen her wounded and horrifically ill in Frodo's bed. She had nothing of Frodo's enthusiastic radiance, but her eyes were clear and her face free of the strain of agony. Frodo's efforts were paying off.
Her dog, Sif, was just as lively as ever and her reaction just as telltale of his arrival as ever. Malou turned her head and even got up when she recognised him. Her movements were still somewhat stiff and she had problems straightening.

"Greetings," she said in Elven, extending her hand. Gandalf wasn't quite sure what the hand meant.
"Oh," she said and retracted the hand, realising that differcustcustoms applied in this country. She tried a lame waving gesture instead.
"Nice… you again," she said in tentative Elven. Gandalf's eyes widened in surprise; her pronunciation was good and she already knew many words. A natural.
"You have done well, dear Frodo," the mage commented to his friend, "both healing and linguistic learning are proceeding famously."
"She heals and learns fast," Frodo nodded.
"I try all time," she contributed. Gandalf's bushy eyebrows made it to his hair.
"V-e-r-y good!" he emphasised, and then he put a large hand on Frodo's small shoulders. "A word, old friend?"

"What do you wish to tell me that she cannot hear?" Frodo asked with a frown as soon as they had reentered the house.
Before replying, Gandalf shot a glance through the window and at the subject of discussion, who had leaned back her head towards the sun – almost as if he suspected she would be listening in.
"Frodo," he finally said with a sad face, "I have studied the writings of Lord Ethu d'Ard."
The Hobbit shook his head. "I have never heard of those."
"That is hardly surprising. The writings are only open for the old and very wise, and they are guarded by the borders of this fair Land."
Frodo's frown didn't vanish. Where was Gandalf going with this?
The white wizard sighed and sat in the nearest chair. The chair was a Hobbit chair and as such much closer to the ground than one would expect, and Gandalf had very old legs which creaked as he landed on the seat.
"In the Beginning of Times," he whispered, "were the dimensions."
Frodo took a seat also. Knowing Gandalf to the letter, he knew that a beginning like this would indicate a looong explanation.

*In the Beginning of Times were the dimensions. The dimensions were intertwined in a hopelessly entangled way and made the concept of Time impole. le. So existence persisted, but bore no fruit and had no purpose. Then at some point…
… at some point, Order was introduced, Cosmos replaced Chaos; the dimensions were disentangled, parted, separated and barriers were erected to keep them apart forever. The World as we know it arose and sanity prevailed.*

Gandalf's close to chanting voice had almost Frodo mesmerised when finally the mage fell taciturn, caught his Hobbit friend's eyes and held him there.
"What do you suppose, Frodo, son of Drogo, would happen if that barrier was broken down?"
Frodo's face had gone hard. He was no fool.
"Chaos and confusion would be reintroduced," he said in a cold voice, "the World as we know it would perish and Darkness would grow."
"Yes." It was but a whisper.
"And it is your surmise that a rupture in the dimension barriers must have happened for Malou to be here?"
"It is the only explanation," Gandalf said sadly.
Frodo got up and stepped closer to the mage. His friend was still sitting, which made their eyes level. His jaw set, his eyes sharp, his spine erect, Frodo gave the impression of a very decisive Hobbit
"No."
"No?"
"No, I am not ready to accept that explanation as face value. The World is vast and its natural laws intricate and many not known to us. There could be a variety of reasons why she is here. She has been here for 12 days. I haven't seen any signs that the world is coming down on us, have you?"
The wizard's eyes darkened. "Give it time…"
"Give *her* time, Gandalf. You have no idea what a magnificent lady she is. She has told me amazing things. Did you know that her wound is from an operation in which she willingly gave her brother an internal organ that saved his life? A piece of her was cut out! She actually volunteered to go through these atrocities to help her brother. How many people do you know would do that? How can anything evil come from a person like that?"

Frodo paused and tried to read Gandalf's facial expressions. The old man looked extremely sceptical. Well… Frodo couldn't blame him; it was a fantastic story, and Gandalf hadn't been there when Malou had disclosed it. The Hobbit took a deep breath and continued:
"When you were in Middle Earth and among the living, did you pass judgements without certainty? I think not. In fact, I remember a very wise companion of the Nine Fellows who taught me that one should not be so hasty to pass verdicts. Malou may have a part to play – a part not even the very Wise can foresee."

*Touché,* the old man thought. Why, his naive Hobbit friend had really grown, hadn't he? And what was more surprising – he had continued to grow in the Eternal Land of Elves where Time stood still.
Time. This could actually buy them… time. As they were living in a land without time, a possible rupture of the dimension barrier would take its … time … causing any effect.

Regardless of the ridiculous story about exhcnaging internal organs, he would give Malou the benefit of doubt. He would study on.

It It was a somewhat moody Frodo who joined Malou in the garden after Gandalf had left. His head bent, eyes vacant and a hand across the mouth in deep thought, he sat beside her without even attempting to conceal his concern. Her predictable question was soon voiced.
"Frodo? A penny for your thoughts?"
The Hobbit smiled weakly. She finally mastered the expression.
"We are trying to find out why you are here - *how* you are here," he said, still smiling sadly. Malou drew a deep breath. Well, she couldn't help him with that. She had thought very hard about the conundrum herself. How the hell had she ended up there? *Where* exactly was 'there'? How to get back?
"Hurudan? I know not."
"We don't either," Frodo said with a sigh, shaking his head gently.

That night, when Frodo helped her clean the drain wound, they were both exceptionally silent. Sif lay in a corner, softly whining as her dog senses easily picked up the tense atmosphere. Malou lay back in the bed, casually enjoying Frodo's gentle touch, yet still feeling depressed by the current mood. Frodo concentrated on his important task, but the frown was still present in his brow.
Malou reached out her right hand and traced her long slim fingers along his offending frown.

"Bad," she stated. The frown didn't disappear.
"Yes," he admitted, "bad."
Malou cocked her head and looked at the drainage bag. The contents were getting less all the time. Very soon they could dispose of the bag and attempt to seal the wound. As for the surgical wound. Well, it was time to remove the stitches. The thought made her shiver. Another potential risk of getting an infection. However, the risk was also present by leaving the stitches there. Of course, Frodo noticed her shiver. There wasn't much he didn't notice about her.
"You tremble. What is it?"
Their eyes met momentarily. Such big brown eyes he had. She could drown herself in those eyes if she wasn't careful. Such compassion they entailed. Such depth and wisdom. Of course, she had no idea that he regarded her as being something very near a saint. In Frodo's eyes, the organ transplant was the peak of self-sacrifice, whereas in reality it was not nearly that. Had he known the specifics about kidney donors, how the risk was minimal and the pain controlled, he might have thought otherwise. Or perhaps not. A concept like advanced surgical procedures would necessarily be beyond a person from a dimension of dungeons and dragons.

"The stitches have to go," she said in her own tongue, pointing at the wound.
"I don't understand," he said.
"Stitches," she repeated, grabbing one of the threads by the end, tugging it gingerly. The skin underneath was flushed, which could be the first stages of a skin infection.
"Oh, stitches," he realised.
"They must go," she said firmly, making a blunt movement with the hand in the air.
"Stitches out? You think that is wise?"
"Tomorrow," she said.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would have to make him new sketches to show him how to take out the stitches. She was no nurse herself, but she took no chances, so they would have to do this the only safe way she imagined it could be done. One stitch at a time, being pulled through one hole at a time, carefully sterilising the area constantly. Hopefully her host's mood would be considerably better in the morning. If not…
Swell!

*

One stitch at a time, being pulled through one hole at a time. Sterilising the holes and the area around them step by step.
It had taken her some time to explain the basics to him, but once he grasped the higher meaning, he deduced the rest himself. Quick little fellow, wasn't he?

The boiled water and the soap stung a bit, but other than that, pulling out the stitches was much less painful than she had expected. Frodo was very careful, hardly daring to breathe as he meticulously severed each stitch with a pair of fine scissors, cleaned the place with great care and then pulled out the thread little by little. About 30 stitches were removed in a matter of 20 minutes. It almost felt liberating.

He had wished so much to kiss the skin after each stitch and make better. The flushed hue didn't look too healthy and he could tell the procedure stung her a bit.
While reaching out for the bowl with boiled water like an automaton, he contemplated his last thought. Kiss? Was this what their rapport had developed into? A caretaker and his mamsell in distress? A father and his child? A mentor and his student?

Or was it more?
The very thought almost made him freeze in his movements the second it occurred in his mind. Has she noticed?
Has she noticed that second of hesitation? That second when his concentration slipped and he could have done ill? By Eärendil, he hoped not!
As he returned to cut the next stitch, he suddenly saw how her belly gently heaved and fell. Calmly breathing. He had seen this often before. When he had been standing in the doorframe, watching her sleep and making sure she was alright. Why did the sight suddenly seem different to him?
Well, … it wasn't different. His *perspective* was different.
Oh, dear Destiny.

The last stitch was out. Malou stretched tentatively, trying out the resistence of the skin around the scar. Then she smiled.
"Wow," she said in her own tongue, "that feels so much better."
"Nice?" Frodo smiled. She grinned at him affectionately. "Oh, you gotta find a better superlative for me than that. Nice nice!"
"Wonderful?"
"That's probably it," she smiled.
He liked her smile. It looked radiant.

Frodo wiped the wound one last time to ensure it was 100 % clean. And besides. He wanted to. He liked touching her. He liked it very much.
Pushing the disconcerting sensation and thought aside, he rose and covered her wound gently with a clean linen cloth. He then pointed at her drainage wound.
"What about that one?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. In a couple of days."
"You want to wait a couple of days?" he asked to teach her the equivalent Elvish words.
"I want to watt a cup of days," she repeated stumblingly. He grinned at her. "I can't believe how hard you work on learning our language," he said, "perhaps one day you will teach me yours."
She blinked in incomprehension. Whatever he had said, he seemed happy about it.

*

The drain came out a couple of days later, but whether it was too late or too soon, it resulted in her waking up with a fever a few days later.
Malou didn't remember much of those days except unsettling dreams, a blurred vision of the Elves standing over her, sensing Frodo fussing about, his hands everywhere in a somewhat more trembling manner than she had ever felt before. Coldness on her forehead, endless cleaning the wound that hurt worse than she had ever experienced. Sometimes she thought she saw her parents stooping over her, and one night she hallucinated the burial of her brother.

She was rambling in her own language in those days, and it made Frodo feel helpless and frantic. It was as if he couldn't even get in contact with her anymore. The Elves had said that they had done what they could and the rest was up to her and her will to survive, so Frodo sat by her side night after night, squeezing her hand in a frustrated attempt to transfer his eternal life into her.
One night in particular must have been terrible for her. She was sweating worse than ever, her mumbling transgressed into screams and she was shaking so hard that he had trouble holding her down in the bed. She cried out a name again and again – at least, he presumed it was a name. Perhaps her brother's name. In the midst of all this madness, that, at least, would make sense.

Eventually Frodo fell asleep next to Malou, exhausted and spent, clutching her hand in a desperate attempt to make her better, and this was how she woke up, drenched in sweat, but more clear headed than she had been for days.

Breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Quite close to her. So close that she could feel the rhythmic sensation of hot air on her neck. Sif? She reached out a heavy hand to pat her pet. And buried her fingers in a soft mass of curls instead. Well… that didn't feel like Sif. Malou willed her stiff neck to turn her tired head… and looked right into her host's sleeping face.

Her heart melted right there and then. He-looked-so-incredibly-loving-and-adorable as he lay there right next to her with an exhausted expression in his face. The crease between his eyes was deeper than ever, fine lines were drawn round his mouth and his hue was paler than she had ever seen it.
He had been worried about her.
And finally she noticed that she couldn't move her right hand. It felt clammy and hot and felt stuck, somehow. It was then that she realised that it was imbedded in both of Frodo's protective hands. As much as she appreciated the gesture, it was getting quite unpleasant, her hand still wet from the night's rampant fever, so she gently unhooked it.
Frodo instantly woke up, jerking his head. He looked at her with profound confusion – it almost made her laugh. Then blinking he understood in a flash what was happening.

"You… you're alive!" he croaked with a hoarse voice.
She didn't know the word, 'alive'. "You're okay," he tried again, voice sounding, if possible, even worse.
"Yes, I am okay," she said, her voice being no better than his.
"Thank god," he murmured and pressed a spontaneous kiss against her brow. "I'll be right back."

Frodo scooted out to prepare some tea for her. The fever had broken!! He was so happy he didn't know what to do with himself; in fact, it took him forever to brew that tea because he couldn't control the thoughts running through his muddled mind. She was alive! She had beat the fever! She was going to be okay! Where were the leaves? They would learn each other's languages! Didn't he put the kettle on already? She was alright!

When he finally returned, she had fallen asleep again. This time a peaceful slumber without cramps, shaking or violent outbursts. Frodo put down the tray with tea and collapsed in the comfort chair.
As he watched her sleeping form, he idly wondered with the touch of a shiver what price he would have to pay Fate for getting her back.

*
TBC