FIC: A LITTLE AFFLICTION 2/? 
 
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins 
 
RATING: PG-13  
 
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these 
characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line 
Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to 
spend their time. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that all medical treatments 
contained herein are purely for entertainment value and are not meant to replace 
professional medical advice.  
 
Author's Note: While the Frodo in my head is always movie-verse Frodo, I am 
going to point out that here, I'm really following movie-verse by making Frodo 33 
when he leaves on the Quest, just as it appears in the movie. It will become clear 
as you read why I'm doing this. :)  
 
Warning: There is some graphic medical detail in this next section. If it squicks 
you, please don't continue. Also . . . I've had several reviewers say they 
are/might be getting their wisdom teeth out soon, and I *really* apologize for 
putting Frodo through such pain and suffering! Remember . . . he lives in a world 
without antibiotics---thank goodness we don't! 
 
***** 
 
A day later, the constant agony in my mouth had become nearly too much to 
bear. I felt so tired, and a chill passed over me as I stared at the broken-down 
building Sam and I were about to enter. We'd had to walk further than I'd 
remembered to find it, but I was hoping the practitioner here might have some 
medicine to offer before I drastically resorted to asking Aragorn or Lord Elrond to 
treat a simple toothache. Moreover, I did not even know if Elrond was in the City-
--for he had been riding out often with his sons on excursions to Mount Mindolluin 
and other sights of Gondor.  
 
I sighed; the throb a reminder that I had no choice but to follow through. The 
sign over the door said, "TOOTH-DRAWER. EXTRACTIONS. FALSE TEETH. 
PYORRHEA TREATED." Whatever else it might look like, it did *not* appear to be 
the place one might go to for better health.  
 
"Mr. Frodo, let's go. Let Strider or Elrond or Mr. Gandalf help you, sir---" 
 
"No," I said emphatically. "Everyone's duty toward looking after me is finished, 
Sam. I can take care of myself. It's just as minor thing, really---he'll give me a 
poultice to suck on or some sort of herb to help the pain, I'm certain., and that 
will take care of it. Now, are you coming in? If not, I shall go on my own." 
 
Sam looked skeptical, but followed me through the door. Just before we entered I 
turned to him, "Remember---don't tell him who we are. If he finds out we know 
the King he might charge more coin than I am carrying."  
 
A lone man was inside the dark, grimy place, sharpening some metal files. Of 
course I knew the person treating me would be a human, being in Minas Tirith---
but he was altogether quite frightening---tall and meaty, with a bald head 
sporting a fringe of long hair that waved about his ears. Upon hearing the door 
open, he gave us a perfunctory glance as his eyes widened in irritation. 
 
"Run along, now, you---I don't work on milk teeth." 
 
Sam was so irritated he verily sputtered. "Milk teeth? We're not children, sir . . . 
we're hobbits! Or, halflings, that'd be to you." 
 
"Halflings?" The man's voice was just as raspy and unpleasant as the rest of him 
as he knelt down before us, staring. "I've heard of halflings in the city lately---
apparently a lot of goings on that I have no time to pay attention to. I'm 
Vinarion, been here years but never seen one of your types before. Which one of 
you is ailing?" 
 
Gulping, I answered, my voice quite a bit higher than I'd intended in my fright, 
and a bit slurred from pain, as well. "I've, I've a sore tooth . . ." 
 
He approached me and stood looming. "I thought it must be you---you look right 
puny. Well, you've come to the right place." Unceremoniously he grabbed my 
shoulders and forced my head back, one large hand clamping about my chin. 
"Open your mouth." 
 
I complied, trying not to recoil at the smell of his breath so close. Before I could 
react he stuck one grimy finger in and prodded the my swollen gum. Of course, 
this hurt, and I could not hold back a whimper of pain. Behind me I could nearly 
feel Sam's eyes boring into the man.  
 
"It's surely a sore tooth, all right, and will have to come out," Vinarion said, 
shaking his head and removing his finger, much to my relief. "Let me get things 
fixed up---I've never treated a halfling; that tooth's far back there, and what with 
your small mouth and all I'm hoping I don't have to use the heavy stuff." 
 
"Heavy stuff?" 
 
"The big pinchers. If the tooth's stubborn, sometimes I have to crack it or cut---
deep into the bone." 
 
I swallowed hard. I hadn't planned on having the tooth extracted, just getting 
something to ease the pain. "But I thought it was just a . . . an extra crunching 
tooth. I thought the pain would go away in time." 
 
He shook his head. "See, it's come in crooked---it's got to be yanked or you'll just 
be worse off." 
 
Sam looked at me with his mouth set firmly, mentally willing me to walk out. 
However . . . I was here, and could having the tooth pulled be any more painful 
than what I was enduring? If the pain would never go away otherwise, I had no 
choice.  
 
"Will you . . . will you be able to give me anything for the pain?" 
 
He nodded, scratching his head. "Yes, yes, you won't feel a thing. I must tell you-
---I might have to pull the tooth next to it too, but I don't have any false teeth to 
fit the likes of you. We might could fashion you one from an oliphaunt tusk, but it 
would take some time and cost. Now, I'll be right back---sit there." 
 
I tried to look back at Sam, but was suddenly was swept off my feet and lifted by 
the man's meaty hands into a cold wooden chair, where I sat, legs dangling, 
suddenly quite terrified.  
 
Vinarion left the room and Sam and I looked about the place. Unwittingly my 
eyes fell on a table next to the chair, which was full of dull metal instruments of 
all kinds---pinchers, tongs----and many sharp hooked objects that resembled 
small picks. Some of which, upon closer inspection, looked to have a dark dried 
substance on them. I turned back around, trying to still the quivering in my body, 
only to see Sam staring at my white-knuckled grip on the chair arms.  
 
"Mr. Frodo, let's leave right----" 
 
"No!" I hissed. "I can survive a Nazgul wound, I can survive a bit of work on my 
tooth, for heaven's----" 
 
The man came back with a dripping mug of something that looked vile. "Here you 
go---drink up." 
 
I took the mug, having to use both hands to hold it, and sniffed distastefully. "All 
of this?"  
 
"Yup . . . drink it all . . . you won't be feeling any pain, I guarantee." 
 
I certainly didn't want to feel any pain---most definitely not---and upended the 
mug, drinking the entire bitter draught in a minute's time. Oh, it was horrible. It 
was obviously an herb of some sort, but I could not place the taste and couldn't 
quite recall ever having had anything like it.  
 
"Good . . ." Leaning over me, he tilted my head back as far as it would go and 
opened my mouth until I thought my lips would surely split. And how he could 
see what he was doing in there with only a small lamp above us, I had no idea.  
 
"Shouldn't you be giving that concoction some time to work, sir?" Sam asked. 
"He's full awake and alert!" 
 
"It'll hit him quick and hard. Don't fret." 
 
I *was* beginning to feel a bit lightheaded. I couldn't see what Vinarion was 
doing but could hear the clink of metal and tried not to shift too much in the 
chair. Then suddenly, a terrible pain ripped through my head as he jabbed 
something wickedly pointed right into the most painful spot in my mouth and 
pressed hard. I cried out, nearly biting the man.  
 
"Hush! You got to sit still!" 
 
"Leave him alone!" I heard Sam retort, and mercifully the instrument was 
removed . . . but I could taste salty liquid inside my mouth. Then Sam was at my 
side, arms about my shoulders. "We're leaving, Mr. Frodo---I'm sorry, but I'll not 
sit here quiet while he tortures you." 
 
I had my wits about me somewhat and nodded, gasping as I raised a hand to 
favor the sore jaw. Perhaps I had been wrong---having the tooth worked on was 
far worse than simply enduring the pain. My entire lower face was now throbbing 
and I felt a wave of nausea sweep through me.  
 
Vinarion stood before us, hands on his hips. "You can't leave---that tooth's 
corrupted. It's got to come out, pain or no." 
 
"We'll come back if need be," Sam lied, helping me off the chair.  
 
"Well, you owe me for that dose of tonic he drank---that's valuable brew," the 
man asserted.  
 
Shivering a bit, I reached into my pack and managed to dig out a few coins.  
 
"That should take care of it," I whispered, and we left.  
 
To be continued