It had been many late hours into the night by the time Lord Elrond left Frodo's side.
The halfling was sleeping soundly, his grey face only slightly troubled by the wound in his shoulder and his shadowed brow smooth. Closing the door to the room quietly behind him, Elrond made barely a sound as he crossed the hall, where there sat a grave-looking party of four worried hobbits, a sullen Ranger, and one troubled Wizard.
Upon seeing Elrond, one of the halflings sprang up and ran to him, nearly falling over in his haste to reach the elf-lord. He hadn't bothered to unpack or drop his large burden, which clanked suspiciously as he ran with the weight of what seemed to be cooking pots.
"Sir! My master- Mr. Frodo, I mean-is he all right?" Samwise's tone was anxious, and Elrond gave an exhausted but encouraging smile as he looked down at the unsettled hobbit's face.
"Your master will be fine. You may go in and see him if you like-just take care not to wake him. I must speak with Gandalf."
Samwise fairly flew across the hall sliding past a small gathering of elves and very nearly knocking them all over as he scrambled to see for himself that Frodo was alive. The other three hobbits sat up as Elrond approached. Merry and Pippin had started to fall asleep on each other, and Bilbo had slumped backward and had been snoring quietly, but now they sat blinking owlishly at him in the low light with expectant faces.
"He's…?" Pippin asked in a frightened voice. Next to him, Merry's hand tightened around his cousin's shoulder as he leaned forward and waited for an answer that neither of the hobbits was sure they wanted to hear.
"Fine, just fine." Elrond finished for him, and both of them visibly relaxed at the news of their friend's health.
"But he's not awake?" Bilbo asked. A concerned knot formed in the center of his eyebrows as Elrond shook his head.
"No. He hasn't stirred."
"Oh." Bilbo's answer was quiet. Merry yawned hugely before starting to slump over and Pippin had to nudge him back awake before he fell off the bench on which they all sat.
"Forgive me." Elrond apologized. "You have had a long journey and our hospitality has been delayed. Please, go and rest. The attendants here will lead you to your bowers."
The elf-lord began to signal the russet-cloaked group crossing the grand hall, but was cut off by the haggard form of Aragorn, who waved a hand at him and stood on swaying legs. "No need, Lord Elrond. I will take them."
Elrond nodded, and the small party stumbled out of the great oaken doors, Merry and Pippin practically already asleep on their weary feet. Gandalf stood, leaning heavily on his staff and favoring his injured leg as he approached the window by which Elrond stood. Far below, the sounds of laughing and feasting were fading as an unsettled quiet fell over Rivendell- the bright leaves of summer were beginning to fade and crumple, giving way to the dark sunset colors of autumn. Elrond sighed.
"You say Frodo is well, and yet there is no relief in your voice. Is he truly healed?" Gandalf had maintained his humor for the frightened hobbits to act as some small comfort, but now the note of hope in his voice had gone and left in its place a cavernous darkness of things unseen.
"For the time being, he will survive. Beyond tonight I cannot guarantee either his health or his safety. I suspect some fragment of the blade remains in the wound, and if it cannot be removed I fear he will be overtaken by the shadow."
Gandalf's face grew even graver as night settled heavily over the last lights of the elven city below. "And what then of the Ring?"
"I have called for a council," Elrond replied. "Each of the peoples of Middle-Earth have responded in kind, and envoys from the lands of Men, Dwarves, and Woodland Realms shall come together to decide the fate of the Ring, and what is to become of the halfling."
"Understood." Gandalf nodded slowly. "And the Nine?"
"Washed away in the flood at the Ford of Bruinen. Glorfindel did well in delivering Frodo here quickly- a few short hours more and he would have been beyond any aid I could offer. For the time being, he simply needs rest."
"I will watch over him, and I doubt young Sam will leave his side unless there is dire need." Gandalf looked back into the hall, where the door to Frodo's sickroom swung ajar and Sam sat as close as the large chair he had shoved to the bedside would allow for. Despite his exhaustion and worry, Elrond managed a small chuckle at the pair.
"Frodo has been fortunate to find such loyal companions. He will need to draw on the strength of those around him before the end."
"So you have seen?"
Elrond's expression was sober. "Yes, old friend. I have."
"There are dark times to come." There was no question in the Wizard's voice.
"Yes. The world as we know it will be changed forever."
"And Frodo?" There was something Elrond couldn't place in Gandalf's tone, a certain fondness that lacked his understanding. The question was met with a heavy silence. Elrond's eyes were cast down to the floor, and his face became shadowed.
"The halfling has been seen to wander many different paths, as will those who travel with him. I have seen death in his future, and evil that may overtake him in the times to come. Should he continue on the road he walks, he will face many hardships."
Gandalf sighed, pulling his grey robes closer around him as a shuddering cold overtook the warmth in the hall for a moment and the light of the torches fluttered. Then, just as quickly, the cold wind was gone.
"Then it is as I feared." The Wizard intoned, his eyes far from where he stood. "Frodo's fate is tied to the Ring."
Elrond's eyes flashed with a mad fire as his head snapped up. "Frodo's fate has always been with the Ring, even before it passed to his uncle. What has happened is what we feared always would happen. Our task now is to preserve the peace of this land and its peoples. What measures we will have to take to that end are unknown to me- but I have seen the shadows rising in the East. The dark is not in the times to come. It is upon us."