A.N: Just a quick one-shot I thought of as I was reading Many Meetings from The Fellowship of the Ring. Rating for mentions of blood.
Funny thing though, I'm doing The Fellowship of the Ring for my book report in English class! YES!
Disclaimer: All characters, concepts and locations belong to J.R.R Tolkien, not me. I am merely creator of the plot. I am also not owner of the cover image; the rights go to the creator.
Enjoy!
It was eerily quiet.
At least, it was to Bilbo as he held his unconscious heir's hand. The hand was as cold as ice, and his face looked like un-carved marble. He made no noise, besides the occasional whimper or murmur, and never moved.
It scared Bilbo to death.
The old hobbit's other hand was tightly gripping the armrest of the chair as he desperately searched his nephew's face for some sign of life. It was unsettling; to say the least, that there didn't seem to be any.
It was early evening, with stars just beginning to poke out of the gray clouds. The perfect personification of Bilbo's mood.
When Frodo arrived in Rivendell late last night, unconscious and being carried Asfaloth, Bilbo swore his heart must've stopped.
On that horse, he just looked so…vulnerable. Bilbo was used to seeing his nephew as young, lively and ready to take on whatever the world threw at him. It was then that the former master of Bag End realized that the world was sometimes stronger. And wasn't always kind.
Bilbo wasn't used to, however, the feeling of protectiveness that surfaced within him. After the fear and worry seemed to subside, (though briefly) the strong desire to find the person who did this and rip him or her limb from limb wouldn't go away. In retrospect, it still hadn't left him.
These protective feelings were something Bilbo hadn't felt in a long, long time. When Frodo was living in Bag End with him, the lad did get into scraps and sticky situations from time to time, but never on a regular basis. As the lad grew older, he learned to handle situations much better than when he was young.
Bilbo sighed and looked to the tile floor underneath his feet. His weathered hand clenched Frodo's a little tighter. The guilt rising inside of him was too great.
It was his fault that Frodo was dying. The best hobbit in the Shire, being left behind such a horrible burden! Bilbo was a fool, naïve to the dangers he was leaving his young heir to bear as he stepped out his green door for the final time.
A tear trickled down his aged face before he could stop it. He lifted eyes once more to look at Frodo's motionless form.
"Oh, my Frodo, please, I beg you, please, hold on, stay with us. I don't know what I would do with myself without you in my life."
A fond but weary smile traced his face. "You've done this hobbit some good, my lad. I'm very proud of you."
He sighed deeply. "What I wouldn't give to see your eyes, your smile, one last time…"
Sam sat as still as a statue, holding his master's hand, his expression solemn. He walked in the room earlier to find Bilbo gazing into Frodo's face. It could've been his imagination, but Sam swore he saw tear tracks still glistening on the old hobbit's face.
Truthfully, Sam wouldn't even have left, but Lord Elrond insisted that he got some food and fresh air, and that it would do him some good. Sam's mental response was that the only "good" would be a sign that Frodo was well.
The Gaffer's son traced Frodo's hand with his thumb, searching for veins, reddening of the skin, anything to convince himself that Frodo was still alive. It certainly didn't look it, which was quite certain.
Sam bit his lip. The night was darkening, the House of Elrond was quiet and still. No noises were made, no creatures stirred. The only sound that was heard was Frodo's quiet, and slightly unsteady breathing.
His forest green eyes began to droop, but the young gardener shook his head. I can't leave 'im. Surely Mister Frodo would stay awake for me.
No, Sam was staying put. Someone had to watch over Frodo. No matter how heavy his eyelids felt, or how welcoming sleep seemed to be.
The removal of the blade had to work for him.
It just had to.
Strider walked into Frodo's room in the early morning to a heart-warming sight.
Frodo was still in the same position, but Sam was slumped on the chair, fast asleep, with Frodo's right hand in his own. Those two could never be separated, no matter the stakes, no matter the risk, no matter the well-being of the other.
The ranger sighed and walked over to the young Halfling. He was about to shake his shoulder to wake him up, but stopped and found he didn't have the heart. It was the first time he looked at peace since they had arrived.
The Heir of Isildur turned to the elder of the pair and managed a small frown. He had been scolding himself ever since the incident at Weathertop occurred. If he had been a little quicker with the torches…
Strider shook his head. No, Gandalf had reprimanded him for blaming himself ever since they arrive in Imladris. Still, Strider couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if he had shown up with the torches just a few moments earlier. Frodo wouldn't be here half-dead, and his guardian and friends wouldn't be worrying themselves sick.
As he thought about Frodo and what has happened, Strider had to admit, that Frodo was something quite special. He gave off an air of acceptance, strength, and compassion that was hard to find in this world.
At the inn, he met quite a few interesting people. But Frodo and his band of friends seemed to leave a spot in Strider's heart that wouldn't go away. Their positive outlook on life was rather endearing, and some of their antics managed a small smile across his normally stoic face.
He did notice that Bilbo blamed himself as well, which bothered the heir. Frankly, if he were Bilbo, he would feel the same way, albeit the elderly hobbit's involvement in this situation was indirect. However, Strider still felt that besides the Witch-king, it was his own fault, no matter what Gandalf said.
His head turned towards Sam's as he stirred. The young Gamgee turned on his side, hanging on to Frodo's hand by holding lightly on his master's fingers. Frodo's limp arm drooped as he whimpered slightly and moaned.
Strider frowned a little and turned back to his thoughts, silently hoping that his foster father would remove the shard soon.
As the elf-maid arrived in the room, Strider found that he was rather reluctant to leave.
Merry and Pippin sat side by side, their eyes locked firmly on the silent and still body in front of them. It was late afternoon, a few hours after lunch. Sam was talking to Gandalf in his room, and the whereabouts of Strider and Bilbo were unknown. Elrond was grabbing supplies for the treatment of Frodo's shoulder.
The younger of the duo was in a state of numbness. His knees were drawn to his chest, gazing into Frodo's closed eyes. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. His elder cousin didn't deserve this. For once in his young life, Pippin just didn't know what to say.
The one thing he did know, however, was that he was sticking by Frodo. The strongest of chains or the burliest of men could not keep him away. Frodo was someone he would always follow. And he wasn't' stopping now.
Merry, meanwhile, was in a state of disbelief. The One-Ring was a coveted object among the forces of Mordor, which he knew. He didn't know, however, the great lengths the enemy would go to to get the ring in their hands.
Merry took a shuddering breath and stared at the blanket underneath him. When Frodo left Buckland so many years ago, he firmly asked Bilbo to take care of Frodo. Now, one of the few times Bilbo was not in watch over Frodo, he was nearly killed.
The Brandybuck felt ashamed. If Frodo survived this, he vowed that Frodo would be protected by Merry's watchful eye.
At that point, Elrond silently walked into Frodo's vast bedroom, his finery trailing behind him. Sam followed behind a little less graceful. Pippin's head jerked upwards.
"Are you going to remove the shard?"
Elrond's appearance turned grave. "I will try, Mr. Peregrin."
"That's going to fix him, right?" Pippin pressed.
The half-elf grimly turned to his patient, slowly exhaling before answering. "We shall see."
Merry reached out his hand and rested it on Pippin's arm gently. Sam did the same, his eyes never leaving his master's.
They would stand by Frodo 'till the bitter end.
Not even the forces of Mordor would change that.
A.N: Well, after editing this I can safely say I am now satisfied. Thanks for reading!