Chapter 3

"Come on, cousin. You're huffing like an old gaffer going up a hill. I was right. You sit in that study far too long. It's time you got some exercise."

Frodo stopped, placing his hands on his knees as he took in a deep breath. "It's alright for you, longshanks. Be kind to your poor elderly cousin." He wheedled.

"Elderly? Frodo Baggins, you're not that old. To listen to you anyone would think you were closer to eighty than fifty." Merry stood facing him now, hands on hips.

He studied his cousin. No, Frodo's body did not look eighty. He was still trim . . . if anything he was too trim. There were no lines in his face, although he had lost the translucent skin of his earlier days. There were no roses in his cheeks, even now, walking on a steep woodland path on a mild spring day. No grey hairs peppered the glossy, burnt chestnut hair and his eyes were as clear as a summer day.

The eyes. That was where the change was wrought. They were still the deepest of blue but they had lost their sparkle. There was an almost elven quality to them. A look of someone who had seen and done more in their life than outward appearance would suggest. It was that which made Merry walk back to Frodo and lead him aside to sit upon a small group of rocks by the path.

Frodo made no noise of protest and when they were settled he was silent for a moment. He turned to look up at his cousin and Merry sensed more. Had Frodo somehow gained some of the elven gift for searching people's souls? Frodo took another deep breath, turning away to stare at the trees, and Merry relaxed.

"I feel old, Merry . . . old and weary. The journey to Mordor took all my strength and I don't seem to be able to rebuild it. I feel like an old potato sack. Fill me too much and I will rip apart."

Merry's heart burned with the injustice of it and he put an arm about his cousin's shoulders, moving closer. Frodo laid his head against his chest and closed his eyes, his voice a whisper now.

"Each day grows harder and the nights are interminable. When I close my eyes all I can see is ash heaps and flame. And there are times . . . times when . . . when I still feel the pain of that journey. And I dread those days more than anything else."

Merry rubbed his hand up and down Frodo's arm. "And one of those days is almost here, isn't it?" He felt Frodo stiffen and tilt his face up.

"How did you know?"

"Frodo, love, you should know by now that you are useless at hiding things from your friends. And Sam is so concerned about you that he is useless at hiding things from Pip and me. I know about your illness last October and March."

Frodo sighed and settled back against his shoulder. "I should have known that I could not keep it a secret. But perhaps it will not happen this thirteenth of March. Perhaps it will get better with time."

Merry looked down upon the crown of Frodo's dark curls. "And if it doesn't? What will you do then?"

Frodo brought up his hand and fished out from within his shirt a small, clear crystal gem on a fine chain. "The Lady . . . Queen Arwen gave me this. It eases the darkness a little. And I have one other option if I cannot bear it any longer."

Merry's heart stumbled and he turned his gaze to the surrounding trees, trying to contain tears. One other option? Would Frodo take that step? Surely not. Merry forced his mind onto another path. No. Frodo would not take that option. Frodo's voice slipped between the loud beating of his heart.

"I have been offered Arwen Undomiel's place upon a ship to the West. There, perhaps, my hurts will be healed or at least eased."

No. Frodo would not hurt his friends. How could he have thought that of him? Merry's heart resumed its slow steady measure of time. And yet the tears continued to build. Frodo had been there all of Merry's life. When they were younger Frodo had shown him how to climb the orchard wall. And when they were older he had written of the goings on in Hobbiton with an insight and humour that forced Merry to open his letters in private for fear of anyone asking what he was laughing at. Life without Frodo around somewhere was unthinkable. He cleared his throat. "Have you decided whether or not to go?"

He felt Frodo's head shake slowly. "No. I was hoping . . . hoping that things would get better. I don't want to leave the Shire. It's my home. And I don't want to leave my family and friends. I wanted to come back and live in peace." There was a pause and Merry glanced down to see Frodo finger the gem. "But peace grows more difficult to find with each passing day. I have been waiting for a sign . . . perhaps the abating of these illnesses. Some sign that my peace will return."

Merry squeezed Frodo's arm. "Perhaps they will. Perhaps with each anniversary the pain will grow less." Even as he said it, he could feel hear the disbelief in his voice as a cold chill ran up his own arm. If the illness did grow worse Merry would truly be without Frodo.

Frodo took a deep breath and pulled away, tucking the gem back into his shirt. "Yes. But I can feel it building. I will be ill on the thirteenth . . . whether seriously or not. And I don't want to put that burden upon Sam or Rosie. This should be a happy time for them." He sighed. "I considered going on a little trip so that I would not be at home on the thirteenth, but I don't seem to have the energy."

He turned to look at his younger cousin, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Will you help me, Merry. It is a lot to ask of you I know, but will you help me to hide this illness from them when it comes?"

"Frodo. I've already told you that you can hide nothing from Sam. What makes you think you can hide this . . . even with my help?"

Laying his hand upon Merry's wrist, Frodo pleaded. "Please, Merry. Sam and Rosie will be busy with preparations. If they do not see me they will think nothing amiss. I often spend all day in my study, sometimes working on into the night. We could say that you were helping me write down your part of the story."

For a moment, Merry was reminded of a bright and giggling older cousin tempting him to climb over the orchard wall. But there was no twinkle of mischief in Frodo's eyes, only desperation. And still Merry found he could not refuse him, any more than he could refuse the "Terror of Brandy Hall".

"Alright Frodo. I'll help you in this deception as much as I can. But I still doubt we'll slip anything past Sam."

Frodo smiled in relief. "Thank you, Merry. With your help we may yet."

00000

The first fingers of dawn slipped into the study and Merry watched Frodo's brow wrinkle in annoyance as light prized at his eyelids.

Merry rubbed his thumb over the back of his cousin's lax hand and Frodo's fingers tightened a little around his. Finally, the blue eyes opened and Frodo turned his head towards his helper. Dark brows drew together and pale lips clenched into a resolute line before Frodo took a deep breath.

"It was bad, wasn't it?"

Fighting to hold back a tear, Merry nodded. "Very bad."

Frodo's hand went to the jewel at his neck and he turned his face away from the rising sun. Merry knew for certain then. Frodo would be leaving them. But at least this way Frodo would be around somewhere, even though there would be no more letters. And Merry could cope with that, if it meant that Frodo would find some peace. This illness was beyond the help of even the High King.

END