Here it comes, chapter 6!

Comments are always welcome. Questions too, if you have some.

Chapter 6: The Nightmare

I woke up in the middle of the night, shivering a bit. The wind was blowing fiercely and I thought that it was what had woken me.

A moan made me straighten and I turned to look at Frodo. He looked like he was having a nightmare; tossing, shivering, moaning and murmuring brokenly.

"Frodo." I shook him gently. "Frodo, wake up. It is only a nightmare." I shook him a bit less nicely but still, he would not wake up. "Frodo!" I was becoming afraid. What was wrong with him?

A loud whimper escaped him and he began to pant, clutching his shoulder in an almost iron grip. I tried to loosen his grip but he was lost in his nightmare. "Leave me alone!" he cried.

He did not know it was me but still, it hurt. I wanted to help him, but how? My gaze wandered toward Weathertop. We would be protected from the wind… but Frodo did not want to go there.

"He doesn't recognize me any longer! How would he know where we are, whether it is here or between the ruins?"

Steeling my mind to the fact that I was doing the best thing, I whistled for Glossatâl. The pony arrived right away, neighing softly.

"I need help, Glossatâl. Frodo is… sick. He will not wake up. We must bring him to Weathertop." I told her, hoping that she would obey me this time.

When she made no movement of turning away, I caressed her muzzle and made a short job of packing the things. I then tried to haul Frodo up, so that I could install him on the pony's back. He cried out as if burned and tried to fight me, forcing me to rest on both feet to hold him.

I was the one who cried out when my ankle twisted a bit. Still, the pain fell to the back of my mind when Frodo began to beg to leave him alone, to cry that it hurt. My heart was breaking in tiny pieces with each sentence and tears began to roll down my cheeks.

I finally managed to install him – not very comfortably, but we were not far – on Glossatâl's back. Grabbing her reins and my walking stick, I guided her toward Weathertop. The wind was whistling in my ears but no rain fell. I was grateful for that.

"Please! Hurts!"

I clenched my teeth while hot tears rolled down. It was not only a nightmare. Frodo was fairly sick. And I was not sure of what to do…

The ruins did shield us from the wind and I found a nice spot where we would also be protected from rain. As fast as I had packed the things, I unpacked them before gently laying Frodo on his bedroll. He was calmer, still whimpering from time to time, still clutching his shoulder.

I gently caressed his forehead, like my mother did when I was younger. It was burning hot! How had he fallen sick? How had I not noticed?

"Oh, Frodo… I am sorry." I murmured.

What kind of plant could diminish fever? My father had showed me some useful plants to have or know how to use when on travel. The first name that came to my mind was Gravel Root. The tea made from the leaves was effective to break a high fever. But I didn't think I could find some around here. It grew in moist woods and meadows.

Downy Wood Mint! I had gathered some in late June, when the flowers were in full bloom and the leaves were young and fresh. Like my father had showed me, I had dried them and carefully packed them in my bag for later. Now, I could use them to prepare a medicinal tea which would reduce Frodo's fever!

Thanking my father for his thoughtful teaching, I lit up a small fire and putted water to boil. I had just dropped the dried leaves into the boiling water when Frodo moaned again and began to shiver violently.

I was to his side so fast that I wondered momentarily if I was made of wind.

"Hush Frodo, it's going to be alright. I'm preparing a nice tea to reduce your fever. You'll feel a lot better soon, I promise." I said. I didn't even know if he could hear me.

"Why me?" he whimpered. "I should have stayed in the Shire…" he murmured brokenly, lost in his nightmare… or remembrances, now that I thought of it. The words he kept saying were probably related to his adventure of last year.

"It's alright, it's alright…" I gently petted his hair, trying to reassure him.

"Leave me alone!" he cried and I jumped almost a foot away.

Hot tears began to roll down my cheeks – again – and I returned to the tea. Glossatâl looked from Frodo to me and neighed softly, like if she was asking a question.

"He's sick… He does not recognize me and thinks I will hurt him…" I whispered, my voice shaking while I fought to hold back tears. I poured tea in a cup and returned to Frodo's side. "Frodo, wake up please." I whispered, even if I knew that he wouldn't. I putted down the cup near me, sat behind him and gently pulled him in a sitting position. This time, he did not fight against me. He only whimpered softly and whispered something I didn't understand.

"Drink, Frodo…" I whispered soothingly, gently pressing the cup against his lower lip. His lips parted slightly and he sipped a small mouthful of tea, then another. "Good. You'll feel better soon." It took a bit of time and coaxing but Frodo drank the content of the cup. I putted the cup down but did not made Frodo lie down immediately.

Gently, I caressed his head. His shivering had calmed down and he was now sleeping peacefully, not reacting to my touch. His dark curls were tickling my nose; his back was warm against my chest. I felt great where I was and had no desire of moving.

Wait, what? I couldn't do that. It was not right. Because… because he was sick and I had to take care of him. Yet, while the greater part of me said that, a small part of me longed to hold Frodo tight and never let him go. But I lied him down on his sleeping roll again and hastily curled on mine.

What was wrong with me?

I was cold when I woke up. There was no fire, only dying embers glowing faintly. In the east, the sun began to bask the cloudless sky with orange and pink lights. A damp strand of copper coloured-hair fell in my face and I straightened, pushing it away from my eyes.

My eyes fell on Frodo, who was shivering again, and I crouched next to him, caressing his still hot forehead. I frowned. Either his fever was higher than I thought or more hours that I had counted had passed.

Some time after, the fire was merrily cracking and I had managed to give a new cup of warm tea to Frodo. He had fallen asleep as soon as he had drunk the tea but he had fought with all his might against me.

I was now nursing a sore shoulder, a darkening bruise on my right cheek, a lightly burned hand, my swollen ankle – walking on it last night had almost broke it again – and a shaken heart. Frodo had cursed, kicked, cried, begged, trashed, and I had taken each of it with pain. I knew they were not directed toward my person but… I was the one taking them anyway.

That's when I broke down. I began to weep silently. I was alone with a very sick Hobbit, somewhere between the Elven realm of Rivendell and the village of Bree. I had a broken ankle that still hurt fiercely when used; I could not walk on it. Glossatâl surely couldn't bear both Frodo and me on her back; we were stuck here until Frodo was better. But when would he?

I felt useless. Oh! How I wished that Father was here! He would know what to do. He would tell me what to do.

"Who are you?" I asked myself. "A little Hobbit girl constantly in need of protection and guidance or an adult Hobbit able to take her own decisions?" The answer was easy. I was an adult now. I was not the age to weep anymore when things didn't work like I wanted them to.

"We will stay here one more day." I said out loud. "Then, broken ankle or not, we will go to Rivendell."

Digging into Frodo's bag, I pulled out the map of Middle Earth and began to study it. From where we were, I think we still were about a week away from Rivendell. I traced the different routes we could take with the tip of my finger, worrying my lower lip between my teeth.

I don't know how long I sat with the map – old Bilbo Baggins' map, his name was written in a corner – on my lap but I was taken back to the present by my rumbling stomach, reminding me that I had forgotten lunch-time.

"It's time for lunch, I think…"

I almost tore the map in two at the sound of Frodo's raspy voice. I turned around, mouth open – like a fish out of water, I closed it hastily – and squealed.

"Frodo!" My head swam a bit. "You… I… Sick… You…" I continued to babble monosyllabic words before simply shutting up and rushing to his side. "You're alright…" I whispered, helping him to sit.

He groaned, his head rolling on my shoulder. "Not alright, but better."

I nodded, trying to pull myself together. "You were very sick… I was trying to help you but you didn't recognize me. I'm so happy… You're better… I was so worried…" I was babbling again! "Alylonna Gardner, shut up!"

I hugged him tight. "You should have told me you were sick! Because this was definitely not an experience I wish to relive!" Great, now I was fussing over him. For pity's sake, he was older than me!

Frodo shook his head, his dark ringlets bouncing around. "I'm sorry, Aly. But I did not know I was sick before waking up five minutes ago. I cannot explain why I fell sick."

That's when it hit me. "I think I know." I whispered. I met his sky-coloured eyes, still shining with a bit of fever. I then lowered my gaze to his left shoulder and gently pushed down his sleeve, baring the small bluish scar to the October cool air. "You said it was not totally healed… I fear that whatever stayed in it made you sick… On the day when the Nazgûl struck you with his evil dagger…" My voice was a low murmur and when my eyes met Frodo's again, I saw a deep sadness and a deep sorrow in the blue orbs.

Our faces were mere inches apart; I was lost in those eyes, bluer and blue, shining with a sun of their own. I could breathe his exhalations, smell his perfume. I gently pulled his sleeve back up, accidentally brushing the scar. Frodo cried out in pain, twisting away from my touch and I jumped back, biting my fingers.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I cried out. My fingers burned; my face burned with shame. Frodo clutched his shoulder and breathed deeply a few times before giving me a small smile.

"This is very annoying." he commented. When I did not react, he beckoned me to approach. "Aly. You did not mean it; I'm alright."

"No, you're not." It was not me who was talking; yet the words came out of my mouth. "I hurt you. I hurt you…" I moved back.

Frodo stood and came forward, sinking on his knees before me. He suddenly caught me in a tight hug and I suddenly was myself again, hugging him back. I felt like if we had just passed a test and still had many more to come.

Chapter 7 will be posted as soon as I can. Problem is: School starts soon... *groans*

For those who are curious, here is the site where I found the information on the two plants mentionned in this chapter: www dot altnature dot com / gallery / (Without spaces)

And please, does someone know where I can find a free english/elvish dictionnary on the net?