Chapter Ten: What are These Tears upon your Face?

Four days had passed since that night at Weathertop. My eyes were itchy, dry, and swollen from crying so much. I must have looked like a mess. My hair was tangled and knotted. My face was streaked with dirt and tears, and my clothes were all torn and wrinkled from thrashing about in my sleep. I honestly didn't care though; I was too terrified for Frodo's sake.

Almost every night, after I cried myself to sleep, I dreamt of Frodo being stabbed, and the eye. Sometimes it was Frodo being stabbed over and over again by the wraith until there was no life left in him. Then I heard a hideous yell of torture from a man.

During the day, I stumbled along, blindly, lost in my fears. I tripped over a tree root, and met the sharp twigs on the ground, weak with grief.

Sam helped me to my feet, and I avoided his eyes. "He's going to be alright, Larkspur." he stated.

"How do you know, Sam?" I snapped, and my voice became shrill. "How do you know he's not dying as we speak? How do you know he's not already a wraith?"

Sam didn't answer. He walked away and stared down at me in pity, like I was a helpless creature.

That night, I dreamed of Weathertop, again. I watched in horror as Frodo's eyes clouded over and turned pale-blue like ice. He lashed out like something was controlling him from the inside, and he grabbed my throat. He screeched in a bloodcurdling voice as he choked me to death, "MY PRECIOUSSSS!" That's when I was shaken awake, sweating and quivering with fear.

My eyes shot open wide in fear for I did not know who had awakened me, but my eyes became accustomed to the darkness that surrounded the forest, and I saw Pippin standing over me. His eyes were filled with concern.

I burst into tears and cried into Pippin's shoulder, shaking. "Oh, Pippin," I sniffed.

Pippin patted my back and shushed me. "Larky, my dear, it kills me to see you this way. You cry all the time and scream out our names in the night, especially Frodo's. It's like you're being murdered. What is it, Larky?" he coaxed. "What is torturing your strong mind?"

I drew in a shaky breath and sighed, "What if he doesn't make it, Pippin? What then? I dream he becomes ensnared in Sauron's trap, every night. He turns against us." My head drooped and I cried into Pippin's shoulder, again. "He turns against me." I sobbed.

Pippin shushed me again, and tilted my head up so I staring into two green truths with no hidden lies. "I know, Larky, but you have forgotten that there is still hope," he confirmed. "Look up. Do you see the stars? They shine bright in the darkest of times. There is proof that there is still hope for Frodo. He is strong."

The stars above Pippin and I winked like a desolate candle flames in a lightless room. I soon fell asleep with Pippin by my side. I dreamed of a million stars. There were so many that they lit up an entire darkened planet.

Five days had mingled by since Weathertop when we made it to Rivendell at night-fall. Lord Elrond greeted us there. As soon as he looked down upon my anxious face he said, "Arwen has told me that a great deal of pain has come from you, little one. What is your name?"

"Larkspur. Larkspur Brandybuck," I replied. "Where is Frodo? Is he alive? Is he alright?!" I trailed off when Elrond held his hand up for silence.

"He is fine, Larkspur, but he is still asleep and hasn't woken since Weathertop. You may go and see him, if you wish."

A layer of weight and dread was lifted off of my shoulders. For the millionth time in a week, I cried, again. They were tears of joy this time, though.

I practically skipped up the stairs to Frodo's quarters. I felt weightless. Frodo was alive!

I frolicked to the green door, and eased it open. The room was bright with the dying sunlight, and it had a splendid view of the greenery of Rivendell from its huge windows. In the far corner of the room, there was a small bed with white sheets. On the bed lay a very young looking lad with his eyes resting peacefully.

I rushed over in a flash to the bedside and grasped Frodo's hand. It was warm. Frodo's cheeks had color in them, and his long eyelashes were resting gently on his cheekbones. The tiniest of smiles was placed on his lips. His dark, curly hair was again soft and shiny, and he was clothed in white garments. The Ring was now on a chain around his neck.

I stroked his hair and touched his fair face. He was real. I was overcome with happiness and relief. I laughed. "I can't believe it!"

It was still some time before Frodo actually woke from his deep slumber, though. Each night, I visited him while he was sleeping. I spoke to him, stroked his hair, sung to him, and held his hand. I didn't believe he was real. Weathertop seemed just like one of my horrible dreams now.

One night, I was singing to him my sister's mysterious song when he shifted and stirred. He sighed and stretched in his wake. My breath caught in my throat. Frodo's eyes slowly blinked open. They were deep sea-blue once more.

His eyes glanced around the room once, and then met mine. They were confused at first, but then they softened into a glow of relief and joy. "Larkspur!" he sighed as I threw my arms around him. Tears sprung up at the corners of my eyes like pricking pins, out of relief.

"Oh, Frodo, my dear," I said as I hugged his warm body to mine.

He released me for a moment and took my face in his soft hands, studying my weathered appearance.

He gazed at my tears with worry and confusion. "What are these tears upon your face, Larkspur? Why do you appear much older to me than when I last saw you?"

I sniffed and tears fell from my green eyes more vigorously. "Because I thought I had lost you." I said. My face fell.

Frodo's gentle, tender fingers wiped away my warm tears of sorrow. Hurt shone in his eyes. He tilted my chin up to see my eyes. "I have not forgotten what you have done, Larks. If you hadn't of dove into that wraith, I wouldn't be speaking to you now."

I began to weep, again at the thought of Frodo dying, but he shushed me and pressed a finger to my lips. I stopped immediately. Promise and truth assured me in his innocent, blue pools.

"Ah, I only said 'I would not be speaking with you'. I would still be here, though, Larks." he explained. He embraced me again. "I shall not really leave you, darling," he promised me into my curls.

At that moment, all the other hobbits came bursting through the door, stumbling over each other. Gandalf appeared in the doorway, behind them.

"Gandalf!" Frodo and I exclaimed simultaneously.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam rushed to the bedside and embraced him. "You've worried us sick, you know that?"

Frodo giggled as he hugged Merry and Pippin. "Well, I'm fine now, Sam." he said. He had no idea what we had been through. How could he, though? He'd been on the verge of something far worse than us. It was unimaginable.

I shook away my thoughts, not wanting to ruin this happy moment and said, "And that's what matters now. We're all safe now, guys," I trailed off and turned to Gandalf who was observing the scene from by the window sill, smoking his pipe. My face twisted into a sad, half-smile, "But not for long, I'm afraid. Right, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us in Bree?"

He paused, thoughtfully, and then said, "I was delayed."

Frodo opened his mouth in protest, but Gandalf interrupted, "All in good time, Frodo. Right now you are to go to see Lord Elrond with me, you too, Larkspur. We have much more pressing matters to discuss."