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DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS
Chapter Seven: Shadows
It was very cold, as if autumn had already turned to winter. . .and he was walking along the bank of the Brandywine. All was calm, the water lapping gently with the hint of wind. . .but instead of turning to go up the hill to Brandy Hall, as always, he found himself continuing toward the Old Forest. Somehow he knew of its dangers, and yet he continued as casually as if he were on his way to a tea-party or picnic. . . .
As he entered the forest, gradually venturing deeper, the sun began to set, setting the sky aflame in vivid hues of gold and scarlet, almost the colour of fresh blood.
He could not understand why, but he had the strangest sense of. . .of being followed, or watched. . . . A dark shadow suddenly swept past him, chilling him to the marrow. . .and then another. . .and another. . .until they surrounded him. . . .
"There now, Frodo-lad – it's all right! You're safe! Easy now – "
Frodo sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. . .and immediately regretted the reaction as he swayed. But Bilbo was by the bed, promptly catching the tweenager and easing him gingerly back down to rest against the pillows, tucking him in carefully. Despite the warmth of the room, Frodo still shivered, He blinked in confusion.
A dream. . .it must have been been a. . .a nightmare of some sort. . . .
"Just a bad dream. . .but that's all gone now," reassured Bilbo gently, wiping his charge's face with a damp cloth before raising his head just a little, holding a cupful of warm ginger tea to his lips. "Nothing to be frightened about. . .you're safe and sound in your own bed."
Frodo sighed, still aching all over, his heart pounding as if he were still caught in the forest. He drank carefully, still tasting the tea in tiny sips. . .but the sick feeling seemed to be subsiding, leaving him feeling more thirsty than nauseated. Finishing the small amount of tea, he allowed Bilbo to lay his head back against the pillows, smoothing his covers.
"Is there anything else I can get for you, my boy?"
His throat hurt from dryness despite the tea. "Please. . .I'd like a drink of water."
Bilbo smiled, looking more than a bit pleased. "Of course, of course. . .half a moment and you shall have it!" He turned to the bedside table, and Frodo watched him open a decanter, pouring crystal-clear water into a small glass. Bending over the bed, he held it to Frodo's lips, again raising the boy's head just a bit. "There now. . .slow sips. . .nice and cool. . . ."
Oh, it WAS. . .Frodo had to forcibly remind himself to keep from gulping it down; he was so very thirsty, and the water tasted absolutely delicious: fresh and clean, soothing against his throat. Bilbo laughed good-naturedly at his eagerness.
"There now, Frodo, easy, lad! I promise there's plenty more, but you must take it slowly. . .all you want, only not too much at once!" Frodo smiled a little, waiting while Bilbo refilled the glass and offered him a little more. "There's a good lad. . . . You're getting better, much better, you know. . .it's been over a day without you being sick at your stomach. . . . And Gandalf thinks the fever will come down soon. Do you think you might feel up to trying a few spoonfuls of broth tomorrow?"
Frodo nodded weakly, relieved by this information: the fever continued to make him absolutely miserable, and while he was still much too sick not to enjoy the comfort of staying tucked into a warm bed, he was weary of the uncomfortable shifts between cold and hot that came with chills and high temperature. More times than he could remember, he'd tossed uneasily, one moment clinging to the quilts, the next shoving them away in an effort to get comfortable.
Setting the glass aside, Bilbo retrieved a pair of hot-water bottles from the hearthside and began replacing the rapidly cooling ones with these, starting with the one tucked at Frodo's feet. Shivering a little as the blankets were lifted even slightly, Frodo suddenly blinked: there was a light tap at the door, followed by the appearance of Gandalf, who stooped and entered, smiling warmly.
"Well, well, look who's awake!"
Frodo smiled, nodding a little, adjusting position as Bilbo tucked a fresh hot-water bottle in against his stomach, the pleasant warmth seeming to ease the remaining ache. He was delighted to see Gandalf pull up a chair, taking something from his pocket.
"Now then, Frodo. . .I'd thought of saving this to do for a birthday of yours some time or another, but it seems the right time." He held out an autumn leaf the size of Frodo's palm, bright gold. Then suddenly – poof! – it lit up, as if there were a light behind it, illuminating the slender veins of the leaf anew. Yet no flame was visible.
At once Frodo gasped, breaking into a broad smile. "How did you do that?"
The old wizard grinned, setting the leaf on its stem upon the bedside table, carefully clearing space for it. "Just a simple little trick, my dear boy, that's all! That will burn through the night, until it is fully morning."
Frodo smiled, watching the leaf with delight, allowing Bilbo to finish settling him back in, feeling his forehead.
"There's my boy. .do you think you can sleep again, Frodo, at least for a while?"
"Maybe." In truth, the glow of the leaf seemed to have a tranquil effect, and Frodo felt himself already growing drowsy once more. "Bilbo. . .would you mind singing that song for me. . .please?"
"The man in the moon?"
"No. . . ." The tweenager yawned, reaching sleepily for his uncle's hand to hold. "The one about. . .Perry-the-Winkle. . .I like that one too. . . ."
"Then Perry-the-Winkle it is, then." Bilbo turned to wink at the wizard, taking Frodo's small hand gently between his own and beginning to sing quietly, a jaunty little tune at that:
"The Lonely Troll he sat on a stone
and sang a mournful lay:
'O why, O why must I live on my own
in the hills of Faraway?
My folk are gone beyond recall
and take no thought of me;
alone I'm left, the last of all
from Weathertop to the Sea'.
'I steal no gold, I drink no beer,
I eat no kind of meat;
but People slam their doors in fear,
whenever they hear my feet.
O how I wish that they were neat,
and my hands were not so rough!
Yet my heart is soft, my smile is sweet,
and my cooking good enough.'
'Come, come!' he thought, 'this will not do!
I must go and find a friend;
a-walking soft I'll wander through
the Shire from end to end'.
Down he went, and he walked all night
with his feet in boots of fur;
to Delving he came in the morning light,
when folk were just astir.
Frodo smiled weakly, snuggling into a small bundle, his blue eyes fluttering closed while he listened. Silently Gandalf cast Bilbo a curious look: at the elder hobbit's nod, the wizard began dimming the room, putting out the lights save for the one near Frodo's bed. . .and, of course, the leaf-light.
"He looked around, and who did he meet
but old Mrs. Bunce and all
with umbrella and basket walking the street;
and he smiled and stopped to call:
'Good morning, ma'am! Good day to you!
I hope I find you well?'
But she dropped umbrella and basket too,
and yelled a frightful yell.
Old Pott the Mayor was strolling near;
when he heard that awful sound,
he turned all purple and pink with fear,
and dived down underground.
The Lonely Troll was hurt and sad:
'Don't go!' he gently said,
but old Mrs. Bunce ran home like mad
and hid beneath her bed.
By this time, Frodo had already fallen fast asleep, resting quietly in his nest of covers, with Bilbo's hands cradling his own.