CHAPTER 1

"Oh, Sam.  Please stop fussing.  I'm alright."  The younger hobbit had been tucking a rug around Frodo's ankles and he pulled back, as though stung.  It was plain that his master was feeling a bit cranky.  The two days since he had awakened, had been more than a little busy and Sam was well aware that Frodo's body and mind were rebelling.  Frodo knew, and so did Sam, that the Ringbearer was not alright and Frodo felt guilty when he saw the reaction his harsh words had produced.  Brown eyes looked down at him, filled with reproach, and he capitulated.  "I'm sorry.  Ignore me.  I'm a bit crotchety this evening."  He tried a smile and, as he had hoped they would, the brown eyes brightened.  "It's alright, Mr Frodo.  That Lord Elrond should have known better; setting up a banquet on your first night out of bed, and then that long meeting today.  You sit back and rest a bit and I'll see about getting you a bite to eat."  Closing his eyes, Frodo allowed himself to sink back into the cushions piled behind him in the chair; his heals resting comfortably on the padded footstool.   

Sam's soft footpads crossed the wooden floor and Frodo heard the click of the door closing behind him.  Sometimes people in Hobbiton called Sam ungainly and clumsy, because he was only a gardener.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  His nimble fingers could string up a row of beans without bruising a single stem and just as easily turn to bake a cake as light as air.  He could step through a flower bed without leaving a mark and cross a room with hardly a sound.  His presence was comfortable and unobtrusive and that was what his master needed now.  Frodo gave in to the drowsy feel of the firelight on his eyelids and tried to let his mind still, feeling that he had just succeeded when he heard a light tap and the door open again.  Sam could surely not be returning that quickly? And Sam would not knock, knowing that he was resting. 

There was no sound of footsteps but he caught the faint rustle of heavy fabric and knew that it could not be Sam.  Opening weary eyes, Frodo found the Lord of Imladris standing before him.  Elrond was still wearing the formal robes he had worn at the Council but he had discarded the mithril filet and his heavy brocade over mantle was unfastened.  Frodo flinched under the healer's scrutiny and tried to sit up straighter, forcing a bright smile.  "My Lord Elrond.  What brings you here?"  His voice sounded brittle and high, even in Frodo's ears.  The elf's raised eyebrow was all he needed to let him know that the healer was not fooled so he sank back again, in resignation.  Lord Elrond's face softened and he knelt at his patient's side, touching fingers to a wrist and placing a cool hand on Frodo's forehead.  "My apologies, Master Frodo.  You were not really well enough to attend the Council today, but others had been waiting long for answers and I thought you would be able to weather the storm."  His lips twitched in a fleeting smile.  "I did not expect you to place yourself at the centre of that storm again."  He withdrew his hands, apparently content with what he found and gathered his robe to rise.  Frodo sighed.  "I, too, had not expected to place myself at the centre again, as you put it.  I was looking forward to returning to my beloved Shire and living out the rest of my days in blissful uneventfulness.  I find I've had quite enough stormy weather of late."   

The Master of Rivendell stood, gracefully avoiding tripping over his voluminous mantle in the way of one well used to such formal encumbrances.  "Have you eaten yet?"  It was spoken as a question but Frodo suspected that the answer was already known.  "Sam has gone to fetch something although, truthfully, I don't feel very hungry."  Elrond frowned.  It was an expression that, Frodo thought, sat too well on his face.  "Master Samwise will find all arranged when he reaches the kitchens.  Know that I shall be advised of the contents of your tray when it leaves this room and I expect to receive a very short list, young sir."  Unable to withstand the intense stare, Frodo dropped his eyes to his hands, where they rested in his lap but he glanced up in surprise when he heard laughter in Elrond's voice.  "You will have to build up your strength if you are to go marching half way across Middle Earth.  I will lose my reputation as a healer if you keel over in a faint before you reach the boarders of Imladris."  In spite of the seriousness of the task before Frodo, the image of himself falling down in a dead faint like the heroin in some dreadful ballad, made him laugh.  Apparently, Master Elrond did have a sense of humour.  Perhaps the frown was not as permanent as Frodo had imagined.  Elves were difficult to understand and Elrond, more so than most.  It was then that Sam returned with a large covered tray and the Lord of Imladris hurried to provide a table by the chair upon which to set it.  Frodo groaned, inwardly, as he saw the amount of food laid out.  Elrond turned to Sam, his face stern once more.  "You are charged, Samwise, with ensuring that your master eats a large proportion of the food on that tray.  And be warned that I will know if any of it ends up in your belly instead."  Sam quailed, visibly.  Frodo doubted whether Elrond would indeed know, but Sam was awed enough by this elf lord to be convinced and Frodo sighed as he realised there would now be no help from that quarter with the emptying of the tray.  He did have to choke back a giggle, however, when the mighty elf lord glanced back at him and winked.  "See that he stays out of any draughts, Master Gamgee.  I do not want to have to nurse him through a chill.  Good day, Master Ringbearer."  With that he spun lightly on his heal and swept from the room, the heavy copper brown mantle billowing out behind him.

Sam let out his breath with a loud, "Phew" as he dropped onto the edge of the footstool.  "I hope I don't never have to cross him.  I thought I was going to shrivel up to nothing when he fixed me with them eyes."  Frodo laughed in sympathy, "I know what you mean, Sam.  I shrank a bit myself."  Sam cocked his head on one side for a moment, considering, "He's like a spring day, isn't he; rain, thunder and sunshine all rolled up together."  They both laughed.

oooOOOooo

Frodo sat up with a start, awakened by the pounding of his own heartbeat and terrified that it would burst through the confining bars of his ribs at any moment.  The sheets tangled around him were soaked with perspiration and he was trembling, uncontrollably.  In rising panic he could not recognise his surroundings.  Moonlight filtered through broad windows to reveal a large high room, dressed with sinuously carved furniture and thick rugs.  This was definitely not Bag End.  Rivendell.  Frodo clutched gratefully at the knowledge that dropped into his confused mind.  He had been ill and this was his room in the elven refuge of Imladris.

Throwing back sodden covers, he sat on the edge of the bed, unable to escape the feeling of being pursued by something too dreadful to bring to memory.  He felt faint and yet the urge to move was irresistible and he rose on shaking legs, to scan the room again.  There was nothing untoward.  The door was firmly closed, as Sam had left it.  The only movement in the quiet chamber was the gentle billow of brocade curtains in the breeze from the partially opened windows.  Desperate to feel cool air on his over heated body and finding his breath coming in short gasps, he pulled the drapes further back.  Beyond the window was a balcony and beyond that, the empty darkness of a long drop to the valley floor below.  The roar of the river Bruinnen below was almost drowned out by the rush of blood pulsing in his ears.