CHAPTER 2

Frodo stood by the open window and tried to pull the cool night air into his heaving lungs, fearful of the vast expanses in the darkness beyond the glass and feeling incredibly small, even for a hobbit.  His knees could hardly hold him up and he had to lean against the carved stone of the casement behind him for support, but still he wanted to walk, to run; to just move.   Mind and body careening completely beyond his control now, he cried out in terror as the door to his room was pushed suddenly open and a tall, dark figure entered.  "Master Baggins, are you unwell?"  The voice was strong and clear, tinged with concern.  "Frodo, I sense something is wrong.  Can I help?"  The stranger stepped into the moonlight and the hobbit staggered with relief as he recognised the Lord of Imladris.  He would have fallen, but with a swiftness not born of mortal strength, the elf closed the distance between them and caught the hobbit, gently lowering him to lie on his back on one of the thick rugs.

Kneeling down at his side and leaning forward so that his face was directly above Frodo's, the healer took the Ringbearer's head between long slim hands.  "Look into my face, Frodo.  I need you to listen to my voice and do exactly as I say."  Held captive by Elrond's deep grey eyes, he had little option, although listening was more difficult above the throb of his pulse and the wheezing gasp of his breathing.  The gentle and musical voice continued, seeming to bypass his ears and enter directly into his mind.  "You are safe, here, Frodo.  You are in no danger."  Elrond lifted the hobbits hands and placed one on Frodo's chest and the other on his stomach.  "I want you to concentrate on your breathing, Frodo.  When you breathe, use your stomach, rather than your chest muscles, to draw the air in and out.  Feel the movement with your hands.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"That's good, Master Hobbit.  I need you to draw breath in to a count of seven and out to a count of eleven.  Are you ready?"  Frodo nodded, unable to spare the breath to speak again.   "Take your breath in now.  Two……..three……….good, four....remember to use the tummy muscles….six……..seven.  Now breathe out.  Two……three……four………very good………six……..seven……keep going…..nine……..ten………eleven.   Now, in again…….." 

For a while the only sound in the room was the soft encouragement of the healer and Frodo's breathing.  As the minutes wore on, the hobbit's heartbeat slowed, the faintness and the knots in his stomach, fading as his confusion subsided.  When Elrond finally drew his hands away from the Ringbearer's head his patient's eyes were clear and focused once more.  Slipping a hand beneath Frodo's back and another under his knees, the elf lifted him easily in his arms and set him carefully in a large padded chair by the glowing embers of the fire, tucking a light rug around his patients legs and wrapping another around his shoulders.  "Rest here while I fetch a sleeping draught."  Frodo was too exhausted to argue, although he was not sure he wanted to go back to sleep, in case he was awakened like this again.  Bed had now become a place of dread.

oooOOOooo

Whether as a consequence of the over activity of the previous day or a reaction to the medication Elrond had dosed him with, Frodo could not tell, but his body felt as though it were made of lead the next morning.  It took all his energy, even with Sam's help, to walk to the chair by the fire, where he remained.  Unfortunately, his mind was not as leaden as his body and he found himself going over and over the events of the previous day's Council meeting.  Mainly trying to work out why he had been stupid enough to volunteer to make the journey to destroy the ring.  The warm, polished, circle of golden metal rested smoothly against the hobbit's breast bone, quiescent for the moment.  It had no reason to strive, for a while at least, for it was being taken in the general direction that it wanted to go.  There would be plenty of time for it to subvert the quest to its own ends as the Fellowship travelled.  Frodo had no illusions there for he had already felt its power.  Even within that valley, protected by veils of mighty elven magic, it could work its evil.  Every moment of the Council had been etched on his memory.

A large proportion of the meeting had been spent telling the history of the ring but then had come the discussion of what should be done with it.  It had been then that the ring had made its presence felt most strongly.  Frodo watched it reach out and work its vile enchantment on each of them, cringing as each face turned towards him, drawn to the innocuous looking circle of seductively glowing metal he held before him. 

They had all wanted it, of course.  Elf, dwarf and man began fighting over what was to be done with the ring and who was to do it.  Some were even still arguing that it could be used to defeat Sauron by turning his own magic against him.  They had not felt the subtle way it twisted every simple thought and emotion to its own ends.  It had twisted Frodo's own fear until he had agreed to the inclusion of Pippin and Merry in his journey from the Shire.  Older and supposedly wiser than they, Frodo felt that he could surely have disentangled himself from their scheming, but he had given in because he was afraid.  Perhaps the ring had sensed his fear and decided to supply the hobbit's needs to ensure that he would set out from the relative safety of the Shire. Frodo had wanted the support of their company and had not considered for too long the danger that he was putting them in.  It was some comfort that the ring was obviously not aware of its imminent discovery by the nine.  It was not "all knowing" and in that there was some hope of success in the course the Council eventually decided upon.

Frodo was drawn back to the present by a light rap at the door.  Sam padded quietly across the room to admit Elrond.  The elf was dressed in simple grey but he may as well have worn his formal robes of yesterday.  There was still an air about him that spoke of veiled power.  The Ringbearer sighed, noticing the small bottle in his hand.  More medicine.  Frodo watched as Sam moved to the bedside table to pour a glass of water, bringing it to Elrond, who unstopped the bottle and poured a little of its contents into the glass, swirling it slowly until the water turned green.  Sam offered his master the glass and Frodo decided that he was heartily fed up of being pushed prodded and manipulated.  "No.  Thank you, Sam.  I am well enough."  He felt a little guilty, knowing that it was Elrond to whom he should really be speaking but Frodo could not bring himself to lock eyes with such a mighty lord.  Sam looked from Frodo to Elrond and back again, understandably unhappy about being caught in the middle and Frodo's conscience twinged again. 

"Master Baggins?"  There was an edge to the healer's voice that Frodo would rather had not been there.  Not anger exactly.  Disapproval perhaps?  The hobbit continued to stare, stubbornly, straight ahead.  The long grey velvet robe filling his vision. Elrond would not be ignored, however and he hunkered down before the Ringbearer so that their faces were level.  Frodo knew it was irrational to be angry that everyone was so tall here that they had to keep doing that, but he became angrier, never the less. The features of the Lord of Imladris were set in the expression of one who will brook no nonsense and the hobbit attempted to explain himself more fully.  "Lord Elrond.  Am I to have no control over my life?  I am bequeathed a ring, which turns out to be the most evil creation in Middle Earth, without being consulted on the matter."  As soon as the words left his lips, Frodo realised how dreadful that sounded.  He did not blame Bilbo for that.  Poor Bilbo had known nothing of the dangers involved.  Frodo's anger would not let go, however, and he continued "I am forced to leave my home, putting three of my dearest friends in grave danger, and chased across half of Middle Earth by creatures intent on murder, or worse."  A knot tightened in his stomach and Frodo could feel the colour rising in his face.  "I have been stabbed and poisoned, then manipulated into putting myself and my friend into even more danger by carting this vile thing across the rest of Middle Earth.  Now I am being drugged to the point of being unable to walk across my own…….."  He suddenly ran out of breath and words.  The room seemed to be expanding away from him and everything beyond his body was slowing, while his own heartbeat increased.  A hand touched his shoulder and Elrond's voice floated into his mind.  "Breath out and then in, slowly."   The hobbit struggled to draw breathe.  "Breath out, Frodo."    Frodo complied, as Elrond started to count.   Sam's voice came from a great distance.  "What's the matter with him?"