CHAPTER 6
As he lay there, body and mind relaxed, Frodo found himself thinking about the journey ahead and his reasons for making it. Why had he volunteered?
There was the Shire, of course. How could he let his home be destroyed? Then there was the fact that the ring had come to him and he felt he had no right to pass such a horrible responsibility on to another. It was sickening to admit, however, that it was probably the fear of being parted from the ring that had finally made him volunteer to take it to Mordor. Even to think of someone taking it from him made his heart labour. Fear made a part of him want to give it away to anyone who would lift this burden from him and that same emotion made him want to scream at the thought of losing something that had become so enmeshed in his soul. Frodo suspected that if it were wrested from him its roots would rip a part of his heart away with it. With such a hold over him this early in his ownership, would he be able to give it up at the end? And yet, dear Bilbo had kept it all those years before its call began to affect him. Perhaps it was not ready to move on, and when it was it decided that it needed someone else to take it where it wanted to go; someone ready for adventure. Frodo wished that this adventure was happening to anyone but himself. But, on the other hand, he could not place such a burden on anyone else. He felt trapped. Had that been one of the triggers for his illness? Elrond said that there could have been many.
Frodo let his thoughts flow through him and acknowledged each, as he had been taught. Had he been trapped? He knew that Elrond and Gandalf were often closeted together in Elrond's study. Had they manipulated him, just a little? They could have relieved him of the ring as he hung between life and death, during those first days in Elrond's house. He need not have been involved in the Council at all. But the bickering between the other races had left only one logical choice for the Ringbearer and Frodo could not believe that such a thought had not occurred to two such learned people. Hobbits had never been involved in the squabbles of the other races and had no use for power. Perhaps it was the fact that they did not seek power that made it more difficult for the ring to sway them? It could not imagine a being that did not want to be, all powerful. Frodo was, therefore, a good choice; not only because the ring would take longer to sway him but because the other races did not see him as a threat.
Frodo remembered Gandalf and Elrond exchanging a glance when they heard him speak up, "I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way." Gandalf's eyes held a challenge that almost said, "I told you so" and Elrond's held one of hope and a little surprise. When the Lord of Imladris had looked at the hobbit, Frodo felt that he was looking deep into his heart and knew every thing held there, good and bad. Then Elrond had gone on to say that he thought the task had been appointed to Frodo and that this was the hour of the Shire-folk. Appointed by whom? Frodo wondered. Perhaps he would ask Elrond some day, or Gandalf.
He could hear Sam, moving about the room. Elrond's hand touched his shoulder. "Let me help you up. Do not try to move too quickly." Opening his eyes, he allowed the elf to roll him on to his side and then sit up. Frodo found that he had lost track of time and that the room had grown dark; the winter night had drawn in silently around them. Sam was folding back the covers on his master's bed. He would be going with Frodo soon, on that terrible journey to Mordor. Still, Frodo had to acknowledge, he could not bear to go alone. Was this the work of the ring or of his own mind? He could hardly tell anymore. Sam shook out his master's nightshirt. "Come on, now, Mr Frodo. It's late and you should be in your bed." Elrond helped him stand, with a hand beneath his elbow. "Thank you, Sam. I am sleepy." The healer looked down at him appraisingly and Frodo felt his keen glance probing deep inside his mind again, as he had at the Council. "I believe you will sleep more soundly now, Frodo. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Master Elrond." The elf collected his mantle from a nearby chair and left, pulling the door closed quietly behind him.
Frodo began to take off the rest of his clothes, laying them across the bed. The bed was huge. Too big for him; but then most things, nowadays, felt too big for him. It was a fact that could not be changed, so it must be accepted. Council could be given but the decision to take that council was his and his alone. He would use all the strength within him to succeed in the task before him or he would die in the attempt but no-one could take that burden for him.
He was the Ringbearer.
