Chapter Rating: PG-13 (adult situations, pipeweed) Chapter Title: The Vial of Galadriel

March 11th S.R. 1421

Frodo could feel the illness starting up a day earlier than last year. The numbness and cold in his left shoulder. The fire radiating out from his old wound. The way he couldn't keep anything in his stomach. It was happening again. He knew it was only going to get worse as the day progressed into the blackness of night. He had to get away from Bag End. He had to get away from Sam.

Rosie was in the final weeks of her first pregnancy and Sam was driving everyone crazy. He was worried sick with anxiety about Rosie, about the baby, about Frodo, about the midwife, about everything! Sam was getting underfoot and making Rosie and Frodo extremely annoyed at his fretting. Tensions had been running high at Bag End all winter, and Frodo knew his own illness would only make Sam's behavior worse.

Frodo decided the only place for him to go which would not arouse Sam's suspicions was Iris's house in Hobbiton. He had to leave immediately, as he was unsure just how long he could conceal his pain. It was already mid- afternoon, and the weather was turning cold and grey with rain-laden clouds.

Frodo put on his traveling cloak and then struggled into his backpack, working around his tender left shoulder. "Sam? Rose?" Frodo called from the hallway.

"We're in the baby's room," came the reply. It was Sam's voice. Frodo grabbed his hiking staff and headed back into the smial. He found Sam painting a wall while Rosie folded and stacked diapers. To Frodo's imagination she looked as if she was going to give birth to an oliphant. Maybe two oliphants. He had spent most of his life living with his bachelor Uncle Bilbo, or by himself, and had never lived with a female, much less a pregnant one. He had no idea a person could grow so large in such a short period of time. Her pregnancy was a constant source of amazement and worry to him.

"I am off to Hobbiton for a couple of days." He tried to sound casual as he leaned in the doorway, concealing the horrible throbbing shooting out from his left arm. "I can be reached at Iris's place if you need me."

Sam looked up from his painting and grinned. "Couple of days with Iris, eh? Not bad!"

"Sam!" Rosie threw a stack of diapers at him, "Don't get smart with Mister Frodo. And don't you be insulting the doctor, neither!"

Sam winked at Frodo and played the part of the innocent. "I don't think it's insulting to either of 'em. You run off and have a bit 'o fun now. Rosie and me will be fine. If anything exciting happens, we'll send word."

Frodo went back into the hallway and out the front door. As soon as he was out of sight around the corner of Bag End Hill, he had to sit down and catch his breath. The pain was horrific and the effort of concealing it and putting on the backpack almost made him sick to his stomach. He took off the pack and opened it. He retrieved the Vial of Galadriel and put it inside his coat pocket. He left the rest of the backpack behind in the pony shed, hiding it under a bale of hay.

Frodo's left shoulder was hurting terribly, as he knew it would. He was loosing control of his left arm again. The cloak would have to be removed temporarily, leaving him vulnerable to the cold, but it couldn't be helped. He created a make-shift sling out of a scarf and moved his aching left arm into the sling. He then covered the sling with his cloak. After a few minute's rest, he was ready to continue down the road to Hobbiton leaning heavily into his staff using his good right arm.

What normally was a 30 minute hike from Bag End to Hobbiton took Frodo well over an hour. He finally made it to the Physician's Office as dusk descended. Iris had just returned from an all-night and all-day house call to one of the outlying farms. She was exhausted and hungry. But as soon as she saw Frodo she ushered him immediately into the patient's bedroom and began treatments as twilight deepened into darkness.

"You are freezing cold!" Iris exclaimed as she helped him out of his cloak. She removed the sling and his coat. "You are going to have a full examination whether you want one or not. I am in no mood for an argument. Now, sit down while I get this room warmer for you."

Frodo sank shivering into the chair without complaint. He was tired. So tired. He felt so cold. So worn. And the pain was terrible. "Well," he said as Iris was stoking the fire and bringing in candles, "at least this year I am not babbling about auras or calling you Gandalf."

"Thank goodness for that," she said. She brought in a large bathing tub and some towels. "I have a feeling I am finally going to redeem my promise to help you with a bath. This is the quickest way to get you warmed up. so. take off your clothes, Mister Baggins."

"You are joking, aren't you?" Frodo said through his chattering teeth.

"I most certainly am not," she snapped at him as she started bringing in pots of water to warm in the fireplace. "Take 'em all off. And I do mean now." She handed him a bathrobe. "You may put this on while the water comes to temperature, but I do mean it. Strip."

Seeing as she truly meant it, Frodo did as best he could being able to use only one hand. He had only gotten as far as half the buttons on his shirt when he had to give up. Iris saw him sink back into the chair as she was bringing in additional logs for the fire. His face was as pale as death. She dropped the logs and went over to his side.

Frodo had not quite fainted, but had come very close. His breathing was ragged and his whole body was shaking. Iris finished unbuttoning the shirt and gasped at what she saw.

Faint purple veins snaked under the skin on Frodo's neck and onto his chin and cheeks. It was the poison. Iris removed all Frodo's clothing and was horrified to see the poisoned veins all over his body. His left shoulder was icy to the touch where the wound lay. Iris expected that. But this time there was no cyst. She could find nothing requiring surgery or setting. This evil was deeper and more wide-spread than last year's attack. There was nothing she could do other than try to make Frodo as comfortable as possible and let his own body fight the poison. It was frustrating, but there was nothing more to be done.

Frodo was in distress and didn't even care if he was naked or not. He could not stop the shaking. He could not get warm. Iris quickly wrapped him in the bathrobe, grabbed a comforter from off the bed and swaddled him in it.

She drew a warm bath for him. She could always gradually add more hot water to slowly and safely raise the water temperature. Frodo needed all the help he could get to navigate his way into the tub. He could not use his left arm at all. Iris guided him to the bathtub, helped him out of the bathrobe, and settled him into the warm bath. As Frodo eased himself lower into the blessedly warm water, Iris carefully added more hot water to the mix. She draped a thick sheet over the tub, wrapping Frodo into a steam cocoon with only his head visible. He sighed and closed his eyes, luxuriating in the warmth. The pain was still there, but he was not suffering from the cold as badly.

"Frodo, I'll be right back." Iris soon returned to the patient's room with an armload of candles, a metal pot, and a paint brush. As Frodo sat in the bath, she melted the beeswax in the pot, occasionally stirring it with the brush. The room filled with the fragrance of warm honey and summer's days.

Frodo sat in the bath for a half hour while Iris bathed him with the blessedly warm water. He stopped shaking and even managed a light sweat on his forehead. But the left shoulder remained icy to the touch.

"Frodo? Can you stand up? I need to get you dry and into bed."

He tried to gain leverage by bending forward, and was rewarded by a sudden sharp pain in his gut.

"I don't think I can stand at all, Iris," Frodo said through clenched teeth.

"Here. Let me help. I'll support your left side if you concentrate on lifting with your right. Steady now.one, two, three and up we go."

They managed to get him standing and out of the tub, but it was all he could do to keep from falling down. The pain was like fire spreading from his stomach and into his chest. Iris quickly toweled him dry and helped him into bed. He sank into the fresh sheets and tried to mentally unknot his stomach muscles.

Iris pulled the comforter up to his chest, but kept the left shoulder exposed. As Frodo concentrated on controlling his breathing, she began painting the warm beeswax onto his shoulder.

"Ah. That feels wonderful. It is so warm," he said. The pain was diminishing ever so slightly.

"It's beeswax. It will maintain the moist heat for a long time, and can provide relief down into joints. When it cools off I can peel it away and re-melt it and reapply it as often as needed." Iris put away the beeswax. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked his curls. In only two years Frodo's once-raven hair was shot through with streaks of grey. "Where does it hurt this time? Tell me everything."

"My stomach feels as if someone has shoved a knife in there. And, as you may have noticed, my left arm is useless again. But it is mostly my stomach this time."

"Why didn't you send someone to fetch me?" Iris admonished him quietly. "There was no need for you to expose yourself to the cold."

"I did not want to cause Sam more worry. Remember, Rose is due in only a week. Sam is frantic enough without having to tend to me as well. I just cannot do that to them. Not right now."

"Frodo," Iris continued to stroke his hair, "there will come a time when you will have to tell them. They already suspect you are ill. Why don't you admit it to them and allow them to help? You are being very selfish in not allowing them the opportunity to care for you when you need it. There is no shame in your illness. We only wish to help you bear your ill health as best you can. Please, allow us the opportunity to show our love to you."

"I promise I will tell Sam and Rosie after the baby is born," Frodo said.

"Good. Now, I can give you a sedative like I did last time ." Iris said.

"No," Frodo interrupted. "No sedative. I need to talk. Can you give me something to help my stomach and chest without making me sleep?"

"Willow bark tea will only upset your stomach even more. Let's try an ointment on your chest first and then some mint tea." She returned with a yellow ointment smelling of sulfur and began rubbing it on his chest. While draping a hot moist washcloth over the ointment rub and letting its warmth sink into the chest, Iris steeped a mint tea.

"Come now," Iris crooned, "try to get this down." Frodo tried taking some mint tea, but he could not stomach it and it quickly came back up. He was quite ill to his stomach.

"All right," she mused, "if I can't get something into the stomach, perhaps I can get something close to it which might calm it down. Frodo? Do you think you could handle smoking something right now?"

"Perhaps."

Iris brought Frodo some of his special medicinal pipeweed and a small clay pipe. Frodo sat up in bed and was able to tolerate the smoke. It seemed to lessen his pain and also settled his nausea. They sat and talked while he smoked. About an hour after beginning to smoke, Iris was able to get Frodo to keep some mint tea down. She had him smoke another pipe-full while he continued talking.

"Would you look in my coat pocket and bring me the cloth pouch you will find there?" Frodo asked. Iris found the object. "Open it up and take out the vial inside." It was a clear crystal vial which suddenly lighted up the room when Iris removed it from its pouch. It was the light of a million stars and a million summer days. It was the light of life.

"Oh, Frodo! What is it?" she was wonder-struck holding such magic in her hands.

"It is the Vial of Galadriel. It contains light from one of the Silmarils, which themselves were jewels made to capture the light of the two blessed trees from the Undying Lands. It is the same light you see in the night sky in Elendil's star. The Lady of the Wood gave it to me while I was on the Quest. It saved my life many times. I plan on returning it to her when next I see her. It truly belongs to the Elves, not to me. It should be returned to the Blessed Realm. I just wanted you to see it before it passes out of Middle Earth forever."

"The Elves are leaving?" Iris asked.

"Yes," he replied. "They are all leaving. Their time has passed. The destruction of the One Ring caused the unmaking of all they built here in Middle Earth. But they knew it would do so, and chose to leave. Iris. I also have the option of leaving Middle Earth. As the Ringbearer, I can sail across the Western Sea to the Blessed Realm. They have offered me complete healing of this wound, and total peace if I decide to go with them. But I am unsure of what to do. If I go across the Sea, I would be the only hobbit there. The Blessed Realm is only for the Elves. Eventually I would die anyway. Should I stay in Middle Earth with my friends, or leave in order to be healed?"

"Frodo," Iris said as she re-cloaked the Vial and placed it back inside his coat pocket, "only you can answer that question. Think on it. You have time for awhile."

Frodo was getting sleepy from the combined pipeweed, warmth, and lateness of the hour. He began to nod off. Iris took the pipe from him, tucked him into the covers, and watched as he finally drifted off. She stayed with him through the night, sitting in a chair by the side of the bed. But the combination of her own exhaustion, the strong secondary smoke from the medical pipeweed, and the warm, moist beeswax smell of the room worked their own magic on her. She could not keep her eyes open any longer, and succumbed to her own sleep, sitting upright in the chair.

During the early hours Frodo was awakened by a terrible sharp pain in his shoulder. His agony woke Iris with a guilty start. They managed to control it with another beeswax treatment. He finally went back to sleep. Iris tried to remain awake, but could not keep her eyes open, so she laid her head onto the side of the bed and fell asleep again.

Towards morning, in the early twilight, Frodo awoke. He found Iris slumped forward in the chair beside his bed, her head and arms resting on top of the comforter and pressed against his leg. Frodo reached out of the covers and gently caressed her tousled hair. Iris awoke, momentarily unsure of where she was.

"Come. Get in bed and warm up," Frodo said as he moved over to make room for her. She was so sleepy and confused she did what he said. She was fully-clothed but got under the covers with him anyway. She rested her head in the crook of his right arm, place her hand on his naked chest, snuggled up to his warmth, and was almost immediately asleep again. Frodo lay there enjoying her warmth and closeness as he held her sleeping body in his good arm. He couldn't help but play with her wild brown curls as she lay there sleeping.

"What if I were to marry Iris?" he thought. "We would be a family like Sam and Rose. I would have her in my bed every night. Live a normal life again. To just be a normal hobbit in the Shire.

But no. That can never be. I am not normal. The Ring has changed me too much."

With a suddenness which almost made him cry out, Frodo realized he was slowly dying. The poison from the Morgal-blade in combination with the poisoned sting from Shelob was slowly eating away his body from the inside out. Each time he had a relapse it was worse. The good days were fewer and farther between now. He used to be pain-free for six days out of the week. Now he counted himself lucky to have one pain-free day a week.

He was dying. It might take a year, or a few months, or perhaps several years, but it was a foregone conclusion. The day he had taken the poisoned stab wound was the day he started dying. Legolas had once privately told him that Frodo was the only person in history who had survived a poisoned Morgal-blade stabbing, and it was only by the grace of all Lord Elrond's healing skills that he had recovered. But since no one had ever survived an initial stabbing, no one in Middle Earth knew the long-term effects of the poison. It was clear to Frodo that if the Nazgul could not guarantee immediate stabbing to the heart, which would have resulted in Frodo's living death, then the poison on the blade would continue to eat away at the victim until death was inevitable.

No. The idea of marrying Iris and having a family was now unthinkable. He would not shackle her to watching a husband die a horrible slow death. It would not be fair to either her or to any children which might come. No. There would be no children either. What kind of life would that be for her?

Perhaps she could come with him across the Western Sea to the Blessed Realm? No. Mortals were banned from setting foot upon those shores reserved for the immortals. He had been given special dispensation as the Ringbearer, taking Arwen Undomiel's place, much to the eternal sorrow of her father, Lord Elrond. "I would be the only one of my race to ever set foot on those shores" he thought. "How could I live there, eternally separated from those I love? And I would die there as well. I am not immortal. I will eventually die. Best to die here where I am surrounded by my loved ones."

Frodo decided to stay in Middle Earth and live out his shortened lifespan, no matter what. With his mind made up, Frodo fell asleep, holding Iris.