Disclaimer: I own nothing! :)
A/N: First, I just have to say a huge thanks to *everyone* who reviewed! :) Thanks for the compliments and encouragement. It makes me so happy knowing that people like this fic. :)
There are still a few chapters left in this fic, but I've already got another one planned (still Frodo angst) that I'll start as soon as this ones done. :) I'll put the name of it in the last chapter of this fic. I haven't come up with a name for it yet.
Ancalimë, I'm glad you like the fic! :) I didn't mean to switch Aragorn/Strider in chapter eleven. Technically, the hobbits didn't know Strider's real name until they got to Rivendell anyway. I had been being careful about it, but I guess I slipped up. :) Thanks for pointing it out though, I hadn't noticed :p
And, as always, Elvish is in *'s :)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------
Chapter XIII
His eyes were like the stars; they had gazed upon Middle-Earth for millennia and seen good and evil, joy and sorrow, light and dark- all in abundance. Some considered it the curse of being immortal; living for so many years, acquiring so many memories of lost loves and fallen friends, and only able retire when finally sailing into the West. Though, through his trials he had learned to appreciate something in everything. He possessed both a sadness, and a joy about himself that mortals couldn't comprehend; for they had too little time to dwell on Middle-Earth to acquire the varied experiences necessary produce such an air.
The Lord of the Last Homely House, in Rivendell, stood gazing out of a large palladium window in his study, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the ornate engravings on the casing. Elrond felt that the company would be arriving that night, and he had sent scouts out little over three hours ago to ensure that they arrived safely and crossed the Ford without incident. He had an idea of what to expect, in all of his years he had become a master healer. There was little that the Elf Lord hadn't seen and treated successfully. Though, there were exceptions.
Most of his experiences had been in the healing of larger beings than this halfling that would be arriving with Aragorn. The only hobbit that Elrond had had the pleasure of making acquaintances with was Bilbo Baggins, a stout friendly little chap. The halfling that had been struck by a Wraith was Bilbo's nephew. Elrond hoped that he would be able to save the small being, but he wouldn't know for sure until he assessed the ring-bearers condition for himself. Frodo had borne his fatal wound, and survived, longer than most warriors could have managed. Elrond was truly impressed with the fastness that this race exhibited.
His thoughts were interrupted when a soft knock came at his door. Elrond took one last glance out of the window, and moved to the other side of the room, opening the door. His eyes widened a little as he beheld the sight before him. One of his fastest riders stood in the entryway; in his arms he carried a lifeless bundle of what appeared to be soaking wet muddy clothing. The elf-lord beckoned them in, and bade them lay the bundle down on a bed that had been prepared.
A small whimper came from the heap of rags; Elrond peeled back the layers of grimy clothes to reveal a tiny pale form; he resisted drawing back as he felt the evil presence that radiated from the halfling's shoulder. He bent down close to the hobbit, hoping to pick up any sign of breathing. The elf passed his hand over the hobbits nose, and detected the slightest hint of breath on the back of his hand.
*Andoion, * Elrond spoke to a nearby elf, *Fetch me some cool water, and then set some more on to boil. * Then he rose from his position over Frodo's body and turned and spoke to the other elf that was standing behind him. * Nevcú, look on the table over in the corner and gather the appropriate herbs, * Elrond continued, *we must get him cleaned up, and then see to his wound. Also, bid Aduladiel find clothes small enough to fit the halfling. * He finished, turning back to Frodo.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Frodo lay in a dark dream, his body rejecting every effort he made to survive. He was somewhere familiar, but different. It was quiet, and dark. He felt so alone. The pain in his shoulder and arm was immense; he could no longer escape it in his sleep. He could barely breathe, though air surrounded him, it felt like none of it would enter his lungs.
"Am I asleep?" Frodo thought. "Or…perhaps I drowned in the Ford, and now I'm dead." He finished unsteadily. Indeed, it was the last thing he could remember. The darkness had overwhelmed him and he slipped off Asfaloth's back. He felt icy water rushing past, filling his ears, drowning out the screams of the Ring-Wraiths, the current throwing him violently to the river bottom, and slamming him into the rocks that lay hidden beneath the surface of the water.
A noise in the distance brought him back to present, "Who's there?" he called. No answer was made.
Seconds later more noise followed, this time it was closer. "Hello?" Frodo called, beginning to panic. The noise grew ever closer, and louder. Frodo's shallow breath's quickened as he fought to remain calm despite the fear that was rising in the back of his mind. The wind picked up, and the Shadows from his journey to Rivendell appeared out of the blackness. This dream world was a familiar place to him. They had dragged him to this same place repeatedly since Weathertop, ravaging his tortured mind, and beating his injured body with their cruel, invisible whips.
The Shadows paused before him, like wolves ready to spring onto prey. They threw back their hoods, which, to his horror, revealed the faces of his companions. They were after him; the looks on their faces were of betrayal and hatred. They had turned against him. The cold glint in their black eyes told him that these beings were not the friends he once had, they were fell creatures of darkness seeking to take from him what he carried.
Frodo was surrounded, he knew there was no escape; he threw himself to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ward off blows as the entities closed in for the kill.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Lord Elrond tended Frodo throughout the night, and into the next day. The rest of the company had arrived shortly after Frodo and Asfaloth, and collapsed into their beds, out of exhaustion.
Sam rose that afternoon and asked to see his master. Aragorn promised that he would ask the Elf-lord if Frodo was able to have visitors. Truth be told, Aragorn had seen Frodo earlier and didn't want to subject his young servant to such a sight.
Frodo lay in his bed, which had been moved to his own room, and was completely unresponsive to every attempt made by Elrond to bring him back from the darkness that he had slipped into. Every so often, he would stir in his sleep or mumble nonsense, but most of the time he remained quiet, almost peaceful. The Elves had bathed him, warmed him, and cleaned his shoulder with Athelas water. He wore a tiny, finely made elven shirt; and the Ring gleamed sinisterly on a chain that hung at Frodo's neck. The small hobbit was still as pale as ever, though, and his skin was icy cold to the touch.
Sam at last found his way into the room where his Master was sleeping. It was quite a splendid room, with many large windows. Everything in it seemed to be carven or engraved in a beautiful flowing script or design. Light reflected off of the river and danced merrily on the high, white ceilings. Stone statues, representing elves or animals, were displayed in numerous recesses in the walls of the room. It was such a light, pleasant place. Sam didn't see how anything could ever be amiss in the entire Valley.
"Pardon me, Lord Elrond, sir," Sam began hesitantly, "I've come to stay with my Master, Mister Frodo ought not have to go through this without his Sam by his side." He continued, feeling a little more confident.
Elrond smiled to himself, admiring the loyalty of this young halfling. "Indeed, Master Samwise, Frodo has spoken of you in his sleep." Elrond said, "You are a dear friend of his, I take it?" the Elf-lord questioned.
"Why, yes sir, I'm his gardener. And, in any case, he's my Master and I believe it's my job to see him through this." Sam stated boldly, his tone indicating that his decision to stay with Frodo would not be reversed by anyone.
Elrond was somewhat taken aback by Sam's audacity, yet he remembered that these hobbits were very close. It would be good for Frodo, Elrond decided, to have a familiar presence in the room.
Sam had begun to feel uncomfortable during Elrond's silence, though he stood his ground anyway. He had to be there for his Master, and he wasn't going to let someone even so mighty as an Elf-lord keep him from that.
"If you wish it so, Master Samwise." Elrond replied, gesturing to where Frodo lie unconscious in the bed at the center of the room.
Sam brightened, and made his way over to his Master's side. Tears stung his tired eyes as he looked down on Frodo's still form. He turned back to Elrond, "Haven't you done anything for him?" He regretted his sharp words, realizing that there were many things that he did not understand in the ways of healing, particularly the methods used by the elves.
Elrond was patient with the hobbit, knowing that it was likely grief and shock speaking, rather than Sam's true intentions. "Master Samwise, I have done all that I can for him now. These things take time, and I do not know yet what I may have to do." Elrond spoke gravely, "His condition is stable for the time being… He rests now, and is likely in a lot less pain than he was last night." Elrond paused, "… I don't want to resort to drastic measures if it can be avoided." The Elf finished, casting a glance at Frodo. "But," he added, "You must trust me."
Sam averted Elrond's gaze, and placed a work-worn hand on Frodo's damp brow, cringing at the coldness of it. "When," Sam began, trying to keep his voice from faltering, "When do you suppose, sir, that he will wake?"
Elrond knelt down beside Sam and placed a kind hand on the hobbits shoulder. "I cannot be sure, Sam, I will give him today, and perhaps tomorrow as well, before I take this any further. Then, I shall see how what I have already done is affecting him." Elrond did not wish to go into any detail with the hobbit about what may have to be done in order to bring Frodo back, he would not understand, and it would only cause him excess worry about a situation that he could not control. The Elf-lord decided that it would be better just to let Sam have some time with his Master before any further decisions were made.
A moan escaped Frodo's lips just then, and he struck out at some invisible foe with his good hand. Sam carefully climbed up on the tall bed, and lay down beside his Master. "Mister Frodo?" Sam whispered, "If you can hear me speakin', it's your Sam, I'm here now." He took one of Frodo's hands in his own, rubbing it soothingly as he continued speaking, "I won't leave you, Master." Sam could feel tears rolling down his cheeks as he spoke, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered to him now; he just wanted his Master to be well again.
Frodo began trembling, and tears seeped out from under his closed eyelids. Sam bit back a sob, wondering what terrible things were causing his Master to act that way.
Elrond noticed Frodo's increasing discomfort; he ordered more Athelas water to be boiled, and brought more blankets to help warm the sick hobbit. He moved over to Frodo's side of the bed, and placing two hands on the halfling's chest, he spoke words of comfort and peace. It seemed to help, as Frodo's breathing slowed, and he appeared to be resting once more.
Sam was already asleep, his hand still clutching Frodo's; by the time the Athelas water was ready. Elrond pulled the blankets away from Frodo's wounded shoulder and began another treatment, inspecting the wound carefully. Though it was completely healed, nothing more than a cold white mark, Elrond sensed that there was something deeper, lying hidden, that was at the root of Frodo's illness.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Please review! And of course, constructive criticism is welcomed! :)
A/N: First, I just have to say a huge thanks to *everyone* who reviewed! :) Thanks for the compliments and encouragement. It makes me so happy knowing that people like this fic. :)
There are still a few chapters left in this fic, but I've already got another one planned (still Frodo angst) that I'll start as soon as this ones done. :) I'll put the name of it in the last chapter of this fic. I haven't come up with a name for it yet.
Ancalimë, I'm glad you like the fic! :) I didn't mean to switch Aragorn/Strider in chapter eleven. Technically, the hobbits didn't know Strider's real name until they got to Rivendell anyway. I had been being careful about it, but I guess I slipped up. :) Thanks for pointing it out though, I hadn't noticed :p
And, as always, Elvish is in *'s :)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------
Chapter XIII
His eyes were like the stars; they had gazed upon Middle-Earth for millennia and seen good and evil, joy and sorrow, light and dark- all in abundance. Some considered it the curse of being immortal; living for so many years, acquiring so many memories of lost loves and fallen friends, and only able retire when finally sailing into the West. Though, through his trials he had learned to appreciate something in everything. He possessed both a sadness, and a joy about himself that mortals couldn't comprehend; for they had too little time to dwell on Middle-Earth to acquire the varied experiences necessary produce such an air.
The Lord of the Last Homely House, in Rivendell, stood gazing out of a large palladium window in his study, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the ornate engravings on the casing. Elrond felt that the company would be arriving that night, and he had sent scouts out little over three hours ago to ensure that they arrived safely and crossed the Ford without incident. He had an idea of what to expect, in all of his years he had become a master healer. There was little that the Elf Lord hadn't seen and treated successfully. Though, there were exceptions.
Most of his experiences had been in the healing of larger beings than this halfling that would be arriving with Aragorn. The only hobbit that Elrond had had the pleasure of making acquaintances with was Bilbo Baggins, a stout friendly little chap. The halfling that had been struck by a Wraith was Bilbo's nephew. Elrond hoped that he would be able to save the small being, but he wouldn't know for sure until he assessed the ring-bearers condition for himself. Frodo had borne his fatal wound, and survived, longer than most warriors could have managed. Elrond was truly impressed with the fastness that this race exhibited.
His thoughts were interrupted when a soft knock came at his door. Elrond took one last glance out of the window, and moved to the other side of the room, opening the door. His eyes widened a little as he beheld the sight before him. One of his fastest riders stood in the entryway; in his arms he carried a lifeless bundle of what appeared to be soaking wet muddy clothing. The elf-lord beckoned them in, and bade them lay the bundle down on a bed that had been prepared.
A small whimper came from the heap of rags; Elrond peeled back the layers of grimy clothes to reveal a tiny pale form; he resisted drawing back as he felt the evil presence that radiated from the halfling's shoulder. He bent down close to the hobbit, hoping to pick up any sign of breathing. The elf passed his hand over the hobbits nose, and detected the slightest hint of breath on the back of his hand.
*Andoion, * Elrond spoke to a nearby elf, *Fetch me some cool water, and then set some more on to boil. * Then he rose from his position over Frodo's body and turned and spoke to the other elf that was standing behind him. * Nevcú, look on the table over in the corner and gather the appropriate herbs, * Elrond continued, *we must get him cleaned up, and then see to his wound. Also, bid Aduladiel find clothes small enough to fit the halfling. * He finished, turning back to Frodo.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Frodo lay in a dark dream, his body rejecting every effort he made to survive. He was somewhere familiar, but different. It was quiet, and dark. He felt so alone. The pain in his shoulder and arm was immense; he could no longer escape it in his sleep. He could barely breathe, though air surrounded him, it felt like none of it would enter his lungs.
"Am I asleep?" Frodo thought. "Or…perhaps I drowned in the Ford, and now I'm dead." He finished unsteadily. Indeed, it was the last thing he could remember. The darkness had overwhelmed him and he slipped off Asfaloth's back. He felt icy water rushing past, filling his ears, drowning out the screams of the Ring-Wraiths, the current throwing him violently to the river bottom, and slamming him into the rocks that lay hidden beneath the surface of the water.
A noise in the distance brought him back to present, "Who's there?" he called. No answer was made.
Seconds later more noise followed, this time it was closer. "Hello?" Frodo called, beginning to panic. The noise grew ever closer, and louder. Frodo's shallow breath's quickened as he fought to remain calm despite the fear that was rising in the back of his mind. The wind picked up, and the Shadows from his journey to Rivendell appeared out of the blackness. This dream world was a familiar place to him. They had dragged him to this same place repeatedly since Weathertop, ravaging his tortured mind, and beating his injured body with their cruel, invisible whips.
The Shadows paused before him, like wolves ready to spring onto prey. They threw back their hoods, which, to his horror, revealed the faces of his companions. They were after him; the looks on their faces were of betrayal and hatred. They had turned against him. The cold glint in their black eyes told him that these beings were not the friends he once had, they were fell creatures of darkness seeking to take from him what he carried.
Frodo was surrounded, he knew there was no escape; he threw himself to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ward off blows as the entities closed in for the kill.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Lord Elrond tended Frodo throughout the night, and into the next day. The rest of the company had arrived shortly after Frodo and Asfaloth, and collapsed into their beds, out of exhaustion.
Sam rose that afternoon and asked to see his master. Aragorn promised that he would ask the Elf-lord if Frodo was able to have visitors. Truth be told, Aragorn had seen Frodo earlier and didn't want to subject his young servant to such a sight.
Frodo lay in his bed, which had been moved to his own room, and was completely unresponsive to every attempt made by Elrond to bring him back from the darkness that he had slipped into. Every so often, he would stir in his sleep or mumble nonsense, but most of the time he remained quiet, almost peaceful. The Elves had bathed him, warmed him, and cleaned his shoulder with Athelas water. He wore a tiny, finely made elven shirt; and the Ring gleamed sinisterly on a chain that hung at Frodo's neck. The small hobbit was still as pale as ever, though, and his skin was icy cold to the touch.
Sam at last found his way into the room where his Master was sleeping. It was quite a splendid room, with many large windows. Everything in it seemed to be carven or engraved in a beautiful flowing script or design. Light reflected off of the river and danced merrily on the high, white ceilings. Stone statues, representing elves or animals, were displayed in numerous recesses in the walls of the room. It was such a light, pleasant place. Sam didn't see how anything could ever be amiss in the entire Valley.
"Pardon me, Lord Elrond, sir," Sam began hesitantly, "I've come to stay with my Master, Mister Frodo ought not have to go through this without his Sam by his side." He continued, feeling a little more confident.
Elrond smiled to himself, admiring the loyalty of this young halfling. "Indeed, Master Samwise, Frodo has spoken of you in his sleep." Elrond said, "You are a dear friend of his, I take it?" the Elf-lord questioned.
"Why, yes sir, I'm his gardener. And, in any case, he's my Master and I believe it's my job to see him through this." Sam stated boldly, his tone indicating that his decision to stay with Frodo would not be reversed by anyone.
Elrond was somewhat taken aback by Sam's audacity, yet he remembered that these hobbits were very close. It would be good for Frodo, Elrond decided, to have a familiar presence in the room.
Sam had begun to feel uncomfortable during Elrond's silence, though he stood his ground anyway. He had to be there for his Master, and he wasn't going to let someone even so mighty as an Elf-lord keep him from that.
"If you wish it so, Master Samwise." Elrond replied, gesturing to where Frodo lie unconscious in the bed at the center of the room.
Sam brightened, and made his way over to his Master's side. Tears stung his tired eyes as he looked down on Frodo's still form. He turned back to Elrond, "Haven't you done anything for him?" He regretted his sharp words, realizing that there were many things that he did not understand in the ways of healing, particularly the methods used by the elves.
Elrond was patient with the hobbit, knowing that it was likely grief and shock speaking, rather than Sam's true intentions. "Master Samwise, I have done all that I can for him now. These things take time, and I do not know yet what I may have to do." Elrond spoke gravely, "His condition is stable for the time being… He rests now, and is likely in a lot less pain than he was last night." Elrond paused, "… I don't want to resort to drastic measures if it can be avoided." The Elf finished, casting a glance at Frodo. "But," he added, "You must trust me."
Sam averted Elrond's gaze, and placed a work-worn hand on Frodo's damp brow, cringing at the coldness of it. "When," Sam began, trying to keep his voice from faltering, "When do you suppose, sir, that he will wake?"
Elrond knelt down beside Sam and placed a kind hand on the hobbits shoulder. "I cannot be sure, Sam, I will give him today, and perhaps tomorrow as well, before I take this any further. Then, I shall see how what I have already done is affecting him." Elrond did not wish to go into any detail with the hobbit about what may have to be done in order to bring Frodo back, he would not understand, and it would only cause him excess worry about a situation that he could not control. The Elf-lord decided that it would be better just to let Sam have some time with his Master before any further decisions were made.
A moan escaped Frodo's lips just then, and he struck out at some invisible foe with his good hand. Sam carefully climbed up on the tall bed, and lay down beside his Master. "Mister Frodo?" Sam whispered, "If you can hear me speakin', it's your Sam, I'm here now." He took one of Frodo's hands in his own, rubbing it soothingly as he continued speaking, "I won't leave you, Master." Sam could feel tears rolling down his cheeks as he spoke, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered to him now; he just wanted his Master to be well again.
Frodo began trembling, and tears seeped out from under his closed eyelids. Sam bit back a sob, wondering what terrible things were causing his Master to act that way.
Elrond noticed Frodo's increasing discomfort; he ordered more Athelas water to be boiled, and brought more blankets to help warm the sick hobbit. He moved over to Frodo's side of the bed, and placing two hands on the halfling's chest, he spoke words of comfort and peace. It seemed to help, as Frodo's breathing slowed, and he appeared to be resting once more.
Sam was already asleep, his hand still clutching Frodo's; by the time the Athelas water was ready. Elrond pulled the blankets away from Frodo's wounded shoulder and began another treatment, inspecting the wound carefully. Though it was completely healed, nothing more than a cold white mark, Elrond sensed that there was something deeper, lying hidden, that was at the root of Frodo's illness.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Please review! And of course, constructive criticism is welcomed! :)