Chapter 10: The Journey I Do Not Remember
Three days later
It was truly night when I awoke–deep, deep, velvety night, full of shadows and unknown horrors. I drew a choking breath and began to cough softly. At once I felt a hand on my forehead. Its gentle touch comforted me, even though I wasn't sure who it belonged to until I heard Sam's murmur next to my ear.
"It's all right, master. You close your eyes and have a rest. I'll rub your chest a bit to ease the coughing."
I felt his hand slip under the blankets and begin moving in slow, circular patterns across my chest. It didn't matter whether Sam was magic, as he often seemed to me, or whether his touch simply relaxed my tensed muscles. Either way, my breathing eased almost at once. I liked the feel of his hands, and the soft cadence of his voice, and how safe and grounded he made me feel in a world that had spun completely out of my control.
"Why are you up, Sam?" I murmured after a few moments, ashamed to be thinking only of my own pain. Poor Sam must be exhausted.
"I always take the first watch, so's I can be with you when the true night sets in. I think that's the hardest, ain't it. When things get so dark."
"Uh huh." I breathed. "Thank you for–understanding–Sam." I shifted my weight, trying to ease the vague discomfort and the stabbing pains in my shoulder. Sam's hands slid under my back, and he lifted me very slightly so I was sitting up a bit more.
"That a little easier?"
I nodded, then realized that Sam couldn't see me. "Yes, thank you."
"Of course, Mr. Frodo. Hush now. You try and go back to sleep."
I lay still for several minutes, but couldn't doze off. At last I groped for Sam's hand. He gave it to me at once, and I held onto him as I tried to relax and sleep.
"Sam?" I whispered.
"Yes, master?"
"You're so sweet to me."
I thought I could feel Sam's blush even in the darkness. "Thank you kindly for saying so." he muttered after a long silence.
I squeezed his hand. "I don't think anyone else understands me like you do."
"Do I understand you, Mr. Frodo?"
I actually smiled a little, surprising myself. I hadn't smiled–really smiled–in days. "It seems to me that you do. Of course, you don't understand me perfectly–no one can do that for another person–but you do try terribly hard."
"That I do." Sam admitted. "But you've always seemed to be a bit above what I could reach, if you take my meaning."
"Nonsense." I laughed softly. "You're the best hobbit I know. Anything I am capable of, you are too."
I had always felt a little sorry for Sam, because he didn't have much self-confidence. I did. I knew who I was and what I was good at, and while I didn't brag, I didn't pretend not to know myself either. Bilbo called it "the developed sense of self", and said that I had more of it than any other lad he knew. But I was beginning to notice that Sam most certainly did not have the "developed sense of self", and I had hoped that this journey to Rivendell would help him gain it. Perhaps it still would, but at what cost? What if our experiences with the Ringwraiths and watching me die–no, watching me suffer–I was not going to die–what if it cost him the ability to have a normal life when he returned home? Trauma could do terrible things to people.
I shook myself out of my dark thoughts, because Sam was speaking again.
"I don't know about that, Mr. Frodo. But it's kind of you to say so."
Honestly, I couldn't remember exactly what I had said to him. This fog around my mind seemed to obscure my memory…and my shoulder was aching so badly…before I could stop myself I let out a tiny moan of pain.
Instantly Sam was bending over me again, stroking my hair, trying to soothe away the hurt. "Shh, shh." he crooned. "Sam's here. Hold my hand tight, sweetheart, nice and tight. You want me to go get Strider?"
"No." I whispered. My last dose of athelas hadn't worn off yet. The pain was just getting worse. There was nothing that anyone could do about that, not with the supplies we had here, and all I wanted was to have Sam with me. Sam seemed to understand.
"There, there, it's all right." he murmured. "I ain't goin' nowhere. Your Sam's got your hand held tight in his, and he's not gonna let go for one minute unless you tell him to."
I was grateful for his hand clasped over mine, but what I really wanted was a hug. I hesitated to ask, though. Our cuddle right after I had been stabbed had been a 'heat of the moment' kind of a thing–not usual at all for hobbits of different social classes. I didn't want to ask Sam for a repeat. He would probably be uncomfortable with it, but he would probably agree just because I was his master and I told him what to do…oh, sticklebats, these stupid rules of propriety were getting on my nerves even more than usual.
Suddenly I felt Sam's arms around me. Slipping one hand behind my head and neck, and his other arm around my back, he gently lifted me into a sitting position and pulled me against his chest. Startled, for a moment I couldn't respond.
"Sorry, Mr. Frodo." he whispered. "I just thought you might like to be held a bit tighter, seein' you're in so much pain. Is this all right?"
I found my voice. "Yes, thank you, Sam." I whispered back. "I–I would have asked you–but I didn't want you to—you know, feel obligated or anything."
Sam nodded. "You ask for whatever you need." he said.
"And if you want to, or you need to, please tell me no." I looked up into the dark blur that was Sam's face.
"I'll try." Sam promised.
I knew that his half of the agreement went against everything he had been taught growing up, and I just smiled and let his tentative answer suffice for the moment. After a moment, I leaned my head against Sam's shoulder and closed my eyes. I was shivering with cold, and he held me gently against him and wrapped my blankets snugly around me, whispering "Anything I can do for you, m'dear?"
"No." I mumbled. "Just hold me."
"I will."
The next day was horrible. The sky kept pretending like it was going to rain, which worried me, and then my worry turned out to be unnecessary because it never even rained! And Frodo was in the most terrible pain.
We finally stopped to rest and make camp, late in the evening. Strider lifted Frodo and helped him sit up against a large tree so he could see what was going on. (We were all very anxious to make Frodo still feel like a part of things.) After I unpacked my cooking gear and Merry began to make us some supper, I went over to Frodo.
"How you doin', Mr. Frodo?" I asked, kneeling in front of him.
His eyes were closed, but he said "I'm all right, Sam."
I took his hand tentatively. "Can I help you with anything?"
He shook his head. Then suddenly he tensed, and his fingers tightened around mine painfully.
"Are you in pain, master?" I whispered.
He nodded, biting his lips and breathing heavily. I caressed his hand. After a few moments he opened his eyes and seemed to relax a little.
"It comes and goes." he said faintly.
I kept ahold of his hand, stroking it as gently as I knew how. "It's all right, master. I'll stay with you."
Frodo nodded, closing his eyes again and wincing as the pain mounted. I moved to sit beside him, still holding his hand. His fingers gripped mine tightly.
"Put your arms around me, Sam." he gasped suddenly. "I can't bear it."
I wrapped my arms around him and held him close. He clutched me as I kissed his forehead and held him to my breast.
"I—I don't want to make a sound." he whispered when the wave had passed. "I want to bear it quietly, but sometimes it gets so bad that I just can't."
"Course you want to, Mr. Frodo. I understand." I rubbed his shoulder softly. He opened his big blue eyes and looked up at me pitifully.
"Sam, I don't mind so much if you see me like this. If I cry, you won't tell the others?"
I held him close to me. "Course not, dear. When it gets bad, you cry to your Sam. I'll help you bear it."
He nodded, breathing heavily and closing his eyes again. I pressed my lips to his forehead. I had never kissed his forehead before, but he didn't seem to mind.
Frodo's hand tightened around my sleeve as the pain grew more intense. Then he began to whimper. He tried to suppress the sound, but he couldn't stop it.
"It's all right, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam's got you. I'll help you bear it. Lean on me now." I whispered. A tear ran down Frodo's blanched cheek. I stroked his hair.
This fit lasted longer than the others had, and when it had passed Frodo only had a few moments respite before he began to clutch me again.
"Don't let me scream, Sam." he said through clenched teeth. "Do anything you have to to stop me."
I rubbed his back and held him in my arms. "Shh, master. Put your head on my shoulder. I'll help you."
Frodo hid his face against my shoulder and clung to me desperately. I sat feeling helpless, trying to comfort him while he cried and talking softly to him.
"Mr. Frodo, I'm so sorry. I wish I could bear it for you. I'd be in twice the pain, if only you didn't have to feel it. I don't know how to help you. I'm so sorry."
"There's nothing—you can do." Frodo gasped. "Just stay with me."
"I will. I promise, I always will." I held him against me.
Frodo was trembling all over. He took great shuddering breaths, his chest heaving.
"Can't I call Strider over, Mr. Frodo?" I whispered. "He understands. He might be able to help you."
Frodo nodded. The fit was passing, at least for the moment, and he laid his head wearily on my breast.
I looked around for Strider and saw him getting water from the stream that ran through our campsite. "Strider!" I called.
He dropped his kettle at once and came over. Kneeling down in front of us, he looked at me quickly and then took Frodo's left hand and felt it.
"Cold as ice." he said.
"He's in such pain, Mr. Strider." I pleaded.
Frodo was beginning to tense again. "I can't bear it, Strider." he whimpered. "Help me."
"I will, Frodo. Wait just a moment." Strider hurried to his pack on the ground and drew out the pouch that held the athelas leaves.
"They will not help much," he said, coming back, "But I will do what I can."
Frodo was clinging to me so hard that his knuckles were blanched white. "Help me, Sam. Help me." he sobbed under his breath.
I was truly crying by this time, hugging him and kissing his forehead. "You hold on, Mr. Frodo. Just hold on."
Strider unbuttoned Frodo's shirt and, chewing a leaf, plastered the mush to the wound on his shoulder. The plant worked quickly. Frodo gave a great gasp and relaxed a little. I pulled his head against my shoulder and cradled him in my arms. He kept ahold of my sleeve for a moment, but his strength was spent and his hand dropped. I took it in mine.
"Thank you…Strider." Frodo whispered raspily.
Strider laid a hand gently on Frodo's head. "Rest now, Frodo. Don't be afraid to call me again."
Frodo tried to nod. I supported him carefully as he became limper.
"Come, Frodo, and get some sleep." Strider lifted my master and held him in his arms as I arranged a comfortable bed on a mat of pine needles. Then he laid Frodo gently down and tucked the blankets around him.
"Sam." Frodo whispered, hardly even moving his lips. He freed one of his hands, and I took it and kissed it sympathetically.
"I'm glad you're feelin' a bit better. I'll stay here and look after you."
Closing his eyes, Frodo wrapped his fingers around mine and held on. Knowing he was still in pain, I stroked his cheek with one finger and brushed his hair back from his brow, whispered soothing little phrases to comfort him.
"There, that's better, isn't it. Get some sleep now, shh, shh. Soon we'll be in Rivendell and everything will be all right. Maybe Gandalf will be there waiting for us."
Frodo tried to nod. I tucked another blanket around him.
"There, now get some sleep. I know you're in pain. I'll stay with you and hold your hand."
"I'm scared, Sam." Frodo admitted, opening his eyes for a moment to look up at me. He looked vulnerable-afraid to tell me how he really felt.
I stroked his hair. "I know, dear. I know. I'll stay with you, dear. We'll all help you."
I was scared too. But I couldn't leave Frodo to face this alone, and I kept petting his hair and talking to him until he fell asleep with his hand in mine.
He didn't wake until the next morning.
"How are you feeling, Frodo?" Strider asked, kneeling beside his bed and taking his hand.
"I'm all right, Strider. Much better." Frodo actually smiled.
"He's better than he's been in a week." I called from where I was dishing up two bowls of the porridge I had made.
"I am glad to hear that." Strider said cheerfully. "Now, give me an occupation. What can I do for you?"
"I can't think of anything." said Frodo.
"Tell me, are you in any pain?"
Frodo shifted his weight a little. "No, not much. I am a bit stiff."
"Where?"
"My back."
Strider helped Frodo roll over carefully and began to rub his sore muscles.
"Thank you, Strider. That already feels better." Frodo said softly.
"Mr Baggins, do you who the Dunedain are?"
Even in horrific pain, Frodo was still a scholar. "Men of the West?" he translated.
"Yes, that is what the name means. You would call us the 'rangers'. The Dúnedain, of which I am the leader, are to protect and help the free peoples of this world. I have, in a way, failed to protect you. I am grateful at least to be helping you." Strider rubbed Frodo's shoulder with gentle hands.
"You haven't not failed, Strider. You did all you could." Frodo said.
Strider didn't answer for a long time. Then he sighed and said. "Now, Frodo, tell me truthfully. I want to care for you and make you comfortable, but not at the expense of your dignity. Are we too anxious to help?"
Frodo sighed. "No, I'm afraid that I need all the help anyone can give. I wish I didn't."
Strider put a hand on his head. "Just remember, Frodo, that we do not mind it. We only suffer when you do."
"I know." Frodo whispered. "It's just hard, Strider."
"I understand." Strider helped him sit up and gave him a careful hug. Frodo nestled close to him.
"Thank you, Strider." he murmured.
Strider put his arm around Frodo's shoulders. "I am fond of hobbits, you know that, Frodo?"
Frodo smiled up at him.
I lay rolled in a blanket on the hard floor of the cave where we had made camp, listening to Frodo turning and tossing. At last I rose up on one elbow.
"What's the matter, Mr Frodo?"
"It's my shoulder."
Frodo grunted softly as he shifted his weight again, trying to find a position that would give him some relief from the pain. His breathing became more labored. I could see the determination in his eyes—he would not ask for help.
"Do you want to hold my hand?" I whispered.
"Yes, please, Sam."
Frodo's cold fingers closed around mine. I lay back, but couldn't sleep. Frodo squeezed my hand more tightly as the night grew darker. I was exhausted from the day's travel, and every muscle in my body ached.
I should sit up and see what I can do for him. I thought.
But you won't be any good to him half dead. I argued back. You need your rest. Besides, why is he your responsibility?
That was it. I sat up. Of course it was my job to help Mr. Frodo! I was his friend-um, I mean, his servant. He needed me.
"Come here, Mr. Frodo." I whispered. "You lay your head in my lap and get some sleep."
I helped Frodo sit up a little, and then he put his head in my lap as I tucked his blankets snugly around him. He kept ahold of one of my hands. As I gently caressed his brow, he closed his eyes and rested for a while, but then he began to shiver. At last I helped him into a sitting position and pulled him against my shoulder, holding him in my arms and wrapping him in blankets. But this cold came from the inside, and I couldn't warm him much. At last Frodo fell into an uneasy sleep. Not daring to risk waking him, I held him up and rocked him slowly back and forth. Then Strider, who had been crouched by the fire smoking his pipe, rose and came to sit beside me.
"How is he, Sam?" he asked softly.
"He's asleep now." I whispered. "But he's so cold, Mr. Strider."
Strider put a hand on Frodo's brow and nodded gravely. "Let me look after him, Sam." he murmured. "You need to sleep."
"Oh, no, it's no trouble, Mr. Strider."
"I will take good care of him. Now say good night to your master and go to bed."
I hesitated, then let Aragorn put his arm around Frodo and draw my master close to him. Frodo murmured softly in his sleep, and we both looked tenderly down at him. Then I kissed Frodo's forehead and whispered "Good night, Frodo my dear. Sleep well."
I looked up at Aragorn. "You'll wake me if he gets worse?"
"Yes, I will." Strider promised. I nodded and stumbled off to bed. I don't even remember lying down.
I woke suddenly as Strider touched my shoulder.
"Is he worse?" I asked at once.
"Worse than I have ever seen him. Come quickly."
I stumbled after Strider and knelt on the ground at Frodo's side. His face was white, and his eyes were closed. I had to watch intently before I was even sure he was breathing.
"Oh Mr. Frodo." I touched his hand. He didn't move. I turned to Strider with tears in my eyes.
"What can I do for him, Mr. Strider?"
He stood and motioned to me to move away from Frodo. Then he knelt and looked me in the face.
"Sam, you must realize that your master may not get better."
I took a step back. "Don't say that. He can't die. He can't!"
Strider put a hand on my shoulder. "There is still a little hope, but a very little. You must be prepared, Sam."
"Then what can we do? Can't we help him at all?" I choked.
"We can." Strider said gently. "If Frodo dies, what would you want him to know? What would you want him to remember? Think."
I wiped my eyes. "I-I would want him to know that—that we loved him an' we would remember him and miss him."
"So would I." Strider said. "Since there is little we can do for him now, we must give him all the love and kindness we can."
I nodded. Strider patted me on the back, and we went together back to Frodo.
I dropped to my knees and took his hand in mine. He didn't even seem to know that I was there.
"Mr. Frodo," I whispered. "It's your Sam."
I had to wipe my eyes and take a deep breath before I could continue. "Mr. Frodo, I love you. I love you dearly. I know your arm is hurting you, but don't be afraid. Your Sam will look after you. Don't you worry."
Then I broke down and could not continue. Dawn light crept slowly into the sky. Pippin and Merry stirred and got up, rolling their bedding and beginning to pack up. Soon, Merry came over.
"How is he?"
I just shook my head, caressing Frodo's limp hand.
Merry knelt beside me. His face worked and twisted.
"Is there anything we can do?" he whispered through trembling lips.
I shook my head again. "Just…tell him you love him, Mr. Merry. Here, take his hand."
Merry took Frodo's hand in his. "Frodo," he said slowly, "It's Merry." He took a deep breath. "It's all right. We'll look after you. It-it'll all be all right."
Frodo did not move or speak the whole time we ate and packed up. None of us had any appetite, or exchanged a smile or more than a few words. Since it was impossible for Frodo to stay on the pony's back now, Strider carried him. We stopped frequently to try to give Frodo water or food, but he was completely unconscious most of the time.
"Mr. Frodo dear, just drink a little. Come on."
I put the water bottle against his lips. His hand moved a little. Then he sucked slowly at the bottle and swallowed. He was too weak to try again.
"There you go! Look at you, Mr Frodo—you're doin' fine." I put my arms around him, whispering praise as he fell asleep again. He seemed to like the sound of my voice and the feel of my arms around him, and each time we stopped after that I would sit on the ground, hold him in my arms and talk to him.
"We love you, Mr Frodo. We won't leave you. We're almost to Rivendell, and then you can see the elves and they'll help you feel better."
I wondered if we would ever reach Rivendell at all. The terrain was so steep and rocky. But I couldn't give up. Frodo just had to make it a few more days.
We all spent as much time as possible talking to Frodo or staying with him. Strider often talked to Frodo as he carried him. Several times I heard Strider singing softly, trying to comfort my master a little. Every time we stopped to eat or rest, everyone clustered around Frodo. I often held him in my arms as Strider did the cooking and Merry and Pippin sat beside me, rubbing Frodo's arms and talking soothingly to him.
"Frodo, it's Merry. Don't worry. We'll look after you."
"Does that feel a bit better?"
"Hold my hand, that's it. You can hold it just as tight as you want."
"We love you, Frodo. It'll be all right."
Frodo never spoke or opened his eyes, but we hoped that I could feel our love and concern, and we tried earnestly to comfort him. We took turns sitting up at night, holding his head in our laps, stroking his hair and whispering to him. Frodo was so cold and limp. We couldn't warm him, no matter what we did, and we knew he was dying.
"I just hate that he's dying in pain, Mr Strider." I sobbed. "He's so confused and unhappy and his arm hurts him so bad."
Strider put an arm around me. "I know, Sam."
"I don't want even to be near him," I gulped. "It hurts me so much to see him like this. But it would be worse not being with him. Mr Strider, I can't bear it."
"I understand, Sam. I feel the same way. You cry for a bit and then go back to your master. You are helping him, at least a little, and that is what matters."
I rubbed my sleeve across my eyes and took a deep breath. "Do you think there's any hope at all? How far are we from Rivendell?"
"We are at least four days away. I do not think that Frodo will survive even that long, and there is little chance that he can be healed in Rivendell even if he does arrive there. But do not despair, Sam. There is a very slight chance that he will live, and as long as you cannot see the end you must not despair."
Strider was the anchor that held us together in those terrible days. He stayed with Frodo for hours on end or spoke to us, guiding us through our grief and despair and confusion. One night Merry and Pippin were so exhausted that they slept right through the night, leaving me and Strider to look after Frodo. I sat near the fire and cradled Frodo in my arms. His head rested against my breast. I could feel his labored breathing and the faint flutter of his heart.
"I love you, Frodo." I whispered. "I love you. It'll be all right."
Strider sat beside me, his arm heavy around my shoulders. Suddenly Frodo's breath caught and he stopped breathing. For a few perilous seconds we waited, staring at him. Then he choked and took another gasping breath. I gasped too, clutching him against my heart.
"Oh, Mr Frodo." I kissed his forehead, then the top of his head. "Mr Frodo, I love you. Shh. It'll be all right. Just keep breathing. You can do it. Don't give up. You've got to keep going."
Frodo gave absolutely no sign. I hugged him tenderly and let my tears fall on his blankets.
Strider was watching me with a strange, grave expression on his lean face.
"What work did you do for your master at home, Sam Gamgee?" he asked after a moment.
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. "I was his gardener. He's got a lovely big garden there, and my da took care of it before me. Well, I did other things for him, too—makin' meals for him or goin' to town when he needed something, but I was payed for lookin' after the garden mainly."
"I see. How long have you known Frodo for?"
"Since I can remember. He came to live at Bag End when he was not even in his tweens, to stay with his uncle Mr Bilbo. His parents died, you know, and Mr Bilbo took him in."
Strider touched Frodo's hand gently. "So he is an orphan. I never knew that."
There was nothing for either of us to say. We both sat in quiet admiration of the hobbit struggling for breath in my arms. After a moment, I began to stroke Frodo's hair back from his sweaty forehead. Frodo's hand, which had lain limply on my arm, moved suddenly and his fist clutched the fabric of my sleeve.
"Mr Frodo?" I said. I turned to Strider. "He's moving!"
Strider bent over Frodo and felt his pulse.
"What does it mean if he's moving?" I asked
"It could mean two things," Strider said slowly. "Sometimes a person who is going to die in a day or two will suddenly improve and seem to be much better, then die suddenly. Or, if death is very near, he may have lost control over their muscles and may move erratically."
Neither option seemed very hopeful to me, and I didn't say anything. But Frodo's breathing seemed a little more even to me, and I held him in my arms and caressed his brow. I wished that he would open his eyes, even just one more time, and talk to me and give me a chance to tell him how much I loved him.
Arwen's back ached. Half-elven or no, she still felt exhausted. She had been traveling for nine days, and, though she knew that Aragorn definitely wasn't one to mind about a little dirt, she still tried to at least keep her face and hands clean. At nightfall she stopped beside a small stream and unpacked a fresh dress to wear, then made a fire and set a small pot of water boiling while she unbraided her hair and shook it out. After she had eaten and changed clothes, she felt refreshed and quickly packed up her things. Though her father hadn't told her exactly what was happening, he had impressed her with the urgency of her mission. Besides, she was fond of Bilbo, though she only knew him slightly, and he seemed rather anxious about his young relative. And of course Aragorn was traveling with the halflings. Arwen smiled grimly to herself. She would find them if it was the last thing she ever did.
She had not ridden far into the darkness when her horse pricked up his ears and snorted. Arwen was not an amateur—she knew not to ask stupid questions like "what is it". She gave the horse his head and waited tensely. Then she heard a whinny, and her horse trotted forward happily. It must be them. Arwen snapped the reins, and the horse leapt toward the sound. She pulled up short in a little clearing. Three stone statues stood in the center. On the ground knelt three halflings and Aragorn. He was already watching her, and their eyes met. The glimmer of a smile touched his face, but then it vanished and he leapt to his feet.
"Arwen!"
Arwen quickly explained that her father had sent her, but her eyes kept straying to the halflings. She could see that they were clustered around another halfling who lay on the ground. Even from feet away, she could hear gasping, pain-filled breaths.
"Three of the halflings are safe, but the fourth is badly hurt. He was stabbed by the Ringwraiths." Aragorn said in a low voice.
Arwen tried not to go pale; tried not to step back.
Aragorn motioned with his hands. "You stay with the three halflings. I will—"
"No." Arwen cut him off. "I will take him on my horse. It will be quicker."
"Arwen, no. It's too dangerous."
"I am not afraid." Arwen looked at him steadily. He could see the truth in her eyes. He stared at her for a moment, then whirled.
"Sam!"
One of the halflings leapt to his feet. He had been staring at Arwen, and his face was streaked with tears.
Aragorn hurried over and knelt beside the wounded halfling. "Get a spare blanket. The lady Arwen will take your master to Rivendell."
The halfling called Sam looked again at Arwen, almost desperately. Then he ran to the pony standing in the shadows and snatched a blanket from its back. He handed it to Aragorn, who wrapped it around the injured halfling.
"Can't I—say goodbye to him?" Sam choked.
Aragorn had already lifted the halfling in his arms, but he paused for a moment. Sam took the other halfling's hands in his and kissed his forehead.
"Goodbye, master my dear." he whispered. "Be safe."
Then Aragorn lifted the halfling and carried him to Arwen's horse. Arwen had already mounted, and he lifted the halfling to sit in front of Arwen on her saddle. Then Aragorn stepped back and looked at Arwen.
"His name is Frodo." he said. "Keep him warm. Be careful, Arwen."
She nodded once, then turned and spurred her horse and galloped away.
It was Frodo's breathing that Arwen had heard earlier. His blue eyes were open wide, but sightless and clouded. The only sign of life he showed besides his awful gasping was the weak grasp of his fingers around Arwen's sleeve. Arwen sensed that he was afraid, and she tried to reassure him, talking softly and holding him close to keep him warm. At last they had to stop to rest the horse, and Arwen climbed carefully down with Frodo in her arms and sat on the ground with him. Frodo's head leaned weakly back against her shoulder. His eyes were closed now, and he was panting for breath. He clung to her arm with trembling hands.
"Frodo, I know you are in pain." she said softly. "Trust me. I will get you through."
Frodo gave no sign. Arwen sighed and began to rub his back softly.
"It was hard enough," Pippin said to me, "To watch Frodo. But knowing that he's in pain somewhere and we can't help him is even worse."
I nodded. I had long since cried all of my tears, and now I sat beside the dying fire in a cold, numb sort of stupor. Merry and Pippin sat on either side of me, and Merry had his arm around my shoulders. I knew that Frodo would probably die before he reached Rivendell, and I would not be there. I wanted to give him this last chance—I would never have been able to forgive myself if I hadn't let him go—but how hard it was for me. Did he know that I wasn't there? Did he think that I had abandoned him? I hated thinking about this, but I couldn't stop.
Arwen rode all night. She had seen deadly wounds like this before, and she knew what the struggling for breath and the half-consciousness meant.
"My father will heal you." she kept whispering to Frodo. "You will live."
Frodo's small hand tightened around her slender one. Arwen looked down and saw that his eyes were closed. The panicked look had left his face. Though his face was pinched with pain and he held Arwen's hand tightly, she thought that he seemed a little bit better.
"Frodo," she said, "Can you hear me?"
He moved his hand a little.
Arwen looped the reins over her wrist so her hand was free. She tucked Frodo's blankets tighter around him.
"Do not be afraid." she said soothingly. "Your friends have not left you. They are traveling close behind. I will take care of you for a while."
Frodo took a wheezing breath and began to cough. He struggled to breathe as Arwen gently stroked his curly hair.
"We must stop for a while." she said. "I will give you something to eat."
There was no time to cook a hot meal, so they ate the dry, cold food Arwen had packed for her journey. She sat on a grassy sward beside a brook and tried to coax Frodo to eat. At last she had to force bits of food into his mouth. He was too weak to spit them out, and he had to swallow them. Then she put her water bottle to his lips and got him to drink a little. Frodo seemed to be more awake than he had been the day before, and after she had finished Arwen sat for a few minutes and just held him in her arms.
"We must care for your mind as well as your body." she explained to him. "Lean against me. Don't be afraid."
Frodo stirred. "What…is…happening?" he murmured.
Realizing that Frodo was more conscious than she had thought, Arwen took his hand. "I am taking you to Rivendell." she said. "I am a friend of Aragorn."
"Aragorn." Frodo muttered. Then he opened his eyes a little. "I…can't…see." he whimpered.
Arwen patted his hand and rocked him gently back and forth. "I will help you, Frodo." she said softly. "I will help you. You will be well soon. Do not be afraid."
Frodo gripped her hand in both of his. He quickly slipped back into delirium, but Arwen had seen a glimpse of him as he had once been, and in her pity she tried even harder to comfort him.
A. N. Yeah, I know that Frodo wasn't technically dying at this point-he was turning into a wraith. But I didn't feel like writing about that, so now he's just dying :) Why bother writing fanfiction if you can't do what you want?
