CHAPTER 3
For five more days they camped at the foot of the Misty Mountains and Frodo rested as instructed. His cough did not improve but it got no worse either so he decided not to bother Lord Elrond about it, for the three high elves spent much of their time in conversation with Gandalf and the hobbits saw them only from a distance.
Frodo took to wandering through the surrounding woodlands on his own. He had not had the chance to be alone since he and Sam had awoken in Ithilien and he needed to sort and sift through his emotions. Occasionally he would come across other wanderers but more often he could find some quiet path and walk undisturbed for hours.
On one particular occasion he came across two of Lord Elrond's household out for a stroll. Not feeling up to engaging in conversation and not wanting to disturb them, Frodo stepped off the path and behind a tree, out of sight, blending into the scenery as only a hobbit could. Their soft voices drifted to him as they passed.
"So which one of the little folk is the Ringbearer. I am afraid they all look alike to me."
His companion laughed. "The slender one."
"Oh . . . the sickly one. He hardly looks strong enough to have undertaken the journey."
"He does seem to suffer a lot of ill health. Perhaps the journey made him so. If that is the case he is to be pitied."
"Indeed."
Their voices faded as they disappeared into the trees. Frodo looked down at himself. The clothes he had worn on the journey to Mordor were too badly torn to wear again so he had been given a new suit when he awoke in Ithilien. It fitted him very well and he was still wearing it. Sam, on the other hand, had put on so much weight that he had outgrown two suits and was almost back to his old rounded self.
Frodo blinked back a tear. Did everyone consider him sickly? He had eaten all he could manage, although often nowadays he did not feel hungry, had taken all their tonics and teas and yet he just couldn't seem to regain his old strength or weight. And now, on nearly the last leg of their journey home he had become ill again. Well, that was enough. He would not be known as the sickly one. He straightened. He would show them that he was perfectly well.
Over the next days Frodo put on his brightest face. He laughed and joked with Merry and Pippin and sat and talked to many of Elrond's folk, practising his Quenya and Sindarin.
Elladan and Elrohir would come often and talk with the hobbits and Frodo found them to be much less daunting than their kinfolk. He took pains to suppress his coughing whenever they were around however, suspecting that they reported his progress back to their father and he was getting a bit fed up of having his every sneeze and twitch analysed. It was bad enough that Sam watched him like a hawk.
"He seems well enough, Ada," announced Elrohir at supper.
His father looked across the campsite to the fire where the hobbits had congregated. Frodo appeared to be as animated as the rest . . . if not a little more so. But there was a slight edge to his laughter that sounded hollow and empty.
"Nonetheless, when we start riding tomorrow I want you and your brother to take up position behind the hobbits," Elrond instructed.
"Must we?" Elladan asked. "I was hoping to ride with Rivan. He has a new song that he said he would teach me."
Elrond raised and eyebrow. "This is important, Elladan. You have plenty of time to learn the song. I believe Frodo needs your presence now," he censured.
Suitably chastened Elladan replied, "Of course, Ada. I apologise."
His father squeezed his arm in acceptance.
On the next day, the seventh, camp was struck and the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood and their folk left to return to their own land. The hobbits, along with Lord Elrond's people and Gandalf, stood and watched the fair folk of Lorien until their grey company melted into the landscape and disappeared from mortal sight. Lord Elrond stood for some time longer, his keen elven sight following the Lorien elves until he, too, could no longer pick them out in the gathering dusk.
Just as they left the edge of his vision, Elrond felt Galadriel's voice in his mind.
"There is still a wrongness in him."
Elrond tried to keep his amusement out of the reply. "I know. I have it in hand."
The packhorses were already loaded and Elrond's return to camp was the signal for everyone to saddle horse and pony. Within the hour all were mounted and the journey across the mountains to the Last Homely House continued.
Gandalf and Elrond were at the head of the train. Some of the elf lord's household rode next and the hobbits, on their sturdy ponies, found themselves placed at the centre of the party, with Elladan and Elrohir travelling directly behind them. At the rear came the baggage. The significance of the hobbits being placed at the centre of the train was not lost on Merry, who had travelled thus before. It was the safest place to be in case of any trouble. The downfall of the Dark Lord did not mean that his minions had disappeared and the Misty Mountains had long been known as a dangerous place. Merry confided as much to Frodo, who had to resist the temptation to rebel at the thought of having to be "looked after" yet again.
As night fell the Misty Mountains began to live up to their name and a cold mist flowed down from the peaks to meet them. The cold and damp did not seem to bother the elves but Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin pulled up their hoods and drew their cloaks more closely about them. Even with the warmth of his Lorien cloak Frodo soon began shivering and the cold clammy air irritated his throat and lungs.
By the time the party set up camp, just before dawn, all the hobbits were cold and hungry and Frodo was finding it more and more difficult not to cough. As soon as they dismounted elves appeared with blankets for each and a small flask of miruvor. After only a couple of mouthfuls of the liqueur the others were feeling better but Frodo still shivered and his chest was beginning to hurt.
Elrond resisted the temptation to attend to Frodo straight away. He sensed a reluctance to be fussed over and tried to give him some space to acknowledge that he needed aid. The little hobbit said nothing however and the twins confided in their father that his cough appeared to be growing worse.
Elrond wished that they were in Rivendell, where at least there he could control the mists that rolled down from the peaks and could have spared Frodo that discomfort. After watching the hobbit at supper, Elrond could hold back no longer.
At supper Frodo ate little and left for his bed as soon as the meal was ended. He had hardly settled into his blankets when he heard Lord Elrond's voice at the entrance to his tent.
"Master Frodo, may I enter?"
Frodo sat up again, pulling one of the blankets about his shoulders. "Yes, Lord Elrond."
The tent flap opened and the elf slipped in on silent feet. "You did not appear to be hungry today. Are you feeling unwell again?"
"I'm just tired. It's nothing. I was not feeling very hungry, that's all." He was quite capable of dealing with a simple cough if everyone would just leave him alone to get some sleep. Lord Elrond would not be put off, however.
"I heard you coughing earlier. Is your chest bothering you?"
Bother these elves with their sensitive hearing. "It is just the damp night air. It is better now that I am in bed . . . . nothing that a little sleep won't cure." Frodo could feel the cough threatening and favoured the elf with a look, which he hoped said, 'back off'.
Elrond recognised it at once. Determination and strong will had got Frodo through his trials and the healer realised that to push any harder would have the opposite effect to that which he wished to achieve. Perhaps he could find other ways to bring healing.
"As you wish, Master Frodo." Elrond's face betrayed nothing and he left without further comment. As soon as he left Frodo collapsed, burying his head in the pillows to muffle the cough that finally overtook him.
Sam gently shook him awake at midday. "Time for breakfast, Mr Frodo." His voice adopted a tone of concern when he saw his master's pale face and bleary eyes. "Are you feeling alright, sir?"
Frodo pushed himself upright, a little surprised at how much energy it took to do so. "Yes Sam. There's no need to fuss over me all the time," he replied testily ending in a small, dry bark of a cough.
Sam frowned but Frodo did not notice, too intent was he in forcing the cough into submission. Seeing that his master had regained control Sam offered a plate of scrambled eggs with a little toast and a cup of camomile tea.
Accepting them silently, Frodo took a bite of the eggs. There was a strange back taste to them. It was not unpleasant but he could not place it.
"Whatever did you put in these eggs, Sam?"
The younger hobbit blushed. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr Frodo, sir. But I told Master Elrond that you weren't well."
"Sam?" Frodo let out a small exasperated sigh.
"I've been lying awake listening to you breathing and it don't sound right. If you'll excuse me saying so, sir . . . I think your more poorly than you're lettin' on and I told Master Elrond so. He gave me some powder to mix in the eggs." Still blushing furiously, he stood his ground.
Frodo put the plate down a little more firmly than he had intended, scattering toast in the grass. "If I need help, Samwise Gamgee, you will be the first person I ask. And I would not expect you, of all people, to be drugging me without permission." He subsided into more coughing but when Sam moved to support him he waved him, irritatedly, away.
The younger hobbit gathered up the toast and eggs and left.
When he had regained mastery of his breathing Frodo found that his throat was very dry and sore. He eyed the tea, the smell of honeyed toffee floating on the steam, and decided against it, determining to find some fresh water when he got up.
Standing up took even more energy than sitting up but managed to put his jacket and cloak on and walk slowly but steadily to the entrance. As soon as he stepped outside though, he staggered as the brilliant noonday sun struck his eyes with an almost physical force. Squinting against a suddenly kindled headache, he waited until the pounding had subsided before letting go the hastily grabbed tent pole and heading off to find water.
At a stream not far from camp he drank his fill. The water was icy cold, numbing his throat and cooling him a little and after it he settled back against a tree trunk. He had not intended to sleep but he must have nodded off for when he next grew aware of his surroundings the sun was setting and he was beginning to shiver, despite feeling quite hot.
It was as they were making the final preparations to break camp that a breathless Sam sought out Elrond.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir. I don't want to trouble you, but Mr Frodo ain't been seen for some time and I'm worried."
"I know, Samwise. When he did not arrive for lunch I put it down to stubbornness but I too am growing concerned, for you said he seemed to have the beginning of a fever." He touched Sam on the shoulder. "Leave it to me. I will send some of my people to search."
"I'll help," announced Sam.
Elrond shook his head. "I want you here when he comes back. He seems to trust you most and I want you to keep a close eye on him. I will send Master Peregrine in your stead. He would benefit for something to occupy him."
Pippin shook Frodo's shoulder, none too gently.
"Come on, sleepyhead. Whatever are you doing here? We've all been looking for you."
As Frodo gathered his wits Pippin paused and took a good look at him. "You know, you don't look well, Frodo. Should I fetch Gandalf?"
"No!" Frodo snapped. Then he pulled himself together a little. Waking up was never a good time for him and this wretched cough was making him feel even worse. "I'll be fine in a minute." He took another drink from the stream and then followed Pippin back to the camp, realising that they would be packing up to leave.
As they approached the edge of the clearing Frodo noticed that all the tents had indeed been folded away and his pony stood saddled and waiting. Merry and Sam were already mounted and Sam held the reins of Frodo's pony while Merry held Pippins. Merry put on his best "mother hen" voice.
"Frodo, where have you been? We were all worried sick when you did not turn up for dinner."
"I'm sure you were. Doubtless Lord Elrond had a whole array of special dishes lined up just for me." Frodo snapped. He was angry with himself for falling asleep and causing everyone yet more worry and in the stunned silence that followed he kept walking towards his pony.
Pippin fell in behind him. "Actually, yes he did. I offered to eat them instead, as you obviously weren't going to, but he just had them taken away." He paused. "I thought that was rather mean of him. They looked quite delicious."
Frodo hoisted himself up onto his pony. "Pippin, I don't think you would have liked them as much as you think." And with that he kicked the poor pony sharply in the ribs and trotted off to join the rest of the travellers.
As Frodo and Pippin emerged from the trees Elrond called his sons to him.
"Take up position behind the hobbits once more and pay particular attention to Frodo. I am worried that he may collapse."
"Yes, Ada. We will stay close," Elladan assured his father.
Elrond stayed him swiftly. "Not too close. He has had much forced upon him in this past year. Let him find his own path."
The twins nodded and turned their horses.
At the head of the train Frodo watched the exchange, although he could not hear their words. He continued to watch as the twins trotted their horses back down the line and fell in behind the hobbits once more. He drew up his hood so that they could not see his face.