CHAPTER 4

As it had the night before, a cold damp mist closed in around them and with each passing hour Frodo found it more and more difficult not to cough as the damp air seemed to scratch and tear at the lining of his lungs.

On at least one occasion he straightened from a bought of dry painful hacking to find Sam and his other friends watching with some concern. Frodo merely returned their looks with a level gaze. He was quite capable of getting through this without having to run to someone for help. It would pass as soon as they got out of these awful mountains.

After several hours of steady riding Elrond called a rest halt for the animals but Frodo stayed on his pony for as long as possible, afraid that if he got down his legs would give way. He felt wearier than he had for months and the very thought of moving was almost beyond him. Although no one approached him directly, Frodo was very much aware of several sets of eyes upon him and he concentrated on staring straight ahead as he waited for the call to resume the journey.

He had not realised that he had drowsed until he sensed movement and looked up. Elrohir was leading his pony by the bridle and Elladan walked at Frodo's side, a hand on his back to steady him in the saddle. Frodo sighed but was too tired to protest. A little distance from the bustle of the main party, Elladan helped him down but when he set his feet on the ground Frodo's legs crumpled and the elf had to catch him up and carry him to a quiet spot where he laid him down on a blanket.

"Shall I fetch my father?" asked the twin.

Frodo shook his head. "Be alright . . . just need . . . few minutes."

Elladan looked as though he was going to protest but Elrohir stayed him and he just nodded and left. Sam came to sit by his side and Frodo closed his eyes again for a moment.

When he awoke next Sam was not around and Frodo felt very thirsty. His chest hurt, his throat was swollen and dry and his body felt as though it were on fire. Dragging himself to his feet, he left in search of water, his eyes refusing to focus properly. In his difficulty he did not notice Gandalf's keen gaze following him.

The wizard found Elrond swiftly. "Elrond . . . Frodo is unwell."

The elf looked up from his saddlebag. "I know. There is congestion in his lungs but he will not let me tend him. I suspect, however, that the choice will be taken from him shortly. Samwise will report to me in a moment." He pulled a small bottle from his bag, just as Sam ran up.

"Mr Gandalf, Master Elrond . . . He's gone" he gasped out, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Elrond reached out, laying a hand upon Sam's back. "Take a deep breath and then tell me what has happened." His calm voice and the touch settled the hobbit and Sam tried again.

"He seemed to be asleep so I thought it would be alright to fetch him some water. But when I came back he'd gone. Where could he have gone? He was too poorly."

"I saw him leave. Follow me, Sam." Gandalf gathered up his staff and strode off in the direction Frodo had taken.

Elrond summoned the twins and began to make preparations.

Frodo headed away from the camp and into the surrounding woods. This low in the foothills the slopes were still relatively thickly wooded and the air was fresh and redolent of evergreens and loam. Frodo made the mistake of trying to inhale the fragrance too deeply.

He was rewarded by a bout of coughing that triggered an alarmingly sharp pain in his side, forcing him to his hands and knees and it was thus that Sam and Gandalf found him.

When the pain and coughing subsided, leaving him gasping and dizzy, Frodo found a strong arm supporting him across the front of his shoulders and a large hand gently rubbing his back. When he settled back on his heels an arm drew him up and back until he was sitting in Gandalf's lap, his back supported against the wizard's warm chest. Sam took his masters hands, rubbing them gently and brushing off the pine needles stuck to his palms.

Concentrating on pulling in air without coughing and forcing away the pain in his side, Frodo heard the familiar gruff voice in his ear.

"Was there ever a more stubborn hobbit than Frodo Baggins, I wonder."

"I am … not stubborn…. I … am just fed…. up of …everyone …making my … business …their own." Frodo managed to gasp out.

"They are concerned for you. That is all. And with good reason from the look of things."

Frodo merely closed his eyes and leaned into Gandalf's strength, too weak to argue further. Gandalf gathered him up and carried him back to the rest of the party and Frodo hid his face in the old wizard's shoulder.

Elrond was waiting patiently and it was he and Sam who tucked Frodo into several layers of blankets. Cushions were arranged to support him in semi-reclining position, which made it easier to breathe and Frodo had to admit to himself that it felt better to be lying down.

The elven lord knelt at his side. "Drink this, Frodo. It will help to ease your breathing."

The hobbit shook his head. "Can't . . . throat hurts." Was all he could manage to croak. His throat was swollen and he could hardly muster the strength to swallow.

The healer put the cup to Frodo's lips, nonetheless, and trickled a little of the liquid into his mouth. Cool fingers touched his throat, the gentlest of feather light strokes and Frodo found his throat swallowing once . . . twice . . . three times. Elrond stood and Sam took his place, dabbing at his master's sweat drenched brow with a cool damp cloth. Frodo closed his eyes and drifted away.

He was being carried. Frodo tried to open his eyes and was met with a dizzying swirl of movement that made him squeeze them shut again. There was a sudden upward surge that made him feel sick and then he was settled in someone's lap, held secure by a strong arm, his cheek resting against a warm, velvet clad chest. Once more he tried to open his eyes, squinting against the bright silver light of Ithil. The mist had dissipated and he found that he was very high up, higher than he had been when sitting his pony and he realised that he was on a large grey horse. The arm holding the reigns before him was also clad in grey and Frodo realised, with a sinking heart that he was held by the Lord of Imladris.

From above his head the soft music of Elrond's voice drifted to his ears. "We have a little longer to travel tonight and then we will rest so that you can recover. Sleep, Little One." The very words seemed to command his body and Frodo sank into oblivion once more.

A jostling aroused him and Frodo gasped at a sharp pain across the knuckles of his left hand. His eyes flew open to find a confused pre dawn world of movement and shouting. Black fletched arrows fell about him and his carer's hand no longer held reins but a long bright sword. Looking down he found a shallow gash across the back of his hand and an arrow had embedded itself in the saddle pommel at his side.

Elrond's horse and the hobbit's ponies were at the centre of a ring of elven defenders and in the trees beyond Frodo could dimly see and hear orcs. He shrank down, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. Obviously, word of the Dark Lord's downfall had little effect upon his minions as yet and there had been no chance to purge the mountains of their evil presence.

The elves were giving a good account of themselves and no orcs actually broke through the defensive circle, although black shafts still rained down. Frodo flinched and he felt Lord Elrond's muscles tense as he moved with lightning speed to deflect, with the blade of his sword, a bolt that would have skewered Frodo's chest.

Suddenly, Gandalf's voice called loud and clear over the surrounding din. "Ware!" A brilliant flash of light accompanied the call and all closed their eyes in defence. An assortment of wild screams could be heard from their enemies, followed by the crashing sound of their stumbling retreat to the shadows.

Frodo peeked out from the protection of Elrond's cloak and found elves and hobbits doing likewise. No more arrows came their way and one brave bird heralded the arrival of dawn as the sky began to brighten behind them. To his right, Gandalf sat upon Shadowfax, the fading glow of his staff echoed in his deeply shadowed eyes and Frodo blinked in awe as he saw Gandalf the White sitting majestic and proud, cloaked in his power.

A rising cough burst from Frodo, accompanied by the searing pain in his side and, if he had the breath to spare, he would have cried out with the intensity of it. Gentle arms supported him and, when it faded to the point that he was aware of other sensory input, he felt a hand rubbing his back and heard soft words of comfort in his ear. He sank bonelessly against Elrond's chest and the elf supported him there, placing a small flask to his lips and tilting it to let a few drops of liquid trickle into Frodo's mouth. The miruvor moistened his dry throat and, for a moment, the world drew back into focus. The hobbit closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift, only vaguely aware of a conversation going on around him.

Gandalf moved Shadowfax closer to Elrond's horse, watching as the healer soothed Bilbo's nephew. "He should be kept still and resting. We need to make camp for a few days until he is recovered," he suggested. His voice was gruff with concern.

Elrond shook his head and continued to fold his cloak more closely about his charge. "We dare not tarry here. That was only a small party of orcs. Now that they have our measure they will be back in greater numbers with the next sunset." Elrond's tone was firm, one of the few people in Middle Earth who would have dared stand up to the wizard.

"Surely, without rest and warmth we are putting his life at risk?" the wizard countered.

"I know what I am doing, Mithrandir." Elrond's used Gandalf's old, comfortable elven name. . "As long as he is kept warm and allowed to rest for at least a part of the day I can sustain him until we reach Imladris. If we camp here for any length of time we put his life and everyone else's in danger."

"I bow to your greater knowledge in healing, Elrond, but I beg you to remember that you carry a very precious charge."

Elrond bridled, well aware of what he held in his hands. He drew breath to reply but thought better of it, acknowledging that Gandalf was worried for his friend.

Elrond gave a gentle mental nudge and Frodo dipped back down into pleasant dreams.