CHAPTER 7

The afternoon light was no brighter than it had been during the morning and Frodo lay quietly staring at the weather. Gusts of wind sent smatterings of autumn leaves and rain pattering against the windowpanes and he watched rain drops slide down the glass. Sam was not around and he took that to mean that Bilbo's party had begun.

It was to be a quiet affair, just the hobbits and Gandalf for the ancient gentle-hobbit was not up to much noise and fuss. Frodo imagined the scene in his uncle's room with all of them sitting around the tea table. He fancied he could see the firelit faces and hear the merry laughter and chatter.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back. His chest didn't really hurt that much now and, although he still felt weak and a little overwarm, he had felt much worse. This was no worse than the influenza he had nursed himself through a couple of winters ago. Surely if he did not stay too long, it would be all right to attend the party? True, he didn't feel much like eating but he did want to celebrate his uncle's birthday . . . both their birthdays. It was a sad but true fact that there may not be many more of them and he had missed so many pleasures over the last year.

Frodo sat up slowly and pushed back the covers. It was a long way down to the floor from the elven sized bed but he made it, shuddering a little when his feet came into contact with the cold polished wood. Slowly and carefully he crossed to the wardrobe and retrieved his clothes, dressed as quickly as he was able and headed for the door.

The hallway was mercifully empty and Bilbo's room was only a few doors further along. It seemed however, that the hallway grew longer as he walked down it and halfway to the room he had to pause as a cough gathered and held him for a few minutes but, using the wall to steady himself, he finally made it. From the other side of the closed door he could hear Pippin's bright laughter and the murmur of conversation.

Frodo pushed himself away from the wall, ran fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it, tugged at his weskit and put on his brightest smile as he opened the door.

"Happy birthday, Bilbo!"

For a few seconds there was a stunned silence as his friends took in his presence. Bilbo was blissfully unaware of the pause however, as he looked up from his armchair by the fire and smiled.

"Frodo, my lad. How lovely it is to see you. They said you would not be coming." He indicated a table by the window. "I'm afraid we ate without you but perhaps Pippin has left something."

Frodo crossed the room to the fireplace, using a casual hand on nearby furniture to steady himself for, despite his earlier confidence; he was now finding it a little difficult not to sway and had to lock each knee as he took a step. Although Bilbo seemed blithely unaware of this Frodo knew that the others watched his progress closely and Merry almost leapt out of his chair by the fire to make room for his cousin.

As he sank gratefully into it Frodo tried a small laugh. "That's alright, Bilbo dear. I ate something earlier. I'm not really that hungry." He caught Sam's questioning look and returned it levelly. It was not a lie. He had eaten breakfast and he was definitely not hungry, although even if he had been he was not sure his legs would have carried him to the table.

Bilbo peered at him through dimming eyes. "Nonsense. No such thing as a hobbit who isn't hungry. You're as thin as a fence post, lad. Whatever have you been doing with yourself?"

Trying once more to discuss the journey of the past year Frodo replied, "I went to Mordor, Bilbo. Don't you remember me telling you? To destroy the ring."

The white haired hobbit shook his head dazedly. "Whatever would you want to do that for? That ring was very useful. I remember one day when I was out for a walk . . ." Bilbo launched into a tale he had told them a hundred times before and they all dutifully ooooh'd and laughed in the appropriate places.

The others, including Gandalf, had only half their attention on Bilbo however, for their eyes kept flickering to Frodo, where he sat pale and sweating. Half way through the tale Gandalf poured some apple juice and handed the glass to Sam, who brought it to his master. Frodo accepted it thankfully; sipping its cool freshness and fighting to push down a cough that threatened to overtake him.

As Bilbo reached the end of the tale his head began to nod and he subsided into gentle snores and as soon as he heard the second one Merry rounded angrily on his cousin.

"What do you think you're doing, Frodo? Lord Elrond told you to stay in bed. I know, because I was the one he chose to pass the instruction through," he hissed in a loud stage whisper.

"I am alright, Merry. I'm just going to sit here. What's the difference between sitting here and sitting in my bed?"

"There is a big difference, as well you know," Gandalf murmured. "I suppose you just floated here on a cloud? Or did you, perhaps, walk the length of the hall?"

His uncle rescued Frodo. "Now, where were we?" came his drowsy voice, from across the fire. His eyes lit on his nephew. "Frodo, my boy. You made it to my party. Happy birthday to you."

Frodo lifted his glass in a toast and took a sip. "And a happy birthday to you, Bilbo dear." His hand shook a little and he wished he had not chosen to sit so close to the fire for his shirt was stuck to his back with perspiration and little droplets were rolling down his face from his hair.

His uncle squinted at him in the fading afternoon light. "You look a little peaked. You don't eat enough, you know. You're as thin as a fence post." He seemed unaware of the fact that he had had made the same observation only a few minutes before.

Frodo blinked, as Bilbo's face seemed to recede and then advance. He tried another swallow of the cool apple juice and attempted to concentrate on what was going on around him. Merry was saying something to Bilbo and Sam was standing at Frodo's shoulder, rescuing his master's glass as it tilted dangerously and threatened to spill the remains of its contents.

"Are you alright, lad?" Bilbo's voice held a note of concern and his nephew realised that he could keep up the pretence no longer.

"Actually, I am a little tired. Perhaps I will go and lie down for a while." He made to rise but his legs lacked the strength to push him all the way up and Sam had to put a hand under his elbow to help and hold him there.

Gandalf made a big show of yawning and stretching as he also walked towards Frodo. "Well, I have had a wearying time too, looking out for all these young ones. I shall walk with you as far as your door, Frodo, and then retire myself. Good day to you, Bilbo." With that he laid a hand upon Frodo's back and steered him gently towards the door, adding his surreptitious support to Sam's and placing his long robed body between Frodo and Bilbo's eyes.

"Well, bless me," declared Bilbo as the door closed. "And I thought I was the one who was always sleepy."

Elrond slipped quietly into the room and crossed to the large bed. Sam had left for the party some time ago but the elven healer knew that the sedative he had administered would be effective for some time. He had reckoned without Frodo's stubborn determination, however and before he had taken a few steps he realised that the bed was empty. I took him no time to guess where his patient had gone and he hurried from the room and turned towards Bilbo's chamber.

A little way down the hallway he spied the trio. Elven eyesight saw Frodo's difficulty easily and the healer began to hurry, suspecting that the little hobbit would not hold up much longer.

Words floated back and forth in Frodo's mind but he could not wring any meaning from them. The hall was longer than he remembered and the light was fading. Ahead, Lord Elrond stepped out of Frodo's room and began to hurry towards them.

A wave of heat washed through Frodo and he staggered as his knees finally folded. Trying to call out to Gandalf for help, he was assailed by a fit of coughing that robbed him of what little consciousness was left and he tumbled down into the fiery depths of Mount Doom.