AT THE INN OF THE PRANCING PONY

Elrond smoothed the counterpane over the small chest as Sam fastened the buttons on Frodo's nightshirt. The new wound was healing well and they would not have to change the dressing again before morning. Arwen collected the last of the soiled bandages and left, placing a soft kiss on her father's cheek before she turned to go.

Hobbit and elf settled in chairs at opposite sides of the large bed. Frodo lay still, deep in healing sleep and totally unaware that Sam held his cold left hand in both of his. Or perhaps he was not so unaware, for he sighed and his head turned a little to the left on his pillow.

The healer touched fingers to the pulse in Frodo's wrist for a moment, pleased to hear it steady, if not still a little faint. He let his hand fall away to rest upon the embroidered counterpane. It had been stitched by Celebrian many years ago. Arwen's love of embroidery had come from her mother, no doubt. She could often be found at her frame in the evenings.

00000

Arwen looked up at the sound of breaking glass and pushed her embroidery frame aside to rush to her father as he fell to hands and knees amongst the splinters of his shattered wineglass.

She threw herself down at his side and lifted him to lean against her, biting her lip when she saw the large shard of glass protruding from his right palm. She would tend to that later. Pushing his hair out of his face, Arwen looked into her father's eyes. They were wide and unfocussed, the grey iris' swallowed by black pupils. She had seen him in vision trance before, but never unannounced like this. Arwen knew enough to know that there was nothing she could do but stay with him until the vision ended and she drew him to lean against her shoulder, holding his hand away so that the blood did not drip on his clothes.

Surprise . . . fear . . . terror . . . horror. Black shadows moving in . . . an eye . . . pupil slitted like a cat's . . . wreathed in flame . . . the feeling of being pinned, like a moth to a collector's board.

Fight, Little One . . . Take it off . . . You must resist.

Muscles paralysed with fear twitching . . . small hand moving slowly . . . so slowly . . . towards the gold ring on his left hand . . . so slowly . . . fingers closing about it . . . pulling . . .

That's it, Little One . . . Resist.

Pulling . . . the metal band moves . . . straining . . . it is moving . . . moving . . .

Elrond gasped, sagging into his daughter's arms and she held him, stroking his hair until she felt him draw breath and make to pull away. Arwen loosened her grip and looked into her father's face, in time to see the pupils narrow and the colour return to his cheeks.

"Achh!" He looked away, his attention suddenly drawn to his hand.

"Are you all right, Ada?"

"I would be, were it not for the large hole in my hand. The body was designed with only a certain number of orifices, and I do not remember seeing mention of one in the hand in all my studies." Elrond produced a kerchief from some hidden pocket in his robes and, snatching the glass out, pressing the square of silk to the wound.

Arwen leaned back on her heels and smiled. "Do not mention it, Ada. You are welcome."

Elrond looked up, his features softened. "I am sorry, child. Thank you. It disturbs me when the visions take me unawares. Truly . . . I am well, or at least I will be if you will assist me with the dressing of this cut."

A few minutes later he was sitting propped up by pillows on his bed, his hand held over a basin of warm water while Arwen cleansed the wound. He hissed and resisted the temptation to snatch the hand away when his daughter dribbled some water into the open cut.

"I am sorry, Ada. I just wanted to make sure that there were no slivers of glass left. It looks clean enough, though I think it will need some stitches."

Elrond took one of the dry pieces of cloth and dabbed at the wound. "Yes . . . two should suffice. Do you need any assistance?"

Arwen arched one eyebrow, in imitation of her father. "I am the daughter of Elrond of Imladris. I believe I can manage to tie a couple of stitches."

Settling back against his pillows, Elrond made no comment, closing his eyes as she removed the basin, laid his hand upon a folded towel, and began to apply a liquid to numb the flesh.

As his daughter worked, Elrond reviewed every detail he could remember of the vision. He was used to such things . . . as wielder of Vilya he had often had visions. Like Galadriel's mirror the Ring of Air could show him events of the present or the future . . . and, also like the mirror . . . it was not always clear which they were or whether any action could be taken to avoid them.

This vision was different. It was as though Vilya were linked to The One in the moment that Frodo slipped it on his finger. And yet, Bilbo had worn it many times and Elrond had felt nothing. And Gollum had worn it before that. Elrond shuddered as he considered what sights he may have been subjected to if he had been linked to the Ring then. But then, Sauron had not been alerted to the fact that it had been found or in what area of Middle-earth to search for it. Gollum had changed all that and the Eye of Sauron was now fixed firmly northward.

The fact that Frodo had put on the Ring implied that Mithrandir had not yet managed to meet up with him. What had drawn the wizard away from Frodo, Elrond could not imagine. No word had been heard or sight given of the istari since the end of June but the Bruinen had brought sense of his crossing the Gwathlo two days ago. Why Gandalf should be travelling so far from the Shire at such an important time, Elrond could not fathom.

He ignored the slight sensations of tugging in his hand as Arwen continued her ministrations and turned again to the vision. Where was Frodo?

Shunting aside the emotions, the elf concentrated on the images in the background. They were difficult to make out for, caught as he was in the other world, the things of this world appeared as shadows, vague shapes in a mist.

Frodo was lying on his back on a floor and above him towered the shapes of many people. They were too tall for hobbits . . . not the Shire, then. Where would someone unused to travel in the wild make for? An inn perhaps? Bree? It was at the crossroads.

Elrond played the scene once more in his mind and . . . there . . . he saw what he had hoped to find. A black boot mended at the toe with a piece of dark brown leather. Just on the edge of Frodo's line of sight. Elrohir had made fun of the fact that the patch did not match and Elladan had pointed out that, soon enough, the mud and weather would fade it to the same muddy grey as the rest of the outfit worn by their foster brother.

Estel had found Frodo.

Elrond drew a deep breath and opened his eyes in time to see Arwen fastening off the bandage. He closed his hand lightly, wincing as the stitches pulled.

"Thank you, daughter."

Arwen cleared away her equipment and spread a blanket over his legs.

"Rest for a little while, Ada."

Elrond smiled. "I believe I will. But would you send Elladan to me please. I need to discuss something with him." They would need to put into effect the plans they had made for the valley's defence months ago.

Arwen shook her head. Getting her father to rest was the most difficult of tasks.

"Yes Adar."

TBC