CHAPTER 4 – The Grey Towers
For people interested in story construction . . . the last half of this chapter is based upon a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.
Frodo knew little of the next two days but for Sam they were some of the longest in his life.
As soon as he saw that the elves were preparing to leave he abandoned his largely untouched supper and ran over to his friend, hesitating a moment when he saw Lord Elrond, with eyes closed, resting a hand upon Frodo's breast, above his heart. The elf sensed his presence however, beckoning him forward, and Sam took up station on the ground opposite the tall elf lord.
"How is he?"
Elrond withdrew his hand and began to pack away bottles in an intricately carved wooden box at his side.
"He awoke for a little while and took some broth. I gave him something to help him sleep and he rests now."
Sam smoothed back the dark curls from Frodo's brow, relieved to find his skin a little warmer, although the finely chiselled face was still too pale. Sam was reminded of a sudden of one of Mr Bilbo's best china cups, a tea service that had disappeared during the Sackville-Baggins tenure of Bag End. The service had been made of the finest white china, so light it felt as though it would float away if you let go, and when held up to the window the light shone through it, giving the impression that it glowed.
"He's been ill for months, although he tried to hide it from me and Rosie. But it's been worse the past few weeks," Sam offered.
Elrond settled back on his heels. "He has been ill for more than a few weeks, or even a few months. In truth he has not been completely well since he was stabbed at Weathertop."
Sam gaped. "Surely not that long? I would have seen it."
"It has been a slow decline, accelerated by the loss of the Ring. Large parts of his soul were dragged from him when he lost the Ring and the wounds inflicted have never fully healed, nor are they likely to, while he remains in Middle-earth. But in the Undying Lands he has some hope of recovery."
"Hope?" Sam had caught a hind of uncertainty in the elf's voice.
"He is very ill, Samwise. Even the skill of the elves and the virtue of the Undying Lands may not be sufficient to repair such damage as he has sustained. But if he remains in Middle-earth the decline will reach its inevitable conclusion." Elrond released a small sigh. "If we can bring him safely to the West he has some chance, for there is a power there greater than mine."
Sam's gaze returned to the peaceful face of his master. "He's still set on going then?"
"Yes. I asked him whether he was still intent upon the journey before I sent him into sleep."
The gardener did not dare look into the elf's face as he asked his next question. "Will he make it, do you think?"
There was a pause that seemed to Sam to stretch out into infinity, then the soft music of Lord Elrond's voice drifted to him across Frodo's still form. "I do not know."
A large but gentle hand touched his shoulder in comfort and Sam found that tears were sliding down his cheeks once more.
Camp was broken as quickly as it had been set up and, when Sam looked about the clearing as he remounted, there was no evidence that the elves had ever been there. He looked up at the tall, grey clad figure seated upon a grey stallion at his side. He could not see Frodo, although he knew he was there, held safe within the shadow of Lord Elrond's great cloak. Sam had watched closely as Gildor had handed up the blanket wrapped, sleeping hobbit and Elrond had settled him in the crook of his left arm, drawing his own cloak about him, almost like a tent.
Bilbo rode a little way behind, nodding as he drowsed, the reigns of his pony held by Gildor.
They travelled on, through the unfamiliar White Downs and then on to the Far Downs. Under other circumstances Sam would have been craning his neck, taking great interest in the new landscape but now he only had eyes for the grey figure at his side and the precious bundle that he carried.
After a while, Sam noticed that Lord Elrond did not hold the reins of his horse, but steered with his knees, for with one arm he cradled Frodo and his other hand rested upon the small chest. Sometimes, when Ithil had hidden his face behind a cloud, Sam fancied that he saw a pale silver glimmer coming from the depths of Elrond's cloak.
The elves travelled mainly through the evening and night, making camp in a hollow of the land during the daylight hours. They moved like a pale mist across the landscape, silent and unnoticed except perhaps by the wild animals that crossed their path.
As the sky lightened to grey on the third day, and the fingers of the Grey Towers rose from the mist of a chill autumn morning, Sam noticed that one of the other elves took the reins of Lord Elrond's horse; and when they stopped to camp the elf lord had to be helped down.
Sam hovered by Elrond as Frodo was settled upon a bed of dry bracken and then sat down at his master's side, determined that he would not be parted from him, for Frodo seemed to be stirring at last. To his surprise, Lord Elrond was turned and led away by the Lady Galadriel and it was Gildor that took up position opposite Sam.
"Lord Elrond says that your master will awaken shortly, Samwise. When he does you should give him a little of this Miruvor and some broth that will be sent across to you once it can be warmed." He handed Sam a small silver flask and then left. The little hobbit felt very alone all of a sudden and his eyes sought out Bilbo. The ancient hobbit rose from his place at the fire and wondered over, a vague smile on his lips. With much grunting he lowered himself slowly to the ground next to Sam.
"Don't you worry, lad. Master Elrond will sort him out." He patted the youngster's hand.
A gentle sigh at his side drew Sam's attention back to his charge and he waited as Frodo's dark eyelashes fluttered open.
At the other side of the camp, Elrond was seated in the shade of a lone ash tree, with Galadriel at his side. The Lady's voice was light as spring rain.
"You cannot go on feeding Frodo your own strength in this way. We are a strong people but even we have our limits." She pushed her kinsman's hood back from his face to let the early sun warm it. "You have not the use of Vilya to support you. Its power has faded."
Elrond's grey eyes met those of his wife's mother firmly. "It was elven greed and pride that helped to bring about the existence of the One Ring; the ring that we sent Frodo to destroy. I owe it to him and to my daughter to help now and I will not abandon him while I have the strength to do so."
The voice of the Lady of the Golden Wood carried a small note of censure as she brushed a stray lock of dark hair from Elrond's cheek. "I did not suggest that you abandon him, nor would I ever do so. I simply stated that you could not continue to use your own strength. I suppose such stubborn independence is to be expected from one with such an upbringing as yours' but I would have thought that all the years you have spent in this world would have taught you something."
He let his eyes slide away from her piercing gaze. He rarely won any verbal battle with Galadriel, even when he had all his wits about him, and at the moment he was too weary to even try. "Then, what do you suggest?"
Galadriel did not press her advantage. "You do not travel alone. Allow us to aid you for we too, owe Master Baggins much." She laid a pale and slender hand upon his and Elrond blinked in surprise, taking a deep breath as his arid fea was flooded with the clear shining water of her strength.
"Thank you." His eyes met hers again, seeing within them for a moment an echo of his wife. Then her gaze grew distant and she murmured. "He is awakening. You had better go to him."
O0O
Sam looked up in relief as Elrond approached. Frodo was swallowing the broth he was coaxing him with but he seemed only half-aware of his surroundings, the blue eyes drifting in and out of focus. The healer settled on the ground, laying his carved box at his side.
Slowly, with an effort, the vivid morning-glory eyes began to focus. Another mouthful went down with clear difficulty: this time, Frodo nearly choked, wincing as the broth went down the wrong way and at once, Elrond's gentle hands lifted him, patting his back lightly to aid its return.
"Please . . . no more. I can't," Frodo whimpered. He desperately wanted the liquid but the effort was just too much.
"It is alright, Frodo. I can help you to swallow." The elf lifted the cup from Sam's fingers. "Let me take over, Sam. You sit behind your master and support him against your chest."
The gardener was quick to comply and Elrond leaned Frodo back into the security of his friends' arms. The small wooden herbal was opened and a bottle removed.
"Time for a little more medicine."
The look that crossed Frodo's face seemed a silent groan and the Ringbearer blinked fretfully, the change in position seeming to help his breathing, though it worsened his pallor.
"There now, Mr. Frodo," soothed Sam, his voice quiet and reassuring. "Just a drop. . .you can do this. You can." But there was a hint of doubt in the brown eyes: Sam was very worried at his friend's deteriorating health.
Looking far less convinced, Frodo looked up at Elrond anxiously . . .but opened his mouth slightly, ready for additional liquid. The small alabaster bottle of tincture of Lily of the Valley was opened and Elrond slipped five tiny drops between Frodo's lips.
"That is all the medicine." He touched gentle fingers to Frodo's throat. There was another effort and, with the additional impetus of Elrond stroking lightly, the tiny muscles of the throat worked. The medicine went down, swallowed without further incident, and Frodo seemed to relax.
Sam, visibly relieved, smiled rubbing Frodo's arm gently. "There now, Mr. Frodo. . .all done."
Taking up the cup of fortified broth in one hand, the healer continued press fingers to Frodo's throat. "Hold him steady, Samwise." He trickled a little of the warm, light liquid into his charge's mouth, helping him to swallow once more.
Frodo flinched in surprise as he heard his uncle's voice.
"Hello Frodo, my lad. Not feeling too well? You should look after yourself better, you know."
Frodo tried to smile; the merest curl of the corners of his lips. "Just tired . . . Bilbo. I'm sure I . . . will feel better . . . tomorrow."
"It's not like you," Bilbo noted with some confusion.
"It was . . . the Ring," Frodo tried to explain, knowing even as he said it that Bilbo would probably not understand. He was not sure he entirely understood himself.
Bilbo's face cleared. "Oh . . . Whatever happened to that old ring of mine?"
Frodo's heart sank at the words. Bilbo would be his only link with home when he arrived in the West. There would be no one else to share his thoughts with and he quailed at the idea of being all alone.
Elrond glanced across the dell at Gildor and the guide nodded and approached the little group resting a hand lightly on the old hobbit's shoulder. "Come along, Master Bilbo. Your bed is prepared. Let us leave your nephew to the care of Samwise and Lord Elrond."
Bilbo smiled vaguely and allowed the tall elf to help him up. "Sleep well, Frodo my lad." And with that he allowed himself to be lead away.
"Try to swallow, Little One. You will need the strength for the journey ahead." Elrond brushed a tear from Frodo's cheek. "The Undying Lands may bring healing to more than you."
Frodo blinked, bringing his eyes to meet the deep pools of wisdom that were Elrond's.
"Bilbo?"
There was a slight inclination of the elf's head. "He was affected by the Ring too. You may both find the healing you seek."
"Thank you . . . for that . . . hope."
Elrond poured a few drops of the fortified broth between pale lips, his other hand touching Frodo's throat expertly.
Slowly Frodo's gaze lost focus . . .yet Elrond's keen eyes noted that it was not the unfocusing of half-delirium or drowsiness, but a refocusing on something farther than the elven lord's face. Over Elrond's shoulder Frodo could make out, in the far distance, a squat grey tower, it's conical roof long ruined, whether by age and the elements or some other event he could not tell. Much closer was another tower, its slender, grey stone finger pointing to the clear blue sky of a fine autumn day that had emerged from the dawn mist. In a better state of repair, its roof was flat and balustraded.
The small throat moved weakly in response, but then faltered, swallowing hesitantly even with Elrond's touch, and at last Frodo closed his lips, pulling back weakly to murmur something.
"Those . . .those towers . . . From . . .my dreams . . . There . . . there are . . . three."
Concerned, although there was no sign of it in his face, Elrond's fingers slid to one side to check the pulse at Frodo's jaw.
"You are not dreaming, Little One. You have drowsed away three nights and two days and we are at the Grey Towers. The third tower is behind you, somewhat ruined I am afraid, and we are about to signal Himlond of our imminent arrival."
Frodo shook his head slightly. "I . . .I mean . . ." He was frustrated at his body's weakness, speaking with difficulty. "From my dream . . . the one I've . . .had so many times . . . Ever since . . .I was small. . .I've seen them. . . ." Blue eyes gazed up longingly at the grey shapes. "You can . . .see the . . . Sea . . .from there . . .I'm sure."
Elrond continued trying to coax some broth between pale lips. The frail body needed nourishment and the Miruvor would steady the faltering system. "Yes. You can see the Grey Havens, and beyond that, the Gulf of Lhun and the Sea. Gildor will be going to the top shortly to signal."
He nodded to their left, where Gildor was untying a large drawstring bag from his pack. "I did not know that you had ever seen the Sea."
"I . . .I haven't." The next mouthful of broth was refused and Frodo turned his head slightly to watch Gildor, blue eyes darkening with longing. "I've only . . .had dreams . . .about it . . . And always . . .you can see . . .the Sea . . .from those towers."
Elrond leaned back on his heels, setting the unfinished cup on the ground. He assessed his patient. It was unlikely that he would be able to press Frodo to take more of the broth in his present frame of mind and perhaps, sight of the Sea would strengthen him. It was a long climb but Frodo was light enough for him to carry. In fact he was too light . . . as light as Arwen had been when she had been brought here as a child.
"Would you like me to take you to the top?"
"Would you?" Frodo's eyes widened at once: he had seemed listless for so long but now the blue eyes brightened. "Please . . .please, I'd . . .I'd love that."
Sam's face grew concerned, however. "It's awful high for a hobbit, sir. I don't hold with such heights." It would not do to add vertigo to his master's discomfort. The dark curls moved and Frodo tilted his head a little, leaning back to look up at his friend, his gaze resolute and firm.
"Sam . . .I've never . . .seen the Sea . . .and I . . .I want to . . .more than . . .anything in the . . .world."
And Sam could not refuse Frodo . . . had never been able to refuse him, even when he had known that they were travelling into danger. "Alright, Mister Frodo. As long as Master Elrond is there to look after you." His gaze was equally resolute when he looked up at Lord Elrond and added, pointedly, "As I'm sure he will."
Elrond's face showed no smile but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "I will take good care of your master, Samwise. I would not wish to incur the wrath of his doughty protector."
Sam blushed and then swallowed. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr Frodo...but I don't think I could go all the way up there."
"It's . . .all right, Sam . . . Perhaps . . .some other time . . . I will be alright."
Frodo smiled faintly, yet his eyes betrayed the truth: there would be no 'other time' and he realised that even now. But for the moment, it was as simple a matter as Sam's effort to calculate food supplies for a return journey from Mount Doom, and Frodo weakly put out his arms to his elven caregiver.
He was gathered up easily, cradled safely against the grey velvet of Elrond's robe, and the elven lord drew his soft cloak about them both, to protect Frodo from the breeze as he climbed the low hill in Gildor's footsteps.
TBC.