CHAPTER 8 – Time and Tide

For those interested in such things . . . the first part of this chapter is based around a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.

"Well, Frodo. Do you think you could manage a little warm milk, this night?"

Frodo nodded, managing the tiniest of smiles. "Yes. Thank you. I think so." His colour seemed a little improved, although he was still too pale.

Elrond left for a few moments, returning with a tray. On it was set a jug, from which steam rose lazily, a large cup and a hobbit sized one and a small vial of clear liquid. The healer set it down on the nightstand and filled the cups with warm milk, adding five drops from the vial to the smallest cup. Handing this to the Ringbearer, Elrond pulled up a chair and took a sip of his own.

Frodo allowed himself another small smile, taking the cup carefully and wrapping his fingers around the warmth. Gratefully, he sipped, rather pleased that for the first time in days he had the strength to hold it unaided.

"Now I see where she gets it from." An amused light brightened his eyes. "Thank you. I'm so glad that you are here."

A smile quirked at one corner of Elrond's lips. "I thought that if it worked once it might work again. I must confess to having cheated a little and added a sedative to your cup, however."

Frodo took another sip, the amusement fading as swiftly as it had come. "Sam and Rosie…. I shall miss them so. They took care of me but they could not …understand about the Ring."

The elf tilted his head to listen to the music, drifting down from the deck above them. One female voice rose strong and clear above the rest for a moment.

"My wife's mother is a very wise lady. She once told me that to be the bearer of a ring of power is to be alone." He glanced down at the large sapphire ring on his finger and then across at Frodo.

"Only someone who has felt the seductive power that such a ring provides can begin to understand how lonely it is to bear and, even then, I can only imagine the depth of torment that you suffered." Compassionate grey eyes looked deep into troubled blue ones. "I hope that you find the healing that you seek, Frodo." He did not voice the fear that they both felt . . . that it was still possible that he would not even have the strength to reach the West.

Frodo nodded, sombrely, sipping a little more. "I hope so too." Even now the sedative was beginning to work, gently allowing the Ringbearer to express fears that he had been holding tight within himself for many months. "What if this journey is in vain? What if . . ." His voice quavered. "What if… because I claimed the Ring at the end… because I lost the battle. What if there is no healing for me?" His blue eyes were bright again, but this time with tears, welling afresh, unshed.

Silent for a moment, Elrond continued sipping his milk and considered carefully what he should say next. When he spoke his voice was soft.

"Yours was but a part of the tale of the Ring, Frodo. Perhaps the task of its destruction was never intended to be yours. You were the Ringbearer, but it was Gollum who was the Ringdestroyer and, perhaps it was always intended to be thus. Gandalf tells me that he hinted as much to you, once." He shook his head and smiled at the small figure, lost among the pillows. "Do not be so hard on yourself."

The little hobbit looked up at him, still close to tears. At last, trembling, he reached shyly for Elrond's hand. "The elves have lost so much too. It makes me sad to think that one day there will be none of your people in Middle-earth. You brought such grace and beauty to the world."

Elrond shook his head, his grey eyes shuttered to hide any emotion. "We brought a great deal of pain and anger, too. You give my people too much credit . . . and yet . . . perhaps it was all a part of the great song. Every high note must stand against a low or there will be no melody."

Frodo smiled, his gaze distant once more. "I remember Bilbo taking me to see my first elves. They were on their way to the Havens." He blinked his eyes back to the present. "I never thought that we would be travelling that way too, one day."

He grimaced as he neared the bottom of the cup of milk and encountered a stronger mouthful of the sedative. "I was looking forward to being with Bilbo, once more. When I was younger he always seemed to know what I was feeling. When I came back to Rivendell…afterwards . . . I tried to talk to him about the journey. I tried to tell him what I had been through…but he did not seem to understand." He swallowed a sob. "He did not seem to even want to know."

"It is the gift of Illuvatar to your people, Frodo; to age and pass from this world. Bilbo has seen much and it is now his time to fade. He may find some respite in the Undying Lands but he will succumb to the inevitable in due time. It is the way his soul was sung."

This time a sob did escape the Ringbearer's lips. "I had hoped that he would be with me in Eldamar. I so needed him to be there…I am not sure that I can be alone." He tried to take another sip but his hands shook.

Elrond steadied his grip and encouraged him to finish the milk, taking the cup from his grasp when it was drained. "Your healing is not depended upon Bilbo, nor will you ever be alone. There are many on this ship who care for and will not abandon you." The elf laid a hand upon Frodo's cheek and wiped a tear from his face with a thumb. "You will never be forsaken."

Frodo would not be consoled, however, and his tears increased, the sedative loosening the last of his restraints. Elrond's heart grieved for him. He was so alone…so hurt and too young to have endured such pain.

The healer leaned forward, slipping an arm behind the shuddering form and drawing Frodo to rest against him, holding him close, as he would a child waking from nightmares. "Sshhhhhhh…. Little One." He stroked the damp curls of Frodo's head, where it rested against his chest. Slowly his sobbing eased, his breathing improving, eased by the touch of gentle warm hands.

Waiting patiently for the tears to subside and hoping that the sedative would soon complete its work, the healer rubbed his hand in soothing circles on the little back. Beneath the nightshirt, he knew, were the ragged white scars of the marks of a whip, and he sighed. Was there one part of the tiny creature that did not bear the marks of the terrible journey he had endured?

Almost without realising that he had opened his mouth, Elrond began to sing…an ancient song of starlight and peace, sunlight on flower strewn meadows…a song he remembered Celebrian singing to their children when they were no larger than the being cradled in his arms this night.

It had been many years since he had raised his voice in song and, about the ship, others stilled. And as if Celebrian's fea were already waiting eagerly to welcome her husband, after such a long separation, the song seemed to enchant…what power Elrond had lost with the fading of Vilya minor in comparison to the power his hands still held, for the gentle rubbing calmed the fragile Ringbearer. Slowly, the sobs eased, beginning to fade as the medicine…both that in the milk and that in Elrond's voice…soothed Frodo to sleep.

Yet, sleep did not come all at once, and Frodo merely drowsed at first…still sufficiently awake to rest gratefully in the elven-lord's arms, much as Arwen once did.

And as sleep overtook him, there was something else…a hint of another song in Elrond's mind …. so tiny and delicate that it must have been Frodo's own. Yet it was mingled with two others, familiar ones to Elrond. The first, woodsy and warm with evergreen and Athelas…the second, soft and sweet as honey and music, the gloaming twilight blended into liquid darkness sprinkled with stars.

"Wear this in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar, with whom your life has been woven…"

And indeed, the injured hand clutched the white gem, even in slumber, as Frodo finally rested in Elrond's arms.

0o0

Frodo cried out as he felt himself falling, his eyes flying open in alarm even though strong hands pressed him to the bunk. He looked up, seeking out a familiar face and finding Elrond.

For a moment he thought that his dizziness had returned with a vengeance for everything seemed to be in motion and he clutched the edge of the bunk with one hand and sought out Elrond's wrist, where it secured his shoulder, with the other.

"What . . . what is . . . happening?" he gasped.

Elrond grimaced. "The storm that we had hoped to outrun has overtaken us. Do not worry, Frodo. This ship will weather it, although things may be a little uncomfortable for a while."

Uncomfortable . . . Frodo swallowed against rising nausea. That had to be one of Elrond's famous understatements. Aragorn had once confided in him that if the world had suddenly come to an end he believed that his foster father would have said that it was simply an untimely event.

Frodo scrambled to sit up as he lost the battle with his stomach and, noting his distress, Elrond helped him . . . slipping a bowl beneath the little hobbit's chin as he was violently sick. When the fit had passed he gave him water to rinse and settled him back on his pillows, wiping the pale face with a cool damp cloth.

From his herbal the healer removed two bottles measuring, with some difficulty in the swaying ship, a spoonful from each into a cup and adding a little water. He lifted Frodo's sweat damp head and put the rim to his lips but his patient tried to pull away.

"No, please. I will . . . be sick . . . again."

Elrond still held the cup, however. "It is something to settle your stomach and help you sleep. It would be better if you slept through the storm."

But Frodo could not be persuaded and when the cup was touched to his lips he clenched his mouth shut. Elrond lowered him back into the support of his pillows and put the sedative aside, his face filled with questions. Frodo swallowed and tried to explain.

"No more . . . sedatives . . . please. I feel . . . so little . . . time. I . . . don't . . . want to . . . lose any . . . more."

"Will you take something for your stomach, then?" Elrond asked.

Frodo's answer was forestalled by a particularly violent wave that made the ship dip down and then rise as steeply up, it's prow landing with a loud thump as it settled in the water again at the top. Frodo paled again and Elrond supported him, as he was sick once more. When it was over the healer prepared another cup and offered it.

"This is just something to ease your stomach. No sedative, I promise. Although I still believe that you would conserve your strength better if you slept."

Frodo made to roll his head in denial but thought better of it when the movement redoubled the feeling of nausea. "No sedative."

A gentle hand cupped his head and the drink was offered. "No sedative . . . you have my promise, Little One."

Frodo's pale lips parted and allowed his carer to pour a little of the mint flavoured concoction into his mouth. He swallowed tentatively, but accepted the second mouthful more readily when he felt the first begin to act immediately as it landed in his roiling stomach. He sighed in relief when Elrond returned him to the cradle of his pillows but had to clutch the side of the bunk as the boat breached once more.

"How long . . . will this . . . go on?" Frodo was perspiring and yet shivering at the same time, unable to decide whether he wanted to pull the covers closer or push them away.

Elrond continued to try and hold him in the bunk. "The sailor's say it will blow itself out in about ten hours more. You really should let me administer a sedative."

"No." Frodo's brows suddenly drew together in concern. "Bilbo. He will . . . be ill too."

Elrond shook his head. "I gave him a sedative and something to ease his stomach an hour ago. The Lady Galadriel watches over his sleep."

"Thank you. You . . . you are all . . . so kind."

"It is no more than you deserve," the healer replied, refreshing the cool compress on Frodo's brow. He took an extra blanket, folding it into a strip, laying it across the bunk at Frodo's waist and tucking it firmly under the mattress at both sides.

And so thus they rode through the storm, listening to the wind howl in the empty rigging and feeling the pounding lurch as the ship breached, their strained faces caught in the flickering glow of the swaying lantern hanging from the cabin ceiling.

Towards dawn the storm began to abate and Frodo sank into exhausted slumber, the dark circles about his eyes testimony to the energy spent in a body that had little enough to spare to begin with. The elven healer remained faithfully at his side until relieved by Gandalf, the wizard threatening to feed him a dose of his own sedative if he did not retire to his bunk.

TBC