oOoOo~*~THIS CHAPTER HAS NOT BEEN EDITED~*~oOoOo
Author's note: Hey, it's Tricia. And, yeah. Blahblahblah, this is another update, and, yeah. And, I'm assuming the race of Men refers to both men and women? Please correct me if I'm mistaken. I'm all hyper from the Bawls Guarina sodaI've just drank, haha. 80 grams of caffeine.. There's a warning label about the high caffeine content *snork* May explain why I'm wide- awake at 10:00 PM. I am approaching the final chapter of the story. The question is, should I do a sequel? I am undecided.
Tawny: Wow, you definitely went on a review spree! :o) I was definitely thrilled by the number of review alerts in my inbox though, I must say. Reviews are good! That is a hint to everybody!
TrueFan: I note you were too lazy to sign in *grin* So am I, a lot of the time. Lazy people unite, oh, yeah! You did outdo yourself though, and I'd like to extend quite the kudos for that. :o) I must say, though, I do tend to be forgetful, which is why I didn't e-mail you about the updates. Sorry! You're doing awesome on my Hogwarts 2020-2021 board, though. You did guess right about the POV, but I'm striving to include others, especially canon characters.
WeasleyTwins1112: Aww, thanks for your review! Stress is a killer, I think that might have contributed to my being taken ill for five days and still weakened even a week later. Yikes.
Anduril: Hey, I'm not sure if I responded to your review in Chapter 8, so I'll play it safe and do so here.
Disclaimer: Same standard disclaimers as applying to chapters one through eight, okay? Okay? Get it? Got it? Good. Muah.
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Libby's grip tightened on her torch, her perspiring hands sliding slightly, as Glorfindel murmured, "Soon, very soon indeed." She couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary save for the occasional shriek of the Black Rider, a cruel voice that appeared sufficient to freeze the bone marrow. She agitatedly gnawed her chapped lips with the purpose of preventing herself from whimpering out loud, drawing a minute amount of blood. This foreboding silence was almost more nerve-wracking than the Riders themselves.
Glorfindel, in contrast, sensed an ensuing struggle at close proximity with his acute Elvish perception, and assumed that Frodo Baggins was struggling with what little precious strength remained to his debilitated body. Regrettably, there was nothing that even he, an Elf-lord, could do to alter Frodo's destiny, and what was meant to be would happen no matter how enthusiastically anyone would attempt to intervene. If the Valar and Iluvatar chose to allow Frodo to become just like the foul creature which had inflicted the deadly wound upon the Halfling's left shoulder, that was their business, although it grieved Glorfindel deeply. Nonetheless, the Ring-bearer certainly had some strength in him to have survived thus far through all the travail he had been compelled to tolerate.
Suddenly, an almighty roaring din reached their ears, alerting them to the intercession of the torrent. Glorfindel leapt forward, brandishing a fiery brand in his hand, his might seeming to increase in his Wraith. To the wonder of those who did not know Elves well, he seemed to be enveloped in a white glow. Aragorn immediately followed, also wielding two brands, and Sam, Merry, Pippin, April, and Libby trailed behind with their torches, bracing themselves for an impending brawl with the deathless Black Riders, most likely to the end.
There was a collective gasp from the more inexperienced travelers, all save Aragorn and Glorfindel, as they caught sight of the churning river. A couple of black horses were thrashing wildly in the water, unable to swim against the harsh current. The evil, undead beings riding upon them were cast off their struggling horses, and were being swiftly dragged downstream as they were inundated.
The horses remaining on shore seemed to be overcome with dismay, unexpectedly ensnared between fire and water, while beholding an Elf-Lord in all his irate glory. The Nazgul desperately tried to check their horses, who were neighing furiously and hurtling directly for the water, mortally frightened by Glorfindel, but it was to no avail. The horses leapt into the angry swirling waters of the Bruinen and their bane. Three had already been carried away to probable death by the flood's first wave, and the others were hurled into the water by their thrashing horses and beleaguered by the tidal waves of the magic of Elven fury.
After the last Nazgul had faded from sight, the water immediately seemed to recede and subside, much to the relief of those lacking the ability to swim. When the waters had pacified to their usual torpor, Glorfindel nodded to Aragorn, and the two comrades stepped into the cold waters of the Loudwater. "Come," Aragorn said in an unexplainable tone of voice which seemed to be a combination of relief and anxiety, beckoning the hobbits and girls to follow him. Sam stepped right into the water, finding himself already almost knee-deep in the freezing water.
"It's cold!" Sam gasped, hugging his arms to his body, immediately beginning to shiver. His legs felt as if they were searing from a fire upon establishing contact with the water. "How deep does this river go? I cannot swim!"
Upon hearing these words from the hobbit, Aragorn lifted Sam into his arms, and bade Glorfindel carry Merry or Pippin. The Ranger sensed the cold, but had a high threshold for discomfort. The Elf stepped out of the Bruinen, which felt pleasantly cool to him, and lifted Merry into his arms.
"I will carry you, Merry, and return for you, Pippin, unless Libby or April think they are able to carry you," the Elf, who had faded back to his ordinary appearance, said. "Libby, April, will you two be able to cross?" Both girls nodded, but didn't move just yet.. Glorfindel stepped back into the Ford, and began wading across. Merry was draped over the Elf's shoulder, and gave a slight cry when the shock of cold water hit his feet as the tall Elf became chest-deep in the water. The 36-year-old hobbit squeezed his brown eyes shut in an effort to block out the penetrating cold, and was immensely relieved when Glorfindel reached the opposite bank.
"Wait here," Aragorn instructed Glorfindel, Sam, and Merry upon reaching the bank. The Elf set his burden down on his feet, and Aragorn did likewise with Sam. Then the Ranger bravely stepped back into the Loudwater to convey Peregrin across, and see what was taking Libby and April so long. The deepest part of the Ford reached his shoulders, and he figured he could carry the pack on top of his head if Pippin felt able to hang on top being given the piggyback ride.
"I actually can't swim very well.." April said, biting her lip doubtfully as she watched the receding backs of those crossing. Her mother had always worked, and even though she visited her father or the house of her cousins fairly often, nobody in her family was very interested in going to the beach. The closest she had come to going on a beach trip was once over the summer with the two Artlongs (Libby and her mother), but Libby's mother refused to allow April to come without Ms. Neverton's authorization.
Nonetheless, she was grateful to Libby's mom for not harshly judging her on account of the fact that she disobeyed her mother on a daily basis by venturing all over town in lieu of coming straight home after school to an empty house and never socializing with her friends. Libby often complained that her mother was overprotective and harshly judgmental, but April envied the freedoms Libby did possess. The mother and daughter were very alike, though Libby refused to see that simple fact. And the reason most likely was that they had a strong personality imperfection in common: a fiery temper. It never took much to make Libby fly off her handle, although the blonde had a surprising ability to endure when her temper was put to its worst tests, such as in times of confrontation.
One of those times was in middle school when Libby and April were hanging around a school playground, idly rocking back and forth on the swings while a bunch of notoriously intimidators were playing basketball on the court. When two who held a particular contempt against Libby took heed of the two girls on the swings, they had immediately come over to start trouble and bait a fight through first insulting Libby and mocking her then- unconventional style of dressing, then utilizing derogatory slogans against April and throwing snowballs at them. Libby had stoically let the insults to her slide, but started yelling at the girls when they called April a "chink" and a "Korean cracker," mocking her mixed blood. April inevitably lost her temper when one of the girls had pulled her long black hair, but Libby had somehow retained her sanity, perhaps realizing that twenty against two was not a hopeful struggle, and pulled April out of the brawl. Both girls had fled right afterwards, thankfully faster runners than their tormentors.
"I'm not that good either, at least comparing me to the so-called standard way of swimming, but I can save myself from drowning," Libby said with a laugh. "I'll help you if I need to." The vertically gifted blonde slipped her right foot out of her backless sneaker and gingerly tested the water. She gasped at the sudden searing pain of ice against her foot. "Yikes! Jeez, this water is freezing!" She exchanged a hesitant glance with April. "On three then?"
"Right. I'll count," April said, suddenly noticing Aragorn crossing back in their direction to retrieve Pippin. "One, two, three!" The black- haired girl drew back at the last second, but Libby had jumped about three feet in with a splash that sent droplets of cold water into her face. "Libby! You're right, this /is/ cold." April gulped, knowing now what she was going to be attempting to swim across. She was definitely lower than Aragorn's shoulder; the ranger had to be at least six-foot-three. Even Libby was below his chin in stature. 'Okay, April, stop being a coward," the Oriental girl silently chided herself. She took a deep breath and plunged in after Libby, resisting the urge to cry out against the shock of 40-degree water.
Libby was nearly halfway across, trying to step on rocks below the surface feeling with her bare feet blindly in the dark, to keep as dry as possible. April was running, trying to keep up with her. When she found an empty space where she was, Libby sunk up to her chin in water. Gasping, she pulled herself up and began dog-paddling across the Ford, managing to keep her shoulders up above water. She had taken off her sweatshirt and stuffed it onto her pack hoping it would miraculously come out dry. April had cleverly mended the strap with some strong yarn she had dug out of her bookbag from a crafts assignment.
Now April was the one using the rocks, wading more swiftly than as wise. Aragorn was now coming along behind her, bearing Pippin on his back and holding a pack of blankets above his head. Suddenly, she, too, found a void, and felt the water close I above her head. Spluttering, April forcefully pushed herself up, rapidly wind milling her arms, catching up to Libby's slow, steady strokes. She had soon exhausted the power in her arms and began to sink into the water, now deep enough to flow over the top of both her and Libby's heads.
Panicking, April reached out for Libby, accidentally grasping her friend around the neck and grabbing her directly by the collarbone. Startled, Libby was also submerged, struggling against her friend's grasp. April released her grip, and Libby bobbed back above the calm water, wheezing. When she had caught her breath, she groped for her friend's arm, spotting her hair flowing above the surface. April broke the surface at Libby's adrenaline surge, sputtering and coughing. They resumed their strokes, April clinging to Libby's arm. "Jeez, April, trying to strangle and drown me simultaneously?" the blonde jested. "Or are you trying to get back at me knowing that you wouldn't have gotten into a fight if I hadn't been with you back when I was an oh-so-cool eighth grader?" April mouthed something with a smile that appeared to be "both."
Aragorn felt relieved when Libby and April managed to regain their composure. He had briefly wondered if he would have to chuck the pack and retrieve April and Libby from the Ford lest they be drowned by the water. By the looks of it, both girls appeared to lack aqueous skills. He shook his head, April had shown a lack of shrewdness judging by where he had caught Libby.
When Frodo's three hobbit, three human, and one Elf companion had gathered on the side of his bank, their cold, wet state was immediately cast away into the category of trivial problems as they began speculating about what had become of the Ring-bearer.
"Behold! There's Asfaloth," Glorfindel said, his heart sinking slightly. He couldn't tell if his horse was bearing a rider or not. Was Frodo still sitting on the horse alive, or had he passed away into the world of the wraiths at a spot under a league from refuge and healing? Perhaps the hobbit was too weak to walk Asfaloth back down to the foot of the bank, but was patiently waiting to be rejoined by his companions. It was impossible to see in the dark, difficult even for Glorfindel.
Aragorn set his backpack onto its usual position on his back and began walking up the hill without a word. Unquestioningly, his fellow travelers followed suit. Libby moved at a jog, catching up with the tall Ranger, then slowed to a walk in case they bumped into danger without warning.
Aragorn spotted what looked like a small knoll in the earth, and he felt as if the life had been sucked out of him for a heart stopping second as he gaped at the bump. He knew in his heart that it was not a natural formation, but Frodo's seemingly lifeless form. Libby stood at his side, the color completely drained from the face as she got the gist. Aragorn sank to his knees and bent over the inert hobbit, first placing his hand on Frodo's brow, then moving it above Frodo's blue lips. The hobbit's temple was icy to the touch, far colder than ever before had it been. He was pale as death, and the heir of Isildur couldn't be entirely sure if the breeze against his hand was Frodo's exhalation or a wind. Had the Ring earned the additional title of Frodo's bane? Was the hobbit worse than dead?
Soon, Aragorn became aware of the others standing around him. Glorfindel had bade Libby move aside so he could assess the hobbit's condition. "I think the perian lives yet, but he is barely alive," the Elf- lord said with a grim tone rare among the Firstborn children of Iluvatar. The Elf sank to his knee, and gently ran his hand along Frodo's face ignoring the urge to draw back from the evil blistering from the left shoulder nearby. "Yes, he lives yet, but how long he has I do not know, he will never wake without Lord Elrond's successful intervention. He may end up worse than dead," the golden-haired Elf confirmed dejectedly. "We must carry him." Wordlessly, wearing a heart wrenching expression, Aragorn took the lifeless Halfling up in his arms.
The group of travelers looked like a very grim procession as they silently descended into the valley along the grassy path, moving slowly lest they accidentally overlook any change in Frodo's expressionless, motionless form. Hot tears were running down Sam's cheeks and staining his face, but no audible sobs could be heard. Merry and Pippin were clinging to one another mutely and horrified, and Libby and April moved with their heads hanging, occasionally catching a hand of the other to give an attempted squeeze of comfort. Nobody paid the slightest notice to the extremely uncomfortable cold brought about by walking in the autumn night air after wading through a freezing river. Glorfindel leading and Aragorn in the rear remained impassive on the exterior, biting back howls of despair. With each step of Aragorn's, Frodo's head lolled very slightly. The Ring-bearer seemed out in the dark, perhaps never to return to wakefulness.
"Is he going to die?" Pippin whispered dolefully to his cousin, wishing for something that would ameliorate the situation. The normally happy-go-lucky young hobbit was filled with grief at the prospect of possibly losing one of his best friends to a fate worse than death. He wistfully recollected the good old days when he, Merry, and Frodo had traipsed all about the Shire, drawing the labels of "queer" and "unhobbitlike." What had been especially satisfying was pulling fast ones on other introverted hobbits and causing a ruckus.
Merry cringed at Pippin's question, preferring not to reply. He didn't want to confirm his own worst phobia by answering in the affirmative, yet he didn't want to give Pippin a false illusion. Therefore, the older hobbit kept quiet, failing to reply. Pippin noticed that Merry had blanched slightly upon hearing his query, and regretted asking that morbid question.
April grabbed Libby's arm suddenly, having spotted dark shapes off in the distance. Libby had also seen them, but dismissed them as a trick of the light, not feeling the enveloping dread obliterating almost everything else that the Black Riders bore with them. "Who are they?"
Libby instinctively reached for her right side where she kept her pocketbook whose contents included her glasses, then remembered that it had been stashed into one of the packs being shouldered by Bill. She shrugged her shoulders at April, shaking her head.
"Do not worry, those are my people," Glorfindel said, lowering his saddened face to meet the petite girl's gaze. A small stir of relief awakened in his heart, perhaps they would be able to help the unconscious Halfling even there. His sharp eyes revealed that three Elves, servants of Elrond, were approaching them at a swift pace. One had white-blonde hair, one had gold hair in a shade slightly lighter than Libby's but darker than Glorfindel's, and one had hair so dark it was almost as black as April's locks. "Aragorn, I do believe help has arrived."
Aragorn lifted his gaze from Frodo, who appeared nothing more than a bundle of blankets in his arms, a small glimmer of what could be almost be called joy stirring in his dulled gray eyes that could not be spotted in the dark by any but keen-eyed Glorfindel.
"Greetings, Haradil, Elrhodor, Meriel," Glorfindel said, sounding pleased by their arrival though a note of sadness lingered in his musical voice. The golden-haired Elf-noble indicated the bundle of blankets in Aragorn's arms that contained the comatose Frodo. "As you can see, I found them, nigh on two nights ago." Glorfindel hastily introduced the conscious, walking hobbits and the two girls. The Elves raised their eyebrows at the attire of the two teenagers, but put them from their minds for now,. They assumed the two girls were friends, though strangers, or else they wouldn't have been traveling in the same company as the Ring-bearer. Haradil turned out to be the raven-haired Elf, Elrhodor the white-blonde, and Merial the Elf somewhat resembling Glorfindel. The Elves seemed like the hobbits; they all looked similar.
A brief smile appeared on April's mouth before her face reverted to its solemn expression. She'd had trouble telling the four hobbits apart at first. Frodo had been the only obvious one, due to his wound, and that had been after the attack on Weathertop. For the first couple of days she and Libby had been with the company, Frodo was the blue-eyed wounded, tall, wounded one, Pippin had the hazel eyes, Merry had bushy eyebrows and brown eyes, and brown-eyed Sam was the chunkiest of the four flabby hobbits.
"You have not yet mentioned the Ring-bearer Frodo Baggins? Do you bear ill news? Where is he?" Merial queried frantically, a somber light beginning to shine in his dark blue eyes. April had begun to note with awe that the Elves had quite an unexplainable aura about them, a combination of half joy, half deep melancholy. The Elves were fair and merry, yet they seemed to be affected by countless losses. The black-haired teen wondered if old age and immortality in part had spawned that impression.
Glorfindel sighed, "the Ring-bearer lives yet, but he has been wounded." He gave Aragorn a sharp, pointed glance, and the Ranger began rapidly recounting the assail on the camp in the dell.
"Can you do anything for him?" Sam broke in at a pause in Aragorn's recollection. "He's out cold, but I think he is in pain!"
"I fear the best we ourselves to do is bring him to Elrond," Elrhodor replied quietly. "It is he who possesses extraordinary prowess in healing. We have a slight bit of food stored in our packs, but he is certainly unable to eat; it will only help you six."
"I shall carry the Ring-bearer," Haradil, who looked like he might have been the youngest of the Elves, spoke. He definitely looked as if he may have contained some physical strength. "I am a fast sprinter, and all due speed is needed. I would have you do it, dearest Aragorn, but you , too, appear weary. I, unlike you travelers, have had sufficient rest recently, and I am in better shape to carry him." Aragorn wanted to protest, but he did feel tired, embarrassed though he was to admit. He had survived many extraordinary adventures that would finish off a man not of Numenorean descent, but even the strongest of men had the capability of experiencing fatigue. Therefore, the Ranger gently handed Frodo to the Elf, stating his thanks.
"I shall be quite gentle, never fear," Haradil said gently to Sam, who had mumbled something out loud about wondering if Frodo could still feel jolts. The Elf gently patted the chubby hobbit's curls. "Farewell, see you in Rivendell, Glorfindel, Elrhodor, Merial, Dunadan, everyone." At this, the Elf turned, jogging away holding the unaware Ring-bearer. Frodo groaned slightly with one step, causing the Elf to wonder if he might awaken to find himself being carried by an unfamiliar being, but Frodo remained insensible, out in the dark. A few minutes later, as the House of Elrond was beginning to come into the black-haired Elf's range of vision, Frodo began to burble nonsense in his tortured rest. Haradil felt pity for the poor Perian come over him, the fellow was obviously in colossal anguish even as he was unconscious; the Morgul-blade was that terrible, to have the might do that to anybody.
About a mile away, Merial took out the scant provisions the Elves kept in their bags for mere wanderings in the premises of their home, and divided it up for the weary travelers. The two shorter of the three hobbits (Sam and Pippin) and the black-haired looked so fatigued they were on the verge of collapsing where they stood, the blonde and the bushy-eyebrowed hobbit had pained expressions on the face.
"Here, drink this. Two sips each, I think." Elrhodor passed around a flask, and the new arrivals to Rivendell each took two swigs of the draught not unlike the one Glorfindel had, and felt more aware, though still subconsciously aware of their hunger and lethargy. Glorfindel handed out a sandwich half and an apple to each of his companions, selflessly taking none of the food for himself.
Merry threw himself onto the ground to eat his sandwich, and the other two hobbits sat on either side of him. Libby and April sat a ways apart from them, April laying her head in her friend's lap. Munching his sandwich, Merry watched the girls exchange a few words, then Libby slap her sandwich onto her bag, rolling over and pummeling the ground in frustration. Dislodged from her friend's lap, April patted Libby on the back, and put an arm around her shaking shoulders.
After the worn travelers had finished the slight food provided, Merial said, "We ought to continue on to the House of Elrond, there bed and rest will be provided, for Haradil will have alerted Elrond to your arrival." The three Elves and Aragorn helped the hobbits and the girls to their feet, then piled all of the packs upon Asfaloth and bill, hence completely relieving the worn-out walkers of their burdens. Their faces were haggard from utter exhaustion, they were dirty and scruffy-looking for lack of cleaning. The Elves, Men, and Hobbits began making for the house of Elrond, which was getting bigger and bigger in relative proportion to their spot.
Libby and April drew apart from the procession briefly to look into a clear pool they had just spotted and scrutinize their reflections. They were curious about their own appearances, as the hobbits were beginning to look rather grim from the strenuous traveling done for over two weeks, lying on grass, in caves, and in ditches. The appearance-conscious girls were shocked by their appearance. Their faces were drawn and haggard, and faint circles were outlined beneath their eyes. They had expected those if the hobbits were anything to judge by, but Frodo naturally had looked by far the worst. April cringed with pity remembering the pallor alternating between sheet-white and the bluish-green tint in his skin tone, and the almost black circles clearly surrounding his pain-filled eyes.
"Aargh, look at my hair!" April fumed, glaring into the pool as her eyes fell on her long straight black hair. Due to lack of washing it had lost its glossy hue, and her hair was completely limp, lacking its normal. Parts of it seemed to have been clumped together and it was obvious that there were a myriad of knots that would prove hard to loosen.
"Are you kidding? You think yours is bad?" Libby said, disliking her obviously greasy, unwashed hair. Due to the fact that she'd began neglecting care for it, not combing or brushing it, it had reverted to its natural curly texture after the rain, and it was frizzing like there was no tomorrow. Shorter parts that had formerly been her bangs were sticking straight up, curling as it went.
"Haha, your hair really is curly. Guess I am the only straight-haired one of all of us." April chuckled slightly, and Elrhodor came to chide them for wandering off.
Elrond was sitting in his study when there was a knock on his door. He, ironically, was pondering the massing of Sauron's forces and the flight of the Ring-bearer. "Enter," the Elf-lord said neutrally, wondering who was on the other side. He had not expected any of his family or servants to come calling, but he was used to sudden visitors.
The door creaked open, and Haradil came in bearing what seemed to be a bundle of dirty blankets in need of laundering. The Elf shook his jet- black hair over his shoulders, and said, "the Ring-bearer has been found, Master Elrond."
The Elf-lord felt relief wash over him, he had been frantic for what seemed a long period of time. "Indeed? What news?"
"He is inside these blankets, Master Elrond," said Haradil. "He has been pierced by a deadly weapon of the enemy, he's been bearing a terrible wound for two weeks. He is now unresponsive."
Elrond sighed, and bid Haradil carry the unconscious hobbit to the nearest room and lay him down on the bed. He followed his dark-haired servant to the room, and when the other Elf had laid the blankets enclosing Frodo onto the bed, he opened the blankets to reveal the pale, cold, lifeless form of the Ring-bearer. Elrond placed a hand just over his nose and mouth. If it were not for the barely detectable breathing, Elrond would have pronounced that he had died. The Elf-lord noted that his clothes were ragged and torn, and his face and body were mud-streaked. He pulled aside Frodo's travel-battered garments to reveal the cold, white mark that now scarred the Ring-bearer's shoulder, which was otherwise clean He felt an inclination to draw away from the evil radiating the wound, but ignored it, and ran a hand along Frodo's shoulder. There was no sign of a response from the hobbit. "Haradil, please gather the appropriate herbs to bathe his wound, and bid someone to find clothes small enough to fit the Halfling." watching his servant's retreating back, Elrond promised himself that he would use the full extent of his healing powers, if necessary, to heal Frodo Baggins.
While the bearer of the mightiest of the Three rings, Vilya, was bathing Frodo's shoulder with athelas and some lesser herbs, there was a knock on Frodo's room. Elrond had changed the unconscious creature into a finely-woven nightshirt and washed the hobbit, so he at least didn't look so weather-beaten except for his deathly pale face and the circles under his eyes. This time, it was Merial who had entered.
"We have brought the companions of the Ring-bearer, Master Elrond," stated the golden-haired Elf. "They are waiting in the dining area, and they are very weary."
"That can soon be mended, Merial," answered Elrond. "Bring them all to appropriate bedrooms, and then find them clean garments to wear and set up baths for them to make use of when they awaken." the Elf-lord knew the journeyers would desire a lie-in above all else, fresh from an exodus over a fortnight in time span.
The girls, Merry, Pippin, and Sam were delighted to see Merial return, especially when the Elf said he would lead them to bedrooms where they could slumber for as long as they chose. Glorfindel and Elrhodor had gone elsewhere to a place which they did not know. They followed Merial out of the grand dining area down a long hallway filled with large paintings and shiny furniture, some which were adorned with magnificent ornaments of gold and silver. If wide-awake, the lethargic adventurers would have been in awe of their newfound asylum. Merial smiled to himself slightly with content that at least these novices were appeased as each in turn crumpled onto his or her bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously upon their head striking their soft pillow, savoring the softness of the mattress and pillows. Noting that they hadn't even bothered to pull out the blankets to cover themselves, Merial fetched each arrival two thick linen covers, and gently tucked the edges around them. Such was their weariness that they were not even aroused by the gentle touch of the Elf.
Sam felt wholly serene, unperturbed by his troubles. He was walking in a meadow of tall, green grass that was appealing to the olfactory senses. A gentle breeze was playing on his face, soothingly stroking his face. Suddenly, he felt as if someone was softly gripping his shoulder and shaking him. The safe, warm scene faded into blackness, and then his brown eyes opened once more to reveal the stone ceiling with streaks of golden sunlight across it. Sam felt refreshed though slightly sluggish. He groggily pushed himself up onto his elbows and Elrhodor's face. The vents of the past two weeks came flooding into the hobbit's mind, and Sam suddenly felt worried. Elrhodor's face looked tired and sorrow-ridden.
"Elrhodor? How is my master doing? Did Frodo arrive? Is he all right?" His brown eyes gazed imploringly into the Elf's face, and for a fleeting instant he thought that a fresh current of woe had crossed the expression, but he might have imagined it, for a second later, the white- blonde Elf's appearance became neutral once more. However, Sam recognized that Elrhodor's facial expression was belying his emotions, for the Elf's blue eyes were grieved. Sam's stomach jerked around inside his rib cage as a realization of a dour possibility entered his contemplations. His face paled slightly, as he dubiously asked, "Mr. Frodo. He, he /is/ all right, isn't he, Mister Elrhodor?"
Author's note: Hey, it's Tricia. And, yeah. Blahblahblah, this is another update, and, yeah. And, I'm assuming the race of Men refers to both men and women? Please correct me if I'm mistaken. I'm all hyper from the Bawls Guarina sodaI've just drank, haha. 80 grams of caffeine.. There's a warning label about the high caffeine content *snork* May explain why I'm wide- awake at 10:00 PM. I am approaching the final chapter of the story. The question is, should I do a sequel? I am undecided.
Tawny: Wow, you definitely went on a review spree! :o) I was definitely thrilled by the number of review alerts in my inbox though, I must say. Reviews are good! That is a hint to everybody!
TrueFan: I note you were too lazy to sign in *grin* So am I, a lot of the time. Lazy people unite, oh, yeah! You did outdo yourself though, and I'd like to extend quite the kudos for that. :o) I must say, though, I do tend to be forgetful, which is why I didn't e-mail you about the updates. Sorry! You're doing awesome on my Hogwarts 2020-2021 board, though. You did guess right about the POV, but I'm striving to include others, especially canon characters.
WeasleyTwins1112: Aww, thanks for your review! Stress is a killer, I think that might have contributed to my being taken ill for five days and still weakened even a week later. Yikes.
Anduril: Hey, I'm not sure if I responded to your review in Chapter 8, so I'll play it safe and do so here.
Disclaimer: Same standard disclaimers as applying to chapters one through eight, okay? Okay? Get it? Got it? Good. Muah.
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Libby's grip tightened on her torch, her perspiring hands sliding slightly, as Glorfindel murmured, "Soon, very soon indeed." She couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary save for the occasional shriek of the Black Rider, a cruel voice that appeared sufficient to freeze the bone marrow. She agitatedly gnawed her chapped lips with the purpose of preventing herself from whimpering out loud, drawing a minute amount of blood. This foreboding silence was almost more nerve-wracking than the Riders themselves.
Glorfindel, in contrast, sensed an ensuing struggle at close proximity with his acute Elvish perception, and assumed that Frodo Baggins was struggling with what little precious strength remained to his debilitated body. Regrettably, there was nothing that even he, an Elf-lord, could do to alter Frodo's destiny, and what was meant to be would happen no matter how enthusiastically anyone would attempt to intervene. If the Valar and Iluvatar chose to allow Frodo to become just like the foul creature which had inflicted the deadly wound upon the Halfling's left shoulder, that was their business, although it grieved Glorfindel deeply. Nonetheless, the Ring-bearer certainly had some strength in him to have survived thus far through all the travail he had been compelled to tolerate.
Suddenly, an almighty roaring din reached their ears, alerting them to the intercession of the torrent. Glorfindel leapt forward, brandishing a fiery brand in his hand, his might seeming to increase in his Wraith. To the wonder of those who did not know Elves well, he seemed to be enveloped in a white glow. Aragorn immediately followed, also wielding two brands, and Sam, Merry, Pippin, April, and Libby trailed behind with their torches, bracing themselves for an impending brawl with the deathless Black Riders, most likely to the end.
There was a collective gasp from the more inexperienced travelers, all save Aragorn and Glorfindel, as they caught sight of the churning river. A couple of black horses were thrashing wildly in the water, unable to swim against the harsh current. The evil, undead beings riding upon them were cast off their struggling horses, and were being swiftly dragged downstream as they were inundated.
The horses remaining on shore seemed to be overcome with dismay, unexpectedly ensnared between fire and water, while beholding an Elf-Lord in all his irate glory. The Nazgul desperately tried to check their horses, who were neighing furiously and hurtling directly for the water, mortally frightened by Glorfindel, but it was to no avail. The horses leapt into the angry swirling waters of the Bruinen and their bane. Three had already been carried away to probable death by the flood's first wave, and the others were hurled into the water by their thrashing horses and beleaguered by the tidal waves of the magic of Elven fury.
After the last Nazgul had faded from sight, the water immediately seemed to recede and subside, much to the relief of those lacking the ability to swim. When the waters had pacified to their usual torpor, Glorfindel nodded to Aragorn, and the two comrades stepped into the cold waters of the Loudwater. "Come," Aragorn said in an unexplainable tone of voice which seemed to be a combination of relief and anxiety, beckoning the hobbits and girls to follow him. Sam stepped right into the water, finding himself already almost knee-deep in the freezing water.
"It's cold!" Sam gasped, hugging his arms to his body, immediately beginning to shiver. His legs felt as if they were searing from a fire upon establishing contact with the water. "How deep does this river go? I cannot swim!"
Upon hearing these words from the hobbit, Aragorn lifted Sam into his arms, and bade Glorfindel carry Merry or Pippin. The Ranger sensed the cold, but had a high threshold for discomfort. The Elf stepped out of the Bruinen, which felt pleasantly cool to him, and lifted Merry into his arms.
"I will carry you, Merry, and return for you, Pippin, unless Libby or April think they are able to carry you," the Elf, who had faded back to his ordinary appearance, said. "Libby, April, will you two be able to cross?" Both girls nodded, but didn't move just yet.. Glorfindel stepped back into the Ford, and began wading across. Merry was draped over the Elf's shoulder, and gave a slight cry when the shock of cold water hit his feet as the tall Elf became chest-deep in the water. The 36-year-old hobbit squeezed his brown eyes shut in an effort to block out the penetrating cold, and was immensely relieved when Glorfindel reached the opposite bank.
"Wait here," Aragorn instructed Glorfindel, Sam, and Merry upon reaching the bank. The Elf set his burden down on his feet, and Aragorn did likewise with Sam. Then the Ranger bravely stepped back into the Loudwater to convey Peregrin across, and see what was taking Libby and April so long. The deepest part of the Ford reached his shoulders, and he figured he could carry the pack on top of his head if Pippin felt able to hang on top being given the piggyback ride.
"I actually can't swim very well.." April said, biting her lip doubtfully as she watched the receding backs of those crossing. Her mother had always worked, and even though she visited her father or the house of her cousins fairly often, nobody in her family was very interested in going to the beach. The closest she had come to going on a beach trip was once over the summer with the two Artlongs (Libby and her mother), but Libby's mother refused to allow April to come without Ms. Neverton's authorization.
Nonetheless, she was grateful to Libby's mom for not harshly judging her on account of the fact that she disobeyed her mother on a daily basis by venturing all over town in lieu of coming straight home after school to an empty house and never socializing with her friends. Libby often complained that her mother was overprotective and harshly judgmental, but April envied the freedoms Libby did possess. The mother and daughter were very alike, though Libby refused to see that simple fact. And the reason most likely was that they had a strong personality imperfection in common: a fiery temper. It never took much to make Libby fly off her handle, although the blonde had a surprising ability to endure when her temper was put to its worst tests, such as in times of confrontation.
One of those times was in middle school when Libby and April were hanging around a school playground, idly rocking back and forth on the swings while a bunch of notoriously intimidators were playing basketball on the court. When two who held a particular contempt against Libby took heed of the two girls on the swings, they had immediately come over to start trouble and bait a fight through first insulting Libby and mocking her then- unconventional style of dressing, then utilizing derogatory slogans against April and throwing snowballs at them. Libby had stoically let the insults to her slide, but started yelling at the girls when they called April a "chink" and a "Korean cracker," mocking her mixed blood. April inevitably lost her temper when one of the girls had pulled her long black hair, but Libby had somehow retained her sanity, perhaps realizing that twenty against two was not a hopeful struggle, and pulled April out of the brawl. Both girls had fled right afterwards, thankfully faster runners than their tormentors.
"I'm not that good either, at least comparing me to the so-called standard way of swimming, but I can save myself from drowning," Libby said with a laugh. "I'll help you if I need to." The vertically gifted blonde slipped her right foot out of her backless sneaker and gingerly tested the water. She gasped at the sudden searing pain of ice against her foot. "Yikes! Jeez, this water is freezing!" She exchanged a hesitant glance with April. "On three then?"
"Right. I'll count," April said, suddenly noticing Aragorn crossing back in their direction to retrieve Pippin. "One, two, three!" The black- haired girl drew back at the last second, but Libby had jumped about three feet in with a splash that sent droplets of cold water into her face. "Libby! You're right, this /is/ cold." April gulped, knowing now what she was going to be attempting to swim across. She was definitely lower than Aragorn's shoulder; the ranger had to be at least six-foot-three. Even Libby was below his chin in stature. 'Okay, April, stop being a coward," the Oriental girl silently chided herself. She took a deep breath and plunged in after Libby, resisting the urge to cry out against the shock of 40-degree water.
Libby was nearly halfway across, trying to step on rocks below the surface feeling with her bare feet blindly in the dark, to keep as dry as possible. April was running, trying to keep up with her. When she found an empty space where she was, Libby sunk up to her chin in water. Gasping, she pulled herself up and began dog-paddling across the Ford, managing to keep her shoulders up above water. She had taken off her sweatshirt and stuffed it onto her pack hoping it would miraculously come out dry. April had cleverly mended the strap with some strong yarn she had dug out of her bookbag from a crafts assignment.
Now April was the one using the rocks, wading more swiftly than as wise. Aragorn was now coming along behind her, bearing Pippin on his back and holding a pack of blankets above his head. Suddenly, she, too, found a void, and felt the water close I above her head. Spluttering, April forcefully pushed herself up, rapidly wind milling her arms, catching up to Libby's slow, steady strokes. She had soon exhausted the power in her arms and began to sink into the water, now deep enough to flow over the top of both her and Libby's heads.
Panicking, April reached out for Libby, accidentally grasping her friend around the neck and grabbing her directly by the collarbone. Startled, Libby was also submerged, struggling against her friend's grasp. April released her grip, and Libby bobbed back above the calm water, wheezing. When she had caught her breath, she groped for her friend's arm, spotting her hair flowing above the surface. April broke the surface at Libby's adrenaline surge, sputtering and coughing. They resumed their strokes, April clinging to Libby's arm. "Jeez, April, trying to strangle and drown me simultaneously?" the blonde jested. "Or are you trying to get back at me knowing that you wouldn't have gotten into a fight if I hadn't been with you back when I was an oh-so-cool eighth grader?" April mouthed something with a smile that appeared to be "both."
Aragorn felt relieved when Libby and April managed to regain their composure. He had briefly wondered if he would have to chuck the pack and retrieve April and Libby from the Ford lest they be drowned by the water. By the looks of it, both girls appeared to lack aqueous skills. He shook his head, April had shown a lack of shrewdness judging by where he had caught Libby.
When Frodo's three hobbit, three human, and one Elf companion had gathered on the side of his bank, their cold, wet state was immediately cast away into the category of trivial problems as they began speculating about what had become of the Ring-bearer.
"Behold! There's Asfaloth," Glorfindel said, his heart sinking slightly. He couldn't tell if his horse was bearing a rider or not. Was Frodo still sitting on the horse alive, or had he passed away into the world of the wraiths at a spot under a league from refuge and healing? Perhaps the hobbit was too weak to walk Asfaloth back down to the foot of the bank, but was patiently waiting to be rejoined by his companions. It was impossible to see in the dark, difficult even for Glorfindel.
Aragorn set his backpack onto its usual position on his back and began walking up the hill without a word. Unquestioningly, his fellow travelers followed suit. Libby moved at a jog, catching up with the tall Ranger, then slowed to a walk in case they bumped into danger without warning.
Aragorn spotted what looked like a small knoll in the earth, and he felt as if the life had been sucked out of him for a heart stopping second as he gaped at the bump. He knew in his heart that it was not a natural formation, but Frodo's seemingly lifeless form. Libby stood at his side, the color completely drained from the face as she got the gist. Aragorn sank to his knees and bent over the inert hobbit, first placing his hand on Frodo's brow, then moving it above Frodo's blue lips. The hobbit's temple was icy to the touch, far colder than ever before had it been. He was pale as death, and the heir of Isildur couldn't be entirely sure if the breeze against his hand was Frodo's exhalation or a wind. Had the Ring earned the additional title of Frodo's bane? Was the hobbit worse than dead?
Soon, Aragorn became aware of the others standing around him. Glorfindel had bade Libby move aside so he could assess the hobbit's condition. "I think the perian lives yet, but he is barely alive," the Elf- lord said with a grim tone rare among the Firstborn children of Iluvatar. The Elf sank to his knee, and gently ran his hand along Frodo's face ignoring the urge to draw back from the evil blistering from the left shoulder nearby. "Yes, he lives yet, but how long he has I do not know, he will never wake without Lord Elrond's successful intervention. He may end up worse than dead," the golden-haired Elf confirmed dejectedly. "We must carry him." Wordlessly, wearing a heart wrenching expression, Aragorn took the lifeless Halfling up in his arms.
The group of travelers looked like a very grim procession as they silently descended into the valley along the grassy path, moving slowly lest they accidentally overlook any change in Frodo's expressionless, motionless form. Hot tears were running down Sam's cheeks and staining his face, but no audible sobs could be heard. Merry and Pippin were clinging to one another mutely and horrified, and Libby and April moved with their heads hanging, occasionally catching a hand of the other to give an attempted squeeze of comfort. Nobody paid the slightest notice to the extremely uncomfortable cold brought about by walking in the autumn night air after wading through a freezing river. Glorfindel leading and Aragorn in the rear remained impassive on the exterior, biting back howls of despair. With each step of Aragorn's, Frodo's head lolled very slightly. The Ring-bearer seemed out in the dark, perhaps never to return to wakefulness.
"Is he going to die?" Pippin whispered dolefully to his cousin, wishing for something that would ameliorate the situation. The normally happy-go-lucky young hobbit was filled with grief at the prospect of possibly losing one of his best friends to a fate worse than death. He wistfully recollected the good old days when he, Merry, and Frodo had traipsed all about the Shire, drawing the labels of "queer" and "unhobbitlike." What had been especially satisfying was pulling fast ones on other introverted hobbits and causing a ruckus.
Merry cringed at Pippin's question, preferring not to reply. He didn't want to confirm his own worst phobia by answering in the affirmative, yet he didn't want to give Pippin a false illusion. Therefore, the older hobbit kept quiet, failing to reply. Pippin noticed that Merry had blanched slightly upon hearing his query, and regretted asking that morbid question.
April grabbed Libby's arm suddenly, having spotted dark shapes off in the distance. Libby had also seen them, but dismissed them as a trick of the light, not feeling the enveloping dread obliterating almost everything else that the Black Riders bore with them. "Who are they?"
Libby instinctively reached for her right side where she kept her pocketbook whose contents included her glasses, then remembered that it had been stashed into one of the packs being shouldered by Bill. She shrugged her shoulders at April, shaking her head.
"Do not worry, those are my people," Glorfindel said, lowering his saddened face to meet the petite girl's gaze. A small stir of relief awakened in his heart, perhaps they would be able to help the unconscious Halfling even there. His sharp eyes revealed that three Elves, servants of Elrond, were approaching them at a swift pace. One had white-blonde hair, one had gold hair in a shade slightly lighter than Libby's but darker than Glorfindel's, and one had hair so dark it was almost as black as April's locks. "Aragorn, I do believe help has arrived."
Aragorn lifted his gaze from Frodo, who appeared nothing more than a bundle of blankets in his arms, a small glimmer of what could be almost be called joy stirring in his dulled gray eyes that could not be spotted in the dark by any but keen-eyed Glorfindel.
"Greetings, Haradil, Elrhodor, Meriel," Glorfindel said, sounding pleased by their arrival though a note of sadness lingered in his musical voice. The golden-haired Elf-noble indicated the bundle of blankets in Aragorn's arms that contained the comatose Frodo. "As you can see, I found them, nigh on two nights ago." Glorfindel hastily introduced the conscious, walking hobbits and the two girls. The Elves raised their eyebrows at the attire of the two teenagers, but put them from their minds for now,. They assumed the two girls were friends, though strangers, or else they wouldn't have been traveling in the same company as the Ring-bearer. Haradil turned out to be the raven-haired Elf, Elrhodor the white-blonde, and Merial the Elf somewhat resembling Glorfindel. The Elves seemed like the hobbits; they all looked similar.
A brief smile appeared on April's mouth before her face reverted to its solemn expression. She'd had trouble telling the four hobbits apart at first. Frodo had been the only obvious one, due to his wound, and that had been after the attack on Weathertop. For the first couple of days she and Libby had been with the company, Frodo was the blue-eyed wounded, tall, wounded one, Pippin had the hazel eyes, Merry had bushy eyebrows and brown eyes, and brown-eyed Sam was the chunkiest of the four flabby hobbits.
"You have not yet mentioned the Ring-bearer Frodo Baggins? Do you bear ill news? Where is he?" Merial queried frantically, a somber light beginning to shine in his dark blue eyes. April had begun to note with awe that the Elves had quite an unexplainable aura about them, a combination of half joy, half deep melancholy. The Elves were fair and merry, yet they seemed to be affected by countless losses. The black-haired teen wondered if old age and immortality in part had spawned that impression.
Glorfindel sighed, "the Ring-bearer lives yet, but he has been wounded." He gave Aragorn a sharp, pointed glance, and the Ranger began rapidly recounting the assail on the camp in the dell.
"Can you do anything for him?" Sam broke in at a pause in Aragorn's recollection. "He's out cold, but I think he is in pain!"
"I fear the best we ourselves to do is bring him to Elrond," Elrhodor replied quietly. "It is he who possesses extraordinary prowess in healing. We have a slight bit of food stored in our packs, but he is certainly unable to eat; it will only help you six."
"I shall carry the Ring-bearer," Haradil, who looked like he might have been the youngest of the Elves, spoke. He definitely looked as if he may have contained some physical strength. "I am a fast sprinter, and all due speed is needed. I would have you do it, dearest Aragorn, but you , too, appear weary. I, unlike you travelers, have had sufficient rest recently, and I am in better shape to carry him." Aragorn wanted to protest, but he did feel tired, embarrassed though he was to admit. He had survived many extraordinary adventures that would finish off a man not of Numenorean descent, but even the strongest of men had the capability of experiencing fatigue. Therefore, the Ranger gently handed Frodo to the Elf, stating his thanks.
"I shall be quite gentle, never fear," Haradil said gently to Sam, who had mumbled something out loud about wondering if Frodo could still feel jolts. The Elf gently patted the chubby hobbit's curls. "Farewell, see you in Rivendell, Glorfindel, Elrhodor, Merial, Dunadan, everyone." At this, the Elf turned, jogging away holding the unaware Ring-bearer. Frodo groaned slightly with one step, causing the Elf to wonder if he might awaken to find himself being carried by an unfamiliar being, but Frodo remained insensible, out in the dark. A few minutes later, as the House of Elrond was beginning to come into the black-haired Elf's range of vision, Frodo began to burble nonsense in his tortured rest. Haradil felt pity for the poor Perian come over him, the fellow was obviously in colossal anguish even as he was unconscious; the Morgul-blade was that terrible, to have the might do that to anybody.
About a mile away, Merial took out the scant provisions the Elves kept in their bags for mere wanderings in the premises of their home, and divided it up for the weary travelers. The two shorter of the three hobbits (Sam and Pippin) and the black-haired looked so fatigued they were on the verge of collapsing where they stood, the blonde and the bushy-eyebrowed hobbit had pained expressions on the face.
"Here, drink this. Two sips each, I think." Elrhodor passed around a flask, and the new arrivals to Rivendell each took two swigs of the draught not unlike the one Glorfindel had, and felt more aware, though still subconsciously aware of their hunger and lethargy. Glorfindel handed out a sandwich half and an apple to each of his companions, selflessly taking none of the food for himself.
Merry threw himself onto the ground to eat his sandwich, and the other two hobbits sat on either side of him. Libby and April sat a ways apart from them, April laying her head in her friend's lap. Munching his sandwich, Merry watched the girls exchange a few words, then Libby slap her sandwich onto her bag, rolling over and pummeling the ground in frustration. Dislodged from her friend's lap, April patted Libby on the back, and put an arm around her shaking shoulders.
After the worn travelers had finished the slight food provided, Merial said, "We ought to continue on to the House of Elrond, there bed and rest will be provided, for Haradil will have alerted Elrond to your arrival." The three Elves and Aragorn helped the hobbits and the girls to their feet, then piled all of the packs upon Asfaloth and bill, hence completely relieving the worn-out walkers of their burdens. Their faces were haggard from utter exhaustion, they were dirty and scruffy-looking for lack of cleaning. The Elves, Men, and Hobbits began making for the house of Elrond, which was getting bigger and bigger in relative proportion to their spot.
Libby and April drew apart from the procession briefly to look into a clear pool they had just spotted and scrutinize their reflections. They were curious about their own appearances, as the hobbits were beginning to look rather grim from the strenuous traveling done for over two weeks, lying on grass, in caves, and in ditches. The appearance-conscious girls were shocked by their appearance. Their faces were drawn and haggard, and faint circles were outlined beneath their eyes. They had expected those if the hobbits were anything to judge by, but Frodo naturally had looked by far the worst. April cringed with pity remembering the pallor alternating between sheet-white and the bluish-green tint in his skin tone, and the almost black circles clearly surrounding his pain-filled eyes.
"Aargh, look at my hair!" April fumed, glaring into the pool as her eyes fell on her long straight black hair. Due to lack of washing it had lost its glossy hue, and her hair was completely limp, lacking its normal. Parts of it seemed to have been clumped together and it was obvious that there were a myriad of knots that would prove hard to loosen.
"Are you kidding? You think yours is bad?" Libby said, disliking her obviously greasy, unwashed hair. Due to the fact that she'd began neglecting care for it, not combing or brushing it, it had reverted to its natural curly texture after the rain, and it was frizzing like there was no tomorrow. Shorter parts that had formerly been her bangs were sticking straight up, curling as it went.
"Haha, your hair really is curly. Guess I am the only straight-haired one of all of us." April chuckled slightly, and Elrhodor came to chide them for wandering off.
Elrond was sitting in his study when there was a knock on his door. He, ironically, was pondering the massing of Sauron's forces and the flight of the Ring-bearer. "Enter," the Elf-lord said neutrally, wondering who was on the other side. He had not expected any of his family or servants to come calling, but he was used to sudden visitors.
The door creaked open, and Haradil came in bearing what seemed to be a bundle of dirty blankets in need of laundering. The Elf shook his jet- black hair over his shoulders, and said, "the Ring-bearer has been found, Master Elrond."
The Elf-lord felt relief wash over him, he had been frantic for what seemed a long period of time. "Indeed? What news?"
"He is inside these blankets, Master Elrond," said Haradil. "He has been pierced by a deadly weapon of the enemy, he's been bearing a terrible wound for two weeks. He is now unresponsive."
Elrond sighed, and bid Haradil carry the unconscious hobbit to the nearest room and lay him down on the bed. He followed his dark-haired servant to the room, and when the other Elf had laid the blankets enclosing Frodo onto the bed, he opened the blankets to reveal the pale, cold, lifeless form of the Ring-bearer. Elrond placed a hand just over his nose and mouth. If it were not for the barely detectable breathing, Elrond would have pronounced that he had died. The Elf-lord noted that his clothes were ragged and torn, and his face and body were mud-streaked. He pulled aside Frodo's travel-battered garments to reveal the cold, white mark that now scarred the Ring-bearer's shoulder, which was otherwise clean He felt an inclination to draw away from the evil radiating the wound, but ignored it, and ran a hand along Frodo's shoulder. There was no sign of a response from the hobbit. "Haradil, please gather the appropriate herbs to bathe his wound, and bid someone to find clothes small enough to fit the Halfling." watching his servant's retreating back, Elrond promised himself that he would use the full extent of his healing powers, if necessary, to heal Frodo Baggins.
While the bearer of the mightiest of the Three rings, Vilya, was bathing Frodo's shoulder with athelas and some lesser herbs, there was a knock on Frodo's room. Elrond had changed the unconscious creature into a finely-woven nightshirt and washed the hobbit, so he at least didn't look so weather-beaten except for his deathly pale face and the circles under his eyes. This time, it was Merial who had entered.
"We have brought the companions of the Ring-bearer, Master Elrond," stated the golden-haired Elf. "They are waiting in the dining area, and they are very weary."
"That can soon be mended, Merial," answered Elrond. "Bring them all to appropriate bedrooms, and then find them clean garments to wear and set up baths for them to make use of when they awaken." the Elf-lord knew the journeyers would desire a lie-in above all else, fresh from an exodus over a fortnight in time span.
The girls, Merry, Pippin, and Sam were delighted to see Merial return, especially when the Elf said he would lead them to bedrooms where they could slumber for as long as they chose. Glorfindel and Elrhodor had gone elsewhere to a place which they did not know. They followed Merial out of the grand dining area down a long hallway filled with large paintings and shiny furniture, some which were adorned with magnificent ornaments of gold and silver. If wide-awake, the lethargic adventurers would have been in awe of their newfound asylum. Merial smiled to himself slightly with content that at least these novices were appeased as each in turn crumpled onto his or her bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously upon their head striking their soft pillow, savoring the softness of the mattress and pillows. Noting that they hadn't even bothered to pull out the blankets to cover themselves, Merial fetched each arrival two thick linen covers, and gently tucked the edges around them. Such was their weariness that they were not even aroused by the gentle touch of the Elf.
Sam felt wholly serene, unperturbed by his troubles. He was walking in a meadow of tall, green grass that was appealing to the olfactory senses. A gentle breeze was playing on his face, soothingly stroking his face. Suddenly, he felt as if someone was softly gripping his shoulder and shaking him. The safe, warm scene faded into blackness, and then his brown eyes opened once more to reveal the stone ceiling with streaks of golden sunlight across it. Sam felt refreshed though slightly sluggish. He groggily pushed himself up onto his elbows and Elrhodor's face. The vents of the past two weeks came flooding into the hobbit's mind, and Sam suddenly felt worried. Elrhodor's face looked tired and sorrow-ridden.
"Elrhodor? How is my master doing? Did Frodo arrive? Is he all right?" His brown eyes gazed imploringly into the Elf's face, and for a fleeting instant he thought that a fresh current of woe had crossed the expression, but he might have imagined it, for a second later, the white- blonde Elf's appearance became neutral once more. However, Sam recognized that Elrhodor's facial expression was belying his emotions, for the Elf's blue eyes were grieved. Sam's stomach jerked around inside his rib cage as a realization of a dour possibility entered his contemplations. His face paled slightly, as he dubiously asked, "Mr. Frodo. He, he /is/ all right, isn't he, Mister Elrhodor?"
