I must say, this is one of my favorite chapters so far . . . ::smiles mischievously::  Bet you'll guess why once you've finished.  Enjoy(heehee)--as I have no doubt you will.^^ 

Ch. 6

HOME

            When she awoke, her head pounded dully.  She sighed in disgust.

            "Just chop the entire thing off--from the neck up."  She used to say that when she got disgusted with her pains.  Morgainne had always slugged her for it.  Apryl smiled.

            She looked about the room, fully intending to see another bed across the way and posters plastered all over the wall.  What she saw though, it caused her to do a double take.  There was no other bed; there were hardly any walls.  There were open doors everywhere that led outside, allowing the wind to dance about her at its leisure, stirring her hair gently and waking her up all the more.

            Hurriedly, she sat up in bed.  The blankets were thick and soft and she almost regretted leaving their warm embrace, but she thought perhaps she was going insane--waking up as she did to a place that was unfamiliar to her.  It could be a dream, she told herself, though almost immediately she discarded the notion.

            A hospital, then, she decided, for memories suddenly flooded her mind.  The pain.  The fear.  She hadn't been able to breath for some unknown reason.  Her hand fell to her throat where she felt scratches--marks made by her own hands in a desperate attempt to breathe.

            Am I in a hospital? she wondered, and she looked around.  She doubted it.  A hospital shouldn't feel so . . . so homely, as this place does.

            She crawled slowly from the bed, looking all around her in amazement, for the room was truly beautiful.  It was all wood:  the walls, the floor, the bed--and there were carvings everywhere.  Sculptured swans and women and mythical beasts--some Apryl couldn't even name.  Where am I?

            To her left, she spotted clothes on a chair.  My clothes, she realized in confusion.  Looking down at herself, she saw she had on a long white night shift.

            How . . . ?

            Apryl's face suddenly turned bright red and she ran over to the chair, scooped up the pants, coat, and other belongings, and hugged them to her chest.  Looking around fearfully, she dashed back for the bed and wiggled beneath the covers where she could slip off the shift and hurriedly adorn her own clothes.  Breathless, she threw the covers back.

            Alright, she thought, almost angrily, Time to find out where I am.  She stepped upon the wooden floor, her feet in naught but white socks, and she made her way to one of the doors. 

            Beyond the sheltered room, she found beautiful grounds laid out before her.  Tall, majestic trees lay spattered about the lawns, dirt paths intertwining about them.  She saw people walking below, most were laughing and talking to one another in a laid back I-have-all-the-time-in-the-world sort of manner.  It reminded Apryl of a painting.

            Hurriedly slipping off her socks and stuffing them in her coat pocket, she made her way to the nearest dirt path with naught but her bare feet, for her shoes had not been amongst her belongings.

            She had only just stepped out upon the path, when one of the men glanced up and, spotting her, gave her such a smile that it warmed her insides.  No one had ever smiled at her like that.  He came over.

            "Afternoon, Lady," he dipped his head and Apryl was suddenly reminded of someone . . . someone from a long time ago.  She wondered at it.  "How fare you?"

            "I--I'm good.  Um, you?"   

            The man's brow crinkled.  "I, Lady?" he asked, confused.  Apryl noted with wonderment that this man wore robes.  Robes!  And purple and green silk, at that!

            "Yes," Apryl said.  "You."

            The man looked at her for a moment as though he thought she might continue and, seeing that she wasn't, he said apologetically, "Forgive me, I do not understand."

            Apryl frowned.  "How are you?"

            "How are I?"

            Apryl blinked, almost scowled in exasperation, but refrained at the last.  She thought back to his words.  "How--" she began slowly, "how f--fare you?"

            The man's face brightened.  "Ah, well.  Quite well."

            Apryl caught sight of his ear and she almost choked.

            The elf frowned.  "Are you well?"  Her face had gone deathly white.

            "Sir, w--who are you?" she asked and it was no louder than a whisper.

            She hardly noted the sudden saddening of his features--Disappointment, was it?--though, almost instantly it was gone.  "Why, Glorfindel, my lady," he said, concern masking . . . something.  "Are you unwell?" he asked again.

            "No--no," she spoke haltingly.  She pointed at his ear.  "You--your an elf."

            Glorfindel smiled hesitantly.  "Yes.  And your--" he hesitated for a moment, and then, "A human, if I am not mistaken."

            "Elf," she breathed, not hearing him.  "An elf."

            Glorfindel frowned.  "Am I mistaken?"

            Apryl snapped her eyes back to him, her grey orbs having wandered to the people beyond them.  "Mistaken?  No."  She neglected to note the dismay in his eyes and shook her head, and then peered at him intently.  "Am I?"

            "Are you what?  Human?" he asked.

            "No," she said.  "Mistaken." 

            "About what, Lady?"

            "Your Glorfindel," she said slowly.  "The same Glorfindel who met with Aragorn and the hobbits before the ford, before the Ford of--" she hesitated here, trying to recall its name, "the Ford of Bruinen?"  She wasn't certain if she pronounced it correctly, but the elf seemed to take her meaning.

            Glorfindel nodded.  "Aye."

            She just stood there; just looked at him.  And then she laughed.

            "My lady?"  Glorfindel reached out for her as her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the path.  Still, she laughed.  The elf knelt beside her.  "What is it?"

            Tears streamed down her face and she could do naught but shake her head and clutch her belly.  Glorfindel watched her, helpless.

            Finally, hiccupping, she could laugh no more, for fear that she might be sick.  Apryl looked up at the kneeling elf and smiled.  "May I see them?" she asked breathlessly; hopefully.

            "See whom?"

            Her eyes sparkled.  "The hobbits, my lord."

            Frodo submerged himself in the steaming water of the bathhouse.  This is bliss, he thought, dreamily.

            "What was it like, Frodo?" Merry asked, seeing his cousin reemerge from the water.  He scrubbed at his hair from one tub over.  Soap ran into his eye.

            "What was what like?" Frodo asked, wiping his limp curls from his eyes.  He just lay there, relishing the heat and comfort.

            "Going to . . . to where ever you went."  Merry wiped the soap from his eye, then rinsed his hair clean of it.  Pippin's sickness had been cleaned out after the first washing, but he had made extra certain by scrubbing his hair two more thorough times.  The hobbit grinned.  Sam hadn't looked too well when he had seen Merry's matted hair. 

            Gandalf had ordered Merry to the bathing house and Frodo had volunteered to go along.  Merry could see why, for his cousin looked tired and worn.  A hot bath should fix him up right nice.

            "What were the people like?  Where there any hobbits?"

            "Not that I could see," Frodo said, frowning, remembering the building filled with naught but human children.  "But I was only in one place the whole time.  It seemed to be a human's city," he said.  "Like Gondor."

            "No hobbits?"  Merry glanced at his cousin.

            Frodo shrugged. 

            "Well," Merry thought for a moment.  "What were the humans like?"

            Frodo was silent for a time.  Then, "I don't know.  Most of them were children, like Apryl--"

            "Is that her name?" Merry asked, curious.

            Frodo nodded.  "Yes."

            "Pretty," he commented.

            Frodo said nothing.

            After several minutes of silence, Merry looked over at his cousin.  "And . . . ?"

            Frodo started.  "And?"

            "And what are the humans like?" he asked, rolling his eyes in exasperation.  He felt around in the tub for a moment before he came up triumphantly with the bar of soup.

            "They dressed odd."

            "How so?"  Merry washed behind his slightly pointed ears.

            "Well," he mused, "they all wore pants.  Even the girls."

            Merry dropped the soap and stared at his cousin, wide-eyed.  "Truly?" he asked.

            Frodo nodded.

            "Whoo-boy!" Merry whooped.  "I'd give up a good bit of pipe-weed to see that!"

            Frodo laughed.  "You might get the chance, yet," he said, grinning.

            "How so?"

            "Apryl," Frodo stated simply.

            "Her, too?"

            "Aye."

            Merry laughed.  "What an odd world she comes from!"

            "Indeed," a deep voice agreed.  Frodo jumped in startlement and Merry twisted in the tub to look behind him.

            Gandalf stepped from the shadows.  "How fare you, Frodo?"

            "I'm well, Gandalf.  It's good to be home."

            Gandalf nodded.  "And you, Master Brandybuck?  How do you fare?  You smell better, certainly," he added with a smile.

            "How is Pippin?" Merry asked, ignoring or not hearing Gandalf's question and comment.

            "Yes, Gandalf, has he awakened yet?" Frodo asked anxiously, sitting up, the water lapping at his chest.  The elf-sized tubs were large for the hobbits and, had they been filled to their full, the hobbits probably could have swam in them.

            "No," the wizard said, though he sounded not at all worried.  "He still sleeps, but that is best for him.  He fights the illness better.  Or should I say, magic?"

            "Magic?" Frodo echoed.  "It was magic that harmed him?"

            "Yes," Gandalf nodded gravely. 

            "But--but how?" Merry asked.

            Gandalf sighed.  "When Frodo and the child--"

            "Apryl," Frodo interrupted.  "Her name is Apryl."

            Gandalf frowned.  "When Frodo and the child returned," he continued.  Frodo's eyes narrowed.  "Pippin accidentally got in their path, I suppose we could say, and the power lashed out and struck the young Took a savage blow, for he was unwanted there; in the way."

            "So it was an accident?" Merry asked.

            "Yes," Gandalf lied.  "The magic was, in a sense, protecting itself."

            "Why didn't he die?" Frodo asked softly.

            Gandalf smiled.  "The child."

            "She saved him?" Merry asked, incredulous.  "How?"

            Gandalf hesitated.  Finally, coming to some decision, he prepared to answer, but was cut short as a young female elf ran excitedly into the bathing house.

            "Mithrandir!  Mithrandir!" she chirped prettily.

            Hurriedly, and almost in a panic, both Frodo and Merry dived low into the water, so that all you could see was their wide eyes and wet hair.

            Seeing this, the young elfmaiden giggled and waved at them.  Tentatively, the blushing hobbits waved back.

            "What is it, dear," Gandalf asked, glad his beard was there to hide his smile.

            "The human child," the elf said, her blue eyes alight.  "She's awake, Mithrandir!"

            "Awake," Gandalf breathed.

            "Apryl's awake?" Frodo nearly leapt from the water, but ceased immediately as elven eyes fell upon him.

            Giggling, she nodded.  "Come," she laughed gayly, then ran from the bathing house.  Gandalf hurried after the elf, but then halted as he heard splashing behind him and turned to see both hobbits struggling to get out of the tubs.  He had forgotten them for a moment.

            "No, no," Gandalf said, stopping the hobbits.  "Finishing washing; the child shall still be there when you two get out."  Slowly, the hobbits sunk back into the water, as it seemed it was not a request but a demand.  Gandalf left.

            Merry frowned.  Finally, he stood and proceeded with the difficult task of climbing from the tub.  "You know," he grunted, "you'd think they'd have made some of these hobbit-sized, what with Bilbo staying here and all."

            "What are you doing?" Frodo demanded.   He watched as Merry finally fell free and slipped around on the wet floor.

            "What does it look like I'm doing?"  He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying from his blonde curls.  Sliding across the floor, he took up his undergarments, tunic, and pants and slipped them on.

            "It looks to me like you're done with your bath," Frodo commented, he himself getting free of the tub.

            "My, you are observant, Cousin."  Merry grinned.

            "And you're very rude," Frodo berated.

            "I rather am, aren't I?" said Merry, laughing.  He tossed Frodo his own clothes.  "Come now, you don't expect we should stay in here while the girl's out there, do you?" he asked.

            "Indeed, no," Frodo agreed.  Then, narrowing his eyes, he glared hard at Merry.  "Her name is Apryl," he said, quite deliberately.

            "So I have heard," Merry said, seemingly not intrested in the least, though there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

            "And so I shall knock it into your head until somebody around here remembers!" Frodo ran for his cousin.  With a very ungentlehobbit-like shriek, Merry ran, laughing, from the bathing house, Frodo close on his heels.  The splatter of bare hobbit feet on wet wooden floors and the laughter of light hobbit voices could be heard far and wide--and passing elf lords smiled and shook their dignified heads in quiet amusement.

*****

Now, tell me you haven't a clue as to why this is my favorite chapter.^^  Review for me, k?