Lovethosehobbits….your wish is my command. (grins)

Chapter 15

"Listen to my voice, Frodo. Come back to the light."

The voice was familiar, as were the words, and Frodo wanted to obey but the shadows held him fast. Icy claws scrabbled at his skin, fiery fingers stabbing into his already tortured flesh and he whimpered his pain, too weak now to even muster the breath to scream out his agony.

Terrifying faces burst out of the thick mist that coiled about him coldly. Eyes of glowing red, rimmed in flame winked out, only to be replaced by others of lurid yellow, their pupils slitted like a cats. Each baleful glare impaled him like a moth to a collector's board and his body would not respond to feeble requests to move . . . even just to look . . . away.

"Come back to the light, Frodo." The voice held a note of command now, but the claws gripped like a vice and he was so, so weary. Frodo had struggled too long against the darkness and he had not the reserves of mind or body that he once had.

"Can't."

Had he spoken the word aloud or only thought it? He could not tell. When the calm voice was not there his ears were filled only with the shrill and taunting cackles of his captors.

Wait . . . there was another voice . . . fainter even than his own feeble whimpers. High pitched wails, laced with confusion and pain . . . desperate for succour . . . for release from this place of frost rimed fire. Frodo followed the sound until slowly, a form coalesced from the mist. A tiny naked figure lay curled in the darkness, eyes tight shut even as the small, pink-gummed mouth opened wide to cry its distress.

The other voice returned. "Come back to the light, Frodo Baggins, or your child will be lost."

Words and image conjoined, touching his heart more readily than they had reached his mind. Throwing himself forward, Frodo struggled free of his bonds and fell bruisingly upon his knees at the side of the distraught little ball, gathering it up. The cries stopped for a moment and Frodo glanced down into wide blue eyes, before they screwed shut again and Calimore drew breath for another wail.

Frodo cast about in desperation, clutching his child to him. "Where? Show me the light!" he called frantically.

"Listen to my voice, Frodo."

Calimore's eyes flew open and he turned his head to Frodo's left. There, a few steps away, was a soft glow. Frodo staggered upright and towards it, the icy claws still clutching . . . trying to snatch his child from him. But their attempts only made him struggle that much harder. They would not have Calimore. Dropping to his knees once more, he spent the last vestiges of his strength crawling into the warm pool of light, Calimore held secure in his arms when all else trembled in exhaustion.

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Frodo lay on his side, sucking air in frantic gulps. He was aware that his arms were wrapped tightly about his belly, that he was swathed in soft warmth and that a hand was rubbing soothing circles on his back, even as a larger one rested lightly upon his brow. He prised open leaden eyelids and it took him a moment to recognise the claret velvet that floated before him. Lord Elrond.

Taking in a deeper breath Frodo was calmed by a pleasant blend of scents . . . warm sandalwood, clean athelas and, from behind him, light lavender. Elrond's voice drifted gently to his ears.

"Welcome back, Frodo. Sleep now."

Frodo fought his body's need to obey . . . lips barely able to form the question.

"Calimore?" he breathed.

"He is well."

Inhaling the comforting fragrances once more and letting out a long sigh, Frodo loosened his grip around his child and snuggled into the soft pillow beneath his cheek, drifting into warm and dreamless sleep.

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Long fingers cradled the base of his head and warm, sweet liquid trickled slowly between Frodo's slack lips. He swallowed reflexively and the parched tissues of his throat welcomed the moisture eagerly. Frodo blinked open sleepy eyes and tried to bring the world into focus as his mouth was filled again. For a while his mind refused to make sense of the blurry images and he concentrated instead upon accepting the soothing drink, feeling quite pleased when he managed to identify refreshing mint tea, much sweetened with honey.

The dark smudge before him grew clearer and settled into the ageless features of Lord Elrond, the dark curtain of silken hair sliding over his shoulder, blocking Frodo's view of the rest of the room. As the last drops were accepted, Elrond lowered his charge's head back into soft pillows and smaller hands laid a cool cloth across Frodo's brow.

"Bilbo?"

His uncle's face replaced the elf's above him as Elrond settled himself in a chair, temporarily out of eyeline. Frodo quirked his mouth weakly and Bilbo's lined features responded with a warm smile.

"There's my Frodo. Feeling a little better?"

Frodo licked dry lips. "I . . . I think so."

He turned his head, seeking out the elven healer. "How long . . . how long has it been?"

Elrond's face was filled with compassion. "You have been ill for only a day."

"My baby?"

Elrond reached out a hand and laid it over Frodo's swollen abdomen beneath the warm covers. For a moment his eyes grew distant, then they focussed clearly upon Frodo's and there was no hint of deception in their cloud-grey depths.

"Your babe is well. He was in some distress earlier but there is no lasting hurt."

"My dear lad. I thought I'd lost you," came Bilbo's trembling voice.

Frodo tried to turn his head back to his uncle and gasped as the movement sent an echo of pain through his left shoulder. Elrond folded back the covers and laid a warm damp cloth upon the area of the old wound, the strong perfume of athelas easing Frodo's mind as well as his hurt.

"What happened? I remember the river and then . . . then there was mist and . . . and pain. I thought . . . he . . . had returned. That I had been stabbed again."

He was unable to quell a shudder and Bilbo's hand came to rest upon his arm. Withdrawing the cloth and tucking the warm covers about his charge again, Elrond re-settled himself.

"Gandalf and I hoped you would be spared this but it is a year since your wounding at Amon Sul. I fear that such a wound bites deeper than flesh."

Frodo felt tears building and closed his eyes, his hand fumbling for the small jewel on its chain about his neck. As soon as he touched Arwen's gift he felt his mind calm, seeing her sweet face drifting before him, and noticing for the first time that her eyes were exactly the same shade of cloud-grey as her father's.

Sighing, Frodo rolled his head back upon the pillow, finding Bilbo still seated on the bed at his side, his lined face mapped with worry. He looked up into those familiar blue-grey eyes.

"When I woke up . . . after . . . in Ithilien . . . I thought it was over. I hoped I could take up my life where I had left it. Then I realised that the world would never be the same again, because I was not the same. It seems I am never to find peace."

Frodo brought his hand out of the covers and Bilbo grasped it firmly as his nephew began to cry. Elrond's voice broke through the sorrow.

"But you have your child . . . the light of your heart. You called him that yourself. And already he has brought you back from darkness."

"That was your doing. Without you we would both have been lost. You called me back."

"I called but it was not I who brought you back. I called you many times before you answered. It was only when you feared for your child that you fought to return to us."

Frowning, Frodo tried to recapture nightmare images that he would rather forget. Yes. He had thought all strength gone . . . the battle lost . . . and then he had heard that innocent cry. Calimore deserved life and he fought to give it to him. But what of the next time?

"Will . . . will this happen . . . again?" he asked, fearful of the answer.

"I do not think it will happen again before the birth. Beyond that I do not know. I do not think, now, that you will ever find peace here, although perhaps in the West you may find healing for your wounds. That path is still open to you if you wish to take it."

"But what of Calimore? I will not leave him without a parent if I can help it. No child should be alone," Frodo vowed, recollecting the deep ache of his own parent's departure. "Even if it means my death, here."

Elrond cupped Frodo's sweat-damp cheek in his hand. "The path to the West is open to all those who bore the trial of that terrible burden. I think that the past few hours more than qualifies your child for that road if you wish him to walk it with you."

Those words shone like a beacon in Frodo's pain-shadowed heart. He could still have his dream. There truly was hope of happiness. Wise grey eyes noted the change and Elrond's lips curved in a small smile, as he glanced towards the door.

"But first you must birth this wonderful gift. To do that you must be strong and that will entail rest and lots of good food. Do you think you could manage that?"

Frodo surprised himself with a soft laugh. "Resting will be easy enough. I feel so weary that I could sleep for a week. Food? I'm not so sure about that . . . at the moment."

Elrond was spared the task of coaxing by Bilbo's admonition. "Nonsense lad. You're a hobbit. Don't you worry, Elrond. I'll make sure that he eats . . . I've had plenty of practice sorting out this lad before." And with that the older hobbit beckoned forward an elf waiting nearby with a small tray.

Frodo smiled drowsily and allowed himself to be arranged in his comfortable nest of pillows, secure in Elrond's care and content in the warmth of his uncle's love.

TBC