Hey everyone! Miss me? It's been forever since I've updated this
story...sorry about that. But now, another chapter to "Encounter At
Weathertop!" Enjoy! Questions and comments can be sent to
samdro87yahoo.com, or else review!
Glorfindel knelt next to Frodo, gently placing his hand against the hobbit's forehead. Frodo shivered, seemingly feeling that the white hand against his head was cold, though it was quite warm.
"He is fevered," Gorfindel said. "How long has he been this way?"
"Weeks," Aragorn replied, "around two and a half, I believe."
Glorfindel turned to the Ranger suddenly, bright eyes wide.
"And he still lives?!"
"Hobbits are apparently made of strong stuff, Glorfindel," Aragorn said, with a wink towards Sam. The old gardener smiled.
"Nonetheless, we must get him to Elrond," the elf said gravely. "He is very ill; at the verge of death. Or, what is worse than death."
The hobbits shot a surprised and frightened glance at both the Ranger and the Elf. What could be worse than death?
"Come," Strider said, changing the subject. He was unwilling to enlighten the hobbits on Frodo's serious condition just now. "Let us build a fire and camp here for the night."
The darkness was chilly. Aragorn pulled the rough blankets lying over his muscular body tighter around him. He tried to sleep, but rest was not coming to the weathered Ranger. Sighing, he pulled himself up into a sitting position and edged closer to the fire.
Hearing a light rustle, he turned his head- and saw Glorfindel pulling Frodo up into his arms, studying his face intently. Aragorn edged closer until he was close enough to the elf to talk to him quietly without waking the others.
"How is he?" asked the Ranger.
"Not well," Glorfindel replied quietly, sighing a little. "And Rivendell still lies many miles ahead."
"Yes," said Strider sadly, "I know."
Glorfindel reached out towards the blankets, and Aragorn thought he might be pulling the blankets closer to the young hobbit. Instead, he tugged them away, then unbuttoned Frodo's shirt, revealing the white scar etched in his shoulder. Frodo groaned as the chilly air made contact with his wound.
Glorfindel reached down and gently touched the pale, puckered skin as Strider watched. Frodo moaned, then grew quiet and stopped shivering. Aragorn was alarmed at first, thinking Frodo may have passed, then realized what Glorfindel was doing- taking the edge off the pain. Frodo had relaxed not because he was slipping, but because he was getting better.
Strider looked up at the elf.
"You are healing him."
"No," Glorfindel said sadly. "I have not that power. Only Elrond can heal such a wound as this. I am only easing the pain."
The elf sighed.
"At least he will not suffer as much."
Aragorn nodded and looked up at the stars brightly twinkling above them. There was still such a long way to go, and Frodo was not getting better. The only hope was that Elrond could help him.
Glorfindel knelt next to Frodo, gently placing his hand against the hobbit's forehead. Frodo shivered, seemingly feeling that the white hand against his head was cold, though it was quite warm.
"He is fevered," Gorfindel said. "How long has he been this way?"
"Weeks," Aragorn replied, "around two and a half, I believe."
Glorfindel turned to the Ranger suddenly, bright eyes wide.
"And he still lives?!"
"Hobbits are apparently made of strong stuff, Glorfindel," Aragorn said, with a wink towards Sam. The old gardener smiled.
"Nonetheless, we must get him to Elrond," the elf said gravely. "He is very ill; at the verge of death. Or, what is worse than death."
The hobbits shot a surprised and frightened glance at both the Ranger and the Elf. What could be worse than death?
"Come," Strider said, changing the subject. He was unwilling to enlighten the hobbits on Frodo's serious condition just now. "Let us build a fire and camp here for the night."
The darkness was chilly. Aragorn pulled the rough blankets lying over his muscular body tighter around him. He tried to sleep, but rest was not coming to the weathered Ranger. Sighing, he pulled himself up into a sitting position and edged closer to the fire.
Hearing a light rustle, he turned his head- and saw Glorfindel pulling Frodo up into his arms, studying his face intently. Aragorn edged closer until he was close enough to the elf to talk to him quietly without waking the others.
"How is he?" asked the Ranger.
"Not well," Glorfindel replied quietly, sighing a little. "And Rivendell still lies many miles ahead."
"Yes," said Strider sadly, "I know."
Glorfindel reached out towards the blankets, and Aragorn thought he might be pulling the blankets closer to the young hobbit. Instead, he tugged them away, then unbuttoned Frodo's shirt, revealing the white scar etched in his shoulder. Frodo groaned as the chilly air made contact with his wound.
Glorfindel reached down and gently touched the pale, puckered skin as Strider watched. Frodo moaned, then grew quiet and stopped shivering. Aragorn was alarmed at first, thinking Frodo may have passed, then realized what Glorfindel was doing- taking the edge off the pain. Frodo had relaxed not because he was slipping, but because he was getting better.
Strider looked up at the elf.
"You are healing him."
"No," Glorfindel said sadly. "I have not that power. Only Elrond can heal such a wound as this. I am only easing the pain."
The elf sighed.
"At least he will not suffer as much."
Aragorn nodded and looked up at the stars brightly twinkling above them. There was still such a long way to go, and Frodo was not getting better. The only hope was that Elrond could help him.