In all, Frodo Baggins was unconscious in Rivendell for four nights and three days. He awoke on the twenty-fourth of October, in the year 3018 of the Third Age. Those who have some knowledge of history will recognize this date for the fact that it was the eve of the meeting that was eventually recognized as one of the great turning points of our time.

Of course, I was not present when Frodo returned to us from the shadow. Gandalf alone – for by then I thought of him as "Gandalf" rather than "Mithrandir", as the three hobbits called him by the former name – was with him when his eyes opened at long last. Lord Elrond had left Frodo the previous night, claiming that the wound was healed and that all we had left to do was to wait. Frodo proved to be a model patient: I don't believe even the elves expected him to recover as quickly as he did.

I was sitting with Sador and Sam in the gardens to the east of the main compound when we received the news. Samwise Gamgee was indeed the most loyal of servants I'd ever met – we Elignias might learn something from such steadfast love and devotion. He had stayed at his master's side through days and nights of tortuous moaning and muttering, clutching the cold hand of his sick friend and trying to keep his gaze from straying to that wicked black wound on Frodo's shoulder. Naturally, he'd been sent to get some rest once Elrond thought Frodo cured, and so Sam had spent the night in a bed for the first time in days. Upon awakening, however, my father and I had been the first people he'd come across, and – perhaps out of a certain disorientation brought on by grief; perhaps out of a desperate desire for companionship, any sort of companionship – he'd decided to sit with us and pass the early hours of the morning in the company of Men.

"My dear Master Frodo," he sighed repeatedly, wringing his thick little hands. "Oh, how I hope he does come through..."

"I'm sure he will," I told him, doing my best to sound confident despite the fact that I knew nothing of Frodo's present condition. "If Lord Elrond has left him, he's most certainly doing a lot better."

"I don't doubt Urwen's right," Sador agreed. "You trust them elves, Samwise Gamgee. They're far wiser than any of us could ever hope to be."

Sam rocked nervously, back and forth, back and forth. "I know... I do know. It's just... Oh, why did it have to happen? Why did any of this have to happen? Frodo never did anything wrong in all his life! Where's the justice in it? Why... why must he be the one to suffer?"

I didn't pretend to have the words to satisfy the poor hobbit. "I don't know, Sam," I sighed. "I just don't know. That's the way of the world, and we can't begin to explain it. I'm sure Frodo will be happy again, in time. His life won't be all suffering."

Sam hung his head and sniffled, hiding tears with a hand over his eyes. I rubbed his back, gently, not knowing what else to do, and felt the vibrations of his sobs through the tightly-knit wool of his jacket.

You can appreciate the joy inspired in us when Gandalf came with his news. He strolled by on the garden path, humming happily to himself and swatting absently at the last flies of autumn with his great old hat.

"Well, Samwise Gamgee, you'll be happy to hear your master has come back to us at last – though you needn't bother him; he's gone back to sleep," the wizard added, as Sam jumped to his feet. "Yes, it's good news, very good news. I've told him what happened, and he seemed quite sensible to me. How extraordinary! To think a person could recover so fully from the stab of a Morgul blade, and so quickly! Even Elrond did not suspect it, I've no doubt – though indeed he provided Frodo with the best care imaginable. His care was perhaps the most important factor in our friend's recovery, and for that we owe him a great debt of gratitude."

"Strider helped him too, sir," Sam said, shuffling his feet.

"Yes, of course. Strider helped you all," Gandalf agreed. "But I am surprised to hear these words coming from you, of all creatures! Why, your 'Strider' informed me that you did not trust him at all, upon meeting him."

"Well, we were all afraid," Sam huffed. "And how were we to know he wasn't a servant of the Dark Lord? Him with all his shadows, and smoke... Of course I trust Strider now, Gandalf; I trust him more than I do many hobbits. But I don't think it would have been wise –"

"No, indeed, it would not have been wise to trust any stranger who crossed your path," Gandalf conceded. "You did well to be suspicious, Sam. You protected your master, and his burden, and now you shall be rewarded for it. Frodo has recovered, and you'll soon be free to wait on him, hand and foot, once more."

Sam looked as though he might collapse with joy, and I had to smile for him. Gandalf looked at last to Sador and me.

"And you – you would be the representative of the Elignias," he guessed (or perhaps knew – one can never tell with wizards).

"At your service," I said, bowing slightly, and doing my best to hide my surprise at being recognized.

He regarded me thoughtfully. "How went your passage northward? You did, I assume, have a long journey – unless, of course, you were already on errantry in Eriador."

"Yes, we came a long way," I said. "It was a wearisome journey, but safe, for the most part." I planned not to tell him of our encounter with the orcs; we Elignias are not supposed to tell of our exploits, especially those that might win us glory or renown.

Sador foiled my plan, of course. "Safe! We were nearly killed," he snorted. "Bloody goblins in the Gap of Rohan! They came at us in the dark – blasted creatures! If we'd been traveling on foot I doubt we'd have survived."

Gandalf's already creased brow furrowed further. "In the Gap of Rohan? Ah, yes... I feared as much. You are lucky indeed, then, to have survived! I do not doubt that a veritable army of orcs was within a day's ride of the road."

I stared. "What? But... where could they have hidden? Wouldn't they have been spotted by the wizard in Isengard?"

Gandalf sighed. "These things and more will be explained in due time. For now, let us be grateful for the fact that our dear Frodo has returned to us, and that his burden remains with him – and, of course, that your matron had the good sense to send you here," he added, nodding at me.

"Oh... yes, thank you," I stammered, not knowing what else to say. The wizard nodded stiffly, and was off.

"What'd he mean, 'representative of'... of whatever it was he said?" Sam wondered, staring up at me.

"Never you mind for the moment, Sam," I said. "I'm sure you've more pressing matters in your head than unearthing my history."

Sam hardly bowed goodbye before scampering off – it seemed he'd momentarily forgotten his master's recent recovery (a shocking suggestion), and now hoped to make up for his crime by arriving at Frodo's side just as soon as he could.

"Well, I'm glad to hear the little fellow's alright," Sador said, stretching. "I have no idea who he is or why he's here – or even what was really wrong with him – but I'm glad he's doing better."

"Me too," I agreed, though my thoughts were elsewhere. These people who knew Frodo kept speaking of a burden – but of what nature? A physical burden? An emotional one? Could Frodo have been carrying information, or perhaps some elvish artifact? I'd guessed, at least, that these feared Nazgûl had been the ones responsible for his grave injury – everyone kept speaking of "Dark Riders", after all – but I had no idea whatsoever what they had wanted with a seemingly harmless little hobbit, away in the North. Well, I thought, whatever it was, Frodo's safe here – they won't soon be getting their hands on him or his "burden".

It was a little later than noon when an elf informed Sador and me that there was to be a feast that evening, in honour of Frodo's recovery. Both of us were invited, but I planned not to attend the celebration: festivities had always made me feel out of place. I decided my time would be better spent reading, or perhaps stretching my leg a little – my hamstring still bothered me from time to time.

"But you must go!" Sador protested, when I informed him of my plans. "This is unthinkably rude! When your host invites you to a meal, you are obliged to attend it!"

"Father, this has nothing to do with me," I said plainly. "This is for Frodo and his friends, and everyone who helped him. I won't be missed, I can promise you that."

"I don't care," Sador huffed. "Lord Elrond will be insulted if you turn him down – and for no good reason, at that!" He scoffed. "Reading, and stretching your leg? Honestly, girl, have you no self-respect?"

"Not as much as you'd think," I said wearily. "But if you want me to go, Father, then I suppose I shall."

"You should not need my bidding to show common courtesy," he muttered, and then left me, mumbling something along the lines of "I thought I'd raised you better..." as he went.

This left me in a bit of a fix. I had nothing appropriate to wear, only my old traveling clothes. There are advantages and disadvantages to maintaining a vow of poverty: on the upside, one can travel fast and light; on the downside, one risks incurring the wrath of Elf-lords when one is forced to attend their banquets in mud-encrusted clothing. In the end I rubbed off as much of the muck as I could with one of Goldwine's brushes, and hoped that the banquet hall would be poorly lit.

The bells summoned us to the feast, and I hung close to Sador, hoping to blend in somehow amongst all the beautiful, tall elves. I suppose I did, to some extent – at least, no one was particularly interested in me when they had so many of the high and noble creatures to gape at. Sador and I were seated at one of the side-tables, and good fortune saw us placed next to the three hobbits – Sam, Merry and Pippin – whose acquaintance I'd recently made. Sam, of course, did not want leave his master and had insisted that he be allowed to wait on Frodo. However, the dear hobbit had been informed that he was a guest of honour, and would be treated as such – a treatment that seemed to him more of a punishment than a reward.

"Sam has always been a bit muddled," Pippin quipped. "Why in the world would he want dodder about like a servant when he could be sitting in splendour, like a king?"

Personally, I was more interested in Frodo than Sam – until then I had never seen him awake, and he was indeed a fascinating creature to behold. He had a lovely face, more shapely and elvish than his friends', and his cheeks were rosy despite his recent illness. He was subdued and somewhat tired-looking, but seemed content in his placement next to a Dwarf-lord and within sight of the Elf-lords at the head of the central table.

I, too, was more than content in their company. I wanted nothing better than to sit and admire the beautiful beings who had found it in themselves to suffer my presence in their halls. Elrond himself sat at the head of the great table, and he was, as ever, a tall and glorious creature, his black hair framing his slender, noble face as night frames a star. Beside him sat Gandalf, who – despite his homely appearance – proved himself greater than the majority of the lovely elves simply by the fact that he occupied this place of honour. A golden Elf-lord sat opposite the wizard, and I recognized him as the one who had arrived at Rivendell along with Strider and the hobbits. All were great, all were glorious; all made me feel very small and rustic in comparison.

There was another elf, though, whose beauty eclipsed the grace of the high elves at the head of the table. She it was who sat beneath a canopy, her ebony hair sparkling with the gems of her silver-lace cap; she it was who could somehow wear a grey dress so that it shimmered with all the colours of the spectrum. If Elrond's face was a star in the night, hers was all the stars in the heavens shining from the blackness of infinity. I couldn't look at her long without beginning to feel as though I ought not to count myself as female – for how could I compete, when such was the standard of beauty and grace? I sighed. If I had been the husband-seeking type, I might have given up right then.

I have no recollection of what we ate that evening. The meal seemed to pass swiftly, and when it was done we followed Elrond and the beautiful elf- maiden into a separate room. This was a warmer place, one that – to me, at least – felt more like home and less like a foreign land. I stood by the wall as Sador mingled with the elves; I listened vaguely to songs and thought how nice it would be to just lie down and fall asleep. I might have done so, at that, but an elf came up beside me all of a sudden and provided me with fresh food for thought.

"Your attendance is requested at a meeting, which will take place tomorrow morning," he whispered in my ear. "You are to come alone, when the bell rings, to the porch outside the east wing of the Great House. All will be explained at that time." He was gone before I could turn to look at him.

"Well, this is all very nice!" I muttered to myself, and crossed my arms – though in fact I was not irritated in the least. How fascinating, how conspiratorial – a secret meeting, and I was invited! It would take some thinking to get Sador off my tail, however.

I returned to my apartment at a late hour, the unidentified elf's words still floating about at the forefront of my mind when I lay down between the sheets. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps I ate more than I remember; for whatever reason, I slept long and deeply that night, despite my curiosity. It is a fact that surprises me to this day.

Some time in the dark of that night, a man arrived in Rivendell after a very long and arduous journey from the South. I was asleep, and so missed him entirely. How, then, can there be sense in Men, if I could lie in oblivious slumber through such an event? Eru, I believe, did not put enough effort into ensuring the sensibility of Men when He created them.
Well, that's that for a couple of weeks... I'm going on holiday and won't be writing for a while. Please review!!

In case anyone was wondering, Elrond's words in the previous chapter meant:

They are coming! [Lit: Coming (plural, present, with third person plural pronoun ending)]

The Ring-bearer is coming! [Lit: Coming is(singular, present) the Ring-bearer!]

The Ring-bearer is wounded! [Lit: Wounded (adjective) is (singular, present) the Ring-bearer!]

Now get to it, all youse mugs! Review like crazy!