Chapter 39 --- Certainty
The world was dark, shadowed with a lingering malice and a fog of a forgotten age. The elf lord felt anger slowly burn in him and he needed to take a breath to let it slip away. Anger would not help Frodo. He imagined the small and valiant hobbit before him, his wrists and ankles bound in chains of black iron. He would be slumped over, a small trembling heap, his long burdened back stooped and broken by his plight, his curly head bowed, hiding the expression on his face, but the elf lord knew what it would be: One of pain and betrayal, loss and confusion, anger, anguish, and the deepest of sorrows, twisted upon a once fair and noble countenance. Elrond would stoop and grasp at the shackles about the unmoving hobbit, wondering how he even managed to stay upon his knees. Frodo would not move at his touch nor lift his head at the voice. The elf lord would struggle with the iron clasps, he would pull and claw at them, try to pry open the locks. Amidst his strife and struggle he could hear a strange sound coming from the bowed hobbit. His shoulders would begin to shake a low, quivering sound escaped his weakened frame. It was a terrible sound, a dreadful, horrific sound that fell sickeningly upon the elf's ears. A sick, twisted laughter, that of a madman's, a hopeless, fearsome sound, that resounded like the coldness of new wrought steel scraping against stone. Elrond reeled back, catching a terrifying glimpse of a small, wicked smile marring Frodo's features. It was mad, lost and terrible, a sound completely bereft of hope and humanity. He leapt forward and clutched Frodo's entire hunched form in his embrace and held him close as if to shield him from the mist and darkness that surrounded them.
"You will not have him!" cried Elrond. "You have taken much and paid in blood and fire, you shall not have another! Not him!"
Frodo continued to laugh, his lips curled into a sick sneer. "Fool!" he hissed through his laughter. "Why do you try any longer?" Elrond looked down to see Frodo's wrists, the flesh torn from them and dark blood crusted over the deep, festering wounds. "There is no escape." Frodo's laughter died down to demented snickers. There were harsh, black whispers in the air. Elrond turned his head about, he could discern no words from the evil sounds.
"He says there is no hope," muttered Frodo, his voice was cold and dead, almost relishing the pain it caused in the elf.
Elrond looked down at Frodo with pity. "He has said that for a long time hasn't he?" Silence in response, but the laughing had stopped. "Do you know why? It is the memory of a voice that has long perished. It has no strength, no power, why do you let it drive you mad still?" Still the form in his arms was silent. "You know he is dead."
"I am already lost, let me lay as I am," the voice now held a small note of compassion, of sorrow. "A beaten corpse of..."
"You live still."
Frodo grew angry, Elrond could feel it like fire in his arms. "I see nothing beyond this. Tell me this is not death."
"It is not death."
"Lies!" Frodo spat. "I have no need to move or try any longer."
"You soon will Frodo, you will soon have great need. Keep watching the mist and you shall see, and you shall break free."
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Elrond awoke from his reverie. He had not slept, nor lost awareness to the world around him. He simply put shape and form to what he had just experienced. In truth it was inaccurate the elf had to admit to himself. His attempts to break Frodo free was not that simple. It was not as simple as iron clasps about his wrists and ankles. It was like holding in his hands a fine silken tapestry, woven of fibers as fine as gossamer but as strong and bright and beauteous as mithril. But within such a wondrous cloth was woven too a poisonous weave of blackness and malice that snaked as close about the fine threads like the vapors of death, but tore mercilessly at them until it was shredded and blackened, tangled amongst the blackness and shadow. It was destruction that Elrond had repaired as best he could and he recognized the hands of other healers upon the healing process as well. But still the vapors of imprisonment lingered and that could only be cast away by the will they enslaved. Elrond could attempt to pry apart the good from the evil but he did as much harm to the good as well as the evil and that was what Frodo experienced for all to see.
The impossibility of such a task Elrond was quite aware of. His attempts were solely to make whatever part of Frodo that could still comprehend anything realize that he must above all things try to cast away the shadow and to realize that he and only he was capable of such. The purpose was not to bring about a reaction from Frodo but to bring about one from Sam, one of helplessness, of doubt and sorrow, he hurt to do such to the gentle gardener, but it was the only way Frodo could see that only he could do this.
The elf looked down at his charge, as he relaxed in the warm bath, and smiled sadly.
Elrond placed a hand across the hobbit's chill brow, his shock was beginning to subside, his body was starting to adjust once more. The fear and pain filtered away among the tendrils of steam, rising from the tub. Frodo was awake and silent, he did not seem to mind Elrond or much of what was going on around him though his tension visibly dissipated when the other elves that had prepared his bath had gone. He was aware, watching the water drip from his hands then slouching down again to feel the warmth on his bare chest. He was quiet but not subdued, Elrond watched his movements carefully, every so often pouring a pale of hot water down Frodo's back to keep the bath warm and his body temperature stable. Frodo seemed curious now, observant but with a dull terror in his eyes.
"This world is insane, backwards, what I learn to be is not to be soon thereafter. I do not like it." It was a slight, dull spark of what once was. "It does not like me."
Elrond knew something was stirring beneath Frodo's still surface. He was wary of what that might be. Terror? Betrayal? Acceptance? Neither was wholly good. The voice of Galadriel whispered softly in his memory, of what she told Elrond's own son-in-law and what must now be made clear to Frodo:
"There is no certainty of the future so do not put your trust in visions of what it may be. Foresight is not a guide of deeds, simply a warning of such consequences as may come. There is no certainty but the one you make yourself."
There is no certainty but the one you make yourself. Elrond looked upon the hobbit before him who was tracing his finger along his forearm curiously. There the skilled healer could see a wound once had been, but now was healed and only visible to the sight of such an ancient healer and the sight of Frodo's memory. Envin's mark upon Frodo's fate was important most of all.
Elrond did not hear the wizard at the door but knew of his presence before he spoke nonetheless.
"Some would ask why you have done what you have done, since it is evident that you yourself knew very well that it would come to nothing," said Gandalf.
"It has not come to nothing, old friend. All things come to something."
Gandalf smiled and shook his head. "Never ask an elf a question for they will respond both yea and nay."
Elrond returned the smile but did not let Gandalf see, his eyes were intent upon Frodo. "More the fool who believes that yea and nay together are not an answer yet yea or nay alone suffice. We do not speak of nothing, do we Mithrandir?"
"Never. You saw Frodo's reliance upon Samwise, I would have also if I was permitted to keep a closer watch. Frodo's fear of me—"
"Is justified, do you not think, White Wizard?"
"Indeed. Sam has calmed and speaks now of leaving, I must agree with him, the road is still long and they have stayed nearly a fortnight, ample time for rest."
"Perhaps."
"You saw that Frodo needed the ability to choose, to react without the will of Samwise. What is it that he must choose, Elrond?"
"I do not have the foresight to know. But someone has."
Gandalf chuckled, "Yea and nay, old friend."
"I do know all creatures must have the ability to choose, even if it is without certainty. Choice is the only certainty."
"Then you know nothing of Frodo's fate."
"I know as much as you know."
The wizard smiled wryly, "So you do know something."
Elrond smiled as well.
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Bilbo was handing neat little stacks of books and papers to Merry and Pippin. They were tied up with strings to hold them together. "They should hold," said the old hobbit. "And I think things are finally in order. I suppose it is up to you lads to see this tale is told."
"We shall bear this burden proudly and dutifully, Uncle Bilbo," answered Merry, smiling down at the small bundle, an accumulation of his hard work. He was strangely proud. He had accomplished something, even if it were a small thing, something he can hold and touch and read perhaps to his children. Merry shivered slightly, a small chill that fell upon his right arm and spread throughout his body at night told him there would be no children, but perhaps a warm wife to hold him tight. He felt silly just then and pulled himself back to the present where he found Bilbo looking strangely into his eyes. The old hobbit smiled sadly with a twinkle in his eye and then turned to Peregrin.
The youngest hobbit straightened proudly and beamed. He was fond of his work most of all, being so young he had never even dreamed to accomplish something, it was not a little thing to him. He had small stories written, little accounts of times and places that would soon amaze the people back home. Future Thain and his own tale, the beginnings of which lay now in his hands, written by his hands. How proud Frodo would have been. Pippin bit down on his lip to stay its quivering.
Bilbo smiled and placed a hand on each of their (much higher) shoulders. "There is a light in your eyes, lads, that reminds me of someone. Someone very very dear."
Merry swallowed hard, he knew what Bilbo meant but he wondered if Bilbo knew. The old hobbit bowed his head in sorrow. Somehow, Merry thought, Bilbo knows well enough.
There was a soft knocking as Sam peered into the room. Merry rushed to him, "How fares our cousin?" he asked urgently.
Sam nodded sadly, "Lord Elrond says he's doing fine and with a night of rest and comfort he should come around."
"That scream," muttered Pippin, shivering visibly.
"You heard him?" Sam asked with tears shining in his eyes.
Merry shook his head slightly, "Yes, but we felt it as well. Like ice piercing one's very soul."
"Like a shadow touching my heart," whispered Pippin, brushing the tips of his fingers against his breast. "And then just sorrow, swelling and crashing and swallowing everything like..."
"The sea," whispered Bilbo. The three younger hobbits had almost forgotten he was there. They turned to him then and he looked very sad and wistful, some faraway look in his eyes. He then turned to them and the sharpness of his gaze was like it had been from way back when they remembered him. "I have read in ancient tales and lore that when the hero of the saga was forced to suffer or struggle in some intense plight those that shared a common bond with his plight feel his anguish."
The three younger hobbits were rapt, as if it were those many many years ago and Bilbo had been regaling them with tales and histories of long ago that were both mighty and terrible. Bilbo shook his head and chuckled sadly, thus breaking his spell. "But that is solely fantasy, my lads. Such things do not truly happen." His chuckling stopped and he grew suddenly grieved. "I too heard Frodo's voice rise in such a scream. It was chilling and so," his voice cracked, his shoulders slumped, "full of hurt. Oh my boy, what ever have you endured to do this to you?"
Pippin set down his papers and caught Bilbo as he swayed, taken in a storm of grief. He sat the old hobbit down and soothed him as best he could. But Bilbo could find no succor. Merry turned gravely to Sam, "You have come to tell us that we will be departing soon, correct?"
Sam nodded silently.
Merry sighed and it seemed both weary and of relief. "It is good that we should go. I feel uneasy of late and I believe that my heart would be content if I felt the Shire safe and as it was when we left it beneath my feet."
"Same here, Mr. Merry. But I want Frodo to be up to his full health before we go, begging your pardon but we can't treat him on the road as well as Lord Elrond can treat him here."
"Of course, Sam. When Frodo is well we will depart. Might we see him?"
"Lord Elrond is tending to him right now, he said he'd be sending someone to get me when Frodo was all calm and restful like."
"Then I shall come with you. Pippin and Bilbo as well. I'm sure Bilbo desires to see his dear nephew as much as he can before we go and Pip and I just want to be with him in the comfort of Rivendell."
"Of course, Mr. Merry."
There was a long moment of silence before Merry blurted out, "How are you faring, Sam?"
"I, sir?"
"No I was speaking to the shrub in the corner."
The jest seemed flat somehow in the dreary atmosphere. Sam turned his eyes to the grounds and wrung his hands absently. Merry noted the distress with the young gardener and placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder. Sam looked at the hand and then up to Merry's face to see him smiling sadly, a small token of comradery. It somehow lifted Sam's heavy heart. "Sam," Merry whispered. "We share a common bond you and I. Do not think it is not true. You love Frodo dearly, as do I, and Pip and Bilbo as well. Do not think that you cannot share that with us."
"I just feel so helpless, sir," Sam sighed, letting his hands drop.
Merry nodded. He had no words of comfort. He too felt helpless and Frodo seemed so far away. The door creaked open and Elrond peered in. "My good Halflings," he smiled. "Your Frodo is resting and I do not think he will be very frightened if he had a few visitors."
The eager response from the hobbits in the room was not unexpected.
Frodo indeed was lying in his bed, so small and lost among the white linens. Sam was the first to enter, followed by Pippin and soon enough Merry helping Bilbo. They were surprised to see Frodo fully awake and peering about him. Gandalf was at a safe distance in a chair, keeping an ever vigilant watch. Sam, at first, was nervous that so many faces that Frodo could not recognize would frighten him, but it was not so. This relief only died like a candle being snuffed out as Sam did not see the usual eagerness Frodo often showed him when he came to him. The hobbit in the bed seemed different now, more cautious and somehow disappointed. He looked upon Sam sadly and then looked away.
The helpless servant stopped in his approach, filled suddenly with grief and anger. He wanted to cry out to Elrond why he had done such a thing, what good could have come of it. Things seemed hopeless now; Frodo was even more withdrawn.
"Not withdrawn, thoughtful, Sam."
Sam turned to see Elrond in the doorway looking upon him with pity. Sam swiped at his tears angrily and turned away feeling betrayed. He saw Pippin had already scrambled onto the bed and Frodo was watching him do so with guarded scrutiny. Not once did he look towards Sam for help. Pippin looked far too old to be the Peregrin Took Sam once knew. He kneeled before his cousin and reached out a hand to touch his cheek. Frodo flinched at the touch, his eyes darting across Pippin's face wildly. The young hobbit simply bowed his head and let a few tears slip down his cheeks and fall into his lap. The moonlight shone upon his lithe figure like a garb of white armor. Sam saw the warrior in that small child, the youth and sorrow in his face, the wisdom etched in the crease of his brows. It seemed misplaced on such a youthful face, one that still shone with the innocence and benevolence that Frodo had fought to keep alive in this world. Perhaps Pippin was the only one that was capable of holding onto such a strong flame of innocence while he stood trembling among the horror and shadow that seemed to swallow all that was good and bright and clear. Pippin held onto what was inevitably wrested from Frodo, Merry, and even Samwise himself in the end.
Frodo did not lean comfortingly into the gentle touch of his younger cousin. He simply grasped the hand at his cheek and laid it on his own lap. He spread out the fingers that were still stout like a child's. Frodo watched his own hands slowly manipulate Pippin's. The younger hobbit could not help but smile to see his cousin's curiosity but felt strange somehow. The way Frodo handled his hand was far too gentle, he handled it like a small injured thing that might break, his hold was weak and his movements were clumsy, they were unsure and cautious as a toddler's.
As Merry settled Bilbo in a comfortable chair he joined his cousins on the bed. Frodo paid little notice to him, far too interested in Pippin's hand and its movements. Pippin would curl his fingers around Frodo's and allow his cousin to pry them gently away and then imitate the action curiously. Merry was content at Frodo's side, he stroked his cousin's hair and rubbed his back soothingly earning a few side glances from Frodo that were at first wary and uncertain but became nearly joyous and comfortable.
Gandalf smiled from his seat in the corner. He puffed on his pipe as he watched the cousins like they were children playing a game. They were taking small joys simply in each other's presence. He saw small tentative smiles appear on Frodo's face every time he turned to Merry, simply acknowledging Merry's attention. He was enjoying his new company. The old wizard approved. He was not content although. He saw Sam still standing far from the bed with tears in his eyes. It would take much longer for the gardener to accept Frodo's self-reliance. Gandalf closed his eyes and took a breath. He could not recall ever being so uncertain. By noon the next day the hobbits would make ready to leave and he would accompany them to offer what protection he could... until they reached the Shire.
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A/N: Apologies for the delay again. Back from vacation! And attempting to catch up on my writing. Attempting... not quite succeeding there's never enough time to do everything I intend to. I end up going so long without sleep or food or.... Ahhh! It's four a.m.! Slave to the muse! But I love it and would have it no other way!
Breon Briarwood – That's precisely what Elrond was attempting to do. After all if Frodo got comfortable with his current condition how would he ever get back? I'm glad you're enjoying.
Stoneage Woman – I hope the wait was not too long. I will try for a quicker update next time.
ShireElf – Well Frodo would have never tried if he knew he could just rely on Sam to get him out of everything. Now that he doesn't there's much more hope. My vacation went well but now I suppose it's back to work!
Nymrendil – I hope you enjoy your vacation. And I hope this chapter has answered a few of your questions.
Laurajslr – I hope this chapter has answered some of your questions. Hold onto hope my friend. I am anxious to see more of your fic but am sad to see it end. I hope you start a new one soon.
Ailsa Joy – No updates yet from you! ::miff:: I'm glad you liked that part in my last chapter, Frodo's scream I put a lot of effort into a writing. It was a scene I wanted to hit the reader hard. I'm glad it did.
Frodo-lovers – Glad you liked the chapter. I know you are a fan of Pip and Merry, so if you like some Pippin antics, nice light and humorous then you can check out my new little fic "Vie For Dominance". Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Arwen Baggins – Glad you are enjoying!
Tersa – Perfect, that was the reaction I was going for with Frodo's scream. It is wonderful to see pleased readers and hear about their reactions. Definitely shows I'm doing something right.
Endymion2 – Enjoy your vacation. Perhaps I shall have a couple more updates before you get back.
S-Man – I am honored by your review. I used that "somewhere in..." line so many times solely because I could not leave any member of the fellowship out and well Envin... you know. I hope things are clearer in this chapter and I hope you keep enjoying the tale.
The world was dark, shadowed with a lingering malice and a fog of a forgotten age. The elf lord felt anger slowly burn in him and he needed to take a breath to let it slip away. Anger would not help Frodo. He imagined the small and valiant hobbit before him, his wrists and ankles bound in chains of black iron. He would be slumped over, a small trembling heap, his long burdened back stooped and broken by his plight, his curly head bowed, hiding the expression on his face, but the elf lord knew what it would be: One of pain and betrayal, loss and confusion, anger, anguish, and the deepest of sorrows, twisted upon a once fair and noble countenance. Elrond would stoop and grasp at the shackles about the unmoving hobbit, wondering how he even managed to stay upon his knees. Frodo would not move at his touch nor lift his head at the voice. The elf lord would struggle with the iron clasps, he would pull and claw at them, try to pry open the locks. Amidst his strife and struggle he could hear a strange sound coming from the bowed hobbit. His shoulders would begin to shake a low, quivering sound escaped his weakened frame. It was a terrible sound, a dreadful, horrific sound that fell sickeningly upon the elf's ears. A sick, twisted laughter, that of a madman's, a hopeless, fearsome sound, that resounded like the coldness of new wrought steel scraping against stone. Elrond reeled back, catching a terrifying glimpse of a small, wicked smile marring Frodo's features. It was mad, lost and terrible, a sound completely bereft of hope and humanity. He leapt forward and clutched Frodo's entire hunched form in his embrace and held him close as if to shield him from the mist and darkness that surrounded them.
"You will not have him!" cried Elrond. "You have taken much and paid in blood and fire, you shall not have another! Not him!"
Frodo continued to laugh, his lips curled into a sick sneer. "Fool!" he hissed through his laughter. "Why do you try any longer?" Elrond looked down to see Frodo's wrists, the flesh torn from them and dark blood crusted over the deep, festering wounds. "There is no escape." Frodo's laughter died down to demented snickers. There were harsh, black whispers in the air. Elrond turned his head about, he could discern no words from the evil sounds.
"He says there is no hope," muttered Frodo, his voice was cold and dead, almost relishing the pain it caused in the elf.
Elrond looked down at Frodo with pity. "He has said that for a long time hasn't he?" Silence in response, but the laughing had stopped. "Do you know why? It is the memory of a voice that has long perished. It has no strength, no power, why do you let it drive you mad still?" Still the form in his arms was silent. "You know he is dead."
"I am already lost, let me lay as I am," the voice now held a small note of compassion, of sorrow. "A beaten corpse of..."
"You live still."
Frodo grew angry, Elrond could feel it like fire in his arms. "I see nothing beyond this. Tell me this is not death."
"It is not death."
"Lies!" Frodo spat. "I have no need to move or try any longer."
"You soon will Frodo, you will soon have great need. Keep watching the mist and you shall see, and you shall break free."
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Elrond awoke from his reverie. He had not slept, nor lost awareness to the world around him. He simply put shape and form to what he had just experienced. In truth it was inaccurate the elf had to admit to himself. His attempts to break Frodo free was not that simple. It was not as simple as iron clasps about his wrists and ankles. It was like holding in his hands a fine silken tapestry, woven of fibers as fine as gossamer but as strong and bright and beauteous as mithril. But within such a wondrous cloth was woven too a poisonous weave of blackness and malice that snaked as close about the fine threads like the vapors of death, but tore mercilessly at them until it was shredded and blackened, tangled amongst the blackness and shadow. It was destruction that Elrond had repaired as best he could and he recognized the hands of other healers upon the healing process as well. But still the vapors of imprisonment lingered and that could only be cast away by the will they enslaved. Elrond could attempt to pry apart the good from the evil but he did as much harm to the good as well as the evil and that was what Frodo experienced for all to see.
The impossibility of such a task Elrond was quite aware of. His attempts were solely to make whatever part of Frodo that could still comprehend anything realize that he must above all things try to cast away the shadow and to realize that he and only he was capable of such. The purpose was not to bring about a reaction from Frodo but to bring about one from Sam, one of helplessness, of doubt and sorrow, he hurt to do such to the gentle gardener, but it was the only way Frodo could see that only he could do this.
The elf looked down at his charge, as he relaxed in the warm bath, and smiled sadly.
Elrond placed a hand across the hobbit's chill brow, his shock was beginning to subside, his body was starting to adjust once more. The fear and pain filtered away among the tendrils of steam, rising from the tub. Frodo was awake and silent, he did not seem to mind Elrond or much of what was going on around him though his tension visibly dissipated when the other elves that had prepared his bath had gone. He was aware, watching the water drip from his hands then slouching down again to feel the warmth on his bare chest. He was quiet but not subdued, Elrond watched his movements carefully, every so often pouring a pale of hot water down Frodo's back to keep the bath warm and his body temperature stable. Frodo seemed curious now, observant but with a dull terror in his eyes.
"This world is insane, backwards, what I learn to be is not to be soon thereafter. I do not like it." It was a slight, dull spark of what once was. "It does not like me."
Elrond knew something was stirring beneath Frodo's still surface. He was wary of what that might be. Terror? Betrayal? Acceptance? Neither was wholly good. The voice of Galadriel whispered softly in his memory, of what she told Elrond's own son-in-law and what must now be made clear to Frodo:
"There is no certainty of the future so do not put your trust in visions of what it may be. Foresight is not a guide of deeds, simply a warning of such consequences as may come. There is no certainty but the one you make yourself."
There is no certainty but the one you make yourself. Elrond looked upon the hobbit before him who was tracing his finger along his forearm curiously. There the skilled healer could see a wound once had been, but now was healed and only visible to the sight of such an ancient healer and the sight of Frodo's memory. Envin's mark upon Frodo's fate was important most of all.
Elrond did not hear the wizard at the door but knew of his presence before he spoke nonetheless.
"Some would ask why you have done what you have done, since it is evident that you yourself knew very well that it would come to nothing," said Gandalf.
"It has not come to nothing, old friend. All things come to something."
Gandalf smiled and shook his head. "Never ask an elf a question for they will respond both yea and nay."
Elrond returned the smile but did not let Gandalf see, his eyes were intent upon Frodo. "More the fool who believes that yea and nay together are not an answer yet yea or nay alone suffice. We do not speak of nothing, do we Mithrandir?"
"Never. You saw Frodo's reliance upon Samwise, I would have also if I was permitted to keep a closer watch. Frodo's fear of me—"
"Is justified, do you not think, White Wizard?"
"Indeed. Sam has calmed and speaks now of leaving, I must agree with him, the road is still long and they have stayed nearly a fortnight, ample time for rest."
"Perhaps."
"You saw that Frodo needed the ability to choose, to react without the will of Samwise. What is it that he must choose, Elrond?"
"I do not have the foresight to know. But someone has."
Gandalf chuckled, "Yea and nay, old friend."
"I do know all creatures must have the ability to choose, even if it is without certainty. Choice is the only certainty."
"Then you know nothing of Frodo's fate."
"I know as much as you know."
The wizard smiled wryly, "So you do know something."
Elrond smiled as well.
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Bilbo was handing neat little stacks of books and papers to Merry and Pippin. They were tied up with strings to hold them together. "They should hold," said the old hobbit. "And I think things are finally in order. I suppose it is up to you lads to see this tale is told."
"We shall bear this burden proudly and dutifully, Uncle Bilbo," answered Merry, smiling down at the small bundle, an accumulation of his hard work. He was strangely proud. He had accomplished something, even if it were a small thing, something he can hold and touch and read perhaps to his children. Merry shivered slightly, a small chill that fell upon his right arm and spread throughout his body at night told him there would be no children, but perhaps a warm wife to hold him tight. He felt silly just then and pulled himself back to the present where he found Bilbo looking strangely into his eyes. The old hobbit smiled sadly with a twinkle in his eye and then turned to Peregrin.
The youngest hobbit straightened proudly and beamed. He was fond of his work most of all, being so young he had never even dreamed to accomplish something, it was not a little thing to him. He had small stories written, little accounts of times and places that would soon amaze the people back home. Future Thain and his own tale, the beginnings of which lay now in his hands, written by his hands. How proud Frodo would have been. Pippin bit down on his lip to stay its quivering.
Bilbo smiled and placed a hand on each of their (much higher) shoulders. "There is a light in your eyes, lads, that reminds me of someone. Someone very very dear."
Merry swallowed hard, he knew what Bilbo meant but he wondered if Bilbo knew. The old hobbit bowed his head in sorrow. Somehow, Merry thought, Bilbo knows well enough.
There was a soft knocking as Sam peered into the room. Merry rushed to him, "How fares our cousin?" he asked urgently.
Sam nodded sadly, "Lord Elrond says he's doing fine and with a night of rest and comfort he should come around."
"That scream," muttered Pippin, shivering visibly.
"You heard him?" Sam asked with tears shining in his eyes.
Merry shook his head slightly, "Yes, but we felt it as well. Like ice piercing one's very soul."
"Like a shadow touching my heart," whispered Pippin, brushing the tips of his fingers against his breast. "And then just sorrow, swelling and crashing and swallowing everything like..."
"The sea," whispered Bilbo. The three younger hobbits had almost forgotten he was there. They turned to him then and he looked very sad and wistful, some faraway look in his eyes. He then turned to them and the sharpness of his gaze was like it had been from way back when they remembered him. "I have read in ancient tales and lore that when the hero of the saga was forced to suffer or struggle in some intense plight those that shared a common bond with his plight feel his anguish."
The three younger hobbits were rapt, as if it were those many many years ago and Bilbo had been regaling them with tales and histories of long ago that were both mighty and terrible. Bilbo shook his head and chuckled sadly, thus breaking his spell. "But that is solely fantasy, my lads. Such things do not truly happen." His chuckling stopped and he grew suddenly grieved. "I too heard Frodo's voice rise in such a scream. It was chilling and so," his voice cracked, his shoulders slumped, "full of hurt. Oh my boy, what ever have you endured to do this to you?"
Pippin set down his papers and caught Bilbo as he swayed, taken in a storm of grief. He sat the old hobbit down and soothed him as best he could. But Bilbo could find no succor. Merry turned gravely to Sam, "You have come to tell us that we will be departing soon, correct?"
Sam nodded silently.
Merry sighed and it seemed both weary and of relief. "It is good that we should go. I feel uneasy of late and I believe that my heart would be content if I felt the Shire safe and as it was when we left it beneath my feet."
"Same here, Mr. Merry. But I want Frodo to be up to his full health before we go, begging your pardon but we can't treat him on the road as well as Lord Elrond can treat him here."
"Of course, Sam. When Frodo is well we will depart. Might we see him?"
"Lord Elrond is tending to him right now, he said he'd be sending someone to get me when Frodo was all calm and restful like."
"Then I shall come with you. Pippin and Bilbo as well. I'm sure Bilbo desires to see his dear nephew as much as he can before we go and Pip and I just want to be with him in the comfort of Rivendell."
"Of course, Mr. Merry."
There was a long moment of silence before Merry blurted out, "How are you faring, Sam?"
"I, sir?"
"No I was speaking to the shrub in the corner."
The jest seemed flat somehow in the dreary atmosphere. Sam turned his eyes to the grounds and wrung his hands absently. Merry noted the distress with the young gardener and placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder. Sam looked at the hand and then up to Merry's face to see him smiling sadly, a small token of comradery. It somehow lifted Sam's heavy heart. "Sam," Merry whispered. "We share a common bond you and I. Do not think it is not true. You love Frodo dearly, as do I, and Pip and Bilbo as well. Do not think that you cannot share that with us."
"I just feel so helpless, sir," Sam sighed, letting his hands drop.
Merry nodded. He had no words of comfort. He too felt helpless and Frodo seemed so far away. The door creaked open and Elrond peered in. "My good Halflings," he smiled. "Your Frodo is resting and I do not think he will be very frightened if he had a few visitors."
The eager response from the hobbits in the room was not unexpected.
Frodo indeed was lying in his bed, so small and lost among the white linens. Sam was the first to enter, followed by Pippin and soon enough Merry helping Bilbo. They were surprised to see Frodo fully awake and peering about him. Gandalf was at a safe distance in a chair, keeping an ever vigilant watch. Sam, at first, was nervous that so many faces that Frodo could not recognize would frighten him, but it was not so. This relief only died like a candle being snuffed out as Sam did not see the usual eagerness Frodo often showed him when he came to him. The hobbit in the bed seemed different now, more cautious and somehow disappointed. He looked upon Sam sadly and then looked away.
The helpless servant stopped in his approach, filled suddenly with grief and anger. He wanted to cry out to Elrond why he had done such a thing, what good could have come of it. Things seemed hopeless now; Frodo was even more withdrawn.
"Not withdrawn, thoughtful, Sam."
Sam turned to see Elrond in the doorway looking upon him with pity. Sam swiped at his tears angrily and turned away feeling betrayed. He saw Pippin had already scrambled onto the bed and Frodo was watching him do so with guarded scrutiny. Not once did he look towards Sam for help. Pippin looked far too old to be the Peregrin Took Sam once knew. He kneeled before his cousin and reached out a hand to touch his cheek. Frodo flinched at the touch, his eyes darting across Pippin's face wildly. The young hobbit simply bowed his head and let a few tears slip down his cheeks and fall into his lap. The moonlight shone upon his lithe figure like a garb of white armor. Sam saw the warrior in that small child, the youth and sorrow in his face, the wisdom etched in the crease of his brows. It seemed misplaced on such a youthful face, one that still shone with the innocence and benevolence that Frodo had fought to keep alive in this world. Perhaps Pippin was the only one that was capable of holding onto such a strong flame of innocence while he stood trembling among the horror and shadow that seemed to swallow all that was good and bright and clear. Pippin held onto what was inevitably wrested from Frodo, Merry, and even Samwise himself in the end.
Frodo did not lean comfortingly into the gentle touch of his younger cousin. He simply grasped the hand at his cheek and laid it on his own lap. He spread out the fingers that were still stout like a child's. Frodo watched his own hands slowly manipulate Pippin's. The younger hobbit could not help but smile to see his cousin's curiosity but felt strange somehow. The way Frodo handled his hand was far too gentle, he handled it like a small injured thing that might break, his hold was weak and his movements were clumsy, they were unsure and cautious as a toddler's.
As Merry settled Bilbo in a comfortable chair he joined his cousins on the bed. Frodo paid little notice to him, far too interested in Pippin's hand and its movements. Pippin would curl his fingers around Frodo's and allow his cousin to pry them gently away and then imitate the action curiously. Merry was content at Frodo's side, he stroked his cousin's hair and rubbed his back soothingly earning a few side glances from Frodo that were at first wary and uncertain but became nearly joyous and comfortable.
Gandalf smiled from his seat in the corner. He puffed on his pipe as he watched the cousins like they were children playing a game. They were taking small joys simply in each other's presence. He saw small tentative smiles appear on Frodo's face every time he turned to Merry, simply acknowledging Merry's attention. He was enjoying his new company. The old wizard approved. He was not content although. He saw Sam still standing far from the bed with tears in his eyes. It would take much longer for the gardener to accept Frodo's self-reliance. Gandalf closed his eyes and took a breath. He could not recall ever being so uncertain. By noon the next day the hobbits would make ready to leave and he would accompany them to offer what protection he could... until they reached the Shire.
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A/N: Apologies for the delay again. Back from vacation! And attempting to catch up on my writing. Attempting... not quite succeeding there's never enough time to do everything I intend to. I end up going so long without sleep or food or.... Ahhh! It's four a.m.! Slave to the muse! But I love it and would have it no other way!
Breon Briarwood – That's precisely what Elrond was attempting to do. After all if Frodo got comfortable with his current condition how would he ever get back? I'm glad you're enjoying.
Stoneage Woman – I hope the wait was not too long. I will try for a quicker update next time.
ShireElf – Well Frodo would have never tried if he knew he could just rely on Sam to get him out of everything. Now that he doesn't there's much more hope. My vacation went well but now I suppose it's back to work!
Nymrendil – I hope you enjoy your vacation. And I hope this chapter has answered a few of your questions.
Laurajslr – I hope this chapter has answered some of your questions. Hold onto hope my friend. I am anxious to see more of your fic but am sad to see it end. I hope you start a new one soon.
Ailsa Joy – No updates yet from you! ::miff:: I'm glad you liked that part in my last chapter, Frodo's scream I put a lot of effort into a writing. It was a scene I wanted to hit the reader hard. I'm glad it did.
Frodo-lovers – Glad you liked the chapter. I know you are a fan of Pip and Merry, so if you like some Pippin antics, nice light and humorous then you can check out my new little fic "Vie For Dominance". Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Arwen Baggins – Glad you are enjoying!
Tersa – Perfect, that was the reaction I was going for with Frodo's scream. It is wonderful to see pleased readers and hear about their reactions. Definitely shows I'm doing something right.
Endymion2 – Enjoy your vacation. Perhaps I shall have a couple more updates before you get back.
S-Man – I am honored by your review. I used that "somewhere in..." line so many times solely because I could not leave any member of the fellowship out and well Envin... you know. I hope things are clearer in this chapter and I hope you keep enjoying the tale.