Chapter three

Tillia woke to the smell of frying sausage. She smiled in her sleep, stretching her arms out wide and yawning. Her eyes flickered open, staring up into the forest canopy and forgetting how she got there.

She had expected to wake up in her own bed and see her white washed ceiling. Instead, she was in the forest with a strange young man named Frodo, who was now cooking breakfast in the fire. Her smile melted away as she sat up and a shoot of dull pain went down her leg. The wound felt much better then it had the night before, she presumed, but it was still too sore to walk on comfortably. Still, secretly she was happy Frodo was making breakfast because she was starved.

Frodo looked over, his blue eyes studying her, and then went back to watching the sizzling sausage.

"Good morning, Tillia." He muttered softly, with a sharp edge in his voice.

Tillia tried not to look surprised, but she was expecting to hear the same nasty kindness that she had encountered many times from him before. Possibly, her own cruel temper had rubbed off on him. She did not answer him. She just stared into the fire, fading from the world around her.

"When can you leave?"

Frodo stopped poking the sausage.

"What?"

"You heard me. When can you leave?"

Frodo paused for a moment, and then took the sausage off the fire and put them in two plates.

"After I eat breakfast and make sure you eat also, I'll be on my way. Your leg should be fine to walk on."

Tillia looked pleased. "That's good." She said.

"However, I'm curious. Where will you go?" Frodo asked her.

Her eyes narrowed. "That isn't your concern, Hobbit."

"Then I supposed nothing is my concern. You're too hard of a person to MAKE yourself anyone else's concern, aren't you? Is it a crime to be friendly to you? Am I being too bold, my lady? Because I'm not sure if I understand your ways. You seem to have no heart. Why is that? Why is it you hate me so much?"

By now Frodo was so angry he had gotten to his feet and was standing with hands clenched. His face was red and his blue eyes had turned ice cold. He was intimidating, even though he was small. Tillia looked on in wonder. He had such spirit and vigor in him, even though he wasn't the strongest of races. Anyone that stood up to her deserved respect, even though that might of only been in her mind.

"Pertaining to all your questions….Frodo…I have hate in my heart that you couldn't possibly understand. And I do not need to explain myself to anyone, especially a hobbit. I appreciate your care…but I do not wish to become friends with you. Not even friendly acquaintances. So I'll be going now, because I am needed elsewhere. And I don't believe we'll be meeting again, halfling, seeing I mostly have no intention on entering the Shire again."

Frodo's eyes softened again as he realized she was serious. She was truly going to leave the land for good. Frodo immediately felt crushed.

"I'm sorry, Tillia, I didn't mean to……I apologize…just please promise me you will return to Hobbiton with me to get aide from an old friend. The black wolves of this area are rumored to carry fatal diseases. If you come back this one time, you will never have to come back again. I just want to put my worry at rest and make sure you're well before you continue your journey."

Frodo's eyes pleaded for her to stay. And as much as Tillia hated the idea of returning to Hobbiton outside of "business", she knew he was right, even if it came across as an excuse for him to get his way. What his way was, she pondered, she didn't know.

So they set off, with Frodo leading in front and Tillia limping behind him. Her leg felt much better and she told so to Frodo, but he would hear nothing of it. It wasn't so much that it was for his own wishes, but mostly because he knew ills that befell well-looking folk. He wasn't about to take a chance on Tillia's life. The sky grew brighter as the morning turned to noon, and noon to starry evening. The going was slow because Tillia's injury slowed their pace.

But, against all odds, they arrived in Hobbiton at approximately 7 '0' clock in the evening. Bag End was sleeping under the pink and purple sky, but around it candle light from the windows in the houses glowed merrily, and activity from the center of Hobbiton could be heard. Laughing voices and children playing reached Tillia's ears. It was such a peaceful, wonderful place. She wondered why she had ever not wanted to return. But she had, and in some small way she was glad of it.

She picked up her pace and walked next to Frodo, who looked up with bright blue eyes. She looked down at him, smiling stiffly.

"Hobbiton isn't that bad, now is it, my lady?" Frodo asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Tillia frowned. "I'm only staying to be treated. Otherwise, I'll be leaving presumably."

Frodo figured as much, and just nodded. They had reached the path that led to Frodo's home, and he opened the door. Inside it was dark with many shadows casting along the walls.

"Gandalf? Have you arrive yet?" Frodo called into the darkness.

He was jumped by the lanterns suddenly lighting and the crouched back of an old man sitting in Bilbo's old rocking chair. In his mouth was a pipe and small clouds of smoke were rising from the top of it and his mouth. His face was a covered with a long, gray beard and he was clothed with a gray cloak. However dark the man may have seemed, though, his eyes were merry.

Tillia looked on with amazement.

"You're a wizard." She said softly. Gandalf lay down his pipe on the table.

"Indeed I am, young one. However, what to call you, I'm not sure of. Frodo? Who is this fair girl you have stumbled upon?" He winked at Frodo as he stood up. His head almost hit the ceiling, and he was bent over to refrain from hitting other things. Frodo smiled.

"This is lady Tillia…ah…though, I have no idea where she comes from, nor her kin. Actually, I know nothing of her besides her name, Gandalf. But she has a claw wound from a black wolf in the Old Forest. I treated it as much as I could, but I knew that my healing skills could not surpass your own."

Gandalf motioned for Tillia to sit down in the chair. She obeyed promptly.

Gandalf knelt down to peel off the bloody bandage Frodo had placed on her wound the night before. The wound underneath was scabbed over and a little red, but otherwise looked well for the size of the wound.

"Magnificent job, Frodo. I see you treated it with alcohol, which most definitely stopped her from receiving any ills at all. All I have to say to you, Tillia, is continue to wash it well and keep it covered. You will be fine, though you'll have a large and interesting scar for the rest of your life."

He stood up once more, looking over at Frodo. He suddenly noticed the blood on Frodo's sleeve.

"What's this?"

He rolled up Frodo's sleeve to reveal a large pair of gashes with smaller gashes in between them. Around it was black and blue with vein trails running up his arm.

Gandalf's face turned solemn. "Frodo…did you get bitten by one of those beasts?"

Frodo's eyes met Gandalf's with slight humility. He had been so caught up in tending to Tillia's wound that he had forgotten about his own. Slowly, he nodded. Gandalf didn't say anything for a long while. He just stared at Frodo's arm.

"Gandalf?" Tillia asked. Her voice pained with worry.

"Is something wrong?"

Frodo looked over at Tillia, looking confused. He looked quickly back at Gandalf, his heart jumping around in his chest.

"Gan-Gandalf…I can't…breathe…."

His voice trembled with pain, his vision blurring. All the colors in the room blended together as his arm felt as though it had been set on fire. Voices mumbled in the background, and all went black.