Chapter four
"Frodo!"
Gandalf rushed to Frodo's side, picking him up easily in his arms and carrying him into another room. Tillia followed. "What's happened to him?" She asked. Gandalf threw back the covers of Frodo's bed and laid Frodo on the mattress, ripping off Frodo's shirt and pants, leaving him with only his boxers.
"He's very ill. His own worry caused the infection to spread faster through his veins. We haven't much time now."
Frodo's skin was shiny with sweat his face cringed in pain. Tillia watched from afar as Gandalf rushed about, pouring water from a pitcher to soak a washing cloth in its cool liquid. He pressed the cloth to Frodo's head.
"Girl, come help me!" Gandalf's voice boomed, and Tillia rushed to his side.
"Hold the cloth there while I look for the herbs I need to stop this." He turned away from Tillia, but looked back.
"I fear it doesn't look good for him."
Tillia stared blankly at where Gandalf used to be, her face covered in shock. Shaking her head slightly, her eyes began to burn. Now she saw it all. Now she knew all of the cruel things she had said to Frodo. She recalled each painful thing she had yelled at him, every hit that Frodo had taken from her. And through it all, Frodo had never forsaken her. It was more than anyone had ever done for her.
Now, because of her carelessness, he was deathly ill. It had happened so quickly she couldn't understand half of what was going on. She felt Frodo begin to shiver. Waking from her shock, she took the cloth off of his head and pulled the covers over his half bare body. Her green eyes softened for the first time in her life. She no longer felt the pain inside of her. The only pain that was in her soul now, was the pain she felt for Frodo.
Frodo often mumbled in his sleep, uttering unknown things. He was hot to the touch, burning up but at the same time shivering madly. She kept the cloth on his head, hoping to break the fever. "Oh, Gandalf, where are you?" She whispered, dabbing his face with the cloth. Frodo's face was getting paler by the second, no longer red but gray. His breathing was labored and his heart beat too fast. Softly, Tillia began to cry. "Don't die. Please, don't die." She reached under the blankets and grabbed his cold hand. Frodo squirmed in his bed, mumbling and moaning. Tillia closed her eyes and whispered,
El lemere de dun blante
Else amana, dell sornta
Mie tazuma floracha
Restu mie gharan lyrior oer lyrion,
Metta uend, bretta!
Her voice trailed off at the end of her prayer, her crying consuming her. She heard Gandalf enter the room, a bowl of ground herbs in his hand. "Tillia, put some of this in his mouth. I must administer some to his wounds as well. We must act quickly. I hope this will be strong enough." Tillia went to work, holding the gritty herb paste in one hand and gently opening his mouth with the other. Frodo resisted it a bit when she placed it on his tongue, but she put her hand over his mouth and rubbed his throat slowly. The herbs went down eventually, and Gandalf was done making the herb bandage for his wound.
"And now we wait." Tillia nodded, again holding Frodo's hand. It didn't feel as cold as it had before and some color had returned to his cheeks. "When will we know if he will make it?" She asked the wizard. "By morning. If we weren't too late, it should be working already, but won't be noticeable for many more hours. We need to watch him through the night." Tilia nodded. "It's my duty." Gandalf nodded. "But also mine as well, Tillia." Tillia shook her head. "No, Gandalf. This is my duty and mine alone. I am the cause of this. Please…leave me be." Hesitant, Gandalf lingered for a moment. But then he sighed, and stood up. "Very well. I will leave…once you explain to me why you uttered a healing spell in lost Elvish just a moment ago."
Tillia knew she had been caught. "I have nothing more to hide. I was brought up in Lothlorien, though I am of no elvish relations. I learned that prayer from one of the healers. They did not teach it to me. I taught myself and memerized the verses. I saw that it healed some of the sick ones. But it brought death to others. I asked one healer why. She said it was because the nature of the one saying the prayer had to be honest and truthful. Not even a hint of resistance could be found in their voice. If Frodo lives, I know that I was honest and had no resistance. I am quite tired of living in shadow. I am ready to start life anew. And I'm starting here."
She squeezed Frodo's hand. "The prayer translates in common tongue as,
'Oh mere mortal stricken to die,
I bless you now, giving new life
Rise from your grave, already dug
And return to the songs your fathers have sung
I give you all that is my own!'"
She looked over at Gandalf. "I've seen a new light, wizard. I have seen a new coming for me. And though I don't know yet what my destiny is, I think in some ways Frodo does. And he MUST live. He MUST!"