AN: Sorry if it took me a bit long to update. Enjoy!
Oddwen: Thanks! I'm trying, oh, I'm trying.
aelfgifu: I'll check the setting. Btw, I have a lot of things in my mind. But why is it so hard to put it on paper??
Shire Baggins: Thank you for reviewing! Compassion for Merry? Does he need one? :)
endymion: How's England? 'You will be my breath and memory' Who is 'you'? ^_^
FrodoBaggins87: I'm coming! Thanks for all your reviews, dear!
Chapter 1 – Thinking of YouSam caught Frodo's body once Strider finished severing the ropes around the unconscious hobbit's wrists and upper arms, releasing Frodo from the column. Sam staggered backward as Frodo slumped on his body, resting his chin on Sam's right shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and arms hanging limply on both sides. And Sam gasped at the chills he suddenly felt radiating from Frodo.
"Aragorn!" Sam cried out softly. But help did not come from the ranger. A pair of elves who had caught the sight of a bound form quickly grabbed several blankets and one carefully draped it over Frodo's shoulders, and gently tugged the weakened form from Sam's embrace. Reluctantly Sam let go of his master, knowing that Frodo was in good hands.
Frodo sank to the elf's outstretched arms, blanket quietly arranged so it fully protected his body, covering all the bruises, cuts, and stains of dried blood. And all those ribs that were sticking out of the terribly lanky body, Sam thought bitterly. And no matter how thick the blankets were, the elf had no difficulty in carrying Frodo, not seemingly burdened by his underweightness at all.
Sam strode in small paces, trying to follow the half-running elves and Aragorn to the closest bedroom from the balcony. He could only watch as the three uncovered Frodo – Sam almost shouted his protest at this but he could not – and applied some salve to Frodo's hands, feet, and chest. Standing in silence, the gardener guessed that that was probably a more effective way to warm Frodo.
Aragorn kept on rubbing Frodo's skin, more vigorously in each single moment, and then stopped, leaving the room. The other beings continued doing that.
Sam watched the ranger's retreat questioningly. He did not dare raise his voice to ask anything, though. Strider had looked so serious and determined. Sam did not want to disturb him; he knew Aragorn would do anything to rouse Frodo from his fog of unconsciousness.
And the wide, wooden door was swung open as Strider pushed and went through it, with his rucksack slung across his body and a basin of water in his hands.
"Elrond and Gandalf will be coming right on," his hoarse voice echoed through the entire room, telling the elves who were still sitting each by Frodo's side on the bed, from where he was standing in front of the hearth. Then Strider turned to Sam and called him to come.
"Help me make the fire, Sam, and put this basin on it to boil the water. Athelas will be of any help, I hope."
"Athelas, sir?" Sam frowned at the unfamiliar name while lighting the woods. In just a short time blue fire was dancing inside the hearth, reminding Sam of the warm fire in the cozy living room of Bag End.
"King's foil," replied Strider absentmindedly.
"King's foil!" shouted Sam. At last, a name he knew well. "But… but that's a kind o' weed. How can that help Mr. Frodo?"
Aragorn reached into his bag and pulled out several leaves of the said herb.
"Here, put them into the basin and let them be cooked. Athelas is very good as a healing herb."
"Healing…" muttered Sam while carefully dipping the leaves. A slight of despair in his voice as his eyes now flew to the still figure in the bed. Frodo was now wrapped in the blankets again from his neck to the feet, only his head visible. And on that fair face was, Sam gulped, a vaguely crimson gash on the left cheek, the only color left against ashen skin. Even the lips that had been bluish had turned colorless. And Frodo's curly eyelashes almost drowned in the folds of the skin below his eyes as the hobbit tightly closed his eyes. Sam wondered what was behind those shut orbs, images of… Merry?
"… that's what he really needs. Healing. Or even magical power. I just hope one of them can bring Frodo back."
Strider patted Sam gently in the arm.
"Don't give up hope. Frodo will return to us, I promise."
Gurgling sounds came from the boiling water in the basin, sending the two back from their reveries. Strider stood up, took out a piece of wide cloth from his bag and brought the heated basin carefully to Frodo's bed. Sam tailed him closely.
"How is he?" Strider queried the two elves. One of them nodded.
"The salve works well. The little one is improving a lot," he replied while watching Strider placed the container on the bedside table.
The ranger then poured some portions of the water into a pot provided there. "We will need this later," he said. Next he immersed another, smaller cloth and squeezed it dry, dabbing it to Frodo's cheeks and the rest of his face. The warmth from the towel felt soothing and Frodo relaxed visibly.
Strider's action was actually meant to tend to the wound and to help warm Frodo. But in the end Strider had also cleared the filthiness that seemed soiled his face face. Frodo might look even paler now but his fairness and beauty definitely stood out.
Once again the ranger dipped the soft material into the water and this time placed it across Frodo's brow. More warmth and comfort flowed into Frodo without him realizing it.
***
The first thing Elrond did after he was released from the barn was to get to Frodo immediately and heal him. Things Elrond had witnessed or heard from Merry's very own mouth had made him cringe in horror…things about what had come upon the overpowered Ringbearer and what would still probably come…
But Mithrandir – Gandalf – had calmed him down and told him that Frodo was under the care of his stepson, Estel. Taking a deep breath, Elrond forced himself to let them be. He trusted Estel and although the man, also known as Strider, would not mind his offer to help Frodo, Elrond believed in his capability and decided to take care of other urgent matters. One of them was Merry.
***
Something was missing. Something big. Something that was once occupying almost all of him, an entirety of him, in his mind and heart. And he blamed no one. No one but Frodo Baggins… and himself.
Had he known everything would end up like this, he would never have brought the cursed cousin all the way here. He would just discard him anywhere he could, leaving him starving and cold, leaving him to die. Or he would just let Pippin drown him in that river in the woods. Either way, the ranger and Sam and the other man would find the remains of Frodo and cease their journey.
He had thought Frodo would help him make those elves bow to him by his threats to hurt the former Ringbearer even more.
But who might have guessed that everything would be ruined, his plan destroyed. Curse all the men and orcs and their wargs! Instead of helping him, they turned their backs on him.
And now powerless and supine, Merriadoc Brandybuck could do nothing but twist against the gripping hands that dragged him along the corridor to the most remote area of Elrond's house. Merry had tried hard to reach into his pocket but those merciless grasps pressed both his arms to his back. He almost broke into laughter, though, imagining how these creatures that surpassed him in size had to work so hard to restrain him. How funny!
Yet, it did not seem funny anymore as Merry heard a thundering voice behind him.
"The Ring always has its own peculiar ways in abandoning its false masters. Do not fight and try to take It anymore, Master Meriadoc, for it would be useless. The Ring has chosen to leave you."
Merry planted his heels in full determination and turned around. There was still power left in his body and the elves should feel grateful that their hold was strong enough.
Merry glared at Gandalf. So that was the answer! That was where the lost feeling came from. The Ring had slipped away, snatching along a part of Merry with It. Yet denial still came forth.
"The Ring did not choose to abandon me! You took It from me! Give It back! Give It back at once!"
Gandalf looked at Merry closely. Sorrow shadowed his face.
"Frodo would have been stronger than you."
Merry realized Gandalf must mean Frodo's resistance toward the Ring. Nevertheless, the statement sounded comical to him. With glints in his eyes, the hobbit found this absolutely amusing, for what crossed his mind was the broken, wretched Frodo. Certainly not strong at all. Merry started to giggle, and finally broke into thunderous chortle, before being severely cut by Gandalf's icy and threatening glare. Gandalf gave the wretched hobbit a second stare with bristled brows. Merry turned away in fear, and the wizard stomped away in both disgust and sorrow.
Merry felt weakened all of a sudden, and let the elves continue carrying him away to an unseen place and unknown fate.
***
But his cousin was so true. Frodo was nothing but a hollow shell, completely stripped off of the Frodo he used to be.
Frodo did not imagine himself being in a room anymore, waiting helplessly for Merry to spare some time with him. He, who was unwanted by all people he knew - friends, parents, kin, who had to be thankful for the only person who still wanted to save him the slightest bit of attention.
But no. Frodo was not there, but he could not tell where he actually was. This place was a mere void.
But it was not a cold one like the place where he used to be. Frodo sensed pleasing warmth spring from every tip of his fingers and toes and spreading throughout his body and to his face as well.
The void altered deliberately, the vacant place starting to have walls, drawers, couch table, bed… Frodo waited, glancing around in suppressed apprehension; afraid that the room would turn to the one he had before, when he was waiting for Merry…
***
Sam watched with growing hope as Frodo began to thrash, shaking his head so the towel from his brow fell away.
"No, no," Frodo whispered, almost inaudibly. His eyes moved restlessly beneath the thin lids. Sam wondered what Frodo was dreaming about. Was it about Merry again?
Frodo twisted harder, now that the elves came forth, holding his shoulders and legs.
"They got me! Those big folks are trying to hurt me again!"
Frodo was drowning in his own imagined misery. He fought hard to get away from the darkening shadow around him. Frodo tried to open his eyes as he did not realize that they were closed all this time. Breathing heavily, Frodo attempted to lift his lids that felt so heavy as if stones were upon them. And…
OH!!!
They were indeed big folks, but they were not restraining him with pieces of rope he had imagined before. They were holding him, indeed, fast.
And there was somebody else. Somebody that had also appeared in his dreams, but he did not welcome him well. Not that he did not want to - he had just been afraid. And he still was.
TBC
My greatest thanks to aelfgifu!
'm still trying to find the best form of the story. Please read and review!
