Chapter Ten: Family

It was just before dusk on October twentieth (by Shire reckoning, as Bilbo had taught her), and Mélanyë was just pulling a batch of honey-cakes from the oven when the commotion began. She looked out of her window and saw Arwen Undomiel gliding in on Asfaloth, carrying a dark green bundle in her arms. As she watched, she saw that the bundle had legs and large hairy feet. Immediately her stomach tightened and her body fell numb.

Arwen was crying. The tears flowed freely down her flawless face onto her robes. Elrond appeared and moved swiftly and gracefully towards his daughter. He gently relieved her of her burden, their eyes meeting with shared sorrow. Mélanyë now saw plainly that the bundle contained a very sick hobbit. She fancied she saw a brief glint of gold on his tunic as he was being carried away. Elrond took him inside and out of her view. Barely aware of her movements, she ripped off her apron and flew down the stairs, crossing the short distance through the courtyard towards Arwen still standing in the center.

"Arwen..." she began. The elf looked down at the young girl. Her face was wet with tears, and glowed with the late-setting sun.

"Mélanyë," she said, as if from far away, "You should go to him...he will need you."

Mélanyë barely heard the words. She knew immediately who it was that Elrond had taken from her. It hit her almost as a physical blow.

"Frodo," she whispered. Before she realized what she was doing, she was already halfway up the stairs inside the main house, searching for the room Elrond had entered. She found them on the west side of the hall across from her room. It was softly lit by candles all around.

Frodo lay still and cold as death in the small bed, his wound now plainly exposed as Elrond chanted in the Fair Speech, commanding the hobbit to return to the light. Other elves were around the room watching and waiting to be called on for any need of Elrond's. She noticed with unease that two of them were armed.

Mélanyë entered quietly and stood against the nearest wall as she watched. Her heart ached at the sight of her brother, in obvious pain, with a sickly hue in his face. Elrond's treatment had half-wakened him from his fell dreams, and he turned his head in her direction. Once-bright blue eyes, now clouded over with pain and sickness, stared right into hers. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse cry like a shriek. Elrond raised the tone and level of his voice as he commanded the poison to leave his patient. Frodo's face twisted in pain as herbs were applied by one of the other Elves. At last, Elrond stood up, a defeated look in his eyes.

"It's not working," he said in Elvish. Hot tears sprang up in Mélanyë's eyes at his words. "The Ring is preventing him from recovering. Its power is interfering with my words..." He turned around and only then saw Mélanyë behind him. Mélanyë," he said, a sudden sense of urgency in his normally calm and even tone. His expression was like a sudden ray of sun in a cloudy sky. "You must take the Ring from him- I cannot touch it." She looked up at him in confusion, not sure what he was talking about or what this had to do with her. Was this the same Ring that Bilbo had talked so long about? "You are his closest kin, and so it is your place to relieve him of his burden."

"What about Bilbo? It was his-"

"NO!" Elrond's tone was sharp and dreadful. Mélanyë stepped back into the wall. "No," he said again, softer, "he must never see the Thing again. Do not let him know you have it, for I fear it may be too much for him to see it again."

Mélanyë stared at Elrond, it seemed, for the first time. This was different person than the Elrond she thought she knew. She still did not understand what was going on, but she sensed that time was running out. She approached Frodo's side. In his sickness, he looked up at her, but she knew that he didn't see her. She saw the Ring laying on his chest, attached to a silver chain. Gingerly she reached out to touch it and unfastened the clasp, lifting the Ring from his chest. It was heavier than it looked, and it glinted in the candlelight.

His reaction was sudden and violent. Lunging at her, teeth bared and growling, he groped blindly for the Ring. His right hand caught the chain, and it snapped under the strain. Terrified, she clutched the Ring tight and jumped back, even as Elrond held Frodo down. He continued to fight, however, in a weak attempt to throttle whoever had taken his Ring.

"Moruta! Moruta!" Elrond cried. Mélanyë closed her hand around the Ring. It burned her skin. Almost immediately Frodo stopped struggling and slipped back into his dark dreams. Mélanyë turned around, and saw with horror that two of the elves behind her had their bows trained on Frodo. Sensing that the danger had passed, they lowered them.

Even as Elrond continued his urgent attempts to heal Frodo, she opened her hand. Just a simple gold Ring it looked to her, but she knew now that it was much more than it appeared. She studied the broken chain in her hands and wondered what sort of power she now carried.

For two hours Mélanyë sat, head in hands, watching Elrond tend to her sick brother. Bilbo had heard about what was going on and had a seat next to her. They had talked quietly at first, but now were just content to sit together and comfort each other.

She had hung the Ring around her neck on a new chain. The same one her and Frodo's father had given to her mother years ago. She now held the pendant with the broken chain in her hands and stroked it thoughtfully.

"My dear, what happened to your necklace?" Bilbo asked. She felt her heart skip a beat. She couldn't tell him what had happened, but couldn't bear to lie about it either.

"Frodo caught it in his sleep and broke it," she said carefully. The Ring was hiding safely under her robes. She was suddenly aware of it as a weight, pulling on the chain, hoping to become visible to its former bearer. Indeed, Bilbo seemed to have changed. He stared long at the broken chain in her hand as if he doubted her words, but then as quickly as it had come, the moment passed.

"What a shame. You'll have to find another one soon. You can't risk losing such a precious heirloom." She started at his words, but did not know why. He gave one last look to the broken chain, and then looked to the door. It opened softly and the two saw a familiar and most welcome face.

"Mithrandir!" she whispered, smiling faintly. The old wizard made his way over to Elrond who was still chanting, bent over the unconscious hobbit. The two spoke in hushed tones, but she could hear what they were saying clear enough. All but two of the other elves had left an hour ago, so the room was quiet. A quick glance at Frodo revealed that the two hours had not been in vain- he did seem to be responding to the treatments.

"How is he?" Gandalf asked worriedly. He seemed an old man, wearied by some burden. His robes were tattered and muddied, and he was without his staff. Mélanyë wondered with apprehension what had happened to him. What evil was upon them that the Grey Pilgrim himself had become so distressed?

"He is accepting treatment, but," Elrond paused, "he almost didn't make it. Another hour, maybe two and he would not have survived." He motioned to the two remaining elves standing nearby still holding their bows. Mélanyë looked up and understood. If Elrond had not been able to heal Frodo, they may have been fOrced to kill him themselves. For their protection. She'd overheard earlier about a Morgul blade. She knew very little about matters of the Black Land, only that their weapons were usually poisoned or cursed, and that some could turn the victim against his own kin. She decided it best not to tell Bilbo of this. Gandalf had understood, however, and seemed to have aged ten years in those few moments. He turned back to Elrond.

"Aragorn and three more hobbits are on their way here," he told him. Elrond nodded. Mélanyë listened more closely now. More hobbits? What was going on? Bilbo was now listening closer also. The two hobbits looked at one another, and then back at the discussion.

"How far away are they?"

"A day, maybe two."

Suddenly Frodo began thrashing about in his sleep, calling out in his fell dreams.

"Sam! Sam!" He cried, "Bombadil...the Riders...Sam, No!" He raised his arms to shield himself from his phantom attackers. Elrond returned to his side and renewed his chanting over the young hobbit. Bilbo stood and made his way to Gandalf's side.

"Sam....Merry...Pippin..." Frodo continued, now calmer. He still seemed to be caught in some horrible memory, but its intensity was less. At length Elrond looked up.

"I need everyone to leave," He said plainly. There was a silent stillness in the air that was almost tangible. Mélanyë looked into Elrond's eyes, and he in hers. "Please," He said. The two elves standing beside her left obediently, and Gandalf began to guide Bilbo to the door. Mélanyë stood and walked over to the foot of the bed.

Frodo was awake again, if awake was a proper term. His eyes were so clouded now that she could not see any remnant of their natural color in them. They searched the room in vain, finding nothing but the images of his dark dreams, tormenting him. She grieved that it had to be this way. She had often imagined the day she would meet her brother, but she never thought it would be like this.

"Will he live?" She asked. She met Elrond's eyes again.

"I don't know."