Day Nineteen: The Enchanted Isles

"Frodo? Are you certain you wish to go through with this?" Gandalf sighed and looked at the frown playing across the determined face. "Are you certain you are up to it?" The Wizard could see shadows of persistent pain lingering in the hobbit's eyes. "You could stay below in your cabin with Bilbo. It's much safer there, you know."

"If there is any way for a mortal to experience this without being ensnared or loosing their mind, then I wish to do so." Raven curls now entwined with stray silver strands blew across the piercing blue eyes squinting into the bright rays of sunshine. Frodo refused to let the relentless pain keep him below decks in a sick bed. He had set up a small bedroll on some rope coils, and fully intended to remain above deck, no matter what anyone said.

"His plan will work," Elrond quietly replied. "It has been done before. My father also traversed these waters without succumbing."

"Your father was half Elvish, if I may remind you," Gandalf curtly replied to the Elf-lord. "And your father had Elwing with him. Frodo will have no such protection. The temptations are specifically designed to ensnare mortals. They have no effect on you or I, as we are immortals. He will be subjected to overwhelming temptations. I know how devious these illusions are. I helped create some of them."

"Which ones?" Frodo gathered a length of slender grey Elvish rope into his hands and carefully tested them. They would be strong enough.

"I think I shall make you guess which ones, you stubborn, thick-headed fool of a hobbit." The Wizard crossed his arms in irritation. "You sound more like Peregrin Took every day! Why are you pushing yourself into this? There is no need for it. All you have to do is go below decks, shutter the porthole, put cotton in your pointed ears and wait. Your Uncle Bilbo is smart enough to heed my warnings and do so. Now why can't you do the same?"

Frodo quietly handed Elrond the rope. "Because I am not he. I have little to loose should I succumb, and much to gain should I endure. No mortal has experienced this and lived, and I think my plan will allow me to do so. What do you think, Lord Elrond?"

"I think we should stop talking and get you prepared," the Elf-Lord said. "Time is of the essence. The mists are almost upon us. We cannot shield you from what occurs when the ship enters the vapor. As Gandalf has so pointedly reminded us, these enchanted isles have only one purpose: to ensnare mortals and keep them from discovering the Undying Lands."

"The Elves will not see, hear, smell, taste or feel what you experience, Frodo. For the most part, neither will I," Gandalf replied. "You will be alone in your experiences. I can stay by your side and talk with you, but you may not even recognize me once we are within the heart of the Enchanted Sea."

"I understand," Frodo quietly replied. He took a deep breath, backed up to the main mast and stretched his arms behind. "I am ready."

Lord Cirdan had ordered all except essential crew to go below decks. He commanded those who remained on deck to stuff cotton into their ears, and to avoid looking at Frodo during the passage. The captain had no desire to expose himself or his crew to the possibly of inadvertently granting an insane request brought about by passage through the Enchanted Isles. Until they were safely past the atolls and out of the mist, Frodo would be ignored by all, save for Gandalf.

Elrond quietly stepped behind the mast and placed a loop of rope about Frodo's left wrist, pulling it tight. "Exhale and hold," Elrond commanded. Frodo complied, and found that the rigging had been laced across the back of the mast and then brought tightly across his chest. He could still breathe, but there was no possibility of wiggling out of the lashings.

Elrond methodically finished binding the hobbit to the mast, making each knot secure and ensuring they were safely out of Frodo's reach. Frodo could feel smooth wood against his bound wrists and hands. The silken Elvish rope did not hurt him in his self-imposed captivity, but it was strong and implacable, binding him securely to the wood so tightly that he almost felt one with the timber. He could move his head freely, but the rest of him was immobilized. The wall of mist quickly approached as he resolutely gazed ahead.

"You had best leave now," Gandalf whispered to the Elf. Elrond briefly nodded, then quickly disappeared down the hatch.

Gandalf seated himself beside Frodo. The Wizard produced a pipe from somewhere inside his white robe and was about to light up, but thought better of it and put the pipe away. Frodo shot him an inquisitive look. "Best to not compound temptations," Gandalf quietly replied.

They entered the mists in silence and under minimal sails. Frodo could see the crewman at the prow taking careful soundings. Cirdan let the ship run with the current for the most part.

The mists felt surprisingly warm on Frodo's face and exposed neck. Like the caress of soft lips against his skin. Hundreds of soft, velvety lips against every inch of his flesh. Frodo sighed in contentment, then caught himself upon seeing Gandalf's disapproving glance.

"Sorry," Frodo murmured and blushed to his toes.

"You've only begun." Gandalf crossed his arms and waited.

Frodo could see a faint light ahead and to starboard. The air seemed to take on a golden hue, and occasional twinkles and flashes of light came from somewhere in the mist to his right. As Frodo concentrated, the sun broke through the vapor and revealed an astounding sight.

It was an island. But one made of gold, silver, mithril and precious stones. Jewels of a thousand colors and moon-white pearls lined the shoreline instead of sand. A slender golden hall stood back a little ways from a beautiful wharf constructed of the finest mallorn wood burnished until it gleamed, inlaid with exquisite mithril in complicated patterns of leaves. The roof of the golden building seemed to be made of the finest clear glass, beveled and polished until its shingles gave off rainbows in the sunlight. The doors were of mother-of-pearl; their silky opalescence shimmering with a myriad of iridescent colors within the pale ivory. Silken sacks lay scattered about the entranceway and under the porch, golden coins spilling across the ruby and sapphire inlaid tile.

As the ship past slowly to port, Frodo could see tables in a formal geometric garden behind the golden hall. They groaned under their precious burdens. Silverware and fine porcelain plates glinted and sparkled. Rich cut-glass goblets beckoned him to a feast of opulence all for the taking. Marble, alabaster and jade sculptures lined a long promenade paved in silver. Exquisite scientific instruments were displayed on gleaming alabaster pedestals; each a unique work of art in its own right.

Behind the garden Frodo could also see what appeared to be a cave cut into the side of a hill. But the fine rose quartz rock face shimmered with thick ropy veins of raw mithril. Inside the cave, encased in fragile glass tubes and storage boxes encrusted with gold and jewels, lay hundreds if not thousands of illuminated manuscripts. A library beyond his imagining. A small, hobbit-sized chair and table waited at the cave's entrance. Frodo could just make out a magnifying glass delicately balanced on the chair's armrest, and a comfortable silken quilt draped across the other arm.

'Come. Come take what you desire. It is all for you! A gift. All this is a gift freely given. There is more on the other side. So much more to explore. You will be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams! Come! You can stay and be ruler of all this! It could all be yours if you but claim it. Come! Come and see!' The whispered words filled his mind and sparkled in the air about him.

Frodo gazed at the vision, then quietly turned to resumed looking forward. The mists once again enveloped his sight and the island faded.

Gandalf was looking intently at him. "What did you see?"

"Great wealth," Frodo replied. "A land filled with precious metals and jewels and beautiful items. No people; only wealth."

"I didn't expect you to be tempted by that," Gandalf said, "but many mortals have yielded to such temptation. They confuse material wealth for happiness and become ensnared."

Frodo grinned slightly. "I must confess I was a little bit tempted by the books. But my journey is not for wealth of knowledge. I can pass this isle."

Gandalf chuckled. "Wise far beyond your race's reputation. Saruman could have learned a thing or two from you, if he had only listened. He designed the library."

"He did?"

"Along time ago. Back before we volunteered to come to Middle Earth."

Frodo licked his dry lips. "Gandalf? May I have some water? I cannot quite reach my water bottle."

A runner from the front of the ship passed them without acknowledging them, on her way back to the helm. The ship turned slightly to starboard and another runner went to the bow.

"Are you really thirsty, Frodo?"

"Yes. Of course…" Frodo began, then stopped. "Well…I think I am. Wait…." He looked to the left and saw the faint outline of another island. He was suddenly very thirsty. Extremely thirsty. And hungry. Hunger smote him like a sharp jab to the stomach. Instinctively he closed his eyes. In spite of his every intention, Frodo groaned. "Oh, stars, I'm hungry! And I am still thirsty. Gandalf, please…Some water, I beg of you."

He could hear the splash of fresh falling water from off to his left. Frodo swallowed convulsively. He was SO thirsty. Why didn't Gandalf give him some water? Frodo twisted uncomfortably against the ropes. His stomach growled in sympathy and then he smelled it. The pungent scent of beef roasting over an open flame. He could hear the sizzle as fat melted through slits in the crisp skin holding in succulent, juicy and perfectly cooked steak.

Frodo's eyes flew open. Where was that undeniable smell coming from?

The mists to his left lifted. Frodo thought Rivendell was magnificent, but even Elrond's house paled in comparison to this oasis in the ocean's dessert. The isle lifted itself straight up out of the sea, as if Frodo were only seeing the top of a very steep mountain which was anchored deep in the salty ocean. The isle was covered with a lush growth of every fruit and grain Frodo had ever tasted, and some which were unknown to him. Cascades of swiftly-flowing waterfalls tumbled from the isle's snow-capped peak. The fresh liquid was diverted and collected into bubbling pools and crystal clear rivulets overflowing directly into the glassy green sea.

Some of the delightful rivers were definitely not water. Frodo could smell complex aromas of apples, pears, peaches, nectarines, grapes, lemons, honey, lavender, sage…. Wave after wave of perfectly ripe fruits and flowers assaulted his nose.

"Oh," he groaned, "that smells so good."

"But are you truly hungry or thirsty?" A voice from somewhere on his left asked.

Frodo thought hard about the nagging question as his stomach once again protested its emptiness. He reluctantly turned his gaze back to Gandalf.

"No," he finally said. "This is an illusion. A good one too. But I know what true hunger and thirst are. I endured the parched land of Gorgoroth and the fires of Mordor. Sam and I almost died from thirst. I shall never take for granted food or drink; but I will not let them control me. I am master of my physical desires. This is not why I am on this journey. I reject this isle."

The mists swirled closed again, snuffing out the remnant of delightful scents, visions and sounds.

Gandalf nodded and brought the water bottle up to Frodo's lips. "I think you deserve this, my friend."

Frodo smiled weakly, but accepted the refreshing drink anyway. "That was rather more difficult than the first."

"They become progressively more devious," Gandalf said. "Are you certain you wish to continue?"

"I am."

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