Watchtower

Frodo's hand was cold. Bilbo held it in both of his own, but even that was not enough to warm it up. The fire was high, though, and the little room was warm. "Warm even for me, my boy, and old hobbits like me are wont to feel the cold."

Frodo made no reply. His eyes were closed, and he was still sleeping. "But Master Elrond says you're past the worst of it, my boy. He says you'll likely sleep for a good few hours yet. I'd like…" He yawned. "I'd like to be here when you wake up, but I'm feeling quite sleepy myself."

In however many years in Rivendell, he had never before found it impossible to sleep. But when they had carried Frodo in… What he had been told what had been happening to him…

"Gandalf packed me off to bed in the end," he told Frodo. "Said quite bluntly that I was only getting in the way; you know what he can be like. But I couldn't sleep. I kept on wondering…"

Wondering how afraid Frodo must have been. Wondering what it had been like for him. Fourteen nights earlier, what had Bilbo been doing? Dreaming beside the fire, content in his own little bubble of peace. Writing songs. Reaching the end of his book, because he knew that all his stories were over, and the only new stories in the world were things that had nothing to do with him.

"But they have everything to do with me," he said, "if what they're saying about that old Ring of mine is even half true."

A branch snapped in the hearth. Firelight shone on the dark beams like gold. Frodo lay so very still.

Bilbo's hand left Frodo's, and closed again around his wrist. Then higher, higher, up his arm, across his elbow, moving over his injured shoulder without touching it, settling on the side of his neck. There was a fine chain there, leading to something just hidden by the white sheets. Bilbo touched the chain. Slowly, slowly he moved his fingers downwards.

The door opened behind him. Bilbo snatched his hand away, and grasped at Frodo's hand again. He was breathing very fast, almost as if he had been running.

"How is he?" Aragorn asked. He came up behind Bilbo, and squeezed his shoulder. "How are you, my friend?"

"Oh, he's going to be quite well," Bilbo said, "or so Master Elrond says. And why should I be anything else myself? I haven't been out there being hunted by those… things." He thought his breathing was under control now. He risked looking up at Aragorn. "You saved his life; I know that much. I can never thank you enough."

"There is no need." Aragorn sat down in the chair that Gandalf often used.

"Yes, there is." Bilbo closed his eyes, then opened them again. "The dark times are upon us, aren't they, Aragorn? This is what you were preparing me for, that last time, beside the river. I can't hide from it any more. It all comes down to that Ring of mine, and Frodo… Frodo paid the price."

"He will be well," Aragorn said gently, "and he was not alone."

"No." Bilbo let out a breath. "I'm tired, Dunadan. I can't sleep for worrying about him and thinking about things. You've known this was coming for years, you and Gandalf and Elrond. For years you've been walking dangerous roads, and I never asked about them. As long as I had songs and stories, and as long as you bought me pictures…"

"No." Aragorn's voice was firm.

Bilbo faltered. "No?" he asked.

"You were about to reproach yourself for being ignorant. But call it not ignorance, but innocence, and nowhere is innocence more to be found than in the hobbits of the Shire. That you could bear the Ring for so long, yet still retain that innocence is a marvel indeed. If the Dark Lord were to triumph, there would be no innocence left in the world. It is a thing that must be guarded. It is a thing that must be cherished."

Bilbo shook his head. "But…"

"No." Aragorn smiled at his gravely. "You played your part. You have earned your rest."

"But that game of ours…" Bilbo said. "That silly, silly game. As it that mattered!"

"It mattered," said Aragorn. "It matters."

Bilbo looked down at Frodo's pale, still face. He wanted to pull the sheets up to his chin, but then he remembered what lay beneath them. His fingers shook. He wrapped them together, and pressed his hands against his breast.

"It matters," he said quietly. "I want it still. Play the game, Dunadan, even if it's just one more time. Paint me a picture. Tell me… Tell me where it happened. Tell me about Weathertop."

Aragorn looked at him with those keen grey eyes of his. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm sure." Frodo shifted a little in his sleep, but did not awaken. Bilbo waited until he was still again. "Oh, don't tell me about those things; Sam's already told me far more than I'd ever want to know about them. Don't tell me about Frodo screaming; I can hear that when I close my eyes, you know. But tell me what it looks like, like you always used to do. It's another Numenorean ruin, isn't it? A watchtower."

"The watchtower of Amon Sul," Aragorn agreed, "built by Elendil himself. But it was destroyed half an age ago, and only a ring of stone remains. Much of it is covered now with grass. But even without the tower, it can still be a place of watching. We stood on the hilltop and the land around us could be seen in a full circle. There was woodland in the south, and mountains in the east. For the most part, the land was featureless, but the day was bright, at least at first. I remember seeing a…"

"No." The word left Bilbo's mouth without him bidding it. "I can't," he said. "I don't…" He stroked Frodo's cheek, then pressed his hand against the side of his throat. His fingertips brushed the chain. Why shouldn't I touch it? he thought. It is mine, after all.

"Bilbo?" Aragorn's voice was soft, yet somehow inescapable.

"It was all about places once, wasn't it?" Bilbo said. "I never asked you to put people in the scenes you described to me. But now…" He took Frodo's hand again. "I can't see it in my mind. All I can see is Frodo screaming in the dark, and Sam and the young ones, and you, of course, fighting for his lives, and saving him." He looked across the pale sheets at Aragorn, who had the fire behind him. "Middle Earth is cast in shadow. I can't see the places any more. I'm not sure I want to."

Aragorn stood up and came to stand beside him. "He will be well, Bilbo, and so will you."

Bilbo let out a breath. "Yes," he said.