Chapter 2 – A Light In The Shadows.
Elrond touched fingers to the pulse in Frodo's neck, finding it frighteningly fast and yet weak. "Aragorn, find me Athelas if you can. I have dried leaves with me but they were culled several days ago, for I have been some time upon the road searching for you. They may not hold sufficient virtue for our needs this night."
"I was about to search for some, Adar, but . . . have we time?"
"I dare not move him further without some succour," Elrond replied, his eyes once more upon Frodo.
Familiar with the clipped tone of concern, Aragorn made no further protest, rising promptly and disappearing into the surrounding shrubbery to search diligently for the required herb.
Frodo whimpered, shivering with chill. "Stay with us, Tithen Pen. Do not surrender to the cold and the shadow," Elrond murmured, unclasping and removing his finely woven cloak. Lifting the Ringbearer carefully he wrapped him so that he was completely swathed in its soft woollen folds. Frodo cried out as he was moved; even this, in strong arms long practised in the art of healing, was torture for him, although the respite proved well worth the temporary discomfort. At once he snuggled weakly into the closely woven cloth, making it easy for Elrond to tuck him in securely.
Initially alarmed at his master's cries, Sam calmed as he saw the comfort provided by the cloak and drew up the hood to act as a pillow as Elrond turned his attention to his saddlebag. Intricately wrought armour gleamed briefly beneath an outer robe and it gave Sam little comfort to know that one even as mighty as Elrond would need such protection against the Black Riders.
Elrond sorted carefully through the contents of his luggage, finally producing a small bottle, intricately carved from palest alabaster.
Slipping one hand beneath dark curls he touched the opening to Frodo's cracked lips and leaned close so that the vague blue eyes could focus upon his face. "This is miruvor, the cordial of Imladris. If you can take some it will strengthen you." The Ringbearer swallowed dutifully, trying to take the medicine, though he coughed, nearly choking at one point. Sam glared at the elf accusingly but Elrond paid him no more mind than a gnat, placing gentle fingers at Frodo's throat until he felt him swallow successfully at last.
Although the liqueur had little taste, and did it burn as brandy would, at once the Ringbearer felt some lessening of the shadows within and without and he managed to draw in a deep, shaky breath.
It was at that point that the ranger returned, bearing an ample handful of the long leaves of the Athelas plant and presenting them triumphantly to his foster father.
Elrond turned to Frodo's servant. "Little Master, I will need a cup filled with hot water, when it is ready."
Sam rose and bowed, a little awkwardly. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I ain't no "Master". My name's Samwise Gamgee but most folks just call me Sam and that will do for me." Having said his piece he turned to the fire.
"Thank you . . . Sam," replied the elven lord. The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement, having been put firmly in his place by the sturdy little figure.
"I trust you know what to do with the Athelas, Aragorn. Bring the pot to me when it is ready." His foster son nodded, moving to join the hobbits at the fire.
When Frodo moaned again, as a particularly strong chill shook him, Elrond settled cross-legged upon the spread blanket and lifted the Ringbearer into his lap. Frodo's reaction was immediate and he settled gratefully into the warmth of the body holding him away from the cold earth. If he felt the armour about his carer's chest it did not seem to bother him.
There came a faint voice. "Thank you." Blue eyes blinked, gazing unsteadily up at Elrond's compassionate countenance.
"You are most welcome." Elrond folded back the cloak. "I will need to bathe your arm and side. I promise that I will be as gentle as I may." He began to ease the injured arm from jacket, waistcoat and shirt and, though his shivering increased, Frodo made no attempt to resist the tender fingers.
The rest of the hobbits found themselves dividing their attention between man and elf. By the fire, Strider murmured softly over some bruised Athelas leaves before breathing upon them and casting them into the bowl of warmed water. At once, the small glade was filled with a fresh and wholesome scent and all took a deep restoring breath. As Elrond freed Frodo's arm from his shirt Aragorn brought the Athelas infused water, Sam trotting at his heels, a small cup steaming in his hands.
The ranger set his bowl on the ground within Elrond's reach and produced some soft clean cloths from his own pack for bathing and drying the Ringbearer. Elrond turned his attention to Sam, hovering worriedly at his elbow. Perhaps it would be well to give this one something to do.
"Sam, have you any skill in the identification of herbs?"
Sam drew himself up to his full height, which brought him level with the elf's eyes. Something he found a little disconcerting when he paused to consider that he was standing and the elf was sitting. "I'm a gardener, sir," he asserted nonetheless proudly.
His reply brought forth a nod of approval from the elven lord. "Excellent. Within my bag you will find several packets of dried herbs. Please find one of camomile and add a handful to the cup. You may not recognise the script upon the packet but I am certain that your gardener's nose will recognise the scent. You will also find a wooden box containing pieces of crystallised ginger. Will you recognise that?"
"Yes sir. We use that in the Shire for fevers and the like," Sam replied, eager to show that even in the Shire they had some skill in healing.
"As do I. Please add a piece of ginger too."
Sam placed his cup carefully on the ground and began to pick, somewhat cautiously, through the contents of Master Elrond's saddlebag. He had been raised to think it wasn't right to go rifling through someone else's belongings but it was for Mr Frodo, so he sent up a silent apology to his mam and set to.
Elrond dipped a cloth in the warm Athelas infused water, wringing it out before laying it tenderly upon Frodo's wound. "The tea will reduce your fever and make you a little drowsy, so that the pain is less intense." He merely smiled when Frodo's faint voice drifted up, the perspiration on his body belying his assertion. "Can't have . . . a fever . . . I'm cold."
The hobbit's protests were quieted as Elrond tended him, however. At first he winced at the additional pressure on his wound, inflicting renewed pain. But gradually the warmth and clean scent seemed to seep into both mind and body, comforting him. He went utterly still; eyes fluttering closed in relief, though from his still laboured breathing it was clear that he was not sleeping.
His hand resting firmly upon the cloth, Elrond's ancient grey eyes clouded and he began to whisper in a tongue long forgotten in Middle Earth. Eager at the prospect of at last witnessing some elven magic, Sam looked up from his stirring of the cup and watched in fascination. He started, however, nearly spilling the contents when Frodo cried out weakly, struggling as though stricken with intense pain.
Although he continued to hold the Ringbearer firmly Elrond's eyes narrowed in concern. This was not the reaction he had expected and he began to suspect that there was more to this wounding than was at first evident.
"Where is the pain, Frodo?"
"Shoulder and chest . . . like ice," was all Frodo could reply through his clenched teeth, squirming weakly. Struggling not to cry out again he whimpered, breath coming in ragged waves as perspiration drenched his body and chills wracked his small frame.
Frowning at mention of pain in Frodo's chest, Elrond removed the cooling cloth and tucked the cloak about his charge once more, sparing a concerned glance at the ranger who looked equally worried. Sam leaned closer, desperate to soothe his master if he could. It seemed these mighty folk were not as skilled as they looked and he wished his Mam was still alive. He was certain Bell Gamgee would know what to do. But Mam was not here and the Shire was miles behind them. They only had big folk and elves to rely upon.
Elrond turned to him again. "The cup, please, Sam."
Hands shaking, Sam surrendered the cup, relieved that this medicine at least, he understood. Elrond touched it to Frodo's lips.
"Shhh, Little One. Try a few sips of the tea Sam has prepared. It will ease the pain and warm you."
Sam watched anxiously as his master attempted to drink, sipping weakly, teeth chattering against the rim of the cup, expelling a relieved sigh when Frodo managed to steady himself enough to take a little of the soothing liquid. When Elrond passed him the cup Sam bent closer, encouraging, as he had so often through the recent long days and nights. "There now, Mr Frodo. Just a few drops at a time. You can do it. Come on, now," he coaxed, gently.
Leaving Sam to his chosen task Elrond turned his attention to Aragorn and spoke in Sindarin once more. "I believe there is more at work here than a simple Morgul wounding. It is many years since I have treated such an injury but his reaction is more extreme than I recall. There is little more that I can do for him here, in the wild. I must get him to Imladris as quickly as possible so that I can examine him more fully."
At the fireside Merry and Pippin frowned, beginning to feel rather annoyed that their friend's fate was obviously being discussed and yet they were being excluded.
The ranger nodded. He understood at once what his foster father was implying; with only one pony and on foot the party would travel too slowly. The other hobbits would be upset at the separation but if Elrond decided that Frodo must be moved swiftly, Aragorn had no doubt that matters were grave enough to warrant it.
"I can lead the others behind, Adar."
Elrond nodded at his foster son gratefully. "You will be safe enough I think, but I will send some of my people back to meet you." He lowered his gaze to the blue eyes again, returning to Westron.
"I will bandage your wound when you have finished the tea. Then you must part from your companions so that you and I may ride more swiftly to safety."
At these words Merry and Pippen sprang to their feet and Sam tugged urgently at Elrond's sleeve. "Where are you taking him? There's Black Riders out there looking for him. If they catch you they'll kill him this time. You know they will!" All bravado melted however when ancient grey eyes fell full upon him. The elven lord's voice was not loud, nor was it harsh but it held a calm certainty.
"I am aware of that Sam. I have encountered the Black Riders before and I have their measure."
Taking a last sip, Frodo collapsed back on Elrond's arm, suppressing a weak cough. His voice held its own certainty. "I will not . . . ride with . . . you anywhere . . . leaving my . . . friends behind . . . in danger."
The other hobbits at first thought that Elrond intended to ignore all their protests. "Aragorn, please return my saddlebag to Sindalome." But the healer's eyes were only filled with compassion as he met Frodo's stubborn gaze. "Frodo, your friends will not be in danger, if you are not with them. It is you and that which you carry that the enemy seeks."
The Ringbearer swallowed, nodding grimly, lips clenched in a fine line as he recognised the truth of Elrond's words. The elf took that as permission and folded back the cloak once more to press a soft pad to the hurt and strap it in place with a fine cloth bandage. Frodo shivered but the healer's efforts seemed to soothe and, as Aragorn buckled closed his step father's ornate saddlebag, Frodo quieted in understanding.
"All right I . . . where are we going?"
Sam frowned in concern as he helped Elrond cover the wound. Mister Frodo seemed to be growing increasingly vague and he was not sure how much was attributable to the camomile tea and how much to fever . . . or worse.
"We are riding to Imladris . . . Rivendell," Elrond replied softly, as Sam helped him replace Frodo's clothing and once more wrap the warm cloak closely about their charge. He took time to offer Sam a re-assuring smile then, rising smoothly, gathered Frodo to his chest and called to Sindalome. With a soft wicker of farewell to Bill the tall grey animal trotted calmly across the clearing to his master.
"Rivendell I . . . I've always wanted . . . to see it . . . to go there," Frodo blinked drowsily, as if in a dream, wincing only when he was eased into Aragorn's arms while Elrond mounted Sindalome.
Pippin turned anxiously to his cousin. "Is Frodo all right?"
Merry nodded, although he was not entirely sure. "It's just the camomile I think. Lord Elrond said it would make him sleepy."
Neither felt particularly convinced and Sam was visibly holding himself in place.
"What . . . what's going to happen?" Frodo murmured, his blue eyes staring dreamily. "Can I . . . go to sleep there?"
He was handed up and settled in front of Elrond, one strong arm about his waist, and Elrond's warm voice seemed to drift into his mind.
"Yes, Tithen Pen. You may sleep there." The elven lord spared a final glance at three frightened and worried little hobbits gathered about the tall ranger.
"I will care for Frodo as I would care for one of my own sons and I leave you in the safe keeping of my foster son."
The hobbit's eyes widened, following Aragorn as he handed up the reins. Elrond met Ada's steady grey gaze. "I will send help. Take care, Estel."
The mortal touched his foster father's hand. "And you. Remember that even elves are not immune to sword or arrow."
At Elrond's murmured command the horse stepped off lightly into the night, bearing its precious passenger and watched by four anxious pairs of eyes.