AN: As promised here is the revised version of the first chapter. It turned out a bit longer than the original version, but it needed to be done in order for some better character development. Oh, and just in case you were wondering - I took the original version down. It's a shame that I lost my reviews though, but it couldn't be helped.
Thanks to LalaithElerri for her review. I hope you like the first chapter, too.
Enjoy and if you do - please let me know.
edited: 07/13/13
Chapter One: A new life
Their journey took them over the wild seas to a land that was very different from anything the passengers of the ship had ever seen before. Even the wise old Gandalf seemed to be taken aback by its beauty and serenity. They all left the ship and were welcomed by a variety of peoples: Elves, Istari, Humans, Ents and so many other different kinds of beings, as they had not met on their long journey into the Ring War. But there were no Hobbits, except for Bilbo and himself.
Frodo was tired; the old wound at his left shoulder was now throbbing constantly and a heavy dark cloud of despair fogged his weary heart and tired mind. Neither Bilbo nor Gandalf nor any of his fellows could bring him out of his depressed mood and he was grateful, when a very tall Elf came up to him and offered him to show him to his new home.
They wandered in silence for a while and Frodo's feet became heavier with every step he made. Soon they came to a shire and in a small hill Frodo could see a round door with windows at each side of it. It painfully reminded him of Bagend - his once beloved home in Hobbiton and of all the people that he still held close to his heart and that he had been forced to leave behind. But the shadows clouding his soul had become too strong, too powerful as though he could bear them any longer. His strength had been fading during those lonely years that he had spent mostly alone in the smial of his family and what was left of his former spirits was beginning to disintegrate into nothingness as well. With a fond, however small smile he remembered the day that word from Gandalf had reached him that soon he was to join the Istari on a voyage to a land far across the oceans, where he would find peace and relief from his old pain.
The Elf eventually led him into his new home and then quietly left again, before Frodo even had the slightest chance to utter a word of appreciation. He dropped his small backpack in a corner of the hall and started wandering through the all too familiar smial, not knowing himself what he was looking for, if he was actually looking for anything, that is. Eventually he arrived in the parlor and with a stifled sigh finally allowed himself a bit of rest in one of the two rather comfortable looking armchairs in front of the fireplace. For a while he watched the flames eating their wooden meal while many troublesome thoughts and painful memories of the past crossed his mind. The first tears, he never recognized until their constant flow down his unnaturally pale face began to wet the collar of his old worn shirt, as the small silver drops disappeared into the rough fabric, leaving slightly darker wet spots. Frodo thought of and grieved for everything and everyone that he had been forced to leave behind, Sam and his small family, Pippin, Merry. He wondered whether they were actually missing him. An ugly, tiny, unmerciful voice in his head kept on telling him, that he had only been a burden for them ever since he had returned from Mordor and that they were probably having a party, celebrating his eagerly awaited departure from the Shire. Deep in all his bad thoughts and exhausted from all the tears shed, Frodo eventually fell asleep late at night.
He was awoken by a knock against the front door. Although Frodo was not in the mood for having company or going out, he went to open the door.
"Frodo Baggins?" Frodo frowned as he suspiciously eyed his unexpected visitor. She was a Hobbit all right and for a few moments he tried to remember whether there really hadn't been any Hobbits among the welcome party at the shore of this island the previous night. There hadn't been any except for Bilbo and himself and he was sure of it.
"Yes?" he said with a quiet voice that was still rough from sleep.
"Good day to you, Master Baggins. I am Níniël Cuilanathûr. Master Gandalf asked me to come and find you. May I come in?"
"Yes, certainly" Frodo said with a nod and stepped aside in order to allow her access to his new home. With confusion written all over his face he slammed the door shut with a little more force than he had intended.
"It's beautiful here. Is that what Bag End looks like? I have never been there but I've heard a lot about it."
"There are quite a few similarities," he answered stiffly. "Would you care to join me in the parlor?"
"Have you had any breakfast yet?" Níniël asked, completely ignoring his question while she was studying his home with amazement. "I bet Langulis didn't show you around. He's an extremely shy Elf." she said.
"The answer to both of your questions would be no. But I am not very hungry anyway," Frodo said.
"Strange words coming from a Hobbit's mouth," she smirked and chose to pay no attention to the questioning look in his eyes. "Well, I am. So, do you mind us going into the kitchen?" she asked but was already headed for said part of the house before Frodo had even the slightest chance to answer. Before he knew it Níniël was standing in front of the counters, searching them for any ingredients she might need. Almost immediately she set to work and started preparing breakfast for the two of them. Frodo followed her, hesitation slowing his pace as he approached the other Hobbit. Quietly sitting down at the table he watched her working in silence. As much as she was talking mere moments before, as much she now seemed to concentrate on the task at hand.
With her back turned towards him Frodo found himself studying her. She was beautiful; there was no doubt about it, probably around his age, too. Long dark brown curls softly fell down to her hips and underlined the fine features of her face perfectly well. As many other Hobbits, excluding himself, her eyes were the color of the fertile dark brown soil of the Shire and were the perfect match for her rather small nose and cupid-bow-shaped rosy lips. She wore a white blouse with a nice embroidered green vest and a long brown skirt that feel down to her ankles, leaving her feet bare.
Níniël was working quickly and so it came that rather sooner than later the kitchen table was loaded with everything a Hobbit would look for in a respectable breakfast. Still quiet she joined Frodo and sat down at the opposite side of the table. Frodo watched her as she helped herself to a cup of tea and then, without asking him poured some of the dark steaming liquid into his own. Acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary for her, she started eating while Frodo kept watching her intently, curiosity and another strange feeling, that he couldn't quite name, written all over his face.
"Who are you?" His voice eventually broke the silence of the room when his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Raising an eyebrow, Níniël looked up to face him.
"You're not referring to my name, are you," she pointed out and then put the piece of cheese she was just about to take a bite of back onto a large wooden plate in front of her. Taking a deep breath in she made to answer his question. "I am a healer and I came here a long time ago. The Queen of this island received word from the Lady Galadriel that along with her, Lord Celeborn, and Master Gandalf, two of my own kind would come to our isle that might be in need of my skills. After your arrival I've spoken to Master Gandalf and he voiced quite a few concerns as to your health," she answered truthfully.
"So he sent you to find out about my state of mind? Does he want to find out whether I'm slowly drifting into insanity after… everything that's happened," Frodo questioned her grimly, but made it a point to avoid her eyes while he was taking a sip from his tea.
"If you wish to look at it this way you're probably right," she nodded somewhat hesitantly. Although it would have been a lot easier to tell him a nice little lie, something deep within her told her, that staying on the path of truthfulness was the right thing to do. "I was the only Hobbit here on this island before you and Master Bilbo came. Most of my life I spent with the Elves and they blessed me with their knowledge and powers of healing. They taught me everything they know and I was eager to learn, seeing that there was nothing else they could offer me here. However, rest assured that Master Gandalf only had your best interest in mind when he asked me to look after you – with me being a Hobbit myself."
"He knows me all too well," Frodo admitted after a while of heavy silence between them. "Have you seen my dear Uncle Bilbo then?"
"Indeed. I went to see him last night. If you want, we could visit him later. Why don't you now try and eat something. It certainly wouldn't hurt. You're skinny," she addressed him with a slight smile accompanied by a raised eyebrow and Frodo obliged.
Later when they had finished breakfast, Níniël insisted on examining the scar on Frodo's left shoulder, as well as his neck, back and sides, and his right hand with the missing ring finger. Carefully she caressed the angry skin surrounding those old wounds pale scars left by cruel Orcs' whips with her fingertips, but Frodo's pain contorted face told her – despite him not making a sound – that no matter how much tenderness she put into her touch, she was still hurting him. But in order for her to learn everything she needed to know about his injuries Níniël had to touch the wounds, learn how they felt and what their temperature, roughness or smoothness suggested about their severity. However, as her fingertips glided over the skin on his shoulders, her hand suddenly jerked back and she looked at him intensely for a while, with the slightest hint of fear buried in her eyes. Frodo saw it.
"What's wrong?" he asked her in surprise. Although the wound had been hurting for quite a while now, he hadn't suffered any seizures for at least a week.
"It was caused by the dagger of a Nazgûl, wasn't it," she declared, more stating what was obvious to her than gathering required information.
"It was. But I was under the impression that you already knew about that from Gandalf or the Lady Galadriel?"
"Have you suffered any seizures?" she asked, ignoring his statement and the look on her face told Frodo, that she already knew the answer. He nodded. "That's what I thought. That makes it harder for it to heal."
"What do you mean? It is healed. There's only this scar left. Sometimes it pains me still and my shoulder feels a bit stiff. But I suppose that is to be expected from such a wound."
"The skin may be healed, but obviously Elrond has not managed to get all of the knife's poison out of you. He is a very skilled healer, mind you, but Middle Earth is not the realm to be when it comes to wounds such as this one."
"But how come that I'm still alive then? The effects of the poison are still rather vivid in my mind. The urge to give in to the shadow's calling is no longer as persistent as it used to be. So, I thought it reasonable to believe that the Ring's lingering effects on me left me with that longing for the shadows," Frodo argued.
"Unfortunately you are quite right about that. However these lingering effects – as you call them – are only enhanced by the remaining poison in your body," Níniël agreed and then paused, obviously lost in thought. "Obviously this was only the first of many injuries this dreadful war has left you with. If you can find it within you, I would very much like for you to tell me everything that happened to you on your journey into Mordor. I realize this must be very difficult and I understand if you'd rather avoid this. But if I am to help you, I need to know as much as you're willing to share."
"You are asking a lot. It is not a story that I am inclined to tell a stranger," Frodo said raising an eyebrow. But Níniël only shrugged her shoulders.
"That I understand. However, when you left from Mithlond you went on a journey in search for peace and healing. True peace can only come from within yourself, but I am the one who can provide healing to a certain degree. In order to so, I need to know what happened. I will not judge, Master Baggins, if that's what you're afraid of," Níniël explained, her voice lacking any sense of urging him into something he was not willing to do. "Time has no meaning on this island. So if you prefer to postpone the telling of your tale to a later point, you are welcome to do so."
"But in the end I will still have to tell it. So what difference are a few more hour, maybe days, or ever weeks going to do?" He still felt uncomfortable to say the least, but even though he did not know why, he felt he could trust Níniël. And so Frodo started to tell her everything that he and Sam had gone through. Níniël was listening quietly, never interrupting him or asking him questions. Sometimes Frodo stopped with his story and always when this happened, Níniël found something interesting outside the window to look at. This gave Frodo the time to wipe away the tears that had escaped his lids without his consent and to keep his dignity. And whenever he was ready to go on with his story, Níniël's gaze would once again be fixed upon him and she would listen to every word he said. To his genuine surprise Frodo found it rather easy to tell his story to her and that was something he certainly had not experienced before. It was one thing to write the story that had changed his life forever into a book knowing that others would read it, for that left him with the comfort that they wouldn't get to see the pain and terror on his face whenever he reminisced about things long lost in the shadows of the past. But telling his troublesome memories to someone was an entirely different matter altogether. It deprived him of all his masks and he couldn't hide his feelings in between the lines of his delicate handwriting in Bilbo's old book. And while it was still more than just a little painful to remember that one single year of his life, it didn't bother him as much to tell it to her, for somehow he knew, that she understood. He didn't know why, but there was something about her, that gave him all the reassurance he needed.
Had anyone come to pass by the Smial and dared to look through the round window into the small bedroom, he would have seen two Hobbits, one of them talking while the other one was listening and all the while that someone standing outside the window would have been left with the impression of a Hobbit trapped in the memories of his own dark past and another one that was not merely listening to what she was told, but would see beyond all that and understand his soul.
Two hours later Frodo finally finished his story with the cleansing of the Shire. "This is what happened. Not more, not less. I hope my telling you all this hasn't bothered you too much," Frodo eventually concluded, making sure to examine the neat pattern of the bed covers thoroughly. Níniël smiled sadly, but Frodo never saw it.
"I am glad and truly honored that you found the strength to relive all this again for now I know what I needed to know." She then checked the clock standing on top of a chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room. "It's almost luncheon. Would you like to visit Master Bilbo? Maybe you wish to rest for a while first?"
"Rest?" Frodo seemed to consider that word for a while. Less than three years ago, he would have laughed at her, but now he felt old, really old, even though he was only at the age of fifty-three (that is still very young in Hobbit years, considering that we're only coming of age at the age of 33). His body screamed for rest but Frodo decided to ignore his physical needs. Too desperate was his wish to see Bilbo again. "No, I don't want to rest. As much as the solitude is appreciated, it is a bit lonely even if these surroundings are quite familiar."
"All right then. Please make sure to wear something warm. Even though it doesn't look like it, it is quite chilly outside." Níniël smiled at him and then got up from the bed and left the room to allow Frodo some privacy while he was getting dressed.
Frodo's eyes were fixed on her retreating form before he eventually got up from the bed with a heavy sigh. She had left quite the impression on him – he couldn't deny that. Shaking his head he grabbed his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head, hiding the marks his past had left on him from prying eyes that were not there. Frowning he realized that a feeling that he had long forgotten was beginning to reform somewhere deep inside him. What was it?
Slipping on his waistcoat he heaved another sigh all the while trying to name that feeling that was pushing through the numbness of his heart that had been threatening to swallow him alive for the previous two years. Was it trust? Could he trust her? Or would she hurt him, ask too much of him as others he had once put his faith and trust in had done before? Shaking his head to clear some of the cobwebs he reached for his old worn jacket and the gray elven cloak and hurried to dress into both.
When he finally emerged into the hall of the smial he found Níniël standing by the round front door, waiting for him. "That looks like an elven cape, that you're wearing," she notice with a smile as he approached her. "Perfect choice for today. It'll keep you warm."
"It should. I am a bit cold," Frodo nodded and Níniël smiled at him. She never told him that it was terribly hot in the hole.
Outside it was way cooler, than Frodo had expected. Even his cape, that had done so much good for him on his long journey, couldn't prevent him from freezing. A sharp breeze was coming from the sea and blew the fine dry sand off the coast over the countryside. Níniël led him into a small forest of palm trees nearby. Frodo had never seen anything like it before. When they entered the forest, he discovered beautiful birds, which seemed to put every single color one could think of on display. The trees were high and the ground was covered with all sorts of grass and flowers. As they progressed deeper into the forest, the shape of the trees and flowers changed. They became more common, more the sort of trees Frodo was used to. And after a thirty minutes walk into the depths of the forest, which turned out to be quite a lot larger than he had anticipated, his eyes discovered a small wooden hut in the middle of a bright clearing.
"We're almost there," Níniël said and turned to see how Frodo was doing. To her surprise she saw, that color had returned to his face and his cheeks were no longer white, but adorned with a nice shimmer of soft red. She stifled a sigh of relief. When they reached the hut Níniël knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. Frodo followed her keeping some distance between them and they walked straight into a cozy looking parlor with a crackling fire, many drawings on the walls, two large windows that allowed a lot of sunlight in and three large and comfortable looking armchairs. Bilbo was sleeping soundly in one of them and to Frodo's surprise, Gandalf was sitting in the other one, watching his old friend. Obviously the old wizard had heard them coming in, since he turned in his seat and greeted both Frodo and Níniël with a warm smile.
"There you are, Frodo. I haven't seen you in quite a while," Gandalf said and with a wave of his hand he invited Frodo to sit down on the one empty chair next to him.
"Hello Gandalf. I don't really understand how you can refer to one single day with quite a while," Frodo said smiling back at him and accepting his offer, he sat down.
"Oh, Níniël, haven't you told my dear friend that he has been fast asleep for four days?"
"I have not had a chance yet," she said smiling at Gandalf. "I'll leave you wise men alone now. I still have a lot of work waiting for me at home. Do you want me to escort Master Baggins back to his hut tonight?"
"Yes, I think that's a right good idea. I doubt that he would find his way back in the darkness," Gandalf said and smiled at tiny Níniël. "Now back to business, young lady!" he growled.
"Good day to you, Masters Gandalf, Frodo, and Bilbo," she said and left.
"You too," Frodo muttered and turned to face a grinning Gandalf.
"You happen to like her, don't you," the old wizard said, making it sound more like a statement than a question.
"Yes," Frodo nodded. "But she's a really strange Hobbit."
"Oh yes, indeed she is," Gandalf agreed and his grin grew even wider.
"It's not what you think," Frodo said, annoyance evident in his voice. "She's a wonderful person and easy to have around. That's all."
"Yes, I know, Frodo," Gandalf said, seriousness returning to his old features. "But you should never forget that she's not an ordinary Hobbit. Remember where we are."
"But she seems so normal. It's just that I've never heard of her or her family's name before. Is she from the Shire?" Frodo asked, now curious about the present and past of this lass.
"Both yes and no. Níniël Cuilanathûr is the daughter of Murinel and Rosmertha Flourish. Her family used to live in a small village south-east from Bree. I can't recall its name. Both her mother and her father were killed by some Nazgûls, fifty-one years ago. Níniël never got to know them, because all of it happened the very day her mother had given birth to her. I was on my way to pay dear Bilbo a visit and found them all dead, except for baby Níniël. I found her and took her to Elrond and he had her brought here. That's why you've neither heard of her family nor her. You were a mere toddler at the time," Gandalf explained. He took a deep breath in. "My dear Frodo, there are some sad news and I am afraid that I can't spare you hearing them."
"Then do tell," Frodo said in a calm voice. In a way he had become used to getting bad news.
"You know that Bilbo is a very old Hobbit now, he recently celebrated his 131st birthday. I've talked to the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, and Níniël and they all agreed on one very sad fact. Bilbo will die soon." Gandalf said silently and then watched the face of his friend. All the color that he had regained during his walk with Níniël was gone.
"Why?" he whispered, staring into the fire.
"It's not because he used to be a ring bearer, if it's that what frightens you. He's old and his body won't work properly anymore. Even though this island is part of the undying lands, eternal life is not granted here. Actually he has asked Níniël to bring you here, since he wanted to talk to you in private as long as he is still able to do so. And that's exactly why I'm taking my leave now." Gandalf got up from his seat and looked down on Bilbo's sleeping form. "Wake up you old sleepy head," he said and gently slapped the old Hobbit's cheeks. Immediately Bilbo jerked awake and when he eventually recognized, where he was, he started to smile.
"Oh there you are my dearest Frodo. I'm glad Níniël obeyed my wish so quickly," he whispered.
"I'm going to leave you now," Gandalf said and bent down to hug Bilbo. "Farewell my friend." The tall Wizard let go of the small Hobbit and then without another word he left the hut.
Outside Gandalf found Níniël sitting on a bench in front of the hut, her gaze fixed on something not visible to him deep within the forest. Quietly Gandalf sat down next to her and joined her, lost in his own musings.
"So what can you tell me about Frodo?" he addressed her after a while, still staring into the countless in-betweens of the trees.
"There is still a great darkness and great grief inside of him. Even though the physical wounds are not entirely healed, they are not what concern me the most. It's rather his emotional state. All that he did – everything that he was forced to do - has almost destroyed his soul. He was never what you would consider an ordinary Hobbit and in that way he is very special and will one day be rewarded with great honors and fame, but he has lost his home in this world. Frodo feels as if he doesn't belong here anymore - it's almost as if he thinks that there is nothing left for him that is worth living for. I am afraid that he is waiting for death to finally come and claim him, for he feels that death will be his only relief," she told Gandalf of her observations, her voice sad and quiet. The Istari's eyes had widened considerably while she was speaking and Níniël saw what she could only describe as guilt and pity in them.
"I'm afraid I've asked too much of him," Gandalf admitted, his voice rising hardly above a whisper. "I should have known, that it is not right to burden a Hobbit with the obligation of trying to destroy the One Ring."
"No, Gandalf. Don't blame yourself. It was his choice. It was him who said that he would carry the Ring into Mordor. I don't think he ever truly believed that he could destroy it. At least not at first. Maybe it was the Ring's growing influence on him that made him want to do it. Isn't that saying in the Shire? Stubborn as Baggins?" Níniël looked up at the Wizard and saw him smirk.
"I believe it is."
"I think he feels that he has failed, that he didn't complete his quest. Because he was pure of mind, body and soul the Ring's influence on him could plant that ever growing whisper of a doubt in his mind."
"He is no longer."
"Indeed, he is not. He needs time to heal and to find his paths in this world again." She hesitated to continue. Níniël knew that what she was about to ask for now, was against the rules. She gathered her inner strengths and continued. "I know that this is against the old ways, but once Frodo will be better, both emotionally and physically, he will have to return to the Shire. It is where he belongs after all."
"You know that this is impossible," Gandalf said.
"All I know is that it has to happen, if you want Frodo to find peace of mind again. Besides you know it is possible to return to Middle Earth. I am allowed to whenever I wish to do so," Níniël argued.
"But you don't really want to leave, do you," Gandalf said, now slightly worried, that Níniël actually was considering leaving the isle, for she would never be able to return.
"Not now. Thanks to you I have my own quest to fulfill now and that quest is Frodo Baggins. I will move to his place for a while. I'm afraid it's the only way for me to keep a close enough eye on him."
"I understand. But I cannot decide upon his returning to the Shire. It's the decision of the Lady Nessea."
"I know. And I also know for a fact, that she's well known for her wisdom. She'll know the right thing to do. For now, I will do for him what I can." Níniël got up from the bench and came face to face with Gandalf. "You're a good friend Gandalf. And even though you know a lot about us, you obviously don't know everything. All you wise Elves and Wizards will have to trust me, for I am what you are not. A Hobbit. Fare you well now, my friend," she said with a hint of a smile and without looking back she disappeared into the forest.
Very late the same evening, Níniël hurried towards Frodo's smial after she had not found him at Bilbo's hut. Only Gandalf had been there and told her what had occurred. As she approached the Hobbit hole with quick footsteps she found the front door open. Although she knew, that no evil could come and harm him in any way, worry that was on the brink to panic had taken hold of her heart. Quietly she entered through the round door and it took her eyes some time to adjust to the darkness as the candles in the hall weren't lit and the rest of the hole was equally dark. But Níniël could feel Frodo's presence in the hole and so she started looking for him. To her great relief she found him in the dark kitchen sitting by the open window, staring out into the darkness of the night. As far as she could see, his eyes were puffy from too many tears shed and he stared without seeing into the night, the pale skin of his face only illuminated by silver moon light.
"He died," Frodo whispered without looking at her and a single tear ran down his cheek. Níniël rested a comforting hand on his right shoulder, but said nothing. "But I guess I should be grateful that he could die such a peaceful death," Frodo went on, his voice never rising above a hoarse whisper. Gently Níniël helped Frodo up from his seat and with silent agreement he allowed her to guide him into his bedroom. Once she was certain, that he was all right, she left Frodo alone.
Níniël woke early the next morning. After she had left Frodo in his bedroom she had retreated to the living room and had sat down in front of the fireplace, a book in her hands over which she had fallen asleep sometime during the night. Yawning she got up and stretched before she went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for Frodo and herself. It was quiet in the smial and before she went to work, Níniël opened the window to let in the fresh morning air as well as the sounds of the morning birds that were greeting the day with their melodic voices. After she had lit a fire in the cooking place she hung a water kettle over the flames, stopping for a while to warm her cold hands. She went into the adjourning storage room to retrieve some eggs when she all of a sudden heard weird noises apparently coming from Frodo's bedroom. Quickly she put the eggs on the kitchen table and hastened towards his room at the other end of the smial. She was about to open the door to see what was happening when the sounds stopped and the only thing left to be heard was Frodo's labored breathing constantly interrupted by him mumbling incoherent words. Fear took hold of her; fear of what she knew was going on behind the still closed door, as his words became more intelligible. Wasting no more time she entered the room and swiftly she made her way towards Frodo's still figure on the bed. His chest was heaving rapidly as his dream imprisoned him in its darkness and despair. Níniël's fingers were trembling when she started to unbutton his shirt in order to inspect what she knew had put him in this deadly peril. As she worked on his shirt she kept mumbling his name, knowing full well, that he would not hear her, that her voice had no power to intrude the seizure and get through to the Hobbit.
Eventually she uncovered his shoulder and saw that the old scar there had reopened and was angrily inflamed. Frodo whimpered in pain when she touched the angry hot skin surrounding it and Níniël quickly mumbled an apology he never heard. She made haste as she stormed into the hall where she had left her bag and returned to the bedroom, rummaging through the bag's contents and eventually producing a small black leather case containing various instruments as well as a small tightly closed jar and some bandages. Carelessly she dropped everything on the nightstand and opened the leather case to retrieve a small knife from it.
"I am sorry, but it has to be done," she whispered as she brought the knife down to Frodo's shoulder, willing the tremor of her hands to stop as she proceeded to open the wound further. Frodo let out a heart wrenching scream of agony as the knife cut through his flesh and black pus began oozing out of the reopened wound. Níniël put the knife aside and lacking a piece of clean cloth she used his shirt to wipe away some of the nastily smelling sticky liquid that kept flowing out of his shoulder. "I'll be right back," she whispered once Frodo had calmed a little and rushed into the kitchen in order to fetch some hot water and clean cloths.
When she returned to his bedside the oozing had stopped and she added some silvery leaves to the hot steaming water in the bowl she had brought with her. Almost burning her fingers she soaked a piece of white cloth in the liquid and cleaned the wound properly this time. Once she was sure that it was clean enough, she reached for the jar on the nightstand and put some of the ointment it contained onto the wound. She had to fully remove his sweat soaked shirt in order to bandage the wound properly. It took her a while to do so, but eventually she accomplished her task and with a sigh of relief she sat down next to him and took his limp hand in her own, the only thing left for her to do now, was to wait for him to wake up.
Her fingers had never ceased caressing the smooth skin of his hand when Frodo's eyes slowly fluttered open a few hours later. Níniël looked up at him and greeted him with a warm smile.
"It's over," she whispered and gently stroked his pale cheek.
"It happened again, didn't it," he stated, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
"Yes," she confirmed his suspicion. Frodo tried to sit up on the bed but his face contorted in pain when he moved his shoulder. "Easy," Níniël tried to soothe him and with a hand firmly pressed against his chest she forced him to stay still. "Let the medicine do its work, Master Frodo. The remaining poison of the Nazgûl blade has finally come out and it will take some time for it to heal." Frodo nodded obediently and closed his eyes for a few moments. "Why don't you try and rest some more while I go and prepare something to eat for you. You need to regain your strength." Even though Frodo found the thought of food quite revolting he nodded in agreement and Níniël eventually let go of him. Getting up from his bedside she quickly gathered her remaining supplies and was about to leave when Frodo's voice stopped her.
"Why is your name of elven origin?" he asked her, his eyes still tightly shut in a feeble attempt to block out the pain coming from his shoulder. She hesitated for a moment too long and he was about to take his question back, when she began to speak.
"I never had a Hobbit name. My parents were killed before they had a chance to name me. So I was given an Elven name. They named me Níniël Cuilanathûr for they thought that it would suit me," she explained quietly.
"What does it mean, then?"
"Níniël means 'Child of Tears' and Cuilanathûr means 'Healer of the soul'."
"'Healer of the soul'," Frodo repeated thoughtfully and eventually opened his eyes to look at her.
"Yes," she shrugged her shoulders. "I still wonder why they've chosen this name for me. I have not healed any souls so far in my life and I probably never will. But far be it from me to question the Queen's wisdom." She paused and smiled at Frodo. "Rest now. I will be back in a little while." With it said she left the bedroom and left a weak and stunned Frodo behind.
"Child of tears," he whispered before sleep once again claimed him.
Later that same day Frodo felt much better and to his utter surprise, the pain in his shoulder had lessened considerably. He had eaten some and he felt some of his strength returning already. Níniël even agreed to accompany him on a walk into the garden once she had made sure that he had not developed a fever. The moon was already high in the sky when they were engulfed by the cool autumn breeze that flew softly over the hills and trees. They sat down on a bench in front of the smial and enjoyed the silence and peace of the night for a while. Eventually it was Frodo's voice that broke their silent reverie.
"It's beautiful here," he said and took a deep breath in. "So very peaceful…"
"That's why it is called Tol Sîdh – Isle of peace," Níniël said and smiled. "It's the perfect place for a former Ringbearer to rest and heal."
"There's something weird, though," Frodo said thoughtfully and sighed. "Even though I couldn't stand it to be in Hobbiton anymore, I miss it. And I miss the people living there. I was so consumed by my grief and troubles that I could not appreciate their efforts of making me feel welcomed and loved. Even though the Ring was long gone, I was – and probably still am – under its spell. It frightens me. And it frightens me that in a way I wish I could return to the Shire, go back home and feel at home again."
"I see," said Níniël quietly.
"You understand?" Frodo asked her somewhat surprised. She nodded.
"This is not your home. And it never will be. You don't belong here," she mused and silence once again fell over them.
"What about you? Do you belong here?" Frodo asked her after a while and he could sense that there was no simple answer to his question.
"I don't know. Both yes and no, I suppose. I never had a choice. It was my destiny to come here, to grow up here, to become a part of this isle. I often wondered what my life would have been like had things not occurred the way they did. However I do firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it just takes a very long time to see reason in the things that all of us have to endure and live through. Maybe one day you will understand why you were destined to carry that Ring to the edges of Sammath Naur."
"I wish I could understand, Níniël. But I don't and to tell you the truth I still wish that none of this had ever come to pass."
"But it did and there's nothing you could do to change that now. That day, when you accepted the Ring as your burden, your life was turned upside down and you probably didn't realize back then that from that moment on, it would never be the same again. Thanks to you, Middle Earth survived to see another age but you were left behind – you never saw the future rising. Heroes are easily forgotten, although I doubt that they will ever forget about you. They probably just don't understand the extent of the ordeal you had to go through and you can't blame them. There's nothing within their horizons that could be compared to what you had to live through."
Frodo never answered her and chose to listen to the sounds of the night as he was pondering her words. Eventually he got up and proceeded to go back inside. Níniël followed him quietly and closed the door behind them.