AN: Please forgive the delay in updating. It would have taken me even longer had I not cut this chapter in half – it is a pretty long one. Life has been rather tiring these past few days and I don't expect it to become any better soon. So I (re-)write whenever I have time and am not too tired to do so. I suspect you noticed the lyrics in this chapter. I've fought long and hard with myself whether to use Prof. Tolkien's original poem or the ones Mr Boyd sang in the movie. They're both beautiful and while I was writing this chapter I had that very song in my head pretty much all of the time, so I went with the lyrics used in the movie. Needless to say, that I cannot claim ownership of them as well as to "Into the West" lyrics and music by Fran Walsh, Howard Shore, and Annie Lennox. I needed to use that song. It is one of the pieces I play quite often and it means a lot to me. Plust it fitted the story perfectly just there. ;-)
I also wish to thank my reviewers and those who are reading the story and decide to keep their silence. It is very much appreciated and I feel quite honored. I'm glad you enjoy the story so far.
Chapter 3: Shadows of the past (1)
"So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them."*
My father spoke those words to our good Uncle Samwise a day before he left from the Grey Havens. And whenever he tells me about these bitter moments of departing there are tears not only shimmering in his old eyes but in mine as well. I cannot even begin to imagine what he must have gone through. As long as I knew my father he was a kind and very gentle Hobbit, that bore only very few visible scars (apart of the missing ring finger) of the ordeal that had changed his life forever. I was still a young lass when my father told me about his journey into Mordor and I was not yet aware enough of all the wrongs that mark our existence as to fully comprehend what bearing the One Ring must have done to an innocent soul such as his. Quite often I find myself wondering whether he felt betrayed when he first arrived at Tol Sîdh. After all peace and healing had been promised to him. However what he found throughout the first months of his stay there was only more pain. He never talked about it much – probably he just wanted this to disappear into the shadows of the past. Naneth, on the other hand, once told me that nightmares still plagued him for many, many years after that.
"There is no evil on this isle, my child. And whatever evil there is will be banished and destroyed. Quite often it is a very painful process to achieve true peace of mind and it has happened that a weaker soul died while trying to do so. But also things often have to get worse so that they can get better and in the end you will look back and you will know that everything that you've accomplished in your life could only happen because of those dark times in the past. They've formed you and made you the person you are. If just the tiniest thing had happened a little differently you might not have turned out to be the one you are. So we should be grateful for everything both good and bad, at least when we're looking back. Maybe we should even be more grateful for the bad things that happen to us for I think that those are harder to come by and thus leave you with a lot more experience in the end. Not all bad things are of evil."
Yes, my father was a wise gentlehobbit, if I dare say so, although I have to admit that I only understood many of the things he taught me years after he passed. After all he knew what he was talking about. I seriously doubt that there are too many Hobbits that have seen quite as many dark and painful days as he had.
Early the next morning Níniël walked up the path leading to Frodo's front door. She was tired as she had walked all the way from Adab Calen where she had spent the previous evening and night with the Lady Nessea. Her bag filled with the necessities of her art that she always carried with her seemed quite a bit heavier than usual. It was a cold morning and she found it difficult to protect herself from the heavily pouring rain. Heavy gray clouds covered the sky high above her and she was chilled to her bones. A feeling of guilt hastened her steps towards the round green door of the other Hobbit's smial. When she had last seen him two days earlier he had been still quite weak from blood loss and the seizure but knowing that Gandalf had paid Frodo a visit the previous night comforted her slightly. Eventually she came to a halt on the threshold and knocked softly against the green paint of the wood and then took a step back as she waited for Frodo to open the door. She expected to hear the faint sound of footsteps any moment but when she had not yet heard anything after a while, she knocked again and softly called the smial's owner's name. Still not getting any sign that someone would open the door Níniël peered through the window next to the front door. There was no sign of life to be seen within the smial. The hallway was quite dark, not a single candle was lit and if she hadn't already done so before, Níniël was now worrying for the hole's sole resident. Left with no other choice she began to walk along the smial's front, climbing over hedges and fences until she eventually found the open kitchen window. As quickly as her tired bones would let her she climbed through the small opening in the wall and by now drenched from both the rain and sweat her feet hit the cool clay tile floor.
Entering the parlor she could make out the top of Frodo's head peaking slightly over the armchair's high back. The Hobbit appeared to be asleep for he gave no sign of recognizing that someone had intruded his home. The fire in the hearth had long diminished and even the ashes seemed to have cooled down already. Slowly, hoping not to startle the apparently sleeping Frodo she approached the armchair and prepared to wake him with a silent greeting. However when her eyes finally fixed on the Hobbit occupying the chair, she paled several shades of white.
"Frodo," Níniël whispered in sheer horror. Frodo's face was ashen and his eyes were fixed on something in a far distance that only he could see. "Frodo," Níniël whispered his name again, a little louder than before, hoping that with the strength of her voice she would somehow be able to get through to him. While his breathing was shallow and quite difficult to detect Níniël felt her own breathing becoming quicker as panic began to take hold of her. The pale skin of his face was too hot to her touch and when she looked down on him she saw two growing dark red spots on the front of his shirt. His hand rested motionless in a pool of blood on his lap, the precious liquid still running freely from where his ring finger once had been. Silently Níniël cursed. She should have seen it coming. The ancient magic of the isle she called home would fend off all evil – even if it was within a poor soul's body. Quickly Níniël tore open the front of Frodo's shirt so that she could examine the wounds left by blade and stinger more closely. Although she had been rather certain that there no longer was any poison within the stab wound, the profound flow of blood she discovered proved her wrong. It wasn't any different with the wound Shelob's stinger had once left on the fragile form of Frodo and thinking quickly, the young Hobbit began to search through her bag and eventually produced a batch of herbs that she quickly crushed in her mortar. Not wasting any more of his precious time she spread the paste over all his wounds none too gently. Once they were covered with clean white cloths, she looked up into Frodo's face and noticed to her great relief that color was slowly returning to the other Hobbit's face. Her sense of relief was rather short lived however, since the red on his cheeks was a result of the fever that was raging through his body. When she became aware of a hardly recognizable movement in his eyes a small smile appeared on her lips. "Frodo?" she whispered again, gently running the back of her hand over his cheek. "Frodo, can you hear me?" There was no response from him other than his eyes slowly wandering towards where her voice had come from. "Good. That's good. Look at me," Níniël encouraged him. "Listen to me, Frodo, please. We have to get you to bed for you cannot be cared for where you are right now. I don't think I possess the strength to carry you to your bed. Do you think you can help me? Just a little?" she pleaded with him, uncertain whether he was in any condition to comprehend her words.
"Can't…" his dry throat would only let a hoarse groan pass his lips, filled with pure agony and something Níniël thought was fear.
"I will help you. Try and lean on me. I only need you to remain upright and move your legs a little. Please, Frodo," she asked softly while she carefully draped his right arm over her shoulders. Another gasp of agony was to be heard when she proceeded to help him to a somewhat upright position and she began to slowly set one foot in front of the other with Frodo following suit. Forever is what it seemed to take them to eventually get to his bedroom and they were both panting for breath heavily when she lowered him onto the soft mattress of his bed. Only then she realized that somewhere along their little journey Frodo had lost consciousness and was once again trapped within his dark memories of days not too long past.
He had begun to give a voice to the shadows tormenting him. He was back in Mordor, a prisoner of orcs all naked and humiliated lying in the middle of a huge dark room. And every once in a while there was this sound, that he couldn't define, but it meant horrible pain for him. The whips, the orcs had used on him.
While Frodo was moving restlessly on his bed caught in the feverish images of his mind, Níniël ran back into the kitchen to get some cold water and clean cloths. She needed to cool down the heat of Frodo's body quickly and since she neither had the herbs at her disposal she needed nor did she have the strength to lower him into a bathtub full of cold water, she had to try and achieve her goal by sponging him down. When she returned to his bedside, she noticed that none of the wounds were bleeding anymore, but the red flush on Frodo's cheeks suggested that his fever had risen with the brief minutes of her absence. Still mumbling incoherently, his eyeballs were moving rapidly behind closed lids. In his dreams, he seemed to be back in the Shire Níniël noticed and the memories seemed to be a little less troubling as he was recalling some of the Hobbits he once was close to and places that had once meant a lot to him. However, Frodo's expression was still painful as he apparently even in his feverish state of mind seemed to know, that he could never see any of their beloved faces again or set foot into places he used to love so much.
"Oh Frodo, how am I supposed to help you all by myself?" Níniël mumbled as she began to strip him of his sweat soaked clothes and then quickly put a cool cloth upon his burning forehead. 'You are not alone, my child,' she suddenly heard a voice coming out of nowhere. Níniël jumped up and scanned the room. No one was there except for her and Frodo. She shook her head and sat down again on the bed. 'Don't be afraid, my child. You can hear me, because I allow you to read my mind,' there it was again the voice – Nessea's voice, as Níniël realized – and this time she was less frightened.
"Naneth, I need help with this hobbit. I don't have all I need with me," she said out loud, although she wasn't sure, whether Nessea could hear her.
'I know, my child. I've already sent the fastest riding Elf who will bring both his strength of body and supplies. He should arrive shortly,' the voice in her head said.
"Thank you, Naneth," Níniël said and then looked down at Frodo again. Although she couldn't understand what had just happened, now was not the time to ponder over it. In that moment Frodo was her only concern and when she felt tears welling up in her eyes, she fought hard to regain her composure. Despair would help neither him nor her. And despair was what once again seemed to have taken hold of Frodo. His lips formed words telling of a nightmare he had lived through only a few years before. Once again he found himself face to face with the Witch-king of Angmar at Weathertop, the place where he had received that almost fatal wound that was now once again forcing him to relive the events of that cursed day. Níniël kept on changing the cloth on his forehead and repeatedly ran another one down his arms, shoulders, and chest until she heard a faint knock on the front door. She went to open the door and outside was Glorfindel, the Elf who had once saved Frodo's life after the attack of the Nazgûl. Not too long after that he had departed Middle Earth never to return as one of many other Elves.
"Greetings, my Lady Níniël Cuilanathûr. The Lady Nessea sends me to bring you these herbs and my help."
"Thank you, Glorfindel," Níniël said tiredly but with a slight smile and stepped aside so that Glorfindel could enter the smial. The tall Elf had to crouch rather low so that he wouldn't bump his head at one of the beams of the ceiling.
"Our good lady has informed me of the dire condition of the Ringbearer. It pained me greatly to hear of his suffering."
"His peril is mortal, I am afraid, Glorfindel. I lack the words to properly thank you and our lady for your quick course of action," Níniël said with a slight bow. "Let us not lose any more precious time, my dear friend. Both the Ringbearer and I require your assistance."
"Then, please, lead the way," Glorfindel said with determination and followed the Hobbit to the ailing Hobbit's bedroom.
Glorfindel went down on his knees next to the bed so that he could get a better look at the Hobbit he had first met so long ago. Níniël was right beside him, rewetting first and then replacing the cloth on Frodo's still burning skin. She moved slightly to pull back the covers to expose Frodo's bare chest and removed the bandages covering his left shoulder. With a frown she turned towards the Elf kneeling next to her on the floor.
"Do you think it is possible for the tiniest shard of the blade which has caused this wound to have remained in his body? Is there even the slightest chance that Lord Elrond might have missed a fragment when he removed the shard these many years ago?" she questioned the Elf, hoping that he could provide some more information.
"Lord Elrond is a most skillful healer and I seriously doubt he would have missed a piece of the blade, no matter how ever small it would be," Glorfindel denied her suspicion. He moved to take one of Frodo's hand in his and closed his eyes for a while. "He was touched by great evil, Níniël, and I am afraid that it still refuses to let him live his remaining days in peace," he whispered suddenly minutes later.
"So it is as I've figured before," Níniël nodded. "It is the isle that is fighting the darkness still lingering within him." With a heavy sigh, she sat down on the bed next to Frodo and buried her face in her hands for a few fleeting moments. "I was so hoping that this battle had already been won two nights ago, Glorfindel. But it appears I was quite mistaken," she said quietly and Glorfindel thought to detect the faintest sign of defeat in her quivering voice.
"All is not lost yet, my precious Níniël. He has you to aid him in his fight and he couldn't hope for anyone more skilled or gifted to have at his side," the Elf smiled at her and gentle stroked her forearm. "Let us begin, my Lady Cuilanathûr…"
The Elf's words were meant to encourage the healer and this they did. With Glorfindel's help she prepared a bath of lukewarm water for Frodo so that she could bring his fever down. After they had taken the unconscious Hobbit back to bed she asked Glorfindel to prepare a special tea to further bring down the fever and generally aid his body on his way to recovery as well as an ointment for Frodo's wounds, that would support his body's ability to heal itself. So while Glorfindel was busy preparing what she had asked him for, Níniël tended to Frodo's wounds and as she did so she found another old wound coming forward once again. The skin around Frodo's neck had turned an angry, inflamed red and thin yet constant flows of blood ran down onto the pillow underneath him and his chest. For a moment Níniël felt a renewed and strengthened fear gripping her heart, but she willed it away, knowing full well, that the unconscious Hobbit needed not her fear or pity, but all her strength so that he could come back from the land of the shadows.
It took Níniël and Glorfindel three days to lower Frodo's fever. Their and his days consisted of bathing the still Hobbit in cool water to support his body in its fight against the tremendous heat raging through it, tending to the wounds that appeared to be just as angry as on the days they'd been inflicted upon their victim, applying various ointments and as often as possible feeding him medicines that would quite hopefully keep Frodo alive. Níniël hardly ever left his side even when there was nothing to be done. She kept singing quiet songs to him, hoping that their words that spoke of hope and light would reach his soul in all his despair. Glorfindel would spend these hours sitting in an armchair that was quite a bit too small for him, tending the fire in the hearth, all the while listening to Níniël's hushed whispers and songs. One of them caught his attention in particular. It was a soft tune, the notes falling and rising ever so lightly.
Home is behind. The world ahead.
And there are many paths to tread.
Through shadows to the edge of night.
Until the stars are all alight.
Mist and shadows, cloud and shade.
All shall fade. All shall fade.
When the last note faded into the heavy silence of the room, Glorfindel couldn't help but notice that tears were running down the Hobbit healer's pale cheeks. "You should rest, Níniël," he said quietly after a while and got up from his seat to approach her and Frodo's bed. "His nightmares are gone for now as is his fever. You have done everything and there is no use in wasting what little strength you have left while you are waiting for him to return to us."
"I cannot leave him. Not just yet," Níniël declined his heartfelt offer with a firm shake of her head. "He is not yet save, even though he appears to be. I couldn't find one moment of rest knowing that there could be another seizure or his fever coming back again. No, Glorfindel," she gently took the Elf's hand in her own and offered him a weak smile. "I thank you for your help but from this point on I won't need your assistance anymore. You look very tired yourself, my friend, and it is about time you return home." The look on Glorfindel's face was more than just a little surprised, but he knew that in a way she was right. He did feel tired and to pretend otherwise would have been lying to himself.
"Call for our good lady, if there is anything you need," Glorfindel told her, although somewhat reluctantly. "I do not wish to leave you, but I am certain that he," he briefly looked at Frodo's still form on the bed, "is in the best hands imaginable. Fare well, my friend." With it said Glorfindel rose and left the sickroom and shortly afterwards the smial.
For a while Níniël stared at the very spot where Glorfindel had still sat only moments earlier and then redirected her attention to Frodo. Her mind was uncertain whether it was the right choice to send Glorfindel away, but in her heart she knew that now a point in Frodo's healing had come that would best only be witnessed by a fellow Hobbit – no matter how strange a Hobbit it was.
Another two days passed quite uneventfully and Frodo still had not regained consciousness. A loud knock against the front door woke Níniël who had fallen into a troubled sleep on the very chair that had previously been occupied by Glorfindel. She rose and went to open the door and was quite surprised when she discovered Gandalf waiting on the other side of it. Throughout his journey to meet with the Lady Galadriel he had had no idea of what had been going on with the former Ringbearer in the meantime. Little wonder that he fought hard for the right words to say after Níniël had finished telling him the gruesome tale over a cup of strong tea in the living room. "Do you need help in any way? I know, that I cannot compare my healing powers with yours, but if there's anything, that I can do for you," Gandalf offered, after they had sat in silence for a while.
"Well, there actually is something that you could do for me," Níniël hesitantly began and looked up into the wizard's old face. He nodded his head, encouraging her to go on. "Well, I think I got to know Frodo quite well in these past few weeks, but still I'm finding it hard to grasp his true nature. After all what I've heard and read about Hobbits, no normal Hobbit would have gone on a journey as he did. And he did take the Ring, even though he knew of the dangers already past and still to come. I don't quite understand, why he took all of it upon himself."
"Níniël , why are you here on this isle?" Gandalf chose to reply with a question of his own.
"It was my destiny," she answered without hesitation.
"And it was Frodo's destiny to take the Ring and to destroy it."
"It was not him who destroyed it. A creature by the name of Gollum fell into the fiery depths of Mount Doom as far as I know."
"True. It was Gollum who joined the Ring on its way back where it once came from. However, without Frodo's remarkable spirit and resilience neither the Ring nor Gollum would ever have travelled as far as Mordor – let alone Sammath Naur. Frodo was the only one – and there were many who offered their services – that had the strength of mind to undertake this venture. Without Frodo's courage and power of will none of this would have happened and the Ring never would have been destroyed. As a matter of fact I talked to Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel about Frodo. It is their opinion that the power the Ring still held over him even after its destruction should no longer be within Frodo."
"The previous days would suggest otherwise. What makes them believe so?"
"With the Ring a part of Frodo was destroyed as well."
"His finger."
"Exactly."
"It does not make much sense, though. How would they explain his symptoms then? Surely with all of the Ring's power over him gone, none of what he is going through right now, would be happening," Níniël argued.
"It's not quite that simple, I'm afraid, for there were many other evils that Frodo had to withstand throughout the length of his journey. Those remained with him and it is them who are attempting for one last time to destroy him," Gandalf tried to explain his and the High Elves' musings.
"That helps me to understand the whole ordeal with the Ring, but I think it's a bit too simple to explain his taking the ring with such a simple word as destiny. It couldn't have been that after all he still had a choice."
"You are quite right, my dear, for it was anything but simple. The moment Frodo took the Ring and left his home to take it to Imladris, it cast its spell over him. Frodo wanted nothing more than to be rid of this burden, but he knew it was his to bear."
"I see." Níniël was confused, because she didn't understand everything about the whole story of the One Ring, but when she was truthful to herself she didn't care. Right now her only concern was the unconscious Hobbit in the bedroom. "Excuse me, Gandalf. I need to look after Frodo." She got up from her seat and went to see how Frodo was doing. He was still unconscious when she entered his bed chamber, so she checked on the dressings once more and tried to get him to swallow some of the tea that was supposed to help him heal.
"You're doing a lot for him," suddenly Gandalf's deep voice resonated through the quiet room. Without making a sound he had followed her and was now standing in the doorway to the bedroom.
"Sometimes I doubt whether it is enough," Níniël said quietly with a hint of desperation and sadness in her tired voice. "But I don't know what more to do. It is him who must want to come back to us."
"It's more than enough," Gandalf tried to reassure her with a faint smile. "He looks terrible, though. Even worse than after he and Samwise were rescued from Mount Doom."
"He's been worse," Níniël whispered, softly caressing Frodo's pale cheek.
"I can only imagine. I was hoping he wouldn't have to go through yet another so very painful period ever again in his life," Gandalf said quietly with a hint of guilt in his dark voice.
"You might have known, old friend. It is what the isle does – it brings out all evil and destroys it. Unfortunately it is not always very gentle in doing so."
"Seeing him like this makes me wonder whether it was the right thing to bring him here."
"Tell me, is it better to live on with the pain and sickness of the past instead of attempting to find health, happiness, and peace of mind?"
"Certainly not."
"Now you may ask your question again, in case it hasn't been answered yet," Níniël said with a knowing smile gracing her lips keeping her eyes fixed on the old wizard's face, who didn't answer for there was no answer needed. "So you see, it was good, that you've brought him here," she continued after a few more moments of silence. "Do you wish to stay with him for a little while longer?"
"No. It's hard for me to see him suffer like this. Sometimes I do really have some strange human attitudes," Gandalf sighed and Níniël saw, how he tried to blink away a couple of tears.
"I shall inform you of any changes in his condition," she offered the Istari a tired smile. "he will live through it. You shall see."
"Thank you, Níniël. Nessea was right. You've really become a very wise young lass."
"Well, I think Naneth is a very wise Elf," Níniël smiled. "However, my days of youth are long gone. May peace and light be with you on your way." And with these last words from her, Gandalf left.
Níniël turned to watch Frodo in his sleep and couldn't stop the smile appearing on her lips while she studied his finally peaceful features. The yawn that stretched her mouth wide open took her by surprise and for the first time in all these days she felt all of the accumulated exhaustion wash over her. Promising herself not to fall asleep, she lay down on the bed next to Frodo, determined to simply allow her stiff joints and generally weary body a few moments of rest.
She turned to lay on her side so that she could look at Frodo's face. Resisting the urge to plant a shy kiss on his cheek, she instead once again began to sing a soft tune.
Lay down your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You have come to journey's end
Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before
They are calling from across the distant shore
Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see all of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms
You're only sleeping
What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea a pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water all souls pass
Hope fades into the world of night
Through shadows falling out of memory and time
Don't say: "We have come now to the end"
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again
And you'll be here in my arms just sleeping
What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea a pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass into the West
Before she had sung the last few lines her eyes had closed on their own accord and with the last word passing her lips sleep finally claimed her.
Frodo woke up with a start. Something heavy was lying on his chest. The Ring, the One Ring. It was back. He wanted to shove it away, but then he realized, that it was not the Ring, that gave him slight trouble breathing. Something rather soft, something that felt like silk met the touch of his hand. Slowly he managed to open his eyes and a smile appeared on his cracked and dry lips, when he saw, what or rather who had chosen his chest as a place to rest. Níniël's head rested there comfortably and for some reason Frodo couldn't and didn't want to disturb her in her sleep. His eyes wandered toward the half open window that allowed some of the new morning's fresh air into the room. The sun was just about to come up from behind the horizon and he could hear the sound of birds singing in the distance.
"Níniël?" His voice was hoarse from lack of use and his throat felt too dry. She stirred a little on top of him but didn't wake and instead snuggled a little closer to him. Frodo couldn't help it but had to smile at that. "Níniël?" he repeated, his voice now a little stronger. Frodo could see one of her eyes opening and she seemed quite confused at first, as though she were unaware of the fact, that she had indeed fallen asleep. Suddenly she jumped from the bed and stood by Frodo's side with her mouth wide open.
"You're awake!" she gasped. "You're finally awake!" she repeated, as though she had to convince herself, that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her.
"How long was I unconscious?" Frodo whispered, trying to smile at her, but failed horribly.
"Almost two weeks. How are you feeling?" she asked now laying her hand on his forehead in an attempt to perform a familiar task to get over her initial shock.
"I'm not quite sure yet. I am just very tired. And quite thirsty."
"Why, of course!" Quickly she reached for a cup of water on the nightstand and held it against his dry lips. He drank eagerly, even though she only allowed him small sips. When the cup was eventually empty she put it back and smiled at him. "There, all better now, I suppose." Frodo sighed somewhat relieved and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I'll let you rest now. There's plenty of time to check on your wounds later."
"NO!" Frodo gasped and his eyes flew wide open. "No. Please, don't leave. I do not wish to sleep. As a matter of fact I'd rather try to leave this bed for a little while. My back feels like it will break if I don't get out of this bed."
"Well, I'm not quite sure whether this is a right good idea... But I suppose you'd try it all by yourself once I'm out of the room and I'd rather you didn't." She frowned for a moment or two but eventually pulled back the covers and helped Frodo to sit up on the bed. After a second's rest she proceeded to help him onto his feet, but Frodo shook his head.
"I should very much like to try for myself," he said and she couldn't quite resist the look in his large blue eyes.
"All right," she agreed hesitantly. "But don't overdo it," she advised and kept her arms reaching out towards him in case he should fall.
About an hour later, both of them were sitting in the kitchen. Frodo had his first proper meal in weeks and even though Níniël only allowed him food that would go easy on his stomach, he really enjoyed it. Before they had sat down to eat, Níniël had once again checked his wounds and they were both greatly relieved, when they found them much improved.
To his not inconsiderable surprise Frodo had to admit that he actually felt good, after everything he had gone through the previous days and weeks. However, there was one thing that had him worried. Níniël looked extremely pale and exhausted and Frodo couldn't rid himself of the notion, that this was his fault. The very moment he was about to ask her to lie down and get some well deserved rest, a knock on the front door cut him off. Níniël immediately got up from her seat at the kitchen table and went to open the door. It was Gandalf standing outside.
"What a pleasant surprise," Frodo heard Níniël's voice greeting the visitor. "There's someone who wants to see you."
"So he is awake?" Gandalf's voice, Frodo realized with joy.
"That he is. Do come in, my dear friend. Careful with your head," Frodo heard Níniël warn the wizard but a bumping sound proved that her warning had come a bit too late. Gandalf followed Níniël into the kitchen where Frodo was expecting them.
"Why don't you go and make yourselves comfortable in the living room. I'll fetch you some tea," Níniël suggested with a wide smile on her face and hurried to prepare the drink for them.
"That sounds good to me," Gandalf said and smiled down at Frodo. "It's good to see you with your eyes open, my friend."
"It's good to see you too, Gandalf," Frodo said getting up from his seat with some difficulty. They both went to the living room and sat down in front of the fireplace. Shortly after that Níniël brought them two cups of hot tea and returned to the kitchen to clean up after their breakfast, giving Frodo and Gandalf the chance to talk in private. At first they both refused to talk about Frodo's illness, but in the end, Frodo could no longer hold his thoughts back.
"I'm worried about Níniël ," he said staring into the crackling fire.
"Why?" Gandalf asked a little surprised that the Hobbit wouldn't elaborate on his experiences during that dreadful time.
"She looks terrible. I assume these previous two weeks have taken quite a toll on her."
"She's a Hobbit. You know how resilient you are. She will manage."
"You know, sometimes I think, that you still don't know all that much about us. Even a Hobbit can't bear everything. I mean, with her taking care of me I feel responsible and indebted to her."
"But taking care of the sick is her job. That's what she's here for."
"Is that all she is to you? A healer? Have you ever tried to see what lies beyond her proud appearance? I think she's a very sensitive lass, who's expecting more from life, than serving everybody else all life long. I guess you've never seen that little corner in her eyes, that shows that she's missing something," Frodo said, anger evident in his voice, which he found difficult to control. Certainly he wished he could take back those words the very moment they were spoken. One wasn't supposed to put their emotions on a silver plate in such manner.
"And what would that something be?" Gandalf said. He was surprised at how emotional the Hobbit had suddenly become.
"I wish, I knew. It's just that when I look at her, she appears to be like a fish out of the ocean, if you get my point." They kept their silence for a while, since both of them didn't know how to handle this problem; Frodo, because he felt guilty and Gandalf, because he had to admit to himself, that after her departure to Tol Sîdh and their meeting again after fifty-one years a healer was all Níniël had become to him, their shared history somehow erased by the still vivid memories of the previous war. Certainly he had never thought of her as anything but a healer.
Still not quite knowing what to say Frodo got up from his chair. "You know, I haven't smoked my pipe in quite a while. I'll be right back." Frodo went into the kitchen to get his pipe. When he entered he found Níniël asleep, her head resting on the kitchen table. In her hands she still held some herbs and a knife. Silently Frodo returned into the living room. "Gandalf, would you mind lending me a hand?" he whispered. Gandalf nodded and got up from his seat to follow Frodo into the kitchen. When Gandalf saw Níniël's sleeping form he gently removed the herbs and the knife from her hands and lifted her up in her arms and followed Frodo who led the wizard towards his bedroom. Frodo drew back the blankets and motioned for Gandalf to lower Níniël onto it. Then he carefully covered her with the blankets, trying not to disturb her sleep. Quietly they both retrieved from the room and returned into the living room. But Frodo wouldn't sit down.
"Would you mind if we sat down outside. I'd like to catch some fresh air." Gandalf happily agreed and soon both of them were outside, sitting on a bench next to the front door.
"I was really concerned about you, Frodo. Things looked bad for you. Níniël might have saved your life," Gandalf said after what seemed like an almost never ending silence between the two of them.
"She has saved my life, Gandalf. I don't remember a lot of the previous two weeks. But even though I was unconscious, I always knew, that I was not alone. Otherwise, I certainly would have given up. There were so many moments when I thought, that if I'd take one more step towards those shadows that held me, everything would be over at long last. It would have been my death and death would have been quite the relief. But something held me back. I sometimes even thought I heard someone singing one of Bilbo's old songs," he paused and smiled briefly, for a moment lost in his thoughts.
"Was that someone perhaps Níniël?"
"I should think so. We have a lot more in common, than I first thought. We were both robbed of our rightful home and we're both quite alone with our burdens and problems. Neither one of us can rely on anyone to fully understand what it is like to be forced to give up everything that has ever mattered to you. We were both forced into something neither would have chosen willingly."
"Well, I think we should be grateful then, that you have made her acquaintance." Gandalf looked down on his friend with a knowing smile playing on his lips. To him, Frodo looked extremely exhausted and tired. "Don't you think it's time for you to go back inside? I bet if Níniël wakes up and won't find you, she'll alarm the entire isle." Gandalf chuckled and Frodo sighed heavily.
"You're right. It feels good to be outside but I'm afraid it has indeed tired me."
"That's what I thought. Let's go back inside then," Gandalf said and rested his long arm on the Hobbit's small shoulder. "You know, each and every person in Middle Earth owes you a lot. You've saved their lives and their future. They - we - are forever in your debt."
"And still there are so many, whose lives I could not save," Frodo said quietly and together they went back inside.
*J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings – The Return of the King, p. 338, Ballantine Books, New York, 2001