AN: Since I'm having some major formatting problems the small tidbits from the "author's" POV of this story at the beginning of some of the chapters will be in italics from now on. I will edit previous chapters in the same way soon.

A heartfelt thank you goes to my reviewers daddys number 1 girl, will zona, and Ilse. They are very much appreciated.

astudyinwhy: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Niniel will indeed come back, but I suppose that wasn't difficult to figure out. ;-) I love your nickname, by the way.

A special thanks goes to FairyTaleLover6. I enjoy our "conversation" a lot and whether you realize it or not, you're giving me a lot of encouragement to continue with this story.

So far this was the most difficult chapter to revise. It is - as a matter of fact - a complete rewrite and hopefully better than the original version. This chapter is even darker than the previous one with some high Frodo angst. So be warned. ;-)

Please leave a review if you enjoy this chapter. It only takes a minute and very likely it will make my day. ;-)

LadyInBlack

Chapter Fife: Shadows of the past part 3

The silence in the small room of Naneth's pharmacy was deafening when she finally paused with the telling of her tale. I was shocked to hear all of it and the look on my mother's face bore evidence that the worst was yet to come. She looked tired and worn as it was and I was reluctant to urge her to continue telling me about father's time of healing on that strange island.

"He was hurting," Naneth whispered and I looked up at her and studied her features. "With the Ring gone and the wounds finally healed he felt as though he had lost all purpose in his life. I knew then that Gandalf was indeed right when he suggested that there was more between your father and me than what was considered normal for a patient and his healer. I was heartbroken when he threw me out of his life that night." Her eyes were glassy from unshed tears and I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but something in her stature told me, that she needed to relive this memory on her own.

"What happened then?" I asked in a very quiet voice, uncertain whether my query was appropriate. To my utter surprise Naneth smiled weakly.

"Nothing at first. I didn't speak to your father for the next six months. He would allow no one to talk to him or even visit him, except for the weekly deliveries of groceries and other necessities provided by the Elves residing on Tol Sîdh. Sometimes Glorfindel would take that task upon himself and he'd visit me after accomplishing it. However what he told me about your father's state of mind and general health troubled me deeply. There wasn't much Glorfindel could tell me, for Frodo never said a word to him, but from what I gathered your father had given up any hope and was waiting for one final blessing to come and claim him." Naneth's voice faltered and tears ran down her cheeks as she recalled that specific time of her life.

"His death," I concluded and my suspicion was confirmed with a hardly visible nod.

"Sometimes I saw him when I passed by his smial, as he sat on a bench in his garden, his eyes staring into nothingness. And every time he realized that I was there, considering to approach him, he rose and went inside, closing the door firmly behind him and thus effectively shutting me out of his life. So I would continue on my way to wherever I was headed, my soul burdened heavily with grief and sorrow for him. He was slowly decaying, my child and I was certain that I would lose him to the shadows after all."

"I thought the island was supposed to bring healing to those that suffer? I think it is quite understandable why father might have felt betrayed. After all you've told me his torments were only heightened by the magic of the island," I argued, suddenly feeling very sorry for my father. It was hard for me to understand, why such an extraordinary Hobbit – as he without a doubt was – would have to endure so much. My love for him made me feel all his pain to some extent and I was admiring him for I don't remember a single occasion when he had shown it in front of his children.

"Remember your father's words. There are some hurts that go too deep … that have taken hold. Your father was no longer the Hobbit he used to be before the Ring came to him. At Elrond's council he had offered to take the Ring to Mordor of his free will. But you know how Hobbits are. After the destruction of the Ring your father was thought of as a hero in all of Middle Earth – but not so in the Shire. Everything your father had done was most uncommon for a Hobbit and so were the adventures of his beloved 'Uncle' Bilbo so many years before him. In a way such strangeness was expected from a Baggins, but the Shire-folk simply couldn't comprehend that a single Hobbit was able to change the course of the future for all of Middle Earth."

"That is not fair," I pouted much like a small child and that made Naneth laugh.

"It is not," she grinned but her face became serious again rather quickly. "Your father felt estranged from his own kind. Of course there had always been talk about him because he looked quite different…"

"Too thin, those blue eyes…," I nodded. "I've heard much of their talk throughout my years," I sighed and allowed myself a small smile as I tried to impersonate some of the hushed whispers about my father. "Too thin he is, that Master Baggins. It's not healthy for a proper gentle Hobbit. And those eyes, mind you, they're not natural. Reminds me of that Elves-folk old Bilbo Baggins used to talk about."

"They're still talking about him in such a way?" Naneth was surprised and shook her head in mild amusement. I decided that it would be rather wise not to tell her, that there was actually similar talk about Master Baggins's wife – except for the blue eyes of course.

"It is to be expected. He is a rather unusual Hobbit – in a very good way," I smiled.

"Sometimes I wonder who it really was that gave your father peace of mind," Naneth smiled at me and for a brief moment cupped my cheek softly with her hand. "I wouldn't be surprised if you and your siblings were the ones that brought him just that."

"No," I disagreed, even though I felt quite flattered by my mother's compliment.

"Whatever do you mean, my sweet? Your father loves you more than anything in this world," Naneth was confused and raised her right eyebrow.

"He loves us unconditionally, that is quite true, Naneth. But you are the one he loves the most and gave him back his peace of mind. Every year on the anniversary of the destruction of the Ring or on the anniversary of Weathertop he keeps his distance from everybody, even from us. You are the only one he will allow to see him, to be near him."

Once again silence filled the room as we both stared into the flickering light of the flames in the hearth.

"Well, I think it is time that you hear the rest of this so far untold story," Naneth's voice was quivering as she inwardly seemed to prepare herself for what she was about to tell me. "Six months is a very long time to be separated from one you've come to deeply care about. Frodo was very special to me and I suppose that's why it hurt even worse. But not as much as he was hurting, though…"

~* SIX MONTHS LATER - LATE AUGUST, 1422 S.R. *~

It was with a heavy heart that Glorfindel drove his wagon towards the Ringbearer's smial. He considered it an honor to provide the Perian with food and pipeweed and other things the small hero needed for his everyday life, but the Elf was quite anxious of the state he might find the Halfling in. Glorfindel had not seen Frodo for almost a month for he had been away on an errand of great urgency for the Queen. However when he had last seen the Ringbearer he had debated long and hard with himself whether to tell a certain healer about the condition of her fellow Perian or not. Glorfindel remembered the shock of seeing the Perian as though it were but a fortnight ago that he had last seen him. That little one's appearance was nothing like what it used to be. He had become extremely thin to a point where the Elf was wondering whether the Perian actually ate any of the food that was delivered to him once a week. His skin was pale, and it seemed as though one could see right through it. Dark rings underneath his eyes disgraced the blue depths that were once filled with determination, gentleness, and a wisdom that had come upon the bearer of the One Ring long before he could have achieved it with the accumulation of years.

Eventually Glorfindel stopped the wagon in front of the front gate and swiftly jumped down. He gently caressed the horse's nose as he walked by and then towards the green round door that would hopefully ease some of his fears as soon as it would be opened by the home's owner. The Elf knocked softly against the painted wood and tried to wait patiently. When he was starting to worry for the Perian's well-being he heard tired footsteps approaching the door and shortly afterwards it was finally opened.

"Mae govannen, Iorhael," Glorfindel addressed the Hobbit respectfully and bowed slightly, in a desperate attempt to conceal his initial shock of Frodo's appearance.

"Glorfindel," Frodo's hardly audible voice acknowledged accompanied by a weak smile. He cleared his throat, apparently somewhat irritated by the sound that had just left his lips. "Mae govannen," he added quickly and more clearly now. "It is good to see you, although it is hard to believe that already another week has passed since the last delivery," the Hobbit attempted to start a somewhat innocuous conversation. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" Even though he didn't wish for any company at all, his upbringing demanded at least some sort of hospitality and he silently cursed himself for even asking.

"A very kind offer which I unfortunately must decline. My presence is required elsewhere shortly and I'm afraid I must leave as soon as the wagon will be unloaded," Glorfindel said not unkindly and returned the Hobbit's smile with one of his own.

"Then let me help you unload the wagon. I don't wish to keep you longer than necessary."

"That is very kind of you, indeed, but there is no need. You seem busy," he briefly looked at Frodo's right hand and his ink stained fingers. "I see you were writing again. So why don't you go back to your study and I shall inform you once the supplies in your pantry will be replenished."

"Very well then," Frodo nodded and took a few steps back into the entrance hall. "I will be in my study." With that he turned and quickly retreated into the depths of his smial. Glorfindel proceeded to unload the wagon hurriedly and carried the crates towards the pantry as quickly as the low ceilings would allow him to. He gasped in shocked surprise when he saw, that hardly anything of the previous week's supplies was missing. The shelves were full and bending underneath the heavy weight of the various supplies placed upon them and the Elf had some difficulty to find enough room for the crates that he had brought with him.

It was only ten minutes later that he was finished and sought out Frodo in his study. He found the Hobbit sitting at his desk with his thoughts apparently lost as he flipped through the pages of a small stack of parchments in front of him.

"I shall take my leave now, Iorhael," Glorfindel said in his melodious voice, trying not to startle the Hobbit too much. But Frodo hardly even flinched.

"Thank you, my friend," Frodo turned slowly on his chair to face the Elf. "I'd appreciate it if you could express my gratitude to the Lady Nessea."

"Of course. I shall do so as soon as I see her. Farewell," Glorfindel bowed slightly and with a last worried look on the Perian closed the door quietly behind him.

Frodo let out a sigh of relief. He was glad Glorfindel was gone, even though he liked the Elf well enough. His survival had once depended on him at a time, when thought that his life would still be worth living – in a time before it all happened, before he failed, before he was consumed by darkness.

Leaning back in his chair Frodo closed his eyes and tried to remember the good times in his life. Images of his parents appeared in front of his inner eye as he saw himself as a wee lad running laughing and without a care in this world through the lush green meadows of the Shire. His father would try and catch him and of course would fail miserably in attempting so while his mother sat on a blanket underneath one of the many ancient oak trees watching them with her heart and eyes full of love for the two most important Hobbits in her life. And although Frodo had been naught but a small child he knew that Drogo could have easily caught up with him, but refused to spoil the fun for his only son. Eventually Frodo would slow down and allow his father to catch him and pick him up to take him to the picnic blanket where Primula was waiting for them. With ease the older Hobbit would place his son in his mother's lap and Frodo would snuggle up to her his hands entangled in her brown locks that had exactly the same color as his own.

Then the images changed. His parents were still there and Frodo saw himself again as a child, just a few years older and he was standing by the Brandywine River. There was a boat turned upside down and he saw his parents as they both desperately fought against the water that was about to claim their life. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but no sound came from his mouth as he was forced to watch his parents meet their untimely death. Time passed too slowly for help to come and way too quickly for the two Hobbits in the water fighting a battle that they were doomed to lose. Nothing but a cold emptiness was left in the child's heart and a pain that he knew even back then would never go away. It was his first glimpse at the brutal reality that was life – even in a land as peaceful as the Shire.

Frodo took a deep breath in and opened his eyes. Tears had welled up in them and he wasn't sure whether he should allow them to pass his lids or not. There were no words to describe the grief he felt and yet in a way he knew he deserved that very kind of pain now that the physical reminders of his guilt were gone thanks to Níniël.

Níniël.

A smile began to form on his lips but he quickly forbade himself to let it blossom. For six months he had not seen her and he knew that it was for the best. She certainly would try to stop him to go through with his plan and most certainly she would try to show him why his life was still worth living, why he was not laden with a guilt whose nature and extent she couldn't possibly understand. With the memory of her the memory of the night he had driven her away returned. Not only had he closed his doors to her but also to one whom he loved dearly with all of his heart.

Frodo just couldn't understand how Gandalf could not see the guilt that he carried when his missing finger was such obvious evidence. No, he wasn't blaming the Istari for what had happened to him, for he knew that Gandalf had never wished for events to turn out quite the way they had. Despite his wisdom the Wizard had put his trust in him and Frodo had failed him by the simple act of claiming the Ring as his own. In that very moment everything could have been lost had it not been for that dreadful creature that inadvertently saved all of Middle Earth with its own demise. Indeed. Gollum was the true hero, not him – Frodo Baggins.

He was the failure. He was the one they had placed their trust in. He was the one that had failed them. And all that was left for him to do now was to fade into the shadows, where he belonged.

Despite the odd cold for an August summer day Níniël was sweating. She was weeding her herb garden and had been doing so all morning. For once there were no patients that needed her attention and she used the unexpected free time to catch up on her gardening, that she had been forced to neglect for too long a time. Kneeling in the dirt she gently caressed the purple blossoms of her huge lavender bush. Inhaling the heady scent of the herb deeply she closed her eyes for a moment of utter bliss.

To her surprise she saw a wagon approaching her smial when she opened her eyes again. Getting up from her kneeling position she went to the front gate to wait for the unexpected visitor to arrive. From the short distance she could make out the white billowing robes of Gandalf as he expertly steered the horse towards the healer's home.

"Good day to you, Níniël," he greeted her with a smile as he brought the horse to a halt.

"And to you, my friend. How are you?" she returned his smile and put her spade aside.

"As fine as an old wizard can be, I suppose," he grinned and got down from the wagon. "It is good to see you, my dear Níniël. I hope life has treated you kindly?"

"You won't hear me complaining," she said with a weak smile that indicated there was something troubling her, despite her words to the contrary. "Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?"

"What a delightful idea. It is a bit cool today," Gandalf said and followed the Hobbit inside and into her kitchen. Sitting down on the bench at the kitchen table he watched her as she poured water into a waiting tea pot, then placed some freshly baked cookies on the table and eventually joined him. "How come I've never been to your home before?" he said thoughtfully, deeply inhaling the scent of herbs that were hung to dry everywhere in the kitchen.

"There was no time yet, I suppose," she offered and poured two cups of tea. They sat in silence for a while and while they were sipping their tea, Gandalf hardly ever took his eyes of the Hobbit sitting in front of him.

"Frodo was right," he said thoughtfully after what seemed like an eternity and a startled Níniël looked up at him.

"About what?"

"You're not a child anymore. I do owe you an apology. I suppose I never quite lost the image of that so persistently crying bundle in my arms on my way to Imladris."

"There's no need for an apology Gandalf."

"I met Glorfindel on my way here…" Gandalf said at length, changing the subject to one he knew had been bothering her. Immediately all her attention was fixed on him. "He saw Frodo this morning."

"How is he?" Níniël queried desperately, anxiety for news on the only other Hobbit on the island written all over her face.

"He is not well, as was to be expected. There was not much for Glorfindel to tell for Frodo obviously wasn't too keen on having company."

"That's what I've heard, too. Some of the other Elves that deliver his supplies came to talk to me about him. After the first couple of times I tried to visit him, but he refused to see me, pretended that he wasn't at home whenever I knocked on his door," Níniël said sadly.

"Glorfindel advised with great urgency that you go and see him. Apparently he is neither eating nor sleeping," Gandalf continued, worry etched into his features.

"Don't you think that I would all ready be there if he would see me?" Níniël jumped up from her seat and began to pace the kitchen. She hardly ever lost her temper, but when she did it was usually caused by some major frustration. "There is nothing I can do, Gandalf. Nothing," she spat out the word as though keeping it in her mouth would poison her. "And even if he'd let me see him, I don't know if there actually is anything I can do. His past has come back to haunt him and I am certain that he is succumbing to the dark threats of his own guilt stricken conscience." She paused and came to a stop at her kitchen window. With her back still turned towards the wizard, she continued to speak more quietly. "I've spoken to Naneth. She thinks that this was bound to happen now that his physical wounds are healed. His soul however is not and thus he's trying to simply cease to exist…" Her shoulders were trembling by now, her voice reduced to a shaky whisper. "How can I let that happen, Gandalf? There is so much good in him – I saw it in his eyes, even when he was still caught in his nightmares. There is an innocence about him, a gentleness and such great wisdom of life that we all could count ourselves lucky had we only the smallest bit of all of the three within us. It is his soul that is bleeding now and there is no herb and no ointment that could help him heal." Tears were running freely now and desperate sobs came from her throat that made Gandalf get up from his seat and go down on his knees right behind the crying Hobbit. He gently placed his hand on her trembling shoulder. Turning around she threw herself into his waiting arms, weeping like a child against his shoulder.

"There, there," the Istari whispered softly as he stroked the back of her head gently. "Not all is lost just yet, my dear."

"But what if it is?" Níniël protested and was wrecked by another flood of sobs and tears.

"It is not. And if there is anybody on this island that will find a way to get through to him, it is you, my dear, dear child," he said in a comforting and encouraging tone.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I know Frodo and I know you. He is wandering towards the shadows but he can't find his way or else he would no longer be with us. Right now he is lost to me for I have hurt him in the past by burdening him with that cursed Ring. You on the other hand have never hurt him and thus it should be easier for you to get through to him. I have not yet given up hope. After all this island is a place of peace and healing, is it not?" Gandalf gently placed his hands on her shoulders holding her at arm's length and looking her straight in the eyes. Níniël nodded weakly, still sniffling.

"I will try and visit him again tomorrow. Maybe he'll see me," she said with new found determination. "And if he doesn't, I'll try again and again until he will."

"Now that sounds a lot more like the persistent lass I once held in my arms."

"Obviously. It would seem as though history is indeed repeating itself," Níniël smirked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"How so?"

"Well, weren't you just holding me in your arms while I was crying persistently – as you so pertinently put it?" She grinned at him and Gandalf couldn't help it but had to laugh.

"You've truly become a remarkable Hobbit," he smiled but quickly his face became serious again. "I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. Hobbits never cease to amaze me, after all. However, I still wonder why."

~* Four weeks later, September 22nd, 1422 S.R. *~

August turned into September and after only very few hot days a rainy summer turned into a cool and equally rainy autumn. Several times Níniël tried to visit Frodo and each time his door had remained locked for her. Once or twice she had even seen him, but whenever he saw her approaching his home, he'd quickly go back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. Those few glimpses had allowed Níniël to see for herself how dire Frodo's condition had indeed become. His image was a constant haunt in her dreams at both night and day and as the days were passing by she slowly started to realize that Nessea had indeed been right. Frodo was trying to cease to exist and when she woke up in the wee hours of the morning of the first of Winterfilth, she quickly jumped out of bed and without bothering to dress she hurried into her study. With haste she started to rummage through the various drawers and secret compartments of her bureau and when she eventually found what she had been looking for she sat down and carefully lined the fine carvings in the precious wood with her fingers, a small smile curving her lips. For a moment her worries were forgotten as she remembered what the box contained and the feelings of peace and belonging somewhere overwhelmed her. It took her a while to come out of her reverie and without spending a thought on having some breakfast she hurried back to her bedroom with the box in her hands. After she had dressed, Níniël carefully placed the box in her bag which was already crammed with all kinds of herbs, small bottles of various elixirs and other things she needed for her daily work. Taking a short detour through the kitchen and grabbing an apple she quickly headed for the front door and out onto the path that passed by her smial. A cool breeze accompanied her as her feet carried her towards Frodo's home with more haste than she realized. The apple was forgotten in her hand as she mentally tried to steady herself for the storm of anger she would most likely face.

Eventually the round green door came into view and Níniël was hardly surprised that Frodo was nowhere to be seen. Her heart beat frantically in her chest and sped up to an almost impossible pounding the closer she came to the smial. Raising a trembling hand she quickly formed it into a steadier fist and firmly knocked against the wooden door. It was still rather early and she was fully aware that it was a bit rude to visit anyone at this time of the day, but something inside her told her that any further delay needed to be avoided at all cost. The fact that no one came to answer the door didn't really surprise her and when she knocked again she found to her great surprise that the door was unlocked. Her heart skipped a beat at that and she hesitated for a brief moment, suddenly somewhat frightened by her own courage before she gently pushed the door open. It swung open with ease and revealed the darkness it had previously been hiding that was only disturbed by what little light came into the hole from the tiny windows next to the front door.

With hesitant steps she entered the smial and looked around. Peeking into the parlor she saw no one. "Frodo?" Her voice tore through the deafening silence as she slowly proceeded further into this exact replica of Bag End. Passing through the kitchen and the dining room she went towards the study – the very room where she had last seen the other Hobbit. To her great dismay the door was closed and her hand was trembling violently as it touched the firm wood of the door. Just like the front door it swung open almost on its own only to reveal a sight that made Níniël's heart skip a beat and deprived her of her breath for a brief moment. Dropping her bag to the ground unceremoniously she stormed into the small room and towards the still form sitting in the chair.

"Frodo," she whispered as she knelt down in front of him with her hand reaching up to touch his flushed cheek. His skin was hot to her touch and she drew back her hand in utter surprise when the Hobbit that sat slumped into his chair opened his eyes to reveal a glassy blue.

"What are you doing here?" he asked weakly, his voice hoarse from lack of use and an apparently dry mouth. "You should not have come."

"And allow this day of celebration to be turned into one of grief by your own doing? Look at what you've done to yourself…" Níniël found it hard to hold back her tears as she tried to study his pinched limbs and torso with the eyes of a healer.

"You don't understand… I can't live like this anymore… Not with all this darkness and guilt," Frodo argued weakly and tried to slap her hand away, which had returned to his forehead to determine his temperature.

"Maybe I don't understand, Master Baggins, but as long as you're not dead and cold I won't allow you to give up. Not after I've just found some sense of belonging," Níniël retorted and got up from her kneeling position. Even though the fever threatened to take away his consciousness he shook his head in grim determination.

"Let me be, please. Just let me go and find relief from all this pain," he begged, his voice becoming weaker by the moment.

"No, Frodo. I can't. You once showed me who you are and I cannot allow you to go without a fight. I know that you've fought more battles in your life than you should have had to, but this is the one that really counts. There is a way out of this darkness and I promise you won't have to face it alone. You did not succumb to the call of that cursed Nazgûl blade and you won't succumb to the lingering call and darkness of a cold Ring that has long been destroyed. If you fight this one last battle against Sauron's evil not all the evil in this world will be vanquished but you will be able to live and cease to just merely exist." She paused knowing that his fevered mind was probably unable to comprehend her words. With large brown eyes she looked down on him, trying to catch his gaze with her own in an effort to emphasize the meaning of her words with the determination set in her eyes. "You've already chosen to cease to exist, but you also chose the wrong path. This island is one of healing and peace. But no one has ever said that either comes without a price." Níniël watched him and before he could utter a single word of protest his eyes closed and he lost consciousness. "No," she gasped for a moment fearing that he had finally accomplished his goal. However, when she brought her hand up to his neck she felt a weak pulse underneath his pale skin and she allowed a sigh of relief to escape her throat.

Wishing she were not by herself, Níniël placed Frodo's arm around her shoulder and dragged him to his bedroom with great difficulty. As gently as she could she placed him on the bed and allowed his still form to fall back onto the soft mattress. Already breathing quite heavily she freed him of his sweat soaked clothing and spread the bedcovers over his shivering body. Níniël didn't want to leave him alone but she needed her bag as well as some cold water and so she left his bedroom to gather everything she needed. Her worry for him made her work even faster than usual and so it was only a matter of minutes until she returned to Frodo's bedside and placed a bowl, some clean cloths and a pitcher of fresh cold water on the nightstand. After she had dropped her bag onto the counterpane she opened it and retrieved some dried Athelas leaves, then crushed them with her fingers and added the tiny crumbs to the bowl. Even though the water was cold, the air in the room was immediately filled with the refreshing scent of this most potent herb and once the pitcher's contents were in the bowl, Níniël wetted a cloth in it, wrung it out and placed it gently on Frodo's forehead to bring his fever down.

Níniël sat down next to Frodo on the bed and studied his features for the longest time. Despite the fever coursing through his body, pale wasn't even beginning to describe the complexion of his skin. He was frail and too thin even by non-Hobbit-standards and slowly the realization came to her, that her arrival at Bag End had not been a moment too soon. Again tears coursed down her cheeks and she begged all the powers that she knew and knew not of to aid this dying Hobbit in his struggle back to life.

For the next few hours she just sat there, refreshing the cloth on his forehead every now and then and holding his hand in hers whenever feverish nightmares took hold of his tormented mind and body. It was with great reluctance that she left him alone for a while eventually. Frodo needed fluids quite desperately and since there was no one she could ask for help, she had to go to the kitchen and prepare some tea herself. However, before she left his bedside she placed the wooden box on the nightstand next to the bowl with the Athelas water. She wanted it to be there when he would hopefully wake at last, although she had very little hope that this would happen anytime soon.

A fire was soon crackling lively in the kitchen's hearth and the water in the kettle hanging above it was starting to boil, when Níniël removed the kettle and poured some of the hot water into a clean bucket that she had placed on the kitchen table. She placed the kettle again over the fire and added willow bark and more Athelas to the hot water in order to make a tea that would bring down Frodo's fever. She grabbed the bucket with the hot water and another one she had filled with cold water earlier and returned to the bedroom. The fever was still trapping Frodo's mind in nightmares and when she saw his rapid and uneasy movements on the bed she quickly set to work. She poured some hot water into the bucket with the cold water, just enough for it to be pleasant on the skin of a healthy person. Again Athelas leaves found their way into the water but this time Níniël did more than just placing a cloth on Frodo's forehead. She drew back the covers and began to sponge him down with the lukewarm water, first his arms and legs and finally his shoulders, chest, and stomach until the cold sweat was removed from his almost white skin. He had begun to tremble violently during her administrations and so Níniël tucked him back in warmly, replacing the cloth on his forehead with a cooler one once more before she returned to the kitchen. The willow bark and Athelas tea in the kettle was ready and she poured some into a teapot leaving some room in it as she wanted to add lots of honey to it in order to alleviate the willow bark's bitterness and at the same time to get some nourishment into Frodo's body. After placing the tea and a mug on a tray she returned to the bedroom once more and to her utter surprise found Frodo's eyes open. She rushed towards his bedside, spilling some of the teapot's content over the tray.

"Hello," she forced a smile and set the tray down on the nightstand. "How are you feeling?" Frodo didn't answer but instead turned his head so that he was no longer forced to look at her. "I've made some tea that should help with the fever. The taste won't be pleasant, I'm afraid."

"Go away," he whispered hoarsely, still not facing her.

"No," she said with a lot more confidence in her voice than she actually felt. "I can't."

"You can… and you should. Don't let me poison you… Just let me be," he pleaded weakly but the tone in his voice indicated that he was very serious.

"As I said. I cannot do that, Master Baggins. You are sick and I am healer. I once swore to tend those who need my help and you cannot expect me to disregard my oath," Níniël argued and poured a cup of the herbal tea. "I want you to drink some of this tea and I won't allow any arguments on the matter." Níniël scooted closer towards Frodo and with her hand turned his head so that he had to face her. "You do not get to decide what is poisonous for me and what isn't. I am here whether you want me to or not. I let you drive me away once. It won't happen twice."

"Please. I can't stand this pain anymore." A single tear ran down Frodo's flushed cheek and he tried to turn his face away but she wouldn't let him.

"I cannot begin to imagine the pain you're in, Frodo. But I know that it will go away as soon as you let it. You're holding onto the darkness and the pain because it is the only things you seem to remember. But there's so much more to life and if you allow those who care about you to help you, you will eventually return to the light." She paused and with her thumb she gently wiped a few tears from his hot cheek. When there were no more words of protest coming from him, she continued. "Gandalf is worried sick about you and I wish you could find it within you to let him see you."

"I disappointed him. I do not deserve his support. He trusted me to have the strength to destroy the Ring. But I didn't. How can I ever look him in the eye again?"

"Why is it that everybody can see the greatness of what you did but you? Think about it, Frodo. The highest ranking Elves are paying you their respect. Do you think they'd do that if you didn't deserve it?" There was no response and Níniël knew then and there that no more words were needed. Instead she simply brought the tea cup to his lips and he drank hesitantly. Once it was almost empty he turned his head and indicated that he had had enough. "Sleep now. And lose your demons. I'll be here." Her soft voice lulled him into a sleep that hopefully would provide him with healing and some much needed rest.