Chapter Six: Redemption

The faint sound of knocking against the pharmacy's door made Naneth stop in the telling of her tale. It was already dark outside and even though the knocking lacked the usual urgency, it could only mean that there was yet another emergency that required my mother's skills.

"I'll go and see who it is at this hour," I declared and Naneth nodded tiredly. Getting up from the cozy chair rather reluctantly I went to see who it was that disturbed the quiet of the early night. The door squeaked once I opened it and into view came the quite anxious face of my father.

"Finally," Adar sighed and rushed past me into the dimly lit room. "Is your mother here, too?" he queried and was obviously relieved when I nodded.

"She is in the back room. We were talking. What is it, Adar? Is there something wrong with the twins or Amelia?"

"No, not at all. But do you realize what time it is? I was worried about you, Lily," he smiled at me but even though it was honest, the smile never reached his eyes.

"Naneth is fine. You worry too much," I scolded and eventually returned his smile. Without another word we headed for the backroom and my mother looked up in surprise when she saw her husband enter. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair she smiled apologetically at him.

"Is it that late all ready?" she queried sheepishly and with it tried to relieve some of the tension she sensed in my father.

"Oh, it is even later. I thought you had forgotten about me," he pouted playfully and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. When I saw that I couldn't help but had to smile. My father was never one to show his affections in public – even if the only 'public' in the room was his very own child. "What were you talking about?" he inquired and his eyebrow rose when he saw the uneasy expression on Naneth's face.

"It was about time for our children to know…" she started hesitantly her voice soft and doubtful. "They have a right to know."

"Know what?" Father was getting more confused by the moment and his deep blue eyes locked with those of my mother.

"Where they come from. Where we came from," she explained and in that moment realization began to dawn on my father's face. "There is no shame in what has happened, Frodo." I stood transfixed in the doorway, watching my parents as they debated the matter without uttering a single word. There was something about my father's face, something I had never seen before and judging by the look in his eyes I was quite certain that he would start yelling at my mother at any second. It had never happened before, never had he even yelled at us children, but in that moment he looked ready to just burst with anger. After what felt like forever he sat down in the chair next to my mother, the one I had previously occupied and buried his face in his hands. I was uncertain whether I was supposed to stay or to leave and when I had just made up my mind to leave them to whatever argument they'd probably have, my father's soft voice tore through the nearly palpable silence.

"How much did you tell?" he asked as he removed his delicate hands from his face and turned to face Naneth.

"We got as far as to the day when the shadows were about to claim you forever," Naneth said cryptically. Again there was silence and it took my father almost forever to take a very deep breath in and to rise from his chair. He held his hand for my mother to take it and she did so without hesitation. Eventually he turned towards me and a brief smile appeared on his lips.

"Let us go home," Naneth was about to protest but he shushed her with a wave of his free hand. "There I shall tell you the rest of the story. I fear your mother would otherwise try to downplay her part in all of this by giving the whole ordeal a silly name such as fate or destiny."

I was speechless and followed my parents home to Bag End where - and I was certain of it – my brothers and sister would by now have started a mighty ruckus. However, when we arrived the inside of our home was quite silent.

"They're with the Gamgees," Adar explained as he proceeded into the kitchen, still holding my mother's hand tightly in his. Gently he guided her towards the kitchen table where she sat down. I helped my father to prepare some tea and after a short while we each sat in front of a cup of the hot steaming brew.

"What was in that box Naneth brought you?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer and both of them smiled.

"Oh, since I obviously interrupted this little tale on the day of my fifty fourth birthday – and your mother's fifty second I might add – that is only for much later to tell. You see, Níniël," I was surprised to hear him calling my mother by her name. He rarely did that when he was talking about her to us, "kept me quite busy that day. While I was still trying to fade away, she just wouldn't let me. For that I shall be forever grateful, for she knew what I knew not back then." His eyes became distant and a knowing smile appeared on his lips as his mind was once again consumed by memories. "There was still a life for me out there, without all this pain and grief. I was told later that Gandalf put it this way. I was wandering towards the shadows, but I couldn't find my way. Of course I would have greatly opposed this statement back then, but I could not yet see clearly. The peace that I was longing for, the healing that I was in such dire need of was there right in front of me. But I couldn't see it."

"Naneth can be quite persistent sometimes," I agreed, nodding my head eagerly as I remembered her strictness in the education of her children. Indeed my mother was a very loving and very caring Hobbit, but she would never tolerate any wrong doings of her children.

"So, it was my – our – birthday, but it was not a day of celebration. But magic happened, one I had never seen before in all my life and I've seen my fair share of magic, both good and evil…"

Níniël sat next to Frodo on the bed for the next hours. Time passed slowly as she witnessed the feverish nightmares that shook his frail body and made him toss and turn restlessly. There was not much for her to do except to keep the promise she had given him in his one lucid moment of that day. She stayed with him, held his hand tightly in hers and not a single whimper of pain could be heard in the spacious bedroom when he gripped her hand painfully tight. Without ever breaking the physical contact she kept changing the cloth on his forehead singlehandedly in a desperate attempt to keep his temperature at bay. However, the night grew darker and colder and so did Frodo's dreams. The memories of a never forgotten pain seemed to return even more vividly in his nightmares and the anguish that contorted his face into a fearful mask made Níniël shiver inwardly. Even though the Lady Nessea had told her Frodo's tale long before said Hobbit even arrived on the island Níniël had a very difficult time to image half the horror that Frodo had been through. War had always had its way of claiming the most innocent souls, to victimize them and leave them a mere shell of what they formerly were. She understood that concept but had yet to come up with a remedy for a sickness to which there was no cure that either she or the Elves knew of. So indeed, fighting his fever and being there for him was the only thing she could do and she prayed that it would be enough.

Night slowly turned into morning and the second day of Winterfilth dawned with heavy gray clouds hanging in the sky, pouring down rain on a green land and its inhabitants. During the wee hours of the morning Frodo's dreams ceased and his slumber became more peaceful and provided his body finally with some much needed rest. Níniël was tired but was too worried for Frodo as though to allow herself to lie down and get some sleep herself. She placed a soft kiss against his temple and a sigh of relief escaped her throat when she realized that his fever had gone down considerably.

"I'm sorry," she whispered close to his ear as she eventually let go of the cool hand that she'd been holding onto for many hours. But Frodo desperately needed to get his strength back and if that was to happen she needed to prepare some herbal teas as well as some light food that his weakened body would hopefully be able to digest. "I promise I'll be back soon." After cupping his cheek in her hand for a little longer than was probably necessary she quickly jumped up from the bed and took the shortcut through the study towards the atrium from where she hurried into the kitchen. The fire in the hearth had long died and it took her a while to get it going again. Suddenly all thought of tiredness and exhaustion vanished and without allowing herself a moment's rest she gathered all ingredients she would need to prepare a thick broth. Once the vegetables were sliced and added to the boiling water she stopped dead in her tracks, thinking that she had heard a faint sound coming from the bedroom. Panic rose in her and she stormed back to Frodo's bedside. His eyes were open and he looked at her in surprise when she rushed through the door, almost tripping over the doorstep in her frenzy.

"You're awake!" Níniël stated the obvious while she tried to hide her blushing cheeks from his view by straightening down her skirt. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," Frodo said weakly and closed his eyes.

"Oh no," Níniël quickly walked up to the bed and placed her hands on her hips as she looked down on the other Hobbit. "No more sleeping for you before you haven't had at least some tea and food," she said sternly, but her voice couldn't reflect the turmoil inside of her. For a reason that she couldn't quite grasp, she suddenly felt nervous and was reminded of her days of apprenticeship with the Elves. Many of those she had spent standing next to various sickbeds accompanied by the most skilled Elven healers, not knowing in what way she could and should help those in their care. The Elves had been very patient teachers and Níniël had absorbed all their knowledge quickly. However, they had never taught her how to treat a patient that was as traumatized as the one laying before her. "If that is all right with you," she added quickly, hoping that her fake sternness had not tempted Frodo to oppose her ways of caring for him.

"I am rather thirsty," he said after a while but still did not open his eyes. "Water would be nice," he added.

"Of course." Quickly Níniël poured a cup from the pitcher that stood waiting on the bedside table and sat down next to Frodo on the bed. "Here, let me help you," she said and held the cup to his pale and cracked lips. Frodo wanted to drink greedily but she would only allow him small sips. "Easy now," she whispered soothingly even though she was quite satisfied with Frodo's sudden eagerness to actually provide his body with what it needed. It was a spark of hope.

"Enough," he croaked when the cup was almost empty. Closing his eyes once more he settled back against the pillows and heaved a deep sigh as though the simple act of drinking would have drained him of what little strength he possessed. "Thank you." His voice barely rose above a whisper and he never saw the smile that beamed down on him.

"You're most welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you or are you comfortable with being on your own for a short while. I was just about to make some tea that will help bring your fever down," Níniël asked and made a mental note to slip some caraway seeds into the mixture she was about to concoct in order to trigger his appetite. Instead of giving an immediate answer, Frodo just opened his eyes and stared at her wonderingly.

"Why are you doing all this for me?" he inquired, his weakness suddenly not quite as obvious anymore as it had been before.

"Why wouldn't I?" she replied with a question of her own and with it left Frodo lacking an answer. "I care about you, Frodo Baggins, and it pains me to see you suffering like this."

"What if I deserve to suffer like this? What if this is the punishment for my failure?" he argued and he turned his head away from her, so that she would not see the wetness in his eyes.

"You did not fail, Frodo," Níniël said quietly and before she knew what she was doing, she lay down on the bed behind him. Rolling onto her side she found herself facing his back and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. For a moment she was afraid that he would move away from her touch, that her bold action would cause him throw her out of his life once again, but he didn't even stir. "The Elves did not deem themselves capable of withstanding the Ring's power for a long enough time to journey into Mordor. Men have proven their weakness in the past and were wise enough to decline the burden. You were the only one with enough courage and strength to walk that path and they all knew it. No one else could have withstood the Ring's calling for as long as you did. To do that one must have strength within him that has yet been unknown of – even by the very wisest and oldest."

"But in the end I still claimed it as my own…"

"No Frodo, you didn't," Níniël said firmly and his sudden movement as he turned to face her took her by surprise. Now she could see the tears that ran down his flushed cheeks and his wide eyes that indicated that he probably thought that she had lost her mind saying such a silly thing.

"But I did," he cried out. "I remember it as though it were but a few moments ago that I told Sam that the Ring was mine. The disappointment in his face…"

"Was no disappointment at all and I'm sure of it. Pain, worry, these things. But never disappointment for he knew even then what you still have not understood, Frodo Baggins. You never claimed the Ring. It was the Ring that has claimed you. It was the Ring that dragged you into its darkness, that engulfed you with its powers. No one could have withstood its calling. Not Man, not Elf, not Dwarf, not Hobbit," Níniël spoke with a firmness and certainty that did not allow any arguing whatsoever. "And you, my dear Hobbit, were stronger than all others that came before you. Your purity and innocence were spoiled with so much more darkness and evil than a soul can withstand, Frodo. Nearly killed by a Nazgûl blade, stung by a creature sprung from your worst nightmares and all the while carrying the essence of evil itself around your neck. No Frodo. You have not failed. If anything, they have failed you by burdening you with what they knew was evil at its purest." Níniël fell silent and watched as Frodo was attempting to comprehend everything that she had just said. She cupped his cheek and with her thumb she wiped the tears off them. "Let go, Frodo Baggins. Let that evil rest and no longer hold you captive. There is still beauty and love and goodness in this world and with time you'll feel it again." Frodo closed his eyes at that and Níniël couldn't resist the urge to kiss his forehead. "Rest now. Sleep, if you can. I will be back when you'll awake." With it said Níniël slowly withdrew herself from the bed and came to stand on somewhat shaky legs. Frodo needed some time for himself now that much his silence had told her. Even though she was not at all certain that her words had convinced him she turned and left the room without looking back at the shaking form of the Hobbit on the bed. His grief was overwhelming him then and she knew it, but there was a kind of grief that every soul had to deal with on its own. Slowly Níniël trudged back into the kitchen where a nearly forgotten broth was cooking over the open fire. There was still time to feed it to her patient later.

Not a sound came from the bedroom as Níniël returned to it later that day with a heavy tray in her hands. It was well past noon and Frodo had slept away the rest of the morning peacefully. She had checked on him several times and had even stayed with him for most of it, but had also found herself unable to disturb his slumber. However, the healer in her told her that Frodo needed nourishment and liquids and it was with a heavy heart that she eventually decided to wake him. Trying to make as little noise as possible she put down the tray on the nightstand and poured a cup of a rather strong herbal tea made of willow bark and caraway seeds. She had added lots of honey to it for the willow bark's essence was unpleasantly bitter. There was another teapot on the tray that contained a tea that was not less potent in its healing powers but much more pleasant to consume. The heavy scent of lavender evaporated from it and she hoped that its effect of calming both body and mind would assist Frodo on his way out of his mind's darkness.

"Frodo?" she whispered his name in a barely audible voice and was a bit surprised when he stirred. Slowly and as if he was reluctant to do so he opened his eyes and tried to blink away the at first quite offending brightness of the room, which was only very dimly lit by what little light came through the closed curtains. "I've brought you some tea and broth." Níniël placed her palm on his forehead. He was still feverish but not as hot to the touch as the night before.

"I'm not very hungry," he mumbled against his pillows. "But I'd like some tea."

"All right then," Níniël complied, but grinned inwardly. She was fairly sure that after tasting the willow bark tea, he would beg for some of the broth in order to get rid of the tea's awful taste. Even honey could not disguise the bitterness that well. Frodo propped himself up on his elbow with difficulty and when he was settled Níniël sat down next to him and handed him the teacup which he accepted with a shaky hand.

"Thank you," he said and carefully took a slow sip of the hot liquid. Almost immediately he grimaced as its taste offended his taste buds but to Níniël's astonishment he finished the drink without complaining once. She took the cup from him as soon as he was finished and trying to make himself a little more comfortable against the pillows. "Bilbo used to give me willow bark tea when I was sick in my younger years," he explained and gave her a weak smile. "He also used to disguise the bitterness by excessive amounts of honey."

"Too bad," Níniël said with mock disappointment. "And here I thought that it was a trick only the Elves knew of."

"He has spent a lot of time with Elves," Frodo said with the tiniest tinge of humor in his voice. "Maybe he's learned it from them. But I distinctly remember Aunt Dora using the same recipe. And she was not too fond of folks outside the Shire."

"And here I was hoping that I could interest you in some broth to wash that awful taste out of your mouth," Níniël pouted and tried her best to look extremely disappointed, even though she did not believe for one moment that Frodo would be fooled by it. The sudden light mood was rather unexpected and she felt her heartbeat slow down a bit as a wave of relief was washing over her.

"Well it would seem that you might be able to interest me in some of that broth after all. Or was there another purpose in adding caraway to this awful tea that I am not aware of?" Frodo's eyes were closed, but he raised his eyebrow and the faintest resemblance of a smile was to be detected on his lips.

"Oh," Níniël blushed a bit as she had been certain that he would not be able to detect the third ingredient. "So, would you like some or not. I added quite a lot of mushrooms and they're probably the best you've ever tasted."

"I like mushrooms," he stated the obvious. "But before I'll have some of that broth that smells wonderful I have to admit, I want you to promise me something."

"Yes?" Níniël's eyebrows rose immediately as she stared at him confusedly.

"I'll have some of that broth if you promise to get some rest. You look exhausted," he bargained and finally opened his eyes to look at her dazzled expression.

"Well, that is something a healer is definitely not expecting to hear from a patient."

"You are no ordinary healer," Frodo said at length and the look he gave her made her feel as though he was trying to look right through her. Suddenly Níniël became very nervous and she quickly scanned the room for something that would enable her to change the subject when her gaze eventually fell on the wooden box on the nightstand that she had brought for Frodo.

"I brought you a birthday gift," she said with relief more obvious in her voice, than she would have wanted it to be. Quickly she reached for it handed it to a very puzzled looking Frodo.

"You might not be acquainted with our ways in the Shire but amongst Hobbits it is common practice that we give away presents on our birthdays. So it should be me giving you a gift," he explained and looked even more puzzled when he saw her smile at him.

"I might have been brought up by Elves. But that doesn't mean that I'm completely unaware of the ways of my own people. We share the same birthday, Frodo," Níniël almost laughed when she saw Frodo's cheek turn a little bit redder than they already were from the fever.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered at a loss for words. "I'm afraid I don't have a gift for you, though."

"Don't worry. What I see here right before me is the best gift you could give me," she said. "For the first time since I've met you, Frodo Baggins, I can now see a glimmer of hope in your eyes," she paused for a moment and her smile turned into a frown. "But come to think of it, seeing you eating some of that broth would be a nice gift, too."

"Oh my," Frodo sighed and looked at the flat wooden box that he still held in his hands. Eventually he put it on the bed beside him without opening it even though he was rather curious to find out what was hidden inside of it. "What have I gotten myself into? It certainly seems that you know how to get what you want."

"I wouldn't be very good at what I do if I didn't," Níniël smiled and reached for the bowl of broth and held a spoon out for him to take it. Frodo sat up, took the spoon from her and began to eat hesitantly. Níniël held the bowl for him and couldn't stop a satisfied grin to appear on her face as she watched him eating with appetite. However, after a while only half of the bowl's content had found its way into Frodo's stomach when he but the spoon into the bowl and left it there. "Done all ready?" she asked with some disappointment evident in her tired voice.

"I apologize," Frodo sighed and lay back against the pillows. "I'm afraid I can't handle any more right now. Probably went without proper food for a little too long. But it was good, if it is any consolation." He closed his eyes but opened them again when he heard Níniël put back to bowl onto the tray and watched her. "What's in that other teapot? I hope you don't expect me to drink more of your horrible concoction."

"No," Níniël chuckled. "It's lavender tea. It should help to chase away some of your sleep's demons." She turned to look at him and once again held her palm against his forehead. "You're not quite as warm as last night but you're still running a slight fever." Withdrawing her hand she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Have some of that tea. I promise it tastes a lot better than the willow bark and then try to get some rest." Frodo turned away from her so that she couldn't see the fear in his eyes of the shadows that haunted his sleep. He knew then and there that this was indeed a rather silly notion, since she knew about them anyway, but he was not yet ready to share willingly his innermost thoughts. "I cannot promise that it will make them all go away, Frodo. But it might just make it a little easier." Níniël got up and poured some of the lavender tea into a cup which she left on the nightstand for him to drink from it whenever he wanted to. She picked up the tray and went towards the door quietly. "Rest, try to sleep. If there's anything you need, just call for me. I won't be far." With it said she left the room and the figure on the bed to himself.

Once he heard the door close, Frodo turned and stared at it for a moment and thought that he could still feel her presence lingering in the room. He shook his head trying to clear some of the confusion but regretted it immediately as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Maybe she was right. He should try and get some rest, maybe even sleep for even though he did not know why or how his will to live on had returned to him - to continue and not give in to a despair that was much easier to embrace than any thoughts of hope – it had returned and there was no doubt about it. His eyes fell upon the small wooden box that was still lying atop the covers right next to him and he wondered not for the first time what was inside it. Carefully he picked it up, suddenly very aware of the fine Elven craftsmanship that had brought forth the delicate carvings that made it appear very fragile. The lid opened easily and a surprised gasp left his throat when he discovered the small silver leaf that was inside it. Frodo recognized it immediately for it was unmistakably a leaf that had once been one amongst many that formed the enormous and oh so familiar crown of the party tree in Hobbiton. Someone had preserved it for all eternity by coating it with silver and turning it into the most beautiful piece of jewellery he had probably ever laid eyes on. It hung on an equally delicate silver chain and even though it was obvious that both the pendant and the chain were quite old they glittered in the dim light of his bedroom.

Frodo's eyes moistened as he remembered many happy hours spent underneath the shade of the ancient tree that used to be grounded firmly in the rich soil of his beloved Shire. He closed his eyes and slowly the memories of what it used to smell like returned, what it was like to walk through the bustling yet peaceful village that once had been his home – how the few friends close to his heart had made him feel at home and loved. Frodo gave in to the warmth of the memories of happy days as he slowly drifted back to sleep.

Night engulfed the peaceful tranquility of Tol Sîdh in an ebony blanket and only a few stars could be seen through the veil of clouds that formed curious figures on the black sky. It had stopped raining and Níniël had stepped out of Bag End's front door to take a few deep breaths of the late evening's fresh air. She also hoped that it would ease the constant coughing that had started pestering her a few hours earlier.

With a heavy sigh she sat down on the bench next to the front door and stared at the silhouettes of the trees in the distance. Frodo seemed to be on the mend for the previous hours he had spent sleeping undisturbed by any nightmares that would prevent his body and soul to find the peace he needed so he could heal. No matter how much she wished for his sake that he could be the Hobbit that he once was, she knew that there was nothing that could heal his wounds completely. All he could hope to achieve was to give the memories of his days spent under the influence of the Ring a little less room, so that they would no longer torture him in every waking moment of his life. Much like it was with physical wounds the scars would forever remain and serve as a reminder of the ordeal that had almost claimed his life on more than one occasion and Níniël was determined to do everything within her might to help him find a way that was not a path of self destruction.

Another sudden coughing attack shook her and eventually convinced her to go back inside. Frodo had slept away the remainder of the afternoon without stirring once and whenever she had checked on him he seemed to be at peace. Níniël returned to the kitchen and picked up the tray that she had prepared earlier. To her great dismay she found it rather difficult to balance the tray in her hands without spilling any of the tea or the broth onto it. She was incredibly tired but right now there were more important things that required her attention than her own body's silly craving for some rest.

As quietly as she possibly could she entered Frodo's bedroom. It was almost completely dark in the room and she placed the tray on a chest of drawers before she went to draw back the curtains and open the windows in order to let some moonlight and cool night air into the stifling room.

"What time is it?" she suddenly heard Frodo murmur sleepily and turned in surprise.

"It's almost midnight. You slept for quite a while. How are you feeling?" she asked as she picked up the tray again and walked up to the bed and put it down on the nightstand.

"Better," Frodo tried to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn and propped himself up on his elbows and watched her intently as she busied herself with lighting various candles and oil lamps to illuminate the room. "Thank you," he whispered in a barely audible voice. "For the birthday gift. I'm afraid I cannot accept it."

"Why not?" Níniël turned to face him, surprise and hurt evident on her face.

"It is too valuable, one of a kind even and I don't deserve it," Frodo began and did not dare to continue when he saw the sudden flash of anger on Níniël's face.

"I think it's for me to decide whether you deserve this or not. I presume you know what it is?"

"Yes," Frodo said at length. "That's why I think I know how much it must mean to you and it is also the reason why I cannot keep it."

"It means a lot to me, you're quite right about that. For many years this necklace was all that was left of my past in the Shire. It was the only thing that connected me to where I came from. Gandalf took it with him when he rescued me from my parents' home."

"Yet another reason why you should keep it. It's all you have left from your parents, I presume."

"Indeed. I like to think that it belonged to my mother, probably given to her by my father. But to me it's nothing but a keepsake. For you on the other hand it comes with memories I cannot even begin to imagine, no matter how much I'd want to. It is not only a part of where you came from but more of who you are." Níniël sat down on the bed next to him and her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage as she took his hand in hers and fixed her gaze upon him. "I want you to have this, Frodo Baggins. But I do expect something in return."

"What?" Frodo raised an eyebrow and looked at her with suspicion.

"Let it remind you of who you truly are – a Hobbit, an extraordinary one, but still a Hobbit. It does not matter what or who they expected you to be and how the horrors of your past still try to manipulate you to finally give in to their darkness. Let it remind you," she placed her hand on his chest right above where his heart was beating more rapidly than he had ever thought possible "that you are the only one who gets to choose what from now on your life will be…" Níniël was interrupted by another coughing fit and quickly turned away from Frodo who despite the dizziness he still felt immediately sat up, worry etched into his blue eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm and placed his hand on her trembling shoulder. A few more moments passed before the coughing finally ceased and left Níniël panting.

"Nothing. I'm all right," she croaked still trying to get sufficient air into her lungs. "I might have caught a cold, that's all."

"Have you gotten any rest at all?" Frodo wouldn't dismiss the matter so easily. "You're even paler than earlier."

"Would you stop worrying about me?" Níniël shot him an angry look which immediately softened when she saw the hurt in his eyes. "I'm sorry. But please, stop worrying about me when it is really you who you should be concerned about." She saw that her words had not convinced Frodo at all. "I've brought some more broth and a fresh pot of tea." To her dismay Frodo shook his head and began to shift on the bed, moving closer to the edge.

"I cannot spend one more minute in this bed," he said wearily, still a bit confused by her harsh outburst.

"You really should stay in bed. You're still running a fever…" Níniël argued but fell silent when she saw the look in Frodo's eyes, an odd mixture of determination and despair.

"It won't kill me to get out of bed for an hour or two. Besides, there is something I need to do," he said thoughtfully.

"And what would that be?"

"You'll see. So, may I please eat sitting down at my kitchen table?" Frodo asked politely and moved closer towards the edge of the bed. He got up with some difficulty and even though he felt a bit dizzy he managed to stand on his own two feet without needing any support from Níniël.

"All right then," Níniël agreed, not convinced of his strength at all.

"I will join you in the kitchen in just a moment," Frodo said not unkindly and Níniël nodded. She quickly grabbed the tray from the nightstand but left the teapot there and headed for the kitchen. Once she was out of sight and earshot he heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes for a few moments to chase away the dizziness in his head. He was feeling better, but his back ached quite a bit from being confined to his bed for almost two days. Slowly he walked towards the door that led into his study and took a candle from a chest of drawers, all the while holding onto various pieces of furniture for support. With some relief he noticed that his study was still the same mess that he had left the day before and he sat down at his bureau. He placed the candle holder on a pile of books and put aside an unorganized stack of parchment to gain access to a secret compartment that was hidden at the back of the bureau. Frodo retrieved yet another book, bound in red leather, one that was quite similar to the one that he had left in Sam's care to finish it for him. A brief smile graced his features before he blew out the candle and went to join Níniël in the kitchen.

AN: Thanks for reading. Revising this story is taking a lot more work than I thought. By now the story is already longer than the original version and I'm only up to chapter four of the first version.

Please review. It makes my day.