elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2005-05-02 08:03 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2005-05-02 08:03 pm
Elegy, Part One Far From Home, Chapter Nine
Hi, there! Here is the next chapter of Far From Home, the Rivendell chapter. Well, at least the first part of it. OK, here's the deal. When I started to write it, I found there was just so much I was curious about as to what the hobbits, all five of them, were up to during this period. So this chapter has now become quite long - and looks like it will have to come out in parts. Note: I really don't want to just rewite the Tolkien chapters, so there will be very little overlap between them.
So! Without further ado, here comes Elegy - Chapter Nine, Part One.
It was later, much later, that Sam came to appreciate the exquisite artistry that was Rivendell, the ancient home of the elves set beside the Falls of the Bruinen, and the last refuge of the house of Finrod on this Middle Earth. But for the first hour after he crossed the River and followed Strider, mounted still on Asfaloth, and bearing Merry and Pippin as well, up the stony steep walls of the river valley, all he was aware of was that Frodo was not far away from him, and that soon he’d be able to see him again. The barren slopes had given away to pines, and smaller trees beneath them, but Sam saw them not. The air was filled with an indescribable fragrance, as the afternoon shadows lengthened and lay before their path, but Sam was unaware of any of it. It was only Strider’s straight back that he watched, on the tall proud white horse ahead, and his eyes were full of nothing but the last sight of Frodo’s face; his eyes fixed on Sam’s until Glorfindel came between them, and the look of utter yearning there as he had desperately stretched his hand out to Sam. It was the only thing to do, letting Frodo go, Sam kept feverishly repeating to himself; it was the only thing that he could have done. But Tom Bombadil’s words were echoing in his ears, words that reinforced what his heart had told him, to not separate, to stay together, no matter the risk.
Trying to fight back down that sharp pain and the unrelenting uneasiness once more, he shook his head, and realized that there were elves coming to greet them, and that Strider was lifting Merry and Pippin down from his horse. Quickly he dismounted as well and caught up with them, Bill following him, as usual, with no need of rope or bridle. Strider was speaking rapidly, in a soft language that he did not understand, although he seemed to catch some elvish words from time to time. The elves were already beginning to lead Asfaloth off, presumably to a stable, and Sam hung back, feeling awkward, with Bill. Surely they would have no room for small ponies at such a place as this. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind, though, if he left Bill to forage on the grass, until such a time as he could get back to him.
Strider was returning to him now though, as Merry and Pippin followed uncertainly behind him, and with a kind smile, he motioned to an elf whom Sam had not before noticed, standing to the side. “Lindelhir will take Bill, and watch over him,” he said quietly to the nervous hobbit, unconsciously worrying the pony’s rope. “Don’t be concerned about Bill, Sam, you may come out to check on him when you wish.”
Sam gulped, suddenly filled with terrors that were too great to consider, and gave Bill a last hesitant hug, reluctantly relinquishing the rope to the quiet elf. “I’ll not be forgettin’ you, Bill,” he quickly murmured, as Strider and the other two had turned to leave. “But ‘tis Frodo I must be seein’ now.”
There were buildings along the path that continued up the steep slope, and though Sam had no time to give them much heed, it seemed to him as though they grew among the tall pines somehow, but were far more ancient. There were a few elves about, however none spoke, neither to Strider nor each other. Yet he had the impression that he was hearing song, although whether it was from the wind in the pines, or the elves themselves, he could not have said. But finally there were arches through which they walked, Strider’s pace unhurried yet more rapid than they were used to, and the three hobbits were hard-pressed to keep up and not appear to be running. And then they were inside, though they had not passed through any door, and were proceeding down a sunlit corridor, though there were no windows to be seen.
The corridor turned into a large room, richly appointed, and filled with sunlight. There was no time, however, to study the room, as unlike the grandest hobbit hole as could be, for in the middle of the room was an imposing figure, and Strider at once bowed before him, murmuring, “My Lord Elrond.” The three hobbits immediately followed suit, and did not dare look up.
“Elessar,” a deep voice responded quietly. “These, then, are his companions?”
At those words, Merry quickly raised his head, and bravely answered, “We are Frodo Baggins’ companions, my lord, if that is what you wish to know. May we see him, please?” and the other two hopefully raised their heads as well.
The speaker, whom they now had a chance to study, was tall, as all elves were, but subtly imposing in a manner to which they were not accustomed. His steady clear glance seemed not to need their words to know what was in their hearts, and he examined them each, in turn, gravely and without comment. “The healers are with him now,” he said at last. “He has been severely injured, indeed, and they will need all of their skill and attention. We will let you see him as soon as they have done what they can for him.”
Merry began to speak, but Strider caught his eye with a quick frown and an almost imperceptible movement of his head to the way from which they had entered, and Merry bit his tongue and said nothing. Sam, who had been staring steadily at the elf, had given a slight movement of his shoulders that both other hobbits, and indeed Strider as well, had come to recognize by this time, but he also said nothing as the elf continued on, “Elessar can assist you in finding your room, where you may refresh yourself. You may await further word there.”
Strider bowed once more, without comment, and the three hobbits followed him from the room, but not without some private decisions of their own.
&&&&&
“Strider,” Merry hissed, as the three hobbits followed the ranger from the room, and into the maze of corridors, courtyards, and balconies that was Rivendell. “We need to see him now, you know that.”
Strider, not looking back as he walked rapidly ahead of them, held up a warning hand. “Patience, Merry,” he murmured, giving a slight nod to the elves that they passed, eyeing them with only faint curiosity. “Wait until we are in your room.”
Pippin exchanged a quick exasperated glance with Merry, but Sam said nothing and kept his eyes on Strider’s back. The expression in those eyes, however, was uncharacteristically stormy, and his jaw was set.
Finally, they passed through one last small courtyard, sunny and filled with fragrant pots spilling over with rosemary and savoury, and centered by a graceful fountain, that filled the air with the gay splash of water over smooth stones. Through an archway on the opposite side they passed, and found themselves in a welcoming room with a fire already lit in the stone bordered fireplace, and two large beds, indeed, vast to their eyes, against the far wall. There were comfortable seats arranged before the fire, and the far wall opened out onto a balcony that they later discovered overlooked the river valley, and was near enough to the Falls that the spray could be felt on the afternoon breeze. There were flowers everywhere about the room, rich rugs in glorious patterns under foot, and warm soft blankets of rich muted colors scattered gracefully on the seats and beds.
But none of that luxury was noticed at the moment, as they stood facing Strider, anxiousness and anger obvious on all three of their faces. Strider, with a sigh, sat down on a settle, so that they did not need to look up to him.
“You need to be with him,” he said simply. “I know that, but Lord Elrond does not. But I will help you find him now, even though I have reason to not wish Elrond to think ill of me. Leave your packs here then, and follow me. I suspect they have taken him to the healers’ chambers.” Gratefully, they instantly shed their packs, but before they started off again, Strider gave them a warning look. “I am but a guest here as well,” he reminded them quietly. “I can but bring you to his room. I cannot allow any of you to stay, if the healers wish it not.”
“Just you be takin’ us there, Strider,” Sam finally spoke, his voice rough. “You know we’d never do aught to hurt him, but we need to be seein’ him.”
&&&&&
It wasn’t long before they found the healers’ chambers, and the number of elves entering and leaving the door of a certain room quickly confirmed Frodo’s location. What they had not expected to see, however, was the tall grey figure, as well as the smaller one at his side, seated on a bench in the hall. “Mr. Bilbo!” Sam’s voice caught as he hastened to the elderly hobbit. “Mr. Gandalf!”
Bilbo stood, as the other hobbits approached, and it was immediately evident to all three that Bilbo Baggins, at last, was showing his age. He caught up Sam’s hands eagerly, as Sam stopped before him, and gave him a penetrating look. “Samwise Gamgee,” he murmured softly. “Gandalf told me you’d be with him. And Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took as well?” he added, looking over at them with a bit of surprise. “You two I certainly did not expect, although I can’t think of why not.”
But Sam was in no mood for pleasantries, as he gave both Bilbo and Gandalf, silently sitting on the bench, and nursing a pipe, anxious glances. “Mr. Frodo,” he said urgently, unconsciously lapsing into his former term of address in front of Bilbo. “How is he? Do you know?”
Gandalf then glanced up at Strider, who was quietly standing behind the hobbits. “Elessar,” he said slowly, rising to his feet. “Well met indeed. You have done well to bring them here. But as for your question, Sam,” he turned gravely to the fearful hobbit, “that we cannot tell you. He lies within, and the healers are doing what they can for him. We cannot but wait.”
Sam, though, was in no mood for patience. “If we could just but see him,” he cried distraughtly, giving Strider a beseeching look. Strider, after giving Gandalf a quick glance, silently answered Sam with a nod, as Merry and Pippin stood mutely behind him, waiting anxiously at the doorway.
“I will try,” he murmured softly, and approaching the elves authoritatively, began to speak urgently to them. Despite the fact that the anxious hobbits could understand none of it, it was clear that Strider’s words were finding no agreement with the elves. They said little, but shook their heads in a decisive manner, and Sam suddenly felt a vast impatience with all of this. Elvish healing might be all well and good, but that was his Frodo in there, and there wasn’t an elf alive that was going to keep him out in this corridor a moment longer.
So when he noticed an elf entering the room with cloths over his arm and a basin of water in his hands, he quickly darted behind him and entered the room at his heels, ignoring the raised voices out in the corridor.
What he saw made his heart stand still. There were several elves about the side of an immense bed, but through them, he could see Frodo. He lay stripped bare and unconscious on the white sheeting, but there was blood all over his shoulder, and the coverings under his side were crimson as well. Sam’s hands flew to his mouth, but he could not stop a moan of grief at seeing his beloved Frodo so small and vulnerable in this strange place.
There was an elf with a metal blade of some sort at Frodo’s shoulder, and he looked up at Sam’s entrance with an expression of surprise that quickly turned to distinct annoyance. He looked past Sam to Strider, who had followed him into the room, and rapidly said something to him that sounded irritated and abrupt. But Sam desperately stretched forward his hands and pleaded, not knowing if he could be understood, “Oh, please let me stay, sir! I’ll not be bothering you. But I must stay with him, I could never bear not to.”
The elf with the blade continued to look at him coolly, but one of the others made an exclamation as Frodo, at the sound of Sam’s voice, turned his head, although still unconscious, and blindly and weakly stretched out his uninjured arm. Sam watched, frozen with fear and apprehension, as Strider, standing protectively behind him, lay gentle hands on Sam’s shoulders. The first elf, who had glanced back in surprise at Frodo’s movement, studied the hobbit on the bed for a few moments longer. He stood up then, handing the instrument to his assistant, and walked over to the intruders. Giving Sam a keen glance, he began to speak to Strider, and Strider answered back in urgent tones. Sam stood still, as the conversation continued on, watching the elves that were now tidying up around the bed, and reapplying the bandage to Frodo’s shoulder, his heart pounding painfully, as he desperately hoped to be allowed to remain.
Strider, though, appeared to have reached a conclusion with the healer, for his grip on Sam’s shoulders now tightened slightly, and he bowed briefly to the elf. Sam, managing to tear his gaze away from Frodo’s still form for the moment, looked questioningly up to the man, who gave him a slight smile. “They told me this is the first movement that Frodo has made since he has been here,” he told Sam quietly. “They have agreed to let the three of you see him, but for only a short while. I’ll bring the other two in in a few moments.” Releasing his clasp on Sam, he quickly left the room, as did the rest of the elves, and Sam was alone with Frodo.
In an instant, he was at Frodo’s side, reaching a shaking hand out to touch him, and then Frodo’s still face was in his hands and he was kissing Frodo blindly, hungrily, with short sobs of anguish, his tears falling on those pale immobile features, unable to say anything more than brokenly whispering Frodo’s name. He knew that the others would be entering the room soon though, so reluctantly, he drew himself back up and hastily wiped his face with his hand. It was only then that he noticed the glint of gold, and saw the chain around Frodo’s neck. Bewildered, for he had never known Frodo to wear anything of the sort, his eye followed the chain down the side of Frodo’s pale neck, and, to his horror, saw what was nestled in Frodo’s dark curls, the Ring. But the door was opening again, and with a swift protective gesture, he swiftly covered Frodo’s torso with a blanket and turned to acknowledge the others.
Merry and Pippin quickly approached Sam as he stood at the side of the bed, and both instinctively reached out to touch Frodo; Merry, the gentlest of hands against his cheek, and Pippin, a trembling hand against his forehead, as Sam withdrew, and sagged against the side of the bed. “Frodo, oh, Frodo, dear,” they called softly to their unconscious cousin, their voices soft and tearful, as they sought to summon him back to them. However, Frodo lay still, never moving, and the elves returned. Wretchedly, the two hobbits withdrew from the bed, hands tightly clasped, and let the elves return to Frodo.
In the meantime, though, Sam had come to his decision. Pulling Strider aside, who had been leaning wearily and sorrowfully in the doorway, he told him quietly, but with immoveable determination, “I’ll not be goin’ anywhere else, Strider, you may as well be tellin’ them that. I’ll not be in the way, but there’s nowhere else I’m goin’ but here. I need t’be with him, and he needs me t’be with him. I don’t know if they’d be understanding that, but I know you do.”
“I do know,” Strider assured him sadly, “and I will do my best for you, Sam.” But even as he approached the healer, one of the other elves, who had been examining Frodo, his hand on his forehead, glanced over and spoke rapidly to the first. There was a quick hurried conversation, and then the healer approached Strider and began to speak to him at length. Strider nodded from time to time, and seemed to ask an occasional question, and at last, the elves began to pack up their instruments in the wooden boxes that lay on a nearby table, obviously making preparations to leave the room, and Strider took a deep breath and sank down against the wall in a crouch. The three hobbits drew close to him, fearfully awaiting his explanation.
“You’ve done Frodo some good, it seems,” he said in response, giving them the ghost of a smile. “Not only does it appear that he moved for the first time since he was brought here when you spoke to him, Sam, but now it looks as though his heartbeat has strengthened as well. They fear that there is yet some of the blade remaining in the wound,” he continued, his expression becoming grim, “but they have now chosen to let him regain some strength, if possible, before continuing to treat him further.” He looked directly at Sam, then, and went on. “They have agreed to let you stay with him tonight, Sam, but I’m afraid,” he added, turning to the other two, “that the both of you may not.”
Merry blinked, and swallowed hard, but nodded. “It’s Sam that should be with him,” he replied softly, bowing his head. “As long as there is one of us with him.” Pippin was silent, but nodded as well, reaching for Merry’s hand again and clutching it tightly.
Sam stopped them, though, before they could leave, placing his hands on both of their shoulders. “He loves the both o’you that much,” he declared, firmly gripping their shoulders, and gazing fiercely into their eyes. “Never forget that. He’ll be wantin’ to see you both as soon as he opens his eyes.”
Merry wordlessly ducked his head down, tears beginning at last to roll down his face, and Pippin gave Sam a fierce hug. They left, joining Bilbo, who had been standing quietly in the doorway, waiting for them.
Most of the elves had left by now, but one stood by the table, obviously awaiting Sam’s attention, and if Sam could have estimated his age, for it seemed very hard to determine with elves, he would have guessed that this elf was young. He faced Sam, as the others left, and gave him a short bow, which surprised Sam greatly. “I am Halilhil,” he stated softly in Common Speech. “I am here to be of assistance to you.”
“Why, I do thankee kindly for that,” Sam responded gratefully, as he stood at the side of the bed, feeling somewhat awkward, but with one of his hands unconsciously stealing around Frodo’s good shoulder. “And I’m ever so obliged for all you’ve done for him, I can’t be beginnin’ t’tell you. I hope you folk didn’t think me too forward, but I can’t help but think that he’d be needin’ one o’us with him.”
Halilhil smiled in a friendly manner. “I believe the healer felt the same, and that is why you are here, Master Gamgee,” he responded, with a trace of wryness. “And I might add that our healer rarely reassesses his opinions, so you may consider yourself persuasive indeed.”
Sam gave him a brief smile, but then gazed back down at Frodo, so pale in the white bed that he could barely be told from the sheets, to Sam’s mind. Only the dark curls and the red stain, already showing through his bandaged shoulder, were vivid against the whiteness. And his skin, under Sam’s gentle touch, was too cold, to Sam’s way of thinking. However it was when he moved his hand briefly to the left arm that he started in shock.
“Master Gamgee, what is it?” the elf cried immediately, approaching with concern.
“ ‘Tis like ice,” Sam gasped, glancing up at the elf, with fear on his face.
The young elf nodded, and his face was suddenly shadowed by sorrow. “The Morgul knife,” he murmured sadly. “It is most difficult to keep the warmth of life in one who has been pierced so, but have heart, Master Gamgee, he is fighting it most valiantly.”
“Strider says that you’d be thinkin’ there’s a bit left,” Sam gave him a steady look, clasping Frodo’s chill left hand in both of his. “What will happen if you can’t be gettin’ it out?”
“It will make its way to his heart,” the elf said softly, his eyes meeting Sam’s. “And his heart will be as cold as his hand. He will be lost to this world forever.”
&&&&&
Sam must have drifted to sleep, despite his best intentions, for when he groggily opened his eyes, all lights in the room were out, and the silvery moonlight was flooding through the tall open windows. The pale light bathed Frodo’s pallid face, as he lay next to Sam in the white bed, but somehow, he had turned to Sam, and his sleeping features now faced Sam’s on the large pillow they shared. Halilhil had insisted on Sam giving himself a quick wash, and had taken away his grimy and travel-stained clothing with a quickly disguised fastidious gesture of distaste. He had left Sam with a bowl of soup, since the hobbit had insisted that he was not in the least interested in food, and Sam had prudently rapidly devoured it. It made no sense to be fainting away from hunger on Frodo, but more substantial meals would have to wait. Halilhil had also left Sam with some sort of silken nightshirt, which Sam had quickly let slip to the floor, as soon as he was alone with Frodo. Right now, he needed to be feeling Frodo’s skin against his, and no elvish sense of modesty was going to keep him from that. If they didn’t have any idea of what Frodo meant to him, he expected that that situation would shortly be remedied. He did spare a quick thought as to Mr. Bilbo, but that explanation was going to have to be left to Merry and Pippin. At the moment, it did not matter in the least to him what anyone else could possibly think.
There was one more concern to be addressed, after he had climbed up into the great bed, next to Frodo. He lifted It off of Frodo’s neck very carefully, cautiously touching only the chain, and gently raised Frodo’s head to draw It up and off. What good the elves thought that hateful piece of gold was going to do Frodo, he couldn’t imagine, but there was no doubt in his mind that both he and Frodo would have been far better off for never having seen It. Without a second thought, he let It fall on a table on the far side of the bed, and returned to Frodo.
But Frodo was still motionless and seemingly all but lifeless, as he crawled back across the great bed to be beside him, and even when Sam had wrapped his arms around him, and had kissed him repeatedly, and had called his name yearningly, had made no movement. The tears had come, once more, and his heart had ached as he fought to keep despair away. Somehow, in his anguish, he must have fallen asleep, and he had missed Frodo’s movement.
He gazed at the beautiful face on the pillow next to his, and how many nights had he seen it thus, in their bed back at Bag End, but all he had to do would have been to stroke Frodo’s cheek, to lightly kiss that delicious sharp nose, and the dusky lashes would have lifted, and those glorious eyes would have been looking deeply into his, and he would have heard that familiar dear laugh, and that warmly affectionate voice whispering his name. None of that was of any use now, however, and he carefully, cautiously wrapped himself around Frodo once more, and brokenly murmured, “I love you, Frodo, oh, I love you. Don’t you be leavin’ me now, my dearest one; just you stay with me, me darling.”
&&&&&
After they had left Frodo’s room, Gandalf had quietly motioned Strider away from the others, and after a quick sharp glance at the both of them, Bilbo had drawn the other two hobbits, still stunned by all that had occurred, aside and murmured, “Here, now, lads, I’ll be taking you back to your room. There’s nothing else to be done here tonight.”
Merry looked up dully at the older hobbit, his hand still tightly wrapped around Pippin’s and nodded silently. Slowly they followed Bilbo, who seemed to know exactly where their room was, down the high open corridors of Rivendell.
The fire was burning as they had left it, and their packs were still on the floor where they had been so hastily dropped, burnished in the gold light of late afternoon. Bilbo said nothing as he matter-of-factly picked them up and placed them out of the way. He walked to a small table by the fire, and it was only then that the other two noticed that a tray of food had been left there in their absence, heaped with apples and dark plump grapes, and a golden loaf of bread. There was a bottle there, as well, and it was from that that Bilbo poured out two goblets of a dark liquid.
Turning back to Merry and Pippin, he gave them a small smile. “Here, my dear lads, this will do you both some good, I know. It’s even better than Old Winyards, although I’d never let them know that. Go to their heads, it would, and they can be insufferable enough at times.” Then, as neither of the younger hobbits moved, he repeated his offer, his voice softening. “There’s nothing more, as I said, to be done for the night. Sit down, the both of you now, and tell me how you came to be here.”
With a slight start, as if waking from a nightmare, Merry reached forward then, and gratefully accepted the goblet from Bilbo, sinking on the settle in front of the fire. Pippin silently did likewise, and with a satisfied nod, Bilbo poured a glass for himself, and settled into the well-pillowed chair beside the fire, absently tucking a soft woolen blanket about himself. “No concept of drafts, these folk,” he grumbled mildly, his shrewd eyes watching the other two over the rim of his goblet, allowing them time.
The wine was excellent, as Bilbo had claimed, fragrant and heady, and the warmth of it began to course through Merry’s weary limbs in no time at all. “You don’t seem that surprised to see all of us here,” he said after a few moment’s silence, during which time nothing could be heard other than the crackling of the fire and the faint rustling of the pines outside the open windows.
“I do know why Frodo is here. We need not speak of that now,” Bilbo said softly, giving Merry a pointed, but sympathetic glance. “I know what happened to him, as well, for Gandalf and I have been with him ever since he was brought here yesterday. The healer is very skilled, and if there is any living soul on Middle Earth who can help Frodo now, it would be him.” He slowly took another sip, and then said musingly running a finger around the rim of his goblet. “Gandalf told me that Sam would be coming with Frodo, but what I’m not entirely sure of is the reason why. And I know that the fact that the two of you had accompanied Frodo was quite a surprise to Gandalf. Well, lads?”
“Well, we are here because cousin Frodo was in some sort of trouble, and wouldn’t tell us what sort, so we tagged along until we could find out more,” Merry said, somewhat haltingly, answering the easier question first.
Pippin now found his voice for the first time as well, as he sat quite close to Merry, his legs drawn up on the seat next to him. “He needed our help, even if he didn’t think so at first,” he added softly to Merry’s comment.
“Did he now?” Bilbo watched them both steadily. “And Saradoc and Paladin felt it fitting that the both of you come along with him?”
Merry flushed at the combination of Bilbo’s words and the strong wine, but before he could attempt an answer, Bilbo gave a soft chuckle, and kindly shook his head. “Pay no attention to this old fool, lad; you’re weary and upset. There’ll be plenty of time for me to be finding out about all the Shire doings, for I can’t help admitting I’ve missed the place, many a time.” He rose then, setting down his glass, and motioned to one side of the courtyard. “I’ve a few rooms, just down that way, and I’ll show them to you when there’s time. The elves did do their best, I must say, nearly like a proper hobbit hole, they are. But I’m sure the both of you will be needing rest, and I’ll ask if they can bring in a decent meal in just a bit. There’s a good size tub just beyond that draped doorway,“ he added, gesturing toward it, “and I daresay there’s hot water in it already, so you can both have a bit of a soak. I doubt if you’re up for much company tonight. I’ll come by, first thing tomorrow, and we will go see how Frodo is doing.”
Merry rose politely, but Bilbo turned just as he was about to leave and gave him a piercing glance. “Never answered my first question,” he mentioned quietly.
“Erm, well, Sam lives with Frodo at Bag End now,” Merry answered uncertainly.
“I see. And not to just see to the cooking, eh, lad?”
“No, it’s more than that,” Merry said steadily.
“Well, now,” Bilbo gave him a wry smile. “There’s always been more about Samwise than one would first think. Frodo’s done rather well for himself, after all. Good night, lads.”
&&&&&
Sam awoke the next morning, as the morning light streamed through the windows, and realized with a start that he had slept late. Immediately, he glanced at Frodo, lying in his arms, and was heartened to see that Frodo’s breathing was steady, and that there was even a trace of pink in his pale cheeks. “Ah, me dear,” he breathed, feeling hope beginning to hesitantly find its way back to his heart again. Lovingly, he reached a devoted hand up to stroke Frodo’s face, and embraced him closely. The left arm was still far too cold, but the rest of Frodo was stretched against him, skin to skin, and Sam tucked his head against Frodo’s shoulder, and lost himself in the feel of that dearest body against his, savoring the warmth of his beloved’s flesh, almost hearing that cherished voice that murmured his name in his dreams. “Frodo-love, we’re here, in Rivendell. And Mr. Bilbo’s here, and Gandalf as well, and the elves are doing their best for you, me dearie. Open your eyes, my Frodo dearest, and look at me, love.”
Frodo remained motionless, though, and not all his tender words could change that. Halilhil’s soft knock startled him, though, and shyly he glanced up at the young elf who had entered the room. “My pardons,” Halilhil said apologetically, “but the healer will soon be here. And,” he added, uncertainly, ”you might want to be wearing this.” He picked up the nightshirt that he had brought in the night before for Sam, handing it to him tentatively.
“Aye, thankee,” Sam blurted out, turning rather red. Without explanations, he threw it over his head and, sitting up next to the still oblivious Frodo, tugged it hastily on. No sooner had he done so, than there was a sudden noise at the door, and the healer walked in, followed by several other elves, carrying wooden cases in their hands.
The healer only gave Sam one sharp glance before turning his attention to his patient. “Hmm,” he murmured, feeling Frodo’s forehead, and then the strength of his pulse. Whatever his conclusion was regarding these matters was kept to himself, but he turned then to the bandaged shoulder, and wordlessly holding out a hand, received a small pair of scissors from an attentive assistant. With only a few snips, the bandage, darkened in the center with dried blood, was carefully pried off. Frodo sighed and frowned, but made no other sign of feeling it. Sam, feeling awkward about kneeling in the bed at Frodo’s side, nevertheless awaited further instructions, his browned hand unconsciously wrapped about Frodo’s undamaged shoulder. Then he saw the wound and his heart sank.
He had not really seen it since the last time Strider had tended it, as they huddled in the forests along the path to Rivendell, what now seemed like so very long ago. The slash was deeper and longer now, as a result, he dimly realized, of the elves’ probing for the shard, but the most frightening sight was the red inflamed skin of the entire shoulder. In horror, Sam realized that he could even see dark red streaks under the skin, spreading from the shoulder down Frodo’s left arm, and what was even worse, down across his chest. With a horrible sureness, Sam knew that those red streaks were poisonous, and that they were not so very far from Frodo’s heart. Aghast, he raised his eyes, and met those of the healer, watching him intently.
The healer began to speak rapidly, and then paused, staring at Sam and seemingly waiting for a response. However, Halilhil was still at Sam’s side, and quickly interpreted. “The healer wishes to know if you are strong enough to assist,” he said softly, glancing from the elf to the hobbit. “He says that the sight may be distressing to you, but your friend clearly benefits from your presence, and that time is becoming short.”
Sam nodded immediately. Distressing it might be, but the thought of being sent from the room was far more upsetting. “Good,” Halilhil quietly replied, as the healer once again turned to his assistant, and received a clear glass vial with a long narrow opening, and colorless liquid within. Handing it over to Halilhil, he spoke rapidly for a few moments, and then turned his attention back to the instrument cases that another assistant held open for him.
“Hold his head up,” Halilhil quietly instructed him, “and see if you can get him to drink. It is a sleeping potion, strong and fast acting, for we cannot chance his awaking. Slowly tilt it and pour it down his throat in small amounts.”
Sam moved up in the bed then, and cautiously cradled Frodo’s head in his lap. Stroking the curls lovingly from the pale forehead, he crooned to Frodo, nearly inaudibly, caring nothing for whatever the rest might think, and tried to pour the liquid into Frodo’s mouth. Dimly, the memory of Mari with her little ones, trying to get the baby to swallow some healing draught, came back to him, and he gently caressed Frodo’s throat, causing him to instinctively swallow. The healer muttered something, giving Sam an approving glance, but then he raised the knife and his face became stern again.
&&&&&
Merry awoke with the first dawn and looked around with some initial first confusion. Pippin was next to him, of course, his face buried in his shoulder, and still wrapped in Merry’s protective embrace. The light streamed into the room through the high open windows, striking Pippin’s curls that covered his face with glints of red and gold. The air was cool, but even though the room seemed strangely open, it was not unpleasantly chilly, and glancing down toward the foot of the high, wide bed, Merry noticed with surprise that the fire was once again cheerfully crackling, keeping the room quite pleasant, and he wondered indeed if it had ever gone out during the night.
Now was not the time, though, to contemplate the wonders of this elvish palace, for his thoughts immediately went back to Frodo. Kissing Pippin’s forehead, he carefully removed his arm and leg from those of Pippin as they entwined him, and stealthily crept out of bed. Throwing a soft rug from the closest chair around his bare body, he walked through the open archway into the courtyard they had gone through the day before, trying to get his bearings, and determine in which direction Frodo’s room lay, when he noticed two things. First, that there was a large tray covered with breakfast items, lying directly next to the opening to their room, and secondly, that Bilbo Baggins sat on a bench to the side of the courtyard, watching the water spraying merrily up from the fountain and glistening in the morning sun, calmly sipping a cup of tea.
“Ah, there you are, lad. It must be the long journey that keeps you so late abed this morning.” The voice was calm and matter-of-fact, and Merry had the sudden feeling that he was a tween again, paying a visit to Frodo and Bilbo at Bag End. Generally, he had worn a sleeping garment at Bag End, however, and he unexpectedly felt rather embarrassed and not a little foolish. It seemed as if there was more news than Frodo and Sam’s new arrangement with which to acquaint Bilbo, and as if he had voiced these thoughts out loud, Bilbo suddenly gave him a small wry smile. “Well, if it wasn’t to be Frodo, I expect it would have been young Peregrin. I imagine Esme is not particularly delighted by all this?”
“Erm, ah, no, she isn’t,” stammered Merry, and at a loss for anything else to say, he nodded, and murmured, “I’ll just be waking him up, then, Uncle Bilbo,” and backed awkwardly back into the room.
“Bilbo’s here, wake up,” he hissed softly to Pippin, forced by the height of the great bed to crawl up again in order to give him an awakening shake. “He’s having tea just outside the door, or at least where the door would be if there were a door in this confounded place.”
“Oh, bother,” Pippin yawned, obviously still more than half-asleep, but then sat up with a sudden start. “He didn’t say anything about Frodo?” he asked, with a frown.
Merry shook his head. “He seems calm enough, I expect nothing’s changed, but we do need to get dressed and find that room again. I certainly hope he has an idea where they’re keeping Frodo and Sam, because this place hopelessly addles me.”
Pippin stretched and clambered out of bed then, quite unconsciously naked, and after a cheerful wave to Bilbo, set off to look for their packs. There wasn’t much in the way of a change left in them, but anything would be an improvement on what they had been wearing the day before. It wasn’t long before they were both dressed, and with a quick swallow of tea, and a hastily eaten slice or two of bread, they were following Bilbo, who seemed to know his way about quite well, back to the healer’s room.
They found Gandalf quietly sitting on the bench, outside of the room and smoking his pipe, much as he had been the night before, and he gave them a nod as he saw them approach. “They are searching for the shard again,” he said softly, and rubbed his hand wearily across his forehead. “There nothing to be done but wait.”
So wait they did, for what seemed like hours, to the anxious and impatient Merry. He knew that Pippin was just as concerned and nervous, but for once the young Took had nothing to say, and only unconsciously twisted his hands continuously in his lap. Bilbo appeared serene, taking out his pipe as well, but Merry could tell by the short puffs he was drawing on it that he was anything but.
Merry could occasionally hear voices, low and indistinct from the room, one of the very few in Rivendell, apparently, with an actual door. They were elvish voices though, and he heard nothing from either Sam or Frodo until, with a sharp clarity that caused all of the waiting party to hold their breaths in alarm, there came a wailing, harsh, choked cry of pain. There was nothing else from the room as they sat in such a silence that Merry was sure that he could hear Pippin’s heart as well as his own, when the door suddenly opened.
It was Sam who slowly walked from the room, pale, and with dark circles under his eyes, and stains of what, Merry realized in dismay, must be Frodo’s blood on the elvish garment that he was wearing, but with a small weary smile on his face. “They found it,” he murmured, walking uncertainly toward them. “He’ll be all right now.”
With incoherent cries, both Merry and Pippin were instantly on their feet, and ran to embrace Sam, tears of relief falling down their faces, and Sam stood still for a moment, supported by the both of them, and closing his own eyes, wavered uncertainly on his feet. Then rallying himself once again, he nodded toward Bilbo and the wizard. Bilbo was fussing about with his pipe, but dabbing at his eyes from time to time as well, and was obviously unable, for the moment, to speak. Gandalf, his eyes suspiciously bright as well, gave the older hobbit a warm hug, and then stood up.
“My dear Samwise,” he spoke gently, laying an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “That is indeed very good news, the best of news. There is much for us to say to each other, but not until Frodo is stronger. And that will be much sooner than the elves realize, I suspect. Once more, your folk have proven themselves strong and valiant indeed.”
Merry didn’t mind praise from the wizard, if somewhat second-hand, but he was quickly growing impatient. “May we see him yet, Sam?” he questioned the exhausted hobbit, who shook his head in reply.
“Not yet, I’m afraid, Merry,” he said ruefully. “They need t’be closing up the wound, and bandaging it, and there’d be a bit of cleaning up to do, likewise. They sent me out too. Something about tidyin’ up and havin’ a bite to eat,” he glanced down at himself apologetically. “With what they gave him to drink, he’s not likely to be wakin’ for quite some time.”
“But if he was asleep, who gave that dreadful cry?” Pippin asked apprehensively, as he and Merry, both of them with their arms wrapped around Sam, escorted him back to their room, Bilbo silently following.
Sam gave a shudder and closed his eyes for a moment. “ ‘Twas poor Frodo, just as they found it,” he said, nearly inaudible. “And I hope by all that’s good that I never hear the like o’that again.”
&&&&&
It wasn’t until they reached the courtyard in front of the hobbits’ room that Bilbo finally spoke. “Just a moment, lads,” he said rather gruffly, from behind them. “There’s no point going in there. Pippin, go run inside, and see if they’ve brought back Sam’s clothes. Then you lads will be coming with me.”
Pippin did as he was bade, and quickly returned with Sam’s cleaned clothes over his arm. “Thought as much,” Bilbo muttered. “Efficient lot, there’s no denying that.” Without another word, he turned down the corridor across from their room, and the others followed. This corridor soon opened out onto a much larger courtyard, covered with grass instead of stone. There were flowerbeds, and a large alder, still full and green, with a small bench underneath it. The river valley opened up below them, just on the other side of a low carved stone balustrade, and the roar of the river faintly rose up to meet their ears. The most surprising element of the courtyard, however, was just past the alder, a round green door set into the hillside.
“Yes, a proper smial,” Bilbo gave a satisfied glance their way. “Elves are really awfully accommodating, you know, and the feel of those great drafty halls of theirs just never seemed right, somehow. So they fixed this up for me.” Walking ahead of the others, he opened the door, welcoming them in. “Step lively, lads, and come on in. Pot of tea will do us all some good, and none of us has had a proper breakfast, that I know.”
Bustling down the hallway from the study that they had entered, he gave a look over his shoulder, and motioned to the others to follow. “Kitchen this way, plenty of room.” The other three hobbits followed, still in a bit of shock at the unexpected surroundings. “Well then,” Bilbo announced decisively, as they entered the cozy room, with the round window open to the valley side, and a well-used stone bordered fireplace on the other. “Pippin, give me a hand, lad. And Merry, the bath room is just through that door. Be a good fellow, and help draw a bath for Samwise, would you then? I doubt if he’s had a chance to soak since he got here.”
With a rather startled nod, Merry started about his task, and soon had a steamy tub of water ready for Sam, who had been sitting waiting at the kitchen table with a dazed expression on his face, uncharacteristically not lifting a hand to help the others. Merry gently tapped his shoulder, and Sam, with a start, then arose and followed him down the hall. He drew the blood-spattered garment over his head, and without a word, slowly sank into the tub, and then sat motionless, his knees drawn up with his arms around them, and his face hidden from view. Merry stood uncertainly for a moment, ready to leave, until he heard the sound of stifled sobs, and saw Sam’s shoulder’s shake.
“Here, now, Sam,” he muttered softly, fighting to keep his own composure. He knelt then next to the tub, and hesitantly placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It is going to be all right now, Gandalf even said so.” Sam did not look up, and at a loss to do anything else, Merry picked up the bar of soap next to the tub, and slipping it quickly in the water beside Sam, began to lather it up in his hands. Soothingly, he reached out to Sam, and started to gently rub his back, working his hand against the tight muscles, messaging the tenseness away.
Sam made no movement of resistance, but the sobs began to lessen, and eventually, he reached down and splashed water on his face, turning around to Merry in the dimly lit room. “I was that scared,” he murmured simply, laying a hand on Merry’s arm. “You still don’t know the worst o’it. If that cursed shard had reached his heart,” and he stopped, gulping and fighting to continue to speak. Merry stared at the familiar round gentle face, so changed and made haggard in the last several days. “He would have worse than died,” Sam at last got out as Merry watched him, bewildered. “He would have ended up with those black fiends forever.”
Merry’s eyes widened in horror, as he realized what Sam was saying. “Oh, Sam!” he gasped, his hand unconsciously tightly clutching Sam’s shoulder.
“Aye,” Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head forward again on his knees. “I didn’t want t’be scaring both of you when there was naught you could do, but it’s been that hard.” For several moments, there was silence in the small steamy room, and all that could be heard was Pippin’s indecipherable chatter from down the hall, and the occasional gruff word from Bilbo.
Then, resolutely, Sam straightened back up again, and laid a hand over Merry’s, still on his shoulder. “You’d best be gettin’ back to the others, Merry-love, or they’ll come looking’ for you, sure enough. I’ll be right out, meself. And Merry,” he added, with a small smile, “ ‘tis glad I am that you and Pip’d be with us, no mistake. Frodo might have thought otherwise, but he’d be dead wrong about that. He does get things wrong, sometimes, even though he hates to think so.”
Merry gave him an uncertain smile in return. “Well, that would be why he needs you and I both about then,” he answered sympathetically. “Neither one of us is especially loathe to point that fact out. Save him from himself, that’s what we do.”
&&&&&
It wasn’t long after they ate that they were back at Frodo’s room, for none of them had any mind to stay away for long, but this time, they were met, to their surprise, by Strider, just leaving the room. “He is resting well,” he informed them with a slight smile, “but don’t expect to see him awake for awhile. The healer believes we mortals heal more rapidly when we are asleep. Or that we are less bother that way, I’m not sure which.”
“Strider!” Merry and Pippin greeted him affectionately, giving him a quick hug each.
“Strider?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “This is a new name, Elessar.”
“I have many names, my good hobbits, more than I care to keep track of sometimes,” the man chuckled, and he seemed to Sam younger and far less careworn than he had since they had first met him in Bree. “Why don’t the two of you go bid him good morning, and then I’ll show you about.”
Merry and Pippin did not need to be told twice, and immediately entered the room, but Sam hung back in the hallway, silent, as Bilbo sat on the bench in the hall again, producing his pipe once more. Strider studied him carefully, and then laid a hand upon his shoulder. “You brought him through, Sam,” he said quietly.
Sam ducked his head down, and said nothing.
It was not long before Merry and Pippin emerged from the room, looking subdued, and brushing back a quick tear or two. “Come along then,” Strider said gently to them, giving them an understanding look. “There’s much to see here. And Frodo won’t be up for at least a day or two.”
After they had left, Sam immediately approached the door, and then turned, rather awkwardly, to Bilbo. “Would you like to see him first, Mr. Bilbo?” he asked, uncomfortably.
Bilbo shook his head, though, and gave a wave of his pipe. “I’ll be in later, Samwise. Keep you a bit of company, if you like. Go on, then, and don’t dawdle, there’s the lad.” Sam did not wait to hear more.
The room was lit with the clear morning light, shimmering as it struck the white bed, and the long billows of linen, hung on either side of the window openings, blew gracefully about in the fragrant air, casting swaying shadows upon the still white coverlet. Small and achingly vulnerable, however, in the midst of the bed, was a dark head, and Sam had eyes for nothing else. Frodo was lost in deep slumber, his face turned to the side, and was now dressed in a white garment, with the white linen of the bandage wrapped about his shoulder just showing at the throat. Sam watched the steady faint rise and fall of his chest for several moments before he could move, and felt the calm and the peace of the room fill his weary heart. Frodo had defeated the evil that had attempted to ensnare him, and had been restored to him. He would be healing now, and well Sam knew how tough and resilient he truly was despite his graceful appearance. Then it would be time to turn to the Shire again, and their beloved home together at Bag End.
Then there was no help for it, but he had to feel Frodo again in his arms, feel that cherished body in his embrace, and hold fast to the love he had so nearly lost. Carefully, he climbed up and onto the great bed, and slipping under the covers, wrapped his arms about Frodo, and positioned himself sitting propped up slightly against the pillows, allowing Frodo’s head to come to rest against his chest. Tenderly, he brushed Frodo’s hair back from his forehead, kissing him again and again. “Me dearie, me dearie,” he sighed, closing his eyes as he laid his cheek against Frodo’s dark curls. “Frodo, my own. You are with me still, dearest love.”
It was nearly an hour later that he heard a gentle rap on the door, and Bilbo cautiously peered in. Sam fought the impulse, for just a moment, to withdraw, and then bravely held his position. But the small involuntary motion that he made must have reached Frodo, for Frodo stirred, for the first time, and although obviously still fast asleep, reached his wounded arm out and lay it across Sam’s chest with an almost imperceptible sigh, and tucked his head slightly in against Sam.
Walking over to the bed, Bilbo studied the both of them silently, and Sam could not read his expression. Then, with a slight smile, he reached out and gently touched Frodo’s cheek. “He knows your touch,” he murmured, giving Sam a keen glance.
Sam couldn’t help reddening at Bilbo’s remark, but lifted his chin firmly. “Aye, and I his,” he stated forthrightly.
Bilbo’s smile broadened at his response, and he nodded to the chair beside the bed. “Care for company?” he asked lightly.
“ ‘Twould be right kind of you, sir,” Sam murmured politely, his arms still quite full of Frodo.
“Sir, still, is it?” Bilbo chuckled, as he hoisted himself up the high chair with the ease born of experience. “I rather think Bilbo, or perhaps Uncle Bilbo, would do under the circumstances.”
Sam shook his head at the notion. “I’m afraid that would never do,” he replied apologetically. “’Twas that hard to get my tongue around Merry and Pippin, but I’m afraid you must go on being Mr. Bilbo, sir.”
“Ah, some things about you have not changed a bit, Samwise,” Bilbo laughed lightly at Sam’s protestation. “The Gaffer trained you well, I expect. But how is the old fellow these days, and what would he be thinking of all this?” he asked, airily waving his hand in their direction.
“Quite well, thankee kindly, and not much, leastways, at the beginning,” Sam answered, a small smile beginning to creep across his face as well.
“Well, that’s not much of a surprise,” Bilbo admitted, grinning back. “Now my dear Frodo-lad, I never saw him as the marrying sort, to be quite honest, but I always thought that it would be Merry. Certainly not you, Samwise. I would have expected you to be married and have fauntlings all about your feet, by now.”
“There’d be others as felt the same,” Sam confessed, his smile deepening. “And yet here we’d be.”
“Well, now, well, now,” Bilbo shook his head in bemusement. “Can’t say as that isn’t the best arrangement, actually. Merry’s mother would never have let him hold on to Frodo, in the end. Master of Brandy Hall and all that rubbish. And how is dear Esme, anyway?”
And before Sam knew it, he was accounting for the doings of the Shire for the last many years to his old master, but the dear one he held gratefully in his arms was never out of his thoughts.
&&&&&
Moonlight streamed in brightly through the window when Sam opened his eyes. Somehow, he must have drifted off not too long after dinner. He had spent the entire day with Frodo as Bilbo, and later Merry and Pippin, not to mention Gandalf and Strider, as well as several elves, including Halilhil and even the healer, had all come and gone. Still Frodo slept, but his breathing had become even and strong, and a bit of pink was gradually starting to be apparent on his cheeks. Through it all, Sam had stayed, leaving only to quickly refresh himself with a light meal, and none had questioned his doing so. The last thing he could recollect was Pippin regaling Bilbo with the latest news of the Great Smials, as he lay out at the foot of the great bed, propped up against an amused Merry. He had closed his eyes for just the briefest of moments, and now here he was, alone with Frodo once again, in the still and silvered room.
Then he realized what must have awakened him, for Frodo, once again enveloped in his careful embrace, stirred and stretched, and then, wonder of wonders, blinked open his eyes and smiled sleepily at Sam, his face next to Sam’s on the broad white pillow.
“Frodo,” breathed Sam, reaching out his hand to touch his face. “Oh, Frodo.”
“Sam. You are here,” Frodo’s voice was low and somewhat slurred, but his smile deepened. “I knew I’d find you again, Sam.”
“Of course, Frodo-love,” Sam answered, desperately trying to keep his voice from breaking. “Wherever else would I be, dearest, but with you?” His hand stole down the side of Frodo’s face, caressing and loving.
“You’d never let me go, would you, my dear Sam,” Frodo’s eyes closed again, and his voice drifted off.
“No, never at all,” Sam whispered, as Frodo fell asleep, once more. He tightened his embrace, and buried his head against Frodo’s neck, unable to stop his tears. “I’d never be leavin’ you, mine own love. It won’t matter where you go, Frodo-love. I’ll be with you always.”
So! Without further ado, here comes Elegy - Chapter Nine, Part One.
It was later, much later, that Sam came to appreciate the exquisite artistry that was Rivendell, the ancient home of the elves set beside the Falls of the Bruinen, and the last refuge of the house of Finrod on this Middle Earth. But for the first hour after he crossed the River and followed Strider, mounted still on Asfaloth, and bearing Merry and Pippin as well, up the stony steep walls of the river valley, all he was aware of was that Frodo was not far away from him, and that soon he’d be able to see him again. The barren slopes had given away to pines, and smaller trees beneath them, but Sam saw them not. The air was filled with an indescribable fragrance, as the afternoon shadows lengthened and lay before their path, but Sam was unaware of any of it. It was only Strider’s straight back that he watched, on the tall proud white horse ahead, and his eyes were full of nothing but the last sight of Frodo’s face; his eyes fixed on Sam’s until Glorfindel came between them, and the look of utter yearning there as he had desperately stretched his hand out to Sam. It was the only thing to do, letting Frodo go, Sam kept feverishly repeating to himself; it was the only thing that he could have done. But Tom Bombadil’s words were echoing in his ears, words that reinforced what his heart had told him, to not separate, to stay together, no matter the risk.
Trying to fight back down that sharp pain and the unrelenting uneasiness once more, he shook his head, and realized that there were elves coming to greet them, and that Strider was lifting Merry and Pippin down from his horse. Quickly he dismounted as well and caught up with them, Bill following him, as usual, with no need of rope or bridle. Strider was speaking rapidly, in a soft language that he did not understand, although he seemed to catch some elvish words from time to time. The elves were already beginning to lead Asfaloth off, presumably to a stable, and Sam hung back, feeling awkward, with Bill. Surely they would have no room for small ponies at such a place as this. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind, though, if he left Bill to forage on the grass, until such a time as he could get back to him.
Strider was returning to him now though, as Merry and Pippin followed uncertainly behind him, and with a kind smile, he motioned to an elf whom Sam had not before noticed, standing to the side. “Lindelhir will take Bill, and watch over him,” he said quietly to the nervous hobbit, unconsciously worrying the pony’s rope. “Don’t be concerned about Bill, Sam, you may come out to check on him when you wish.”
Sam gulped, suddenly filled with terrors that were too great to consider, and gave Bill a last hesitant hug, reluctantly relinquishing the rope to the quiet elf. “I’ll not be forgettin’ you, Bill,” he quickly murmured, as Strider and the other two had turned to leave. “But ‘tis Frodo I must be seein’ now.”
There were buildings along the path that continued up the steep slope, and though Sam had no time to give them much heed, it seemed to him as though they grew among the tall pines somehow, but were far more ancient. There were a few elves about, however none spoke, neither to Strider nor each other. Yet he had the impression that he was hearing song, although whether it was from the wind in the pines, or the elves themselves, he could not have said. But finally there were arches through which they walked, Strider’s pace unhurried yet more rapid than they were used to, and the three hobbits were hard-pressed to keep up and not appear to be running. And then they were inside, though they had not passed through any door, and were proceeding down a sunlit corridor, though there were no windows to be seen.
The corridor turned into a large room, richly appointed, and filled with sunlight. There was no time, however, to study the room, as unlike the grandest hobbit hole as could be, for in the middle of the room was an imposing figure, and Strider at once bowed before him, murmuring, “My Lord Elrond.” The three hobbits immediately followed suit, and did not dare look up.
“Elessar,” a deep voice responded quietly. “These, then, are his companions?”
At those words, Merry quickly raised his head, and bravely answered, “We are Frodo Baggins’ companions, my lord, if that is what you wish to know. May we see him, please?” and the other two hopefully raised their heads as well.
The speaker, whom they now had a chance to study, was tall, as all elves were, but subtly imposing in a manner to which they were not accustomed. His steady clear glance seemed not to need their words to know what was in their hearts, and he examined them each, in turn, gravely and without comment. “The healers are with him now,” he said at last. “He has been severely injured, indeed, and they will need all of their skill and attention. We will let you see him as soon as they have done what they can for him.”
Merry began to speak, but Strider caught his eye with a quick frown and an almost imperceptible movement of his head to the way from which they had entered, and Merry bit his tongue and said nothing. Sam, who had been staring steadily at the elf, had given a slight movement of his shoulders that both other hobbits, and indeed Strider as well, had come to recognize by this time, but he also said nothing as the elf continued on, “Elessar can assist you in finding your room, where you may refresh yourself. You may await further word there.”
Strider bowed once more, without comment, and the three hobbits followed him from the room, but not without some private decisions of their own.
&&&&&
“Strider,” Merry hissed, as the three hobbits followed the ranger from the room, and into the maze of corridors, courtyards, and balconies that was Rivendell. “We need to see him now, you know that.”
Strider, not looking back as he walked rapidly ahead of them, held up a warning hand. “Patience, Merry,” he murmured, giving a slight nod to the elves that they passed, eyeing them with only faint curiosity. “Wait until we are in your room.”
Pippin exchanged a quick exasperated glance with Merry, but Sam said nothing and kept his eyes on Strider’s back. The expression in those eyes, however, was uncharacteristically stormy, and his jaw was set.
Finally, they passed through one last small courtyard, sunny and filled with fragrant pots spilling over with rosemary and savoury, and centered by a graceful fountain, that filled the air with the gay splash of water over smooth stones. Through an archway on the opposite side they passed, and found themselves in a welcoming room with a fire already lit in the stone bordered fireplace, and two large beds, indeed, vast to their eyes, against the far wall. There were comfortable seats arranged before the fire, and the far wall opened out onto a balcony that they later discovered overlooked the river valley, and was near enough to the Falls that the spray could be felt on the afternoon breeze. There were flowers everywhere about the room, rich rugs in glorious patterns under foot, and warm soft blankets of rich muted colors scattered gracefully on the seats and beds.
But none of that luxury was noticed at the moment, as they stood facing Strider, anxiousness and anger obvious on all three of their faces. Strider, with a sigh, sat down on a settle, so that they did not need to look up to him.
“You need to be with him,” he said simply. “I know that, but Lord Elrond does not. But I will help you find him now, even though I have reason to not wish Elrond to think ill of me. Leave your packs here then, and follow me. I suspect they have taken him to the healers’ chambers.” Gratefully, they instantly shed their packs, but before they started off again, Strider gave them a warning look. “I am but a guest here as well,” he reminded them quietly. “I can but bring you to his room. I cannot allow any of you to stay, if the healers wish it not.”
“Just you be takin’ us there, Strider,” Sam finally spoke, his voice rough. “You know we’d never do aught to hurt him, but we need to be seein’ him.”
&&&&&
It wasn’t long before they found the healers’ chambers, and the number of elves entering and leaving the door of a certain room quickly confirmed Frodo’s location. What they had not expected to see, however, was the tall grey figure, as well as the smaller one at his side, seated on a bench in the hall. “Mr. Bilbo!” Sam’s voice caught as he hastened to the elderly hobbit. “Mr. Gandalf!”
Bilbo stood, as the other hobbits approached, and it was immediately evident to all three that Bilbo Baggins, at last, was showing his age. He caught up Sam’s hands eagerly, as Sam stopped before him, and gave him a penetrating look. “Samwise Gamgee,” he murmured softly. “Gandalf told me you’d be with him. And Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took as well?” he added, looking over at them with a bit of surprise. “You two I certainly did not expect, although I can’t think of why not.”
But Sam was in no mood for pleasantries, as he gave both Bilbo and Gandalf, silently sitting on the bench, and nursing a pipe, anxious glances. “Mr. Frodo,” he said urgently, unconsciously lapsing into his former term of address in front of Bilbo. “How is he? Do you know?”
Gandalf then glanced up at Strider, who was quietly standing behind the hobbits. “Elessar,” he said slowly, rising to his feet. “Well met indeed. You have done well to bring them here. But as for your question, Sam,” he turned gravely to the fearful hobbit, “that we cannot tell you. He lies within, and the healers are doing what they can for him. We cannot but wait.”
Sam, though, was in no mood for patience. “If we could just but see him,” he cried distraughtly, giving Strider a beseeching look. Strider, after giving Gandalf a quick glance, silently answered Sam with a nod, as Merry and Pippin stood mutely behind him, waiting anxiously at the doorway.
“I will try,” he murmured softly, and approaching the elves authoritatively, began to speak urgently to them. Despite the fact that the anxious hobbits could understand none of it, it was clear that Strider’s words were finding no agreement with the elves. They said little, but shook their heads in a decisive manner, and Sam suddenly felt a vast impatience with all of this. Elvish healing might be all well and good, but that was his Frodo in there, and there wasn’t an elf alive that was going to keep him out in this corridor a moment longer.
So when he noticed an elf entering the room with cloths over his arm and a basin of water in his hands, he quickly darted behind him and entered the room at his heels, ignoring the raised voices out in the corridor.
What he saw made his heart stand still. There were several elves about the side of an immense bed, but through them, he could see Frodo. He lay stripped bare and unconscious on the white sheeting, but there was blood all over his shoulder, and the coverings under his side were crimson as well. Sam’s hands flew to his mouth, but he could not stop a moan of grief at seeing his beloved Frodo so small and vulnerable in this strange place.
There was an elf with a metal blade of some sort at Frodo’s shoulder, and he looked up at Sam’s entrance with an expression of surprise that quickly turned to distinct annoyance. He looked past Sam to Strider, who had followed him into the room, and rapidly said something to him that sounded irritated and abrupt. But Sam desperately stretched forward his hands and pleaded, not knowing if he could be understood, “Oh, please let me stay, sir! I’ll not be bothering you. But I must stay with him, I could never bear not to.”
The elf with the blade continued to look at him coolly, but one of the others made an exclamation as Frodo, at the sound of Sam’s voice, turned his head, although still unconscious, and blindly and weakly stretched out his uninjured arm. Sam watched, frozen with fear and apprehension, as Strider, standing protectively behind him, lay gentle hands on Sam’s shoulders. The first elf, who had glanced back in surprise at Frodo’s movement, studied the hobbit on the bed for a few moments longer. He stood up then, handing the instrument to his assistant, and walked over to the intruders. Giving Sam a keen glance, he began to speak to Strider, and Strider answered back in urgent tones. Sam stood still, as the conversation continued on, watching the elves that were now tidying up around the bed, and reapplying the bandage to Frodo’s shoulder, his heart pounding painfully, as he desperately hoped to be allowed to remain.
Strider, though, appeared to have reached a conclusion with the healer, for his grip on Sam’s shoulders now tightened slightly, and he bowed briefly to the elf. Sam, managing to tear his gaze away from Frodo’s still form for the moment, looked questioningly up to the man, who gave him a slight smile. “They told me this is the first movement that Frodo has made since he has been here,” he told Sam quietly. “They have agreed to let the three of you see him, but for only a short while. I’ll bring the other two in in a few moments.” Releasing his clasp on Sam, he quickly left the room, as did the rest of the elves, and Sam was alone with Frodo.
In an instant, he was at Frodo’s side, reaching a shaking hand out to touch him, and then Frodo’s still face was in his hands and he was kissing Frodo blindly, hungrily, with short sobs of anguish, his tears falling on those pale immobile features, unable to say anything more than brokenly whispering Frodo’s name. He knew that the others would be entering the room soon though, so reluctantly, he drew himself back up and hastily wiped his face with his hand. It was only then that he noticed the glint of gold, and saw the chain around Frodo’s neck. Bewildered, for he had never known Frodo to wear anything of the sort, his eye followed the chain down the side of Frodo’s pale neck, and, to his horror, saw what was nestled in Frodo’s dark curls, the Ring. But the door was opening again, and with a swift protective gesture, he swiftly covered Frodo’s torso with a blanket and turned to acknowledge the others.
Merry and Pippin quickly approached Sam as he stood at the side of the bed, and both instinctively reached out to touch Frodo; Merry, the gentlest of hands against his cheek, and Pippin, a trembling hand against his forehead, as Sam withdrew, and sagged against the side of the bed. “Frodo, oh, Frodo, dear,” they called softly to their unconscious cousin, their voices soft and tearful, as they sought to summon him back to them. However, Frodo lay still, never moving, and the elves returned. Wretchedly, the two hobbits withdrew from the bed, hands tightly clasped, and let the elves return to Frodo.
In the meantime, though, Sam had come to his decision. Pulling Strider aside, who had been leaning wearily and sorrowfully in the doorway, he told him quietly, but with immoveable determination, “I’ll not be goin’ anywhere else, Strider, you may as well be tellin’ them that. I’ll not be in the way, but there’s nowhere else I’m goin’ but here. I need t’be with him, and he needs me t’be with him. I don’t know if they’d be understanding that, but I know you do.”
“I do know,” Strider assured him sadly, “and I will do my best for you, Sam.” But even as he approached the healer, one of the other elves, who had been examining Frodo, his hand on his forehead, glanced over and spoke rapidly to the first. There was a quick hurried conversation, and then the healer approached Strider and began to speak to him at length. Strider nodded from time to time, and seemed to ask an occasional question, and at last, the elves began to pack up their instruments in the wooden boxes that lay on a nearby table, obviously making preparations to leave the room, and Strider took a deep breath and sank down against the wall in a crouch. The three hobbits drew close to him, fearfully awaiting his explanation.
“You’ve done Frodo some good, it seems,” he said in response, giving them the ghost of a smile. “Not only does it appear that he moved for the first time since he was brought here when you spoke to him, Sam, but now it looks as though his heartbeat has strengthened as well. They fear that there is yet some of the blade remaining in the wound,” he continued, his expression becoming grim, “but they have now chosen to let him regain some strength, if possible, before continuing to treat him further.” He looked directly at Sam, then, and went on. “They have agreed to let you stay with him tonight, Sam, but I’m afraid,” he added, turning to the other two, “that the both of you may not.”
Merry blinked, and swallowed hard, but nodded. “It’s Sam that should be with him,” he replied softly, bowing his head. “As long as there is one of us with him.” Pippin was silent, but nodded as well, reaching for Merry’s hand again and clutching it tightly.
Sam stopped them, though, before they could leave, placing his hands on both of their shoulders. “He loves the both o’you that much,” he declared, firmly gripping their shoulders, and gazing fiercely into their eyes. “Never forget that. He’ll be wantin’ to see you both as soon as he opens his eyes.”
Merry wordlessly ducked his head down, tears beginning at last to roll down his face, and Pippin gave Sam a fierce hug. They left, joining Bilbo, who had been standing quietly in the doorway, waiting for them.
Most of the elves had left by now, but one stood by the table, obviously awaiting Sam’s attention, and if Sam could have estimated his age, for it seemed very hard to determine with elves, he would have guessed that this elf was young. He faced Sam, as the others left, and gave him a short bow, which surprised Sam greatly. “I am Halilhil,” he stated softly in Common Speech. “I am here to be of assistance to you.”
“Why, I do thankee kindly for that,” Sam responded gratefully, as he stood at the side of the bed, feeling somewhat awkward, but with one of his hands unconsciously stealing around Frodo’s good shoulder. “And I’m ever so obliged for all you’ve done for him, I can’t be beginnin’ t’tell you. I hope you folk didn’t think me too forward, but I can’t help but think that he’d be needin’ one o’us with him.”
Halilhil smiled in a friendly manner. “I believe the healer felt the same, and that is why you are here, Master Gamgee,” he responded, with a trace of wryness. “And I might add that our healer rarely reassesses his opinions, so you may consider yourself persuasive indeed.”
Sam gave him a brief smile, but then gazed back down at Frodo, so pale in the white bed that he could barely be told from the sheets, to Sam’s mind. Only the dark curls and the red stain, already showing through his bandaged shoulder, were vivid against the whiteness. And his skin, under Sam’s gentle touch, was too cold, to Sam’s way of thinking. However it was when he moved his hand briefly to the left arm that he started in shock.
“Master Gamgee, what is it?” the elf cried immediately, approaching with concern.
“ ‘Tis like ice,” Sam gasped, glancing up at the elf, with fear on his face.
The young elf nodded, and his face was suddenly shadowed by sorrow. “The Morgul knife,” he murmured sadly. “It is most difficult to keep the warmth of life in one who has been pierced so, but have heart, Master Gamgee, he is fighting it most valiantly.”
“Strider says that you’d be thinkin’ there’s a bit left,” Sam gave him a steady look, clasping Frodo’s chill left hand in both of his. “What will happen if you can’t be gettin’ it out?”
“It will make its way to his heart,” the elf said softly, his eyes meeting Sam’s. “And his heart will be as cold as his hand. He will be lost to this world forever.”
&&&&&
Sam must have drifted to sleep, despite his best intentions, for when he groggily opened his eyes, all lights in the room were out, and the silvery moonlight was flooding through the tall open windows. The pale light bathed Frodo’s pallid face, as he lay next to Sam in the white bed, but somehow, he had turned to Sam, and his sleeping features now faced Sam’s on the large pillow they shared. Halilhil had insisted on Sam giving himself a quick wash, and had taken away his grimy and travel-stained clothing with a quickly disguised fastidious gesture of distaste. He had left Sam with a bowl of soup, since the hobbit had insisted that he was not in the least interested in food, and Sam had prudently rapidly devoured it. It made no sense to be fainting away from hunger on Frodo, but more substantial meals would have to wait. Halilhil had also left Sam with some sort of silken nightshirt, which Sam had quickly let slip to the floor, as soon as he was alone with Frodo. Right now, he needed to be feeling Frodo’s skin against his, and no elvish sense of modesty was going to keep him from that. If they didn’t have any idea of what Frodo meant to him, he expected that that situation would shortly be remedied. He did spare a quick thought as to Mr. Bilbo, but that explanation was going to have to be left to Merry and Pippin. At the moment, it did not matter in the least to him what anyone else could possibly think.
There was one more concern to be addressed, after he had climbed up into the great bed, next to Frodo. He lifted It off of Frodo’s neck very carefully, cautiously touching only the chain, and gently raised Frodo’s head to draw It up and off. What good the elves thought that hateful piece of gold was going to do Frodo, he couldn’t imagine, but there was no doubt in his mind that both he and Frodo would have been far better off for never having seen It. Without a second thought, he let It fall on a table on the far side of the bed, and returned to Frodo.
But Frodo was still motionless and seemingly all but lifeless, as he crawled back across the great bed to be beside him, and even when Sam had wrapped his arms around him, and had kissed him repeatedly, and had called his name yearningly, had made no movement. The tears had come, once more, and his heart had ached as he fought to keep despair away. Somehow, in his anguish, he must have fallen asleep, and he had missed Frodo’s movement.
He gazed at the beautiful face on the pillow next to his, and how many nights had he seen it thus, in their bed back at Bag End, but all he had to do would have been to stroke Frodo’s cheek, to lightly kiss that delicious sharp nose, and the dusky lashes would have lifted, and those glorious eyes would have been looking deeply into his, and he would have heard that familiar dear laugh, and that warmly affectionate voice whispering his name. None of that was of any use now, however, and he carefully, cautiously wrapped himself around Frodo once more, and brokenly murmured, “I love you, Frodo, oh, I love you. Don’t you be leavin’ me now, my dearest one; just you stay with me, me darling.”
&&&&&
After they had left Frodo’s room, Gandalf had quietly motioned Strider away from the others, and after a quick sharp glance at the both of them, Bilbo had drawn the other two hobbits, still stunned by all that had occurred, aside and murmured, “Here, now, lads, I’ll be taking you back to your room. There’s nothing else to be done here tonight.”
Merry looked up dully at the older hobbit, his hand still tightly wrapped around Pippin’s and nodded silently. Slowly they followed Bilbo, who seemed to know exactly where their room was, down the high open corridors of Rivendell.
The fire was burning as they had left it, and their packs were still on the floor where they had been so hastily dropped, burnished in the gold light of late afternoon. Bilbo said nothing as he matter-of-factly picked them up and placed them out of the way. He walked to a small table by the fire, and it was only then that the other two noticed that a tray of food had been left there in their absence, heaped with apples and dark plump grapes, and a golden loaf of bread. There was a bottle there, as well, and it was from that that Bilbo poured out two goblets of a dark liquid.
Turning back to Merry and Pippin, he gave them a small smile. “Here, my dear lads, this will do you both some good, I know. It’s even better than Old Winyards, although I’d never let them know that. Go to their heads, it would, and they can be insufferable enough at times.” Then, as neither of the younger hobbits moved, he repeated his offer, his voice softening. “There’s nothing more, as I said, to be done for the night. Sit down, the both of you now, and tell me how you came to be here.”
With a slight start, as if waking from a nightmare, Merry reached forward then, and gratefully accepted the goblet from Bilbo, sinking on the settle in front of the fire. Pippin silently did likewise, and with a satisfied nod, Bilbo poured a glass for himself, and settled into the well-pillowed chair beside the fire, absently tucking a soft woolen blanket about himself. “No concept of drafts, these folk,” he grumbled mildly, his shrewd eyes watching the other two over the rim of his goblet, allowing them time.
The wine was excellent, as Bilbo had claimed, fragrant and heady, and the warmth of it began to course through Merry’s weary limbs in no time at all. “You don’t seem that surprised to see all of us here,” he said after a few moment’s silence, during which time nothing could be heard other than the crackling of the fire and the faint rustling of the pines outside the open windows.
“I do know why Frodo is here. We need not speak of that now,” Bilbo said softly, giving Merry a pointed, but sympathetic glance. “I know what happened to him, as well, for Gandalf and I have been with him ever since he was brought here yesterday. The healer is very skilled, and if there is any living soul on Middle Earth who can help Frodo now, it would be him.” He slowly took another sip, and then said musingly running a finger around the rim of his goblet. “Gandalf told me that Sam would be coming with Frodo, but what I’m not entirely sure of is the reason why. And I know that the fact that the two of you had accompanied Frodo was quite a surprise to Gandalf. Well, lads?”
“Well, we are here because cousin Frodo was in some sort of trouble, and wouldn’t tell us what sort, so we tagged along until we could find out more,” Merry said, somewhat haltingly, answering the easier question first.
Pippin now found his voice for the first time as well, as he sat quite close to Merry, his legs drawn up on the seat next to him. “He needed our help, even if he didn’t think so at first,” he added softly to Merry’s comment.
“Did he now?” Bilbo watched them both steadily. “And Saradoc and Paladin felt it fitting that the both of you come along with him?”
Merry flushed at the combination of Bilbo’s words and the strong wine, but before he could attempt an answer, Bilbo gave a soft chuckle, and kindly shook his head. “Pay no attention to this old fool, lad; you’re weary and upset. There’ll be plenty of time for me to be finding out about all the Shire doings, for I can’t help admitting I’ve missed the place, many a time.” He rose then, setting down his glass, and motioned to one side of the courtyard. “I’ve a few rooms, just down that way, and I’ll show them to you when there’s time. The elves did do their best, I must say, nearly like a proper hobbit hole, they are. But I’m sure the both of you will be needing rest, and I’ll ask if they can bring in a decent meal in just a bit. There’s a good size tub just beyond that draped doorway,“ he added, gesturing toward it, “and I daresay there’s hot water in it already, so you can both have a bit of a soak. I doubt if you’re up for much company tonight. I’ll come by, first thing tomorrow, and we will go see how Frodo is doing.”
Merry rose politely, but Bilbo turned just as he was about to leave and gave him a piercing glance. “Never answered my first question,” he mentioned quietly.
“Erm, well, Sam lives with Frodo at Bag End now,” Merry answered uncertainly.
“I see. And not to just see to the cooking, eh, lad?”
“No, it’s more than that,” Merry said steadily.
“Well, now,” Bilbo gave him a wry smile. “There’s always been more about Samwise than one would first think. Frodo’s done rather well for himself, after all. Good night, lads.”
&&&&&
Sam awoke the next morning, as the morning light streamed through the windows, and realized with a start that he had slept late. Immediately, he glanced at Frodo, lying in his arms, and was heartened to see that Frodo’s breathing was steady, and that there was even a trace of pink in his pale cheeks. “Ah, me dear,” he breathed, feeling hope beginning to hesitantly find its way back to his heart again. Lovingly, he reached a devoted hand up to stroke Frodo’s face, and embraced him closely. The left arm was still far too cold, but the rest of Frodo was stretched against him, skin to skin, and Sam tucked his head against Frodo’s shoulder, and lost himself in the feel of that dearest body against his, savoring the warmth of his beloved’s flesh, almost hearing that cherished voice that murmured his name in his dreams. “Frodo-love, we’re here, in Rivendell. And Mr. Bilbo’s here, and Gandalf as well, and the elves are doing their best for you, me dearie. Open your eyes, my Frodo dearest, and look at me, love.”
Frodo remained motionless, though, and not all his tender words could change that. Halilhil’s soft knock startled him, though, and shyly he glanced up at the young elf who had entered the room. “My pardons,” Halilhil said apologetically, “but the healer will soon be here. And,” he added, uncertainly, ”you might want to be wearing this.” He picked up the nightshirt that he had brought in the night before for Sam, handing it to him tentatively.
“Aye, thankee,” Sam blurted out, turning rather red. Without explanations, he threw it over his head and, sitting up next to the still oblivious Frodo, tugged it hastily on. No sooner had he done so, than there was a sudden noise at the door, and the healer walked in, followed by several other elves, carrying wooden cases in their hands.
The healer only gave Sam one sharp glance before turning his attention to his patient. “Hmm,” he murmured, feeling Frodo’s forehead, and then the strength of his pulse. Whatever his conclusion was regarding these matters was kept to himself, but he turned then to the bandaged shoulder, and wordlessly holding out a hand, received a small pair of scissors from an attentive assistant. With only a few snips, the bandage, darkened in the center with dried blood, was carefully pried off. Frodo sighed and frowned, but made no other sign of feeling it. Sam, feeling awkward about kneeling in the bed at Frodo’s side, nevertheless awaited further instructions, his browned hand unconsciously wrapped about Frodo’s undamaged shoulder. Then he saw the wound and his heart sank.
He had not really seen it since the last time Strider had tended it, as they huddled in the forests along the path to Rivendell, what now seemed like so very long ago. The slash was deeper and longer now, as a result, he dimly realized, of the elves’ probing for the shard, but the most frightening sight was the red inflamed skin of the entire shoulder. In horror, Sam realized that he could even see dark red streaks under the skin, spreading from the shoulder down Frodo’s left arm, and what was even worse, down across his chest. With a horrible sureness, Sam knew that those red streaks were poisonous, and that they were not so very far from Frodo’s heart. Aghast, he raised his eyes, and met those of the healer, watching him intently.
The healer began to speak rapidly, and then paused, staring at Sam and seemingly waiting for a response. However, Halilhil was still at Sam’s side, and quickly interpreted. “The healer wishes to know if you are strong enough to assist,” he said softly, glancing from the elf to the hobbit. “He says that the sight may be distressing to you, but your friend clearly benefits from your presence, and that time is becoming short.”
Sam nodded immediately. Distressing it might be, but the thought of being sent from the room was far more upsetting. “Good,” Halilhil quietly replied, as the healer once again turned to his assistant, and received a clear glass vial with a long narrow opening, and colorless liquid within. Handing it over to Halilhil, he spoke rapidly for a few moments, and then turned his attention back to the instrument cases that another assistant held open for him.
“Hold his head up,” Halilhil quietly instructed him, “and see if you can get him to drink. It is a sleeping potion, strong and fast acting, for we cannot chance his awaking. Slowly tilt it and pour it down his throat in small amounts.”
Sam moved up in the bed then, and cautiously cradled Frodo’s head in his lap. Stroking the curls lovingly from the pale forehead, he crooned to Frodo, nearly inaudibly, caring nothing for whatever the rest might think, and tried to pour the liquid into Frodo’s mouth. Dimly, the memory of Mari with her little ones, trying to get the baby to swallow some healing draught, came back to him, and he gently caressed Frodo’s throat, causing him to instinctively swallow. The healer muttered something, giving Sam an approving glance, but then he raised the knife and his face became stern again.
&&&&&
Merry awoke with the first dawn and looked around with some initial first confusion. Pippin was next to him, of course, his face buried in his shoulder, and still wrapped in Merry’s protective embrace. The light streamed into the room through the high open windows, striking Pippin’s curls that covered his face with glints of red and gold. The air was cool, but even though the room seemed strangely open, it was not unpleasantly chilly, and glancing down toward the foot of the high, wide bed, Merry noticed with surprise that the fire was once again cheerfully crackling, keeping the room quite pleasant, and he wondered indeed if it had ever gone out during the night.
Now was not the time, though, to contemplate the wonders of this elvish palace, for his thoughts immediately went back to Frodo. Kissing Pippin’s forehead, he carefully removed his arm and leg from those of Pippin as they entwined him, and stealthily crept out of bed. Throwing a soft rug from the closest chair around his bare body, he walked through the open archway into the courtyard they had gone through the day before, trying to get his bearings, and determine in which direction Frodo’s room lay, when he noticed two things. First, that there was a large tray covered with breakfast items, lying directly next to the opening to their room, and secondly, that Bilbo Baggins sat on a bench to the side of the courtyard, watching the water spraying merrily up from the fountain and glistening in the morning sun, calmly sipping a cup of tea.
“Ah, there you are, lad. It must be the long journey that keeps you so late abed this morning.” The voice was calm and matter-of-fact, and Merry had the sudden feeling that he was a tween again, paying a visit to Frodo and Bilbo at Bag End. Generally, he had worn a sleeping garment at Bag End, however, and he unexpectedly felt rather embarrassed and not a little foolish. It seemed as if there was more news than Frodo and Sam’s new arrangement with which to acquaint Bilbo, and as if he had voiced these thoughts out loud, Bilbo suddenly gave him a small wry smile. “Well, if it wasn’t to be Frodo, I expect it would have been young Peregrin. I imagine Esme is not particularly delighted by all this?”
“Erm, ah, no, she isn’t,” stammered Merry, and at a loss for anything else to say, he nodded, and murmured, “I’ll just be waking him up, then, Uncle Bilbo,” and backed awkwardly back into the room.
“Bilbo’s here, wake up,” he hissed softly to Pippin, forced by the height of the great bed to crawl up again in order to give him an awakening shake. “He’s having tea just outside the door, or at least where the door would be if there were a door in this confounded place.”
“Oh, bother,” Pippin yawned, obviously still more than half-asleep, but then sat up with a sudden start. “He didn’t say anything about Frodo?” he asked, with a frown.
Merry shook his head. “He seems calm enough, I expect nothing’s changed, but we do need to get dressed and find that room again. I certainly hope he has an idea where they’re keeping Frodo and Sam, because this place hopelessly addles me.”
Pippin stretched and clambered out of bed then, quite unconsciously naked, and after a cheerful wave to Bilbo, set off to look for their packs. There wasn’t much in the way of a change left in them, but anything would be an improvement on what they had been wearing the day before. It wasn’t long before they were both dressed, and with a quick swallow of tea, and a hastily eaten slice or two of bread, they were following Bilbo, who seemed to know his way about quite well, back to the healer’s room.
They found Gandalf quietly sitting on the bench, outside of the room and smoking his pipe, much as he had been the night before, and he gave them a nod as he saw them approach. “They are searching for the shard again,” he said softly, and rubbed his hand wearily across his forehead. “There nothing to be done but wait.”
So wait they did, for what seemed like hours, to the anxious and impatient Merry. He knew that Pippin was just as concerned and nervous, but for once the young Took had nothing to say, and only unconsciously twisted his hands continuously in his lap. Bilbo appeared serene, taking out his pipe as well, but Merry could tell by the short puffs he was drawing on it that he was anything but.
Merry could occasionally hear voices, low and indistinct from the room, one of the very few in Rivendell, apparently, with an actual door. They were elvish voices though, and he heard nothing from either Sam or Frodo until, with a sharp clarity that caused all of the waiting party to hold their breaths in alarm, there came a wailing, harsh, choked cry of pain. There was nothing else from the room as they sat in such a silence that Merry was sure that he could hear Pippin’s heart as well as his own, when the door suddenly opened.
It was Sam who slowly walked from the room, pale, and with dark circles under his eyes, and stains of what, Merry realized in dismay, must be Frodo’s blood on the elvish garment that he was wearing, but with a small weary smile on his face. “They found it,” he murmured, walking uncertainly toward them. “He’ll be all right now.”
With incoherent cries, both Merry and Pippin were instantly on their feet, and ran to embrace Sam, tears of relief falling down their faces, and Sam stood still for a moment, supported by the both of them, and closing his own eyes, wavered uncertainly on his feet. Then rallying himself once again, he nodded toward Bilbo and the wizard. Bilbo was fussing about with his pipe, but dabbing at his eyes from time to time as well, and was obviously unable, for the moment, to speak. Gandalf, his eyes suspiciously bright as well, gave the older hobbit a warm hug, and then stood up.
“My dear Samwise,” he spoke gently, laying an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “That is indeed very good news, the best of news. There is much for us to say to each other, but not until Frodo is stronger. And that will be much sooner than the elves realize, I suspect. Once more, your folk have proven themselves strong and valiant indeed.”
Merry didn’t mind praise from the wizard, if somewhat second-hand, but he was quickly growing impatient. “May we see him yet, Sam?” he questioned the exhausted hobbit, who shook his head in reply.
“Not yet, I’m afraid, Merry,” he said ruefully. “They need t’be closing up the wound, and bandaging it, and there’d be a bit of cleaning up to do, likewise. They sent me out too. Something about tidyin’ up and havin’ a bite to eat,” he glanced down at himself apologetically. “With what they gave him to drink, he’s not likely to be wakin’ for quite some time.”
“But if he was asleep, who gave that dreadful cry?” Pippin asked apprehensively, as he and Merry, both of them with their arms wrapped around Sam, escorted him back to their room, Bilbo silently following.
Sam gave a shudder and closed his eyes for a moment. “ ‘Twas poor Frodo, just as they found it,” he said, nearly inaudible. “And I hope by all that’s good that I never hear the like o’that again.”
&&&&&
It wasn’t until they reached the courtyard in front of the hobbits’ room that Bilbo finally spoke. “Just a moment, lads,” he said rather gruffly, from behind them. “There’s no point going in there. Pippin, go run inside, and see if they’ve brought back Sam’s clothes. Then you lads will be coming with me.”
Pippin did as he was bade, and quickly returned with Sam’s cleaned clothes over his arm. “Thought as much,” Bilbo muttered. “Efficient lot, there’s no denying that.” Without another word, he turned down the corridor across from their room, and the others followed. This corridor soon opened out onto a much larger courtyard, covered with grass instead of stone. There were flowerbeds, and a large alder, still full and green, with a small bench underneath it. The river valley opened up below them, just on the other side of a low carved stone balustrade, and the roar of the river faintly rose up to meet their ears. The most surprising element of the courtyard, however, was just past the alder, a round green door set into the hillside.
“Yes, a proper smial,” Bilbo gave a satisfied glance their way. “Elves are really awfully accommodating, you know, and the feel of those great drafty halls of theirs just never seemed right, somehow. So they fixed this up for me.” Walking ahead of the others, he opened the door, welcoming them in. “Step lively, lads, and come on in. Pot of tea will do us all some good, and none of us has had a proper breakfast, that I know.”
Bustling down the hallway from the study that they had entered, he gave a look over his shoulder, and motioned to the others to follow. “Kitchen this way, plenty of room.” The other three hobbits followed, still in a bit of shock at the unexpected surroundings. “Well then,” Bilbo announced decisively, as they entered the cozy room, with the round window open to the valley side, and a well-used stone bordered fireplace on the other. “Pippin, give me a hand, lad. And Merry, the bath room is just through that door. Be a good fellow, and help draw a bath for Samwise, would you then? I doubt if he’s had a chance to soak since he got here.”
With a rather startled nod, Merry started about his task, and soon had a steamy tub of water ready for Sam, who had been sitting waiting at the kitchen table with a dazed expression on his face, uncharacteristically not lifting a hand to help the others. Merry gently tapped his shoulder, and Sam, with a start, then arose and followed him down the hall. He drew the blood-spattered garment over his head, and without a word, slowly sank into the tub, and then sat motionless, his knees drawn up with his arms around them, and his face hidden from view. Merry stood uncertainly for a moment, ready to leave, until he heard the sound of stifled sobs, and saw Sam’s shoulder’s shake.
“Here, now, Sam,” he muttered softly, fighting to keep his own composure. He knelt then next to the tub, and hesitantly placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It is going to be all right now, Gandalf even said so.” Sam did not look up, and at a loss to do anything else, Merry picked up the bar of soap next to the tub, and slipping it quickly in the water beside Sam, began to lather it up in his hands. Soothingly, he reached out to Sam, and started to gently rub his back, working his hand against the tight muscles, messaging the tenseness away.
Sam made no movement of resistance, but the sobs began to lessen, and eventually, he reached down and splashed water on his face, turning around to Merry in the dimly lit room. “I was that scared,” he murmured simply, laying a hand on Merry’s arm. “You still don’t know the worst o’it. If that cursed shard had reached his heart,” and he stopped, gulping and fighting to continue to speak. Merry stared at the familiar round gentle face, so changed and made haggard in the last several days. “He would have worse than died,” Sam at last got out as Merry watched him, bewildered. “He would have ended up with those black fiends forever.”
Merry’s eyes widened in horror, as he realized what Sam was saying. “Oh, Sam!” he gasped, his hand unconsciously tightly clutching Sam’s shoulder.
“Aye,” Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head forward again on his knees. “I didn’t want t’be scaring both of you when there was naught you could do, but it’s been that hard.” For several moments, there was silence in the small steamy room, and all that could be heard was Pippin’s indecipherable chatter from down the hall, and the occasional gruff word from Bilbo.
Then, resolutely, Sam straightened back up again, and laid a hand over Merry’s, still on his shoulder. “You’d best be gettin’ back to the others, Merry-love, or they’ll come looking’ for you, sure enough. I’ll be right out, meself. And Merry,” he added, with a small smile, “ ‘tis glad I am that you and Pip’d be with us, no mistake. Frodo might have thought otherwise, but he’d be dead wrong about that. He does get things wrong, sometimes, even though he hates to think so.”
Merry gave him an uncertain smile in return. “Well, that would be why he needs you and I both about then,” he answered sympathetically. “Neither one of us is especially loathe to point that fact out. Save him from himself, that’s what we do.”
&&&&&
It wasn’t long after they ate that they were back at Frodo’s room, for none of them had any mind to stay away for long, but this time, they were met, to their surprise, by Strider, just leaving the room. “He is resting well,” he informed them with a slight smile, “but don’t expect to see him awake for awhile. The healer believes we mortals heal more rapidly when we are asleep. Or that we are less bother that way, I’m not sure which.”
“Strider!” Merry and Pippin greeted him affectionately, giving him a quick hug each.
“Strider?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “This is a new name, Elessar.”
“I have many names, my good hobbits, more than I care to keep track of sometimes,” the man chuckled, and he seemed to Sam younger and far less careworn than he had since they had first met him in Bree. “Why don’t the two of you go bid him good morning, and then I’ll show you about.”
Merry and Pippin did not need to be told twice, and immediately entered the room, but Sam hung back in the hallway, silent, as Bilbo sat on the bench in the hall again, producing his pipe once more. Strider studied him carefully, and then laid a hand upon his shoulder. “You brought him through, Sam,” he said quietly.
Sam ducked his head down, and said nothing.
It was not long before Merry and Pippin emerged from the room, looking subdued, and brushing back a quick tear or two. “Come along then,” Strider said gently to them, giving them an understanding look. “There’s much to see here. And Frodo won’t be up for at least a day or two.”
After they had left, Sam immediately approached the door, and then turned, rather awkwardly, to Bilbo. “Would you like to see him first, Mr. Bilbo?” he asked, uncomfortably.
Bilbo shook his head, though, and gave a wave of his pipe. “I’ll be in later, Samwise. Keep you a bit of company, if you like. Go on, then, and don’t dawdle, there’s the lad.” Sam did not wait to hear more.
The room was lit with the clear morning light, shimmering as it struck the white bed, and the long billows of linen, hung on either side of the window openings, blew gracefully about in the fragrant air, casting swaying shadows upon the still white coverlet. Small and achingly vulnerable, however, in the midst of the bed, was a dark head, and Sam had eyes for nothing else. Frodo was lost in deep slumber, his face turned to the side, and was now dressed in a white garment, with the white linen of the bandage wrapped about his shoulder just showing at the throat. Sam watched the steady faint rise and fall of his chest for several moments before he could move, and felt the calm and the peace of the room fill his weary heart. Frodo had defeated the evil that had attempted to ensnare him, and had been restored to him. He would be healing now, and well Sam knew how tough and resilient he truly was despite his graceful appearance. Then it would be time to turn to the Shire again, and their beloved home together at Bag End.
Then there was no help for it, but he had to feel Frodo again in his arms, feel that cherished body in his embrace, and hold fast to the love he had so nearly lost. Carefully, he climbed up and onto the great bed, and slipping under the covers, wrapped his arms about Frodo, and positioned himself sitting propped up slightly against the pillows, allowing Frodo’s head to come to rest against his chest. Tenderly, he brushed Frodo’s hair back from his forehead, kissing him again and again. “Me dearie, me dearie,” he sighed, closing his eyes as he laid his cheek against Frodo’s dark curls. “Frodo, my own. You are with me still, dearest love.”
It was nearly an hour later that he heard a gentle rap on the door, and Bilbo cautiously peered in. Sam fought the impulse, for just a moment, to withdraw, and then bravely held his position. But the small involuntary motion that he made must have reached Frodo, for Frodo stirred, for the first time, and although obviously still fast asleep, reached his wounded arm out and lay it across Sam’s chest with an almost imperceptible sigh, and tucked his head slightly in against Sam.
Walking over to the bed, Bilbo studied the both of them silently, and Sam could not read his expression. Then, with a slight smile, he reached out and gently touched Frodo’s cheek. “He knows your touch,” he murmured, giving Sam a keen glance.
Sam couldn’t help reddening at Bilbo’s remark, but lifted his chin firmly. “Aye, and I his,” he stated forthrightly.
Bilbo’s smile broadened at his response, and he nodded to the chair beside the bed. “Care for company?” he asked lightly.
“ ‘Twould be right kind of you, sir,” Sam murmured politely, his arms still quite full of Frodo.
“Sir, still, is it?” Bilbo chuckled, as he hoisted himself up the high chair with the ease born of experience. “I rather think Bilbo, or perhaps Uncle Bilbo, would do under the circumstances.”
Sam shook his head at the notion. “I’m afraid that would never do,” he replied apologetically. “’Twas that hard to get my tongue around Merry and Pippin, but I’m afraid you must go on being Mr. Bilbo, sir.”
“Ah, some things about you have not changed a bit, Samwise,” Bilbo laughed lightly at Sam’s protestation. “The Gaffer trained you well, I expect. But how is the old fellow these days, and what would he be thinking of all this?” he asked, airily waving his hand in their direction.
“Quite well, thankee kindly, and not much, leastways, at the beginning,” Sam answered, a small smile beginning to creep across his face as well.
“Well, that’s not much of a surprise,” Bilbo admitted, grinning back. “Now my dear Frodo-lad, I never saw him as the marrying sort, to be quite honest, but I always thought that it would be Merry. Certainly not you, Samwise. I would have expected you to be married and have fauntlings all about your feet, by now.”
“There’d be others as felt the same,” Sam confessed, his smile deepening. “And yet here we’d be.”
“Well, now, well, now,” Bilbo shook his head in bemusement. “Can’t say as that isn’t the best arrangement, actually. Merry’s mother would never have let him hold on to Frodo, in the end. Master of Brandy Hall and all that rubbish. And how is dear Esme, anyway?”
And before Sam knew it, he was accounting for the doings of the Shire for the last many years to his old master, but the dear one he held gratefully in his arms was never out of his thoughts.
&&&&&
Moonlight streamed in brightly through the window when Sam opened his eyes. Somehow, he must have drifted off not too long after dinner. He had spent the entire day with Frodo as Bilbo, and later Merry and Pippin, not to mention Gandalf and Strider, as well as several elves, including Halilhil and even the healer, had all come and gone. Still Frodo slept, but his breathing had become even and strong, and a bit of pink was gradually starting to be apparent on his cheeks. Through it all, Sam had stayed, leaving only to quickly refresh himself with a light meal, and none had questioned his doing so. The last thing he could recollect was Pippin regaling Bilbo with the latest news of the Great Smials, as he lay out at the foot of the great bed, propped up against an amused Merry. He had closed his eyes for just the briefest of moments, and now here he was, alone with Frodo once again, in the still and silvered room.
Then he realized what must have awakened him, for Frodo, once again enveloped in his careful embrace, stirred and stretched, and then, wonder of wonders, blinked open his eyes and smiled sleepily at Sam, his face next to Sam’s on the broad white pillow.
“Frodo,” breathed Sam, reaching out his hand to touch his face. “Oh, Frodo.”
“Sam. You are here,” Frodo’s voice was low and somewhat slurred, but his smile deepened. “I knew I’d find you again, Sam.”
“Of course, Frodo-love,” Sam answered, desperately trying to keep his voice from breaking. “Wherever else would I be, dearest, but with you?” His hand stole down the side of Frodo’s face, caressing and loving.
“You’d never let me go, would you, my dear Sam,” Frodo’s eyes closed again, and his voice drifted off.
“No, never at all,” Sam whispered, as Frodo fell asleep, once more. He tightened his embrace, and buried his head against Frodo’s neck, unable to stop his tears. “I’d never be leavin’ you, mine own love. It won’t matter where you go, Frodo-love. I’ll be with you always.”
no subject
*waves hello from down the road and through the scattered oaks* There's been so much on LJ tonight: new pictures of Eliah (have you seen them?), and then I see your post with a new chapter. So, without further ado, going to read straight away. A very good way to end the night. Will talk with you soon. -- L.
no subject
I know! So much, and I still haven't gotten back to those posts at Cara's! Into 12 hour days for the next three weeks, yikes!
(heh - and if you don't like where it stops, part 2 is ready to go too, I guess I'll post it next week...)
no subject
no subject
It's a lot of fun to try to imagine the more hobbitty bits that must have been going on in these chapters that, alas, JRR did not expand upon. And, thank goodness, I don't have to explain the whole Ring backhistory and what happened to Gandalf, because anyone reading this should know all that. Which means I can get straight to the good stuff.
And after seventeen years being together (in this universe), nobody, be he elf, man, wraith or dragon, better stand between Sam and his Frodo!
Thanks again, my dear, and (((hugses))) to you and yours.
no subject
no subject
I was rather imagining that the poor three hobbits had fallen into some odd, grand hospital where everyone was twice as tall as they, and no-one would tell them a thing. Yikes. And I really can't imagine that Bilbo, although probably surprised, would have been that upset about Frodo and Sam, especially in the face of Sam's obvious devotion. (I think the elves were as fond of him, as he was of them, so of course they got him his own hobbit hole - probably got some dwarves to dig it out for them. *g*)
(And, oh, yes, I had to do that before the end - Frodo will be up and rather testy about things in part 2 - heh. He's just not a good patient.)
no subject
AND...
http://www.geocities.com/ebwinelotr/Elegy1.html
I did one, without having to be poked!! *throws confetti* The picture isn't terribly imaginitive but it seemed to fit. Let me know if you want something different.
no subject
*is impressed!*
*joins you in flinging confetti about. let someone else vacuum it, I say*
Oooh, perfect picture! (since PJ seemingly forgot to add the earlier nekkid!Frodo scene - grrr)
*mwah* and thanks on the h/c, my dear! It's not something I do often, and there are those that are so good at it, so thanks again! That's what I love about hobbits the most, I think. Even with all their light words, there's always such a strong undercurrent of love and affection between them, and they're never afraid to let it show when they need to. (and it's canon!)
{{{hugs you back}}}
no subject
I think that this is one of the most beautiful accounts of Sam's vigil that I've ever read.
Sorry this is so late, btw. I've been really busy and lazy lately. *HUGS*
no subject
And thanks on poor Sam. Hmmph. Having Gandalf sitting there to welcome Frodo when he wakes up. What was Tolkien thinking?
no subject