"Legacy" mpreg series : "Farewell to Friends"
This is a piece of the story I've long been meaning to write and finally got moving this weekend (I'd started, then got hung up -same old, same old). It occurs between " Choices" and " Moving," and is my belated October 6th offering.
A/N: For the purposes of this story, the hobbits leave Rivendell on Oct. 5, spend the night on the banks of the Bruinen, and continue their journey on Oct. 6 -Frodo back to Rivendell, the others onward toward the Shire. Also, an as-yet-unwritten episode of this story will place Saruman's confrontation with Frodo during the journey North, rather than in the Shire as according to canon. So the reference to his words isn't misplaced; I just haven't written that part yet. ;) Also, there are some quotes from the RotK book; you should know what those are. And the comment about Gandalf's grey robe being scratchy is from my observation when I touched it at the LotR exhibit in Houston (yes, I dared to touch the display -several here can attest to that ;)) -I've just been *waiting* to use that in a fic!
_Farewell to Friends_
It was early October, and the time had come for the hobbits to return home. Even Frodo could feel the longing to see the Shire again, despite the fact he would remain in Rivendell for now -if all went well, he might be back by next Midsummer. It seemed an age away, and the thought of bidding the other hobbits farewell put his stomach into knots of anxiety. He had not been without their company -well, Sam's company, anyway- in over a year, since they had first set out on what became a very long journey, and the prospect of being without them in the next few months was not pleasant, to say the least.
But he could not argue with their need to leave, and heartily endorsed them returning to their families, so he buried his reluctance and helped them prepare for the journey as best as he was able. It had been agreed he would ride with the departing party as far as the Bruinen, they would camp for the night on the river's banks and say their farewells the next morning before parting ways.
Thus Frodo was sitting astride a pony long before he would have preferred to even be awake (though, to be frank, he would have preferred to remain abed until at least elevenses, these days, since he never felt well enough to eat anything until then anyway), but the other hobbits seemed cheerful enough despite the early hour as they began the trip homeward. Merry and Pippin kept up an animated conversation of what they wanted to do first when they got back; Sam occasionally contributed as well, but mostly rode in silent companionship with Frodo, who could not find it in himself to think about what he missed most in the Shire for fear of making himself too homesick. Gandalf rode behind, keeping to himself and puffing on his pipe as he watched the hobbits.
They ate second breakfast and elevenses while riding, or at least, everyone else did. Frodo still had difficulties keeping food down in the morning, and sometimes that extended all the way to luncheon, so he nibbled on a bit of bread, but soon looked slightly green and hurriedly put it away.
The group stopped briefly for lunch, and Frodo made his best effort at both eating and conversation, but felt he failed miserably at both. Nevertheless, no one seemed to recognize anything was amiss until Frodo stumbled while trying to re-mount his pony, and Merry was at his side, steadying him with a hand on his arm. "You all right there, cousin?"
"I'm fine, just clumsy," Frodo grumbled, successfully gaining his saddle this time.
"I didn't mean getting on the pony," Merry said gently. "You've been rather quiet today."
Frodo sighed and met his eyes reluctantly. "I am tired, and trying not to think about tomorrow," he said softly.
"I seem to recall that you insisted we go on ahead," Merry replied lightly, then sobered. "Are you certain we should leave? It would be no trouble to turn around right now."
"No, you must return to your families. I have kept you away long enough. I'll be all right . . . I'll just miss your company, is all."
Merry patted his knee and nodded. "As we shall miss yours. But that's quite enough seriousness for now," he said, his manner turning brisk. "What can we do to make you want us to leave?" he asked with a wink.
Frodo chuckled. "Tell me more about that walking, talking tree. I'm certain there are details you and Pippin neglected to mention in your hurry to get to the exciting parts of the story."
"He wasn't a tree, he was an *Ent*!" Pippin retorted aggrievedly from somewhere behind him.
Frodo laughed and turned to see his cousin pouting as his pony shifted uneasily beneath him. "You need to hold your tongue if you're going to eavesdrop without being caught, lad," he reproved mildly. "And I know he's an Ent -I was only teasing."
Pippin's expression cleared. "Oh. That's all right, then." He brightened as a thought occurred to him. "Frodo, have *you* ever seen an Entwife?"
Frodo frowned in puzzlement. "I don't know. What do they look like?"
"That's exactly what we asked Treebeard! But he doesn't remember, it's been such a long time since any Ents have seen an Entwife."
"Then how am I suppposed to know if I've seen one?" Frodo asked with some exasperation.
"If there's any hobbit that might know, I thought it would be you," Pippin said defensively. "But since you don't, I guess they'll never be found."
"No, I've never even heard of them before. Sorry, Pip," Frodo said with some remorse, ashamed of how quickly he'd become impatient with the eager youngster. "But you're avoiding the subject. I asked to hear about Ents, not be asked about Entwives."
Gandalf's gruff voice broke into the conversation. "Are we going to sit about all day, chattering upon our ponies, or are we going to continue?"
"Sorry, Gandalf," three voices answered in unison, Sam preferring to stare at Bill's ears without a word -he'd been nearly ready to ask the same thing of his master. The small group resumed their journey toward the Bruinen and the Ford, Pippin excitedly telling all he could about Treebeard and the other Ents, with Merry occasionally breaking in to add his own comments, while Sam followed behind the three, content to listen and observe. Gandalf watched all of them, thoughtfully chewing on the stem of his unlit pipe as he pondered.
It was just before dusk when they reached the river, calm and clear. Choosing a relatively flat spot several hundred paces from the bank for the campsite, Sam soon had a fire and dinner going, while the other three hobbits gathered more wood and fetched water before laying out the bedrolls. Pippin was still chattering happily about the Ents, recounting with glee the destruction they had wrought on Isengard. The mention of Saruman's fortress made Frodo shudder as he remembered the encounter with the disgraced wizard, and Saruman's words rose unbidden in his mind. Do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell. Part of Frodo still wondered if Saruman spoke truly, and he shivered again.
"Mr. Frodo? Are you cold, sir?" Sam asked, breaking into his reverie.
"No, no, I'm fine. Just . . . remembering something," Frodo hurried to assure him, relieved to notice Pippin continued his prattling uninterrupted.
Sam appeared unconvinced, but said no more and turned back to tending the meat simmering in the pot. Pippin soon finished his tale with the arrival of Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the forces of Rohan at Isengard. "Now what do you want to hear about?" he asked eagerly, knowing full well that the stories were probably the best way to pull Frodo out his melancholy for the evening.
"You might as well continue from there and tell me more about Rohan," Frodo mused.
"I'll start," Pippin said agreeably, "but Merry will have to do most of the telling. He was there longer."
Merry gave a mock bow from where he was seated by the fire, minding the potatoes roasting in the coals, and Frodo laughed. "By all means, begin!"
This topic lasted through dinner and well into the evening, going all the way from the hobbits' arrival to Merry riding with Eowyn for battle at the Pelennor Fields, at which point Gandalf interrupted. "Perhaps it would be best to stop there for the night," he said gently.
"Yes, we should all retire soon," Frodo agreed, yawning.
For his part, Merry was grateful he would not need to talk of slaying the Witch King in the dark where Frodo came so close to succumbing to his evil blade.
With one accord, the hobbits rose to prepare for the night. Once each was suitably washed and had made use of the small hole several paces downwind, they retired to the bedrolls set out earlier. Frodo had been put in the middle, all of them wanting to be near for this last night they would spend with him for a great while, Sam on one side, Merry on the other, and Pippin above their heads, laying perpendicular to the rest.
The camp was soon silent but for the deep breathing and slight snores of the sleepers, but for all that he was weary, Frodo found sleep eluded him. When he did manage to doze off, he soon woke again, disturbed by imagined noises or brief snatches of dark dreams. Each time he woke it was harder to rest again, for his heart pounded and sweat drenched him, and it took quite some time for him to feel calm enough to even attempt to sleep. At length he rose and sat next to Gandalf, who silently watched over the camp and kept the small fire going against the growing autumn chill.
"You cannot sleep." It wasn't a question.
"No," Frodo sighed.
Gandalf lifted his arm and gestured for Frodo to lean against him, which he did without hesitation. After a silent moment, a random thought occurred to him and he tentatively felt the robe beneath his cheek with his fingers. Gandalf chuckled. "Does it meet with your approval?"
"Yes," Frodo said simply. "It's much nicer than the grey one."
"Oh?"
"The grey one looked like it should be soft, but it seemed rather scratchy. This white one is actually soft, like the cloaks we were given by Lady Galadriel."
"That is well; I was given this raiment in Lothlorien. It is far more difficult to keep clean, however," he said with merriment.
Frodo laughed. "I have noticed. Perhaps we should call you Gandalf the Smudged?"
Gandalf laughed as well. "Gandalf the Travel-Stained would be more apropos, I should think," he countered.
"Travel-stained it is," Frodo said merrily, then fell silent once more. "When will I see you again?" he asked timidly, and Gandalf's arm tightened around him.
"It is difficult to say," the wizard replied, "but I will certainly come by to see you and your babe after it is born."
"That's good," Frodo said, yawning.
"Go on back to bed," Gandalf urged. "I think you will find sleep will no longer escape you."
Frodo nodded and wandered tiredly to his bedroll. Indeed, he was asleep almost as soon as he'd arranged his blankets over him. Morning came all too soon, and it took a supreme act of will for Frodo to rise when his cousins woke him. He rubbed his eyes, but the world seemed shrouded in a light mist; he supposed fog had developed from the river. Frodo stiffly rolled up his bedding and retied it behind the saddle, yawning hugely all the while.
He intended to sit by the fire after that chore was done, but Merry was frying bacon and the smell made Frodo immediately and violently ill. He almost didn't make it to their little hole before emptying what remained of the last evening's dinner. Sam appeared beside him a moment later, bearing water and some of the dry crackers that sometimes helped his morning ailment. Frodo took them without comment, sipping the water and nibbling the crackers until the moment of crisis was over and he could stand without feeling the need to retch again.
When they returned to the fire, Frodo sat upwind from the bacon and pinched his nose shut whenever the smell threatened to reach him. Breakfast was a quiet and quick affair, the food all too readily consumed by those who could eat in the morning, then cleaned up and the remaining dishes and pots efficiently packed until all that stood between them and resuming the journey home was to say farewell to Frodo.
Frodo hugged each one tightly, first Pippin, then Merry, then Sam, whispering assurances that he would be fine, and he'd see them next year. Pippin was near tears, but kept them from spilling; Merry asserted they'd have Crickhollow standing ready for whenever he returned; and Sam promised he would return in time for the birth. Gandalf stood by as the three mounted their ponies, then urged them to cross the Ford -he desired words with Frodo but would rejoin them shortly.
As the three carefully picked their way across the river, then vanished into the trees on the other side, to Frodo it seemed the fog grew thicker. He turned to Gandalf, wondering what he wished to speak of.
"Are you in pain, Frodo?" said Gandalf quietly as he stood beside the small hobbit.
"Well, yes I am," said Frodo, only just now realizing it himself. "It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today."
"Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf.
"I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire at long last, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?"
Gandalf did not answer, but knelt and embraced him. "Do not try to think too far ahead, my dear Frodo. You have much before you in the coming months, and more after that still. You will receive your answer in time."
"I hope so," Frodo murmured.
Without another word, Gandalf withdrew, mounted Shadowfax, and rode into the river. When he was halfway across, he turned and lifted a hand in farewell; Frodo returned the gesture, and Gandalf also disappeared from sight.
Frodo stood on the bank, bereft. The mist had thickened and now his vision was also blurred by tears until he could almost see again the menacing Black Riders on the opposite bank. His heart quailed in fear, the pain he'd confessed to Gandalf redoubling as his wound sent waves of frigid agony down his arm and across his chest. Frodo fell to his knees and retched, shivering and shaking violently.
Time ceased to exist, and Frodo was brought back to himself when his pony Strider nudged his side, whinnying anxiously. Frodo used the reins to pull himself to standing, then patted the pony's neck and murmured reassuringly as he shakily went around to the pony's side. It took him quite a bit of effort to heave himself into the saddle, though mercifully he did not have to use his pained arm, and he sat, panting, for several moments before allowing Strider to start moving.
For the most part, Frodo trusted the pony to find the way, for he was almost insensible in his misery. Now he understood the mist clouding his vision wasn't fog at all, and between that and the renewed pain of his old wound, he was in no shape to guide anyone anywhere, even if it was just a pony. And that was just his new complaints -he had to stop periodically to give in to the usual morning nausea, seemingly worsened by the misery of being left behind and hurting.
By midmorning Frodo was fading in and out of consciousness, his trouble sleeping the night before not helping in his current predicament. He almost wished he'd agreed to have an escort back to Rivendell, as Elrond and Gandalf suggested when he'd made it clear he would accompany the other hobbits as far as the Bruinen. Ah, well, too late for that now. He would have to trust Strider would get him back eventually.
But Elrond had not been so shortsighed. Elladan and Elrohir had been sent to tail the hobbit and his companions, then closely follow Frodo on the way back to the house, for while Elrond had not been certain Frodo would have ill effects from his wounding the year before, he knew it was a possibility. As such, Elrond's sons were well-equipped for any event, and had been instructed to give Frodo a wide berth unless he needed immediate assistance. Now the pair watched Frodo from a few paces behind and to the left of the trail and debated whether he needed 'immediate assistance' or could muddle along a little longer on his own.
Frodo unintentionally settled that question when he swayed and nearly fell out of his saddle, jerking awake at the last moment to clutch Strider's mane and keep himself upright. He sighed raggedly after gaining his balance and released the hair to pat the pony's neck. He fished in his pack for his water skin, sipping gingerly, thirsty but not wishing to induce another bout of nausea. At least the water wasn't cold anymore -he didn't need anything cold, he was shivering enough already. He was just settling down from nearly falling off the pony when he was startled by a voice behind him. "Frodo, mellon nin, do you need some help?"
"Or at least some company?" came another voice, very similar in timbre to the first.
And Frodo was relieved that he recognized the Elves even through the mist as they rode up on either side of him. "Elladan, Elrohir," he acknowledged breathlessly. "I didn't know you were this far from the House."
The two exchanged a look, and Elladan said airily, "We were just out for a ride."
"And we thought you could use some company on the way back," Elrohir added.
"Oh. All right, then." Frodo accepted their reasoning without question; he couldn't spare any of his mind to thinking when he had to focus on staying upright and on the pony. But then the pain crested again, and he lost his focus on his surroundings as he fought to keep from becoming ill. When it receded enough that he could open his eyes, they had stopped, one elf was touching his back gently while the other was holding Strider's reins -he never could tell the two apart.
"Do you need to ride with one of us?" the one touching him asked.
As much as he hated to admit he needed help . . . "That might be better," he admitted reluctantly. "I am not feeling entirely well to-day."
"Lean over toward me and I'll lift you onto my horse," the one touching him encouraged. Frodo nodded and canted in that direction, then felt the hand on his back move to grasp him under the right arm while the other came down to gently hold him under the left arm.
With very little discomfort Frodo was suddenly transported from pony to horse and tucked safely against the elf's chest, perched sideways in the saddle. He sighed, feeling slightly warmer already. "Which one are you?" he asked sleepily.
A rumble of laughter bubbled through the chest he leaned against. "I am Elrohir," he said merrily. "Elladan is seeing to your pony. Rest now, Frodo. We will see you safely back to Bilbo."
Frodo nodded, snuggling against Elrohir's chest and drifting into a nap. He spent much of the rest of the day passing in and out of a restless sleep, so he did not notice that their pace had quickened from a gentle walk to a trot and, where the ground was flat enough, a gallop. The twins had come to a mutual agreement that Frodo should be brought to their father as soon as time allowed, and in this manner reached the Homely House by mid-afternoon.
Elrond met them in the courtyard, having sensed something was amiss, and took Frodo from Elrohir so he could dismount. Elladan took the reins of Elrohir's mount and led the pony and both horses to the stables to be minded. Elrond turned and briskly headed indoors, Elrohir a step behind him. "He was coherent when we met him, but he has not been fully conscious since. His left shoulder is cold, while he burns with fever. I could not pass more than a few drops a water past his lips."
Elrond nodded, stepping aside so Elrohir could hold open the door to the hobbit's room for him and his slight burden. Frodo was gently laid on the waiting bed, then Elrond turned to the hearth where he had water heating and some smooth stones warming before the fire. Elrohir unfastened the hobbit's cloak, coat, and weskit, then eased them out from underneath the prone figure. Frodo shifted uneasily, moaning slightly as his shoulder was moved, and shivered with the removal of his outer clothing.
Elrohir swept the sheet and counterpane over their small charge, then reached underneath it to unbutton Frodo's shirt and trousers before slipping them carefully off without lifting the covers. Elrond handed him a nightshirt that had been warming by the fire; this was more difficult to manage while keeping Frodo covered, but Elrohir managed to tuck the hobbit into it with only minimal exposure to the room's cooler air. Now that Frodo was dressed properly, Elrond arranged hot water bottles around Frodo's chilled shoulder, then folded a cool cloth on his brow.
"Send for cool apple juice and chicken broth in feeding cups," Elrond instructed Elrohir, and as he left, Elladan appeared.
"Ada, is it all right for Bilbo to come sit with Frodo?" he asked, hovering in the doorway, the elderly hobbit no doubt right behind him.
"Yes, he may come and sit with him," Elrond said reassuringly, and sure enough, Bilbo materialized next to Elladan, who preceded the hobbit into the room so he could place a chair from beside the fire next to Frodo's bed. Elladan helped Bilbo into the chair, then retrieved a pillow for his back and a small blanket to keep him warm.
"What is it now, Lord Elrond?" Bilbo asked wearily. "What ails the poor lad this time?"
Frodo shifted restlessly and whimpered weakly. Bilbo clutched his right hand while Elrond put a hand to his brow, then his shoulder, then slipped it beneath the coverings to rest briefly on the slight swelling of his abdomen. Elrond did not speak until Frodo relaxed under his touch. "The memory of the wound to his shoulder one year ago haunts him, and he was already burdened with the grief of bidding the others farewell addded to the weariness of harboring new life. He will recover with time and rest."
"That's reassuring, but doesn't help him much now," Bilbo mumbled, and Elrond was sympathetic. He knew his old friend was chafing as much as at his inability to do anything as he was at the situation itself.
"And... and the child?" Bilbo asked after a moment.
"The child is well, though we must be certain Frodo ingests sufficient nourishment." As if on cue, Elrohir entered with the requested apple juice and broth.
"I realized it would be faster to go myself," he said with a small smile, handing the tray the tray to his father with a mock flourish.
Elrond took the tray and placed it on the table beside the bed that usually held only the washbasin and pitcher. He chose the broth to begin, and Elladan lifted Frodo's shoulders slightly to make it easier to drink. With some encouragement from Elrond, Frodo accepted it easily without waking. After the broth, Elrond gave him a few sips of the juice at a time, until it too was finished. Elrohir filled the cup with water and set it by on the table while Elladan settled Frodo back down and Elrond checked Frodo over once more. Nodding in satisfaction, he tucked the covers around him more securely and turned his attention to Bilbo.
"Do not worry overmuch, Bilbo," he reassured the old hobbit. "He is resting easier now, and his fever is beginning to subside. He will soon be well, if somewhat weary."
Frodo did not wake until nearly mid-night, long after Bilbo fell asleep in his chair and was carried to his bed, and a while after the twins retired at their father's behest, leaving Elrond to watch over Frodo. "Why do I feel so wretched?" he croaked through a terribly dry mouth. Elrond hastened to give him some water from a feeding-cup, water that Frodo thought tasted faintly of apples. "Thank you," he said a little more strongly after gratefully swallowing.
"Do you not remember?" Elrond inquired.
"Well, I . . . " Frodo tried hard to remember what happened before he went, well, somewhere else. Somewhere dark and threatening. He began haltingly, "I said farewell to the others at the Ford. The morning illness was worse than usual. And I had a pain . . . my shoulder," he said, suddenly remembering, "my shoulder ached. It seemed like I saw . . . saw Them across the River again. There was mist like a fog, but I think I was the only one to see it. I started riding back, and I don't remember much after that."
Elrond nodded in confirmation. "You succumbed to your grief and the memory of the old wound. You will recover with rest and time."
Frodo sighed, unwilling to nod in return for fear his head would begin to ache as well. "Lord Elrond, will this happen again? Will the old wound continue to trouble me so?"
Elrond's expression softened, the elf understanding Frodo's worry. "I do not know, Frodo. Perhaps your condition and having to say farewell to your friends made you more vulnerable to this malady, but I cannot say for certain. There are many things we do not know about such wounds."
"I understand," Frodo said softly.
Elrond rubbed Frodo's hand through the coverlet, trying to express his sympathy. "You should rest. Nothing will be gained by thinking about what one cannot change."
"I suppose you're right," Frodo said, then added plaintively, "How am I supposed to care for a child if I am going to suffer ill effects from this wound every year on the day I received it?"
Elrond could only shake his head. "I do not know. Perhaps it will not happen again."
"With my luck, that can't possibly be true," Frodo said glumly and closed his eyes to try to sleep.
Elrond sat and dwelled on this question for many hours after.
A/N: For the purposes of this story, the hobbits leave Rivendell on Oct. 5, spend the night on the banks of the Bruinen, and continue their journey on Oct. 6 -Frodo back to Rivendell, the others onward toward the Shire. Also, an as-yet-unwritten episode of this story will place Saruman's confrontation with Frodo during the journey North, rather than in the Shire as according to canon. So the reference to his words isn't misplaced; I just haven't written that part yet. ;) Also, there are some quotes from the RotK book; you should know what those are. And the comment about Gandalf's grey robe being scratchy is from my observation when I touched it at the LotR exhibit in Houston (yes, I dared to touch the display -several here can attest to that ;)) -I've just been *waiting* to use that in a fic!
_Farewell to Friends_
It was early October, and the time had come for the hobbits to return home. Even Frodo could feel the longing to see the Shire again, despite the fact he would remain in Rivendell for now -if all went well, he might be back by next Midsummer. It seemed an age away, and the thought of bidding the other hobbits farewell put his stomach into knots of anxiety. He had not been without their company -well, Sam's company, anyway- in over a year, since they had first set out on what became a very long journey, and the prospect of being without them in the next few months was not pleasant, to say the least.
But he could not argue with their need to leave, and heartily endorsed them returning to their families, so he buried his reluctance and helped them prepare for the journey as best as he was able. It had been agreed he would ride with the departing party as far as the Bruinen, they would camp for the night on the river's banks and say their farewells the next morning before parting ways.
Thus Frodo was sitting astride a pony long before he would have preferred to even be awake (though, to be frank, he would have preferred to remain abed until at least elevenses, these days, since he never felt well enough to eat anything until then anyway), but the other hobbits seemed cheerful enough despite the early hour as they began the trip homeward. Merry and Pippin kept up an animated conversation of what they wanted to do first when they got back; Sam occasionally contributed as well, but mostly rode in silent companionship with Frodo, who could not find it in himself to think about what he missed most in the Shire for fear of making himself too homesick. Gandalf rode behind, keeping to himself and puffing on his pipe as he watched the hobbits.
They ate second breakfast and elevenses while riding, or at least, everyone else did. Frodo still had difficulties keeping food down in the morning, and sometimes that extended all the way to luncheon, so he nibbled on a bit of bread, but soon looked slightly green and hurriedly put it away.
The group stopped briefly for lunch, and Frodo made his best effort at both eating and conversation, but felt he failed miserably at both. Nevertheless, no one seemed to recognize anything was amiss until Frodo stumbled while trying to re-mount his pony, and Merry was at his side, steadying him with a hand on his arm. "You all right there, cousin?"
"I'm fine, just clumsy," Frodo grumbled, successfully gaining his saddle this time.
"I didn't mean getting on the pony," Merry said gently. "You've been rather quiet today."
Frodo sighed and met his eyes reluctantly. "I am tired, and trying not to think about tomorrow," he said softly.
"I seem to recall that you insisted we go on ahead," Merry replied lightly, then sobered. "Are you certain we should leave? It would be no trouble to turn around right now."
"No, you must return to your families. I have kept you away long enough. I'll be all right . . . I'll just miss your company, is all."
Merry patted his knee and nodded. "As we shall miss yours. But that's quite enough seriousness for now," he said, his manner turning brisk. "What can we do to make you want us to leave?" he asked with a wink.
Frodo chuckled. "Tell me more about that walking, talking tree. I'm certain there are details you and Pippin neglected to mention in your hurry to get to the exciting parts of the story."
"He wasn't a tree, he was an *Ent*!" Pippin retorted aggrievedly from somewhere behind him.
Frodo laughed and turned to see his cousin pouting as his pony shifted uneasily beneath him. "You need to hold your tongue if you're going to eavesdrop without being caught, lad," he reproved mildly. "And I know he's an Ent -I was only teasing."
Pippin's expression cleared. "Oh. That's all right, then." He brightened as a thought occurred to him. "Frodo, have *you* ever seen an Entwife?"
Frodo frowned in puzzlement. "I don't know. What do they look like?"
"That's exactly what we asked Treebeard! But he doesn't remember, it's been such a long time since any Ents have seen an Entwife."
"Then how am I suppposed to know if I've seen one?" Frodo asked with some exasperation.
"If there's any hobbit that might know, I thought it would be you," Pippin said defensively. "But since you don't, I guess they'll never be found."
"No, I've never even heard of them before. Sorry, Pip," Frodo said with some remorse, ashamed of how quickly he'd become impatient with the eager youngster. "But you're avoiding the subject. I asked to hear about Ents, not be asked about Entwives."
Gandalf's gruff voice broke into the conversation. "Are we going to sit about all day, chattering upon our ponies, or are we going to continue?"
"Sorry, Gandalf," three voices answered in unison, Sam preferring to stare at Bill's ears without a word -he'd been nearly ready to ask the same thing of his master. The small group resumed their journey toward the Bruinen and the Ford, Pippin excitedly telling all he could about Treebeard and the other Ents, with Merry occasionally breaking in to add his own comments, while Sam followed behind the three, content to listen and observe. Gandalf watched all of them, thoughtfully chewing on the stem of his unlit pipe as he pondered.
It was just before dusk when they reached the river, calm and clear. Choosing a relatively flat spot several hundred paces from the bank for the campsite, Sam soon had a fire and dinner going, while the other three hobbits gathered more wood and fetched water before laying out the bedrolls. Pippin was still chattering happily about the Ents, recounting with glee the destruction they had wrought on Isengard. The mention of Saruman's fortress made Frodo shudder as he remembered the encounter with the disgraced wizard, and Saruman's words rose unbidden in his mind. Do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell. Part of Frodo still wondered if Saruman spoke truly, and he shivered again.
"Mr. Frodo? Are you cold, sir?" Sam asked, breaking into his reverie.
"No, no, I'm fine. Just . . . remembering something," Frodo hurried to assure him, relieved to notice Pippin continued his prattling uninterrupted.
Sam appeared unconvinced, but said no more and turned back to tending the meat simmering in the pot. Pippin soon finished his tale with the arrival of Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the forces of Rohan at Isengard. "Now what do you want to hear about?" he asked eagerly, knowing full well that the stories were probably the best way to pull Frodo out his melancholy for the evening.
"You might as well continue from there and tell me more about Rohan," Frodo mused.
"I'll start," Pippin said agreeably, "but Merry will have to do most of the telling. He was there longer."
Merry gave a mock bow from where he was seated by the fire, minding the potatoes roasting in the coals, and Frodo laughed. "By all means, begin!"
This topic lasted through dinner and well into the evening, going all the way from the hobbits' arrival to Merry riding with Eowyn for battle at the Pelennor Fields, at which point Gandalf interrupted. "Perhaps it would be best to stop there for the night," he said gently.
"Yes, we should all retire soon," Frodo agreed, yawning.
For his part, Merry was grateful he would not need to talk of slaying the Witch King in the dark where Frodo came so close to succumbing to his evil blade.
With one accord, the hobbits rose to prepare for the night. Once each was suitably washed and had made use of the small hole several paces downwind, they retired to the bedrolls set out earlier. Frodo had been put in the middle, all of them wanting to be near for this last night they would spend with him for a great while, Sam on one side, Merry on the other, and Pippin above their heads, laying perpendicular to the rest.
The camp was soon silent but for the deep breathing and slight snores of the sleepers, but for all that he was weary, Frodo found sleep eluded him. When he did manage to doze off, he soon woke again, disturbed by imagined noises or brief snatches of dark dreams. Each time he woke it was harder to rest again, for his heart pounded and sweat drenched him, and it took quite some time for him to feel calm enough to even attempt to sleep. At length he rose and sat next to Gandalf, who silently watched over the camp and kept the small fire going against the growing autumn chill.
"You cannot sleep." It wasn't a question.
"No," Frodo sighed.
Gandalf lifted his arm and gestured for Frodo to lean against him, which he did without hesitation. After a silent moment, a random thought occurred to him and he tentatively felt the robe beneath his cheek with his fingers. Gandalf chuckled. "Does it meet with your approval?"
"Yes," Frodo said simply. "It's much nicer than the grey one."
"Oh?"
"The grey one looked like it should be soft, but it seemed rather scratchy. This white one is actually soft, like the cloaks we were given by Lady Galadriel."
"That is well; I was given this raiment in Lothlorien. It is far more difficult to keep clean, however," he said with merriment.
Frodo laughed. "I have noticed. Perhaps we should call you Gandalf the Smudged?"
Gandalf laughed as well. "Gandalf the Travel-Stained would be more apropos, I should think," he countered.
"Travel-stained it is," Frodo said merrily, then fell silent once more. "When will I see you again?" he asked timidly, and Gandalf's arm tightened around him.
"It is difficult to say," the wizard replied, "but I will certainly come by to see you and your babe after it is born."
"That's good," Frodo said, yawning.
"Go on back to bed," Gandalf urged. "I think you will find sleep will no longer escape you."
Frodo nodded and wandered tiredly to his bedroll. Indeed, he was asleep almost as soon as he'd arranged his blankets over him. Morning came all too soon, and it took a supreme act of will for Frodo to rise when his cousins woke him. He rubbed his eyes, but the world seemed shrouded in a light mist; he supposed fog had developed from the river. Frodo stiffly rolled up his bedding and retied it behind the saddle, yawning hugely all the while.
He intended to sit by the fire after that chore was done, but Merry was frying bacon and the smell made Frodo immediately and violently ill. He almost didn't make it to their little hole before emptying what remained of the last evening's dinner. Sam appeared beside him a moment later, bearing water and some of the dry crackers that sometimes helped his morning ailment. Frodo took them without comment, sipping the water and nibbling the crackers until the moment of crisis was over and he could stand without feeling the need to retch again.
When they returned to the fire, Frodo sat upwind from the bacon and pinched his nose shut whenever the smell threatened to reach him. Breakfast was a quiet and quick affair, the food all too readily consumed by those who could eat in the morning, then cleaned up and the remaining dishes and pots efficiently packed until all that stood between them and resuming the journey home was to say farewell to Frodo.
Frodo hugged each one tightly, first Pippin, then Merry, then Sam, whispering assurances that he would be fine, and he'd see them next year. Pippin was near tears, but kept them from spilling; Merry asserted they'd have Crickhollow standing ready for whenever he returned; and Sam promised he would return in time for the birth. Gandalf stood by as the three mounted their ponies, then urged them to cross the Ford -he desired words with Frodo but would rejoin them shortly.
As the three carefully picked their way across the river, then vanished into the trees on the other side, to Frodo it seemed the fog grew thicker. He turned to Gandalf, wondering what he wished to speak of.
"Are you in pain, Frodo?" said Gandalf quietly as he stood beside the small hobbit.
"Well, yes I am," said Frodo, only just now realizing it himself. "It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today."
"Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf.
"I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire at long last, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?"
Gandalf did not answer, but knelt and embraced him. "Do not try to think too far ahead, my dear Frodo. You have much before you in the coming months, and more after that still. You will receive your answer in time."
"I hope so," Frodo murmured.
Without another word, Gandalf withdrew, mounted Shadowfax, and rode into the river. When he was halfway across, he turned and lifted a hand in farewell; Frodo returned the gesture, and Gandalf also disappeared from sight.
Frodo stood on the bank, bereft. The mist had thickened and now his vision was also blurred by tears until he could almost see again the menacing Black Riders on the opposite bank. His heart quailed in fear, the pain he'd confessed to Gandalf redoubling as his wound sent waves of frigid agony down his arm and across his chest. Frodo fell to his knees and retched, shivering and shaking violently.
Time ceased to exist, and Frodo was brought back to himself when his pony Strider nudged his side, whinnying anxiously. Frodo used the reins to pull himself to standing, then patted the pony's neck and murmured reassuringly as he shakily went around to the pony's side. It took him quite a bit of effort to heave himself into the saddle, though mercifully he did not have to use his pained arm, and he sat, panting, for several moments before allowing Strider to start moving.
For the most part, Frodo trusted the pony to find the way, for he was almost insensible in his misery. Now he understood the mist clouding his vision wasn't fog at all, and between that and the renewed pain of his old wound, he was in no shape to guide anyone anywhere, even if it was just a pony. And that was just his new complaints -he had to stop periodically to give in to the usual morning nausea, seemingly worsened by the misery of being left behind and hurting.
By midmorning Frodo was fading in and out of consciousness, his trouble sleeping the night before not helping in his current predicament. He almost wished he'd agreed to have an escort back to Rivendell, as Elrond and Gandalf suggested when he'd made it clear he would accompany the other hobbits as far as the Bruinen. Ah, well, too late for that now. He would have to trust Strider would get him back eventually.
But Elrond had not been so shortsighed. Elladan and Elrohir had been sent to tail the hobbit and his companions, then closely follow Frodo on the way back to the house, for while Elrond had not been certain Frodo would have ill effects from his wounding the year before, he knew it was a possibility. As such, Elrond's sons were well-equipped for any event, and had been instructed to give Frodo a wide berth unless he needed immediate assistance. Now the pair watched Frodo from a few paces behind and to the left of the trail and debated whether he needed 'immediate assistance' or could muddle along a little longer on his own.
Frodo unintentionally settled that question when he swayed and nearly fell out of his saddle, jerking awake at the last moment to clutch Strider's mane and keep himself upright. He sighed raggedly after gaining his balance and released the hair to pat the pony's neck. He fished in his pack for his water skin, sipping gingerly, thirsty but not wishing to induce another bout of nausea. At least the water wasn't cold anymore -he didn't need anything cold, he was shivering enough already. He was just settling down from nearly falling off the pony when he was startled by a voice behind him. "Frodo, mellon nin, do you need some help?"
"Or at least some company?" came another voice, very similar in timbre to the first.
And Frodo was relieved that he recognized the Elves even through the mist as they rode up on either side of him. "Elladan, Elrohir," he acknowledged breathlessly. "I didn't know you were this far from the House."
The two exchanged a look, and Elladan said airily, "We were just out for a ride."
"And we thought you could use some company on the way back," Elrohir added.
"Oh. All right, then." Frodo accepted their reasoning without question; he couldn't spare any of his mind to thinking when he had to focus on staying upright and on the pony. But then the pain crested again, and he lost his focus on his surroundings as he fought to keep from becoming ill. When it receded enough that he could open his eyes, they had stopped, one elf was touching his back gently while the other was holding Strider's reins -he never could tell the two apart.
"Do you need to ride with one of us?" the one touching him asked.
As much as he hated to admit he needed help . . . "That might be better," he admitted reluctantly. "I am not feeling entirely well to-day."
"Lean over toward me and I'll lift you onto my horse," the one touching him encouraged. Frodo nodded and canted in that direction, then felt the hand on his back move to grasp him under the right arm while the other came down to gently hold him under the left arm.
With very little discomfort Frodo was suddenly transported from pony to horse and tucked safely against the elf's chest, perched sideways in the saddle. He sighed, feeling slightly warmer already. "Which one are you?" he asked sleepily.
A rumble of laughter bubbled through the chest he leaned against. "I am Elrohir," he said merrily. "Elladan is seeing to your pony. Rest now, Frodo. We will see you safely back to Bilbo."
Frodo nodded, snuggling against Elrohir's chest and drifting into a nap. He spent much of the rest of the day passing in and out of a restless sleep, so he did not notice that their pace had quickened from a gentle walk to a trot and, where the ground was flat enough, a gallop. The twins had come to a mutual agreement that Frodo should be brought to their father as soon as time allowed, and in this manner reached the Homely House by mid-afternoon.
Elrond met them in the courtyard, having sensed something was amiss, and took Frodo from Elrohir so he could dismount. Elladan took the reins of Elrohir's mount and led the pony and both horses to the stables to be minded. Elrond turned and briskly headed indoors, Elrohir a step behind him. "He was coherent when we met him, but he has not been fully conscious since. His left shoulder is cold, while he burns with fever. I could not pass more than a few drops a water past his lips."
Elrond nodded, stepping aside so Elrohir could hold open the door to the hobbit's room for him and his slight burden. Frodo was gently laid on the waiting bed, then Elrond turned to the hearth where he had water heating and some smooth stones warming before the fire. Elrohir unfastened the hobbit's cloak, coat, and weskit, then eased them out from underneath the prone figure. Frodo shifted uneasily, moaning slightly as his shoulder was moved, and shivered with the removal of his outer clothing.
Elrohir swept the sheet and counterpane over their small charge, then reached underneath it to unbutton Frodo's shirt and trousers before slipping them carefully off without lifting the covers. Elrond handed him a nightshirt that had been warming by the fire; this was more difficult to manage while keeping Frodo covered, but Elrohir managed to tuck the hobbit into it with only minimal exposure to the room's cooler air. Now that Frodo was dressed properly, Elrond arranged hot water bottles around Frodo's chilled shoulder, then folded a cool cloth on his brow.
"Send for cool apple juice and chicken broth in feeding cups," Elrond instructed Elrohir, and as he left, Elladan appeared.
"Ada, is it all right for Bilbo to come sit with Frodo?" he asked, hovering in the doorway, the elderly hobbit no doubt right behind him.
"Yes, he may come and sit with him," Elrond said reassuringly, and sure enough, Bilbo materialized next to Elladan, who preceded the hobbit into the room so he could place a chair from beside the fire next to Frodo's bed. Elladan helped Bilbo into the chair, then retrieved a pillow for his back and a small blanket to keep him warm.
"What is it now, Lord Elrond?" Bilbo asked wearily. "What ails the poor lad this time?"
Frodo shifted restlessly and whimpered weakly. Bilbo clutched his right hand while Elrond put a hand to his brow, then his shoulder, then slipped it beneath the coverings to rest briefly on the slight swelling of his abdomen. Elrond did not speak until Frodo relaxed under his touch. "The memory of the wound to his shoulder one year ago haunts him, and he was already burdened with the grief of bidding the others farewell addded to the weariness of harboring new life. He will recover with time and rest."
"That's reassuring, but doesn't help him much now," Bilbo mumbled, and Elrond was sympathetic. He knew his old friend was chafing as much as at his inability to do anything as he was at the situation itself.
"And... and the child?" Bilbo asked after a moment.
"The child is well, though we must be certain Frodo ingests sufficient nourishment." As if on cue, Elrohir entered with the requested apple juice and broth.
"I realized it would be faster to go myself," he said with a small smile, handing the tray the tray to his father with a mock flourish.
Elrond took the tray and placed it on the table beside the bed that usually held only the washbasin and pitcher. He chose the broth to begin, and Elladan lifted Frodo's shoulders slightly to make it easier to drink. With some encouragement from Elrond, Frodo accepted it easily without waking. After the broth, Elrond gave him a few sips of the juice at a time, until it too was finished. Elrohir filled the cup with water and set it by on the table while Elladan settled Frodo back down and Elrond checked Frodo over once more. Nodding in satisfaction, he tucked the covers around him more securely and turned his attention to Bilbo.
"Do not worry overmuch, Bilbo," he reassured the old hobbit. "He is resting easier now, and his fever is beginning to subside. He will soon be well, if somewhat weary."
Frodo did not wake until nearly mid-night, long after Bilbo fell asleep in his chair and was carried to his bed, and a while after the twins retired at their father's behest, leaving Elrond to watch over Frodo. "Why do I feel so wretched?" he croaked through a terribly dry mouth. Elrond hastened to give him some water from a feeding-cup, water that Frodo thought tasted faintly of apples. "Thank you," he said a little more strongly after gratefully swallowing.
"Do you not remember?" Elrond inquired.
"Well, I . . . " Frodo tried hard to remember what happened before he went, well, somewhere else. Somewhere dark and threatening. He began haltingly, "I said farewell to the others at the Ford. The morning illness was worse than usual. And I had a pain . . . my shoulder," he said, suddenly remembering, "my shoulder ached. It seemed like I saw . . . saw Them across the River again. There was mist like a fog, but I think I was the only one to see it. I started riding back, and I don't remember much after that."
Elrond nodded in confirmation. "You succumbed to your grief and the memory of the old wound. You will recover with rest and time."
Frodo sighed, unwilling to nod in return for fear his head would begin to ache as well. "Lord Elrond, will this happen again? Will the old wound continue to trouble me so?"
Elrond's expression softened, the elf understanding Frodo's worry. "I do not know, Frodo. Perhaps your condition and having to say farewell to your friends made you more vulnerable to this malady, but I cannot say for certain. There are many things we do not know about such wounds."
"I understand," Frodo said softly.
Elrond rubbed Frodo's hand through the coverlet, trying to express his sympathy. "You should rest. Nothing will be gained by thinking about what one cannot change."
"I suppose you're right," Frodo said, then added plaintively, "How am I supposed to care for a child if I am going to suffer ill effects from this wound every year on the day I received it?"
Elrond could only shake his head. "I do not know. Perhaps it will not happen again."
"With my luck, that can't possibly be true," Frodo said glumly and closed his eyes to try to sleep.
Elrond sat and dwelled on this question for many hours after.