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Chapter Text

“Peregrin Took, what in the Shire do you think you’re doing?”

Gandalf glanced up from his pack, where he was trying to unearth his pipe. Sam Gamgee sat by the fire, attention devoted to cooking a meal for the travelers. He seemed unconcerned about the excitement on the other side of camp, content to let Merry and Frodo handle the errant tweenager.

The two elder cousins were standing at the foot of a tall pine tree, looking up into its branches, where Pippin-

“You should come see this view, Merry! It’s splendid!”

Gandalf groaned inwardly. The fool of a Took was in a tree. This could not be good.

“Don’t you dare, Meriadoc,” Frodo said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “One hobbit in a tree is quite enough.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Frodo,” Merry replied lightly, but a little too quickly for Gandalf to be convinced. “He can get himself down.”

“Are you sure?” Frodo asked quietly, as Pippin started to climb higher. “Those branches are a bit thin…”

“He’ll be fine.”

“He’s going to fall and break his neck.”

“He’ll be fine,” Merry repeated. “You’ll recall that Pip and I spent plenty of time in the branches of the Ents. He’s not going to fall.”

Frodo sighed. “If you say so. But if he gets hurt, it’ll be up to you to explain to Aunt Eglantine that Pippin survived being sat on by a troll just to be done in by falling out of a tree.”

“Agreed.”

Frodo turned away and joined Sam by the fire. Merry glanced up at the branches again before striding over to the packs, setting out plates and forks for Sam to fill. Sam speared a piece of chicken from the pan and offered it to Frodo, who tasted it and nodded his approval. Satisfied, Sam began dishing dinner onto the plates as Frodo settled beside him.

Gandalf frowned, studying Frodo as the hobbit carefully lowered himself beside his gardener. Frodo let out a low sigh of relief when he reached the ground, then smiled gratefully at Sam as he accepted a plate of food. Sam returned his attention to the pot as he handed Frodo a fork, and he missed Frodo’s look of dismay as the fingers of his left hand fumbled, sending the fork tumbling to the ground.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Sam said, retrieving it quickly and handing Frodo a clean fork. “I let go a mite too quick there, Mr. Frodo.”

“No, Sam, I’m afraid that was my fault,” Frodo said with a small laugh, carefully taking the fresh fork. “It slipped through my fingers!”

Frodo turned his attention to his plate, a worried crease forming between his brows. Something was bothering him. Gandalf finally found his pipe and lit it, thinking hard.

Could it be because they had left Rivendell? Frodo had been loath to bid Bilbo farewell that morning, though he had seemed cheerful enough to be heading home to the Shire. It wasn’t that the group had had a rough ride that day; they had kept a slow, easy pace and had stayed on the path, still well-tended so close to Rivendell.

And surely, he wasn’t so irritated about his cousin climbing a tree; Pippin had been in predicaments far worse. Just the day before, the tweenager had had to be rescued from one of the rivers swiftly flowing through Rivendell. Pippin had been hopping along the stones to cross the river when he lost his footing and fell in. He was a strong swimmer and had been in no immediate danger, but the steep banks had made it nearly impossible for him to climb out of the water unassisted. The other hobbits couldn’t reach him, but a passing elf had noticed their plight and fished Pippin out. Pippin had spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped in blankets in Bilbo’s room while Merry dried his hair and Frodo plied him with hot tea to keep him from catching a chill.

“Supper’s ready, Mr. Gandalf!” Sam called, breaking the wizard’s thoughts.

“Merry, fetch the squirrel, please,” Frodo said, rubbing his face wearily.

“Of course,” Merry said, grinning and winking at Sam. He stood and skipped over to the tall pine Pippin was perched in, then leapt nimbly into the branches and scampered up to his cousin.

Sam shook his head and handed Gandalf his plate. “T’ain’t natural, and that’s a fact,” he muttered, and Frodo mustered another smile as he carefully speared a carrot with his fork.

“Frodo, guess what!” Pippin said excitedly a moment later, bounding over towards the campfire.

“How on earth did you get so many sticks in your hair?” Frodo asked in response, plucking an offending twig from his cousin’s curls. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to become an Ent!”

Pippin batted his hands away and grabbed a plate from Sam. “Careful, cousin, or you may find a treeish gift in your bedroll!” He plunked himself beside Frodo. “I could see Bilbo’s trolls from up there! They’re still pretty far away, but I could tell exactly where they are!”

“Really?” Frodo asked, his eyes growing distant. “I guess we are in that area.”

“Do you remember,” Pippin continued, chuckling, “how frightened we were of those trolls before old Strider broke a stick on their backs? In broad daylight, too!”

“Well, a lot can change in a year,” Frodo said slowly, coming out of his reverie and returning to his dinner. “You’ve faced worse than petrified trolls now.”

“Has it really been a year since we last passed them?” Merry said, accepting his own plate from Sam. “It seems a lifetime!"

“Yes,” Frodo said quietly, staring into his plate. “It was last October.”

Last October. The implication of Frodo’s words dawned on Gandalf and the other hobbits at the same time. The attack on Weathertop.

The hobbits exchanged a look, and Merry laid a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Are you alright, Frodo?”

Frodo nodded and managed a tight smile. “I’m fine, Merry. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Merry looked doubtful but let the matter drop. Sam was eyeing Frodo, perhaps noticing, as Gandalf did, the way that his fork trembled slightly in his grasp.

“Did you see the redbird nest we passed this morning?” Pippin asked, obviously trying to break the awkward silence that had settled over the campsite.

“I think so, Pip,” Merry said, gladly grabbing hold of the topic. “Bit early in the year for them, isn’t it?”

Frodo was silent through the rest of dinner and the clean-up process, something which Pippin seemed set upon remedying. After the last of the dinner dishes were put away and the group sat around the fire again, Pippin spoke up.

“How about I tell a story tonight?” His eyes were on Frodo, who was sitting between Sam and Merry, leaning against a log.

Frodo shrugged, a ghost of a smile on his face. “If you want to, Pip.”

“Oh, dear,” Gandalf muttered, lighting his pipe once again.

 Pippin grinned at his audience, taking in the varied expressions of curiosity and trepidation. “There were once two incredibly brave hobbits named Merry and Pippin. Pippin was… well… let’s just say he was the stronger and smarter of the two-”

Merry sighed. “Of course he was.”

“And he was also better looking. Poor Merry didn’t stand a chance.”

“Alright, Pippin,” Merry groaned. “We get it.”

Pippin grinned. “Just wanted to get the facts straight, Merry. Anyway, the two hobbits were a part of a Fellowship, on a quest to save Middle Earth. They battled lots of goblins and saw dwarves and elves, but a few months into their journey, a band of bloodthirsty orcs captured the two and carried them towards their master, the evil wizard Saruman. Luckily, Pippin was able to convince the orcs to spare his and his cousin’s lives.”

“As I recall, the orcs had orders not to kill us.” Merry said skeptically, frowning at Pippin.

“Yes, but as I recall, Merry, you had a head injury. How do you know that your memories aren’t a bit jumbled up?”

Merry rolled his eyes at Frodo, who smiled sympathetically. Sam smacked his palm to his forehead.

“The orcs were starting to get hungry, but before they could strike, Pippin executed a brilliant plan to save the hobbits, and he fearlessly pulled his cousin to safety. They were safe from the orcs.”

“And the Riders of Rohan had nothing to do with this at all,” Merry said dubiously.

“They played a minor role,” Pippin admitted. “They were an excellent diversion. It was then that the hobbits came across a tree-herder named Treebeard. Merry was terrified, but Pippin bravely suggested that Treebeard help the hobbits get revenge on the orcs who had held them captive. Treebeard, of course, agreed to Pippin’s logic-”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?” Merry questioned over the sound of Gandalf choking on his pipe smoke.

“-and, with the help of the other Ents, flooded Isengard and defeated Saruman and his orcs. The end,” Pippin finished, bowing spectacularly as his audience applauded appreciatively, Gandalf shaking his head and muttering about the “fool of a Took.”

“What did you think of my story, Frodo?” Pippin smiled innocently.

Frodo chuckled softly. “Pippin, please never become a historian.”

The travelers laughed, and Pippin beamed. “Whatever you say, Frodo. I suppose I can leave the writing to you.”

“And now, I believe it’s time for bed,” Gandalf said, glancing at Frodo as the hobbit stifled a large yawn. “I’ll take first watch.”

“I’ll take the second watch,” Frodo said.

Sam glanced at Frodo, about to protest, but decided against it when he saw the determined glint in his eyes. He looked to Gandalf, who shook his head.

“Third watch,” Sam said instead.

*****

It was a little after midnight, and Gandalf sat against the tall pine Pippin had climbed earlier, gazing at the stars. He had discussed the matter with the younger hobbits after dinner, and they had decided to split Frodo’s watch between them, allowing Frodo to take some much-needed rest. Unfortunately, Frodo was uneasy; as Gandalf watched, he whimpered softly, moving feebly in his sleep. Without waking, Sam, who lay beside him, reached out and put a hand on Frodo’s arm, rubbing soothingly until Frodo lay still again.

Gandalf sighed. The next day, the anniversary of his wounding at Weathertop, would be hard indeed on Frodo. And the weather was not likely to help. Judging by the wind in the trees and the clouds on the horizon, they were in for colder, and possibly wetter, weather.

“What time is it?”

Gandalf looked down to the hobbit standing beside him. “A little after midnight, Frodo.”

“You didn’t wake me for my watch.” Frodo’s voice sounded strong, but the hobbit swayed a bit on his feet. In the moonlight, his pale face seemed almost to glow, and the shadows under his eyes were cast further into darkness in contrast. Frodo was exhausted, and Gandalf knew that he was not likely to stay awake for very long.

“I am not yet weary, and I thought to let you rest a bit longer until I tired.”

“Oh,” Frodo said. “Well, thank you, Gandalf. Since I’m up now, I can take over.” 

“Alright,” Gandalf said lightly. “But I think I’ll sit up a bit longer to look at the stars.”

“Suit yourself,” Frodo said, sitting beside the wizard with a slight grimace.

“Is your shoulder bothering you?” Gandalf asked quietly.

Frodo hesitated. “Yes,” he finally whispered. “It started hurting this morning. I was hoping it was just because I slept on it wrong, but it’s only gotten worse.” He shivered in a sudden breeze, and Gandalf wrapped the edge of his cloak around him. The hobbit was trembling, and Gandalf noted with concern that Frodo’s left arm was cold to the touch.

“We’ll stay here tomorrow,” Gandalf said. “We’re in no hurry to get to Bree, and it may be better for you to rest tomorrow. There’s no sense in aggravating your shoulder without need.”

“No,” Frodo said, shaking his head. “Gandalf, we just left Rivendell. I had plenty of rest there, and besides, we’re not walking. My shoulder will ache whether we’re sitting still at camp or riding, so we may as well put some miles behind us. I’ll be fine.”

“Dear, brave hobbit,” Gandalf said. “I’m sure your shoulder more than ‘aches,’ but if you wish to continue on tomorrow, then we will.”

He turned his gaze back to the stars, arm still around the hobbit beside him. A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Gandalf felt the small body begin to slide down beside him. Unsurprised, he looked down to see that Frodo had indeed fallen asleep again, his head resting against the wizard’s side. Gandalf collected the sleeping hobbit into his lap, and Frodo drowsily settled himself against his friend. Humming softly, Gandalf wrapped his cloak around Frodo to block out the October chill. He felt the hobbit relax as the song soothed the remembered pain from the year before, and Frodo descended deeper into sleep, the shadows in his mind fading for a time.

Chapter Text

Frodo woke slowly the next day; his body seemed reluctant to respond, and he wasn’t feeling well enough to force his limbs to move. He was shivering in the chilly morning air, despite the extra covering he could feel on top of him- judging by the smell of pipe smoke, he guessed that he had been wrapped in Gandalf’s cloak before being tucked back into his bedroll, and someone (Sam, most likely) had draped an extra blanket or two over that. Frodo’s head throbbed fiercely, and his left arm lay cold against his chest. He burrowed deeper into the wizard’s cloak to try to sleep again.

He heard quiet footsteps nearby; another hobbit had lowered himself to the ground, but made no move to wake Frodo, for which he was grateful. If the way he was feeling at the moment was any indication, it was not going to be a good day, and the mere thought of getting up to face it made his headache pound harder.

After a few more minutes of restless turning, he felt a gentle touch on his forehead. Frodo groggily opened his eyes, blinking to try to clear the gray fog that had settled across his vision. He could dimly make out the shape of a curly hobbit head above him, but he couldn’t make out his friend’s face, which remained stubbornly shadowed and out of focus.

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo,” came Sam’s soft voice. “How are you feeling?”

Frodo slowly rolled to face the gardener, trying to suppress a whimper as he put weight through his left hand. “I’ve been worse, Sam.” His arms shook violently as he tried to push himself into sitting, and he fell back to the ground with a soft cry.

Immediately, strong arms wrapped around Frodo and lifted him to rest against Sam’s chest, head pillowed securely on Sam’s shoulder. “Aye, but you’ve been better, too.”

Frodo nodded miserably and closed his eyes again, curling to rest more comfortably in his friend’s arms. He really didn’t feel well, but having Sam nearby somehow made the pain more bearable.

“You’ll feel better after a bit of breakfast,” Sam continued. “Nice hot porridge with berries. I believe Pippin saved you a bowl.”

“’M not hungry,” Frodo mumbled.

“Just a few bites, Mr. Frodo? It’ll do you good.”

“He’s right, you know,” came another voice. Frodo opened his eyes to see Gandalf lower himself beside the two hobbits, holding a steaming bowl. “Good morning, Frodo.”

“Good morning, Gandalf. I’m sorry about the watch last night.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. As I said, I was not weary, and extra sleep certainly didn’t harm you.”

“Thank you,” Frodo whispered, reluctantly accepting a spoonful of porridge as Gandalf held it to his lips. “When are we leaving?”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you're up to travelling today, Frodo? We could stay here for today."

“I’ll be fine.” Frodo turned away from the next offered spoonful and let his head sink to rest on Sam’s shoulder again.

“Mr. Frodo, meaning no disrespect, sir, but Mr. Gandalf’s right. You don’t need to be riding today.”

“I’ll be fine,” Frodo repeated, though his eyes were closed again, and he was sagging heavily against Sam.

“Mr. Frodo-”

A low roll of thunder shook the ground, and Sam started, looking up at the sky. At that moment, Merry approached, holding extra blankets.

“Gandalf, that storm looks as though it’s heading right for us. We don’t have much in the way of shelter here, but Pippin and I could construct a tent of sorts if you think we can spare the blankets.” Merry glanced at Frodo, who lay dozing against Sam, shivering despite the layers wrapped around him. “Do you think we’ll be able to keep a fire going in the rain?”

“No,” Gandalf said, following Merry’s gaze and making up his mind. “I had planned to stay here today, but the storm leaves us no choice. We shall have to ride.”

Sam squawked, and Frodo stirred, whimpering softly in protest at begin woken. “Sorry, Mr. Frodo,” Sam soothed, rocking Frodo gently until he calmed. “He can’t ride today, and that’s a fact!” he whispered, looking up at Gandalf again. “He’s done in just sitting here!”

“I know, Sam, and I would not suggest it if I thought there was a better choice,” Gandalf said regretfully. “But I know of a small cave a few miles up the road. It will be better for Frodo if we take shelter there during the storm.”

Sam bit his lip, hesitating as he glanced between Frodo’s pale face and the threatening storm clouds.

“I think it’s a good idea, Sam,” Merry said after a moment. “If he rides in front of one of us, we can give him some support so it won’t tire him out so much. I think he’ll be able to make it a couple of miles. We don’t have to go far.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. If we’re going to ride, we’d better hurry. Those clouds are moving fast.”

Twenty minutes later, Merry and Pippin had packed up the camp and tied Frodo’s pony securely to Merry’s saddle. Sam coaxed Frodo into eating a few of the berries from his porridge and drinking some water, then tied Frodo’s cloak securely around him to try to keep him covered and warm. As he was pinning the cloak in place, Gandalf knelt beside the pair again.

“The ponies are packed,” the wizard said quietly. “Is Frodo ready?”

Sam looked down at Frodo. The Ringbearer’s eyes were half open, staring listlessly in front of him. He gave no indication that he had heard Gandalf speaking.

Sam sighed. “As ready as he’s going to be.” He brushed Frodo’s curls back from his face, and Frodo closed his eyes, leaning into Sam’s touch. “Will he be riding with me on Bill?”

Gandalf nodded. “I don’t think either of you would have it any other way.”

Sam smiled, not looking away from Frodo’s face. “I reckon you’re right about that, Mr. Gandalf, sir.”

“Here, I’ll take him so you can get on first.” Gandalf lifted Frodo into his own arms, trying to ignore Frodo’s whimpered protest as he left Sam’s side. Sam stood and laid a hand on Frodo’s arm. “Go ahead, Sam,” Gandalf urged him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Sam nodded and scurried over to Bill, mounting quickly and scooting back to leave plenty of room for Frodo in front of him. Gandalf settled the semiconscious Frodo in front of the gardener, where he slumped, head bowed. Sam wrapped his arms around him to hold the reins, and with a chirrup from the riders, the steeds began to move forward, away from the clearing where they had passed the night.

“Sam?” Frodo finally spoke, raising his head.

“Right here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam assured him, rubbing Frodo’s arm. He noted with concern that Frodo’s eyes were glazed and didn’t seem to focus on Sam’s face.

“How much farther is it to Rivendell?” Frodo mumbled.

Pippin and Sam glanced at each other uncertainly. “We just left Rivendell yesterday, Mr. Frodo. We’re about twenty miles out now.”

“Oh,” Frodo said vaguely, and lowered his head again.

*****

Frodo sat in a stupor, swirling grey mist gathering heavily across his vision. He could dimly discern the shape of Pippin on the pony beside him, but even his cousin’s bright yellow scarf was oddly darkened in this grey world. He could only guess that Gandalf was still ahead of him, a large and yet vague shadow where his friend’s face should have been. Frodo distantly heard the other hobbits speaking nearby, but their voices echoed strangely, and the words drifted past him without imparting any meaning to his sluggish mind.

All too clear, however, was the chilling call of the Ringwraiths. What started as a whisper at the edge of his attention grew steadily until it filled Frodo’s mind, the voices draining his strength as they had so many months before.

“Baggins….”

No. They would not take him, or the Ring, to Mordor.

“Baggins!”

No. They would not…

“Baggins!”

No.

“Join us, Baggins,” the wraith sounded pleased, if such an emotion was possible for the undead witch king.

No…

“Come,” came the cold reply. “Why resist any longer?”

The sound of rushing water suddenly broke through Frodo’s daze. He lifted his heavy head to find that the group had arrived at the Ford of Bruinen, the clean water flowing cheerily in its banks.

Frodo shuddered. “Stop the pony, Sam.”

Sam immediately did so. “What is it, Mr. Frodo? What’s wrong?”

Frodo hesitated, unsure how to even begin to voice the thoughts swirling through his mind. It was here that Glorfindel had urged him to ride, the elven horse charging forward with a speed Frodo would not have imagined possible. It was here that Asfaloth had borne him across the waters with the Riders on his heels. It was here that the terrible battle of wills between Nazgul and hobbit had been waged. It was here that the floodwaters had swept the Riders away, narrowly avoiding washing away the hobbit clinging desperately to the horse with his last fading strength. It was here that Frodo had almost passed into their world. Frodo’s shoulder gave a particularly painful twinge, and he reached up to rub it with a grimace.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo lowered his hand and tried to take a deep breath, aware of his friends watching him. “I… It’s nothing. I’m alright.”

“You’re not,” Sam said firmly. “You know it, and I know it. We all know it.”

“My dear Frodo,” Merry said, “please believe that we are not so blind as to believe that.”

Frodo shook his head worriedly. “We have to keep going,” he said faintly. Though he tried to speak bravely, he felt himself shaking, gripping the saddle in front of him to remain upright.

“Maybe we should take a rest,” Pippin suggested nervously, but Frodo shook his head again.

“No! Have to keep going…”

“Frodo’s right,” Gandalf said sadly. “The storm is growing closer, and if we stay here, we risk being caught. I think the best thing for Frodo is if we continue on.”

Frodo nodded, eyes downcast. With a sigh, Sam urged the pony forward across the river. The water whirled dizzyingly beneath Frodo’s feet, and he shut his eyes tightly, expecting at any moment to feel the bite of a Ringwraith’s blade or a wall of floodwaters carrying him away. The rushing water seemed full of the cries of drowning horses and harshly shrill shrieks. Frodo’s heart hammered in his chest, and he gasped painfully for breath as the cold water sprayed over his feet and knees.

He felt a gentle nudge and opened his eyes, surprised to find that they had reached the other side so quickly. He looked at the trees in fear, expecting dark-cloaked figures to appear from the shadows.

Then Sam was there, wrapping Frodo in a warm, sturdy embrace. Frodo collapsed against him with a sob, turning to bury his face against Sam’s shoulder. He couldn’t be brave anymore. He didn’t have the strength; even the thought of lifting his head from Sam’s shoulder again seemed impossible. Why was he reliving this nightmare, forced to remember terrors that had been defeated? Would he ever be healed?

Sam was speaking to him in a low voice, and although Frodo couldn’t make out the words, the sound of Sam’s voice was soothing to his jangling nerves. Frodo took a few deep breaths to steady himself, exhaustion swiftly rising to pull at his consciousness. He was so tired. Frodo wanted nothing more than to get off the pony, to curl up in his bedroll, warm and safe, and sleep until the day was over and the wraiths were gone. Frodo nestled more comfortably against Sam, sinking lower against his chest. Sam would keep him safe, and he surely wouldn’t mind if Frodo laid against him just a bit longer. He was so very tired…

*****

Sam wrapped his arms more securely around Frodo, sneaking a nervous look at his friend’s pale face. Frodo was no longer panicked as he had been mere moments before, but the anxiety of crossing the river had obviously drained what little strength he had. He was still trembling, but his eyes were closed, and he seemed barely aware of what was being discussed around him.

“He can’t go on like this,” Sam said angrily. “He’s in no shape to be riding, and he’s suffering for it!” Unheard to all but Sam, Frodo whimpered softly, as if in agreement.

“How much further is there to go?” Pippin asked, looking worriedly at his cousin. “Do you think we can still make it before the storm?”

A sudden clap of thunder boomed overhead, and before Gandalf could respond, a cold rain began to fall. Sam wrapped Frodo’s cloak tighter around him and pulled the hood over his curls as Frodo’s shivering intensified, the chill sinking quickly into his already frozen form.

“Give him to me, Samwise,” Gandalf said, lifting Frodo in front of him and wrapping him in his cloak to shelter him from the rain. Frodo protested softly as he left Sam’s side, but calmed as he was wrapped in the warmth offered by Gandalf’s cloak. Gandalf whispered a few words over Frodo, a soft red glow emanating from the ring on his finger to keep the shelter warm and dry. “The cave is just a bit farther up the road,” Gandalf said aloud, urging Shadowfax forward. “Less than a mile. We should make it there within the next fifteen minutes.”

*****

Half a mile later, as the wizard had said, the party left the main road and wound through the woods to a sheltered cave, large enough for all of them and the ponies to fit. Gandalf carried Frodo straight to the back of the cave, out of the wind and rain. Sam was at his side in an instant, leaving Merry to tie up the ponies and start the fire. Pippin was already rummaging through the packs, pulling out all the blankets he could find to form a warm nest for Frodo to rest in. The two youngest hobbits were being uncharacteristically quiet as they went about their self-appointed tasks, casting worried glances to the back of the cave.

Sam stooped in front of Gandalf and pulled back a corner of the cloak to see Frodo’s face. Frodo was still frowning, but he had curled up comfortably in the wizard’s arms, one hand wound in the fabric. He seemed to be asleep, but he flinched as Sam moved the cloak, hiding his face against the wizard to shut out the light. Sam covered him with the cloak again and sat beside them.

“It ain’t fair,” Sam said gruffly, “that he’s got to suffer so much after everything he’s been through. I remember Lord Elrond saying something about how Mr. Frodo may never fully heal from… that injury. I didn’t believe him because Frodo looked like he was healed. His shoulder was stiff sometimes, and he was different than before, but then, we all were.” Sam sniffled, dashing his hands across his eyes. “It wasn’t until after we left the Fellowship that he started acting hurt or sick again. He got tired so easily and was always cold. Even in… in Mordor,” Sam sobbed, “he was shivering on that fire mountain.” He covered his mouth with his hands, swallowing back his grief.

Before Gandalf could say anything, Frodo stirred, and his sleepy voice drifted out of the folds of Gandalf’s cloak. “Sam?”

Gandalf glanced at Sam, who took a deep breath to steady himself even as his tears spilled over.  “Here, Mr. Frodo,” he said, moving the cloak to give Frodo a watery smile. “I’m right here.”

Frodo frowned, reaching up to wipe away the tears on Sam’s cheeks. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Frodo’s voice was frighteningly soft, barely above a whisper.

Sam shook his head. “I’m alright, Mr. Frodo. How are you?”

Frodo closed his eyes and grimaced weakly, as if assessing his many pains and thinking of how to voice them. After a moment, he shook his head, lips pressed tightly together in a thin line.

Sam laid a hand to his forehead, smoothing back his curls. “Mr. Frodo? What is it? Tell me, and let’s see if your Sam can help.”

“Hurts,” Frodo finally whimpered with a soft sob.

“Oh, my dear,” Sam said, and without waiting for Gandalf to respond, he gathered Frodo into his own arms. Frodo turned his face against Sam’s shoulder, his weak cries echoing strangely through the cave. Gandalf laid a hand on Frodo’s head in a brief moment of comfort before excusing himself to retrieve something from his pack, leaving Frodo in Sam’s capable care. Sam laid his head against Frodo’s and rocked him gently while Frodo cried, his own tears spilling over again as he did so. He didn’t say anything for a while, knowing no words were necessary, and indeed no words could be sufficient.

“Hurts” couldn’t even begin to describe the pain Sam knew that Frodo was in, but for Frodo to even make the complaint spoke volumes to how he was feeling. Sam could feel cold radiating from Frodo’s side as it pressed against him, a cold so intense that Sam was beginning to shiver, although the curly head that rested on Sam’s shoulder felt warm with fever. Not to mention the concerning change Sam had noticed in Frodo’s condition since the morning. Frodo had been able to hold himself on the horse for most of the afternoon, but as the day was darkened by the storm, he seemed to be struggling to stay upright, even with Sam’s full support. Frodo had drifted in and out of awareness throughout the afternoon’s ride, but Sam suspected that with the coming of night his lucid moments would become shorter and further apart, blending waking shadows with feverish nightmares.

It just isn’t fair, he thought to himself again, adjusting the blanket around Frodo’s shaking shoulders.

Frodo’s tears finally slowed, and he lay exhausted against Sam’s chest, trembling with cold and his hiccupping breaths. Sam looked up as Merry sat beside them, holding out a mug of tea.

“Gandalf went out to find some athelas,” Merry said quietly as Sam wiped Frodo’s face with a handkerchief. “I don’t know how far he’ll have to go, but he seemed to have an idea of where to find some. Pippin’s getting Frodo’s bedroll ready now, but we thought it might be good if he had something to drink first.” He smiled encouragingly as Frodo opened his eyes, only a small slit of blue visible. “Hey, Frodo! Pippin made tea, would you like some?”

Frodo shook his head, closing his eyes again. “I want to lay down, please,” he whispered. “I’m tired.”

“A few swallows of tea, Mr. Frodo, and then you can lie down and rest,” Sam said, holding the mug to Frodo’s lips.

Frodo obediently drank, then his brow furrowed. “Is that honey?”

“Of course, Frodo,” Pippin said as he sat beside Merry. “Bilbo packed a jar or two in our bags to last until we get to the Shire.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said with a tired smile. “It tastes like home.” He took a few more sips, then turned his face away. “No more, Sam. I can’t manage it.”

“That’s alright, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, handing the cup to Merry. “Mr. Pippin’s got your bed ready for you. Let’s get you tucked in.” He made to sit Frodo up but stopped as Frodo let out a pitiful moan.

"Oh… no more… dizzy…” he managed between ragged gasps. “Please… lay me down.”

“Mr. Frodo, we’ve just got to get you to your bed and then you can rest, I promise.”

Frodo whimpered but didn’t argue.

“What if we brought his blankets over here?” Pippin asked. “Then he wouldn’t have to move. Would that be easier, Frodo?”

Frodo nodded miserably, and the two cousins immediately set to work dragging the bedrolls across the small space. Sam tucked the blankets under Frodo’s legs, and with the help of Merry, lowered Frodo so he was lying amid the warmed blankets, his head pillowed on a cloak. Frodo let out a shuddering sigh of relief and curled onto his right side as Sam tucked the blankets snugly around him.

Almost unnoticed by the hobbits, Gandalf returned as Frodo was settling in. Pippin was the first to notice the wizard, and he quickly scrambled out of his way. Gandalf knelt at Frodo’s head, and Frodo wearily opened his eyes as he felt a shadow briefly cross between him and the fire’s glow.

“You look more comfortable, Frodo. Are you feeling better lying down?”

Frodo gave a small nod, watching dully as Gandalf set a bowl of steaming water in front of his nose.

“I have something else that may help you,” the wizard said, tossing a bundle of green leaves into the water. Immediately, a familiar scent filled the little cave.

“Athelas,” Frodo murmured, breathing deeply and closing his eyes.

Sam let out a slow sigh as he watched Frodo relax into sleep. “That’s just what he needed, Mr. Gandalf. Hopefully he’ll be able to get some rest now.”

“It looks like he might,” Gandalf agreed. “Why don’t you come and have some dinner, Sam? Frodo will be alright for now.”

Sam shook his head, laying down on his own blankets behind Frodo and tucking an arm across his shoulders. Frodo didn’t wake, but nestled closer to Sam with a contented sigh. “I’m just fine right here, Mr. Gandalf. I don’t want him to be alone.”

Gandalf smiled fondly at the pair. “As you wish, Sam. Let us know if either of you need anything.”

Chapter Text

Sam hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he woke abruptly to a small moan. It appeared that a few hours had passed, as it had grown dark beyond the mouth of the cave. The fire still burned brightly, and Gandalf and the other two hobbits were seated beside it, talking quietly as they smoked their pipes.

Another moan reached Sam’s ears, and he quickly turned his attention to the hobbit lying beside him. Frodo’s side was growing colder, and Sam could feel the chill emanating through the layers of blankets. Frodo was shivering violently, a sheen of sweat blossoming over his pale brow. His face was screwed up tightly, and his breathing was catching painfully in his chest.

Sam frowned and made to sit up, but as soon as his arm lifted from Frodo’s side, Frodo whimpered. “Sam?”

“Right here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam assured him, sitting up fully and catching Gandalf’s eye.

“Cold, Sam,” Frodo whispered faintly. “So cold…”

There were soft footsteps, and Gandalf knelt at Frodo’s head again. “How is he?”

“Not good,” Sam said, wiping at Frodo’s forehead. “Do we have any more athelas?”

“Here,” Merry said, appearing over Gandalf’s shoulder. Pippin, following close behind, was carrying a steaming bowl.

Before Pippin could do more than set the bowl down, however, Frodo suddenly twisted with a strangled cry, as if he was trying to throw away the blankets. Pippin snatched the bowl back before Frodo could knock it over and spill the scalding water.

Frodo’s eyes shot open, looking frantically around the cave. Blind panic filled his gaze, darting from shadow to shadow without seeing the faces of his friends before him.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam gently took Frodo’s face in his hands and leaned over him, meeting Frodo’s eyes and preventing him from striking his head against the stony floor. Frodo fought against his steady hold, still trying to look for imagined phantoms in the dark corners. Sam did not relent, but kept up a stream of quiet reassurances. “Mr. Frodo, it’s Sam. Look at me, now, that’s it. You’re alright now. You’re safe.”

Slowly, Frodo stopped struggling, and he focused on Sam’s face with an effort. “Where is the pale king?” he whispered hoarsely. “Sam, where is he?”

Merry and Pippin looked sharply up at Sam, but Sam had eyes only for Frodo. “He’s not here, Mr. Frodo. He’s gone.”

“Merry and Pippin? Strider?”

“Merry and Pippin are right here,” Sam replied, motioning for the two younger hobbits to come into Frodo’s line of sight.

“Hey, Frodo,” Merry said, smiling bravely at his cousin. He picked up Frodo’s hand from on top of the blankets and held it between his own, trying to impart warmth back into the icy skin.

“Pip?”

“Right here, Frodo,” Pippin said, trying not to let his voice shake as he sat beside Merry. He set the bowl of water next to Gandalf and tossed the athelas leaves into the water. The refreshing scent wafted from the bowl again, but it seemed to have little effect on Frodo, who was still looking at the surrounding shadows in fear.

“Where are the Riders, Sam? We have to… to…” He grimaced suddenly, gasping and curling into himself as he clutched his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with him?” Pippin cried out, clutching at Merry’s arm. “Why’s he asking for Strider, Merry? Doesn’t he remember where he is?”

“I don’t think he does,” Merry said slowly. “He thinks it’s last year.”

“Sam, they’ll try to take it! They’ll take the Ring!” Frodo managed between gasps, his voice bordering on hysteria.

“It’s alright, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, gathering Frodo into his arms and rocking him. “Shhh…. Nobody’s taking anything now. You’re safe.”

“Did Gandalf come?” Frodo asked, his eyes painfully wide in his thin face.

“Gandalf’s right here, sir,” Sam said reassuringly. “And he won’t let anything bad happen to you, would he?”

“We have to keep moving,” Frodo insisted, pushing himself upright. The blankets slid off his shivering frame, and he flinched at the suddenly cooler air biting through his shirt. His right arm shook fiercely, his left lay limply across his body.

“Lay back down, Mr. Frodo, we’re not going anywhere tonight.”

“Have to keep moving,” Frodo repeated faintly, stubbornly using his left hand to pick at the blankets laying over him, trying and failing to push them off. “Have to get to Rivendell.” His right arm gave out suddenly and he collapsed backwards with a small cry.

Merry, however, had been waiting for such an eventuality and easily caught Frodo, holding him close and thinking back to the desperate flight of the year before. Frodo looked little better than he had then, but it seemed to Merry that he had even less hope now of the recovery they had all counted on him making. If Frodo was so sick a year after his dreadful wounding, would he ever really heal? Frodo was still struggling weakly in his arms, and Merry tried to think of a way to convince Frodo that he was allowed to rest, that he didn’t have to keep pushing himself farther than he could endure. Frodo obviously wasn’t going to believe the hobbits’ argument that what he was seeing wasn’t real, and he had yet to even acknowledge that Gandalf was sitting beside him. Who would Frodo have listened to a year ago? And then Merry had it.

“Frodo,” he said softly in his cousin’s ear. “Strider said we’re done for the day. We’re going to rest here for a bit.”

“Done?” Frodo sounded hopeful, and Merry felt his heart wrench at the exhaustion he heard in his cousin’s hoarse voice.

“That’s right,” Merry soothed. “He said that’s enough riding for today.”

Frodo sighed with relief and sank back against Merry, his head lolling against his cousin’s shoulder as he closed his eyes.

“There now, that’s better. Do you think you can try to sleep?”

Frodo shook his head fretfully. “Can’t sleep, Merry. Too cold.”

“I know. Let’s get you bundled up again and see if that helps.” Merry carefully laid Frodo among the blankets. Sam took Frodo into his arms to allow Merry to tuck the blankets more securely around him. “Does that feel a little warmer?”

The scent of athelas washed over them all once more. Unnoticed by the hobbits, Gandalf had left the cave and returned with fresh athelas, throwing it straight into the pot of water hanging over the fire. Pippin jumped up to fetch a cloth from his pack and used the warm athelas water in his bowl to gently wash Frodo’s face, pleased to see the slightest flush of pink returning to his pale skin.

Merry lay behind Frodo and began to rub his back in calming circles. “There, that’s not so bad now, is it?”

Frodo shook his head hesitantly as he nestled into the warm safety between his friends. “Stay with me?” he asked in a small, trembling voice.

“Of course,” Merry responded. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Frodo quieted, but whether he was asleep or not, Merry couldn’t be sure.

Pippin looked up at Gandalf as he wrung out his cloth. “Gandalf, what’s wrong with Frodo? Why did he get so sick?”

Gandalf let out a slow breath. “Some wounds never heal, Pippin,” he said. “Few mortals have ever survived an injury from a Morgul blade, and such a wound leaves hurts that can’t always be healed with the passing of time.”

“How long will he be sick?” Pippin persisted. “Should we take him back to Rivendell? Could Lord Elrond heal him?”

“Lord Elrond has done all that is in his power to heal Frodo,” Gandalf replied. “As have we all. I guess that Frodo will be feeling better tomorrow morning, once today’s anniversary has passed. Until then, we must keep him warm and as calm as possible. We’ll rest here tomorrow at least to let him recover before returning to the road. I’ll keep the fire burning tonight, but I suspect you three are needed just where you are.” Gandalf smiled sadly at the hobbits in front of him. “Frodo is lucky indeed to have such friends.”

There was a soft sound, and Merry looked up in surprise to see Pippin hurriedly wiping away tears. “Oh!” he said as he realized the others were looking at him. “I’m sorry! I just…” he trailed off, uncertain how to put his emotions into words.

“It’s alright, Master Pippin,” Sam said unexpectedly. “You love Mister Frodo, and you’re worried about him. But you’re doing a right fine job of helping him.”

Merry smiled at Pippin. “Come here, Pippin. Lay beside me.”

Pippin shook his head, tears falling freely now. “No, Merry. I can’t take you from Frodo, he needs you too much. I’ll only make it worse.”

“You’re not going to make anything worse.” Merry told him firmly. “Frodo wants you here, I know it.” He took the cloth from Pippin and laid it across Frodo’s forehead, then pulled their younger cousin to lay beside him.

Pippin wriggled himself carefully between his cousins, snuggling down as Merry reached over him to rest his hand on Frodo’s arm. Frodo let out a small sigh as Pippin settled behind him.

“There, you see?” Merry whispered in Pippin’s ear. “Look how much you’re helping him, just by you being here.”

Pippin leaned forward and gently planted a kiss on Frodo’s cheek. “Feel better, Frodo.”

Frodo’s brow quirked and he turned his head, trying to follow Pippin’s voice.

“You can keep talking to him,” Sam told Pippin softly. “He’s always liked hearing you tell stories and sing to him.”

“He even liked the story you told last night,” Merry said teasingly, nudging Pippin’s shoulder to make sure his message was taken the way he intended. “About heroic Pippin and his bumbling sidekick, Merry.”

Sam chuckled. “He did, at that. Made him laugh.”

“But I don’t have any more stories. None that would help today, anyway.”

“Then tell him one he knows,” Sam said. “Tell him about Mr. Bilbo’s adventure, or about a memory you have before leaving the Shire.”

Pippin thought for a moment, then curled against Frodo so their heads rested side by side. “Frodo, do you remember the first time we went to see Elves? I couldn’t have been more than seven, but I begged Uncle Bilbo to take me camping. We packed a big bag full of clothes and food, and then we set out the next morning. Bilbo woke us early, and I was so tired and grumpy that I just wanted to go back to bed, but you were excited to go out with Uncle Bilbo. You were singing as we left Bag End, and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon…”

Pippin kept his voice steady and low, watching some of the tension in Frodo’s shoulders begin to release.

“We walked all day- I think that was the farthest I had walked at that time- and we saw all sorts of things. We saw a waterfall, skipped stones across the creek, there was the fox that ran across our path, and Bilbo taught us how to whistle like the birds. You and Bilbo taught me some walking songs, too, and I think you were making some of them up as you went. We finally reached the campsite and we got to meet an elf- he was so tall! He was apparently a friend of Bilbo’s, because the two of them began talking to each other in elf-language and I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. We ate dinner with the elf, and he taught us some more songs. They were so different from our songs that I didn’t know what to make of them, but you and Bilbo begged him to sing them again so you could learn them. I think Bilbo was even taking notes while the elf talked. And then that night we slept under the stars, and you showed me the constellations and told me about Eärendil and his ship until I fell asleep. And I remember Bilbo singing the Elvish songs late into the night, trying to make sure he could remember the tune. Every time I woke up, I just listened to his singing until I fell asleep again. It was the best first camping trip I could have asked for.”

Frodo looked relaxed now, and his breathing was slower and more even, with only an occasional catch in his chest. Sam caught Pippin’s eye and smiled at him gratefully.

Pippin adjusted the blankets where they had begun to slide off of Frodo’s shoulders as he launched into another story to ward away the silence. “Then there was the time we got snowed in at Bag End and made all those gingerbread cookies and snow hobbits. I don’t think I could feel my fingers for a week after that, and Bilbo said he was finding flour in the corners for the next few months, but we both know that was definitely Merry’s fault….”

Chapter Text

When Frodo woke the next morning, he was alone in the warm nest of blankets he was cocooned in. The cold pain from the day before was gone, leaving in its wake a weariness that seemed to have settled into his very bones. He was warm, comfortable, and sleepy, and didn’t want to unfurl his body from the cozy ball he had curled himself into.

He heard a rustle of cloth above him and realized he wasn’t as alone as he had thought. A moment later, a hand brushed at his curls, bringing with it the smell of sunshine and green plants and all things good.

Sam.

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo,” came the gardener’s voice. “I have a bit of tea for you to drink, and then you can sleep again. We’re not riding anywhere today, so there’s no need to wake yourself if you don’t have a mind.”

Frodo was being propped up against his faithful friend, a mug of hot tea held to his lips. He drank obediently until the cup was empty, then gratefully accepted the water Sam offered.

“What time is it?” he mumbled as Sam laid him back down.

“About half past eight. Shh… Your Sam will stay right here.”

Frodo sighed. Already he could feel the pull of sleep, and gladly he surrendered to its call.

*****

When Frodo woke next, it was to a deliciously familiar scent. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes, surprised to find that he was feeling hungry.

The first thing he saw was Sam, bustling about the fire and stirring a pot suspended over the flames. Pippin made to swipe a taste, but Sam deftly batted his spoon away. Pippin squawked in mock indignation but was quickly silenced by a look from Sam. The tweenager pouted and sulked to sit beside Gandalf at the entrance of the little cave. The wizard was smoking his pipe and watching raindrops drip from the trees outside, the drops sparkling in the bright sunlight. Merry came striding into the cave then, brandishing a handful of greenery. He handed the bundle to Sam, then glanced over to Frodo’s corner. He grinned when he saw Frodo blinking back at him.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” He said, crossing the small area to kneel beside Frodo. “How are you feeling?”

Frodo yawned and stretched, closing his eyes with a soft grunt as stiff muscles made themselves known. “Mm… Warm,” he said with tired smile.

Merry smiled fondly at him. “I’m glad to hear it. Are you ready for lunch or do you want to wake up a bit first?”

“Lunch, please,” Frodo replied. “Whatever Sam’s making, it smells good.” As if in agreement, his stomach gave a loud grumble.

“Well, there’s plenty of it,” Merry said, laughing. “I think Sam’s made enough to feed an army!”

 “Dear Sam,” Frodo said, pushing the blankets off and making to sit up. “It wouldn’t do to keep him- ooh…” Frodo suddenly fell silent, wincing.

“Frodo?” Merry asked worriedly, catching him as he sank back towards the ground. “Are you alright?”

Frodo nodded, breathing heavily and rubbing his shoulder. “I’m a bit sorer than I thought,” he said quietly. “I’ll be alright, Merry, but it seems I may need some help getting up this morning.” He looked up at his cousin. “Would you mind?”

“Of course, Frodo,” Merry said, carefully propping him up against the cave wall and wrapping him in blankets again. “How’s that?”

“Better, thank you,” Frodo sighed, leaning back against the cold stone. He closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness, taking a deep breath to slow the spinning.

Merry looked closely at his cousin. Frodo was looking much better than he had the day before, but he was still far too pale, and the tight pain lines had yet to fade from his face. He seemed to be stronger now in the day, though from his slow and stiff motions Frodo was not feeling as well as he wanted Merry to believe. Frodo opened his eyes and looked to Merry. His gaze was clear again, if tired and dull, but the look he gave Merry now was one that had become all too familiar to Merry over the past year.

It was the look Frodo had worn when talking about moving from Bag End to Crickhollow. The same look had been in his eye in Rivendell, after the Council of Elrond, when Frodo had told Merry how he volunteered to carry the Ring to Mordor. Merry had seen it multiple times over their journey from Rivendell, until Amon Hen, when Frodo had begged to be left alone to make his decision concerning the Fellowship’s course. And then Merry had not seen his dear cousin for four long weeks, until Frodo and Sam had been borne, senseless and dying, out of the burning wastes of Mordor.

It was the look Frodo had when he was struggling but didn’t know how to ask for help. Whether that was stubbornness on Frodo’s part, or a wish to not feel weak and tired as he so often was, or the desire to keep his struggles from weighing on others, Merry wasn’t sure. At times, Merry suspected that Frodo himself didn’t know which it was.

It was the look that Merry was completely defenseless against, one that filled him with an overwhelming desire to care for his cousin in whatever way he could. Frodo could have asked Merry to fly to the moon, and Merry would flag down Earendil himself from the sky to ask for a ride.

“This is all so odd,” Frodo said now, pulling Merry from his reverie. “I barely did anything yesterday, and I slept for several hours last night, yet I feel as though I walked all day and night without rest!” He forced a laugh. “A few days in Rivendell and I’m completely out of shape! I must be getting old.”

“You’ve only just turned fifty-one, Frodo, you’re not horribly ancient,” Merry said with a sad smile. “And I’d hardly consider last night restful. I think you were awake more than asleep.”

“I was?” Frodo looked surprised.

“Yes,” Merry said slowly. “Do you not remember? I don’t think you were actually resting until the small hours of the morning.”

“Oh,” Frodo said quietly. “No, I… I don’t remember that.” His brow furrowed. “I remember lying down with all of you around me, keeping me warm, and… I remember dark dreams.” Frodo’s gaze was distant. “There was shadow and fire, but it was so cold…” He drew a shuddering breath, closing his eyes tightly and curling in on himself, as if trying to hide in the blankets.

“Let’s not think on it now,” Merry said, laying a hand on Frodo’s arm to draw him back into the present. “What’s important is that you know you’re safe. And,” he continued, squeezing Frodo’s arm so he looked back to Merry, “it’s time you had something to eat.”

“Yes, please!” Frodo said, managing a smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo!” Sam said, carrying over a steaming bowl. “You’re looking better today and no mistake. I’ve got some chicken and vegetable soup for you, with some toast.”

“That sounds amazing,” Frodo said, gratefully accepting the bowl and sipping at the soup. He closed his eyes, savoring the warm and nourishing broth. “Mm… Thank you, Sam.”

“There’s plenty, Mr. Frodo, so you eat what you like.” Sam sat beside him and began buttering toast for Frodo. “You didn’t eat much yesterday, so I figured you’d have quite an appetite today.”

Frodo nodded, keeping his attention on his meal. Sam gave Merry a relieved smile. Frodo was still incredibly thin, and seeing his interest in food return was always a comforting sight after he was ill. After several minutes and a few slices of bread, Frodo put the bowl down with a contented sigh.

“Did you get enough, Mr. Frodo? I can refill your bowl, if you like.”

“No, Sam,” Frodo said, shaking his head. “I’ve had enough.” He stretched. “What I want now is a good walk. I feel stiffer than an old tree!” He pushed the blankets off.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it, Frodo?” Merry asked quietly. “You could barely sit up this morning.”

“I had just woken up,” Frodo said. “And I’ve eaten now. I’m feeling much better, but I need to move around a bit.” Without waiting for Merry to protest again, he carefully got to his feet, leaning against the stone wall. Sam caught him as he swayed alarmingly.

“Mr. Frodo-”

“I’m alright,” Frodo said, clutching Sam’s arm as his legs trembled. “I just need to stand here for a moment before I start walking, let my legs catch up.”

“Just a short walk around the cave, then, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said uncertainly. “You aren’t too steady yet, and I don’t want you to go falling over uneven ground.”

Frodo sighed but nodded. Then he frowned, looking around the cave. “Where are Pippin and Gandalf? They were here a few moments ago, but I don’t see them now.”

“Gandalf took Pippin for a walk once he saw you stirring,” Merry said slowly, gathering the dishes from around Frodo’s feet. “It might be a good idea for you to talk to Pippin, actually. You don’t have to say anything specific, really, just let him see you. He was pretty shaken yesterday, and it would be good for him to see that you’re alright.”

“Poor Pippin,” Frodo said, taking a few shaky steps forward with one hand on the cave wall and the other gripping Sam’s arm. “I’m sorry for all the fuss yesterday. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Whatever it was, it’s over,” Sam said firmly, wrapping his other arm securely around Frodo’s waist. “It wasn’t anything that you could help, Mr. Frodo, so there’s no sense in focusing on it now.”

Frodo didn’t say anything, focused as he was on keeping himself upright as he walked. When they reached the opening of the cave, he stopped, leaning on the wall and looking out over the forest.

“Mr. Frodo?”

“I’m alright, Sam,” Frodo said softly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the warm sunbeams fall on his face. A small smile played across his lips and Sam felt Frodo’s shoulders lower as he relaxed, leaning heavier against the wall’s support. Sam guided Frodo to sit down, and Frodo offered no resistance, sinking wordlessly to the ground. He opened his eyes again, and Sam was surprised to see tears sparkling there as he gazed out over the forest.

“Mr. Frodo?”

“It’s so beautiful,” Frodo whispered. “The sun, the trees, the birds… I couldn’t see them yesterday, and I forgot what a beautiful sight it is.”

Sam felt tears stinging at his own eyes as he watched Frodo marveling at the beauty of the world, which he had sacrificed so much to save, and smiling again. “Aye. It really is.”

Frodo laid his head comfortably against Sam’s shoulder, and they sat in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the birdsong. A red bird hopped along the branches of a nearby tree, ignoring the chatter of a squirrel as it fixed the hobbits with a beady eye, singing merrily. The ponies whickered from somewhere beyond Sam’s sight, grazing on the sweet green grass. Merry was humming quietly behind them as he cleared away the lunch dishes, and in the distance, Sam could hear the voices of Pippin and Gandalf returning from their walk.

A breeze rustled in the trees, and Frodo stirred then, curling closer to Sam for protection against the cool wind. Sam wrapped both arms around him, noting that Frodo was shivering.

“Let’s get you back inside, Mr. Frodo. No sense in letting you get chilled again.”

“Hm?” Frodo said, lifting his head from Sam’s shoulder and blinking at him groggily.

“You’re shivering,” Sam told him gently. “Let’s go inside and you can lay back down.”

“I’m alright here,” Frodo said, frowning and sitting up with a wince. “I’ll just get my cloak and I’ll be warm enough.” He started to stretch, but grimaced, reaching up to hold his shoulder.

“You’re movin’ like you’re hurting,” Sam told him. “You don’t have to sleep, but I think you’d feel more comfortable lyin’ down, and we’ve heated some stones that we can put around you to keep you nice and warm.”

Frodo hesitated, but Sam caught him glance longingly towards his bedroll before looking out again at the sunlit morning, brow furrowed. “I want to see Pippin first,” he said quietly. “I wonder how far they’ve gone.”

“Do I hear Frodo being stubborn again?” came Pippin’s voice, and the tweenager suddenly plopped himself in front of Frodo.

“There you are!” Frodo’s worried expression melted into a warm and genuine smile as he looked at his younger cousin. “Where’s Gandalf?”

“He’s seeing to the ponies,” Pippin said. “We found a stream about a quarter of a mile away, and he thought it’d be a good idea to let them drink from there instead of trying to water them ourselves.” He raised his voice pointedly. “And he said he wanted the Esquire of Rohan to help him.”

“What, the Knight of Gondor wasn’t up to the job?” Merry asked as he finished putting away the dishes he’d been cleaning. “Is Gandalf with the ponies now or did he go back to the stream?”

“He’s getting the ponies,” Pippin grinned at him. “You’d better hurry.”

“Alright, I’m going,” Merry grumbled good-naturedly, wrapping his cloak around him and winking at Frodo before he disappeared to the dell where the ponies had been sheltered the night before.

Another puff of wind lifted Frodo’s curls, and he shivered again. Pippin frowned at him. “Are you cold, Frodo?”

“He’s insistin’ he’s alright,” Sam said. He draped a cloak over Frodo’s shoulders, and Frodo immediately clung to the soft warmth. “And he’s a sight better, but he doesn’t need to be pushing himself today.”

“Sam’s right,” Pippin said. “Let’s get you back inside, Frodo, it’s warmer by the fire.”

Frodo nodded, and Sam helped him to his feet. Supported heavily by Sam and Pippin, Frodo stumbled back into the cave. Sam steered him towards the bedroll, but Frodo shook his head and tried to pull back against Pippin and Sam. “Please, Sam, I’d like to sit up for a while longer. I’ll be warm enough by the fire.”

“Mr. Frodo, you’re exhausted, try as you might to argue with me, and it’s hurtin’ your shoulder to be up and walkin’ around like this. At least lay down for a bit so you can be comfortable while you’re warming up.”

Frodo opened his mouth to disagree, but Pippin interrupted him.

“You know, I recall a certain someone promising the King of Gondor that he would take care of himself. And as the King’s Knight, I’m obliged to ensure that such bargains are upheld.” He eyed Frodo with a smile. “So what do you say, Frodo? Do you surrender, or must I call for our swords?”

Frodo sighed dramatically. “You win, Pippin,” he groaned, and allowed Sam to help him settle among the blankets again. He was silent as Sam placed the heated stones around him, and by the time Sam finished tucking him in, he had fallen asleep.

*****

Frodo woke several hours later to the quiet hum of nearby conversation. He lay still, letting the comfortable and homey sound wash over him as he slowly surfaced from a deep sleep. As he became more aware, he realized that he was no longer lying in his bedroll on the hard stone floor. He was sitting in a reclined position, well supported by strong arms about him. He could feel the soft brush of a beard against his cheek as he nestled deeper into the warm comfort of the embrace, and the familiar scent of pipeweed filled his nose. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes, blinking at the face above him.

Gandalf smiled encouragingly as he saw that Frodo’s eyes were beginning to open. “Good evening, Frodo.”

Frodo frowned groggily at him, trying to remember how he had ended up in the wizard’s care. Vague thoughts swirled slowly through his mind, but Frodo was not quite awake enough to bring any of them into focus or even respond to Gandalf’s greeting.

“Sam thought you looked cold on the ground,” Gandalf supplied gently, correctly interpreting the confusion in Frodo’s eyes. “He asked me to keep you warm for a while.”

“Thank you,” Frodo finally said softly. He turned to watch the other hobbits sitting around the fire for their evening meal.

“I’ve travelled with you for over a year, Sam,” Merry was saying, “and I still don’t understand how you can make such a feast from a few squirrels.”

“I think he uses Gandalf’s staff when we’re not looking,” Pippin answered as Sam blushed. “It’s got to be magic.”

“Whatever it is,” Merry continued, “I think Rosie Cotton will be a very lucky lass when we get back to the Shire.”

Sam ducked his head to hide his pleased grin. “I think I’ll be the lucky one, if she’ll have me.”

“Of course she’ll have you!” Pippin said, surprised. “How could she not? She loved you before we left the Shire, anyone could see that!”

“And even if she didn’t know it then,” Merry added more solemnly, “I think your return as Samwise the Stouthearted would be enough for her to realize that she loves you just as much as you love her.” He smiled at Sam’s hopeful expression. “And with a love like that, I think there will be few marriages in the Shire to rival that of Samwise Gamgee and Rosie Cotton.”

Frodo smiled fondly at the Sam’s hopeful expression. Of all the things Frodo was anticipating on their return home, the reunion of Sam and Rosie was one of the things he was most excited for. Even as he pondered this, he saw unfolding before his eyes a joyful wedding, with Sam holding back his happy tears as he saw Rosie, radiant in her wedding dress, walking down the aisle, glowing with joy.

He saw Sam and Rosie in the kitchen of Bag End, cooking a meal together. Rosie giggled as Sam snuck kisses onto her cheek, meeting his next approach with a kiss of her own. Frodo saw Sam dancing around the living room with a small girl in his arms, her shrieks of laughter nearly drowning out the quick song he was singing. Rosie watched from a nearby armchair, bouncing a little boy on her knees. One hand rested on her large belly, testament to their third child’s approaching arrival.

Frodo saw Merry and Pippin riding gaily around the Shire, singing songs from far-off lands and greeting anyone they met with a cheerful salute. He saw them dancing with their own wives, Merry looking as happy as Frodo had ever seen him with Estella Bolger between his arms. The face of Pippin’s wife was indistinct in Frodo’s vision, but there was no mistaking the peace and love in Pippin’s eyes as he looked at her. Sam and Rosie were there, as well, laughing and clapping in time to the music, but there was a shadow on Sam’s face. He turned and met Frodo’s eye, and Frodo saw grief written where before there had been only joy.

The vision changed again, and Frodo saw again the kitchen of Bag End, full of the smells of baking bread and the clattering of dishes as Rosie cooked, a golden light around her as she cooed to a baby sitting in a basket on the table. Sam walked in through the backdoor and greeted his wife and child with a kiss, the soft glow brightening as the small family was reunited. Then Sam turned and made his way down the hall, to the door to Frodo’s study. Shadows covered the room as he opened the door, with the darkest spot at the desk, where a small and sickly figure was hunched over his writing. Sam’s light flickered as he approached the desk, but his own joy did little to brighten the shadows surrounding Frodo, and as Sam stood beside him, the glow began to fade.

“Frodo?” Gandalf’s voice pulled Frodo back to the present, and he looked up at the wizard, suddenly aware of the tears spilling down his cheeks. “What is it?”

Frodo looked to his friends, still quietly talking by the fireside, before turning his gaze back to Gandalf. “I’m not going to get better, am I?”

Gandalf sighed, understanding and sorrow mixed in his eyes. “I don’t know, Frodo. I hope that you will, but I cannot say so with certainty, and I know you would not have me lie to you.”

Frodo nodded and wiped at his eyes. “Will you watch over the others when I’m gone? Bring me back to Rivendell so they don’t have to be burdened with me.” He sniffled. “I barely even knew who they were yesterday, Gandalf, or that they were beside me. How can I do that to them?”

“Frodo,” Gandalf said gently. “I doubt very much whether they would ever consider you a burden. You are their dear friend, and they love you very much. They want you to be happy and will do what they can to help you.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Frodo said. “They should be free to have their own lives, getting married and having children and being happy, not tied to me and the darkness I carry.” He sniffled again. “I won’t be healed in Rivendell, but perhaps the elves would be less hurt by my fading.”

Gandalf was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ring on his finger. The red stone was glowing once more with a soft, warm light. Frodo turned his gaze to it and laid his head against Gandalf again.

“Do you remember the gift that Arwen gave you, Frodo?” Gandalf said finally.

“Of course,” Frodo said, fingering the white jewel hanging from his neck. “Arwen told me it would help, but I didn’t think of it at all yesterday.”

“I meant the other gift. The choice she gave you.”

“The chance to sail from Middle-earth?” Frodo asked. “Elrond spoke of it again before we left Rivendell. Do you really think that would help?”

“I do,” Gandalf said. “Should your wounds continue to hurt you, and if you cannot find rest on these shores, I believe that journey could bring you more peace than you would find here.”

Frodo was silent, still staring at the glowing gem on Gandalf’s hand.

“I have seen the Sea in my dreams,” he said finally. “It scared me at first, because it was so big and wild. But now…” he trailed off.

“But now, it seems peaceful,” Gandalf supplied. Frodo nodded.

“The journey across the Sea is long,” Gandalf continued, “but the arrival on the shores of the Undying Land is a moment of great joy. As you stand on the prow of the ship, the waves seem almost to still as the distant shoreline comes closer, and what was once a small grey line on the edge of sight becomes a far green country spreading across the horizon as the grey curtain is removed. Sea birds cry and wheel overhead, leading the ship ever closer, and you see the host of Elves lining the white shores, waiting to welcome you.”

The gem on Gandalf’s ring was glowing brighter now, a warmth emanating from his hand and wrapping around Frodo, bringing with it a sense of peace and comfort.

“And in those lands are such gardens as you have never seen, Frodo, for they are tended by the Valar. Many weary souls have found rest and healing there in the gardens of Lórien and the songs of Estë.”

Frodo looked up to his friends again, and a pang of sorrow touched his heart. Could he really leave his home so easily?

“It is not a decision that you must make now,” Gandalf told him. “Go back to the Shire, see Sam get married and begin his life with Rosie. But the choice is available to you, should you choose to sail.”

Sam looked up then and smiled brightly at Frodo from across the fire. Frodo found himself smiling back, hope and peace filling his heart with the cry of gulls and the crashing of waves in his ears.