REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 19

Sam was pacing. He had been placed, unceremoniously, in the room with
Merry and Pippin. After their initial greetings to one another, he had been unable to sustain the normal hobbit small talk and began his walking rote, his thoughts in turmoil. From the time Sam had first met Mr. Frodo as a wee lad at Bag End, he had felt in awe of his new Master. Frodo had lost his parents and had been adopted by Mr. Bilbo who brought him then to Bag End. Sam had been introduced to Frodo and his quick smile, un-hobbit like appearance and ways, and generous spirit. He had known right from the start, they would become fast friends. While the Gaffer had told him, in no uncertain terms, this simply could never be---him steppin' outta his place and all, Frodo had whole heartedly embraced Sam as his equal. When the Gaffer had seen how Mr. Frodo had wished for this new bond, he had let it be, no matter how
unnatural it was, a gentlehobbit befriending a servant. Still, some of Sam's upbringing had rubbed off, and he hadn't been able to drop the 'Mr.'or 'Master' or stop doin' for Mr. Frodo. After all, that was
his job. He still was the servant and Frodo the master. But they also shared things that friends shared--time together with an ale on the porch, visiting friends, long walks, heavy meals and a general
understanding of each other, learned through the unconditional love of friendship.

And now those healers wanted Sam to just let Mr. Frodo be cared for by others, who didn't know him and his ways like Sam did. It was too much to stand for, it was. Sam knew only that *he* would know what Frodo needed or wanted, usually before even Frodo did.

So he paced, waiting until they finally allowed him access to his friend. He watched Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin while he fumed. They were carrying on a lively conversation comparing Elven cuisine with
that of Minas Tirith and the Shire, while they devoured a huge meal of roasted meats, sausages, vegetables, fruits, baked dainties and desserts all followed by a robust wine. Sam had eaten little. The
food had no flavor to him even after going so long without. He was simply too worked up about his Master. He glanced up at Pippin. You would'a never known the pain the tweener had been in earlier. His eyes shown with their normal impishness and he gestured frequently with his arms and hands. He's trussed up like a Yule ham, thought Sam. And indeed the leg that had been crushed and re-broken lay on a board,
elevated into the air by a strange pulley contraption. Bandages thoroughly covered the extremity all the way from his furry toes to his hip. His ribs were bound as well Sam knew, but he couldn't see
them as they were hidden by the nightshirt. Merry still favored his right arm, but Sam noticed it hadn't slowed him down much when the meal had arrived. The only difference Sam could really see in both of
them was how fast they became fatigued, Pippin especially. When Mr.  Pippin became tired, the pain became unbearable, the healers would bring frequent doses of some strange paste, place it in his mouth
and then the pain would recede and he would sleep. Merry had rejected the paste, but the healers still brought sleeping droughts at regular intervals and made him drink them. They also tried to get Merry to use his right hand in simple exercises, but Merry said he was fine and looked almost embarrassed when they made mention of it. Frequently, Sam noted, the hand lay curled like a claw in his lap. They had let
Sam be for the time being, knowing he would refuse their medicines until he was reconciled with his Master. Pippin and Merry had asked countless questions of Sam when he had been escorted into the room.
He had supplied as much information as he could, but when he came to the part of Frodo's reaction to Aragorn's resuscitation, the room had become quiet and the expressions solemn. Pippin and Merry had looked sadly at each other then down at their laps.

"I don't understand. He should'a been grateful for all Mr. Strider did for 'em." Sam had said.

"Sam, maybe Frodo's in so much pain and been through so much,  that...well, maybe he didn't *want* to live," Merry had said hesitantly. Pippin's eyes had teared up just trying to imagine what
had hurt his cousin so badly to make him not want to live, leaving him lost, empty and filled with such despair. Merry's face was wet as he looked up at Sam. Sam had been aghast; refusing to believe any of
this even though, deep down, he knew it was likely true.

"Not Mr. Frodo. He'd never give up after all we've been through together, an all. He wouldn't wanna die, would he?" Tears flowed down Sam's anguished face as he thought of his poor Master being in so much pain and carrying such a burden on his mind that he would sink into such depths of despair.

"Sometimes, Sam, when people feel such a deep, empty ache like what Frodo must be feeling, they give up hope," whispered Merry. "Our job is to make sure he doesn't give up and knows how very much we love
him. We can help him by making him talk to us about whatever's bothering him--work through this together."

Sam looked up a Merry, then Pip. Both had determined looks on their faces. He set his jaw, "You're right, Mr. Merry. Mr. Frodo's not alone long as he's got us. He needs to know we're in this all
together, and I'll not be lettin' him shut hisself off like he usually does, if you take my meanin'. I mean to get him well and outta that bed and no feelin' sorry for himself neither. That never got anyone
anywheres." Goal in mind, and ready for action Sam turned towards the door. "I mean ta see him, and nobody's gonna stop me," he muttered as he walked swiftly to the door. But as he neared it, it swung towards him, a healer and Aragorn entering.

"Ahh...Master Samwise, You have a most determined set to your body. I wonder where you could be going," said Aragorn with a smile.

"You know very well where I'm off to...to see Mr. Frodo," he said.

"Sam, sit down first with Merry and Pippin, and let me tell you a few things," said Aragorn as he guided the gardener back to the bed. "Frodo is much improved today." Smiles of hope were exchanged between
the three companions. "The brain fever seems to have abated but he is still very weak and he has sustained damage to his throat and stomach, which is bleeding." All three hobbits gasped.

"My poor Master. Is there nothin' you can do?" asked Sam

"Sam, we are doing all we can to help your master, you must believe that," said Aragorn. "With his friends' help, I believe he will make a full recovery. When Frodo first became aware that he had been brought back from whatever awaits us in the next realm, he was very bitter." The hobbits looked saddened, Aragorn noted, but still an air of hope seemed to linger. He smiled at them. "Other people I have known have felt this same way. It must be a wondrous place for so many to struggle against being returned to this world," Aragorn murmured looking thoughtful. "Each day he will draw further and further from his memories of that blessed place. As he does so, he will be more and more receptive to the beauty of this world, but it will take time. First, we need to get him well." He looked into Merry and Pippin's
eyes. "I think you will agree that being ill can be very depressing." Pip and Merry nodded, "and Frodo has had more than his share of ills and hurts. Once he actually *feels* like living, then we can restore
his mental health. In the meantime, we can try to lift his spirits by visiting him”, Aragorn smiled. Pippin looked anxiously at Aragorn.

"Strider, how can I visit Frodo if I'm attached to this monstrosity?” asked Pippin. He looked worriedly at Merry, fearing he would miss out on the adventure and have to remain behind. Merry gave him a
reassuring smile.

"Well, since Pippin can not be moved for a good long while, I thought that if Frodo was feeling up to it, we might bring him here," said Aragorn.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," cried Pippin. "We could tell him all about the things we've seen and done, Merry. The Ents, Isengard and the great battle and ...." he said in a rush.

"Whoa..Pippin, first, you need to realize Frodo is only awake for small periods of time and that he is very weak and that he can not speak because his throat is badly abraded. You will have to be calm and
quiet with him, or he could become confused and agitated, which would prolong his recovery. He needs soft, soothing and comforting sounds and to feel secure and loved. Can you do this? If not, I need to
know, for I cannot bring him from his warm, quiet nest into a tumult of activity and sound. It would be more than he could bear," explained Aragorn.

"Strider we will do whatever you tell us to make him well again," said Merry. Pippin nodded, although he was disappointed at having to hold off on his tale.

"I need to go see how Frodo fares this morning. If he seems to be improving and if the bleeding has slowed, I will bring him down for a *brief* visit. Sam, you may come with me and stay by Frodo's side if
you desire”, Aragorn grinned at Sam, who beamed back at him.

"I was headin' that way when you came in, if you take my meanin', King Strider. I weren't gonna letcha stop me from seein' me Master, no how," he said firmly. Strider raised an eyebrow, and Sam squirmed
under his gaze. "What I mean ta say, Mr. Strider is that me and Mr.  Frodo are like brothers, only me bein' his servant and all, it's probably not proper of me to say so. But that's how it feels to me.
I'd do anything for Mr. Frodo, and it's right hard to be separated from 'em. I can read 'em like a book, sir. I've been by his side since I were just a lad. He needs me, he does, sometimes he just
don't know it," Sam said earnestly.

Aragorn placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Samwise, I think you may be the best medicine yet to cure your Master of what ails him. Let us go and see if a visit is in order, shall we?" Aragorn rose and said his
good-byes to Merry and Pippin who hugged Sam fiercely as he left.

"Tell him we're thinking of him, all right Sam?"

"That I will Mr. Merry, that I will," Sam said. Pippin was beginning to look very tired and as Aragorn and Sam left the room, Valin entered, bearing medicine for the battered hobbit.

"You'll stay with me, won't you, Merry?" murmured Pippin as his eyes slipped slowly closed.

"Yes my dear, always," said Merry as he caressed Pippin's locks. Nevertheless, he looked longingly after Aragorn and Sam, he very much wanted to see his older cousin but did not want to leave Pippin alone. He sighed and curled up next to Pip, gradually relaxing, his arm lying across his small cousin.

Sam moved as swiftly as his short legs would carry him, down the corridor. Aragorn caught him in two strides. "Slow down, Sam. You are still recovering yourself. Your feet are badly lacerated still
and it appears, the bandages are greatly in need of changing”, Aragorn looked at the bloody, filthy wrappings with a frown. He picked Sam up and placed him on his hip. "I shall carry you, and when we get to Frodo's room I plan to change those wrappings."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Strider, sir. I wouldn't let the healers touch them, in case you came for me whilst they were workin' on 'em. They weren't real pleased with me neither, with me not takin' their medicines and
all," Sam said.

Aragorn's expression turned to one of concern. "Sam, you can not continue to neglect your health. It would not bode well for Frodo if you became ill yourself." The King said this carefully, his eyes
surreptitiously shifting over to see Sam's reaction. He knew of Sam's deep devotion to his master and by using Frodo as an excuse, hoped to manipulate Sam into taking better care of himself.

"I *am* a ninny hammer! I guess I just weren't thinkin', me bein' so worried about him and all," Sam exclaimed. Aragorn smiled slightly as they walked into Frodo's room.

Frodo was curled up on his left side, his right hand held against his chest. Although his eyes were closed, his breaths were coming in rapid pants and his face wore the distinct expression of someone in
anguish.

"Saleth, is there a problem?" he queried.

"No, my Lord. The bleeding has lessened but not completely stopped. I was about to insert another bolus."

"Now I understand the look of apprehension on Frodo's face," Aragorn said with a grimace. He whispered to Sam. "Sam, Frodo does not yet know that you are here, perhaps if you would hold his hand and comfort
him. Remember, no loud noises or sudden movements. Frodo's nervous system is till recovering and it takes little to agitate him, which in turn, affects him bodily in an adverse way," Aragorn whispered. When he saw Sam's blank, confused stare, he smiled and said, "It makes him sick."

"Oh, I see what yer sayin'. Don't you worry none, I'll see to me Master”, said Sam. Aragorn set him down and he slowly walked over to Frodo's bedside and took the clenched fist in his own small hand.
Frodo's eyes slowly opened and he smiled slowly as he saw Sam by his side.

"Sam, oh...Sam, I have missed you so," he whispered, his voice cracking. Tears now ran down his face and onto his pillow.

"Frodo, absolutely no talking”, admonished Aragorn with a look at Saleth.

"He yearns to express himself, my Lord”, Saleth smiled. "It would be hard indeed to see your loved ones and not be able to speak with them," he continued.

"Yes, I understand. But we must curtail all use of his throat until the bleeding is fully stopped, or risk another tear”, said Aragorn sadly.

Frodo continued to smile at Sam and Sam was more than happy to return the favor. He spoke to Frodo softly and caressed his arm. Saleth moved to the bed and pulled back the counterpane revealing only
Frodo's backside. Again, Frodo began to breathe rapidly and drops of perspiration appeared on his upper lip and forehead.

"There, there, Mr. Frodo. These healers are tryin' ta make you better. They don't mean no harm. I know about them boluses. Me mum used to give them to me when I was a wee lad. It's a might humiliatin' and uncomfortable but it sure does the trick, if you see my point, Master Frodo. It'll make you right as rain, it will. So you just relax and I'll not leave your side, maybe a little song would
help. Would ya like that, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo opened his eyes a crack and nodded, then closed them again. Sam began a soft melody, one the elves had taught him in Rivendell. He knew his elvish was atrocious
but while singing, the words fairly flowed effortlessly off his tongue, creating a haunting, beautiful ballad. He saw that he was having the desired effect, as Frodo began to slowly relax, his
breathing becoming more deep and regular, his face took on a calm, serene appearance.

Saleth slowly inserted the bolus into Frodo's tiny bottom. Frodo's eyes opened wide and a small gasp escaped his lips. He whimpered and then his eyes slid shut.

"See now, Master, it's all done and no one's the worse for it," said Sam soothingly.

Aragorn took Saleth aside to speak out of earshot of the hobbits. "How fares he, truly, Saleth?" asked the King.

"He improves each day. The bleeding and swelling in his throat has receded." He hesitated, a troubled look on his face.

"What troubles you so then, Master Healer?" asked Aragorn.

"We have been feeding him the cream with honey, comfrey, Echinacea,  myrrh and poppy extract about every hour," he hesitated. Aragorn nodded for him to continue. "I noticed at each dose he becomes more
and more agitated at the mixture's arrival and tries to gulp it. I fear he is developing an addiction to the poppy's effects”, he finished sadly.

"Is he in much pain?" asked Aragorn, alarmed at this news.

"Yes, I am sorry to say he still is. Otherwise, I would have reduced the dose to wean him from it."

"Perhaps the pain is a phantom one, as it becomes closer to the time of his next dosing the addictive nature of the drug could possibly have created the illusion of pain," prompted Aragorn.

"Perhaps. Yet when he becomes stressed or excited he begins to fever and retch, so I have not tested this theory as yet," replied Saleth.

"When is his next dosing?" asked Aragorn.

"I was about to give it to him now, my King. But first I wished to speak with you and give him a thick soup with pureed vegetables in a heavy meat base." Aragorn nodded. Saleth approached the bed and
pulled Frodo into a semi- reclining position against his chest.

"I can do that, Mr. Saleth. I'd like to take care of me Master, no offense intended to you," Sam said softly.

"None taken, Master Samwise. Why don't you support Frodo and I will feed him. Would that be acceptable?"

Sam grinned and said "Aye, sir. I'd be delighted."

Saleth lifted Sam to the head of the bed and settled Frodo so that his head rested against Sam's left shoulder.

"Thank....you....Sam," came a whispered voice. A small smile formed on Frodo's pale face.

"I will not mention this again, Master Baggins, you will not speak. Each time you do so, it risks further bleeding. Do we understand each other?" Saleth said sternly. Frodo nodded, but had a twinkle in his eye that neither Saleth nor Aragorn had seen for a long time.

The cream mixture was brought and placed on the bedside table. Frodo's eyes followed the orderly as he brought the poppy mixture in and placed it within reach of the healer. Aragorn noted Frodo's eyes
stayed riveted on the mixture and held an unsettling, glazed appearance --- the unmistakable look of need. Frodo licked his chapped lips and swallowed several times as his mouth began to water
at the prospect of the cream and honey mixture. Both Saleth and Aragorn too noticed this. Aragorn groaned inwardly. There was only one way to truly test what he suspected, and he flinched at the thought of the possible outcome.

Saleth retrieved the broth mixture. At first, Frodo refused, not really wanting the broth but the other mixture in its stead. Aragorn went to the side table, took the milk mixture, and made to exit the
room. Frodo's mouth dropped open and a thin wail issued forth.

"It's all right, Frodo. I will return with your medicine as soon as you have finished your broth," Aragorn said slowly. Frodo turned back to Saleth and opened his mouth, allowing Saleth to slowly begin
feeding him. Each swallow was met with a stabbing, burning pain. Yet Frodo knew that if he could just get through the ordeal of eating that then he could have the milk and honey mixture which always made him feel inordinately better. Aragorn left the room and went to the dispensary. He approached the healer.

"I would like this mixture re-made with half of the poppy extract it normally has," he said.

"Very well, my Lord," said the healer. The mixture was made ready and Aragorn took it back to Frodo's room. Frodo's eyes had not left the doorway, and when Aragorn returned, he issued an audible sigh of
relief. He had only eaten about half of the broth mixture but now turned his head to indicate he was full.

"All right, let's get you your medicine and let you rest a bit," said Saleth. He reached over, taking the cup from Aragorn's hand. They exchanged a brief glance, and Aragorn nodded. Frodo now looked
anxiously at the cup and eagerly tried to reach out and grasp it with his shaking hands. His face was flushed with want and the perspiration now ran down from his forehead.

"Easy, Mr. Frodo, Saleth will take care of you, but you have ta take your medicine," Sam cajoled, completely misinterpreting the tenseness he now felt in his master's thin frame.

Saleth brought the cup to Frodo's lips and he gulped greedily. "Master Baggins," he said pulling the cup away, eliciting a panicked look on the Ringbearer's thin face. Aragorn winced as he watched.
"You will drink slowly--no gulping, or I will remove the cup”, the healer admonished. A stricken look crossed Frodo's face. The cup was again pressed to his lips and this time, Frodo slowly swallowed the
contents. There was pain, but Frodo hardly noticed as the effects of the drug began to surge through him, making it bearable. His eyes half closed in a look of rapture as he was returned, once again, to
that place of soft, unfocused oblivion. He let himself drift in that divine plane, feeling naught but a warm fuzziness fill his mind. The cup emptied, his face was wiped, and he was lain down and nestled
into his blankets, curled on his side as before.

"Sam, why don't you rest with him," Aragorn murmured in a somewhat sad voice.

"Thank you, Strider. I'll just curl up here against him so he knows I'm here for 'em," said Sam happily. Frodo's eyes had closed, his body totally relaxed. Sam climbed under the covers, curling up around
Frodo's back and placing one arm protectively over his Master.

Aragorn turned to Saleth and said quietly, "I believe we have a problem with our small patient, but we will not know for sure until the half hour has passed”, he said grimly. Aragorn and Saleth gazed
sadly at the two sleeping forms. Aragorn felt a tight band of anguish in his chest.

If what was happening to Frodo was what Aragorn suspected, the next few days would be very difficult. He's been through so much, he thought, more than any other. I pray he will be spared further torture, he thought.

TBC

REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 20

Frodo was drawn from the wondrous place of warm contentedness by the
stabbing, throbbing pain in his right hand, his throat and stomach
ached with fresh agony as well. He curled in on himself, hoping to
ease and wish it away. For some reason, he felt restless and tried to
turn onto his back. Sam was sleeping curled up against him, soft
snores issuing from his chapped lips. He could not remember feeling
this anxious and wretched for some time. Always he had slept the deep
and dreamless sleep of the blessed, without pain and awoke feeling
relaxed and amiable. Now he felt none of these things. He tossed and
twisted in anxiety and need, his very skin seemed to itch in desire
for something he could not give. Finally he opened his eyes and
looked querulously around the room, feeling ready to pounce and pummel
the first thing he saw. His eyes alighted on Aragorn, who sat beside
him watching him closely. Frodo's eyes met Aragorn's with a mixed
look of anger and confusion.

"Frodo, how fair you, my friend?" he said with concern, offering his
hand for Frodo to squeeze a reply. Frodo took Aragorn's index finger
and squeezed hard. Aragorn recognized immediately what he had hoped
he would not see in the small patient. He sighed. "It appears, my
dear friend, you have developed an addiction to the pain killer," he
said softly.

Frodo did not care. He had heard what Aragorn had said, but all he
felt was an empty hollow inside of him. It mattered little if this
emptiness was brought on by pain, despair or desire for the drink, he
wanted relief. He felt like his insides were being ripped apart. His
breathes came rapidly and his face broke out in a sheen of
perspiration as his eyes roved about the room desperately looking for
succor. His gaze then moved back to Aragorn, "Medicine," he whispered.

"No talking, Frodo. You will have to be strong and wait until your
next dose, I'm afraid. I realize I am asking a great deal of you, but
you must trust me on this, little one," said Aragorn sadly.

Frodo's eyes widened with a look of desperation "Hurts. Give it to me,
PLEASE," he implored huskily. His voice broke and he began coughing.

"I know it hurts , Frodo, but I can not dose you again for another
half hour. I am sorry. Truly. How would you like some broth
instead?" Aragorn said, completely ignoring the fact Frodo had spoken
again.

"Medicine," Frodo cried louder this time. Tears coursed down his face.
Aragorn looked sadly at his friend, feeling the frustration at not being
able to do more for Frodo. He brushed back the tangled locks. Frodo's face was flushed and his eyes glazed over. He rolled over, Sam moving to allow him to lie on his back. He started to twist back and forth moving his head from left to right on his pillow, his whole body trembling as the muscles spasomed..

"What's wrong with him, Mr. Strider?" asked Sam with concern.

"He is experiencing a form of withdrawal. We've been forced to begin
weaning him from his pain medicine, as he has become addicted to its
effects," said Aragorn sadly as they watched the Ringbearer expend all
of his energy writhing before them.

"Help me, Sam...Please, Hurts," husked Frodo. Frodo knew that Sam
would intervene. Sam was there for him, always had been, and now he
relied on this fact in order to obtain the calming drink.

"You can't just let him suffer. There must be something you can do!"
demanded Sam looking on the wretched form of his Master and then back
to Aragorn.

"There is little we can do, Sam." said Aragorn, his eyes welling with
tears. "He needs distraction, which we will offer once we get him past
this first bout . I care for him too, Sam. We can ease his suffering
by bathing him and giving him another bolus with more catnip and
Valerian root. The Valerian root is addictive, but not so much as the
poppy extract," murmured Aragorn. "Sam, would you fetch Saleth for me,
please?" he asked.

"Of course, Mr. Strider," he climbed from the bed and scurried towards
the door. He turned back to Strider, "I know you only mean the best
for me Master, Mr. Strider, I just hate so to see him in such pain,"
then he turned and ran out.

"I am sorry Frodo, to put you through this." said Aragorn. Frodo gave
Aragorn a look of anger and disgust and then a small wail escaped his
lips as his stomach clenched. His face turned very pale. Aragorn
touched his hand to Frodo's forehead, drawing back from the hot yet
clammy feel of the skin. Frodo squeezed Aragorn's finger suddenly
with what the King recognized as a sense of urgency. He quickly
rolled Frodo to his side, grabbing a nearby basin, into which Frodo
retched repeatedly. Finally, the nausea passed, he rolled Frodo to
his back and placed a cool cloth on his forehead. He wiped his mouth
and gave Frodo a small sip of water to rinse with. Then he examined
the basin's contents. It mostly contained bile and broth, but was
tinged with a bright pink mucous indicating fresh blood. He moved to
the sideboard and prepared the bolus ingredients. Valerian root to
calm him, catnip- a light pain killer, comfrey and myrrh for the
bleeding. He filled the bolus and went to Frodo's side. "This will
calm you until we can give you your next dose of the drink, Frodo.”
Frodo was so miserable by now, he did not care what Aragorn did. His
guts twisted and his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. He
opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn, an imploring look filled his
eyes. He cried out and curled into a ball on his side as wave after
wave of stabbing pain assailed him.

Saleth entered. "So, it has begun, I see," he said grimly.

"Yes, Master Healer, help me with the insertion of the bolus and then
have orderlies draw him a warm bath, please," said Aragorn. The
orderlies were called and soon steaming hot water was mixing with cool
in the small copper tub. The muscles in Frodo's legs began to
contract painfully, and he cried out as new flares of pain gripped his
already ravaged body. Saleth began massaging the legs, working out
the cramps and knots, as Aragorn took some fresh athelas and bent
over the steaming tub. He murmured to himself a blessing to Eru as he
cast the leaves upon the water. The room filled immediately with the
fresh, relaxing fragrance of glades and earth freshly turned. All
within the room inhaled the soothing aroma, even Frodo appeared to
calm a bit. Aragorn then gently lifted Frodo and placed him slowly
into the bath. At first Frodo tensed as the warm water enveloped
him, but then his eyes closed and he felt utter peace wash over his
mind and body as the warm water and fragrant herb combined to soothe and
ease the tension from him. Aragorn bathed him slowly, washing his
sweat soaked hair and body in light gentle strokes. Frodo leaned into
the feeling of being cared for, each touch a sweet caress on his
tortured frame. A great sigh escaped his lips as he allowed his mind
to float un-tethered. Adrift in this semi-conscious state, his
muscles slowly un-tensed and the anxiety abated leaving him utterly
spent. Orderlies came and changed the bedding. Broth and medicines
were brought and placed on the small table by the bed. After
sometime, as the water became cool, Aragorn lifted Frodo out and
wrapped him in toweling, gently drying the small body and head. He
placed him back in his cocoon, covering him in soft linens and quilts.
Sam stood by watching, transfixed by the effects a simple bath could
have on his master. He moved to the bedside and took Frodo's hand in his.

"First, some broth for nourishment Frodo, for you have had a
difficult morning and need to remain strong for what is yet to come,"
said Aragorn softly. Sam moved up on the bed and gently placed Frodo
against his chest. Frodo seemed completely oblivious as to what was
expected of him, only staring, eyes half lidded, off into space.
The broth was offered and he turned away, not liking the smell or
wanting the taste of the mixture in his mouth.

"Now Mr. Frodo, eat just a little and then perhaps you'll feel a mite
better," cajoled Sam. Frodo tilted his head up at Sam with a look of
despair that fairly wrenched the gardener's heart to breaking.
"Please, Mr. Frodo. Please, just a few sips, for your Sam," he
pleaded. Frodo's expression changed to one of futility and he allowed
Aragorn to slowly spoon the mixture into his mouth. He
swallowed automatically, his throat clinching in pain each time,
making him grimace. Aragorn and Saleth noted this and Saleth went to
retrieve the comfrey tea. After a few swallows of the broth the tea
was offered. It was a mixture of comfrey, a small amount of Valerian
root, Hypercom, for the depression that still assailed the hobbit,
and catnip. Frodo dutifully drank the tea and found the throbbing
gradually decreased in his throat and even in his hand. Aragorn
nodded to Saleth and a small cup of the cream mixture was then
retrieved from the medicine room, along with a small amber bottle.
These were placed on the bedside table. Frodo watched intently as his
beloved sweet milk was then mixed with a very small amount of the
liquid in the amber bottle.

"We shall slowly wean you from the poppy extract, Frodo. But we will
try to do it so as not to cause you undo discomfort. We know you are
in a lot of pain, my friend, but I think we need to switch you to a
combination of other, milder painkillers, so that you will not be so
dependent on this drug," whispered Aragorn. Frodo's eyes reflected
fear at the prospect of losing the one thing that seemed to bring him
true relief. The absolute escape and surcease the mixture offered him
could not be found in any substitute, to his mind, and his need...his
very craving of the wondrous antidote now completely ruled him. He
watched as Aragorn mixed and stirred this new dosage. His mind, now
fully awake, his body tensed and shook as he saw the cup come closer
to him and knew, that soon, he could return to the oblivion and warmth
of that one place the drug drew him to. He reached out, whimpering as
Aragorn brought the cup to him, all his energy bent on attaining the
object of his desire and the ecstasy that it brought. He cared little
if it was drug induced or a naturally occurring release. All he wanted
was the escape from this world, the free floating sensation that would
encompass his mind, driving out pain, guilt, worry, replacing it with
a numbness where there was no room for thought of any kind. Aragorn
stopped, cup in hand, as he watched with pity, the face of his friend.
Frodo's countenance and body poised like a tense thread in
anticipation and desire, and he was saddened by what he saw.

"Aragorn...I must have it. Please Aragorn, bring me the cup. Please,"
he wailed, his voice rising higher and higher until he began to choke
and sob.

"Shush, Frodo. It is all right. I will not withhold it from you, my
friend. Calm yourself and do not speak," whispered Aragorn. Frodo
visibly forced himself to breathe more deeply and slowly until a
semblance of calm returned to his features. Aragorn placed the vessel
to his mouth, Frodo immediately grabbed at the King's wrist tightly so
that he could not pull away, and gulped greedily at the contents. But
when Aragorn threatened to remove the drink, Frodo slowed the gulping
to small swallows. Aragorn's eyes never left his. Finally the
mixture was gone, much to Frodo's disappointment and the cup placed
next to the amber bottle on his bedside table.

"More, please, Aragorn?" he rasped.

"No, my friend. Find peace in the fact that I have given you any this
hour. You shall need less of it as the days go on as we reduce the
dosage," he whispered. Frodo turned his face away, tears of loss and
grief fell from his eyes. Sam extracted himself from behind his master and moved to lie beside Frodo, placing Frodo's head on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Mr. Frodo. There are other ways to relieve your pain
and we shall use those. You don't need no drug to enjoy the greatness
of Middle Earth, we'll see to that, mind you," he said. Frodo gave
his friend a weak smile. Lucky Sam, he thought, you will never
understand the pull of things that are beyond your control. First, it
was the Ring and now the medicine. Oh, that I could be free of the
need, the ache, the loss of these precious things, as you are. But I
am weak, not strong like you, Sam. I have nothing but these things to
keep me alive. I have no Rosie or even the Shire any longer, only
those things I can not have make me want to continue. A small sob
escaped him and he wept.

Sam wiped the tears away and murmured to him over and over 'I will
help you, Mr. Frodo. I will carry you when you feel you cannot go on,
for I love thee dearly, my Master.'

Frodo listened and thought how undeserving he was to have such a
friend as Samwise Gamgee. The last thing he saw as he slipped into
the soundless, blissful contentment of the awaiting abyss, was Sam's
gentle, loving smile as he stroked Frodo's curls.

TBC

REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 21

When Frodo awoke, not more than a half hour later, he was alone and was
once again, being assaulted by the dull throb of his wounds, and the
craving for the blessed relief the elixir brought. There was a soft
knock at the door and a round, red faced woman entered.
She wore the garments of an apprenticing healer and slowly approached
where he lay.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Master Periannth, but thought perhaps you
would like some cool water to drink," she spoke quietly.

"You have not awoken me, dear lady. I am rather thirsty, would you
mind pouring me a cup?" Frodo asked huskily.

"Not at all, kind sir," she replied and from a large earthenware
pitcher, poured the water into a smaller earthen cup. Then she
lifted his head gently and brought the cup to his lips. He drank
greedily, the water cool and sweet to his parched mouth.

"More, please," he whispered. Again she filled the cup and he drank
perhaps half before feeling sated. She refilled the cup and
placed it within reach on the bedside table beside the pitcher, bowed
slightly and withdrew, closing the door behind her.
Frodo’s eyes rested on the pitcher and the dewy beads that covered it.
A shaft of light that had found entrance to his room
through the window curtains, alighted on a small bottle sitting next
to the pitcher. The bottle glowed with brilliant hues of yellow
and gold as if somehow lit from within. It was no larger than Frodo's
small fist and he reached out for it with a trembling hand.
He was quite weak and noticed that this small effort caused him to
break into a sudden drenching sweat, his whole body
trembling with exertion. Finally, he attained his goal and looked
carefully at the small amber container. It was perhaps half full
and a small paper on the side stated that it was 'Elixir of Poppy.'
Frodo closed his eyes, shuddering, as he grasped the slim
flask to his chest. This was the wonderful drug that Aragorn had
spoken of, that had ensnared him so easily with the promise
of sweet oblivion. He knew he was being weaned and, for the barest
moment, hesitated about what to do with this liquid
enchantress. He did not want to ever be held in the clutches of
obsession and need, as he had with the Ring. But this was
different, wasn't it?, his mind rationalized. This cured a pain that
ensnared only himself, and unlike the Ring, Middle Earth would
not fall if he partook of such a little thing. Then it would be gone,
his weaning time possibly extended, but the pain he now felt
would diminish and he could rest again. He would be stronger next
time, he argued. He would eat and rest and be physically
able to resist the call of the drug. So he decided, just this last
time, he would give in and no one would be the wiser. He smiled
gently to himself, feeling justified that this wasn't such a terrible
thing after all. Once he quelled the need and the pain, he would
be able to plan better. He would be prepared for the next time the
dark mistress would seduce him. He pulled the cork from
the bottle with his teeth and upended the contents into the earthen
pitcher. Then he grasped the small cup and poured water
back into the small bottle to the point where it had been before. He
spilled a great deal of water down his nightshirt and onto
the bed linens, but hardly noticed so absorbed was he in his task. He
re-corked the bottle, wiping it free of the dribbles of water
and returned it to its place. It winked at him, struck by the shaft
of sunlight, as if to mock him for his weakness and deceit. He
hesitated, now not sure of himself and what he had done. How had it
come to this, he thought. Frodo Baggins, honorable
gentlehobbit of the shire, pilfering medicine like he used to pinch
pipe weed from his Uncle Sara at Brandyhall. Guilt overcame
him as he lie back, his clothing plastered to his skin with sweat. He
groaned. His stomach suddenly clenched and he cried out
in surprise at the force of the pain. He curled in on himself trying
to will it away, but the agony only increased until he was totally
spent, his breathes coming in ragged pants and his mouth watering with
the impending nausea. He leaned over the bed and
vomited into the chamber pot, but then realized, too late, that he had
also soiled his sheets.
The indignity and humiliation of it all suddenly overwhelmed him and
he began to weep. He lay there covered in his own filth,
sobbing. It was then that he realized he didn't care anymore whether
the elixir was good or bad, as long as it allowed him some
form of escape from this hell he was now experiencing.

Sam suddenly entered and seeing his Master lying with his head off the
edge of the bed, weeping and the offal that had puddled
around his spent frame, rushed to help him. "Me poor Master, Let me
help you, me dear," he whispered softly.

"No..go away," Frodo said firmly. Sam looked taken back by this but
still reached out to right his master. "Please Sam...go
away. I do not want you to see me this way," Frodo said forcefully.
Sam ran from the room, feeling frightened and worried.
Never had his master spoken to him like this before and he felt
panicked by the complete distress and despair he had heard in
Frodo's voice.

He ran out into the corridor and right into Aragorn's stomach as he
was turning the corner to come into the room. Aragorn, not
expecting the assault, let out a large 'oomph'. Rubbing his stomach,
he bent down grasping Sam by the shoulders. "Samwise,
what makes you hurry so?" he asked.

"Frodo's dreadful sick, Mr. Strider, and won't let me tend him." Sam
began to cry. "He told me to leave...that...that he didn't
want me there," he blubbered.

Without a word, Aragorn pushed open the door and took in the sight of
the helpless hobbit that lay on the bed. He turned to
Sam and told him to fetch Saleth for clean linens and hot bath water.
Sam scurried out. He then went to Frodo and started to
lift him back onto his pillows.

"Go away, NOW. At least allow me the dignity of trying to make myself
more presentable," Frodo yelled.

"Frodo, stop it!" Aragorn shook him slightly. "You are going to
allow us to care for you without protest or complaint, and you
will be SILENT!" Aragorn's voice boomed. Frodo cringed at the rebuff,
his face going pale. Aragorn felt sudden shame at
raising his voice, especially since Frodo was still recovering from
mental anguish and needed, more than anything, peace and
quiet. He peered at the white countenance of his friend and his face
softened.

"Mellon, you are ill. We do not care if you have soiled your bedding
or been nauseous because we love you and know that
these accidents sometimes happen to the very sick. You are not the
first to experience the humiliation of such acts that your
body does without your bidding."

Frodo looked up at Aragorn with a small flicker of surprise in his
eyes. Aragorn smiled. "Yes, even former Ranger's and newly
crowned King's have been in situations not unlike your own." Frodo
smiled. He couldn't help it, picturing Aragorn sick and
weak as a bairn and having to be cleaned up after an 'accident'. The
image was so unlike all that Frodo had ever thought of the
King that he began to chuckle, which turned quickly into a breathless
laugh.

"That's enough out of you, Ringbearer," said the blushing Ranger.
"Now let's get you cleaned up, what say you?" Frodo, still
chuckling, nodded.

Saleth had come in and witnessed the King speaking with the laughing
hobbit and smiled in spite of himself. He had never heard
Frodo laugh and found that he greatly enjoyed the musical sound that
now emanated from his patient. He filled the copper tub
with warm, fragrant water, while Aragorn wiped most of the excrement
from Frodo's backside and legs. Frodo kept
apologizing, his face a deep red by the time the King lowered him
gently into the bath. To Frodo it felt like heaven as he
allowed the aroma of the lavender oil and the hot water to wash away
the filth, the scent renewing his soul. They washed him
thoroughly then lifted him out and placed him on the freshly changed
linens. Aragorn examined the soiled linens and then the
chamber pot.

"Must you?" husked Frodo. "It is so degrading."

Aragorn turned and looked at Frodo. "I must, Frodo. I am checking
for blood," he said.

"And?"

"There is very little, I am happy to say," replied Aragorn with a
small smile. "Frodo, do you feel up to an excursion?"

Frodo's eyebrows rose and he smiled wanly. "Of course, I am tired,
indeed of being in this bed, no matter how comfortable it
is," he whispered.

"Very well. Master's Took and Brandybuck have requested the pleasure
of your company for the noon meal," said Aragorn,
grinning. "However, there are a few rules you will need to adhere
to." Frodo nodded, anxious to escape his small cage and
visit with his cousins. "No long conversations. Try to listen and
use your face and hands to express yourself. We need to limit
talking as much as possible." Frodo nodded. "If it becomes too much
for you, the noise and chattering and all the sensations,
you must tell me and we will return to this room's peace and quiet."
Frodo again, nodded. Aragorn bent to lift Frodo from the
bed, but Frodo protested.

"I want to try to walk on my own," he whispered.

Aragorn almost laughed, the idea was so ridiculous. "Frodo, that
would be very foolish, even if it were possible. You are far
too weak," Aragorn said slowly.

"I wish to try," Frodo said firmly.

"Very well, " Aragorn helped Frodo to sit up. The room spun in a
sickening swirl. Frodo took a deep breath and swallowed
hard, opening his eyes again slowly. This time the vertigo lessened
and he dropped his legs over the edge of the bed. Aragorn
knelt facing him, arms extended to either side. Frodo was ashen with
the effort of simply sitting up. Aragorn could see a slick
sheen of perspiration on his pale face and knew this would be a short
battle for the hobbit. As Frodo placed his feet slowly
onto the floor and stood, the room again pitched, his knees buckled
and he fell towards the bedside table. Reaching out to stop
his fall, he knocked the amber bottle to the floor, where it shattered
into dozens of small golden splinters. Aragorn caught him
as he fell and lay him back onto his pillows.

"As I said, a foolish endeavor," he said grimly.

"Aragorn, I am sorry. I broke the bottle," Frodo gasped.

"It is naught to worry over, there are others, but remain still while
the pieces are swept up so you won't cut your feet," he smiled.
Aragorn called for an orderly who quickly swept up the fragments and
left the room. "Shall we try again, or are you fatigued?"
asked the King.

"I am fine, perhaps some water," ventured Frodo. Aragorn gently
lifted his shoulders and pressed the cup to his lips, which he
drank of thirstily.

"More?"

"Yes, please."

Aragorn poured a fresh cup from the earthen pitcher and Frodo watched,
eyes filled with manic desire, as he brought the cup to
his lips. He drank slowly and then sighed.

"Better?" Aragorn grinned.

"Yes, much. Shall we go?" Frodo smiled. Aragorn returned the cup to
the table and swept Frodo up, cradling him in the curve
of his left arm. After retrieving a blanket, they turned and left the
room.

Sam hurried towards, them as they entered the corridor. "Mr. Frodo,
Mr. Frodo, are you all right?" he called breathlessly.

"Yes, Sam. I am fine." He grasped Sam's up-stretched hand. "Forgive
me for my harsh words earlier, my dear friend. I
was...not myself," Frodo whispered.

"There's nothin' to forgive, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered. "I think I
understand how you were feelin', I jes' hope you're feelin' a
mite better, is all."

"Yes Sam, I am feeling a little better. Join me for a visit with
Merry and Pippin, all right?" he croaked.

"I'd love to, Mr. Frodo," and Sam fell into step with Aragorn as they
moved along the hallway.

"No more talking, Frodo," Aragorn said without even looking down at
the small person.
At last they came to Pippin and Merry's room and as they entered, were
greeted with joyous cries of happiness. A look from
Aragorn caused the cousins' to quiet considerably. He crossed the
room and gently placed Frodo between Pippin and Merry
on the large bed. Merry busied himself fluffing pillows and placing
them behind his elder cousin in an attempt to make him as
comfortable as possible. Once Frodo was situated he became the
recipient of numerous hugs and whispered endearments from
his kin. Pippin's eyes glowed with unshed tears as he lightly
caressed his cousin's pale face.

"Pippin, whatever have you done to yourself?" whispered Frodo
groggily. Aragorn frowned slightly noting the sudden drowsiness
that seemed to overcome the Ring bearer.

Pippin launched into his tale of the troll and being crushed and then
re-breaking his leg later. He enthusiastically told about the
broken wrist and ribs, flailing his arms, his voice rising in
excitement as he told of his and Merry's adventures. Merry nodded,
his eyes alight, filling in forgotten details, augmenting the story.

At first, Frodo listened in rapt attention his mouth hanging open in
stunned shock at all that had befallen his rowdy kin.
Gradually, his eyelids began to droop, the blue depths taking on a
glazed distant look. Aragorn frowned with concern, and
holding up a hand silencing the two errant adventurers.

"Perhaps we should dine, gentlemen," he said softly. They looked from
Aragorn to Frodo, and noticing the vacant look on the
hobbit's face, agreed wholeheartedly.

Valin entered, along with two other orderlies, bearing trays for the
feast. The bed was set as a makeshift table and the entrees
arranged upon it. Aragorn's eyebrows shot up when he saw the quantity
of food laid out. He thought to himself, I should be
used to this but it still amazes me how much a hobbit can devour.
Seasoned meats, glazed fruits, breads sweat with honey,
vegetables dripping in butter, stewed cabbages, creamed soups and
small meat pies adorned the makeshift table. A fine red
wine was the crowning touch. The three hobbits began to quickly help
themselves, commenting on each dish as it was
sampled. Frodo merely stared at the feast, a sick look on his face,
as the aromas assailed him. A small bowl of creamed
mushroom soup was brought for Frodo. Sam moved to assist his master,
but Aragorn motioned for Sam to keep his place and
partake of the feast, while he fed Frodo. He gathered Frodo to him
and began to slowly spoon soup into the small mouth.

"How does that taste, Frodo?" Aragorn asked, carefully gauging the
Ringbearer's response.

"Ssss..good," mumbled Frodo. Aragorn frowned, but continued to feed
the hobbit until the soup simply dribbled out of the
hobbit's mouth as he stopped swallowing. Again Aragorn looked with
concern at his small friend.
"Perhaps, we should depart. Frodo appears fatigued," said Aragorn.
The other three hobbits looked up from the meal,
amongst murmurs of disappointment. Each hugged Frodo to them
whispering soothing endearments, Frodo smiled wanly at
each in turn.

"I love you all so much," he slurred.

"Mr. Strider, perhaps I should come with you and help get me Master
settled," Sam said as he made to climb from the large
bed.

"No Sam, stay with Master's Took and Brandybuck for now. You can come
visit Frodo after your meal," said Aragorn. Sam
looked torn between his duty to his Master and remaining with the
other hobbits.

"Truly Sam. I think I feel like a bit of a nap now anyway," rasped
Frodo. This seemed to convince the loyal gardener and he
smiled at his Master.

"Very well, Mr. Frodo. But I'll not be far, if’en you need me."

Aragorn rose and carried Frodo from the room, walking slowly down the
hallway until they were once again in the Ringbearer's
chambers. He settled Frodo gently into the little nest, giving a
troubled look at the small person. Saleth entered with the teas
and medicines and moved to the bedside table.

"How fairs he, my Lord?"

"I am uncertain. He seems inordinately fatigued and lethargic," he
said with concern.

"He has had a very active day, my Lord. The weaning alone is very
exhausting. The visit to his cousins' might have been too
much for him, causing this lethargy," commented Saleth.

"Perhaps, but somehow I feel that there is more to this than that,"
Aragorn said skeptically. He smoothed Frodo's curls back
from the pale forehead.

"He is past due for his medicines. We should try to keep him on
schedule to avoid any unpleasant withdrawal symptoms,"
Saleth commented.

"That is another thing that mystifies me. Frodo has not become
agitated and demanding as is usual prior to his next dosing.
Does that not seem odd, Saleth?" questioned the King. The healer's
brows knit together.

"It is unusual, but perhaps simple exhaustion has quelled those
desires for the moment," Saleth said slowly, but he too began to
look pensive.

"Let us dose him and then keep a close eye on him, does that sound
satisfactory?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes, my Liege." Saleth settled himself next to Frodo, Aragorn lifted
the boneless form into a semi-upright position. Frodo's
eyes never opened, in fact no reaction was forthcoming. Aragorn felt
for a pulse and found a slow, steady beat under his
fingertips. Frodo's breaths came in shallow but steady procession.
He nodded to Saleth.

"He seems stable, although I would feel better if his life signs were
a bit stronger," murmured the King.

"Shall I proceed, my Lord?"

"Yes, we shall monitor him closely though. The medicine will probably
lose its hold on him within the hour, then we shall see
what follows," said Aragorn, worriedly.
Saleth slowly spooned the tea made of hypericum, comfrey and a small
dose of the poppy extract, into the side of Frodo's
mouth. Reflexively, it was swallowed until all of it was gone.
Aragorn then lay Frodo back onto the pillows and covered him
with the quilts.

"I believe I shall stay here and keep watch over him," said Aragorn.

"This truly bothers you, does it not my Lord?"

"Yes, it seems somehow unnatural, this state his is in. I am
concerned," whispered the King.

"Perhaps you should sleep next to him. The bed is more than large
enough to accommodate both of you," suggested Saleth.
Aragorn looked at Saleth with surprise. Saleth smiled. "It has come
to my attention that you, my King, have rested far too little
since this situation began. And sitting in a chair perched
precariously against the wall is not rest, no matter what you would say," he added when Aragorn made to object. "It will do you both good to
nap a bit. This way you can be comfortable and close at
hand to monitor Frodo's life signs," he finished.

Aragorn smiled, "Very well, Master Healer. I see you have plotted
this out well." Saleth's eyes opened wide at the idea of
plotting against the King. Aragorn held up his hand, "I realize you
have my best interests at heart, my friend, and consider your
concern for my well-being an act of friendship. I will rest next to
Frodo. After all, he will probably awaken within the hour
anyway, needing more medicine," said Aragorn.

"Undoubtedly, my Lord." Aragorn removed his boots and made himself
comfortable next to Frodo, as Saleth exited the
room. He placed his hand on the small wrist to better monitor Frodo's
pulse and then, slowly, his eyes slipped shut. Exhaustion
taking him totally. The Ringbearer slept deeply, dreamlessly,
cocooned within the embrace of the seductive drug, that promised
endless peace and tranquility, a small satisfied smile upon his lips.

TBC

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 22

When Aragorn awoke, the room was in total darkness. He lay there trying to figure out what had woke him and trying to calculate how much time had elapsed while he had slept. He did not move, but allowed his eyes to turn towards the doorway.

A lone candle being carried by one of the healer apprentices, approached the bed. The King was all but invisible to the healer. Frodo was propped up on so many pillows that they masked the King’s presence in deep shadow. The woman was carrying a fresh flagon of water and a cup. She placed these articles on the sideboard, making to replace the old pitcher and cup with the new.

"Please...don’t," came a small voice.

"Master Baggins, I am sorry I woke you. I wanted to refresh your water for you," said the healer gently. Aragorn watched, hidden, wanting to see what transpired.

"No...I prefer the old pitcher and water," Frodo said slowly.

"But, Master Periannth, it will be stale from sitting. This fresh water is cool and will be more refreshing," the healer said, in obvious confusion. Perhaps, she thought, these Shire folk had different tastes for their refreshment that she did not understand. But she was confused as to why anyone would prefer older, flatter
water to cool, and fresh.

"No...I prefer the taste. Please leave it," the Ringbearer insisted.

"As you wish, Master," the healer replied now looking uncertain about
such a strange request.

"Will you help me? I would like a drink, please," Frodo asked. Aragorn detected a note of anxiety and even need, in the quavering voice. He frowned to himself, beginning to feel a niggling of dread regarding the motives of the Ringbearer.

"Of course, young Master," came the healers reply. She poured a cup of the stale water and moved to lift Frodo's head, pressing the cup to his lips.

Aragorn's hand shot out, grasping the healer's wrist in mid motion. Frodo cried out in surprise as did the healer. Aragorn leaned over Frodo, making himself visible to both.

"My Liege, you startled me," gasped the healer. Frodo's eyes were impossibly wide with fear.

"My pardon, dear Lady," said Aragorn with a slight bow of his head.

"Aragorn, what are you doing here? And why did you not reveal your presence," asked Frodo with a look of desperation towards the cup.

"I was resting with you to better monitor your life signs. I must have been more fatigued than I thought," Aragorn said slowly. He still grasped the woman's wrist in his, he released her and she stood up.

"My Liege, I was but giving the young Master a drink," she explained, still looking flustered and uncertain.

"You are a dedicated healer, my good woman. Do not be alarmed, *you* have done nothing wrong," said the King softly. Frodo noticed the inflection on the *you*.

"Please leave the cup on the sideboard beside the old pitcher, and light a few more tapers to dispel this darkness." The healer did as requested, still visibly shaken by the sudden appearance of the
King. "You may leave us," said Aragorn. "I will see to 'Master Baggins' now." Frodo noticed how Aragorn's eyes shifted slowly from the healer to lock with his, where they still remained.

"Yes, my Liege," she quickly bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Aragorn, I truly am quite thirsty. May I have my water now?" Frodo's voice quavered.

"Of course, Frodo." Aragorn rose and walked to the fresh pitcher and cup and began to pour.

"No, I prefer the other, please." Frodo whispered nervously.

Aragorn slowly turned with the new cup in his hand and held Frodo's gaze grimly. "And why is that, Frodo? This water should do you just as well. Why are you so adamant about it being the other, older water?" He never took his eyes from Frodo's, now convinced that what he suspected was true, after all. He groaned inwardly and felt a
small shiver run up his spine.

"I am not adamant. I simply prefer it," snapped Frodo. He reached out for the cup himself with a shaking hand.

"I see, no need to become angry, my friend. Here, let me assist you." Frodo sighed and lay back on his pillows, eyes closing in relief. Aragorn took the cup and brought it to his own lips. Frodo's eyes
opened and when he saw Aragorn and what he intended to do, he cried out in frustration and fear.

"NO...IT IS MINE. GIVE IT TO ME!" Aragorn stopped. He dipped his index finger into the water and brought his finger to his mouth. The unmistakable bitter taste of poppy extract assaulted his taste buds.
He spat it on the floor and placed the cup back on the sideboard. At that moment Saleth entered. Frodo's eyes were wide in panic and need as he watched the two stand beside his bed, looking down at him,
Aragorn's eyes, still locked with Frodo's. Aragorn spoke softly.

"Saleth, we have a crucial decision to make regarding Frodo's care," he said slowly. Frodo shivered at the totally clinical way that Aragorn spoke of him as if he weren't in the room. An undercurrent of anger ran through the King's voice.

"Yes, my Lord. I have come in to check on him every hour, some six times..."

"Six..." Aragorn said, aghast.

"Yes, my Lord. You were exhausted so I tried not to wake you. At first I believed the same of the Ringbearer, but after the second hour, began to suspect other reasons as to why he would be so unreactive. I was unable to rouse him at each hour that I came in," said Saleth slowly.

A look of total fury came over Aragorn's features. He turned to Frodo and leaned over him, his face mere inches from Frodo's. He roughly grasped Frodo by the shoulders. "Do you want to die?" he said menacingly. Frodo's eyes grew even wider, he paled, his mouth trying to work a response that would not come.

"DO--YOU--WANT--TO--DIE!!! I asked you," shouted Aragorn into his
face, shaking him as he said each word.

"Aragorn...I.." began Frodo, terrified at this outburst from someone he knew and loved. He tried to creep backwards, towards the headboard and the other corner of the bed. Never had he felt truly frightened of
Aragorn excepting the first time they had met in Bree. Now he was frozen in terror at the sheer anger that Aragorn's eyes held as they bored into his own.

"We gave you the poppy extract for pain. Since you were in such agony, we gave you a fairly large dose every hour. Our fault. We should have known what could happen. Now, 'Master Baggins,' we will be doing this the hard way. You have shown a quality unknown to my friend Frodo Baggins, of the Shire---deceit. We shall wean you, but
not slowly, as planned. That seems only to prolong the cravings and agony of withdrawal, but abruptly so that you can finally be free from the clutches of this drug. You will be free to live a life of hope and beauty, as was meant for you," said Aragorn with sad determination.

Frodo's eyes suddenly lit with a burning fire, causing Aragorn to draw back slightly. This fire was borne of need, bitterness and desperation.

"Free to live a life of HOPE!," he fairly spat the words. He grabbed Aragorn's tunic with both hands, unmindful of the wrenching pain in his right hand. "Beauty? Peace? These words are foreign to me now. You know nothing, Aragorn son of Arathorn, of pain and torment. I have seen it first hand," he laughed bitterly, his eyes glinting with
madness. "Know you not of losing your soul to an inanimate object. Of craving, desperately for that object's return just so you can *feel* something, anything once again? How when the Ring was destroyed I felt it tear a gaping hole into my very being? Of knowing your life will NEVER be the same because of taking on a burden of your own free choice? I have been stabbed, bitten, and starved. Ravaged by Orcs, left for dead and endured the darkness both physical and mental. And while all of you will marry, have your families and lives unfold before you, I will not. I shall remain empty, a shell of my former self, dependent forever on the care of my friends, neither seeking or feeling happiness again in this life. You ask me if I wish to die? I say to you, I am already dead,
you simply have not buried me yet. The drug, that blessed, wonderful drug is all I have to gather comfort and peace to me. And you, *my friend*, wish to deprive me of it. My only recourse, the only bliss I can still feel, and you would take it from me," Frodo screamed into Aragorn's face. "Why not simply let me live that small lie. Let me have the small comfort of the drug, let me yet feel peace and happiness even if it is artificial and transitory?
I think I ask little of you. I do not care if it is good or bad. I only know it makes me *feel*. Better...yes, a giddy warmth I have not felt since this all began. An ecstasy I shall not find elsewhere. Why is it asking so much to allow 'Your Savior of Middle Earth' some modicum of comfort in what remains of his short life?" Frodo gasped
this last in a pleading voice. He was spent. He dropped his hands to the covers and fell back onto the pillows, his face covered in sweat, eyes wet with tears.

Aragorn was frozen in place for a few moments from the outburst. He thought on all that Frodo had said, a deep feeling of empathy and pity overwhelmed him. "I am sorry, Frodo, I can not. It is a lie, a lie that will eventually take all that you once were and replace it with only the drug, it will twine about your mind and being until there is
naught left," he said softly, tears filled his eyes and rolled down his face.

"My lie, my life, not yours," whispered Frodo. "Leave me, you are no friend of mine if you would allow me to suffer when there is a form of relief available to me of my choosing," he said bitterly and rolled to his side.

Saleth and Aragorn stood stunned at what their friend had been forced to become.

"We shall begin immediately," said Aragorn, raw emotion warring within him and coming through in a voice filled with sadness and defeat. "I want Valerian root teas given hourly with hypericum for the depression.
Also since Frodo can obviously tolerate speech, rich soups and custards, applesauce and steamed fruits. We need him to regain his strength for what is to come," he glanced at Frodo's back. "He is not to be left unattended, but I forbid Sam or the others, to see him until the worst of the symptoms abates, perhaps in three days time.

Saleth nodded in agreement and left to prepare all that would be needed. Aragorn rose, "I am sorry, Frodo. I do love and care for you, that is why we must do this, so that at least you will have a *choice* of which way to live your life. I know you do not believe me, but it is true none the less," he left the room. Frodo listened to all that was said and tears of frustration, anger, fear and most of all, loss, flowed from his blue eyes. He felt very
alone and forsaken. Why could they not see? None of it seemed to matter anymore and he prayed Eru would not let him survive the ordeal to come.

Aragorn met Sam in the corridor as he was heading into Frodo's room. "No Sam," said Aragorn clasping the gardener's shoulder.

"I heard Mr. Frodo scream and an awful ruckus from his room," said Sam worriedly.

"Yes Sam. We were....talking. You need to know something and it will be difficult for you to hear. Let us sit over there," he pointed to a small padded bench, "and discuss the matter," said Aragorn. Sam looked worriedly up at Aragorn's face, then at the closed door. He walked with the King, over to the bench.

"Frodo has been stealing the opiate elixir we were trying to wean him from." Sam's eyes grew wide at hearing this.

"That's not like Mr. Frodo. He's one of the most honest of hobbits, I cannot believe he would do such a thing," said Sam.

"Nevertheless, Sam, it is true. Addiction does strange things to those it enslaves. It makes them do things they would not normally do, say things they would never say. They will do anything to attain their goal of getting the drug they are addicted to. We are experiencing this with Frodo. He is bitter, depressed and desperate with need for the drug. He will do anything, say anything to get some, but we must not allow that, no matter what he
says or however much pain he feels," said Aragorn sadly.

"Pain? You mean to let him suffer?" said Sam, indignantly.

"I am sorry, Sam we will try to keep him as comfortable as possible, but for the next few days he will suffer from withdrawal from the drug. It is an actually physical pain his body will be feeling, and will be most unpleasant for him, I fear. But it must be done," Aragorn looked sadly at Sam's grieving face.

"Then I shall stay with him. He'll need his Sam, he will," he said.

"No Sam, I cannot allow it," said Aragorn softly. Sam's eyes flashed in anger.

"What? But he needs me, he can't do this alone. I can't simply sit and do nothin' for 'em," yelled Sam.

"Sam, you are his loyal servant and dear friend. You would refuse him nothing, am I correct?" asked Aragorn.

"Of course, I would do whatever needs to be doin' to make him comfortable. It's me job, as ya know, Mr. Strider," said Sam.

"That is my point. Frodo will do *anything* to get what he needs. And you will do *anything* to make him happy and comfortable. That is why I forbid you to see him." Sam's eyes grew wide in surprised anger.

"Mr. Strider, I'd never give 'em any of it, I promise," said Sam.

Aragorn smiled ruefully, "I believe you never intentionally would break your promise, Samwise. But I also know that Frodo is going to be very manipulative. He will say things to hurt you, or shame you into helping him. I will allow you to see him, with either myself or Saleth along side, perhaps tomorrow. You may have better luck getting him to eat or drink his teas, but I will not allow you in the room unescorted for today. He will likely be
violent and abusive tonight and you must trust me to know what is best, both for you and Frodo," he said softly. Sam only sat there. Slowly he nodded his head.

"I am sorry, Sam," said Aragorn. He rose and left Sam on the bench, returning to Frodo's room. Saleth was with Frodo trying to get him to eat. Frodo was refusing, physically batting at Saleth, soup was everywhere. Aragorn shut the door quietly behind him and locked it. Frodo watched him, eyes wide and frightened. As Aragorn approached Frodo tried to move away, into the corner.

"He is already beginning to show signs of paranoia. See also how he trembles? I fear we will be in for a very long night. We may have to restrain him."

"Later, first let's get him to eat, then a hobbit sized dose of Valerian root tea, perhaps a soothing bath and then we will discuss what is to come, my friend. We will do whatever we must to make this proceed smoothly, for Frodo's sake," he said softly. He looked at Frodo with kind, understanding eyes, crawled upon the bed
and pulled the small body to his chest. Frodo cried out a long wail "Sam....Sam help me..." and twisted against him. But Aragorn held him firm, whispering soothing words in the hobbit’s ear. He grasped his jaw
gently and opened the small mouth, then pinched the nose shut. The soup was spooned into the rRingbearer, allowing him a breath after each swallow, until gone. The tea was then brought, Frodo whimpered and
cried, "No...I'll be good, please don't hurt me...Sam....where are you, Sam..." The cries broke Aragorn's heart to hear how desperate and alone his friend sounded. The tea was fed to him, amongst his wails and gasps for air, until at last he began to calm, his body still trembling.

Outside in the corridor, a small hobbit pressed his wet cheek and right hand to the door, listening to the plaintive cries for help. He sobbed, knowing there was nothing he could do for the one he had
sworn his life too.

TBC

REPOST

Day Two of Frodo's Weaning

Aragorn could not remember having ever had a longer more tortuous
night. Even the seemingly endless fighting at Helm's Deep
could not compare to seeing his frail, sick friend turn from sedated,
sick hobbit to the trembling, hysterical and pain wracked
form he now saw before his eyes. He silently witnessed as Frodo went
from near catatonia, where he lay for hours staring
vacantly off into some other world, silent tears falling from unseeing
eyes-- to begging, pleading and screaming as his body
thrashed in agony, to spitting vitriolic obscenities and railing
verbally and physically against Aragorn and all of humanity.
Aragorn, frustrated and feeling impotent at his lack of ability to
help or give succor to his friend, looked on helplessly as Frodo
experienced the torment and torture of his withdrawal. Another side effect, and possibly the most heartbreaking for Aragorn to watch, was when Frodo could not discern reality from the chaos that
held his mind. At those times, he became a frightened
waif, cringing back from all who neared him, seeing things only he
could see. Aragorn could not fathom what Frodo's mind had
created to terrify him so, his mind and body desperate to overcome
the loss of the drug, and trying desperately to compensate
for the sudden imbalance that had been brought upon it.

Saleth and he had tried everything they could think of to calm and
comfort the Ringbearer. Some things, like the hot baths and
Valerian root, had worked for a time, but increasingly higher doses of
the tea were needed at increasingly shorter intervals, to
maintain even the slightest semblance of calm in their patient now.
The Valerian root was not as addictive, for which Aragorn
was grateful, but he worried because of Frodo's slight frame and
weight that the heavy doses might catch up with him and slip
the hobbit into too deep a sleep. Currently, that was not a problem,
Aragorn mused. He looked over to the bed at the feverish,
shaking form of his friend. Frodo's main problem now was dehydration.
At first, they had force fed him the soups and tea
every hour, but after every feeding Frodo had vomited violently. So
they had gone back to the light broth and the sweetened
cream, heavy with Valerian root and comfrey. This he drank greedily,
but none of it had remained down for long. Frodo was
now vomiting almost constantly, long past expelling any form of food,
until now only bile came forth. Each time Frodo hovered
retching over the basin, his movements had become weaker and weaker
and each time Aragorn had emptied it he had noticed
increasingly larger amounts of blood in the emesis.

The chamber pot had had its share of attention as well, as Frodo's
body struggled to purge all fluids out of his fragile frame--a
frame that seemed to grow more wasted as each hour passed. They
feared the hobbit could not survive much more of the
continuous abuse. Aragorn placed a damp cloth on Frodo's head and
after gently wiping the small face clean, offered a sip of
water to rinse his mouth with. Saleth was preparing another bath with
steaming hot water and fragrantly scented oils to comfort
the shuddering, anxious form. Frodo tossed back and forth upon his
pillow, fighting some unseen attacker. He slowly opened
his glazed eyes and stared up at Aragorn with a look that could only
be described as terrified. His eyes became impossibly
wide and he tried feebly, to crab crawl backwards into the far corner
of his bed. 'What are you seeing that frightens you so, my
dear friend?', thought Aragorn.

Frodo's POV

As Frodo had opened his eyes he had seen the dark shapes again,
backlit by a dim light, as they moved about his bed. They
spoke to him, but he did not understand their words, the sounds
reminding him of people talking while he used to swim
underwater. The room was full of these phantasms, all reaching
towards him or forcing him to drink strange concoctions. He
yearned for Sam or Bilbo to protect and save him, but they were gone
and he was all alone. Alone. He wept as he tried to
retreat from the nearest figure. He managed to get to the furthest
corner of the large bed, adrenaline coursing through him, and
slowly backed off the bed until his feet touched the floor. A violent
wave of vertigo assailed him and he pitched towards the
wall, bumping it hard. He regained his balance and slowly and
continued to inch backwards. The figure was joined by a
second and now both were garbling their strange tongue and approaching
him with their long arms outstretched. Huge claws
were making to grasp at him. He shrieked a long wailing cry and,
trembling, backed away slowly.

"Sam!… Sam! Help me!", he screamed, but no one came to his aid. He
continued creeping away, stumbling and swaying, but
determined to escape the wraiths before him. He screamed again,
calling out for his absent friend until finally, his voice failed him
completely and he could only sob in terror at what surely, was his
approaching doom. "Please...I don't have it. Don't touch
me....please, stay away," he panted. His guts were on fire and he
felt his bowels let go, but was too petrified to care, his only
goal to elude his pursuers. The pain was all encompassing, his
muscles cramped and spasomed, his stomach and chest a
throbbing inferno and his hand seemed to pulse with a dull pain that
matched his rapid heartbeat and ragged breaths. He
bumped up against a cupboard of sorts and felt hastily around it until
he found the end and eased himself easily behind it and up
against the cool wall. He moved all the way down to the other end
until he was well out of reach of his pursuers. His stomach
cramped violently and he retched as he slumped against the wall and
slid to the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chin and
sobbed hysterically. His body heaved in a sudden, shuddering,
convulsion causing Frodo to arch his back and hit his head
repeatedly against the cool stone, until his eyes rolled up into his
head and blessed blackness claimed him.

Aragorn's POV

As Frodo moved to the corner of the bed, Aragorn spoke soothingly to
him and raised his hands to show he was no threat to
the Ringbearer. But Frodo continued backing away, slowly lowering his
legs over the side of the bed. Aragorn called to Saleth,
"Saleth, Frodo is hallucinating. I need you to help me." Saleth
immediately moved with Aragorn to try and intercept the
frightened hobbit. Aragorn studied Frodo as he gamely moved towards
the cupboards on the far wall. His legs wobbled, looking incapable of holding even Frodo's slight weight for any length of time. He staggered and swayed with weakness, and his
face wore a look of such pure terror that Aragorn could only guess at what the hobbit thought he was seeing before him. It was obvious that adrenaline was all that kept the Ringbearer focused on his attempt at escape. Aragorn grimaced as he noted how thin and ragged his friend looked, his nightshirt covered in vomit and clinging to his small frame in a drench of sweat. His hair was plastered to his head, and droplets of perspiration hung from the tangles. His face, dewy with sweat, was pale and dark black circles lay under his eyes. He was panting hoarsely and Aragorn could see the pulse point on his neck beating rapidly in fear and panic. Suddenly Frodo’s bowels released again, but Frodo seemed not to notice as he continued to inch backwards. He cried out for Sam to
help him, causing Aragorn to weep openly at the panic
evident on his pale features. Finally, Frodo’s voice gave out and he
sobbed hysterically as he reached the wall whispering "Please, I
don't have It. Don't touch me...please, stay away..." He slipped
behind the narrow gap behind the cabinet and moved all the
way to the end, into the corner and well out of reach of Aragorn's
long arms. Then he vomited violently and his body, finally
totally spent from these last efforts, convulsed and seized until he
became unconscious.

"We must move the cabinet, quickly!" shouted Aragorn.

Saleth called two orderlies to assist them and the cabinet was moved
out enough to allow Aragorn access to the slumped form.
"Blessed Eru..." whispered Aragorn as he checked Frodo's pulse and
breathing. As he touched the hobbit's forehead, he drew
back, startled at the heat that radiated off the small person.

"Quickly, the bath. Then prepare boluses heavy with Valerian root and
comfrey. Prepare a second with hypericum and athelas." The healers left hastily to do the King's bidding. The
linens were changed, sideboards were re-attached to the bed
and the boluses lay on a tray ready to be inserted. Aragorn swept
Frodo up, quickly removing the filthy nightshirt, and slowly
lowered him into the bath. Saleth and he worked together to
thoroughly wash their friend, finally lifting and wrapping him in a
soft blanket. As they placed him on the clean sheets, thicker
toweling was placed under his bottom and strips of gauze were
brought to bind him so that he would remain in the bed. Aragorn
carefully unwrapped the hand, satisfied it had received no
additional injury, applied a balm and rewrapped it in an extra layer
of soft bandages in case their charge became violent. He
examined the ribs and found that with all the movement, a slight misalignment had occurred. Only a yellowing bruise now remained as a reminder of Aragorn's resuscitation of a few days prior. He soaked a bandage in warm athelas water and lay it across the Ringbearer's chest. After a time he removed it and bound the small ribs back into place. Next, he looked closely at Frodo's head where he had struck it against
the wall. Aside from a few lumps, he decided no real
damage had been done. He palpated the stomach and abdomen and
received whimpers and a groan in return. "I am very
concerned that he has restarted the bleeding in his stomach. We
should try to give him some mint tea to settle the cramping,"
Aragorn murmured. Saleth left and returned shortly with the requested
tea.

"Here, my Lord. Let us first place the first bolus, dress him and
then perhaps, the tea?" he inquired. Aragorn nodded, and
turned Frodo onto his side. He lifted Frodo's knees to his chest and
slowly inserted the bolus. A small gasp issued from the
hobbit's mouth as he slowly began to regain consciousness. He had
felt the intrusion of the bolus and now he trembled in fear,
eyes widening slowly, to realize he was at the mercy of the strange
captors. He began to struggle, whimpering as he tried to push away. The bolus was pushed out as he worked against the healers. He inched once more, towards the headboard, but his time Aragorn caught his wrists in his and held him still. Frodo became hysterical, howling in fear and
loathing, as his imagination created before him a monster of such
hideous visage, so horrible he thought his heart would stop. He
screamed again, and again as Aragorn spoke softly to him, but he knew
that Frodo was far past reason.

"Forgive me, mellon," he whispered as he struck Frodo hard across the
face. The Ringbearer collapsed and Aragorn pulled him
to his chest, tears flowing from his eyes. "Forgive me, but we must
treat you or you will die. I can not allow that to happen to
one I have grown to love almost as a brother," he murmured softly,
stroking the dark curls. He turned to Saleth.

The healer looked on in sympathy for the King. "It was necessary, my
Liege," he said, trying to comfort Aragorn.

"Perhaps, dear friend, but it gives me no comfort knowing I must
subdue a dear friend physically in order to stop the madness,
even if only for a short time. I am a monster. I feel not unlike a
bully beating upon a frail and delicate creature," he lamented.
Gently he lay the unconscious hobbit on his side and again pulled up
the thin legs. Another bolus was brought to replace the
first, and placed inside the small bottom. He then carefully covered
his friend. Frodo's legs and arms were bound, loosely, to
the bed frame to prevent him from moving and the cooled mint tea was
once again, brought forward. He leaned Frodo against
his chest and slowly trickled the tea into the side of Frodo's mouth.
Reflexively, it was swallowed. Aragorn then placed a cool
cloth on his friend's face where he had struck him, as silent tears
filled his eyes. He curled up next to Frodo on the large bed,
pulling him to him. He then slept, Frodo cradled protectively against
him.

TBC

REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 24

Day 3

Frodo awoke slowly, feeling comfortably warm and secure, nestled
against another’s chest. He took in the scent of the other person, a
musky aroma of pine and pipeweed. He was content to lie so, unwilling
to wake the other as this solace enveloped him. His body ached as if
the muscles had been strained beyond their limits, and his face pulsed
with a dull throb. This alone sought to intrude on the illusion of
perfect warmth and contentedness. He moved still closer, enjoying the
small luxury and smells mixed with the slow, steady heartbeat of his
unknown benefactor.

Aragorn, sensing Frodo's awakening, pulled his head back and looked
down at the small form curled into him. "Are you well, my friend?" he
whispered. Frodo's answer was a frustrated sigh at the possibility of
being extricated from this delightful source of succor. Aragorn
smiled slightly and pulled the hobbit in closer to him, which yielded
another sigh, this of contentment, from his friend.

The door cracked open and Saleth entered the chamber bearing water and
teas. "How is he, my Lord?" he asked quietly.

Aragorn smiled, "He is quite comfortable, it would seem, and I am
quite trapped as he does not wish to release his embrace," he chuckled.

Saleth smiled. "The human touch, especially from one he considers a
dear friend, can sometimes be more curative than any elixir or tonic,"
he said.

"So true, and yet, I must rise even though I am want to disturb him,"
said the King.

"Perhaps later we could employ Sam to take your position. He is quite
beside himself with worry. I do not believe he has eaten or slept in
the past two days. He remains curled next to the door, refusing to
abandon his post or his Master. I believe we have very nearly broken
his heart," Saleth said this with a smile, but Aragorn detected a
distinct note of concern in the healer's voice, for the small gardener.

"An excellent idea," said Aragorn. "Frodo still has much to endure,
but I do believe he is well enough for his friends to visit and
comfort him. I have been meaning to ask you about Merry. Sam had
said something in passing earlier about Merry not using his right
hand, as he should."

"Sadly, it is true. He keeps it hidden and proclaims he is fine
whenever we ask about it. He seems to be under the impression that
our attentions should be divided between Master's Took and Baggins,
and that he does not need our ministrations," said Saleth grimly.

"Stubborn, willful and single-minded to the welfare of his cousins,"
muttered Aragorn. Aragorn's eyes then acquired a strange gleam and he
smiled slowly. "I know just the cure. It will benefit Pippin and
Frodo, but most of all, Merry," he grinned. Saleth looked confused.
"First, let us take care of this small one, then I will tell you of my
plan," he said mysteriously.

He gently disentangled himself from Frodo's embrace, and was met with
a whimper of discontent. He soothed the hobbit with soft words and
began to examine him. Frodo had a large, swollen, bruise on his
cheek, which caused Aragorn to grimace. He felt gently around the
bruise to ascertain that he had not, inadvertently, broken the fragile
cheek bone. Satisfied that the bone was undamaged, he turned to
Saleth. "His fever is much higher today and his skin is clammy. We
will need some water to bath him and try to bring it down." Saleth
nodded, and turning to his assistant, motioned for him to begin
filling the copper tub. After the assistant left, Saleth turned back
to the King. "He has bruises and abrasions everywhere from his
attempt to escape us yesterday. He lightly massaged Frodo's abdomen
which elicited a sharp intake of breath from the Ringbearer. Aragorn
looked up into Frodo's open eyes. "Frodo, do you know who I am?" he
asked.

Frodo's eyebrows quirked as if confused at the question but answered,
"You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, whom I owe my allegiance," he rasped.

Aragorn smiled widely. "No, my friend. To you, I owe mine. How are
you feeling this morn?" he asked.

"Thirsty..."

Aragorn poured a cup of water, and lifting the narrow shoulders,
brought the cup to Frodo's parched lips. Frodo drank greedily.
Aragorn pulled the cup away and a small whimper escaped Frodo's mouth.

"Slow sips, my friend, or it will not stay down. Swirl it around
your mouth, then swallow slowly," Aragorn chided. Frodo nodded,
anxiously and again the cup was brought. Slowly, he drank all of it.

"More?"

"Not right now, Frodo, Let us see how this settles and then you may
have more, all right?" Frodo nodded wearily.

"Where do you hurt, Frodo?" asked Aragorn.

"Everywhere...my stomach is giving me sharp pains, like cramps. My
legs keep cramping, but it is my stomach that hurts the worst. My
face hurts..." he said

"Yes...I am sorry, my friend, about your face. But it was necessary
to render you unconscious."

Frodo's eyes widened in disbelief. "You struck me?" he said, aghast.

"I did, I am sorry," as Aragorn said this, his eyes became moist.

Frodo looked at Aragorn closely. "I am sorry if I have been unruly,
Strider."

Aragorn laughed, "That is an understatement, my dear friend."

Frodo groaned and pulled his legs up to his chest, rolling to his
side. He was suddenly seized with intense cramping in his abdomen,
and without warning, heaved the water across the bed where Aragorn
had lain only moments ago.

"Chamber pot..." he croaked. Aragorn, still stunned by the quantity
and how fast the nausea had presented itself, quickly grabbed the pot
and, lifting Frodo gently, placed him on it. Frodo looked humiliated
as the sound of watery diarrhea poured from his other end.
Afterwards, feeling faint, he leaned forward precariously against
Aragorn's chest. Aragorn washed the sweat from the pale face, and
then cleaned Frodo’s backside. Gently he lifted his friend, removing the
saturated nightshirt and placing him gently, into the awaiting bath.

He gazed into the half opened eyes of his comrade as he washed his hair
and cleansed his body of all evidence of sickness.

"Aragorn," Frodo whispered, "I am dying, why do you not simply allow
me to pass?" he gasped.

Aragorn's eyes filled with tears. "You are *not* dying, I will not
allow it. It is the withdrawal that makes you feel as you are," he
replied huskily.

"How many more days must I endure this agony?" Frodo rasped.

"Not many, you are past the worse of it, I believe. You must be
strong, Frodo. You have many who love you, you have much yet to do in
this world. You must be brave," Aragorn whispered.

Frodo closed his eyes and turned away. "I have been strong and brave.
Now I am spent," he said quietly.

Aragorn felt like weeping at the sheer finality and despair he heard
in Frodo's voice. Frodo turned back and looked at Aragorn. "Could
you not give me but a small dose of the extract to ease my pain?" he
begged, his eyes pleading with Aragorn's. "Please, Aragorn. Just a
small amount to end my suffering?" he whimpered, tears running down
his face.

"No dear one, that would only prolong the agony for you," whispered
Aragorn. "I am sorry." As Frodo sobbed, Aragorn gently washed the
tears from his thin face. Finally, he lifted Frodo from the bath and
held him close as he would a small child, trying to console him with
his embrace. He lay him down into the clean sheets and placed pillows
about the increasingly thinning frame. Frodo's eyes were closed as if
in sleep, but Aragorn knew it was not so.

"Frodo, drink this tea. It is peppermint and will help to settle your
stomach." Frodo obediently drank the tea. It tasted wonderful to his
parched mouth. Next the honeyed milk mixture, heavy with Valerian
root and comfrey, was brought. He drank this eagerly. His body
desperately craving the nourishment. At last he was lain on his side
and a bolus of hypericum mixed with athelas and more Valerian root,
was placed inside his small bottom. Through it all, he remained
obedient and unmoving as a rag doll. The lack of response alarmed
Aragorn, who now worried whether Frodo had the strength of will to
continue this fight, or if he had decided to simply give up, wishing
for death. He covered Frodo with a heavy quilt and nodding to Saleth,
left the room in search of Merry. Merry had within him the ability to
bring calm to Frodo and himself, he just did not realize it yet. He
found Merry chatting with Pippin over breakfast, in the hobbits quarters.

"Strider, join us for tea. You look as if you could use some, I dare
say," piped Pippin. Pippin's leg was still propped up, the bandages
were being changed by Valin, as Aragorn approached the bed.

"Ooooh, it itches so," complained Pippin. Aragorn watched as Valin
washed the leg, removing the dead skin, bringing a look of utter bliss
to Pippin's face.

"Soon those muscles will be in use again," commented Aragorn. "But
they will be weak from disuse and need to be massaged daily to regain
some of their former strength," Aragorn said, shifting his gaze
slightly to Merry. "Merry, would you bring me the lavender oil there
on the table please?" he asked. The oil was easily within his reach
but he wanted Merry to bring it to him. Valin smiled knowingly, and
moved away from the leg after drying it. Aragorn gave Valin a small
nod. Merry, looked confused at the request, but rose nonetheless
and using his left hand, began to reach for the bottle.

"No, Merry, use your right hand," said Aragorn, evenly. Merry looked
quickly over his shoulder in alarm at Aragorn. Aragorn's gaze was
unreadable. Merry, slowly began to reach for the bottle with his
right hand, his arm trembled violently and sweat broke out on his face
as he lifted the arm up to the table. When he tried to open the
clenched fingers and grasp the bottle, the bottle fell sideways onto
the table. Aragorn recovered the bottle with a grab, then caught
Merry's hand in his. "You will exercise this arm and hand Meriadoc,
or it will shrivel up and become totally useless." He poured some of
the oil into his large hands and pressing his thumbs into the small
palm, began to massage it, causing Merry to utter a small gasp. Merry
was sweating profusely now, obviously in great pain. As Aragorn
rubbed the hand he watched Merry's face. "I have a task that only you
can accomplish, my friend," he whispered. Merry's face was quite pale
now as the muscles in the injured limb, jumped under the King's ministrations. "You will massage Pippin's leg, gently, twice a day. Once in the morning, once at night. Then you will come to Frodo's room. He is in extreme pain from the cramping in his legs, an unfortunate side effect of the withdrawal." Upon hearing this Merry looked up at Aragorn with alarm.

"Will he be all right?" he asked worriedly.

"He will, if you will help him," said Aragorn.

"I know nothing of massage, surely there are others better suited to
ease his aches?" asked Merry.

"There are, no doubt. But he needs the touch of someone he loves. He
needs a person he can speak with of his worries and woes. That person
should be someone who can relate to him, show him empathy and how
much he is loved in return. Wouldn't you agree?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"I would do anything for Frodo ...or Pip," Merry replied.

"I know, and I am counting on you to try and raise the spirits of your
cousin. He has endured much and has sunk into despair. I feel you can
help bring him out of this and help him see his worth once more. For now, I want you to gently work Pippin's leg muscles so that he may walk without crutches once the bandages are removed," said Aragorn.

Merry again looked alarmed. "You mean Pip will need crutches after he
has healed?" he cried.

"He wont need them as long or perhaps at all, if you will help him
now, Merry," smiled Aragorn. "You see, Master Brandybuck, you have
the ability to make a difference in both of their lives, if you will
but take some care with your own." Aragorn smiled. He handed the oil
to Merry who, after a brief struggle with the cork, poured some into
his hands. He set the bottle aside, using his left hand, Aragorn
noticed grimly, and began to gently massage Pippin's leg.

"I'm not hurting you, am I Pip?" he asked worriedly.

"No Merry, you could never hurt me," smiled Pippin. "It feels rather
wonderful, actually," he chirped.

"In the early mornings, before breakfast, you will submerge your right
arm for one half hour in hot athelas water. You will do this again
each night before you sleep," Aragorn said sternly. Merry looked
into the penetrating gray eyes. "If I hear you are not doing this,
Merry, I will have no choice but to have a healer do it for you. I
will also make sure you roll endless amounts of bandages until the
dexterity is restored in that hand and arm. You can forego rolling
bandages if you will willingly soak the arm night and day, and as
treatment, massage Pippin and Frodo's legs, morning and night. Are we
quite clear on this, Master Brandybuck?" Aragorn's face was stern.

"Yes, Strider. I will do as you ask," Merry said meekly.

"Very well. Valin, I'd like you to supervise as Merry works on
Pippin's leg to make sure the right amount of pressure is applied,"
said Aragorn to the healer.

"Yes, my Liege," replied the healer with a smile.

Aragorn rose and turned to go, "Good day, gentlemen," he said as he
exited. As he went into the hallway he spied the small form of the
devoted gardener huddled against Frodo's door. He sighed in pity at
how disheveled and thin the hobbit appeared. Sam, looked up at
Aragorn, his large hazel eyes hopeful. Without a word Aragorn swept
him up and held him close. Sam's head sank into Aragorn's neck with a
sigh of contentment as they continued into Frodo's quarters.

TBC

REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 25

When Aragorn and Sam entered Frodo's room, Sam gasped at the shrunken,
frail form that was his master. Aragorn turned sad eyes on the gardener and said, "Frodo has been very ill, Sam. He is just now beginning to show signs of improvement. He will need your help to regain his strength and complete the healing journey."

Sam nodded, "He's so thin. I can practically see through him, his skin is so pale." His eyes roved over the emaciated frame, noting the dark circles that rimmed the now closed eyes. Frodo trembled as his body
alternately fevered then chilled and, as Sam watched, he grimaced in pain as the right leg jerked.

While they spoke, Saleth entered with a pitcher of cool water. He began placing a cool cloth on Frodo's feverish forehead. Aragorn quickly glanced at the healer with a small smile.

"It would be a great help if you could think of foods that Frodo enjoys. We are just starting him back on light broths and warm milk with honey. But soon he will need foods that are more substantial--not too rich or heavily spiced, but flavorful and nourishing," said Aragorn quietly.

"I know jes' what he needs. Some eggy custards with just a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon, some warm applesauce with cinnamon and honey, soft scones with a bit o' butter, lotsa mint teas and mayhaps a little porridge with cream and strawberries, if you have 'em, that is," Sam said excitedly, delighted to find something he could do to contribute to the care of his Master. Saleth smiled at Aragorn, then resumed his duties.

Aragorn nodded at Sam. "Indeed, you have a list of some choice dishes. No meats or fruits that are too acidic, they could upset his stomach, but a lot of sweet, soothing foods. Can I depend on you to oversee the preparations?"

"Of course, Mr. Strider. I can do it now," he wriggled to get down but Strider held him tight. Saleth almost chuckled out loud at the little gardener's exuberance to help his friend.

"No, Sam. You can go to the kitchens later and oversee the preparations personally for tomorrow's meals. Frodo is still not quite ready for much more than broth for today. Plan to start slow, perhaps with one or two items from your extensive list and in small bite sized portions. Do not expect him to sample more than that. For now,
I think he would take great satisfaction in seeing you," Aragorn said. Aragorn slowly looked Sam over. The hobbit was pale and thinner than he had been a few days ago. He looked exhausted with his rumpled hair and clothes, and there were large dark circles under his eyes that spoke volumes as to the pain of being separated from his friend. The King decided other matters needed to be attended to first. "Sam, when did you eat or sleep last?" he asked. Sam eyes shifted down to the floor. "As I thought," Aragorn smiled wryly. "Very well,*after* you have eaten and bathed you may stay with Frodo as long as you wish. He needs the comfort gained through close contact of others." Sam made to object, wanting to go to his Master directly, foregoing his own needs. But Aragorn shot him a look that brooked no debate, and he grudgingly acquiesced.

A meal was brought and Sam ate quickly. Once sated, he sat back, hands on his stomach and reclined against a large pillow on the divan where he had eaten. His eyes began to close of their own accord, until he heard Frodo's thrashing. He jumped to his feet and went to his Master, taking the frail hand in his and whispered soothing, nonsense words. Frodo relaxed at his touch, his brow unfurled and he drifted back into a light doze.

Saleth and Aragorn had moved quietly to the doorway. "That was a most ingenious way to include Master Gamgee in his Master's care, my Lord," said Saleth.

"All his life he has cared for Frodo. To leave him with nothing to do for his Master, would leave him frustrated and anxious," Aragorn smiled. "Besides, Frodo *will* do things for Sam that he might not be inclined to do for us. They need each other." He looked at the two and smiled warmly.

Aragorn walked to the bed and, after checking Frodo, asked Sam to follow him. He took Sam to a private bath where steamy clouds filled with the heady scent of lavender greeted the small gardener as he entered. A large tub of sweetly scented hot water awaited him. On a nearby stool were clean towels and a change of clothing. A nightshirt was also there allowing him a choice of garments. Aragorn closed and latched the door as he left. Even though it would have been pleasant to relax and soak in the luxury of the hot tub, Sam washed quickly, toweled off and changed into the clean shirt and breeches. He then hurriedly left the bath house and ran back to Frodo's room. When he entered, Frodo was in the middle of having his own bath. Aragorn grinned at the gardener's obvious haste to return to his friend. Frodo reclined in the copper tub as Aragorn gently washed his hair and body with a large sponge. He eyes were half opened with a distant, glassy look to them.

"I am afraid he was ill again and I wished to get him out of those sick clothes and into something clean. Also the hot bathes are very relaxing for the muscles in his legs. This seems the only way we can keep him calm for any length of time." Sam saw that healers had brought clean linens and were changing the bed. A large pot of mint
tea and a tray of strange looking tubes. Sam remembered his mother using those when he had been very ill one winter, placing them inside of him to help give him fluids and medicines. He grimaced at the thought, remembering how uncomfortable and humiliating it had been, even for a seven year old.

Aragorn gently lifted Frodo from the tub and after wrapping him in the fluffy towels, moved to the bed, placing a clean nightshirt on him. He gently rolled Frodo to his side and bringing the Ringbearer's small legs up to his chest, slowly inserted one of the boluses into his bottom. Frodo had become immune to the indignity of the boluses and
simply lay back with a small sigh. His eyes opened and they no longer had the clouded, distant look in them as he stared up at Sam.

"Sam? Is it you?" he whispered, smiling wanly.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo. It's your Sam," Sam wept as he raced to Frodo's side. Clutching his Master's hand, tears flowed from his hazel eyes.

"No need for that, my dear," said Frodo gently, wiping them from Sam's face. "I'm so happy to see you. I thought you were gone. I called and called, but you didn't answer, and I couldn't find you," his lip quivered as he looked at his loyal companion.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo I couldn't come," Sam thoroughly broke down, feeling miserable at his inability to help his Master when he was needed most. Aragorn tried to comfort both sobbing hobbits but finally decided to let them find comfort in each other. He lifted the gardener onto the huge bed and Sam pulled his Master close. They clutched at each other until finally, Frodo was spent and leaned heavily against his servant.

"I'll never leave you, Mr. Frodo. You were so sick, they thought it best to keep me away, but I'm here now and wild ponies couldn't drag me from you, sir," Sam said vehemently.

Aragorn smiled warmly at them both. "Sam, slide in behind Frodo and let's see if we can get some food down him, all right?" Frodo groaned. "Why do you bother? I just throw it up or it ends up in the chamber pot seconds after its swallowed," he murmured.

"Now Master, I'll not have any of that feelin' sorry for yourself." Sam rolled his eyes dramatically at Frodo, causing Frodo to giggle. "Your Sam will take care of you. We'll get you some right decent hobbit food if I have any say about it," he gently lifted Frodo so that he lay propped against his chest. Frodo couldn't help but chuckle.

"I have missed you, my dear, dear Sam," he said with a smile.

They slowly fed him the mint tea which, to Frodo, tasted exquisite, his mouth savoring the refreshing liquid. Then Aragorn gave him the milk with honey that contained the Valerian root and hypericum. This was Frodo's favorite drink and he looked forward to it at each meal time. His body craved the calories and nourishment, but it was the
cinnamon and nutmeg spiced milk, steaming right from the kettle, that reminded Frodo of chilly winter nights spent in front of the fire at Bag End with dear Bilbo.

Next Aragorn tried a thin meat based broth. Frodo took only a few sips of this and declared himself full.

"How are you feeling Frodo? Has the cramping diminished in your stomach?" asked Aragorn as he gently felt Frodo's abdomen.

"It feels more settled this eve. I believe the milk and tea actually may stay down this time and they tasted very good for once. Perhaps I *am* feeling a bit better. I still feel terribly dizzy and I'm as weak as a bairn," he whispered. Sam moved out from behind him and lay him on his side. Frodo's eyes drifted slowly shut as the fullness of his stomach, the shear effort of eating and the emotional reunion with Sam took its toll on his exhausted body.

Sam moved slowly off of the bed and grasping Aragorn's hand, drug him towards the door. Once they were outside he turned to Aragorn. "Strider, *is* he getting better? He weighs practically nothin' and why is his face so bruised?" the gardener demanded.

"Sam," Aragorn knelt down so that he was eye to eye with the hobbit, "Frodo had some vivid hallucinations yesterday and unfortunately, we had to subdue him before he could hurt himself. I am sorry, but I had to strike him and then we were able to treat him afterwards.” Sam’s eyes flew open, but he didn’t interrupt the King. “He is past the worst of the withdrawal, I believe, but now needs nurturing. He needs comfortable situations with his friends, stories of the Shire, foods that are connected to happier times. These are things that will bolster his desire to recover and remind him of what he has so valiantly fought for."

Sam nodded sadly, "But he will recover, right?" he asked.

"Yes, Sam. Each day he grows a little stronger." Aragorn glanced up, coming towards them was a very tired looking Merry, his right arm hung limply at his side.

"Merry, you are unwell?” asked the King as he bent down before the hobbit.

"No, Strider, I am all right, just very tired and sore," he grimaced as he tried to move the useless arm with no effect.

"You are obviously too fatigued to give Frodo a massage. This can wait until morning. I think, perhaps you should go and soak in a hot bath, have a hot meal and retire," said Aragorn worriedly, noting how pale and wan Merry's face looked.

"I am all right. I want to help Frodo," he said testily.

"No Merry, I have pushed you too hard today. You will soak and then rest, that is not a request," Aragorn said gruffly. He lifted the exhausted hobbit and retraced his steps back towards the hobbit's room and the bath house.

"Well, at least Pippin seemed to enjoy the massage. He's sleeping like a wee bairn." Merry said with a yawn.

"Then you have earned a rest, my friend. Sam will attend Frodo for now," Aragorn said. He looked down at the hobbit and saw, amusedly, that he was beginning to nod off. "Not yet, Master Brandybuck, soak first, then sleep." He increased his pace, heading for the bath house before the hobbit could succumb to his exhaustion.

Sam crawled into the huge bed next to Frodo and pulled him close to his body. Frodo released a contented sigh and nestled into the warmth of his friend. He pushed his face into Sam's chest inhaling the comforting scent of fresh earth and lavender soap. Sam smiled beatifically as he finger combed Frodo's curls and slowly his eyes closed as he fell into a long deserved sleep.

TBC

Sam awoke first and lay close enough to Frodo to see his Master's face
as he struggled towards wakefulness. Slowly, the blue eyes opened and
Frodo offered a tired, gentle smile, which Sam returned.

"How long have you been lying there watching me, Samwise Gamgee?" he
whispered.

"Not long, Mr. Frodo. How do you feel, sir?" Frodo rolled languidly
onto his back. His eyes closed slowly and he mentally took inventory
of his body's aches and pains. Surprisingly, he felt somewhat better
than he had thought he would.

"I'm thirsty," he said slowly, opening his eyes equally slowly.
"Perhaps some mint tea," he murmured. "And my stomach is rumbling,"
he continued softly, his eyes closed again. His eyes opened wide and
he gradually turned to face Sam again. "Sam...Sam...I think I'm a
bit ...hungry," he said in astonishment.

Sam's eyes lit up. Frodo smiled wanly at his good friend. "Just a
little hungry, mind you, Sam. Please don't over do it like you
usually do, all right?" he looked at his gardener with trepidation,
imagining a huge tray laden with all sorts of meats, breads and stews
all of which sounded horrible enough to bring on another bout of nausea.

"Mr. Frodo! Would I do that to you?" Sam said, with a twinkle in his
eye. Frodo truly did look worried."I promise, jus' a little somethin' to go with the tea," Sam smiled
reassuringly. "Don't go worrin' yourself for nothin', I know you've
been off your feed of late, I'll take good care of ya, you can depend
on that, sir", he said earnestly.

"You always do, Sam. You always do," Frodo whispered as his eyes
began to close once again. "Sam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you help me up? I need to use the chamber pot before you go,"
he asked with some urgency.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo. But mayhaps I should get King Strider
instead," he said anxiously.

"Nonsense, Sam. We can do this together, and I can't wait besides.
Please, just gradually pull me up, no sudden movements, then you can
go to the kitchens, all right?" Frodo looked pleadingly at Sam.

"All right, Mr. Frodo," Sam said hesitantly. He sat up, got down from
the bed, retrieved the chamber pot, and came back to the bedside. He
clambered back up onto the bed and began to unhurriedly lift Frodo's
shoulders until he was in an upright position. Frodo's eyes were
closed, his face a shade of gray it hadn't been a few moments before.

"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked with concern. Frodo swayed
and trembled violently as another wave of vertigo washed over him.
Sam looked worriedly at the sweating, ashen face. Feeling he was
definitely out of his element here, he began calling for Aragorn.

"Sam, please, it will pass. Just lea' me sii' ’or amommmmen," Frodo
slurred.

Aragorn rushed in and saw Sam supporting a very shaken looking Frodo
against his chest while trying to clasp a chamber pot on the bed. He
was at the bedside in two strides. "What happened, Sam?" he asked
quickly.

"He wanted to use the chamber pot, sir. I was only tryin' to help him
out, if you take my meanin', Mr. King, sir" Sam said breathlessly.

"I do, Sam," Aragorn smiled slightly at Sam. "I'll take over here,
Sam. Why don't you go get Frodo some nice, hot tea?" he said softly.

"I was gonna get Mr. Frodo some breakfast. He said he was hungry,"
Sam's eyes sparkled at this revelation.

"Did he, now?" Aragorn's eyes shifted quickly to the barely conscious
hobbit leaning heavily against the gardener. Deftly, he maneuvered
himself between Frodo and Sam. "On your way, Sam" he said as he
gently lowered the gardener to the floor. He grasped the chamber pot
and placed it back under the bed, and retrieved a small jar from the
table side for the task instead.

Sam backed towards the door. "He'll be all right, won't he, sir?"
Sam said worriedly.

"He will be fine, Sam. He is just a little woozy. You hurry along
and get that tea, I will attend to Mr. Baggins," Aragorn smiled
reassuringly. Sam scurried away and down the hall towards the kitchens.

Aragorn's smile evaporated as soon as Sam turned his back, all of his
attentions now focused on the small hobbit that was leaning, drunkenly
against him. "Frodo,....Frodo..." he tapped the hobbit's face gently.
Bleary blue eyes struggled to look up at him. Aragorn allowed a
small grin at the hobbit. "Next time, call me to assist you, all right?"

"I'mm jes alill dissy," he slurred

"You've been lying down for about three weeks now, it is expected. I
have a jar here so you can relieve yourself. It is all ready, just
let *it* go and then we will lie you back down," he said softly.

"hummiliatinn," garbled Frodo.

"Yes, it is. But for now, it is the only way," whispered Aragorn. He
placed the Ringbearer on his lap and the jar in its strategic
location. But with the presence of Aragorn waiting and watching for
him to produce the by product, Frodo found suddenly he could not go.
He groaned in frustration.

"Cannnt do it," he sobbed and slumped heavily against Aragorn.
Aragorn smiled.

"Very well, this calls for drastic measures, I see." He reached to
the side for the water pitcher and began pouring a trickle of water
into a cup. The tinkling sound of the water falling from the pitcher
into the cup was too much for Frodo and, without conscious thought, he
felt relief flood through him and his body. He smiled drunkenly at
Aragorn who smiled back. "Works every time," Aragorn said as he grinned down at Frodo. He lay the Ringbearer back onto his pillows after depositing the make shift urinal onto the floor. "Feel better? he asked, as he tucked his friend in.

"Mussh," replied the small hero. The door cracked open and Aragorn
looked around spying Merry as he popped his head in.

"May I come in, cousin?" he asked cheerfully.

"Merry!" Frodo gasped. "What a wonderful surprise," he smiled widely.
His eyes had regained their clarity now that the room had stopped
spinning. "Whatever are you doing here?" he asked.

"What, I can't visit my ailing cousin without a reason?" Merry said
with mock indignation. "I, my dear love, am to give you a massage today."

"A what?" Frodo grinned.

"A massage. It means I gently rub the muscles until they relax. It
feels wonderful, according to Pip. It's suppose to help with your
muscle spasms," he said brightly.

Frodo frowned at being reminded of the cause of those spasms, being
the withdrawal from the opiate.

"My muscle spasms. I see."

Aragorn sensed a definite change in Frodo's mood. He looked at the
the hobbit and saw, what? anger?

"I don't need any special attention, Merry. The spasms arn't nearly
as bad as they were," his eyes shifted away.

Merry looked aghast. "But Frodo, I want to help," he stammered.

"Frodo, perhaps you should know that this is therapy for Merry as well
as yourself and Pippin. He has been most neglectful of his injured
hand, and needs to work the muscles and ligaments in order to regain
their former strength.," Aragorn said softly. Frodo's eyes widened
and he turned quickly to look at Merry.

Merry cringed and backed away slowly, hiding his right hand behind his
back. "Strider why'd you have to say that?" he stammered, his eyes
tearing up.

"Let me see it," Merry looked up as Frodo said this. He shook his
head. "It's nothing, Frodo, really," he whispered.

Frodo's eyes were moist. "Let me see your hand, Meriadoc. Now." Frodo
held out a trembling left hand. Merry put his right hand in Frodo's
Aragorn could see it was still curled unnaturally, the arm trembled as
Merry stretched it towards Frodo. Frodo took the hand and looked up
at Merry with grief stricken eyes. "It's so cold, oh.. Merry, I am so
sorry." he sobbed.

"Sorry, but why Frodo? You didn't do this to me. It was the Witch
King," Merry said softly. Frodo trembled at the mention of the
Ringwraith that had not only stabbed him, but who had also brought
this damage on his dear cousin, as well.

"But I *did* do this, Merry, I did. Don't you see? It's all my fault
you were there. All my fault. You should've been back in the Shire,
courting lasses and having bairns. You would've been safe if not for
me," Frodo had worked himself up until now he was crying hysterically,
his head leaned over Merry's maimed hand, his tears falling warm
against the cold skin.

Aragorn had watched the exchange, lines of concern for both of his
friends etching his face. "Easy, Frodo," he said and gently helped
the hobbit roll back onto his back.

"It's all right, Frodo. The massages I'm giving Pippin are helping
a lot. I can even pick up small things now. And Strider has me soak
in hot athelas water morning and night. It will get better. Soon,
no one will ever know I was injured, you'll see," Merry spoke
desperately trying to calm is overwrought cousin. Frodo seemed
irreconcilable as the guilt overwhelmed him. Aragorn soothed the
hobbit quietly, placing a cool cloth on his forehead, and washing away
the tears. Finally, Frodo's eyes slipped closed in exhaustion and his
sobs became small hiccups. He still held Merry's hand, and he opened
his eyes to mere slits, looking up at him.

Merry stood looking down at him, his eyes wide with worry, his face pale.

"Merry?" Frodo said quietly.

"Yes, Frodo?" Merry whispered.

"Would it be too much to ask you for one of your massages?" Frodo
whispered back.

"Merry's face lit up with a wide grin. "It would be a pleasure,
cousin." Frodo smiled wanly. Aragorn sighed in relief.

"I think I will leave you two gentlemen alone for now," Aragorn said,
rising. "Sam will be bringing you breakfast shortly, Frodo.
Absolutely no more adventures today," he said grinning.

"I'll take care of him, Strider," Merry said with a grin. Merry moved
up on the bed and, straddling his cousin, looked into the blue eyes,
so filled with pain. "It's really all right, Frodo. I did my part
for the War, as did you. We all made sacrifices. The important thing
is that we survived. We came through it. I have no regrets, and
neither should you, cousin," he smiled softly. Frodo smiled back at
this person before him whom he had once jounced on his knee, played
hide and sneak and conkers with and who now, had grown into the great
warrior hobbit before him. His eyes teared as he gazed up at his
little cousin, little no more for so many reasons.

"Roll over, Frodo. Here, let me help you," Merry gently rolled Frodo
onto his stomach, placing pillows about him to relieve the pressure
off of his abdomen and making a comfortable nitch for his head. He
took the warmed oil and, pulling back the sheet from Frodo's legs,
began to work it into the taut muscles. He grimaced as he looked at
the skin covered bones that once were Frodo's muscular legs. Suddenly
afraid to apply too much pressure lest he break the legs like so many
twigs.

"Am I hurting you, Frodo? he asked worriedly.

"Mmmph," came the reply.

Merry smiled, "Frodo, you have to tell me if this hurts or is
uncomfortable, all right?"

"Feels wonderful," came the muffled response.

"Frodo, do you remember when you took Bluebell Bracegirdle’s best dress
off her line of wash and dressed Hartle's prize pig in it?" Merry
asked, chuckling at the memory.

Frodo was dimly aware that Merry was speaking, but his eyes had
slipped closed of their own volition. He was dozing comfortably, lost
in the hazy, ecstasy that Merry's fingers were working on his aching
muscles. His last conscious thought was of Hartle Bracegirdle being
thumped repeatedly by Bluebell's broom for dressing the huge pig,
prize winner or not, in her very best dress. The pig had actually
looked pretty good. A blissful smile touched his lips, as he relaxed
for the first time in weeks.

TBC

REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 27

"Hoy, what's this?" said Sam as he entered the room bearing a tray of
light foods to tempt Frodo. "I leave and he's awake, and now he's
practically asleep. How am I suppose to get 'em to eat now?" The
gardener said with more bluff than blunder, winking at Merry.

"I'm awake Samm...jus relaxnn abit," came the muffled response from
Frodo. Indeed, he did look relaxed, more so than he had in weeks, and
this brought Sam no small amount of joy. His Master seemed himself
almost, and Sam felt his heart near to bursting to witness it.

"Food, you say? Well, never let it be said a Brandybuck couldn't stop
what he was doing for a bite," smiled Merry as he slid down from the
bed and washed his hands in the basin.

"Hah! Not for you, Mr. Merry. All of these dainties here are for Mr.
Frodo to try, con-va-lesson foods, they call 'em."

Merry gave a small scowl. "Very well, Sam. I guess I'll just have to
go have elevenses with Pip, I suppose." He bent down to Frodo's ear
and whispered, "I'm not done with you, cousin. So don't go anywhere."
Frodo smiled weakly in return. Merry rolled Frodo to his back, and
then slowly he and Sam pulled him into a sitting position, braced with
many pillows. Once the vertigo from the move had settled, Frodo was
fairly comfortable and quite famished.

"Now, Mr. Aragorn said I was to give you just small tastes of soft
foods. You'll have to tell me, Mr. Frodo, what tastes best to you,
then I can bring more next time," Sam said happily.

"You mean, what stays down the longest, don't you, dear Sam?"
whispered Frodo.

"Now, we'll have none o' that. You're on the mend, you are. I
prepared most o' this meself or had the cooks fix 'em hobbit style. I
think you'll like 'em, and they you, jes' fine," Sam said proudly.
He began uncovering small saucers and cups, and Frodo was relieved to
see no soups, meats or stews---none of which would have sat well on
his tricky stomach. Sam pointed to each item with pride. "Here's a
bit of applesauce with some cinnamon and honey, some porridge with
something they call "maple syrup"--they get it outta trees, ya know,
it's the strangest thing to see, but very good. Over here I've
brought some custard with nutmeg and cinnamon and a pot of tea and a
glass of carrot juice. Oh, also a small soft scone with a bit o'
butter. How's that all look to you, Master?" he asked looking worried
and expectantly at Frodo's face for the slightest grimace of distaste.

"It looks wonderful, Sam," Frodo said genuinely. "Let's just see how
it goes, all right? Perhaps just a small bite of each for now," he
smiled wanly at his loyal friend.

"That's good, Mr. Frodo. Here, let's try a bit o' the porridge with
that syrup, I think you'll like it," he said bringing a small spoonful
to Frodo's mouth. Frodo's eyes lit up.

"Oh Sam, you're right as usual, it really is quite wonderful. Could I
have another bite of that?" Frodo said, hungrily.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo," Sam was delighted to see his Master not only
eating, but actually enjoying the foods he had brought, almost like he
used to. Frodo ate four more bites of the porridge and then decided
to try the custard. It too, was delicious, but after only three bites, he was full.

"I'm sorry, Sam and after all the trouble you went through too," Frodo
fretted.

"Nonsense, Mr. Frodo. It's been awhile since you've eaten' anything
proper 'cept medicine and broth, your poor stomach jes' wants to go
slow is all, if you take my meanin', Sir? I'll leave this on the
table and come back later. Mosta' this will still be plenty tasty if
we keep it covered," he said.

"That sounds like a marvelous idea, Sam. I'm sure I'll want more in a
little bit. But now, I'm a bit tired. I think I'll rest my eyes for
awhile, all right?" Frodo said slowly, his eyes already beginning to
close.

"I can stay if you like, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo looked at Sam. He looked tired and underfed, for a hobbit. "I
think it would make me very much happier if you had a decent meal and
slept a bit, my friend. Think of it as a personal favor, would you?"
Frodo asked, trying to manipulate the gardener into taking care of
himself for a change, by phrasing it just so.

"Well....if that's what you really want, Mr. Frodo." Sam frowned. "I
suppose I could have elevenses with Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry and then
take a wee nap," he hesitated. "Don't feel right, jes' leavin' you
here alone." A war was raging within Sam whether to do what his
Master asked or just stay and keep watch over him as he slept.

"Sam, I will be fine. I'm seldom alone and, after all, I'm just going
to take a nap. Don't be silly. Besides, it will upset me no end if
you become more exhausted or thinner because of taking care of me,"
Frodo said.

"It's what I want to do, Mr. Frodo," Sam said earnestly, "It's always
been what I *wanted* to do," he caressed his Master's face gently.

"Dear, dear Sam. Where would I ever be without you?" Frodo murmured.
His eyes closed slowly as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

"You'll never have ta' find out, me dear," Sam whispered. He crept
from the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Now that he was
in the corridor, the full weight of his exhaustion suddenly overcame
him, and he staggered slowly down the hall, one hand sliding against
the wall for support. At that moment, Aragorn came out of Merry and
Pippin's room and saw the small gardener, head hung low in fatigue, as
he stumbled towards him. He rushed forward and scooped the hobbit up
into his arms.

"Sam, are you quite all right?" he asked worriedly.

"I dunno what's come over me, Mr. Strider. I was fine but a moment
ago when I was with Mr. Frodo, but now I feel outta sorts, kinda weak,
if you understand me, Sir" Sam said numbly.

Aragorn smile grimly. "I have been expecting this for some time, it's
a wonder you held out as long as you did. You're near collapse, my
friend. For this last month you have done nothing but worry and care
for your Master, taking no cares for yourself, and only now that Frodo
is finally beginning to heal, are you paying the price for your
devotion." Sam lay unyielding in the rangers comforting embrace. He
looked up at Aragorn.

"You know how it is, with 'em, Mr. Strider? I love 'em, he's my best
friend. You love 'em too. No matter what I might need, I am helpless
to turn away from 'em. He has always been my first concern, and
always will be," he finished quietly.

"Yes Sam, I do understand. But now that he's resting let us see to
*your* needs and then you can return to him, refreshed." said Aragorn
quietly. He bore the hobbit into the hobbits' room and lay him
amongst the hobbit pile that was Merry and Pippin. They greeted him
enthusiastically and began pointing to the various dishes before them
that he should try. He ate slowly at first, but then with gusto as
his stomach realized how long it had gone without. Once sated, all
three hobbits leaned back almost as one and sighed contentedly.

"Now all we need is a pipe," said Merry.

Pippin's eyes lit up, "Aye, 'would taste wonderful about now."
Surreptitiously his eyes shifted to Aragorn who sat smoking quietly
near the bed. He smiled at them, then reached into his pocket pulling
forth a pouch of pipeweed. He then produced three pipes, *their*
pipes, from the cupboard.

"I thought you might be needing these," he said with a smile.

"Won’t we get in trouble? Saleth was very clear we weren't to smoke
in here," said Pippin with wide eyes. He looked longingly at the pipe
and tobacco.

"When has trouble ever been a deterrent to you, Master Took?" said the
ranger. "I will take full responsibility, and we will close the
door," Aragorn said as he looked guiltily towards the hall. He got up
and make to close the door, but was stopped by a hand pushing it back
towards him. A collective gasp went up within the room.

"Might I come in? asked Gandalf. "Ahh, I see four guilty faces. Let
me see, a smoking party, it seems. Well, I have no alternative
but...." four faces looked expectantly at the grinning face of the
wizard..."to join you, of course," he chuckled as he slipped inside
and locked the door behind him. All present sighed in relief. Pipes
were lit and soon, the room was filled with smoke rings, Gandalf's
being both red and blue.

"While we are all together, I think perhaps, we should discuss Frodo's
care," said Gandalf thoughtfully. He blew out a puff of smoke shaped
like a great castle. The hobbits sat watching in fascination. "Is he
not much better?" he asked.

"I hesitate to say as yet. He is better but there are still things he
needs to deal with in order to complete his healing," said Aragorn
slowly. "He will need to talk about things he may not wish to talk
about," he turned to the hobbits, but his eyes connected with Merry's.
He will need to unburden himself to someone. Someone who may also
need to speak of *his own* burdens." Merry nodded imperceptibly.
"Sam, you will need to fill us in on much of your journey. I believe
the time you were separated from Frodo at Cirith Ungol will not be
easily revealed to us by Frodo, and yet it seems to haunt his nights
and days the most," said Aragorn. Sam winced at the memory of his
inability to save his Master from the orcs on that fateful day.
Aragorn noticed this. "Sam you saved him, without you Frodo would not
be here with us now. Do not berate yourself for leaving him when you
thought him dead," he said quietly. Sam nodded solemnly. "It will be hard, but we must try to get Frodo to talk of his experiences so that he can overcome the hold those memories have over him. Once done, the
nightmares will gradually fade and hopefully, Frodo will regain a
happier outlook on life. That is our goal, in any case, gentlemen," he sighed.

"Perhaps, I'll go back and finish that massage," said Merry suddenly.

"Very well, Merry. You are in a unique position to get Frodo to relax
and open up to you at the same time," smiled Aragorn.

"I'll take care of him, Strider," said Merry as he departed.

Aragorn looked back at Pippin and Sam as the door closed behind Merry.
Sam was struggling to remain awake, his eyes half closed. Pippin was
itching his leg with a long stick shoved down under the bandages. He
had a most unusual look on his face, a mixture of determination and
utter bliss.

"Pippin, stop that!" said Aragorn brusquely.

"I can’t help it. This board and bandages thing is making me half
crazy. How soon before I'll be free of it, anyway?" he said petulantly.

Aragorn got up and unwrapped the leg. he let his hands travel slowly
down the limb, pressing lightly on the areas most damaged and watching
Pippin's face for any sign of discomfort. "Does it hurt, Pippin?" he asked.

"Only a little, it's mostly itchy." As if to demonstrate his point he
began scratching in earnest.

"Stop, you'll only irritate your skin and make it worse. I have
something that will help," Aragorn went to the cub bard and retrieved
a small jar of some sort of balm, and began rubbing it into the leg.
Pippin closed his eyes as the rather pungent aroma and gentle touch
soothed his discomfort. Soon he was dozing. Aragorn lowered the
wooden support and gathered the bandages. "I believe Pippin, you no
longer need these." Gandalf chucked.

The men arose, covered the napping hobbits and left the room, closing
the door behind them.

"They heal rather fast, don't they?" commented Gandalf as they walked
down the corridor.

"Some faster than others, it would seem." Aragorn said grimly. "They
are a most resilient race. Apparently able to endure far more than
the most sturdy and able of men, dwarves or elves," he said with a
touch of wonder in his voice.

"And yet, they have a simple wonder for life and the living of it.
They live as we all should, I think. Innocently without strife or
bias," Gandalf said thoughtfully.

"Frodo has lost that innocence. His life forever shadowed by what has
happened to him, leagues away from the serenity and security of the
Shire," Aragorn said sadly.

"They have all been touched by this evil, Frodo more so than the
others. We must have hope that some small part of his former self is
still within his grasp," Gandalf said quietly.

"Resilience, that is the key, my friend. Resilience, along with the
encouragement only his friends and those that love him can give. It
will be done, we will restore his faith and, hopefully, some of his
serenity. I swear an oath to do so," Aragorn said determinedly.

TBC

REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 28

Merry slowly opened the door to Frodo's room and peeked inside. All
he could see of his cousin was his tousled head upon the pillow. He
silently closed the door behind him and crept to the bed. Frodo’s eyes
were closed, his face composed in still beauty. Merry looked upon
that face that had gotten him in and out of so many scrapes back home.
Gone was the innocent facade that Frodo had been able to ply on any
and all matrons at Brandyhall. Left in its place, the creases and
worn appearance of one who had suffered too much in too short a time.
Dark smudges lay below the long eyelashes. Pronounced cheekbones
spoke of nights and days of sparse meals and little rest. Reaching up
he caressed the cheek softly, "No more, my dear. If it takes forever,
we will see you whole again," he spoke lovingly.

Frodo's eyes opened slowly, and Merry was once again, caught in the
blue depths. "Your eyes, Frodo. Your eyes are such a color I've never
seen anywhere else in the Shire. They're so ... blue," he said.

Frodo smiled. "You are just now noticing my eyes are blue," he said
matter-of-factly.

"Of course not! I've seen your eyes before, it's just that..." he
searched for the words.

"Just what, Merry?" Frodo said quietly, suppressing a grin.

"Well, it's just that...they're not a typical blue, they're more
indigo, I'd say," Merry stammered, feeling incredibly silly, standing
there caressing his cousin's face and talking of, of all things, his
eyes. He blushed. "I've come back to give you that back massage, I
promised," he said flushing crimson.

Frodo laughed. A real laugh, at Merry's obvious discomfort. "Merry,
I'm glad you like my eyes," he said smiling. His cousin turned even
redder, if possible, and Frodo laughed even harder. It was a
wonderful sound that Merry had not heard, it seemed, for an age. This
alone made him start laughing too and he felt his heart lighten
considerably.

"Enough of you," said Merry as he poked at his cousin. "Roll over and
prepare to be made into bread dough," he said brusquely.

"Oh, have mercy on an old hobbit," laughed Frodo. "Merry....you *are*
a delight." Merry jumped up on the bed and gently rolled Frodo onto
his stomach. He placed the pillows around his cousin's body to keep
his head and abdomen from being pressed into the bed. Merry had to
squelch the gasp that rose to his lips. Frodo's back was a purple
crisscross design of healing, ragged welts. He could count every rib,
every bone that was on his cousin's back, he was so thin. The pale
skin was livid with reminders of the orcs brutality. Again, he tried
to fathom what his dear friend had been forced to endure.

"Comfy?" Merry asked, his voice quavered slightly. He sat astride
Frodo, oil in hand.

"Just. If it weren't for this huge Brandybuck squashing me, that is,"
came the muffled reply.

"Really? Frodo, am I squashing you? I can move a little...." a
frantic Merry asked.

"Merry, please. I won't break. I was only jesting with you." Frodo
turned to look over his shoulder with a large smile. "We used to jest
quite alot, as I recall, don't you remember?"

"Sorry, Frodo, but you have been quite sick. And while I do want to
jest, I don't want to squash you.....but maybe..." he smiled.

"Maybe what?" Frodo asked hesitantly. Merry was notorious about,
once he had someone pinned, using it to his advantage unmercifully.

"Since I have you, cousin, perhaps you could give me a little more of
that laughter I heard earlier. It truly was a delight to my ears,"
Merry grinned slyly. Frodo's eyes widened as he realized Merry's
intent. "I seem to recall it was Pippin that was the one with the
ticklish feet, but you, my dear, were oh so ticklish along your
ribs---is that correct, Frodo?" Merry smiled widely.

"Merry ... you wouldn't ..." Frodo began. "Oh no .... no...
Merry...not the ribs." Frodo started giggling and thrashing as Merry's
nimble fingers dug and poked along the ribcage. "Mer...Mer..."
(giggle, chortle, gasped) Frodo was helpless with laughter, to the
point where he was gasping for air. Merry chuckled as Frodo bucked
and flailed to escape the onslaught.

Frodo's thoughts drifted to happier times when the three of them,
Merry, Pippin and himself had piled onto each other and tickled and
laughed so hard they had ended up exhausted, their faces tearstained.
Merry had always been the largest and could hold him down
(holdhimdown) with one hand, tickling with the other. He could hold
him down....(hold him down....). Time seemed to slow, then stop.
Frodo found himself suddenly world's away from Merry and the happy
memories of the Shire. He was being held down....(held down, they
were holding him down, holding him down, holding him down....) dirty
clawed hands pawed at his body. Horribly twisted, stinking faces
leered down at him in his nakedness. Knives were run along his flesh
and he was helpless to move (holdinghimdownholdinghimdown), helpless
to escape the agony. Even unto unconsciousness because then the
poison brew was poured into him and he was forced to swallow.
Suddenly, he kicked and violently twisted trying to escape the claws
(holdinghimdownholdinghimdown) that held him tight. A low feral
scream began in his gut until he pushed it out through his throat and
it became a desperate animal cry for release. He screamed, retched
and screamed some more, twisting, thrashing, desperate to escape the
stench, the pain, the humility. He screamed for his very life, his
last desperate struggle against those that would tear asunder all that
he was, all that he had ever been, those who had taken His Ring.

******

Merry giggled as he watched Frodo twist. He held him now with one
hand as he tickled with the other. Then something went horribly
wrong. Frodo stopped struggling, his muscles tensed beneath Merry's
weight. With a sudden burst of strength that Merry thought Frodo no
longer capable of, he began fighting Merry like one possessed. He
flailed and kicked, but then he started to make a low growling sound,
low in his chest, that erupted into an ear splitting wail, like a
wounded animal being torn in two. Merry released him and sat
straddling Frodo, a look of complete and total terror on his face.
Frodo twisted and kicked and immediately Merry found himself on the
floor beside the bed. Frodo screamed again, a scream that made the
hair on Merry's neck, stand on end. A scream of desperation and
agony so deep that Merry felt nauseous just at the sound of it.
Aragorn and Saleth burst through the door and froze at the sight that
greeted their eyes. Merry was on the floor, pale and badly shaken,
apparently in shock, his eyes riveted on Frodo. Frodo had moved away
from the bed into the corner where the headboard met the cabinet, his
eyes wide and unseeing, a sheen of sweat coated his trembling face and
body. At a glance, Aragorn could see that Frodo did not know where
he was, seeing something so terrifying and indescribable that
Aragorn's heart sank in despair.

"Merry....Merry, what happened?" Aragorn shook Merry until the hobbit
pulled his eyes away from what had been, his cousin, until a moment ago.
Merry didn't recognize the pathetic creature before him. He seemed
more wild animal than hobbit, and this terrified Merry beyond endurance.

He looked up into Aragorn's eyes, tears flowing down his face, "What
have I done? What's wrong with him, Strider?" he plead. He grasped
Strider's tunic desperately, "What's wrong with him?" he shouted at
the King.

"Merry, tell me what happened," said Aragorn trying to sound calm
although his guts were wrenching at the sight of the Ringbearer.
Saleth was trying to approach Frodo, to calm him, but this resulted in
another screaming wail and a litany of threats. Aragorn motioned for
him to be still. Frodo cringed further back into the corner of the
headboard. The hobbit had completely withdrawn into himself and was
trembling violently, his eyes shifting quickly between Saleth, Aragorn
and Merry, as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"We were laughing," Merry smiled a little at the memory, "and jesting.
It was wonderful to hear him laugh again," he murmured. "Then I
started tickling him and he was giggling like when we were little
hobbits. I held him down and went for under his ribs---Frodo's really
ticklish there. But he stopped moving and he got all tensed up
underneath me, then he started kicking and flailing. You should have
seen him, Strider, it was like he was under attack by some fell
monster. He was kicking so hard, I fell off the bed. Then he started
screaming, screams I've never heard from any creature in Middle Earth,
and hope to never hear again," Merry was sobbing now. "What
happened? I don't understand, he was fine. He was *more* than fine,
and now he's ....he's. What is it? What did I *do* to him?" he
sobbed inconsolably.

Aragorn pulled Merry to him and sighed. He grimly looked over at
Frodo. "I will explain after we get Frodo calmed down. For now,
stand over here in case we need your help. He doesn't recognize us
right now, Merry, so we may need you to help us subdue him," he said
sadly.

Frodo could tell they were talking about him. They kept looking his
way and reaching out towards him. He looked around for some way to
defend himself, determined not to let them repeat the horrible things
they had done before, to him. A tray of food was on the table near
the bed, complete with large, man sized utensils. He reached out
quickly, grasping the knife that lay on the tray. Saleth gasped. He
had been watching the Ringbearer while Aragorn had tried to calm
Merry, and had witnessed the grab for the knife. The knife was very
long, made for a man, and Frodo held it in his right hand by the
blade, causing the bandages to slowly turn crimson in his desperate
grip. He pointed the blade at Aragorn then Saleth as they made to
approach him, panic clear on his face and body, the small hand now
running with a bright red stream of blood. He felt no pain.

"You will not touch me! I will not allow your fell claws to paw my
body, I will not drink your brew. Your Master wanted me 'Alive and
Unspoiled', but you shall have neither!" Merry almost didn't
recognize the growling low, voice of his cousin, it was so full of
menace and loathing. The look on Frodo's face was no longer one of
fear, but one of acceptance and finality. Suddenly, Merry knew what
Frodo intended to do and it chilled him to the bone.

"Aragorn, he means to sacrifice himself in order to avoid capture!"
Merry cried.

Aragorn had seen the look in Frodo's eyes and recognized it for what
it was. He had seen many soldiers with that same look when placed in
impossible situations where a choice had to be made between the
sacrifice of their life or complying with whatever the enemy wanted.
He knew they needed to move quickly to avoid disaster.

Frodo brought the knife swiftly up to his throat, "I deny you your
prize!" he said without emotion. As he made to slice across the pale
flesh, Aragorn leapt and grabbed the thin arm, pulling it away from
his neck and pinning it to the bed. Frodo screamed and twisted in
frustration, his cries those of a soul tortured beyond endurance.

"Saleth, Valerian Root PASTE, NOW!" yelled Aragorn. Saleth hesitated
then scurried to retrieve the jar.

"My Liege, it is very potent in this form, are you sure?" Saleth
asked hurriedly. Merry had grabbed Frodo's legs and now sat astride
them to keep him from kicking Aragorn. Aragorn was trying desperately
to subdue the hobbit who continued to fight and struggle beneath him.
Frodo was weakening. He had been strengthened by the adrenaline
coursing through his small body, but now it was fading and he had no
reserves to draw on to fight his attackers.

"Saleth, I know it is dangerous, but we must calm him or I will have
to strike him again. I will monitor him carefully, now give me the
paste.” Saleth held the twisting, bloodied hands while Aragorn leaned
over the crazed hobbit and pried open his mouth.

"No biting, Frodo," Aragorn allowed a small smile. But one look in
Frodo's eyes told him that he was beyond control, so terrified, so
panic stricken, that the King again wondered at what had been done to
this fragile creature. He felt at the pulse point on Frodo's neck,
and found it racing faster than he could count, the ragged breathes
coming much too quickly. If they didn't do something soon Frodo would
die from sheer terror. Aragorn dipped two fingers into the paste,
bringing out a large gob.

Saleth gasped, "Too much! Too much!" he exclaimed. Aragorn looked up
into the healer's frightened eyes and wiped off one of the fingers.
Saleth relaxed slightly. He quickly slipped the bitter paste under
Frodo's tongue and pushed his head back, closing the whimpering lips
of his friend. He waited patiently until he saw Frodo grimace and swallow then Aragorn just held him, immobilizing him against his chest. Aragorn understood exactly how much energy the hobbit had expended and knowing that the small body could not withstand any further losses. He spoke softly to him, watching Frodo's eyes. They were wide with panic and tears flowed freely down his face. His lips trembled, "please, please, don't hurt me anymore," Frodo whimpered.

Aragorn's face crumpled in grief as he looked down on his friend's
face, "no more pain, Frodo, no more pain. Just try to relax, little
one," he whispered as his tears fell, mingling with Frodo's. Frodo's
mouth quivered as his eyes slowly closed. He struggled to
remain conscious but his body, heavy with fatigue, fought
against him. His eyes finally rolled up into his head as he slipped
into oblivion.

TBC

REPOST

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

A/N: Here's 29, there's a bit of slurring in parts, so just go limp and pretend you're drunk, it's easier to understand.

Smoke and Mirrors 29

Aragorn held the small body next to his, grateful that the slender limbs had ceased their thrashing. In the background, the sound of weeping could be heard, but all else was now quiet. Slowly, he moved Frodo to the copper tub that Saleth had prepared, lowering the hobbit gently into it. He began to slowly move the scented soap over the sweaty curls and wash the blood from the small hands. Another pair of hands, significantly smaller than his, appeared opposite him and reverently, sponged the soap over the body of his cousin. Aragorn looked up into the grieving face. Merry's eyes had a haunted, glassy look to them.

"It was not your fault, Merry," said the King softly.

Merry's look of anguish mixed with anger startled the former ranger. "Not my fault? I'd like to know whose fault it was then?" he fairly spat the reply. "What did I do to him? How will he ever forgive me? And what will Sam think when he finds out that Frodo couldn't even be left in my care for one moment without me traumatizing him so?” A pause. “However shall I live with what I have done?" he sobbed. Aragorn looked at Merry with pity.

"I have seen this before in soldiers on the battlefield. Suddenly they become overwhelmed by some memory of a previous trauma. It is as if they are reliving that memory, and those around them are helpless to console them. It can be triggered by the simplest of things but it is generally not remembered afterwards as anything other than a waking dream. It is likely Frodo will not remember what happened. As to Sam, I would not tell him, unless you feel you must," said Aragorn.

"Not tell him?" asked Merry, incredulously.

"No, he will only fret over his Master all the more and to what end? If Frodo does not recall the incident, and Sam is told, he will no doubt, tell Frodo about it. You know Sam, he cannot keep a secret, especially from Frodo." Merry smiled slightly and nodded. "If Frodo cannot remember and Sam reveals what happened, this will only upset Frodo all the more; knowing that we have been witness to a side of him that he wishes kept secret."

"But what of his hand, how do we explain the cuts and bruises he will have?" asked Merry.

"Be creative, Merry. Say he fell out of bed while you were tickling him," said Aragorn.

"You mean lie." Aragorn grimaced but nodded. "I do not feel comfortable with this deception. I feel like I am just trying to cover my own foolishness by making up a story," Merry said softly.

"If Frodo remembers, then, of course, it will not be necessary for the deception, Merry. But if Frodo does not remember, would you really tell him what transpired this day? Imagine if you were Frodo, how would you react to such news?" asked Aragorn gently.

Merry thought about that. "I would be devastated. Especially knowing my cousin and how private he is with his feelings and remembrances of the quest. I would feel like my soul had been bared for all to see," said Merry slowly.

"I agree, Merry. What we need to do is get Frodo to talk of his experiences. I realize it will be difficult, but if he does not confront his demons, they will destroy him," he looked up into Merry's eyes. "They will destroy what peace is left in his life, Merry. You must do this. You are singularly and uniquely qualified to be his confidante. You have dealt with the Witch King and experienced the trauma and torture of the orcs." Merry paled noticeably and drew in a slow shaky breath. "I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to be so blunt," Aragorn apologized. "But witnessing your reaction just now has made me even more sure of my belief that you and Frodo both, have issues that need to be discussed."

Merry swallowed hard, "I will try, Strider."

"That is all anyone could ask," he said with a smile. "Now, let's get Frodo out of this tub and his wounds dressed before he gets too pruney," he chuckled.

Merry smiled. "He is getting rather wrinkled, I'd say."

Aragorn lifted Frodo, wrapped him in toweling and carried him to the bed. The linens had been changed while he was bathed and now he was bundled into the clean sheets and blankets until little more than his pale face was visible upon the pillows. Merry pulled up the counterpane and crawled up on the bed. He sat beside Frodo as Aragorn began arranging a tray of implements to stitch up the gash on the palm of Frodo's hand. He removed the bloody bandage from the right hand and bent over the palm, examining the cut. "About ten stitches," he murmured to himself. He dabbed at the wound with a cloth dipped in warm athelas water, dried it and then threaded a curved needle with a fine horsehair.

"Will this not hurt him?" asked Merry, nervously.

"I gave him a sizable portion of Valerian Root paste, I doubt he will feel much," answered Aragorn. He bent and made the first stitch. Frodo flinched slightly, but other than that, lay quiet. After the palm was stitched, Aragorn dabbed at the stitches with another athelas cloth, applied a balm and began examining the amputated ring finger. Satisfied that it was healing well and had not been re-injured in the fracas, he readied the hand in clean gauze.

"How long will he sleep, do you think, Strider?" asked Merry.

"It is hard to say. He will be sore and very tired, he used a lot of his energy struggling. He could awaken anytime due to hunger or thirst, but will be too exhausted to do much more than that." Aragorn looked over at Merry, "You must be prepared for his questions, just in case, but I am certain he will remember nothing of the experience. These phantasms that haunt him and yourself, must be brought out and spoken of, Merry, if you or Frodo are ever to truly heal." Aragorn said firmly.

"I understand, Strider, but what you ask is not an easy thing," Merry's voice quavered as his eyes met the King's.

"I understand. I do not envy either of you in this undertaking, but it is necessary or neither of you will truly be at peace again. I also can think of few other that are as strong as you and your cousin, and I know that you will be able to recover," said Aragorn with compassion.

Merry gave Aragorn a tiny smile then turned to look at Frodo. Crystal blue eyes were staring back at him. "Wha' won't be easy thing, Merry?" he asked in a low, slurred voice.

"Frodo. You startled me, cousin. We thought you would sleep all day, you lazy hobbit," exclaimed a surprised Merry.

Frodo smiled slowly and turned his gaze on Aragorn, "Have I been ill, Strider or are you jess vissiting an old hobbit?" he asked drunkenly.

"A little of both, my dear friend," grinned Aragorn at the groggy Ringbearer. "You took a tumble from the bed and I had to stitch your palm..."

"He took a WHAT?" Sam was standing in the doorway with a new tray, which he almost dropped in his haste to get to Frodo's bedside. "What 'ave you done to 'em, you crazy Brandybuck?" he said looking over the form of his Master.

Merry gulped and recoiled at the comment that hit too close to the mark in Merry's mind. Hadn't he done this after all? Caused this added grief for his cousin?

"Sam," Frodo smiled weakly. "I hamm fine. I *am* quite hungry, however, so calmm yourseff and come oer here," his words slipped and slurred as he tried to divert the gardener from brutally attacking Merry. He was feeling very dizzy and disoriented. He had caught the look on Merry's face at Sam's rebuke and felt there was more going on here than what was being said. It was not normal for his cousin to flinch at one of Sam's barbs. In fact, Merry would have jested or turned the situation around, normally, ending up embarrassing Sam in some way or another. Frodo tried to focus on Merry and worried at this change in him.

"Merry was giving Frodo, here quite the tickling, I hear...." started Aragorn.

"You WHAT?" Sam was livid. Merry flinched back from the wrath he could almost feel coming in waves off of the gardener. "You KNOW he's not himself yet, how could ya be so...so...brainless!" Sam stammered.

"Sam you should've heard him. He was giggling and laughing. A *real* laugh, like when we were lads. It was a wonderful thing to hear," Merry explained.

Sam's face relaxed a bit. He felt a sudden, desperate loss. He would have given anything to have been there to hear his Master's clear, sweet laughter like when they had been young.

"Sam, he is fine, but in his exuberance, Frodo fell out of the bed and cut his hand on this knife that was left on the tray," Aragorn finished with a quick surreptitious glance at Merry. Frodo's eyes had been glassy, fixed on Aragorn's eyes. He felt a sudden jolt of wakefulness as he saw the ranger send a meaningful glance at Merry. Something felt wrong. Something was not being said. He tried to concentrate, but his mind was a fog, his thoughts floating away before they could achieve cohesiveness. He slowly raised his hand to his head to try to clear his thoughts. His head pounded and then there was the dizziness. He closed his eyes trying to stem the swirling of the room, and strange nightmarish thoughts that seemed to lie at the back of his mind. He watched Sam, Merry and Aragorn speaking, but they seemed to be speaking very, very slowly and he was having a hard time focusing on their conversation. "...all right?....Frodo a... ight? "Frodo, are you all right?" Aragorn was asking him.

"Just a bit of a headache. I feel odd...drugged," he said slowly.

"We had to give you a heavy sedative in order to stitch up your wound, I'm afraid. It should wear off by morning," Aragorn said, reassuringly, but he looked worried, his eyebrows knit together.

"Ssamm?" he slurred.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" Sam took his Master's hand.

"Tell mee what you have brought for my meal?" he asked with a tipsy smile.
Aragorn smiled at Frodo, thankful for the change in subject. Frodo smiled back, a questioning look on his face. Aragorn simply gave a quick nod at this and pulled Frodo up slowly into a sitting position, propping pillows around him, so he could partake of his meal.

"Well, let's just see here. I brought you a bit more o' that porridge with that syrup, more custard with o' bit of nutmeg and cinnamon, carrot juice...you have to try it, Mr. Frodo, it's so cool and sweet...and some applesauce with honey and cinnamon, and oh, oh... a nice piece of blueberry tart baked special for you by them Gondorian chefs, Mr. Frodo..." Frodo watched Sam with increasing amusement, as the gardener proudly described each item that he had hand picked for Frodo's particular tastes.

"Sam...Sam...I can't possily eat all of dis," Frodo chuckled. " Yoo've ou' done yoorseff, as usual," he said laughing at how even he could barely understand what he was trying to say. A wave of giggles suddenly overwhelmed him, but then he lay back panting at the sudden fatigue that washed over him. Sam looked at him worriedly. "I'm all right, Sam....just very relaxed sss all. Shall we then?" he gestured towards the tray, giggling again.

Sam's eyes lit up with delight hearing the musical sound. "O' course, Mr. Frodo. Now, you understand this ain’t a proper meal for a healthy hobbit, but I wanted to see if I could tempt you, if you take my meanin', sir" Sam blushed.

"I do indeed, my friend. Le me see...I believe I'll try a lill carrot juice first and if that sellils well, I wouldn't mind a taste of that bloobewwy tar', " said Frodo as his eyes roved over the feast. The carrot juice was a delight going down his parched throat, cool and refreshing. Before he realized it, he had drank it all, with Sam's help. " Delissus, Sam, as you said," he commented. Next, was a bite of the tart. Frodo held it in his mouth for a bit savoring the sweetness of the juicy berries. It had been sometime since he'd had anything that truly needed chewing, but he managed the light crust as it almost melt in his mouth. "Verwy tassty, Sam, but juss the bloo bewwies thsss time," he whispered. While the crust had been wonderful, he didn't want to chew or swallow anything solid just yet.

"That's fine, Mr. Frodo. You're almost eatin' like yourself again, and indeed, it does my heart good to see it, sir." said Sam. His voice quavered and there were tears in his eyes.

Frodo felt a wave of emotion that of all the people who loved and cared for him the most, his illness had probably been the hardest for this devoted hobbit, his dearest friend. He felt his eyes grow moist. He was determined to eat as much as he could to make Sam happy. He found he was famished even though he had eaten that morning, so the task did not seem too hard to accomplish. The thought confused him. He *had* eaten this morning, hadn't he? He felt so tired, his body ached and his head pounded as it hung down slightly towards his chest. 'Why do I feel so horrible? I should have more energy than this, but I feel so weak,' he thought to himself. 'I must have fallen quite hard to feel so worn.'

He swiveled his head towards Sam, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear on the gardener's face. "'Ssssall right, Sam... I'm all right, you'll ssee." Frodo smiled, which caused Sam to smile with renewed hope. "Less try tha' powidge once again, Ssam," he said. Sam's eyes lit up.

"Comin' right up, sir," Sam was delighted at this increase in appetite and made a mental note to make the portions larger on the next tray. He spooned the porridge slowly into Frodo's mouth. Frodo loved the taste of the maple syrup, but found despite his best intentions he was becoming full and increasingly lethargic. He managed to finish the porridge, but had to struggle on the last few bites. He motioned to Sam that he could eat no more. Sam still looked radiantly happy at what had been consumed and didn't even try to coax him into sampling the custard or applesauce.

"Nesst time, Ssam, I'll try the other disshes firss, but now I'm near to essploding .. so full," Frodo said with a tired smile. The meal *had* tasted good, and seemed to be settling well on his sensitive stomach.

"No need to make yourself uncomfortable, Master. I know you're jes' gettin' back to yourself. It takes time to get back to eatin' right, don't it Mr. Aragorn, sir?" Sam smiled at Aragorn.

"Very true, Sam. I am most impressed with your skills. We were beside ourselves before Sam came along, as to what might taste good to you, Frodo," Aragorn grinned widely at Sam. Sam beamed at the praise.

"Well, I best take these dishes back to the kitchen, but I'll be back in a moment, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. He hummed to himself happily as he gathered the dishes from the morning and afternoon meals. When he came upon the knife, covered in blood, he stopped short. His eyes widened and he quickly looked up at Aragorn. "Is this what Mr. Frodo grabbed as he fell from the bed, Strider?" he asked slowly.

"Yes Sam, why do you ask?"

Sam's eyes filled with tears. "It's all my fault you cut yourself, Mr. Frodo. I am a ninnyhammer leavin' such a thing jes' lyin' about," he cursed at himself.

"Nonsesse Sam, it was no ones fault, it was juss a fooliss accident and I won't have you blaminn yourselff." Frodo's eyes closed on there own volition, he was so tired.

Merry looked down at his hands lying in his lap. Listening to Sam berate himself when it had been he who had caused the 'accident' was almost more than he could bear. Aragorn caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Samwise Gamgee." Sam looked up at Frodo, his eyes filled with grief as he looked into Frodo's smiling face. "I'll nott 'ave yoou talk about my bess friend like that," Frodo finished quietly.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo, sir. I'm right sorry if I upset you," Sam said quietly and giving him a small smile, turned with the dishes and left the room. They could hear him humming as he walked down the hall towards the kitchens.

"Frodo, you are exhausted. I believe you should rest some more. You as well, Master Brandybuck. It has been a trying morning for both of you," said Aragorn as he rose.

" No, Aragorn." Frodo reached out and stayed the King with a hand on his arm. He locked eyes with the King and then with Merry. "I think there'ss sa tale to be told here, and I *do* love a good story," he said seriously. Merry paled and started to tremble. Frodo saw this and reached over to him in concern. "Merry, love, what has happened to make you so sad? Tell me," asked Frodo quietly.

Aragorn stood tensely waiting for Merry to speak.

"It was all my fault, Frodo. I hurt you, and I shall never forgive myself," Merry sobbed.

Frodo pulled Merry to him and looked up at Aragorn. "I believe an essplanation 'snn order, my Liege," Frodo said slowly, his eyes drooping.

TBC

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

A/N: I just wanted to say, you have all been so wonderful in your reviews and seem to genuinely enjoy the fic. I can't tell you how much this means to me. The story is on its last legs....couple more chapters and I will be putting it to bed, and wanted you to know how much fun and enjoyment I have had writing and hearing from you all.

There's a bit of slurring in parts, so just go limp and pretend you're drunk, it's easier to understand.

Chapter 30

"Frodo, you really should rest," said Aragorn softly.

"Wha hass usset him so, Striyer?" Frodo slurred.

"You fell asleep, Frodo, while I was giving you your massage," Merry volunteered. He looked quickly up at Aragorn, who nodded with a grim smile. "You had a nightmare," continued Merry. Frodo's eyes opened a little wider, he swallowed hard.

"Wha' happened? Did I say anything?" he asked tremulously, looking into Merry's eyes.

Merry was shocked at the pain he saw there. Frodo did not want anyone to see the agony he suffered each day, Merry realized. He felt a sudden rush of sadness and anger. "Why does it matter, cousin? Why do you struggle so to keep this horror to yourself? We are not children anymore, Frodo. You do not need to protect us, as you once did," he said firmly.

"Mer...you don'..unnerstann..."Frodo began. His eyes misted over in sudden grief.

"I would if you would but trust me, cousin. Do you doubt my love for you?" Merry asked fervently.

"No, 'coursse not. How could you thinn sussh a thinng?" Frodo said with obvious agitation.

"Because, my love, you are in pain. This means *I* am in pain, as is Aragorn, Gandalf, Pippin and especially Sam. Is that what you want? Do you want to hurt us, even more than we have all ready been hurt? You may feel that by suffering alone, keeping these nightmares to yourself, that you are protecting us, Frodo. But you are not. Each of us has suffered much, you may not know this because you are so caught up in your own little world of agony. Did you know that we see your pain and understand it better than you will ever know? That each of us has our own nightmares? Has it ever occurred to you that we might need someone to talk to about this, as you do?" Merry was breathing hard, and shaking with anger, trying to rouse his cousin into realizing that he was not alone and that a problem shared was a problem halved.

Frodo's face was a portrait of grief and anguish, feeling as if he had been slapped hard by Merry's words. His face was flushed, sweat ran down from his forehead as his breathes came in sobbing gasps. "My fault that you all suffered. I should never have let you come with me," he panted.

"Do you truly believe we would have allowed you to take that journey on your own? That any one of us felt compelled by anything accept love to come with you? If you believe otherwise then you truly don't know just how very much we love and respect you, and that would be like a dagger in my heart if that is the case." Merry took Frodo's weeping face in his hands and forced the hobbit to look into his eyes. "Frodo, each of us would have gladly *died* for you at anytime," he whispered into his cousin's face. Frodo shook his head back and forth in distress. His chest hitched as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"No...no...not you...had ...to...protect..you..didn't want you to come to harm....lose innocence...too young," he gasped.

Merry lovingly ran his hand down the side of Frodo's damp face. "But Frodo, like you, we were helpless to turn away. We fought valiantly, as you did, each doing our part in the war. We survived. Now we need to heal, love. It's time to heal," he said softly.

Frodo continued to weep, "I failed you. I claimed the ring. You could have all died because of me," he whispered.

"You did what no one else could, Frodo. You carried the ring and it was destroyed."

It was quiet in the room for some moments, save for the gasping sobs of the Ringbearer as he was immersed in the horror of memory. The guilt, the shame and the loss of the One.

Merry took the bottle of oil, warmed it in his hands, and very slowly began to administer a loving massage to Frodo's shaking shoulders. He watched Frodo's face, noting the pain and worry etched there, and sought to bring release merely with a loving touch. "Pippin used to have some really bad nightmares," he said softly. Frodo's blue eyes looked up to meet Merry's. "He would wake me every night thrashing and screaming, and I would go to him and hold him to me. One day, I asked him to tell me of them. What was haunting him so. Do you know what he said?" Frodo slowly shook his head. "He said, 'Why Mer', they are the same dreams that haunt you, I would imagine. But you will not speak of them to me because you think it will frighten me so. So I have not spoken of them with you. I did not want to burden you, when you are all ready burdened.'" Merry's eyes filled with tears. "I was moved by his selflessness and told him that I still wanted to know and in turn, I would tell him of my dreams." Merry smiled at the memory, his eyes taking on a faraway look and he spoke slowly and softly as he added more oil and gently worked it over Frodo's torso and arms. Frodo watched Merry's face in rapt attention, like a child needing to know how the story had ended and that everyone had lived happily ever after. "He told me everything, how helpless and small he had felt, how frightened and lonely. He told me of his battle on the field of Pelennor and of his love for the Steward, Denethor. He had some ....vivid nightmares about the Palantir and the eye of Sauron conversing with him through it. I think that was his worst nightmare. He would wake up screaming about the eye and saying, 'No, no I don't know...' . Then he told me how desperate he had felt when we were parted, each to play their own role in this great war, but how much stronger he had become by the end of all the fighting. He grew up, Frodo. Yes, he lost his innocence to a degree, but he's still our Pip and he's stronger now. He will be the best Thain the Shire will ever know because of what he has seen and done. He became very close to Faramir and even Gandalf. He, nor I, would not have done anything differently with the possible exception of carrying the Ring for you, Frodo." Frodo looked up at Merry with love. "You should not have had to carry this burden alone, Frodo," he said.

"I was not alone, I had Sam." whispered Frodo.

"Yes, and I couldn't think of a better companion for you on that dark journey, my love." said Merry. "But Frodo, you were *still* alone. The Ring was all that filled your thoughts, your dreams, your desires," Merry said this quietly. Frodo gasped at the thought that Merry had seen this, he really *knew* what Frodo had experienced. Merry gave him a sly smile.

"Pip still has nightmares, but they come less and less now and they hold little power over him, as they did before. We talk of them each time and this has made him sturdy, and the dreams insubstantial....just by talking about them," Merry whispered. Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. He had not known of Pippin's dreams and felt ashamed that he had not asked or considered it. He leaned against the wall, hidden slightly by the shadows of early evening that were now filling the room. Blending into the scenery just as he used to when he was Strider, the Ranger. He did not want to interrupt this meeting between two kindred souls by reminding them of his presence. His eyes were damp, remembering the sheer unbound exuberance and joy of Pippin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck when he had first encountered them in Bree. The Shire, so sheltered, so peaceful, had lost some of that same precociousness and innocence and he felt a sudden pang of loss and regret.

Frodo was gradually becoming more relaxed under Merry's ministrations. But still, a certain tenseness could be seen in his face and frame, as he listened to his cousin's story.

"And what of you, Mer?" Frodo asked quietly. Merry smiled grimly down at his cousin.

"I shared some of the least frightening dreams with Pip, but could not tell him of the truly terrifying nightmares," He smiled weakly, "I think I wanted to help Pip retain as much of the innocence that goes with just being Pip, by protecting him as much as I still could. I have always protected him, just as you have always protected both of us, Frodo. So I could not completely unburden myself to him. I believe he knows this, but has not pushed the issue, knowing that some battles still must be fought alone." Merry grimaced and tears slid silently down his face. Frodo watched this and realized that he knew Merry would understand and not judge his decisions, right or wrong, but look on them with a pure heart as he always had. Could it be possible that he and Merry together, might find some degree of healing? The idea filled Frodo with a mixture of hope and fear. Fear that he would be unable to tell Merry of his ordeals.

"Merry..."Frodo said, barely above a whisper.

"Yes, my love?"

"I would like to hear your stories....your nightmares. Would you talk to me?" he asked shyly.

"Yes, cousin. I think you, perhaps, would understand better than anyone the things I dream of," and Merry looked into Frodo's anxious blue eyes," but it is to be a mutual sharing, Frodo. If you will not share your deepest fears, your guilt's, your demons with your Mer' then I will not tell you of my own demons. And I will warn you now that should my dreams continue unchecked, that I will eventually cease to be Merry Brandybuck. That these nightmares will rule me not only in my sleep, but my days as well, and I will, eventually, be unable to cope with my life. I will slowly go insane, Frodo. This I know. I fear the same fate for you, cousin. If the darkest, most horrific of your memories are not spoken of, slowly your soul will be consumed and you will cease to be that person that we love so very much. You will cease to be Frodo Baggins of the Shire. It will be a difficult and long process, but I am willing if you are," He held his breath, worried he had gone too far, and hoping that Frodo would see the truth in his words.

Frodo looked very frightened, "I don't know if I can, Merry. I keep things tied up inside...I have since I was very small..."

Merry smiled, "Yes, Frodo you have always been the worrier, the thinker and the strong one. Try not to over analyze so much. If you feel comfortable with me listening you should be able to tell me small things at first. The we will work our way up to the larger things."

"Will you go first, Mer?' Frodo asked in a small voice, looking very nervous.

"Yes, my love. One step at a time, we will conquer these evils. And Frodo?" Frodo looked up at him.

"Yes, Mer'?"

"If we do not do this you realize that Sauron and the Ring will have won the final battle after all."

Frodo looked distressed. "The Ring...the Ring...it has already taken so much of who I was. I wanted to die when I was separated from it, when Gollum took it. I almost did." He had turned his face away, staring far off in the distance of memory. "I almost jumped. I didn't believe I could live without it, so entwined was it about my soul."

Merry swallowed hard, his voice quavered slightly as he spoke, "But you didn't jump, Frodo. You survived, my dear. It may have taken a small part of you, but the rest is in here," he placed his warm hand on Frodo's chest and Frodo looked up at him, "and in here." Merry touched his own heart. "It is not the end, it is a new beginning. We will nourish and feed and love the soul of my dear cousin until it is whole once more," Merry smiled, and this time, to Merry's delight, Frodo smiled wanly in return.

Aragorn quietly stepped to the bedside of his good friend. He put one hand on Frodo's chest and then felt his pulse. His breathing and pulse were still too fast but were slowing. "It has been a hard day for you both, and I would have you sleep a dreamless sleep. He found the Valerian paste on the sideboard, "Frodo I want you to place this under your tongue. It will give you the rest you need. When you awaken, Sam will bring you a meal and then Merry and you can begin your lessons," said Aragorn quietly.

"Lessons, Strider? What lessons?" asked Frodo drowsily.

"Lessons in recovery, my dear hobbit. I expect you both to be scholars by weeks end, with any luck," Aragorn smiled. He first gave Frodo a large draught of chamomile tea, then placed the paste under his tongue. Almost immediately, the blue eyes began slipping slowly closed. "Don't fight it, Frodo," he said as he gently caressed the pale face, "be at peace," he whispered. Merry watched as Frodo slowly succumb to exhaustion. Aragorn then turned to him. "Now, Merry, you will rest also."

"No, Strider, I am fine, really," objected Merry. Strider smiled ruefully, and handed him a cup of chamomile tea. "At least drink this, my friend," he said quietly. He watched as Merry gratefully accepted the tea.

"You have done much today," he lay Merry down next to Frodo's prone form, "You should at least nap for a bit..." he continued. Merry began to feel groggy as the ranger spoke in a low, monotone. The room about him, began to blur. His eyes began to close of their own accord. He tried to stay awake, but found his limbs would not respond to his commands.

"You tricked me, Strider.....Strider?" he whispered groggily.

"Be calm, Merry. It is for your own good, and for Frodo's good. You will need all of your strength and resources these next days," he murmured as he gently stroked the curls off of Merry's forehead. The last thing either hobbit heard before drifting into sweet oblivion was a murmured "blessed Eru protect you, be at peace."

TBC

REPOST

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 31

The tinkling of dishes and soft footsteps awoke Merry first. He felt remarkably refreshed and wondered how long he had slept. He turned his head and looked at Frodo lying beside him. A look of peace filled his cousin's face. Perhaps their talk had already had some calming effect on him. Sam sat by the bed and took Frodo's left hand in his, placing a gentle kiss on the wrist. "Is he better, Mr. Merry? He seems to be quite calm and looks so peaceful, like an elf, if you take my meaning, sir."

"I think he is better, Sam and please just call me Merry. We've been friends far too long, and through too much to be so formal," said Merry with a smile.

Sam blushed and looked down. "If that is your wish, Mr.....err...Merry." Merry smiled.

"So what have you brought this time for our charge?" Merry asked.

"Well, I know as how Mr. Frodo didn't want any meats so I've brought him some eggs scrambled with cream and butter, just like he likes. And applesauce, since he didn't taste that last time, with cinnamon and nutmeg; a glass of fresh milk, some fresh baked peaches and cherries in a heavy glaze with clotted cream on top...and, let's see...some toast squares baked with honey and cinnamon on top. I also brought one small flapjack with that maple syrup and butter, that they like so much here. Merry's mouth watered at the wonderful smells that assaulted his senses. Sam noticed this with a grin, "Sorry, Mr. Merry, but this tray is just for Mr. Frodo. But I did see them preparin' a tray or two for Mr. Pippin."

Merry's eyes lit up, "Well, I suppose I should go help Pip eat it then, eh?" Sam smiled.

"How is an old hobbit to rest with all this delicious talk of food going on?" came a muffled query.

"Mr. Frodo! 'So glad you could join us, sir. I've brought you your meal, sir. And them chefs near out did themselves once again, hearin' it were for you."

Frodo smiled sleepily. "It *does* smell wonderful. I suppose I could try a little," he smiled nervously, hoping once again that Sam didn't expect too much of the food to disappear. Merry helped Sam reposition Frodo up on three fluffy pillows and Sam set the tray across his lap. Frodo drank the milk first, eyeing the other dainties as he did so. "How about a bite of that pancake, Sam?" Sam forked a small piece and brought it, dribbling with butter and syrup, up to Frodo's mouth. "Hmmm...very tasty," mumbled Frodo. "It just melts in my mouth. Sam, you have some too. Please, join me."

Sam looked uncomfortable, "Maybe just a wee bite, Mr. Frodo. You need to eat more 'en I do, sir. Sam too, was amazed at how light and sweet the pancake tasted. Next, he picked up a spoon and began serving applesauce to his Master.

"Hmmm, more please, Sam." Frodo loved apples more than any other fruit and this sauce was the best he had ever tasted. "How do they make it so smooth, I wonder?" he said.

Sam smiled. "I'm not right sure, sir but there's no doubt they have their ways of making food a special thing."

"You two are making me drool all over myself. I'm off to share a meal with Pip, but afterwards, I'll be back, all right Frodo?" Merry gave Frodo a knowing look.

Frodo looked slightly uneasy, knowing what was to come. "All right, Merry," he said softly. "Thanks, for everything," he added. Merry just grinned impishly, and then was gone out the door, heading towards Pip's room.

Frodo ate all of the applesauce, three or four bites of the eggs, most of the toast with cinnamon and a few more bites of the pancake, before pushing the tray towards Sam. "I can't. No more, Sam. It's too much." Sam looked at the tray, and thought it was hardly a fit meal for a hobbit, but he was quite happy to note that Mr. Frodo had eaten more than last time.

"You did right fine, sir. It's good to see you eatin' again," he smiled.

Frodo smiled sleepily, "It *did* taste good, as well. I feared I'd never be able to taste or enjoy food again after our journey."

"I know what ya mean, sir. It took me awhile meself, near on a couple 'o days at least, to be able to eat a regular like hobbit meal," Sam said seriously. Frodo smiled widely picturing the normal depth and breadth of a 'regular' hobbit meal.

The door swung in slowly and Aragorn entered. "How are you feeling, Frodo?" he asked quietly.

"I feel fine, Aragorn. I slept well and Sam and I have just finished a glorious meal," he smiled wanly.

Aragorn looked over the refuse of the luncheon. "It looks as if you're appetite is improving, but do try the peaches in clotted cream next time, they are quite good," he smiled.

Frodo groaned, "Oh, I am so full, don't speak of it now, please. Yes, next time they will be my first thing to taste."

"How would you like to get out of your sickroom for a little walk?" asked Aragorn.

Frodo's face lit up. "Could we? I should love that. This room feels more like a cage at times. When can we go?" he asked excitedly as he struggled to sit up. His arms trembled violently from lack of use, but he was determined to show Aragorn that he was more than fit enough to earn a small walk. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his upper lip as he tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The struggle proved to be too much and he collapsed back onto the pillows, panting. He shot a frustrated glance at Aragorn and Sam thinking that they would surely deny him the promised stroll due to his body's weakness.

Aragorn smiled. "Easy, my friend. I would be honored to carry you until such time as you can walk yourself." He wrapped Frodo in a thick quilt and lifted him so that he sat on the King's hip. "All right Frodo? Dizzy at all?" he asked.

"Just a little, I'm fine, but where are we going?" Frodo asked with a smile.

"Not far. I have some friends I would like you to meet and they you," Aragorn answered cryptically.

"So mysterious," smiled Frodo. Sam looked up at him with a smile. "Sam, you will join us, won't you?" Frodo asked, looking up at Aragorn.

Sam blushed. "If it's all right with Mr. Strider, sir" he said softly.

"Of course it is, Sam. This concerns you as well as Frodo. Follow me," replied the King.

They proceeded out of the room and down the hallway, Frodo looking around as they went. They passed many doorways that opened onto rooms full of the wounded. He could see healers busily attending to their needs. After a few moments, they stopped at a closed door and paused.

"Frodo, this is the first of your lessons," Aragorn said with a small smile.

Frodo frowned slightly, suddenly wondering if he was up to this unknown challenge. "Aragorn perhaps I should return to my room. I find, for some reason, that I fear to open this door---should I or is that feeling misplaced?" his voice quavered.

Aragorn smiled grimly. "Much of what you will see is grievous for the gravely injured lie behind this door. But they are healing and have asked that they might meet with you. You have nothing to fear, my friend, for I and Sam are with you. Those in this room would die to protect you, as well. I ask only that you listen to them and hear what they have to say. This lesson will be for you to learn how to accept gratitude and to realize that, even though you *thought* you failed in you're quest by claiming the Ring, that you are gravely mistaken. You succeeded. You bore the burden and the Ring was destroyed, it matters not how it was accomplished. You alone have carried this burden. You need to realize how you and Sam have affected lives all around you," Aragorn spoke earnestly.

Frodo's eyes misted over. Sam looked up at his Master. "It's true, Mr. Frodo. The quest would never have even begun without you to carry the Ring. You truly *are* a hero, you must see that and stop torturing yourself," tears ran down Sam's face as he plead with his Master.

Frodo wiped his face and sobbed softly into Aragorn's shoulder. "I have felt such guilt, such despair. How can I ever forgive myself?" he gasped.

"You must, for you endured longer than any other, the pull of the Ring. All others would have fallen long before you did. Now, you must cry your last for that foul jewel and admit that you succeeded. The outcome was the same, even if it was achieved in a different way than what you had expected," said Aragorn. He needed to convince Frodo that he was honorable, that Gollum had also played a part, but without Frodo the Ring would never have made it to Mount Doom at all.

Frodo wiped his face again. "I will try, Aragorn," he said quietly.

Aragorn smiled and nodded. Sam reached up and squeezed Frodo's foot, a smile lighting his face. Aragorn pushed the door open. They were greeted by a cacophony of voices talking all at once. Some were of the injured with voices filled with pain, some of sadness and grieving and others of family members speaking of family and events happening outside the confines of the sickroom. The room was a long corridor, well lit, with clean white stone walls and flooring. Frodo looked about. Rows of injured lined both long walls. Healers and orderlies moved smoothly from bed to bed. Almost all had a loved one, wives, sisters or other kin, at their bedsides. A sudden calm descended on the room as the occupants noticed the King and the hobbits. Those that were able, bowed low. Frodo thought they bowed in deference to the King, but noticed that their eyes were on he and Sam, and the bows were accompanied by whispers of 'gracious one' and 'savior of Middle Earth.' All throughout the room could be heard hushed exclamations of adoration and worship attached to his name, or 'the Ringbearer'.

They stopped at the first bed where an elderly man lay, his wife rose from beside his side and knelt before Frodo. Her eyes were full of tears as she reached up and clasped his left hand gently. She brought it to her lips and kissed it lightly. "My husband was with Lord Aragorn at the Gates of Mordor when the Ring was destroyed; a feat that could not have been accomplished without you, small one. He would have been lost to me, as would we all, if not for you," she whispered. "You have my allegiance."

Frodo looked down at the woman and whispered, "The King alone deserves fealty, my lady, but I am honored and humbled by the service you give me," his eyes were damp as he gave her a small, uncertain smile. She moved back to her husband's side as Aragorn took Frodo to the next bed.

A young girl sat beside an even younger boy. As the Ringbearer and Sam approached she bowed low and then rose. She bestowed a light kiss on both Frodo and Sam's foreheads. "My brother and I live in Osgiliath. We were under siege by the orcs and the Nazgul. Our parents were killed," her voice quavered. Frodo reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder in an act of condolence. She smiled up at him and placed her hand over his small one. "We hid. Then suddenly the Nazgul turned and fled, the orcs were confused and our remaining soldiers were able to regroup and finish them off, my brother was injured in the squirmish."

"But he is so young, how could he fight?" asked Frodo, looking down at the pale face of the lad that lay on the bed.

"He is only twelve summers, but was determined to fight in honor of our parents," she whispered.

"Will he be all right, Aragorn?"

"Yes, Frodo. He is recovering nicely."

"You saved us, Ringbearer, We were being annihilated. The orcs were determined to kill every one of us. We watched helplessly, as whole families, even newborn babes, were killed with nothing short of glee," she sobbed. "If not for you, we would not have seen another day." She squeezed his hand again and sat down by her brother. They proceeded down the line then back up the other side of the room. Frodo and Sam spoke with each patient or family member and heard heart rending story after story. Most filled with deeds of great valor, courage and sacrifice. All were told to Frodo with worshipful eyes, wet faces and oaths of loyalty to Frodo and his kin. One soldier had been speared by a troll, but had managed to roll out of the way, as the troll had fallen over and mysteriously died. Later he had learned that with the destruction of the Ring, many of the monstrous beasts could not survive and had perished. Another had been surrounded by orcs and knew his death was eminent. When the Ring was destroyed, the orcs had stood about in confusion allowing the soldier to kill all of them without receiving more than flesh wounds to himself. Many of the stories were of peasants or civilians that had run or hidden from the enemy only to be found and surrounded. The orcs had been set on raping and torture and then slaughter of their captives, when they had stopped, hesitated and walked aimlessly away, allowing the prisoners to flee. Each person sobbed and kissed the hand of Frodo and Sam, giving heartfelt thanks and gratitude. So moved by the overwhelming feelings of love that issued from all within the room, they were frequently moved to tears. Many times they embraced or touched the injured and their families as they were drawn into the tragedy of injury and death or the miracle of salvation. When they left the room, all inside smiled their good-byes and whispers of devotion followed them into the hallway.

Frodo slumped against Aragorn in total exhaustion. His body trembled as he clutched at the King's tunic. "Frodo, are you unwell?" asked Aragorn looking at his friend with deep concern.

"All those people...so thankful...so gracious.. to *me*, of all people," he could barely be heard as he whispered through his fatigue.

"Yes, Frodo. You *are* our savior and hero, as is Sam. I, and the rest of the Fellowship, are not the only ones who feel this way. It is time for you to see this goodness, this strong and determined love of all the people's in Middle Earth, that motivated you to, unselfishly, give so much of yourself to save so many." Frodo smiled wanly. "But now, you are exhausted and must rest," said Aragorn softly and carried Frodo to his room, placing him on the newly changed bedding and covering him with the counterpane. Sam climbed up and lay down next to him, placing his arm protectively across his Master. Aragorn absently combed his fingers through Frodo's curls as he looked into the half closed blue eyes. "What have you learned from your first lesson, Frodo?" he asked.

Frodo struggled to keep his eyes open. He smiled slowly, "How one or two people perhaps...perhaps...*can* make a difference." He then lost his battle with fatigue and slipped into an exhausted sleep.

Aragorn smiled, "Then I would say, our first lesson has been a success, my dear friend." He looked over at Sam and saw that he was already asleep, snoring softly. He rose and walked to the door. He blew out the lamp and paused looking back at his dear friends, the Ringbearers. He smiled, at the look of peace on their small faces. He left the room with a feeling of joy and satisfaction, pulling the door closed behind him.

TBC

Repost

PLEASE HEED WARNINGS!
WARNING: This chapter contains explicit details of torture and innuendo of rape, please read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 32/?

He was so cold. His body ached with the sheer magnitude of the cold, so much so that he thought perhaps the fire had gone out or that he had fallen from the bed and now lay on the frozen stones of his room. He looked down at himself and gasped. He was naked, filthy and bound. Cuts and scrapes covered his body. Whip marks and lashes zigzagged across his legs and feet. He shuddered, clinching his teeth. 'Not real...this is NOT real. I am dreaming again. I *cannot* be here again'. 'Wait...' his eyes snapped open, 'if I've been here before, if I *know* what is to happen....'he shuddered and gulped, 'then it *must* be a dream, and only a dream.' But a small voice inside his head whispered 'perhaps it is not...perhaps the other...the other is the dream, and this is your true fate...to suffer at their hands....to feel them pawing and pressing upon you...to smell the fetid stink of their flesh...and endure the fiery pain... perhaps *that* is your reality.'

'NO,' Frodo argued. 'No, that cannot be! I saw them, spoke with them...Gandalf, Merry, Pip, Aragorn, Sam...all of them. This is not real,' he said and set his jaw firmly.
'Perhaps not, gentlehobbit of the Shire, but it is real enough, is it not?' the voice whispered. ' The despair and degradation, the self loathing, the agony ....it is all real enough for you, Ringbearer.'

Frodo sobbed. 'No, this has to end. I cannot bear it any longer.' He looked up into the leering faces of the orcs as they moved closer and surrounded his frail form.

"He's to be unspoiled, it is the Master's wish," growled Lugburz, the apparent leader. He leered down at Frodo, licking his lips. His breath broke over Frodo's face and it took everything in Frodo's power not to retch. "If anyone is to taste of this rat's flesh, it's gonna be me," he grinned lecherously. "But le's see if we can't stretch it outta bit, eh?" He grabbed Frodo by the hair and slapped him back and forth across the face, "Where is it you slime rat?" he yelled into Frodo's face.

"I have nothing. You have taken everything....everything," his eyes became unfocused and he swallowed tightly. The Ring, his beloved Ring, was gone. Who could have known how deeply he would feel the loss. He was dragged across the room, shackles were placed on his wrists and he was yanked up into the air and left to dangle in front of his tormentors.

"We knows better'n dat. Da Master wants wutz hiz and you be tellin or you be screamin'! Maybe a bit o' both, " whined Snaga. He brought the whip up and down it came, how many times, Frodo lost count. Frodo screamed as his back burned in agony.

"I know nothing, I haven't got what you seek," he screamed. But they continued, laughing as he writhed and arched each time the lash crossed his small back.

"I cin get it outta 'em. Let me give it a go, Lugburz." leered Snaga. "Whippin' and burnin' his skin and even the kickin' aint doin' it ....I have sumpin' better'n mind... it won' leave a mark an it'll be fun ta boot," he licked his lips.

Lugburz grinned. "Nar...only if I gets first licks. Then the whole of ya cin 'ave him. He aint gonna say nuttin', are ya rat?" He grabbed Frodo's head and jerked it up. Frodo began sobbing, his breathes coming in rapid gasps, knowing what was to come next. He could not go through this again. 'It's just a dream...just a dream...not real' , he repeated to himself, like a litany, hoping he would awaken soon and find himself anywhere but this dreaded, hateful place.

'if it's a dream, you can wake up....wakeup Frodo....wake up...put up a fight...scream....don't just lie there....you must fight' the voice whispered with urgency.

Lugburz grabbed him from the shackles, roughly removing them from his bruised wrists, and threw him on the filthy floor. Frodo tried to scurry away but was quickly grabbed by his ankles. A heavy kick was delivered to his right side and he pulled his body in on itself trying to draw breath. He felt himself being lifted up by the hair and was thrown, stomach first, onto a table. "Oh no...nononononononono not again," he sobbed to himself. The group moved around the table, all different kinds of orcs, cheering Lugburz on and betting on how long it would take for the hobbit to lose consciousness and be forced to swallow the grog.

SAM! HELP ME! SAM! SAM!!! " he screamed, becoming hysterical. He knew what was coming, he needed someone to stop this torture, this breaking, not only of his body but of his mind. "SAM!" he screeched. He felt grimy, filthy claws being raked over his skin, orcs licking their lips and yelling and laughing excitedly to each other about what they could do to one so fair....as Lugburz moved in for the kill. Then the horrible agony assaulted his body. Pain pinning him like a butterfly in one of Bilbo's collections. He screamed and retched. He screamed until his voice was spent and still it went on , orc after orc until he stared with unseeing eyes, the agony becoming a numb throbbing. The last orc picked him up and threw him like a rag doll, across the room where he hit the wall and landed on a pile of refuse. Gratefully, he lost consciousness.
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Sam had been sleeping quite comfortably next to his Master when the nightmare began. At first there were murmurs and then Frodo began twisting and pushing against him. He pulled Frodo to him, trying to gently wake him by whispering soothing nonsense words in his ear and gently combing through his hair. But this seemed only to aggravate his Master all the more until now Frodo was screaming and thrashing wildly. Screams of pain and panic issued from the hysterical hobbit. And Sam was struck with the analogy of a wounded animal being brutally tortured . He clutched Frodo to him, "I'm here, Mr. Frodo. No ones gonna hurt you no more. I'm here, me dear. Shussssh, be quiet, me dear...tis alright....tis just your Sam...." He continued trying desperately to quiet this wild creature that resembled his Master.

When the wailing had started, Sam had heard a rush of activity in the hallway as healers made way to Frodo's room. Saleth entered first then Aragorn followed quickly by Merry. They ran to the bedside and encircled Frodo and Sam trying to calm and waken the Ringbearer. Frodo's eyes lit on them and his face paled, panic evident in his features. His eyes, wide with terror, had the glassy look of one still caught in the dream world. He looked from face to face, seeing the phantasms of the nightmare he was locked in. Aragorn grasped Frodo's face between his hands, Frodo screamed again, kicking at the King.

"Come back....come back to the light, Frodo!" Aragorn commanded. Instantly, Frodo's eyes cleared, his body sagged and he was overcome with jagged sobs. He turned to Sam, clutching at his nightshirt desperately.

"Sam, Sam save me! Don't let them hurt me like that again. Sam ....oh, Sam... PLEASE!" he choked and begged in rushed sentences. Sam's face crumpled in fear and alarm for his Master, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He pulled Frodo tightly to him, "No, my dear. No ones hurtin' you again. Your Sam will protect you." Merry crawled up on the bed and embraced Sam and Frodo.

"You're safe, Frodo., We'll protect you. We'll *all* protect you," Merry whispered as he clung to his cousin and the devoted gardener.

Saleth had prepared chamomile tea and mixed in a heavy dose of sedative as well. Now Aragorn brought the cup to Frodo, and Sam helped Frodo take shaky gulps of the brew until it was gone. He trembled violently within the hobbit embrace. "You're safe, Frodo. We are here for you, little one," Aragorn said, his voice cracking with emotion as he looked on this small group of friends.

"Safe...safe...no orcs...just...a dream...help me, Sam. I don't want any more dreams...please help me," Frodo whispered as his eyes began to close and he slumped against Sam's chest. Sam moved to lie him down, but Frodo's eyes snapped open, "No, don't leave me....they'll come back....they always come back...Sam..." Sam soothed him some more until his had calmed and his eyes were, once again closed, but made no move to disengage the clutching hands from his nightshirt.

"These night terrors only worsen as each day passes. It becomes harder and harder to wake him from them. I worry that one night we will be unable to do so and he will be trapped within his nightmares forever," Aragorn whispered.

Sam looked up at Aragorn, "How can that be? They are still only nightmares, Mr. Strider, sir," he asked worriedly.

"If he believes them to be real he will slowly lose his sanity, Sam. The dreams will become his reality and our world will be but a passing memory to him. If this happens he will go mad. The dreams are so strong and so vivid, Frodo will be unable to distinguish what is real and what is memory. It is imperative we deal with this or it could be the end of the Frodo we know and love." Aragorn rose, he gave a cup of the laced tea to both Sam and Merry. "Drink, gentlemen. He will not have this dream again tonight, I'll warrant." Sam looked at Merry, Merry nodded and then they drank. After they were done, Sam settled down pulling his Master protectively into the curve of his body. Frodo sighed contentedly.

Aragorn turned to Merry. "Get some sleep now, Merry. You must get him to talk to you, to anyone or he will lose his hold on his sanity." Merry kissed Frodo on his damp forehead and left the room to rejoin Pippin in their quarters. Aragorn and Saleth stared down at Frodo. A heavy sigh came from the King. "This must work," he turned to Saleth, "We cannot allow this continued torture of this dear friend." He turned back and studied the two hobbits as they slept.
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Frodo slowly opened his eyes as the sunlight crept through the shutters, filling the room with a bright glow. Beside him, Sam slept. He smiled at his dearest friend's face, so peaceful, he looked. He had a vague feeling of uneasiness as he slowly began to recall bits and pieces of the night before. 'At least it is over, and no harm done', he thought. But still doubt niggled at his brain suggesting that, perhaps, this night had been different somehow. Sam had woken and watched Frodo as he began to sit up. He could see that his Master was still weak, so he reached out to support him. Frodo jumped.

"Oh, Sam...I thought you were still sleeping," he smiled. "I was just going to use the chamber pot. I can do it myself Sam, you just rest. You look exhausted," he said with concern.

"It's all right, Mr. Frodo. I need to be gettin' up to get breakfast anyways," Sam said gently.

"Nonsense. You keep insisting on coddling me, but you yourself have just gone through an equally horrifying ordeal and should rest," Frodo smiled.

Sam's eyes filled with tears and his lip quivered. Frodo obviously did not recall the latest 'ordeal'. Frodo became alarmed at Sam's reaction and reached out for his friend. "Oh, Sam, what have I done or said ? I didn't mean anything by it, my friend," his eyes were wide in alarm and he pulled Sam to him in a tight embrace.

"Mr. Frodo...you had an awful nightmare last night," Sam said quietly.

Frodo's face took on a hooded, secretive look. "Did I? I hope I didn't wake you, Sam. What did I say or do?" he asked levelly, but there was a quaver in his voice.

"You need to talk to someone, Mr. Frodo, and soon. If not me, then Mr. Merry or anyone. You cannot keep this locked up inside you, pretending it didn't happen, any longer," Sam whispered as he clasped Frodo's hands in his and looked into his Master's blue eyes.

Frodo was terrified that somehow he had revealed himself and the darkness that held sway over him whenever he closed his eyes. He forced himself to keep his face as neutral as possible. "They're just dreams, Sam. They will pass. There's nothing that can be done for it, it's just the way it is," he said evenly.

"NO!" Sam shouted. Frodo jumped. Seldom had he seen his kind and gentle gardener so furious as he was now. "You will *not* hide this...you will NOT keep it to yourself like you do everythin' else...it will RUIN you and I will *not* allow you to torture yourself by refusing help when it is offered!" With that Sam stomped from the room, leaving a wide eyed, shocked and confused Frodo Baggins perched on the side of his bed.

Merry brushed past Sam as he exited the room. "It's a bit early for a row, isn't it cousin? What have you said or done to rile him so?" he grinned slowly.

Frodo shook his head. "It's a mystery to me. But it seems to involve me being stubborn, secretive and having nightmares," he said as he continued to gape at the empty doorway.

"Ahh...I understand completely now," Merry said. Frodo's eyes were instantly on him.

"You do?"

"Yes cousin, I do." Merry said solemnly, the grin now gone.

"Who else shares this knowledge? I myself, seem to be at a loss, having no memory of the event." Frodo asked slowly.

"Saleth, Aragorn, Sam and myself, cousin," answered Merry. "Today you will get to the bottom of it, and then the monster will lose his hold over you and become more manageable, I think." he added.

Frodo visibly paled as he gulped. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach. These reactions were not lost on Merry. "First, we will begin with me, as promised, my love. But let's get you comfortable, shall we?" Frodo nodded slowly as a feeling of dread overcame him. He took Merry's hand and slowly lowered his feet to the floor. He wavered a bit, but then stood firm. Merry pulled the screen by the chamber pot and Frodo had his privacy. "Just call when you're done, Frodo," said Merry as he washed his hands and began warming the lavender oil for Frodo's massage. He put a kettle on for tea and once the water was breaking, dropped the tea in to steep. He placed the kettle on the hearth and retrieved two cups from the sideboard. After filling them with tea, he added a healthy dose of honey to each, since they both enjoyed their tea on the sweet side. He placed these on the tray. Frodo had finished and stood watching Merry by the curtain. When Merry turned he almost dropped the tray in surprise. "Hoy, Frodo, you gave me a start. I told you to call me," he grumped. Merry removed the chamber pot to the water closet, took a damp flannel and washed Frodo’s hands, then turned to help his cousin back to the bed. He looked into Frodo's eyes. Frodo looked back.

"It was a bad one, wasn't it Merry. Last night? I must have had a bad one," he gulped looking frightened and Merry noticed suddenly just how small and frail his strong willed cousin looked at that moment... like a lost child, his face in distress and unsure of himself. Merry pulled him into an embrace, "Yes, Frodo it was a bad one...but we're going to right this, together." He helped Frodo up into the bed, tucking him in. Frodo felt suddenly exhausted, knowing that everyone knew what he had gone through in the tower of Cirith Ungol. He hadn't wanted to burden them, knowing there was nothing they could do to change things. He closed his eyes and tears slid down from under the lashes. He felt unclean, that he was not worthy to be amongst those that cared for him. He knew these feelings were unfounded, but was unable to dismiss or ignore them. A small groan escaped him and he turned to his side.

Merry felt pity and wanted to comfort his cousin, but decided instead to ignore the tears and push on. Perhaps if he told Frodo about his worst recurrent nightmare, Frodo would share and they could both gradually begin to heal. "Roll over, Frodo," he murmured. Frodo rolled onto his stomach and Merry removed the nightshirt, and covered Frodo from the waist down with a quilt. He began to run the warmed oil into Frodo's scarred back, and to speak quietly.

"Do you want to hear about my nightmare, Fro'?" he whispered.

"Yes, Mer'. Tell me about the worst one first, all right?" Frodo's voice shook as he answered.

TBC

REPOST

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Warnings: Themes of a violent nature are depicted in this chapter, so be warned.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 33

Merry remained quiet as he rubbed the oil into Frodo's back, working the tension out of the tight muscles.

"You're so tense, Frodo," he said. No reply came from his cousin except a small sigh. "You know, Saleth has shown me some exercises for your legs and arms. We can do those later today and gradually get your strength back so you can walk. We could even go outside. It's been quite beautiful...lots of sunshine and the flowers....."

"Merry"

"Hmmm?"

"You're stalling. You always stall when you have an unpleasant task to do." Frodo rolled over on his side and looked up at his cousin. He was startled by the look of dread and fear on Merry's face. "It's all right, Mer'," Frodo said softly. "Remember how you used to be able to tell me everything? Even when you were very small, you would run to me and climb into my lap, tears in your eyes, and let it all out." Frodo smiled and slowly sat up The room lurched and Merry steadied him as he slowly settled against the headboard. Merry took the nightshirt and slowly pulled it down over Frodo's head, bringing his arms through, until Frodo was dressed once again.

"I think I am a bit too big to sit on your lap, cousin," Merry grinned shakily.

"I would hope you would never be too big or too old to talk to your old cousin Frodo," Frodo said. Blue eyes locked with hazel. Merry gulped.

"Maybe some tea, what do you say, old hobbit?"

"That would be grand," Frodo said smiling.

Merry got down from the large bed, put tea in two cups, removed the kettle from the fire and poured the water. He let the tea steep as he gazed out the window, apparently lost in thought. He added honey to the cups and brought the tray to the bed. After situating the tray between he and Frodo, he took his cup, stirring it slowly. His gaze was far away. Frodo watched him over the rim of his cup and thought, 'That's what I look like. Lost in another world, a world of darkness.' He swallowed his tea with difficulty. Merry looked back at Frodo and their eyes met.

"It's very hard, isn't it, Frodo?"

"Yes, but it will get easier," Frodo said softly, praying it was true. He reached out and grasped Merry's hand, caressing it in small circles with his thumb. "Tell your favorite 'old' cousin what's on you mind, please Mer'", Frodo's voice shook.

"All right...where to begin. The worst nightmare usually comes back night after night. Each time it is so real, so vivid. I keep thinking that it will fade, the healers keep saying the dreams will fade," he looked desperately at Frodo, "they *said* they would go away with time. But they haven't." his eyes lost their luster and his voice quavered. "It starts with a black cloud of cold air surrounding me, like a dense fog. I am so cold, it seems to penetrate right to my bones. I am walking across an immense plain covered with dead bodies. The air is ripe with the fetid smell of the fallen. Most of the dead are orcs, but there are quite a few men among them as well. It's so dark, it's hard to tell where I am walking. I hear a screech, a Nazgul, circling the field." Frodo shuddered involuntarily. "His beast flies low over me, and I drop to the ground, a dread like I've never experienced renders me totally immobile. I struggle to bring myself to my knees and look up. He and his flying beast, are hovering over King Theoden. The King's horse rears in terror and falls, crushing the King --- the King I have sworn my oath to, now lies beneath him." Merry's eyes are filled with tears, his hands and voice shaking, and his gaze is distant. Frodo's eyes are huge and he reaches out to capture Merry's hands in his.

"I'm here, Merry. It's all right," he whispers in concern. Merry takes a gulp of tea and tries to calm his breathing and the shaking in his hands. He takes a deep breath and turns to Frodo.

"I'm all right, but I need to finish now that I've started, Frodo."

"I understand," Frodo says and takes Merry's hands in his once more.

"The beast turns towards Eowyn, who stands alone on this huge field of death and fog. She has overcome the Dark Breath that has made the rest of us quail. She is so strong, appearing more like an avenging angel with light all about her. For a brief time, I am filled with hope at the sight of her. She challenges the Nazgul and begins to strike at him with her sword. He hisses and laughs at her saying 'I cannot be killed by the likes of you. I will rend your flesh and leave you to be devoured by the carrion of your world.' His voice chills my heart and I begin to feel the despair overwhelming my soul, once again.

Eowyn stands between the Nazgul and King Theoden's body. "Be gone, fell beast' she cries. She sweeps her sword in an arc, slicing the head from the beast the Nazgul sits astride. The flying beast falls to the ground.
The Nazgul climbs off the dead beast and moves towards her. She raises her shield but he strikes her down with his black mace, shattering the shield and her arm. Now he moves towards her to take her life. I can't seem to get my legs to move. I try to run--to run to her, but it is as if I am running through water or thick mud. Finally, I manage to pull myself to where the battle between the two is taking place. Eowyn lies dying on the ground. I can see him, I can see the specter of a once great King. He is pale and ghostly, his features and form long twisted into a hideous visage, and my breath catches in my throat. As he makes to deliver his final blow to Eowyn, I stab at the now visible leg. An ear piercing screech rends the air, and yet it sounds somehow familiar to my ears. I am immediately plunged into a dark, cold void as I fall. I feel myself leaving my body, my arm is so cold and numb I can not lift it. I fall to the ground, my eyes frozen open yet still seeing Eowyn and the Dark wraith in front of me. I am unable to move or even breath. Eowyn stabs up and through the Dark King's head and another screech breaks the darkness. He turns to me as he falls and ..... and...." Merry swallowed convulsively.

Frodo touched him on the arm, his eyes filled with compassion. "Merry, it's all right, it is only a dream, it's all right," he said soothingly.

Merry turned to look at Frodo, his eyes haunted and his face ashen. "It is Pippin," he said in a bare whisper. "It is Pippin and he says...he says...'Merry? Why? I love you, Merry," and then he is gone. Merry was near hysterical now. "Oh Frodo...I killed my Pip!"

Frodo soothed, "No, Merry, it is only a dream" he said as he pulled the sobbing hobbit to him in a tight embrace. Frodo's tears flowed freely now as he rocked his quivering cousin back and forth.

"All my life I have sought to protect him, and then he dies at my own hands," Merry gasped.

"No, Merry, no. Pippin is alive and well *because* of your efforts," Frodo says, searching Merry's face. "If anyone is to be blamed, it would be me, Mer'. I should never have allowed you to follow me on this quest. All that you have suffered or will suffer is because I was selfish. I *wanted* you to be with me, to make me stronger," Frodo whispered.

"How dare you! How dare you, Frodo Baggins, for thinking so little of us!" Merry cried as he pushed his cousin away. Frodo recoiled, a stunned and anguished look on his face. "We came because we loved you. Nothing could have stopped us because you needed us with you. I, and Pip as well, have always looked up to you with a sort of awe, because you were the strong, smart one. We worshipped you, and still do, as our worldly older cousin. Someone who always had all the answers to all the hard questions. We would have died to protect you because you are more than just our cousin, you are like a brother to us. Don't you know that by now?" Merry's eyes flashed at Frodo. Frodo's face softened and he embraced Merry tightly.

"I love you both so much. I would never have been able to live with myself if anything had happened to you," he sobbed.

"It was my fault Pip came along. He was too young. I should have sent him home where it was safe," Merry sighed.

"Listen to yourself," Frodo said angrily. "You give me a lecture about trying to keep you safe by not allowing you to come with me on the quest, and yet you are doing the same thing with Pip! Don't you know by now how he idolizes you like you once did me? He would never have left your side, Merry. You should see that by now. Because we all have such deep regard for each other, that is what carried us through the endless dark days and nights and formed the very heart of our fellowship."

"You're right, of course, Frodo. But still he was injured he..."

"Will survive and recover back to his old self because his *is* Pippin," smiled Frodo. "We all were wounded and have lost our innocence, but in some ways we are much stronger than we were before, wouldn't you agree?" Frodo asked.

"Yes. Yes, we are stronger, in some ways, than we were."

Frodo smiled sadly at Merry. "I never wanted any of this to happen, but it is done now and we can find consolation in knowing that we achieved many great things. We were needed and stood our ground defending the Shire, alongside the most noble of men, elves and dwarves. I feel that Pip appears in your dream because you felt guilty that you had, somehow, failed to protect him. Which is nonsense. Perhaps, it wouldn't hurt to talk to him about the dream and hear how he feels about it," Frodo said earnestly.

"Perhaps. Yes, I might tell Pip of the nightmare. It should be easier with the second telling, shouldn't it?" Merry raised his frightened eyes to lock with Frodo's.

Frodo smiled, "Yes, I think it shall be easier the second time." He hoped fervently that he was right. "If you have the dream again I also think you will be able to deal with it better, don't you?" he asked softly.

"I don't know, Frodo. But I *do* feel better now. It truly helped to talk this out with you and maybe I can carry some of that feeling with me when the nightmare comes again." He smiled widely. "I'll let you know, cousin."

Frodo smiled and sighed. "That must have been truly exhausting for you, telling your darkest thoughts to me, and all the emotions that it brought to light," he sighed looking equally exhausted for his part as listener.

"I *am* exhausted. How can such a thing be so tiring? But at the same time, I feel a peace inside that I have not felt for a very long time,: Merry said quietly, rubbing his eyes.

At that moment Sam entered with a well laden breakfast tray. "There's plenty here for all, Mr. Merry. Have a bite with us, won't you? My, your tea has gone cold, it has. I'll just fetch some more," Sam said, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. Merry smiled at Frodo, who smiled back. "How are you feelin, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam.

"Famished, Sam. Absolutely famished," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Sam's face positively glowed at hearing this and he couldn't help smiling as he uncovered each small dish. "Mr. Frodo, you've made me right pleased sayin' that. I've brought a lot of different dishes to tempt your appetite, I have. But it warms my heart no end to see you hungry, once again, it does," he beamed at Frodo. Frodo couldn't help laughing at the look on Sam's face. The sweet sound of Frodo's laugh brought another blissful look from Sam, causing Merry to laugh as well. They all settled down to their meal and before long, empty dishes surrounded the hobbits, Merry and Sam. Merry glanced at Frodo. Warm blue eyes locked on his, and they both shared an unabashed look of deep admiration and love.

TBC

REPOST

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Warnings: Themes of a violent nature are depicted in this chapter, so be warned. Non Con sex is implied.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 34

Frodo was completely stuffed with the grand meal that Sam had provided. Merry and Sam watched him as he had taken his last few bites. His head lolled forward, his eyes almost closed only to jerk himself upward suddenly as consciousness pulled him back. Merry had eaten well, and was now quite exhausted as well. But Frodo appeared beyond mere exhaustion, exhibiting a fatigue brought on only by emotional stress. Sam finally had pity on the hobbit and removed the tray, wiped his mouth and taking enough pillows from behind him to lay him in a reclining position. Frodo made as to fight off sleep, mumbling that he was fine and preferred to stay awake, but Sam would have none of that and with very little effort, managed to get Frodo supine and comfortable.

"Na' a baby, Sam. Na' tired," Frodo mumbled.

"Of course yer not, Mr. Frodo. But no harm in a short nap after such a heavy meal, " Sam said soothingly. "You look as you could use one yerself, Mr. Merry, if you don't mind me sayin' so, sir," Sam said turning to Merry.

Merry chuckled. "I suppose I could use a nap, Sam. And let's drop the "sir", shall we? If nothing else I've learned on this journey, it's that we're friends through and through. You've taken such good care of a person I love dearly, I could never think of you as any less that a friend for that," Merry smiled and yawned widely.

Sam blushed a deep crimson, "Why Mr. Merry, I was just doin' as I was meant to do for Mr. Frodo," he said shyly.

"Were you, Sam? I think not. You are his dearest friend, Master Gamgee. He has never thought of you as a servant, surely you realize that?" Merry said. Sam blushed and looked down, and Merry realized that Sam had never really considered that. "Oh Sam, you *do* know that, don't you? He loves you, as you love him. I don't believe he would or could ever live without you---not as a servant, but as a dear friend," Merry said fervently.

Sam's face changed to one of adoration. "I do love him, Mr. Merry. He's like that, you understand. He makes you love him with his kindness and generosity."

"Yes, I do know that, Sam," Merry murmured. "I think I shall go check on my Pip. He's to get his leg out of that contraption today, and he's very excited. It will be very hard to keep him abed until Saleth thinks he is ready to put weight on it. Aragorn was amazed at how fast the bones had knit and has had a child set of crutches at the ready for him to use, knowing how impatient Pip can be. Very far sighted, the King is." Merry climbed down from the bed and walked out and down the hall to Pip's room. Pip was indeed, out of the contraption. But some healer had had the foresight to sedate him, knowing of the Took's desire to be about immediately. Merry smiled, crawling into bed next to his cousin, and immediately surrendered to sleep.

Sam continued to watch his master sleep. After awhile he heard soft footsteps behind him and turned to see who had entered the room. His mouth dropped open in wonder and awe as he looked upon the radiant personage of Queen Arwen Undomiel. He sank to his knees before her. Arwen placed a hand lightly on Sam's shoulder, "Master Samwise, please do not bow before me. It is *my* honor to be in your presence," she whispered. Sam rose, The Lady was smiling gently at him, a twinkle in her eye as she surveyed the flustered expression on Sam's red face.

"My Lady, it is good to see you once again," he stammered.

"As it is to see you, Samwise. I see that Frodo rests. I have need to speak with him, but it is not pressing and I will return later," she spoke gently, her voice like a soft breeze rustling new leaves, to Sam's ears.

"Aye, my Lady. I can send word, if you like, when he awakens," Sam offered.

"Thank you, Samwise. You should rest now. He will need your strength ere the day is through," she said as she lightly touched Sam's forehead. Suddenly, Sam felt drowsy and could only nod in agreement with this ethereal vision. She helped him up upon the bed where he curled protectively around his master. She smiled softly as she covered him. She then turned to look upon Frodo. His brow was furrowed as if he was caught in a dark dream, causing him anxiety. She lightly touched his brow smoothing away the etchings of the oncoming nightmare and leaving him in peaceful repose. A light smile now graced his lips. Content, she smiled and left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

Some time later, Sam awoke. He felt remarkably refreshed as he watched the slow rise of his Master's chest while he slept calmly beside him. He rose slowly, so as not to disturb Frodo's slumber. Arrangements needed to be made to bring hot water so that when Frodo awoke he could bathe. He smiled at the peaceful look on Frodo's face as he turned to leave the room, closing the door behind him.

Frodo awoke some hours later to Merry gently shaking him. "Come on you lazy hobbit, or you'll sleep the whole day away," he grinned. Frodo smiled sleepily up at him and stretched with a small groan.

"I had the oddest dream. All about me it was dark and I began to feel the dread that always overcomes me before a nightmare takes me," Frodo's eyes had gone distant, his voice quavered. Merry frowned in concern for his cousin. "But this time, I felt that someone else was there with me," Frodo smiled and looked up at Merry with hope in his eyes. "It suddenly became warm and light, the darkness dispelled and I was lying in a meadow filled with the most wonderfully fragrant flowers. How could that happen, I wonder?" Frodo said in awe.

"I don't know, Frodo, but I am very glad it did," said Merry with a grim smile.

"I am, as well. I shan’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It was a most pleasant sensation, one I have not had in an age," he smiled wistfully. "So what are you doing here, Mer'? I thought you were done torturing this old hobbit for the day and had gone to torment Pip instead," he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Torture! Torment! Here I am, trying to make you all the better and you say such things! You wound me, cousin," Merry said with an exaggerated and dramatic stagger, placing his hands over his heart.

Frodo laughed heartily at this. Merry came back to the bed. "We are going to do some simple exercises that Saleth showed me to make you strong enough to get about. Then, perhaps, I can show you the outside of this sickroom, for once," he smiled.

"Wonderful! I am getting rather anxious to be about again. And to see the sun and flowers sounds like a delightful idea. But Merry dear, Aragorn has told me I *have* been up while I was feverish, I doubt I need the exercises," Frodo said with confidence.

"Oh yes Frodo, you gave them quite the merry little chase and a few bruises as well..." he began to say.

"Bruises! What did I do Mer'? Did I hurt anyone?" Frodo asked anxiously.

"You were delirious, cousin, and no one was permanently damaged. But, my sweet, you must remember that most of what propelled you about was adrenaline and you, quite probably, will be unable to walk or move around much without some proper strengthening of your muscles first. You have been in bed for quite some time, you know," said Merry.

"Nonsense, and I'll prove it to you now. I believe you are taking your duties far to seriously, Meriadoc," he said as he pushed back the comforters and began to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Now, step back and give me some room, and I'll show you that I am perfectly able to bear my own weight," Frodo said with force.

"Fro', I don't think this is such a good idea..." Merry stammered worriedly, but he did as Frodo asked and stepped back. He held his arms out and to either side of his cousin, preparing to capture him should he fall. Frodo had lowered his legs over the bed and his feet now touched the floor. His back was turned to Merry, and he was grateful for this small favor, for he had to clutch convulsively at the counterpane to keep from falling. The room pitched to and fro and he had to swallow many times to keep from vomiting. His legs were visibly trembling and, much to his chagrin, his vision began to gray then all went completely dark..

"What in the name of Eru are you doing out of bed!!" came a thunderous cry from behind both Merry and Frodo. Merry jumped and turned to see who it was that was so upset and at the very moment, Frodo lost his tenuous hold on consciousness as his legs folded beneath him. He slipped to the floor, hitting his head on the corner table on the way down.

"Frodo!" cried Merry. Aragorn rushed across the room. Frodo's face was very pale and drenched in sweat. Aragorn gently swept the Ringbearer up and placed him back in his bed.

"Stubborn hobbit," he muttered, but could not mask the concern in his eyes.

"Oh, this is all my fault. I was ready to catch him, and then you came in and startled me. Is he all right, Strider?" Merry asked anxiously.

Aragorn was examining Frodo's head. "He'll have a bump on his head but that is all. He was lucky," he shifted his eyes over to Merry. "Merry, he is still far too weak to try and stand." Aragorn chided.

"I know that, but he insisted he was fine and being a Baggins, set out to prove me wrong," Merry replied defensively.

Frodo's eyes fluttered open, "Wha' happen?" he mumbled.

"Exactly what I told you would happen you silly old Baggins. You are not strong enough to stand, and you will do your exercises with me or I will personally break your legs to keep you in bed!" Merry said fiercely.

Aragorn could not squelch a smile at the tone of Merry's voice and the look of rebuke on Frodo's face. "I am sorry, Merry. I thought I could do it," he said wanly.

"Slowly, Frodo. It takes time to rebuild your body when you've been ill. Listen to your cousin," Aragorn said gently.

"Very well, I will try to be more patient," Frodo sighed.

"Are you up to a few easy exercises, or do you think you've had enough excitement for the day?" Merry asked sarcastically, giving Aragorn a quick questioning look. Aragorn gave him a small nod and rose.

"I think I can manage," Frodo said, but he sounded groggy.

"I will be down the hall if you should need me, my friends. It seems Pippin has decided he has totally healed and is refusing to use the crutches I have provided for him. Why are all hobbits so very stubborn?" he asked with a smile as he left the room.

Merry sat Frodo up against the headboard and placed pillows all about him so that he was comfortable. Frodo was beginning to look a bit more alert and curious as to what Merry had planned. Merry crawled up to face him. "all right Frodo, you are going to push against my hands. Let's just see how strong you really are," he said.

"This is silly. That's not going to help me walk," Frodo said but raised his arms so that his hands were straight out in front of him, palm to palm with Merry's.

"Ahh, but it will, cousin. You don't just use your legs to walk, you'll need your arms to get out of bed and help steady yourself, after all," Merry noted that Frodo's arms were trembling with exertion as he pushed against Merry. Frodo's face was slicked with sweat and his breaths were rapid at even this small effort. Finally, he dropped his arms to the bed and slumped back against the pillows.

"This is humiliating. I'm as weak as a bairn. The slightest effort leaves me winded and covered in sweat, how am I ever to have the strength to walk?" he despaired.

"Frodo, it will get easier, I promise. Let's try your legs and then we will take a bit of a break, all right?" Merry said cheerfully. Frodo groaned. Merry moved to the end of the bed and bent Frodo's right leg. He held the hobbit's foot flat against his chest. "All right Frodo, now push with your leg. See if you can't kick me off the bed," Merry grinned. Frodo struggled to push against Merry but finally fell back again, panting. "That was good, cousin. Now we'll try the left, shall we? Then we'll be done," he encouraged. Again he placed Frodo's foot against his chest and Frodo struggled to push against Merry. He was completely covered in perspiration by this time, his nightgown plastered against his body. Merry marveled at how stubborn his cousin was. He was obviously exhausted, his whole body trembling, but still he pressed as hard as he could, against Merry's chest. Finally he collapsed against the pillows.

"No...more...Merry," he panted, his face red and sweaty from exertion.

"All right, Fro'. Not bad for a first try. I brought us a little something as a prize for all your hard work," Merry smiled mysteriously. Frodo grimaced. In their youth, Merry had always ended up getting them both into trouble whenever he had that look. Still, Frodo had to admit, he *was* curious about this 'prize'.

"What is it, Merry?" he said with dread, but smiling slowly.

"Oh, it's a delight. Something you'll truly enjoy," Merry grinned evilly again, as he climbed down and scooted under the bed. There was a clinking noise and much bumping to and fro. Frodo was now *very* curious and sat up straighter trying to look over the edge of the bed. All he could see were two rather large hobbit feet, that were moving back out from under the bed. Merry popped up and held in his right hand a beautifully etched decanter of a clear liquid. In the other he held two man-sized wine glasses. Frodo's eyes were almost as wide as his smile.

"Merry, what have you got there, you little thief?" he queried with a wide smile.

"I am *not* a thief," Merry said indignantly. "I simply *borrowed* it for this special occasion," he smiled deviously. "Frodo, do you remember that wonderful cordial that Lord Elrond served us in Rivendell? And how we all got so horribly drunk on it?" Merry asked with a grin.

"Oh, Merry is this it?" Frodo's eyes shown with delight. "It had the most delightful taste, like apples and light, if one could taste light, that is. And no nasty headaches or retching the next day. Sam said he felt like he was drinking sunshine. And none of us could drink very much of it, it was so powerful," Frodo gasped elatedly.

"This is the very same. I nicked it off of Aragorn's very shelf," Merry said proudly.

"You didn't! Oh, he will boil you in oil if he finds out," Frodo giggled.

"But he won't, dear cousin. I replaced it with a decanter of water. He'll never figure it out, unless of course, he decides to have a drink. But what are the odds of that happening anytime soon, I ask you? We are quite safe, once I bar the door," Merry said smugly. He handed the decanter and glasses to Frodo who laughed even harder as Merry secured the door then climbed up and sat next to Frodo against the headboard. Once they were both quite comfortable, he poured them both a healthy portion and set the decanter on the table. They looked at each other laughing, and raised their glasses. "To health, happiness and long life for you, my dearest cousin," Merry said seriously.

Frodo smiled sadly back at Merry, "And to you, Mer'...and to you." They clinked the glasses and took a long swallow. Almost as one their eyes closed as they savored the light flavor and smiles broke out on their faces.

"Just as I remembered it," said Merry.

"Actually, I think it tastes even better. Perhaps the act of pilfering it makes it somehow, sweeter," Frodo said with a chuckle, already feeling a slight buzz in his senses.

"Merry moved so that he sat opposite Frodo, their knees touching through the counterpane. He watched his cousin closely as he said "Frodo?"

"Hmmm?" Frodo was quite enjoying the cordial and Merry retrieved the decanter topping of the older hobbit's glass. Frodo's eyes grew round, but he only smiled all the more. Merry did not refill his own glass, however.

"I think it is now time to listen to your story...your nightmare," Merry's eyes watched Frodo's face as he said this. Slowly, a look of utter despair and fear filled the Ringbearer's eyes. A flash of anger replaced it, suddenly.

"Is that the *real* reason you are plying me with alcohol, Merry? Was this just a ruse, if so I am not amused!" he panted angrily, obviously having a hard time holding his liquor. The exercises and overall strain on his body along with the last meal having been many hours before, were causing the powerful cordial to drunken him much faster that if he had been in better health. Merry had known this, of course, and now had to face the irate person before him.

"Frodo, I brought the decanter here as a celebration for all your hard work. Yet, I would be lying to say that was the only reason. I wanted you to relax a bit, hoping it would ease the telling of your story. I am sorry if you feel you have been deceived in any way," Merry said sadly.

"Oh Merry, what am I to do with you?" Frodo sighed. "Perhaps....perhaps this will make things easier, and I truly have come a long way, so a celebration really *is* in order," he smiled wanly, but his face was pale and the hand holding the glass had begun to tremble. He tipped the glass up and drained it, holding it out for Merry to refill. Merry's mouth dropped open a look of surprise filling his eyes, he retrieved the decanter and filled Frodo's glass.

"Easy there, Frodo. It's been awhile since you've indulged in spirits and you are still on the mend. Plus, save some of this wonderful drink for me!" Merry looked at the decanter then at his glass seemingly trying to decide something. "Oh bother," he said, and in one gulp downed the remains of his glass. This caused Frodo to burst out in raucous laughter.
"Well, I *do* have to catch up, cousin. I simply can't let a Baggins best a Brandybuck, it can't be done. Frodo's eyebrows shot up and his mouth formed a small "o" of surprise.

"Ho, we'll juss 'ave ta see habout tha'cussin," he giggled helplessly.

"Some other time, silly hobbit, we have other things to challenge us this night," Merry said with an attempt to look serious, but failing miserably.

Frodo sighed. "I suppose you arre righ', deerr swee' Merree," he slurred. His eyes took on a bleary, far away look and he held his hand out to his cousin. "Don' le' go, alwight?" he said, butchering the sentence.

"Never love, I am always with you," Merry said and meant it.

Frodo took another deep swallow of the clear liquid, smiling as he looked at the decanter, then back at Merry, then refilled his own glass this time. Merry watched the shaking hands pour most of the drink into the glass leaving the decanter on the bed. Merry picked it up, noticing it was about half full, and returned it to the table. When he turned back, Frodo was watching him closely.

"You will hate me when I am done. You will never want to be near me again," he said slowly and without a slur. Merry felt a chill go up his spine, listening to the voice that sounded nothing like his beloved cousin's.

Merry swallowed hard, "That is simply not possible, Frodo and you should have more faith and trust in me after all we've shared all our lives," he said angrily. Frodo looked down at his hands.

"This is differen', you will ssee," he said again in that low, eerie voice. Merry just sat there. He took Frodo's hand and looked deep into his eyes.

"We love you, we all love you and nothing, absolutely nothing, shall ever change that," he said vehemently. Frodo's eyes misted, he cleared his throat and gulped a little more of the clear drink.

"Let's juss ge' thiis o'er with," he muttered. "When the dream begins I am in a col', col', place. I always think tha' the fire has died or I have fallen ou' 'o bed and am lyin' on tha' floor. Then I realiss I am naked. I am lying on a floor, but it is most definitely no' my bedroom," he said with a bitter chuckle. His slur became less and less noticeable as the adrenaline began to work on his nervous system. Merry watched Frodo's face carefully, the large blue eyes were wide and oh so far away, 'haunted' he thought. ' They look haunted', and he shivered. "I can hear many loud voices all around me...orcs fighting over my belongings. "one of the larger orcs bears down on me and begins slapping me, demanding information I cannot give, for I do not know of what he speaks. The chamber is so cold and ripe with the stench of many unwashed and forever unclean, bodies. The smell presses into my senses, overwhelming me so that I retch violently. Merry? " Frodo looked up at Merry beseechingly, "I cannot get that scent out of my mouth, my nose or off my skin. It is always with me now, and I feel tainted and filthy. Even food has not the flavor it once had for me. The Ring also took all taste, memory and feeling from me. By the end, I was just an empty shell. But the orc smell, the horrid taste of their drink, it lingers on my skin like an oil, and try as I might, I cannot seem to wash it away." Frodo slowly turned away. It was as if he no longer even saw Merry there in front of him, lost so deeply in the agony of recollection that he was physically absent from the room. The large orc drags me over to a wall and, after placing shackles on my wrists, pulls me up into the air hanging even with him. Constantly he barrages me with questions. "Where is it you little slime rat?" " Frodo's voice sounds so much like an orc that Merry jumps at the sound. "He asks me and I tell him I do not know of what he speaks. That he has already taken everything... everything. I have failed in my quest. All that I have ever loved or known, all of Middle Earth, will now pay the price of my failure." Frodo is gasping now, his eyes very wide as his face contorts into a rictus of grief and guilt, and Merry realizes that Frodo is " there" now, reliving possibly the worst nightmare he has ever had. But Merry is helpless to assist him, for he is frozen in place facing his cousin, feeling as if he too, is locked in this dream and is unable to rouse his limbs to pull his cousin to him and comfort him in a tight embrace. So he listens, petrified at his own inaction, and desperate to retrieve Frodo before insanity finally lays claim to him.

"They whip me, but although I feel the burning of the strikes, my mind is on the Shire. All whom I love are being tortured unimaginably by the orcs, who seeing the effects of the torture, laugh with glee and are spurned on to increase their efforts until, one by one, all have perished. Middle Earth, Buckland, Tookland, the Shire....it is burning and all that was green and good is now covered in ash and darkness as Sauron regains his new body and holds dominion over all," he croaks this, gasping out sobs in between the words. He reaches a shaking hand towards the decanter, which breaks the spell cast over Merry. Merry retrieves it first and fills Frodo's glass to the brim. The one who actually *saved* Middle Earth, swallows it all in one large, convulsive gulp then holds out the glass for more. Merry hesitates, then fills the glass once more, then refills his own, setting the almost empty decanter back on the table. He reaches out to Frodo to offer some small comfort but Frodo bats him away," I do not deserve your sympathy. Stay away. I must finish this before I can no longer tell this tale," he says angrily.

Merry draws back and Frodo continues, his eyes never once losing the unfocused, far away look of something too dreadful and too horrible for any other living thing to imagine. "A small orc then decides that the whipping is not enough, it is not getting them the information they seek. He brings a brand and begins pressing it to my legs, feet and back. It is agony and I scream long and hard, but deep down, I know I deserve it. For, because of me all is lost. Slowly, a large group of orcs begin to surround me as I am placed on a table. They are placing bets on how long I will last the next torture," Frodo gulps convulsively, and shifts his eyes to Merry. "Merry, I am so ashamed. I do not think I can tell you what they did to me, it is too much to bear...please don't make me...please?" Frodo begs hysterically.

Merry is overwhelmed by the desperate pleadings of his dear cousin and grabs him, pulling him tightly to him. "Of course not, my love. I would never ask it of you, for I believe I know what they did to you that day. I would slay every one of them, were they here before me now, to rob you, a being completely guileless and pure of soul, of your last remaining thread of self and dignity." He weeps for Frodo, for he can only imagine how it must have been to be violated by such filth repeatedly.

"It is then that I pray they will simply cut my throat and allow me to finally die," Frodo continues in a bare whisper, "but they are insistent; pouring a foul drink down my throat when I lose consciousness. It rouses me enough for them to continue their torture. Even the hot brand gains them no information, and they begin kicking me viciously until, at last, I can no longer draw breath. Finally, the last remaining orc finishes with me and tosses me aside. Then I am, thankfully, claimed by darkness." Frodo has spoken in that eerie, unnaturally flat voice. Hurriedly detailing his torture so as to be rid of its presence in his mind and soul. However, the tale is still not done and Merry is crying silently as he knows he can do nothing until this sweet, innocent is finished with his story. Frodo again drinks the contents of his glass in one deft, gulping motion. By all accounts, he should be unconscious from the effects of the libation, but memory of the ordeal has acted as a wicked and vile stimulant, and he now shows little effect of the cordial. Merry knows that later, the full effects will be realized once the adrenaline has left his system, but for now, he pours him the last of the once sweet drink. He wonders if Frodo will ever again be able to drink of this elven vintage after this night.

"I finally realize that Sam is not there and I despair. I know he would not willingly leave my side and must have been killed. His loss fills me with such sorrow I cannot even express it." Frodo looks suddenly at Merry, "But, Merry, there is even something far worse. Worse than knowing you have destroyed the world as you know it and that your very best friend, whom you have known and loved, all your life has been tortured and killed. What could possibly be worse, you say? For I see it in your eyes." Frodo's eyes have taken on a feral glint of madness as he says this and Merry is becoming more and more frightened for the sanity of his dear cousin. "They have taken the Ring." Frodo says in a low, desperate whisper, very unlike his own voice. He looks at Merry with abject self loathing and guilt at the thought of the Ring being of more value than all of Middle Earth or the simple love and friendship of his devoted and gentle gardener. "You see why I cannot tell Sam. The Ring had completely entwined itself about my soul, my heart, my very body by this time. It spoke to me day and night with no pause. It spoke lies and twisted good into bad until I was completely under Its spell. I could no longer feel the old Frodo Baggins inside of me or remember anything of what he once loved or dreamed, for I was no longer that person. I was the RingOwner, not the Ringbearer. It was mine. I had fought so long, struggling against Its evil, but It was unrelenting ---the whispers filled my thoughts constantly until that was all I could hear. So, my dear Merry, I grieved more for the loss of the Ring than even for the countless lives that would be lost or for my dearest Sam." He broke down into deep, racking, convulsive sobs as he spoke this last.

"Oh Frodo," Merry gasped as he pulled him tightly against him. "Such horror I would take from you, I would have borne for you, my poor dear cousin. You fought It better than anyone else could have, even Elrond and Gandalf. You could not help but eventually be poisoned, my dearest. But It took longer to poison you than any other. Do you know why?" Merry pulled Frodo away so he could look into his face. Frodo looked up, a glimmer of hope at forgiveness for his vast sins, upon his beautiful face. Merry smiled gently down at him, "Because my dearest of hobbits, you *have*....not *had*, Frodo....but *have* a wonderful innocence and love of all things inside of you. It could not break through that sheer goodness until the very end, don't you see? You're pure and gentle nature still lies here within you," he gently poked Frodo's chest. "You really did win over that evil thing in the end, Gollum just helped you along a bit, is all. Gollum didn't have the innocence, purity or love of all life even from the very beginning. So the Ring easily took all of him until It was the only thing he had left or desired. Even down to his last moments, as he fell to his death, he did not care that he was going to die, he felt only joy because he had the Ring and then it was far too late for him. You still had your own thoughts and feelings, they had just been pushed very deep down inside of you by the Ring's constant taunting and promises, but they returned to you once It was destroyed, and are still here Frodo. I know this because after the Ring was destroyed, Sam told me you remembered the Shire and all the good things the Ring had masked from you while It held you captive. You were so very happy that all would be safe because of the Ring's destruction and regretted not once, knowing you had given your life to do it," Merry's eyes were damp, tears coursed down his face as he smiled down into Frodo's blue, guilt ravaged eyes. "I have never been so proud, so *very* proud of you, in all my life, Frodo Baggins," he whispered fervently and placed a loving caress upon Frodo's forehead.

"Proud? Of me?" Frodo asked weakly.

"Yes, my dear. You saved us all. You carry guilt and shame on yourself, but you have no reason to feel either. You got the Ring to Mount Doom, and It was destroyed, it matters little by whom. You suffered greatly at the hands of the Orcs, but that is no cause for shame. *They* did that to you, you fought them and that takes courage. You have always been so hard on yourself, cousin. And I have always aspired to be more like you, more so now than ever," Merry said smiling. The look on Frodo's face was so comical and confused that Merry burst into gales of relieved laughter.

"But Merry," Frodo said so quietly that Merry had to lean down to hear him, "The Ring...I didn't care about anything after I realized the Ring had been taken...I was so cold-hearted... so vile and shameful," he sobbed.

"Frodo, it wasn't you. It was the influence of the Ring. Even you could not fight Its effects forever. You are a *good* person." He cupped Frodo's face in his hands, looking deep into the red rimmed and grief filled eyes. "It was the Ring that was evil, you have not changed, except to allow guilt and shame to claim what is left of your life," Merry said firmly.

"Oh Merry, but I *have* changed. I am empty now without that evil token. When It fell into the fires I felt as if I had had my soul cut from me and thrown in with it." He looked up at Merry, "I almost jumped in, the pain and loss were so great." Merry shuddered.

"I am so very glad, cousin, that you did not. For the world would be so empty without you in it, and I simply don't think any of us could have borne it. Sam especially." Merry was wept as he held his cousin tightly to him. "We will fill the void within you with love, and stories and pranks until you beg us to stop," Merry chuckled and wiped his face.

Frodo smiled a little, "What of the dreams, Merry? Each time I have them I feel I die a little. I do not believe I can bare it much longer," he said slowly and sighed.

"Do you remember my Aunt Aster, Frodo?" Merry asked.

Frodo looked up at Merry totally confused at this change of subject, but nodded. "Yes, she was an odd one, Merry, but I always liked her. She seemed to understand me better than all the others and she didn't deal strictly in 'natural hobbit sense,'" he smiled at the memory.

Merry smiled, "She was all that, Frodo, and she had some very interesting ideas about dreams and nightmares. She said to me once, after I had had a particularly horrible dream three days running, that I needed to take charge of the dream." Frodo raised his eyebrows and smiled quizzically at Merry. "I know, I know...my reaction was much the same as yours," he smiled. "But it actually seemed to work a bit," he paused.

"But Merry, how is it possible? When in a dream, the dreamer is so completely at the mercy of his subconscious?" Frodo sounded defeated.

"Well, here's what she had me do. Mind you, I don't know if it will work every time or even at all, but it's worth a go, don't you agree?" Merry looked hopeful. It was contagious. Frodo began to feel a glimmer of hope as well.

"I would try anything, cousin," he said.

"Before you lie down to sleep at night repeat over and over to yourself, 'It is but a dream and all of my friends will be there to protect me. I am not alone, I have hope. They are there for me.'" Merry said this in a low whisper.

Frodo looked up at Merry, obvious doubt in his sad eyes. "It sounds silly and I'm sure it won't work, but I shall try it," he said glumly.

"No Frodo, No. You must *believe* it. You must believe it will work in order for it to protect you. Picture all of us standing by you, fighting the orcs, giving you aid on your journey as we should have much longer and further than we did," Merry said with a pang of guilt.

Frodo hugged Merry to him. "You stayed with me as long as was possible, no guilt Merry, all right?" he said quietly.

"All right Frodo. But now, I *am* here. So is Pippin, Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and even Lady Arwen. The *new* Fellowship, if you will, and we want to be with you in there," he thumped Frodo's forehead. "There's a battle to be waged and won. We can do this, if you believe it," he smiled at Frodo with confidence.

Frodo looked at Merry and his face grew determined. "Yes, we will prevail. Good over evil. There is hope, there is always hope," he said over and over to himself, feeling stronger each time he said it. He drank the last of the fine elven cordial and slumped back against the headboard. He looked at Merry and realized they were both quite drunk, but the seriousness of the situation had seemed to sober them considerably. Now they both began to relax, and felt the effects of the cordial reasserting itself over their bodies.

"It's done, Mer'. I told it. I didn' believe I could do it," Frodo slurred, whether from exhaustion or inebriation, Merry was uncertain.

"Yes, Fro', you did it. Here's to my brave, brave cousin." He raised his glass to Frodo's, which was empty. This brought a scowl to the Ringbearer's face, and a smile to Merry's. "You have out drunk a Brandybuck after all, you silly Baggins." he mumbled. Merry poured half of his glass into Frodo's, causing a smile to light up his face. They clinked their glasses and downed the last of the rare Elven vintage.

"Fro', I'm goin' ta fine so'more," and as Frodo burst into raucous laughter, Merry climbed from the bed and stealthily made his way back to Aragorn's chambers.

TBC

REPOST

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Warnings: I've written a song ... so be warned. It's in the typical Irish ballad style I heard from my grandmother so often.

A/N: At last, a lighthearted chapter to make up for all the others. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. I also hope you can understand what they are saying, as they are quite inebriated. (It gave my spell checker fits!!!)

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 35

Merry stumble down the corridor of the Houses of Healing until he found himself in the bright afternoon sunlight. He did not relish the long, arduous climb up the hill and through the gates to the Citadel, but he was on a mission. So he found his feet, and began to walk, somewhat wobbly, towards the seventh level of Minas Tirith. A horse galloped up to him, and its rider offered a hearty hail.

“My dearest hobbit, where are you going on such unsteady legs?” laughed the Steward of Gondor.

“Faramir, how fair you, my dea' frien'?” countered Merry with a lopsided grin.

“I am well, little one. But where are you off to?” Faramir asked again.

“I have an urgen' erran' at the Cit'del, Far'mir, bu' my legs are tire' an' I am abi't unner the weathrr at the momen',” slurred Merry, as he staggered about the horse.

“Truly? Are you unwell, Merry?” Faramir asked with concern as he quickly dismounted to look more closely at the weaving hobbit before him.

“No, no nothin' like tha'. I will be fine in time,” Merry replied as he batted his hand at the Steward and miss by a league.

“I too, am bound for the Citadel to meet with the King. Would you like to ride with me instead of walking all that way?” asked Faramir, still feeling concern at his friends obvious lack of balance.

“Tha' would be mos' kin' of you, Far'mir. I would be honnort to ride wi' 'oou,” Merry grinned. He snapped to attention, then leaned precariously towards the Steward.

Faramir placed Merry up on the horse first and then jumped up behind him. “Merry, what *have* you been into? Here I was, thinking you were ill, and you are nothing short of being completely soused. You absolutely reek of alcohol, it's obvious you are very drunk,” he scolded.

“Ah, bu' my Sleward, it was for a worthee caus'. I have been with Fro'oh and it too' a bit to loossn his tongue an' tell me 'is storee. ‘Course, we had to cellbraa' af'erwards. All jus' inn'cent fun, I assur' 'oou,” Merry looked up at Faramir with the most beguiling expression on his face.

Faramir had realized, early on, that the hobbits had a way of wrapping he and everyone else, around their little fingers. He felt completely helpless to do anything except whatever they wished when they turned their eager faces up and looked at him like this.

He smiled. “And, were you successful, dear friend?” he asked, knowing the pain the Ringbearer still kept hidden deep inside himself and hoping desperately, that Merry had had some success in reaching out to Frodo.

“More than sussessful, Far'mir. Fro'oh an' I haff been tal'kenn frohowrs. I trulee beleefe I haff helted him, in some small way. At leas' I hope I haff. Time will tell if I wass truwe sussessful in my underkating,” Merry said sadly.

They arrived at the seventh level and the guards stood back to admit the Steward and his companion. “Will you be here on the seventh level long, Merry? My meeting with the King should not take long, and then I would like very much to visit Frodo and see how he fairs,” Faramir asked.

“Fro'oh will pro'bly be asweep,” Merry hedged, “Bu', if you wiss to see'em you cou'd come by laler 'dis eve. I know how verr' mush he wanss to visit wi' you. Ass fo' myself, I plan to be done wi' my errann within an 'ours time, and then musss return to my couss'n.”

“Then perhaps, I will see you as you descend to the Houses of Healing and would delight in your company once again, if it is meant to be.” Faramir smiled and lowered the hobbit to the ground. They dismounted and a page took Faramir's horse to the stables. They walked together in comradely silence into the Citadel. Merry waved good-bye as Faramir went down the long corridor to the Kings throne room.

Merry gained the steps and climbed wearily up towards the Kings quarters. At the door were the guards that Merry had encountered the night previous. They smiled down at Merry as he approached. “Goo' day t' 'oou, gennlemen,” Merry said with a wobbly bow.

“Good day to you, Master Periannth.” They too, smiled and bowed. “Do you have need of our services this day?”

“I do, kinn' sirs. The Keen wishes me to brin' some of his finess vintage to sofen 'de 'earts of sdose visining from far lanns. He asts that I pwocure his own, priwate laball whish he has in his cham'ers. I am here to do so.” Merry lied smoothly, and then gave them his most innocent look.

The guards knew in what high esteem the King held the Periannth, even though this one was obviously inebriated, they saw no threat to allowing Merry access to the royal chambers. They had received no word that the hobbit would be coming for the spirits, but thought this merely an oversight by the royal court. They moved to the doors and held them open as Merry walked inside. “Let us know, young Master, if there is ought else we can do to assist you,” one of the guards offered.

“You are too kinn', goo' sir. I shall not be lonn', tha..nk (hic) yoou,” said Merry innocently. The door closed and Merry giggled to himself. He didn’t think Aragorn would mind if he took a few decanters to Frodo. After all, it was for Frodo’s healing process that the spirits were needed, he convinced himself. He moved to the cabinet by the window where all manner of delicately crafted bottles and different colored liquids resided. One by one, he opened and sniffed them, trying to discern if each was something that could be imbibed or if it was a medicine, to be avoided. Strangely, they all seemed to smell about the same, but Merry did recognize another decanter of the elvish vintage that Frodo so preferred. The sweet light fragrance was unmistakable. Finding a small cloth sack he gently placed the decanter within. He found two more bottles that, to him, smelled like wine and placed those in the bag with the first. He truly wanted an ale, but the ale in Gondor was far inferior to the Shires, so he stuck with the wines. He staggered across the room towards the door, taking one last look back at the mess he had left in the King’s room while he had expanded his search. He thought briefly about trying to tidy the room, but remembered that Frodo was waiting, and so he turned his back and wobbled slowly out of the chamber. He stopped at the door, bowed and thanked the guards for their assistance. They smiled in return and chuckled softly at the site of the small hobbit walking, somewhat unsteadily, down the corridor with the huge bag slung on his back.

Faramir had finished speaking with the King and was making his way to the courtyard, when he spied Merry struggling with his baggage. “Merry, wait, I can carry that for you, my friend. Besides, I do not wish you to be staggering about when you are so obviously 'under the weather',” he called, with a laugh.

Merry stopped and turned a huge smile on his face, and said, “Far'mir you trulee are my safior today. Bearwing me hence, caree'ing my burdens, and then bearwing me away ag'in, if I am not bein' too forwar'.”

“Not at all, Master Brandybuck. I would be delighted to return you to your cousin,” he said with a smile. He hoisted Merry up onto the horse’s back, handed him the bag, and then climbed up behind him in the saddle. “And what, may I ask, is within this bag? It is quite heavy, I am amazed you got as far as you did,” he asked with a quirk of a smile.”

“A suppwise for Fro'oh, no less. I am sure he will finn' 'dis to be to his likeeng,” Merry smiled.

“Ah, a mystery for me, but perhaps not for Frodo, eh?” Faramir chuckled.

Merry laughed delightedly, “'oou hav' seen thwough me, ass ussual Far'mir,” he said.

They arrived at the Houses of Healing, and Faramir lowered Merry to the ground, handing the bag down lastly. “Tell Frodo I look forward to seeing him later, but now I have an errand to run for the King. Take care, Meriadoc, I will discover this ‘mystery’ later, I hope,” he said with a chuckle.

“Indee' you will, Far'mir. Until late', 'den.” Merry waved and congratulated himself on how very easy his return trip had been. Certainly he had been deceptive, but he kept telling himself that is was for Frodo’s benefit, and all would be forgiven in the end. He smiled and stumbled into the sick house and down the corridor to Frodo’s room. He walked in and saw his cousin staring dreamily up at the ceiling. “Hass ane'one bothered 'ou, Fro’ while I was 'way?” he asked.

“No. Ssam c'me by and I prenended to be aslee'. He’s sush a goo' frienn', bu' I simmly do no' feel li'e eatinn' righ' now. I ’ave founn tha' if 'oou feign slee' someptimes they, meanin' 'da healslers, 'ill leaf you 'lone. 'Though I do feel verr' guiltly doin' it to Ssam,” Frodo sighed.

“How do 'oou feel, cous'n?” Merry asked tentatively. He knew that Frodo had much healing yet to come, that one brief, emotional discussion of his torment would not be enough to purge him of the bleakness that had taken hold over him, but it was a start in the right direction, at least.

Frodo turned and smiled at Merry, “Be'ter, Mer’, mush be'ter. So wha' 'ave you brough' in tha' huge bag, if I may be so boll' as to asst?” He looked apprehensive knowing Merry’s penchant for trouble, but still felt too loose and comfortable from the wine to let it bother him over much.

Merry began to pull all manner of delicate crystal glassware from the bag, each holding a different colored liquid, and each, it seemed larger than the last. “More spirsits to continoo our con'ersation wid,” Merry said with a laugh.

Frodo winced. “Merwy, no mo'. I canno' continoo tohay to talk of all tha's on my minn' an' hearts,” he said. His face had paled at the mention of more ‘conversation’ and he began to tremble.

“No, Fro'o, no thas’s not wha' I meann'.” Merry reached for his cousin and pulled him to him. “You haff benn ssso bwave today, I would not asts any mor'n of 'oou. I jes' wannet to join you in a nigh'cap, if thas’s alright?” he said soothingly, and then smiled down at his cousin.

“A nigh'cap? 'Oou haff 'nough 'der to fill the Brannywine,” Frodo laughed.

“Indeed. Bu'ff we haff worksoveree hardt today, so it shoo't be a large nigh'cap, don’n you thinks cousnn?” Merry’s eyes were lit up with a devilish glint, and Frodo could not help himself as he began to giggle uncontrollably.

Merry threw the bolt on the door, and climbed up on the huge bed. He made Frodo comfortable against the headboard, and sat facing him cross legged on the bed. “Whish shoul' we try firs', do you thinn?” he mused.

“I like 'dat one inn the dar' red detancter. Wha' say 'oou, cousnn?” volunteered Frodo.

“I say bommoms up, Fro’” again they laughed until they all but fell from the bed. Merry opened the decanter and poured two very healthy man sized goblets of the dark red liquid. Each sniffed, smiled at each other, and then downed the entire goblet in one huge, gasping gulp. “Ah, sos ist’s a competission 'oou wan', is it, my Hobbibon relaxion?” Merry’s eyes danced with glea.

“No, Mer’ I jes' wann' taste everysing. I feel li'e a new hobvit. I wann' to feel and tais'e and enjoy ag'in. The fasser I drinn t'is, the fasser we can moove on to the nest bobble, don’n 'oou thinn?” Frodo grinned mischievously.

“Fro'oh, it has been too lonn since you haff bin you' ole, defian’ selfs. And I can’n fall't 'er logshic, as uswel,” he grinned.

One by one they made their way through the cache of decanters, drinking far more than any man could, because it was a well know fact that hobbits could drink almost as much as they could eat. Empty bottles lay strewn about the bed and on the floor. There had been a few minor accidents and stains of various colors spotted the bed and their clothing. But no one was complaining. They were quite completely drunk, balanced precariously against each other, trying to hold the other up in order to pour the liquids into the goblets, and not on the counterpane. Finally, they gave up and began drinking from the delicate crystal bottles themselves.

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...*Meanwhile......at the Citadel, in the King's quarters* ...

Aragorn and Arwen were laughing and walking towards their rooms, arm in arm, very much enjoying one another's company. They walked past the guards with a nod and entered the room. Both stood transfixed with the mess that greeted their astonished eyes.

"What in the name of Eru has happened to our quarters????" Aragorn demanded in a yell. The guards rushed in, swords drawn, expecting to find a physical threat to the King and his Queen. They looked around the room, mouths agape, at a scene of total chaos. "Were you not here at your post all evening,?" The King commanded.

"Yes, Your Majesties, and we heard nothing amiss that could have done such damage."
One of the guards elbowed his counterpart and whispered in his ear.

"What are you whispering about? SPEAK! You have not caught me in the best of moods," Aragorn fixed a deadly look at each of the guards.

One of the guards cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, we know you have a special fondness for the periannth, and so thought your orders to let no one enter did not include them," he said nervously. He did not wish to be reduced in rank for his misjudgment, but knew it was best to be forthright with the King.

"Yes, that is true. I do not see what this has..." Aragorn's sentence drifted off. Now he noticed that his cabinet that held all of the spirits and wines, most gifts from regions being gathered into his realm, were in disarray or gone entirely. "Which of the periannth was allowed into my chambers?" he asked grimly.

"Your Highness, they all look the same to us, except of course, the Ringbearer," the guard said gulping.

"Describe him to me, and let us see if we can rule out the others," commanded the King.

"He had curly blond hair, and a pert face....oh,....and a twinkle in his eye. He said he was retrieving the decanters for you and your guests. Since he was a periannth, I deemed it was all right to allow him access. I beg your deepest pardon, My Lord, if I have erred in judgment, and this was not your wish." the older of the two guards was now on bent knee before Aragorn and Arwen.

A light, girlish, giggle escaped behind Arwen's covered mouth. Aragorn himself, was having trouble controlling his grin.

"You have done nothing wrong, my men. I will deal with the culprit myself....and if I know my hobbits, it can only be one person," he smiled grimly at Arwen. "Shall we, my Lady, take a stroll to the Houses of Healing?"

She laughed outright, a fine clear sound like silver bells to the guards ears, "Of course, my husband, I would enjoy seeing the saviors of Middle Earth again, and I would not miss this for all the Mallorn's in Lothlorien." She put her arm in Aragorn's and they walked, with purpose, towards the seventh gate and made their way to the houses of healing.

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Sam had no success all that day trying to get food into his Master. The times he had approached the room the door was either barred, or Frodo was asleep. Instead of waking him, he had retreated back to the kitchens and left the foods to be kept warm, until his Master awoke. But he had grown increasingly worried and impatient, and with the warmed tray in hand, now stood outside the barred door. He banged loudly on the door, "Mr. Merry, I know you're in there, open the door so I can bring Mr. Frodo somthin' to eat, you silly Brandybuck" he demanded.

"Itsss Ssam 'gin. Wha' dowedonow?" Frodo whispered very loudly to Merry who sat right next to him.

"We mus' stall, dea' couss'n. Ooh, hez gon' be tighd to be fit," Merry slurred.

Frodo broke into gales of laughter. " Yooo ...sai' .... i' ..... aulll...baacworsse, Mer'". Merry, realizing Frodo was right, laughed so hard he fell off the bed. Frodo looked over with a big wavering grin, "Ol' righ' down 'der, Mer'? he said slowly.

Merry just laughed in reply. Now the hammering on the door began again, this time it was Aragorn. "Gentlemen, I desire to speak with you, NOW!" he said with authority.

Frodo's and Merry's eyes became very wide and together they said "Ohhhhhh...", which caused more gales of laughter from them both. They tried to control themselves enough to clean up the strewn bottles and glasses, but Frodo was completely useless because of the tiredness he had been experiencing even before they started drinking. He lay there, unable to move, swaying slightly back and forth, a silly smile on his face. He began to hum to himself, moving his finger back and forth in the air as if conducting a group of singers. Merry could not walk, let alone bend over and pick up the evidence of their plunder. He was afraid if he *did* bend over, he would never get back up. So, instead he crawled back up on the bed, with much assistance and giggling from Frodo, until they both lay panting against the headboard.

"Less hide it all unner 'ere," said Frodo, at least Merry thought that's what he said, as Frodo pointed to the covers.

Merry shook his head violently back and forth, "Nooo, Froo'oh, Araorn knowss I too' 'is ... 'is ...liq...liq...drinkin' stuff," Merry laughed.

Frodo was almost hysterical. "'ou call' me Froo'oh," then he burst into screams of laughter again.

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A large group had gathered outside the door, by now, wondering what the problem was with the Ringbearer, and hoping it wasn't another relapse of some sort. Saleth, sent them away, one by one, saying it was all right, and that they had it under control, which caused Aragorn to give Saleth a questioning look. Of the group, Faramir was allowed to stay and offer his assistance if needed. When he saw Aragorn, he smiled.

"What fair Steward, is so funny?" asked the King with a smirk.

"Only that I may have inadvertently helped create this little party by giving a drunken Merry passage to and from the Citadel, this evening." he said with a chuckle.

"Merry. I *knew* it was Merry. Who else could it have been? Pippin's laid up, or I would have suspected him. Sam would never do this to his Master after he's been sick so long. Only Merry would be free to wander, and plunder at will," he grinned and then grimaced. "Frodo hit his head this morning on the table when he fell. It is very unwise for him to be drinking anything stronger than milk or juice," he murmured.

"Will he be all right, Mr. Strider? Is he in any danger?" asked an anxious Sam.

"I would have to see him to know, Sam, but yes, he could become very ill very suddenly if the knock on the head was more serious than I initially thought it was. We need to get in there and get this rectified. Saleth?" The King now looked genuinely concerned over Frodo's welfare, no longer grinning and chuckling at the partying hobbits on the other side of the door.

"Yes, My Liege, I have a way to lift the bar. I shall return shortly, and we will enter," he said and walked briskly away.

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Frodo continued to hum his song to himself. Merry listened closely, but was not acquainted with the tune. "Cousn' wass thaa' sson' you seenin'? Ssng fo' me, Froo'oh," Merry quite unintelligibly said.

Frodo smiled a lazy, drunken smile and leaned over against Merry. "I 'avn't finnssht it ye', Merr'," he slurred.

"Wellll, ssng wha' 'oou 'ave den, pleess?" Merry whined.

"Ohh, verr' well," and then Frodo's sweet tenor voice began. He slurred less while singing, and Merry sat transfixed listening to the lovely refrains of his cousins clear voice.

"O, there is a garden that lay in a green land
the hills and vales they call to me.
I yearn to walk the flowering hillsides
the colorful blossoms, a sight to see...

And in the gardens of my dear Shire land
there dwells a lass so fair to see.
With hair of gold and blue ribbons streaming
and sweet red lips she saves for me...

My journey done, I will soon see my Shire lands
the dales and streams, they succor me.
A soul and heart so broken from burden,
a gold haired lass for company...

She dances 'oer the dells and the hillsides
her hair a sail of gold light to see
a smile so bright when she spies me a walkin'
with sweet, soft lips, she kisses me...

Within the dell, a great tree's a growin'
a blue-ribboned lass, she waits for me.
A pledge of love, soft kisses to sweet lips
our happiness, for all to see...

A hole so grand behind a green door,
we fill the rooms with children fair.
They frolic in the greening Shire lands
a blur of ribbons and golden hair...

O, there is a garden that lies in the Shire lands
a fair haired lass, blue ribbons to see.
A home once empty, in need of laughter
now filled with love and family..."

"O, Froo'oh, tha' wass so sad, lofflee, bu’ so sad too," Merry said, wiping his face.

"I wro' it fo' Sssam 'n Wosee. Fo' win 'dey ge' marwee whe' we ge' back," he smiled at Merry, but he had tears in his eyes too.

"Froo'oh, tha' sounn'ed almo' (hic)...sounn'ed almo' like Bag'nt. Yoorr son'gg I mean. Wass'it?" Merry looked at Frodo with deep concern.

"Yess, i' wass. I wann' Ssam to 'ave i', an' livv' 'der wiff Wossee," he said.

"Bu' Frowho, ware will yoou liff'?" asked Merry, becoming more distraught. He knew Arwen had said Frodo could sail in her place to the undying lands, and also he worried that Frodo would give into the depression and possibly take his own life.

"Welll, iff 'del 'ave me, I wou' like to liff wif 'em. Itss big 'nough fowall 'o us, if itss alwigh' wif 'em." Frodo said sadly. "It neese a fammwe, an' I don' wan' ta liff 'lone aneemo'," Frodo smiled at Merry. Merry was so relieved he smiled back.

"Thas' why 'oore de smar' one, Frow'ho. Thass a grea' idea." Merry swallowed hard. He was beginning to feel a bit nauseous and after looking at Frodo again, he saw that his cousin was also looking a little green around the edges. "ell, wee bess finiss 'dis off, so therss no evid....evid....so therss non' leff," he finished very awkwardly. Frodo giggled again at Merry's avoiding certain words in favor of those that were easier to pronounce in their inebriated state. Merry refilled both glasses, which was a difficult task in and of itself, and they brought them up, clinked them together, spilling a large portion of the drink, and gulped the remainder down in one swallow. Then they both sagged back, boneless and not a little ill, and watched the room spin around them.

************************************************************************

The whole entourage had stood outside the door transfixed by the haunting ballad, most had tears in their eyes. "Mr. Frodo always did have a fine voice. It's been so long since I've heard him sing, I don't think I've ever heard anything so beautiful," Sam sniffed.

Aragorn smiled a little, although the song had seemed so sad to him. He knew Frodo had no one to return to in the Shire, but that Sam did, and his heart was touched by the gift that Frodo would, one day, present to Sam and his Rosie.

Saleth returned with a lever like device and, reaching in between the door and the jam, lifting the bar. They all moved forward as one and gasped at the site of the two completely drunk, and soon to be sick, by the looks of things, hobbits sitting precariously on the bed. The room was littered with empty glass decanters and goblets. The covers and floor had a large amount of spilled vintage, and each hobbit sported a number of stains where they had missed their mouths while drinking. Aragorn was in front, and could not help but break into a wide grin. Arwen began to giggle at the sight. Sam was not as charitable. All he saw was the condition of his Master and began to turn his wrath on Merry, a known culprit of drinking rampages. But, before he could start, Frodo looked up and with those beautiful blue eyes and spotted Aragorn. He smiled the largest smile Aragorn had ever seen and wavered precariously towards the side of the bed. Aragorn almost burst out laughing, they looked so bedraggled and limbless. But he noticed that Frodo seemed happier, although he was uncertain as to whether this was from too much drink or a lightening of his burden by speaking with Merry.

"Araagrn, how deliful t' see 'ou! An' 'da latee Ahwen, ass well. Soo goo' t' see 'ou again, My Quee'," he grinned and made to bow forward, but lost his precarious hold on balance and fell heavily to the floor, in a tumble of limbs, bottles and blankets, instead.

TBC
___
Song by Lovethosehobbits :D

REPOST

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 36

Frodo swallowed thickly. His tongue felt like it was covered with cotton and was heavy in his mouth. He moaned and slowly opened his eyes. Staring down at him was Aragorn, Saleth and the lady Arwen. He groaned again and made to get up but was pushed back down by Aragorn.

"Fro'oh, you all right?" Merry asked thickly as he peeked over the edge of the bed.

"Fine. I'm fine, Mer'", Frodo whispered more to himself than anyone else in the room.

"What do you mean getting him all drunk and out of sorts...have you lost your mind?" Frodo recognized Sam's plaintive voice.

"Sam...Ssam no' so loud, my frien'" moaned Frodo.

"Here Frodo, drink this." A cup was pressed to his lips and he swallowed.

"Ohhhh....thas awful," he said turning his head away at the foul taste. "Uggh. Whawastha?" he asked.

Aragorn smiled, "The cure for what ails you, young hobbit”, he said.

"Iss the worss one yet, Ar'gorn. Rathhrr be drun’," he slurred.

"You say that now but in a few hours you are going to feel quite unsettled and ill, best to take it now, Frodo." Aragorn held the Ringbearer close to his chest and tried again to bring the cup up, but Frodo was having none of it and pushed the cup away.

"No," he said thickly. "’eavemealone."

"Perhaps I could assist you, my King." Frodo gulped. It was the Lady Arwen and he simply could not refuse the great lady, manners would not permit it.

"Pleass, no, I donn wan’..."she brought the cup to his lips and tipped his head back forcing the liquid down his throat. She blew a soft, fragrant exhalation into his face and he swallowed, wondering at the feelings of security that washed over him. His stubbornness returned and he struggled to get away but she held him in a surprisingly strong grasp. Finally he gasped and coughed when at last he could breath.

"There, there Frodo. It will relieve you of any discomfort and you will sleep like a baby," she murmured.

"Noddababy....donn wanna slee’..." Frodo moaned. Unfortunately, it was too late and he felt his eyes drifting shut as strong arms carried him to a soft bed and covered with thick blankets.

********************************************************

"Master Brandybuck! What do you mean getting Frodo so drunk! Don't you remember he hit his head this morning? He shouldn't have had anything to drink with a possible head injury." Aragorn, incensed, was pacing angrily back and forth in front of Frodo's bed.

"'mmm sorry Ar'gorn. Fragoh ‘bout dat. Fro'oh needed a lillle somethin' to tae the edch off affer he tol' me his nighmare," Merry's face crumpled. "He'll be alwigh’ wonnhe?" he asked. The King suddenly felt very bad for yelling at Merry who had done a great thing getting Frodo to talk.

"Did he tell you his dreams, Merry?" he asked sitting Merry beside him on the bed.

"Therre so horribll, Ar'gorn. I only hope in ‘ime, dey will become lessso for hissake," Merry then went into detail about Frodo's nightmares. "We shoul’ s’ay with ‘im case dey come back," Merry said worriedly. "To calm ‘im."

Aragorn smiled and wrapped an arm around the hobbit. "You're a good lad, Merry. Frodo is lucky to have all of you by his side."

Merry grinned up at the King. "ThangsAr'gorn. I love Fro'oh somush. I donn wan’im to suffer an’more," he slurred.

"We'll all stay with him, Mr. Merry. Safety in numbers," said Sam. They all made themselves comfortable around Frodo's bed. Sam and Merry curled up next to Frodo and soon they were snoring gently. Frodo began to toss and turn lightly as darkness moved into his mind and sought to chase away the peacefulness of a few hours ago.

******************************************************

He was in the tower of Cirith Ungol and orcs were surrounding him. He tried to back away, to become smaller thinking they might overlook him, but they saw him. They spat, kicked, and threw him onto the cold, hard stones. He begged them to leave him alone, to have mercy but they only laughed and taunted him, pulling at his hair, his clothes. He felt helpless and weak and he cried out. This was what Arwen Undomiel heard as she sat watching him fight the unseen horrors of his dreams. She reached out to him and slipped the necklace she had once given him, into his hand. The jewel shone with a blinding light as it lit the small palm from within. It had been dropped, weeks ago, while the Ringbearer had teetered precariously from the seventh level above the city, ready to plummet to his death while in the clutches of the 'brain fever'. He had dropped the jewel and it had been recovered and given back to the Queen. Now she placed it around his neck, then she bent and kissed his forehead, whispering a blessing to the Valar to watch over this small, yet courageous, being. Frodo sighed. Arwen placed her had over his forehead and closed her eyes. She could see what Frodo saw and she inhaled the smell of the unwashed bodies and the fear scent that was palpable from the hobbit. She looked down at Frodo, his eyes locked with hers and she saw they glistened with tears.

"I would not wish you to be here, Milady. I would nod wish you to see this torture," he cried, to the dream Arwen.

"I am here for you, Frodo. We all are," Arwen said. She began to shimmer with a golden light that seemed to emanate from her very soul. Suddenly, Frodo was surrounded by Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Boromir, Faramir, Legolas, Gimli, Saleth and Aragorn. All wore shining armor and held great swords out in front of them. The orcs cringed back at the sight of such a foe. "I told you we would be there for you, Frodo," said Merry.

"They'll not get a lick in this time, Mr. Frodo. They'll have to go through your Sam first," said Sam as he lunged.

"Be gone, you have no power here!” yelled Gandalf as he sprang forward into the fray.

"Indeed, Frodo Baggins, it would be my honor to fight by your side," said Boromir. Frodo began to weep at this. Faramir jumped in beside Boromir and together, they created a clean swatch where once there had stood towering orcs. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli swept through, pulling Frodo to safety, they smiled as they charged into the thick of the battle. Arwen too was doing quite well with her sword. She cleanly beheaded an orc and then breezed by Frodo to stand beside her husband. One by one, the enemy fell until they were none left standing. Frodo felt sleep come upon him. He closed his eyes as he was enveloped in the loving embrace of the Lady Arwen's arms. Safe. He was safe and a peace filled him as he slipped blissfully into slumber.

Later, as his eyes cracked open he saw that those who loved him surrounded him on all sides. His hand flicked up to his throat and there he grasped the Lady Arwen's pendant, securely fastened, about his neck.

"How do you feel, Ringbearer?" A musical voice asked. Frodo turned and saw that Arwen was beside him. She held his hand in hers and softly caressed it.

"I am well, My Lady, thank you."

"Your dreams were troubled, but have passed.”  She smiled shyly down at him.

"Will they return?" Frodo asked hesitantly.

"They may. However, you have the pendant of the Evenstar to guide and protect you. Always wear it, Frodo. It will draw strength of numbers to it when you need them most," she whispered.

"You were all there for me, fighting beside me, giving me strength in my hour of need," Frodo murmured as he lightly clutched the star pendant.

"As we shall always be there to give succor to you. Now sleep, rest, as you are weary. When you awake again we will be here for you." She lightly touched his face and his eyes slowly closed and he slipped into a dreamless realm where there were no orcs or towers or eyes.

When next he woke, Pippin was standing beside him perched on a pair of children's crutches.

"I began to grow lonely in my little room and so have sought you out, cousin.” He smiled his endearing smile. "Are you hungry? I am famished. Shall I fetch us some bread and fruit?" he asked eagerly. Frodo smiled slowly.

"I am not hungry, Pippin. I fear I have made myself uncomfortably drunk and ruined my appetite."

"Frodo! How could you? And not even ask me to join you?" Pippin looked terribly hurt.

"Here, Pip, lay down before you fall down. It was Merry's idea, so you'll have to talk with him, I dare say." Frodo replied.

"Merry, you didn't save me any drink?" Pip nudged Merry roughly.

"Ummmph," came the muffled reply. Merry raised his tousled head and looked around the room blearily. Gandalf, Aragorn, and Arwen all were gone leaving just the hobbits on the huge bed. "Frodo, did you sleep?" he asked.

"Yes, Merry, and all of you were in my dream. You all fought with me and destroyed the orcs. The Lady Arwen has gifted me her pendant for my protection a second time and I could feel the power of friendship helping and guiding me. He reached out and touched Merry and Pippin's hands. Sam smiled at them all and placed his hand on top.

"Boromir was there too," Frodo whispered. There were cries of surprise and then Frodo was engulfed by hobbits. They embraced and held onto each other until they were all weeping at the renewed pain of the loss of the strong Gondorian.

"Poor Mr. Boromir, he weren't a bad man. That Ring jes’ took control and he couldn't fight it no how," Sam said tearfully.

"No Sam, it wasn't his fault. The Ring was able to twist his thoughts and feelings so that he heard what he wanted to hear. He was brave and valiant even if he had a momentary lapse of judgment. I cannot fault him. I too had a lapse of judgment. Can you ever forgive me Sam for telling you to go home? I did not mean it Sam. I wasn't thinking clearly to trust Gollum over you. You are, and have always been, my dearest friend." Frodo's eyes shined with unshed tears and Sam reached over and pulled him to him.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo. You weren't yourself. That cursed Ring had overtaken you. Your Sam loves you, sir, and I am always there for you, Mr. Frodo. Don't you worry none about it. You ain’t never gonna get rid of Samwise Gamgee," he smiled through his tears and Frodo laughed.

"I certainly hope I can somehow repay the debt I owe you, Sam. The quest would have failed for certain had you not followed me.” Frodo's eyes became glassy and he stared off into the distance.

"Enough of this weeping, I say. How about a hearty meal of soup and bread, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo's face blanched. He gulped. "Oh...Sam...I...don't think that's ....such a good idea...ohhh" he looked quickly around for a basin and began to gasp when none was seen. "Oh Sam...help me!! Sam quickly jumped down and ran to the cabinet. He found a small pan and ran back to the bed. Frodo was desperately trying not to throw up, but as soon as Sam started climbing roughly up on the bed, he lost his battle and grabbing the pan from Sam and retched. He collapsed back against the pillows, pale and shaking, sweat running off his forehead. He closed his eyes and took deep breathes trying to calm his stomach. Merry gave him sips of water, which he rinsed his mouth. "No food. No ....can't eat, Sam." he said between chapped lips.

"Mr. Frodo, you *have* to eat something. Maybe just some milk toast or fruit, even." Sam dabbed at Frodo's face. Frodo swallowed thickly.

"Can't now, Sam," he rasped as his eyes slipped shut.

"I can't believe you did this, Mr. Merry. Look how sick his is," Sam said with exasperation.

"Sorry Sam, I didn't think anyone could get sick on Elven wine and it seemed like a good idea at the time," said Merry apologetically.

"Sam, how about some applesauce or custard and toast?" volunteered Pippin. "That always makes me feel better."

Frodo groaned and twisted to lie on his side. "Pippin....please....no" he whispered.

Aragorn entered then with a light tray. "Sorry, Frodo, but we need to get something light in your stomach. I've some sweetened milk toast here that should set well." He smiled down at the miserable hobbit.

"No, please....justle’mebe,"moaned Frodo.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, my friend." Aragorn moved to sit behind the Ringbearer and braced the small body against his chest. He then very slowly began to spoon the warm milk mixture into the hobbit's mouth. This was made more difficult by the obstinance of the Ringbearer. "Please...." Frodo turned his head. "No more....Ar'gorn, please" he moaned.

"Just a few small bites, little one," Aragorn whispered. He dabbed at the small mouth with a cloth and his eyes took in the brilliant blue of the hobbit's. They shimmered with unshed tears. "Oh, Frodo," he said with empathy, "I am sorry, my friend." Frodo's lips quivered and he tried to turn away to hide his humiliation.

"I jus' feel so miserable," he groaned. Aragorn washed his face and poured a cup of mint tea that he sweetened and pressed to Frodo's lips. It smelled heavenly and Frodo drank it thirstily.

"Easy, easy… no gulping. Slow sips, Frodo," Aragorn murmured. Frodo slowed his gulps to sips and then his eyes drifted shut. "Frodo. Frodo, wake up, my friend. Frodo," Aragorn repeated but the Ringbearer was unconscious.

"Is he all right, Mr. Strider?" asked Sam worriedly.

"He's exhausted, Sam. Let's make him comfortable with some warm bricks and pillows then let him rest." Sam gathered the pillows all around his Master then covered him in a down comforter. Heated bricks were placed in toweling and laid next to the thin body. A ragged sigh escaped the hobbit, but he looked at peace. Sam smoothed back his curls and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep well, me dear," Sam whispered. Aragorn smiled and then ushered the three remaining hobbits from the room. He looked back at Frodo. "Rest well, Savior of Middle Earth," he said with a smile. He then closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

TBC

REPOST

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 37

Frodo awoke some hours later. He lay very still, taking his bearings. His head ached with the dull spasms common to an encounter with too much drink. He lay motionless, swallowing several times, trying to quell the nausea he thought would overwhelm him. How could he have been so foolish. He hadn't been in the peak of health to begin with and now he felt awful. He took a deep breath and looked around the room slowly. He was alone but he needed to use the chamber pot, so he slowly moved his legs to hang over the bed. He pushed himself up and his forearms trembled violently with this small effort. Finally, he was upright with his feet touching the floor. The room swam in and out of his vision and he knew he would be unable to prevent the bile from rising...he was going to be sick.

"Ohhh, Eru help me," he whispered. He leaned over the bed, but he wasn't fast enough and he threw up on the sheets and comforter. A sheen of sweat lay clammy on his pale skin and he thought he would pass out. Instead, he was able to right himself and pull the chamber pot out from under the bed. He sank down on it and rested while he relieved himself. Once he was finished, he decided to wash his hands and see if he could find some cold water to drink. He was desperately thirsty. He staggered towards the door, and headed down the corridor. There must be water somewhere nearby. He looked in each doorway as he passed. One room had several wounded, the next a room where herbs were drying the next a small sitting room. He ran his hand along the wall to keep from collapsing, he was beginning to think going to look for water was perhaps not such a good idea. He turned around and walked the other way thinking maybe he could find Merry and Pippin's room. He had to stop and lean his forehead against the cool stone. It was wonderfully cold against his face, and he slumped down to the floor wanting to put his whole body up against it. He closed his eyes thinking he would rest for just a moment. He decided to pull himself up, he nearly fell, the nausea and vertigo rushing in waves over him. Finally, it passed and he took tremulous steps down to where he believed, Merry and Pippin's room was. A huge sigh of relief escaped his lips and he peered in the doorway. Pippin was having the bandages changed on his leg and he was trying desperately, to itch the leg as Aragorn unwound layer after layer of gauze.

"Stop it, Peregrine. You'll infect it by scratching. I'll wash it and then we'll put a balm on it to soothe the itching." Aragorn said with a laugh.

"Strider, it's driving me crazy. I can't stand it." He pulled the leg away and began scratching in earnest. A scuffling noise caused Strider to turn in his seat while he simultaneously slapped at Pippin's clawing hands. Frodo stood in the doorway swaying slowly back and forth. The King quickly placed Pippin's leg on the bed and leaped towards the hobbit. As he reached him, Frodo collapsed. He moaned as Strider picked him up and bore him to Pippin's bed. Pippin slid over to make room for his cousin.

"Frodo, Frodo why were you out wandering, cousin? Aragorn, is he going to be all right?"

Aragorn sighed, "He's feverish and pale. Let's see if we can't get him some liquids," he said with concern.

"Water, please, Strider. 'M so thirsty," Frodo gasped out.

"Aragorn! Aragorn! Frodo's missing," came a ruckus in the hallway. Sam and Saleth burst through the doorway with Merry stumbling along after a few moments. "Mr. Frodo! You gave us an awful fright, you did." Sam was near tears he had been so frantic.

"Saleth, we need to get Frodo's temperature down. I am not certain what is the cause of the fever, but he has been throwing up....perhaps he is simply dehydrated. Do you have something cool we can give him? Water or juice? Perhaps some salted chicken broth?" the King asked. Saleth knew the King was overly protective of the Ringbearer so he was not surprised at the multiple requests.

"Yes, My Liege. We have some flavored ices as well. I'll see that they are brought along with ice water. Perhaps some more of the willow bark tea would lower his fever."

"Nooo tea jus' water," mumbled Frodo.

"Let's run a cool bath for him and then dose him with some athelas. I believe he can handle it if we make it weak enough," Aragorn instructed. Saleth brought kettles and began heating the water over the fire. When these were boiling, Aragorn added the herb to the tub and poured the boiling water over it. Next, he mixed the hot water with the cool until the tub was filled and a sweet smelling aroma hung on the air.

"Sam, please help me attend your Master," Aragorn asked.

"Of course, Mr. Strider," Sam quickly bent over Frodo and began to remove his soiled nightshirt. He placed toweling around his Master to cover him and help keep him warm. Frodo was trembling violently by the time Aragorn picked him up and slowly lowered him, towels and all, into the copper tub.

"How does that feel, Frodo?" asked the King as he rinsed the curly hair and then soaped it with the lavender soap. He carefully tipped the hobbit's head back to avoid getting water and lather in his eyes. And then he rinsed all of the sweat and vomit from the curls until they hung in ringlets across the hobbit's forehead.

"Feels nice, Ar'gorn. Thank you," he murmured. Next, Sam lathered a cloth with the sweet smelling soap and while talking in a low, soothing voice, began to wash the rest of his Master.

"You're gonna feel right as rain, Mr. Frodo, jes you see. Your Sam's gonna take care of you," "Strider, what's wrong with him? Why's he so hot?" asked Sam with concern.

"I am uncertain except to say that it was perhaps too early for Frodo to...indulge...as he did. We must get him hydrated and then he should feel better, he just simply was not strong enough to drink his normal quota of Elven alcohol," Aragorn smiled wanly.

"But he was fine, he said he felt good after his talk with Mr. Merry," Sam questioned.

"Sam, you must remember that Frodo's had one trauma after another and telling Merry his nightmares could not have been an easy thing to do. His body is feeling stress in combination with his weight loss, lack of essential nutrients and liquids, this was simply more than he could handle right now," Aragorn tried to explain to the devoted gardener.

"Will he be all right, sir?" asked Sam.

"Yes, Sam, I think he's simply exhausted and Merry's timing could not have been worse," the King grimaced.

"I mean to talk to that Brandybuck. I still can't believe he didn't use his good old fashioned hobbit sense and allowed this to happen to Mr. Frodo," Sam said angrily.

"Merry meant well, Sam. He knew he would never get Frodo to speak aloud of his darkest fears without first coercing him. Since hobbits have a weakness for strong drink, he undoubtedly thought this would be the best way," Aragorn murmured. "Don't be too hard on him."

Frodo was now clean and Aragorn lifted him out of the tub, drained the water and replaced it with equal amounts of hot and cold. He wrapped the hobbit in fluffy towels, and toweled his hair. Then he wrapped him in a warmed blanket and lay him close to Pippin.

"Sam, get Merry and set him to helping his younger cousin to bathe please," Aragorn asked.

"Yes sir, Mr. Strider." Sam left to search for Merry. Merry wasn't far and he was near inconsolable in a far corner of the room. Pippin was perched on his good leg while he aimlessly scratched at the other, speaking quietly to his older cousin.

"It's all right, Mer', he's going to be fine, you'll see. Our cousin is made of sterner stuff than that," said Pip.

"Oh, Pip, it's all my fault. I jus' wanned him to tell me about his nighmares so that they'd all goaway. Wha' have I done? I couldn't bear to hurt him, Pip, I love him you know," a very drunk and teary Merry lamented.

"I know you do. We all do, Mer. We all love our Frodo, don't we Sam," Merry looked around sharply, almost falling over in the process. He was expecting a rebuke from the gardener for his folly with the spirits. But Sam's face was full of compassion.

"It's all right, Mr. Merry. We'll take care of him together, we will." Sam said gently. "Now, Mr. Strider wants you to wash Mr. Pippin really well so we can re-bandage that leg of his, can you do that for us Mr. Merry?" he asked.

"Pip, Sam's not an'ry with me, are you Sam?" asked Merry.

"I was pretty upset when I saw Mr. Frodo's condition, but I'm not angry anymore, Mr. Merry. I know you was trying to help ‘em some, I think we should just treat him real gentle like for the next little while," Sam said. "Let's get Mr. Pippin soaking in the tub and then we can check on Mr. Frodo, what do ya say, Mr. Merry?" Merry beamed.

"I say that sounds like a splennid idea, Sam," he moved to Pippin and together they brought the tween to the tub, stripped him and helped him into the bath. "How's that feel, Pip?"

"Ahhh...lovely! Oh water hot is a noble thing!" replied Pippin with a satisfied sigh and a small smile.

TBC

REPOST

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 38

Food. He was in search of a meal, as he soared across the landscape, a solitary witness to the rape and destruction of the once green and beautiful land below. There had once been food almost everywhere, so much so that he had never given it a second thought. But food, for the longest time now, was *all* he and his kind, had thought of; a daily struggle to collect even the most meager amount in order to keep his heart beating within his small chest. So many of his kind had already perished. He knew in some small place within his mind, that those that walked upon the land were the cause, yet he was incapable of laying blame of any kind. He only knew that his fellow hatchlings and, in turn, his own brood and mate, had fallen and ceased to be, in the months that the wingless ones had fought the great blackness that had covered and desecrated the land below him. He felt the ebb of life beginning to fade within his own body and knew that his time was growing short, that he would die without the necessary nourishment. He spied an opening in the stone wall he currently circled and with a last burst of precious energy, cautiously made for it. He landed with a flutter upon the sill and surveyed the room and its single occupant with a wary eye. Across the dim room sat a half eaten loaf of bread on a low table. He scrutinized the inhabitant of the room with a hesitancy born of instinct. The wingless occupant appeared to be resting. He was unusual; small, with dark hair, he lay perfectly still, and for one moment, the fledgling wondered if he too, had perished like so many of the other wingless ones he had seen far below as he soared above the fields. Sensing no immediate threat or danger from this small one, he flew across the room, landing upon the table. After another quick peek at the room's inhabitant, he began to devour small crumbs of the loaf, always keeping one eye upon the bed's occupant.

*****

A small fluttering sound, a gentle movement of the air, brought Frodo slowly from his slumber. For a moment, he left his eyes closed, drinking in the scent of the numerous flowers growing outside. Sam had gently coaxed the small shoots back to health in the garden below Frodo's window. A light breeze gently slipped through the window, bringing the heady aroma of roses, athelas, mint and elanor. It cut through the stale, sick room air like a knife, bringing a satisfied smile to Frodo's pale face. He subconsciously, began his morning ritual of taking a mental assessment of his body's aches and pains, and found that other than a small headache, he felt remarkably well. With a start, his eyes flew open. He felt *well*! For the first time in an age, he felt WELL! With a smile he lay in silent wonder that something as simple and common as felling "well", something most beings never even consciously *thought* of, and therefore, took for granted, could fill him with such a feeling of joy. A skittering sound brought him out of his reverie, and he looked across the room, noticing for the first time, the addition of his new roommate.

He chuckled softly, "Why, greetings my small friend," he whispered. The bird stopped his feasting and gazed uncertainly at the hobbit. Frodo could see that the bird was trying to decide between fleeing or continuing to feast. "You do not need to leave on my account, or fear me in any way, I assure you. You are most welcome. It has been long since I have had such a colorful visitor to talk to, especially one who will just listen, without comment, to the ramblings of the 'Ringbearer'," Frodo said quietly. The last word was spoken with a note of disdain. The bird listened, without once interrupting his meal, his eyes never leaving the speaker. Instinct made him remain alert, yet his hunger was great, so he stayed, listening to the strange clipped, yet lyrical, sounds coming from this particular wingless one.

"Oh, how I despise the title 'Ringbearer'," Frodo mused to himself. "But never mind me, you truly are a colorful little thing. I have seen so few of your kind about the city. I can only imagine how this war has affected you and your kind, or any animal for that matter," Frodo's eyes became sad and distant as he thought of the devastation of, not only his world, but of the land and its other inhabitants. He slowly turned his head and began to push himself up. His arms trembled violently, but eventually, he achieved his goal, and leaned back against the headboard. Panting and sweating, he looked about the room trying to find the small bird. He hadn't seen the bird flee, but imagined that he had startled it by his movements and caused it to depart. He sighed sadly and let his head fall back against the headboard, closing his eyes as he tried to quell the dizziness and nausea that assailed him. He wondered at his feelings of loss that the absence of the bird had caused. A light knock on the door caused him to slowly open his eyes. Sam entered and smiled at seeing his master sitting up.

"Mornin', sir," he said cheerily. "'Tis a beautiful day, what with all the flowers bloomin' and the sun showin' his face, it is," he chirped.

"That it is, Sam. How I would love to see all the fruits of your labors, my friend," Frodo smiled.

Sam blushed as he brought a tray of food to Frodo's bedside. "Twernt nothin', really. This city has lots of abandoned gardens, I jes' pulled out some o' the weeds so's the little flowers could show their colors, is all," he said shyly.

It was not lost on Frodo that his friend had lovingly tended the patch of ground beneath his window the most. Sam had worked diligently to plant and nurture the most fragrant and eye catching blooms, including many of Frodo's personal favorites, out of love for his master. Frodo smiled at Sam. How he loved the small gardener. Such a friend he had, to go through all that he had and care for him with such devotion. He felt unworthy of such a person and vowed to somehow, become well enough to show the gardener how much he appreciated him. Become well... he thought about that for a moment. Becoming well was what Sam wished most for him. It was a start, he thought. He decided he would make more of an effort to recover his health and strength, if only to make his friend happy. "What have you brought me today, Sam?" he asked. "I am actually a little hungry this morning," he lied, as he received a delighted smile from his friend.

"Let me see....we have some raspberries in sweet clotted cream, a nice cinnamon custard, a dish of applesauce with some buttered toast squares, and a nice tall glass of that orange juice you like so well." He looked expectantly into Frodo's eyes.

Frodo smiled, as he swallowed back the nausea that threatened him, "Sam, you are so good to me. It all sounds wonderful," his voice quavered causing Sam to look worriedly up at his face.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Frodo? Does somethin' not sound appealin'? If so, I'll make sure an remove it so's not to make ya ill..." Sam hurriedly searched the tray for the offending food item.

Frodo reached over and placed a thin hand on Sam's. "No Sam, it all sounds fine. I was just thinking about how much you do for me, how much you've *done* for me, and how I can never repay you for such devotion. If not for you, Sam, I doubt we would be here now," Frodo spoke in a whisper. He had tears in his eyes and looked away, hoping they had gone unnoticed.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I didn't do naught but what was needed or expected of me. 'Tis my job...an...well...if I was ta' be so bold, sir," Sam gulped and looked shyly down at his feet, "I would do anything for you, sir. I always felt, well, like we was almost like... 'erm... kinfolk... like brothers or even friends, mayhap," he hesitated, sure that he had overstepped and that Frodo would laugh at the audacity of his servant saying such a thing and send him away.

He risked a look up at Frodo, and saw that his master was looking lovingly back at him. "Yes, Sam," Frodo said tremulously, "that's just what it is. We are friends, the best of friends," he whispered with a smile. Sam beamed as he pulled his master to him and embraced him so tightly that Frodo gasped at the strength of the hug. He hugged Sam back as fiercely as was possible for his frail form. Sam quickly became aware of just how weak his master was and gently eased his bear hug and lay his master back upon the pillows. Frodo was panting slightly, but smiled reassuringly up at Sam.

"Well...we had better see to your breakfast sir, or it'll be nigh on inedible," Sam said huskily.

The flutter of wings caused Frodo to turn his head quickly towards the window. "Well, I wondered where you had got off to, and not even a by our leave given," he murmured gently. The bird cocked his head as if in question to the remark. Sam turned a questioning gaze at his master as he gaped at the small intruder. "Sam, allow me to introduce you to my newest friend. Bird, Sam...Sam, Bird," Frodo said with a smile. Sam smiled and bowed slowly so as not to startle the creature. The bird only cocked his head curiously at the gesture.

"Samwise Gamgee at your service, and your family's," Sam said, giving the standard greeting from the Shire.

"I caught this colorful inhabitant of the city, filching my bread this morning," Frodo smiled, but Sam frowned slightly, not liking the idea of anyone or anything taking food away from his master. "We had quite the conversation, mostly one sided, I'm afraid," Frodo winked and this made Sam giggle a bit. "Until he decided he had other business to attend to," he ended with a slight wistfulness.

"Why, Mr. Frodo, if I didn't know better, I'd say that upset you some, him leavin', an' all," Sam said with surprise.

Frodo looked up at Sam a bit abashed. "Well, Sam, in all honesty, it did make me feel a bit like being deserted, I suppose." He gave Sam an embarrassed look. "Sam, the whole time I carried the Ring, did you ever notice how animals, the horses and ponies, even birds, reacted to me?" Frodo asked quietly, his eyes moved slowly from the bird to Sam's face.

Being held in that earnest blue gaze, Sam swallowed thickly and looked away nervously. "'Twasn't you, Mr. Frodo, it was that Thing. They could feel the evil of it, they could," Sam said quickly. "You know that, sir. Animals 'ave always loved you. I remember once you even got a bird ta eat from your hand...that was somethin' ta see, I remember," Sam said earnestly and smiled at the memory.

"I remember that too, Sam." Frodo's eyes shifted back to the bird who was busy preening his feathers, giving them only cursory glances now. "I suppose that's why it is important, no, *very* important to me, Sam", Frodo's blue eyes shifted quickly back to the gardener's hazel ones with desperate intensity, "that they don't *sense* that evil still.

Sam's whole body jerked at this statement. That his kind and wonderful master, could even think that he still held some of the Ring's evil, was abhorrent to him. He released a gasp, causing the bird to move nervously down the windowsill away from them. Frodo reached out, without looking, and lightly laid his hand on Sam's to calm him. "Mr. Frodo, you are not evil. You are the kindest, most generous and gentlest of hobbits. I won't be standin' here listening to you say otherwise, 'cause it's simply not true, sir," Sam whispered vehemently.

"I appreciate your devotion, Sam, but you see how it is, don't you?" Frodo's eyes bore into Sam's, pleading for understanding. "I have to *know* if 'they' still sense something. If carrying and," he paused and swallowed hard, his eyes closed and he grimaced as if in pain, "wearing the Ring has changed me in such a way that they still *feel* the presence of evil." Sam eyes filled with tears and he made to refute this statement, but Frodo slowly held up his bandaged had to stop him. "Please Sam, I *have* to know. It is very important to me, my friend, whether you agree or not," Frodo's gaze was sad as he searched Sam's face. Slowly, he looked back towards the bird. The bird chirped a quick note, bringing a smile to the older hobbit's face. Sam smiled as well, just to see Frodo's face alight with a real smile, one that touched his eyes, not like the usual ones he used to placate and reassure those around him. He looked over at the bird. Frodo reached over to the tray, and broke off a small corner of the toast, placing it invitingly, at arms length from him, on the large bed. The bird followed his movements and eyed the toast warily. Sam subconsciously held his breath, praying that this small creature could somehow restore his master's belief in himself, with the simple act of accepting the morsel. Frodo stared, first expectantly, then sadly at the small visitor. He lay still as a statue seemingly willing the small animal to please, please, trust him and see him as something worthwhile and good instead of the dark, black, soulless thing that was the alternative. Just when Sam feared it was simply not to be, the bird swooped down and snatched the crumb as he flew up to the wall sconce above the sideboard. Frodo's face broke into a beatific smile, causing Sam to release the held breath and wonder at the look of relief on his master's face. "It's a start, Sam," he whispered.

"Aye, sir, that it is", Sam said with a look of relief.

"So... breakfast," Frodo looked at the seemingly endless array of food set before him, "I am absolutely famished," he said cheerily.

Sam beamed, and after securing a napkin, began feeding his master. Frodo allowed himself to be fed, like a small child, lying back against the pillows. He swallowed without tasting, whatever Sam put in his mouth, his eyes never leaving the bird perched across from him. Sam was amazed at how much food he was able to get into his master, silently thanking the bird for diverting this normally stubborn patient into eating without argument. Finally, even though the bird continued to hold his attentions, Frodo could take no more. He turned away with a groan, pushing the proffered food item towards Sam. "Oh Sam, what have you done to me," he groaned.

"Mr. Frodo, you've done right well, you have, sir, but you've still only eaten about half o' what I brought you," Sam smiled. He was delighted that Frodo had finally eaten more than his usual thimble full of food, and cared naught how or who he had to thank for it.

Frodo groaned again, "Oh, I am miserable," he said. Sam just smiled as he adjusted his master's pillows so that he could lie back and rest a bit. Frodo took a piece of left over toast from the tray as Sam made to remove it. Sam smiled knowingly.

"I think I'll jes' be leavin' you two gentlemen to be about your business," he said with a smirk.

"Thank you, Sam. For everything," Frodo smiled sleepily at his good friend.

"'Twas nothin', sir. Jes' doin' me job, was all," he smiled at Frodo with a look that said he now knew it was really much more than that. He walked slowly, so as not to disturb the newest member of the Fellowship, finally exiting the room and pulling the door gently closed.

"Well, my friend, it looks like it's just you and me, now," Frodo murmured sleepily. "What should we do to pass the time, do you think?" The bird studied him from his perch. Frodo broke off a corner of the toast and, after some consideration, crumbled it over the blankets that lay across his chest. He then waited to see if or when his new friend would come and take them. But the full stomach and his generally weakened state, contrived to work against him, and his eyes slowly drifted closed. He adjusted himself trying to ward off the tiredness that seemed to wash over him. Of their own accord, his eyes slowly slipped closed. Frodo could not fight the subtle song, sung just for him, that sleep wove through his body, and he slept. The bird watched the wingless one for some time, pondering whether there was a threat, or if it were safe to approach this unusual being. At last, he deemed it safe and flew to the footboard. He surveyed the bed's occupant, cocking his red head right then left. The being did not move or speak and the redhead decided to risk all, flying down to the crumbs laid on the blanket. He watched the small creature closely as he ate, rising and falling with each slow, steady breath the frail chest made, until all of the crumbs were gone. He continued to study the being, deciding that this particular wingless one would require more observation. He fluttered to the sill and without a backwards glance, flew from the room.

REPOST

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 39

A ray of sunlight dealt a glancing blow across the features of the Ringbearer, causing him to blink and turn away upon his pillow. Frodo groaned and slowly opened his eyes. 'Here I've slept the day away once again,' he thought to himself. His window was open and a freshening breeze gently moved the curtains to and fro. He could hear voices fairly close by, perhaps on the patio beneath his window. He lay listening to what he now recognized as the voices of Faramir, Sam, Merry and Pippin. He strained to hear what they were talking about. Faramir was recounting a story in hushed tones, that seemed to have even Pippin, speechless. Frodo could catch a phrase here or a word there but was having difficulty hearing the full account being rendered. He sighed in frustration and growled to himself, "I am so tired of this room, its smell of sickness, no matter how often I am bathed or the linens changed. Certainly I am strong enough to join my friends for a bit of storytelling. I *did* make that short journey to Pippin's room yesterday, or was it the day before? Yes, well...I feel rather fit and a bit restless now, and I am weary of being cooped up in these quarters, as nice as they are, notwithstanding," he murmured to himself. He let his eyes roam the now minutely familiar room, and decided if he could make the arduous journey into Mordor that he most assuredly could manage getting himself up, dressed and outside with little or no trouble. Across the room was a wardrobe and he decided, with the stubbornness the Baggins name was known for, that this would be his first obstacle. He threw the covers back and slowly attempted to raise himself up on his thin and violently shaking, forearms. Although he was already panting from the effort, the sweat soaking his nightshirt, he was, if anything, only more determined to achieve his goal. At last he managed to sit up and he leaned back, exhausted, against the headboard. He was incredibly winded and decided a short break was in order.

"...and he stabbed you? Our cousin?....Frodo? Impossible!" he heard Pippin cry. Frodo was immediately all ears. Stabbed? He stabbed someone? Ridiculous! What a yarn Faramir must be spinning. He paused to hear what Faramir's reply would be.

"He did! See? Right here. I've just regained full use of the leg only this week. He's a force to be reckoned with, your cousin is."

"You have no idea," Frodo grumbled.

"You have no idea," chimed Merry.

"Just wait till I get my hands on you telling a tale like that to my baby cousin," Frodo mumbled. He sat, puzzled, 'I couldn't have done that, could I? I would surely remember something, and I don't recall anything like that ever taking place,' he mused. Of course, there *were* significant gaps in his memory of the last several weeks but, no...no, Faramir was a friend and he would never have done that. Unless...he had been so sick he had not been able to recognize friend from foe. The thought caused his eyes to grow very large. How *had* he lost the Lady Arwen's pendant? That had been a question that had been niggling at him ever since its return by the Queen.

"....and then he managed to elude Mr. Strider...I mean the King, and I, for hours." That sounded like Sam, Frodo thought with alarm.

"I simply must get out there and hear this tale of my deeds that I have no memory of doing," Frodo gasped through clenched teeth. He swung his legs over the tall bed and perched on the edge. The room pitched and swayed and, for a moment, Frodo was sure he would be ill. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which helped to quell the rising nausea, and slid down to the floor, collapsing in a boneless heap. 'Wonderful,' he thought. “First, it's my arms, then the room won't hold still and now my legs won't work. If there wasn't some place I needed to be right now, this would all be very funny indeed,” he mumbled, his mouth curving up into a small smile. 'Fine, I shall crawl if I must, just like a baby,' he *did* laugh at that, a short giggle at his own expense. He made his way to the wardrobe and opened the doors. "Oh, dung beetles," he exclaimed. From where he sat on the floor, he could very clearly see his clothing, folded neatly, lying on the topmost shelf. He did laugh then, loud enough that he startled even himself and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Of course, when he covered his mouth he fell over on his side with an 'oomph' because his one arm was too weak to support him alone, which caused him to laugh all the harder.

"Did you hear something?" asked Merry. Everyone paused to listen.

"Nothing, Mer'," Pip said indifferently. "So tell us what Frodo did to Saleth?" the tweener urged Faramir.

'Saleth?' mouthed Frodo to himself. 'Oh, this cannot be, this cannot be happening. How could no one have said anything to me all these weeks if I had caused such a melee?' Frodo thought. The clothes... ah yes, that cane over there should do the trick. Frodo made his way slowly to the corner of the room and wrapped his trembling hands about the cane. 'This will do nicely,' he thought.

*********
Aragorn sat with his legs stretched out in front of him propped on a cushioned footstool, a wine glass in his right hand and, with the left, he held his wife's delicate right hand. Across from him Saleth sat in much the same posture, minus the lovely Queen. Saleth had an odd expression on his face to which Aragorn was openly grinning. "They are a wonner," Saleth said with a slur. "So innocenn, charming and sweet ba also misch...mischee...trouble," he smiled. Aragorn and Arwen laughed. "...an stubborn. Still, I wounnot ever regret my time I have spen' with them, my Liesh," Saleth swallowed thickly. His eyes had a decidedly glassy look to them that proved, all the more, that the healer was well on his way to a serious headache.

"Yes, they are all that, and more," smiled Aragorn. "And now that all of the wounded have been tended, perhaps you should relax a bit and get to know them as other than patients," added Aragorn. "Tell me, Saleth, you don't drink much wine do you?" Arwen giggled and covered her mouth. Aragorn smiled at her then looked back at Saleth.

"Well...I sellom have time to myown. I...no, I don't drink mush. How did you know?" the healer asked with an innocent look.

Arwen snorted in a most un-Queenly fashion, which caused Aragorn to burst into loud, raucous laughter. Saleth looked from one to the other in confusion. Deciding he had missed a joke or some such, he too began a high giggling laugh, so as not to be rude to his hosts. This, of course, only caused the King and Queen to laugh harder. This would have continued except a huge crash disturbed the frivolity.

Aragorn rose instantly, "I wonder what that was?" he said as he took the stairs two at a time back towards the healing ward.

******
"I do *not* need help with this! I do NOT need help with this! I am perfectly fine except for being all sweaty, dizzy, nauseous and bruised," Frodo mumbled over and over as he poked the cane at the stacks of cloth high over his head. The bruises had come from falling hard against the cabinet when he had stood, on wobbling legs, and brandishing the cane, with equally trembling arms, over his head, at the errant clothing. His legs and arms had collapsed, causing him to fall. The cane had come crashing down, striking him across the temple, leaving him with a four-inch gash at his hairline and rendering him unconscious. Blood now mixed with sweat, as a prone Frodo watched it pool in front of his eyes. He was overcome with nausea, and he vomited violently, rolling away from it as it joined the blood and sweat on the floor. He righted himself; the room went ominously gray then black, then back to gray. He eyed the enemy shelf with loathing, and with a sudden burst of anger, raised the cane and made one last parting shot at it and his clothes. The cane connected hard with the shelf, jostling the whole wardrobe. Frodo looked up, hopeful that his last effort would yield his reward. Instead of the hard earned clothing, what fell on and about him were stacks of thick bound medical texts that had resided for time uncounted, on top of the old wardrobe. With a loud crash, each leather bound tome connected with a thud as it hit the prone figure on the floor below it. A dazed Frodo lay gazing at titles such as "Gondorian Cures by Leech Craft", and "Herbs--Common and Rare, of Middle Earth". All in all, Frodo was having a spectacular adventure, but *still* without leaving the confines of his healing cubicle or being suitably attired.

"And to think, I thought I had to leave the Shire for adventure," Frodo whispered to himself, which caused him to fall back heavily with a giggle. He lay gasping and giggling, a sweaty, dirty, beaten hobbit of the Shire until the giggles slowed, then stopped as his voice hitched in a sob. His body shook as he tried, without success, to halt the tears that ran down his grimy cheeks. "Oh, why does it always have to be a struggle," he whimpered. "Why can't things just be simple, for once? I am so very, very tired of it all," he sighed dejectedly. "Get a hold of yourself now, Frodo. I'll not let a "wardrobe" come between me and my freedom from this room," he said, finding his sense of humor once again. "If I can not find my breeches, well, I suppose I'll just have to go without." He smiled. "After all, a nightshirt covers everything, barring a good, stiff wind," he said, still crying. He inched to the bedpost and began trying to pull himself to his feet. When he stood, many things happened at once; one, his mind began to fog, his thoughts becoming disconnected and confused. The room and his vision in general, took on a fuzzy gray appearance, black dots danced before his eyes. His surroundings, usually so familiar and safe, now became distorted, twisted, and threatening. And all of it spun and lurched about him, a frightening dreamscape in hues of black and gray. Frodo gaped in wonder and terror at what he now saw. His head thrummed with a powerful stabbing pain, and a low buzzing sound, that had an oddly calming effect over him, filled his ears. His vision narrowed to a gray field with a fuzzy black edge, but still he moved forward, placing one foot in front of the other, each step quavered as his legs shook violently, threatening to collapse. His breaths came in great panting gasps as he brought air raggedly in and out of his lungs. As he left the doorway he fell hard against a table, knocking it over with a loud crash. He paid it no heed as he caught himself and moved slowly along the wall out into the hallway. The long stone corridor stretched out before him, he bore to the left although he could no longer remember why or where he was going. Suddenly, he saw strange shapes running towards him and he backed up against the stonework in alarm. Panic seized him; his heart beating so rapidly he thought his heart would leap from his chest. A low keening began in the back of his throat born from sheer terror at the site of these gray beings. He tried to hear what they were saying to him, but they were all speaking at once and he covered his ears and cowered away from them. One of them reached out for him and spoke quietly but, by then, all he could hear was the buzzing. His vision narrowed and gray slowly became black as his eyes rolled up into his head.

**************
Aragorn, Arwen and Saleth met Merry, Pippin, Sam and Faramir at the junction of the two corridors that led to Frodo's room.

"We heard a crash," Faramir and Aragorn said in unison.

"Oh, I should never a' left him alone," Sam said as they ran towards Frodo's room.

"Nonsense Sam, I'm sure he's...fine," said Merry, the last word fell quietly as they rounded the corner and came upon the lone figure standing in the hall in front of them.
The entire group was momentarily struck dumb at the visage before them. Frodo was wearing a thin nightshirt, which clung to his body with sweat, blood and vomit. The right side of his face was crusted with old blood as fresh blood continued to weep from his hairline. His hair was plastered to his head, his face coated in a sheen of perspiration. His eyes were wide in panic and there was a total lack of recognition in the blue depths as they moved back and forth to each member of the group. He appeared not unlike a small animal being hunted. He drew breath in great, panicky gasps and leaned heavily against the wall for support. Everyone began talking or asking him questions at once and he covered his ears against the cacophony, shrinking away in terror. Frodo began to keen loudly as panic overtook him. Aragorn knew he needed to act quickly to stop things from escalating and to find out who had beaten and battered the hobbit. He waved the others off as he could see how overwhelmed Frodo was by the noise and crowd. Everyone stepped back and became silent with the exception of the occasional sob that could be heard coming from Sam. Aragorn smiled at Frodo, crouching down, his arms out, and approaching him as he would a small bird or animal that had become trapped. He could see the pulse beat at Frodo's throat moving at an alarming rate and see the throat itself, working to swallow as the hobbit gulped in panicky breaths. Frodo moved back against the wall but then his eyes lost focus, rolled up into his head and he slid down the wall to the floor, falling over in a boneless swoon.

Aragorn lost no time rushing to Frodo's side and picking him up, he ran back into the room Frodo had struggled so hard to escape. He stopped, momentarily stunned, at the shambles and havoc he saw before him. Tables were overturned, huge volumes of medical lore lay strewn across the floor, covers and clothing lay twisted and soaked in vomit. He turned and moved down the corridor to the next empty room. The rest of the company had converged upon him as well, clamoring around their friend and his feet until Aragorn had to yell loudly for them to back away just so he could treat the hobbit. They parted, momentarily taken aback at the tone of command the King possessed as Aragorn rushed down the corridor. After gently laying Frodo on the bed he turned and, unceremoniously, closed the door on the three upturned faces of the indignant hobbits, allowing only Faramir, Saleth and the Lady Arwen to attend him. Faramir quickly stoked the fire and placed three coppers of water on to boil. Arwen retrieved bandages, blankets and toweling to use in the bathing and bandaging of the unconscious hobbit, while Saleth, now completely sober, gathered tinctures, medicinal herbs, and suturing materials onto a tray for the King's use.

The hot water was poured into a small tub that had been brought, and mixed with cool. A clean nightshirt was laid across the end of the bed and all made ready for the hobbit. Aragorn cut the soiled nightshirt off of Frodo's body, not wishing to pull it over his head until he had sutured the cut. "He has bruises everywhere," he exclaimed. He turned to Faramir and grasped the Steward's arm, "Find out who did this to him and bring him to me, *now*," he hissed. Faramir left long enough to summon the guard to perform a thorough search for any intruders and then returned to his King. "He has three large bumps on his head, along with this gash, but I can find no other serious injuries," Aragorn sighed. "Who would do such a thing?" He asked no one in particular. "The injuries make no sense. Aside from the bumps and the cut, he is all right. His panic and confusion were probably caused by these," he said as he indicated the contusions on the head. "He probably has a concussion as well," he murmured. He gently lifted Frodo and, moving to the tub, lowered him into the water. Frodo let out a small sigh and Aragorn watched to see if he would regain consciousness. When he did not, he began lathering the hair and gently rinsing the lather from the tangled curls, careful not to touch the laceration. He next lathered a flannel and washed the rest of the small form. The face was left for last and, as he wiped away the filth and blood, the blue eyes opened slowly. Frodo stared up into the face of the King for long moments before swallowing weakly and speaking.

"Aragorn?" he whispered.

"Yes, little one, you are safe now," Aragorn said smiling. Frodo frowned in confusion, but was too exhausted to further question the King. Arwen helped Aragorn wrap Frodo in the toweling and carefully dry the small body. When Frodo opened his eyes again, Arwen smiled gently down at him.

"My Lady?" he squeaked, his face coloring bright red and she smiled again at his obvious embarrassment.

"Fear not, Frodo, Aragorn alone tends to you, but it would be my honor to assist him, if it is not asking too much?"

Frodo gulped, "No...no, that is .... fine, thank you, my lady," Frodo replied hesitantly. Arwen smiled again. A smiling Aragorn dressed him in a clean nightshirt and lay him under the crisp linens and comforters on the bed. He prepared his needle, threading it with the sterilized horsehair to suture the cut. Saleth brought a small pot of healing balm to be applied to the cut once it was sewn.

"Frodo, who attacked you, my friend?" he asked casually as he prepared to make the first stitch.

"Attacked, Aragorn?"

"Yes Frodo. Who beat you and left your room in a shambles?" queried the King, watching Frodo's face closely.

"Why, no one, Aragorn," Frodo replied to the surprised trio.

Aragorn's eyebrows shot up, "No one? Then how came you to be with a concussion and so many bruises?" Aragorn asked, looking very confused.

Frodo blushed furiously and closed his eyes. He gulped and when he opened his eyes again, tears filled them and began running down his cheeks to the pillow. "I did it," he said in a low voice. Arwen smiled gently as she heard his confession, standing behind her husband.

Aragorn sat back, still holding the curved needle and horsehair thread, "*You* did it...how?" he shook his head. "Perhaps you are still disoriented from the head injury. I do not understand how someone so small and ill could create such total chaos to his room and himself," he said.

"It began simply enough," began Frodo, his eyes seeking understanding as he looked to each person in the room, who looked worriedly down at him. "I overheard Faramir talking out on the patio..."

"Oh Frodo, no...I am sorry if I upset you," began Faramir.

"No...you did not really upset me, well, too much," Frodo grimaced, "But I became more and more curious as to what you were speaking of and I was so tired of being in my sickroom. Oh Aragorn, might I be allowed outside? I promise I won't overdo and will sit quiet, but I cannot tolerate another day trapped in this room," Frodo's eyes began to tear up, "Hobbit's need fresh air, sunshine and green things growing or they...they..."

"They what, Frodo?" Aragorn asked gently, smiling.

"They do foolish acts attempting to get those things," Frodo said blushing again.

"I see. Please continue with your explanation of what happened today," Aragorn said, as he bent and began to take his first stitch.

"Well, I could hear the stories, or at least bits and pieces of them...*ouch*, that *hurt*, Aragorn," Frodo cried plaintively.

"I am sorry, Frodo, but only a few more, no more than ten, I should think, and we will be done," Aragorn said with a smirk.

"Ten! I think not. Just give me a bandage and I'll hold it there awhile," Frodo tried to move backwards, away from Aragorn, but found he had no strength to move.

"Hold still, Frodo, and I will try to be more gentle," Aragorn said with concern, as he saw how truly weakened Frodo was. "Continue please."

"What? Oh, right. Well, I wanted to go out and hear the stories...Ouch!" Frodo's eyes flashed, "and I was so restless and so I tried to get out of bed and to the wardrobe to get my clothes...OUCH! You did that one deliberately rough!" Frodo gasped. Faramir looked from Frodo to Aragorn in alarm.

"No Frodo, I would not do that to you," Aragorn said, but Frodo could see raw anger in the King's eyes. Aragorn made to make another stitch but Frodo turned his head. Arwen placed a light hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

"I will not allow it until I've told my explanation because I can *see* that you are angry with me," Frodo said heatedly. His vision dimmed and he began to breathe rapidly as he struggled to move away, even as weak as he was. Anger had given him enough strength to move slightly, but his face paled at the effort and beads of sweat formed on his brow and lip.

Aragorn's face changed rapidly from anger to concern and he reached out and drew Frodo to him. "Peace, Frodo. I am sorry, little one," he crooned as a strangled sob issued from Frodo's throat. "Oh, what have I done? I am so sorry. I am ashamed to have let my emotions interfere with my care for you. Please forgive me, my friend," he ran his fingers threw the silky curls until he felt the small body begin to relax in his arms, then he laid the limp form back against the pillow. Aragorn had tears in his eyes. "You know I would do nothing to truly harm you," he whispered, "but I *did* become angry at the thought of you trying to get up and dressed to walk outside without assistance," he sighed. "Allow me to finish the suturing of the cut and then you may finish your story," he said dejectedly. Frodo nodded, but he eyed the needle warily as Aragorn prepared to take the next stitch. 'His color is still too pale and his breathing still ragged,' thought Aragorn, ‘and *I* caused it,‘ he further berated himself. He gently made the next few stitches while Frodo's eyes looked fearfully up at him. Frodo did not cry out, as he had, but Aragorn could see the hobbit's jaw clench each time a stitch was made. Frodo was determined to *not* cry out and show any weakness. ' He is as stubborn as I am,' thought Aragorn. At last, the suturing was done, the balm applied and a bandage affixed. Aragorn sat back and looked into Frodo's face as Saleth brought hot tea for both of them.

"All right, Frodo, finish your tale," he said gently.

"Do not be angry with me," Frodo said weakly, somewhere between a plea and a warning.

"I will listen to all of what you say before passing judgment," Aragorn said evasively, and smiled.

"Very well. As I was saying, I wished to hear more of this story that Faramir was telling. I managed to get to the wardrobe but my clothes were up too high to reach. So, I found a cane and began to poke at them, hoping to cause them to fall so I could get properly dressed. Well, first the cane came down and struck me across the temple because my arms were too weak to control it. Then when I tried again I shook the shelf enough that the books on top came crashing down upon me. After that, I gave up on the clothing and decided to go out in my nightshirt, but I was so terribly tired and dizzy and my vision was so hazy...I don't remember much after that except that a horde of ghostly shapes attacked me. Their voices were loud and high pitched and they all spoke at once, it was very frightening," Frodo said in a breathless rush.

Aragorn chuckled, "Yes, I can imagine it was. But that "horde" was all of your friends and kin running to see what all the commotion was about." He grew somber, "I am not angry. I am concerned that you would do such a thing, but no longer angry," he sighed. "I will send in the rest of the 'horde' to see you, but then you must rest until tomorrow."
Frodo made to object, but Aragorn held up his hands. "No arguments. By tomorrow I promise I will have come to some sort of reckoning for this act of blatant rule breaking, and my judgment will be final, Frodo Baggins," he said menacingly.

"Aragorn, please..." Frodo's voice broke.

"Be at peace, Frodo, I will be fair, you have my word," Aragorn smiled and gently tousled the dark curls. "Now, if you will drink this tea..." Frodo groaned.

"Yes, it's medicinal and no, it does not taste bad," Aragorn said knowingly. He lifted Frodo's shoulders up and held the cup to his lips. Frodo took a tentative swallow then, deeming it palatable, drank the rest of it without complaint. Aragorn lowered him back onto the pillows. Frodo eyed him through heavy lidded eyes.

"Remember what I said, Aragorn."

"Concerning what, my friend?"

"About hobbits needing air and green growing things," Frodo yawned.

"I remember, Frodo."

"You...will...consider it, then?" Frodo asked quietly.

"Yes, Frodo, I'll consider it. Now rest awhile, I'll check on you soon," Aragorn smiled down at him.

"Strider?"

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Was that a sleeping draught you gave me?" asked Frodo, groggily.

"Of course, little one, but you are also exhausted, my friend," he replied with a smile.

Frodo smiled slowly and closed his eyes. He slept.

Aragorn explained the situation to the worried hobbits. Sam was furious at his master's attempt at escape while Merry and Pip were in awe of their cousin's determination and fortitude. They filed into the room to see Frodo, more for reassurance sake than anything else. Sam took Frodo's hand and held it gently. Tears filled his eyes at the site of his battered master. Merry and Pip could not restrain smiles at the thought that all this damage to their cousin and his room had been wrought by Frodo himself, but still gently laid kisses upon their kin’s forehead before leaving the room.

Frodo slept late into the afternoon. When he awoke it was to intense pain. His head thrummed with the beat of his heartbeat and every muscle in his body ached and trembled at the slightest movement. Slow tears slid down his face onto the pillow. He knew that all hopes of leaving the sickroom had now been dashed due to his clumsy attempts to escape it. He craved the feel of the cool earth beneath his feet and to smell the fragrant blossoms that Sam had lovingly planted beneath his window.

"Weep not, Frodo, I have come to a decision concerning your earlier activities and your request to leave this room."

Frodo startled and turned his head towards the voice...a mistake as the movement caused him to gasp at the sudden pain and wave of vertigo that assaulted him.

Aragorn stood in the doorway and crossed to Frodo’s bedside in quick strides, to sit beside him. Gently he wiped the tears from Frodo's face and poured a cup of cool water for him to drink. He raised Frodo's head and shoulders slowly and brought the cup to the hobbit’s cracked lips. Frodo hesitated to drink even though his throat ached with want for the beverage. Aragorn looked down at him puzzled. Frodo's face had gone pasty white, his eyes were squeezed shut and his breaths came in short, ragged pants. "Frodo? Frodo, answer me, please." Aragorn said with concern, his voice wavered slightly.

"I...I believe I am going to be ill, Strider," Frodo answered in a small voice. None to soon, Aragorn drew a basin from a nearby table and placed it under Frodo's chin as he retched until his body collapsed against the King in a sweaty slump. He began to weep in great gulping sobs that he could not control. He clung to Aragorn's tunic willing the pain and vertigo to stop. Aragorn held him close, as he would a small child, and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"I am sorry, my friend, that you are so miserable. You have a serious concussion, but the unpleasant side effects should pass if you remain still and rest," he murmured in a gentle voice.

Frodo continued to weep, unable to control the sobs that shook his frame. "I don't suppose I shall see Sam's flowers or breathe the fresh air for quite sometime, will I Aragorn? Oh, I am so weary of this captivity. I find even though my body continues to slowly heal, my spirit is breaking with each moment I lie in this bed," he said with a dispirited whisper.

Aragorn was distressed at the defeated sound of the hobbit's words. "You must not give up hope, Frodo. Soon you will be able to walk amongst the many beautiful gardens that Sam has so diligently restored to their original splendor."

"But not today," Frodo whispered. He stilled in Aragorn's arms and the King laid him gently back onto the pillow. Frodo had a faraway look in his eyes that reminded Aragorn of a time shortly after Gandalf had fallen in Moria. Frodo, and the rest of the Fellowship, had made it to Lothlorien and everyone had joined together to reminisce about the wizard. Stories and anecdotes were being shared and everyone was bonding in the bittersweet moment, everyone except Frodo. Aragorn had found Frodo amongst the roots of a giant mallorn, curled up into a tight ball. He had not heard Aragorn's approach and was gazing off into the distance. He had not responded when Aragorn had tried to rouse him and Aragorn had carried him to the healer's flet where he had lain for several days. Frodo’s grief had been so all encompassing that he had not eaten or slept for many days, and had finally had to be fed by Sam and Aragorn. He had offered no resistance, causing the ranger and gardener to become even more concerned with each passing moment. He had simply sat, while they had spoon-fed him each small bite, staring inwardly in an unfocused, glassy gaze that had both frightened and unnerved the Fellowship. Eventually, Frodo had, very slowly, come back to himself, regained his strength, but never spoken of the incident. Aragorn had not pressed the Ringbearer knowing he was already under extreme stress carrying the Ring.

Now, as Aragorn looked down upon the former Ringbearer, he was seized with a feeling of deja vu. He shuddered at the vacant stare the blue eyes now held. "Frodo?"

"I am afraid I really am rather tired, Aragorn. Would you mind terribly if I were to rest for a bit?" Frodo asked in a slow whisper. He looked up at the King, but the eyes held no spark.

"Of course not, Frodo," Aragorn whispered. "But first drink this willow tea to help with your headache, all right? I'm afraid it is rather bitter, although I did try to sweeten it with honey," Aragorn said, trying to fill the sudden silence.

"Of course," was the only response. Aragorn's eyes never left Frodo's face, and Frodo never objected to receiving the tea. He did not quail or fight, as was his usual manner when receiving healing draughts, especially bitter ones, which should have been a relief to the King, but as he helped the hobbit to drink the tea, Aragorn's stomach lurched with sudden dread. After the tea, Frodo moved over onto his side, facing away from the King. "Goodnight, Strider," he said quietly.

Aragorn rested his hand on the small shoulder, "Goodnight, Frodo," he murmured. He slowly rose and walked to the doorway. He paused to look back at the curled figure, a worried frown on his face, and then closed the door quietly.

TBC

REPOST

A/N: When I began this story over a year ago I remember how incredibly nervous I was. I posted it on the FrodoHealers site and was terrified at the thought of trying to match such talents as Shirebound, Lily Baggins, Febobe, Ariel and so many others. I had never written anything before and had never been able to put my wildly imaginative ideas (not trying to sound vain here, really) down on paper. My grammar and tenses were so atrocious in the first few chapters that I almost gave up on the whole idea, but I received so much encouragement and help from all of the authors on the site that I strived to correct my deficiencies and produce something that people could read without cringing. I can't tell you, I mean *truly* tell you, the deep and abiding love I feel for all that have read this story and given me such positive feedback. Without you I would never have stretched myself to fill the gap I felt within me. I went through some very hard times back then, when the movies came out, and I wanted so much to find people that shared my love of hobbits and Tolkien. While I found a few that enjoyed the stories, they lacked the true obsession I was experiencing at the time. They gave me pitying looks and laughed at the thought of anyone becoming so involved in a work of fantasy. You can imagine my elation at finding people who felt as I did and their love helped to fill the gap that I was experiencing with what became, new group of friends, some of which I feel an almost familial connection to. This story and any subsequent fics that will be written, is dedicated to all of you who have made my life complete and happy.
*Sigh* I feel strangely sad, yet relieved like giving birth after all this time....
I suggest a trip to the bathroom before you settle down. This is one long chapter... (written 8/17/2004)

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 40

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

It was much later that evening when Sam entered Frodo's room baring a tray laden with all of Frodo's favorite foods. He had hand picked and supervised the preparation of each dish, even pausing to add a new bloom from Frodo's patio rose bush, and hoped his master would enjoy the handsome repast. He opened the door and, seeing that his master faced away from him, walked to the other side of the bed, placing the tray on the sideboard. When he turned to face Frodo he inhaled sharply. Frodo's face was much more pallid than normal, the lips a dusky blue. But what caused the gardener to quail were the sapphire eyes staring off, unseeing, seemingly towards the wall.

"Mr. Frodo, it's your Sam. I've brought you a bite to eat, sir," Sam said quietly, his voice quavering. There was no response from the Ringbearer and Sam would have thought his master dead except for the raspy inhale and exhale of each slow breath. Sam placed a trembling hand on Frodo's shoulder and shook him lightly. "Mr. Frodo? Frodo?" He asked with increasing urgency. Sam began to panic, but then heard a quiet, whispered "Sam?"

"Mr. Frodo, you scared me awful, you did. I've brought some supper sir. Let me just help you up a bit and we'll get you ready to tuck in."

"No, Sam. So tired...not hungry," came the weak response.

"Now, sir, you know you gotta eat to get feelin' better. I've picked some wonderful dishes, I have, just the thing to get you up to rights again," Sam said with a worried frown. 'He still hasn't moved and *does* seem mighty lethargic', thought Sam. 'And he's so pale'.

"Can't, Sam. Can’t. Need to rest just a bit more," Frodo said in a hushed voice. Sam took Frodo's hand and sat in a chair by the bed. The hand was limp and ice cold as he began chafing it between his warm calloused ones, trying to will some life back into them.
"Please, Mr. Frodo. Please, just a bite or two," Sam wheedled, tears now starting to fill his hazel eyes. "For your, Sam?" he continued. There was no response, so Sam took this as a yes. Frodo still hadn't moved and Sam was loath to force him, so he laid a cloth napkin along the pillow. He selected a light apple custard dish, and using a child sized spoon, placed some in Frodo's mouth. For long moments, nothing happened and then Sam saw his master's throat move as he swallowed. "There you go, Mr. Frodo, what d'ya think of that? Right tasty, isn't it?" Sam said with forced cheerfulness.

"Good," was all Frodo said. Sam prepared another spoonful with much the same results. In this way, he got more than half of the mixture into his master before Frodo turned away, indicating he wanted no more.

"I've also brought a tasty blueberry treacle, Mr. Frodo. Would you like to try a taste, sir?" Sam asked in a trembling voice. Frodo's lack of response and slowed mannerisms were taking a toll on the cheerful facade of the gardener. 'It just weren't normal for a body to be so still and to not eat anymore than he had,' thought Sam.

"Full, Sam...but thank you, my Sam," Frodo whispered. "Tired." Frodo closed his eyes; his breathing became shallow and light indicating he had slipped into a doze.

"Not right. Somethin's not right at all, and I mean to find out what's to be done about it," Sam muttered with concern. He quickly rose and began, at first, to walk, but the more he thought about it, the more panicked he became and the faster he went until he was running as fast as his short legs would carry him. He cleared the doorway of the Houses of Healing and ran full tilt up the next level to the Citadel. By now he was near hysterics wondering what could be wrong with his dear master. The guard bowed and allowed Sam in without question, he raced to the main dining area and, again, was granted immediate access. Aragorn, rose at the sight of the breathless and disheveled gardener running down the length of the room towards the head of the table.

"Sam? What is it?" Asked Aragorn with concern. Gandalf, Faramir, Eowyn and the Lady Arwen all rose as one, alarmed at the flushed and distraught appearance of the hobbit.

"Frodo..." Sam panted.

"What about Frodo? Is he unwell?" asked Gandalf sternly.

Sam was having a hard time regulating his breathing enough to explain about his master, which only added to his frustration. "He's not himself. He's weak and pale and can't even lift his head," Sam gasped. Arwen brought him a glass of water, knelt and helped him to drink it, as she gently patted his back. He smiled his thanks and she made his day by gracing him with one of her dazzling smiles in return. Sam was suddenly thankful that he was already flushed and sweaty as he gulped bashfully.

Aragorn scooped up the gardener and made for the exit. "I'll hear no arguments about being carried, Sam. You should not have run all the way here. You have only just recovered from your journey as well, plus your shorter gait would only slow us down, so you shall be carried," said Aragorn brusquely. Sam was too worried about his master to even consider the possibility of *not* being carried. He only wanted to return quickly and be by Frodo's side. The others all followed suit and soon the procession was making all haste to the sixth level.

When they arrived at the Houses of Healing and entered Frodo's room, night had fallen and the room was pitch black. Candles were quickly lit showing the Ringbearer to be on his side as Sam had left him and as Aragorn had last seen him hours before. His eyes were two blue, blank pools staring off into nothingness. Aragorn knelt by the bed and gently shook Frodo's shoulder but received no response.

"Frodo. Frodo, answer me," he commanded. He felt Frodo's forehead, which was clammy, a sheen of sweat coated the hobbit's face. The King passed a candle back and forth in front of the unseeing eyes; the blue irises stared back at him, unblinking. "His skin is so cold and clammy and his breathing is much to labored," he said. He raised his eyes to Gandalf. "When I left him earlier he was despondent about not being able to spend time outside, but this goes deeper than mere depression or Baggins stubbornness. Have you seen this before, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes, and I had hoped to never see it again. I wondered if this would happen, what with the long recuperation time needed for Frodo's wounds to properly heal," the wizard looked weary and ancient as he settled himself at the end of the over large bed.

"Do not speak in riddles, Gandalf. What ails him?" Aragorn asked, a note of desperation could be detected in his voice.

"Aragorn, have you heard stories about rare and exotic birds or animals that have been captured as pets? They are given foods they would normally eat, water and the best cages that could be built, and yet they languished, eventually dying, usually by starving themselves. Hobbits are not unlike a rare bird. You can feed them, heal their wounds, dote on them and see to their every need, but over time, if not able to breathe the free air or feel the earth beneath their ridiculously hairy and overlarge feet, they will die," the wizard said sadly.

"Gandalf, what you say, makes no sense. Frodo is not being held captive. He is honored and revered and I would do anything to keep him safe and content. I cannot allow him to roam outside until he is well enough to walk or stand," said Aragorn gruffly.

"Those other animals I spoke of were also honored and revered. They were kept safe and seemingly, cherished. Despite what you say, Aragorn, a cage is still a cage. Frodo is not causing this, do not misunderstand, I have no doubt that he is feeling very confused and experiencing no small amount of anxiety as well because his body will not do as he commands it. It is the unfortunate side effect of prolonged captivity that causes this to happen to hobbits," Gandalf tried to explain.

"Then why have we not seen this sooner?" Aragorn demanded.

"Perhaps because Frodo's body has been busy healing itself, its very survival taking precedence to this other malady. Once his body felt it was strong enough, only then did we see this sickness emerge. A sickness that is unique to hobbits, I might add, amongst the mortal races," Gandalf offered.

"What can we do to arrest this malaise?" Aragorn asked, as he gently rolled Frodo onto his back and pulled the counterpane up close to his chest.

"There is little you can do, I'm afraid," said Gandalf sadly. A sob broke the silence in the room, reminding Aragorn and Gandalf of the others presence. Sam watched them, tears sliding down his flushed cheeks.

"You're not gonna give up on him, are you Strider? You're still gonna try to help 'em arn't you?" He sobbed.

"Of course, Sam. We will do all we can. Sam, have you heard of this sickness before?" Aragorn asked, curious.

"Aye sir, I have. I had a second cousin who knew someone who was visitin' Bree. 'Got all messed up with some o' the wrong kind o' people and they thrown him in the jail up at Staddle. He sat there waitin' for his Da to come an' pay to get him out, 'cept his Da never got word of it till it were too late. Six months he sat there and he slowly stopped eatin', didn't want ta do nothin' but sleep and stare out the barred window. Finally they came in to check on him cause he'd been that quiet and he was dead, still had his eyes open starin' out that window. Was right hard on his Da too," Sam said quietly.

"Sam would you see that a hot bath is poured for Frodo and some strong tea made?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes sir," Sam said as he scurried away, happy to have something to do to help his master.

"What is going on in here?" a small voice cried from the doorway. "Frodo? What's wrong with Frodo?" A small body quickly dodged through the larger bodies and climbed up on the bed. Merry's face fell as he studied his cousin's. "Aragorn?"

"Merry, I am sorry you were awoken by us. Frodo seems to have developed a.... sickness due to his confinement at Minas Tirith. We are striving to find ways to bring him out of his stupor," Aragorn said gently.

"The Wasting," Merry whispered with quiet dread.

"What did you say, Merry?" Aragorn asked.

Merry turned frightened eyes towards Aragorn, "It's called 'The Wasting Disease“. I've only seen one case of it before, at the Hall." Merry gulped, his lip quivering. He turned back to look at his cousin and reached out, capturing the cold hand in his. "A child of about 10 summers fell from a tree and broke her back. They knew she would never walk again, but she was still able to use her hands. She had to lie still for many months and did well enough throughout the last days of summer, but as fall came on and with it, winter, she became less and less talkative. She slowly stopped eating and would only stare at the ceiling above her bed, not speaking to anyone," he gulped. "She died." He turned and looked at Aragorn, "She starved to death or I should say, the Wasting took over and she simply lost the will to eat, and eventually, to live," he swallowed thickly, tears in his eyes. "We cannot let this happen to Frodo. He is already so thin, it would take no time at all for the disease to take his life."

"We will fight this, Merry. For now, I would like you to rest," Aragorn said firmly.

"But..." Merry began.

"Frodo will need your strength. You must sleep so that you will be ready to assist us with him tomorrow," Aragorn argued. Merry turned sad eyes from Aragorn to Frodo then crept up the bed and placed a loving kiss on Frodo's forehead. Swiping tears away, he climbed from the bed without speaking further, and left the room. Aragorn motioned to Saleth, "Please see that Merry is given a sleeping draught for tonight, or he will worry till morning," he said. Saleth nodded and left the room.

Sam returned with the tea and a small kettle of thin broth and was followed by two healers bearing coppers of hot water. The bath was prepared and Aragorn gently stripped Frodo of his nightshirt and carried the quickly cooling body of the tiny hobbit to the small tub and placed him in the warm water. A small sigh was the only indication that Frodo noticed all that passed around him. Aragorn spoke gently as he lathered and rinsed and then, removed the now warmed hobbit from the water and cuddled him into fluffy toweling. The others slowly filed from the room, Queen Arwen gently escorting a reluctant Sam who glanced worriedly over his shoulder, leaving a guilt ridden King, and Gandalf alone with the mute hero.

"How could I have been so foolish, so neglectful? Calmly eating my supper while he was alone and slipping away from us," Aragorn spit out through clenched teeth.

"You could not have known," insisted the wizard, looking concernedly at the King. "He is strong, he will recover."

"Are you so certain? What if, after all he has been through, all he has suffered for and all he has lost, that this...THIS is what takes him so cruelly from us?" Aragorn cried bitterly.

"Aragorn..."

"No! I made the mistake before of leaving him, thinking he was but wallowing in self pity, I shall not do that again," he said angrily. "All he wanted was to see Sam's roses," he whispered. "Well, a bit late but, hopefully not *to* late, for that," he stood and gathered several blankets and pillows in his arms. Next he pulled a feather pallet off of a bed in the tiny alcove off of Frodo's room. He took the pallet outside to the patio and walked out onto the grass. He found an area with a clear view of the stars and laid the pallet on the ground. He returned to the room and gathered up the blankets and pillows, retracing his steps to the patio area. He made the makeshift bed and returned a last time to Frodo's room. Gently he lifted the slight form, holding him close to his heart, and carried him to the garden. He knelt, lowering the hobbit to the bed, the blue eyes staring unseeing up at the glittering dome above him. Gandalf had followed him out and watched as he saw both King and hobbit settle down on the feather bed. Aragorn pulled Frodo up into his lap so that he lay across the cross-legged King. "I denied this of you earlier, my friend, I pray that I will not rue that hour. I shall not be so hasty with you in the future," he crooned as he gently rocked Frodo back and forth.

The wizard watched from the shadows as another more slender figure joined him. Slowly, Arwen took Gandalf's hand. He turned to her smiling slightly and brought the Lady's hand to his lips. "My Queen," he whispered.

"Mithrandir?" she asked.

"There, by the hedge," he pointed.

"Ahh. My husband is most distressed, but I feel Frodo has still much strength left in him," she whispered.

"Let us hope it is enough," Gandalf murmured.

"It will be." She turned and looked again at Gandalf and smiled radiantly. "It will be, Mithrandir."

Gandalf smiled, his heart lightened by these words, and bowed his head to the Queen. He departed with a last glance back at the two huddled figures.

In the early hours of morning Saleth rose and went to Frodo's room to see how he fared. When he walked through the doors he gasped at the sight of the empty bed. Frantically, he raced from room to room looking for the Ringbearer. Gandalf came upon him, mumbling to himself, in the corridor by Pippin and Merry's quarters. He smiled at the overwrought appearance of the healer then guided him out onto the patio below Frodo's room. There, in the grass, surrounded by Sam's handiwork he not only found the missing Ringbearer, but the King as well. They lay curled together upon a feather mattress and covered in quilts. Saleth called for orderlies to bring heated stones wrapped in cloth, which were placed about the sleeping forms to ward off the morning chill. Frodo's eyes were, thankfully, closed. But the King, used to sleeping lightly after being a ranger most of his life, watched them as they doted on them and smiled his thanks to Saleth. After they departed he pulled Frodo closer to him and went back to sleep.

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He could feel, rather than see with his limited and fogged vision, the deep rosy purples of a new day barely dawning. The slow, steady thrum of the earth moved beneath his beaten body. He felt for the first time in what...days? (Or had it been merely hours?) the steady and languorous return of life, a life he had given up as lost forever to powers beyond his control, as it began to seep back into his soul. He had relinquished himself to the fact that, at long last, it was over. All of it finally over and the eternal sleep of the just or maybe just the road weary and battle worn, would be his at last. Surprisingly this had brought him not fear, but a great peace. But now, now that the earth's life giving force could be felt so subtly creeping back into his frail form, he felt hope that he might yet feel again the loving embrace of his kin and his dear Sam. At his back, the gentle soft breath of his King and dear friend crept across his neck like the breath of the Valar itself, calling him back from the very brink of death. Slowly, the maimed hand, the embarrassment and guilt forgotten, moved to stroke the verdant green that was so freely nursed from the dark soil beneath. And, upon the gentle stroking of the tender young shoots, the peace that filled the hearts of all who dwelt with and within the earth fired the near extinguished spark of Frodo's soul. He drowsed. Although the ultramarine eyes were open, they focused only inward; a small tendril of life clung and grew, knowing that, with tender cultivation, it could once again grow into what was at the very heart of a hobbit.

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In the morning a light humming awoke Aragorn from a sound sleep. He lay listening but heard nothing, no...There it was again, just snatches every now and then of a simple tune barely whispered. As he puzzled as to what could be making the noise, he rose on his elbow and peered over the side of the spooned hobbit. Frodo was the source of the faint humming and, as Aragorn watched, he saw that the hobbit's right hand lay in the grass by the makeshift bed, lightly ruffling the blades with his fingertips. The King crawled around until he was looking into the deep blue eyes.

"Frodo? Are you awake, little one?" he asked quietly. Gently he smoothed back the curls from the furrowed brow, mindful of the healing cut. The blue eyes stared off as before, but Aragorn felt a ray of hope to see the tiny, wounded hand lightly caressing the tender shoots and hear the occasional snatches hummed of a tune only known by Frodo. Aragorn smiled widely. "We will see you cured yet, my dearest of hobbits," he said softly. He reached under Frodo and began to gently lift him to bear him back to his bed, but a faint mewling sound stopped his motions. He pulled back and gazed once again into the crystal blue eyes. They were moist; he could swear they were moist.

"Frodo, did I hurt you? Are you in pain, little one?" Aragorn asked anxiously. He now well understood how frustrating it would be to be a parent of a small child, not knowing what they wanted or if they were in pain. He scrutinized the pale face and vacant eyes and sighed.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Strider, but I don't think that's it at all, if I might be so bold, sir." Aragorn turned and saw the small gardener standing in the portico leading to the small garden, bearing a tray laden with breakfast for three. He walked slowly to the two campers and squatted down, placing the tray on the grass. He spread a light quilt on the grass and began unloading the tray complete with tea service for three, scones, marmalade and raspberry jams, strawberries and cream, bacon and sausages and a special peach froth for Frodo. He poured the tea, adding honey to Frodo's and began serving up a small plate for his master.

"What do you mean, Samwise?" asked Aragorn, as he poured tea for himself and Sam and began munching on a scone.

"I think Mr. Frodo don’t wanna leave and that's why he made that little noise." Sam smiled. "He's already gettin' better ain't he? I mean, I saw him touchin' the grass an all and hummin' that little lullaby and then he makes that little noise when you tried to take him back inside. He's gettin' better!" he said excitedly.

"Sam, I wouldn't read too much into one night out in the garden. I would truly hate to see your hopes dashed if it all came to naught," Aragorn said hesitantly.

"I never lost hope in Mordor, and I don't mean to now. I have ta believe in somethin', Strider, and I've always believed in Mr. Frodo 'cause he's never once let me down or caused me to question him." Aragorn looked up at Sam, raising his eyebrows. "No Strider, never once," Sam said insistently, surmising that Strider doubted him, that surely Sam had doubted Frodo at the cracks of Mount Doom which, honestly, Sam had a bit, but was not about to admit that to Strider.

"Well, we can prove you right Sam, easily enough. In fact, if this works I have a plan to try and bring Frodo back to us faster.

"All right," Sam said hesitantly. "What did you have in mind, sir?" He gave Aragorn a skeptical look. Aragorn smiled at Sam then turned and leaned over Frodo.

"Frodo, Sam believes you wish to stay here in the garden and that was why you cried out when I tried to pick you up." The blue eyes continued their scrutiny of nothing. "I have a small wager with your gardener here, that if you wish to stay outside that when I go to pick you up again, you will make a sound or gesture to stop me." Aragorn smiled into the small face. "Shall we give it a try then?" He moved his hands under Frodo's knees and behind his shoulders and began to lift up, but was stopped when the faint mewling sound came again.

"See? Told ya so, Mr. Strider. He wants ta stay," Sam said with a self satisfied smile, his body fairly shaking with excitement.

"Sam, he could just be making this noise because I'm hurting him in some way when I try to lift him," he winked at Sam. Sam smiled widely back at him. "Tell you what Sam, *if* Frodo makes absolutely *no* sound when I sit him up to eat *and* eats at least let's say, all of that peach froth and one half of a scone soaked in tea *then* I will believe he wants to stay here in the garden and will make him a very comfortable spot here in the shade where he can stay for a few hours time. What say you, Sam...is it a wager say for this very plump sausage here?" Aragorn laughed.

"Very well, Strider, I'll take that bet," Sam giggled. Aragorn held his breath as he made to lift Frodo once again only this time; he pulled the Ringbearer up onto his lap with Frodo's head leaning back against his chest. Frodo made not a sound.

"Ah ha, told you..." Sam smiled gleefully.

"Not yet, Master Gamgee, there is still the small matter of the peach froth and the one and a half scones and tea to be taken care of," Aragorn said lightheartedly. In truth he could have jumped and shouted with delight right at that moment, so excited was he to be proven wrong.

"Half a scone, Strider," Sam said with a giggle.

"I stand corrected, my friend. Half a scone it is," chuckled Aragorn. His hands shook as he swirled and then took a small spoonful of the peach froth onto the child sized spoon and placed the small bite in Frodo's mouth. He watched as it was slowly swallowed. It took almost half of an hour, but the peach froth was consumed. Sam caught Aragorn's eye and smiled slowly.

"Here Mr. Frodo, have a strawberry dipped in clotted cream; they're especially sweet this morning." Sam made to place a small piece in Frodo's mouth but the lips became a tight, unyielding line barring the way for the juicy morsel.

Sam jumped to his feet and began dancing and shouting, "He understands, he understands," he yelled as Aragorn sat, watching and laughing at the gardener's jig while holding the doll like hobbit on his lap. When finally Sam, exhausted but happy, came back to the blanket, Aragorn was soaking half of a scone on a saucer with the hot tea. Once the scone was sufficiently soggy he began to slowly place spoonfuls of the mixture into Frodo's tiny mouth. Frodo would hold it there, much like the froth, and then gradually swallow, allowing it to effortlessly slide down his throat. After some twenty minutes the half scone and tea were gone and Aragorn began soaking the second half in more of the sweetened tea. Sam smiled slightly, his eyes sparkling. Aragorn looked up at Sam and returned the smile. Unbeknownst to the picnickers a small circle of friends and kin had formed on the portico looking out onto the garden.

"What was all that racket? Is Frodo all right, he isn't in his room? Merry exclaimed as he rushed to the doorway, quickly followed by an out of breath Pippin hobbling on crutches.

"No, he is fine Merry. See? He's outside with Aragorn and Sam," answered Faramir who pointed to the three breakfasters. Aragorn was now leaning over Frodo, who sat propped on his lap, head tucked under the King's chin.

"Since you enjoyed that half of the scone so much, Frodo, I thought, perhaps, you would like a bit more," said the King as he quickly glanced up at Sam. Sam held his breath as he gave a quick nod to Aragorn. Aragorn, too, held his breath as he brought a small spoonful of the soaked scone up to Frodo's small mouth...a mouth that was immediately unyielding, forming a tight line on the pale face.

"Ah Ha!" Aragorn exclaimed. He laid Frodo carefully on his side and grabbed Sam and began to dance a jig in a small circle around their breakfast blanket.

"He heard you! He's goin' ta be alright," laughed an exuberant Sam, jumping up and down and holding a laughing King's hands as they danced and crowed joyfully around the prone Ringbearer.

In the doorway Eowyn and Arwen, as one, covered their mouths and began giggling helplessly. Faramir and Gandalf began loud booming laughter as Saleth stood, open mouthed, transfixed by the sight of the very tall King dancing delightedly with the very small periannth. Merry and Pip looked at each other with puzzled, but amused, expressions on their faces. Merry's eyes settled on Frodo and, impulsively, he grabbed Pippin's arm.

"Pip, look at Frodo," he squealed. Pip looked over at his cousin and saw that the fingertips of his right hand were gently caressing the tender shoots of grass alongside the blanket. The eyes still stared off at nothing, but this meant little to Merry and Pippin who were filled with unbridled joy at seeing even the simplest of reactions from their beloved cousin. Merry swept Pippin up and spun him around, doing his own dance of celebration. Soon, everyone was laughing and dancing about in the flower garden, completely lost in this small moment of well-deserved happiness. Oblivious to all was Frodo, who listened to the steady heartbeat of the earth as he gently fondled the verge before his eyes.

The next couple of days passed slowly as Frodo made no further improvement but did not falter either, in his recovery. An air of hopefulness had settled over the close knit group of friends as they each took turns feeding, talking to or carrying the hobbit about outside. On the fifth day Aragorn came to Frodo's room with a tray of soft foods and regular breakfast fare for Sam, and set it by the bedside. He opened the shutters allowing a soft breeze and thus fragrant aroma of the garden to permeate and clear the sickroom. Sam had slept beside his master in case he had awoken and needed anything and now blinked sleepily as the gray light of morning began to filter in through the billowing curtains.

"I thought you and Frodo would like some breakfast, Sam," said Aragorn. He pulled a chair to the bedside and peered into the startling blue, yet blank, eyes of the former Ringbearer. "And Frodo, how are you faring today? I've brought you some apple jelly, toast squares and some more of that peach froth you liked so much," he motioned to each of the entrees as he spoke. He and Sam had decided to continue to talk to Frodo as if he could respond in the hopes that soon, he would. Occasionally they would throw out a bit of erroneous information hoping to stimulate a rebuttal. Sam carefully pulled Frodo up into a sitting position against his chest. Frodo groaned and closed his eyes. His face turned very pale and a sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead and upper lip. Sam and Aragorn peered worriedly at him. Aragorn quickly brought a basin and placed it beneath the small chin. Frodo bent over, with Sam's help, and vomited repeatedly until only dry heaves came forth. He sagged, bonelessly, over Sam's arm, tears coursing down his cheeks. Sam crooned to him, whispering soothing words, until the fit passed.

"I'm sorry Mr. Frodo. I musta' moved you too quickly. Strider, why is he still so sick?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Frodo is still recovering from the concussion, Sam. Hopefully, in a few days, the dizziness will abate and he'll feel more like himself. Aragorn wiped the quivering mouth and, with a clean cloth dipped in cool water, washed the sweat and vomit from the pallid face. Frodo's eyes were closed as Sam slowly pulled him back, once again, to his chest. Slowly, the eyes opened and fixed on the King. Aragorn started, seeing that he was actually being scrutinized by Frodo; the first time, that he knew of, since the malaise had descended that Frodo hadn't stared off into space.

"What is it, Strider?" Sam asked quietly as he glanced first at the King, then at his master. He studied his master and a smile slowly lit his round face. "He's lookin' at you, ain't he," he whispered.

"Yes Sam, it appears he is. I do not wish to break this contact. Would you feed him as I speak with him?"

"O' course, sir." Noting that Strider had said 'speak *with* him' instead of speak *to* him. He selected one of the dishes and slowly began to spoon the apple jelly into Frodo's small mouth.

"How does that taste, my friend?" Aragorn asked quietly, not expecting a reply, but hoping for one, nonetheless. Frodo swallowed slowly, his gaze never leaving Aragorn's.

"Frodo, I would very much like to take you outside to see the special plantings Sam has been so busy with, around the white tree sapling. Of course, if you wish to go, I'll have to know one way or the other so that I can arrange a bath and clothing." He paused and observed the cherubic face for any reaction. The blue eyes remained locked with the King's gray ones as if engaged in a battle of wills. Aragorn reached over and slowly took Frodo's hand in his. He was happy to note that at least it was warmer than the day before.
"I suppose, if you are too tired, we could postpone the outing for another day," the King baited.

The tiniest squeak came from Frodo's lips. Aragorn watched as Frodo's forehead furrowed and a dew of perspiration began to form on his lip. He could tell that there was a great struggle, a battle, being waged; where Frodo was the challenger and the disease, the favored victor. Who would actually be the champion? Aragorn could only hope it would, eventually, be Frodo. His heart ached to watch the duel, but knew that it was necessary for Frodo to overcome and defeat the disease on his own terms. Another small gasp escaped Frodo's lips. Sam watched his master's face with a look that was a mix of frustration and anticipation. Aragorn squeezed Frodo's hand.

"Was that a yes, Frodo? Would you like to see how beautiful the courtyard now looks? Would you like to perhaps stroll a few steps amidst the flowers?" Aragorn whispered, his nose now mere inches from Frodo's.

A look of complete and total frustration flickered in Frodo's eyes. His lips quivered as they tried, so desperately, to express themselves as they once had. Then Aragorn inhaled sharply as slow tears began to flow down Frodo's cheeks, yet his face remained locked and closed as before. Aragorn pulled him to him in a tight embrace planting a long kiss on the tangled curls.

"I would say that that was a big yes," he said huskily as he leaned him back and looked into the blank face. Frodo was panting as if he had run a great race, eyes closed amidst the sweaty face. "You shall have your walk, my friend, but first eat so that you will have the strength, then a bath and a rest, for you have labored much already this morning. When you have eaten, bathed and rested we will go to the courtyard and you may stay all day amongst the flowers, if you so desire. Oh Frodo, I know you can hear me, and you must not lose hope. We will not allow you to fade away, dear friend. Each day brings you a little closer to your freedom and happiness and we will help you, however we can, to see you attain that goal." Aragorn was overcome with emotion and renewed respect for the small person, after witnessing Frodo's shear force of will.

Sam had been silent throughout the contest of wills, but Aragorn looked at him now. His face was damp with fresh tears but he wore a triumphant smile and Aragorn pulled him into the huge embrace he shared with Frodo. Frodo's eyes had reverted to the glassy stare, but this did not dampen the feeling of renewed hope that permeated the room. Sam wiped his eyes and sniffed. "Well, Mr. Frodo, if'n you're goin' out and about you'll need a bit more ta eat, so here's some more of that apple jelly, sir." He spooned the fruit into Frodo's mouth and Frodo swallowed slowly. Sam painstakingly fed Frodo all that Aragorn had brought and although the toast squares had to be torn into very tiny pieces so he wouldn't choke, Frodo had eaten all of it. While breakfast was being fed to the Ringbearer, orderlies had brought coppers of hot and cold water and filled the small tub, adding a small amount of lavender oil lastly.

"Sam, why don't you go and eat your breakfast while Frodo has his bath?" Aragorn asked.

"Well sir, I don't know if I should leave him. I'm not all that hungry anyways," Sam said as his stomach rumbled.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and fixed his eyes on Sam. "Master Gamgee, I will not permit you to go with us on our outing if you do not have breakfast and a bath afterwards. Is that clear?" the King said in a calm, powerful voice.

Sam's eyes grew very wide. "That's mighty harsh, Strider. Who'd tell Mr. Frodo what was what if I weren't there?" he huffed.

"We will manage without you, Sam, unless you obey my wishes," Aragorn said softly.

Sam sighed and looked down, "All right, but I won't be but two shakes and then I'm comin' right back," he acquiesced.

"We will not depart without you Sam, fear not. I believe Frodo would be much more comfortable if you were to join us and tell him all that you have done for the renewal of Gondor's beauty," Aragorn murmured, smiling.

Sam blushed and took Frodo's hands in his. "Your Sam will be right back, Mr. Frodo," he whispered as he placed a light kiss on the hobbit's forehead. Frodo made no move to indicate he had heard or understood the gesture. Sam slowly lowered himself down from the bed and, with a last glance back, left the room.

Aragorn turned his attentions to Frodo, slowly removing the soiled nightshirt and carrying the slight body to the awaiting tub. As he gently washed Frodo's hair he carried on a running commentary about the history of the white tree. He told Frodo how he and Gandalf had come upon the small sapling in the rock hills; how they had carefully extricated it from the hard soil and brought it to the sacred ground and planted it, reverently, where the once beautiful predecessor had resided. He told of how, once planted, the sapling had grown quickly to the height of a hobbit (he had chuckled at the comparison) in a matter of weeks. The tree had seemed magical to all who tended it, not only with the speed at which it grew, but that it had flowered its heavily scented white blossoms mere days after being planted. Gently, he rinsed Frodo's body and hair, all the while watching the hobbit's face for any flicker of understanding or interest in his story. There had been none, yet Aragorn had not been disheartened. He removed Frodo from the bath, dried him and laid him on the bed. He pulled a clean nightshirt over his head and eased the hobbit back on the pillows.

"Now, Master Baggins, it is time to remove those stitches," he said as he gathered a small, delicate, pair of scissors and tweezers. The instruments were intricately etched with small birds and vines and had been a gift to Aragorn from Elrond long ago. Carefully each stitch was clipped and the horsehair tweezed from the mended cut. Frodo grimaced as the last stitch was cut and removed. "I am sorry Frodo if I have caused you discomfort," Aragorn whispered, although he was not sorry to have witnessed, yet another, sign of awareness from his friend. The forehead was still black and blue, tinged with yellow, and obviously still tender. Frodo closed his eyes briefly as Aragorn gently applied a lightly scented balm to the healed cut.

"Ouch," Frodo murmured, causing the King to draw back suddenly as if burned.

"Frodo, did you just speak or were my ears deceiving me?" Aragorn whispered excitedly. No response was forthcoming. Aragorn held his breath and lightly placed his fingertips on the colorful bruise. He pushed gently.

"Ouch...don't," Frodo croaked. Aragorn broke into a huge grin and chuckled lightly.

"Oh Frodo, I am sorry. But it was worth it to hear you speak once again, my friend," Aragorn choked, his voice full of emotion. Frodo closed his eyes slowly, his head nodding against his chest. "But your work this morning has taken its toll and you have earned a much needed rest." He gently removed the extra pillows from behind Frodo's head and lay him back cuddled in a small cocoon of blankets and bolsters. "Rest, my friend, and when you awaken we will stroll amidst the beauty that the hands of Samwise has wrought," he whispered. He wiped the tears from his eyes and watched Frodo as he sighed and pulled a small pillow to his chest. His eyes were closed and only when his breaths came in soft, regular inhalations did Aragorn rise and exit quietly, knowing that he slept.

When Frodo awoke the light had slowly climbed to midday. He could hear the birds outside his window as they chirped and scolded one another over those things that only birds knew or cared about. He rolled slowly to his back and saw that Sam sat beside his bed looking scrubbed, fed and refreshed.

"'Lo Mr. Frodo. 'Heard you an Strider had a small chat earlier," the gardener beamed into the face of his master and friend. "Are you ready to visit the white tree, sir? They await you if'n you are," he continued. Frodo merely stared at the hopeful face of his friend. "Well, me dear, you'll be needin' some clothes, I reckon, so we best get you dressed so as not to upset the lady folk," he chuckled. He retrieved a light shirt, vest and breeches from the wardrobe and brought them to the bedside. He slowly removed the nightshirt and pulled Frodo's arms through the sleeves. "I think you'll be right impressed with the beauty of the King's tree, sir. It's a miracle it is, at how tall that little twig has grown. Why, I'd swear by me Gaffer you could sit and watch it grow, I would. It's like some sort 'o magic at how it's spurted up into such a vision from nothin'. I didn't think it'd grow and blossom so quick like, let alone even live, it looked so fragile and dead like when I seen it the first time. But it's a sight to behold now. I planted all around it, flowers and such, bein' mindful 'course not to cramp its roots, if'n you take my meanin'," Sam prattled on in his cheerful voice as he carefully dressed his master and brushed his foot hair. Frodo wore a small smile at hearing his friend carry on, but was still unable to contribute to the one sided conversation.

Aragorn entered the room at that point and surveyed the neatly dressed gentle hobbit and his gardener. "Who amongst you would enjoy a stroll in the King's garden? He asked with a smile.

"Why, I do believe me and Mr. Frodo would be up for that, Strider," Sam bantered back to the King.

Aragorn smiled as he gently picked Frodo up and settled him on his hip. "Then I shall see if we might retain permission from the King. I have it, on good accord, that he can refuse nothing of the periannth," Aragorn replied with a chuckle. Sam giggled as they left the sick room behind and began walking from the healing house up to the Citadel. The sound of fast moving bare feet reached their ears and they turned to see Merry, and a much slower moving Pippin on crutches, hurrying to catch up to them.

"We heard Frodo *spoke* to you, Strider and had to see him for ourselves," panted Merry. His eyes raked over the frail appearance of his cousin. "Frodo," Merry gasped. His eyes quickly moved to the King. "He's so very thin, Strider," his eyes welled with tears.

"Yes Merry, it has been a horrible ordeal for all of us, Frodo's body the most, I fear," Aragorn said sadly.

"Does he not eat at all? Look at him; if you held him up to the light you could see right through him," sobbed Merry. Sam bristled at the comment. "I cannot bear to watch this despicable disease take yet another hobbit. I cannot!" Merry turned from his cousin as tears wove their way down his small face. Pippin's green eyes widened as he watched Merry, his face pale as he valiantly tried to maintain a precarious balance on his crutches. A light sheen of sweat covered his face.

Aragorn's face grew livid. He bent and placed Frodo gently on the stoop of the entrance to an abandoned home and motioned Sam over to sit with his master. He crossed to the two cousins' and grasped them, one in each arm, and carried them some twenty paces down the incline.

"You will *not* speak thus in front of Frodo. Despite what you may think, Meriadoc," (Merry winced at the use of his full name, formerly reserved for only the most dire of situations in which he was involved in some scheme gone wrong with Pippin) "we have great hopes for Frodo. He has shown much progress from what he was but a mere day or two past. He is eating, although not as much as we would like, and this walk was *his* desire. If you, one who has not only fought the Witch King of Angmar and one a troll," he turned to Pippin who, by now, had blanched of all color and was trembling violently, " Cannot be brave enough for your cousin, who gave his all to save Middle Earth, then I suggest you keep your distance. I will not allow you to undermine his progress with your air of hopelessness and negativity." Aragorn's gray eyes shown with a violent spark and his voice was husky as he tried, without success, to control the anger that seethed within him. "And take Pippin back to Saleth, it is much to early for him to be galloping about trying to keep up with you. Look at him." Pippin looked down as he swayed on his crutches, not wishing to appear weak. "*Look* at him, Master Brandybuck!" Aragorn grasped Pippin's chin gently and tilted it up. "He is weak and obviously, in pain. How could you allow him to climb even this small incline in his condition?” Aragorn fairly shouted. Merry would have crawled under any rock at that moment, had one been available. He looked at Pippin in concern as Aragorn lifted him, tenderly, and began to carry him back down the incline. Merry gave one last look at Sam and Frodo and said, "I'm sorry, Frodo. I love you, cousin." He picked up the fallen crutches and followed the King down the slope, his head down in shame.

Saleth was waiting at the doorway. After witnessing the wrath of the new King being doled out upon the periannth he had decided not to approach any closer. He had come in search of the truants and watched as the King now approached. Pippin was placed, unceremoniously, in Saleth's open arms and Aragorn turned on his heel without even a backwards glance at the chagrined Brandybuck, and strode back up the incline to resume the proposed outing. Merry's mouth opened and closed in a futile attempt at an apology as he watched the King retreat.

"Come along Master Brandybuck," said Saleth gently, feeling a profound sense of pity for the small one. Merry again dropped his head and followed Saleth dutifully, back into the Houses of Healing.

Aragorn found Frodo and Sam where he had left them and had, by sheer force of will, calmed himself, so as not to cause alarm to Frodo from the emotions rolling off of him like a wave. He gently lifted Frodo back onto his hip and, smiling down at Sam, said "Frodo *is* much better, Sam. He will recover, I feel certain of this. As long as we are hopeful and supportive he will feel it and draw strength from us." Sam's look of hopelessness drained away and was replaced with a look of determination.

"Aye, Strider, I believe that meself. I'll not let anyone say otherwise, neither," he said with conviction.

They resumed their climb to the seventh level, coming at last to the courtyard of the White Tree. Upon arriving, Frodo began to squirm and fight against the King.
"Peace, Frodo, peace. I know your desires in this matter and will allow you to walk amongst the flowers. But you, my friend, are still much weakened from your numerous ordeals, and will only be allowed to walk a short distance. I have arranged to have a small area at the base of the tree set aside for you to rest and refresh yourself when weary. You may stay as long as you wish until, at last, fatigue totally claims you," Aragorn murmured. Frodo stilled his motions as Aragorn slowly set him down. He dug his toes into the rich loam as his eyes slowly climbed to behold the majesty of the former sapling. The tree seemed to sense the admiration being bestowed upon it and the boughs dipped slightly, though there was no wind. Frodo closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the fragrance spilling forth from the delicate white flowers, a look of ecstasy infusing his upturned face. Sam and Aragorn stood amazed as they watched the interaction between the two forms bound by love of good, clean soil.

"It's as if they know each as kindred spirits, both bein' lovers of all that‘s good in the world," murmured the adoring gardener.

"Yes, Sam. They seem to be drawing strength from each other, as if speaking a secret language just the two of them share. Not with the words so much as feelings of reverence for the soil in which they both stand," whispered Aragorn.

Frodo could feel a vibration that seemed to travel through the soil from all of the growth and beauty surrounding him, its strongest source coming from the White Tree itself. Like a vibration it entered his burrowing feet until, at last, it culminated in his very being. He opened his eyes and gazed with love at the tree above him. He took hesitant steps over to the trunk and placed his hands upon it. It was almost as if the tree were trying to impart some small portion of its life energy into the tiny being, and Frodo smiled broadly at receiving the gift. He stepped back slightly and held out his diminutive hand as four perfectly shaped white blossoms drifted down to the upturned palm. A light laugh escaped his lips and Sam's heart clenched in sudden joy at hearing the genuine, and all to infrequent, sound. Aragorn's eyes grew misty to behold the interchange and he and Sam smiled, in unison, at the effect the tree had had on the road weary traveler. Frodo's smile wavered slightly as fatigue pulled at him. He swayed with exhaustion and Aragorn and Sam reached out suddenly to keep him from collapsing.

"Enough for now, my friend. Shall we have a light meal and perhaps a rest here by the tree on the blanket?” Aragorn whispered. Frodo turned his face towards Sam and Aragorn and they saw not the icy far off look as before but true recognition. They both gasped for they knew they were witnessing their friend being returned to them, at long last.
"Thank.... you..." came the barest, whispered response, and before Aragorn or Frodo could prepare themselves, a blur of ginger curls that was Samwise Gamgee, was hurdling himself towards his master.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, we thought we'd lost you. But you're here with us now, and well, we missed you so and Merry was losin' hope, and Pippin, he was cryin' all the time and..." Sam blubbered as he crushed Frodo to him.

"Sam...Sam, control yourself and give Frodo some room," laughed Aragorn. Sam pulled back, but there had only been that one moment of lucidity and Frodo was gone, once again locked behind the vacant eyes. Sam felt all joy suddenly leave his heart.

"Mr. Frodo, come back to your Sam," he plead. "I know you can hear me so you come back here this instant," Sam said with a shake of Frodo's shoulders. "You can't go away, not again. Please, please come back," the gardener gasped as he broke down into helpless sobbing. Aragorn rescued Frodo from Sam's grip and sat him against the trunk of the tree. Next, he pulled Sam to him in a tight embrace and as he gently stroked Sam's soft curls, he tried to console him.

"Sam, he is getting better. Each moment lasts longer. He spoke directly to us this time. He is so close to being fully returned to us; please do not lose hope, my friend. As long as there is hope shared between us, Frodo will grow even stronger still," he crooned.

"I was jes' so sure he was finally back for good. I'm sorry for bein' such a ninnyhammer, its jes' that I miss 'em so much. It's been nigh on eight days but it feels like a month, it does, since I heard him tell me to quit my fussin' and that he weren't hungry and all the other silly things we fuss at each other about every day, and I jes' *miss* 'em so," he released a deep, watery sigh. "I would do almost anythin' to hear him jes' tell me to leave 'em alone and quit my mothering," he said with a final wipe of his eyes. "But you're right, Mr. Strider, he's better each day and it was wrong o' me ta lose hope. You must think me quite the child, bawlin' like a bairn at the drop o' the hat," he said as he looked down at his hands.

"Not at all, Sam. You have had little rest since this all began and have held up remarkably well. I too, felt a great relief when he spoke, but saw what you could not as you held him; that his eyes lost the spark of recognition as you pulled him to you. And while it saddened me greatly, he *did* speak with us without us having to trick him, like usual, and that is a cause for celebration," Aragorn smiled.

Sam smiled brightly. "You're right, sir. Weren't no tricks or nothin', he made the first move. It's a wonder, it is. This 'ere tree is a wonder," he said in awe. Frodo's eyes had become heavy lidded as he listened to the voices and felt the tree's life forces as they pulsed into his back. A small secret smile remained on his face. Sam smiled. "Well Master, you do look content you do. Like a cat that's caught the mouse, I'd say. I think a snack's the thing for us and then a rest," Sam nattered on as he sat out the contents of a basket as Aragorn watched both with a grin.

After they had eaten, Frodo preferring more the company of the tree than the food, much to Sam's concern, they rose and walked slowly about the rose bushes and other gaily colored perennials that adorned the grove. Frodo's eyes would periodically widen or a small inhalation would be heard, as he would touch a small blossom. Sam would smile proudly each time Frodo gently caressed one of his plantings knowing that, on a deeper level, Frodo *was* improving and truly enjoying the small garden spot. Eventually, however, the whole experience began to catch up with his master and he finally had to lay down on the blanket in the shade of the young tree. His blue gaze drifted upwards as he watched the sun wink in and out of the latticework of leaves. His eyes gradually drifted closed and he slept with one hand lightly touching the tree's narrow trunk. After bidding Aragorn good afternoon to attend to some of his many duties as King, Sam had settled next to his master and quickly fell asleep.

When Sam awoke it was late afternoon. He turned immediately towards his master and saw that Frodo's bright eyes were watching him, tracking his movements, unlike before. "Master?" He whispered as he reached out and took one of Frodo's pale hands in his own browned ones.

"Sam, I'm…thirsty," was the whispered response.

Sam gulped, "Oh, Mr. Frodo, o' course you are. Here let me get you a sip o' water." Sam hurriedly rummaged through the basket and, with trembling hands, produced a small earthen vessel. He closed his eyes, dreading the turn back around to see the blue eyes, once again, vacant and distant, as before. He swallowed, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, and swiveled to face the older hobbit. A gasp of surprise escaped his lips as he saw Frodo studying him.

"Oh Sam, I was.... so...lost," Frodo murmured dreamily. He drank deeply of the cool water.

"But you're back with us now, sir," Sam cried; as he pulled Frodo to him in a tight, embrace. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to hear you speak my name, even in anger, just to hear you speak it, or anythin', again," he sobbed.

"Never.... anger, my Sam. So...tired," Frodo murmured as his eyes slowly drifted closed.

"Course you are, me dear, course you are, you jes' rest, now. You've had a long day, you have," he pulled Frodo close to him, letting the hobbit lay back and rest his head on his lap. Sam couldn't stop the jubilant smile from lighting up his face as he tenderly stroked the chestnut curls.

"So, he returns," came a wizened voice.

"Aye, an' not soon enough for the likes o' me," Sam sighed.

"I believe, my dear gardener, that Frodo has drawn the last small strength he needed for his recovery, from this young sapling," Gandalf said as he gently caressed the pale bark. "When Aragorn and I found it growing on the rocky slopes of the foothills, I felt a power I had not felt since Isildur's reign. That tree, also, had an almost magical energy within its bark - an ability to bring hope and healing to those who were pure of heart and soul. This tree has probably descended from that noble line and we have witnessed the great curative powers it has bestowed upon our dear friend," he whispered reverently.

"Do you really think that's what's happened, Mr. Gandalf, sir?" Sam looked, awe clearly written on his tanned face.

"I do, Sam. I think our friend here," he patted the tree lovingly, "Has given Frodo the extra push he needed to come back to us. I feel the tree somehow, could sense...no, *know*, what Frodo had done for this world, and that perhaps it recognized a kindred spirit in the lad. This tree is the symbol of a new peace in this Middle Earth, as is Frodo." He held up a hand stopping Sam's argument before it left the hobbit's lips, that his Master wasn't a symbol of anything. "Frodo *is* a hero for Middle Earth. The two of them are not all that different, in that regard. It matters little; all that *does* matter is that he is better at last," he said with a chuckle. "Here Sam, let me carry him back to his room for you." He bent and gently scooped the hobbit into his robes and, with Sam at his heels, made his way back to the healing house. He turned and looked back at the White Tree, "Thank you, Lady, for hearing our supplications," he whispered.

"Aye, thank you, Lady, for bringin' 'em home to us, again," sighed Sam, tearfully.

Gandalf carefully laid the sleeping Ringbearer upon the bed. Sam thanked him with a smile, and Gandalf departed with one last look back and, with a sigh of relief, closed the door. Sam removed Frodo's clothing, folding each piece carefully as he did so. He pulled a clean nightshirt over his head and then tucked Frodo under his covers, making sure his master had the proper amount of pillows, and lastly, left an ewer of water by the bed, just in case he awoke and needed to quench his thirst. Frodo slept peacefully. No nightmares assailed him that night; no thoughts of what could have been or would be of his future or his friends; only the peaceful dreams of wafting fields of flowers and, at the center, a white tree swaying in the breeze, inviting him to rest awhile under its bowers in the deep shade.

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Merry rose early and made his way down to Frodo's room. He still felt deep remorse for his hasty comments of the day before and sought to make up for it by providing whatever his cousin needed of him. He was determined to be brave, as Aragorn had implied, and see the situation through, no matter the outcome. He swallowed thickly. He felt, in his heart, that Frodo *was* still with them and making small improvements day by day, but could not get past the image of the hobbit child that had died so long ago from the dreaded wasting disease. When he looked upon Frodo's spent body, it was as if he looked into the past and saw the hobbit lass at Brandy Hall as they had wrapped her in her burial shroud and placed her in the soil of her home. He shuddered involuntarily. The vision of the frail body of the girl had invoked nightmares for months for the small Meriadoc, and he had panicked upon seeing Frodo in his emaciated condition. As he neared Frodo's room he saw Sam approaching with a heavily laden tray. He tensed knowing he deserved the tongue-lashing he surely would receive from the gardener. But Sam only smiled and greeted him with a cheery "Good morning, Mr. Merry, and it's a fine morning indeed, sir," thus stunning the Brandybuck into, an altogether uncommon, lack of speech.

"Uh, good morning Sam. I'll take that," he said as he took the tray from Sam. "Let me feed my cousin today and you can take the morning off," he smiled tentatively.

"Well, sir, I'd prefer helping Mr. Frodo meself, if you take my meanin'. There's somethin' I need to tell you afore you go in there..." he began.

"Nonsense Sam. I am perfectly capable of feeding Frodo. You don't need to worry about a thing," he smiled as he entered Frodo's room.

"No sir, that's not what I was tryin' to tell you. Mr. Frodo he..." Sam started again.

"All in good time, Sam. I know he's getting better by the minute and you can wait and tell me about what new improvement there has been after the meal. Let's get some food in this hobbit first," Merry interrupted once again.

Sam smiled to himself, "Whatever you say, Mr. Merry," he relented, knowing that Merry would be in for a big surprise in only a matter of moments. He whispered to the lump that was his master, "Mr. Frodo, time to rise and shine, it is," and he slowly pulled the coverlet back from the burrowed form. Frodo groaned. "Now no complainin', sir. You'd sleep the day away, you would, if your Sam weren't here to pull your sleepy hide outta bed, beggin your pardon, sir," he continued as he opened the shutters and allowed the light to brighten the room. Merry smiled at the gentle cajoling that Sam used, with positive results, on his cousin. Frodo had never been a morning person, preferring to watch the stars until the wee hours of the morning to rising with the sun in anticipation of the day's first meal, like most hobbits. Frodo groaned again and then slowly rolled over. Sam helped him up into a sitting position against the headboard, as he blinked sleepily. Merry was, once again, aghast at the emaciated appearance of his cousin. He could see the bones that pressed yellow against Frodo's skin as the nightshirt slipped off of the skeletal shoulders and grimaced.

Merry forced a cheerful smile onto his face as he poured Frodo a cup of tea lacing it with a generous dollop of honey and then adding cream. "Well, cousin, I haven't been by to see you and for that I am deeply sorry. I remember all of the times you visited me when I was sick, to make sure I ate and napped in order to get better, and I was scared to see what the wasting disease was doing to you. It was selfish and cowardly and, for that, I apologize." He began to tear Frodo's scone into small, bite-sized pieces to be soaked in the tea.

"You're not selfish or cowardly, Merry. You were just frightened, is all, and *what* are you doing to my scone. Did you wash your hands, Merry? Because it's quite unappetizing to watch you fingering my food if you didn't," Frodo said.

Merry's head shot up so fast Sam could have sworn he heard the tendons snap. "What did you say, cousin?" Merry gasped.

"I said *why* are you tearing my scone into smithereens and that you weren't a coward or selfish, either, for that matter," Frodo's mouth quirked into the barest of smiles.

"You talked. You talked..." Merry whispered in amazement.

"Of course I talked you silly Brandybuck. Close your mouth, Merry, you look like a fish," Frodo chuckled.

Merry launched himself across the bed, upsetting the tray, and crushed his cousin to him. "Oh Frodo, I was sure you were going to die. I was so sure and so scared and poor Pippin has been so worried he hasn't eaten or slept...and here you are well and," he suddenly broke into huge, wracking sobs as he clutched Frodo to him, sure that he was dreaming and terrified that if he let go, he would wake up to find his cousin's condition unchanged or worse.

"There, there, Merry," Frodo murmured. "Don't carry on so. I'm going to be just fine, you'll see. And as to Pippin...not eating? This is dire, indeed. We must go to him so that he can see for himself that everything is going to be alright," Frodo said with concern. Pippin had been so sick, and to think that he hadn't been sleeping or eating, which had never occurred as far back as Frodo could remember. This caused the elder hobbit to feel sudden anguish at how his condition had affected those around him.

Merry pulled back and studied Frodo's pale face. He wiped the tears from his red eyes and looked over at Sam, who had a huge smile plastered on his face. "You knew. You knew and you didn't say a word," he growled.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I tried a couple o' times ta tell ya, but you kept interruptin', so I decided to just let it be a surprise, o' sorts." Sam's smile faded from his face as he looked at Merry. "I'm right sorry, Mr. Merry, if I made you worry. I shoulda' tried harder to tell ya, and, well, I apologize, sir," Sam said, his face a bright red, as he looked down at his toes. He looked as if he was about to get a beating for stealing mushrooms from farmer Maggot and Merry couldn't help feeling regret at his sudden outburst.

"No, Sam, I owe *you* the apologies. I lost hope but you never wavered once in your care of my cousin. I am so sorry, my friends, for my behavior. And Sam, would you *please* stop calling me Mr. Merry, and sir. You are my friend and if you don't stop with the 'it's not my place' rubbish...well, I'll just have to start calling you 'Mr. Sam' and 'sir', and 'beggin' your pardon' from now on," Merry smiled. Frodo couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Sam being called 'Mr. Sam', it sounded too ludicrous.

"Mr. Merry!" Sam gasped as his eyes widened. That would be highly improper, sir."

"Well, Mr. Sam, I think you had better get used to the idea right quick, if you take my meanin', sir, because I mean what I say. You are not a servant, you are a friend, beggin' your pardon sir," Merry said, as he gave Sam a stern, unwavering look.

Frodo, by now, was giggling helplessly at Merry's impersonation of Sam. Sam and Merry looked at him and joined in at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.
Finally, the laughter died down to the occasional chuckle, and Frodo looked up at Sam, his eyes bright with happiness. "Sam help me find a dressing gown or some clothes and let's go see Pippin."

"But Mr. Frodo, you haven't had your breakfast, sir," Sam said aghast.

"Why don't we have our first breakfast with Pip?" said Merry. "He never gets out of bed this early, so I know he hasn't eaten."

"That's a marvelous idea, Mer'. Sam, would you mind arranging to have some food brought up for four hungry hobbits?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Not at all, Mr. Frodo. But what about getting you dressed sir?"

"I'll take care of that, Sam. You go fetch the food and I promise to have Frodo all ready by the time you get back," Merry said. Sam ran out to get the food as Merry began rummaging through Frodo's wardrobe for a pair of pants. He kept looking back at his cousin just to make sure he wasn't dreaming and that he really was sitting there in apparent good health.

Frodo drank his tea and looked up at Merry. "Merry, you are making me crazy looking at me every ten seconds, like that. Do I have food on my face or have I grown another nose?" he chuckled.

"I just can't believe you're better; I have to keep checking, sure that I am dreaming this whole thing," he smiled.

"It was the White Tree, Mer. When I touched it, it was as if a shock ran through my body," Frodo's face took on a distant look, and if he hadn't had the small smile that touched his lips, Merry would have thought that he had left them once again. "Words fail me trying to describe the feeling of utter and complete contentment and happiness the tree imparted to me. It was as if I was enveloped in the loving arms of my mother, and I felt warm and loved beyond what anyone could ever imagine." Frodo looked up at Merry, his blue eyes locking with brown, and Merry could see that this was very important to Frodo to try and convey the sensation that he had shared with the sapling. "It was like hearing a sweet song and as I was pulled closer and closer trying to make out the words, I became more and more aware of those around me," he shook his head as he remembered the feeling. "It was a feeling I shall never forget or be able to explain. But it brought me back, Mer'," he smiled softly. "It was wonderful."

Merry's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "And I am so glad you are back, Frodo. I don't know what I would have done if, after all that you'd been through, this horrid disease had taken you from us," he whispered. He swiped at his face and rose from the bed in a burst of sudden energy. "Well, if I don't get you dressed Mr. Sam will have my hide, he will," he laughed. Frodo chuckled anew at the title, as Merry began to pull a shirt over his head. Soon Frodo was dressed, although not as natty as Sam would have done, and ready to go on his walk down to Pippin's room. He slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed as Merry stood ready to catch him if he should stumble.

"I'm all right, Mer' just need to get used to being upright again," Frodo said as he swayed. He had had to close his eyes for a moment as the dizziness assailed him, but recovered quickly and began walking slowly towards the door.

"Humor me, Frodo. I know you can walk, but I want to help too," Merry said as he took one of Frodo's elbows and lent much needed support to the hobbit. Frodo was appalled at how weak his body had become and leaned heavily into Merry as they traversed, what seemed to Frodo a very long hallway, to see his small cousin. Black dots had begun to appear before his eyes and he worried that he wouldn't be able to complete the distance. By the time they arrived at Pippin's room, Frodo was panting harshly and his face was covered in a slick sheen of sweat. Aragorn was bent over Pippin and speaking softly to the little patient. He turned when he heard the scuffling of feet just as Frodo's legs began to give out beneath him. He crossed the room in two strides and caught Frodo up in his arms.

"Merry, Frodo is not strong enough yet to walk the distance from his room to yours. You should have called for assistance," Aragorn chastised.

"Frodo is just fine, thank you very much, and *he* was the one that insisted on walking to Pippin's room," Frodo murmured, trying, without, success to sound indignant, but being too close to fainting to pull it off.

Aragorn's face broke into a wide smile as he carried the hobbit over to Pippin and placed him on the bed. "It is good to see you recovered, my dear friend. Gandalf had told me of your speaking with Sam yesterday, but I was uncertain if you would remain aware today, so have not mentioned it to Pippin. I have been trying to rouse him without success. He has slipped into a deep depression," Aragorn's face became a mask of concern. "Perhaps if you spoke with him he would become the chatterbox he was before," he smiled, but the smile didn't touch his eyes.

"Just let me catch my breath," Frodo whispered. He turned to his small cousin after a few deep breaths. "Pippin, lad, it's time for you to wake up and have breakfast with your cousin Frodo." Pippin's eyelids twitched slightly. "Merry's going to eat all of the scones if you don't drag yourself out of bed. There's raspberry jam and rashers of bacon and eggs, and that orange juice you love so much, but I'm afraid it will all be gone if you don't open those green eyes very soon." Frodo gently ran his fingers through Pippin's unruly curls as his cousin slowly opened his eyes and peered up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and Frodo's heart clinched once again, knowing that he had caused the pain that Pippin was feeling.

"Frodo? I'm dreaming again," Pippin said as his chest heaved in a ragged sob. "When I wake up you'll be gone, and I won't have you to talk to or be able to listen to your wonderful stories," he choked.

"No, Pippin, dear this isn't a dream and I am so sorry to have caused you such pain, my dear cousin," Frodo whispered. Pippin's eyes flew open as he pulled Frodo down to him. He sobbed softly as Frodo tried to comfort him. "Now, about that breakfast, Pip, are you interested or not because frankly, I'm starved," Frodo laughed.

"Breakfast? Where is it? Is there really orange juice? I want extra bacon and eggs, Mer'. Where's Sam?" Pippin rattled off his questions as he was slowly moved into a sitting position. Right on cue, Sam entered followed by two orderlies bearing heavy trays laden with all manner of foods. "Is that all you've brought Sam? What about seconds? There isn't enough food there to feed all of us." Pippin exclaimed as Sam set the trays down. Frodo, Aragorn and Merry broke into relieved smiles and chuckles to see the hobbit come back to himself. Although Pippin seemed like his usual self, Frodo could see that his jests were mostly an act. His face was pallid and his eyes kept losing focus as if he would collapse at any moment. Frodo pulled his cousin closer and together they began to slowly eat the mounds of food before him. Pippin held Frodo's hand tightly as if to reassure himself that he was in the here and now and that his cousin was indeed by his side. He picked at the food before him and after eating a scone and some eggs, pushed the plate away stating that he was 'stuffed'. Frodo glanced at Aragorn with concern, but the King only nodded and smiled in reassurance.

Aragorn rose. "Well, gentlemen, since you seem content and well," he looked at Frodo and Pippin and smiled. Pippin grinned impishly back, with a sparkle in his eyes that Aragorn had not seen in days. "I will leave you to attend to some of my duties," he smiled again and left the room to a round of thank youes and farewells.

He paused in the hallway as he listened to the banter and laughter that emanated from the room, then slowly walked down the hallway. He couldn't seem to stop smiling and his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks, as he walked up the incline, followed by his guards, to the Citadel. He stopped at the White Tree and gazed at its beauty. Sam was right; it did seem to grow amazingly fast. He walked over to the tree and placed his hand upon the pale trunk. He was overcome with a feeling of warmth and contentment and somehow knew that the tree was happy in its new home. He sent a silent thank you with his mind and received, in turn, a feeling of love and hope. He somehow knew that as long as the tree lived, his realm would flourish, and he felt a great joy to know that his people would survive to rebuild the damage wrought by the constant cloud of darkness that had surrounded them. He parted from the tree after inhaling deeply of the healing scent of the blossoms and walked up the stairway into the Citadel.

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Epilogue--

He reclined on the chaise that had been placed purposely in the bright sunlight and drank in the scent of the flowers that surrounded his healed body. Many weeks had passed since the disease had been vanquished and Frodo had regained much of the lost weight and a rosy color had returned to the once pale complexion. He stretched languidly, not unlike a cat after a long nap. Sam worked near his side, weeding the small flowerbed. Merry and Pippin had disappeared, seeking some small source of entertainment, which would, undoubtedly, end with stern reprimands from Frodo and Aragorn and weeks of recompense from the two hobbits. Frodo smiled to himself as he listened to the birds above him in the trees.

"What are you smiling about, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said as he wiped the dirt from his hands.

"Nothing in particular, I just feel good, Sam." He looked up at his friend and was greeted with a beaming smile.

"You deserve to feel good, sir. And I don't mind sayin' it's right nice to hear you say it," he said

A small, red bird landed a few feet from the two hobbits and looked at them curiously. "Look, Mr. Frodo it's that little half starved bird that came to visit you before," Sam said in awe.

"Why I believe you're right, Sam, although how you would know this bird from any other is beyond me. Yet somehow, he does look familiar," Frodo laughed. He reached over to his tray, left over from luncheon, and retrieved half of a small roll. He held the roll in his maimed right hand and waited to see if the bird would take the proffered tidbit. The bird hopped closer, looking warily about him, then flew to Frodo's outstretched hand. He landed on Frodo's wrist and looked up into the hobbit's amazed face. He grabbed a huge portion of the roll and flew to the tree above them. "Sam, did you see that? He actually landed on me," Frodo said in wonder.

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with me own eyes, sir. That was a wonder and no mistake," Sam said in a hushed voice. They looked up at the bird above them and noticed a small nest that lay precariously in the crook of a branch.

"It looks like he's found a mate and started a family," Frodo murmured. "Gondor seems to be recovering for everyone. It's a wonderful thing to behold, don't you think Sam?"

"It is indeed, Mr. Frodo. I can't tell you how grand it is to see things comin' back to themselves as they ought," Sam said with a smile as he studied his master.

"It makes me feel that perhaps, it is possible for all things to recover. It gives me hope, Sam. And some days, I feel as if hope is beyond my reach." Sam looked at his master in concern. "Perhaps the pain and nightmares of those dark days is but a test of our strength. That we are being tried to see how much we can endure," he looked up into Sam's eyes. "That the struggle is what truly makes you stronger. It gives me hope," he whispered.

Sam's eyes glistened with unshed tears. He cleared his throat and looked away, focusing on the beauty of the garden and trying not to think of the darkness that sometimes gripped his master. "It's a beautiful day, Mr. Frodo," he said cheerfully.

"No, Sam, it's a glorious day," Frodo said as he beamed up at his friend. Sam chuckled and smiled back at his master. He silently swore an oath to himself to try to make all of Frodo's days *glorious*.

The End