From the Tale of Years: 6 October 1419 - Frodo feels the first return of pain. Some of the Red Book is briefly quoted from. Take this as AU if you like or simply an expansion of what this time may have been like for Frodo, Gandalf, and the other hobbits.

The hobbits and Gandalf came to the Ford of Bruinen and would have crossed quickly over, but instead they stopped as Frodo did. Merry and Sam who were on either side of him clearly saw the distress on the Ring-bearer’s face and felt it in their hearts. Pippin and Gandalf were aware a moment later and waited with concern. Memories swirled around Frodo. His fingers clenched the reins of his pony so tightly his knuckles were white, his breathing was shallow and labored, and his face was pale. He felt his heart racing and his head felt so light, he feared he would swoon. Merry and Sam moved closer for they all saw and heard the same signs. As one, the two hobbits reached out to hold Frodo’s arms to support him so he would not fall. They felt how the deep shivers that ran through their treasure’s body and shared a silent, anxious look. Frodo did not seem aware of their presence but stared long at the water. At length, he forced himself to enter. His eyes did not see the peaceful stream but one in flood. He did not hear the calm around him but the cries of the wraiths and his own. His feet were nowhere near the water but he still felt wet. He would have fallen if Sam and Merry had not tightened their grips on him. Then he was across but hardly aware at first that he was. He clenched his shoulder for a while and breathed hard before finally and slowly continuing to ride. The other hobbits followed silently with great concern as Frodo remained lost in his memories. They looked to Gandalf, who met their gazes with sorrow and love for Frodo. Looking into the wizard’s compassionate eyes, they realized without knowing how that he understood as they did not what was happening to the Ring-bearer and that could not respond as they wished to their silent pleas for reassurance. Often they saw that Gandalf’s gaze was upon Frodo, but what he thought they did not know.

As evening drew on, Gandalf moved closer to his friend and spoke quietly enough that the others did not hear. They were relieved that at least Frodo was talking to someone for he had been silent and lost to them all day.

“Are you in pain, Frodo?” said Gandalf quietly as he rode by Frodo’s side.

“Well, yes, I am,” said Frodo. “It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.”

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,” said Gandalf.

“I fear it may be so with mine,” said Frodo. “There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?”

Gandalf did not answer. He had seen too often in his long, long struggle against Sauron this kind of sorrow and the wounds that scarred the heart and soul to be able to offer any false hope of an easy cure. From the Ring-bearer’s words, Gandalf knew his beloved friend was already aware of the cost and the wizard grieved for that knowledge as much as he grieved for the wounds themselves and the damage they had caused to such a gentle and innocent being. He had loved many in his charge during his myriad years of aiding those who fought against the Enemy. More times than he could count, but not more than he could remember vividly, he had celebrated the lives of these good people, had been moved by the depth of their courage and perseverance, had honored the vastness of their love and sacrifices. They were the ones who gave him hope and consolation in a battle that could have destroyed one not constantly buoyed up those who gave such great examples of what the Second-born of Iluvatar’s Children could accomplish. It was their achievements that he held in such high esteem and which he gave praise to the One during his nightly walks with a pipe. He may have aided them in some small way, but he knew it was their efforts that had kept the Enemy at bay. His heart had been broken also many times and each one of those he remembered as well, though the pain had eased through the long years. He knew he could have hardened his heart against this for each new loss pummeled it and craved a new wound across it. How many scars it held now no one could count for new ones always grew on top of the older ones. This latest grief for another one so dearly loved pierced himself deeper than some had, but he would not have it any other way for his heart was also full with love and even joy in his sorrow for these little ones around him. When one loved deeply, one had to know there would be costs and those would be paid in tears, wept in the heart if nowhere else. And he had discovered long before that no one loved more deeply than hobbits and also that he loved them more deeply than he loved any of his charges. He grieved for Frodo’s pain and the knowledge that it would grow, but he honored him and praised Iluvatar for this gentle and steadfast warrior on the field of battle that no one else could have withstood so long and who now must endure the price of that war.

That night the hobbits made Frodo as comfortable as they could, but he was shivering so badly nothing could warm him, not even placing him as close as they dared with his back to a fire. They covered his frozen hands and feet with socks from Gandalf’s sack and piled blankets upon his trembling body. They tried to feed him but he was tossing about too much in a desperate nightmare that they could not rouse him from. Suddenly a shrill cry rent the night, much as it had a year before, followed by a cry of “O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!” Frodo clutched his shoulder and rolled over and lay as if dead. Gandalf’s lips moved in silent prayer to Elberth, the same prayer if the hobbits could have heard it, that Sam had prayed in Shelob’s lair. There were costs of war that were borne in the body, but more so in the heart and the soul, and the Maia wished more than he ever had that such could be healed for Frodo and all who suffered so.

The hobbits were nearly frantic in their helplessness and fear for their torment of the brother of their hearts, but the moment Frodo and Gandalf invoked Elbereth, she came to their aid and peace settled upon them all. The Ring-bearer’s fist which had been so tightly clenched that there were red nail marks on his palm relaxed, his cries about the pale king faded away, his trembling ceased, the cold retreated from his limbs, his breathing and heart steadied, and with it, the other hobbits’ as well, and a little pink returned to his cheeks. Gandalf’s lips moved in silent thanksgiving and even in their ignorance, the hobbits thanked the Powers as well. Sam looked up at the night sky and saw the stars and his hope returned as Frodo silently dropped into sleep. The gardener took his master’s maimed hand and settled down for a rest himself. Under the stars he knew he and his master were safe. Merry and Pippin arranged themselves by their cousin’s side and slept as well, comforted by the peace that surrounded them. Gandalf remained awake for a long while with his pipe and watched the stars. He knew his prayers were answered. Frodo may not know the return of peace in Middle-earth, but there were powers beyond it that stood ready to aid him. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there would one day be no shadow in the hobbit’s life. The Maia slept soundly then, consoled by this knowledge and the peace that Elbereth had brought them all.