A REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 13

Floating. He was floating in a misty gray fog. No pain. No Ring. No
thoughts of failure. Only the pure bliss of floating. The
blackness that had surrounded him, clutching and tearing at his very
soul, was gone. He felt a calmness, a peace infusing the very core of his being. 'I must be dead,' he thought. 'This must be the peace and painlessness of death.' He sighed inwardly. Yes, death had
finally claimed him and he felt....what? Relief. It was over. The
heavy burden he had carried physically and mentally was no
more and he felt.....light.....airy.....floating. But where were his
parents? Always he had heard, one would be reunited with
those who had gone before. He pondered this, confused. Surely, they
would be there to greet him. And what of Gandalf, his
dear friend? The Maia surely would be there to hold out his hand and
welcome him into the next life? Of course, he was a
wizard....who knew where wizards went when they left the mortal plain.

Dimly, he heard a low droning voice. The peace was broken. Dully,
his senses returned to him and he felt....pain? No, not
possible. He was dead, the dead could not feel pain. Could they?
But this was pain and not merely pain, but *agony*. His
body...body? He should not have a body any longer....he could
not...he was dead. So confused. He throbbed. His head, his
legs, feet, arms *everything* throbbed. Most of all his hand. The
hand pulsed, pounded in time with his heartbeat. Heartbeat? NO!! he cried inwardly. No...I *want* to be dead. I *need* to be dead. Release me, I beg you! He thought. But he knew .... he knew then that he yet lived. The dead do not have heartbeats. The dead do not feel the anguish that was now washing over him. His mind sobbed. No, his mind begged, please, no more. The gray mist slowly, very slowly cleared from his mind. The floating sensation became more a feeling of resting on many pillows. He was so warm, his mouth a desert. The drone, the voice
seemed closer now. It continued in a soft comforting cadence,
lulling Frodo even as he drew closer to consciousness. Someone he once
knew, the voice so familiar, so steady and strong. It wrapped around
his mind like an embrace. He felt loved and protected.
He felt...happy. The voice made him feel happy. Glimpses of a small
child with wide blue eyes running through meadows with flowers, and
the voice was there. The owner of the voice was always just out of his
sight, his reach...he felt he should know....but he couldn't quite
remember. The voice shared the feeling of contentment, laughing with
the blue eyed boy. The boy...the boy was HIM. The voice, the voice
whispering soothingly in his ear, telling of times long past and chuckling at times remembered. GANDALF. It was Gandalf's voice! Not possible. I know *I* am not dead, he sighed, but Gandalf *is*. He perished because of *me*. It cannot be Gandalf, he sobbed inside. Frodo could feel the coolness of a cloth on his face, his chest his arms. His hand gently held by a much larger hand and being softly caressed. He heard quiet weeping, and yearned to see who it was but could not will his eyes to open. So tired. His mind felt so very tired. Gradually, oh so gradually, he cracked his eyes open. Where was he? A room. It
smelled of lavender and pipe weed....Old Toby?...but mostly he smelled
lavender.

The room was dimly lit and his eyes adjusted after only a moment or
two. Everything was so blurry. He tried to move his head,
to look around, but could not. Panicking, he tried to move his arms,
his legs. Nothing. He was paralyzed. He struggled to
calm his racing thoughts and quell the panic rising within him.
By shear force of will this was gradually accomplished. He could feel the texture of linens against his skin, pillows around his head, arms and legs. He was not paralyzed, his mind sighed in relief. But what was this place? He thought he must be on a bed, but somehow, restrained. Why
would anyone do that to him? Suddenly he felt frustrated and angry.
Again he forced a calmness to descend upon him.

He wanted to call out, to ask his questions and get his
answers, but no sound would issue from his mouth. His mouth ...so
dry, he could barely breath and...what?...something,
something was in his throat. He managed to turn his head ever so
slightly to the left and beheld a figure, blurred and all in white,
sitting close by. The voice was coming from this figure, and was
telling a story. He listened in rapt attention, blinking his eyes
repeatedly, trying to clear the fogginess. The story sounded
familiar and seemed somehow appropriate that this voice, should
be telling it. He tried to focus his mind but he was so tired, so
confused. Finally, the voice became silent. More than anything
Frodo wanted that voice to continue...to speak forever to him in
those gentle, soothing tones. But it had stopped. His hand was
being held tightly and the figure was bent over it in seeming supplication. The figure was weeping. Gradually, the person’s head
rose and looked into Frodo's eyes. Frodo's mind gasped at who he saw before him, fear and wonder filling his heart. Gandalf? The eyes were sad at first then, realizing another pair of eyes now locked with his own, startled.

Gandalf stared deeply into the blue eyes of the Ringbearer, feeling
surprise and joy. His brow creased in worry, however, when
he saw the look in Frodo's eyes.

"Frodo, don't be frightened, my boy," he said softly. He smiled and
his blue eyes crinkled in joy. "You've awoken at long last."

Frodo's face held a look of deep confusion. His eyes questioning as
they looked into the wizard's.

"Ahhh...I understand your confusion, my fine hobbit. You saw me fall
in Moria." Frodo's eyes glistened with tears, one slipping
slowly down his cheek. Gandalf reached out slowly and wiped it away.
"Yes, my friend, I *did* fall. But, by the grace of the
Valar, I was sent back, reborn after my tortuous battle with the
Balrog. No longer am I Gandalf, the Grey Pilgrim, but now am
Gandalf, the White," He smiled thinly. Frodo continued to stare,
then his eyes slowly closed, tears leaking out beneath the dark
lashes as his chest hitched in sobs.

"There, there, my lad. All is well, now." Gandalf whispered stroking
Frodo's damp curls. Frodo reopened his eyes and peered
at this new personage before him. "Frodo, I know you are unable to
speak. You've been very ill and the healers have placed a
tube down your throat to give you medicines and nourishment."
Frodo's eyes widened. "No, don't be alarmed, they'll remove it
once you're able to eat and drink on your own," Gandalf comforted.

"I wish to ask you some questions and I want you to squeeze my hand
if you understand, all right?" asked Gandalf.
Frodo gave Gandalf a tentative squeeze with his tiny hand. "Good,
that's very good, my boy," Gandalf beamed. "First, let's get
our healer so he can witness this great event," Gandalf said with a
twinkle in his eye.

"My man," he called to the healer. "What *is* your name, my dear
man," he asked. A tall thin man dressed in white, entered the room.

"Valin, sire. Ahh.....our patient is awake," Valin added delightedly, watching as Frodo’s wide blue eyes took him in. "I am so pleased," he smiled broadly.

"Valin, Frodo seems almost like his old self. Are there questions
you wish to ask of him?" asked Gandalf.

"Yes, indeed. First, are you in pain, Master Baggins?" asked the
healer.

Frodo squeezed Gandalf's hand.

"Is it your head?" (a squeeze) "Your hand?" (a hard squeeze).
"Anything else?" (another small squeeze).

"Hmmm...this could be more difficult than I thought,"
mumbled Gandalf.

"Let's take care of one thing at a time. It is time for more of your
medicines anyway, then perhaps some broth, does that sound
good, Master Ringbearer?" asked the healer. Frodo gave another
hesitant squeeze.

Gandalf chuckled. "I see you still hate to take your medicine,
Frodo." Frodo's eyes met his and there was the barest flicker of
laughter there. Gandalf smiled and a lone tear slipped down his
cheek. "I thought I'd lost you, my friend. I am so happy, so
very happy to see your eyes telling me all we need to know." Frodo
gave Gandalf another affectionate squeeze.

The healer placed his hand on Frodo's head. "This fever," he said in
frustration, "refuses to break. There are more extreme
methods we can use, but I hesitate to try them without Saleth's
council."

"Where is Saleth?" asked Gandalf.

"I know not. When I came in to check on Frodo, Merry and Pippin were
gone. I can only assume he has moved them to another room, so as not
to disturb the Ringbearer," Valin replied.

"And what of Sam?" asked Gandalf. At the mention of his loyal
friend's name, Frodo squeezed Gandalf's hand repeatedly and
his eyes opened wide. Gandalf smiled. "Calm yourself, Frodo. Sam
is quite well, only resting. We will move him over here so you can be
beside him, if you wish," said Gandalf softly. Frodo squeezed the
hand and his eyes filled with relief and tears of joy.

"That can be arranged, but first your medicines," said Valin. He
crossed to the table and gathered the teas, pouring warm water
from the kettle, letting them steep. He turned to the fire and
poured some broth that had been warming, into a small cup. He
returned to Frodo's bedside, inserted the funnel into the reed and
began spooning the tea into Frodo’s mouth.
Frodo's eyes had widened when he approached and his hand had
tightened around Gandalf's, obviously frightened.

"It is all right, Frodo. This won't hurt and will make you feel so
much better," he crooned softly. Frodo gradually relaxed as the
mixtures began to have their effect on him. 'What an odd feeling,'
he thought to himself, 'to be filled without swallowing.' Next,
he was fed a small amount of broth until he squeezed Gandalf's hand
to signal he was full. His eyes began to close as the feeling of being sated caused him to drowse.

"Rest now, my dear boy," Gandalf said softly.

"I have given him the Valerian root extract with the teas. Sleep and
quiet may be our best bet to curing his illness. Still...the fever
has me concerned," murmured Valin. As if hearing these words, Frodo's
eyes flew open and his hand clenched Gandalf's convulsively.

"What is it? What is happening?" cried Gandalf.

"Another seizure. Quickly, remove the reed!" commanded the healer.

"But I could injury him, I am no healer!" cried Gandalf.

"If we leave the reed in place he will bite down on it, breaking it
and choke. There is no alternative, we must remove it before that can
happen!" cried Valin. "Remove it, while I get something to place
between his teeth," the healer insisted.

Gandalf grimaced and, turning to Frodo, saying "Forgive
me, Frodo." He pulled the reed out, noticing as he did so
that it was covered in blood. Frodo gagged and arched his back up
off the bed. His eyes, so full of understanding and hope
moments ago, rolled up into his head as he strained against the ties
that bound him. Gandalf lay the bloody reed aside. The
healer approached with a wooden stick wrapped in many layers of gauze
and forced it between Frodo's teeth. Countless moments passed as Frodo
strained and bucked, gasping and groaning, until the seizure finally
ceased.

Valin sighed. "We must lower his temperature at any cost." He
looked at Gandalf. "Mithrandir, please assist me. What I
am about to do could kill your friend but I fear if he continues to
have the convulsions he will perish a much more painful death.
Guide me. What should I do?" his eyes pleaded with Gandalf's.

Gandalf turned away from him and gazed at the now spent form of his
dear friend. He caressed the sweaty curls and face gently. "Dear
boy. I will do whatever I must to help you come back
to us," he murmured.

He turned to Valin, "I will assist you. Tell me what to do to end
this torment for Frodo, one way or another," he said solemnly.

TBC