Written for the 2007 birthday of Gentlehobbit

TOUCH

Lord Elrond came to see him before he slept, and that hand laid softly to his brow was the last bit of reassurance Frodo needed. For indeed it was touch -- gentle hands and arms – that had truly anchored him that day, and guided him fully back to the living world.

Sam’s hand, warm and solid, when his friend had run excitedly to his bedside, eyes wide with amazement and happy tears. Pippin and Merry flinging themselves on him when Sam led him to his cousins, their bodies trembling with joy and long-suppressed fear relieved at last. Bilbo’s exuberant and longed-for hug when they finally met in the Hall of Fire. Even Strider’s hand on his shoulder, brief but firm, before Bilbo hauled the Ranger away to get help with his latest poem.

More than food or drink, or his walk amongst the trees, the touch of friends and family had reassured Frodo that the dim shadow world into which he had nearly been lost had been dispelled... at least, for now. And so, that first night in Rivendell... well, the first night he remembered, anyway, Frodo let himself relax. He fell into sleep at peace, trusting, as he had not for many weeks, that morning would come, and with it, a warm sun shining.