Chapter One: The First Night

Elrond came to the side of the bed as Glorfindel lay the stricken hobbit down. The first thing he noticed in wonder was the light shining from him, as though he was an Elven child. It shone brightly from within the darkness that surrounded him. He and Glorfindel shared a few voiceless words, then the Elf-lord bowed and left Elrond, who then noticed the three other hobbits who crowded around their wounded kin. They looked up at him beseechingly.

“You can make him better, can’t you, my lord?” they all asked at once.

“I will do my best, little masters,” Elrond promised gravely.

They turned their eyes back to Frodo who had not moved or made a sound since he had been brought in. Tears streaked down the cheeks of the other hobbits as they stood all around him, taking his hand, talking to him, trying to stay out of Elrond’s way, but remaining very close.

“You could help, if you’d like,” the Elf-lord said.

They looked back up at him. “Yes, please!” came the same chorus of voices. “What can we do?”

“There are some cloths on the table you could bring and water that is boiling. It will be too heavy for just one of you, but two of you could do it and the other could bring me the cloths.”

The smallest made it quickest to the large pot over the fire and lifted one of the handles. Another rushed to help and the third brought the thick cloths over.

“Take off his jacket and shirt, if you please,” the Elf instructed that one, “then place one of the cloths under his shoulder and another under his back and hip. I will have to re-open the wound and there may be...”

Six eyes widened in horror. “But it’s all closed up!” the one who had brought the cloths protested. Then he reddened furiously and looked down in shame at his furry feet. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Elrond, sir.”

He proceeded to take off Frodo’s vest and shirt. The stricken Ring-bearer shivered in the cold and a sheet and blankets were as far as possible, while still leaving the shoulder bare. “I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo, but all of this is to help you. Once we get you settled and healed, then you’ll be wrapped up nice and cozy. Don’t you fret about that. We’re with the Elves now and you’ll be fixed up in no time.”

Elrond looked kindly at the three, impressed most of all by that soothing voice. “I will administer a draught to him so he will not feel much pain,” he assured. He handed over a small flask. “Hold his head up and ease this down his throat slowly so he doesn’t choke.”

The two who had brought the water over did as they instructed. The other watched fretfully, twisting his hands, then when Frodo was eased back, he brought up one of the cloths and dabbed at Frodo where some of the draught had slipped out of the slack mouth. After that he took the cold hand and chaffed it against his own, trying to warm it and continued speaking comforts. Elrond watched all of this, touched by their care and love.

He brought up a lancet and holding it with tongs, dipped it into the boiling water. The hobbits’ paled to see how sharp it was. “You need not watch this,” the healer lord said.

“We will,” said the smallest, though he was nearly white and looked near to fainting. The one closest to him, almost as pale, grabbed his hand and held it tight.

As Elrond prepared to re-open the wound, he closed his eyes for a moment and sent a quick prayer to IluvAdar. Guide my hand, Adar, and strengthen my heart and those who stand here with me.

The three little ones couldn’t help but close their eyes and wince in sympathetic pain as the wound was lanced and Frodo cried out softly, writhing on the bed. The hand that Sam held gripped the gardener’s tight enough to hurt, but the younger hobbit didn’t even notice.

“You said it wouldn’t hurt him!” cried the smallest and Elrond could see that the other two had barely restrained themselves from shouting the same thing.

“I’m sorry, little masters.”

The stoutest hobbit stroked Frodo’s head and curls gently with his free hand. “It’s all right, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured. “This is all to get you better.” Then he looked up at the Elf, begging that his words were not lies. Elrond nodded gravely and the hobbit looked back down and continued his stroking and soft words.

So began the first night.