October 25/26
“Easy does it,” Sam warned. Frodo gripped the bannister of the long staircase with one hand, and Sam’s arm with the other. The grip of his left hand wasn’t very strong yet, but Sam held him securely.
“Easy does it?” Frodo sighed. “Samwise, I have been in bed for five days. I’ve been taking it easy long enough.”
“Now sir.” Sam shook his head as they slowly made their way down the stairs. “You were awful hurt, and then that bit o’ fever. Just don’t overdo it, that’s all.”
“I won’t.” They reached the bottom of the stairs and Frodo sighed with relief. “You won’t let me.”
“That’s right,” Sam said firmly.
“I do feel much better,” Frodo said reassuringly. “I don’t remember too much about last night, except for being fed doses of that vile potion two or three times.” He looked at Sam seriously. “If you ever get so much as a sniffle, Sam, and Elrond comes after you with that stuff, run for the River and take your chances there.”
“I’ll remember that, Mr. Frodo,” Sam grinned. It was obvious to him that the Elvish medicine had done Mr. Frodo a world of good, which was all that mattered.
The lower level of the House looked to be as complex as the maze of upstairs corridors and rooms, but the main difference was in the number of people. There were Elves coming and going on errands of their own -- never in a hurry, it seemed. Everywhere Frodo looked, there were arches, statues, and lights sparkling off fountains. The sweet fragrance of flowers and herb gardens permeated the morning air, which was warm and gentle.
“It’s so warm here,” Frodo marveled. “Remember how cold we were, just a few miles away? Or was that just me?”
“No, it was cold all right,” Sam agreed. “This place is special, and no mistake.”
Frodo turned to him with a smile. “Lead the way, Sam. I’m starving.”
Sam led Frodo to the dining hall, in which a good number of Elves were talking quietly or eating, or eyeing with suspicion the delegation of Dwarves. Frodo was unaware of the many eyes upon him, as he was steered towards a small table where Merry and Pippin were waiting. Frodo’s plate was filled even before he could say “good morning”, and the three hobbits watched happily as he ate his fill of the delicious fare.
“I can’t possibly eat another bite,” Frodo groaned, finally pushing away his plate.
“A Baggins leaving food on his plate? How scandalous!”
Frodo gasped and whirled about on his stool, then leaped to his feet and threw his arms around the person who had come up behind him. “Bilbo!” he cried. “Oh, Bilbo!”
“Frodo lad,” Bilbo murmured. He embraced his nephew gently, careful of the wounded shoulder. “I leave you alone for a few years, and look at all the mischief you get into.”
Frodo’s eager gaze took in every bit of Bilbo’s appearance, from his smiling face and ornate, well-fitting clothing, to the aura of contentment that surrounded him. Bilbo looked older, and more frail, but well and happy -- that was plain enough. Rivendell was now his home, and he was happy.
“We’re goin’ out to the stables to visit Ollie and Mr. Glorfindel’s horse,” Sam said to Bilbo. “Would you join us, sir?”
“That’s quite a walk,” Bilbo frowned at Frodo. “Are you up for that, my boy?”
“Try and stop me,” Frodo said. “I need a good walk to shake off the cobwebs -- and that breakfast!” he laughed.
“In that case,” Bilbo grinned, “I wouldn’t miss it.”
As the three hobbits walked off together, Merry smiled happily at the sight -- while Pippin pulled Frodo’s plate in front of himself and diligently ensured that he wouldn’t starve before elevenses.
It was a long walk to the stables, but Frodo enjoyed every minute of it. To be in such a beautiful place, feeling better, and with Bilbo once again -- he felt he might burst with joy. After paying their respects to Asfaloth, Frodo walked with Sam and Bilbo out to the peaceful meadow to which the Elves had directed them.
“There he is,” Sam murmured. In the distance he could see the horse he had always called Ollie, and he whistled a shrill note that Aragorn had taught him. The horse pricked up his ears, and walked with dignity over to the hobbits. He greeted his old friends with gentleness, and enjoyed the sweet apple Sam fed him.
“He remembers you,” said a soft, musical voice behind them. Frodo turned to behold the beautiful Elf woman he thought he had only dreamed.
“Lady Arwen,” Bilbo bowed. “Have you met my nephew, Frodo?”
“You… you’re Arwen?” Frodo asked in astonishment.
“Frodo Baggins, where are your manners?” asked Bilbo sharply.
Frodo blushed scarlet and bowed. “Forgive me, Lady. I am at your service.” He gazed at the lovely face before him. “Estel has spoken of you.”
“You call him ‘Estel’,” Arwen said with a smile. “I did not know that he was still known by that name. I am most happy to meet you, Frodo.” She suddenly frowned in concern. “Samwise, are you ill? Your breathing is quite labored.”
“Forgive me, Lady,” Sam said, blushing in turn.
Bilbo laughed. “This youngster is a bit smitten with you, Lady Arwen -- and I do believe there may be one or two other young hobbits about, of which the same can be said.”
Arwen laughed with delight. “I will be careful, then, Bilbo.” She moved to Arthad’s side and encircled his neck with her arms. “Are you well, my friend?” she asked softly. The horse nosed her hair and stood quietly in her embrace. She spoke to him briefly in Elvish, then turned back to the hobbits. “I must return to the House. Frodo, I am happy to see you in such good health.”
“I will come with you,” Bilbo said. “I have a rather long bit of poetry to finish.” He turned to Frodo and hugged him. “I’ll see you later, dear boy. I’m sure we will have many days together.”
Frodo and Sam spent some time with Arthad, and both were overjoyed to see that their old friend was being given such attentive care in his retirement. After bidding the horse farewell, the hobbits discovered a nearby glade where benches had been set amidst a circle of trees. Here they sat and talked, and shared a small luncheon that Sam had packed for them.
“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo sighed at last. “I think I might sit here awhile longer and enjoy the day.”
“I’ll leave you alone, then, sir,” Sam said. He grinned and lowered his voice. “We both know you won’t really be alone though, don’t we?”
“That’s true,” Before Sam could stand, Frodo gave him a tight hug. “Dear Sam. Thank you for being here.”
Frodo sat for awhile, reveling in the fragrant air and the distant sound of waterfalls. He felt a bit tired, but so much better than he had in weeks. The afternoon drew on, and as the air cooled a bit, he found himself wishing he had brought a cloak with him.
“Frodo?” Aragorn stepped into the clearing and sat next to the hobbit, wrapping his own cloak around the small shoulders. “You need to keep warm, little one.”
Frodo turned to him with a grin. "Are you on guard duty now? I thought it was Glorfindel’s turn."
Aragorn shook his head. "I should have known you’d catch on. We were trying to be very discreet."
Frodo laughed, his eyes sparkling. "Blame Sam. I think he has sharper hearing than any Elf, and an uncanny sense of anyone lurking near -- especially near me." He sighed. "Honestly, Estel, I'm not about to run off with the Ring, if that's what's bothering everyone."
"Frodo, you're not a prisoner here," Aragorn said gravely. "We are not trying to keep you within the borders of Rivendell -- it is rather a precaution against someone else who might have a notion to 'run off with the Ring' -- and you with it."
Frodo realized that he was unconsciously fingering the Ring about his neck, and he deliberately put his hands in his lap. "What's to be done with it?" he asked quietly.
"There will be a council tomorrow; representatives from all the free peoples will be there."
"That explains the Dwarves here, then."
"Actually," Aragorn said thoughtfully, "no call went out regarding a council. Everyone seems to be here, at this time, for different reasons. It cannot just be chance -- I believe that everyone here is meant to be here."
"Gandalf once told me that he believed that Bilbo was meant to have the Ring, and so was I."
"Perhaps so."
"Where will the council be held?"
"The east porch." Aragorn smiled. "Merry and Pippin practically live there."
"I'll have them bring me so I don't get lost," Frodo said.
"Frodo," Aragorn said, his smile fading, "it is a secret council."
Frodo frowned. "Not even Sam?"
"Not even Sam."
“Is that so?” Frodo looked at the Man calmly. “I’m sorry, Estel -- what a shame that I won’t be able to attend your council. I’m going to be very busy tomorrow.”
Aragorn stared at Frodo, then burst out laughing.
“Very well, Frodo. Sam may attend.”
“How about that?” Frodo grinned. “My schedule seems to have suddenly cleared up. So what time is this council?”
“Blackmailing, impertinent hobbit,” Aragorn muttered. “I hope I don’t make a mistake and spill some of that potion you love so much into your tea this evening.”
Frodo looked so stricken that Aragorn hugged him.
“Does it really taste that bad?”
“Yes,” Frodo said firmly. “But as for this council… What about Bilbo?"
"Bilbo must certainly be there,” Aragorn said. “The history of the Ring will be told in full, and you and Bilbo have much to contribute.” Aragorn looked at him seriously. “Frodo, you are the Ring-bearer until you relinquish it to another. The fate of the Ring cannot be decided without you.”
“I know.” Frodo sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.
“You’re tired.” Aragorn stood, and drew Frodo to his feet. “We’ll walk back slowly. A feast is planned for this evening, in honor of your recovery, and to welcome the many guests and visitors. Get as much rest as you can before then.”
There was feasting, then a general gathering in the Hall of Fire for all who wished to attend. Aragorn had been pleased to see Frodo and Bilbo finally leave to spend some time together -- he suspected that seeing Bilbo again was more healing for Frodo than any medicine or comfort this House could provide.
Aragorn left the Hall quite late, and as he walked through the quiet corridors, he was surprised to see a lamp still burning in Bilbo’s room.
“Bilbo?” Aragorn poked his head into the small room, cluttered with papers and maps. “You are up late, my friend.”
“Come in, Dúnadan.” Bilbo sat in his favorite stuffed chair, staring into the flickering hearth. Aragorn assumed that Sam had long since dragged Frodo away to get a good night’s sleep. He pulled a second chair next to Bilbo and sat down.
“He hasn’t aged,” Bilbo said without preamble.
“No,” Aragorn replied. “The years have scarcely touched him.” He smiled suddenly. “Do you remember, Bilbo, when long ago I accused you of having a secret for holding off the ravages of time?”
Bilbo nodded. “We agreed to let each other keep our secrets, until such time as they would best be revealed.”
“Yes,” Aragorn said softly, “and we also agreed that Frodo was extraordinary -- that he had courage and fire, and a core of steel at the heart of his gentle spirit.” He leaned forward and caught the old hobbit’s gaze. “He is extraordinary, Bilbo. His full strength has yet to return, but I would have said he would be abed at least a week -- not visiting Arthad and Asfaloth.”
Bilbo frowned. “I want you to tell me what happened, Aragorn. Everything.”
Aragorn sighed and sat back, then related to Bilbo the full story of what had befallen Frodo at Weathertop, and what he had endured in the fortnight’s journey since.
“I couldn’t keep him safe,” the Ranger said grimly, staring into the fire. “I would have given my life to keep him from such a painful and frightening experience.”
“Aragorn,” Bilbo said quietly, “you are only one man. You could not hold off the Nazgûl alone, nor can you claim the throne, that sits waiting and empty, without help. What can anyone do by himself?”
“I don’t know, Bilbo,” Aragorn said with a grin. “It seems to me that you have done a great many extraordinary things by yourself. I am merely trying to live up to the Baggins example.”
“Ah,” said Bilbo with a sparkle in his eyes, “but you are still just an honorary Baggins, you know.”
Aragorn laughed and got to his feet. “Get some sleep, Bilbo. Tomorrow’s council will be held at the ninth hour.”
~*~
October 26
Elrond had seated the Dwarves as far from Legolas, and as near to Bilbo, as possible. Bilbo had been positively delighted at the arrival in Rivendell of his old friend Gloín, but there was no love lost between the Dwarf who had once been prisoned in Mirkwood, and the son of his jailer.
Halflings. Boromir stared openly at the small people seated side by side, one old and one appearing to be quite young -- and a third, alone and apart from the circle of seats, sitting on a cushion on the ground. It had been disorienting enough, being led to this valley by three of the fairest beings he had ever beheld, realizing that the Imladris of his dream was finally before him. Imladris was real. Halflings were real. “There shall be counsels taken…” And here he was, in a gathering the likes of which he could never have imagined.
Aragorn caught Frodo’s eye and smiled at him reassuringly, and the hobbit managed a small smile in return. Too pale, Aragorn thought grimly -- too pale and still recovering. He had pleaded with Elrond to further postpone the council, to give Frodo more time to rest and feel at ease in Rivendell, but the Elf lord was adamant. Frodo could rest as long as he needed, he said firmly, once the council was at an end -- but first, the fate of the Ring would be decided.
Gandalf saw that what he had perceived in Frodo when the hobbit awoke was still evident -- and no doubt always would be, to eyes that could see it. There was a hint of transparency, especially about Frodo’s left arm and hand. The Morgul wound had left its mark, and would never fully heal -- but to what end, the wizard knew not.
As the morning wore on, Sam wondered why he was here; the folk at this council seemed so far above him, talking of grand histories and wars, broken swords and traitorous wizards. He felt uncomfortable when Elrond made Mr. Frodo show everyone the Ring, and positively indignant when his master was forced to tell his part of the tale -- including the details of that horrid night, and everything since. Mr. Frodo looked shaken when he finally sat down -- more shaken even than when Elrond had announced Strider to be the heir to… Sam wasn’t quite sure he understood who Strider was, but it surely sounded important. Mr. Frodo had understood, that much was clear.
And so, as one person after another addressed the gathering, pieces were fit into a tale which had previously been but fragments -- until finally the tale was told, the pieces assembled. What then, of the Ring?
Aragorn listened, with respect and without surprise, as Bilbo volunteered to take back the Ring and set out for a land farther away than any hobbit could comprehend. It was a noble and courageous declaration, but one graciously declined by Elrond. And still no decision had been made. Should he take it? Did any Man dare? He must not, but who else could possibly…
“I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way.”
A murmur of voices swelled and became a torrent. Sam leaped to Frodo’s side. Elrond was speaking, Gandalf nodding, but Aragorn remained still and silent, paralyzed with disbelief.
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