Poor Mr. Baggins had never had much
practice in climbing trees, but they hoisted him up into the
lowest branches of an enormous oak that grew right out into
the path, and up he had to go as best he could.
The Hobbit, ‘Flies and Spiders’
The moment he stepped into the Old Forest, Frodo relaxed. I’m back, I’m safe, I’m here, his blood sang with exultation. All awareness of Aragorn and Bilbo faded as he ran forward, plunging deeply into the trees’ welcoming presence. He grew neither tired nor hungry as he walked and explored, the light around him a consistent greenish glow of ancient thoughts and fresh, new life. After awhile, he came to a tree that seemed familiar. If he climbed it, would he see the black butterflies from Bilbo’s stories, and feel the cool breezes? Bilbo... For a moment, Frodo thought he heard Bilbo calling his name, but when he looked around, he didn’t see anyone.
By the time Frodo reached the top of the tree, he was feeling hot, and the greenish air had become thick and less easy to breathe. Then the heavy, strange air began to move, the tree swayed alarmingly, and Frodo held on as best he could to thin branches that no longer felt either welcoming or friendly. A strong wind shook the tree, and a storm broke overhead, pelting the boy with freezing rain.
“Bilbo!” Frodo screamed, trying not to fall.
Aragorn came instantly awake to a pull on his arm. Opening his eyes, he realized that Scamp was tugging on his sleeve with her teeth. A pale light streamed into the parlor windows; it was dawn. Scamp suddenly released his sleeve and ran out of the parlor, back toward the bedrooms.
Aragorn, clad in shirt and breeches, made his barefoot way carefully over and around Thalguron, Merry, and Halbarad -- who lay asleep on the floor -- before moving quickly down the hallway to the large bedroom where he had left Bilbo and Frodo the night before.
“Estel,” Bilbo said in relief as the Ranger came into the room.
Aragorn quickly sat on the bed next to the old hobbit, who was sitting up and holding Frodo in his arms. The boy was still asleep, but he moaned and thrashed -- apparently in the throes of a powerful nightmare.
“Did you send Scamp to find me?” Aragorn asked.
“I tried,” Bilbo replied, “although I wasn’t sure she understood what I needed.”
“I think she understands quite a bit,” Aragorn murmured, patting Scamp -- who now lay curled on one of the pillows, watching Frodo closely.
“He won’t wake,” Bilbo said anxiously.
“At least he slept through the night. Perhaps he is close to the final phase of this ‘spell’.
Frodo looked about in terror as the branch to which he was desperately clinging shifted... changed... why, he wasn’t in the Old Forest at all! Completely bewildered, he realized that he was actually holding onto the mast of a tiny boat as a storm raged about him. The cold rain continued, and the boat rolled back and forth, up and down... An intense nausea rose in the boy, and he knew he was going to be sick. He fell to his knees in the bottom of the small, rocking craft, beginning to retch uncontrollably.
Bilbo maneuvered Frodo into a kneeling position on the bed, leaning him over a basin Aragorn had hastily grabbed. Bilbo wrapped one arm lightly around the tween’s chest and held a soothing hand across his brow.
“There, there, my lad,” Bilbo murmured, hoping Frodo could hear him. “It will be over soon.”
Frodo knelt over the basin, his eyes still closed, and gasped for breath when the vomiting eased for a moment.
“I... don’t let them...” Frodo whispered, then began to retch again.
“We just have to wait it out,” Aragorn sighed. When the second bout was done, he wiped Frodo’s face with a damp cloth and replaced the basin with a fresh one.
“Halbarad went through this alone?” Bilbo murmured. “How dreadful.” When Frodo finally slumped in his arms, pale and shaking, he turned anxious eyes to Aragorn. “Estel, is there anything you can do to help him wake fully? Yesterday, you had but to touch his face, and---”
“I will try,” Aragorn said quietly, and took Frodo’s clammy face between his hands. “Come back to us, little one,” he whispered, concentrating deeply.
Frodo huddled in the bottom of the boat, soaked and miserable, as the sickness came and went. How had this happened? Where was he?
“Frodo, hear me,” Aragorn said in a firm voice. “Frodo Baggins!”
Men fighting amongst the trees... was he still in the Forest, then? A commanding presence filled his thoughts, and he struggled to focus. The trees had shown him Estel like this, hadn’t they? A star at his brow, standing tall and... the trees... the Men fighting...
“Estel!” Frodo cried, staggering to his feet. “Bilbo!”
“We’ve got you, Frodo lad. We’re here. Everything is all right.”
Frodo slowly opened his eyes, and tried to understand where he was. Aragorn watched anxiously as the boy’s eyes tried to focus on him. His fingers brushed over the pale face.
“Are you with us, little one?”
“They’re all dead,” Frodo burst out suddenly. “So many!”
”Who’s dead, Frodo?” Bilbo asked anxiously.
“He may be still caught in the trees’ memories of that battle long ago,” Aragorn sighed. He looked deeply into the boy’s confused eyes. “Frodo, say my name.”
“You...” Frodo stared at the man. It was Estel... or was it? The image the trees had conveyed to him blurred with the face before him until he no longer knew if he could trust what he was seeing. Men running, fighting... so long ago... or was it yet to be? “Where am I?” He looked around wildly. “When?”
“You’re at Crickhollow, with Bilbo and Merry.” Aragorn said calmly. “Try to concentrate. Say my name.”
“E. . . Estel?”
“That’s right,” Aragorn said soothingly. “And as to when... you tell me. What is the year?”
“1394.”
Aragorn looked startled. “Is it?”
“Of course it is,” Frodo insisted.
“Ah yes,” Aragorn sighed with relief to Bilbo. “I forgot that the Shire keeps its own calendar.”
“Silly Ranger,” Frodo murmured. He turned his head away when Aragorn held a cup of water to his lips. “I can’t...”
“Frodo lad, do you still feel ill?” Bilbo asked.
Frodo nodded, then twisted around slightly and looked up at Bilbo. “Bilbo, what are you doing here?” he asked, puzzled.
“It’s all right,” Bilbo said softly. “You’re safe.”
“Safe,” Frodo sighed as he was held gently in Bilbo’s arms. “I was safe in the tree... until the storm came...”
“You told us last night that the Forest made you feel safe,” Bilbo said, voicing something that had been concerning him. “Do you not feel safe, sometimes, Frodo?”
“Bilbo,” Frodo asked suddenly, “are you truly over 100 years old?”
“Yes, my lad.” Bilbo frowned at the unexpected question. “Do you---”
“I’m cold,” Frodo whispered. “There was so much rain.” Aragorn picked up one of the extra blankets at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around the boy, and Scamp immediately burrowed in with him.
“Frodo, try to focus on where you are,” Aragorn said urgently. “You must separate your dreams from reality. As your body fights to throw off the thorns’ poison, the essence of the Old Forest tries to maintain its hold on you.”
“I’m trying...” Frodo’s eyelids fluttered closed, and he relaxed as Bilbo began to hum softly to him. “Try to... keep the boat steady...” After a few minutes, his breathing grew deep and even.
“He’s fallen back to sleep,” Aragorn said. “He has just the slightest fever, Bilbo; hopefully, the worst is over, and he can sweat out the rest of the poison without further illness.”
“I certainly hope so,” Bilbo said fervently. “Why would he ask me about my age, and think he was on a boat?”
“Captain...” Thalguron stood in the doorway, running his fingers through rumpled hair. “Is there anything you need?” He smelled the sickness in the air, and moved to retrieve the soiled basins that Aragorn had set on the floor.
“Thank you, Thalguron,” Bilbo yawned. “Oh dear, Merry will be up, soon. I need to--”
“We’ll keep him occupied,” Aragorn smiled. “Stay here, Bilbo. See if you can get a bit more sleep.” Bilbo lay Frodo down, and they tucked the blanket around him. “Frodo should probably stay in bed today, and not exert himself – at least, not until we’re certain that he’s fully aware of his surroundings.”
Scamp suddenly poked her head out of the blankets and leaped off the bed. She ran out of the bedroom and to the front door of the house, where she waited, looking back at Thalguron expectantly.
“I think someone needs a walk,” Bilbo guessed. “You’ve made another friend, Thalguron.”
“I’ll see to it,” Thalguron chuckled. “And Bilbo, we’ll make sure Merry has his breakfast.”
Bilbo started to answer, but Aragorn held up his hand.
“Don’t worry, my friend,” the Ranger grinned. “I’ll teach Thalguron all about second breakfast, as well.”