S.R. 1391, April 28
Aragorn stood at the kitchen pump, slowly filling the basin with fresh water. He wished there was more he could do for Frodo than these simple measures, but the ice should help. With luck, they could bring down the boy's fever before it soared out of control.
The Ranger could not remember the last time he had been indoors for so many days at a time; it was incredibly difficult --- made more so by his inability to stand up straight anywhere in Bag End, and the cascades of guilt he felt every time he looked at Bilbo... or Frodo. At least now that his fever was gone, he was free to leave here, and leave he would --- when the sparkling, joyous light he had first seen in that boy's incredible eyes had returned. Only then.
He carried the full basin back to Frodo's room, and froze in disbelief.
Gone. In just these few minutes... Aragorn set the basin down none too gently and quickly searched the small room and closet. Gone. He dashed out into the hallway, his mind racing. Bag End had so many rooms... where was he?
~*~
With a sob of relief, Frodo had slipped silently into Aragorn's room. He could just see both of the Ranger's knives lying where he had first seen them, high up on one of the tables. He knew that Bilbo's wondrous-looking Sting would be little more than a knife to one of the Big Folk, but had made a perfect sword for his adventurous uncle. These knives would do for him, as well. Just as he was reaching up for the nearest one, he heard a sound directly behind him.
Whirling swiftly, Frodo saw a shadowy shape disappear around the corner of the bed. The creature was in the room with him! In a panic, he reached up blindly to where he thought the handle of the closest knife must be. He gasped in pain as his right hand closed around the sharp blade instead, but there was no time to worry about that. Groping further, he found the handle and pulled the knife down, holding it firmly in front of him with both hands.
So terrified he was scarcely able to breathe, Frodo crept toward the corner of the bed. He could hear the hissing and slithering creature. He was all there was between Bilbo and this murderous demon; he would protect his uncle or die trying. With a cry, he sprang forward, at last coming face to face with Gollum. He was exactly as Bilbo had described him --- small and shriveled, wicked-looking, with large, pale eyes and long, groping fingers. He hissed and spluttered, making a hideous, whistling gurgle deep in its throat. Frodo stood frozen, mesmerized by the horror before him.
"You'll not get him," Frodo whispered. He stepped forward, backing the creature into a corner of the room, where it crouched low, ready to spring forward at any moment.
"Do you hear me?" Frodo yelled. "You'll not get him! There's a wizard here, you loathesome thing, and a Warrior, and me." Frodo could see that Gollum wasn't afraid. He had come to kill Bilbo, and he would do so. Frodo had a sudden, intense vision of Bilbo lying dead on the floor, Gollum crouched over him, long fingers pawing at him...
"No!" Frodo screamed. "I won't let you do that! Leave him alone!"
"Frodo!" Aragorn stood in the doorway, trying to understand the sight before him. Frodo was facing slightly away from him towards the corner of the room, holding one of his knives. Blood was dripping in a steady stream from one or both of Frodo's hands --- he had apparently cut himself. The boy was trembling and deathly pale, his face a mask of desperation and terror.
"It's Gollum," whispered Frodo urgently. "He's come to kill Bilbo, Aragorn, but he won't. I won't let him." He was breathing hard. "Do you hear me, you murderous thing?" he cried. "I won't let you!"
The Ranger swore softly to himself. How could he have been so thoughtless as to leave these weapons lying about? He could see that the boy was holding the knife so tightly his hands were starting to shake. It wouldn't be safe to try to pull it away from him. He had no idea what 'Gollum' was, but it didn't matter.
"Frodo," he said softly. "Give me the knife. I won't let him near Bilbo."
"Get your sword, Aragorn!" Frodo yelled. "We'll keep him cornered until Gandalf gets here. He'll know what to do, he told me so!"
Aragorn came a few steps into the room and knelt down, holding out his hand. "I'll take the knife now, Frodo. I'm trained to use it. Gollum won't get at Bilbo, I promise."
Frodo saw the creature's huge eyes looking from him to the Ranger. It couldn't be trusted, not for a second. He didn't dare move, but he was getting so tired. The knife was so heavy... maybe he should give it to...
Suddenly there were pounding footsteps, and Bilbo ran into the room, Gandalf not far behind. Even from the cellar, they had heard Frodo screaming.
"Bilbo," Frodo screamed shrilly. "Run! Put it on! Disappear! He'll see you, Bilbo, he wants to kill you!" He turned back to the corner and thrust the knife out in front of him with shaking hands. "You'll not get him, you slimy thing!"
Bilbo's disbelieving eyes took in the frantic, delirious form of his nephew, Aragorn kneeling a few feet away from him, the knife, the blood covering Frodo's hands...
"Aragorn, he's hurt! Get that thing away from him!"
"I'm trying," Aragorn said. "He's not thinking clearly, although he thinks he is. I don't dare make a grab for it." He turned to Bilbo. "What's Gollum?"
Bilbo gasped. "Gollum? He's a creature I met under the Misty Mountains. He tried to kill me." He felt faint. "Is that what Frodo sees? That makes no sense."
"I think it does," said Aragorn. "His greatest fear is for your safety, Bilbo --- that something will happen to you. He's trying to keep that thing away from you."
"I'm a Baggins, too," Frodo whispered to the creature cowering before him. "Leave Bilbo alone." He swayed, then steadied himself.
Aragorn shook his head. "This boy must have a core of steel; I cannot imagine how he is still on his feet. I did not have this much strength." He turned to Gandalf. "Bring that ice up here --- whatever you have. We're going to need it."
The wizard nodded and quickly left the room.
Bilbo took a step forward, then another, tears streaming down his face. "Frodo," he said gently, "Everything's all right. I'm fine. Give me the knife, my lad."
"He won't get you, Bilbo," murmured Frodo faintly. Everything was starting to blur. "I'll protect you. You don't have anybody, Bilbo. I'm the only... the only one..."
Without warning, the adrenaline and strength of will that had carried Frodo this far flickered out, giving way at last to the soaring fever. He moaned as he was assailed by pain, and heat, and a sickening, swirling darkness. The knife fell out of his hands, clattering to the floor, as he started to collapse. Aragorn lunged forward just in time, catching Frodo as he fell, unconscious, into his arms.
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