When he awoke, the room was still dimmed, but Frodo soon realized that the darkness was not in his mind. It was now evening. The curtains had been drawn over the windows and the only light in the room came from the low, glowing orange embers of the fire and a single candle on the table beside the bed. He placed a hand on his chest: While that little ache that was always within him remained, the terrible pain that had engulfed him earlier in the day had gone.
Frodo thought he'd been left alone, but as he stirred and tried to sit up, a voice spoke from the shadows in the corner, "How do you feel, Frodo?"
He turned as Gandalf sat forward into the circle of flickering candlelight. "Better, thank you," he answered. "What time is it?"
"Not late. An hour or so past sunset."
His worst day was almost over. He had slept through it. "Where did everyone go?" he asked as he sank back to lie with his head on the pillows.
"Aragorn was called away to the New Year's ceremonies on the citadel courtyard. As they celebrate Sauron's fall, the King intends to speak of you particularly, to remind the people of Gondor how much they owe you. All of Minas Tirith will be there to hear it."
"Did Merry go with him?"
"Merry's gone to bed, to sleep in his own room. He sat beside you through the day and only left when I told him to go and rest. I promised I would watch over you tonight." As Gandalf regarded the hobbit, his eyes grew sad. "Frodo, why didn't you tell me what you suffered?"
"I did. I said that I always had bad spells on this day."
The wizard shook his head. "I didn't understand. I saw that you weren't well, but I didn't realize that your 'bad spells' were as bad as this. We should never have brought you here."
"It would've happened just the same if I'd stayed in the Shire," Frodo responded. "It happens every year. Truly, Gandalf, bringing me to Minas Tirith didn't bring this on. There was nothing you could've done to stop it, here or at home. You and Strider and Merry couldn't have done more to care for me than Sam would've. I daresay even Sam wouldn't say otherwise. It isn't so bad," he lied. "I'll be myself again in a day or two."
Gandalf looked unconvinced. "You were still abed a week later when I visited you at this time last year."
"Yes, but you know how Sam likes to fuss. He wouldn't let me get up."
"I ought to do the same." Gandalf rose and pulled up the blanket to Frodo's throat to tuck him in. "Go back to sleep, Frodo. Do you want the medicine the Master Healer gave you?"
"No, I'll be all right," Frodo said as he turned on his side and snuggled in; after this horrible day, he felt weary enough to go on sleeping without aid. Even this brief period of wakefulness and talking to Gandalf had tired him. "You'll stay by me, won't you?"
"I'll be right here, through the night," the wizard assured him.
Frodo still felt weak and depressed the next morning. His head ached and he had little appetite for the breakfast Merry brought him, but he'd eaten nothing at all the day before and forced himself to swallow the boiled eggs, bacon, and buttered toast set before him.
"You put a real scare into everybody yesterday," Merry said after the tray had been emptied and taken away; he tried to make it sound as if he were joking, but he watched his cousin anxiously as he spoke. "I've seen you have nightmares before, but nothing so bad as that. None of us had any idea what to expect. It was as if you didn't see us at all."
"I barely could," Frodo admitted. "You were like ghosts to me, very far away. I was half in Mordor, living that last day again."
"Is that what it's always like?" Merry asked, horrified.
Frodo nodded. "Year after year. I told Gandalf last night that it wasn't so bad. I didn't want to upset him, but this last spell was the worst. Perhaps it's because I'm so near..." He turned his head to look out of the windows at the mountains that bordered Mordor. "I've returned to the place where it happened, and the power of those memories is stronger here. Or," he paused before voicing the other possibility, the one he was more afraid was true, "perhaps it was worse this year because it will grow worse and worse every year, until it kills me. It will kill me one day."
He turned quickly away from the windows. He couldn't look anymore. Helpless despair overwhelmed him. Tears began to fill his eyes and he threw himself down onto the pillows to weep.
"I don't want to die, Merry! I'm still young--I should be at the beginning of my life, not settling my affairs and making plans for the end."
He could never talk about this to Sam. Sam never wanted to hear it, and Frodo had to be brave for his lover's sake as much as his own. He wasn't feeling brave now, only weary and frightened and under a cloud of darkness as he always was in the days following that worst one. The words came tumbling out, as if he couldn't keep them to himself any longer.
Merry climbed up onto the bed and wrapped both arms around him. He hugged Frodo tightly, head against his back between the shoulder-blades, and didn't offer hollow comforts; he let Frodo sob it all out.
"I hate being ill like this. Always being watched and looked after. Never having the strength to do what I want. Having to give things up. If I were well, I'd never have given up Sam. I said I was thinking of his happiness, and I was. It was best for him. I wanted him to have a family, and I didn't want him to be left alone. It was all very noble and unselfish of me, but it's easy to be generous when you know you won't keep what you've got for very long anyway. If I had fifty or sixty more years to look forward to with him, I would've been more selfish."
"How long do you have?" Merry asked in a hesitant voice that dreaded an answer.
"I don't know," Frodo answered after a moment. "A few more years. I have good hopes of living to see forty, but beyond that..." he sighed. "I'm afraid, Merry, that I won't have long beyond that. Sometimes I think it might've been better if I'd died in the fire on the mountain. At least then, it would've been over quickly."
"Nonsense!" Merry lifted his head and said fiercely. "No matter how little time it is, you're alive now. You've had three years, and you've done some wonderful things with that time. You got to go home and see your family, and you will again once this business is finished. You wrote most of a book, and you'll finish that too. You've helped so many people with your investigations. You saved the Shire. You saved me. That's all been worthwhile, hasn't it? Who know what else you'll do with the time you have left? Be glad you're still alive, Frodo. I know I am."
"Yes, I suppose so," Frodo sniffled. "It's only this awful waiting for the end, and not knowing when it'll come."
"No one ever knows how it'll end, Frodo. We could all be struck by lightning tomorrow."
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