Once Frodo had cried himself out, this outpouring of emotion left him feeling fragile and tremulous, and extremely embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he apologized to Merry after he had calmed down. "I don't know what came over me. I've known for a long time that I won't live to be old. I've understood it, and I thought I'd accepted it. I've always tried to be brave about it, until this morning... I just couldn't keep myself from weeping and saying- well- things I never had before, even to you. I've never felt so foolish."
"You've nothing to be sorry for, Frodo." Merry smiled at him sympathetically. "I think you're the bravest hobbit I know--you've had to stand so much--but even you can only go on being brave for so long. It had to come out sooner or later. Why not to me?"
Merry sat with him the rest of the morning. Gandalf looked in to ask Frodo how he was feeling before he went up to the citadel for the morning council-session; he returned at midday with Aragorn. Merry had gone out to talk to them before he returned with them to Frodo's room.
The King was relieved to see Frodo recovering from yesterday's ordeal. "I did not like to leave you when you were in such a dire state," he said as he sat down at the hobbit's bedside to stroke the hair from his face to look into his eyes and feel his brow for fever.
"You had duties to attend to, I understand," answered Frodo. "I wish I could've been there to see the celebration--it must've been wonderful. There was nothing more you could've done for me here, Strider. You helped me through my worst day, and I'm grateful for that. The athelas was soothing--I must remember to have some at hand the next time. I usually have to lie abed for a few days, but after that, I can go on with my investigation, if you'll let me."
"Yes, if you wish," said Aragorn, "although there remains little investigating for you to do. Beregond and his Men will find Cirandil and return him to the city. If he cannot account for himself and his actions reasonably, the matter will be settled. Until then, you mustn't think of it. You take too much upon yourself, Frodo." He was still stroking the hobbit's curls. "Merry's told us you had another bad turn this morning."
Frodo cast a reproachful glance at his cousin, who looked apologetic. "I didn't tell them, Frodo, but I thought you ought to. Maybe they can help?"
"They can't," said Frodo. He told Gandalf and Aragorn, "It wasn't a 'turn.' I was only upset over nothing. Something that can't be helped. These spells always leave me feeling rather gloomy. I weep at the most ridiculous things." He tried to make light of it, but Aragorn continued to regard him with concern and the wizard was frowning severely.
"Enough. It is time we heard the truth from you, Frodo," said Gandalf. "You've told us as little as you could about the state of your health. I know you haven't ever recovered from the effect the Ring had upon you--anyone who has eyes can see that you bear the pain of it still. I suspect you've deliberately concealed the worst. How ill are you, Frodo? Is it as bad as I fear?"
"Tell us, please," Aragorn said more gently. "If there's anything that can be done to help you, we must know."
Frodo shook his head. "You might give me medicines to ease the pain, but you can't heal me, Strider. I won't ever be well again. That's beyond your powers." He hadn't wanted to reveal the true seriousness of his illness, but there was no help for it now. They'd have to know. Others had guessed how ill he was or, like Sam, saw but refused to acknowledge it; he had only spoken the words aloud bluntly to two other people before this. "I'm dying."
Gandalf shut his eyes and looked as if the words had struck a painful blow. It was what he'd suspected, and hoped not to hear. Even Merry, who'd known the truth for months, stood teary-eyed.
"Oh, Frodo..." Aragorn reached out a hand toward him; Frodo wrapped his fingers around the tips of the King's.
"It was the quest, the Ring." Fresh tears blurred his eyes and his voice seemed to catch in his throat, but he squeezed Aragorn's hand and went on. "It's ruined my health, and it will take my life in another few years--five, six, not much more than that. It doesn't matter that it was destroyed. It's killing me, and there's nothing you nor Gandalf, nor the finest healers among Men or Elves can do to stop it."
"Are you sure nothing can be done?" Aragorn asked him. "Have you consulted any healers?"
"Not about this, no," said Frodo, shaking his head slightly. "But I've felt it from the first."
Aragorn looked to Gandalf, who had stepped closer to the bed. "I'm afraid he's right," said the wizard. "The wound is not merely of the flesh, but of the spirit. Nothing on this Middle-earth can heal that."
At these last words, Aragorn stared at the wizard, and an odd light brightened his eyes. He hugged Frodo and bent his head down to speak to him softly, "Even if it seems hopeless, Frodo, you mustn't give up. There may still be ways to help you, and we will do what we can."
Frodo took comfort in being held so tightly in strong arms; it almost gave him hope. He thought of the way Merry had teased him about Strider and felt a little shy as he reached up to put his arms around Aragorn's neck and kissed him on the jaw. The beard was scratchy; he'd have to tell Merry. "I doubt anything can be done for me, Strider," he answered, "but if you wish to try, you are welcome to. Thank you."
Two such scenes so soon after his bad spell left Frodo exhausted. After the King and wizard had gone, Merry drew the bedroom curtains so that Frodo wouldn't have to look upon Mordor anymore and tip-toed out. Frodo slept through the afternoon, and didn't hear when another visitor arrived.
When the door to his room opened and Arwen came silently in, it seemed like a dream, like the first time he had ever seen her. In the dim light, she seemed to glow from within with a warm, white radiance of her own. "Frodo?"
This was no dream. Frodo sat up, fully awake now, surprised and somewhat bashful. The only ladies he'd ever received while ill abed were relatives: Aunt Dora and Peony last spring, Aunt Esme when he'd nearly drowned near Brandy Hall. It didn't seem right that a Queen should call upon him when he wasn't decently dressed.
Modestly clutching the blanket to his chest to cover his nightshirt, he bowed his head. "My lady, welcome. What brings you here?"
"Aragorn's told me of the price you've paid for bearing the Enemy's Ring. It is what I feared most for you. Therefore, it is time for you to know how I can aid you. You need not die."
Frodo gaped at her, wide-eyed, too astonished to say anything.
"I have that in my power," she said as she approached the bed and stood before him. "Do you recall, Frodo, when we crossed the ford at the River Bruinen?"
He did remember, as if it too had been part of a long-ago, nearly forgotten dream: He'd been wounded by the Witch King's blade and was falling slowly into darkness. Arwen had found their party in the wilderness and had carried him swiftly away on horseback to Rivendell to escape the Black Riders, leaving his friends behind. After a hard and furious ride, with the Nazgul at their heels all the way, they'd crossed the ford. Arwen had stopped and spoken some incantation, summoned some force that caused the water in the river to rise and sweep the Riders and their horses away. He had swooned then and, as he lay on the stones beside the river, he'd heard her voice speaking above him, as if from far away even as she had held him in her arms: What grace is given me, let it pass to him...
"Since I have chosen to wed a mortal Man and become mortal myself, I've given up my place in the Undying Lands," Arwen explained to him, "but I may choose another to go in my stead. I chose you that day, Frodo, so that the grace of the Valar might protect you and see you through your quest. Arrangements are being made for your uncle Bilbo, and the same will be done for you if you wish it." Arwen wore a white gem on a thin silver chain around her neck; she removed it now and slipped the chain over Frodo's head. "This is my token. If you find that the pain becomes too great to bear, you have only to go to the Gray Havens and be taken to the West. You will find peace there."
As Frodo's hand closed around the gemstone that lay at his breast, he felt the pain in his heart lessen a little. "Thank you, my lady."
"It is only what you deserve." She leaned forward to place a kiss on his brow. "Rest, Frodo, and be well."
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