Bilbo sighed, slightly amused. He was beginning to wonder if his cousin was becoming a slug-a-bed, conveniently forgetting for the moment that he himself had been prone to many naps until he began feeling more awake while on this voyage. "Frodo," he called again, cheerfully, as he approached the bed.

When there was still not even a twitch from Frodo, Bilbo began to be concerned; it was usually not this difficult to wake him. Bilbo put his hand on Frodo's shoulder to gently shake him awake, eliciting a gasp of pain from his nephew. Bilbo jerked his hand back, surprised not only by Frodo's reaction but also by the coldness of Frodo's shoulder.

Now very concerned, Bilbo went around to the other side of the large bed and asked, "Frodo, what's wrong?" as he surveyed the other hobbit.

Frodo's eyes were open, staring off into space at something only he could see, and clouded with pain and memories. His right hand tightly gripped Arwen's jewel as if hanging on for dear life. He whispered faintly, "I am wounded, wounded; it will never really heal."

"Oh, my dear boy," Bilbo sighed, his eyes filling with tears as he stroked Frodo's cheek.

Frodo's eyes fluttered closed and he seemed to lean into Bilbo's caress. Bilbo was deeply grieved to see Frodo suffering so, and he cursed himself, not for the first time, for ever having picked up that smooth metal band from the floor of Gollum's cave.

For a moment, Bilbo dithered between staying with Frodo and going to fetch Elrond. He decided on the latter, for Frodo would no doubt benefit from a healer's attention. He hurried as fast as he could with his shaky legs and cane, and found Elrond on the first deck, having a small repast with Gandalf. Both listened intently to Bilbo's concern for Frodo, and wordlessly rose to accompany him to Frodo's cabin. Gandalf sought to soothe Bilbo, saying, "Elrond and I both looked in on Frodo during the night and he was resting peacefully, so whatever this fit may be he has not been suffering long."

Frodo had come out of the fit by the time Bilbo returned, and was awake enough to protest when he saw Gandalf and Elrond. "I don't know what you saw, Bilbo, but I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You were in a fit and your arm is cold," Bilbo insisted, touching Frodo's cheek tenderly. "I want to help you, my boy."

"You can't. Evidently nothing can. I'd hoped this wouldn't happen now that we've sailed," Frodo said morosely with a touch of bitterness.

"We have not yet departed the circles of this world to enter the influence of the Blessed Land. It is not unexpected that the hurts and ills you suffered in Middle-Earth haunt you still." Elrond said in an attempt to reassure them both.

"Is there anything that can be done for him now?" Bilbo asked anxiously.

"Rest and something warm on his shoulder would be best for now, unless Frodo needs anything else to be comfortable," Elrond replied, looking to Frodo.

Frodo shook his head slightly. "That is all I need for now. Bilbo, please do not worry on my account. I will feel more myself tomorrow."

Gandalf spoke up. "Come, Bilbo, let us leave Lord Elrond to do what he does best. I believe it is well past time for your breakfast."

"What? Oh, yes. I am rather hungry, now that you mention it. Frodo, are you certain you will be all right?"

"Go, uncle. I will send for you if I need you," Frodo said firmly.

Gandalf ushered Bilbo out, closing the door behind them and leaving Frodo and Elrond alone. Frodo rolled himself onto his back, wincing as his left shoulder pressed into the mattress. Elrond watched him from the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable. "You are not as confident about your recovery as you would have Bilbo believe," he noted.

"This feels different from the other times, somehow," Frodo acknowledged. "But I wasn't wholly well before this struck, so that may be the difference."

"It is possible," Elrond agreed, moving to Frodo's left side and unbuttoning his nightshirt to expose the scarred shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, mostly. The wound aches, and my arm and side are cold."

"Any nausea?" Elrond asked, gently palpating Frodo's shoulder. The scar's appearance was unchanged, but the areas surrounding it were markedly cooler to the touch.

"No more than usual," Frodo replied through gritted teeth. As gentle as the Elven lord's fingers were, the touches were transforming the ache into a stabbing pain.

"Can you move your arm and hand?"

"Yes, but they feel sluggish." Frodo slowly clenched and unclenched his hand to demonstrate.

"Good. Retaining movement in the arm, however slow, is an encouraging sign." There was a light tap on the door, and Elrond opened it to admit a female elf bearing a tray with a bowl of steaming water, a pile of cloths, and a teapot in a cozy. She placed the items on the table near the door and left as silently as she'd entered. Elrond poured a cup of the tea first and held it out to Frodo, who pushed himself upright enough to drink without spilling or choking. "Willowbark for the pain," Elrond explained.

Frodo drank; he expected it to be bitter, but Elrond must have slipped some honey into it, for it was quite good. Elrond wetted a number of the cloths and wrung them out firmly so they were warm but not dripping. When Frodo laid back down, Elrond arranged the cloths over his shoulder, arm, and side, then pulled the sheet and blanket over them. "Does that help?"

Frodo sighed with relief. "Yes, well enough."

"Do you need anything else before I let you sleep?"

"No, thank you."

"We will allow you to rest as long as you like, and will check on you periodically. Call out if you have need of anything; Gandalf or I will always be near," Elrond said as he smoothed Frodo's covers and made sure he seemed comfortable.

"You are too kind," Frodo murmured sleepily.

'Not at all,' Elrond thought but did not say, for the hobbit was already near sleep. Once Frodo was peacefully resting, Elrond left the room, letting the door remain open slightly so they could hear him if he called.

~~~~

Frodo slept for much of the day; Elrond stole into the room every so often to refresh the warm cloths, but Frodo never stirred beneath his touch. While Frodo passed into uneasy dreams a few times, he was recovered enough by evening to rise, dress, and go up to dinner. He looked pale and drawn and moved stiffly, but he was out of bed, and Frodo considered that accomplishment enough.

Bilbo was overjoyed to see him up and about, and eagerly tried to ply him with food. Frodo had to refuse most of Bilbo's urgings -his appetite remained poor- but his refusals were with good humor so Bilbo did not take offense. Frodo retired back to his room not long after he finished eating his small amounts, saying he shouldn't do too much or he'd still feel unwell tomorrow. Bilbo tucked him in and also went to bed, exhausted by his fretting all day, but optimistic that his lad would be all right.

Frodo slept poorly, terrible memories of the Quest revisiting him. His mind returned him to the Barrow, his entire body feeling like ice from the Barrow-wight's touch, and Sam, Merry, and Pippin lying motionless beside him as though dead. He sat up to see the crawling, emaciated hand advancing toward them, the eerie greenish light all around growing stronger to reveal the faces of his friends as they had been when he'd sailed, frozen in their sorrowful expressions. Then Frodo realized with horror that they were dead, the long naked sword not only lying across their necks but *in* them. He felt he had been turned to stone, and the creeping hand scrabbled closer, then flew at him and clutched his throat, choking him until his vision narrowed, went gray, then black.

Frodo bolted upright in bed, gasping and sweating and shivering as he tried desperately to assure himself it was only a dream. His heart threatened to pound out of his chest, and he retched into his chamber pot, coughing and gagging. Frodo tried to reassure himself with the memory of their rescue by Tom Bombadil, but the dead faces of his companions haunted him.

The grey light of dawn was beginning to seep in through his small round window before he succumbed to sleep again. The dream images this time were not frightening, but they were unsettling: the sound of galloping hoofbeats, the shadows of dark Riders, the sense that an unseen presence was lurking behind him and waiting to strike, a horn blowing wildly in fear.

Frodo awoke feeling weary and anxious. He dressed and went up to the first deck for some miruvor, hoping the restorative would help him feel more recovered, for at the moment he still felt distinctly unwell. Not only was he weary from sleeping poorly, his arm was still sluggish and felt like ice. Having achieved his mug of miruvor, Frodo dropped onto one of the cushions against the hull. It was too early for Bilbo to be up, and neither Gandalf, Elrond, nor Galadriel were present, which left him blessedly alone. He didn't feel up to being in anyone's company. He thought he saw a few of the Elves looking at him and whispering, but as long as they didn't bother him, he didn't care.

As he slowly sipped his drink, he realized something else that had him feeling poorly: the rocking of the ship. Yesterday, somehow, he'd been blissfully unaware of the sickening back and forth; unfortunately the same could not be said about today. Frodo sighed, closing his eyes as he valiantly tried not to think about it.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Elrond's voice asked from next to him, nearly startling Frodo out of his skin and causing him to slosh some of the remaining miruvor on his trousers.

"If you're trying to frighten me senseless, you nearly succeeded," Frodo all but snarled, glaring at the elf.

"My apologies, Frodo. I thought you heard me approaching."

"You were mistaken," Frodo said, still glaring.

"Did you need some of this?" Elrond asked, holding out the flask of ginger tonic.

"I think you know the answer to that question," Frodo said, snatching it and taking a quick gulp. "You didn't give me any yesterday, after all."

"I did. It was in your tea."

"I see."

"How are you feeling, aside from the sea illness?"

"Not much better than yesterday," Frodo admitted. "I didn't sleep well."

Elrond took back his flask and tucked it somewhere in his robes, looking thoughtful. "I will wish to examine the wound again, when you are ready."

Frodo nodded. The persistence of his symptoms made him uneasy, for in the past they had always receded by this point, and Elrond seemed to recognize his unspoken concern. He drained his mug and rose unsteadily. Elrond rose also, and followed him down to his cabin. Elrond closed the cabin door for the sake of Frodo's privacy while Frodo perched on the edge of his bed.

Frodo allowed Elrond to unbutton his shirt -with his left hand and arm being recalcitrant, it was a slow and difficult task to button and unbutton anything- and closed his eyes when Elrond began his probing. He was abruptly brought back to his surroundings by an unexpectedly strong stab of pain and he almost cried out, but remembered Bilbo sleeping next door and managed to hold back his cry, tears coming to his eyes instead. "What did you do?" he demanded, looking down at his shoulder.

"I merely touched the scar. Does it pain you more than it did yesterday?"

"Your touch hurt much worse, yes," Frodo answered, blinking back the tears.

"Have you rubbed or bumped it since yesterday? It is slightly red and inflamed and feels warm to the touch."

"Nothing has happened to it that I know of," Frodo said, taken aback. "What could be causing this?"

"I do not know," Elrond admitted. "But the irritation may be the cause of your continued malaise. We will need to monitor the scar at least once daily for changes. For the moment, I regret I cannot offer any remedy beside warm compresses and willowbark. Had I anticipated such a malady, I would have brought a wider array of herbs."

"I understand. No one could have anticipated something like this."

"What would you like to do right now? If you wish to lie down, we can put some warm cloths on it again, or you can go back upstairs and have breakfast with Bilbo."

Frodo slouched as he considered, sighing heavily. Simply making a decision about what to do seemed too overwhelming, and he took that as an indication of what his decision should be. "I think I ought to lie down, try to sleep a little longer," he said at last.

Elrond nodded in satisfaction. "That is what I would advise," he said. It did not take him long to help Frodo change back into his nightshirt and get settled in bed. Frodo drowsily waited while Elrond vanished to fetch warm water and more cloths, then watched silently as the elf wetted and wrung the cloths. He stiffened when Elrond began laying the cloths on his shoulder; his scar was much more tender than he was accustomed to, and even that mere added weight was excruciating. It brought back painful memories of the interminable journey between his wounding and the arrival in Rivendell.

"When Bilbo rises, I shall tell him you slept poorly and I persuaded you to spend the morning resting," Elrond told him quietly as he settled the blankets over Frodo.

"Thank you," Frodo said, relieved. "I don't wish to cause him any more worry."

"He often finds something to fret about, whether he has cause or no," Elrond said fondly.

Frodo smiled. "Yes, he does."

"I will be nearby until you wake."