A/N – Written for Marigold's Challenge #31, in which all stories had to include Bilbo.

Many thanks once again to Dreamflower for betaing this story. My stories are much the better for her suggestions. WAITING FOR FRODO

18 Winterfilth, S.R. 1418

“Gandalf! What news of Frodo?” I have never been so glad to see my old friend in all of my days as I am now. I’ve been sitting on a bench in Rivendell watching the Sun set. I am so anxious for any information he can give me about Frodo that I jump up quickly to face him better. I know he senses my distress.

“News of Frodo?” he asks, cocking his head to the side and fixing me with his piercing gaze. “You know something.”

“Only what Lord Elrond has told me, which is only enough to make me very worried about my nephew. Lord Elrond sent Glorfindel out to find Frodo nine days ago after he received word from Gildor that Frodo was leaving the Shire and headed here. Frodo was concerned because you had not met him as was planned.”

It is most unsettling to see a wizard stiffen in concern, as Gandalf just did at my words. I can see in his face that he has bad news. “I am afraid that I do have some news. But tell me, what do *you* know of what has been happening? "

I am so upset that I cannot help wringing my hands. It’s a terrible habit I got from my father. “Frodo encountered some trouble in the Shire, but that was over three weeks ago.”

I am surprised when Gandalf places his hands on my shoulders and sits me back down. “Trouble? What sort of trouble?” Clearly, he is as concerned about Frodo as I am.

“I wish I knew! Lord Elrond would say no more, but I heard Glorfindel and Lord Elrond discussing a message they got from Gildor, something about an enemy, which Lord Elrond seemed to find most distressing. Gandalf, I think Frodo is in a lot of danger. Oh, Gandalf! It has something to do with that Ring of mine, doesn’t it? The Dúnadan told me more of its darkness.”

Gandalf is as closed as ever. He does not reply to my question, but that alone is all I needed to confirm my worries.

“I am afraid that the danger has been close behind Frodo, my old friend.” I hate it when he frowns, and this frown is mixed with a sadness far deeper than any I have ever seen from Gandalf before. “But do not despair just yet. You may recall that I told you that I had friends of mine helping me to look after the Shire. I believe I was successful in drawing some of the danger away from Frodo for a while. For I have been told by someone who saw them in Bree that Frodo and his friends are in the care of the Dúnadan even now. But I believe I will go have a talk with Lord Elrond. Perhaps there is more to tell of Frodo now. You know that he will take good care of Frodo.”

I wish Gandalf’s reassuring pat on my shoulder would lessen my fears, for like all hobbits, I am not accustomed to worrying about such serious matters. And here Gandalf has left me alone with my troubling thoughts. I should never have given Frodo my Ring. Look at all the trouble it has caused. My lad… What have I done?

Throughout my adventures, I have noted that it is almost impossible to perceive the passage of time when in the lands of the Elves. But even for Rivendell, time has passed more slowly than usual on this day. While Gandalf went and spoke with Lord Elrond, I walked along a bridge and gazed down to the river below, wondering where my lad was. Was he nearby? Perhaps he was somewhere on the river beneath me. Gildor said that Frodo was accompanied by two other hobbits. Who were they? It would not surprise me if Merry found out and accompanied Frodo, but who was the other? Perhaps they, together with the Dúnadan, could keep my Frodo safe from harm.

What possessed me to leave that Ring behind? I should have taken it with me… then it never would have fallen to him. But I didn’t know! I thought it was just a magical ring to use for some fun, like disappearing. If I had only known…

But I did know. From the moment Gandalf told me something of the true nature of that Ring. He was more closed than ever. That should have told me how dangerous it was. I should have gone back to Hobbiton and taken the Ring back from Frodo despite what they said. “The Ring has passed on, Bilbo. It would do no good to you or to others, if you tried to meddle with it again.”* Meddle with it, indeed! It was my ring to do with as I pleased! And I pleased *not* to get my lad into any danger!

Oh, Frodo! Forgive me! I swore to take care of you and what have I done? I have let you down and led you straight into the path of danger. If anything happens to you…

20 WINTERFILTH, S.R. 1418

For two days now, I have been fretting and worrying, my mind caught in a trap as I think of the same things over and over again. I have been unable to get any more information out of Gandalf. He has been closeted with Lord Elrond in Lord Elrond’s private study almost the entire time, and I have scarcely seen him more than in passing. If someone does not soon tell me what is happening, I fear I shall go mad.

“My friend.” A familiar voice, sharp yet soft, startles me out of my thoughts. Through the dimming light, I am able to make out the form of the Dúnadan. My body relaxes with relief. For I know that if the Dúnadan has made it here, then Frodo must be with him.

“Ah, my dear fellow!” I exclaim with a smile. “You are here at last! Where is Frodo? Has Gandalf spirited him away for a talk already?”

The tall man kneels down in front of me so that he is looking directly into my eyes. Any happiness I might have had upon seeing my friend evaporates as I notice his grave expression. He lays a large gentle hand on my shoulder and heaves a sigh of great burden.

“It is Frodo,” he says quietly. “He has been gravely injured.”

Instantly, my stomach leaps into my throat and I feel my heart throbbing, pounding in my ears even though I could swear it has stopped. I grab both of his arms with my hands. That grip is all that is keeping me upright, as I am now too dizzy to breathe or stand on my own. My mouth has suddenly become so parched that my tongue feels thick and swollen and it is difficult to speak. I lick my lips and swallow carefully, trying to muster my courage.

“Is he … alive?” I manage, looking at him carefully, begging for some hope. The Dúnadan nods and I feel my heart resume.

“He lives yet, though for how long, I do not know.”

My heart stops again.

There is a solemn, sympathetic expression on his face as he tells me as gently as possible. “Almost two weeks ago, he received what would be a mortal blow for most from the Enemy, yet he still draws breath.”

“The enemy?” I inquire.

There is a haunted look in his eyes. He knows more, but does not wish to tell me.

“Please, my friend. I must know what happened,” I implore him.

“A Black Rider. One of the Nazgûl,” he explains. “He was stabbed by a Morgul-blade from Mordor.”

Mordor.

“I must go to him at once!” I try with all of my strength to loosen the grip he now has on my shoulders, but he holds me firm.

“You cannot. Lord Elrond is still trying to save his life. I am afraid you can better serve Frodo by remaining until...”

I gasp in utter shock and horror as I stagger backward, grabbing onto a large rock for support.

“Was it… my Ring?” I manage faintly.

The Dúnadan nods his head slowly, but says nothing.

Oh, Frodo! Forgive me! If only I had gone back and got the Ring away from you!

“There is nothing you could have done,” the Dúnadan says. It’s as if he can read my thoughts. “The Ring has a mind of its own. It left you, Bilbo. If you had gone after the Ring, then the Black Riders would have found you and the Ring would now be in Sauron’s possession and we would all be doomed. Frodo has shown amazing strength by holding onto the Ring for so long when the Ring was calling. There is a tremendous power inside him that has kept him alive for so long after he was stabbed. The Ring has not fallen into the hands of the Enemy yet, thanks to Frodo.”

“But how did this happen? And where? Who or what are these ‘Black Riders’ you speak of? Are they in the Shire?” I ask.

The Dúnadan turns his head at the sound of approaching feet.

“I must return to see if I can be of any assistance to Lord Elrond,” he says as he stands up. “Here are two who may be able to answer your questions. Ask your questions of them.”

I watch as the Dúnadan goes off toward the quarters at Rivendell, crossing paths with what I can tell are two approaching hobbits.

“Bilbo!” they cry in unison.

“Glory!” I gasp when I see their faces. I could never mistake those determined grey Brandybuck eyes or those Tookish green eyes and pointed nose. How glad I am to see some of my own kin after all these years! For the moment, my worries of Frodo are almost forgotten in my joy at seeing two of my dearest cousins.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took!”

I envelope them in a fierce hug, realising how much they have grown in the years since I left the Shire. “Lads, I cannot tell you how good it is to see the two of you again. I have missed both of you all these long years. You’ve grown up so much since I left the Shire.” Merry and Pippin smile at this. “Merry, I am not surprised to see you here, but Pippin! What ever are you doing so far from home? You’re a mere lad, still in your tweens!” I exclaim. “This is no place for a young hobbit.”

Pippin’s smile upon seeing me fades into a glare every bit as determined as any look I have ever seen on a Brandybuck.

“I am twenty-eight years old, Cousin Bilbo. Old enough to make up my own mind. And I am here for the same reason as Merry. We love Frodo dearly and would not be left behind and watch as he goes off to face danger.” Pippin says this in a voice filled with so much authority that he sounds just like the Thain I know he will one day become.

Merry nods in agreement. “We swore to protect him and that’s just what we mean to do. Pip’s old enough. We’ve already been in more danger than we’ve ever known before, and Pippin’s proven he is up to it.”

Pippin smiles appreciatively at his older cousin.

“I’m really glad that you both have taken it upon yourselves to look after Frodo on this journey. Just the same, I am relieved that it is now over so the two of you can go back home.” I continue. “But I would be much more relieved if Frodo were to survive. Tell me, lads, is Frodo’s injury as serious as the Dúnadan says? What happened? I know it involved my Ring, but I do not understand how.”

The smiles on Merry’s and Pippin’s faces disappear at the mention of Frodo’s inury. They exchange looks that I know are full of meaning. These two have always had an unspoken language between the two of them. They both became very solemn, most unsettling to see on a Took, especially this one.

Merry clears his throat. “Yes, Bilbo. I am afraid Frodo’s injury is as serious as all that. He has been fighting to survive ever since he was stabbed, but every day, every moment, he grows worse.”

“How did this come to pass?” I whisper in a faint voice that sounds as shaky as I feel.

Pippin gives Merry a look I am well familiar with – one that begs Merry to make the necessary explanations. And, just as he always did when they were little, Merry answers Pippin’s request and begins to explain.

He starts with right after I left the Shire after the party all those years ago and continues until their arrival in Rivendell this evening, with Pippin picking up the explanation for a while whenever Merry falters. They continue with their explanation about their journey to Rivendell, a journey fraught with evil Black Riders, strange hobbit-swallowing trees, haunting Barrow-wights, and a Morgul-blade that might yet kill my nephew. The only thing in their whole, strange story that I am glad to hear is that the Dúnadan was there to help guide and protect the four of them.

But as they continue on with their tale, I can feel the blood leave my face. I am drenched in sweat, yet I feel as cold as ice.

“So the Ring was never just a magical ring for disappearing, Bilbo. It was just … sort of dormant, biding its time until it was ready to return to its master, Sauron. You see, there was no choice but to take the Ring out of the Shire, no matter how dangerous,” continues Merry.

“Which is why Gandalf had Sam accompany Frodo in the first place, to help keep him safe from danger,” concludes Pippin.

I look about, expecting that Sam would have followed Merry and Pippin. “Where is Sam now? Why is he not with you?”

“Sam’s just outside the room where they are working on Frodo. You know Sam; he won’t leave Frodo’s side until he knows Frodo is better. But we, that is, Merry and I, we wanted to find you and tell you about Frodo,” Pippin explains.

“You should be proud of Frodo, Bilbo,” says Merry. “He was steadfast in his determination to see that the Ring is taken out of the Shire and taken here to Rivendell. It takes a lot of courage to do what he did… let everyone think he was so poor, selling Bag End to the S.B.’s…”

I gasp, incredulous. “He did what?”

“Oh, I suppose we forgot to mention that part. He sold Bag End to the S.B.’s. The only way he could leave the Shire was to pretend that he was moving back to Buckland,” Merry continues. “So, he made up a rather lame excuse that he didn’t have any money left and had to sell Bag End. And he had to do it quickly, too, before Sauron found the Ring and came looking for it in the Shire, which of course is just what happened. It’s not that Frodo wanted to sell Bag End to the S.B.’s – he hated every minute of it.”

“I still think he should have held onto Bag End,” adds Pippin. “Especially since nobody who really knew Frodo believed his excuse. They just couldn’t guess his real reason, which is just as well, I suppose.”

“Well, Frodo always had a good head on his shoulders. He must have felt it was for the best,” I say unhappily. “Besides, what really matters is that Frodo lives! That lad just *has* to survive!” Merry and Pippin both nod in agreement.

And to think, this was all caused by my Ring. A shudder goes up my spine. I had held that Ring for sixty years, and never in all that time did it give the slightest hint of being something so dark and evil. Although it did feel like quite a weight at times, and there was my strange inability to be parted from it. No, I suppose that even then evil surrounded it, though I did not recognise the signs.

And now that evil is working its way in Frodo’s shoulder.

I feel a tear sliding down my cheek as I look anxiously to where I know Frodo must have been brought. Merry and Pippin both hug me, tears flowing down their faces as well. It is good to finally be able to hug my dear cousins again. Even as I hold them close, I feel them trembling, and I know how dreadful this must have been for them.

It has grown dark now. It is a still, moonless, starless night that makes me think the very sky itself is holding its breath, waiting to see if Frodo will live. Merry, Pippin, and I talk and it is agreed that none of us are gathering any comfort under such a sky, and so we go back to my room to wait. It is several long, hard hours that Merry, Pippin, and I spend together waiting for more news of Frodo’s condition. I can tell that they are as anxious about him as I am.

While we wait, I tell them that they both look exhausted and should try to get some sleep. They both scowl at me and make it clear that they will find no rest until we know whether or not Frodo will live.

“I may have been gone for many years, but I can see that the three of you are as close as ever,” I tell them with an appreciative smile. Truthfully, I am relieved at their decision. I am glad of their company on this endless night.

It is nearing dawn and the Sun has started her daily climb up the sky. It is a cool and quiet morning with all voices anxiously stilled.

At last, we see the grey silhouette of Gandalf as he approaches my room. Merry nudges Pippin and points in Gandalf’s direction. Nervously, we all get to our feet to meet him.

"Frodo is doing better,” Gandalf says. “Lord Elrond has placed him in a healing sleep to allow his strength to recover. And he has worked to slow the progress of the poisoned sliver. As soon as it is safe to do so, he will remove it. Frodo will be all right for now."

I am certain my own face must show as much relief as I see in Merry and Pippin. Frodo is no longer in *imminent* danger. Yet, knowing that a poisoned piece of a blade from Morder is still inside of him – there is no real relief for my cousins and I until we hear that the blade has been removed and Frodo is fine. I see this written on Merry’s and Pippin’s faces, lined with concern that seems unnatural on the face of any hobbit, let alone two as young as they. Well, as long as they are here in Rivendell, I am their oldest family member and so it is up to me to look after them.

“The two of you are worn out after all of your adventures. Perhaps now that Frodo is doing better, it would be a good time for the two of you to get some food and some rest,” I suggest.

Pippin’s face lights up at this. If that lad is anything like he used to be, it is the prospect of food that has cheered him.

“What about you?” Pippin asks. “We haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, and it is past time for first breakfast now.”

Merry looks at me expectantly. “You can use some food and rest as well, cousin,” he tells me.

Goodness! How the years have flown that these two are now old enough that they are looking after *me*! Do I look as worn as all that?

“I shall be along directly. I wanted to check on Sam first. Perhaps now that Frodo is doing better, I could persuade Sam to join us,” I say.

“Good luck with that one,” snorts Pippin.

“We will all go check on Sam then,” says Merry. “Perhaps between the three of us, we will be able to get him to eat with us, though I doubt he will be willing to get some rest.”

Our plans firmly made, we go to check on Sam.

23 WINTERFILTH, S.R. 1418

For three days now, my lad has been deep in a healing sleep. Lord Elrond has allowed us to see him only briefly. Sam remains right outside Frodo’s room so he can get any news as soon as possible. This morning, Lord Elrond called us to say that he would wait no longer to remove the poisoned shard, that he would be cutting into Frodo this afternoon in an attempt to remove the evil thing from his body.

Merry, Pippin, and I wait anxiously with Sam outside the door to Frodo's room. Gandalf is inside Frodo’s room, in case he can be of any help to Lord Elrond. It is a slow and frustrating thing, to have to wait. Sam is sitting silently in what has become his chair during his faithful watch these past few days. Merry stands, leaning against a post with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the door to Frodo’s room. I see that Pippin is as restless as ever ... first standing next to Merry, then sitting near Sam, then pacing to and fro before looking out a window to see how much time has passed, and then doing everything all over again. As for me, I sit in a chair, trying to distract myself by thinking up another song, but find the effort fruitless. Instead, I end up wringing my hands again.

The Elves have some food on the table for us, but it is a measure of how anxious and concerned we are that it remains untouched. I am glad when my old friend, Glóin, and his lad come to visit with us. A part of me wonders at seeing Dwarves in an Elven realm such as Rivendell, and I’m certain Glóin gave some explanation, but I am so worried about whether Frodo will live or not that his explanation is lost on me. He is a good friend, to try and take my mind off my worries.

It has been hours now since Lord Elrond went inside Frodo’s room to remove the poisoned shard from Frodo. Very little is said as we wait, for we are each caught up in our own thoughts of Frodo. And when anything *is* said, we are all careful not to talk about Frodo and whether or not he will survive.

At my insistence, Glóin and his lad leave to go have a late luncheon. With Gandalf in Frodo’s room right now, it is just the four of us hobbits waiting anxiously. Even for an Elven realm, time is moving slower than normal it seems.

I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. “I’m as stiff as a board from sitting and waiting in one place for so long,” I say.

Nobody comments, but Sam looks up at me and I am ashamed. He has been waiting patiently in this room far longer than I have and without complaint.

“Perhaps you would care to stand then, Bilbo?” asks Merry from his position against the post, his eyes never leaving the door.

“No, thank you, lad,” I reply. “Though I wonder how you manage to stand there staring at that door for hour after hour without blinking.”

Pippin snorts at this as he moves from where he was standing next to Merry and sits next to Sam and me for a minute or two before bolting out of his seat and beginning to pace again.

“Pippin! Find one place to wait and stay there!”, Merry growls at him. I have felt the irritation growing in Merry, in all of us as we wait, but it still surprises me to hear Merry speak to Pippin in such a fashion. But then, Merry has always been so intense that I imagine the distraction was too much for him. He always did look up to Frodo so, and to not know whether Frodo was going to live or not… it is no wonder that Merry is so pale and has circles under his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Merry, but I cannot!” exclaims Pippin with equal irritation as he looks out the window again. I turn to look at him. Pippin is pale and has dark circles under his eyes as well. Unshed tears are pooling in his sad, forlorn eyes. They do no look like the carefree eyes of a tweenager.

“I’m the one who is sorry, Pippin,” says Merry contritely. “This waiting is not easy for any of us.”

“Perhaps a song, Pippin?” I suggest, but that only earns me an incredulous look from Sam and my young cousin. “No, I suppose there are some times when a song is not appropriate, not even for you,” I say.

Pippin comes over to me and puts a hand softly on my shoulder. “It’s all right, Bilbo. I know you were only trying to help,” he says gently.

“It’s this infernal waiting. It’s getting to all of us,” Merry comments.

“It is rather unbearable at that,” I agree. Pippin and Sam just nod sadly, and we all go back to our silent vigil outside Frodo’s room.

More time passes before we all look up sharply at the sound of a footfall on the other side of the door. Gandalf opens the door and comes out to us, looking quite weary.

“Lord Elrond has removed the poisoned blade from Frodo’s shoulder and Frodo is resting more comfortably now, in a natural sleep. It will still be a while before he wakes, but Lord Elrond believes that Frodo will survive.”

My two young cousins, Sam, and I hug each other tightly and release a few nervous laughs in relief. Tears of joy are streaming down all of our faces.

“And now, Gandalf,” I begin, wiping my tears away with my handkerchief. “Take me to Frodo. I want to see my lad.”

*From Fellowship of the Ring, “Many Meetings’