Completely exhausted from his ordeal, Frodo fell asleep as Aragorn was carrying him. When he woke up, he again seemed to be lying on a table. He could hear what sounded like running water and a warm earthy scent hung in the air. Frodo wondered for a minute if he had died, but he quickly became aware of the painful, burning sensation in his throat. Opening his eyes slightly, he saw plants everywhere he looked and they seemed to be shrouded in mist. Or was it smoke? Terrified, he tried to scramble off the table, but felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “Don't be afraid,” someone said. Looking up, he saw Aragorn.

“It's all right, you're safe,” the king assured Frodo, helping him sit up placing a large bag of sand behind him for support. Then he offered some cold water for his throat, which Frodo sipped gratefully as Aragorn checked his breathing and general condition. His eyes widened with curiosity as he looked around this new place. It was filled with plants he never saw before and fountains were splashing water onto hot stones to create steam. What impressed Frodo most of all, however was the ceiling. It was made entirely of glass and angled in such way that it filled the room with light.

“You're in the greenhouse,” Aragorn told him. “This is where they grow exotic plants and flowers under controlled conditions. I brought you here because the high humidity would be soothing for your respiratory system.” Frodo nodded, that certainly made sense. “And because it's quiet,” he added. “No one comes in here at this time of the day.”

There was a loud crash as soon as he said that, however and a number of clay pots fell to the ground and shattered. “Well, almost no one,” Aragorn laughed.

Sam dashed over to the table, narrowly avoiding a wall lined with equipment. “Mr. Frodo, you're awake! Thank goodness!” he gasped with relief. “Thank you for taking care of him, Mr. Strider. And I'm sorry about those pots I broke.”

“You're welcome, Sam, and don't worry about the pots. They can easily replaced,” Aragorn replied. “May I have my healer's kit please?” Sam handed to him, looking slightly embarrassed for a minute, then both Hobbits looked up imploringly at him. The king smiled and placed Sam on the table next to Frodo. Frodo leaned against Sam gratefully and laid his head on Sam's shoulder. He would have been content if not for the discomfort of his throat.

The four Hobbits were planning to eat their meals together and Sam had been in the greenhouse looking for some flowers to decorate their table. He had almost decided which ones when Aragorn brought Frodo, who was apparently unconscious over to the table.

Sam was, of course devastated to see Frodo in that condition and wanted to stay by his side, but quickly realized his help was needed in a more practical way so he had gone to get Aragorn's healing kit at his request.

“Mr. Frodo, I was so worried about you,” Sam told him, with a quiver in his voice. “When I saw you lying like that I thought.... Do tell me the truth, Mr. Strider, is he going to be all right?”

“He should be,” Aragorn replied, “with plenty of rest and the right medicine.” He took out some bottles as spoke and placed on a shelf next to him. Frodo winced when he heard the word medicine and Aragorn, noticing this smiled sympathetically and was about to reassure him when Elara appeared in the doorway. Frodo gave her a smile and waved weakly as she entered.

“My lord,” she reported, “Master Frodo's room has been prepared as you instructed."

“Thank you, Lady Elara,” Aragorn replied. “Perhaps you could prepare some soft food as well and bring it to him there?”

“Yes sire,” she said, returning Frodo's smile and curtsied as she left.

“Take a few drops of these tinctures and rest for a while,” Aragorn told Frodo gently, “then we'll take you to your room where it's more comfortable.” Frodo nodded, thankful for the fact that he didn't have to take anything else at that time.

********************

Merry glanced anxiously around the sitting room that Arwen had taken him to. The room, with its light turquoise walls, deep green velvet furniture and painting that depicting scenes of meadows and woodlands provided a soothing atmosphere well suited for conversation. So did the blazing fire in the white marble hearth and the faint but unmistakable scent of lavender oil in the mithril lamps. Merry, however, seemed not to notice these things. Arwen had offered to have food brought to him, but he was too upset to eat. Indeed, it had taken her almost half an hour just to persuade him to sit down.

“Frodo was doing so well,” Merry said at last, with a note of despair in his voice. “If his recovery was set back because of me... “

“No Merry, it would not be because of you,” Arwen corrected him gently but firmly, “rather, because of his condition. When people have that many bad things happen to them they always considerable require time to heal.”

If they can heal at all, she thought gravely. There was a knock at the door that moment and when Arwen opened it, Pippin entered, still dressed in the black and silver uniform of the tower guard.

“My lady,” he said gravely and bowed his head. Then he ran over to Merry and hugged him tightly. “I just heard what happened,” he said anxiously. “Are you all right?”

“Yes Pippin, I'm fine but Frodo... “ Merry began.

“Yes, what happened to Frodo?”

Merry hesitated before he answered, not sure of all the facts. “Well, there was a fire in the kitchen and he fainted. Strider said it was because he breathed in too much smoke, but what worries me more than anything was the look on his face just before he went down. He looked like he was seeing something terrible.”

“He's still having bad memories no doubt,” Pippin commented sadly.

Arwen, who had remained silent throughout this dialog, silently stroking the white jewel around her neck, now smiled at the two Hobbits. “Frodo should be back in his room now,” she told them. “Shall we go and see him?”