Chapter 13 – Bones and Stones

The athelas had eased Frodo’s mind considerably and alleviated his headache altogether. Frodo had gone to bed that night feeling better than he had in some time, so it was a shock to him when he woke a couple of hours later, sweating and trembling considerably, as though he had run a great distance. He looked around his darkened room but could see or hear nothing that would have caused him to wake.

“Some night terror then,” he murmured, but try as he might, he could not remember what it had been about.

Yawning, he stretched out his hand and groped on the side table for the glass of water that was kept there. The glass was empty. Frodo frowned. He was certain that Sam filled it just before he fell asleep. Why then would it be empty? Having no answer to this riddle, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. He shuffled his way towards the door, intending to get water from the kitchen, but his feet hit something hard and cold upon the floor. He kicked this aside and continued on his way, but his path seemed strewn with these odd objects.

“What?” he asked, confused.

What could be upon the floor, hampering his movements? He turned back to the bed where the oil lamp sat on the table. To his continued confusion, he found his way once again blocked. The obstacles now hindered his every move and he had no choice but to reach down and toss them aside. He grabbed at one and felt his heart drop into his stomach. The object was sickly familiar, though he was certain he had never held one before. Yet it could be nothing else. He dropped the bone to the floor and stood frozen, his heart racing and sweat streaming down his face. He feared to move in any direction, even as the smell of the bones made its presence known, turning his stomach so that he retched.

“Sam!” he called, but the house was silent and, he knew, empty. There was no one here but himself. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

“This is a dream. Wake up,” he willed himself. “Wake up.”

A laugh, ominous and low, came from the hallway behind him. He turned and saw a glowing fire burning there, the red light casting a blood-tinge upon the bones in the room. He looked in horror at the bones: Hobbit bones, small and fragile, broken and shattered. He began to weep, his knees weakening.

“Wake up!”

“You will not wake,” the laughter said and suddenly a dark form loomed in the doorway. The Witchking came forth, brandishing his blade of cold stone. “You will join us in oblivion.”

“You’re dead,” Frodo whispered.

“As are you,” the Witchking said. He lifted his blade and thrust it downward, searing Frodo with unearthly pain. The laughter became the roar of the fire and it surrounded him as he screamed.

“Wake up!”  

“Mr. Frodo! Wake up!” Sam shouted desperately. He shook his master fiercely but to no avail.

Gandalf rushed into the room, the rest of the household following just behind him. Gandalf placed his hands over Frodo’s brow and spoke a silent chant. Legolas came up beside him and added his own will to the chant. Finally, Frodo woke with a gasp and a cry. He looked about wildly, not seeming to recognize anyone.

“You are awake now, Frodo,” Gandalf said, urging Frodo to focus upon him. “Your dreams cannot haunt you here.”

“Sam?” Frodo pleaded.

“I’m here, Master,” Sam said, squeezing Frodo’s hand. Frodo clasped at Sam and sobbed. Merry and Pippin climbed into the bed and supported Frodo from either side, lending their own comfort.

Gimli frowned. “I do not understand this, Gandalf. Frodo just had an athelas treatment. He should not be haunted by terrors in his sleep.”

Gandalf rekindled the hearth fire and brought out the pouch of athelas that he carried with him. He poured water from the ewer into the small cauldron kept in the room. He crushed one precious leaf and sprinkled it into the water, then placed the cauldron over the fire. Gradually, the heat of the fire released the healing effects of the athelas, and the room filled with its gentle scent. Tensions eased and Frodo came back to himself, tired and confused.

“Maybe we should send for Strider,” Merry suggested.

“I am fine,” Frodo said breathlessly.

“You are not,” Pippin said.

“I don’t wish to disturb him,” Frodo said. “It was but a dream. It has passed.”

“Perhaps we should wait and see if the athelas will help,” Legolas said. “I can sing for you.”

Frodo nodded and his cousins settled him back in his bed. Sam climbed up with them to hold his master, who was still trembling violently. He bade Frodo to close his eyes as Legolas sang and slowly they all began to calm. Gimli spooned out some of the athelas tea into a mug and handed it to Merry, who then held it to Frodo’s lips. Gandalf was still muttering under his breath, a stray word in some ancient language now and again spoken with more force.

Finally, Frodo calmed enough to sit up and take the mug from Merry. He looked at his friends with embarrassment. “I am sorry to have wakened you.”

“Nonsense,” Gimli said. “We were all tired of sleeping anyways.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Pippin asked.

Frodo shook his head.

“It may help,” Gandalf said.

“No. I don’t want to think about it. Thank you all, but you need not remain here.”

“We will see you back to good dreams, lad,” Gimli said. “Then we shall seek our own beds.”

It was another hour before Frodo trusted himself to doze. Gimli and Gandalf went then, but Legolas remained until he was certain that Frodo was deep in peaceful slumber. He went into Sam’s room to rest, as it was clear the hobbits would not be leaving their friend.

The rest of the night passed without disturbance.  

Gimli waited until after first breakfast the following morning to approach Frodo. At everyone’s instance, Frodo had eaten breakfast in bed accompanied by his friends, and Gimli had to chase everyone else from the room before addressing him. “I may be able to help you with your nightmares, Frodo, if you will permit me to try.”

“How so?” Sam asked. He had made no move to leave with the others, which was just as well. Gimli needed him there.

“It is a healing method used by the Dwarves,” Gimli said. “As with all other things, we keep it a secret to ourselves and do not use it on any not of our race. I believe in this case an exception can be made.”

“Thank you,” Sam said before Frodo could find someway to decline the offer.

Frodo frowned at Sam, but Sam lifted an eyebrow in response and that ended the argument. So it was that Gimli returned a half-hour later once everyone was gone on their day’s errands. Gimli reached behind his neck and unclasped the chain that hung there hidden beneath his hair and beard. At the end of the chain was a small tear-drop diamond.

“Lie still and watch,” Gimli ordered. Frodo lay himself down and Sam stood back.

They watched in fascination as Gimli dangled the diamond over Frodo’s body, moving the stone up his form from his feet to his crown. The diamond swung in small circular motions until Gimli came to the base of Frodo’s spine. There the pattern began to change, at times jerking, at others returning to it circular path. Gimli made a note of each of these changes.

“Why do you make it do that?” Sam asked.

“It is not I moving the diamond, Samwise,” Gimli said. “Stones are sensitive to the energy in all things. It moves so because there are blockages in Frodo’s energy. Take the stone and see for yourself.”

Sam did as instructed and while he kept his hand steady, the stone swung or jerked just the same. “So what does it mean then?” he asked, handing the diamond back.

“I’m blocked, apparently,” Frodo said with a weak grin. “Not enough fiber in my diet, I suspect.”

“It means you have too much or too little energy in those places, making you unbalanced,” Gimli said, returning the smile.

“Unbalanced? Like a weight scale of sorts,” Sam said, reaching for the best analogy he could think of.

“Of sorts,” Gimli agreed, not knowing any other way of explaining the delicate energy sources of the stones and how they interact with those of the body. “Think of Pippin when he’s had too much chocolate.”

“There’s a stone that can help with that?” Frodo asked. “Eglantine will be forever grateful to you if there is.”

“Alas, there is none that I have found,” Gimli said. “But for you, Frodo, your nightmares, fatigue and anxiety can all be linked to the unbalanced energies seen here. A few stones in the right places should help to balance you again. For a while.”

Gimli opened the small drawstring purse which he had carried with him throughout their travels. He had never before opened it, and they had never had enough nerve to ask him what it contained. Now Gimli poured out the contents, and Frodo and Sam were surprised at the sea of stones that flowed upon the breakfast tray. The stones were all the size of a large grape and perfectly round. Gimli sorted through them and picked out the stones he required.

“It is important that you allow the stones to do their work,” Gimli said. “Do not fight them.”

Frodo nodded and watched as Gimli began to place the stones over his body. Immediately, he could feel a gentle tingling where the stones were placed. The sensation spread out slowly from the stones, sometimes accompanied by a mild heat, sometimes a hint of chill. He began to relax and feel a calm he had not known since those rare moments after the destruction of the Ring.

Jasper Gimli placed low on Frodo’s belly, amber at the base of the rib cage, rose quartz over the heart, turquoise at his throat, sodalite and a diamond just above his eyes and against his crown amethyst and snowflake obsidian with a second diamond between them. He explained the purpose of each stone as he went. They all helped with protection and healing in some manner, and the sodalite and snowflake obsidian in particular would help prevent nightmares. The diamonds healed as well, and they increased the strengths of the other stones.

Gimli finished and stood back. Frodo’s eyes had shut halfway through the process and his breathing was now deepening into sleep. Within another few minutes, he was fast asleep, his face relaxed and youthful. Sam let out a sigh of relief, unaware that he had been holding his breath until that moment. Gimli gave a nod of satisfaction, pride mingling with worry and regret in his eyes.

Sam sat forward, peering at Frodo’s lithe form and the stones that lay upon him. “So, these here stones can cure folk?” he asked hopefully.

Gimli gathered the remaining stones back into his purse and closed the drawstring. He shook his head. “Nay, they do not cure ailments. They correct the energy and so allow the person who is ailing to heal themselves. I will leave the stones on him for an hour. That is longer than is recommended, but Frodo is much damaged from his trials. He will wake on his own and no dreams should haunt him.”

“Do all dwarves know how to use the stones?” Sam asked.

Gimli nodded. “All dwarves have at least a base knowledge in the more basic uses of the most versatile stones. It takes many years of study to become proficient. I had my father instruct me before leaving for the Quest, just in case. He taught me what he could. I hope that it helps.”

“It’s helping already, and that’s a relief,” Sam said. “Mr. Frodo’s had a hard time of it, though he tries hard to hide it from us.”

“He is a stubborn one,” Gimli agreed. “Can you remember the order of the stones and which ones are placed where?”

Sam nodded.

“Then you may keep them and use them as needed.”

“I can’t do that!” Sam exclaimed. “They’re far too—”

“If you say ‘valuable’ I will be cross,” Gimli said, sounding cross anyway. “They are but rocks hardened by the earth, no more than that. They can be replaced and at little enough cost to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, “but they’d be best given to Mr. Frodo.”

“I am giving them to you, as you will ensure he uses them,” Gimli said and crossed his arms, daring Sam to say anything against it.

Sam only nodded, knowing a lost battle when he saw one. “Would you mind sitting with Mr. Frodo for a time?” he asked instead. “Mr. Merry’s asked me to see to somewhat for him, and I need to get it done afore the post arrives.”

“Certainly,” Gimli said, stunned and more than a little amazed that Sam was trusting him with this task. “I shall call you if there’s need.”

“Thank you, Gimli,” Sam said. He kissed his master’s brow, careful not to disturb the stones. He opened the curtains above the bed to allow the full glow of the sun into the room, bathing Frodo in a golden light that mingled with his own inner light.

Sam’s chamber was next to Frodo’s, joined by a sliding door that disappeared into the wall. The door was usually kept open at all hours, but Sam closed it now; he needed the privacy. He reached under the bed and pulled out the box of blank invitation cards sent by Jodocus. Just as Frodo had once determined in Rivendell, Merry had now decided that the safest place in the house for hiding anything in connection to a conspiracy was under Sam’s bed.

Sam opened the box, making sure everything was there: cards, mock-up, and Bergil’s note with Lady Bodil’s address. He withdrew the mock-up, the note and a few blank cards, put the box back under his bed, and went downstairs to the study to write the invitation. His many protests that surely Mr. Merry or Mr. Pippin had the fairer hand had fallen on deaf ears. So it was with trepidation that he took up a quill, dipped it in ink and began to carefully, letter by letter, copy the mock-up onto the invitation card, inserting all the necessary information as he went. He finished forty minutes later with a huge sigh of relief and with sweat upon his brow. He put the quill away, sanded the invitation card and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. When the ink was dry, he poured the sand back into its sack, blew on the card twice, folded it and sealed it.

It took him another ten minutes to write Lady Bodil’s address on the front of the card, and when that finally dried, he stashed it at the bottom of the mail pile waiting for the day’s post. He went back upstairs and stashed the remaining cards and mock-up back into the box under his bed. He then checked in on Frodo and Gimli before going outside to the roof to work on his vegetable and herb garden there. Fancy stones might work for his master, but for himself there was no better medicine than dirt and growing things under his hands.

To be continued…

GF 5/2/09 & 6/7/09