Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
The little head tossed from side to side, mumblings of non coherent words followed by moans of pain and release. Shortened nail beds blanched as fingers clutched at the coverlet, oblivious to his friends sitting vigil over him.
"I am worried about him, Gandalf," Aragorn spoke softly, pulling apart Athelas leaves before rubbing them between his palms. The vigourous rubbing released the plant's aromatic oil before experienced hands dropped them into a pot of hot water. As the steam rose, a prayer was said to the Valar for the Ring-bearer's quick recovery.
"I, too, King Elessar, am worried for Frodo," the White Wizard agreed. A grin crossed the grizzled face, his lips wrapped around the word 'King'. It felt good to finally have Aragorn accept his rightful place on the throne of Gondor and Arnor. His ancestors, especially parents, would have been proud to see him crowned. A lot of blood was spilt and friends lost, but was worth every harsh step for the world of man to retaliate against the dark lord of Mordor. Gandalf bent down to take the seat on the other side of the halfling's bed, but was stopped short as his beard had caught on something.
Aragorn, whom was still seated on the opposite side starting to re-bandage the little ones healing stump, happened to glance at the Wizard's plight and chuckled. "It seems as if the mighty Gandalf has been wrapped around this shireling's little finger," he observed, gently disentangling the hand from coarse hair.
It was at this moment that a little bit of blue peeked from beneathe dark lashed lids, the small hand fisting tightly in the beard, literally bringing Gandalf to his knees, "Gandalf?" Frodo croaked out looking into familiar kind eyes, a tear slipping down his bruised cheek.
"Oh, my dear boy. I am here and so are you," Gandalf spoke, picking up the exhausted body, swaddling the halfling in the cover as he cradled him in his lap.
Aragorn walked around the bed to sit on the other side, placing his hands upon the cool brow. "How did he manage to waken from the deep sleep?" the King wondered aloud, amazed beyond his comprehension the strength and determination the little one possessed. When he thought Frodo dead, he felt elated when he saw the eye explode realizing then that Sauron lied, but that feeling deflated to no end when the mountain erupted into fire knowing that his friends were actually going to die, praying for a miracle. A miracle did happen when the Eagles landed, delivering the two hobbits, near death but still breathing.
Frodo cuddled up against the large figure's robe, engulfed by the familiar smell of pipeweed and sighed. "You fell, but I dreamed you fought the Balrog. Am I still dreaming?" he asked with all the seriousness he could muster, loosening his hold upon the beard, reaching up to touch the laugh lines of one of his oldest dearest friends.
"How did you know?" Gandalf asked bemused.
When Frodo was about to answer, his brow wrinkled in pain, a quick gasp of breath. "The Quest will take my life, that is what Lady Galadriel said. Why? Does...it have...to be?" tears flowing freely from the big blue eyes down his lips where they were gently wiped away by the King's clothed hand.
Gandalf and Aragorn were both at a loss for words. They had no idea what Frodo was talking about, but the Wizard knew that the wound that had been inflicted upon the hobbit by the Witch-King would never fully heal. He told this much to Lord Elrond who may in turn communicated it to the Elf Queen. The trials and tribulations the little one had endured was surely overcoming his confused mind. Especially seeing Gandalf again very much alive after witnessing such a tragic fall. They both looked into the wide terrified eyes, sympathetic to Frodo's feelings.
Aragorn dipped his cloth covered hand into the warmed Athelas water, applying the aromatic brew to the halfling's forehead, once again saying a prayer. Frodo's body relaxed in the Wizard's arms, his breathing more even. "All will be better in time, I promise," he said watching as heavy lids closed over glassy eyes, the Ring-bearer slipping back into an induced recuperative sleep.
"Be at peace, my dear boy," the White Wizard added, pressing his lips to Frodo's forehead, "be at peace."