It isn't the Ring, he tells himself, but it's enough. The white stone from Arwen Evenstar shines between his fingers and Frodo draws strength from it.
Huddled deep in the blankets, it takes him a moment to realise there's someone else in the room. Elanor's chubby baby fingers are warm against his chilled skin, and draw him away from his memories and into the present.
Blue eyes and blond hair peep at him. "Are you alright, Fo?" she asks, and Frodo racked his mind for words. Slowly, language returns and want recedes.
"I will be, sweetling," he tells her, and helps her onto the bed. Rosie finds them sleeping peacefully later, Frodo's hands clasped tight around an Elven stone, and a Hobbit flower.
~