This is the beginning of a very long story that I haven't even finished yet that was inspired by a little blurb in a magazine when the Return of the King theatrical DVD came out that said something to the effect of "Now you can go on the whole journey again (poor Frodo)" and I thought, "Hmmm...."  So this is my version of what might have happened.  Goes without saying that it's AU, but it close to canon in elements used and how the people would have reacted.  Some of my favorite scenes from the movies are in there too.  This is basically the love story of Frodo and Sam so those who are thinking of revisiting Helm's Deep, Minas Tirith during the great battle, the Ents, etc. are going to be disappointed, hopefully the rest of you won't be.  This is the very first LOTR fan fic I attempted to write so the beginning may be a bit weaker than my other stories, but I assure you it's going to get better so please hang in there.  I've been writing this over a year and it's not over yet.  I anticipate it being around 400 pages! at the end and split into four stories.  This one, "The Lucky One", "Love Letters" and a fourth I haven't completely decided on the title yet and it may be giving away too much if I told you anyway.  The whole saga is called "The Measure of Love" which is part of a quote from St. Francis de Sales, patron of writers, who said, "The measure of love is to love without measure." which of course Sam did.  No slash, but tons of love and angst with some shining moments of joy mixed in.   The My Oath to You part right in the beginning is not mine. I got that in a e-mail from a friend, it's over the Net, don't know who wrote it, sometimes it ends with 'signed God' but I had to put it in because it fits Frodo's gardener-guardian angel so very well and it really put the whole theme of the story in a nutshell right there.  Where, indeed, would Frodo be without Sam?  Enjoy!

___________

My oath to you...

When you are sad...I will dry your tears

When you are scared...I will comfort your fears

When you are worried...I will give you hope

When you are confused...I will help you cope

And when you are lost and cannot see the light...I shall be your beacon, shining ever so bright

This is my oath...I pledge till the end

Why you may ask? Because you’re my friend.

Prologue: The Board Is Re-set

There is no more beautiful sound than to hear Frodo laugh, Gandalf thought as he watched and listened with great satisfaction and joy as the four hobbits joked with each other under the warm afternoon sun after Aragorn’s coronation. There had been many, many times the wizard had wondered if he would ever hear that sound again or see his beloved friend. Gandalf knew there were deep wounds within Frodo that even the hobbit himself was not entirely aware of yet so the sound of laughter while it could still be so freely made was most welcome. The wizard knew when the euphoria of survival wore off and the laughs no longer easily came, Sam and Merry and Pippin would be there to make sure they still did.

Gandalf smiled as he watched the three gathered protectively around their elder cousin and friend, determined to keep any shadows or sadness away from the one who deserved the most joy. Pippin was very animatedly telling Frodo of his and Merry’s adventures, since they had parted, giving Frodo no time to even think of what had gone on during his own struggle. Merry feared he would tell too much, but the tween left out the kidnaping by orcs since he deemed that would be too upsetting and Merry silently thanked him for his discretion. Frodo was smiling and laughing at his youngest cousin’s attics and the three hobbits beamed at seeing and hearing that after all they had endured in the past months, not knowing whether Frodo and Sam were even alive, then fearing their lives end before their very eyes after the eagles brought them back beyond all hope. When Frodo had finally woken, Pippin had insisted he had never lost hope. He had beamed when Frodo had tossed his curls and said with a loving smile, "I knew you didn’t, dearest Pipsqueak. I felt it the whole time."

Sam was the happiest of all to hear such laughter since he knew better than anyone the depth of sadness and pain his beloved master had endured. The shadows in Frodo’s eyes were just beginning to reform, but he fought them off, concentrating solely on smiling at his cousins and Sam.

As Pippin talked, Merry took Frodo by the arm and steered him to a pavilion that had been set up, leaden with food for the upcoming feast. Merry stuffed one of Frodo’s hands with several small cakes and sweets while Pippin put a drink in his other, hesitating only a moment when he saw that the maimed hand was still stuffed in the pocket where Frodo kept it most of the time. A flicker of sadness crossed the Ring-bearer’s face, then he fought it back, and accepted the drink from his cousin with a faint smile. He allowed himself to be guided over to a table with four chairs and then ate and drank under his friend’s watchful gazes. "You know what they say," Pippin said cheerfully as he gave his cousin another sweet. "Eat dessert first!"

Frodo smiled. "Will you also clean up after me when all this comes back up because you are stuffing me with way too much?"

Pippin grinned, then grew serious. "I would do anything for you, cousin," he said softly, then his lower lip began to quiver.

Frodo’s face grew tender, then he reached over and took the tween into his arms. Pippin held on fiercely and began to cry. "I was so afraid I would never see you again," he murmured into his cousin’s chest.

Frodo stroked his curls and murmured comforts. Pippin just let himself feel and hear that. It was so wonderful. "I did it all for you, ’squeak dear, for you and for Sam and for Merry and for everyone. And I would do it all over again if I needed to, to keep you all safe."

"I know. So would we." Pippin raised his head to look into his beloved cousin’s eyes. "And we wouldn’t let you leave us this time. We’d follow you and help you the whole way."

"I know you would. Thank you. But it’s over now." Frodo smiled and wiped at Pippin’s tears. "It’s time to celebrate, not to mourn."

"You’re right, cousin," the tween said. He disengaged himself from Frodo’s arms and put another treat in his hand. "It’s much better to eat than to cry. Have another cake."

Frodo laughed, heart swelling with love for Pippin and his cheerful nature that remained largely intact though he knew Pippin and Merry had been through some frightful experiences, not all of which they had deemed to share, but Frodo could see in their eyes. He was sorry he hadn’t been there to shelter them from it all, but he decided to take his own advice and celebrate. The three hobbits continued to ply him with all sorts of treats until they were certain he would not starve to death before dinner.

Gandalf chuckled, then turned away to glance at the smoke rising from the ruins of Mordor. A shadow passed over his heart then and began to sink into it. The very air was charged around him, shimmering for a moment and a great fear overtook him. When he looked at the mountain again, it still smoked, but there was different feel to it than moments before.

Gandalf looked back at the hobbits and noticed that Frodo was looking toward the mountain now too. The wizard watched as a myriad of emotions passed across that beautiful face - puzzlement at first, fear, hope, joy, shame. He was the Ring-bearer, the wizard thought. Of course he would feel it. He closed his eyes. Please, Eru, he prayed, not him. Not again. Let me be wrong. Please.

When he looked again, he saw that the three younger hobbits were looking at their elder with growing concern. Frodo’s gaze continued to be fixed on the smoking mountain. Sam and Merry, more sensitive to Frodo’s moods than anyone, watched as each different emotion crossed his features. They didn’t understand them all, but they knew they needed to get him away from there, away from where he had to reminded of what he had endured.

Gently Merry took his cousin’s arm and steered him deeper into the city, toward a slopping street where they could descend a level or two and have high walls between them and the mountain. Frodo let himself be led, but he continued to look back, the strange mixture of fear, near despair and shameful joy still clear.

"It’s over," Sam said, looking concernedly between the mountain and his dearest friend. "Why do you keep looking back?"

Frodo kept looking. "I wonder, Sam, if it is."

"What do you mean?"

Frodo finally tore his gaze away and focused on his confused friend. "I don’t know."

The former Ring-bearer looked up and caught Gandalf’s grave gaze just as they disappeared from that level. The wizard saw his unspoken question, but had no way to answer it. Then they were lost to each other’s sight.

When the wizard next checked on them, all but Pippin lay asleep after a very full dinner in which the three hobbits had gone out of their way to distract their cousin and friend. Frodo made an effort, mostly successful, to enjoy himself and the other three breathed just a little easier, though they kept their eyes on him throughout, ever watchful for any slips in his mood. Pippin was sitting on his heels on the large bed they all shared, his back to the door, looking down at Frodo. He didn’t seem to be aware that Gandalf stood at the door. Frodo was frowning slightly, but seemed otherwise at peace, his head resting against Sam’s chest, safe in his guardian’s secure embrace. Merry slept crosswise at their head, the nearer to be his cousin. Pippin gently smoothed away Frodo’s frown, kissed his head lightly and murmured a soft "Sleep well, cousin" before he curled up next to him and put an arm loosely around him and closed his eyes.

Gandalf smiled and left quietly, hoping again he was wrong, but knowing that no matter what, Frodo was, literally, in very good hands. Still I must get to the Shire. I’ll know then, if not before, whether my fears have any basis.

Chapter 1: Strength of the Small

Frodo felt there was something not quite right as he walked toward Bag End as dusk was falling. The anxiety in him had been growing all day. He had finally told Sam he was going for a walk. His faithful guardian had taken one look at him and left his work in the garden half-finished to follow him, but even that company and walking to near exhaustion had not eased the nervousness he could not explain to himself, let alone to Sam. He left Sam to finish in the garden as the sun was near to setting, then entered his home. He was surprised and, he realized, relieved to see Gandalf sitting in the shadows, smoking his pipe and staring directly at him.

“You felt it, haven’t you?” the wizard asked.

A chill of nervousness, almost fear, skittered down Frodo’s spine, replacing his initial pleasure at seeing his dear friend. “Yes,” he said slowly. “What is it?”

“Feel your shoulder. Do you feel any pain, any scar? Look at your finger.”

Frodo pulled his maimed hand from his pocket and was stunned to see the finger which had been bitten off by an enraged Gollum was whole again. He felt under his shirt where the Morgul blade had bit deep into him and felt only smooth skin and none of the dull ache that had never left him even after he had been healed. He looked up at Gandalf.

“It hasn’t happened yet, it may never happen and it’s already happened,” the wizard said. “The board has been re-set. The pieces are back in motion.” Then almost to himself, he added softly, “And above all, the Eye is watching. Waiting.”

Frodo’s eyes widened. “But Sauron was defeated; he was destroyed,” he said, in an echo of the fear he had spoken of before the Quest the first time. “I don’t understand.”

The wizard looked at his dear friend with deep compassion. He desired like he had never desired anything before in the long millennia of his existence that he could give the reassurance Frodo sought. He grieved like nothing else that he could not. He could see in the deep shadows of the room, the light that surrounded and penetrated Frodo, growing stronger even now, leaving him ever more beautiful for eyes and hearts that could see that deeply. The Ring had been a terrible burden, but not all the ways that experience had changed Frodo were evil. The One he had accepted the burden from had seen to that.

“Neither do I,” he said. “Time has somehow double backed on itself. Bilbo has the Ring again. I saw him fingering it only just this morning. He seemed inordinately pleased to have it back again,” he finished in a somewhat irritated tone.

Frodo looked stunned. All the emotions he had felt the day of the coronation passed through him again. Strongest was the terrible, shameful joy and hope that surged in him that the Ring could be his again. And the horrible despair and knowledge that he would have to go back to the fire to destroy it, destroy something that had become part of himself, much as he was loathe to have it so.

Gandalf gave him a grave look, seeing the tortured desire in his friend’s eyes, the mark it had made on his soul. “It must be destroyed, Frodo,” he said.

Frodo looked away, ashamed to know that Gandalf had seen all he held in his soul. “I know,” he said very softly. He sank down into a chair, feeling suddenly overwhelmingly tired, as though the Ring was already on its chain around his neck. There was a long pause, but the wizard waited patiently as he knew his friend had more to say. “I was glad when I felt it again in my mind. Glad.” Gandalf’s heart nearly broke to hear all the shame and self-loathing in that small voice. Frodo looked up at his friend. “Isn’t that horrible? How could you possibly trust me with this task?”

Anyone who cared to look into Frodo’s luminous eyes had always been able to look straight into his soul. The pain the wizard saw there now was almost too much to fathom and his heart broke a little more. But he smiled warmly at his beloved friend. “There’s no one else we trust more, Frodo. You fought an increasing desire for it the first time, too, but that did not hinder you from your determination to destroy it. Once again, the strength and courage of the most unlikely of heroes must be tested and it may well be found again that the littlest of creatures can do the greatest of things.”

Frodo looked away again. “I wish I had your confidence. I failed the first time. It was only Smeagol’s enslavement to the Ring that destroyed it. And only Sam who saved me after I had become a slave as well. I don’t want to betray him again. I don’t want Smeagol thinking I betrayed him. I don’t want to betray myself and all I know to be good and true.”

“If you have trouble believing in yourself, ask Sam. He will be with you again. And I will be as far as I can, to the very Cracks of Doom if I can manage it. We all will.”

Frodo looked up at the wizard. “Will I lose you again?”

Gandalf saw the fear and pain in his dear friend’s eyes and hoped to soften it. We can ask no more of Frodo, he remembered saying to Elrond. But we must, he thought. May he have the grace to withstand a second test. He stood and put his hands on Frodo’s shoulders. “Perhaps you won’t, but if you do, I hope it will be my own choice as it was before and for the same reasons. I can’t tell you. I don’t know. Whether we will do the same things the same way this time, even with our foreknowledge or whether we can use that knowledge to change events, I cannot say. I only know that we must walk this path again.”

“But it was so hard,” Frodo said. “I became so weak. I failed so many times and I failed at the end. What makes you think I can succeed this time when I made so many mistakes last time? I would think anyone would be better than me, but I would not wish it on anyone else.”

Gandalf knelt and placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders. He waited until Frodo looked back at him, then he smiled again, looking at his tormented friend with great compassion and understanding.“My dear Frodo, nothing has grieved me more to have hurt so badly, but don’t think you are unique in that, that you have some terrible weakness or failing that no one has. The Ring corrupts everyone it touches. You actually held out very well against it for a long time, far longer than any of the rest of us could have. I knew the strength and resilience of hobbits better than anyone, but you surprised even me. I’m sure you surprised yourself as well. Don’t consider the fact that you could not endure at the end a personal failure. No one could have withstood the power of the Ring then and any one else would have fallen to its lure long before. You can do this, Frodo, but you must believe that you can. No one can go through life without falling occasionally. The thing you must do is to rise after each fall. You have done that and you can continue to do that.”

Frodo sighed heavily. “I don’t know. So much has changed.”

“And yet, nothing has. Sam saw how much the Ring changed you, against your will, but his feelings for you did not. Instead of feeling betrayed, he’s afraid he failed you.”

Frodo looked up sharply in surprise. “He didn’t fail me. I failed him. He saved me even though I had turned against him time and time again. He was always there for me, but I know I hurt him badly. How can I put him through that again?”

Gandalf smiled. “He’d willingly endure it if it meant you’d be saved. He loves you, Frodo.”

“And I love him, too, far too much to let all this happen to him again. But I can’t do it alone.”

“Then you’re lucky that he loves you far too much to let you. He won’t leave you.”

“I know. He nearly drowned trying to reach me the first time I tried to. I owe him everything, but I have rewarded such loyalty and love with betrayal and abandonment.”

“And yet he kept giving you all he had,” Gandalf reminded gently.

“Yes. I don’t deserve it.”

“It is still his to give just as you have given your love back to him and your trust and love to Smeagol and all those you care about.”

“Smeagol,” Frodo echoed softly. “If I must do this again, I would like to save him this time. I couldn’t last time.”

Gandalf almost smiled. “Perhaps you can. If he’ll let you. He chose not to last time. If he makes the same choice this time, that will be his failure, not yours.” He paused a moment to let Frodo think about that. “But one person that must fail again is Sauron. We can’t let him win this time any more than we could the last. He knows a halfling destroyed the Ring last time. He will not easily suffer it to be lost again. It won’t take him long to guess where it is. And he may not need to torture Smeagol this time to know for sure.”

“I’m glad,” Frodo said quietly.

“It also means you will be in much greater danger this time.”

Frodo sighed. “And I would be leading Sam right into it. Does he know that? Do anyone of them?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any of them yet besides Bilbo. If the others know, I think they’d be frightened and confused like you, but those would be the least of their feelings. They would know, like you, what must be done and having already gone through the fire and being found worthy, would be all the more determined to succeed again, to protect you and all else that is at stake.”

“But I was tested and found unworthy,” Frodo said.

The wizard looked into Frodo’s eyes, saw the tortured doubts and feelings of failure. He smiled. “My dear hobbit, you must stop defeating yourself like this. Learn to have patience with yourself. Never confuse your mistakes with your value. You are a perfectly valuable, creative, worthwhile person simply because you exist. And no amount of triumph or tribulations can ever change that. The rest of us already recognize that in you, but you must believe it yourself. The future is not determined by the past. The destination is the same, but the choices and decisions do not need to be. You were given strength enough to endure last time. You will be given strength enough this time.”

Frodo was silent for a long time. He looked around at his beloved home that he would now have to leave for the second time with no certainty of returning, only the hope of it, and without any of the blissful ignorance of the trails ahead. Those were burned into his soul, but perhaps, Gandalf thought, the pain of them would be eased in his determination not to fail again.

Frodo sighed heavily and looked up at his friend. “When do we leave?”

Gandalf smiled. He squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “As soon as possible, but not tonight. Tonight, we have a birthday to celebrate, don’t we? I’ll join you and Bilbo, but first I’ve got to see that those rascals you call cousins are not getting into my fireworks again.”

The jest only provoked the faintest of smiles from Frodo. The door opened and Sam stuck his head in to fetch his master for the party. “Mr. Gandalf!” he said in surprise, then frowned as he wondered what that meant as he saw his master’s face even more grave than it had been on the walk.

“Sam,” the wizard said with a bow and a smile, then left.

The young gardener looked at his master.

“Sam, I have something to tell you,” Frodo said softly. “Have you felt recently that things are not quite right?”

Sam paused a moment in thought. “The marigolds that died last year are blooming again. The same ones. And the pansies that I dug up to plant some of the elanor are back. I don’t quite understand that and I’ve been gardening almost before I could walk. And the sign for Mr. Bilbo’s party tonight is all wrong. It’s not...”

Frodo held Sam’s arms to support him for the next words, or he wondered, if he himself was the one who needed the support. He looked at his best friend. “Yes, it is, Sam. Gandalf has told me what he thinks happened. He says time has somehow reversed itself. The Ring needs to be destroyed again.”

Sam’s eyes widened and Frodo’s grip on his friend’s arms tightened slightly. He was more certain this time it was for his own support. “I don’t know why or how. Not even Gandalf knows. But we are going to have to leave again. And I’m afraid, Sam, I’m so afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you again. What a terrible present I’ve given you. I’m so sorry.”

The torment in his master’s voice and eyes intensified until it nearly broke Sam’s heart. “I’ve kept dreaming about it, over and over again, like I wonder what I could have done differently to help you better. I’ve hated them, but now I think it’s a good thing.” He looked critically at his master. “I know you haven’t been sleeping all that well either. And don’t tell me you have been.”

Frodo’s face grew tender and he smiled. “My dear Sam, you have been my stoutest defender. Would you protect me even from my dreams?”

Sam reached up to grip his master’s hands. “If I could, I would,” he said solemnly.

“As I would protect you from yours,” Frodo said. “I’m sorry, Sam. You should have said something. We insomniacs could have kept each other company!”

Sam smiled at the attempted jest, but both knew the horrors that had kept them awake were too much to joke about.

Frodo sighed and turned away, looking out at the party field. “I wish that’s all it ever was, Sam, just a bad dream and we’d wake to be in our own beds, glad it was just a tale we heard, not something we were inside of. But there is no remedy to ease our fears.”

Sam turned his master and waited until Frodo looked up at him. “Yes, there is,” he said earnestly. “Of course there is. There is hope and courage and determination and will. There is light and love and all else good that makes life worth living.”

Frodo looked at his friend. “All the things that are wrapped up in you, dear Sam.”

Sam smiled. “And you.  I know you’re afraid and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t, but maybe it won’t happen the same way,” he said. “It doesn’t matter though if it does. There is one thing that won’t change. My place is at your side, me dear. I will not leave it.”

Frodo was too moved to speak at first, then he smiled. He gripped his friend’s arms a little tighter then let go. “Thank you, Sam. You are the truest friend and protector I have had the honor to know.”

Sam blushed and looked down at his feet for a moment, embarrassed, then back up at his master. “No need to thank me for something I’d just be doing naturally.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, Frodo gathering strength from the love and compassion he saw in his friend’s eyes.

“Now let’s go enjoy some of those fireworks, shall we?” Sam said.

Frodo smiled back, if only weakly. He knew Sam was just as loathe to begin the journey over again, but also just as determined never to waver from his side. Frodo felt his burden lighten just from that thought. He was going to make it back to Mordor, and back to the Shire, and he was going to do it, once again, because of Sam.

But he couldn’t celebrate at the party. He couldn’t bear to think of losing Bilbo again or leaving his home or the myriad other terrors he’d soon be enduring again. He wandered through the joyous partygoers as though he were a ghost, catching himself several times looking for who he had been before, at the same party, happy, carefree, no dark shadows on his soul. He did not find him, though he did make eye contact several times with Merry and Pippin who looked very serious.

So they know, too, Frodo thought. Then he forced himself to think more cheerfully. Or maybe Gandalf threatened to turn them into something unnatural if they touched his fireworks.

A faint smile touched his lips at that. He caught sight of Bilbo and his smile widened. He thought of what Gandalf had said about making use of the time that was given. This time with his uncle was a gift unlooked for. He moved through the crowd and spent the rest of the evening with him. Maybe he could enjoy himself after all.

A/N: Gandalf’s quote about not confusing one’s mistakes with one’s value and that one has value simply by existing is from St. Francis de Sales.   

Chapter 2: Letting Go

“I suppose you had fun again with that little disappearing act of yours.”

Bilbo looked up, startled for a moment. He smiled, but it quickly faded. “No, actually, I didn’t, if you must know,” he rather peevishly told his guest. He sighed and his next words were more pained than anything else. “It means I’ll be leaving Frodo again and saying goodbye is just not something I can do well, not with him. Maybe I’ll take him with me this time. I should have last time. He’s just the same anymore. If I had taken him, none of what hurt him would have happened.”

“And Sauron may have gained all the power he needed to bring a second darkness to the world,” Gandalf said. “No, Bilbo, you did right to leave him. And you must leave him again. And the Ring.”

The wizard’s voice was almost gentle, but under that velvet was a layer of steel that brooked no argument. Bilbo knew better than to argue with that tone, but decided to be contrary anyway. He twisted the Ring around his finger. It was his again. He had missed it. Why shouldn’t he keep it? “No,” he said. “I think I’ll keep it this time. When I saw Frodo in Rivendell after he came back, he didn’t even look or act like himself. In some ways he was even more beautiful, clearer, if that makes any sense, but in other ways much darker. The Ring did something to him. It’ll be safer with me.”

The velvet began to slip away. “The only safe place for it is to be melted in the fires that created it.”

Bilbo looked up, alarmed. “Melted?! Such a pretty thing?”

Gandalf took a step closer to Bilbo and lowered his head slightly. “It’s a dangerous weapon, Bilbo. There’s nothing pretty about it.”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed. “Weapon?! What really happened to Frodo? He’s never told me, besides begging me in tears for forgiveness and I told him he had it, but what for, Gandalf, what for? I heard him cry out almost every night from nightmares while we were in Rivendell both times. And his eyes, oh, his beautiful eyes...” He looked back at the Ring in his palm. “And now you want me to give this to him again.” He put the Ring back into his pocket. “I won’t do it,” he said firmly, the Baggins stubbornness coming fully to the fore. “I won’t put him in any more danger. Besides, what danger can such a small thing cause? It’s been safe in my pocket for decades. Why is it such a danger now?”

“It has always been a danger to you or anyone who has it. I realized that almost too late.” Gandalf paused until Bilbo looked up at him again and the wizard was sure he had his friend’s full attention. “And there are others that realize its significance as well. The Ring is not yours, Bilbo. It never has been. Its rightful owner is looking for it, even as we speak. It’s not safe here. None of us are while it still exists. It must be destroyed.”

“But why does it have to be Frodo to do it again? You’ve seen him, Gandalf. He’s been...been...” His voice trailed off. “He’s not my boy anymore,” he ended softly.

Gandalf looked at his dear friend with love and compassion and understanding. He placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and waited until the old hobbit raised his tear-streaked face to him.  “No, he’s not,” Gandalf said quietly with a smile. The steel in his voice was covered by velvet once more. “He is becoming more and more the child of his Creator. He has yet to understand what that all means, but he heard the Call at the Council and he answered it. The Ring did change him, as it does all its bearers, but you are right that he is also ‘clearer’. He was almost conquered by the darkness, but his light won out. That is what you see even brighter now because the darkness is also deeper and sometimes you need the black to see the light best. Frodo himself doesn’t understand all the changes wrought in him; he is still moving through that process. What he will become after all is said and done, I imagine will be lovelier than any mortal ever has been, but it will be a painful transition and not easily accomplished.”

The old hobbit grunted. “You are being even more obtuse than usual, my inscrutable friend. I don’t understand a word in ten that you just said. I’ve read all the ancient tales that speaks of the One and the Powers, but I can’t say I understand it all.”

Gandalf laughed softly, not unkindly. “My poor hobbit, I am sorry. The ways of Iluvatar are indeed sometimes hard for mortals to search out. Let it be said that even with all our love for Frodo, there is Someone who loves him even deeper and is even more proud of him. I would share your wish to protect from all he had to face and I share your grief that he will have to face it again, but this is his task, Bilbo. He was given it by a Power higher than any of us. I do not understand why this has happened again, why it has been allowed to happen. But he has accepted it as he did last time, confused and afraid, but going on because he knows he must. You need to play your part too. You must give him the Ring.”

Bilbo still hesitated. “I...”

Bilbo looked nervously at the envelope Gandalf held out for him as he continued to hold onto the Ring in his pocket. Gandalf sensed a struggle go on within him, then be decided. He dropped the Ring into the envelope and watched as Gandalf sealed it. “Oh, Gandalf, you take the fun out of everything,” the hobbit said gruffly, trying to hide all the emotions that roiled in him from that simple act.

The wizard would have laughed if he didn’t recognize each of those emotions. “My dear Bilbo, I am assuring you can still have fun. So is he.”

“Oh, sticklebacks, Gandalf, I should be the one assuring that it’s he who will be having the fun, not this confounded other way around.”

Gandalf looked compassionately at the old hobbit and put his hands on his shoulders. He waited until Bilbo looked up at him. “That is not your part to play, Bilbo. Your part is to let him play his.”

Bilbo tried and failed to find comfort in that. He began to pace nervously. “I don’t like this, Gandalf, I don’t like it one bit.” He stopped and looked at his oldest friend with fresh tears bright in his eyes. “It hurt him very badly, didn’t it? And it’s going to hurt him again.”

“Yes, Bilbo.”

The old hobbit pierced the wizard with a hard stare and pointed a finger at him. “You better be going with him every step of the way.” He began to pace again. “I should be going myself. Why should he have to? I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him. It’s bad enough knowing or imagining all he went through the first time.” He stopped again to look at his friend. “That’s all I did last time, Gandalf. Do you know that? My imagination conjured up all sorts of terrible things.” He began to pace again. “And the worst part of it is I know what he truly suffered is far beyond my worst fears.” He stopped. “Is he going to be attacked again? What if he dies this time? Will he turn into one of those nasty wraiths? Wh...”

Gandalf placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and smiled. “I will be with him, Bilbo,” the wizard promised. “And he will have many others watching over him as well. Sam will be there. You need not worry.”

Bilbo sighed deeply. “Sam. He’s always been there. Like I should have been.”

“Bilbo, you did what you were meant to do. Frodo couldn’t have accomplished what he was meant to do if you had stayed. Everything happens for a purpose that was designed long before. Now you must continue to play your part. You are expected at Rivendell, are you not?”

Bilbo licked his lips nervously. “Yes, yes, I suppose I am.” He looked hard at his friend. “You will watch over him?”

Gandalf smiled. “I will watch over him,” he confirmed.

“That’s it then. I just wish...well, I suppose I’m too old for another adventure.”

“You are living the adventure of your own life, Bilbo. There is no greater one than that.”

“I suppose not.” He looked up at his friend again. “Will he succeed? Will he come back again?” Tears threatened again. “I have to know, Gandalf.”

Gandalf’s smile didn’t fade. “You must believe, dear friend, that the One who has given him this task will see that he will not fail to accomplish it. Frodo has more guardians than anyone can see.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose he does. I know I’ve read about them, but I don’t completely understand. I can hope, though, I can at least do that,” Bilbo said somewhat absently, not looking at Gandalf, then back up to him. “Can I say goodbye to him this time? I couldn’t bear to last time, but I don’t think I could bear not to this time.”

The wizard’s smile deepened. “Why don’t you say ‘I’ll see you in Rivendell’ instead?”

Bilbo smiled faintly. “Yes, I think I like that better.” When he looked up at Gandalf this time, the wizard thought he looked vulnerable and a little frightened. “Can I say the same to you?”

Gandalf opened his arms and Bilbo buried himself in him and the folds of the wizard’s cloak that smelled faintly of pipeweed. “I will see in Rivendell, Bilbo,” Gandalf said softly.

“Don’t be late,” Bilbo said sternly, to cover up his rising fears, then broke away.

Frodo entered then and Bilbo turned to embrace his nephew tightly. Frodo held his uncle just as firmly. They both murmured comforts to each other, sure that the other needed it more than they did. It was long before they broke apart and then only after they had looked at each other for a long time and wiped at each other’s tears.

“Goodbye, Frodo. I hate putting you in danger, but I trust Gandalf will take better care of you than I could. I’ll...I’ll see you in Rivendell.”

Frodo smiled lovingly. “Goodbye, Uncle. I hope to see you there.”

Bilbo broke away. “You will. Of course you will. You were never one not to devour a book cover to cover and I know you didn’t have time to finish all those in Elrond’s library.”

Frodo laughed and Bilbo thrilled to hear it and Gandalf smiled. “Barely made a dent in one shelf. I could spend the rest of my life there and not even finish.”

The old hobbit latched onto those words as though they were a lifeline. “Maybe you could when you come back. I won’t be returning to the Shire you know. I’ll be staying with the Elves. I would love to have your company.”

Frodo smiled. “And I would love to have yours, dearest Bilbo. And Sam would be so happy among all the Elves.”

“Yes, yes. Well, let’s plan on doing that, then, shall we? And then you can write and read all you like and we can live happily to the end of our days there, away from...away from everything.”

Frodo sobered some, but he maintained a faint smile for love of his uncle. “I will do my best to assure that.”

Bilbo looked up at his nephew whose eyes reflected so much more pain and sorrow than they ever had before Bilbo gave him the Ring, but there was also love there and a strong determination. Those hadn’t changed. “I love you, Frodo, love you so much that I would do anything for you, to protect you, to take you away from all this, but I know I can’t. I know you have to do this and I want you to know how proud I am of you, how proud I have always been of you.”

Frodo beamed amid fresh tears. “Thank you, Uncle. I love you, too, very much.”

Bilbo looked at him one more time, then nodded. “I’ll see you in Rivendell, Frodo,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. He had to leave, yes, right now. If he didn’t, he’d drag Frodo with him, away from the Ring, away from everything.

Frodo smiled and embraced his uncle once more. He kissed his head softly. “I’ll see you there.”

Bilbo wanted to hold onto him forever, but he forced himself to break away. He looked around again one last time at his old home and old friends, then he picked up his book and quills and made to set out. “Well, the road awaits and adventure along it,” he said, hoping he sounded braver and grander than he felt. Then he added, more softly, almost to himself, “I like that. I’ll have to put that in the book somewhere.”

He headed out, turned once to wave at Frodo and Gandalf who stood at the door and waved back, then he turned out of sight, swallowed by the night.

“Will he be all right by himself?” Frodo asked when his eyes could no longer see anymore of his uncle and he and Gandalf turned back inside.

“He should be fine,” the wizard said. “I’ve alerted the elves and they are sending an escort that will meet him at the edge of the Shire. Bilbo is much more worried about you than he is about himself.”

Frodo sank down into a chair. “And I’m worried about him. And Sam. And Merry and Pippin and...”

Gandalf touched Frodo’s shoulder. “Sleep now,” he said. “We’ll set out at dawn and Bilbo will be waiting for you at Rivendell.”

Frodo nodded, got up wearily and laid down in his bed for the last time in a long time. He found sleep come surprisingly easy. The nightmares that had only too slowly begun to fade did not bother him at all that night. He had a sinking feeling though that it was because he was about to live them again soon enough.

Chapter 3: Traps Set, Promises Made

The attack came upon Radgast the Brown virtually without warning. Had it not been for one of his friends among the birds crying out an alert, the blade could have cleanly separated his head from his body. As it was, the wizard turned in time to take a glancing blow from the weapon. It still knocked him out, but not before he saw that the orc wore the sign of the White Hand on his armor.

The bird watched as its friend was roughly put over the shoulder of the brute and then it flew away to alert one it knew could help.

When it reached the Shire and Gandalf, somehow unerringly knowing where to go, the wizard took the exhausted bird gently in his hands and listened to its story with a growing frown. “So you know you could not trap me any other way, Saruman,” he murmured to himself, “but to trap the good and know I will come running. So be it. I shall come.”

He let the bird down on the ground where it knew where to peck for food and find rest.

Gandalf was still thinking about the bird's message when he entered Bag End. It was nearly dawn, the Quest was only just beginning again, and the wizard now knew that his former superior, now fully known as his enemy and the enemy of all free peoples, was aware the Ring had re-awoken and was just as bent as before on getting it for himself.

“Fine day, isn’t it, Mr. Gandalf?” Sam said as he looked up from watering the plants inside the home.

Gandalf could not help but smile. He thought of how dear this simple, humble gardener had become to him, nearly as dear as Frodo had been for decades. Both of them were soon to be burdened with many cares, but here was Sam just as cheerful as he had always been. He said a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Iluvatar before he responded. “Yes, Sam, fine indeed. I noticed you have some new plants since I came last.” He nodded to the vase Sam was watering. “Heart’s ease, I believe it’s called?”

Sam beamed. “It is, Mr. Gandalf. I planted them special for Mr. Frodo after we got back near where he likes to sit out in the garden and I brought some in here so he’d always have some near him. His heart has been in sore need of easing.”

“You have always known how to do it, Sam. Thank you. You will have to watch him extra carefully this time as that need is going to continue to grow.”

Sam looked at the wizard and then at the closed bedroom door that was Frodo’s. He had let himself in an hour before to get things ready for the journey and to make one last breakfast of his master’s favorites before they set out again. He looked back at Gandalf, a determined look fixed on his face mixed with the same tenderness that always showed when he thought of Frodo. “You don’t have to worry on that account, Mr. Gandalf,” he said assuredly. “I don’t intend to do anything but.”

“His resistance to the Ring is already weakened from all he endured before,” the wizard continued, “and while you hobbits continue to amaze me, you will need to be vigilant against any changes for the worse. He hasn’t recovered yet from the last time.”

Sam sighed and looked back at the door. He had already checked in on his master when he arrived, being careful to open the door slowly so he wouldn’t disturb Frodo. The older hobbit had been sleeping peacefully, but there had been a slight crease to his brow. “Don’t I know that already too well,” he said. “He’s been clutching that gem Queen Arwen gave a lot. I know it helps him, but I wish none of this had to happen to him and now it’s going to happen all over again.”

“He’ll need you more than ever, Sam. He is fully aware that the Ring has to be destroyed again and he is determined, but you may have to take it from him at some point. He won’t part with it willingly.”

Sam finished his watering and looked back at the wizard. “He couldn’t last time either and I know he wanted to. He just couldn’t. I wish I could take it myself right now.”

“No!” Gandalf said sharply. “No,” he repeated more gently when he saw the young hobbit’s frightened reaction to his vehement tone. “I know your intentions are pure, Sam, and you speak out of love, but I mean only to warn you that taking it would be the very last resort and that hopefully only at the very end, if necessary at all. I know you held it briefly before and withstood it, but if you held it longer, it would bend you to its will as it bent Frodo. It would be a disaster for the whole of Middle-earth if you were both lost. But if he does claim it again or looks like he will, you must be ready to take it from him. And I warn you, to do so will most probably break his mind. But it must be done, do you understand me?”

Sam blinked at tears. “It would break my heart if I hurt him.”

“It would break the world if you didn’t stop him and he claimed the Ring and disappeared. You can be sure that Sauron would not tarry long to claim his prize - both of them. If Frodo wasn’t killed outright by Sauron, then the Dark Lord would use him as a vessel of his will like he does the Nazgul. That cannot happen.”

Tears began to freely fall down Sam’s cheeks, but there was also a fierce protectiveness for his master. “It won’t, Mr. Gandalf. I promise you it won’t.”

Gandalf smiled and put his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders. “And I know you keep your promises, Sam. Frodo could not have a better protector or friend than you and he will need both.”

Sam looked down, uncomfortable with the praise.  He wiped at his tears and took a deep breath, exhaling it in a gust. He set his shoulders and his expression turned to grim determination. “He will have them, no matter what happens. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Walking beside him is the least.”

“It’ll mean the most to him, Sam,” the wizard said. “Thank you.”

Sam blushed. “No need to thank me, Mr. Gandalf.”

Gandalf smiled. “I know, but I beg you to allow me that little indulgence.”

He handed Sam a sealed envelope and Sam knew without even asking what was inside. “Put it aside for a moment on the mantle and don’t touch it or I really will turn you into something unnatural.”

Sam took the envelope gingerly and did as he was told.

“Now I must bid you goodbye, Sam,” Gandalf said. “Some urgent business has come up that I must attend to before I can join you, but don’t wait for me. Set out as soon as you can after breakfast. Time is already slipping away.”

Sam nodded and watched the wizard leave. Then he went to the kitchen and prepared a large mushroom omelette and the chamomile tea Frodo usually preferred in the evening, but Sam didn’t think it would be minded this morning. After he was done, he set two place settings in the dining room and went to wake his master.

Chapter 4: The Road Ahead

Frodo was still sleeping and for a long moment, Sam just stood there, looking at him, loathe to disturb his rest. The once and future Ring-bearer was frowning slightly, his right hand clutched lightly around Arwen’s gem, but what took Sam’s breath away and held him transfixed was how beautiful his master looked. The light was shining ever brighter from him and the young gardener was glad to see it as he knew how sorely Frodo suffered from the darkness and continued to do so, but it frightened him too. He had believed since childhood that there was something very special about his Mr. Frodo and it seemed to be coming clearer. Sam didn’t know what it all meant, but he was afraid that soon his master would leave him, return to whatever lovely place he had come from, never to grace this earth again. He knelt down at Frodo’s bedside and stroked his curls gently. “Wake up, dear. It’s time to eat.”

He continued his stroking until Frodo woke. Frodo did so suddenly, the last wisps of peace fleeing before him as wakefulness took full hold, but he still managed to smile at Sam and then came aware of the delicious smells coming from the dining room. He sat up. “Sam, thank you. It smells wonderful. I don’t imagine we will be having many more meals like this in the days to come.”

Sam returned his master’s smile. “You never know.”

Frodo laughed and Sam’s heart soared to hear it. It was a soothing balm to the continued worries he had about his dearest friend.

“Oh, my dear, hopeful, wonderful Sam, I am so glad you are with me,” Frodo said.

“Like I’d be anywhere else. But just in case this is the last, I’ll make you some extra special ones when we get back to make up for it.”

Frodo sobered as he swung his legs over the bed and stood. “When we get back,” he echoed softly. “I wish I always had your cheerful optimism, Sam.”

“It was the last thing I packed,” the younger hobbit said.

Frodo looked at him, surprised. “Last? I thought it would have been the first.”

“No, last. So it’s the easiest to get at.”

Frodo’s smile returned. “Practical as always, Wise Sam.”

* * *

From the hallway, Sam saw Frodo give one last, longing gaze to his bedroom, then the elder hobbit shut the door firmly and emerged, dressed for the trail. Sam handed him the envelope Gandalf had given him. He had forgotten how heavy such a little thing weighed.

Frodo opened it and saw the Ring on its chain and a note. Sam saw the flickers of quickly passing emotions over the surface of his master’s face as Frodo looked at the poisonous Ring. The elder hobbit’s lips moved as he felt the horror, joy and swiftly following shame that it was his again. He hoped Sam hadn’t figured out what he had voicelessly said, but he knew little or nothing got past his gardener and guardian.

He brought the chain out and put it around his neck. His head bowed down as he felt the drag immediately on his soul, the burning around his neck and he reached out to steady himself against the wall, to re-accustom himself to its weight. He took several deep breaths to try to relieve the pressure that already began its inexorable push to crush him. Sam caught his other arm and Frodo wrapped his hand around Sam’s arm tightly. He raised his head and pulled at the chain as though adjusting it could make it lighter. “It’s so heavy already,” he said. How could he have felt joy at having this again? Have I gone mad, at last? Oh, Gandalf, how could you trust me with this again? And Sam, dear Sam, how will you bear it as you have to watch it take me?

Sam looked at the Ring. “I wish I could carry it for you this time. Couldn’t I just for a little while at least?” he asked, even as he heard Gandalf’s warning him of that echoing in his mind.

“No!” Frodo said sharply, drawing away from Sam abruptly, then when he saw the hurt in his beloved friend’s eyes, he said more softly, “No, Sam. Thank you, but you don’t know what you are asking.”

“I know enough. I can see what it’s doing to you, even now, so soon.”

“That’s why I can’t let you have it, even for a little bit. You must be kept apart from its corruption. I’m afraid of many things happening again on this trip, but one thing that must remain the same is that the Ring be my burden only. I can’t bear the thought of what it would do to you.”

“And I can’t stand the thought of what it’s doing to you. I carried for it a little while when I thought you had died. I think I did all right then.”

“No, Sam. Please understand. I can’t let it touch you.” Frodo looked into Sam’s eyes which as always shone with love and compassion and put his hand on the younger hobbit’s shoulder. “I need you now more than ever just as you are. You may have to carry me a lot further this time.”

Sam covered Frodo’s hand with his own. “If I have to, my dear, I will. I hate that we have to do this again and I hate more than anything that you have to be the one to have to wear that terrible thing again, but I promise you that one way or another we will make it there and back again. I will bring you home safely.”

Frodo smiled at the strong conviction in his beloved friend’s voice, a voice strengthened by the courage Sam gathered like a cloak around them both to keep them safe. “I know, Sam. I could have no better friend.”

Sam blushed. To cover his discomfort, he said, “What does Mr. Gandalf’s note say?” he asked.

Frodo squeezed his friend’s shoulder, then let go and opened up the piece of paper and immediately recognized Gandalf’s writing. Frodo, I am afraid I must attend to some most urgent business that has suddenly arisen. I will meet you at the Prancing Pony as we planned to last time. I’ve sent word already to Aragorn to watch out for you there. He may even meet you on the way. If not, don’t forget to ask for him as Strider. If I’m not at Bree, wait no more than a day, then make haste, with or without me. I will join you as soon as I am able. With any luck, I will be already there to meet you.

“That’s what you said last time,” Frodo murmured and closed the note.

“I beg your pardon?” Sam inquired.

Frodo looked up at Sam and pushed away his thoughts. “Nothing. Gandalf will meet us at Bree.” I hope.

“I hope we won’t have so much rain this time,” Sam said. “It’s great for the flowers, but I’d rather have a dry spell myself.”

“You didn’t even mention that you hoped there would be no Black Riders either,” Frodo teased with a smile. “Rain I can handle.”

Sam looked mock-hurt. “That goes without saying. Now, let’s eat before it all gets cold.”

Sam pulled out a chair for his master before sitting himself. He looked out the window as he placed his napkin on his lap. “At least it looks like it’s going to be a good day to set out.”

Frodo smiled. For a long time, he just watched Sam eat, thinking how much his friend meant to him, how he was always cheerful, even near the end, how he was his light in dark places when all other lights went out, how that dear heart had never ceased to hope and to love and to forgive...again and again and again.

Sam noticed that his master wasn’t eating. “What is it?”

“I don’t deserve you, Sam,” Frodo said softly.

“Well, I don’t deserve you, either,” the young gardener rejoined, determined to brighten his master’s mood, “but I’m afraid we’re stuck together. There’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to put up with each other, I guess.”

Frodo laughed out loud. “Oh, my dear Sam, what would I ever do without you?”

“You’re never going to find out.” He motioned to the untouched food. “Now go and eat something, me dear. Please.”

Sam watched as Frodo did and when he was satisfied that his master would continue on his own, he resumed eating as well. He glanced down at the Ring around his master’s neck. “I wish this was all just another of Mr. Bilbo’s stories that we could just listen to safely near the fire. Wouldn’t it make a wonderful tale? I would have loved to have heard it. I’d be so scared for Frodo, but I’d be cheering him on for being so brave and hoping so hard he’d be all right in the end. And then when it over, we’d be able to go to sleep in our beds, knowing it was just a story.”

Frodo smiled. He sipped his tea. “I’d be cheering Samwise the Brave on myself.”

Sam looked up scandalized. “But, my dear, you’ve got to cheer the hero.”

Frodo looked at his friend and his loving smile widened. “I would be, my Sam. I am even now.”

Uncomfortable with the praise, Sam distracted himself by taking his master’s right hand and caressing the restored finger in amazement. “I hope you don’t lose your finger again. I don’t know how I could bear that a second time.”

Frodo’s fingers curled around his friend’s and he laughed. “You don’t know how you could, dear Sam? Then I hope for your sake, it doesn’t happen.”

“I hope for a lot not to happen again, especially what that wretched thing is doing to you.”

Frodo’s fingers tightened around Sam’s, gathering strength for the journey. “I don’t want to do this again, Sam. I don’t know how I can bear a second time, but I also know I would do it many more times if I had to, to keep you and everyone else safe.”

“As I would willingly carry it for you, to keep you safe.”

Frodo smiled at his friend’s stubbornness. “I know, Sam. Thank you. I’m glad that the one thing that won’t change is that you will be with me, but I’m afraid much else will be worse.”

“Now what kind of talk is that, me dear?” the young gardener chided. “You can’t start out already defeated. You just let your Sam take care of you. Let’s all you need to do. Let him do the rest. He’s not going to leave you for one moment this time.”

“I’m counting on that.”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Frodo smiled and took another sip of his tea. How like his simple, pure friend to see things always so optimistically. Nothing dampened his sunny deposition for long. It wasn’t a denial of reality, it was changing the way he looked at it. “My dear, sweet Sam, how much I could learn from you,” Frodo said softly.

Sam blushed. “Don’t know what that could be,” he mumbled into his omelette.

The elder hobbit smiled. “I’d give you the list, but it’s so long, we’d never leave.”

“Then you better not start.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you on the way. That might give me enough time.”

Sam looked down and pushed his food around uncomfortably, then he sighed. “Okay, but under one condition.”

Frodo’s smiled widened. “And that would be?”

Sam looked directly into his master’s eyes. “I start first with all I’ve learned from you. If there’s any time left, say after the Ring is good and gone, then you can tell me.”

Frodo’s eyes danced and Sam was for a moment left breathless at the sight. How long had it been since his master had looked so happy? And that he could, today of all days. The younger hobbit barely restrained himself from shouting from sheer joy. He found his answer as to why with Frodo's next words.  “How about if we take turns?  I’ll even let you start.”

Sam laughed softly. “Just eat, dear.”

They sat silently for a while, Sam watching unobtrusively to make sure Frodo continued to eat, Frodo softly smiling in his gratitude to be so well looked after. But after a while, Frodo stopped eating when there was plenty left and Sam looked at him concerned, well familiar with the crease in his master’s brow whenever Frodo was thinking extra hard about something.

“What do you remember from last time, Sam?” Frodo asked softly, looking down at his plate.

“What don’t I remember? It’s that hard to forget any of it,” he said, reaching for a piece of bread.

“Then you know that I will draw Sting on you, that I will abandon you on the stairs and at the very Crack of Doom.”

Sam’s heart ached for the pain in his beloved master’s eyes and voice. “It doesn’t have to happen that way again just because it did last time. I also remember you calling me Samwise the Brave, saying that you wouldn’t have gotten far without me, that you did not abandon me at the end and that you said more than once that you were glad we were together.

“I don’t care what’s going to happen,” Sam continued when Frodo didn’t respond, but stared blankly ahead, lost in his own memories and fears of the past becoming the future. He took his hand again and waited for his master to look at him. “I told you before and I’m telling you now. I will not leave you. Nothing will make me, ’specially not that dratted Gollum or the Ring trying any more of that silliness about trying to separate us.”

Frodo smiled faintly. Silliness indeed.

Sam sighed and returned to eating. “I guess we’re going to be stuck with Slinker and Stinker again, begging your pardon, I know you don’t like those names...”

Frodo looked away and let Sam’s hand go. “I hope so,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Sam looked at him surprised. “You hope so?”

Frodo stared ahead. “I want to save him, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think he can be. I don’t trust him and you shouldn’t either. You know what’s he going to do.”

Frodo looked at his dearest friend and smiled faintly. “Didn’t you say just yesterday that maybe things would be different this time?”

Sam looked uncomfortable for a minute, as though he had been caught in a lie. “Well, I’m not going to put anything past him. And you shouldn’t either.”

“I’m still going to try, Sam. He’s what I could still become. If he can be saved, then so can I.” He smiled. “He doesn’t have someone like you are to me. I want to be that someone.”

“You tried to be before and he wouldn’t let you. You know I will follow you anywhere, me dear, but there are some places even you cannot go,” Sam said. He looked earnestly at his master. “Guard your heart against him. He will only break it.”

Frodo looked at Sam for a long moment. “As you gave me yours and I broke it? I’m so afraid, Sam, that I will break it again.”

Sam’s heart ached for the torment in his master’s voice and eyes. “It would only break if I lost you, but I’ll die myself if it would save you.”

“You can’t do that,” Frodo said. “I’d be lost if I lost you.”

Sam smiled. “Then we’d better make sure we keep an eye on each other.”

“Yes,” Frodo said, “we’ll have to do that.”

Sam poured himself and his master some more tea. “Please eat more, dear,” he pleaded

“Soon there’ll be nothing but lembas bread and you’ll be missing a home cooked meal.”

Frodo broke off his thoughts and smiled at his friend. “Yes, Sam,” he said and obediently applied himself more fervently to his meal.

There was a knock at the door a few minutes later and Merry and Pippin came in. They dropped their packs on the floor and entered the dining room.

“You weren’t actually thinking of trying to leave without us again, were you, Frodo dear?” Merry asked his surprised cousin.

Pippin rubbed his hands together as they approached the table. “Mmmm, mushrooms,” he said and immediately sat down and vigorously applied himself to the meal.

“The thought did cross my mind,” Frodo said as he watched his cousins make themselves comfortable, “though I don’t know why I thought I could. It’s bad enough that I have to bring Sam. I wish I could leave you all, safe and sound at home.”

“And we wish the same thing for you,” Merry said, “but as Sam would say, ‘There’s nothing for it.’. You’re stuck with us, I’m afraid.”

Frodo looked sideways at his faithful gardener and smiled. “Why do I have the feeling another conspiracy was hatched behind my back?”

“Don’t blame, Sam,” Pippin said around a mouthful of omelette. “It’s entirely our Merry’s doing, though Sam was helpful, I must admit.”

Sam blushed. Frodo’s smiled widened, then he clutched both his Sam’s and his Merry’s hands and wished he had a third hand to reach to Pippin. “Well, if you’re sure of this, then I’m very glad to be stuck with all three of you, though if I had any choice about all this, I wouldn’t put any of you through it again.”

Merry and Pippin smiled at each other over Frodo’s head, then at their beloved cousin. Pippin said something unintelligible around the food in his mouth. Frodo smiled. “How many times, dearest Pipsqueak, have I told you not to speak when your mouth is full?”

Pippin swallowed loudly and took a large sip of tea from Frodo’s cup. “I said, we are sure and you don’t have a choice. I could do without the orcs though. Do you think you could manage that, cousin?”

Frodo laughed and Sam smiled. The irrepressible youngest hobbit could always bring a smile to the eldest and for that Sam was glad. “I’ll see what I can do,” Frodo promised.

“We appreciate that, don’t we, Merry?” Pippin asked, around another mouthful.

Merry nodded, his mouth full. The four of them ate the rest of the meal, Pippin eating enough for two. He then rummaged through Frodo’s larder and set aside a few apples and a loaf of bread. “For later,” he said. “You don’t want all this spoiling, do you?”

The others smiled. “Of course not,” Frodo said. “That is so thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t complain when you are so full, you are going to be sick,” Merry said.

“You have to eat when you can,” Pippin replied. “You know how Aragorn starved us last time. I hope he knows better this time or I shall have very cross words to say to him.”

Frodo smiled. “He’s your rightful king now, Pip, I’d be careful.”

“Well, then he should know how to take care of his subjects properly,” the tweenager retorted.

Frodo slipped an arm around his youngest cousin and hugged him close. “I’m glad you are coming with me, ’squeak,” he said.

Pippin hugged his beloved cousin back. “Anything for you, cousin dear.”

Frodo kissed his head quickly, then they got up.

While Sam and the others cleared the table and washed the dishes, Frodo took one last look around and wondered, like last time, when, if, he’d see his home again. He was much less certain this time. He lifted Sam’s pack, then his own. Sam’s was decidedly heavier.

“Sam,” Frodo said when his friends returned from the kitchen, “our packs should be even weight. What can I take to make yours lighter?”

Sam looked a little sheepish. “Well, I decided to add a few things that I know we’ll be needing,” he said and Frodo laughed when a few potatoes were pulled out.

Sam smiled. “You know how much I missed them before,” he continued to explain. “This time I’ll be prepared.”

Frodo saw some of his own clothes in the pack also. “What are these doing in there?” he asked.

Sam suddenly blushed like he had been caught with stolen goods. “I hope you don’t mind...”

“No, Sam, of course not, but...”

“Well, I was thinking, if things go the same way, you’ll be needing them and wouldn’t it be nice to wear your own clothes under that orc armor?”

Frodo smile faltered for a moment as he thought of that horrible time in the tower, but then of Sam coming to him and his smile brightened again. “Thank you, Sam. Yes, it would. That was very thoughtful of you, but let me take them. You don’t need to carry everything.”

“Let me keep them,” Sam said earnestly. “If things do go the same, then you won’t have your pack anymore and I will. I want to be prepared.”

Frodo’s expression grew more tender and his smile widened. “My dear Sam, you’ve thought of everything,” he said and Sam beamed and blushed with the praise.

He then turned his back to his master and Frodo saw him slip in a long roll of cloth bandages into a leather pouch it into his bag. Frodo had the distinct impression Sam didn’t want to know what he was doing.

Oh, Sam, thank you, the elder hobbit thought, remembering how Sam had grieved at the fire that he had nothing to bandage his master’s hand. You really have thought of everything. But I hope you need it.

The four hobbits put on their packs and then Frodo put his arm around Sam and the four of them walked out into the bright sunshine. The door closed behind, the road lay ahead.

Chapter 5: The First Test

Sam squirmed, trying to find a place to sleep on the ground. “I had forgotten how uncomfortable it is to try to sleep with all these roots around.”

“Do what I said to last time,” Frodo said, his eyes already closed. “Pretend you’re back in your own bed with a nice soft pillow.”

“Oh, I like that,” Pippin said and squirmed a little to adjust his position. “That’s better.”

Sam squirmed too, then sighed. “I just can’t get it. Well, there’s nothing for it. Good night, Frodo, Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin.”

Frodo smiled. “Goodnight, Sam. I’m glad you’re with me.” He looked at Merry and Pippin who were about to fall off to sleep. “I’m glad you are all with me.”

“No place else to be, cousin,” Pippin said sleepily.

“Glad to do it,” Merry said.

* * *

Aragorn looked up from his seat at the Prancing Pony. He had seen and lived through many things ordinary men would find unbelievable, but even he was puzzled by the slip in time that had him sitting once again at the inn awaiting Frodo. Gandalf had been his usual cryptic self in his message, but the king had not hesitated to follow his instructions. He had already felt the strangeness in the air before coming, but something else stirred now. Some danger on the edge of senses honed razor sharp from decades as a Ranger. Frodo would not make it to Bree, he feared. He got up, paid for his drink and left quickly. His horse nearly trampled the gatekeeper before he disappeared into the night. The gateman shook his head. “Rangers,” he muttered.

 * * *

Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin walked silently and warily through the forest toward the Bucklebury ferry. They all watched around them, expecting Black Riders to come out to attack at any moment. Frodo imagined them to have already surrounded the group, holding their swords out in a circle, waiting for them, closing in ever more and more. He had felt that way since he had learned he had to carry the Ring again. The dark night did nothing to dispel his fears. A branch brushed against his cheek and he nearly cried out in fright, sure it was a sword ready to draw his blood. Sam grasped his hand. Frodo clutched it nearly hard enough to hurt. 

It was with considerable relief that they reached sight of the ferry unscathed. But their joint exhaled breath caught in their throats when the moon came out from behind a cloud and its light silhouetted two dark figures upon stock still horses, blocking the entry to the ferry.

Frodo saw them first and stopped abruptly, holding out his free arm to stop his cousins and clutching Sam’s hand even harder. Merry and Pippin nearly plowed into him. Frodo frantically motioned for silence. His lips moved in a silent, fervent plea that they had escaped notice in the cover of the trees they had nearly left. He stared around fearfully, fully expecting to see the Nazgul ringed around him, their drawn blades pointed directly at his heart.

He looked at the Riders and felt drawn to them. He started to step forward against his will, compelled by the power of the Ring. Sam tightened his grip on Frodo’s hand and began to pull him backward just as Merry grabbed hold of his cousin’s other hand. Frodo strained against them, being pulled forward by the Ring, his breath loud and labored in his ears. “It’s him,” he breathed. “The pale king...”

The Witch-king shifted in his seat and sniffed. His horse reared up and Frodo froze, looking up at his death, for a moment welcoming it, if it meant he would be free of the malignant influence that already so clouded his will and strength.

Sam and Merry yanked him back an instant before another horse crashed into the Rider’s and the sound of blades clashing rang in the night. Frodo fell backwards into his friends’ arms as the pull of the Ring was broken. Shaken and dazed, he breathed deeply, only slowly becoming aware of his surroundings again, of the chill of the night against his sweat and the hard breathing of his friends and their concerned faces.

“I’m all right,” he told them, but his voice shook.

There was a shrill scream of a horse, then the Nazgul galloped away with a shriek. The hobbits covered their ears in pain.

Aragorn rolled as his wounded horse fell to the ground. He landed cleanly and then knelt down and stroked the stricken animal’s head. Pain-filled eyes met his with a weak nicker. “Oh, Hasufel, what an evil fate for such a noble steed. I am sorry, my friend. You have served me well.”

The king then drew his sword and brought his horse to a place where there was no pain. Hasufel gave a last heave, then was still. Aragorn patted him and murmured an Elvish blessing, then came to the hobbits’ side.

“Aragorn!” Pippin cried, the first to recover. “What are you doing here? What happened to your horse? Was it the one who screamed?”

Aragorn’s sword flashed in the light of the moon as he sheathed it. He smiled at all the youngest hobbit’s questions. He had grown very fond of his charges since they had first met in a inn at Bree and were full of untested bravado. Now they had survived a war and been found worthy, but endearingly remaining essentially unchanged, but for Frodo. “Very good to see you, too, Pippin. To answer your last two questions, yes, it screamed when a wraith struck it with his blade. It would have become one of their steeds had I not released it.”

The hobbits paled. “Oh,” Pippin said in a very small voice, sorry he had asked.

Aragorn knelt, took Frodo’s hands in his and looked into his eyes. Frodo looked at him, trembling. “As to what I am doing here,” the king said, “I have come to aid the Ring-bearer. My life is once again pledged to you, Frodo. For you, for Arwen, for my people and my unborn son, I will fight for you and with you.”

Frodo looked into his friend’s earnest eyes without saying anything for a long moment, still dazed by his weakness and the horror of their near-capture. “You have a son?” he asked. “You should be with him and Queen Arwen then, keeping them safe, not with me.”

“They are at Rivendell. That is the best place for them now. But no one will be safe if our quest fails. My place is at your side, gwador nin, if you will have me.”

“My brother,” Frodo whispered. He looked into his king’s eyes. “Yes, I will have you.”

Aragorn looked at his friend’s careworn, troubled face and ached for it. He squeezed Frodo’s hands gently. “The burden is not for you to carry all alone, tineth min,” he said softly. “We will all help you.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said quietly. He looked at his friends. “Thank you all.”

Sam, Merry and Pippin smiled. Aragorn squeezed Frodo’s hands once more, smiled, then got up and looked quickly around.

“We have to move on. The ferry will be safe for us, but Bree won’t be. Gandalf will have to find us another way. If I can, I will leave him a message for him at the inn, but you must not come near, though I am loathe to leave you alone also.”

“We’ll make do, Mr. Strider,” Sam said, then blushed furiously. “I mean my lord, my king...Oh, I don’t know what to call you...but I am just that glad to see you.”

Aragorn smiled. “Strider will do just fine, Sam and I am very glad to see you, too. And you, Merry.”

* * *

Frodo was the last to step onto the ferry, remaining silent and distant the entire time as Aragorn and Merry paddled their way across. Sam spent the entire time worriedly watching his master. Frodo stared at the receding shore. The horror had faded, shame beginning to replace it. He had failed the first test already. His will was no match for the Ring. He felt himself begin to drown in the darkness of before, being pulled under by the inexorable draw of the Ring. He hadn’t been able to resist last time. He could already feel his strength ebb for another long battle.

Sam drew close to him and took his hand. “I’m here for you, me dear. I’m not going to leave.”

Frodo did not look at him. “Thank you, Sam.”

Chapter 6: Wounds at Weathertop

Frodo looked frightened at the ruined watchtower of Amon Sul as they stopped in the late afternoon. Sam looked at him and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, dear,” he said quietly.

The Ring-bearer looked at his beloved friend and smiled faintly. “I know, Sam. As long as you are with me, I can have that hope, even when I can’t carry it myself.”

“Then you will always have it, because I’m not leaving you.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Why are we stopping here?” Pippin asked. “You know what happened last time. The Riders are probably even waiting for us.”

“They will find us no matter where we are,” Aragorn said. “And this does provide us a chance to look around to see if they are indeed lying in wait on our trail.”

He carefully kindled a small fire and lit from it four torches of bundled wood and passed three of them to Sam, Merry and Pippin.

“Isn’t the fire just going to draw them quicker to us?” Pippin asked as he accepted his torch.

“The Ring is drawing them, Pippin,” the king replied. “But the fire will keep them at bay for a little while, until the pull of the Ring overwhelms whatever fears they have. They will walk through flame to get it if we don’t prevent it.”

Frodo looked alarmed at that. His fist closed around his shirt where the Ring lay on its chain underneath and he felt his burden grow heavier and his fears larger, not only for himself, but for his friends. Sam walked closely with him, hoping to give his master comfort just by being near. The four hobbits followed Aragorn toward Weathertop, the three younger ones looking around nervously as though expecting attack at anytime, but resolutely determined to fight it off and protect Frodo and each other. Frodo walked like one being drawn inexorably toward his doom. He did not need to look around. He had felt surrounded by the wraiths since he had first put on the Ring.

Before they reached the summit, Aragorn approached Frodo with two long cloths. “Take off your shirt, Frodo. If things go as before, this may help you.”

Frodo looked at the king fearfully for a moment, the memory of being stabbed searing through him as if it was happening right then. Then the frightening vision passed and only a phantom ache in his shoulder remained, swiftly fading. He removed his cloak and shirt. Aragorn crushed some kingsfoil in his hand, whispered the invocation, then bound the cloth to Frodo’s left shoulder and secured it under his arm and did the same to his right shoulder. “I hope that applying the athelas first will help slow the poison,” he said as gently as he could. He put his hand on Frodo’s shoulder and waited until the hobbit looked up at him. “They will aim for your heart. Don’t let them succeed.”

Frodo’s eyes widened as he continued to look at his king for a long moment, his fears increasing, then he nodded resolutely and put his shirt and cloak back on. Aragorn smiled and squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. “It doesn’t mean it will happen, just that you will be better prepared if it does,” he said.

“Thank you,” Frodo managed to say.

Aragorn smiled again, then turned to address the others. “I’m going to take a look around,” he said. “Be prepared. For anything.”

“We are,” Merry assured him resolutely. Aragorn nodded and went off. The four hobbits walked to the center of the ruined tower, Frodo in the center, Sam, Merry and Pippin in a protective circle around him, facing outward, torches in one hand, swords in another.

Three hours passed without so much as a whisper of wind. Aragorn still hadn’t returned and full night had since fallen. The hobbits’ vigilant stand had relaxed a bit and they had sat down, Frodo still in the middle.

“I can’t stand this waiting,” Pippin said. “I can just imagine them out there, just waiting for the right time to attack us.”

The others didn’t say anything, Frodo least of all. He liked the stillness. He was still whole. He didn’t know how long he would remain that way. He could feel the approach of the Riders in his mind, a growing heaviness and dread.

“I’m going to take a look around,” Pippin said, getting up. “Maybe I can see them before they see us and get an idea of what’s happening. It’s better than just waiting around to be attacked.”

Merry glanced at his two cousins, torn between his need to protect them both. “Go with him,” Frodo urged. He managed a weak smile. “Someone’s got to keep him out of trouble.”

Merry nodded and with one last worried look at his eldest cousin, he went off. Sam edged closer to his master.

Frodo felt the presence of the Nazgul as they entered the area. He stared straight ahead but Sam had the uneasy feeling that he wasn’t seeing anything that was out there, but something else entirely. “It’s good Merry and Pippin left,” Frodo said in a strange, distant voice. “They shouldn’t be involved in this.” He turned and looked straight at Sam and his eyes were clear and focused for a minute. “You should go, too, Sam. It won’t be safe here.” His eyes unfocused again. “They’re coming. All Nine of them.”

Sam swallowed. All Nine?! “I’m not leaving you,” he said and was amazed that his voice didn’t shake. He took his master’s hand. It was cold.

The pressure on Frodo’s mind increased steadily as the Riders approached until it became a physical as well as psychic pain. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw against it. His hand twitched in Sam’s as it was drawn to the Ring. As the assault mounted, Frodo began to moan and Sam looked at him worriedly. Frodo tried to release his hand from Sam’s, but Sam tightened his grip. Frodo’s other hand moved to reach toward the Ring.

“No, dear, fight it!” Sam urged. “Fight it!” He wished he could hold both of his master’s hands, but he was still holding his torch in the other and didn’t want to let that go.

Frodo’s breathing became loud and labored as the first four Riders approached. He sensed his doom even with his eyes closed. They called to the Ring and the Ring answered and he found he had no strength to resist. He cried out in pain as the pressure grew to an intolerable crescendo when the other five wraiths rode up behind the first. Sam trembled at their approach, momentarily paralyzed by terror. He was pulled back to awareness when Frodo forcefully tugged his hand away, put on the Ring and disappeared.

“No! Frodo!” Sam cried out, looking around frantically for his master. “Frodo!”

The Nine bore down on Frodo as steadily as before, guided by the Ring. Frodo watched their pale figures approach, saw the blade of the Witch-king drawn and raised to strike, and those of the other Riders behind their leader, also poised to lash out. In a burst of will borne by terror, Frodo sought to escape and twisted hard, but it came too late. It saved him from being struck in the heart, but his shoulder was pierced in the same place as before, the sword easily pushing through the protective bandaging there. Sam was nearly frightened out of his skin as a disembodied scream rent the air, but it guided him to his master. He launched himself directly at the Witch-king as the wraith made another thrust. A second tormented, disembodied scream ripped through the air.

With grief and fury blinding him, Sam swung his torch at the Witch-king and the second nearest wraith whose blade was ready to join the Witch-king’s in another thrust. That one reared back as the fire touched it and leveled a malevolent glare at the little hobbit who dared harm him. Sam was momentarily held frozen in terror by that gaze, then he heard Frodo groan and his courage came back. He swung at the Witch-king again, setting his cloak aflame. Behind him, he heard the cries of Merry and Pippin running forward and swinging their torches and swords. They looked as frightened as Sam, but also just as determined to save their cousin. They set afire another three.

Frodo gasped in pain and curled onto his side as the Witch-king swung his blade down again and this time missed. Somewhere the stricken hobbit found the will to take off the Ring and the pale nightmare world vanished to a dark reality that was no better. He saw a flame-wreathed hand reach toward the Ring on its chain around his neck. He cried out and rolled away.

“Stay away from him!” he heard Sam shout as the young gardener kicked the hand away. “He’s not yours!”

The Witch-king brought his full terror to bear on Sam. “No, the dark lord has claimed the halfling’s soul for himself,” he hissed.

Sam felt himself shrivel under the huge weight of that stare. He wished nothing more than to sink into the ground and fade away. He was shaking so badly he found it a wonder that he could still stand, then Frodo groaned again and his courage returned. “The Shire claimed it long before you did,” he cried, “and it’s going to keep it!”

Aragorn joined the fray then and finished beating the Nine away who fled in flames.

Sam rushed to his master’s side, dropped to his knees and letting go of his torch, took Frodo into his arms.  “Frodo!” he cried. “My Frodo!”

Frodo looked up at him with wide, frightened, pain-glazed eyes. “Oh, Sam,” he murmured. “It’s happening all over again. I’m going...”

Sam held him close. “No! Don’t you pay any attention to the lies that thing just said. Your Sam’s here to take care of you. Don’t you fret about anything.”

Frodo smiled weakly. “You were very brave, Sam. You’ll be a warrior yet.”

The younger hobbit grimaced. “I’ll do anything to protect you and the Shire, me dear, but I have no wish to be any warrior. You’re the one that makes me brave.”

He loosened his grip slightly and looked critically at his master. He saw the rip in Frodo’s clothing at the shoulder and then the jagged tear in his master’s breeches from thigh to knee. He pulled the fabric gently aside in both places. There was not much blood, but Sam could see red and black lines spreading under the skin.

“They’re going to have me,” Frodo whispered.

Sam gently tightened his embrace. “No, dear, of course they’re not. If they wanted to go with them, then why would they have stabbed you in the leg? Makes no sense, don’t you see?”

Aragorn pushed through them and knelt at Frodo’s side and grimaced as he looked at the wounds the Morgul blade had caused. “It doesn’t matter where the poison entered, Sam,” he said as gently as he could, “just as long as it did.”

Sam paled and held his master a little closer. He murmured comforts and hoped Frodo couldn’t hear how much his voice shook.

Merry and Pippin gathered around anxiously. “I’m sorry, Frodo,” Pippin said with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry! We should have never left you.”

Frodo looked at his young cousin’s stricken face and wanted to comfort him, but couldn’t find the strength to respond.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Sam asked and Merry and Pippin leaned closer to hear the king’s answer.

“The blade bit the shoulder deeper than before,” Aragorn said, “but some of the kingsfoil was pushed in with it. That’s good.” He spoke as softly and soothingly as he could, not only to comfort Frodo who looked at him so frightened and trusting, but the three other very anxious hobbits.

The healer king rebound the shoulder. He moved to Frodo’s leg and pushed aside the torn fabric to examine the wound. The hobbits bit their lips as Frodo whimpered. Aragorn didn’t speak at first and none of them, but for Frodo who was losing consciousness, missed that or the frown that appeared on the king’s rough features.

“Sam, would you take off his breeches so I can clean and wrap the wound? Be careful not to touch it yourself. It’s very poisonous.”

Sam’s eyes widened and all three hobbits paled, then the gardener nodded and very gently removed his master’s breeches. Frodo tossed his head and moaned slightly. Sam gathered him then back into his embrace, bracing his stricken master’s back against his chest, then kissed his head. “It’s all right, dear,” he said softly. “You’re going to be all right.”

He kept a steady murmur of comforts as he slowly stroked Frodo’s curls so his master had something else to concentrate on beside the pain. Aragorn prepared a small pot of water to warm, put the athelas into it and said the invocation over it softly. The words and fragrance relieved some of the hobbits’ fears and even Frodo relaxed a bit and opened his eyes again. As Aragorn gently examined and cleaned the wound, Sam continued his efforts to distract his master. The king smiled into Frodo’s frightened eyes as he brought a fresh roll of bandages and wrapped the stricken hobbit’s thigh. He touched his forehead and squeezed his hand. “I know how much you are a fighter, tineth gwador,” he said. “This is the fight of your life. Don’t give in.”

Frodo swallowed around his fear and pain. “I will fight,” he forced out in a whisper, all he had strength for.

“I know you will,” Aragorn said as the stricken hobbit fell into unconsciousness again. He burned the torn clothing and cloths he had used to clean the wound. A horrible stench rose that the wind soon dissipated.

“Well?” Merry asked, when the king did not elaborate on Frodo’s condition.

“I’ve done all I can. It’s up to Frodo now and his own inner strength and the strength he draws from you three being near. The Nazgul wouldn’t have wounded him twice if they didn’t already know how hardy and stubbornly resistant to evil hobbits are. But we need to get to Rivendell with all haste.”

“And if that strength is not enough?” Pippin asked in a very small, trembling voice.

Merry’s hand sought out his. The youngest hobbit curled his small fist into his cousin’s. “It will be enough, Pip,” he said softly.

“It will be more than enough,” Sam said fiercely.

Aragorn smiled. “I have no doubt of it, my friends.”

They all looked down at Frodo. If those beautiful features weren’t so wracked with pain, they could imagine he was merely sleeping peacefully, not fighting for his very survival as a living being. Sam placed clean breeches on him. Frodo barely stirred. The battle had already begun.

Chapter 7: Light and Darkness

Aragorn reached out to take Frodo from Sam, but the young hobbit held onto his master protectively. “I can carry him,” he said.

The king looked at Sam and marveled, certainly not for the first time, at the little one’s devotion. “I know you can, Sam. Frodo is very lucky to such a loyal friend as you, but I can carry him faster.”

Sam released Frodo to Aragorn’s open arms. Very gently, the king put the stricken hobbit over his shoulder and started off at as fast and steady a run as he could manage. Sam’s heart broke each time Frodo groaned at the jostling. He found himself praying that his master would lose consciousness from the pain and find some relief that way. The young gardener was amazed he didn’t trip over his own feet as first tears, then exhaustion made it hard to keep going, but he got the energy from somewhere, then when he had no more, he pushed himself still further, finding more strength out of desperation and love. Merry and Pippin followed as closely as they could.

When they finally stopped as dawn as breaking, Sam collapsed, heaving on the ground. Aragorn lay Frodo down gently next to him. Barely conscious, Frodo looked wearily at his beloved friend. “I’m glad you are with me, Sam,” he breathed then fell into sleep.

Sam regained control over his breathing and leaned over to kiss his master’s forehead. “I’m glad you are with me, too, dear,” he said, then took Frodo’s hand and fell into an exhausted sleep.

A half hour later, Merry and Pippin came in and collapsed without even greeting Aragorn who sat with his back against a tree, staring thoughtfully into the dawn. The king was almost sorry to rouse the hobbits only a hour later, but he had delayed long enough and he was anxious to continue.

Pippin groaned and rolled over when Aragorn woke him. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Frodo’s who was already awake.

“I’m so sorry, Frodo,” Pippin apologized again, still wracked with guilt over his cousin’s wounding.

Frodo reached out to touch his cheek. “Naught you could say, dear, naught you could do,” he softly sang from a beloved childhood lullaby, “could break the love binding our hearts together; for I will forever love you.”

Pippin smiled, relieved. Frodo looked over at Merry’s anxious face. “That goes for you, too, Merry,” he murmured.

Merry smiled. They both leaned over to brush his head with a kiss. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” Frodo teased wearily and took his friend’s wider smiles back into unconsciousness with him. He didn’t see the smiles fade into worry once more.

After a much abbreviated breakfast, Aragorn took Frodo back over his shoulder and they set off again. The days blurred into each other in a haze of exhaustion. The hobbits could only long for the next rest stop, kiss their cousin and friend goodnight, then collapse utterly with a groan, and another when they had to get up all too soon, but they never hesitated or complained beyond those simple, heartfelt groans. Worry and love for their friend spurred them on. They also felt an undeniable exhilaration at pushing themselves beyond their limits and finding themselves equal to the task as they found energy when they swore they had none left. They neither saw or heard any sign of Black Riders except the occasional call and answer of fell voices on the wind, sounding far away. Frodo heard, even when asleep, and murmured as if in response in a language that should have never passed such fair lips. It made Aragorn push himself ever faster. It reminded they were in great peril and that it could still overtake them.

Each time they stopped two of the hobbits would hold Frodo’s hands to give him an anchor to the real world, to hold him there instead of slipping away into the shadow world, to remind him that he wasn’t alone, to remind themselves that he was still with him, though every day he seemed to slip further away. The first night they argued over who would do it. Aragorn smiled, moved by their devotion. “My dear gentlehobbits, he does have two hands,” he reminded.

The three hobbits stopped their arguing for a moment and looked at him. “But there are three of us.”

“Take turns, then,” the king suggested.

The hobbits went back to their arguing and Aragorn smiled wider.

“I’m not leaving Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, staking out his place at his master’s side.

“Aragorn, tell Sam that it isn’t fair that he’s always there ahead of us and will get a turn every night and Merry and I won’t,” Pippin appealed.

“That’s for you three to sort out,” Aragorn said. “If Sam won’t give up his place and he shouldn’t have to, then you and Merry will have take to alternate times.”

“You can go first, Pip,” Merry said gallantly.

Aragorn smiled again, then turned away, marveling at the three and at Frodo’s strength and resistance, but he feared for him also as they all did. One night it rained and Sam held his master close to him to keep him as dry and warm as possible. Even then, Frodo trembled with the cold spreading inside his body. He whimpered sometimes in his sleep, though Sam wasn’t sure whether it was from pain or nightmares or both.

“Does it hurt very much, dear?” he asked and Frodo replied, very weakly, “Yes, Sam, very much,” but other than that he didn’t complain.

“I wish I could do something for you,” Sam said.

“Just stay with me, please,” Frodo asked and closed his eyes.

Sam squeezed his hand. “I will always be with you.”

“Thank you. Will you sing to me, please, Sam?”

Aragorn sat against a tree with his eyes closed. Merry and Pippin were not far behind, but hadn’t arrived yet. Sam began to sing a soft lullaby, stroking his master’s cheek as he did so. Frodo relaxed as he listened.

“Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let aside your cares
I will protect you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let no darkness touch you
I will guard you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let your worries fade away
I will not leave you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let no pain plague you
I will defend you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let no terror frighten you
I will always be with you

Sleep now
And know that I love you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo breathed when the song finished, tears silently streaming down his cheeks.

Sam kissed his master’s head and wiped at his tears. “You’re welcome, dear. Sleep well.”

Frodo slid into sleep as Sam watched.

“That was beautiful,” came a soft voice and the younger hobbit colored to see Aragorn watching him.

“I thought you were asleep!” he exclaimed.

The king smiled. “I had my eyes closed. There’s a difference. Don’t be embarrassed, Sam. It was indeed a beautiful testament to your love for your master.”

Sam continued looking at his master lovingly. “His parents used to sing it to him when he was a child. And he’s sung it to me and his cousins.”

“They must have been very special.”

“They were. I never knew them. They died the year I was born, but I know you are right.”

Sam looked back down at Frodo. “I’ve never known anyone like him. It’s like he’s made of nothing but light and love and goodness. So pale, almost translucent, like he isn’t even flesh and blood at all, but some sort of higher, more beautiful being than can stand being here on this earth for long.” He paused for a moment as Frodo moaned in his sleep. The younger hobbit stroked his master’s curls and murmured comforts until he settled back into true sleep, then the gardener continued, “I hate to see him like this. It’s tearing me apart. I’ve wished a thousand million times I could take his place. But you can see his light even now.” He looked up the king briefly. “And you must have noticed how light he is to carry.”

Aragorn nodded. “Yes, I was surprised the first time, too, and he’s even lighter now. I don’t like how thin he’s become.”

Sam looked back at Frodo. “I don’t either. But he’s always been thin. I remember one time years ago, I carried him back home after he sprained his ankle badly. He tried walking on it, but it just got more swollen and he could only barely manage to hobble on it. He never wanted to show how much pain he was in, but he could never hide anything from me. I just picked him up and carried him the mile we had left.” He looked up at Aragorn and laughed softly. “You should have heard how he protested that!” The king smiled. “Then Mr. Bilbo took him from me and he protested that also, but Mr. Bilbo would have none of it anymore than me. He saw how swollen Frodo’s ankle was and immediately placed him in bed and forbade him from moving from there for two days.” Sam smiled again, looked around him and leaned forward as though about to impart a great secret. “I think he was secretly glad since it gave him more time to read.”

Aragorn laughed softly, marveling that the young gardener could keep his cheer even now. It lightened the burdens his own heart held. “Thank you for telling me that, my friend. I know how stubborn those Baggins folk can be.”

“Stubborn as all get out,” Sam agreed. He looked back at his beloved master and continued his gentle stroking as Frodo began to grow restless again. “And thank the Powers for that.”

“Indeed.”

Every evening, Aragorn looked at Frodo’s wound and the three hobbits gathered around anxiously, hopes flaring for better news, then fading as the king frowned deeper each time. They sometimes held each other as one or the other or all three of them cried, but their hopes never died completely.

“While there’s life, there’s hope,” Merry took to saying each time they stopped and Sam would echo it each time they rose to go on. It comforted them to say it, to know that their friend hadn’t slipped away from them.

Aragorn’s energy seemed indefatigable. None of the hobbits ever saw him sleep, but he was always fresh and ready to go when the others would have much preferred to sleep longer if their mission hadn’t been so urgent. They began to wonder if he only stopped for them and apologized for holding him and Frodo back.

“Not at all, my friends,” the king assured them. “Do not trouble yourselves. I need these periods of rest also. I know Frodo is very glad to have you all with him and I am very proud of you as well that you are so devoted to him and have held to him so faithfully.”

The hobbits glowed with happiness, almost forgetting their fatigue and worry.

By the fifth day, Frodo slipped in and out of delirium, moaning, even crying out at times. Sam did not understand much of what he said, but Frodo seemed to be addressing the Black Riders, fighting imaginary or perhaps real battles in his mind with the servants of the Enemy. Either way, Sam grieved that were places his master went that he could not follow and could only watch helplessly as Frodo suffered. Sometimes he thrashed around in his ravings and Aragorn would hold him closer and murmur to him in Elvish which would calm Frodo for a while. After those episodes started, the three hobbits added, “Hold on, Frodo,” to their sayings to him as they kissed his brow at each stop. They would plead for him to do that each time they stopped and each time they started. They didn’t know whether he heard them or not, but they continued to say it, hoping that he did.

Frodo’s breathing became increasingly loud and labored as though his lungs had greater and greater trouble drawing enough breath. His eyes were almost always open, but never seemed to focus on anything, staring out in terror for what was happening to him. His friends looked worriedly at Aragorn who looked increasingly grim. “His body is changing,” he told them. “He’ll turn into a wraith if we can’t get him to Rivendell in time.”

This frightened the hobbits greatly. Sam leaned down and said quietly directly into Frodo’s ear, “Hold on, dear, just hold on.”

“Please,” said Merry and Pippin together as they brushed their lips against their cousin’s brow.

They all slept as close to Frodo as they could, falling asleep mouthing, “While there’s life, there’s hope.”

* * *

Aragorn looked out into the night. He almost wished Arwen would come to them again, but he knew she would be much safer in Rivendell. Still he hoped someone would come to their rescue, to Frodo’s rescue. Even Rivendell would not be a refuge if Frodo fell into darkness. He closed his eyes for a moment, then felt a gentle brush against his cheek. He opened his eyes and his wife smiled into them.

“Arwen! I was just wish....” He switched to Sindarin. “You should not have come. Riders surround us!”

Arwen smiled wider at her husband. “Why else do you think I have come?” she replied in the same. “Do I not have the same right to protect our son as you do?” She looked at Frodo asleep in Sam’s arms. “And isn’t the best way to protect our son is to protect the Ring-bearer? If I fall, only I and our child will. If Frodo falls, we all do.”

The elven princess and queen of Gondor knelt and placed a hand on the stricken hobbit’s shoulder. Frodo’s eyes flew open. For days, he had been barely aware of the world around him, all ghostly pale it had become, like him, like what he was becoming, a world of nothing but pain, but Arwen’s light pierced the veil around him. She smiled at him lovingly and raised his chin to her. He felt so cold. As his eyes slowly focused on her, she fervently sent the same mental prayer she had the first time. Let what grace that has been given to me pass to him. Let him live.

“Hello, Frodo,” she said warmly in Sindarin.

The Ring-bearer’s breath came loud and ragged as though each one was almost too much of an effort for him. He barely had the strength to lift his eyes to her, but he still tried to bow his head to her. “My queen,” he rasped in a wisp of a whisper.

Arwen looked at his bound wounds and up at her husband.

“I prepared a poultice of athelas beforehand and applied it to where he had been wounded before,” Aragorn said. “When the blade pierced him, some of the mix was pushed into the wound. It’s helped, but I did not count on him also being wounded in the leg.”

Arwen nodded and watched as her husband gently released Frodo from Sam’s arms.

Sam came awake then and sprang to his feet. “Oh, my queen, I am that glad to see you!” the gardener said with a deep bow.

“Hello, Sam,” Arwen greeted him in Westorn as warmly as she had greeted Frodo. “I’m sorry to have woke you, but I’ve come to take Frodo to my father.”

“Oh, thank the Powers!”

Merry and Pippin woke as well, adding their heartfelt cheers and reverent bows. Arwen smiled and greeted them, then mounted her horse and pulled Frodo close to her. The hobbit looked down at his friends. His eyes were slightly more clear and he seemed more aware. He stared at Sam who looked back with tears in his eyes. Merry and Pippin looked at him, blinking back their own tears.

“I wish you were coming with me,” Frodo whispered.

“You’ll be all right, me dear,” Sam said as bravely and confidently as he could, hoping his master could not see his tears or hear the fear in his voice.

Arwen looked up at her husband and they shared a long look. “Ride hard,” he said. “Im meleth le.”

“As I love you,” she replied in kind, then turned her horse sharply and galloped away.

“Sam!” Frodo cried.

Sam took a few steps forward, but Aragorn placed an iron grip on his shoulder, almost hard enough to hurt. Sam thought it was not only to keep him from following, but to keep Aragorn himself from doing so. Merry held Pippin back the same way and for the same reasons.

“Let them go,” Aragorn said softly and Sam didn’t think the king was talking just to him. “She’s already carrying two.”

The four of them stared at the rapidly dwindling forms of queen and hobbit as four Riders gave swift pursuit. They continued to stare for a long moment after they had disappeared.

“You’ll be all right,” Sam murmured to himself and Aragorn repeated the same in the Elven tongue.

* * *

One of the Riders swung close to Arwen’s horse and grabbed Frodo’s ankle and began to pull him away.

“No!” Arwen cried. “You shall not claim him!”

With one hand she clutched her charge tighter against her, while in the other, she jerked the reins and steered Asfaloth away, nearly swerving into another approaching Rider. She angled away and coaxed her horse to even greater speed, but the Rider kept pace and his hold on Frodo.

Frodo felt the pull of the Ring to the wraiths and himself weaken. “It’s no use,” he murmured. “We can’t escape them.”

He would have surrendered had Arwen not kept such a tight hold on him. “We can and we will,” she said. “Hold on, dearest friend, just hold on.”

Asfaloth put on a final burst of speed before plunging into the water. The Riders swiftly followed, but the water was already rising as Arwen spoke rapidly. “Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer. Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer. Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair!”

Three of the pursing Nazgul realized their danger and began to move back to the shore. Only the lead one held on longer.

“You will be mine,” he hissed.

“Go back!” Frodo cried to him and to the other Riders in a burst of strength. “Go back to Mordor and follow me no more!”

“Come back!” the Riders cried. “Come back! To Mordor we will take you!”

“Go back,” Frodo whispered.

“The Ring! The Ring!”

“You shall have neither the Ring nor me!” Frodo called, then leaned limp against Arwen, utterly spent.

The river came then and washed away the Riders. The grip on Frodo’s ankle was no more and he felt the horrible pull of the Ring ease as it was again frustrated in its attempts to return to its maker. But Frodo felt himself nearly drowning as well in its black depths, though Arwen kept them well enough from the torrent.

She looked at her beleaguered charge and made her way the rest of the way across the river. “Stay with me, Frodo,” she said as they galloped to Rivendell. Frodo had no strength to respond. He lost consciousness long before they reached there. Arwen looked down at him often, softly speaking, sending him strength.

______
A/N: Frodo’s verbal joust with the Nazgul is, of course, from the master himself.  "Naught you could do..." is from Queen Galadriel.

Chapter 8: Darkness and Light

Bilbo was already waiting anxiously when Arwen carried Frodo in and placed him on a bed in a large, circular room. Immediately Elrond moved forward, with Bilbo like a shadow beside him. The hobbit looked stricken at his nephew’s condition. Frodo was very pale. His breath came in short, desperate gasps. His eyes were wide open but stared into nothing but horror and terror. His entire body shivered violently.

“Hold on, Frodo,” Bilbo begged softly. “You have to. You just have to.”

“What can I do?” he said, staring up at Elrond as the Elf lord started his examination.

“Take off his cloak and shirt,” Elrond instructed as Arwen stoked a fire that was already burning.

Bilbo did as he was told, frightened by the cold of Frodo’s body. He stopped short when he saw the Ring around his nephew’s neck. Mesmerized by the allure of it and hearing its whisper again in his mind, all other concerns faded. Almost involuntarily, Bilbo reached out for it, but then Elrond took it from around Frodo’s neck with a cloth in his hand to keep from touching it and placed it in a small black box. The elderly hobbit had to restrain himself from lunging after it.

“I need your help, little master,” the Elf lord said not unkindly as Bilbo continued to stare after his prized possession. “Frodo needs your help.”

Bilbo tore his gaze away and looked into the stern eyes of the ancient Elf and nodded. He kept Frodo in an upright position as Elrond pressed his hands against the injured hobbit’s chest and spoke softly, but forcefully, in the Elvish tongue. Slowly, much too slowly for Bilbo, Frodo’s breathing eased some. It was still labored, but he was no longer in danger of suffocating. His eyes closed and he sank back against Bilbo’s arms, still shivering.

“Put this on him and get him under the blankets,” Elrond said, handing Bilbo a long, loose nightshirt.

After removing his nephew’s breeches, Bilbo put the nightgown on him and then piled him under as many blankets as he could. He touched Frodo’s cheek and squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, my dear boy, so sorry,” he murmured. “But you’ll be all right. You have to be.”

Arwen returned carrying a hot, wet cloth to bathe Frodo’s wounds.

“He is going to be all right, isn’t he?” Bilbo asked fearfully. “I will never forgive myself if he dies. I should have never picked up the Ring.”

“Have faith, little one,” Elrond said as he removed the binding around the wounds and made his initial examination of the injuries. Both were closed and very cold, the shoulder white, the thigh red and blackened. “Elven magic, as you call it, lives still and we must trust it will be enough or we will all be lost.”

“It will be enough,” Bilbo said, then he moved far enough away not to interfere with the Elves, but close enough to be near his nephew.

As gently as he could Elrond opened the shoulder wound and probed it with his fingers. Frodo tossed his head back and forth, moaning in pain. Elrond nodded to his daughter and she cleaned the wound with water from a spring that was renowned throughout Elvendom for its healing properties. Frodo murmured further as the water spread into his wounds. Once they were done, Arwen took the cloths that had been used and burned them, then returned.

She stared up anxiously at her father who glanced at her for a moment before continuing his work. Arwen saw how grave he looked, the fears in his eyes that he rarely showed, then she looked back to Frodo. She knelt down at the stricken hobbit’s side and stroked his forehead as he continued to toss in his delirium. “Shhh, mell min,” she said softly, trying to calm him so her father could work better. She spoke and sang soothingly to him at length in Sindarin, trying to defeat her own fears through comforting her friend. The mere sound of her voice seemed to bring some peace to Frodo, even if he couldn’t understand all the words, or even be fully aware who was speaking to him. It comforted Bilbo as well, who was soon asleep in a chair next to his nephew.

Shortly before dawn, she fell asleep at Frodo’s side, her head against the side of the bed, his hand in hers. Elrond stopped his work for a moment, loving his daughter more than ever for how devoted she had been throughout the night and lifted her gently from the floor, murmuring for her that it was time for her and Bilbo to go to their own beds for a while. She sleepily replied, took the slumbering Bilbo in her arms and went off only a few minutes before there was a commotion outside the door and Elrond looked up from his work to see three very anxious hobbits crowded at the threshold.

“How is he?” asked all three breathlessly at once.

Elrond stood. “The shoulder wound is deep, but not so much his leg. Once the tips of the blades are found, he should recover. I’ve been able to stop the damage to his lungs from growing worse.”

The three exhaled a joint breath in relief. “What can we do?” they asked, again in unison.

Elrond smiled faintly. “The darkness still draws him as long as the tips remains in him. Right now, just be with him, keep him anchored in the light. I will tell you more as I need you.”

Sam pushed forward first, dropped to his knees at his master's bedside and took one of Frodo’s hands. It was so cold, but Elrond watched as Sam held it against his heart as though that alone could warm it. Against all the Elf lord knew, he had no doubt it would. Merry and Pippin also crowded close, Pippin taking Frodo’s other hand.

Sam leaned near his master’s ear. “I’m here, dear,” he said. “Merry and Pippin are too and though I haven’t seen him yet, I don’t doubt Mr. Bilbo is too. Just stay with us. Please.”

Frodo murmured and tossed in his delirium. Sam bit his lower lip trying to keep from crying, but soon gave it up. Merry and Pippin hadn’t even tried. Elrond continued his ministrations, gravely noting the words that Frodo spoke, though no one else understood the Black Speech.

“Please come back,” Pippin said. He stroked his cousin’s cheek. “Please, Frodo, come back.”

Frodo did not respond. “He’s so cold,” the tween said and looked up frightened at Merry who looked nearly as scared.

“Just keep talking to him, Master Peregrin,” Elrond said. “You, too, Masters Meriadoc and Samwise. Such beloved voices will help him find his way back.”

Pippin bit his lip to keep from crying. He continued to stroke Frodo’s cheek. “You have to come back, Frodo. You wouldn’t want to miss my party when I’m of age, would you? We’ve been planning it for years and you’ve already promised that it would be even better than Cousin Bilbo’s eleventy first. And then there’s Gandalf’s fireworks and Sam’s flowers and Merry’s...” His voice broke off. Pippin took a deep breath to calm himself, then started again. “And Merry’s hugs. They can choke the breath right out you, can’t they? But aren’t they wonderful? You wouldn’t want to never feel those again, would you? The best hugs in the world, besides yours, of course. I want to be hugged again, Frodo. Please wake up. I need you.”

No response. Pippin looked up at Merry again and the elder hobbit held the tween around the shoulders.

“I need you, too, dear,” Sam told his master. “Please come back. Don’t leave us here alone. This is a most marvelous place, but I will hate it if you die here. It’s not right for you to be like this, not again. Please, you have to be all right.”

The hobbit looked up the Elf lord for confirmation. “Keep talking, Master Samwise. You have ever been his guide throughout this. Be a light for him to follow in his present darkness.”

So Sam talked about his wonder of the Elves, recited entire poems and sagas he had memorized as a child or heard from Bilbo, recounted stories of adventures that he and Frodo had made up as children while walking around the Shire, pretending to be great knights fighting dragons, pretending to be Bilbo, anything he could think of as he gently stroked his master’s forehead, to let him that he was not alone, that his Sam was near. He kept talking as cheerfully as he could as Elrond worked around him silently, to give his beloved master some grounding, a way back from whatever held him bound. When the gardener couldn’t hold back the tears that sometimes threatened to choke off his voice, he stopped speaking so Frodo wouldn’t hear his fears and instead stroked his friend’s face, hands or arms, all the while trying to ignore how cold Frodo was, so that the elder hobbit would know that even if his voice had stilled, his Sam had not left him.

Aragorn came in quietly and stood at the door, just listening to Sam. Merry and Pippin were resting in a corner. The king smiled at the tenderness of Sam’s words and touch. “Why don’t you sing to him?” he suggested.

Sam looked up, startled, and blushed. “I don’t know if I could sing here,” he said. “I’m just a simple gardener. These Elves have much grander voices than I do. Have you heard them, Strider? The most beautiful sounds you have ever heard.” He looked back to his beloved master. “Besides his, of course.”

The king smiled. “I have heard them,” he said softly and Sam knew many memories had been evoked from that simple question.

“You may think you are nothing, Sam,” Aragorn said when he returned from his memories, “but you are everything to Frodo and your voice would be the most beautiful one for him to hear, as I am sure he is already listening to you, if only a-far off. Go ahead, let him hear that lullaby again and know that there is nothing to be afraid of.”

Sam looked down at his silent, still master and at Elrond who looked up at him briefly. “My foster son is right, Master Samwise. I would be pleased to hear your song as well.”

Sam blushed deeper. “Well, a lullaby wouldn’t be quite right now. Maybe one of Bilbo’s songs or one Frodo himself sang.” He thought for a moment then began softly,

“O! Wanderer in the shadowed land

despair not! For though dark they stand,

all woods there must be an end at last,

and see the open sun go past;

the setting sun, the rising sun,

the day’s end, or the day begun.

For east or west all woods must fail...”

When he was done, Elrond looked at him. “That was very good,” he said gravely and Sam blushed to the roots of his hair. Aragorn smiled in quiet pride. To cover his embarrassment, Sam looked hopefully at Frodo’s face for any sign that he had been heard. He thought he saw Frodo’s eyes move slightly under their closed lids, and his heart grabbed at that tiny hope, but then Frodo was still again.

Sam longed to take him into his arms, to give him some extra warmth and comfort. He looked up at Elrond with pleading eyes. “Please, Mr. Elrond, sir, could I hold him? He’s so cold. Maybe...”

He broke off as Elrond looked up from his work and Sam had to fight not to squirm under that uncompromising gaze. “I’m sorry, Master Samwise, but until those shards are found, he shouldn’t be moved any more than necessary.”

Merry and Pippin came to their cousin’s side in time to hear that. Sam bit his lip in sudden fear. “We held him the whole time getting here. Did we hurt him?” Pippin asked in a very small, frightened voice.

The Elf looked sympathetically at the worried hobbits. “No, you didn’t. But I’d rather he be still.”

The three hobbits released one unified breath of relief. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Sam asked, looking down at his master. “He’s so still.”

Elrond’s features softened further, trying to calm the fears that rose again in the three. “He’s fighting a great battle and he needs to concentrate on that.”

“Then should we even be talking to him?” Pippin asked.

“Keep talking,” Elrond encouraged. “Remind him why he’s fighting. As soon as you can hold him, I will tell you. I’m sure he would welcome that.”

The three hobbits smiled at that and they all started talking at once. Elrond smiled faintly, Aragorn more widely.

After some time, Elrond looked at Sam. “Why don’t you get some sleep, Master Samwise?” he suggested gently.

Sam looked up at him. He felt deadened by exhaustion, held up just by sheer will, but he didn’t want to leave his master’s side. Merry touched his shoulder. Sam looked at him.

“I will make sure nothing happens to him, Sam,” he promised. “He will be, I hope, in even better condition when you wake.”

Sam looked at Merry hopefully, then at Elrond. “Thank you for all you are doing, Mr. Elrond, sir,” he said.

Elrond nodded with a grave smile. “Sleep well.”

Sam wearily propped himself up alongside Frodo’s bed and closed his eyes. His head drooped and he began softly snoring almost immediately. Merry and Pippin kept their cousin company, talking, singing, holding Frodo’s hand, trying to keep their tears and fears at bay as Elrond continued to work.

Aragorn listened as his foster father spoke the Elvish healing invocations that made Elrond the foremost healer among his people. The king smiled as he remembered much less potent ones being spoken over himself in his childhood for the occasional broken bone or other mishap. His smile become more wide and tender as he watched the hobbits at their vigil.

Elrond looked up gravely and looked at Pippin. “Master Peregrin, Frodo needs to be kept hydrated. Estel can help you.”

Aragorn stepped forward. Merry looked up at him quizzically. “How many names do you have?”

The king smiled. “I’ve worn many masks in my life,” he said. He came to Frodo’s bedside and gently lifted the stricken hobbit to a sitting position. He placed a towel over the nightshirt to protect it from spills and looked at three hobbits. “Now one of you sit behind him to support him so you can give him a drink that he won’t choke on.”

Pippin rushed forward. He held his oldest cousin tenderly in his arms, holding Frodo’s lolling head against his shoulder and holding a cup of water to the unconscious hobbit’s lips. Merry opened Frodo’s mouth gently and Pippin slipped in the water. At first, it only dribbled out again, dripping down his chin onto the towel.

“Stroke his throat, Merry, that will help stimulate swallowing,” Aragorn suggested.

Merry did so gently as Pippin tried giving more water slowly. Frodo coughed a little but it went down and thus encouraged, Pippin poured more in. When Frodo had successfully swallowed the whole cup after several minutes and only one more spill, the two cousins smiled.

“Lay him down again, Pippin,” Aragorn said after a look at his foster-father nodded in response to the question in his eyes.

The tween looked beseechingly at his friend. “Can’t I keep holding him? He’s so cold.”

“Elrond knows what is best, Pippin. You can hold him again later if you wish when he needs to have another drink.”

The youngster looked disappointed, but kissed Frodo’s forehead then gently laid his cousin back down and pulled up the covers as far as he could and still give Elrond room to work. “You’ll get better, Frodo,” he said softly. “I know you will.”

* * *

Over the next two days, each morning and each night, Frodo’s head received four separate kisses in greeting or farewell and looked for any response and turned away in disappointment, biting lips to keep from crying or not even resisting the tears at times. Elrond continued to probe the stricken hobbit’s shoulder for the shard he knew was steadily working its way to Frodo’s heart.

Merry and Pippin slept on a separate bed, out of the way, unwilling to leave their beloved cousin, but having been gently told to get some sleep from Elrond who saw how tired they were. Sam remained kneeling at his master’s side, just as exhausted, but even more unwilling to leave Frodo’s side. Bilbo dozed on and off in a chair near the bedside.

“It’s all right, my dear, it’s all right,” Sam said over and over again, at times stroking his master’s forehead which remained frighteningly cold, but he thought it was warming slowly as was the hand he still held. “Just hold on and everything will be fine.”

He wasn’t sure whether Frodo could hear him or not or whether he was saying it more to convince himself. His master still looked very pale. He opened his eyes sometimes, but didn’t seem to be aware of where he was. He continued to moan and murmur in a language that Sam didn’t understand. The young hobbit sang softly as he wiped at the tears that slowly tracked down Frodo’s cheeks.

“Sleep now, master dear,

Close your weary eyes;

Soon night will be o’er,

And the sun shall rise.

Fear not, for I am nigh

To dry all your tears.

“Sleep now, and when you wake,

I will be here.

Rest now, master dear,

Do not be afraid;

All the dark night through

Beside you I will stay.

Lie still, safe with me

While I my vigil keep;

I’ll be here till you wake

To watch while you sleep.”

The younger hobbit looked often at Elrond for clues to Frodo’s condition, but the Elf looked as grave as ever. Well, he always looks that way, Sam told himself in an effort to comfort himself and allay his fear. He didn’t look much at Bilbo’s face whose grief-stricken features only magnified his fears and pain.

Bilbo woke at Sam’s soft voice and he and the Elf lord exchanged a faint smile and then Elrond went back to work and Bilbo moved his chair closer to Frodo and took his hand.

“Hold on, Frodo,” he said softly. “Just keep fighting and come back to us.”

 * * *

Sam woke in the morning shortly after dawn when he heard his master moan.  He saw that Elrond had his fingers deep into Frodo's shoulder wound. The skin around the area was stained brown which Bilbo said quietly was from a liquid that was supposed to help deaden the pain, but Sam wondered how much it was working since Frodo continued to moan and toss his head, occasionally whimpering in pain. Sam bit his lip against that heartache and the plea to stop hurting his master that instinctively rose from his throat. He knew the Elf wasn’t deliberately hurting his friend. He resumed his vigil on his knees and held his master’s hand. He was frightened by what he saw, Elrond’s bloody hands probing an even bloodier wound, but Sam was determined to be there for his beloved friend. As the probing continued, Frodo’s hand tightened painfully around Sam’s, but Sam did not let go. He blinked back tears as his master’s moans and soft cries became more frequent, then with a liquid sucking noise, Elrond pulled out the bladetip. Frodo arched his back and gave a great cry as it was pulled out. His eyes opened for a moment, looked around frantically and found Sam looking at him. Frodo looked at him fearfully. “Sa...”

Sam laughed and cried to see those pain-glazed, but aware, eyes look back at him. “It’s all right, dear,” he said as he stroked his master’s forehead and wiped at the tears that streaked down Frodo’s cheeks. “It’s all right. You’re going to be fine.”

Merry and Pippin woke at their cousin’s cry and ran over to him. Bilbo was already beside his nephew. The tween paled and turned slightly green at seeing the bloody tip that Elrond had placed on a cloth, then swallowed loudly seeing Frodo’s even bloodier shoulder. Merry held his cousin’s arm, ostensibly to steady him, but since the Elf noticed that he looked only little less pale than Pippin, he wondered who was really steadying who.

Frodo didn’t seem to be aware of any of them. He continued to look at his friend. “Why are you laughing, Sam?” Frodo whispered as Elrond re-bandaged his shoulder.

“Because I’m so happy to see you awake, me dear.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too, Sam. Why are you crying then?”

Sam laughed a little more. “Because I couldn’t decide which to do after seeing you open your eyes after I was so afraid you never would again, so I decided to do both.”

Frodo would have laughed if he had had the strength, but it came out only as a sigh and a quick twitch at the sides of his mouth. “My dear Sam...,” he murmured.

At that Sam cried again. “I was so afraid I would never hear you call me that again.”

Frodo started to raise his hand to wipe at his dear friend’s tears, but didn’t have the strength to continue. Seeing that, Sam took his master’s hand in his, kissed it and raised it to his face. Frodo’s fingers lightly brushed away the tears.

“It’s all right, my Sam,” he said softly. “I’m not going to leave you. Who would take care of you if I did?”

Sam smiled, laughed and cried all over all again at his beloved master’s reassurances and gentle teasing. Frodo closed his eyes again.

Elrond approached with a small liquid-filled bowl. “He needs to eat,” he told Sam. “Can you feed him? You can hold him now.”

The young hobbit looked up at the Elf. “Yes, sir!” he said eagerly. He crawled onto the bed and very gently took his master into his arms, supporting Frodo’s back against his chest. “Can you stay awake a little longer, dear, so I can feed you? Please? You need to start getting your strength back.”

“I’m so tired, Sam,” Frodo said, his words slurring in his fatigue.

“I know, dear, I know. I’m that ready to drop off myself. But we’ve got to get something into you so you can start to recover more quickly.” Sam bit off the thought of what they had to do once Frodo did recover. “Just a little bit longer, then you can sleep. All right? Just a little while.”

Frodo nodded and Sam smiled. With one arm supporting his master, he reached with the other for the spoon in a bowl on a table next to the bed. It was a warm broth with crushed lembas bread. Frodo didn’t open his eyes, but Bilbo, Merry and Pippin watched with growing pleasure as he obediently swallowed each spoonful that Sam brought to his lips until after a quarter-hour, he couldn’t fight his fatigue anymore. He closed his mouth and turned his head when he felt the spoon against his lips again.

“Come on, dear,” Sam encouraged gently. “You’ve done so well. Just one more sip. And then you’re all done. Just one more for your Sam. Can you do that? Please?”

“Yes, Sam, for you.”

Frodo’s mouth opened slightly and Sam tipped the last spoonful in, then wiped at the edges of his master’s mouth.

“All right, that’s it.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo breathed, then surrendered to his fatigue. He curled around his guardian as a child would around his parent.

Sam looked up at Elrond, his eyes seeking permission to keep holding Frodo. Elrond nodded and Sam carefully lay down with his beloved master. "Sleep well, dear," he murmured as he kissed Frodo’s forehead and then closed his own eyes. "You’ll be better in no time."

Elrond looked at the other three hobbits. "We’ll let him sleep for a few hours, then we must open his leg and find the shard there. He is not out of danger out yet."

A/N: The first song Sam sang goes once more to the credit of the master who translated those songs for us, from Fellowship of the Ring. The second is courtesy of Queen Galadriel. Thank you, my dear!

Chapter 9: Honor To Reclaim

Faramir and Boromir were with their father when news reached Gondor that Elrond of Rivendell was reconvening the Fellowship of the Ring.

“Faramir will go,” Denethor said, not even looking up from what he was working on. Then he pierced his elder son with a look. “I will not lose you again.”

He looked down again, the decision in his mind made. “Perhaps Osgiliath won’t be lost then either,” he muttered, half to himself.

Faramir withstood the abuse stoically as he usually did. He looked at his brother, but Boromir’s gaze was focused on their father.

“I am going, Father,” he said. “I don’t know how any of this happened, but I’m not going to let the chance slip be to redeem myself. My personal honor is at stake.”

Faramir looked at his brother curiously, but Boromir’s eyes did not waver from their father. Denethor looked up again, sternly. Boromir didn’t flinch and it was the older man that looked away first after a long moment.

“I thought I understood that you died honorably, defending the halflings.”

“And I will do so again, if that is to be my fate.”

Denethor looked up. “I’d rather you lived honorably instead.”

“That is my wish also, Father, and why I must go.”

The old man looked down again to his work. “We’ll talk about this later, Boromir.” 

The younger man bowed, knowing himself dismissed. Faramir bowed as well, though Denethor didn’t look up as either man left.

Boromir did not look at his brother as they exited the room. Faramir ran a couple steps to catch up with his brother’s long strides.

“Boromir!” he called as they turned into Boromir’s rooms.

“I need to go, little brother,” the older man said, beginning to gather what he would need for the journey.

“Why? Stay here. Please. I don’t want to lose you anymore than Father does.”

Boromir stopped and looked at his brother’s anxious face. “Perhaps you won’t, but I must do this. I betrayed Frodo and myself and the honor of Gondor last time. Father sent me to claim the Ring, but the Ring claimed me. I would have killed Frodo for it, but thankfully he escaped and I came to my senses. Too late. But I must not fall this time. I must regain what I lost. If I am to die again, it will be without the stench of betrayal or the stain of dishonor. I will meet my end cleanly.”

Faramir’s eyes had widened in horror as he had listened, stunned into silence, then he said words he didn’t think he would ever speak to his brother. “They will not trust you. They will remember last time. Let me go. Father won’t let you.”

“Which is why I must make haste now,” Boromir said. He finished his preparations and looked at his brother and clasped him on the shoulder. “I have no doubt, little brother, that you would do Gondor and our house proud if you went, perhaps even better than me. Don’t think that is why I don’t want you to go, but this is my journey to undertake.”

“Then at least let me take it with you. I can’t lose you, not again.”

Boromir looked back into his brother’s pleading, earnest eyes. He placed his hands on Faramir’s arms. “No, your place is here. Prepare our men, protect our land. If there is any way I can come back, I will, but please understand, I must do this. I have been given another chance to prove myself. I cannot let it go.”

Faramir nodded in reluctant understanding. They embraced each other and Boromir gently pounded his brother’s back, then they walked to the stables where Boromir mounted and made ready to ride off.

“Remember this day, little brother,” Boromir said, then galloped off.

Faramir watched his brother leave through the gate, and he feared greatly, once more out of his life. And he was just letting him go, even though everything in him screamed to jump on a horse and go after Boromir.

Everything but the honor and sense of duty Boromir had and Faramir had ever tried to emulate.

Chapter 10: Traps Sprung

“Gandalf!” Radgast the Brown whispered urgently from his cell in Isengard.

“Yes, I’m here,” the elder wizard said. “And you should not be.”

“I’m sorry, Gandalf, truly I am. The attack came so suddenly.” He hung his head, then said, “I grieve for Saruman.”

Gandalf smiled. “As do I, old friend, as do I. But perhaps a second chance will not be overlooked.”

“I hope not by you, either, my old friend,” came the voice of the corrupted white wizard behind him.

Gandalf turned to see his former master with unbroken staff come toward him. The cold fire in Saruman’s eyes confirmed to the ancient Maia that a second chance would indeed be overlooked. He closed his eyes just a moment in sorrow, then brought out his own staff.

“Saruman, must you bow to capturing the innocent to bring me back?” Gandalf asked. “Release those that have no quarrel with you.”

Saruman walked closer and bared his teeth in would have once been a smile had not Sauron twisted his heart and soul. “You came as though I had called you by name, Gandalf. I know you would. You are too easily led by your heart.”

“And you no longer have a heart to be led by,” Gandalf the White said. “Your reason has fled as well. Do you not see, Saruman, that Eru is granting you another chance? Why waste it and become once again the victim of a murderous servant and even worse master?”

“You also are given another chance. Will you also throw away so lightly what you denied yourself before? We could reign supreme, my friend, you and I. Supreme! Or do you want to go through another death?”

The power of Saruman’s voice held no power over Gandalf. “I am happy to be but a servant of the One who created me. I have no desire to reign. You are but a servant as well, Saruman, and even a lower class than I, a servant of a servant of the darkest evil. Don’t labor any longer under the delusion that he would give you his power or even share it with you.”

Saruman roared with anger. A flash of light from his staff that struck out toward Gandalf. The latter countered it with his own staff, angling it back toward his former master, purposely over his head, to shatter the chair behind him. “So goes your power if you choose to follow the dark. All else will fall and finally you, into the pit designed for ones such as yourself.”

Saruman’s features contorted into a death’s head smile. “Darkness and death await you as well, my old friend. Sauron will not lose this time. The halfing will not survive a second test. No creature could.”

Gandalf hid his own fears that his former master may be right. “That is not for you to decide. You’d best be concerned about your own future, not his.”

“And you with yours.”

Radgast was helpless to help his friend in the battle that ensued. He was nearly blinded by the lighting flashes between the two. It was a horrible battle that no mortal could have long survived. He was grieved to see Gandalf thrown down at the last, both wizards bleeding from various wounds. An orc came to drag the fallen one away. Saruman smiled grimly in triumph.

* * *

When consciousness returned to Gandalf, he looked out from his extremely cramped prison at the very bottom of the deep cavern at Isengard. He was stooped, chin hitting his upraised knees, back hard against the ceiling of his cell, forced to watch through the bars as Saruman’s orcs again worked their monstrous acts.

Saruman placed Gandalf’s staff at the base of the cell, just outside the bars. So close, so far away. “No eagle will reach you here, my friend,” Saruman said and walked away. “You can’t even reach your staff.”

Gandalf didn’t respond. His straits were dire indeed, but despair hadn’t even begun to be thought of. He knew he would saved. Orcs approached, leering, taunting, wanting to have their fun at poking at him through the bars. A few brief words of Warding stopped that, but not before a gash had been cut open over the wizard’s left eyebrow.

“Oh, Gandalf, I am sorry,” Radgast said in the cell next to him.

“It is no concern, my friend,” the elder wizard assured.

He looked toward the small messenger that flitted around in the cavern and Called it toward him. He gave it his message and watched it fly away. Then he waited. He didn’t sleep through the din of the machines and the harsh jeers of the orcs.

Then finally the sign he had waiting for. He could not move, he could barely breathe, but he readied himself the best he could.

The eagle as it came down toppled many orcs by the spread of its great wings and the force of its passage. Several of the braver or more foolish orcs aimed their arrows at the outstretched wings, but those felt like pinpricks if they were felt at all. The eagle was not deterred from its course. It hovered at Gandalf’s cell and pulled at the bars of his cell with its mighty talons and beat it wings.

The bars protested loudly, then with a sharp, rending clang fell aside to the ground. Gandalf crawled out, barely able to stand at first his muscles were so cramped. The bars on Radgast’s cage were broken next.

Gandalf reached out his hand to help the other wizard. “Come along, my friend. Gwaihir can take us both.”

The eagle landed for a moment. More arrows found their marks on its wings and body and it snorted angrily. Its talons tore deep into any orc unfortunate to be too close. The rest fled, firing their last shots before running away. Gandalf picked up his staff and pulled himself onto the eagle’s back, already feeling better. He reached down to help Radgast up. Soon they were flying toward Rivendell. Radgast was dropped off in the woods with the birds and animals he loved so well and then Gwaihir continued onto the Elven haven.

Chapter 11: All Shall Fade

Warning: This is going to get a bit gruesome.

Gandalf arrived at Rivendell during the night and immediately sought out Elrond. He was smiled in relief to see Frodo there, safe in Sam’s arms, and Merry and Pippin collapsed on the other bed nearby. The Elf looked up from his work when the wizard appeared.

"So he was wounded again," Gandalf said.

"In the same place and in the leg. I’ve removed the shard from the shoulder, but I haven’t yet found the other tip."

Gandalf let out a breath and approached the unconscious and for the moment quiet hobbit. He squeezed Frodo’s arm and spoke quietly to his gravely injured friend in the language of the Maia, a blessing and hope for healing. Frodo murmured something, then was still again. Gandalf let go, straightened and looked at Elrond. "The cold lingers."

Elrond nodded gravely. "Until the other tip is found, it will continue to spread."

Gandalf gripped Frodo’s wrist. "Hold on, Frodo," he said softly. "Come back to us." He looked around at the three hobbits. "We are all waiting for you."

Several hours later, the hobbits woke and joyfully greeted Gandalf. Bilbo walked in then and brightened to see his old friend. "Well, it’s about time you got here, Gandalf," he said.

The wizard smiled. "It’s very good to see you, too, Bilbo."

The four hobbits then looked anxiously at Frodo for any improvement. Pippin took his hand. "He’s still so cold," he said.

"Until the shard in his leg is removed, he will remain so," Elrond said gently. He brought forward the instruments he had prepared for that part of the surgery. The three younger hobbits paled as they caught sight of them and appetites already markedly diminished by worry disappeared all together. Even Bilbo looked concerned.

The Elf lord regarded them sympathetically. "I will be removing the tip in a few moments. After that, we will know in a few hours how well Frodo is going to recover. It won’t be easy to watch this anymore than the shoulder wound. Are you certain you wish to stay?"

"I’m staying," Sam said firmly.

"I’m staying," Merry said and then turned to look at his younger cousin.

The tween swallowed visibly. "I’m staying," he said in a small voice. He looked the palest, but also the most determined.

Bilbo and Gandalf smiled proudly at them all. "So will I," the elderly hobbit said.

"Then we shall begin," Elrond said. He touched Frodo’s forehead gently. "Idh, tithen min," he murmured. The hobbits watched Frodo’s features relax as the Elf healer sent the little one into deeper rest. Elrond raised Frodo’s nightshirt up to his waist, then placed a thick cloth under his leg.

The four hobbits’ eyes widened as Elrond pulled a thin, sharp knife from his instrument tray and poised it over Frodo’s leg. Pippin swallowed loudly, but did not move. Merry sought his hand out and Pippin grasped it tightly.

The Elven healer looked at them. "I’ll need some assistance in keeping him still," he said, knowing if they had something to do it may ease their distress some.

The hobbits sprang forward as one. Sam positioned himself at his master’s head and began to stroke his curls and speak softly to him in a soothing tone that betrayed none of the fears churning in him, wishing solely to be a comforting presence in the coming trail for the one who was so dear to him. Bilbo took one of his nephew’s hands and ran his thumb along it for the same reason. Pippin took hold of his cousin’s wounded leg with both hands and Merry took the other.

Elrond looked at him gravely. "Hold him tight, Master Peregrin," he instructed. "His leg will jerk when the knife cuts him and I don’t want him injured further."

Pippin tightened his hold on Frodo’s leg until his knuckles were white. He blinked away tears.

Elrond poured a small amount of a brown liquid which bubbled and hissed as it came in contact with the wound. "It will help deaden the pain," the Elf lord explained to the frightened hobbits. They nodded wordlessly.

A few moments later, Elrond made his first incision. Frodo moaned and tossed his head. He writhed, trying to move his leg, but Pippin kept a firm grip on it as he bit his lip hard enough to bleed. Tears tracked down the cheeks of all four hobbits a the Elf healer traced the knife down the injury from thigh to knee, re-opening the wound. Blood and black poison spilled from the site, soaking the cloth underneath and still Pippin gripped ever harder. Frodo groaned loudly, nearly waking. Sam increased his tender stroking, reaching his beloved master’s forehead and cheeks as well. He began to sing softly another one of Frodo’s favorite lullabies from childhood.

"Sleep now, my dear one, and know that I love you;.

Lay down all sorrow and care.

Sleep now, my dear one, for I will protect you;

Your every burden I will share.

Sleep now, my dear one, for I’ll never leave you;

I’ll stay by your side till the end.

Sleep now, my dear one, for as long as I live I will ever be near you;

To comfort, to care and defend.

Sleep now, my dear one, do not fear;

While I am with you, there’s nothing that can harm you.

Sleep now, my love, for I am with you;

And when you wake I will be here."

The young gardener hoped against hope Frodo could not sense how much his hands and voice shook or the tears that fell onto his cheeks. Bilbo tightened his grip around Frodo’s hand and felt heartened by his nephew’s weak response.

When Elrond had the entire wound open, he wrapped the knife he had used in a thick cloth and laid it aside. Arwen came in then to remove it for burning. She gave a long look at Frodo, brushed his brow lightly with her hand and a kiss. "Stay here with us, mellon nin,"she whispered. Frodo calmed at her touch and the four hobbits and her father looked at her gratefully. She smiled at them and then stepped back to allow the surgery to continue.

Elrond probed the wound as gently as he could, but Frodo still writhed under the treatment, nearly crying out as Elven fingers sought the shard that lay buried within. Pippin bit his lip and held on even harder until his fingers began to cramp.

Once Elrond brought forth the broken tip, Arwen stepped forth once more and held out the cloth for her father to drop the shard in. He then poured a green, cleansing solution liberally on the wound.The liquid frothed and hissed as it entered the wound, then settled down, staining Frodo’s leg and the cloth underneath. This time Frodo did cry out and struggled all the harder to escape the source of the pain, but still he could not. Sam wiped away his master’s tears and his own that continued to fall onto Frodo’s cheeks.

The stricken hobbit opened his eyes for a moment and saw Arwen standing at his head, at Sam’s side. The light that streamed from her dazzled him, reached out to envelope him, soothe him and carry him back to a place without pain. He closed his eyes again, carrying her light and voice and that of Sam with him.

"Do not fear, little ones," Arwen said softly as she looked into the hobbits’ frightened faces. "All this will help clear the infection and speed healing."

She reached out once more as Elrond bound the wound in a clean cloth and gave her the stained one. She then left to burn all that had been used.

"You may let go now, Master Peregrin," the Elf lord said. "I commend you for a job well done."

Pippin beamed through his tears and Merry patted him on the back.

The next liquid Elrond brought forth was a clear blue which he poured out into a cup and handed to Sam. "He’ll need to drink this, as much as possible."

Sam and Merry carefully propped Frodo up into a sitting position. Pippin quickly scooted forward to adjust the pillows to better support his cousin’s back. Sam then brought the cup to his master’s lips while Bilbo stroked Frodo’s throat to stimulate swallowing.

"You need to get this down you, dear," Sam said. "It looks like blue sky on a summer day and it’ll be just as good for you, so down you go."

He tipped the liquid into Frodo’s slack mouth, then closed the jaw and tipped his friend’s head back gently, careful not to let the liquid choke. Frodo coughed weakly and turned his head away when Sam tried to get him to drink more, but the gardener would not be denied.

"You’ve got to finish it, my dear. I know it tastes awful, but it’ll make you feel so much better. Come on, take another sip for your Sam."

He tipped in a little more. A bit dribbled down his chin as Frodo tried to refuse it. Pippin wiped at it and made a terrible face as he tasted it. Bilbo smiled and continued stroking his nephew’s throat until Frodo’s swallowing reflex forced the liquid down his throat.

"That’s it, dear," Sam encouraged. "You are doing so well. Just a little bit more and we’ll be all done."

He tipped the last bit in, but Frodo began to choke on it, coughing most of it out again onto his nightshirt. Sam pulled him up a little further and lightly patted his back until the coughing eased and Frodo slumped back against his pillows, exhausted by his entire ordeal. Sam wiped at his mouth and he and Merry helped their injured friend into a clean nightshirt, then back down into a sleeping position.

Merry brushed at his curls. "Just rest now, dearest," he murmured. "Get back your strength."

Pippin kissed Frodo’s brow. "You’re going to be all right, cousin," he assured.

* * *

Sam was startled awake or thought he was when Frodo let out a unearthly groan. The young gardener was even more frightened when he saw standing around his master, Elrond, Aragorn, Gandalf and Bilbo, all with drawn swords. The four others didn’t seem to notice that Sam had awakened. They remained staring fixedly at Frodo who moaned and writhed in torment, looking as pale as death.

"What’s wrong with my master?" Sam cried out. "I thought you said he’d be getting better. What are you doing with those swords?"

Only Bilbo seemed to hear him. "It was too late, my boy. It’s almost too late."

"Too late for what?"

The four of them approached with their swords and raised them above Frodo, point down. Bilbo’s trembled. Tears streamed from his eyes.

"What are you doing?!" Sam screamed.

Gandalf turned now to Sam. "Elrond was not fast enough," he said. "There was a piece still left inside."

"But he got them all out! I saw them!"

"Not all. And now it’s too late to get it. Frodo is already becoming a wraith. If he is allowed to continue, then he will join the Nazgul and bring the Ring to Sauron. We can’t let that happen."

Frodo woke and looked up wide eyed at the swords pointed down at him. He had heard Gandalf’s words and looked now with frightened, pleading eyes to Sam who tried to reach his master, but was prevented.

"Hold on, Frodo, hold on!" he cried, panicked he couldn’t do more.

The wizard turned back to Elrond and Aragorn whose gaze remained solidly fixed on Frodo. The hobbit took a shuddering breath. The Elf stood one word tersely that Sam did not understand and then the four swords began their downward thrust. Frodo’s eyes did not leave Sam’s.

"NO!" Sam screamed. "He’s still alive! You can’t kill him!"

He tried again to rush to his master’s side, but was again prevented. Bilbo looked at him sadly. "You have to let him go, Sam. We all do."

Sam began sobbing wildly. "NO, NO, NO!!!" Horrified, he watched the swords thrust home, all of them into Frodo’s small heart. The wounded hobbit’s body shuddered, a last half-taken breath was expelled softly and then all was still. Blood from the swords and the wounds spilled onto and out of his pale chest. All watched to see if it had been in time to save Frodo from becoming a wraith.

Sam couldn’t even see from all his tears, then he perceived a faint glow around his friend’s body and watched dumfounded as Frodo’s spirit rose, the Ring shining around his neck. He looked once, sadly, at Sam. Sam rushed to hold him, but caught nothing, then Frodo was gone and Sam and everyone else knew where to.

"Too late," the four said together. "We were too late."

"You murdered him!" Sam screamed. "For what? For what?!"

"No! No! No....no...." he cried, sobbing harder than he ever had in his life. A endless scream repeated over and over again in his mind. He felt his own heart had been torn out and wished it had stopped at the moment his master’s had. He was genuinely surprised it hadn’t.

A/N: Sam’s lullaby is another wonderful creation of Queen Galadriel’s, with a little alteration of my own with her permission.

Chapter 12: Lessons in Love

Sam wasn’t aware of anything else for a long time until slowly he felt arms around him, a hand gently stroking his curls and a soft voice murmuring comforts. He lifted his head and looked into Frodo’s concerned eyes and began sobbing anew. He didn’t even see Merry and Pippin’s concerned faces or miss their arms as they pulled back when Frodo woke to hold him.

“You’re alive!” he cried joyfully. “But they killed you! I saw them kill you! I couldn’t save you!”

Frodo continued his gentle stroking. If he had had the strength, he would have wiped at Sam’s tears, but those continued to track down his beloved friend’s cheeks. “Shhh, my Sam. You haven’t lost me. You were having a nightmare. I’m so sorry.”

Sam touched his master’s face and stroking the cheeks to reassure himself. “Am I really awake now? Are you really here?”

Frodo smiled. “I’m really here, my Sam. It’s all right now, it’s all right. I’m not going to leave you.”

He saw that his guardian still struggled and laid Sam’s head down against his chest. “Listen to my heart, dearest. Don’t be afraid. Just listen.”

It took a long time for Sam to calm down, but he spent that time listening and finally believing. Elrond and Bilbo had rushed in in response to Sam’s screams, but stopped at the door. They watched and listened unnoticed as Frodo softly sang and continued his stroking. “...and when you wake, I’ll be here,” he finished as he watched Sam drop back into sleep. “Sleep well, my brother,” he murmured and kissed his friend’s brow. He tightened his protective embrace and then fell back asleep also. Merry and Pippin laid back down as well. The Elf lord left as quietly as he had come in, profoundly moved by what he had seen. Bilbo returned to his own room with a large, proud smile on his face.

* * *

Bilbo stayed for several hours the next day and Aragorn and Arwen made their own visits. Elrond returned frequently to closely monitor Frodo’s condition and all of them were greatly cheered to see the Elf’s features grow less grave each time.

“Can I sleep with him?” Pippin asked the second night after the shards have been removed, craning his head to look up at the Elf lord.

The ancient Elf looked into the youngster’s earnest eyes and knew he couldn’t no.

“I don’t know, Pip,” Merry said as Elrond opened his mouth to speak. “You kick a lot in your sleep. You don’t want to hurt Frodo.”

Pippin looked at his cousin. “I won’t this time. I promise. I won’t move a inch. Please, Merry. I need to know that Frodo’s going to be all right. He’s still so...so...” His lower lip trembled as tears threatened.

Merry looked into those soulful, beseeching eyes. He had never been able to resist them, neither had Frodo. Pippin became aware of that from a very early age and had used it to great advantage throughout his young life. But this time, Merry thought, was different. Instead of wheedling another sweet, tale, song or kiss out of his cousins, the tween looked deadly serious. This was not something he merely wanted, this was something he needed.

“If Lord Elrond says it’s all right,” Merry said slowly, “then it’s all right, Pip.” He watched the dawn of hope and excitement rise in those beloved eyes and hoped it wouldn’t be crushed.

The youngest hobbit turned back and craned his head up to look at the tall, elegant Elf.

“Frodo will be safe in Pippin’s arms, Elrond,” Bilbo said softly.

“That he will,” Sam added.

The tween looked at his eldest cousin and his friend gratefully, then back at Elrond. The other three hobbits did as well, awaiting the decision. The Elf paused as though in consideration, but his decision had already been made. He waited only until he thought his voice would be level and not so colored by how moved he was by the intense devotion these beings showed for their injured kin and friend.

“You need to keep completely still, Master Peregrin,” he began gravely. “Frodo’s wounds may re-open otherwise.”

Pippin looked ready to shout, but he restrained himself until knew for sure. “I will, my lord, I promise I will.”

Elrond’s lips curved in a brief smile. “Then you have my blessing. I know how much comfort Frodo takes in having his kin near and it will help speed his healing.”

Pippin’s face broke into a huge grin and he gave a jump in the air in delight. “Thank you, my lord! Thank you, Merry! Thank you, Bilbo! Thank you, Sam!”

Then very cautiously, he climbed into his cousin’s bed. He kissed Frodo’s brow lightly. “You’re going to be all right, cousin,” he said and then lay his head gently on his Frodo’s chest so he could hear his heart beating. A beatific smile spread over his face as he put out his arm across Frodo’s chest and fell asleep.

Elrond looked a little concerned, but Merry reassured him. “Don’t worry, my lord,” he said softly. “Pippin has loved Frodo all his life. He won’t hurt him. He’d rather die first. We all would.”

The Elf lord nodded. They all smiled when Frodo shifted slightly to nestle into Pippin’s embrace and settle peaceably into deeper sleep. Elrond then knew Frodo would be safe that night and all nights as long as he was so surrounded by those he loved and who loved him.

They live such short lives, the immortal Elf thought, a moment’s worth, but in that moment, they live and love deeper than anyone I’ve ever known. They could teach immortals much.

Frodo slept soundly the rest of the day and night, Merry on his other side, Sam at his feet. When he woke in the morning, Pippin was still resting against his chest. Moved by that, he reached out with his good arm to stroke his cousin’s curls gently.

The tween woke under that loving touch. His eyes widened in surprise and his mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ as he looked into beautiful eyes he had feared he never would again. They were still shadowed with pain, but love shone from there also. Pippin grinned widely, barely able to restrain himself from shouting with joy, but held back for fear of waking Merry and Sam.

“Hullo, ’squeak,” Frodo murmured with a faint smile.

Pippin wanted to jump in delight to hear that voice, but he remembered to be careful just in time. Instead he gently embraced his cousin and felt Frodo weakly return it. “Hullo, cousin,” he murmured back. “I’m so glad you are going to be all right.”

Frodo continued his gentle stroking. “Someone’s got to help Merry keep you out of trouble,” he said. “You’re too much of a handful for just one hobbit to handle.”

Pippin giggled. “I see no reason to change if it’ll keep you around.”

Frodo’s smile widened. “Incorrigible Took,” he teased and Pippin’s heart soared to hear it.

His own grin brightened. “Stubborn Baggins. Those Riders kept waiting for you to give in and you wouldn’t.” He looked back into his cousin’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

Frodo looked into Pippin’s eyes, shining with love and tears. He brought his cousin’s head back down to his chest and kissed his head softly. “Thank you for helping me remain stubborn, dearest. I’m very proud of you, too.”

Pippin closed his eyes and smiled, his ear against Frodo’s heart. He rejoiced to hear that and to feel his cousin’s hand against his curls. “I love you, cousin,” he murmured as sleep began to steal over them again.

“I love you, too, cousin.”

Throughout the day, he was held by either Pippin or Merry, being waken to be feed more of the lembas broth, but otherwise in a healing sleep.

“You’re going to be all right,” Sam said over and over to his master and with such conviction, Elrond smiled.

Chapter 13: Forgiveness

The first things Frodo were aware of was when he woke on the second morning since the shard in his leg had been removed was that he was not in as much pain, the bed he was in was soft and he was at peace. The sense that his soul was being torn in two was muted and he knew he had made it safely to Rivendell. The rest of it was a blur of terrifying nightmares, of a battle barely won, and of beloved voices and touches reaching him as though from a great distance, anchoring him. He had vague memories of brief periods of consciousness when he was more aware of those so dear to him, but none so clear and vivd as now as he realized that he was being held. And someone, no, more than one, was singing softly to him. He picked out and savored the three separate voices, as they took turns, and did not open his eyes until he had heard the entire song, then squinted into the bright sunlight. The pale veil that had shrouded everything for the last fortnight was torn away and he saw as he should. He let the brightness soak into him, a balm to the darkness that had almost overtaken him.

He looked at Sam who held him and then his cousins. They all beamed at him and crushed him in a tight embrace. Frodo let out a little yelp as his shoulder was hit and they pulled back as burned, horrified and ashamed they had hurt their dearest friend.

“I’m so sorry!” they said all at once.

Frodo smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s the best pain I’ve ever felt. Now come here and let’s try that again.”

They were more careful this time and Frodo held the three of them the best he could and they held him and the four of them cried in relief and joy. Frodo kissed the heads of each of them. “Thank you,” he said.

“How are you feeling?” Pippin asked when they broke away.

Frodo smiled again. “Like I’ve been buried under three hobbits,” he said and they laughed. “And like I’ve been loved and worried about and prayed for more than any being ever has been,” he continued more seriously.

“Nothing but the best for you, cousin,” Merry said.

Frodo laughed softly. The three hobbits thrilled to hear such a wonderful sound. “I heard you three arguing who would hold my hand while we traveled here.”

The three hobbits blushed. Sam looked a bit horrified. “I hope we didn’t upset you, dear,” he said anxiously.

Frodo smiled at the brothers of his heart, a world of love in his eyes. “It felt wonderful, actually. I am very blessed to be so loved.”

The three beamed.

He looked at them, engaging each of their eyes in turn. “And I heard all you said and sang to me and I felt you hold me. I hope you all know that I love you just as much.”

“We’re just that glad you are getting better, dear,” Sam said.

“But scare us like that again...,” Merry said with a mock-threatening tone.

“I’ll try not to,” Frodo said with a smile.

“See that you don’t,” Pippin said in the same tone as Merry’s.

Gandalf entered then and smiled at the happy reunion.

“Gandalf! Gandalf!” Pippin cried. “He’s awake! Frodo’s awake!”

“So I see,” the wizard said with a large smile. He looked at Frodo who still had his arms around his cousins. Frodo was smiling widely and it did Gandalf a world of good to see it, almost the same smile and joy that had always streamed out of the hobbit from his youth.

“I’m very pleased to see you are getting better,” he said. “Elrond is a very capable healer, but these three have been just as untiring as he has been. They’ve barely left your side the entire time.”

Frodo smiled. “I know. I heard them and felt them.”

“Are you hungry, Frodo?” Pippin asked and Frodo smiled because he knew though his cousin’s concern was real, it was also because he himself was hungry. The tween’s stomach growled at that moment to confirm it. Merry laughed softly and Pippin blushed.

“I can’t help it. I’m still a growing lad, you know,” he said defensively.

“Well, at least your stomach is growing larger,” Merry said and poked at it.

“I know you are starving too, cousin dear,” the tween retorted.

“Well, don’t just sit there arguing,” Frodo teased. “Go get something before we are all starving.”

Pippin smiled. He kissed Frodo’s curls quickly. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said, then scrambled off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with him and make sure he doesn’t eat it all on the way back,” Merry said.

“Make sure you don’t either,” Frodo called after him.

“Maybe I should go with them,” Gandalf said with a smile. He squeezed Frodo’s uninjured shoulder briefly and left.

Frodo looked at Sam, still smiling.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t come with you, me dear,” Sam said. “I wanted to. You don’t know how much, but Strider thought it would be too dangerous. And I couldn’t have borne it if something had happened to you because Arwen had to protect me too.”

Frodo looked at his most beloved friend. “And I couldn’t have borne it if something happened to you, my Sam,” he said. “Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It was selfish of me.” He paused for a moment, his smile fading. “I was just so afraid. I didn’t want to be without you.”

“Well, you have me now and I won’t let you go again.”

He smiled again. “Thank you, Sam.”

Gandalf, Pippin and Merry returned with a large breakfast tray that the hobbits all shared in on Frodo’s bed. The five ate, talked and laughed.

After a while, Gandalf said, “May I have some private words with Frodo? He doesn’t know about our other guest yet.”

Frodo looked at his cousins and Sam, the question of who the mysterious guest was clear in his eyes. The answering gleam in Merry and Pippin’s showed they clearly knew about it, but weren’t about to tell. Sam looked uncomfortable, like he was about to tell, but then shut his mouth without speaking.

“All right, off you then!” Frodo said with a wave of his hand in mock-irritation. “Keep your secrets.”

Merry and Pippin laughed. They gave their cousin a quick kiss and hug, then scrambled off the bed. Sam looked like he wished to stay. He looked uncertainly between his master and Gandalf. The wizard smiled and nodded and the young hobbit then with the two others, each of them carrying empty plates, bowls and mugs.

Frodo looked at his friends as they left, then up at Gandalf who stood at the edge of the bed. “I wish we could just all stay here forever,” the hobbit murmured. “Just forget about the Ring and be happy here without the threat of being consumed by the darkness outside.”

“Then the darkness would consume even this place,” Gandalf said. “It is a great temptation to hide when danger come and hope it will pass over and ignore you, but that is a false hope and a terrible mistake.”

Frodo was silent for a moment. “I know, but I just can’t stand the thought of leaving. It’s so peaceful here. I don’t feel the doom that’s outside its gates waiting for me.”

“But it’s still waiting nonetheless, not your doom perhaps, that would only overtake you if you remained here, but the Shadow will not fade merely because we wish it to. If you remained, it would overtake us all. There is no safe place. This is an oasis, a refuge. Refresh yourself here while you can and then go on, so it can remain that way.”

Frodo reached for the chain around his neck, but looked up sharply at Gandalf when he didn’t feel it.

“Don’t worry,” the wizard said. “It’s in safe keeping. It was removed when you were brought here in the hopes it would speed your healing. It’ll be brought back when you are ready.”

Frodo’s hand dropped from his neck. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” he said quietly. “I’ve already made mistakes. I feel so weak against the pull of the Ring, weaker than before.”

The wizard’s features softened in compassion. “But you still resist, Frodo. That is the essential part. None of us can carry the Ring for you, though your friends would for love of you, but we can help you carry part of the burden if you’ll let us.”

Frodo looked at the doors his best friends had left through.

“They would do anything for you,” Gandalf said.

“I know,” Frodo said softly. “That’s why I can’t let them do anything.”

“You can’t prevent them. They fully intend to go Mount Doom with you. As I do. As do Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir.”

Frodo looked up surprised. “Boromir’s alive? Is that the mysterious guest you were talking about? I was hoping you meant Bilbo.” His eyes shadowed with concern. “He is here, isn’t he? I thought I heard him while I was asleep and felt him hold my hand.”

Gandalf smiled. “Yes, he’s here and he’s been nearly as much at your beside as your other three have been. And Boromir came yesterday morning and has been pacing the halls ever since, waiting for you.” He looked into the recovering hobbit’s eyes. “He wants forgiveness.”

“He has it,” Frodo said without hesitation. He looked away for a moment, then continued softly, “I know what the Ring can do to souls.” He looked back up at his friend. “When can I tell him?”

The wizard’s smile increased with his pride in the simple, humble hobbit. “He’s waiting outside.”

Frodo nodded. “Thank you, Gandalf. For everything.”

The wizard bowed. “Thank you, Frodo,” he said, then left and Boromir entered.

A more nervous looking man Frodo didn’t think he had ever seen.

“Hello, Frodo,” the warrior said cautiously. “How are you feeling?”

“Well again,” Frodo responded, “or as well as can be expected.”

Boromir licked dry lips. “I’m very happy to hear that.” He paused. “ I don’t understand how all this has happened again, but I am glad that it did.”

Boromir stepped to Frodo’s bedside and kneeled down and looked into Frodo’s eyes. “I betrayed you and myself and the honor of my people and all Men by attacking you...earlier. I didn’t get a chance to ask for forgiveness then, but I ask for it now. Please, Frodo, forgive me?”

Frodo looked at Boromir’s earnest face and wondered at the marvel of a man, a warrior, on his knees, pleading with him. “I forgive you,” he said.

The joy on Boromir’s face could have outshone the sun, quickly eclipsing the surprise that he had been forgiven so quickly and easily. He let out a held breath, stood and presented his sword to Frodo, hilt first.

“My sword is yours,” he said. “I pledge on my life and restored honor to defend you or die in the attempt.”

Frodo looked at the sword, then at the man who wielded it. “The Ring is treacherous. It will try to lay claim to you again as it is trying to claim me. I forgive you, Boromir, but I do not know if I can trust you. I cannot even trust myself not to fall again. I’m sorry.”

Boromir deflated, placing his sword back in its scabbard, then he rallied himself, kneeling once more. “Then I beg for the chance to prove you can trust me. Perhaps better than the others I can understand what burden you carry since it seduced me too. I came to test myself against it and I do not plan to fail this time. Where is it?”

Frodo’s eyes narrowed slightly, frightened by the new light in Boromir’s eyes. “I don’t know. It’s being kept for me until I am ready to leave.”

“Do you know when that will be?” Boromir asked eagerly. “The borders of this land are already under surveillance. I had to fight already just to get here. Please, Frodo, believe me, when I tell you that I intend to serve you, not the Ring.”

Frodo remained hesitant. “I don’t wish to serve the Ring either, but I have felt its compulsion come over me many times and it’s only because of my friends, that it has not overwhelmed me. It is because I understand its pull that I cannot let you near it. I must complete my mission.”

“And I must complete mine,” Boromir said, the eagerness fading to desperation. “It was and is to protect you.”

“It was also to claim the Ring for Gondor. I cannot allow that.”

Boromir lowered his head for a moment. “Yes, but it is that no longer.” He raised his eyes again, touching the hobbit’s arm. Frodo recoiled slightly from that. “Please, Frodo,” the man begged. “If I am to live again, it will be as an empty shell if I cannot remove the stain of betrayal and shame.”

“I know your intentions are honorable, Boromir, but the Ring is not. It will try to bend all to its will, even those who resist it.” Seeing the man’s increasing desperation, Frodo felt compassion for the man, compassion he wasn’t sure he could afford to feel or give, but it was as much a part of him as his skin. He would not be the person he was without it. “Let me talk with the others. I don’t know if I can properly make this decision on my own.”

Boromir allowed himself some cautious hope. He stood and bowed. “I will abide by whatever you decide. I am glad you are feeling better.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said and then the warrior left to let the hobbit thoughtfully consider their conversation.

The door opened slightly a couple minutes later and Pippin stuck his head in. “He’s coming, isn’t he?”

Frodo looked at his cousin. “He wants to, but I’m not sure. He tried to get the Ring before. What do you think?”

Pippin opened the door wider and he, Merry and Sam came back in. “We need him,” Pippin said. “He fought very valiantly and will do so again.”

“I don’t think he wants the Ring anymore,” Merry said.

“The Ring may want him still, though,” Frodo said, “as it wants me. I only escaped him last time by putting it on. I am loathe to do that again. Sauron will find me. I will fail.”

“No, you won’t,” Sam said. “None of us will let you.”

“Right,” Merry agreed emphatically. “You will get to Mordor, Frodo. We will make sure of that.”

“Absolutely,” Pippin chimed in. “Even if we have to be captured by orcs again to draw them away from you, though I’ve already stated a preference to avoid that, if at all possible.”

Frodo smiled. “And you, Sam, what do you think?”

Sam thought for a moment. “I’ve watched him a little since he came. He’s changed or at least he hopes he’s changed. And we do need more warriors with us. I’ll watch him. He won’t get the Ring.”

Frodo looked at his friends and smiled wider. “Well, I guess if the three most esteemed hobbits in all the Shire agree, then it’s decided.”

The door opened and Pippin turned toward and puffed out his chest. “Did you hear that, Gandalf? We are highly esteemed.”

Gandalf pulled his pipe out of his mouth. “Oh? Are you indeed. By whom?”

“By me,” Frodo said with a warm look at his friends.

“Hmmm,” Gandalf said. “At least you are by someone, Peregrin Took.”

Frodo laughed, music to his friends’ ears and a balm against the worry that had plagued them.

Later in the day, Aragorn, Arwen, Elrond, Legolas and Gimli made their own visits.

“Welcome back, Frodo Baggins,” Elrond said and though his voice and the situation was grave, there was some warmth to his voice.

“Thank you for saving me...again,” Frodo said.

Elrond bowed his head in reply and then withdrew.

“It’s good to see you again, laddie,” Gimli said with a large smile. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“It is good to see you, Gimli, under any circumstances,” Frodo said with a smile. “And you, Legolas.”

Legolas smiled warmly and bowed his golden head. “I cannot give a better greeting than Gimli already did.”

Arwen and Aragorn came forward then. “It is good to see you awake, mellon nin,” he said.

Frodo regarded them both. “Thank you for saving me, my king,” he said. “And my queen.”

“Thank you for saving us,” Arwen said.

Bilbo came in when all the others had gone. He looked almost shamefaced, as though he knew he had done something to not warrant a warm greeting.

“Uncle!” Frodo cried. “I am so glad to see you!” He reached to embrace the elderly hobbit tightly.

“I am very glad to see you, Frodo,” Bilbo said as he held his nephew just as firmly. He closed his eyes against tears. “I am so sorry that you have to go through all this again, my boy. I’m so sorry that I ever found the Ring.”

He would have let go, not considering himself worthy of all the love he felt from the son of his heart, but Frodo tightened his embrace. “Don’t be, Uncle. Gandalf told me last time that all is meant to be as it happens. You were meant to find the Ring. You were meant to give it to me so it could be destroyed.”

Bilbo looked up at his nephew with tired eyes. “Still, I wish such a burden never had to come to you, especially not a second time. How can you bear it?”

Frodo looked at his uncle compassionately. Though Bilbo could see pain and doubts, he saw love more than anything. “Because I must. I have to believe this second time was somehow meant to be also. Do not blame yourself, Uncle. I am taking on this burden because I would wish no else to have to bear it. I would do so again and again if I had to.”

Bilbo looked at the younger hobbit and some of the sorrow left his eyes. “You have changed so much, Frodo, and I have grieved at it, but you are also becoming a better hobbit than I ever was. There is so much I admire and love in you.”

Frodo smiled. “And I in you, Uncle. Have peace.”

Chapter 14: Laughter is the Best Medicine

Frodo remained confined to bed for the next three days, but he was never alone. Sam stayed with him the entire time, holding his hand while he slept and sometimes while he was awake. Merry and Pippin were very often there as well and Bilbo came each morning, afternoon and evening. The four took their meals with Frodo. They also napped with him to make sure he rested enough. As time passed, they had to get increasingly creative in their efforts to keep an increasingly restless Frodo settled down. They read to him, sang to him, told jokes, whatever could get a laugh out of their most beloved friend. Aragorn and Gandalf also went the extra mile in keeping the injured hobbit entertained.

The fourth day Frodo was very relieved and surprised that his daily demand to be allowed to get out of bed was finally being heeded. Elrond watched him closely as he slowly made the circuit around his room, leaning heavily either on Sam’s arm, thrilled to be out of bed, even if he could only take small, very slow steps and had to confront the frightening reality of how very weak he still was. And how glad he was to get back into bed again, soaked in sweat and breathing hard from the effort, but triumphant.

The Elf healer thought they had both learned something that day about Frodo’s limits and he hoped they would both pay heed to it - that the wounded hobbit was not yet strong enough to go far, notwithstanding how much he willed it to be so himself and that he was also much stronger than mere look would suggest. It gave them both much to think about it.

Frodo obediently stayed in bed the next day until the evening when against Sam’s better judgement, the gardener gave in to his master’s pestering after dinner to help him around another walk while Merry and Pippin returned the empty dishes to the kitchen. The circuit was just as slow and Frodo would have fallen had Sam not been there to catch him, but it didn’t seem quite so strenuous this time. The elder hobbit’s features were still pinched with pain and fatigue though by the time Sam eased him back into bed, both of them pleased with the progress but also relieved that it was over.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said as his guardian tucked him in. He sighed. “I don’t remember being this tired last time. It’s taking so long to feel any better.”

“You weren’t hurt as bad last time, me dear,” Sam said gently as he brushed back a sweaty curl from his master’s eyes.

Frodo looked at his dearest friend. “You remember it all, don’t you, Sam? Both times.”

“Of course. I can’t forget, not any of it.”

Frodo looked away. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I wish you could. You need more than this.”

Sam sat down at his side and took his hand. “Just get well. That’s all any of us needs.”

“I’m trying, Sam.”

“I know you are, dear.” He leaned down to brush his brow with a kiss. “Sleep now.”

Frodo closed his eyes and was fast asleep before his cousins had even returned. Sam dozed in the chair next to him, softly snoring, his hand still clasped around his master. Merry and Pippin softly kissed their cousin goodnight and curled up next to him.

The next two days brought increasing strength to Frodo and with that greater vitality, came the increasing need to test himself against what he could accomplish besides coming close to memorizing the names of all the Elves from the First Age, having heard those tales more than once in the short span of time he had been ‘imprisoned’, as he began to call it, in his bed.

In the middle of hearing Pippin read a tale from that age, he tossed a pillow at his youngest cousin and said abruptly, “I don’t want to hear anymore, Pip dear.”

The tween, Sam and Merry looked at each other shocked and dismayed that the scholarly hobbit had said such a thing. Then Pippin looked at his cousin and saw the mischievous smile, the loving, teasing challenge to return the tossed pillow in kind that sparkled in his eyes. The youngster hesitated a moment, nearly quivering in his desire to do so, but not wanting to hurt his cousin or even upset Sam who was looking concerned. Merry looked just as excited to start something, but also held back. To Sam’s dismay, the expression on Frodo’s face did not change. Pippin hastily put down the book, squealed in delight and tossed the pillow back which Frodo threw back with a laugh. Soon before Sam’s horrified eyes, a free-for-all pillow fight between the three cousins was in progress, such as had not been since they were child and tweens. It was just the outlet Frodo needed for all the nervous energy that had been building in him, but Sam watched worriedly at first for his wounds to be aggravated or for him to become overtired. He quickly rescued the book from between the oldest and youngest of the cousins to keep it from being damaged and then sat back and watched his master’s drawn features come back to life and nearly glow as Frodo knelt on the bed and lobbed pillow after pillow after his cousins and was similarly assaulted by them. His worries faded as he smiled to hear them all laugh, especially Frodo who was laughing harder than he had for months.

“Come on, Sam!” he cajoled. “You have to have some fun, too!”

Sam smiled. “You’re having enough fun for both of us, dear,” he said. Their eyes met and Frodo smiled and Sam’s heart skipped a beat just to see the beauty of that, then the elder hobbit went back to the game.

The gardener’s smile faltered when Frodo suddenly let out a loud howl. He twisted around so fast on the bed that his legs got tangled in the sheets and he nearly fell. He caught himself, then turned a mock-enraged look on his youngest cousin.

“Peregrin Took!” he roared. “Nothing was said about tickling!”

Pippin beamed at his beloved Frodo with his most innocent smile. Before he could get any words out, Frodo fell on him and reached under his arms and soon he had the tween squirming and squealing in delighted fits. That abruptly ended when Frodo twisted around again as he fought off Merry’s attack of tickling the bottom of his feet just as Pippin had moments before. Frodo threw himself at Merry’s stomach then, both howling with laughter as Merry doubled over, trying to stop his cousin from reaching him, but Frodo’s fingers still found their way in. Sam’s smile reasserted itself as he watched his dearest friend be so happy.

“Help me, Sam!” Frodo cried when he fell under another of Pippin’s attacks. “Save me!”

Sam watched the melee for a moment more to decide the best way to defend his master. He settled on the most simple and direct approach and sat on his master’s feet, crossed his arms and gave Merry and Pippin his most fierce frown. That stopped the two of them for the space of three quick heartbeats, then they glanced at each other and launched themselves at the stocky hobbit, both of them reaching for either side of Sam’s neck where it connected with his shoulder. The look of shock and horror that the two had unerringly gone to the gardener’s vulnerable spots, rendering him incapable of defending his master was almost comical as he toppled over.

Frodo smiled. “Thank you for trying, Sam,” he said as he fought off another attack. “I had no idea they still remembered where you were ticklish.”

“You should have known we would remember, Frodo,” Merry said as he launched himself at his cousin. “After all, I’ll be Master of the Hall one day. Who knows what’s important to remember or not?”

“And I’ll be Took and Thain,” Pippin said, dragging his elder under. “Do you surrender?”

“Never!” Frodo cried and threw himself at both of his cousins. They all went down, squealing, in a tangled mass of limbs.

All the loud noises had brought a small audience to the door, unnoticed at first by the four hobbits. Arwen smiled, Aragorn and Gandalf softly laughed. Elrond was hard pressed not to smile himself. “I’m glad the Ring-bearer is regaining his strength. I hope he has enough left for the Quest,” was his dry comment.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Gandalf assured. “You can see he’s in good hands.”

As they watched Frodo gained the advantage for the moment over his cousins. He knelt over them victoriously, but it was very short lived as he lost his balance when he was pulled back down. He would have fallen on his sore shoulder had not six hands immediately reached out to steady him, two of them an instant before the other four. “Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said breathlessly before he re-entered the fray.

“Yes, the very best,” the wizard said with a laugh.

Pippin looked up then and belatedly saw that they had an audience. “Gandalf! Aragorn! Come join us!”

“Yes, do!” Frodo seconded. “But on my side! I’m being overwhelmed!”

“Then Lord Elrond has to be on our side,” the impetuous Took said. He looked at the Elf lord eagerly as Sam stared at him aghast for such audacity.

Arwen laughed softly as she looked to see how her father would respond. “I thank you for the invitation, Master Peregrin,” the Elf said gracefully, “but I regret that I must decline.”

“But I will not,” Aragorn said and waded into the fray with a smile.

The hobbits squealed in delight and Arwen laughed, as she imagined her husband having just as much fun with their son. A raised eyebrow and glint deep in his eyes was the only reaction her father made as Pippin and Merry crawled over all their king, trying to find a vulnerable spot with Frodo defending him as best he could, all of them laughing in unvarnished delight.

The Maia and two Elves watched the melee with glad hearts. Frodo would be exhausted by the end and lucky if his wounds didn’t reopen, but they were all happy and relieved to see him so joyful, so radiantly alive. The light that shone from him was nearly blinding if one stared right at it. From where Sam sat they could tell from his loving smile and gaze he was doing just that.

May they all remember the joy of this day as they make their way into the dark, Elrond thought. May the light of it shine against the black is to come.

The three observers turned to leave before it was over, but at last it was.

“I don’t know why we worried so much about you, Frodo,” Merry said as he tried to catch his breath. “You gave as good as you got.”

“What do you expect?” Pippin said. “He’s been doing nothing but sleeping and staying in bed for days and days.”

Frodo threw another pillow at him.

When Elrond returned later that night, he saw the four hobbits sprawled out together on the large bed, cuddled up against Frodo. All of them still had smiles on their faces, the largest of them gracing the eldest. He was moved to place his hand against Frodo’s brow and brush at his dark curls. It had been thousands of years since he had done that to any of his children. “Remember this day,” he murmured into Frodo’s ear.

Frodo mumbled in his sleep and nuzzled closer to Merry who was nearest him. The younger hobbit reached out put his arm protectively around his cousin.

“Remember,” Elrond repeated, moved once more by such simple, deep love. Gandalf is right, the Elf thought, Frodo is in the very best of hands.

Chapter 15: Field Trip

The next day Frodo rested until the evening, then insisted on walking unassisted. Sam hovered as close as his shadow, but even then couldn’t stop Frodo from falling. Sparks momentarily shone before the injured hobbit’s eyes as pain shot through his damaged leg and he could not restrain himself from gasping and blinking away tears from the agony. He accepted Sam’s help in standing.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t catch you, my dear,” Sam said sorrowfully.

“It’s all right, Sam,” Frodo said and inwardly cringed as how his voice shook, knowing how Sam would pick up on it. He leaned heavily on his friend’s arm until the pain subsided to something more tolerable and he tentatively took a step to test his leg.

“Why don’t you rest now?” Sam pleaded, helping his master take a couple more steps.

Frodo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was amazed how calm his voice was when he spoke next. “No, Sam, I’ve got to get my strength back and that’s not going to happen if I keep staying in bed.”

He withdrew his grip from Sam’s arm and took a couple more steps slowly. He looked longingly at the walls, wanting to lean on them. Sam did not miss that.

“Why don’t you at least let the walls hold you up?”

Frodo winced at the ache in his friend’s voice. “I’m sorry, Sam. But there will be no walls to lean on where we are going.” He looked up at his friend’s pained face, silently pleading for understanding. “I have to be able to do this on my own.”

Sam held his breath as his master took another couple faltering steps. He hovered even closer than before. “Then why don’t you at least lean on me, dear. You will always have me.”

Frodo smiled through his pain and fatigue. “Thank you, Sam. But I just need to see if I can do it myself. I am so anxious just to get this all over with.”

Sam held back a sigh and watched as Frodo continued his agonizingly slow circuit around the walls of the large room. The gardener thought he was more relieved than Frodo was when the elder hobbit completed it without further mishap. When Frodo gave him a tired but triumphant smile, Sam returned it, then helped his master back into bed and wiped at the tears of pain and exhaustion that streaked down Frodo’s cheeks.

“I did it,” Frodo sighed.

“Yes, me dear, you did,” Sam agreed with a brush at sweaty curls. “Now you’d best be doing nothing but sleeping.”

Frodo smiled wearily. “Yes, my Sam.”

Sam kissed his brow quickly, sat down by his beside and took his hand. “I’ll be right here if you need me. Sleep now.”

Frodo closed his eyes willingly. Sam watched as his breathing evened out and he knew his master was truly, deeply asleep. He sighed in relief.

The next afternoon, Frodo tried making another circuit and fell again. This time, Sam picked him up and carried him to his bed.

“Sam! Put me down!” Frodo squirmed in Sam’s tight grip. “I have to...”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

Sam put his master in bed, tucked him in tightly, then crossed his arms and gave Frodo a fierce glare. “Now don’t move!”

Frodo groaned. He knew better than to fight against his Sam when his guardian was this stubborn, but Frodo felt he wasn’t a Baggins for nothing and that he could easily outstubborn anyone not born one. He tried to get up, but Sam planted a hand firmly against his chest, effectively pinning him. “I will sit on you, dear, if I need to.”

Frodo lay back with a smile, more amused than annoyed. Merry and Pippin came in just then.

“Do you need any help sitting on him, Sam?” the tween asked in his most innocent tone. “We could sit on either of his legs, if you’d like.”

Frodo groaned and sent a half-hearted glare at his cousin and Sam. Pippin gave him his most charming smile, Merry grinned.

“Yes, I could use some help, Mr. Pippin,” Sam said. “Thank you.”

“Anything to help our dear cousin,” the tween beamed and Frodo groaned again.

Merry and Pippin planted themselves on either of Frodo’s legs, immobilizing him without getting near his injury.

“I’m not going to forget this,” Frodo said in a mock-threatening tone.

“I hope you don’t,” Sam returned. He looked directly into his beloved master’s eyes. “I hope you remember every good thing this time.”

Frodo realized then how worried his friend really was. He reached out and squeezed his hand. Sam returned the grip tightly, glancing at his master, then quickly away, but not fast enough that Frodo didn’t notice the tears that shone brightly in his eyes. “I’m sorry, my Sam. I shouldn’t tease you. It’ll be all right.”

Sam looked back at his beloved friend. “Of course it will. I’m going to make sure of it. You just take a little nap right now and it will be even better.”

“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” Frodo said, looking at the backs of his two cousins who sat on his legs.

“None,” Pippin said, twisting his head around to grin.

“But we’ll make sure we wake you for tea,” Merry said with a smile of his own.

“If we think of it and if there’s anything left after we’re done,” Pippin clarified.

Frodo threw a pillow at him. “There better be, you greedy Took. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to mind your elders, especially your sick elders?”

Pippin’s eyes had lit up when Frodo had thrown the pillow and he would have thrown it back, but Sam’s fierce gaze quelled that desire down to a grin.

“Comfortable, cousin dear?” Merry asked.

“Humph. I would be more so if I didn’t have two hobbits sitting on me.”

“So you aren’t uncomfortable?” Pippin pressed.

Frodo sighed. “I’m fine, Pip dear. I’m going to sleep now.” He closed his eyes and muttered something about being a victim of another conspiracy.

“What was that, cousin?” the tween asked sweetly.

“Nothing.”

The three ‘conspirators’ shared a triumphant smile with each other. Sam waited until he was sure his master was asleep then he left the room briefly.

* * *

Elrond looked down at the small figure standing before him. “Master Samwise, how may I help you? Is Frodo...”

Sam licked dry lips. He wasn’t quite over his awe of the Elf lord, but concern for his master moved him on. “He’s walking around, Mr. Elrond, sir, trying to get his strength back, but I’m afraid it’s too much for him just now. He’s in such a hurry to get better, but all he’s really doing is wearing himself out. I’m afraid he may get worse and that will only make him push himself harder.” He gathered all his courage and looked into the Elf’s eyes. “Could you talk to him? Please, sir?”

Elrond allowed a soft smile to grace his lips for a moment as he looked into those brown eyes so full of concern and fear and love. “I will speak to him.”

Sam’s face brightened as he beamed up at the Elf. “Oh, thank you, sir! But could you wait until after tea? I just got him down for a nap and it was that hard to do.”

Amusement danced deep in Elrond’s eyes. He had never seen someone so fiercely protective as this little gardener who was as much a nurturer of Frodo as he was of any flower. “I will wait until then, Master Samwise. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Frodo is a very stubborn and determined hobbit, I know, but I think you are even more so.”

Sam blushed. “I just couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him,” he said.

“I would hope nothing would when he has such fierce guardians as you and his kin.”

“I would hope not either.” Sam bowed deeply. “Thank you again, sir.”

The hobbit returned to his master’s side, pleased to see that Frodo was still sleeping. Merry and Pippin smiled at him as they kept up their guard.

Two hours later, tea passed congenially with Bilbo joining them. Merry and Pippin got permission from Sam to move from their posts, but Frodo knew better than to try to move. When he did, Sam was there to hold down his arm.

“I have to use the privy, Sam,” Frodo said.

Sam looked at his master as though he didn’t quite trust him, then released his grip and helped him out of bed. He watched him every moment until Frodo closed the door behind him, then he stared fiercely at the door.

When Frodo exited, he looked tempted to take another circuit around the room, but one look at Sam quelled that desire for the moment, though he was rebellious enough not to take the most direct route back to his bed. Sam gave a martyred sigh and Frodo grinned. He gave his friend’s cheek a quick kiss in apology, but remained quite pleased with himself that he had not stumbled or fallen. And though he would never admit it to his master for fear of encouraging him, so was Sam. Bilbo smiled.

Elrond came shortly after and approached Frodo’s bedside when the three younger hobbits sat gathered around on the bed and Bilbo sat in his chair.

“Lord Elrond,” Frodo acknowledged with a slight bow. Merry, Pippin and Sam bobbed their heads. Bilbo merely smiled.

“Master Frodo,” Elrond intoned gravely and Frodo’s smile froze. “It has come to my attention that perhaps you are pushing yourself too hard in your quest to recover, thus endangering the possibility of recovering at all anytime soon.”

Frodo shot a look at Sam who returned the gaze with calm directness. It was Frodo who looked away first, he hoped before his beloved friend could see the smile that tugged on the edges of his mouth.

“Yes, my lord,” Frodo acknowledged smoothly, returning his gaze to Elrond, all traces of a smile carefully schooled away.

“I admire your resolution to complete your Quest, but you have to regain your strength slowly, not at the cost of all else. You need to rest more.”

“But, my lord, that’s practically all I’ve doing for days!”

“And that’s all you will do the rest of today and tomorrow.”

“Perhaps I have been a little anxious to get going. But you know, of course, of the urgency of my Quest.”

“Indeed and all the more do I know that its success hangs on the health of the Ring-bearer. If you collapse, the Ring will then fall to one of the others in the Fellowship. Would you care to choose which one?”

Frodo deflated, his eyes flashing with horror. “I will rest more, my lord,” he whispered.

“I’m glad to hear that. Perhaps the day after, you can visit the library.”

Frodo’s face lit up. “I would love that, my lord.”

“I will arrange it then if you keep your end of the bargin.”

“I will, my lord.”

Sam smiled and Elrond’s features relaxed.

“I don’t know if that would be such a good idea, my lord,” Pippin suddenly interjected and a flash of fear and betrayal crossed Frodo’s features.

“And why would that be, Master Peregrin?” Elrond asked gravely.

“Well, Frodo never met a book he didn’t like. And your library is so huge that I’m very much afraid that surrounded by so many glorious volumes, my cousin may swoon or perhaps get lost in such a big place and we’d never find him again until it was too late.”

The other hobbits began to smile. Pippin knew when he had an appreciative audience so he continued. “I know he’d have a big smile on his face when we’d finally find his body, all starved to death, but it would be still so tragic because he had forgot all about eating and the whole Quest and the Ring would still have to be destroyed.”

Pippin let out a heavy sigh. Frodo laughed out loud while Merry, Sam and Bilbo smiled wider and even Elrond had to fight to maintain his composure.

“I am willing to take that risk, Master Peregrin,” he said gravely, then turned to the recovering hobbit. “Are you, Frodo?”

Frodo grinned. “Yes, I am.” He looked at his cousin. “You should be glad if I get lost, dearest Pipsqueak,” he teased, “because then you could eat my portions!”

Pippin brightened at that, but then Frodo continued. “But then, I don’t think I would ever get so lost, that I couldn’t follow my stomach to the kitchens.”

The tween’s face fell and the others laughed, Frodo the most of all. He leaned over to kiss his cousin’s head and hug him. He looked up at Elrond, his arms firmly around Pippin. “You have my word, my lord, that I will not move from my bed tonight or tomorrow and think only of my reward for such an onerous task.”

The Elf lord bowed, hiding the smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth. Frodo returned it, the bow and the smile. The other hobbits returned the bow, Bilbo grinning widely at Elrond.

* * *

Frodo had no time to despair about whether the day would ever pass and the morning come that would herald his visit to the library. Sam kept him well entertained with Merry and Pippin’s help as well as and well fed and rested. He woke early in the morning before any of his bedmates. He carefully pushed up Pippin’s head which had been resting on his stomach and got out of bed. Pippin switched his head to Merry’s stomach without even waking. Frodo made it to the dressing cabinet without difficulty and put on the best clothes he could find. Sam had padded noiselessly over and helped him on with his vest. “Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said. “I knew I couldn’t get up without you waking also. Did you see me walk all the way over without falling?”

Sam returned his master’s proud smile. “Yes, I did. Now don’t ruin everything by overdoing again, my dear. You still need to take it easy.”

Frodo squeezed his friend’s hand. “Yes, Sam.”

There was a soft knock at the door and Sam opened it to find a beaming Bilbo standing with a large, steaming breakfast tray. The young hobbit took it from his first master and laid it on the table next to the bed.

“I see you’re all ready for your big day, my boy,” Bilbo observed.

Frodo grinned. “I suppose I could delay it for a few more minutes. Those mushrooms smell delicious. Are you going to come with me?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, lad. I’ll show you all the best places. Or at least all I’ve discovered so far. They are still some nooks and crannies that even I haven’t searched out. But there’ll be plenty of time when you come back and we can go exploring together. Won’t that be fun?”

Frodo looked at his uncle for a long moment with a fond smile. They both realized that Frodo’s return was not guaranteed, merely fervently hoped for. Frodo squeezed his uncle’s hand and was glad at how firmly it was returned. “I look forward to that, Uncle.”

The elderly hobbit raised a finger to his adopted heir. “And mind you, no dawdling on the way or I may just go off on my own and you’ll miss all the fun.”

Frodo’s loving smile widened. “No dawdling. I promise.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” Bilbo rubbed his hands together, trying to hide his nervousness at the parting to come.

Frodo squeezed his uncle around the shoulders and brushed a kiss against Bilbo’s white hair, then moved away to poke at one of Pippin’s feet, the only part of his body not nestled under the covers.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” the elder hobbit called. “Don’t you smell that delicious breakfast? If you don’t get up now, I’m not going to save you anything. I have a lot of exploring to do today and you’d wouldn’t want me to starve. I may just have to eat your portion.”

Pippin poked his head from under the blankets. “That wouldn’t be very nice of you, Cousin,” he said a bit petulantly. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Frodo laughed and Sam grinned. “But how many times have you tried to, dearest? Now up with you.” He pulled the covers off and uncovered Merry as well.

“Hurry up, Merry,” Pippin said. “Our cousin has already said he’s not going to save us anything.”

“He said he may not save you anything,” Merry corrected. “He didn’t say anything about me.”

Frodo laughed again and they all sat down at the table. After they were properly fortified for at least an hour or two by the huge breakfast, Sam got up to answer another knock at the door, but Frodo stopped him.

“I’ll get it, Sam. I really am feeling much better today.”

And indeed, Sam had to agree. In the cream-colored clothing Frodo had chosen, his light shone even brighter until he was nearly glowing with the excitement of the upcoming trip. The younger hobbit thrilled to see it, but he still didn’t want to let his master overexert himself. Frodo smiled reassuringly and Sam sank slowly back into his chair. His happiness faded a little when saw Frodo’s posture slump a little after he opened the door. Ever sensitive to his master’s moods, Sam approached the door and peered over his friend’s shoulder.

“What’s this?” Frodo asked, looking at the strange contraption that an Elf had brought along. He had seen it only very rarely in the Shire. It was usually used by the very oldest who could not move on their own, but still needed to be mobile. Frodo didn’t feel anywhere that old or that incapacitated.

“It’s a long way to the library, Master Baggins,” the Elf answered. “My lord Elrond does not you to exhaust yourself getting there.”

Sam looked down at the wooden chair that had large wheels on either side of it and handles for pushing it, then up at this troubled master. Merry and Pippin peered over his shoulder. “It looks big enough for two,” the gardener said. “Would you feel more comfortable if I sat in it with you?”

Frodo didn’t take his eyes off the chair. “No, Sam, thank you.” He looked up at the Elf. “I would like to try to make it on my own if my lord....”

“My lord insists upon it.” A small smile danced on the edges of the Elf’s lips. “He’s already told me how stubborn you could be.”

“Well, Frodo,” Merry said, “that’s it then. Must as well give up.”

“Yes, cousin, do,” Pippin said. “You don’t want to be so tired when you get there, that you fall asleep after reading the first sentence or something. If you don’t want Sam with you, I’ll join you.”

Without waiting for his cousin to respond, the tween hopped onto the chair and grinned. Frodo returned the smile fondly, but still looked up at the Elf, hoping for a last minute reprieve, but when that tall immortal remained implacable, the little hobbit sighed. “Well, if this is the only way I can get to the library...” He looked to Pippin. “Move over, ’squeak dear and make room for your invalid cousin.”

The tween scooted over and off they went. The younger hobbit enjoyed the ride immensely, delighted in the contraption, while the elder sat in it embarrassed and annoyed and got off it the moment he could.

“I think I can make it through the doors on my own,” he said when they arrived.

Bilbo took his nephew’s arm, ostensibly to guide him down favorite aisles, but a smile at Sam over Frodo’s head made it clear, it was also to be sure the latter didn’t stumble or fall. Sam smiled his gratitude and wheeled the chair behind the two, Pippin still gleefully abroad.

The two oldest hobbits were soon lost in a world of their own, their heads pressed together as they spoke quietly. Bilbo stopped often to pull out various volumes and ask his nephew to read a verse or two. Frodo’s already beautiful voice gained a new level as the Sindarin flowed from him, even if a bit haltingly at times.

“Very good, my boy,” Bilbo praised. “You’ll be mastering it all in no time.”

Frodo beamed and they continued on. Sam smiled as he slowly followed, watching and listening to the two scholarly hobbits, glad to see both his masters so happy together. Various Elves looked up from their own studies and smiled at the awe in Frodo’s face as he reverently touched one volume or another along the rows and rows of books, most of which were far over his head. He craned his head up longingly, in wonder at the immense collection.

“It’s all so wonderful,” he murmured. “I could spend my whole life here.”

“When you get back, you could do that, my lad,” Bilbo said. “I would love that.”

“So would I.”

The Elves smiled also as they listened to Frodo’s recitations in their own language spoken with a Shire lilt and also at Bilbo’s awe which, even though many of the volumes were old friends, was only a little less than Frodo’s. The younger hobbit appeared completely unaware of his appreciative audience. The time for second breakfast came and went unnoticed by him as did the growls in Pippin’s stomach and even his own.

“Let’s get you something to eat before you starve to death,” Merry said when Pippin’s stomach growled again.

“You could push the chair, Merry,” Pippin said.

“No, Mr. Pippin, it’s staying right here in case Mr. Frodo needs it,” Sam said firmly.

Pippin gave the gardener his best pout which always melted his cousins’ hearts and wills, but it had no effect on Sam, which the tween hadn’t really expected it would, but he had to try anyway. He shrugged then and got off the chair. With a choice between food and being wheeled, it was no surprise the lad choose food. Sam’s own stomach growled and he looked longingly after the two, but he knew where he belonged and he did not want to part from his master, even if Frodo was only barely aware he was still there.

When Sam’s stomach growled again louder, Frodo’s head snapped up as he suddenly remembered his faithful companion. “My dear Sam, I am so sorry! I’m afraid I’ve lost all track of time and you must be starving. Why don’t you leave the chair here and get yourself something to eat.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Frodo looked up at the shelves towering over him. “Yes,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t worry about your master, Sam-lad,” Bilbo said as the young hobbit continued to hesitate. “I’ll make sure he’s all right.”

“I’ll bring you both back something,” Sam said.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said. “I think I’ll just find a place to sit down and read.”

Sam nodded and left. When he returned an hour later, he found Frodo asleep in a corner, Bilbo watching him fondly. Sunshine from a window far above pooled around him, almost making him glow in the soft cream-colored clothes he wore. He had a soft smile on his face. A heavy volume remained open on his chest. Sam just stood there, staring transfixed for a long while at his peaceful, beautiful master until the moment froze in his memory and he knew Bilbo was looking at Frodo for the same reason. Then Bilbo looked up at him and smiled and Sam picked his master up, book and all, and carried him back to bed and laid him down with a soft kiss to his brow.

Chapter 16: The Choice

The time Sam had dreaded came far too soon when his master would again carry all the cares of the world around his neck. The evening before they were going to sit out, Elrond came to the room and brought out a small black box. Frodo looked at it fearfully and then as the Elf lord opened the box, the Ring-bearer understood why Bilbo had been purposely kept away that evening, something that had hurt the younger hobbit until his eyes fixed on the Ring shining in the lamplight, laying on its chain in the box so seemingly innocent.

The breath caught in the Ring-bearer’s throat and he looked at it with mixed dread and longing. Already he had heard its whispers. He didn’t think there was ever a time he hadn’t, but for weeks it had been distant and easy enough to fight off. Now, though, now... Sam, Merry, Pippin all waited with held breaths, Elrond regarded him gravely, as their friend steeled himself against it and then reached to put the Ring back around his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment to readjust himself to the burden and when he opened them again, Sam’s heart broke to see the change in his beloved master. The light that had shone so brightly from him the past weeks was still there, but muted, and Frodo’s head was slightly bowed under the great weight. Merry and Pippin looked on gravely, nearly in tears. The tween blindly sought out his cousin’s hand and Merry held it tightly.

It had been almost possible to forget the danger outside, but Sam never had and he didn’t think his master had either, happy as he had been the last weeks. Now it was impossible to ignore. They spent a very sober last evening together. Frodo did not see Bilbo except at the very end for a last, long embrace, which they both spent in tears and in trying to comfort each other.

It was very reluctantly that Sam gently shook Frodo’s shoulder the next morning to wake him. “Time to wake up, dear,” he said softly.

Frodo woke abruptly, almost fearfully, the last wisps of an evil dream leaving his eyes. He looked at Sam who smiled bravely. “Time to get going again.”

Frodo nodded. “I wish we could stay here forever,” he murmured.

“So do I, dear, but I think I’ll take my own bed over even this.”

“So would I,” Frodo said distantly.

When they had all eaten and each been given a supply of lembas bread, Elven cloaks and other material to help them on their journey, the reformed Fellowship, including Boromir, stood arrayed in the courtyard with Bilbo, Arwen, Elrond and many of the other Elves of the household. They all looked at Frodo with love, support and sympathy. Arwen and Bilbo smiled, the latter through his tears which fell unnoticed down his aged cheeks.

Arwen leaned down and kissed Frodo’s cheek. “Our hopes and prayers go with you,” she said. “May the Valar protect you along your way and Iluvatar bring you home safe.”

“Thank you, my queen,” Frodo murmured.

Arwen smiled again. She looked at her husband and he at her for a long moment, then they left without speaking, their goodbyes said only in their minds.

Frodo gave his uncle a last look.  Bilbo raised his hand in farewell, then Frodo turned away with the other out of the courtyard.

The Fellowship looked up at the snow-capped mountain.

“Cruel Caradhras,” Gimli said.

“It will be even more cruel now,” Gandalf said, watching as clouds burdened with snow swept in to hide the top of the peaks. “And the mines will be no less dangerous. Saruman has us trapped well.”

The wizard turned to Frodo who looked up at him worriedly. “Which way, Frodo, do you think we should take? It is a evil choice, either direction.”

“I don’t know, Gandalf. I know we must go forward, but I chose wrongly before and you were lost. I could not bear to choose wrongly again.”

“Rohan would welcome us,” Boromir said, but he knew the answer to that even before the words were out of his mouth.

“So would Isengard,” Aragorn said. “There is truly no good choice.”

“Do not fear to make the wrong choice, tithen min,” Legolas said gently as he put his hand on the frightened Ring-bearer’s shoulder. “We will follow you and guard you where ever you go.”

“And do not fear to lose me again,” Gandalf said. “Better me than you. You are the one that must survive. That is what you must base your decision on.”

Frodo nodded. He looked to the mountain, then to the faces of his friends and kin. Inside him, the Ring clamored for attention, but he tried to close its whispers from his mind. He knew he could not listen to its counsels. But no way seemed right. He saw disaster no matter where he put his steps.

“I don’t know,” he said miserably. He looked and sounded to be on the brink of tears. It was too much, it was all too much. “I don’t want to choose. Please don’t make me.”

Gandalf and the others looked at him sympathetically. Merry put his arm around his cousin and Frodo leaned against him. As the company stood, a cold wind whipped around their cloaks and they shivered in the chill air. Far, far above them soared it seemed a speck of a bird of some sort and Frodo trembled as he felt the Ring respond to it. It was no bird. The small hobbit, invisible to any so far up, suddenly felt very visible and exposed. He clutched at his clothing and closed his fist protectively around the Ring. He wanted to do nothing but shrink into the ground and hide, nearly unwilling to even breathe.

“The mines,” Frodo said in a near whisper. “We will take to the mines.”

Gandalf nodded. Legolas squeezed his shoulder. Neither had missed the ‘bird’ either, nor had Aragorn, but the others had not noticed. Merry took Frodo’s hand. They started onward again.

The fell beast veered off and Frodo breathed a little better as the constriction around his chest eased.

“Did I choose right, Merry?”

The younger hobbit looked at his cousin sympathetically. Frodo regarded him fearfully, in desperate need of reassurance that Merry didn’t know if he knew how to give. He let go of Frodo’s hand and put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him close as they traveled on. It helped more than words.

Chapter 17: Shadow and Flame

The Fellowship looked up in horror. The Balrog was already waiting for them on the bridge.

Gandalf gathered sword and staff, prepared again for battle. But he was so tired. The battle with the orcs had nearly done them all in. They were all bleeding from various wounds. Frodo swayed slightly on his feet, still dazed and finding it hard to breathe from the ferocity of the cave troll’s attack. He would have fallen had not Sam kept a firm grip on his arm the entire time.

Gandalf faced the Balrog resolutely. It towered above him. He could sense its exhilaration as it sensed how weak he was. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, drawing deep within himself, his lips moving in silent plea to Eru. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the Balrog had raised its whip, ready to strike him down.

“NO!” Frodo screamed. He made to step forward, but Aragorn grabbed him by the arm. The hobbit twisted around to look at him, straining against the hold.

“Wait,” was all the king said. He, Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship watched the drama play out, a sick feeling in their hearts but hoping, hoping...

Gandalf spoke harsh words of Command and raised his sword to meet the whip. Sparks flew and the Balrog discovered his prey was not as vulnerable as it thought. It advanced, fire spewing from it.

“Go back to the one who made you, demon of the darkness!” Gandalf cried. “You will not devour the Light that is here.”

As they watched, Gandalf seemed to glow and grow. Sam glanced at his master and saw the same light, only dimmer, coming from Frodo who stared transfixed at his friend, totally unaware of anything else.

The Balrog lowered its whip once more. It wrapped around the wizard’s sword and nearly tore it from his hand. The hobbits gasped. Frodo tried to step forward once more, but Aragorn’s grip tightened around him. “You cannot help him, Frodo,” he said, not unkindly.

Frodo didn’t respond, but he did not struggle anymore to free himself either.

Gandalf plunged his staff into the bridge, between the Balrog and himself. The foul creature advanced but the expanse began to crack under its weight and slowly, so slowly, it began to fall.

The wizard did not make the same mistake he had last time. He waited until the Balrog had fallen completely down the vast shaft before turning away. He wouldn’t be caught again by its whip.

That caution nearly cost him his life.

“GANDALF!” Aragorn screamed and the wizard turned, barely in time to see a second Balrog jump over the broken section of the bridge. The wizard would have been immolated right there had he not shouted a harsh word of Protection and raised his staff. Flames spilled over it, but did not touch him. But how, how could he have missed its arrival?

He raised his staff again in answer to the Balrog raising its whip, but he was too late, too tired. The whip scored a stinging, burning welt on his shoulder and he cried out in pain, nearly dropping his staff, being driven to his knees.

“NO!” Frodo cried as he watched in helpless terror and horror as they all did as the Balrog advanced on the stricken wizard. “Gandalf!”

The hobbit started to rush forward, tearing himself from Aragorn’s grip, Sting in his hand, ready to do battle with the flaming creature. He had no thought to his own safety, only that he had to help his friend. He couldn’t lose him, not again. But Boromir caught him in a vise-tight grip and wouldn’t let go no matter how much Frodo kicked and screamed, nearly hitting the man several times with the wildly swinging Sting.

Gandalf stared a moment at Frodo, then up at their mutual enemy. He parried the first strike of the Balrog’s whip with his staff, the second he caught on the edge of his sword. But he was so weary. The Balrog was ready.

Aragorn placed a firm grip on Frodo’s sword arm. “This is not our battle,” he said, barely restraining his own desire to go help Gandalf. “You would only be killed and the Ring would return to its master, with one of us as its slave. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I want Gandalf alive and safe!” Frodo shot back.

“We all do, little one,” Boromir assured as gently as he could, not relaxing his grip on the still struggling hobbit in his arms. “But Aragorn is right. The Ring will devour us all, if you do not get it to Mordor. Come away, we must take this time Gandalf is giving us to escape. Don’t make his sacrifice a vain one.”

“NO! NO! I won’t lose him, not again!” Frodo cried, struggling all the harder as Boromir and the others started to move away from the pair.

Sam came to him now, tears streaming down his cheeks. He placed a hand on his master’s arm. “I don’t want to lose Mr. Gandalf, anymore than you do, me dear, but we cannot win this battle. We have to get away.”

Frodo looked down at his friend, shook his head, then looked once more at Gandalf. The wizard looked past the hideous flame-wreathed demon to his little friend’s stricken face. “Go, Frodo!” he cried. “Go while there is still breath and life in you to make it to Mordor. That is the fate you have been handed, I go now to mine. Perhaps we will meet once more as before.”

“NO!” Frodo screamed as he saw Gandalf raise his staff once more and the Balrog’s whip come down upon it. “NO!”

Boromir tightened his grip on the hobbit then turned and moved away. Frodo squirmed around so he could watch his friend until the last. The wizard cried out either in challenge or farewell. It did not sound like he was in pain, that even in what seemed sure defeat, he was somehow triumphant, but whatever it was, there was a brilliant flash of light, then Gandalf was heard and seen no more. Frodo wasn’t sure what happened, even as he watched it. He was momentarily blinded by the light. When he recovered his sight again, there was no sight of the wizard or the Balrog. He felt horribly alone. A jagged cut re-opened in his heart in the same place that losing Gandalf the first time had been. A terrible cold poured from there, filling him. Tears streamed down his face unheeded and a loud cry rose from his soul to echo endlessly in his mind.

Boromir was the last one to stumble out of the mines into the light. Sam, Merry and Pippin were already sitting on the ground, Pippin crying in Merry’s arms, Sam absently patting the tweenager. Aragorn stood, stunned. Legolas stood near Gimli who sat on a rock. They were all silent, but for Pippin’s open sobbing. Boromir laid Frodo gently down on the ground where the hobbit curled in on himself away from the others. His body shook as his tears fell silently. Sam came to him and took him into his arms. Frodo held on tightly.

“He’s dead,” he said in a pained, nearly lifeless voice. “He’s dead again because of me.”

Sam rocked his master gently. “No, dear. Not because of you.”

“But it was I who chose to go into the Mines. Even though I already knew what could happen.”

“There was no other way we could go. We could have all died on the Mountain.”

Frodo didn’t respond, but Sam could almost hear the pain screaming out of him. He closed his eyes against his own tears, not wanting Frodo to see them.

Aragorn came up and knelt down at friend’s side. He touched his shoulder and waited until the grieving Ring-bearer looked up at him. “You heard Gandalf saying that the Balrog would not devour the Light?”

Frodo nodded numbly.

“It is your Light, gwador nin, that he was protecting.”

Frodo stared into his king’s kind eyes for a long time. Aragorn smiled, then squeezed his friend’s shoulder and got up. Frodo moved out of Sam’s arms and stood up. He gave one last, long look back into the mines, then began to walk resolutely forward. Sam was at his side. Merry murmured comforts to Pippin as they stumbled away from that place of renewed grief and loss. The others followed silently, lost in their own pain, the wind drying their tears.

Frodo didn’t speak. Sam looked at him often, wanting to comfort him, but what could heal such vast pain? The Ring-bearer’s tears dried and no more were forthcoming as they came far enough away that Aragorn thought they would be safe. Frodo threw himself down on the ground, his back to the others and closed his eyes. Sam sat by him, stroking his back, needing to do something. “Thank you, Sam,” Frodo murmured, then dropped off into an uneasy sleep. Merry and Pippin collapsed next to him, the elder wrapping his arm around the tween.

Boromir watched Frodo as well, seeing the hobbit’s tortured features did not relax much even in sleep. “It’s not fair,” he said to himself.

Sam looked up at him. “What’s that, Mr. Boromir?”

The man looked up surprised, not realizing until then that he had spoken aloud. “It’s not fair that he should have to suffer so much, especially that he should a second time.”

Sam looked at Frodo. “You only saw the beginning. I was there to see it all and you’re right, it’s not fair. None of this should be happening, but it is and we have to deal with it as best we might. There’s nothing for it. It may not be all working out as Mr. Frodo would wish, but this is the path he chose to walk because he could not bear to let anyone else do it. I would walk it myself in an instant to save him, we all would, but all I can do is be with him, stay by his side no matter what happens, help him in any way I can, except in the way I wish most to do. He won’t let me do that.”

“Carry the Ring for him, you mean?” Boromir asked.

Sam continued to look tenderly down at his troubled master. “Yes. I know how much it’s hurting him. I’ve seen it for months. And he hadn’t even recovered from the first time, when Gandalf told him he had to do it again. And now I have to watch it tear him apart all over again.”

“I wish I could carry it for him, too.”

Sam looked at the warrior, surprised and suspicious. He moved a little closer to Frodo to protect him. Had they all been wrong about Boromir changing?

The man saw his fears. “Don’t worry, Sam. I don’t mean it that way, not the way I did last time.” He looked at Frodo who murmured Gandalf’s name in his sleep. “I wish it for the same reason you do. To ease his suffering.”

Sam relaxed slightly and looked back at his uneasily slumbering master. “It wouldn’t ease it,” Sam said. “That’s the problem. He knows what it can do to someone. That’s why he won’t let anyone else touch it. He’s carrying it himself out of love for all of us. And if it means he’ll be destroyed by it, as he nearly was the first time, then that’s the price he is willing to pay if everyone he loves remain safe.” His voice turned soft. “You will not find a more giving, loving heart than his, even if you traveled this whole earth.”

He reached down to touch Frodo’s forehead. It seemed to calm him enough to settle him into deeper sleep. Sam lay down next to him then, placing an arm protectively over Frodo’s chest, and closed his eyes. Boromir watched them a few minutes more, then closed his own eyes. Aragorn remained awake as did Legolas. Gimli had already nodded off and begun to snore.

The king thought he saw a glimmer of eyes in the night and nodded to Legolas. They moved soundlessly, but then the eyes disappeared and all was quiet again.

But they well knew that was an illusion.

Chapter 18: The Lady’s Light

Frodo lay on his side, his back to Sam who was softly snoring. His cousins, Boromir and Gimli were ranged asleep around him. It was the day after Gandalf had been lost and Frodo knew he should be sleeping as well, but the Ring was never silent. He looked surreptitiously at Aragorn and Legolas who remained awake or seemingly so. Neither were looking in his direction. He fished out the Ring from under his clothing and looked it in the moonlight. He began to stroke it as he listened to its whispers drip poison into his mind and soul. He knew it was killing him, he knew he shouldn’t listen, but it was filling him again with itself and he felt there was so little of himself from before to fend off its attacks. His lips moved silently. Precious, precious. Mine. And now he was on the way to destroy again. He couldn’t do that. He knew he couldn’t. He wanted it to remain his.

His thoughts were interrupted as a hand reached over his shoulder and gently pulled his away from the Ring. Shame filled him as he instantly recognized the hand as Sam’s.

“You have to fight it, me dear,” he whispered.

Frodo’s back remained to his friend. “I know, but it’s already so hard.”

“That’s when you need to do it the most.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m not strong like you.”

“Then take some of mine.”

“No, you’ll need it when mine fails. And it will.”

Sam ached to hear the emptiness in his beloved master’s voice, the defeat. He turned Frodo slowly around so they were facing each other. He wrapped his fingers around his friend’s hand that still held the Ring and waited until Frodo looked up at him. His heart broke a little more to see the terrible pain and shame in those beautiful eyes.

“I know you don’t think you are winning the war against the Ring, me dear,” the gardener said quietly, “but you are already victorious, if you are willing to fight. Are you willing?”

Frodo took a couple deep breaths. Sam watched a tremendous battle of wills take place within his friend as the Ring-bearer renewed the fight to save his soul. He put the Ring back under his clothes. It burned him where it touched his skin and he drew in a pained hiss of breath. “Yes,” he said slowly with new determination. “I am willing.”

Sam smiled and kissed his head. “That’s my Frodo. Now get some sleep, dear. The morning will bring new light and new strength to you.”

“You are my light and strength, Sam,” Frodo said. “Even now. I don’t need to wait for the morning.”

He was able to fall asleep, safe in Sam’s arms, lulled by the sound of his guardian’s heartbeat.

* * *

It was with pleasant surprise that the Fellowship encountered Haldir in the woods. Aragorn stepped forward to hug him and the Elf returned the embrace gladly. Then he broke away and bowed to the Fellowship.

“I don’t pretend to understand why all of this has happened again and we are again meeting in this wood,” he said, “but I bid you welcome once more. The Lady awaits you all. It is my honor to escort you there.”

Frodo looked up hopefully, Boromir uneasily as they followed the Elf’s lead. The man was no more comfortable entering the Elven land than he was last time, but the Ring-bearer hoped for some relief from his grief and Ring’s incessant call. Legolas smiled when Gimli commented quietly about the welcome being much warmer this time.

And indeed, it was. Lady Galadriel shone brightly and warmly welcomed the Fellowship. Gimli stared in open adoration at her and she smiled at him, smiled at all of them, but her most loving smile fell on Frodo.

“You have endured much sorrow once more,” she addressed them all, “but here for a little while, lay aside your griefs and relieve yourselves of your burdens. They are too heavy to carry if carried all alone and for too long a time. Here find some rest.”

Frodo heard her voice also in his mind, as though she was speaking her words only to him. He did so want some relief. The way ahead was so far, so long, so hard. And he had so many doubts. But that night he slept peacefully and deeply from the moment he closed his eyes, the first time he had been able to since Rivendell. Sam, Merry and Pippin watched him for a long time, his light softly shining in the shelter they had been given. They all leaned down and brushed his brow with a kiss and murmured “Good night, sleep well,” and then curled up next to him to sleep deeply themselves.

* * *

“You still want it, don’t you?” Galadriel asked the next night. Her voice was at once of soft accusation and gentle understanding.

Frodo glanced at her, then turned away. “Yes,” he said, barely audibly, his voice full of shame, horror and self–loathing.

Galadriel took his chin in her fingers and gently drew his eyes back to her. She smiled. When she next spoke, none of the accusation remained, only an immense love and compassion. “Do not be astonished or troubled, Iorhael, at seeing that you are subject to fall into imperfections, even often. We cannot hope to live without them. It is impossible while we are in this life. It is enough that you do not love them and that they do not remain in your heart.”

Frodo looked at her. He wanted so badly to be consoled by her words. He desperately needed just to lose himself in the brightness that surrounded her, but he confined himself to nothing more than the yearn to do so. He looked away again. “I’m afraid they are remaining,” he confessed almost inaudibly.

Galadriel smile’s did not falter. “I know what it is to desire something even though it could and would destroy oneself. The wisdom of the Elves has been hard won, through fire and shadow.”

Frodo looked back up at her. “What’s going to happen this time?” he asked, searching her eyes for an answer. “Do you know?”

The lady stepped back and filled the bowl with water. “The mirror may tell you.”

Frodo looked at her a moment more. He hesitated, then gripped the edges of the bowl and bowed his head to stare into the water. Its surface was clear, then images began to swirl in it - Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Smeagol. They were fighting a seemingly hopeless battle. Frodo watched in horror and tears as one by one they fell from an unseen foe. As they did, they looked up at him, sadness in each of their eyes. Frodo thought he saw silent accusation in Merry’s. Sam was the last to fall. As he did, he stretched out his hand to Frodo beseechingly. Frodo started to release his white-knuckled grip on the bowl to reach out to him, but Galadriel’s voice sounded sharply in his mind. Don’t touch the water! Frodo drew back and watched Sam fall and lay silent on the batttlefield.

“NO!” the Ring-bearer cried out and wrenched his gaze away. He raised his tear-stained face to stare up at Galadriel. “It was me, wasn’t it?” he said, desperate for her to deny it. “I killed them, I killed them all.” His head swam and he nearly fainted under the horror of it. He could barely breathe.

The lady gave him a piercing look.  “Their killer was unseen. Why do you think it was you?”

“They all looked up at me. Right at me. Like I was there. I was, wasn’t I?”

“It could happen that way,” the lady acknowledged gravely, “but they started out fighting for you. Whether they succeed or not, depends on you. The shadows that surround your heart do not merely reach there, but will encompass all Middle-earth if you do not prevent it. A new darkness will come with you as its slave and focus if you fail.”

“What must I do?” Frodo rasped. He looked up at her beseechingly. “It is so strong and I am so weak. I am so afraid.”

His agony stirred Galadriel. She knelt, touched his cheek and smiled again. “Remain Iorhael,” she said softly. “The darkness cannot own that which resists it. When it comes again, do not consent to it. And when you fail in that, resolve again to resume the battle. A lifelong battle it is, the same one we must all fight, but it will be hard won if hard fought. You can do this, Frodo of the Shire.”

Frodo looked at the love and light shining from her eyes and smile and touch. At last he let it enter him and clear away the gathering shadows, at least for a little while. His sleep was deep and untroubled for the rest of the night and he woke refreshed as he did the rest of the nights they spent in that hallowed wood.

He looked at Galadriel again when they were ready to leave. She raised her hand to him and smiled. He stared at her until they were out of sight, wrapping himself again in her light as a safeguard against his fears and doubts, strengthening himself with it as with armor, as he already carried Sam’s support and love like a shield before him. He clasped the phial she had given him. It was as though he was carrying part of her light, love and strength with him where ever he went, even into the dark places around his own heart and soul.

A/N: Galadriel’s advice about imperfections are actually words of wisdom from St. Francis de Sales. Sam’s words about being victorious by simply willing to fight are a paraphrase from the same.

Chapter 19: A Trip on the River

Sam didn’t like getting into boats anymore than he did last time. He sat beside Frodo and Aragorn, just as anxious as any of them to get it all over with. He scanned the water worriedly for their unwelcome trailer-after and saw Frodo doing the same with a different set of emotions crossing those fair features. Then they began to move forward. Frodo looked over at his nervous friend, smiled faintly and squeezed his hand. Sam returned the smile and the clasp. He did not let go.

"It’ll be over soon, my Sam," Frodo murmured, looking out ahead of him. The younger hobbit worried about the layers of meaning in his master’s voice.

"And then we’ll be back home in our own beds and no water around us deeper than a bath tub," he returned, trying to lighten his dear friend’s spirits.

Frodo looked back at his friend and his smile widened just slightly. "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?"

"You would, too."

The elder hobbit looked away again to the open waters. "I don’t know. I think I like the Sea. Perhaps one day I shall like to travel over more of it."

There was longing in that beloved voice that made Sam nervous. He didn’t look forward to any more of this business on the water than possibly necessary, but of course, his master wasn’t going to go anywhere without him.

Aragorn heard the soft exchange, but did not comment on it. His heart ached for the two though, because unlike Sam, he knew what Frodo was referring to and he wondered if the Ring-bearer was trying to warn his dear friend about Arwen’s gift.

They traveled down the middle of the river to avoid the arrow shafts the orcs shot at them from the shore. Frodo heard some of them and shivered, trying to shrink away into the smallest possible target. Aragorn squeezed his hand. "It’s all right, tithen gwador, we are out of range."

The Ring-bearer looked up fearfully and lost himself for a moment in that kind gaze, trying to believe, but he continued to feel as he had nearly the whole time, that he was naked in front of the evil that constantly sought him to reveal himself, and it was only a matter of time before he was found. He looked away, returned his eyes to the sky that he searched constantly, expecting any moment to see a Nazgul on its fell beast to dive down at him. Aragorn and Sam watched him worriedly.

It was during one of the searches Frodo found that his fears were indeed justified. Two beasts screeched far above causing the hobbits in both boats to cry out in pain and cover their ears. Frodo looked up frozen in terror until Sam pulled him to the bottom of their boat and made sure they were both completely hidden under their Elven cloaks. The gardener reached for his master’s hands when he saw them reaching toward the Ring. He spoke words of reassurance and comfort but Frodo didn’t hear them. The call of the Ring was too loud in his ears and mind. He was barely aware of anything else. He closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on Sam’s hands around his, grateful that his guardian was clutching them so tight he couldn’t let go. Over and over, he whispered, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel, o menel palan-diriel, le nallon si di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!" O Elbereth Starkindler, form heaven gazing far, to thee I cry now beneath the shadow of death! O look towards me, Everwhite!

Legolas loosed two arrows quickly, his sharp eyes finding just the place to take the beasts down. Terrible cries, even more piercing them before, issued from the dying creatures as they fell from the air. The hobbits cried out in pain. The boats rocked in the wake of the beasts, but they were far enough away not to be harmed.

The hobbits raised their heads tentatively when the pull of the Ring eased. Sam looked rather green from the tossing of the boats and was promptly sick over the side. Frodo’s gaze was frozen on the black cloak that floated near him on the other side, close enough to touch. He shrank from it and began to tremble in after-reaction, then belatedly became aware of Sam’s weakened condition. He crawled away from the cloak and over to his friend, supporting him from behind as the gardener retched. When nothing else came up, they sagged into each other’s arms and just held one another, Frodo crying softly as his lips moved in silent thanksgiving to Elbereth.

Aragorn rowed them away from the site, sending his own prayers of thanks for the aversion of the near-disaster, aching for his brother’s tears. He knew Frodo had found relief in Lothlorien, but they all saw that the burden beginning to bear down again on those slim shoulders, that shining soul. Elrod and the king had helped heal the Ring-bearer’s body and the Lady had helped his soul find some solace, but... Oh, please Eru, help him, Aragorn prayed. He had tried to give succor himself, had watched the other hobbits, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir all try to reach Frodo, and had seen Frodo’s gratitude at that, his light shine through a rare smile or even a laugh at one of Pippin’s antics. He had also wiped at his tears and seen the others wipe at theirs when Frodo wasn’t looking as they shared worried glances at how the burden was taking its toll on their friend. The king felt as helpless as the others having to watch such a gentle, noble being struggle on. But he also felt very proud and honored to know such a one, to see him bear such a weight without complaint, to endure the unbearable. He constantly searched, like all the others, for ways to lighten the impossible load, but knew he could do little by himself beside stand by his brother and hope that would be enough.

The king glanced at the two in the boat with him. Frodo and Sam had broken apart and the elder was looking at his anxious gardener as he normally did, with a soft, loving smile while Sam was staring forward, his hands nearly white as he clutched the sides of the boat.

"Well, one good thing has come out of this," he said.

Frodo looked bemused at his friend. "And what would that be, dear Sam?"

The gardener looked at his master and smiled. "No more logs with eyes."

Frodo laughed out loud and Sam’s heart nearly burst with happiness. Aragorn and the others smiled widely. The light from the two hobbits Aragorn could see even in the daylight and from Legolas’ gentle smile as he regarded the two, the king knew the Elf was looking at the same thing.

Frodo lifted one of Sam’s hands from his convulsive grip and took it in his. "I’m glad you’re with me, Sam."

* * *

The Fellowship continued its way down the river. Most of the time, Frodo held Sam’s hand, a help to them both as it calmed the younger’s fears and helped the elder fight off the urge to clasp the Ring. During the day, the Ring-bearer concentrated his focus either on Sam or his cousins in the next boat or the passing shoreline, anything to distract himself from the Ring’s constant blandishments. His lips moved silently in almost constant supplication to Elbereth.

Each night and each morning and many times throughout the following days, Aragorn sent his own prayers of thanksgiving to Iluvatar for sending Frodo strength and his pleas that it continue. He had seen Legolas’ lips often moving silently for the same. And Gimli’s was not unknown to do so as well. The other hobbits glances rarely left Frodo who was unaware with his eyes, though not his heart, how often he was watched.

The Ring-bearer’s eyes traveled frequently to the skies, but there no more attacks from there. They all come from within. It took all his strength to fight the Ring off, to not listen and he was exhausted by the end of the day from the mental struggle to keep himself from being swallowed whole. Sam or one of the others had to catch him as he’d stumble out of the boat and collapse to the ground. They made sure he had something to eat and drink and then he’d lay down and close his eyes and silently beg, sometimes in tears, for sleep. It had been so wonderful at Rivendell and Lothlorien. Why couldn’t they have all remained there? Why did he have to do this again? He knew it was going to destroy him. Such thoughts chased themselves around and around his head at night, when there were no distractions. At that time he lay exposed to the Ring and he feared himself to be already destroyed.

But then he’d feel a gentle hand wipe his tears away, Sam’s or his cousins’ or Aragorn’s or Legolas’. He would feel himself gathered into arms, usually Sam’s or Merry’s or Pippin’s, though sometimes the arms of his king would encircle him. He held on tightly, placing his head where he could hear the heartbeat of whoever was his guardian that night and listen to soft lullabies sung in Westron or Sindarin instead of the whispers of the Ring. It was during those times that he could push back his despair and feel as though he was someone other than a slave to the Ring. He’d feel the brush of a kiss to his brow just before sleep finally claimed him for a little while. Always too soon, though, he had to get up the next day and go through the entire ordeal again. He truly did not know where his strength came from to endure it all. He had no idea how he was going to make it when he had to trudge through those endless miles and still have to fight the Ring off.

A/N: Frodo’s prayer to Elbereth is from the master, though it wasn’t originally spoken by the Ring-bearer but by his devoted gardener-guardian angel. 

Chapter 20: Ambushed

The orc party was already waiting for them at Parth Galen. Legolas’ sharp ears picked up on sound a moment before the hobbits did and held out his hand. They all looked around nervously and then Aragorn motioned for the hobbits to move off slightly. Gimli gripped his ax, anxious to put it to good use. Legolas readied his bow. Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords, then with twin cries of "Gondor!" they rushed the area and ambushed the ambushers. It was bloody work for the four and before it was over, Aragorn was nursing a wound to his arm and Boromir’s forehead ran freely with blood which he wiped to keep from running into his eyes. Orc corpses lay thickly on the ground, felled by sword, axe and arrow and several it appeared from no wound but large bruises to their heads from thrown rocks.

"Fourteen," Gimli said proudly, defying Legolas to top him.

The Elf smiled. "That is very good, my friend. It is, however, two less than my sixteen."

The dwarf grumbled something and Legolas laughed lightly.

Merry and Pippin emerged from their hiding place and put back their slings. Their victorious smiles vanished when two Uruk-hai jumped them and a dozen others shot arrows in the direction of the king and his warriors to keep them rescuing the two who fought furiously in their captor’s grip, but could not win free. Gimli rushed toward the hidden orcs and Legolas shot over his head so many more of the enemy were killed, but they still had to watch the hobbits be carried away. Boromir rushed after them with a cry. Gimli raced after him.

From their hiding place, Sam and Frodo frantically watched the ambush. Frodo would have sprung out the instant it had happened, but his stout guardian held him fast. The elder hobbit struggled so furiously in Sam’s arms that the gardener was afraid he would have knock his master out to keep him from following.

"You can’t help them, dear," the younger hobbit said softly, covering Frodo’s mouth when the latter would have called out. He was nearly just as torn as Frodo himself was that the same tragedies seemed to happening all over again. "You’d be captured too and that can’t happen."

Frodo watched helplessly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched his cousins being led away. He sagged against the tree, suddenly drained of energy.

Sam looked at his friend sympathetically, measuringly, then let him go. "I’m so sorry, dear," he said.

"So am I," Frodo said, "more sorry than I can tell you."

"I know, you don’t have to tell me."

Frodo looked up wearily. Sam offered a hand up. "Let’s not make their sacrifice in vain. We’ve got to get away from here before they realize they’ve got the wrong two hobbits again."

Aragorn came up to Frodo and Sam. He was bleeding from fresh wounds, but his features held a grim triumph amid his grief for Merry and Pippin. Frodo looked up him beseechingly. "We’re going to go after them," the king promised. "Boromir and Gimil are even now giving chase."

Frodo nearly collapsed in relief. "Then I will have good news to tell Faramir when we see him. At least that is one good thing that has come of this."

Aragorn smiled, then knelt and gathered the Ring-bearer into a tight embrace which Frodo returned with equal strength. "I wish I could go with you, gwador nin, but..."

"Merry and Pippin need you more," the hobbit said.

"I fear that is so."

Aragorn kissed him on the head, then let go.

He hugged Sam also. "I know you will take care perfect care of my brother, Sam, and I thank you for it. Make sure you take care of yourself as well. Frodo needs you."

"No need to thank me, Mr. Strider. He’s my brother, too."

Aragorn smiled and kissed his head quickly. He looked up and saw Frodo smiling at Sam. He bowed to them both. "Namarie, my friends. May the Valar speed you on your way and the hand of Iluvatar hold you both close."

Frodo and Sam bowed deeply. "The same watch over you, my king and friend so dear, " the elder hobbit said. "And with the rest of the Fellowship."

Aragorn looked at them once more for a long moment. He was worried about Frodo, but he knew he was in even better hands than his. "Until we meet again in Minas Tirith."

"Yes," Frodo said in a strange, distant voice, as though the idea of a happy reunion was not something he truly thought possible, "until then."

Neither Sam nor Aragorn missed the tone of voice and exchanged a concerned look, then the king left. The two hobbits watched until he and Legolas were out of sight, then made their way to the boats.

"I’m glad you aren’t going to be near to drowning this time, Sam," Frodo said.

"I’m glad you realize you aren’t going anywhere without me," the gardener returned, trying to lighten his master’s mood, and was rewarded to see Frodo smile faintly at the light teasing.

He looked back to where his cousins had been taken and said a small, silent prayer for them. Sam squeezed his hand. "They’ll be all right, me dear," Sam said.

Frodo straightened his shoulders and turned to his friend. "Yes, they will be," he said with much more conviction that he had in his own survival, enough, he hoped, to silence the fears in his heart. He hoped Aragorn and the others would find them sooner this time. He got in the boat and Sam pushed off and joined him. It was a long time before Frodo looked away from the shore and joined Sam’s clumsy efforts at rowing.

Chapter 21: The Taming of Gollum

Murmured words woke Sam from his sleep the first night after they had parted from the Fellowship. He looked over at Frodo who was laying on his side. At first Sam thought his master was talking in his sleep, but in the moonlight, he could that Frodo eyes were wide open, staring at what Sam did not know. One fist was tightly clenched around the Ring.

“There is no hope,” Frodo said, his voice strange and distant. “No hope.”

Sam touched his shoulder. “No, my dear, there’s always hope,” he protested, but Frodo showed no sign of having heard him.

“He knows we’re coming. The Eye is ever watching. He sees us. He is waiting, waiting. We are going towards our doom.”

“No, we are going toward his doom and he knows that,” Sam insisted.

“No hope,” Frodo said over and over again, softly to himself in his trance-like state.

Sam did not want to even guess what his master was looking at, but all the same he wanted to be there with him. He gently pried Frodo’s fingers from around the Ring and took his hand into his own instead. Frodo’s hand was cold. Sam wrapped both of his around his master’s until it warmed, then still holding Frodo’s hand in one hand, he began to gently stroke the Ring-bearer’s forehead and curls with the other. “Sleep, dear, sleep.”

As he murmured a soft lullaby, Frodo’s voice trailed off and his eyes closed. Sam looked up at the clouds. Something seemed to pass between them and the moonlight and the younger hobbit shivered. Was his master right? Were they being watched? An unnatural sound in the night, far off, made him jump. Frodo didn’t move. He had passed into true sleep, his breathing even. Sam stayed awake as long as he could, guarding his master from the creature he figured they’d be meeting soon enough.Too soon, he thought as he protectively gathered Frodo into his arms and finally nodded off. He was startled awake several times during the night, but straining his ears and squinting into the darkness revealed nothing. Frodo continued to sleep deeply the entire night.

* * *
Sam saw the creature loping across the plain toward him. It was nearly bald, only a dozen or so long dark hairs streamed from its head. Whip scars criss-crossed its entire body - neck, back, chest, arms, legs. There was a scar from a stab wound on its left shoulder and another on one of its legs. As the creature got closer, he could hear it babbling to itself.

“I had it and he took it. He stole it. It was mine. He shouldn’t have taken it. I tried to get it back, but he wouldn’t give it back. He should give it back. It’s mine. It’s not his. It’s mine. I tried to get it back so many times but he hurt me. He hurt me. He hurt!” The last was an anguished cry as the emaciated creature stopped and raised itself to its full height and arched its back in remembered agony before it started on its way again. “Must go back. Must get it back. It’s mine. He took it. He shouldn’t have. It’s mine.”
Sam called out to it and it stopped and looked at him. Recognition flickered deep within its sunken eyes as its shattered mind tried to figure out why the person before it was crying. “Sam.....?” it said.

Sam woke abruptly as he felt someone shaking him. He looked into his master’s concerned eyes and sat up almost too quickly. A smile broke out on his face as he ran his hand over Frodo’s full head of thick, curly hair and saw that his eyes were clear and focused. He didn’t seem to be aware of anything unusual from earlier. “You’re you,” Sam cried happily.

Frodo looked at him confused. “Of course I’m me, Sam. Who else would I be?”

Sam pushed up one of his master’s sleeves, then the other and almost burst out laughing when he saw smooth, unmarked skin. “Bless you, you’re all right!” he cried and hugged him, tears of joy in his eyes.

Frodo hugged him back, getting more confused all the time. “Yes, quite all right, my Sam,” he assured. He held Sam back a bit and held him by the arms. “Are you all right?”

“I haven’t failed you then,” Sam said.

“No, of course not, dear Sam. I know you never will. What kind of dream were you having?”

The gardener’s smile faded and he gripped his master’s arms a little tighter. “Oh, it was terrible, dear, just terrible. You had taken the Ring and disappeared. I couldn’t find you. I called out to you, over and over again, but you wouldn’t answer. I stayed around for days, but you never came back. I finally returned to the Shire and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and I went looking for you, but we didn’t know where to. When we returned, I tried so hard to live again, without you, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I left again, trying to find you. I finally did. That’s when I woke up.”

This time when Sam looked up at Frodo, the tears were of pain and fear. “I’m so afraid, my Frodo. I’m so afraid I am going to fail you and you’ll become as sorry a sight as that Gollum. Please don’t let that happen. Please...”

Frodo took Sam back into his arms and held him as he cried. “I’m very afraid I will fail you, Sam,” he said, “but I know you won’t fail me. I know you won’t let me go.”

Sam looked up at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. “But what if you let me go?”

Frodo wiped his tears, then placed his head back down against him and rocked him gently. “Then, my dearest hobbit, you will hold on to me even tighter. I have faith in you, my guardian. It’s the only thing that is keeping me going. You won’t let me fall.”

Frodo continued to hold his beloved Sam while he murmured one of the lullabies he had heard his friend sing to him in Rivendell.
“Sleep now, brother most dear,
Close your weary eyes;
Soon night will be o’er,
And the sun shall rise.
Fear not, for I am nigh
To dry all your tears.

“Sleep now, and when you wake,
I will be here.
Rest now, brother mine,
Do not be afraid;
All the dark night through
Beside you I will stay.
Lie still, safe in my arms,
While I my vigil keep;
I’ll be here when you wake.”

He continued to sing until Sam stopped crying and fell back asleep. Frodo wiped at the last of his tears, then with his arms still encircling his friend, the Ring-bearer slept again himself.

The next morning as they negotiated their way through the Emyn Muil, they stole glances at each other, checking on one another’s spirits. Sam watched his master also for any trouble with his leg for it was hard going at times, but Frodo did not show signs of flagging. When their glances met, they both smiled.

“It’s going to be all right.”

“I know.”

Frodo gazed around him later in the afternoon. It was around here that they had met Smeagol. He knew from Sam’s glances and deepening frowns that his friend realized it as well and wasn’t looking forward to it, but Frodo felt anticipation, even longing to see Smeagol again in his desire to succeed this time in saving him. He stopped abruptly several times during the day to look and listen, seeing something out of the corner of his eye he thought. “Smeagol?” he called out each time, but not even the wind moved. They continued on until evening, Frodo hoping that Smeagol would come to them on his own and Sam dreading that he would. Nothing happened however and the two hobbits settled down to sleep.

* * *
The gangly creature crawled slowly toward the two sleeping hobbits. “It’s ours,” it hissed. “And we wants it. They can’t have it. Not again. It’s ours.”

Gollum launched himself at Frodo who instantly awakened and fought to keep the creature’s hands from the Ring. Sam grabbed him from behind and held him despite the enormous struggle Gollum put up. He cried out in pain when the former hobbit bit down on his hand, but redoubled his hold, instead of releasing it.

Frodo looked at him in concern, but Sam only nodded and Frodo returned his gaze to the struggling creature, regarding him with compassion and pity. He didn’t draw Sting, didn’t even put his hand on his sword, much as Sam had begged him to earlier. “You know what he can do,” Sam had protested. “We’ve got to be prepared.”

“We will be, Sam,” Frodo had assured.

Frodo looked at the enraged creature now who slowly settled down as his former self responded to the calm and sympathy that flowed so strongly from the other. His eyes cleared. “Master?” Smeagol asked.

“Yes, Smeagol,” Frodo said softly. “Master is here.”

“And the Precious?”

The longing in Smeagol’s voice almost broke Frodo’s heart. “Yes, the Precious is here also. I need your help again to get it to Mordor.”

The creature’s eyes narrowed and Gollum reasserted itself. “No! You would destroy the Precious! We won’ts lets you! We woulds destroy you first!”

Frodo did not hesitate to answer, keeping his voice calm and his gaze unwavering, though Sam tightened his grasp and wished he could just run the creature through. “Yes, Smeagol,” Frodo said, well aware of Sam’s feelings, “I am on my way to destroy it, to free us both from this burden. Don’t you want to be free?”

The former hobbit’s features changed again and a hurt, hopeful Smeagol stared back. “Free?” he murmured in wonder. When had he been free last? He remembered now. Master had freed him, before betraying him, but that nasty fat hobbit said Master hadn’t meant as a betrayal. Smeagol was so confused, but he looked at Frodo with almost childlike trust. He did so want to be free.

“Yes, Smeagol,” Frodo continued softly, still looking into the creature’s eyes, trying to convey all his desire to save him. “Free. No longer as a slave to darkness, but living in the light and the fresh air.”

Smeagol looked a little fearful at that. “We don’ts likes the bright light. It burns us.”

“You don’t like it because the darkness hates it. It fears it, too, because it cannot rule it or conquer it. But Smeagol, once you are free, the light can live in you again. The darkness will be gone.”

Smeagol looked up with hope and longing. Frodo was loathe to betray it and hoped he never would. Not again. He held out his hand and Smeagol took it. He nodded at Sam to release their captive and Sam did so very reluctantly.

Gollum hissed at Sam and Sam was very tempted to respond in kind, but restrained himself out of respect and love for his master. When Frodo went back to sleep, his hand clasped around his shirt where the Ring lay on its chain underneath, the two enemies glared at each other.

“Let’s get one thing straight right from the beginning,” Sam said. “Nothing has changed from last time. I’m keeping an eye on you. If you do anything to harm him, even if you look at him the wrong way, I will strangle your scrawny little neck with my bare hands. Understand?”

Gollum hissed loudly, but Smeagol shrunk against the angry words and leaned closer to his master. “We wouldn’ts hurts Master for the world,” he assured Sam fervently. “We loves Master.”

“But we don’t loves you,” Gollum said.

“Well, I don’t loves you either,” Sam retorted. “But I do love my master and that’s the only thing that’s keeping you alive at this point. But even that won’t help you if you hurt him, either of you,” he said pointedly, seeing Gollum’s glare behind Smeagol’s timid look.

Sam started to say something further, then thought better of it. He laid back on the ground and wrapped his cloak tight around him and glared at Gollum. He wished he could tie the despicable creature up, but he knew that would get him nowhere. The howling that would cause would wake Frodo who desperately needed his sleep and would only insist that the rope be removed. Sam trusted and loved his master with all his heart, but he wondered if Gollum would drive them apart again or even worse, try to kill Frodo in his lust for the Ring. He was determined not to let that happen, to keep a watchful eye out all the time, but he was asleep before he knew it.

“You can go now,” Smeagol said to Gollum. “We don’ts needs you anymore. Master has come back.”

“He’s come back to destroy the Precious, to destroy us!” Gollum hissed.

Smeagol shook his head. “No. Master would not do that. He is our friend. Master loves us.”

“He betrayed us! Or have you forgotten that?”

“Did not! But nasty fat hobbit says he didn’ts mean to.”

“And you believed that?” Gollum jeered. He pointed at Sam. “That one hates us.”

Smeagol cringed under Gollum’s tirade, but would not be completely cowed. “Then why be kind to us?” he responded with the bravery he had only when Master was near. “No, leave us now. Master will takes cares of us. He will free us.”

“Free us from the Precious!” Gollum insisted. “Is that what you want?”

“Leave us!” Smeagol cried out. “We wants to be free!”

Gollum snarled very loudly, frightening Smeagol badly. He cowered closer to his master, covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Then after a little while, very cautiously, he opened them again and looked around. It was silent outside.

And inside.

Sam looked up from his place. “If you’ve got to talk to yourself, do it more quietly,” he grumbled.

Smeagol ignored him. He looked around some more, then danced around. “Smeagol is free!” he crowed over and over again.

“Great,” Sam muttered. “Glad to hear it. Now go to sleep.”

He was amazed when the creature actually paid attention to him and did as he asked.

“Free, free,” Smeagol murmured to himself as he fell asleep at his master’s side.

Too bad we can’t also be free of you, Sam thought and fell back to sleep himself.

A/N: That wonderful lullaby is Queen Galadriel’s with a little modification of my own since this time it’s Frodo singing it instead of Sam.

Chapter 22: Following the Light

“Don’t follow the lights!” Smeagol warned as they entered the Dead Marshes.

How Frodo wanted to though. He stared mesmerized at the lights in the water, taking any source of brightness he could to combat the growing darkness in his heart and soul. He could almost feel himself begin to topple in to follow the light, to surround himself with it.

“Come on, dear,” Sam called from a short distance away, jolting Frodo from his thoughts. The younger hobbit came up and gently guided his master away. “You don’t want to take another dunking like last time.”

Frodo looked away from the lights in the water and then at Sam. “Follow the light,” he told himself.

Sam looked at him. “What was that?”

Frodo smiled faintly at his friend. “I’m following the light.”

Sam looked at him a little strangely. “We haven’t seen the sun in days, dear. What light are you talking about?”

Frodo’s smile widened. “You, Sam.”

Sam looked uncomfortable for a moment, but his heart was glad to see his master’s smile.

“Lead on, Sam,” Frodo said and they started again.

Smeagol considered the exchange thoughtfully as he followed after his master.

Frodo felt the pull of the Ring toward the Nazgul before he saw the foul creature on its fell beast. He clutched his shirt protectively where the Ring lay underneath.

“Get down, Frodo!” Sam cried as he pulled his master down. Smeagol cringed and put his hands over his head, doing his best to simply melt into the marshland.

Frodo let go of the Ring and gripped his shoulder when the pain from his wound there intensified nearly unbearably. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out. The compulsion to put on the Ring, to reveal himself and relieve himself of his burden was almost irresistible. He watched in silent horror as his hand began to travel toward his neck, then Sam grasped one hand and Smeagol the other, drawing Frodo away from that nightmare and grounding him back to reality. Sam and Smeagol looked at one another for a moment in their joint effort to help their master. Sam looked away first, uncomfortable with sharing even this with the creature he despised, not sure how to face to concern he saw reflected in Smeagol’s eyes. He looked back down at Frodo.

“I’m here, dear,” he said, brushing at his master’s curls with his other hand. “It’s going to be all right.”

Frodo looked at his friend, frightened and desperately seeking relief. Sam’s eyes were warm and calm. He continued to talk to his master soothingly. Frodo held Sam’s hand in a grip tight enough to hurt, but Sam did not let go until the Ringwraith had disappeared overhead. “It’s all right,” he said again as Frodo sagged against the ground and tried to calm his breathing.

“No, it’s not,” Frodo gasped out. “It may never be.”

“It will be,” Sam assured. “It will be.”

He offered a hand up to his master and Frodo stood with his help. Sam smiled. “Come on, then, dear. We still have a ways to go yet.”

After many miles, Frodo sank to the ground and put his back against a tree. “I need to rest, Sam,” he panted. “Just for a moment.”

Sam looked at his exhausted master with deep compassion. He dropped down beside him, put his arm around Frodo’s shoulder. “Is your leg bothering you?”

“A little,” the Ring-bearer admitted.

“Bless you, dear!” Sam said, knowing if his master was admitting that much, it was actually paining him much more. “You should have told me. Rest here for the night. We’ve gone far enough today.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said with a relieved sigh. He was asleep before his head dropped to Sam’s shoulder. His fist was around the Ring, but Sam gently pried his fingers loose and laid his hand at his side.

“Sleep well, my dear,” he murmured with a kiss to his head, then he looked out at the approaching dusk. When it was dark and he could stay awake no longer, he gently laid his master down on the ground and gathered him into his arms. Frodo nestled his head against his friend’s heart, sighing in his sleep. Smeagol lay down next to him and closed his eyes. Much as Sam hated to close his eyes when that creature was near, he could not fight his fatigue any longer. He tightened his protective grip on his trusting master and closed his eyes.

Near dawn, Sam woke and looked down at his sleeping master. He stroked his cheek. “Time to wake up, dear.”

Frodo came awake abruptly. He looked disoriented a moment, then saw Sam and relaxed, even smiled a moment. Smeagol was nowhere to be found.

“Did you sleep well?” Sam asked as he handed his friend the day’s ration of lembas bread.

Frodo munched on the bread and washed it down with some more water. “Very well,” he said. “Like a babe in his mother’s arms.”

Sam was glad to see and hear his master’s eyes and voice were clearer and stronger than the days before.

“How did you sleep?” Frodo asked.

Sam shrugged. “On and off. It’s more important that you slept well than me.”

“But you must also, Sam,” Frodo said, quite concerned. “Next time, wake me when you get tired.”

“You need your rest,” Sam said, not willing to promise anything.

"Sam..."

The gardener stood his ground, looking at his master, but not still not promising anything.  Frodo gave a loving, if slightly exasperated, smile.  He well knew Sam could be just as stubborn as he.  He stood. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Frodo looked around. “Where’s Smeagol?”

Sam didn’t want to think of what Slinker was out scrounging for his breakfast. “I don’t even want to know.”

Frodo looked around a little more. “He won’t go far,” he said in a distant voice. “The Ring will call him back.”

Sam frowned, then Frodo features cleared and he smiled slightly at his friend. “Let’s go then. I want to make a lot of progress today if we can.”

Sam looked at his master. “But tell me please, dear, when you get too tired or if your leg is bothering you too much. You don’t need to keep pushing yourself so hard. We have time.”

“No, Sam,” Frodo said softly. “That is something we do not have.”

He started off at a brisk pace. Sam followed and kept a close eye on him the entire day, but Frodo seemed to have been invigorated by his long sleep, though by evening, he was walking with a
slight limp. In the growing dusk, Sam watched worriedly as his master stumbled and fell and before Sam could reach him, he was already up and going again, only to fall once more a few steps later and this time he didn’t rise. His limbs quivered with exhaustion and his breath came in rasps as Sam gently turned him over and pulled him into his lap.

“Got... to... keep... mo...ving,” Frodo gasped in between heaving breaths, trying to leave Sam’s arms.

“No,” the younger hobbit said, tightening his grasp, “you don’t. You are going to eat something, drink something and then you are going to go to sleep and you are going to stay asleep until it’s light. Hear me?”

Frodo looked up at his friend and smiled faintly, fondly. “Yes, Sam.”

“That’s better. You can’t keep going at this pace, dear. You are going to wear yourself out.”

“I just want to make it...to Mordor. I want... this over...with.”

Sam smiled. “So do I. More than anything I want you back home in your own bed, but we can’t make it to the fire in one day or one week.”

“The fire,” Frodo echoed. “I see it still in my dreams. I wonder I’ll ever be free of it.”

Sam touched his beloved master’s cheek. “You will, dear, you will. Just the one more time and then it will be all over.”

“I hope so, Sam.”

“It will be. Believe your Sam.”

The younger hobbit shrugged his pack off, keeping one arm around Frodo and held out a large piece of lembas bread for him. Frodo took it with trembling fingers and after he had swallowed it, Sam gave him a long drink from the water skin. A little color returned to the Ring-bearer’s pale cheeks and his trembling subsided some.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo sighed and lay back in his friend’s arms.

The gardener looked down tenderly at his master and smiled. “Now get yourself to sleep, dear.” He stroked Frodo’s dark curls as he softly sang his friend’s favorite lullaby. Frodo’s eyes lulled shut and his breathing slowly evened out.

In the morning, Sam woke to see Smeagol staring as Frodo’s hand twitched, then started to move slowly toward the Ring. The gardener caught it and took it firmly in his own. Frodo moaned softly in his sleep and Sam tried to hold back sudden tears, grieved anew for the toll this new Quest was taking on his master. He carefully removed his arm from around Frodo and shook his shoulder gently. “Time to get moving on, dear,” he said.

Frodo stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “Couldn’t I sleep a little longer, Sam? I’m so tired.”

The plaintive tone in his friend’s voice caused Sam’s heart to ache. “I know you are, dear. So am I. But we can’t stay here.”

Frodo opened his eyes with a slight groan. Sam helped him as he struggled to sit up. He braced his master against his chest and reached for Frodo’s waterskin. The elder’s hobbit’s hands trembled slightly from fatigue as he gratefully accepted the skin and drank deeply from it, thirsty beyond measure. He also hungrily devoured the day’s ration of lembas bread.

And then they set out again. Sam watched his master carefully. Frodo leaned on his friend more and more heavily as the day went on, despite the frequent breaks they took when Sam made him eat and drink a little extra. Sam was sure Frodo had actually fallen asleep on his feet a few times when his breathing didn’t seem so loud. The Ring-bearer’s head was bowed the entire time by the weight of his burden and his fatigue. Sam split his attention between watching his master and glancing anxiously about the forbidding, too open landscape and glaring at where the Ring lay hidden under Frodo’s shirt, glowering with silent malice. How he hated that horrid thing! And Slinker and Stinker - where was that confounded creature? He had gotten ahead of them again.

“Just leave him alone!” Sam whispered fiercely more than once and wondered to himself who or what he was speaking to.

He was drawn from his musings when Frodo stumbled and would have fallen if Sam hadn’t already been holding him.

“That’s it for today, dear,” the younger hobbit said, lowering his master gently to the ground. “You aren’t going to be moving another inch.”

Frodo was too exhausted to argue. He drank deeply from the water skin Sam brought to his mouth and ate a little bit of lembas bread. “Thank you, Sam. You take such good care of me.”

Sam gathered him into his arms and kissed his head. “You just rest now, dear.”

Frodo sighed, asleep almost before he closed his eyes.

Sam stared at the chain just visible around his master’s neck that held the hated Ring. “You let him sleep,” he muttered to it darkly. “Don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to get there anyway. You’re going to be destroyed, you know and you're going to stay destroyed this time. You aren’t going to torment my master, my brother, my heart, anymore. Hear me?”

Sam startled when he thought he heard the Ring whisper to him. He shook his head. “I must be cracked,” he mumbled, “talking to a thing like that.”

Frodo stirred and his eyes fluttered open. “Did you say something, Sam? I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep. I was having the most wonderful dream...”

Sam silently cursed himself for waking his master. He held him a little tighter and kissed his brow. “Then go back to it, dear. Don’t pay any attention to your Sam. He was just being a ninnyhammer. He’s so sorry he woke you.”

Frodo looked at his friend and smiled wearily. “Don’t call yourself that, dearheart. It’s not nice.”

“But it’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

Frodo closed his eyes again. “I dreamed we were back in the Shire. It was spring and we were...” His voice trailed off and Sam thought he had fallen back asleep again, but then Frodo spoke again and nearly broke Sam’s heart. “I wish it was more than a dream.”

“It is, dear, it is,” he said and softly sang his beloved master back to sleep.

Chapter 23: Of Herbs, Stewed Rabbits and Taters

Sam looked down at his sleeping master. They had been traveling for some days now. The gardener had given up trying to keep track of Slinker and Stinker. Sometimes the creature stayed with them all day, sometimes he went off on his own for hours, but Frodo seemed to be right - he always returned. Sometimes Sam would wake and find him asleep or sometimes staring at their joint slumbering master. From the look the young hobbit thought he saw in the other’s eyes, he imagined it was not Frodo but the Ring he truly was looking at, either hidden under the Ring-bearer’s clothing or clasped in his fist. The more tender, hopeful look that softened Slinker’s features when he was regarding Frodo himself, Sam did not want to even think about. They both frightened him, the former because of what Slinker may be driven to eventually, the latter because it reminded the gardener of how he thought of his master himself. He wished he could stay awake, but he knew to be of any use in protecting his dearest friend, he had to sleep sometimes too.

Frodo was unconcerned by Smeagol’s frequent disappearances. He trusted Sam to keep him safe and he did not see any threat from their would-be guide, collapsing exhausted each night, pausing only to accept some water and food from his guardian with a murmured thanks, then drop off into sleep. The younger hobbit had been careful each day to make sure that they stopped each day after sundown and didn’t start again until dawn, but he wondered how much actual rest his beloved friend was getting. Frodo was already hardly eating, sometimes even nodding off midway through he was so exhausted. Other times Sam had to practically hand fed him and raise the water skin to his mouth.

But this morning he thought those beloved features did not look so pinched with exhaustion and strain and the light that was in him shone more brightly than it had since Rivendell. It had helped their spirits tremendously just to leave the Marshes behind and enter the beautiful woods of Ithelien. So bright, so beautiful, Sam thought as he continued to gaze at his master, loathe to end such perfect, peaceful sleep, but realized he had to if the brightness would be more than fleeting glimpses amid a re-gathering darkness. It was a long while though before he could tear his gaze away from that light. I love him more dearly each day whether it is there or not, but oh, isn't it so wonderful to see.

He stroked Frodo’s cheek gently. “Wake up, me Frodo dear,” he called softly. “We’ve got to get going again. Wake up for your Sam. The coneys are all cooked and I’ve made some of those taters I brought along.”

That woke Frodo. He drank thirstily from his water skin and hungrily downed the rabbit and potatoes Sam brought to him. The gardener’s eyes barely left him the entire time even as he supped his own portion. Smeagol had politely declined to dine with them for which Sam was only grateful. The creature had brought back the rabbits and herbs the gardener had requested, then watched almost painfully as they were cooked. He had refused the spoonful that Sam had held out to him. “Come on, try it. It’s better than anything else you can find.” Smeagol had wrinkled his nose in disgust, said “No, thanks you,” then disappeared again with one of the uncooked rabbits. Sam had only shook his head

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said when he had scraped the last of the second serving. “That was a delicious feast. Almost like home.”

The younger hobbit did not miss the wistfulness in his master’s last words. “It’ll be home soon enough, dear, and there’ll be even more feasts.”

Frodo sagged back against the tree and looked out at the landscape. “I wish we could rest longer.”

“So do I, but there’s nothing for it. It’s not safe here.” He began to clean up from the meal.

“It’s not safe anywhere we’re going.”

“I know,” Sam said softly as he put his pots and pans back on his back.

Frodo looked around further. “Where’s Smeagol?”

“Slunk off again,” Sam muttered.

“That’s all right,” Frodo said in a dream-like voice as though he had slipped back into sleep with his eyes open. “I remember the way.”

“So do I,” San said grimly, then more cheerfully, “Come on then, dear. We will take it easy today, but we’ve got to get moving.” He looked around him. “It’s too quiet here,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I feel like we’re being watched.”

“We are,” Frodo said in that same dream-like voice as he let Sam pull him up. “The Eye sees everything.”

“Then he’ll see his doom coming toward him,” Sam said firmly.

He put his arm tight around Frodo’s shoulders as the Ring-bearer swayed as though he would faint. With tears bright in his eyes, Sam propelled him the first few steps until Frodo began walking on his own, though he leaned heavily on Sam.

“That’s it, dear,” the younger hobbit encouraged. “Just like that. Lean on your Sam. Let him be your strength today."

“Thank you, Sam.  What would I ever do without you?”

"You won't ever know because I'm never going to leave you."

They hadn’t traveled far when they were surrounded by a large group of men, their arrows notched.

Chapter 24: The Steward’s Son

Frodo and Sam looked up warily at the men who surrounded them. They took comfort in the fact that the arrows were not pointed at them, but outward toward the surrounding wood and it was as though the hobbits stood within a protective circle. A man came then into the circle and threw back his hood as he stopped in front of them. “We meet again, Frodo Baggins.”

“Captain Faramir!” Sam cried happily.

Faramir smiled tiredly and nodded a greeting to him, then turned back to Frodo. He was surprised by how haggard and haunted the hobbit looked, even more beleagured than last time when Faramir had had a vision of what Frodo would look like if the Ring took complete hold of him. It came again now, but Faramir vowed to himself it would not come to that if he and his men could help it.

“We have not come to hinder you,” he assured Frodo, “as we know well which Quest you are on, but I will warn you that all paths to Mordor are being carefully watched and very well guarded. You will not find it easy to get through.”

Frodo looked steadily at Faramir, but strangely the captain thought, somewhat brittle or fragilely, as though he was holding himself together only through sheer force of will. A brief glimpse up at Sam whose eyes were fixed on his master made Faramir wonder if it was not just Frodo’s own will that was keeping him on his feet.

“I thank you for your warning,” the Ring-bearer said, breaking into Faramir’s thoughts, “but that did not deter us last time and it will not this time.”

Faramir sighed, more from exhaustion than anything. “It’s much worse this time. My men and I have had little rest the last few days. Orcs are infesting these woods and we’ve had to fight through many just to get here. But we have come to help you if you will have us. You will need strength of arms to fight through all the enemies that are arrayed against you. Sauron is not trusting just to the terror that lives in the tunnel to stop you. Since it did not last time, he is throwing more of his might against you, so fearful he is of you. I hope you will accept our help and that my brother will not have died in vain or that the dead will be the lucky ones.”

The hobbit’s tortured features relaxed into a smile for a moment. “I am most happy to tell you that Boromir lives, Faramir,” Frodo said and the Ranger was glad to see the smile on the little one’s face.

Hope and joy suffused his own features, nearly making them alight. “Alive?”

“And hopefully still well. He led the chase to rescue my cousins from a band of orcs.”

“Alive,” Faramir repeated softly in wonder, almost to himself. “Then my dream was true.”

He looked down at the hobbit who waited patiently while the man absorbed the news. “I had a dream the other night that he was, but I feared to believe it, thinking it only the dearest wish of my heart that made it, not the truth it was really showing me.” He knelt and embraced Frodo. “Oh, thank you, Frodo, for this great gift!”

The Ring-bearer smiled wider and returned the embrace. “I hope he lives still to allow you a joyous reunion.”

“And I wish you the same with your cousins.”

Frodo’s features clouded a bit. “I have more hope for you, my friend, than myself. But more hope now that you are with me. I thank you for your sacrifice and that of your men, though I have no wish to be the cause of your deaths.”

Faramir smiled slightly as let his little friend go. “You will not be the cause of them in any case. It is Sauron and his terror of you that would be if anything. We all do this for you, for our people and our King. Some will die, but better here than some fool’s quest later.”

Faramir’s voice grew pained and Frodo wondered about it, but that man didn’t speak of it further. Frodo bowed his head. “I thank you again.”

Faramir’s smile returned and he signaled his men to follow as he walked with Frodo and Sam in the lead. “My men trust me to lead them and you will not find braver beings,” he said, then smiled again and glanced at his new companions. “Outside of a couple hobbits I know that is.”

Frodo smiled back. “There are none braver than my Sam,” he said.

“Or my Frodo,” the gardener returned, a step behind his master.

Faramir laughed softly. “Shall we call it a tie then?”

“No, he’s braver,” both hobbits said at the same time and Faramir laughed louder and those of the men close enough to hear smiled.

The gardener moved closer to his master as Faramir walked slightly ahead. “Did you hear what Captain Faramir said?” he said quietly but excitedly. “That Sauron was afraid of you?”

“I heard, Sam,” Frodo said in a voice that was almost dead.

Sam’s heart ached to hear that the momentary cheer in his beloved master’s voice had already faded. “Well, what do you think of that? He’s got all this power and he’s afraid of a hobbit! Imagine that!”

“I’m afraid of myself, too, Sam,” Frodo replied and moved a little ahead to catch up to Faramir. He was so anxious just to get this over with. Sam watched his back worriedly.

“Do you remember the way?” Faramir asked Frodo after they had walked a bit in silence. “As I’m sure you noticed, your guide has disappeared again.”

Frodo looked around. “Smeagol?” he called, but received no answer.

“My men will look for him,” Faramir said and signaled to four of his men who broke off from the main group.

“Don’t let him be harmed,” Frodo said anxiously, fear bright in his eyes. “He goes off often on his own, to find his own food. He is not a threat to anyone.”

“You need not be afraid of that,” the captain said. “He will be brought back so he can be watched.” He looked directly at the hobbit. “Don’t trust him, Frodo. He can only offer deceit and betrayal. He’s been corrupted by the Ring for too long to be capable of anything else.”

Frodo stared up at the man. “You trust me, don’t you, Faramir?”

The Ranger looked down at his friend in surprise. “Of course I do.”

Frodo looked away and stared straight ahead. “Perhaps you shouldn’t. Smeagol and I are parts of the same whole when it comes to the Ring. He’s merely been corrupted by it longer than I have, but he is capable of honorable things, I know he is, just as I am capable of betrayal.”

Faramir looked at him. “I don’t think you are,” he said.

“I was last time. I could very well be this time. Please, Faramir, do not speak so sure of things you do not know and be very grateful you do not know.”

Sam frowned as he listened to his master’s words. He wished for the millionth time there was some way he could comfort the doubts and fears of his dearest friend.

Faramir would not be put off. “I think I do know. My father believes I betrayed him and Gondor for abandoning Osgiliath the last time. He thinks I’ve betrayed him in little ways and in big my entire life. Perhaps I have or perhaps it’s just his belief and not the truth.” He stopped forward a little to leave Frodo room to think of what he said and to give himself room. What had caused him to speak of such private pain, something he had only previously spoken of to his brother and so long ago, to his mother? Sam looked at his back gratefully, thanking him silently. Perhaps his words would reach Frodo.

Sam watched his master’s back for a long while, wanting to give him time and space alone to hopefully ponder the Ranger’s words. Frodo walked with a stoop, staring down at the ground. He quietly celebrated each step he took as it brought him closer to Mordor and the end of his task. He silently grieved for the same thing. Sam came up and took his friend’s hand and held it until they stopped for the night. It was cold when Sam first took it, but it warmed as he held it and that warmth reached into Frodo’s heart and soul as well.

“Thank you, Sam,” he said as Sam at last let go when they stopped to eat a cold meal with Faramir and his men, before laying down to sleep.

“You’re welcome, me dear,” Sam said with a smile. He watched to make sure Frodo ate and drank enough to satisfy him, then when they were ready to sleep, he said, “Now get yourself to sleep. I’m not going to rest until you do.”

Frodo smiled faintly. “Then good night, Sam,” he said and rolling up in his cloak, closed his eyes.He didn’t think he would sleep. The Ring was only getting louder. He only closed his eyes so Sam would fall asleep himself and stop worrying about him for a moment, but he underestimated his own overwhelming fatigue and was soon asleep. Sam smiled as his master’s breathing and features relaxed a little. He leaned over to kiss his head. “Sleep well, dear,” he said softly and then with an arm protectively around his beloved friend, he closed his own eyes and slept easily.

It seemed only a moment later when they both wakened again when there was a huge disturbance in the camp. Frodo woke and stared blearily out into the night, feeling little more rested than he had several hours earlier.

“Master! Master!” cried a voice in the darkness.

Frodo squinted and sat up on his elbows. “I’m here, Smeagol,” he called. “Master is here.”

Smeagol came into view then, straining against the rope that was held tightly around his emaciated waist. He reached out his hands beseechingly to Frodo.

“Let him go!” the hobbit cried. He looked at Faramir. “You said he wouldn’t be harmed!”

The Ranger looked at his Captain. Faramir looked at Frodo.

“Please,” Frodo begged.

Faramir looked a moment more at Frodo, then back to his man and nodded slowly.

Smeagol rushed to Frodo’s side the moment he was released. “We weres just looking for something to eats,” he explained in a rush. “We weren’ts running away. Too many orcses around.”’

“You probably led them here too, with all your ruckus,” Sam accused.

Smeagol turned to him. “Not! Smeagol hates nasty orcses even more than nasty fat hobbits.”

Frodo almost smiled as Sam grimaced. “Well, you better not have,” the gardener said and laid back down.

“Stay with me, Smeagol,” Frodo said. “You’ll be safe if you stay at Master’s side.”

Smeagol turned back to his master and scuttled closer to him. Frodo put his arm around his lean shoulders.

Faramir watched the whole exchange thoughtfully. “We’ll have to move on, I’m afraid,” he told Frodo. “Our camp is still a day’s march away. We can replenish our supplies and get some real rest there before we continue on.” He looked at Smeagol. “If we haven’t already alerted every orc within this whole area, I’d be much surprised.”

Smeagol leaned closer to Frodo and stared defiantly at the captain from the safety of his master’s side. Faramir grunted, then moved away, signaling his men to move on.

Chapter 25: The Forbidden Pool

Dawn came an hour later. Frodo was so exhausted he was nearly weaving on his feet. Sam stayed close to his side and caught him more than once when he stumbled. After the second time, he held onto his master’s arm.

“Just a little farther, dear,” he kept saying. “Just a little farther.”

They stopped at midday and again near evening. At the second time, Faramir turned to Frodo. “The camp is not much farther,” he said. “I trust you, but not the Ring. I have to ask that you be bound as before.”

Frodo nodded. “I understand.”

“All of you will be bound,” Faramir said, pointedly looking up at Smeagol who looked fearfully up at his master.

Frodo looked down at him. “It’s all right, Smeagol. Take Master’s hand.”

They were bound and led into the camp. As soon as their blinds were removed, Smeagol let go of Frodo’s hand and nearly raced off.

“Stay here, Smeagol,” Frodo called and the creature turned to look at him. “Stay with Master. There are places here that are not safe for you.”

Smeagol looked like he was very tempted not to obey. “But we ares hungry!”

“They will bring us some food,” Frodo assured and looked at Faramir who nodded.

“We can’t eats your food. Please lets us go to finds some fish.”

“No, Smeagol,” Frodo said firmly. “Stay here with Master. No one is allowed to go into the pool. Remember what happened last time?”

“But we are famished!”

“Something will be brought. Please, Smeagol, you must stay here.”

Frodo held out his hand and Smeagol reluctantly came back to his master’s side. “Good Smeagol,” the Ring-bearer praised.

Faramir left and gave instruction that food be brought. When a Ranger returned with hot stew and bread, Frodo and Sam accepted it with thanks, but Smeagol wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“He can’t eat anything cooked,” Frodo explained to the man. “Do you have anything raw?”

The Ranger looked at the creature with barely controlled revulsion. “Nothing that wouldn’t make him sick.”

“Then we’lls be sick!” Smeagol cried. “We must eats!”

The man shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll ask the captain.”

“Please,” Frodo said. “Thank you.”

Sam and Frodo sat down to their meal, the former eating energetically, the latter little.

“You’ve got to eat, dear,” Sam said.

“I know, Sam,” he said softly and did so slowly, keeping an eye out for Faramir or his man to return.

It was Faramir who came. “I understand that our food is not good enough for one of our guests.”

“No!” Smeagol said. “We likes it raw and wriggling!”

Faramir looked at him with barely concealed disgust, though his voice was as polite as ever. “I see. In that case, I’m afraid we have nothing for you.”

“You haves the fish!”

“That pool is forbidden. You would be killed if you entered it.”

Smeagol laid out and arched his back as if in great pain. “We don’ts care! We must eats! Let us go!”

Frodo laid a hand on the creature. “No, Smeagol, you must stay here with Master. If there is nothing for you tonight, then tomorrow when we leave, you can find something on the way.” He looked up at Faramir for confirmation. The man nodded and then walked away.

“I’m sorry, Smeagol,” Frodo said. “Are you sure you can’t any of this? It’s not like the bread you had before.”

Smeagol shook his head. “We must starve,” he said miserably and swooned dramatically with a great, long-suffering sigh. Sam almost smiled at the creature’s antics, but restrained himself as his master was genuinely concerned and he didn’t wish to offend him.

Frodo and Sam finished the rest of their meal in silence, Frodo a bit guiltily, then they laid down for rest, wrapping themselves in blankets and using their cloaks as pillows.

“Stay here, Smeagol,” Frodo admonished before closing his eyes. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay with Master.”

Smeagol nodded, but looked like an animal ready to spring. Sam stayed awake for a little longer, making sure his master was asleep first. Exhaustion took Frodo quickly and Sam hoped it would be a restorative sleep, but it seemed that more heavily burdened his master become, the less of a help and escape rest became.

Sam eyed Smeagol who stared defiantly back. “Don’t go anywhere, Slinker,” he said. “And if you do, don’t blame Mr. Frodo. It’ll be your own fault if you get into any trouble.”

Smeagol adopted a more obedient pose. “That’s better,” Sam said and closed his eyes.

He didn’t wake until one of Farmir’s men shook him near dawn. He was not surprised to see that Smeagol was gone. “Typical,” he muttered. He looked down at Frodo who was sleeping still, his features still strained, but more peaceful than the night before. Sam wished his master could sleep long enough to bring back that light that had shone from him before the Ring, at Rivendell, that night on the trail - days ago? weeks? It seemed forever and every day, a little less of that light shone, until Sam was afraid it would disappear altogether, then Frodo would rally and some of it would return, only to dim again. Sam thought again that the only way it would shine again was to continue on their way and accomplish their mission. He leaned over and shook his master’s shoulder.

“Time to get moving again, dear,” he said.

Frodo woke bleary-eyed and the full weight of his burden came down on him again. He didn’t feel much more rested than he had the night before. He looked around, slightly disoriented, then, “Where’s Smeagol?” he asked, suddenly more awake and afraid.

“He’s gone to the pool,” Faramir said, coming up to them. “My men are there now.”

“Knew it,” Sam muttered under his breath.

Frodo threw aside his blanket and stood. “Don’t hurt him!” he cried and ran to the pool, Sam and Faramir only a short distance behind.

When Frodo reached the water, he looked around fearfully for the men he knew were hidden at various points around the pool, their arrows notched and pointed at the creature splashing around.

“Smeagol!” Frodo cried.

The creature looked up and help up a fish. “See, Master, fish!” he crowed happily.

“Smeagol, you shouldn’t be in there! You have to get out!”

When Smeagol ignored his master’s desperate plea and continued his cavorting, Frodo looked at Faramir, wordlessly begging him.

“He’s broken our rules twice now,” Faramir said, refusing to be moved. “Why should I spare him again?”

Frodo stared at the creature who was now singing to himself between bites. “I have to save him,” the hobbit said softly.

Faramir looked at him strangely. “Have to?”

“So I can hope that I can be saved,” Frodo said, still staring. Then he looked up at Faramir. “Please.”

Faramir looked at the pleading in Frodo’s eyes for a long time before he turned away for a moment and signaled to his men to put down their arrows. He then looked back at Frodo. “Tell him to come to you and that no harm will come to him. But if he delays, I will order my men to fire.”

Frodo fearfully noted that though Faramir’s men had indeed lowered their weapons, their arrows were still notched and could be launched at a moment’s notice. “Thank you,” he said and Faramir nodded.

“Come, Smeagol,” Frodo called, trying to keep his voice calm. “You must come to Master. Right now, Smeagol.”

The former hobbit looked up suspiciously, one half-eaten fish in one fist, another whole one in his other. “No, Master,” he said with a shake of his head. “Smeagol remembers last time. Smeagol will be hurt.”

“No, Smeagol,” Frodo said, fear edging into his voice. “Captain Faramir says you will not be, but only if you came out right now. Right now, Smeagol. Come to Master. We must leave.”

Smeagol looked distrustfully at Faramir who was growing impatient and half-raised his arm to signal his men.

Frodo forcefully pulled it down. “No!” he cried and Faramir looked at him surprised, but didn’t make a further move to signal again.

“Smeagol, you must come now!” Frodo appealed, panic full in his voice now. “Come to Master. You won’t be hurt if you come right now.”

Smeagol looked at his master and cautiously began moving forward.

“Tell him he can only have the one fish he’s already started to eat,” Faramir said.

The hobbit looked up at the Ranger, anguish plain on his features. “But that’s not enough for him!” he said. “He can’t eat our food. Raw food is all he can tolerate.”

Faramir’s face was stony. “That fish is already one too many for him. They are not for his use.”

Frodo turned back to his guide. “Smeagol, put back that second fish. Keep just the one you’ve eating.”

“But, Master, we ares so hungry.”

“I know, Smeagol, I know, but you must put back the other fish. You are already getting a special privilege by being allowed one of them. You can get something else on the way.”

Smeagol pouted, then threw back the uneaten fish, clamped the other firmly in his jaws and moved slowly upward toward his master.

“I will wait for you inside,” Faramir said to Frodo when he was satisfied that the crisis was over and turned away, nodding to Sam who stood behind.

“You will be saved, dear, even if he isn’t,” the gardener said softly.

“I don’t know, Sam,” Frodo said, his eyes fixed on Smeagol. “I really don’t. It’s so much harder this time.”

“You will. I will make sure of it.”

Smeagol reached them then and Frodo put his around the creature’s shoulder. “Good Smeagol,” he said. Sam frowned as they moved away.

They left the camp two hours later and started back on their way.

Chapter 26: Dreams of Fire and Blood

Frodo held the Ring on its chain over the fiery chasm. Sam yelled behind him to throw it in, but he could barely hear anything over the siren call of the Ring, dripping poison into his heart and soul, continuing to tear him apart. But somehow he held out against it with every shred of tattered resistance he had left. “Follow the light, follow the light,” he murmured to himself over and over again and then with a final burst of will, threw the Ring over into the lava.

“NO!” came an anguished howl behind him. Frodo saw the blur of Smeagol as the creature rushed past. The Ring-bearer barely had the presence of mind or the strength to hold Smeagol back. It was almost too much to hold onto the wildly bucking being. “No, Smeagol,” Frodo said, trying to calm him. “Wait.”

But the creature was too enraged to listen. He bit down hard on Frodo’s arm and the hobbit cried out, but held on. The moment the Ring at last succumbed to the fire was not immediately noticed by the struggling pair, but then Smeagol very slowly calmed and looked at Frodo, his eyes clear of madness. “Smeagol is free,” he murmured in awe.

The rest came quickly, too quickly for Frodo to feel anything but a helpless horror. Smeagol began to very rapidly age out of control, his life no longer sustained by the Ring.

“No!” Frodo cried as he began to realize what was happening, what he had inadvertently caused. “I’m sorry, Smeagol!”

Smeagol looked up at him, pleading and fear competing with other emotions in his wide eyes. “Mas...” he began, then died in Frodo’s arms, became a skeleton, then dust that blew away in the wind.

“Smeagol!” he yelled, then woke abruptly, sitting up, breathing hard.

The camp roused at his cry, but he was not aware of any of their concerned gazes. He looked to see Smeagol staring at the Ring. In the thrashing Frodo had done during his nightmare, it had come out from under his shirt and now lay outside it, glistening in the moonlight. Smeagol’s gaze was riveted by the sight of it so close to him. He only needed to reach out to claim it back as his own and already his hand reached out slowly toward it. Sam watched him carefully, ready to snatch his master away if there was any threatening movement. Frodo remained nearly motionless. He held himself up on his splayed fingers, his breathing still heavy and watched mesmerized as the former hobbit touched the Ring and stroked it lovingly.

“My Precious,” the creature murmured.

Frodo broke the spell at last by finding the strength to put the Ring back under his shirt. Smeagol looked up at him, his gaze was half torment, half tortured joy. He and Frodo looked at each other for a long time without speaking.

“It never lets you go,” Smeagol said, softly, finally. “It is Master.”

Frodo embraced him Smeagol. The former hobbit was so startled that he didn’t return it at first, then did so tentatively. How long had it been since he had been held? He had no memories of it, not since the Ring had come to him, not since he had accepted its embrace.

“No, Smeagol,” the one Ring-bearer said to the other. “You can be free of it. I can be free of it. We just have to be remain strong enough.”

“There is no strength strong enough to break it,” Smeagol said miserably, then though his shattered heart and soul cried out for the loss of such caring, he broke the embrace. He crawled back to his sleeping spot and closed his eyes.

The camp settled back down. Frodo looked at their guide for a long time with tears in his eyes. At long last, he lay down himself, on his side, his back to Sam, but he couldn’t sleep, just kept staring at Smeagol. Sam watched him in concern.

“What was your dream about, dear?” he asked.

“It was terrible,” Frodo said, trying to calm himself. The dark wisps of his nightmare still clouded his vision but they were fading. “I destroyed the Ring.”

“That’s not terrible,” Sam said. “That’s wonderful!”

“No, it wasn’t. Smeagol died, because of it, because of me.”

The Ring-bearer was silent for so long that Sam wished he had found sleep again, but he knew better. “What should I do, Sam?” Frodo asked quietly.

“About what, me dear?” he answered, worried about his master’s tone of voice. Frodo sounded so lost. There was pain in it enough to cause the ache in Sam’s heart to increase to breaking.

“All this time,” the elder hobbit began, “we have been trying to get to Mordor to destroy the Ring. But I don’t want to do that anymore, Sam. Not if it means Smeagol’s death.”

“It was only a dream,” Sam said. “But even if it wasn’t, the Ring must still be destroyed.” He spoke softly but with unarguable certainty, trying to give his beleaguered master the strength to go on.

Frodo was silent for a moment. “I know. But so many people have died already because of it, because of me. Gandalf, some of Faramir’s men and more will die. When it is going to end, Sam? I don’t want to be responsible for any more deaths.”

Sam touched his master’s shoulder. “It will end when the Ring is gone,” he said gently. “Those that have died, have died for you, not because of you. They believed in you and the importance of your Quest and did not believe their deaths would be in vain. You can’t abandon your task now. You can’t betray their sacrifice.”

Frodo didn’t answer right away. “I just don’t want anyone else to die,” he said. “I saw so many others fall in Galadriel’s mirror. Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn. I had killed them. I even killed you. You were the last to fall. The Ring had won. I had not been strong enough.” He continued to stare at Smeagol. “Is this where I failed, Sam? Did I love Smeagol so much that I couldn’t destroy the Ring?”

Sam’s heart broke at the torment in his master’s voice, even as he was horrified to hear what the mirror had revealed. He squeezed his beloved friend’s shoulder, tears in his eyes for the pain Frodo was in. “The Ring would like you to stop pursuing the Quest. It wills to live and will twist anything and anyone to that purpose. Maybe it sent that dream to you in the hopes of discouraging you so much you would give up. You can’t let it win. If you don’t have the strength to fight it, then take mine. It’s yours. It always has been.”

Frodo was silent for so long that Sam didn’t think he would answer at all. “Thank you, Sam,” he murmured at last. He didn’t sound quite so tormented, more resigned. “I know you are right.”

“Try to get some sleep, dear,” Sam said gently, releasing his hold on his master’s shoulder and laying back down. “The morning will bring new light.”

Frodo turned over and sought his friend's arms. Sam watched his master until Frodo’s body and breathing relaxed and Sam knew he had found sleep. He kissed his head softly. "Sleep well, dear, I love you," he murmured, then closed his own eyes again. He dearly wished that Frodo would find escape as well. Faramir looked on with concern and pity and admiration.

Dawn came and the party moved on after a brief, cold breakfast. Frodo’s head remained bent. He did not seem aware of the sun or the pleasant cool of the day. He concentrated solely on putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring as best he could the constant whispers of the Ring. His lips moved silently, counting steps taken then praying for strength. Sam walked beside him inside the protective circle of Rangers, watching in concern. The Ring-bearer’s fatigue was so great that he slipped in and out of consciousness as he stumbled along. Dream and reality blurred in his vision.

Even the alert Rangers were not aware of the ambush that awaited them. Frodo wearily raised his head as arrows came down at them from the cover of trees. Three Rangers were felled in that first moment. Sam dragged his master away who stared fixated at the bodies and the spreading blood from the arrow wounds. The others spun around to fight their unseen enemies while Faramir placed his hands on the hobbits’ shoulders and moved them quickly along the path. Sam automatically pushed his master behind him to shield him, but that was no guarantee of safety as the arrows continued to fly from all directions. The Rangers shot into the trees and were rewarded by the cries of fallen orcs, but there were so many of them and more men continued to fall.

Frodo saw the arrow headed directly toward Sam as though it was coming in slow motion. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out and his body refused to move fast enough to knock his friend out of the way. The younger hobbit eyes widened in horror as he saw his death whizzing toward him, but he would not move and have his master take the arrow instead. The shaft bit deep into his chest and he was flung backwards into Frodo’s arms. The Ring-bearer’s voice finally returned in an anguished cry as he laid his beloved friend gently down and knelt by him. Tears streamed down his cheek in an unnoticed flood as he frantically tore at Sam’s cloak and shirt to get to the wound that was soaking his clothes in blood. Sam grasped at his blood stained hands weakly, stopping him. Frodo looked up at him, saw pain and sorrow and overwhelming love. He cried harder when he realized he was never going to see that again.

“Don’t cry....dear,” Sam breathed weakly. “I’m sorry, I must...go ahead of you... this time.”

Frodo shook his head in panicked denial. “No, my Sam, no!” He started pulling at his friend’s clothes again. Sam stopped him again, his grasp even weaker. The Ring-bearer looked up into the light fading from his beloved friend’s eyes. He clasped both of his blood-soaked hands around his friend’s tightly, desperately trying to give him the strength to go on. “You can’t leave me, Sam. You can’t! I can’t go on without you. Please, Sam, you’ve always done what I’ve told you before. You have to this time too. Don’t leave me. Don’t. Please.”

Sam smiled sadly. With his failing strength, he brought his master’s hands to his lips and kissed them one last time. “I’m sorry... me dearest... but this last.... request... I can’t... obey.” His voice was nothing but a whisper now.

Frodo grasped his guardian’s hands even tighter as though by sheer force of will, he could keep his friend bound to him. “No, Sam, NO!” he cried as he watched the light in those beloved eyes dim and then fade all together.

“SAM!” Frodo screamed but he did not hear himself as it was drowned out by the wail of his heart as it was torn out from him. He drew his friend’s body into his arms and sobbed long and hard.

It took him a while to realize he was being shaken. He thought it was an orc dragging him away, the only survivor of the ambush and the only one that the Eye had demanded be kept alive. He didn’t resist. He didn’t care about anything anymore. They could have the Ring. He wouldn’t live long now any way, not without his heart.

But the voice he heard was not a rough orc, but a much softer one. “Wake up, dear,” it said. “You must have fallen asleep right on your feet. And right in the middle of the battle! You must be just done in. Wake up now. You were having a bad dream. Just a dream.”

The next thing Frodo realized was that he was being held and rocked gently. He held on as though his life depended on it as he was sure it truly did. He knew he was trembling badly, but couldn’t stop. He opened his eyes and looked into Sam’s concerned ones. He was not aware of Smeagol’s or Faramir’s or anyone else’s, nothing but the wonder and joy of seeing the love that poured from his friend’s eyes that he thought he’d never see again.

“You’re alive,” he breathed.

Sam wiped at his master’s tears and smiled. Frodo reached out to touched his guardian’s cheek as though he still couldn’t believe it. He then looked down at Sam’s shirt and cloak which was dirty and stained, but not torn or bloody. He looked back up into his friend’s shining eyes for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist. He buried his head in his friend’s chest and closed his eyes. He concentrated solely on filling his ears with that beloved heartbeat and feeling those arms around him. Sam held him for a long time as he tried to stop him from shaking. He listened as Frodo murmured his name over and over again.

Faramir and Smeagol watched them thoughtfully. The Ranger’s eyes misted as he recalled almost forgotten memories of his mother doing the same thing.

“He’ll be all right, Captain,” Sam said when he looked up to see the Ranger’s concerned gaze. He ignored Smeagol’s. He looked back down at his master and stroked his curls. “Isn’t that right, dear? You’ll be all right. Don’t you fear anymore. Your Sam is here. He’s not going to leave you or let anything happen to you.”

Faramir moved away and motioned that the camp be set up for the night and a watch set. Dusk was already approaching and the wounded needed taking care of and the dead buried. The Ranger knew he could not comfort his men as well as Sam was doing for his master, but he would do what he could. Neither hobbit was aware of any of the preparations.

“Do you want to talk about it, dear?” Sam asked when Frodo at last stopped trembling.

The Ring-bearer shook his head that remained buried in his friend’s chest. “No, it’s too terrible. Just keep holding me, Sam, keep talking to me. Let me know this is real, not the dream.”

Sam tightened his embrace. “This is real, dear. I’m not going to let you go.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

The young gardener kept up a steady, soft stream of comforts as he continued to rock his master. After a while of just sitting silently together, Sam raised his head to see Faramir approach with two small dishes.

“Here, dear, look, Captain Faramir has brought us something to eat. You’ll feel better once you get something inside you.”

Frodo raised his head from Sam’s chest. He was reluctant to leave his friend’s arms, but he uncurled from them long enough to eat and drink something. “Thank you, Faramir,” he said as he reached for the dish. The Ring-bearer’s eyes were still red from crying and there was much pain that the man ached to see. From Frodo’s sympathetic look, he realized his eyes must have much looked the same.

Faramir looked at his friend for a while as the Ring-bearer bowed his head and applied himself to his meal. The Ranger shared a concerned look with Sam, then moved away. Sam ate quietly, not even noticing what he ate, as he looked at his dearest friend the whole time. Frodo ate quickly and then sought the refuge of his friend’s arms again. Sam held him and sang him to sleep.

“Lie you still, safe in my arms, my dear.
Close your weary eyes and do not fear.
Rest your head and do not weep.
I am here to guard you while you sleep.

“Slumber now in peace, brother mine,
Dream of home where the sun forever shines
Rest in quiet now, close to my heart,
And while I live, I’ll never from you part.

“Hush ye now, love, be not afraid.
Till moon and sun and stars shall fade,
Until this earth is lost beneath the sea,
I will be with you and you with me.”

Sam kissed his slumbering master’s head. “Sleep well, dear. I love you.”

Smeagol watched them. “It’s the Precious that is tormenting him,” he said as he gazed at Frodo’s strained features..

Sam looked up at the creature for a moment and held his friend a little tighter, not trusting the sympathy he heard and saw in the former hobbit.

“Not if I have anything to say about it, it won’t,” the gardener said with a hard edge to his voice.

The ancient hobbit looked up at Sam. “You don’t,” he said and though his voice was cold, Sam also heard long endured pain as Smeagol’s gaze turned back to their troubled master.

A/N: Of course, the gorgeous lullaby is another masterpiece of Queen Galadriel with just a teensy bit of modification of my own.

Chapter 27: They’re Here

“We should reach Osgiliath by nightfall,” Faramir said.

Frodo looked up at the man with memory-haunted eyes. “Do we have to go there?” He glanced sideways at Sam, unable to meet his friend’s eyes, though he was aware of those soft brown eyes looking at him with concern and love as always, remembering the same things he was. “That was where...where...” The Ring-bearer’s voice trailed off.

Sam took his hand. “There’s nothing for it, dear,” he said before Faramir could answer. “Maybe it won’t happen the same way. But it doesn’t matter if it does. I’m not leaving you.”

“Of course it matters, Sam,” Frodo said, weary with apprehension and his burden. “Maybe you...”

“No.”

Frodo raised his head, surprised at being interrupted. Sam looked at his master squarely in the eyes. “I’m not leaving you, dear. Ever. Now I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense, hear me?”

Frodo smiled and Sam’s heart leapt to see it. “Yes, Sam,” the elder hobbit said in meek obedience.

“That’s better,” the gardener said. Then he began to mumble under his breath. “What would the Gaffer say if he knew I was talking to the master that way? Probably send him to an early grave.”

Frodo was mightily tempted to chuckle at that, but he sobered when he realized unfortunately that was likely true. He squeezed his friend’s hand and smiled at him. “Thank you, Sam. I needed that.”

Sam looked up into his dearest friend’s loving face. The light shone from him and the gardener stood there for a moment, mesmerized by it. Frodo’s smile widened, then he let go of his guardian’s hand and put his arm around his shoulder instead as they continued on. Sam stole glances at his master even now and then.  Frodo’s light continued to be clear to see in the gathering dusk.

As they got closer to the city though, Frodo clasped his arms across his chest. “It’s so cold,” he said.

Sam looked over at him. It was cool, but not overly so, even for March. He put his arm around his Frodo, pulled him close and rubbec his hand up and down his master’s arm to try to warm him.

“Thank you, Sam.”

The Ring-bearer’s gaze kept anxiously scanning the sky for the signs of the Nazgul he dreaded to see. One hand closed protectively, possessively around the Ring, the other kept clutching his shoulder. “They are close,” he murmured. “They are so close.”

Sam’s gaze was torn between the sky – was that a small black speck he saw moving in the distance? - and watching his beloved friend’s features grow more tense and pained.

Faramir too squinted with several of his men in the falling light, trying to discern whether there really was something growing closer in the sky, but it was hard to tell in the gathering gloom.

Frodo had no doubts. The Ranger looked worriedly down at his small friend who was now very pale and visibly trembling. The hobbit’s gaze was fixed on the speck that was indeed growing in size and menance. “So cold, so close. They are coming, so close.”

With a last anxious look at the sky, Faramir looked at Sam. “Get him down below the city. Nahim will show you. That should give you some protection. Let’s hope it will be enough.”

Sam bowed as Faramir nodded to one of his men. “Thank you, Captain,” the hobbit said.

Faramir gave the gardener a nod and faint smile, then moved away to prepare for the Nazgul’s attack as best he could.

Sam grasped Frodo a little tighter around the shoulder and tugged at him gently. “Come away, dear,” he said. “We’ve got to get you away from here. Mr. Nahim is going to take us underground. Maybe we’ll be safe there.”

Frodo continued to stare at the increasingly large black spot growing in the sky even as Sam began to lead him away. Already he imagined he could see the giant wings of the fell beast, feel the cold breath of its master.

“There is no safe place,” he said, clutching the Ring even tighter in his fist.“ They’re coming, they’re coming.”

Sam gave one last, apprehensive look at the sky, then guided his master away. Frodo stumbled after him, not tearing his gaze away until it was blocked from him. Sam began to breathe easier once they got under the heavy stone. He knew that wasn’t natural for a hobbit to feel, but the more stone and space between us and that terrible thing, the happier I’ll be. He was glad to note that Frodo appeared calmer as well. He was still mumbling but it was softer, his trembling was a little less and his grip on the Ring relaxed a little.  Sam was glad to see that in the flickering torchlight, his friend did not look so pale.

The Ranger they followed led them to a corner. “This is the most secure spot in the city,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Nahim,” Sam said.

He placed a torch in a wall sconce and Frodo gazed at it, trying to draw its light into himself to counter the darkness growing inside. Then he looked at Sam who smiled bravely at him and he smiled faintly back. The gardener wrapped both arms around his beloved friend and Frodo hid his head against his guardian’s shoulder, whispering to Elbereth. Sam began to rock him gently. He could think of little else to do. He could shield his master’s eyes and cover his ears, but he knew the Ring and the wraiths reached places inside his friend that he could not guard. Frodo’s heart was open and the gardener grieved that he could place his arms around that as effectively as he could around his brother’s body. He felt Frodo grow tenser as the elder hobbit held him tightly and buried his head deeper against his shoulder, trying to hide.

“Please,” he murmured over and over again and Sam did not know who or what he was speaking to.

The gardener began to sing softly a Shire walking song that he had heard Bilbo sing many a time to give Frodo some other anchor than the fear that was settling over them both.

“Twas early one morn in the spring of the year,

and I was on errantry bound;

The birds they were singing, the flowers were gay,

from blue skies the bright sun shone down.

Oh what exceeding great joy filled my heart,

and I sang as I went on my way.”

“Oh, why do you sing?” Frodo joined in with softly and Sam’s heart nearly leapt of his chest in joy that his master was able to sing with him. He held his friend tighter as he continued.

“I sing for the joy of the day.

I sing for the spring and the birds and the sun

that shines on the Earth so warm and bright.

I sing for the glory of the moon and the stars,

that brighten the cold darkling night.

I sing for the river that flows swiftly on,

unhindered, untroubled and free.

I sing for the flowers that sweeten the air

and dance in the breeze merrily.

“So come ye, my good lad, and join in my song,

and gladly together we’ll sing

of rivers and flowers and birds and the sun

that warms this wide world in the spring.

We’ll sign of our homes and of food and good cheer,

of loved ones now far, far away.

We’ll sign of our road and of when we return.

We’ll sign for the joy of the day.”

“For the joy of the day,” Frodo echoed in a far away voice. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had relaxed a little as Sam had sung the beloved song, but he tensed once more as he felt the Ring call out to the wraith above them, felt the call in his blood and heart and soul and knew there was nothing between him and the Rider. He was naked before it.  “No,” he whispered over and over.  He raised his head. There was no hiding, no more.

He pulled away from Sam. “It’s all over now,” he said in a clear, chill voice. “They’re here.”

He began to stumble away back where they came from, his limbs driven to seek the Nazgul that the Ring beckoned to. His breath came in rasps as he tried to fight the compulsion. Sam grabbed at his arm to tug him back, but the Ring continued to lead him above.

Faramir looked down with surprise as the two hobbits emerge into the night. Sam still tried to pull his master back, but Frodo continued to move away, compelled on, his eyes vacant.

The giant fell beast rent the air with its horrible screech. Frodo cried out but didn’t stop moving. Sam grimaced and cried out as well in pain, but wouldn’t let go of his master. The foul stench of the beast was nearly overwhelming as was the horror and despair that poured from his rider. Those soldiers still sane enough and brave enough to fire their flame-tipped arrows at it were rewarded by being snapped in two in the beast’s jaws or swept off the parapets by its wings.

Frodo unerringly moved toward the wraith. The fell beast lowered its head in anticipation of another conquest. The Nazgul looked down at the small being in front of him, smelling fresh blood. The Ring sang in Frodo’s ears. Sam trembled with terror, his insides jelly, but he followed his master without hesitation. The Ring quivered against Frodo’s chest in eager anticipation and the hobbit’s hand reached inside to pull at the chain.

Frodo came to the top of the stairs and drew the Ring in front of him. His breaths came in slow gasps now as he looked at the beast and its Rider that towered above him. The creature lowered its head and opened its jaws, ready to snap.

__________

A/N:  The song is from Queen Galadriel with a teeny bit of modification of my own.

Chapter 28: Fury of the Ring

Sam knocked his master over the moment another arrow bit into the creature’s side. The roar of the beast nearly deafened the gardener, but he didn’t have time to worry about that as he and Frodo tumbled down the stairs. The younger hobbit marveled that they hadn’t broken their necks last time and he fervently hoped they wouldn’t this time. He put his hand around his friend’s head to try to cushion it some against the blows of the fall. His fingers scrapped against the brittle stone and began to bleed, but that pain was nothing compared to seeing the hateful fury in his beloved Frodo’s eyes as they landed in a tangle at the bottom. The Ring screamed in rage and under its control, Frodo drew his sword as the Ring sought its revenge against the one that had thwarted its chance to return to its master.

Sam looked into his friend’s crazed eyes, felt the tip of Sting at his throat, Frodo’s hand hard against his shoulder. It was all so wrong. Especially Frodo’s eyes. There wasn’t anything left of him in them, but Sam knew there had to be somewhere. He just had to reach it.

“It’s me,” he said. “Your Sam.”

The Ring stared back at him. The sword it controlled moved a millimeter downward, barely pricking the skin, but enough for Sam to feel it, enough to make him afraid he had failed his master.

“You wouldn’t hurt your Sam, would you?” he asked, tears and fears beginning to choke his voice.

Something changed then. The madness slowly, so slowly faded from the Ring-bearer’s eyes and the pressure on Sam’s shoulder eased abruptly. Sting dropped from Frodo’s suddenly nerveless fingers as the full horror of what he had done, again, sank in. Sam got up and wiped at his throat. His fingers came away slightly bloody. Frodo looked at them and the thin line on blood on Sam’s throat and his eyes widened and then darkened with shame. “I hurt you,” he said, dazed with horror and looked away. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You should leave me. I...”

Sam took the hand that had just held a sword at his throat, kissed it and held it to his heart. Frodo looked at his brother for a long moment, too moved to speak. Tears streamed down his cheeks unnoticed.

“I’m not leaving you, my dear,” Sam said. “I said last time there were things worth fighting for. You’re worth fighting for, my dear. The Ring will not have you. I won’t let it. I will fight for you against it.”

Frodo continued to stare at his guardian. When he could no longer bear to see the love that shone so brightly there, he looked away. “I don’t know if anyone can help me anymore, Sam,” he said sadly. “I can feel myself slipping away and I can’t seem to stop it. The path ahead of me is so dark, I can barely see it. I can see two lights ahead of me. You and...” He shook his head. “But I’m fading, Sam, fading so fast. I don’t see how I will last. I must though. I must. Until the end.”

Sam turned his beloved friend’s face back toward him and wiped at his tears. “You will last, dear, even if I have to carry you all the way from here to Mordor.”

Frodo looked at his friend, saw the love and trust there that never wavered and then at his hand that lay limply in Sam’s. He knew the only strength he still had came from Sam.

“I’ve seen and felt such horrible things, Sam, that I think I will go mad. I don’t want to take you there. Nothing can survive where we’re going but the evil that made it. I would go alone if I thought I had any hope, but I know you must come.” He looked up at his friend as fresh tears streamed down his face. “But I am taking you to your doom, dearest Sam. That crushes me even more than the Ring does.”

Sam stared into his beloved master’s eyes. “It is the Ring’s doom, not ours, dear. Even if it was, I would still be with you, to whatever end.”

Frodo smiled faintly, losing himself for a moment in Sam’s light and Sam in his. “To whatever end,” he repeated softly. He squeezed his guardian’s hand. “Thank you, Sam.”

The gardener pulled his master up, then picked up Sting and handed the blade to him. “Take it, me dear. You may still need it.”

Frodo looked at it with revulsion and fear, then up to his friend. “I’m afraid to, Sam. I don’t trust myself with it anymore. I shouldn’t have any weapon.”

The younger hobbit wrapped his master’s hand around Sting’s hilt and smiled. “You may not trust yourself, but I do.”

Chapter 29: Iluvatar’s Child

He does not break the crushed reed, nor quench the wavering flame. Isaiah 42:3

Frodo lay awake for a long time that night, his back to Sam, Smeagol, Faramir and the rest of the men. Sam watched him worriedly as did the Ranger captain. Frodo had barely eaten anything and drank little. He had not said two words together since thanking Sam for what little food he forced himself to eat to please his friend. Besides glancing up once at Sam when he had accepted the plate from his guardian, he had not looked at anyone so great was his shame in attacking Sam. The younger hobbit did not say anything for a long time, deciding that if his master was going to be stubborn about all that, he was going to show him that the Ring-bearer didn’t even know the first thing about being stubborn. He took his beloved friend into his arms from behind. Frodo lay unresponsive at first. He tried to pull away but Sam’s grip only tightened, then he began to sing softly another beloved lullaby from childhood.

"The shadows surround us,

The darkness is creeping,

The bright evening stars are hid from our eyes,

But close now your eyes, dear

It’s time now for sleeping,

And when morning comes, I’ll be nigh."

Sam didn’t see the tears that began to again streak down Frodo’s cheeks silently as the Ring-bearer grieved for all that was dying inside of himself. As the tears began to fall harder, the hobbit’s frame began to shake. Sam turned him around so the two faced each other. He wiped at his master’s tears as he continued to sing.

"My treasure, my dear one,

I’ll love you forever,

Naught you could say, naught you could do

Could break the love binding

Our hearts together;

For I will forever love you."

Frodo looked into his beloved friend’s eyes, crying ever harder, now from being so moved that Sam’s love had never faltered.

"O slumber in peace now,

Forget all your sorrow,

Lay down all your burdens till dawning of day

Though night surrounds us,

Soon comes a fair morrow,

To drive fear and shadows away.

"My treasure, my dear one,

I’ll love you forever,

Naught you could say, naught you could do

Could break the love binding

Our hearts together;

For I will forever love you."

Frodo buried his head in his guardian’s chest and wrapped his arms around him and sobbed for all he had lost and all he had never lost. Sam held him tightly, stroking his curls and continuing to murmur the song. As Frodo listened, he tried to concentrate simply on being a hobbit. He had lost so much on the first Quest that had had little chance to renew itself before he was called to go out again and now he was losing what little he had regained and even what little he had been able to hold onto the first time. He did not want to fail again. He wanted to be found worthy this time, to either be strong enough to let the Ring go or to make the sacrifice he couldn’t last time. He prayed more for the former than the latter for he did not wish to die or have Sam watch him die, but he knew, oh how well he knew, how tightly the tendrils of the Ring were wrapped around his soul. He grieved for that, for the loss of himself and wished he hadn’t been chosen for this burden. He felt such a fragile vessel to be entrusted to carry such a terribly strong and potent evil. He continued to pray for strength even as he wondered why his supplications to Elbereth had gone unanswered this time.

Then after a time, when all his tears were spent and a soft, unexpectedly warm breeze dried the last of them, he felt calm come to him and settle deeply into his troubled heart and soul, speaking words to him there he did not hear but was soothed and strengthened by. Somehow, he knew his prayers had been answered after all. He didn’t know the name for what he felt, but the Elves would have recognized it as the peace of Iluvatar.

As Sam watched his master fall into sleep and the light spread out from him, his breath caught in wonder. He stroked Frodo’s cheek gently, then became aware of Faramir watching them. "Isn’t he just so beautiful, Captain?" the gardener breathed.

The Ranger had to agree. Even Smeagol was caught mesmerized by the peacefulness that now lay deep upon Frodo’s features. How they all wished it would remain. How they all feared and grieved that it wouldn’t.

A/N: The lullaby was, of course, another wonderful one from Her Majesty, the queen. My thanks to my sister, Annagorn (Aragorn's undocumented sister) with her help as to how Iluvatar would communicate with His child.

Chapter 30: The Stairs

Sam looked up apprehensively at the stairs going almost straight up. Smeagol was already ready to begin to scramble up them, but Sam and Frodo and the others remained stopped at their base.

“I don’t like this,” the gardener said, then looked back at his master. “You know what’s up there.”

Frodo shared his gaze and nervousness. This was another place he had betrayed Sam. He didn’t think he would this time, but still the memory was there and of the terror of being alone in the spider’s lair. “I don’t like it either, Sam. But there’s no other way.” He turned to his friend and Sam was thrilled to see him smile faintly. “As you would say, there’s nothing for it.”

The smile faded as the Ring-bearer looked at the green light that glowed sickly from Minas Morgul. He wished the peace that had come to him outside Osgiliath had remained more firmly. He could still feel it, but fainter. Strongest now was the pull of the Ring toward the lair of the Witch-king and Frodo longed to follow its lead, to relieve himself of his burden, to let go of the great weight that was so heavily pressing upon him. He stumbled a few steps forward as the ground began to shake. He was so close. He had only to walk a short bit and it would be all over, then he could rest, he could breathe again. Peace could come that way too, couldn’t it? But then, Sam and Smeagol grabbed his arms at the same time and pulled him back.

He strained against them. “Let me go!” he cried as he writhed in their grasp.

“No, dear, no!” Sam said.

“No, Master,” Smeagol added urgently. “You can’t go that way. You can’t let him have it.”

The struggle quickly exhausted Frodo. He continued to pull against their hold but now only weakly. “Let me go,” he begged much softer, almost a whimper. He had no strength to resist when Sam and Smeagol pulled him away and they hid under the walkway leading into the dead city with Faramir and his men.

The Nazgul rose on his fell beast, overlooking the hordes of orcs and other foul beings that poured from the Witch-king’s lair. All those hidden looked up at him, momentarily frozen in terror. Frodo wanted to surrender, but he knew he couldn’t. He also knew how much he wanted to. But how much what that his own will and how much the Ring? He couldn’t tell. He stared up at the wraith who had nearly killed him and whose master could still claim his soul if he wasn’t strong enough and felt himself being torn in two from the opposing forces within and without him. He would have reached for the Ring then, but both Sam and Smeagol held his hands in both of theirs tight enough to hurt to keep him from doing so.

Sam grimaced in pain as the screech of the fell beast tore through the air. He put his head between his knees and covered his ears that way for he wouldn’t let go of his master’s hand. Smeagol had no such compunction. He covered his ears and crouched low on the ground as though he could further escape the sound that way. With his freed hand, Frodo clutched his shoulder which throbbed nearly as bad as it had when freshly struck. He wilted under the assault and clenched his teeth from crying out. He felt the incredible draw of the Ring and his fingers began to reach toward to it when unexpectedly a larger hand encompassed his. He and Sam looked into Faramir’s grim, pained features. “Thank you,” the Ring-bearer breathed as his will began to strengthen again against the Ring. The other Rangers held their ears and crouched as low as they could. Then the attack passed. The pain in Frodo’s shoulder faded to a ache and his ears stopped ringing. Sam and Faramir let go of Frodo’s hand. Smeagol and the men got up from their crouch. Frodo took a deep breath to steady himself and sat up.

Smeagol didn’t wait to begin to scramble up the stairs. Frodo watched him for a moment, then began the climb himself. Sam was right behind him and behind Sam, Faramir and his remaining men. The climb was harder this time for Frodo and he had to take more time to give his muscles moments to rest. He just wished it to be over with and so pushed himself onward though beyond exhaustion until he began slipping more often. At last, afraid to go further and slip again and possibly take Sam or others with him, he stopped on a small ledge and collapsed into a small ball, trying to calm his breathing and stop the trembling in his muscles.

Sam came up next to him and slowly began to stroke his back. For a long moment, Frodo simply let himself feel that comfort. The others stopped as well. Smeagol paused further up to look back. Frodo looked down. There was no way they could stay where they were for any length of time. The ledge was big enough only for him and Sam. They had to go on. More than the steep climb was sapping their strength. Dread and despair hung heavily in the air. Frodo expected attack at any time and from the grim expressions of the others, he knew he was not alone in that. He was surprised it hadn’t come yet. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and, trembling from that effort, looked into Sam’s concerned face. “I’m all right, Sam,” he said.

Sam frowned at his friend as he knew better. Frodo smiled wearily in acknowledgment of that, then grasped the hand his friend extended to help him stand and begin the climb again. Sam wished he could do something more than that, something other than just watch his already exhausted friend push himself even further, but the steps were too small and slippery. As much as he wanted to carry Frodo or at least take his hand, he knew that could send them both tumbling down, so after a moment he did the only thing he could do. Follow his beloved master and keep a careful eye on his back.

An hour later, they reached a much large ledge with two others below it. On the highest, Frodo stopped, unable to push himself any further. He sprawled out on his stomach and just lay there, breathing hard. After a long moment, he wearily raised his head to look at Smeagol who had come to crouch near his face, staring balefully at Sam who was almost up to them.

“Watch yourself, Master,” the creature warned in a low voice. “The fat one still wants the Ring. He’s always looking at you, waiting for his chance. He must not have it.”

“He won’t,” Frodo assured. “He does not want it for himself. It is love for me that motivates him, not love for the Ring. And it is my love for him that will prevent me from ever letting him have it. It is destroying me as it has been you. I won’t let it destroy him, too.”

Smeagol had no reply. When Sam came up a few moments later and sat down wearily at his master’s side, there was no sign of the creature. Faramir and his men arranged themselves as best as they could on the other two ledges.

Frodo could barely lift his head. “I’m so tired, Sam.”

Before Sam could say anything, the long-anticipated attack came as orcs rained down arrows on them. Two Rangers pitched down the stairs with a yell. Sam moved immediately to cover Frodo’s body with his own. “Stay down,” he ordered when his master tried to move.

Faramir and his men quickly organized a defense, returning the arrow fire. A half-dozen of the orcs tumbled screaming to their deaths. Others shouted war cries and scrambled down the stairs to engage in closer combat.

Sam moved and with a shout stabbed one of the orcs, then another, sending them both over the edge. Frodo got up and pulled out Sting, plunging the glowing blade into two more bodies. In the heated engagement, both his and Sam’s cloak were soon splattered with their own and their enemies blood. They fought back to back to protect each other, Sam giving as many glances back as he could afford to check on his master. Frodo fought grimly. He wouldn’t let them have the Ring. He couldn’t come this far and fail. He wouldn’t.

Finally it was over and Sam and Frodo sat down next to each other, breathing hard, but alive and still together. Sam looked over his master anxiously. He ripped off the cuff from his sleeve to bandage a cut on his brother’s forehead. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.

Frodo tried to get his breath. He looked down at his clothes that were bloodied. “No, Sam, I don’t think so. Thank you. The blood’s not mine, not much of it at least.”

He looked up at his friend. “You’re hurt, too, Sam,” he said with concern as he gazed at Sam’s bleeding cheek and hand. He tore off his cuff and wiped at his friend’s cheek and then bandaged his hand. He smiled faintly as he looked up at his friend. “There you go, Samwise the Brave, good as new or almost, though I hate that you were hurt at all.”

“It’s not bad, dear, thank you.” Sam said. “I’m glad that training Mr. Boromir gave has stuck with us.”

“Boromir,” Frodo echoed softly. “I hope they are all okay.” He looked down at Faramir who was gathering and supporting the remainder of his men. He looked up briefly at the two hobbits and Sam waved that they were ok. Faramir looked relieved and nodded, then returned his attention to his men. Frodo counted eighteen now, where they had been thirty before. “How many more I wonder will be killed because of me?”

Sam looked up at his dearest friend, concerned at the distant, pain-filled tone in his master’s voice. “You can’t blame yourself, dear,” he said gently. “None of this is your fault. Mr. Boromir is probably sharing a pint with your cousins and Strider even now.”

Frodo didn’t respond, just continued to look down at Faramir and his men. Sam wondered if he was even seeing them at all or staring into some other horror conjured by his fears and the stress of his burden. He reached out and rubbed his master’s back again in slow, soothing circles, trying to bring him back from wherever he was.

After a while, Frodo relaxed under his touch and leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder. “I wish we didn’t have to do this, Sam. I’m so tired of it all.”

“I know, dear, I know,” Sam said, “but there’s no way around it. We have to go through it.”

“Through the fire,” Frodo said softly. “Through the flames. I wonder if there’ll be anything left of us at the end.”

“Of course there will be. Only the Ring will be consumed.”

“I’m being consumed even now, Sam. There is so little of me left to offer. But still I do.”

Sam squeezed his beloved master’s shoulders. “And I will be with you.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

The gardener looked around. Smeagol still hadn’t returned from wherever he had gone. “I bet I know who’s to blame for that attack,” Sam said. “Slinker’s nowhere to be seen. He disappeared right after we stopped here. Plenty of time to send those filthy orcs after us.”

“No, Sam,” Frodo said and Sam turned his eyes back to master. “He doesn’t want Sauron to have the Ring anymore than we do. He still wants it for himself. He won’t risk losing it until he is sure it can be his again.”

There was such fatigue, grief and defeat in Frodo’s voice that Sam’s heart almost broke. He wanted nothing other than to ease it, even if he couldn’t sympathize with the cause of it. “You won’t let that happen,” he said in way of comfort, unable to think of anything else.

“No,” Frodo said slowly with a hard edge to his voice that frightened Sam. “I won’t.”

“Are you ready to start moving again?” Faramir called up. “Those orcs won’t be the last ones.”

Sam looked at his master. Frodo wearily lifted his head off Sam’s shoulder. The younger hobbit knew his master was much too exhausted to do any more climbing, but he grasped his arm anyway to help him up. “Come on, me dear,” he said tiredly. “It can’t be much farther.”

Frodo looked up. The tunnel awaited them and behind that... He clutched at his clothes where the Ring lay. “The doom of us all awaits,” he said in a strange, distant, fearful voice. He let himself be pulled up, then began climbing with a sudden burst of energy and speed that amazed Sam. Are you that anxious to get to your doom, me dear? he thought and followed his master as fast as he could.

He looked up and saw Smeagol meet Frodo at the top and the Ring-bearer follow the creature into the tunnel. Sam muttered under his breath and quickened his pace. He knew his master was going into a trap, but he followed. No other option entered Sam’s mind.

Chapter 31: A Horrible Choice

Shelob reared up with her stinger and prepared to impale the two hobbits staring up at her, swords in hand. Ichor dripped from numerous stab wounds they had already made on the enormous creature that towered over them. Frodo’s left hand held Galadriels’ brilliantly lit phial. It was sticky with the insect’s blood and his arm was burned from what had splattered there. A small bit had burned Sam’s cheek as well, narrowly missing his eye. Still they fought on. A short distance back, Faramir and his Rangers fought fiercely with another wave of orcs. At long last, Frodo managed to get close enough to jab the bloated underside of the huge spider with the phial. That was too much for Shelob. She bucked and would have crushed Frodo under her weight, but he ducked out from under her, stabbing once more. She retreated back into one of the many holes in the labyrinth, to nurse her wounds, perhaps to die.

Before they could celebrate though, Sam heard a cry behind him and spun around just in time to see his master fall. "Frodo!" he cried and hurried over and knelt by the prone form. Frodo lay amidst much blood, but Sam saw after a moment’s panic, that much of it was ichor from the giant spider and by some ill fortune, his master had slipped in it and fallen. Frodo moaned as Sam lifted his friend’s head and checked for injuries. He saw a small amount of Frodo’s own blood seeping from a cut under filthy curls.

"Oh no, dear, no," Sam murmured, laying his friend’s head against his chest and stroking his cheek. "Wake up now, wake up for your Sam."

Tears streaked down Sam’s cheeks, making tiny, muddy rivlets down Frodo’s where they mixed with the dirt on his face. "Wake up, oh, please, wake up. You can’t leave me. You can’t go on ahead without me. Don’t go where I can’t follow."

Frodo was completely still. Sam continued his pleas until he noticed that Sting which Frodo had dropped in his fall was burning a brighter blue than before. And soon Sam heard footsteps coming from above. He had only a moment to decide what to do and he nearly panicked, but he reigned that in brutally. He looked desperately at Faramir and his men, but they still engaged in fighting orcs that continued to come from the opposite direction.

"If Shelob is done having her fun with the halfings," Sam heard one of the orcs say that was coming down the stairs, "they’re to be taken to the Eye."

Sam looked down at his master and his eye caught on the chain around his neck. He had no time to spirit Frodo away, but he did have time to take the Ring.

"What a horrible choice," he muttered as he gently lifted the chain from around his friend’s neck. He looked down at his beloved brother. "I hate more than anything that I have to choose the Ring over you, me dear, but I know you would never forgive me if it fell to the Enemy. I hope you can forgive me that I must let you fall instead." Sam bit his lip as he saw the chain he held had some of his master’s blood on it. "Oh, what a terrible, terrible choice!"

Frodo moaned as the Ring was removed from his chest and even though unconscious, his hands moved toward his throat to try to stop it from being taken. Sam caught them in his and kissed them.He looked up. The orcs were nearly upon him. With the Ring in one fist and Sting in his other hand, he quickly hid himself where he could still see his master. There was an air of unreality to the whole thing as Sam couldn’t quite believe what he was allowing to happen. But it was real, it was all too real.

The orcs entered the spider’s lair a moment later and eagerly noticed the small prone form before them. One of them leaned down and touched Frodo’s head, moving it roughly back and forth. The hobbit groaned and Sam bit his lip fiercely enough to bleed, barely able to restrain himself from leaping out to do battle. He could not restrain the tears that continued to streak down his cheeks as he watched Frodo be lifted up and carried up the stairs. A horrible howl filled the entire chamber as Sam felt like his heart was being torn out as he watched his dearest friend disappear.

"I’m coming, dear," he assured softly. "I’m coming. Just you hold on until your Sam can come and rescue you. If you can even stand to see him after all he let happen to you."

He felt then a powerful compulsion to put on the Ring, to disappear, and he was tempted for a moment, because he was sure he’d be found based on the cry his heart had made. But then he realized it was loud truly only in his own ears. He wouldn’t give into the Ring. His fist tightened around it. "Quiet you," he hissed with a violent hatred and anger that should have frightened him, but he was beyond feeling anything beside the pain in his heart. If he could have crushed the Ring in his grip right then, he would have, but all he did was cut bloody half-circles into his dirty palm. Slowly he released his grip and put the Ring around his neck. It bowed his head down, but he forced it back up. He retreated from his hiding place, looked around and caught Faramir’s eye and motioned that he was going up the stairs. The Ranger nodded. Sam clutched Sting tightly in his hand and went to find his master.

A/N: My thanks to my second oldest nephew, ‘Theodred’ , who gave me the idea of what to do with Shelob.

Chapter 32: Dark Night of the Soul

Warning: This is rather violent.

Frodo crawled painfully to the heap of filthy rags in the corner. His back and chest burned when he had been whipped and he felt blood run down his legs. He did not make a sound, forcing his tears down, though his throat ached with the effort. He had promised himself that he would not utter anything when the orcs had come for him. He had tried so hard to resist them, but in the end they had had him as before, naked and helpless. He still had not said a word. He had not begged for mercy or for them to stop. He knew his words would have been useless. He had bit down on his lip until he had tasted blood when the whips came down on his fragile skin. He had not replied to any of their demands for information even though his body demanded he do so to stop the torture. He knew he couldn’t. He had to protect the Ring. He had to protect Sam. He had not uttered a sound until one of them had pierced him with a knife. And then he had screamed. He had screamed until his throat was raw and bleeding as the whips came down over and over. He had begged then. But he still had not given them the answers they wanted. "I don’t have it! I am alone!" he had cried with the last of his strength. "Completely alone!"

It was then after an eternity of that torment that his principal assailant had been shoved away. "He wasn’t to be spoiled!" Gorbag had growled. "You’ll pay in your own blood if he is too damaged to be of use to the Eye."

The other orcs had snarled, but had backed away. Gorbag had stared down at the small thing lying so still and silent in its own blood. He feared he had been too late, but after a long silence, the hobbit had stirred faintly. "Thank you," Frodo had murmured.

The orc had laughed then. "Don’t thank me. It would have been kinder to let them kill you, but that would have been all our hides. Your pretty skin is not worth that."

The Ring-bearer was left alone then. He had lain there for a long time on the cold floor until he gathered enough strength to crawl across to the rags and collapse upon them. His own words echoed endlessly in his head. "I don’t have it! I’m alone! Completely alone!" And so he was. He was empty. Like the abandoned city of Dwarrowdelf in Moria. Something that had once been beautiful and thriving but was now dead and populated only by darkness and evil. That were the only things that filled him now.

And terrible loss. The loss of the Ring. He felt hollowed out without it.

Loss of Sam. Where was he? Frodo tried to remember. He and Sam had fought Shelob and they had won, hadn’t they? But there Frodo’s memories ended until he had woken in the tower. What had happened to his friend? Was he even still alive? Did he have the Ring?

Loss of the peace he had had. He could see its light but it felt distant and cold, offering no consolation. Still he reached for it, but it seemed to grow no closer. He barely felt his physical pain as despair filled him. He had lost everything. His last thought before he lost consciousness was,

Why have you abandoned me?

Chapter 33: Songs to Hold Back the Night

Sam winced in grief and pain as he heard the terrible shriek from above him. He began to cry as it echoed or at least he hoped it was only an echo and not additional screams for he well recognized the voice. Then to fight against his own fear and anguish, he began to sing, softly and nearly unable to continue at first, but then louder and stronger, because he was singing not just for himself. He didn’t care who else heard him as long as his Frodo did, so there was something else for his beloved brother to think about and to feel than whatever pain had caused that scream.

“I think of you;

I see you far away.

Walking down the homely roads

on a bright and windy day.

It was merry then when I could run

to answer to your call,

could hear your voice or take your hand;

but now the night must fall.

O master dear, will you not hear my voice

and answer before we die?”

He paused to listen. Nothing. But he wouldn’t give up hope. He couldn’t. He continued to sing.

“All the land in darkness deep now lies,

Moon and Sun are hidden from our eyes,

But though all round about us shadows loom,

The world is still fair beyond the gloom.

"In distant lands where the day is still fair,

The rivers run, the flowers die not there.

The sun yet shines to keep away the night,

And in the evening sky the stars are still bright.

“It may be long ere this dark night is past,

It may be long ere morning comes at last.

It may be long before the shadows fade away,

But always after darkness comes the day.

“Do not let go of hope for hope remains.

The sun shines ever clearer after the rain.

And so when these dark clouds are gone away,

You’ll rise to greet a glorious fair new day.”

As Sam continued the climb up the many levels of the tower, he sang his song again and again, pausing now and again to listen for a response. He cried harder when he didn’t hear one. He cried hardest when he did, faint, but there. Such a beautiful sound...

A/N: The first stanza of Sam’s song is taken from Prof. Tolkien, The History of the Lord of the Rings, The End of the Third Age. The rest is from Her Majesty.

Chapter 34: Touched by Darkness, Surrounded by Light

The whip came down again and Frodo cried out feebly. He had so little strength left. He just wanted to remain curled up and hide from this terrible reality, but his nightmares were even worse than this living horror. With the last shreds of his concentration, he focused on remembering Sam’s voice that he had heard raised in song, just like last time. Sam, his dear Sam, always taking care of him...Frodo knew he was coming, that he had to hold on just a little longer and so like a litany he played the song over and over in his head. When the whip came down again, it shattered his focus, but he bit his lip against the pain, tasted blood and began the litany again.

“Don’t hurt him again!” came a new, menacing voice.

The three orcs looked up at the intruder and the one with the whip smiled. He raised his weapon to come down again on Frodo’s bare shoulders, but the blow didn’t fall. Instead the beast looked down at his chest to see a blue-tinged blade sticking out of it.

“I told you not to hurt him!” Sam said and pulled the blade out. The orc’s corpse tipped over to the side. The other two looked at him for a moment, then ran out of the room. They didn’t make it far. The same blade pierced them as well. Sam ran back to his master’s side and dropped to his knees.

Tears began to roll down his cheeks, half in joy at seeing Frodo still alive, half in grief at the injuries his dear one had suffered so.

“Sam!” Frodo exclaimed in joyful relief. “Hold me, please, Sam? I...I just need to be held.”

The gardener gently gathered his beloved brother into his arms, not anywhere as tightly as he wanted to, for fear of injuring him further. Tears ran down Frodo’s cheeks as he held onto him tightly, placing his head against Sam’s heart and only then truly believing he was all right.

“I was so afraid, Sam. I...”

Sam kissed his head. “Shhh, dear. Shhh. It’s over now. Your Sam is here. He should have never left you and he’s so sorry he did.”

“I don’t remember anything after I thought we won against that horrible thing. What happened, Sam. How did I get here?”

Sam’s face grew anguished. “We did win, but you slipped and fell. Then the orcs came. I didn’t have time to save you. I knew you wouldn’t want the Ring to fall to them, but...” Tears cut off his voice.

Frodo reached up to wipe at his tears. “It’s all right, my Sam. Don’t blame yourself. As long as the Ring is safe, that’s all that’s important. It is safe, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the gardener said grimly, his face twisted into a mask of hatred of the Ring and disgust with himself that he had chosen that despicable thing over his dearest friend. “It’s safe and you aren’t.”

Frodo smoothed away the harshness on his friend’s face. “Dear Sam, I’m safe now. Don’t be so cross with yourself. You are too beautiful for hate to mar your features.”

“I shouldn’t have chosen it over you.”

“Yes, you should have. You did the right thing. The only thing.”

Frodo lay quietly in his brother’s arms for a bit, then, “I’m so thirsty, Sam. They wouldn’t give me anything clean.”

Sam adjusted his embrace and held his water skin to Frodo’s mouth. The Ring-bearer drank deeply and the gardener let him have his fill, though he wondered where they would find fresh supplies. Then he reluctantly broke the embrace and looked at his friend. The elder hobbit’s chest and back were criss-crossed with welts. His neck was burned and bleeding where the chain had been. A small round burn mark was on his chest where the Ring had lain against it. Blood was crusted where the whips had torn open the fragile, pale skin. His legs were splattered with vomit and waste and fresh blood ran down both of them. Sam’s tears fell ever harder as he saw it all.

“Don’t cry, dearheart,” Frodo said wearily. “This is all part of the sacrifice. It’s all right now. You’re here.”

Sam didn’t know what his master meant by ‘sacrifice’ and was rather afraid to ask. Instead, as Frodo leaned back onto the rags, he poured a small bit of their precious water supply onto an edge of his cloak and with that and his tears cleaned his brother as best he could.

“Oh, thank you, Sam,” Frodo sighed. “It seems an age since anyone has shown me any kindness.”

Sam kissed his master’s forehead and gently brushed at his curls. Some of his tears fell onto Frodo’s face, muddying it but cleaning it as well. “It has been but a day, dear, but I will not argue that it feels like an age.”

“They kept asking me questions,” Frodo said in a daze from the torment. “Always the same one. Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? Over and over and over. When I didn’t answer, they began to hurt me and then I wanted to tell them, but I knew I couldn’t.”

Sam placed a roll of cloth bandage from his pack between the Ring-bearer’s legs to help absorb the blood, then he bandaged the sores there. “They won’t hurt you again, me dear, or my name’s not Sam Gamgee.” But even as he said that, he knew Frodo would have pain for some time and he wished there was more he could do.

He handed Frodo the clothes he had packed at Bag End. “Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said as he pulled his breeches. “Where’s the Ring?” he asked anxiously as Sam helped him put on the shirt, being careful of his friend’s injuries.

The gardener didn’t answer, hoping he knew in vain that Frodo wouldn’t ask again.

“Sam, where’s the Ring?” The question was more urgent this time, tinged with panic.

Sam took out it out reluctantly. “Here.”

Frodo made to grab the dangling chain, but the younger hobbit held it back.

“Let me have it,” Frodo said.

Sam looked at him. “Please, my dear, don’t ask me that,” he said in a pained voice. “I don’t want to...”

Frodo’s eyes flashed angrily. “You must!”

Sam shook his head, holding the Ring tight against him, away from his master’s grasping fingers. Tears filled his eyes again. “I can’t. I won’t. I’ve watched it tear you apart twice now and I can’t stand it no more, especially that I had to leave you for it. I wish so much I didn’t. I wish we never had to do any of this. I wish more than anything that this blasted thing had never been made so you wouldn’t be so hurt by it. You should see yourself. You hardly eat, you hardly sleep. You look and walk like you’re dead. There are burns around your neck. And it’s all because of this!” he ended in an angry shout, holding aloft the chained Ring in his fist.

“I don’t need to see myself!” Frodo shouted back. “I can feel it in me. It’s burning me inside too, Sam! It’s eating me alive! I’m doing all this so you will never feel even a fraction of what I am right now. Give me the Ring!”

Sam shook his head again, stubbornly holding on the Ring, tears freely flowing down his cheeks.

“Give it to me!” Frodo said savagely and lunged at his friend, knocking him to the ground.

Sam was momentarily knocked senseless when his head hit the floor hard. Involuntarily, his fist relaxed its grip on the Ring. Frodo pounced and drew it protectively, possessively to himself, but then the madness passed and he saw Sam struggle to get up and knew he had hurt his dearest friend again. He dropped the chain and rushed to him.

“Sam!” he cried. “Oh, my Sam, I’m so sorry!” Frodo knelt at his friend’s side and helped him sit up. “Please, please forgive me. You’ve done so much and I’ve been so cruel.”

Sam took his master back into his arms and stroked his curls. “Please forgive me, too, dear. I should have never left you.”

“Then they would have had us both and Sauron would have the Ring,” Frodo said as weariness swept over him. “All this would have been for nothing. And it can’t be, Sam. It can’t. But I wish, too, we didn’t have to do it.”

“Still we do,” the gardener said.

“I know,” Frodo said. “But I’m so afraid that I’m just going to keep hurting you.”

Sam held him tighter. “Maybe, but that won’t stop me from wanting to be with you and helping you, dear.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Frodo lay quietly in his friend’s arms for a moment, letting them provide the solace he so desperately needed, too tired even to resist what he knew he didn’t deserve, but what Sam still give so unstintedly, then he stirred. “We have to get going again,” he said and it was an effort just to say that.

Sam held him back. “Rest here a moment, dear. We’re safe for a little bit.”

“No, we’re not,” Frodo protested, but sank back into Sam’s embrace, so exhausted he could barely move.

Sam reached out with one hand and picked up the chained Ring. It looked so innocent, but Frodo felt its malevolent pull on his heart and soul as it fought for dominion over them. He stared at it hatefully as Sam dropped it into his master’s hand and folded Frodo’s fingers over it.

“I know you think the Ring is too big for you to fight,” Sam said, “and maybe it is, but it’s not too big for the both of us. If I can’t hold it for you, then let me keep holding you. I will not leave you, me dear. I will fight for you and with you.”

Frodo opened his fist and looked down at the hateful thing, feeling its power over him increase. How could he have ever desired it? Why did he desire it even now? “You’ll have to, Sam,” he said distantly. “I can’t survive without you. But I’m afraid that you may not be able to survive with me.”

Sam smiled faintly and Frodo was amazed that he could still keep his stubborn optimism even now. “My place is with you.”

Frodo put the chain back around his neck and his head bowed under the great weight. He tried to breathe deeply to fight the crushing pressure he felt inside, but he could only manage shallow breaths. “You’re right, Sam,” he said after he had taken a couple more breaths and somehow made the intolerable almost tolerable again. “This is destroying me, but perhaps that will be my doom this time. It doesn’t matter. As long as the Ring is destroyed, too. I will make it that far at least.”

“It does matter, dearest,” Sam said as he continued to look tenderly down at his master. “And you will make it back home. I promise you that.”

“And I know you keep your promises. Thank you, Sam. I wish I was there now, but I can barely even remember it. It’s all fading into the shadows, into the past.”

“It’s still there, waiting for us. Rosie is waiting. I talked to her before we left. I asked her if she would marry me. She said yes.”

Frodo smiled wearily and Sam’s heart leapt to see it. “That’s wonderful, Sam.”

“She’s waiting for us. Us, me dear. I’m not going back without you. And we’ve already decided we are going to name our first child after you.”

Frodo was profoundly moved by his brother’s words and couldn’t speak for a moment from the emotion that rose in him, competing with his overwhelming fatigue. He smiled faintly. “What if you have a girl?”

It took a moment for Sam to realize his friend was gently teasing him, but he rejoiced in it. “She’ll get used to it,” he responded in kind.

Frodo laughed weakly and Sam’s heart danced. “If you insist on giving me this honor,” the elder hobbit continued, “then I’m sure your daughter will appreciate it if you wait until her brother is born.”

Sam smiled. “We could do that.”

Frodo struggled to keep his eyes open. “You are going to have many children, Sam. I can’t wait to hold each one of them.”

“I can’t wait for you to either, dear,” Sam replied softly. “Sleep now. Dream you are back home and soon you will be.”

Frodo had no energy to resist. He laid his head against Sam’s heart, his arms around Sam’s waist and sheltered in his friend’s arms, closed his eyes. “Will you sing to me again, Sam? Something you will sing to your Frodo.”

Sam began his master’s favorite lullaby.

“Oh, Sam...” Frodo sighed.

Sam stopped abruptly, afraid he had offended his master by presuming too much. “I’m sorry, dear, but it’s such a beautiful song. I hope you don’t mind...”

A weary smile momentarily graced Frodo’s lips as he opened his eyes to look at his brother. Sam smiled at the light and love he saw shining there as he hoped Frodo could see from his. “No, Sam, of course not,” the elder hobbit said. “I’m so glad you want to pass it on to your children. Please, keep singing.”

So Sam did and when he was finished, he saw Frodo’s breathing had steadied into deep sleep. The brightness in him still shone. It had flared up during their talk and continued to grow until Frodo was softly glowing, his face nearly translucent. Sam didn’t think he had ever seen his master look so beautiful and peaceful and he remembered again his thought that there was something much more to Frodo than merely being a hobbit. While that grieved Sam as he though he knew that ‘more’ would mean separation from him, he stared at that light for a long time in reverential awe at how bright it was in the midst of such darkness and torment. But then he thought, sometimes the black was needed for the light to shine brightest. If his brother was going to be taken away, at least he was here with him now and Sam wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon. He hugged his dearest friend tighter for a moment and kissed his head. “Sleep well, dear, I love you,” he murmured, then closed his own eyes, his arms still protectively around his beloved one. He felt a deep peace and contentment come over him despite being deep inside enemy territory where attack could come again at any moment. When Faramir came up a short while later, he stared in wonder at the two sleeping hobbits, bathed in such warm Light.

______________

A/N:  A favor, please, dear readers, we are, of course, getting closer and closer to the fire.  How much free will did Frodo have at that point over the Cracks of Doom?  Did he have any left? I know he didn't claim the Ring, the Ring claimed him and I know it was under intolerable pressure when the Ring was strongest and he was weakest that he caved in and couldn't destroy the Ring himself, but I've not been able to figure out if there was a little bit of himself that willed it too or rather he was completely enslaved at that point to the rapist he had fought for months and then could not any longer at the last moment.  I am still so new to this that the benefit of those who have loved these people for decades would be helpful and certainly I wouldn't mind to hear from those who are just as new as me!  Hannon le, Namarie, God bless, Antane :)

Chapter 35: He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

Neither of them were aware of the creature who came out so soundlessly and reached its fingers toward the Ring. But it was not unobserved. A sword point nearly pricked its throat.

“I’d be careful what you do, if I were you,” Faramir said.

Smeagol looked back at the intruder.

“Get out of here before I run you through,” the captain said. “And believe me, I will. I’ve had enough of you.”

Smeagol bounded off.

Faramir stared at the two sleeping hobbits. He was surprised that they could even be sleeping, but was also moved by the sight. Sam woke then as Faramir sheathed his sword. The Ranger was dirty, sweaty and bleeding from a cut over his left eye, but a very welcome sight. Faramir looked at the three corpses in the room.

“You’ve been busy,” he commented dryly to Sam. “I saw four more in the hallway.”

Sam didn’t looked shame-faced or apologetic. He looked down at his sleeping brother for a moment, then up to Faramir again. “They made the mistake of not listening to me when I told them to stop hurting him.”

“Ah. We should get moving,” the captain said. “The orcs are not going to let us gain ground easily, even though they are for the moment, more interested in killing each other than us.”

“It happened that way last time, too.”

“I hope it continues, but we can’t count on it. And your master’s skulking friend was just here, trying to get at the Ring.”

“Figures,” Sam muttered. “I should have watched out more carefully.”

“My men will find him,” Faramir said, “or if they don’t, Sauron’s will.”

“We’ll see him again. The Ring has possessed him. He won’t let it go.”

Sam looked down at Frodo who was still sleeping. He shivered for a moment, thinking his last words could apply to his brother too. Not if I can help it, he told himself, then gathered Frodo tighter into his arms and then rose with him.

Faramir was impressed. “I could carry him if you’d like,” he offered.

“He’s not that heavy, Captain,” Sam assured.

The Ranger lifted an eyebrow. “I would think with all his cares he would be very heavy.”

Sam followed Faramir’s sympathetic gaze and looked at his beloved friend. “No, he isn’t. Do you see all the light inside him? Like he’s becoming more and more just that. Just as long as he don’t leave without taking me with. Or maybe he’s light because he’s my brother and I love him so much,” he finished softly. He looked at Frodo for a moment more, then back at Faramir who was moved by such an open profession of devotion. “Lead on, Captain. I’ll wake him if we need to fight, but until then, he needs his sleep.”

Faramir looked once more down at the Ring-bearer and the worthy one who carried him, then nodded and signaled to his remaining men. He gathered Sam and Frodo into the center of the group to afford them the greatest protection.

The attack came almost unexpectedly as Faramir and his men walked warily through the tower with two hobbits. The previously empty hallways suddenly swarmed with orcs and one of Faramir’s men was hit in the throat before the orcs rushed the rest of them.

Sam quickly put his still slumbering master in a corner and stood protectively in front of him, sword drawn. His dispatched his first three opponents with relative ease, but then the floor began to get slippery with blood from his conquests and those of the Rangers, and he slipped when he next orc came at him. He fell on his back and lost his grip on his sword. He watched his death coming in the form of a sword swinging quickly downward and could not move, just stared up at it, knowing the last thing he would be aware of was that he had failed his brother, the last thing he would see the face of a leering orc.

Chapter 36: Another Chapter for Sam

Sam felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, holding him down and watched his adversary be impaled on a blue-tinged sword. He began to breathe again and looked behind him. “Thank you, dear!”

Frodo smiled. “My pleasure, Sam,” he said as he pulled Sting from the orc corpse. He helped Sam stand and picked up his friend’s sword. “You’ll still be needing this,” he said as he handed the sword to him, then moved to dispatch another opponent.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Sam said as he thrust his sword into another orc, “but you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Sting found its mark again before Frodo replied. “I was until you started making so much noise.”

Sam watched the Ring-bearer for a moment. Frodo was still tired, but a renewed determination lit a fire deep within him and it shone in his eyes as he continued to fight the deepening shadows within and without. Sam was heartened to see it. And glad beyond words that his master could tease him at such a time. He moved to protect Frodo’s back as Frodo protected his. It was not much longer before it was all over.

Faramir checked on his men. Four had died. One was still conscious, but dying and three more were injured. How the Ranger hated to leave the dead where they fell in such a vile place, but he could think of no way to safely get them out. Faramir stayed with the dying man until the soldier breathed his last. He murmured a blessing Mithrandir had taught him long ago, then closed the dead man’s eyes. He moved to the other four dead and did the same, then checked on the injured. One man was holding his sword arm which bled freely from more than one jab, but their others were less injured. The Ranger captain bandaged the bleeding man and then moved to Sam and Frodo.

“Well done,” he said with a tired smile, looking at the small pile of corpses the two hobbits had made around them.

“Thank you, Captain,” Sam said and Faramir nodded.

He looked at Frodo. “I’m glad you look a little more rested, because I doubt there will be much time to sleep for some time.”

The two hobbits looked at him, feeling almost as tired and bruised as Faramir looked and felt, but his words and presence strengthened them, and though they didn’t know it, their presence and courage strengthened him. They were so close now to their goal. So many of his men had died, but Faramir still hoped their deaths would have more purpose than they had had before.

“Come on,” he said and Frodo and Sam and his remaining men left the battleground and awaited their next one.

Frodo looked at Sam and smiled, his heart lighter than it had been for some time. “Another chapter in that story of ours, huh, Sam?”

“And we haven’t even come to the most exciting part yet,” Sam said.

“You mean all this hasn’t been exciting enough for you already?”

“Oh, it has been,” the gardener assured, “no doubt about it. But no, the most exciting part will be when you destroy the Ring and we can all go home.”

Frodo’s smile faded somewhat. “I hope it will be come out that way, Sam,” he said quietly. Then he forced back his encroaching doubts and fears and smiled again. “I will do my best to have the desired outcome.”

“I know you will, me dear,” Sam said quietly, knowing how his brother struggled against the Ring’s domination. “I know you will.”

Chapter 37: A Little Bit of the Shire

Sam looked worriedly at his master as Frodo stumbled for the third time in a half hour. Faramir looked over also and shared a glance and a nod with the younger hobbit.

“Why don’t we take a little break, dear, and get rid of the stuff we don’t need then get going again,” Sam suggested.

Frodo sank to the ground wearily. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam watched him for a moment, then started to gather what they could get rid of. He held his cooking pan against him for a moment in an almost tender embrace, then reddened a bit when he looked up and saw Frodo looking up at him with a faint smile.

“I know it’s strange,” he acknowledged, “but I feel like I’m saying goodbye to a friend.”

Frodo squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “No need to explain, Sam, I know what you mean.”

Sam looked at him and briefly touched begrimed fingers to that loving smile that still graced his brother’s lips. “It’s so wonderful to see you smile,” he said quietly.

Frodo’s smile widened. “Thank you for giving me a reason to.”

Sam smiled then also, then knelt down and laid a pan almost reverently into a crack in the ground. He was surprised to hear a strange clink and removed the pan and reached down. He pulled out another he never thought he’d see again.

“Look, it’s my old pan!” he cried. “Imagine coming to the exact same place as we did last time. I can’t believe it.”

Sam’s initial joy turned to near pain as he traced the marks on the pan. It was pitted and scored with dirt.

“Oh, Sam, your poor pan,” Frodo said as Sam tried to clean off some of the dirt.

“It’s beyond hope,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to use it in this sad condition. Not that we have anything to cook anyway.”

Suddenly, all the stress and exhaustion caught up to the young hobbit and he started to cry. Frodo rubbed his beloved friend’s back, then pulled him into a side embrace and let Sam cry into his shoulder as he murmured what comforts he could.

Presently, Sam raised his head, wiped at his tears and gave his brother a weak smile. “Sorry. I know I’m a ninnyhammer to be crying over nothing but a spoilt pan, but...”

“No, Sam,” Frodo said softly, stroking his friend’s arm. “Of course you’re not. It’s a little bit of the Shire you’ve found and you have to leave. That’s enough to make anyone sad. And I know it’s not just the pan. I’m sorry.”

The two looked at each other for a long time, not speaking, not needing to. Then Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, if it’s a bit of the Shire here, then maybe some good will come of it,” he said, his customary cheer shakily returning. He put both pans into the crack, then straightened his shoulders and stood. He offered a hand up to Frodo who accepted it gladly.

“Come on, my dear,” the gardener said. “We’d best be going.”

Chapter 38: Struggling On

Frodo looked at the lava cascading down Mount Doom and felt the malignant evil there clawing out to reach him. He clutched the Ring as though he could hide it in his fist and not be discovered, but the Eye saw into his very soul, he was sure of it. He was so exhausted in mind, body and spirit. He so wanted just to collapse, to sink into the ground, to surrender and not have to carry the burden that was grinding his soul into dust. And the greatest test was yet to come. How could he hope to pass it when he had failed so many other tests already? His head bowed again under the incredible weight and he struggled to take a breath in the ash-choked air.

The ash was everywhere. It caked their faces and clothes, every bit of exposed skin. It was in their hair, eyes, throat, nose and lungs. They had all coughed almost constantly in the beginning, but as Frodo’s strength continued to wan, he became too weak to even do that. His world had been reduced to the effort to take a single breath, then another, then another. He wasn’t aware of anything else but that and the wheel of fire growing steadily in his mind, countered by the other Light that held him. In the beginning, he had held his shirt up against his nose and mouth, but he had long lost the strength to keep it in place. Sam and Faramir watched him worriedly as the Ring-bearer stumbled along with the others, his breathing an unhealthy sounded wheeze.

A sudden hot wind blew more ash into their eyes and mouth and Frodo fell to his knees as a coughing fit took his breath away. Sam knelt at his side at once and rubbed his back to try to soothe the fit. The others stopped and attempted to regain their own breath.

“Take it easy, dear,” the gardener said. “Nice, slow, even breaths. There you go. That’s it. Nice and slow.”

When the spasm passed and Frodo could breathe again, taking shallow breaths that didn’t irritate his throat so much, he sagged against his guardian, too exhausted to do anything else. Sam brought his water skin to his brother’s mouth and Frodo drank greedily, desperate to soothe his cracked, bleeding lips and parched throat. Some of the water dripped down his chin, creating muddy streaks that dried instantly. He drank so fast he began choking again.

Sam stoppered the nearly empty skin, then rubbed Frodo’s back again until the Ring-bearer’s breathing settled back into the wheeze.

He tried to get up. “We....have...to...get....going,” he gasped. “Not...safe here.”

Sam held him down with no more effort than he would use for a child. “It’s even less safe any closer. No, you just rest here, dear. It’ll be dark soon.”

“It’s already dark,” Frodo said wearily. “So long since we’ve seen the sun. Is it even still there, I wonder?”

“It’s still there, dear, it’s still there.”

Frodo leaned back against his brother. Sam reached up and touched his friend’s curls. “You’ve got some fine tangles back here, me dear,” he said as he gently began to work his way through the filthy hair. “Looks that much like a rat’s nest it does.”

Frodo smiled faintly as he felt Sam’s fingers gently untangle his knots. “Want to make sure I’m presentable, my Sam?”

Sam’s heart lifted at that smile and fond teasing. “Well, you should look your best, being a gentlehobbit and all,” he returned half-in-kind, half-inbreed need to keep his master as well-groomed as possible. He had ignored that for too long a time.

Faramir and his men smiled.

Frodo laughed weakly and Sam’s heart soared to hear it, though it nearly set off another coughing spell. “You are a treasure, Sam,” Frodo said. “I feel more decent already. Thank you.”

Sam finished his ministrations as best he could and kissed his brother’s brow. “You are a greater one, my dear. Now you just keep leaning against your Sam and get yourself some rest.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo breathed. He closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep. Sam watched him for a long time, marveling at the light that continued to shine from him. He held him a little closer with both arms, then closed his own eyes.

The Rangers set a watch and then rested as best they could themselves. Faramir stared for a long time at the fiery mountain. All his life he had lived in its shadow and now he’d be getting closer than ever. But he wasn’t frightened. He needed only to look at the two small beings he and his men guarded. Their courage stood out like a beacon, nearly as bright as the light that enveloped the Ring-bearer and shone only a little less faintly in his guardian.

It made the man wonder if they were instead guarding him.

Chapter 39: Do You Remember the Shire?

When the morning came, Frodo looked little rested. His hand had grasped the Ring during the night and remained firmly clenched around it. Sam knew he had been troubled further by dark dreams. When he had been awakened by his master’s murmurs, he had tried to calm them by very softly singing. It had soothed Frodo enough to fall back into sleep.

They had started out again with a small ration of lembas and only enough water to damp their throats.

Sam kept his eye on Frodo throughout the day as the Ring-bearer’s head remained bowed and he stumbled more than once in his fatigue.

Sam caught him and held his arm to support him. “Come on, dear,” he said in the early afternoon. “Just a few more steps and we can rest behind those rocks there, see them?”

Frodo raised his head or tried to. “I’m sorry, Sam. It’s too much. Just lead me to them, will you, please?”

Sam’s grip tightened around his brother’s arm as Frodo stumbled along, then collapsed as they came to the large boulders. Sam sat down next to him and wrapped his arm around the Ring-bearer's shoulders. “Just rest here a bit, dear. It’s almost over. We’re almost at the fire...”

“I can feel it,” Frodo said as he dropped his head against Sam. “I’ve felt it for months now, burning me.”

Sam’s heart ached. “Then you know we are also almost ready to go home.”

“Home, Sam?” he asked wearily. “I don’t even remember what that is anymore.”

Sam smiled bravely and hoped it showed in his voice since his master couldn’t raise his head enough to see it. “Then let me tell you, dear. It’s feather pillows and soft blankets. It’s tea and a pipe by the fire. It’s a pint at the Green Dragon. It’s walking through the fields, the grass so soft under your feet. It’s reading your favorite book with your back against your favorite tree. It’s all the mushrooms you could ever want.”

Sam hoped all that would have elicited a smile from his beloved brother, but all Frodo said was, “I wish I could remember.”

Chapter 40: Climbing

"We are not at our best perched at the summit. We are at our best climbing, even when the way is steep.” Anonymous

Frodo licked his bleeding lips, desperate for any moisture.  Already half-delirious from thirst, he fell to his knees at an orc cistern and before anyone could stop him greedily lapped up the water there. The foulness of it burned his cracked and bleeding lips, but his parched throat was glad to receive it. His stomach was not. Almost as soon as he swallowed it, it came back up, stinging his cut lips even more. Sam supported him as he vomited and then wiped his mouth. Frodo sagged against him, exhausted and only half-conscious. His neck was red and continued to bleed where the chain cut into him. Sam wished he could soothe it, if only by his tears. He held onto his beloved brother for a long time, rocking him and softly singing of better times and sunnier days. Frodo lay unresponsive in his arms, then finally stirred himself and began to crawl.

He could not fail this time. Not this close. He was nearly completely burned out by his burden, but stubbornly he held on to his fraying self, pushing himself beyond what anyone could have endured. The fire in him kept him going, the fire that burned away all he had known himself to be and the Fire that healed him and warmed him and held him together. He did not know which one of two would finally dominate him and he would claim as his own as both warred within him and he was so weary of that battlefield. He knew the One he wished to serve though he barely understood it, but he knew all too well, that he actually served both. The decision to choose one over the over was coming and he was afraid he had not the strength to endure the final test. The call of the Ring was growing ever stronger in his mind and he knew he would be destroyed if he had to destroy that which he still so strongly desired. He grasped it around his fist as he collapsed. It was part of him. How could he part with it?

He heard Gandalf’s voice in his head. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.

The Ring-bearer painfully raised his head and on his belly crawled on. I’m trying, he replied. I’m trying.

Sam crawled up next to him and took him onto his back. Shakily he rose and they continued on together.

Chapter 41: The Ring is Mine

Frodo rushed in to the fiery chamber, just ahead of the orcs that Sam and Faramir and his remaining men fought to keep at bay. He held the Ring on its chain over the chasm. Its siren song roared in his ears. He was aware of little else but its hypnotic power, wearing away at the last of his resistance. The pain he had felt since he had first put on the Ring again, the torment of his soul being torn in two, increased intolerably. He yelled out, the agony driving him to his knees. He curled into a ball, his fist still clutched around the Ring.

Sam turned his head a moment when he heard his master’s anguished cry. Frodo had the Ring in his hand now and was slowly drawing it toward his finger. “No, Frodo!” Sam cried desperately, then had to turn his attention back to the battle as an orc nearly skewered him in his moment of distraction. He parried the blow barely in time and fought ever more frantically so he could rejoin his brother. But there were so many of the enemy and Sam was deathly afraid he would not be in time. Faramir risked a glance at him to send him an encouraging smile, admiring the hobbit’s unexpected skill with a blade more than ever before. “I’m glad you are on our side,” he said as Sam impaled another opponent.

“I have to get to him, Captain. I have...” Sam broke off when he saw Smeagol run between the dozens of orcs, toward Frodo. He risked another look back. “Frodo! Watch out!” he shouted, then turned back to dispatch another opponent.

Frodo didn’t hear him. All he could hear was the deafening call of the Ring. And he had no power left to resist it. Not any longer.  He needed it still with him.  I’m sorry.

Smeagol saw what he was about to do and cried out to him, “No! Don’t puts it on! He’ll see! He’ll see!! You can’t lets him have it!”

Frodo did not hear him or sense his approach. He was about to pull off the chain to put the Ring on his finger when Gollum came up to him and knocked him down. “You can’ts have it! It’s ours!”

The current Ring-bearer fought to free himself from the former one. “It’s mine!! You can’t have it!”

The Ring gave him strength to fight, but it also strengthened Gollum who began to choke Frodo. The hobbit fought furiously against the deathgrip, but he was fading fast and collapsed from lack of air. The Ring slipped out of his grasp and he knew no more.

Chapter 42: Filthy Little Thieves

Gollum grasped the Ring on its chain in his scrawny hands and his eyes lit with joy at possessing it again. So engrossed was he in looking at it, he was not aware that someone approached from behind until the chain was nearly yanked out of his grasp. His fist tightened around it just in time and he turned to look at Sam. The grim-faced hobbit was bleeding from several superficial cuts on his face and hands, sweating and nearly exhausted, his clothing liberally stained with the blood of his enemies and his sword as well. He looked at an avenging angel, but Gollum was not cowed.

"It’s ours! You will not takes it from us!"

"It is not yours," Sam said, advancing toward him. "It never was. It belongs to Sauron and to the fire." He reached out again to take the Ring and his fingers grasped the chain.

"Not, to us!" Gollum cried and lunged at Sam, bitting down on the hand which held the chain. Sam cried out, but would not relinquish his hold.

Frodo woke slowly and raised his head, coughing as he tried to take in some ragged breaths. He touched the bruises around his throat and swallowed painfully. He saw Sam and Gollum fighting and heard the call of the Ring fill his mind again just as Sam reached to yank the chain from the other creature. He got up and rushed toward the struggling pair, eyes blind to all else but the Ring, his mind entirely focused on getting it back.

Sam saw his brother’s Ring-maddened eyes as Frodo rushed to grapple with him and Gollum. "Frodo, no!" he cried, but Frodo did not hear him.

He fought Gollum first and kicked the former hobbit viciously. Gollum curled his emanciated body around the Ring, trying to keep it safe from Frodo, safe from the dark lord he knew would come to claim it. But the lust for the Ring gave Frodo the extra strength he needed to yank the Ring away from the other bearer.

"Thief!" Gollum cried. "Filthy, nasty Baggginses always taking the Precious! Dark one coming and then you’ll see him take it from you!"

"It’s mine!" Frodo snarled. "I won’t let you have it! I won’t him you have it!"

"He will takes it from you! You won’ts stops him."

Frodo smiled wickedly, then put the Ring on. Gollum lunged for him just as he did so, grabbing him, bit down on his finger and severed it. Frodo reappeared in a scream of agony. The Ring fell to the ground. Just as the creature reached for it, Frodo viciously kicked out at him again and sent him over the edge.

The Ring-bearer turned to pick up the Ring, but saw it now in Sam’s hand, his face an undescribable mask of grief and horror as he held his beloved brother’s severed finger. Frodo didn’t see his friend’s tear-streaked face, only an enemy, another thief of his precious. The crazed hobbit lunged at Sam, knocking him onto his back and nearly over the edge. Sam’s head hung out over empty space as did the Ring which he held out away from Frodo. He looked into those tormented eyes and saw nothing but lust for the Ring. There was nothing left of his brother.

Chapter 43: Into the Fire

In that moment, Sam knew he had failed Frodo and could die because of it. "No, dear, no!" he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. A great howl of grief went up in his soul, but even then, he refused to despair. As long as his brother lived, there was hope and Sam held on that, even more tightly than he did the Ring, which he held out over the edge, away from Frodo.

Frodo did not respond to Sam’s cry, did not even show he had heard it. He groped for the Ring, inching forward on his stomach nearly on top of the pinned Sam. His fingers closed around it and his nails dug into his friend’s hand fiercely enough to cut them. He forced Sam’s fingers open, but he was not fast enough. The Ring slipped from fingers slick with sweat and his own and Sam’s blood and fell into the fire. An unearthly scream howled in Sam’s ears as Frodo lunged after it, nearly toppling them both over the edge.

"No!" the Ring-bearer cried. "I can’t lose you again!"

Sam grabbed him and pulled him back from the edge. Frodo fought him fiercely, kicking at him and pounding him with his fists so hard Sam knew he would have plenty of bruises later.

"Let me go!" the Ring-bearer demanded. "Let me go!"

Sam grunted under the assault, but kept a tight hold with both arms around his struggling brother. One arm was around his back, one arm cradled Frodo’s head against his shoulder as he remembered his mother doing when his sister, Marigold, was inconsolable after a bad fall.

"Hush, my love, hush," he said right into Frodo's ear. "Quiet now. Shhh. Shhh. It’s all right. It’s all over now. All over. You’re through. You made it. Shhh now, dearest. Shhh. It’s all right. It’s all right."

Frodo continued to fight but Sam continued to hold on and talk. The attack weakened a little when the Ring began to melt, then greatly increased in ferocity as the bearer felt his precious die. Still Sam held on.

He was greatly startled when a horrific howl of despair, hatred and rage rose from the Ring-bearer’s throat and filled the chamber. It hurt Sam’s ears greatly, but he would not let go of his brother, only held him tighter. He was amazed that such a terrible sound came from so small a being, then he realized it wasn’t really coming from Frodo, that his throat was merely the instrument for another creature. The Ring-bearer’s body convulsed violently once and then went deathly still in Sam’s arms.

A/N: My thanks to my oldest nephew, Drendlmaire, and my brother-in-law, Lord of Rohan, for their help in how the Ring would be destroyed.

Chapter 44: Love Remains

Ignoring the pain of his bruises and ringing ears, even the destruction of the chamber that began around them, Sam loosened his grip slightly to stroke his brother’s pale face. Tears flowed down his cheeks onto Frodo’s, muddying the area there but also cleaning the ash and dirt in small streaks.

“Wake up, dear,” Sam pleaded. “Wake up for your Sam. It’s all over now. You did it. The Ring is gone. But please don’t you be, too. You can’t leave me here all alone. You can’t go where I can’t follow you. Please, me Frodo, wake up. We have to get out of here and I’m not leaving without you.”

Sam began to cry anew when Frodo stirred and opened his eyes. There was no madness in them, but a great amount of torment. He looked into his guardian’s tear-stained face and suddenly memories came back to him and he was sure he would go mad from the horror of what he had done. But then he realized he had been mad and was now only very fragilely holding onto sanity. He began to sob uncontrollably. “Oh, Sam!” he cried. “How evil I have been! How you must hate me.”

Sam looked into his tortured eyes, saw directly into his lacerated soul and his heart broke anew. He held his beloved brother tighter in his arms. “No, dear, I don’t hate you,” he said softly.

“I want you to,” Frodo said just loud enough for Sam to hear.

“I would do anything for you, my dear,” he said. “But I can’t do that.”

Frodo looked back up at him, his tears nearly blinding him, nearly choking him. He could not bear to look into such sorrow for him and such love more than a moment. He tried to pull away, but Sam wouldn’t let him, then the gardener let go and took his brother’s bleeding hand in one of his own. He shrugged off his pack and reached with his other hand to the bandages he had packed inside. Tenderly, he wiped at the blood and gore as best he could, wrapped Frodo’s maimed hand tightly, kissed it, then looked into his beloved friend’s tormented eyes with such incredible love that Frodo began to cry even harder, so moved he was by such care when he least deserved it. But Sam, as always, knew that was when he needed it the most.

He couldn’t look into that love for long and at the same time couldn’t bear not to. He looked down at Sam’s own bleeding hands and somehow knew it wasn’t just from the blood of his own bound hand, but that he had hurt his dearest friend in more than one way. “Please, Sam, I’ve done such hateful things. You shouldn’t...I could have killed you!”

Sam placed bloody fingers against his brother’s lips. “Shhhh, dear, shhh,” he said quietly as he looked into Frodo’s eyes. “It wasn’t you. It was the Ring. You didn’t do anything hateful. You had hateful things done to you. But you are free of it now. We all are. It can’t hurt you anymore.”

Frodo looked at his beloved friend for a long time as Sam gazed back. He so wanted just to forget everything and believe Sam was right, believe only in that love that had never wavered. But....

“Where’s Smeagol?” he asked suddenly, fearfully, looking around desperately.

Sam did not want to answer. “The Ring can’t hurt him anymore either,” he said, hoping he knew in vain that Frodo would be satisfied with that answer.

More memories came back to him now and the Ring-bearer felt madness claw at him again, seeking purchase. “I remember fighting him, kicking him. I...I killed him, didn’t I?” he said, desperately seeking denial in his guardian’s sorrowful eyes. “Oh, Sam, I wanted to save him!”

Sam thought he would die from the anguish of seeing his beloved master engulfed by such pain, shame and guilt. To save them both, he gathered Frodo back into his arms and held him tight as Frodo sobbed anew and Sam joined him. He was nearly torn apart listening to such agony and he didn’t even want to imagine what it was to feel it. After a long moment, he helped Frodo stand.

Faramir came to see Frodo’s ravaged eyes and looked at Sam’s tear-stained face. He knew the Ring had been destroyed, but he wondered if it was any type of victory for either of the hobbits.

“He’s back, Captain,” Sam said softly as he held Frodo’s arm to steady him. “He’s been freed.”

Faramir didn’t say anything. Frodo looked like he could barely stand. He swayed on his feet and stared blankly straight ahead, into what hells Faramir didn’t even want to imagine. Frodo didn’t seem to be aware of anything, except possibly the one steady force in his life that had never wavered even when all else disintegrated around him. Faramir looked back at Sam, whose sorrowful, but still devoted, gaze remained fixed on his master.

“Come on, my dear,” Sam said gently. “We need to get to where the eagles will know where to find us.”

Frodo did not respond, but let himself be led away. Faramir followed. None of his men had survived, but they had died more meaningful deaths than they had previously. It was cold comfort, but in wartime, Faramir too well knew, sometimes that was the only comfort there was.

Chapter 45: The Shadowlands

Frodo woke in a grey void and prayed it was the death he had come to desire. Even in his maddened state, he had felt the loss of the Ring, of a part of himself and he didn’t want to live that way, less than whole. He could still see the Light that had accompanied him on his journey, but he did not try to reach it out of shame. Still it did not leave him, merely waited until he would welcome it once more. That comforted him in a way he did not entirely understand, but instead of accepting that embrace, he curled in around himself, trying to shield himself from being cut from the shards of his broken heart and soul that circled around him. He could not though. They tore at him until he was bleeding from each cut. The Light still awaited him, shining a little brighter and he longed then to let it heal him, but still did not approach it. All he wanted to do was let himself go, let go of all the pain that would be his existence now, all the terrible violation and longing for the Ring that still remained. He could still hear its voice so clearly.

He had hoped to see his parents would be there to greet him when he passed. How he longed to see them again, to be nothing but their Fro-fro as they used to call him when all was light and love and there was no darkness anywhere in their lives. How he used to giggle in delight to be called that. It was far better than any of the other names he had now. Ring-bearer. Assailant. Betrayer. Murderer. But he was alone in the void. Even his parents were too ashamed to be near him. That loss hurt him as greatly as losing the Ring. He would have howled out his grief had he been able to speak, would have sobbed had there been any moisture left for tears.

Your parents aren’t here because you aren’t dead, my dear hobbit.

He startled at the unexpected, familiar voice that sounded in his head. Gandalf?

Frodo felt a loving smile in his mind. Yes, I am here.

Was he dead or was this another hallucination, brought on by the severe dehydration that had tormented him at the end? He couldn’t be dead or at least he hoped he wasn’t for it was no better than his tortured living existence had become. He still ached in every possible joint and muscle. He was still so very thirsty and hungry. His torn feet and back and legs and neck burned. The place where his finger had been hurt the worst. He still heard the voice of the Ring. Had it followed him even here? He knew he would feel nothing around his neck, but he tried anyway. A weathered hand reached around his stopping him, another hand cupped his cheek. His fingers feebly grasped the one and he leaned into the other. He was so tired.

How much longer do I have to wait?

For what, dear boy?

To die.

Gandalf’s heart nearly broke to hear the torment, but even more the hopeful expectation in his beloved friend’s voice. It had already broken seeing the hobbit a mere shell of his former self. But that’s what the Ring does, doesn’t it? he thought. It hollows its bearers out until there is nothing left.

Why do you want to die? he asked.

I did it again, Gandalf, I claimed the Ring. I murdered Smeagol and I nearly killed Sam. I set out to sacrifice my life and again it wasn’t accepted. I failed.

Your sacrifice was accepted, Frodo. And gratefully so by the One whose faithful servant you have been, even if you do not fully realize Who you have been serving.

Frodo turned his face away from the comforting touch of Gandalf’s hand. I have been no one’s servant but the Ring’s.

Whose call was it then that you answered at the Council last time and inside your own home this time? It was not the Ring.

I have been then a poor servant of anyone else.

You have been the best you could be and that is far better than you think yourself to be. You offered yourself in the most perfect way you could - with humility and love and acceptance of the burden. You knew how much it could damage you and you still said ‘yes’. Twice. Don’t blame yourself for not being without failings. No one is but the One Who created you, in Whose image you were made. You are a being of light, Frodo. This present darkness did not overwhelm that light. You and Sam were both chosen from all time to be Bearers of Light , the only ones who could accomplish what was needed, chosen by the One Who knows and loves you both far better than you can possibly imagine, Who is well pleased with you. He knew, as you did, that the burden would be too much for you at the end, but you both accomplished what He made you two to do. He finds no fault with either of you.

He wouldn’t with Sam. Sam did nothing wrong.

Frodo heard Gandalf’s gentle exasperation and felt the love and compassion of his friend wash over and through his battered soul and broken heart, soothing it, calming it. He felt his cheek gently drawn back to be held. He felt the wizard’s smiles as a thing alive. It felt so wonderful. Almost as though he could feel clean again, but he feared nothing could do that.

Stubborn hobbit, did you not hear what I just said? He finds no fault in either of you.

Then why am I still alive? I want to die, I deserve to die, to...to...

Make up for all your mistakes?

There was a long pause. Yes.

Iluvatar asked for your life, Frodo, not your death. You gave that to Him. Don’t now take back that gift.

Where am I then, if I’m not dead?

You are in the shadowlands between life and death. You were nearly lost to us before the eagles brought you back. Aragorn has done as much as he can to heal you, but it is now your path to choose. But be aware it is not only your life. Sam will not part from you. If you choose death, he will follow you.

I don’t want to be parted from him, either. I want him to live.

Just as he wants you to live. So do your cousins, so does Aragorn, so do I, so does everyone. So does your Creator. He would like you to know joy again in your life for you were made for joy.

But what can life offer me now but pain?

You’ve already known great pain, Frodo, and you have lived to know joy again. Believe it can happen again. For it will, if you will let it. No one’s life is without pain, but you will be surrounded by all those who love you dearly.  That will help relieve the pain you will have.

Frodo now became aware again of Light and Love surrounding him, more than merely Gandalf’s. Two lights actually. One, his beloved Sam, the half of his heart and soul that had not been corrupted, his light in dark places. The other...

That is light of Iluvatar you are seeing, that has accompanied you all your life, though you did not know it. Sam’s light and love are merely the reflections of the One, just as you are to him and your cousins and to all of Middle-earth. That is what you are, Frodo Baggins, not Ring-bearer, but Bearer of Light because you fulfilled your purpose.

But I didn’t fulfill it. I couldn’t destroy the Ring. I would have preferred to have died with it instead of letting it go.

But to be Ring-destroyer was not your destiny. That was set aside for Smeagol. What you were made to do, you accomplished perfectly despite all the obstacles you had to overcome, accomplished it perfectly twice. The One Who you accepted that task from made sure of that, just as He made sure Smeagol accomplished his task. Who do you think kept you safe this whole time when you should have surely died?

Frodo turned to the Light he had indeed felt throughout his life, though he had never known its source. Where were You? Why weren’t You with me at the fire?

The Light reached out to even further, enveloping him. His heart and soul heard words that the mouth could not speak or the ear understand, but words that soothed him nonetheless.

Now do you know, dear boy? Gandalf’s voice came again. Eru does not abandon His own. How do you think you and Sam and Faramir survived the destruction? How do you think the eagles knew where to find you?

Faramir survived? I am glad.

He is waiting for you to wake even now.

Frodo’s attention was drawn to voices. Someone was stroking his curls. He recognized that soft touch. “Come back to us, Frodo, love,” Merry said.

“Please,” came Pippin’s small, frightened voice. “Please.”

“Come back to the Light,” Gandalf said.

The light. Yes. Frodo did so much want to come back to that, after so long in the darkness. He had been consumed by it, but Sam had stood by him even then. Frodo knew he always would. Even now he could feel Sam’s loving presence. Even more than that, he felt surrounded by the Light that had guarded and guided him the whole way and he knew if how allowed it, he could follow that Light back to life. But for now, he presented the broken pieces of his heart and soul and allowed himself at last sink into that bright, loving embrace.

Chapter 46: Favorite Things

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Pippin turned frightened green eyes from his cousin’s to Gandalf. He had been asking the same question for the last three days, after very impatiently waiting for Frodo and Sam to come out of their healing sleeps. “It’s already been two weeks just like last time. Sam woke two days ago.”

The wizard thought of how he could relieve the anxiety he saw there, mirrored in blue and soft brown. “He was very deeply hurt,” Gandalf began, not wanting to frighten them, but wanting them to know the truth. “He needs time to heal.”

Pippin’s lower lip trembled as he tried to keep from crying. Merry absently rubbed his back, torn between wanting to comfort both his cousins. “But he is healing. His feet are getting better and his face and that horrible burn around his neck...everything but his finger. I suppose that will never get better, but shouldn’t he be waking up by now? It’s been so long.”

“He is healing,” Gandalf agreed, “but his deepest wounds are not physical ones. The Ring is a terrible burden for anyone to carry and he endured it twice now, longer than anyone and he’s paid a very dear price for it.” The wizard paused, not sure exactly how to continue, but certain that he had to. Frodo’s life depended on it. “I don’t say this to frighten you, but Frodo didn’t expect to live last time, to outlast the Ring and he’s frightened that now this time he has again, he’s not sure he wants to. He already knows what it feels like to live without the Ring. He doesn’t want to leave any of you, but he’s afraid of the pain he will have if he decides to live. It’s his choice, but he needs your help in showing him there’s so much more than pain waiting for him.”

Tears pricked at Merry and Sam’s eyes and freely ran down Pippin’s. Merry squeezed his young cousin’s shoulder.

“Well, I’m not going to leave him and that’s flat,” Sam said. “There’s nowhere I won’t follow him.”

Gandalf smiled at the fierce determination and love in the sturdy hobbit’s voice and stance. “He wants you to live, Sam. But he needs reasons to live too. Can you give them to him?”

“I can give him plenty of reasons.”

“So can I,” Merry said.

“So can I,” Pippin echoed. He sniffed and stopped crying and sat down at his cousin’s side and took his hand.

Merry took Frodo’s other hand and Sam gently cradled his brother’s head in his lap. He began to slowly stroke the elder hobbit’s curls. “Please wake up, dear,” he said. “I know you are frightened, but your Sam is here, waiting for you and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and we just want you to get better and stay with us. You’d be missing so much if you went away. Like the first flowers of Spring and the first of the strawberries and cream.”

“Half pints at the Green Dragon,” Merry said. “Singing and dancing.”

“Mushroom omelettes,” Pippin chimed in with, anxiously searching his cousin’s face for a response and bitting his lip to keep from crying again when he didn’t see one. He looked up for reassurance from Merry or Sam, but they were both watching Frodo, hoping for the same thing.

“Hot tea on a cold night.”

“A pipe in the company of friends in front of the fireplace.”

“Reading by the fire, curled up in your favorite chair and blanket.”

“Reading at your favorite tree.”

“Hearing you read.”

“Or sing.”

“Or laugh.”

“Holding you.”

“Being held.”

So still, Frodo remained. So still. They exchanged worried, anxious glances, but then continued on.

“Kissing you goodnight.”

“Being kissed.”

“Having a cousin to cuddle with.”

“Two cousins.”

“And a friend.”

“Picking blueberries and eating them right off the tree.”

“Or apples.”

“Or cherries.”

“Long walks with you on summer afternoons.”

“And fall nights.”

“Laying with you on the ground and watching the clouds go by.”

“Or staring up at night sky, your head touching mine, as you told me all the stories of the stars.”

“Listening to me make up stories about the clouds and the stars.”

“Love.”

“Cheer.”

“Comfort.”

“Joy.”

“Peace.”

“Everything the Shire means to you.”

“Everything you mean to us.”

“Looking into your eyes and watching them dance.”

“And shine with so much love.”

“Please, Frodo, open your eyes and let us see that again. Please.”

“Seeing you smile.”

“Tickling you.”

“Being tickled.”

“Pillow fights.”

“Giggling.”

“Racing you to the Party Tree.”

“And you always letting us win.”

“Walking with you, hand-in-hand, and knowing that right then I am the most important person to you and you to me.”

“How happy we are.”

“How much you love me and I love you.”

“Gandalf’s fireworks.”

“Birthday presents.”

“Feather beds.”

“With lots and lots of pillows.”

“Silk nightshirts.”

“Hot baths.”

“Making sweetcakes with you and you letting me make a mess and lick the spoon.”

“Eating sweetcakes and making a mess.”

“Just being with you, standing in your light.”

“Playing blind hobbit and trusting you completely because we knew you would never let anything happen to us.”

“Bandaging our cuts and kissing them to make us and them feel better.”

“Listening to our dreams.”

“Encouraging them.”

“Hearing yours.”

“Wondering where someone so beautiful as you came from.”

“Hoping you’ll never leave.”

“Or you’ll take us with us when you do.”

“Pancakes with lots of butter and kissing your cheek with a lot of that around my mouth.”

“And lots of syrupy kisses on your forehead.”

“Your laughter whenever I did that.”

“Your hugs whenever I came.”

“Your delight in seeing me.”

“Listening to a rain storm at night, tucked safe in your arms.”

“Walking through wet grass.”

“Jumping together into a pile of leaves.”

“Laughing, always laughing.”

“Sitting in your lap listening to Bilbo’s stories and shivering in fear and delight, knowing I was perfectly safe because your arms were around me.”

“Very solemnly pledging to save you from any monsters that would dare attack you.”

“Even if I was only five.”

“Or seven.”

“Or nine.”

“And you just as seriously accepting our pledge.”

“Making the same at 28.”

“And 36.”

“And 38.”

“Slipping pieces of cake under the table when we didn’t think our parents or Bilbo were watching.”

“But then giving it all by giggling too much.”

Gandalf smiled as he listened to the myriad reasons the three hobbits came up with to entice their cousin and friend to wake up. Their immense love was like a visible, bright light surrounding Frodo. You have to wake, Frodo. Gandalf thought. You have to choose life.

“Fishing on the Brandywine.

“Swimming in it.”

“Splashing around.”

“Stroking your curls.”

“Having our stroked.”

“Being called Pippinsqueak.”

“Or Merry-lad or my Merry.”

“Or my dear Sam.”

“The smell in the air after a spring rain.”

“Chasing rainbows.”

“Snowball fights.”

“Piggyback rides.”

“Rides on your shoulders.”

“Holding my hands and spinning me around until we’re so dizzy we fall down, laughing.”

“Taking a nap in your lap against your favorite tree.”

“Smelling flowers.”

“Apple cider.”

“Bobbing for apples.”

“Yule.”

“Giving me a little money to spend at the fair, anyway I wanted.”

“Seeing Elves.”

“Shrieking in delight as I ran down a hill and you tried to catch me.”

“Chasing you down the hill.”

“Riding a pony for the first time and you holding onto to me so I wouldn’t fall.”

“You helping Merry hold me the first time I rode.”

“Picnics.”

“Skipping stones over the water.”

“Strawberry jam and the marks it would leave on your cheek when I kissed you.”

“And the grape jelly marks mine would leave.”

“Jumping into a puddle.”

“Together.”

“Hand in hand.”

“The muddier, the better.”

“Laughing.”

“Always laughing.”

“Running through the rain.”

“Together.”

“Hand in hand.”

“Hide and seek.”

“Tag.”

“Laying on our stomachs in front of the fire playing checkers.”

“Or chess.”

“Or puzzles.”

“Being read to.”

“Reading to you.”

“Closing our eyes and just listening to your voice.”

“Always together.”

“Laying on the grass, heads touching, talking.”

“Dreaming.”

“Sharing secrets.”

“Knowing no one outside our parents loved us more.”

“And we loved you more than anyone outside of them.”

“Always there.”

“Catching snowflakes on our tongues.”

“Or dragonflies in a jar.”

“Watching the first flowers of a new spring.”

“And you just as delighted as we were.”

“Just being with you.”

“So full of love.”

“And light.”

“And joy.”

“Holding your hand and feeling you hold ours.”

“Eating strawberries and cream and seeing who could make the biggest cream mustache.”

“Letting me sip from your mug at the Green Dragon.”

“Even if I was too young.”

“Bobbing for apples.”

“Blueberry pie.”

“Apple pie.”

“Cherry.”

“More mushrooms.”

“Ok, ok,” Gandalf interrupted with a laugh. “You’ve given him plenty to think about it, without needing to start repeating yourselves.”

“Do you think he heard us?” Pippin asked anxiously. “He hasn’t even moved.”

“I’m sure he did,” the wizard assured. “Let him be for a while. It’s time for you three to get some rest, too. Especially you, Sam. You still have a lot of healing to do yourself.”

“I am that tired still,” the gardener agreed, “and I’ve been doing little else but sleep.”

“Your body has to endure a lot,” Gandalf said, “so did Frodo’s. It kept going because it had to, but at a cost that will still be a while in repaying. Don’t push yourself too hard. Enjoy the peace.”

Sam looked down at his beloved Frodo. “I’ll enjoy it a lot more when he can enjoy it with me.”

He took his brother into his arms and sang softly,

“The days were glad, and all was fair,

And all the fields were green.

We trod familiar roads of home,

Thought of things we'd never seen.

We went together, hand in hand,

And our hearts were light.

Oh how could we have fathomed then

How dark would be the night?

'Twas merry then, when we were young,

And care we did not know.

Still I can see, in memory's eye,

Your face, all free from woe,

Your shining eyes, your smile that like

The sun so brightly shone.”

He kissed Frodo’s head, then closed his eyes.

Merry bestowed his own kiss to his cousin’s forehead before curling up next to him. “You nearly died for the Shire, love,” he murmured with a brush of Frodo’s curls. “Now it’s time to live for it.”

“Live, cousin, please,” Pippin begged quietly. He kissed Frodo’s brow, then snuggled up to Merry.
____

A/N: Another musical masterpiece from Queen Galadriel.

Chapter 47: Decision Made

Frodo did not wish to leave the embrace of the Light that held him, but he felt also Sam holding him.

Sam will keep you safe, Gandalf’s voice came to him again. And Iluvatar will always be with you, an even more staunch guardian.

Can’t I stay here? It feels safe. I don’t hurt so much here.

Frodo felt the warmth of Gandalf’s sympathetic smile. No, dear boy, you cannot. But don’t think that by leaving here, you will leave the arms that have held you all your life. You will always those and you will have Sam’s and your cousins and even Aragorn’s and mine, if you would like.

I’d like that. I fear I will need them all.

And you shall have them all.

While I carried the Ring, it felt like my soul was being torn apart. I didn’t think anything could feel worse, but then I failed again. Is it truly destroyed this time? the hobbit asked, almost fearing the answer.

Gandalf’s smile widened. It truly is. Breathe deep, Frodo. Even the air smells cleaner. There’s none of that odd sense I felt last time and wondered about.

But will it always hurt so much?

You weren’t hurt overnight, Frodo, and you will not heal overnight, but you will if you allow yourself to. Trust us to help you and love you enough that you feel like you can do that. The burden of being a Ringbearer is a crushing one, but it’s one you never carried alone. You’ve been surrounded by more guardians than just Sam. Lean on that love, and that of your other friends. Live in their light and feel the light come back into yourself. It will come, if you believe it will. I know you heard all the reasons you should come back.

Frodo smiled. I did.

He woke up to bright sunshine and Sam’s soothing heartbeat. He raised his head and looked at his brother. The way the sun shone on that dear one’s long, cream nightshirt and hit his golden hair made him even more a being of Light that Frodo had always thought him. He knew from Pippin’s cold feet his youngest cousin was beside him and Merry, though he couldn’t see him, was nearby also. What a joy to feel those feet again! Frodo’s battered heart swelled with love for his friends and he smiled. He could have stared at them forever, lost himself in the light that shone from them, light he so desperately needed to cleanse himself from the darkness that was still so much a part of him, but he gradually grew aware of another presence in the room, patiently waiting to be noticed.

He drew his gaze away from his devoted friends and looked at Gandalf who smiled at him.  “Welcome back, Frodo,” the wizard said. “See what I told you was true? You are surrounded by love.”

The Ring-bearer’s smile faded. “I don’t deserve all this. I did terrible things to Sam.” He tried to pull away, but even in his sleep, Sam tightened his grip slightly to prevent it. Begging your pardon, Mr. Gandalf, sir, but Mr. Frodo still needs me and until he doesn’t, I’m not leaving.

Gandalf smiled. “The measure of love is to love without measure.”

“I don’t know why he still does.”

“Because he knows you, Frodo. Not what the Ring made you, but the true you. He loves that person. You need to rediscover, what he and everyone else already knows, that for all your failings and misdeeds, you are still a worthy person. You loved without measure also, loved all of Middle-earth enough to take all its possible suffering into yourself so it could live free and in peace. That is no small task for anyone, but only a hobbit could have done it.”

Frodo looked at his friend. “It broke me though, the strain of it all.”

Gandalf’s smile widened. “My dear hobbit, it would have broken anyone, but your large, generous, loving heart gave you the strength to withstand it longer than anyone could have. What lies behind you and ahead of you are small matters compared to what lies within you. Iluvatar did not choose you foolishly. He knew very well what you were capable of. That is how and why He created you.”

Frodo closed his eyes and tried to believe. Gandalf watched him for a little while as the troubled hobbit fell back asleep with a deep frown marring his fair features, then the wizard knelt down, grasped that small, maimed hand and spoke softly into his friend’s broken heart. “May each day, dear child, bring you the light of new hope, the blessing of returning strength and the comfort of knowing how greatly you are loved.”

Frodo murmured something, his fingers momentarily tightening around his friend’s, then he slid into deeper sleep. His frown was not so deep.

When he woke next, Gandalf was gone, but Merry, Pippin and Sam were still there, softly talking among themselves. When they realized he was awake, they looked at him and wanted badly to have the same joyous reunion they had had the first time, but they were somber as they regarded him and he them. Without a word, Merry embraced him tightly and Frodo held onto him and they both cried. It was echoed with Pippin’s embrace until all four of them were crying, but they were also back together, and there was comfort also as the three hobbits wrapped their fellow hobbit with enough love to ease his pain and theirs temporarily. Sam cheered when Frodo smiled and Pippin danced which caused Frodo to laugh and Sam and Merry to cheer even louder.

When Merry and Pippin left to bring back breakfast, or as Pippin said, “a royal feast”, Sam stayed behind with Frodo. “Aragorn has told me that he will be having the same ceremony as before, celebrating the destruction of the Ring,” Sam said. “I’m glad he is going to be doing that for you.”

Frodo looked at his friend and smiled faintly. “Why do I think you had something to do with it?”

Sam blushed. “You deserve it. He already was going to do it, I just agreed with him. He just wanted me to let you know it would take place when you were ready.”

Frodo looked away. “I wish he wouldn’t. I haven’t done anything more to deserve it this time than last time, less even.”

“How can you say that, dear?” Sam sounded actually puzzled and Frodo smiled again faintly, though Sam didn’t see it. “You are a hero,” he continued. “You carried the Ring for months and got it to the place where it could be destroyed. You did that twice. You’re even more of a hero this time, not less, because you knew what it had done to you the first time and you still did it.”

The smile faded. “You are much more heroic than I am, Sam. You never failed in your quest. I did. Twice.”

“All I did was walk beside you.”

 Frodo looked back at his friend in disbelief. “Just walk beside me! Dear Sam! You did so much more than that. I have repaid you cruelly, but that will change. I hope to somehow reward you for all you’ve done.”

“Just get better, dear. That’s all I want.”

Frodo looked at Sam for a long time and Sam looked back at him. “I want that, too, Sam,” he said.

That night, Sam opened the door to see if Frodo was sleeping after his ordeal, but was surprised to see that he wasn’t. He followed the sound of running water and found his brother scrubbing his hands with a sponge so vigorously that they were raw and bleeding. Blinking away sudden tears, Sam gently, wordlessly took the sponge from the elder hobbit’s hand.

Frodo looked up at him, looking very lost. “I don’t feel clean,” he said.

Sam’s heart broke a little more to hear the torment in his brother’s voice and see it reflected in the deep pools of Frodo’s eyes. “I think you are clean enough, dear,” he said quietly.

As though he would for a child, he ran Frodo’s hands under the water, rinsed them and very gently dried them, then guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. He went back to the privy to get some salve and clean cloths, crying silently, then wiping his tears before coming back to bind his brother’s bleeding hands.

Frodo looked up at him, much like a lost child. “Thank you, Sam,” he said, then got into bed then and looked at his beloved friend again. “Will you stay with me, please?” he asked. He sounded so young and vulnerable.

“Of course,” Sam said and gathered his brother into his arms.

Frodo held on tightly. “I’ve been in such dark places, Sam,” he said softly. “I would have gotten totally lost if you hadn’t been there. But your light was always there, guiding me, guarding me, even if at times I was walking away from it and it only lit my back. Yours and the Other’s. It was always there, I saw it shining out, ready to lead me out and bring me home.” He looked up into his beloved friend’s eyes. “I’m still in those dark places, Sam. I’m still so lost.”

Sam looked tenderly into his brother’s tortured face. “Then hold onto me and let me lead you out.”

Frodo tightened his embrace and leaned his head against his Sam’s chest. He fell asleep listening to that beloved heartbeat. Sam watched him tenderly, awed by the light that continued to shine from him, but now refracted and splintered as though through a prism. Or the pieces of a broken heart, the gardener thought and he leaned down and kissed that beloved head and tightened his embrace a little.

He was near to crying again when there was a knock at the door. He looked up to see Merry and Pippin poke their heads in. “How is he?” Merry whispered as they came in and watched Frodo sleep. Even resting, his features were still strained.

“Hurt,” Sam said with such pain that Merry looked away from his cousin and up at his friend.

“How are you?”

Sam wiped at his tears. “I’ll be better when he is.”

They approached the bedside. “What happened to his hands?” Pippin asked.

At this Sam’s tears broke free again and he cried silently. Merry touched his shoulder. “He will get better,” Merry said.

“Of course he will,” Pippin assured, though his cheer was forced and he wondered himself at the truth of his words.

Sam thanked him as Merry gave him a handkerchief to blow his nose. Pippin gave him his own hug around the shoulders, then they took up the same vigil for Frodo as they had at Rivendell after their friend had been stabbed.

“Why don’t you rest now, Sam?” Pippin said. “Merry and I will watch out for him.”

“I thank you, Mr Pippin,” the gardener said. “I am that tired.”

He collapsed on the bed next to his brother.

Pippin crawled in next to Frodo and gently smoothed out the strains on his face. Once he got them removed, he kissed his cousin on the head. Frodo smelled clean and fresh, his curls still a little like the scented rosewater it had been washed in. Pippin breathed it all in deeply. He wouldn’t have cared if Frodo had smelled like a orc corpse two days old. His cousin was back and alive! His heart surged at that joy even as it ached for all the pain. "Don’t worry, cousin," he said softly. "We will get you better."

A/N: Gandalf’s quote of “The measure of love...” is from St. Francis de Sales. “What lies behind you...” is adapted from Oliver Wendell Holmes. The wish for Frodo’s recovery as Gandalf watches his friend sleep is actually from a greeting card.

Chapter 48: A Hobbit Honored

Aragorn met with Frodo in his private quarters as the people gathered for the celebration of the Ring’s destruction.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this again, Aragorn,” the hobbit said. “I deserve it even less now.”

The king smiled at his friend. “Indulge me, please, this once more, mellon nin, I beg you.”

Frodo sighed. “If my king wishes.”

Aragorn laughed gently. “I do so wish.” He knelt and tightly hugged his dear brother. “Hannon le, tithen min.”

Frodo hugged him back. He had forgotten how good it felt to have those strong arms around him. “Gandalf said I could hold you if I needed help with the pain.”

The king tightened his embrace. He knew very well that his brother was not speaking of physical pain that his healer’s touch could ease. “You can hold me anytime you need to, for as long as you need to, gwador nin.”

Frodo sighed again, this time in relief. “Hannon le.”

The kneeling king and standing hobbit held each other for a long time, until Frodo felt strong enough to break away. Aragorn smiled and was gladdened to see his little friend smile back genuinely. They walked out together into the sunlight.

The Ring-bearer watched in silence as Aragorn and Arwen knelt down to him. As the gathered multitude did as well, even Merry and Pippin, he looked around uncomfortably, his unease growing to horror and shame as Sam knelt as well and looked up at him, eyes shining with love and pride.

“You did it,” he said.

Frodo looked down at him. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. As before, an accident had destroyed the Ring. He wanted to scream out that at the end, he hadn’t wanted to destroy it, that he had wanted to keep it for himself. He didn’t want these people think he had done something honorable. Sam, Merry and Pippin rose and the others began to as well, but Frodo cried out, “Wait!”

He knelt down in front of Sam and looked up to him. It was the younger hobbit’s turn to be embarrassed. From where they knelt, Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir and Boromir smiled at Frodo’s gesture. Merry and Pippin knelt back down with a grin of pride and love for their cousin and friend.

“What are you doing, dear?” Sam asked quietly, distinctly uncomfortable as the others remained kneeling as well, according Sam the same honor.

“What I should have done the first time,” Frodo said. “You deserve this honor, Sam, not me.”

“I only did what I promised to do. You’re the hero here.”

Frodo’s eyes did not waver from Sam’s face. “No, Sam, you are. You saved me. I would not have survived either time without you.”

Frodo remained kneeling for a long while, but felt he had only paid the smallest fraction of his debt to Sam. He would keep paying his friend back for the rest of his life and he wondered if even that was long enough. He doubted it.

Chapter 49: The Care and Feeding of Hobbits

The huge hall was full of celebrating people. Soldiers were merry, even those with arms wrapped in slings or bandages around head, hand or leg. Women laughed, dressed in their finest. Even the recent widows were less burdened with their grief tonight. Children squealed and ran about the room, between table after table groaning with food, ale and all sorts of delicacies. It was a madhouse, a very happy madhouse. Merry and Pippin were seated at the head table looking at the array with a hungry gleam. A little cream around the tween’s lips belied the fact he had already sampled some of them. Both were dressed in their official military uniforms. Merry sat next to his cousin and Pippin seated to the right of the empty seat reserved for the queen. Aragorn had insisted that Frodo take the one to his right and Sam was to his right. Both hobbits sat nervously, neither believing themselves worthy of any honor. The former Ring-bearer stoically endured the curious stares and returned properly the bows and graciously thanked any who came up to thank him. Sam’s face flushed with embarrassment each time words were directed his way. He wished they would all go away, not only for his sake, but more for his brother’s since he was very aware how brittle Frodo’s control over himself was and how fervently he wished the whole thing just to be over with.

At last the king and queen entered and the celebration proper began. Frodo breathed a small sigh of relief. At last the people would have the distraction of food instead of coming up to them all the time. Sam sighed beside him and they exchanged a small smile at that. Aragorn and Arwen smiled at them as they sat down and the hobbits smiled back. They were both served a small plate of meat and mashed vegetables and a mug of peppermint tea. From below them at a near table, Gimli raised his ale glass and Legolas, Faramir and Boromir smiled warmly. Frodo returned the smiles. At least with them they didn’t have to be forced.

Merry and Pippin were already having a grand time, downing their much larger servings and their ale with gusto, but the eldest hobbit looked down at his plate in dismay. He held his maimed hand under the table and tried to work up his much diminished appetite so such a marvelous feast would not be spoiled. Sam cut the meat on his own plate and casually switched it with his brother’s. Frodo looked up at him gratefully and began to pick at his food. Once Sam had cut his meat, he took his friend’s hidden hand in his. It gave Frodo immense comfort to know that his beloved guardian was still so near, still watching over him, already knowing what he most needed without him needing to say a word. He relaxed some then, concentrating just on that hand in his and ignoring the hubbub around him and so was able to eat and drink with greater enjoyment.

Aragorn was pleased to see that as well and engaged Frodo in conversation about many things, none of them the least connected with the War or the Ring. It helped the hobbit relax even more and he laughed a few times which the others were very glad to hear. He ate well, but when desert was served, a huge confection in the shape of a white swan, Frodo only stared at the sliver that was set in front of him.

"I’ll take it if you don’t want it, cousin," Pippin said when he noticed that it hadn’t been touched. He eyed the piece hungrily, having already devoured his own larger slice. Frodo looked up between the two empty chairs between them and laughed at how the tween had his fork already raised to pounce.

"I’m sure you would," he said. "Well, it shouldn’t go to waste."

Pippin’s and Sam’s heart leapt to hear Frodo laugh, but the frown that so often marred that beautiful face soon replaced it like clouds that moved in to blot the sun and leech the color from the world. Frodo got up and put the large piece of cake in front of his cousin. He smiled faintly and kissed his cousin’s head. "It’s all yours, dearest ’squeak. I don’t want to be the one to come between you and your stomach. All this has made me quite tired and I think I will let you younger ones enjoy the party while I go to our room. Good night."

Pippin returned the smile and drew his beloved cousin into a fierce hug. "Good night, cousin," he murmured. He hold on for an extra long time, while Frodo held him just as tightly, then Pippin kissed his head and broke away.

The elder hobbit turned to leave, but looked back when he heard a loud indignant squawk from the tween who found that Merry had stolen his second desert. The squire of Rohan had been caught in the act of licking his lips free of the evidence of the theft and the high voice of the Guard of the Citadel could be heard bemoaning his loss and berating his cousin. Frodo watched them fondly, wistfully, glad they could so easily return to their cheerful natures and sad that he could not. Merry and Pippin looked up to see that. Sam nodded to their looks of concern as he began to steer his brother away and they nodded back, understanding that their cousin needed a little breathing room.

Chapter 50: A Heroic Argument

Frodo tucked his maimed hand in his pocket and steeled himself to wade through the crowds. He wished he could merely be mistaken for one of the children who had begun to run about again now that the dinner was over, but everywhere he heard murmured whispers of “Periain” as they passed by and most of those whispers were spoken in awe. Sam took his arm and guided him through the crowds as best he could, but they were constantly approached by men and women offering their thanks. Frodo responded as well as he could and everyone went away feeling they had been personally touched by such a gentlehobbit. When a soldier who had been blinded in one eye and had to be helped to walk came up to thank him, Frodo’s control almost slipped but did not. When the young man turned away, the former Ring-bearer looked at Sam, tears in his eyes. “They keep calling me a hero, Sam. But that one and all like him are the heroes, not me.”

“They are many types of heroes, dear,” Sam replied.

As they finally won free of the crowds, Frodo nearly sagged in relief. Arwen approached them then and smiled radiantly. The hobbits bowed deeply. The queen knelt down to Frodo, raised his chin with slim fingers and looked directly into his eyes. Frodo saw light, love, compassion and sorrow for his suffering there, so much light and love he wanted to drown there, to forget his failure for a bit. Arwen’s smile deepened. “I wanted to thank you for saving my son,” she said.

Frodo looked at her in surprise. “My queen, I didn’t...”

Arwen took his maimed hand and held it gently. Frodo felt her love and warmth spread to that torn area, mirror of the tear in his soul. “You did, Frodo,” she said. “You saved him and all free people. You have them hope and love and peace that they would not have had if you hadn’t taken up your burden again. We can never repay you for all you suffered for us and it grieves me greatly that you still suffer, but it is my greatest wish that you can learn to give yourself the same things you have given all of us. Do you still have that gem I gave you?”

“Yes, my queen. It is at home.”

Arwen smiled. “Use it and remember us.”

Frodo blinked away tears. “Thank you, my queen. I will.”

Arwen smiled wider, then kissed his brow. “You will always be greatly loved by many.” She squeezed his hand gently, then hugged and thanked Sam as well. The gardener was so overwhelmed, he barely knew how to respond. The queen got up, smiled and left. Frodo stared after her.

“It was that nice of her to say all that, wasn’t it?” Sam asked in wonder.

Frodo turned to his friend with anguished eyes. “They all think I did a wonderful, noble thing, Sam.” He hung his head. “They don’t know what really happened.”

Sam grasped his arm. “You did do a wonderful, noble thing, me dear,” he said quietly.

Frodo looked up sharply, his mouth agape.

“You gave of yourself,” Sam said. “There’s nothing more wonderful or nobler than that. You endured things the rest of us will never know and you bore that for months so none of us would have to. Listen to the songs that are being sung of you. They are telling the truth that I saw as I watched you struggle for months and loved you so much for it.”

Frodo was at first to moved to speak. “But it’s all a lie, Sam. They are singing about something that never happened. Or at least they are singing about the wrong person.” He looked at his dearest friend and tears of pain and shame were in his eyes. “Samwise the Brave is the hero, not me. If I hear one more time how brave and noble Frodo of the Nine Fingers is, I am going to scream that they stop and then I’m going to tell them the truth.”

Sam’s features quivered between a smile and a frown. He knew his brother was quite capable of doing just that so he was glad they had finally come to where they could leave the room. “You’ll do no such thing,” he said firmly. “The truth is what they have already - that the Ring was destroyed, that you suffered much to get it to where it could be and you deserve all the praise you are getting.” He paused then added, “I wish they’d stop singing about me though.”

Frodo’s features unexpectedly twitched into a smile. “Then you understand, Sam dear, what I am facing here. Maybe we can work out some sort of bargain with them. You can tell them that you don’t want to hear about yourself and I can walk right behind you, tell them to ignore everything you just said and to keep singing as long as it’s about you and not about me.”

Sam laughed softly at the gentle teasing, pleased beyond words that his brother was up to it. “If I thought they’d pay attention to either of us, dear, I’d give it a try, but I think we are just going to have to put up with it.”

Frodo wanted to dig his feet in, to resist Sam’s gentle leading him away. If the minstrels wouldn’t listen to them, he wanted to go up to each and every person, his friend in tow, point to Sam and say, “This is the hero. Honor him with song and feast. Leave me alone. I am not who you believe me to be.”

“Leave it be,” Sam murmured and Frodo looked at him.

Sam smiled. “I know the way your mind works.”

Frodo returned the smile faintly. “And I know the way your heart works, dearest. Never fear, I will not reveal you as the hero.” Sam relaxed as he guided his brother down a long, empty hallway toward their room, then frowned again when he realized Frodo wasn’t finished speaking. “But I will figure out another way to let everyone know who the true hero is. I’ll go mad if I don’t let the truth out somehow. Maybe something can be said after we are all gone and you don’t have to be worried about it.”

“The truth is already out. The Ring is gone. You got it there. You are a hero.”

Frodo sighed. “But I’m not, Sam. You know better than anyone I’m not.”

“I know better than anyone that you are,” the younger hobbit replied evenly.

Frodo stopped in his tracks. “I’m not, Sam, I’m not! Now don’t go trying to outstubborn me on this. It’s not going to work!”

He started walking away, his faithful Sam following. Frodo was silent for some moments, then he let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, Sam. You’re the last person I should be angry with. I’m just mad at myself...and the rest of Middle-earth.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a brittle, mirthless sound.

Sam took his hand. “You’re just overtired, me dear,” he said. “A good night’s sleep will do you wonders.”

Frodo took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to relax. He squeezed his beloved friend’s hand and smiled at him. “No, my Sam, the wonder is that you can still call me ‘me dear’ after I’ve been behaving like an orc. Thank you.”

Sam returned the smile. “See, you’re feeling better, all ready, aren’t you?”

Frodo laughed out loud, a much fuller, genuine laugh. “Yes, dearheart, I am.” Then he sobered. “At least until I hear the next song about the nonsense that I am the savior of all Middle-earth.”

“You are.”

Frodo looked at his friend sharply. His eyes flashed dangerously, but he bit back a retort with visible effort and sighed as they entered their room. When he spoke, his words were more measured and calm than they might have been. “Please, Sam, can we fight about this tomorrow? I am much too tired tonight. There was nothing heroic in what I did. There is everything heroic in what you did. Can’t we just both accept that?”

“As soon as you accept the opposite.”

Frodo looked up at his friend. Sam was standing, arms crossed, feet firmly planted slightly apart. The elder hobbit was quite familiar with that stance. “I have always considered you a brother, Sam. Are you trying to prove you really are with all this stubbornness? Let’s face it. The Ring was more stubborn than either of us. It wore me down and it won.”

“It was destroyed. You weren’t.”

Yes, I was, Frodo thought. He sank down onto the bed. “I’ve changed my mind, Sam. I will go the minstrels tomorrow and anyone else I can get to listen to me and tell them that you are the hero. They think so highly of me, they will believe every word. I’ll even get Aragorn to issue an official proclamation. In fact, I know just what it will say: ‘Samwise Gamgee was Frodo’s strength, hope and succor during the entire Quest. Frodo would have nothing, be nothing, without him. When Frodo couldn’t fight for himself, Sam continued to fight for him. When he couldn’t walk anymore, Sam carried him, though he was nearly as weakened. When Frodo betrayed him and himself and all that he knew to be good and true and claimed the Ring, Sam still do not leave him. When all he wanted to do was die, Sam gave him a reason to live. Sam gave him nothing but unceasing, unfailing, unwavering love in spite of all Frodo did to him.’ What do you think of that?”

Frodo began to lay down as Sam’s features quirked into a lopsided smile. “Now, Mr. Frodo...”

Frodo froze, halfway down. He knew he was in trouble when Sam used that tone of voice. It was the same gently remonstrative one Sam always used when Frodo did something the younger hobbit didn’t agree with - gentle but with a backbone of steel normally well hidden under the surface of this mildest of hobbits. The ‘don’t argue with me, you know I’m right’ tone that, depending on Frodo’s own mood, either made him amusedly submissive or caused him to dig in his heels all the more. The same stubborn refusal to give up that served them so well on the Quest, when Frodo would have long before if Sam had allowed him. It was equally bad that Sam was calling him ‘Mr. Frodo’. That was really what had tipped off the elder hobbit that he was in trouble. They had grown too close for that formal way of address to be as common as breathing as it once had been. Frodo had noticed with relief since they had completed the Quest the first time that Sam had stopped calling him that. He wasn’t sure Sam was even aware he had done so and he didn’t want to call attention to it, lest his brother think he wasn’t minding his manners and upbringing by not calling his ‘betters’ the ‘right’ term. But Frodo did pay attention when Sam used the address now and sat back up.

“Let me tell you how much more of a hero you are,” the younger hobbit started. “You took on a burden, even though you knew how much it had already hurt you and you knew that you would be hurt more, but you said ‘yes’ so no one else would be if you could help it. You were terrified, but you knew what you had to do and you did it. You were tired, cold and hungry, but you went on out of love. You were twisted inside out, but you fought against it and when you failed, you got up and fought again.”

Frodo opened his mouth to try to get a word of protest in edgewise, but could not even get a “But, Sam...” in as the gardener continued, "When you no longer had the strength to walk, you got down on your belly and crawled. I had never loved you more than that moment and I love you even more now. You were intent on saving everyone else even as you came to understand more and more that it would come at the cost of yourself. Still you went on. You were spent bit by bit on that journey, poured out. Your body seemed too small for all you had to endure, but not so your heart. You gave and gave and gave. You sacrificed everything so we wouldn’t have to sacrifice anything. The Ring did not spare your heart any more than it did your body, ripping it to shreds as it weakened your frame. Still you went on. When it possessed you fully at last, still I loved you. You gave everything, dearest treasure, so we could have everything. Now, I don’t want to hear any more silliness about who is more heroic, hear me?”

Frodo looked at his friend stunned and moved to tears when Sam finally stopped for breath. They looked at each other for a long time and then Frodo took his friend into his arms and held him tightly. “I hear you, Sam,” he said softly.

“I know,” Sam continued as he held his beloved brother just as tight, “the Ring did terrible things to you and I know you feel horrible about certain things that happened that you don’t like...”

"Don’t like!” Frodo exclaimed, looking up at his friend. “Sam! I attacked you three times, this time alone. I could have killed you! I did kill Smeagol. I don’t know how you can say it so mildly, like the worst thing I did was tear up one of your flower beds or something.”

Sam smiled then gently placed his dearest friend’s head back against his shoulder. “Now that would indeed be something I would find hard to forgive, my dear, not like the other stuff.”

Frodo laughed, a true laugh, and Sam’s heart soared. “My dear Sam. My dear, sweet, wonderful Sam. What a treasure you are. You are so good to me, so good for me. I love you so."

Sam kissed his brother's head. "I love you, too, my treasure."

They were quiet for a few minutes more, content just to hold each other. Then Frodo spoke again, "How's this? I will let you win, Sam, if you will let me go to sleep. I’ll argue with you more tomorrow when I have more energy.”

“Let me take a look at your hand first, dear. You know what Mr. Strider said about keeping an eye out for infection and such.”

Frodo let go of his brother and obediently held out his maimed hand. He watched as his guardian carefully unwrapped the bandage and gently probed the healing area.

“No sign of infection,” Sam said with satisfaction.

“Not there at least,” Frodo said as he watched his friend go to retrieve the box Aragorn had given them for the treatment of the wound.

“Why did Smeagol have to bit it off again?” he asked as Sam returned and spread a thin layer of salve over the wound to help it heal quicker. It stung a little, but Frodo tried not to show it. “Why couldn’t I just throw the Ring away?”

The younger hobbit began to bind the elder’s hand in a fresh bandage. “I don’t know, dear,” he said. “I know you wanted to.”

“Do you? I don’t.”

Sam looked directly into the tormented eyes of his brother. “Then maybe that’s why you couldn’t.”

Chapter 51: The Hallow of Eru

Frodo silently looked at his beloved guardian for a long time, thinking of what Sam had just said and losing himself in all the love and compassion that shone from those dear eyes. Sam smiled at him, then finished wrapping his hand and kissed it.

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said. "For everything."

After he changed into his nightshirt and Sam tucked him in, Frodo spoke again. "You realize, dearheart, that if you keep insisting that I’m a hero, I may have to have Aragorn issue that proclamation after all."

Sam smiled. "Then I’ll keep the minstrels singing their songs also. All those coins they keep tossing at us have to be put to good use somehow, don’t they?"

Frodo groaned. "Goodnight, Sam."

Sam smiled and leaned down to kiss his brother’s brow. "Good night, dear. Sleep well. I love you."

"I love you, too, Sam. Thank you."

Sam watched his dearest friend sleep, marveling at the soft glow from within him. Dark dreams later troubled the Ring-bearer, and he woke crying out, but he spoke of them to no one, even though Sam, Merry and Pippin all tried to comfort him.

The next morning, after they had had breakfast in the room the four shared, Merry and Pippin left for their duties with their respective lords. Frodo watched them with a fond smile.

"I’m so proud of them," he told Sam.

"They have certainly grown up," the gardener agreed, glad to see that smile.

Frodo laughed and Sam’s heart soared. "In more ways than one!"

"I’m going to see Aragorn this morning, Sam," the elder hobbit said after they had eaten a little more.

Sam’s head shot up, remembering their talk the night before.

"No, not about that, dearheart," Frodo assured. He looked down at his bowl of thin oatmeal, all his and Sam’s stomach were capable of accepting at the moment, and the cup of peppermint tea beside it. How he looked forward to larger, hobbit-sized meals again! How he looked forward to going home, going to sleep in his own bed, eating in his own kitchen, reading in his own chair, drinking out of his own mug! Was any of that possible again? Could he go home?

"He’s helped me deal with the pain already and I need to visit him again," he explained. "I so want to go home, but I’m...I’m not strong enough to be on my own yet."

The young hobbit looked at his brother and thought of all the things Frodo wasn’t saying. He took his maimed hand in his own. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked.

Frodo looked up at his beloved guardian and squeezed his hand. "Yes, Sam, I would."

So began the first of many days that Frodo visited the king’s private chamber, searching for peace. That first day the two little figures were a curiosity, standing so quietly and patiently in the corner of a large room filled with courtiers, like children who had gotten lost in the great palace. They became uncomfortably aware of the whispers about them and Frodo almost left that first day without speaking to Aragorn. The king was talking with several of his ministers and the Ring-bearer turned to leave, but Aragorn called out to him.

"You’re busy," Frodo said. "I’ll come back later."

"No, gwador nin," the king said. He had nodded to his senior minister to continue the negotiations he had been engaged in and nodding also to Sam, had taken the elder hobbit by the shoulder and guided him into the private rooms, leaving his guardian standing outside. The whispers became murmurs and Sam shifted uncomfortably, staring at his feet.

After a long while, Aragorn and Frodo reappeared and the murmurs abruptly ceased, but not soon enough for the king not to have noticed them. He put his hands on the shoulders of the hobbits. "These are my brothers," he said. "The most honored in the entire kingdom. You will treat them as you treat me as they are closer to my heart than any save my queen."

Sam blushed furiously and Frodo looked down uncomfortably, but the whispers stopped and did not come again.

So it came to be each day the hobbits came, sometimes in the morning, if Frodo’s sleep had been troubled, or in the afternoon, if the night had been kinder. The Ring-bearer’s eyes would be fixed on the king from the moment he walked in and he’d wait quietly to be noticed. Sometimes, those eyes would be bright with barely held back tears. When that happened, Sam’s would be also. The king would always immediately break off what he had been doing, sometimes in mid-sentence, and his minsters grew used to seeing them and smoothly taking over whatever the king had been engaged in while their sire became healer instead. When tears threatened to spill over, Aragorn also had some quiet words with Sam also and the gardener always felt better after them.

He was glad his brother had someone to talk to, besides himself and his cousins. Frodo always came out looking more peaceful, but Aragorn and everyone else remained concerned about his depression that the hobbit would beat back then be overwhelmed by once more. But Frodo would be smiling when he saw Sam.  He'd take his brother's hand and they’d walk out together and Sam’s heart would be lightened a bit as well until the next bad spell.

One day, a week after the daily visits had begun, Frodo came alone.

"I have some things to show you," Aragorn said and the two walked out of the palace together and to the stables. The king lifted Frodo up on the large charger and swung up behind him.

"Where are we going?" the hobbit asked.

"Some very special places, mellon nin," was all the king said as he hugged Frodo to him and gave the order to gallop out of the city.

The wind against Frodo’s face and the bright sunlight revived his spirits some and he even laughed in delight at the speed of the horse. Aragorn laughed with him. The trip was already worth it.

They traveled for some miles. "This is wonderful, Aragorn, but Sam is going to be worried..."

"Never fear about your faithful guardian. I’ve already told him that I planned to steal you away today."

Frodo craned his neck around. Amusement flickered deep with his eyes. "Did you? And for what purpose?"

"To show you much. Have you been paying attention as we have been going along?" he asked as Frodo turned back around.

"Yes, we’ve passed a few streams, several farms, some large fields that look like Farmer Maggot’s cornstalks that I used to play in and where I used to steal mushrooms..."

Aragorn slowed the horse to a walk. "Very good. What do you all think of that?"

The hobbit frowned, trying to figure out where his friend and king was going with his questioning. "What should I think? Life is continuing on."

"Exactly." He leaned down and spoke directly into his friend’s ear. "Because of you, tithen gwador. You need to see all that to appreciate what you have accomplished."

Frodo turned back around and squinted suspiciously up at the healer king. "Did Sam put you up to this?"

Aragorn laughed. "No, Gandalf did, actually. He thought it would be good for you to see it. You are so focused on what you did wrong, mell min, you have had no energy to expend for thinking of all you did right."

The Ring-bearer sighed and his cheer evaporated. "Maybe because there’s so little of it."

Aragorn stopped the horse. "Are you up to a little hike?"

"I don’t know if I trust you anymore," Frodo said as the king helped him dismount. "If all this is help me feel better..."

"Everything I do is help you feel better, mellon nin," Aragorn said with a smile as he took the troubled hobbit’s hand. "Feel the grass under your feet? Clean and green and alive? Look up, Frodo. See the sunlight? Hear the birds? You did all of this. You and Sam. And it’s like this all over Middle-earth. I wish I could show you it all."

Frodo looked down at the ground. "It’s Sam doing, really. I couldn’t have made it without him. And the Ring got destroyed by accident, both times."

"Nothing happens by accident or hasn’t Gandalf explained the unexplainable to you yet?"

"He told me about how and why I was chosen and that I was the only one and that everything happened as it was supposed to and I fulfilled my role."

"But you don’t believe him?"

"I know I didn’t. I failed again. And it hurts so much, Aragorn. It hurts so much I want to scream."

"Then scream, gwador, scream and cry and rage for all the terrible things done to you. Don’t keep it inside. No one can hear us here. That’s what I did when Legolas, Gimli and I had been chasing after the orcs for three days after they had kidnapped Merry and Pippin the first time only to have Eomer tell us they had probably been killed in the battle the night before."

Frodo looked up at his friend, surprised. "Did you feel better then?"

Aragorn smiled faintly. "A little."

"Maybe I’ll try that sometime. I cry out enough from nightmares. I should be used to it by now."

Aragorn’s heart ached for the bitter humor in his little friend’s voice. They walked on in silence for a little bit, then Frodo spoke again, "After the eagles brought us back, I heard Gandalf tell me that I had a choice, whether to live or die. I don’t know if I made the right one."

Aragorn looked down at his friend and ached for the torment in that voice. What had happened to the hobbit who had laughed in delight to atop a speeding horse? "I think you did."

"I don’t know, I really don’t. The Ring took everything from me. I am nothing but a shell anymore. It emptied me of myself and filled me with nothing but itself. I had to listen to its whispers for months and months as it constantly tried to weaken me. I had to listen as it mocked me when I tried to resist it. I had to listen to its taunts when I gave in. I had to listen to its screams at Mount Doom and I couldn’t resist any longer. I had to listen as it died and it released all its hate and fury. And now it’s gone and I am left and I have so little left of myself to go on with."

"My forefathers of long ago worshiped Iluvatar atop a mountain called Meneltarma. It is said that from that peak one could see the tower of Avalonne and the island of Tol Eressea. The Hallow of Eru the temple there was called and I wished for many long years to have been there to have seen it. But I have come to understand since then that that temple also resides in the hearts of good people everywhere." Aragorn looked at his dear friend. "Even in the heart of one who feels himself empty."

Frodo was silent for a long time, but he was no longer looking at the ground. "I so want to believe you are right," he said quietly. "I have felt it, but I am so unclean now. Who would want to reside in such a defiled place?"

"The One Who never left you, tithen min, and He resides in a place within you that is not as vile as you believe it to be. Your heart and soul have been hurt beyond measure, but not beyond healing. Eru filled you with His Light while you lived in the Shire, though you did not know it. I see it even now. Pray for the strength and courage to believe in that yourself. "

"I do, everyday. Gandalf taught me what to say. Sometimes I almost believe, other times, it’s much too hard to."

"I know. The wounds of the spirit are always harder to heal than those of the body."

Frodo looked up at his friend, hopefully. "But they do heal?"

Aragorn squeezed his hand. "They do heal."

"How? I murdered because of the Ring. I almost killed Sam because of it. Because I was too weak to fight it."

"You are far stronger than you know, Frodo," Aragorn said. "I have praised Iluvatar with thanksgiving everyday for that famous Baggins stubbornness that refused to give up. Don’t give up now. You have given all to fight for others. Now you need to fight for yourself.

"But as to how, I don’t know," the king admitted and Frodo looked up surprised and disappointed. "The path to healing is different for each who travel that way, but the destination is always the same." He knelt and looked into his friend’s tormented eyes. "This I can tell you. Seek out the Light to guide you out of the dark places that the Ring has taken you. And let Iluvatar work through His other children, too. Let Sam and your cousins and all those that love you, help." He embraced his brother. "I have not ceased to pray for you, gwador nin, from the day we met."

"Hannon le," the hobbit murmured as he held on tightly. It was not long before Aragorn noticed that he was crying. Then he threw back his head and screamed as he never had, screamed and raged and sobbed and all the while his friend held him and cried himself and asked inside himself of the One who had made him a healer, why had He made him such if he couldn’t heal the one who most deserved it?

He received his answer when Frodo calmed and looked up at his friend with a very shaky smile. "Hannon le," he said again and Aragorn saw he did look a little less burdened, the Light shining a little brighter through him. The hobbit let go and took his king’s hand again as they started to walk back.

Hannon le, Aragorn sent silently to Iluvatar as he heard Frodo softly praying what Gandalf had taught him and he realized it was the same prayer he that the wizard and his foster father had also taught him. There would be other trials, he well knew, but as he listened, he hoped his troubled friend would never believe he was alone in his struggles.

"I come sick to the Healer of life, unclean to the Fountain of mercy, blind to the radiance of eternal Light, poor and needy to the Lord of heaven and earth. I beg Thee to heal my sickness, wash away my defilement, enlighten my blindness, enrich my poverty, and clothe my nakedness. Purify me from evil ways and put an end to my evil passions. Bring me charity and patience, humility and obedience, and growth in the power to do good. Be my strong defense against all my enemies, visible and invisible, and the perfect calming of all my evil impulses, bodily and spiritual. Unite me more closely to You and lead me safely through death to everlasting happiness with You."

_____

A/N: Mell min is Sindarin for ‘dear one’. Frodo’s prayer is adapted from two by St. Thomas Aquinas.

Chapter 51: Writing Lesson

As Sam passed the room the four hobbits had been given, he heard the very welcome sound of a quill scratching on parchment and he began to smile. He hadn’t realized until then how much he had missed it - a sound so associated with his brother, it could have been the meaning of the surname, and one from before the time all this nasty business with the Ring began too, Sam thought, even if that’s what he’s writing about. It was good to hear that Frodo was trying to begin to recover. But the sound stopped before the younger hobbit had even passed the door and so he too stopped and heard the crumple of paper and a sob. His smile became a frown and he knocked politely before sticking his head in. "Frodo?"

Frodo was sitting on a bench with his back to the door, surrounded by a sea of crumpled paper, so many of them Sam couldn’t even see his brother’s feet among them. "I can’t do it, Sam," the elder hobbit said, holding up his maimed, ink stained hand, but not turning around. "I’ve tried the way you showed me last time, but it’s not working."

Sam silently picked up several of the discarded pieces. They looked like the scrawls of an Elvish child just learning the basics of runes. Other sheets showed attempts at the Common Speech that were no more legible. Sam looked up at his brother who sat slumped and defeated.

"I want to learn to write again, Sam," Frodo said. "I need to get all this out of me and people need to know what really happened."

"Then I’ll show you again," Sam said.

He smoothed out some of the crumpled papers, turned them over and they spent the next few hours together. Sam held his hand over his brother’s and gently, patiently guided him as Frodo had once guided him when he was a child just learning his letters. They did the entire alphabet twice, then began to form words. At first it seemed to be nothing but scrawls and Frodo wanted to give up in frustration. Sam kept his hand over his and kept encouraging him, but the elder hobbit put down his quill at last.

"I can’t do it, Sam!" he cried and Sam could see and hear the tears that nearly brimmed over. "I just can’t. The Ring has taken even this from me!"

Sam ached to hear the all-too-familiar torment in his beloved brother’s voice, the agony in the gaze Frodo raised to him. The younger hobbit sat down on the bench beside him, put both his arms around him, pulled him close, kissed the side of his head and then rocked him gently while he murmured comforts as Frodo cried.

Frodo closed his eyes and just let his friend’s presence and voice soothe him as it always did. It seemed only in his beloved guardian’s arms could he find any peace anymore. "It hated you, Sam," he said after they had sat there a while. "It was afraid of you. That’s why it tried - I tried - to kill you."

Sam held him a little tighter. "Shhhh, no more of that now," he murmured, to cover his surprise that such a powerful evil would fear such a small, harmless hobbit such as himself. Well, he supposed with a grim smile, he had given it reason to. "Let it go. You didn’t try to kill me. I know it was Ring."

They sat silently for a while longer, Sam continuing to rock his brother slowly, Frodo’s head against his chest, listening to that beloved heartbeat, relaxing under such loving care. He wished it could go on forever, that he never had to leave his friend’s arms.

"I can still hear its voice, Sam. I’m so afraid that is all that’s left inside of me."

"No, dear, there’s so much more. Once we get home and you’re in your own home and your own bed, surrounded by your books and the fields and the trees you love, then you’ll remember who you are. Did you hear us when we talked to you while you were asleep after the eagles got us out?"

"Yes. That’s why I decided to come back, to live. I didn’t want to leave any of you, but I fear I have already, a long time ago. I want to go back to the way I was, but it’s like a dream. I can see it, I can remember it, I can reach for it, but I can’t touch it. I carried the Ring too long, Sam. I fear I shall always be carrying it."

Sam stroked his beloved brother’s curls. "No, dear, no. The Ring-bearer you do not need to be any longer. Let that bit of your life close. You are so much more than that. The Ring can’t compete with everything the Shire means to you. Let yourself just be a hobbit again."

"I wish I could. I can’t see past the Ring right now, though."

"It’s early yet and you’ve had a terrible time. You’ll heal in time, dear. I know you will. I remember when my mother died and it was that hard to keep from always crying. I didn’t think things were ever going to be right again, but then I was told by someone very wise, that though it would be very hard for a while to even breathe, the pain would begin to ease and I would see something other than her grave every time I thought of her. Do you remember who told me that? One Frodo Baggins who had already lost his parents and knew what it felt like and knew also that healing would come. It will come again, my dear. Maybe you won’t even notice at first, but the pain will become less and less, until one day you will be happy again, just like before."

"I see my own grave, Sam. I’m looking into it right now."

Sam pulled back and looked into his beloved friend’s face. "But it’s empty, isn’t it?"

Chapter 53: Lesson Learned

Frodo looked into his dearest friend’s eyes, stunned at how deeply Sam saw. The gardener simply smiled and then let him go. He took his friend’s maimed hand and placed the quill into it once more. "Why don’t you give it one more try, dear, then we can take a break. Just try writing your name."

When Frodo looked like he was going to balk, Sam spoke again, "Would you like to write ‘I am a hero’ a hundred times instead? You’ll get practice either way and that’s all you need."

The elder hobbit looked up at his friend, torn between smiling and frowning. "You must have some Baggins blood in you, Sam. No one can be as stubborn as you and not have it. I think you are actually threatening me."

Sam smiled but didn’t say anything. Frodo sighed. "Then again, maybe it’s some Brandybuck or Took. This sounds like something they’d do to me."

His fingers tightened around the quill again and very shakily, he formed his name, not once, but twice for good measure. It was not the elegant handwriting that had always been Frodo’s since Sam could remember, but it was better than before. Frodo looked up for his friend’s reaction.

Sam smiled proudly. "See, dear, I knew you could do it."

"Not without you, Sam," Frodo said. "Thank you. I feel a little more like myself now."

Sam squeezed his shoulders. "You’ll feel more and more like that. You’ll see. You’ve done very well. Now what do you say to something to eat to celebrate?"

"I am hungry," Frodo admitted and Sam smiled again. "If Merry and Pippin have left us anything. I haven’t seen them all day."

"I’m sure Mr. Strider’s made sure something’s been saved, even if the royal kitchens have been a bit stretched by hobbit appetites."

Frodo laughed softly and Sam rejoiced to hear it. The elder hobbit wondering as to where his cousins were was answered when they reached the dining hall and Pippin waved them over. He was dressed, of course, in his formal Citadel Guard uniform.

"At last!" Pippin cried out. "We were about to send out the Guard to find you!"

"As long as the Guard would have been you, dearest Pippinsqueak, I wouldn’t have minded," Frodo said and sat down next to him.

"I would have if you hadn’t come down in the next few minutes."

"After you had eaten all the best parts?"

Pippin looked aghast, but then smiled into Frodo’s smile. He scooted closer to his adored eldest cousin and kissed his head quickly. "I am so glad to see you smile, cousin," he said softly. He was still dressed in the same uniform, but it was almost like he was just regular Pippin again, scamp and jokester, not one aged too early by war. Frodo exchanged a quick look and grin with Merry who appreciated the change back also.

"I’m so glad to be able to and at you, dearheart," Frodo returned with a squeeze of Pippin’s waist. "Now did you save us anything at all?"

"Let’s just say it’s good you came when you did," Merry said before Pippin could do more than open his mouth and send his cousin an injured look that Frodo smiled at.

Food was brought out to the newcomers and the four of them enjoyed the rest of the meal. Frodo due to Pippin’s jokes and constant stream of chatter, muffled at times by him stuffing more food in his mouth than was proper and still trying to talk around it. Frodo and Merry shared more than one look of fond exasperation, looking more at their indefatigably cheerful cousin than anything else, glad the second time around at war hadn’t seem to harm him, though nightmares could still come and would come for all of them. But they were together now and they weren’t going to be parted again. The shield of their mutual love would protect them. The three younger hobbits all were glad to see how relaxed Frodo was at the meal.

When they returned to their room and the others had retired, Frodo stayed up to practice his writing. "Just a little more, Sam," he had assured his brother more than once when the younger hobbit had wondered when he was going to rest.

Frodo got up at last, stretched his aching back and flexed his just as aching fingers. He looked down at what he wrote and smiled, quite pleased with himself, then at three of the four hobbits he most loved in the world and smiled even wider. Merry’s arm was protectively wrapped around Pippin and Sam was softly snoring, having at last lost the battle to stay awake in case his brother needed anything. He leaned down, kissed both his cousins’ heads quickly and said softly, "Good night. I love you."

He carefully placed what he had written where he knew his Sam would see it, then he changed into his nightshirt, crawled into bed next to his brother, kissed his brow and laid his head against his guardian’s heart. The young gardener wrapped his arms around his brother without waking and Frodo smiled as he fell asleep, anticipating his beloved friend’s reaction to the note he left him.

Very neatly written, a hundred times, was You are my hero, Sam. I love you.

END OF PART 1!

I will now be taking a short break to work on an original story. A very big "hannon le", dear readers and especially to my dearest reviewers: Queen Galadriel, harrowcat, Frodo Baggins and starfire_moonlight, for taking this journey into Frodo and Sam’s hearts and souls with me. Your support is greatly, greatly appreciated! :)

The journey will continue in Part 2"The Lucky One" after Christmas.

Happy Holidays!

Namarie for now, God bless, Antane