A/N: My favorite scene in The Two Towers movie is when Frodo draws Sting on Sam, simply because of the awesome power of the moment - the malevolent influence of the Ring coming between two people who share the same heart and soul and that even with a sword at his throat held by one of two people he loves most in the world, Sam just keeps loving and loving and loving without skipping a beat. But what if the sword hadn’t stopped at the throat...

Dedicated to harrowcat who apparently wanted to see more angst after "Dreams and Reality". Also, the queen remarked some time ago, she thought this story would be too angsty even for me and I wanted to prove her wrong! :)

Chapter One: A Terrible Loss

Sam gave a small gasp as Sting pierced his throat. He looked into his master’s and dearest friend’s crazed eyes and wished more than anything that he could reach him, but his heart broke to realize there was nothing to reach. It grieved him even more that if Frodo came to his senses, he would find only a corpse and never know that his Sam had forgiven him and never stopped loving him. The gardener closed his eyes as his lifeblood spilled out onto the stones. His last breath came as a sigh and his body relaxed. A bright light opened before him and he felt enveloped by love. Still he fought as he felt himself moving toward that light. Please, please, don’t make me leave him.

Sanity returned for a moment in Frodo’s eyes a few heartbeats later, then a worse madness as he looked down at the sword in his hand, dripping with Sam’s blood. His guardian’s eyes were closed. The Ring-bearer gave an inarticulate howl of grief, flung Sting away and frantically shook his friend’s body. There was no response.

"My Sam! No! Sam! SAM! NO!!"

His gaze was drawn to the Ring around his neck and viciously his hand grasped it, determined to throw it far from him, but he could not. He howled again, this time in rage, at himself for being so weak, at the Ring. With blood-covered hands, he groped for Sting again, aiming it this time toward his heart.

NO! DON’T! came a voice so loud and commanding that Frodo obeyed without question, without thought. Sting dropped from his nerveless fingers. The voice had sounded like Sam, but he knew that couldn’t be. He had just murdered his Sam.

He stood and looked up to the sky and in the distance, almost too faint to see, was the shrinking figure of the Nazgûl on his fell beast. Frodo screamed out for him to return. He reached for the Ring, to put it on, to expose himself and be relieved of his burden and die beside his brother.

NO!! came the voice again, but even stronger, and this time it sounded like Sam and Gandalf. But both were dead. Because of him.

He fell to his knees, gathered Sam’s body close to him and wailed out his grief. He rocked his friend and sobbed as he hadn’t since his parents had died. "I’m so sorry, Sam, so sorry, come back, oh please, come back," he cried over and over and over, knowing how completely useless those words were to express what poured out of his shattered heart and soul.

Faramir heard in the halfling’s wails an echo of what his own heart had made when his mother had died. He looked now down at the little one’s grief with compassion and pity. Had he not been near this same small size when his mum had died? Had he not held her and begged her not to go, to come back as Frodo was now doing? Had he not laid his head against her and soaked the front of her gown with his tears and known no consolation for having his heart ripped in two as her arms around him fell away and her soft voice could no longer comfort him or sing to him as it had so many times before? Yes, he knew that pain well that now lashed at him from the little one before him and from the little boy inside him. It seemed far too much for such a small being to able to bear without breaking apart utterly.

He listened to the halfling’s agonized sobs as long as he could bear them, then knelt down and gently placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. How had he and Sam endeared themselves to him in so short a time?

Frodo paid him no attention. He curled himself tighter around his Sam, rocking, crooning, sobbing, begging for forgiveness and for death. He wished to die more fervently than he had since his parents died. He had so longed to be buried with them in their joint grave.

It was not then your time to die, nor is it your time now, came the second voice and this time it was gentle and sounded only like Gandalf.

But I want to die! Frodo told the voice. Please let me. Please...

If you die now, all Middle-earth will die with you.

I don’t care! I don’t want to live anymore! I can’t. I killed Sam!

The Ring killed him, my dear child, not you.

It was my hand.

But it was not your heart, not your will.

What does that matter?! came the savage retort. He’s still dead! I still killed him! I tried to throw the Ring away and even now I can’t do it. I’m a murderer now because of it and I still can’t bear to part with it!

The voice had no answer for that, or at least, none that Frodo could hear over his wrenching sobs.

Leave me alone, he told it. If you can’t help me die, then leave me alone.

You are not alone, Frodo, you are never alone. Sam is with you still, even now. His spirit is forever enmeshed with yours. That’s why he was created, to love you enough so you could complete what you were created to do. He is at peace now. He rests in the arms of his Creator, as I do.

Can I rest there, too?

The plaintiveness of that plea broke the heart behind the voice. My dear hobbit, you already do. Let yourself feel that. Sam’s arms aren’t the only ones that are holding you. Rest in both arms tonight and then in morning rise and move on. Sam will stay by your side and so will the One Who loves you even more than he.

What love can he still have? came the bitter response. I killed him. I killed that love.

No, you cannot kill his love. That is a thing eternal. As is the love of the One Who made you.

Then I don’t deserve it anymore.

But you are still going to receive it. You cannot carry this burden alone.

I don’t want to carry it at all.

Who else would you appoint then? You were chosen for this, only you. There is no one else. Would you truly want someone else to carry it?

There was a long pause, then a very soft, No.

Faramir waited patiently, his hand still gently on Frodo’s shoulder. The Ring-bearer gradually became more and more aware of it and raised a tear- and blood-streaked face to the man whose own face had tears tracking down it. The captain’s heart broke anew for all he saw in the ageless, elven eyes that stared back at him. They seemed to contain the torment of the ages and the man wondered again how it could possibly be borne by such a small, fragile, mortal being. But even as he thought it, his answer came. He could still perceive faintly the light that emanated from those eyes and that little being as a whole.

"I’m sorry," the Ranger said softly, knowing how completely inadequate those words were, but hoping the sentiment behind them would reach Frodo.

The hobbit nodded numbly. He looked back at Sting, longing just to have it over with, to join his Sam in death. What else could he do? He didn’t want to do anything else.

"I’ll help you get to the Fire," Faramir said, convinced as never before the evil power of the Ring had to be destroyed. If it could destroy his strong brother, if it could tear apart two people as dear to each other as these two halflings were, he didn’t even want to imagine what it would do if unleashed on an entire city.

"I’m already there," Frodo murmured. "Already burning."

"Then I will help you get the Ring there."

"Yes," came the soft, distant reply. "Yes, before I kill anyone else."

Faramir watched as the Ring-bearer held his friend even closer and abandoned himself to exhaustion. He didn’t stir again until morning, though his tears continued to flow even in his sleep.

When the captain of the Rangers came to him in the morning and found him still sleeping and holding onto Sam, the man didn’t want to disturb him, but then Frodo roused on his own. For a moment he looked disoriented and shook Sam gently as to wake him, then he saw the wound and began to sob anew. When he was spent, he looked into Faramir’s sorrowful eyes.

"I must bury him before we go. Do you have any gardens here?"

Faramir shook his head. "Most of them have been destroyed."

Something hardened in Frodo then. "Then we must destroy the one who caused that. They must grow again."

He stood shakily, then stooped and gathered his Sam into his arms. "Where can I bury him then?"

Faramir looked at the little one, amazed at the strength within him. He knew only one place that hadn’t been entirely spoiled. "This way."

Frodo stumbled along with his burden and came to a small patch of dirt where a partially ruined gazebo stood. "This was my mother’s favorite place in better days," the Ranger said. "It was where she used to have her garden."

"Thank you, Captain," the hobbit said and gently laid down his burden.

Faramir watched as Frodo knelt down and began to dig at the ground with his bare hands. The man knelt down beside him and began to do the same. Two other Rangers came back with some tools to make it easier and the four of them worked in silence.

By the time they were done, Frodo was exhausted and the ground wet with his tears. He wiped his muddy, bleeding hands on his cloak and then brought Sam into his arms one last time. He held him very tightly for a long time and told him how sorry he was and how much he loved him, then kissed the cold forehead and brushed at the curls. He then laid his dearest friend and his own heart in the grave. He lingered there for a very long time, on his knees. He was stiff when he at last rose and would have fallen over had not Faramir reached out a hand to steady him. He shivered. He knew he would always be cold now without Sam’s heart to warm him.

Chapter Two:  Help From Above

Frodo did not look back when he left the city. His doom was before him and in him. He concentrated solely on keeping one foot in front of the other. He would do this for Sam, so no one else would have to endure what he was. Faramir and a dozen of his men followed him. Frodo refused to eat except a little at night and only drank when he was so dizzy from dehydration he could no longer walk. He stumbled more as day grew on and would have fallen more than once had not invisible hands reached to steady him.

I love you, came the voice that sounded so much like Sam’s. Frodo gasped in new pain and fresh tears flooded down his cheeks. The wind or what seemed to be the wind dried his cheeks in a gentle caress.

So they walked many miles until each night Frodo collapsed from exhaustion. The Rangers were amazed at his endurance. He didn’t speak to any of them, except to give soft thanks for the bowl of food Faramir gave him each night. Sometimes the men heard him murmuring in his sleep, usually to Sam. Each night, they watched new tears track down the little one’s cheeks, but also each night they watched him sleep as though curled around an invisible guardian. It was the only time his features looked a little less strained, a little more peaceful. He seemed to glow softly as though lit by moonlight, but there was no moon, no sun, only a pale, grey light. Each morning, Frodo was the first to wake at dawn, anxious to continue on.

He had not tried to kill himself again beyond the one time Faramir had woken from a sound sleep and seen Frodo staring fixedly at one of the Ranger’s own swords that the little one held across his lap, stroking the blade slowly. The man had started to sit up and open his mouth to stop the halfling, but then Frodo stopped on his own, as though he had come to a decision within himself. He laid the sword aside and lay down on his side and fell asleep. Faramir watched him for long time, retrieved the blade, then fell back to sleep again himself. He made sure after that Frodo had no access to any of the weapons he or his men had and a guard was placed around him, but the Ring-bearer did nothing more than sleep.

Torment continued to burn in Frodo’s eyes and soul, but there was steely determination there also. It was most obvious in the struggles the Ring-bearer fought with his burden. It was there that the little one showed his strength best, strength the Rangers knew they would be hard pressed to match, if they could at all. Faramir didn’t know what would happen when they reached the Fire, but he had no doubt that they would.

The captain spent long hours on their march watching Frodo, admiring and respecting him ever more, even beginning to love him, as he hadn’t loved anyone but his brother. He surprised himself by discovering he had found a new hero to emulate. They exchanged few words, but they recognized shared pain and determination in each other’s eyes and shared much with just a glance.

"Sam was my best friend," Frodo said one night as they watched the stars on a rare night the heavy clouds parted for a moment. "He was my heart."

Faramir looked at the Ring-bearer, startled, as those were the most words Frodo had spoken since they had left Osgiliath, but then he wondered whether his friend was even aware that he had spoken out loud. Pain still poured in a great gout from that little one, more than it would seem possible from such a small being, but there was fondness and love in those words too. Frodo wrapped his arms around himself. "He is my best friend," he amended softly, then lay down to sleep, wrapped in more than just his cloak.

Faramir and his men saw other instances in which it seemed the Ring-bearer had more aid than what could be seen with their eyes. The most dramatic was witnessed by the whole camp when one night the gangly creature Faramir had hoped never to see again suddenly reappeared and had been very stealthily moving toward the sleeping halfling whose hand was wrapped around the Ring. Faramir, sleeping near Frodo, had woken just as that other creature had reached out to touch that hand. He pointed his sword at Gollum’s throat. "I would stay away if I were you," the man said very quietly.

Gollum hissed and leapt first away, then rushed at an angle at the Ranger and managed to put his hands around the startled man’s throat. Faramir fought to release himself but the grip was too tight. Frodo startled awake when Gollum suddenly cried out in alarm and terror and roused the whole camp. They all saw the creature trying to choke the Ranger captain, then watched as against the twisted thing’s will, his fingers began to release the choke-hold as though being pried apart by an invisible but irresistible force.

Gollum howled, then they all watched the amazing spectable continue as the miserable wretch wrestled with his unseen opponent and then was finally thrown down by it. One of the Rangers got close enough to bind the creature’s arms and legs. Frodo lay back down and fell asleep again. There was a slight smile on his face.

The days smeared into each other, a hazy memory of exhaustion at best for all of them and for Frodo, a bright shaft of pain at his center, growing no better as the weight of the Ring grew more and more. There were times he could not even lift his head, but continued to stumble along at the punishing pace he had set for himself, a pace that would have tested the strength of any well-bodied man, let alone a hobbit whose feet were so blistered they left trails of blood behind. Frodo ignored that pain as well as that in the tortured muscles of his legs. It was barely noticeable in the agony that burned when his heart had been and in the torment as the Ring burrowed deep into his mind. He fed on the strength he was given moment by moment, not just by Sam but from a Source he could not even name. More than once he collapsed in the dirt and lay trembling, face down in the ash, then before Faramir or any of the men could reach him, he extended his hand as if expecting the help of another and continued on his way.

Gollum seemed the most unnerved by this and tried more than once to get away, but more than the rope around his waist, held him bound to the Ring-bearer’s side. Most times he tried to stay as far away as he could from Frodo himself. At other times, he was pulled to his side, drawn and repulsed at the same time. Frodo saw that and wondered whether his former guide was somehow aware of the Other he was only vaguely aware of himself. That awareness, though, seemed to have the opposite effect on the ruined hobbit as it did on him. But aren’t we both ruined? Frodo thought.

It was near the end of March when they at last reached the Fire. Frodo stopped a moment to behold the red storm that had been consuming him already for months, the fiercest part of it still burning as it had been for days and days. He only looked at it a short while, then continued on his way toward it. The Rangers paused longer and marveled anew at the courage and resilience of the halfling they protected, wondering where he was getting his strength. Not even the terror in the tunnel had been able to stop him, though it and the orcs they had encountered in the tower had cost them half their complement. Frodo apologized to Faramir for those deaths. The Ranger captain had argued in vain that it was not Frodo’s fault. He could only watch helplessly as the halfling who was now so dear to him added the weight of those losses to the already heavy burden he carried.

Frodo knew, though, where his strength came from. He had spoken truly when he had told Faramir that he was already burning, but along the way he had become slowly aware that the nature of the flames was changing. As much as he felt that the fire of his desolation and loss would never go out, he also knew the fire of Sam’s love and that of Another he couldn’t name would never be extinguished either. He would be able to complete the Quest.

A/N:  I am grateful to everyone who wanted to see this story continue.  I am particularly indebted to Elemmire who gave me many ideas to explore that you see below. Hannon le, Elemmire! :)

Chapter Three: Worth Fighting For 

Frodo held the Ring over the chasm. He could feel Sam’s presence near him, but more he felt great waves of darkness beating against him. He had no strength or will to fight them. He pulled the Ring close to him and put it on. He heard a scream of "No!" in the vast chamber and at first thought it was Sam, then he was attacked by Gollum and he heard the scream again.

The assault roused his failing strength more than anything else could have. He had already lost his Sam, must he also lose the one other thing he could not bear to? No, it could not be. It would not be. Faramir and his men watched as the two crazed Ring-bearers’ fought each other, one visible and mounted in mid-air, one invisible and they both seemed to be fighting also another invisible person. The captain could barely believe his eyes. He stepped forward to try to rescue Frodo, who became visible again, screaming in horrible agony and holding a heavily bleeding hand that was now missing part of a finger. Gollum dropped the finger that he had bitten off and held up the Ring. It was more than Frodo could bear. With murder in his eyes, he stalked the thief of his precious. He threw off Sam’s restraining grip and grappled with his enemy again. Faramir took a few more steps toward the struggling pair, but before he could reach either, both went over the edge.

Frodo grabbed onto a ledge. He didn’t know why he had. He felt he had been almost pushed there, as though a firm hand at his back held him there.

Let me go, he pleaded.

No. I want you to live.

Can’t I be with you?

I will always be with you, my dear, but you have more time to spend here, more things and people to live for.

For who and what? I’ve lost you and now I’ve lost the Ring. I don’t want to...I can’t....live without either.

Live for the goodness that is now safe in the world because you came here and the Ring is gone. Live for Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and Strider who’s going to be King! They are all right because the Ring is gone, because you found them all worth fighting for and you won. And Mr. Gandalf - he’s alive! Oh, my dear, don’t die now.

Faramir came to the edge and looked straight into Frodo’s ravaged soul. He dropped to his stomach and reached down his hand.

"Reach!"

It was a command and an impassioned plea coming from both outside him and inside. Frodo obeyed both.

Chapter Four: Home

Frodo fought against living even as Aragorn sought to rescue him, even against the voices of Merry and Pippin that begged him to come back. He had many arguments with Sam in the shadowlands, and lost all of them. "Stubborn Gamgee," he was heard to murmur often in his sleep, sounding very annoyed but at times also affectionate.

Gandalf spoke to him as well, inside his mind and heart, and the wizard was heard to murmur more than once, "Stubborn Baggins," with just as much annoyance and affection. Aragorn and Legolas smiled despite their concerns which confused the fretful Merry and Pippin, leaving them wondering whether they were the only sane ones left in the entire Fellowship with everyone else either talking to themselves or people who weren't there or smiling like they had some sort of secret understanding they weren't able to share.

Of those who waited anxiously at his bedside, the wizard was the only one who knew exactly what demons his dear friend was fighting in that induced sleep, what caused the tears to stream down his cheeks. Aragorn wondered as did the rest of the Fellowship, but Gandalf was silent, having no desire to speak of what was tearing apart Frodo’s soul. That would be the Ring-bearer’s decision.

The others didn’t know any of it until Frodo woke from a nightmare, screaming, "I killed him! I killed him!"

Merry and Pippin startled awake at their cousin’s side and tried in vain to calm the racking sobs that shook the too-frail body of the Ring-bearer.

"I killed him!"

The two hobbits held their beloved, murmured what comforts they could, but Frodo did not hear or heed any of them. He squirmed out of their arms. Aragorn and Gandalf rushed in as soon as they heard the screams, but nothing the healer could do helped. The wizard tried to reach Frodo’s mind and heart.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Frodo cried out and neither Merry nor Pippin knew who he was talking to for no one was holding him at that moment.

Gandalf knew. Tears that were rarely seen rolled silently down his weathered cheeks. He sensed Sam very nearby, holding the shards of Frodo’s heart and his own in his hands, trying to meld them back together.

"Please let me go," the Ring-bearer murmured.

Frodo wept until he was hoarse, then collapsed back into sleep from sheer exhaustion. It was only then that the two hobbits and the one who would soon be their king cried. The hobbits couldn’t believe anything could have possibly driven their cousin to murder someone as dear to him as Sam, or murder anyone for that matter.

"What happened to him?" Merry asked.

"The Ring did all this," Gandalf said softly.

"Then how can we undo it?" Pippin asked as he watched the tears continue to fall down his cousin’s cheeks even in sleep.

"The damage is done, Pip," Merry said before anyone could answer. His voice was far older and more haunted that any of their race had ever been. "It can’t be undone. All we can do is just love him as we have always done and hope that will heal him and us."

"Love will be the only remedy for this," Gandalf agreed softly.

The hobbits sank back down beside him, snuggled close and put their arms across his chest and tried to rest again themselves. Frodo remained in his induced sleep for the next three days, barely stirring, but to call to Sam once in a while.

Aragorn distinctly heard him say, "I can’t," the night before he woke. He tossed restlessly, protested some more, then sighed heavily. "All right, all right, you stubborn hobbit. I’ll do it."

The uncrowned healer-king smiled.

The next morning, Frodo led the rest of the Fellowship to Sam’s grave. He hadn’t spoken further of it and Gandalf and Aragorn wondered whether he even remembered that he had screamed and wept out his pain.

Faramir stood with them as well as the Ring-bearer sank to the ground where he had buried his heart. He still didn’t speak to anyone of them, just softly to Sam as he carefully pulled away some weeds and pushed away some dirt that was covering the simple, unadorned grave. His tears fell on it as he listened as Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf all murmured prayers for the dead. It helped Frodo some to hear the prayers offered in several different languages, especially in Sindarin. Merry and Pippin bowed their heads. Faramir spoke in the silence of his heart.

Gandalf knelt down and touched Frodo’s shoulder and Aragorn did the same on the hobbit’s other side. The two other hobbits laid their heads against their cousin’s chest and back and wrapped their arms around him.

"It was not your fault," the wizard said.

"Then whose was it?" came Frodo’s dull voice, devoid of life and light.

"Sauron’s," Aragorn answered.

"Morgoth’s," Legolas said, his hand lightly resting on the hobbit’s curls.

"It was still my hand that did it."

"But you did not will it to happen," Gandalf said. "The Ring did, Sauron did."

Frodo turned silent again. His eyes had not left the gravestone. He hadn’t responded to any of the touches his friends made, the only warm spots on a body and soul gone cold. He heard but didn’t offer any consolation for his cousins’ tears. What could he offer, since he had caused them? What could be offered to him, that he could accept for the inferno of grief that still burned so hot within him? Why hadn’t he just let go?

Because there is goodness still left in you, my dear, and that is worth fighting for.

What goodness? There’s nothing left inside me but a dark, empty shell. My heart is buried in the ground, my soul in the fire.

Frodo could hear Sam sigh, or at least imagined it. You may feel empty now, but it is only because the Shire awaits to fill you again. Live for all that means to you, the fields and streams and woods, Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, sunny days, apple picking, strawberries and cream, mushroom pies...

Yes, Sam. It shall all be there. But you won’t be. How can I go on knowing that? How can I possibly face your Gaffer or Rose or anyone?

I won’t ever leave you, my dear. We’ll face them together. I love you, my Frodo. I love you so much.

Frodo sighed. I love you, too.

"He should be buried in the Shire, in his garden," he said out loud, wishing that could be.

"You could make a garden here, Frodo," Faramir said.

"And I could carve you a worthy headstone," Gimli said.

"I would like that," Frodo said.

So Frodo spent his days and weeks. His maimed hand was still healing and Aragorn had warned him that infection could set in if it wasn’t kept clean and properly bandaged. At first Frodo hadn’t cared whether it was clean or not. Perhaps if infection did set in, he could die and join Sam. He started taking better care of it when he saw a gardening glove held out in mid-air for him to wear over the hand. He took the glove and the hint and slowly a fine garden, full of Sam’s favorite plants and flowers began to take root. Merry, Pippin, Faramir and the others visited often and would always find the hobbit on his hands and knees, planting or watering something, pulling up weeds. He spoke softly as he worked, sometimes directly to Sam, as though a normal two-way conversation was going on, though the only person ever heard was Frodo himself. The other two hobbits had trouble understanding that, but Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas smiled. Merry and Pippin felt more comfortable when their cousin confined his words to the plants because they all knew from Sam that was what you needed to do. Frodo’s tears did most of the watering, and theirs did too, but there was also a sense of accomplishment to be seen in the hobbit’s eyes, a tender love that would sometimes shine out from behind the pain. There were even the very rare smiles that were like the sun coming out from dark storm clouds.

The grave marker was elegantly carved in Westron and the Sindarin that Sam had loved. Legolas had helped Gimli with the right wording for that after Frodo had told him what words he wanted there. The Ring-bearer had smiled it, then cried.

Samwise Gamgee

Gardener

Friend

Hero

Brother

"Those were my mother’s favorites, too," Faramir said one day when Frodo stood from all his planting, all mud-splattered on face, hands and breeches. Grief still ravaged his features, but a tendril of peace was making them more fair again.

"Bag End was full of them."

"That was where you lived?"

"I did. But not anymore."

"Where is your home now?"

Frodo looked down at the grave and touched it briefly. "Where it has been since I moved to Bag End. Wherever Sam is."

Chapter Five: Questions That Need Answering

Frodo and Gandalf sat on a white bench made from stone that Faramir and Gimli had rescued from the ruins of the city. The hobbit sat slump-shouldered next to his friend, his trowel still in his hand as he rested a bit from his labors. His hands and breeches were covered with dirt and grass stains and a cheek was smudged as well. The wizard’s long legs were stretched out before him on the hobbit-sized bench.

It had become a habit for the troubled hobbit to sit with someone each day in the afternoon after lunch with his cousins. There was so much roiling around inside him that Aragorn and Gandalf had both advised him that he should not try to keep it all inside. Frodo wished to do just that, but after some gentle (and some not so gentle) prodding from Sam, he started to open up. He couldn’t to Merry and Pippin, but he found he could with a soon-to-be crowned king, wizard and even Ranger captain, so one of them always was with him between the times the other hobbits came to share meals with their cousin.

Frodo sat, staring down at the ground. His friends had all learned to respect his silences, to patiently wait for him to speak first whatever was troubling him the most that day.

"Why were you able to come back and Sam can’t?" came the quiet inquiry from a voice still missing its life and light.

Gandalf had been waiting for that question since he had first re-appeared to his small friend. Frodo’s eyes had widened in surprise then and sparked for a moment with joy, then he had hidden his face in the wizard’s robes that smelled strongly of pipeweed and cried hard.

"Sam is mortal, just as you are," Gandalf began as gently as he could. "He had only a set amount of time in this world and that is now over. It cannot be changed or reversed any more than any action already done can be undone."

Frodo looked up at his friend. "But it was undone with you. Aren’t wizards mortal also?"

Gandalf smiled and a little more of his Light than he normally showed came through. Frodo’s eyes widened slightly. "You aren’t, are you? Is that why?"

The hidden Maia’s smile widened as he drew his friend into a side embrace and began to slowly stroke his curls. Frodo snuggled close. "My parents used to do that. I’ve lost so much, Gandalf, so much. And this last is my fault. I couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t I stop?"

"There is a part of you that is immortal also, my dear hobbit. You stand now in the midst of a battlefield, for war is being waged for that part. The Ring sought dominion over it and sometimes gained it, but there’s another Power that seeks it as well, that created it and wishes to draw it to Himself. It is your decisions, step by step, day by day that determine the outcome of this war. You have lost a few battles as all do, but you have not lost everything, not yet. The essential thing is that you keep fighting. You cannot lose this war or you truly will lose everything. Sam cannot join you in the Abyss."

"Then I must keep going, but I am weary of fighting, so very weary. Each step, each breath seems more of a labor than the last. Would that I could rest like Sam."

Gandalf continued his soft stroking and gentle tone. "All soldiers in this war grow so, but though you cannot stop the struggle, you can rest and be refreshed. Only those under the dominion of the dark slew themselves. No, Frodo, you were created in the Light, for the Light, to be with the Light."

"I walk in darkness now."

"But there still is light around you, dim perhaps to your eyes, but still it’s there, coming from a Source you cannot see. You have seen reflections of it all your life."

"I saw it most in Sam and I snuffed out that light."

Gandalf gently raised Frodo’s chin until the troubled hobbit raised his eyes to him. "No, my dear hobbit, it shines now brighter than ever. All things work toward the greater glory of the One Who is above all things. The power of evil has no power over Him. He will always draw good out of it, in spite of it.

"Did you ever stop to think of how many guardians you have watching over you, Frodo? You have always been surrounded by love and light, even in your darkest moments. Your parents didn’t stop loving you when they died anymore than Sam did. Love is stronger than death. They are still with you. You cannot see them, but they remain with you as long as you remain striving for the Light. Lost as you feel now, groping alone in the darkness, they remain at your side to help you."

Frodo lowered his head against the wizard’s chest. He was silent for a long time. "I wish they were still here where I could see them. I wish they were all still alive."

We are still here, dearest, came a new voice and it sounded like his mother’s.

That night, Frodo wept and slept in the arms of three of those who loved him best. When Merry and Pippin came in later, they found his tears had already been wiped away.

Chapter Six: Lessons in Living

Aragorn sat with Frodo the next day. The man was not there as a king yet to be crowned, but as a healer and a friend. He was dressed as Strider. He waited patiently for his troubled friend to begin speaking, holding the hobbit’s left hand, while the right was curled as though holding onto something only Frodo could feel.

"I still wonder how I can be living and Sam not be," the Ring-bearer said. "I thought of my soul and his soul as one soul in two bodies and my life is a horror now because I do not want to live halved. It’s even worse than when my parents died and I thought nothing could be worse than that. I fear and hate death, for now I wonder if Merry and Pippin may be taken next and I long for death at the same time."

"Losing anyone we love is losing part of ourselves and it’s never easy," Aragorn agreed. "How my heart howled when my mother died. And though I have no memory of my father, my heart does and it has cried much for both. But I have not and you have not lost their love, just the physical sight of them. They live still."

Frodo’s right hand curled around a little tighter. "I know. I wouldn’t be alive now if I didn’t feel that, but it’s so hard, so very hard. I know I must go on so I don’t lose them forever. I know there are paths ahead of me that I dare not tread on, wide open and so very beckoning. I know instead I should seek the narrow path, the one under the shadow of the trees, that doesn’t yet have much of an obvious trail through it. I stand at the beginning of it, but it looks so much more difficult than the wide open one and I don’t know if I have the strength for it."

Aragorn squeezed his hand. Frodo turned to look into the man’s eyes, so full of concern and love. "You will have the strength, mellon nin, because it is the same path you have been on all your life. You aren’t alone on it. Sam has always been there and your cousins and they will continue to be and others that love you. I will walk it with you as far as you want me to. I have walked it myself for many years and it does seem very lonely and hard sometimes, but that is the path appointed to me and to you. I have been called to heal wounds, to unite what has fallen apart, to bring home those who have lost their way. Gandalf has walked that Road longer than any of us. We will all walk with you."

"I would like that very much, because I so feel that I have lost my way."

"No, you haven’t, tithen min. You have found it. You say you stand at the beginning of it, but you have merely come to a fork in the road and you have to decide which direction to take. Your heart knows the way. Take a few steps and find that strength will build for the rest of the journey. Continue on the narrow way. You will never walk it alone."

That evening, shortly before sunset, Faramir came and found Frodo not at the garden, but a few feet from it, carefully digging out a narrow path leading to the ruined gazebo nearby.

"When my mother and father were courting, he asked her to marry her under a gazebo like this," the hobbit said, seeing the question in the man’s eyes. "He built one for her near our home. I haven’t been back to it since they died. But I think it’s along the path that I travel now."

Faramir smiled and was rewarded with a ghost of a smile from his small friend. On the very edge of his senses, he thought he could feel Sam’s smile and satisfaction as well.

__

A/N: The words of one united soul being now halved are almost exactly taken from St. Augustine’s reaction to the death of a beloved friend. The ones about being called to heal wounds, etc. are almost exactly from St. Francis of Assisi.

Chapter Seven: Love Endures

It’s time to go home, dear, came Sam’s voice one bright morning several weeks later.

I am home, Frodo answered, digging up a weed and planting another bulb near the gazebo that he and Faramir and his cousins had worked hard to restore. It was nearly noon, the sun was warm and the troubled hobbit a tad less troubled, for the sun was bright on his face and he was earning an honest sweat during his labors, instead of waking sweat-soaked from nightmares that still haunted him at times.

I mean your own home, your own bed, your own Shire.

I don’t want to leave you. I can’t leave you. I won’t.

Oh, my Frodo dear...

Frodo felt filled from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes with Sam’s love. Not just the constant presence that had never deserted him since he had moved into Bag End thirty years before, but an overwhelming sense of love that, if he hadn’t been already on his knees, would have brought him there. He cried and felt his tears dried even as they fell.

I can’t go back there, Sam. I would see the Gaffer and Rosie and everyone else and I would have to tell them.

I will be there with you. I won’t ever leave you.

Frodo changed tactics. What about the garden?

He felt Sam’s smile. I’m sure Captain Faramir will see it well tended.

Frodo sighed. I should know better by now than argue with you.

Sam’s smile widened. Yes, my dear, you should. His love filled Frodo even more if that was possible. The hobbit felt so full he was sure he would burst. For a moment, just a moment, there was no room for his piercing grief.

I still feel like I am leaving you behind. How can I ever tell anyone what happened? That I don’t even have a body to bring back? That you are buried in a foreign land that is too far for your gaffer to visit? That it’s my fault that you are dead?

This time Sam sighed. You are not leaving me behind, dearest, for I shall always be with you. And don’t you worry about the Gaffer or Rosie neither. I’ll explain it all to them. It’s not your fault, my Frodo. It’s not your fault. There was a reason for it. A good reason to be drawn out from the evil the Ring used you for.

I can’t see it.

Not yet. But I hope you will.

Do you know it?

Yes, and you will too, but you need to go home first.

Frodo sighed again. He stood slowly. He looked at the garden. It had flourished in the months he had tended it and he was quite proud of it. He didn’t want to leave it. It had given him purpose and a reason to continue living.

There will be other reasons.

Slowly he became aware of someone standing behind him. He turned and squinted into the sun. A ghost of a smile teased the edges of his mouth as he greeted Faramir.

"Sam wants me to leave, to go back to the Shire," he said.

The Ranger captain smiled. "As well you should. I wish I could go back there with you. I feel as though I’ve seen a little patch of it right here and I do marvel at what the whole place must look like."

"The most beautiful land there is in all of Middle-earth," Frodo said. "I wonder though if I will feel the same when I go back or whether all the colors will be washed out, the sounds of the rippling brooks flat and the taste of apples off the tree nothing but ashes."

"I would only worry about you if you said the same thing of mushrooms," Faramir said with a larger smile and Frodo’s features quirked into a more genuine smile of his own as he looked up at his friend.

"Will you take care of the garden?"

"It would be my honor. You’ve been uprooted long enough. It’s time for you to set your heart back into your own soil."

Frodo sighed. "It is settled already in the best soil there is - Sam’s heart, but I suppose it’s settled. I don’t want to leave, but if I don’t get going, then I’m sure Sam will figure out a way to carry me home bodily. Stubborn Gamgee."

Faramir smiled at the love and frustration in that voice. "Thank the Valar for that stubbornness."

"Indeed," Frodo said very softly.

The three hobbits left the next afternoon. Frodo spent his last morning at the grave, tending to the garden there for the last time. As the others waited silently, he slowly traced each engraved letter and gently and reverently kissed the top of the marker. He knew Sam was still very much with him, but it was still a wrench to his heart that was slowly beginning to beat once more to turn away.

Aragorn and Faramir kissed their brows and hugged all three hobbits. Frodo they held the longest and he them. Gandalf bestowed his own blessing and then they were off. Frodo looked back many times until the grave site and its garden were lost to view. Merry and Pippin each took hold of their cousin’s hands. They did not travel alone.

* * *

For days and weeks they traveled, the four of them. The exercise, sunshine and his cousin’s company assuaged Frodo’s grief, as did knowing that Sam remained ever near. Merry and Pippin knew when to be quiet, but not so much that Frodo would remain lost in his pain. He rarely spoke, but the younger hobbits’ gentle banter washed over him and soothed him. Sometimes they were able to draw him out which only redoubled their efforts and antics to get him to smile. They even dared to hope that one day he would laugh again. They were not yet rewarded with that, but just to see their beloved cousin look at them tenderly and smile a real, though still sad, smile, had them wanting to do cartwheels and shout their joy.

But any sort of cheer faded the closer they got to the Shire. The last steps they took were the hardest. Frodo turned back from entering Hobbiton or at least tried to many a time, but Sam turned him back around each time. Merry and Pippin kept hearing his cousin muttering about how terribly stubborn Sam was. "I’m the master, I should have my own way," they heard him grumble, but still he trudged on.

At last, at night, Frodo stood alone and not alone in front of Number 3. The Gaffer came out of the hole and peered at him with some surprise. "Well, Mr. Frodo! I didn’t think I’d see you again. Mr. Fredegar came babbling back with such a frightful tale of what happened yonder that we had all given you up for dead. But you got more lives in you, I see, just like Mr. Bilbo. Right glad I am to see you again." He looked over Frodo’s shoulder, squinting into the night. "Where’s my Sam? Always your shadow, he was."

The old hobbit was much taken aback when Frodo burst into tears. He stood on his front stoop for some long moments, torn between knowing his place among his betters and being a father who had once soothed his young children after falls and other hurts. It was the father that won out and he wrapped his arms around the sobbing, trembling younger hobbit.

"I’m so sorry," Frodo repeated over and over again. "I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry."

"What have you got to be sorry for now, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon?"

Frodo felt Sam’s presence very near him. "I’m afraid....I’m afraid Sam was unable to come back." He clenched and unclenched his fists. He was sure the Gaffer would see the blood on them, Sting in his hand, dripping with that blood, Sam’s blood. "We left the Shire to protect it from danger, but I failed to protect Sam. It overtook me and I...I couldn’t stop it and...Sam...Sam’s...dead now...because of me."

The Gaffer stared into the tormented eyes of the hobbit he still held. His arms went stiff. "My Sam is dead? Because of you?" he asked in numb disbelief.

Anger and grief almost disabled him. He let Frodo go and would have collapsed to the ground, but something kept him from falling. He didn’t quite understand it. He looked up then and saw a ghostly figure shimmer in the moonlight. He closed his eyes and opened them again, but still that figure remained and smiled at him.

"It wasn’t his fault, Da," Sam said, addressing his father as he used to as a child. What seemed to be a warm breeze wiped at the tears streaming down those weathered cheeks. The old hobbit’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

Sam turned to Frodo. The Ring-bearer’s eyes had grown very wide, then he threw himself into his Sam’s arms and sobbed harder. He felt not so much a physical embrace, though he was certain he felt that too, but one wrapping around his soul, stronger than it had ever been before. The Gaffer sat on his stoop agog at the tremendous love and light that surrounded his son and that reached out to engulf that one who had just admitted being responsible for his death. The old hobbit could almost hear his son’s murmured words of comfort, could actually see his lips moving and the gentle stroke of hands against curls. His Bell had always said there was something special about their youngest lad and from the moment that one had met Mr. Frodo, he had adored him. He still does, the Gaffer thought in wonder. The anger died in his heart and he cried anew for his own grief and the beauty of the sight before him.

Chapter Eight: A Tale Told

Frodo slept that night in his own bed for the first time in almost a year. He felt more at home than he had in a long time and slept more easily than he thought he would. He felt his cheek stroked, his brow kissed and his covers brought up under his chin, just like his parents used to do. He felt Sam’s presence so strong that he almost expected to have breakfast and tea waiting for him when he woke and soon hear his beloved gardener and guardian working away outside, but he knew that would never be again. His tears were wiped away almost before they fell.

Rosie needs to be told and my brothers and sisters, came Sam’s voice in the morning.

Frodo groaned. "Yes," he said softly. "How I will get the strength to do that, I don’t know."

I’ll tell them.

It was after second breakfast that Frodo found enough courage to leave and go down to Number 3. He found to his surprise that Rosie was already there, sitting on a couch with Marigold with the rest of the family sitting around as well. The Gaffer was standing.

"Hello, Mr. Frodo," came Rose’s voice. "I understand you have news of Sam."

Frodo’s lip quivered. He was on the verge of tears again. "Yes." He braced himself to look into her eyes. "I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so very sorry. I’ve ruined everything. Sam loved you so much." He looked around at Sam’s brothers and sisters. "He loved you all very much. He left to help me, but it was..."

"Are you trying to say that he’s not coming back?" Marigold asked in a very small voice.

"He’s....he’s...buried in Gondor," Frodo said softly. "That’s....that’s...where I...killed him."

He lowered his head and began to cry again as he heard shocked gasps and weeping. He only raised his head again when instead of sobs, he heard more sharp intakes of breath.

Rose stood and reached out in wonder to the gently luminous being who looked back at her with eyes overflowing with love and the sweetest smile she had ever seen, but her fingers held nothing. Her tears though had already been wiped away. Marigold and her siblings were looking at their brother in open-mouthed amazement.

Frodo turned and stared at his best friend who looked back at him and smiled.

"I want to tell you what happened," Sam said to his family and the lass he had dreamed of marrying. "I want you to know about the finest hobbit there ever was. My master and friend."

Frodo opened his mouth to protest.

Not a word, dear, came Sam’s voice in his head.

But, Sam, you’re the...

Not. A. Word.

Frodo sighed. Stubborn Gamgee.

Stubborn Baggins. Now sit down and be still.

Frodo obeyed with another sigh.

Sam turned back to his rapt audience. "I realize naught of this is going to make sense, but it’s all true. Mr. Bilbo once owned a Ring that Mr. Frodo inherited when he came of age and Mr. Bilbo left. It was after he left that Mr. Gandalf found out the Ring was a very evil thing wrought by the dark lord Sauron himself and that the entire Shire, indeed all of Middle-earth, was in grave danger while the Ring existed. So Mr. Frodo had to take it away to destroy it before Sauron could claim it and destroy everything with it.

"It was a very brave thing Mr. Frodo did because the Ring worked its evil powers on him from the moment he had it. It tormented him without end while he held it and he had to find a way within himself to resist what it was trying to do to him. You cannot imagine what it was like for him. I can’t even imagine it and I was there. It was darkness beyond the greatest dark we had ever known. It was a nightmare that got worse each day and there was no waking from it. Mr. Frodo took it all into himself, tried to contain it, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. It tore his heart apart and gnawed away at his mind, but he set his will against it and still went on, day after day, month after month, until his head was bowed under the weight of it and his body worn down by exhaustion. Still he went on."

Frodo squirmed under the praise and found he couldn’t look at Rosie or any of Sam’s siblings who now looked at him in a new light. He tried to protest again, but was again warned away.

"You’re right," the Gaffer said when his son paused. "We don’t understand any of this. How could a ring be evil? And who is this Sauron? And where’s Gondor? What were you doing there? You’ve always got your head full of Mr. Bilbo’s old tales and I never saw the use of them."

Sam looked at his family sympathetically. "There’s a lot more to it, but it’s no tale for lasses to hear. Just know it’s over and the Ring is gone and it can’t hurt anyone more and it’s because Mr. Frodo got it there, to the Fire, to Mordor, leagues and leagues and leagues away from here, and there it was destroyed."

But not by me. Don’t make me a hero, Sam. Please.

But you are one, dear. The greatest the Shire has ever known.

I killed you. I couldn’t destroy it. I still wanted it. It was an accident that it’s gone at all.

It was no accident. You didn’t kill me.

Rose stood and walked over to Frodo. "Thank you, Mr. Frodo," she said softly. "Thank you for protecting us."

"I couldn’t protect Sam," Frodo said. "He’s going to say it wasn’t my fault, but it was. I am not the hero he thinks I am."

He stood and walked out the door. He cried himself to sleep that night. He was wakened later when he felt Sam’s presence in the room. He lay on his stomach and didn’t look up.

"You told them it wasn’t my fault, didn’t you?"

"I told them the truth. That you were overcome and that I still loved you."

"They’ve already forgiven me."

"Of course."

"How could they? I’ve taken away someone they loved very much. They should hate me. I hate myself. I had someone taken away too who I loved very much."

Frodo felt his battered soul held once more by Sam’s overwhelming love. "They don’t hate you because they see I don’t. They can forgive because they can see I have. I haven’t been taken away, dear. No Ring could do that to us. When I was dying, I saw Light and Love that I so wish to share with you. I begged to be able to stay with you."

Frodo began to cry again. He felt Sam’s gentle touch on his back and wrapped in such love he fell back to sleep. "Thank you," he murmured.

Chapter Nine: A Gift and a Blessing

Frodo swore he could hear Sam groan when he learned what his master wanted to do the next morning. "You don’t have to come," the elder hobbit said, blithely ignoring all of his friend’s protests, "but you’ve already told them about me so I am going to tell them about you." His lips curled into a faint smile. "Now it’ll be your turn to sit down and be still."

Sam’s protests died when he saw that smile. They walked down to Number 3 together.

You still don’t have to come. It’s going to be terribly embarrassing for you, I’m afraid.

Frodo felt no other answer than his brother’s continued presence beside him. His smile deepened as he held out his good hand. It would seem to anyone else that his fingers curled around nothing, but Frodo knew better. His maimed one he buried in a pocket in his breeches.

The Gamgees and Rose were gathered in the parlor. Frodo began to speak slowly. He knew he would be in tears before the end, but he wanted to pay some tribute to his dearest friend, so they would understand who the true hero was.

"I wanted to tell you about Sam. I know I am not telling you anything you don’t already know, but I wanted to speak of my own love for him and my gratitude that he has so enriched my life. He has ever been a gift and a blessing to me as he has been to all of you. He has loved me with such perfect, abiding, unconditional love that I have treasured since we first met when I first came to Bag End. He welcomed me as one would a brother and so he has ever been to me."

Frodo paused. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "When we had to leave, he would not bear the thought that I would leave alone. He has always been at my side, my guardian, my light. I cannot tell you what a comfort that has been to me, especially after my uncle left and while we were on our Quest. The Ring was twisting me inside out, but he stood by me through it all, strengthening me and keeping me from being utterly lost. I could not have survived its ravages without him. It is my greatest regret that I did, but he didn’t, that in the end I betrayed all that love."

"Sam tried to explain it to us," the Gaffer began into the silence that fell after those words, "but we none of us understand. How could a simple piece of jewelry be evil?"

Frodo took a long time in answering. He stared at the floor as he thought how he could explain to a bunch of hobbits who could not read and did not know or care about the tales that could help explain it all, the ones that he and Sam were so enamored with themselves. He felt very much a stranger, an outsider, not even a hobbit anymore, but someone changed by experiences no one else could ever understand, but for his Sam, his cousins and the others of the Fellowship. But he knew even they could not know what it meant to bear a Ring of Power and to be destroyed by it. And he was very grateful they did not know, none of them, though it made him feel isolated and lost and very alone. Only Bilbo would have the slightest idea what it was like and Bilbo was far away. He felt Sam’s hand tighten around his and his own fingers clutched seeming nothingness a bit more.

"The Ring itself wasn’t evil," he began slowly, "but what Sauron poured into it. We hobbits have lived a very sheltered life here in the Shire. The world is larger beyond your dreams. Some of it is very beautiful, lovely beyond words: the Elven lands are such. Some of it, like Mordor where the Ring was forged and the only place it could be destroyed, is very dark and terrifying beyond anything you could possibly imagine. There are beings in the wide world far beyond we simple hobbits in stature, wisdom and power. Sauron had long ago abandoned wisdom, but not power. He had poured practically every bit of it, every bit of himself, into a Ring he fashioned to rule all the world and he came so close, so very close. The Ring had to be destroyed before Sauron could possess it once more. That’s why we left. Gandalf had already told me its history and that it destroyed bit by bit anyone who bore it. I was the last of those bearers and it did destroy me and through me, Sam."

"Mr. Bilbo should have just taken it with him when he left or never picked it up in the first place," the Gaffer pronounced. "Been nothing but a heap of trouble, it sounds like."

"I have wished that he had left it so many times I could not tell you, but there was a reason for it. Gandalf explained it all to me, that Bilbo was meant to have it then and so was I. If it awoke while Bilbo was wandering solitarily in the woods, it could have easily overthrown him and drawn evil to itself and we would have all been lost, or worse. It could have been found by another bearer and the world would have ended as we understand. We would all be under the dominion of the dark power. Mordor is hundreds of leagues away from here, but we would have felt its bite even here had Bilbo not found it and kept it safe until the time came that it could be taken away. I do not understand why we were chosen anymore than you all, but we were and we have all tried to fulfill the task before us. Sam fulfilled his perfectly. I did not."

The Gaffer shook his head. "Begging your and Mr. Gandalf’s and Mr. Bilbo’s pardon, but all this trouble started when that wizard took Mr. Bilbo on that wild adventure when I was a mere lad. If he hadn’t done, then that confounded Ring would have never been found. You wouldn’t have been hurt by it. And my Sam would still be here. I’m not blaming you for Sam’s death, Mr. Frodo, Sam’s explained it as well as he could, ’tain’t his fault that no one can understand, and I’m not blaming Mr. Bilbo. I think if anyone is to blame it’s that crazy wizard, begging again Mr. Gandalf’s pardon. What were you doing anyway that got you into such a position to do harm?"

Frodo sighed heavily. The nightmare of that time flashed through his head and he nearly fainted at the power of it, the memory of the terrible pull of the Ring, his near surrender and the fatal consequences. Sam held him up. "The Ring was very sensitive to whenever the servants of its master were close and it tried to get me to put it on so I would reveal myself to them and they could take the Ring from me and return it to Sauron. It very nearly succeeded as it had many times before. I wasn’t strong enough to fight it off. The only thing that stopped it at times was Sam. It had me in its control and in its rage at being thwarted once more, Sam died. I killed him because I couldn’t control it."

The Gaffer shook his head. The others sat silently, then Rose spoke up. "I still don’t understand and I don’t think I ever will," she started softly. She looked into Frodo’s tear-streaked face. "But the one thing I do understand, is that you didn’t do it, Mr. Frodo. Sam made that very clear and my Sam don’t lie. I know you believe that you aren’t either, but you weren’t yourself at the time. I know you’ve loved Sam as much as he has loved you and you still do as much as he still loves you. He wouldn’t love someone who killed him. I’m thinking that this Ring damaged you a whole lot more than it did him."

The only sound in the room was Frodo’s sobs.

Chapter Ten: A Talk in the Garden

Frodo was in Bag End’s garden several days after the talk at Number 3. He was working without gloves. His hand had long healed enough that he didn’t need to worry about infection and he liked to feel the dirt and grass and flowers.

He looked up surprised when he saw Marigold standing near him with a glass of lemon water in her hand. This was the first time she had come since she had learned of her brother’s death. Normally it was the Gaffer who came to make sure he was being looked after. Frodo did not feel worthy that any of them should come and even asked Sam if he was behind it, but a proud Sam told him with a large smile told him that they were doing it themselves.

"I thought you would be thirsty, Mr. Frodo," Marigold said.

Frodo stood and tried not to think of all the times he had brought out water to a sweating, grateful Sam. "Thank you, Marigold," he said softly. "That was very kind of you."

"You’re welcome, Mr. Frodo," the lass said, then her gaze was arrested as she looked at Frodo’s maimed hand.

"What happened to your finger?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Sam didn’t say nothing ’but that and I didn’t notice it before."

Frodo colored slightly. He paused for a long time and Marigold began to apologize for being so forward.

"No, no," the elder hobbit said and then tried to think of a way to tell her. "I lost it when I lost the Ring. I was wearing it at the time and I shouldn’t have been."

Marigold’s eyes widened. Before she could think better of it, she took Frodo’s hand and wrapped her warm fingers around his cold ones. She and Sam had always been the ones to rescue injured chicks and birds and nurse them back to health. Frodo reminded her of one of those poor little ones who needed some extra tender loving care. "Sam told us the Ring went into the Fire. I’m sorry you lost anything, but I’m glad it was only your finger."

Oh, but I lost so much more than that. He looked into her eyes for a moment and her breath and heart caught at the sight of so much torment.

"I will tell you a secret, Mr. Frodo," she said as she looked down at his hand and began to stroke it gently. Part of her was horrified at her boldness but another part applauded her courage. "Daisy, May and I had the wildest liking for you when you first came. You were the most beautiful lad we had ever seen and we were crazed with jealousy that our Sam saw you each day and we could only see you if you called or if you were out by yourself or with Sam or Mr. Bilbo. We would beg Sam to tell us everything you said and did. When Mum would have him bring some cake or other sweet over to you and Mr. Bilbo, we always told him to bring it to you in the hopes then when he brought back the basket, we would have something that you had touched."

Frodo blushed furiously, at a total loss as to how to respond.

Marigold looked up into Frodo’s tormented eyes. "None of us understand much of what you and Sam left to do, not even my brothers and our Gaffer who know a lot more about it than he told me and my sisters. But the one thing we do know is that Rosie is right: our Sam has never stopped loving you and he never loved no one who weren’t worthy of it. You may think, Mr. Frodo, that whatever that horrible ring did to you, that you are now a terrible person, but none of us think you are, not our Gaffer or our brothers or Daisy or May or Rosie or me. My sisters and I all remember the bright, lovely person we fell in love with, just like Sam did."

Here Marigold paused and smiled and blushed a bit. "Well, not exactly like Sam I suppose. He didn’t spend all day giggling and walking up and down the hill trying to see you, then squealing and running to hide when you did come out and breathlessly watching you where you couldn’t see us. The only thing we really did have in common was that we couldn’t stop talking about you. Always a light you had about you, like you were carrying sunshine with you even on a cloudy day. Sam called it your Elf-light. I can see it even now and I know it wouldn’t still be there if you had become a bad person."

She wiped at the tears that streamed down Frodo’s cheeks and then kissed his cheek softly. "Believe in your own goodness, Mr. Frodo. It’s still there. We can all see it. Now you have to look in the mirror and see it for yourself."

Chapter Eleven: A Short Cut

Frodo spent some time looking in the mirror as Marigold suggested, but he could not bear to do so for long. A stranger looked back at him with ravaged eyes exposing a soul just as torn. He looked away when he realized it was himself. Instead he went back out to the garden and toiled away, trying to forget what he saw. He shouldn’t have looked. He already knew what he looked like simply by the way he felt.

It’s hard to see your own light, came Sam’s voice. But it’s there, dear. Don’t stop looking for it.

Have you ever seen your own?

No.

It’s so bright, my Sam, so very bright. It has been since I first met you and I am humbled that it shines even now after all I did to you.

Yours is bright also, my Frodo. It’s surrounded by darkness but it’s shining out around the corners and it’s not going to go out because it’s not just your Light. In fact I can see it clearer now because it’s shining through the black. Don’t look for it with your eyes, you cannot see it there. Only the heart can see such things.

I buried that with you in Gondor.

Then it is in my keeping and I am here with you and so your heart must be also.

Sam could see his beloved master was not convinced. You did not murder me, dear. You did not will my death, the Ring did, but it did not triumph because it was not allowed to. There is another Power behind all this, that is stronger than any of us, stronger than the Ring.

I have felt it.

Then you have felt that Love too?

I felt support while on the Quest. I haven’t felt it since then.

It’s there, dear. You are hurting still too much to feel it, but it’s still there. It can’t fill you though when you’re already filled with guilt and loathing. Rose was right when she said the Ring damaged you more than it did me. Let go of what it filled you with and let the Light in.

I don’t know how to do that, Sam. The way around me is still so very grey. It’s not the complete black it once was, but it’s still too dim for me to see my way forward very far at all. The light seems so far ahead of me.

You are already doing it. Keep walking. I’ll walk with you. The Road is not so long when someone is beside you, but I cannot take the steps for you. You must travel along it yourself.

I have for months now and it does not seem to be getting any closer. I fear I will never reach end of it.

Then let me show you a short-cut.

Short-cuts make for long delays and I don’t think I could bear being on this Road any longer. I am already so weary.

Just pretend that Strider is with us then. Didn’t he say his cuts never went wrong?

Frodo sighed. Yes.

Sam led Frodo on a walking tour throughout the Shire’s meadows and fields.

Hold on to what is good, even if it is a handful of earth.

Hold on to life, even when it is easier letting go.

Hold on to my hand, even when I have gone away from you.

Frodo held out his hand as Sam told him. He stopped at his favorite places, rested against his favorite tree and touched the bark. He felt the wind caress his cheeks, dry his tears and blow through his curls. He felt the ground under his feet, the tickle of grass through his toes. He tilted his head up to feel the bright sun against his face. All of it was like a balm for his soul and the best part was Sam’s hand in his. He thought perhaps he felt that other Presence, but he was not sure as it was like sunlight flickering through dense woods: here one moment, lost the next. He felt more sure of Sam’s love and presence which never faltered.

That night when he returned home, he fell asleep wrapped in such deep love unlike any he had ever felt. It felt as though he was floating on air, or wrapped in soft cloth as he had been after a bath and held safe in his father’s arms. He felt clean again, fresh, new. He knew just outside the warm cocoon he found himself swaddled in, the pain and dark remained, but for the moment, he was isolated from both.

I’m glad you’re with me, Sam.

That’s not me, dear. Didn’t I tell you there was another Power in the world that loves you? One who knows your sorrow and guilt and forgives you and weeps with you. He has been with you even when I couldn’t be. I am with Him now and we are holding onto your heart together.

"Thank you," came a very soft murmur from a slightly less troubled hobbit.

__

A/N: "Hold on" is from a Pueblo Indian verse.

Chapter Twelve: Another Adventure

"Hello, Frodo," came an unexpected voice.

Frodo straightened abruptly from his gardening and squinted into the sun. A tall figure robed in white holding a large staff stood before him. "Gandalf! What in the Shire are you doing here?"

The wizard smiled. "It’s time for another adventure, my dear hobbit," he said.

Frodo groaned. "I don’t want to have any more adventures, ever," he said as he looked back down and continued his weeding. The peace of the previous night had fled with the dawn or so it felt to him. "I’ve come to the conclusion that all my myriad relations that I’ve always thought to be sticks-in-the-mud actually had the right idea all along. It’s much better to not to have any adventures of any kind."

Wasn’t yesterday an adventure, dear?

"You won’t need to leave this time," Gandalf persisted. "It can take place right in your living room. Because where you are going to be traveling is deep inside yourself. You still haven’t forgiven yourself, have you? Even when you know everyone else has, even your Creator?"

Frodo looked back at his friend, very suspiciously. He also glanced around for Sam, expecting the revelation of another conspiracy and that Gandalf’s arrival was no coincidence. Sam smiled. Frodo sighed. He half-expected to see Merry and Pippin around also, beaming at how clever they had been in keeping their interfering busybodiness a secret from him.

"I’ve come to know myself already quite well," he told Gandalf while he turned the ground over with his hoe a bit more vigorously than called for, "and I don’t like what I see. No, Gandalf, no more adventures of any kind. This one you propose sounds just as painful as the last one."

The wizard was not easily put off. Frodo was sure he could see Sam smiling. "You’ve only come to know yourself in the twisted way of the Ring. You aren’t really that way, you know. Don’t you want to feel better?"

Frodo sighed. He put the hoe aside, then placed several plants in the hole he had made. "Yes, of course I do, very much so. But I don’t know if I can or even whether I should. I am living with such a hole in my heart, it’s a wonder I am still alive. I’ve been hollowed out, Gandalf."

"No, my boy, you are not hollow, but you need to be so you can be filled once more with all the love and light that you have been blessed with all your life. Right now I am afraid you are filled to the brim with too much darkness and guilt. You know how very much you are loved by so many, but you are only letting yourself feel the hatred of the only thing that could do nothing but hate. Why are you listening to that voice when there are so many others you could be listening to? It is not the loudest or the most unceasing, but you are paying the most attention to it. Why?"

"I have listened to each one, but the other is the only one that makes sense. It hasn’t forgiven the unforgivable."

Gandalf changed tactics. He well knew how stubborn a Baggins could be. It had served Frodo well on the Quest, but he knew it could be used by the Enemy as well. "What do you remember of the day Sam died, of the moments right before his death?"

Frodo looked back up at his friend, his expression accusatory. "This adventure has already begun, hasn’t it?"

Gandalf looked back innocently. "It can begin in a garden just as well as anywhere. What do you remember, Frodo?"

The troubled hobbit sighed. "Stubborn wizard. The last thing I remember was the Nazgul flying above us. They were calling to me and the Ring was calling to them. I was very frightened. Sam was saying something to me. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear him. All I could hear was them. I couldn’t resist. The next thing I remember is seeing Sam on the ground. I was straddling him and Sting was in my hand, dripping with his blood. He was already dead. I had killed him."

The memories were too much and Frodo sat down heavily on the bench that Sam had put out years before for his master’s benefit so he could comfortably read outside in the sunlight. Many a time, Frodo had done so, either to himself or more often out loud to Sam as his friend worked nearby. He felt Sam’s presence embrace him as he wept and Gandalf sat down near him as well and wrapped his arms around him. The erstwhile Ring-bearer buried his head in the wizard’s robes and held him tightly. His sobs broke the ancient Maia’s heart as he stroked Frodo’s curls and murmured what comforts he could until the hobbit calmed enough to sit silently in the sheltering embraces of two who loved him so dearly.

"Don’t you think, Frodo," Gandalf began softly, "that if you had truly willed this act, you would remember wanting it, doing it, glorying in it? That’s what evil does. Are you evil?"

"I didn’t want to do it, of course I didn’t," came the muffled answer, "but I am evil because I did do it."

Oh, my dear, don’t ever say such things, came Sam’s voice. You were a victim of evil, not evil itself. We were both victims, but it was you that suffered most. Don’t let it keep hurting you. Don’t give it that victory. Live again, dear. Live for me.

You should be living for yourself, dearest Sam. Living for Rosie and all the lads and lasses you and she will never have now.

Listen to Mr. Gandalf, dear. I know you don’t want to go on this adventure, but you are on the Road already and isn’t it nice to have someone else now traveling with us?

It’s so painful, though, Sam, to walk this Road. It’s full of thorns and brambles that cut at my hands and feet. I am leaving a trail of blood wherever I go.

You are making yourself anew, my dear. It’s like falling and hurting yourself. It’s painful at first, but then it begins to scab over. Sometimes you bump it or fall again and the scab falls off and you bleed again. But then you form a new scab and when that falls off, it’s all healed underneath, fresh, new skin without a scar.

But I didn’t hurt myself, my Sam. I hurt you; I killed you. There is no scabbing when the heart breaks. There is just bleeding that doesn’t stop for a very long time.

But it does stop, doesn’t it? And there are scabs. You just don’t see them, but you know when they are bleeding again and you know when they are healed and fall off. You helped me realize that myself when my mum died and you realized it yourself when you began to feel better after your parents passed. It’s going to happen this time if you let it. But you must want to feel better, dear. No more of this nonsense about listening to voices that only want your misery and destruction. Tolo dan na ngalad. Come back to the light.

Frodo looked up from Gandalf’s arms. For a moment, he thought he saw Sam’s bright figure smiling lovingly down at him, but then the vision vanished and all he saw was Gandalf’s tender eyes and smile. "I don’t want to be on this Road of pain, but I will travel where my feet have been set," the hobbit said, "for every Road must have an end, though it seems to stretch forever and I cannot see it all where it goes."

Gandalf’s smile widened. "It has indeed an end, my dear hobbit, and if you pursue it with steadfastness, you will be rewarded beyond anything you can imagine. I shall travel it with you as well as all those who love you. The narrow path is never so narrow it can’t hold another."

"I felt so wrapped in love last night. It was so beautiful, but I can’t feel it now."

Gandalf’s smile widened. "I am held that way myself and so is Sam. So are all the children of Ilúvatar. You have ever been so, even if you couldn’t always feel it."

A desperate hope came into Frodo’s eyes, shining through the pain. "Is that where the Road ends?"

"If you hold fast to it, my lad, yes." Gandalf’s eyes twinkled. "And you said you couldn’t see the end."

Frodo smiled tremulously, then settled deeper into Gandalf’s embrace and into Sam’s. A definite peace began to slowly seep into him. "It’s so far ahead I wonder if I will ever reach it. Maybe I didn’t know what I saw at first. But Sam is already there. I hope to be there myself one day."

"Your heart always knew. You will be there, if you do not turn away or if you do turn, then turn back."

"I won’t turn wrong. I’m already so weary I’m tripping over my own feet. I couldn’t bear to have to retrace my steps."

"Then rest, but not off the Road. This journey takes your whole life, Frodo. It can’t be accomplished any sooner by hurrying."

The hobbit groaned. Gandalf laughed softly and kissed his dear friend’s head. "That doesn’t mean it’s all pain. Our Creator does not allow evil and pain without good cause. Though the Road to Him is filled with perils that could daunt the hardiest soul, there is always His Light to guide us through them. You have been surrounded by that Light all your life."

"Sam, Bilbo, Merry and Pippin and Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel and Aragorn and Faramir have been lights for me."

"They are all reflections of the One Light. We can all be such for each other along the Road. They haven’t just been lights for you, though. You have been a light for them."

A/N:  My deep thanks once more to my dear Elemmire for giving another jump start to this story! :)

Chapter Thirteen: A Decision Made

Gandalf stayed another two weeks, often helping Frodo out in the garden. The Gamgees continued to come to make sure the troubled hobbit was taken care of, though they had few words to share with Gandalf. The rest of Hobbiton had no words. They avoided the entire Row and Bag End in particular for it was rumored that the place was haunted. Strange lights and a ghostly figure had been seen. The isolation suited Frodo just fine. He didn’t want to deal with others right now when his heart was still a mess. Merry and Pippin had come and stayed a few days then left again. Frodo missed them, but even their loving presence was almost too much.

Gandalf remained unobtrusive as Sam had always been, guiding and helping Frodo along as best he could. They took many long walks, the hobbit’s hand in his friend’s as trusting as a child, in which they had talks that continued to help heal the tortured Ring-bearer, but still the wizard felt there was something holding Frodo back from completely healing.

"Does Bilbo know about Sam’s death?" Gandalf asked on one of those walks.

Frodo sighed. "No, at least not from me. I so want to see him again, but I can’t bear to face him. What would he think of me?"

"The same, I would think, that everyone else does. He would still love you."

"I still don’t know how anyone could. They couldn’t if they had been there and saw what I did."

Gandalf stopped and waited until Frodo looked up at him. "My dear hobbit," he began with a gentle smile, "even you weren’t there, not truly. The malice and hatred of the Ring was the only thing present when Sam died. Sam knows that. I think you know it, though you still want to take responsibility. The others don’t know the terrible compulsion the Ring could sometimes force upon its bearers, but they do know you and what you are capable of and the type of heart you have, the same one they have loved all their lives or come to know on the Quest. I think the only person who doesn’t truly understand your heart is yourself."

Frodo looked long into his friend’s deep eyes, so full of compassion and love, then he looked away and they started walking again. "Is this adventure going to take as long as the last one and leave me worn out and wondering who I am anymore?"

"How long it lasts is up to you. I would think you would be quite tired, but no more than you are now, carrying this terrible burden of guilt around with you. It would instead be the fatigue of a hard day’s work well done. As for wondering who you are, I think at the end you would know."

They walked silently for a while. Frodo kicked up leaves and stared at the ground as he pondered his friend’s words. Gandalf watched him thoughtfully.

"Would you like to go to Rivendell, Frodo?" he asked softly. "It would be good for you to know that Bilbo has forgiven you, among all the others that have."

"You speak as if it’s already happened."

"You doubt it would?"

There was a pause then, "No, I suppose not. I’ve been forgiven for other things, though nothing anywhere this evil."

"Then why hold back?"

"It’s such a long way and I think it would be harder to tell him than anyone. He’s always been so proud of me, loved me so much. That I did such a monstrous thing as to murder someone we both loved, I think would be more than I can bear to tell him. I fear how he would look at me then, not with cheer and love, but with fear and revulsion, like...like I looked at him when he tried to take the Ring away from me."

"Yet you still loved him and he still loved you and you both knew it. He well knows the power of the Ring and how it can twist someone. Wouldn’t he understand best what you are feeling and forgive you as freely as you forgave him when the lust of it nearly had him attack you to view it once more?"

Frodo looked up sharply. "How do you know about that? I never told anyone about that. Did he tell you?"

"He told me before you left. He was nearly beside himself with guilt and shame. I was afraid he would have a brainstorm right there."

The Ring-bearer’s features darkened with grave concern. "Do you think he still feels that way? He shouldn’t still be suffering over that. It was the weakness of a moment and did no harm."

Gandalf smiled. "Sometimes it is harder for those who are filled with such goodness to be able to believe they are capable of such darkness, but it is a force that doesn’t come from within their own wills, but is pressed upon them from another. Neither you or I or anyone can go through this life and not make some mistakes, through weakness of will or mistakes in judgement. But never to forgive ourselves is another mistake. He is still recovering himself from the damage done to him by the Ring as you are."

"Then I should go to him and try to help him."

"And maybe then he can help you."

"Maybe."

Chapter Fourteen: Confession

Frodo told the Gamgees and also sent word to Merry and Pippin at Crickhollow that he was leaving with Gandalf to visit Bilbo in Rivendell, stating in his quick note to his cousins that Shadowfax would bring them so the trip there and back would be much faster than it had been the first time they had gone there.

As Gandalf settled Frodo atop the horse, the hobbit felt for Sam’s presence near him. Are you going to be able to keep up, Sam? He was genuinely fearful.

Frodo felt his friend’s love fill him like a smile that reached from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. I will keep up, dearheart. You can’t outrun me.

I hope not. I wouldn’t even want to try.

Gandalf sat behind Frodo and held him tight against him. The Ring-bearer felt quite safe and warm. A distant memory came to him of being held against his father’s chest the first time he had ridden a pony and he sighed in contentment.

"Ready, Frodo?"

Ready, Sam?

Ready.

"Ready, Gandalf."

They traveled at a slow walk down the Row, then once they came into the Road, they quickly gathered speed, until they were galloping. The day was bright, the air fresh and clean and crisp. Frodo found a bubble of joy rising in him that erupted into a laugh. He heard Gandalf’s laughter in response and reveled in both. How long it had been since he had felt like laughing or had heard anyone else’s! He pressed his hand against his heart. Sam was indeed keeping up and almost as an echo of his own, Frodo thought he could hear his friend’s laughter. He hugged that dear presence close to him.

It was still sometime before they reached Rivendell, but it was much faster on such a steed. Shadowfax did not tire easily even with two riders, but knew when his smallest needed a stop. Frodo slept easily in Gandalf’s arms atop the horse, but he was glad also to be able to dismount at night and stretch his legs. The animal took special care of him, knowing or seeming to know what Frodo had done and giving his gratitude to him as well, nickering and rubbing his nose against Frodo’s hand as the hobbit fed him and spoke softly to him. The former Ring-bearer looked up at Gandalf and smiled at such love being shown.

"I had a pony once when I was young, before my parents died. Starlight was his name. He was white like Shadowfax and very beautiful. I left him at the Hall when I moved to Bag End. I miss him sometimes."

Each night, Shadowfax lay down so Frodo could rest against his flank. Even in the cool nights, the hobbit was warm and felt protected and loved. Gandalf smiled at the two of them as he smoked his pipe long into the night. There was a small smile gracing Frodo’s features. He shone softly in the moonlight and the wizard knew Sam shared his gaze and quiet, deep joy that their dear friend had a little happiness at last.

They reached Rivendell in the afternoon. Frodo looked around only for the second time at the Elven haven and it seemed to be not as bright as the first time. Then he remembered Elrond’s words that the three Elven rings would fail when the Ring was destroyed. He felt a cold grief pierce him at that and all the happiness from the previous days vanished as though it had never been. It had been slowly disappearing over the last several days as the hobbit had grown more troubled and withdrawn the closer they came.

Elrond came down to meet them as they entered a courtyard. He bowed his head. "Welcome back, Frodo, son of Drogo."  He bowed again.  "And to you, Samwise, son of Hamfast. It is good that you two have come."

Frodo looked a little surprised at the Elf’s awareness of Sam’s presence which was not visible. He dismounted and bowed. "Le hannon, hir nin. I’m sorry that Rivendell is failing."

"It is the price we agreed to pay for the destruction of the Ring. Better it and the Wood fail, then the whole world. It is not your fault, Iorhael."

Frodo received his second startlement at the Elvish use of his name. Elrond smiled at him and a little light entered the gloom that had settled once more around his heart. The Elf-lord held out his hand and Frodo took it. "Your uncle anxiously awaits you. My people will not linger much longer here in this land and I fear Bilbo will not either. We cannot hold back the ravages of time as much as we would like to sometimes. But there are other hurts that can be healed still."

Frodo looked up at him and felt comforted. He had felt that if any place could heal him of his broken heart it would be here, but there was still fire to walk through before the healing dew could be felt on his cheeks and hands, if it could be felt at all.

Bilbo looked up from his book when he saw his nephew enter. Ancient features lost much of their strain as they broke into a smile. Frodo ran to his uncle and buried himself in those beloved arms that had sheltered him from many a storm before. He cried long and hard and Bilbo held him tight and murmured comforts, all the while not knowing what all that the tears were for.

Finally, Frodo looked up at his uncle and Bilbo wiped away the last of his tears. He smiled, though the agony he saw in those beautiful, once so shining eyes tore at him. "Now what was all that for, my lad? Elrond told me of your great victory at the Fire and I’ve been waiting for you to come back and tell me all about it. I’ve saved several chapters for it in my book and was beginning to become very afraid you wouldn’t even come in time for me to write it all down."

"I’m sorry, Uncle. I should have come sooner, but...but... There was no great victory or at least it was not my victory. I couldn’t destroy it, not at the end. And I had already destroyed what I should never have."

"What riddles are these, my boy? And where’s Sam?"

Frodo gulped. He nearly lost all his will to speak of it, but he felt Sam’s presence near him, like a hand on his shoulder. "He’s here, Uncle, but he’s not here. He...died on the way."

Bilbo’s aged eyes widened. "Died?" He tightened his arms around his nephew again and rocked him gently. "Oh, my boy, how terrible for you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. No wonder you look like you’ve lost half of your heart."

Frodo let himself feel all the love in that embrace and wished he could just go on feeling it forever, as he had felt so many other times, whether he had woken from nightmares or had other hurts. Bilbo had always been there to hold him and wipe his tears and tell him how much he loved him. He braced himself for the loss of it all.

"I have, Uncle, more than half."

"Oh, I wish I had never come across that Ring. I have wished that so many times, waiting in my room for you to come back, nursing my hopes even when they began to fade. I wish I could have gone with you, kept you safe, kept you both safe. This is all my fault. I should have never picked that thing up."

"It’s not your fault, Uncle," came Frodo’s muffled reply. "Gandalf told me it was all meant to happen, you and me having it. I wish it had remained forever lost too, that it hadn’t called out to Smeagol, hadn’t damaged him, hadn’t come to you or me, but then it would have fallen to someone else to find and...and it’s better that it was me."

Frodo looked up into those loving eyes as Bilbo smiled at him and stroked his curls. "I remember what you said about being proud of me that one time I sprained my ankle, for taking hurt so no one else would be. That’s the reason I took the Ring out of the Shire, but then...then...someone else was hurt."

"Sam."

"Oh, Uncle! It was so horrible. It took me. I couldn’t stop...I couldn’t stop..."

Bilbo held Frodo tighter as the younger Ring-bearer buried his head again in his uncle’s chest and dissolved into bitter tears once more and his small frame shook with terrible grief.

"I know well the power of that terrible thing, my lad," Bilbo said and his own tears fell into his nephew’s curls. "How I have suffered to unknowingly give you such a great burden, and then to watch you leave with it, wondering if I would ever see you again and fearing greatly that I wouldn’t. But you were so brave and determined. I was so proud of you, so very proud. I don’t think I ever loved you more than I did that day. I am still proud of you. My hero."

"But I’m not, Uncle. I am a villain. You should hate and despise me."

"And why is that?"

"Because I killed Sam!" The words came out as a muffled shout against the layers of clothing in which Bilbo was wrapped.

The ancient hobbit stopped his gentle stroking of Frodo’s curls for just an instant in his shock, then resumed. "Oh, my boy, my dear boy. Why did I pick it up? Why did I pick it up? It hurt you so badly. I hurt you so badly. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry..."

Bilbo kept repeating that over and over, his own heart torn in two, bleeding as it had not since the deaths of Primula and Drogo decades before. He had held Frodo then, heard and saw the same tears, the hitched breaths and agony too great for the whole world to contain that spilled out of the shattered heart of a tiny 12-year-old hobbit. He had looked up into those expressive eyes and seen something more than torment, the same thing he heard now. It had taken all his powers of persuasion and bribes and tricks to get Frodo to tell him that time and so draw the poison out from the lad’s heart.

"It’s all my fault, Uncle. If only I had been better, they wouldn’t have wanted to go away from me. They said they needed time alone, but if I had behaved better, they wouldn’t have thought that and they would have stayed. It’s all my fault."

"Of course, it’s not your fault, Frodo-lad. All parents need a little time away at times. It’s not because you were naughty that they left that night. They loved you more than anything and I know you loved them just as much. You were their joy and treasure. It was not in any way your fault that they died. You had nothing to do with it. It was an accident, a terrible accident."

"I wish I had been with them."

"Then you would have died too."

"I want to die."

"Oh, my dear boy, they would want you to live. I want you to live. All your aunts and uncles and cousins want you to live."

"How can I? It feels so empty inside."

"Then let me fill it up, let us all fill you up. We can’t replace your parents, but we can still love you."

"Oh, my boy, my beloved, beautiful boy," Bilbo said and kissed that dear head. "Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control."

"But it was my hand that held the blade, Uncle. It was my hand."

Bilbo felt suddenly sick as it grew even more apparent that his dear friend’s death was his fault, not Frodo’s at all. He closed his eyes. Sam was killed by Sting, the blade I gave. Oh no, oh no. His apologies came more brokenly now as he wept with his nephew. He knew he should still be holding him, but suddenly he could not bear to. He let go and reached for the chamberpot under his bed and was violently sick.

When Elrond came to check on them a few minutes later, he saw Frodo wiping at his uncle’s mouth and helping him lie down in bed. The younger hobbit then curled up against Bilbo and wrapped his arms around him. He heard the Ring-bearer’s murmured comforts, his voice softly raised in lullaby.

"Sleep, love, and dream of a land of peace and repose,

That can only be reached when the weary eyelids close;

Where the sun ever shines and in spring-time the flowers are gay,

And the cares of this waking world fade softly away.

"Sleep, love, and dream of a land where hope never dies,

Where no dark clouds of care or sorrow ever arise

To darken the light of that endless blissful day,

And the cares of this waking world fade softly away.

"Close now your eyes, dear one, and hold tight to my hand,

And we’ll fly o’er the clouds of dreams to that far distant land;

And you’ll sing in the sun with the birds all the long, long day,

While the cares of this waking world fade softly away."

Frodo kissed his uncle’s head, settled his head against Bilbo’s heart and they both slept as Sam watched over them. The Elf lord softly closed the door behind him. The wound had been lanced, the infection had begun to drain. __

A/N: The lullaby was of course from the queen. Hir nin is my lord.

Chapter Fifteen: Glimmering Light

Frodo woke the next morning, still resting against Bilbo’s chest, to feel his uncle stroking his curls and he lay there for a little bit, simply savoring that. Bilbo was murmuring in a voice broken by tears that Frodo now and then felt fall onto his head. "My dear, sweet, lovely boy, what have I done to you?"

The younger Ring-bearer raised his head, looked into his uncle’s tear-filled eyes and gently wiped at those tears that traveled down the worn, beloved face. "Do not cry, Uncle. You have done nothing to me."

"Nothing but left you that conflustergated thing. Oh, my lad, I look into your eyes now and see a ravaged heart where once there was such light and cheer, it seemed the sun streamed right through you. I’m so sorry, son of my heart, I’m so very sorry."

Frodo laid his head back down and listened to the heartbeat that had soothed him many a night as a tween at Bag End after waking from nightmares or at anytime anything had upset him. He had always felt everything so deeply, joys as well as sorrows. He was blessed to have known those who had understood that, like his Uncle and his Sam. Oh, Sam... His own eyes filled and he had to take several deep breaths until he thought he would be calm enough to speak without those tears being heard. He was the one who needed to be strong this time. He felt Sam’s love flow through him and he held onto that for the great security it had always been. "It is not your fault, Uncle. Please don’t think so. It is the doing of the Ring."

Bilbo continued his gentle stroking. "I shouldn’t have left it for you. I should have taken it with me. I didn’t want to leave it. But Gandalf thought it best that I did and so I doomed you."

"You did not doom me, dearest Bilbo. I have often wished you never found it either, but you were meant to so you could give it to me. I know you meant no harm by it."

"I don’t believe for a moment that Sam’s death was meant to be. I might as well have done that myself for it was me who gave you the blade that killed him. How could I ever face the Gaffer now and let him know it was my fault that his son is dead?"

Frodo wrapped his arms around his uncle tighter. "I have already faced him and told him it was my fault and he has forgiven me. It was not you that killed him, Uncle. If you had not given me Sting, then the Ring would have found another way to kill him. You are blameless, dearheart. Your gifts actually saved my life. The Ring is gone because of them."

There was a long pause, then Bilbo spoke very softly. "I miss it sometimes, you know."

Frodo’s response was long in coming also. "So do I, but I miss Sam more. It is gone, Uncle. Forever beyond our reach or anyone else’s. That couldn’t have been done without you finding it first. That was a great good you did, not a great evil."

"It seems a lot of evil came out of it though. I nearly attacked you to get a look at it. You were attacked by those terrible wraiths and wounded nigh unto death. And all those other terrible things that happened to you because of it. It should have been me that all happened to. I had found it. It was my burden. It should not have been yours."

Frodo raised his head. "It was appointed to be mine, Uncle. It would have overtaken you, just as it overtook me in the end, but for you the end would have been swifter and the world would have fallen with you. It was too much for any of us to bear, but I was the one chosen."

Bilbo looked back into his beloved nephew’s eyes and saw such love and compassion and suffering there. His vision was blurred by tears and maybe that was what made Frodo seem to shine unusually bright in the torchlight.

"Chosen by who, I wonder?"

"I don’t know, Uncle. Not by the Ring. I’m sure of that. I felt another Presence protecting me, not just Sam. And even after Sam died, I still felt our gardener guarding me. I have seen him. He is right here with us, even now. And I have felt the other Presence also with me."

"Then why didn’t it stop you from falling, from Sam dying?"

"I don’t know that either, Bilbo dear. Somehow it was all allowed to happen the way it did. Yes, a lot of evil has happened since you picked up the Ring, but you did not will any of it. And a lot of great good has happened too because you picked it up."

"But Sam is still dead. He would still be alive if..."

"Would he, Uncle? Why were you there just at the right moment to pick up the Ring? It had abandoned its bearer and was trying to find its way back to its master, but your hand fell upon it in the dark. Gandalf told me that was the strangest thing that had ever happened in the entire history of it. It certainly did not will you to do it, but it had little choice in the matter. Another Will had over-ruled it. And so it came to you so it could come to me so I could bring it to the Fire. It burned through me long before I came there, but still it is gone now and that was all that was intended. Its power was too great for any created being, mortal or immortal, to withstand. What if someone else of lesser strength had found it or what if it had woken sooner and taken you? We may all have been dead then. No, it all came about as it did to achieve the one end of its destruction."

"Even Sam’s death?"

Frodo did not answer for a long time. That had always been the most senseless thing, but he said, "Yes, somehow even that." And he knew it was true, even if he couldn’t understand how. As he laid his head back down and embraced his uncle tighter, he felt Sam’s arms around him as well. The infection continued to drain.

Chapter Sixteen: A Meeting with Father

Much of Frodo’s thought over the following days was preoccupied with his words to Bilbo. It helped the two of them to talk about their mutual burden and Frodo was happy to see that his uncle seemed less stricken with guilt the younger hobbit thought he never should have had, but was saddened that he still was not entirely healed. The last Ring-bearer still struggled with his own guilt and sense of responsibility but as he walked slowly in the gardens, staring thoughtfully at the ground, with the peace of the land seeping into him as sunlight and his hand held out and curled inward as he felt Sam beside him, he heard his own voice repeat back to him what he had told Bilbo. That the Ring would have found a way to kill Sam no matter what, if that was its intention and no matter what his own will in the matter was, the Ring’s will was at times stronger than his. It was still a hard thing to wrap his heart and understanding around, though he well knew there indeed had been times the Ring had overwhelmed him or almost had despite his best efforts. He had blamed himself for all those times, on the way out of the Shire when he had been saved by Gildor and his company, at the Prancing Pony, at Weathertop...

"There are times we are not ourselves but the instrument of another," Gandalf told him one bright afternoon, "for good or ill."

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, broken out of his reverie. "I didn’t hear you come up." He squinted up into the sunshine. "Do you know all my thoughts?"

The wizard smiled kindly. "What else have you been thinking of all these months?"

Frodo sighed. "I should know by now I have no secrets that I can hide."

"Not among those who love you most, no. But you also mutter a lot to yourself."

A ghost of a smile teased the edges of the Ring-bearer’s mouth. "Bilbo used to always do that when he was trying to figure out a big problem with translating or something else. And Sam was always talking to his plants. I guess I picked that up."

"As they picked up qualities from you."

"Oh, Gandalf, what am I going to do? I think Bilbo believed me when I told him it wasn’t his fault, but he is still struggling. I don’t know what else to do. I spend all the time with him I can, just being there with him and it has helped us both because we can see that we still love each other and have forgiven each other, but he’s still not entirely forgiven himself and neither have I. I’ve barely begun to start."

"But you have started and now that you have, continue on that path. I said sometimes we are instruments of another power greater than ourselves. You have felt that from both the Light and the dark as all do, but much stronger than most. The Shadow hates the Light, though without it it would not be. It wishes only to destroy that which the Light has made, though it would destroy itself in the process. It tried very hard to destroy the Light in you but there were others who fought for you just as hard and not just Sam. You submitted your will to One of them at the Council. There is a difference between that free choice and when the Enemy sought to enforce its own savage will. Neither can be hid from, not forever. One will call softly, the other will scream when its whispers are not heeded. While those screams must be fought and resisted, there will be times in which you are penetrated and used. Perhaps you cannot utterly undo the evil done while in its control, but you can seek to heal the damage as much as possible. You can allow the gentle hand of the Light to restore what the Shadow has rent within you with its claws."

"I have felt them both in my heart. I thought I would be torn apart utterly. I still do."

Gandalf looked down at his beloved friend sympathetically. "So it does feel at times. But it will not always be so violent a struggle. Let the Light re-enter you and the Shadow lessen, my dear boy. When Bilbo sees that, he will heal also. Your healing will cause his. But don’t hurry it or put a false front on it. You may think you are fooling others, but those you have given your heart to cannot be deceived. You will still have to struggle in other battles, but this one you can win as you can win the others, step by step."

"I will try."

Frodo spent much time in the library in the days that followed with Sam or Bilbo or both or walking in the surrounding land taking in the healing power that still lingered. They spent long hours in the evening in the Hall of Fire, often falling asleep there propped up against each other.

Frodo felt Sam’s joy at being surrounded by Elves and their songs and he felt some more peace steal into his heart that his brother was still with him and still loved him. He knew he was watched over each night by his two guardians and he felt that Other presence as well. He didn’t cry himself to sleep as he had done so often before. He and Bilbo were nourished as well by the lembas which also helped ease the grief of their hearts.

One evening when Bilbo had already fallen asleep at Frodo’s shoulder and Glorfindel had carried him off to bed, Elrond approached the younger Ring-bearer. Frodo half-stood to bow at the Elf lord, but shook his head and gestured for him to sit back down.

"It is I who should bow to you," Elrond said, but knowing that would make his friend uncomfortable, merely bowed his head. He also bowed in the direction that he sensed Sam. "May I sit beside you?"

Frodo looked at him, surprised that his permission was being asked. "Of course, my lord," he replied in Sindarin. "It would be my honor."

Elrond smiled gravely. "You are picking up more of our speech. I saw you singing softly along tonight and you spend much of your time in the library."

"I have always loved the tales and Bilbo has been my teacher since I was a lad. Sam knows the tales as well as I do."

"Then you know they are filled with much woe. Few of mortal kind have had to contend with the Shadow as much as you. It’s no wonder that your fea suffered because of it. Mine too has been torn that I could not contend better with it."

Frodo looked up with even greater surprise. His gentle manners forbade him from asking why, but he feared the question was clear on his fair features.

"It is partly my fault that you had to contend with the Ring at all," Elrond said in answer. "I was beside Isildur when he came to the Crack of Doom and could not destroy the Ring. I have long struggled with my own failure to prevent him from leaving with it."

"It’s not your fault, my lord," Frodo said, amazed that the Elf lord would even consider such a thing. "There is a power there that overcomes all that come to it. You were not at fault. I wish too Isildur had destroyed the Ring and none of this had happened. My Sam would still be alive. And all the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor who perished defending their lands. But perhaps another Shadow would have arisen and had to be fought even if Sauron had been vanquished. I do not blame you, my lord."

"So my sons and daughter tried to convince me also and my wife before she left. But there are some wounds that are slow in healing and understanding sometimes takes greater wisdom than is to be had at the time."

"I have read the tale of Sauron’s defeat when Isildur cut the Ring from him." Frodo looked up into Elrond’s eyes and saw a pain there similar to what he felt. Tears brightened his own eyes. "You have held that pain long, my lord."

"Yes, very long."

Frodo touched his cheek. "You need not. You didn’t will Isildur’s failure nor could you have stopped it. His will was just as paralyzed from choosing the good as yours. I heard Sam telling me to destroy it, but he couldn’t get me to do it either. I don’t think good could be accomplished there by anyone."

Elrond reached up and took Frodo’s hand in his. "Yet it was."

"Not by me."

"Did you think it had to be? You did exactly what you were created to do. You bore the Ring. It was for another to destroy it."

Frodo didn’t say anything at first. If he had less manners, he would have withdrawn his hand, but he did not. Its warmth comforted him and reminded him of the way his own small hand had often been held in his father’s larger one. "I didn’t want to destroy it anymore. I had....it had...already killed Sam, but still I wanted it."

"As have all those who have borne it, so great is the power it exerts. It took me a long time to understand that about Isildur and myself. I hope you find wisdom by a shorter path. It was long before I could release my own guilt and I could not do it alone."

Frodo’s hand tightened slightly around Elrond’s. "Don’t blame yourself, my lord, for what you couldn’t control."

"As you do?" the Elf-lord asked gently.

"I still think I should have been able to stop myself."

"As I still think at times I should have been able to stop Isildur, but I have been healed of that particular grief or at least the guilt that clung to it. The Elves have long fought the Shadow and it has been a bitter fight with many losses and few victories. But still we fight on."

When Frodo did not respond, but stared straight ahead, and Elrond could barely feel that small hand in his, he spoke again. "Your light is bright, Frodo, son of Drogo. Brighter than any I’ve seen of mortal kind, equal in strength to Aragorn’s and I marveled when I first saw it, fractured and splintered as it was becoming, but still shining. Did you know that Aragorn’s name while he lived here was Estel? Do you know what that word means?"

"Hope," Frodo said quietly.

"Do you have any idea that while Aragorn was the guarded hope for Men, you were the guarded estel for all of Middle-earth? That you had been set aside as he had been for a hallowed task that only you could accomplish, the smallest of the created Children and the greatest?"

"Sam is the greatest and Bilbo and my parents and my cousins and all those fought the Shadow with greater strength than I had."

"All those you name would disagree."

Frodo turned silent once more. He could sense Sam’s exasperation at his stubbornness and sent him a silent apology.

Elrond stood suddenly, his hand still wrapped around Frodo’s. "I have a place to show you."

The troubled Ring-bearer looked up. He didn’t say anything, but allowed himself to be led. The Elf lord measured his steps to the hobbit’s smaller strides. They came to a door which was bracketed by the sconces of two brightly burning torches. The room was dark inside, lit only by candles, the largest of which hung from the ceiling surrounded by a dark red glass.

Elrond bowed and Frodo did the same though he did not know why. The Elf guided him to the last of a row of benches. "This is where I healed," the ancient lord said softly. "It is our iaun, our holy place. Have you read of Ilúvatar in your studies of Elven kind?"

"Yes, He was the One who created the Elves and Men."

"And Hobbits."

Frodo looked up at Elrond in surprise. Then he looked up at the red light and peace settled a little deeper around him. It felt like the wonderful feeling of love he had sensed that night back home. But this felt like home also. Even more.

"How can He love me so much?" Frodo wondered, not even aware he was talking aloud.

"Because He is your Father. He knows your shame and guilt and grief as intimately as He knew mine and just as much as I am His child, so are you. We are all reflections of His light, some of us are more splintered than others and some of us shine almost as brightly as we ought if we truly understood Whose children we were. The Shadow has been part of Creation from the beginning, Frodo. It has marred us all, but it can be overcome. Your Father is stronger than the Shadow for it is merely a warping of creation by a creation, while He is the Creator of all good things. It is His creatures that mar the good, but it is also His children who serve to try to heal the damage done. That is what you did when you said you would take the Ring to the Fire. That is why some of these candles are burning. They were lit with supplication to the One for your safe delivery from peril. Our prayers were answered. Yours can be too."

"I don’t know how to pray."

"You already have. Eru Ilúvatar Himself will make up for anything that is lacking and He will answer you. You are not perfect, son of Drogo, son of Eru, none of us are. Though we come from a perfect Creator, we pass through an imperfect creation, but you are loved for who you are and who you can be. Sit here and listen to Him tell you that. No Ilúvatar na le, Iorhael trannail."

Elrond left then and Frodo sat alone for a long time, staring up at the light and feeling it enter him. He cried silently to feel such love. Though he strongly desired to stay, at last he stood and lit a candle of his own, then bowed deeply and left. He knew he still had a way to go yet, but he felt strengthened to continue along the Road.

Gandalf came to him as he slept, softly glowing and smiled to Sam who sat at his dear’s bedside. Frodo slept deeply and peacefully, his brow less creased than it had been for a long time, his maimed hand wrapped around Sam’s. The Maia sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked the hobbit’s curls gently.

"May the One of peace and love set your heart at rest and speed you on your journey," he said softly. "May He shelter you from disturbances in the hidden recesses of His love, until He brings you at last into that place of complete plenitude where you will repose forever in the vision of peace, in the security of trust and in the restful enjoyment of His riches."

When he had ended his prayer, Frodo’s brow was smoothed and his features more relaxed. Sam smiled. "Thank you," he said and Gandalf knew it was not him who was being thanked.

A/N: Gandalf’s prayer is an almost exact quote of St. Raymond of Pennafort. No Iluvatar na le, Iorhael trannail is May Iluvatar be with you, Frodo of the Shire.

Chapter Seventeen: Wounds Underneath

Frodo spent much time in the iaun in the next weeks, more than anywhere else and the first tendrils of peace took deeper root in him. He had asked early on if he could have a candle beside his bed. Elrond approved and so now there was also a small candle enclosed in a clear glass that burned beside Frodo’s softly glowing figure in the bed. At rare times Bilbo came with him to that dark and holy room, the elder hobbit once remarking that he had spent a lot of time there himself while Frodo had been away on the Quest, staring at the candles that had been lit. But little time did that ancient one now spend outside his room. Most of the time Frodo was alone, but for Sam’s presence.

All the progress he had made though came close to unraveling after winter passed and the anniversary of Sam’s death, shortly followed by the loss of the Ring, came. In the iaun, Frodo had slowly and painfully sorted out the blame for his beloved friend’s death and properly ascribed it to Sauron. It had not been easy to do, but he had had help, other hands covering his as he labored to mend back together the torn pieces of his heart. But then the anniversaries came and attempted to rip his heart apart anew. The grief over Sam’s death was ebbing slowly as he felt his brother’s continued presence and love, but with that no longer overwhelming him, he became more aware of other griefs that had always been there but had been overshadowed by the worst of his pain. Sometimes he even slept in the iaun, needing that extra support as new pain assaulted his fragile recovery. He cried at times again, something he had almost stopped doing and he knew it just wasn’t for Sam anymore, but for the Ring and for himself, for the terrible violation and longing that shamed him. Those times he would have shunned Sam’s presence and the One Elrond had said he could call Father, had he been able to bear doing so, but instead he was held tighter by both. When he longed to call for the Ring, he curled on his side on a bench in the iaun, clutched the gem that Arwen had given him, and repeated Sam’s name and the Other’s over and over to try to drown out the other voices in his head. He kept going until he was beyond hoarse, his voice choked with tears and his fingers cramped from holding the gem so tightly. Then he heard his own name repeated back to him from the two he named and he cried even more, but not from pain.

Gandalf, Elrond and Bilbo who had silently rejoiced at Frodo’s continued recovery now began to worry again. Time was approaching when many of the Elves would be leaving Rivendell for the West and with them, Bilbo, whose health was failing with his advanced age and would need healing in the West for his own unquenched longing for the Ring. He, who seemed to have recovered from blaming himself for Sam’s death, now flailed in the churning waters of old grief as he saw again what he had done to the beloved son of his heart in bequeathing the Ring to him.

"I should have never given it to him," the ancient hobbit said in as much a litany as the one that Frodo said for the same deliverance.

"It was the right thing to do, dear Bilbo," Gandalf interrupted one day, upon hearing it, "You could not have borne it much longer without the whole of Middle-earth being devoured by it."

"No, just the heart of that sweet, beautiful, innocent, loving lad had to be devoured," Bilbo said bitterly. "I should have let Gollum devour me instead."

"Then where would Frodo be or the rest of the world? He would have not been brought up by you, would not have the experience of being loved by you or taught Elvish tales, probably not even met Sam. He would not be the person he was created to be. The Ring would have fallen to another owner, not as well-suited. No, Bilbo, don’t agonize over what if’s and could have been’s. Our wisdom is not the Creator’s. Our vision does not stretch as far or wide or deep as His. We cannot see all ends. He can and does and orders things as they should be, not as we would think they should be. I, too, wish Frodo had been spared this, and you had, but it was his very innocence that made him who he is and the only one that could do the task that had been appointed to him, long, long before you were ever born to make any decision about it yourself. He was given the strength to get to the Fire. The same One who gave that will also give him the strength to get back."

"And perhaps make him leave the Shire again. I don’t think there will be rest for him here. I wonder how he can bear to look at me at times."

"And he has wondered how you can bear to look at him, but I’m afraid you are stuck together and I dare say, happy to be so."

"Nothing makes me happier than to be with him, you know that well, and nothing breaks my heart more. I’m old, Gandalf. I know I am not long for this world. But I’m not going to go until I know my boy is all right."

"Stubborn Baggins," the wizard said with a fond smile.

Bilbo looked up at his friend and smiled back. "Where do you think he got that from?" He looked away as his features clouded over again. "I should have been more so when you made me give up the Ring."

"I didn’t make you do anything, my dear hobbit. You found the strength in yourself to do that."

"I wouldn’t have without all your badgering."

"Then I’m glad to have been there to shore up your will, but it was still your choice."

"And the poorest one I ever made. Had I known what it would do to him, I would have never done it."

"Then it is good that you didn’t. The future is not ours to know, Bilbo, nor the destiny of any for us to shape, try as we might at times to do so. We need only to walk the Path that has been laid for us and trust in the One Who does know all that it is for our benefit and others that we tramp through all the bogs and brambles and thorns along the Road and though we may be cut badly and wish to find a clearer, wider Path, it is the one that we are on, if we remain guided by the Light, that will bring us to where we should be and not the one that seemingly has no troubles at all."

Bilbo looked up at his friend darkly. "You’ve never had a child, Gandalf, that you’ve given a treasure to and found out it was blackest poison instead."

"You are wrong there, dear friend," the wizard said and the hobbit was surprised to hear his voice full of pain. "I have many of Ilúvatar’s children under my care. I’m the one who sent Frodo on his way with far more knowledge of the Ring than you had and it was Frodo who accepted the burden with much of the same knowledge, again far more than you had. You did not give him poison willingly or knowingly. You are blameless in that. You were kept from that knowledge so you could give it away, so it would come to its new owner: the one its master, had he but known, would have least intended it to go, but the one it was indeed meant to go to. Don’t blame yourself for fulfilling your Creator’s will, though you knew it not at the time."

"I just wish he could heal. If none of this could have been stopped and was all meant to be, and I still have a very hard time believing that, then I just wish it he could be free of the pain."

"That is my prayer also. The hurt itself was not meant, but it was known it was going to happen. Frodo himself knew he was going into danger and even when it had already almost taken his life, he still stepped forward. He didn’t know all that it would do to him. He would have been even more terrified than he already was. It is best that we ourselves do not see too far, too clearly down the Road or our frail spirits would collapse under the burden. Better to trust in the One who can see and let Him guide our steps so our will is strengthened by His. Frodo did that. We can pray that he will continue to do so."

* * *

Elrond approached Frodo as he stood looking down at a waterfall.

"Sometimes I wish I could jump in that and made clean and whole again," the Ring-bearer murmured. "But I wonder if the entire Sea is enough to wash it all away."

"Have you considered my daughter’s offer?"

Frodo clutched the gem Arwen had given him. "Yes, hir nin. It is my only hope I think, though I wonder if I dare take it." He looked up at the Elf-lord. "Do they have an iaun there?"

Elrond smiled gravely at the great hope in the Ring-bearer’s voice. "Yes, they do."

Frodo sighed in relief. That made his decision easier. There was only one other thing he needed to know. Will you make it, Sam? I won’t go if you can’t.

He felt Sam’s smile fill him and smooth a bit the jagged edges of his wounds. I will make it, dear.

But Rose and your family...I know they will miss you and even having you with them like you are now is a comfort.

Sam’s love filled even more. My place is with you.

Thank you, my Sam.

"I cannot stay here," he said aloud. "And I cannot go back home but to say goodbye. Bilbo fades daily and I wonder if he will even be able to make the journey."

"He will make it," Elrond replied, "as you will if you make that choice."

Frodo felt Sam’s love bolster him. "I will go. But will even that be enough I wonder? I was feeling better, but now all is darkness again."

"The Light will not forsake you, Iorhael."

"I just hope I won’t forsake it," Frodo said then left before he heard Elrond’s response.

"That is my prayer for you," the Elf-lord said softly then went to the iaun to light another candle. He thought of another that could perhaps be guardian to the Ring-bearer’s anguished soul, a kindred spirit of sorts. He knelt on the floor, staring at the red light. "Please, ada. Please. Guide him to her and her to him. Guard them both." He had barely spoke when he felt in his heart that his prayer had been heard and answered. He bowed his head. "Le hannon, ada, le hannon." And then to the one who would help his friend, "Le hannon, meleth nin."

Chapter Eighteen: A New Quest

"I am going on a new adventure," Frodo told Merry and Pippin when he returned and met them at Crickhollow. He tried to smile and look hopeful but he feared from his cousins’ expressions that he failed miserably. He took a deep breath and went on before he lost his will. He couldn’t look into those beloved eyes that faced him with such joy turning to concern. "Bilbo is coming with me and Sam, but I’m afraid you two can’t, not the whole way. Just to the Havens. We are taking ship with the Elves."

In the stillness that followed his words, he found the courage to look at his cousins, afraid for what he would see there. Merry didn’t say anything but took him into his arms and held him for a long time. His joy at seeing his beloved brother-cousin was greatly tempered by the fact that Frodo looked no different, perhaps even worse than he had before. Frodo held him just as tightly, crying into his shoulder while Merry rocked him gently, stroked his curls and murmured what comforts he could. Frodo cried harder at such love and that he would soon not feel those arms which had held him long before Merry was big enough to even reach more than half way around and now Merry was so much taller than he was. Pippin held him next and Frodo cherished that embrace just as much.

They didn’t talk much that night, but simply lay together on the floor to sleep, pushing two mattresses together and pulling down blankets from the beds since they had no bed big enough for the three of them and they didn’t want to be apart.

Pippin sighed. "Remember when we used to do this when we went camping, just us three and we slept out on the grass, wrapped in blankets and listened to you tell us stories of the Elves or the stars or made up stories just for us?"

"Yes," Frodo answered, "when the only shadow was the one we cast in the sunlight."

"Those days will come again," Merry said. "For all of us."

"I have to reach the light first," Frodo said.

"You will." And Frodo thought he heard that response from three voices. He curled down into the blankets and slept as well as he could.

"Are you sure you want to walk the whole way?" Merry asked the next morning.

"Yes," Frodo said without hesitation, even though he was nervous about spending a night out in the open. The Riders had come at night... But they were no more, he told himself. And I will be be well protected.

"I want to spend my last days in the Shire, seeing and hearing and feeling as much as possible," he said. "I couldn’t do that as well riding."

"Then walking it is," Pippin said and handed Frodo his pack.

The Ring-bearer noticed that it was lighter than the others looked, but he didn’t say anything. He knew he was being cared for and he was not as strong as he once was. He took a deep breath of the air as he stepped outside and he looked around him, trying to memorize everything, the wind in his hair and across his cheek, the feel of the trees as he ran his hand against the bark, the leaves and grass as it tickled his feet, the sounds of the birds. He took Merry’s hand in one of his, his maimed one, and took Pippin’s hand in the other and they started off. Sam was nearby, a welcome, unseen presence.

"Will you sing something, Pip?" Frodo asked.

Pippin was in no mood for cheer, but neither did he wish to deepen his beloved cousin’s pain. He softly began singing and Frodo closed his eyes and concentrated just on that dear voice.

When they rested for the night, Pippin sang him to sleep, holding his shivering form under many blankets.

"Many long ways still before your feet lie,

Roads long and toilsome and steep;

But lie still and list to the voice of the wind

As it sings you to your sleep.

"The sun has now gone to her bed in the west,

And round you the darkness is deep.

So lie still and list to the voice of the wind

As it sings you to your sleep.

"Lay down your sweet head, my dear, close your eyes,

And o’er you my watch I will keep.

So lie still and list to the voice of the wind

As it sings you to your sleep.

"When morning comes, you must rise and go on,

Following the road long and steep.

But rest now and list to the voice of the wind

As it sings you to your sleep."

The last thing Frodo felt was the brush of Pippin’s lips against his brow and the tween tightening his embrace around him. The night passed much more restfully than he had feared it would.

They reached Bag End late the next afternoon. Frodo slept alone that night. "I just want to sleep in my own bed one last time," he told the others.

But for a long while he didn’t sleep. He wandered around his home for hours, standing in each room for a long time, chiseling the memories of each special place into his mind so as to never forget. He did it by moonlight, finding his way effortlessly in the dark. He lingered longest in the study, fingering the many books there, inhaling their smell and that of the ink. He stood at the windows and took in the air of the Shire and the garden. He looked at the stars.

You said you wanted to sleep in your own bed, Sam’s voice came to him long after midnight. Better do it while you still can.

Frodo smiled faintly, turning his head slightly to where he knew Sam was, even though he couldn’t see him. "Yes, my Sam," he said obediently and left the last room.

He lit the candle he had brought from the iaun at Rivendell, placed it at his bedside, then curled up on his side and softly said the prayer Gandalf had taught him once the pain of the loss of the Ring had taken hold. "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."

It was a long while before he could fall asleep, his pillow wet with tears and his mouth dry from repeating the prayer. He stared at the candlelight until his eyes finally closed.

The next morning, he gave his will to the Gaffer to execute with his sorrow again expressed and his thanks, then he moved away so Sam could have time alone with his family and Rose to say goodbye.

Frodo looked up from his gardening to see Sam’s luminous figure standing next to Rose a little down the Hill and he smiled as his dearest friend leaned to kiss the cheek of the lass he had so long loved. Sam had always been too shy to do that before, and now it was too late. The smile turned to tears.

Frodo was still crying when he felt his guardian’s presence by him. "I shouldn’t be doing this to you, Sam. You should be with your family, with Rosie."

It wasn’t just the wind Frodo knew that wiped away his tears. Sam looked into his brother’s eyes and smiled as lovingly as he ever did and Frodo could not look away even as fresh tears fell. Sam didn’t say anything but held out his hand. Frodo reached out for it and could swear it wasn’t just wishful imagining that he felt something.

The Gaffer and Rosie and the rest of the Gamgee clan watched the two walked down the Hill and to the waiting ponies. As Gandalf, Merry and Pippin and Frodo rode off together, Sam looked back, smiled and waved and they all felt his love fill them. Rose and Marigold especially held their arms tight around themselves as to hold all that love inside them. They smiled back through their tears, then when Sam could be seen no more, turned and went back inside.

Frodo slept each night on the way to the Havens curled up between his cousins. Merry sang to him as well.

"Day is over, night is deep.

Close your eyes, ‘tis time for sleep.

Hush now, my dear one, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby.

Lullaby, lullaby, lull-a-bye.

"Dreams surround your dear sweet head,

Slumber winds you in her thread.

Hush now, my dear one, close your eye,

And I will sing a lullaby.

Lullaby, lullaby, lull-a-by.

"Hard and steep is life's long way,

Sleep, my loved one, while you may.

Hush now, sweet dear one, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby.

Lullaby, lullaby, lull-a-by.

"Time goes ever changing on,

But know you this, beloved one:

I will love you till the day that I die,

And now I’ve sung my lullaby.

Lullaby, lullaby, lull-a-by."

Each night either or both of his cousin’s sang to him and the fears of the night were chased away by loving voices and arms. The two younger hobbits stayed awake much longer, just looking at their dear, memorizing anew beloved features long cherished. At times, if Frodo woke, sometimes he saw those gazes or looked upon their own sleeping faces. Many tears were shed but more love was shared than pain.

At last they came to the Havens. Frodo clutched his cousins’ hands more tightly at the sight of the elegant Elven ship awaiting him. Hope flared in his heart and his breath caught. But then pain lanced through him. Why did he have to leave? Why had he fought and suffered so much to save the Shire only to have it taken from him? He thought he had come to peace with that as much as he could, but now the questions that had been silenced cried out anew and he cried with them. But the pain was too great for him to stay. He had to leave. It was already near sundown and Frodo was glad for he feared his will might fail if he had to linger too long. Bilbo and Gandalf were already there and smiled at him when he arrived. He could not smile back. He turned to Merry first and embraced him tightly.

"I’m sorry, my Merry, I’m so sorry. It just hurts so much."

Merry held him more tightly. "I know, dearest, I know it does. I’m sorry too."

"Oh, Merry, how I love you and always have from before you were even born and I shall forever.

How I wish you could come with me and have something other than tears for memories."

Merry raised Frodo’s chin when the Ring-bearer tried to look away and waited until his cousin looked into his eyes. He wiped at Frodo’s tears and tried to smile through his own. "I shall have much more than that. I shall have all the smiles and giggles going as far back as my memories go. All the tales and games and adventures with your hand in mine. All the kisses goodnight and the arms around me as you sang me to sleep after I had run into your room, begging you to protect me from monsters or storms. All the love that always shone from you. All the treats you snuck to me from the kitchens long after everyone gone to sleep but we were still up." Merry stroked his beloved cousin’s cheek. "Every single thing shall I remember about you, Frodo Baggins. The tears too because they are part of you and I don’t want to forget anything. You have always been my hero and you remain so, especially now."

"Oh, Merry!" Frodo cried and held his cousin ever more tightly. "How I wish I could have kept protecting you and Pip."

"What makes you think you haven’t, dearest? You have taken perfect care of me and Pippin since we were born. That hasn’t stopped."

"But you were captured by orcs and tormented and I wasn’t there to stop it."

"You would have been captured too and who knows what would have happened then. Let go of that guilt, you stubborn Baggins. You were captured and tormented in your turn and we weren’t there to stop that. And much worse happened to you that we couldn’t protect you from."

"You couldn’t have helped even had you been there. Sam couldn’t. I may have killed you too."

"We all have to learn not to torment ourselves with what-if’s. What really happened is that you still took care of us and all Middle-earth with every step you took to Mordor. You took terrible hurt so we wouldn’t and now you’ve got to heal. I love you, my Frodo. I always have and I always will. You just get well and know your Sprout is wishing that for you with all his heart and will and strength and if you don’t, he’s going to take a ship himself to make sure that you do!"

Frodo almost laughed, but it came out as more tears.

"We both will," Pippin said.

At last Merry kissed his head and Frodo kissed his and then they let go so Pippin could hold his cousin.

The tween held Frodo tightly, wanting to savor that last embrace. "I know you are going to be in good hands as you always have been," he said, "but I’m frightfully jealous of Sam for being able to be with you and we can’t."

"Don’t be, dearest. I envy you that you are staying and I have to leave. But I will carry a bit of you with me too, my Pipsqueak, and Merry and all our times together. I wish they could have gone on forever. But..."

"But nothing, cousin dear. They will go on because we will be thinking of you and you will be thinking of us and you will be getting better and so will we."

"You aren’t angry?"

"Good heavens! Why should I be angry?"

"That I’m leaving. That I failed. That..."

Pippin raised his cousin’s head and looked him in the eye. "None of that nonsense now," he said in a strict tone and Frodo almost smiled. "Now repeat after me. Sam loves me."

"Sam loves me."

"Merry loves me."

"Merry loves me."

"Pippin loves me."

"Pippin loves me."

"Very good," the tween said with a smile, though his eyes were bright with tears. He put Frodo’s head back down on his shoulder. "Thank you, Frodo. Thank you for all you did. We can never thank you enough. Merry and I are so proud of you."

Frodo half raised his head, mouth open to protest, but Pippin tapped him on the nose. "Now don’t you dare argue that you have done nothing to be proud of, you ridiculous Baggins, or I’ll make Sam promise that he will remind you every day that you have until you are either driven mad or are finally convinced."

"I won’t argue," Frodo promised because he well knew Sam would do make good on that promise.

"Now say I am your hero."

"You are my hero."

"No," Pippin said, adopting that strict tone again, "I said to say I am your hero."

Frodo winced. "I am your hero."

"Say it like you know it’s true."

Frodo’s features twisted. "I can’t."

Pippin kissed his head. "The day you are able to, you will know you are well."

Frodo smiled faintly and sadly at his beloved cousin. "When did you grow up so much?"

Pippin smiled, then lowered his head so he could hear the heartbeat he had heard all his life. "I love you, cousin."

Frodo kissed the top of his head. "I love you, too, ’squeak, always and forever."

They let go at last. Bilbo and Gandalf said their farewells. The Maia smiled at them and as he put his hands on their heads in blessing, they felt their hearts ease some. "He will heal," he said softly.

The two hobbits nodded, then watched Frodo board the ship with Bilbo and Gandalf. The phial of Galadriel flared in Frodo’s hand in the fading light, then the ship disappeared from sight. The tears from the three hobbits merged with the sea and mingled with each other.
__

A/N: The prayer Frodo says is adapted from St. Thomas Aquinas. The songs are translations of the Queen from lullabies popular in Tookland and Buckland.

Chapter Nineteen: Following the Light

When Frodo went below deck after staring back east long after the shore had disappeared, he turned to where he knew Sam was. I’m glad you are here with me, Sam. I don’t know how I could have left you. I don’t know how I just left Merry and Pippin and half of my heart back in the Shire.

They will keep it safe for you, dear.

Just like you and Bilbo have kept my other half?

Just so.

Lady Galadriel came up as he traveled down unfamiliar corridors to where he had been told his and Bilbo’s room would be. He carried only the phial she had given him and his candle with him. He had left everything else behind, including a book of adventures he and Sam had written and drawn as lads for the Gamgees and Rose to enjoy. He hadn’t even taken a nightshirt with him.

"I can show you to your room if you would like," the Elven lady said with a warm smile.

"Le hannon, hiril nin," Frodo said with a deep bow.

He took the hand Galadriel held out for him. When they arrived at the room, he was a little surprised not to Bilbo there. His aged uncle had tottered down below before he had and Frodo had assumed he would be retiring for the evening.

"Your uncle said he was ready for another adventure and wanted a look around," Galadriel explained.

"I wish I was ready," Frodo said wearily as he sat down on one of the two beds in the room. "I am and I’m not."

Galadriel sat down beside him. "It is not a light or easy decision you made, Iorhael, to come here. Just as the one you made to carry the Ring was not. But they were and are both right. Sometimes those of Elven kind come West to seek for healing just as you are. My daughter did. And you are almost Elven yourself in all the graces and blessings that have been bestowed upon you, more than I’ve ever seen in a mortal."

Frodo sighed. "All I’ve ever wanted to be is a hobbit."

Galadriel brushed at his hair. "That’s the glory of who you were created to be."

"Then why couldn’t I stay and be one?"

Frodo hadn’t wanted to cry, but Galadriel saw the barely restrained tears glistening as he raised his eyes to her. She reached an arm around him and pulled him close and his tears flowed out.

"You are still one," she assured, "but you are beyond one also, called to greatness because you are one. No one else could have done what you did, Iorhael trannail, no Elf, no Man, no Dwarf, only a Hobbit, only you. The Ring would have destroyed anyone else, including the Wise. We trusted to folly instead or that which would have been viewed so by any other standards than that of the Creator."

"It did destroy me. It destroyed Sam."

"It tried very hard too, yes. But it could not and it has not. You live and it was only Sam’s hroa that was destroyed, not his fea, not Sam himself. And now the Ring is destroyed instead and you are on your way to a new home long prepared for you."

"Long prepared," Frodo murmured and he tried to take comfort from that.

Galadriel pulled Frodo closer. "Sleep now and let the sea soothe your way."

The Ring-bearer fell to sleep in her arms, exhausted by grief and stress. His hands relaxed and the phial and the candle in its holder would have fallen to the ground had not the Elf lady taken them and placed them beside Frodo’s bed. She looked down at the softly glowing figure in her arms, so hurt, but still alive and bright and she marveled at what he had been able to do.

Frodo slept soundly the rest of the voyage, his body curled on his bed, one hand outstretched and wrapped around Sam’s, the other usually around Bilbo’s hand or Arwen’s gem. Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel watched over him as well. The Elf lord was surprised the first time Frodo’s hand curled around his as he checked on him, but he did not pull away. He sat down by the troubled hobbit’s side and prayed there instead in the iaun, looking at the light from the candle that was lit the entire time and the glow from Frodo that continued to grow, especially at his left shoulder and right hand where his finger was missing. Pain was still deeply etched into the Ring-bearer’s fair features and at times he cried out softly in his sleep, but didn’t wake.

* * *

The morning the ship came within sight of the white shores of Tol Eressea shining in the bright sunlight, Frodo woke. "Are we there?" he asked.

Bilbo smiled. "Yes, my lad. You’ve woken just in time. Why don’t we come up and see our new home, hmmm?"

The ancient hobbit held out his hand, already less gnarled than before and Frodo spent a moment wondering about that as he took that hand and rose from his bed. He felt strengthened in body, but still rather fragile in spirit. They climbed the steps to the deck and came out into the sun.

It was an awesome sight, almost too bright and Frodo’s eyes narrowed painfully at first before he could look more fully. He felt Bilbo’s hand tighten around his as a small gasp issued from those ancient lips in wonder and joy and he felt Sam’s as well. He felt a small thrill run through him, a hope, before it was buried under his pain. How did he deserve to come to such a fair land?

You are on your way home, my child, came a Voice inside of him, clear and beautiful, nothing like the voice of the Ring he had heard for so many months and still could hear in his dreams. It was the same Voice he had heard in the iaun.

Can I come home now, Papa? Frodo asked. It still hurts so much. I don’t know if I can make it the whole way.

You do not walk alone. The path is long and I would have you know joy again in this life.

Yes, Papa.

"What do you think, lad?" Bilbo asked.

"I think I am inside a dream."

"Say a Song rather," Gandalf said softly, coming to their side. "The same Song that has been played since the beginning and has not yet finished all the melodies within it. Your own music will strengthen here, Frodo, and become again the marvelous part of the symphony it was created to be."

Frodo squinted into the sun to look up at his friend. "I think I’ve heard part of it on the way, in my dreams, but not my own part, at least not as anything beautiful."

"It is the Sea that contains most of the Music in these latter days. It was what lulled you to sleep so it could heal you as much as it could before you came here."

Frodo looked back at the water. "I have dreamed often of the Sea, but it hasn’t always been pleasant dreams."

"But not unpleasant either?" the wizard asked in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

"No, just different." He looked back up at Gandalf. "Was I being prepared even then for now?"

The Maia smiled and placed his hand on Frodo’s slim shoulders. "Ilúvatar looks after His own, my dear hobbit. Those who He sets aside for great trials, He also provides for healing afterwards."

Frodo sighed. "Then it was all meant to be. The Lady Galadriel said my home here had been long prepared."

Gandalf smiled. "So it has been."

* * *

"Why don’t you go to the iaun like Frodo?" Gandalf asked Bilbo one day, several weeks after they had arrived. "He receives great solace there and I would dare say you are in need of that yourself."

Bilbo didn’t look up right away at his friend. "I’m too angry, Gandalf. I am glad that Frodo is finding some comfort there, though I can’t fathom why." He looked up now and raised an accusing finger at the wizard. "I spent time there every day while they were away, lit my candles in the hope that they would all be safe, that they would come back unharmed. But I haven’t been back much since. What good came of it? Sam is dead and there is still such incredible pain in my lad’s eyes where there was once only sunshine and joy. Even after his parents’ died, there wasn’t such torment. I don’t understand, if all you say is true and I know it is, about someone above knowing everything, why he allowed this hurt to happen? If he’s so all powerful, why didn’t he stop it? If he’s everywhere, then where was he when my boy was suffering? Where is he now?"

"He is with Frodo and He is with you," Gandalf began, calm amidst the storm of Bilbo’s grief and anger. "He didn’t will this evil, but you are right to use the word allowed. He did that for His own good purposes, to show Sauron Who truly is Ruler of this created world. He could have stopped it, but he has given His children the gift of free will and that includes the will sometimes to choose the dark. Evil has been woven into the fabric of creation from the beginning and He allowed it to be so so even through that His glory could be shown from the good He draws out of it."

"Then, if he was with my lads, why, Gandalf, why all this terrible hurt? Why did Sam die? Not a very good protector this Ilúvatar, if you ask me. If he was there and could have stopped it, why didn’t he?"

"Because He wished to show His power through weakness. Who accounted for Hobbits before this time, Bilbo? Who knew their strength? He did, from all time, because He gave it to them. He chose the small, the overlooked, to prove to be greater than the Wise and the great. No one else could have done what Frodo did. You think you know what happened because you can still see the effects, but you don’t truly know how badly Sauron tried to stop Frodo from accomplishing his task. He hasn’t told you because he hasn’t wanted to have you fret but he very nearly died out there, Bilbo. And he’s learned also that there are worse things than losing one’s life. Sauron’s might was beyond any mortal being’s capacity to withstand in the end and Frodo came very near to surrendering that part of himself that he had fought so hard to preserve, but Ilúvatar was there to strengthen him and save him from that for the One Who hallowed Frodo for his Quest is even mightier than the one who wished to destroy him.

"Frodo understands that more and more. He knew even before the Quest began that he is but a fragile vessel as all mortals are, too fragile to withstand something he could not have on his own, but he came to realize that he was never alone. He was filled ever more with Light as the darkness grew about him. He was saved from much because of that. He was saved at the end because through it he learned of pity and mercy as you had without even knowing it. You are no less a child of Ilúvatar than he is, my dear, irascible hobbit. He’s watched over you long also. He’s the reason you found the Ring."

Bilbo looked away again. "I wish he hadn’t done that. I can’t think of a worse thing that I could have put my hand to. I wish it still lay there on the ground."

"It wouldn’t have stayed there. One will or another would have moved it along its path. You should be glad it was the Will of the Creator that placed you there, alone in the dark, just at the right time, and not the will of any creature. Frodo has walked along darker paths than you, he still is, so he can imagine worse evils than you. So can I. So can the One who made sure you put your hand down just where it needed to be. Frodo’s darkness is great but it will pass far sooner than the darkness that would have overwhelmed all of Middle-earth had the Ring returned to its master. Frodo was terrified of the Ring and what it could do to others and to himself, but he felt it better that he try to contain the black within himself instead of it hurting others."

"I would have done the same," Bilbo said quietly.

"You must believe then, Bilbo, that it all happened the way it was meant to. And do not think that Ilúvatar’s heart broke any less than yours did as He watched Frodo suffer and He knows much more about that suffering than you. You gave Frodo the Ring but He did too. You gave in ignorance of its evil. He gave in total knowledge, but He also gave him the grace and strength to carry the burden. And He is giving him the strength to recover from all Sauron in his fear and hatred did. He can give you the same strength."

"I just want my boy to shine again."

"He already is and he will shine all the brighter, if he continues on the Road he is on. I believe he will for Ilúvatar is still there to strengthen him on it. But he is not through yet and the way is still perilous."

* * *

Frodo stared out at the sea. He wanted to lose himself there, wash himself clean of all the Ring had done to him and was still doing. He held the phial in one hand and Sam’s hand in the other. I want to be with you, Sam.

You are with me, dear, and I am with you.

I mean where you are. It’s so hard to keep going, even here.

Frodo felt Sam’s love fill him anew. Your time will come.

I’m afraid to wait.

A/N:  To keep everyone on their toes or perhaps just totally confused, I've done a little juggling around with this story.  This first meeting of Frodo and Celebrian is now its own separate chapter instead of being part of the last one so the first part of this is not too new (though you may want to re-read it just to refresh your memory because it's been so long since I've posted a chapter to this - sorry about that!) but I've added another meeting too and some other stuff so the second part is new to all.  And I've also changed the title of next chapter which you've all already read (Frodo admitting to Bilbo and Sam how badly he was raped by the Ring/Sauron and Bilbo's first tentative steps back to faith) to Big Steps, formerly known as Now I See which will be the title of the next chapter which I hope will be posted soon.  But you have to forget that you read about Frodo's big steps because this chapter takes place before that.  Completely confused now?  I tried so hard. :)

Chapter Twenty: Kindred Spirits

Frodo withdrew from the sea and came to the iaun, seeking strength to continue. But he saw that this time he was not alone and though he desperately needed the solace the silence and comfort of the room and light provided him, he did not wish to intrude on another. "Ani apsene, herinya," he said with a bow as he saw someone look up at him.

Celebrían looked at the small being who had just asked for forgiveness and in her own tongue, but with a lilt that she didn’t recognize. Certainly not an Elvish child, but still shining as brightly as any, especially from the left shoulder and the gap between the fingers on his right hand. The Elf lady was entranced by the incredible beauty of the little one and struck by the pain that radiated from his fea. For a long time, she had felt much the same pain and suddenly she knew. This had to be the perian that her husband had told her about that he hoped she could help, the one she had dreamed would be coming. She said a silent prayer to Ilúvatar. Hantanyel, Atar. [Thank you, Father.] Now I know why you wanted me to come here tonight.

"La mauya nin apsene," she said as Frodo turned to leave.

Frodo flushed. "Nanye nyerinqua. Umin hanya."

Celebrían smiled. "I said it was not necessary to forgive. You speak our language very well."

The edges of Frodo’s mouth twitched. "My uncle Bilbo taught me Sindarin, but I don’t know much Quenya yet. Just enough to say that I’m sorry that I don’t."

A soft laughter came from the Elf lady like music, a soothing balm to Frodo’s soul. "Then we shall not speak it yet. But please stay with me, if you’d like. I find much comfort here and my husband thought I may be able to help you for long ago, according to your years, I suffered similar wounds to those of yours, though yours are more grievous. I am Celebrían, Elrond’s wife."

"An honor, herinya," he murmured. He bowed low. "Frodo Baggins at your service."

Celebrían bowed her head. "The honor is mine, Iorhael. My husband has told me of the debt we owe you, even here. And I have learned from...other sources as well. Please sit down and we can talk, if you wish."

Frodo did so. "If there ever was a debt it has been repaid by allowing me to come here. I couldn’t stay anymore at home."

His feet dangled, far from touching the floor and Celebrían marveled anew at him, at his child-like size, at his beauty and the tremendous hurt in him but also a strength tested to and beyond the point of breaking. He stood close to the edge of the abyss she had stared into herself. She wanted to hold out her hand to him, to keep him back. "Neither could I. I was sorely wounded in hroa and fea. My husband healed my body, but there were wounds far deeper than nothing but this place and our Atar could heal."

"So I hope to be healed also."

"The journey back is an arduous one, but rewarding. There is much work that must be done and I have found it best to do it here."

"I have found it the same. I began in Rivendell but it is so hard."

"Our Atar gives us the strength we need."

"I have found that. I hope it will be enough." Frodo’s voice became very soft. "I fear it won’t be."

"It will be. I couldn’t bear the memories or the pain where I was before. I couldn’t feel our Atar there as well as I could here. I think the torment was too much a part of me for me to be truly aware of His presence as much as I had been before. He was shut out by thoughts that maybe I should have fought harder against my attackers and so perhaps I wouldn’t have been so harmed."

"I have thought that so myself, many times."

Celebrían looked at him kindly. "Did you discover it was folly to think so? There are some powers which are stronger than we are and it is not our fault that we cannot always win against them. It was a hard lesson for me to learn."

"As it was for me. It took me a long time to understand. I think sometimes I do, and I believe it, but then the darkness and the doubts return and I wonder if I really do."

"As it did for me, but Atar showed me the truth. Once I accepted it, I began to heal. The darkness began to fade, but until I came here, it consumed my whole life."

"You understand," Frodo said softly. He raised his head to look at her and by the light of the candles and his own light, Celebrían saw the tears that streaked down his cheeks. "My uncle understands part of what hurts so much and your lord husband part, but you understand another. The worst part, perhaps. I grieve to think of what was done to you to teach you these lessons."

Celebrían gently laid her hand on his curls. "And I grieve to think of what the dark Enemy did to you. I was assaulted only by his servants and I wondered for a long time why the One allowed that. What purpose did my torment serve in His plans? I think now I know and I do not begrudge it if it will help you. I don’t doubt that yours was the worse violation for that was done by the Enemy himself."

Frodo was deeply moved and at the same time pierced with pain. "Yes," he said and so softly, it may have been just an exhaled breath. Had not Celebrían not endured some of the same torment? The Ring-bearer looked her full in the eyes. "The orcs are no more, herinya. They didn’t hurt me as they were too frightened of Sam."

Celebrían smiled. "Elrond has told me of your fierce guardian. I wish I had had one."

The edges of Frodo’s mouth curved slightly upward. "Everyone should. I have been very blessed. From the day we met, he has taken care of me and I have tried to take care of him. I gave him a bitter reward for all that and still he remains with me. I don’t deserve all that."

"Yet you have it. Who among us deserves all the love we receive? But it is freely given and the more it is given out, the greater we are ourselves, not the lesser, for giving our hearts away. You have shown that yourself."

Frodo sighed. "I wanted to destroy the Ring, truly I did, but I couldn’t. It was an accident that destroyed it by one who lusted for it as much as...as I did. Even after I killed my Sam at its command, I still wanted it. I fear the stain will never leave me."

"It was no accident that destroyed the Ring. It was consciously Willed to have happened and not by the one who carried out its destruction. Shadow was defeated by Spirit. I have listened much to the Song here and the place of good and the evil in it and I have learned that nothing is left to chance, that everything has a purpose and a reason behind it, even if we don’t know what it is right away." Celebrían raised Frodo’s chin with two of her fingers and waited until his tormented eyes met hers. "Our Atar has given you a great heart, Iorhael. You cannot see it now, shadowed in pain, fractured and splintered, but I can see a little behind the shrouding veils. Listen for your part in the Music and how it effects the whole because of the way you have been moved within your fea to act.

"After I was attacked, I didn’t see how my wounds would ever heal either. The physical ones disappeared after a while, but the ones that held my fea prisoner lingered and I did not know how they could ever be healed. They seemed indelibly impressed upon it. But there was Something else impressed more deeply. You have already begun to feel that strength. You are a beloved child, Iorhael. Rest in your Atar’s arms and feel the return of all that the Enemy took from you. I know it feels as though you have been stripped bare, but you are still clothed in the raiment that the One put upon you, though tattered and torn it seems to you now. But others can see and one day I hope you will see that it is through your scars that your fea shines brightest."

She leaned down to kiss the top of Frodo’s head. "Vande omentaina, Iorhael. Well met. May the One continue to bless you."

"Hantanyel, herinya, " Frodo responded, standing to give Celebrían a deep bow. "May He bless you as well."

* * *

Frodo and Celebrían met many more times in the coming days and weeks, usually in the iaun, but sometimes walking through the fields and meadows. Elrond, Bilbo and Gandalf all smiled when they saw the two hand-in-hand. They did not join them, not even Sam whose smile was felt, if not seen, but all watched satisfied from a distance. The Elf lord was pleased at how brightly his wife shone. Her light had been so fractured before and he had very nearly despaired of ever seeing it whole and complete again. How many, many prayers he had said in the iaun at Rivendell, during the many nights she wrestled with the horrifying memories and consuming pain. How many tears he had shed there. He and Celebrían had been as close as two beings could be, but he could not reach her who had once been a mirror to his own heart and soul, an inseparable part of himself. There had been no barriers between them, just an easy flow back and forth, no place where one could tell where one being started and another ended. They had been one.

But then others came between them and invaded that space. Elrond, for all his bond with his beloved, could not truly know what it had been like for her then. He had felt a searing pain and horror at first, abruptly cut off, then nothing but tortured glimpses, for Celebrían had held her agony within herself as much as she could, creating a barrier between them that had never existed before. She walled it up where it could only consume herself and not him or so she thought. It was with terrible grief but desperate hope that he had stood at the Grey Havens and watched the ship sail off that bore her away when she could bear it no longer, neither the pain nor the barrier she had placed between them.

He was glad to have seen at last that hope rewarded. He had felt it the moment the barrier had fallen and she had filled his mind and soul again and he had embraced her with all his strength and wept that he could not fill his arms with her, that he had not been strong enough to take away her pain himself. He had spent that evening in fervent thanksgiving to the One who could.

Now he looked upon Frodo whose light was just as fractured and in much the same way. Many prayers he had already offered to Ilúvatar on the perian’s behalf and he knew they were being answered before his eyes.

* * *

"A tira cotumolya. A tulta tuolya an mauya mahta," Celebrían told her small charge. "Face your foe. Summon forth your strength for you must fight."

"Tancave, herinya," [Yes, my lady.]

Frodo found the lessons in Quenya that she had been giving him to be much easier than the lessons on how to work through the pain. Languages came to him easily, sometimes too easily as it took him a long time even after the Ring was destroyed, not to hear anymore all the taunts, promises and blandishments Sauron had spoken to him in the Black Speech. For someone whose ears had always thrilled to hear Elvish spoken, to hear it rendered into something ugly and horrible was an agony in itself. How many times he wished he could have stopped his ears, how many times he had begged within himself that he no longer be tormented. But the words did not come through his ears, but directly to his heart where he could not stop them. How true it was when Pippin said that hearing Sauron laugh was like being stabbed with knives. Each word the Enemy spoke to Frodo was a separate cut, spreading poison and infection. It was no wonder that the wounds found no healing in Middle-earth.

He had been nearly convinced at times that the foe he fought was beyond his strength, for no matter how hard he fought he seemed to be making little if any progress. He had shed many tears of grief and frustration that he could no longer hold back.

"When is it going to stop hurting?" he asked quietly. "Did I leave home for nothing?"

Celebrían knelt and rocked him gently in her arms. He held on tightly, sobbing into her robes.

"I wondered that myself," she said, "for at first the pain was no less and I missed my husband and my children sorely. But then in time that changed and the pain grew less and I began to live again and realized that my family had not left me. I had left them. I had walled them out to protect them, I thought, from my pain. It was not until I dealt with it myself, that I could let it go and let them back in."

"I miss my brother-cousins. I miss Sam even though he’s here with me. I hope when I do heal, Merry and Pippin will somehow know."

"I think they will. I felt my husband’s joy and my children’s when I finally was no longer a prisoner to my pain. Great hurt has been done to both of us, but it is we who have locked ourselves into that and only we who can open the door. No one can do it for us. My husband suffered terribly that he could not convince Isildur to destroy the Ring. I suffered in thinking I should have resisted my attackers better. My children suffered that they could not do more for me. My sons suffered the torment of wondering if only they had come sooner or had already been with me, I might not have been assaulted at all. It took all of us time to realize that we stood within our own prisons and only be forgiving ourselves for what we couldn’t control were we made free. You can be free, too, Iorhael. You hold the key in your hand. Use it. You will because you have hope that you will heal. That is good."

"When I have the strength to hope."

"You need to confront the pain yourself, Iorhael, then you need to share it with others so it can leave you. I couldn’t do that for a long time. I couldn’t do it at all until I came here. I gave it first to Atar and that was very difficult though I knew I could not hide it from Him. Still I tried. It was when I trusted Him enough to take my pain and I could see that He was not harmed by it, that I felt that perhaps I could trust others. It took me a long time though before I could do that. I didn’t want anyone else to know, especially those I loved most, what it had been like until my sons found me. But I found that keeping it inside was poisoning me and them. They were helpless to help me because I wouldn’t let them. I was helpless because the agony and the shame consumed me. I lived the assault over and over again because it had no way out of me. I wouldn’t let it out so it kept going around and around in me, tearing me apart. The bond between mates and between parents and children is extremely strong in Elves, far stronger than is in Men or Hobbits, for all I hear of how fond your kind is count your kin to many degrees going far into the past. It took all my energy to keep them out and the memories in so the torment wouldn’t affect them. I had no strength left to spend on healing. I had to let the agony out. There is still much my children do not know, but my husband knows everything and I believe you know much too simply because you were subject to much the same. I discovered Elrond was strong enough for it and we are all closer now. I am changed and so are they, but there is not barrier between us anymore. All the wounds have finally healed, including the ones I caused."

Celebrían cupped Frodo’s chin in her hand, raising his tormented eyes to hers. "Believe in the strength of those who love you most, Iorhael. Don’t hold back any longer. They are strong enough to take all your tears and hurt and rage at what was done to you. You have already begun to discover how strong our Atar is. Believe now in the love of your kin. Ease their pain and your own. Don’t let the Enemy win."

"I’m afraid," Frodo said. "They have suffered so much already because of what happened. Why should I cause them more pain? I am the oldest of them and I’ve always tried to prevent them pain instead of causing it."

Celebrían smiled. "You no longer have that claim for here you are the youngest. Do you truly think you were or are sparing those so dear to you anything by not telling? Do you have any idea, melda Iorhael, how you appear to Elves or to those that love you most? You shine with Ilúvatar’s Light, almost as brightly as though you were born among Elven kind, but that Light right now is fractured. They see that and they want to ease it. You aren’t hiding any of the pain from them, just the reason for it. They are afraid to know but they do want to know if that would help you heal which is all they want. Believe me. I saw it in my husband’s eyes and my children’s. I saw his fear and his torment and I could not ease it. I knew also that I was causing it and even then I could not reach out to take it from him. I watched the light of my children fade because of it and I could not stop that either. I think my daughter saw in you the same pain she saw in me, perhaps even before you did. She was, unfortunately, very acquainted with it and perhaps her gift to you was given to help you since she could not help me because I would not let her. I have suffered much but so have they. Don’t carry more weight, Iorhael, than you need to. You are stronger than I have seen in any mortal, but you are carrying far more than you need and should. I carried that weight long myself. My sons told me that they had destroyed the chains that the orcs had bound me with, but I knew that was not true. I was still bound with them for a very long time afterwards. The chain you wore long around your neck was not destroyed either, was it? It is the same one that imprisons your fea even now, is it not?"

Frodo looked into her eyes as tears streamed down his face. "Yes," he murmured. "It is in my pocket. It’s the only thing I have left of it. I hate it and I can’t let it go."

"Then start with our Atar. Let Him know all your agony and rage and frustration and tears."

"He knows so much of it already."

Celebrían smiled. "Melda Iorhael, He knows everything, including all the secrets you have never voiced. But He wants to hear of it all from your own heart. You can’t tell Him anything He doesn’t already know but He wants to hear it from you. He wants you to give Him all your pain so He can fill you with His light and love, but He can’t do that if you are already filled with so much else. And the only way you can be empty is to let go of your pain and your fears."

"I am already empty."

"No, Iorhael, you are filled with poison and infection. Just like I was. Elrond had told me your wounds were lanced in Rivendell and you’ve done more here I know, but they are not drained yet and they will not be until you can trust and release it all to those who love you, your Atar most of all."

Frodo sighed. "I don’t know if I have that strength. I have already given everything. I feel I have nothing left in me to give."

"Then ask Him to give you the strength. There is so much He wants to give you."

After their talk Frodo went straight to the iaun where he stared for a long time up at the light and prayed fervently for strength. The burden had been so heavy on the Quest but it had been his to carry, his alone; he had not allowed anyone to carry it. He was so weary of that load. But he had had Sam on the Quest, the entire Quest and he had had his Father, though he knew Him not until afterwards. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the chained that was still marked with dried blood, his blood. He raised his arms out to that light as a child would to his parent when he wanted to be held. He thought the burden of his guilt and shame would be too heavy, but then he felt himself lifted up and the chain fall to the ground.

__

A/N: Melda is dear.

Chapter Twenty-One: Big Steps

"What do you do when you go there, my lad?" Bilbo asked one evening after Frodo returned from the iaun. There was still much pain in the younger hobbit’s eyes, but always there was a little more peace, a little more light after he had come back. Bilbo didn’t always hear him return or feel the bed tip a bit when his nephew crawled in long after midnight at times and put his arms around him and his head on his shoulder or chest. It had been long years since Frodo had done that as a tween, normally around the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. When Frodo and Sam were lads, they would curl up at times with each other then as well and on the anniversary of Bell Gamgee’s death. They had always known when the other needed some extra comfort and loving care. Bilbo understood that his beloved heartson had a renewed need for that security and would return the embrace and kiss that dear head when he was awake enough to do so, for sometimes he knew Frodo didn’t return at all.

"I see myself as He sees me and as I see myself and I try to make the two one person again," the younger Ring-bearer said as he sat down and Bilbo poured a late-night chamomile tea for them both.

Bilbo wasn’t sure what response he expected from his nephew, but he was sure it was nothing that profound. "Why do you trust him?"

"Because He’s my Papa and He loves me," Frodo said simply.

The ancient hobbit sipped from his cup slowly. "Gandalf has tried to explain all of this to me and I still don’t understand how someone so all-powerful let you be so hurt when he could have stopped it."

"The hurt was not His fault, Bilbo dear, but His and our Enemy’s and what hurt I brought myself because of what Sauron did to me."

Bilbo was silent for a moment. He hadn’t expected such forthright answers. Frodo had always been very open with giving his heart to those he loved most, but very private in the pain that heart at times held as all hobbits were. His eyes always revealed all, but his lips seldom.

"What did he do to you, my boy?" Bilbo asked very softly, afraid to know the answer and afraid not to know, afraid most of all that Frodo wouldn’t say anything. His boy needed him, even if he didn’t feel strong enough to hear the truth. He still knew it had to come out. "What did I do to you?"

It was a long while before the younger Ring-bearer raised his eyes from his cup. He seemed lost in the steam that rose from it. Bilbo thought he was perhaps remembering the Fire, though even his wild imagination that had made up as many tales as he had read to two eager hobbit lads, could not conceive where Frodo had been in mind and heart and body. Frodo had learned from youth that keeping pain, frustrations and disappointments all inside hurt him which is why he gradually learned to expose his heart and torment to Ilúvatar each day and feel and watch his torment slowly be soothed away. It hadn’t been an easy thing to do, but it was helping him slowly heal. But to tell Bilbo?

Tell him, My child, came Ilúvatar’s voice in him. He needs to hear. He needs to know you still love him and you need to know he still loves you.

Of course I still love him, Papa, and I know he loves me. What good would it be to tell him and hurt him anew? And...Sam would hear too. I don’t want...

Bilbo needs to understand the peace you have found so he can find the same. And Sam will love you no less.

Celebrían’s words echoed back to him and he suddenly realized he had been fighting the wrong foe. No wonder he had not made any progress.

I will do it for Bilbo and for You, Papa.

Thank you, My child.

"You didn’t do anything, Uncle," the younger Ring-bearer began slowly and quietly, not yet looking up, "It was the Enemy that hurt me. He tore me apart to make me his own. He emptied me and filled me with himself." His voice and body shuddered as he lived anew the agony of being sundered, but he did not stop as the dam he had held against his pain and shame burst at last. "Over and over he took me, twisted me, violated me, tormented me with his whispers and blandishments, his threats and shouts and screams. I was never free of his voice. He robbed me of sleep, of Sam, of memories of home, everything I held dear until there was only him and it seemed even the One I did not know Who also fought to claim me as His own was not strong enough to prevail against him. I was lost in the Enemy’s madness and I began to believe his lies. He demanded I kill Sam and I did. I hated him and myself and the Ring, but I couldn’t let it go. I began to want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I still want it, though with Papa’s help that is starting to fade at last."

Bilbo closed his eyes, though that could not stop the tears from falling. He wished he could close his ears also. He did not think he was strong enough to endure the torment that washed over and through him now, but he clenched his jaw against begging Frodo to stop. He opened his eyes again. It was worse only hearing that torn voice. It made it too real. He couldn’t bear it, but he knew he had to. His lad had borne worse. And all because he had picked up that confounded Ring.

"I didn’t know Who was the One who had protected me until Elrond told me at Rivendell before we left for here," Frodo continued, "but He always has, especially when I could not protect myself or Sam or anyone. I know now He is stronger than anyone or anything and I am glad He never abandoned me even when I begged to be let alone by both Him and the Enemy who I felt were pulling me apart until I was sure there would be nothing left of me. I am trying so hard to understand why He still loves me after all I’ve done, but He does, just like Sam does. I am still little more than an empty shell, now that the Enemy is gone and left me and I am trying so hard to fill myself up again. I can see Who Papa wants me to be, but I wonder if I will ever come to the end of that Road."

Frodo raised his eyes at last to meet his uncle’s. Tears were streaming down both their cheeks and Frodo’s agony spiked a moment when he saw all the pain in Bilbo’s ancient eyes, who used to be filled with such mischief and love. The love was still there though and Frodo hoped that his eyes mirrored the same, though he feared they were identical in love and pain. The elder Ring-bearer clasped his nephew tightly to him and Frodo held on just as tightly. They wept long in each other’s arms and sought no comfort for themselves but only for the other. Frodo felt very strongly Sam’s arms around him too.

"I’m sorry, my lad, I’m so sorry," Bilbo murmured over and over again into the younger hobbit’s curls when their tears were for the moment spent and wiped away. "Why did I ever pick up that confounded thing?"

Frodo kept his head down where he could hear his uncle’s heart and his arms remained tight around him. "Because Papa wanted you to," he said with complete calm and certainty.

Bilbo stiffened slightly at his nephew’s total trust in some power beyond his comprehension.

"I can’t believe what you do, my Frodo. No ‘Papa’ would ever allow his son to be so hurt. I went to that place in Rivendell where you did and I prayed and hoped and trusted and my trust was betrayed. I asked that you come back whole and alive and full of cheer and joy and light just like you always were and you didn’t. You are maimed in places I can see and touch and in places I can’t reach and I can do nothing to ease either."

Frodo raised his head and looked into his uncle’s eyes. "You don’t need to, Bilbo dearest. But He can and is. He can heal you too."

"I don’t need his help. I know you think he is helping you and I applaud any effort that is, but if he really is all you and Gandalf and Elrond claim, then he could have done all this himself and not involved you at all." Bilbo touched his beloved nephew’s cheek. "You would still be my sweet, sun-filled lad."

"He called me to be His at the council and I answered. That is why He made me."

"To be so hurt? If he set you apart, he could have protected you."

"He did protect me."

"Then why do you look so ravaged still? Why are you missing a finger?"

"Better a finger than what the Enemy tried to claim from me, what I very nearly gave him, would have given him, if Sam and Papa hadn’t been there." Frodo raised earnest eyes to his uncle and gave him a sad smile. "I wish I could make you understand, dearest, stubbornest Bilbo mine."

"I’m sorry, my boy. I’m too old for new beliefs, especially when I do give them credence and then find them to be false. How hard would it have been to hear and answer what I asked for? And I know I wasn’t the only one asking. Your ‘Papa’ didn’t come through anymore for you than I did."

"Yes, He did. He heard you and He answered you. Do you have any idea what our world would be like now if He hadn’t helped me when I couldn’t help myself? He didn’t coddle me, but He did love me and protect me. I have wished for the same thing as you, for the pain not to have been dealt, but no parent can shield his child from all danger without taking away all his freedom and self-will. Do you remember the time I was determined to skate across the River and nothing you could say would stop me? You knew the ice was not thick enough, but I would hear none of it. I was halfway across, feeling quite proud of myself and thinking you silly, when the ice gave way and I got a dunking that had me abed for a week. Sometimes we have to make our own mistakes and learn the hard way and our parents let us do it, though it pains them to see us so foolish. But we learn better that way and we know that we are still loved. Yes, Papa could have prevented every evil in the world. He could have prevented the Ring from ever being forged, but He did not tread upon His childrens’ freedom that way and instead worked through others of His children to help fix the mistakes another had made. He led you to find it, me to bear it and Sméagol to destroy it. Gandalf and Papa Himself have explained much to me and I understand how it all came in the end to be according to His plan, despite all the Enemy tried to do and what I did under his sway. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if Papa hadn’t been there for you and me."

Late that night, after Frodo had fallen asleep, Bilbo stayed up for a long time by his side watching that beloved one and also the candle that burned on the nightstand. For the first time, Frodo had let him hear the prayer he said every night. Bilbo didn’t tell him that he had heard it before, sometimes softly repeated over and over, when Frodo had thought him asleep. The younger hobbit was glowing more than he had since the Quest had begun, clear and strong like he had in the Shire before the Shadow had fallen. His features were more peaceful and beautiful.

Slowly Bilbo rose and went hesitantly to the iaun. He poked his head in and found no one else inside. He stepped in and took a seat. As he stared up at the light, he felt warmth, welcome and love and some of the tangled knot of anger and perceived betrayal he held in his heart and soul uncoiled.

"Thank you for taking care of my lad," he murmured.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Now I See

Frodo woke in the morning to hear Sam’s voice in his head. I’m proud of you, my dear.

I never wanted to let you know about all that. I told Lady Celebrían that I always wanted to prevent my brothers pain, not cause it.

But sometimes you have to cause pain, dear, so something can heal right. Remember that time Mr. Merry broke his hand in that fall and there was no healer at hand and you had to set the hand yourself? It hurt something awful, but when the healer looked at it later, she said that if you hadn’t done that, the bones would have never stitched together right and maybe Mr. Merry would have lost the use of that hand? Or when I fell into that thorn bush a year after you came to live with Mr. Bilbo and you had to pick all those thorns out of my hand? It hurt fierce and I was sobbing that hard and begging you to stop. I think you were crying more than me, but you didn’t stop until all the thorns were out, my hand cleaned and bandaged, then you kissed it to speed its healing. Remember that? Healer Grooch was that proud of you for that too, saying an infection may have developed otherwise. It hurt to get your infection out, but it helped too, didn’t it?

Yes. Frodo took a deep breath and realized that he felt cleaner inside than he had felt since the Quest had begun, in fact since the Ring had come to him.

Look in the mirror, dear.

Intrigued, the elder hobbit raised an eyebrow, but Sam didn’t say anything more. Frodo obediently padded over and looked at his reflection. He felt Sam’s smile and love fill him as it always had and he leaned closer in to see why. He wished he could see his beloved brother and guardian there, but instead he saw himself and some silver in his dark curls.

"It’s let me go," he murmured with some awe. Oh, thank you, Papa! Thank you, Sam!

This is your doing as well, My child.

Am I almost done? Can I come to You soon?

When your journey is complete.

When will that be?

I will call you.

After breakfast, Frodo made his daily visit to the iaun and was surprised to see his uncle curled up on one of the benches fast asleep. He smiled and sat down next to him and stared at the lamp, his lips moving in silent prayer. As always the love and peace of the place and the Person in it filled him and he let it seep into the last corner of his soul. So many places within himself he had lost to the Ring, but slowly those were being reclaimed, cleansed, made new and shining again. He hadn’t realized how much pain he still held in himself from wanting to protect Bilbo and Sam and how much shame and perhaps some lingering pride kept him from pouring out what he had the night before. How much lighter he felt now!

Thank you, Papa, for giving me the strength. And I will have to thank Lady Celebrían.

That strength has always been within you, my child. You just had to remember where it was.

Bilbo was still sleeping when Frodo rose for elevenses. He had prayed through second breakfast and his stomach was beginning to rumble more than he could ignore. How wonderful it felt to feel hungry again! It had been so long since he had felt a normal hobbit appetite.

Is this all part of letting it go, Papa? Am I truly becoming just a hobbit again?

Frodo felt a gentle, loving laugh in his mind, deeper and fuller and more beautiful than he had ever heard before. My beloved child, you have always been and have never been ‘just a hobbit’.

An overwhelming love washed over and through him. He wrapped his arms around and let it fill his heart. So long he had felt that heart had lain empty of anything but grief and torment, but slowly it was beginning to fill with light again. It had always held Sam’s love and Merry’s and Pippin’s and he realized more and more how his soul had held his Creator’s, but even with all that sometimes it seemed nothing could fill the emptiness that overwhelmed him for so long. He looked over at Bilbo who was now softly snoring, still drowned deep in slumber. Frodo leaned down to kiss his curls. I’m so glad he has found You, Papa. I’m so glad I found you.

Then he got up, still with a smile on his face, bowed deeply toward the light and left, his hand held out as always for Sam. Thank you for staying with me, Sam.

Where else would I be, dear?

Frodo’s features quirked. There are several I could think of, but you would still have to be alive.

I am, even more than you are, though you are becoming more alive all the time.

Frodo smiled and looked to where there was a slight luminosity. Riddles, my Sam? Does becoming more and more alive mean you start talking more and more like Gandalf?

Sam smiled. Wait and see, dear.

They met Celebrían in the hall and she immediately recognized the change in Frodo. She sent her own silent thanks to Ilúvatar and then knelt to look into the former Ring-bearer’s eyes. His light was not so fractured now. Before it had been like a broken mirror, but now it was shining whole and complete. She placed a slim hand gently on his shoulder and he smiled at her. How long had it been since he felt like smiling?

"You have made much progress, Iorhael."

Frodo beamed. "Tancave, herinya. Thanks to you and Papa."

How many times had Frodo fallen asleep with her words in his mind and prayers of thanksgiving on his lips for her guidance? He gave silent thanks once more to Ilúvatar for the gift of this particular Elven child of His.

"To recover from such an assault is like crawling over shattered glass on your hands and knees," Celebrían said. "You leave a lot of your blood behind, but the poison is bled out also. I’m glad you have found the strength to make that journey."

Frodo looked at her in surprise. "You know what I said?"

Celebrían smiled. "I can tell from the way your fea shines because I have been told that mine began to shine just like that once I realized the same things. Vanda carna, calmar.

"Haryal alassenya," she said with a kiss to his head in blessing. "Olórin is not the only voronda Narendur for we all are, but you are among the greatest. Now at last realize why I had to suffer: so I could help guide you through yours. It seemed so long to be without any good purpose, though Atar told me that it had meaning. I trusted but I didn’t truly believe until now."

"Hantanyel, herinya," Frodo said and embraced her tightly.

* * *

"I am Pippin’s hero," Frodo said to himself as he lay down to sleep that night. "And Merry’s." This time he believed it.

"And mine," Bilbo said with fond love.

And mine, came Sam’s voice.

And mine, came Another’s. He sighed and slept the innocent sleep of a child.

_____

A/N: Tancave is Yes. Vanda carna, calmar is Well done, child of light. Haryal alassenya is You have my joy. Voronda Narendur is faithful Servant of Fire. 

Chapter Twenty-Three: Our Father Who Art In Heaven

Frodo’s healing continued to accelerate until the light in him grew to nearly match that of the Firstborn. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel both remarked upon it to him as did Lady Celebrían and Olórin and they all reveled in the Music that came from his fea. It was the sweet symphony that the Maia had been enchanted with from the moment he had first heard it: an almost Elvish melody that he hadn’t heard before in a hobbit. Threaded through it now was a sad melody that told of all of Frodo’s trials. Still that made the music all the more beautiful because it told also of the victory over those tribulations. The Elves had not heard the full symphony before but listened now in the evening to it and smiled and thanked Ilúvatar for such a gift. The Ring-bearer beamed at their words and Bilbo was more convinced than ever that his beloved heir had much more to him than even he originally thought. Sam’s love and pride in his dearest brother’s accomplishments was a visible force.

"You are becoming so bright, my lad," Bilbo commented one night, "that I hardly even need a light to read by anymore."

Frodo laughed, giggled actually, and how very long it had been since he had been able to do that! He felt almost like he was aging backwards, that he was becoming nothing but an innocent, carefree hobbit again. The shadows were being exorcized from even the deepest recesses of his soul and he was reclaiming more and more of it for himself and for the One who had created it, Who he realized ever more had kept it safe, even when it was being lacerated and torn apart. He was learning every day how better to understand that his suffering had somehow been necessary to bring about who he was now and that he had never, never been abandoned or unloved. It was becoming easier to integrate who he was, who he had been and who he knew Ilúvatar wanted him to still be. Yet he knew there was still more work to be done. He still couldn’t hear his part in the Song. What little pain lingered blocked him from that.

His joy and healing was increased by how readily Bilbo was embracing his Creator also. There had been within the elder Ring-bearer a remaining longing for the Ring also and through Ilúvatar’s aid and through Celebrimbor’s who had informally adopted him as much as Celebrían had Frodo, he was recovering from that. There was a light coming to him also that Frodo began to see and rejoice in and that Gandalf could see even more brightly. The Maia wondered whether he should warn Frodo what that meant when Bilbo spoke of it himself one night.

"I’m ready for my next adventure, Frodo lad, my last and my greatest," he said as he laid down carefully one night. His joints were particularly painful and Frodo hastened to help him get more comfortable, though he grew suddenly fearful as to what Bilbo’s words meant.

He had indeed seen the signs of aging and illness once more in his beloved uncle. The time and air here had done so much to heal the ancient hobbit, but mortality was gaining the upper hand again as Frodo knew it must at some point. It had not gone unnoticed by the younger hobbit that Lord Elrond frequently dosed him with medicinal teas and stronger things as time wore on for the only two mortals in the blessed land. But he had not wanted to think of that coming time and had simply assumed they would both go together.

Bilbo looked into those beautiful eyes he had first gazed into when Frodo was only months old. He had never fallen out of love with them. He took one slim, beloved hand, stained with ink and rubbed at the writer’s callus there. "I am so proud of you, my best and most beloved hobbit, the son of my heart and heir. You have grown so much. I love you more than I could ever tell you so I shan’t even begin to try. All the time in the world wouldn’t be long enough. I’m sure Sam knows how that feels. You are shining now even more than you did in the Shire and it is that I have been hoping for since I began to watch it fade. I don’t need to linger any further for you have fulfilled my dream."

Frodo grasped Bilbo’s hand tightly, tears bright in his eyes. "Then I don’t need to stay either, Uncle. You have found your peace also. Take me with you, please, let me come with you."

Bilbo sighed. He squeezed Frodo’s hand at first strongly, then smiled, gazing into those eyes and that face now streaking with tears, and his grip began to loosen.

"Bilbo! Papa!" Frodo cried. "Don’t leave me!" He tightened his grip on his uncle’s hand, taking it now in both of his, as though he could be taken up with him, through the connection of their joined flesh.

Bilbo’s eyes widened, now staring past Frodo’s shoulder. "Oh, my lad, it’s so bright and so beautiful." He turned back to gaze at his beloved nephew. "It is waiting for you. Namarie," he said softly with his last breath. "Melinyel."

"No! No! Bilbo! Papa, please! Let me come, too!"

It is not your time, My child.

But what is left for me now here? I want to be with You and Sam and Bilbo and my parents.

You will be, but there is something you need to do first. One last thing that will complete your healing.

* * *

At the funeral, Frodo leaned down and kissed his uncle’s brow one last time and then watched as he was buried on top of the hill where their smial was dug, overlooking the Sea. "Namarie, uncle," he said. "Melinyel."

Sam filled him with his love and he felt the embrace of Ilúvatar also, but even those two things seemed not big enough to fill the sudden void in his heart. What time he didn’t spend at the grave, he spent in the iaun.

When, Papa, when? was his constant question. He felt more of an exile in the blessed land than he had since he first arrived. He felt out of place and nothing seemed to be able to ease that. He didn’t feel he belonged anymore. His favorite haunts beckoned to him: the beach where he stood in the Sea and listened to the Music and looked east; the tree he loved to lean against that reminded him of his one back in the Shire; the cushion that he loved to sit on in the library under the sunlit window, lost in one volume of history or another or composing his own stories and verse. How happy he had been here with his friends and uncle and Sam. He felt he had fit right in, but how he felt he was a stranger now, an odd piece that did not fit anymore.

Why must I still be alone?

You are never alone, My child.

Then why can’t I be with you, Papa? Sam and Bilbo have gone on and I’m still stuck here.

They are still with you, Iorhaelnya.

I know, but they are in a world I am not and they are no longer in my world.

I am in both. Use Me as your bridge.

* * *

Time dragged on for Frodo. He took long walks with Sam who comforted him the best he could and ever so slowly the pain lost its serrated edge. His questions grew less and he was more satisfied with the answer of Wait when he asked when he could come. He began the process of healing again that had been interrupted by Bilbo’s death and he began to feel differently about his place in the West. It had not returned to feeling like his home as it had for many years, but he returned to his cushion in the library and his specially constructed chair in the Hall of Fire and he began to write again and to draw some of what he dreamed of. Peace began to take up its abode again in his heart. Even though the feeling did not leave him that this was not his home, it had changed into the knowledge that his home awaited him still and it was not far. He was far into that journey now and he knew with increasing hope and anticipation that he would walk to the end of the same Road that Sam and Bilbo had walked before him.

But the Road doesn’t end there, dear, Sam said one night. It’s almost like the Straight Road that got us here, but the opposite. Only mortals can travel the one you are already on but continues beyond where any Elf can reach, just like the path over the Sea can be traveled only so far by mortals but goes on for Elves.

What is it like, Sam?

Think of all the Elven lands you ever saw and how beautiful they were and how even fairer this land is and how your breath was taken away the first morning you beheld it. And then think of something even more beautiful than anything you ever saw in your entire life. Even then you can’t come close. I saw it every time I looked into the light into your eyes, but that was merely the briefest, smallest glimpse.

Frodo smiled and looked to where Sam was. Then I know what it looks like, because I saw it every time you looked at me and smiled and loved me.

Frodo returned to the iaun that afternoon and he knew it would be for the last time. Olórin came with him and sat beside him with a smile. The hobbit took his friend’s hand and closed his eyes.

"I can hear my music, Gandalf," he breathed in wonder. "It’s so beautiful."

The Maia’s smile widened as he looked down at the shining being beside him. "One of the most beautiful melodies Ilúvatar ever created," he said in agreement.

"Sam’s was lovelier."

They sat silently for a few moments. Olórin hadn’t missed that Frodo had said ‘was’ but he knew something that Frodo didn’t. He wasn’t surprised when the hobbit’s breath hitched for a moment and his hand tightened around his. "I can hear it again, Gandalf, oh I can hear it!"

The ancient being looked at Frodo’s utterly blissful countenance. His hand relaxed its grip. "I’ve heard it since I was 12," he said dreamily. "It was after my parents died. I did not know what it was then but whenever I needed it the most I heard it and it was so beautiful. Most of the time I was in bed and crying and it brought me such comfort."

"It was Ilúvatar sending you His consolation."

"I heard it again when I first met Sam and that’s when I knew it came from him. I heard it every day after that, in joyful times and in sad times. Sometimes I stayed awake on the Quest, just to listen to it. It brought me more relief than sleeping did. I haven’t heard it since he died. I thought I had killed that lovely song."

"Oh, no, my dear hobbit, you can’t kill that," Olórin assured. "Sauron tried for he heard it too, and your melody and Aragorn’s and everyone else’s. That was why he tried to destroy all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. It was unbearably painful for him to hear such beauty. You have simply been deafened to it yourself until now. Your song and Sam’s and all else will go on forever because they come from Ilúvatar and He placed those melodies there for your fear to sing. Sauron tried to change the Music in you, just as his dark master before him had tried to change the entire Song. Ilúvatar allowed both attempts and incorporated them and made the Song even more beautiful than it had been before. What you are hearing now of your own Song is the full symphony He planned for you."

"But there is more to come?"

"Yes, much more. You are mortal, but there is an immortal part of you and that is what shines ever brighter. You are ever moving toward it and have been preparing for it all this time. Then will come the time when you sing your own Song in front of Ilúvatar and your voice will resound with many others in the heavens."

Frodo listened to Sam’s Music and his own, blended at times into one it seemed, but still also heard as separate melodies. Then after a while, he turned to Sam himself. I think I understand your riddle now, Sam.

He felt Sam’s love embrace him and he saw his dearest friend’s light brightly even with his eyes closed. Then he felt and saw Ilúvatar’s Presence, but as though cloaked behind a grey cloud for he knew that he was not yet able to bear the full radiance of that countenance. But it was still clearer than he had ever felt or seen it.

Is it time now, Papa? he asked.

Love filled him to overflowing and the Light shone a bit brighter. Yes, My child. Come home.

It seemed to Frodo that the Light separated into two streams, as though arms reached down to embrace him. He let go of Gandalf’s hand and raised up his arms to meet that embrace. His face grew brighter and brighter until he was shining as bright as any Elf, then his entire body grew radiant and as Olórin watched, Frodo’s fea separated from his hroa and rose to meet its Creator. He watched as Sam’s fea and then Drogo’s and Primula’s and Bilbo’s embraced it and they all faced the One. Olórin then closed his eyes for a moment to give praise and thanks to Ilúvatar for being allowed the great gift of witnessing the passing of the last Ring-bearer and one of the greatest servants the One had ever had. Frodo had come all the way through.

Olórin leaned down and kissed that dear brow. There was still a bit of fading, residual brightness lingering. "Hantanyel, Iorhael."

_______

A/N: Melinyel is I love you. Iorhaelnya is my Iorhael or so I am making it since the suffix -nya means my. I know in this pre-Incarnational time the souls of the just would have not yet entered Heaven, but I can never resist sending Frodo and Sam right there anyway. I can so easily imagine though that they would have been among the first to run to Jesus when He descended to free all the captive souls.