My lord king, I don’t know what else to do. Can you come? I know it’s a tidy way from Gondor to the Shire, but Mr. Frodo is not doing well and I’ve tried everything else. I’ve planted athelas under his bedroom window so he has it to refresh himself when the terrible dreams come and outside the study so when the memories come as he writes, he will have some solace. I crush some of the leaves into his tea every night and I hold him when he can’t stop himself from crying out in his sleep. I know there are nights he tries to stop, and I know there have been nights I have tried, but we know each other too well and he can’t hide anything more from me than I can from him. Just the other night, when Rose had to be away to help her mum tend her da who was ill, I had one of those dreams of the spider’s lair and the tower, but Mr. Frodo did not come back to life. I had my fist in my mouth so I wouldn’t cry out, but he still knew and he still came, took my fist gently in his own hands and kissed it and then looked at me with tears streaming down, so sorry he is that I suffered. He said naught, but took me into his arms then and we slept peacefully, my head against his heart, just as he rests his against mine when he’s the one with the dreams, as most times he is. But he shouldn’t be suffering like this, especially not for me.

I’m the one whose always guarded him. All my life since I was nine, I have been watching over him, but there are things that get past me, just like they did all the way to the Fire, that I can’t stop, that I can’t even see until I see them behind his eyes and what they are doing to him inside where I can’t reach. Maybe you can? I have nowhere else to turn. I’d take him to you myself if I could get away, but I can’t. Rose is expecting and I just can’t leave her. And he wouldn’t go neither because he wouldn’t want a fuss made. But seeing as he doesn’t know that I am writing this, I can make the fuss and leave him free of knowing, until there’s naught he can do. I would love if you could ask our Queen also if she knows or Lord Elrond or the Lady, because surely the elves have some wisdom that we hobbits don’t regarding the terrible shadow that still lingers. Mr. Frodo’s been clenching the gem Lady Arwen gave so tight his knuckles are white at times and he speaks of the Sea and a ship when he doesn’t know I can hear. I can make naught of sense what he means and I think he’s dreaming again.

I know he thinks he is hiding some of this from me, but he should know better than that. I look in on him at night, all softly lit up with his own moon and starlight and I can see the tears that run down his cheeks even in his sleep. It’s enough to start myself crying again and I shouldn’t keep writing about it for I’ll smear this sheet too and I’ve already wasted two others of his fine paper already. He’d be right cross with me if he knew I was writing this, but he’s resting now and I thank any powers there are that he is for he had a terrible night last night. He’s plumb exhausted and I’m glad and grieve that he is because he doesn’t rest right otherwise. I’ve got an ear cocked toward his room so I’ll know as when he’s awaking and I have to get this done and posted before he does, for we can’t keep no secrets from each other and if he sees this before it’s sent, it won’t be sent. He doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. He don’t know he isn’t. I carried him up the Mountain and I’m going to carry him down too, but I know now I can’t do it alone so that’s why I’m writing this.  I love him, Strider sir, I love him that much and there's got to be something that can be done. 

The times I’ve had to be away on restoring the Shire, Rose has taken care of him and taken him right under her wing like the broken bird he is and feeds him and talks to him and rests with him if I can’t. He doesn’t often cry with either of us, only when he can’t hold it in anymore and it just has to get out, whether he wants it to or not. Rose is the truest blessing for both of us, and I love her all the more because of it, but she shouldn’t have to face this. None of us should have to, but we are in that part of the Story right now and we just have to keep walking through it as we did all the way to the Mountain. There’s naught other place I’d rather be with my master and my Rose and I’m that glad we can still walk this together, no matter how hard, but it should have ended at the Fire and it didn’t. The pain should have gone away and Mr. Frodo should have nothing but joy and peace and reward for all his hard labours, but that’s not the way it always happened in those other tales neither.

I just wish he could get better. He’s the most beautiful flower in all the garden, always has been, and it’s been my joy to watch him grow. But he’s blighted now and I can’t cure it, even with all the watering, pruning, mulching and nurturing that I can think of.

I just don’t know what else to do. I just don’t know. So can you come, my lord? I don’t know what else to do. Mr. Gandalf’s gone off somewhere I don’t know where. I would ask ol’ Tom Bomdadil to come but he wouldn’t leave his land and I couldn’t get Mr. Frodo to go there, without making him suspicious. It’s not like one of those jaunts I can sometimes talk him into taking hereabouts.

Best I get this posted. He’s going to be waking soon I think.

My love to you and our Queen and our Lord Faramir.

Your obedient servant,

Sam

***

Aragorn was surprised when the letter arrived in handwriting that looked only familiar to him when he remembered all the writing lessons Sam had patiently gone through with his master when Frodo was learning to use a writing stick again with only four fingers. It had been mostly the Ring-bearer’s unsteady scribbling that had been seen on the floor in the beginning, thrown away in frustration when the lessons proved harder to master than the elder hobbit had wished them to be. The king had come once when the floor was a veritable sea of papers around the furry feet of his friends. Frodo was crying out "Conflustergation!" and flushed mightily when he realized he had overheard. Aragorn had merely smiled and spoken that the words looked better than his first attempts at writing when his foster father’s and Glorfindel had tried to teach him. Frodo calmed a bit at that and had nearly laughed. That had gladdened all their hearts.

Among those many papers had also been Sam’s handwriting for Frodo to copy until his own elegant script once more began to emerge and his confidence was restored that he could return to being a scribe which made himself feel more like the hobbit he had always known himself to be. To celebrate his victory, Frodo had drawn up a marriage scroll in Shire fashion, with the appropriate ribbons and signatures of all hobbits present, and that of the Steward, who was pleased and honored to have been named by them as a honorary hobbit, which detailed the lineage of both Aragorn and Arwen, going far back into the vanished years. It had been a masterpiece that was proudly displayed in both the royal bedroom and the room that Aragorn had his audiences for the king and queen both wanted everyone to know who had made it and who they owed their lives to. Arwen had also asked for a copy to made for her father so her mother would see it one day.

It was the gardener’s handwriting that graced the letter that the king now opened with a smile, which disappeared into tears though as he read on. He responded very quickly and briefly for he did not wish to delay the reply a moment longer than necessary.

I am coming.

Your obedient servant and his,

Aragorn, son of Arathorn

He signed it and sealed it with his stamp as king and ordered that it sent back to the Shire with all speed. He then hurried to ready himself for the same trip, summoning his lady wife and steward and showing them the letter. Tears flowed down Arwen’s face and she closed her eyes and prayed to the Valar, to Nienna and Este in particular, that hope and solace be given to the Ring-bearer. She noted that the letter had already been smeared and saw the reason in her husband’s eyes.

Faramir, too, murmured his own prayer. "I would that we could all go."

A light grew in Aragorn’s eye at those words.

A/N:  I just want to make sure everyone saw my belatedly added note that this is AU since of course Aragorn did not see his small brother again in this life, but he will here.

Chapter Two: A Yule Surprise

Aragorn reached Prince Imrahil and informed him of Sam’s letter and need and the man immediately came to his king’s side and prepared himself to take up the rule of Gondor as he had after Denethor’s death, when Faramir had been too ill to be Steward. Preparations were then made for the long journey to the Shire. It was hoped that they would come in time for Yule and thus give Frodo a reason for their most unexpected appearance.

The quickly spreading word that the king, queen and steward were all leaving and would be gone for months was met with great surprise. No one knew what to make of it, least of all the counselors and minsters in charge of the daily running of the Citadel who were quite taken aback when Aragorn made his unexpected announcement. The foremost minster was very flustered, his hands full of important documents that needed the king’s attention that he clutched to his chest. Many official and royal functions that had been planned for months had to be suddenly canceled and all sorts of new arrangements had to be made... Aragorn could see that the man was on the verge of a brainstorm and so assured him the Prince Imrahil would be a most worthy ruler in his stead in the nine months he would be gone and none of the meetings would have to be canceled. The Prince had his fullest confidence and ability to speak in the name of the king.

"Nine months!" the man exclaimed, his mouth opening and closing several times as he gasped for breath.

Aragorn was again fearful for the man’s health. The minister had served Lord Denethor very ably and the Ranger-become-king remembered him when he had been a young child, living in the Citadel while his father fulfilled the same position now held by him. Even then, he had not liked surprises and this was a great one.

"Peace, Beranheld," the king assured. "There is naught to fear. I do not go without very good reason. The Ring-bearer is in need and I go as healer, friend and king to him, since he cannot come to me."

The man took another breath to try to calm himself. "The Ring-bearer! Well, then, I suppose, it is all well that you do go. I...."

Aragorn smiled. "It is well."

The word further spread that it was on the behalf of the Ring-bearer that the king, queen and steward were leaving. Aragorn had no doubt as to who had spread the news for no tongue was faster than Ioreth in all of Gondor. It was undoubtedly due to her skill that many piles of gifts and goods, far more than they could have ever transported without a small army accompanying them, began to arrive in the Citadel, all given for the ease of the Ring-bearer.

"I wonder what she said," Faramir said, with dry amusement.

Arwen supervised the gifts, all given from the heart, and was quite touched by them. Some were candies, or toys, or candles. Some were books, or writing sticks, for it was well known that the Ring-bearer was a scribe. Some were great works of original art and beauty. The queen wished Frodo could indeed see them all, but there was no way, so many of the gifts were given to the poorer families in Gondor, to the orphans and widows, primarily and Arwen knew Frodo would have wished it to be so. She, Aragorn and Faramir picked up some items to take with them as well and the king had to wipe away some tears when he saw how deeply loved and revered his little friend was by the people of Gondor.

When they were ready to leave, with their escort and three carts of goods for themselves and Frodo and Sam, many lined the path they were to take to the great gates and beyond. A little boy was there out in front, held in his mother’s arms and he reached up a stuffed bear to his king.

"Please, sir, please, give this to the Ring-bearer," he said.

Aragorn took with a smile and with thanks. The boy smiled shyly back and the woman curtsied, a bit overwhelmed that their king had spoken to them.

"What love they bear him," Faramir remarked. "And you."

"They are a loving people," Aragorn said with pride, that he would lead such a grand and noble folk.

The trip to the Shire was long and at times dangerous and increasingly cold. But none complained, not through the icy rain, the snow, the wind that cut through their warmest cloaks, for they knew they were going toward great warmth for there was no love among family and friends like there was among hobbits. Aragorn smiled just to think of it and Arwen and Faramir smiled just to see that. It was what keep them riding through all conditions.

At last, they came through Bree and stayed the night at The Prancing Pony. It was with befuddled amazement that Barliman Butterbur recognized Strider the Ranger, for much closer in dress was he than that of the king for this journey. But he remembered the words of his hobbit friends, that Strider was now king and he was standing right here in the Pony’s common room, just like he had many a time before! The great beauty of Arwen caught many an eye, but none accosted her for they all saw the company within with she traveled. Butterbur served them himself, with Strider ordering the same beer he ever had. Faramir took a pint of his own and being quite pleased with the quality, told the man so. The little man was quite beside himself with satisfaction, not the least because word had already spread and the room was slowly filling up, with those who wanted to see the king and queen. Business was going to be very good. He was a bit disappointed that they were only going to stay the night, but Aragorn told them they were on the way to see Frodo. At that, the man told him to give the hobbit his very best and insisted that he take some cheese and beer back with him, compliments of the Pony. Aragorn accepted graciously. The man was quite impressed with the king, though Aragorn could see that he was still trying to reconcile in his mind, that the mysterious Ranger who had frequented his place now and again was now king of a distant land.

When they reached Hobbiton, it was nearing dusk, the day before Yule. They had made it in time. They passed many curious hobbits along the way and came at last to the door of Bag End, well described by Gandalf and Bilbo, so Aragorn knew just where to go. Their escort Aragorn sent to The Green Dragon, which he looked forward to visiting himself, for he had heard much about it from his friends.

He politely knocked and Sam answered the door. His eyes widened in surprise and joy to see his king smiling down at him.

"You came!" he cried, then lowered his voice. "I hardly knew to hope for it, until I got your message back."

"Who is it, Sam?" came Frodo’s voice.

"A few friends who wish to share Yule with you," called Aragorn.

Frodo came to the door in stunned amazement. "How in the Shire...." He threw himself into Aragorn’s arms and then into Faramir’s. Both men barely had enough time to kneel in order to properly embrace their friend.

Frodo bowed deeply to Arwen. "My most fair lady queen..."

The three were concerned at how thin their friend still was, no matter how tight and enthusiastic his embrace had been. There were dark circles under his eyes and those eyes were awash with suffering, but there was happiness there too at this most unexpected of surprises.

Merry and Pippin came out next, followed by a heavily pregnant Rose. The two Travelers rushed to hug their friends.

"Strider!" Merry cried. "Have you come to recall Pippin back into service?"

Aragorn laughed. "Not at the present."

Rose curtsied to the king and queen, a bit taken aback that they were actually standing in the same hole she lived in, but she rose to the occassion and Sam was that proud of her. "Welcome, my lord and lady," she said. "We were just about to sit down for supper. Would you care to come in?"

Aragorn bowed to her. "You are most gracious, my lady Rose. We are most heavily in your debt for there is no cooking like Shire cooking."

Rose blushed prettily.

"You are in for a treat, my queen and steward," Aragorn said as they ducked their heads to miss the low ceiling and entered the dining room.

Sam had quickly set out three extra settings and they all sat down for a most merry meal.

"This is a wonderful surprise," Frodo said. "How in the world did you think to come?"

"I received a special invitation," Aragorn said with a twinkle in his eye.

The eldest hobbit looked suspiciously at Sam who was busy laddling out the soup. "Sam..."

"Mr. Frodo?" the gardener asked innocently, bracing himself for his master’s reaction and hoping Frodo wouldn’t see it.

If he did - and Sam did not doubt that he did - he gave no indication of it. Frodo squeezed his hand and Sam held it a lingering moment before squeezing gently back. "You gave me a most marvelous Yule gift this year, Sam," the erstwhile Ring-bearer said with more life in his eyes and voice than had been there for months. There was soft and tender love in them, as there always was when Frodo looked at and spoke to his gardener and guardian, but though the ever-present pain was still there, it was less and they all silently rejoiced to see it.

Sam breathed out silently in relief. He had no idea how his master would react to seeing his friend and he certainly hadn’t expected the queen and steward to come as well! "You’re welcome, me dear," he said and continuing filling the bowls. He had a feeling that his master wasn’t going to let him off that easy and he wondered, just a mite uneasily, what more was to come.

Nothing else happened though and the conversation was more animated than usual. Arwen engaged Rose in conversation in a deliberate attempt to put her at ease, and later helped served tea and dessert. Merry and Pippin talked, and most of the time at the same time, to Aragorn and Faramir, who valiantly tried to keep all their words straight, and respond when they could get a word in.

Frodo did not contribute much, but they all saw his soft smile as he was able to push away the shadows for a night and just bask in the company of so many beloved friends. Arwen saw that he wore her gift on a chain around his neck and he often fingered it when he didn’t think anyone was watching, but his fair features were softly lit from within and there was little on the surface that she could find complaint with. The song of his fea was a bit more lyrical than it had been when she had heard it last, more like she had heard it in Rivendell, before the burden had been taken up once more and the Quest begun. There was still great sadness and pain, but there was also a beauty to it that she was glad to be able to hear. She wondered what thought he had given to her other gift.

Beds were found in two of the spare bedrooms when at last the group retired. Frodo gave Aragorn and Faramir each a good night hug, and Arwen another deep bow, and left for his own room. When Sam came in to check on him as he always did, the elder hobbit was already in bed, blankets up to his chin. He looked up with a loving smile for his dearest friend.

"Thank you again, Sam. Tomorrow will be the most wonderful Yule since the last one Bilbo spent here. I wish he was here to celebrate with us."

"Don’t you think he is, in your heart?" Sam said with a return smile.

"As he always has been, yes, and always will be, just like you always will be, and Merry and Pippin, and everyone, but still I wish he was here, to see it all."

"When you see him next, you can tell me all about it."

"Yes," Frodo said and there was a wistfulness to his voice that Sam wondered about.

"Goodnight, me dear," he said with a kiss to his master’s head. "I love you."

"I love you, too, my dearest Sam," Frodo said, kneeling on the bed to tightly embrace his friend and brother and kiss his cheek goodnight.

Sam returned the hug and then departed, leaving the door slightly ajar as he always did, just in case his master needed him in the night, but he had a thought that Frodo wouldn’t, not tonight. He smiled. He had barely dared to hope his letter would be answered, but hope was something he could not abandon entirely. It had been rewarded once more and so he continued to hope for some relief now for his beloved master. It seemed tonight was the first time that the bleeding from deep within him that Sam could control but not completely staunch had slowed to a trickle. Perhap one day it would stop and heal entirely. It was with a lighter heart that Sam sought his wife’s arms that night and slept soundly, getting up only once to check on his master-brother-almost child.

Frodo was sleeping peacefully, shining and smiling softly, and his hands were free, not clutched around the gem or the chain. Sam lingered there a bit, just watching him, then looked in also at his guests and smiled at their slumbering figures as well. There had only been one bed that was big enough for a man to sleep in and the king and queen had taken that. The hobbits had been rather embarrassed not to have proper arrangements for Faramir, who looked now rather scrunched up, but the Steward had accepted such with grace, saying that since his four friends had made him an honorary hobbit, he certainly should use a hobbit’s bed. Sam returned to his bed. He glanced at the window. Snow was beginning to fall. Yes, it was going to be a wonderful Yule, just as his master had said.

Chapter Three: The Attack

The next morning they all saw that the snow had wrapped Hobbiton in a thick blanket. Faramir rose only a little stiffly from the cramped sleeping quarters and the other hobbits were already awake and active. The man only had to follow the steady stream of Pippin’s chatter and the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen to know where they all were. And so he found them, all but Frodo.

"Where’s Frodo?" the Steward asked.

"Out preparing his attack," Merry said casually, licking butter from his fingers from the large stack of pancakes he had put on his plate.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He’s done this every first snow fall since I was a faunt and probably before then," the hobbit explained as he carefully carried his plate to the dining room table.

Faramir’s eyes widened a little at the quantity, then remembered that hobbits did have large appetites.

"Step outside the door at your own risk," the littlest Knight of the Riddermark continued. "He’s already got Sam, me, Pippin, Aragorn, though he hasn’t yet tackled Rose and the Lady Arwen yet."

"I see."

"But you’ve got to go out anyway, Faramir," Pippin said as he poured syrup on an equally large number of cakes for himself. "It would just make his day if he could include you in the fun too."

"I shall accommodate him then," the Steward said.

"And you have to act surprised," Pippin asked.

"Of course."

"You probably won’t have to fake it," Merry said. "He can be very devious. He’ll get you when you least expect it."

"He would outwit a Ranger’s skill?"

"Well, as I said, he already got Strider."

The man looked up at his king who merely smiled at him.

"I shall look forward to matching wits with him, then."

"You won’t win," Merry said definitively. "No one does. Believe me, we’ve tried."

"How would you like your eggs, my lord?" Sam asked. "I’ve got a mushroom omelette in the making for the master and I could make you one if you’d like or scramble a few or..."

"An omelette would be fine, please. Thank you very much."

"Have a seat then and take your comfort."

"Thank you again."

Faramir sat down with the others and looked more expansively around the room, while the hobbits chattered merrily on. It was very cozy and comfortable and he thought he would grow to like it very much. It was very much a beloved home, made so by those who lived there. He was even more pleased that he had been made an honorary hobbit by those he esteemed so highly. Even though he had only arrived the night before, it was already obvious how love suffused the home like a visible light and warmed his heart as nothing since his mother’s death had. It was a soothing balm to his wounded heart that was still in pain after the deaths of his brother and father to hear and see all the love that was around. He was amused to see that though Sam still considered Frodo his master he did not hesitate to tell him what to do if he thought it right and Frodo obeyed like an obedient child. The love between the three cousins was also a very protective love, with Frodo in the role of elder brother. Faramir thought he could be very happy in such a home.

"Perhaps you could go out and call Frodo in for breakfast," Aragorn suggested to his Steward with a mischievous smile.

Faramir returned the smile. "It shall be my pleasure."

"Ours too," his wife’s shieldbrother said and they all followed the Ranger to the door and crowded around the window where they could watch.

The Ranger opened the door cautiously and could hardly get more than half his body out before a snowball hit him on the side and there was a delightful giggle heard by all, though no face to go with it.

"I at least made it out the door before I was hit," Aragorn remarked drily. "And I wasn’t warned either."

Faramir took his defeat graciously and stepped the rest of the way out the door. He looked to the right and called out. "I have been asked to call you to breakfast."

Another snowball came in response and more giggles, this time from the audience as well. But Frodo promptly showed himself. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, his feet covered in snow, his face happy and that made everyone else happy.

"Shall we go in?" Faramir asked, moving aside a bit.

"I am rather disappointed, Faramir," Frodo said.

"How so?"

"You should have at least fired back a bit."

"I didn’t want to delay you from your meal," the Ranger replied. "Perhaps we could have a rematch after we’ve broken our fast?"

"I think that could be arranged," Frodo said. Merry and Pippin grinned as did Aragorn and Sam rolled his eyes when he didn’t think anyone was watching.

"I look forward to it," Faramir said with a smile.

"So do we," Pippin said and he and Merry broke into giggles.

Frodo said no more, though the other hobbits knew his mind was working furiously planning his next attack. He ate very well, partly because he had already worked up an appetite and partly because he knew he was being watched to make sure he did eat what was proper for a hobbit or leastways almost proper, though his appetite had never truly returned to what it was and Sam had learned to accommodate for that. Faramir noted Frodo did not eat any of the pancakes and his omelette was a little smaller than the man’s own, but Frodo did finish every bit on his plate and drank his mug of mulled cider as well, triumphantly showing off his efforts to Sam who smiled warmly at him and lightly kissed his head. Frodo glowed under such care.

"Well, my lord Steward, are you ready?" the erstwhile Ring-bearer asked. "I’ll let you get out the door this time."

"I appreciate your kindness," Faramir said.

The two got up together and put their cloaks on. Frodo made sure he was bundled up properly before heading out for he was very aware of Sam's watchful gaze. Merry and Pippin followed with Aragorn just a bit behind. Sam shook his head with a chuckle and went back to the kitchen to clean up. Arwen helped Rose bring in the dishes from the dining room. Sam was that glad he had written that letter for he hadn’t seen his master this happy in too long a time. His cousins would have provided adequate cheer, but there was an extra spring in Frodo’s step and twinkle to his eye that he had new ‘victims’ for his snowballs that he hadn’t counted on.

The two hobbits and their king gathered around the windows again but there was not much to see. Their cousin and Steward soon disappeared.

"They’ve gone around the back," Pippin said. "I don’t think Frodo wanted to see Faramir embarrassed again in front of you, Aragorn."

"That was most thoughtful of him," the king agreed.

"But of course that won’t stop us from going out and joining them," Merry said, putting on his cloak and handing Pippin his and his scarf and mittens and then handing Aragorn his.

"Sam, you coming?" he called.

"In a bit, Mr. Merry," came back the response.

"Well, hurry up, or you’ll miss all the fun!" Pippin said.

The three went out the door and cut through the garden path. Sam was just a bit behind them when he yelped out as a snowball hit on the side. There was a victorious cry that had no face to it, but the sound of it warmed Sam through and through.

"There’s Faramir!" Merry whispered as the four now approached cautiously from the back. Moving noiselessly as only hobbits and a Ranger could, the three looked around, waiting for attack. Three snowballs in very quick succession hit them all in the back. More giggles went out into the air.

"How did he do that?" Pippin muttered. "It’s like he had three arms to throw that fast!"

Faramir turned when he heard that low voice and got up from where he had been squatting, only to be hit in the chest.

"I think he must be a ghost," Merry said. "Where are you, Frodo?"

"All around you!" came the answer. "Do you yield?"

Aragorn was the first to respond. "Never! Elendil!" he cried and with that, he launched a snowball at what no one else had seen and got a surprised yelp as a reward.

Sam’s face creased in concern, but he was soon smiling again when he heard that his master had taken no serious hurt. The fight continued for some time, both side scoring a fair share of hits, but in the end it had to be acknowledged that no one threw a snowball quite like Frodo Baggins or as many times so accurately.

They only stopped when Sam called a halt when he was able to get close enough to his master and see that Frodo’s maimed hand was hurting him.

"That’s it for today, Mr. Frodo, dear," he said and took his master by the hand and led him back in.

The others followed. "Told you he was good," Merry said to Faramir.

"He is very good."

"Don’t worry, Faramir, we won’t tell Eowyn how badly you fared," Merry assured.

"I appreciate that."

"And we won’t tell Arwen how badly you did, Aragorn," Pippin said.

"I would appreciate that also, if I hadn’t seen her already looking out the window with a large smile on her face."

"I’m sure she’ll take you back though."

"I would hope so."

After they got back inside, Frodo allowed himself to be further led into the kitchen where Sam got out some salve and gently massaged into the area when his master was missing a finger. The cold always made it ache more than usual and the salve helped, though it was Sam’s tender touch that provided most of the healing.

"I had so much fun today, Sam!" Frodo said. "Thank you for inviting Aragorn and Faramir."

Sam looked at the beautiful, shining being before him and it was like the Shadow had never been and they were lads again at any other Yule. Sam kissed his head quickly. "I’m that glad, me dear."

Chapter Four: A Shadow of Old Trouble

A/N:  I forgot to mention that I had stolen the idea of Frodo nailing everyone with a snowball from Larner - hope you don't mind!  And in the further interest of full disclosure, the title of this chapter is taken from the BBC Radio adaptation of the tale ("The Grey Havens" episode) and there are a few lines adapted or inspired from the movies.

Sam and Rose prepared an elevenses that all were pleased to see Frodo eating more robustly than usual. In fact all who had been outside ate well, having worked up an appetite with all the exercise they had gotten. Arwen smiled at her husband, having immensely enjoyed watching him outside.

The short time before lunch was occupied by Faramir, Aragorn and Arwen receiving the grand tour of Bag End, given by the Master of the smial. It was a revelation for them all, even Aragorn who had heard much description of hobbits from Bilbo in Rivendell. It ended in the study.

"I love this whole home," Faramir said, "but this room I could live in."

Frodo smiled. "You can, while you’re here, if you’d like. It’s my favorite place too. And I have on more than one occasion fallen asleep here, but not since Sam has come to live. He always makes sure I’m in bed, even if he has to carry me!"

They all laughed and marveled at the wonderful sound of it coming from Frodo. Faramir looked at the various volumes, quite absorbed. Aragorn smiled. "I think perhap we shall leave you two scholars together and see what help we can provide for lunch."

Faramir looked to his king and smiled in return. Frodo beamed. The two were left and were soon in earnest talk together about some obscure book that Bilbo had translated.

Sam poked his head in an hour later. "Time for lunch, master dear, Lord Faramir," he said.

Man and hobbit looked up at once. "We shall have to continue this discussion later," Frodo said. "But I don’t want to so lose track of time like it is too easy to do here. Gandalf is coming for Yule dinner after all, and I have to make sure he is properly welcomed!"

The Steward smiled for he could tell very well from his friend’s mischievous look exactly what type of welcome there was to come. The two followed Sam out and had a filling lunch. Faramir decided not to be amazed any longer at the capacity of hobbits to eat so much so many times a day. He decided instead to be amazed that he could eat so much himself.

Gandalf did come as scheduled and when he came in the door, his cloak was rather liberally touched with snow. Frodo followed him in with a merry expression and barely suppressed giggle.

"I see you have been properly welcomed," Aragorn said with a smile.

The wizard raised an eyebrow and then shook the snow off onto a mat. He turned around and knelt and opened his arms to receive his dear hobbit friend. Frodo hugged him tightly and happily.

"Now," Gandalf remarked to Aragorn, "I have been properly welcomed."

The king laughed softly. "Both ways are apparently equally valid, if you come here and it’s snowing."

Gandalf pulled away enough to be able to look Frodo in the eye. His deep sight caught the pain that dwelt within, like a wound that still bled and had no cure, but his physical eyes caught only joy and light. Frodo could have been the happy lad he had met now and again when Bilbo had still been master of Bag End.

"Isn’t it a wonderful surprise that Aragorn, Queen Arwen and Faramir are here, Gandalf? My Sam is too good to me."

"It is a marvel, my dear hobbit, and one I am glad to see. Very glad indeed."

Frodo let go of his friend and tugged on his hand. "Come on into the kitchen and see all that Sam and Rosie have prepared for us! It’s going to be a feast!"

The wizard obediently came along. He bowed to Arwen who inclined her head with a smile. He bowed also to Rose who blushed and curtsied.

"Oh, Mr. Gandalf!" Sam called from sniffing the soup he had prepared. He put the ladle back into the large pot and Rose came up immediately to stir it. The wizard smiled at how seamlessly the two worked together, like one person, just like he had often thought Sam and Frodo were as well.

"Gandalf!" Merry and Pippin cried together and rushed their friend at the same time. Gandalf didn’t have time to kneel to receive them properly, so just absorbed the impact, though it set him back a step, and hugged them as best he could.

"Now we can begin!" the tween said. "We were just waiting for you. You took your time, didn’t you?"

Gandalf’s eyes sparked dangerously and his brows bristled along with his beard. "Are you trying to imply, Peregrin Took, that I am late for supper? I assure you that wizards are never late, nor are they early."

"They arrive precisely when they mean to!" Frodo crowed and collapsed into giggles.

Pippin was having none of that. "Didn’t Cousin Dora always say, early is on-time, on-time is late and late is unacceptable?"

"I am quite on-time, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said, bristling even more. Merry could have sworn there was a thunderstorm in those eyes threatening to break. He could see the lightening flickering. "And I am not late."

"But we will all be, if you don’t stop fussing, dearest," Frodo said to his cousin with a twinkle in his eye. "Now stop giving Gandalf such a hard time and take your seat."

Pippin hurried to the dining room table which was now extended to accommodate the newest guest. Leaves normally hidden from daily use were pulled out from underneath. The tween patted the chair next to him. "Will you sit next to me, please, Gandalf?"

The wizard came up with a smile and sat down where invited. The storm had passed and the sun was out again. Aragorn and Arwen smiled. Their friend exhibited his usual impatience and annoyance with the youngest of those who had gone on the Quest, but underneath it was a fierce love that was just as obvious and a pride too in how they all had grown and been so untouched by the terrible evils they had seen. Or almost untouched. He knew they all had scars held under their hobbit cheer, but they were almost unnoticed even by themselves. All but for Frodo. But the wizard was not going to think of that tonight. He was going to enjoy himself.

And so he did and so did they all. When it was fully dark and all the stars had come out in the cloudless sky, the younger hobbits hurriedly bundled up and urged their guests to do so also so they could join the rest of Hobbiton to watch the Mayor light the Yule log and bonfire.

The first hint of trouble was when Frodo’s cheer deflated as he slowly got his cloak, hat, scarf and mittens on. Sam watched him carefully as the others did, as unobtrusively as they could. "You can stay here, if you’d like, me dear," the gardener said softly.

Frodo shook himself and looked at his guardian. He dearly wanted to do that very thing, but he smiled instead, a bit tremulously, but bravely. "No, Sam, let’s all go out. I don’t want to be left behind."

Sam squeezed his mittened hand and smiled back. He knew Frodo rarely went out after dark anymore when memories of his pursuit and wounding by the Nazgul were most apt to overwhelm him. Frodo kept hold of Sam’s hand the entire time and seemed to relax a little, though even through the mitten, Sam could feel him trembling.

The whole of Hobbiton came to the Party Field and Frodo did not look at anyone, though he could feel the gazes of many on him. Many of the hobbit lads and lasses looked hopefully at Gandalf, wondering if there would be fireworks. They also glanced curiously at the Big Folk, especially Arwen who shimmered in the moonlight. Frodo was glad it was cold enough that none of the curious could see his maimed hand, though he knew from past experience their gaze would be drawn toward it whether it could be seen or not. At first he was unable to speak even to his friends, so wrapped up in his efforts not to have his fears overwhelm him. His hand tightened around Sam’s. He held back from moving any closer to the bonfire that would be lit than the last row of hobbits gathered. Everyone else stood with him and it was then he found his voice.

"You won’t be able to see anything," he protested. "Move up around the corners so you don’t miss it all."

"We want to stay with you, Frodo," Merry said softly and Aragorn and Faramir touched either of Frodo’s shoulders in silent support.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," the Ring-bearer murmured.

Pippin took his free hand. "There’s nothing to be sorry for, dearest."

They stood as an united group, though Gandalf seemed to have disappeared. The reason why was soon made apparent as the gaze of the crowd was drawn to the sky where a large firework exploded into the shape of a Yule log. The cheers were loud all around, but Frodo barely glanced at it. The Mayor then lit the real log with a burning brand. Frodo flinched and quickly looked away. He squeezed Sam’s hand even more tightly. When the bonfire was lit, he could not even look at it. It reminded him too much of that other Fire that still consumed him.

He didn’t see the more daring of the hobbit lads jump over the blaze before it grew too high and fierce, but Pippin did and it brought forth memories of Faramir’s near death. He leaned close to the man and looked up at him a bit fearfully. The Steward smiled gently and lovingly down at him and Pippin smiled bravely back. Faramir kissed the top of his head lightly and held him close and that calmed the tween more than anyone else could have.

Frodo continued to keep his head down and the others could see he was so distressed that they were going to leave early, but then the singing began, a traditional Yule song, the first of many that would sung around the Fire.

It was a soothing, favorite melody of hobbits that reached its tender tendrils into Frodo’s frightened heart. It was not as wonderful as the singing in Rivendell that had swept him away when he had first heard it, but it held a magic almost as deep and powerful that his troubled soul harkened to and remembered a time when all was bright and beautiful and no Shadow had come to trouble it. The others were amazed when he began to join in the singing, softly at first, almost inaudibly among all the others voices which were much more hearty, but then his grew stronger and a more wonderful sound none of the group around him heard that night. Even those who had been looking strangely at them before softened their gazes and hearts when Frodo’s voice reached there. Arwen watched him closely as his light grew brighter, then she closed her eyes, the better to listen to his voice. It was hauntingly beautiful, almost Elven, but most definitely a hobbit’s. She silently gave thanks that she could be presented with such a gift. More than one among their group wiped at tears, while Frodo was oblivious, caught up himself in the beauty of the song, but not hearing his own voice. He still remained with his head downcast, but his grip on Sam’s hand had lessened to where it was barely held.

The group stayed for several more songs, but did not participate in the dancing that followed but for one in which Aragorn and Arwen danced near them, far from the fire. Frodo would have dearly loved to have seen his brother and Rose dance, but Sam had felt a change in his master’s trembling and knew it now more from the cold than fear and so turned them all for home. It had been a blessed evening.

"I’m glad we went, my Sam," Frodo said when his beloved guardian came to tuck him in. His voice was tired and there was too much of the familiar pain in it, but there was also peace.

"I’m glad too, me dear," the younger hobbit said and brushed his master’s dear brow softly with his hand and lips.

Chapter Five: The Hands of a Healer

Sam got up during the night to check on Frodo as he always did, but when he approached his master’s bed, the Ring-bearer was murmuring and tossing his head restlessly. His hand had fallen from clutching the white gem around his neck and Sam placed it back around it.

He brushed at Frodo’s curls. "What’s that you’re saying, me dear? You should be sleeping."

Frodo turned his head a bit into Sam’s hand, but did not wake. He continued to speak softly.

"Sam..." quietly came Aragorn’s voice behind him.

The hobbit turned, a bit surprised. "Do you know what he’s saying, my lord? He talks like that sometimes since we’ve been back, but bless me if I can understand a word of it."

Aragorn’s face was grim. "Consider yourself blessed that you cannot. It’s the Black Speech."

Sam’s eyes widened in horror. "You mean like the dark lord spoke?"

"The very same."

"And he’s speaking to Mr. Frodo now? And Mr. Frodo’s responding?" He stroked one of the Ring-bearer’s delicately pointed ears. "His poor ears. But how could that be? I mean, the dark lord’s gone, isn’t he?" Sam looked up at his king, desperately seeking confirmation.

Aragorn’s features softened a bit as he looked at his distressed friend. "Sauron was defeated, Sam, when the Ring was put in the Fire, but he was not destroyed as it was."

Sam looked back at his beloved master. Frodo’s face was part in shadow, part in the moonlight that shone through the window and he was still murmuring. "You mean he’s still got some kind of hold on my master?"

"I fear it to be so."

"What’s he saying to him?"

Aragorn was silent for a moment, his features turning grim again. He would not repeat to Sam the vile words he was hearing. No ears as gentle as his should be subjected to such, and neither should Frodo’s, but such was happening. "Sauron is still trying to claim him," was all he said.

Sam shook his master. "Don’t let him do that, Mr. Frodo! You’ve got to fight him, just like you did all that way to the Fire. Wake up and tell your Sam what he can to help you. Wake up!"

"He’s resisting, Sam," Aragorn assured. "But I don’t know if he can hear you."

Sam shook Frodo a little harder. "Then, maybe he can. Look here, Mr. Sauron, you let my master go! You have no right to be giving him whatever sauce you are, so leave off and let him be! If you keep at it, you’ve got Sam Gamgee to reckon with and you know already that I gave you the whatfore back in your own land!"

Aragorn smiled. Leave it to Sam, the mildest hobbit one could hope to meet, to tell off the most malignantly evil force in all Middle-earth! He was intrigued as well by the gardener’s last words and was impressed and humbled once more by his strength and courage.

The man sat down by Frodo’s bedside to lend his own power to the fight. He cupped the Ring-bearer’s cheek and spoke in Sindarin to counter the terrible corruption of the Elven language that was Sauron’s: "Lasto beth nin, mellon nin. Tolo dan na ngalad." [Hear my voice, my friend. Come back to the light.]

Frodo leaned into his touch, but did not wake. Aragorn spoke again, more urgently. Sam knelt and continued to stroke his master’s ear and murmured, "Come back, Mr. Frodo, my dear, my dear. Come back to your Sam."

"Do you know enough Sindarin to talk to him in that, Sam?" Aragorn asked. "He may respond to your voice better than mine since he knows and loves it better."

"You just tell me what to say and I’ll say it. And tell me how to say ‘I love you.’"

Aragorn smiled. "Im mil le." He then gave the gardener a quick lesson in what needed to be said.

Sam nodded and absorbed the words quickly, then spoke directly into his master’s ear. "Im mil le, Mr. Frodo. Lasto beth nin, mellon nin. Tolo dan na ngalad."

The king smiled wider to hear Sam repeat those words over and over. Frodo did not wake, but his features settled more peacefully and he turned quiet. There was even a ghost of a smile on his lips. Sam looked up hopefully at the man who nodded for him to continue. The hobbit took his master’s maimed hand and was grateful when he felt Frodo’s fingers curl around his. "That’s the way, Mr. Frodo dear," Sam murmured. "That’s the way. You just keep hold of your Sam and he’s not going let anything hurt you."

"Thank you, my Sam," Frodo murmured. "I love you, too."

Sam brushed his brow with a kiss and stroked his curls gently with his free hand. He continued with his soothing words for a while longer and Aragorn was deeply touched by the tenderness of his care. The hobbit’s first child had yet to be born, but there was no doubt that Sam was already a father, not just of one, but two.

"I’ve been told that I have the hands of a healer, but, you, Sam, have the same gift."

The gardener blushed. "Naught special ’bout my hands, my lord, begging your pardon. Just doing what I’ve always done."

Aragorn smiled and clasped his friend’s shoulder. "May you continue to do it then, and may hobbits and gardens always flourish under your touch!"

Sam blushed deeper. He stood and bowed and then returned to soothingly stroking his master’s hand and singing to him very softly as Frodo settled into deep, untroubled sleep. Aragorn left then, knowing that Frodo could not be in better hands.

He made a couple detours before he returned to the room he shared with his wife. One of them was the study. Faramir had taken Frodo up on his offer to sleep there so the four hobbits had made sure he had enough blankets and made a bed for him on the floor. He woke now as Aragorn came in and watched his king curiously.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

Aragorn responded to him in Sindarin lest anyone overhear and the Steward’s face grew concerned and grieved but he smiled also at what Sam had said and done. He settled back to sleep as the king left for his own bed, knowing indeed that Frodo was in the best possible hands.

In the morning Aragorn knew he would have to more fully disclose to Sam and to the others what he had heard Frodo say so they could all watch more carefully and understand why he had taken the precautions he just had.

Chapter Six: Watchfulness

Frodo slept late so Aragorn was able to use that time to ask Sam for an excuse that would not rouse the Ring-bearer’s suspicions that they be allowed to speak away from Bag End for a little bit.

The gardener looked up concerned. "Well, we could go and get some more meat and bread. I had some stored away, but we could always use more. I don’t hardly want to leave Mr. Frodo alone though."

"I will stay with him," Faramir said and Sam looked much relieved.

"Then it’s settled," Aragorn said.

"What is?" came a voice from the threshold of the kitchen. Frodo looked tired and they all ached for him.

"That we are all going to out and get more food," Pippin said. "We don’t have nearly enough."

"Sam just filled up the pantry and the cold room before you came, Pip dear."

"Exactly, before he came," Merry quipped. "But he’s here now and he’s right."

Pippin looked quite offended. "I’ll have you know that I am still a growing tween..."

"Yes, we can all see that," Frodo said with a trace of humor that they all latched onto with a desperation that surprised them. "You and Merry both. All right, then, I can see your point. But why do you all need to go?"

"Well, Strider’s going to show Lady Arwen around Hobbiton because she hasn’t seen it before and..."

"Well, let me eat first, and then I can join you."

"You can’t," Pippin blurted out before he could stop himself.

"And whyever not?"

"Because that would ruin all his fun," Merry said smoothly, rescuing their cousin from the suddenly panic that rose in him. "You would stop him from getting all the cakes and other sweets that he feels he absolutely must have or he will perish from the earth."

Pippin’s offended look deepened. "I need my sustenance! I’ve barely made back all the weight I lost tramping across Middle-earth, not to mention..."

"Go and enjoy yourself, then, dearest," Frodo said. "You’d best go walking and not by cart, so you can work off all the candies you are going to eat on the way back. And you better wash your sticky hands as soon as you get back before you leaves prints everywhere!"

"Of course I will!"

"Wash your hands or leave prints everywhere?"

"Humph!" was all Pippin replied in as injured a tone as he could manage but everyone else was smiling since Frodo was strong enough to tease and the tween was more than happy to take all his cousin wished to give.

"Well, I suspect very much you are keeping me out of this so you can overbuy, but do have a care! I really think I should go with you."

"I thought we could spend the time finishing our discussion from yesterday," Faramir said smoothly. "And there’s also the matter of having another snowball fight to see if I can regain my lost honor."

Merry wasn’t quite successful in choking back a snort of laughter that he tried to cover with a cough.

"I would very much like to do that, my lord Steward," Frodo said with a slight bow in his direction. "But someone should be with my cousins to make sure they don’t get into any mischief."

"Sam will make sure of that," Gandalf said with a dangerous twinkle in his eye. "As will I."

Frodo laughed a little which was a balm to all their hearts. "Then I suppose the stores are protected enough from starving hobbit lads."

"Quite protected."

"We won’t be gone long, master," Sam said and there was a look between them that spoke of the mutual need that the separation be as minimal as possible.

"I look forward to seeing all the treasures you are going to bring back then. And you better save me some!"

Frodo watched them all leave. Pippin didn’t breathe easier until they were past the gate and he dared to look back to make sure they weren’t being followed.

"I thought we’d never get out of there!" he said.

"It’s lucky you have such a hungry stomach," Merry said.

"It’s not my fault I wasn’t fed properly for months and months and have to regain my strength."

"But you have been feed properly the months and months that followed your starvation, so you can’t well complain."

"So what is this all about anyway, Strider?" Pippin asked.

"It is a very grave matter," the king began and guided them away from the main path. He looked around to see if there were any others about, but the snow-laden trees shielded them from sight.

"In brief, I can tell you that Frodo remains in peril from the dark lord he helped defeat. Sam and I woke last night to check on him and he was being reached by Sauron."

"But he’s gone!" Pippin and Merry said together.

"He is defeated, but not destroyed," Gandalf said quietly. "He cannot take part in the affairs of the world again as he would have had he regained the Ring or even had it remained in the world yet not in his possession, but he is not completely powerless."

"And he can still reach Frodo because he bore the Ring?" Merry hazarded.

"All Ring-bearers are reachable by thought and can be influenced that way," Arwen said. "That is why the Elves took theirs off the moment they perceived that Sauron had made a Ring that could rule theirs and rule them if he could overthrow their wills."

"So he’s trying still to reach Mr. Frodo?" Rose asked, struggling to understand.

"Yes, my lady," the king continued and Rose blushed to be addressed so. "Thought is the only way he can hope to harm the one who destroyed his last chance at power. He still has some hold over Frodo, but he is finding anew that hobbits are dangerous creatures to try to meddle with." Here Aragorn smiled at Sam who blushed. The man then continued to address them all. "And Frodo himself is resisting. But he is weakened by his trials and it is possible that if he is not strictly watched, he may try to harm himself while under Sauron’s influence, if the assault proves too strong for him."

"How terrible!" Rose cried.

"We won’t let our guard slip for an instant!" Pippin said and all the other hobbits nodded in agreement.

Sam looked especially fierce in his determination. Aragorn smiled again and Gandalf behind his beard as the thought occurred independently to them both that this was who Shelob must have seen and what could she thought?

"We should have been there the whole time with him!" Pippin said. "We should be there now."

"If you had been there, my Took," Gandalf said, "then Faramir couldn’t be with him now."

Pippin sighed at the truth of that.

"He is well protected by more eyes than you can see," the wizard assured.

"And under attack as well," Merry said darkly.

* * *

Frodo and Faramir had finished their talk and the Ring-bearer was dozing in his favorite chair in the study while the man was reading on the many books in the room. He looked over at his slumbering friend and saw his brow creased but not otherwise in distress. The Ring-bearer’s maimed hand was wrapped around the gem the queen had given. The man thought it would be safe to leave a moment to seek the privy.

He got up and at the same moment Frodo’s hand slipped from the gem and he crossed the threshold into a dark dream.

Chapter Seven: Voices

The voice came to him as it had for months, tormenting him out of the dark, surrounding him until it was all he could hear. He tried not to listen, tried to shut it out with his hands over his ears, pleading with it to let him go, but it was of no avail. It was inside him and he could not make it leave on his own. Only Sam could do that. If he clutched the gem the Queen gave him, it grew quiet, but he could always sense it waiting for him. And here in the terrible dark, it had him.

It promised freedom and rest, an opportunity to lay down his burden. Freedom. The very idea of it filled him with longing. He did so want to be free. A shining sword appeared in the black.

No, not that way, Frodo told the voice as it continued to taunt and tempt in the most vile language, the worst perversion of the Elvish he so loved to listen to.

He held his hands to his ears tighter. "No!" His own voice frightened him. It was a moan, the same one he tried to keep inside him all the time from Sam while they had made their terrible journey, but he knew sometimes Sam had heard for then he would take Frodo into his arms and rock him and look at him with such tender love that it would save him for that moment from drowning in the terrible darkness that was overwhelming him. A kiss to the head one moment allowed him to endure the next.

But Sam was not with him now, only the terrible voice. Frodo shook his head. "No...no...let me be...leave me alone..please..."

The cruel mockery of laughter filled his ears and stabbed into his lacerated soul.

Frodo writhed, trying to escape. Sam....Sam!

He is gone away. He cannot hear you now.

Frodo tumbled down further into the darkness and the voice followed him. "Sam!" he cried out again and he was not aware that this time it was aloud.

The door opened and he heard a distant voice. "Frodo?"

The Ring-bearer’s eyes opened and he looked up through a haze, waking with a gasp. He pulled free from the night terrors’ cloying webs and rushed toward Faramir with a cry.

The Steward barely kept the cup of tea he was carrying from spilling onto his friend. He quickly put it aside and knelt to collect Frodo in his arms. The man felt the hammering of the little one’s great heart as they sat there on the floor and Frodo sobbed into his chest. When finally the troubled hobbit look up at the man and heard the silence in his own head that meant the voice had been temporarily subdued, he tried to apologize for his outburst, but Faramir would have none of it

"Were you having a nightmare?" he asked as he wiped Frodo’s tears away.

Frodo did not answer and looked away. The man gently touched the hobbit’s chin and brought him back to face him. His face was tender and filled with sympathy and perhaps even a bit of understanding.

"I have them still sometimes myself," Faramir said. "It is impossible to be touched by such evil and not be scarred by it. But the light is greater. You must keep holding onto that to turn back the terrible night."

Frodo still did not answer him and so Faramir switched tactics and looked about the study. "You have so many wonderful books here. I could be very happy for quite some time and herer I don’t have to worry that I will be dragged away like I was so many times at home!"

He had hoped that would elicit a smile, but he was not rewarded, so he continued on. How much this little one was like him he thought in a burst of love he had only ever thought before when thinking of his brother. Perhaps I have found another one.

"My mother was the only one who truly understood how much I loved the old stories," he continued "and how I longed for the king to return. Boromir tried to understand but couldn’t quite. My father never tried."

"Your wish for that has come true," Frodo said.

Faramir smiled at his friend. "Because you helped it to come so. It could not have been accomplished without you."

"I had nothing to do with that," the troubled Ring-bearer said. "If Sam and Smeagol had not been with me, then Sauron would be king, not Aragorn."

Faramir smiled at Frodo again and held him a little tighter. "Yet they could not have done what they did, had you not done what you did, my stubborn friend. I have heard from Sam all about your terrible journey and how you endured your trials with such courage."

"I could not fulfill my task at the end," Frodo said. "Did he mention that? It was too much. Everyone trusted me and I failed them."

"So I felt when my father chastised me for letting you go and for not protecting Osgiliath well enough," Faramir replied. "But that does not mean it’s the truth or that we didn’t do the best we could. I fought an enemy lesser than the one you struggled against for much longer and much more successfully. The Black Breath of one who was merely servant to the terrible power you strove against was nearly enough to kill me. How can you consider yourself a failure if you succumbed at last to a power and will greater than yours, that no mortal could withstand forever?"

Frodo did not respond or look at him. He knew the man was well meaning, but he had not been there. He did not know of the burden that Frodo had carried for so long and was still being crushed by.

"I know I was not at your side as Sam was," Faramir said, reading that dear heart. "And I know the powers I fought are not anything like you have had to struggle with, but for the Nazgul who wounded us both. I am humbled and awed that you had such strength to battle so hard and long against him and his dark master. I wish I had been as strong for perhaps I would have gained the stature in the eyes of my father that I have longed for all his life. I always wanted his love, but he was rarely granted it. I was a terrible disappointment to him when I loved books and learning far more than he did the arts of a warrior and when I more readily gave my heart to Mithrandir and my brother than to him. Boromir was much closer to his martial heart than I was and I was much closer to my mother’s heart."

Faramir’s eyes misted, but he kept his voice steady. "I learned to fight because I had to, because I wanted to please my father, so he could love me and so I could be ready when the king came again. That was another thing that he hated about me, that he felt I shared my heart with others he considered rivals. I longed to give him my whole heart, but I didn’t have any hope that such a gift would be accepted. He had long given up hope or even desire for any king to return. He hated to be considered just steward. How many more generations would have to pass until he could be considered king indeed as he so wanted to be? He considered my longing for the king to return to be an affront to his own dignity and power, for he knew if so happened, his power would be over. But I still had hope that the king would even after so long and it was love for that unseen man that I held dear and close to his heart since my own father was so cold. I trained for that man as much as I did for my father, for someone I knew may not even come in my lifetime, but who I hoped would come one day. I do not know why I felt so strongly that he would come and I would see him. And now he has and he has acknowledged before all his realm that you are partly responsible for that."

Frodo looked up at the man now and there are tears in his eyes and he reached to wipe away those in his friend’s. "I am so sorry for you, Faramir, that you were so long bereft of the love of your father. I cannot even imagine such a thing. My parents both died when I was very young, but they loved me very much. All hobbit children are very dearly loved. I am so sorry."

Faramir wiped at Frodo’s tears as well and there was tender love in his gentle eyes. "Children are loved greatly in Gondor as well. Do not grieve overly for me. It is an old, sore pain, but my father was not an evil man. He had burdens that I am glad not to have had to carry myself and griefs deeper than mine. I can barely remember my mother, but I can still remember her love and his for me before she died and his heart withered. That is another thing we have sorrowfully in common. We are both now orphans. But we are also surrounded by those who love us and though this war has been terrible and we have all suffered grievous losses, there is much good and joy that has come from it as well, for would I have met you or Sam or Eowyn or our king any other way? From the ashes, a new life will spring for us both."

"‘From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring,’" Frodo said in a wistful voice, remembering the words of Gandalf. "I hope that will be true, but all I see is the fire of the mountain and the terrible red Eye of the Enemy."

"And I the pyre of my father that he lit himself," Faramir replied, "but we shall not always see such things. Our hearts will heal in the right soil."

Frodo’s hope stirred against the blackness that beset it and he desperately sought to believe in the man’s words. "I have grown closer to Sam because of all that happened than I have all our time together before. And you are right, we would not have met otherwise. I am very glad that we have. I am also so glad your gentle heart was not torn apart by the terrible evil of the Ring."

"As yours was?"

"It was the price I agreed to pay when I took the Ring."

"Even before you knew the true cost?"

"I do not think I would have been able to make the journey if I had known."

"It is better not to know," the Steward agreed. "Before the War, my brother and father were still alive. Would I have been able to bear it if I had known that I wouldn’t be seeing Boromir again when he rode out seeking the answer to the riddle that you stood in the midst of? Would I have tried to stop him or make him take me with him or go in his stead? Should I have stayed here in the Citadel instead of going to Osgiliath and so tried to prevent my father’s death if I had known he was so steeped in despair? But I knew none of this and now I am all that is left of my house. I miss them both so much sometimes I wonder how I will go on, how I will even take the next breath."

Those words struck Frodo at his core for such was often his own wondering. The man’s next words struck also and he held onto them as desperately as he had the others. "But I do and I will keep doing so."

Faramir looked deeply into Frodo’s eyes and saw the terrible pain there. "The road does not end here for either of us, my brother. Somehow it was fated to be the way it is. All of it."

Frodo looked up at the Steward with a mix of awe and gratitude so deep tears gathered once more. Brother. Perhap they understood each other better than he thought for they were both carrying terrible wounds to their hearts. Faramir’s gentle one may have been spared the ravages of the Ring, but the other wounds he carried were just as deep and inflicted over a much longer period. Yet, he was able to forgive and mourn his father, as Frodo was able to forgive and mourn for Smeagol, and Sam was able to forgive him. Love surrounded them and sustained them.

As Frodo lay his head against Faramir’s chest, not even the echoes of the voice of their Enemy was within him and he felt at peace in such a way that he rarely had when he was not in the arms of his Sam. "Your land is very blessed, Faramir," he said, "because you are in it. But I must say once more you make a wonderful hobbit."

Faramir laughed softly and the sound soothed the Ring-bearer’s heart, just as the man’s voice did. The Steward kissed his head and continued to hold him close. "And I am honored once more that you would think so," he said and felt within himself a peace that he has not felt since his mother and now his brother had died. It was the peace of being completely and unconditionally loved. "Your land is blessed because you are within it as well."

Frodo smiled faintly as the peace spread through them both.

"You have a beautiful smile," Faramir said.

The Ring-bearer smiled further. If it helped Faramir heal a little from his own wounds, then he was glad. He looked up at his new brother and the man was smiling. The dark shadows dispersed for a moment for both of us and for a moment Frodo saw the light beyond them. "You said when we parted last, that if there was any hope of meeting again, we would sit by a wall in the sun and laugh at old grief. I did not think there was any hope for that, yet here we are."

"Yes, here we are. We hobbits have to stick together."

When Sam, Merry and Pippin returned an hour later with the others, their eyes locked on Frodo immediately and they were surprised and concerned to see Faramir holding him on the floor. But wonder filled them when Frodo gave them a genuine smile. To see them return the smiles and the concern fade for a moment from their eyes was a wonderful treat for him. Yes, he was very blessed.

Chapter Eight: Brothers

"Now what did you bring back for me and my brother," Frodo asked those gathered, "and don’t tell me that you ate it all on the way back here!"

They all looked at him rather confusedly for a moment, then Aragorn and Gandalf smiled, and Pippin threw himself at Faramir, and for the second time that day, the man had to hurriedly accept a hobbit into his arms.

"Welcome to the family, Faramir!" the tween enthused, hugging him tightly.

The Steward gladly returned the hug and smiled. "Thank you very much. I am honored to have been adopted into such a worthy family."

"Now, as to what we were speaking of..." Frodo said when his cousin broke away.

"Yes, of course," Pippin said and dug into his pockets to bring out a bag of Frodo’s favored treats.

The Ring-bearer looked at his other cousin and raised an eyebrow. "You actually trusted him to carry these back?"

Merry shrugged. "His fingers were already very sticky with them so we thought it best."

Frodo smiled and hugged Pippin and kissed his head quickly. "Thank you, my dearest ’squeak. You are too good to me."

"Don’t be taking them all now, Mr. Frodo," Sam cautioned when his master dug his hand in. "You don’t want to spoil elevenses."

The elder hobbit popped one into his mouth. "Just this one, Sam," he promised.

Pippin looked around the room and then at his cousin. "Just what were you two doing on the floor anyway?"

A pained expression quickly crossed Frodo’s features, but he was spared from answering right away when Faramir spoke. "You aren’t the first one to come running at me today."

When they all worried it was not in the same manner of Pippin’s rush, Frodo looked up at their king. "We were actually discussing for a good part how much Faramir loves you, Aragorn."

The king smiled. "I have been very blessed to have such a good man stand by me as Steward."

They all know there was much left unsaid and Sam looked long at his master, as did Merry. Frodo evaded both their glances. "Why don’t you get elevenses ready, please, Sam?" he asked. "You can help him, Merry and Pippin, please." The two older hobbits looked ready to rebel, but then left to go into the kitchen. Frodo knew very well he was not free, but given only a momentary reprieve. Rose and Arwen left also. Pippin squeezed his cousin around the waist in silent support and joined them as did Faramir and Aragorn.

"This won’t do, my young hobbit," Gandalf said quietly.

Frodo squirmed for just a moment, then defiantly looked up at his friend.

"That won’t do, either," the wizard said in the same quiet voice but which now contained a hint of menace.

The Ring-bearer looked away. "I don’t want them worrying over me all the time."

"And you think saying nothing of your troubles is going to help that? They love you too much, to let you go that easy. We all love you too much, including your new brother."

Frodo looked back at his friend who was now smiling. Gandalf knelt and opened his arms and the hobbit gladly buried himself in the wizard’s robes and arms. He breathed deeply. "You smell like Bilbo, with all that pipeweed."

"I wish I could make it all better for you, Frodo," Gandalf said softly with gentle strokes to his curls. "We all do."

"I just wish it would stop hurting."

"One day it will."

"When?"

"I don’t know, my dear hobbit. But you are loved by more than you know and your healing does indeed await you."

"Here or will I have to leave again?"

"It will come where it has been prepared to come."

They were silent for a while and Frodo closed his eyes and concentrated just on feeling his friend’s touch and love instead of what he knew in his heart Gandalf’s words meant. "Bilbo used to do that, when sometimes I’d crawl into his bed or he’d crawl into mine, after I had dreamed of my parents and he’d hold me and murmur to me and stroke my curls, and after a while, wipe my tears and tell me how much he loved me and how glad he was that I had come to stay with him."

"You have always been greatly loved, Frodo, and always will be."

"I know."

Gandalf raised his friend’s chin and waited until Frodo looked up at him. "Then can you trust in that love to hold the shadows back as it always has before?"

The Ring-bearer looked away. "I’d rather not have all those I love leave the sunlight. They’ve stood far too long in the darkness with me and for me already."

"And yet they’d rather leave the light, then leave you alone in the dark. Don’t you realize by now, my dearest, most stubborn hobbit, that they’d rather be where you are, if it meant you could join them where they are? Sam carried you up the Mountain, don’t you think he wants to carry you back down too? That we all want to? How can they be happy in the bright, if they know you are still lost in the black? Didn’t Bilbo gladly come to your side and bring you back to the light whenever you needed? Hasn’t Sam?"

Frodo looked at his friend for a long, into eyes so loving and bright. Gandalf saw a decision be made and he let go the troubled Ring-bearer. He stood and held out his hand which Frodo took and let himself be guided into the dining room where the table was just done being set. No one had sat down yet and they all looked up at him as he entered.

He let go of Gandalf’s hand and stood returning their gazes and did not shy away from the love and concern he saw there. "I’m sorry. I...I had a dream and it frightened me, but Faramir was able to help me."

Pippin came over to hug him tightly, wordlessly, knowing words would not be adequate. Frodo hugged him back and kissed his head and whispered, "I love you, my ’squeak."

"I love you, too."

Merry was next and gave and received the same embrace, kiss and heard the murmured, "I love you, Merry mine."

"I love you, too."

And Sam came and that embrace was the tightest and longest, and none heard what was said, but saw the many silent tears and the tender kisses to brow and head.

They sat down then. Elevenses was subdued at first, but the love was a palpable separate force spread out over them all and it was enough to slowly cheer them. Pippin began to tell jokes that had Frodo smiling softly.

Throughout the rest of the day, the tween did all he could to strengthen the fragile peace within his cousin and the others all gently added their own efforts, as though they could build a clear structure around Frodo that no storm could ever harm him again, but one through which they could be with him. The peace did build throughout the day, helped by a snowball fight and rest stops to enjoy more sweets. Though Sam feared his master would have a sore stomach by the nighttime, he held back from restraining him from eating so many treats since he saw the happiness build until it overflowed into laughter and groans from one of Pippin’s jokes and the tears in everyone’s eyes were happy ones.

Not wishing to be outdone by his younger cousin, Merry formed another conspiracy and this one was to get him, Pippin and Sam to sleep with Frodo, the better to watch over him, for they had not forgotten Aragorn’s words that the Ring-bearer needed constant watching. So as to not make his cousin suspicious, he crawled into Bilbo’s bed first, the only one big enough for all four of them to sleep relatively comfortably and fortunately the one Frodo already used when one or both of his cousins visited. If the elder hobbit was surprised to see Merry already in bed, he said nothing as he crawled in himself. Almost nonchalantly, Merry hit him in the back with a pillow. Frodo turned and looked at his cousin who smiled. He tossed the pillow back and was hit from the other side by Pippin who had entered quietly. The three cousins looked at each other and a smile shared by the three of them grew on all their faces and suddenly a free-for-all pillow fight between them was in progress, such as had not been since they were child and tweens. It was just the outlet they all needed. Sam entered the room now, seemingly drawn by the joyous squealing that overflowed from the room, and watched his master’s features glow as Frodo knelt on the bed and lobbed pillow after pillow after his cousins and was similarly assaulted by them. His worries that his master might overexert himself faded as he smiled to hear them all laugh, especially Frodo who was laughing harder than he had for months.

"Come on, Sam!" he cajoled. "You have to have some fun, too!"

Sam smiled. "You’re having enough fun for both of us, me dear," he said. Their eyes met and Frodo smiled and Sam’s heart skipped a beat just to see the beauty of that, then the elder hobbit went back to the game.

The gardener’s smile faltered when Frodo suddenly let out a loud howl. He twisted around so fast on the bed that his legs got tangled in the sheets and he nearly fell. He caught himself, then turned a mock-enraged look on his youngest cousin.

"Peregrin Took!" he roared. "No one said anything about tickling!"

Pippin beamed at his beloved cousin with his most innocent smile. Frodo fell on him and reached under his arms and soon he had the tween squirming and squealing in delighted fits. That abruptly ended when Frodo twisted around again as he fought off Merry’s attack of tickling the bottom of his feet just as Pippin had moments before. Frodo threw himself at Merry’s stomach then, both howling with laughter as Merry doubled over, trying to stop his cousin from reaching him, but Frodo’s fingers still found their way in. Sam’s smile reasserted itself as he watched his dearest friend be so happy.

"Help me, Sam!" Frodo cried when he fell under another of Pippin’s attacks. "Save me!"

Sam watched the melee for a moment more to decide the best way to defend his master. He settled on the most simple and direct approach and sat on his master’s feet, crossed his arms and gave Merry and Pippin his most fierce frown. That stopped the two of them for the space of three quick heartbeats, then they glanced at each other and launched themselves at the stocky hobbit, both of them reaching for either side of Sam’s neck where it connected with his shoulder. The look of shock and horror that the two had unerringly gone to the gardener’s vulnerable spots and rendered him incapable of defending his master was almost comical as he toppled over.

Frodo smiled. "I’m sorry, Sam," he said as he fought off another attack. "I had no idea they still remembered where you were ticklish!"

Pippin momentarily had his cousin captured. "Do you surrender?"

"Never!" Frodo cried and threw himself at both of his cousins. They all went down, squealing, in a tangled mass of limbs.

All the loud noises had brought a small audience to the door, unnoticed at first by the four combatants. Arwen and Rose smiled; Aragorn, Gandalf and Faramir softly laughed. As they watched Frodo gained the advantage for the moment over his cousins. He knelt over them victoriously, but it was very short lived as he lost his balance when he was pulled back down.

Pippin looked up then and belatedly saw that they had an audience. "Gandalf! Aragorn! Faramir! Come join us!"

"Yes, do!" Frodo seconded. "But on my side! I’m being overwhelmed!"

"Then Queen Arwen has to be on our side," the impetuous Took said. He looked at the Elven lady eagerly as Sam stared at him aghast for such audacity.

Arwen laughed softly. "I thank you for the invitation, Master Peregrin," the Elf said gracefully, "but I must decline."

"But I will not," Aragorn said and waded into the fray with a large smile.

"And I must defend my brother against these terrible assaults as well," Faramir said.

The hobbits squealed in delight and Arwen laughed as Pippin and Merry crawled over all their king and his Steward, trying to find a vulnerable spot with Frodo defending them as best he could, all of them laughing in unvarnished delight.

Gandalf and Rose watched the melee with glad hearts as well. Frodo would be exhausted by the end, but they were all happy and relieved to see him so joyful, so radiantly alive. The light that shone from him was nearly blinding if one stared right at it. From where Sam sat they could tell from his loving smile and gaze he was doing just that.

When it was all over, Gandalf and Aragorn returned later and saw the four hobbits cuddled up, asleep against Frodo. All still had smiles on their faces, the largest of them gracing the eldest.

"For an only child, Frodo certainly has a lot of brothers," the wizard remarked with a smile. The cloaked Maia placed his hand against Frodo’s brow and brush at his curls. "Remember this day," he murmured into his ear.

Frodo mumbled in his sleep and nuzzled closer to Merry who was nearest him. The younger hobbit tightened his protective hold around his cousin.

"May they all remember the joy of this day as they make their way through the dark that remains," the wizard murmured.

"Such love shined against the Shadow that tried to overwhelm it before, but failed," Aragorn said. "May such a failure happen again."

Chapter Nine: Battle

In the morning, Sam and Merry woke first. Frodo and Pippin slept on, both peacefully, the tween having his arm still laying protectively over his cousin’s chest. Satisfied that the brother of their heart was still well guarded, the two rose and went into the kitchen to help with breakfast.

A short while later, Pippin woke, wrapped Frodo’s hand around Arwen’s gem and brushed his brow with a light kiss, thus arming his cousin for a short absence while the tween visited the privy. The Ring-bearer shifted in his sleep and his hand fell from the gem, giving the darkness the opening it needed.

Pippin was back in just a few minutes, but already Frodo was murmuring in his sleep, tossing his head back and forth. Rather alarmed due to the warnings they had all received the previous day, the tween rushed into the kitchen. Everyone was already there and looked at him.

"He’s talking again," he said.

Sam rushed out of the room, leaving an omelette still baking. Rose removed it from the heat, then joined her husband.

"I thought you were guarding him, Pippin!" Merry rebuked, his fear causing him to speak harsher than he should have as he was out the door nearly as fast.

"I only left a few minutes to use the privy," the younger hobbit protested.

"He’s not supposed to be left alone, ever!"

Pippin’s lower lip trembled and he looked to be on the brink of tears.

"It’s not your fault, Pippin," Aragorn said gently as they hurried to Frodo. "It’s going to be all right. Don’t lose hope."

The young hobbit looked up at his king and tried to be brave.

Sam was holding his master’s hand, wrapping it around the gem again, when they entered, but Frodo was fighting against him, lost in his dark dream. Those who understood the Black Speech winced and mourned to hear such foul words come from such fair lips.

"You’ve got to do something, Strider, sir...I mean...." Sam cried and then trailed off and reddened.

Aragorn smiled gently and put his hand on the flustered gardener’s shoulder. "Sam, I shall always be Strider to you, and you have no need to call me anything else. Now I need you to try to calm yourself for the darkness will feed on your anxiety and use it to grow stronger."

He looked at Merry and Pippin as well, and briefly to Rose. "I need all of you to try to calm yourselves. Frodo needs your love right now, just as he always has. The Shadow cannot use that, but we can."

The four hobbits nodded and valiantly worked to dispel their fears from harming their cousin. Having that as motivation worked wonders and that they joined hands to comfort themselves and each other. Gandalf, Arwen, Faramir and Aragorn smiled and worked to contain their own anxieties as well.

The king left the room for a moment and returned with a steaming kettle in which he crushed some athelas and said the invocation over it. The aroma that filled the room relaxed them all and prepared them for the coming battle.

Frodo continued to murmur and toss at first more restlessly as the darkness encountered a stench it hated.

"What can we do?" Pippin squeaked.

Arwen leaned down and gently brushed Frodo’s lips with a kiss, to cleanse them from the horrible words he was speaking. Sam kissed his heart and Merry and Pippin his ears and Faramir his brow, all places that were infected with the Speech. Rose kissed his maimed hand and Gandalf and Aragorn his feet, in recognition for the sacrifices made to rid the world of the Shadow that they still struggled against even now.

Frodo felt all the touches, but did not know their source. In the complete darkness, he was walking slowly through, he felt them as cobwebs brushing against him.

"Sam, do you still have the Lady Galadriel’s phial?" Aragorn asked, when Frodo showed no signs of waking.

The gardener burst from the room and ran to his master’s. He hurried back almost faster than his legs could carry him. The phial was already shining in his stout hand when he re-entered the room.

"Hold it up where he can see it," Aragorn instructed.

Sam did so, and as he did so, he begged his master to find it and look at it.

Merry and Pippin tried to hold their cousin’s hands, but Frodo brushed them away, feeling in his darkness that he was being confined. He saw in the distance a bright light shining, but he did not want to go near, fearing it would again be the sword he had seen in his other dream, tempting him to use it to end his pain. Was there no way out of this foul hole that he had dropped into? He looked around and thought at any moment he would see those terrible clusters of eyes, hear that horrible breathing, smell that overwhelming stench, sense that malice bearing down into him. A voice came to him from a vast distance, so faint it could hardly be heard, but he thought it sounded like Sam’s, or was it a trick of the Enemy? It was coming from near the light, but still he held back from approaching it.

"Why doesn’t he want to be held?" Pippin asked. "Why isn’t the athelas helping him?"

"He may not be aware of what is happening to him, but only what the Enemy wants him to feel and think and see."

"I told you to leave him alone!" Sam rebuked their adversary and there was a sound, not heard with their ears, but heard by all of them nonetheless, of terrible, mocking laughter. Pippin winced. He had heard that sound before.

"It’s not real, me dear, me dear," Sam said, brushing his hand through his master’s curls with his free hand. "Can’t you feel us? Can’t you hear us? Come back or let me go to you. Where are you? Let your Sam in, won’t you?"

Gandalf spoke words that only Arwen vaguely understood, and that at first increased Frodo’s restlessness. They all felt an oppressive hatred nearly take their breath, but the wizard continue to speak, undeterred and Frodo slowly calmed. Aragorn nodded at his wife and she came to Sam’s side and spoke to him gently. She took her grandmother’s phial and held it in her hand and it shined even brighter.

Frodo saw the increased light and with it heard distant voices that he didn’t recognize, but he felt the darkness around him did. He felt more of the cobwebs brush against his brow and he wished to be free of them, free for ever, free from all fear and pain. He began to move toward the light half-unwillingly.

"Come near, my brother," he heard another voice call.

The light grew stronger and Frodo began to become aware of a sweet smell that was completely alien to the darkness. He breathed in deeply.

"Come on, dearest," Merry and Pippin called together. "We’re waiting for you."

All the voices seemed to be coming from the light and he thought he recognized them, but he still held back far enough that he thought he wouldn’t be seen. He didn’t want to get too close until he could see whether it was the sword shining. He did not want to end that way. The darkness was still close around him and for once, it felt a comfort to him, a safe place, away from the dangerous light.

It was Rose’s voice that finally drove him a little further on. "Come back, Mr. Frodo. It’s time to come home."

That sweet, innocent voice felt distinctly out of place in the black and it gave him pause to wonder about the place he was in. How could such a voice be here? Was he not in the spider’s lair? But hadn’t Sam heard Elven voices there?

"Rose?" he croaked and it was the first word in Westron that they had heard all morning from him and the rejoicing that filled the room reached out to fill where the oppressive malice had been before.

Moved by some inspiration, Sam dared to wrap his hand around Arwen’s and the phial lit up even brighter. Frodo squinted for now he was close enough that the brightness hurt his eyes. But he kept walking and slowly he entered into the light and the darkness was left behind. He opened his eyes.

"Sam?"

"We’re here, me dear," Sam said, ready to collapse from relief. "We’re all here."

He took Frodo into his arms and pressed his heart against his master’s, tucking it around Frodo’s as he always had. Softly his tears fell against Frodo’s neck where he had been stung. "Don’t leave me again, me dear," Sam begged. "Don’t leave any of us again."

The Ring-bearer held onto his beloved guardian tightly. "I can’t, dearest Sam, for you are always with me, wherever I go."

Chapter Ten: Kindred Spirit

Breakfast was rather delayed that morning, but once everyone saw that the darkness had once more been beaten back, they tended to stomachs that were quite put out from being ignored and were now demanding attention.

Frodo accepted Sam’s hand in getting out of bed. Pippin and Merry gave their cousin a quick, tight hug and then left. The others smiled at him encouragingly, squeezed his shoulder or hand, and the beleaguered Ring-bearer smiled back, tremulously at first, but stronger with each new one he made.

Sam pulled out a shirt and breeches for his master to wear and then when Frodo was ready, the two looked at each other. The younger hobbit smiled and there was so much love and light there that the elder found the strength to push away the last of the cobwebs from his dream and smile in return. Sam held out his hand and Frodo took it and they left the room. They hadn’t needed to talk any further, for their hearts were laid bare to each other from the ordeal of the Quest and all that passed there was plain for the other to see. Sam felt his master’s fatigue, melancholy and worry that he would never heal, all that Frodo would have hid if he could. Frodo felt all of his beloved guardian’s love, strength, hope and light that Sam had always enclosed him with that was growing ever stronger.

Sam pulled out a chair and placed himself right next to his master. Rose brought them both a large bowl of porridge. The others were already seated with their own steaming bowls in front of them.

"I’m sorry," Frodo said. "I was so happy when you all came, but now I fear I’ve ruined it for you."

"We came to be with you, mellon nin," Aragorn said with a smile. "And that is not going to be ruined by anything."

Frodo tried to smile back, but the clouds had already descended back around him. The others looked at him, wanting to offer anything to help him, but not knowing exactly what to do. Sam squeezed his hand and Pippin laid his head against his cousin’s shoulder.

"What is it, Frodo?" Gandalf asked quietly.

The Ring-bearer stared long into his barely touched bowl, then got up abruptly. "I’m sorry," he said again and left the room.

Sam got half way out of his chair before Gandalf put a hand on his arm to stop him. Faramir slipped quietly after Frodo. The gardener’s eyes welled with tears, as did Merry and Pippin’s, as he sat heavily back down.

"What can we do, Mr. Gandalf?" Sam asked. "It was that wonderful that you all came and allowed Mr. Frodo to become a hobbit again for a little while, but he’s still so wounded and I don’t know what to do. I love him that much, we all do, and it’s just... It’s like that voice I heard in Mordor. It kept trying to cause me to despair and give it all up. I wonder if Mr. Frodo heard it too and is still hearing it."

His tears flowed freely now, but he tried to be quiet about them, for he didn’t want Frodo to hear. Rose took his hand and he squeezed it tightly. Arwen rose and brought him a mug of chamomile tea for which the gardener murmured soft thanks. The queen touched his free hand and the gardener looked up into eyes soft with love and sympathy.

"I know a little of how you feel, Panthael, because I felt it when my mother was badly hurt. Father was able to heal her physical wounds, but we could all see she was bleeding from her fea and nothing we did was able to stop it. I looked in her eyes and I saw something similar to what you see every time you look into Iorhael’s: tremendous love for me and this horrible pain that screamed to my heart to solace and healing. I could only hold her against me while she cried and the screaming went on and on. I could not hold my ears against it for it was not coming from her lips. And I did not want to block it out, though it broke my heart and she would be holding me then as I wept, as much as I held her. My brothers and Father did the same, but we felt so helpless against the flood of torment that poured out of her. She was the one attacked but we were all broken."

"I’m that sorry, my Lady," Sam said, wrapping his fingers around hers in sympathy and not even thinking it was not his place to do so. "That does tell how it feels, all too true."

Arwen squeezed his hand. "I’m sorry that you have to face it also, and in a worse way, for the ones who hurt my mother were just hateful servants of the one who took your master."

"How is your mother now?" Sam asked.

The queen smiled. "She is better now, but it was a hard road for her, as it will be for Iorhael. But as she found solace and healing from those guardians set about her, so will he."

"What guardians are those?" Pippin asked as all four hobbits looked to their queen hopefully.

"The ones I spoke of," Aragorn said softly, "when I told Frodo he was not alone, when we were being hunted in the wilderness, before Weathertop. They are with him still."

"Then can they help?" Merry asked. "Who are they?"

"Yes, they will help," Gandalf said with a deep smile and such great assurance and faith that peace filled the hobbits’ hearts.

"Good," Sam sighed and took his first sip of the tea. "How long did it take your mother to heal, begging your pardon, and hers."

"Some years, for there was much damage. She had to return to the West for she could not find it here."

"Back where the Lady Galadriel is from and Mr. Glorfindel and all?" Sam asked.

Arwen nodded.

Sam sighed again. "I’m that glad that she be all right now. I’d miss him something fierce, but I wish Mr. Frodo could go there," he said with a wistful longing. "If anyone could heal my master, it would be the Elves. Don’t you miss your mum though?"

The hope and faith of the little gardener, so small in stature, so great in heart, touched the queen and she was moved to pray once more for Frodo’s solace and healing. She felt a surge of longing for her mother, gone these hundreds of years, but never from her heart. Aragorn felt it touch his own heart and he knew his beloved wished for a moment that she could go West and see her naneth again. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back and smiled through her tears as she looked at him. Her tears shimmered in her light like stars and the breath caught in the throats of all the hobbits at the incredible beauty of it. The longing shrank back down to the level it normally occupied. Arwen did not regret her choice. Frodo needed healing more than she needed to see her nana.

"You never stop missing one you love," she said, "but after the initial loss is over, you realize you can still feel their presence alive in your heart. My nana is as near to me as my next thought. And when Ada leaves, he will be that close also. The ones we love so dear never truly leave us, even if all the Sea is between. I felt in my heart all the trials Naneth endured as she healed, and all the small victories that grew ever bigger as peace and joy returned to her. I felt most keenly the day the pain ended and I have felt her joy every day since then and her love at all times. Such happens when such fear are so knit together."

Aragorn brushed his wife’s mind with gratitude for he well knew, as the hobbits did not, that she was preparing their hearts as well for the pain they would feel, and later the joy.

"I wish he could go there," Sam said again. Pippin and Merry nodded.

A/N: For those not familiar with the Sindarin words used here: mellon nin is my friend. Fea is soul, fear is the plural. Naneth is mother, nana is mummy. Ada is daddy.

Chapter Eleven: Weapons of War

Faramir found Frodo in the study, looking blankly at the book on his lap, but clearly not seeing the words in front of him. Anxiously, his fingers stroked the gem he wore around his neck.

"Frodo?" the Steward called softly.

The Ring-bearer looked up at him with troubled eyes that were near to filling with tears. "I’m sorry, Faramir."

The man came to sit beside him on the couch and wrapped both arms around him. Frodo sank into his side, shivering. "There’s nothing to be sorry for, little brother," the man assured, stroking his curls, and hearing in his own voice that of Boromir, who had always called him that. What a strange and wonderful feeling it was to use those words himself.

Frodo embraced his newest brother and they sat silently for a while, until the hobbit spoke again. "Do you ever regret answering Aragorn’s call to come back?"

Faramir continued his gentle stroking. "No. Do you?"

"It was Sam who wanted to return. We were nigh to the Gates themselves. I could see them and the light beyond. It was so bright, fresh and clear and clean. Sam stood with me, holding my hand, and I could see him look at that brightness with the same awe. It had been so long since we had any light. I halted there for a long time there, not wanting to respond to his tug at my hand to come away. But if there is anything more stubborn than a Baggins, it’s a Gamgee, and I couldn’t resist forever."

Faramir smiled at the exasperated but still tender love that was in Frodo’s voice.

"And now you regret it?"

Frodo was silent for a while, and Faramir respected that, but he would only so far. He knew from experience that any infected wound had to be drained or it would consume the person. He knew lancing that infection could be painful, as he had had to do it several times to one or other of the Rangers under his command, and once had to have done to him. One of the Rangers walked now with a limp, but walked he did, and he was grateful that he could. Faramir was determined to be just as solicitous with the limping heart of his small friend.

"No," Frodo said after a long time. "It’s given Sam joy and I could never regret anything that gives that. But I dream of that light at times and I long to lose myself in it."

"One day it will be yours."

They looked up when Sam appeared at the door a moment later. Frodo gave his beloved gardener and guardian one look and could tell that he had been crying. He left the arms of one brother to stand by another. He looked at Sam with such great love, compassion and regret for his pain, that it brought fresh tears to the younger hobbit’s eyes. As Frodo brushed at his curls, he could see the questions and concern in his Sam’s eyes, questions that did not have to be asked out loud and did not have to be answered out loud, but were asked and answered nonetheless. Frodo softly kissed his Sam's brow, then took him into his arms and pressed his heart to him.  He gently rocked him as he murmured a song their mothers had sung when they were lads. It was the same song that they then sang to each other after both their mums were gone, whenever either of them were afraid, from the time before Bilbo had left, to Frodo’s memories of Sam singing it to him in Mordor and again at the Fire as they awaited the end. Faramir was deeply moved by the incredible love he felt honored to witness.

Sam began to cry again as he clutched at his master and brother. They were entirely focused on each other so didn’t see the others who gathered at the door, moved to tears themselves. "Indeed the greatest weapon against the Enemy was not a sword held in the hand, but one carved in the heart," Gandalf murmured softly. "And so it continues to be so."

At lunch, Frodo kept an eye on his Sam and served him his meal. It was not often that Frodo had that joy and a sign of how distraught the gardener was. The meal was silent, but the others understood that much was still exchanged. At tea time, Frodo brought a mug of chamomile tea over to Sam and sat by him and held his hand in quiet companionship. Rose served him supper and he looked up gratefully, but they all knew that there was times only Frodo could comfort him.

That night, Frodo was already asleep when Sam brought in a chamber pot to be used if necessary, to prevent the eldest hobbit from being left alone even for a moment. He crawled into bed beside his master, with Merry on the outside, and Pippin on Frodo’s other side. Sam wrapped his hand around his brother’s maimed one and felt quickly asleep.

It was deep into the night when Frodo roused, feeling the need to use the privy. He rose carefully not wanting to disturb his brothers who slumbered on. It was after he had left the room that the waiting dark pulled him to itself.

Frodo stood then on a shore, lit only by a pale moonlight, or such it seemed to him at first. Then he realized it was the sickly corpse-light such as he had seen at Minas Morgul. The waters lapped at his feet and then his ankles and it was rose swiftly to his knees and then to his stomach. He could not move and the only thought he had as it came up to his chest and his neck was that he wondered if this was the way his parents had drowned. He did not have even any time to cry out.

But he did not drown. The water stopped when it reached his chin, then began to recede slowly, before the temptation could fully form in his mind to surrender to it. Mud and filth clung to him, like stringy cobwebs, as the water drained away. He still could not move and he wondered what it all meant, looking as the sea retreated and almost wishing he could have lost himself in it and found himself before the Gates and the Light once more. Before he could give his longing further form, the shining sword appeared in the dark once more.

And this time he heeded an inner voice to reach for the weapon.

A/N: http://www.michaelbannett.com/FrodosFarewell.htm - If you haven't heard this before, you are in for a treat!  I've been listening to it while posting this and it fits here, though it will fit just as well, as the place it was meant to.  Open up a second window and read and listen at the same time.  Enjoy! :)

___

Chapter Twelve: Fresh Air

Frodo brought the sword against his skin and cut away all the cobwebs that still clung to him. He watched them fall away and as he did so, another voice came, the same one he had heard for so very long and it tried to seduce, then coerce him to draw the blade into himself. His hand trembled with the effort not to give in. He continued to cut and the voice continued its demands until he felt himself gasping in his efforts to resist it. Then he heard the second voice, the one which had told him to reach for the sword, and it rose around him like a shield, buffering him from the other voice. It fought the first voice for him and it gave him the extra strength and focus he needed to cut away the last of the cobwebs. A horrible shriek filled his entire being, and he trembled violently from the force of it. The sword left his hand, almost as though another had come to take it away from him. Then he felt himself gathered into warm, safe arms, as if in a cloak, like his mother used to when he was a wee lad just out of the bath, and wrapped him in a towel and her arms. He could almost smell her and hear her soft voice raised in song and her words of love. How long had it been since he had even dreamed of that voice? Yet, he knew it was not her, but something higher. The water came again and this time rose above his head, yet he did not fear, for he was still wrapped in those arms and hearing that voice and feeling the strokes to his curls just as his mother used to when she was drying his hair.

When the water receded once more, he was clean and standing naked upon the shore. But it was not the same shore as before. Here the water lapped at his toes and refreshed him, as the water of Nimrodel had, but even deeper and cleaner. The moonlight was full and pure. The night air was peaceful and the breeze gentle. Music came to his ears and, though he did not recognize any of the stars that were sharp and clear above, he wondered if he was in Lorien again. But this seemed even better than that and the blend of voices even more fair than those of Elves, which before now he had thought the fairest of all voices, save those of Sam’s in the Black Land when he had been sung to in the dark, and his brother-cousins. The singing was a balm to his rent heart and soul, bringing even deeper relief than those beloved hobbit voices. He longed to stay there forever, but the same voice and arms that had held him before came back to him and held him long as he wept when she told him he had to return. He looked up at her then, kneeling before him, and saw her shining face, though he wondered if it was only through the veil of his tears that she glimmered so. A more fair face he had never beheld, not even Queen Arwen who had surpassed all loveliness he had ever imagined before. Nor one more loving, not his Sam. The Lady wrapped him a shimmering white nightshirt, wiped his tears with gentle caresses and kissed his brow. With words he heard only his heart she blessed him and sent him then gently on his way, with the promise that she would ever be with him and he could return to her if that was his desire. He left reluctantly, for the further he got from her and the other fair voices, the deeper he could feel the terrible pain that tore at him, but the voice that had so tormented him for months was silent. He looked back once, and found the Lady still there, watching him, loving him, her arm raised in farewell. With such support, he found the strength to continue on. He woke, finding himself somehow in the study and there sleep found him again and his dreams were pleasant ones.

When morning came and Frodo was not in his bed, Sam, Merry and Pippin almost panicked and ran about the smial until they found their brother slumbering in his chair in the study. He was murmuring in his sleep again and the hobbits at first frowned, fearing it to be a return of the terrible speech, but it wasn’t.

"That’s Elvish," Sam whispered, "and don’t it sound that fair from his lips? But bless me, if I understand what it means."

He saw the tracks of tears through the moonlight that streamed through the window, but when he moved to wipe them away, he found Frodo's cheeks dry.  Still the light remained there. 

"Like streaks of starlight," Merry murmured.

The hobbits stood and listened in wonder. Peace was upon Frodo’s face and they noticed that he wore a different nightshirt than the one he had on the night before. The hobbits sighed as one and each gently brushed him with a kiss before turning to go. They encountered Gandalf at the threshold and Sam raised a finger to his lips to keep Frodo from waking. The wizard smiled and looked beyond the Ring-bearer’s faithful guardian and saw the same peace. His deeper sight recognized the lingering presence of another and he bowed deeply to her, though she dwelt far off. Aragorn, Arwen and Faramir (who had decided to sleep once more in a hobbit bed the previous night) all came to see Frodo and smiled at him. That time, Merry and Pippin raised their fingers for silence and just before leaving, Sam put the stuffed bear into his master’s arms that the little Gondorian boy had gifted them with. Frodo’s arms instinctively wrapped around them and he murmured Sam’s name before he turned his head and slept on.

"Looks like the bear has got a name now," Aragorn said softly.

Sam blushed, but the others smiled wider.

Gandalf took a deep breath as they all went toward the kitchen. "Do you feel it? The air is cleaner. A great Shadow has departed."

"What you mean, Mr. Gandalf?"

"And why were you bowing to Frodo?" Pippin wondered.

"Take a deep breath, Master Samwise. Tell me what you feel."

All three hobbits did. "It does feel cleaner, doesn’t it?" Merry remarked. "Like we felt in Rivendell and Lorien, when all cares washed away for a time. Why is that so though?"

Gandalf smiled. "Spring cleaning has come early it seems. And it was not Frodo I was bowing to, Peregrin Took."

"Still speaking in riddles," Pippin muttered.

The others laughed.  Aragorn and Arwen looked at each other.  They knew the answer to the riddle, but if their friend wasn't going to tell, then neither were they.  Their hands clasped, and Arwen gave thanks in her heart to the one who had come to aid one of Iluvatar's smallest and greatest children.

“What were you talking about, Gandalf?” Pippin asked as they sat down for first breakfast and began to eat.

“A man must have some secrets,” the wizard said with a wink at Aragorn and Arwen over the tween’s head..

“But you’re not a man, you’re a wizard.”

Aragorn smiled. “All the more reason to keep them then.”

Pippin knew he was being teased by all the other smiles. He whispered to Merry to help him, but his cousin shrugged his shoulders. “You can just make a wizard give up his secrets, ’squeak dear, like you used to whenever I tickled you enough.”

A light went off in the tween’s eyes. Gandalf’s brows bristled and his eyes narrowed. “I am not ticklish, Peregrin Took,” he rumbled dangerously.

“That’s not Frodo said.”

“What did or didn’t I say?” came a voice at the threshold.

They all looked up from their meal. Frodo was still holding ‘Sam-bear’ and the brightness from

his unexpected visitor still lingered faintly around him, augmenting his own light.

“Gandalf said he wasn’t ticklish,” Pippin said, “but I know that’s not true, since you told me that you had tickled him once.”

Frodo smiled as he sat down and thanked Sam softly for the porridge that he brought over to him. “Yes, he is, but not very for all that. You and Merry are much easier to tickle than he is.” They were all heartened when he ate several large spoonfuls in succession and a large mouthful of milk which left a white mustache around his upper lip. “Now, you silly Took, why were you even talking about that?”

“We were watching you sleep, and Gandalf bowed, and I asked why he was bowing to you and he said he wasn’t, but you were the only other one in the room, besides the rest of us, of course, but he wasn’t bowing to any of us, but right in your direction, but he said it wasn’t you.” Pippin took a deep breath and once he let it out, a long swallow of milk.

“Well, I can assure you that it wasn’t to me either.”

“That’s just what he said, but he won’t tell anyone who it was, saying he needs to keep his secrets.”

“Well, then, I suppose you should let him. You should know better than trying to get any sense out of a wizard.”

Gandalf’s eyes flickered dangerously in Frodo’s direction, but he rejoiced inwardly that Este’s peaceful effect still lingered within his friend.

“Humph,” was all Pippin said that anyone could understand. The rest he murmured under his breath until Merry kicked him under the table.

“I know who he was bowing too,” Aragorn said, “but I’m not going to tell either.”

“You know?! Then tell us!”

The king regarded with his smallest guard with a completely straight face. “I’m sorry, Pippin, but a man must have some secrets.”

Pippin threw his hands up in the air, while the others smiled or laughed softly.

“There’s no help for it, Pip,” Merry said. “Strider’s whole life has been a secret. You won’t be getting anything out of him.”

“And he was raised by Elves who can be just as secretive as wizards,” Frodo added, continuing to make short work of his breakfast, so much so that Sam’s heart dared to hope that he would be offering his master seconds, which was almost unheard of since they had come off the Mountain.

“Quite right,” Arwen added with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Why won’t anyone tell me!”

“Pippin, don’t wail like that!” Merry admonished. “You’re a knight of Gondor and you are in the presence of your king and queen and steward.”

The tween reddened and blushed in shame. “I’m sorry, Aragorn, my lady, Faramir.”

“It’s quite all right, my dearest guard,” Aragorn assured. “I’m sorry if we tormented you too much.”

“Besides you already know the answer,” Gandalf said.

“No, I don’t!”

“Didn’t Aragorn tell you earlier that Frodo has many guardians, visible and invisible?” He took a long swallow of a honeyed drink that was a favorite of his, just to draw out the suspense some more. “I was bowing to one of them.”

Frodo’s eyes widened. “Truly? I dreamed... You mean, she was really here?”

“She was, or more to the point, you were really there.”

The Ring-bearer’s face grew most thoughtful.

“Who is she and where was he?” Pippin asked.  He sighed.  "I know, I know, more secrets."

Gandalf smiled. “I’m afraid so. But fret not, all will be revealed in time.”

The tween groaned.

No one said anything else, though Merry was just as curious.  Sam watched his master’s face carefully. Frodo’s body still sat in the chair, but his spirit was far away and from what Arwen had told them earlier, Sam thought he could guess where. After a while, Frodo become aware of his beloved guardian’s gaze. They looked at each other for a long time and read each other’s hearts once more, seeing fear and hope and love mirrored in one’s another eyes. Sam took his master’s maimed hand and was glad to feel it, real, warm and solid, when it closed around his and the smile on Frodo’s lips reached his eyes. It was a sad smile in some ways, but a loving, happy one too. It would linger long in Sam’s memory.

After teatime, Frodo and Gandalf remained in the parlour and could hear Sam and Rose in the kitchen getting supper ready. Merry and Pippin had gone out for a walk with the others. The Ring-bearer took advantage of the opportunity of having his friend alone for he was just as curious about the wizard’s secrets as his cousins were.

“Who was she, Gandalf?” he asked softly.

“The Lady Este, one of the Powers that help guard and guide. Her name means rest and she brings healing to those sore burdened by the troubles of the world.”

“That is why then she came to me.”

“More that she brought you to herself.”

“She was very gentle and loving with me, much like my mum.”

Gandalf smiled. “That is her nature.”

"What do you mean she brought me?  Where was I?"

"For a little while, in the Uttermost West.  You have been given a most singular blessing, for while you are gifted with the most unusual dreams, this was more than a dream."

"It was very peaceful there, very clean.  It made me feel the same.  I did not want to leave."

"That is one of its greatest treasures."

They sat in silence for a little while Frodo listened to Sam and Rose talk in the kitchen and watched as the shadows began to take over the room as the light outside faded into early evening. “I feel so lost, Gandalf. I see my old life in the distance, but I can’t find my way back to it.”

“There is no going back, my dear Frodo. Didn’t you say so yourself? There is only going forward. You have been broken by a burden of fear and horror and you are being made into something quite different.”

“I don’t want to be different.”

Gandalf laughed gently and squeezed his friend’s hand. “My dearest hobbit, you have alwaysbeen different and this is what is so wonderful about you. If only you could see yourself as I do, as Sam and your cousins do, as we all do. You have such a light to you and it is growing stronger.”

“I can’t see that. The shadows still linger so deep, just like they are here growing in this room as the light fades. All I can see is a terrifying dark world full of thorny brambles like Sam and I saw in Mordor. They cut at my hands and feet and tangle in my hair and the black night fills my heart. Not even the wheel of fire is left to me.”

The wizard stood and lit the oil lamp that was near Frodo’s chair and the room was soon illuminated. “You will leave that terrible place, and come back into the true light,” Gandalf assured softly as he saw the light lit half of his friend’s face, while the other remained in shadow. “It will be a long journey, but there will be a joyful end to it. Este will continue to help you and the other Powers who have aided you along the way. You have never been alone, Frodo.”

“Sam and I called upon Elbereth. I remember her name from some of Bilbo’s old tales and she was the one Gildor and his company were singing of.  She was of great help to us.”

“She kindled the stars and is one of the greatest of the Powers. She is ever ready to answer the pleas of those who cry for her aid. She aided you even then in the Shire. You are so dearly loved, Frodo, so very dearly.”

“She is kin then to the Lady Este?”

“As well as to the Lady Nienna who is one I have learned much from myself. She is well acquainted with grief and brings strength to the spirit of those who mourn so they can endure in hope. She turns sorrow to wisdom.”

“I would like to know her then, if she was one of your teachers, so I can thank her, for you have taught me much.”

Gandalf smiled down at his beloved friend and brushed at his curls. “As you have taught me and all of us. They await your decision whether you wish to come West, but there is time yet. And if you do decide to come, Bilbo, Elrond, the Lady Galadriel and I will accompany you.”

Frodo looked up at him greatly surprised. “How do you know about that?”

Gandalf sat back down near him and took his hand. “I was the one Arwen spoke to when she conceived her plan. And it was I who presented that plea to the Powers who granted her wish.”

For a moment, the hidden Maia uncloaked a sliver of his true power. Frodo’s eyes widened as he looked upon in awe and reverence and even a little fear. “Who are you?” he breathed.

The light faded, being muted again and seen only in the wizard’s eyes which were the same bright, loving ones the hobbit had always known. The Maia brushed his hand against the troubled Ring-bearer’s cheek and smiled. “Fear me not, my dear lad, for I will ever be Gandalf to you.”

The fear faded. “Good.”

“Sam has been given leave also, when his heart is ready.”

Frodo looked up at him with such pain but a sudden joy and hope as well. He held Gandalf’s in one hand and clutched Arwen’s gem in the other as he thought of the offer the Queen had made to him. Before he spoke again, he listened again for any sign that Sam or his other brothers were near. “I had wondered how I could possibly think of leaving such a loyal and loving guardian as my Sam, which I must do if I am to travel there, but that eases my pain to know he could come later, if he wishes. I wonder how I will leave my Merry or my ’squeak or even Aragorn and Faramir who have come to mean so much to me. Sometimes I wonder, too, how Lady Arwen can bear to make the opposite decision: to stay when the rest of her family leaves, to not see again the mother who already has been so long gone or the father she will be soon part from. But she will stay out of love. Am I strong enough to make the same decision or will I have to leave? It frightens me as nothing else has that there could be a power greater in my life than Sam’s love or that of my brother-cousins that has so long sustained me.”

“There is nothing stronger than love, if it is true,” Gandalf assured, “and there is nothing truer than the love that we all bear for you. Such can withstand any assault, endure any trial, and be unbreachable even by great distance or death itself. It is love that will heal you, my dearest hobbit, whether it is here or beyond the Sea. It will not ever fail you or desert you.”

“Why is everyone so good to me when I have failed so badly?”

“Because you did not fail.”

“But I did. I can’t remember any of it myself, but I don’t have to. Sam heard what I said at the Fire when I claimed the Ring for myself and abandoned the Quest. I did the most evil thing anyone could do.”

“It was not your will to do it, Frodo.”

“Yes, it was.  I could not have said it any plainer. I knew I was coming into its power. I should have been stronger. I should have known...”

“Do not judge your actions, my stubborn hobbit, solely by their outcomes rather than by your original intentions. Your intention was to destroy the Ring. That never wavered until your will was broken after months of torment. Do not discount in your long struggle against that terrible power the thousands of times you said ‘no’ to it with each step and breath you took, and see only that one ‘yes’ which was forced out of you at the end. You were overcome at last by a power far greater than yourself that you had held out against longer than any of us dared hope, far longer than any of those stronger and wiser than you could have.  I showed a bit of my power just now to show you that even such a one as I could not have withstood it then and would have fallen far sooner and harder.  You are a mortal being, Frodo, and you had been battling an immortal spirit of the gravest evil.  Only Sauron’s master was any worse.  Do not blame yourself for not being to withstand something that would have been impossible for anyone to have done so. Your words were plain as you say, but there is more than one way to understand ‘I do not choose.’ You literally did not choose. The choice was made for you. And it was then redressed by the Other Power Who had chosen you as His Ring-bearer. Because of the Pity and Mercy you had shown, you were given it in the same measure.”

“What other power?”

“The One you said yes to at the Council.”

“Will I meet that one too in the West?”

Gandalf smiled. “I dare say you will. You are very beloved of Him.”

Frodo’s features grew quite thoughtful as he considered all of his friend’s words. When Sam and Merry came to check on him later, he was resting against Gandalf’s broad chest with the wizard’s arm protectively around him. Their brother looked worn but peaceful. Gandalf smiled at them and they smiled back.

“Dinner is ’bout ready,” Sam said softly.

Frodo was unusually quiet during dinner, but he ate everything Sam put on his plate, and even accepted seconds. Much passed in their silent gazes. When afters were eaten, Frodo surprised everyone when he announced he was going outside. “I want to look at the stars.”

Sam smiled softly for he remembered what comfort that single star in Mordor had given him. The sky would be full of them in the cloudless Shire. “Do you want me to come out with you, master?” he asked.

“No, my Sam, I won’t be out long.”

Frodo smiled as he stood while his guardian made sure he was bundled up properly. They exchanged a long look and there spoke silently to each other’s hearts and souls, words that Frodo couldn’t bear to speak yet, but more than that, they enveloped the other in love stronger than anything in the world. Sam returned his treasure’s smile, then kissed his head in blessing and watched him leave.  Frodo did not go far, only into the garden. He looked far above him and saw all the myriad stars twinkling above him. His breath streamed out in the cold air and he shivered, but for the first time, he was not afraid of the night and the terrors it had held for him since his wounding at Weathertop. Instead, he felt peace and hope looking up at the dark sky, for how else could such lights be seen, and where they were, the dark could not overcome them. He realized Sam was right that there were things that evil could not reach or touch. Was there hope then for him as well who had been so deeply touched? He was startled out of his thoughts when he heard the door open and someone else come beside him, but it was only Gandalf.

“Do they shine so in the West?” he wondered.  "They were so clear in my dream." 

“Verily it is so.”

__

A/N: The description of Nienna is taken from The Silmarillion.

A/N: Arwen’s talk below was partially inspired by Dreamflower’s “The Token” in her Mathoms II section and used with her permission.  Thank you again, my dear! :)

The next morning, Frodo sat in the study, working on his book. The scratch of the quill paused often as he grimaced against some remembered pain and finger the gem that Arwen had given him. After that the quill would move furiously across the parchment as if the Ring-bearer could outrun the memories if he wrote fast enough. Faramir looked up occasionally from the book he was reading unobtrusively in the corner and saw the set features of his little brother. The Steward was pained but he did not intrude as he heard, and felt an echo in his heart, the torment bled out from that dear heart onto the page, or so he hoped that was so and some peace would come of it. He was well aware of the pain that was still so strong in his own heart but just sitting here, in this home, surrounded by love, was a greater blessing and balm than he had ever thought possible. He missed his beloved wife, but here also he was enveloped in love and here was another wounded one who needed care. He did not regret that he had come.

He looked up again when the pen had stopped for a longer period of time and he saw Frodo staring sightlessly out the window. The Steward opened his mouth to inquire whether there was something he could do, but then Frodo looked back down at the page and started writing very quickly again.

Sam peeked his head in and Faramir looked up and smiled at him. The younger hobbit smiled back and gave a long look at his master’s back. He knew that set to Frodo’s body, having seen it often enough in Minas Tirith when he had at times watched his treasure scribble long into the night. Sometimes he would fall asleep waiting for him to come to bed, only to wake later to the sight of him feeding the pages to the small fire in their room. At those times, after watching his master stare into those flames, Sam would get up, his heart breaking, and being careful not to wake Merry and Pippin in the next bed, drag a blanket to drape around his master’s too slim shoulders and gently guide him to bed while the fire continued to devour what had been written and the other Fire continue to devour that beloved soul Sam had loved so long. Sam would hold his treasure then through the night, silently pleading with the Lady and whoever else might be listening, that Frodo be given some peace. When morning came, he always found his prayers had been answered.

He came now to sit beside his treasure and held him for a long while, in his mind, sending forth the same pleas. Very soft words were exchanged between the two hobbits. A gentle voice was then raised in lullaby heard over Frodo’s tears reminded the Steward of the love in his mother’s voice when she used to sing to him. When Sam suggested that perhap his master would like to take a nap, Frodo demurred and said he wanted to finish what he was doing instead. The younger hobbit knew when he should stand his ground and insist, but glancing down at the page, and seeing that it was at the point after the wounding at Weathertop, he thought it mayhap be better if his master continued. He remembered many times before when Frodo would abruptly walk past him as he was being tutored by Mr. Bilbo and take out the stationery box that the older hobbit had given him and scribble furiously for a while and then feed the papers to the flames. It was not long after that that he would merry once more and so Sam kept hoping for the same thing to happen now. He kissed the side of his master’s head and left him be. Faramir resumed his reading, deeply moved once more to have witnessed such a display of love.

When it was time for afternoon tea, Sam prepared his master’s mug of chamomile to bring to him, but Arwen offered to take it to him instead. Frodo was half way thanking Sam for it when he looked up in surprise and saw his beloved queen instead of his dearer guardian.

“I thought you might wish to stop,” Arwen said. “You’ve been hard at work all day.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have been a terrible host. I can just hear what Aunt Dora would say about my breach of manners.”

Arwen smiled. “I have heard much of your Aunt from Bilbo. It seems, thought, that both of you survived such terrible and myriad breaches in fine form.”

There was a ghost of a smile that teased the edges of Frodo’s lips before disappearing again.

“Thank you very much for bringing me this.”

Arwen smiled and sat down near him. Faramir had left, engaging Merry and Pippin in a snowball fight that also involved Aragorn. Happy shrieks could be heard through the window as the hobbits pelted their Steward and King with well-aimed weapons. Frodo smiled faintly.

“That is why I did it all, so such could be heard again. It’s all worth it to know that my brothers are happy again. All worth it,” he repeated softly.

He fingered the gem as his face grew solemn again. His hands wrapped around the hot mug in an effort to warm himself. He had to make himself wait to drink the tea until it had cooled some though he longed for its heat to course through him. He trembled slightly and drew the blanket that Sam had earlier draped about his shoulders tighter around him. He then stroked the gem again and released a shaky breath. “All worth it,” he said again.

“That has been given you aid as you need it?” Arwen asked.

Frodo looked up, having already forgotten that she was there. He flushed. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I beg forgiveness.”

Arwen put her hand over the smaller, colder one of her friend. “Think nothing of it, mellon nin.”

The Ring-bearer relaxed slightly at her touch. “Yes, it has been a great help to me,” he said. “I don’t know how it works, and when I told Sam that, he smiled and just said, ‘Well, it’s Elven, me dear, so that is right enough for me, don’t need to know exactly how.’” Frodo’s lips curled in a fond smile as they always did when he spoke of his beloved guardian. “He is right, of course, but I still wonder anyway.”

Arwen smiled and Frodo looked at her then and she said the terrible pain and great beauty of his fea and heard the strains of that part of the Music that was his alone, though it reminded her also of her mother’s at this stage of her own torment.

“It was my Naneth’s and she had got it from her naneth. The light from it is of the Silmaril that Earendil wears on his brow as he travels across the skies.”

Frodo’s eyes widened. “Then I have been more blessed than I knew. It is the same light then that is in phial Lady Galadriel gave.”

“Yes. She is, I think you would say, my gammer and Earendil is my gaffer. Indeed, it is as I said when I gifted it to you that our lives have been woven together.”

The Ring-bearer smiled as he looked down at its soft light. “Then it will be even more dear to Sam and to me.”

“I remember when my Naneth gave it me, as we stood at the Havens, and she was leaving to be healed of her wounds that defied any cure here.”

“Just as my wounds have not healed, even in the rich air of the Shire, or within the arms of my brothers. Her wounds must have been very deep. I am most sorry, my queen.”

“She had been long healed and now awaits the reunion with my father and later my brothers.”

“But not you.”

“No, not me. I have made my choice. She understands. It has been over five hundred years of men since we saw each other, but we are ever united in our fear. I feel her love and her joy and she feels mine, and we feel each other’s sorrows, as well.”

“Five hundred years,” Frodo breathed. “Around the time the Ring came to Smeagol. I can’t even imagine that length of time to be spent in agony like that.”

Arwen felt his grief, not only for her mother, but for the fallen hobbit he had longed to save, but couldn’t. “You have been scarred in much the same way as both of them, and you can be healed as my Naneth was. I didn’t understand why gave me such a gift when she left for she had never been without it. Maybe she didn’t even now why except that she was following a prompting of grace that would wind its way through the age to you. There is a purpose to everything, tithen min, whether we see it or not.”

“Then she was wounded by the Enemy as well?” Frodo flushed. “I’m sorry. You need not tell me. Aunt Dora would have my hide if she heard me asking such intimate questions without cause.”

Arwen squeezed his hand and smiled. “There is no need to apologize and there is cause for when I listen to the song of your fea I can hear hers as it was when she was brought back by my brothers. My Adar healed her hroa, but there were deep tears in her fea, much the same as you, but I think even worse in you, for it was merely the servants of the Enemy who wounded my Naneth, while you were tormented by the Enemy himself. Yet you withstood it.”

“Not at the end.”

“But you had held out far longer than anyone dared hope. If my own Adar, filled the power and grace of my people, and Mithrandir, filled with even more from his kind, knew they could not withstand its terrible temptation, and would have fallen far sooner, do not think you failed because you could not oppose it at the very end. Part of my Naneth’s pain was such, blaming herself what she could not have prevented or controlled. It was when she learned the truth that she began to heal.”

Arwen touched the gem around Frodo’s neck. “We cannot thank you properly for all your suffered on our behalf, but this is the least we can do. It was a horrible thing that was done to her, and done to you, and it would have been borne by any one of us to have spared either of you, but it was all part of the Song from the beginning, and only through you two could it have borne the good fruit that it has. This gem can help you until you can make the decision that is right for you, but it cannot heal you, just as it could not heal Naneth. There is only one Power that can do that. It was when I began to hear again the music as I had for so very long before Naneth been so wounded that I knew she had begun to heal. I rejoiced that day and I will rejoice when I hear the same from your fea.”

“What does such music sound like? Does everyone have it? I think at times I can hear Sam’s and my cousins, and I’ve wondered what that meant. It is the most beautiful, soft, sweet and loving music there is. I can fall asleep listening to Sam’s or Merry’s, but not Pippin’s: it’s too full of cheer and it keeps me up!” There was a soft laugh that Arwen celebrated in her heart to hear and joined in with.

“Then you are blessed indeed to hear such. I have fallen asleep myself listening to Naneth’s or Adar’s or my beloved Elfstone’s.”

“Do you think then I could hear them still if I went West?”

Arwen closed her fingers around Frodo’s hand and brought it up to his heart. “You will always hear it, for it will ever be here.”

His fingers wrapped around hers. “So that is how you are able to stay here while your father goes and knowing you won’t see your mother again.”

“It’s only our hroa that are separated, tithen min. That is the least important. We are still as close as our next thought or our next heartbeat. It is my choice to spend my years united in hroa and fea with my Elfstone, but I have not lost my bond with the others I love.”

“Then perhap I shan't either.”

A/N:  Mellon nin is my friend.  Tithen min is little one.  Fea is soul (fear is plural). Hroa is body.  First two are Sindarin.  Second two are Quenya.

Chapter Sixteen:  Claim

Gandalf found Frodo the following afternoon alone in the study as the day was failing. The tea Sam had brought in earlier sat untouched and cold in its mug by his chair. The quill was in his hand but his eyes were staring sightlessly out the window. He was trembling slightly, even though a blanket was wrapped around him. There was no sign that he heard the happy shrieks of his cousins as they engaged Aragorn and Faramir in another snowball fight.

The wizard approached quietly and gently placed his hand on his dear friend’s shoulder. He stood there silently until Frodo spoke softly. “I can still see the Fire, smell the smoke, taste the ash. That is all that is left to me. I wish I could feel its heat.”

Gandalf squeezed his shoulder, seeking to warm his friend. “No, my dear one, that is not all. You are in your winter now, but spring will come, and then summer. You fought for every step you took to Mordor. Now you must fight to get back. Don't surrender to the pain that haunts you. The Ring stole so much from you, but you can fight to get it back. I know you are weary, but don't let that steal what joy you can still have. Don't let it have the final victory.”

“I wouldn’t do that to my Sam. He fought so hard, nearly died, to keep me going. I will go on to honor his efforts. But I wonder how I can do it. I have spent all my energy fighting the darkness that every day threatens to consume me. Maybe I am as cracked as they say. The dreams I have had are so real that I feel I am back on the Quest. I have wondered if our rescue and return to Bag End, and even you, were but a sweet dream, and that I shall wake up in the black land to find the Ring still about my neck. Or, what's worse, that I have completely surrendered to the Dark Lord, and that I shall wake up to find the Ring upon his finger. Sometimes I do not know which is reality. I am not sure of anything anymore.”

Gandalf reached down and gently lifted the troubled Ring-bearer out of his chair and carried him to the nearby couch where he tenderly held him in his lap, blanket and all. “Does this feel real to you, my friend?”

Frodo buried his face in the wizard’s chest and wrapped his arms tight around him. “Yes.”

The hidden Maia brushed at his friend’s curls. “I wish to assure you most fully, my beloved hobbit, that you are not dreaming. You sleep in your own bed, take meals in your own dining room, sit at your favorite chair in the parlor or the study and soon enough, you will be propped up against your favorite tree, reading or reciting your favorite Elvish poetry. The Quest is over, my friend. You are back home. The burden you still carry may take you back to that nightmare of before, but you are truly here in the light and warmth of a reborn Shire. You can watch Sam in the garden; you can breathe the fresh, clean air; you can feel grass under your feet again. Listen now to the happiness of your brothers outside. It is all real. And it is so because of what you and Sam did. It is your successes that allowed Middle-earth to be saved, for the Free Peoples to still be free. Think of that when the dark dreams and doubts assail you. Concentrate on your Sam’s voice, and Rosie’s and all those in the Shire who can still laugh and sing because of you.”

Frodo did listen for a while to the happy sounds outside and a small smile graced his lips before disappearing again. “I wonder when I shall be able to sing again, if I ever shall.”

“You will, once the burden is removed from your heart,” Gandalf assured. “You took on a most heavy weight, even though you knew how much it had already hurt you and you knew or at least feared that you would be hurt more, but still you said ‘yes’ so no one else would be hurt if you could help it. You were terrified to the point of tears at times, but you knew what you had to do and did it. You were tired, cold and hungry, but you went on out of love. You were twisted inside out, but you fought against it and when you failed, you got up and fought again. When you no longer had the strength to walk, you crawled so great was your determination to fulfill your task. I have never loved you more than that moment. You were intent on saving everyone else even as you came to understand more and more that it would come at the cost of yourself. Still you went on. You were spent bit by bit on that journey, poured out as a living sacrifice. Your body seemed too small for all you had to endure, but not so your heart. You gave and gave and gave. You sacrificed everything so those you left behind at home wouldn’t have to sacrifice anything. The Ring did not spare your heart any more than it did your body, ripping it to shreds as it weakened your frame. Still you went on. You gave everything, my dear one, so we could all have everything.”

Frodo looked up his friend suspiciously.  "Have I been talking in my sleep again or have you been peaking in the book?”

Gandalf rejoiced in his heart that his troubled friend had enough energy to tease him.  He held Frodo's cheek and the Ring-bearer looked into his eyes and could see the smile and tender love there. “I’ve been looking into your heart, dear boy. And yes, you have been talking in your sleep, and no, I haven’t been peaking. A wizard does have his honor to protect.”

“You can peak, if you want,” Frodo said, leaning his head back down and seeking the strong rhythm of the wizard’s heart.

“I don’t need to, for you have said far more in your sleep than I think you will ever put in the book.”

“Have the others heard?”

“You have not always spoken in words that they can understand.”

Frodo shivered. “I heard his voice all the while and it was the most vile corruption of such a beautiful language. Have I been speaking in that?”

“Yes. But that is over now. You will not hear his voice again or will you speak it. You have been made clean again through Lady Este.”

“I felt different while I dreamed of that and while she held me, and I still do a little, but it’s not so real anymore. I am still tainted.”

Gandalf continued to stroke Frodo’s curls. “My most stubborn hobbit, I know you can’t see yourself right now as the hero you are. But know this, far from being a failure, do you have any idea how many people you have inspired to endure and press on through their own trails because of the model of your own perseverance, dedication and endurance? You have not even met most of them and they never met you. They died at the Black Gate to save you and you were ready to die to save all of Middle-earth. You couldn’t have made it without Sam, but Sam’s greatest motivation for helping you was his love for you which has only grown. I know you feel unclean, guilty and ashamed, but you are not an evil person. You are a good and beautiful one who had evil things done to you. You were violated, but you are not to blame. The Ring was the evil thing, not you. The very fact that you feel guilty is proof you are good, since an evil person would not feel the grief and shame you do now. Let that poison drain from you. I know you wish to shield your friends from your hurt, but they can already see it. They want to help you recover from it. You need to spend your energy doing that, not fighting to keep the pain and tears in.”

“I had hoped it would drain away with all the ink I’ve used. I used to be able to do that, but I’ve been too deeply hurt this time. It became part of me and now how fully I understand Smeagol’s agony. With it gone, part of me is gone. There is nothing left inside. It has taken everything. I have become a wraith at last.”

Gandalf kissed the top of his head. “No, my dear friend, you have not. A wraith cannot hold someone like you are now. Only hobbits can do that and blessed are those who can feel it. Part of you is gone, yes, but that is a part that was imposed upon you that is best gone. You will be filled again and yourself again, free of taint. A wraith does not have that hope, but you have been given it. Do you claim it?”

There was a long pause, then softly came the answer.

“Yes.”
__

A/N: Most but not of all of Frodo’s words are from Frodo Baggins who used to contribute here but alas, has since left Middle-earth. Those words are taken from another story that she and I wrote together that is not posted here. I suspect more will be coming. You can guess which is which! :)

My thanks to all those who voted for this story in the MEFA’s: Larner, harrowcat, Kara’s Aunty (special thanks to you, dear cousin, for leaving the longest review!), Linda Hoyland, Raksha the Demon and to Mysterious Jedi for nominating it in the first place!  I am surprised and honored by its 1^st place finish!!

Chapter Seventeen: Kingly Words

Aragorn found Frodo the next morning in the dining room, finishing elevenses by himself. “You are eating alone?”

The Ring-bearer smiled faintly. “Everyone else has eaten already. Sam told me I couldn’t move until I had finished my share.”

The king smiled widely. “So once more, Master Samwise has forgotten who is master and who is servant.”

Frodo’s smile brightened a bit. “He’s been doing that more and more, but I can’t deny him. He and Rose have gone to the market to buy more food to stuff me with. They are determined to turn me back into a proper hobbit again.”

It did Aragorn’s heart good to see that smile. “Perhaps then I could join you, by your leave. It’s tiring work to play in the snow.”

Frodo’s eyebrows quirked and his light flared momentarily. “Please sit, my lord. So Merry and Pippin got you again, hmmm?” he asked as his king sat beside him and began to spread jam over a piece of toast.

“It is well that this is happening in the Shire, for I don’t want to imagine how I would suffer in the esteem of my people if it happened in Gondor.”

Frodo’s smile blossomed fully. “You’ll have to make sure your queen and steward don’t start spreading malicious rumors about your prowess then.”

“I shall have to warn them not to.” He poured himself some of the tea that Sam had made sure was kept hot. “But I don’t think I need worry, for my steward is faring as well as I. He is younger though and still determined to regain his honour.”

“I doubt he can, but he may. But still, I must tell you that I taught my cousins all I know and it will be most difficult.”

“We are well aware of where your kin learned all their tricks, for they loved to tell us of it each time they scored a hit. When am I going to be able to engage you in a game?”

There was a pause. “I was going to say that I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation anymore, but seeing that it is already in tatters... Perhaps. Your Ranger skills are obviously growing already quite soft with all your time as king. I would be doing you a favor I suppose to help your sharpen them again.”

Aragorn smiled faintly, rejoicing in his mind that his friend had enough spirit to tease him, even if was mercilessly at his own expense. “I am in your debt once more,” he said. He finished the piece of toast and drained the cup of tea.

“And I am in yours,” Frodo replied, “since I don’t know how I could have finished this all on my own and then Sam would have been cross with me, though I don’t know if he would have said anything. He doesn’t have to anymore. And then I would have been stuck here until lunch and then there would be more to eat! I don’t want to worry my Sam anymore than I already do, but if you hadn’t come along then I might have exploded. I used to be able to eat so much more, but I can’t since... I hardly feel a hobbit anymore.”

The cheer had evaporated from Frodo’s voice and the clouds had closed around him once more, who had sat for a few moments in the sunlight. Aragorn grieved and put his arm around his friend. Frodo sank against him.

“The darkness is getting deeper, isn’t it, mellon nin? I have felt that myself long ago. It could have been perfectly sunny and bright out but inside my own mind, I was in a dark room with the walls very close around me. I only had to reach out a little with my hand and feel them. I imagine sometimes you feel you are back in the spider’s lair with no light around you, only suffocating darkness. But there is light around you as it shone then through the Lady’s phial and it is around you now from your family and even more than you cannot see.”

“When did you feel such darkness?”

“At the times I have been hunted by the same servants of the Enemy who haunted and wounded you. And there was Moria years before we passed through together. You have faced and are facing a much worse battle though. Don’t give up the struggle, tithen gwador. My mother felt despair more and more toward the end of her life and she died because she could not see any hope for light. All she saw was the deepening shadows and she did not want to live longer in such a darkling world. I was her hope and I tried so to give it to her, but I could not. She did not live long enough to see the light return.”

“I think sometimes I see it, just beginning to climb over the far horizon, but most times I am still lost.”

“You are wandering, but not all who wander are lost.”

Aragorn was rewarded by a ghost of a smile from that bit of verse.

Frodo wrapped his arms around him. “I suppose you don’t know any shortcuts through this blackness.”

The king held his friend tightly. “No, mellon nin, for such journeys there are no shortcuts that can be made safely. As a healer and as a friend who loves you, those are among the most painful that can be said, but as the same, I wish to give you hope that by the long way you will find rest and healing at the end, if you have the same determination to make it as you did before. You traveled step by step to the Fire and you must travel back the same way, but that Road your heart must take instead of your feet.”

“It’s so much longer. I barely have the strength at times.”

“Just like the first time, but you kept going.”

“I had to.”

“And you don’t think you have to this time?”

“No, I still do, and I will, but it’s hard. I am well fed here, I have plenty to drink and plenty of opportunity for rest and I don’t have to coax my muscles to walk miles when there is so little strength in them and Sam will carry me again, in his heart as always, if not in his arms. But it’s harder now then it was then. I feel more like only I can make the journey, even if Sam is right beside me, and my Merry and my Pipsqueak, and you and Faramir and our queen. I have so much help, but I still feel so alone.”

“You are not alone anymore now than you were then. But you are right, this is your own journey and only you can decide which steps to take or whether to take them at all. The whole of Middle-earth does not hang in the balance this time, dependent on your will. Only your heart does. But I daresay that I know enough about how stubborn Bagginses can be so I have ample reason to hope that you will keep going and will triumph. I shall celebrate that day.”

“I did such evil, Aragorn. Can I truly come back? I wonder if I can.”

“You cannot be the same person that left on the Quest, gwador nin. You have grown beyond that and are becoming an even more beautiful being. If you do not wish to remain in the darkness, you have only way to go and that is forward. You cannot go back, but you can regain much of yourself that you have thought lost forever if you are willing to do so. Your brokenness can be made whole again. You have been tried by fire and found worthy.”

“But I failed at the Fire.”

“I am not speaking of that. But even so, would the eagles have been sent to rescue you and Sam if you had turned evil? What happened at the Mountain was more than anyone could have endured and anyone else would have fallen sooner. What happened was not your will choosing it. The good acts are the ones you chose, when you had full control of your will, such as at the Council and each step and breath you took toward your goal. You were hallowed for this one task, mellon nin. You fulfilled it and you were given your reward and there is still the greater one to claim, if you will. Would all that have been done if you had become a villain? You are so beloved, so very, very beloved. You cannot ever imagine in this life how much you are.”

“I know I am and I wonder why at times.”

Aragorn smiled and held his friend even tighter. “You already know that answer to that. I have been kept well-informed of all your naughtiness as a lad by your esteemed cousins who speak quite proudly of it all and of you. So I know how your Aunt Esme and Uncle Sara and Bilbo and Sam knew all your tricks and still loved you.”

Frodo opened his mouth to reply, but the king would not let him. “Now I know you would say that stealing a couple biscuits from the pantry or not going to bed when you are told or raiding a farm for a handful of mushrooms is hardly on the scale of what happened under the most terrible duress on your way to the Mountain, and you would be right in most ways, but not in the only way that truly matters. Your parents and your aunt and your uncles and your Sam all loved you so very much, that forgiveness was given you, usually without thought. If they can forgive so easily and love you so much, despite you being a rascal at times, then you can realize that you will never not be loved. You made it to Mordor because you were guided and guarded by more than you know or saw. The child in Rose’s womb will be born in peace because you said ‘yes’ at the Council and embraced the Will of the One Who created you specifically for that task and strengthened you with graces throughout your life so you could succeed and now generation upon generation will live in peace because you said one simple word over and over and Sam did as well. I am very glad you will be able to see the first fruits of that success.”

“That is all I will see. I have decided to accept the Queen’s gift.”

Aragorn felt a painful stab at his heart, a blessed mix of grief for himself and happiness for his friend. He realized now, as he had never before, the cost of Arwen’s choice to cleave to him. It was indeed sweet and bitter to choose to stay - or to leave. He held Frodo ever tighter and the hobbit returned the embrace with equal strength for he was just beginning to realize the weight of those words himself and wondered if he would be crushed under the weight of them, and even worse, that his brothers would be. But what other choice was there?

A/N: Mellon nin is Sindarin for my friend, mell min is dear one, tithen gwador is little brother, gwador nin is my brother.

Faramir found Frodo the next morning in the study, working away at his writing. “Don’t you wish to go out and get some sunlight, little brother? Our king tells me he still hopes to engage you in a snowball match.”

Frodo looked out the window and saw it was indeed bright out, reflected against the snow. But it did not reach his heart, as much as it tried. He was still imprisoned. “No, I just want to keep writing, to try to get it out of me.”

Faramir knew exactly what his friend meant. He had sat some long nights by the fire, while his wife slept, writing letters to his father and brother, trying to understand, trying to get past the pain. He didn’t let anyone else see those he wrote to his father, though Eowyn had seen one he had left on the table when unexceptedly called away and had grieved at how his gentle soul had been so hurt. The ones he had written to Boromir he let her see and she held him while he wept.

Now looking upon such a kindred spirit to his own, he silently sat down beside Frodo and took him into his arms, holding him as he had been held and slowly rocking him. The Ring-bearer wrapped his arms around him and buried his head in the man’s chest.

He was silent for a while, then spoke again. “There’s nothing left inside me, Faramir, but a dark, empty shell. My heart is buried in the fire.”

Faramir’s heart grieved to hear such pain and stroked his friend’s curls gently. “For a time I felt mine was held in my brother’s funeral boat for he had always been my protector. But now Eowyn holds it, and my King, and even you, little brother. I know your emptiness for I have felt it, but there will be life again in you. Live for all the Shire means to you, the fields and streams and woods, Sam, Merry and Pippin, sunny days, apple picking, strawberries and cream, mushroom pies, and the first snowball fight of the season.”

The Steward thought he could hear the barest hint of cheer in Frodo’s voice at those last words. “I wish you could see it all, but at least you have seen the snow.”

“You have a wonderful world here, my friend. I’m glad it has been preserved in all its glory for you and those who will come after, because you loved it enough to give yourself to save all of us. For I would not have my home and my love beside me either, if you had not offered yourself. We are forever in your debt.”

“You owe me nothing, Faramir. I owe Sam and Smeagol everything. I sometimes wish for the peace of death. 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.”

Faramir continued his gentle stroking. “My Eowyn wished for that also but she has found peace in life that she had not thought possible, yet she has embraced it and is now more alive than she has ever been. Don’t seek for death, my dear friend. 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. It shines now brighter than ever. All things work toward the greater glory of the One Who is above all things. Love is stronger than death. Those we have lost are still with us.”

“I wish they were still here where I could see them. I wish they were all still alive.”

“It’s never easy to lose anyone we love for we lose part of ourselves. How my heart howled when my mother died. And though I have few loving memories of my father, my heart has more and it has cried much for both. I wept long after I saw my brother’s funeral boat, all that night I wept, wishing it were only a dream. Long did I watch after it sailed from my sight and the dawn did not bring waking for I had not been asleep. I would have followed his boat the whole way if I could have. But there is already peace there in my heart for him, for I knew he has it. I do not know about my father, but one day, there will be peace in my heart for him also and I will be fully healed. Until then, I must keep going, living, loving and forgiving.”

Frodo was silent a while as he struggled to bring Faramir’s words into his heart and fashion them for himself. He had forgiven everyone freely, except for himself and that was where the knot of pain and shame was so great, he wondered how it could ever be undone. The lust of the Ring still held him bound and he could do nothing but loathe himself for such a terrible desire. “I can see the path that I must tread if I am too heal, but it is narrow and clogged with thorns and brambles and I fear entering. It is under the deep shadows of the trees and 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 others I can choose and I don’t know if I have the strength for it.”

Faramir squeezed him tighter. Frodo raised his head to look into the man’s eyes, so full of concern and love. “You will have the strength, mellon nin, because 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 and it does seem very lonely and hard sometimes, but that is the path appointed to me and to you. We will all walk it with you.”

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

“I do not believe that is so, little brother. 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 and it will become easier.”

That evening, shortly after sunset, Faramir found Frodo standing in the garden. He was facing West. He looked up when the man came up to him with a gentle smile, then around at the garden buried under all the snow and the warm light coming from inside the smial. “For over thirty years this has been my home,” he said softly, “wrapped up in Bilbo’s heart and Sam’s, but it shelters only a body and broken dreams now.” He faced the direction of the Havens once more. “This is the way my paths leads and I will take it, away from home and to home.”

As Frodo told his friend of Arwen’s great gift, the man felt a fresh stab of pain and loss, over those wounds that were still healing, but then he felt a great love and tenderness as he knelt in the snow and wrapped his arms tight around his friend. He remembered the strong being he first encountered in the woods of Ithilien and the light in him that he had marveled to see. The one he held in his arms now was both much more fragile and broken and at the same time stronger than steel, having been tempered by trials that the Steward did not even wish to imagine. The Ring-bearer’s spirit, though gravely wounded, was still alive within him and had not been wholly defeated. His lighter was brighter than ever and Faramir was convinced that his elvish beauty would only grow as his spirit was refreshed by the blessing he had received. The man found he could not grieve long, but only increasingly rejoice for his dear friend and brother.

That night, in a dream that was not a dream, Frodo stood on the far shore again under a bright moon. He was clothed in a silk nightshirt that shimmered in the starlight, the same one he had worn each night since the Lady Este had given it to him. He looked down at the water and the rippling waves that lapped at his feet and saw his distorted, broken reflection there. He clutched the gem around his neck, but he knew it was not for that he was reaching and he wept. Then he felt the presence of another, like to Lady Este, yet unlike. There were tears on her luminous, sorrowful face as well as she approached and somehow he knew they were tears for him and his torment and he grieved that he would have caused another pain. She knelt before him and silently wiped at his tears as he wept all the harder and she wept with him. There were no words spoken between them, yet they exchanged much. The troubled Ring-bearer was held long and consoled in his great grief.  It was in such an embrace that he realized that he need not grieve that another wept for him, but instead received strength to continue on his journey.

The hobbits and Gandalf watched Frodo as he slept that night. His head tossed as he murmured in dreams, clutching at the gem around his neck. Gandalf stood in reverent awe for he sensed the presence of the one who wiped at the tears Frodo shed and wept with him. With her aiding him in his struggles, he knew there was nothing else he could lend that could be better. He bowed to her, then silently ushered the others out of the room.

“What happened to him?” Merry asked. “What really happened to him? He hasn’t really told us and knowing him, he never will.” He looked briefly at Sam, but knew it was futile that the gardener would reveal any secret that his master had not already shared.

“The Ring did all this,” Gandalf said softly.

“Then how can we undo it?” Pippin asked. “And why did you bow again?”

“The damage is done, Pip,” Merry said before Gandalf could answer. His voice was far older and more haunted that any of their kind 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 indeed be the only remedy for this,” the Maia agreed softly which is why he was so heartened by the grace of a visit of another that could aid him in his healing.

The hobbits later came back to their brother’s side and snuggled close to him. Frodo was resting more peacefully now. They put their arms across his chest and tried to rest themselves.

A/N: I will be taking my usual Lenten break from writing so this will be the last chapter until after Easter, though you may or may not see other stuff still. I won’t be reading anything either during that time so I look forward to all the catching up I’m going to have to do!

Chapter Nineteen: The Thirteenth

Time passed with little change. Merry and Pippin had gone back to Crickhollow but still spent time with their beloved, troubled cousin. At times they caught him looking at them, tenderly and sadly, full of love and grief. They would hold him tightly, kiss his head and tell him how much they loved him and he would respond the same. No more words were said, but their arms and hearts were long in conversation, until finally they parted.

Each day that came brought Frodo closer to leaving, and he often looked over his shoulder, as he longed to remain in the past, to travel backward instead of forward, until he reached a time before he had been hurt.

“But you cannot do that,” Gandalf told him softly one day when he spoke of that on one of their walks together. “You can only go forward. The way back is in your future, not your past, beyond the Mountain, not before it.”

“Why is it so much longer this time? It seemed while we were walking before, we weren’t making any progress, but slowly we saw that we were. I don’t feel like I am now.”

“Because the journeys of the heart at times take longer than the Roads trod merely by feet. Your heart is still on its Road, the one that went to the Fire and returned from it, and yet travels still. Do not lose your hope in the light you seek at the end. It is there, waiting for you to claim it, and through the darkness you shall find it.”

Frodo found that to be true for the only solace he found was looking up at the stars. He stood in the garden for hours, never any further than that, and Sam watched from the window, entranced by his master’s softly glowing beauty, and his heart broken by the wounds that were still bleeding within his treasure. Rose joined him at times as he watched. Sometimes it was long after midnight that he came back in and Sam would hear the quiet closing of the door and the soft pad of beloved feet until the smial was silent again. The gardener always waited a little while, then got up to check on his master. He would watch those dear, fair features for a long bit, then satisfied that Frodo had found some true sleep, was able to sleep better himself. At times he felt on the edge of his senses, another presence in the room, more ethereal than the moonlight that streamed in the Ring-bearer’s window. It was nothing he could ever see clearly with his eyes, except that the tears tracks down Frodo’s cheeks glistened like starlight then as though an invisible hand had wiped them and left luminous trails behind. What Sam felt was more in his heart, and some peace would come to him then also, even with all his worry and grief over his beloved one. He noted that Frodo seemed better rested in the morning.

March began to pass and the time for Rose to deliver came near. Frodo was restless on the night of the 12^th, for he knew or feared what the next day would bring. The darkness that surrounded him as he lay in bed was more than physical, even more than the black that still shrouded his broken heart. He looked out at the moonlight through his window and longed to stand out in it, to combat the terrible night that he felt coming to overwhelm him, but he could not move and wouldn’t have dared if he could. He feared collapsing on the way and giving something more for Sam to fret about was the last thing he wanted to do. Like a wave that could not be stopped, he watched the darkness come toward him. He cried out for help in his mind, but couldn’t even part his lips to whisper aloud. Utterly paralyzed, he watched the wave tower over him and then crash down upon him. He felt his neck pierced by that dreadful sting and the venom spread throughout him. He knew no more until morning when he was dimly aware that Faramir was rousing him for second breakfast.

The man seemed an Orc at first to Frodo’s bleary eyes and his room, the horrible prison in the Tower. But the voice did not seem to be like of Orc-kind and wearily the Ring-bearer rubbed his eyes and fought his way out of the memories, though he could not escape them entirely.

“Are you ill, Frodo?” Faramir was asking, reaching to support his brother’s frame as he struggled to sit up.

Frodo rubbed his neck and grimaced. “...neck...”

The man gently removed the hobbit’s hand and looked. The area was red and chaffed, but there was no other sign of infection or the wound there opening up again.

“Shall I ask Aragorn to come?”

Frodo did not answer. He could barely sit up and would have fallen if Faramir had not tightened his embrace. He gently laid his brother back down and covered him with as many blankets as he could find for the Ring-bearer was trembling badly and holding himself in a tight curl. The man saw that he looked as though he would be sick and so brought a chamber pot to him and held him as the hobbit vomited.

“I am going to call Aragorn,” the man said.

“Don’t.... let Sam....know,” Frodo murmured weakly. “....don’t want him to fret.”

Frodo did not even hear the man leave for he was lost once more in the darkness. He shivered as he lay naked on the cold stone floor in the Tower, bereft of everything. The loss of the Ring consumed him and heard nothing within himself but the shrieking grief and despair of that. The Orc had left him and he was alone with nothing but his terrible bereavement. How much longer would it be until they came again to question him and torment him? But he knew they could do nothing to him worse than what they had already done, unless it was to bring him before the Dark Lord and he saw his precious treasure on that black hand. All was lost.

Faramir came into the kitchen and signaled to Aragorn. Sam looked up at them curiously as he was almost finished preparing breakfast. “Is my master all right?”

“His stomach is unsettled,” the Steward said.

“I’ll make him some peppermint tea then.”

Faramir debated with himself whether he should say more and that was all the clue Sam needed.

“It’s not just his stomach, is it?” He thought for a moment, then “It’s the 13^th. I was away last time, but some things you don’t forget, and I can bet you he was sick then too, and thought to keep it a secret.” The gardener shook his head and both men then smiled to hear the hobbit murmuring to himself that his master should know better than holding to such a daft idea as trying to keep any secrets from his Sam.

“He doesn’t want you to be worried about him,” Faramir said.

“Well, there’s naught he can do about that, but you can bring him the tea your own self, if that will make him feel any better.” He muttered a few more choice words about stubborn Bagginses and then handed the man a mug. “It should be cool enough for it not to burn himself when he drinks and do be careful that he don’t choke.”

“I shall be vigilant in my duty,” Faramir assured.

When the Steward and Aragorn returned to Frodo’s side, the king sat down by his side and tenderly supported him in his arms. “I am here, gwador nin,” he said softly. The Ring-bearer opened his eyes, but the man knew Frodo did not see him.

He took the tea from his Steward’s hand and brought it to his brother’s lips, gently tipping it into his throat. Frodo choked and gagged as the Orc forced the foul liquid down his throat, burning as it went down. Aragorn withdrew the cup and wiped at his friend’s mouth. He shared a concerned look with Faramir and held the little one then tighter. Frodo fought against the constraining arms, but had little strength to do so.

“He is lost in a dark dream,” the king said to his Steward. He brushed at the Ring-bearer’s curls, which were damp with sweat. For a long while, he just held him, murmuring comforts, and singing very softly in Sindarin. Faramir was profoundly moved and his love for his king reached new heights watching such tender care.

Frodo was very confused for he heard Elvish words that he could not quite comprehend but he knew had no place among such vile creatures as had him prisoner. And what was more, the words were being sung to him. But it didn’t sound like Sam. What was this other dream he had wandered into? He lay still, for he did not wish to leave it, nor have the Orcs come again which they did whenever he tried to move. He floated away from himself as far as he could, toward the music and the loving voice. He could not travel far, tethered to his pain and loss far more stronger than the tender tendrils that reached out to soothe him. It was not as though he was back in the Hall of Fire in Rivendell when he had sunk beneath the song and been utterly carried away to another world, but it was a solace, and slowly barrier formed between him and the pain that roared just outside the reach of the song.

He opened his eyes after a long while and his vision was a little more clear, though he could not see even as far as the opposite wall in his prison. The shadows there could not be dispersed by the small red light that hung above. He was aware that arms were still around him, but the song had stopped.

Aragorn brushed at his curls. “Can you hear me, tithen gwador?” he asked softly. “Can I give you more tea?”

Frodo shook his head. He was very hungry and thirsty but he did not want to taste that terrible drink again. His head began to swim again and he was ill once more, emptying what little remained in him.

Aragorn laid him gently back down with a kiss to his brow and the blankets brought up to his chin. Frodo returned to his dark world. The king looked up at his Steward.

“What ails him?” Faramir asked. “I’ve seen such in the Houses of Healing, but none so bad.”

“Something worse than the Black Breath. He met the terror that dwelt in Cirth Ungol and was stung by her.”

“The Spider’s Pass,” the younger man breathed. He looked down at his brother with new love and grief. “So it is very rightly named and no wonder that such a wound would bring such vividly remembered pain.”

“Perhaps so rightly no longer, since Sam went to battle against the fearsome enemy. We know not whether his vicious blows were fatal, or only a very great and painful surprise.”

The two men smiled softly. “Love can accomplish great things.”

“It can indeed.” Aragorn touched Frodo’s brow. “He is not fevered. This should pass by next evening, if it like the illness that Gandalf tells me overtook Frodo on the way home when they came to the Ford near Rivendell.”

The two men left the room and Frodo could not tell whether he was glad or not. He was glad he was no longer held for the Orcs filled him with loathing, yet when they were with him, he knew what was going to happen, even if it was terrible. But the silence without them made his heart and imagination race. That and the terrible loss of the Ring which once more engulfed him was enough to drive him to the brink of madness. He stared over the edge, into the great abyss and almost he wished he could fall into and be lost for ever. A great wind tugged at him and he knew he would fall if it grew any stronger.

But then he back in the Tower and realized that there was someone in the room with him, a luminosity that shone softly. He sought to focus on it instead of the darkness that clawed at him. The wind died down. He felt embraced once more and this time he did sink beneath the beautiful weight of featherlight caresses and tender, voiceless words. The tears of the one who wept with him become blessed water to ease his thirst.

Aragorn and Faramir returned to the kitchen where Sam was preparing elevenses. “How is he?”

“He is wandering in a dark dream,” the king answered.

“Just like he was on the way back home, and just last October I found him in the study, but he wasn’t there, if you take my meaning. When is this going to stop for him? The Ring has been destroyed, yet in the doing, me master’s also been destroyed.”

“No, Sam, not destroyed, but wounded very badly,” Aragorn said. “Such is the price the worthy must pay at times for fighting the Shadow. We all have scars, some are deeper than others, yet healing can be sought while there is life and the master of your heart lives.”

“And while there’s life, there’s hope,” Sam said softly.

Chapter Twenty: Joy Like Swords

A/N: Parts of my very favorite scene from the Red Book will be quoted or paraphrased here. Sam’s song is from Sauron Defeated, History of Middle-earth Vol. 9.

Nienna sensed Sam’s approach at the threshold of one day and the next, so began to withdraw, knowing that the one she succored would be in the best of hands. Quietly the door opened. The younger hobbit saw his master curled around himself in the dark, shivering badly. There was not even moonlight to see by, leastways not from the outside, but besides Frodo’s own softly shimmering light, Sam detected another on the edge of his senses and drew in a breath. He was naught entirely sure what to do, but since Mr. Gandalf had bowed to it, it seemed right and proper that he do so also. Nienna blessed his reverence by giving him the lightest brush of a caress to his brow, so light he almost thought he imagined it, if it were not for what he else he felt. He had a gardener’s heart and thought as one as so he could only think of the flowers that he saw blossom under his care that anyone else would have given up on, but he never did, and so could feel their appreciation for all his loving. That is how he felt now, as though he were that flower being appreciated, and that was how he often saw his master, as the brightest flower in all the garden and the one upon he lavished the tenderest care. It felt a little queer to feel that care now brush against him, but it strengthened him to wade into his master’s dark dream as Nienna withdrew.

Frodo sensed the loss of her and the desolation of his loneliness and pain rushed to overwhelm him once more, no longer held back by the barrier of the Vala’s presence. However, it was checked once more by a soft voice raised in song.

"I sit upon the stones alone;

the fire is burning red,

the tower is tall, the mountains dark;

all living things are dead.

In western lands the sun may shine,

there flower and tree in spring

is opening, is blossoming:

and there the finches sing.

"But here I sit alone and think

of days when grass was green

and earth was brown, and I was young:

they might have never been.

For they are past, for ever lost,

and buried here I lie

and deep beneath the shadows sink

where hope and daylight die.

"But still I sit and think of you;

I see you far away

Walking down the homely roads

on a bright and windy day.

It was merry then when I could run

to answer to your call,

could hear your voice or take your hand;

but now the night must fall.

"And now beyond the world I sit,

and know not where you lie!

O master dear will you not hear

my voice before we die?"

Frodo faintly answered Sam’s plea as the younger hobbit gathered his master into his arms.

The Ring-bearer opened his eyes and blurrily focused on his beloved guardian. "Sam?" he croaked in a whisper. "Am I still dreaming?"

Sam’s eyes pricked with tears to see his brother still so wounded, but he smiled bravely for him. "You are back home, me dear. You are naught in that terrible Tower no more. I’m here with you and you’re in your own bed."

"Then I wasn’t dreaming when I heard you singing down below?"

The younger hobbit brushed at his master’s sweaty curls and he knew Frodo was not truly aware of what Sam was telling him. "You are dreaming now, dear, but...."

"....but you’ve come into it. Am I ever going to wake? And what will I wake to? And will you be there if I do?"

Sam brushed at his curls. "You are going to wake, me dear, and I will be here. It’s all right."

"No, no it’s not." Frodo began to fret restlessly in Sam’s arms and looked feverishly into his guardian’s eyes. "They’ve taken everything, Sam. Everything I had. Do you understand? Everything! The quest has failed. Even if we get out of here...."

Sam kissed his brow and rocked him gently. "No, my dear, it didn’t fail. It succeeded. You are back home now. The war is over."

Frodo continued to squirm and his hand reached toward his neck. "It’s gone, Sam, gone for ever."

"Yes, me dear, it is gone."

The Ring-bearer’s hand continued to search for the phantom Ring. "I can still feel it."

Sam caught his beloved’s hand and kissed it. "It’s naught there."

He placed Frodo’s hand instead around Arwen’s gem which calmed the troubled hobbit a bit, but he continued to murmur over and over, though the words were different and Sam did not know why. "Not only Elves can escape, away, away out of Middle-earth, far away over the Sea. Only that can keep the Shadow out. Over the Sea, over the Sea."

There was a sound outside the bedroom door and Frodo started. "We shouldn’t be talking. They’ll hear and they’ll come back. They always did if I moved."

Sam held him tighter. "You are safe here, me dear."

"Yes," Frodo breathed, "with you, Sam, dear Sam. I know you won’t let them hurt me." He looked piercingly into his guardian’s eyes again. "Will you come with me, when they let you?"

Sam did not understand what his master meant, but he said, "Yes, my love, I will come with you. I won’t ever leave you."

Frodo sighed. "Then it will be all right."

Sam smiled. "Yes, dear, it will be all right."

Frodo lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand. Sam’s heart was moved by a great wellspring of pity and love. He held his master-brother-child in his embrace as he had in the Tower and happiness overwhelmed his grief, since he knew he could hold him much longer now than he had been able to then. When it came time for breakfast, Aragorn found them still peacefully sleeping together.

They woke shortly afterward. Frodo had memories of wandering long in dark dreams but he woke safely in Sam’s arms, in his own bed, and the memories faded back into the black well from which they had come. He still felt slightly nauseous for some reason and was unsteady when he rose. Sam stopped him from falling back and held him until his head stopped swimming.

"I’m sorry, Sam, I don’t know what’s come over me. I must have..." He brushed his head over his eyes. "I’m so tired."

"Do you want me to bring your breakfast here instead, dear?"

Frodo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The cobwebs continued to disappear from his head, as he became more and more aware of the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. That convinced him more than anything that he was no longer dreaming.

"No, just give me half a minute." He paced slowly about his bedroom, holding his hand to his back of his neck when he had been stung, then suddenly he stopped, as though he realized something. He looked up at Sam.

"Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry," he said. "Now I know why I feel so queer. I would have kept it from you. You shouldn’t have to bother about me now, especially when Rose is so near."

The younger hobbit took his master’s maimed hand from around his neck and kissed it and the place he had been stung and then smiled at him. Frodo looked up at the eyes of his guardian, shining so with love and compassion. For a long time, he stood transfixed by such an outpouring of strength and devotion, then laid his head down on Sam’s shoulder and felt himself gently rocked and the soft stroking of his curls. How in all the Shire could he possibly be thinking of leaving his Sam? Yet, he knew he had to, for it frightened him like no other terror he had felt on the Quest, that even though his loyal guardian was the surest shelter in the storm that buffeted him, it was not enough.

* * *

An additional shelter was built eleven days later when Sam’s and Rose’s first child was born. Frodo’s heart was pierced by joy as sharp as the pain he felt. The labor had begun late in the afternoon and Rose was almost too uncomfortable to become overawed by the fact that her king was going to be in attendance instead of the midwife that had seen many a hobbit lad and lass take their breath and cry at the cold and bright of the outside world. After hours in which it was hard to tell at first whether the father or mother was more fretful at the prolonged labor (and it was decided not long after that it was father), Aragorn was humbled to receive into his arms the little one who cried most lustily at birth and set everyone else crying as well. The man had never seen a newborn so small, but obviously healthy. He cut the cord, wiped the child clean and wrapped her in a warm blanket. He handed her then to her mother and everyone gathered around to have a closer look.

Sam was aburst with joy at such a marvelous creation and when at last tore his eyes away, he looked up at his master who was smiling joyfully and lovingly at his niece. There was something else there too, a wistfulness that Sam couldn’t quite identify, but he did not fret about for his dear one was looking that beautiful. Their eyes met and when it came time for Sam to hold his daughter, he did not for long, but handed her right into Frodo’s arms. The hobbit’s light flared brighter as he looked into the child’s eyes, held her and began to sing to her in Sindarin. Everyone there was deeply moved by the love and joy that was poured into that small lass, and none missed the longing either, though none of the hobbits could truly identify it. Sam was shining nearly as brightly, just watching both his beloved master and his wife, and thinking he was the luckiest hobbit who ever lived.

When Frodo gave his niece back to his brother, the Ring-bearer was thinking he was the one who was the luckiest. He and Sam looked long at each other. The elder hobbit gave his dearest guardian a smile that reached his eyes and lit his whole being brighter than it had in months. Sam saw clearly a peace to his soul that had not been there since they had woken so long before in Ithilien. The pain still lingered and it had grown for some reason Sam did not understand with this birth, but it could not compare with the joy that radiated out from Frodo. Sam took his daughter into his arms and Frodo’s light flared once more to such a perfect picture.

The ecstacy the Ring-bearer felt pierced him anew with the pain that this was the only child he would ever physically hold. And there was so many others to come. So many. He beheld them with the eyes of his heart, as many as he could, knowing that the shadows in which the future was veiled could be hiding others that were beyond his sight. Seeing them made all the sacrifices and torments he had endured on the way to the Fire worth it. It also made his present agony worse that he would have just this small taste of the joy that awaited his brother. He embraced it all as he was immolated by the twin fires of joy and pain.

Chapter Twenty-One: Frost in Spring

Sam hoped, as Merry and Pippin did, as the weather began to lose its chill that Frodo would be more interested in taking tramps through the meadows and as the land slowly became alive again, so would he. But though the spring had indeed come, winter deepened in the Ring-bearer’s heart. He did go out walking with his brothers, which had expanded to Aragorn who had been made an honorary hobbit and brother as well, but it was not the healing exertion that the others hoped for. Frodo was distracted, not that he was not seeing what was around him, but that he was paying it greater attention than he had since they returned. It afforded him no joy, for he was still barren inside, and he grieved that he would not know another spring in the Shire.

“He’s going to leave again,” Pippin said one day when he and Merry were alone. “He’s acting the same way he did before all this all started.”

Merry didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The two sent up their watchfulness again as they had before, and found out that Sam was already aware and doing it as well.

It seemed that spring that Elanor was held more by her uncle than her father or mother. Sam did not begrudge that since it looked to him that two Elven hobbits now graced his life and they somehow belonged to each other. He often watched his beloved master with the little lass, as he played with her fingers, kissed her head, and stroked her cheek or her downy little feet. Every caress, every word he spoke or sang to her, was imbued with a love and pain so deep that Sam was moved nigh to tears many a time. At times, he watched as Frodo sleep with her against his chest during the day since the night brought him so little peace and he saw the tear tracks down those fair cheeks that he was unable to stop. He did not understand why their Elanor brought his brother such pain, but he knew she also brought him just as much joy and healing to his torn heart, even as she caused new wounds. Sam didn’t dare ask how the twain could be so intimately bound up in each other, though the question was writ large enough in his eyes that Frodo saw it and could no more respond than his guardian could ask. But no words were needed or could be said. The Ring-bearer’s gazes to his dearest brothers grew ever more tender and sad and their return ones, their silent kisses to his head and their arms so protectively around him, said more than anything spoken ever could. Their tears frequently mingled and though it was more than they thought they could bear, they remained by his side, loving him all the more, and he them. More than once also did they find him at times in the morning in the study on the floor, either wrapped up in Faramir’s arms or curled up by his side in a blanket dragged from his own bed.

At the end of May, Aragorn, Arwen and Faramir made ready to depart. It was with heavy hearts that they did so for they knew they would not see Frodo again. The Ring-bearer’s pain redoubled as they knelt before him to say their farewells for he was reminded again how much he would lose by leaving not only the Shire and his beloved kin there, but the others he loved so deeply. Sam and the others stood nearby, but wanted to give their brother privacy for this farewell.

Aragorn placed strong hands on his dear brother’s shoulders and the two looked long into each other’s eyes. “Frodo, our beloved one,” the king began, speaking not only for himself but for his queen and Steward as well, “we gather to send you forth on the wings of love. We free you to take leave of us as your time nears. We cradle your love in our hearts and in our memories. You will remain a part of us always. We gather here to bless you for your journey home and to express gratitude for what you have given to us by your presence in our lives.”

He kissed Frodo on the brow, then gathered him tight into his arms, loathe to let go. Frodo sobbed heavily in the arms of his king whom he clung to with a desperate tightness. Aragorn closed his eyes but could not stop his own tears. It seemed for ever before they reluctantly let go.

Arwen held him next, smiled and gave her own farewells and blessings. From what seemed a bottomless well, the Ring-bearer’s tears flowed. The queen wept as well and then wiped at his tears and kissed his head as he looked up at her. He held her again tightly and whispered, “Le hannon,” before letting go.

Faramir he held last. The two looked long into each other’s eyes and the man smiled gently and lovingly into the Ring-bearer’s troubled soul. Then the two held each other for a very long time, the Steward rocking him and stroking his curls as the tears continued to come from both. At last they parted and looked at each other again. Faramir smiled once more and wiped the tears away and kissed his head. “May you be well, little brother.”

The three said farewell to Sam, Merry, Pippin and Rose as well, and last but not least, to Elanor. The hobbits all watched them mount their horses and leave with many a backward glance and wave. Frodo stood transfixed until they could be seen no longer than turned back inside, feeling more desolate than he had since the day he had parted from the Company at Parth Galen. Gandalf left some days later as well but promised to return before the next month was out.

Several days later, Merry found Frodo standing at a window by himself watching the gathering storm clouds. The elder started a little when he heard the door open, but he didn’t turn when his cousin came up to him and saw him crying. Merry began to stroke Frodo’s back gently.

“I’ve changed so much, Merry,” Frodo said. The terrible pain and near despair in that voice, far too large for one hobbit, or even the entire Shire to contain, poured out that single tormented soul and the younger hobbit grieved to hear it.

“We all have, dearest. Don’t condemn yourself for that.”

“But you and Pippin and Sam have all changed for the better. You were already wonderful and then discovered strengths and bravery inside of you that you never even knew existed. I’ve only discovered weaknesses. You’ve confronted and defeated evil on the outside. I’ve encountered it inside of myself and been defeated by it.”

"Shhh, my Frodo, don’t say that. You are braver and stronger than any of us. You encountered evil in a much worse form than we did. It wasn’t inside of you to start with. It acted on you from the outside. And you fought it as hard as you could. I know you did. I saw you do it.”

“And I lost, Merry. I lost everything. I’ve lost the Ring. It filled me, then emptied me, leaving me with nothing but itself. I am nothing but a shell now.” Frodo paused. “After I was stabbed on Weathertop, I felt like there was a grey veil over my eyes that made it hard to see what was around me. I was glad when night came and hid the veil from me, when things could look almost normal again, when I didn’t feel so cut off from everything. I feel it again now, but instead of it being in front of my eyes, it’s around my heart. I feared even before I went on the Quest that I wouldn’t be returning. I didn’t think that I would come back and then discover I couldn’t return. But that is what has happened, Merry. I don’t belong here anymore.”

“Yes, you do, dearest, more than anyone you do. You’re the reason there is even still a Shire at all.”

"No, that’s Smeagol’s doing. I couldn’t destroy Ring. It was only an accident that it was lost and Smeagol with it.”

Merry continued his gentle stroking. “And who got it to where it could be destroyed, you silly, stubborn, beloved ass? You.”

“And Sam. I couldn’t have made it without him. I failed and others had to step in to save everything.”

How many times could a heart break Merry wondered? “Shhhh, dearheart. Don’t think that. Don’t ever think that. You saved us all. None of us could have done what you did and it’s not shameful that you had to have help.”

Merry put his fingers on his cousin’s lips when Frodo began to protest again. The tears were falling down his cheeks now in a parallel path with the rain down the window. Thunder rolled when Merry took his heart’s brother into his arms and the storm raging inside the Ring-bearer broke as the one outside gathered strength. The younger hobbit wondered at the force of both of them as he held Frodo tight and the troubled hobbit clung to his brother-cousin and wept as Merry told him over and over again that he loved him.

The younger hobbit remembered how frightened he was the first time he had seen and heard Frodo cry. Merry had been four and asked his cousin why he was so sad. The older lad had looked up startled and lost, the same way he did now, as though some essential part of him had been torn away and there was a hole he did not know how to fill. Frodo had told Merry then that his parents had died six years before on that day. Merry hadn’t known how to respond to that, but he had tried to fill the hole by hugging his best friend and cousin for the longest time and cried with him. They held onto each other like there was no one else in the world and they would die if they let go. After a while, Frodo was able to stop crying and get through the rest of the day. Merry felt just as lost now in how to fill the hole that gaped before him, spilling out his beloved’s lifeblood, but continued to apply the same love as before.

Even after Frodo was spent and the rain outside gentled also, he didn’t let go of Merry, just rested his head on his shoulder and held on tightly. Merry guided him to bed and laid down next to him and continued stroking his curls and back. The tension that had never completely left was already returning.

"I remember when you first did that,” Frodo said softly.

“And did you know that I did it at Rivendell and Ithilien while I waited for you to wake?” Merry asked.

“Yes. I love you, my Merry. Thank you.”

The younger hobbit leaned over and kissed his brother’s cheek. “I love you, too, my Frodo.”

He took Frodo into my arms and sang to him his favorite lullaby. The Ring-bearer cried again, then the tension left him enough that he was able to sleep.

“Ring-bearer you have been,” Merry whispered, “but you were mine first and I fully intend to reclaim you simply as my cousin and my brother.” He kissed him again, wished him sweet dreams, then closed his own eyes, remembering all the while how Frodo used to do all that when they were at Brandy Hall together and would comfort his younger cousin if he had a bad dream, got frightened by a storm or sometimes just stayed with him because he wanted to be with him.

Pippin came in later that afternoon, finding them still asleep and curled up on Frodo’s other side. He remembered the many times they had done this throughout his childhood, how many adventures they had planned to have and did have and how the three of them were never going to part. The tween gently touched his brother’s curls and brushed his brow with a kiss. How many times would they do this, he wondered? The question was still not answered when Pippin feel asleep beside his troubled cousin.

A/N: The farewell prayer was from Joyce Rupp,“Blessing of One Who Draws Near to Death” from Out of the Ordinary.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Chrysalis

It was evening in the later part of June when the others were out walking and enjoying the longer and warmer days that Frodo sat with Gandalf in the garden with Elanor in her cradle beside him.

"I’m realizing all the more how much I will be losing when I leave," the Ring-bearer said, looking down at his niece.

"You do not have to go, my dear hobbit."

"Yes, I do. Sometimes I wish I could leave straightaway before I lose my will, instead of enduring this agony of waiting, of knowing how much I am leaving behind. I wonder how much longer I can bear it. I am dying and being reborn each moment."

The Maia’s heart broke to hear such torment. He drew Frodo in his arms and stroked his curls in love and sympathy. The troubled hobbit was silent at first as he held his beloved friend and listened to that strong heartbeat. "How did you enter Moria when you knew you were going to die there?" he asked after a long while.

Gandalf was long in answering, though his stroking continued. "Perhaps the same way you continued on your journey and still do so."

The Ring-bearer looked up at him. "I only thought I knew I would die, but you actually did know." He lowered his head again to return to that reassuring heart. He tightened his arms. "I don’t know you did it. Weren’t you horribly afraid?"

"I don’t know if I was any more afraid than you were or your companions. There are things that must be done, if one is to become who one is meant to be."

"You mean becoming Gandalf the White."

The Maia nodded. "Yes, though I did not know that at the time. I only knew a sacrifice was being asked for and I obeyed, just as you did. Gandalf the Grey died so he could become the White. You, my dear hobbit, are on the path to becoming, in your own wonderful, unique way, Frodo the White, still mortal, but a marvel for all to see. I have watched you become so for a very long time and as much as you have suffered and continue to do so, I assure you that the blessings that await you are just as great."

"And for that Frodo of the green Shire had to die."

"Not in the same manner. Liken it more to what happens before a beautiful butterfly comes out of its cocoon. You are a chrysalis now. One day we will all be blessed to see what you have become."

"Did it hurt?"

"To die?"

"To surrender your very self."

"No more painful than it was and is for you."

"Then how did you bear it?"

"The same way you did and are. Sometimes, my dear lad, we are asked to make very painful decisions and we do not always know why, but if we say yes, there is greater good to come out of it, than any torment it causes us."

"I remember when Sam and I were lads that we watched a cocoon waiting for it to open. You should have seen his face when the butterfly came out and landed near him. I hadn’t ever seen him so awed and delighted."

"You will see the same again when he sees you out of your cocoon."

Frodo was silent for a while as he pondered all his friend said, then he spoke once more. "I should like to be that butterfly for him."

Gandalf held him tighter. "Then you shall be."

* * *

As long as the weather was warm enough, Frodo spent much of his time in the garden, at times working on the book he intended to leave for his brothers with Elanor at his side on the ground in her cradle, other times he sat with Elanor on the bench Sam had long before put out for his use, looking around and waiting for the sunshine to reach his heart and soul. Most times Sam was out there with him, working on the garden and it was there Frodo’s gaze fell longest. Anytime the gardener looked up, he would see his beloved master looking at him with a tender, wistful smile and many a long gaze they shared that needed no words. Sometimes Rose would bring out meals there and they would share the feast together. Many nights Frodo slept out there on the ground, surrounded by scents, sounds and sights he was soon to leave for ever behind, but buoyed up by them and storing them all in his heart.

Merry and Pippin lingered as often as they could by their cousin’s side, noticing all the while that Frodo was slowly lifting up his roots in a Shire that he never did truly return to. They felt his grief and his long, silent goodbye to his beloved land. Rarely did they or Sam let him out of their sight. It was during one of those summer evenings in the garden that Pippin reached for his maimed hand, for once not hidden away in shame in one of his pockets.

"I am so proud of you, Cousin," the tween murmured.

Frodo looked at him pained. Merry and Sam braced themselves for their brother’s reaction. None of them knew how he would, maybe not even Frodo himself. The Ring-bearer slowly pulled his hand away from Pippin. "There’s naught anything to be proud of there, Pip. It is an everlasting testimony to my folly."

"I’m so sorry, Frodo," the tween said quietly. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

Frodo’s face grew tender and he pulled his beloved cousin into his arms and kissed his head. "Of course you didn’t, you silly Took. I know what you meant and I love you for it. It startled me is all. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

He stroked Pippin’s curls and rocked him gently and held him for a long time as the tween mourned for all that his cousin had endured and was still tormented by. He held on tightly, hoping to comfort Frodo as well. When he had calmed enough, Frodo wiped at his tears and smiled at him and let him go. It was only then that Pippin saw that his cousin had been crying too.

When Merry announced it was time for bed, Pippin looked hopefully at Frodo, wanting to stay with him. The Ring-bearer deliberately reached out his maimed hand to him and Pippin held it gently while Frodo smiled bravely at him, through the haze of pain. While Sam and Merry cleared the dishes, Pippin curled up next to his brother, nestling his head against Frodo’s good shoulder and the elder hobbit put his arm around him. The other two hobbits came out to bid Frodo good-night before returning back inside. The Ring-bearer gave Sam a look and smile ofsuch pure, deep love, it bordered on adoration, then tenderly turned his gaze to his cousin as well. The two kissed their brother on the head, then went inside.

For some time, Frodo and Pippin stared silently up at the stars. "Do you remember when we used to do this as lads?" the tween asked. "Just you and me and Merry and Sam when he could and we’d plan all the sorts of adventures we were going have?"

"Yes, ’squeak, I remember."

There was so much pain in that dear voice that Pippin’s heart broke anew. He held his brother-cousin tighter, kissed his brow, then they settled down to sleep. With such loving protection, Pppin thought no demons would dare approach, but he could not guard his cousin’s mind where the terror already dwelt, waiting.

The tween woke abruptly when Frodo cried out from a nightmare. There was a wild, terrified look in his eyes and at first he fought Pippin as the younger hobbit held him in his arms. As Pippin shushed and murmured comforts and rocked him, Frodo slowly calmed. Eventually he settled back against his brother and held him, ragged breath easing as he listened to a beloved voice softly sing and tears silently flowed from under his closed eyes.

"Sleep now

And know that I love you

Let aside your cares

I will protect you

"Sleep now

And know that I love you

Let no darkness touch you

I will guard you

"Sleep now

And know that I love you

Let your worries fade away

I will not leave you

"Sleep now

And know that I love you

Let no pain plague you

I will defend you

"Sleep now

And know that I love you

Let no terror frighten you

I will always be with you

"Sleep now

And know that I love you."

Frodo gave his cousin a very sleepy, "I love you, ’squeak," and soft kiss to his cheek, then fell into sleep. Pippin kissed his tears away, then settled down to sleep himself.

The next night, the night terrors came again and this time Sam was with them as well as Merry. The gardener reached for his master who struggled against him until he opened his eyes and realized who was holding him. Frodo then clung to him and looked into his eyes with such love and trust that he was safe. Sam smiled and his tear-bright eyes shone with such profound adoration, it was like looking into something holy. Pippin and Merry stared at it greatly moved as they realized anew what had gotten their beloved cousin through the Quest and more assured than ever that if love could heal their troubled brother, there would be no doubt of his recovery.The younger two didn’t think Frodo was even aware they were there, as he kept his eyes staring into Sam’s so he wouldn’t be dragged back into whatever terror he had just escaped from. They listened as Sam spoke and sang softly and eventually Frodo returned to sleep. The next night, it was not Frodo who needed comforting, but the one giving it as Pippin woke crying out from nightmares of his own and the Ring-bearer reached for his cousin even before Merry.

From out a window, Gandalf watched the four hobbits give and gain comfort from each other. Grief that the four would be soon be parted moved his heart nearly to tears, but tender love swelled within his heart just as strongly, and when the tears did fall, they did so from a gently smiling face.

* * *

"Rose, may I see you a moment?" Frodo asked one evening as September was drawing on.

The young mother looked up a bit surprised. She balanced Elanor in her arms a little more comfortably.

"Certainly, Mr. Frodo. You be needing something?"

"I need to tell you something," the elder hobbit said and Rosie’s heart ached as it always did to hear the pain and weariness in that voice, to see it in those eyes which had once been so lively.

She well knew Frodo tried to hide from her how much he was suffering, and though she knew little enough of its cause for both and their Sam had kept that from her as much as they could, she knew it was because of their terrible journey together. What little she did know was from what they both called out in their nightmares and only the other could comfort them.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"

"I wish to thank you while there is still time, for all your kindnesses to me since you and Sam have come to live here with me. I have been blessed beyond any deserving. But...I am going away soon."

"Yes, Mr. Frodo, I know. Remember you asked whether you could take Sam with you?"

"It’s more than that, Rose, though Sam does not know that yet and I beg you not to say anything. I will tell him myself, but not until we are on our way. He can’t come yet. He has so much to be and to do here and I wish I could stay and watch and rejoice in it all. But I am going, with Bilbo, across the Sundering Sea, to stay with the Elves, where I may heal...from my hurts. I have no other hope."

Rose did not understand half of what Frodo was saying, but still tears rose in her eyes as she looked into his and saw his unspoken plea, begging for her understanding. She felt her own grief, but she felt worse for their Sam, for truly he was theirs, not hers, not his, but theirs, that dearest of hearts embracing them both.

How could Sam bear to lose half of his though, she wondered? And how could Mr. Frodo bear to lose half of his for she knew better than anyone the bond the two shared. She bit her lip and spoke none of this. It would not be her place to do so and she would not add to his burdens.

"I’m so sorry, Mr. Frodo," she murmured.

Elanor began to fuss and Rose sought to calm her, but nothing worked. Frodo reached out his arms to her. "Let me try, please, Rose." The young mother handed Elanor to her uncle. Frodo sat down with her in his arms in the rocking chair that had been his wedding gift to Sam and Rose and began to sing softly. Elanor calmed almost immediately as she always did when Frodo sang to her in Elvish. Rose did not understand any of the words, but she loved to listen.

"What were you singing, Mr. Frodo? You have such a beautiful voice."

"It’s a lullaby in Quenya. That’s what they speak where I am going. I thought I should learn it so I’ve been teaching myself some from a primer Bilbo made for me."

"Oh, Mr. Frodo," Rose said in tears. The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them. "I hope you don’t forget how to be a hobbit where you are going..." She stopped in horror at stepping out of her place.

"I don’t know who I am anymore, Rose," Frodo said and Rose felt a secret gate open to a place where only he had trodden before, a wild and terrible place, where blood stained the sharp stones. "I am changing and I don’t know into what or who. Gandalf tells me it will be all right in the end, but it hurts and I am afraid. I don’t know where this Road is leading me, but I know I must follow, just as I did before."

The brutal honesty and anguish in those words tore at Rose’s heart. For all her longing to know what had happened to him and to Sam, she was suddenly frightened of knowing and now she knew or thought she could guess why they held back. The open gate beckoned to her, but Rose was afraid to enter. The raw torment and the revelation of it begged to be succored and honored, though, even if she felt far too little and helpless to do it. She took a couple of very tentative steps into that terrible place and gasped softly when she saw that some of the blood was fresh.

Further in she went, following the red footprints, deeper into this very private garden that was Frodo’s heart. She cut herself as she walked among the sharp rocks and brambles, but she did not turn back.. In the distance she thought she saw Frodo’s back, the blood dripping from his feet as he walked.

Just when she wondered how she could bear anything more, the vision began to change and it grew easier to walk as the garden grew less dense and also brighter ahead of her, so bright she lost sight of Frodo ahead of her. Slowly the garden, which had been so overrun by weeds, thorns and all manner of evil growth, was transformed into a place of unspeakable beauty and light, and she saw Mr. Frodo changed as well. Her breath caught in her throat as she became suddenly aware, though she could not have said how, that this place of terrible pain had become hallowed and sacred and reborn into life and light. She also knew with unwavering certainty that Sam would come one day and find rest there as well.

Peace came to her then and joy and she wondered how she could communicate to Mr. Frodo all she had seen for words seemed to be woefully inadequate and he seemed unaware of it himself. The vision faded and the desolate landscape came back into focus, but the peace remained. She had no worries and she joyfully anticipated the day that Mr. Frodo would see the vision himself come into reality and the day Sam would see it as well.

"Perhap, it’s a little like birthing a baby, Mr. Frodo," she said, wondering if he would think her cracked for making such a comparison, but it was the closest she could come in her attempt to explain something that words simply could not.

But at least here she was on solid ground and could speak from experience. She bit her lip, then she plunged on because her mother’s heart could not bear to see someone she loved in pain. "It is very painful and more than a mite frightening, but at the end, you have this beautiful new being." She stopped, no longer certain she had stepped far out of her place, for now she understood that place to be exactly where she was.

Frodo looked up at Rose and wondered at the great light he saw in her face, almost as bright as the Elves, brighter than even he had seen in Sam. She saw within his pain, the tremendous beauty which had always spun the heads of all the lasses, would have spun hers if her heart had not already been tied to Sam. "Mayhap you are right, Rose," he said. "I hope you are. Gandalf compared it to a butterfly coming out of its cocoon."

Rose smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Just you wait, Mr. Frodo," she murmured and he held onto her words for the hope in them. "Sam always did love butterflies."

When Sam returned later that afternoon, his heart nearly stopped at the beauty of the sight he beheld in the parlour. Frodo and Elanor were both asleep in that rocking chair. The master of Sam’s heart had his arms wrapped around his beloved niece and the baby’s hand was over his heart.

"It’s just like she was protecting him there," Sam murmured when he looked up and saw his wife, "and he needs protecting sore," he continued, to himself, or so he thought. Even in sleep, Frodo’s features were drawn, but still his light shone.

"He’s that beautiful, all lit up like that," Rose said. "It’s no wonder all the lasses were wild about him."

"There is none more fair than he, my Rose. But he don’t know his own worth, beyond all the jools ever delved."

Rose smiled as she remembered her vision of that transformed garden and she did not fear for her husband for she knew he would one day dwell there with his, their, beloved Frodo. She could no more share the awesome beauty of that vision that neither had yet seen than she had been able to with Frodo, but she knew she did not need to. Sam already knew of it in his own way.

Sam brushed his master’s brow with a soft kiss, then went in to help with dinner.

That night, Rose turned to her husband. She kept Mr. Frodo’s word not to say anything about his departure, but she couldn’t abide the thought of her Sam, their Sam, losing such a dear soul without some comfort.

"Sam dear, I think you should go to Mr. Frodo tonight. It’s his last night here and I daresay he needs some cuddling."

Sam kissed his wife and smiled. "Bless your heart, my Rose, and mine for knowing yours and yours for knowing his."

"Bless us both for knowing his," she said.

Sam’s smile grew wider.

He got up from bed and Rose smiled as she turned over.

Sam crawled into Frodo’s bed and the elder Ring-bearer silently and gratefully wrapped his arms around his beloved guardian. He laid his head down on Sam’s chest and listened to that treasured heartbeat that had kept him on his Road. It was then that the younger hobbit saw through the moonlight streaming in the window that there were tears on his beloved master’s face. He wiped them gently away.

"We are always going to be with you, me dearlove," Sam said, stroking his curls gently. "And we’ll come to visit you and Mr. Bilbo whenever we can. I wish we could all come with you. And you can come and visit us. Wouldn’t you love to come back one day?"

"I would indeed love that, my Sam," Frodo said. But it cannot be.

Sam kissed his head. "Then no more tears, my dear. You will be coming home."

And though Sam did not know what he was speaking of, Frodo took those words into his heart and they comforted him in a way nothing else had been able to do.

"I’m glad you are with me, Sam."

Frodo slept peacefully that night, waking only once, to look at his Sam’s face shining in the moonlight and brushing that dear brow with the lightest of kisses and the softest breath of thanks, he fell back asleep. The morrow would bring enormous change, but for now, he was in his own bed, in his Sam’s arms, and he would treasure that, instead of grieve.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Into the West

My lord king,

I can’t hardly write this without ruining another one of Mr. Frodo’s fine papers, but he won’t stop me if I write this time, because he’s gone, gone over the Sea, this last month. I still find it that hard to believe that I won’t see him hunched over the book he labored so long to finish or wrapped up in reading another in his favorite chair or going on a long tramp with him across the fields. He always got restless this time of year, especially after Mr. Bilbo left. Sometimes I think I still hear the soft tread of his feet, but he’s gone where I can’t follow, leastways not straightaway. Other times I half turn in answer to his dear sweet voice, but then it’s gone, leaving only an echo in my heart and mind that I want to hold tight against me so it don’t leave, but fearing to crush it. I heard his laugh just yesterday, behind me, and I just stopped and stood there in the middle of the market, close my eyes and listened. I dared not turn around and see who it truly was, since it wouldn’t have been him then. Yet it was there. My heart almost burst from pain and joy and I cried all the way home. I know everyone’s whispering that I am cracked as they always said Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo were, and they’d be right, for me heart is cracked wide open.

Mr. Frodo’s will was read out after we returned from the Havens, but he ain’t dead. No more than Mr. Bilbo was when he went away and Mr. Frodo still insisted on observing their joint birthday in grand style, though everyone thought him cracked. Everyone but those who knew him and loved him well enough. And I’m not going to stop celebrating neither because they ain’t dead, neither one of them, because now Mr. Bilbo is gone too. And Mr. Gandalf and the Lady and Lord Elrond, and our Lady Queen’s mum is already there, so I as knows Mr. Frodo is in the best company he can be and that does help.

But it hurts me heart sore that Mr. Frodo never did come back down the Mountain, and that’s why he had to leave. It was that hard to let him go, but he needed more than the Shire could give him. He needed Elvish medicine and now he’s gone to get it. We went slow on the way to the Sea so as he could enjoy every last bit of home as he could. Sometimes we’d walk and guide our ponies so he could feel the grass between his toes. He held my hand and looked about him and breathed in deep as to draw everything into himself. He spoke nary a word that whole time there, though he smiled each morning the Elves brought him a wafer of their bread and I know that strengthened him more than anything for he’d shine brighter. I can’t tell you truly how he looked on the way, blessed is the only word that sounds right. He was just that beautiful, shining like he was but an Elven child, sad but not hopeless. I held each him each night and spent half the night just watching him sleep against me heart as he had on the way to the Mountain. One night he was smiling the sweetest of all smiles and I fair burst with the joy of that and the sorrow that it would be long ere I see that again. Now I thinks I finally understand why looking upon and holding Elanor caused him the same things. I think of that smile, though, and all that love that was wrapped up in his gazes that he stored up just for me and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and for you and our Lady Queen and Lord Faramir.

I’ve been thinking too about the Mountain, and the Star I saw in the Black Land and all and that is bringing me some peace too. Even though I’m torn right in two, I know he’s going where he’s meant to be. I think it’s good perhap that he’s still where he is because being atop a Mountain is the closest you can get to the Stars and I just have a feeling that they could help him, him being made part of starlight hisself, and they won’t have so far to travel down to him, if he’s already on top where they can reach him the soonest. I told him when him and me were all alone on our terrible Road that the Stars seemed Elvish to me and that’s what he needs. That Lady of the Stars who was in Mr. Bilbo’s books has helped him already and I know she will keep doing that.Me head makes naught sense of how the stars could help, but it does seem right in me heart, if you take my meaning, and that’s where he’s always dwelt and always will, and that’s the only place it needs or can make sense. And I thought with you having an Elvish wife and all, you would understand. I’ve tried to tell my Rose and bless her dear heart, she wants to understand, but I don’t think she do and I can’t blame her, but she’s got her own understanding and that is enough for the both of us.

I know it’s right that he went where he did as I remember that I came to bring him his tea one day in the study when he was near to leaving and he was sleeping with Mr. Bilbo’s book open on his lap. He was shining as he always did and his face was strained not nearly as bad and still just that fair. I picked up the book so as it wouldn’t fall and saw where he had been reading. All ’bout the Lady Este and Lady Nienna and how they provided rest and endurance with hope and ain’t it interesting that was so close to what Mr. Gandalf had called Mr. Frodo, Endurance beyond Hope? I don’t rightly understand who these folk are, maybe even higher than the Elves, if there could be such a thing, but I knows as they can help him, just as much as the stars, if not more. I know they already were, because that is just what he was doing, resting and enduring and having hope. He wouldn’t have left or looked as fair as he did on the way if he hadn’t had that and we wouldn’t have let him go if we hadn’t had it. I think of that day and the way he looked whenever I need some hope myself. He hadn’t none of it on the way to the Fire, but he’s got it now and that gives me peace even in the midst of all else.

He told me that perhap I could join him one day, and I will. I had to live without the half of my heart that Rose had claimed while we were away on our Quest, and now I am going to have to learn to live without the half that was his, but I can’t live without no heart at all. Rose’s told me about that garden she saw and Mr. Frodo standing in the midst of it and shining brighter than ever and that I was there too. So I will go one day and return to looking after him, if he still needs any looking after, and I think he will, no matter what. He’s an Elven hobbit, but still a hobbit, and even though Mr. Bilbo will be there, he’s that old, and won’t last that much longer I’m guessing and Mr. Frodo’s going to want and need someone of his own kind with him.

But I know I can’t leave now and I don’t want to neither. He said he wanted me to be one and whole for many years, and I won’t let him down on that. I know he will always be with me, for how could I be whole if he weren’t? But it hurts just that fierce that I can’t see him no more, that I can’t hold him or wipe his tears or make his tea or his strawberry jam and see his grateful smile and the love from those beautiful eyes. Even if they were filled with pain these last years, the love was always there too, and that’s what I will remember more than anything.

I’ve been blathering on long enough, far too long my Gaffer would say. He always wondered what would come of Mr. Bilbo learning me my letters for he never held with letter-writing hisself seeing as there was always more honest work to be done, but Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo loved to write that much and I suppose it’s rubbed off on me. I just wanted to let you know what happened and thank you for coming out to see him, you and our Lady Queen and our Lord Faramir. He was just that grateful that you all did and he had some joy that he wouldn’t gotten otherwise. I am even more grateful than he is that he had that.

It’s getting late now. I think I will go out and look at the stars myself. Mayhap they can help me too. My love to you all.

I remain for ever,

Your obedient servant and his,

Samwise Gamgee

***

Arwen entered the royal bedchamber and heard her husband chuckling as he sat in his chair. She came up silently behind him, wrapped her arms around him and looked over his shoulder. “People wonder when they hear someone laughing to themselves,” she teased. “What has made you so merry?”

Aragorn held up the papers in his hand. “A letter from Sam, and bless his dear heart, he was apologizing toward the end for ‘blathering.’ Ah, the world would be less bright if it weren’t for hobbits!” He sobered. “And that is very true, for he was writing that Frodo left four months ago.”

Arwen closed her eyes, absorbed the pain that stabbed at her heart, and said a quick prayer to the Valar and the One, then came around to stand in front of the man she loved so dear. “It will be well with him, with them both.”

Aragorn sighed. “I know, but it’s still hard. I shall treasure Sam and my little knight and dear Merry all the more now.”

Arwen smiled. “Are you going to ‘blather’ back?”

The king looked up at his beloved wife and kissed her hand. “I shall indeed, for we both need it. And I know just the place to do so also.”

The queen watched as her husband drew about himself the old cloak that Strider the Ranger had worn and then she knew where she was going.

It was in the Garden of the Periannath that Aragorn sat down in the winter chill on a bench closest to the statue of Sam carrying Frodo. It was dark and there were few others in the garden. Under the light of torches, he drew out his stylus and parchment and began to write.

My beloved Panthael,

It was with joy and a sore heart that I received and read your letter this day. Words alone cannot express the grief and hope that we all share with you. But you are very right in thinking that our Frodo has gone now where the healing he needs will be found. The Shadow came from without Middle-earth, so the removal of it from our dear one’s heart must needs also come from without. I rejoice that your own dear heart already understands that and so shall be all the more ready to celebrate the victory that is to come, as I shall also. We must needs be patient, though as a gardener you already know the value of that. Perhap I am saying that more to myself, for as a healer also, I know there are bodies and hearts that will not mend as quickly as we would like, but they do mend. That our wise Frodo, our most beloved Iorhael, will do so, I have no doubt.

Know that you are both, with Merry and Pippin, often in our thoughts and we love you all dear. There is naught we can do to help any of us but what have already done and will continue to do, hold you in our hearts and commend you to the Powers, so that when the day of celebration comes, we can all rejoice together.

And my dearest gardener, nurturer of the fair flowers and fairer hearts of hobbits, and that of a king, do not ever fret that you are ‘blathering.’ The more you do so, the more we shall enjoy to receive all you wish to send, whether from a grieving heart or a rejoicing one. All our love, from myself, our Queen and our Steward.

Your faithful servant and friend,

Strider

Aragorn read it over and grieved anew that words were indeed inadequate to express the love and grief he felt. But as Sam would say, there was nothing for it. Words would have to do. He looked up at the stars himself and drew what peace he could from them. Which ones were Frodo and Sam looking at now? He spoke aloud to his absent friends, knowing he would be heard. “No Iluvatar ah i belain na le, tithen gwedeir. Silo Anor a giliath bo men lin.” [“May God and the Valar be with you, little brothers. May the Sun and stars shine on your Road.”]

Arwen looked out at the stars as well and prayed for the Ring-bearer. “My Lord Manwe, breathe your blessing upon my prayer said upon the wind and speed it along. My Lady Elbereth, light Iorhael’s way so he always has a path to follow through the darkness. My Lady Este and Nienna, continue to hold him close to you, so he knows solace and relief and healing from his ills. My Lord Ulmo, lull him asleep by the sound of your waves. My lord Irmo, wrap him in dreams of peace. Help him, I beg you, just as you did Nana, when she was torn. Nana, le hannon as well for helping him heal.”

Faramir was shown the letter as he joined his king and queen for a late supper. He blinked away tears as he read it over. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he could do something to help the pain of both his brother and that one’s faithful companion. That evening the Standing Silence had new meaning to him as he thought of where his little brother now was, closer to Elvenhome and that which was beyond, than any mortal of his age. He read the letter again in the moonlight before he retired for the evening, then looked up at the stars and murmured, “May you be well, little brother.”

 * * *

Far away, Frodo turned aside at last from gazing up at the stars. His tears glistened in the moonlight as he felt at once horribly separated from his brothers by a distance his mind could not comprehend and yet at the same time, his heart felt the touch of them, especially tonight for some reason. It was warm enough to sleep under the stars, if he wrapped himself in his cloak, and he strongly felt the desire to do so tonight. He rested there in his cocoon, a chrysalis that one day would become a butterfly.