Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

A/N: When I answered this challenge a year ago, I only meant it to be a one-shot thing. But then Agape4Gondor threw down another challenge and that was to continue it and have Boromir survive. First, I thought, well, you can't come back from death, but then I remembered the words of Miracle Max from The Princess Bride about the difference between mostly dead and all dead. I decided that Boromir was only mostly dead. So at very long last and with great thanks for the Agape's incredible patience, the tale now continues. I hope to be posting fairly regularly (at least once a week). This first post is a set up for the rest. Now only Chapter 1 will be the original challenge. Enjoy! (No slash, of course.)

Aragorn and Frodo walked near the Houses of Healing after the king had looked upon the Ring-bearer’s maimed hand and proclaimed that it was healing well. The one finger would always be missing, of course, but there was no sign of infection that could have meant the loss of the entire hand. The man held his friend’s hand as they walked for he knew how much comfort that gave the both of them. They were silent for a while and Aragorn was content to wait until Frodo was ready to talk. “I was grieved when Faramir told me Boromir had died,” the hobbit said.

If the king was surprised at the opening of this conversation, he did not show it. “He died well, Frodo,” he assured.The Ring-bearer quietly absorbed this and then spoke again. “I’m glad for that at least. Pippin and Merry have told me all he did for them. I wish I could thank him and tell him that I forgive him. I know...” Here Frodo’s throat tightened. “I know what the Ring can do to someone.”

Aragorn ached for all the haunted pain in that dear voice. His hand tightened around his friend’s in compassionate support before he told the hobbit what he had revealed to few others. “Boromir told me what he had done and that he was sorry.”There was a stretch of silence before Frodo spoke once more. “It was horrible. The look in his eyes, the terrible lust... I must have looked the same when the Ring took me. I’m so glad that Sam did not see that.” There was another quiet period before the Bearer spoke again. “I want it still, do you know that? It is all I want. I burn upon the wheel of fire and there is no quenching. At least Boromir is at peace now. I am happy for him.”

Aragorn’s heart broke. He could only imagine the depth of how the Ring had ravaged the gentle soul of his beloved friend. Was there nothing that could be done? What could he say? He felt helpless in the face of such torment. Yet, as chief of the Rangers and now king, he had faced grief many times before in a woman’s eyes after he told her that she was now a widow, had wiped at her tears and hugged her children who were now fatherless. He remembered his own mother’s pain. But what he felt now streaming from Frodo’s torn heart stung worse than anything had since his mother’s passing. He did what he had done before. He knelt and took his friend into his arms and held him as Frodo wept in the public square. Crowds moved in reverent silence around them.That night, Aragorn spoke with Arwen. He had barely spoken when he saw in her eyes that she understood.

“I saw the same torment in my mother’s eyes,” she said. “I fear that he may need the same remedy as well.”Aragorn’s heart was pierced anew, first by anguish, then by hope. He looked wide into his beloved wife’s eyes. “How can it be...?” he breathed.

“As I have chosen to cleave to you, there will be an empty place on the boat. I will petition for the boon that it be given to him.” She put her fingers to his lips and spoke not his name but the meaning behind it. “Estel. I have held it long in my heart for you, my love. Let us now hold it for him.”

It was a great wonder when the small boat bumped up against the shore of the Lonely Isle. It was obviously of Elven make but where it had been those who found it could not tell. It was battered as though it had passed through many storms. They marveled to behold a man within it. He could have been asleep if not for the many wounds his body bore. Celebrian drew in a sharp breath. She knew what weapon had made those terrible tears for her own body had once held similar ones, though not so great in number. The greatest marvel to her and to her companions was the belt the man wore.

She looked at the man’s fair features. His face was peaceful despite the terrible injuries he had suffered. Who are you? From whence did you come? How is my mother and father? And my daughter and husband, did you see them? She knew she would find no answers. The only clues she had to his identity was from his clothing. Obviously he was a warrior and one of high rank. The Elves knew the Shadow had risen again in Middle-earth. Did this man fight against him? Rumors and news of war had reached even this isle, but none concerning this particular warrior.

Celebrian and the two others with her secured the boat and then her male companions carried the man to a dwelling near by. They learned no more of him until the coming of the Ring-bearers’.

Frodo grimaced. Bilbo took his hand and the younger Ring-bearer clutched it tightly. If such a fierce grip hurt the more ancient Bearer, he gave no word. It was a joy just to hold his heartson’s hand again.

“Of course we will try to help you,” Bilbo said. “You say it is a man who came to you? That is a wonder indeed.”

“Yes. He came by boat and was already dead, slain by many arrows. The Lord Ulmo must have a great purpose in mind to have allowed him such passage. It is a mystery to us.”

Frodo looked up at the Elf sharply at the description of the manner of the man’s death, but said nothing. They entered the small building and came upon the man, still laid out in the clothing he had worn when the hobbits had last seen him. The younger Baggins let go of his uncle’s hand and approached the bier. He stood on the top step and leaned over, marveling to look at features he had last seen lost in madness. Had he looked that way to Sam when taken by the Ring himself? It eased his heart to see Boromir’s fair features at peace now. The Ring-bearer touched the man’s cheek and reverently pressed his head to the warrior’s brow. “How long I wished I could tell you I forgave you,” he breathed. “Thank you for the lives of my cousins.” He kissed the cold forehead before rising again. Tears streaked his pale face.

“Yes,” Frodo said. At first his voice was shaky, but it grew in strength after Bilbo took his hand again. “His name is Boromir. He was heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, eldest son of Denethor. He was one of my companions in the Quest to destroy the One Ring. He was slain defending two of my kin.”

The Elf nodded gravely at this news. “Till he came, and then you with more of our kindred, we did not have any faces to put with the reports that came to us.” He bowed deeply to the Ring-bearers. “He was completely unknown to us, but we have held him in reverence for we knew he died well. Eruanna fills him.”

Frodo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You are right to honor him. Hantanyel.”

When Bilbo moved to leave, Frodo let his hand go. “I’m going to stay, Uncle.”

The elder Ring-bearer touched Frodo’s cheek and smiled. “Eruanna lights you from within as well, my boy. Stay with him then.”

Frodo returned the smile as best he could. His heart was still too broken to be entirely successful but Bilbo appreciated the effort.

The younger Baggins returned to the bier as the old left on the arm of their Elven guide. Frodo stroked his erstwhile companions hair gently. “I know it wasn’t your fault. It had terrible power over anyone it held in its grasp.”

In the days that followed, Frodo came back usually in the evening before the sun set. After dark was still the worst time for him, when his memories were the most vivid and able to hurt him, but for reasons he was not entirely sure why, he found spending time with Boromir fortified him. He thought he may be afraid the first night, fearing the memories of his companion’s attack on him would rear up. He stood hesitant on the step to the building, but once he moved inside, all his trepidation left him and the peace that was there filled him as well. He knew he would be afraid once he left for it would be full dark, but then Bilbo would be there to fetch him. He would not face the night alone. The peace that came from staying at Boromir’s side helped him battle the darkness that lingered within him and his fear of the black without. He set himself the goal of one day becoming strong enough to walk under the stars again as he had always loved to do before he had been so wounded.

Those first days on the Lonely Isle were indeed lonely and there were times Frodo wished he did not know it had been named so and knew only of its much more beautiful Elven name. When the memories and pain of loss were the worst, he spent some hours by the side of his fallen companion. The Elves honored him and Bilbo for their help in bringing about the defeat of the Shadow which still discomfited Frodo greatly. Sometimes he thought he came to this silent place to be alone, to be away, to be with the one person whose forever stilled lips could not praise him. Here was one who had fallen to the lure of the Ring as he had, someone who would understand his torment, perhaps the only one who truly could. Other times he came just to be with another from Middle-earth, a reminder of home, a way he could pretend for a little while that he was not unimaginably far away but close enough to touch someone who had walked some of the same paths he had. Of course, he had Bilbo for that too, but sometimes, the very familiarity of his uncle reminded him more of what he had lost than the joy of their reunion. Boromir did not pierce him sharply with either of those and it was by the man’s side Frodo found a deeper peace than he found anywhere else. Other times it was for the man’s own sake that he came.

When Frodo and Bilbo visited the vast library on the island, the elder Baggins suggested it would be right and proper for his nephew to write out a history of the War of the Ring for this island, just as he had for those in Shire, so they would knew here also the tremendous sacrifices and achievements of those in Middle-earth. The only thing that made the idea bearable of again undertaking such a task, with all its glory and pain, was writing first of such things that he knew Boromir would have liked to have heard. It kept the pain of Frodo’s own failure at bay while he concentrated on the success of others. So each evening, after spending an afternoon in the library, Frodo came to his companion’s side, and read to him what he had written that day. He held Boromir’s cold hand as he spoke long about Faramir and also about Pippin’s oath of service to Denethor in honor of Boromir’s defense. He made sure he included all the praise he had heard from both his cousins and how Gandalf was pleased that the man had escaped. Softly he sang the lament that Aragorn, Legolas and Gimil had sung after their friend’s death. Sometimes Frodo’s voice caught and he had to stop to swallow or wipe away tears when the pain of his own loss threatened to overwhelm him, but he continued on since he considered it important that Boromir know of these things. The hobbit knew it was naught but his imagination but at times he fancied that the hand he held grew warmer or the features more at peace. The sigh he thought he heard had to be a breeze, and the smile he thought he saw faintly a trick of the light, but still he knew he was doing a good work. He talked long about the battle of Pelennor Fields and the siege of Minas Tirith that had been broken. He knew, even if all else was false in what his sense perceived, the peace it brought to his heart to celebrate the triumph of others was no illusion. Each night before he left, he kissed Boromir’s cold brow and then took Bilbo’s waiting hand and strode out into the night. Each time was a little easier to him to withstand the darkness within and without. He knew he had his fallen friend to thank for that.
_

One afternoon Frodo sat beside Boromir with the book he was writing. He had come early and had determined that by the man’s side would be the best place for what he would recount that day. He looked long and carefully at his friend’s features and recalled what Faramir had said about how fair of face Boromir had been after death. It was the same now and Frodo was glad for what he set himself to write was the last moments he had had with Boromir in life. He didn’t want to do that in the library when the memories might become too intense. He needed to see the peacefulness of the man before remembering the madness and knew he may need to glance more than once at his friend during the retelling in order not to lose himself in memories of past lust and his own present desire. He balanced the loose sheets and a hard board underneath on his knees, set the quill to the paper, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. At first his hand would not move and he only watched as the ink dripped onto the parchment. Carefully he blotted it, dipped the stylus back into the inkwell, and with one more look at Boromir, began to write.

Frodo was almost done when he heard a soft groan. Lost in his memories, he thought it was himself for what he was reliving. It was terrible and he felt it with every sense and fiber of his being. As he crawled out of the deep well of his memories, he blinked several times, unaware at first of where he truly was. Pain in his maimed hand drew him away from Parth Galen and into the West. He found that he was grasping the gem the queen had given him tight enough that his fingernails were digging into his palm. He relaxed his grip slightly, slowly drew several ragged breaths and shivered in a cold sweat as he waited for his racing heart to calm. Nausea filled him and he had to will himself not to be sick. Would it be this awful to remember the other events? This was the first of the ones he had feared to probe again. Perhaps he should have asked Bilbo to be here with him, but he had written all else by himself. He had been careful until now to avoid anything that had so deeply frightened him. Those memories lurked in dark chambers of his mind that he had not yet summoned the courage to re-open the doors: the barrow, Shelob, the Fire. He had skirted the edges of the Eye he saw in Galadriel’s Mirror and sensed in the Emyn Muil, the Dead Marshes, and in Mordor. But he had shied away before recalling those memories too deeply yet. The scars were still too fresh and blood continued to trickle from them. No, he would not face those until he was stronger. There was much more to write.

For all Frodo’s fear and caution, he had still not been prepared for the intensity of the memories he had just returned from. It was just as bad as it had been when he had first written of them back in the Shire. But then Sam had been there to comfort him, appearing at his side by some sixth sense the gardener has always possessed to alert him to times his master was in distress.

Sam. Longing and loss lanced through Frodo sharp enough to leave him gasping in pain, tearing his already lacerated heart anew. Tears welled up and flowed freely down his cheeks. Thought of his beloved guardian momentarily overwhelmed the lust that remained for the Ring. But then the heat of both pure love and shameful desire left him and he trembled in cold, empty nothingness. He had neither Sam nor the Ring beside him. He wondered if this was what it felt to be a wraith. To only remember what it had felt like to be alive, but not to be truly so. Was this why he stayed more in this one house of the dead in a undying land?

No, dear, you are alive, came a voice within him that sounded so much like Sam. Almost on its own, Frodo’s hand moved to where he could feel his heart beating. He remembered the times his Sam had guided his hand there on the Quest, after they had woken in Ithilien, and many other times. The last time had been at the Havens. Each time Sam had held his master’s hand in his own and pressed it there against a laboring chest and smiled so lovingly. See, you are alive, that smile always said, and the nightmare of present reality or past horror retreated. The time Sam had done so after they woke had been from sheer joy and Frodo had reached out and down the same to touch Sam’s heart. They had laughed then until they were crying and held each other ever so long in love and relief. The time at the Havens Sam’s face held the same smile mixed with tears but the same love and hope that had always been there. So much passed between the two of them in those sacred moments that gave Frodo the strength to continue. He could see his Sam’s loving eyes and smile before him even now and he well knew who had guided his hand to his heart again. He was nearly calm enough to write again when he heard another groan.

The papers on Frodo’s lap went flying. The inkwell tipped over and spilled unnoticed onto what he had just written. Light flooded into his world. He looked in awe and wonder as the man weakly moved his head and moaned.

“Boromir!” Frodo cried in joy. “Boromir!” The hobbit barely knew what to do. He clasped the warrior’s hand and stroked at his brow. “Can you hear me?”

Boromir’s lips parted but he did not speak. His hand wrapped just slightly around Frodo’s.I must get Elrond! the Ring-bearer thought. But first he had something to say, something he may not have another chance ever to say. He leaned close to Boromir’s ear. “I forgive you,” he murmured and hoped the man heard and understood. Then he fled from the room.

Several Elves were standing nearby and stared at the madly dashing hobbit. None spoke until Gandalf saw him.“What in the name of wonder are you doing, Frodo Baggins? You run like the whole host of Mordor was after you.”

“He’s alive, Gandalf! He’s alive!” Frodo cried as he sped by, not slowing down more than an instant. “I must find Elrond!”Bilbo was the next to see his wildly running nephew but got no more news than Gandalf had.

It was not until Frodo entered the silence of Elrond’s house that he skidded to a stop and stood gasping. The Elf-lord looked up in wonder from the text he had been studying and waited patiently and silently while the hobbit caught his breath. It was not like Frodo to come without knocking and waiting for an invitation to enter. He was never denied, but he had not broken such manners before.“How may I help you, Frodo?” Elrond asked at last. “What is amiss?”

“Boromir!”The Elf raised an eyebrow. He had lived long enough that there was little that could surprise him, but this most definitely did.

Frodo took him by the hand and began to tug him away. “Could you come to see him, please, my lord?”Knowing better than to refuse, Elrond allowed himself to be led away. Along the way, they picked up Gandalf and Bilbo who were still standing where Frodo had sped past them.

“What is this all about, my lad?” Bilbo said.“He’s alive!” Frodo cried again.

“Yes, I think we’ve established that, but who in the Four Farthings are you talking about?”“Boromir! Boromir!”

Both of Gandalf’s brows raised. Bilbo’s mouth dropped.Frodo tugged Elrond faster and the four of them entered the silent house. The younger Baggins jumped from foot to foot like a lad at Yule, while the others stood by in silent wonder as Elrond approached the man. Frodo took Boromir’s hand again and stroked his forehead.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” he said and tears began to stream down his cheeks and fall upon the man.It was raining. That was the first thing Boromir was aware as the black night receded and a grey dawn replaced it. How long had he been asleep? Why did he hurt so much? The pain was almost enough to draw him back into the darkness or to wish that he could hide back there. What had happened? Ah, yes, the halflings...they were in danger...the Orcs...so many of them...the arrows that plunged into him...the blinding pain...the agony mastered to defy his enemies again...the torment doubled as another arrow sliced into him....the breaths that were so hard to take...the sword arm that he could barely move...being driven to his knees...hearing the cries of Merry and Pippin...knowing he was not strong enough...that he had failed...that he would never see his home or his brother or father again...that he would not be there to fight for his city...that he had betrayed Frodo and his companions...that all was over...

The Elf-lord moved to Boromir’s side. “Come back to the light, son of Gondor. The Shadow has departed. Let it no longer remain upon you. Come back.”“Yes, Boromir,” Frodo pleaded softly and clenched his friend’s hand a little tighter. “Come back. Your city did not fall. There is a king again. Faramir is prince of Ithilien and a happy husband. Come back.”

Boromir’s hand tightened around...around what? It was small and warm, whatever it was. Not Aragorn’s hand, but hadn’t that man been the only witness to his end? The hobbits he had futilely defended had been taken. After the Orcs had moved off with their prizes, he was left alone to contemplate his folly, his pride, his madness, his failure. Each of these pierced him deeper than the arrows of the enemy, then his thoughts began to scatter as the darkness of the void approached. He had seen its coming many times, too many times, in the eyes of friends and enemies who had fallen in battle. The night that swallowed all, the dimming of life and light. He had held beloved brothers-in-arms as they had breathed their last and known no more. A moment before they had been struggling against the night, against their agony, seeking to take just one more breath, to gasp out one more word, to not leave the world. But all had lost their battle. The night had won as always. And he learned himself at last how that felt. How terrible it was to die so fast and not fast enough. To have pain be the entire world, to hear screaming and realize it was oneself, whether that was only inward or filled the battlefield. Boromir had heard enough, seen enough to know what was coming, but it was so different. What lay beyond? It was the one thing he could never find out, the one thing he wondered as he closed eyes that would see no more and wept over a still body that could no longer feel his embrace. Almost at the edge of Frodo’s sight, he felt a shimmering of the light around him and a solemn reverence filled him. Elrond and Gandalf paused a moment as they become aware of the Powers that now gathered around Boromir and strengthened him for his journey back to consciousness. Elf-lord and Maia bowed and they nodded in acknowledgment. The Ring-bearer bowed his head to touch Boromir’s. “Hold on,” he whispered. “Hold on. You’re almost there.”

Almost there. Boromir heard those words. Almost where? What was this waking beyond death? None could tell. Only those who had passed beyond could know of it and they could give no testimony to the living. He held the hand around his a little firmer. Whoever it was he welcomed its company as the dark continued to recede and the light became stronger. He could almost make out shadowy figures around him. Peace came to him and his painful breaths came a bit easier.His eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times to ease the blurriness around him and turned toward the one he felt nearest. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Slowly his eyes focused and he saw Frodo. Darkness danced around him again. His failure was now complete. The Ring-bearer had also died with him, and with him, his world. Gondor was no more. There was nothing left. Death consumed them all. He wanted to scream but only a faint groan came out. He wanted to crawl back into the black, but the hand that held his kept him grounded in the growing dawn. He hated it. He wanted to fall back into the abyss. What else was left? What punishment awaited him that could be worse than knowing he had secured the deaths of all friends and people? He pulled weakly on the hand that imprisoned his.

“You’re alive, Boromir!” Frodo said softly. “You’re alive.”Alive? What was that joy he heard that fell upon him like rain after a drought and filled in the cracks that had broken upon the parched ground of his heart and soul? He focused again on the little being beside him and was astonished to find the source of the joy and the rain.

Boromir stared long at the face that shone bright with wonder and joy. How could that be after they parted as they did with him lost in the madness of the Ring and betraying the trust of its Bearer? The memories of that painful time blackened his sight and he wished he could flee from them but he could not. His terrible actions and words played out before him so vividly it was as though it was happening once more. Shame and loathing filled him and he was nearly lost. What saved him was feeling that small hand tighten around his as though the one who held his hand was aware of his struggle and wished to strengthen him. Dry lips parted but no sound came from the man.

“You have been gravely wounded,” a new voice came. “Do not try to move or speak as I tend to you.”

A different face swam into Boromir’s view and he opened his mouth in another attempt to talk as gentle hands began to minister to him.

“Silly!” Frodo chided. “When the Lord Elrond tells you not to move or speak, you best pay attention!”

Elrond? Was he back in Rivendell then by some marvel? As his return to consciousness deepened, he become more aware of his body and the terrible pain that began to spread as through fire. Before the mental torment of what he had done and tried to do to the Ring-bearer at Parth Galen had distracted him, but now a groan issued from his lips. He could feel each wound now as though freshly made. He fought to bring his mind to combat the agony and subdue it as he had during the battle with the Orcs. A tear slipped down his cheek. He had no strength to do more than endure the torment. It was his master now. He could not master it.

A gentle hand wiped at his cheek. The other hand let go of his for a moment and Boromir found himself adrift in his agony. He had no idea how much that touch had grounded him and he immediately mourned its loss. He wished to speak again but to his despair he remained mute.

“In order to heal you, Boromir, I need to put you asleep once more,” Elrond said. “Drink this slowly.”

Boromir felt his head raised and a cup brought to his lips. That same small hand held the cup and helped him drink.

“I’m so glad you are going to be all right now,” Frodo said. “You could not be in better hands than those of Lord Elrond. He cured me when no one else could have. Sleep now.”

Gently Boromir felt his head lowered to the pillow once more. He sighed softly. The last thing he was aware of before sleep took him once more was that hand taking his again. He felt safe and anchored once more.

Bilbo looked at his beloved heartson with a mix of emotions. Each fought for dominance in a stormy sea. His heart was, of course, full of love for his lad, as it always had been. If he was completely honest with himself, he admitted he was also a little perplexed by how tender Frodo was with Boromir, who when they parted was his enemy. That the man still was to the ancient hobbit, who had that moment frozen in time, or if not an outright adversary, at least a potentially dangerous threat. But he knew he shouldn’t wonder why Frodo could be so gentle and was indeed incredibly proud of his lad for that same loving treatment. His boy had always been devoted to those he gave his heart to. That had come in some real way to include Smeagol, and Bilbo thought, if Frodo could love such a wretched creature, then certainly he could also love Boromir. But still there was that horrible memory, built up in his imagination from what he had heard from his beloved one, of the man’s Ring-induced madness and putting Frodo at such risk. He remembered also his own Ring-lust as Frodo had seen it in Rivendell and how frightening that had been. Still his lad had such a loving and forgiving heart. Perhaps it would be all right. Or perhaps not.

“It’s time for bed, my lad,” Bilbo said in hopes of drawing him away to a place of safety.

“I’m going to stay here, Uncle. He shouldn’t be left alone and I want to be near if he needs me.”

Bilbo’s face contorted with all the emotions he was wrestling with. He wanted to weep and hold his heartson tight and tell him he much he loved him and how proud he was of him. He also wanted to protect him from a perceived peril. Was it a true one? He didn’t want to take the chance.

Frodo watched his beloved uncle struggle and took him into his arms. “He won’t hurt me, Uncle. Especially not now, if that potion is the same Elrond gave me when I arrived with my wound at Rivendell. He won’t wake for days if that is so. But when he does, I know that he will not harm me even then.”

Bilbo held Frodo with a fierce strength that belied his age. Tears did come then from many emotions. The younger Baggins held on until the elder was spent, then kissed his forehead and smiled. “Good-night, Uncle. I will see you tomorrow for breakfast if you come here.”

“Quite certain.” Frodo gave his uncle one last squeeze before letting him go. “It will be all right, Uncle.” Seeing that Bilbo was still uncertain himself, Frodo added. “You can stay as well if you like. I’m sure a sleeping mat could be brought in.”

Bilbo considered this. As much as his weary limbs longed for the feather bed of his bedroom, he knew he would find no rest there. He was not anxious to spend the night with the man who had threatened his lad, but he was more afraid of leaving Frodo alone with him, whether that man was unconscious or not. He had spent more nights than he could count fearing for his boy’s safety on the Quest. His imagination had conjured all sorts of terrible scenarios, though none so horrible as what had actually happened. Now he had a chance to protect his lad and he was going to do it.

“A mat would be a lot more comfortable than sleeping on the floor,” Bilbo said. “Shouldn’t we ask for two, though?”

Frodo smiled and sat back down by Boromir’s side. “This will do well enough for me.”

The last thing Bilbo was aware of after Frodo tucking him in was his lad returning to his chair by Boromir. The ancient hobbit stared for a long time before he could not keep his eyes propped open anymore. The peace and love and light from his lad’s face followed him into his dreams.

Several days did pass as Frodo suspected they would before Boromir woke again. During that time, he remained at the man’s side, took all his meals there and slept there. He spent his days recording more of the War of the Ring and even adding to it, telling more of his time with Faramir in the White City and what else went on there because now he knew there was one who would want to know. Elrond visited twice each day in the morning and the evening to check on his patient’s condition. He found in the younger Baggins a willing and apt healer’s apprentice who eagerly and tenderly carried out any task assigned to him.

It was not lost on Bilbo how similar the scene was to when Frodo was the one who lay close to death and Sam who it was that ran all the errands and kept watch over his master as assiduously as Frodo did now. The ancient hobbit himself was the one person who had not changed his role. He was still there every day to watch over the son of his heart.

However, like in Rivendell, when Bilbo had not been there when Frodo had woke, he was not present when Boromir regained consciousness.

The man swam slowly up to wakefulness. He was still in pain, but it was not as great as before and he felt stronger than he had been. He could tell that he was bandaged in many layers. He still marveled to take a breath and still did not know where he was. The dead had never returned to tell him of their world and beyond that, Frodo had said he was alive. But waking where and when? He became aware of the small hand that was still wrapped around his. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see Frodo smiling at him. A strong wave of mixed emotions swept over him, but that little hand anchored him so he was not swept away. How many times had Faramir held his when they were lads? Gently Boromir felt his head lifted and a cup put to his lips. He sipped slowly and then lay still again. He struggled with all he felt and what to express first. Shame was foremost and sorrow. He licked lips already dry but finally found the strength and ability to speak

Frodo’s hand tightened around his and his smile widened. “I forgive you. Long ago, I forgave you.”

Boromir could find no more words for what he felt now. Another wave of feeling rocked him and again he had that hand to hold him fast. Tears tracked down his cheeks at the power of the simple words and touch.

“It took me too,” Frodo whispered almost too softly for the warrior to hear. Boromir turned his head again and saw the smile had disappeared and there was a haunted look now. “I didn’t know until then what it must have been like for you or for Smeagol or for Bilbo or Isildur. I had felt its call all the while, but it did not find me truly open to its will until the very end and that is where I failed.”

Boromir now felt the need to be the one to tighten the grasp on that small hand. Frodo looked up at that. The joy that had been so vividly present to the man even in his unconsciousness was veiled now. How could he bring the sun forth again? Boromir found he wanted to comfort Frodo more than anything, but he well knew that his brother’s gentler heart and ways would be better suited to such a task. A stab of longing for Faramir’s presence struck him keenly. His brother would know what to do. Could he send for him? Would he come? But it was many long leagues from Minas Tirith to Rivendell and the roads were perilous. Frodo needed aid now, just as a little lad had long years before while grieving the loss of his mother or frightened by a loud storm and had sought the comfort of his brother. Suddenly Boromir knew who it was that could succor the Ring-bearer.

As Boromir searched in his mind and heart for ways he could comfort Frodo, he knew that he was unable to take the Ring-bearer into his lap, as he had Faramir when they were still lads and saddened by the death of their mother. His brother had always been the gentler, more sensitive one who had felt the loss worse. There had been nights when he had snuck into Boromir’s bed for comfort from that or from one of the thunder-battles that raged around the Citadel at times. The older lad had held him and dried his tears and had told him stories until the young lad had fallen asleep again, peacefully and securely in his brother’s arms. Mostly the tales were those Faramir himself had told him. Boromir had never been one for lore, though he listened patiently and as attentively as he could as his brother eagerly regaled him with the tales he had read that day. Their father had instilled in them both the great pride of their house, but it took root differently in the two boys as they grew into men. For Faramir, his scholar’s heart had taken it as history to be cherished, honored, and studied. For Boromir, it was a warrior’s role to continue to live out and maintain, though the younger son was just as able a soldier as his brother. The need to protect Faramir’s gentle heart had not left Boromir as they grew older and their father more distant and harsh. But beyond seeing that his brother never saw anything but love, support, admiration, and respect in his eyes and the hugs they had never grown out of that always ended their late night talks, there was little that could be done. It struck him now that his brother and the halfling before him were kindred spirits in a way. They would have made great friends if they had ever met. He longed once more for Faramir’s presence. But he had even survived the war? Or was it still raging? What did Frodo mean that he had failed?

The voice that answered him was dull and devoid of life, but for the pride of those he spoke of, and shaded with grief as well. “It is won and long over. Sam and Smeagol gained the victory for us, and Merry and Eowyn, and Aragorn. Smeagol died. That should have been me. The flames should have taken me, not him. It was my task to destroy the Ring, not his.”

Boromir licked his lips again. Frodo gently raised the warrior’s head so he could slowly sip more water.

“I cannot ever thank you properly enough for saving the lives of my cousins,” the Ring-bearer said after setting Boromir’s head down again.

“They still live then? It is well. I could not save them... from capture. I am glad... they did not suffer harm... from my failure.”

“They have nothing but praise for you and rightly so. I’m sorry that you suffered so on their behalf. Pippin pledged himself to your father in payment for that.” Here the pride in Frodo's voice increased and a ghost of a smile danced on his lips for an instant.

Boromir was silent as he considered the import of those words. He caught his breath as one being pressed hard by a great weight. New grief filled him. “Is he then passed...”“Yes. I’m sorry, Boromir. I’m so sorry.”

“He is well and one of the finest men Gondor could boast of. I am very proud to call him friend. He is wed now to Eowyn, sister to King Eomer and very happy.”

There was so much to take in. His father dead, but Faramir alive and happy. His heart rejoiced in the latter, even as it grieved for the former. And Eomer was king now?

“I would come to Gondor and offer my sword to the King, just as it served its Steward.”

Frodo was silent. Boromir wondered about that, but he was too tired to inquire why.

The Ring-bearer leaned down and softly kissed the man's brow. “Rest now, Boromir,” he said in the same hollow voice he had used throughout, though it tinged more strongly now with grief. “I had many questions when I woke in Rivendell after my grave wound, but Gandalf told me that Elrond had ordered that I rest. You must do the same. I will be right here if you need me.”

Boromir closed his eyes and was glad to do so. He felt shame for being so weak, but he still marveled that there was life in him at all. There would be time enough to marshal his strength and then he would return home.

___
A/N: As some of you may know, I've been writing on book on LOTR and it's finally, finally out! Moments of Grace and Spiritual Warfare in The Lord of the Rings (WestBow Press). Gift yourself and/or your favorite Hobbit, Man, Elf, or Dwarf. Buy now and beat the holiday rush! :) http://ow.ly/ez2dT. Also feel free to friend me on Facebook. (You will have to follow the book link to find my real name.) I'm doing posts on 'Today in Middle-earth' so it's cut above the usual status updates. :) Le hannon!! *hobbity hugs*

Bilbo returned a half hour later. He was glad to see that Boromir still asleep and thought nothing had changed and Frodo was still safe. No, something had changed, the ancient hobbit realized. His heartson was sleeping. One hand was wrapped around the man’s, but the other was clutching the gem that Arwen had given him and there was just the hint of tears already nearly dry. What had happened? Fears tumbled over each other in Bilbo’s imagination and his heart quickened its pace. But it was not just fretful wondering that caused such. Something else caught his attention and left the fears unnoticed. The elder Baggins breath caught at the sight of the light quietly shining from his beautiful lad. For several long moments, he simply soaked that in and it calmed him.

It was not long after that Frodo stirred, perhaps aware of his uncle’s loving stare. He came to full wakefulness and tried to smile but after an instant it disappeared again. The pain that emanated from him was nearly sharp enough to cut, but still Bilbo wished he could reach out and take it all within himself, to embrace it so it would no longer smother his lad’s joy and life. What had happened to sap the joy that had been so present before?

“Nothing for you to fret over, Uncle. Boromir woke briefly. I told him that the war was won and that Aragorn was king. He still does not know that he is no longer in Middle-earth.”

Frodo looked up silently at his beloved uncle’s astute observation. He held Boromir’s hand a little tighter as an anchor to hold him to one part that was from there. The other clutched the queen’s gift with white knuckles.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Bilbo said. He came to his lad’s side and embraced him.

Frodo let go of Boromir’s hand to clutch his uncle tightly. He buried his head in that dear chest and wept bitterly. Bilbo held his heartson just as tightly, as he felt if either of them let go they would be both washed away in the storm of pain that flooded out from Frodo. They would still see each other and could call to each other for aid, but both would be helpless and after a period of floundering in the waves, they would drown within sight of the other. No, the old hobbit promised himself as he wept silently and held on harder, that would not happen to either of them. They would hold on, they would endure the storm and live to see its ending. Bilbo stroked his lad’s curls, rocked him gently and murmured what comforts he could. He remembered doing that when Frodo was much younger and still grieving the death of his parents. He remembered doing it in Rivendell after the Quest and the times he had longed to do it during his long vigil before the Quest had been taken up. As Frodo fell back into exhausted sleep in his uncle’s arms, Bilbo vowed he would hold him as many times as he needed to do it until his lad healed.

Frodo was still sleeping when Boromir woke again. Bilbo clutched at his heartson a little tighter as he looked at the man suspiciously.

Boromir turned his head to see Bilbo with his arms protectively around Frodo and staring at him with mistrust.

The man licked dry lips. He felt stronger than before but was still weak. He also felt strangely small in the presence of someone only half his height. He realized the latter was more from the shame he felt than from the physical lack of strength that still lingered in his body. “You need not fear me,” he said. “I’m very sorry for what I tried to do.”

“I spent a lot of time with Pippin and Merry. They...taught me much about hobbit families and precisely how you two were related, and...how they were connected to you, Frodo, each other, and a host of other hobbits. They repeated it to me...until I could say it by rote. They pestered Legolas and Gimli the same way. They said it would be...best if we knew all about those we were to protect. Gandalf and Aragorn only smiled as we stumbled through their very tangled trees. It was either say it back to them to their satisfaction...or go mad. I worried more than once that it would be latter but at last they smiled.... and congratulated us on our success. Sam made us a special dish that night, for Gandalf said, if anyone who was not a hobbit could repeat such a convoluted history, it was....to be celebrated. I was...I am...very fond of them.”

Bilbo felt all of this was to disarm him, but he also heard the genuine affection in Boromir’s voice. “Fond enough to give your life.”

“Yes. It was all I could do. I could not discharge my debt....for such disgrace otherwise. Frodo had gone. I begged him to come back, but he did not.”

The grief and shame from Boromir tempted Bilbo to let go of his suspicions. He did not wish to let down his guard too soon though.

“Frodo is far more than my cousin. He is the beloved child of my heart. I would do...and I shall do...anything I can to protect him. You came to Rivendell too late to know how very close we all came to losing him to the evil fate of succumbing to a Morgul-knife wound. I will not be so helpless again as I was then. You have no idea what it cost to watch him leave later on that cold day and to know that he had already come through deadly peril and was going deeper into it with each step he took. Out of all my fears for him, I had no idea that danger would come to him within those he trusted.”

“I did not know either until the madness that had been growing on me consumed me at the last. I have tainted my own honor, that of my father’s house, and that of Gondor by such terrible action. It is a wonder to me that Frodo forgave me so great a betrayal.”

Boromir’s sincere contrition and continuing shame broke down another barrier between Bilbo and the man.

“The Ring brought madness to all of us,” the ancient hobbit said. “He probably never told you that I also tried to do the very thing you did and before you. We have both betrayed him, yet he forgave me also.”

Bilbo looked tenderly down at his sleeping lad, so beautiful, so wounded. “I never married and neither did he. Perhaps the Powers that rule the world knew of our fate and that we would only have each other to be with in the end and have to part from all else.”

Bilbo stroked Frodo’s curls. “I have lived long enough among Elves to know something about the Powers. It is a cruel thing, and a blessed thing, to have their pity. My lad misses his home and those he loves that he had leave behind. It is a wretched thing to do to one who had already given everything. I left a long time ago and I was ready to leave. But he did not make the same happy choice I did. We both needed to leave, but I was the only one that truly wanted to. He still carries heavy burdens that I wonder that he isn’t utterly crushed by them. Sometimes I think he is but then I’ll see a flash of who he was before and who I wish more than anything he will become again: the lad I have loved since the day I saw him and held him, five days after he was born.”

Bilbo kissed Frodo’s head. Boromir rested again and this time so did Bilbo. The poison of the Ring had threatened to tear the three of them asunder, but the same experiences of that and the forgiveness of the wounds caused by it would also bring them together and it would be through the one who forgave Bilbo and Boromir both.

Bilbo was gone again when Boromir woke next. Frodo was already up and preparing a healing drink that he brought to the man.

“This will help with the pain,” the Ring-bearer said. “You still have a long road ahead of you, but I certain that you will heal and be whole again.”

Frodo raised Boromir’s head with one hand and brought the cup to the man’s lips with the other. It was almost hot and had a taste to it that Boromir could not identify. It was not unpleasant and certainly much easier to swallow than anything he had ever received after battle or given in the midst of it.

Boromir noticed that Frodo’s tone was still hollow, with grief the only thing that could feel the void. Once the hobbit laid the man’s head gently down again and checked at the bandages that still covered his companion’s torso, he tightly clutched the gem that Arwen had given him.

“Who gave you such a beautiful gem? I talked with your uncle earlier and he told me that neither of you had married.”

“Yes, we were there, myself, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. She is the reason I was able to come here. The pain is the reason I had to.”

Boromir searched for how he could help comfort Frodo. He again wished Faramir was here. He would know what to say. “Would you have need of the drink then as well? It was better medicine than I ever tasted before.”

“Elrond is the best healer in all Middle-earth, but he cannot heal all things. It is not physical pain that ails me.”

“You said before that you thought you had failed. Is that what troubles you?”

Frodo did not answer right away. As the silence stretched, Boromir could feel in it a grief and shame that grew louder and louder until it was nearly shouting. Still the hobbit did not speak.

“I felt the Ring the whole while we were on our journey,” Boromir said. “It was like an itch I could not scratch, a whisper I could not silence. I tried to shut it out but it was always there, like a wind that always finds a way to chill one’s bones no matter how tightly one is wrapped against it, but much worse. It was inside and there was nothing I could do but endure it and hope I would be strong enough not to fail in my duty.”

Frodo looked at him with pain-filled eyes. “You know...you know...” the hobbit whispered.

Frodo lowered his head. “Yes, yes, yes,” came the haunted soft response that Boromir felt was not only an acknowledgment of his own failure, but an indictment the hobbit directed inward to himself. Frodo’s voice was stronger when he spoke next and faced the man again. “But you got up again and redressed your fall. I did not, not on my own, not without someone else dying so my failure would not destroy all Middle-earth. It just destroyed one person. One I had wanted to save.”

“You forgave me, Frodo, for a fall that could have caused the same ruin to our world. That is still a marvel to me.”

“Carrying the Ring taught me much about torment. It also gave me understanding for those in agony because of it. I suffered with them so loved and forgave them.”

Boromir was deeply moved. “Then can you forgive yourself? You will never be free of your pain if you do not. I have seen it happen before with the men of Gondor who lost soldiers under their command and blamed themselves for it. I saw strong, stouthearted friends fade before my eyes so crushed were they by the weight of carrying such a terrible burden. They could not see anything but the darkness in which they wandered lost. They could not see that it was not their fault that others perished against a foe too great for us. I could have happened to me as well if my brother not had me see sense. He tried to help others, but most would not talk about what happened. Their pain was plain to see until one day they just disappeared and were never seen alive again. Sometimes we were able to recover their body. I will never forget the look on my brother’s face whenever we discovered one. Other times we did not know what happened. You need to forgive yourself, Frodo, or the failure you feel will destroy you.”

When Frodo spoke next, his voice was no longer hollow. Torment had filled the void and lashed against Boromir as a physical thing. It rose to a scream, still without sound but deafening.

“Do you still hear that whisper? Or is it a shout that never ceases? One you hate and loathe as much as yourself but still long to hear because that is all you have left of it?” The Ring-bearer raised his eyes to Boromir. “You saved me before from freezing to death. Can you now save me from burning? Can anyone?”

The horrible anguish in Frodo’s voice and eyes haunted Boromir. It raised ghostly memories of the other times he had seen such in some of the men he had fought alongside with. Some had slowly recovered as the pain receded and acceptance of what had happened took root and blame and guilt were released. Others never had returned from that desolate place where the hobbit now walked. The man did not know to which group his friend would ultimately belong, and that hurt almost as much as the other friends he had known.

“The whisper rose until it was a shout and a scream,” Boromir recounted slowly. “I could feel myself weaken before it even as I fought harder to hold out against it. It consumed me in a madness that only faded after you fled from me. I do not know exactly why after that, I heeded it no more. It still screamed but I would not listen. After I told Aragorn what happened, he forgave me and that broke its power completely. It fled from me.”

The warrior paused for a moment. The longing for his brother’s gentle, calming presence grew ever keener. Memories of that beloved face and smile flooded through him. They at once inspired him and reminded him that he was alone. “I do not know if I can help you, Frodo. It is a hard road you are on and in such unmapped darkness, I may be of little avail, but I would help you as I can.”

He held out his hand and felt Frodo’s much smaller one grasp it tight enough to hurt, but it was a welcome pain, for it was a recognition of the bond they had formed on the Quest. That had been ripped asunder through his own fault, but now it was re-forged stronger than ever because of shared pain and understanding of the terrible power that had torn them apart and now united them. The strength of that bond humbled the warrior anew.

“Thank you,” Frodo said softly. “Thank you for telling me that it fled. I will hold to that hope for myself, just as I held onto Sam’s, after mine was long gone.”

Elrond and Bilbo entered a few minutes later. Both felt the tremendous pain that lingered in the air. The hobbit’s eyes immediately darted to his beloved heartson, but Frodo would not immediately meet his eyes. The Elf-lord looked also at the Ring-bearer and recognized the pain there as similar to what he had felt buffet him when his wife had suffered through it so long ago. He reached out to her and showed her his heart and the pain that pummeled Frodo’s. She returned the mental embrace and enlarged it to touch the shattered spirit of the hobbit. Frodo sighed. A single tear escaped down his cheek.

Elrond’s attention turned to Boromir. “You are healing well,” he said after carefully examining the wounds. He nodded to Frodo, who rose and brought fresh bandages and tenderly wrapped them around the man with the Elf-lord’s assistance.

A slight smile danced on Elrond’s lips at the use of the plural. Indeed. He looked at the man and wondered what great purpose the Valar had that kept him from perishing. There was clearly still unfinished work for the man to do, and surely bound up with the tortured Ring-bearer, but what it was the Elf-lord could not see for certain. “You have a strong body and a strong will. That will aid you in the days ahead as your recovery continues.”

Elrond brought over a small bowl of broth. He nodded again to Frodo who positioned himself to feed Boromir. “This has some crushed pieces of lembas in it. It is given at times to the gravely ill to strengthen them. It will speed you on your way, but you have some days yet before you are well enough to rise.”

Elrond watched as the warrior sipped slowly what Frodo carefully fed him. That the fates of man and hobbit were bound up together was ever clearer. The Elf-lord could see with other vision the slender but unbreakable bond that held them together as a silver cord entwining them both. He had seen a similar and stronger one embracing the Ring-bearer and his servant. Would the two now before him become so close?

After the scant meal was over, Boromir felt he had had a feast. It had been long since food has passed his lips, and he could feel himself strengthening. Frodo wiped his companions’s mouth and then resumed his place at the man’s side and took hold of his hand. The pain within had subsided enough for the Ring-bearer to face Bilbo’s concerned gaze. He wasn’t strong enough yet to smile, but in the distraction of taking care of another’s needs, the torment had returned to the familiar throb instead of the devouring fire of before.

Some days passed while Boromir continued to heal. Frodo remained to care for him. Bilbo stayed as well but not the whole time. Once he was convinced that the man was no longer a threat to his heartson, he retired at night to his own bed.

“When you get as old as me, my lad, your bones will be glad too for the softest feather bed and pillows,” the ancient hobbit said with a smile. Each time Frodo was able to return it, even a little bit, Bilbo smiled wider. He held his beloved tightly and had the joy of having the embrace returned. The love they saw in each other’s eyes was a treat to them both and a special one for Bilbo at the times it crowded out the pain and allowed more of his lad's beauty to shine forth. A mutual kiss to the head ended the nightly ritual and then Frodo returned to Boromir’s side for the night, content to sleep on the cot on the floor. Bilbo returned each morning to take each of his meals with Frodo and was able to talk him into walking with him outside once a day.

Boromir’s appetite slowly returned as Elrond allowed him to eat more. The pain continued to fade as his wounds healed. Frodo was almost always near to help and their bond grew stronger daily. The Ring-bearer returned more actively to writing and Boromir learned much of what had gone on since he had left the Company. But as to anything that dealt with where they were, Frodo always diverted the conversation elsewhere. The man wondered about that, as well as about other things.

The day Boromir was able to sit up in his bed for the first time was a cause of celebration for them both. It was the first time Frodo had truly smiled for him since the man had come back to consciousness. He turned his head and looked behind him, half-excepting to see someone and somewhat disconcerted that he did not. Frodo’s servant had at times fulfilled his duties in silence and there was very few moments that he was not at his master’s side. The man had seen how the two of them did not need words to communicate. Sam always knew exactly what his master needed and sometimes before Frodo himself was aware. Having his heart and mind read that easily did not seem to have bothered the Ring-bearer. Sam’s producing what was needed - an extra blanket, a rare mug of tea or a pipe to smoke, balm for his master’s chapped hands, an extra dessert that had been tucked away - had always earned him a smile and soft thanks.

Even when Frodo had been half-asleep and troubled by the Ring, Sam or one of the other of the Company would reach for his hand and hold it to keep him from clutching at the chain. Frodo had always calmed best and quickest when it was Sam, Merry, or Pippin, but he also liked the touch of Gandalf or Aragorn. He knew each touch from the other and always murmured their name as he slid back into sleep. Boromir had marveled at that, but Gandalf only smiled and that caused the others to do so. The wizard and the others knew that if there was any way that Frodo could survive the weight of his burden, it would be because of the love that was showered down upon him so freely and easily by servant and kin. The nights were cold without a fire to warm them, but they were never cheerless, as Merry and Pippin fought over who would sleep next to Frodo. Sam had always claimed one side and would not budge. The others of the party suspected that the younger hobbits did this to entertain their cousin, who would let them go on with a smile and then silence them with an seemingly arbitrary decision as to which one of them would get the prize spot next to him. Some nights though Frodo was especially bothered by the Ring and silently took them both to be at either side and Sam would curl up at his master’s head.

Boromir had supposed that Sam had continued to serve behind him, and he simply did not see him because he could not until now turn his head that way. But even if Sam was silent, Frodo’s thanks were also and that had made the man wonder.

The fragile cheer within Frodo faded and Boromir mourned that it was gone so soon.

“He’s not here. He’s at home with his wife and child. I except Rose has quickened with another by now.”

Boromir took time to absorb this shock. “I have missed much. My brother wed, Aragorn wed, and now Sam.”

Frodo stopped rubbing, only then aware that he had been doing so. He did not meet his companion’s eyes. He tucked his hand under his leg. He had always been careful not to face Boromir in such a way while writing that the man would see the wound. “I’m sorry. Sam used to do that for me and it always helped the pain. It’s not the same when I do it myself. I miss him.”

“Rivendell is not that far away from your Shire. It’s much closer than it is to Gondor.”

Boromir waited for Frodo to continue but he did not. An unease began to stir uneasily in the man.

Frodo took up his writing again, but he laid it aside soon after and began to rub his hand again. “Aragorn told me there would be times that it would hurt more than others. Sometimes I don’t feel it at all and can almost forget about it. Other times it aches, but he taught me some things to do to help that. But I don’t have his touch and I don’t have Sam’s. Perhaps it's hurting because I don’t want to write about . . .”

Frodo laid aside all his dissembling and held up his hand. “Someone wanted the Ring more than you.”

Boromir looked at Frodo’s four-fingered hand with a mixture of shock, horror, pity, and awe. He had seen worse injuries in Gondor but those were to soldiers who were trained to know it may happen. To see such on one who had not been was horrible.

The Ring-bearer looked at his maimed hand. “This is what saved Middle-earth from my folly,” he said. “Sharp teeth tamed for a moment my sharp lust.”

Boromir’s astonished horror increased. “Teeth? Someone bit your finger off?”

Frodo continued to look at the gap in his hand. “Yes, Smeagol did, just before he fell with the Ring and both perished in the Fire. He died happy, holding his Precious. I still burn.

“I don’t remember what happened. I only know what Sam told me he saw and heard. How I said I would not do what I had nearly died to do and how I claimed the Ring as my own. With each step I took toward Mordor, even before I left my home, I knew I would not be able to give it up. I thought that meant I would die with it, for I knew it had be destroyed. But Smeagol died in my place. Sam told me how he saw us fighting and how it ended with Smeagol biting the Ring off and I kneeling at the edge of doom itself. I wonder what I was fighting him for. Was it so I could destroy the Ring and myself in order to save our world or was it because I could not bear to let anyone else have it? Gandalf had told me of the torment I would feel to see Sauron possess it once more and to know it was no longer mine. I feel that now. It is gone and I remain.” He looked away at last and into Boromir’s eyes. “Will the fire ever cease or will I burn until I go mad and my body fails at last?”

Boromir had no answer. He merely did what he had wanted to do for some time, what he knew his brother would do, what he had done himself when he and Faramir were lads. He held out his arms. Frodo entered the man’s embrace and wept. Boromir held his friend tight and remembered how his mother used to hold him and stroke his hair. Tentatively he reached out and did the same now. The pain he felt flooding from Frodo was even more than he had felt from Faramir when the young boy wept after their mother’s death. He stood as a rock battered by a great storm but undefeated by it as the waves swept around and over him. Boromir felt how the hobbit’s body trembled with the force of the torrents of pain that howled around and through him and knew Frodo needed a strong fortress to brace himself against the onslaught.

The Ring-bearer did so, muffled as it was in Boromir’s chest. The sound broke the man’s heart as he held on tighter and felt Frodo’s arms hold him all the more. As much as he felt he was cradling a child, the warrior knew well he was not. This little one had suffered more at the hands of the Nameless than any he had known. He wondered if perhaps the torment was too large for even the two of them together to handle. Certainly it was too much for the Ring-bearer himself to bear. There had been times in Gondor that Boromir wished he had counseled others to scream in an effort to release some of their agony. But it was not their way. Outside of nightmares, the only times he had ever heard such were anonymous cries beyond the City walls. They were almost animal howls but all the more a wrench to the heart because he knew they came from a man tested and tried beyond his limits to endure. Such a sound was not heard again, not from the same throat. Sometimes later they would find a body. Sometimes not. Other screams were sometimes heard, always once only. Sometimes Boromir thought he recognized them. He thought sometimes Faramir did so also. They did not speak of it, but sometimes his brother’s sorrowful eyes met his. Recognized or not, it was during those nights that Faramir’s observation of the Standing Silence stretched longer and Boromir knew he was remembering the sound and commending the tortured man to the Powers.

Boromir longed once more for Faramir. He determined that if Frodo was willing, he would take him to Gondor to see him. Much as Boromir had grown to love the hobbits in the Company and had been cheered by their innocence, joy, and devotion to each other, it was that very innocence that could perhaps not be of avail to heal Frodo of the deep wounds that were within but all too apparent. Love could mend much, but sometimes it was those who had seen and been touched by the darkness that could help aid those so scarred in a way the unshadowed could not. Faramir had seen and suffered for those who had been struck by the evil that stalked and at times penetrated the borders of Gondor. His tender and compassionate heart could help Frodo a great deal Boromir thought. Even more, he wanted to bring the Ring-bearer to Aragorn who had healed him of his own lust for the Ring. Surely the king could do the same for Frodo. But Boromir would not force the hobbit’s will as he had tried to before. He knew such was only a tool of the Enemy and he would not be used that way again.

The days continued to pass. Boromir’s strength increased. Elrond came daily and began to give him exercises to perform while sitting to get his leg and arm muscles strong again. The first time the man stood he was astonished that he could not do so for long, but each day he was able to stand for a longer time. He worked hard at the exercises to get himself back into proper fighting strength for he wished to be of service to the new king.

Gandalf, Bilbo, and Elrond were all there with Frodo when he took his first tentative steps. Frodo actually cheered which brightened not only his own heart but everyone around him. The others smiled in the double celebration of life returning to the two of them. For some days, Boromir could not walk unassisted. Frodo was sorrowful that he was big enough to properly support the man, but Gandalf and Elrond aided him. Boromir accepted their necessary help with thanks but was nervous the day Galadriel appeared to do the same. He remembered the test she had given the Company and his mistrust of her. He had the distinct feeling that she well knew that he had failed in his mission. It was a long time before he could meet her eyes. She waited patiently until he did and then offered her hand to him with a smile. The compassionate understanding and forgiveness that shone from her eyes deeply moved him. He stood with her help. She wrapped her arm around his back and helped him make the circuit several times around the small room. He remained convinced that she could read his thoughts and while that shamed him to some degree, her smile did not waver. That helped him understand she did not condemn him. He was much more relaxed by the time they were done.

It was a bright and sunny day when Boromir at last saw the outside of where he had been. It did not look like Rivendell. The woods were present but not so dense. The smell of the air was different. Frodo stood silently by his side, holding his hand. They did not walk farther that day but remained outside while the sun shone. Bilbo and Gandalf joined them for elevenses and lunch and tea. Now that the man’s appetite had returned, he found wisdom in having more meals than he had been used to in Gondor. Frodo smiled at his willing adoption of hobbit customs, though he had not yet taken to pipeweed. The warm sun cheered them both. The Ring-bearer continued writing. If he did too much, he rubbed his hand until it felt better and was no longer afraid to have it be seen. Only when it began to cool and the sun fade, did Frodo get up to go inside. Boromir joined him after enjoying the sunset.

“I’m sorry you did not stay outside to see such a lovely sunset,” the man said. “I don’t know if I have ever seen a more beautiful one.”

“I don’t like being out after dark anymore,” Frodo said. “So much happened then...” He trailed off and rubbed his maimed hand more vigorously.

Boromir opened his arms as was becoming their custom and Frodo entered the man’s embrace. Both were content to remain there in silence until the warrior spoke again. “You will not be able to return home in a day. What will you do then? I will see you safely there if you will not come to Gondor with me and see the king and my brother.”

“I thank you, but this is my home now. Perhaps one day I will stand out in the dark and walk under the stars as I once loved to do. I would like to do that, but the memories are too much right now.”

“The servants of the Nameless Enemy came to us at night at times. Nothing but dark shadows and a building dread that was nigh to unbearable even to my brother and I and the men with us. I do not wonder that you cannot face the memory of it. We endured it more often than you did and knew how to fight its silent terror but it was almost enough to unman us. I will stand with you the day the night is friendly to you again. I hope one day to stand in your Shire with you, and you with me at Minas Tirith.”

Something in Frodo’s dull tone roused Boromir’s uneasiness. “You speak of wishes but not hopes.”

“There is no hope left to me but to heal from my wounds. I carry that in honor of Sam and it has carried me here. My Sam taught me how to cling to such when all else falls away. Even as Mount Doom was collapsing and we were caught in it, he hoped. The marvel our survival is due to his hope. I saw it even as we parted. It is the only thing that let me let him go. He still hoped, so I could do so as well. If I had not this, I would not have come. He would have watched me suffer and fade and I would have watched him suffer because I did. There is no heart in the world greater than my Sam’s. I would see that heart happy again and he would see mine. That could no longer be done at home. It was a sore blow, but still at the end, he hoped as he always did. I will carry that with me until he can come and receive his reward for all he did for me and what I wish and hope to do for him. I want to one day look up at the stars and think of him doing looking up too, and my cousins and all who I left behind. So much as changed, we are so far apart, but I feel closer to them when I see the stars even from my window. That is when I know everyone still hopes for me. I know I will feel it stronger when I am outside. Perhaps somehow they will feel me as I heal and know their hope is not in vain.”

Boromir did not press any further. He noted that Frodo’s tone and repeat of the words about home was to convince himself of such a truth rather than for any other reason. There was still much pain in the Ring-bearer’s words which caused the man’s uneasiness to increase. Were they not in Rivendell?

It was almost two weeks before Boromir received his answer. Elrond constructed a walking stick so he would not have to rely always on the support of others. He depended on it greatly in the beginning but also used it to celebrate a little independence. The day was not far off that he would be able to walk unaided, at least for small stretches. Frodo celebrated each new victory with Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel. Bilbo watched the bond grow between his heartson and the man. He saw no threats, only an increasing love.

One day, they came to the shores of the Sea. Frodo held Boromir’s hand as the man stared in silent awe. After a long while, he spoke. “This is much larger than I remember the Bruinen being.”

Frodo’s grip on Boromir’s hand tightened enough to hurt. “You are looking at the Sundering Seas and sundered we are.” The man had to strain to hear the Ring-bearer’s next words. “We are no longer in Middle-earth.”

“We are on Tol Eressea, the Lonely Isle, in the Undying Lands of the West. We cannot return.”

Boromir wanted to run into the waves but he was not strong enough. He walked into them even as Frodo tugged him back. “There is no where you can go, Boromir. We cannot go back....”

The shock of the water was nowhere as great as the shock he felt to his heart. “Cannot go back...”

Boromir fell to his knees as Frodo broke down. This time it was not just the Ring-bearer that wept as the waves swirled around their embrace.

Boromir stood and waded out a little further and stared across the vast water while Frodo stood behind him on the shore. After a long while, he turned back and looked at his small friend. “Why is there no return? Surely there are boats on this island?”

“There are no boats that can take us where our hearts long to be,” Frodo said. “There is no way back.”

Boromir walked back to the shore and continued to gaze eastward. “I do not understand. If we came by boat, why cannot we go back the same way?”

“From the lore I have read from Bilbo, the world was changed as Numenor fell. Sauron fed the pride and fear of its last king to the point that he dared to come where was forbidden. His land and his life was destroyed with all his followers. This land where we must now make our home was forever sundered from the world we knew.”

“And Elendil, Isildur, Anarion and others of the Faithful escaped to Middle-earth,” Boromir said softly. “I remember my father making sure my brother and I knew our history. But it was all so long ago. I was proud of my line and what we had accomplished and how we have stood against the Nameless Enemy even to this day. But Faramir was much more interested in the lore than I. They were ancient ghosts to me, though my brother did teach me some reverence for them. I longed to be out on the field practicing how I would battle the Nameless as well as they had. But Faramir desired to learn more of them and battle in his own way. For him, these great figures still lived and were present to him. Even with Isildur’s Bane and heir beside me, I did not think in such a way myself. But now...now... It is a bitter price to pay for an ancient folly to trap us here.”

Frodo took Boromir’s hand as fresh tears flowed from the man. “I’m so sorry, Boromir. Bilbo and I made the choice to come here, but you did not. We knew what sacrifices we had to make to accept a gift beyond price, but it was far more painful for me than for him and now more torment for you than me. Even though you were not given the same freedom to decide, there must be some great purpose for the Powers to give you the same gift they gave us. It was not lightly given. Bilbo was ready to leave Middle-earth and he will not last long here. I wished I could have stayed forever with my Sam and my brother-cousins and let the Shire slowly heal my wounds. But Queen Arwen saw rightly that I would need more, and as I have come to understand, so did Lady Galadriel as far back as our time in Lorien. So I must reach for the rose they gave to me, though I must reach for it through thorns. I am bleeding so badly. This is the only place that I can hope to staunch the flow.”

Frodo was silent for a while before he spoke again. “I thought myself dead to Middle-earth before Sam and I woke again in Ithilien. You thought yourself dead and have now awakened as well. There is a reason we were all spared. For Sam, it was to live and flourish again in the Shire. For us, it was to live here. I am glad you are with me.”

At Frodo’s invitation, Boromir came to live with him and Bilbo. The elder Baggins was not completely pleased with the arrangement, but he said nothing. He watched his heartson and the man carefully, but it was clear that there was nothing but love between them. The shadow that had laid between them and had torn them apart originally had departed. It was clear how good Boromir was for Frodo and Frodo for Boromir. Unease passed from Bilbo’s heart and pity replaced it for the man had not asked to come here and was grieved to have woken but in exile, forever sundered from his kin.

Days spent walking increasingly far with Frodo strengthened Boromir. Soon he did not need his walking stick but still used it at times because his little friend liked to use one as well. Gandalf and Galadriel smiled to see the two begin to heal each other.

Other days Frodo spent the time outside writing. Sometimes he sat by the sea, especially if he was writing of his brother-cousins or of Sam. It helped to be as close as he could be to them or to hear and see the endless water when recalling the terrible thirst while traversing the desolation of Mordor. Most times Boromir joined him there and stared across the vast expanse. Sometimes the Ring-bearer put down his quill and simply sat with the man and silently held his hand until the hobbit felt the pain of loss ease for a while in his friend’s heart. Boromir remembered doing that with Faramir when they were lads and the pain of losing their mother was still fresh. He recalled also the times his brother had done it as a grown man by the bedside of an injured Ranger to simply let the wounded warrior know that his Captain was near and cared for him. At times the memories brought tears but later came smiles and always love and longing. Sometimes it was enough to make Boromir’s heart break. He didn’t always know whether it was from loss or from a burst of joy to realize that his brother may no longer be physically with him but was still very present and always would be. Sometimes he saw a small smile on Frodo’s face as well and he wondered if it was from a similar understanding.

On a particularly bright and peaceful day, Frodo felt strong enough to write of Shelob. The cost of such a deep immersion into horror and terror was not apparent until a scream ripped through the night and startled both Bilbo and Boromir awake.

Boromir was the first to reach Frodo as the traumatized Ring-bearer partially woke from his nightmare. The man gathered the trembling hobbit into his arms as Bilbo rushed in and lit an oil lamp. For some time Frodo just clung tightly to his friend and moaned softly.

Boromir looked up at Bilbo’s anxious face. “The men of Gondor are no strangers to nightmares from facing the servants of the Enemy. Some are wounded far deeper than others and you can only see such in their eyes or hear it in their screams. Soldier’s heart the healers called it but they had no cure for it. My brother knew much more about how to aid the afflicted than I did. All I know I learned from watching him. He deeply loved his men and Gondor itself and everything within it.”

Tears streaked down Bilbo’s face. “I wish the Ring had never came to me or I to it. My boy would not be so hurt if I had not passed it to him.”

“It’s not your fault, Uncle,” came a muffled response. Frodo lifted his head and his own tear-washed face and eyes met Bilbo’s. “I’m sorry to have woken you. I thought...I thought....”
He rubbed his neck and by the light of the lamp both Boromir and Bilbo saw a red mark there, an old injury that was obviously causing the Ring-bearer pain.

Boromir and Bilbo wanted to hear more but Frodo was silent. He continued to rub. “Do you think, please, Uncle, that you could get from Elrond the salve that he gave me in Rivendell to help with this?”

Bilbo knew his heartson must be in greater torment than he let on for being so clear about asking for aid. He gave his boy one last look and then fled into the night as fast his ancient limbs could carry him.

Frodo lay quietly in Boromir’s arms for a short while before the man spoke. “I’ve seen no spider that could cause such a wound.”

“Then you have not seen the one that guards the Haunted Pass nigh to the Tower of Cirith Ungol and may you count yourself forever blessed.”

Boromir took in a sharp breath. “You mean the stories of old are true and you encountered the dark terror there? Not even the most stouthearted warrior would want to venture there knowing what was there.”

“I was neither stouthearted nor a warrior. I knew little of what was there, only what Faramir had warned me about. I had to go there nonetheless. It is better not to know what fate awaits us. I am glad that I did not. I feared all along that I knew but I did not. I survived it all...after a fashion. Sam had more courage than I did. He fought a monster taller and stronger than himself and injured her badly. Whether he killed her I know not.”

Boromir's eyes widened. A spider taller than a hobbit? He held Frodo tighter. “You have far greater courage than you know, my little friend. The greatest weapon of the Enemy was the terror and despair that went before him and his servants. To conquer that and still move forward against it shows valor that is a marvel to behold. I do not know, anymore than any of my generation, what was the truth of the horror that dwelt in the pass, but none wished to venture there because of the rumors and dark tales. That you did and were wounded but still victorious is a wonder to me.”

“I had to go. I do not know if I would have had the strength to if I had known all the terrible things that would happen.”

“Right there is your courage, my friend. You had the freedom to say no but you choose to use the same freedom to say yes.”

Frodo was silent. Bilbo returned shortly afterwards and tenderly applied the salve. The pain eased enough for the Ring-bearer to lay down, give his uncle soft thanks, and slip into sleep again. Ancient hobbit and young man watched quietly.

“I thought I knew what courage was, but I realize how little I did know until now.”

A/N: This makes reference to other stories of mine about hobbit Yule celebrations. I don’t know how it was celebrated in Gondor so made something up here. Agape, if you or anyone else knows, do tell! Part of the song Frodo sings is adapted from Sauron Defeated and a little taken from Return of the King.

As the days passed, Boromir’s strength ever increased as did his bond with Frodo. Bilbo was happy to watch them. All mistrust was put to rest. The time was coming when he would leave this land, but he knew he could now. His lad was far from completely healed, but he could see glimpses of it amidst the ruins. His boy would be whole again. He found himself happy that one day Boromir would be also. That was a surprise but a pleasant one. He then knew he had come to think of the man completely differently.

One evening Boromir came back from a solitary walk after dark to where he lived with Frodo and Bilbo to find the two hobbits lighting small candles and placing them in the window.

“Happy Yule, Boromir,” Frodo said. Boromir was pleased to see that his smile reached his eyes.

“Is it a hobbit tradition to light candles? I remember how we welcomed it on the Quest with such.”

Frodo’s smile widened. “I have many memories of such celebrations from Brandy Hall, my first Yule after I came to live with Bilbo at Bag End, and yes, on the Quest.” His smile dimmed but did not disappear completely. “I thought to add to it this year and light candles for those we have lost and those we left behind who still live and love us and who we love.”

The Ring-bearer named each candle in turn. “This is for my parents, this is for Smeagol, this is for Sam, this is for Merry, this is for Pippin, this is for Elanor, this is for Aragorn, this is for Queen Arwen, this is for Faramir.” He named several others, including those of Sam’s children he had seen but had not yet come to be.

Frodo’s smiled widened. “I don’t, leastways not for the Merry and Pippin you knew. Sam and Rose will have many children. They just don’t know them all yet! But I saw them and I do not doubt they will have even more than that. I will not wonder that the number of candles will grow for a long while, and there will be more when Merry and Pippin wed.”

Boromir looked up at Bilbo who smiled also. “The bonds of love do not break even over great distances,” the ancient hobbit said. “You love your brother. Frodo loves his.”

“Yes, I would.” As Boromir did so, he named them. “This is for my mother, this is for my father. This is for my brother. This is for my king and my queen.”

Frodo’s smile was content. “It is good that Faramir should have two. Maybe in time there will even be three.”

Boromir looked at the candle he had named for Faramir and also for Denethor. He wondered about their father’s death, but he supposed the manner did not matter. His brother’s candle was bright and gave him life and warmth. His love and longing was a happy sadness, blessing him in its own way as Faramir always had. How he missed him! But he was here too. Their father’s brightness had long been dimmed but it shone again here.

“In Gondor we call the last day of the year Mettare and it is a holiday for us. As we celebrated Yule on our way to Mordor at the same time, we are not far apart in how we commemorate the passing year and the new one to come. We have large bonfires and feasts and sing many songs. My brother has a beautiful voice which you would only hear that one day. He is rich in lore and always sang of old heroes and lost loves, beautiful ladies and fearsome enemies. We were all enraptured and never wanted the night to end. It was tradition to stay up through the darkness and welcome the dawn with song. Then his voice would be the strongest and there would be many who would join it. Then the cock would crow and the voices would silence. My brother would always smile at me at the end. This is his favorite part of the year. Oh, to hear his voice once more!”

Boromir finally looked at the other candles that were lit. Bilbo pointed them out. “These are for my parents, and for Thorin, Balin, Kili, and Fili. This is for Sam. I will not see him again but if anyone shone near as bright as my lad here, it is Sam. He is here.”

The Ring-bearer began to sign, at first quietly, then stronger, part of the same song he had heard Sam sing in the Tower, but he altered it a little.

Frodo was silent, then his smile spread and he nodded. “I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.”Boromir looked at Frodo. “You must teach me that, little brother. I would wish to sing it to Faramir. But I already know I have heard his voice through you. I will sing so he can hear me.”

“Faramir told me once while the Shadow still pressed down upon us and the darkest days were yet to come, that perhaps one day we would sit by a wall and laugh at our griefs once the night had passed.”

Boromir smiled. “That sounds like something he would say. He was ever hopeful.”

They both did so and it healed Boromir more than he knew to hear such. The hurts were deep but here the light shone through the cracks in the darkness. He took Frodo’s hand and sang the song with him several times and it reached out to the stars. After the last time, with faces shining, they faced Bilbo.

Boromir was deeply moved. Frodo beamed at him and held Boromir’s hand tighter. The man wept. He had lost one family but he had gained another. Forever would this Mettare be blessed.

Outside the White Tower of Minas Tirith, Faramir looked up at the stars and smiled. His heart grew near to bursting with the joy that he had within him. His voice was stronger and richer that night than any had heard it. “He sings to his brother,” some said and it was true.

The joy of the Yule days overwhelmed the darkness in Frodo for a time, but it could not conquer it completely. Slowly the shadow crept back into the hobbit’s heart as nightmares troubled him at times.

Bilbo and Boromir woke one night to panicked cries. “Where is it?! I can’t find it! I’ve lost it! It’s gone!!”

They watched as Frodo thrashed in his sleep and frantically clawed at his neck for an object that was no longer there.Bilbo reached Frodo’s side first and placed his heartson’s flaying hands around the gem Arwen gave and then clasped his own ancient ones around Frodo’s. Once the younger Baggins calmed enough to be held, the elder wrapped his arms around his beloved.

“It is gone forever,” Frodo murmured, still half-tangled in sleep. “I will never hold it again, but it still holds me. Will I ever be free?”

For a long while, the only sound was that of the old hobbit weeping. Frodo woke in a cold sweat and looked up to see tears running down his uncle’s cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, my boy,” Bilbo said softly “I’m so sorry.”Frodo kissed what tears away he could. “‘Tis not your fault, Uncle.”

“The world would have fallen to the Shadow if you hadn’t,” came Boromir’s voice. “I know that now. I had said before it was the men of Numenor who should have had the Ring and not halflings. But that is not correct. It was such men who could not withstand it, speaking of Isildur and myself, but you did.”

Bilbo looked at the man and then down to Frodo, who trembled with cold and loss in his arms. “I still wish it never came to me. If I had known the cost...”

“It would have so much higher if it had not come to you - and to me, Uncle. It was better that I bear the cost myself than all Middle-earth.”

Bilbo hugged his heartson tighter. “Oh, my dear lad, that cost is far too much for any one person to bear.”Frodo’s only response was to begin to weep. Bilbo stroked his curls gently and murmured what comforts he could until the younger Ring-bearer feel back into sleep.

“I used to have dreams like that too,” Bilbo said, half to himself. “What have I done, what do I continue to do to my lad?”

Boromir looked at the tortured hobbit. “You have done nothing but loved him. He spoke of you many times during our travels and it was always with love and appreciation in his voice. He never blamed you that he had to bear the Ring. Do not blame yourself.”

“Who else should I blame then? It was I who picked it up, I who left it for him after I went away, I who did not have the strength for the journey that he took up, and I who cannot heal him now for hurts he never would have had to bear if I hadn’t found that cursed thing. Even now I can hear its call.”“My brother was much more a learned pupil of Mithrandir than I and he spoke of me at times of that wizard’s wisdom. Faramir believed there was a purpose and a reasoning behind everything that happened, even things that caused great sorrow. I do not pretend to understand it all myself, but I do not doubt my brother is right. I watched Frodo suffer under the Ring’s influence and weight, even as it pursued me almost as much as it did him. I blame myself for my fall, as he blames himself for his, and you blame yourself for picking it up, but there had to have been a good thing that was meant behind the fact that you were the one who found the Ring and Frodo was the one who bore it to its end. The cost of that journey was not borne alone, for indeed it would have been too much for one to pay. I have seen men under my command try to do so and who failed. Frodo had others with him to help him bear the weight, even as he does now. Even if you were not there beside him bodily, he still carried you with him inside his heart, and you were one of those most dear to him that he was glad to pay the cost of bearing the Ring away. If you must blame someone for the hurts he suffered, blame the one at whose feet it lies. The Nameless chose to make it. Under its power, Isildur could not forsake it and neither could I. You gave it up so it could pass to the ones through which it would be destroyed and never harm anyone again.”

Bilbo sank into thoughtful silence for a long while. “I know you speak the truth, Boromir, but the wounds are still too raw for me to accept them wholly. There are pains a parent feels when their child is hurt that sometimes I wonder are worse for the parent than for the child who bears them.”

“I would not know, but I saw the sorrow my brother held for those under his care. I do not doubt now that he will feel those himself with his own children, but that he will also rejoice over them and be glad they do not have to live under the threat of the Shadow as he and I did. That he and everyone else no longer does, I am only glad, even in my own grief over the pains Frodo suffers.”

Bilbo looked down at his sleeping treasure. The light within his dear one softly glowed and illuminated him with the Elvish beauty that he always had. Boromir was right. There was torment still so great to bear but the Ring would no longer trouble the world. There were reasons to rejoice, as in the love and courage and strength that was in Frodo to have accepted the burden and the light that shone even in brokenness. “I will take your counsel as much as I may,” Bilbo said. He closed his eyes, with his arms still around Frodo, and Boromir saw peace come to both their features. Yes, good always comes.

“Thank you, my brother,” Boromir murmured as he lay back down himself and returned to sleep.

Boromir found Frodo sitting by the edge of the Sea the next morning. The man sat down beside him and waited until the hobbit was ready to speak. He had learned on the Quest that Frodo’s long silences were signs of a deep and thoughtful nature.

“I wonder sometimes why I left home,” Frodo said at last. “I did so out of hope for healing, for I knew there was no hope for it if I stayed. Gandalf had told me there may be some wounds that could not be cured in Middle-earth. I feared even then he may be right and he was. Each Rethe and Winterfilth for three years now, I have suffered from my wounds. My last illness was on the ship here. I wonder if this Rethe I will be ill again. I thought at Yule I was feeling better, but the dream last night proves I am still caught so by the Ring. All I can feel and hear is the scream that is my need for it. It cannot be assuaged because it the Ring is gone and I remain, or what is left to me. I miss Sam and Merry and Pippin and the Shire. Why did I come if cannot be free and whole and healed even here?”

Boromir was silent for a while, trying to gather the words that might comfort his friend. He took Frodo’s hand and felt those small fingers wrap around his. Perhaps that was the greatest gift he could give right now. But then he spoke, unable to bear the pain that radiated out from the hobbit and washed over him.

“You said when you first told me where we were that there was a purpose that we were here. Yours is to heal, for so you were brought and agreed to come, but I do not know what mine is. All my life it was ever focused on one thing, that I would be Steward one day. That will now never be but you say there was a reason for me to be here. So there must be, or I would not have been brought here to have it fulfilled. At least that is what my brother would say, for his heart was much more attune to such things than me, or at the least he understood them much better. My heart was ever on the battlefield and on thoughts of glory to be attained there. He was a great and rightfully respected Captain but he was restless there and would have been much happier elsewhere.

“I know he is happy now. I think of what you have said, that he has married. Lady Eowyn is the most fortunate woman in all Gondor and Rohan, for having received such a gift. That he will be a wonderful husband and father, I have no doubt, far better than I would have ever been to any lass or child. I know from all the care he gave to his men and to me. She will never doubt, as they or I never did, that she is deeply loved.

“I miss him. I wish I could tell him that I still live and not have him grieve for me. I felt his joy so strongly at Yule, as it was ever before when we celebrated together, so perhaps he does understand, or at least knows death is no barrier to our bond. But I would have him know without doubt and ease his heart.”

“You did celebrate together,” Frodo said, “just as I did with my brothers. When we met in Ithilien and I told him of you, he said he had had a vision or a true seeing of you asleep in a boat and said your face was more beautiful then than he had ever seen. He knew you died well.”

“That is some comfort then.” Boromir hesitated, then said, “Does...does he know...”

Frodo’s fingers tightened around Boromir’s. “Yes, and he loved you no less, because he understood your heart. And he was tested as well.”

It was not a question, but Frodo answered it. “Yes, but he did not rely on any continued strength to ever do so. He knew he could fall.”

“He was ever wiser than me in such matters. It would have better if he had gone in my stead to Rivendell. I see that now.”

“Perhaps or perhaps not. Gandalf would say all that happened was meant to happen as it did. It was your fall to the Ring that impelled me to break with the Company and overcome my terror of completing my task. As horrible as that was, it was necessary to have happened. Perhaps it would not have if Faramir had come, and then he would not have been there to give shelter to me and Sam while we wandered in the woods of Ithilien, unaware that the soldiers of the Enemy were so near. If we had not received his aid, who knows where the Ring would be now. Perhaps all Middle-earth would be in Shadow, rather than just my heart.”

“Mayhap it is as you say. He would have thought so. The blood of Numenor for whatever reason ran truer in him than it did in me, and he was more sensitive to the immaterial world. I am glad his gentle heart received such a reward of that vision of me then, if boon it was and not a wound. It could not have been an easy sight for him.”

“It was better than not ever knowing why you did not return and what had happened. He was grieved that you fell, but he had the peace of knowing you had overcome that and had died doing a good thing. I am forever grateful for that myself. And I know Aragorn held you in high esteem also.”

There was silence for a little while until Boromir spoke again. “You mentioned being ill during the year. Can the Lord Elrond give you something to ease it?”

Frodo was silent again for a little while and Boromir wondered if he had struck too close. “I’m sorry, Frodo, if you do not wish to speak of it...”

“No, it’s all right. We hobbits have a fear of saying too much, but on the Quest I began to understand that sometimes it was better than letting memories fester. Sam never wanted to hear what happened, but I made him tell me what happened the day we were apart after... after... I was struck down and captured by Orcs. I think I can tell you better than anyone because I do not have to fear hurting you by revealing all the pain there was or revealing something more shameful than what you have already felt yourself. Perhaps that is the reason you were allowed to come, or one of them.”

Boromir smiled. “Then I will be glad to have that as my purpose if it heals you. I know there is the pain that I saw strike some men after battle at times that no healer could tend, and I would count it an honor if I could help in your cure of that.”

Frodo reached up to his shoulder. “You are kind. That is indeed my torment. My Winterfilth illness comes on the 6^th and I am lost for that day to anything but the pain and horror of Weathertop and the feel of a Morgul-blade striking me in ways more than physical.”

Boromir’s eyes widened. “You were struck by such a blade and survived? There was a man once under my command that was. There was no cure that could come to him in time, but for my blade to release him before it could do its evil work. I marvel that you did not suffer the same fate as he would have.”

“I almost did. Gandalf told me I was but hours away from it before Lord Elrond healed me seventeen days after I was wounded."

Boromir's mouth gaped open. "Seventeen days!! That is greatest of marvels. I never heard of anyone surviving that long. My man suffered only five before we knew there was no hope for him, and he was among the most stout-hearted of us all."

"I am sorry for the loss of your man. I am glad my companions did not have to face such a choice. My other illness comes because I was struck later by something perhaps even more evil, though it would not have turned me to a wraith.”

“I cannot imagine anything worse.”
"You remember when I spoke of being struck by the terror in the High Pass? Be grateful to Sam that perhaps no other person will have to endure her poison."

“My body was not greatly harmed in either case. The wounds healed quickly. Smeagol’s teeth did me the worse ill as far as that goes.”

“You will heal, Frodo,” Boromir said with conviction. “You would not have survived such wounds only to remain broken by deeper ones. There was, as you say Mithrandir would, a reason for everything. You have faced greater evil than anyone else has, greater than you thought you could bear, yet bear it you did, and the Nameless was cast down because of it. Though it has hurt you terribly, you still breathe and live. You will conquer this.”

Frodo looked at his friend intently, as though to draw strength from such firm words. Boromir felt akin to what he had when Galadriel had looked into his heart, but this time he did not flinch or turn away or weep.

Frodo’s smile widened slightly. “Yes, they are. Then I shall believe and hope with their hope and yours.”

Frodo squeezed Boromir’s hand. “And I shall talk to the Lady Galadriel to see if she could perhaps send word to her lord husband to convey to your brother that you still live.”

And so it was. Galadriel was glad to send the request through Celeborn, who was amazed but just as glad to rely such tidings. It was received in Minas Tirith with the greatest wonder and joy. Bells rang out in the City and feasting and merry making went on throughout the night. The Lonely Isle was not so lonely as love and joy reached out from Gondor across the Sea, undiluted in its strength across such a gulf.

Boromir walked in the woods seeking Frodo who had asked to be alone to ponder his burden and the path he should now follow. It was a grey day and a veil of fog lay thick upon the land. Then he spied the Ring-bearer and they exchanged words about the man’s need for the Ring and Frodo’s refusal of his pleas to have it. Boromir’s words grew increasingly angry in the face of the hobbit’s obstinance. The woods rang with his voice.

“I am a true man, neither thief nor tracker. I need your Ring: that you know now; but I give you my word that I do not desire to keep it. Will you not at least let me make trial of my plan? Lend me the Ring!”

“It is by our own folly that the Enemy will defeat us,” cried Boromir. “How it angers me! Fool! Obstinate fool! Running wilfully to death and ruining our cause. If any mortals have claim to the Ring, it is the men of Numenor, and not Halflings. It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me!”

Frodo did not answer, but moved away till the great flat stone stood between them.

“Come, come, my friend!” said Boromir in a softer voice. “Why not get rid of it? Why not be free of your doubt and fear? You can lay the blame on me, if you will. You can say that I was too strong and took it by force. For I am too strong for you, halfling,” he cried; and suddenly he sprang over the stone and leaped at Frodo. His fair and pleasant face was hideously changed; a raging fire was in his eyes.

Boromir grabbed Frodo by both arms. The hobbit cried out and struggled and kicked, but the man was right. He was too strong for the Ring-bearer. The warrior beat Frodo, who began to bleed around the head, nose, and mouth. His rage fed on the terror he saw in the Ring-bearer’s eyes. One last blow struck the hobbit unconscious and limp in his assailant’s arms. Boromir threw him down and grabbed for the Ring around its Bearer’s neck, which was now twisted at an unnatural angle.

Boromir gave Frodo one last look and then fled with the Ring into the woods. He saw Orcs beginning to gather but fled before them. They gave chase but he soon eluded them and killed those few who dared to continue. The one survivor would have taken word back to his fellows about an invisible spirit who brought violent death but he was felled himself before he could. Boromir saw Merry and Pippin searching for Frodo and not realizing how close the enemy soldiers were. He saw them surrounded and knew they saw him but he fled on. The Ring must get to Gondor.

The fog around him grew more dense and there seemed to be voices in it. “I can see you! There is no life in the void. Only death. I will follow you and take you and your city. The Ring is mine!”

Boromir made a fist and covered the Ring with his other hand. “You will not have it!” he cried.

There was a terrible, long laugh that stabbed at Boromir. It was like being pierced with blades.

At the sound of the man’s voice, Orcs turned but saw no one. But they felt his blade and all fell before him. He ran on. There was no time to lose. Then suddenly in a red haze was a great hand reaching out for him, burning him and wrenching his hand open. He screamed in pain. And then he saw Frodo before his mind’s eye, broken, and bleeding, and hobbling toward him. He brought his sword in a wide, violent swing and struck the hobbit down. An instant later, the burning hand tore the Ring from his grasp and smote him with pain enough to wish for death but not to be granted it. Boromir’s entire body felt aflame and there was naught he could do to quench it. He screamed again and heard once more the laughter of the Enemy, then he was aware of nothing but the pain, barely even noticing his own howls.

After an eternity he felt a soft damp cloth on his forehand and cheeks and a gentle voice calling him. “Wake up, Boromir, wake up. ’Tis a dream. ’Tis but a dream. Come back to the light.”

Slowly, so slowly, Boromir swam to the surface of wakefulness and escaped the suffocating darkness with a gasp. His eyes opened to see a concerned and loving face illuminated by a oil lamp. He turned away from it in shame. The hand that had he felt stroking his face with the cloth continued its tender care. He began to weep.

“Am I any more worthy of yours? And yet you give it. You are burning as with fever but it seems to be abating on its own. What terror had you so entangled?”

Boromir was glad to receive a cup of water from Frodo, fo it delayed his response. He drank slowly though shame was almost choking him and he had to force himself to speak.

Frodo was silent but took Boromir’s hand gently. Encouraged and humbled by such care, the man struggled to continue. “I struck you many times when you would not yield the Ring to me. I threw you down and took the Ring and fled with it. I cared not whether you were wounded or dead. I saw Merry and Pippin captured by Orcs and I forsook all honor and came not to their aid.” The warrior stopped again. He would have withdrawn himself fully from Frodo’s care but the hobbit would not let him go. It brought great shame and strength to Boromir at the same time. “The men of Gondor take oaths to serve faithfully and there are punishments for dishonor and betrayal. I never thought I would count as a traitor to all we held dear. And then he came, the Nameless One, and told me there was no life, only death.”

“And there was another voice calling me a fool and telling me to take off the Ring.”

“Yes, it did sound somewhat like Mithrandir. But I refused both voices and kept the Ring on and for himself. Then I heard the Enemy laugh and then with a burning hand he reached out to take the Ring. His entire being was aflame and his touch sent me burning also. I screamed. It was then that I discovered he was wrong, though, about there being no life, only death. I was still horribly alive and every second was an agony almost beyond bearing. I would have welcomed death, but he would not release me. It was more pleasure for him to torment me rather than kill me outright. He knew just how much pain could be borne without causing death. And perhaps such punishment was proper for such great a betrayal.”

Boromir’s heart broke with the deadness in that voice now so dear to him, this being he betrayed. “I’m so sorry, Frodo, I am so very sorry. It is good the Ring is gone, for I fear what I would do if it were here. I felt in the dream the madness in me just as keenly as I did then, and indeed it is with me still. I did far worse things in my dream because of it. How did you endure it?”

Frodo looked at him. “I didn’t. Not without going mad myself. What you did in seeming, I did or nearly did in truth. I said and almost did horrible things to Sam and yet he never abandoned me and ever loved and forgave me. He taught me much. I fought Gollum for the Ring at the Fire. But I forgave him for betraying and hurting me. I forgave you. You did not hurt me, Boromir. You did not forsake honor by abandoning my cousins to torment. You fought valiantly against the Orcs. Merry and Pippin never blamed you for their capture, and neither do I. I do not show you as much honor as I should for all you did to save them. I cannot imagine the suffering you endured on their behalf.”

Boromir could not bear to look into such loving, forgiving eyes for long and soon looked away. “Yet I did fall to the Ring in truth, and not just in seeming.”

“As did I later. But after yours, I came to understand that, even though it grieved and frightened me, it was fortunate and turned to good because it also strengthened me to decide to continue on my own. I could not thank you for that, not until now. I know from what Aragorn told me you were lamented as a beloved companion, not as a hated traitor. You were broken and made whole again by his care, just as he helped save me and called Merry, Eowyn, and Faramir back from the darkness. Such is the heart of a king who loves his people. Rest now in the peace of knowing you helped the king to return and in the victory you helped gain for Middle-earth in releasing me from the shackles of fearing to do what I knew I had to.”

Frodo lay down and fell asleep on Boromir’s chest. The man was humbled and moved to tears that he had just exposed his heart with all its despicable actions, and yet here was this hobbit resting his head innocently and trustingly against it. It was the one thing that allowed the warrior to return to sleep himself with his arms around his friend.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Linaewen, who wrote that beautiful tribute to Boromir in "Proud and Stern of Glance."

The next morning Boromir stood at the shore of Sea and looked up when he saw Gandalf come. He nodded in welcome and then returned his gaze to the calm water and his troubled thoughts. After a period of silence, the man spoke of the burden on his heart. He had not been such a man to easily do so or to even recognize such burdens were there, but something about the wizard’s presence prompted him to speak of his explorations.

“As I faced death, I accepted the punishment that was levied against me for my betrayal of Frodo and my vows as a warrior of Gondor. The pain of my wounds was nothing compared to the shame that tore into my heart that I had not been true. Aragorn came before the end and released me from that. He did not judge or condemn. He forgave me as I had wanted to beg Frodo to. But I could not. He was gone. I know now he has forgiven me, for he has told me so, but I still find it hard to forgive myself.”

“You fought valiantly, Boromir, against a foe far greater than any mortal. It was the same bitter struggle that raged in Frodo’s heart. That some battles against such an adversary would be lost is no wonder, and it was no surprise to the One who appointed that you should be part of the Company and that Merry and Pippin should be as well, for their presence was partly to save you. You are beloved, Boromir, by all who know you, and your reward was arranged, for even as your fall was foreseen from the beginning, so was your choice to rise. Do not blame yourself. Such failure would have been my own fate if I claimed the Ring as my own and all of Middle-earth would have suffered for it. In the throwing down of one Dark Lord, another would have arisen. You escaped from such peril yourself because you were wise enough to recognize your wrong and did what you could to amend it. I do not judge or condemn you anymore than Aragorn or anyone else. Such battles as you and Frodo fought leave scars that are slow to heal. But heal they will once you both understand that failure does not mean a final end, unless one does not rise to do battle again. You did so and so were pronounced worthy of the victory you gained. No mortal could hope for a better end than yours, but it was appointed by the Powers that rule the world, and the One who is above all, that you should be accorded any even greater boon and should come here. There is still more for you to do.”

“I know the Powers exist and have observed the Standing Silence since childhood. But why would they want me here? Frodo and I have talked of the reasons, but we do not know for certain. All my life I have had just one purpose, to be a warrior and then be Steward in my turn. But the king has returned and I am here. Faramir longed for the king for many years. He and I did not speak overmuch of it, for it was not a dream of mine. Our father had power enough for kingship and I wished he could be so. How long did Gondor have to tarry until we gave up hope at last for the king to return? The Stewards had ruled from our longfathers of old. But now that the king has come again at last, I long to be at my brother’s side and serve our king together. I know why Frodo is here, and I know there must be a purpose for me, but I grieve I am not at my king’s side as I should be. There is little for a warrior to do here. My sword is of no use here, but that is all I know how to do.”

Gandalf followed the man’s gaze over the Sea. “No, not all. Your sword may not be needed, but that is not why you were sent here. You are not your sword. You are needed, not your weapon. You know well there is more than one battlefield a warrior fights on, no matter where he fights. Inside the heart is where the fiercest struggles take place, rather than against an enemy you could see and on land you could firmly stand on. You were brought here to enter that field, the one that can be seen behind Frodo’s eyes, and within his heart, and within your own, where there are no sure footholds, but for the ones you both make with your own sweat and tears. Do not think you are useless here, Boromir. You were brought here because Frodo is here. His purpose is to heal and that is deeply intertwined with your purpose. You have fought hard battles before, ones that tested your body’s strength to its utmost. This struggle will be worse, but the victory will be greater if you both remain true. This will be the battle of your life, for the life of Frodo.”

Boromir thought hard about that. “We thought perhap that was the reason. I am glad to hear you speak of it as well. I wish I had availed myself of your wisdom earlier as much as my brother did, for I am in much need of it. Gondor’s struggle against the Nameless Enemy gave us great cause to be familiar with the battlefield you speak of, but Faramir’s heart was gentler than mine and more able to treat such wounds. But even he was at a loss much of the time. The wounds were so deep. I grieve to see them in Frodo.”

Gandalf looked at the man. “Your path was different than Faramir’s in some ways, but now they have come closer together. Walk upon the Road with Frodo as best you may, son of Gondor, and son of the West. But never think you must walk it alone.”

“I know I don’t. My brother is with me, and Frodo, and Bilbo, and you, Mithrandir. I am glad it is so. I have helped Frodo as I may, but I would value your counsel. He is so lost and I know not all I should do to aid him. I was not trained in such arts.”

“Yet you have done much already. Your warrior’s heart is proud, Boromir, but it begins to remember the gentleness it had as a child and the love of a mother sorely missed by two grieving little boys. Frodo needs both now, for both have bled from either loss or from the attacks of the Enemy. Sometimes it is one who has endured the same fire and bears the same scars who knows best how to heal. For you are in need of healing too, Boromir. Let his heart heal yours and yours heal his.”

Boromir breathed in deeply and relaxed as he let it go. He felt an easing of his heart that he had not known since he was exiled here. He was prepared for his next battle.

Boromir found Frodo the following afternoon by the Sea, but his back was to it. Instead he faced in the middle distance the home where Gandalf spent some of his time. A quill was in his hand but it was silent for the moment. The hobbit looked up when he saw his friend approach. Boromir smiled and sat down cross-legged in the sandy grass beside him. He glanced down at the pages filled with flowing script on Frodo’s lap.

“You remind me in more than one way of my brother, and I thank you for that. It is almost as though he were here, for he loved at whiles to sit in the grass and read of tales of long ago. It drove our father to distraction but it gave Faramir peace. I shared our sire’s lack of understanding why Faramir was so drawn and moved by such stories, and we both saw their effect on him, but while it drew scorn from our Steward, I saw Faramir’s heart clearer for I loved it dear. I believe they made him a better warrior and captain, for he learned pity and patience and mercy as well as valor. There was no room for anything but the warrior in our father and such soft emotions were not becoming to him. But my brother insisted that not even beasts be slain on his account if such could be spared.”

A small smile flickered around Frodo’s lips. “I remember that from our time in Ithilien. I am glad then if I remind you of your brother and I thank you for speaking of him so I can remember him also.”

“What part of your journey are you writing of today if I may ask? I was surprised to see you facing away from the Sea.”

“I thought it would ease me if I faced Gandalf’s abode. Though I did not realize it, he was with me much of the time, even long after we thought him dead. He helped me withstand the Enemy after you and I parted.” Frodo paused. “It was a terrible struggle, greater in torment than I had borne yet.”

Boromir looked down at the words. “And yet you did. I admire you for passing such a test. My own was less and I failed.”

“I could not withstand it at the end and that almost brought ruin to us all and would have if Smeagol was not there. Your fall helped save our world, Smeagol’s fall and my own ended his. I was spared and he was not. There are many nights I have lain awake thinking of that and of him and wondering why, I, the traitor, should be allowed to live, and the one who faithfully fulfilled his oath to keep the Ring from Sauron, perished in the flames. That should have been my fate. Perhaps though Smeagol’s fate was kinder than mine because he burned but a few moments and I burn still.”

“Yet you and he saved all of us. I commend you Frodo for bearing up under the assaults of the Ring, far better than I did. If there is a traitor to speak of, it is I. I had only seen it briefly at the Council, yet it wore my mind and my will away. You held it against your heart for months and did not yield until the end.”

“Yes, when I should have been strongest, I was weakest. If I passed other tests, I could not pass the most important. If it had not been for Smeagol, the Quest would have been in vain, and all Middle-earth lain under the Shadow. Yet, it was not so. The sacrifice of one saved us all. It should have been me.”

“Faramir strongly believed there were paths for every man to follow. It was your path to go to Mordor, as it was Sam’s and Gollum’s, but not for you or Sam to die there. Your sacrifices and Sam’s in reaching the Fire made it possible for the Ring to be forever unmade. No one could have done that. Surely not I.”

“But it came at the expense of another’s life. How can I endure that? I was responsible for his safety.”

“I know my brother wondered at times why a Ranger under his command died and he lived. But he did not wait for answers that he knew may not ever come. He knew he was not responsible for anyone else’s final fate. Would you have blamed yourself if Sam died as well? It was very clear to all of us that he would not have left your side, no matter what the peril. That was a free choice he made, even though he knew his death could result. You were responsible for him too, and he was responsible for you.”

The smile returned faintly before disappearing again. “I received the honor of my Sam’s support and love with more appreciation that I could ever express. No, my mind and heart are clearer on thinking of him than with Smeagol. Sam knew as well as I did what the cost of our journey could be. Did Smeagol? He did not know that entering the Sammath Naur would end his life.”

“If I had been stronger and fought against the Ring, he would not have had to fight with me for it and he would not have fallen.”

“And I would not have nearly come to blows with you, if I had struggled harder against it myself. You did not choose Gollum’s steps. The madness overwhelmed us all. Only until mine passed did I understand the refusal of Lord Elrond and Mithrandir to use it or even hide it. You know more about that madness than anyone and yet you withstood it longer.”

“Until the moment that it was most needful for me to do so.” Frodo raised his eyes to Boromir. “Do you know that before you woke and I thought you dead, that I spent more time at your side than anywhere on this isle because it was the one place, you were the one person, that I knew would not hold me in honor for what was said I had accomplished. You could not. You were dead. I could not bear to be among the living who celebrated me. I had to be among my own. I had to be among the dead.”

The agony in the Ring-bearer’s voice and in his eyes was sharp enough for Boromir to cut himself on. Yet gladly he bled if it meant that the tears that slowly and silently fell from them both would cleanse the wounds. He gathered the hobbit into his arms and they wept together.

“You had said before, little brother, that carrying the Ring taught you much about torment, but also gave you understanding for those in agony because of it. As you suffered with them, you loved and forgave them. Now turn that understanding, love, and forgiveness to yourself.”

“How?” The plaintive look in Frodo’s eyes and the sound of his voice, so lost, so despairing, broke Boromir’s heart.

Boromir held the Ring-bearer tighter as the hobbit buried his head in the warrior’s chest. “Continue to write your tale, and then read it, and perhaps you will find wisdom there, as our brother did.”

Frodo spent some days beside the Sea writing out his tale. Sometimes he told Boromir what he was writing or let him read it, especially if it concerned Faramir or Gondor. It eased both their hearts for it was a way to be back in spirit with those they loved. Bilbo sometimes came to sit or more often sleep in the sand by his heartson’s side. He peeked around to see what Frodo wrote and was always interested but was too tired to maintain attention long. Still it was a comfort to both hobbits to have the other near.

But a stray thought, a twitch of pain in Frodo’s maimed hand from writing too much, or a glance too long over the water, was enough to bring back the pain that writing could only distract him from but not completely alleviate. He had still not fully confronted the worst terrors of his journey and feared to encounter them again. Yet he continued toward them, sometimes skirting their edges before darting away from the heart that he was loathe to approach and be consumed by but also where he knew his answers lay if he could find the courage to explore such terrifying caverns. He wished Sam was near. He had always felt better then as he had written out the tale the first time. Though his guardian was often in another room, still Frodo knew he was near by and was with him on the journey once more, as though his hand was being held throughout and his voice, soft and encouraging and loving, was near to his ear. He longed for such company again. Bilbo, Boromir and Gandalf provided some but it was not the same. No one but Sam had been with him during the worst parts of the journey, and even Sam had not been there during the very worst.

As the passage of time grew less to have meaning, Frodo was unaware that he was near in physical time to the anniversary of his poisoning by Shelob and waking in the Tower without anything at all, without Sam and without the Ring, at the same he approached the Tower with his quill. There was times Frodo joined Boromir for a walk at dawn, but this particular morning the man saw his little brother still asleep and so did not disturb him or Bilbo. He was surprised though to find Frodo still abed when he returned, though the sun brightly lit the room through the curtains. The hobbit was curled in around himself and shivering, though the air was warm. One arm was protectively around his head as though to protect it. Puzzling as those things were, Boromir was most concerned to see that Frodo had been sick.

There was no answer. Boromir thought Frodo may still be asleep, but as he approached, he saw that his brother’s eyes were open. “Little brother?” He reached out and touched Frodo lightly. The hobbit’s face was quite pale.

Frodo recoiled and curled tighter inward. “Don’t hurt me,” he whispered. “Please. Not anymore.”

Boromir’s fear spiked. Frodo’s eyes were staring into what darkness and pain the man’s heart ached to wonder what, for plainly the hobbit was not aware of him. He had seen and heard such from men under his command who had endured direct attacks from the most fell servants of the Nameless Enemy. He grieved that Frodo was now somewhere, some time that he could not reach him. The man glanced at Bilbo’s slumbering form but the ancient hobbit was sound asleep.

“I will fetch the Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, little brother,” Boromir said and was not even sure that Frodo heard him.

Frodo heard heavy steps leave the Tower room. He lay still a few moments more and then slowly unwrapped his arm from around his head and looked around in the dim light. He breathed a little easier, though his whole body ached from beatings and shivered from the cold and his head swam from whatever had felled him in the tunnel. He waited until he thought he would not be sick again and then gathered a few rags to lay upon rather than the cold stone. But even that small effort exhausted him and made his nausea return. He vomited weakly and then lay still again. No doubt the Orc who had just left would be back, but for the moment he was alone. Alone. He almost wished for company. The pain the Orcs inflicted upon him during their brutal interrogation had kept him from focusing on how alone he was. Where was Sam? He reached again around his neck, wishing by some magic that the Ring had returned to its hated and cherished position on its chain there. But there was nothing but emptiness and loss. The Ring was gone. There is only one place it could be now or would be soon. All was lost. His vision swam as he sensed another presence enter into the room. Darkness overwhelmed him as a shadow rose above him. His gaze was fixated on the Ring on its finger. He wished to scream but had only the strength to moan.

The Black Speech was terrible to Frodo’s ears. He covered his ears but the voice followed him. “Tolo dan na ngalad.”

“No,” he moaned. “There is no light to come back to. All is darkness. The Ring is gone. All is lost.”

“No, Frodo,” Boromir said. “The Ring is indeed gone but so is the Shadow that made it. All is not lost. All is light now that the Shadow is gone. Please, little brother, come back.”

“Sam is not here, my lad, but there are many others who love you,” came a new voice, Bilbo’s now awake. He touched his heartson’s cheek lightly but Frodo flinched and pulled away.

Frodo hid from all the voices. Why did they keep questioning him? He could tell them nothing. All was lost. The Quest had failed. He had failed. Middle-earth would fall under the Shadow. He wanted to say he was sorry and to beg forgiveness but the awful reality was that there was no one that he could say that to and his failure was so immense there would be no forgiveness. In his mind’s eye, he saw the fires spread from Mount Doom and cover all the lands, while he stood in the middle of the conflagration, untouched, so he could witness the fall of his world and know it was his fault. Two stood beside him, one aflame himself, the other wearing a Ring of Fire on his finger. “All is aflame,” Frodo moaned, knowing he was kept alive to see it all as a torment. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he continued to moan.

Elrond’s red robes glittered as the sun struck them. Narya flashed on Gandalf’s finger. “I think, my friend,” the Elf lord noted, “that we are disturbing Frodo, more than we are helping him.”

Gandalf nodded. “I fear it is so. I grieve that the poison of Sauron touches him even here.”

Before either Elf or Maia could speak, they become aware of another presence, and at the same time so did Frodo, as a pure white light spread across the reddened landscape. Elrond and Gandalf bowed deeply as the presence moved forward in a shape that was almost wraith-like. Boromir was surprised that Bilbo bowed also. The presence nodded and moved to Frodo’s side.

“I think we can leave now,” the ancient hobbit said. “Frodo can hardly be in better hands.”

Elrond and Gandalf nodded and they began to move off with Bilbo. Boromir hesitated. “Who is that? She looks like a wraith.”

“But she does not feel like one, does she?” Bilbo said. “She is one of the Powers that watch over the world, or so I understand from the Elven histories I have read. Neither we nor Frodo have aught to fear from her.”

They watched as Nienna wept with Frodo, mingling her tears with his, weeping more as he wept more, but it was not entirely tears of grief but also of cleansing and empathy. Frodo’s moans ceased, as did his trembling from cold. Boromir found himself deeply moved though he did not entirely understand with his mind what his heart did.

Frodo saw the presence before him, and though it resembled a wraith, it held none of the terror the undead provoked. Rather he felt pity, grief, and love. He lost himself in all that as Nienna probed all his infected wounds with her tears and illuminated the dark depths of his brokenness. Rather than shame or fear to see such places, he felt strengthened that someone grieved with him, not just for him. After she left, another presence came, a grey-robed lady. She did not speak but touched Frodo’s forehead. She spoke softly to him and he understood and passed into healing sleep, then both were gone.

Gandalf, Elrond, Bilbo and Boromir returned to Frodo’s side. “I still don’t understand this all,” the man said, though he was glad that Frodo now slumbered peacefully. His color had returned, his breathing steady and his hands and heart at rest.

Gandalf was the one who answered. “Her name is Nienna and at her feet I have learned much about pity that I have sought to pass along to those under my charge.” He gently lifted Frodo’s soiled nightshirt from over him and dressed him in a clean one. The hobbit did not wake. “This is perhaps Frodo’s last illness, but if more are to come as he learns to heal, she will come to his side again, for she loves and grieves for all the Children of Iluvatar, and imparts to those in need the endurance to continue on in hope.” The Maia smiled at the man. “I had told you before that you were not alone in your journey to aid Frodo. And from how Frodo is at peace, the Lady Este must have also come.”

“I am glad. I wish...I wish Faramir could have been here to see them. He ever held the Powers in reverence in his heart.”

“Nienna has spoken to him there, just as she has reached Frodo. They will continue to listen and with her aid, he will learn to pity and understand himself.”

When Frodo woke next, he was surprised that it was late in the afternoon. Bilbo and Boromir both sat by his bedside and smiled to see him wake. The younger Baggins touched where the spider had stung him and winced that it was still tender. Boromir sprang up and applied some salve to the area. “Lord Elrond thought you may be in need of this after you woke,” he said as he rubbed the ointment in. The area was red but was not so much as it had been earlier.

“Gandalf said this may be your last,” Bilbo said, as he brought a cup of tea to his heartson.

Frodo sat up and drank. “I would wish that be so. Thank you both. I’m sorry that I was so ill.”

“What do you remember?” Boromir asked. “My brother always encouraged the men under his command who suffered to speak of it if they could.”

Frodo did not speak at once and when he did, it was slowly, reluctant to burden his uncle especially, but also needing someone to know, someone to hear, so it was not just himself facing the darkness. “I was back in the Tower. It’s the third time now that I have returned there. It’s so real. I remember everything just as it was. The terrible smells, the horrible dreams, the red light, the sight and sound of the Orcs, the feel of their whips, the terror and despair that I felt and how sick I was. I was so alone, bereft of everything. I don’t know how I did not go mad. I thought I would. To be troubled still perhap means I did.”

Bilbo was barely aware of the tears that streaked down his cheeks as he silently took Frodo into his arms. The younger Ring-bearer did not weep this time but simply held on.

“No, was he here earlier? All I heard were Orcs. And there was a creature of flame and someone with a Ring of Fire.”

“Yes, we were all here. Boromir, Elrond, Gandalf, and I. But you could not see or hear us. Oh, my dear boy....”

Frodo held on tighter. “It’s all right now, Uncle. I’m sorry. Sam came to me shortly afterwards and I was no longer alone and the Ring was not lost and we made it Mount Doom with it. It is gone forever now.” For once, that did not bring the sharp thrust of pain and longing it had before that at times left him breathless with loss and shame. “Perhaps one day I will be rid of it as well. Because of the Lady who came.”

“Yes, though I do not know who she was. Light against all my darkness, though she was full of grief herself. She came to me and wept with me saw all my dark places and I was there with her. I think I can go there myself now if I bring the memory of her light with me. I had Sam with me the first time and that was enough. And he is still with me and so is she. She did not judge me. I wonder how she is. And then another Lady came and helped sleep.”

Frodo’s voice trailed off and he rested comfortably in Bilbo’s arms. In the lengthening shadows, his soft inner light glowed brighter. “He shines almost as an Elf-child would,” Boromir said in quiet awe. “I’ve noticed that before but not so bright as now.”

Bilbo smiled. “He has ever been thus. Our own Elven hobbit. The Powers have blessed him in the same measure he gave himself to them. And they will heal him in like measure. He may be a broken little bird now, but one day he will soar with the eagles.”

Bilbo kissed the top of Frodo’s head, closed his eyes and slept with him. Boromir wrapped a blanket around them both and then left the home.

The next morning, Frodo woke from a long, deep sleep. The storms in his heart and soul had calmed from the remembrance of his torment from Shelob and in the Tower, but his stomach rumbled to remind him that he had no eaten the day before. Bilbo looked at him and smiled. He brought over a steaming bowl of broth with some meats and vegetables in it.

“Elrond said you should have this and to take it slowly so you do not upset your stomach further.”

Bilbo smiled wider as his heartson eagerly devoured the meal as quickly as he could. “You were supposed to eat slowly, not like a herd of oliphaunts were charging down upon you.”

Frodo’s eyes were merrier than Bilbo had seen in too long a time. “I was hungry, Uncle.”

“I’m glad to hear that though. The food of the Elves is like nothing else.”

Frodo wiped his mouth. He felt tempted to run his fingers along the inside of the bowl as he had as a lad, especially if Bilbo had made their favorite mushroom dish, but he restrained himself.

Frodo set to. After the bowl was clean of the last fragment of food, he asked, “Does Gandalf really think this could be my last illness?”

Bilbo looked at his beautiful lad whose eyes still reflected suffering in their depths but where hope and expectancy shone on the surface. The ancient hobbit had a vision then, at once seeing the fair lad he had known from birth and tweenhood, and the older one, no less beautiful or beloved, that was so terribly hurt. Bilbo’s heart squeezed in both joy and pain. He felt tears prick at his eyes, but it was more from love and pride that his lad had come through his ordeals in body and was slowly healing in spirit.

“He thought it could be, but he also knew you would have the same aid you had this time, if another befell you.” Bilbo was silent for a little while, just content to look at his heartson, then he spoke again. “Can you tell me more about that Lady you saw? That was a rare privilege.”

Frodo paused as he tried to put into words what he had felt. Any hesitation he had felt before about exposing the depths of his pain and the sources of it had fallen away and he knew he needed to speak. “She was very beautiful, more lovely than even Queen Arwen or Lady Galadriel, and I thought none could more fair than they. And she was more sorrowful than anyone I’ve known. She wept not for me as much as with me. I do not know why but that comforted me and gave me courage and strength that no one and nothing else could. It was like she saw all the broken pieces of my heart and knew exactly when and why each had split apart. She touched each one and I could feel that she stood with me at each moment another piece had broken off and felt the pain I had then just as keenly in her own heart. I would have gone mad to remember it all again if she hadn’t been there to strengthen me with her light. It did not fail even as her lamenting became a wail that merged with and then drowned my own, before quieting again. She saw all my darkness, all the terrible things the Enemy did to me, how I could not resist him and how his own lust for the Ring become mine. And I think I am beginning to see it to, as she saw it. Though I was naked before her, I felt no shame or fear. Her tears covered me with love and understanding.” Frodo smiled. “She is a lot like Sam in that way. He saw me at my worst and yet he never judged and just kept loving me. But she surpasses even him. She shone a light into all the dark places of myself that I have feared to tread. I can now because enough of her light lingers there for me to see the pieces myself, so I can start to put them back together again. She began that task for me and collected back together the pieces that were so shattered they were but splinters and she gave me the strength to continue it and finish it." Frodo looked into his uncle's eyes. "But I still need your help and Boromir’s and any other that will give it. I cannot do this on my own, anymore than I could fulfill my first Quest.”

Bilbo smiled through the tears that streaked down his face. “Of course, my dear boy. I could not walk with you when you had to bear such hurts, but I will now. I will await the day I will see you shine as fully as ever you did. Already I can see what it will look like.”

“You were with me, Uncle. Don’t think you weren’t. I want to see that day myself, and I want Sam to see it too.” Frodo squeezed Bilbo tight. “Thank you for loving me.”

The next day, Frodo sat outside, away from the Sea. In a bright garden that reminded him of his own back in the Shire, he found a bench and table. As soon as he entered the area, he felt Sam’s presence at his side stronger than he had since he left. He felt calmed enough by that and by the memory of the light of the Lady who had come to him to draw out his parchment and stylus. She had been with him in all the dark places he had trod. He ventured now to return to them and learn more of what he could from them. Though he was the only one in the garden, he knew he was not alone as he ventured for the first time in years into the barrow.

It was the same as it was the first time but for one important difference that he sought to keep ever before him so as to not lose his way. The Lady’s light was there. As he recalled the darkness, the terrible fear and cold and dread, the sight of Merry, Pippin, and Sam asleep as though dead with that sword across their necks, he also saw the soft presence of her light that he held in his memory that reminded him that he was not alone. His other senses, however, were overwhelmed by reliving such a horrible time. Though the sun was climbing to noon and any other day, he would feel its warmth on his neck and be pleased, it did not reach him now. He shivered in the cold of the barrow and felt again the temptation to flee to save himself at the cost of his friends. He was brought back to the present by the pain of his fingers cramping by clutching his stylus too tightly. He relaxed his hand and fought to steady his breathing and heart steady by reminding himself that he was not truly in the barrow and the Lady and Sam were with him. He heard the wight’s song, but it was so distant he could not make out the words. He recalled them only from a memory long shut away from his conscious mind, but even there it was dim and then died away altogether.

The pain in his hand faded and he lost the anchor it had provided to the present. For a moment, he wished he was truly back in the barrow, for then he had had the Ring rather than the gaping hole inside him where it had been. But though the ache of its loss seared him anew, he also had the memory of the Lady’s tears soothing and cooling the burn and the terrible wish vanished. He saw himself now in a more detached way, almost as though watching one of the many games the boys of Gondor had played once the war was won and the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers was heard by all. Then boys had scampered innocently about pretending to the Ring-bearer or his faithful servant, or the king at the Black Gate or Merry stabbing the Witch-king or Pippin attacking the troll. They had no true idea of the perils they were re-enacting and Frodo was glad for that. He had watched for a while until by some sense he had never been able to fathom but was grateful for, Sam drew him away, knowing the distress of dark memories was growing in him. Frodo felt the same knowing and tender care now in the barrow, as he watched his courage kindle and the darkness recede. The arm of the wight vanished, as he called out not for Tom this time, but for Sam and upon the Lady. He felt the sun on him again. He had made it out.

Frodo looked down at his parchment and was surprised to see he had written only of his waking. The memories had gripped him too hard to continue, but now he knew he could. He flexed his cramped hand and massaged around the stump like Sam used to do for him. He closed his eyes for he felt Sam’s hand around his once more. He knew he could not fully experience that if he did not open the senses of his heart to feel what his eyes could not see. After that blessed moment, he was ready to write again and walked away later that day with the darkness of the barrow no longer haunting his memories.

He showed Boromir what he wrote that day after he returned home before dark and found the man and Bilbo waiting for him. “You astound me, little brother. Only the most stout-hearted of men could have faced a wraith like that and not been undone. And this happened near the beginning of your journey?”

Bilbo smiled. “With the visit of the Ladies Nienna and Este, I think I am beginning to understand more how you did. You are highly valued by the Powers, my dear lad, and they were there to help you, especially Elbereth and Ulmo. You were never alone.”

“I know that now, but I lost sense of it on the way. The Ring took everything away, but I feel now everything is beginning to return. Could it be so?”

Bilbo’s smiled widened at the hope in his heartson’s eyes and voice that Frodo only now dared to believe truly possible. “Yes, it can be so, and it is so.”

Frodo smiled in return, and it was a true smile, one that reached and illumined the depths of his darkness. The shadows were still deep but they were no longer completely encompassing. Boromir rejoiced as well, for he had seen little recovery or hope for it in the men so afflicted in his homeland. He wished there was a way for them to come here as well.

Frodo returned the embrace. “Yes.” At any other time after his failure and the loss of the Ring had so crippled him, he would have wondered to hear himself speak that simple but profound word. He had felt wraith-like so long, not truly alive, not truly dead, but in that one word, he now admitted he lived. The tears that flowed down were releasing and cleansing, not bitter with grief. He breathed easier now than he had since long before he came here. In his heart, he could feel Sam’s joy also, and Merry’s and Pippin’s. He knew there was still a long Road ahead of him, but its length and its darkness no longer daunted him. He was not alone. There was light in the night, just as Sam had seen in Mordor.

Frodo’s sleep was little troubled by the onslaught of memories from the barrow. He had murmured once or twice as he often did in his dreams, but neither Boromir nor Bilbo could sense any distress. They both breathed easier for that was another mark of the Ring-bearer’s healing that nightmares did not disturb his slumber as they had before.

The following morning, after a brisk walk with Boromir and a much more sedate one with Bilbo, Frodo settled again in the sun-filled garden he had the day before. Again, almost as a physical presence, he felt Sam by his side. He knew he would need that to strengthen and guard him as he took up his stylus and entered the dell at Weathertop, this time of his own will. The memories enclosed him straightaway. The dark fell, the temperature dropped until he shivered, and the fear rose until he felt near strangled by it. His free hand grabbed his shoulder as sudden and intense pain throbbed there. He moaned as once more he felt the oncoming of the pale king and the overwhelming urge to put the Ring on. He clenched his teeth not only against the pain but the memories as he desperately sought the Lady’s light to remind him that this was not real. The king was no more, Merry had helped see to that. The Ring was also no more. He could not fail again by putting it on. Even so, he dropped his stylus in favor of clenching his hand into a fist as though to protect the Ring. Though he still felt the terrible power of that compulsion, he also felt outside it in some way. He could withstand it because now he understood it better from what the Lady had shown him. But wisdom did not help him endure the pain he felt as once more the dreadful slice of the Morgul-blade cut into his flesh. He cried out then and fell from his seat. It was from flat on his back that he saw light at last, starlight, and he remembered that he had called upon Elbereth then and now. The pain in his shoulder faded to a dull ache as he looked in that gentle, wonderful light. He unclenched his fist and breathed easier.

Frodo felt arms around him and still half-caught in his memories, he called out, “Sam?” But there was no one there. Full awareness returned slowly as the dark and dreadful dell faded into the warm, sunlit garden. Frodo picked up the pen and parchment that his fall had upset. Luckily little of the ink had spilled.

Once he took to writing, though, his wounding and the fall into pain and darkness of the fortnight that followed robbed him of his hold on the present, but doggedly he continued on. If the darkness came too deeply, it also made it easier to see the light of the stars that accompanied and sheltered him. He came to welcome it, the one sure and solid thing as all else faded in his withdrawal from the physical world and drew ever closer to the realm of the wraiths. The torment of that time increased in his body and spirit but he remained silent as he had before and continued to write by the light of the stars. The memory of Glorfindel’s bright and pure light at the Ford finally rescued him from the doom he re-experienced so vividly. The starlight faded before the bright light of day as he came back to the present.

Frodo was exhausted, hungry and thirsty when he was at last done. Bilbo and Boromir came to him with food and tea, as if in answer to the rumbling of his stomach. As only a hobbit could, Frodo set to, after thanking his benefactors.

“Weathertop. I hope one day I will not remember it so intensely. But the Lady Elbereth was there to aid me as she did the first time. And I felt Sam and Glorfindel with me as well.”

Bilbo felt a stab of guilt. “I fear perhap all the reading I encouraged in you and Sam fed the tremendous imagination you have had since you were a wee lad and may be to blame in part for how you remember it.”

“No, Uncle, do not blame yourself. Before we faced the spider, Sam spoke of those tales and whether we would be put into one ourselves. He made me laugh and that was the greatest gift he could have given at that time. He could not have done that if you had not read us stories and I read more on my own and to him.”

“And such memories would haunt even one who never read a tale,” Boromir said. “One does not faced the Nazgul and ever escape unscathed. Their terror lingers long after. But you are made of sterner stuff than you seem to unaided eyes, little brother.”

After reading the pages Frodo had added to his tale, Boromir’s admiration for his friend grew. “You are ever a new marvel to me. Many a man could not have withstood as long what you had to, and not only did you but you had the strength even to defy it.”

“I did not know until afterward my true peril. I don’t know if I could have withstood it if I had known.”

“The Powers ever held you close, my dear boy,” Bilbo said. “That is what aided and strengthened your own courage, just as it does now to remember it afresh. They will always be with you.”

In the days that followed, Bilbo and Boromir both witnessed a change in Frodo. Bilbo saw more than once the lad he had loved since birth. There would no true return of that boy, but there would be one in his place who was loved no less, whose light would be even more treasured because of the darkness it had had to come through and understand before it could shine again. There were still shadows but they were fading and no longer enshrouding the light that increasingly shone. There were still wounds but many were no longer bleeding, and scars that had not yet fully healed but they were mending as they were exposed to the light. Boromir who had not known Frodo until the shadows had already begun to gather celebrated the return of the light that only now he could truly appreciate.

But all the remembering and the cleansing that had taken place had also taken a toll on Frodo. Bilbo, upon seeing that his lad was paler than usual, suggested a rest from recalling further adventures. To fill the time, Frodo spent time with his uncle in Elrond’s library and lost themselves for hours in the tales of the Elder Days. As these were written in Quenya, the elder Baggins continued the lessons he had started when Frodo was just a tween. It was remarkable how quickly Frodo picked up the language well enough to haltingly at first, then with more ease, translate the tales into the Common Speech. The years fell away for them both as they absorbed themselves in being together and enjoying the old stories as they had decades before, when the Shadow itself was just part of a tale from long ago.

“Oh, I wish Sam was here!” Frodo sighed. “I remember him talking about Beren and Luthien on the Stairs of Cirith Ungol. He will love this library. It must be the first place I show him when he comes. To be so surrounded by Elves and their history!”

Bilbo chuckled. “I think maybe you should show him his bed first. He’s likely to be as tired as we were when we first came.”

“All right, the second thing. I wish you could see him again, Uncle. It would be then like no time had passed.”

“But pass it has. Even here. I am grateful enough for this time with you, my lad, but I’m afraid you will have to welcome Sam here for me.”

“I will and warm enough for both of us.”

Bilbo smiled. “I have no doubt of that, my boy.”

Bilbo kissed his head. “You were just yourself.”

Frodo smiled and Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat to see such light coming after such darkness.

Other days, Frodo and Boromir went on many tramps throughout the meadows and woods of the island.

“This reminds me so much of the Shire,” Frodo said. “The woods, the fields, the rivers. I could believe I was at home and just over the ridge would be Bag End, and Sam, and Rosie, and little Elanor. And if I walked far enough, I would reach Merry and Pippin at Crickhollow.”

Boromir marveled at the life in his friend’s voice. Certainly Frodo missed his kin, but there was not grief in his voice, but fond memories.

“I could believe this was Ithilien and my brother and his men are just beyond my sight.”

Frodo took Boromir’s hand. “It is good then that we are both surrounded by our families.”

Boromir squeezed his little brother’s hand. “In truth and in seeming.”

“No, not seeming. They are with us truly. We just can’t see them. But we can feel them and that is enough. Don’t you feel Faramir? I do. You are right. This is the Shire and Ithilien.”

“You and Faramir are so much closer to the land and the workings of the heart than I. I am a warrior and used to living among hard stone. I have not known softness except through the two of you and what I remember of my mother.”

“So you don’t feel him near you as he always has been and always will be?”

“I do not think I could bear this exile if I did not have some connection to home. You are that to me. I need the visible to believe in it.”

“Then let us keep walking until you can feel that he is near to us. He is here. You felt him here before, didn’t you? And my brothers are here too. I could not bear this either if I did not know they still surrounded me with their love.”

“I felt him from afar in Gondor, and I wonder even at that. I do not feel him here. He is in my thoughts and his wisdom and his love guide me. I appreciate that more than ever because I will not see him again, unless there may be some way beyond the circles of this world. He believed in such. It comforted him after our mother died. When I thought I was dying, Aragorn said I had conquered. I had a won a battle, not lost one. He had the same sight Faramir did. It must be a great aid for them to face such deadly peril, knowing the end is not the end.”

“The men of Numenor believed such before the Nameless Enemy came and corrupted them and brought the fear of death to them, rather than the trustful surrender of life that their ancestors had before. I had not given much thought to it, but I know Faramir has, perhaps because he was younger than I when our mother died, though I was but a lad myself. But he had a more sensitive heart and was more attune to the invisible world than I. He believed in the Powers, but I truly believed only now, because I saw one of them in that Lady who came to you.”

“I knew of them from Bilbo telling me of the tales of the Elves. Before we left Middle-earth, he asked me to help him with arranging what he had managed to transcribe of them. It was a task still not complete when we left. Perhaps Sam will finish it. I am realizing now how much the Powers were part of the story that we were all in. We are lucky, Boromir, luckier than most any mortal that has lived, for they brought us here and we have seen them with our own eyes.”

After his morning walks, Frodo came alone to Elrond’s library. Surrounded by so many books and so much history and knowing that he was a small part of it himself gave him peace to continue writing. He chose the spot this particular day to write of Rivendell and the call he had received there. He tried to remember what it was like for him in the days the Elf-lord had fought to heal him from his wound, but there was still a veil over that time that he could not pierce. He shrugged, contenting himself with what he did know. He smiled as he remembered Sam holding his hand after he had woken and expressing joy over seeing him well again.

“All that time you held my hand, my dearest Sam,” Frodo murmured. “Four nights watching over me. I wish I could remember that at least, but I don’t need to. I already know what it feels like. You spent so many more nights doing that. Even now I can feel it.” The pangs of loss were no longer so sharp but had begun to mellow into fond remembrance and contented looking forward to their physical reunion. The grief of their separation at the Havens had faded enough for the Ring-bearer to realize that Sam had not left his side after all. He held out a hand and closed his eyes. The strong presence he sensed of his beloved guardian was no mere memory. Somehow his Sam was near.

“So near,” Frodo murmured as he immersed himself once more in the past. He remembered sitting at the Council and the dreadful weight of the doom that he saw rushing toward him and the equally fierce longing to avoid it and stay in peace with Bilbo at the Elven haven. He heard the call come again within his heart to not run away but to embrace that he was chosen. The Voice he had heard was clearer now than it had been then, or perhaps he understood the call better now that he had endured the terrible cost of saying yes to it. As though watching another person, dearly loved but separate from himself, he looked within the heart of the frightened hobbit who had said that, without knowing all the ravages he would suffer because of it, though he had known enough to have such fear. He marveled then as now to hear such brave words as the call was assented to and how brave the hobbit had been. He also now knew how blessed he was also by the Powers who assisted him and who continued to do so.

That night, Frodo stood just outside the open door to the home he shared with Bilbo and Boromir. The two of them stood on either side of him as the stars began to come out. At first anxiety at being out after dark almost choked Frodo and he tightened the grip on the hands he held as he fought against the panic that he must get away or be devoured. He drew on the memory of the Lady’s light to strengthen him as well. He knew he was not alone. And the stars were made by another of the Powers. Bilbo sensed his heartson’s troubled spirit and his quick breathing. The ancient hobbit took Frodo’s hand, drew him close and began to slowly tell him the story of the stars that Frodo had heard more than once in childhood and never forgot. Listening to such beloved voice and watching the stars, the younger Ring-bearer’s trembling ceased as he immersed himself in his uncle’s tale and the memories of their jaunts through the Shire under star-lit skies and Bilbo pointing out their names and history. He recalled the peaceful sounds of night birds, the gentle and warm wind against his cheek and through his hair, the feel of the grass under his feet, the hand he held, the beauty of the stars above, the freshness of air, and the calm of the night.

After his uncle ceased speaking, Frodo’s sensory impressions lingered and he realized he felt them all now in the present, where before fear had overwhelmed him from feeling anything but itself. He remembered anew his words upon seeing Arwen come to Minas Tirith and how blessed and beautiful the night was and that its fear would pass away. He felt that truth deep inside him.

“I wish Faramir could have been here to hear you,” Boromir said. “He was always one for such tales. I am glad to hear of it myself. It brings faces to the Powers I had not thought of until I came here to see and hear of them and understand them more fully than I ever did before.”

Bilbo smiled. “It was not for naught that you brought here by one of them yourself. Here we are closest to their realm.”

“But do not think, Boromir,” Frodo said, “that Faramir is any less close to them in his heart. There they also dwell.”

“The eyes of his heart have always been clearer than mine. ’Tis a blessing to see them with my own eyes and understand his better.”

Frodo was silent during his walk with Boromir the next morning. The man was more aware than ever of the small hand in his and had a keen sense of what a wonderful gift of trust, love, and forgiveness that was. He looked over at his little brother who looked unusually thoughtful. He did not pry for he knew and respected Frodo’s need for privacy and was content to wait for the time, if it came, that Frodo would speak. But the Ring-bearer remained quiet, communicating only by a slight tightening of his hand around Boromir’s until they returned to the sea and parted there for the hobbit to return to his tale.

Frodo looked out at the Sea. The tablet on his knees and the stylus in his hand were forgotten while he stared out, remembering how big the Anduin had been and the camp at Parth Galen. He returned to the seemingly aimless path he had taken after he parted from the Company to wrestle with his decision as to how to continue on the Quest. He knew, as he had known then, there was only one possible Road. The fear of it rose up again within him and blotted out almost any other awareness. He sought the Lady’s light and brought it with him as he recalled the approach of Boromir and their words together. The terrible madness and lust in the man’s eyes was still frightening to behold and Frodo fought the urge to flee from it once more. He felt again within himself the same intense desire but brought them both under the Lady’s light. He traveled then to Amon Hen and was torn once more by the titanic forces that had held him in their grasp then. He gasped for breath as they both reached into him and pulled him this way and that, at once closer to their domination and then further away. His writing tablet and stylus fell to the ground as he grabbed the hand that had held the Ring on its finger. He heard not the gentle swish of the tide but the voices that had warred within him, one demanding that he keep the Ring on and one that commanded him to take it off and he heard his own conflicted responses. He moaned softly as he writhed in the grip of the two forces, far more powerful than he. After an eternity, he came to the eye of the storm and found a moments release from the struggle. The Lady’s light shone here brightly through the clouds. He chose once more to take off the Ring and physically did so, though it was long gone.

After Frodo came back to himself, he found himself prostrate on the sand, the water close enough to lap gently against him. He was exhausted but moved himself further away from the water. He reclaimed his tablet but for a long while did not write. He rubbed the hand that had held the Ring until the ache of loss resided enough to be tolerable. When would he remember the events of his journey less intensely or would they always plague him so? Was what he felt on Amon Hen the same Boromir had felt in the man’s own struggle with the Ring? With such thoughts swirling around him, he took up his stylus and wrote.

It was during tea time that Boromir read this portion of the tale. He was silent afterwards and waited until Bilbo had retired to his bed to speak. He could not face his brother but looked down at the floor. “You fought it where I could not. I knew it was a heavy burden for you yet you resisted its madness. All the time the Ring was in our midst had I heard it call to me. It was always there, calling me by day and night, unceasing. It was almost more than I could bear and then it saw its chance and took me. I’m so sorry, Frodo. I broke all honor in allowing that.”

Frodo gently raised Boromir’s chin and the man gained the courage to look into his friend’s eyes. His heart was struck as it saw and felt anew the love, forgiveness and compassion that shone from his brother, amidst remembered and present pain. “The madness that took me was far worse and I have not yet made amends for that, as you made for yours. Yet I was spared, as you were so we can both find our way back. The horror and grief of what happened at Parth Galen is no longer between us. All that remains is the good that came from it. Reliving it now has helped me understand your own burden and how long you held out against it. And you stood up again after your fall and fought valiantly for the lives of my cousins. Aragorn forgave you because I could not. You helped strengthen my resolve to leave and to do what I knew I must. You have now come here so we can both heal from our wounds.”

Frodo spent the next morning with Boromir on an extended walk. He was going to return to the Dead Marshes in the afternoon and he wanted to surround himself with beauty and life first. He also wanted to reassure the man through his company and the hand he clasped that all was truly forgiven. They didn’t speak but much was said.

Frodo took a light meal in the early afternoon for he feared the weight of the memories would make him ill. Carefully he laid his writing tablet on top of his crossed legs and breathed deeply several times to fill himself with the freshness of the air around him. The grass tickled his feet and the wind caressed his curls and cheeks. He looked long at the bright blue sky and listened to the sounds of the birds around him. Then he brought to mind the Lady’s light and entered the Marshes.

Dusk fell quickly around the Ring-bearer and soon the only illumination was the candles in the water. He tore his eyes away from the rotting bodies but was always drawn back to them. To counter the light from the corpses, he looked at them through the light of the Lady. They were not then as frightening and sad, and he was able to fight the compulsion he had felt before to join them and explore the murky depths that had been their home for so very long. He traveled on, past the sickening smells and terrible sights, forcing his uneasy stomach to remain calm. Soon he felt the growing weight and dreadful exposure to the Eye. He told himself it was not there anywhere. The Enemy’s power was gone. It could no longer hurt him. The Lady was with him. Part of him believed that. He wandered through the reed beds until the rest of him did and he could stand aright again. If he was unveiled to the Enemy, he was also just as clearly seen by the Lady. She would protect him.

Frodo came to himself, feeling only slightly nauseous. The day was still bright and alive and he breathed in the fresh air as if it had been hours since he had last sensed it. Perhaps it was. He began to write and continued through to meeting with Faramir, his confrontation with Smeagol at the Forbidden Pool and the sign he had received at the Cross-roads. The thought of the man brought a smile for himself and for the pleasure it would bring Boromir, but the memory of what happened with the capture of Gollum and the strain it caused to Smeagol’s journey back to the light caused Frodo to think of his own betrayal at the Fire and the struggle he still had to overcome that.

Frodo’s voice was not nearly as haunted as his eyes. In the former, there was a hint of hope, like a single flower pushing up from the foulness and struggling to live amidst such ruin. “It was the safest route with Smeagol’s guidance. If you could visit it now, it would not be as heavy with the weight of the Enemy’s will. Perhaps one day it will even heal and be a more proper memorial to the fallen.”

“I would hope it to be so. It was a great victory for Elves and Men, and such a great defeat too. If Isildur had not failed in his duty, the Ring would have never come down to torment us. You would be happy in your Shire and I would be at my father and brother’s sides. But I cannot blame Isildur, knowing the terrible lust that rose from within for the Ring, and the power of it so freshly cut from the hand of the Nameless. It would have been a marvel indeed if he had not fallen.”

“Lady Galadriel told me she wished the Ring had never been wrought or never found. So do I and any who knew of its power. As futile as her wish was, my own vain desire would be the same as yours, to return to the Shire and you to your City. But that is not within our power. We have been given a greater gift, though it may not always seem so. I do not blame Isildur either. Gandalf told me its power was too great for any. If we paid in our flesh and hearts for Isildur’s fall, and our own, we have the opportunity to make amends for it. You already did so by saving the lives of my cousins.” The flower that strained valiantly to live now withered. “I do not know what I can do to make proper my own fall, which was as great as Isildur’s of old.”

Boromir’s heart ached at Frodo’s torment. “I did not know before as much about the Powers as I am learning here, but they would not have brought you here, little brother, if they thought you had failed. There is no evil in this land. The Lady who came to you wept for you. Would she have done so for someone evil? I say not. She wept because someone was hurt so terribly by the Nameless.”

“She showed me great honor and love, and I know it will only through the Powers that I will heal, if that can be done. She has helped me so much already. I can only hope she will continue to do so, for the darkness sometimes is still so deep.”

“She will do that. Did you not hear your own words when you said Mithrandir said it was too great a power for any? We both know that. You have forgiven me. Can you forgive yourself?”

“Yours was a temporary madness that harmed no one. Mine was far worse and would have brought all Middle-earth under the Shadow. Even my seeming betrayal of Smeagol at the Pool still cuts my heart. How much worse does my betrayal of our whole world. Would that Isildur destroyed the Ring, so I would not fail my own test!”

Frodo bowed his head. “Just as my body’s wounds are less to me. How it hurts now to think of what Smeagol felt when he knew I had betrayed him.”

“Just as it hurt you to see that I had, just as much as it hurt me to realize that I had. Yet you give me friendship and love I do not deserve and others extend the same to you, even if you feel you are not worthy of it. You showed Gollum that even though he later betrayed you. You have shown me that, little brother. Others see us more truly than we see ourselves. Look at yourself through the Lady’s light rather than the Enemy’s darkness. Look at your own words that you wrote at the Cross-roads: ‘They cannot conquer for ever!’ Read them until you believe them. You were there when the Nameless One was cast down, and it was through your efforts in part that he was.”

Frodo looked down at his words that he had believed when he had first said them. Did he believe them now? He looked back at Boromir. The man could see the conflict in his friend’s eyes and looked directly in them. “They cannot conquer for ever,” he said softly. A tendril of hope like the first dim light of dawn shone in Frodo’s eyes. Tears, like a morning dew, revived the withered flower as he accepted his brother’s embrace.

Gandalf smiled as Boromir approached him, but the man did not return it, lost in his concern for Frodo. “How goes the battle?” the Maia asked.

Boromir hesitated a moment. “I am trying to aid him but my brother was...is...much better in soothing the troubled spirit than I. I believe Frodo has made great progress, but yesterday he slipped back into reproaching himself, as I do myself at times. I hope he will recover from it. I already know how much he still suffers from the Ring and finding fault within himself because of it. He has spoken freely of what happened when it went into the Fire, but says he does not remember it himself and relies on what Sam told him. I wonder if he will recall it this time. He has such strong reactions to his memories that I fear for him to relive that, yet my admiration and awe of him continues to grow as I read what he bore. Few men in Gondor could have done so well. He does not realize that though or does not believe it. We both still suffer from that.”

Gandalf’s voice was a strange mixture of amusement, exasperation and love. “You have come up against the Baggins stubbornness, and that is a most formidable opponent. Only Gamgee is worse. Even Sauron could not withstand it.”

“Indeed. But the men of Gondor have long experience in fighting hard adversaries. We will outlast it.”

The Maia’s smile widened. “I am certain of it because you can do something Sauron could not. You can love.”

Boromir nodded. “Yes. That I can do. My brother never ceased to show his care for his men, but our father deemed it a weakness, so did his best in my warrior training to breed it out of me. Frodo’s struggle brought it back and I am glad.”

“Yes, it is a pity that Denethor did not recognize that a warrior could be no less of one if he had a gentle heart. There is none gentler than hobbits and none stronger. Frodo’s brokenness will heal with your aid, as he and you enter the battle together with the Powers that brought you two here.”

“Thank you for your counsel. We will both heal with their aid.”

As Boromir moved away and joined Frodo for their morning walk, Gandalf gave silent thanks to Ulmo for bringing the man here so unexpectedly and blessedly.

“Where do you travel today, little brother?”

Frodo’s hand tightened around Boromir’s. “Minas Morgul.”

“I continue to marvel at all the places you went that fill my people with dread.”

“It was the only way besides storming the Black Gate itself. That the men of Gondor and Rohan did that with no hope for themselves seems to be the braver deed.”

“I wish I could have been with you.”

“I wish I needn’t gone at all, any one of us. But it was not all terrible. I hope to rest in my Sam’s arms for a bit as I did then.”

“Then those are better company than I could have provided.”

“The truest blessing I have known, but I value yours and Bilbo’s here, as well. What a surprise Sam will get when he comes here and sees you!”

They finished the walk in companionable silence, then Frodo approached Minas Morgul alone. He centered himself on the grass within a lush garden to counter the foul and deadly flowers he had seen. He breathed deep the freshness of the flowers he now saw and held a vision of them within the Lady’s light as he looked upon the Dead City once more. Darkness fell about him as all his senses focused on the terrible Tower. His writing stylus fell from his hand as he grasped his wounded shoulder and moaned in pain just as fresh as it had been then. His writing tablet dropped from his lap, as he leaned forward and felt once more the overwhelming tug to claim the Ring. His hand moved toward the chain on his neck, though he knew the Ring was no longer there. A sharp lance of longing and torment at its loss left him gasping. Would he ever be free of it?

Frodo’s fingers then closed around what the chain now held: the gem from Queen Arwen. With its consolation, his head cleared enough to be aware of Nienna’s light surrounding him in a soft glow that separated him from the foul green light that came from the Tower. He breathed easier and did not fall again into despair at the vision of the Witch-king and his army marching out, as he had before. When the horrible crowned head turned toward him, Frodo felt it no less powerfully, but just as he was kept from discovery before, the Ring-bearer felt even more so now. He did not quail for he knew the fate of the wraith and that dark one’s master.

The Morgul-lord moved off with his army. After the wearing ascent of the seemingly endless Stairs and enjoying the gift of laughter from his Sam, Frodo again rested in his beloved guardian’s arms. He did not need to bring the Lady’s light here. Simply closing his eyes and remembering the light and love of Sam was enough. He was glad that these memories were just as intense as the others. Sam was with him. He could almost hear the beating of that dear heart. He did hear his own present laughter.

“Thank you, my Sam,” he murmured, as he came back to himself. The deadly peril of the Tower melted into the bright sun, while Sam’s presence remained in the gentle breeze that was like a caress. Frodo picked up his stylus and writing board and began to write, strengthened by the Lady’s and Sam’s aid in recovering from another terrible memory. Though still torn and broken, he lived in the waking world and his enemies did not. He was given the rarest of boons to live in a land they never could, for it was forbidden or forsaken. He would not fail in his present quest, as he feared he had at the terrible Tower of Sorcery, and as he felt yesterday. He would continue on. Even though he was further along in the story than he was then, he still did not know the ending, but he thought that Bilbo may get his wish after all for a happy one. He added that in his notes and looked at it for a long time with a smile. Somehow it made it more real and possible. He looked forward to the day he could show Sam this hope.

“Oh, that would be splendid to have as an ending, my boy!” Bilbo said, as he read over the latest. He shuddered at what his beloved heartson had endured and grieved for it, but there was no mistaking the light that was returning to those dear eyes and spirit. “Happy ones are always the best ending for any adventure. I hope you will manage it. It would not do at all if the audaciousness that we Bagginses have come to be known for coming through all sort of perils will fail us now.”

Frodo smiled before the thought of what was still to come caused it to fade. “I will do my best, Uncle, though the Fire is still to come.”

Bilbo held him tight. He closed his eyes just to enjoy feeling his boy’s arms around him and that spirit which had captivated him from the beginning. “The Lady will be there with you, my lad. Never doubt that.”

Frodo rested his head in his uncle’s treasured embrace. “I don’t. It is the only way I can endure these memories. Perhaps time will blunt their strength.”

“And understanding more about what happened. Gandalf told me at the end of my adventure it wasn’t all managed by luck and now reading yours I know that is just as true about yours. The Powers had us both by the hand. He said I was only a small fellow, but I think you are much bigger than I am.”

“No, I’m not. Or if I am it’s because I stand on your shoulders, and Sam’s and Merry’s and Pippin’s and Faramir’s and Aragorn’s and our Queen’s and Lady Galadriel’s and Smeagol’s.”

“Oh, that’s much too tall for me. I am glad you did not include the Powers too or you would be so high, I would never see you! I like you better down below here.”

“But you aren’t any lower than me, Uncle. We both stand in the arms of the Powers. But it’s good I can rest in yours at the same time, or it would be too much for me.”

Bilbo kissed Frodo’s head. “Yes, I agree. It is very good.” He rested his head against Frodo’s and they both slept.

“Where to today, little brother?” Boromir asked on his and Frodo’s daily morning walk.

The grip on Boromir’s hand tightened painfully and Frodo’s throat was dry. “The spider’s lair. I have written of it before and been there each year on the day she wounded me. It does not get better, but I hope with the Lady’s light and the memory of the light of the phial the Lady Galadriel gave and Sam’s loving defense of me, I can endure it one more time.”

“Can I come with you? I could not be there before, but I would wish to help you face the terror this time.”

Frodo’s grip lessened a little on Boromir’s hand. “Yes, I would welcome that.”

So it was that man and hobbit come into the garden together where Frodo liked to write. Boromir knew he could not enter the dark terror as fully as Frodo did and would, but he wished he could. He thought perhaps by asking his little brother questions, he could keep him grounded in the present rather than lost in the past.

“How did you enter such a terrible place?”

“There was stairs, so many, many stairs. I couldn’t have counted them all even I had wanted. It was all Sam and I could do to raise our knees and feet one step after another with Gollum guiding us. We had no idea where he was leading us. He had spoken of a tunnel but did not say there was a great evil lurking there, waiting to devour us.”

“Our own tales do not speak of it beyond that a unnamed, unknown terror was there. Whether anyone actually saw what you did I don’t know. Perhaps our elders did, but they would not give tell of it.”

As the dark closed in around Frodo, Boromir feared his little brother was beyond where he could follow. He held onto the Ring-bearer’s hand and with the other half-withdrew his sword. Even if there was only a phantom spider here, he could feel the terror of it just from Frodo’s voice and the hand that had grown cold in his. The darkness closed around him as well, as the hobbit’s voice drew him in.

“Such blackness. A foul stench. She’s coming. Evil spider eyes, huge bloated body, swaying ... sagging. Great long hairy legs. Claws, groping, feeling, reaching out for me. Sam! Sam! Help me! Please! She’s getting nearer!”

Boromir jumped up and withdrew his sword fully, ready for battle. But as he came back to himself, he saw no one. The garden was bright, the wind gentle, the birds singing. His sword was of no use here. He laid it down to bring better aid to Frodo. He knelt and embraced his little brother, who trembled and moaned in his arms.

In the terrible black, Frodo saw a light. It was neither the Lady’s light nor the brilliant light of the phial or even Sam’s fierce glow. Yet, it surrounded him with a protective glow and shielded him from his foe. He saw her just beyond it, still groping out for him, but clawing only at the air. She was no less fearsome than before, but the formidable strength of the light that had sprung up as soon as she had lunged at him kept her at bay. Frodo watched as she futilely tried to rend it with her claws and tear it apart with her malice, but she could not defeat it. He felt her anger and hatred as strongly as he had then, but it was not now directed toward him. The light held firm against it until she could no longer withstand its indefatigable power and withdrew.

Frodo woke with a gasp. Shelob was gone. He felt terribly weary but the wound she had given him did not throb as it always had before. He looked up into Boromir’s eyes. His throat felt dry and sore. “Thank you for being with me and defeating the eyes.”

A/N: Some of Frodo’s memories are from a nightmare he had after returning home, as recorded in the magnificent BBC Radio adaptation of the tale. This is from the slightly extended version that came out in 2002 with ‘bookends’ of Frodo recounting more of his journey at the start and end of some of the discs. This is from the beginning of the Return of the King discs.

Boromir found Frodo sitting by the Sea, the water lapping at the Ring-bearer’s feet. The hobbit looked up as the man sat down near him. “You were already gone when I woke,” the warrior said.

“I wanted to be nearer to Sam and my other brothers today. Perhaps it will give me strength to face the dark place I will go to later.”

“It is Sam who is the marvel, not I. After the spider struck me down, the Orcs carried me in senseless. They placed in the uppermost room and there I woke. Sam came in to find me. He challenged the dreadful Watchers at the gate, faced down his terror and searched for me alone for hours in the Orc-infested place. He found me and searched for clothing for me after the Orcs took everything from me and then led me out. There is no one with greater courage than he.”

Frodo smiled faintly. “He does. We’ve had several arguments over it. I can’t convince him of what a hero he is and he can’t convince me. I know I am not. When Aragorn wished to celebrate us by making statues, I wanted none of me but I wanted one of Sam. He didn’t want one but wanted to make sure I had one. We compromised by having one made of him carrying me. That way I achieved my desire to have everyone know how great he was and he got one showing me. I don’t know if he will ever realize what a wonder he is. I could not have done what I did without him and Smeagol. Now I have neither, but at the least I know Sam is happy with his Rose and their ever-growing family.”

Boromir looked at Frodo. “Will you ever realize how great you are, little brother?”

Frodo did not look away from his gaze over the Sea. “I am only a broken hobbit trying to find my way back to wholeness and away from madness. It is a harder journey than the one to Mordor. I am glad I am not alone anymore now than I was then.”

Frodo stared over the Sea for several more minutes, then reached for his writing board and stylus. “I do not want to go back to the Tower, but I must in order to go forward. As Sam said, it’s the job that doesn’t get started that takes longest to finish.”

“The wisest hobbit who ever lived. The Shire is in good hands. I wish I could have stayed.”

“Just as I wish I could have returned to Gondor, but as you have said, there is a reason we are here.”

“Yes and I will not have Sam disappointed that I have not healed by the time he comes. Won’t he be surprised to see you!”

“No, but the Powers will allow it, if he so desires it. And I know he will after his time in the Middle-earth draws to a close. If I did not feel that in my heart, I could not bear this exile or have the strength to seek healing. I am doing this for him and for Bilbo. I want them to see me happy again. And to come back to the Light, I know I must pass through the darkness that still surrounds me. Sam carried me up the Mountain that I am still atop, but it will be the Lady and your aid that will bring me down.”

“Because you will it. Do not forget your own choices here, my heroic friend.”

Boromir squeezed Frodo’s hand. “Please, little brother, do not say you are not a hero. I have been in many a battle. I have seen many heroes among those under my command, from those who have thrown themselves in peril to save the lives of their companions or even strangers to those who have battled silently against the servants of the Nameless. I know what a hero is.”

“True heroes never do. What you did for all of us is beyond what only the greatest could and you did it despite the terrible attack you were under. I could not withstand it.”

“Use them both then to get through your darkness as it got you to the Mountain. There is a way back, little brother. You would not have been brought you to find it if it did not exist.”

“Sam felt the way home was past the Mountain, the one place I cannot get past. And I have not even come to it yet, not again.”

“Let us enter the Tower together then. We must get past that dark hour if we are to see the dawn.”

A/N: The argument over the statues is in my story “Memorial Day.” Frodo and Sam continued to argue that other was the greater hero, in several other stories, including one even after death (“A Seat Among Them”).

A/N: The Red Book is briefly quoted from.

Though Boromir remained by Frodo’s side, he was soon aware that the hobbit’s spirit traveled far from him, and he wondered what aid he could provide upon the dark road his little brother now trod. He picked up the stylus and writing board that fell from Frodo’s hand and lap, as the hobbit curled upon himself and lay trembling with cold or fear. He was alarmed when Frodo suddenly vomited and almost ran to get Elrond, but felt it best to stay by his brother’s side instead. Frodo’s hands groped desperately around his neck and at other times he raised his arms as if to shield his head. Then he lay utterly still and stared into what terrible darkness Boromir did not even want to guess. He had seen such before in his own men. Few recovered from such a trial.

“What is happening to you, little brother?” Boromir breathed.

Frodo did not hear. He was alone in the Tower, utterly alone. The Orcs had left but he knew they were not far away. Any movement he made recalled them. His throat burned from vomit and his naked flesh too where their whips had scored him. He lay in his own waste. The brutal interrogation from the Orcs had brought him to the point of madness. Or was that caused by staring too long at the red light that was his only illumination and to his fevered mind, the sign of the Fire that was the doom that was soon consume all Middle-earth? He had told his tormentors nothing. There was nothing to tell. The Ring was gone. He felt a terrible gap in himself where it used to be, a dark abyss into which he longed to fall. He could not have said why. To follow it and reclaim it, to soothe his savage loss and lust, and then to continue the hopeless errand? To hold it against his heart once more in the hope of stanching the bleeding there caused by its loss, even as he was aware the Ring’s presence had been its own festering wound? Or perhap to hold it against the one thing he knew would drive him beyond any sanity, his Ring on the hand of the Enemy? Or was it so he could die before he saw the destruction of his world because he had failed in his Quest and doomed all those he had wished to save? He knew that last was a coward’s wish. He looked inside his shattered heart with all its secrets laid bare. It would have been better if he had not hearkened and yielded to the will that he had allowed to speak through him at Rivendell. It would have been far better if the Council had not trusted him with the fate of all. Didn’t Elrond, Gandalf, and the rest know it was too impossible a burden to place on such slim shoulders, upon a body pierced by a Morgul-blade? And where was Sam? Dead or soon would be, as all would soon be, if given the mercy of a quick passing. But would any die so under the domination of the Eye? Wouldn’t they first toil in torment and die only slowly and in agony? It was all his fault. He had failed. The Council had trusted him and he had violated their trust. He opened his mouth to scream out the devastating despair that overwhelmed him in its demand for release. But he bit down against it until his lips bled. No sound came to alert his attackers, only silent tears. His nausea passed and even the sharp pain of his tormented flesh ceased to trouble him amid the agony caused by reality of what he had done.

Boromir brushed at Frodo’s curls. “No, little brother. It did not fail. You and I both escaped over the Sea. The Shadow troubles Middle-earth no longer. Do you hear me?”

After Boromir received no response that Frodo was truly aware of him, he was not sure what else could reclaim his friend from the darkness. It was a wonder to him to the end of his days that a memory of his mother’s singing floated up to his consciousness then. But the greater marvel was that he began to sing the song himself, softly at first, feeling rather foolish, but as he saw Frodo respond to it, his voice grew stronger.

A pure, white light began to grow before the Ring-bearer’s eyes, as he had seen before in Shelob’s Lair. And out of the light came a voice. He raised his head and opened his mouth to respond, slowly, weakly. He no longer cared if the Orcs came. The coward he had become briefly wished they would and beat him senseless and release him into death. But they would not do that. They had orders not to. Somehow that gave him the choice and the strength to steel himself against his weakness. If he would not find death, then he would have to continue the fight, even as all crashed down into ruin beside him. In his pitiable condition, there was little he could do but raise his voice to join the song. It was a start.

Encouraged, Boromir continued to sing and as he did so, the light grew around Frodo. Awareness came slowly as he swam up from the blackness of nightmare and memory toward it. The Ring-bearer looked at the man but the warrior could tell that he didn’t see him. “Sam?”

“No, little brother. ’Tis only I, Boromir. I have the Queen’s gem that she gave you. You forgot to put it on today. Perhap it would help you...”

Frodo stared at the outheld chain and gazed in marvel that the Ring was not lost after all, or was it as an orc held it? It was too much. They had stolen everything else, but that was small matter. He did not need clothes or even his mithril coat to get to the Fire, but he must have the Ring. A terrible wave of lust consumed him as eagerly as the flames of Mount Doom would, once he arrived there, to cast himself and his treasure into the pit. There would be no parting from it. He had to have it. He gazed at his enemy with venomous hatred.

“Give it to me! Give it me at once! You can’t have it! It’s mine! Thief! Thief!”

Boromir held Frodo and wept with him. “Those were my words after the Ring took me. But you did not hear them. You were already gone. Alas, for all those wounded by such a fell object. Even here it can still pierce us, yet in memory only. It is gone, and we remain. And it will not tear us asunder again. There is naught for me to forgive, little brother. You have done me no wrong.”

Frodo looked up and saw Boromir smile at him. He lay for a long while in the man’s arms as his brother’s care and the Lady’s light worked its way into his wounded spirit. “Sam sang to me too and held me. Thank you for coming in his place.”

Frodo closed his eyes again and rested. The danger had passed once more. He was safe.

“Do you think right for Frodo to relive his journey again?” Boromir asked Bilbo the next morning, as he sat by the ancient hobbit’s bedside. “I have traveled with him as I may. I marvel at his courage, but I can also see that he suffers from the horror he endures. It is almost too much for me. I cannot imagine how he can bear it.”

Bilbo looked up at Boromir. Tears glistened in the hobbit’s eyes but did not fall. “It grieves me more than I can tell you that he had to do so and continues to do so.” But then he smiled and patted the man’s hand. “I am also more grateful than I can say that you are here to walk beside him in his darkness. I do think he needs to do this, as hard as it is on himself and on us, but we must not let our own distress hinder his healing. If he knew how much pain it was causing us, he would wish to continue alone. And he must not be.”

“He will not be. I know the light of the Lady goes with him.”

“He needs you too.”

“And he shall have me. But what else can I do besides be at his side? I wish I could truly go with him on the dark paths he travels rather than remain outside.”

Boromir flushed with shame, but Bilbo smiled. “That is actually a good thing. Our lad was always given the guardians he needed at the times he needed them. You are that now, alongside the Powers who have ever watched over him. Perhap you could see the Lady Galadriel for any counsel she could give, for she fought with the same temptation of the Ring as you two did, so Frodo told me.”

Boromir’s eyes filled with wonder. “Indeed?”

“Has he not shared that with you?”

“No.”

“Seek her out. The Elves do not give counsel without grave consideration, so anything she says will have immense value. I have lived long enough among them to know that. Galadriel won her battle only after a fierce struggle. Go to her.”

“Seek her I shall then.”

Bilbo smiled.

* * *

Boromir waited anxiously outside Galadriel’s chambers. He looked up as another Elf exited the room. “My Lady will see you ”

Boromir licked dry lips and then stepped inside. He was aware of the door closing behind him and the Lady of the Golden Wood standing before him. He bowed his head.

“Please sit, my lord Boromir,” Galadriel said graciously, as she took her own seat. “You wish my counsel about the Ring-bearer?”

Boromir sat rigidly at the edge of an ornately craved chair. “Yes, my Lady. He is writing once more of his journey and reliving it as intensely as he had lived the first time. I fear for him.”

“You need not. He travels on a long, dark Road, but hold to your hope that his healing awaits at the end, as long as he remains true.” She looked directly into his eyes. Boromir steeled himself not to flinch but did not think he entirely succeeded. Galadriel smiled. “Be at peace. I am glad you are with him.”

Boromir let out the breath he hardly knew he was holding. He slumped somewhat in relief. “Thank you, my Lady. I...I know you saw my heart more clearly in your wood than I did, or perhap it would be truer that I saw it most clearly as you showed it to me.”

“I grieve that he suffers still, away from all his kind but one.”

“Just as you are even more alone.”

“Yes, but even though I am the only Man here, I feel the worse for him. Bilbo will not last much longer I deem, and then Frodo will be alone.”

“No, he will never be. You are here and Mithrandir, Elrond and myself. He retains the hope of seeing his loyal servant and friend again. And he has his memories of the friends and kin he left behind that will remain ever fresh to him and new friends to make. He is not alone. This is my home, just as much as Middle-earth was. I think he will come to understand that as well. It is rare indeed that we see someone outside our own kind that shines with the light that is akin to ours, yet Frodo does. He has also spent much of his life surrounded by his beloved uncle and his tales and even has spent time with Elves before the great Quest began, so Bilbo has told me. With such a rare upbringing, I think Frodo will be in time just as happy here in his second home as he was in his first.”

“I hope it is so.”

“This is the only place Frodo’s fea can heal, in a world not marred by the malice of the Dark Enemy and his most terrible servant. He was harmed by one who came from outside Middle-earth. His cure can only be found outside it. Once his fea heals, his heart will also. Both need more than his Shire could provide to fully grow. Frodo likely knew that long before he became heir to the Ring but did not understand the nature of his longing. Bilbo told me he dreamt often of the Sea. The Quest to destroy it merely quickened into full life all he already felt.”

“His cure will be found then? He won’t always suffer so?”

“My heart is certain he will heal, for he wills it be so, as do the Powers, who have pitied and honored him by receiving him here.”

“Then I will continue to walk with him upon his Road as long as need be.”

Boromir looked fully into Galadriel’s eyes and this time he was not afraid. “You give me hope and strength, my Lady. Thank you.”

Boromir looked up the cloudy sky, then down as Frodo joined him for their morning walk. “It is like to rain today.”

“Good,” the Ring-bearer said. “It was so dry and barren in the wastes of Mordor. I will be glad for rain on my face.”

“Yes, ever toward the Mountain, toward the Fire. Perhap one day away from it as well.”

“Please. I would have never made it there without Sam and I will need your aid to get there this time. I would beg all the Powers to be with me at the Fire, if I could. But let us walk first.”

Frodo’s hand tightened slightly around Boromir’s. “It was more than I thought I could ever bear. But I had to keep going, through the miles, the hunger and thirst, and the despair that all but destroyed me. The Ring grew ever heavier and burned away all else in me. Its presence only was I aware as it stole away all memories of all else. It taunted me, compelled me, whispered and shouted at me. Sometimes I almost collapsed under its weight. It sought so hard to control me, to have me claim it, and at times, it almost succeeded. Its hold on me was so great that when Sam offered to carry it for me, I nearly drew my sword on him. I do not know how I endured it all, or how he did, but we knew we must. It had to come to its end and we had to come to ours. That this would happen at the Fire is something I had long known and accepted, but Sam never did. Even as he loved me with all his strength to what could only be my end, he refused to believe that was the only possible ending to our part in the story. But I knew, or thought I knew, better than him. I knew I could not part with the Ring. I knew that even before I began. I would go with it into the Fire. That was the only way the Ring would be destroyed. I would have peace and an end to torment. My only remaining pain would be that Sam would watch and then die as well.”

Boromir tightened his grasp on Frodo’s hand. It broke his heart to hear such words. “You continue to me a marvel to me, little brother. I do not know how many could bear to labor on with such seeming knowledge.”

“You would if there was no other choice. And yet, even that would have failed me, had Sam not been there to hope when I could not. He saved me and the Quest.”

“And yet you had a choice, just as he did. You made it with each step forward you took, even while you believed it would bear such a heavy cost.”

“The Ring had to be destroyed. If I was to be destroyed also, it was a price I was willing to pay, if all Middle-earth would be free of it. And it came nearly to naught. I almost doomed all Middle-earth to the dominion of the Shadow.”

“As did I when I tried to take the Ring from you. We could let our burdens destroy us, or we believe that despite our failures, the Nameless was still defeated, and you and I were given this great boon. The Powers would not have done so to villains.”

“Perhap not. My burden did destroy me, and yet I am still here. I wish Smeagol was. Mayhap it would have cured him.”

“I do not pretend to know all the answers, but I know Faramir would say Smeagol made his own journey, just as you continue to make yours. I do not know where yours will end, or mine, or our brother’s, but I do not think it will end in darkness for any of us.”

The rain began to fall gently and warmly. Frodo stopped, lifted his face up to meet it and closed his eyes. For a long while, he remained with outstretched arms, just letting it wash over him. He opened his mouth to let it go down his throat. Boromir had never liked to be out in the rain until now. He had endured it enough times in bitterness during battles or long marches, but it had never been the blessing it was now. Or perhaps it was just the little being beside him that was the gift.

“This is why you still live, little brother,” Boromir said after they began to walk again. “So you can be blessed and healed by the Powers.”

Frodo looked up to see the man’s smile. He spread out his free hand to cup more rain and drink it. “It rained like this in the Shire. I am ready now. Let us go inside. I would not have you stay outside because I do not wish to go in. And I can hardly write out here in the rain.”

After they returned home, they changed into dry clothes. Frodo had been tempted to remain in his wet tunic and breeches, but one look at Bilbo’s raised eyebrow disavowed him of that notion. The ancient hobbit returned to his nap. His heartsons went into the study and lit several lamps.

Frodo looked into their light for several long moments. “It was so dark in the Black Land, so very dark.” He sought to call to mind the Lady’s light as well. Then he traveled into the black, and Boromir could only wait outside in the light.

Such deep darkness. Only in the distance was there any light and ever before and around Frodo was the wheel of fire. He could feel its heat through his back as he lay burning upon it, could feel it spread through him, so it was him and he was it. If he had seen the Eye in Galadriel’s Mirror rimmed with fire, he thought this was how his body would look to anyone who saw it. There was nothing else to him anymore. He could see the flames lick around him. Yet even surrounded by it, shivers still ran through his body. How could he go on? Would it not be better to lay down and let the flames consume him, leaving only his ashes? No, he could not. He must continue on. Let the flames do what they willed. Through the fire, he looked to his side for Sam, who was but a shadowy figure. Was he truly there? Someone was.

Frodo reached toward the chain at his neck. Sweet oblivion rested there. Surrender to that and he would be free from pain. The Dark Lord would come. There would a long drawn out moment of agony, the worst he had known, as he saw his Ring on the Enemy’s finger, then there would be nothing. No pain, no hunger, no thirst, no bleeding from around his neck where the chain bit into his skin or from feet too often cut on sharp stones, no ache in his legs from so many long miles, no torment as his heart shattered and its pieces clung to the one thing that now encircled it. He would be free. So he was promised at the least.

The Ring-bearer moved his hand away. He could not surrender. Not yet. Not until it was over and the Ring was in the Fire. Not until he died with it, a moment’s agony as his body hit the molten fire, but he was sure no more painful than what he felt already. Then nothing. Not even the horror and sorrow of hearing Sam’s scream of grief would remain with him. It would be over. He would rather doom himself than all Middle-earth, even if it meant dooming Sam as well. There was nothing he could about that. His beloved guardian would be faithful to the end. He had to remain the same. Then he would have his reward, his peace, the end of everything, so others could go have a new beginning. He kept walking toward the light he saw in the distance. It was not red, but white and growing larger. If he could reach there, he knew he would be safe, even as the flames grew around him.

Frodo watched his burning hand reach toward the Ring again. Peace. Rest. The fire quenched. So its whispers reached him, circling around him like a mist. He watched those tendrils as he stumbled along. He longed to reach out his swollen tongue to touch the moisture there. But no, there was only one way to squelch the fire. Only one. He would remain bound upon the wheel until he leapt with it into the molten furnace in which it was born and where he and it would be unmade. He would not tell Sam.

Boromir watched from the outside as his little brother struggled against the same peril he had all the way from Rivendell. Better than anyone, he had an idea of how the Ring-bearer’s heart and spirit were riven by it, but he felt helpless to aid him. This battle, like his own, was fought inside, and it was terrible. He wished in this instance, Frodo would lose it and close his hand around what lay on its chain next to his heart, for it would aid him, he knew it would. But he knew the hobbit would not be aware that the Queen’s gem was there, but only the poisonous object that had nearly ruined them.

Softly Boromir heard Frodo speak, and he leaned closer to make out the words. “The Eye…the Eye. Help me, Sam! Help me, Sam! Hold my hand! I can’t stop it.” Glad to at last enter Frodo’s world if he could, the man grasped his brother’s hand and held it against him. The hobbit sagged against him. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, as the white light surrounded him and quenched the fire for a time. He opened his eyes after a while and looked at Boromir and the hand the man held against his heart.

The rain continued the next day, and like in Tom Bombadil’s house, Frodo was glad because it delayed his return to the Mountain of Fire he had never truly left. Without bright sunlight to return to, he knew he would not be strong enough to go back into that fiery chamber where he had lost all that he could define himself as. He was a Ring-bearer without a Ring; he was hobbit, who could never return to the Shire. Who was he beside nothing? Was he anything?

It was past dark before the rain stopped. Bilbo and Boromir both watched as Frodo stood at the threshold of their home. The younger Baggins looked back at his beloved uncle, who nodded with a smile, and a ghost of that traced itself on Frodo’s features. He hugged Bilbo and gave him a kiss to the head. “Good night, Uncle.” He relaxed and stepped outside. Boromir made to follow, but Bilbo stopped him.

“Let him be for a bit. He has come so far, as to not fear the night but to embrace it as he once did. Let us celebrate that.”

“But ’tis no easy weight he carries. Would not a companion lighten the load, especially one of us, who knows more about such a burden than anyone?”

“That you have been that I thank the Powers, but I know my lad. Ever since his parents died so suddenly and he so young, he sometimes just needs to be alone. He will be all right. He is not truly alone, you know, and he never was. Those with such sensitive spirits are more aware of the Powers, I have found. Even in the Shire before the Quest began, he loved to spend time alone staring up at the stars. He was drawn to them in a way that was akin to the Elves, and it took me years living among such beings to fully realize what had struck me the first night I saw him after his birth and many nights afterwards: how much alike his fea was to theirs, while still wrapped up in a hobbit. Only now does Frodo himself begin to comprehend what his heart and spirit responded to all those years, what fed them even more than the Shire did, and what a balm those gentle Powers are to him now, like a peaceful rain bringing a parched land back to life. He is a marvel to anyone who is fortunate enough to realize how they have blessed him, and that is beginning to include himself. Look at him now.”

Boromir did and though he had seen Frodo’s soft glow before, as though moonlight came through him, the wonder was ever new. “I know he fears to enter where the Ring was forged, and where he considers the last bit of himself was burned away. But this is who he truly is, filled with light, is that not true?”

Bilbo smiled brighter. “True indeed. Once he realizes that, he will heal. He does fear to return to that terrible place, and so takes this time, alone but not alone, to strengthen himself to enter it and to leave it as well. He has ever done since his parents died, to discover who he was after who he had been was shattered and to leave that place of pain with a new understanding of himself. He often liked to walk alone as a lad. I think it mostly came from the fact that he was orphaned and so did not know his place anymore in Shire life and being alone helped him discover that. But I wonder if somewhere deep down, he also had a vague feeling of what would be asked of him and so sought to find out more ways to strengthen himself and found walking under starlight the best way to do that.”

“My brother loved to get away from the city at times and just stare up at the stars, as well, or wander in the day and see nothing before him but the woods. He become more that way after our mother died. I do not wonder that he found a kindred heart in Frodo.”

Boromir bowed his head. “They are most gracious to one who does not deserve their kindness.”

“Who among us do, but I have read all the tales. They have ever loved the Children of the One who fashioned them as well. They wish to love and bless you as much as any.”

“As do we all, but I do not believe it depends on that. Frodo does not feel so, yet he has received their most solicitous care, even now. The torment of the Ring broke him, just as losing his parents, but within he heals. He is slowly becoming aware of that and discovering anew who he is, just as he did on those walks so many years before. I think he also likes to spend some time with the brothers of his heart that he had to leave behind. It is easier to do that in the night when all else is veiled but the stars. You do not see how separate you are, but how close. Perhaps they are looking up too. You might want to try that yourself one night.”

Boromir looked at Bilbo’s welcome smile. He was humbled anew to see such joy and love there. “I shall do that even tonight.”

“Frodo will be gone for some hours yet, I deem. I do not have the strength left to wait up for him. You may if you wish, but you do not need to. He is perfectly safe.”

Boromir did wait and filled the time reading what Frodo had written so far. After some hours, long after the middle night had passed, Frodo returned inside, Boromir thought the burden his little brother carried seemed not so crushing. The hobbit smiled at him before retiring. Boromir stepped outside, looked up, and spent some time alone with the brother he had left behind.

The next morning the sun shone so brightly that Frodo had to squint after he left his home. But this is where he wanted to be: outside in the light before he entered such darkness as the Fire. He turned as he heard Boromir come up beside him for their daily walk and saw him smile down upon him. Frodo tentatively returned it and took the man’s extended hand as they began.

Frodo’s hand tightened slightly around the man’s. “I must return there if I am ever to leave it. I must climb up again before I can climb down. The Powers gave me such a great gift in coming here to have the hope of healing. I do not wish to squander that. And when Sam comes, I do not wish to have him see me still broken. I thought I would die on the Mountain. I feel I truly did, bit by bit, and far less cleanly that I would have had I hit the Fire with the Ring clenched in my hand.”

“I am glad, little brother, that it did not come to that. You were not meant to die, but to live, and you are understanding now how to do that again, bit by bit.”

“Sometimes I feel I am. Other times I feel the punishment meted out to those who lusted after the Ring is given to me the worst for I had the most grievous fall. Death came quickly to you and to Gollum. It has not to me. I still wonder why Smeagol had to die in my place. I wish it had not need be. I wish he could have healed also. Why did he have to be punished for my fault and I receive this reward?”

“I will not presume to question the wisdom of the Powers or the One directing them in sending either of us here. But I know it is not a punishment. They value us far more than we value ourselves and amended your fall just as quickly as my own and Gollum’s. Their mercy brought us and Isildur to the same end: freedom from the torment of the Ring. I read more of your tale last night and how much Gollum helped and hindered you.”

“I owe him a great debt. All Middle-earth does. Sam and I were the ones celebrated in Gondor for throwing down Sauron. But it was really Smeagol that did it. He kept his word to the end, truer than I did. He kept the Ring from the Enemy, where my actions would have brought it straight to him at the end. We would not have made it even through the Marshes without him. Yet who remembers him now? After escaping from the Tower, we were aware that he was following us, or that Gollum was. Perhaps Smeagol was already gone, much as I was by the end after walking so many miles into the deepest darkness.

Boromir shook his head in wonder and smiled. “I still find it a wonder that you simply walked into Mordor.”

“I have walked there so many times in my memories and nightmares. I do not think I have stopped since we left Rivendell. I hope the journey will soon end.”

The Ring-bearer’s lips quivered in a ghost of a smile. He squeezed Boromir’s hand. “That sounds like something Sam would say. I am glad you are with me.”

Frodo sat down on the grass in a wide meadow and prepared with fearful confidence to enter the Sammath Naur once more. Boromir watched him fade from the present and return to the past that he had never truly left. Though the day was warm, it was not uncomfortably so. Certainly not enough to cause the sweat that the man began to see on his brother’s face and soak through the hobbit’s tunic.

Darkness surrounded Frodo, yet light behind him grew. The siren call of the Ring was all that he heard, drowning out the soft whisper that sought to find its way into his heart. The terrible crushing power of the Enemy’s treasure cowed him until the last remnants of his will and self were swept away under the onslaught and he stood naked before his adversary and his own lust. Boromir sat rooted in horror and shame as he heard from his little brother words that he had spoken and heard in his own heart. “I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!”

Frodo gasped for breath as he sought for the Ring on its chain. Yet even as he reached for it and closed his fingers around it, he felt calm rather than madness. The consuming fire within him burned down. The horrible sense of violation that had left him shattered into pieces so small he could not hope to gather them began to ease. He felt light enter the terrible darkness, so he could see the pieces amidst the ash and stoop down to reach them. The screams of the Ring silenced and instead he heard a soft voice guiding him to those which were more far flung. Carefully he gathered those closest to the edge so they would not fall into the Fire. Enough of himself had been claimed by that already. It was time to reclaim and restore them all. Boromir watched in wonder as his brother’s features relaxed as he clutched the gem the Queen had given him. A brighter light around the meadow mixed with the sunlight. The man bowed his head in the presence of the Lady who came.

“I do not choose,” Boromir heard Frodo whisper over and over. “I do not choose. I do not choose.” As Boromir listened, the Ring-bearer’s tone changed each time he repeated the words as Nienna guided him to truly hear and understand them. “I did not choose.”

Frodo’s breath exhaled as a great weight rose from him. He turned his back to the Fire and returned to the foot of the Mountain. He did not look back as he strode away. He opened his eyes and looked at Boromir with a smile. “I did not choose.”

Bilbo and Boromir smiled as they watched Frodo sleep peacefully with a smile of his own. His maimed hand reached out and closed with a murmur of “Sam.”

“The Lord Irmo and Lady Este keep him well this night,” Bilbo said. “I daresay his healing is almost complete. I am glad. I did not want to leave him until I saw peace come to him.”

“I am glad as well, but he will miss you sorely. Must you leave so soon after he heals?”

“I would stay with him forever if I could, but as long as I have lived among the Elves, I am yet mortal. I am ready. He will grieve but he will accept that. He will stay and wait for Sam and he will be ready himself after that. We have been given a great gift, that I understand the Men of Numenor were also blessed with: the time to choose when to surrender ourselves trustfully to the One who made us.”

Bilbo smiled as he looked up at his adopted son. “I thought so. I am glad that my two sons will have the company of each other. It would be lonely for Frodo to not someone akin to himself here.” He looked back down at Frodo, as the Ring-bearer murmured Pippin’s name. “But then again he is not alone in any case.”

“I am glad he dreams of peace and friends instead of the rage and enmity of the Ring. Why do I feel it is more than just a dream?”

“You could well be right. Never doubt the power of the Master of Dreams. The one he gifted your brother and you with was a mighty one. In some ways, you can say it led you here. Frodo received many visions from childhood that he did not understand then. He dreamed of this land far before he saw it. And I have dreamed myself recently of what lays beyond this life.”

Bilbo smiled. “The greatest adventure of them all. I do not envy the Elves their immortality. Death is called a gift given to us mortals. And I think that is so. We have a blessing that not even the Powers have in being able to escape beyond this life. We will hear one day more fully the Music as it was meant to be sung.” He looked back down at Frodo. “I have listened to this particularly beloved melody for many years now. It is at last coming back to how it sounded from the moment it captured me from before his birth. As I held him for the first time and looked into those eyes that held the Sea and Shire and so much more, I realized where that beautiful sound came from. Hearing it change into pain while he was gone on his Quest broke my heart, but the fact that I could still hear it sustained me. I fancy I will even hear it after I leave here. It is almost time.”

In the morning, Frodo waded into the Sea while Bilbo and Boromir stayed on the shore. The ancient hobbit remained peaceful with a deeply contented smile on his face as his heartson went further and further out, but the man grew concerned once the water was deep enough to cover Frodo. He looked back at Bilbo. “Should he not be out so far?”

“Do not fret for him,” Bilbo said with the same placid and joyfully loving look. His eyes did not move from watching his lad. “He is not in peril. He is quite safe in Lord Ulmo’s care, as he has been from the time his parents were lost in that Vala’s domain.”

“I would think he would be more afraid of the water after such a terrible time, than less.”

“He was for a long while, but he learned to trust in the Powers’ love for him, even as a child, though he knew not then who he gave his trust to. But after living among the Elves for so long, and learning about their faith in the Powers, I can see how deeply our lad was sensitive to them even then. And that only grew as he took upon himself the terrible burden I left him, all unknowing. He knows now how carefully watched over he was and always will be. And I think I am realizing it now too and can let go of the burden I have held so long that I gave such a vile thing to him. He understood far before that he was indeed chosen for it and now he learns to lay it down and live again as he was always meant. In some ways, he is becoming a child again. Would that we all could trust that fully.”

Boromir was deeply moved by Bilbo’s words, as he knew the ancient hobbit was just as moved by Frodo himself. He looked back to his little brother. Almost he thought he could see the faint outline of the Vala who held the Ring-bearer close. Certainly he sensed he was in the presence of one of the Powers and his belief in them deepened now that he could see another of their faces. He bowed his head and mouthed his thanks and then raised his eyes again to look upon Frodo.

Frodo spent some time in the water thinking of the times it had saved him from peril and eased the burden of his Quest: crossing the Brandywine and the Ford of Bruinen, walking through the Nimrodel, floating upon the Anduin, the marvel of finding water in Mordor and the wonder of transversing the Sundering Seas. Once he had sated himself for the moment and returned to the shore once more, he faced the water and bowed. The tide tickled his feet and he smiled, then turned to face Bilbo and Boromir.

“My lad, you shine near as bright as one of the Firstborn. It makes me wonder if there is truth in the old tale that one of the Tooks took one to wife and so was able to pass their grace down to you. In fact, I’ve wondered that since I first set eyes upon you.”

Frodo giggled and Bilbo’s heart soared. The last chains broke free and their fear danced in the air as they embraced. The ancient hobbit closed his eyes and opened his ears wider to drown in the melody that now sang forth as it had before the Quest brought such discord. He knew his time was short but he sought to lengthen it to enjoy the Song of his lad’s fea as long as he could and to look into those eyes that were bright with life and joy again and had never been without love for him. It pierced his own heart that he would soon be bereft of seeing that and would cause fresh tears in his lad but now he could only rejoice. The tears Frodo wiped away on his uncle’s cheeks were happy ones. The sad ones would come soon enough but not now. Now his lad was home again and there was nothing but shouts of joy and thanks that only those who had brought it could hear.

Months passed and Frodo spent much of it with Bilbo. Though they did not speak of it, the younger Baggins sensed his uncle’s time was short. The joy they had in each other’s company was enough though to keep at bay whatever fear and grief Frodo felt. The time came to celebrate another shared birthday, and they spent much time alone planning it down to the last detail. Both knew it would be Bilbo’s last. Many of their other adventures had started on or around that time, but the ancient hobbit refused to begin his last one at the same time. He did not want that to overshadow what should be a joyous celebration of birth.

“In fact,” Bilbo told Boromir conspiratorially, “this party will be one of special magnificence never before seen in the Shire or out of it. Have you ever been to a hobbit birthday party before? I suppose you have not.”

Boromir smiled. “No, but Pippin and Merry told me enough to make me think I had.”

“Well, then, my boy, you are in for an extraordinary treat, for we have also invited the Elves to come to this one.”

The day came, brighter and more beautiful than it ever had, even in the sun-blessed Shire. Besides the hobbits themselves, Gandalf was the only one who had attended Bilbo’s eleventh-first, but this outdid it by a long bit. It poured even more food and rained even more drink. The fireworks were even more spectacular. Even the grave and somber Elrond laughed and the other Elves were more merry than they had been since Bilbo encountered them on his first adventure. The hobbits were most gracious hosts and gave out presents to each of their guests.

Boromir received a pipe and a bag of pipeweed. “It’s the last bit of Old Toby,” Frodo said. “Gandalf told me he was keeping it for this party. Would you smoke some with us?”

“Yes, once," Boromir said. "Pippin and Merry were determined to turn everyone in the Company into a hobbit that was not already one, so they instructed me on this. It is not an art we practice in Gondor, though I think my brother would have enjoyed it.”

Frodo smiled. “Faramir did enjoy it, for my cousins were not amiss in trying to change him into a hobbit either.”

“That is well. He was much closer to your kind already than I and would have enjoyed it.”

Boromir joined Gandalf, Elrond, Bilbo, and Frodo in enjoying the pipes. All took joy that the younger Baggins was back to his old self. That he smoked was the final sign Bilbo needed that his heartson had fully healed, for he knew Frodo had not smoked since the Eagles had brought him and Sam out of the Fire. With the memory of smoke now bringing back contentment and joy instead of fear and sorrow, the ancient hobbit knew it was time to go.

A couple weeks after the birthday celebrations, Bilbo watched Frodo closely one day in particular. He thought on the 22nd he had received all the confirmation he needed that his heartson’s healing was complete, but then he realized there was one more sign that he noted from its absence rather than its presence which truly showed his beloved one was forever beyond the reach of the Shadow that had so long overhung him.

Frodo was full of light and joy the whole day. He and Bilbo walked slowly in the garden as the sun was setting. “Do you realize what day this is, my lad?” the ancient hobbit asked.

Bilbo smiled. “It is October the sixth and this is the first time in years you have not spent it on Weathertop.”

Frodo startled then a huge smile broke out on his fair and shining face. “And I am still here and not there!”

As Gandalf and Celebrian watched from a distance the light of Frodo shine out into the evening, the Maia saw the fulfillment of the vision he had seen in Rivendell. “A great Shadow has departed,” he murmured in soft and reverent awe. “He has come through fully at last.” He praised the Powers and the One above them for the gift of such a sight.

Bilbo stopped and sat slowly down on a bench. He took Frodo’s hand as the young son of his heart joined him. “Long years ago, I remember the talk in the Shire about how much of a nuisance Gandalf was and how he ‘encouraged’ me to remain adventurous after my return from my great journey. I was accused then of ‘encouraging’ some of my Tookish relations to become so themselves. You were the most thoroughly encouraged one, my own self. I could look at you and see who I had wanted to be in my youth with all my mad dreams of venturing out beyond the Shire. But I allowed all that to be buried until Gandalf practically pushed me out the door to embrace the dreams I had never forgotten. And he was there to aid you and guide you on your own adventure. I believe there is much more to him than any Hobbit, Man, or Dwarf ever guessed. I think the Elves may suspect something.”

Bilbo’s hand tightened around Frodo’s and Frodo’s around his. “I am ready for my next adventure, my best beloved. Did you read in all my writings about the Gift that was given to Men?”

“Yes, that they could choose the time of their own deaths. In my darkest hours, while Sam slept contentedly with Rose, and I stared into the emptiness inside me and felt it crush me until I could hardly breathe, I thought of that choice. I thought of the knives in the kitchen and the Elven rope that Sam had brought from the Golden Wood and of Sting. Then I would hear Sam’s gentle snores and I knew I could not do anything to bring that choice upon me in such a way. If I had done it then, in an evil mood, I do not think it would have been a Gift to me, even though the tempting voice inside of me presented it so. Imagine how something as simple as a snore could rescue me for a moment and show me there was love and life beyond my prison and it could still reach me.” Frodo looked at Bilbo. “Do you now wish to accept the Gift as it was meant?”

Bilbo returned the look with tears in his eyes and reached out to hold him tightly. “Oh, my dearest boy. Will you ever forgive me?”

Frodo held him just as tightly and then reached up to dry Bilbo’s tears “There is nothing to forgive, Uncle. You did no harm to me. If you accept such a Gift now, then I know it is mine to receive as well. As much I would like to join you on your adventure, I want to stay here and see Sam. I do not want him to make such a long trip for naught, knowing how much he hates the water.”

Frodo kissed his uncle’s head. “Go, my dearest Bilbo, and have your adventure. I will tarry here and then Sam and I will join you, and we shall be merry once more.”

With such a blessing, Bilbo knew the day had come. He turned back inside as the last glint of light disappeared from the sky. He settled down on his bed and Frodo and Boromir sat at his side. The younger Baggins took his uncle’s hand again and looked into those dear eyes one last time and saw them look into his. Bilbo reached up to touch Frodo’s cheek and smiled. “My bright and beautiful boy, so dearly loved, my heart’s own mate and mirror.” Frodo smiled bravely back. Tears pricked at his eyes but he willed them not to fall, not yet. He kissed his uncle’s brow. “Go on, my dearest. I will follow when I may.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, my lad, for both my lads,” Bilbo said with a smile at Boromir. He tightened his grip on Frodo’s hand, then closed his eyes and surrendered his spirit. His last breath came out as a sigh. As his hand relaxed in Frodo’s, there was a great silence, then the Ring-bearer hung his head and wept. Boromir placed his hand on his little brother’s shoulder and after a while, Frodo sought the comfort of his arms.

The next morning, Gandalf and the Elves accompanied Frodo and Boromir as they buried Bilbo with his head closest to the Shire and his face facing toward Elvenhome and the adventure beyond that the hobbit was now experiencing. Frodo spent some time sheltered in the arms of Gandalf and also accepted the embraces of Elrond, Galadriel and Celebrian. It was a sad time for them all but a blessed time to be together and to have known such a rare hobbit.

Later in the afternoon, Frodo and Boromir stood at the edge of the Sea. The hobbit looked up at the man. “Can you carry me out, please? I can make it further with you than I could on my own.”

Boromir looked down at his beloved friend and smiled. For the first time since the Quest and their first meeting, Frodo reminded him of a child, though he knew the hobbit was older than he was. “Of course, little brother.” He bent down to take Frodo onto his shoulders, as he had done with Faramir a lifetime ago, and waded into the water until it nearly covered the top of his chest. They stood there for a long time to be closer to the land and kin they had left. The tears that fell into the water Ulmo blessed and cleansed, so when they reached the Shire, they were received as a gift and mixed with Sam’s own tears, as he knew their cause. Yet, it was not completely in sorrow that the hobbit received them, for it meant his master lived still.

The sting of Bilbo’s death lingered until one evening Nienna came to Frodo and wept with him. That night the Ring-bearer felt his grief ease. He received the additional gift of peaceful sleep and a dream of Bilbo. From then on, he grew merry once more, though was still solemn at times and spent more time at the shore of the Sea. But after a while he resumed his rambling walks with Boromir, whose company he treasured even more as his last link with his home.

Months melted into years and years into decades. Frodo and Boromir grew grey together and closer than they could have ever imagined the day they met, now so long ago. If the man could have known it, he had spent more time on the Lonely Isle than he had spent in Middle-earth. With the book long finished, Frodo spent his days in the garden getting it ready for Sam or reading and writing a Quenya grammar for his beloved gardener and guardian to learn from. Favorite flowers and mushrooms surrounded him, as well as other edible treasures not available in Middle-earth that he thought Sam would enjoy.

One morning Frodo and Boromir stood at the edge of the Sea. “I am glad I do not know how much time has passed waiting for Sam to come,” he said. “I do not think I could have borne it.”

“Gandalf! Do you mean…did I feel last night…” The hobbit had felt a sharp edge of pain in his heart that had first come from Sam’s heart.

“Yes and yes, my dear hobbit. Sam is on his way or will be soon. Rose has accepted the Gift.”

Frodo bowed his head. “I feared it was so. I grieve for him and cannot wait to hold him. I wish I could hold him now.”

“Why do you think you cannot? Have you forgotten all these years that he can feel your love and grief, just as you can feel his? Even in his pain, Sam looks forward to holding you in his arms as well.”

“Soon. His heart and feet are already preparing. Goodbyes are being said, roots are loosening, ready to find fresh ground to plant in.”

“He has spent his whole life in the Shire. I wonder how hard it will be for him.”

“His heart has always been with you and Rose. As always, he follows it. It is not the Shire itself that bound him there. It is those he cherished the most.”

“But I only left him and Merry and Pippin as those I deeply treasured. He leaves so many children and their children.”

“They have always known this day would come. Their grief is like yours and his were - a sadness that is also blessed. They will grieve but they will also find happiness and peace in knowing their Da loves them and is going toward one he loves.”

Frodo looked up at Boromir and smiled. “What a surprise Sam is going to have to see you here!”

The hobbit stepped out into the water and without a word, Boromir swung him up on his shoulders. Frodo squinted into the distance. “I wish we could wait for him here, so we are the first people he sees.”

“We still will be, little brother. I do not think Mithrandir will leave us uninformed. And your heart will be an even surer voice.”

“Yes, from the time we met, Sam has dwelt there, taking care of me, wrapping his heart around my own, and now I can show him it has healed and is whole again. Let us go. We need to make sure his room is ready!”

Frodo spent the next days making sure his Sam would feel welcome in his new home. The garden looked brighter than it ever had. The larder was filled with Sam’s favorite foods and those Frodo thought he would like.

The morning of reunion finally came. A tremendous joy welled up in Frodo’s heart and he could barely keep still. He spent the day at the shore, straining for any sight of the ship that would bring the rest of his heart home to him. Boromir brought out their meals and Gandalf joined them for the evening one.

“How much longer? I could walked there already and brought him here faster!”

There at last, Frodo saw. He rushed into the water. Boromir ran after him and scooped him up before the water fully overcame him. They waited there for some time as the ship grew closer and closer.

“Let’s go back,” Frodo said. “I marvel that Sam traveled all this way. He’s not going want his feet to touch the water anymore than he has to, so we best meet him on dry land.”

Sam’s eyes found the shining lights on the shore, and even though his heart was still sore, it leaped to see what it so longed for. There was the light of his beloved master, brighter than he had ever seen it, and a taller being whose brilliance was even more. The closer he got, he saw that was Gandalf, who smiled widely. But Sam barely saw him. The ship came in and the hobbit ran down the still-lowering plank faster than his century-old legs should have been able to carry him.

“Sam! Sam!!” That dear voice! He had heard it so often in his dreams, seen that face before him only to have it melt away when he woke, but now here was his master before him. Sam clutched at him ever so tightly to keep from disappearing in the mist. Arms, so solid and real, embraced him as well.

The hobbits’ whole world was reduced to the sight of the other. Heads touched, hearts rejoiced, hands stroked curls and cheeks, eyes drowned taking in the other, voices murmured, tears and laughter flowed, kisses were joyfully given and received. This was no dream!

“You’re healed,” Sam said in wonder. “And you are even more beautiful than ever I saw.”

Sam looked up and smiled back at the wizard. Then he noticed the man standing by him. “Hello, Sam.” The hobbit squinted, then his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped in shock. He quickly put himself between his master and the man. “Mr. Boromir! How…”

“It’s all right, Sam,” Frodo assured. “Boromir did not die but was allowed to come just as we were. That marvel was waiting for me when Bilbo and I arrived. There is nothing to fear from him. He has long been a brother to me.”

Sam looked hard at the man. Boromir smiled. “It is good to see you again, Sam.”

The hobbit shook his head, as though he still could not believe what he saw. “Well, I never… Of all the wonders in the world…”

Frodo laughed. That drew Sam back to his master. How wonderful it was to hear that! They held each other for another long while, not talking, simply treasuring each other's presence, then Frodo spoke.

“That is a sore hurt, and I wonder when it will ease, but you know I could not live without both sides of my heart missing, me dear.”

“There are Powers here who will aid you in your grief, as they aided me in mine. And we will always have each other. I will stay here with you as long as you wish and then we will go to join Rose and Bilbo.”

“I cannot wait for that, but all the same, I want to spend some time with you. It was that hard at first not to be able to take care of you each day like I had for so long. There were so many days I would wake up in the night and listen to see if you needed anything or would get up in the morning to greet you and you were long gone. I know the Elves took care of you, and Mr. Bilbo, and Mr. Gandalf, and Mr. Boromir for that matter…”

“You took care of me, too, Sam. Don’t think you didn’t. How are Merry and Pippin?”

“Doing very well. Mr. Pippin married Miss Diamond and their son is named Faramir and he married my Goldilocks. And Mr. Merry married Miss Estella and they had a son too.”

“They both wished they could be here. Mr. Pippin told me he wished he had borne the Ring so he could come.”

“Fool of a Took,” Gandalf murmured behind them, but they all heard the affection he said it with.

“I am glad for one that he didn’t,” Frodo said. “I would have loved to see him and Merry again though. We shall one day.”

“Oh, and I was almost forgetting, they gave this to me to give to you, and I brought some of my own to give, too.” Sam brought out a package to give to Frodo.

Frodo’s eyes widened in wonder. “Old Toby and Southern Star and Longbottom Leaf! Bless you, Sam! Now let us go so you can see your new home and later we can have a proper smoke with Gandalf.”

Frodo took Sam’s hand in his. The gardener noticed that though there was still a finger missing, there was a light about that hand just as much as there was anywhere about his master. He marveled at each new sight and smell. His feet gloried in the soft grass. His ears thrilled to the sounds of birds he had never heard before. Elves nodded to him in honor, which caused Sam to blush.

“Yes, she awaits you, but wanted you to be a little settled in first. She knew this would be a rather overwhelming day for you, just as it was for Bilbo and me. Are you hungry?”

“They fed us on the boat with the fairest of all food I ever had. And the drink! I also slept a lot better than I thought I would. I could hardly feel the ship moving at all. And then we were sailing in the air! I could not believe my eyes.”

“Nor could I. I would wish to take that trip again without the shroud of grief covering me, so I could truly enjoy it. It is a rare trip indeed for a mortal to make.”

Sam stopped in wonder as they came home. “It’s a smial! Well, I’ll be… All those years ago, when Mr. Bilbo was saying what ending he would like for his book, and I wondered where we would live, I didn’t think it would here in a proper hole in the most Elven of all the lands!”

Sam squeezed his master’s hand. “Home is wherever you are, me dear. I was that happy even in the Tower of Cirith Ungol because I was holding you. I would be happy there again, but this is more wonderful than I could have dreamed of.”

“Would you like to see the garden? I tried to make it as home like as I could, though I am not the master gardener you are.”

Sam passed through and admired all the flowers. He paused and touched with a smile the elanor that bloomed. “I must say I don’t recognize half of these, but it looks better than the garden at Bag End ever did.”

“That is due no doubt to the virtue of the land and the air here. You will find great healing here, my Sam, for any ill that afflicts you.”

The night, for the first time in over sixty years, Frodo slept with his ear close to the sound of Sam’s heart. Many similar nights followed. The gardener grew used to having a man about the house and was able to tell Boromir much about his brother, king, and queen. Frodo was glad as the two became closer.

One evening, in the still of the night, a strange light grew in the smial. Boromir woke first, then Frodo and Sam. There was a presence there, soft and peaceful, beautiful and old. “Little brother,” the man breathed and the soul there smiled and nodded. Faramir looked to the hobbits with a smile also before turning once more to his brother. Boromir knew then it was time for him to accept the Gift also. Frodo embraced his dear friend and kissed him on the brow. “Go with him, as I will go later with my brother.”

Boromir held Frodo tightly. He could not think of any words to say that would begin to express what all these years meant to him. Frodo smiled in understanding. The man lay down and closed his eyes. He passed with his brother. Frodo placed his head against the man’s brow. “Be at peace, son of Gondor.”

The next morning there was another burial. Several years later, Frodo and Sam accepted the Gift as well, as Merry and Pippin came to them. The Ring-bearers were buried together as they were found, wrapped in each other’s arms.

So ends this story, but not their story. Their greatest adventure is just beginning…

I will be taking a break from writing fic now. I am working on an original fantasy and also another LOTR book, focusing on the journeys of Bilbo and Frodo. I am glad that this story, my first to feature Boromir, was so well received! Thanks again to Agape4Gondor for wanting this to continue. I’ve enjoyed writing it and traveling down this unexpected Road.

Till We Have Faces by Antane