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

This is a sequel to my story “Quarantined”, in which Aragorn and Gandalf first met Frodo andSamwise when Frodo was 22 and Sam was 11. Frodo and Aragorn strongly bonded and became fast friends in a very short period of time, during a serious illness and subsequent adventure. As this story begins, it has been 15 years since they last saw each other (when Frodo was 35). This new story assumes familiarity with “Quarantined” and will contain many references to it, but I am hopeful that it can also stand on its own.

Please remember that this is AU. The path of the journey (Bree, the Marshes, Weathertop, the Ford, and Rivendell) is true to canon, but the actions, interactions, relationships, motivations, and dialogue will be that which best serve this story.

DISCLAIMER: Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

Notes for Chapter 1: I’ve pulled bits of the movie into Chapter 1 (events in the common room, the stairs, Aragorn’s room, his sword, etc.); however, the story will, for the most part, use book-canon as a framework for my own imagination.

Butterbur’s line in this chapter is taken directly from “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

It had been 15 years, but even if it had been 150, Aragorn would have recognized him instantly. He had last seen Frodo Baggins on the hobbit’s 35th birthday, two years after Bilbo had left the Shire. He wondered what the boy’s life had been like, since they had last spoken. The boy… Aragorn shook his head in amusement. If he remembered correctly, Frodo had to be 50 now, although he looked… the Ranger frowned at the hobbit talking with Butterbur. Frodo looked the same as he had at 35… at 33… in fact, hardly older then he had appeared at 22, when they first met. How was he so unchanged by the years?

The Ranger pressed more deeply into the shadowed corner in which he sat, deciding not to approach Frodo yet, wishing to direct no attention towards him. Drawing thoughtfully on his pipe, he watched as Butterbur escorted the hobbits away, toward rooms and a bath, he assumed. Gandalf had said he would be arriving with Frodo and Samwise, but here were four hobbits… and no Gandalf. The sandy-haired, robust hobbit could only be Sam, just a tweenager when he last saw him, but the other two were unfamiliar.

All four were armed --- and all four looked as frightened as if Carcharoth, the legendary wolf beast of Morgoth, was on their heels.

Aragorn was still thinking, and assessing the occupants of the common room from the shadows, when the hobbits returned, shown to a table by Butterbur. Frodo sat quietly, his eyes downcast, but the other three looked about eagerly. As the youngest-looking one dashed over to the bar, Aragorn suddenly noticed that Sam was looking directly at him, then Frodo was speaking to Butterbur…

Aragorn saw Frodo frown, and Sam bending close to speak to him. Could they possibly remember that name heard but a few times, so long ago? But there was no time to think about it further, as Frodo abruptly leaped up from the table, crying out to his young companion at the bar. He tripped over something, was falling… and Aragorn leaped to his feet in astonishment, along with nearly every other occupant of the room. Frodo had vanished into thin air.

Where was he… there! Frodo reappeared under a table, looking dazed and frightened, and Aragorn instantly grabbed him and half-carried him up the stairs. Banging open the door to his own small room, Aragorn slammed it shut behind them and quickly kneeled down, peering into the hobbit’s ashen face.

“Frodo,” the Ranger whispered. He clasped Frodo’s cold hands in his; they were shaking, as was he, and Aragorn realized that the hobbit was in shock. Wherever the Ring had taken him, or whatever it had revealed to him, Frodo seemed slow to comprehend that the vision had faded, and that an old friend was here before him.

“Frodo?” Aragorn searched the enormous blue eyes for any sign of recognition. “Little one, do you not remember me?”

Frodo’s eyes slowly traveled over Aragorn’s face, and he started trembling even harder.

“N. . no one has called me that since…” Frodo’s eyes filled with tears. “Estel?” he whispered. “Are you really here?”

“I’m really here,” Aragorn murmured. He released Frodo’s hands and pulled a blanket off the bed, wrapping it about the shaking hobbit and pulling him into his arms. “I’m here. Shhh, it’s all right. Calm down.”

There was a sudden crash and commotion behind them, and a cry of “Let ‘im go!” Aragorn, in one fluid motion, thrust Frodo behind him, leaped to his feet, and spun about, the tip of his drawn sword coming to a halt an inch from Sam Gamgee’s heart. He quickly lowered his sword and surveyed the hobbits, all three holding long, intricately carved knives; long enough, he realized, for a hobbit to use as a sword. The youngest-looking hobbit was obviously trying to appear fierce, although the hand holding his sword was shaking; the second hobbit had flung out one arm to keep his companion from lunging forward, and held his sword steady in the other; and Sam…

“Sam!” Frodo cried. He threw off the blanket and stumbled forward. “Sam, it’s Estel!”

“Long ago I asked you to look after him, Samwise,” Aragorn chuckled. “I am glad to see that you took my advice so literally.”

“Mr. Estel?” Sam dropped his sword in astonishment. “They call you ‘Strider’ here, I forgot that.” Suddenly he grinned. “Sorry for not recognizin’ you right off, sir; you haven’t changed much, but you could do with some cleanin’ up.”

Aragorn smiled. “No apology is necessary, Sam --- I’ve been out in the Wild for a long time; and besides, you were barely a tweenager when you last saw me.” He bowed to the two unfamiliar hobbits. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn, at your service.”

“I’m confused,” announced Pippin. He sheathed his sword with the awkwardness of one unused to the act, then quickly edged past the strange Man and grabbed Frodo. Reassuring himself that his cousin was unhurt, he turned to face Aragorn. “Who are you, sir? Why do you have so many names?”

Suddenly Frodo burst into relieved laughter and leaped at Aragorn, who caught him in his arms and whirled him about, chuckling.

“Oh, Estel,” said Frodo breathlessly, when the Man set him back down on the floor, “I’m so glad to see you. You can’t imagine what’s been going on.”

“I can guess,” said Aragorn, sitting on the bed. “Gandalf has told me much, and by your faces when you arrived, I can guess that you are already pursued by servants of the Enemy. After what happened downstairs just now…” He shook his head reprovingly at Frodo. “We dare not stay here more than this one night.”

“No,” replied Aragorn, “and as he is not with you, I am greatly concerned.” He looked closely at the young hobbit. “May I ask your name?”

“I am honored, Master Took,” Aragorn said. “Gandalf has told me much about your family.”

“Uh oh,” murmured Frodo with a smile. He turned to Merry. “And this is Merry --- another of my cousins, Meriadoc Brandybuck.”

“Frodo has spoken of you,” Merry said carefully. “I know you are old friends, and we can certainly use an ally; but even though hobbits may be no match for… whatever is out there…”

Merry took a deep breath and turned to face Frodo. “Frodo, this may be the bravest and kindest Ranger in all of Middle-earth, but he is still a Man. You said Gandalf told you that Men are easily corrupted by…” He hesitated.

“He is wise to be cautious, Frodo,” said Aragorn, “and Gandalf was correct. It is true that Men have been the most quickly corrupted by the Ring.”

“Then why should we trust you?” asked Merry. “We will draw less attention without you, than with you.”

Aragorn regarded him gravely. “Master Brandybuck, I am indebted to Frodo and Samwise for my very life; but even if I was not, as you say, we are friends. I will not betray Frodo, and will do everything within my power to help him. But beyond that, without my aid you will never get out of Bree unharmed; not now. Regretfully, the attention that Frodo drew to your group will not soon be forgotten. What I can do for you, I will do, at risk of my own life. And you must know…” Aragorn stood up abruptly, a long, gleaming knife appearing in each of his hands. “You must know that if I meant your cousin harm, or wished to take the Ring, I could have done so by now.” Suddenly the knives were gone, and Aragorn smiled gently. “Meriadoc, if by my life or death I can protect Frodo, I will.”

Merry was silent for a long moment, looking from Frodo to Aragorn, then appeared to make up his mind. He very deliberately sheathed his sword, then bowed.

“Merry, when you and Peregrin return to the Shire, you must say nothing of Frodo and Sam’s whereabouts.”

“Return to the Shire?” gasped Pippin. “Not likely! We’re going with Frodo, no matter how long it takes.”

“Pippin…” Frodo came over to his cousin and looked into his eyes. “You’ve come far enough. You and Merry must return home.”

“No,” said Merry firmly, coming to stand besides Pippin. “We never meant to leave you, Frodo, and we will not.”

Sam came to stand with them, and all three stood in front of Frodo, silent and determined.

Aragorn closed his eyes as a voice out of the past returned to his mind. His own voice… clear as a bell… “Bilbo, there is something about Frodo. He has such a gentle spirit, he inspires others to want to protect and safeguard it. If ever he is in danger, I suspect there will be many who would risk much to see to his safety.”

“You have true friends, Frodo Baggins,” said Aragorn with a smile. All four hobbits looked up at him. “There are few treasures as highly valued. But now…” He took a deep breath and glanced about the small room. “We must make preparations for the night, and discuss our plans for tomorrow.”

It was late, and the room was strewn with packs and cloaks and empty plates. Long after the hobbits had fallen asleep on the human-sized bed, Aragorn stood at the window, peering out into the night, his mind whirling with questions.

Of all people, why was it Frodo who had been chosen to carry this burden, to be hunted by the Enemy? Was it by chance or purpose that they had met, so many years before, so that Frodo now trusted him without question?

Could he, alone, conceal and defend these four against the servants of the Dark Lord?

“It may be awhile before you see another soft bed, little one; you should try to get back to sleep.”

Aragorn sat down on the chair by the glowing hearth, making room for Frodo to sit beside him.

“We last saw each other several years after Bilbo left,” Aragorn began, speaking quietly so as not to wake the others. “You had grown so mature; being Master of Bag End agreed with you.”

Frodo smiled. “It didn’t take me long to realize that Bilbo hadn’t left me. He stayed as long as he could; longer than he had planned to, I think. I knew his heart was no longer in the Shire.”

“When Bilbo left the Shire,” Aragorn continued, “Gandalf asked that the Dúnedain redouble their efforts to safeguard it.” He frowned. “He revealed to me, then, his suspicions about the Ring, and that it was the Ring, and you, he was safeguarding.”

“I’m glad he didn’t tell me that, years ago,” said Frodo. “I would have been terrified.” He sighed. “So many years have passed; I wondered if I would ever see you again.”

“A great deal has happened,” Aragorn said. “A few years after I last saw you, my mother died.”

“Oh,” said Frodo, leaning against the Ranger’s chest. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right,” said Aragorn quietly, wrapping an arm about the hobbit. “She hadn’t been happy for a long time. Unlike Bilbo, she felt she had nowhere else to go, and nothing to hold her here.” He sighed. “Not long after she died, Gandalf sought me out, and I began a long, difficult journey south. I was grateful for the chance to leave the north for awhile, but I never dreamed I would be gone for eight long years.”

“Gollum!” Frodo stared at him in amazement. “You’ve seen that creature?”

“Yes,” replied Aragorn. “You saw him in a delirium, Frodo, but I have seen him in truth. He is now in Mirkwood, being guarded by the woodland elves. At least we can be assured that he is not pursuing you.”

“Everything else is,” Frodo murmured, “but let us speak no more of that tonight.” He smiled, his luminous eyes reflecting the hearth’s flickering light. “Seeing you makes me feel like a tweenager again.”

“You look like a tweenager,” replied Aragorn with a frown. “Sam looks older than you do. You take after Bilbo, I see.”

Frodo shook his head but said nothing, and just gazed at Aragorn steadily. The Ranger’s eyes slowly widened at a dawning comprehension.

The Ranger’s arm tightened about Frodo as he grasped the full immensity of what ownership of the One Ring meant. This hobbit next to him was now potentially as long-lived as any elf. As long as he bore the Ring, he would never grow or look any older. Ageless. Deathless. Immortal.

Immortality… Long Ages ago, the desperate quest for it had twisted a people’s joy in life into a fear of death, and lay at the heart of the corruption and downfall of Númenor itself. The unattainable, the unthinkable… now, literally within his grasp…

That is what the ancient kings believed, also, Aragorn thought to himself grimly. To claim the Ring is to choose servitude to evil. And I am no king, merely a Ranger… with little ones to protect. He looked down with a smile, seeing that Frodo had fallen fast asleep, curled trustingly within the curve of his arm.

“You and your burden shall reach Rivendell safely, Frodo,” Aragorn murmured softly. “I vow it.”

He gently gathered the exhausted hobbit into his arms and carried him to the bed, then tucked him under the warm blankets. Without waking, Sam stirred and slid his arm protectively around Frodo.

Aragorn smiled at the old memory, then turned back to the window and resumed his watch.

Pippin shrieked in glee, and was hastily shushed by Merry. After some animated discussion, Sam detached himself from where he, Merry, and Pippin had been huddling together on a patch of grassy turf, the scant remains of their brief 'luncheon' already packed in one of Bill's saddlebags.

"Mr. Pippin won the toss," Sam announced, walking over to where Aragorn and Frodo sat.

"It could be worse," said Frodo quietly. "Pippin could have picked anything, you know."

All morning, Pippin had been complaining that the Ranger had so many names he was getting dizzy thinking about them, and had insisted that they all pick just one name and stick to it. Aragorn had watched, amused, as, without consulting him, Pippin chose their brief rest stop as the time to wheedle Merry out of one of his coins to toss, and let the triumphant winner decide on his name.

"Is that all right, Frodo?" asked Pippin, coming over to sit next to Frodo. Something in Pippin's anxious face made Aragorn suddenly begin to wonder if the young hobbit’s grumbling, and the whole 'contest', had all been a ruse to try to distract his cousin, who had hardly said a word since they left Bree.

"Fine," said Frodo. He looked at Pippin, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "However, as agreed, I reserve the right to call Strider anything I want, since I've known him the longest."

"Agreed," Pippin grinned. His smile slowly faded, and he lay his hand on his cousin’s knee. “Frodo, can you tell us what’s wrong?”

“Are you thinking about those Black Riders?” asked Merry, coming to join them. “Last night was a close one, to be sure, but I think Strider might have lost them for awhile.”

Aragorn looked at Merry, who returned his gaze unflinchingly. It was obvious to everyone that, to Merry, this Ranger was still on probation.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, sitting down with them. "Those Black Riders won't find us anytime soon. Strider's looped us around and doubled back so many times, I couldn't find us out here. Now, where has north got to?"

Without a word, Merry pointed one finger in the precise direction, and Aragorn nodded approvingly.

"That's not the problem," said Frodo. He fidgeted a little, then looked up at Aragorn. "Aren’t you upset?" he burst out suddenly.

"All those names they called you as we left town…" Frodo leaped to his feet and began to pace around. "…'Stick-at-naught Strider', and 'Longshanks', and those other dreadful things." He stopped pacing and stood still, his small fists clenching angrily. "Don't they know how lucky they are that Rangers are looking out for them? Don't they have any idea that---"

Aragorn was amazed, and quite moved, to realize that all morning, Frodo had been brooding not about the Ring, or the Nazgûl which were surely searching for them, or any other danger to himself, but about a perceived insult to a friend.

“You were called names as a child, weren’t you?” asked Aragorn perceptively. “In Buckland. Bilbo told me you weren’t very happy there.”

“I think it does,” continued Aragorn. “You remember how it felt --- you were angry, and you wonder why I’m not angry now.”

“Frodo,” Aragorn said quietly, “There will always be those who make no effort to get to know someone, and they may think or say unkind things. However, some very special people know about and appreciate what the Rangers are doing --- you, Bilbo, Gandalf, many others you have not yet met---”

“And Sam.” Aragorn smiled at Sam. “It is enough.” He regarded Frodo seriously. “The people of Bree, and nearly everywhere else, do not pay heed to the dangers scarcely beyond the borders of their homes; thus, they do not know of, or care about, the pains taken to safeguard them from those dangers --- brigands, beasts, rumor of war… It is enough, to the Rangers, to know that folk are safe, and unaware of that which would disturb them. We labor, for the most part, unknown and unthanked, Frodo; there is no need to claim honors for that which we do freely.”

Aragorn placed a finger under Frodo’s chin and raised the hobbit’s eyes up to meet his. “Do you not also labor, unknown and unthanked,” he asked softly, “fleeing your home and family to keep danger from them?”

“I may not be family,” said Sam firmly, “but Mr. Frodo knows I’ll not leave him ’til the job’s done.”

“If these very special people appreciate what you are doing, is that not enough?” asked Aragorn.

“Come on, Strider,” said Pippin, holding out his hand to the Ranger. “I’ll walk with you.”

Aragorn groaned and got to his feet. Sam had wisely walked over to Bill, and was trying not to laugh as he pretended to find something needing fastening on one of the saddle bags.

As they set out again, Aragorn remembered what Bilbo had confided to him about Frodo, long ago.

“That lot in Buckland never knew what they had. They looked right at him, and never really saw him.”

"I salute you for a noble attempt, Peregrin," Aragorn said quietly. "Deciding on a name for me was a perfect distraction.”

Pippin immediately attempted his most innocent and confused look, then he slowly nodded. This Ranger would be hard to fool.

"It's just..." Pippin sighed, looking ahead to where Frodo was walking with Sam. "He needs someone to cheer him up sometimes..."

"I heartily approve," said Aragorn. “Frodo bears a heavy burden, and I fear it will grow even heavier; if anyone can keep a smile on his face, I believe it is you. I am certain your next idea will prove to be just as distracting.”

Aragorn smiled at the young hobbit. "I was just awaiting permission to do so, Master Took."

"You were?" Pippin looked astonished that anyone, especially a Big Person, would accord him such respect. He grinned happily, and they walked a bit further. ‘Is it all right, then?”

Although the weather was clear and crisp, the group’s first day in the Wild was difficult for all of them (save Bill). Aragorn realized that the steady, unyielding pace he was setting, although maddeningly slow for him, was too fast for the hobbits, who, by the end of the day, were stumbling with exhaustion. Pippin was having the most difficulty keeping up --- he was determined to prove his worth to the group by spending each rest stop helping prepare food, or fill water bottles, thus rarely resting. As a result, by the time Aragorn announced that they could stop for the day, the young hobbit was almost too tired to eat. After nearly falling asleep at dinner, he was led, protesting, to his bedroll by Merry and Frodo, where he sank quickly into a deep sleep. As the evening stars began to glitter, the other three hobbits sat grouped around Aragorn, wrapped in blankets and talking quietly.

“Pip will only complain about little things,” Merry explained, “not big ones. He knows how important this is, Strider, and he’ll walk until he drops.”

“He’s tryin’ to prove himself,” added Sam. “He wants you to think well of him.”

“I do think well of him,” said Aragorn. “All of you are quite remarkable --- with the exception of this lazy, incorrigible hobbit,” he continued, putting an arm around Frodo. “Whatever were we thinking, bringing this one along with us?”

Aragorn’s gentle teasing, like Bilbo’s, had always made Frodo feel warm and safe --- it was always an attempt to get him to smile, or to feel loved. He realized that Aragorn was correct --- that other kind of teasing just didn’t matter.

Frodo turned to the Man with a scowl. “You,” he declared, massaging his aching legs, “are a scruffy, slave-driving Ranger. Imagine forcing us to march at this pace.”

“We can slow down a bit,” conceded Aragorn with a barely-concealed yawn. “The important thing is to stay hidden.”

“It matters to us,” said Frodo. “You said we should start setting watches, and you don’t have one tonight. Sam, Merry, and I will take turns.”

“No, you don’t,” chimed in Merry, “not tonight. We need you, Strider; you have to get some sleep.”

Aragorn looked around at the three determined hobbits. “Very well, but after tonight, I will set the watches.”

“You have become quite impertinent, Frodo Baggins,” said Aragorn with a sigh, getting to his feet. “I will have to have a few words with Bilbo, when I see him.” He left the campsite to take a last look around.

“I think you’re right,” said Merry thoughtfully. He turned to Frodo. “Do you want to take the first watch, you impertinent hobbit?”

“All right,” Frodo agreed with a smile. “I’ll wake Sam in a few hours, and then he can wake you.” He looked over to where Pippin lay. “Let Pip sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Frodo Baggins, I don’t care if you do carry the fate of Middle-earth in your pocket; give me that apple or I’ll pitch you into a bog.”

“And then what?” Frodo grinned at Pippin and took a step backwards, holding out the luscious red apple enticingly in front of him. “You’ll just have to make your way to Rivendell and explain to Bilbo how you left my poor, mouldering, drowned body out here for the wolves to devour.”

“Bilbo will understand,” said Pippin. He stalled for time as Merry crept up behind Frodo. “We’ll just tell him that you were hoarding the last apple in all of…” He sighed. “Where are we again, Strider?”

“We are at the western border of the Midgewater Marshes,” said Aragorn from where he was seated, leaning against his pack, his legs stretched out in front of him. The hobbits weren’t taking advantage of their rest stop, but he was. “Pippin, if you pitch Frodo into a bog, you’re the one who’ll have to wade in there and retrieve the Ring from his poor, mouldering, drowned body.”

Frodo laughed merrily, and Aragorn couldn’t help smiling. Having secured the Ranger’s approval, Pippin now wasted no opportunity to entertain, gently tease, and distract Frodo from what lay ahead… and from what surely sought them from every direction.

Pippin didn’t think of himself as clever or cool-headed like Merry, or able to do magical things like Sam (such as understanding horse-talk and knowing what Frodo needed before even Frodo seemed to), but he could coax a smile or a laugh out of his elder cousin when no one else could. He had also discovered that Merry (and sometimes even Sam) were willing conspirators.

“That’s hardly the last apple, Mr. Pippin,” Sam was pointing out. “We’ve got plenty of---”

“But I want that one,” Pippin said with an exaggerated pout. Frodo took another step backwards, still laughing.

“Now, Pip!” Merry grabbed Frodo from behind and Pippin leaped forward, snatching the apple from his startled cousin’s hand.

“An excellent battle strategy,” Aragorn remarked to Sam, who was sitting beside him on the ground. They watched as Frodo twisted suddenly, squirmed out of Merry’s grasp, and began wrestling his cousin to the ground. “This counter-attack is quite unusual,” the Ranger continued. “Nevertheless, the enemy is subdued quite effectively.”

Sam sighed and walked over to where Pippin was watching with rapt attention as Frodo, with long practice, efficiently pinned Merry to the ground.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam said sternly, plucking the apple out of Pippin’s hand, “you need your rest, sir. I’ve set up your bedroll just over there.” He tossed the apple back to Frodo, who caught it with one hand while holding Merry down with the other.

“Thank you, Sam,” said Frodo with a grin. He helped a chuckling Merry to his feet, then took a large bite of the apple before sharing the fruit with a delighted Pippin.

“I believe the guidance of this Company should pass to you, Samwise,” said Aragorn admiringly. “You seem to have these rascals under control.”

“Now, don’t you tease, Strider,” said Sam. “With me in charge, we’d be walkin’ in circles before nightfall.”

“Estel,” Frodo stood before Aragorn, his hands on his hips. “Weren’t you going to defend me against that attack?”

The Ranger started to laugh. “Frodo, I had forgotten all about that.” He looked sternly at Merry. “Master Brandybuck, speaking as an honorary Baggins, I believe that I will take any future attacks on Frodo quite personally.”

“You didn’t get to know the kitchen that well,” Frodo pointed out. “There was that batch of strangely-shaped cookies, as I recall, and then the pie that wasn’t exactly---”

“How odd,” Aragorn mused. “My desire to defend you, should your cousins once again attack, appears suddenly to be diminishing.”

The ground grew ever more damp and uneven as the tiring day went on. Aragorn kept a constant vigil for the driest, most solid ground upon which everyone (including Bill) could travel; even so, one or more of the hobbits occasionally needed help pulling their feet out of the increasingly spongy and treacherous ground.

"Would that we all had the abilities of the Elves," Aragorn chuckled. "They walk upon snow with barely a footprint left behind them, and I have no doubt they would have little trouble with terrain such as this."

"They don't sink into the snow?" asked Pippin, wide eyed. "However do they do it? Or, well, not do it?"

"I am not certain," said Aragorn thoughtfully. "It is such a part of their being, I doubt it is even a conscious act on their part. I suspect it may be due to their kinship with nature; with the very essence of plants, water, starlight… Elves seem to share a language with all living things." He smiled. "Perhaps, as they walk, an understanding passes between them and the water caught up in snowflakes, and the least intrusive route is mutually agreed upon."

"Perhaps the Elves' 'way' is not so dissimilar to your own," said Aragorn. “You speak with plants, and have a wonderful way with animals, as I’ve seen.” The Ranger smiled. "The Elves can perhaps teach you much, Samwise... and, I suspect, the opposite is as true."

Sam wasn't sure what that meant, but he was saved from responding by Aragorn’s finally calling a halt at a mostly dry, relatively even patch of ground surrounded by tall, thick tussocks of marsh grass (upon which Bill immediately began to munch).

“It is odd,” answered Aragorn slowly. “We are now well within the Marshes, yet we have encountered very few insects flying about.”

“Indeed not,” said Aragorn. “Throughout the Marshes, the air is usually thick with the biting creatures. I have never ventured into this particular section, however, and have spoken to no one who has; perhaps there is something here that that they avoid… or that repels them…” He shook his head, puzzled. “No matter,” he said finally. “This area is well hidden, and dryer than most; we might as well rest here tonight before the midges do discover us.”

“There may’nt be ‘midges’,” said Sam, pulling blankets and packets out of Bill’s saddlebags, “but that’s a frightful din and no mistake.” Indeed, the air was alive with a loud squeaking and croaking. Neek breek, neek breek, the combined cacophony seemed to shout in endless repetition.

“If a ‘frightful din’ is all that we encounter before we leave the Marshes, we will be fortunate,” said Aragorn. “I have heard tales of hidden beasts, watery sands that can swallow a Man whole, and even places where the air itself is akin to poison.” He regarded the hobbits gravely. “We must be vigilant.”

The marsh grasses towered over the hobbits’ heads, but from his higher vantage point, Aragorn took a long, careful look in every direction.

“No,” said Aragorn finally. “I believe the Riders must still be searching for us along the Road. We have eluded them, for the time being.” He spotted a tiny, clear stream sparkling in the grass a short distance away. “There’s good water nearby,” he said to the hobbits. “Sam, why don’t you and Merry and I get all the bottles and fill them, and take Bill for a drink.”

“We’ll be right back.” Aragorn gave Pippin a meaningful glance, which Pippin returned with an imperceptible nod of his head. Soon the Ranger, Sam, and Merry were out of sight.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Pippin airily. He sank to the ground and watched, puzzled, as Frodo began to wander restlessly about the small campsite. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m just…” Frodo sighed. “I think I just need a few minutes to myself.” He looked around and spotted what appeared to be a faint path through the grass. “I won’t go far.”

“No?” Frodo laughed. “Don’t worry, Pip, I just need to be alone with my thoughts for a bit. Estel didn’t see anything dangerous about, and I’ll ‘be vigilant’.” He saw Pippin frown, and smiled at him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes; I promise.”

Pippin slowly nodded, but even as Frodo walked off through the tall grass, the young hobbit was rising to his feet. He couldn’t very well order an adult to stay put, but he could follow him and help keep him safe. There were three things that Strider had told him, Merry, and Sam to keep in mind always --- to be constantly alert; to talk about anything that was bothering them; and that Frodo was never to be left alone.

Frodo wandered among the tussocks of tightly-packed marsh grasses, and found himself on a gentle slope leading down to a small, bowl-like clearing nearly hidden behind the grasses. He stood quietly, looking around; it was nice, for a moment, to have a rare moment all to himself.

The air down in the hollow seemed strange, somehow, and a bit stifling. Frodo also realized that the constant cry of what Sam called the ‘neekerbreekers’ had ceased altogether. It was eerily quiet. He looked about warily, then curiously approached the edge of a particularly strange, soupy-looking bog, the water seemingly thicker and darker than those they had passed.

All at once, the stillness was disturbed by an odd, muffled sound. A large bubble slowly broke the surface of the bog, and the dark water rippled sluggishly before once again growing calm and still. Frodo watched, mystified, as soon another bubble rose and broke, and, after a minute or so, another. His hand strayed to his sword hilt, the Ranger’s words about ‘hidden beasts’ coming to mind. Was some giant creature asleep in the murky waters, its foul breath evident only in these rhythmic bubbles cleaving the surface? He backed away uneasily from the water; Estel needed to see this. Maybe they should leave… he had to... Frodo stopped, swaying slightly, as a heavy drowsiness abruptly descended on him like a dark curtain. His thoughts slowed and faded so quickly there was no time for fear, or a feeling of danger, or even surprise. He had a vague, dreamlike awareness of the ground rushing up to meet him --- but even that momentary thought flickered out as he lost consciousness.

Mere seconds later, Pippin came around a massive tuft of grass and nearly tripped over Frodo, lying face down on the damp, spongy ground. He gasped, drawing his sword and looking wildly about to challenge whatever enemy had felled his cousin, but there was nothing to be seen but grass and water.

"Frodo!" Pippin cried, falling to his knees beside the still body. He quickly rolled his unconscious cousin onto his back, relieved to see that he was breathing. He couldn't find any blood, or wound... was he ill? Pippin patted Frodo's face and called his name frantically, but there was no response.

Alarmed, the young hobbit got to his feet, a bit unsteadily. He reached down for his cousin, but was only able to drag him a dozen feet before dropping wearily to his knees. Why was Frodo so heavy? He had to get Strider. Strider could... Pippin shook his head, puzzled by how difficult it was, suddenly, to think straight. Frodo's face began to blur before his eyes, and his ears were filling with a loud buzzing sound. Before he could cry out, or wonder what was happening, everything faded… His eyelids fluttered closed as a dark, sleepy emptiness swallowed him. With a deep sigh, he slid, senseless, to the ground.

Notes for Chapter 4: “Swamp malaise” is a reference to the illness contracted by Aragorn and Frodo that I invented for “Quarantined”. If you catch it (and survive), you’re immune for life. (Middle-earth bog gases and their effects are, likewise, my own invention, although the general idea is based on pockets of natural methane. I make no claims that the symptoms, effects, or description of recovery are even remotely medically accurate; they are that which serve the story.)

“Where are they?” Sam dropped Bill’s lead rope and spun around in a full circle in disbelief.

“Stand perfectly still, both of you,” Aragorn said. He scanned the small campsite, instantly spotting the slight trail in the damp grass left by at least one hobbit, possibly two. He could see no signs of a struggle. But Merry was correct -- they wouldn’t have just walked off… would they? Without a word, he walked quickly through the tall grass, with Sam and Merry right at his heels. After a dozen steps, he found himself at the top of a gentle slope, leading down to…

Aragorn froze as he spotted Frodo and Pippin lying, unmoving, a short distance below him in a small clearing. Frodo was on his back, and Pippin lay in a crumpled heap at his side. In less than a heartbeat, the Ranger’s eyes and ears swiftly took in a large bubble breaking the surface of a thick, murky bog; barely a sound from Sam’s ‘neekerbreekers’; and no sign of an enemy.

“Stay here,” Aragorn ordered, in a commanding voice neither Sam nor Merry had heard him use before. He took a deep breath, held it, and raced down the slope to where both hobbits lay unconscious. In the back of his mind he made note of a faint path in the damp ground, leading from the bog to where Frodo lay. Hastily wrapping one arm around each of them, he made his way back up the slope, his lungs burning for want of air.

“Strider!” Merry cried, as the Ranger re-emerged from the tall grasses, a limp hobbit dangling from each arm. Aragorn could go no further, and he stopped, his chest heaving as he gulped in deep draughts of air. He shook his head as Merry and Sam raced towards him.

“No,” the Ranger gasped, striding forward again. “Back to camp.” He strode so quickly that Sam and Merry had to run to keep up with him. Back at the campsite, Aragorn fell to his knees and laid his small burdens on a blanket. Both Frodo and Pippin were breathing very slowly, and their faces were flushed.

“Copy me, Merry,” said Aragorn urgently, still getting his own breathing under control. “Do exactly as I do, except I want you to use both hands.” With that, he rolled Frodo onto his stomach, placed his right hand on the hobbit’s upper back and pressed down, carefully but firmly, compressing Frodo’s lungs and forcing him to exhale sharply and completely. Merry, on his left, hurriedly rolled Pippin over and pressed down on his cousin’s back with both hands. He could hear the air rushing out of Pippin’s lungs.

“Let him breathe,” Aragorn said. He and Merry paused while Frodo and Pippin both took deep breaths.

“Why’re you doin’ that?” asked Sam anxiously. “They’re both breathing.”

“They are,” agreed Aragorn, pausing for a moment, “but their lungs are full of foul vapor from that bog. It is a rare thing, but from the tales I have heard, it can send people into a deep sleep before they are even aware of the danger. Forcing some of it out, and getting them to take deeper breaths, will help clear their lungs.”

“Could they…” Sam was holding one of Frodo’s limp hands. “…could they have died?”

“Come on, Pip,” Merry whispered. Copying Aragorn’s motions precisely, he pressed down again and again on his cousin’s back.

Merry quickly sat and pulled Pippin up, supporting his cousin as he began coughing uncontrollably. As his lungs cleared and he started to take deeper breaths, Pippin’s coughing calmed and his eyelids fluttered.

“Pip? Are you all right?” Merry held onto his cousin with one hand and gently stroked his face with the other. “Can you hear me?”

Pippin groaned and coughed a bit more, then his eyes slowly opened. Groggy, he looked around in confusion.

“What are you… talking about?” Suddenly Pippin took in the scene before him. “Frodo!” Pippin gasped. He tried to reach out to Frodo, still unconscious, but Merry was holding him tightly.

“Oh, Merry,” Pippin murmured, “I tried to drag him back here, but…” He paused, puzzled. “I can’t remember anything else.”

“It was a vapor, Pip, from the bog down there,” said Merry. “Strider says it put you both to sleep so fast, neither of you probably even knew it was happening.”

“A vapor?” Pippin couldn’t take his eyes off Frodo. “Is he all right?”

“I think he’ll be fine,” Aragorn said. He touched a finger to the pulsepoint in Frodo’s throat and nodded to himself, gently rolling the unconscious hobbit onto his back. Sam took one of Frodo’s hands in his as the Ranger went over to take a look at Pippin.

“Frodo probably breathed in a lot more of the bad air than you did, Pippin, and it’ll just take him longer to wake.”

“I promise.” Aragorn smiled at the young hobbit. “I could tell how far you dragged him. By getting Frodo away from where the air was most foul, you may have saved his life.”

“I couldn’t pull him any further,” Pippin said, distressed. “I really tried, Strider.”

“We know you tried,” Aragorn reassured him. “What were you and Frodo doing down there?”

“Frodo said he needed to be alone for a few minutes,” Pippin explained. “He insisted on going for a walk. You said not to let him be alone, so I followed him. I was right behind him…” He leaned back weakly against Merry, feeling sick and dizzy. “My head hurts…”

“Here, why don’t you lay down?” Aragorn asked, reaching for him. Pippin just shook his head and twisted around to curl up in Merry’s lap.

“He must still be groggy,” Merry said. “Pip tries to be so grown up; he hasn’t been in anyone’s lap in years.” Pippin’s eyes closed, and Merry felt him relax. “Is it all right if he goes back to sleep?”

“I hope so,” Aragorn chuckled softly, “since it appears that he already has. We can’t risk a fire to make a tea for his headache, so perhaps more sleep will ease it.” He checked Pippin’s pulse and breathing, then helped Merry tuck a blanket around him. Sitting back, he looked thoughtfully at the young hobbit. “From what I understand, Pippin is the only son of a very prominent family.”

“I assume he’s been denied very little,” continued Aragorn. “He’s led a comfortable, secure life, well loved and given every advantage.”

“Many, in such a position, would not work so hard to prove their worth, Merry. They would see themselves as the center of everything, with no need to exert themselves or earn respect.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Merry thoughtfully, “but Pip has never been like that. He feels that unless something is well earned, it has no value.” He looked up at the Ranger. “Earning your respect has great value to him.”

“Perhaps; but I suspect that it is your trust and respect that he values the most,” said Aragorn.

Merry just smiled, settling Pippin more comfortably in his arms. Aragorn looked over at Sam.

“I’m watchin’ him, sir,” said Sam. He hadn’t budged from Frodo’s side. “He’s breathin’ easier, and his color’s a sight better now.”

Aragorn felt some of the tenseness start to leave him. “They were both very fortunate.”

“Luck? I wonder…” The Ranger looked at Merry. “I never asked why you were here, Merry. Did Frodo ask you and Pippin to leave the Shire with him?”

“No.” Merry smiled slightly. “Frodo can’t hide his feelings, you know. We all knew he was planning to leave… to leave alone, and take all the danger away with him. We watched him all year, and made our own plans, and… just came.”

Aragorn motioned to Pippin. “This tweenager couldn’t have imagined what lay ahead.”

“Could any of us? Could Frodo?” Merry countered. “Besides, there’s more to Pip than most people know; he’s just never had a chance to prove himself.”

Aragorn nodded. “When Frodo collapsed, he was nearly at the edge of the bog, where the fumes were no doubt heaviest. Pippin dragged him away from there, but it may take a bit longer for the effects to---”

“Strider!” Sam said urgently. “I think he’s wakin’ up a little.” He was peering intently into Frodo’s face, where he thought he had seen a flicker of movement. Just then, the limp hand in his moved slightly.

Frodo had been floating in a hazy dream, dark and quiet. Ever so slowly, things got brighter, and louder, and he became aware of a dull, throbbing ache in his head and a heaviness in his chest.

“Frodo, listen to me.” Aragorn’s urgent voice penetrated the fog. “I need you to cough. Take a deep breath, Frodo, and cough.”

His thoughts starting to clear, Frodo realized that he was sitting up, propped against Aragorn. He sighed, starting to slip back into sleep.

“Frodo!” Frodo groaned and opened his eyes as he felt the Ranger, for some reason, start shaking him. “Cough, Frodo. Now.”

Only barely conscious, Frodo took a deep breath, and suddenly started coughing violently, unable to stop. It was nearly a minute before the coughing fit eased, and he clung with one hand to Aragorn’s tunic, feeling as tired and breathless as if he had just run a race.

“Just keep taking deep breaths,” Aragorn said. “Sam, hand me that blanket, please.” The Ranger wrapped Frodo in a thick blanket and rested the hobbit against his chest.

“Estel,” Frodo gasped, shaken by another fit of coughing, “Bilbo said I couldn’t ever catch it again.”

“The swamp malaise.” Frodo turned frightened eyes up to Aragorn’s face. “We… we’re in a swamp, and I feel so…”

“Oh, Frodo,” Aragorn chuckled. “That’s not it. You breathed in some dangerous vapors coming from the bog down below. Bilbo was correct -- you can’t catch it ever again.”

“Vapors?” Frodo was relieved, but puzzled. “I thought something was… down in the water. I tried to…” He frowned, looking around. “What happened? How did I get here?” Suddenly he realized that Pippin, also wrapped in a blanket, appeared to be sound asleep in Merry’s lap. “Pippin…?”

“Pip followed you,” said Merry. “He tried to drag you back up here, but the vapors got to him, too. Strider found you…” He grinned. “…and we had to practically sit on the both of you to get you breathing properly again.”

“Meriadoc…” Aragorn sighed, “and to think I was just about to compliment you on keeping such a cool head.” He looked down at Frodo. “How are you feeling?”

“Strange… a headache…” Frodo was assailed by another, milder coughing spell. “There were bubbles in the water, but I didn’t… I tried to… suddenly I was here. What happened?”

The Ranger smiled. “I have no doubt that Pippin will entertain us with the whole story in the morning.”

“He’ll be fine, Frodo,” said Aragorn reassuringly. Merry was very carefully laying Pippin down. “You will both feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

“I was asleep,” Frodo murmured, “until you sat on me.” He reached a hand out of the blankets, and the Ranger closed his larger hand over it. “Aragorn…”

Aragorn smiled; he remembered, from years before, that Frodo only used his real name when he had something very important to tell him.

“Sam, why don’t we settle in and have some dinner,” Aragorn said, “but no fire; it’s dangerous to light fires near a bog such as lies below us. And we need to find some way to tether Bill…” He smiled at Sam’s outraged look. “…just for tonight. We can’t take a chance that he might wander down that slope.”

“Apparently, the fumes stay low to the ground,” replied Aragorn. “As your ‘neekerbreekers’ are singing so vigorously up here,” he smiled ruefully, “I suspect we have nothing to fear.” He gently tucked Frodo’s hand back under the blanket. “You can eat when you’re feeling up to it, little one.”

“He’s always called him that, Mr. Merry,” Sam said with a smile. He saw that Frodo was keeping his eyes open only with an effort. “I think he might have a bit more sleep in him.”

“Everything wants to put us to sleep,” Frodo said drowsily. “Old Man Willow, and those barrow wights, and now these marshes… If the Black Riders find us, perhaps they will wish us only… a good night’s sleep…”

Aragorn’s arms tightened reflexively about Frodo, and Merry and Sam, seeing the look on the Ranger’s face, exchanged glances.

“It is no jest, Sam,” Aragorn muttered with frightening intensity. “They must not find us.”

Notes for Chapter 5: My thanks to Marion and Tiriel, from the ‘Quill and Inklings’ site, for sharing with me information about midges. Several lines in this chapter are taken directly from “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Several times during the night, Frodo thought he felt gentle fingers resting for a moment at his throat or wrist, and he tried to rouse himself, but before he could wake fully, he always sank back into a deep, heavy sleep. The one time he struggled against the grogginess and started to get up, he heard a soft voice, Merry’s, he thought, telling him that everything was all right, and urging him to go back to sleep. After that, he knew no more for many hours.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Frodo opened his eyes at last, and the first thing he saw was Pippin, lying just inches away and wrapped in blankets, blinking sleepily at him.

Sam, keeping watch nearby, his ears attuned to every sound, was alerted by a rustling of blankets, and soft whispering just yards away.

Pippin smiled; he could read Frodo’s emotions as well as anyone, even in the shrouded half-light of a misty dawn, and the look in his cousin’s eyes conveyed to him every thought behind Frodo’s light words: Thank you… I’m proud of you…I’m glad you’re here… Please don’t risk yourself for me, I can’t bear it.

And Pippin answered, in his own way, that Frodo would be watched out for by people who loved him, whether he liked it or not.

As the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, Sam watched with a smile as Frodo reached out an arm from his blankets and drew Pippin closer. The young hobbit tucked his curly head under Frodo’s chin and nestled contently into his cousin’s embrace, before sleep claimed them both once again.

“These are dreadful, Strider! How long will we be in this infernal place?” Sam swatted a mass of midges away from his face.

“We should reach the eastern edge tomorrow,” Aragorn replied. A scant hour’s walk from their campsite, the hobbits were finally comprehending just how the Midgewater Marshes got their name. The biting creatures with their high-pitched whine had appeared from everywhere; even Bill was being tormented by them, much to Sam’s dismay.

“I think you rescued Pip and me too soon,” Frodo groaned, trying to swat and scratch his arm at the same time. “Just a little more of those fumes, and we might still be sleeping.”

“And miss all this?” Merry gestured around them. “I could hardly enjoy the wettest, most foul-smelling, midge-infested place in all of Middle-earth without my two favorite cousins by my side, could I?”

“I know,” Merry said gently. He put an arm around his young cousin. “Is your headache any better?”

“It isn’t nearly as bad,” Frodo sighed, “but I still feel like I could fall asleep again at any moment.” He looked around. “This is a dreadful place, but at least no one knows where we are.”

“That is so,” Aragorn agreed. The Ranger, with his trousers and high boots, was faring better than the hobbits, but he had to admit that the Midgewater Marshes were avoided for a reason. “We’ll only have one more night here. And in a few days…”

“…we’ll be close to the Road again,” Aragorn reminded them. “We must---”

“Naturally, I couldn’t imagine what danger was lurking, but my cousin’s life was at stake! I drew my sword, rushed forward, and demanded that the enemy show himself!”

“And then what?” Merry asked with a grin. Pippin had been encouraged to tell them what had happened the previous evening, and the young hobbit was attacking the story with gusto, his sword in one hand and a piece of cheese in the other. It was a welcome distraction from their damp, insect-infested campsite. Aragorn had been correct in saying that the pestilential midges took no heed of day or night; the sun was now low on the horizon, and there was no change in their numbers -- or their enthusiasm for either hobbits or Ranger.

“I knew there had to be something lurking in that bog,” Pippin continued, his eyes sparkling, “so, with no thought to my own safety, I grabbed Frodo and pulled him away before the hungry, mindless ooze creature could devour him.” He strode back and forth, acting out the little drama.

“My goodness,” Frodo said in admiration for a story well told, “I had no idea I was in such peril, Pip! Did you see the hungry, mindless ooze creature?”

“No,” admitted Pippin, nibbling at the cheese, “but I have no doubt that, as I fell, it was rising up without a sound, claws snatching and fangs gleaming…” He looked up hopefully. “Did you see it, Strider?”

The Ranger shook his head, enjoying the story as much the hobbits. “Apparently, by the time I found you, the mindless creature had oozed back into the bog.”

Merry stood up and drew his sword. “I would have stood by you, Pip,” he declared.

“And I,” said Sam. “That was an amazin’ tale, Mr. Pippin -- it would make a good song, it would.”

“Well, er…” Pippin looked uncomfortable. “There’s no need for that, Sam. All in a day’s work. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Frodo, you know.”

“In that case,” said Frodo with a grin, “you can take turns with me on guard tonight, Pip. I don’t know about you, but no one woke me last night for my watch.”

“Did I forget to wake you?” Merry looked puzzled. “And Frodo, as well? It certainly won’t happen again.”

“Mr. Frodo, you’ve practically been asleep on your feet all day,” said Sam.

“I know,” Frodo sighed, “but I’ll never truly fall asleep with all this screeching and whining. What do these creatures live on, when they can’t get hobbit?”

“Rabbits, rodents… whatever is unfortunate enough to call this marsh home,” answered Aragorn. He suddenly noticed, as if for the first time, the glittering swords Pippin and Merry were still holding. “Where did those weapons come from? They’re quite beautiful and, I suspect, very old.”

“Frodo mentioned barrow wights last night, but I thought he was jesting; were you near a barrow?” frowned Aragorn. “That was quite foolish.”

“It was even more terrible than being swallowed by that tree,” Merry agreed.

“Swallowed by… a tree?” Aragorn looked from one hobbit to the other, wondering if this was the beginning of another story.

“But it’s not been all dreadful,” Sam reminded them. “We did get to meet Elves, and that magical Mr. Bombadil and his beautiful Lady…”

“All that happened since…” Aragorn stared at them in amazement. “Didn’t you say you left Hobbiton a little over a week ago?”

“What do you mean?” Frodo asked with a frown. He saw Pippin exchange one quick, apologetic look with Aragorn. “I see,” he continued quietly. “You’ve all decided not to talk about certain things.”

“It’s all right, Pip,” said Frodo. “It’s talking about it in front of other people that might not be a good idea.” He thought about what had happened at the Prancing Pony. “This last time, at the Inn…” He looked grim. “I saw fire… fire and… something looking right at me.” Frodo sighed. “I don’t… I don’t think Bilbo ever saw anything like that.”

“That is no doubt true,” said Aragorn slowly. “As long as Sauron believed the Ring to be lost, he did not bend his will toward seeking it. But now…”

The hobbits looked about them uneasily. Biting midges suddenly seemed a very minor problem.

“Come,” said Aragorn quietly, “take what rest you can; with luck, we will all be able to sleep a bit despite the insects.”

Sam didn’t remember falling asleep, but he came to wakefulness, sometime after midnight, to murmured voices and an uneasy feeling. He cast off his blankets and walked over to join Aragorn and Frodo, who were standing side by side, gazing east.

“No,” Aragorn said. “These lights shoot up from the hilltops; I have never seen their like.”

“Maybe it’s Gandalf,” Frodo whispered. “Who else can make such a display of light?”

“Whatever it is,” said Aragorn thoughtfully, “we are headed in that exact direction.” He looked down at the two hobbits and smiled. “Get some sleep, now, if you can. I will not rest again this night.”

“It’s my turn,” said Pippin firmly. He came to join them, a blanket wrapped around him. “What’s that?” he gasped, seeing the strange lights.

“A good question,” the Ranger answered. As Frodo and Sam went to their bedrolls, he sat down and Pippin sat next to him. “A very good question indeed.”

“Don’t worry about it. Perhaps I’m the one who forgot… that Frodo is an adult, and can tell us if there’s something he’d rather we not discuss.” Aragorn looked down at the young hobbit. “Some very frightening things have happened since you left home, haven’t they?”

“Yes,” said Pippin softly, “but it’s all right. At least Frodo isn’t out here alone.”

“I believe you’re correct. However, if there had been, I have no doubt you would have given it a valiant fight.”

Notes for chapter 6: Several lines in this chapter are from “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Frodo and Merry finished inspecting the midge bites on their cousin’s arms, legs, and neck, and nodded in agreement.

“I think you’re right, Pip,” said Merry. “They must have been starving for Took blood.”

“But you’re half Took,” sighed Pippin. “And Frodo’s…” He was scratching too vigorously to figure it out. “…some Took.”

“Well, we all got bitten, didn’t we?” asked Frodo, amused. “Sam must have some Took in him too, somewhere.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Frodo.” Sam chuckled and went back to brushing Bill. It was mid-morning, and the group had finally left the marshes behind them. Aragorn had allowed a short break so everyone could shake the midges out of their hair and blankets, and, as Merry said, “assess the damage.” Everyone had some of the large, itchy bumps, but Pippin was nearly covered.

Ruffling his fingers through his curls one last time, Pippin walked over to where Aragorn stood, his eyes on a line of hills to the east.

“Yes,” said Aragorn with a smile. “However, possessing not even a drop of Took blood, I seem to have fared a bit better than the rest of you.”

Aragorn crouched down to Pippin’s level and pointed to a far-off hill, somewhat apart from and south of the others.

“That is Weathertop, Pippin, upon which the ancient watchtower of Amon Sûl once stood.”

Pippin sighed in exasperation. “Really, Strider, everything has to have more than one name for you, doesn’t it?”

“If we travel as far today as I hope we will, I believe you may find some relief at our campsite this evening.”

“Out there,” Aragorn pointed to a spot in the distance, “is a stream flowing down from the hills, beneath a shelter of trees. Cold, clean water might ease the itching, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” Pippin gasped. He dashed over to Sam. “Don’t you think that’s enough brushing, Sam? We should get going. Come on, Merry, let’s go!”

“That does sound wonderful,” agreed Frodo as they resumed traveling. “We could certainly use a bit of a bath, even if it is a cold one.”

“Strider,” asked Sam, “we know you’re not a Took, but, well… what are you? What’s your last name?”

“What you call ‘last names’, Sam, seems to be unique to hobbits… and some Men, but not many,” answered Aragorn. “I do not have one.”

“That’s all right,” said Pippin comfortingly. “You have lots of other names.”

As the hours passed, the land began to rise toward the line of hills, which grew closer. Aragorn had told them that approaching Weathertop from the north would be the safest route. The hobbits had never been near anything so high, and Frodo and Merry were hoping to be able to get to the top and see what the world looked like from up there.

“Whatever happened to Ollie, Strider?” asked Sam as they walked. “He was wonderful.”

“A horse, Merry, and a dear friend,” explained Aragorn. “His name is Arthad, but I suspect he would still answer to ‘Ollie’ -- that was Sam’s name for him. He lives still, in honored retirement in Rivendell. When his time comes to leave us, Lord Elrond, whom you will meet, will ease his passing.” Aragorn smiled. “You should visit with him, Sam; I know he remembers you with great fondness.”

“I remember that first ride,” mused Frodo. “I was so frightened, but it was exciting as well.”

“You don’t look that much different now than you did then, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam.

“Perhaps not,” said Frodo absently as he tightened his belt, “and I’ll soon be as slender as I was then. With all this walking and food rationing, why, I’m practically a wraith!”

“Not in the way you mean, Merry,” answered Aragorn. “However, words can have unseen power. It was a great Song that brought Arda into being, and the Elves believe that the Valar can hear their songs, even now. You will hear many songs to Elbereth, and others, when we reach Rivendell.”

“Frodo,” said Pippin worriedly, “maybe you should say something else -- something non-wraithy -- to balance things out.”

“All right.” Frodo smiled at his cousin. “I say to you, Peregrin Took, that I will never become a wraith. I promise.”

“There it is,” said Aragorn, pointing to a sparkle in the grass, just visible in the late-afternoon sun. “We have traveled a good distance today.”

Frodo groaned with relief, even as he lowered himself gingerly into the cold water. The rushing stream, meandering in and out of trees and low bushes before disappearing into the marshes, felt wonderful after so many days of walking. Over time, a hollow had formed in which one could sit, and one after another, each person had let the clear flow wash away some of the dirt and weariness from the past week. In addition, Aragorn had been correct in guessing that the cold water would ease the itching they all felt.

Frodo, taking his turn last, emerged from the stream just as the sun was setting and the air was growing cold. He dried himself with a blanket and dressed warmly, then dug out a dry blanket in which to wrap his shivering body.

“Come here, little one,” Aragorn chuckled. Frodo grinned and sat down next to him. Aragorn enveloped him, blanket and all, in his large, thick cloak until only dark curls and blue eyes could be seen.

“Oh,” came a sigh from somewhere inside the Ranger’s cloak, “that’s so much warmer.”

“When you and Sam and Bilbo rescued me from that icy pond,” Aragorn mused, “I never thought I’d feel warm again.”

“At the time,” Frodo sighed, “I couldn’t imagine ever having a more exciting adventure.”

“Neither could I,” added Sam. He was about to say more when he noticed that Merry, standing beneath a nearby tree, was practically glowering at Aragorn. Sam stood up and walked over to him.

Merry shifted restlessly for a moment, then motioned for Sam to follow him. They walked together until they were out of earshot, but not eyesight, of the camp.

“Look at that.” Merry gazed unhappily at Aragorn, sitting with Frodo wrapped up in his cloak. “He treats Frodo like a child -- and I don’t like what he calls him.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “From what I heard, after his folks died, Mr. Frodo’s childhood wasn’t the happiest, Mr. Merry, and it sounds as if he was called some mighty cruel names.”

Merry sighed. “I was only seven when Frodo left for Hobbiton; I never knew that he was unhappy.”

“Mr. Bilbo did a good thing, bringin’ Mr. Frodo to live with him,” said Sam quietly. “I got to know him after he got over bein’ so dreadful sick, and he seemed to me like a plant that had been uprooted; he needed kindness, and knowin’ he belonged somewhere with folks who cared about him. Mr. Bilbo gave him all that. And when he met Strider…” Sam looked at Aragorn. “I watched them together, Mr. Merry, and Mr. Frodo was never happier than when Strider was visiting.”

“Strider and Mr. Frodo are bonded strong, almost like family. Mr. Frodo looks up to him and feels safe when he’s around.”

“Mr. Merry, when someone Mr. Frodo loves and trusts, like Strider, speaks to him all gentle-like, with nothin’ but love and carin’ behind the words, I think it smoothes out the rough memories a bit -- all those hard names he was called.” Sam smiled. “His presence is a mighty comfort for my master; I don’t think you can argue it.”

Merry smiled slowly in return; such vehement speeches were rare from the humble gardener.

“No, Sam, I can’t argue it. And if Strider meant Frodo any harm, I do believe you would be the first to speak.”

“That I would,” agreed Sam. “Strider’ll protect him with his dyin’ breath, same as we would. As I see it, everything evil is after Mr. Frodo, and he needs to feel safe. He’s been through enough hurt, and I don’t aim to see him have anymore. And if he does…” He took a deep breath. “Why, we’ll be there to ease things for him, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Merry!” Pippin rushed up to them, his fingers stained purple. “There are berries all over those bushes!” He thrust an empty pan into Merry’s hands and dashed off again.

“Pip and I had everything Frodo didn’t,” Merry sighed, “…loving, stable families and knowing just where we belonged… I forget that, sometimes.”

“Coming!” Merry smiled gratefully at Sam, and joined Pippin just in time to extricate his young cousin from a tangle of berry thorns.

Notes for Chapter 7: This chapter contain quotes borrowed or adapted from ‘A Knife in the Dark’, from “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien -- some familiarity with that chapter is assumed.

Merry and Frodo’s bare feet crunched distastefully over the burnt, charred ground at the top of the hill called Weathertop. The leveled area on which they and Aragorn stood was vast, and, looking around, Frodo thought that whatever structure had once been there must have been enormous -- huge, broken stones littered the top of the hill, most of them having tumbled into a rough ring around the outer edge. The stones were, for the most part, partially overgrown with grass, and the whole place seemed ancient beyond imagining.

Aragorn, who had been examining a pile of stones at the center of the hill, walked back to where Frodo and Merry stood at the western edge.

“What happened here?” asked Merry. “Could lightning have struck the hill?”

“Yes,” agreed Aragorn, “those lights, indeed. I don’t think this was lightning, Merry. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and I saw lights, or flame, a few nights ago -- something quite violent. Whatever it was, it happened here. What do you make of this, Frodo?” He held out a flattened stone about the size of his palm. Compared to the blackened rocks about them, it seemed almost white.

“Yes -- this could be a ‘G’ rune, with three strokes. I suspect that Gandalf was here, as you guessed, and fought a battle on this hilltop. We saw the lights on the night of October 3rd -- that could be what these three strokes signify. He may have left us this message so we would know, if we came here, that he was just a few days ahead of us -- but could not stay.”

“They fear it,” Aragorn said. “Flame, wielded with purpose, is one of the few things they will avoid -- and one of the only weapons we have.”

“Look!” Frodo cried. He pointed out to the winding ribbon of the Great East Road, which they had not seen since their arrival in Bree. All three flung themselves down behind the great, tumbled stones, and peered out between a crack at the five black specks just visible in the distance.

“There is no better place to which we can flee,” said Aragorn after a pause. “If we cross the Road, we will be seen, and the countryside in all directions is flat and featureless.” He took Frodo’s hand. “Come, let us rejoin Sam and Pippin.”

Upon descending to the dell, they found that Sam and Pippin had set up camp by a small stream. The two hobbits had discovered a pile of stacked firewood nearby, which Aragorn guessed had been left by Rangers. Merry and Frodo quickly filled in Pippin and Sam on what they had seen. Aragorn advised Sam to tether Bill more securely than usual, and, after one look at the Ranger’s grim face, Sam hurried to obey.

“Gandalf used fire as a weapon, and, if necessary, we will, as well,” replied the Ranger. They prepared a large fire, and Merry noticed that Aragorn selected and put to one side some of the longer sticks.

“Strider,” said Merry slowly, “you said that the Riders fear fire. Why don’t we just throw the Ring into the fire and keep it burning until morning? Perhaps they won’t approach it.”

“Merry!” Frodo gasped. Only with a great effort did he keep his hand from reaching into his pocket for the Ring and clutching it possessively.

“Frodo is the bearer, and only he can put it aside,” said Aragorn. He turned to Frodo. “Do you wish to do that?”

Evening passed into night, and the five companions huddled in front of a large bonfire which they had kindled in an area someone, Rangers, most likely, had cleared of grass for that purpose. They sat, wrapped in cloaks and blankets against the cold. The stars glittered brilliantly above them, but neither their friendly light, nor the first hot supper they had eaten in days, alleviated the hobbits’ nervousness.

“As long as we do have a fire…” Aragorn reached into his pack, pulled out a pipe, and handed it to Frodo.

“I’ve rarely been without it since you gave it to me,” said Aragorn with a smile. As he had hoped, the pipe Frodo had made for him nearly 30 years before served as a temporary distraction.

“Oh,” Frodo breathed. The simple pipe he had so painstakingly polished and carved had now been embellished with interlaced, delicate strands of filigreed silver -- and the once-tiny stars had been replaced with colored gems, sparkling radiantly in the firelight.

“Over the years, this was becoming somewhat battered. A dear friend of mine named Glorfindel saw how much I valued it.” Aragorn smiled, remembering. “He worked to strengthen it, and to enhance the beauty you had already given it.”

“You… value this?” Close to tears, Frodo passed the pipe to Sam, who whistled softly in amazement.

The hobbits were loathe to sleep, and so, as the hours passed, Aragorn sang to them, of a deep and tragic love between a mortal and an Elf maiden of unmatchable beauty. When he had done, he told them tales of valor and honor from times long past.

“I felt like I could see all the people and places,” added Pippin, his eyes shining.

“I remember something Bilbo said to me once,” said Frodo. “He told me that it’s not very satisfying to know all kinds of interesting things, if there’s no one to tell them to.”

“If the fire’s to burn all night, we’ll need more wood,” observed Sam, getting to his feet.

“I’ll come with you,” said Merry. He and Sam disappeared into the darkness.

“Strider!” Sam and Merry ran up to the group, both wide-eyed with fear. “There’s somethin’ comin’ up the slope!”

“We didn’t exactly see anything,” gasped Merry, “but we both felt… something…”

Pippin and Frodo leaped to their feet, but Aragorn quickly grasped Frodo’s shoulders and gazed deeply into his eyes.

“Frodo, they sense that the Ring is somewhere near, but they cannot truly see it, or you, unless you put it on and enter their shadow realm. Do you understand me?”

“Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hands!” cried Aragorn, getting to his feet. “Set the ends ablaze!” He reached out to Frodo. “Get behind us, Frodo.”

“No,” argued Merry, “then they’ll know that it’s Frodo we’re protecting.”

“Merry, this is no time for debate,” said Aragorn grimly. He pulled Frodo behind him, then thrust the ends of several sticks into the fire. “Be ready.”

Nazgûl. Aragorn marshalled everything he had within him so that he would show no fear in front of the hobbits. Yet, what could one Man do in the face of such foes? On this very spot, it was said, Gil-Galad had once stood, and Elendil himself. His thoughts flew to his friend Glorfindel, who had helped to bring about the end of the evil kingdom of Angmar, and caused its king to flee -- the same cruel and deathless king, lord of the wraiths, who now approached them.

Over the past days, Aragorn had tried to remember everything he had ever heard about the Nazgûl, and he had come to wonder… did they seek just the Ring, or its bearer as well? Aragorn could not have explained why, but he sensed that Sauron would not trust even these fell servants with possession of the One Ring. Their orders were, more likely, to bring the Ring-bearer alive to Mordor, there to be stripped of the Ring by the Dark Lord himself, and tormented, in body and soul, to the end of his days. They meant to capture Frodo alive, then, or worse… No. His blood ran cold at the thought.

For one moment alone, Aragorn was tempted to take the Ring from Frodo and lead the Riders away. The hobbits would be safe, and Merry could no doubt guide them back to Bree. But no… he dared not touch it.

“Aragorn.” A small voice from behind him shook the Ranger free of his thoughts. He saw that Sam, Merry, and Pippin were looking at him with fear, and trust, in their eyes.

Notes for Chapter 8: I had to decide whether Frodo would be stabbed in the back of his shoulder or the front. My thanks to Ariel, katakanadian, and Nilmandra at the ‘Quill and Inklings” site for tossing this issue around with me. I’ve taken some liberties with that scene, as an author is privileged to do.

This chapter contain quotes borrowed or adapted from ‘A Knife in the Dark’, from “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien -- some familiarity with that chapter is assumed.

They weren’t there. They were not-things, five looming shadows given shape only by the tattered cloaks they wore. Merry exchanged a horrified glance with Pippin, then, as one, their raised their swords in one hand and their flaming sticks in the other. Even Pippin, as young as he was, knew that they were about to die -- but they would die fighting, in defense of Frodo.

However, whatever the two hobbits might have done in the next moment, they would never know. A shadow turned to them briefly, and spared them one empty glance… a mere thought… Pippin gasped, suddenly crushed with terror and unable to breathe. His weapons fell to the ground, and he was falling too… drowning in darkness. He didn’t know where he was, only that it was a black and horrible place, and utterly without hope.

The instant Sam sensed the first shadow entering the dell, he resolutely stepped back to stand next to Frodo. He could feel the heat from the bonfire at his back, and a wave of evil intent thickening all around them. At his side, Frodo had gone rigidly still, his eyes wide and fixed on one looming shape which seemed to gesture, for a moment only, toward where Merry and Pippin stood. There was a choked cry, and Pippin fell limply to the ground as if struck mortally. Merry stumbled to his knees, then slumped to the ground next to where Pippin lay, trembling and gasping for breath. Sam watched, horror-stricken, as the other four wraiths moved, as one, to surround Strider and force him away from Frodo’s side. The Ranger, eyes blazing, wielded his fiery torches and fought to escape.

The wraith turned toward him… toward Frodo… and Sam felt something terrible reaching out for them. Suddenly dizzy and sick, he turned with difficulty to Frodo, who still stood transfixed, almost as if he was struggling with something only he could see or hear. Fighting to breathe through the suffocating cloud enveloping him, Sam thought he could hear his master’s faint whisper of “no no no no…” and then Frodo was gone. Vanished. Even as he fell, Sam reached out desperately to where Frodo had been, to find only empty air.

As Aragorn watched the Nazgûl approach, four of the wraiths abruptly bore down on him. He realized that they were trying to surround him -- to keep him from the hobbits. As the wraiths drove against him, he met them grimly, thrusting fire toward those closest, hoping against hope that, by some chance, the hobbits might escape. Battling desperately against the darkness clutching at him from every side, he lunged forward, swinging the fiery brands in all directions. It was getting hard to breathe, and to think. He had heard of this -- the Black Breath -- but still he advanced, setting ablaze every shrouded garment within reach of his long torches. The four faltered, and retreated -- and the fifth… the Witch-king, where was he? He thought he heard Frodo’s voice calling out for Elbereth, but the sound seemed muffled and faint. All at once he heard a piercing scream that smote his heart -- then another, abruptly choked off and silent.

Although the air was so full of smoke he could scarcely see, Aragorn spotted the fifth wraith and lunged at him, plunging flames into its very heart. Suddenly it was gone. Aragorn staggered and nearly fell, gasping as a man who had been held down in deep water. As his vision cleared, he saw that Merry, deathly pale, was kneeling a short distance away, his arms wrapped around a near-hysterical Pippin. Sam was on his feet, whirling about desperately, calling Frodo’s name. Then Sam was running, sobbing, toward a small, still figure on the ground.

They were coming. Frodo couldn’t stop shaking… yet he couldn’t move. Aragorn was driven from his side with a cry, and then he and Sam stood alone. Helpless to prevent it, Frodo watched his cousins fall, and knew that Aragorn must soon follow; there were too many of them surrounding him. Too many…

As the lone wraith turned away from Merry and Pippin, and drifted nearer, Frodo was overcome by a single thought. He needed to put on the Ring. This… this was the moment he needed to do it! He couldn’t do it… But he had to. The Ring could save them, the Ring could drive them back, the Ring was his, he had to put it on… “No,” he whispered, “no no no…” Even as he struggled against the unbearable pressure flooding his mind, his hand was pulling the Ring out of his pocket. He had to put it on… now.

Frodo gasped in horror as the formless shadows took terrifying shape. He saw haggard and ruined faces with cruel eyes, grey hair under ancient helms. Four of the wraiths surrounded Aragorn with knives and swords. The fifth was taller than the others, and wore a crown. The fifth… the pale king beckoned to him, his eyes blazing. The Witch-king drew closer, drawing a coldly gleaming knife with a sure hand. Desperate, Frodo drew his own small sword, which blazed red as blood to his eyes.

“Come, little one.” The deathless king was suddenly before him. “To Mordor we will take you.”

Little one. A cold fury filled Frodo’s mind, and he knew he had to act or die. He suddenly remembered what Aragorn had said, days before, about the Elves calling on the Valar. “Elbereth!” he screamed. Lunging forward, he drove his sword into the wraith with all his small strength, but there was nothing substantial to meet his attack -- just cloak and robe and a suffocating darkness. He landed on the ground at the wraith’s feet.

Before Frodo could rise, he felt something icy, like cold steel bands, clutching at his neck and lifting him effortlessly. He saw before him a decayed, withered face, utterly without mercy. Something constricted his throat, and the cruel visage blurred. He fought for air, helpless to prevent his sword from falling from his hand. Through a haze of terror, he saw the gleaming knife raised to strike him. He couldn’t move… couldn’t fight…

The Witch-king plunged the knife into Frodo’s shoulder, and the hobbit screamed in agony as the blade cut deep. Then Frodo felt a sickening snap, and a bitter, frozen pain that shook his body as if buffeted by a powerful wind. He felt himself falling, and hit the ground in shock, waiting helplessly for the final death blow… but the wraith lord moved away.

With his failing strength, Frodo groped desperately at his left hand and pulled off the accursed Ring. Through fading senses he saw flame, and heard Sam yelling. He was freezing… dying… then everything went black.

There could be no doubt that the Dark Lord’s Ring was here, in the possession of one of these insignificant creatures. The wizard had battled half of his Company days ago, and they pursued him still -- but to wait for them to return was no longer necessary. Baggins was here. The Man had not taken the Ring -- he must be acting as protector for these halflings. No matter. His four companions would dispatch him quickly, and Baggins would be theirs. The other halflings meant nothing.

The Witch-king bent his will toward the two nearest halflings. There was no need to approach them or the flame they wielded -- the Master’s Ring was near, but not with these two; it was not in their keeping. He turned from them, dismissing their presence even as they fell, stunned and helpless. Nothing now lay between him and the other two small ones. He could smell them, sense their life force and essence. The Ring would make itself known to him. It would find him. It would… yes! Abruptly one of the halflings flickered into his vision, shadow resolving into form, the Ring visible on the tiny finger. Baggins. At last.

The wraith lord drew out his knife, and was amused to see the trembling halfling do the same. If mirth had still been possible, he would have laughed at such folly.

“Come, little one,” the Witch-king stepped forward, and reached out. “To Mordor we will take you.”

In an unexpected move, the halfling threw himself forward, his glittering blade slicing and biting deep. The knife thrust sent not pain, but bitter memory lancing through the wraith lord, of a long-ago battle, of valiant, yet ill-fated Men who breathed their last, trusting in such weapons.

The Witch-king let forth a roar of rage. That name… but this halfling had not the power of the Elven so-called king who last faced him with that same cry in the night. She of the stars could not help this tiny creature -- one of the very few who had ever dared to attack him.

The Witch-king reached down and grasped the halfling by the back of his neck and lifted him, kicking and struggling, to eye level. He slowly squeezed, not enough to kill, but enough to weaken. The knife fell from the small one’s hand and disappeared from the wraith’s vision as it rejoined the living world. The Ring gleamed and pulsed on the tiny finger, throbbing with Power -- but his orders were clear. This impudent, hapless creature was to be brought fully into the shadow, and delivered, mindless and purposeless, to Mordor.

The wraith brought his own knife up before the terrified halfling’s eyes for a long moment, then thrust it into the tiny shoulder. The small one screamed, then shuddered deeply as the enspelled blade, wrought for this purpose alone, broke, and buried a piece of itself in his flesh.

It was done. The wraith lord opened his hand and released his prey, who fell to the ground, convulsed in agony.

The Morgul blade, now useless, he let fall as well. Plain sword and black terror would be more than enough to kill the other halflings. Afterwards, they need only wait until Baggins’ will weakened and failed, the halfling unable to bear the unrelenting pain and hopeless despair. As he succumbed, and his grasp on the living world loosened, the shard would pierce his heart and the Master’s Ring would utterly consume him. They would return to Mordor with the tiny, broken creature, forever shadowed and enslaved.

Suddenly, a white-hot flame seared the Witch-king’s vision and plunged deeply into his essence. Fire. His four companions, he saw with rage, had faltered, their garments ablaze and confusion overtaking them. The Man still lived -- and he advanced without fear. There was something about this one. Ancient, long-buried memories assailed the wraith lord, even as the searing heat pushed him back.

Enough, then. No matter where these mortals ran, Baggins was already theirs. They would retreat, and wait for the halfling to join them. It would take but hours… a few days at most… no one could resist longer than that.

Notes for Chapter 9: Several lines in this chapter are from “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

The wraiths were gone. Aragorn fell to his knees next to Sam. Frodo lay before them, face down, his right hand clenched in a tight fist.

A quick glance around had told Aragorn that all the hobbits were in some measure of shock, Pippin the worst off -- but Frodo needed his full attention now. He rolled the unconscious hobbit onto his back, revealing his small sword on the ground beneath him. The motion loosened Frodo’s fist, and something lay revealed in his palm, gleaming brightly in the firelight. Aragorn caught his breath, and found himself staring, for a long moment, at the One Ring -- the first of his line to see it since Isildur himself.

“Sam…” Aragorn hardly dared trust himself to move or speak. “Sam, put that back into his pocket. But you must not touch it.”

“He’s still got it,” Sam marveled. He thought for a moment, then used his pocket handkerchief to gather up the Ring and push it into one of Frodo’s vest pockets. “Strider!” The parts of Frodo’s coat and vest covering his left shoulder were torn and bloody.

“I see it.” Aragorn gently lifted the limp body of his dear friend and laid him down closer to the fire, into which Sam proceeded to throw more wood. Frodo had been stabbed… but how badly? Working together, he and Sam removed Frodo’s cloak and coat, and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. The Ranger closed his eyes for a moment, and, with an effort, pushed his emotions down deep and forced himself to view this hobbit as a healer must. Very pale, but breathing deep and regular… pulse steady… the wound was… This was no ordinary wound. Frodo’s shoulder revealed a deep incision, but blood loss was not excessive. The area around the wound seemed grey, and felt cold to the touch. No ordinary wound… no. Not Frodo. No.

“Sam,” Aragorn tried to keep his voice steady. “Heat water, quickly. As much as you can.” As Sam raced to obey, the Ranger left Frodo’s side only long enough to unlace his pack and draw out, from the very bottom, a flat box. He broke a seal on it, and unfolded a cloth to reveal a half dozen long, slender leaves. He took out three of them.

Merry brought Pippin to his feet and came to join the others. Pippin was ashen, his fists clenched so tightly in Merry’s cloak that the knuckles were white. He kept twisting around to stare into the darkness, wondering if the creatures were returning. Tears came to both his and Merry’s eyes when they saw Frodo, and Merry sat down next to Aragorn, bringing Pippin down with him.

“This one’s boiled,” said Sam, bringing over a pot of water, “and more’s heating.”

The hobbits watched, puzzled, as Aragorn bowed his head over the leaves lying across his palms, then closed his eyes and breathed upon them.

Aragorn looked up, startled. “A very small part, Sam -- from so long ago, I can barely conceive of it.” He frowned. “Why do you ask that?”

Sam gestured at the leaves cupped in the Ranger’s hands. “You’re talkin’ to the plants in some way, like you said the Elves can do.”

“Just this plant,” Aragorn murmured. “It is athelas; it somehow recognizes me.”

Only Merry seemed to pay heed to Aragorn’s soft words, but before he could say anything, the Ranger had crushed the leaves in his hands, and dropped them into the water.

The fresh, living scent that was released was unlike anything the hobbits had ever imagined. Pippin sighed and relaxed, his grip on Merry loosening. With each breath of the steaming water, the black terror and despair seemed to dissipate further, until, after a few minutes, it was more memory than living reality. Merry felt his courage and determination, temporarily crushed under the weight of Shadow, return once again, strong and sure. And Sam, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s face, knew there was hope for his master, and for all of them.

Frodo’s eyelids fluttered, and he stiffened and moaned as returning consciousness brought pain. He opened his eyes and looked about in terror.

“He is gone,” Aragorn said gently. It tore at his heart to see the hobbit’s pale face drawn in pain. “Be still now, and let me see to you.”

Aragorn soaked a cloth in the hot water in which the athelas was releasing its essence, then wrung it out. When it had cooled slightly, he slid a hand behind Frodo’s back and, with the other, he gently pressed the cloth to the wound. Frodo gasped and cried out as the pain flared even more sharply for a moment, as if something within the wound was fighting back against any attempt at healing, but then the pain eased, and he sighed in relief. As Aragorn applied each fresh, warm poultice, the pain diminished and the frozen cold in his shoulder and arm receded to a bearable level.

Aragorn was relieved beyond measure to note that the athelas was easing Frodo’s pain, but he was concerned that the skin around the wounded shoulder, and Frodo’s left arm, did not regain their normal color, but remained strangely pale and very cold. Frodo lay quietly under his care, his rapid breaths slowing.

“Thank you,” Frodo murmured. “That’s so much better. What…” He took a deep breath. “What smells so nice?”

Aragorn smiled and handed the cloth to Sam, motioning that the gardener should continue bathing the wound. “I don’t know if you remember this, Frodo, but on the day you fell ill of the swamp malaise, all those years ago, Gandalf was gone most of that day and evening.”

“I do remember that,” Frodo said after a moment. “I remember asking Bilbo where he had gone.”

“He had gone to look for athelas,” Aragorn continued. “That is the plant you are smelling. It has great virtue, and I asked him to go in search of it -- but there was none to be found in or around the Westfarthing.” He turned to Sam. “He even consulted with your father, Sam.”

“From that time to this, Frodo,” Aragorn continued, “I have carried it with me whenever I could locate some. Because of you, I have had it in times of great need.”

“I…” Pippin had finally stopped shaking, and he nodded. “I will be. Strider, are they coming back?”

‘Let us hear what Frodo has to tell,” Aragorn said. “Can you remember what happened, little one?”

“He said that!” Frodo gasped, and tears sprang to his eyes. “He called me that! How did he know?”

“Tell us what happened.” Aragorn took Frodo’s right hand and held it. “You put on the Ring, did you not?”

“Yes,” Frodo whispered. “I shouldn’t have, I know. I remembered what you said, and I knew it was wrong, but I just… put it on. They… they were dreadful, Estel, like withered, dead people, cold and evil. Four of them surrounded you…” Frodo grew wide eyed. “Did you know they had knives, and swords?”

“You were partly in their world, Frodo, when the Ring was upon your finger,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. “It is possible that the wraith lord could sense something of you, through the Ring. Perhaps he called you by a name that was dear to you either to frighten you, or simply as cruelty.”

“I couldn’t bear it,” Frodo said, his eyes blazing. “I was so angry, I attacked him!”

Merry moved to take the cloth from Sam, and took a turn bathing Frodo’s wound with the warm athelas water.

“I found myself calling out to Elbereth, like you told us about,” Frodo continued, “and then I stabbed at him. But I must have missed. He picked me up, and…” The hobbit’s breathing started to grow fast and shallow. “I couldn’t fight anymore. He… he stabbed me, and it was the worst pain, so cold, and…”

“Shhh,” Aragorn murmured, “that’s enough. I was able to drive them off. We are thankful you were able to remove the Ring so we could locate you, and begin to treat you.”

Frodo bit his lip and frowned, then stared at the Ranger in fright. “I can’t move my arm at all.” He tried to look down at the wound, but Sam put a restraining hand on his unwounded shoulder.

“No sir,” Sam answered. “It’s here, in your pocket. They didn’t take it, Mr. Frodo.” He sighed. “I doubt you’d a let ‘em have it even if they’d killed you.”

“They are gone for now,” Aragorn answered evasively. “I’m going to take a look around, and your friends will stay with you. You’ve been through a great shock, Frodo, and if you are able to sleep, do so. We’re going to leave at first light.”

Aragorn. The Ranger struggled to keep his composure. Frodo had asked him those exact words, with that same look in his eyes, nearly 30 years before, when he had been so terribly ill. The other hobbits had gone perfectly still, and he knew they were listening closely.

“Frodo,” Aragorn said softly, “you know I have never lied to you, and will never do so. You are badly hurt, and we must reach Rivendell. We have a long way to travel, and it will be difficult.”

“I’m so sorry,” Frodo said bitterly. “I was so foolish, and now I hope… what if I can’t…”

“Frodo, if anyone can do this, it is you. I believe you to be the most extraordinary hobbit I have ever known. And I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Gandalf once said…” The Ranger paused.

Aragorn smiled. “I believe his exact words were, ‘He’s the best hobbit in the Shire, Aragorn. That lad will surprise us all someday.’”

Pippin suddenly took the cloth from Merry, and took his turn applying the warm, potent water to Frodo’s wound.

“Frodo,” Aragorn said, looking deeply into the hobbit’s eyes, “those wraiths know nothing of the determination of hobbits, or the love that surrounds you this night. I remember…” He smiled. “Long ago, a very wise hobbit told me that love gives us strength and courage when we need it most.”

“I told you that -- after Bilbo told me that. Will…” Frodo was suddenly feeling very drowsy. “Will you keep… telling me that?”

There was no sign of them. Even in the dark, Aragorn had been able to follow the tracks of the wraiths’ five horses, which led to the Road and eventually disappeared. He could neither see, hear, nor sense them, confirming his worst fears. As he walked back to Weathertop, many hours after starting his search, full realization suddenly hit. The Ranger found himself shaking, and, still out of sight of the hobbits, he fell to his knees in the grass at the foot of the hill -- and allowed himself the frightening knowledge that the wraiths had left because they no longer needed to stay. Whatever they had come for, they had achieved.

“Frodo,” Aragorn whispered, “I’m so sorry.” He had tried, and failed. Thanks to Gandalf there had only been five Nazgûl to attack them, and not nine -- but what difference had it made? Frodo had put on the Ring, and the wraith king had seen him.

I should have taken the Ring from him, Aragorn thought desperately. I could have fled and drawn them off.

Possibly a fortnight until we can reach Rivendell. Even if I could get word to Elrond, and he could meet us halfway there, what can he do? What can anyone do? How long can Frodo hold out, and what do I do if he cannot?

Aragorn didn’t know how much time had passed, but he grew aware that dawn would soon be approaching. Looking up, he could see a small, flickering light. They had kept the fire burning. Good. Frodo needed… needed…

“He needs me,” Aragorn said aloud. He stood up and took a deep breath. “They must not see my fear. I must trust in my strength, and his, and all of theirs. There is always hope, and we must all do our part.” So saying, he commenced the climb up the hill.

When Aragorn came up over the lip of the dell, he saw that Frodo was still lying near the fire, covered in blankets. Sam was lying next to him, apparently asleep. Merry was standing nearby, and the Ranger was impressed to see that the hobbit was far enough from the fire to avoid being readily seen, but close enough to Frodo to keep an eye on him. And indeed, the moment Merry saw someone approaching, he gasped and ran in front of Frodo, pulling out his sword and holding it up.

“I know, and I am sorry,” Aragorn said. He knelt next to Frodo and was relieved to find that his sleep seemed restful. Merry knelt beside him.

“We emptied one of the water bottles and filled it with that athelas water, in case you need to use it again,” Merry said quietly.

Aragorn stood up and walked over to where Pippin sat wrapped in a blanket against the cold air, huddled beneath the tree to which Bill was tethered.

“I may never sleep again.” Pippin turned frightened eyes to the Ranger. “Strider, what happened? I don’t understand what happened.”

“That which touched you when the wraith approached -- the Black Breath is the Enemy’s greatest weapon. It is despair, Pippin, and defeat, and lost hope. It is being lost in the darkness with death stalking you and drawing near.”

“Yes,” Pippin whispered, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “Yes.”

Aragorn put an arm around the young hobbit. “Now you know what Frodo will be fighting. You have felt it.”

“Frodo has been injured by a weapon of the Enemy. I fear that the darkness that you felt has been planted within him, and will try to draw him into shadow. We cannot let that happen.”

“We must make certain that Frodo does not lose hope. We must give him strength in every way we can, and help him to resist the shadows that reach out for him.” Aragorn paused, then continued. “We are all afraid, Pippin. But should you need to cry, or give in to sadness or fear, come to one of us. Do not let Frodo see it. Do you think you can do that?”

“Gandalf brought you to Bag End when you were sick, and Frodo got sick too, and you helped take care of him.”

“Frodo spoke of you, and Gandalf did, as well,” the Ranger said. “Your birth was a great joy to your family, and to the Shire. You carry a respected lineage within you, as well as a very bright spirit. You bring Frodo comfort and lightness of heart, and I think it more than chance that you are here with him, now.”

“Oh,” Pippin breathed, then he looked at Aragorn gravely. “Neither is it chance that you are here.”

“Perhaps not.” Aragorn smiled. “Gandalf has told me about the Tooks. Behind his stories were great respect and affection for a family unlike any other in the Shire.” He felt Pippin sit up a little straighter.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Strider.” Pippin suddenly stood up and looked at Aragorn steadily.

“We still have a long journey ahead of us, Pippin, and it may grow quite difficult.”

Aragorn nodded. “I have no doubt of it.” He got to his feet, then he and Pippin walked over to where Merry was still keeping watch over Frodo and Sam. Merry looked up and tried to stifle a yawn.

“You should have set watches,” Aragorn admonished him. “You’ve had no sleep, and we will be traveling all this day.”

Just then Sam opened his eyes, and sat up quickly. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Dawn is nearly here, and there is no sign of the wraiths,” Aragorn said. “We are going to leave within the hour.”

“We must reach Rivendell,” Aragorn answered. “If anyone can help Frodo, it is Elrond.”

“Strider,” Merry said quietly, “Frodo may not be able to walk. He was able to sit up, but only if he was holding onto someone.”

Aragorn nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea, Sam -- if he can hold on, that is. If not, I will have to carry him.” He looked at the three hobbits. “We would all have to carry some of the load that Bill now bears.”

“What’s wrong with my master?” Sam asked. “The wound was deep, but is already closing -- it’s so cold, though, and looks very strange.”

Aragorn was about to answer when his eye was caught by an unfamiliar weapon on the ground, near where Frodo had been found, and he moved to retrieve it. Merry and Sam exchanged a worried look when Aragorn stood perfectly still and silent, the black knife in his hand.

Aragorn turned to face them. “It is a Morgul blade,” he said grimly. “The end of the blade is broken, and I fear…” At that moment, the first rays of the sun burst over the horizon, bathing the dell in light. To the hobbits’ amazement, the blade seemed to flicker and melt, then it vanished altogether, leaving only the hilt still in the Ranger’s hand.

Aragorn strode to where Bill was tethered, and pushed the knife hilt deeply into one of the saddlebags piled on the ground. “A quick breakfast, Sam, then we leave. There is no time to lose.” The look in his eyes was desperate, and urgent.

Sam scrambled to his feet and moved quickly to prepare a cold meal, and Pippin went to help him. Merry left Frodo’s side and came to stand next to Aragorn.

“Strider,” Merry said quietly, “you haven’t told us about Frodo. Sam’s right -- his wound doesn’t look very serious, just… strange. Why is he so cold and weak?”

“He is in grave danger, Merry,” the Ranger said just as quietly. “I fear that there is a great darkness at work within the wound.” Merry’s eyes filled with tears, and Aragorn reached out a hand to clasp him on the shoulder. “There is a power in Rivendell for healing that is beyond my skill, and we must get him there. It’s a long journey -- perhaps as much as a fortnight yet to go.”

“What if we’re attacked again?” Merry whispered so Pippin wouldn’t hear him. “They came for the Ring, but didn’t get it.”

“They won’t…” Aragorn chose his words carefully. “I believe they have retreated for a time, and we must take advantage of it.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?” Merry asked. “Why didn’t they kill Frodo, or take the Ring? Why did they leave?”

“Merry,” Aragorn replied, “let us talk about this another time. I will answer your questions, to the best of my ability -- but not now, and not here.”

Merry slowly nodded. “All right.” He looked around. “I’ll see if there’s anything we can leave behind in order to lighten our load.”

“Frodo,” Aragorn called softly. He stroked the hobbit’s brow, and Frodo slowly opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. Aragorn noticed that it took the hobbit a moment or two to focus on his surroundings.

“Good morning, little one,” Aragorn said gently. “We are leaving soon. How is the pain?”

“It’s not too bad.” Frodo grasped Aragorn’s tunic with his right hand and sat up, his left arm dangling limply at his side. “It doesn’t hurt much, Estel, it’s just… awfully cold.”

“I…” Frodo gripped Aragorn’s tunic even tighter, and tried to get his feet under him, but the simple movements seemed exhausting. He slumped against the Ranger’s chest weakly.

“That’s all right,” Aragorn said with a forced smile. “If you can hold onto one of Bill’s lead ropes even half as tightly as you’re mangling my tunic, I think it would be best if you rode.”

“I can’t do that,” Frodo declared. “We would have to leave the baggage behind!”

“We’ll carry it, sir,” said Sam, bringing over a pan piled with cheeses and dried fruits. “Don’t you worry about that.” He helped Aragorn settle Frodo against one of their packs so he could sit up and eat.

“Let us do all the worrying from now on, cousin Frodo,” added Pippin. He plopped down, and expertly snatched the piece of cheese Frodo was reaching for and popped it into his own mouth.

“You thieving hobbit,” Frodo sighed. “By the way, how are all those midge bites doing?”

“They still itch. I’m the one who’s really suffering here, you know -- at least that knife wound doesn’t itch, am I right?” Pippin asked with a grin.

“I don’t know why people keep saying that,” Pippin sighed dramatically. This is so hard, he thought. I want to grab Frodo and hug him and weep and make this not have happened. This is so hard. I’m so scared. “Poor Bill,” he continued. “He deserves a more graceful rider, Frodo -- like me, for instance.”

“I’ll show you who’s a graceful rider.” Frodo reached his right hand up, and Aragorn grasped it. “Help me up on that beast, Estel. And make sure Pip gets an extra-heavy pack. Give him Sam’s.”

Pippin realized that Sam was staring at him, his mouth agape at his seemingly uncaring attitude about Frodo’s injury. But he also saw that Aragorn was nodding at him encouragingly, and that was enough. If this was what Frodo needed, he would get it, all the way to Rivendell -- wherever that was, and however long it took to get there.

Pippin got to his feet with a sigh, and suddenly found Merry standing in front of him.

Responses to reviews of Chapter 10 from Fanfiction.net will be found at the bottom of the page.

Notes for Chapter 11: For those who haven’t read “Quarantined”, this chapter references Chapter 16.

Why why why why… Frodo’s thoughts spun in an endless circle, one word pounding over and over in the same rhythm as Bill’s hoofbeats. All through that first, long day after they left Weathertop and hurriedly crossed the Road, Aragorn leading them south for a time, and then east once again, Frodo grew more angry at himself. Why had he put on the Ring? Why?

Frodo was heartsick at the sight of his friends walking near him, weary under the heavier loads they were all bearing. Why did he do it? Why? But then…

“Frodo,” Pippin would say unexpectedly, “you must hear this song I’ve been working on. Merry thinks it’s dreadful, but what does he know? Listen…” And Pippin would sing -- very softly, as he walked next to Bill -- of mischief and childish pranks, and tumbles down hills, and Frodo would smile as Pippin’s clear voice pulled his thoughts out of their spinning, endless circle of blame and fear, and questions without answers.

Aragorn walked in front, but never too far ahead, choosing a route that gave concealment, but also the most level ground so that Frodo wasn’t jostled too badly on the back of the pony. The area south of the Road and west of what the Ranger called the ‘last bridge’ was wooded with thickets and trees, and would provide tinder for the fire he claimed they must now have each night. At all costs, he had told them, Frodo must be kept warm.

As the sun began to set on that first day after the attack, Aragorn finally called a halt to the weary group in a sheltered clearing, and packs dropped from aching shoulders.

As he had done several times that day, Aragorn gently lifted Frodo off Bill. This time, both Sam and Merry helped support Frodo as he half-walked, half-stumbled over to the blankets Pippin had quickly spread out.

“No, Sam, not tonight,” Aragorn smiled. “Just rest for awhile. I won’t go far.”

As Aragorn disappeared into the trees, Sam and Merry pulled down packs and food bags from Bill, and Sam made sure the pony was tended to before putting all his attention on his master.

“Here, sir, let me wrap another blanket about you. You’re cold as ice, and no mistake.” Sam helped Frodo sit up against a pack that Pippin had brought over, and smiled encouragingly at him. “Now you just rest, Mr. Frodo. I’ll bring you something for supper, and then you can be off to a good night’s sleep.”

“And you’ll not be helping neither, Mr. Merry, nor you, Mr. Pippin,” Sam declared, turning around. The two cousins looked up wearily from where Pippin was fumbling with pans and packets, and Merry was clearing an area for a fire.

“Not either of you had a wink of sleep last night, is my guess,” Sam continued. “You just let me do that.”

They’re so tired, Frodo thought bleakly to himself, and we’ve so far to go. When no one was looking, he put forth all his strength to try to move his left arm -- but to no avail. He had hoped that the feeling would slowly come back, and warmth return, but there was no change. He feared he would never regain the use of it. The strange, frightening, chill was slowly spreading from his wounded shoulder to his left side; and the pain, which had abated completely after the use of athelas, was beginning to return.

Aragorn made several trips, dragging large branches and tinder back to the clearing, then quickly prepared a small campfire in the space Merry had cleared. When the fire had caught well, and everyone had eaten something, he finally allowed himself to rest. He sat with Frodo on his right. Sam, on the other side of Frodo, was absently feeding small sticks into the fire. Pippin, curled up in a tumble of blankets, had fallen fast asleep with Aragorn on one side of him and Merry on the other -- and Merry, who had been teasing Pippin about the youngster’s constant yawning, was struggling to stay awake.

“Estel,” Frodo whispered, “you said to tell you if the pain started up again…”

“That’s right,” Aragorn replied. He pulled the blanket-wrapped hobbit against him very gently, and Frodo rested his head against the Ranger’s chest. “Is it very bad?”

“No,” Frodo said, “not very bad.” He sighed. “It’s hard to say if it’s really pain, or just… cold.”

“If it gets very bad, we’ll use more of the athelas,” Aragorn said softly. “Merry was smart enough to save it.”

“Merry’s smart enough to do anything,” Frodo said drowsily. “He has to run Buckland someday, you know. That’s a wild place.”

“It used to be a wild place,” Merry murmured sleepily, “but then you moved to Hobbiton, Frodo, and things calmed down considerably, they tell me.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Meriadoc,” Frodo replied, trying to smile. He nestled against Aragorn’s warmth, wishing the fire was a bigger one.

Everyone stopped talking, and soon the only sound was the crackling of the sticks Sam was tossing into the small blaze. Images of the previous night kept him from relaxing.

“You were right about fire, Strider,” Sam mused after awhile. “You really saved us last night. Those shadow-things really don’t like fire much, do they?”

“I thought you were asleep, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. “You need to try and sleep, sir.”

The last thing Aragorn wanted Frodo to be thinking about was the Nazgûl, but his curiosity won out.

“It’s life,” Frodo murmured, “warmth and life. They can’t bear it. It’s the sun they’ll never feel again, and love, and hearts beating, and all the things forever lost to them. Forever lost…”

“Nothing.” Aragorn guided the dark curly head back down against his chest. “Try to sleep, little one.”

“I can’t,” Frodo whispered. But he soon grew too sleepy to keep his eyes open any longer, and Aragorn felt the small one in his arms relax, and the hobbit’s breathing deepen and slow.

“Mr. Merry doesn’t get enough sleep,” Sam said boldly, “and neither do you, sir.”

“I appreciate your concern, Sam, but I can go quite a few days without sleep, if needed.” Aragorn smiled. “You’re correct about Merry, though -- in trying to see to it that everyone else gets enough rest, he neglects his own.”

“You said we should start keeping watch in pairs, Strider. I’ll sit with you for awhile, if that’s all right.”

The Ranger chuckled quietly at the unexpected question. “Do you remember that?”

“I could never forget that day!” Sam grinned. “Meetin’ a Ranger, and ridin’ such a wondrous big horse, and you sayin’… you said…” Sam ducked his head shyly. “You said she was beautiful as the sunrise.”

“She is indeed,” Aragorn said with a smile. “We are pledged, Sam, each to the other, but have not yet wed.”

“But it’s been…” Sam stared at the Ranger in disbelief. “It’s been years.”

“Yes,” Aragorn murmured as if to himself, “years upon years.” He looked at Sam. “It’s a complex matter, Sam, for an Elf to wed a mortal -- she and I in particular. Perhaps we will yet find a way.”

“That’s a darn shame, Strider, that it’s so complicated,” Sam sighed, “but I don’t suppose she looks any older now than she did then.”

Aragorn frowned and looked down at the sleeping hobbit in his arms. “Sam, surely there must have been talk in Hobbiton when Frodo never… aged.”

“More talk than I’d care to repeat,” said Sam. “Most folks thought Gandalf’d put a spell on ’im, and Mr. Bilbo, too. They thought it was too much luck for anyone to be so well off and young-lookin’, and all.” Sam frowned. “Jealousy and spite, most of it. Pure nonsense.”

“We all wondered,” Sam said thoughtfully, “but you just get used to things, I suppose. I grew up near Mr. Bilbo, you know, and just got used to things bein’ the way they were. Besides…” he said heatedly, “…it isn’t luck to lose your folks so young, like Mr. Frodo did, and be left with that cursed Ring and take such a dreadful hurt.”

“Aye, that he is,” Sam agreed. “Mr. Bilbo saw it right off, and so did you, didn’t you, sir?”

“Yes I did, Sam, as did Gandalf.” The Ranger smiled. “As you did, as well.”

“Aye.” Sam was quiet for a moment. “How far is it to Rivendell, Strider?”

“Good.” Aragorn shifted a bit, preparing to lay Frodo down. “We need to build up the fire.” Before he could move, Sam had leaped up.

Aragorn nodded and remained seated, grateful that Frodo could sleep. Frodo. What would happen to him? For a mortal to survive an encounter with the Nazgûl was, in itself, extraordinary -- but to be wounded by a Morgul blade… If his suspicions were correct… if Frodo, this dear, special hobbit, fell into Shadow… started to become one of…

Aragorn felt his heart start to pound as he contemplated what might lay ahead for them all. This wound would not, could not kill Frodo; he would either somehow find the strength to reach Rivendell, or it would… he would become…

Adria Skye and Celenathil-the-Elf: There was nothing I could do! This chapter just wouldn’t be hurried, no matter how hard I tried to hurry it.

Aemilia Rose and Grand Theft Author Otaku and Lady Jaina and MaverickGirl and Mysterious Jedi and Nell-Marie and Rosa Cotton and SapphireMeriadocTook and VercisIsolde: Thank you for your wonderful comments.

Aiko-chan: Could I love that review more? Doubtful. Yes, this is a continuation of the Frodo-and-Aragorn relationship from “Quarantined”, but I suspect it isn’t “by chance, but by purpose” that these five people are together on this fateful journey to Rivendell -- and I’m trying to bring out the essence of all of them. (Did I mention how much I loved that review?)

Ailsa Joy: “Angst ridden but fluffy…” That’s one of my stories, all right!

alysha-sedai: Thanks for the magical lawn! Now all I need is a magical lawnmower…

aprilkat and Bookworm and Elwen and Gentle Hobbit and Michelle Frodo and Strider’s Girl: I’m so glad the individuality of each character is shining through! I’m trying to show the point of view of everyone.

Aratlithiel: The story is definitely canon-based; I’m happy it’s a ‘good read’ for you.

Ariel: If my ‘Rivendell’ chapters are anywhere near as compelling as your story, “Thicker than Blood”, I’ll be thrilled.

Azaelia: Yes, that’s what “By Chance or Purpose” refers to! It was mentioned just briefly in Chapter 1, but we really get to see the meaning in Chapter 10.

Azaelia and FantasyFan and Hai and Kit and Obelia medusa: I am trying to show Pippin’s ‘quality’ -- and sweetness, intelligence, and good instincts.

Belothien and Firnsarnien: I’m so happy that you’re happy! (And Belothien -- thanks for the story tips… you never know!)

Claudia and Strider’s Girl: Writing a sequel is such an amazing experience! I’m always afraid too many previous references to “Quarantined” will mystify anyone who hasn’t read it, but I suppose it can’t be helped.

Coriandra: Glorfindel will arrive… precisely when he arrives. (And how did he get so many intensely loyal fans?? Amazing.)

Delph: It’s great to hear from you whenever you’re able to stop by and say ‘hello’!

endymion: Actually, book-Aragorn didn’t carry athelas with him, but was gone all that night looking for it. I just thought it made sense that “Quarantined” Aragorn would never have been without it.

Haley: I’m so sorry to hear about your boyfriend’s loss, and I can’t tell you what it means to me to hear you say that something I wrote is helping you to cope.

Idril Telrunya: Thank you for everything you went through to read and review Chapter 10! Sam’s song… I’ve had several requests for that, but I just don’t know, yet, what will happen with the trolls.

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: My goodness, thank you. (Oh, and just so you don’t get your hopes up, Asfaloth is not going to forget where he’s going and end up in Mirkwood. No. Yes, you are wonderfully insane -- don’t ever change!)

LadySandrilene: Don’t ever apologize for a long review -- I love reading them. And thank you for the hug!

Lady Wind: Great to hear from you, and I’m so glad you’re finding this AU story believable. (Perhaps the Nazgûl didn’t choose to stab Frodo in the heart, because the shard’s power is only released when the victim has given up and succumbs to the shadows.) Regarding the Ford, I’m toying with the idea of doing that chapter the same way I did Chapter 8 -- from everyone’s POV. (But don’t hold me to that -- it’s just an idea.)

Lindelea: Isn’t Pippin fun to write? He’s such a multi-dimensional character.

MagicalRachel and reginabean: Could there be a better compliment to an author than people saying, “I can’t wait to see what happens next!” even though we all know what happens next? I can’t get over it.

Master Elora Dannan: Your beautiful insights about Pippin’s unique ability to “heal” through laughter was a joy to read. I completely agree.

Melime: Welcome to Fanfiction.net! And I’m so pleased you like ‘my’ hobbits!

Miriel: I will never abandon a story -- I’m as frustrated as anyone else when a story I’m enjoying just…… stops……

pebbles: You’re so right -- all the ‘gaps’ in the story give fanfic writers so much to write about!

QTPie-2488: It’s difficult to “lighten” a story about Weathertop, so I’m just letting the hobbits do it for me. I’m happy you’re enjoying it.

ScifiRogue: Just for you, I re-watched parts of the movie. (Oh, what a cruel and terrible fate -- being forced to watch FOTR again!) Poor Bill did seem to appear and disappear -- for example, I didn’t see him at all in the scene where the Fellowship is climbing Caradhras, at the part where Frodo slips in the snow. I can’t say I noticed any color changes, though -- maybe someone with a larger TV could answer that.

shantastic: Frodo kept the Ring, on Bilbo’s original chain, in his pocket (just like Bilbo did). The first time it was strung around his neck was when he woke up in Rivendell.

Tigerlily Sackville-Baggins: I never thought of that! ‘My’ Aragorn is written as more emotional and warm than Tolkien’s character, but those are the very qualities that Arwen (or any woman) could love. It’s great to hear from you, and I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story! Are you working on anything these days? Another poem perhaps…?

Trishette: Hope you’re able to get to the Internet once in a while -- internet withdrawal is a dreadful thing!

Treehugger: As usual, I pored over every word of your review. And oh! Imagine being paid to write LOTR fanfiction! That would be true bliss.

Notes for Chapter 12: Chapters 9, 10, and 11 have each featured a conversation between Aragorn and one of the hobbits. It’s finally Merry’s turn -- and it’s a very different type of conversation.

My amazing proofreading mom, who beta’s the heck out of every chapter I write, did an even more phenomenal than usual job on this one (including coming up with the title, and helping me with the ending). Go mom!

Special thanks, also, to Marigold, for her wonderful suggestions. She’s encouraging me to craft a tale with more depth and richness than it might have otherwise contained, and I am most grateful.

“A beryl, Sam -- an elf-stone; I will take this as a sign that we may cross the Bridge in safety,” Aragorn said softly. He opened his palm and showed the three hobbits what he had found on the Bridge. Sam’s eyes widened, and he started to reach out to touch the glittering gem before pulling his hand back. It was a pale green, its facets reflecting the early-morning sunlight filtering through the trees. Sam had seen jewels before, in the pile of Barrow-wight treasure -- and there were even small ones scattered on the sheaths of the hobbits’ small swords -- but this was… an Elf-stone, Strider had said. It sparkled, and was the color of spring… of pale leaves and fresh, new grass.

Pippin glanced at Sam and exchanged a look with Merry, then shook his head. “I have enough to carry,” he declared. “Merry?”

“As do I,” said Merry. He turned to Sam with a grin. “Looks like you’re stuck with it, Sam.”

Aragorn held out the jewel, and a slow, delighted smile -- the first in many days -- lit Sam’s face as he took the beryl and slid it reverently into his deepest pocket.

It was a long day, that led them north of the Road again, and, by late afternoon, into a long, wooded valley between hills that grew higher and steeper as they passed. There was no trail to follow, save Aragorn’s sense of the land and skill for finding the surest route. Trees and deepening shadows from the hills made the countryside seem darker, and the valley grew narrower, the path littered with rocks and fallen trees.

One week, Merry was thinking to himself. It’s been one week since those wraiths. That means one more week of travel, Strider says. How can Frodo possibly… For the dozenth time that hour, he looked up at his cousin, astride Bill, and shook his head. Frodo seemed lost in a daydream, his eyes unseeing, as Bill clopped steadily forward. He was still eating and sleeping, and seemed to Merry no worse physically, save for the dreadful, frozen cold from which he suffered, but it seemed as if some danger more than physical was assaulting his cousin. And he meant to learn what it was.

“Sam, would you get more water boiling?” Aragorn asked. Supper was over, and the group sat around a small fire. “I’d like to make a special tea, and…” He gazed at Frodo. “…Frodo, it’s been a week -- perhaps it’s time for another athelas treatment.”

“That would be wonderful,” Frodo sighed wearily. He was sitting up, leaning against Pippin, who had been humming a soft tune. “That first night, it helped so much with the pain and the cold. I think it’s even colder now… and maybe it can help make things less dark…” His voice trailed off, and Sam leaped up to set another pot of water to heating.

“Strider,” said Merry casually, “while the water’s boiling, can we talk for a few minutes?” He pointed with his chin into the trees. Aragorn, guessing what was bothering him, nodded and rose to his feet.

“We’ll be right back,” Aragorn said to Sam and Pippin. He followed Merry until they were far enough from camp so that they couldn’t be overheard. Aragorn sat down under a tree, and Merry stood before him.

“I’ve been very patient, Strider,” Merry began, “but it’s time you explained things, especially about Frodo. He’s starting to see strange shadows and mists where there are none, and the cold is spreading over a larger area.”

“I know,” Aragorn agreed. “He also now has a slight fever, but it is not yet serious.” He met the hobbit’s gaze. “What do you want to know first?”

As startled as Aragorn was by the hobbit’s forthrightness, he also respected it.

“Merry, I can only give you my best guess.” Aragorn took a deep breath. “The wraiths haven’t attacked us again because they don’t think they’ll have to. They’re waiting… for Frodo to… fade.”

“Do you remember, when I found the Morgul blade, that the tip had been broken off?” Merry nodded. “I fear that a piece of it is buried in the wound… and that it is attempting to draw Frodo into the shadow realm.”

“Are you saying…” Merry stared at the Ranger in disbelief. “…that it’s trying to make him one of them? One of… them?”

“He… he’ll disappear for good, and become an evil, shadowed thing, and… and join them?”

“It’s been a week,” Merry murmured, “and he’s holding on. In some ways he’s stronger, Strider -- he can even walk a little, now.”

“He could start to get weaker again. What if he dies from that wound before… before it can---?”

“He can’t die from it, Merry. If the Nazgûl’s orders had been to kill him and take the Ring, he would be dead, and the Ring taken.”

“So their orders were…” Merry’s thoughts were racing in horrible directions. “…to make him one of them? And just wait until it happens?”

“I believe so. It’s the only answer for why we haven’t been attacked again.” Aragorn looked grim. “They’re waiting, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

“Frodo is so strong… I’m astonished at how strong he is, Merry -- in his heart and mind, where the darkness is reaching out for him. With that strength, and because of all of you, he’s resisting. It’s been a week…” He shook his head in wonder. “…a week with that thing inside him -- but I don’t know how long anyone, even a stubborn hobbit, can hold out.”

“What if he can’t?” Merry whispered in horror. “He’ll fade, and take the Ring to… them, and be gone? He’ll be gone?”

“Yes. They will take him to Mordor, and the Ring will be reclaimed by Sauron. A darkness will descend on Middle-earth such as has never been known before.”

“And if he doesn’t weaken, like they expect…” Merry stared at the Ranger, horrified. “They’ll come back? They’ll try again?”

Merry looked back through the trees at the faint glow of the campfire. “Does he know?”

“I don’t think so,” Aragorn said, “and I don’t want him to know. You mustn’t say anything, Merry. You must act normally.”

“How can I?” Merry turned back to the Ranger, his face pale. “How can I?”

“You must.” Aragorn pulled the hobbit to him, and Merry sank, unresisting, into the large arms. “You must, Merry.”

“Strider,” Merry could hardly speak. “What do we do if he gets too weak to resist?”

Aragorn was silent for a long moment. “We must reach Rivendell before that happens.”

“I believe so.” Aragorn sighed. “If a cure cannot be found in Rivendell, Merry, it cannot be found anywhere.”

Merry started to laugh quietly, and Aragorn wondered if the hobbit was going into shock.

“When we were in those marshes, Frodo promised Pippin he would never become a wraith. Remember?”

“It was a joke,” Merry whispered. He began to shake with sobs. “Strider, it was a joke.”

“I know.” Aragorn wrapped his arms more securely around the hobbit. “I know.”

After a few minutes, Merry sat up a little and wiped his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you at first, Strider,” he murmured.

“Maybe longer than at first,” Merry said grudgingly. “I thought you were treating Frodo like a child when you would…” He suddenly chuckled, realizing that he was the one now in the Ranger’s lap.

“I promise not to start calling you ‘little one’,” Aragorn assured him with a smile.

“That’s right.” The Ranger looked into the hobbit’s eyes. “If anything should happen to me, you have to keep going. Get Frodo to Rivendell. Once you cross the Bruinen, I have no doubt that Elrond’s folk will find you, and guide you the rest of the way.”

Merry gazed at Aragorn soberly. “Strider, if anything should happen to you, I don’t think Frodo will be able to make it. Sam was right -- Frodo loves you like a member of his family. You don’t show him that you’re afraid, so he feels safe, and hopeful. You give him more strength than any of us.”

Merry couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe so. Pip’s nearly hoarse from all the singing and storytelling, but he sees that Frodo just lights up everytime he hears him.”

“I know that. Believe me, Merry, I know that very well; all four of you are remarkable.”

“Merry…” Aragorn clasped the hobbit’s shoulder with one hand. “Frodo knows he’s badly hurt, and in great danger. I’m certain that he’s thought about what might be happening to him -- but I doubt he could have guessed such things as we have discussed. I’m not even certain that my guesses are correct.”

“Strider…” Merry’s eyes filled with tears again. “Will we make it in time?”

Frodo sighed in relief as Aragorn’s hot, soothing poultices on his wounded shoulder pushed back the worst of the cold. The week-old athelas water seemed to have lost none of its potency, and, once put to boiling, the scent of the steaming water again served to ease the hobbits’ weary minds and bodies.

“It doesn’t look any worse, sir,” said Sam encouragingly. Frodo squeezed his hand and said nothing, breathing deeply of the fresh, yet calming, scent.

Aragorn washed Frodo’s face, neck, arms, and torso with the athelas water, working slowly and gently, at the same time using his healer’s eye and senses to draw some conclusions about Frodo’s condition. As he had told Merry, Frodo had, in the past days, acquired a slight, but persistent fever, although he doubted Frodo was aware of anything but cold, and a slowly-growing, but still-bearable pain. The knife wound had left a strange, pale mark that was even colder than the surrounding skin, and Frodo’s left arm, from shoulder to fingertips, was still entirely lifeless. No movement or warmth had returned to it.

“There we go, little one,” Aragorn murmured. He and Merry helped Frodo back into his shirt, vest, and coat, then wrapped him in blankets.

“That feels so much better,” Frodo murmured, half dozing. He lay with his head pillowed in Sam’s lap, the gardener’s warm hands gently clasping his icy cold one.

Pippin watched, frowning, as Strider prepared an odd-smelling tea. “Who has to drink that?” he grimaced.

“You do,” Aragorn grinned, handing the startled youngster a mug. “It will ease your throat, Pippin -- I know it’s been bothering you.” He smiled gently and whispered, “And I know why.”

Pippin sighed, but took the mug. He had been talking and singing nearly nonstop for days, and his throat had become quite raw. Seeing that Frodo was watching him, he made the worst face he could invent -- which, to his delight, made Frodo laugh -- and slowly drank the tea. He had to admit, to himself, that it was very soothing, and not at all bad.

“All of it,” Aragorn urged, “then a good night’s sleep. We leave at first light.”

By the time Pippin had drained the mug, Frodo had fallen asleep, his head still pillowed in Sam’s lap.

Pippin soon found himself growing very drowsy, and he groggily let Merry tuck him into his bedroll.

“We haven’t set watches yet,” Pippin murmured faintly before also falling fast asleep.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Merry,” Aragorn said with a grin. He had been brewing more tea from a different pouch of dried leaves, and Sam frowned as the Ranger handed steaming mugs to him and Merry.

“There’s nothin’ in here to send us off to a good night’s sleep, is there?” Sam asked. He sniffed the mug suspiciously, but only smelled an invigorating mint.

“Not at all, Sam,” Aragorn chuckled, unlacing his boots. “You and Merry are taking first watch while I get a bit of sleep.”

“It is a very special plant,” Aragorn replied, “only rarely now to be found.” He wrapped himself in his blankets and lay down. “Long before hobbits came to the Shire, Merry, a mighty land was laid waste far out in the Western Seas. The survivors escaped to Middle-earth with very little -- but one of the treasures they bore with them was athelas, and they planted it where they could. Few now know of it, except in tales.”

“Rangers are amazin’,” marveled Sam. “You know just about everything!”

Merry had more questions, but he decided they could wait. “Good night, Strider,” he said softly. Sam was loathe to move, and disturb Frodo, so Merry put more wood on the fire, made sure everyone had enough blankets, and gave Bill a goodnight pat before sitting down again.

Sam had pulled the beryl out of his pocket, and was admiring how the jewel caught and reflected the campfire’s flickering light. He suddenly held it out to Merry.

“It is,” Merry agreed, fingering the faceted gem. “You know, Sam, I’m the only one here who’s never seen an Elf! You three met Gildor and his folk in the Shire, and Strider seems to have grown up with Elves all around him, but…”

“You will, Mr. Merry,” Sam said. “They’re wondrous fair, just like in the tales.” He looked down at Frodo. “And they’ll help Mr. Frodo get better, see if they won’t.”

“I do trust him, Sam,” Merry smiled. “Finally! Although I think there’s more to him than he’s telling us. A lot more…” He voice trailed off as he remembered what the Ranger had said about the athelas ‘recognizing’ him. What did that mean?

Sam looked at the sleeping Ranger. I don’t care if he’s king of the Dwarves or a dragon in disguise, he thought -- he’s helping Mr. Frodo, and loves him as much as we do. And that’s all that matters.

Aemilia Rose and Belothien and Bookworm2000 and endymion2 and FantasyFan and Lady Wind and Melime and SapphireMeriadocTook: I’m glad you like my ‘explanation’ for why the Nazgûl don’t like fire! I enjoy coming up with little things like that.

Aiko-chan: That’s one of the most beautiful, lyrical reviews I’ve ever read. When you post your first LOTR story, Aiko-chan, be sure to let us know.

endymion2 and Lily Baggins1 and Lindelea: Thank you for mentioning Merry’s line about Frodo moving to Hobbiton! I had fun with that.

Ailsa Joy: I think “fear and doubt” are two things we all share -- if you see these in someone you love, as is the case in this story, you can understand when and how comfort is needed.

Adria Skye and alysha-sedai: FF.net has not sent out ‘author alerts’ for my last three or four updates -- I really haven’t a clue why. Thanks for finding the new chapter all on your own!

Aratlithiel1 and LadySandrilene2: The previously-set-up bond between Frodo and Aragorn really does influence this part of the journey, doesn’t it? (Even more than I originally thought it would!)

QTPie-2488: If you love “the little heart-to-heart chats” now it’s Merry’s turn!

Ariel: Many thanks, Ariel. If I felt I had no ‘fresh insights’ to offer, I wouldn’t even be writing fanfiction. Our passion for this Trilogy really brings new thoughts and wonderfully imaginative scenarios into our lives, and stories, that I, for one, never dreamed were possible.

Belothien: I’m also “used to” ff.net and its eccentricities! But whenever a chapter “does not exist” or the site crashes, my chapters will always be accessible at storiesofarda.com. I’ll be updating there at the same time I update here.

Dara Maeko and Firnsarnien and GirlsDontCri and Lady Jaina and MaverickGirl and Mish and Orangeblossom Took1 and Pernauriel and reginabean and Shire hobbit and SperryDee: I’m so glad you’re continuing to enjoy the story!

Elwen and Gentle Hobbit and Iris Sandydowns: It took them two weeks to get to the Ford! I can’t imagine that Aragorn wasn’t contemplating every unthinkable possibility in that time.

FantasyFan: You have anticipated several of my upcoming ‘plot points’ -- but I can say no more!

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: Do the folks at Band Camp know about you and your incredible, unstoppable (and delightful) imagination? I think I should give them a call.

Lady of Ithilien: Please let me know if I ever start to get “dull and redundant”! And I love your feedback!

Lady Wind: I truly understand why many authors don’t respond to reviewers, because it really does take a lot of time. But I wouldn’t have it any other way -- you folks are so wonderful.

Lilybaggins: Hee hee! Some people have visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads, and we have “blanket-wrapped Frodos” in ours.

LOTR Sparkling Pippin: I’m glad you discovered this story, too! So great to hear from you.

MagicalRachel and Melime: If you like Merry with intelligence, assertiveness, and depth, this chapter’s for you.

Michelle Frodo: I plan to stick to the book (as opposed to the movie) regarding the Ford (as it serves the story, that is), and I agree -- Sam should definitely get to meet Arwen.

Mysterious Jedi: Thank you very much. I try to keep bonding, learning, relationships, and growth as cornerstones for many of my stories.

Nell Marie: Oh, the compliment of being told I’m writing ‘from a hobbity perspective’! Whatever the perspective, I’m just glad it’s working!

Obelia medusa: When I first read Frodo Baggins of Bag End’s “Shadows in the Darkness” and “Caradhras”, it was all the cuddling and gentle, loving, attentive care given to Frodo that I swooned over. I decided that if I loved reading about it so much, I would write about it, and at least please myself. I’m glad other folks enjoy the cuddling! (And yes, I believe that ff.net lost almost all reviews sent on or about August 1. Thank you for trying!)

Pearl Took: It is good that Merry got some sleep! As you’ll see from this chapter, the poor hobbit’s got a lot to think about now.

Rosa Cotton: Reviewers often point out things in our own stories that we never thought about (like in your story, with Gandalf hearing the words “I love you”). It’s great, isn’t it?

ScifiRogue: A MONTH without internet access?!! You people amaze me. Hope you have a terrific trip!

Strider’s Girl: I’m taking the story one step at a time -- I can’t tell you exactly where it’ll end, because I don’t know yet!

Grand Theft Author Otaku and Hai and Kit5 and sweetie: Sam is very special, isn’t he? He’s a natural-born caretaker if there ever was one.

WraithFan: I’m honored to receive your first review ever! (I have read some stories where Frodo becomes a wraith -- but since my story is canon-based, we won’t be going that route. Sorry!)

For the first time, Sam noticed -- or was it his imagination? -- that Strider was beginning to look a bit anxious. The steep line of hills between them and Rivendell had forced the Ranger to steer a more northerly course, with the hills on their right, searching for a way to cross over them. It had been ten days since Weathertop, and provisions were beginning to run low. But the worst of it was the rain, which had been coming down since the day before. Last night had been bad enough, Sam thought to himself, with everyone soaked and no chance of a fire, but today…

Frodo sat astride Bill, shivering. Long stretches of time had begun to pass where he drifted in and out of awareness of where he was. The thick mists and heavy rain deepened the shadows that would unexpectedly cloud his vision, and his thoughts. Warmth and ease and a time without pain and fear… he was beginning to forget what any of that was like. It would be so easy to just give in… to let the groping, whispering, waiting darkness have him… but then he would force himself back to awareness, and concentrate on holding onto Bill’s wet guide-rope and return an encouraging look or smile from one of his dear friends.

With a relief that he was unable to conceal, Aragorn spotted a shallow cave in the rocky hillside. He had to get Frodo dry and warm, somehow… somehow. As the tired hobbits followed him, stumbling up onto the rocky shelf and out of the rain, he turned and surveyed his small companions.

Not one word of complaint out of any of them. For hobbits to go through such hardship, for such a period of time, with fear and doubt plaguing their every weary step, was a feat not to be dismissed lightly. Each was exhausted, cold, and hungry -- and in desperate need of sleep, as the rain and soggy ground had kept everyone awake throughout the previous long, wet night.

Merry and Pippin let their packs drop onto the rocky ground. Pippin unclasped his sodden cloak and collapsed, breathing hard, reveling in the relatively dry shelter. Sam threw his own pack down, and moved quickly to where Aragorn was lifting Frodo off Bill.

“I’ll see to Frodo, Sam,” Aragorn said. “Would you make sure Bill is tended to?”

“Aye, sir, I will,” Sam replied. He watched with concern as the Ranger quickly bore the shivering hobbit to the back of the cave. He knew that Strider had to be as tired and cold as the rest of them, but he never seemed to show it.

Aragorn threw his cloak aside, and removed Frodo’s. The wounded hobbit was soaked, and shivering uncontrollably. The Ranger quickly returned to where Bill stood; Sam and Merry were pulling down packs and bags from the patient animal’s back, and Aragorn grabbed one of the bulky packs where they had stuffed most of their blankets in hopes of keeping them dry. Pulling out several, he returned Frodo.

“All right now,” Aragorn murmured. He kneeled in front of Frodo and unbuttoned the hobbit’s coat, then vest. “I need to get you out of these wet clothes, Frodo. Are you with me?” He peered anxiously into the dulled blue eyes, but Frodo nodded. Aragorn worked quickly to remove the hobbit’s outer clothing, then wrapped him in two layers of blankets.

“I suggest that all of you get out of your wet clothes as well,” Aragorn said to the others. “Merry, would you help Pippin?” He looked around. “There’s enough dry brush here to start a fire, but we need some larger pieces to keep one going. I’ll see what I can find.” He started to rise, but was stopped by a small, insistent hand on his shoulder.

“No,” Sam said firmly, “I’ll go. You can’t do everything, Strider, and Mr. Frodo needs you here.”

“No,” Merry said. “Frodo needs you here too, Pip. I’ll come with you, Sam.”

“All right,” Aragorn agreed. “The inner bark of trees should be dry. Look under logs and large stones that may have created a dry space. And---”

“We know,” Sam assured him. “We’ll be back right soon.” He cast one last, worried look at Frodo, then he and Merry dashed back out into the rain, each carrying one of the emptied saddlebags.

“May I help?” Aragorn knelt in front of Pippin, who was trying to unbutton his coat with cold-numbed fingers. When the young hobbit nodded, Aragorn got him unbuttoned, then removed his own wet outer tunic. He laid his weapons aside, and gathered into a pile as much dry brush as he could find beneath the rocky outcropping. Finally, the Ranger returned to where Frodo sat, still shivering, the blankets clutched fiercely about him with his good hand. Aragorn sat down and settled Frodo against him.

“I’m all right,” Frodo insisted, “my shoulder just… aches a little.”

“A fire will help,” Aragorn said softly. He suspected that Frodo’s shoulder more than ‘just ached’, and he was growing increasingly concerned about the brave hobbit. Frodo was becoming terribly pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He was unable to get warm, and the cold, driving rain had made things worse. So cold… and yet, to Aragorn’s gentle hand on the hobbit’s brow, there was still the warmth of fever.

Pippin stumbled over to where Aragorn was sitting with Frodo, and, with a deep sigh, sank down on the Ranger’s other side.

“I’m all right,” Pippin said gamely. “I’m just awfully tired, Strider.”

“We all are,” Aragorn said softly. Keeping one arm wrapped around Frodo, he pulled Pippin closer with the other, and held the two shivering, blanket-wrapped hobbits as closely as he could. “This journey is very difficult,” he said to them. “I’m very proud of all of you.”

“P. . Pip,” Frodo whispered, “something… warm… remember that summer… and the pond where…”

“I remember.” Pippin smiled and leaned against Aragorn. “Oh, Strider, it was so hot that summer, you wouldn’t believe it. We practically lived in Bywater Pond. We’d splash around and get all worn out, then jump out for awhile, have something to eat, then it was so hot we’d jump back in…”

Aragorn felt Frodo relax almost as soon as Pippin started talking; it was truly remarkable what an effect the youngster had on him. For his part, he sat listening -- to the rain, which seemed to be easing off, and the sound of Bill contently chomping on a bush that was conveniently growing through the rocky floor -- and worrying. They had to get over these hills without going any farther north. North was…

“…and remember Frodo, how at night it was still so beastly hot, and I got permission to stay out with you and Mer, and we watched the stars until we all fell asleep?”

“I remember,” Frodo murmured. “That was the summer you learned to swim, you little fish.”

“That was fun,” Pippin yawned. Realizing that he was in danger of falling asleep, he immediately sat up. “I’ll get some of the food out -- it’ll be nice to have a fire.” He stood up and frowned. “Strider, how can we fix this blanket so it doesn’t fall off?”

“I have just the thing,” Aragorn said with a smile. He pulled over his cloak and removed the pin. “Try this.”

Pippin took the pin, wide eyed. It was a silver star, as big as his hand. He wrapped the blanket around him and pinned it tight, and was delighted to find that it didn’t slip off when he moved.

“Don’t lose that, Pip -- it’s a special pin,” Frodo said quietly. “It belonged to Estel’s father.”

“Heavens, Frodo, I’m not about to run off with it,” Pippin said, starting to rummage through packs, glad for something to do. He didn’t like how frail Frodo was starting to look, and sound. He didn’t know where Rivendell was, but he hoped they were getting close.

“The rain’s stoppin’,” said Sam, shaking water out of his curls and dropping the heavy saddlebag, filled with fairly dry tinder.

“This log’s wet on one side,” Merry said, also dropping his bulky pack, “but pretty dry on the other. We’ve brought enough dry sticks to keep a fire going, and maybe it’ll be hot enough to burn this, too.”

“You did well,” Aragorn said. He made Frodo comfortable, leaning him against the rocky wall of the shelter, and in just minutes, had the driest, smallest tinder blazing. Little by little, he fed in larger branches, the wood smoking and spluttering, but soon a steady fire was warming the small shelter, and drying clothes spread out on the rocks.

“I like what you’re wearing, Pip,” Merry grinned, pulling off his wet outer garments. “Are you an honorary Ranger, now?”

“You’re just jealous, Meriadoc,” Pippin sniffed. “I don’t see Strider letting you near any of his things.”

“You’re right,” Merry laughed. He looked more closely at the silver star. “This really is beautiful, Strider.”

“Did it?” Merry sat down near the fire and basked in the warmth. Soon Sam and Pippin joined him, bringing cheese and dried fruits with them for everyone.

“Arathorn, son of Arador,” answered Aragorn. “I don’t really remember him, Pippin -- he died when I was very, very young.”

“I’m afraid not,” Aragorn said quietly. “My grandfather was killed by hill-trolls -- some distance north of here. He was the leader of the Dúnedain -- what you call Rangers -- as was my father.”

“Your grandfather led the Rangers, and your father after him?” Merry leaned forward. “And now… you do?”

“My father’s father died before I was born,” announced Pippin, “but Merry knew his.” He took some food over to Frodo. “How are you doing, Frodo?”

“Right as rain,” Frodo smiled. “You’ll not be rid of me quite yet, you rascal.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, looking disappointed. “Well, we’ll try to put up with you for awhile longer then, you stubborn Baggins.”

“Silly Took,” Frodo murmured. He grimaced as his shoulder began to throb a bit more fiercely. Pippin instantly sat at his side and began a soft, distracting litany of Took lineage.

The rain finally pattered to a stop, and Aragorn went to the edge of the rocky outcropping and looked around. Sam soon joined him.

“He’s still got that fever,” Sam said quietly, “but I don’t think it’s any worse.”

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam sat up as well, awakened by Frodo’s scream. The shelter was cold, and the night was dark, but the clouds were breaking up, and the few stars now visible gave enough light to see by. Aragorn moved quickly to Frodo’s side.

“They… they were…” Frodo tried desperately to focus on Sam’s face, then Aragorn’s. It wasn’t real… it couldn’t be… “A dream,” he murmured, shivering. “Just a dream…”

“They were here,” Frodo whispered, looking about. “They bent down and tried to… smother me.” He took deep, gulping breaths, trying to calm himself. “They said I should stop fighting, that I should… it’s so dark… they’re not here, are they?”

“It’s just us, sir,” Sam said softly. “We’ll not let anythin’ get you.”

Frodo nodded, and sagged weakly against Aragorn. “I want to see Bilbo again,” he whispered.

“No, I mean…” Frodo shivered again and pressed closer to the Ranger’s warmth.

“I know what you mean,” Aragorn said quietly. “Frodo, Elrond is the wisest, most experienced, most gifted healer in all of Middle-earth. You cannot imagine how old he is, and how much he knows -- and has seen. You will get the best care.” He kept talking softly, hoping Frodo could fall back to sleep. “Bilbo’s been living in his House for many years now, and has no doubt taught him much about hobbits! I wouldn’t be surprised if there are now mushrooms growing in every garden.”

“No, Sam,” Aragorn chuckled, “but once you rascals have invaded Rivendell, the Elves may no longer recognize the place.”

Frodo was restless. “When we get the Ring to Rivendell, and I’m… better, what then?”

Nearby, Pippin pressed against Merry, trying to stay quiet. Merry held his cousin tightly, feeling Pippin’s hot tears soaking into his shirt.

“I do not know,” Aragorn said. “I am assuming that Gandalf will have reached there, and will have news for us.” He lay down, bringing Frodo with him. “There is great wisdom in that fair valley, Frodo. Tomorrow we’ll get over these hills and start back south, down towards the Ford. When we cross the River, Elrond’s folk will…” Frodo slowly relaxed, curling up again between Aragorn and Sam.

Long after the others had fallen back to sleep, Sam lay awake, staring at the sky, watching the clouds dissipate and the first faint glow of pre-dawn. He hadn’t seen Mr. Bilbo in 17 years… he had been barely a tween at the Party, and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin not even that. Mr. Pippin probably didn’t remember what Mr. Bilbo even looked like, but Sam could picture his dear face as if he had just seen him yesterday. So smart he was, and always so kind to folks. It would do Mr. Frodo a world of good to be with him again.

If those Black Riders come back, he thought, they’ll have to kill me this time before they get to him; I don’t care if there’s a dozen of ’em, all riding on trolls. The resolve made him feel stronger, and the image that had arisen in his mind, unbidden, of Mr. Bilbo weeping with grief, was replaced by the dear old hobbit’s joyous smile at seeing Mr. Frodo again, safe and well. Safe and well… with a smile, Sam felt himself slipping back into sleep.

Adria Skye and alysha_sedai and endymion2: Many thanks for letting me know that the ff.net ‘author alert’ worked last time! Since I get an error message each and every time I upload anything, it’s hard to know what’s working and what isn’t.

Aemilia Rose and Iris Sandydowns and Miriel: The fact that Merry was the only person in the group who hadn’t seen an Elf yet just came to me out of the blue. I love ‘discovering’ and sharing little things like that!

Aiko-chan and Aratlithiel1 and ClaudiaofBree and Gayalondiel and Grand Theft Author Otaku and Hobbit Lily Baggins and Lady Jaina and MagicalRachel and MaverickGirl and Nell Marie and Orangeblossom Took and QTPie-2488 and Strider's Girl: I’m so happy that ‘my’ Merry is well received, and that his conversation with Aragorn worked. I’m trying hard to show completely separate personalities for each hobbit.

Ailsa Joy and Frodomeg: I’m glad you’re enjoying ‘my’ Sam, and that he feels true to character.

Arwen Baggins: Sorry you had to wait, Arwen! I was going to post Chapter 13 yesterday, but I couldn’t access the LOTR area of ff.net all day (there was a constant “overload” message).

AshNight2 and GirlsDontCri and Hai and LegyLuva and Leigh S. Durron and Mysterious Jedi and SperryDee: I’m so happy that you’re still happy with the story! Lots more to come…

Belothien: Glorfindel joins the group on October 18, coming soon to a chapter near you. Breathe girl. Breathe.

Budgielover: I love what you said about hobbits being “at once both more innocent and more wise, more affectionate and yet clannish”. If my portrayal of these four very different (and yet, in essence, similar) hobbits is being captured effectively, I’m thrilled.

Dara Maeko: I love it when you bounce -- that means I’m on the right track!

Elwen and endymion2 and Little Mouse and Nilmandra: Prof. Tolkien never said what happened to the beryl, so I just had to come up with something -- I love playing with loose ends like that. Also, it was a perfect way to show the respect and friendship Sam had earned from Merry and Pippin, as well as M & P’s generous hearts and ability to communicate without words.

Gentle Hobbit and LadySandrilene2: When I finished “Quarantined”, I wondered what else I could possibly find to say about the Frodo-Aragorn bond, or whether a sequel would just be a pale imitation of the original. Aragorn’s interactions with all four hobbits, and they with each other, has turned out to be a whole new world of writing for me. I was incredibly nervous starting this story, and I truly appreciate your kind words.

Idril Telrunya: This story is canon-based -- therefore, Glorfindel is on his way.

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: You are thinking far ahead! To read about Aragorn and the hobbits getting advice and help from Legolas, you might want to check out “Avalanche” and “Unlikely Comfort”. (Sorry, I’m not able to steer you toward sites or groups for ‘challenges’ -- I just don’t know where they are!)

katakanadian: It’s really a challenge to weave an AU sequel with book canon, but I’m trying my best!

Kit5 and Sunhawk: I didn’t realize how many people were waiting for Merry to get a much-needed hug! I’m glad I didn’t wait any longer for him to get one.

Lady Cinnibar: I'm glad I'm 'out and about in story land' too! It's really enriching my life.

LilyBaggins: Lily, one of us will have to write a whole chapter sometime containing nothing but lots of sleepy, cuddled, blankie-wrapped, feverish Frodo.

Michelle Frodo: You don’t know which character you like best? What a delightful dilemma!

Pearl Took: Oh Pearl, how lovely of you! (And my condolences on the computer problem -- what a pain.)

Rosa Cotton: Pip’s part in Chapter 12 was small, but I tried to make it memorable. So glad you liked it.

SapphireMeriadocTook: It’s such fun to sneak in references to “The Silmarillion” -- and even more fun when folks catch them!

Frodo opened his eyes, a bit disoriented. The difference between dark dreams and dim awakening was beginning to blur a bit, as they both seemed real, now -- and equally unreal. Pippin lay beside him, still apparently sound asleep, and Merry and Sam were talking quietly at the edge of the stony shelf. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen.

Frodo sighed, trying to dispel the frightening images that now haunted his dreams. Cold, smothering darkness… to Mordor we will take you… just rest, little one… stop fighting… to Mordor we will take you…

“Why are we still here?” Frodo asked, puzzled. “It’s full morning. Where’s Estel?”

“He’s gone off to scout around and find a way over these hills,” Merry replied, coming to join them. “We figured you might as well sleep a bit longer.” He looked at Pippin and smiled. “Pip needed a bit more sleep as well.”

“Dear Pip,” Frodo said fondly, gazing down at his young cousin’s dirty face and rumpled curls. “This scamp’s going to need such a bath when we get to Rivendell.”

“A hot bath, hot meals, and a soft bed,” agreed Merry. “What more does a hobbit need?”

“Good friends,” Frodo said softly, his eyes still on Pippin’s face, “and a bit of a song now and then.”

“I’ll bring you something to eat, sir,” Sam said. “You just rest until Strider gets back.”

“I’m not a complete invalid, Samwise,” Frodo said, struggling to his feet with Merry’s help. “At least, not yet.”

“Right here, Pip.” Merry grinned down at Pippin, who lay blinking in the bright sunshine. “Get enough sleep, lazy?”

”There’s no such thing as ‘enough’ sleep,” Pippin yawned. “Unlike you, I’m a growing tween who needs his rest.” He looked around. “Where’s Strider?”

“He’ll be back soon,” Sam assured him, then returned his attention to Frodo. “You all right there, sir?”

“Fine, Sam,” Frodo said with a wan smile. “You said something about food?”

“I keep thinking,” Frodo said slowly, “about what the wraith king said to me.”

“You mean when he said ‘little one’?” Merry asked. “Why dwell on that?”

“Not that,” Frodo replied. “He said, ‘to Mordor we will take you.’ Why did he say that? Why didn’t he demand the Ring? As a matter of fact,” he mused, frowning, “why didn’t he take it? It was right there on my finger, and he had me by the throat, and he could have just…”

“Frodo, stop!” Pippin cried, alarmed that Frodo had turned even paler, and seemed to be looking at something far away, and terrible.

“I’m all right, Pip,” Frodo said softly. “It’s just odd, that’s all. He could have killed me, but he didn’t. He could have just taken the Ring, or…” He looked around uneasily. “…come back for it by now.”

Merry didn’t like where Frodo’s thoughts were taking him. “Frodo,” he said hastily, “he didn’t kill you, and you still have the Ring, and that’s all that matters. Soon we’ll get to Rivendell, and this Elrond that Strider keeps talking about will help you get better, and…” He grinned. “We can all take turns dunking Peregrin in a bathtub until he cries for mercy.”

“It would be more fun to dunk you, Meriadoc,” Pippin retorted. “You’re definitely dirtier than I am.”

As Aragorn arrived back at the cave, he heard the last thing he would ever have expected -- peals of laughter. He marveled anew at what hidden reserves of strength and resilience lay within these hobbits.

“I hate to break up the party,” he said as he approached, “but we need to get going.”

“We need to dunk Strider, too,” Pippin giggled, which set the rest off again.

Merry was silent as they packed up and prepared to leave. He had been able to distract Frodo from thinking about the unthinkable -- this time. To Mordor we will take you… He tightened his pack and took a deep breath. Never.

Aragorn led the way over the rocky ground to a passage between the hills, but after traversing a southward-leading valley all afternoon, they found that yet another set of hills hemmed them in once again. There appeared to be no better way out of the valley than to climb up, and out.

“This is the easiest slope,” Aragorn addressed the weary group. “It’s still a steep climb, however, and I think I’d better lead Bill up myself. I’m sorry, Frodo,” he continued, “but you’re going to have to try to make it on foot -- at least, as far as you can. If you can’t manage it, just stop, and I’ll return for you.”

“He’ll make it, Strider,” Merry echoed. He and Sam, in an unspoken agreement, positioned themselves behind Frodo. “We’ll push him up, if we have to.”

“We’re not pushing both of you,” Merry teased him. He waited until Aragorn had started up the steep hill, half guiding and half pulling Bill behind him. “Let’s go.”

It wasn’t a difficult climb -- or it wouldn’t have been, if Frodo had two good arms to scramble with, or if he hadn’t been so tired and dizzy. As the sun began to set, he could no longer distinguish true shadows from those that seemed to mist before his vision more and more frequently. More than once he faltered, and had to stop until he found the strength to continue.

“Frodo, that’s enough,” Merry said urgently. “We’re nearly to the top; we’ll wait here with you until Strider comes back.”

“No.” Frodo took a few more painful steps. “I think,” he gasped, “that if this silly Took would just admit that… he’s exhausted… we could all have a rest. Merry, can’t you push him over, or… trip him, or something?”

“Not a chance,” Pippin huffed. “Never let it be said that a Took collapsed before a Baggins did.”

At the top of the hill, the wind was blowing forcefully. After some searching, Aragorn finally located a shallow pit under the gnarled roots of a pine tree where they could spend the night in a cramped, but relatively sheltered, spot. He tethered Bill to the tree and hurried back along the ridge, reaching the hobbits just as they crested the top. As the cold wind hit him, Frodo gasped as sharp, icy claws seemed to suddenly be tearing through him. Everything began to spin, and before anyone could react, he fell to the ground, shivering and clutching at his left arm. He barely felt himself being lifted and carried, and only when the warmth of a small fire began to ease the deadly chill did he fully regain his awareness of where he was.

The group spent the night huddled together, protecting Frodo from the cold as best they could. It was a long time before Frodo dared to close his eyes -- he kept imagining dark, winged creatures flapping in the unrelenting wind, looking for him… waiting… Out of sheer exhaustion, he finally fell asleep, nestled securely between Sam and Pippin.

Merry turned to Aragorn. “Strider,” he whispered, “how far is there still to go?”

“We start back down toward the River tomorrow,” Aragorn replied. “It will take several days yet to reach the Ford, and to get there, we must return to the Road.”

“Those Black Riders might be waiting at the Road,” Merry said, “or the River.”

“They might,” Aragorn said grimly, “but we’ve run out of options, Merry. The Ford is the only way across the River, and the Road is the only way to the Ford.”

“I don’t like rivers,” Sam mumbled sleepily. “There’s just that one we have to cross?”

“Oh, Estel,” Frodo gasped, “whatever did you think of me, when we met, when I would joke about trolls all the time?” He gazed upwards at the stony shapes in disbelief. “I never dreamed they were so… so…”

“They really are enormous, aren’t they?” agreed Aragorn. He turned to Frodo with a smile. “Frodo, I enjoyed every moment of the teasing in which you and Bilbo took such delight. I have rarely seen two people so happy together, or so obviously meant to have found each other.”

The morning had dawned still cold, but clear, and Frodo awoke feeling much better. As the sun rose and warmed them, they slowly descended the ridge. Soon the trail was level enough to allow Frodo to ride once again. At last leaving the line of steep hills behind, they struck an ancient, hewn path -- sometimes narrow, sometimes broad -- that eventually led, by mid-afternoon, down into a thickly wooded area north of the Road. The discovery of an abandoned troll-hole, and finally, the three trolls, had made for an unexpected diversion.

If Frodo was amazed by the sheer size of the trolls, and a bit embarrassed, Pippin was thunderstruck. It was one thing to have grown up hearing exciting stories and tales, but now, actually seeing evidence of cousin Bilbo’s legendary adventure…

“What?” Pippin tore his eyes away from the troll he decided had been William. “What’s that, Sam?”

“No,” Pippin murmured, “I’m all right.” He approached one of the stone trolls and hesitantly touched it with one finger. It was real. It had all happened. There was the Ring, of course, but the rest of Bilbo’s tale… trolls and talking spiders and Dwarves in barrels, and eagles as big as whole towns… Pippin closed his eyes. Wargs. Dragons and goblins… it had all really happened.

They took their meal at the trolls’ very feet, with everyone temporarily cheered by a song that Sam seemed to spin out of nowhere.

“You’ll feel right at home in Rivendell, Sam,” Aragorn said with a smile. “The Elves appreciate fine poetry such as that.”

“Come,” Aragorn said, “we need to move on.” He led Frodo back to where Bill was patiently waiting, and helped him to mount.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” Pippin whispered. “All of it. Trolls and… all of it?”

“Yes, it’s real,” Merry said softly. “I wish it wasn’t, but it is.” He helped his cousin on with his pack. “Don’t think about them anymore, Pip; I’m sure you’ll never see another troll.”

As they left the glade, Pippin cast one last backward glance at the massive, once-living creatures, forever frozen in stone.

Aemilia Rose: The tension is indeed building -- events will really be accelerating over the next few chapters.

Aiko-chan: However did we all fall so much in love with hobbits? I’m so happy we all have each other!

Ailsa Joy and alysha-sedai and aprilkat and Elwen and Miriel: This truly is my ‘idealized’ Aragorn, based on the person we met in “Quarantined”. I’m so happy that other folks like him, too.

Ariel3: It’s wonderful to keep ‘canon’ as the background of this tapestry I’m weaving.

Arwen Baggins: It’s frightening, but I understood every word of your review. (And I’m honored that you’re counting the days between updates!)

Belothien: Of course I meant October 18 in story-time! I suspect you’re going to enjoy Chapter 15 a lot. A whole lot. (And yes, flashbacks to “Quarantined” -- there’s another, in this chapter, and it won’t be the last.)

Bookworm2000 and MaverickGirl and Mish: I imagine Pippin as young and eager, with his emotions very close to the surface.

Budgielover: Thank you, Budgie! I’m always afraid that “actionless” chapters will slow down the story, but I loved Chapter 13 as well. And trust me, the hurt/comfort won’t be ending anytime soon -- I can’t get enough, either!

crazytook: It’s great to hear from you, and I’m so glad that you’re enjoying this sequel to “Quarantined”.

Elbereth and pebbles and Strider’s Girl: So many of us have ‘imagined’ the hobbits just this way -- I’m glad you’re enjoying them!

Finsarnien: Yes, the ‘author alerts’ are rather unreliable, but I’m glad you finally found (and enjoyed) Chapters 12 and 13!

Frodomeg: You don’t have to worry about that -- I plan to write more… and more and more.

Gayalondiel: I can’t bear to write (or read) angst without lighter moments, and despair without hope (as you can probably tell!).

Grand Theft Author Otaku: (I should have asked this ages ago, but what does ‘otaku’ mean?) Yes, we’re truly able to see what Pippin is made of -- all the qualities that may never have bloomed or been recognized if he hadn’t gone with Frodo.

Hobbit Lily Baggins: The story won’t end when the group reaches Rivendell, although it will probably end in Rivendell somewhere. They’re going through too much, in getting Frodo to Rivendell, for me to end their story right when they get there (and I have a lot to say about what happens when they do get there!).

Idril Telrunya: Your review was prophetic! Pippin has a “reality check”, of sorts, in this chapter.

Iris Sandydowns: I picture Merry’s nature as always thinking, and planning, and calculating things.

Kit5 and SapphireMeriadocTook: Glad you like the little nicknames! They just seem so natural, to me.

Lady Cinnibar: Let’s hear it for the breaking of tradition! Thank you for your lovely comments. (And I love the idea of your annual Read Through -- my newest set of the books (less than two years old) are already starting to wear out!)

Lady Jaina and Orangeblossom Took: It’s the little things, both in conversation and thoughts, that really bring a story to life, I think.

Lady of Ithilien: I can’t bear it when Frodo is unhappy, either -- that’s why I wrote “Sing Me Home”!

LadySandrilene2: Wow, thanks! And you betcha -- Sam has waited patiently since “Quarantined” to meet Aragorn’s ‘sweetheart’, so I certainly have to bring at least these two together. (And don’t forget that Merry and Pippin eavesdropped on the Council in the movie, but not in the book.) Was it really 11 days between updates? If only real life would stop getting in the way of writing.

Lady Wind: Ch. 13 was rather “calm”, wasn’t it? I don’t think we’re going to have many more “calm” chapters for awhile. (And thank you so much for the “horse lingo” -- I’ve never ridden a horse, so I need all the advice I can get.)

LilyBaggins: Lily, if you hadn’t liked Chapter 13, I would have rent my garments in despair! Wasn’t it lovely of Prof. Tolkien to say that it rained for two days? More FroAngst to come, of course -- this is a very rich part of the story. (You suffer from insomnia as well? There sure are a lot of us.)

liptonrm: Finally a chance to say “thank you” for your incredibly lovely review of “Sing Me Home”. I’m delighted that you’re enjoying my stories, and your reviews are wonderful. (And yes, I do “mentally spend much of the day with hobbits”!)

LOTR Sparkling Pippin: I hadn’t thought of that! If Merry does get something, you’ll know it was your idea. And many thanks for what you said about my lack of name “repetition” -- it’s a challenge, and sometimes I forget to pay attention, but I do try very hard not to repeat something over and over.

Michelle Frodo: Yes, great (hobbity) minds do think alike! As for how many times I’ve read the books, I haven’t a clue. I started reading them in college, 25 years ago, and I’ve worn out three or four full sets of the Trilogy. Plus, whenever I write a story, such as this one, I’m doing constant research in the books to make sure I’m “true” to the story.

mina: Thank you again for your incredible e-mail. I’ll try to keep your trust!

Nilmandra and Pansy Chubb: One of the aspects of the first film that bothered me was that the hobbits (especially Frodo) were portrayed as almost completely helpless. Whenever I can show them as assertive and competent, I jump at the chance.

Pearl Took: Pippin is wonderfully distracting, isn’t he? I’m proud of him, as well -- and all of them.

Rosa Cotton: I’m glad you liked the “groping, whispering, waiting darkness” line. Yes, it’s waiting all right; I haven’t yet written the chapter at the Ford, but I suspect it’s going to be fairly dark and creepy, like Chapter 8. Oh, and you noticed that I got Sam and Merry to leave Frodo and Pippin for awhile -- it’s not easy to get them to do that, you know! To answer your question, Arador was 14th Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and his son, Arathorn, was 15th. Aragorn was the 16th, and last Chieftain. (And “Tears and Flowers” is a lovely, touching story.)

ScifiRogue: You’re never going outdoors again? (Until the next time.) Did a Balrog eat your tent? The last canoe trip I took, I was eaten -- by mosquitoes.

SperryDee: Someday I’ll taste an oyster, but that day hasn’t yet arrived.

TreeHugger: As usual, your review made me think. I like how you observe that the hobbits “are being forged into what they will need to be”.

VercisIsolde: What a compliment! I see these characters as unique and equally important individuals -- I’m so glad it’s coming across.

Notes for Chapter 15: There are lines in this chapter taken directly or adapted from the chapter “Flight to the Ford” in “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien, and some knowledge of that chapter is assumed. Also, for those who haven’t read “Quarantined”, this chapter references Chapter 16.

As Aragorn ran down the slope and left the hobbits concealed in the bushes growing above the Road, the four hobbits found themselves each reacting very differently to the figure dismounting from the white horse.

Merry was amazed by the beauty and clarity of the stranger’s voice; every word sounded as if it was the opening note of a song. Even from a distance, he perceived that the Elf’s face was beautiful, his golden hair shimmering as if lit from within. However, his first glimpse of an Elf was tempered by the grim realization that this person was alone. Where were the search parties? If Strider was right, and the wraiths were just biding their time before they attacked again, in full force, it would surely take more than one lone Elf to make a difference.

Pippin, too, was a bit disappointed, as he had been hoping the rider was Gandalf -- but he sighed with relief when Strider greeted the Elf as an old friend.

Sam just gazed, awestruck, at the noble figure below them on the Road. Every movement, every small gesture seemed graceful and flowing. Gildor and his folk, back in the Shire, had been jovial, and beautiful, and somewhat ethereal; but this person… Sam somehow knew, in his heart, that this was someone of great majesty and power. He can help us, he thought.

Frodo’s nighttime vision had grown too weak, after so many days of increasing dimness, to discern either Aragorn or the Road on which he now stood -- but below him was a being of Light. The radiance wavered -- now fainter, now brighter -- it almost hurt his eyes after so many days and nights of shadowed sight. He hoped he still had the strength to greet him properly.

“Come sir,” Sam pulled on Frodo’s arm. “Strider wants us to join them down there.”

Pippin raced down the slope and Merry followed, leading Bill. Sam came more slowly, helping Frodo to descend.

Aragorn waited until they had all assembled before he made introductions. “This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond,” he said.

“He had not reached Rivendell when I departed nine days ago, Peregrin,” Glorfindel replied, “but it is possible that he will be there to greet us when we arrive. Elrond learned of your plight, and that which pursues you, and sent out those whom he felt might be able to stand against the Nine, if it came to that.”

“I greet you all,” the Elf said gravely. The small figures before him looked exhausted and anxious, but determined. He smiled at each hobbit, then knelt in front of the pale, dark-haired one. He could sense a battle raging within this small frame.

“Frodo Baggins, at your service and your family’s,” Frodo said faintly. He felt suddenly too weak to stand, and was dimly aware of Sam crying out, and someone catching him as he began to sink to the ground. He was so cold, and the pain in his shoulder was suddenly fiercer than ever.

“Frodo,” Glorfindel said softly, taking the hobbit into his arms, “I was sent from Rivendell to look for you.” He looked into the hobbit’s face and frowned. “Aragorn, he is quite ill.”

Aragorn very briefly told Glorfindel what had happened when they were attacked, and he brought out the knife hilt from Weathertop for the Elf to see.

“A Morgul blade,” Glorfindel said grimly. “It is a thousand years since the Witch-king has been seen in the North. When I heard that the Nine were abroad, and searching for you…”

Glorfindel sat down in the middle of the Road, Frodo resting weakly against his chest. “Show me,” he said softly. The Ranger crouched down next to him, and gently unbuttoned the top of Frodo’s coat, vest, and shirt. The Elf touched gentle fingers to Frodo’s left shoulder and closed his eyes, frowning. A vortex of darkness spun in slow, unrelenting circles beneath his fingers. As he concentrated, he felt the intensity of the Shadow weaken slightly -- but only temporarily, he feared. He felt a shudder go through the injured hobbit, then Frodo relaxed and began to breathe easier.

“It’s warmer,” Frodo murmured, “and the pain grows less. I…” He looked at his friends. “I can see all of you more clearly. Estel…” He reached out his right hand for the Ranger, who clasped it.

“You will hear me called many names by these hobbits,” Aragorn smiled, “but Frodo calls me Estel.”

“You have always had ‘many names’,” the Elf grinned. “I look forward to learning more of them.”

“Rest for a moment longer,” Glorfindel said softly, continuing to cradle Frodo in his arms, rocking him gently. Nearly a fortnight had this hobbit been fighting that which seemed determined to enshadow him from within. “Such strength you have, little one,” he murmured, then looked down at Frodo in surprise. “Why do you laugh?”

“Has he?” Glorfindel looked up at the Ranger with a smile. “How interesting -- that is what I used to call him.”

“Is that right?” Pippin grinned at Aragorn, who looked as if he wanted to toss Glorfindel to the wraiths then and there.

“I watched him grow up,” the Elf continued. “Perhaps, as we travel, you would enjoy hearing about his childhood?”

“What do you mean, ‘as we travel’?” asked Merry with a frown. “Can’t you take Frodo to Rivendell on that fast horse of yours? Please, he… he’s not doing too well.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I dare not, Meriadoc. I fear that the Ford may already be held against us; it is the most logical place for the Nine to wait -- either that, or they have split up and may come at us from different directions. If that is so, Frodo will need all of us to stand with him, each in our own way. What we can do for him, together, we will do.”

It was the truth, as far as it went. Glorfindel exchanged a look with Aragorn, and knew that the Ranger understood. Frodo’s escape, even on such a one as Asfaloth, might come down to a matter of seconds. Whatever distraction each of them could bring to bear -- even if some or all of them fell at the hands of the Nazgûl -- might buy Frodo, perhaps at the cost of their own lives, those precious seconds.

“You look…” Frodo relaxed into the warm comfort of the Elf’s arms. “…like a star…”

“Light,” Frodo murmured. “It’s as if it’s hidden and cloaked, but I can see it.”

“He sees you as you truly appear,” murmured Aragorn in Elvish. “How is that possible?”

“This one dwells in two worlds, as do I.” Glorfindel answered in the same tongue. “He begins to lose sight of this world and perceive that which is not visible to many.”

Frodo tried to understand the Elvish, but they were speaking quickly, and he was too tired.

Glorfindel pressed a hand gently to Frodo’s brow and closed his eyes for a moment. “He is resisting a fearsome darkness, Aragorn, but his strength is beginning to fail. We must hurry.” He helped Frodo to stand, then rose gracefully to his feet. “You will ride my horse,” he said, speaking once more in the Common Tongue.

“What, alone?” Sam cried. “Mr. Frodo isn’t too fond of those big horses, sir.”

“He rode Arthad, with me holding him,” Aragorn said to Glorfindel, “but that was many years ago.”

“Come,” Glorfindel said to Frodo, and all the hobbits, “meet Asfaloth.” He led them the short distance to where the magnificent white horse stood patiently. The Elf stroked the horse’s nose and spoke softly to him in Elvish. Without hesitation, Sam held up a hand and Asfaloth bent to nose it gently, but Merry and Pippin kept a respectful distance.

“To the best of his ability, he will not let you fall, Frodo,” Glorfindel said, shortening the stirrups, “and he will carry you smoothly.” He removed his warm cloak and wrapped it around the fragile hobbit, then lifted him onto the ornate saddle. “Just sit quietly, and get used to how it feels.”

“Glorfindel, we have traveled all day with little sleep,” Aragorn said. “We were just seeking a place off the Road to camp.”

The Elf shook his head. “We must not stop, Aragorn. Meriadoc is correct -- Frodo must reach Elrond’s care as soon as possible, and we must travel as far as we can this night before resting.” He smiled at the weary hobbits. “Perhaps your pony can shoulder a heavier burden so that you can walk lighter?”

While the hobbits were deciding what more Bill could carry, Aragorn took Glorfindel aside.

“Perhaps one of us should ride with Frodo,” the Ranger said quietly, “or even one of the other hobbits, to help steady him.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “We cannot know what will happen, Aragorn, or when. Should need arise, Asfaloth will carry Frodo more swiftly if he is alone.”

They set out along the darkened and empty Road, the hobbits trying to ignore their weariness and need for sleep. As they walked, Glorfindel told them of his long search for them, and about how he had chased three wraiths from the Last Bridge and left the beryl as a sign that it was now safe, should the travellers pass that way.

“You’ll be wantin’ this back, I expect, Mr. Glorfindel,” said Sam, reluctantly pulling the beryl out of his pocket. He sighed and held it up.

“If ‘mister’ is a title, Samwise, I do not require one.” Seeing how much the hobbit obviously valued the gem, Glorfindel reached down and closed the hobbit’s small hand around it. “Keep it,” he said softly.

Aemilia Rose and Camellia Gamgee-Took and Lady of Ithilien and Lady Wind and Lindelea and sweetie: It’s rather chilling, when we think ahead to what the characters will be experiencing (like Pippin and the troll). We want to warn them!

Aiko-chan: You never babble! And thank you for the squee! Those are so much fun to get. But whatever made you think we’re “nearing the end”? This reminds me of when Frodo was starting to recover in “Quarantined”, and everyone thought the story was nearly over, and it went on for 11 more chapters. You just never know…

Ailsa Joy: You’re back! (waves) I totally agree -- hobbits are wonderful.

Alysha-sedai: I’m so glad that the ff.net author alerts are working, since I still get an error message every time I upload. Life will always be a mystery. And my goodness, I didn’t think the end of Chapter 14 was a cliffhanger -- sorry! Sweet little Pippin -- and Aragorn is “nice and cuddly”? Hee hee.

aprilkat: I thought that the relationships previously set up in “Quarantined” would have an effect on this journey, but I didn’t realize how much of an effect they would have. (I won’t be ending the story when they arrive at Rivendell, since I have so much I want to say about what happens in Rivendell!)

Aratlithiel and endymion2 and Gentle Hobbit and Hobbit Lily Baggins and Orangeblossom Took and Zebra Wallpaper: Thank you so much for highlighting the “climbing up the hill” sequence -- that’s the first part of the chapter that I wrote, and everything else expanded out from there.

Ariel3: What a compliment, Ariel -- thank you! It’s a challenge to balance everything that’s involved with this story, and it’s wonderful to hear that it’s working.

Arwen Baggins: Thanks for sharing so many ideas! A few of them I’ve already thought about, but one of them I hadn’t even considered. We’ll have to see how things play out…

AshNight2: I love how you phrase that -- they “needed a bit of happiness in the darkness”. Don’t we all. And don’t worry -- I’ll try to get them all baths when they reach Rivendell!

Azaelia and Elwen and Fliewatuet: Indeed, Pippin is only slowly realizing that Middle-earth truly contains dangers beyond imagining (besides Ringwraiths, of course!). It makes his decision to go with Frodo beyond Rivendell even that much more courageous.

Belothien: You’ve been so patient… After all this time, I hope Glorfindel doesn’t disappoint.

BookHobbit: Ooh, another opportunity to say how much I loved the LJ drabbles! And yes, Glorfindel is… here!

Bookworm2000: I like your speculation! I haven’t figured out the Ford yet, so I’m not yet sure exactly what Frodo will be thinking… but now you’ve got me thinking!

Coriandra: Hi! I’m so happy to hear that you’re enjoying the story so much!

DustyStars: This is the first LOTR fanfic you’ve ever read?? I’m honored! (You might want to read “Quarantined” -- the “prequel” -- to fill in the blanks, but if you’re enjoying this story on its own, I’m doubly-honored.)

Elbereth: Can you imagine what a lovely sound that hobbity laughter must have seemed to Aragorn’s ears? There is always hope…

Finsarnien and Lady Jaina and sabercrazy: Glad this is still a fun ride for you!

GirlsDontCri and Idril Telrunya and VercisIsolde: I couldn’t let the encounter with the trolls just go by without a mention, seeing as they were so integral to “Quarantined”. I was originally only thinking of Frodo’s reaction, but by the time the group got there, I felt Pippin’s reaction might be even more dramatic.

Grand Theft Author Otaku: I also loved the part in The Hobbit about the trolls. And thanks so much for the explanation -- I guess that makes me shirebound nearly-Otaku!

Hai: If by “almost there” you mean the Ford, yes -- that event takes place on October 20, now only a few days away. I need to do a lot of thinking about that chapter.

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: I got a kick out of your “hobbity banter”!

Ivy3: Welcome, Ivy! You read all 20 chapters of “Quarantined” at once!!? I’m so thrilled you enjoyed it. And you are a simply marvelous writer -- your story is a delight. (To answer your question, this story won’t end when they arrive at Rivendell, since I have so much I want to say about what happens in Rivendell!)

jodancingtree: You started reading the story at chapter 14?!! If you’re moved to go back and read the first 13 chapters, I hope you enjoy them.

Kit5 and Nell-Marie: It is a bit disconcerting and revelatory to stumble across a piece of history that you always thought of as fanciful or mythical. (Can you imagine how Aragorn felt, seeing the Argonath for the first time, or Gimli, seeing Khazad-Dûm?)

Lady Eleclya: Even with everything he goes through, Frodo is lucky, isn’t he? His friends are with him through it all, no matter what it is, and no matter where it leads them.

Lady Sandry: It’s a challenge keeping up with all the changing usernames! My goodness, thank you for such a lovely review! Believe me, if I could write any faster, I would. (And oh yes, I’ve read Brave New World -- ‘creepy’ is right.)

LilyBaggins: Take the story title, Lily -- it’s yours! And I love resolute Frodo, too -- we definitely haven’t seen the last of him.

liptonrm: It’s such a compliment to be called ‘hobbit-like’! I feel that a great deal of the hobbits’ resilience to evil has to be their determination to remain themselves -- which means, to me, balancing the angst with the lightness.

MagicalRachel: Thanks, Rachel! I’m glad this review got through. Poor Merry, I agree -- he’s sitting on quite a burdensome secret.

Michelle Frodo: Michelle, you sweetie! Now how could I (or anyone) ever get “a bit bored” of that? LOL And thanks for mentioning that line about “William” -- I wanted to show just how much Bilbo’s stories had gotten into Pippin’s imagination.

Nilmandra: A whole story could be written from your review, Nilmandra! What a chilling scenario that would be.

overcastday: You read the whole story at one sitting! I’m so glad you discovered it, and that you like how I’m writing the hobbits. (And I hope you’re feeling better!)

Pearl Took: Oh Pearl, how perfect! “We love our hobbits. We know they are real, they are real in our hearts.” That’s IT!

Rosa Cotton: We are getting closer to the Ford, aren’t we? I’m glad the balance of ever-grimmer reality and hobbity resilience is remaining enjoyable for you.

ScifiRogue: You had quite an adventure! I know this story will make it at least to the Council of Elrond, but that’s all I know at this point.

Shireling: Middle-earth certainly has become quite real to many of us, hasn’t it?

Silver Flame of a Phoenix: Wow, thank you! As you can imagine, I’m quite bowled over by the response to this story (and “Quarantined”) -- a tender, protective (yet respectful) Aragorn-Frodo relationship, where Frodo may be child-like, but not child-ish, seems to really have struck a chord with folks. (And as you know, I’m also thoroughly enjoying your story! What a wonderful world we’ve fallen into.)

SperryDee: I’ve never had gialetti, either! Maybe the Elves will let Sam use the Rivendell kitchen.

Strider’s Girl and Sunhawk: Isn’t it wondrous that there are so many of us out here who love the hobbitses as much as you do? I’m glad you enjoyed the ‘lighter side’ (however brief) of Chapter 14.

Treehugger: Ah, you caught it! Frodo’s remark about “good friends, and a bit of a song now and then” definitely shows that he’s aware of what Pippin is doing for him (although it hasn’t occurred to him that Pippin is also aware of it).

Notes for Chapter 16: As far as I can tell, this is the longest chapter I’ve ever written -- it just wouldn’t stop!

Glorfindel urged the hobbits onwards through the night, until they were all stumbling with weariness. He finally called a halt, just before dawn, and led everyone off the Road to where soft heather grew in a small glade. Merry was too tired to even look for the blankets, and he threw himself down in the heather. It only took a moment for Pippin to collapse next to him, followed by Sam, and Merry was vaguely aware of someone laying a blanket over all three of them before sleep took him.

Glorfindel lifted Frodo off Asfaloth, and by the time Aragorn had seen to the needs of the pony and horse, and quickly scouted the area, the Elf was tending to Frodo. He had wrapped the shivering hobbit in blankets and was about to lay him down between Pippin and Sam, when he abruptly changed his mind and, instead, gathered him into his arms and sat down beneath a tree.

“The pain grows worse?” Glorfindel asked quietly. Frodo nodded, too exhausted to even speak. The Elf unbuttoned the top of Frodo’s shirt and placed his palm once again over the icy wound, trying to impart some measure of warmth and ease from pain. After a few minutes, Frodo sighed deeply, and sank into dreamless sleep.

“He is fevered,” Glorfindel spoke in Elvish, “and yet the wound spreads a chill through him that I cannot halt.”

Aragorn nodded. “Frodo’s strength has astounded me; I do not believe any Man, or Elf, could have resisted this long.”

Aragorn was silent for a long moment. “I do not believe so,” he said finally, “but Merry does. Such knowledge is a heavy burden for him to bear in silence.”

“What would you have done, had Frodo not been this strong?” the Elf asked curiously.

“I have considered… many options,” Aragorn said grimly. “Glorfindel, Frodo is loved by all who know him. He has a spirit unlike any I have encountered; you cannot imagine how special he is. To lose him to the Shadow… I would not have let that happen.” His eyes darkened in anguish. “Death would be preferable to that, even at my own hands.”

“I have considered that, as well,” Aragorn murmured. He eyed the pile of sleeping hobbits, but said no more.

“Tell me of them,” Glorfindel said. “They have hardly spoken this night.”

Aragorn smiled. “The pace you set is nearly beyond their limits, although none complained. They are weary, my friend… and perhaps a bit in awe of you. These three are usually quite talkative, especially if any of them sense that Frodo is in need of distraction.” He met the Elf’s gaze. “They are all remarkable; their courage and resilience, and determination to ‘see the job done’, as Sam would say, are beyond words.” He looked down at Frodo, sleeping quietly in the Elf’s arms. “These three would give their life for him, as would I.”

“Yes. He is Frodo’s cousin, as is Merry. Without them, I suspect that Frodo may have fared less well on this journey.”

“Sam has been devoted to Frodo since before I met them, nearly 30 years ago. It is a measure of his exhaustion that he fell asleep before seeing that Frodo was tended to. It is the first time that has happened.”

The Elf smiled and gently stroked Frodo’s dark curls. “So this is the dear friend who gave you that pipe you treasure so highly,” he said. “He is so young; he must have been a mere child when you met.”

“He is 50, Glorfindel,” Aragorn said. “You have been around enough mortals to understand how old that is, in our years.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Frodo has the appearance of someone very young.” He suddenly grinned. “I do not know why I am surprised, now that I have come to know dear Bilbo. He is well more than twice Frodo’s age. I suppose they are of a long-lived family.”

Frodo shuddered suddenly, and he gasped with pain or perhaps from a nightmare, but the spasm passed, and he relaxed once more.

Aragorn looked down at the hobbit. “As well as he could,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard, Glorfindel. Never.”

“Very low,” Aragorn admitted. “There has been no time or opportunity to hunt or trap.” He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree.

“You are weary as well, my friend.” Glorfindel said quietly. “Take some rest; I will hear any approach sooner than you.”

The Ranger nodded slowly and lay down, falling asleep to the sound of soft singing.

No one showed any signs of waking, even after the sun had well risen. Glorfindel had sat quietly for five hours, listening and watching and thinking. Several times Frodo had moaned and shifted restlessly, or a strong chill had shaken him, and the Elf, still holding him, did what he could, singing and concentrating energies that he had not harnessed in many long years. In so doing, he gained a clearer understanding of the insidious, relentless grip in which Frodo was held. The thought that Frodo had not succumbed, had not given up and loosened his grasp on whatever fragile hold he yet maintained on the living world, filled the Elf with great respect, and a perception of hobbits he had never known or imagined. The pain, the cold… it would all end if Frodo let the darkness swallow him. How it must call to him to let go and stop fighting. Still, he endured.

Glorfindel knew that it was the Ring he had been sent to safeguard -- to keep it, at all costs, from the Enemy. But it was Frodo, alone, who was holding the darkness at bay; it was he who was safeguarding the Ring from the Enemy. And as the long hours passed, the Elf came to understand that he, too, would give his life for this little one.

Merry yawned. He, along with Sam, felt as if they’d only been asleep for a few minutes. The short rations, wearisome long days and now nights, and the constant strain and fear were finally taking their toll, and their reserves of strength were not what they had been.

“He’s a tweenager,” Merry said, as if that explained everything. He knelt and shook Pippin, more firmly than before, then finally lifted his cousin onto his feet. Pippin staggered for a moment, then blinked, trying to focus.

“There’s not much left,” Sam said, handing out some of the stale bread and dried fruit that was all that remained of their rations. “We have to make it last for a few more days, Strider says.”

“All right,” Pippin sighed. He sat down to eat, but his appetite fled instantly when he saw what Strider was fastening to Bill’s packs. Sticks. Long, sharp sticks and straight branches, maybe a dozen in all.

“Pip?” Merry sat down next to his young cousin, who had suddenly gone quite pale. “What is it?”

“That’s…” Pippin pointed. “That’s in case… those Riders come back, isn’t it? To set on fire, and… like last time?” He turned to Merry, his eyes wide and frightened. “I don’t want to see them again, Mer. I couldn’t breathe, or---”

“I know,” Merry said gently, “I felt the same thing. No one wants to see them again, ever, but…we probably will.” He lowered his voice. “Pip, they won’t let Frodo go, this time. Do you understand? We have to do what we can. We have to try our best.”

“Pippin? Meriadoc?” Glorfindel crouched next to them. “Take some of this,” he said, holding out a flask. “It will help a sparse meal go farther, and strengthen you for this day.”

Merry raised the flask to his mouth and swallowed, then passed it to Pippin, who did the same. It was unlike the draught Gildor had given them back in the Shire, and as it had no taste, Pippin at first suspected that it was merely water -- but he soon felt his head clear and his determination strengthen. They thanked the Elf, who took the flask to where Sam now sat, Frodo propped against him, and Pippin tore into his food with new appetite.

Merry watched as Sam shook his head, insisting that Frodo drink first. Glorfindel held the flask for Frodo and urged him to drink, speaking softly to him before helping him to his feet and leading him to where Asfaloth stood.

Aragorn walked on one side of Asfaloth, with Merry and Pippin beside him, and Glorfindel and Sam walked on the other side. For the moment, Glorfindel was leading Bill.

Sam kept glancing up to where Frodo sat astride the horse. As far as he was concerned, his master was too high up, too exposed -- and too far out of his reach in case anything should happen. He shook his head -- he needed something else to think about. “Do you know Strider’s sweetheart, sir?” he asked Glorfindel.

“Do you speak of Arwen?” Glorfindel grinned at Aragorn, who smiled to hear his beloved’s name. “How do you know of her?”

“Is that her name? Strider told me about her a long time ago -- when we first met.” Sam smiled. “He said she was as beautiful as the sunrise.”

“Ah,” the Elf murmured. “Samwise, I do not think even the sunrise can compare to the beauty of our Evenstar.”

“Nay, Pippin. As an Elf, she ‘grew up’ a very long time ago,” Glorfindel reminded him.

“Speaking of growing up,” Merry said casually, “you were going to tell us about Strider’s childhood.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Aragorn suddenly came out of his reverie about Arwen and looked rather alarmed.

“Wouldn’t you like to hear a story, Frodo?” Pippin asked, grinning at Aragorn.

“I would,” Frodo replied. His voice was faint, and he seemed to be in greater pain than he had been, but he looked expectantly at Aragorn. “Perhaps just one, Estel? Is that all right?”

Aragorn cast a withering glance at Pippin, but suddenly couldn’t hold back a smile, which the young Took returned. “Of course,” the Ranger sighed. As long as Glorfindel didn’t tell the one about…

“Lord Elrond has two sons, Elladan and Elrohir,” the Elf began. “They are twins; it is most difficult to tell them apart until you know them well.”

“Are they truly identical?” Merry asked. “Twins are very rare in the Shire.”

“When you meet them, you may judge for yourself,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “You can well imagine that a tiny child would not have an easy time distinguishing one from the other.”

“Perhaps Aragorn was five years of age,” the Elf said thoughtfully. “Back then, Frodo,” he continued, looking at the wounded hobbit, “we all called him Estel.”

“It had been a very long time since there were children in Imladris,” Glorfindel said. “That is what you call Rivendell,” he added, seeing the hobbits’ confusion. “Little Estel was such a delight -- intelligent, friendly, quick to learn…” He sighed dramatically. “Regretfully, he was quite confused whenever he saw Elladan, or Elrohir. One day, he had what I assume seemed to him a most brilliant idea.”

Aragorn gritted his teeth. Only Frodo’s obvious need for such distraction kept him silent. But surely Glorfindel would keep the details to a minimum.

“Estel, even at such a young age, already showed great interest in plants and herbs,” the Elf continued. “He could very often be found in the dye rooms, where essences of certain plants were used to color cloth. Green, I recall, was his particular favorite.” Glorfindel smiled at Aragorn. “Isn’t that right, Aragorn?”

“Estel understood that dye, added to a tub of hot water, turned cloth soaking in the tub a new and interesting color. His idea was that dye, added to a tub of hot water in which a person was soaking, would turn that person a new and interesting color. One evening---”

“Indeed he did,” the Elf laughed. “He took a great quantity of green dye, ran into Elladan’s room, and poured the entire packet into the tub in which he was bathing. Such a commotion! I would not have been surprised if you could hear Elladan yelling all the way to the Shire.” He turned to Aragorn. “Do you remember that, Aragorn?”

“Yes, Glorfindel,” Aragorn sighed. “I remember it. Elladan’s skin turned the brightest shade of green imaginable, and did not wear off for many weeks.” Upon hearing Frodo laugh, he, too, began to chuckle. “What this noble Elf did not tell you is that when Elladan leaped out of the bath -- too late to avoid turning green, however -- water splashed all over me, and---”

“I at least accomplished my goal,” Aragorn grinned. “There was no mistaking Elladan for Elrohir for several weeks after that, believe me.”

“Interestingly enough, I can date the twins’ wearing of different colored clothing from that time,” Glorfindel continued. “I do not believe they ever wanted Estel to be confused again.”

“I hope to meet them,” Frodo said in a voice so quiet only Glorfindel’s Elven hearing picked up the words.

Glorfindel would not let them take more than brief rests during the day, and urged them on and on, until by evening they had covered almost 20 miles.

Sam, Pippin, and Merry were practically hobbling the last mile, their feet so tender and sore it hurt to put any weight upon them.

“Enough,” Aragorn said at last, catching Pippin as the youngster finally toppled over in dizzy exhaustion. “The hobbits cannot walk any farther, Glorfindel.”

“I am sorry, my friends,” the Elf said, leading the group off the Road and into the trees, “but we have done well. If we are able to keep to this pace tomorrow, we should reach the Ford by late afternoon. I did not wish us to arrive at the Bruinen after nightfall.”

As Aragorn lifted Frodo down from Asfaloth, the wounded hobbit cried out in pain. The Ranger settled him into a nest of blankets, and, as was true the night before, the other three hobbits were quickly asleep, totally exhausted.

Glorfindel sat next to where Frodo lay, pale and shaking. “Drink, Frodo,” the Elf urged, offering the flask once again. “It will help strengthen you.”

“I know I’m… dying,” Frodo whispered. “It’s no use.” He shuddered as a fierce chill shook him. “Please, Estel… tell Bilbo…”

“Frodo!” Aragorn gasped. “Do not say it!” He took a deep breath. “Listen to me. The weapons of the Enemy are truly evil, and they wound on many levels. Frodo, if you give up… if you give in to despair and lose hope… you will be lost to us.” He clasped Frodo’s hands in his. “I know you’re tired -- I know the pain is nearly unbearable, and the cold drains your strength -- but you must not lose hope. I simply will not allow it, do you understand me?”

Frodo stared at the Ranger in amazement. He had never seen him reveal such raw emotion. “I’ll try.”

“All right, then,” Aragorn said in relief. He motioned for Glorfindel to offer the flask again, and this time Frodo drank. “Lie here between us, little one. It will be warmer for you.”

It was very late when Merry woke briefly, his feet throbbing with pain. His sharp ears picked up quiet voices, which he strained to hear.

“…get Frodo within the protected boundaries of Rivendell. The Nine cannot pursue him beyond the River, Aragorn, and should they attempt to cross it, Elrond will command a flood to sweep them away. So he told me before I left.”

“Then we must cross the River ahead of them,” Aragorn said softly, “or send Frodo ahead, and remain behind when the flood comes and make our stand on this side. Otherwise, we, too, will be swept away.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed. “We will do what we can to ensure Frodo’s escape.”

“They must not have you, either, my friend,” the Elf said softly. “Frodo, and the Ring, must not fall into their hands, but neither must you. The Enemy would greatly rejoice, Aragorn, should he learn that you lived and have met your death… or to see you brought to him as captive.”

There was no more talking after that, and Merry was left with yet another strange piece of information about the Ranger. He felt there was something he should be able to figure out, if he just wasn’t so tired… He fell back to sleep, one question spinning ceaselessly in his thoughts -- Who is he?

A! Elbereth: No, I won’t be skipping the part where Elrond locates/removes the shard. I’ve been wanting to tackle that scene for a long time, as I have my own ideas about that part of the tale.

Aiko-chan: Your reviews are always a pleasure! If you’re affected differently by each character, and see them as individuals, then I’m doing a good job with them. (And thank you so much for reviewing some of my other stories -- now you can read ROTK fics and enjoy them!)

AshNight2 and Firnsarnien and GirlsDontCri and Lady Jaina and Little Mouse and MaverickGirl and Strider’s Girl: Whew! After all that waiting for Glorfindel, I’m so happy he didn’t disappoint!

Belothien: I think you’ve been begging me for Elves since the middle of “Quarantined” (maybe earlier?), so you can’t imagine how relieved I was that you were happy with Glorfindel. Thank you for the huggles!

Bookworm2000: In the movie, when wounded Frodo saw Arwen differently than she appeared to the others, I believe that was an attempt to show the Elves “in their true form” -- but Glorfindel’s “true form” would have been even more amazing, I suspect.

Budgielover: I always wondered why Glorfindel just didn’t ride off with Frodo and speed him to Rivendell, so I wanted to come up with a logical reason. I’m happy you liked it! And dialogue is so much easier for me to write than straight narrative -- I’m glad to hear that ‘my’ characters are retaining their individuality through speech, as well as actions.

Child of a Pineapple: Thank you so much for checking in and letting me know you’re enjoying the story; I’m so glad you said hello. Oh, if only I could write faster!

coriandra and Pearl Took: When I’m writing, FOTR (the book) is right at my elbow. I try to utilize what Prof. Tolkien did say and fill in my version of what he didn’t say.

crazytook: Thank you so much! I see Merry and Pippin as very different people, and I’m glad it’s coming across.

Elbereth: I appreciate all your great observations. (I almost did find myself using the phrase “all lit up” before I realized it was from “Avalanche”!)

endymion2: Sam would have given the beryl back, but I’m sure he was happier not to!

fliewatuet and Grand Theft Author Otaku and Idril Telrunya and trishette: One ‘little Estel’ story, at your service.

Gentle Hobbit and Hai: Thank you for letting me know that you enjoyed the different reactions each hobbit had to Glorfindel -- that was the last part of the chapter I thought of writing.

GreyLadyBast: My story rocks?!! Thank you! And I’m so glad you found it! You can probably tell that I live and breathe hobbits -- I’m thrilled that you like what I’m doing with them.

Hobbit Lily Baggins and Lady Eleclya and Shire Baggins: What a compliment when someone who knows what’s going to happen, says they can’t wait to find out what happens next!

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: Thanks for the cookies! When I feel I can no longer go on… I reach for a cookie and… voila! Chapter 16! (Frodo says “thanks” for the cookie, too! He says they’re as good as Sam’s.)

Kit5 and Orangeblossom Took1: Pippin did make himself very comfortable with our noble Elf, didn’t he? And as you’ll see in this chapter, he’s not above assisting Rangers in feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Lady Cinnibar: Two weeks without the internet?!! Black Riders are nothing compared to that! I hope everything’s back to normal after your lightning strike.

liptonrm and Shireling: I love these characters so much; I’m so glad they seem real and believable!

MagicalRachel: I’m so glad you liked the ending; I consider the end of a chapter as carefully as any other part of it. (So many people are asking how far this story will go! You think *I* know??)

Master Elora Dannan: Frodo could see Glorfindel’s shining self because he was starting to fade from this world and perceive things in a different way. I don’t recall this “ability” being mentioned again once he was healed, but he certainly acquired other abilities -- he could see better in the dark, he could see Galadriel’s ring, and he could “hear” Gandalf talking to him at Amon Hen.

Michelle Frodo and TTTurtle: Thank you! Don’t fret -- even after we get to Rivendell, there will still be plenty of story to tell. As for a sequel to this sequel? I have no idea!

Nilmandra: It was only in preparing for this part of the story that I began to research Glorfindel, and he certainly plays a shining role in the way Galadriel describes how the Elves have “fought the long defeat” in Middle-earth.

Nirnaethyn Elentarinel: Thank you for the squee! I’m writing as fast as I can!

Nivina: Hi, Nivina! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story. It is a delicate balance -- not only between angst, love, and lightness, but between sequel, canon, movie, and my own vision. Whew!

pebbles: We’re all in the same boat, pebbles! (pressed for time, that is). I’m glad we can give you updates to look forward to.

sabercrazy: I am “sticking to the book”, insofar as it serves the story. And believe it or not, I have been toying with the idea of having someone “knocked around a bit by the wraiths” -- I’m not promising it will be Aragorn, though.

SapphireMeriadocTook: Glad you like the ‘little one’ thread that’s weaving through both stories. (And my goodness, of course I don’t mind if you use it -- I certainly don’t own it!) I did not realize that a beryl is the same (in chemical composition, as it turns out) as an emerald. Cool!

Singing Wolf: Your review made me laugh with delight! You want the story to be finished, and others want it to continue “ever on” (both are quite flattering)! I’m updating as regularly as possible, given how little time I have to write. Thank you for the compliments. I’m glad you’re enjoying the Aragorn-Frodo relationship, started in “Quarantined” and just too much fun not to explore further.

SperryDee: I was very disturbed by movie-Arwen saving Frodo, since in the book, Frodo (with Asfaloth’s help) basically saved himself.

Treehugger: Your review was so sweet, it made me smile all over! I agree, if Frodo can “see” into another world, at least he has a noble, light-filled being to look at, to balance out the shadowed evil beings that haunt him.

Notes for Chapter 17: Some folks are asking if the story’s coming to an end, since the summary says “Bree to Rivendell”. As far as I can tell, we will go at least to the Council of Elrond, and possibly farther. I can’t say how many chapters are left, since I haven’t written them yet, but I suspect we have a long way to go still.

An interesting notion from a review of Bookworm2000 found its way into this chapter -- thank you! And thanks also to Ariel and Melanie from ‘Quill & Ink’ for their assistance with my “horse-and-bridle” question.

Finally, three cheers for my amazing proofreading mom, who helped me to make this complex chapter much smoother and easier to follow.

There are lines in this chapter taken directly or adapted from the chapter “Flight to the Ford” in “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Sam groaned in relief at the feel of grass under his feet. He had never dreamed that hobbit feet could grow so weary and sore, but Glorfindel had kept them walking at a relentless pace since dawn, with few rest breaks. It was late afternoon, and pine trees and cool grass grew on either side of the Road. The group passed through a dark tunnel hewn of smooth stone, then out again into the sunlight. From where they now stood, Sam saw that the Great East Road ran down a small slope, then traversed a flat meadow and finally ended -- at a wide and vigorous River. At last.

They were just about to leave the shelter of the trees and start down the slope when Glorfindel stopped, bringing the party to a halt with a gesture. Pippin sighed. This was the sixth time the Elf had stopped. He would listen, exchange a few incomprehensible words with Strider, and then continue on. But now that they were nearly there, Pippin just wanted to keep going.

“What---” Pippin’s question died in his throat, and his heart started to hammer in his chest, when he saw what Glorfindel was doing. Very slowly and deliberately, the Elf took Frodo’s right hand and closed it tightly around Asfaloth’s reins.

“Hold on,” Glorfindel said quietly. “Do not let go, Frodo, not for any reason -- and do not stop.” One more second… two… Pippin had stopped breathing. Then, “Go!” Glorfindel yelled at the horse. And… “Fly! The Enemy is upon us!”

Asfaloth leaped away with Frodo hanging on with one hand, and at that moment, the hobbits heard the sound they had dreaded for nearly two weeks -- galloping horses -- from behind them. Glorfindel and Aragorn pushed the hobbits ahead of them and yelled for them to run, and with what strength they could muster, Sam, Merry, and Pippin ran as fast as they could down the slope and out into the meadow.

Asfaloth was halfway across the meadow when five Black Riders came out of the trees the group had just left, and reined in their mounts. They sat silently, all five concentrating fully on the small figure on the racing horse. They joined their power and, as one, commanded the little one to stop.

Frodo suddenly felt all urgency drain out of him. Why was he running? Tugging on Asfaloth’s reins, he checked the horse to a walk, and turned him around. There, beyond the small dim shadows that must be his friends, were five wraiths. They were doing this to him! With a surge of anger, he drew his sword. It was difficult to see clearly, through the shadows and mists surrounding him, but the five dark, solid figures were clearly visible. Between him and the wraiths, close to the other hobbits, he also saw a light, clear and bright and blazing fiercely.

“Ride on! Ride on!” cried Glorfindel, and then loud and clear he called to the horse in the elf-tongue: noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!” And the white horse wheeled about. Frodo barely had time to sheath his sword and once again grab onto the bridle, before Asfaloth began a frenzied gallop along the last lap of the Road that led to the River. There was a shrill, horrid scream as the five wraiths galloped forward, overtaking the Elf, Ranger, and three hobbits, the group throwing themselves to either side of the Road to avoid being run down. The Riders ignored them, drawn inexorably forward by the Ring, now once again within their reach.

Four more wraiths now appeared from the rocks and trees to the left of where the small meadow sloped down to the River -- two, including the Witch-king, rode the remaining distance to the edge of the River and halted, waiting -- while the other two sped towards the white horse and its small rider.

Asfaloth was running so fast that Frodo was buffeted by the wind. He bent his head and held on as tightly as he could. He sensed the wraiths approaching, their voices calling to him to stop, and the two closest drew abreast of him. One of them reached out to pull him off the horse. As the hand reached for him, Frodo felt as if a piece of ice was suddenly thrust into his chest. He screamed, his grip weakening, but suddenly the wraith was gone. Asfaloth, with a new burst of speed, had leaped ahead and left them behind.

The Great East Road ended abruptly, and Frodo heard, more than saw, the foaming River, then felt cold water splashing his feet and legs. They were across. Asfaloth climbed the steep bank on the far side of the River and would have continued on, but Frodo suddenly felt commanded to halt. Suddenly weary and dizzy, he brought Asfaloth to a stop, and once more turned. The Nazgûl, all nine of them, sat astride their black mounts on the opposite bank. There was no escape.

Frodo gasped as a sudden, terrible realization came to him. His vision of the living world had dimmed, but he could now see the wraiths even without the Ring on his finger. And they could see him. He was becoming part of their world, where everything was icy cold, and dark, and… he was becoming one of them.

That’s what they’ve been waiting for, Frodo realized in horror. And now they can’t wait any longer.

“No!” he cried. With his last bit of strength, he pulled his sword from its sheath once more, and held it up. “You will have neither the Ring, nor me! Begone!”

Somehow the halfling still resisted, even now, although the Witch-king could sense with surety that, within the day, this little one would at last have succumbed. But he would wait no longer; they would take him and force the Ring upon his finger. Thrusting the weakened halfling, unwilling, over the threshold and fully into their world, would empower the slowly moving shard to finally complete its task. It would thrust deeply into the small one’s heart and instantly absorb what life he had left. The living form -- body, mind, and essence -- would cease to be. Life would be replaced by Shadow, and he would be left empty -- to be filled with the thoughts and direction of the Dark Lord’s choosing.

Their orders were clear -- the Dark Lord craved both the One Ring and Baggins, and he would have them both. There was no strength left in this halfling to resist them physically. Not any longer. They had been overconfident to let him go the first time, but there had been no precedent for such strength of will to resist a Morgul wound for this length of time.

Just beyond where the halfling waited, there was no mistaking the curtain of Power which shimmered and pulsed -- no doubt a barrier set around the perimeter of the Elf enclave within the far valley. Without the One Ring in his possession, the Witch-king knew he could not pursue Baggins if the halfling passed within this protective barrier. He had to be stopped now, and brought back across the churning water over which they had no control and loathed to cross.

“Come back,” he chanted forcefully, his companions with him. “To Mordor we will take you.”

The halfling shuddered, close to the breaking point from the effort to resist, to stay conscious, to embrace Light instead of Shadow. With his last strength, the hobbit held up his small sword.

The pale king raised a hand, and suddenly Frodo felt the pain in his shoulder grow unbearable; he tried to scream, but found that he could no longer speak. His sword abruptly flew from his shaking hand, and shattered, and a cruel, icy pressure began to squeeze the breath from his body. He knew that he had only to take out the Ring and put it on, and the nightmare would end. He could rest. It would be over.

The Witch-king concentrated the full force of his essence. He watched as the blade in the small hand snapped and fell, and the tiny body gasped in agony as the shadows wrapped tightly about him. He hissed in satisfaction as the halfling grew clearer, his form beginning to take a more defined shape. The fading had at last begun, and could not now be stopped so long as the enspelled shard remained within him. They had him -- and now they would claim him.

The riverbed at this most shallow part of the Bruinen had been set with large, flat slabs to be used as paving stones on which travellers might cross. The three wraiths rode forward -- and were halfway across before they realized their peril.

The wraiths thundered past, and Pippin hardly had time to lift his head off the ground before he was lifted up bodily by Aragorn and put back on his feet. “Ride on! Ride on!” Glorfindel was shouting, then something in Elvish, then Merry was grabbing his hand.

They went. Three hobbits, one pony, one Elf, and one Ranger running, running, on tired legs and painful feet and no breath left… Sam stumbled and fell, and Glorfindel was instantly at his side, pulling him back onto his feet and urging him on. The group made it to the far edge of the meadow and into a small hollow, and stopped, gasping for breath. Not more than 30 feet in front of them sat nine wraiths on nine black horses, waiting at the top of the slope that led down to the River below them. The Riders paid no heed to the small group behind them -- their attention was fixed on the Ring-bearer.

“Hurry,” Aragorn said, unstrapping the long branches from Bill’s heaving sides. Glorfindel had already kindled fire faster than Pippin thought possible, and Aragorn set each stick ablaze and handed them out.

“The flood is coming -- I can feel and hear it,” Glorfindel murmured to the group. “We must drive them into the River when it arrives.”

Sam felt it too -- a rumbling deep under his feet -- but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Frodo, sitting astride Asfaloth high on the opposite bank. He gasped as three of the wraiths rode into the River and stopped. His master’s sword suddenly shattered, and Frodo swayed. The three wraiths rode farther, then stopped again, suddenly uneasy -- too late, they realized that a massive wall of water was bearing down on them.

The hobbits stared in amazement as a sudden, monstrous flood crashed and cascaded past them, sweeping away the three Riders in its path.

“Now!” Glorfindel yelled. “Drive them forward!” The horses of the six remaining wraiths, unexpectedly faced with the roaring and thundering of what appeared to be not water, but massive, crashing boulders, gigantic horses, and a wall of flame, reared desperately and tried to retreat. What they met was darting figures screaming and yelling, and wielding fire -- maddened, their hooves lost their purchase and began to slip down the bank. The Nazgûl screamed in rage and pain as a brilliant light -- an Elf-lord revealed in full wrath and power -- burnt and blinded them, searing through their very essence. Now leaderless, and without direction, they tried without success to control their mounts -- but one by one, the horses leaped or tumbled or fled insanely into the tumultuous flood, throwing their shadowed riders into the heart of the thundering River where they were swept away.

As Aragorn bore down on the remaining Nazgûl struggling to keep his horse from slipping down into the River, the wraith, in a fury, tried to bring down the impudent Man in his path with the power of the darkness within him. Momentarily stunned by the Black Breath, Aragorn stumbled and fell directly into the path of the horse’s flailing hooves. Merry, who was closest, leaped forward with a cry, thrusting his blazing sticks in front of the horse’s maddened eyes. The horse reared up, and with one final piercing scream, the wraith was thrown into the flood. As the frantic animal slipped down, one hoof caught Merry on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground next to Aragorn.

Glorfindel released Sam, whom he had physically restrained from throwing himself into the River to try to reach Frodo, and ran to where Pippin was on his knees next to Merry and Aragorn was struggling to sit up.

“They are gone,” the Elf announced, “but we must wait until the waters subside before we can cross.” He raised Aragorn’s head so he could look into his eyes. “Are you injured?”

Aragorn took a deep breath and shook his head. “His thought barely touched me. He could no longer control or direct his will.”

Aragorn nodded, and gently examined Merry’s bruised temple. The injured hobbit groaned and he stirred slightly, causing Pippin to sigh with relief. Now that the rush of adrenaline was ebbing, and the wraiths were gone, Pippin found himself starting to shake -- and, after running on already tender feet, he realized that they now hurt so badly that he wasn’t sure he could stand.

“Meriadoc most likely saved your life, Aragorn,” Glorfindel said. “That horse would have crushed you in its madness.”

“I know. We must---” Suddenly the Ranger gasped. “Frodo! Does he live?” All eyes turned to the top of the bank on the opposite side of the River -- where Asfaloth stood guard over Frodo, who lay unmoving on the ground.

Glorfindel gazed intently at the small, still figure, seeing many things, on many levels.

Aemilia Rose: You’ve been so patient, and now we get to the Ford… at last!

Aiko-chan: Your reviews are such fun to read. I love every giggle, cackle, and snort! I don’t know if Chapter 17 will give you a ‘gleeful glow’, but here it is, at last!

Ailsa Joy: I’m glad you enjoyed the lighter moments of Chapter 16, because things are about to get rather grim (as we know). But as soon as humor is once more appropriate, you can be certain I’ll start sneaking it back in.

Aratlithiel1: ‘Poor elves’ is right! But I continue to bow to one of the Masters (Budgielover) when it comes to turning Rivendell on its ear. (And if you love Protective!Merry, this chapter’s for you.)

Arwen Baggins: I’m greatly complimented that you’re hoping for weekly updates, but I haven’t promised a chapter-a-week since “Avalanche”, nearly a year ago. For every story since, I’ve updated as quickly as I could, and I often can manage weekly chapters, but there are no promises -- chapters are ready when they’re ready! (Many thanks for being so enthusiastic about the story.)

AshNight2: If only we could hold and shield Frodo from all the darkness -- maybe that’s why most of my fics surround him with so much love. My gosh, you think the Ford will be fun?? LOL. Here it is at last -- you can judge for yourself!

Azaelia and MagicalRachel and shireling: Aragorn’s thoughts and emotions during the journey (given his prior history and deep friendship with Frodo begun in “Quarantined”) were what I hoped would give this story much of its depth and intensity -- and I was correct!

Baylor: Oh, Baylor! How exciting it was to find your cascade of reviews! So many of the lines and scenes you highlighted are things of which I’m very proud (like troll “William”!). I’m so happy you’re enjoying this sequel.

Belothien and Camellia Gamgee-Took and GirlsDontCri and Grand Theft Author Otaku and Iris Sandydowns and Lady Eleclya and MaverickGirl: It took me awhile to think of a ‘young Estel’ story that would sound believable, and be entertaining for the hobbits -- I’m so glad it worked.

Bookworm2000: In the book, Frodo and Sam don’t hear about Aragorn’s heritage until the Council of Elrond. I haven’t yet decided how that will play out in this story. And your review of Chapter 14 sparked an idea that landed in this chapter!

Budgielover: I can’t tell you how much your comments mean to me, Budgie. I don’t know if you feel the same, but a few years ago I wouldn’t have imagined that any of these stories were lurking inside me, let alone any skill in being able to tell them.

Carrie5: I’m curious about ‘my’ Council of Elrond, as well -- I haven’t written anywhere near that far yet! I don’t know how much beyond the Council this story will go, since it’s all unfolding before me one step at a time.

Claudia: I agree -- there are some very dark AU paths out there, and I don’t choose to write about them, either.

Coriandra: Poor hobbits, indeed! Prof. Tolkien wrote that they “hobbled forward at the best pace they could manage.” It takes a lot to make hobbit feet sore and weary, but this trek seems to have done it.

Daonering: Glad you’re enjoying the story! (Sorry, but Arwen’s still in Rivendell. I’m sticking to book-canon -- for the most part -- and Arwen was only part of the “Bree to Rivendell” journey in the movie.)

Elbereth: I don’t know if Glorfindel’s drink was miruvor, but I suspect it wasn’t. (When Gandalf gave miruvor to everyone at Caradhras and Moria, it seemed to be something very rare and precious, and previously untasted by the hobbits.)

Elwen: Thank you, Elwen. Considering that I didn’t know if I had anything left to say after “Quarantined” ended, I’m happy that this tale is continuing to please.

endymion2 and Lady Sandry and SapphireMeriadocTook: The longer I write these characters, the more real they are to me. I seem to need to lighten many angsty moments, but I also feel that part of the resilience of hobbits is their ability to treat things lightly on the surface, while feeling them deeply within.

faervarya: If I’d known you teach dyeing, I would have consulted with you! I’m relieved you found the story believable.

Firnsarnien: I barely ever thought about Glorfindel until I started writing this story, but that Elf is really starting to grow on me, too.

fliewatuet and Mish: I can’t write about characters’ relationships and interactions without delving into emotions and motivations -- I’m so glad it’s coming across well. I know ‘my’ characters are more informal and emotional than Tolkien wrote them, but, well… that’s how I write!

Gentle Hobbit: The ‘tension’ that’s been building escalates even further for several chapters to come… starting with this one. Just take a deep breath… you can take it!

GreyLadyBast: I’m also happy you discovered where you hid me! (And I hope you’re feeling better.)

Hai: The story won’t end when we reach Rivendell -- there’s plenty of story to tell once we get there.

Hobbit Lily Baggins: You sweetie. And welcome back! Sounds like you had a wonderful trip.

Ivy: You can look forward to what I hope will be some very interesting Aragorn scenes in the chapters to come.

kete: I didn’t think everything past Weathertop would be boring, just anticlimactic! I should have known that things are never dull when there are hobbits involved.

Kit5: I love those piles of sleeping hobbits as well! Somehow, the image of a pile of sleeping Wizards, or a pile of sleeping Ents (or whatever) just isn’t as adorable. And yes, I suspect Merry will figure things out… as soon as things calm down a little.

Lady of Ithilien: You can’t imagine how many times I’ve read “Flight to the Ford” in the last two weeks! Hopefully this chapter will somehow do it justice.

Lady Wind: Oh, thank you! There was still quite a bit I wanted to get in before they reached the Ford. And now… here we go…

LilyBaggins: Frodo’s little gasps or whimpers… sigh. I need to make sure he gets plenty of major cuddles when he wakes up in Rivendell. (Thank you so much for highlighting that line of Merry’s, BTW -- that was one of my favorite things in the chapter.)

liptonrm: Thank you for such a lovely review. I’m trying very hard to ensure that the story continues to give an aura of ‘hope’ along with the inevitably increasing fear and darkness.

Little Mouse: As Frodo felt himself weakening, he must have wondered if he was dying. And oh yes, Rivendell is certainly full of Elves -- I’ll do what I can for you!

lovethosehobbits: Oh tree, I can’t stop! (And please don’t you stop, either!)

Michelle Frodo: I truly don’t know where that ‘little Estel’ story came from… I’m not sure where any of these ideas come from!

Nilmandra: You crack me up! Glorfindel must love being your Muse. We don’t know if Glorfindel was a “natural” healer because of who he is, or because he received training, but he certainly seems to have at least limited abilities in that area. As to which hobbit Aragorn would have asked to carry the Ring in the event of Frodo’s death, I will leave that answer up to each reader’s imagination. I actually tried to look at this very question, from Frodo’s perspective, in my earliest vignette, “And the Halfling Forth Shall Stand”.

Orangeblossom Took1: I suspect Merry will figure things out… as soon as things calm down a little.

Pearl Took: I suspect you’re the only person ever to call Aragorn ‘Pippin-like’ -- I love it!

pebbles: Book-Frodo definitely resisted and fought the influence of the shard until the last second, and ‘my’ Frodo does the same. Movie-Frodo was written as fairly helpless, since Peter Jackson chose to give us a more vulnerable, innocent character.

Rosa Cotton: I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! (And you can imagine how stunned I am by the response to this story, and to “Quarantined”. Utterly stunned. The fact that so many folks are encouraging and supportive makes me try even harder to craft as good a story as I possibly can.)

ScifiRogue: That’s a great point! In the book, Elladan and Elrohir were away from Rivendell, hunting Orcs, when the events at the Ford were taking place -- but in this story, they are in Rivendell.

Silver Flame of a Phoenix: Thank you for your lovely words -- I’m glad I can give you something to look forward to reading (that isn’t homework!).

Singing Wolf: I love long reviews! It’s so wonderful to have this communication going with everyone. Believe me, I wish I could update every day, but each chapter takes awhile to be written, proofread, re-written, re-proofread, re-re-written… well, you get the idea.

Strider’s Girl: It’s very important to me that I show the hobbits’ separate personalities, since I feel that it’s “not by chance, but by purpose” that these three (and Aragorn) are with Frodo. Each has something unique to contribute, and is irreplaceable.

Notes for Chapter 18: There is a major departure from book-canon in this chapter, in that Elladan and Elrohir are not away from Rivendell hunting Orcs when the events at the Ford are taking place. I wanted them to become a part of this story as soon as possible.

“Time doesn’t seem to pass here: it just is. A remarkable place altogether.” Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring

Elladan and Elrohir rode as fast as they dared without exhausting the horses they rode, or the riderless mount tethered to Elladan’s steed. Both had begged their father leave to depart for the Bruinen sooner, but Elrond had denied them.

“If Glorfindel and Aragorn are unable to prevent the Ring-bearer from being taken,” the Elf lord had said gravely, “the Lord of the Nazgûl will bear him, and the Ring, swiftly south -- but not, I fear, before the Nine attack this valley. With the One Ring in their possession, I do not know if any defense will hold, but we must try.”

And so they had waited, at their father’s side, as he and Gandalf sensed the events transpiring at the Ford, and unleashed the fury of the Bruinen. Finally Elrond turned to them, his eyes blazing.

“Go!” he cried. “The Nine are swept away, but the Ring-bearer is in deadly peril.”

The twins had nearly reached the Ford when they heard, then saw, Asfaloth galloping towards them, Glorfindel on his back. The golden-haired Elf didn’t stop or even slow down, but raced past them, clutching the reins with one hand and a small, blanket-wrapped bundle in the other. His face was grim and set, and the brothers watched him go, heading for Imladris at a speed remarkable even for the great white horse.

Aragorn held Pippin in his arms. He had seen the pain on the young hobbit’s face when he tried to walk, and had simply gathered him up and held him gently as they waited for the flood waters to recede. Pippin remained uncharacteristically silent, and Aragorn suspected that he was in mild shock. The dark presence of the Nazgûl had touched them all, however briefly. In addition, Merry’s injury, Frodo lying so still on the opposite shore, and just sheer exhaustion were overwhelming the youngster at last.

Glorfindel, who had already led Bill, with Sam on his back, across the River, had returned, and lifted Merry gently. The injured hobbit started to waken, crying out in sudden pain, and Glorfindel touched his long, sensitive fingers to the swollen bruise and spoke soft words in Elvish. After a moment, Merry sighed and went limp once again, sinking back into unconsciousness.

Aragorn and Glorfindel waded into the cold water with their small burdens, and, upon reaching the other side, struggled up the bank to the spot where Frodo had fallen. Asfaloth still stood patiently nearby. Aragorn set Pippin down, then knelt next to Frodo, who lay face down, pale as death. Sam had covered him with a blanket, and was clutching the broken pieces of Frodo’s sword to his chest.

“He’s so cold,” Sam murmured. “I can’t tell if he’s breathin’ or not, Strider.”

“He’s breathing, Sam,” Aragorn murmured. “Barely.” He looked up, his eyes anguished. “Take Frodo and go, Glorfindel. Get him to Elrond; we do not know how much time he has left.”

Glorfindel lay Merry down in the grass, then leaped onto Asfaloth’s back. Aragorn gathered Frodo into his arms, keeping the blanket wrapped about him, and transferred the limp body to the Elf.

“He lives, Aragorn,” Glorfindel said urgently. “Do not despair. There is still hope.” With that, he urged Asfaloth into a run. Pippin and Sam watched him disappear down the trail, their hands reaching out for each other.

“Pippin, let me put you on Bill,” Aragorn said. “Rivendell is still some distance away, and---” He stopped speaking as all three heard the sound of horses approaching from the direction Glorfindel had gone. Just then, two dark-haired Elves on horseback emerged from the trees.

Elladan swung down from his mount and strode forward, quickly assessing the situation. Three very dirty hobbits -- one looking near collapse, one obviously injured, and one looking at him and Elrohir with hope and wonder in his eyes -- and Aragorn, looking as exhausted and travel-stained as his small companions. As he reached the Ranger and embraced him, he felt the Man sag a bit with weariness and relief.

“Forgive us, my brother, for our late arrival,” Elladan murmured. “Father would not let us leave Imladris until all threat to it had passed.”

While Elrohir bent to check on Merry, Elladan smiled down at Pippin and Sam. “I know your journey has been long and difficult, but once in our home you may finally rest.” He crouched in front of Pippin. “Will you ride with me?”

Aragorn quickly knelt next to Pippin and whispered something in the small pointed ear. The young hobbit smiled at the Elf before allowing himself to be lifted onto one of the horses. The Elf mounted behind him and held him securely. Pippin twisted to look up at the beautiful, ageless face. The Elf’s hair, unlike Glorfindel’s, was dark as night, his eyes grey and wise.

Pippin just giggled, then relaxed into the Elf’s embrace and closed his eyes, too exhausted to keep them open any longer.

Elrohir tethered Bill to his own horse, then lifted Sam into the saddle of his own steed. He held Merry while Aragorn mounted the spare horse, then handed Merry to him before mounting behind Sam. With one last look at the River, now calm and flowing gently, they rode slowly towards Rivendell.

Glorfindel jumped down from Asfaloth’s back, landing lightly on his feet, holding Frodo’s limp, blanket-wrapped form. He was unsurprised to see Elrond and Gandalf waiting for him.

“Give him to me,” Elrond said urgently. He took Frodo from Glorfindel’s arms and began to walk swiftly towards the House, the wizard and Glorfindel on either side of him matching his long strides. “Tell me what you can, Glorfindel.”

As the trio entered the House and made their way upstairs to one of the large healing chambers, Glorfindel quickly spoke to Elrond and Gandalf of everything he knew -- the attack at Weathertop as described to him by Aragorn, the long, difficult journey of the Ranger and hobbits in their efforts to stay hidden from their pursuers, Frodo’s condition as he understood it, and the events at the Ford of Bruinen. He handed Gandalf the hilt of the Morgul knife, which he had brought with him, and told them Aragorn’s theory about the splinter which surely remained in Frodo’s body.

“Thank you, my friend,” Elrond said, laying Frodo down on one of the room’s several beds. “You have done what you could, and now Gandalf and I must do what we can. Everything has been prepared for when Aragorn and the others arrive. Take some rest, and we will speak again later.”

“My lord,” Glorfindel murmured, “it has been my honor to meet and assist these folk, especially Frodo. His courage rivals that of any whose names are legend.” He bowed to Elrond and left.

Elrond unwrapped the small blanket from the hobbit’s unconscious body and looked down at him gravely before beginning to remove the travel-stained cloak, coat, vest, braces, and shirt.

“Frodo,” Gandalf murmured. He shook his head in dismay at the appearance of his dear friend. He remembered a laughing, rosy-cheeked, vibrant young hobbit, full of spirit and innocent wisdom, and it pained his heart to see what had come of his inability to be there in Frodo’s most desperate hour. “Saruman will pay for his foul deeds,” he murmured angrily, “this not least among them.”

Elrond knew that somewhere in Frodo’s clothing lay hidden the One Ring, but that could be dealt with later. For now… He wrung out a soft cloth from a basin of water on a table next to the bed, and sat beside the injured hobbit. Very gently, he cleansed the area around the small, closed wound, then lay his hand on Frodo’s brow and was silent for a long moment.

“His chest, side, and arm are like ice,” Elrond said at last. “His life force is very weak -- almost as if it is being consumed by that which lies within him.”

“That is precisely what is happening,” the wizard replied. “Frodo has endured this foul sorcery within him for a fortnight, but it is overcoming him at last. The realm of Shadow draws him nearer, and he can no longer resist its pull.”

Elrond stood up, a determined look to his eyes. “He fades, Gandalf, and it cannot be stopped so long as even a fragment of Morgul blade remains within him.”

“Yes,” the Elf-lord agreed, “but where is it? The splinter, from what Aragorn told Glorfindel of the broken blade, will be extremely small. The wound is closed, and Frodo cannot tell us where the pain is greatest. Where do I begin cutting? How far? How deep? Must I open his entire shoulder, perhaps more than once?”

“Elrond,” Gandalf said with concern, “I will not stand by and watch Frodo fade and be lost to us.”

“I said the fading cannot be stopped,” Elrond repeated, “but perhaps in that lies Frodo’s only chance.”

“Within hours, Gandalf, perhaps less, I sense that the evil at work inside Frodo will accomplish its task. However, I suspect that when his physical body begins to dissolve into Shadow, the shard will, for a moment, be visible to me. There will be a transparency to Frodo’s body -- but a Morgul blade does not fade, except be it melted in sunlight or Fire -- I will be able to see it, through flesh and bone and muscle.”

“Surely you don’t mean to wait to remove the fragment until Frodo is nearly gone? Even if you then take it from his body, he will be too weak to ever recover consciousness.”

“There is another way,” Elrond said. “With Vilya, as you know, I have bestowed a timelessness to this valley; I have never attempted it with a person, but I can attempt to do the same for Frodo -- slowing his breath, heartbeat… everything. His body functions will slow such that he will require neither food nor drink. The fading will progress, but at a greatly diminished rate -- perhaps taking days instead of hours. That way, at the first… hint… of transparency, when I can at last perceive precisely where the shard lays within him, there should be time to remove it before it is too late for Frodo to recover.” Elrond fixed the wizard with a steely gaze. “But you must use Narya to strengthen him, and give his body the energy it needs to hold on.”

The wizard nodded slowly. “It may give Frodo his only chance,” he agreed, gazing at the pale, still face. “Let us begin.”

Anyone looking into the room during the next few minutes would have seen a strange sight indeed -- a mighty Elf-lord and wizard both kneeling next to a bed containing a gravely injured hobbit. The Elf-lord’s right hand hovered over the hobbit’s pale face, and the wizard’s above the small chest. Brilliant, pulsing lights of blue, white, and a fiery orange met and joined between their hands, then slowly sank into the small form and disappeared.

Elrond and Gandalf were sitting by Frodo’s bedside, talking quietly, when a commotion at the door brought them to their feet. Elrohir entered first, with Sam by the hand. Sam gave a joyous shout when he saw Gandalf, and flew into the wizard’s arms.

“Oh Gandalf, it’s been purely awful,” Sam murmured. He stared at Frodo, lying so still. “How’s Mr. Frodo?”

“He’s getting the best of care,” Gandalf said reassuringly. Sam tried to scramble up on the big bed, and the wizard gave him a boost.

Elladan entered next with Pippin at his side, and Gandalf came to meet them. “Pippin Took, whatever are you doing so far from home?” he asked with a smile. Even though Glorfindel had told them about the hobbits and what they had been through, he was dismayed at the condition of the wan, exhausted hobbit who nearly collapsed against him.

“I am proud of you,” the Elf lord said to his foster-son. “I will hear all you have to tell, once you have rested.” He carried Merry to the bed next to Frodo’s and examined the unconscious hobbit, Pippin watching his every move. Elrond’s sensitive fingers probed the bruise on Merry’s forehead, and he touched his fingertips to the hobbit’s brow, closing his eyes for a moment. “He will be fine,” he said finally. “I will prepare an herbal compress, and we will watch over his sleep to ensure that he is not in pain.”

“And now,” Elrond continued, getting to his feet, “there is only the Ring to be safeguarded. We must---”

Everyone turned in shock as Pippin cried out. The young hobbit ran to the bed, standing between Elrond and Frodo.

“Don't touch it,” Pippin repeated, glaring up at Elrond. He was very pale, and trembling with exhaustion, but his voice was strong and clear. “Frodo kept that thing from wights and wraiths, and he's been in so much pain...” He swayed for a moment, suddenly dizzy, but steadied himself. “If he gives it to you, you can have it. Not before.”

“Strider,” Pippin whispered, looking into the Ranger’s grey eyes, “don't let him take it.”

Aragorn pulled him close. “I promise, Pippin. Unless it will save Frodo's life, no one will take the Ring from him. Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” Pippin slumped into the Ranger's arms, suddenly weary beyond belief. “I'm so tired, Strider,” he murmured.

“I know you are, ” Aragorn said gently. He picked Pippin up and rose to his feet, then walked across the room and sat down on the bed in which Merry lay.

Pippin tried to stay alert, but the last bit of energy seemed to have drained out of him, and he could no longer think clearly about anything. He knew, on some hazy level, that he needed to be worried about Merry; that he needed desperately to wash, and eat something; that they were in Rivendell at last, and he didn’t have to walk any more, or be afraid. He heard words swirling around him… “…exhaustion and shock… need to… give him this, it will…”

“Pippin, drink this.” Pippin found a cup in his hands, and heard Aragorn’s soft voice. “It will sustain you until you get some sleep, and can eat a proper meal. Drink it all, that’s it.” Pippin drank obediently, finding the cup to be full of a thick liquid rich with cream and blended fruits, and other tastes he couldn’t identify. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever drunk, and he felt his sharp hunger easing. More quickly than he would have liked, he emptied the cup, but it was refilled with more of the sweet, creamy drink, which he finished as well. He felt the Ranger lay him down, and he curled up tightly against Merry. Within the space of two breaths everything faded, and he sank quickly into such a deep, exhausted sleep that he would not wake again until well into the next day.

Aragorn covered Pippin with a blanket and looked at Elrond. “Pippin is correct,” he said firmly. “The Ring is not yours to take, but Frodo’s to relinquish. He is the bearer until he passes it to another, as Bilbo did.”

“Then we will take no action at present,” Gandalf said suddenly. Pippin’s unexpected, fierce protectiveness of Frodo had given him much to think about. “There is a greater wisdom at work here, Elrond. As you have foreseen, the fate of Middle-earth lies no longer with the Firstborn. It lies with Men…” He then motioned to Frodo’s still form. “…it lies with him…” The wizard smiled at the sight of Pippin and Merry side by side, then gazed fondly down at Sam, who had also fallen sound asleep, holding Frodo’s hand. “I suspect that it may even lie with them.”

“My brother,” Elrohir said gently, “we will look after the little ones.”

“They are not children, Elrohir,” Aragorn said firmly. “I have never met more courageous folk. When you hear our tale in full, you will understand.”

“I swear to you that they will be treated as honored guests,” the Elf reassured him. “Whatever they need, we will see to it.”

Elladan put his arm around Aragorn. “Come. Father and Gandalf will call upon you if Frodo’s condition grows worse. You can hardly help him in such a state.”

Aragorn barely remembered being led out of the healing chamber by Elrohir and Elladan, or his brothers helping him to undress, bathe at last in warmed, fragrant water, and given a light meal before being put to bed. With a weariness he had never known before, he fell as deeply asleep as Pippin and Sam. He didn’t stir at the sound of his beloved’s voice, or feel the sweet and gentle kiss touch his brow. But in a dream he saw the Evenstar burning brightly in the sky above him, bathing him with its radiance, and for the first time in more than a month, his heart and mind were at peace, and his dreams filled with light.

Aelimir: Welcome! You read “Quarantined” and “BCOP” all in one day?? I’m truly honored. (“AU” highlights a story that departs from book-canon (“alternate universe”). For example, if Prof. Tolkien wrote that it took four days for Frodo to wake up in Rivendell, and didn’t tell us what happened during those four days, a story detailing what happened during those four days would not necessarily be AU, since it wouldn’t contradict canon. But a story about it taking Frodo two days to wake up, or never getting to Rivendell at all, etc., would be AU. This story is “slightly” AU!)

Aemilia Rose and aprilkat and Elentari and Hobbit Lily Baggins and SapphireMeriadocTook: You can’t imagine how hard I worked on Chapter 17. Thank you so much. And I hope this is the last time I ever have to get inside the “mind” of a Ringwraith!

Aiko-chan: Oh, what am I doing to you, poor girl? What a fun review! “Sweet mother of Betsy Ross”??? Hee hee (And I hope you enjoy ‘your’ Pip’s very important moment in this chapter…)

Ailsa Joy: The darker the threat, the more brilliantly do the hobbits, Ranger, and Elf-lord shine. I was hoping that this story would showcase that aspect of the Tale, and thank you for saying that I’m doing a good job.

alysha-sedai and Hai: I’m writing as fast as I can -- I want to find out what happens next, too, you know!

arabella thorne and Grand Theft Author Otaku and GreyLadyBast and kete and pebbles and shireling: Whew! I’m so glad that Chapter 17 “worked”!

Aratlithiel1: I never once considered “forking over” Frodo’s incredible courage and defiance to Arwen. That scene in the movie makes me cringe just thinking about it.

Arwen Baggins: Ah, indeed -- the person who at first trusted Strider the least, ended up saving his life. (To answer your question, I took the concept of Frodo starting to fade at the Ford from the FOTR chapter “Many Meetings,” in which Gandalf says to Frodo, “You were beginning to fade… the wound was overcoming you at last.”)

AshNight2: I guess this is like a roller-coaster ride! Even though we know where most of the scary parts are, they can still take us by surprise!

Baylor: Only the folks who’ve read the books will fully understand Frodo’s courage and resilience -- and sacrifice.

Belothien: I’ll get all those hairy (and non-hairy) feet nice and clean, somehow!

Bookworm2000: Wasn’t it wonderful of Prof. Tolkien to leave so many ‘gaps’ for us to fill in? And we all have our own way of filling them.

Budgielover: Rivendell at last! I’ll try to make sure that everyone gets some comfort!

ClaudiaofBree: The constant pain, cold and weakness must have kept Frodo from putting all the pieces together, but I thought a sudden realization would be logical. I’m glad it worked!

Coriandra: Yes, we’ll still be in ‘angst’ mode for a little while! But at least everyone’s across the River, and the you-know-whats are gone.

Elwen and Nilmandra: Believe me, knowing that so many folks are watching ‘my’ Glorfindel like a hawk has really focused me on who and what he is, and what he means to this story.

Endril McMerlyn: Welcome to the sequel! I’m happy you’ve found it, and are enjoying it. And oh yes, there’ll be a lot more Aragorn -- this is his story, as much as anyone’s.

endymion2: Exactly! I too was confused about how Frodo could hold onto a sword and Asfaloth at the same time, with only one good hand. And you’re right, I suppose that’s the last of the Witch-king’s POV -- unless I decide to tackle the Pelennor Fields someday. Oh dear.

Erisinia Gazelle: Welcome! What a fun review, Erisinia! Omigosh, I hope I got Chapter 18 finished in time for you to be revived. (crosses fingers)

Firnsarnien: In all his long life, I doubt Glorfindel has been called “a hottie” too many times! I’m sure he’s blushing.

Gentle Hobbit: Things are happening “on many levels”, and it’s fascinating to delve into them.

Hatshepsut: Pharaoh of Kemet: I love the story of Hatshepsut; most folks have never heard of her, I suspect. And thank you for your kind words -- it’s wonderful to hear from you!

Hobbit-Luvr and QTPie-2488: I’m so glad you liked the different POV’s! It was a real challenge to try to imagine what everyone might have been going through internally as well as externally.

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: Frodo & Co. spend several months in Rivendell -- they’ll need lots of cookies!

Ivy: The “fluff and nonsense” will return as soon as it’s appropriate!

Kit5: In the movie, I hope that nassty Witch-king does “get his”! (BTW, here’s a tip regarding the ever-wacky ff.net: If you know there’s a new chapter of a story and can’t access it, pull up the most recent chapter, replace that chapter number in the URL with the “new” chapter number you’re trying to access, and hit ‘enter’. If the chapter exists, you’ll be able to see it.)

Lady Cinnibar: It’s not exactly “stamina” for writing; it’s more a compulsion to tell a story. As long as I’m fortunate enough to have this creative fire burning inside me, I don’t plan to quench it.

Lady Eleclya: Delving deeply into these scenes helps me to understand them better, and I’m so happy that other folks think my choices for the characters’ motivations and actions make sense.

Lady Jaina: I’m making a special effort to be “diligent” and show what’s happening with everyone, mostly because it isn’t ‘events’ that interest me as much as the interactions, motivations, and emotions of our beloved characters.

Lady Sandry: Glorfindel was wondering if Aragorn was physically injured, but Aragorn was answering along different lines -- as one who felt the Black Breath reaching out for him, but only barely touched him before the wraith was swept away. I think Sam just has to meet Arwen, and Merry will eventually put all the pieces together about Aragorn. I’m so excited that you’re so excited!

MagicalRachel and ScifiRogue: Merry is very, very brave, and the courageous ones often put themselves in harm’s way in defense of another. But don’t worry, you know everything will work out all right.

Master Elora Dannan: Elves are a bit cryptic, but in this case, Glorfindel is referring to Frodo’s “fading”. (December seems wonderfully close now, doesn’t it? Soon, precioussss… soon…)

Mysterious Jedi: Who knew there was so much detail “from Bree to Rivendell”? I’m as amazed as you are.

Pearl Took: Oh, I’m so glad the chapter had energy and power! What a wonderful thing to say! I did try to show that events were occurring “on many levels”.

Silver Mearas: Oh, your review just made me want to weep with joy. What a thrill to move someone emotionally by something I’ve written. And mom says Thank You! (As to whether we dwell in Earth or Middle-earth…? Definitely both. And we have a lot of company.) You’re so sweet to be worried about Arthad/Ollie! If you go back to Chapter 6, you’ll see what he’s doing, and where he is. I promise that Sam will get to see him again!

Strider’s Girl: Merry will figure out Strider’s “riddle” when all the puzzle pieces come together for him.

trishette: You think Chapter 17 compared with Chapter 8? Wow, thanks! I was afraid I’d never be able to write anything to equal Chapter 8. And as for who will be at Frodo’s bedside when he awakens… still working on it!

VercisIsolde: Thank you! I plan to take the story at least to the Council of Elrond, and possibly farther -- but I suspect that anything past Rivendell will probably be covered in an Epilogue.

“Thank you” to everyone who so kindly reviewed “Maybe it’s the Accent” -- a bit of lighthearted Pippin-fun!

sabercrazy, you were the 1000th reviewer of “By Chance or Purpose”. (Holy smokes!) I thank you -- but more importantly (to you), Aragorn and the twins thank you!

I hope all of you know how much your support and encouragement mean to me. I can’t really do anything to say ‘thank you’ more than continuing to craft the best stories I can. I write these stories for you folks, and you folks keep me writing.

I have to say that I was a bit nervous about Chapter 18. I’m trying to reconcile two seemingly contradictory statements in FOTR. One is that Gandalf told Frodo, “A few more hours, and you would have been beyond our aid” -- but on the other hand, it took three days for Elrond to find the shard and Frodo to begin to recover. Hopefully my idea about Elrond and Gandalf using their rings on Frodo just in time (within those “few hours”), and then the fading taking several days, makes sense somehow!

This is a sequel to my story “Quarantined”, in which Aragorn and Gandalf first met Frodo and Samwise when Frodo was 22 and Sam was 11. Frodo and Aragorn strongly bonded and became fast friends in a very short period of time, during a serious illness and subsequent adventure. As this story begins, it has been 15 years since they last saw each other (when Frodo was 35). This new story assumes familiarity with “Quarantined” and will contain many references to it, but I am hopeful that it can also stand on its own.

PLEASE NOTE: I am not a medical professional and do not claim to be. This is a work of fiction. No medical treatment or description of illness or injury in this story should be taken as anything more than the author’s own opinions and plot devices.

DISCLAIMER: Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

It was quiet, and he was laying on something soft, and his head hurt. At first, that was all Merry was aware of. He groaned and reached up to his forehead, but felt only a thick, moist cloth. Confused, he opened his eyes and found himself in a bed, in a room lit only by a number of large candles. Looking down at him was an unfamiliar person with kind, wise eyes.

“You are safe,” the Elf said softly. He sat carefully on the bed and removed the cloth from the hobbit’s bruise, replacing it with a fresh one. “You were injured at the Ford, and Aragorn brought you here, along with your friends.”

“I was injured?” Merry couldn’t remember anything past his fear that Strider was about to be trampled to death. There had been no way to help Frodo, but at least he could…

“Frodo!” Merry tried to sit up, but gentle hands eased him back down. He closed his eyes for a moment, dizzy, then opened them. “Please sir, tell me what’s happened.”

“Frodo is here,” the Elf said softly, pointing to the next bed. Merry turned his head, and could just see Frodo lying nearby, Sam curled up at his side. “He is not yet out of danger, but I believe we will be able to help him. Your young cousin is asleep, and Aragorn is also resting. It is several hours since you were brought in.” He smiled at the hobbit. “I have heard from Glorfindel how you saved my son’s life, Meriadoc.”

“It is. You and your companions have had a long and difficult journey, but there is nothing more to fear, at present.”

“I’m honored to meet you, sir. Please call me Merry.” Merry frowned. “How was I injured? Something… hit me?”

“Yes,” Elrond nodded. “You were struck by the hoof of one of the wraiths’ horses. You should feel better by morning, but it may take a day or two for the headache to fade altogether.”

“Fade…” Merry felt tears springing to his eyes. “Strider said Frodo might… that the wraiths were waiting for him to…”

“Merry,” Elrond said firmly, “the wraiths are gone, at least for now.” He took one of the hobbit’s hands in his large one and clasped it gently. “Frodo will not fade if it is within my power to aid him. There are measures we have already taken, and others that will be attempted soon. Do not let your heart be troubled.” He picked up a cup from the table next to the bed. “You must sleep again, but first, this drink will give you some nourishment.”

Elrond slid one hand behind Merry’s head and raised it slightly. He held a cup to the hobbit’s lips, giving him the same sweet, healthful drink Pippin had enjoyed earlier, mixed with an herbal powder to ease pain.

Merry finished the cupful and lay back, growing drowsy again. “Thank you. I can’t believe we finally got here. We would never have made it, if not for Strider.”

Elrond smiled. “Pippin called him ‘Strider’ as well. An odd name, but I see that you have learned to trust him, as he has learned to trust you.”

“I know he’s not just a Ranger,” Merry declared suddenly. “He can’t be.”

Elrond touched his fingers to the hobbit’s brow. “There are many aspects to each of us -- to you, as well, Merry.”

“It’s more than that,” Merry insisted. He was suddenly finding it hard to stay awake. “I overheard Glorfindel say… things… and the healing plant, and his… grandfather was…”

Merry sighed, his eyes closing. “There’s something special… about him…”

Elrond sat for a moment, gazing thoughtfully at Merry’s face. When his charge was once more asleep, he rose gracefully to his feet and moved to the window through which he could see the glittering stars.

Pippin opened his eyes to a room awash in bright, late-afternoon sunlight. He lay in a large, soft bed, and Aragorn was sitting next to him. He yawned and sat up slowly, amazed by the Ranger’s appearance. The Man was dressed in clean, well-fitting clothes, his hair washed and his facial hair neatly trimmed.

Aragorn laughed. “It’s time for you to clean up as well, Master Took -- you’ve slept nearly around the clock. Are you ready for a nice long bath, and a meal fit for a hobbit?”

“Oh yes,” Pippin sighed. “I could eat a---” He suddenly gasped and looked around at the unfamiliar room. His wondering gaze took in lush plants and sculptures, and a high, carved ceiling. The air was warm, and he heard the faint sound of distant waterfalls and fountains, and birds singing. “Where am I? Where’s Merry?”

“This is your room,” Aragorn explained. “Elrond’s House has two levels, and most of the bedrooms -- and the healing rooms -- are here, on the upper level. I know hobbits are more comfortable closer to the ground, but perhaps you can endure this arrangement as long as you’re here.” He took Pippin’s hand. “Merry has been given his own room as well,” he said gently, “just down the hall. He is much better, Pippin, but Elrond insists he rest quietly today. He’s been able to eat a bit, and is getting a drink that helps dull the pain and allows him to rest.” He smiled. “Your cousin was quite mortified to discover that he had been bathed while he slept.”

“He’s alive,” Aragorn reassured him. “He’s still unconscious, but Elrond is doing everything he can for him. It may be another few days before he begins to improve, so try not to be too impatient or worried. We’re watching him very closely; there is always someone with him.”

“Indeed,” Aragorn chuckled. He had hoped the youngster wouldn’t ask any questions about Frodo’s condition that he would rather not answer. “We could barely persuade Samwise to bathe and eat, before he was back in Frodo’s room, where he has insisted on remaining.” He smiled. “He is so amazed to be in a houseful of Elves, he hasn’t stopped asking questions for a moment. Elladan and Elrohir are quite taken with him -- they have only known one other hobbit before in their lives, and a scholarly and quiet one, at that.”

Pippin frowned. “Strider, yesterday I heard Elladan call you ‘my brother’.”

“We are brothers,” Aragorn explained. “Elrond helped raise me, and his sons have been my brothers ever since I can remember.” He pointed to a doorway. “But enough talk. Through that door is a tub filled with hot water, plenty of towels, and soap; I don’t want to see you again until every bit of dirt is scrubbed away.”

“Bath first, food second,” Aragorn said firmly. “Believe me, it’ll be worth the wait.” He pulled over a pile of clothing that had been laid out on the bed. “Perhaps you can wear these until your own clothes are cleaned.”

Pippin picked up a tunic. It was very soft, and beautifully made -- and looked as if it would fit him. “Are these Elf clothes?”

“They are very, very old,” Aragorn laughed. “It was---” He suddenly found his arms full of hobbit, small arms wrapped around his neck.

Aragorn sighed and held the youngster close for a long moment. “You are quite welcome.”

“Strider…” Pippin pulled away and looked at the Ranger in alarm. “Are Gandalf and Elrond angry with me?”

“No.” Aragorn chuckled at how quickly the youngster’s thoughts flew from one thing to another. “After they got over the shock of a tweenaged hobbit accosting his host, I suspect they were both quite impressed. Gandalf has said that you have given him much to think about, whatever that means.”

“Good.” Pippin frowned at the mess his dirty feet had made on the blankets. “I hope there’s a lot of soap in Rivendell.”

“There is,” came a teasing voice from the room’s open door, “and we will bring as much as you need.” One of the dark-haired twins stepped into the room and smiled at Pippin. “You may not remember me from yesterday, young one. I am Elladan.”

As ordered, Pippin scrubbed and scrubbed, only climbing out of the luxurious bath when tantalizing smells from somewhere started to make his stomach growl. He dried his hair as best he could, pulled on the clean clothes, and left his dirty ones on a chair. Returning to the bedroom, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Arrayed on a table in the middle of the room was a dinner of roast fowl and baked fish, fresh, fragrant breads, new butter, whipped potatoes, steamed vegetables (some of which he didn’t recognize), one bowl of large, ripe raspberries, and another of crisp apples. Elladan put down the last plate he was carrying, a platter of cakes, and smiled at the hobbit.

“I am glad to see that the garments fit you, Peregrin. May I sit with you while you eat, and tell you something of our House?”

For nearly an hour Pippin ate steadily and listened to Elladan tell him about Rivendell, the layout of the House, and (most importantly) the hours and locations of meals. He finally sat back and surveyed what was left of the food (a few vegetables and one cake, to be exact).

“I can’t remember the last time I could eat as much as I wanted,” Pippin sighed. He took another sip from his cup, which Elladan had filled with the same fragrant, golden draught that Gildor had given them back in the Shire, a month before.

“We have heard something of your journey,” Elladan said, deeply impressed by the amount of food the hobbit had consumed. “Perhaps you would be willing to tell us about it some evening?”

“I’d be glad to,” Pippin said, “although I suspect it will take more than one evening. Elladan…” he asked, suddenly remembering where he was and why, “would you show me where the others are?”

“Of course.” The Elf rose to his feet and smiled down at the hobbit. “Our home is yours for as long as you dwell here, Pippin. Allow me to show you around a bit.”

Pippin entered the room Elladan had pointed out as Merry’s, and walked quietly over to the bed. There was a small cloth wrapped about his cousin’s forehead, and he appeared to be asleep.

Merry opened one eye and grinned at his cousin. “So they finally cleaned you up, eh? I’ll bet it took a dozen of those Elves to hold you down long enough.”

“Only a half dozen,” Pippin said pertly. “How do you feel? You look a little pale.”

“Not too bad.” Merry looked appraisingly at Pippin’s green tunic and light tan breeches. “You look good in that. It makes your eyes look even greener, somehow.”

“Hmmph.” Pippin hoisted himself up onto the bed and sat next to Merry. “And what are you wearing?”

Merry pushed down the blanket to reveal a gold tunic and grey breeches. “From Elrohir,” he said. “Pip, can you imagine how old these are? They look and feel brand new.”

“I know,” Pippin agreed. “The place is just crackling with ‘Elf magic’, as Sam would say. I wonder whose clothes he got?”

“Speaking of Sam,” Merry said, suddenly serious, “would you go see how Frodo’s doing, and come back and tell me? I tried to sneak over there, but Glorfindel caught me and said that ‘Lord Elrond wishes you to remain in bed today.’” He sighed. “It’s just a teensy headache, after all.”

“All right.” Pippin slid off the bed. “But Strider said there wouldn’t be any change for a few days.”

Pippin smiled and left the room. He could tell that Merry had more than a ‘teensy’ headache, and he doubted his cousin would still be awake when he returned. Elladan had taken him on a brief tour of the upper level of the House, although there were so many corridors and rooms thatPippin knew he’d have to explore the place for weeks before getting it all straight. Making his way to the largest of what Elladan had called the ‘healing rooms’, he peeked through the door, relieved that Elrond was nowhere in sight. Gandalf sat talking quietly with Sam.

“Awake at last, eh?” Gandalf rose from his chair and walked towards Pippin. “We hardly had time for a proper greeting last night, Master Took.” He crouched down and smiled, and Pippin ran forward and threw his arms around the wizard’s neck.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Gandalf,” Pippin sighed. “Where were you?”

“I was delayed,” the wizard said gravely. “It is a very long tale.” He smiled at the young hobbit. “Sam has been telling me about your journey. You acquitted yourself very well, youngster.”

But Pippin was no longer listening. He could see, past the wizard’s shoulder, Frodo laying on one of the beds, and his eyes filled with tears. He broke free from Gandalf’s embrace and slowly approached the bed. Frodo lay pale and still, and seemed to be breathing very, very slowly.

“Don’t fret so, Mr. Pippin,” Sam reassured him, although his eyes were troubled. “He looks dreadful, I know, but he’s alive, and Gandalf and Mr. Elrond say that they may have to wait a few days to help him more. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

Pippin grasped Frodo’s right hand and kissed it, then saw the Ring. It had been strung on a silver chain and lay about Frodo’s neck. The chain was thin, but beautifully made, and it sparkled.

“From me,” came Aragorn’s voice. He turned to see the Ranger in the doorway, his hand resting gently on the shoulder of an elderly hobbit beside him. To Pippin, the hobbit looked frail and tense, and vaguely familiar. It could only be…

“Samwise Gamgee,” Bilbo said, “and young Pippin, is it? I’m sure you have quite a tale to tell.”

While Bilbo was distracted by the younger hobbits, Gandalf hastily pulled Frodo’s blanket up to his chin, covering the Ring. It had been 17 years since Bilbo had seen it -- not long enough, the wizard thought grimly. Not nearly long enough.

Aelimir: It’s so fascinating how each author has their own ‘vision’ of how Elrond healed Frodo, and can contribute something different about it.

Aemilia Rose and Aratlithiel1 and Coriandra and Rosa Cotton: Thank you so much for appreciating my rather unorthodox ideas in Chapter 18! I’ve had this idea about how Elrond would slow Frodo’s ‘fading’, and find the shard, since I started thinking about the story back in May.

Aiko-chan: I’m so happy you’re enjoying ‘my’ Pippin! He’s wonderfully fun to write, and what he comes up with is as surprising to me as anyone. Much more Pippinness to come! I can’t tell you how much pleasure I get reading your every squeal and whimper and giggle. (Oh gosh, I can’t watch those operations on the Discovery Channel or TLC either!) And oh, your review of “Maybe it’s the Accent” just left me weak with laughter!

Ailsa Joy: It is always interesting for the Elves to ‘see’ their home through fresh (hobbity) eyes!

Altariel: There may be quite a bit omitted from the books, but that gives the fanfic authors a great deal to work with. I don’t think we’ll ever completely finishing telling this wonderful Tale that Prof. Tolkien crafted for us.

alysha-sedai: Wow, my imaginary, magical lawn has never looked better! Prof. Tolkien didn’t write anything about how Elrond cured Frodo, only that on the third night, he “found a splinter” and removed it. We authors get to use our imaginations on this whole part of the Tale, and I thank you for enjoying my strange idea!

aprilkat and Grand Theft Author Otaku and MarigoldG and Samwise the Strong: I felt that Pippin would defend Frodo as long as he was conscious! (I adore that part of ROTK, when the hobbits are on the Road back to the Shire, and it’s Pippin who pulls his sword on the Shirriff who’s being disrespectful to Frodo.)

AshNight2 and Hai: As long as you see “TBC” at the bottom of the page, it’s not over! And I’m so glad you enjoyed Pippin’s very important moment.

Baylor: Thank you for all your comments. I always thought it odd that Frodo still had the Ring when he awakened, so I thought it might be a different “take” on things if it had been Pippin’s idea! And I’m so glad you liked Sam’s choice of words to Gandalf, and the ending of the chapter. Chapter endings are very important to me.

Belothien: You love Elves so much! What a surprise! (Aw, I love my new title -- I’ll wear it with pride.) And mmmm, cookies……

Bookworm2000: I would never have started this story in the first place if I hadn’t felt that I had something original to contribute. It’s such a relief when my rather odd notions (such as how the Elves can walk atop the snow, why the Nazgûl don’t like fire, and how Elrond might choose to find the shard) seem logical to folks.

Budgielover: Whew! Isn’t it truly astonishing how many ways there are to tell the same story? I just can’t get over it. Hopefully this chapter will begin to release the tension that’s been built up. I don’t want to exhaust you any further -- you need energy to write!

Cantora: My first review from the Halls of Mandos! Wow. Say hi to everyone for me, and hopefully this chapter will reach you… somehow…

Elwen: Yes, you know that I would never kill a hobbit… but I’m glad you’re on the edge of your seat anyway!

endymion2: Pippin felt that after everything Frodo went through to keep the Ring away from everyone and everything, no one was just going to take it without his (Frodo’s) permission!

Erisinia Gazelle: “Merry was a bit too unconscious to be interesting…” *snort!* (At least I could give you ‘Ro and ‘Dan (I love those nicknames!), and other conscious folk to enjoy!)

Firnsarnien and Fliewatuet: I’m glad you like the inclusion of the twins! It just seems natural for them to be there.

Gentle Hobbit: Elrond is taking a dangerous chance -- but the only one he thinks is available for him to take.

GirlsDontCri and Insane Pineapple from Naboo and Mysterious Jedi: You’re already hinting about a sequel to this sequel! I’ll have to wait and see, at the end of this story, if there’s more I need to say, and if I have an original ‘vision’ for a continuation of this tale. If not… I certainly have other story ideas just waiting for me to have time to write them!

GreyLadyBast: Glad you’re still enjoying the story! If scrolling past the Author Notes is getting a bit much, when I post to storiesofarda.com I put the “responses” at the end of the chapter. That might be a more comfortable place for you to read it. I always liked the concept of honoring an actor by putting their name “above the title” on a theatre marquee, and I’m proud to put my wonderful supporters and encouragers “above the title”, too.

Hobbit Lily Baggins: I wasn’t thinking of the “glass filled with a clear light” quote when I thought of Elrond’s idea of how to help Frodo, but that is one of my favorite lines in the Trilogy. Oh, exhausted but courageous Pippin! Hobbits can always manage to surprise us…

Ivy: You just can’t wait for more “fluff”! There’s a bit in this chapter, just to get things going again.

Kit5: I think they came very close to “losing” Frodo; what a horrid thing to imagine.

Lady Eleclya: Pippin is cute when he’s mad, and he’s cute when he’s not mad! He’s just… cute.

LadyElenmiruial: Oh, I’m so happy you’re enjoying this sequel! I appreciate your wonderful comments so very much. With every story I write, I’m hopefully learning more about giving the characters a separate personality, while at the same time showing a growing, unbreakable bond between them and, somehow, the elusive ‘chemistry’. The hobbits are certainly ‘real’ to me, and I’m so gratified to know that I’m able to write them that way for others. Thank you so much.

Lady Jaina: Ah yes, wizards are “quick to anger”, aren’t they? I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of Gandalf’s wrath. And oh, I could never write about hurts and weariness without a lot of rest and comfort to go along with it!

Lady Sandry: You’re bouncing! I must be doing something right! And you’re correct -- the events during these initial days in Rivendell are wide open for interpretation.

Lady Wind: I certainly remember how time-consuming college can be! I appreciate you taking the time to check in on my story when you can.

LilyBaggins: Sorry that Frodo’s not going to be conscious and cuddled just yet, but hang in there! Yes, let the healing begin… for everyone.

Little Mouse: I agree completely that Pippin is much more than he knows -- with a potential and depth that is brought out during these dire events. It follows along from Bilbo’s line in Chapter 9 of “Quarantined” that “in an emergency, in a crisis, when you least expect it… that’s when the true nature of a hobbit is often revealed.”

MagicalRachel: I love squee’s! (I accept on Pippin’s behalf.) Oh Rach… if LOTR is fantasy, then we need more fantasy in this world. If it’s fantasy, that is.

Master Elora Dannan: I don’t know, yet, how many more chapters there will be! At this point, I plan to take the story to the Council, and probably slightly farther.

Meethrill: Thank you, sweetie! I was nearly buried in your cookies! A good number of them have strangely disappeared, however… need more milk… (And thank you for your kind words about “Belts of Silver, Leaves of Gold”!)

Michelle Frodo: I didn’t think about Chapter 18 as “a bedtime story,” but everyone was asleep by the end, weren’t they?!!

Nilmandra: I do love my hobbits, but it’s so fascinating to try to figure out Elves, as well. (And I’m not sure if Pippin was fearless in front of Elrond, or just too tired to care who Elrond was! A little of both, I think, with his courageous heart overruling his sleepiness.) This story is pulling me into new areas, such as thinking about Celebrimbor’s rings. Very, very interesting.

Pearl Took: Thanks, Pearl! A lot of ideas I’ve had since the story began all ended up in this chapter somehow. But poor tired Pippin riding with Elladan -- I think that was all Pip’s idea!

QTPie-2488: I, too, am fascinated by how many ways there are to tell this part of the story. Each author adds something new to this unending Tale.

sabercrazy: My thousandth (holy smokes) reviewer! I can’t let you sneak into Aragorn’s room too often, but well… I think that one time might have gone unnoticed…

SapphireMeriadocTook: Your Pippin, is he? Can I borrow him now and then? The idea for the ‘healing’ just came to me when I was trying to figure out what took Elrond so long to find the shard. I seem to need to come up with logical reasons for things.

ScifiRogue: I gave my mom your mom’s high-five! (And the only way in which Frodo has weakened is physically, which is someone over which he has no control. I’ve tried hard to show that his strength, spirit, and mind never faltered for more than an instant.)

Shy: I’m glad the “bond” between all these folks is coming across, because I think it’s very, very important. And thank you again for your comments on so many of my stories! What a thrill to receive them.

Silver Mearas: Many thanks for the congrats (and for your wonderful e-mail)! This is a mind-boggling number of reviews, let me tell you. And you’re enjoying ‘my’ Pippin! Yay! I was inspired by the part in ROTK where Pippin, the ‘King’s messenger,’ defends Frodo on the road.

Singing Wolf: I thought that, by now, Aragorn had certainly earned everyone’s trust, including Pippin’s. And this incident would show Elrond and Gandalf how much this group has bonded.

Strider’s Girl: We have four very different hobbits, here, indeed. I’m glad they’re coming across as separate people.

Notes for Chapter 20: For those who haven’t read “Quarantined”, this chapter references Chapter 11. Several lines in this chapter are taken directly from “The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

I’d love to take credit for warm, cuddly phrases like “arms full of hobbit”, but this is just one example of the influence on my writing of the Frodo-comfort stories of Frodo Baggins of Bag End (Febobe) and LilyBaggins. (bows deeply to both of them)

“And then Cousin Bilbo came in,” Pippin said, a bit out of breath from his narrative. “He’s ever so much older than I remember, Merry.”

“I know. He came to see me a little while ago, and I was really surprised. But Pip…” Merry thought about it. “…he is 128, after all. It’s kind of amazing, if you think about it. Great-great grandfather Gerontius lived to be 130, and he was the oldest hobbit anyone’s ever known about.”

“That’s true,” Pippin answered. He lay on Merry’s big bed, still filling his cousin in on everything that had happened in the past few hours.

“This is an enormous place,” Pippin continued. “I think a lot of Elves live here, but this ‘House’ is so huge and complicated, you hardly see anyone about.”

“Maybe Elrond is keeping most of them away from this area,” Merry said thoughtfully. “The Ring is still a secret, I suppose.”

“It sure is,” Pippin agreed. “Gandalf wouldn’t let Bilbo see that Frodo was wearing it.”

“Around his neck,” Pippin hastened to explain. “It’s on a chain that belonged to Strider’s mother. He called it an ‘heirloom of his house’, one of the gifts his father gave to his mother on their wedding day. It’s really beautiful; Strider said that it’s one of the few things remaining of that land he told us about -- the one that was drowned in the Western Seas.”

“Oh!” Pippin suddenly sat straight up. “And the most amazing thing happened, Mer! We were all in the middle of talking about… oh, everthing except the Ring, I guess, because Gandalf didn’t seem to want us to talk about it in front of Bilbo, maybe because---”

“Peregrin Took, what was the amazing thing that happened?” Merry asked in exasperation.

Pippin took a deep breath, his green eyes reflecting the starlight coming in through the window. “A lady came in. You have never, ever, in your entire life seen such a beautiful lady,” he said reverently. “I couldn’t believe my eyes, and neither could Sam. And guess what?” Pippin got so excited he nearly started bouncing, but remembered just in time that Merry still had a headache. “It’s the lady Strider’s in love with! Her name’s Arwen, and she’s so…” He sighed. “She’s really beautiful.”

“Meriadoc,” Pippin said frostily, “wait until you see her. Sam nearly passed out, I think.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder how old she is.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Pippin said with deep regret. “The way she and Strider were looking at each other, well… it was like there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Or the world. Strider suddenly looked so different, all of a sudden… But Mer, guess who she is? She’s Elladan and Elrohir’s sister. She’s Elrond’s daughter! It’s like Strider’s betrothed to a princess or something!”

“Sam refuses to leave Frodo’s room, even though Strider and Gandalf say he won’t wake up for a few more days, maybe,” Pippin continued. “Bilbo sat with us for an hour or so, but then he got sleepy and Elrohir took him back to his room, wherever that is; I think Bilbo lives downstairs somewhere. I don’t think he’s been told exactly what happened to Frodo, just little bits and pieces. Here, you’re supposed to keep drinking this stuff.”

Pippin leaned over Merry and grabbed a cup from the bedside table. Merry obediently took a few sips of the pain-reducing potion any time it was offered, which told Pippin a great deal.

“A little,” Merry admitted, “but I’m fine, Pip, truly. What’s a headache, after all? Think about everything Frodo went through these past weeks; did you ever hear him complain? Even once?”

“You can complain to me if you want to,” Pippin said softly. “You know you can.”

“I know.” Merry pressed Pippin’s hand. He was starting to feel drowsy, but still had questions.

“I think they were Strider’s; they’re really nice. Arwen…” Pippin sighed again at the thought of her. “…Arwen said that Frodo will have new clothes to wear when he wakes up. She must like to sew.” He fussed a bit with Merry’s blankets, even though the room wasn’t cold. “Are you getting enough to eat?”

“I wish I was hungry enough to eat all the food these Elves have been trying to feed me,” Merry grumbled.

“You’ll be nearly as good as new tomorrow, I know you will,” Pippin reassured him. “And as soon as you’re allowed up, I’ll show you around a little.”

“Merry? Pippin?” Elladan stood in the doorway. “Do either of you need anything this night?”

“You seem to have no difficulty telling me apart from Elrohir,” the Elf said with a smile at the young hobbit. “It usually takes more time than this.”

“It’s easy,” Pippin said promptly. “You wear lots of blue and brown things, and Elrohir likes rust and gold.” He couldn’t resist. “Neither of you wears much green, do you?”

“No,” Elladan replied. “I used to wear quite a bit of green, but then…” He suddenly frowned, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “So that’s it.”

“Nothing.” The Elf slowly smiled, then began to chuckle softly. “I believe I will have a word with Aragorn before bed. Goodnight.” He bowed and left the room, but not before hearing the hobbits’ muffled giggles.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Pippin sniffed. They talked a bit more, but Pippin could see that Merry was getting sleepy again. He didn’t want to go back to his own room just yet, where everything was so big and unfamiliar… he looked at Merry hopefully. “Maybe I’ll stay here with you tonight and keep you company, in case you have a nightmare, or need to talk, or---”

Merry smiled to himself. Pippin could fool a lot of people, but never him. He suspected that his young cousin was feeling overwhelmed, and it was he who needed the company.

“Thanks,” Merry replied, “that would be great.” Pippin lay down, curling up next to him, and Merry felt a small hand seeking out his.

Pippin found Merry in what had become their favorite place -- indeed, a favorite place for many -- the grand porch on the east side of the House. It lent a view of the high mountains, and the air was filled with a sweet fragrance from the many gardens and the sound of waterfalls near and distant. The evening’s shadows darkened the valley beyond, and a few stars had begun to twinkle in the clear skies above them.

“What are you doing out here all alone, Meriadoc?” asked Pippin. He plunked down on the luxuriously padded bench beside his cousin, who seemed lost in thought. “It’s nearly suppertime!”

“I was just talking with Gandalf,” Merry said. “Pip, did you know that the Rangers are the last remnant in the North of the great people, the Men of the West? Gandalf called them ‘the race of the Kings from over the Sea.’”

”I don’t know,” Merry frowned. “We were talking, and then he got a strange look in his eyes and hurried away.”

“I know that look, Peregrin,” Merry said in mock alarm. “Are you up to something we’ll regret?”

Pipipn sighed. “I’m not always planning mischief, you know.” He looked at Merry, his eyes sparkling. “I think that we should learn Elvish.”

”Think about it,” Pippin explained. “Even after Frodo’s better, he’s going to want to stay here awhile and spend time with Cousin Bilbo. A lot of the Elves can speak with us, but a lot of them can’t. Don’t you want to talk with everyone? Don’t you want to know everything about everyone?”

“Tooks are insatiable,” Merry sighed. He grinned suddenly. “Rivendell would never be the same. Elvish with a Tookland accent will have to be heard to be believed.”

“I agree,” Aragorn said, coming around the corner of the porch towards them. “Even Westron with a Tookland accent has to be heard to be believed.”

“That does sound interesting.” Aragorn smiled at Pippin. “And how do you know about Dúnadan?”

“That’s what Cousin Bilbo calls you,” Pippin replied, “and some of the Elves do, as well. Is there no end to the names you have?”

“Strider is still fine, you two,” Aragorn chuckled. He came to stand in front of Merry, and placed his hands over his heart. “Meriadoc?”

“I owe you my life, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Aragorn said gravely. “I have not had the opportunity, until now, to thank you properly. I am in your debt, and at your service.” With that, he bowed deeply.

Merry stared at the Man, astonished. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, and finally he closed it again, still speechless. Pippin was grinning from ear to ear.

“Shall we speak of other things?” Aragorn asked, seeing the hobbit’s discomfort.

“Very well.” Aragorn joined the hobbits on the bench. “What shall we talk about?”

”Frodo,” Merry said promptly. “No one will tell us anything specific. I want to know what everyone’s waiting for! Why hasn’t Elrond or someone cut that evil thing out of his shoulder? It’s been days, and…” Suddenly he gasped and turned ashen.

Merry stared at Aragorn in terrible comprehension. “Which of you is going to be the one to kill him?” he blurted out.

“Merry!” Aragorn grabbed the hobbit’s suddenly-cold hands and held them tightly. “Merry, no! No one is planning to kill Frodo.”

“You are,” Merry said wildly. “You can’t help him, and he’s fading, like you said, and he’ll become a wraith and disappear and take the Ring, but before it happens… one of you will… will have to…”

“Merry, calm yourself and listen to me,” Aragorn said firmly. “Elrond believes that Frodo can be cured, but he’s waiting for just the right moment to take further action. He doesn’t want to cut into Frodo until he perceives exactly where the shard lies, and he has told me that soon he will know.”

Now it was Aragorn’s turn to be speechless. After a long silence, he slowly nodded.

Merry slowly relaxed. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You love him,” Aragorn said gently. “We all do, Merry, but he could not be in better hands.”

“Strider,” said Merry suddenly, remembering his conversation with Gandalf, “did you know we have a saying in the Shire, ‘until the King comes back’?”

“I heard Frodo use it once,” Aragorn replied carefully, “many years ago.”

“It’s just a saying no one ever thinks twice about,” Merry continued, “but recently I’ve been---”

At that moment, all three looked up in amazement at the sight of Elrohir running towards them. Merry and Pippin had seen many Elves over the past few days, but none of them ever seemed to be in any kind of hurry. Until now.

Aragorn stood up as his foster brother approached. Elrohir came to his side and spoke quickly in Elvish, then Aragorn turned to face the hobbits.

“Forgive me, my friends, but I must leave you for a time.” Without another word, the Elf and Ranger swiftly walked back into the House.

“First Gandalf, and now them,” Merry said, shaking his head. “I agree with you, Pip -- we need to learn Elvish.”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Pippin said angrily, “I don’t know what you two were talking about, but Frodo isn’t fading anywhere. He promised me he would never become a wraith. He promised.”

Merry nodded, hiding his deep fear that everyone’s sudden departure could only mean bad news. “You’re right, Pip,” he smiled reassuringly. “He promised.”

As Aragorn stepped into the healing chamber, and Elrohir closed the door behind them, Elrond was speaking with Sam. The hobbit was sitting in one of the big chairs, his knees drawn up to his chin.

“Samwise,” Elrond warned, “you will not speak of anything you see here. We have spoken long together these past days, and I can read your heart, or I would not permit you to stay.”

“I understand, sir,” Sam said firmly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Aragorn sat next to Sam and put an arm around him. The sturdy gardener had dark circles under his eyes, and was pale and trembling slightly. Aragorn wondered how much sleep Sam had allowed himself since that first, exhausted slumber when they all arrived.

“It is,” Gandalf replied from where he stood by the window. “You will be needed, Aragorn, I feel it; you must not leave for any reason.”

Elrond turned back to the bed, Glorfindel at his side. Elrohir and Elladan came to stand near their father, who bent to cleanse Frodo’s shoulder with a cloth that had been soaking in a nearby basin. On a table, surgical instruments, suturing materials, and bandages were assembled.

“There,” Glorfindel said suddenly. Whatever change had taken place Aragorn could not perceive, but there was no question that the moment Elrond had been waiting for had occurred.

“Yes,” Elrond nodded. He picked up a small, sharp knife and bent over Frodo’s still body. “I see it. We must work quickly, before it is too late.”

Aemilia Rose: I gave Merry and Frodo your hug and kiss! (smooched and cuddled hobbits wave at Aemilia)

Aiko-chan: Oh Aiko-chan, should hobbits ever cease to ‘prance through my imagination’, I’ll be very, very sad, This chapter has another Pippin-Merry conversation for you -- hope you like it!

Ailsa Joy: Yes, things can start getting a bit snuggly again, a little at a time.

altariel: All the things Prof. Tolkien didn’t write about give us writers a lot more to have fun with. (You’re enjoying “Firstborn”!!? Thank you! There will be an Epilogue if I ever have time to write it.)

aprilkat: I’m so glad that everyone’s love and concern for Frodo is coming through loud and clear -- if it wasn’t, I’d have to turn in my FrodoHealers membership card for sure!

Ariel3: Ariel, do you feel like a proud parent? I can’t speak for Budgie, but your “Thicker than Blood” and Elwen’s “Tolo dan na ngalad” are, for me, among the ‘source material’ for these four days in Rivendell. It’s just amazing how each author can add one more layer to this endlessly deep Tale. Keeping ‘canon’ as a foundation -- even with all the changes introduced because this is a sequel to “Quarantined” -- is what is making this such a fascinating challenge for me. (And the fact that you continue to recognize canon amidst the changes is very gratifying.)

baggins: Welcome to LOTR fanfiction! I’m so happy you like the story, since everything I write is a true ‘labor of love’. I’m just thrilled to know you’re out there, reading and enjoying.

bast4: Hi, bast! Thank you so much for letting me know that you enjoyed “Quarantined”, and are enjoying this sequel. I really, truly don’t know exactly where/how this story will end, or whether there will be a sequel, soon or in the future. I just don’t know! I take advantage of every bit of spare time I can find to write, and the instant a new chapter is ready, you see it!

Belothien: I made you massively grin??! Yay! I adore your every rambling word!

Bookworm2000 and Hobbit Lily Baggins: Bilbo fans! I didn’t know he had so many!

Camellia Gamgee-Took: I hate headaches, too. I’ve had migraines for 20 years, and they’re truly awful.

cantora: Yes, you were first to review Chapter 19 -- I don’t know how you found it so fast! And another Bilbo fan! I didn’t think too much about him until “Quarantined”, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Coneflower Adams: I’m always open to new story ideas -- the problem is finding time to write them!!

Coriandra: Why did *they* dress Merry? Merry is an adult with great dignity, and I suspect he insisted on dressing! (Does Elladan discover the truth? Maybe in this very chapter? Hmmm…)

Elentari and MagicalRachel: It was about time the story began returning to the ‘snuggliness’ I love so much! It’s incredibly hard for me to write such serious, angsty chapters without much humor or comfort to balance them out.

Elwen and shireling: In such dire circumstances, anytime I see an opportunity to insert some gentleness or comfort, you know I’ll take advantage of it.

endymion2: Ah, but I never said or implied that Bilbo had aged rapidly -- Pippin was only 11 when he saw 111-year-old Bilbo last, and Bilbo has aged 17 more years since then.

Erisinia Gazelle: First of all, and most importantly, cantora says “hello”! Now then. Who knew Elrond could be so cuddly? He’s so dreadfully stern in the movie… well, all right, in the book, too. And look at all the conscious people I’ve given you! Now there’s just one left to wake up…

Firnsarnien: It would make a different type of story if Bilbo saw the Ring prematurely. Check out the wonderful “The Pine Woods Excursion” by LilyBaggins, where that very thing happens. (Oh my, thank you for that amazing review of “Sing Me Home”! After the movie, I may need to read it a few more times myself.)

Gentle Hobbit: Pip was the only hobbit able (or willing) to roam at will in Chapter 19, so nearly everything had to be seen through his eyes. Elvish mothballs! Hee hee. Nope, guess they don’t need ’em.

Hai: “The…blend between being a child and a mature hobbit” is precisely how I see Pippin, and I’m very glad it’s coming across.

hobbitfeet13: Thank you for your kind words! I see Pippin as an almost-adult, irrepressible in his optimism and tweenaged enthusiasm, and that’s how I write him -- I try to always balance his youth and naivete with courage, determination, and a Tookish spirit for adventure. And Círdan gave Gandalf the ring Narya a long, long time before the War of the Ring. From The Silmarillion, speaking of Gandalf: “…not until the time came for him to depart [from the Havens] was it known that he had long guarded the Red Ring of Fire…” When Círdan originally gave Gandalf the ring, he said to him, “…this is the Ring of Fire, and herewith, maybe, thou shalt rekindle hearts to the valour of old in a world that grows chill.”

Ivy: I love how you phrase that, ‘explaining significant mysteries’ -- I do enjoy coming up with possible answers to ‘mysteries’. In the book it wasn’t explained where the new chain came from that held the Ring, only that when Frodo woke up, there it was. I’ve read several clever ideas in fanfiction about the chain’s origin, and I wanted to give my own ‘take’ on it. (BTW, I deeply resent how, in the movies, that chain keeps breaking, when in the book, it’s described as “light but strong.”) And it would make a different type of story if Bilbo saw the Ring prematurely. Check out the wonderful “The Pine Woods Excursion” by LilyBaggins, where that very thing happens.

Kit5: About that line where Merry says that Pip’s eyes looked greener because of what he was wearing -- it just seemed like Merry and Pip would speak lightly and teasingly to each other instead of talking about injuries and fears. Good old resilient hobbits.

Laughing Half Elf: It’s so wonderful to hear from you. To get the creative juices flowing, sometimes it helps to write something very small (like my 100-word “Peregrin Took: Child, Tween, Knight” drabbles or the teensy tiny ficlets in “Maybe it’s the Accent” (since you love Pippin so very much). (If only time could slow for us sometimes!) Pippin sends you hugs and a big smile!

LaurelinsSong: I can’t make any promises about whether there will or won’t be sequel(s) to this sequel, but we all have years of storytelling (and story reading) ahead of us. And it is getting a bit difficult to separate the book-characters from the movie-characters, isn’t it? However I picture the characters now, I’m trying to be true to the spirit of the books; maybe that’s the most important thing. (“And you shall be the Fellowship of the Ring” is my least favorite line as well -- I cringe when I hear it.)

LilyBaggins: I’m racing towards the Frodo-cuddles as fast as I can, Lily! This chapter zooms ahead two whole days.

liptonrm: “A new and interesting interpretation” is exactly what I wanted to bring to this story. Thank you so much.

Lovethosehobbits: I read over the whole story again, and couldn’t find any fictional people in it. Nope.

Michelle Frodo: I love to get them all safe and happy, or at least on their way there! (And bathed and fed and well rested, of course.) I didn’t think of the Twins seeing Merry and Pippin as ‘twins’ themselves -- I love that insight, Michelle! (In the book it wasn’t explained where the new chain came from that held the Ring, only that when Frodo woke up, there it was. I’ve read several clever ideas in fanfiction about the chain’s origin, and I wanted to give my own ‘take’ on it (continued here in Chapter 20). BTW, I deeply resent how, in the movies, that chain keeps breaking, when in the book, it’s described as “light but strong.”)

Nell Marie: Hi, Nell! It’s wonderful to hear from you whenever you’re able to pop in and say hello.

Nilmandra: That’s it, exactly! I don’t think of Pippin as ‘comic relief’, as some do, but as an unquenchable, resilient, curious tweenager in a strange, new world. (I consider “resilience” to be one of the many inspiring themes of LOTR.)

Rosa Cotton: I will certainly write about Frodo’s awakening (and much more), but I haven’t yet decided who will be there in the room with him -- that scene will have to be true to wherever the story has taken us, to that point. I agree that my story departs from ‘canon’ most profoundly in that the characters are more informal with each other; however, based on “Quarantined”, I feel that the dialogue and actions ring true.

Shy: I knew if there was one thing I had to accomplish in this story, it would be getting Aragorn and all the hobbits bonded tightly -- I’m glad it worked! As for your question -- I know a lot of authors write their entire story and then post it chapter-by-chapter, or at least outline the whole story and know exactly where it will end, but I don’t do either of those things. Although I have some ideas about future scenes or bits of dialogue, each chapter is pretty well a mystery to me until I write it. I honestly don’t know exactly where this story will end; I’ll write until I’ve said everything I have to say.

Silver Mearas: I couldn’t wait until we got back to a part of the story where some of the tension could be relieved. Whew!

Strider’s Girl: I appreciate your words very much, especially since I’m still unsure of my characterization of Elves. They’re not nearly as “hasty” as hobbits!

Taraisilwen: Great to hear from you! Merry is smart, although the movie doesn’t really show it. And Pippin and Bilbo are definitely cousins -- Pip’s great-grandfather Hildigrim Took was the brother of Belladonna Took, Bilbo’s mother. (See: ROTK Appendices/Took family tree.)

TTTurtle: All the things Prof. Tolkien didn’t write about give us writers a lot more to have fun with!

Responses to reviews are located at the end of the chapter.

Just before I posted Chapter 20, I mentioned to my mom that folks would be impatient with a cliffhanger. She looked at me in confusion and asked, “But... don’t they know what’s going to happen?” I can’t thank all of you enough for continuing to read, even though you *do* know what’s going to happen (more or less)!

I’ve received several e-mails asking why it sometimes takes Fanfiction.net 5-6 hours to ‘show’ chapters of BCOP; regretfully, this is out of my control. Each and every time I post anything, whether for this story or another, I get an error message. I’ve sent two e-mails to ff.net, which have gone unanswered, so this problem will probably persist indefinitely. However, here’s a tip to view anyone’s “hidden” chapter before it “shows up”: If you know there’s a new chapter of a story and can’t access it, pull up the most recent chapter, replace that chapter number in the URL with the “new” chapter number you’re trying to access, and hit ‘enter’. If the chapter exists, you’ll be able to see it.

Notes for Chapter 21: This chapter references “Quarantined” Chapter 5 (the end) and Chapter 8 (the second half).

BY CHANCE OR PURPOSE

Chapter 21 --- A Thousand Stars

October 23

Elrohir lifted Frodo’s head slightly and removed the pillow, laying him back down gently so that the hobbit was laying perfectly flat. He pushed the chain aside, without touching the Ring, until the band of gold fell away from the small chest. Meanwhile, Elladan was lighting a number of lamps, arranging them at intervals about the bed so that the small body was bathed in light. When all was in readiness, Elrond positioned the knife at what looked to Sam to be the area between Frodo’s left shoulder and his heart, and began to cut.

Elrond cut deeper, then deeper still, his expression grave and intense. With every movement of the Elf-lord’s knife, Sam shuddered and pressed back harder against Aragorn, as if he was feeling each cut. He wished he could understand what Elrond and Glorfindel were saying to each other, but the words were in Elvish, and whisper-quiet.

There was almost no bleeding, but Elrond had not expected much. Vilya’s power had slowed Frodo’s body functions to such a degree that the flesh and muscle were slow to react to the ever-deepening incision.

All at once the two Elf-lords stopped talking, and Elrond withdrew the knife and set it aside. Elrohir handed him a pair of small, precise tongs, and Elrond slid the instrument deeply into the incision. He stopped, his expression intense and focused, and Sam found that he was holding his breath.

With a sudden, quick motion, Elrond pulled the tongs out of the incision to reveal something small and black dangling from it. Gandalf instantly moved to his side, and held out his right hand. Elrond’s gaze met the wizard’s for a long moment before he released the shard into the wizard’s open palm. Gandalf quickly turned and walked out onto the balcony through doors that Glorfindel had flung open. A sudden flash of light, as intensely bright as the sun, flared for a moment, and then faded. Gandalf returned, his hands now empty, and nodded once to Elrond.

“It is gone,” Gandalf said, his expression grave. “Let us hope that no lingering evil remains within the wound.”

Elrond swabbed the deep incision with a cleansing herbal solution, then began suturing. The needle, and the fiber threaded through it, were both so fine that Sam could scarcely perceive that the Elf-lord was holding anything at all. Elrond completed his work and dropped the needle into the basin, then very gently pressed a soft pad of cloth to the sutured wound. Glorfindel assisted him in winding a long strip of cloth about Frodo’s chest to keep the bandage in place.

“And now,” Elrond whispered, “let time resume its proper shape.”

The Elf-lord lay his right hand on Frodo’s chest and closed his eyes. Slowly, carefully, Elrond channeled Vilya’s energy to reverse what he had done three nights before -- to now bring Frodo’s body functions back into a normal rhythm, with time once again resuming its pace. A gentle, blue-white light emanated from his hand and radiated outward, enveloping Frodo in its radiance. One minute passed in silence, then two. Finally the glow faded, and Elrond moved his hand up to Frodo’s face and concentrated intently.

Sam was overjoyed to see Frodo’s breathing change from being so frighteningly slow to a normal rhythm, but the Elf-lord’s sudden frown froze his heart.

“What is it?” Glorfindel asked.

“I cannot sense him,” Elrond murmured. “The Shadow drew him so far away, I can’t… seem to…” He frowned harder. “Where is he?”

“Were we too late?” Gandalf asked, alarmed. “Perhaps I can---”

Aragorn abruptly stood up and moved quickly to the bed, then sat next to Frodo. As if in a trance, he grasped the hobbit’s right hand in his own, and pressed his left to Frodo’s brow. Elrond moved back, and for Aragorn, the room, Rivendell, and Middle-earth itself faded away as he called out into the darkness.

Frodo.

Frodo!

A name. Was it his?

Hear me, little one! You must come back to us, now.

Something parted the frozen, black void that had swallowed all awareness, all hope. A warm, gentle light shone in the darkness. A star, then two…

Can you hear me? Frodo Baggins, come back!

A voice, familiar yet commanding, triggered a cascade of images, memories, awareness…

Follow my voice, Frodo.

Estel?

Frodo, you must try very hard to reach me. Reach out and… ah, I’ve got you.

Don’t let me go… oh, I was so very far away! I forgot… don’t let me forget again…

I’ve got you. Come back…

Frodo felt someone gather up his fragments of self and it was warm and… oh! a thousand stars suddenly blazed around him, dissolving the darkness. So bright… where are we?

“We are in Rivendell, Frodo, and Lord Elrond has eased your hurt. You’re getting well.

Elrond watched thoughtfully as Frodo sighed, his small fingers curling around Aragorn’s -- the first movement the injured hobbit had made in three days. The hobbit’s pale face was slowly regaining a healthier color, and his breathing was now deep and regular.

“Aragorn,” Elrond murmured, “don’t wake him entirely. Leave him in a light sleep so that his body may recover. He will wake on his own, when the time is right.”

Aragorn nodded that he understood.

It’s time to sleep a bit… a gentle sleep… follow me…

Will I ever wake up?

You will. I promise that you will.

I couldn’t fight anymore, Estel. I tried…

You tried, Frodo, and no one could have tried harder. We’re so proud of you. You have such strength, little one. Do you remember? Love gives us strength and courage when we need it most.

Oh, it’s so warm, I had forgotten it could be so warm.

You’re safe. Relax now, that’s it… shhh… sleep… that’s it…

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes, feeling weak and dizzy, startled to find Frodo’s fingers entwined with his own. Elrond touched Frodo’s brow and listened for a moment, then straightened and lay a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder.

“I did not teach you that,” Elrond said after a long silence.

“No.” Aragorn stood up a bit unsteadily and faced his foster father. “Frodo did. Because of me, he fell ill just after we met. He grew so weak…” Aragorn closed his eyes in pain, remembering. “Something stirred within me, and I knew what to do to help him find his way back to us.” Suddenly he turned to Gandalf, who had been regarding him thoughtfully. “This is why you wanted me to be here. Did you know this would happen?”

“I did not,” the wizard replied. “I sensed that you needed to be present; that is all. Your life, and Frodo’s, are interwoven, Aragorn; that much was clear to me when the two of you met.”

“Aragorn, sit down,” said Elrohir suddenly, alarmed by how pale his foster brother had become.

“I’m all right,” Aragorn said, although he let Elrohir lead him to a chair. “This time was… more difficult than the last, that’s all.” He looked up at Elrond. “I think it was very close.”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered in awe, approaching the bed. He could see that Frodo’s face had lost its deathly pallor, and he appeared to be in a peaceful sleep. “Strider, is he gettin’ well, now? At last?”

“Yes,” the Ranger reassured him, “at last.”

“We will need to watch for heat or swelling,” Elrond said gravely. “The shard was deeply buried, and may have carried infection with it.”

At his father’s request, Elladan sat on the bed and gently pulled Frodo up against him into a sitting position, resting the hobbit’s head on his chest. Elrond sat next to him and slid his left hand behind Frodo’s neck, tilting his head up slightly such that the lips parted. He then held a small cup to Frodo’s mouth and dribbled in a tiny amount of liquid. Frodo swallowed, and Elrond continued to administer small amounts of the liquid until the cup was empty.

“What’s that you’re givin’ him?”

“It is a restorative, Sam,” Elrond replied. “I will give this to Frodo at intervals throughout the next few days, to help his body heal.” He smiled. “The taste is rather unpleasant; I suspect this is the only time he will take it so calmly.”

Elrond put the cup aside, then took the garment Elrohir held out to him. He very gently slid a soft, cream-colored nightshirt over Frodo’s head, careful not to disturb the sutured shoulder, then carefully lifted the hobbit into his arms. He was pleased to feel Frodo stir slightly and nestle against him. The level of sleep into which Aragorn had guided him was light enough for the hobbit to be responsive, yet deep enough to be restful and healing.

“Samwise,” Elrond said, “I think Frodo should awaken in his own room, and not these healing chambers. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s wonderful, sir,” Sam said with a relieved smile, “purely wonderful. When will he wake?”

“I cannot be certain, but I believe he should sleep through the night.”

“He’ll be mighty hungry by morning,” Sam grinned.

“He’s correct, Elrond,” Aragorn said with a smile. They accompanied the Elf-lord to the room that had been set aside for Frodo. “You had better ensure that there’s enough food in Rivendell.”

Elrond’s eyes twinkled as he lay Frodo gently in the waiting bed, and tucked several warm blankets around him.

“Thank you for what you did,” Sam whispered.

“Samwise,” Elrond said softly, “you are quite welcome.”

Sam sat cross-legged on the bed and took Frodo’s left hand. “It’s not as cold,” he marveled. “Will he be able to use his arm again?”

“I hope so,” Aragorn said. “We won’t know until he wakes.” He sat on Frodo’s right and lay his hand gently on the hobbit’s curls. “You have such strength, little one,” he murmured, “such strength.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said softly. “There’s folks for you to meet, and Mr. Bilbo’s here, sir! And such a beautiful place, with gardens my Gaffer wouldn’t believe if he was standin’ right in front of ’em.”

As if he could hear it, Frodo turned his head slightly towards the calm, familiar voice.

“Everyone worked real hard to save you,” Sam continued, “and then Strider had to…” he suddenly fell silent.

Aragorn knew that Sam must be aching to talk about what he had seen and heard in the healing chamber, but never would. He had promised.

Sam looked up at Aragorn, his eyes shining. There was only one thing that truly needed to be said.

“Thank you, Strider.”

*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn and Sam both wished to remain at Frodo’s side during the night, and as Elrond left the room, he found his twin sons waiting for him in the corridor.

“Father,” Elrohir asked, “how did Aragorn do that?”

“And what did he do?” Elrohir added.

“He called Frodo back from the very brink of death,” Elrond replied quietly. “Of that I have no doubt. As for how he did it, I am not entirely certain.” Elrond took a deep breath of the fragrant air and looked up at the glittering stars. “His ancestor, Lúthien the Fair, was daughter of Elf and Maia. She was a uniquely gifted healer, and pursued Beren to the very Halls of Mandos to plead for his life.” He looked thoughtful. “Aragorn carries this bloodline within him. Perhaps this ability -- to guide back to the living world someone who no longer has the strength to find their way -- lay hidden and unguessed until there was great need.”

“Lúthien is our ancestor as well,” Elrohir reminded his father with a smile.

“Indeed she is,” Elrond agreed. “You are both notable healers in your own right, and do your family great honor. Perhaps abilities of which you as yet know nothing will make themselves known, at the proper time. Such is the way of things.” He smiled at his sons. “Come, let us arrange for a meal to be brought to Aragorn and Samwise. I suspect neither will sleep this night.”

“Perhaps we should ensure that there is adequate food,” Elladan chuckled. “We now have five hobbits to feed.”

“Not to mention the new guests,” Elrohir added. “Strange visitors are arriving from everywhere, it seems. Something is happening, father.”

“Yes,” Elrond said thoughtfully. “Much will soon be decided.”

** TBC **

*~*~*~*~*~*

Aemilia Rose: Now we know what really got the hobbits through every peril -- Aemilia’s hugs! They’re like magic.

Ailsa Joy: Ailsa, this chapter doesn’t end in an evil cliffhanger!! What is this story coming to?

alysha-sedai and Michelle Frodo and Mish and Shy and Singing Wolf: Forgive me! I hope the evil cliffhanger is resolved to your satisfaction.

aprilkat: I’m trying so hard to give Merry all the intelligence, perception, and insight due him -- thank you so much for highlighting that.

Ariel3 and Gentle Hobbit: I could never even come close to the Budgie-cliffhanger-count! But every once in a while, one just sneaks in.

Arwen Baggins: Thank you for your concern and good thoughts, Arwen! The fires have been truly horrific, and I fear my beloved San Diego may not recover for a very long time. Luckily the area where mom and I live has been a “safe zone” throughout this time. (There will be at least one Bilbo-Aragorn interaction! And remember that Legolas revealed Aragorn’s identity in the movie, not the book, and this story is mostly book-canon based -- I don’t want you to get your heart set on a scene that may not materialize.)

bast4: You totally anticipated a major portion of this chapter, which I’ve been planning since the beginning of the story. And thank you for enjoying all the Merry and Pippin! I’m trying hard to show their individual reactions to what’s going on around them.

Baylor: I love that phrase -- Pippin’s “little bubble of cousins”!

Belothien: You are brilliant! You’ve anticipated so many plot points!

Bookworm2000: Poor Elladan! Dignified Elves and teasing hobbits -- gotta love it.

Budgielover: Can I write an all-dialogue-all-the-time story? Can I, huh? That would be so wonderful. Thank you so much for all your encouragement, Budgie!

Camellia Gamgee-Took: Pippin doesn’t plan to miss out on anything, no matter what language it’s being discussed in.

Cantora: I probably know less Elvish than you do, Cantora! But ‘Mae govannen’ means “well met” or “greetings”. Dúnadan means “man of the West” -- Bilbo explains it to Frodo in the chapter “Many Meetings” of FOTR. Glad you’re enjoying all the Pip dialogue! He’s fun to write. And tell Mandos to stop snatching you up -- all that travel back and forth must be exhausting.

Coriandra: You can’t imagine what a relief it was to slip some lightheartedness back into the story again! (And I hope the surgery lives up to your expectations.)

Elwen: And let the Frodo-angst begin (again)!

Elentari3018 and shireling: I anticipated that the most difficult part of this whole story would be these 3-4 days. With Frodo unconscious, how could I best show what was taking place around him? The Pippin-Merry conversations seemed a perfect way to show the passage of time, and bring everyone up to date with what was happening. I’m so happy you’ve been enjoying them.

endymion2: Yes, poor seamstress Arwen -- that is almost all she did in LOTR!

Erisinia Gazelle: It is a treat seeing Pippin-as-caregiver, isn’t it? I think we need more stories about that.

Firnsarnien: Waiting so long to remove the shard was certainly a risk, and (as you’ll see), very nearly a fatal one…

fliewatuet: Thanks for checking in! Yes, poor Sam -- these days have been hard on him.

Frodolover: I truly appreciate your comments. Although this story has evolved to encompass not just Frodo-Aragorn, but everything happening around them, I disagree that it has neglected the Frodo-Aragorn friendship and bond. BCOP may not be the totally Frodo-Aragorn story you hoped for, but with Frodo weakening, and then unconscious, the story needed to be told from a variety of perspectives. I hope you enjoy the Aragorn-and-Frodo that begins again in this chapter!

GirlsDontCri and Grand Theft Author Otaku: I’m glad to be giving you a Pippin you’re enjoying so much.

Hai: Sam will be fine, but watching this ‘healing’ won’t be easy for him. Maybe you should hold his hand.

Hobbit Lily Baggins: Frodo will wake up soon (Chapter 22) -- we’re getting there at last!

hobbitfeet13: The trials of authorhood! Some folks think I’m waiting too long to wake up Frodo, and some think it’s not long enough. Ah well! Just think -- I’m leaving more for other authors to tackle sometime!

Hobbit-Luvr: I ruined your day with a cliffhanger! Hope this chapter gets me back into your good graces (grovels). I’m happy to be un-confusing you, although every author will have their own theories about these events. I really had no idea I had all these odd ideas in my head! It’s fun to share them.

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: We’ll all be weeping in each other’s arms after ROTK, won’t we? What an amazing journey this has been.

Iris Sandydowns: You know, I need to re-read the whole story sometime! I hope I’m not forgetting anything as I go along. And we haven’t seen the last of the “Silly Took - Stubborn Baggins” exchange. I love it too, and I think I know just the place to bring it back. The story’s not over yet!

Ivy: And can you imagine just how love-sick Aragorn must be, after all these years? It’s mind-boggling. (I appreciate all your reviews -- thank you so much.)

katakanadian: It is easy to let all the movie images take over, and forget things like how young Pippin was the last time he saw Bilbo.

Kit5: I agree, poor Merry! He’s really been silently worrying about a lot of things.

Lady Jaina: I tried hard to get this chapter up sooner than the last!

LilyBaggins: At last we return to Aragorn-Frodo, Lily! Hope it was worth the wait!

Lovethosehobbits and Strider’s Girl: I’m so happy you’re enjoying the story so much!

MagicalRachel: First I was amazed at how many fans Glorfindel has, and now it’s the twins! I think every one of Prof. Tolkien’s characters is deeply loved by someone (or lots of someones). I hope this non-cliffhangery chapter is to your liking!

Meethril: Despite the fact that my apartment is full of giant crates labeled “Cookies -- Fragile”, I’ve been able to clear a path to my computer to get Chapter 21 finished. (If you hadn’t also sent milk, I don’t know what I would have done.) Elvish with a Tookland accent -- can you imagine?

Meldewen Ilce: When you review, you review! I loved reading all your comments. When I began this story I never dreamed I would have so much to say, or that I would so enjoy filling in some of the ‘gaps’ in the LOTR story, at least in my own way. It’s such a treat that each author will look at the same things in such different ways. There is no end to this Tale!

Nell-Marie: And I thought the excitement would be over after Weathertop! Who knew?

Nicole: Hi, Nicole! Thank you so much for such kind words.

Nilmandra: I’m relieved that this story is still offering ‘unique twists’, and that it isn’t losing its appeal!

PearlTook: I’m glad you’re enjoying all the Merry/Pippin scenes and dialogue! I love writing them.

Rosa Cotton: You rock, Rosa! And thank you -- the longer I write these characters, the more real they become to me. I’m so glad to be writing them to your liking.

sabercrazy: You already know what this chapter will be about, I see!

Silver Mearas: Weaving threads through a story (or setting something up, referring to it occasionally, and finally resolving it -- such as Merry puzzling over clues about Aragorn) really does tend to make a story “whole” and not just “pieces”. I think I first tried doing this in “Avalanche”, and it’s a fun and challenging way to write. And yes! The removing-the-shard chapter is finally here!

Storm Mage: Welcome! I hope you’ve had a chance to read more of the story, and are enjoying it.

Taraisilwen: I do like to leave some things to the reader’s imaginations! However, I suspect Aragorn made sure that exhausted Pippin connected this stranger to the embarrassed, green-dyed Elf to put him more at ease.

Notes for Chapter 22: There are lines in this chapter taken directly or adapted from "The Fellowship of the Ring" by J.R.R. Tolkien. Part of this chapter was originally written as a birthday ficlet for Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End).

Canon-breakage alert: The Feast, Frodo’s reunion with Bilbo, and the Council of Elrond will all be held one day later than the book states.

“I know you don’t approve, Aragorn,” Gandalf said, “but it was necessary. There is no one else now living whose will has been so tested against the One Ring, and whose mind and body hold such information about those who pursue it. Even Saruman has not gained such knowledge.”

“I know,” Aragorn sighed. He sank into one of the chairs near the window. “It is only that I feared his strength would be drained from such questioning.”

It had been a long night, with Aragorn and Gandalf taking turns sitting with Sam. Frodo had slept peacefully, stirring occasionally and murmuring something, but seemingly without nightmares. Morning dawned clear and warm, and Gandalf had finally persuaded a groggy Sam to return to his room. The hobbit had at last reached his limits, and before he could protest or argue, he was tucked into his bed, succumbing at last to the sleep he had denied himself for days.

Since then, Gandalf had been sitting at Frodo’s side, probing the hobbit’s mind and memory of every detail of the past month. Occasionally he would speak and Frodo, still asleep, would answer, softly and dreamlike, until at last the wizard was satisfied.

“I said to you once that he was the best hobbit in the Shire, do you remember?” Gandalf mused.

“I do,” Aragorn replied. “Somehow you recognized what he was, and Bilbo did as well. I have never seen the like of Frodo’s strength and spirit. He well deserves a long rest before returning home.”

“Indeed he does,” the wizard agreed, “but he may continue to surprise us. He may surprise even himself.”

At first, waking seemed much the same as the wisps of dream in which he had been drifting -- warmth, and comfort, and light streaming in from everywhere. Frodo felt soft sheets and a gentle breeze on his face. Opening his eyes, he saw light dancing on an ornately carved ceiling, and tried to comprehend what had happened. Was he awake? Had a whole day passed since…

“In the House of Elrond, and it is ten o’clock in the morning,” Gandalf said, coming to the bed and smiling down at the hobbit. “It is October the twenty-fourth, if you want to know.”

“Frodo, lie still,” Aragorn said, quickly coming to stand by the wizard’s side.

“It isn’t,” the Ranger smiled. “Welcome back, little one.” He saw Frodo reach up to feel the bandage. “Are you in pain?”

“It hurts a bit,” Frodo admitted, “but…” He touched his left hand with his right. “It isn’t cold,” he murmured.

“Can you move your arm at all?” Aragorn watched, relieved, as Frodo was able to move the fingers of his left hand slightly. “Can you see clearly again?”

“Yes,” Frodo said with relief. “Things were so dim, for so long…” He looked at Aragorn and smiled. “You’re all cleaned up.” He reached up to feel the Ranger’s velvety garments.

The Ranger laughed with delight and slid both arms beneath Frodo, then lifted the hobbit into a sitting position and settled him against his chest.

“We made it,” Aragorn agreed. “You’re safe.” After a moment, he gently lay Frodo back down.

Frodo looked from Gandalf to Aragorn. “Where’s Sam? And are the others all right? Please tell me what happened.”

Aragorn and Gandalf told Frodo what had occurred since the events at the Ford. Frodo listened in amazement, and tears came to his eyes when he learned that Merry had been hurt. He demanded every detail about the Riders, Glorfindel, and the flood, and listened quietly as Aragorn told him about their arrival in Rivendell, and that Elrond had found the splinter and removed it.

“And now,” Aragorn said gently, as Frodo tried to stifle a yawn, “I think you might be able to sleep a bit more.”

“Soon,” Frodo admitted. “But first, how can it be October twenty-fourth? You haven’t told me about…”

Elladan and Elrohir found Merry and Pippin enjoying their ‘second breakfast,’ a concept (and meal) that the Elves would have found quite amusing had Bilbo not lived with them for so long. The two hobbits looked up as they approached.

“I’ve never seen anyone move so fast,” Elrohir said with admiration, as the two hobbits leaped up from the table and dashed off. “It is a shame to interrupt their meal, but I see that Pippin took a snack with him.” He chuckled and righted the overturned bowl of raspberries from which Pippin had snatched a quick handful.

“I doubt he took the berries for himself,” Elladan said with a smile. “You still have much to learn about hobbits, dear brother.”

Just as Gandalf was telling Frodo that he had finally sent Sam off to get some rest, Merry and Pippin fairly flew through the open door, completely out of breath.

“It’s about time you woke up, cousin.” Pippin’s eyes were huge in his pale face. “I’ll have you know that this silly Brandybuck was scared, but I wasn’t.”

“You’re so brave, Pip,” Frodo said, his eyes shining with pride and love. “You knew everything would be all right.”

“I did know,” Pippin whispered. “You promised. I knew you wouldn’t…” But it was too much… too much burying of fear for too many weeks. All at once, a cascade of emotion overwhelmed the young hobbit -- bursting into tears, he scrambled onto the bed before anyone could stop him, and wrapped himself tightly (but carefully) around his cousin.

Merry came to the bed, grinning, and climbed up to sit next to Frodo, unable to tear his eyes away from his cousin’s face. Frodo was paler than he should be, and looked tired, but he was awake, and smiling. He was awake.

“Yes,” Merry reassured him. “My head’s too hard for any real damage, apparently.”

“I brought you something,” Pippin said, wiping his eyes on Frodo’s blanket. “They got squashed, though.” He opened his hand to reveal a mush of berries.

“Oh Pip,” Frodo sighed. He scooped up some of the red goo and popped it into his mouth, savoring the ripe, tart-sweet taste. “I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Pippin grinned with joy and fed his cousin the rest of the squashed berries.

Elrond walked into the room with a cup in his hand and smiled at the sight of the Ringbearer awake and alert, with berry-stained lips and a cousin on either side of him.

“Lord Elrond!” Frodo gazed in wonder at the Elf-lord whom Bilbo had met so long ago. “Thank you, sir.”

“You may not want to thank me in a moment.” Elrond sat next to Merry and propped Frodo up slightly with pillows, bringing the cup to the hobbit’s lips. “You need to drink a bit of this now, and more later,” he said.

“What about it?” Frodo sniffed the contents and looked at the Elf lord in amazement. “You want me to drink that?”

Frodo sighed and drank down the potion, trying not to grimace. Elrond could see at a glance that his patient was still weary, and needed rest. A lot more.

“That’s a long enough visit for now,” he said firmly to Merry and Pippin, who immediately scrambled off the bed.

“We have no plans to starve your cousin,” Elrond said sternly, but with a twinkle in his eyes. “He will wake in time for supper.” He smiled at the young hobbit’s obvious distress. “Do not fear for him, Pippin -- not while he is our guest.” Elrond rose to his feet and ushered the two hobbits out of the room, and Gandalf left with him.

Frodo smiled at him. “Little one… I dreamed that you were calling me that. You were calling me… telling me you were… proud of me.”

Aragorn smiled back, overjoyed that Frodo’s only memory of the past days was what he believed to be a gentle dream.

Frodo was nearly asleep when a shimmering light and sweet fragrance seemed to envelop him. Opening his eyes, he beheld a vision so unexpected that he knew he must already be dreaming. An Elf woman of incredible beauty was smiling at him. “Rest, Frodo,” came a low, gentle voice. “Rest.” Then the vision faded as sleep claimed him.

Elrond re-entered the room, minus two hobbits, and came to stand with his daughter and foster son.

“He has Bilbo’s eyes,” Arwen said thoughtfully, “only brighter and deeper.” She looked down at the small garments she held, and chuckled. “Perhaps blue would have been more to his liking.”

“He will like these,” Aragorn assured her with a smile. “Besides, it will be good to see someone in this House wearing green once again!”

Frodo awoke to the sight of Sam Gamgee’s delighted face just inches away. Sam was sitting next to him on the bed, and his left hand was gently clasped in his friend’s two sturdy ones.

“Hullo Sir.” Sam thought his grin would split his face in two. “When I heard you’d woken up earlier, Mr. Frodo, I was beside myself not to be here!”

“You’ve been here for days, Sam, and don’t think I don’t know it,” Frodo said softly. “Have you had any rest?”

“It’s getting easier,” Frodo said, moving his left arm with an effort. “I truly thought I’d never have the use of it again.”

“Mr. Elladan?” Sam called out suddenly. A young-looking, dark-haired Elf, who had apparently been just outside the door, entered the room. “Could you ask someone to bring Mr. Frodo some supper, sir?”

“It would be my honor, Samwise,” the Elf smiled. “I am overjoyed to see you awake, Ringbearer.” He bowed to Frodo and left.

“That’s what some of the Elves call you,” Sam explained. “I told ’em you wouldn’t like it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Frodo sighed. He reached up to feel the Ring on its chain, and closed his eyes for a moment, slightly dizzy.

Frodo smiled at his friend. “Just hungry, I suspect.” He looked back at the open doorway. “Is that the Elladan that Glorfindel and Estel were talking about?”

It was late, and Elladan stretched wearily. Even before the first Man or Dwarf had begun to arrive, Elrond had said that the Ringbearer must be guarded, day and night. When Frodo was up and about, they would continue to do so, but from a discreet and -- hopefully -- unobserved distance.

Elladan’s sharp ears caught a faint sound from Frodo’s room, and he hurried inside to find the injured hobbit lying on the floor next to the bed, trying to get up.

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said as Elladan knelt to help him. “It was so hot, I thought to open a window, but I got a little dizzy. I suppose I’m a bit shaky, still.”

Elladan glanced swiftly at the windows and archways, all open to the gentle night air, then lay a hand to Frodo’s brow.

“You have a fever, Frodo,” Elladan said. “It is not unusual, after an injury.” Just then, Elrohir arrived to relieve his brother. “Elrohir, would you find father and Aragorn, and tell them that Frodo is unwell?” He lifted the hobbit gently and put him back in bed.

“Frodo,” Elladan said, “you are no bother, and you must let us assist you in any way we can. You are our guest. Are you still dizzy?”

“Close your eyes, then,” Elladan said softly. “Can you hear the fountains just outside? The waters sound quite beautiful, do they not?”

As Frodo listened, the Elf’s gentle voice and the rhythmic pulse of the waters lulled him into a light sleep.

As soon as he received the summons, Aragorn rushed to Frodo’s room. Elrond sat on the bed next to Frodo, who appeared to be asleep, and he looked up as his foster son came to his side.

“A fever,” the Elf lord said. He unbuttoned Frodo’s nightshirt, exposing the small chest. He gently unwound the cloths and removed the bandage from the wound.

Aragorn touched a finger to the inside of Frodo’s wrist, and frowned. “He’s very warm.”

“It is this.” Elrond lay two fingers gently over the neat stitches in Frodo’s left shoulder. “There is heat here, at the site of the wound, and some swelling.” He pressed very gently, and a faint moan escaped the hobbit’s lips. “I fear that there may be some infection that must be drained.”

Frodo’s eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes, startled to see Elrond and Aragorn looking down at him.

“Good evening, Frodo,” Aragorn said. “How long have you been feeling unwell?”

“I felt a bit dizzy before supper, but I thought maybe I was just hungry,” Frodo replied. He suddenly winced and reached for his shoulder. “What…”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Elrond said soothingly, guiding the small hand away from the wound. “There’s just one more minor thing that we need to take care of.”

“That’s good,” Frodo murmured. He realized that he really wasn’t feeling very well -- the room still seemed uncomfortably hot, and was slowly spinning. He closed his eyes against the dizziness, straining to understand the quiet Elvish being spoken between Elrond and Aragorn -- but they were speaking very quickly, and using too many words he didn’t know.

“I will need to reopen the wound,” Elrond was saying. “After the infection is found, and taken care of, it will need to be sutured again. Will you bring what we will need, and assist me?”

“Of course,” Aragorn replied. He rose to his feet, his concerned eyes on the hobbit’s flushed face. “He’s been through so much; I cannot bear the thought of him going through any more pain.”

Frodo sighed as he felt a cool hand brush against his forehead. There was a whisper of strange Elvish words, and an urge to sleep. For a moment he dreamily wondered if the large bed was yielding beneath him, as he sank gently into a dark, quiet place… then all thoughts were stilled.

When he sensed that the hobbit was in a deep enough sleep, Elrond nodded and sat up straighter. He looked up at Aragorn.

Aragorn gazed down at Frodo for a long moment before turning to Elrond. “He has barely begun to recover. You cannot possibly think that he will be able to attend a council as soon as tomorrow morning.”

“I had hoped he would, but now I do not,” said Elrond regretfully. “It will be postponed by one day.” He held up his hand to forestall the Ranger’s protest. “Just one day, Aragorn,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “We will meet at Frodo’s very bedside, if necessary -- but the fate of the Ring must be decided, and the time has come.”

Aemilia Rose: Happy late birthday, Aemilia! All the hobbits are lining up to hug you, now! *throws confetti and hobbits and other fun things*

Aiko-chan: I never dreamed I would find so many other folks who adored hobbits as much as I do. What fun!

Ailsa Joy: You’re so sweet, Ailsa -- “I” saved him? (All right, I’ll take all the credit.)

Aratlithiel: Glad you liked the ‘surgery’, and I hope the TLC is as pleasing!

Ariel3 and fliewatuet and Nilmandra: This story, more than any other, is pulling strange ideas out of me -- such as Aragorn’s connection to the amazing Lúthien; she was truly a remarkable person. (And since ROTK says that, after the seige of Gondor, Aragorn and the sons of Elrond “together… laboured far into the night” as healers, Elrohir and Elladan are worthy successors of her bloodline as well.)

Arwen Baggins and Coriandra and GirlsDontCri and Lady Jaina and Meckinock and Pearl Took and SapphireMeriadocTook: The ‘healing’ scene was a real challenge, since all Prof. Tolkien said was that “Elrond removed a splinter”. What a lot of room for an author’s fevered imagination to take hold.

AshNight2: Welcome to the strange, slow world of dial-up. (But any internet connection is better than none!) I’m so, so happy you’re enjoying the story so much. Believe me, even when it is over, I won’t stop writing about hobbits.

Baylor and Cantora: I’m so glad you like the “tie-ins” to Quarantined. One of the biggest challenges of this story (among others) is remembering that it’s a sequel.

bast4: You are an insatiable hobbit! (My favorite kind) I think all your questions are answered in this very chapter, but I look forward to your next batch!

Bookworm2000: I’m glad we’re getting back to the Frodo-Aragorn part of the story, too! They’re so sweet together.

Budgielover: I hope I can bring ‘surprises’ to the story (such as the importance of Aragorn’s bloodline) until the very end. I honestly don’t know where any of this is coming from, Budgie.

Christina B: Thank you! Oh, I do love the Aragorn-Frodo relationship begun in “Quarantined” -- I’m glad you’re still enjoying it as much as I am.

ClaudiaofBree: Isn’t it wonderful to have Frodo safe and surrounded by such love? I needed to get to this part of the story as much as Frodo did!

Elentari: I found very little information in the books about Vilya and Narya, other than the fact that Rivendell did feel “timeless” (I credit Vilya, “the mightiest of the three rings”, with that) and that Círdan told Gandalf that Narya would “support thee and defend thee from weariness… maybe…thou shalt rekindle hearts to the valour of old…” That’s all I had to go on, and it was pretty much up to my imagination after that.

Elwen: I can’t even tell you what your review meant to me. What a lovely thing to say.

endymion2: You guessed it -- writing was a welcome distraction over the past several (difficult) weeks. I’m glad you liked the parts about Sam -- I’m afraid he’s not getting much to do in this story, but what he does do, I’m trying to make very “Sam”.

Erisinia Gazelle: I’m honored to have my story compared (in emotional intensity) to “Fate and the High King’s Falcon” -- my goodness. Yes, we hear a lot about the Three Elven Rings, but don’t see them used much, do we?

Eternal Starlight: Wow, what can I say? Thank you! I’m honored beyond words that you’ve read everything (!!) I’ve written. Believe it or not, I’m as amazed as you are that 24 stories have emerged (and more to come). I never, ever would have believed it. I love hobbits so very much, and I’m just thrilled that they’re letting me write about them.

Firnsarnien: Thank you so much for mentioning Gandalf ‘melting’ the shard! The book says that it was melted, but since the blade it came from didn’t melt until the sun rose, and since the shard was removed at night, I wondered how they accomplished it. Then I remembered that Gandalf wielded “the Secret Fire…”

Grand Theft Author Otaku and Hobbit Lily Baggins and Kit5 and Strider’s Girl: Thank you! That chapter took a lot of thought, and I’m so relieved it ‘worked’.

Hai: Sorry if that wasn’t clear -- What Elrond needed Sam to keep to himself was any knowledge of the Elven Rings. At this point in the Tale, who has them is still a closely guarded secret.

Hope*Springs*Eternal: Welcome to LOTR fanfiction, and thank you so much for your lovely comments. I’ve written several stories based on a bond of trust, respect, and friendship between Aragorn and Frodo -- I can’t get enough of that theme, either! (See my response to Silver Mearas for the story titles.) I can also recommend other authors/stories on that theme, if you’d like.

Ivy: I leave Merry and Pippin out of one chapter, and you already miss them! I’ll just have to bring them back…

Lady Cinnibar: Happy (late) birthday, and I’m thrilled that you considered Chapter 21 a worthy gift.

LilyBaggins: I know there’s probably not enough Aragorn-Frodo ‘outer’ cuddling for you, Lily, but Aragorn calling Frodo back with such intensity and love could be considered ‘inner’ cuddling!

Lossenchristal: I’m always amazed when someone tells me they’re enjoying this story without first reading “Quarantined”. I'm so happy you let me know, and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

MagicalRachel: I hope the king’s “hands of a healer” get into the new movie somewhere! It would be such a shame to skip over such an integral part of Aragorn’s character and heritage. And thank you so much for all your support, Rachel.

mali2: Oh, thank you! I do enjoy writing about relationships (especially growth and bonding in adversity, with which LOTR abounds), and most of my stories revolve around them. I’m so thrilled that you’re enjoying them so much, and that you like what I’m doing with our beloved characters.

Michelle Frodo: Gandalf melted the shard using Narya. Gandalf wields “the secret fire”, and it seemed like a good way to melt the shard since the sun wasn’t out to do the job. I hadn’t thought that Sam’s concern about what Elrond was giving Frodo to drink might be a bit of humor -- thanks for pointing it out! And I’m very happy that you’re still enjoying the story so much.

QTPie-2488: You’re not the only one to be glad that the surgery was “short and sweet” -- I was ready for Frodo to start healing, already! And yes, poor Merry couldn’t hold in his worry for one more second. In this chapter, it’s Pippin who can’t hide his fears any longer -- everyone has a breaking point, and it often comes at an unexpected time.

sabercrazy: Yes, you ‘called it’ perfectly! Great hobbity minds think alike.

Shireling: It’s the caring, supportive relationships between the characters, as they grow and strengthen, that I love the most, as well.

Silver Mearas: I’m a Frodo-Aragorn-bond fan as well, which inspired me to write “Quarantined”, “Elementary, My Dear Gandalf,” “Avalanche”, and “In the Keeping of the King” (and hopefully more, someday). I wrote and re-wrote the inner “conversation” between Aragorn and Frodo about a dozen times before it seemed right -- I’m glad it sounds plausible. The San Diego fires came within a 15-minute drive of the area where mom and I live, but we were incredibly lucky to be in one of the “safe zones”. What an awful week for my beloved city -- thank you for your good thoughts. (Oh, and it’s impossible for an author to please every reader, even if we try our hardest. That’s why we’ll always need lots of authors, writing about every conceivable aspect of LOTR.)

Taraisilwen: I take that as a high compliment, that you feel my characters are “true to Tolkien”. Mine are a bit more informal and cuddly, but I do hope they’re true to the essence of each person’s spirit.

trishette: It’s so nice to return to the Frodo-comfort part of the story. (And heartiest kudos to you for being a first-time blood donor!)

wanequelle: I’m happy to hear from you! Since I feared that this story would be (at best) a pale imitation of “Quarantined”, I’m so thrilled that you think it’s even better. And you re-read the whole thing!? I really must do that myself, sometime!

Notes for Chapter 23: For those who haven’t read the books, Bilbo did attend the Council, and Merry and Pippin did not eavesdrop. Also, it was Elrond (not Legolas) who revealed to everyone Aragorn’s identity. There are lines in this chapter taken directly or adapted from ”The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

“Easy does it,” Sam warned. Frodo gripped the bannister of the long staircase with one hand, and Sam’s arm with the other. The grip of his left hand wasn’t very strong yet, but Sam held him securely.

“Easy does it?” Frodo sighed. “Samwise, I have been in bed for five days. I’ve been taking it easy long enough.”

“Now sir.” Sam shook his head as they slowly made their way down the stairs. “You were awful hurt, and then that bit o’ fever. Just don’t overdo it, that’s all.”

“I won’t.” They reached the bottom of the stairs and Frodo sighed with relief. “You won’t let me.”

“I do feel much better,” Frodo said reassuringly. “I don’t remember too much about last night, except for being fed doses of that vile potion two or three times.” He looked at Sam seriously. “If you ever get so much as a sniffle, Sam, and Elrond comes after you with that stuff, run for the River and take your chances there.”

“I’ll remember that, Mr. Frodo,” Sam grinned. It was obvious to him that the Elvish medicine had done Mr. Frodo a world of good, which was all that mattered.

The lower level of the House looked to be as complex as the maze of upstairs corridors and rooms, but the main difference was in the number of people. There were Elves coming and going on errands of their own -- never in a hurry, it seemed. Everywhere Frodo looked, there were arches, statues, and lights sparkling off fountains. The sweet fragrance of flowers and herb gardens permeated the morning air, which was warm and gentle.

“It’s so warm here,” Frodo marveled. “Remember how cold we were, just a few miles away? Or was that just me?”

“No, it was cold all right,” Sam agreed. “This place is special, and no mistake.”

Sam led Frodo to the dining hall, in which a good number of Elves were talking quietly or eating, or eyeing with suspicion the delegation of Dwarves. Frodo was unaware of the many eyes upon him, as he was steered towards a small table where Merry and Pippin were waiting. Frodo’s plate was filled even before he could say “good morning”, and the three hobbits watched happily as he ate his fill of the delicious fare.

“I can’t possibly eat another bite,” Frodo groaned, finally pushing away his plate.

Frodo gasped and whirled about on his stool, then leaped to his feet and threw his arms around the person who had come up behind him. “Bilbo!” he cried. “Oh, Bilbo!”

“Frodo lad,” Bilbo murmured. He embraced his nephew gently, careful of the wounded shoulder. “I leave you alone for a few years, and look at all the mischief you get into.”

Frodo’s eager gaze took in every bit of Bilbo’s appearance, from his smiling face and ornate, well-fitting clothing, to the aura of contentment that surrounded him. Bilbo looked older, and more frail, but well and happy -- that was plain enough. Rivendell was now his home, and he was happy.

“We’re goin’ out to the stables to visit Ollie and Mr. Glorfindel’s horse,” Sam said to Bilbo. “Would you join us, sir?”

“That’s quite a walk,” Bilbo frowned at Frodo. “Are you up for that, my boy?”

“Try and stop me,” Frodo said. “I need a good walk to shake off the cobwebs -- and that breakfast!” he laughed.

As the three hobbits walked off together, Merry smiled happily at the sight -- while Pippin pulled Frodo’s plate in front of himself and diligently ensured that he wouldn’t starve before elevenses.

It was a long walk to the stables, but Frodo enjoyed every minute of it. To be in such a beautiful place, feeling better, and with Bilbo once again -- he felt he might burst with joy. After paying their respects to Asfaloth, Frodo walked with Sam and Bilbo out to the peaceful meadow to which the Elves had directed them.

“There he is,” Sam murmured. In the distance he could see the horse he had always called Ollie, and he whistled a shrill note that Aragorn had taught him. The horse pricked up his ears, and walked with dignity over to the hobbits. He greeted his old friends with gentleness, and enjoyed the sweet apple Sam fed him.

“He remembers you,” said a soft, musical voice behind them. Frodo turned to behold the beautiful Elf woman he thought he had only dreamed.

Frodo blushed scarlet and bowed. “Forgive me, Lady. I am at your service.” He gazed at the lovely face before him. “Estel has spoken of you.”

“You call him ‘Estel’,” Arwen said with a smile. “I did not know that he was still known by that name. I am most happy to meet you, Frodo.” She suddenly frowned in concern. “Samwise, are you ill? Your breathing is quite labored.”

Bilbo laughed. “This youngster is a bit smitten with you, Lady Arwen -- and I do believe there may be one or two other young hobbits about, of which the same can be said.”

Arwen laughed with delight. “I will be careful, then, Bilbo.” She moved to Arthad’s side and encircled his neck with her arms. “Are you well, my friend?” she asked softly. The horse nosed her hair and stood quietly in her embrace. She spoke to him briefly in Elvish, then turned back to the hobbits. “I must return to the House. Frodo, I am happy to see you in such good health.”

“I will come with you,” Bilbo said. “I have a rather long bit of poetry to finish.” He turned to Frodo and hugged him. “I’ll see you later, dear boy. I’m sure we will have many days together.”

Frodo and Sam spent some time with Arthad, and both were overjoyed to see that their old friend was being given such attentive care in his retirement. After bidding the horse farewell, the hobbits discovered a nearby glade where benches had been set amidst a circle of trees. Here they sat and talked, and shared a small luncheon that Sam had packed for them.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo sighed at last. “I think I might sit here awhile longer and enjoy the day.”

“I’ll leave you alone, then, sir,” Sam said. He grinned and lowered his voice. “We both know you won’t really be alone though, don’t we?”

“That’s true,” Before Sam could stand, Frodo gave him a tight hug. “Dear Sam. Thank you for being here.”

Frodo sat for awhile, reveling in the fragrant air and the distant sound of waterfalls. He felt a bit tired, but so much better than he had in weeks. The afternoon drew on, and as the air cooled a bit, he found himself wishing he had brought a cloak with him.

“Frodo?” Aragorn stepped into the clearing and sat next to the hobbit, wrapping his own cloak around the small shoulders. “You need to keep warm, little one.”

Frodo turned to him with a grin. "Are you on guard duty now? I thought it was Glorfindel’s turn."

Aragorn shook his head. "I should have known you’d catch on. We were trying to be very discreet."

Frodo laughed, his eyes sparkling. "Blame Sam. I think he has sharper hearing than any Elf, and an uncanny sense of anyone lurking near -- especially near me." He sighed. "Honestly, Estel, I'm not about to run off with the Ring, if that's what's bothering everyone."

"Frodo, you're not a prisoner here," Aragorn said gravely. "We are not trying to keep you within the borders of Rivendell -- it is rather a precaution against someone else who might have a notion to 'run off with the Ring' -- and you with it."

Frodo realized that he was unconsciously fingering the Ring about his neck, and he deliberately put his hands in his lap. "What's to be done with it?" he asked quietly.

"There will be a council tomorrow; representatives from all the free peoples will be there."

"Actually," Aragorn said thoughtfully, "no call went out regarding a council. Everyone seems to be here, at this time, for different reasons. It cannot just be chance -- I believe that everyone here is meant to be here."

"Gandalf once told me that he believed that Bilbo was meant to have the Ring, and so was I."

“Is that so?” Frodo looked at the Man calmly. “I’m sorry, Estel -- what a shame that I won’t be able to attend your council. I’m going to be very busy tomorrow.”

“How about that?” Frodo grinned. “My schedule seems to have suddenly cleared up. So what time is this council?”

“Blackmailing, impertinent hobbit,” Aragorn muttered. “I hope I don’t make a mistake and spill some of that potion you love so much into your tea this evening.”

"Bilbo must certainly be there,” Aragorn said. “The history of the Ring will be told in full, and you and Bilbo have much to contribute.” Aragorn looked at him seriously. “Frodo, you are the Ring-bearer until you relinquish it to another. The fate of the Ring cannot be decided without you.”

“You’re tired.” Aragorn stood, and drew Frodo to his feet. “We’ll walk back slowly. A feast is planned for this evening, in honor of your recovery, and to welcome the many guests and visitors. Get as much rest as you can before then.”

There was feasting, then a general gathering in the Hall of Fire for all who wished to attend. Aragorn had been pleased to see Frodo and Bilbo finally leave to spend some time together -- he suspected that seeing Bilbo again was more healing for Frodo than any medicine or comfort this House could provide.

Aragorn left the Hall quite late, and as he walked through the quiet corridors, he was surprised to see a lamp still burning in Bilbo’s room.

“Bilbo?” Aragorn poked his head into the small room, cluttered with papers and maps. “You are up late, my friend.”

“Come in, Dúnadan.” Bilbo sat in his favorite stuffed chair, staring into the flickering hearth. Aragorn assumed that Sam had long since dragged Frodo away to get a good night’s sleep. He pulled a second chair next to Bilbo and sat down.

“No,” Aragorn replied. “The years have scarcely touched him.” He smiled suddenly. “Do you remember, Bilbo, when long ago I accused you of having a secret for holding off the ravages of time?”

Bilbo nodded. “We agreed to let each other keep our secrets, until such time as they would best be revealed.”

“Yes,” Aragorn said softly, “and we also agreed that Frodo was extraordinary -- that he had courage and fire, and a core of steel at the heart of his gentle spirit.” He leaned forward and caught the old hobbit’s gaze. “He is extraordinary, Bilbo. His full strength has yet to return, but I would have said he would be abed at least a week -- not visiting Arthad and Asfaloth.”

Aragorn sighed and sat back, then related to Bilbo the full story of what had befallen Frodo at Weathertop, and what he had endured in the fortnight’s journey since.

“I couldn’t keep him safe,” the Ranger said grimly, staring into the fire. “I would have given my life to keep him from such a painful and frightening experience.”

“Aragorn,” Bilbo said quietly, “you are only one man. You could not hold off the Nazgûl alone, nor can you claim the throne, that sits waiting and empty, without help. What can anyone do by himself?”

“I don’t know, Bilbo,” Aragorn said with a grin. “It seems to me that you have done a great many extraordinary things by yourself. I am merely trying to live up to the Baggins example.”

“Ah,” said Bilbo with a sparkle in his eyes, “but you are still just an honorary Baggins, you know.”

Aragorn laughed and got to his feet. “Get some sleep, Bilbo. Tomorrow’s council will be held at the ninth hour.”

Elrond had seated the Dwarves as far from Legolas, and as near to Bilbo, as possible. Bilbo had been positively delighted at the arrival in Rivendell of his old friend Gloín, but there was no love lost between the Dwarf who had once been prisoned in Mirkwood, and the son of his jailer.

Halflings. Boromir stared openly at the small people seated side by side, one old and one appearing to be quite young -- and a third, alone and apart from the circle of seats, sitting on a cushion on the ground. It had been disorienting enough, being led to this valley by three of the fairest beings he had ever beheld, realizing that the Imladris of his dream was finally before him. Imladris was real. Halflings were real. “There shall be counsels taken…” And here he was, in a gathering the likes of which he could never have imagined.

Aragorn caught Frodo’s eye and smiled at him reassuringly, and the hobbit managed a small smile in return. Too pale, Aragorn thought grimly -- too pale and still recovering. He had pleaded with Elrond to further postpone the council, to give Frodo more time to rest and feel at ease in Rivendell, but the Elf lord was adamant. Frodo could rest as long as he needed, he said firmly, once the council was at an end -- but first, the fate of the Ring would be decided.

Gandalf saw that what he had perceived in Frodo when the hobbit awoke was still evident -- and no doubt always would be, to eyes that could see it. There was a hint of transparency, especially about Frodo’s left arm and hand. The Morgul wound had left its mark, and would never fully heal -- but to what end, the wizard knew not.

As the morning wore on, Sam wondered why he was here; the folk at this council seemed so far above him, talking of grand histories and wars, broken swords and traitorous wizards. He felt uncomfortable when Elrond made Mr. Frodo show everyone the Ring, and positively indignant when his master was forced to tell his part of the tale -- including the details of that horrid night, and everything since. Mr. Frodo looked shaken when he finally sat down -- more shaken even than when Elrond had announced Strider to be the heir to… Sam wasn’t quite sure he understood who Strider was, but it surely sounded important. Mr. Frodo had understood, that much was clear.

And so, as one person after another addressed the gathering, pieces were fit into a tale which had previously been but fragments -- until finally the tale was told, the pieces assembled. What then, of the Ring?

Aragorn listened, with respect and without surprise, as Bilbo volunteered to take back the Ring and set out for a land farther away than any hobbit could comprehend. It was a noble and courageous declaration, but one graciously declined by Elrond. And still no decision had been made. Should he take it? Did any Man dare? He must not, but who else could possibly…

A murmur of voices swelled and became a torrent. Sam leaped to Frodo’s side. Elrond was speaking, Gandalf nodding, but Aragorn remained still and silent, paralyzed with disbelief.

Aemilia Rose: More hugs from Aemilia! Our hobbits just can’t get enough, you know.

Aiko-chan: Hee hee. When I wrote “Reunion in Minas Tirith”, I enjoyed crafting a post-quest story in which Frodo wasn’t ill, injured, or guilt-ridden! It was fun. (Merry and Pippin love you, too, Aiko-chan!)

Ailsa Joy: I love your enthusiasm, Ailsa! And I also love how you phrase that, ‘Frodo up and stumbling about again’. Cute!

Aratlithiel: I’m glad to hear that having Aragorn in the room when Frodo woke played well -- it’s hard to know how much canon can be safely bent.

Arwen Baggins and sabercrazy: Don’t think I didn’t consider holding the Council in Frodo’s room! I’m just not that brave.

bast4: Chapter 24 will highlight various reactions to Frodo volunteering to take the Ring. (You’ve anticipated a great deal of it! How do you do that?)

Baylor: Praise from the praiseworthy indeed! Don’t worry -- Frodo’s on the mend.

Belothien: I had to bring back “Stubborn Baggins” and “Silly Took” -- it’s such an abbreviated, loving way for Frodo and Pippin to communicate. And Elrond the Superhero-Elf worked his magic, just as you predicted!

Bookworm2000: The best laid plans of Elf-lords…! Prof. Tolkien did say that Frodo’s new garments were green -- I just couldn’t let that pass.

Budgielover: I’m so happy you liked the “awakening(s)” -- it took the story a long time to get there!

Cantora: Isn’t ‘writer’s block’ dreadful? Sometimes I have to lay down in a quiet place and just put myself into the story, in order to “see” what happens next. I’m so happy you like ‘my’ Pippin and Merry. I’ve been trying to give them separate, individual personalities. And I had to bring back “Stubborn Baggins” and “Silly Took” -- it’s such an abbreviated, loving way for Frodo and Pippin to communicate.

Elbereth: Just when I think I’m making the hobbit-interactions too fluffy, I get an “aww” and feel encouraged!

endymion2: I always thought it odd that Frodo “talked long in his sleep” -- I just couldn’t leave that alone without some sort of shirebound-ish explanation. And oh, I gave you a Pippin line you loved! My work here is done! LOL That’s a good question about the “aging” of Elves -- for example, in ROTK, Círdan is described as “…his beard was long, and he was grey and old…” It will take someone better versed in Elf-lore to help us with this one.

Erisinia Gazelle: I realize that there aren’t enough twins in this story for a true ‘twins lover’ -- I’m glad I could give you a bit of them, anyway!

Eternal Starlight: Yay, we need more hobbit writers! I hope to see your first fic soon.

Gentle Hobbit: I always thought it odd that Frodo “talked long in his sleep” -- I just couldn’t leave that alone without some sort of shirebound-ish explanation. And oh, I’m so happy that someone felt the chapter was gentle and comforting!

GirlsDontCri: I’m so glad you enjoyed the Merry and Pippin scene! It was fun to write.

Grand Theft Author Otaku: I’ll ask Pippin to mush up all your berries, from now on,

Hai: Thanks for highlighting the part about Elladan and Elrohir being impressed with how fast Merry and Pippin moved -- that was the last bit of the chapter I wrote, and I wasn’t sure about how it would fit in.

hobbitfeet13: Ah, but if fanfic writers never strayed from the original plot-line, there wouldn’t be much room left for imagination (and the occasional fever)! As my summary (below) has always stated, “the actions, interactions… etc. will be that which best serve this story.” Cliffhangers do crop up once in awhile, sorry! But I only delayed the Council, etc. by one day, not indefinitely. I don’t want my stories to be entirely predictable. Glad you’re still with me!

Hobbit Lily Baggins: Thanks, Lily! You’ll be pleased to see that Frodo is recovering nicely. (Oh Lily, I can’t bear to read very sad or despairing stories -- I hope you’ll understand.)

Hobbit-Luvr: How could I toy with your emotions like that? What was I thinking? Hee hee.

Ivy: Yes, the story is primarily about Aragorn and the hobbits, but Elrond and his sons are playing a larger part in it than I originally planned!

Kit5: I couldn’t think of a more ‘hobbity’ concern than when and and how much Frodo was going to get to eat! When you find Rivendell, and move there, please send me a map, and leave lights burning in all the windows -- I’ll be bringing a lot of homesick hobbity folks with me.

Lady Cinnibar: Sounds like you had a good birthday! Believe me, each one is a blessing.

Lady Jaina: What’s wrong with us, that we love the FroAngst so deeply? At least you know you’re not alone!

Lady Sandry: It’s nice and quiet here under my desk, too, but I suspect I found more dust bunnies than you found under yours. Oh, I love having an insatiable, ‘eclectic’ reviewer in my care! I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can: Merry does know about Aragorn; he’s already put all the pieces together -- and soon, a few others will know that he knows. “By Chance or Purpose” will not go much farther than the Council, which is the way I’ve had it tentatively planned from the beginning; as for a sequel… maybe someday! Sorry, Legolas’ brief mention in this chapter is all there will be, I’m afraid.

lindelea: Thank you for your wonderful comments (and e-mail)! The “awakening” is one of my favorite parts of LOTR as well -- I think it’s the first scene I really fell in love with when I was first reading the books many many years ago.

liptonrm: Isn’t it amazing how one tiny change in canon (such as Frodo, Sam, and Aragorn knowing each other when they meet in Bree) can alter things so dramatically? I’m glad you feel I’ve done a good job weaving everything together.

lovethosehobbits: Wow! After years of feeling unworthy before other authors, someone feels that way about me? Oh tree, I suspect you have no idea how wonderful your writing is, and how loudly I squeal when a new chapter arrives at the FrodoHealers site. No idea.

MagicalRachel: Of course I’ll look after him, Rachel -- that’s what a FrodoHealer does. Why, look how much better he is already!

mali2: You worded that so beautifully -- it truly is “our connections with others that get us through the really awful times”. I love showing the strength of the relationships between Frodo and the others -- it’s the very heart of the story.

Meethril: Your cookies and snacks are going to get me through the post-Halloween, pre-Holiday sugar withdrawal.

Michelle Frodo: I don’t think the Elven Rings can be seen by just anyone; in the book, Frodo could see Galadriel’s ring, but Sam couldn’t. I took the notion of Gandalf suspecting that Frodo would take the Ring directly from FOTR, in which Gandalf thinks to himself, at Frodo’s bedside (emphasis mine): “He is not half through yet, and to what he will come in the end not even Elrond can foretell. Not to evil, I think. He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.” Yes, there can never be enough hobbity love and sweetness!

Mysterious Jedi: Hobbit TLC + Strider = my favorite types of stories, as well!

Nilmandra: Frodo was certainly due for some comfort, I think. I’m so glad that you’re enjoying Elrond and the twins -- that means a lot!

Pearl Took: I have to surround Frodo with tenderness and love, especially after all I’ve put him through in this story!

Rosa Cotton: I just had to bring back “Stubborn Baggins” and “Silly Took” -- I love it, too.

SapphireMeriadocTook: This story was supposed to be about Frodo and Aragorn, you know. I just don’t have a clue how Pippin keeps sneaking into it! (And oh, a gold star! My very first! Deepest thanks.)

ScifiRogue: You’re alive! There is great rejoicing! I truly don’t know where the ideas come from, but I suspect it has to do with my disclaimer (below) -- I really do think about hobbits day and night -- or at least as much as I can.

Shireling: Wouldn’t we all love to be surrounded by such love and attentive care? Even with all that he has to bear, Frodo does have wonderfully supportive folks around him.

Strider’s Girl: I love it when the hobbits are sweet with each other, and let light words mask their deep feelings.

trishette: Frodo has been through a lot, hasn’t he? At least Prof. Tolkien gave him two months of leisure in Rivendell before the Quest began!

TTTurtle: Yes, the angst is still going strong! (The story will not be continuing much past the Council.)

wanequelle: I, too, am reading and enjoying Budgielover’s story. Isn’t it amazing how many ways there are to explore the same part of this Tale?

Responses to reviewers are located at the end of the chapter.

ALERT! I can’t believe I’m announcing this, but… “By Chance or Purpose” will conclude with the next chapter. We’ve reached the point at which I always suspected the story would end, and Chapter 25 will be a most unusual epilogue.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.” Frodo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring

BY CHANCE OR PURPOSE

Chapter 24 --- Aftershocks

October 26

The four hobbits sat together on the thick rug in Merry’s room, and Merry and Pippin listened in growing wonder as Sam and Frodo related to them what had transpired at the Council.

“Strider’s really who?” Pippin asked, confused.

“Estel is the heir to…” Frodo could still barely comprehend it. “He’s the king everyone’s been awaiting for 1000 years."

“Strider?”

“So I was right,” Merry mused.

Frodo stared at him. “You sound as if you knew it all along!”

Merry nodded. “I began to suspect something about him the night you were hurt. It took me awhile to put all the pieces together, though.”

“It’s so hard to believe,” Frodo murmured.

“Go on, Sam,” Merry urged. “I can tell by both your faces that something important was decided.”

“He’s right,” Pippin agreed. “That council went on for hours. What else happened?”

Frodo continued the tale, telling his cousins about the traitor Saruman, Gandalf’s imprisonment, and Gollum.

“Cousin Bilbo’s Gollum?” Pippin asked in amazement.

Merry was starting to feel uneasy. He could see the thin chain just visible about Frodo’s neck, and the tiny bulge beneath his cousin’s shirt.

“Frodo,” Merry asked, “why do you still have the Ring? Wasn’t this council held so you could pass it on to someone else?”

Frodo abruptly stood, went to the window, and gazed out at the gardens.

“Frodo?” Merry turned to Sam. “Out with it, Samwise.”

Sam dared a quick glance at Frodo, then finished the tale. Bilbo had volunteered to carry the Ring to its doom, and had been turned down. Then Frodo said…

“He what?” Merry turned incredulous eyes from Sam to Frodo. “You what?”

“I have to do it,” Frodo said quietly, turning to face them. “It has to be me.”

“But---”

“Merry,” Frodo asked unexpectedly, “do you know what they call Bilbo, back home?”

Merry shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.

Frodo nodded. “You’ve heard it, then. Everyone has.”

“What of it?”

“You should have seen it, Mer. In that Council of folk from all over Middle-earth -- Elf lords and Gandalf, and lords of Men, and Dwarves -- of all of them, the only person to volunteer to take the Ring was Bilbo. He was the only one.” Frodo looked steadily at his cousin. “The Shirefolk should have seen ‘Mad Baggins’ today. Bilbo is the most amazing hobbit who ever lived.”

“And you…”

“I am his heir,” Frodo said simply. “It’s up to me, now.”

“Frodo,” Pippin asked hesitantly, “why don’t you want to go home and be safe, or stay here and be safe? You’ll be hunted and… and you could maybe get hurt again.”

“Pip,” Frodo said firmly, “I’ll never be as brave as Bilbo, or as strong -- but he chose me as his heir, and I’m going to make him proud.”

“He is proud of you, Frodo,” Merry said, close to tears. “Don’t you know that he always has been?”

“I’m going,” Frodo said firmly. “I can’t help the Shire by going home, or even by staying here. I have to go on.” He sighed, feeling suddenly weary.

“That’s enough,” Sam declared suddenly. He rose to his feet and pulled Frodo towards the door. “You’ve not eaten since breakfast, sir, and you’re not lookin’ all that well. You need rest, and lots of it; we’re not settin’ off for that fire mountain today, and that’s a fact.” He led an unresisting Frodo out of the room, leaving Merry and Pippin to somehow comprehend what they had just heard.

“Sam’s going with him,” Merry said quietly.

“Merry, what does all this mean?” Pippin asked anxiously.

Merry shook his head in disbelief. “It means that Frodo will continue to carry the Ring. He’s volunteered to travel all the way to Mordor, pursued by everything evil imaginable, and try to find Mt. Doom and toss the Ring into it. And somehow get home in one piece.”

“But… what happens now?”

“Do you mean, what happens with us? You and me?” Pippin nodded. “That’s up to us, Pip. We could go home, or stay here for awhile, or…”

“Or go on,” Pippin murmured.

“Yes,” Merry said carefully. “We could go on.”

“Before we left home, you said you wanted to help Sam defend Frodo against danger,” Pippin said quietly.

“That’s right,” Merry agreed. “Funny thing, though, Pip -- I think you’re the one who ended up defending him the most.” He put his arm around his cousin. “You said you wanted to see the world outside the Shire.”

“And now I have.” Pippin smiled. “There’s an awful lot more of it though, isn’t there?”

“Spoken like a true Took,” Merry said lightly. He fell silent, not wanting to influence his cousin’s decision in any way. He was determined to go with Frodo, if they let him, but if Pippin wanted to go home…

“How far away is Mordor?”

“It’s far,” Merry replied, “maybe a thousand miles.”

“How many?” Pippin stared at Merry in disbelief. “How do they expect Frodo to ride a thousand miles in secret? And then a thousand miles back home again?”

“A good question,” Merry sighed. “And who knows if he’ll be riding? Maybe he’ll have to walk the whole way. It’ll be winter soon, too…” His voice trailed off as he thought about what might lie ahead. Leagues upon leagues… secrecy, fear, pursuit…

“Merry,” Pippin whispered, “how long would we be gone?”

We.

Merry’s arm tightened around Pippin’s shoulders. “Maybe a year.”

“Could we send a message home?”

“No, Pip.”

Pippin took a deep breath. “I understand.”

“Pippin,” Merry turned to face his cousin. “We might not ever see home again.”

Pippin nodded, his expression determined, his mind made up.

“I understand.”

*~*~*~*~*

Gandalf knocked softly on Frodo’s door, and Sam let him in.

“He’s sleepin’, sir,” Sam said quietly, leading Gandalf into the room and to a chair. Hours earlier, after a late luncheon, Sam had firmly steered Frodo back to his room, where the hobbit had crawled onto the bed fully dressed, and quickly fallen into an exhausted sleep.

“You should have seen it,” Sam whispered, sitting next to Gandalf. “In the dining hall, sir, they all bowed to him. All of them, the Elves, Dwarves and all. It was amazing.”

“And well they should,” Gandalf mused.

“Gandalf?” Frodo opened his eyes.

“I am here,” the wizard said gently. He came to sit on the bed next to Frodo. “What a stir you’ve created, Frodo Baggins.”

“I’m sorry,” Frodo yawned. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No need to be sorry, my lad,” the wizard said. “This place needed a bit of shaking up. It hardly surprises me that a hobbit was the one to do so.”

“You weren’t surprised?” Frodo asked.

“No.” Gandalf smiled at Frodo. “I have known you for many years, dear boy, and Bilbo long before that. I expect the unexpected from anyone named Baggins.”

Frodo smiled. “What’s happening out there?”

“At this moment, Elrond is under siege. Those members of his household who know about your decision are demanding the honor of accompanying the two of you. He will be hard-pressed to choose your companions.”

“We’ll not have to go alone, then?” Sam asked in relief.

“Indeed not,” the wizard smiled. “I, at least, will go with you.”

“Oh,” Frodo sighed with relief, “thank you, Gandalf.” He sat up and wrapped his arms around Gandalf, whose strong arms enfolded him.

“Frodo,” the wizard said quietly, “Are you certain? No one will think less of you, should you decide to return home.”

“I’m certain,” Frodo murmured, hugging Gandalf more tightly. “If only Estel could come as well, but he’s pledged elsewhere, now.” He smiled sleepily at the wizard. “So that is why Elrond named him ‘Estel’.” He tried unsuccessfully to stifle another yawn.

“I’ll leave you to your nap,” Gandalf said. “You have been through a great deal, Frodo. Now you will finally have time to regain your strength, and let Sam and your cousins feed you as as endlessly as they’ve been hoping to.” He settled Frodo back down and got to his feet.

“When do we have to leave?” Sam asked.

“Not for a while,” Gandalf said reassuringly. “It will be many weeks before Elrond’s scouts return, and give us a sense of the Enemy’s movements -- time enough for Frodo to get a good long rest.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Frodo murmured, his eyes closing once again.

“Samwise…” Gandalf motioned to Sam, and they left the room, nodding to Glorfindel who stood as a silent sentinel outside the door. Once in the corridor, the wizard crouched down to nearly-hobbit level. “Sam,” he said gravely, “are you certain?”

“I don’t pretend to understand it all, Gandalf,” Sam said firmly, “but I’ll not leave him, and that’s that.” He folded his arms and set his lips in a thin line.

“Then I can think of no better companion for him,” the wizard said. “Friendship can be a stronger shield than steel or mithril, and perhaps the brightest light at the end of a dark road.” He smiled gently at Sam, lighter in heart than he had been.

*~*~*~*~*

In Rivendell, Elrond had amassed one of the finest libraries in Middle-earth -- unrivalled even by the loremasters of Gondor -- and Aragorn had pored for many years over much of it. However, he could remember no tale, lay, or song, or any hint or rumor, of any mortal ever attacking one of the Istari -- or perhaps no one had ever lived to tell about it. But as he saw Gandalf approaching the footbridge on which he stood, he felt an urge to strike him -- before the wizard perhaps ended his life with a single Word.

Aragorn gripped the ornate railing tightly as the wizard came to his side, angrier than he had ever been. How could Gandalf have let this happen to someone they both loved so dearly?

“Aragorn---”

“How can you allow this?” Aragorn burst out. “Even after everything he’s been through… Frodo is an innocent, Gandalf --- more so, perhaps, than Pippin.”

Gandalf regarded the Man calmly. “I agree. It may be all that can save us.”

“It may not save him.” Aragorn began pacing furiously. “Gandalf, when Frodo awoke from his ordeal, all he remembered of the previous three days was something he thought to be a dream -- that I had called out to him, and told him that I was proud of him.”

“I remember,” Gandalf nodded.

“I fear that he wishes only to make us proud of him… to feel that what he can contribute has value to me… you… and even Bilbo.”

“Is that so terrible?” asked Gandalf gently. “Those are the feelings that motivate many. He is who his life has made him, Aragorn, and his choices are his own to make. Frodo is an adult, after all.”

“He is an adult,” agreed Aragorn, “but---”

“You would see him come to no further harm,” finished Gandalf. “You would have him safely back in the Shire and out of danger.”

Aragorn took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And yet you know, as do I,” continued the wizard, “that the Shire may hold no safety for him, or anyone else. Not anymore. Not so long as the Ring lasts.” He pressed a firm hand to the Man’s shoulder. “When an offer is so valiantly made, Aragorn, and a spirit as blazing as this stands forth, we can but offer to help… as I have done.”

“And so Frodo and Sam will travel the length of Middle-earth, hunted and weary, with only you as their defense?”

“I suspect that others will also be chosen to accompany the Ringbearer -- but the Company will be small.” Gandalf looked at him. “Frodo was hoping you could accompany him as well, but he understands that---”

Aragorn met his gaze. “I have every intention of accompanying him.”

“Aragorn,” Gandalf said with a frown, “Gondor’s need is great, and it is likely that the companions of the Ringbearer will walk -- thus bringing less attention. You have pledged to travel south with Boromir, and I very much doubt that he will agree to walk home, after so many months away, when he can more swiftly ride.”

Aragorn closed his eyes, his thoughts turning unbidden to that night in Bree -- when he had made another pledge.

Meriadoc, if by my life or death I can protect Frodo, I will.

“I am coming with you,” Aragorn said firmly, anger still in his eyes, “and perhaps Boromir will agree to accompany us. His skills would serve us well, should Frodo need defense against attack. If he will not, and chooses to return home swiftly, then I will arrive in Minas Tirith whenever my destiny brings me there.”

“You are letting your heart rule your reason,” the wizard sighed. “The purpose of this Quest is to destroy the Ring, not protect a hobbit from harm -- even one as dear to us as Frodo. Sacrifices may have to be made towards that end, Aragorn -- perhaps very difficult ones.”

“If it is within my power to prevent it, Gandalf,” Aragorn said, his eyes blazing, “Frodo Baggins will not be one of them.” He turned his back and walked off, leaving the wizard to ponder his words.

** TBC **

*~*~*~*~*~*

Aemilia Rose: I could never write an injury or illness for Frodo without getting him all better by the end! I just could never do it.

Aiko-chan: Thank you! I know what you mean about fanfiction soothing your LOTR cravings, since I’m the same way. I look forward to many years of reading (and writing) about hobbits.

Ailsa Joy: I can hardly believe it either, Ailsa! I’ve been writing this story since May, and I’m amazed at what it’s become.

alysha-sedai: You sweetie! I have no plans to stop writing; in fact, two more stories are clamoring for me to write them. I just have to invent more free time, somehow! I’m so glad that you enjoy the characters, the humor, and -- oh yes -- the fluffiness!

aprilkat: Ah, you picked up on a subtle part of Chapter 23. Did representatives of all the free peoples just “show up” at the council by chance, or purpose? That is a major theme of this story.

Aratlithiel: I figured Frodo would be very hungry by then! Thank you for loving this fic so much -- I never dreamed it would turn into such a long, intricate story.

bast4: As you’ll see in this chapter, a few of your questions are answered (especially regarding more of Aragorn’s reaction, and Frodo’s thoughts about the Council). And you guessed it -- the “You have my sword…” scene is completely movie-based; in the book, the Fellowship didn’t form until two more months had passed, and it was nearly time for Frodo, Sam, and Gandalf to leave Rivendell.

Baylor: It is rare to find Aragorn-Bilbo scenes, isn’t it? It was interesting imagining what their conversation would be like.

Belothien: I should have called this chapter “Many Meetings”! That would have been great. Oh, and you loved the blackmail! I got such a kick out of writing that.

Bookworm2000: Ollie’s so happy that he was missed!

Cantora: If Chapter 23 brought back “Quarantined” memories for you, I think you’re really going to get a lot out of Chapter 25. (And thanks! I know my mom is doing an amazing job, but it’s so great when someone else mentions it, too.)

Christina B: I’m thrilled that you think I ‘rock’! Writing a part-movie, mostly-canon fic that’s also a sequel has been quite a challenge. Thank you so much for your kind words and enthusiasm.

Elentari: Relationships and interactions fascinate me, and I really try to explore them in my fics. Thank you so much for letting me know that you’re enjoying these special moments between our beloved characters.

Erisinia Gazelle: I love seeing people and events through Sam’s eyes -- he does have a unique perspective. Omigosh, Mippinism! I love that!

Estel2: Welcome back! I’m glad to have been ‘rediscovered’, and I hope you’re enjoying the sequel.

Firnsarnien: I’m glad you’re enjoying all the little ‘Sam’ moments; as few as they are, I do try to make them memorable.

fliewatuet: If you enjoy spotting links to “Quarantined”, I think you’re going to love Chapter 25.

Gentle Hobbit: I agree -- reactions to Frodo’s announcement are pretty sparse in the book -- I devoted this whole chapter to exploring what some of them might have been.

GirlsDontCri: Hee hee. I do love the concept of the future King being an “honorary Baggins” for life!

Grand Theft Author Otaku: This story won’t continue into Hollin, sorry. There aren’t too many fics that cover that time in the story, but Budgielover, Baylor, Thundera Tiger, and a few others have done a wonderful job of it.

Hai: Aragorn is more than a bit shaken by the turn of events, as you’ll see in this chapter.

Hobbit Lily Baggins: You’re right, Aragorn has had quite a shock -- this chapter explores that more thoroughly.

hobbitfeet13: Hee hee. You make me want to get a bumper sticker that reads, “Honk if you love our furry-footed friends”. Everyone would be honking for different reasons, but LOTR fans would know what it really means!

Ivy: I had to make a choice about the Council, since it’s the single most detailed and described event in the entire first book. Therefore, I didn’t have much to add to the Council itself, but the aftermath (this chapter) is where I really felt I might be able to contribute something.

Kit5: I adored thinking up a reason Sam was at the Council, besides the fact that he just tagged along without permission. Glad it worked!

Lady Cinnibar: Regretfully, the story will end with the next chapter. I’m not ruling out the possibility of a sequel someday, but for the moment, I want to move on to a few other story ideas I’ve had “on hold”.

Lady of Ithilien: Thank you for your comments! I do apologize that this story isn’t going as far as you hope it will; perhaps someday I’ll write something about the forming of the Fellowship, but not this time. Oh my, if you found Aragorn’s reaction at the end of Chapter 23 to be powerful, I hope you like what happens in this chapter.

Lady Sandry: What a beautiful way you describe everyone’s months in Rivendell -- everyone “laughing and being with loved ones, storing up memories against the coming dark.” That’s wonderful! And isn’t it a treat when Aragorn (or Boromir) laughs in the movie? Such a rare, unguarded moment from such grim people. I have to apologize that the ‘subplot’ you’re anticipating isn’t one that I plan to show (Merry confronting Aragorn about his identity). I’m approaching the whole subject from another angle, which you’ll see in this chapter. (If I ever write a sequel, maybe I’ll follow this subplot further.) Hope you can forgive me!

LilyBaggins: Could we love a warm, cuddly Aragorn-Frodo friendship more, Lily? Sigh.

lindelea: I love your list of all the little things you liked. That means a great deal to me, since I enjoyed coming up with each of them. Now then. I’m hanging my head in shame, lindelea, because… I forgot about Bill! Plain forgot about him!!! I don’t deserve to clean out his stall.

lovethosehobbits: Your reviews are so enthusiastic, they just make me grin from ear to ear. Oh tree, aren’t we lucky to be able to contribute to this wonderful Tale?

MagicalRachel: Rachel, you’re so wonderful. I’ll continue to write fics as long as I have something I feel I can contribute to the wonderful world of Middle-earth.

Meethrill: Sorry the last chapter seemed to have some “shakiness” to it! Perhaps going from dialogue to straight narrative was a bit abrupt.

Michelle Frodo: I certainly don’t mind such an incredible compliment, Michelle! And I’m glad you liked the fact that we saw the Council through Sam’s eyes -- it seemed a perspective that was unusual.

mina: Thanks for your e-mail, mina! It’s great to hear from you.

Mish: When I first read FOTR and came to Frodo’s simple statement, “I will take the Ring…”, I think I got chills all over me. I hope my ‘explanation’ in this chapter of why he said it rings true for you. And you liked the blackmail! Me too!

Nilmandra: I was hoping someone would enjoy the fact that Bilbo told Frodo to mind his manners! No matter how old we get, our parents/guardians are still our parents/guardians.

Rosa Cotton: I fear I must break your heart, Rosa, because this story isn’t going as far as you hope it will; perhaps someday I’ll write something about the forming of the Fellowship, but not this time.

sabercrazy: Your review had me chuckling! Unfortunately, “I will take the Ring…” is only Aragorn’s ‘cue’ in the movie.

Shireling: Aragorn is indeed horrified at Frodo’s announcement… as you’ll soon see…

Strider’s Girl: I’m glad you liked the Frodo-Bilbo reunion! As you can see from my “Alert”, there will only be one chapter more.

Taraisilwen: Ah, you have very good insights into possible reasons why Frodo volunteered to take the Ring. See if you think the reason(s) I came up with in this chapter “ring” true.

In April 2003, before “Quarantined” was finished (and before I ever thought about writing this sequel), reader (now phenomenal author) Gentle Hobbit sent me a mighty gift -- an epilogue. It wasn’t quite right for “Quarantined”, but I hope you all agree that it makes an intriguing ending for “By Chance or Purpose”. I have expanded this gift into a chapter that brings the story to a close, and ties everything back to “Quarantined”. (I am most humbly grateful, Gentle Hobbit -- thank you a thousand times.)

The decision made by Gandalf, revealed in this chapter, could have occurred anytime between Rivendell and Moria; therefore, if I’m ever moved to write a sequel, the door has been left open.

I thank all of you so very much for coming on this fascinating journey with me. I plan to start writing a new story in January.

DISCLAIMER: Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

Notes for Chapter 25: For those who haven’t read the books, ‘broken crockery’ refers to Frodo and Aragorn’s first meeting in the common room in Bree. This chapter references “Quarantined” chapters 2, 3, 10, 11, 14, and 19.

Aragorn looked down at Frodo and Sam as they lay sleeping. It was almost a fortnight since the Ring had been destroyed, and the two hobbits, barely alive, had been brought out of the fire. They slept on, unaware of his scrutiny. Cuts, bruises, and burns had all but healed, their labored breaths through seared lungs now deep and even, their sleep peaceful.

Aragorn knelt between the two and smoothed Sam's hair away from his forehead. The vicious gash had healed quite well, and only a faint scar would remain. He smiled to think that Sam would soon be up and wanting to cook his master some breakfast -- but there would be no cooking for the faithful gardener while he was in Gondor, for there were those who would beg for the honor of serving him.

His gaze then fell upon Frodo, who slept as quietly as Sam. It seemed that, any moment, Frodo would awaken as casually as one might on a gentle Shire morning.

It came clear to him how dearly he held Frodo in his esteem and affection. Since he had first met the seemingly careless and accident-prone hobbit after he crashed to the floor in a heap of broken crockery, the road travelled by both of them had been longer than by the simple standards of time. Truly, Frodo was more dear to his heart than many who had been with him through far longer travels.

Aragorn caught his breath as the ghost of a feeling suddenly flashed and was gone. As he gazed at Frodo before him, another, younger face superimposed itself in his mind. A younger Frodo? But as he searched Frodo's visage looking for he knew not what, the image faded.

Aragorn frowned. "For a moment, I thought that I could see Frodo, much younger, in my mind. But it was fleeting. No sooner did the image appear before me, it was gone." He stood and faced the wizard. "It is strange, but suddenly I felt as if I had known him for much longer than I had thought."

"How long have you known Frodo?" Aragorn suddenly asked. A wistful feeling rose in him.

"I met him a year or two after he came to live at Bag End with Bilbo,” the wizard replied.

Aragorn sighed. "I wish that I could have had that chance -- to know Frodo before he took on the burden and was untroubled by the Ring."

“Aragorn,” Gandalf said quietly. Aragorn looked into Gandalf’s eyes, and the wizard looked back, with a deep and penetrating gaze. Suddenly, it seemed to Aragorn as if a curtain lifted, allowing him to see a clear picture -- where before there had been only darkness. Laughter, discovery, kindred spirits…

Startled, Aragorn sank to his knees and peered closely at the hobbit lying in front of him, his mind and memory suddenly ablaze with light and clarity. Young boys, camaraderie, caring. Nestled underground rooms, cramped but full of love… little one… It must have been the trolls again, Bilbo… campsites in the woods… You’re supposed to be protecting hobbits, not eating them, you silly Ranger… trust… such courage… love gives us strength and courage when we need it most… Will you remember me? I will never forget you, Frodo; I cannot imagine that anyone ever could. Remember me…

“What did you do?” he cried in shock. “By what right did you steal such precious memories?”

Gandalf looked at him gravely. “I ask pardon, that I am only returning them to you now. I took something dear to you -- to all of you -- for a reason I believed necessary.”

"And what could that be?” Anger stirred within the Ranger. "I have never known you to intrude on my very thoughts."

"Enough to know that Frodo had been dear to me, as if he were my own son.” Aragorn laid a hand to Frodo's cheek, and then upon his brow. Resentment welled within him as he saw, with new understanding, the gentle lad now grown and touched by the hurts and evils he had suffered.

"Then tell me, Ranger of the North, heir of Isildur and Elendil, would you have let this hobbit, dear to you, walk into Morder bearing the One Ring? You knew the possible dangers ahead of him: hunger, fear, imprisonment, torture… would you willingly have let one as precious to you as your own son go forth to such a fate?"

Shocked, Aragorn bowed his head. "I would not have done so willingly. But whether I could have done so at all -- that I do not know."

"Then give an old man some leeway, in understanding what letting Frodo go to Mordor would have done to you, and in wishing to spare you the anxiety and guilt."

"But that did not give you the right to meddle with my thoughts!" Aragorn turned away, anguished.

"Did it not?" The wizard's voice was sharp. "There was a war to be won, peoples to be safeguarded from slavery and Shadow. You could have not have accomplished all you did, had Frodo and Sam not been permitted to walk willingly toward what awaited them. Aragorn, you believed your bloodline, the failings of your ancestors, to be your weakness. But he was your weakness! A weakness that could have brought ruin for all."

"But you let him go forth! He was not a weakness to you! And yet you could not trust my judgment." Aragorn’s words were bitter, yet he could not withhold them.

Gandalf wearily sat by Frodo's side. "I knew that he was our only hope. Forgive me, for I know that I have erred, in your judgment."

"I will forgive you, my old friend. But I will not forget,” Aragorn said. “This is the last time that I shall be protected from anything. I cannot be king and have my motives and decisions disregarded by one of my trusted counsellors."

"That is as it should be,” Gandalf agreed, “for soon I shall leave; my time in Middle-earth is coming to an end. You have come into your birthright, Elessar, and it is no longer the time when wizards should meddle in your affairs."

"You clouded my memories,” Aragorn murmured, “and that of the hobbits, as well. All of them.”

“Yes,” Gandalf said simply. “For all of you, your time together began that night in Bree, when you met and traveled as strangers.”

"That I will leave up to you,” Gandalf said thoughtfully. “This same ability lies within you, Aragorn; do as you deem best for both him and yourself."

After the wizard had left, Aragorn gazed for a long time at the fair face still lost in sweet forgetfulness, weighing all that he had heard. Then, for the second time, his hand covered the pale brow. He closed his eyes and reached out, gently parting the darkness that shrouded Frodo’s memories.

“Come back now, little one,” Aragorn called softly. “It is time to awaken.”

Aemilia Rose: Oh no, I hope you don’t need more tissues before the end! (Please be assured that not only could I never injure Frodo without there being healing, I will never write a story which involves the death of any hobbit. I can hardly bear to read those stories, and wouldn’t feel comfortable writing them.)

Aiko-chan: Although it’s not ‘canon’, I do love portraying Aragorn as ‘human’ as possible! Thank you again for all your enthusiasm throughout this story.

Ailsa Joy: Everyone is so courageous! How could Sauron ever imagine that such strength and resolve would lie in the hearts of so many?

Arabella Thorne: I do enjoy bringing out the love and protectiveness other characters feel toward Frodo -- it mirrors how I feel about him!

Aratlithiel1: This does rather lead toward “In the Keeping of the King”, doesn’t it? I think I’ve been in love with a warm Frodo-Aragorn friendship since I started writing “Avalanche”, and I haven’t stopped writing about it since!

AshNight2: Congrats on winning a poetry prize! How thrilling! My goodness, how could I get annoyed, knowing that so many folks are enjoying my stories? (And believe me, I have my critics. There’s no way an author can please everyone -- all we can do is write from the heart, and tell the stories that demand to be told, and try to keep growing and learning.)

Baylor: It’s the little, unregarded moments (like… when and how did Merry and Pippin learn about Frodo’s decision?) that can really ignite our imaginations.

Bookworm2000: I’m ambivalent about conclusions, as well! When I’ve said all I have to say in a fic, I bring it to a close, but it always feels very strange. On the other hand, I get to start something new, which feels very wonderful.

Budgielover: “These scenes surely must have taken place.” Budgie, I think that’s one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received.

Cantora: It is fun to write Sam/Gandalf scenes! I enjoy putting unlikely folks together and seeing what happens. As you’ll see, I did find a place in this last chapter for ‘little one’… just couldn’t resist.

ClaudiaofBree: I love your enthusiasm for Aragorn’s concern about Frodo! They’re so sweet together.

Coneflower Adams: I’m so happy that you like ‘my’ hobbits! And I’m excited that you got a story idea from Chapter 18 -- how cool!

endymion2: I imagine that every author could come up with their own reasons why Frodo volunteered to take the Ring, but I had to figure out why this Frodo -- the childlike yet strong Frodo of “Quarantined” -- would do it. It was an interesting challenge.

Erisinia Gazelle: I’m sad, too! Frodo really has a lot to live up to, as Bilbo Baggins’ heir. That line from the movie, when he says, “I’m not like you, Bilbo,” just breaks my heart. No one is like Bilbo, but he’s quite a role model, as you say. For the sympathetic Boromir you’re after, check out my story “Whispers of the Dragon”, which is one of the first stories I wrote.

Firnsarnien: Merry and Pip really did give up everything to follow Frodo, didn’t they? What an incredible example of self sacrifice and love. I’ll start writing my next story as soon as I can, I promise! Thank you so much for your support and enthusiasm.

Gentle Hobbit: It wasn’t easy coming up with a motivation for this Frodo to take the Ring. Please do ponder it, and I eagerly await whatever Rivendell story you come up with. (Somehow I just feel that there will be one, and won’t we be lucky to enjoy it…)

GirlsDontCri: Oh, you’re so very welcome! I hope you like this last chapter.

Grand Theft Author Otaku: I’m so glad the Aragorn-Gandalf confrontation rang true -- it was very interesting to write.

Hai: Thank you so much. I hope you find the ending to be an interesting one!

hobbitfeet13: I’m so happy to hear that the story has been “fun”! I certainly had fun writing it.

Hobbit Lily Baggins: Many thanks, Lily. Perhaps this story will inspire others, in many different directions.

Insane Pineapple from Naboo: We come to the end of this story, but another is on its way. Thanks for all your enthusiasm!

Ivy: I’m sad this is coming to an end, too! I have several more stories demanding to be written, and I’ll get one of them started very soon.

Kit5: Wow, that’s quite an AU scenario! Maybe someone will be brave enough to write it, someday.

LilyBaggins: I love ‘tender’ Gandalf, too -- Chapter 5 of “Quarantined” let me show him at his very cuddliest! Understanding the gravity of the upcoming Quest, though, had to have made him very resolute, and determined to see it succeed.

Lindelea1: I agonized over why Frodo (this Frodo) would volunteer to take the Ring; being present at such an incredible moment for Bilbo seemed like something that would tip the scales for him. (And whew! Bill forgives me!)

MagicalRachel: I always wanted to write about what went into Merry and Pippin’s decision to go with Frodo -- glad you liked it! (Please know that Aragorn’s rather emotional reaction is not canon -- it’s how I imagine that ‘my’ Aragorn from “Quarantined” and this story would have reacted, under the circumstances.)

mali2: If you’re hungry for a tale about Frodo and Aragorn after Frodo and Sam are rescued from Mt. Doom, I did write one; it’s called “In the Keeping of the King”, and a warm Frodo-Aragorn friendship is at the heart of it.

Meldewen Ilce: You sweetie! I hope someday to have time to write all the stories and sequels I have in my fevered brain (including, perhaps, another chapter of “Sing Me Home”).

Michelle Frodo: I adore it when people quote lines they love -- they’re so often the same ones I also love, or lines on which I worked very hard to get the wording “just right”.

Mish: I do love the Frodo-Aragorn friendship! I’ve now written many stories based on that theme, and I’m sure there will be more. I agree -- good fanfics help expand our thoughts and perceptions about Middle-earth the same way the films give us new ways of looking at our beloved characters. What a wonderful fandom we’ve fallen into, Mish!

Mistoffelees: I do love the teasing, as well -- when it comes with love and gentleness. (Hee hee -- the last line of dialogue in your review had me chuckling!)

Mysterious Jedi: If there’s ever a sequel, it won’t be right away -- I need to write a few stories that I’ve had “on hold” for awhile. Thank you so much for being so enthusiastic.

Namarie02: Oh, I’m so glad Aragorn’s anger seemed on target; given the history of “Quarantined” and this story, it seemed a logical reaction.

Nilmandra: I’m so glad that the characters’ motivations have come through clearly. I agree that love is at the very heart of this Tale. And dear Nilmandra, thank you especially for being the very first reviewer for the very first chapter of this story. An author’s first review is incredibly important, and so encouraging.

Obelia medusa: Obelia! I missed you! I’m so happy to hear that RL is smoothing out a bit for you. And thank you from the bottom of my heart; to be able to add something to “Tolkien’s universe” is such an honor, I can hardly grasp it.

Pearl Took: Thank you, dear Pearl. And yes, it is the strength of the hobbits (inside and out) that we love so much.

Rachel Denise Martin: Anytime a reader checks in and says “I’m enjoying your story” is useful, believe me! This story is coming to an end, but another one is already in the works. Thank you for your kind words.

Rosa Cotton: Thank you for trying so hard to review, Rosa! I work hard to make the dialogue as believable as possible, and I’m happy to hear that you enjoyed the Merry-Pippin conversation so much.

sabercrazy: You’re right! “Until the king comes back” won’t be a cute little Shire saying for much longer, will it?

Salsify: It’s so wonderful to hear from you! Thank you for letting me know you’re enjoying the story. There certainly is another on its way after this one. And another and another…

SapphireMeriadocTook: “Duty and love” -- there we have it, in a nutshell.

Strider’s Girl and Taraisilwen: If there’s ever a sequel, it won’t be right away -- I need to write a few stories that I’ve had “on hold” for awhile. I’m sorry to make you sad! I feel the same way when fics I love are ending!

tree: I love how you say that! Through the fans and fanfic authors, “these races and peoples will continue to live and thrive.” Sigh.

By Chance or Purpose by shirebound