Elrond bandaged the shoulder of the hobbit he had been tending for long days and nights. The shard had finally been removed and had already been sent away to be destroyed. He held the wrist of the small being lost in a bed much too large for him, almost as pale as the sheets and blankets piled on him. The Ring‑bearer's pulse was weak but steady. Elrond let out a sigh as he closed his eyes and sent a prayer of thanksgiving to Ilúvatar.

He is healing, came the Voice of the One within him.

Le hannon, Adar, the Elf lord responded.

He opened his eyes again, exhausted, but unable to tear his eyes away from the little one before him. He has Your light in him, brighter than any I have seen in the Secondborn. I have never seen any mortal more fair than he.

I have hallowed your brother for a most special task.

Elrond looked down at the Ring on its chain that lay against Frodo's chest. I bless you, Adar, for giving me the gift to heal his hroa, but I grieve that I cannot protect his fëa.

It is not yours to guard. That falls to others and to Myself.

The Elf lord looked now at the other occupant of the bed, the one so similar in spirit, shining softly on his own, his hand clasped in his master's, his head touching the one he held dear, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted.

Are they brothers?