Neither Frodo nor Sam understood what was happening when they were suddenly lifted away from the ash, fumes and heat just as they fell together, overwhelmed at last. All they knew was that their clasped hands were being pulled apart even as they feebly tried to hold on. Their hands came apart and it was as though their hearts and souls so closely knit were torn asunder. That was more than they could bear, that at the very end they were going to be separated and die alone. A strong cry went up in their hearts, but only a croak from their lips, the beginning of a name.  They futilely reached again for each other’s hand as the eagles held them tightly but tenderly in their talons and brought them far away from death and destruction.

Elrond wished to add his own embrace for he feared greatly he never would be able to do so in any other way, but he held back. His breath was taken away as he looked upon Frodo’s fëa as gloriously bright and beautiful as any Elf who had been on the other side and he knew now more than ever that it was Ilúvatar’s Light that shone in him, just as it did in the Firstborn. Frodo was closer to that Light now than he had ever been, bathed in it, soothed by it, illuminated by it, but Elrond could see that its reflection within him was flickering, nearly spent.

Is it already too late?

Do you still not trust, My child?

Elrond hung his head. No, Adar.

Learn then from your heartson.

To Aragorn’s inner sight, Frodo and Sam’s fëar were almost too bright to face. As he looked upon them in awe and reverence and gave thanks to the One Who had preserved them, the Elf‑lord knew his foster son had a firmer faith in Ilúvatar at the moment than he did and he was ashamed.

They both watched Frodo look at the shining Gates ahead of him, then at Sam who gazed at him as lovingly as ever.

Please stay, gwador nîn, Aragorn asked gently and lovingly as Frodo’s gaze returned to the Gates. The Shadow has passed. Your Quest has been achieved. You have won. You have my thanks and the thanks of all Middle‑earth.

Sam’s encouragement came to bolster the man’s. It’s all right, Mr. Frodo dear. It’s over now. You’re safe.

Aragorn and Elrond held their breath as Frodo’s fëa turned back to face that of his heart’s brother. The two hobbits regarded each other for a long while, the younger guarding and nurturing the guttering flame of the elder, loving it back from the brink. For that while, the two communicated on a very deep level that needed neither words nor even thoughts that Aragorn or Elrond could detect. Then they heard Frodo’s response and saw his fëa brighten.

Lead me, my Sam. I will go where you go.

Sam’s spirit held out a hand and Frodo grasped it. Aragorn smiled, then withdrew from within.

Frodo took a shuddering breath, then still while holding him close, Aragorn raised a water skin to his friend’s lips, as Gandalf did with Sam. The hobbits coughed and choked and much of the water spilled down their fronts in their haste to drink all they could. 

Aragorn grieved at the mute testimony that their water had been so sorely lacking, but he was careful that there was nothing but a smile and love in his voice. “You don’t have to drink it all at once, tithen gwador. It will not run out.”

Frodo tried to slow down. More then made it down his parched throat and he sighed in relief. His mouth was wiped and then he was laid back down.

Elrond watched as Aragorn removed the Elven cloak and orc rags from the Ring‑bearer and both grieved at how emaciated Frodo’s body was. The man washed away all the ash and dirt, as Mithrandir did with Sam. Fresh, clean cloths were continually brought as the water turned quickly black. Healer and Maia wept at all the cuts, bruises and welts that had been previously hidden. Once the hobbits were carefully dried, they were dressed in loose, overlarge nightshirts, all that could be procured at short notice, but better all the same that nothing constricting was placed upon them.

Elrond’s heart swelled with pride and love as he watched his foster son cleanse the wound on  Frodo’s maimed hand, spread a salve over it before he bound it, and after he had done so, kissed it, so the violence of the act that had caused the injury could be somewhat alleviated by an act of love. The man next cleansed, wrapped and kissed the terrible burn around the Ring-bearer’s neck. He tenderly spread the salve over Frodo and Sam’s blistered feet, bound them and kissed those as well in reverent appreciation. He spread the salve over the hobbits’ chapped lips, then  kissed his dear friends’ hearts in honor of all the sacrifices they had made.

Tears flowed down Elrond’s face, so greatly moved was he to witness such love, and also because he could see more clearly the damage done to Frodo’s fëa than his foster son could, as did Mithrandir, whose weathered cheeks were also wet. The same question came from both to the One who had made them, one speaking from faltering faith, one from strong.

Why such a high cost for this? Why did this one small, beautiful being have to take upon himself all the hurts and hate of the Enemy? Why did You even allow the Ring to be forged if this was the end it would come to, so damaging this fair child of Yours?

The freedom of will is a gift I gave to all My children. Some have abused it and because of that, others have been hurt. But some have used it well and because of that, others have been saved. It was Iorhael’s free choice to accept the burden to save others from the deadly peril it held, to accept My call to remove that peril from the world, if he could do it. The cost was not beyond the price set for it and the reward will be in measure to the sacrifice.

Thy Will be done, came Olórin’s sure answer, but Elrond’s did not come so steadily.