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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where do you travel today, little brother?”

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

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

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

“I wish I could have been with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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