Title: Histories Asunder
Author: Amanda (ladymelian2000@aol.com)
Principal Characters: Frodo/Sam
Rating: Varies from G to NC17
Category: AU (Drama, Romance)  
Feedback: Greatly appreciated
Summary: Gollum has bitten off Frodo’s finger and has fallen into the 
Crack of Doom with the Ring.  Everything is as per book canon up until 
that moment but from then on things take a decidedly unexpected turn.    
Disclaimer: With the exception of original characters created by me, all 
characters and locations featured in this fiction are the creation of J.R.R. 
Tolkien and are the property of his estate.  I make no money from this.  
Thanks to Lynne, Lynn and Pauline for beta.  
Author's website: http://www.amandasdreams.freeuk.com


CHAPTER 1

Pain and nausea overwhelmed Frodo and there was a madness in his eyes 
as he slumped to his knees.  Sam rushed over, distraught at the sight upon 
which his eyes were forced to look.  

Sam caught Frodo in his arms just as he swooned and keeled forward.  
Had Sam been a second later, Frodo would have followed Gollum into the 
Crack of Doom and would have been lost to him forever.  

Sam barely had the chance to take in what had happened before the 
explosion rocked the earth to its very foundations.  Air, dirt and filth 
rushed by them and jets of molten lava sprayed their angry paths out of the 
Crack and filled the atmosphere with suffocating fumes.  

*A Elbereth, please help us*.
Sam's incoherent muttering was lost amidst the chaos which reigned all 
around them.  Cradling an unconscious Frodo in his arms, Sam's one 
thought was that the two of them were going to die together.  And die they 
were about to, he was certain, for he could see no means of escape from 
the acrid chamber.  

The air went cold, then hot again, and then back to cold.  Icy particles 
brushed against Sam's face, although he knew not from whence they had 
come.  What had happened to the furnace which had previously threatened 
to incinerate them?  All Sam could see was blackness.  It stretched around 
him for as far as his sore, gritty eyes could see and was so dense that he 
could barely make out the shape of his own hands.  

But still he held on to Frodo, the master whom he had sworn to serve and 
never to lose.  Had Morgoth himself broken free of his chains at that 
moment and turned the sum total of his wrath upon Sam, still it would not 
have been enough to persuade Sam to let go of his beloved Mr. Frodo.  

Frodo was the only thing Sam had to cling to now.  He no longer 
recognised the place to which they had travelled - the final, bitter leg of 
their terrible journey - for the purpose of destroying the One Ring.  The 
Ring which was the embodiment of evil, the thing which had very nearly 
cost Frodo his life on more than one occasion and which had been 
responsible for the deaths of countless innocents.  

Sam tried to make sense of what he had seen before this terrible blackness 
had come upon them but his thoughts refused to be organised.  His ability 
to think had been taken from him.  He knew not where he was or where he 
was going.  

He had ceased to exist.

***

Tinkling laughter, happy voices, the clip-clop of horses' hooves and the 
light patter of graceful footsteps.  Any time now it would end.  It had to, 
for this couldn't possibly be the real world.  But that had been left behind 
long, long ago and now there was this.  

What was this?  

One deep breath was swiftly followed by another as Sam's chest slowly 
began to move, this time of its own accord.  The breaths were coming 
more evenly now and he no longer felt as though he was choking with 
each breath he took.  It didn't hurt him to breathe either, a fact which was 
not lost on him and which made some small feeling of gratitude soar in his 
heart.  

But his body felt as limp as water.  He couldn't move his head and it no 
longer seemed as though he possessed arms or legs.  His eyelids felt as 
though they had enormous weights pressed against them and his tongue 
seemed to have expanded to twice its normal size.  

Sam laid there, making no attempt to move.  Moving was something 
which was completely and totally beyond him at that moment; he knew it 
and made no attempt to fight against it.  

He was there, he existed, but those were the only facts which, at that 
moment, he knew for sure.  

Hours later - or it could have been minutes - Sam winced.  His ribs hurt.  
But he was not upset.  In fact, quite the opposite.  He was overjoyed.  
Feeling pain was nothing compared to the oblivion he had experienced 
earlier and it wasn't a bad pain anyway, nothing he couldn't deal with.  
Samwise Gamgee was a strong, stout-hearted hobbit and a little pain like 
this certainly wasn't going to stand in the way of .....

Of what?  

Sam's face was working now; had someone been standing over him at that 
moment they would have seen that he was visibly frowning.  Somewhere 
in the back of his brain, a tiny thought said to him that he'd had enough of 
this languorous inactivity and it was high time he pulled himself together 
and got on with things.  

Sam, never one to disobey the call of duty, heard this thought calling to 
him and immediately set about carrying out its instructions.  He opened 
his eyes - first one, then the other - and then he flexed his fingers.  He still 
had hands - good - and his feet were still in the place he had last seen them 
too.  Slowly, little by little, the comforting, familiar sensations of his body 
returned and then the miracle happened.  

Samwise Gamgee remembered who he was.  

It was a memory which was both good and bad.  Good because the 
menacing maelstrom through which Sam had passed before finding 
himself in his current location - and where that was he was yet to discover 
- was now receding rapidly but bad because the first thing he saw when he 
turned his head was the dark-haired figure which lay next to him.  

Frodo.

Sam's heart lurched so violently that he thought it was going to explode 
out of his chest.  He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned across, 
fearful of what he would find.  The memories came surging back with 
ferocity now; the nightmarish scene at the Crack of Doom where Sam had 
witnessed the detested Gollum wrestling with an unknown assailant; the 
scream of agony from Frodo as he suddenly emerged from the cloak of 
invisibility which the Ring had afforded him and the blood which had 
poured from his hand before nausea had overcome him and Sam had run 
to be at his side.  

Sam's heart was beating wildly as he gently turned Frodo over.  He 
swallowed heavily as he looked at the face he had once secretly admitted 
to himself that he loved, whether or no.  

Nothing.  

Frodo was completely still, completely oblivious.  His limbs were laying 
at odd angles to his body; it was as though he had brought them with him 
from the last place they had been at but forgotten to rearrange them tidily.  
The full horror of the wound he had suffered filled Sam with heart-
wrenching pain - one of the fingers on Frodo's right hand had been 
completely bitten off.  Blood had congealed around the wound and it had 
become infected and dirty.  

No, no, begged Sam silently, please don't let him be hurt again.  He laid a 
finger against Frodo's wrist, desperate to find even the faintest flicker of a 
pulse.  He pressed harder, and harder still, hating himself for the red marks 
which his fingers had left against Frodo's delicate white skin.  

Sam touched Frodo's lips with his fingers.  They were warm.  His heart 
was catapulted into the stars above as he felt the faintest trace of warmth 
around Frodo's nose and lips - he was breathing and he was alive, but only 
just.  

Sam's joy knew no bounds for those remarkable few seconds.   Hope 
surged through him even though he knew that there was much to be done 
before they were out of the woods.  

Frodo's wound glared red and ugly and Sam's few seconds of peace were 
shattered into a feeling of acute distress.  After all his beloved master had 
suffered, and now this.  Hot, painful tears welled up in Sam's eyes but he 
knew that now was not the time to give way to such feelings.  

He took a water bottle out of his pack and thanked Elbereth that it had 
survived the dust and flames of Sammath Naur.  Mercifully it was clean 
and so was the cloth which Sam managed to find in his bag.  The ash and 
dust had not worked their way into the pack and its contents, what few 
there were, had been preserved.  

He shook some water onto the cloth and started to bathe the wound.  Fresh 
blood began to seep out of the nasty, jagged tear as the congealed matter 
was washed away.  The sight was enough to break Sam's heart.  I love 
him, whether or no, he mouthed, blinking back the tears as he reaffirmed 
the truth he had spoken many weeks earlier.

Sam tore off a length of the cloth and wrapped it around Frodo's hand.  At 
least it would keep the wound clean until they were able to find help.  But 
finding help was another matter entirely; Sam had no idea where they 
were or how they had come to be there.  He looked all around him and 
saw nothing but woodland.  Fortune - or perhaps random chance - had set 
him and Frodo down in a place where they could easily hide if need be but 
that brought Sam no comfort at all at that moment because the one 
question he needed answering kept refusing to be answered.  

Where were they?  

Sam stood up and looked all around him.  The trees were plentiful and 
there were many other plants and bushes but Sam was in no mood to 
admire the flora.  He needed help and he needed it fast.  Frodo was still 
sleeping but for all Sam knew he could wake up at any moment or, if help 
were not found in time ..... no, Sam refused to contemplate that possibility.  

Then he heard something which gave him heart.  Straining his ears in an 
attempt to focus on something other than the rustle of the breeze and the 
chirping of woodland birds he heard the rush of water.  The sound was 
loud, clear and totally unmistakeable; they were not far from water but 
whether it was a river or the sea itself Sam knew not.  

He took a few steps and sniffed the air, hoping to smell something which 
would lend a clue to their location.  He couldn't smell salt so that probably 
meant that they weren't anywhere near the sea but he couldn't be sure.  The 
sound of rushing water seemed to emanate from a long way off.  

Sam turned on his heels and moved swiftly back to Frodo's side.  He'd had 
enough inactivity and was becoming increasingly agitated at the 
precarious position in which he and Frodo found themselves.  Above all 
he needed to get Frodo to safety so that he could - hopefully - receive 
some treatment for his wound.  

Sam slung his pack over his shoulders and gently lifted Frodo up, taking 
care to support his damaged hand so as to prevent any further blood loss.  

"No!"  

The sound of Frodo's voice - and the unexpected clarity of it - nearly made 
Sam drop him.  Frodo was twisting so much that Sam had no alternative 
but to lay him down again.  

"It's alright, Mr. Frodo, it's alright", soothed Sam, stroking Frodo's brow 
with a gentle finger.  "You're safe, you're away from that Doom place and 
your Sam's with you.  Everything's going to be alright".  

"No, no, where is it?" muttered Frodo, shaking his head.  He had opened 
his eyes and they were wild and empty, like he was fighting against an 
inner demon which was trying to possess him.  

"Where is what?" asked Sam, his gentle voice belying the panic which 
was rising within him.  "Where is what, Mr. Frodo?"  

Frodo's hand - the undamaged one - shot out and grabbed Sam around his 
throat.  Sam grimaced at this unexpected attack but made no attempt to 
dislodge Frodo's hand, even though it was hurting and choking him.  

"The Ring, where is the Ring?" screamed Frodo, his eyes ablaze.  With a 
force which knocked the air out of his lungs, Sam found himself pinned to 
the ground and Frodo was on top of him.  

"Mr. Frodo ..... please ..... ", gasped Sam.  He tried to remove Frodo's iron-
fingered grip from his throat.  "The Ring's gone ... it was destroyed, just 
like we planned", said Sam, choking and spluttering.  "Gollum took it 
from you at the last minute ... fell into that volcano with it, the Crack of 
Doom".    

Sam coughed violently.  Frodo lessened his grip on his throat.  

"The Ring's been destroyed, Mr. Frodo", Sam repeated once he had got his 
breath back.  "It's been put away and we won't see it no more.  The world 
is safe, thanks to you.  There's nothing for you to go worrying about".  

Tears spilled out of Sam's eyes and trickled down his cheeks and off the 
side of his face.  He'd been through so much at Frodo's side and this latest 
development was all too much for him.  

Frodo took his hand away.  He looked at the hand incredulously, like it 
was something which had had a mind of its own and for which he'd had no 
responsibility.  Frodo looked at Sam, not even blinking, for an incredibly 
long minute and then, little by little, the hostility in his eyes began to melt 
away.  It was like the clearing of a mist.  

"Sam ..... what have I done?" he asked, and Sam's heart nearly broke in 
two when he saw the pain in Frodo's eyes.  "I'm so sorry".  

"It don't matter", he whispered, and Frodo slumped forward and came to 
rest with his forehead against Sam's.  Shaking with sobs, Sam wrapped his 
arms around Frodo and held him, wishing with all his heart that he could 
lessen his master's pain.  Sam could feel that Frodo's slender body was 
wracked with sobs, just like his.  

Eventually Frodo struggled up.  His head hurt and his vision was blurred 
but Sam was there to steady him.  

"Sam ..... what happened to my hand?" asked Frodo, staring at his right 
hand and the bandage which Sam had wrapped around it.
"You don't want to look at that", said Sam hurriedly.  He took Frodo's 
damaged hand firmly in his whilst being careful not to touch the ragged 
wound.  

But it was apparent to Sam at that moment that Frodo was already 
recollecting how he had been hurt.  Memories of Mount Doom and the 
events leading up to it were flooding through his mind with blinding 
clarity.  

"So Gandalf was right", began Frodo.  He stared at a nearby tree without 
really seeing it as he recalled words which had been spoken long, long 
ago.  "About Gollum, I mean.  It was Gollum who destroyed the Ring in 
the end, Sam, not me.  I failed".  

"Of course you didn't", insisted Sam.  "You got it to Mount Doom".

"But it was Gollum who took it from me", said Frodo.  "I let everyone 
down".  His voice was small and quiet and his face was paler than 
moonlight.  "I wish I could feel happier, Sam", he continued.  "Middle-
earth is saved yet I still feel as though I have the weight of the world on 
my shoulders".  

"Oh, that's only to be expected", said Sam in as cheerful a voice as he 
could muster.  "You've been through so much and you carried that Ring 
for so long that it's bound to affect you still.  What we need to do is to get 
you somewhere safe so you can rest and get some treatment for that hand 
of yours".  

The faintest flicker of a smile appeared on Frodo's face.  
"Very well, Sam", he said resolutely.  "Have you any idea where we are or 
how we got here?"


CHAPTER 2

Sam shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know where we are", he said helplessly.  "I think I heard voices 
earlier, and maybe horses' hooves, but for all I know I might have 
imagined it.  I haven't been awake for long".  
The remorseful note in Sam's voice struck a chord with Frodo.  

He placed his hands on Sam's shoulders.
"It's alright, Sam", he said calmly.  "I wasn't expecting an answer to my 
question, for it is obvious that something unforeseen has happened.  But 
we must try to discover our whereabouts.  Nothing here is familiar".  
Frodo looked around him, his troubled eyes trying to make some kind of 
sense of their surroundings.    "You said you heard voices earlier on.  Did 
you hear what they were saying?"
"I can't remember nothing like that", said Sam, shaking his head.  "It was 
just sounds in my head, people laughing and talking, ladies and men, and 
then there were the horses' hooves.  I remember them because of the clip-
clop noise they were making".  
"So there must be a road nearby", deducted Frodo.  He cast his eyes 
downwards.  "The ground here is soft earth and had you heard horses on 
this surface their hooves would have made a different sound.  There must 
be a road or a path so perhaps we should try to find it".  
"Aye", agreed Sam.  He was relieved that Frodo was back in the land of 
the living even though he looked so pale and drawn.  "Oh, and there was 
the sound of water too", he added.  "I heard it earlier.  It was making a 
rushing noise".  

Both Frodo and Sam strained their ears.
"I hear nothing, Sam", said Frodo, frowning.  "Are you sure it was water 
you heard?"  
"Positive", replied Sam.  "But it sounded like it was coming from far away 
and if the wind's changed direction we might not be able to hear it now".  
  
Frodo opened his mouth in order to reply to Sam but before he could do so 
he staggered forward.  
"Oh, Sam ....."
Sam caught him and supported him.  
"It's alright, I'm here", cooed Sam softly.  He lowered Frodo gently to the 
ground and sat close beside him.  
"I felt a little nauseous, that's all", said Frodo resolutely.  He looked at his 
bandaged hand with dull, joyless eyes.  
"I'm sure it'll pass".  

Sam was not so sure.  Frodo had yet to face the physical and psychological 
consequences of losing a finger, let alone deal with the intense pain he 
must be suffering.  Sam rummaged in his pack, hoping to find a few 
crumbs of lembas.  There was one wafer left, and one of the water bottles 
mercifully still had some water in it.  
"Here, eat this", said Sam, breaking off a piece of the wafer and feeding it 
to Frodo.  "It'll give you strength".  
Frodo nibbled on it slowly.  Working his jaw seemed to require so much 
effort.  He managed to eat nearly half of the wafer and then shook his 
head.
"I can't eat any more, Sam", he protested.  "You eat some".  
He offered the biscuit to Sam who reluctantly ate it.  He was loathe to take 
what remained of their food supply but knew that, if he were to protect 
Frodo and get him to a place of safety, he would need to keep up his own 
strength.  

The two of them drank what was left of their water and then made ready to 
walk.  
"Are you sure you're alright", asked Sam anxiously.  He was desperately 
worried about Frodo yet did his best to mask his feelings for fear of adding 
to Frodo's distress.  
"I'm fine, Sam", Frodo assured him.  His wan face made a brave attempt at 
a smile but he still looked strained and tired.  Sam resolved to get him to a 
place where he could be healed.  

Frodo climbed to his feet again and he and Sam tentatively started to walk.  
Sam tried to hold Frodo's arm but Frodo was adamant that he could walk 
unaided.  

The woodland in which they found themselves was not particularly dense 
but the ground was uneven.  Sam insisted upon holding Frodo's arm at that 
point; the last thing he wanted was for him to fall and to add another 
injury to the one he was already carrying.    

After they had walked for about fifteen minutes they came to a clearing.  
The hobbits were cheered by what appeared to be a roughly-hewn path 
which led downwards at a gentle slope.  
"Look, Sam, horses' hoof prints", said Frodo, pointing to the ground.  
"You were right.  You did hear them".  He looked at his companion.

Sam's relief at the discovery of the hoof prints was immense.  He was 
delighted that he had not imagined that sound.  The ground was hard and 
dry and this would no doubt account for the clip-clop noises he had heard 
earlier.  

The hobbits followed the path for several minutes.  The downward slope 
became a little steeper as they moved along.  Sam glanced anxiously at 
Frodo.  His master was managing to walk at a steady pace but his 
demeanour bothered Sam.  Something was wrong; Sam knew in his heart 
that something other than the injury was troubling Frodo and the fact that 
he did not know what it was worried him greatly.  

It was not long before Sam's worst fears were confirmed.  

Frodo suddenly stopped walking.  
"Sam, this isn't right.  We're not supposed to be here".  
Frodo's face was a blank, white mask as he faced Sam.  He was tense and 
ill at ease and he kept fingering the place on his throat where the Ring 
used to lay.  

Sam looked at him helplessly.  
"What has happened, Sam?" asked Frodo.  "Where are we?"  

Sam shook his head in desperation, wishing with every fibre of his being 
that he could calm Frodo by giving him a feasible explanation.    
"This isn't making any sense", continued Frodo.  He was pacing up and 
down and when Sam tried to touch him he jerked away.  "How can this be 
happening?  One minute we are sitting atop Orodruin and next we find 
ourselves in a pretty woodland forest".  Frodo was becoming more and 
more agitated.  "I bear the scars of our journey, look ....."  He fingered the 
wounds left by the Morgul blade and the troll's spear and then held up his 
right hand.  "So they are proof that I did not imagine those events.  The 
Ring was destroyed, so by rights we should now still be in Mordor, 
fighting our way out of that chamber".  

Frodo fixed his stormy eyes on Sam and then gestured all around him.  
"Does this look like Mordor to you, Sam?  Could the destruction of the 
Ring have brought about such a transformation?  And how did we escape 
from Mount Doom?  What turn of fortune catapulted us away from that 
filthy place?  What tricks are being played upon us now, Sam, have we not 
been through enough?"  

Frodo ran into the middle of the path and threw his arms up towards the 
heavens.  
"I can't take any more!" he screamed.  "I've had enough, do you hear, I've 
had enough!  Why don't you just kill me now and put me out of this 
torment?"  

Sam look on, horrified.  Nothing in the world could have prepared him for 
this.  Never before had he witnessed his kind and gentle master shout so 
loudly or look so angry.    

"Mr. Frodo, don't be upset", he began, delving into his inadequate 
vocabulary in order to find words which would hold some meaning for 
Frodo.  "We don't seem to be in Mordor anymore", he continued, fighting 
to keep his voice as even as possible.  "And surely that's for the good, isn't 
it?"  He paused for a moment, uncertain of how Frodo would react.  "We 
may not know where we are, like, but it don't seem too bad around here 
and if there's a river running nearby we can get some more water and ....."

Sam's voice tailed off as Frodo turned on him.  
"You don't understand, Sam", he said.  His voice was slow and faltering 
and his eyes were black with fear.  Frodo took several long, deep breaths.  
"Wherever we are, we don't belong.  We're not supposed to be here.  We're 
intruders, can't you see?"  

Sam's helplessness plunged to new depths.  Frodo had never looked more 
wretched than at that moment.  Anguish such as he'd never known before 
wrenched brutally at the core of Sam's heart.  The master he adored had 
become a pitiful figure.  His hair was tangled and his face was encrusted 
with dirt and ash.  The roughly-made, oversized garments which Sam had 
found for him in the orc-tower cruelly emphasised his painfully thin 
frame.    

But it was the look in Frodo's eyes which upset Sam the most.  Never 
before had he seen his master's eyes look so wild and so empty.  Sam 
looked into them and saw nothing but darkness and despair.  

Frodo sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands.  
"I can't take any more, Sam", he moaned.    
Frodo collapsed into Sam's arms.  He did not cry.  

*Just hold him.*  
It was a soft voice inside Sam's head which spoke those three little words.  
*Elbereth*  he thought.  Sam knew not whether Elbereth herself had 
spoken to him but deep down his instinct told him that holding Frodo 
close was at that moment the right thing - and perhaps the only thing - to 
do.    

So Sam held Frodo.  He wrapped his arms around him and held him like 
he'd never held anyone before.  Sam was whimpering softly as he tried to 
stroke the filth from Frodo's hair.  Darkness slowly spread its silent cloak 
around them but Sam wasn't aware of it.  Frodo, enveloped in Sam's arms, 
remained silent.  Time passed.  Sam closed his eyes and hoped.  

The Phial.  
Sam's somnolence was interrupted by a flash of reason; good, solid 
common sense of the kind he was famous for.  Taking one arm from 
around Frodo, he fumbled in his pack and drew out the Phial of Galadriel.  

"Mr. Frodo", he began tentatively, squeezing the Phial tightly.  "I have 
something here which will help you".  
Frodo raised his head slowly and looked at the Phial with dull, lifeless 
eyes.  Sam clutched Galadriel's gift.  
"I think we should do this together", he continued.  
Sam gently took Frodo's hand in his and wrapped it around the Phial.  

Frodo stared at the object for a few seconds more and then, to Sam's relief, 
his features softened.  The Phial cast a soft glow over Frodo's face; the 
mere sight of this was enough to give Sam the cheer he desperately 
needed.  

Tentatively, Sam began to mouth the words.  
*A Elbereth Gilthoniel*
His voice was weak and faltering but he looked encouragingly at Frodo.  
Watched by Sam's gentle eyes, Frodo moistened his dry lips with his 
tongue and swallowed heavily.  

Together, they spoke.
*A Elbereth Gilthoniel
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, si nef aearon!*  

The Phial glowed brightly and started to tremble.  The movement drew 
shocked little gasps from both hobbits.  They gaped at it for a few 
moments and then looked up at the heavens, there to see a sight which 
filled them both with amazement and wonder.  

"Look, Sam", began Frodo.  His eyes had come alive again as he pointed 
upwards.  "It is the Star of Eärendil!"  

The Star shone with the same remarkable brilliance as the Phial but it was 
a thousand times brighter.  Frodo and Sam watched, transfixed, as a 
slender golden tendril of light shimmered across the midnight-blue 
heavens.  It then made a slow and winding but very decisive path towards 
them and eventually mated with the light emanating from the Phial.  

The effect was so beautiful and so unearthly that it defied description.     

Watched with open-mouthed awe by Frodo and Sam, the Star - far, far 
above them -then continued on its serene passage through the heavens.  
"It's a miracle", whispered Sam.  
He and Frodo turned to look at each other.  
But there was more to come.  

As the brightness of the Star lessened, the Phial's light grew stronger.  A 
pale gold ray shook itself free of the Phial's confines and stretched out 
towards the forested area which lay to the hobbits' right.  
"Look, Sam, it's lighting a path for us", said Frodo.  He grabbed Sam's 
arm.  "Perhaps we should follow it".  

The light from the Phial shone clear and bright and it filled Sam's heart 
with fresh optimism to note the effect it had had upon Frodo.  Frodo's 
earlier despair had been cast off like an unwanted garment and had been 
replaced by vigour and energy, the likes of which Sam had not witnessed 
for many a day.  

It was dark all around them but the Phial blessed them with all the light 
they needed.  Its radiance weaved a passage through the trees and took 
them in a direction which lay very nearly at a ninety degree angle to the 
path they had previously followed.  Sam wondered where the light was 
guiding them but, like Frodo, he had absolutely no hesitation in trusting it.  

The hobbits could see little of the forest through which they passed.  Dry 
leaves and branches crackled underfoot as they walked and trees of 
varying sizes loomed into view as they were lit by the luminosity of the 
Phial.  Their pace was fast; the concern that the Phial's living, breathing 
light could abandon them at any moment was in both their thoughts 
although neither of them voiced their fears aloud.  

But abandon them it did not.  It took them to a place which greeted them 
with a sound which Sam had been longing to hear.  The hobbits heard that 
sound and looked at each other.  The light from the Phial had started to 
fade a little but not before it had shown them the swiftly-flowing waters of 
a fairly wide river.  

"You were right, Sam", said Frodo, looking at the water.  The reflected 
starlight made it look as though several million bright and dazzling jewels 
were bobbing up and down as the river flowed along its path.  

Sam was relieved that his ears had not deceived him.  He looked at Frodo 
and noted with concern that his companion looked exhausted.  
"How about we stop here for the night?" he asked.  "It doesn't look as 
though we can go much further".  

Frodo gave Sam a brief nod by way of agreement and the two of them 
crept under the branches of the nearest tree.  Frodo leaned back against the 
trunk of the tree and was fast asleep within minutes.  

Sam was glad that sleep had taken Frodo so soon; he looked pale and worn 
as he lay there.  Worried that he'd end up with a stiff neck if he continued 
to sleep in that position, Sam took Frodo gently in his arms and eased him 
away from the tree-trunk into a more comfortable position.  Sam made a 
pillow for Frodo out of dried leaves and grass.  Frodo murmured in his 
sleep but did not wake.  Placing one arm protectively across his master, 
Sam watched Frodo sleep for a while before eventually succumbing to 
slumber himself.  

It was the sweetest wake-up call Sam had had for many a day.  When he 
and Frodo had opened their eyes in Mordor, they awoke to the taste and 
stench of ash and poisoned fumes and, more often than not, the cries of 
marshals as Sauron's troops had been called upon to practice their 
manoeuvres.  But this was entirely different.  The only sound to pierce 
Sam's consciousness on this bright morning was the call of a bird; a lark, if 
he was not mistaken.  

Then there was the rushing sound of the river.  For reasons he could not 
explain this sound made Sam feel cheerful and comforted, it was as 
though an old friend had espied him from a distance and was rushing out 
to greet him.  

Sam stirred and then opened his eyes fully.  He could make out the blue of 
the sky through the tree's branches and it was glorious.  For a moment, 
Sam felt good.  

Then his hand reached out and groped the ground next to him.  It found 
nothing.  He sat bolt upright and looked all around him.    

Frodo had disappeared.  


CHAPTER 3

Panic gripped Sam with strong, ice cold fingers.  Blood pounded through 
his veins, forced by a hammering heart which knew the meaning of only 
one word - fear.  

Fear for Frodo.  

Sam scrutinised the area in front of the river and then jerked his head in 
the opposite direction.  Sweat prickled at the back of his neck and down 
his spine.  His eyes studied the ground, desperate for a clue as to Frodo's 
whereabouts and he was left heavy with disappointment when he found 
nothing.  The dried leaves and grasses were not the type of surface upon 
which footprints would be left.  

Sam's sense of panic grew with each passing minute.  He feared 
desperately for Frodo's safety and would have given up his life at that 
moment in exchange for the knowledge that his master was safe and 
unharmed.  He was bewildered and puzzled; it was so unlike Frodo to get 
up and wander off alone and this brought Sam abruptly back to the anger 
and bitterness which Frodo had displayed yesterday, before the light from 
the Phial had calmed him and led the two of them towards the river.  

A muffled scraping sound alerted Sam; he was as vigilant as a wild animal 
as he stood there with his eyes and ears strained to the maximum.  There it 
was - he heard it again, and this time he could tell where it was coming 
from.  He was off within a split second, keeping his ears open so as not to 
lose the direction of the noise.  

Sam soon came upon a narrow clearing and stopped dead in his tracks.  
His mouth dropped open at the sight which greeted him.  

Frodo was there, and he was naked.  He was busy filling in a hole in the 
ground which contained the clothes he had been wearing.  

"Ah, there you are, Sam", said Frodo without looking up.  He continued to 
kick earth on top of the clothes.  His body was wet and glistening.  
"Couldn't stand them any more", he continued, pointing at the garments.  

Sam stared at him in disbelief.  

"These clothes hold too many bad memories for me", continued Frodo, 
acting as though burying clothes was the most normal thing in the world to 
do.  "I'd rather walk around naked than wear them again.  I woke up early 
and washed all the filth off myself in the river.  Didn't want to wake you.  
Then I decided to get rid of these hideous garments".  

Frodo finally finished his task and then sat down on the ground with his 
arms clasped around his knees.  
"Don't look at me like that, Sam", said Frodo irritably, looking at Sam for 
the first time since he had arrived.  "I know I must present a very ugly 
picture but there's no need to look so disapproving".  

Sam almost choked as the words he wanted to say refused to find their 
way from the back of his dry throat onto his tongue.  He shook his head 
and mouthed words which would not allow themselves to be spoken.   
Relief that Frodo was safe surged through him fiercely and he had to fight 
with every ounce of his strength against the longing to rush across to him.  

"Now, there's no need for that kind of talk", he said, wishing that his voice 
did not sound so weak and faltering.  "Your Sam was worried about you, 
that's all".  His eyes moved to Frodo's bandaged right hand.  

"Don't worry, I kept my hand dry whilst I was bathing, Sam", said Frodo, 
noticing Sam's worried frown.  His face was mordant as he looked at his 
hand.  "At least I think it's still a hand.  But now that it has a piece missing 
I'm not so sure".  

Sam swallowed again and tentatively made his way over to where Frodo - 
a small, unhappy figure - was sitting.  His feet made little or no sound on 
the soft grass.  A large, brightly-coloured insect hovered above Frodo's 
head, its wings catching the sunlight in a rainbow shimmer.  

Sam sat down on the ground close to Frodo.  The longing to hold Frodo 
was strong but he forced himself to look straight ahead.  
"Of course it's still a hand", he said as firmly as he could.  "And as soon as 
we get you some treatment it'll be as good as new".  

Frodo laughed.  It was a dry, harsh sound.  
"Will it, Sam?"  he asked.  "Look, there's a space between this finger ..... 
and this", he pointed out.  "And it feels strange, very strange indeed.  I 
miss my finger, I really do.  But my misfortunes are nothing compared to 
those of Gollum.  He died, and it was all my fault.  I should never have let 
it happen".  
Frodo slumped forward and laid his head on his knees.  
"He was a poor, wretched, miserable creature but he didn't deserve to die.  
I blame myself for it".  

Frodo's last sentence was spoken so quietly that it was almost lost within 
the combined noises of the flowing of the river, the rustle of the trees and 
the chirping birdsong.  

"It wasn't your fault", protested Sam.  He laid his hand gently on Frodo's 
head.  His dark hair was beginning to dry in the warm sunshine and had 
started to arrange itself into its usual curly state.  "I don't mean to wish ill 
on nobody" continued Sam, biting his lip.  "But ... well ... if you ask me 
that Gollum fellow got what he deserved.  He wanted that Ring more than 
anything and he got it, hurting you badly in the process.  He lived for the 
Ring and he died for it too.  He wasn't a nice character".  

"But he still didn't deserve death".  

Sam stroked Frodo's hair, desperate to find a way to soothe him.  He 
decided against pursuing the matter of Gollum's death for it would serve 
no purpose now and in any event his overwhelming concern was for 
Frodo.  Sadness filled him as he saw the bones of Frodo's spine cruelly 
protruding through his flesh.  He seemed to have shrunken away to almost 
nothing.  

Sam was not surprised that Frodo had decided to cast off the garments 
they had taken from the orc-tower.  Given the circumstances in which they 
had been found, and the events which had led up to their discovery, Frodo 
could hardly be expected to look upon them with affection.  But he could 
not wander around in nowt but his skin and some kind of garment would 
have to be fashioned for him although Sam knew not what.  

Master Gamgee felt unsure and uncertain of their next move.  His absolute 
top priority was to get Frodo to a place where his injury could be treated 
and where he could recover from his trauma in peace and safety.  But they 
seemed no closer to finding such a place than they had last night, 
notwithstanding the guidance they had received from the Phial.  Sam 
pondered over the way the light had led them towards the river and then 
decided that it had done so for a reason.  

"Look, why don't we follow the path of the river and see where it takes 
us", he suggested to Frodo.  "We followed the beam from the Phial, after 
all, and there's got to be a reason why it led us here".  

Frodo didn't respond immediately.  Then he took a deep breath and sat 
upright.  
"Of course we should follow that path", he concluded.  "Where else is 
there to go?"  Frodo scrambled to his feet and Sam immediately jumped 
up to join him.  

"Do you know what my first thought was this morning when I woke up, 
Sam?" asked Frodo.  His tone was grave as he faced Sam.      
Sam shook his head hesitantly, unsure of what to expect.  
"I thought we were dead".  

Sam stared at him blankly.  He had no response to that and his expression 
was a reflection of the joylessness that writhed around inside him.    

"We were hovering above the Crack of Doom when Gollum fell into it 
with the Ring and then there was an explosion, that much I do remember", 
continued Frodo.  He wrung his hands as he spoke and grew agitated.  
"The thought occurred to me that we had been killed in that explosion.  I 
know it's not true, of course, I'm sure I wouldn't be feeling as bad as this if 
I had entered the afterlife, but given the extreme nature of events you have 
to admit that it's not totally unfeasible".  

Sam took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself.  His wished he could 
free Frodo from the disquieting thoughts which haunted him.  

"Maybe not", conceded Sam in as neutral a voice as he could manage.  
"But we're definitely alive, Mr. Frodo, and I think we should be making a 
move.  Can you walk or would you like me to carry you?"

"I'm fine, Sam, I can walk", insisted Frodo.  "And you are right, of course, 
we must be on our way, although I am not sure where our path will lead 
us.  I confess that I am totally lost".  Frodo sighed.  "And I suppose I'd 
better find something to wear before we set off.  Any ideas?"  Frodo 
glanced around him.  

Sam's gaze fell upon the leaves of a particularly large tree, the exact type 
of which he was unsure of.  
"Look ... how about these", he began.  He fingered the soft, thick leaves.  
"I could sew some of these together and make a tunic for you", he 
suggested.  Sam's hazel eyes were filled with warmth as they regarded his 
beloved master.  No task was too much trouble, not if it was for Frodo.  

Frodo peered inquisitively at the leaves before looking at Sam, who was 
thrilled to see that Frodo appeared to have snapped out of his 
despondency.  
"Good idea", said Frodo.  "You do that and I'll go and fill our water 
bottles.  I took a drink from the river earlier on and its water is good, Sam.  
Clear and cold and pure, far more pleasant than the water we found in 
Mordor".  

Frodo wandered off and Sam, after gathering an armful of the large soft 
leaves out of which he planned to fashion a garment, followed him.  He 
was not prepared to let Frodo out of his sight for longer than a few 
minutes.  

They got the water bottles out of Sam's pack and Frodo wandered down to 
the water's edge with them.  Sam, who had thought of literally everything 
when they had packed in readiness to leave the Shire long ago, 
miraculously had a needle and thread amongst his belongings and 
immediately set to work with the leaves.  His skilled hands moved quickly 
and the leaves - soft and strong and unlike any he had ever seen before - 
were easy to work with.  

Frodo wandered back and fastened the water bottles securely.  He watched 
closely as Sam worked his needle and then began to laugh.  
"I have never worn clothes made out of leaves before", he said.  He 
wrinkled up his face against the sun's glare before treating Sam to a warm 
and wonderfully genuine smile.  "You really are the most excellent of 
hobbits, Sam.  I'm so glad you're here with me".  

Frodo's expression of gratitude caught Sam off his guard.  It warmed his 
heart to hear Frodo speak those words and that wide smile meant more to 
Sam than words could ever say.   Sam was happier at that moment than he 
had been for a very long time.  Frodo had always been generous in his 
appreciation of Sam's loyalty but his words had a greater impact upon Sam 
now than they'd had on any previous occasion.  He fought back the tears 
as they pricked at his eyes and focussed his attention on his work.  

Before long Sam had the tunic finished and he handed it to Frodo.  It was 
not the most fashionable of garments, nor perhaps the most well fitting 
thing which Frodo had ever worn, but he was pleased with it nonetheless 
and it delighted Sam to see that Frodo's modesty would no longer have to 
be compromised.  

It was a beautiful day as the hobbits set out along the banks of the river.  
The sun, climbing ever higher in the sky, shone brightly and the sky was 
as blue as the cornflowers which Sam lovingly tended in the gardens at 
Bag End.  

Sam pushed aside memories of home.  I don't want to be thinking of the 
Shire now, he  chastised himself.  I can't see that we'll be going home yet 
awhile and definitely not before Mr. Frodo's strong and healthy again.  He 
glanced across at Frodo and was pleased to see that the other hobbit 
seemed to be taking a keen and lively interest in their surroundings.  

They followed the path of the river as it lay to their left.  Tall, densely-
growing trees prevented them from seeing what lay to their right and all 
they could see on the other side of the river was forestland.  

They were forced to eat such fruits and berries as they could lay their 
hands on, for there was no more food left in Sam's pack and there seemed 
little chance of coming across anything more substantial.  Sam thought 
longingly of the stewed rabbit and herbs they'd eaten whilst on their long 
journey to Mordor.  What he'd give for such a meal now.  Not that there 
was any chance of that, of course, even if he'd been able to find and catch 
a rabbit he no longer had any means of cooking it.      

The hobbits went on their way again as soon as they had eaten and Sam 
watched Frodo closely for signs of fatigue.  Not for the first time, he was 
amazed to see how Frodo seemed to have the ability to call upon vast 
reserves of inner strength when he found himself in a predicament.  

But neither of the hobbits were prepared for what happened at nightfall.  It 
was Frodo who heard the sound first and Sam immediately picked up on 
his disquiet.  They stared at each other with growing alarm as the faint 
noise grew more distinct.  The hobbits had heard enough orc rampages in 
their time to know that one was headed in their direction and they also 
knew how fast orcs could travel.  

"Quick, Sam, that tree", said Frodo, pointing at a huge sprawling oak with 
thick lower branches.  "We can climb up there".  

They made it to the tree but it was harder to climb than they'd imagined.  
Sam lifted Frodo onto his shoulders so he could get a grip on one of the 
lower branches but he could not reach.  The orcs were drawing nearer.  

Over and over again Sam tried to lift Frodo high enough to reach the 
lowest branch but each time he failed.  Their hearts were pounding as the 
orcs drew nearer but still they could not find a way to get themselves to 
safety.  Time was running out.  They had a minute at most before the orcs 
would be upon them.  


CHAPTER 4

It would not have upset Frodo and Sam had the ground opened up and 
swallowed them but unfortunately it did not.  With the orcs almost upon 
them, they had only seconds left within which to engineer some kind of 
escape.  Sam, turning ever more red in the face, hoisted Frodo as high as 
he could and Frodo stretched his arms as far above him as possible but still 
that branch was .....

Frodo blinked.  The branch was moving towards him.  He was not 
imagining it.  For all he had suffered in the last tortuous weeks, Frodo was 
not prone to hallucinations nor was he inclined to ignore an opportunity to 
avoid being captured by a company of marauding orcs, however 
implausible that opportunity might seem.  

Frodo grasped the thick, roughened branch as tightly as his damaged right 
hand would allow and hoisted himself up.  Once Frodo had managed to 
get himself in place the branch lowered itself further, thus enabling Sam to 
climb to safety.  He was lifted off the ground barely a second before the 
orcs spilled into view.  

Sam and Frodo sat in stunned, relieved silence as they thundered past.  
There must have been at least forty of them.  The hobbits caught glimpses 
of the creatures as they passed below them and wondered what would 
happen to them now that the Ring had been destroyed.  The orcs were still 
dangerous, of that Frodo and Sam had absolutely no doubt.  

Frodo looked deathly pale as he perched there, mercifully safe within the 
tree's thick branches.  His breathing was heavy and ragged and Sam 
wished fervently that they had not had the misfortune to find themselves 
almost swept away by a tide of the creatures who had already been 
responsible for so much of Frodo's suffering.  

"Perhaps we can get down now", said Sam softly.  He laid his hand upon 
Frodo's arm.  "I'll climb down first and ....."

"HOOM!  Don't be hasty".  

Both Frodo and Sam drew shocked, startled breaths.  They heard the loud, 
booming voice at the same time as they saw the two dark eyes open in the 
tree trunk.  Before they had a chance to register what was happening they 
discovered that they were being lifted higher into the air.  The branches of 
the tree appeared to have taken on a distinctly limb-like appearance.  

"Hrum, what strange creatures are you?  I have not seen your kind before.  
I need to know what you are before I decide whether or not to dislike 
you".  

Frodo looked ill.  Sam stared at him helplessly and then looked at the tree 
which appeared to be speaking to them.  Looking at it closely, he made out 
the shape of a mouth as well as eyes.  

"Er, begging your pardon, sir", began Sam in a stuttering voice.  "But what 
exactly are you?"  

"We are hobbits".  It was Frodo who spoke, in answer to the tree's 
question, and Sam was surprised at how clear and strong his voice was.  

The tree frowned.  Frodo and Sam gaped.  
"Hobbits?  Hobbits?  I know not of this race but that does not matter.  You 
are not burárum and that is what counts.  I am an ent".  

"A *what*?" asked Sam, his eyes wide.
"An ent" repeated the creature patiently.  At least, I believe that is the 
correct word in your tongue.  I am as old as the First Born".  

"Do you have a name?" asked Frodo.  
"Hrm, indeed I do", responded the ent.  My name is Echoleaf.  I have lived 
in these forests with my brethren for centuries".  
"You said you was an ent, sir", began Sam hesitantly.  "Not wishing to 
sound rude or nothing, but what exactly is an ent?"  He glanced at Frodo, 
who smiled encouragingly at him.  "It's just that, well, you look like a tree 
and all and ....."
"Thankfully none of our race have yet become treeish", replied Echoleaf 
contemplatively.  "But that is because, at present, we have much to occupy 
our thoughts".  
Frodo and Sam exchanged quizzical glances, not understanding what 
Echoleaf meant.  

"You used a strange word earlier on", remarked Frodo, looking closely at 
Echoleaf's huge face.  "Bar... bur..."
"Burárum", pronounced Echoleaf.  
"What does that mean?" asked Sam.
"Hoom, they were the creatures you were trying to hide from", boomed 
Echoleaf, his loud voice almost deafening the hobbits.  "You tried to climb 
into my branches in order to avoid being seen by them and it was then that 
I decided that, as you were not burárum, I should help you.  I was hasty, 
which is most unusual for me, because if there is one thing my people are 
not it is hasty".  

Frodo and Sam looked at Echoleaf thankfully.  
"You saved our lives and for that we are grateful", said Frodo.  "We have 
been through a great deal lately and to be captured by orcs ..... burárum ..... 
would have been most unpleasant for us".  A shadow settled upon Frodo's 
face.  
"They are unpleasant creatures", added Echoleaf, and Sam was ready to 
swear that the ent was frowning.  

But Sam's thoughts, as ever, were mainly concerned with Frodo and his 
desire to see his master safely settled in a nice comfortable bed gave him 
the courage he needed to ask Echoleaf a very pressing question.  
"I don't suppose there's any chance you could help us a bit more?" he 
began.  "It's just that we've run out of food and my friend here has been 
badly injured and ..."
"Hrum, you are small people but I have decided that I shall like you and I 
shall help you", declared Echoleaf.  "I am being hasty again".  
Sam's face was filled with gratitude and his eyes shone with relief.    
"I shall take you both to my enthouse where you will receive both 
nourishment and a place to rest.  Then I shall liase with my colleagues 
about what else is to be done".  

Sam decided not to press the matter further, for Frodo was looking 
increasingly unwell.  Wrapping an arm-branch securely around each of the 
hobbits, Echoleaf began to stride through the forest.  Sam was amazed to 
see that he had legs as well as arms and what was more they took such 
long strides that they were able to cover a large amount of ground in 
record time.  

Echoleaf's arms were gnarled and rough but Frodo and Sam did not find 
their journey with him uncomfortable.  They were grateful to be spared the 
rigours of further walking, an activity they had done so much of in recent 
weeks, and although the orc company had passed by without incident the 
hobbits were only too aware of how vulnerable they would be should they 
come across more of Sauron's creatures.  

"I don't understand", said Sam.  "What with the Ring being gone and all 
that I don't see what all these orcs are doing".  He wrinkled his nose in 
disgust as unpleasant memories loomed up in his mind's eye.  
"I don't understand either", responded Frodo wearily.  "But I suppose it's 
logical to assume that the orcs will still pose a danger", he continued.  
"They're not going to simply disappear without trace, that would be too 
much to hope".  
"I suppose so", sighed Sam, who was now looking almost as weary as 
Frodo.  

Echoleaf made no attempt to talk to the hobbits as he walked.  A sense of 
unreality was slowly overtaking both of them now; both of them were 
sorely in need of rest and the strange - and, as yet, unexplained - events of 
the past day or two were taking their toll.  

Frodo slumped to his knees as soon as Echoleaf set him down and Sam 
was immediately at his side.  
"Follow me.  I will lead you to a place where you can both rest", said 
Echoleaf.  
Sam helped Frodo up and wrapped one arm around his waist in order to 
support him.  

Echoleaf lead the hobbits up a gentle slope and when they reached the top 
they found themselves under a canopy of large, beautifully-shaped leaves.  
It was dark outside but the veins of the leaves emitted a soft greenish glow 
which made the whole area look cosy and welcoming.  Echoleaf's large 
gnarled face wore a worried expression as he looked at Frodo and he 
seemed able to sense that the former master of Bag End was in some 
discomfort.  

"I will bring you something to make you strong", declared Echoleaf.  
"Perhaps in the meantime you would like to rest here".  
Sam looked all around him for somewhere suitable for Frodo and himself 
to sleep but saw nothing which even remotely resembled a bed.  He 
wondered how the ents rested themselves and quickly deduced that they 
must go to sleep standing up.  Echoleaf strode off and Sam turned his 
attention to Frodo.  

"Do you know, Sam, I feel as though we no longer have any control over 
our own destiny", said Frodo.  "I feel as though we are caught up in a tide 
of events which is bearing us in a certain direction, whether we like it or 
not".  
He spoke slowly and deliberately and Sam noted with immense concern 
that his speech was slightly slurred.  
"How is that hand of yours?" asked Sam.  He wrapped his fingers around 
Frodo's fragile wrist and inspected the bandage.  
"It's throbbing quite badly", responded Frodo.  He held the hand up and 
looked at it with dull, lifeless eyes.  "But it's not quite so bad when I hold 
it up".  
Sam held Frodo's hand against his chest, wishing with all his heart that he 
could have suffered the wound instead of Frodo.  
"Listen to me, Mr. Frodo, we're going to stay here tonight with this nice 
ent fellow and then tomorrow we'll see if we can get someone to look at 
that hand of yours".  Sam's calm voice belied the churning worry which 
tore mercilessly at his insides.  

Frodo sat down on the ground.  He was looking paler and more drawn 
than ever.  As soon as Echoleaf returned he handed a large bowl to each of 
the hobbits.  
"Drink this", he commanded.  "It will make you tall and strong".  
Frodo sipped from his bowl without hesitation.  Sam opened his mouth to 
ask Echoleaf exactly what was in the bowl but then thought better of it.  
The expression on Frodo's wan face told him that the drink tasted pleasant 
and Sam did not believe that the ent would give them anything which 
would cause them harm.  

The hobbits drained their bowls whilst Echoleaf watched them solemnly.  
There was an ancient and venerable quality about the old ent.  He had 
accumulated a vast amount of wisdom and acuity throughout the long 
centuries of his existence and those characteristics were very much 
apparent as he watched the hobbits.    
"I do not pretend to understand everything about your species", he began, 
looking closely at Frodo's hand, "But I can tell that you are suffering and 
in pain and that not all your pain is physical".  
Frodo looked startled.  That remark had caught him off his guard.  He 
regained his composure and kept his eyes fixed upon Echoleaf.  
"We've both been through a lot", he conceded, glancing affectionately at 
Sam.  "Our experiences have not been pleasant".  
"And now you are in need of help", declared Echoleaf.  He had been 
leaning forward whilst looking at Frodo but now he drew himself up to his 
full height of fourteen feet.  
"Is there anywhere you can take us?" asked Sam, a note of desperation 
creeping into his voice.  "Somewhere that Mr. Frodo can go to get some 
help for his injuries?  He's so badly hurt".  

Frodo reached across and laid his undamaged hand on Sam's wrist.  
"We seem to be a long way from home, Sam", he said quietly.  "I expect 
I'll just have to put up with this injury and deal with it as best I can".  
Frodo looked tired and mournful and this was not lost on Echoleaf, who 
had been watching and listening closely.  

"Hrum, I think the two of you should rest now", he said, speaking in a 
softer voice than usual.  "And tomorrow I will take you to a place where 
you may find help".  

Sam's face light up as Echoleaf spoke.  He was overjoyed that help was 
near and even Frodo managed a weak smile.  

Echoleaf left them and the hobbits settled down to rest.  There was no bed 
for them to sleep on but the grass was soft, springy and dry and before 
long they had both drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.  But the night did 
not pass for either of them without restlessness.  Sam woke on 
innumerable occasions to check that Frodo was safe and became worried 
as he noticed that Frodo's breathing was becoming more and more ragged.  
When the first rays of dawn broke, Frodo was muttering inaudible words 
in his sleep and was tossing and turning frequently.  When Sam touched 
Frodo's forehead the skin was burning and the palms of his hands felt 
equally hot.  Sam's anxiety grew with each passing minute and it became 
apparent, when Frodo's restlessness and muttering did not cease, that he 
had a fever.  

Echoleaf strode up to greet the hobbits and immediately noticed the look 
of concern on Sam's face, the look which told him that the Frodo's health 
had deteriorated since the previous night.  
"If we don't get him some help soon I'm going to lose him", wept Sam.  
Worry and concern had etched deep lines on his broad, handsome face.  
"Please help us".  His voice was little more than a choked whisper as he 
looked pleadingly up at Echoleaf.  

"Come with me".  
Echoleaf slid his arm carefully underneath Frodo and lifted him up.  
Frodo, still clad in the leaf-tunic which Sam had stitched for him the day 
before, stirred and murmured but did not wake and Sam was pleased to see 
that he now appeared to be sleeping relatively peacefully.  Echoleaf then 
hoisted Sam up in his other arm and strode down the slope they had 
walked up last night in the dark.  

The air was bright and fresh and felt as though it had just been kissed by 
the early morning sun.  Sam's thoughts, however, were all for Frodo and 
the scenery through which Echoleaf took them failed to interest him.  

"Where are you taking us, Echoleaf?"  asked Sam tentatively.  They had 
been walking for well over an hour and the temperature was growing 
warmer.  
"My colleagues have suggested that I take you to a place where the Elder 
Kindred dwell", declared the ent.  
"The Elder Kindred ....." muttered Sam, looking up at Echoleaf 
quizzically.  Then his eyes widened.  "You mean ..... you're taking us to 
see the elves?"  
"Indeed I am", responded Echoleaf.  "They have special skills which may 
be able to help your friend".  He glanced at Frodo as he strode along, 
eating up the miles with his long strides.  

The river glinted and gleamed to their left as they moved along; this was 
the first time that Sam had noticed it since they set out that morning.  
Frodo appeared to be sleeping peacefully as he lay wrapped awkwardly in 
Echoleaf's long arm and for that Sam was grateful.  The knowledge that 
Echoleaf was taking them to see elves had lifted his spirits considerably; 
he knew that if anyone could help Frodo they could.  If Frodo could just 
hang on until they reached .....

"We are almost there", boomed Echoleaf, interrupting Sam's thoughts as 
he rounded the last bend of his journey.  

"Within a few minutes we shall be within the borders of Imladris".


CHAPTER 5

Sam was confused.  His brain refused to wrap itself around the conundrum 
which had placed itself right in his line of vision, the conundrum which 
was in the beautiful shape and form of Rivendell.  

It perplexed him.  It worried him.  It bothered him.  But none of these 
things were at the forefront of his deliberations because there was one 
aspect of the conundrum which made his heart literally sing with joy.  

They had almost arrived at the very place where Frodo would be able to 
receive attention for his wounds.  Lord Elrond - the wise and venerable elf 
who had saved Frodo when he lay close to death following the attack upon 
him by the Ringwraith - would be there and, with any luck, would be able 
to help Frodo again.  

Sam's joy knew no limits as Echoleaf strode ever closer to the settlement.  
Sam's eyes feasted on the sight like a starving man who had at last been 
given rich, sumptuous food.  The stunning architectural splendour of the 
place affected him more deeply than it had on the first occasion of his 
visit; to Sam's eyes it looked newer, brighter and altogether more vivid.  

Frodo was still sleeping.  Sam knew that his master had no more strength 
left with which to fight or to make decisions.  He thanked Elbereth from 
the bottom of his heart for sending them into the arms of Echoleaf, the 
august ent who had done so much to help them.  Sam shuddered as he 
contemplated what would have happened had the Phial of Galadriel, 
strengthened by the very special light from the Star of Eärendil, not led 
them towards the river.  But his unpleasant thinking was swiftly replaced 
with a lovely warm glow which reminded him of something the wizard 
Gandalf had told him before his sad and untimely death in the Mines of 
Moria, namely that there were good forces at work as well as evil.  
Elbereth was looking after himself and Frodo, of that Sam was certain.  

"We were fortunate not to encounter any burárum, you know", commented 
Echoleaf, interrupting the flow of Sam's thoughts with an acute 
observation.  "They can be a nuisance at times but these borders are well 
protected".  He glanced at Frodo.  "Your friend is still sleeping, and that is 
perhaps for the best.  The Elder Kindred will give him all the care he 
needs, of that I am sure".  

"I hope so", chirped Sam, still basking in the glow of happiness which had 
wrapped itself around him.  "Lord Elrond was so kind to us before, he 
took us in, gave us shelter and saw to Mr. Frodo.  He was wonderful".  

Echoleaf looked distinctly puzzled.
"You have visited Imladris before?"  he asked.
"Why, yes!"  exclaimed Sam, beaming.  "Aragorn brought us here after 
Mr. Frodo was stabbed by that wretched Ringwraith".  Sam's face was 
twisted with pain and disgust as those very dark memories rose to the 
surface.  

Echoleaf stopped in his tracks.
"You have encountered one of the Nine?"
"Yes", confirmed Sam.  "At Weathertop.  We tried to protect Mr. Frodo - 
Merry, Pippin and me - but ....."  Sam's voice tailed off.  When he spoke 
again his voice was wracked with raw emotion.  "We failed".  
Further painful memories etched themselves upon Sam's face.  

Echoleaf looked pensive.  Clearly the news that this was not Frodo and 
Sam's first visit to Imladris, coupled with the news that they had 
experienced contact with a Nazgűl, had somewhat thrown him off his 
stride.  

"We must get you to safety quickly", he said, and immediately resumed 
his walking.  
"But there's nothing to worry about now, is there?" asked Sam, a tiny 
frown creasing his forehead.  "Them Ringwraiths are out of the way now 
that the Ring's been destroyed and as for the orcs ..... well, won't they 
eventually go back to Mordor or something?"  

Echoleaf took a very deep breath.  He looked acutely troubled.  Sam didn't 
understand his reaction but decided against pressing him with further 
questions.  He wondered if the ent was tired.  Sam had no idea as to how 
many miles they'd covered since they set off that morning but he guessed 
it was a fair few and Echoleaf had every right to be in need of a rest.  

The gushing sound of the River Bruinen was growing noisier.  Sam had 
once been told by Glorfindel that it was often referred to as the 'loud-
water' and it was not difficult to see why.  Master Gamgee experienced a 
little thrill of excitement as Rivendell loomed ever larger in his view; he 
could see and hear the waterfall clearly now and he wondered if this was 
the sound he had heard a few days ago.    

The waterfall poured majestically into the river from a great height, 
sending out glorious clouds of multi-coloured spray as it cascaded over the 
rocks.  Sam's stomach tightened; he wondered if Bilbo would see them 
coming and rush out to greet them.  He hoped that Frodo would be awake 
to see him but if he wasn't he'd be able to have a long chat with him later.  

Sam's heart glowed as he allowed himself to dream of the events which 
would take place in the near future.  Elrond would help Frodo to heal from 
his injuries, he, Sam, would be there to nurse him and sit at his side for as 
long as it took for him to make a full recovery.  Then, once Frodo had 
fully recuperated, they'd go back to the Shire together and live happy, 
quiet lives.  And Mr. Frodo won't be going nowhere without me, declared 
Sam silently but resolutely.    

He continued to think of the happy times which lay ahead for them as he 
stole glances at Frodo.  He was so pleased that Frodo, in his slumber, had 
been spared the discomfort of a long walk whilst being carried by 
Echoleaf although Sam would be the first to acknowledge that the dear old 
ent had done them a massive favour by bringing them as far as Rivendell.  
For that, Sam would be eternally grateful, and it mattered not to him that 
Echoleaf's branches were beginning to dig into him and make him 
uncomfortable.    

As if sensing his thoughts, Echoleaf set Sam down.  Sam's legs felt strange 
and wobbly as he touched the ground but he soon recovered and was then 
helping Echoleaf as he lowered Frodo gently downwards.  Sam took his 
master in his arms and then sunk slowly to the ground, cradling Frodo's 
head in his lap.  

Frodo stirred and murmured something.  
"Sam ..... so glad that ....."  But the remainder of his words were 
incoherent and he did not open his eyes.    
"Ssshhhh, your Sam's got you", soothed Sam, stroking Frodo's hair off his 
face.  "We're at Rivendell now and before long Lord Elrond'll have you as 
right as rain, just you see".  

Sam, watched with kind tolerance by Echoleaf, continued to coo over 
Frodo and stroke him.  He only had eyes for Frodo at that tender moment 
but as he looked up he very nearly found himself without eyes at all.  

He was surrounded by spear-heads.  Had they been any closer, they would 
have pierced his eyes.  Sam emitted a strangled little cry; the proximity of 
the weapons barely allowed him room to move his head.  
"Please ..... no ...", he began.  Shock tumbled its way over him; he felt 
clumsy and ill-prepared.  

"Please don't hurt us", he croaked, his throat tight with fear.  "Please don't 
hurt Frodo.  He's already badly injured, he can't do you any harm, surely 
you can see that?"  

Sam then heard Echoleaf speak.  The language - Quenya - was unfamiliar 
to him but it was understood by the circle of warriors who held the hobbits 
captive.  The spears were withdrawn by a sufficient distance to enable 
Sam to raise his head and look at his captors.  

He was aghast when he realised that the soldiers were elves.  Tall and 
strong, they towered above him in lithe, sinewy self-assurance.  Their 
presence agitated Sam.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he had formed 
the view that the attackers were orcs but to discover they were of the elven 
kindred came as a shock of massive proportions.  

One of the elves - the leader, Sam presumed - exchanged further words 
with Echoleaf.  Sam glanced from Echoleaf to the elf and then back to the 
ent again.  Although he could not understand what was being said, he 
sensed that Echoleaf was trying to explain to the elves that the hobbits 
were harmless and were merely seeking shelter after a long and wearisome 
campaign.  

At last the conversation halted and the elven-leader eyed Sam curiously.  
"You tell a strange tale, Master Hobbit", he began.  He spoke in Westron, 
much to Sam's relief.  "Some of which has been recounted to me by our 
much-honoured Echoleaf".  
The ent stood and watched solemnly.  
"Fortunately for you, Echoleaf has convinced me that you come to 
Imladris to seek refuge rather than to do damage and, as it is not within his 
capabilities to lie, I will grant you the refuge you seek".  

Sam's heart performed little somersaults of joy.  His relief was reflected in 
his eyes as he looked up at the tall elf.  
"Thank you, sir", he said, bubbling with gratitude.  "My friend is in 
desperate need of help".
"So I see", responded the elf, casting his dark eyes over Frodo's inert form.  
"You will be taken to one of our dwellings and, in due course, you will tell 
us your tale in its entirety".  

Sam nodded blankly.  Although he didn't like the tone of the elf who 
addressed him, he didn't dwell on it because the other elves, mercifully, 
were now withdrawing their spears.  He looked at Echoleaf gratefully.  

"Thank you, Echoleaf.  I don't know what we'd have done without you".  
"Hrum, hoom, perhaps one day we will meet again", boomed the ent.  "I 
have decided that I like hobbits, even though I was a little hasty in making 
my decision.  These are troubled times, you know, and you can never be 
too careful".  

Sam waved as Echoleaf strode off.  He felt sad to see the ent go and 
wished he could do more to thank him.  
"I hope I'll see you again", he muttered, but Echoleaf had already 
disappeared from view.  

"Are you able to walk?"  
The elven leader, who stated that his name was Maltanaurion, was 
addressing Sam.  
"Aye", he replied.  "But Mr. Frodo'll need to be carried".  

One of the other elves - the only fair-haired one amongst the six - stepped 
forward.  He bore a slight resemblance to Legolas, Sam noted, and 
although he wondered if they were related in any way he decided that now 
was not the time to ask.  

The fair-haired elf lifted Frodo's slight weight into his arms with 
nonchalant ease and Sam scrambled to his feet.  
"Please be careful with him", pleaded Sam.  "His hand is badly injured".    

The six elves, with Sam accompanying them, set off and Sam was relieved 
to see that the fair-haired elf was not only taking great care not to hurt 
Frodo but was also making sure that his right hand was laid carefully 
across his chest.  Sam struggled to keep up with the long, graceful strides 
of the elves but pride prevented him from asking to be carried.  He did not 
feel entirely comfortable in the company of these warriors; they made no 
attempt to include him in their conversation, preferring instead to talk 
amongst themselves in Quenya.  

The river bubbled cheerfully as they climbed a steep, winding path which 
had been carved into the rock-face.  The noise from the river receded as 
they climbed further away from it and Sam found it harder and harder to 
keep up with the elves.  The fair-haired elf who was carrying Frodo 
slowed his pace a little.  He alone seemed sensitive to the limitations of 
the small hobbit but luckily his colleagues took the hint and began to slow 
their pace too.  

Sam noted their lean, sleek muscles and wondered how much training they 
had to do to achieve the warrior status which these elves obviously 
enjoyed.  The question of why the elves were taking so much care over the 
protection of their borders now that the Ring had been destroyed once 
again rose to the forefront of Sam's thinking and once again perplexed 
him.  He just didn't know what to make of it.  

The long path up through the cliff at last came to an end and he found 
himself in a narrow courtyard framed with small, attractive dwellings 
designed in the same eye-catching architectural style as the houses visible 
from the riverside.  Sam had never seen this part of Rivendell before; he, 
together with Frodo, Merry and Pippin had done a good deal of exploring 
during the weeks they had spent here previously but the exploration had 
largely been confined to the grounds of Elrond's house.  

The fair-haired elf cradled Frodo carefully in his arms.  Sam was relieved 
that his master was still sleeping but this did not blind him to the fact that 
Frodo's health was in a precarious state and that he needed to be tended by 
someone skilled in healing methods.  

"Is there any chance we could see Lord Elrond?" he asked, addressing his 
question to no-one in particular.  "He helped Mr. Frodo when we was here 
last time, and he did say we could come back again if we wanted".  

Sam glanced around at the faces hopefully.  The elves looked at each 
other, their expressions giving nothing away.  The atmosphere was filled 
with the silence of the elves and the tinkling, gushing sound of the river 
below.  Expectation hung in the air like a wet flag as Sam waited patiently 
- or perhaps impatiently - for a reply.  

A stone fell to the ground from a great height.  It was a small stone, not 
much bigger than a pebble, but the sound it made as it hit the ground was 
enough to startle Sam.  Glancing upwards, he saw a large bird fly 
overhead and realised that the stone had been dropped by the bird.  One of 
the elves looked up at the bird but none of the others took any notice.  

Sam's frustration was beginning to mount.  
"Look, I know it must seem strange to have me and Mr. Frodo come back 
here like this but the facts are simple.  We've destroyed the Ring, just like 
Lord Elrond asked, something strange happened when we were at 
Orodruin and now we're here.  Mr. Frodo got his finger bitten off by 
Gollum and he's had other horrible things happen to him as well".  

Sam's eyes were blazing now.  He'd well and truly had enough of the 
elves' prevarication and decided that the time had come for him to take the 
situation into his own hands.  
"So are you going to take me to see Lord Elrond or not?" he asked, 
squaring up to the six lofty elves.  "If not, give Mr. Frodo to me and I'll 
find the house myself".  

Maltanaurion exchanged glances with his companions and stepped 
forward.  
"You speak strange words, Master Hobbit", he said, his slow, silky tones 
doing nothing to ease Sam's growing disquiet.  "But you leave me deeply 
perplexed".  

He crouched so as to bring himself down to Sam's level.  
"I have dwelt within the environs of Imladris for the past three centuries 
yet you told Echoleaf you were here only a short time ago.  I have 
absolutely no recollection of having met either you or your companion.  
How can this be explained?"


CHAPTER 6

Sam gulped and stared at Maltanaurion.  The elf's unexpected response to 
his request to meet with Elrond had left Sam in a distinctly ruffled state.  
He didn't like mysteries, at least not when they were of this nature, and 
especially when they threatened to interfere with the health and well-being 
of his beloved master.  

But Samwise Gamgee was a resourceful hobbit and a brave one too.  His 
courage had never been known to falter, not even in the most perilous of 
situations, and his sound common sense told him that the circumstances in 
which he currently found himself could scarcely be considered as 
threatening as some of the horrific events he had been called upon to deal 
with in the past.  

"I'm afraid I can't explain it, sir", declared Sam.  He looked Maltanaurion 
straight in the eye as he spoke and his voice was clear and strong.  "And 
we can stand here for the rest of the day and argue about it, if you like, for 
all the good it'll do.  Or, on the other hand, I could tell you all about the 
inside of Elrond's house and the things he has there and even describe to 
you the view Mr. Frodo had from the room he was sleeping in.  Not to 
mention the food we ate while we were there, of course".  

Sam folded his arms and faced Maltanaurion defiantly.  Now it was the 
elf's turn to be caught off his guard.  He drew himself up to his full height 
and fumbled with his quiver for a few seconds.  The expressions on the 
faces of the other elves were blank.  

"You speak convincingly, Master Hobbit".  
It had not taken Maltanaurion long to regain his composure.  "And you are 
endowed with a courage which more than makes up for your lack of size".  
He paused for a moment and studied the determined Samwise.  "I confess 
that your words have left me mystified but, if you are so set upon having a 
meeting with Lord Elrond, I will not stand in your way.  I will leave it to 
him to listen to your story and thereafter deal with you and your 
companion as he sees fit".  

Sam remained calm but inwardly he was dancing with joy.  He knew, 
beyond all else, that he had to get Frodo to Elrond's house and he sensed 
that if that step could be achieved, all the other missing and confusing 
pieces of the puzzle would fall into place.  

Maltanaurion turned on his heels and gestured to Sam to follow him.  He 
dismissed the other elves, and Sam kept a protective watch as the fair-
haired elf transferred Frodo into Maltanaurion's arms.  

"So, Master Hobbit, to the house of Lord Elrond".  
Sam immediately fell into step beside Maltanaurion.  His heart was 
beating fast and he was pleased to have overcome what could have been 
an awkward obstacle in his race to get Frodo to safety before he reached a 
stage where he would be beyond help.  

"What is your name?"  
Sam was a little taken aback at the elf's question.  
"My name is Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast.  I am from the Shire".  
"I have never heard of this place".  
"Maybe not, but Lord Elrond knows of it".  Defiance was creeping back 
into Sam's voice as, not for the first time, Maltanaurion's supercilious 
tones irritated him.  
"We shall see".  

The remainder of the journey was made in silence.  Maltanaurion carried 
Frodo carefully and Sam was pleased to note that he avoided jolting him 
unnecessarily.  He was not an unkind person, Sam realised, just one who 
believed in executing his duty meticulously.      

Sam allowed himself the luxury of taking in the scenery as they walked.  
He had not realised that such a large number of elves lived in Rivendell 
and had no recollection of it being as busy and as bustling as this on his 
previous visit.  But he put that down to the fact that there had been serious 
business to attend to then, especially when Frodo had lain so close to 
death, and making notes as to the number of elves who walked Rivendell's 
streets had been the last thing on Sam's mind.  

He was fascinated by the elves he saw.  Some were dark-haired, some had 
golden hair and many had hair which could best be described as silver.  He 
remembered Lord Elrond telling him something of the history of the elves 
during the time he spent in Rivendell, and decided that, once Frodo was 
out of danger and well on the road to recovery, he would speak again 
about such matters with Elrond.  

Sam didn't recognise any of the streets through which he and Maltanaurion 
passed.  He was growing weary with toil and worry; it had been a long day 
already and it was far from over yet.  As soon as Frodo was being tended 
to Sam would consider taking some rest but not before that.  

The walking came to an end some twenty minutes later when, at last, Sam 
stood before the object of his dreams - the House of Elrond.  Memories 
surfaced immediately; an ache ran through him as he recollected how he, 
together with Merry, Pippin and Aragorn, had been led to this very house 
by Glorfindel in the very fast galloping footsteps of Asfaloth, the horse 
who had borne Frodo to safety across the river and out of reach forever of 
the pursuing Ringwraiths.  Frodo had been close to death on that occasion 
and, as if imprisoned under the distant but persistent shadow of the past, 
he lay once again in a precarious state of health.  

A servant appeared in the doorway and nodded as soon as he saw 
Maltanaurion.  His eyes widened when he noticed Sam and Frodo.  It was 
apparent that the servant knew not what to make of the two small halflings 
- one sleeping and one standing - and he looked questioningly at 
Maltanaurion.  

"These creatures are called hobbits", said Maltanaurion.  "They wish to 
see Lord Elrond".  
"Lord Elrond is in conference", replied the raven-haired servant, shooting 
a curious glance in Sam's direction.  
"We'll wait", declared Sam firmly, before Maltanaurion had a chance to 
speak.  The unwavering expression on his face managed to bring a faint 
smile to the elven warrior's thin lips.  
"Perhaps this hobbit and his companion could wait in a resting area until 
Lord Elrond is free", suggested Maltanaurion.  His weary tones suggested 
that he had had quite enough of Samwise Gamgee's dogged persuasion for 
one day.  

The servant nodded and ushered Sam inside.  The grandeur of the 
reception hall was much as Sam remembered it although he noted that 
Elrond had not only completely re-arranged the interior of he room but 
had also acquired a new set of artefacts and exhibits.  A vague surprise 
registered itself within him but for the time being he was too concerned 
with Frodo to expend too much mental energy upon the matter of Elrond's 
new furnishings.  

The servant led Sam into a narrow ante-room leading off the main 
reception hall.  The room was small but comfortable and contained a 
couch, a desk and two soft chairs.  Sam was followed into the room by 
Maltanaurion, who swiftly laid Frodo down upon the couch.  Frodo stirred 
but did not wake.  Sam was immediately kneeling at his side, his face taut 
and anxious.  

"Master Gamgee, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance".  
Maltanaurion stood in the doorway and bowed low.  "I hope your audience 
with Lord Elrond brings the outcome you desire.  I bid you farewell, 
although we will, perhaps, meet again soon".  
Sam nodded at him briefly and thanked him for his assistance and 
protection.  

The servant re-appeared with a tray upon which was a jug and two large, 
heavy glasses.  
"I will tell Lord Elrond you are waiting to see him", said the elf.  
"Er, I don't want to be impudent or nothing", began Sam, rising to his feet.  
"But it's just that Mr. Frodo is badly injured here, he needs the help of a 
healer".  He paused for a moment and looked at Frodo.  "Too long a delay 
could be ..... crucial".  

The elf-servant nodded in understanding and silently withdrew.  

Frodo stirred.  He slung one arm above his head and moaned softly.    
"Ssshhhh, there, it won't be long", soothed Sam.  He slipped his arms 
around Frodo and rocked him gently.  "We're in Rivendell now, just like I 
promised, and Lord Elrond'll be here in a trice, you'll see.  Everything's 
going to be fine, you'll soon be better and your Sam's not going to leave 
your side".  

Although Frodo calmed a little, his breathing had deteriorated into a harsh, 
painful rasp and when Sam laid his hand upon his forehead he was 
alarmed to note that his skin was burning.  Sam willed himself not to panic 
but wished with all his heart that ..... 

"Can I help you?"  

Sam spun round, his heart in his mouth.  He recognised the voice 
immediately and felt almost drunk with relief as he found himself looking 
into the intelligent dark eyes of Elrond Half-elven.  

"Lord Elrond, it's you, thank Elbereth!"  Sam blurted out the words, barely 
able to contain his joy.  "We've travelled so far to see you, you wouldn't 
believe what's happened.  We've done what you wanted, but Frodo got 
hurt badly by Gollum.  It's his finger ..... look ..... it's been bitten off and 
now he's got a fever.  He needs your help badly".  

Sam paused to take breath, his chest heaving rapidly.  Elrond looked 
baffled.  

"Perhaps it would be sensible if you told me your story from the 
beginning".  
Lord Elrond sat down in one of the chairs and stretched his long legs out 
in front of him.  "You could begin by telling me your name and where you 
are from.  I am told you are a hobbit but, beyond that, I know nothing of 
you.  Perhaps you would enlighten me".  

Sam's jaw dropped open.  Had he been hit over the head with Gandalf's 
staff he could not have looked more dazed.  Incredulity seeped through 
him; his heart was leaden with bitter disappointment.  

"Lord Elrond", he stammered, "Surely you can't have forgotten us 
already?  Frodo and me weren't here that long ago, now, and we spent 
about two months in your house.  You were really kind to us and you 
made Frodo better after he got stabbed".  

"I am afraid you are mistaken.  I can state with certainty that I have never 
entertained anyone of your race at my house.  Indeed, this is the first time 
that I have encountered your species".  

Elrond rose from his chair in an easy, graceful movement.  His dark eyes 
continued to focus upon Sam.  

"Lord Elrond, it's me, Sam Gamgee, remember?  And this is Frodo 
Baggins, surely you remember him?  He would have died if it hadn't been 
for you".  

Elrond shook his head, a simple action which left Sam completely and 
utterly devastated.  
"I am sorry, Master Gamgee, but your words make no sense to me.  I 
repeat that I have never seen you before.  Neither you nor your friend are 
known to me".  

"Lord Elrond, please", begged Sam, trying to fight back the hot tears 
which refused to remain imprisoned within his eyes.  His anguish knew no 
bounds as he looked into the uncomprehending eyes of the wise elf who 
seemed more like a stranger than the friend he had once known.  Even his 
appearance was different.  Sam wondered if the destruction of the Ring 
had freed Elrond from his worry and helped him cast off some of his long 
elven-years, for he certainly looked younger than he did when Sam last 
saw him.   


"Master Gamgee, I can see that you are in acute distress and that you and 
your companion have been through a great deal.  I am not unsympathetic 
to your plight and I will gladly do all I can to alleviate your friend's 
obvious suffering.  Perhaps you will feel better once you are relieved of 
the worry his condition is bringing you".  

Sam's eyes widened as he stared at Elrond.  Part of him was thrilled that, 
at last, help was on the way for Frodo but the attitude which Elrond 
displayed towards him left him feeling as though he were not being taken 
seriously.  It hurt him to be treated in this manner, especially after the 
companionship he and Frodo had enjoyed with Elrond and the elves of his 
household on their previous visit.  

It was clear that Elrond was expecting some kind of response from him so 
Sam, doing his best to gather the tattered remnants of his thoughts within 
as short a space of time as possible, nodded dumbly at the elf and 
managed to find some words which did not betray the violence of his 
crumpled emotions.  

"That's very kind of you, Lord Elrond".  Sam swallowed heavily.  

Elrond scooped Frodo carefully into his arms.  Sam followed the elven-
lord out of the little room, into the main reception hall and then along a 
bending corridor which led to a long staircase.  Sam rubbed his eyes; his 
inability to remember many of the most prominent features of the house 
made him realise how tired he was.  He focussed his thoughts upon Frodo; 
the knowledge that his master was going to receive attention filled him 
with unmitigated joy.  As long as Frodo was healed he would be able to 
cope with Elrond's forgetfulness.  

Frodo was laid on a bed in a light, airy room on the side of the house 
which had a view of the waterfall, the side which housed the room in 
which Frodo had recovered on the previous occasion he was here.  Sam 
watched as Elrond unravelled the length of cloth which he had wrapped 
around Frodo's wound a few days earlier.  

The sight of the wound left Sam profoundly disturbed.  The area was still 
glistening with fresh blood and the flesh immediately surrounding the 
wound had turned black.  Frodo, wearing his now tattered leaf-tunic, lay 
still and ashen against the crisp linen, his dark hair forming a stark contrast 
to the ivory pallor of his skin.  

Elrond surveyed the wound with the devoted eyes of a skilled healer.  Sam 
was oddly conscious of the whoosh of the waterfall in the distance; its 
perpetual pouring forming a backdrop to the unnerving sound of Frodo's 
harsh breathing.  Tears formed in Sam's eyes as he surveyed his much-
adored master and an uncharacteristic ball of anger formed in the pit of his 
stomach.  Elrond was partly to blame for the state in which Frodo 
currently found himself yet he didn't even have the decency to 
acknowledge that he was acquainted with the hobbits.  He made use of us, 
Sam thought furiously.  He used us to get rid of the Ring and now he 
doesn't even want to be bothered with us.  

But the concerned expression on Elrond's noble face belied the resentment 
which was stirring inside Sam and soon he was busying himself with 
fetching various herbs and powders from a cabinet in the corner of the 
room.  He poured clean, clear water from a pitcher into a large round bowl 
and then took a handful of a dried herb which Sam did not recognise and 
sprinkled it in the water.  Elrond added a pinch of a bluish powder and 
some liquid from a small phial before immersing Frodo's injured hand in 
the bowl. 


CHAPTER 7

The medicinal liquid frothed around Frodo's injured hand and Elrond 
chanted long elvish sentences which Sam could not follow.  It was an 
anxious time for him.  His mind was ablaze with the memories of the last 
time that Elrond had performed a healing spell and he prayed with all his 
heart that this occasion would be as successful.  

When Elrond had finished speaking he seemed satisfied at the change in 
Frodo's condition.  The hobbit was now breathing more easily and the 
rasping sound which had previously alarmed Sam had all but faded.    

Sam didn't care if Elrond saw the tears in his eyes.  Neither did Elrond's 
offhand attitude seem to matter any more because, for the time being, all 
Sam could think about was that Frodo had taken his very first step on the 
road to what would hopefully lead to full recuperation.  

"Will he be alright now?" whispered Sam, his face alight with hope.  He 
studied Frodo's sleeping face and stroked his hair with a gentle finger.  
"He should make a satisfactory recovery", responded Elrond promptly.  
"But it could take time.  Had you not brought him to me when you did, it 
may have been too late to save his hand".  Anticipating Sam's next 
question, Elrond then said, "Precisely how long his recovery will take 
depends upon his overall constitution".  
"He's already been through so much", said Sam, his face clouding again.  
"First he got stabbed, then the troll's spear hit him and after that there was 
the monstrous spider.  Not to mention what the orcs did to him.  And he 
hasn't had a proper meal for ages".  

"You and your companion have had many unpleasant adventures, Master 
Gamgee", commented Elrond, raising his eyebrows.   
"Aye", said Sam.  "And the first of those was at Weathertop, the time you 
don't remember nothing about".  
Sam's voice was sad and low and quiet.  His earlier anger towards Elrond 
had now subsided and been replaced with liberal measures of gratitude but 
the elf's inability to recognise the hobbits still troubled him.  

Elrond took a deep breath.  Sam watched him closely, ever-hopeful that he 
would display some sign of recognition.  
"Master Gamgee, I can see that your sufferings have been great.  The 
wound to Master Baggins' hand is proof enough of that and, as I have said 
previously, I am not insensitive to your needs.  I will gladly provide you 
with shelter for as long as you are in need of it and I will do all I can to 
ensure that Frodo regains his strength.  But I must repeat that you are 
mistaken when you say we have met before.  I give you my word that this 
is not the case".  

Elrond paused for a moment.  His face was both stern and kind as he 
looked at Sam.  Sam stared up at him, unsure of how he should deal with 
the situation.  He decided against pressing the issue for the time being.  If 
Elrond didn't remember them then, well, he didn't, and in any event that 
particular issue was of a lower priority than Frodo being cared for and 
nursed back to health.  

Sam cleared his throat and then addressed Lord Elrond.  
"It's very kind of you, sir, to help us like this.  You've saved Mr. Frodo's 
life and that means more to me than words can say".  Sam's eyes were 
shining with thankfulness as he looked up.    

Elrond bowed his head.
"You are most welcome, Master Gamgee.  I deplore unnecessary 
suffering, especially when it affects the innocent, and I believe you will 
find Master Baggins much improved when he wakes up.  It pleases me to 
have been able to help him".  
Elrond lifted Frodo's hand from the bowl and examined it carefully.  
"This wound will heal in time.  But it is beyond my powers to grow a new 
finger for him, I am afraid".  
Sam managed a wry smile.  
"I wasn't expecting nothing like that, sir", he said.  "I just wanted him to 
be healed, like, so he wouldn't be hurting no more.  I can't bear to see him 
in pain".  

Elrond was becoming increasingly puzzled by the hobbits, although Sam 
could not have guessed this from his composed expression.  The skilled 
healer dried Frodo's hand carefully and then applied a thin layer of a 
substance taken from a crystal jar to the wound before dressing it with a 
length of thin, gauzy material, the likes of which Sam had never seen 
before.  

"Master Gamgee, I have done all I can for your friend Frodo for the time 
being.  I suggest you allow him to sleep.  He will wake up once the 
healing process has taken effect".  

Sam stood up.  
"Lord Elrond, thank you again.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart".
Elrond smiled benignly.  
"I am afraid I have no garments in my house which are suitable for 
hobbits, but I will arrange for one of my servants to fashion nightshirts and 
other items for both you and Frodo.  I have a skilled seamstress amongst 
my staff and she will be happy to oblige".  
"Thank you, sir", said Sam.  He glanced at Frodo, pleased that his beloved 
master would not have to wear the tattered leaf-tunic for much longer.  
"There are washing facilities in the room next door", continued Elrond, 
pointing to a door which lay on the opposite side of the room to Frodo's 
bed.  "Feel free to avail yourself of them, if you wish".  
"I greatly appreciate it, Lord Elrond", said Sam.  "And thank you once 
again for all you have done for us".  
"I will have some refreshments sent up for you and will return tomorrow 
morning to check upon Frodo's condition".

Elrond then withdrew from the room and left Sam alone with Frodo.  The 
earlier worry which clouded Sam's face had lifted and he felt almost light-
headed as he contemplated the kind and very welcome invitation which 
Elrond had issued to himself and Frodo.  He thanked Elbereth that they 
had at last found a safe haven, a place where Frodo could rest and, 
hopefully, regain the good health he had enjoyed before he left the Shire.  

Sam spent the hour which followed at Frodo's side.  His delight at the 
improvement in Frodo's condition had enabled him to shrug off his own 
fatigue and had filled him with a fresh sense of optimism.  Frodo was 
sleeping peacefully and his features were calm and relaxed, a marked 
contrast to the distress which had characterised his earlier appearance.  

Sam lit candles in the chamber as darkness fell.  The room was beautiful 
and tranquil, an ideal place for Frodo to wake up in once the healing spell 
had taken effect.  A few moments later there was a knock on the door and 
when Sam opened it he found an elven lady standing there with a bundle 
of clothes.  

"Lord Elrond has asked me to bring you these", she explained, smiling 
kindly at Sam.  "I hope they will be satisfactory".  
Sam took the garments from the elf and thanked her.  He marvelled at how 
she had managed to conjure up so many beautifully-made articles of 
clothing within such a short space of time.  

There were two nightshirts amongst the clothing, plus linen shirts, 
breeches and tunics.  Sam smiled as he folded the garments neatly and 
looked forward to the time when Frodo would be able to rise from his bed, 
get dressed and take the time to recover from his injury in peace and 
safety.  Sam was happy at that moment for there was so much to be 
grateful for.  

The light from the candles cast a soft, warm glow over the room as Frodo 
slept on.  Sam pushed open the door to the room next door which Elrond 
had said contained washing facilities.  He longed to take a bath and wash 
away the grime of the last few days but before he did that he was 
determined to attend to Frodo's needs.  

Sam surveyed the cosy washroom and was pleased with what he saw.  
There was a large tub, a big pile of soft, thick towels and a fire which 
burned cheerily in the hearth.  A water-filled kettle hung over the fire and 
Sam immediately set about pouring some hot water into a small bowl.  He 
selected two large towels from the pile and then found a bar of soap and a 
washcloth.  Sam allowed the water to cool a little before taking the bowl 
into Frodo's room.  

Frodo lay sleeping atop the large bed, deep in Elrond's healing spell, and 
completely oblivious to all that had taken place since his last moments of 
consciousness.  It pleased Sam to think that whilst he slept his beloved 
master would not be suffering.   


Sam pondered their strange situation anew.  The memories of the terrible 
days they had spent in Mordor were still carving ugly pictures upon the 
canvas of his confused thinking;  they would not be erased by a mere few 
hours in Rivendell.  Sam was determined, as he cut away Frodo's leaf-
tunic and discarded it, that Frodo would never again be exposed to such 
horror.  

Sam tested the temperature of the water in the bowl and then carefully 
lifted Frodo onto the large towel he had laid on the bed.  He was about to 
wet the washcloth when there came another knock at the door.  Sam 
snatched the other towel and used it to cover Frodo; he did not want 
strangers to see him laying there unclothed.  

A servant stood at the door and he had with him a tray.  The elf set the tray 
down on a small, round table in the corner of the room and bowed to Sam 
before withdrawing.  

Upon the tray was a pitcher of fruit cordial, a glass and a plate containing 
a selection of breads, fruits and biscuits.  Sam had not realised how hungry 
he was until he caught sight of the food, but he pushed his own needs 
unselfishly aside in order to care for Frodo.  

Let's get all that grime off your poor little body, muttered Sam as he 
busied himself lathering the washcloth with the sweet-smelling soap.  Sam 
bit his lip as he looked at Frodo and tried not to think of the previous 
occasion that he had undressed him and bathed him, here in this house, 
whilst he was recovering from the wound inflicted by the Nazgűl.  He 
made a solemn, unbreakable vow, both to himself and to Frodo, that he 
would never allow anyone to hurt Frodo again.  

Washing Frodo clean of the dust which clung to him was a task which 
brought both pain and pleasure to Sam.  Attending to Frodo's comfort was 
always something which was uppermost in his mind and yet ..... other 
thoughts always seemed to surface at moments like these, thoughts which 
had little to do with the relationship which normally existed between 
master and servant.   

Frodo's pale, delicate face was covered in a layer of grime, and Sam 
murmured soft little words of endearment as he gently wiped it clean.  His 
hands trembled slightly as he wetted the cloth again.  Sam loved to fuss 
over Frodo.  A strange, ethereal feeling fluttered inside him.  A passionate 
desire to protect Frodo had always been a part of Sam's personality but 
those feelings had intensified as of late.  

Sam blamed himself for the scars which marked Frodo's body.  Hot, angry 
tears welled up in his eyes as he gently fingered the flat, white scar left by 
the ringwraith's blade and the roughened area of skin, on the other side of 
Frodo's chest, which was the result of him having been struck by a spear 
thrown by a huge cave troll in the Mines of Moria.  Had it not been for the 
mithril shirt Frodo was wearing at the time the spear would have claimed 
his life.  

Sam lifted Frodo's head gently and applied the soapy washcloth to the 
tender skin of Frodo's throat, neck and collarbone.  All the things Frodo 
had brought with him at the start of his journey had been lost.  The mithril 
shirt, along with Frodo's other clothes, had been confiscated by the orcs 
when they stripped Frodo in the tower of Cirith Ungol.  Sam's face 
contorted with rage and grief as he recalled the moment when he had 
travelled back through the tunnels of that wretched tower and found Frodo 
laying dazed, hurt and naked on a pile of filthy rags.  

The horror of that moment overtook him and his body shook with huge, 
violent sobs.  The washing temporarily forgotten, he wrapped his arms 
around Frodo and held him close, caring for nothing but the sound of his 
beating heart and the breath which he drew.  Sam buried his face in 
Frodo's dark curls, lost and drowning as the sudden intensity of his 
feelings claimed him.  

Sam was incapable of forming a single coherent thought at that moment.  
He breathed, he sighed and, most important of all, he loved.  

Sam was still shaking when he eventually - and reluctantly - took his arms 
from around Frodo.  The realisation that the temperature in the room had 
dropped with the advent of nightfall managed to penetrate his 
consciousness.  Frodo was laying there with no clothes on and Sam did not 
want him to catch a chill on top of everything else he had suffered.  

His face still wet with tears, Sam washed all of Frodo's frail body clean of 
dirt and filth.    He performed his task with exquisite gentleness, treating 
Frodo with exactly the same care and respect as would have been the case 
had he been conscious.  

The washing completed, Sam took the other towel and dried Frodo 
carefully.  He then lifted him off the damp towel and cast it aside.  Sam 
picked up each of the two nightshirts which Elrond had sent up and, after 
selecting what he considered to be the softer of the two, he knelt on the 
bed and eased it over Frodo's head.  It took him only a few moments to 
dress Frodo comfortably in the garment, all the time taking great care not 
to disturb his bandaged hand.  

Frodo looked more at peace than ever as Sam put him to bed.  
Overflowing with a desire to protect and cherish, he pulled the linen sheet 
and soft quilt over Frodo to keep him warm.  

After satisfying himself that Frodo was warm and safe, Sam decided to 
take the bath he'd promised himself earlier.  He filled the large tub in the 
adjoining room with water warmed over the fire and then immersed 
himself gratefully in the steaming, welcoming heat.  

This was the first occasion Sam had relaxed properly in a very long time.  
Fatigue overcame him rapidly as he soaked his aching joints in the 
deliciously hot water, and he felt relaxed and readily in need of sleep as he 
stepped out of the bath.  He dried himself on one of the luxurious soft 
towels and then went back into the bed chamber.  

His heart sang with joy at the sight of Frodo sleeping so peacefully.  He 
was still and quiet as he lay there, and his breathing was calm.  The food 
on the table forgotten, Sam wriggled into the second of the two nightshirts 
which the sewing woman had brought him and laid himself down on the 
bed beside Frodo.  


CHAPTER 8

Sam was not his usual self.  He didn't remember feeling as peculiar as this 
when he went to sleep.  Someone was tugging him; they were pulling at 
the sleeve of his nightshirt.  Befuddled with sleep, he moaned softly, not 
knowing where he was and remembering nothing of the previous day's 
adventures.  

"Sam, wake up, won't you?  I've been trying to rouse you for ages".  

The voice did the trick.  Sam managed to blink open his eyes.  Dawn had 
not yet broken and the candles which he had lit the night before still 
burned.  

Anxiety took him by the throat and shook him.  Frodo was awake and had 
been trying to wake him up and Sam's first thought was that Frodo was in 
need of his help.  He rapidly threw off the effects of his long, deep sleep.  
"Mr. Frodo ..... are you alright?" he asked, peering up at the adored face 
which leaned over him.  Somehow, whilst he was sleeping, Sam had 
managed to climb into bed with Frodo.  A little gasp escaped from his lips 
and his heartbeat quickened.    

"I'm more than alright, thanks to you", beamed Frodo.  
Sam blinked again.  Frodo looked incredibly lively for someone who had 
just emerged from a potent elven healing spell.  
"How's your hand?" asked Sam, lurching between joy and caution as he 
took in the remarkable change which had come over Frodo since last 
night.  
"Oh, my hand?  Who cares about that", said Frodo.  He smiled 
mischievously and edged a little closer to Sam.  "It's only a finger that's 
gone missing, dearest Sam, and that really doesn't matter".  

Frodo moved closer still, and brought his face to within an inch of Sam's.  
Sam was acutely conscious of the warmth of Frodo's body against his 
own.  It was just about as much as he could stand.  
"There are far more important areas of my body that need attention, if you 
follow me".  

Frodo hauled himself into a kneeling position but remained very close to 
Sam.  With slow, sensuous movements, Frodo drew up his nightshirt to 
reveal the part of his anatomy to which he was referring.  

Sam was mesmerised.  He hardly knew what to think, let alone where to 
look.  Frodo's beautiful eyes were alight with sensuality; they had a 'come 
hither' look which Sam had never seen before.  Frodo took Sam's hand in 
his and, with moist, softly-parted lips, he kissed it.  Sam's body was 
already stirring with need at the sight of Frodo in such an aroused state 
and the feel of his warm mouth sent urgent shockwaves of desire coursing 
through him.    

"Oh, Frodo ..... do you really mean ..... you want me?"  
Sam hardly dared to believe what was happening.  
Frodo's response was to draw his nightshirt further up his body - slowly - 
before lifting it over his head and discarding it.  
"Look at me, Sam.  Surely you know the answer to that question".  

Sam needed no second invitation.  He wrapped his arms around the 
slender body that he had yearned to make love to for so long.  He was 
willing to admit this now, both to himself and to Frodo, for now that he 
knew his feelings were returned what point was there in hiding them?  

"Oh, touch me, Sam, please touch me".  
Frodo pressed his hot, throbbing erection against Sam's hand.  
"I've been longing for you to do this to me for so long", breathed Frodo 
huskily.  "I loved it when you bathed me last night, Sam, it was 
wonderful".  
"You mean ..... you ..... you were awake?" asked Sam, his eyes widening 
with incredulity.  He wrapped his fingers tightly around Frodo's heated 
length and then stroked it up and down, thrilling to the feel of its warmth 
and need.  Sam allowed his fingers to linger around the sensitive tip before 
rubbing it until it was deliciously wet.  
"Oooooh, don't stop, Sam!"  

Sam felt as though he were going mad with happiness.  

Frodo pulled Sam down on top of him and pushed upwards against him.  
Sam, abandoning himself to the sheer emotional bliss and fiery joy of the 
moment, discarded his nightshirt and revelled in the feel of Frodo's bare 
skin against his.  Their bodies found each other and then began to pulsate 
in a rhythm which was as old as time itself.  

Overcome with a desire to smother every single inch of Frodo's pale, 
slender body with love, Sam ran his hands over the silken skin, consumed 
by the fire which raged within him.  Frodo called out Sam's name over and 
over again as Sam covered his face and throat with adoring kisses.  
"I need you, Sam", whimpered Frodo.  His eyes were moist as he gazed up 
at Sam.  "Promise that you'll never leave me".  
"Of course I promise", moaned Sam.  His heart was literally bursting with 
love.  "I love you more than my own life.  I love you more than ..... more 
than ..... more than ....." 

A sound which emanated not from the tangle of passion created by himself 
and Frodo penetrated Sam's overheated awareness.  He didn't hear it 
properly at first but then it steadily grew louder and more persistent.  The 
next time it happened it was too noisy to be ignored.  

Sun was streaming through the window as Sam came out of his befuddled 
reverie.  Its brightness hurt his eyes and made him squint; he wondered 
how it could have become so light so quickly.  His nightshirt clung to him 
and he was sweating profusely.  Frodo was sleeping peacefully.  

Sam jolted awake.  

The rapid, ever-loudening knock on the door alerted him and he sprang 
out of bed.  Dragging on a pair of the breeches which had been sewn for 
him yesterday, Sam hurled himself in the direction of the door, taking a 
backward - and very anxious - glance at Frodo as he moved.  

"Good morning, Master Gamgee.  I trust you slept well".  
Elrond's immaculate appearance made Sam overtly conscious of his own 
dishevelled state.  He ran his fingers through untidy sand-coloured curls 
and pulled the edges of his nightshirt together.  The nightshirt hung 
untidily over the top of his breeches, its whiteness forming a stark contrast 
to the deep brown of the other garment.  

"Er, very well, thank you, Lord Elrond", stuttered Sam.  He did his best to 
be courteous to Elrond whilst at the same time attempting to come to 
terms with the painful realisation that what he had thought of as real was 
nothing but a flight of the imagination.  
"Let me take a look at Frodo", said Elrond, and he strode over to the bed.  
He laid a finger against Frodo's neck and, after satisfying himself that his 
pulse had normalised, he gently lifted the hobbit's bandaged hand.  Sam 
thought how tiny Frodo's hand looked against Elrond's.  Tender concern, 
one of the many emotions he was experiencing at that moment, etched 
deep creases in his broad, tanned face.  

"Did he sleep through the night?" asked Elrond.  If he was in any way 
offended by Sam's untidy appearance he gave no outward sign of it.  
"Yes", answered Sam.  He managed to keep his voice steady.  He took a 
deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.  Concern for Frodo's health 
soon shot to the forefront of his thoughts; he would have to find a way of 
dealing with the emotions aroused by his dream later.  

Elrond peered at Frodo closely.  
"I believe he will wake up shortly", he announced.  "The healing spell is 
almost complete.  I shall return in one hour".  Elrond looked at Sam, his 
perceptive eyes missing nothing.  "Perhaps you would like to partake of 
some breakfast, Master Gamgee?  I can have another tray sent up for you, 
if you like".  
"Oh, no, sir, there's no need for that", said Sam hurriedly, remembering 
the tray which the servant had delivered last night.  
"Very well".  
Elrond took his leave of Sam and left him alone with Frodo.  

Sam took a deep breath and stood at the side of Frodo's bed.  He forced 
himself to try and put his jumbled thoughts in order; never before had he 
faced such emotional discord.  

Relief was uppermost in his mind.  Relief that Frodo was making good 
progress and that when he woke up he would no longer be in pain nor in 
any danger of falling into ill health as a result of the wound inflicted upon 
him at the Crack of Doom.  

But Sam was deeply conscious also of a more negative emotion - shame.  
Wave upon wave of it descended upon him, like breakers crashing down 
upon a beach, as vivid memories of his dream surfaced with mocking, 
alarming clarity.  

He had never treated Frodo with anything but the utmost respect, whether 
Frodo be awake or asleep, and it genuinely shocked him that he could 
have had a dream of this nature, especially whilst Frodo was in such a 
feeble state of health.  Sam's face reddened as the detail of his dream rose 
and hung in the air like an overpowering scent.  He knew that, if he were 
to continue at Frodo's side, he would need to deal with the feelings which 
churned inside him.  

I love him, thought Sam miserably.  I love him, and not just as a servant 
loves his master.  I love everything about him, but I can never let him 
know that for he would be disgusted.  Sam's countenance saddened further 
as he pictured Frodo with a horrified look on his face as he learned the 
truth about Sam's feelings for him.  

Sam sat with his head on his knees and wept.  

Frodo stirred in his bed; that small sound was enough to make Sam jerk up 
his head and spring out of his chair.  Frodo was about to wake up, he was 
sure of it, and he wanted to make sure that the first thing Frodo was aware 
of was that his devoted, loyal Sam had never left his side.  

Frodo remained asleep but his breathing was that of a hobbit who was no 
longer held within the folds of a healing spell.  Faint traces of colour 
suffused Frodo's pale skin and he moved his head slightly.  

When Elrond returned Sam was sitting at Frodo's side and was holding his 
hand.  The joy which Sam experienced as Frodo opened his eyes was 
indescribable.  As soon as Frodo was able to focus properly his eyes fell 
upon Sam, who was rewarded for his long hours of patience with a weak 
smile.  

"Mr. Frodo ..... thank Elbereth", he whispered, his voice ragged.  He 
looked across at Elrond, who had been watching Frodo with benign 
expectation.  "And thank you too, sir, for all you have done for him".  

"Frodo, can you speak?" asked Elrond, moving a little closer to the bed.  
Frodo tried to speak but couldn't.
"I expect he would like something to drink", suggested Elrond.  

Sam fetched the pitcher of fruit cordial and poured some into a glass.  He 
slid his arm around Frodo in order to support him and then helped him into 
an upright position.  

Sam held the glass to Frodo's lips so that he could drink.  He drained the 
glass effortlessly, resting his right hand on Sam's wrist as he did so.  

Sam's eyes were moist as Frodo looked at him.  He was able to focus 
easily this time and a little more colour had illuminated his cheeks.  It was 
then that Frodo managed to speak his first word.  

"Sam".  

Sam hugged Frodo.  His feelings were getting the better of him and he 
didn't care.  He needed to show Frodo how grateful and happy he was to 
have him back and how much he cared.  

"Dearest Sam", began Frodo.  His voice was weak but that was to be 
expected.  He clutched at Sam's nightshirt with his injured hand and Sam 
covered it protectively.  A shadow flickered across Frodo's face as he 
looked at his hand and Sam knew that his memories were returning.  

"How are you feeling, Frodo?"  
Elrond, who had remained silent for the last few minutes, stepped forward.  
Recognition traced a delighted path across Frodo's face as he smiled at the 
tall elven lord; the look on the hobbit's face was that of someone who 
believed all their troubles would soon be over.  
"He made you better again, Mr. Frodo", said Sam softly, still holding 
Frodo's hand.  "We're back in Rivendell now, no-one's going to hurt you", 
he cooed.  "Everything'll be alright, just you wait and see".  

Frodo pointed to the pitcher and Sam poured him another glass of cordial.  
Frodo gulped it thirstily.  

"Frodo", said Elrond patiently.  "I need to ensure that you have made a full 
recovery.  Please tell me your name and where you are from".  
"I am Frodo Baggins.  I come from the Shire".  

Elrond was about to ask him a further question but Frodo raised his hand.  
"Lord Elrond, thank you, once again, for all you have done for me".  
Elrond's expression was one of incredulity.
"You know who I am?"  
"Of course I do", replied Frodo.  He settled back amongst his pillows and 
focussed his eyes upon the elf.  "You are Elrond Half-elven".  

Elrond took a deep breath.  A tiny pulse throbbed in his cheek; Frodo's 
recognition of him, alongside Sam Gamgee's insistence that the hobbits 
had met him before, had clearly come as something of a shock to him.    

Frodo, growing a little stronger and more alert, had not failed to notice 
Elrond's reaction and as yet had no understanding of the elf's bafflement.  

"Elrond ..... is there something wrong?  I trust that I have not been too 
much of a burden for you ....."  
Sam squeezed Frodo's hand reassuringly as Elrond shook his head.  Worry 
about how Frodo would react to Elrond's apparent inability to recognise 
them had crept into Sam's mind but he had not dwelt upon it for the simple 
reason that he was far too wrapped up in caring about Frodo's health.  

Frodo looked up at Elrond with troubled, vulnerable eyes; Sam knew that 
the elf's behaviour had affected him.    
"You have not been a burden to me, Master Baggins, of that I assure you", 
said Elrond.  "And your return to health gives me nothing but the greatest 
pleasure".  
"But there's something wrong, isn't there?" asked Frodo.  "Why are you 
acting as if you don't know me?  Surely you remember Sam and I, you 
entrusted us with such an important task".  

"Frodo, both you and Master Gamgee have spoken of your acquaintance 
with me, yet I have absolutely no recollection of having met you before".  
  
"My dear Lord Elrond, my companion and I have travelled many miles 
and are no doubt weary, both in body and mind, but I assure you that 
neither of us are prone to imaginations of the type you seem to be 
suggesting.  I am Frodo Baggins and my friend's name is Samwise 
Gamgee.  We are from a land called the Shire.  The present year is 3019, 
although I am unsure of the precise date".  

"Wrong", declared Elrond.  "The year is 3430".  

Elrond paced slowly around to the other side of the bed.  

"In the Second Age of Middle-earth".


CHAPTER 9

Elrond Half-elven was not the type of elf who made jokes at the cost of 
causing misery to others.  Few elves were.  Born as the First Age was 
nearing its end, he was already over three thousand years old and had, 
during his long and frequently troubled life, acquired acuity and wisdom 
which were considered great even by the very high standards of his own 
people.  

He was more learned in the lore of Middle-earth than just about anyone 
who currently lived; there was not a single race of which he was unaware 
and every land and country was known to him, yet he had never heard of a 
place called the Shire neither had he ever heard of beings called hobbits.  
And right now he was faced with a conundrum, the likes of which he had 
not seen in all his three millennia.  

Frodo's eyes filled with incomprehension and his face tightened.  He 
fidgeted nervously as he lay against his pillows.  Sam's countenance wore 
the troubled expression of a person whose gut feeling told him that 
something calamitous had happened yet who believed that, somehow, 
everything would work out and fall into place with no serious harm done.  
He sat close to Frodo on the bed with his arm around his shoulders.  Frodo 
looked thin, pale and agitated.  Sam wished he could have done something 
to spare him from a shock of this magnitude.  

Elrond, who was standing at the foot of Frodo's bed, considered the 
situation thoughtfully.  Whilst his intellect screamed at him that these 
small, inoffensive people could not possibly be telling the truth when they 
insisted that they had met him before, his instinct forced him to question 
this.  And Elrond - wisest of elves and blessed with remarkable foresight - 
had never known his instinct to fail him.  

"Frodo", he began, "You and your companion say that you have met me 
before.  From the knowledge you gained of me on that occasion, do you 
believe I would lie to you or deliberately torment you with falsehoods, 
knowing that you were still weak from a serious injury?"  

Frodo looked up at him and shook his head slowly.  
"You saved my life", he said, his voice heavy with anxiety.  "How could I 
not trust you?"
"Tell me, Frodo, how did I save your life?" asked Elrond.  "If we are to 
find answers to our questions we shall need to be frank with each other".  
Frodo pulled down the top edge of his nightshirt.  
"See this scar ... I was stabbed by a Ringwraith at Amon Sűl.  I was close 
to death when I was brought here but you performed a healing spell.  
When I woke up I was in a room just like this".  

Frodo's wide, earnest eyes left Elrond in no doubt that he was not lying.  
His jaw was set at a determined angle as he pulled a chair up to the side of 
Frodo's bed and sat down, for he was as determined as any elf could be to 
unearth the answer to this colossal riddle.  He examined the scar closely, 
tracing its length with his long forefinger.  Sam watched on anxiously, 
caring above all else to keep Frodo's suffering to a minimum.  

Elrond took a deep breath and fixed compassionate dark eyes on the frail 
hobbit.  
"You speak the truth, Frodo", he said solemnly.  "The mark left by a 
Morgul-blade is unmistakeable".  
"So you believe us now?" asked Sam eagerly.  "You don't think we're 
making it up no longer, about being here before?"  
"I must confess that, at first, I had my doubts", replied Elrond.  "Your 
insistence that you had met me before troubled me greatly, as a result of 
which I have given the matter a great deal of thought.  I believe that you 
believe you are telling the truth.  I also believe that some devilry is at work 
and that this devilry is the cause of the situation in which we find 
ourselves".  He paused for a moment.  "Frodo, please tell me a little more 
about how you got here.  What mode of transport did you use?  Who 
accompanied you?  What recollections do you have of the journey here?"  

Frodo looked solemn as unpleasant memories flooded back into his mind.  
"I am afraid that my recollections are rather poor after what happened at 
Weathertop", said Frodo, frowning.  "I was placed on the back of a large 
white horse by Glorfindel, who commanded the horse not to let me fall.  I 
was being pursued by Ringwraiths.  All nine of them, if I am not mistaken.  
I remember the flight to the Ford and the Wraiths being submerged by the 
rising river but after that little else except waking up here.  Gandalf was 
there and so was my faithful Sam".  Frodo shot a glance at Sam, whose 
expression told him that he would always be there for him, no matter what 
the future may have in store.  

"Gandalf?" queried Elrond.
"He's a wizard", explained Sam.  "He could be a bit frightening at times 
but he was a kind gentleman nonetheless".  
"I know not of this person", muttered Elrond.  
"But you do know Glorfindel, do you not?" asked Frodo.  
Elrond acknowledged this.  
"Glorfindel is here", he replied.  "But I dare say that if he were brought to 
this chamber he would have no more recollection of having met you that I 
have".  

Frodo and Sam remained silent in acceptance of what Elrond had said.    

"Why were you being pursued by Ringwraiths, Frodo?" asked Elrond.  
"Were you carrying something of value, something that they coveted?" 
"Why, yes", answered Frodo.  "The One Ring, of course".  

Elrond looked astonished.
"That's impossible.  The One Ring has never left Sauron's hand.  It is 
unthinkable that it could come into the possession of a hobbit".  

Frodo stared at Elrond unflinchingly.  
"No, Lord Elrond, you are very much mistaken.  The One Ring came into 
the possession of my uncle, a hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins.  He 
came upon it in a dark cave, somewhere in the Misty Mountains".  

Elrond's face darkened.  He looked as though a huge bell of warning was 
tolling thunderously inside his head.  
"This makes no sense to me, Frodo.  I am at a loss to explain it".  
"So are we", added Sam tensely.  

Elrond stood up, as if to leave.  
"Perhaps you should rest a little, Frodo.  The effort of this bewildering 
conversation must be making you weary".  
"No", responded Frodo adamantly.  "There will be no rest for me until this 
puzzle is unravelled".  He sat up in bed and fixed a determined pair of 
eyes upon the elven-lord.  

Elrond looked at him for a second and then sat down again.  
"Very well.  But please say if this gets too much for you".  

Elrond then continued.  
"Frodo, I think it best if you tell me exactly what happened before you 
found yourself in the environs of Rivendell a few days ago.  We need to 
ascertain who - or what - was responsible for sending you here, ostensibly 
to a period in time to which you clearly do not belong".  

Frodo looked at Sam.  
"There, dearest Sam, have I not said that we did not belong here?  It was 
when we were wandering around in the woods, do you remember?  My 
feelings of displacement were exceptionally strong then, and clearly there 
was a reason for it".  
Sam nodded forlornly.    

Addressing Elrond, Frodo then resumed.
"Sam and I were within the fiery depths of Sammath Naur.  I had the One 
Ring on my finger, my task was to hurl it into the Crack of Doom in order 
to destroy it but I failed".  Shadows of pain fell upon Frodo's face.  "My 
finger was bitten off by a creature called Gollum.  He possessed the Ring 
before it passed to my uncle, he coveted it above all else.  Gollum then fell 
into the Crack of Doom with the Ring, thus presumably destroying it, and 
I must have lost consciousness then for the next thing I remember is 
waking up in the woods which I now understand are not too far from here.  
Sam was carrying me".  

"Mr. Frodo nearly fell into the Crack himself", said Sam, continuing the 
story.  "I rushed forward and pulled him away from the edge and it was 
then that it all went dark and cold.  It didn't feel like we was in that 
Sammath Naur place no more, it was odd.  Strange".  Sam shrugged his 
shoulders.  "I think I must have gone to sleep or passed out or something 
because the next thing I remember is waking up in the woods.  It took me 
a long time to wake up because I felt numb all over, I couldn't even 
remember who I was at first.  I checked on Mr. Frodo, he was still 
unconscious and his hand was in a terrible state.  I washed it and bandaged 
it as best as I could.  Then I heard water, the gushing of a waterfall.  Do 
you suppose it was this waterfall, Lord Elrond?"  

"Possibly", said the elf, who had been listening to the hobbits carefully.  
"The sound will travel for miles if the wind is blowing in a certain 
direction".  

All three of them remained silent for a few moments.  

"So what we really need to work out is how we got here", said Sam in a 
small, quiet voice.  "How did Mr. Frodo and me end up here when we was 
at Sammath Naur?"  
"That is one of the questions, which will need to be answered", responded 
Elrond.  "One of many, if I am not mistaken.  But before we consider that 
I would like you to tell me a little more about the Ring, Frodo.  You say it 
came into your uncle's possession.  I am assuming that he gave it to you, 
am I correct?" 
"Yes, but Gandalf had to persuade him to leave it for me when he left 
Hobbiton", explained Frodo.  "He came to live here, Lord Elrond.  He was 
a guest in your house when we were last here".  
"Another fact of which I am unaware", commented Elrond.  "Go on".  

Frodo shifted himself into a more upright position.  
"Bilbo left me everything when he went to live in Rivendell", he 
explained.  "Including the Ring.  He used it to make himself disappear 
once, it was at his eleventy-first birthday party.  I didn't know what was 
happening at the time and it wasn't until Gandalf returned to the Shire that 
I became aware of the true nature of the Ring.  It belonged to Sauron, 
Gandalf told me, and had to be taken out of the Shire".  

"And what happened after that?" asked Elrond, his face set deep in 
concentration.  
"Well, I eventually left the Shire and made for the village of Bree.  We 
were to have met Gandalf there but he didn't arrive.  It was there that we 
ran into Aragorn".  
"Aragorn?"  

Frodo hesitated.  Far into the future, Aragorn's existence would be very 
much intertwined with that of Elrond's and Frodo, who had no desire to 
cause Elrond any distress, was unsure of how much he should say.  
"He's a Ranger", said Frodo.  He decided to keep to the necessary facts as 
far as possible.  "He knew the area well and it was he who guided us here, 
to Rivendell.  But I got stabbed by the Wraith whilst we were at Amon 
Sűl, as you now know, and then I was brought here".  

Elrond took stock of what Frodo had told him, his keen mind piecing 
together the information as it fell from Frodo's lips.  
"So that brings us on to your stay here", said Elrond.  "How long were you 
here for?"  
"We were here for two months, I already told you that", said Sam, unable 
to prevent an edge from creeping into his voice.  
"My apologies, Samwise", said Elrond, glancing at Sam with a wry smile.  
"I just wanted to ....."
"Make sure we was telling the truth", said Sam ruefully.  

"We were here for two months, Elrond", continued Frodo.  "It took me a 
while to recover from my stab wound but after that there was a discussion 
about the Ring".  
"A discussion was held here ... in this house?" asked Elrond, once again 
looking astonished.  
"Indeed it was", confirmed Frodo, folding his arms.  "A council was held, 
at which representatives from the prominent races of Middle-earth 
attended.  I, perhaps rather unwisely, offered to take the Ring to Mordor.  
Gandalf stepped forward and promised to help me bear my burden and 
then came Aragorn - of whom I have already spoken - Legolas the elf, 
Gimli the dwarf, Boromir of Gondor and last but not least my beloved 
Sam and my cousins Merry and Pippin.  You described us as 'The 
Fellowship of the Ring' ".  

Sam's heart lurched as Frodo referred to him as 'beloved'.  This made him 
felt happy and light-headed, despite the solemnity of the occasion.  

"You must tell me more of these people later", said Elrond, "And I shall 
wish to hear about the Fellowship.  But for the time being I would like to 
know about your journey to Mordor".  

So Frodo told Elrond about the long, arduous and often perilous journey 
which he and Sam had followed after the breaking of the Fellowship.  
Elrond listened without interruption.  Whilst telling his story, Frodo made 
no mention of the injuries he sustained at the hands of the cave troll, the 
giant spider and the orcs.

It was several moments before Elrond spoke again.  When he did so, his 
words were optimist