The next day was mostly travel under a darkened sky. I was perplexed because we only walked half the day before we spotted a rather peculiarly placed hill, topped with a crown of castle ruins, and Strider said we would rest there for the night. We left the pony at the base of the hill, and the rest of us climbed it, settling into a niche with our cloaks.

"These are for you," Strider said, withdrawing four shortswords and dispensing them between the four hobbits. He turned to me.

"I don't have one for a female, unfortunately-,"

I threw it off. "I have my own, Strider. And I appreciate the gesture, but I'm sure . . ." I didn't finish, didn't say I could fight better without a sword than they could with one. While I could be snarky sometimes, I didn't want to discourage anyone at the moment.

He nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. He patted me on the shoulder.

"Keep them safe, will you?" he murmured.

I nodded, my peripheral initially shifting to keep an eye on Frodo of anybody. Three of the hobbits drifted away, but Frodo remained in his cloak, watching his sword somewhat intently.

I sat down next to him. "Frodo?"

He looked up. "You want to finish the book?"

I nodded, then shook my head. "Not now, my friend." I sighed and settled.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Must be a predicament indeed."

I didn't reply. He didn't need to know I was watching him that closely.

"Who are you watching?" he asked after a moment, but he didn't sound solemn. I hadn't realized my gaze had turned elsewhere. "Pippin?"

I turned to him in mock surprise and disbelief. "As if I would!" He almost laughed at that, and I thought, Good enough. I ruffled his hair. "You didn't get enough sleep last night, that's what it is. Go to bed, Frodo." Then I paused and leaned a little closer. Expecting something anti-climactic and jocose, he did too.

I stifled a laugh before I had to swallow it. "Do not fear them, Frodo. I will watch you. Sleep peacefully, please."

Frodo nodded. A slight smile maintained his face as he let down onto his side. "Thank you, Sev," he said.

I laid down a foot away from him.

Somehow I must have drifted off, because when I awoke, Frodo was frantic, stamping out a fire that had been surrounded by the other three hobbits.

"That's nice!" Pippin pouted. I leaped up to help, but Frodo handled it well himself. I settled back onto my knees, pained. So much for guarding him. What did you have to go and fall asleep for?

Then I heard a shrill shriek and glanced down into the foggy blackness. Everyone else did, too. Ringwraiths.

"Get to the top!" Frodo cried. We all grabbed our swords and rushed up into the ruins . . . although I felt that we would have a better chance of survival not trapping ourselves. As though severely coincidental, the former castle was now bowl-shaped with no room for escape, and leering, stone statues of kings surrounded us on all sides. We crowded in the center, mostly in a compacted circle around Frodo. I was glad at least we all knew what we were doing as group for once.

They didn't appear all at the same time. They drifted in from the darkness, like black ghosts in a funeral procession. They wielded silver, crooked blades, and I knew the hobbits would not be able to fight them off. We had to run, until Strider came back. But there were five Wraiths; there was nowhere to go. I didn't know what to do.

When they advanced far enough, Pippin and Merry rushed them, and were quickly swept aside. Sam was knocked back as well; Frodo and I backed away, and in his panic, Frodo lost his sword. Frodo backed into a pile of rock, and I remained standing next to him.

The head of the Nazgul lifted his sword to Frodo.

"Leave him alone!" I snapped, cutting at his hand. I actually made a mark; the Ringwraith hissed and recoiled. Another Ringwraith off the side grabbed my wrist, twisted my blade out of my hand, and dragged me off, one hand embedded in my hair and the other holding a Morgul blade to my neck. My blood sizzled, apparently excited by the Ringwraith. It hissed, seemingly gratified, and the blade sunk a little deeper, although did not pierce my neck.

Frodo flipped out the Ring and was about to put it on. Shocked, I glanced between him and the Ringwraith in front of him, who seemed surprised and ecstatic at the sight of the Ring. He bent down, stretching his hand to take it.

"Frodo! Frodo!" I cried, but it was useless. "The Ring, Frodo!"

Frodo slipped it on, vanishing.

"Frodo!"

The Ringwraith reached forward, as though he could still see Frodo. Then he hissed and withdrew his hand, and proceeded to stab with his blade. The blade halted inches above the ground, and a great cry sounded.

"Noo!" I bit the hand that held the blade and wrenched away, retrieving my sword. I hacked at the Ringwraith that had stabbed Frodo, and the moment the creature released the blade, Frodo reappeared, stuffing the Ring in his pocket. I grabbed the hilt and yanked the blade away. Frodo was moaning and writhing in such pain . . . I knelt down next to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him away from further harm. "Sev . . ." he groaned, straining his shoulder.

Then, by some miracle, Strider appeared with a torch. He proceeded to fight off the Nazgul. Some leaped off the ruins, and others began to shriek as they burned from the light of the torch. Once the last was erupting in flames, Strider turned and helped me carry Frodo down the hill. We dragged him into the woods, the other hobbits racing behind, demanding to know if he would be all right.

Twits, I thought, of course he's not all right! His eyes were closed, and he was convulsing repeatedly. Strider and I hastily laid him down, and it happened to be in the shadow of Bilbo's three trolls, which was the first thing Frodo heard from Sam when he regained partial consciousness.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked worriedly.

Frodo choked a little. I felt his forehead; it was a burning chill, brimming with darkness and spreading up the sides of his face in clawlike strands.

"He was stabbed by a Morgul blade," Strider said. "He will become a wraith like them. He needs Elvish medicine." Despite that latest statement, he and Sam ran to find something to slow the blackness.

Strider had lifted Frodo's shirt away from the wound. It had pierced his shoulder, and was an ugly, purple-black reservoir of dark poison, spreading visibly throughout him. The skin around it was turning gray; his breathing coursed beneath it, struggling in and out.

I kept my hand on his forehead, rubbing and stroking. There was nothing more I could do. His skin grew cold, sweating though he was. His eyes flickered as he studied my face from some distant mentality I couldn't let him pursue.

Then a great flash of white light filled my vision, and Frodo turned his head. I glanced up; an Elf. I must have been having a vision of sorts, because one moment she shone a brilliant white and told Frodo to come back to the light, and the next she knelt by Frodo's side. He had begun to convulse again, but the darkness drew back.

"Who is she?" Pippin asked.

"She's an Elf!" Sam cried joyfully.

Strider ripped a piece of the weed he had found and began to sprinkle it through Frodo's shoulder. The hobbit's eyes bulged, and I cringed. The pains took over again.

"He is fading," Arwen said. "We must get him to my father!" They lifted him onto the horse, and proceeded to determine who should ride with him.

"Please, let me go with him," I said quietly. They paused, and Arwen shook her head.

Strider put a hand over hers. Frodo groaned, and Strider explained in Elvish. Arwen nodded, then tried to help me onto the horse. I leaped on from the back as efficiently as I knew how, and looped my arms through Frodo's to reach the reins.

I promised to send steeds back for them, and Arwen urged the horse away. He sprang into the woods.

I heard Sam behind me: "What are you doing? Those wraiths are still out there!"

They took Frodo. I would take them. Eyes narrowed, I urged the horse forward. The shrieks sounded in the forest around us.

We rode the rest of the night and into the following day without too much trouble . . . until we cleared the trees for a moment. When I turned around to look, there were five black steeds racing after us, all riders urging them faster, flanking me on all sides.

I let the horse have his head, and he slipped into a faster gait, tossing his head. Branches scratched at my face, and Frodo swayed with the horse. I had to hold hard to keep him up when we leaped over a fallen tree.

Then one of the Nazgul was to head with us, and he reached with armored fingers toward Frodo. It was hard enough to hold Frodo up and guide the horse through the maze of trees; I was frightened and angered. Frodo leaned initially towards the Ringwraith, and I cursed at it in Elvish, grabbing Frodo's jaw as gently as I could manage and lurching it away from the Nazgul. I urged the horse faster.

Finally we turned into a path that led to the stream I knew of, the one that was near Rivendell. I urged the horse over it, and the Ringwraiths did not follow. Shrieking, they spurred and yanked their horses back and forth, not daring to cross. Their leader, who had stabbed Frodo, halted his horse.

He hissed, "Hand him over, she-Halfling."

I drew my sword. "You want him? Then come and claim him!" I prayed for help, then turned the horse and fled. I could hear the Ringwraiths cautiously treading the water . . . and then an Elvish chant ricocheting off the canyon nearby. The Ringwraiths screamed, and when I slowed the horse to look back, they had been swept away by a great series of crashing waves.

Relieved, I urged the horse forward. We rode for only a few more minutes when Frodo groaned, rolling from the horse. He dragged me off with him and, luckily for me, the horse slowed.

We tumbled on the ground, arms locked. I finally slowed both of us down, then strove to my knees and laid Frodo on his back. "Frodo!" I cried. "Oh, Frodo . . .!" His face was growing darker. His eyes were icy, and the whites were growing tainted. He was gasping, fading away.

I held his face to my shoulder, wrapping him in my arms. "Please," I begged, "give him the light that I don't have. Save him, please, he is all I have! He is the hope of this world. Save him . . ."

With that, I felt a surge of half-hopeful energy. I wound one arm around his shoulders and another under his knees, and strained to lift him onto the horse. Obliging, the horse bent down and allowed me to slide Frodo back into the saddle. I kept a hand on his shoulder, and I was breathing hard. My back had been strained; the pains were returning. I quickly mounted the horse, who obviously knew the way home and acted accordingly. I fell unconscious, slumping into Frodo's shoulders.

It only took what seemed like a quarter hour to reach Rivendell. When I saw the gleaming city in the midst of mountains and waterfalls, I urged the horse even faster. He galloped ravenously, and slowed when we reached the actual structure. I tumbled from the saddle regardless. Once I recovered from that, I struggled to pull Frodo from the horse, and he nearly collapsed to the ground. I looped his arm around my shoulders and strained. So few steps from Rivendell, and I hardly had the strength to carry on.

Gandalf came rushing out then. I begged for help, sagging under Frodo's dead weight. Gandalf lifted Frodo's torso, while I maintained a grip on his ankles.

Gandalf said nothing until we had Frodo situated on a white bed. I removed his cloak, and Gandalf dismissed me from the room. Elrond rushed in, and I followed him. Gandalf had dressed Frodo in white; the top hung loose and fell about the sides of the bed. I swallowed; Elrond put a hand to Frodo's shoulder, urging him to come back to the light. Medications were administered. The world was a blur.

I recall Gandalf asking me where the horses needed to be sent. All I had to say was "trolls", and he spun away. Frodo was left alone, then, a bandage wound about his shoulder and the shirt wrapped around him. I sighed heavily. The day had certainly been a horrid one, much more so for him than for me.

Frodo tossed just a little, but every time he moved, I snaked out of my corner and sat on the bed next to him. I rubbed his good shoulder, praying he would make it through. His skin had lost its blackness, and his eyes now had but exhausted, purple circles around them. I brushed his hair back; the poor, dear boy. I worried for him.

Gandalf came back in and told me he would awaken soon, and that Arwen, Strider, and the hobbits had made it safely to Rivendell. I backed into my corner, ashamed of how I had not been able to protect him. He had suffered a major wound, one that I was certain could never be remedied. And it was my fault.

"Where . . . where am I?" Frodo managed at last. His eyes did not open, and he tossed a little. I tensed. The pains were back.

"In the House of Elrond, Rivendell. It is 10:00 in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."

Frodo finally sat up. "Gandalf!" Then he grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. He glanced at Gandalf, eyebrows drawn together. "What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

Gandalf paused. "I was delayed." Then he stared into the distance for a moment, lost in his own head.

"Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "Sorry." Then he gestured with his head to Frodo's shoulder. "You took quite the injury, my dear hobbit. A few more hours, and you would have been beyond our aid. But thanks to the healing skills of Lord Elrond, you are on the mend."

Elrond smiled kindly. "Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled back, although it was not one of his deep smiles that I loved so much. I turned away. I suppose Frodo saw it, or at least caught movement from his vantage point.

"Sev?" he asked.

I bit my lip, then sprang from my corner and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

"Frodo, you're-well, curses, still a hobbit!" I cried.

He hugged me back, and I did my best to leave his wounded shoulder alone. "Yes, Sev."

"No small thanks to her, either," Gandalf said. "She was the one that brought you."

I pulled away and grabbed Frodo's hand. "She hasn't left your side since." I suppose I turned red at that, because Frodo chuckled a little. Then he produced a book from the desk next to him and handed it to me.

I ruffled his hair before I accepted the book. "Devil." Then I knelt beside the bed, not releasing his hand.

That is, of course, until heard Sam in the hallway. Then I sharply folded into myself. Sam greeted me warmly, then rushed to Frodo.

"And Sam here has hardly left your side." I hadn't remembered seeing Sam in with Frodo, but I was kind of in my own head for a while.

"We were scared to death, weren't we, Mister Gandalf?" Sam said excitedly. He left soon, however, allowing Frodo to rest. Gandalf and Elrond departed as well, and I turned to go.

Frodo stopped me, though. "You might as well stay in and read, Sev," he said.

"As long as you sleep," I threatened.

He sighed and leaned back in the piles of pillows. I snickered.

"Just imagine you're in an Elvish bed, with a superior mattress and three hundred, lovely feather pillows," I said, withholding a laugh. Frodo actually did so; it was high and clear, and sent chills up my back. At least he wasn't forever dead.

"Good night, Frodo," I said, sitting next to the bed.

Soon he was asleep, and I had finished the book. I decided that, when he awakened, he ought to get dressed. He'd want to see the rest of Rivendell before we headed back to the Shire.

The Shire. Things would change. He was wounded now. I had heard Gandalf speaking of its permanence with grave dread. I didn't like the sound of it.

I set the book down, pondering what I had read. Close to the end, the poor squire was shot in the heart with an arrow. Mallia swore to be his, and nearly died with him until she realized it could be healed in ways she understood. They never revealed the method in the book, but made a point of love, any kind of love, from sibling-rivalry love to romantic love, could be divine and all-powerful.

*I stood to leave, and then saw Frodo's face. It was relaxed, sweet and gentle . . . drifting in white dreams of no pain. His face looked so serene, soft . . . I couldn't help myself. I fingered his hair away from his face and kissed his cheek.

He turned this time, and I scolded myself, resolving not to do it again. I prepared to go.

"Sev," he muttered.

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Where are you going?"

"Where you cannot until you are dressed," I cackled, making a show of leaving. I saw Frodo rolling out of bed before I departed.