After perhaps two or three more tormenting days at Rivendell (all during which I avoided everyone for sake of my now frequent pains), Bilbo summoned Frodo to the chambers he had adopted. Frodo requested that I come along. How he managed to find me on the top of the roof, I don't know. But one moment I was begging the Great Creator to spare my Frodo on this journey, and the next he was sliding into place beside me.

"Bilbo has some belongings that might help," is how he started out.

I lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He nodded. I turned to him, attempting to assume a mock suspicion. "Swords, armor, things of that sort."

I frowned. "He was the only hobbit on his journey; he could only want to give whatever he had to you. Besides, I have weapons. I need nothing more." Then I paused. "You're the one that's going to need the armor." It was intended with humor, and he may have taken it as such, but my own words chilled me to the core.

"It will be dangerous for all of us," he said. Then he turned to me. His eyes were tired and dark, and I cringed. "Maybe you should go back to the Shire."

"I'm here to protect you!" I protested. "There is nothing you could say that would make me go back. That Ring is every bit as dangerous for you as it is for me, regardless of who's carrying it, and I know the risks. I can't let it kill you."

"I'll have others with me."

I shook my head. "They do not know, Frodo. They have not touched the Ring. They may fall away; remember Elrond said they are under no obligation to go with you. I am. I have sworn to protect you."

It only took a dark glance at the Ring around Frodo's neck from me and a deep look from Frodo to settle the debate.

Frodo didn't argue his point after that, and I didn't argue mine. He accepted that I would go, and I accepted that I would either need armor or could simply say goodbye to Bilbo. Well . . . somewhat. He seemed satisfied, but I only made that an external effort.

When we came down, Bilbo was ecstatic. He pulled out a bundle that clinked and laid it on his bed. He beckoned Frodo forward and greeted me fleetingly.

He produced the blade Sting for Frodo, and to my surprise he flicked his eyes to a smaller bundle for me. I picked it up and found a dagger inside. It looked remarkably like Sting, and apparently was also forged by elves. Frodo's blade shone blue in the presence of orcs, unlike mine, and I figured that was just as well.

I found an iron wrap of chainmail inside, fitted to my figure, which was admittedly difficult to manage. To Frodo Bilbo presented mithril; I missed his explanation until he insisted, ". . . and as hard as dragon scales!" I perked up, then relaxed. At least Frodo could hopefully take care of himself with assets of such. "Here, let me see you put it on!" Bilbo cried.

I turned away, but there was a pause in the air. I turned back. Frodo had frozen, and Bilbo was staring longingly at Frodo.

"Oh . . . my old ring!"

A growl rose in the back of my throat.

"Could I just hold it? One last time?"

Frodo slipped his shirt back over the Ring, and Bilbo's face grew wary. He snapped at Frodo, reaching for the Ring. Frodo recoiled, and I leaped up, dagger drawn.

Bilbo's face settled, and he began to sob. I backed away; poor old Bilbo had no idea what had come over him.

"I'm so sorry, my boy!" Bilbo sank away and sat down. "It's my fault you have to carry this burden! I'm so sorry."

Frodo's expression softened, and my heart broke. I felt Bilbo's pain here, clear as day it came across the room and carved into my heart. Our sweet, dear Frodo. The Ring would break him, and we both knew it. Well, Bilbo probably couldn't recognize it consciously, but he knew.

Gently Frodo stepped forward and slipped a hand over Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo clung to it. I joined them; the pain was awful alone.

"The Ring is setting out from Rivendell," Elrond announced. Frodo looked dark and solemn; that frightened me. "None of you are under any obligation to go further than you will."

Oh, I was. But it didn't matter; I'd go the whole way if I had to slide on my stomach. After Weathertop, I was determined to keep Frodo as alive as possible coming home.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer."

Frodo nodded and turned, surveying the group. I was at the back to join with him when he set out at the first. Once we reached the door of Rivendell, however, he turned to me.

"Mordor, Sev," he said, "is it left or right?"

I paused. "Left," I said finally. I had asked Gandalf how to get to Mordor, in case any of us got separated. I had a map tucked in my vest, but it probably wasn't going to be much help. I'd been pouring over it the past couple of days, memorizing the route and the safest places to go and be.

Frodo led us; to the left, and suddenly we had taken the first steps on the quest of a lifetime. I felt my ignorant spirits lift; we were going somewhere, to fight evil with the strength of every race on our side.

Then my heart sank. Frodo carried that evil with him. I wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible, in case it hurt him any more. I only knew that the Ring carried psychological power, and that it could turn one invisible, but knew little else.

We walked for several days, leaving Rivendell and its canyons behind to come through mountainous, somewhat vegetated terrain. We followed such for a few uneventful days, and I was rather glad, if not completely on edge, for the time being. I watched Frodo carefully, and felt his forehead every night when all the others were asleep. Usually one was kept up on watch, but there were moments when I had the time to myself. Soon it became less of a watchful movement and more of a caress. I found myself deeply embedded in his well-being, as these moments were peaceful. The days were easier, knowing he was okay and knowing there were worse things that could happen.

He seemed to grow more isolated, and I soon asked him about it. He shrugged it off, told me everything was all right. I doubted it, but didn't push him further. He would either confide in me or he wouldn't . . . more likely the latter, but I prayed that would change. It had to; if he didn't trust me he wouldn't trust anyone.

After a few days, we stopped for a real hobbit meal, at Sam's pleading inquiry and Pippin's insistence. As Sam cooked fine sausage, Pippin and Merry began swordfighting, and I sat next to Frodo. He seemed to be feeling just a little better, and I produced a book I'd been given at Rivendell. He read it, and to my utter relief, his eyes glowed with that enchantment in a book.

I rubbed his shoulder, taking care not to touch his wound. It would probably hurt if I did. As the wound couldn't kill him, I gathered I couldn't drain the death—or lack thereof—from it.

Behind us, Gandalf laid out the path to Gimli. We were going east for an additional forty days, and then would head south toward Mordor. Sam brought food for Frodo, and he actually ate a little; I was feeling rather successful.

A chuckle arose amongst us when Boromir accidentally nicked Pippin's palm. To his apology, Pippin reacted with a hard kick to the shins that swept Boromir off his feet. Merry and Pippin attacked him, "for the Shire!", and he laughed. We all did. Finally Aragorn shouted, "All right, that's enough!" and attempted to break them up, but he was also knocked to the ground.

I slapped a hand over my mouth. I was laughing too hard; my sides hurt.

Until I heard Gimli.

"Gandalf, let us take the path through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome."

This was all well and good until Gandalf replied, "I would not go through Moria unless I had no other choice."

That couldn't be all right.

Then Legolas spotted something in the distance, "moving fast" and "against the wind." Legolas shouted something that I didn't understand, and Aragorn cried out, "Hide!"

I grabbed what I could and stuffed Frodo under the safest, most concealed crevice I could find. Sam dumped water over the fire, and we were soon stashed behind rocks and under bushes. I had no choice but to be sandwiched against Frodo, and I scarcely moved. He was breathing hard. I wrapped my cloak hard around myself.

Ravens, cawing angrily, flew over us, then rebounded in a circle and were gone. When we all unwrapped from our hiding places, Gandalf's expression was grave.

"Spies of Saruman. The road east is no longer safe. We must take the pass of Caradhras!"

The mountain was cold, forbidding, and huge. I didn't have to like taking Frodo up there, but running in to Saruman would be much worse. And so we went on, quickly passing from grasslands into banks of thick snow, and up into freezing altitudes. I was worried about Frodo. His lips and nose quickly turned bright pink, then dark red, and finally faint purple. After two days, I offered him my cloak and insisted that he take it.

He shook his head. "Sev, you'll freeze."

I frowned. "Then so be it," I insisted, wrapping the cloak jocosely around his head. After a moment I pulled it back off, and before he could say anything, I got right up in his face and said,

"Or I'll rub it back to normal. One of the two."

He sighed. His breath was warm, and my nose tingled.

"Or we could just warm each other up, if you're really going to be that stubborn," I mused to myself. I supposed he would have picked that option last of all, but he decided on that. I tried to convince him I was kidding, but it was unsuccessful. So I had an arm and my cloak wrapped around his shoulders on our way up the mountain. If my face hadn't been red before it was now. At least Frodo blamed it on the cold.

As we trudged up the face of the mountain, the snow was getting too deep, and we were dragging each other up. Frodo's foot was caught, and he flipped over backwards, out from under my arm and rolling through the snow.

"Frodo!" Aragorn and I cried out simultaneously, and I rolled after him, catching his hand just before Aragorn put two hands around his torso and pulled him to his feet.

Frodo clutched at his chest, and we spotted the Ring, glistening on its snapped chain in the snow about two or three yards away. Boromir slowly bent down and lifted the chain. Frodo's expression darkened, and a growl rippled through my throat.

"Boromir," Aragorn warned.

"Strange, that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over such a little thing," Boromir said distantly. "Such a little thing . . ." He almost fingered the Ring.

"Boromir!" Aragorn snapped.

Boromir shook from his stupor and began to chuckle.

"Give the Ring to Frodo," I said, fingering my dagger with my left hand and my sword with my right. I noticed Aragorn was doing the same.

Boromir stepped forward slowly. "Of course! I care not." He handed the Ring to Frodo, who snatched the chain away, his eyes never leaving Boromir. The man ruffled Frodo's hair and went to rejoin the group.

I held my hand out to Frodo, and he cocked his head at it. Aragorn moved to give me his hand, but I shook my head.

"The chain," I said. "I can fix it."

Frodo reluctantly handed me the Ring, and I wrenched apart the metal loop up by the clasp and back through the next unbroken chain link, then bent it back together. I slipped it over Frodo's hair and on to his neck, and gestured for him to go ahead.

"The hand you could have taken and you took the Ring," Aragorn chuckled.

I shook my head. "I've had my arm around him all day; I needed my sanity back." Unfortunately, the Ring had done that all too well. Aragorn led me back up to Frodo, and this time I was slightly more on guard when I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. I brought my cloak around his front and grabbed it around the other side. He responded with a hand around my waist.

Slowly we were both warming up.