Diem Kieu: It does . . . I did need something other than sappiness. XD But the chemistry will come! And I'm writing a different ending to the story that is more . . . um . . . chemistry-al? than the original. :) So I promise, it will come up, but there is canon for a while. :P

Jayla Fire Gal: Well, I've never thought of Frodo as hateful, but you never know. ;) I'm kidding; thank goodness I didn't pick a turbulent character for this medium. Actually, I've only ever seen that one scene for Aca Deca (because we're studying a protagonist that deals with ennui) . . . sorry. :/ But I hear it's awesome! If I get the opportunity, I will totally watch it.

Me and Not You 1001: *glances innocently away* Weeeeeeellll, sort of. XP But not really. Ish. Thanks! X) That gives me the warm fuzziness inside. Pretty much. :P But we make it more troubled because angst is a thing. XD

EnnuiCoffee: :D Movie lines are my first language; I'm so happy when references come up! Thanks so much! Yes . . . the feels . . . muahahahahahahaaaa . . . I've completed the story and there are many of the feels waiting. Congratulations! Isn't it fantastic?

Chapter is full of blood and bruises and fainting. You have been warned. :D

As we approach the mines, Frodo finally asks me.

"What are the consequences of coming?"

I open my mouth to respond, but Gandalf summons me forward. Frodo follows, and Gandalf wraps his arm around my shoulder, ostensibly leaning on me for support.

"What have you told him?" he murmurs.

I glance down at Frodo. "Just that all will be taken by the Ring if he stays," I whisper. "I'm sure he's already felt it's power growing."

Frodo swallows, and his fingers drift up towards his neck. My eyes squeeze shut: it's too early for that. Then I rationalize that if the Ring is stronger than I thought, it shouldn't surprise me at all. I remember I thought perhaps further awareness on Sam's part might have helped, but I don't know what I can do to help at all. I know Sam couldn't have known, but had he known . . . I hope he can help.

I leave my gaze on Frodo. "And that he can only trust himself."

Gandalf glances down at me, then motions for Frodo to carry on. The hobbit hesitantly leaves me behind, but only a pace or two before he halts and settles against the rock.

"I brought you here so he had another one to trust," Gandalf says almost accusatorily. I half glare up at him; either the Ring can take me or it can't. I haven't felt anything yet, and I gather it's because I don't belong to this world. "But you've impacted too much."

I sigh, slightly defeated. "I've changed what I have for his benefit. Can I really destroy all that he's working for?"

Gandalf nods assertively. "Any action you take could affect him for the worse, Minah." He grows more exasperated, perhaps a little more worrisome. "You only know what will happen until you alter it. I brought you here to be a comfort and a comfort alone; if you are anything more you could kill him."

My knees buckle slightly. Gandalf begins to walk forward, but I catch his cloak as my mind drifts to the Grey Havens. So it turned out for the better in the end . . . but my mind goes back even farther. The Red Book at the desk; I can envision this Frodo—my Frodo—in pain for years before he's finally released to leave a painful, relatively useless existence. I've never been capable of thinking of someone as useless, but Tolkien basically sold it that way . . . that his purpose was finished.

"Gandalf, can't I keep him from—?" I decide not to tell Gandalf Frodo will someday go to the Grey Havens. I argue with myself over what to say until I finally figure something out that will hopefully make sense to the wizard. "How can I stand back and watch him suffer through all of this? I'm here to comfort him, like you said, and that's impossible without being a help. If I leave myself out of events, what makes me different from being an offender to him?"

Gandalf grabs my shoulder so hard I think he's going to pop it. I suck in a breath, wincing at the pressure.

"You don't understand," he hisses. I know he doesn't mean to cause me pain; I think he knows I'm being obstinate. "What I'm telling you is that you will offend him by attempting to help. You may know a few things about our world, but you understand so little. In defending him you will be his end."

My brows furrow. "If you know this, can you tell me what I'll do wrong?"

The wizard exhales powerfully. "Minah . . . I brought you here to be in the background because I don't know exactly what you'll do to him, save one thing. He's growing fond of you, as you are of him. But it's not your place to remain here. In spite of all I can do, you cannot belong to him. At the rate this connection is growing, I fear ripping you apart will break one or both if you don't distance yourself now."

Now not just my knees decide to buckle. My gaze falls to the ground, and I start to feel sick. I never thought about going home, about leaving him.

"Gandalf, we'll be careful," I manage. "We're two different races; we can't fall in love. Besides, I already know all there is to know about Frodo Baggins . . . and even a little beyond that!"

Gandalf glares at me; I wonder if he thinks I'm trying to lie my way through this. "It's not only that. I fear your attempt to protect him from the harms that come upon him will hurt both of you. Accidents could happen; in saving him from one fate you could subject Frodo to a worse one." Then he glances down at the little dagger belt around me. "Give me your belt, Minah."

I hesitate and untie it from my hips, lowering it into his hands. He slips it into a pouch at his side, and I wonder what he's getting at. I don't have time to ask before Frodo's hand wraps suddenly around mine. I flinch; I didn't notice him, but now I turn as we gaze on the grandeur of Moria. I knew it was right there, and know what it looks like, but it's so much more intimidating than I realized. I gawk in spite of myself, and Frodo tugs me forward.

Things go rather as expected. I let Frodo figure out the riddle on the door and snicker to myself; that's a characterization moment I hoped wouldn't be different. But then I realize, as we enter, that Pippin and Merry have already thrown rocks into the lake. I shudder as we enter Moria; I must protect Frodo from that water creature.

I'm thinking so far ahead that I don't realize Boromir hasn't noted the skeletons on the floor. I glance down; there aren't any.

My eyes widen as I glance back up into the tunnel. No corpses, anywhere. I see abandoned arrows in some places, and I wonder what happened to the dwarves' remains.

I leave Frodo's side briefly and grab an arrow. I turn to Legolas and softly call out his name.

The elf nimbly leaps over to me; I offer him the arrow, shivering with slight anticipation.

"Look familiar?"

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "Goblins," he whispers, but I barely register that before I hear a cry from Frodo. My head snaps up, only to find him being dragged to the exit of the tunnel by a long tentacle.

I take the arrow back from Legolas and scramble to grab more arrows on the way out. The hobbits are already drawing their swords, racing to help Frodo. Aragorn is also a few steps ahead of me until I have a handful of arrows; I leap past him.

"We're coming, Frodo, I promise," I mutter under my breath as I leap back out into the moonlight. The hobbits are attacking the legs of the creature, but the thing has Frodo too close to its mouth for my liking. I leap into the water, attempting to avoid the thrashing tentacles around me. I get whacked in the face, and it stings for a long moment. My jaw drops with the pain, and I limply clutch my face. The creature snaps at Frodo's foot, which barely escapes being hacked off. I grab one of my arrows and shove it into the creature's mouth—it throws me back with a screech, and I slam against the wall of Moria. My spine screams in agony, and my muscles are aching with protest. I manage to get a moan out; the world blurs with red and blue, flashes dark to light and back.

I can only form the hope that Frodo is safe.

~0~

When I awaken a pair of little arms squeeze my torso almost so tightly I can't breathe. My eyes flicker open, and more sense comes to me: I can only assume the one holding me is Frodo, because black curls fill half my vision. My cheek is up against his . . . and it's a little drenched. My shoulder is embedded in his chest, and his fingers rub my arm softly.

"Frodo," I manage. My voice rasps, and my spine is a wreck. He halts in place; I didn't realize he was shaking until he stopped. "Frodo, it's okay." But it's not—I can't even reach up to touch him, I'm so sore.

He jolts at the sound of my voice, and he pulls away. I smile weakly at him; his tears color my cheek, and he immediately draws me back into his arms. His lungs shudder against my torso, and I shake my head, breathing harder as I realize how much pain he must be in, the shock of being tossed by that creature.

"Frodo . . . oh, Frodo . . ." I shift to right myself, squeezing Frodo close to me. He gently wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me over to rest against a rock. My breaths come halted; I'm in too much pain to do otherwise. My bones and muscles ache uncontrollably, and I have burning patches all over. Frodo hesitates, his mouth slightly ajar, as though he doesn't entirely know what to say. He cups my cheek softly; the skin there is tender, and I have no doubt it's badly bruised.

He bites his lip. "Minah, promise me you won't do that again."

My eyebrows crease, and I attempt to sit up and protest. He holds me down rather adamantly, and it's unusually difficult to fight against it. I struggle slightly before I give up.

"At least I tried to keep you from dying," I mutter.

Frodo shakes his head. "Perhaps. But you're badly hurt; Gandalf says you won't be able to walk for a while."

My eyebrows narrow this time. "What is he talking about? I can get up." I move to stand, but my spine shatters with burning pain. I cry out and sit back. Frodo scrambles to my shoulder, pinning me to the rock as though I would try again.

"Maybe I should rest a little," I breathe. Then I glance up at him; he's a decent distance away, and I feel relatively safe. "But I can't do anything for you in a position like this."

Frodo shakes his head. "You can save your strength. On my behalf, if it makes you feel better."

I nod slowly. "Is there anything else?"

His eyes flicker, and he glances away. Then his gaze meets mine once again, and with great effort I wrap my arm around his shoulders, squeezing him close to me. He settles softly there, gently rubbing my spine.

We say nothing for a while. Gandalf finally approaches us and gravely explains that even if I can't walk, it's time to go. Frodo offers to carry me, and I snicker slightly; he may be the subconsciously condescending master of Bag End, but he's got a great deal of naivety and goodness to him. Then Boromir and Legolas both volunteer, the former a little too frightening. I imagine Legolas is simply being noble, and I accept his offer. I wish I could tell Boromir that Legolas simply asked first—and he did—but that isn't why.

I tell him I'll let him carry me eventually, then bite my lip. Boromir nods slowly, and his eyes don't leave me as Legolas hefts me easily into his arms and carries me deep into the darkness of Moria.

Frodo doesn't leave Legolas's side. The two don't speak to each other much, but periodically Frodo asks Legolas if he thinks I'm all right. Legolas politely nods to Frodo, and they make light conversation as we go . . . as light as it can be in circumstances such as these.

Finally we reach the steep stairs. I have no doubt Legolas can carry me up, or at least I don't for a minute. Legolas stares firmly up them, and easily leaps from one step to another, still holding me. I sharply inhale and grasp his shoulders; I realize that most fangirls at home would be fawning over an opportunity like this, but frankly I just want to get down. We safely reach the top, and I wonder if I ought to put out there that I want to write a reader/Legolas story where he carries them up the stairs as nimbly as he did me just then.

They would certainly appreciate his arms around them, I think, and their arms around his broad shoulders. I shrug to myself; Legolas isn't the worst thing that's happened to me, but he isn't the one I care about most.

I peer over Legolas at Frodo, who is quickly mounting the stairs with his hands and feet. I realize Frodo's too short to climb them initially; sometimes I forget. I may walk with him a great deal, but most of the time when I'm paying that much attention to him we're sitting down and—well, likely I'm just holding him.

Legolas hesitates at the top of the stairs, and I remember Gandalf doesn't know where to go. I consider showing him, or walking myself, but to do the first is to remove the advantage of Gollum's backstory from Frodo, and to do the latter is probably physically impossible. I thank Legolas, and he hesitantly sets me down. I let him know it'll be a little while before we're moving again, and while I know it's probably just the lack of movement in the moment I feel much better.

Frodo joins me almost immediately, but doesn't seem so concerned this time. He casually sits down a foot away from me, and I get the feeling perhaps he's worried about something. Gandalf's conversation with Frodo about Gollum carries through; it isn't comforting for me at all, not when Gandalf says that Frodo is meant to have the Ring. It isn't encouraging at all.

But when Frodo says he wishes the Ring had never come to him, I join Gandalf in his words, allowing my voice to carry. I don't realize the wizard hasn't said the whole thing with me—I glance over at him and Frodo, only to find that they're both watching me. I blush slightly.

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "Carry on."

Gandalf claps Frodo's shoulder. "She already knows. Ask her should you forget yourself." I snicker, but then I wonder if I've coerced Gandalf into permitting me certain freedoms pertaining to the chronology of the story. Perhaps I've pushed it a little too far.

The wizard sits carefully next to me. "Minah, I must tell you why I brought you here."

I sit up. "You've reminded me every day since I got to Rivendell," I point out doubtfully.

Gandalf gives me a rather crusty look, and I shy away a little. "Your purpose was always set in stone, but I chose you of the many millions I could have because of particular reasons." He adds emphasis and leans closer to me with every point he makes. "You aren't a hobbit, you aren't particularly handsome, you respect Frodo's hardships and would do anything to protect him, and you're relatively harmless." His voice hardens then, and I wince. "Or I thought you were harmless. You can't fight and you haven't done anything remarkable in your life; how is this then done?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," I mutter. "Gandalf, I swear, I'm not trying to ruin anything. And thus far I haven't exactly taken you guys monumentally off the trail. I'll probably do nothing huge."

The wizard shakes his head. "I rather doubt that. You'll only get yourself hurt worse . . . and those you strive to keep well."

One of my eyebrows arches. "Gandalf, you really don't remember this place?"

Gandalf shakes his head again, then pauses. "But you know how to get out."

It takes me a moment to conquer my ego; I nod to the exit when I'm finished. "It's that way."

Gandalf stands and approaches the archway I've pointed out, then nods. "Well, at least the air doesn't smell so foul down here."

"When in doubt, Frodo, follow your nose," I mutter. I don't remember that line very well, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with that general concept. Frodo doesn't react, fortunately for me. I stay behind as the rest of the Fellowship slips into the tunnel, but as I try to stand a sharp pain stabs through my spine. I don't want to call out for fear I'll alert the orcs down below . . . so I propel myself across the steep, uneven ground with my feet towards the stairs, half of me lying down.

When I reach the archway, Frodo scrambles back to find me.

"Come on," Frodo says gently, and then notices my position. He reaches forward to lift me off the ground, but I shake my head.

"It's not use," I admit. "Don't worry; catch up with the others. I'll heal soon, and I can be along."

Frodo's brow furrows, and he slips his hand over my neck, feeling the skin over my spine. I shudder, arching away vainly: the skin is extremely sensitive, and I'm glad he isn't pinching or poking at all.

He peers down at it, removing my cloak and lowering my back collar a little bit. He gently shuffles my bush of curls out of the way and inhales sharply. "Minah, you aren't going anywhere; the bruise looks awful."

"It's just bruised?!" I abruptly stand, ignoring the pain. Part of my urgency is to force myself not to revel in his touch. "Well, then, what am I still doing here?" The ache is screaming now, but I don't care. I charge down the stairs. He protests a little, following me quickly down. He's nimble, but I'm stumbling forward in blind agony: I'm faster.

Finally I break down on one knee, breathing hard. My lungs are on fire, not from the stairs so much as the energy it takes to move forward through this pain. Frodo reaches down and wraps my arm around his shoulders. I glance up at him and realize his expression is laced with worry.

I glance up even more and see Legolas racing out of the wooden doors to the burial chamber I recognize from the film. Legolas swiftly scoops me off the ground, and I squawk in spite of myself. I cut myself off and listen: I hear the echoes of drums, and I stare down at Frodo, who races along beside the elf.

"Legolas, put me down," I insist. "I'm going to need my strength for this."

Legolas shakes his head. "We're hiding you."

As soon as Frodo is through the doors, Boromir and Aragorn slam them behind him. Despite my protests, Legolas finds a little niche in the wall and stuffs me inside. With my spine in its condition and my legs squished and packed into the cavity, I can't move.

"Keep quiet," Legolas says gravely before backing out. I keep an eye on Frodo and struggle to break free. I need a sword, at least to defend myself; maybe I can even do some good and get some orcs out of the way.

Frodo draws Sting, and I give a little lurch; although the other hobbits are protectively clustered in front of him, I know he's in danger. Lots of danger. I hardly hear the banging at the door as I watch Frodo: he's going to be stabbed by a cave troll. The image of his lurch in my mind is prevalent; all that pain. I can help with that, at least.

Once Frodo charges with the other hobbits into the battle, I'm snapped out of my paralysis and I struggle against my confinement. I battle furiously with my pain, with the squeeze of the rock all around me. The battle carries on, and I watch Sam smacking orcs with his frying pan. I frantically search for Frodo; he's up on the ledge with Pippin and Merry, but instead of simply being separated from them, he watches Pippin be slapped down to the ground by the cave troll. He lunges for the creature before it can step on the hobbit below, and the cave troll bellows at him when he punctures its arm.

With one last, desperate shove of energy, I manage to break free of the stone around me. The cave troll drags Frodo to the ground, then lets go when Frodo stabs at it again. Its roar fills the cavern; Aragorn leaps up to help Frodo, only to be swatted away. I scramble for a weapon and find a small sword at the fingertips of a dead orc. I leap over the body, shuddering; I haven't exactly been exposed to death in my life—outside of the occasional funeral visit—and I'm glad Frodo doesn't deal with very much later on. I grab at my stomach, then arch my back, at the sudden influx of nausea and overall pain. I shake it away, leaping for the cave troll when he lifts the spear to impale Frodo. I cry out, attempting to get its attention, and latch the blade in its calf. It howls loudly, and rocks crumble from the ceiling. Frodo stares at me, horrified, as the cave troll turns.

My heart thuds as I eye Frodo carefully. I wish I could tell him it's on his behalf, that he doesn't want me to leave him alone . . . I hope. Perhaps he does wish I would just stay out of everything.

"Hey! Leave him be!" I snap defiantly at the cave troll. It immediately swings its spear around at me, and as I jump back I realize that Frodo's wearing armor: I've got nothing.

But I can't undo what I've done, so I trust I can either make this work or die here. Perhaps Gandalf can send me home and heal me, but I doubt it. I don't experience much trauma in my own mind, especially if I'm the victim of whatever goes on. I can't assess danger very well from my own head.

The cave troll charges after me, backing me over corpses and around corners. Frodo rushes for the troll first, but I cry out for him to stay away. Boromir follows—although not before I'm backed into solid wall. I clutch my arms over my torso, unsure where the creature will strike. I watch the spear tip carefully as the cave troll lunges, and I move to dodge it. I don't make it before the huge weapon impales my arm, latching it to the stone behind it. An agonized scream barrels from my lungs, and I know no more than the blinding, sudden crush in my bone before I've blacked out.

~0~

I don't imagine I've been knocked out for long. I hear Gandalf to start.

"Frodo, I'm certain she's still alive." But he sounds worried. "She hasn't been punctured anywhere fatal."

My eyes flicker open. Today has not been my day for, well, living without getting seriously injured. I moan, glancing down at my arm. The spear is gone, as is my sleeve, a soaked strip of black fabric discarded to the side. Frodo's sleeve is ripped off as well, now wrapped around my upper arm. Blood soaks my skin.

I glance up, shuddering, at Frodo.

Aragorn tells the Fellowship that we need to keep moving. Gandalf reaches forward abruptly, taking my belt from the pouch at his side and cinching my wrist to Frodo's . . . very tightly.

"Don't let her out of your sight," Gandalf mutters, shooting me a dark look. "She's gotten hurt enough, and I'm sure she won't risk you." He sounds more like he's addressing me, accusing me of trying to step in on Frodo's behalf. But now I can't get into danger without troubling Frodo.

At least he can't get into danger without alerting me either.

Gandalf yanks me to my feet, and I gasp with the pain flickering down my back, the shock of being in battle for the first time, the death and pain surrounding me, the tight grip of fabric on my arm. I swallow uncertainly; my throat sears with an itch at this new experience.

Frodo leads me as gently as he can out of the burial room, but we have to run. As we do, I manage to pop in a word. My fingers entwine initially with his; it's the only comfortable way to run, otherwise we yank on each other's wrists.

"You didn't have to," I interject as we race through the great columns of Moria's once grand halls.

He stares up at me, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"The sleeve," I clarify. "Thank you."

In the dim light of Gandalf's staff I see a mild blush rise to his face. "It's nothing." But the arm now almost sleeveless tenses a little, and I wonder at that.

Before I can say anything more, though, I hear a shriek behind me, and realize goblins are coming. I drag Frodo faster along, doing my best not to scream at the fire in my back. My arm isn't so bad . . . but I know it could be if I focused on it, so I rip my attention from it and towards Frodo, who scrambles by my side twice as fast as the other hobbits. I attribute that to our combined desire to keep moving, and soon we get ahead of Gandalf.

The goblins clamber down from the ceiling like spiders, and they sound about the same as well. There's a myriad of the disgusting creatures; they hiss and spit loudly, baring their teeth and their weapons. As the Fellowship huddles, Frodo and I attempt to block each other from the goblins. A little debate ensues in hissed whispers between us.

"Frodo, I'm here to protect you."

He fires back, "You're injured, and you're my servant; you rather persist to do as I say, and I ask that you stay behind me."

He ends up winning, but as the does the goblins scatter. I grab Frodo's shoulder and begin backing off from the still group; Gandalf looks resigned, but admittedly I don't think that's a good reason to endanger the rest of the Fellowship.

Frodo glances up at me. "What's going on?"

I hiss to him, "Run. Gandalf will tell the others to do the same in a minute. There's a fire demon behind us, and he'll—he—," I pause. "This is the price for coming, I suppose," I mutter to myself.

Gandalf's shout sounds from far behind us. "Run!" Frodo and I take our pace faster, and I yank him into the cavern where the stairs will be. I find the little ledge where Boromir would have stumbled, and I turn the corner.

Soon, though, Frodo drags me to a halt.

"Minah, we should wait for the others," he says urgently.

I nod submissively; he's right about me being his servant, even if the decisions he makes are ones I don't think best for him. I halt on the stairs, only to see Boromir dash out and nearly fall off the stairs. His torch scatters down into the grand cavern of the staircase.

I glance up; I can see the bridge of Kazad-Dum, and the little breach in the stairs that we all will eventually leap over. It's a little farther down than I realized, but as soon as the Fellowship is almost upon us I race forward with Frodo anyway.

Once we reach the gap in the stairs, I realize it's probably eight or nine feet across: any hope I had in getting Frodo over it first is gone. Legolas squeezes past me and easily leaps to the other side. He beckons for me to come, but I suppose Gandalf takes that as his cue and goes first. Boromir follows, then three of the hobbits, then Gimli.

I snap the belt around my wrist. "Aragorn, get him across now!"

Aragorn grabs Frodo by the torso and moves to launch him over, but the staircase shudders, and the steps in front of us begin to crumble. Aragorn stumbles in place, and Frodo collapses from his grip. A streak of adrenaline swells within me as Frodo starts to fall, but I reach down and grab his arm before he can fall completely. Then more stairs crumble, and I cry out as that weightless feeling of a fall overcomes me. My hand catches just barely on the stone, and as the staircase sways Aragorn grabs my hand and starts to lift me back up.

The chunk of staircase leans forward, and I scramble to throw Frodo over onto the edge before collision. I tuck my legs up after Frodo's on the stairs, and the clashing stone narrowly avoids crushing me. Frodo and Aragorn leap over, and I fall onto the stairs, my lungs heaving. Boromir drags me to my feet, and we keep running. He doesn't let go of my hand.

Frodo manages to steal me from Boromir, for which I'm very grateful. Finally we reach the bridge, and I turn back to Gandalf. He glares hard at me . . . and I wonder if he can see that I'm plotting how to save him. He grabs Boromir and whispers something to him. The warrior's gaze flicks to me, and he nods in affirmation to Gandalf.

My eyebrows narrow. I don't need someone to look after me, especially not one that would hurt my charge for the Ring's sake.

I let Frodo go first across the bridge; I don't know how he moves so fast across it. It's such a skinny little thing. It takes all the strength I have not to buckle against the bridge and carefully slide myself across it, and I nearly slip more than once. Tingles travel up my feet, and my heart beats so much faster while I run. I slam into the wall on the opposite side for support, and Boromir drags me up the stairs.

But then I hear a rumble behind me. Gandalf turns to face the demon.

"You cannot pass!"

Frodo's cry stabs my heart; I know it'll only get worse if I let Gandalf fall. "Gandalf!"

I race down to the bridge as Gandalf fights the demon. Frodo calls out after me, ordering me to turn back. I hesitantly step away from the bridge's edge, and Boromir races to my side. He grabs my upper arm and yanks me back. Frodo joins us both, but as they might have had a little struggle all eyes lock on Gandalf. He shouts that famous phrase—"You shall not pass!"—and slams his staff into the bridge. Boromir's grip on me loosens, and Frodo barrels subconsciously into my side. My back protests, and I nearly buckle.

Then Balrog steps onto the bridge, and I yank against Boromir's hold desperately. A short whimper escapes my throat, but the bridge doesn't crumble. Gandalf steps back, and the demon takes another step forward. I reach forward the moment I'm able and grab Gandalf's hand . . . and then the whole bridge gives a great groan and crashes to pieces. The demon, nearly to the other side of the bridge, roars as he falls. His whip arcs down quickly, slapping across my back. I have no time to scream as the momentum shoves me and Gandalf both down.

"No!" Frodo's protest is abrupt, and I think I've fallen out of hearing range. Then I realize Gandalf is suspended in the air below me, and my body hangs off of a small ledge some distance from the top.

I try to yank back on the wizard, frantically bring him back up, but he glares up at me.

"Come on, Gandalf," I mutter. "We can get to the top."

Gandalf shakes his head sternly.

"I would have fallen," he hisses. "Why would I have fallen? What purpose would that have served?" He reaches up and yanks on my shirt collar; my bruised spine protests again. "Don't think about taking me back. There was a purpose."

I think about Frodo: the pain, the nightmares, the agony of loss. Tears prick at my eyes, and I swallow. "You become a white wizard," I admit. "But can't I save you? Isn't there some other way? At least tell Frodo it won't be forever."

Frodo calls out to us both, explains that he's getting help. I glance back up at him to tell him it should be fine, but Gandalf yanks my head down before I can say a word.

"You will mention nothing of the sort to him," he insists. Then he sighs. "Minah, do what you feel is right. But that is the warning I've given you and will continue to give you: the more you interfere the more of Frodo you risk."

I swallow; it's as though I can't help it. I nod slowly.

"I brought you here to comfort him. If you can't do else, do that. I admit I've been hard on you, but it is for your benefit; you have the potential to keep him safe. That is why I chose you." Gandalf stares up past me. "At least you haven't the strength to hold me here."

My eyes seal shut; he's right. I can feel my back giving out. His fingers slip in my grasp.

I glance up and realize Frodo is watching us both. I try to appear composed, but I bite my lip; I can't abide the thought of pain written all over Frodo's face when Gandalf falls.

Gandalf's eyes harden again. "Get out of here, you fools," he whispers, but his voice cuts the air like a shout. He wrenches his hand out of mine, and I slack, defeated, on my slab of rock.

"Gandalf! No!"

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