I was nearly unconscious when we reached the open air. I hid myself, snapped the arrow out, and wrapped my upper arm with a white cloth. When I reemerged, Merry was sobbing and consoling a broken Pippin. Sam had buried his face in his hands.
Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir were mourning as well, although not so snapped as the hobbits.
I finally spotted Frodo. He was walking away. I followed him.
"Frodo?" I asked when I caught up to him.
He turned to me, his face ghastly and his expression wounded. Tears trickled down his face. My eyes pricked, and I wrapped my arms around him. Although I never would have guessed his reaction, he did the same, sniffling a little.
I buried a hand in his hair, rubbing in small circles. There were no words that could be said. The pain Frodo must have felt; I couldn't imagine. I laid my ear against his chest, hearing the slowing echo of his pulse. Despair was setting in.
"Boromir, get them out."
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!"
I kept an arm around Frodo's waist and walked him a little farther away. Still I said nothing. Nothing could be said.
"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs," Aragorn insisted. "We must be to the woods of Lorien. Legolas, get them out." A minute later he looked around. I could see him, and I was staring dangerously.
"Frod-," Aragorn paused. He approached me a moment later, and I left Frodo to talk to him. I growled just a little.
"Sev," he said, laying a hand on my shoulder, "the best thing you can do for Frodo is get him to Lorien. He'll die if he remains here, and that will do none of us good."
I nodded assertively, and Aragorn turned away.
Frodo followed without complaint, but I was sure there was something deeper . . . something I couldn't quite grasp or counteract.
"There was nothing you could have done," I said finally.
Frodo glanced down at me.
"If anything, it was my fault." I looked over at him. His eyes were pained. I wanted to brush the pain from them. "I was going to save him, but . . ."
Frodo squeezed my shoulders. "But you were helping me first. Gandalf would have fallen."
"So that's not-," I stopped. He didn't need to know I was digging in to his psyche.
"So that's not what?"
I shook my head. "I thought you were blaming yourself." I crinkled my nose. "I'm glad you weren't, though." Then I paused. "Gandalf did not die without reason, Frodo. He loves you every bit as much as the rest of us," (that was a lie: I knew Frodo better than anyone, and hoped I loved him more—I was willing to sacrifice everything) "and did it to keep you safe."
Frodo sighed and rested his head on my shoulder. I felt him relax a little; I'd hit the mark. All I needed to do, then, was try and coax that misery right out of him. If I let despair conquer him, he'd never come back. I couldn't imagine that . . . Frodo, gone forever because he let Gandalf's death eat away at him.
Seeing as how many psychological and physical things were eating away at him, it wouldn't surprise me the next time one came up.
Soon, however, we had to increase our pace, and were soon safe within the trees of Lorien. Once we were inside, Gimli stopped Frodo. I halted as well.
"Keep a wary eye, hobbits!" Gimli hissed. "They say an elf enchantress lives in these woods. Any that see her fall under her spell, and none ever return!"
A female voice hissed through my mind.
You are a great evil, Seville . . . of a distant land. You are not a hobbit. You do not bear evil . . . you live it. You are coming to us, young one.
My eyes narrowed and a growl built in my throat.
"Sev?"
I glanced up at Frodo. I shook my head.
"Nothing," I said. He glanced at the ground. I laced my hand through his; my pulse rose as our fingers slipped into place, interlocked. He stared down at them. "I promise," I said, "it is nothing of importance, Frodo. Don't trouble yourself with anything more." Then I paused. "Particularly not with Gandalf. We'll see him again."
"What do you mean?"
I shrugged. "When we follow him. Won't it be wonderful, then? Cares will be past, and the blackness of this world will fall away." Frodo sank into my words; I felt it. His hand was gentle and a little soft, actually. I couldn't imagine the Ring tainting it. "Peace forever . . . alone with those we hold dear."
Frodo nodded contentedly.
"It sounds wonderful, Sev," he said, grasping that description a little more wistfully than I would have hoped.
"But I won't fall under her spell!" Gimli was insisting. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" Then he gasped.
I glanced up and found an arrowtip to my nose, and one to Frodo's. Had it not been held by a possibly friendly, good-natured elf I would have tried to hack the offender's hand off. I did, however, pull Frodo away from the arrowtip just a little.
An elf that appeared to be leading the group that surrounded us walked up to Gimli. "The dwarf is so loud we could have shot him in the dark."
Gimli humphed at that, and we were led by the archer captain to the elf city in the heart of Lorien. For the most part we were blindfolded, until we reached a tree surrounded by the floral, graceful, white architecture of the elves. We were directed to the top, after climbing flight upon flight of white, wooden stairs.
The elf leader and Aragorn spoke to each other in Elvish for a moment, acknowledging each other, as well as Legolas. Gimli protested lack of courtesy, but proceeded to swear darkly at the elves. I winced at his words.
"That was not so courteous," Aragorn reprimanded.
"You bring great evil here," was all I could catch of what the elf next said. I saw his eyes flicker to Frodo, then rest on me. He darkened his gaze a little, and it did not leave me. "You cannot travel through here. You must turn back."
Before Aragorn could take him aside, I stepped forward. "Captain, I mean no disrespect," I said, "but the evil I bear is of no harm to you."
The entire Fellowship glanced at me with wide eyes. But I was expecting that. "I have controlled my blood, insofar as many of you bear injuries I would drain," I said in my scattered Elvish, "and have refused the evil that would follow me." I straightened. "On my behalf, rest assured, you can permit this company passage through your woods. Throw me out if you will, but I am obligated to help the Ringbearer in his journey and will protect him despite my circumstances."
The elf nodded skeptically, but Aragorn took him aside regardless.
Legolas cocked his head at me. "Evil? In your blood?"
I nodded, glancing at the ground. "I have told many, Legolas, I am not a hobbit."
Legolas frowned. "Then what are you, if not a hobbit?"
I shook my head. "I do not know. I only know that the hobbits have been kind enough to me that I would be honored to be called one of them." I looked over at Frodo, who was watching me carefully. I noticed then that he had a book tucked under his arm, one that looked remarkably like my journal, the one that contained my darker history and my darker history alone. Then I noticed that there was a latch on it that hadn't been on my own and dismissed the idea. I wondered where he had got it from.
The voice in my head again . . . I could hear it. And I could see a flash of beautiful, hard blue eyes.
Your very blood is a danger. You guard that who bears wickedness.
Give him a break, I mumbled to myself. I hoped the voice could hear it.
You are bold, halfling. You are coming to us.
Soon the elf told us to follow him. We traveled through the woods through the remainder of the night. It was cold, and the voice haunted me. I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders, shivering with anxiety.
I didn't think Frodo had any concern left in him; he couldn't afford to grant any. But all the same he gave me his cloak. I eyed it warily.
"Frodo, don't tell me you're not cold either," I said. "I thank you, but . . . really, you can't afford it."
He slipped his cloak over my neck and wrapped his arms around me.
"No, I'm not cold," he said. And he was right.
I sighed. "Thank you." I immediately began to warm. I could feel my own heart hammering against the areas of pressure where his hands laid.
Soon dawn approached, and he stepped back only a little. I let his cloak back over his head, and we kept walking. I felt my cheek; it was fiery. Dang it.
When I looked up, there was a great tree in the midst of Lorien. Loth-Lorien, they called it. I felt the enchantress drawing near. She breathed life, and it scarred what little poison was left in me. Willation told me the poison could be changed, remedied, but did not explain how. I wondered if she could help, if she could halt the pain.
We were brought to Celeborn and Lady Galadriel; those crystal eyes I recognized. The pains vaulted over me, and my hands convulsed. I shrank away when I saw the Lady—she was glowing with a brilliance that seared into my eyes.
I resented myself then: I was so dark the light hurt.
They spoke of Gandalf . . . and how we had lost him in Moria. Galadriel seemed to know more than most. I had not felt him die, as I felt something die and was overwhelmed by a passion to restore it for my own sake. But he was not dead . . . or so I had considered and dismissed.
She knew. She knew what had happened.
I didn't, and that bothered me.
She greeted us all, then turned to Frodo. Based on his expression, she was speaking to him as well. Then she turned to me.
Welcome, Seville of Lavwu. You would guard him to the death. You may have to.
My ears flattened.
Indeed I may.
We were quickly and easily situated in the heart of a tree. As we were unpacking and preparing to sleep, I approached Frodo about Galadriel speaking to him.
His brow furrowed. "How did you know?"
I put a hand on his shoulder. "She spoke to me, too, in the woods and here."
Frodo's eyes widened, and he nodded.
Then a chorus of sweet, somber Elvish voices filled the air. Legolas straightened. "They are commemorating Gandalf," he said gently.
"What are they saying?" Pippin asked.
Legolas faltered. "I haven't the heart to tell you," to which Sam replied, "They ought to have a verse about fireworks." He paused, then stood abruptly. "The finest ever seen! Sparks in blue, red, and green . . . they came in fiery showers, and looked like . . . flowers, oh, that doesn't do them justice." Defeated in his poetry, he sat back down and laid in bed.
Aragorn was trying to console Boromir to rest, but Boromir would not have it. I made sure, however, that all were rested before I slipped out of bed and raced back up the stairs. I had to talk to Galadriel. Maybe she could take this burden from Frodo. I stroked his cheek before I left; he looked so tense.
The moment I had ascended one turn, however, Galadriel swiftly glided down the steps toward me. She did not look surprised to see me, and in fact only let a hint of a glance in my eyes before looking back at her feet.
"Can you take the Ring?" I demanded.
Galadriel swept past me, and I followed.
"It's so hard for him," I continued—I raced to keep up with her long, graceful strides—"and it's hard enough to watch him carry it every single day, harder still not to be able to do anything about it."
Galadriel nodded. "You cannot bear it."
I shook my head. "Well, it's on a chain now; I'm certain I could carry it."
Galadriel paused. "No. Frodo is meant to have it."
"What is this about 'meant' to?" I cried. "Gandalf spoke of it, too. Frodo cannot be left alone to do this. My lady, I can help him. What if I was meant to carry it too, hmm? What if I could help him?"
She seemed slightly amused at my impertinence. "If Frodo cannot find a way, no one will." She hesitated again. "Although . . . there is one decision that I once thought would be made for certain that you can change."
I swallowed.
"His end. You could change it, Seville . . . I do not see everything there for the both of you." She continued on, sweeping past the tree where the Fellowship rested. "Your decisions, though, may determine the outcome."
"Even if I weren't involved, I still think he should be given the chance to decide his own fate," I said.
"He made that decision," she replied. "He chose to bear the Ring."
I walked faster. "He was hardly given an option! He is the only one brave and powerless enough to bear that cursed, shameful Ring, and you say there is nothing on this earth that can change the misery and pain that will befall him because he was corralled into carrying this burden."
Galadriel nodded.
I shook my head, frustrated. I hoped that, by laying it out, it would convince her it wasn't fair for Frodo to carry the thing. "There has to be a way."
"Can you heal the heart that has lost its pieces?" She turned to me. We were descending a black, stone staircase, and I nearly slipped off with the severity of the sudden halt. "Can you understand pain that one carries every day without fail, and adapt that as a lifestyle?"
I did not tell her that was my life. She need not know, I decided. I was being argumentative and defensive enough. I bit my tongue and followed her down the stairs.
Only then did I realize Frodo had been following us, if not at a distance. Galadriel waved me aside, picked a silver pitcher from the stone, and turned to face Frodo.
"Will you look into the mirror?" she asked.
Frodo glanced at me, then Galadriel. "What will I see?" he asked carefully.
Galadriel's face became darkly playful. "Even the wisest cannot tell," she said. "The mirror shows many things . . ." She allowed the pitcher to empty inside a central well. "Things that are . . . things that were . . . and some things that have not yet come to pass."
Frodo glanced at her cautiously, then stared at me. I carefully joined him, and he stepped up to look inside. I supposed he didn't see anything, because he looked at Galadriel as though there was something more. She didn't move, and he looked back.
From my vantage point, nothing was clear, but I could see flat images, passings of the Fellowship, of the Shire . . . and then the world in flames. Frodo began to gasp, shaking. I could see a great, fiery Eye, and the Ring slipped out of Frodo's shirt, trying to reach for the well. Frodo grabbed the Ring and threw himself backwards. I leaped behind him and caught him as he fell. I took most of his momentum, but still collapsed. So did he.
"I know what it is you saw," Galadriel said. Frodo helped me to my feet, and we both faced her. "For it is also in my mind."
I couldn't imagine how terrifying it was for them.
It is what shall come to pass if you should fail, she said. I realized she was only talking to Frodo, but that I could hear the same mental track.
Frodo swallowed. If you would have me do it, I will give you the One Ring. He pulled it from his neck, and it laid, bright and open, in his palm. I hissed to myself, both at the Ring and my initial need to take it.
"You offer it to me freely."
He stood his ground.
Galadriel's eyes widened, and she stretched out her hand, advancing toward Frodo. I growled and kept a hand on my knife; Frodo did not back down. "I admit my heart has greatly desired this," she said. "Instead of a Dark Lord, you should have a queen!" Suddenly she flared into inverse colors; her dress fluttered, and her hair flew. "Not dark, but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! All would love me and despair!"
Frodo did not move, just held the Ring, terrified.
Galadriel staggered back to herself. "I've passed the test," she breathed. Then she turned away. "I will diminish, and go into the West . . . and remain Galadriel."
Frodo confided in her that he didn't want to do this alone. I reached for his hand, but Galadriel held up her own.
"To be a Ringbearer is to be alone," she said firmly, eyeing me. I backed away, eyes narrowed. Then she rolled her hand slightly to reveal a pearl-white, very ornate ring. She said it was the Ring of Adamant. "And I am its keeper."
Frodo glanced at the ground. "I know what I have to do . . ." he said, then looked at me, his eyes sorrowed. "It's just, I'm afraid to do it."
I looked at the ground this time. Galadriel had told me there was nothing I could do, but I was sure I could do something. She had told me I could change his end. Whether that meant the lesser of two evils, I did not know, but I would certainly choose the lesser if I had any say in it.
Galadriel bent down to Frodo. "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future."
If she was right in everything, then I could definitely change his.
Galadriel soon sent Frodo back to rest, and he looked back to see if I would come. I told him I would be along, and he ascended the stairs before waiting.
I turned back to Galadriel.
"This Ringbearer is not alone," I said. "I don't know if you would believe me, but I know pain. I live pain, Lady Galadriel, and I understand living every day with a power so great and terrible you want to throw yourself into the sea for it." I lifted my chin. I sounded cliché, but relished in ranting. "If that is not what Frodo suffers from now, I beg you to tell me that my cause is hopeless."
Galadriel bent down to me this time . . . but she searched my eyes. "You do know pain, Seville," she said, her tone changed. "He will still desire peace. Bring him peace, and he shall be helped."
I bowed. "I thank you, Lady Galadriel."
"But you cannot know the burden of the Ring until you carry it. It is not more intense than your own will be at watching Frodo suffer, but it is different. He is still somehow alone."
"In that case, we all are," I said, bowing again and mounting the stairs to join Frodo.
I laid him in his cloak and sat on the rock right above him. He glanced up at me.
"Sev?" he asked.
I looked down. His eyes were bright and wide, his brows knit together in pain.
"You would really bear the Ring for me?"
I nodded. He seemed only a little satisfied with that, and rolled back under his cloak. His breathing did not grow easy for some time, and until it did, I didn't dare leap down from my perch to finger his hair just a little.
I never knew when the last moment was I would see him, or be able to touch him before he drifted away completely. Galadriel was ascending the stairs, and I watched her. I wouldn't let him go through this pain isolated. He would always have me if he wanted help.
