Years passed that way. My life spent, and Frodo became the point of it. I watched him constantly, cared for him in sickness. There were times, during frequenting unconsciousness, when I could wake him up simply by touching his hand. I couldn't detect a pattern, and although I tried hard, nothing was to be found.

Then, one day, he finished his book.

I read it in a few hours. His calligraphy swooped across the pages, and I loved the words he wrote. But I skimmed it, because he told me he was taking the book to the Grey Havens when he dropped Bilbo off with the last Elvish ship to leave Middle Earth, and I figured I could finish it afterwards.

I dressed in my Gondor cloak for the journey, and so did Frodo. I gave him back the book, and I sat on the top of a hill, waiting for him.

Then I saw the coach, with Gandalf driving it, that would take Bilbo and Frodo to the harbor. Frodo clambered inside, and before he shut the door, he spotted me. He beckoned and patted the seat beside him.

I slipped into the coach and shut the door, crouching against it. He looked troubled.

"What is it?" I asked.

He nodded for me to settle against the cushion, and so I did. He laid an arm around my shoulders, and his opposite hand settled against mine, on my lap. I reached up and felt his bitten finger. He froze at the touch.

"Sev, I have to tell you something," he said. I looked up at him. The stars were pained, deeper than they had ever been. He opened his mouth, leaned in a little, and said, "I'm going with the Elves."

Realization cut through me like a poisoned knife. I choked, eyes threatening to pour immediately. "No . . . no!" I shook my head, backing away from Frodo, gripping and releasing his arm. "No, you can't! Frodo, don't you realize? You're giving up on life-!"

He reached for me with his other hand. "Sev, please understand. I told you, my life purpose is finished. I have nothing to live for but pain now, and you said you were going to die this month."

My eyes widened. "How did you-?"

He pulled my journal from within the folds of his cloak. He offered it to me, and I took it, fingers brushing against his hands. The book settled in my lap, and while I eyed it, his hands claimed mine, warming them, protecting them . . . about to leave them.

"I started it on the adventure, thinking it was a novel," he said. It had the latch on it, but now I remembered: Willation had given it said latch before I left for Middle Earth, and I had seen it there when I'd written in the journal about my ending days when I came home. Frodo continued. "But by the time I read the end I understood what it was."

The end talked about how Frodo had changed me.

I stared up into his eyes. Oh, how I would miss those eyes, and now not just when I died, but when he gave up on life, in only a matter of hours. I shook my head, not able to fathom that I would lose him. "How could you give up on life? If you read my journal, then how could you assume that pain is enough to drive you away?"

He glanced down at the floor. "Sev, it's not just pain. It's knowing that you will die regardless of what I do."

My eyes widened even farther. "What do you mean?"

Frodo slid over to me, then pulled me the rest of the way to him with an arm about my shoulders. He lifted my hair behind my ear; then his lips brushed my cheek, very gently and slowly, lingering as they were. "I love you, Sev," he said, kissing my cheek again as he backed away, "and I won't survive when you're gone. If you were to stay, maybe . . . but the pains are great enough without you."

Tears raced down my cheeks.

"Frodo, don't leave me."

I leaned into him, laying my shoulder underneath his. I put a hand over his heart and closed my eyes, feeling nothing else. A warm fizzle settled over it when his hand wrapped around mine, and he laid his head to my own as well.

About ten minutes later everything really sank in, and I could hear Gandalf greeting Bilbo. I backed away. I shook my head over and over, looking Frodo up and down. That pain, those stars, that bookishness, those hands. It would all be gone, just because of some cursed Ring and my own cursed lineage.

I turned, breaking out of the door and springing up the hill. I imagined I couldn't hear him calling out to me. I just kept running.

Finally I broke against my log. Sobs racked my lungs, and I convulsed. The pains were excruciating. I had never connected them to Frodo, but now . . . now I was sure they had to do with him.

I cried as long as I could before I realized I would have to clean myself up before leaving to say goodbye to Frodo forever. I straightened myself, threw the tears off, and walked briskly back down the hill. I mounted my horse, sharply turning it to the West. I raced ahead of the slowly moving group, who had brought a horse for Frodo's return journey.

But he wouldn't have one.

I urged the horse faster, racing in circles. My blood pounded. Frodo was leaving because I was going to die.

Why couldn't I cursed just let him live? Why couldn't I sacrifice something of my own to give him life? Why couldn't the darkness that grabbed him belong to me, if only to let him be happy? Why, why, why couldn't I do something for him?

He might have abandoned me at the last minute if the Elves weren't leaving so soon, but I allowed that alone.

Soon we reached the harbor beyond the White Towers, the Grey Havens. By the time they all came piling in with their horses, I had already dismounted and tied my own steed. I began setting up the others. Gandalf's horse we let go, for the carriage would not be returning. I helped Bilbo out, and Sam directed him down to the harbor.

Frodo approached me then.

"Sev," he said, placing a hand to my face. I froze, having imagined back in the Shire that I would never feel his hands again; apparently I still hadn't adapted to the idea. "I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you."

I swallowed. "You will. You're dying today, remember?" I turned and followed Bilbo down the steps. Frodo stood right next to me. We were both dismal; there was nothing more to say of it.

Then I looked at him.

"There's one more thing I have to say."

He glanced at me.

"I told you there was good in this world, and that it was worth fighting for." I paused, not able to meet his eyes for a moment. "You are the good I'm fighting for," I said, "and I will never stop fighting for you."

His hand held my upper arm. So strong and yet he couldn't take it.

Bilbo, once we reached the base and the harbor emptying into the sea, glanced up. Elrond, Celeborn, and Galadriel waited there. "This is a sight I never thought I would see!" Bilbo exclaimed.

Elrond gestured to the ship. "The sea calls us home," he said in Elvish.

Bilbo nodded. "I think I'm ready for another adventure." He then joined the three elves on the ship. Galadriel smiled deeply at Frodo, and he simply glanced at her. He grabbed my hand, and I squeezed it back. Then I brought it to my lips, finally laying it against my cheek. Frodo held the other side of my face with his opposite hand. His hands were gentle, and I'd memorized the feel of them, even though I'd never really had them for long. I opened my eyes and remembered his face. I wanted to keep the image forever. His thumb brushed my lower lip very gently, as though he were studying something, which wasn't unlikely. I wanted so badly to kiss him in that moment, as though that would drain his troubles, as though I could make him want to stay.

Gandalf stood in front of us. "Farewell," he said, a slightly sorrowful smile coming to his face. I released Frodo; the hobbits immediately began to well with tears. They seemed to hardly know where to look. Unlike the rest, Frodo looked almost hard, not ready to break entirely. "Do not think it awful to mourn," Gandalf said, "for not all tears are evil."

Tears pricked at my own eyes, and I shook Gandalf's hand before he turned and walked to the ship.

I backed away from the hobbits' group as Gandalf turned to Frodo. My stomach tensed and my eyes pricked. "It is time, Frodo," Gandalf said, and I broke down; tears raced down my face, seeming myriads following each other. Somehow a part of me thought that Frodo had been confused, or lying. But Gandalf had slammed the truth to me like a mace to the head.

Shocked, the other hobbits turned to Frodo. "What does he mean?" Sam asked.

Frodo turned to Sam. "Sev and I set out to save the Shire. And it has been saved . . . but not for me." He held up Bilbo's book, turned to me, and laid it into my hands. "There are a few pages left," he said, "and they are for you, Sev."

What makes you think the end of my life will be better for writing than the end of yours? His eyes begged me to keep it, though, and it was the last piece of Frodo I could hold for the rest of my life. So I did; I wrapped my arms around it, as though it were enough to make him stay. As though I were holding him, not words that he had written.

Then he turned to Merry, and they embraced for a long moment. He moved to Pippin, then to Sam. Then he looked at me. I set the book down, and when he approached, I held him fiercely, cutting off sobs of my own. Tears sank into his cloak, and I shook my head ever so slightly. It was as though I could catch him before he ran away if I just got him thinking hard enough. But soon I would be gone, and nothing I could do would change that.

He coaxed away by rubbing my shoulders reassuringly. I bit my lip. It would be a painful, horrid month before I finally shriveled into nothing, but at least only a month.

Then Frodo lifted a hand to my head, tilting it slightly down. He gently lighted his lips to my forehead, then deepened it. When he released, he lifted my face to look at him. I could hardly stare into his eyes; they had been so bright—now tainted with sorrow and ready to leave this world.

"Oh, Sev," he said. A strange light flickered in his eyes, and he lifted his hand. His fingers brushed my lips as he studied them. I felt anxiety building in the very fibers of my being, emotions crowding me on so many different levels. This kiss would be a long one. I leaned up, so much to express with so little time to do it. Then he pressed his lips to mine. Knowing these were my last moments with Frodo, I sank into it, letting my hands travel to his shoulders. The first and last time I would ever really kiss him, the last time I could really let him know I cared about him more than anything else, that he was home.

That vibration again—that odd, yet insanely powerful, draining. It coursed through my hands, better than any injury I'd ever attempted to pull. The moment they began, Frodo deepened the kiss, and my head fizzled; how he managed to do that and stay conscious, I had no idea. I rested my hands on his shoulders until the vibration ceased, and when they did, I slowly (and hesitantly) lifted away from Frodo. Assuming the kiss had felt as good as I'd imagined it to, it was only a small surprise that my blood suddenly flowed smoothly, running more fully and powerfully than it had since I'd seen Alshain.

"Frodo, I-,"

Then I glanced at Gandalf. He was eyeing Frodo curiously.

"Frodo, let me see your wound."

Then I looked at Frodo. His eyes were a thousand times brighter, his expression three hundred times less pained. He handed me his cloak and vest, then unbuttoned his shirt to show the wound . . . or, at least, where it should have been. The black mark had been replaced by a simple white scar. Then to Shelob's wound; nothing more than a small white dot indicated where he had been stabbed so viciously.

He smiled up at Gandalf, somewhat hopeful.

"I think it wise, Frodo, to say that you should stay," he said with a broad smile, kneeling down and laying a hand on Frodo's shoulder.

"But Sev-,"

"Will live," Gandalf said. "She has drained a wound that is permanent. She will never run out of blood now, not with those wounds coming back enough to keep her alive."

My eyes widened.

How to fix my blood.

It made so much sense.

Overjoyed, I threw my arms around Frodo's neck and kissed him deeply. He held me as well, and when I finally broke away, Gandalf laughed, waving a goodbye and turning. He stepped onto the ship, and the five of us watched it sink into the horizon.

It was still a sorrowful day of parting from Gandalf and the last of the Elves . . . but I was so glad I had Frodo. I had him forever, and I wouldn't die either. I'd healed him. I'd brought him peace, a new life. And for the second time since I'd met him, he'd done the same for me.