This is (for those who didn't read the reviews…) dedicated to Morëaiwë, who has left me for a brighter place – namely, Florida. I miss her…*sniff*

You all probably are wondering why I had to introduce a totally random element (AKA a rare illness no one has ever heard of) into the plot. Well, actually, it's not that random. Allow me to clarify…

First off, I needed to explain Sam's illness. I love the sound of 'Seaspell,' so I had a name. Then it occurred to me that this illness couldn't be too common, ergo the rarity. THEN I thought, "Hey, how come only elves – or, rather, immortals – go to Valinor?" Having lost my only copy of the Silmarillion, I couldn't go looking for an answer…so I decided that, maybe, the reason mortals so fear the sea is…a certain risk…the cause forgotten, but the fear remaining…

Howzat? I rather like it myself. Criticize your hearts out. –ORS

Disclaimer: I don't own one particle of LotR, except for my copy of the books. I do own Seaspell, it being my own creation. I also own the girl Tominë, who happens to be dead (and whose name I invented – it means absolutely nothing, Minion), and the character (though not the name) of Loín Ironlaughter.

***

"Elen?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"How are the halflings?"

"Very quiet."

"Hmm."

"I'm really worried, my lady. What will Frodo do without Sam?"

"Even the wisest cannot tell."

"You've used that line before, my lady."

"Oh. Oops."

***

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

Elrond brushed a thin layer of soot from an old manuscript and scanned the writing upon it. Next to him, Gandalf smoothed out a sheet of parchment and read over it.

"How many of these old things do you have, anyway?"

"Dozens."

"Did you bring anything but scrolls?"

"Not much else. Wizards don't need a lot of luggage, you know."

"Ah." The Loremaster picked up another scroll. "Most of these are absolutely useless."

"I know," admitted the wizard. "I couldn't just throw them away, though."

"Packrat."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Gandalf shook his head and continued reading.

"Oh, here's something – the other cases of Seaspell."

"Let me see."

The wizard handed him the parchment. Elrond read in carefully.

"Hmm…odd…"

"What?"

"There have been twelve recorded cases of Seaspell, but only two victims were revived before their deaths."

"Really? That is odd."

"Apparently, one was a daughter of men, and one a dwarf. The girl was called Tominë; the dwarf's name was Loín Ironlaughter."

"That's helpful," commented the wizard dryly. "Does it say their last words, too?"

"Actually, yes. They were rather cryptic. Tominë said, 'The last light of the sun will shine.' "

"Doubtless. And Loín?"

" 'Upon the third, who shall be the last.' "

"Trust a dwarf to end his life with an incomplete sentence."

"Oh, hush." Elrond put down the scroll with a sigh. "There's got to be something we can use!"

"There has to be." Gandalf's face was grave. "Frodo couldn't bear it."

"I know." The Loremaster picked up another scroll. "Let's get back to work, then!"

***

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"I'm glad to be here with you."

"Oh, Sam…" Frodo bowed his head. Sam touched his face very, very gently.

"It's all right, master. It's all right."

"No, it isn't." His azure eyes grew watery with tears. "You know it isn't."

"Yes, I know." Sam blinked back his own tears. "But you'll be all right."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said reproachfully, "do you think I could ever be all right without you?"

Sam tried to say something, but the words died in his throat. He burst into tears, turning his back to his master.

Frodo put his arms around Sam from behind and laid his cheek against Sam's. [A/n: I know it sounds awkward, but I can't think of any other way to describe the position; I've been in it many times with Morëaiwë, and it's actually quite comfortable.]

"Don't cry, Sam; please don't!"

"I don't want to die," he murmured brokenly. "I don't want to leave you…"

"I don't want you to die, either!" Frodo choked back a sob. "I love you!"

[A/n: Han Solo, this is not your fic. Kindly refrain from uttering your clichéd line.]

Galadriel, who had been watching the hobbits from directly outside the bedroom door (where she had remained conveniently unnoticed), now strolled in.

"Do not lose hope, little halflings."

"What hope?" cried Frodo bitterly, releasing his friend and turning angrily. "You always speak of hope!"

"There is always hope," replied the elf firmly. "You did not believe me when I told you, but my words proved true."

"Did they?" Frodo's piercing blue eyes met her level azure gaze. "Two days!"

"Would you rather have had no days at all?" she countered icily. "You have more than you had even hoped for, and still you claim there is no hope."

Sam's small frame quivered as he tried not to cry. Galadriel softened with sympathy.

"I apologize, Samwise," she said gently. "I have never known the fear of death."

"Of course you haven't!" Frodo growled, turning away. "You're immortal. You cannot understand."

"Exactly."

"Then kindly go away and leave us in peace."

After a long moment, Galadriel nodded.

"I will. Namárië." With that, she departed for the lower realms – or went downstairs, if you prefer.

"I'm sorry, Sam," murmured Frodo. "I just couldn't stand another minute with her. She can be so…" He trailed off expressively.

"I know." The words were muted and hinted of tears. Frodo knew that Sam was trying to hide his fear for his master's sake.

"You needn't be strong, dear Sam." He gathered his friend in his arms. "Let me be your strength."

Sam clung to Frodo, sobbing quietly. Frodo put aside his own grief, concentrating on comforting Sam.

"Sam…dear Sam…It won't hurt."

"Yes, it will."

"Gandalf said it wouldn't."

"Not that way, master. Not that way."

"It won't last long."

"Maybe it will."

"I doubt it."

"And you…" Sam looked up, eyes swimming. "What will you do?"

"Carry on, I suppose." Frodo smiled weakly. "I haven't much choice – unless I kill myself."

"Don't!"

"I won't, dearest. If only for your sake, I won't."

Sam nestled against Frodo silently, tears cascading freely down his face. For a long moment, the hobbits just quietly existed together.

"Frodo! Samwise!"

Frodo raised his head hopefully at Gandalf's excited shout. A moment later, the wizard burst into the room, robes disheveled and hat askew.

"We have it! We have it!"

"A cure?!"

"No – not yet – but we know what happened…" He dropped a small parchment onto the bed. "Apacala!"

"Apple-what?" muttered Sam as Frodo snatched up the page and began to read.

" 'Upon all mortals on this day/A lasting curse I now shall lay/If near the sea thou darest go/Death's darkness you shall ever know. Thus shall I punish the mortals who hath done me wrong. Be it known that the wrath of Apacala is not lightly roused.' " He frowned. "Who writes verse in common? Who is this Apacala?"

"Apacala the Shadow-chaser." Gandalf reclaimed the parchment. "Another Maia."

Both hobbits looked mightily confused. The wizard sighed.

"I forgot…you don't know.  To put it simply, Apacala lives here in Valinor." He smiled slightly. "We have a chance."

"A chance?" Frodo's eyes lit up with half-forgotten hope. "You mean…he could cure Sam?"

"Well, she might."

***

Yet another random plot element! Well, how else would you expect me to tie this off? I'm giving Sam a chance here!

…You know, I can't really help it. I love Sam too much to kill him…I think…*wonders* In any case, don't worry. It will be tons of fun to develop Apacala… Her name means 'after light' in Quenya…

So hang on until next chapter. Hope is born anew, and I might even have this poetic Maia get a song involved. *wriggles in delight* I just love writing poems for Samfluff! It's too FUN!!! Cheerio! –ORS