Immediately upon entering Lorien, the atmosphere changes, and my heart lifts. I take a chance, and look down at Frodo's still form. He is still nestled tightly against my breast, clear blue eyes staring away into the distance. His breath comes softly, and there is the occasional catch or wheeze that reminds me that he is still sick.

I shift him as gently as I can, and he nestles farther into my arms. It's strange; I've never seen him so willing to be dependent. But his soft eyes look at me with complete trust, and it's then that I know for sure that I've repaired any error I've made.

I can sense the presence of the elves around us. I look to Legolas, and can tell that he does, too. We don't alert the others; the elves of Lorien are friend, not foe, and anyways, they are most likely biding their time.

Gimli is talking somewhere down and to the right of me, I don't really pay attention, except when the constant rumbling stops. And then, only for a second, because the tip of an arrow is about one inch from my face.

My first thought is for Frodo, I pull him tightly to me, and somehow find a way to support him while touching the pommel of my sword with one hand. I could never fight like this, but nevertheless, the familiar grip of Anduril's hilt comforts me.

Frodo does not speak, but his eyes are wide. I recognize Haldir and my instincts calm. These people are not our enemies. And we are not theirs. I tell them so in Elvish. Haldir thinks for a moment, and then nods to his command, telling them to blindfold us.

***

Time passes so strangely here; I don't think I will ever get used to it. It is never fully day, nor fully night, and everything takes on a silvery cast. No doubt wrought by the lady Galadriel herself.

The Lady has asked to speak with Frodo alone. I sit among the rest of our company, restless, but unwilling to move. I, too, need to speak with Frodo, though doubtless for the same reasons. I have declared my love for him, to the surprise of us both, and now things must change. The only question is, how? Will he admit the same for me? Or will I have to sever my feelings for him, cleanly and painfully? I know that it will not be long now before we have to decide our paths. Will I stay with Boromir and go on to Minas Tirith, or will I stand by Frodo? These are the things I must decide, and even in this atmosphere of carelessness and freedom, they weigh heavily on my mind.

I can't help but notice that Boromir and Legolas are speaking in hushed tones together at the base of one of the giant trees. Boromir has been looking more and more haggard and gaunt, and I know that I should be worried about him.

But how can I be, when my own love suffers the same affliction, multiplied tenfold?

When we first came to Lorien, the elves asked to take Frodo away. I told them that I would not be parted from his side, and that any healing they would do would be witnessed by me. They didn't like that idea, though I'm not sure why.

But in the end, I was not allowed to be with him, so I don't know what exactly they did. What I do know is that when they were done, when Sam and I went in to visit him, he was deathly pale, and the wound in his shoulder was bleeding profusely, though bandaged.

I sat with him a while, but he soon tired, and fell asleep mid-sentence. I remember brushing his sable curls away from his face and kissing him tenderly.

That was the last time I saw him. I know he must be better if he is conversing with the Lady, but I can't help feeling anxious. I wish I could see him, talk to him, make sure that he's alright.

I leap from my seat and begin pacing again, drawing all eyes to me.

I begin to wonder why this is taking so long. What could she have to say that--

"What are you so anxious about, Aragorn?" A small voice comes from below my right elbow. I start. I'd forgotten that hobbits could do that, when they wanted to. I'm not used to being surprised.

A smile spreads across my face, broad and unfamiliar. I turn around, kneel, and hug him to me. I'm so relieved to see him alive. I think he's a bit surprised at my actions, but he laughs and hugs me back. "It's good to see you, too!" He says, somewhat mockingly, but I don't care.

"I missed you." I whisper into his ear. "I was so worried about you." He buries his face in the side of my neck, and I sigh with pleasure. He's alright. He's okay.

"I'm alright," he replies. Then he pulls back and looks at me. His eyes are clearer than they've been in weeks. "I'm fine. Thank you for worrying so much about me. I missed you, too."

Too jubilant to care that everyone can see us, I press a kiss to his closed lips, teasing them gently open with my tongue. His beautiful, sweet mouth, open to me again. And perhaps, again and again.

He laughs and pulls away. "Come on, Aragorn. Let's go somewhere more private." I catch his meaning, and it's an arousing thought. Such a wonderful creature offering himself to me so freely... A hard shiver wracks my body.

I follow him, having to stoop a little bit to hold his hand. His fingers are small in mine, cool and firm. He's stronger than he looks.

He leads me into one of the chambers, high in the treetops. He seems a bit nervous. I have the feeling he doesn't like heights too much, as many of his kind don't. It makes sense; hobbits live in holes.

A shaft of light steals through the trees and into the chamber, and as luck, or maybe something else, would have it, glints off the chain that holds the Ring. Frodo's cotton white shirt is unbuttoned so that I can almost see it. Almost, but not quite.

I look down at my shaking hands. "Take it off." Frodo looks at me with surprise.

"What?"

"The Ring. Take it off. I can't--I can't do anything with it right there like that. Please."

"I can't, Aragorn. You know that. The instant I take it off, I'll lose it. Or someone will take it. I haven't come so far for it to end just like that." I stare at my hands. They itch to touch him. Or it. Either way, they're drawn towards Frodo. I'm drawn towards him.

"Please," I beg. I don't know what's happening. I don't know what I want. I just know that the responsible part of me, the part that loves him, is yelling at me. Telling me I can't get any closer. My fingers itch and my mind is chasing itself in circles. A deadly want sweeps through me, nearly swallowing the more wholesome one. Almost, but not quite.

"Aragorn," he says, backing away slowly, his hand reaching to his chest. Brushing the pale skin there lightly. Running along the fine chain around his neck. "What's going on?" Suspicion has entered his voice, and it makes me seethe with self-loathing. He's afraid of me. I scare him. I suddenly realize that I could easily overpower him. Hold him down and take what I wanted. Both...things that I want.

I draw in a sharp breath at the thought and start backing away. How could I even think that!? I would never...!! The Ring glints a baleful gold. A whisper in my mind tells me not to be foolish. Take it. TAKE it. It appears a luminescent gold, nestled against the contrasting pale skin. I should. I should take it. It would greatly ease Frodo's burden...NO! It is his to bear. He chose it. I cannot take it from him.

I blink. Once. Twice. And the illusion is gone. The whisper fades out of me, and the Ring settles back onto its chain. Leaving Frodo looking shaky, pale, and a bit frightened. "Aragorn?" he asks.

"I'm alright. It's okay now, Frodo. It doesn't have me anymore." I sit down on a pile of cushions disguised as a chair, still processing what happened. Frodo, seemingly reassured, comes over to sit beside me. I feel nervous at the Ring's closeness, but Frodo is also there, and this time, there is no strange distortion of thought and desire. I know what I want now. Him. Frodo. Not the Ring.

After a pause, he stands, and then re-settles himself in my lap. My arms come up to cradle him so that he won't fall. "I don't know what happened. The Ring, I think. It wanted me to take it." I confide quietly in him, afraid of my own words. Afraid of what they might mean, to him, and to me.

But he merely reaches up and strokes my cheek gently. "I know," he says simply. And I feel instantly ashamed for not remembering that he deals with it constantly, always inside his mind. What kind of weakling am I if only one assault brought me to my knees? "Shhh," he says, pressing a calming kiss to my lips. "You aren't weak. You weren't expecting it, and you won anyway." He says, reading my thoughts so very accurately.

I am inclined not to believe him, not to let it go. A part of me wants to believe that I'm a weakling. Because the alternative is that the Ring really is that strong... But the rest of me knows that he's right. The brutal, painful honesty in his eyes doesn't allow me to believe anything else.

"Thank you," I whisper, and press my face to his crisp curls. He smells soft and clean. Like moonbeams. Fresh and shining. He turns his face, then leans up to kiss me. Softly. Quickly.

He pulls back and blinks slowly. Almost like he's had an epiphany. I stare back at him, lost in my own sea of lust and love, and recognition of the two. Then he leans in to do it again. This time harder, pressing our faces together by winding his fingers in my hair. My eyes shoot open in surprise. Then they close, surrendering to the demands of the kiss.

This shouldn't be anything new. It's nothing we haven't done before. But somehow, it's not as desperate. I'm not afraid that he will be taken away from me in the next moment, or that he will regret this the next day. In fact, I'm pretty sure that we'll have a good long while to ourselves. Especially since Boromir winked at me as we were leaving.

I move my arm so that I'm grabbing his bottom and pressing him into me. He wriggles delightfully. So precious a thing, and so damn arousing...

He turns to straddle my lap. His sapphire eyes are filled to brimming with an emotion I am afraid to name, and he kisses my cheekbones. Butterfly kisses, feathery, light, and fleeting. His lush lips alight on my eyelids. Then they move to caress my jawbone, and the sensation causes me to groan and shift.

He kisses me on the lips again, and I cannot stand it. I pick us both up and move us to the bed in the center of the chamber. I wonder hurriedly if we will be interrupted, and then cast the thought aside in favor of Frodo.

Frodo, who I have now laid on the bed. He is spread out, breathing lightly, and staring at me from under his eyelashes. Waiting for me. Hungering for me, I imagine, though not nearly as much as I do for him.

I note that his blue eyes widen and darken further when he is aroused. Something very enticing, for those eyes have always been a weak spot of mine.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, uncertain of where to begin. I have waited so long for this; it seems as though I should have planned better.

I do know that in my fantasies, our love-making always begins with a kiss, so I decide that that's a good place to start. I crawl up the bed, and press him down with the force of it. He squirms, and for a moment there is the lightning stab of fear. Am I hurting him? Forcing him? But he moans in pleasure.

I roll to the side, pressing him close to my body. Letting him feel my hardness. My desire for him.

I press my lips gently to the side of his neck. "I love you." I say into his soft skin. It feels good to say it. Wonderful, in fact. So I say it again. "I love you."

He smiles and strokes my hair absently. "I...I love you, too." The words coming from him send a thrill through my body, and I pull back to gaze into his eyes and ascertain the truth of his words. What I see there unarms me completely.

Naked, utter, vulnerable truth. Something I have no way to defend myself against. I crush his body to me, overwhelmed.

And then I swear a second oath to him. "I will do my best to see that your love is not misplaced."

***

I wake from my peaceful slumber to the sound of the elves' sonorous voices. Frodo lays atop my chest. Every time I breathe, he moves up and down slightly. I reach down to stroke his back. I feel...refreshed. Alive. Every part of my body responds to the cool night air and the elves' melodious song, and I wish for a moment to wake Frodo to share this with him.

But when I go to shake him, I find that he is already awake. He says nothing, only rolls onto his belly and props his chin on my chest, staring at me. Every part of me tingles under that gaze.

"Listen," I say softly. "The elves are singing. Is the song not beautiful?" I stroke the side of his face, and he nods.

"Indeed, it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard." He turns and kisses my fingertips. "But do they always sing such sad songs?"

I smile. "No. They rarely sing of happy things, but when they do, it is enough to make you forget your most troublesome worries. Do you remember in Imladris?"

He smiles himself, in remembrance. "I do. But I was a bit pre-occupied with Bilbo at the time." He sighs, then, the smile gone from his face. "I miss him. Do you think I'll ever see him again?"

I stop myself from giving him a false, hopeful answer. I don't think it would cheer him much, and besides, I have the feeling he would see right through me. "Bilbo is old, Frodo. And your journey is long, and only just begun. I cannot answer your question directly, because I honestly don't know. But I do know that if anyone has a chance of succeeding, it's you."

He nods. A bit sadly, I suppose, but that can't be helped. It is rare that he does anything without a bit of sadness to him. "Thank you, Aragorn." I can tell he doesn't believe me, and my heart bleeds for him.

"I was merely answering a question, my love." I lean forward and kiss him on the forehead.

He gives a quirky, half smile. "My love. You called me that before. I think I like it."

***

The time has come to leave the seeming paradise of Lothlorien behind. I would dally there with Frodo for the rest of my days, but the outside world calls, and we must obey. There are things to be done, important things, and decisions to be made. I must decide soon whether I will follow Frodo to Mordor or take the path to Minas Tirith with Boromir.

Frodo is whole again, and fast regaining his strength. We speak less often now, though by circumstance alone. Frodo does not need me to be by his side twenty-four hours a day now, and because this is so, I have no excuse to ignore my other duties.

He doesn't seem to like the water much, though. I can see a sick look of fear on his face almost constantly. I remember that Gandalf once told me something about his parents having drowned. That must be why. Plus, hobbits aren't exactly ideal swimmers.

I pause in my paddling, and sidle over to where he sits. Discreetly, I wrap my arm loosely around his waist. He looks up at me and gives me a weak smile, then goes back to staring at the grey, foamy waters. Enough to make anyone seasick, I should think.

Sam looks at us oddly for a moment, but when I catch his eye, he looks away quickly.

I tighten my grip on Frodo as it begins to rain.