Beta's note:  Well here it is!  The last chapter!  I remember the evening 8 months ago when I stumbled upon what was then a little gem, and was immediately intrigued at the concept.  I found myself checking each day for updates, and when there was, I would always read the chapter again and again until the next one came out.  Eventually I became friends with Iorhael, and I offered to beta her wonderful story.  And I could not resist drawing pictures for it too, and I have drawn many because so many scenes inspired me!  This story just kept getting better, and Iorhael's writing also showed quantum leaps in improvement as she went on.  And if it were not for Iorhael, I never would have started writing my own fics! 

If you have been a loyal reader for all these 60 chapters, please take the time to give her one more note!  And lurkers, after 60 chapters, for Eru's sake, introduce yourself. 

It has been a long fun ride, and I am sorry it is ending.  (But I heard a sequel in the works!).  Most of all, I am sure I share everyone's sentiments when I thank Iorhael for entertaining us these past eight months!!

HUGS! 

-emma  (There is a picture for this chapter on my author page under "aelfgifu"—A present to Iorhael!)

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Nasty Hobbitsess

"All Shall Love Me and Despair" – Final Chapter, Part 2!

By Iorhael

Chapter 60 part 2

Gandalf was awakened to the sight of Frodo being unbound and almost sinking to the floor before men grabbed him by his arms.  Two men – neither Slater nor Hull – were helping Merry untie Frodo and then dragging him away. 

Gandalf held his breath in anguish.  He had missed most of Merry and Frodo's conversation.  But from the look of it, things did not seem to turn well for Frodo.  Those men were cruelly hauling him over the floor but Frodo showed no slightest sign of resistance.  He let himself be yanked away.  To where?  Gandalf wondered.  And for the umpteenth times Gandalf puzzled over all the possible wicked treatments Merry had imposed upon Frodo that had had smashing impact and changed the hobbit entirely.

As Frodo's pitiful sight disappeared behind the door, Gandalf returned his gaze on Merry, who, to his surprise, was staring at him with a wide sneer.  The mask of sorrow he had been wearing vanished without a trace.  Gandalf gazed back challengingly, but deep inside he was crushed.  The Ring had wrecked both hobbits, Merry and Frodo, seemingly beyond repair.

"Frodo is no longer the hobbit you used to know, Gandalf.  He is far from being wise or strong.  Never dream of changing him back to the jolly old Frodo.  And he only looks up to me.  He is mine now and he only listens to what I say."

Gandalf widened his bleary eyes.

"And I can do anything to him or make him do anything for me."  Merry looked at Gandalf sharply.  "Do you want to worsen his already battered body and mind?  Say no to my requests and I will squash Frodo – physically and mentally – into nothingness."

The wizard could not explain even to himself how he hated this commanding, small voice.  He still remembered what Merry asked of him –to  attack another elven realm, Mirkwood.  Gandalf did not seem to have any other choice right now.  He dropped his head in defeat.  He would do whatever he could to put Frodo away from further harm.  He was afraid that it was too late already.

Merry turned his attention to the men, especially to those standing in the corner-- Slater, Hull, and one other.  They still looked smug as if they had done something prideful and right.  Slater was also certain Merry would come to express his gratitude as the men had done something to their – and Merry's – prisoner without the hobbit having to ask first.  Slater was sure Merry would not have enough words to thank their initiative.  The man had seen how Merry twisted Frodo's much weakened state of mind and used it to inflict a threat upon the grey wizard.  Merry could not and would not be able to deny the men's huge favor to him.

Slater lifted his chin and downcast his gaze at Merry proudly.  

Yet, he had no idea what was awaiting him.

"And you!" scorned Merry harshly, not caring if he had to strain his neck to catch the man in the eye.  "What did I tell you about not doing Frodo any harm?!"

What?  Slater gasped in shock, definitely caught off his guard.  What?  He thought he had heard wrong.

Merry screamed out the same question, face flushed with anger. Slater faltered when answering.

"You said…  You said…"  What was that?  It was such a long time ago.  Slater could hardly recall.

"WHAT DID I SAY?"  thundered Merry, surprising everyone in the room and attracting those outside.  Some of these were getting curious and decided to check on the commotion inside.

Slater swallowed hard.

"You said something about… handling Frodo as gently as I – we can."

Merry nodded slightly.

"What else?"

Slater blushed.  The fact that he was under this little creature's domination felt shamefully ridiculous.

"That… that he is a beloved friend of yours and you don't want to hear him scream in pain while he's with us."

"What else?"  Merry sounded as calm as the deepest sea.

Slater jerked forward.

"What else!  There was nothing else you said but those things!"  protested the big man.  Merry strode away staunchly.

"What if you fail to heed that?" asked Merry softly but clearly, confusing the man.

"You didn't say anything about that!"

"I don't believe you," replied the hobbit.  "I told you at that time that I would make you feel whatever Frodo had suffered.  Only ten times worse!"

Slater previously reddened cheeks turned to almost as white as the ashes he rubbed on Frodo's cuts.  He protested again, saying that he had never heard such a thing.  That Merry had never said anything like that.  Merry only smirked.

"And how can you be so sure?  You forgot what I said about Frodo.  How can you be sure I was not telling you other things as well?"

All of a sudden Merry's voice changed.  Louder and more determined.

"And even if I did not say that, who are you to defy me!  I hold the Ring of power and I will do what I want to do!"

More big folks were coming in.  Buzzing noises followed as they were telling each other what had been going on.  And the voices were getting higher and impatient.  Most agreed that Merry should be stopped right here, right now.  Most had brooked Merry's command of them, something they had agreed since they first met the hobbit.  But it seemed to them that Slater was too weak to be their chieftain.  Ah, well, that would be easy to be arranged later, they thought, after…

Merry was still bombarding Slater with sharper, more accusing words.  And the foolish man was bowing in an ever-deeper subservient manner.

A man suddenly grabbed his long, heavy, sword, and marched toward Merry.  The hobbit was completely oblivious to this as he, facing Slater, was still busy snarling and scolding the inadequate leader.  Merry was not aware at what was happening behind his back, at what was coming to him.

A cracking thud was heard as the sword hilt connected to the small bones of Merry's skull.  Noiselessly, the hobbit sagged forward to the floor.

Gandalf merely watched, both in terror and relief.

*    *    *

Frodo gazed wearily at the surroundings around him.  The dimming light of the day made the beauty of Rivendell blur and finally diminish altogether swallowed by the obscurity of the night.  The cool, friendly air that had welcomed him earlier when he first stepped his feet on the land of the elves had been completely replaced by chilling, bone-biting cold.  Frodo shivered slightly as freezing wind blew.  Unconsciously he tried to reach around, to wrap his body in his arms, to send a little warmth to his agonized self.

But he failed.  Frodo failed to do even the smallest movement involving his arms and hands.  He just realized now that he had been bound tightly by the two men to the post in the balcony outside the elf's house.  Frodo's arms had been yanked to the back around the post and his wrists had been secured so steadfastly the ropes were biting into his skin.  A length of cords was coiled several times around Frodo's bare shoulders and the post.  And another piece of ropes was lashed around his shins and ankles, securing them as well as holding Frodo from sliding down.

Frodo sighed.  It was half his decision to let the men drag him out and constrain him like this.  He had to prove his loyalty to Merry.  And it was for Merry, too, that he had agreed to let himself be unclothed, despite the fact that it was going to be extremely cold outside and despite the fact that he knew it.

Another icy wind blew and this time Frodo started to tremble violently against the solid bonds.  He drew his breath shortly as it indeed started to become difficult to breathe.  Frodo felt the air grow thin but its coldness sharply pierced his skin.  The hobbit tried desperately to move, to fight against the chills.  But he just could not.  Frodo lifted his chin up, still breathing raggedly, his lips quivering and beginning to turn bluish.  He wanted to scream as the coldness became unbearable.  Frodo's body shook and shook.

But finally the quivers were fading.  The chin peacefully rested on his chest.  It sank and was stuck there as it had started to freeze as well.  Frodo felt his lids grow heavy and he slowly let them droop.  This battle against the nature was too hard for Frodo while he had barely any strength left.

His breath scarcely hitching, Frodo gradually let himself sink to the darkness thicker than the night, colder than Rivendell's air.  "Merry," was the last thing to cross his mind.

*   *   *

More swooshing sounds followed.

"Lower yourself!"  Strider turned around and pushed Pippin down onto the ground.  Having no chance to protest, Pippin landed hard on the leaf-covered forest bed.

"Get down!" screamed Strider to Ted and Sam, hoping they were not too hard-headed to question first.  Thank the Valar, the Isengarder and the hobbit were willing to listen to him.  Sam pressed down to the ground as deeply while one of his hands grasped tightly at the pony's leash.  He almost felt sorry for the pony, for its inability to hunker down.  Even if it could, Sam felt that the pony was not likely to do so right now.  It was too restless with the many sounds and screams around.

Those arrows were still darting above their heads for several moments longer, aiming at those standing guard outside Rivendell, the men and orcs.  Strider's mind was busy wondering who was helping them at the moment.  Helping – because that was the fact.  Not one of the arrows were directed at them.  Strider had been dying to jump up to see who they were or to lend any hand.  He was possessed of bow and arrows, too.  Silently he felt ashamed for just keeping quiet and doing nothing.

Then the situation quieted.  There were only one or two arrows flying – and hitting their targets.  In fact, most of the arrows hit the targets.  The ambush was too sudden the men and orcs did not have the opportunity to get prepared.  All they could do in the end was run for a shelter or throw stones.  They were better in a close fight using swords than in a distance like this.

Strider slowly got up, casting away his sword, hands high in the air.

"Reveal yourself!"  he cried out.  "Show yourself if you are friend or foe!"

One by one faces came out from their hiding places, behind the trees, under the bushes.  Not only faces of men, but also of elves, dwarves, and horses.

"Estel!"  A friendly, familiar voice replied his call.  "It is I, Legolas son of Thranduil.  I have come with my older brothers."  Other elves came by his side.

Strider's breath was caught.  Legolas!  A friend from his childhood!  Was it true that he was here?  Was he, Strider, not dreaming?

"Ranger!"  Another voice shouted.  "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, at your service."

"And… uh!"  A grunt followed a hard thump as a round figure tripped over a block of log and landed on the ground.  But the figure quickly rose.  "I am Gimli son of Gloin.  I represent the dwarves that dwell in mines."

One by one they went out and paced toward the gaping-mouthed Strider and his companies that were too stunned to rise from their lying position.  The elves, men, and dwarves were looking in amusement at the comical sight.

"Raise!" commanded Boromir.  "Fear not!  We come to help you."

Ted jumped at once, but Sam and Pippin, looking at each other in doubts and fear, were still in their former position.  They turned their gaze at Strider, who looked odd as he cracked into a wide grin.

"Yes, Sam," nodded Strider.  "I know these people.  You heard them.  But the one here is my best ally."  Strider approached Legolas and warmly hugged the fair-haired elf.

"Who told you about this?" asked the ranger to Legolas.

Sam, amazed by the elf before him, sighed a bit too loud and whispered, "Mr. Frodo, I've met an elf…"

Hearing that, Legolas could not help but smile.  He had already forgotten Strider's question.

"And who might this be?" he asked, kneeling down in front of Sam, who meanwhile had got to his feet.  Sam took one step back in surprise.

"I'm Samwise Gamgee and this is…"  he nodded to Pippin.  "Peregrin Took."

"Call me Pippin," the younger hobbit chimed in.

"And me Sam," added the gardener softly.  Legolas nodded solemnly.

"Mae govannen."  Well met, he said.  The two hobbits looked at one another again, incomprehension clouding over their faces.  Legolas smiled understandingly.

"And who is the Mr. Frodo that you mentioned?"

The brightness that had hovered over Sam's face swiftly passed.  Strider jumped in.

"You said you have come to help us.  Then how come that you do not know Frodo?  I assume you come here to save him, am I not correct?  That Elrond had asked you to come for Frodo.  Frodo Baggins?"

Legolas shook and nodded his head almost simultaneously.

"Is he the Ring-bearer?  If he is, then my answer is yes.  Elrond did mention about the trouble over him while he attempted to bring the Ring here.  Elrond found out from Gandalf."  Legolas' face suddenly blanched.  "By the sweet Elbereth!  Tell me he is not taken by the Ringwraiths!"

Boromir and Gimli suddenly tensed.

"Or by Saruman!" exclaimed the Gondorian.  "Elrond also told us about the wicked wizard.  Look at that place," he said, waving his hand toward Rivendell.  "That place is full of orcs and Isengard men."  Boromir caught some changes in the face of the man standing beside Strider.  Ted's pupils narrowed, cheeks crimsoned, and breath grew heavier from the restrained emotion.  Boromir noted this with great interest.

"I think," he spoke carefully, eyes boring into the ranger's.  "We have not been introduced properly, Strider."

The ranger, feeling Ted stiffen beside him, put a hand protectively upon the shoulder of the former servant of Saruman.  Strider was feeling a bit offended but he calmed himself.

"Excuse me for my absence.  His name is Ted.  And he has been a great help for Frodo."

Boromir's brows creased, distrust flashing across his greenish grey eyes.

"Where does he come from??  Bree?"  he asked scornfully.  And he stood erect all of a sudden, both hands lifting his sword as if ready to slay someone, especially when he learned the answer.

"Isengard."

"Isengard!?  He is a spy!  Move away, ranger.  Let me finish him off at once!"

"No!"  shouted Strider, standing in front of Ted, between the man and Boromir.  "He helped us save Frodo from Saruman.  But…"  Shame engulfed Strider once more.  "Frodo was taken again by the real evil, Meriadoc Brandybuck, the very cousin of Frodo."

The Gondorian looked at Strider as if the ranger was out of his mind.  Boromir snorted disgustedly.

"A hobbit beat up a ranger?  Shame on you!"

Legolas strode forward.

"Keep your tongue or be silent altogether!  He is not a mere ranger.  He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

The name struck Boromir's ears like a thunder in a broad daylight.  The Gondor son was flabbergasted.  But only for a while.

"Then it's even worse!  A son of a king could not protect the Ring-bearer from a halfling!"

Despite his astonishment toward the revelation of the identity of a son of a king, Sam could no longer bear the arguments that he felt completely out of place.  Frodo's threatened life was far more critical than the libel against the man formerly known as Strider.

"Stop it!  Stop!" Sam screamed.  "Merry possesses the Ring."  His voice softened.  "He's far more wicked than any of us.  That is why he could defeat a ranger like Strider."

Both men froze at the statements and felt slightly embarrassed, turning away from each other and Sam's gaze.  Strider went cold when Sam spoke again with voice choked with unshed tears.

"And Mr. Frodo is still captive in Merry's clutches.  I don't know about you all but I'm going down now."  Sam sounded so determined and he started sliding down the slope, going through the thick leaves and sharp twigs, dragging the pony with him.  A hand flew to Sam's now lean shoulder, clasping it tightly.  Strider – or rather – Aragorn.

"Don't be hasty, Samwise.  You surely do not forget how dangerous Rivendell is now.  But do not despair."  Aragorn nipped a short, sharp glance at Boromir.  "We have now these fellows to aid us."

Surprise and anger had left Boromir's face and they were now replaced by a meek and regretful expression.

"The ranger is telling you the truth, little one."  It was hard for Boromir to speak in such a gentle voice.  The best he could do was lower it.

For the next moment Boromir made no remarks about Ted, who then joined him, Strider, Legolas, and Gimli planning their next move.  Sam and Pippin tried to squeeze into the circle of men, elves, and dwarves, but were gently pushed away.  Strider tried his best to make both hobbits understand, and even though he was not convincing at all, Sam eventually could accept his reasoning.

"So…" said Sam slowly.  "We're to hide behind the trees and watch you all fight?"  Strider took a deep breath as he caught the hobbit's dissatisfied tone.

"That's right Sam.  We don't want you and Pippinto get hurt.  We need you for Frodo.  You're the closest person to him, and we want him to see a familiar and friendly face when we rescue him.  From what you have said, he will most likely be quite distressed and confused."

Sam knew the ranger was right, so he tapped on Pippin's shoulder, motioning for him to slip away.

*  *  *

The foray went relatively quickly in those half-dimming surroundings.  Still relying upon long-distance attack, the elves rained down their arrows and mercilessly swept away the hoard of orcs that readied themselves in the north of the house compounds.  Graced by their light and feathery steps, those fair creatures faced no difficulty in passing across the Bruinen River and stashing themselves behind the barest of trees, always moving around to avoid getting caught in the same spot longer than necessary.  The elves eventually reached the place where the orcs were gathering around and gave those hideous beings an ambush they would never forget.  They would not – as it was certain death they faced.

While the elves moved to the north, the dwarves had just to cover a short piece of land to find the area where those intruders to this pacific locus of Rivendell detained their beasts, the wargs.  At first Gimli and his kin had only planned to let them loose.  But seeing they had no masters nearby, those animals started to get wild and attack the dwarves, forcing the latter to slay them all.  Gimli and his companions were swimming in the wargs' dark blood by the time they were finished, breathing heavily and roaring in disgust.

As many Isengarders had been slain in the first raid, Aragorn, Boromir, and the Gondorians had to face some more of the men.  Some were on the lookout outside the barn where Elrond and his twin sons were being kept, some were at the front yard of the elf-lord's house, and some others were inside the house.  Boromir's men then went out to search other dwellings in the area.

*   *   *

Strider could only hope that Elrond, his beloved stepfather, would not be enraged at him as the ranger ruefully swatted the elf away when he wanted to embrace him for the rescue.  But this was really not the time for a reunion or a warm pat at the back.  They still had to find Frodo.

… but they had found Merry – lying face down on the floor with scarlet blotches smeared at the back of his head.  He was still unconscious and surrounded by wild, angry men when Aragorn and Boromir came and slaughtered them all.  Gandalf, sighing deeply, met Aragorn in the eye and nodded.

"The evil has been overpowered.  Betrayed by his own men.  Or rather, men he thought he owned."

Aragorn gave Gandalf a brief glance and found that the wizard was fine.

"The men haven't located the Ring, though," added Gandalf.  "They heard of your coming and fled in a panic.  I think it is in one of the hobbit's pockets."

It was Gandalf's words that made Aragorn realize that not once had he thought about the Ring.  All he had in mind was…

"Where is Frodo?"

*      *     *

~ Sam POV ~

I know where he is.  I can feel where he waits for me.  I can feel his existence, no need for people to tell me.  Mr. Frodo.  My beloved master.

I don't care what Strider will say to me for transgressing his orders, going to the houses in Rivendell despite his strong warning.  But I have seen how the dwarves managed to break the barrier of the ugliest beasts I have ever seen.  I failed to convince myself that men indeed rode on them.

Ponds of crimson claret are formed on the ground but I don't care.  I walk along, heedless of Pippin's annoying whine calling me to return.  I have never listened to and believed his words, and I won't start doing it now.

I am still trying to hide myself from Aragorn or Boromir's eyes when passing by the barn where those men are releasing some – elves?  I don't know.  I just keep going, sneaking around to the back of the biggest compound, my feet being almost having their own eyes.  They keep advancing in unfaltering paces as if I knew exactly where I am going.

I try to stay hidden among the bushes, avoiding any open clearings, so I'm still considerably far from the building itself.

But then I see him, mysteriously luminous despite the dusk of the night.  Is it because of the moon?

"I asked you, Frodo."

"I…  I can't tell you."

I close my eyes, tears flowing down my face.

Frodo was about to walk again when Pippin stepped into his path.

"Pip…"

"Can't walk away from me or Merry, oh no, you can't.  We've come this far."

I flutter my lids open.  I can almost see all those scenes repeat before my eyes.  I can even see myself again walk in great suspicion toward my master.

"Mr. Frodo?"

And the guilt tortured me now.  How could I be stopped only by a waving of a hand that signaled me to stop, even if it was my master's hand?  I am a loyal servant.  I have always been.  But things would have been different had I tried to be a little less compliant…

"It's all right, Sam," said Frodo.  "My cousins wouldn't do anything so stupid as to hinder me from my own journey."

But they are stupid and unbelievably mean.  I didn't realize it then.  And Mr. Frodo has been the one who has to pay for my stupidity with the highest price.

…  he was suddenly slammed backward against a tree.

"Mr. Frodo!"

My ears still ring with my own blaring, sudden screech.

His head hit the tree hard.

Merry pulled and pushed Frodo against the tree repeatedly – each time harder than the last.

And I ran; I ran to him.  That was completely insane.  I had to save Mr. Frodo.  I had to…

But I was too occupied by the urge to save my master. I didn't realize one of the two cousins had sneaked behind me.  I didn't hear Frodo's warning.  I – BLAM!

I had no clue what had struck my head, for I just knew that I felt so sickened by it and all I could do was close my eyes.  I could hear my master's panicked scream as if it came from a faraway place.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  SAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!"

For Eru's sake, I haven't seen him since!  I don't know how many days, weeks, or even months we have been apart.  But from the position Frodo is in right now, it feels as if those times never existed, for Frodo looks exactly as I saw him last -- bound to that tree in the woods of the Shire.

Only it's not a tree Frodo is secured to this time.  It's a column in a balcony in the house of the elf.  Thank the Valar, the balcony is not too high for me to climb upon and jump over its surrounding rails.  And that's exactly what I do.

I dash to the balcony, grab the ivy, and leap inside.  I care not if I stumble or trip when I run.  I care only to see and release my Frodo and drown him in my embrace.

Yet I do stumble and this time I do care as I stumble into something I never imagined I would see.  I stumble over the horrible sight before me.

No wonder Frodo looked as if he were glowing when I first saw him.  It's not from his unnaturally translucent complexion or the rays of moonlight.  My breath is caught.  It's because he looks more dead than alive, like a statue carved from pale stone.  Still, rigid, lifeless.

There is hardly any movement in that bare chest of his, which now marred with patches of dried blood, terrible-looking marks, and fading bruises.  And then the lips are far from their normal, healthy rose.  They are not even blue, but ashen sickly white.  I trace up my gaze to the eyes, hopefully expecting them to stir.  I did not come quietly - he must have heard me!

But they all are just my dreams.  The chest is still immobile, the lips are frozen, and the eyes are deadly shut.

I feel my heart torn apart; wanting to believe that it is indeed Frodo.  I extend my arm and touch the shoulder on the area that is not wrapped by the ropes.  But I pull away as soon as I touch it.  The shoulder feels cold!  Even colder than the snows falling on Hobbiton during the Yule.

I can't help it anymore.  I drop to my knees and raise my arms to snake them around Frodo's bound form.  I hug him tightly.  I don't heed the coldness anymore as it seeps through me through my arms and spreads all over my body.

Frodo is still stiff and cold.  There is not a single sign that can show me his recognition for my touch -  not even a flinch.

But I do not mind the cold.  I only want to touch him, to feel him, to put it into my mind that it is really Frodo that I'm holding  --  the very Mr. Frodo that I have lost and finally found again.  I press my cheek to the chillness of his chest, showering it with my salty tears.  I stay in that position for a couple of moments, forgetting the cramps that start slithering up to my body from my folded knees.  And I'm realizing painfully that Frodo also stays in his own position – chin stuck to his chest, eyes clenched shut, breath so faint.  Fear slowly comes to my mind.  Is he dying?

But at the very moment, I suddenly feel the changing in Frodo's body temperature.  It gets warmer.  And then I hear something like an inhale.  My head snaps, leaving the comfort of Frodo's warming body.  Is that really him? There is a stir in the air and a soft, drifting, and trembling voice is heard.  But what it says, I cannot make out!

The voice was blurred and vague, swallowed completely by the wind as soon as it reaches the air.  But what really counts is that Frodo spoke!

I look up, eyes widening full of expectation, to Frodo's face, his lovely elf-like face.  I wait, so caught between love and dread that if I do not burst, it will be a wonder.

 "Mr. Frodo!  Mr. Frodo!"  I cry, my voice shredded with tears.  "It's your Sam!  I've come!"

For a moment he remains still as death, then the smallest flutter of long lashes.  He is awakening!  My dear Frodo is awakening!  I cannot help but call him forth!

 "Mr. Frodo!  You are safe!  I am here!  Lor!  It took me a stretch to find you again, but Sam has come!  Please awake!  Wake up for your Sam!  Let me see your eyes again so that I know that you live!"

Frodo head very slowly lolled up, and his eyelashes parted.  Instead of a pair of sapphire eyes on a rising and smiling face, I'm met with eyes glassy and dull, and filled with unfathomable pain. It is all I can do to keep from bursting into convulsive sobs.  His lips seem to quiver.  My forehead and brow are slowly creasing.  My jaw drops involuntarily.  He is trying to speak again unless I'm  dreaming or imagining things.  But I'm not!  I stand and wrap my arms around his cold, cold form and cup his icy cheeks in my warm hands.  His eyes lose their distance, and it seems to me they fill with a glint of recognition.  Then softly, ever so softly, he speaks!

 "Samwise," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, and to me it is the most loveliest of earthly sounds.  I burst out crying, wondering if everything sad is going to come untrue.    

 "Yes! Mr. Frodo!  Yes! It is me!" I cry.  "I'm not dead.  I've come for you!" 

He wants to say more, though each word is obviously a torment in his state.  So I move my ear very close to his mouth.  "Yes, Mr. Frodo!  Tell your Sam! Talk to me!  Talk to Sam, your Sam and tell him what you wish!"

 "Samwise," he says with great effort.  "Where is my Merry?"

THE END

Beta's note!  I hoped you loved this tale as much as I did! 

Okay- readers, lurkers, please come out of hiding and tell Iorhael how much you enjoyed her tale!  It's now or never!  60 chapters deserves a BIG thank you! 

--emma

P.S.  Pic on "aelfgifu"' author page (Sam embracing Frodo bound to the post)  And check out Iorhael's author page for Iorhael's other excellent Frodo angst fics, and keep your eyes open for a sequel!