The lamp had burned low. Frodo lay back against the pillows, completely enervated. The telling had been brutal, almost as exhausting as the ordeal itself. Now, Frodo felt strangely light. He was weak as a kitten, but oddly content.

For a long time after Frodo stopped speaking, Éomer had simply sat with his arm around him. Stirring himself at last, he had piled up the pillows round Frodo, and wrapped him warmly in a blanket. He poured Frodo another draught of wine, then crossed to the entrance and exchanged a few words with the sentry outside. Afterwards, he seated himself once again near Frodo, and seemed to gaze into the distance.

"You give yourself short shrift, Frodo," he said at last.

Frodo started. He had almost dozed off in the aftermath of his arduous confession. "What do you mean?"

"You never betrayed Sam." Éomer fixed him with a look. "Though they beat you and questioned you, you never gave them Sam's name, or told them anything about him or your mission. Not many folk of any race would be able to say the same."

Frodo looked away.

"I had long known that one of you was never caught. The cruel Mouth of Sauron had told us that much, though he did not realize it. 'Spy from the little rat-land of the Shire,' he had said, intending to taunt us. So it was clear that our enemies knew about one of you. But the presence of the mithril coat together with Sam's sword was confusing. Still… 'spy', he had said. Not 'spies'. So one of you was yet free and unseen. That was all the hope that we could carry with us into that final battle: that though we might fall before the dire gate on poisoned ground, yet the destiny of the West was not sealed. One of you might yet be plodding towards the mountain, carrying the doom of Middle-earth. Instead of fighting with bitterness, knowing we would perish in this lopsided engagement, we fought with hope, a hope that we captains conveyed to our men—for we had still that slender thread to cling to, that one of you might yet win through." Éomer smiled. "Consider: though you knew it not, you eased the hearts of many in that last desperate Host. We had expected to march to our deaths, for victory by arms was not achievable. Yet how many Men fell upon the field that day who thought, as the light left their eyes, 'My sacrifice is not in vain. Hope lives on, though I do not.' That is the gift your courage gave, Frodo. That is the outcome of your solitary battle in the Tower—the fruit of your refusal to give in, even though all hope for yourself was gone."

Frodo stared, then put his face in his hands. He had thought he had cried himself out. But this… boon that Éomer had given him, was too strong to contain. He let the words fill him up, until knowledge of his reprieve overflowed in tears.

A deep voice outside the tent startled him. Hastily, Frodo wiped his eyes. Éomer rose fluidly and went to the entranceway. A few murmurs were exchanged, and Éomer alone returned. He set a new pot of tea on the table.

"I think a sedative is in order," he said, pouring a fresh mug.

Frodo blotted his face, and sat up to take the cup. The aroma was not quite the same as before; it was more pungent, the taste sweeter. Frodo sipped gratefully, feeling the warmth curl through him, easing his raveled nerves.

Éomer poured himself another cup of wine, then busied himself with tidying the remains of their meal. Frodo watched him idly, until it occurred to him what he was seeing. Frodo sat forward. "Lord Éomer, please feel free to send in your servants."

Éomer looked round at him curiously. "Why?"

Frodo nodded at the table. "Because… you're the king. It isn't fitting that you…"

Éomer seemed surprised, then a slow smile spread over his face. "No, I suppose it isn't. We are a pair, are we not, Frodo? A whole day spent in conversation, and we have yet to determine what is or is not fit for us to do."

Frodo returned the smile weakly. "I suppose even Aragorn tidied his own dishes, until he became High King and was forced to turn that duty over to others. Not that I suppose he minded very much."

Éomer finished stacking the tray. "It does not seem likely that he or I will be able to do these simple tasks for ourselves again. Perhaps we might slip away some year, and spend a week or two hunting in the forest. We will skin our own meat and light our own fires, and scour our battered cookware as shoddily as we please."

Frodo laughed. He could not have believed heart's ease could have returned to him so quickly—but the image of two great kings, with muddy knees and patched clothes, seeking solitude in the forest, was too much for him. Suddenly Frodo held still. Beyond the entrance, he heard the lilt of familiar voices.

"Well, it sounds as if someone is having a pleasant evening," said a light voice from just outside. The next moment the flap parted. The sentry's head peeked in, but beneath him, Pippin was clearly visible in the gap, the slice of light from the lamp striking highlights upon his Gondorian armor, and revealing the shapes of others around and behind him.

Éomer nodded. "It is all right, Framgar. Show our guests in."

Framgar held wide the flap. Past him filed three hobbits: Pippin, looking eager and curious; Merry, who gave a deep bow to the king before he proceeded more than a step; and Sam, anxiously straining to see Frodo past the taller forms of Merry and Pippin. Upon their heels came Gimli, looking fierce and content, and Legolas, whose eyes twinkled with inner laughter.

The entire party bowed to Éomer once they were inside, and Framgar let fall the flap. Éomer gestured to the low seats round the table. "Make yourselves comfortable, my friends. Or perhaps you have come merely to return Frodo to his tent. I fear I have kept him rather long."

"He kept you, more likely." Pippin peered intently round the tent. "You probably said 'Shire,' and haven't been able to stop him talking ever since."

Frodo felt himself blushing, to his consternation. "It's true; I did talk rather a lot."

"And you look plumb tuckered out on account of it," cried Sam, rushing to his side. "Poor Mr. Frodo; your eyelids look ready to drop down on their own, they do."

"Better mine than King Éomer's," said Frodo, in an attempt at levity.

"Nonsense," said Merry. "You've always been an engaging tale-teller—the best, save for dear Cousin Bilbo, perhaps." Merry looked at Frodo keenly, and somewhat suspiciously. Frodo wondered what his clever cousin could see in his face. "You had an interesting discussion?"

"Decidedly," Éomer interjected, to Frodo's relief. "I learned more of Bree and Rivendell—and Buckland—than I had ever hoped to discover. Frodo is a font of information."

Éomer's ruse worked; Merry's ears perked up at the mention of Buckland. Frodo imagined King Éomer would be hearing much more about it before long. He suppressed a smile.

"Well, you certainly have unearthed a hidden side of our cousin, King Éomer," said Pippin, finishing his investigation of the wall hangings. "Frodo hardly tells us a blessed thing."

"Mr. Pippin!" cried Sam, reprovingly.

"He was talking of his home," Gimli put in. "That will loosen one's tongue, as any friend of the Dwarves must know," he concluded with a wink.

Frodo smiled. "Yes, your father warned me about that at our first meeting. But it is a comfort to speak of things dear to one's heart, especially when everything has been so horribly uncertain."

"And now I believe you will travel easier." Legolas' bright eyes swept over Frodo. "Your spirit has certainly lightened as a result of this day's work. I sense that no small burden has been lifted away." His gaze flicked to Éomer, who was observing Frodo with a decidedly satisfied element to his smile. Frodo hoped that no one else would notice.

"It's all very well to talk of easy travel and lightened burdens," said Sam, "but we're still a fair tramp from our tent, and Mr. Frodo will have a job of it walking all that way in the dark—particularly when he's so done in to start with."

Éomer was instantly alert. "I shall be honored to escort you to your quarters, Frodo."

"On… horseback?" Frodo asked hesitantly.

Éomer nodded at the tent flap. "I can have a mount here in two minutes."

Frodo felt his face reddening. "Will the mount come equipped with… a pillow, my lord?"

Everyone laughed, except Éomer, who looked surprised.

"It's no small matter to ride one of your great beasts, my lord." Gimli's teeth flashed in his beard. "Take it from one who knows. Am I right, Merry?"

"Er, well." Merry looked from Gimli to Éomer, obviously torn between wanting to spare Frodo the ride, and not wishing to give any insult to the king or his sister.

Legolas stepped forward nimbly. "There is more than one way to cover the ground, I think. Frodo, you indeed look weary. Will you allow me to carry you home?"

The other members of the Fellowship fell silent. The hobbits exchanged apprehensive looks. Frodo understood their wariness well. In their association with taller beings, the hobbits were most particular to walk on their own legs; they had troubles enough being overlooked without being carried about like children. Now Sam looked at Frodo anxiously, wondering how he might react.

For himself, Frodo felt no such hesitation. Perhaps it was all he had been through, tonight and… before. Perhaps he had learnt something from the young king with his disarming openness of heart.

Frodo smiled. "I would be honored to accept the aid of the Prince of Mirkwood, if he is so kind as to offer it."

Merry and Pippin's mouths dropped open. Sam merely looked relieved. He started briskly towards the entrance. "We'd best be getting a start, then. It's not getting any earlier." He called to the sentry to open the flap.

Frodo rose, stumbling a little as his feet and sore muscles took up the load. Legolas steadied him with a barely perceptible hand on his shoulder. Regaining his balance, Frodo bowed low. "King Éomer. I owe you much for your company this evening."

"I rejoice that you found some comfort in it. I count myself fortunate to have spent so many hours with Frodo Ring-bearer, bravest of heroes."

Everyone bowed again, though Frodo felt his face burning. Before he had a chance to recover, Legolas swept him lightly up. Frodo found himself meeting the Elf's bright eye. "Ready?"

Sam and Framgar had the flap opened wide to the night. Sam turned round, looking impatient.

"Ready," Frodo answered Legolas softly. "And we'd better hurry."

Legolas laughed a silvery laugh. Lightly he stepped over the cushions, ducking his head to carry himself and his passenger outdoors.

"Really," Pippin said to Merry, following them out, "I think we ought to consider carting Frodo about ourselves until his feet are better, now that he's not being so thick-headed about it. We're nearly as tall as Gimli."

"But not half my weight," the dwarf grunted.

"It's not as if he'd be very taxing," said Merry, ignoring Gimli's remark. "He used to run us about pig-a-back when we were lads. About time to return the favor, I say."

Behind them, Frodo heard Sam murmuring a farewell to King Éomer. "…looks better than he has in many a day, for all he's that tired. You're a good friend to him, sir, and I won't forget it."

"I hope you will not," said the king, "for rarely have I found such delight in a new acquaintance. Please, act like a friend, and do not stay away."

"I reckon our paths will cross more'n once, when we're in such a pile. And I'll be right glad when they do—monstrous great horses notwithstanding."

Éomer laughed. "Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight, Mr. Éomer King."

Legolas stepped effortlessly into the night, needing no lantern to see his road. "Do you smell it, Frodo? The breath of the sleeping flowers?"

Frodo inhaled deeply. He smelled it and felt it—a soft fragrance wafting over his skin, like a caress.

"The land is waking from a long, cruel winter," said the Elf, "and my heart is glad."

"The nightmare is breaking," Frodo murmured, then blushed to realize he'd spoken aloud.

"So I have observed." Legolas grinned. "Look up, Frodo. How brilliant the stars!"

They indeed sparkled like jewels—or did, before they were obscured by tears. Legolas began to sing. Frodo nestled deeper into the warmth, enjoying the voices of his friends around him, and the beauty of the night enveloping him. For the first time since his awakening, Frodo began to feel in his heart… he was not alone.