Disclaimers: I do not own The Lord of the Rings and "Galavant". The Lord of the Rings and other Middle-earth works belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, New Line Cinema, Warner Brothers, Turbine and Standing Stones Games. "Galavant" belongs to ABC. All other canon material belongs to their respected owners. All original material—original characters, original locations, etc.—belongs to me, the authoress of this fanfiction story.

Inspiration for Chapter 3: "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring", "The Two Towers", and "The Return of the King".

Song for Chapter 3: "Galavant" song, "Goodbye".

Warning! This chapter is Rated T for intense images.

*.*.*

Frodo and Sam lay down on the black rock, clinging to each other. Sam dreamed of being with Rosie Cotton. Frodo wondered that, now that his past memories were restored, whether or not there was a future for him and Beatrice.

The screen moved some time ago. So, he had no idea what had become of his Beatrice or her fate. Should he concede and think the whole experience was for nothing? And what of his friends? The Fellowship? What had become of them?

His gaze turned up towards the sky. An Eagle picked him up, carried him by the talons as the Eagle flew through the air. Frodo felt a bout of happiness rush through him. He slept, knowing his end had come.

.

Darkness filled him for what felt like hours. Death awaited him. He was here, at Death's Doors. Frodo woke up in a dreary place, filled with dark bluish light. He didn't understand. He was perfectly fine, but then there was Sam, also wide awake and himself again.

They weren't alive, weren't they? No! Unless…

"…Sam?" Frodo asked Sam, confused. "What?" Frodo turned around. There was a figure donned in a black hooded cloak. No! Frodo understood who this hooded figure was. "No! You're Death?" The hooded man nodded. "So, we're dead?" The hooded man nodded.

"What?" Sam asked, cautious.

The hooded man showed up, even as Frodo and Sam moved off their beds. The hooded man moved his hood down, revealing a pale-skinned figure. With him were dancing girls dressed in white.

Frodo shook his head. He couldn't stand this. "No. We're not dead! We're not! I was just looking forward to seeing my family and my friends."

"Oh, you'll see them soon," Death said, presenting Frodo and Sam to their friends and families.

Frodo watched his parents come out, looking spiffy. Frodo couldn't believe this. Was his father enjoying himself? Frodo remembered not getting along with his father, when he was still alive. So, seeing him back didn't bring warm feelings. Then there was his mother, who he missed.

Then there was Bilbo, who he dearly missed. Frodo watched Bilbo sitting in a corner, writing his book. Did Bilbo miss him? Did he know Frodo was still around, still alive, and waiting for him to join him?

And then Frodo spotted Beatrice. Surely, she knew he was all right. Frodo reached for her, trying to touch her face, but found his hand moved right through her. She was still sitting in a theater, watching him. Did she think he was dead? Did she know he was dead?

"Frodo, are you in heaven?" Beatrice asked, worried about him. "Did you go to heaven?"

"You think I'm in heaven," Frodo said, somber but excited. Maybe that's where he would go. To Mandos' Halls and see his friends and his family again.

"Come on," Death said, leading Frodo and Sam to the top of the stairs. "Let's go!"

Sam couldn't take this anymore. He punched Death square in the jaw. "Goodbye." He turned to Frodo, telling him, "Come on! Let's move!"

"Yes Sam," Frodo said, pleased to hear it. Frodo turned to Death, telling him, "Next time we meet, it will be pleasant." He patted Death on the shoulder, telling him, "Goodbye." Frodo walked away, following Sam to the living world.

.

Frodo slowly opened his eyes. The lights were bright. He was in a new place, surrounded by tall white, stone walls. He was tucked in a nice, warm bed. Frodo looked around, surprised he was in a new place.

He must be dead. He must be in heaven.

He looked on, seeing Gandalf in white robes. It must be Gandalf! Surely, it must be! "Gandalf!" He was welcomed by Gandalf's cheery laughter. Frodo understood. He was in heaven, but he was still alive and back in his body. He wasn't dead. He met Death but he didn't follow him. He was alive!

Frodo looked on at Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took as they joined him on his bed, laughing and hugging him. There was Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn. Everyone was here. Everyone except Boromir, who would be sorely missed.

Frodo looked towards the door. Memories resurfaced. For he could see Sam staring at him, watching him from where he stood. They shared a silent moment together, grateful the Quest to Mordor was done.

.

Frodo sat on his bed, eating breakfast with ease. He didn't remember the last time he was this hungry, or how fast his body rejected the food he tried to digest. Gandalf stayed with him as he ate, reminding him it was okay to eat slowly.

"This is your room now. May you find rest here," Gandalf said, pleased.

"I saw her again. Beatrice," Frodo said, somber. "I know her name. Sauron let me in. Sauron let me see her. But then, I saw her during our journey to Mordor. Do you think I'll see her again?"

Gandalf sighed in relief. "I think you will. I know you will."

.

Frodo looked on at the Houses of Healing. He'd been here for so long; he hardly knew what other peaceful place he could be at right now. It was perfect, but so was his desire to see Beatrice again.

Frodo checked the sundial. It was one o' clock. So, Frodo had spent all morning inside his bedroom. Frodo looked on at his surroundings in peace. What could be more splendid than this?

"Come on. Let's check your wounds," one of his nurses, wearing a blue dress and a white apron said, guiding Frodo out of the green grassy atrium and back into his bedroom. Frodo stayed at his bed, while the nurse took off his shirt.

"Oh my. Did you get these scars in battle?" the nurse asked, checking both shoulder wounds on Frodo's clean, pale-skinned chest.

Frodo nodded. "I did. I was there when it happened."

.

Frodo was on Weathertop the day he received his first wound.

He was sleeping on Weathertop's lower level, dreaming away at everything he experienced. He smiled, remembering the time he first saw his one true love, Beatrice. Only she was eleven years old when she first saw him. He sighed, remembering that day, remembering as well that he didn't see her until a year later, when she was twelve years old.

That's when they first caught a glimpse of each other. That was the day that changed everything. He smiled, grateful to have this memory.

Frodo opened his eyes. He could smell tomatoes cooking by a fire. He spun around, watching his friends Sam, Merry, and Pippin cook fresh tomatoes over a campfire. Wait. This couldn't be right!

Frodo dashed over to them, dousing the fire with his foot. It was too late. He didn't count on five Nazgul riding up to Weathertop, spotting the fire as they came towards the tower. Frodo approached the edge of the stone and dirt ledge, watching the Nazgul make their ascent into the Watch Tower of Amun Sul.

Frodo brandished his sword, telling the others, "Go!" He heard swords drawn behind him. He checked his surroundings, finding his way up to the top of the tower to be with his friends.

As soon as they were together, they huddled. They were unsure what was happening. All Frodo knew was that, by the time he spun around, he was faced with the Nazgul. Frodo kept his guard up, prepared to strike.

"Back! Get back!" Sam called out, careening towards the Nazgul. Only, the Nazgul pushed him, Merry, and Pippin out of the way.

Frodo was left unguarded. He dropped his sword, falling backwards on the stone floor. The One Ring called out to the Nazgul. Frodo pulled out the Ring, right as one of the Nazgul spotted him. This Nazgul brandished his knife, charging towards Frodo. Frodo wandered off against a fallen stone statue of a king. He observed the Nazgul, ready to strike him. Only, Frodo put on the Ring, disappearing from the living world and entering the shadow world. The Nazgul looked like old men with rugged, husky faces.

The Nazgul wanted the Ring. The Ring reached for the Nazgul. The next thing Frodo knew, a white blast emitted from the Ring, sending Frodo and the Nazgul back.

The Ring called out, "What was that?"

"The Ring… speaks… the Common Tongue?" Frodo asked, cautious.

The Nazgul dropped his knife and his sword. He reached for Frodo, planting his hand against Frodo's left shoulder. Frodo winced in pain, falling back in time, as Aragorn careened onto the scene, carrying lit torches. Frodo screamed out, right as the Nazgul released him. Frodo took off the Ring, unsure what happened.

.

"Oh my!" Frodo's nurse said, observing the red hand print on Frodo's left shoulder. It was large, chilled to the bone. His nurse asked, "Does it hurt?"

Frodo shook his head. "It doesn't hurt that much. At least, it wasn't the Morgul Blade. Then I don't know how I would survive."

"I see," his nurse stated. She pointed to Frodo's other wound, this time on his right shoulder. She asked, "And this wound? What happened?"

Frodo chuckled. "Some say I received that wound from Shelob on my neck. Some say she gave me her venom on my right shoulder." He chuckled, adding, "If only."

"Well, what happened? How did you get this wound?" his nurse asked, curiously.

Frodo smirked, "You won't like it."

"Tell me," his nurse said.

Frodo nodded. "All right. Here goes."

.

Frodo remembered the day he received Shelob's wound.

He was traveling with Samwise Gamgee and Smeagol up the final flight of stairs. The Stairs of Cirith Ungol was a dangerous, slippery slope. The last thing Frodo and Sam wanted to do was fall into the ravine.

Frodo remembered Smeagol letting him and Sam stay together. He didn't try to separate them, something Frodo appreciated. It meant that Smeagol could be redeemed.

"Come on, Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, as they reached the black stone ledge.

"It's so heavy," Frodo said, his head lowered from the huge weight the Ring gave off. His spirit couldn't take much more of this. He truly was facing off against Sauron, mentally though.

"This way," Smeagol told them. He led them across the ledge, with its black walled rocks as their only respite. At last, Smeagol led them straight to the tunnel with its spidery webs and inky darkness. The full moonlight was revealed inside this tunnel, where it seemed to be the only light showing in this part of Mordor.

"In there," Smeagol said, once Frodo and Sam reached the tunnel's entrance.

Frodo looked at the tunnel, pitying himself for thinking of going this way. Pitying Sam for taking him this far on their journey. Of course, Frodo was the one who led Sam out of the Shire. So, this was his fault. But it was also Gandalf's fault for taking them on this journey.

Frodo didn't blame Gandalf. Gandalf was a great wizard.

Still, this tunnel was not where Frodo wanted to be at.

"What is this place?" Frodo asked Smeagol, trembling.

Smeagol looked on at Frodo, ecstatic. "Master must go inside the tunnel."

Frodo looked at the tunnel, worriedly. "Eh… not through here. I don't think I want to." He backed off, knowing he'd rather face Sauron another time than go through the tunnel.

"This could be a trap!" Sam told Smeagol, enraged.

Smeagol rebottled. "It is the only way!" Frodo stared at him with concern. Smeagol continued, venomously, "Go in, or go back."

Frodo understood. There was no say in the matter. "I can't go back." He made his way inside the tunnel, unsure what he would find there.

.

Smeagol climbed down the rock, following Sam and Frodo into the tunnel.

The first thing Frodo and Sam picked up were pungent smells. Frodo asked Smeagol, "Eh… what's that smell?"

"Orcses filth. Orcses come in here sometimes," Smeagol said, leading the way.

Frodo followed the tunnel with Sam until they came to a cavernous room. Openings were everywhere. Tunnels were everywhere. Spidery webs doused the walls and ceilings, making it impossible to tell which direction they ought to go.

"Smeagol?" Frodo called out, worriedly.

"Over here!" Smeagol cried out in excitement.

Frodo followed Smeagol's voice, landing in a tunnel with webs everywhere. "Ah! Ahh!" He screamed, moving away from the webs. "It's sticky. What is it?"

"You will see. Oh yes, you will see," Smeagol said in a cunning voice.

"I told you he'd lead us into trouble," Sam cried out, venomously.

"Well, there's no point in staying here. Let's go!" Frodo said, finding his way into the next room. Only, Smeagol wasn't there. He was gone. "Smeagol? Smeagol! Smeagol!"

"There. What did I tell you? He's gone! I knew this was a bad way," Sam said, his voice hardened.

Frodo looked around, hearing a low, guttural voice. He charged forward, with Sam trailing behind him. There was something missing.

"And you, Frodo Baggins, I give you the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star," Galadriel's voice reached out. Frodo looked on, remembering the Phial. He pulled it out, recognizing it as it glowed in and out.

"Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!" Frodo shouted out, the Phial's light glowing at long last.

Frodo heard the deep, guttural sound. He looked on at the room. There was a webbed bed, filled with skeletons.

That wasn't the only thing inside this room.

Frodo spun around as a gigantic spider came his way. Frodo backed up, only to be kicked in the right shoulder by the gigantic spider. Frodo collapsed on the spidery ground, his head smacking against a rock. He lay there, unconscious for a few seconds.

When he woke up, he witnessed Sam face off against the gigantic spider. The Phial was in one of his hands, while his other hand carried Frodo's sword, Sting. Colors ran across Frodo's vision. He tried to recover, but found he regurgitated some contents inside his stomach. He looked up at Sam as the gigantic spider backed away. Frodo sat up, Sam checking his head wound.

"It's not bad. It's not bleedin'. You must have hit your head," Sam said.

"We need to leave. We need to go," Frodo said, standing up on wobbly legs.

"Right. Let's go," Sam said, helping Frodo walk through the tunnels. He found his way out of the tunnel network and on the other side, straight to the Tower of Cirith Ungol.

.

Frodo smirked in delight. He told his nurse, "I told you, you wouldn't like it."

"How's your head?" his nurse asked, checking his wounds.

"It's better now. It's not throbbing. But I'll be all right," Frodo said with a smile. He asked, "So, what's the verdict? Will I live?"

"I should think so," his nurse stated. "Gandalf said your mind snapped, thanks to Sauron. That will take time to heal. I fear you won't ever be the same again. No one is after surviving war."

"Well, I'm not wounded physically. Not too badly," Frodo said.

"Lord Aragorn healed you of the Black Breath, didn't he?" his nurse asked.

"No, Lord Elrond did. I'm alive today because of him," Frodo admitted. He added, "So, you're saying I won't ever be whole again, to be me again."

"All war veterans are like this. This is what happens in war, I'm afraid. No one comes back the same. All innocence is gone. And once you lose your innocence, you can never have it back," his nurse explained.

"Oh. I thought…" Frodo's voice faded. He understood. He thought he did. He wanted to believe there was hope, but… well, maybe Beatrice had a different opinion on this subject. Or she thought the same as this nurse thought about war and its aftereffects.

"Well, I'll let you rest," the nurse said, leaving Frodo be.