When Frodo woke, he didn't recognize the room. The walls were white stone, well-made but unfamiliar, and the bed under him was soft but equally unknown, sized for a Man or an orc. But he must have been among friends, because Sam was in a Man-sized chair by the bed, slumped forward and asleep, rather than both of them in chains in a dungeon somewhere.

He smiled and examined his companion. The other hobbit looked well-fed and at least somewhat well-rested. After a moment, he seemed to sense Frodo's gaze on him, because he stirred, blinked, then yelped. "Mr. Frodo! You're awake! And here we was thinking you were gonna be out for a few more days!"

"'A few more days'?" Frodo repeated, frowning, "How long has it been?"

"Well, the Ring was destroyed on March 25th," said the other hobbit, "and now it's April 1st."

"And the others? Eltariel and Idril and everyone else? Are they well?"

"As well as can be," Sam said cheerfully, "The whole city's partying - I'm surprised we can't hear it."

"The city's partying."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Frodo. Idril and them took that fortress they were after, but they abandoned it right quick when the mountain erupted and turned back to their tunnels. But with Sauron's forces scattered, there was no one really stopping them when they decided they wanted to come back to Minas Morgul. So, here we are."

A moment later the door opened, and the dark-haired Elf from before entered. "Ah, you're awake," he said with a smile, his voice like music, "Welcome back, Master Baggins. Call me Swinsere. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," the hobbit answered honestly.

"Glad to hear it," the Elf replied, his smile widening, "Just let me give you a quick check, and then I'll bring you some food. Once you finish that, you can get up and go observe the celebrations, if you like. I can't say I recommend staying out for too long, however; you're still recovering."

It was quick, and he checked the bandage on the hobbit's hand, making sure it was secure, before bringing them bread, cheese, and fruit, along with some sort of roasted meat, and frothy beer to wash it all down. Then he led them through the halls and out into the courtyard before the Tower so they could look out over the city.

The instant they stepped outside, they were hit by a wall of sound. It was less of a party and more of a riot, albeit without the destruction of property; there were people running through the streets, screaming and laughing and dancing and singing, Men and orcs but also some Elves that Frodo had never seen before, different than Swinsere and Eltariel, and even a handful of dwarves singing raucous drinking songs with the orcs and Men. The sun shone cheerfully down on them all, bright and warm.

"How long has this been going on?!" Frodo shouted over the noise.

"Pretty much the moment we arrived!" Swinsere called back, "There's been little enough reason to celebrate these past years, so everyone's really taking advantage!"

Frodo couldn't disagree. If living in Mordor all the time was anything like just those few days he'd experienced marching through the desolation of Gorgoroth with the closeness of the Eye making the Ring weigh heavy on his mind, then they quite deserved the chance to let loose and enjoy themselves.

Still, it was a little much for him, and even just observing the party was making him tired. Swinsere noticed, of course, and led them back inside to their room.

But as they went, they came across a Man in the halls, talking to Idril and Baranor. He was deathly pale, made more so by his dark tunic and trousers, his skin almost white but shot through with veins of darkness, and his hair looked black against the white stone all around. The sword and dagger from the cavern monument were belted over his back.

"You finally changed out of your armor!" the Elf said as they drew near.

"Yes, Swinsere, I did," said the Man, his voice hollow and metallic, turning to face the Elf even as he rolled his eyes, "There's no need to act so shocked - you've only been nagging me about it for nigh on fifty years."

The whites of the Man's eyes were black, but his irises glowed, a soft, benign blue like the sky - or like the heart of a flame.

"If you're not going into battle, there's no call for wearing your armor while off duty in a place known to be safe, especially since you are banished from death," Swinsere replied with the tone of one who had been repeating it for a long time, "Besides, you have bodyguards for a reason, Talion."

So this was Talion, the Gravewalker and Wind-Rider of Mordor. He looked like he'd had an even worse time of it than Frodo.

Swinsere introduced them to the former Nazgûl, and he too recognized their names. "Shire," he said, "Baggins," - what Gollum had told his torturers so long ago. Then the Man sank to one knee and bowed his head to them both. "Thank you, for setting us all free."

Grief hung over the Fellowship like a pall. Minas Tirith was rising to celebrate the accession of her new king, but in their chambers there was no laughter or song. Gandalf seemed the worst off of them all; he'd barely spoken since he and the Great Eagles had failed to find Frodo and Sam on the slopes of Orodruin. Pippin spent most of the day crying silently as he went about his duties, and though Merry was trying to stay strong for him, it was obvious that the other hobbit had been hit just as hard by their friends' deaths. Aragorn had the duties of his new kingdom to attend to, and he did so faithfully, but to those who knew him, it was obvious that he was mourning Frodo and Sam as well.

And then one day, about a month after the fall of the Dark Tower, there was a knock at their door.

It was Faramir. He understood their grief, and so would not have disturbed them without need. "Forgive me, my lords," he said, "but there's a party of Men coming up the road to Minas Tirith - not one we recognize, and they seem to have slipped past our patrols. If you would be so kind as to lend us your Elven sight, Prince Legolas, I would like to know who to expect and what kind of welcome to prepare."

They went down to the outermost wall, and saw well in the distance a faint dust cloud from an approaching party, small and coming slowly up the road to the city. Legolas sprang easily up onto a few broken stones to peer out into the distance. Then he stopped, rubbed his eyes, and peered again. "It cannot be…"

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, "What do you see?"

"They are Men indeed - and women, and two Elves and a dwarf, unless my eyes deceive me," the Elf answered, grief falling away before swiftly dawning joy, "and they have Frodo and Sam with them!"

"What?!"

By the time the party reached the gates, the Fellowship had nearly worked themselves into a frenzy. It was the missing hobbits, and they waited only long enough for the halflings to be lifted down from the horses they'd been sharing before they all rushed together in one crushing embrace, full of laughter and delight.

There was no time to tell their tales, not right then. Instead, the two hobbits and the people who brought them were welcomed to the palace, a small feast prepared to celebrate the reunion. It was only then that the tale of the journey was related on both sides.

To say that the rest of the Fellowship was shocked that orcs had helped the Ringbearers with their task was an understatement unlike any other, especially given that they had just fought a war against them. And then to hear that one of the Nine had rescued them from Mount Doom - unreal. Still, they were nothing but grateful and gladly welcomed the representatives from Mordor - including a cousin of Faramir, it seemed.

"All the noble houses of Gondor are interrelated," the Steward informed them after greeting the woman Idril, "and we have lost many to the war. Too many. It is good indeed that one yet survives - we've had almost no word since long before the fall of Minas Ithil."

"Nothing at all from Castamir in the time of the siege before the fall?" Idril questioned.

"No, nothing."

She pressed her lips together. "I thought not."

"What troubles you?"

"Castamir sold the city out to the Witch-king in an attempt to save my life," she answered, calm and factual, "It failed. 'She is free to die with her people,' he said, and then killed Castamir in front of me. Thus, it does not at all surprise me to learn he never sent for aid from Gondor."

"Is that why you said Talion raised you better than your blood father?" Frodo asked.

"Indeed. He also thought that a woman might kill the Witch-king where countless men had failed and so let me train and fight as I desired. 'Not by the hand of man shall he fall,' so why not let a woman try?"

"He was correct," said Éomer, "for my own sister Éowyn cut the monster down on the Fields of the Pelennor."

"I am glad to hear it, and may her name be held in honor and long memory."

They stayed for the coronation, of course. When Elrond and Galadriel arrived, they discovered that one of the Elves, "Swinsere", was actually Maglor of the House of Fëanor, and the other was an assassin sent by Lady of Lothlórien to Mordor a century ago in an attempt to curb the strength of the Nazgûl. The dwarf was Gerdi, a distant cousin of the now late King of Erebor, Dáin II.

Idril also presented the Sceptre of Númenor to Aragorn as a gift from the people of Mordor on the occasion of his accession to the throne. "Talion took it from Sauron years ago," she said, going to one knee and offering it up to the Man, "He found it when he once laid siege to Barad-dûr itself, seeking something, but I never learned what he actually sought. I think he's forgotten, too, but he found this under heavy guard somewhere within. The sheer number of protections on it were enough to convince him of its provenance."

Aragorn accepted it gladly, and the Sceptre accepted him as the new king.

Much to Frodo's surprise, on the way back to the Shire he saw Daerwen flying high near the east entrance to Khazad-dûm. There was no mistaking her red bulk against the blue sky, and he convinced the Fellowship to let Gandalf to signal her and Talion on her back.

The Nazgûl spotted them and came down, the drake purring like a kitten under his touch, so unlike her vicious attack against the Overlord of Gorgoroth. "Master Baggins, Master Gamgee," he rumbled, "I did not expect to see you again after you departed Mordor."

"Neither did we," said the hobbit, and introduced their companions before continuing, "What brings you so far west?"

"Coin," was the reply, "Rebuilding an entire nation is costly, and Mordor's reserves of mithril are running low."

Gimli perked up at that. "Mithril, you say? You are able to retrieve mithril from the Mines of Khazad-dûm, despite the orc armies and the Balrog?"

"Indeed, Master Gimli. The Balrog is gone now, I understand, dispatched by Master Gandalf here, and though these orcs do not call me their lord, I do not fear them. If anything, they know to fear me; before my fall, I spent some time stocking up on mithril for my people, which meant slaughtering them in droves."

The dwarf tugged his beard in contemplation. "I will need to speak with my kin in Erebor," he said, "but there might be those willing to negotiate trade with Mordor in exchange for mithril."

Talion smiled a little at that. "If that is their wish, they can find me in Minas Morgul - or I suppose she is Minas Ithil once more. Unless, of course, His Majesty wishes to reclaim his city?"

Aragorn just sighed. "And here I was hoping I would not have to make any political decisions on this journey," he said almost wistfully, even as Arwen laughed softly beside him.

"My apologies," said the Ringwraith, not meaning a word of it.

The king waved a hand. "Keep her for now. We will negotiate properly when we all return home."

The Nazgûl bowed and departed soon after, vanishing into the mines together with Daerwen, and that was the last time Frodo saw him on the shores of Middle-earth.