AN: This chapter is again a split chapter. The entire thing would be way too long and I do realize that chapters with 7000+ words are a bit trying to read. So I once again cut a chapter in two.

A fair warning. The end of this chapter is AU. You'll see why. To those who have been wondering: there is no place like Tol Sidh in the Tolkien universe. It is my own creation.

FYI: I had to do some editing on chapter one. I recommend you go back and read it, but you'll still be able to follow the story if you don't.

I am quite nervous to post this chapter, as I am afraid that I am rushing things a bit. I don't know if I did so any feedback on this is more than welcome.

My thanks go to FairyTaleLover6. I don't believe she knows how she is constantly encouraging me to continue with revising this story. Plus she understands how characters sometimes seem to develop a mind of their own when you're writing them. Niniel and Frodo certainly do - thus me having to split this chapter.

I wish to provide the rest of this chapter soon, however there's no way for me to know when this will happen. I won't be home from Wednesday to Sunday and I don't know how much time I'll have to write while I'm gone. Probably not much, since there are four birthdays to celebrate - including my own.

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. If you do, please let me know.

The Lady in Black

Chapter Seven: Becoming one

I stood by the kitchen window and watched the sun slowly rising on the far horizon, all the while fumbling with the silver leaf shaped pendant that hang from my neck and had been doing so for as long as I could remember. Whenever I wanted to know where it came from, my parents usually told me that it was a gift I received on the day I was born. It had not been a complete lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

"Why did you give it to me?" I heard myself whisper and was rather surprised to hear the wavering sound of my own voice. "The leaf I mean? I surely had no idea that it used to be part of the original party tree."

"I thought it would be a fitting gift for the miracle that entered my life one night a little over twenty five years ago," my father spoke softly and I turned to look at him, still fighting against the tears that were threatening to spill.

"Why?" I heard myself again. Father had always allowed us to ask any questions we felt needed answering concerning the Great War, but what came after his departure from Mithlond had always been treated with the utmost secrecy.

"The leaf, my child, was never just a simple piece of jewellery. To me it became a symbol of hope. It reminded me that everything can be taken away from you and you are left empty handed. However, one thing can never be taken from you and that is hope – hope that brighter and happier days will certainly be coming your way, if you let them. If you give in to darkness and sorrow, which is so much easier than grasping onto a tiny shred of hope – you will be consumed and whatever evil is plaguing you will have succeeded," my father explained thoughtfully and cast a sideways glance at Naneth who had kept her silence for the rest of the night that was now slowly giving way to bright new morning.

"I'm not sure I quite understand, Adar," I said and returned to my own seat at the other side of the kitchen table.

"Your mother brought back hope into my life. She gave me back my peace of mind…" at that I looked at my mother in a very told-you-so-fashion. She smiled tiredly at me and then returned her attention to Adar. "… and to this day, almost twenty-nine years later she still does. The leaf I gave to you because you were living proof of what your mother once told me. There was still beauty in this world and love and goodness and kindness. All of these things I saw in your eyes in the very moment I first held you in my arms. It was a miracle to imagine that such beauty had come from loins even though I was tainted by darkness and evil." He paused for a moment, apparently collection his thoughts and I suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to stir my tea profoundly so that Adar had some time to wipe the tears from his eyes. It took him a while to compose himself enough so that he could go on. "The biggest miracle of them all was that you had my eyes – even the exact same color. I swore back then that I would never let those eyes see the same darkness I had seen. As a token of this oath I gave you the leaf."Overwhelmed by her emotions, my mother kissed Adar on his cheek and hugged him tightly. No words were needed to understand what had brought forth her sudden outburst of emotion.

"I never knew that," I said somewhat sadly and regretted my words immediately as I could see how they pained my father.

"And how could you?" Naneth asked rhetorically. "Your father and I once decided that this part of our history was not one suitable for anyone's ears but our own. Sam of course knew all of it, but even your cousins Merry and Pippin still lack quite a few details. All they know is that we met somewhere beyond the horizon and that your father returned to the Shire after a little over two years away from his home."

"But Naneth," I argued my voice playing tricks on me once again as it rose with anger. "You said it yourself earlier – there's no shame in what has happened."

"No shame, my child, but pain there is. For both of us. It does not do good to share your pain with those you care about the most. It sounds silly, I'll admit that, but it is always more about protecting them than it is a matter of shame."

"I understand… I think," I said at length and let out a heavy sigh. "So what happened after you gave father the leaf? Did he come running into the kitchen and kiss you like he always does when he thinks no one's looking?" I asked hopefully and was surprised by the hearty laughter from both my parents that I got for an answer.

"No," Naneth gasped still fighting against the waves of laughter that shook her. Father's own laughter had died down to a mere chuckle and his face quickly became serious again.

"No," he confirmed and shot a somewhat accusing look at Naneth. "I wish it were so. As I said before – your mother kept me quite busy back then…"

Frodo walked into the kitchen his gift for her clutched tightly to his chest and found Níniël standing by the hearth warming her hands. Next to her on the kitchen counter a bowl of steaming broth and a fresh pot of tea were waiting to be served. For a moment Frodo considered to walk up on her so that he could come face to face to her when he gave her his gift. But his usual doubts got the better of him and he decided to silently sit down at the kitchen table and to wait for her to notice his presence as she had obviously not heard him enter. For some time he sat on his chair and watched her as she was brooding over something – over what he did not know – while she tried to get some warmth into her obviously cold limbs.

The coughing came suddenly and shook her entire form and she quietly moaned in pain once the coughing fit had passed. Frodo could hear the rattling in her chest when she took a deep breath in, as though she was trying to provide her body with a more sufficient amount of oxygen than her otherwise rather shallow breathing let in. Frodo was worried. What if Níniël's coughing was not just a mere symptom of a simple cold but something worse? He felt still far too weak to be of much help in such a case and he couldn't think of a way to find help if the need should arise. 'I wish Sam was here,' he thought and not for the first time since his arrival on the island did he wish his dearest friend would be with him as he had always been from the very first day of his new found life with Bilbo at Bag End – despite their considerable age difference of no less than twelve years. Sam would know what to do – he always did even in their darkest hours and Frodo realized that missing his gardener's vast love and friendship was darkening his spirits once again.

"Are you certain there is nothing for me to worry about?" Frodo eventually made his presence known to the other Hobbit who immediately turned towards him in utter surprise.

"It's just a cold, so, no. There's no need for you to worry about me if that's what you're implying," Níniël forced a smile to appear on her lips and quickly took both broth and tea and placed it front of Frodo on the table.

"Then please, join me for a cup of tea," Frodo asked and made no effort to hide the fact that her words had not convinced him at all. "There's something I would like to show you." He took the teapot and poured himself a cup and then waited for Níniël to join him. After fetching another cup for herself, she sat down at the opposite side of the table and watched Frodo pouring her a cup, too.

"What is that?" Níniël asked as she saw a large book bound in red leather laying on the table.

"After his adventure my Uncle Bilbo started writing a book that looked quite similar to this one. 'There and back again' he called it and in it he wrote down his quite extraordinary tale of his adventures. He gave it to me and after the Great War I wrote down the story of my own adventure. That book I left in my dear Sam's trusting hands for him to finish it. When I first arrived here I found this," he pointed at the large book "in what was to be my study. The pages were empty but I soon found myself writing again, but the story was quite different." Frodo paused for a moment, obviously more than just a bit uncomfortable to reveal his secret. "In it I wrote down my journey through the shadows – memories of the darkness that held me captive and probably still does in a way and will never entirely loosen its grip on me." His voice faded into nothingness for a while and he could feel Níniël's intense gaze resting upon him. She was listening, that much he knew, and not just simply hearing the words that came from his lips. "Months ago I thought that if someone found this after my death… that the words written in this book might make them see what that cursed Ring really did to me and how it has changed me forever. I thought they'd understand that I could no longer live with the pain and grief in my heart, that I was lost in despair forever. While I wrote all of this I overlooked the obvious." Frodo again chose to pause in his confession for where there had been words before, there was now a great black hole of uncertainty and he knew not how to conquer it. "You made me see it," he whispered after a while, still lacking the words for what he truly wanted to say.

"And what is that?" Níniël queried her voice weak and raspy, but her eyes alert and still resting on Frodo.

"I did what I set out to do. Not more, not less. I took the Ring into Mordor and no one at Elrond's council ever expected that we would make it as far as we did. No one could foresee what the Ring might do to its bearer so close to all evil's womb. Lord Elrond was the only one who could have known, but probably meant not to dishearten us by withholding his knowledge," Frodo explained and felt sudden relief wash over him once the words had left his mouth. Níniël smiled at him.

"I'm glad," she said. "I'm glad that hope has returned to you and that light is finally breaking through the dark crust that engulfs your heart with despair. You are on the mend."

"That I am and I have you to thank for it," he smiled back, glad that the moisture in his eyes had never turned into real tears. He looked down at the book that was still lying on the table in front of him and gently pushed it towards Níniël. "This probably is not quite the joyous gift one should expect for the occasion of a birthday, but at the moment it is all I have to give."

"And I thank you for it and the trust you bestow upon me, my dear Frodo. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you and thus it is all the more appreciated," she smiled warmly at him, but had to turn away from him when another coughing fit shook her body. Frodo's eyebrows shot up with worry evident in the depths of his blue eyes. Without noticing it he placed his hand soothingly over hers, which was still resting atop the table and gently stroked it with his thumb. Níniël was fighting hard against the coughing and a few moments later it eventually passed.

To Frodo's great dismay she once again chose to ignore what had happened and aimed to make him join her in her notion by sending a slight smile in his direction. "The broth will cool down if you don't eat it," she advised and took a sip from her teacup in an attempt to sooth the last remainders of the irritation in her throat. Taking a deep breath in, she felt the pain in her chest but did her best to hide it from Frodo. Still not taking his eyes of her, Frodo grabbed the spoon and eventually looked down when he proceeded to eat his broth without offering any more words of protest.

They sat in silence while Frodo ate and Níniël's mind seemed to have wandered far while she kept caressing the soft leather of the book's back with her fingertips. With some success she fought off a few more coughing fits by sipping some more of the herbal tea she had originally prepared for Frodo to aid his body in its healing. However, his eyes came to rest upon her once he had finished his meal and for a moment or two he considered to advise her once more to get some rest of her own. Eventually he came to the conclusion that it would do no good, for her stubbornness would certainly make her deny her pitiful state all the more. For a second there he found himself wondering, whether some blood of the widely spread Baggins family tree was actually running through her veins.

"I am going to retire for the night," he announced and the unexpected end of their not so uncomfortable silence shook her out of her reverie and after a few moments of recollecting herself, Níniël nodded.

"Just call for me if there's anything you should need. I won't be far," she said with a weak smile on her lips that was almost impossible to notice.

"I know," Frodo returned hers with a brighter smile of his own. 'And I hope you'll never be,' he added in his mind, although he didn't quite know where that notion had come from. "Good night, Níniël." Frodo stood up a bit too quickly and for a moment he felt quite dizzy but quickly recollected himself. Níniël had noticed, but when she was about to come to his aid, he waved her off. "Not to worry," he told her and sent a last smile her way before he went to his bedroom.

The following morning Frodo woke to a growling in his stomach. Lazily he opened his eyes and was quite surprised that the sun was already rather high up in the sky. 'Almost noon,' he thought and was quite surprised with himself. After all he was not known for spending much time in the soft and comforting embrace of a peaceful sleep. He stretched and groaned as the tense muscles in his back protested against the movement and with an unnerved sigh he drew back the covers and sat up. Dizziness claimed him once more but this time it was due to him getting up too quickly. He was quite certain that his fever was gone for he still felt weak but not as much drawn to an exhausted sleep as he had the previous days. Slowly he got up from his bed and put on his robe. With a guest in his home it would have been more polite to get dressed before he ventured anywhere, however, he had plans to take a bath after breakfast for he felt the unpleasant stickiness of his illness still lingering on his skin.

As he entered the hall Frodo half expected to hear noises coming from the kitchen, but what met him when he turned right into the west-hall and walking through the atrium towards the kitchen was almost complete silence. Apart from the usual sounds of the wind whistling through the leaves of the trees and the birds sitting on their branches and singing their lovely songs, nothing was to be heard inside of his smial. Frodo frowned as he entered the kitchen and found it empty. Surely Níniël would be up and about by now, but there was no fire dancing in the hearth, no tea had been prepared and there wasn't any sign that indicated that breakfast, or rather Elevenses had been thought of. "Maybe she has overslept, too," Frodo mused to himself in barely more than a whisper, but the very moment the words had come out from his mouth, he knew that it wasn't the case. Something was wrong. Had she read the book? Had his words written in it, the very vivid narrative of the darkness within him maybe scared her and made her leave him in a rush quickened by fear? "She'd never do that," he told himself, only half convinced of the truth of his own words. "She knew because I've told her before."

Frodo hurried into the parlor, but was disappointed yet again when he did not find her there. His heart began to beat faster and he quickly rushed into the east-hall, passed through the atrium and west-hall once more and only slowed his feet down to a walk when he came to stand in front of the closed door of his guest room. Hesitantly he brought his hand up to the door knob and slowly turned it. Dim light met him as he entered the room and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. Before Frodo could see Níniël, he heard the sounds of her rapid shallow breaths, which was only disturbed by a few raspy coughs. Frodo rushed towards the bed and his heart skipped a beat when he discovered her pale complexion, which was only marred by a feverish flush on her cheeks. Only then he noticed that she was trembling violently underneath the covers and upon seeing that, he hurried towards a small chest and retrieved a few more blankets and gently spread them over her bed. Just when he was finished, another coughing fit shook her fragile form and when it passed Níniël's eyelids fluttered open and revealed glassy brown eyes. At first she seemed disoriented but when she discovered Frodo standing next to her bed, her eyes opened wide and she immediately moved in an attempt to get out of bed.

"I'm so sorry," she said hoarsely and not too much in control of her voice. "I must have overslept." However, when she tried to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, the weakness, which she was trying to ignore, crushed over her like a rogue wave and forced her to lie back down. She sighed heavily and the rattling sounds coming from her chest concerned Frodo greatly. Gently he placed his hand on her forehead only to confirm what he already knew. She was burning up and when she tried to settle down, she once again broke into shivers. Frodo helped her to get a bit more comfortable and covered her with the few blankets he had at his disposal at the moment.

"I was hoping to wish you a good morning when I came in here, but it seems this morning finds you all but well." Frodo sat down beside her and studied her with concern in his blue eyes. Níniël nodded weakly and closed her eyes and before Frodo knew it, an uncomfortable unconsciousness brought on by fever had claimed her. "What am I to do?" he asked her unconscious form with desperation in his voice. "Why didn't you just listen to me when I told you to get some rest?" He scowled at her for a moment or two but he knew that he needed to bring her fever down. Cool cloths would help, that much he knew and not for the first time in the previous few months he wished for Bilbo to be there and guide him with his wisdom. Of course Frodo knew how to handle a simple cold, but the symptoms Níniël displayed he had seen and felt before – many decades ago when he had been but a small child. Back then his parents had still been alive. All he remembered from the weeks he had been sick with pneumonia was the comforting warmth of his mother's embrace.

Frodo forcefully dispelled the bittersweet memories and instead tried to remember what one was to do in a case like this. Athelas was what sprang to his mind, but he didn't have any at his disposal. Suddenly he frowned. Níniël usually never left her home without her bag that held everything she needed to care for her patients. His eyes darted around the room but the familiar brown leather bag was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe she's left it in the kitchen," he mumbled to himself and as fast as his still weakened body would allow him to, he hurried towards his destination. And indeed, there he found what he had been looking for. It sat on one of the counters. Frodo took it and opened it. The strong scent of Athelas immediately invaded his nostrils and he sighed in relief. Upon further inspection of the bag's contents he also found lime blossoms, thyme, and field horsetail. Of all of these herbs he knew that Bilbo had used them in his teas against Frodo's numerous chest colds when he had still been in his tweens.

Frodo made haste to light a fire in the kitchen hearth and hung a kettle full of water over it. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he filled an earthen pitcher with cold water and put it along with a cup, a bowl, a small pile of fresh cloths, and a few of the Athelas leaves on a tray. He picked it up and returned to his guest room.

Quietly he entered and crossed the small room in a few steps. Careful not to make too much noise, Frodo placed the tray on the nightstand and put the Athelas leaves into the bowl. As soon as the water he poured in covered them, their strong scent filled the room and Frodo wetted one of the cloths he had brought with him in the Athelas water. Gently he placed it on Níniël's forehead and a worried sigh escaped his throat when he felt the heat emanating from her skin against the back of his hand.

"What am I to do?" he whispered and with pleading eyes he looked down at her, as if he was hoping that this would rouse her from unconsciousness. It did not and for a while Frodo listened to her uneven breathing. From what he saw, it was quite obvious that the supposedly simple act of pumping air into her lungs brought her great pain and Frodo felt fear rising inside of him. "What am I to do?"

A few hours later, Frodo sat by Níniël's bed and watched her feverish slumber. She had been in and out of consciousness and while she had not been fully alert, Frodo had at least managed to make her drink some of the herbal tea he had prepared. Using most of the pillows he could find, he had propped her up into a more erect position so that she could breathe more easily. But to him it seemed not enough. By now he had almost become used to the sight of pain contorting her face whenever she tried to take a deep breath and he honestly wished that he could take some of it away from her. He couldn't.

The whole situation seemed surreal. There he was, the former Ringbearer, a mere Hobbit who had managed to invade the bastion of all evil, all the while carrying the cursed essence of it around his neck; he had fooled the great eye's abominable owner and had played a major part in his downfall. Indeed, there he was, one of those who had saved Middle Earth, unable to hold back the curtains of death he watched falling down over Níniël's frail body.

She did not deserve this. Had fate not played enough cruel tricks on her just as it had on him? Had she not done so much good to so many including himself? Did she not deserve to live and see happy days – as did he?

"Do I?" Frodo whispered with a frown on his pale face.

"Do what? … Frodo…" Níniël's croaked voice brought him out of his reverie and he nearly jumped out of his seat when he realized, that he had indeed not been dreaming, that it had not been wishful thinking that had made him hear her voice. For a moment he was dumbfounded, unable to move or to utter a single word, but as her glassy brown eyes threatened to close again, he found his speech.

"Bless you, you're awake," he forced a smile on his lips and sat down next to her on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"As though I should have listened to …" Another coughing fit interrupted her and to Frodo it seemed as though this time it lasted longer. However, when he tried to take her hand in his in a comforting gesture of support, she instantly withdrew it and shook her head weakly. The fit passed and Níniël closed her eyes for a few moments. "Could be contagious…" she explained in a hoarse voice. "You're still too weak… couldn't handle it…"

"Oh but you can? Stop talking nonsense and for once let me be the one to take care of you," Frodo said with the tiniest hint of annoyance in his voice. "Besides," he continued with a smirk that was indeed quite fake, "it doesn't seem as if you had a choice, anyway." At this Níniël looked at him and to his utter surprise she did not oppose. "Would you care for some tea or water? I may not be a healer, but I do know that in times of such crisis a Hobbit's body needs lots of fluids." She nodded and Frodo, glad that he could finally do something else than to change the cool cloths on her forehead, poured a cup of the herbal tea and sat down behind her on the bed. Gently he laid his left arm around her and helped her lean against him. As soon as she was comfortably resting against his chest, he brought the teacup to her lips with his right hand and was quite pleased, that she emptied it. Placing it back on the tray, he allowed himself a small smile and grabbed a fresh cloth, put it in the Athelas infused water, wrung it out and replaced the warm one on her forehead with it. "Sleep," he whispered against her ear and even though he knew that decency demanded for him to leave the bed now, he could not bring himself to do so. Her head rested against his shoulder and whether it was fact or not, he still felt as though she was now resting a bit more comfortably now than she had been before.

"Rest," Frodo whispered and before he knew it, his lips were pressed against her damp hair and both of his arms were around her, holding her to him, as though this simple gesture of affection could fight off death itself.

The next morning found them both still in the same position; Frodo had not dared to move, afraid that it would disturb what little comfort she found in his embrace. Sometime during the night exhaustion had claimed him, too, and he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, of which he had been woken several times. Coughing fits had shaken Níniël many times during the night and Frodo could sense that each of them left her weaker and more close to the slowly opening portals of death.

However, now for once, she was resting peacefully against him and Frodo blinked as a bright morning's light met his closed eyelids. A faint sound coming from somewhere at the front of the smial made him alert and awake almost instantly.

"What day is it today?" he wondered aloud as he reluctantly slipped away from Níniël's unconscious form. Gently he eased her back onto the pillows, hoping that she was as comfortable as possible. "Is it Wednesday all ready?" he mused and at the same time he knew, that this would be indeed good fortune. Every Wednesday his week's provisions were delivered and if that were the case, an Elf would now be standing in front of his door, waiting for the home owner to open it.

Frodo all but ran down the long corridors and was quite out of breath when he came to a halt at the round green door. Quickly he opened it and indeed. There was Glorfindel standing outside, and obvious concern left his fine features once he saw Frodo standing behind the now open door.

"Mae govannen, Iorhael," the Elf greeted Frodo with a slight bow.

"Oh, and well met indeed, my dear friend," replied Frodo, unable to hide the relief in his voice.

"You seem troubled," Glorfindel observed and his own relief was once again replaced by an expression of sorrow. "Is there something wrong?"

"It's Níniël," said Frodo stepping aside, so that Glorfindel could enter. "She is gravely ill, pneumonia I'm afraid and I fear she is fading. I don't know what to do." Without waiting for a reply, Frodo hurried back to his guest room with Glorfindel following him as quickly, as the low ceilings of the smial allowed him to.

Upon entering Níniël's room, the smell of sickness immediately insulted the Elf's nostrils and he swiftly but hurriedly approached the bed of the ill Hobbit. He placed his one hand on her forehead and his other on her chest and closed his eyes for a few moments. There was great infection inside of her and by simply touching her the way he did, Glorfindel knew, that she was indeed closer to the dead than to the living. To Frodo these mere moments appeared to be eternity until the Elf eventually withdrew his hands from Níniël and opened his eyes again.

"I tried to bring her fever down and get some fluids into her and help her breathe a little more easily. But so far not much good has come from it," Frodo said, desperation evident in his voice, as he saw the serious look on the fair Elf's face.

"She is very ill, I am afraid to say. Indeed it seems her lungs are infected and she will be consumed by fever if we can't bring it down," Glorfindel said quietly and knelt down in front of Frodo. He placed his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "Please, be so kind and help me collect the things I will need to tend to her. While I do that, I ask you to find some rest. You are pale, Iorhael, and since I cannot stay for very long, the task of nursing her back to health will be in your hands."

"But… but… I can't! I am no healer! What if I make it worse?" Frodo protested.

"Everything you did, Iorhael, has helped her in fighting off the infection in her lungs. The tea you prepared has all the right ingredients and the Athelas has helped to keep her temperature at bay. There is only little more that can be done for her and it is beyond what anyone could expect you to know or do. You did well. Do not doubt yourself so much, Master Perian," Glorfindel tried his best to reassure Frodo.

"I am scared… for her…" Frodo said quietly, his eyes wandering towards the still Hobbit on the bed. "Why is this happening?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought this place… this island was supposed to bring healing and peace… that no evil could prevail here. Is this not evil, Glorfindel?" Frodo's words were agitated as he pointed his finger towards the bed and the Elf looked at him knowingly. "How is something like this even remotely possible in the Undying Lands?"

"Indeed evil cannot prevail on this island, Master Perian. But that does not mean that sickness and death are no risk here either. There is one thing you have to understand. Tol Sîdh is not yet a part of the Undying Lands. It is but the last stronghold before one is to enter the blessed realms of Eldamar. Here the wounded and ill come to heal. Once their bodies are healed they journey on to the Undying Lands where they may find peace and from there they will never return."

"So are you saying that this is still part of Middle Earth?" Frodo queried, confused by the Elf's words.

"There is not an answer to this question, I am afraid. This island is probably best described as a place between the realms from where ships can depart both ways."

"So I could return to the Shire if I wanted to?"

"That is not for me to say, Iorhael, for no mortal who has set foot onto this island has ever travelled back." Glorfindel paused and allowed the information he had provided Frodo with to sink in and eventually rose from his kneeling position.

"These things should be of no concern to us right now," Frodo said at length and looked up at the tall Elf. "So, what can I do to help you?"

"Showing me where I can find what I will need should suffice, Master Perian," Glorfindel answered with a smile and the two of them set to work.