Chapter II: The Merman

Frodo surfaced above the pristine Highland waves and climbed onto a rock to watch the sunset. Droplets of sea water glistened in the dying sunlight on his pale bare skin, giving it a subtle iridescence.

The sunsets were what reminded him of home - of where he was supposed to be. It seemed like merely days before when Frodo boarded the ship in the Grey Havens headed for the Undying Lands. He had said his farewells to all he held dear - Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, Gimli, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took - and to his truest friend, Samwise Gamgee.

**The cool zephyr of the sea caressed Frodo's face as the white ship set sail for the Undying Lands, as if to console him.

His calling had come from the coast of the setting sun, yet that calling had required him to forsake all that he held dear. He could see and feel the light of Galadriel's phial fading slowly as the ship drifted further away from the shore of the Grey Havens. The wind blew his deep brown curls into tangles as he went through his memories one by one – the faces of his late mother and father, his time in the Shire with his Uncle Bilbo, the trials of his quest with the Ring, the wedding of Sam and Rosie… Suddenly tears, like pearls slipping from his watery blue eyes, landed upon the pale and beautifully carved elven wood of the ship. The next thing Frodo knew, he felt a mighty yet benign hand upon his shoulder and heard the familiar voice of an elderly but powerful man.

"Do not let your heart be troubled. We are headed from what we know to a far better place."

It was Gandalf, the wizard who had guided him on his quest, as he had done for Bilbo before him. He was once a grey wizard, but his robes had turned white after his encounter with the Balrog. Now, work in Middle Earth was done for both of them, as well as for everyone else who rode this ship – or so it seemed. The Lady Galadriel was among them, along with Elrond, the lord of Imladris and the father of Queen Arwen, and the aging Bilbo Baggins. The wind toyed with Galadriel's long golden tresses like a long lost lover as they flowed beneath her ivory traveling cloak. Her fine, regal white gown made her resemble a princess bride ready to be walked down the aisle and surrender to the arms of some fair prince once and for all. Bilbo's hair, once bright and curly like that of any hobbit, was now wiry and hoary from his extensive years with the Ring. His face had more lines than the bark of Fangorn himself. His attire of sage green, mellow gold, and taupe, although fine indeed, seemed only to reinforce his ever-withering youth.

Youth among the hobbits on the ship seemed to reside solely in Frodo. The wind continued to touch his smooth, fair-skinned face. He almost could have been mistaken for a little princeling, especially with the simple yet beautiful vest and coat that happened to match his eyes. Yet speaking to him would prove otherwise, for his maturity and experience with the Ring would have been unfurled. Hence there lay the reason why he stepped on this ship and did not stay in the Shire.

Gandalf's voice suddenly awakened him from his thoughts.

"Frodo, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You were reflecting on your life in Middle Earth, weren't you?"

"I-I was, actually."

Frodo, although he knew the wizard quite well, was rather surprised that he correctly assumed his thoughts. He didn't do a very good job hiding it.

"Don't worry. It's actually quite an apt action for an occasion such as this," reassured the wizard.

"I suppose. I can feel the light of Galadriel's phial fading."

The lady chimed in at the mentioning of her gift to the Ring-Bearer.

"Fear not. You shall soon witness a star far brighter than Éarendil could ever be."

She then gazed off into the sky, smiling at its beauty. Frodo had never seen her happier – perhaps this was only because she had been so focused on the quest that was at hand, although it was Elrond's first time seeing her so joyous as well. Maybe it was because she was finally released from her duties concerning the mortal world. Knowing her, one could never know for sure. However, it was no wonder that she was admiring the skies above. Its shades of gold and rose-gold, along with its oranges, crimsons, purples, and blues, outshone the finest silks crafted by the hands of Men (although perhaps not those of the Elves, since they were wise and skilled beyond any creature) as the sun sank into the waters ahead like a neighboring ship surrendering to its demise.

According to the lore Frodo had been told, this was why the Undying Lands were to the West of Middle Earth – as the sun sets in the sky of Arda on the western horizon, so does the soul set in the sky of life in a paradise to the west of a mortal world… A heavy sigh passed Elrond's lips as he noticed Frodo place his hand on his left shoulder.

"It's the Morgul wound again, isn't it?"

Frodo nodded, unwilling to speak of his grim scar.

"Is that the true reason you're here with us?"

"Yes," said the hobbit, his voice quiet and reluctant.

That night, when he lay awake on a bed as soft as clouds and far too comfortable to be believed as part of the sleeping quarters on the upper deck of the ship, he had a clear and exquisite view of the night sky's indigo velvet, adorned with stars glimmering like diamonds – no, not diamonds, but like the Arkenstone that Bilbo spoke of in the tales of his adventures – tens of thousands of Arkenstones lighting up the heavens that floated upon the fair lands the Elves called home, with a bright mithril orb as their moon. The waves rocked him gently as a mother would cradle her child, slowly lulling him to sleep.

….

The wretched, icy piercing pain in Frodo's shoulder awakened him from his slumbers. Upon opening his eyes, the sky was as dark as the nightmares that had haunted his sleep back in the Shire. The glittering stars that he had admired hours before had disappeared behind black clouds, like a Nazgûl's veil that had blocked out all light and hope. The mithril moon was nowhere to be seen.

A crash of thunder boomed suddenly, causing Frodo's startled eyes to widen in fear as a flash of lightning cracked in the sky. Elvish crewmen rushed to prepare to tread the imminent storm. Rain began to patter upon the ship's wood as Frodo scurried to grab his cloak and wrapped it closely about his person. He could see Gandalf hurrying to aid them with an angered look upon his face. Elrond ran close behind to lend an extra pair of hands. Galadriel, as well as Bilbo, stood in a state similar to Frodo's, wrought with fear and worry. Galadriel's white cloak was about her, her hair blowing frantically in the howling winds. The thunder rolled louder as the rain fell harder upon the ship. The waves grew mightier and more violent. The once serene ship was now a chaotic, soaking wet riot of motion and thunder and lightning. Frodo noticed a nearby rope holding up one of the sails unraveling before his eyes. For a minute he froze, watching it come undone, until it was reduced down to its last fiber – and then, he grasped it desperately, tugging it with all the might that his little body could muster so the sail would not fall to the deck and steer the ship off course. His hands were quickly burned and chafed from its coarseness. The brutal winds blew the hard, icy rain against his back.

He loosened his grip just a little bit. A cruel gust knocked him off his bare feet and toppled him off the boat and into the freezing seas below. A crewman shouted to Elrond in Elvish:

"HELP! THE RINGBEARER HAS FALLEN OVERBOARD! RINGBEARER OVERBOARD!"

The forceful waves had already driven his small frame far from the sip by the time the crewman's cries reached the elf's ears. The cold waters made the new wounds on Frodo's palms sting with searing pain, in addition to the returning agony in his left shoulder. He thrashed desperately at the sea, trying to swim back to the rope that had been tossed for him. Alas, his efforts were to no avail; the currents were too strong for a hobbit to tread alone. His weary body was soon lost from sight among the tempest like the drops of rain that fell upon the turbulent ocean.

Elrond and Gandalf both looked on from the ship's edge in disbelief.

"FRODO!"

Only vile gales and crashing waves answered the wizard's call.

"FRODO!"

The tempest's replies were no kinder to Elrond than they were to Gandalf. The elderly Bilbo Baggins rushed to the deck sobbing.

"No, no…! Not my nephew! My boy! Frodo, my boy…!"

Galadriel came forth, but remained a few feet behind the rest as she buried her face in her fair hands and quietly wept.

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Frodo continued to fight the vicious, tumultuous waves long after he lost sight of the ship. They tossed him back and forth mercilessly, as if in sport. Time was blurred; minutes seemed like ages as he battled them. Suddenly, a giant crest charged towards him. His cerulean eyes widened with shock as he registered its massiveness and might, which easily picked him up and threw him into the depths of the sea below.

The white stone that hung from around the hobbit's neck floated out of his shirt and glowed faintly. He gazed above as his body sank deeper into the water and noticed that the storm had finally ceased. Mustering his remaining strength, Frodo began to swim back up to the surface. His journey back up quickly came to a halt when he felt something grasping his ankle. Looking down, he noticed that a vine of sea kelp was now anchoring him down as a ball and chain would. More of these vines began to emerge and reach for him. Air bubbles flew from his mouth and nostrils as he struggled to free himself. The rising plants, like a multitude of water snakes, slithered about his body and continued to pull him under. Frodo swiftly tore off his coat and threw it into the indigo depths. The great tangle of kelp paid no heed to his efforts, however. Still determined to be liberated, he fumbled with the buttons of his vest and managed to take that off as well. The serpents continued to torment him, and so his fingers frantically undid those of his shirt and let it sink with the rest of his discarded garments. Alas, the kelp refused to release him as it coiled its many tentacles about his body – especially from the waist down – and successfully dragged him into its bed. In a final attempt to break free, Frodo unfastened the fly of his trousers and desperately pulled them off. The deep green tangle briefly loosened its grip. Frodo barely made his first move to escape when the vines seized him more forcefully than before, binding him to the sea floor. He was now naked and at the mercy of Ulmo.

The victorious liana continued to wrap itself around Frodo until it covered his lower half completely and was climbing up his torso. He tried one last time to tear away the kelp about him – only to realize that it had attached to his skin! One of the vines had grasped his left hand – the one that had been maimed when Gollum bit his finger off. The kelp wrapped itself around his hand just as it had done to his legs, which he could no longer move individually. Frodo looked over at his concealed feet and noticed that the foliage about him had taken the shape of a fishtail. After a few more air bubbles passed from his mouth, he looked up once more at the water's surface until he finally lost consciousness.

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Frodo awoke gasping for air, relieved that he could breathe again. Even though his vision was now pristinely clear, it took him a while to register that he was still underwater and entangled in the sea kelp. However, he was now able adjust himself to a seated upright position. As he did so and noticed that he was considerably taller, the kelp finally released its grasp on his hand. Both now had all five fingers intact and were perfectly unblemished. The plant greens bound about his lower half melted away, revealing an elongated fin covered in an array of silvery scales, which gradually faded into gold as they got closer to the place where flesh and fin converged. His eyes widened as he tested his new limb. Finally free, he eagerly escaped the kelp forest, taking note of his improved swimming abilities.

He stopped when he spotted a sunken mithril mirror on the sea bed floor. Looking into its reflection, he discovered that his appearance from the neck up had changed very little, save for perhaps a minor adjustment in size to suit his proportions. However, it seemed as if someone had taken his torso and arms and had seamlessly replaced them with those that would be more suited for a man or an elf – and yet, ironically, the scar on his shoulder from his encounter with the Witch King was still there.

Frodo gazed up yet again to the surface of the water, watching the renewed sunlight dance upon it. The golden rays highlighted the muscles rippling subtly beneath his alabaster skin as he swam up and finally broke the water's façade. The sun was now just above the horizon and still rising in the sky.

The scene before his eyes was fundamentally different from what he had seen before succumbing to the waves. The golden rays of the sun were peeking behind a streak of royal blue that lined the horizon. A hazy orange halo surrounded the rays as they reached upwards towards an impossibly clear blue sky streaked with peach and dark blue clouds. His eyes widened in wonder as he noticed the glassy stillness of the water he was in, its only disturbance coming from the ripples radiating from his body as it reflected the skies above. His eyes instinctively darted towards a shoreline dotted with a mixture of moss covered boulders and white sand, and without a second thought, he swam towards it. **

Frodo was in the midst of a silent prayer for his friends when he heard the galloping of hooves in the distance. Startled, he instantly snapped his head and his gaze in its direction. In the distance, he could make out a figure with brilliant red hair astride a large, burly black and white steed. A large stone castle loomed ahead as the figure passed through the walls.

For some strange reason, he kept staring on into its direction long after the figure had vanished into the castle. He eventually shook his head and slipped back into the water.