Tho' in Distant Lands we Sigh

Southern Harmony by William Walker (1853)
Indian's Farewell
Southern Harmony no. 25b

When shall we all meet again?
When shall we all meet again?
Oft shall glowing hope expire,
Oft shall wearied love retire,
Oft shall death and sorrow reign.
When shall we all meet again?

Tho' in distant lands we sigh
Parched beneath the burning sky,
Tho' the deep between us rolls,
Friendship shall unite our souls;
Still in fancy's rich domain,
Oft shall we all meet again.

When the dreams of life are fled,
When its wasted lamp is dead,
When in cold oblivion's shade
Beauty, wealth and pow'r are laid,
Where immortal spirits reign,
There shall we all meet again.

(This story is inspired by the above song)

Part 1: Aragorn

Aragorn inhaled the fragrance of wild flowers before he opened his eyes - a sweet fragrance, heady and soothing, that  made his head feel light. He felt refreshed, and he wanted to get up. Deep inside he knew that this was a dream, he was so sure of it that he accepted it immediately.

There was something more, so different this time from Minas Tirith: a soft salty breeze that made Aragorn realise that the Sea wasn't far away. He breathed deeply, reassuringly, somehow filled with an unknown anticipation and a certain disquiet he couldn't name.

 What is for sure in a dream? Could this be... real?

He opened his eyes to see a deep blue sky, while white fluffy clouds made their way fast, riding with the wind and journeying ever further. Aragorn found himself on a meadow, coloured by the flowers he had smelled moments before. He sat up and spotted mountains to his right - high, majestic - so much like the Misty Mountains, and yet very different. The tops of the highest mountains were not to be seen and covered wholly in clouds and mist.

To his left he saw the Sea, ever rushing and flowing, indigo blue with white crowns on the tops of the crushing waves, but to his amazement it was quiet. Not wholly quiet for he heard a distant song, far away and yet deep inside him. It was a melody of dreams, or remembrance and a recognition that he was part of this universal song.

The Ainur.

It was said that they had sung Middle-earth to life. The old legends told that the whole universe was created in a song. Could it be that he was blessed enough to catch a glimpse of the Indescribable in his dreams? That he felt a tiny bit of the pure essence of the existence of it all? He closed his eyes for a second and felt tears welling up behind them immediately.

He had seen many things in his life as a ranger and - since a decade - as the King of Gondor. The feeling of surprise and unbelief that welled up in him came unexpectedly, even more for the overwhelming emotions it was causing in him.

The song went on. While he was looking at the landscape around him, he felt like he was being lifted up, carried into this song of life and eternity. This was somewhat of a mystery, for he remained at the same place where he had found himself just a few moments ago. His soul was lifted up and joined the song with its own melody.

Words would have failed, even if there had been someone to talk to. But he was all alone, as far as he could tell. He stood up and walked slowly to the sea. He was drawn towards a  little silver-white boat that lay on the shore. From this distance it seemed to look much alike the Lorien boats that had carried the Fellowship of the Ring down the Anduin so many years ago. Flashes of remembrance hit Aragorn, like a sharp knife cut into his flesh. Those memories didn't hurt him anymore, but they always filled him with a slight melancholy that made him feel silent deep inside. He had never forgotten this torturous journey, nor his friends and their fates.  His heart went out to Frodo the most, for he knew how the hobbit had lived in sadness and pain for a while until he had left the shores of Arda. Long hours he had talked with Sam, Merry and Pippin about the Ringbearer. But Frodo's fate was not to be seen by them all - or anyone else in Middle-earth.

Somehow Aragorn always had high hopes Frodo could recover in Aman. And yet... Aragorn wondered often about his friend. Would he live in peace? Would he be lonely? Happy? Sometimes it seemed to Aragorn that Frodo appeared in his thoughts to tell him that he was fine and there was no need to worry or fear.

'It is just what I am wishing for,' thought Aragorn.  'Just the way I want him to be...'

He approached the Elven swan boat. It was slightly smaller than those boats they got in Lothlórien, and carved beautifully with fine fragile ornaments of trees and flowers. Aragorn touched the carves thoughtfully and was amazed. He knew a lot of  Elvish crafts and arts, but this was the most wonderful work he had ever seen.

Aragorn thought of the Teleri; their long search for their king Elwë, and the long journey most of them took with Ulmo to reach the Undying Lands. He was so deep in thoughts that he didn't notice the small shadow that moved in his direction, soundlessly.  The song rose, and while Aragorn looked up from the carvings on the boat to watch the silent sea, words began to build in his head.

"Tho' in distant lands we sigh
Parched beneath the burning sky,
Tho' the deep between us rolls,
Friendship shall unite our souls..."

The King listened in wonder.  It was not only that the words he heard went straight to his heart - no, he could also hear a real voice, a breathy whisper that had joined the song.

A dream. A whisper. A wish.

He knew this voice. When he had heard it for the last time in Minas Tirith, this very voice had been a cacophony of weariness and melancholy, desperation woven into every husky word. Yes, this was the same voice, but something had changed. This whisper was filled with knowledge, with cheerfulness, ever so light and ethereal, above all pain and despair.

Aragorn turned his head, half expecting to see nothing but the meadows and trees in the distance. But there he stood, Frodo Baggins, smiling, his eyes twinkling in amusement and joy.  

Aragorn wanted to say something - just something. But his voice broke, and he swallowed. What...?
Just a second later he found himself in a firm embrace with Frodo, and both of them shivered in that brilliant moment of recognition and reunion.
The King held Frodo close, so close that they both could but hardly breathe. Both of them feared to wake up just in the next fragile second, and that the dream would leave their memories faster than they could keep them deep in their hearts.

TBC

Chapter Two: Frodo

Frodo approached the stone garden, not far from the shore; a place he went to instinctively, lost in peaceful thoughts of silver and blue that were calming to his soul. Unknown years had passed since he had stepped ashore on Tol Eressëa for the first time, and Frodo soon had discovered that time -  in the sense he knew it - did not matter here. Not at all. This was eternity, grace, and joy; and a small hobbit from Arda tended to feel even smaller in the indescribable beauty of this isle.

Not that feeling small had mattered to Frodo. This had been a feeling he had even welcomed after he had begun to make this place his new home; in mind, thoughts and deeds. He had been filled with awe and wonder at this new world he only knew from distant dreams.

As soon as he had recovered from the exciting, but exhausting journey over the Sea and through the Straight Road, he explored the island from top to bottom. Bilbo had soon joined him; the old hobbit had seemingly regained a great deal of his old strength and began to feel more energetic with the dawning of every new day.

Frodo was very grateful to witness Bilbo‘s recovery; he so wanted his dear uncle to enjoy this wondrous place, with all his senses, not hindered by weariness. Bilbo even started to look younger as the days passed.

Frodo rejoiced clearly in the surrounding peace which balmed his tortured mind and soul with such gentleness. Sometimes Frodo found himself shedding tears of relief and joy, weeping away the inner pain and sadness that had built in him for so long.

 "... not all tears are an evil..."

Gandalf had been right; but Frodo had only learned the full meaning of those words when he arrived here. For the first time in his life he found that tears could be shed without having to mourn, and of pure bliss. Frodo wondered why he never had realised that before. But here it struck him, and he welcomed and accepted this gentle healing whenever it consumed him.

Healing had indeed come, at last.

In the beginning, Frodo only had felt a soothing effect, and the anniversary illnesses had returned for years to come (that often was the only sign of time Frodo had noticed consciously). In times of illness Frodo had never been left alone. Surrounded by loving and gentle friends and caretakers, like Elrond, his wife Celebrían, Lady Galadriel, and certainly his beloved Bilbo. All of them had been comforting and helpful when he was poorly, and Frodo was aware of the respect and love they all felt for him.

His inner torment had mended slowly;  the pain, darkness and torture in his body and soul had become less terrifying than they had been while he had been still living in the Shire. Finally the pain and guilt had simply broken away and had ceased to be as intense. Nightmares had become nothing more than a bad and faint memory and had released Frodo from their strong and crushing grip. The wounds that remained had become bearable. Acceptable. The paralising tight and choking grip of the terror was no more. The desire for the Ring had faded into sun - and starlight, and soon this desire inside of Frodo had ceased. It was replaced by radiating warmth and light inside and around him. Soon he began to feel whole and happy again.

‘I wish I could tell Sam, Merry, and Pippin how I have recovered,‘ Frodo thought more than once.
'Sometimes I wish I could let Aragorn and the others know that I found some peace here...‘

Naturally, Frodo had been aware of their concern, and there was this lingering wish inside of him to shout out his newfound joy and to share it with his friends far on the Eastern Shore. Frodo hoped they could feel or sense it somehow; just as Frodo often had visions and comforting thoughts of them.

Sam and Rosie, with their growing number of children. Sam, whole and happy, looking mature and grown. Elanor, his little star-flower, bouncing in Rosie‘s lap. Frodo-lad hiding from his mum, giggling with joy.

Merry and Pippin appeared in his visions as well, and there also was this hint to whole- and happiness.

His youngest cousin, laughing cheerfully, hugging a pretty lass close. But oh, Pippin now also had an air of maturity about him; though he did not look as serious as dear Merry who seemed to be aware of his responsibility  in Buckland.

Frodo felt proud of both his cousins.

Often there were days when Frodo felt strongly that he was missed. Then melancholy could take hold of him, but now it was mingled with acceptance and the knowledge that destiny was being friendly to all of them. At last.

~*~

Frodo had soon asked for ink, a quill and some paper, and those treasures were given happily to him. Writing remained to belong to his most beloved activities, and that would not ever change until the end of his life. He began to write songs and poems again; something he had not done anymore since the Quest had taken him on his perilous journey.

Now Frodo felt like writing for his pleasure again, and enjoyed letting his spirits roam free in creativity. His current writings differed slightly from those he had done in the Shire, and they felt more ethereal and fragile.

After some time of writing, Frodo had fallen asleep in his chair in the sun, close to the Sea, with his writings spread out around and before him.  A humming bee sat down on one of the papers that swayed softly in the summer breeze, and it seemed like the little one was carefully deciphering the elegantly written down lines in Quenya just a few minutes before:
 

"When shall we all meet again?
Oft shall glowing hope expire,
Oft shall wearied love retire,
Oft shall death and sorrow reign.
When shall we all meet again?"
 

Frodo had stretched and sighed, becoming sleepy in the warm sun in this sheltered garden of stone where he often retreated to write when the weather permitted it. Frodo often fell asleep while relaxing in the sun, taking a break from writing or deepening his knowledge of Quenya and Sindarin. What he did not know was that Elrond was usually the one who sent him into recovering sleep. Frodo still needed it, even after all this time; though he felt so calm, and filled with wondrous and gentle joy and tenderness towards his surroundings, be it the people or nature.

Now he had wearily sunk into dreams once more. But it did not take long before he opened his eyes again, feeling refreshed, though slightly restless. He arose, walking slowly - oh, so slowly - down to the white shoreline, highly aware of the beautiful songs around. They were uniting to a symphony that nearly seemed to overwhelm the small and fair hobbit. His own song rose in joy to join the others.

Frodo revelled in this experience everytime, and he was enjoying its intensity more and more. His own song had transformed from a sad, weary one to a melody filled with radiant happiness and acceptance. And Frodo was now aware of his own, personal song; a few notes perhaps in the whole melody, but it was definitely adding to its eternal beauty.

As Frodo went on, he listened carefully: there was a new voice in the ethereal song. A voice he knew... and yet it was uncommon to hear it here in Aman! For the voice belonged to... no, it could not be. Not here, not on Tol Eressëa. It was just a wish, mirroring the song he was currently writing.

This new song was gentle, and calm, yet filled with strength and experience. And with wonder.

Frodo stood still, and he closed his eyes for a second to listen more intently. Yes. It must be -- but oh, that was impossible!

Frodo sighed, and he looked up into the blue sky and then towards the majestic mountains. He felt hopeful, and also highly confused. He walked on, still ever so slowly, as in a dream. After a while he reached the end of the green meadows that merged into the white sand that covered the shore of the island. Frodo stood there on the beach and spotted a figure. The person was inspecting a Swan Boat that was floating in the surf.

‘This is strange,‘ Frodo thought. ‘Alqualondë is far away, and the boats that are built here look very simple, with litte carving and no swan front.'

Once more he looked at the figure, that was standing knee-deep in the water. Frodo was amazed. Could it really be true? This was no elf. This was... no, it must be another person. Or this was -- most likely -- a dream.

Nevertheless, Frodo Baggins smiled and ran silently to the shore (everything was so silent!), eager to discover if this really was one of the dearest friends he had ever known.

The closer he came, the more sure he was. And the frontiers of dreams and reality became unimportant. Important was only the sight before him. Tears welled in Frodo‘s eyes, but not for long. They fell down his cheeks and leaving nothing but great delight and gratefulness.
 

Frodo smiled, his eyes shining with wonder and joy.

"Aragorn," he whispered, barely audible. The Gondorian had turned, staring at him with disbelief in his eyes, that slowly turned to recognition, and  Frodo suddenly saw his own feelings mirrored in Aragorn‘s eyes.

Aragorn fell to his knees; and then they were embracing each other; an embrace, fierce and yet fragile. The man and the hobbit were weeping and laughing, while little waves were pounding over their feet. They held each other silently for a long while, deeply amazed.

~*~*~

*TBC*

3. Irmo's Reward

(Elvish phrases are explained at the end of the chapter.)

Dreams. His existence was made of visions; light, dark, soothing, and often violent. Yet those visions could become reality, if he indeed wished it so. All emotions and feelings were flowing through him, constantly vibrating in the air. He was communicating with the mortal and immortal races in a never-ending circle, sending them dreams which could be a gift or a curse, or even a sign of foresight. Not many did he allow clear visions of things to come.

Meeting in dreams was something Irmo not often had considered, at least not for mortals. Only special events made him do that; mostly he did not see the urge to make something happen at all. Those who possessed higher skills, like the Maia, could communicate in thoughts, paired with the ability to see signs of the future and interpret them as foresight.

Now, however, from the land of ancient Lórien in Aman, Irmo, Master of Dreams, was helping two mortals meet, though not in a common way. Both would later only remember this as a dream, very intense and real, but fragile and rare. Though this was no mere dream, but those two could not be united at the shores of Aman forever. This was a reward for both of them; for all they had achieved in dark and sinister times.

Two common mortals. They had taught even the High Elves and the Maia that the Impossible could be achieved. All-consuming darkness must not be a reason to let hope fail entirely. Those two, amongst many others, had proved that. Especially the little halfling who had endured fear and pain far beyond mortal power. He had survived it, though physically and mentally wounded, and had been allowed to come to Tol Eressëa to find his lost peace here.

The most-needed reward of happiness and contentment was given to Frodo Baggins, former hobbit of the Shire. And Frodo had accepted this gift gratefully, filled with a never tiring awe... the way he faced his new home from the day of arrival, and this acceptance and curiosity had only grown more intense with the passing of time.

The Man however, clad in black and silver - the Gondorian colours - was clearly confused, but nevertheless he accepted this immense change gracefully. Irmo felt the calm and wise air of maturity that surrounded the King of Gondor. He had left his existence as a Ranger long ago, but still there was something left of the rough, solitary man roaming the wild for many years, often only accompanied by his own thoughts. Aragorn had seen many things in his life, and was used to handling uncommon situations.

Now Irmo, Master of Dreams, continued to weave his strong magic without any boundaries.

*****

Slowly, Aragorn and Frodo loosened the embrace to look into each others eyes. Aragorn could do nothing but admire the peacefulness that surrounded his dear little friend; his shining eyes, full of mirth, happiness, and laughter. He looked at Frodo, taking him in, smiling with joy. A few fine threads of silver glistened in Frodo's dark curls that had grown and now covered his shoulders in gentle waves. Strands of his hair were braided, and that gave the hobbit an even more elvish air than he already had. His face seemed ageless, yet wise. He wore the finest garments: a silver-blue tunic with a fine patterns of leaves, and the breeches matched the colours and the pattern perfectly. But although Frodo looked changed, he still was the hobbit Aragorn knew - now looking self-assured and glad, his forehead no longer frowning with sadness and worries.

"Mára aurë..." Frodo finally breathed softly.

"So... Frodo... you are real. This is real! I was sure I would wake in my room in Minas Tirith, the memory of you fresh, but the pictures fading, like dreams use to do. Arwen would hold me, whispering soothing words of reassurance, before I would glide into sleep once more..."

"I get the impression that you are wide awake now. And I'm as real as you are, Aragorn," laughed Frodo. He offered his hand to help Aragorn get up, but Frodo didn't let go of their clasped hands yet. Frodo watched Aragorn as intently as the Ranger had done a few moments before, taking in the sight of his dear friend. Frodo found that Aragorn looked content, and only barely aged.

"Come on, " Frodo said merrily after a few intakes of breath. "Let me show you something." And with these words he headed for a cluster of high cliffs in the distance, whistling a merry tune.

*****

Aragorn was amazed at the lightness with which Frodo was climbing the rocks. The hobbit went carefree and swiftly, knowing each stride by heart. The King soon found he could follow Frodo without any difficulty. He could still breathe easily, and he smiled, lost in the beauty and joy around him. And especially the light that radiated from Frodo, bearing peace and happiness, moved him.

Frodo turned. "We're nearly there. This is where I went every day in the first years after I'd arrived here." He looked at Aragorn, a hint of melancholy surrounding him suddenly. "Here... here I was alone with my weary thoughts, and could cry without being seen. It soothed me more and more to come to this place. It's so full of beauty and light. Who can remain without hope in a place like this? I could sit here for hours, watching the waves and breathe in the salty air. After a while it felt as if the Evil inside of me could do anything but vanish."

"You were never evil, Frodo." Aragorn whispered.

"But I was not resistant against it. I got influenced by it, and changed so much that I fear even Sam thought he'd lost me."

Frodo looked out at the sea. His eyes were bright, too bright perhaps. Not everyone would see that Frodo was lost in some dark memories, but Aragorn did. He touched Frodo's arm soothingly, and Frodo smiled, snuggling closer to Aragorn. The trust Frodo showed moved the King deeply. Too clearly he remembered the reluctance and wariness Frodo had used as a shield during the Quest. And thereafter.

"Do you still feel responsible for what could have been the possible downfall of Middle-Earth, if it had not been for Gollum who had interfered?" The offensive question had left his mouth before Aragorn even could think about the emotions which could be awoken in Frodo's mind.

Frodo looked at Aragorn, fiercely, cool dark blue fires dancing in the depths of his eyes.

"I alone would never have been able to do it. I dare doubt even Sam could have interfered. The Ring seduced me, and It held sway over me. I was crushed and yet ecstatic... and I wanted that power. I think that to remember it so clearly was the deadliest wounds of all that I got during that journey. To know that I wanted that power, that I wanted this might, to destroy and to bleed, to hurt, to give in to the darkness. I was driven - driven to welcome the Evil, and embrace the Evil in me, though I had no chance to survive this. And I knew it, I knew it. But in the same moment I wanted it..."

Frodo's breath had sped up. His forehead was covered in sweat, and Aragorn briefly thought about interfering, making Frodo stop describing his emotions, and to soothe the hobbit. But Aragorn was too fascinated. He held his breath. Frodo never had spoken that clearly about the torture he had gone through before, and of the effects the beguiling jewel had had on him.

"Power. Power that feeds you with a compulsion that is treacherous, but you long for it so that you cannot think straight anymore. It was like this, and also it was not. I was consumed by a fire that hurt me, but also warmed me and my tired soul. It gave me ecstasy, and peace, and greed. It gave me the feeling of being powerful, of having a chance to turn the world at my command... and to be the Master of Light and Darkness, responsible for all Good and Evil."

"Frodo..."

Aragorn felt helpless, for he heard the despair that Frodo still could remember.

Frodo's gaze was clouded with dark memories, and he was panting. Aragorn took Frodo's cold hands and rubbed them soothingly. Frodo took a deep breath. His face was flushed, his eyes brimming with tears and he trembled. Then, slowly, Frodo recovered a bit, and went on:

"Do you realise how strange this sounds? And yet I do not know how I could describe it another way. I was torn, but the Ring made me feel whole again, though this wholeness was not peaceful and soothing, but consuming. It tore my soul apart, and at that moment I gave it away willingly. I never complained that I lost a part of me then, for it was only fair. But Aragorn... I learned here that I was not responsible for all that has happened, and that I was one of the few who could go so far with the Ring without giving in to the temptation much earlier. And there was Sam. He kept me from most harm, and I think it was his voice, his touch, that often got me back from that fiery and dark world of fear and seduction."

Softly, Aragorn asked: "Do you feel guilty still?"

Frodo smiled. The trembling in his body ceased, and ebbed away.

"Now, the guilt has been washed away. It has vanished. But it took a while, and many tears, nightmares and ragings. Even here. I felt helpless, and torn. But then healing came, slowly, soothingly. I regained some peace of mind, which I didn't think I could ever find again. And I found happiness once more. Nan mára..."

Aragorn nodded. "Cuivië ná acca sinta ná úlassëa," he answered in fluent Quenya.

Frodo smiled and nodded, too. The fierce expression had left him, and he looked peaceful and radiant again. Aragorn found that Frodo could revive the memories for what they were: dark, horrifying, seductive. But Frodo could also let go of them. It was like he was telling a tale about an unlikely hero from long ago, wholly caught up in the story, giving it life and movement... but then he found his way back to the present without difficulties.

"I feel fine now, Aragorn. I'm at peace." Frodo squeezed the hands of the former Ranger, reassuringly, and with hidden strength. Aragorn ruffled Frodo's dark, shiny curls affectionately and breathed in deeply.

All was silent now but for the slight breeze and the waves that crashed at the shore, far beneath them. Aragorn watched the sea; little white crowns that moved swiftly on the blue-grey water, and the sun shone down upon it all, giving it the illusions of little white jewels all over, to the end of the horizon.

*****

None of them knew how many moments had passed. It could have been minutes, or hours. The wind had become fresh, and in the sky there were white clouds drifting out to sea. Frodo sat there quietly, motionlessly, his head leaning onto Aragorn's shoulder. Suddenly he moved, and searched for something in the pocket of his exquisitely bordured tunic. "Ah!" He finally said, with a satisfied smile on his face. He held out his hand to Aragorn.

"Here... this is for you. It will remind you that this was no mere dream."

Aragorn took the little stone Frodo held up to him. It looked white and milky, and when Aragorn took it, he felt warmth radiating from the crystal. When he looked at it, he saw a soft blue light glimmering within. The shimmer changed into all the colours of the rainbow when he held the crystal into the sun; the colours seemed vague and fragile, but they were definitely there.

"A moonstone," Aragorn said. "Those are seldom found, even in the Glittering Caves. I always adored those stones... they are full of secrets, cloudy, and yet they shine from within, bearing beauty and pureness. It reminds me of you, Frodo. The same light radiates from you, and yet you always had your secrets. But once you opened up to someone, they were able to see your inner light. Such a pure light..."

For eyes to see that can.

"Pure? Oh Aragorn... I once thought I could be pure, but the Quest made me see that I never was. I have seen too much darkness that has murdered all that was once pure in me. But now, I have begun to heal, and it feels like I'm filled and surrounded with that mysterious light indeed. The memory of the Ring is not fading, but it does not hurt me anymore. It does not haunt me anymore."

"If you had not been pure, and would not have remained pure all through those dark months, Middle-Earth would now be reigned over by Sauron, Frodo. Purity and love have brought you and Sam so far. Devotion, and determination. Strength that lay in both of you, only that your strengths were different. To me, thinking about you two would be akin to weighing earth and air against each other."

"Ah, Sam. My dear, faithful Sam... I think of him being happy and whole now. I hope my vision of him is right. It just broke my heart to see him so upset when I left with the other Ringbearers. But in the Shire I would have withered and died very quickly," Frodo whispered.

"Sometimes I can feel his presence, Aragorn. Then I know he is thinking about me, and I'm sure he feels that he is in my thoughts as well. It's nearly like a soothing embrace. In my mind I can hear his children's happy laughter, and Rosie's voice; in my mind I see Sam, strong and happy, and whole. I wish that those visions were reality..."

"Sam knows that, Frodo. And he is happy now. We have a steady exchange of letters from Gondor to the Shire, and back. His Elanor will soon come to Gondor to be one of Arwen's maids of honour. Sam always thinks of you, and writes about memories of you very often. He loves you, and he loves to share his memories of you - and that will never cease. His Rose and his children are keeping him happy and whole."

Frodo smiled. "Then it is as I have hoped. He is happy. He is fine..." Frodo repeated the last two sentences. Aragorn smiled, too.

"He surely is, though he doesn't forget to think about you at least once a day, or so he told me. And Sam will be allowed to cross the sea, when his time comes. I have the feeling Sam senses that he and you will meet again, far off in the future."

"I so long to see him again, Aragorn. I have so much to tell him, and I don't think I even have thanked him enough. I wish for Sam to feel the same happiness and wholeness as I was blessed to find." Frodo's eyes were focused on a far point, high above the Sea. He was looking eastward, Aragorn noticed.

And from the East there came a faint melody, or so he imagined. Soft and far away, but vibrating and strong, connected with Frodo's soul. Nothing could really divide the two friends of old. Their bond was too deep to be broken. Frodo closed his eyes with a gentle and contented sigh, leaning his head onto Aragorn's shoulder once more.

*****
TBC

Quenya Phrases:
"Mára aurë." = Good afternoon. (Literally: Good day.)
"Nan mára." = I am well.
"Cuivië ná acca sinta ná úlassëa." = "Life is too short to waste it being unhappy." (Literally = "Life is too short to be unhappy.")

(Taken from arwenundomiel.com and the warofthering.net forums.)