A/N: http://www.michaelbannett.com/FrodosFarewell.htm - If you haven't heard this before, you are in for a treat!  I've been listening to it while posting this and it fits here, though it will fit just as well, as the place it was meant to.  Open up a second window and read and listen at the same time.  Enjoy! :)

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Chapter Twelve: Fresh Air

Frodo brought the sword against his skin and cut away all the cobwebs that still clung to him. He watched them fall away and as he did so, another voice came, the same one he had heard for so very long and it tried to seduce, then coerce him to draw the blade into himself. His hand trembled with the effort not to give in. He continued to cut and the voice continued its demands until he felt himself gasping in his efforts to resist it. Then he heard the second voice, the one which had told him to reach for the sword, and it rose around him like a shield, buffering him from the other voice. It fought the first voice for him and it gave him the extra strength and focus he needed to cut away the last of the cobwebs. A horrible shriek filled his entire being, and he trembled violently from the force of it. The sword left his hand, almost as though another had come to take it away from him. Then he felt himself gathered into warm, safe arms, as if in a cloak, like his mother used to when he was a wee lad just out of the bath, and wrapped him in a towel and her arms. He could almost smell her and hear her soft voice raised in song and her words of love. How long had it been since he had even dreamed of that voice? Yet, he knew it was not her, but something higher. The water came again and this time rose above his head, yet he did not fear, for he was still wrapped in those arms and hearing that voice and feeling the strokes to his curls just as his mother used to when she was drying his hair.

When the water receded once more, he was clean and standing naked upon the shore. But it was not the same shore as before. Here the water lapped at his toes and refreshed him, as the water of Nimrodel had, but even deeper and cleaner. The moonlight was full and pure. The night air was peaceful and the breeze gentle. Music came to his ears and, though he did not recognize any of the stars that were sharp and clear above, he wondered if he was in Lorien again. But this seemed even better than that and the blend of voices even more fair than those of Elves, which before now he had thought the fairest of all voices, save those of Sam’s in the Black Land when he had been sung to in the dark, and his brother-cousins. The singing was a balm to his rent heart and soul, bringing even deeper relief than those beloved hobbit voices. He longed to stay there forever, but the same voice and arms that had held him before came back to him and held him long as he wept when she told him he had to return. He looked up at her then, kneeling before him, and saw her shining face, though he wondered if it was only through the veil of his tears that she glimmered so. A more fair face he had never beheld, not even Queen Arwen who had surpassed all loveliness he had ever imagined before. Nor one more loving, not his Sam. The Lady wrapped him a shimmering white nightshirt, wiped his tears with gentle caresses and kissed his brow. With words he heard only his heart she blessed him and sent him then gently on his way, with the promise that she would ever be with him and he could return to her if that was his desire. He left reluctantly, for the further he got from her and the other fair voices, the deeper he could feel the terrible pain that tore at him, but the voice that had so tormented him for months was silent. He looked back once, and found the Lady still there, watching him, loving him, her arm raised in farewell. With such support, he found the strength to continue on. He woke, finding himself somehow in the study and there sleep found him again and his dreams were pleasant ones.

When morning came and Frodo was not in his bed, Sam, Merry and Pippin almost panicked and ran about the smial until they found their brother slumbering in his chair in the study. He was murmuring in his sleep again and the hobbits at first frowned, fearing it to be a return of the terrible speech, but it wasn’t.

"That’s Elvish," Sam whispered, "and don’t it sound that fair from his lips? But bless me, if I understand what it means."

He saw the tracks of tears through the moonlight that streamed through the window, but when he moved to wipe them away, he found Frodo's cheeks dry.  Still the light remained there. 

"Like streaks of starlight," Merry murmured.

The hobbits stood and listened in wonder. Peace was upon Frodo’s face and they noticed that he wore a different nightshirt than the one he had on the night before. The hobbits sighed as one and each gently brushed him with a kiss before turning to go. They encountered Gandalf at the threshold and Sam raised a finger to his lips to keep Frodo from waking. The wizard smiled and looked beyond the Ring-bearer’s faithful guardian and saw the same peace. His deeper sight recognized the lingering presence of another and he bowed deeply to her, though she dwelt far off. Aragorn, Arwen and Faramir (who had decided to sleep once more in a hobbit bed the previous night) all came to see Frodo and smiled at him. That time, Merry and Pippin raised their fingers for silence and just before leaving, Sam put the stuffed bear into his master’s arms that the little Gondorian boy had gifted them with. Frodo’s arms instinctively wrapped around them and he murmured Sam’s name before he turned his head and slept on.

"Looks like the bear has got a name now," Aragorn said softly.

Sam blushed, but the others smiled wider.

Gandalf took a deep breath as they all went toward the kitchen. "Do you feel it? The air is cleaner. A great Shadow has departed."

"What you mean, Mr. Gandalf?"

"And why were you bowing to Frodo?" Pippin wondered.

"Take a deep breath, Master Samwise. Tell me what you feel."

All three hobbits did. "It does feel cleaner, doesn’t it?" Merry remarked. "Like we felt in Rivendell and Lorien, when all cares washed away for a time. Why is that so though?"

Gandalf smiled. "Spring cleaning has come early it seems. And it was not Frodo I was bowing to, Peregrin Took."

"Still speaking in riddles," Pippin muttered.

The others laughed.  Aragorn and Arwen looked at each other.  They knew the answer to the riddle, but if their friend wasn't going to tell, then neither were they.  Their hands clasped, and Arwen gave thanks in her heart to the one who had come to aid one of Iluvatar's smallest and greatest children.