A/N: Arwen’s talk below was partially inspired by Dreamflower’s “The Token” in her Mathoms II section and used with her permission.  Thank you again, my dear! :)

The next morning, Frodo sat in the study, working on his book. The scratch of the quill paused often as he grimaced against some remembered pain and finger the gem that Arwen had given him. After that the quill would move furiously across the parchment as if the Ring-bearer could outrun the memories if he wrote fast enough. Faramir looked up occasionally from the book he was reading unobtrusively in the corner and saw the set features of his little brother. The Steward was pained but he did not intrude as he heard, and felt an echo in his heart, the torment bled out from that dear heart onto the page, or so he hoped that was so and some peace would come of it. He was well aware of the pain that was still so strong in his own heart but just sitting here, in this home, surrounded by love, was a greater blessing and balm than he had ever thought possible. He missed his beloved wife, but here also he was enveloped in love and here was another wounded one who needed care. He did not regret that he had come.

He looked up again when the pen had stopped for a longer period of time and he saw Frodo staring sightlessly out the window. The Steward opened his mouth to inquire whether there was something he could do, but then Frodo looked back down at the page and started writing very quickly again.

Sam peeked his head in and Faramir looked up and smiled at him. The younger hobbit smiled back and gave a long look at his master’s back. He knew that set to Frodo’s body, having seen it often enough in Minas Tirith when he had at times watched his treasure scribble long into the night. Sometimes he would fall asleep waiting for him to come to bed, only to wake later to the sight of him feeding the pages to the small fire in their room. At those times, after watching his master stare into those flames, Sam would get up, his heart breaking, and being careful not to wake Merry and Pippin in the next bed, drag a blanket to drape around his master’s too slim shoulders and gently guide him to bed while the fire continued to devour what had been written and the other Fire continue to devour that beloved soul Sam had loved so long. Sam would hold his treasure then through the night, silently pleading with the Lady and whoever else might be listening, that Frodo be given some peace. When morning came, he always found his prayers had been answered.

He came now to sit beside his treasure and held him for a long while, in his mind, sending forth the same pleas. Very soft words were exchanged between the two hobbits. A gentle voice was then raised in lullaby heard over Frodo’s tears reminded the Steward of the love in his mother’s voice when she used to sing to him. When Sam suggested that perhap his master would like to take a nap, Frodo demurred and said he wanted to finish what he was doing instead. The younger hobbit knew when he should stand his ground and insist, but glancing down at the page, and seeing that it was at the point after the wounding at Weathertop, he thought it mayhap be better if his master continued. He remembered many times before when Frodo would abruptly walk past him as he was being tutored by Mr. Bilbo and take out the stationery box that the older hobbit had given him and scribble furiously for a while and then feed the papers to the flames. It was not long after that that he would merry once more and so Sam kept hoping for the same thing to happen now. He kissed the side of his master’s head and left him be. Faramir resumed his reading, deeply moved once more to have witnessed such a display of love.

When it was time for afternoon tea, Sam prepared his master’s mug of chamomile to bring to him, but Arwen offered to take it to him instead. Frodo was half way thanking Sam for it when he looked up in surprise and saw his beloved queen instead of his dearer guardian.

“I thought you might wish to stop,” Arwen said. “You’ve been hard at work all day.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have been a terrible host. I can just hear what Aunt Dora would say about my breach of manners.”

Arwen smiled. “I have heard much of your Aunt from Bilbo. It seems, thought, that both of you survived such terrible and myriad breaches in fine form.”

There was a ghost of a smile that teased the edges of Frodo’s lips before disappearing again.

“Thank you very much for bringing me this.”

Arwen smiled and sat down near him. Faramir had left, engaging Merry and Pippin in a snowball fight that also involved Aragorn. Happy shrieks could be heard through the window as the hobbits pelted their Steward and King with well-aimed weapons. Frodo smiled faintly.

“That is why I did it all, so such could be heard again. It’s all worth it to know that my brothers are happy again. All worth it,” he repeated softly.

He fingered the gem as his face grew solemn again. His hands wrapped around the hot mug in an effort to warm himself. He had to make himself wait to drink the tea until it had cooled some though he longed for its heat to course through him. He trembled slightly and drew the blanket that Sam had earlier draped about his shoulders tighter around him. He then stroked the gem again and released a shaky breath. “All worth it,” he said again.

“That has been given you aid as you need it?” Arwen asked.

Frodo looked up, having already forgotten that she was there. He flushed. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I beg forgiveness.”

Arwen put her hand over the smaller, colder one of her friend. “Think nothing of it, mellon nin.”

The Ring-bearer relaxed slightly at her touch. “Yes, it has been a great help to me,” he said. “I don’t know how it works, and when I told Sam that, he smiled and just said, ‘Well, it’s Elven, me dear, so that is right enough for me, don’t need to know exactly how.’” Frodo’s lips curled in a fond smile as they always did when he spoke of his beloved guardian. “He is right, of course, but I still wonder anyway.”

Arwen smiled and Frodo looked at her then and she said the terrible pain and great beauty of his fea and heard the strains of that part of the Music that was his alone, though it reminded her also of her mother’s at this stage of her own torment.

“It was my Naneth’s and she had got it from her naneth. The light from it is of the Silmaril that Earendil wears on his brow as he travels across the skies.”

Frodo’s eyes widened. “Then I have been more blessed than I knew. It is the same light then that is in phial Lady Galadriel gave.”

“Yes. She is, I think you would say, my gammer and Earendil is my gaffer. Indeed, it is as I said when I gifted it to you that our lives have been woven together.”

The Ring-bearer smiled as he looked down at its soft light. “Then it will be even more dear to Sam and to me.”

“I remember when my Naneth gave it me, as we stood at the Havens, and she was leaving to be healed of her wounds that defied any cure here.”

“Just as my wounds have not healed, even in the rich air of the Shire, or within the arms of my brothers. Her wounds must have been very deep. I am most sorry, my queen.”

“She had been long healed and now awaits the reunion with my father and later my brothers.”

“But not you.”

“No, not me. I have made my choice. She understands. It has been over five hundred years of men since we saw each other, but we are ever united in our fear. I feel her love and her joy and she feels mine, and we feel each other’s sorrows, as well.”

“Five hundred years,” Frodo breathed. “Around the time the Ring came to Smeagol. I can’t even imagine that length of time to be spent in agony like that.”

Arwen felt his grief, not only for her mother, but for the fallen hobbit he had longed to save, but couldn’t. “You have been scarred in much the same way as both of them, and you can be healed as my Naneth was. I didn’t understand why gave me such a gift when she left for she had never been without it. Maybe she didn’t even now why except that she was following a prompting of grace that would wind its way through the age to you. There is a purpose to everything, tithen min, whether we see it or not.”

“Then she was wounded by the Enemy as well?” Frodo flushed. “I’m sorry. You need not tell me. Aunt Dora would have my hide if she heard me asking such intimate questions without cause.”

Arwen squeezed his hand and smiled. “There is no need to apologize and there is cause for when I listen to the song of your fea I can hear hers as it was when she was brought back by my brothers. My Adar healed her hroa, but there were deep tears in her fea, much the same as you, but I think even worse in you, for it was merely the servants of the Enemy who wounded my Naneth, while you were tormented by the Enemy himself. Yet you withstood it.”

“Not at the end.”

“But you had held out far longer than anyone dared hope. If my own Adar, filled the power and grace of my people, and Mithrandir, filled with even more from his kind, knew they could not withstand its terrible temptation, and would have fallen far sooner, do not think you failed because you could not oppose it at the very end. Part of my Naneth’s pain was such, blaming herself what she could not have prevented or controlled. It was when she learned the truth that she began to heal.”

Arwen touched the gem around Frodo’s neck. “We cannot thank you properly for all your suffered on our behalf, but this is the least we can do. It was a horrible thing that was done to her, and done to you, and it would have been borne by any one of us to have spared either of you, but it was all part of the Song from the beginning, and only through you two could it have borne the good fruit that it has. This gem can help you until you can make the decision that is right for you, but it cannot heal you, just as it could not heal Naneth. There is only one Power that can do that. It was when I began to hear again the music as I had for so very long before Naneth been so wounded that I knew she had begun to heal. I rejoiced that day and I will rejoice when I hear the same from your fea.”

“What does such music sound like? Does everyone have it? I think at times I can hear Sam’s and my cousins, and I’ve wondered what that meant. It is the most beautiful, soft, sweet and loving music there is. I can fall asleep listening to Sam’s or Merry’s, but not Pippin’s: it’s too full of cheer and it keeps me up!” There was a soft laugh that Arwen celebrated in her heart to hear and joined in with.

“Then you are blessed indeed to hear such. I have fallen asleep myself listening to Naneth’s or Adar’s or my beloved Elfstone’s.”

“Do you think then I could hear them still if I went West?”

Arwen closed her fingers around Frodo’s hand and brought it up to his heart. “You will always hear it, for it will ever be here.”

His fingers wrapped around hers. “So that is how you are able to stay here while your father goes and knowing you won’t see your mother again.”

“It’s only our hroa that are separated, tithen min. That is the least important. We are still as close as our next thought or our next heartbeat. It is my choice to spend my years united in hroa and fea with my Elfstone, but I have not lost my bond with the others I love.”

“Then perhap I shan't either.”

A/N:  Mellon nin is my friend.  Tithen min is little one.  Fea is soul (fear is plural). Hroa is body.  First two are Sindarin.  Second two are Quenya.