The next day, Frodo sat outside, away from the Sea. In a bright garden that reminded him of his own back in the Shire, he found a bench and table. As soon as he entered the area, he felt Sam’s presence at his side stronger than he had since he left. He felt calmed enough by that and by the memory of the light of the Lady who had come to him to draw out his parchment and stylus. She had been with him in all the dark places he had trod. He ventured now to return to them and learn more of what he could from them. Though he was the only one in the garden, he knew he was not alone as he ventured for the first time in years into the barrow.

It was the same as it was the first time but for one important difference that he sought to keep ever before him so as to not lose his way. The Lady’s light was there. As he recalled the darkness, the terrible fear and cold and dread, the sight of Merry, Pippin, and Sam asleep as though dead with that sword across their necks, he also saw the soft presence of her light that he held in his memory that reminded him that he was not alone. His other senses, however, were overwhelmed by reliving such a horrible time. Though the sun was climbing to noon and any other day, he would feel its warmth on his neck and be pleased, it did not reach him now. He shivered in the cold of the barrow and felt again the temptation to flee to save himself at the cost of his friends. He was brought back to the present by the pain of his fingers cramping by clutching his stylus too tightly. He relaxed his hand and fought to steady his breathing and heart steady by reminding himself that he was not truly in the barrow and the Lady and Sam were with him. He heard the wight’s song, but it was so distant he could not make out the words. He recalled them only from a memory long shut away from his conscious mind, but even there it was dim and then died away altogether.  

The pain in his hand faded and he lost the anchor it had provided to the present. For a moment, he wished he was truly back in the barrow, for then he had had the Ring rather than the gaping hole inside him where it had been. But though the ache of its loss seared him anew, he also had the memory of the Lady’s tears soothing and cooling the burn and the terrible wish vanished. He saw himself now in a more detached way, almost as though watching one of the many games the boys of Gondor had played once the war was won and the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers was heard by all. Then boys had scampered innocently about pretending to the Ring-bearer or his faithful servant, or the king at the Black Gate or Merry stabbing the Witch-king or Pippin attacking the troll. They had no true idea of the perils they were re-enacting and Frodo was glad for that. He had watched for a while until by some sense he had never been able to fathom but was grateful for, Sam drew him away, knowing the distress of dark memories was growing in him. Frodo felt the same knowing and tender care now in the barrow, as he watched his courage kindle and the darkness recede. The arm of the wight vanished, as he called out not for Tom this time, but for Sam and upon the Lady. He felt the sun on him again. He had made it out.

Frodo looked down at his parchment and was surprised to see he had written only of his waking. The memories had gripped him too hard to continue, but now he knew he could. He flexed his cramped hand and massaged around the stump like Sam used to do for him. He closed his eyes for he felt Sam’s hand around his once more. He knew he could not fully experience that if he did not open the senses of his heart to feel what his eyes could not see. After that blessed moment, he was ready to write again and walked away later that day with the darkness of the barrow no longer haunting his memories.

He showed Boromir what he wrote that day after he returned home before dark and found the man and Bilbo waiting for him. “You astound me, little brother. Only the most stout-hearted of men could have faced a wraith like that and not been undone. And this happened near the beginning of your journey?”

“Yes, before many of the other terrors. I did not know how I withstood it.”

Bilbo smiled. “With the visit of the Ladies Nienna and Este, I think I am beginning to understand more how you did. You are highly valued by the Powers, my dear lad, and they were there to help you, especially Elbereth and Ulmo. You were never alone.”

“I know that now, but I lost sense of it on the way. The Ring took everything away, but I feel now everything is beginning to return. Could it be so?”

Bilbo’s smiled widened at the hope in his heartson’s eyes and voice that Frodo only now dared to believe truly possible. “Yes, it can be so, and it is so.”

Frodo smiled in return, and it was a true smile, one that reached and illumined the depths of his darkness. The shadows were still deep but they were no longer completely encompassing. Boromir rejoiced as well, for he had seen little recovery or hope for it in the men so afflicted in his homeland. He wished there was a way for them to come here as well.

“You live, little brother,” Boromir said and knelt to embrace Frodo.

Frodo returned the embrace. “Yes.” At any other time after his failure and the loss of the Ring had so crippled him, he would have wondered to hear himself speak that simple but profound word. He had felt wraith-like so long, not truly alive, not truly dead, but in that one word, he now  admitted he lived. The tears that flowed down were releasing and cleansing, not bitter with grief. He breathed easier now than he had since long before he came here. In his heart, he could feel Sam’s joy also, and Merry’s and Pippin’s. He knew there was still a long Road ahead of him, but its length and its darkness no longer daunted him. He was not alone. There was light in the night, just as Sam had seen in Mordor.