Frodo drifted through white mist for time out of mind, sometimes seeing things through it – structures, faces. A male Elf looked down at him and said in Elvish, "Hear my voice, come back to the light." Frodo struggled towards him, feeling like his body weighed a ton, and came back to himself inch by inch, gasping, "Where am I?"

"You are in the house of Elrond," a familiar voice answered, "And it is 10 o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th if you want to know."

Frodo stirred and opened his eyes, gasping at the sight before him. "Gandalf!"

"Yes, I'm here," said the Istari, puffing on his pipe, "And you're lucky to be here too. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. But you have some strength in you, my dear hobbit!"

Frodo looked around for a moment, taking in the open-air bedroom, the water jug and food on the bedside table, the twittering of birds, before he turned back to the wizard. "What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

"Oh, I am sorry Frodo…" the wizard sighed, "I was delayed." He said it like it was significant but offered no further explanation, instead seeming to withdraw into the memory.

"Gandalf?" the hobbit prompted, "What is it?"

"Nothing, Frodo," the wizard answered.

Before Frodo could press, Sam entered the room, and gasped aloud at seeing him awake. "Frodo!" he cried, rushing to the other hobbit's side, "Bless you, you're awake!"

"Sam has hardly left your side," said Gandalf with laughter in his voice.

"We were that worried about you, weren't we, Mr. Gandalf?"

"By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to mend."

As if summoned by the wizard's words, the Elf-lord appeared behind him and said, "Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

When the Elf-lord finally let him off bed rest, Sam took Frodo on a walk through one of the many gardens in the Elf-home. There he was reunited with Merry and Pippin and ran to greet them, hugging them one by one, glad to see them alive and well. Then he turned to see Bilbo and Gostir sitting on a bench under a bower.

The Elf had not visibly changed, but Bilbo was even older than before, hair gone white and thin, face lined but still warm and smiling. The younger hobbit rushed to him, calling his name, and he laughed. "Hello Frodo, my lad!"

They caught each other up on all the doings they had had since last they spoke, and Bilbo pulled out the Red Book that he had finally finished, showing it to the younger hobbit. "'There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins'," Frodo read on the first page before leafing carefully through the book, "This is wonderful!"

"We went back east…" said the elder, eyes distant, "wandered the powers of Mirkwood… visited Laketown… saw the Lonely Mountain again. But age it seems has finally caught up with me."

Frodo paused on a map of the Shire. "I miss the Shire," he sighed, "I spent all my childhood, pretending I was off somewhere else... Off with you on one of your adventures! My own adventure turned out to be quite different. I'm not like you, Bilbo."

The other hobbit seemed grief-stricken at that. Even Gostir seemed regretful.

Gostir left Bilbo to rest in his rooms and joined Gandalf and Elrond in the Elf's study. They were watching Frodo and Sam from the balcony there, leaves drifting slowly down around them.

"His strength returns," said the ElF Lord, nodding to the dragon as he approached.

"That wound will never fully heal," the wizard replied, lines of sorrow etched deep into his face, "He will carry it the rest of his life."

"And yet to have come so far, still bearing the Ring, the hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil."

Gandalf seemed to follow the Elf's thoughts, remembering Bilbo's words from so many years ago. "It is a burden he should never have had to bear. We can ask no more of Frodo," he insisted.

Elrond seemed just as regretful, but more stern after long years of hard choices to protect his people. "Gandalf, the Enemy is moving," he returned, "Sauron's forces are massing in the east; his eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman, you tell me, has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin."

The wizard sighed. "His treachery runs deeper than you know. Saruman has crossed orcs with goblin men - he's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard, an army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring."

That made Elrond sigh, too. "This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves. We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard!" Gandalf walked away, but the Elf continued, "Gandalf, the Ring cannot stay here."

Gostir saw the wizard straighten and followed his gaze. There were others arriving in Rivendell, who stirred ancient memories and also some more recent ones – Boromir of Gondor, Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gimli of Erebor, among others.

"This peril belongs to all Middle-earth," the Elf Lord went on, "They must decide now how to end it. The time of the Elves is over; my people are leaving these shores. Who will you look to when we've gone? The Dwarves? They hide in their mountains seeking riches. They care nothing for the troubles of others."

Gandalf turned back to him. "It is in Men that we must place our hope."

"Men?" Elrond said with disdain, "Men are weak. The race of men is failing. The blood of Númenor is all but spent, its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of Men the Ring survives. I was there Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago…" His gaze went distant, heavy with memory. "Isildur took the Ring. I was there the day the strength of men failed. I led Isildur into the heart of Mount Doom, where the Ring was forged, the one place it could be destroyed. It should've ended that day, but evil was allowed to endure." He shook his head. "Isildur kept the Ring. The line of kings is broken; there is no strength left in the world of Men. They're scattered, divided, leaderless."

"There is one who could unite them," the wizard reminded him, "one who could reclaim the throne of Gondor."

"He turned from that path long time ago. He has chosen exile."

Aragorn heard the footsteps approaching long before the other man came into view, but he did not look up from his book. Boromir entered the sword chamber and paused a moment to look at the painting of Isildur facing off against Sauron. Aragorn had spent many days looking at it himself; knowing that Elrond had been there, had fought in that battle, it was probably more accurate than any other in the whole of Middle-earth. Then the other man noticed Aragorn and turned to look him up and down. Finally he said, "You are no Elf."

"The Men of the South are welcome here," Aragorn answered.

"Who are you?"

"I am a friend to Gandalf the Grey," was what he offered in reply – all he was willing to give before getting to know the other man better. Few indeed knew of his true bloodline, and with spies of the enemy on all sides, that knowledge was best held in reserve for now.

"Then we are here on common purpose…" Boromir said, "'friend.'" Then he continued to look around the room, finally seeing the statue holding the broken blade. He approached it and picked up the haft, holding it up so the light glinted off the still-bright blade. "The shards of Narsil! The blade that cut the ring from Sauron's hand!"

Boromir ran his finger up the edge, and Aragorn saw him flinch a little. "It's still sharp!" But then he seemed to notice that Aragorn was still watching him and scrambled to cover. "But no more than a broken heirloom."

He dropped the sword carelessly back on its plinth, already walking away, and it slipped off, tumbling to the ground. Boromir paused for only a moment, then kept walking.

Aragorn rose, setting his book aside, and returned the blade to its place with the other shards. He stepped back but did not return to what he had been doing, instead standing before the statue and gazing down at shards.

He heard another, softer set of footsteps behind him. "Why do you fear the past?" Arwen said finally, coming to stand with him, "You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate."

"The same blood flows in my veins." He turned to face her, but kept his gaze lowered for a moment. "The same weakness."

"Your time will come," said Arwen, "You will face the same evil, and you will defeat it. The Shadow does not hold sway yet, Aragorn, not over you and not over me."

She took him by the hand and led him from the hall, out into the Garden of Twilight. Even so late in the season, it was still green and bright, and seemed more unearthly than ever. "Do you remember when we first met?" she said in Quenya, stopping on a low bridge over the pond and turning back to him.

"I thought I had strayed into a dream," he answered.

Arwen smiled softly and reached up to touch his face, as gentle with him now as she had not been with the Nazgûl. "Long years have passed… You did not have the cares you carry now. Do you remember what I told you?"

He stretched out his own hand to trace the pendant at her throat, the one she had always worn – the one that was even older than she was, if Elrond was to be believed. "You said you'd bind yourself to me," he replied at last, "Forsaking the immortal life of your people."

Her smile widened a little in agreement. "And to that I hold. I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone." She undid the clasp of the pendant and put it in his hands. "I choose a mortal life."

"You cannot give me this!" he protested at once.

"It is mine to give to whom I will…" she replied, "like my heart."

How could she say that there was strength in him when he felt so weak? He had no power to resist her, no power to turn away and refuse her, to tell her to hold to the immortality of the Eldar and forget him, whose life would only be the tiniest fraction of her own even with the blood of Númenor in his veins. He went easily into her arms and into her kiss.