Lord of the Rings 1. Chapter 1

**I have never been very fond of the ending of The Return of The King. Though I understood Tolkien's idea of sending Frodo to the Grey Havens, it seemed too sad and thoughtless. I wanted to see Frodo grow old and happy. But what happened to him was too much for any person to bear, especially a hobbit, who weren't used to wars and adventures (for the exception of Bilbo).**

**Everyone seemed so sad at the end of the story, I decided to give others some hope and fit in this side story that takes place after the remaining fellowship's return from Gondor, after they bid farewell to now King Aragorn and Queen Arwen. Sam does still indeed marry Rosie, and has children as the story shows. But Frodo does not go to the Grey Havens yet. Instead he lingers in Bag End by himself, earning all that his uncle had ventured sixty years before.**

**Though Frodo isn't stricken so much with the pain as in the movie and book, he still has terrible nightmares of the Eye of Sauron. It isn't until a curious woman appears in Hobbiton, not seeming to belong to any race that Frodo has seen on his adventures. She is fair of face but ugly of heart. And though she is not kind to Frodo in the beginning, he never gives up hope for her heart to turn beautiful once more.**

Chapter 1

Dawn was falling upon the Shire. Birds were singing in the trees, wakening from their roosts and ruffling their feathers. And slowly, little by little, the Shire-folk were also awakening. Among these residence was a young Hobbit named Frodo. He was sleeping peacefully as the sun began to shine through his bedroom window. He turned his head away from the light, burying his head in his goose-feathered pillow. Things around him were beginning to change as the sunlight cast away the shadows and in its place was a bright point on every object in his room, including his golden brown hair that curled about his head.

On that Saturday morning, as much as he wanted to sleep in, fate seemed to have an ill omen on him that day. For at that very moment there was a large boom outside his window. Frodo jumped so badly that he fell out of his bed with a thump against the wooden floor. His head bumped hard and he yelped, rubbing his scalp. He peeked over the top of his bed to look towards his window, but saw nothing besides the sun's rays. He raised an eyebrow and went to rummaging for his shirt that lay somewhere on his floor. He found it and slipped it on, buttoning up the front as he walked to his window.

His hand grasped the knob on the shutter of his window and he swung it open. He stuck his head out, looking both ways up and down the path that led to Bag End. Not a soul. Blinking with confusion, he closed his window and proceeded to make his bed.

BAM!

Frodo's heart jumped into his throat. But his brief moment of terror reduced to frustration as he marched back to his window. He swung it open and looked out with icy blue eyes. A rumbling growl resonated from his throat, as his eyes once again saw nothing unusual. Until he looked to the west from his window. He saw a horse's cart backed up near a stump and someone in the cart trying to steer the pony away from it. Every time they tried, however, the back wheel became caught and a fairly loud THUMP came from it.

Frodo opened both shutters wide and climbed through the large window, landing his bare feet softly on the stone path. He walked swiftly to the pony and cart, and to the one who was trying to drive it. The cart was much too large to be a hobbit's cart, and the horse much too sturdy to be an ordinary work pony. But the one sitting in the driver's spot was even more peculiar. A girl not much younger than Frodo, with flowing brown hair and sharp green eyes, was now wrestling with the reins of the giant horse.

But the girl, Frodo inspected, was different from any hobbit in the Shire. He was quite certain that she wasn't a hobbit at all, even though she was quite small. Frodo, for some reason, was less concerned about his disrupted sleep and more concerned in getting the horse, cart, and driver out of the predicament they were in. So he climbed up into the cart and sat down next to the girl.

The young woman was too involved in her own problems to yet notice the small lad now sitting next to her. She was trying to back up the pony, but not having much luck. The pony was skittish and not very cooperative. Finally she sighed angrily and threw down the reins, a little too hard on the pony's rump. The pony whinnied and all at once the wheel that had been held by the stump broke in two and the cart lunged forward, carried on by the will of the frightened steed.

Frodo, not expecting this sort of thing, fell backwards into the hay in the cart, thankfully landing softly but not pleasantly. The girl held on to the plank seat with all her might as the pony drug the cart through an open field. With no way to stop the animal, with the reins thrown over the edge and dragging on the ground, all either of them could do was hold on for all they could.

The girl covered her head, thinking it was the end. Frodo, at the moment, wasn't too bothered for himself, but the fate of the girl in the driver's seat. He saw the field beginning to end and the large pond in the center of Hobbiton beginning. It came closer, and closer, and now it was only yards away.

Thinking quickly, Frodo leaped from his spot and grabbed the girl around the waste, jumping over the side of the cart and landing in the soft grass. The pony slowed as it neared the water, as if it had never been slapped on the rump at all.

Frodo lay with the strange girl sprawled underneath him, her chestnut hair thrown this way and that with small bits of hay stuck through the wavy locks. She cringed from the sunlight in her eyes, shading her eyes with her fair hand. Her eyes flickered open, showing the greenest eyes Frodo had ever seen.

He blinked a few times, her face just inches from his own. Their eyes stared into the others until Frodo realized how embarrassed he was. He sprang to his feet quicker than he had ever moved, apologizing with every bit of heart that he bore, which, in Frodo's case, was a lot.

"My lady, I'm so very sorry. I-I-…"

Frodo stuttered so horribly that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He scratched the back of his head and suddenly realized that he should be helping her up, even though he felt like running away from the scene of the crime, so to speak.

"Indeed…I'm very…here, let me help…." He extended a steady hand for the young lady, who slapped away his hand in disgust.

"I don't know who you are, or HOW you got to be on top of me, let alone in my cart. But I know one thing. I can take care of myself, and I absolutely do NOT need help from a HOBBIT, no less!"

She got to her feet quite easily, brushing off her burgundy dress that now had grass stains and dirt smears all over it. Her face was a mess with smudges of dirt everywhere. Frodo didn't blame her for being slightly unreasonable, but he was slightly taken back by her vulgar attitude.

She stomped away towards her horse, unhitching him from the now mangled cart. All of the hay in the rear had spilled partly into the water and the rest on the sandy shore. She wrestled with the tangled reins that had wrapped themselves around the front axle. Frodo watched in slight confusion, an expression of awe on his fair face.

"But…I saved you-."

"You did nothing of the sort, HOBBIT!" She retorted, picking up a blanket out of the broken cart and laying it over the pony's back. "Obviously the steed was going to stop at the pond's edge. Only an idiot would drown him or herself or think something of that sort. I suppose you are even dumber than my horse."

Now it was Frodo's turn to be angry.

"If you hate hobbits so much, then why are you here, in Hobbiton no less?"

"I was here on business," she replied.

"And then why do you look like a hobbit?" His voice pierced her ears, her green eyes flashing with sudden fright. She mounted the pony with little trouble, even though it was quite large for her. She seemed remarkably agile for her size.

"That, Hobbit, is none of your concern." She scowled as she urged her pony into a trot. Frodo watched her go, confused and wishing very much that he had never gotten out of bed. But in a way, in the back of his mind, he was very glad that he had.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

For a week Frodo couldn't get the young woman out of his mind. She was so strange, so different from any race he had ever seen. He wondered why she was so bitter and why she hated hobbits so. He pondered about it when he was weeding the garden or cooking dinner, or when he was walking alone in the open fields of the Shire.

Her face was haunting him, because he had faced few things that he couldn't figure out. She was something that Frodo couldn't even begin to understand. He wanted to see her again and ask her all the questions in his head. But even if he saw her again, which wasn't likely, the idea of her sitting down and having a friendly conversation with him seemed near impossible.

He told no one of their meeting, not even his dear friend Sam Gamgee. As much as he could trust Sam, he didn't yet feel comfortable talking about something of that sort. It was something that he needed to deal with first before he could consult his friend. He walked to the edge of the Shire, which was a considerable walk, but not one he was unfamiliar with.

When Frodo was younger, Bilbo had always instructed him to never stray past the forest that separated the Shire from Bree. And though now Frodo was alone at Bag End, he never strayed past the woods. Whether it was out of habit or respect for his passed uncle, he wasn't sure. But it was a promise that he had made to Bilbo and himself.

These trips sometimes took Frodo a full day, so he always packed food, drink, and clothes with him. He needed no light, because on the days he went were the days there was a full moon. It was much easier to travel by a natural light. But on this night, as he walked through the tall grasses of another open field, clouds grew dark and covered the bright moon. Frodo was plunged into a deeper darkness than he was used to.

He put down his bag and took out a flint. He struck it against a torch he packed just in case, and held it in front of him. In his circle of warm light Frodo felt safe, but what made him uneasy was the feeling of other things around him. Chills crept up his spine, and he froze in place when he heard a scream to his left. It was quite close, he calculated. His fear turned into urgency as he rushed forward towards a stand of trees that signaled the border of the Shire.

_I promised not to cross, _he thought. _But then, Bilbo wouldn't want me not helping someone in need either._

His mind was made up and he felt no remorse for his decision to help the one that was in trouble. His heart beat fast, not just because he was running, but also because he was scared out of his mind. He had no weapons to speak of besides the torch in his hand and the frying pan in his pack.

He saw a light in front of him and he ran towards it, thinking that was where the scream had come form. He found nothing but a tipped over lantern and footprints, small ones but larger than his own. An extinguished fireplace rested near the lantern, still smoking and coals still burning a fiery red glow.

"HELP ME!"

A female voice shrieked from the woods, and growls and snarls followed. Frodo wasted no time, and found the girl from the week before lying on the ground, backed against a fallen log and three very big wolves. The wolves snarled and saliva dripped from their jowls, eyes glowing an eerie yellow.

"Back!" Frodo yelled, his voice trembling slightly.

"Back, beasts, back!" He waved his torch towards them, and the wolves back away. One, however, lunged at Frodo's arm and nipped it, tearing his shirt and opening his flesh.

Frodo cringed but did not cry. He stuck the torch into the wolf's face and burnt the end of the beast's nose. The wolf yelped, pawing at his wound and scorched eyes and stumbled blindly into the woods, tripping over rocks and roots as it hurried away.

The other two, though not hurt, found Frodo a small, but worthy opponent and dashed after their wounded kin. Frodo stood, clutching his torch in one hand and his wound in the other. The blood stained his shirt and dripped down his arm, but nevertheless he crept his way to the girl, lying still on the ground.

Her leg was torn with four semi-deep gashes, enough that her leg was unable to be moved. She was in too much pain to speak, her face twisted and her eyes looking as painful as her leg did in the torchlight. Frodo knelt down next to her, examining her face.

"I know you don't like me, but I do not need someone to be friend in order for me to help them when needed."

He took his pack off and rummaged for one of his spare shirts. Holding the torch in one hand, he was unable to use both hands to rip it. Instead, he took one part in his mouth and pulled with his injured, but free hand. A long strip ripped off, enough to wrap her wound.

He took out some ale from his pack as well and undid the cork.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly, pouring the contents of the ale onto her wound. She screamed in pain, contorting her body and cringing horribly.

"It'll keep you from getting ill." Frodo promised, and wrapped the wound skillfully, tying it at the end.

The color came back into her face and she glared at Frodo in amazement.

"Why did you help me? After what I said before…"

Frodo grinned slightly as he smoothed out her bandage.

"Well, for one I didn't know it was you that was screaming. So by the time I got here, it was a little too late to turn back."

Her face scowled like his had the day he first met her.

"But the real reason was that I hoped you'd think more kindly of me if I helped you. Again."

Frodo stood up, stuffing his torn shirt into his pack along with his empty ale bottle. He failed to notice the softness that came over her face when he said those words. But it didn't last long, for her face hardened again when he looked at her. His eyebrows lowered.

"I also hoped you'd think kinder of my people."

He stuck the end of the torch into the damp dirt making it go out, and he stamped on it to make sure no sparks were left alive. He sat down by a tree a distance away from her.

The girl sat up, eyeing Frodo.

"Why are you still here?" she demanded to know.

Frodo answered with a cool voice, "I have no intention on traveling with those wolves still about. And besides, I'm quite tired and this spot seems perfect for a rest, if I don't mind saying, my lady. Oh, and by the way, my name is Frodo."

The girl just stared at him in wonderment, slowly shaking her head.

"Why are you so persistent?" She asked.

"Usually I'm not, my lady." Frodo answered, laying down a blanket on the ground and pulling it over him. He rested his head against his pillow.

"Then why are you so with me?"

Frodo looked up without moving his head.

"That's a question I cannot answer. Go to sleep my lady. The hour is late."

He closed his eyes, when the girl spoke.

"My name is Tillia."

Frodo's eyes snapped open.

"A name that means "tiller of the earth", no doubt."

Tillia scoffed. "That's not of your concern. Be thankful I even mentioned my name to you, Hobbit."

Frodo closed his eyes, but his lips bent into a grin. She was opening up to him at last.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

Tillia woke to the smell of frying sausage. She smiled in her sleep, stretching her arms out wide and yawning. Her eyes flickered open, staring up into the forest canopy and forgetting how she got there.

She had expected to wake up in her own bed and see her white washed ceiling. Instead, she was in the forest with a strange young man named Frodo, who was now cooking breakfast in the fire. Her smile melted away as she sat up and a shoot of dull pain went down her leg. The wound felt much better then it had the night before, she presumed, but it was still too sore to walk on comfortably. Still, secretly she was happy Frodo was making breakfast because she was starved.

Frodo looked over, his blue eyes studying her, and then went back to watching the sizzling sausage.

"Good morning, Tillia." He muttered softly, with a sharp edge in his voice.

Tillia tried not to look surprised, but she was expecting to hear the same nasty kindness that she had encountered many times from him before. Possibly, her own cruel temper had rubbed off on him. She did not answer him. She just stared into the fire, fading from the world around her.

"When can you leave?"

Frodo stopped poking the sausage.

"What?"

"You heard me. When can you leave?"

Frodo paused for a moment, and then took the sausage off the fire and put them in two plates.

"After I eat breakfast and make sure you eat also, I'll be on my way. Your leg should be fine to walk on."

Tillia looked pleased. "That's good." She said.

"However, I'm curious. Where will you go?" Frodo asked her.

Her eyes narrowed. "That isn't your concern, Hobbit."

"Then I supposed nothing is my concern. You're too hard of a person to MAKE yourself anyone else's concern, aren't you? Is it a crime to be friendly to you? Am I being too bold, my lady? Because I'm not sure if I understand your ways. You seem to have no heart. Why is that? Why is it you hate me so much?"

By now Frodo was so angry he had gotten to his feet and was standing with hands clenched. His face was red and his blue eyes had turned ice cold. He was intimidating, even though he was small. Tillia looked on in wonder. He had such spirit and vigor in him, even though he wasn't the strongest of races. Anyone that stood up to her deserved respect, even though that might of only been in her mind.

"Pertaining to all your questions….Frodo…I have hate in my heart that you couldn't possibly understand. And I do not need to explain myself to anyone, especially a hobbit. I appreciate your care…but I do not wish to become friends with you. Not even friendly acquaintances. So I'll be going now, because I am needed elsewhere. And I don't believe we'll be meeting again, halfling, seeing I mostly have no intention on entering the Shire again."

Frodo's eyes softened again as he realized she was serious. She was truly going to leave the land for good. Frodo immediately felt crushed.

"I'm sorry, Tillia, I didn't mean to……I apologize…just please promise me you will return to Hobbiton with me to get aide from an old friend. The black wolves of this area are rumored to carry fatal diseases. If you come back this one time, you will never have to come back again. I just want to put my worry at rest and make sure you're well before you continue your journey."

Frodo's eyes pleaded for her to stay. And as much as Tillia hated the idea of returning to Hobbiton outside of "business", she knew he was right, even if it came across as an excuse for him to get his way. What his way was, she pondered, she didn't know.

So they set off, with Frodo leading in front and Tillia limping behind him. Her leg felt much better and she told so to Frodo, but he would hear nothing of it. It wasn't so much that it was for his own wishes, but mostly because he knew ills that befell well-looking folk. He wasn't about to take a chance on Tillia's life. The sky grew brighter as the morning turned to noon, and noon to starry evening. The going was slow because Tillia's injury slowed their pace.

But, against all odds, they arrived in Hobbiton at approximately 7 '0' clock in the evening. Bag End was sleeping under the pink and purple sky, but around it candle light from the windows in the houses glowed merrily, and activity from the center of Hobbiton could be heard. Laughing voices and children playing reached Tillia's ears. It was such a peaceful, wonderful place. She wondered why she had ever not wanted to return. But she had, and in some small way she was glad of it.

She picked up her pace and walked next to Frodo, who looked up with bright blue eyes. She looked down at him, smiling stiffly.

"Hobbiton isn't that bad, now is it, my lady?" Frodo asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Tillia frowned. "I'm only staying to be treated. Otherwise, I'll be leaving presumably."

Frodo figured as much, and just nodded. They had reached the path that led to Frodo's home, and he opened the door. Inside it was dark with many shadows casting along the walls.

"Gandalf? Have you arrive yet?" Frodo called into the darkness.

He was jumped by the lanterns suddenly lighting and the crouched back of an old man sitting in Bilbo's old rocking chair. In his mouth was a pipe and small clouds of smoke were rising from the top of it and his mouth. His face was a covered with a long, gray beard and he was clothed with a gray cloak. However dark the man may have seemed, though, his eyes were merry.

Tillia looked on with amazement.

"You're a wizard." She said softly. Gandalf lay down his pipe on the table.

"Indeed I am, young one. However, what to call you, I'm not sure of. Frodo? Who is this fair girl you have stumbled upon?" He winked at Frodo as he stood up. His head almost hit the ceiling, and he was bent over to refrain from hitting other things. Frodo smiled.

"This is lady Tillia…ah…though, I have no idea where she comes from, nor her kin. Actually, I know nothing of her besides her name, Gandalf. But she has a claw wound from a black wolf in the Old Forest. I treated it as much as I could, but I knew that my healing skills could not surpass your own."

Gandalf motioned for Tillia to sit down in the chair. She obeyed promptly.

Gandalf knelt down to peel off the bloody bandage Frodo had placed on her wound the night before. The wound underneath was scabbed over and a little red, but otherwise looked well for the size of the wound.

"Magnificent job, Frodo. I see you treated it with alcohol, which most definitely stopped her from receiving any ills at all. All I have to say to you, Tillia, is continue to wash it well and keep it covered. You will be fine, though you'll have a large and interesting scar for the rest of your life."

He stood up once more, looking over at Frodo. He suddenly noticed the blood on Frodo's sleeve.

"What's this?"

He rolled up Frodo's sleeve to reveal a large pair of gashes with smaller gashes in between them. Around it was black and blue with vein trails running up his arm.

Gandalf's face turned solemn. "Frodo…did you get bitten by one of those beasts?"

Frodo's eyes met Gandalf's with slight humility. He had been so caught up in tending to Tillia's wound that he had forgotten about his own. Slowly, he nodded. Gandalf didn't say anything for a long while. He just stared at Frodo's arm.

"Gandalf?" Tillia asked. Her voice pained with worry.

"Is something wrong?"

Frodo looked over at Tillia, looking confused. He looked quickly back at Gandalf, his heart jumping around in his chest.

"Gan-Gandalf…I can't…breathe…."

His voice trembled with pain, his vision blurring. All the colors in the room blended together as his arm felt as though it had been set on fire. Voices mumbled in the background, and all went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

"Frodo!"

Gandalf rushed to Frodo's side, picking him up easily in his arms and carrying him into another room. Tillia followed. "What's happened to him?" She asked. Gandalf threw back the covers of Frodo's bed and laid Frodo on the mattress, ripping off Frodo's shirt and pants, leaving him with only his boxers.

"He's very ill. His own worry caused the infection to spread faster through his veins. We haven't much time now."

Frodo's skin was shiny with sweat his face cringed in pain. Tillia watched from afar as Gandalf rushed about, pouring water from a pitcher to soak a washing cloth in its cool liquid. He pressed the cloth to Frodo's head.

"Girl, come help me!" Gandalf's voice boomed, and Tillia rushed to his side.

"Hold the cloth there while I look for the herbs I need to stop this." He turned away from Tillia, but looked back.

"I fear it doesn't look good for him."

Tillia stared blankly at where Gandalf used to be, her face covered in shock. Shaking her head slightly, her eyes began to burn. Now she saw it all. Now she knew all of the cruel things she had said to Frodo. She recalled each painful thing she had yelled at him, every hit that Frodo had taken from her. And through it all, Frodo had never forsaken her. It was more than anyone had ever done for her.

Now, because of her carelessness, he was deathly ill. It had happened so quickly she couldn't understand half of what was going on. She felt Frodo begin to shiver. Waking from her shock, she took the cloth off of his head and pulled the covers over his half bare body. Her green eyes softened for the first time in her life. She no longer felt the pain inside of her. The only pain that was in her soul now, was the pain she felt for Frodo.

Frodo often mumbled in his sleep, uttering unknown things. He was hot to the touch, burning up but at the same time shivering madly. She kept the cloth on his head, hoping to break the fever. "Oh, Gandalf, where are you?" She whispered, dabbing his face with the cloth. Frodo's face was getting paler by the second, no longer red but gray. His breathing was labored and his heart beat too fast. Softly, Tillia began to cry. "Don't die. Please, don't die." She reached under the blankets and grabbed his cold hand. Frodo squirmed in his bed, mumbling and moaning. Tillia closed her eyes and whispered,

_El lemere de dun blante_

_Else amana, dell sornta_

_Mie tazuma floracha_

_Restu mie gharan lyrior oer lyrion,_

_Metta uend, bretta!_

Her voice trailed off at the end of her prayer, her crying consuming her. She heard Gandalf enter the room, a bowl of ground herbs in his hand. "Tillia, put some of this in his mouth. I must administer some to his wounds as well. We must act quickly. I hope this will be strong enough." Tillia went to work, holding the gritty herb paste in one hand and gently opening his mouth with the other. Frodo resisted it a bit when she placed it on his tongue, but she put her hand over his mouth and rubbed his throat slowly. The herbs went down eventually, and Gandalf was done making the herb bandage for his wound.

"And now we wait." Tillia nodded, again holding Frodo's hand. It didn't feel as cold as it had before and some color had returned to his cheeks. "When will we know if he will make it?" She asked the wizard. "By morning. If we weren't too late, it should be working already, but won't be noticeable for many more hours. We need to watch him through the night." Tilia nodded. "It's my duty." Gandalf nodded. "But also mine as well, Tillia." Tillia shook her head. "No, Gandalf. This is my duty and mine alone. I am the cause of this. Please…leave me be." Hesitant, Gandalf lingered for a moment. But then he sighed, and stood up. "Very well. I will leave…once you explain to me why you uttered a healing spell in lost Elvish just a moment ago."

Tillia knew she had been caught. "I have nothing more to hide. I was brought up in Lothlorien, though I am of no elvish relations. I learned that prayer from one of the healers. They did not teach it to me. I taught myself and memerized the verses. I saw that it healed some of the sick ones. But it brought death to others. I asked one healer why. She said it was because the nature of the one saying the prayer had to be honest and truthful. Not even a hint of resistance could be found in their voice. If Frodo lives, I know that I was honest and had no resistance. I am quite tired of living in shadow. I am ready to start life anew. And I'm starting here."

She squeezed Frodo's hand. "The prayer translates in common tongue as,

'Oh mere mortal stricken to die,

I bless you now, giving new life

Rise from your grave, already dug

And return to the songs your fathers have sung

I give you all that is my own!'"

She looked over at Gandalf. "I've seen a new light, wizard. I have seen a new coming for me. And though I don't know yet what my destiny is, I think in some ways Frodo does. And he MUST live. He MUST!"


End file.

Lord of the Rings, Adventure, Romance