Arwen/Frodo snippets.

[ladyofleithian]

Only the waters of Bruinen stood between her and five angry Nazgul...

Water.

She was no wizard, but if she could at least stall the Nazgul...

"Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer. Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulaer!" She repeated it frantically, almost without thinking, praying for a miracle to come and hold the Riders off...

And it did.

White horses, spawned from the waters of Bruinen, crashed in on the Riders like angels of death. They struggled to get away, but relentless, the horses trampled them. The waters calmed, and Arwen sat on her horse, a lone figure against the banks of Bruinen, on a white horse.

Frodo swayed unsteadily, and if not for her quick interference, he would have surely hit the ground. Cradling him in her arms, Arwen pleaded to Frodo -- though it was doubtful that he could hear her, in the depths of his illness -- not to give in.

"We need you, Frodo. Don't give in. Not now."

He did not respond.

What grace is given me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared...

She clutched him to her chest, and closed her eyes.

Save him...

Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Elladan. He stood above her, calm, gentle, mature. The one she'd always wanted to be.

"Come inside."

"I can't leave him -- "

"You've done your part, sister. Now...let us hope Father is up to the challenge."

***

This is what Frodo sees when he awakes.

The days with Gandalf, and Bilbo, and Merry and Pippin pass together; to him, it seems like a complete piece. One day. One perfect day. Warm and sunny...like any day in the Shire.

And then he sees her -- and somehow, a prickle of loneliness threatens to overwhelm him. She's beautiful, heartbreakingly so, like the starlight and moonlight: her eyes are a piercing gray, her river-black hair rippling in the wind. She's talking with someone, an elf who Frodo assumes is one of Elrond's sons...then she turns to look at him.

There's something melancholy about her, something untouchable. This is the woman who saved him...his angel.

His Lady of the Light.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Sam's voice snaps him out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry," Frodo says hastily, "You were saying?"

He tries to listen to Sam's rambling tales about Merry and Pippin, and something involving orange juggling -- and on the outside, he has to smile.

But on the inside, his thoughts are with the Lady of the Light, the gray-eyed angel of mercy in the Trollshaw.

"It is an amazing place, isn't it?" Sam says after the tale's ended.

For a moment, Frodo catches Arwen's eye, and he swears she's smiling at him.

"Yes," he sighs. "It is."