The Elven lament flowed through the trees like a ghostly mist, travelling the length and breadth of the Lorien woods. It was inescapable - mournful, sweet and beautiful.

Frodo had to leave his friends. Had to go and be alone with his very own, very private grief. He could not even speak of it to Sam or to Aragorn. They had their own grief and did not need his to add to it.

It felt as though darkness was all around him, and no Elven lights, no shimmering, dewy leaves or twinkling stars, could break through it. The darkness was in his little heart, where it was making its home now that all the light and warmth had gone.

Elves were meant to be the light of Middle Earth, and all that was good and pure. But they were not Frodo's light. Only one light had ever filled him and warmed him through, given him hope when all had seemed lost, and comforted him when he had been afraid. But his light had gone out. Forever.

A terrible, hopeless cry tore from Frodo's throat, and his legs buckled until he knelt in the moist grass. He sank in on himself, rolled into a small, shivering bundle, his curly head bent and his hands covering his ears to stop the Elven song; it was too sad, too grievous, to bear.

What use was there in going on? What hope did they have against the dark forces now?

Frodo sobbed, rocking back and forth on his knees. He had fallen so deep into despair, he could not bring himself to care whether Middle Earth fell or not. His own world had ended this day, and the future was as dark as night and death.

Death. The heavens seemed to fall all around Frodo when the reality of Gandalf's loss washed over him for the thousandth time. And every single time, it was as terrible as the last. It seemed there was no limit to how often a heart could break or how much it could hurt. He felt he should be dead himself, crushed under all this pain.

Oh, how he wished he was... He wanted to follow Gandalf into the darkness. To be at his side. It was all he had ever wanted. And if he could not be there with him, why could he not take his place instead?

Was there any Elven magic, Frodo wondered, that would allow such an exchange? Galadriel seemed powerful enough to command life and death and have them do her bidding. Did she have a potion he could drink that would drown him in night and bring Gandalf back into the light? If so, he would devour it only too gladly...

"Oh, but you cannot!"

Frodo gasped, his head snapping up. There was no voice as such, only a thought inside his mind, as if coming to him from the depths of his soul.

Then, for a moment, all he saw was brightness, like a giant sun right before his eyes. He welcomed its promise of his instant demise. He felt so tired, so very tired.

"Frodo!" This time, he knew it was no thought; it was a very real rebuke for his dark desire for death, and it was spoken in a voice more familiar to Frodo than his own.

"No!" he wailed, wrapping his arms around himself fearfully. It had to be some foul magic, Elven powers turned dark by the presence of the ring, perhaps. "Go away! You cannot be real!"

The bright light changed itself into a shape - a tall, slender shape - and Frodo drew his hands from his face and blinked, watching in horrified fascination, and then in breathless wonder, as the light took on the form of the one creature he longed to see more than any other.

"No," he gasped weakly, knowing he must be dreaming. Certain of it. He felt his chest contract in a painful mixture of hope and grief, the vision tormenting him with the utter impossibility of its existence.

"No?" the shape asked, and it sounded amused. "You wish me to leave?" It truly was Gandalf. Though he was no longer Gandalf the Grey. He was shrouded in magical white from head to toe. His hair was like a river of pure silver cascading over his shoulders, and his long robe like snow, falling over pale boots which barely touched the ground.

Frodo clutched his hands to his heart, gasping as his eyes roamed up the luminous form, until they came to rest on the kindest, dearest face he'd ever known, and all the unfamiliar whiteness dissolved into the warm golden glow of the features he loved so very much, and the twinkling eyes were as blue as the purest sapphires against it all. "Gandalf..." he breathed, struggling to his knees, then to his feet. He tried again, his voice clearer this time. "Gandalf?" He managed to move forward, then flew into the outstretched arms. "Oh, Gandalf!"

Sobbing into the shimmering robes, Frodo clutched onto the vision. If this was merely a dream, he was going to pretend it was real for as long as he could. He could die in peace then, carried into shadow on the memory of this one perfect moment, as though it was an angel's wing.

"You are not dreaming, my dear, dear Frodo."

Frodo felt himself being lifted in the air, and he felt the warmth beneath the silken robes - the warmth of a living, breathing being. And there were the scents of pipeweed and woodsmoke and wild herbs. Indefinably sweet and earthly - his Gandalf.

"You are real." Frodo's voice broke, and then he wrapped himself around the wizard entirely, his legs about his waist, his head resting in the crook of Gandalf's neck.

"Not quite, I'm afraid." Gandalf chuckled, holding the hobbit tight.

Frodo inhaled sharply, leaning back just far enough to see Gandalf's face. "But... you're here. You're holding me. I don't understand!" So it was merely a dream after all. He had feared it, but had tried not to believe it. Tears welled up in Frodo's eyes once more.

"I'm not quite a dream either, Frodo." Gandalf loosened his hold on Frodo and set him down on the ground. "Come with me."

Frodo took Gandalf's proffered hand - warm and lifelike - and followed him to the trunk of a mallorn, where the wizard sat down and leaned back with a sigh. He opened his arms and Frodo's heart pounded heavily as he let himself be gathered into Gandalf's lap.

"My dear Frodo, how can I explain?"

With a sigh, Frodo buried his face against Gandalf's neck. "Will you disappear in another moment?"

"Not quite yet. Not until daybreak."

Frodo sobbed and clutched onto Gandalf, and was hugged more tightly.

"Don't fret, my dear. I won't be gone for good."

Now Frodo listened attentively.

"I am here to stop you from what you were about to do," Gandalf said, sadness and reprimand in his voice. "The future of Middle Earth depends on you. I wish it were not so, and I wish the cursed ring had been meant for someone else to carry, but you were chosen and you must finish the task." Frodo sighed heavily, and Gandalf's hand stroked soothingly over his back. "Why, Frodo? Why would you give up now?"

Frodo trembled. He had regretted bitterly that he had never actually spoken these all important words to Gandalf before losing him. And now, through some strange magic, Gandalf appeared to be here, briefly, and the words would not leave Frodo's lips. He could not bear to think he was speaking them to an apparition.

"Frodo," Gandalf said softly, lifting the hobbit's face to his own. He smiled kindly. "Why?"

Frodo swallowed so hard it hurt. "Because I lost you." And then the words tumbled out of him. "Everything went so dark. I could not see anymore, make no sense of anything. I could barely remember why--" He sobbed. "You asked me to trust you, Gandalf. And I did. But then you... left me, and I..." Crying but bravely meeting Gandalf's penetrating gaze, Frodo drew in quick, laboured breaths.

And Gandalf looked down into that sweet, familiar little face, and the big blue eyes full of adoration. Oh heavens! How had he never seen that before?

"Gandalf." Frodo lowered his eyes, blushing. The wizard seemed to see right through him, and it hurt like an arrow through his heart.

Gandalf smiled kindly, though his lips trembled with supressed emotion. "My dear Frodo." He lifted the tear-wet face by the chin. "You love me so very much?"

Frodo blushed but nodded furiously, before his courage might leave him again.

"So that is why..." Gandalf spoke thoughtfully, then his smile broadened. "You called me back from the shadow."

"Gandalf?" Frodo asked hesitantly.

"I am here right now, briefly, because of you," Gandalf said. "And I will return because of you." Reassuringly, he added, "And stay." He tenderly stroked Frodo's cheek. "Because of you."

Frodo still did not truly understand, but Gandalf was telling him that he would be with him, and that was, for this moment, enough. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Gandalf's.

"You must promise me, Frodo," Gandalf said sternly, but with kindness in his eyes. "Promise you will not do anything foolish. The fate of Middle Earth rests on your shoulders, and you must complete your task. I will be there to aid you in this cause. And then, after it is done, perhaps we may both find our well-deserved rest beyond this life. Together."

Frodo's dark mood was fading away, and his courage began to return once more. "I will do whatever you ask of me, Gandalf." He even managed a small smile. "But I will only keep my promise if you keep yours also. Do not dare remain a dream!"

Gandalf smiled gently. "You may depend on me, Frodo. And I will prove to you that I am not a dream." He cupped the back of Frodo's curly head and leaned down to softly press his lips against the trembling mouth; it opened to him with a surprised gasp.

All of Frodo's will to live and love returned in a warm burst, passing from this familiar and yet wholly new being of light right into his heart. He felt that through this magical kiss, he was being given all the strength he needed to do what was his obligation.

Gandalf allowed the trembling arms around his neck and the hesitant tongue seeking to taste his very breath as though still searching for proof of his existence. When he finally released Frodo's mouth to a small, regretful whimper, he smiled and stroked an errant curl back from the hobbit's face. He knew his time with Frodo was nearly at an end, for the dark shadows lurking between the giant mallorn trees were beginning to melt away in an early morning mist of pale blue and silver light.

"I must leave you now," he said, and smoothed the frown of fear from between Frodo's brows before pressing a soft kiss to the once more smooth skin. Gandalf rose effortlessly with the small form still clinging to him.

To Frodo, the wizard looked like a last defiant moonbeam on the break of dawn. "I love you, Gandalf," Frodo whispered, stroking a cheek which seemed smoother than ever before. He smiled at this strange renewal he did not quite understand. Smiled past the tears shimmering in his eyes.

"My dear Frodo." Gandalf lifted the small hand to his lips and kissed the palm soothingly. Then he set Frodo back on his feet on the cool forest floor. "Never forget I love you as well." He smiled and winked down at him. "I always have, you know."

Frodo gasped in surprised delight, staring up at Gandalf who once more shimmered out of existence. And despite the uncertainty of the future and the dark road ahead, Frodo's heart felt as light as a feather. And he could see the path ahead once more.

End