Even though Frodo had finished the investigation that had brought him to Minas Tirith, he remained in the city. Gandalf spoke of traveling to Rivendell eventually, and Frodo intended to accompany him and go on to the Shire from there, but their plans were yet indefinite. Until their date of departure was more certain, Frodo was happy to stay on in the city with his old friends, and to have fun with Merry.

Late one April night, after an evening of drinking and merriment at the Steward's Arms tavern, the hobbits were walking back to the house they shared with Gandalf on the city's sixth level. Both were wobbly on their feet, but Frodo was a little more sober than his cousin and supported Merry with an arm around his waist.

"I think I could get used to these Gondorian ales," said Frodo, laughing as they headed up the street, "but I won't ever be used to the way the Big Folk make a hero of me."

"Why shouldn't they?" Merry responded. "'Course you're a hero to them, Frodo! You found the poisoner! Everyone was too frightened to eat or drink for weeks, for fear of dropping dead. It's the second time you've saved them from danger, and they're grateful. It's no surprise to me if every guard in the citadel wanted to buy you a pint of ale. Well deserved, I'd say."

"I feel like every guard in the citadel tried to buy me a pint tonight! I couldn't drink that much, Merry--I'd drown!"

"If you get into difficulties with your ale, I'll be glad to help you finish it off. The soldiers're always buying drinks for me."

"They like to see you get so tipsy you dance on the table-top," Frodo told him, teasing.

Merry laughed. "And I did, didn't I? They'd do it themselves, but they can't, not in those great, heavy boots they wear. They'd stomp the tables to pieces!"

They went through the tunnel past the entrance to the citadel. The house was just ahead on the eastern side of the street; on the other was the sheer rock face that supported the citadel's vast courtyard above them.

"You're too modest, Frodo," said Merry. "That's your trouble." He took his cousin by the arm and swung him so they were standing face to face, swaying a little unsteadily. "You just have to get used to the idea that everybody thinks you're as marvelous as I do." Then he kissed him.

Frodo wasn't surprised at the kiss. Merry was trying to get over Pippin, and he was trying his best not to think about Sam; they had agreed that this was the most effective way to do both.

They stood just outside the tunnel, kissing and laughing between kisses, when Frodo caught an odd glimmering shape out of the corner of his eye.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" asked Merry.

"I thought I saw someone standing over there--by the wall." He'd only glimpsed it for an instant, but it had appeared to be a figure wearing a hooded gray cloak, with silvery glints of armor beneath, catching the moonlight.

Merry, whose back had been toward the figure, turned to look over his shoulder. He saw nothing. "Don't be silly, Frodo. There's no one around. They're all in bed, and so should we be too." He tried to pull Frodo into in another kiss, but Frodo shoved him back and went up the street to investigate.

Aside from a few ragged outcroppings of rock, there was no place for a person to hide without crossing the street and going into one of the houses. Frodo was certain no one had done that. He peeked behind the first outcropping, nearest to the place where he thought he'd seen the Man standing. No one was there. He put one hand on the rock wall, but of course it was solid stone. No one could have gone through it.

Merry had come up behind him to peer at the blank wall as well. "What is it?" he asked again.

"Nothing," Frodo answered. "It must've been a trick of the light, or else I'm drunker than I thought."

That night, Frodo dreamt that he stood on the doorstep of Gandalf's house. A white mist swathed the houses and lay so thick in the street that it seemed to swirl and flow like currents of water. A person appeared at the black, gaping mouth of the citadel tunnel; Frodo first saw shining eyes like stars in the darkness, then the silvery glints of a breastplate, then the sweep of a gray cloak.

The figure headed swiftly toward him, its footfalls soundless. The face was hidden in shadow beneath the cloak's hood, but Frodo was suddenly sure that the person beneath was not a Man, but an Elf. There was no mistaking those star-bright eyes.

As the figure drew closer, it turned and stopped at the foot of the stair. Frodo could see something of the face now beneath the hood, brow and chin, white and immobile as a mask of carved ivory, but the eyes were alive; they seemed to stab through him. He felt frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak.

He thought the Elf might speak to him, but after a moment, the figure turned away silently, gracefully on one heel, and walked in the opposite direction--straight toward the rock wall.

"Wait!" Frodo cried out, and leapt down the steps to follow. The deep mists swirled up around his head. "Tell me who you are! What is it you want?"

The Elf did not stop at his cry, but walked at the same swift and even pace, crossing the street in a few long strides. When it met the rock face, it walked into it without hesitation and dissipated against the surface.

Frodo woke suddenly to find himself standing in the street in his nightshirt, facing the wall. There was no mist. It was a warm, clear night and the street was empty and silent. He reached up to place a hand upon the rock where the figure of the Elf had vanished and said, "Here."

"Frodo?"

He turned; Merry stood by the open front door of the house, also wearing a nightshirt, gazing down at him with a puzzled frown.

"What're you doing out here? I woke up and you weren't in bed--I didn't know where you'd got to. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Frodo answered. "I think I was walking in my sleep."

Merry came down the steps to him. "What did you see? Was it the same Man as before?"

"I don't know..." Frodo touched the wall with his fingertips again before he let Merry take him back into the house. Was everything he'd seen only a dream?

---

"I don't believe you were drunk, Frodo. You must have seen the ghost," Faramir said when he heard about this odd incident the next day. The hobbits were sitting with the Steward and Lady Eowyn in their apartments in the great hall of the citadel. Once Merry had mentioned it laughingly, Faramir had looked very interested and made Frodo describe exactly what he'd seen.

"Ghost?" said Eowyn. "You never told me about it before. What ghost?"

"It's a very old story. Boromir used to frighten me with it when we were small boys. I don't suppose anyone's actually seen it in fifty years, but there are tales of his appearance that go back in Minas Tirith's history for nearly as long as the city has stood."

"Who is it supposed to be?" asked Frodo, even more intrigued than Eowyn and Merry by this information, for they hadn't actually seen the figure last night, nor dreamt of it afterwards.

"No one knows anymore," Faramir answered. "He's always seen in that part of the street--a soldier in gray cloak and ancient armor, just as you saw him, Frodo. Some say he's a guard of the citadel who fell in defense of the city. Others say he's an Elf, perhaps from the days of the Last Alliance."

"It was an Elf in my dream," said Frodo, knowing that this was proof of nothing. "I couldn't see the face very clearly, but I distinctly remember the eyes. Like stars."

Faramir smiled. "That has been said of the ghost too. 'Eyes afire.' Perhaps what you saw in your dream was a vision. But I'm afraid that whoever the ghost may be, or why he haunts that part of the street, his story was lost and forgotten long ago."

For the next few nights, Frodo sat out on the doorstep in the late hours. Each night, after waiting awhile for the ghost to make a second appearance and seeing nothing, he went inside and climbed into bed beside Merry. No further odd dreams haunted his sleep. As time passed, he thought less and less of his odd experience. He'd seen the Minas Tirith ghost, but so had many others over the centuries. Weeks went by, and the incident was nearly forgotten.

Even before Frodo had come to the city, repairs of the ancient walls and foundations had been going on; not only had sections of Minas Tirith been damaged during the war, but the city itself, particularly its upper levels, had been allowed to fall into decay as the old noble families became extinct and their empty houses crumbled. Workmen had been excavating beneath the citadel courtyard for some time, and echoing clatters of metal against stone could be heard under the paving-stones by parties out on the vast open area. By May, the work had gotten so close to the supporting wall above the sixth level that the hobbits heard the same sort of clattering sounds as they walked down the street to their house during the day.

One morning in the middle of May, the clanks and thumps fell silent, and Captain Beregond of the citadel Guard came down to Gandalf's house to see Frodo.

"Lord Faramir asks that you come up to the citadel," the captain explained. "There's something he thinks you ought to see."

Frodo agreed to come immediately, curious at this cryptic request.

As they walked, Beregond explained further: "You may have heard that there are tunnels beneath the citadel. The passages that run beneath the buildings and lead from one to another are still in common use in rough weather, but others have long since fallen into disuse. Some lead to old storage chambers. These were reopened in secret, to be used in preparation for the siege three years ago. Others were sealed off long ago. They are only now being opened and cleared of debris, and repairs to the foundations made."

Beregond led Frodo into the White Tower. At the side of the great chamber on the ground floor, at the foot of the winding stair that led up to the palantir chamber at the tower's top, was a door. Frodo had noticed it when he'd been in the tower before, but didn't know where it led to. The door was open now, and they went through and down a set of stone steps to a short, well-kept passageway below. Frodo could see another stair not far ahead, that presumably led up into the great hall. Another broad tunnel crossed this short passage. Faramir and a group of workmen stood waiting with lanterns at the intersection; the workmen were dust-covered and begrimed from their boots to their hair.

"Frodo, I'm glad you've come," Faramir greeted him as he and Beregond joined them. "These Men here have made a remarkable discovery under the courtyard today, and they came to tell me about it. I thought you'd be interested to see it too. There's a mystery here, but one you mightn't be able to solve." He seemed oddly excited, not cheerful, but eager. "Come and see."

A small party consisting of Steward, Captain, hobbit, and the foreman of the working crew went down the long tunnel. The floor here had been cleared of rubble, but cobwebs still hung in the upper corners and the passage had a faintly damp and musty smell that grew stronger as they walked farther along. The path was straight and level, heading toward the far end of the courtyard. From time to time, they walked past other intersections and the doors to old storage rooms.

"We found an old tunnel a few days ago, blocked off, just ahead," the foreman raised his lantern to indicate a dark gap in the wall ahead. "I couldn't say when it was done, or on whose orders, but it must've been done a thousand years ago or more. The bricks put up over the entrance were nearly dust when we broke through 'em. That's all been swept out now." When they reached the gap, they turned sharply to the right and went down two steps into another more narrow and mustier tunnel.

Like most hobbits, Frodo had a good sense of direction when underground, and knew that their path was leading them back toward the eastern side of the citadel. Faramir had obviously refrained from telling him anything about the workmen's discovery, intending to reveal it as a surprise when they came upon it, but Frodo suddenly felt a small premonitory shiver run up his spine. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Since I was a lad, I've heard tales of a secret tunnel that used to lead down to the houses on the sixth level," said Faramir. "This must be it."

"I thought as much myself, Lord Faramir," the foreman agreed. "We hadn't got so far as to find the old door at the other end yet, but we came upon the stairs to it this morning. And we found this."

They stopped at the end of the cleared section of path, at a sharp turn and a steep, stone stair that went down into depths unseen. Here, a wall had partially crumbled; old bricks and mortar had tumbled down into a dusty pile on the stair landing; the landing extended a few feet beyond the bricked-off section before dropping off into a black gap just beside the exterior solid rock wall. The workers had dropped their tools here, apparently in the midst of clearing the rubble away when they'd stopped their work.

The Man held up his lantern so Frodo could see the grisly discovery that lay behind the crumbled brick wall: a skeleton, its bleached bones lying sprawled, as the body must have fallen or been flung down centuries ago. The bones were covered by the rotted remnants of a cloak and encased in ancient armor of Elvish make that hadn't tarnished nor rusted with the countless years. The lantern-light also caught another dull glint of metal beneath the breastplate, within the rib-cage--the corroded blade of a long and slender knife.

"So it was right where you dreamt it would be!" Merry said when he came up to the citadel after Frodo and heard the news. "That night you walked in your sleep, you had your hand upon the rock--exactly where the body was found!"

"Actually, it was a bit higher up behind the rock, higher than I could reach," said Frodo. "It was lying at the top of a stair on the other side."

"Close enough. You knew it was there. I'll wager that's just what the poor old ghost has been trying to tell someone for all these years."

"Beregond is having his guardsmen bear the body from the tunnel with all due care and regard," Faramir told the hobbits. "It will be laid to rest properly in an honored place among the Houses of the Dead in Rath Dinen. I wish we had a name to put upon the tomb. Who was this Elf? Why did he come to the city, and how did he come to be murdered, for murder it must've been."

"Yes, I wonder who put that knife into him too," said Merry, then turned to his cousin. "Maybe that's why the ghost appeared to you, Frodo. He knew what a great detective you are, and knew that if anybody could solve his murder, you could!"

"Faramir didn't think this was a mystery I could solve," Frodo laughed in reply, knowing his cousin was mostly joking. But, at the same time, he was intrigued at the idea.

"I didn't mean to cast doubt upon your abilities, Frodo," Faramir apologized. "I know as well as anyone in Minas Tirith your merit as an investigator. But this seems to me a most difficult subject for investigation. We know nothing about this Elf--who he was, how long ago he was slain, or who might have sought his death. All who could have answered your questions have been dead countless centuries. You're more than welcome to try and find out what you can. Perhaps, at the least, you'll discover his name."

---

The next day, the bones of the unnamed Elf were reverently placed in a tomb in the royal mausoleum in the Silent Street after a small funeral ceremony attended by the King and members of his court. The remnants of the cloak, armor, and other items found with the body were retained by Captain Beregond in hopes of eventually identifying their owner. The armor was examined by Aragorn, who said that it was not the type of armor worn by Elves during the Last Alliance--samples of this were still kept in Rivendell--but of a somewhat more recent period, perhaps five hundred or a thousand years later. Since the chest of the body had been protected by a breastplate, and the point of the knife blade found within the ribs lay toward the front, it seemed likely that the victim had been stabbed in the back. The corroded blade was of Man-made steel and had once had a wooden hilt, although little remained of it.

The other object of remark found upon the body was a brooch pinned as a clasp on the remnants of the cloak. This was an oval wrought of mithril with a large green gem set at the center.

That night, Frodo had another dream. He stood again on the front step of Gandalf's house and looked down into an empty, silent street swathed in white mists. As before, a figure emerged from the tunnel and came swiftly toward him. As the figure drew near, Frodo expected it to stop, but the tall, gray-cloaked shape swept past him without pausing. It did not turn and head for the wall, as before, but went on up the steep slope of the street.

Frodo leapt down the steps and followed the figure past the houses of the oldest noble families of the city--not abandoned and in need of repair, as so many were these days, but with their facades fresh and the lights of candles flickering behind the mullioned windows.

They passed beneath the archway that passed under a guards' watch-station on the westward wall above them; beyond this was only the end of the street and the locked gate that led to Rath Dinen. Here, the Elf turned suddenly and said, "Why do you follow me tonight?"

Frodo stopped in his tracks several feet from the Elf. Fierce, bright eyes fixed him, and he could see the Elf's face--ivory in the moonlight, but not a mask. There was life and animation in the features, even a small, wry and tolerant smile that told him the intrusion was not entirely resented. "I want to know who you are," he answered. "Can you tell me, please, who killed you? What is it you want of me?"

The Elf's smile grew wider and made his face surprisingly beautiful. "Do you think this is your errand? Will you safeguard me to my destination, when I alone am summoned?"

Frodo didn't know how to answer these peculiar questions. He could only stare up mutely into those bright, amused eyes, until he heard another voice close behind him:

"Frodo-?"

He turned. He was awake now, standing in the middle of a clear and quiet night street. Merry was running to catch up with him.

Frodo turned back to the passage beneath the archway; no one was there. "Did you see it?" he asked.

"I saw nothing--only you, going up the street." Merry took his arm. "You've got to stop running all over the city in your nightshirt, Frodo. You'll catch cold, and the neighbors will talk."

"The neighbors are asleep. It's past midnight." He looked at the ancient houses that lined the western side of the street, all dark and several of them empty and falling into decay.

"Was it the ghost again?" asked Merry.

"Yes. He's not at rest after all." Arm in arm, they began to walk back down toward Gandalf's house. "Perhaps you're right, Merry, and he wants me to find out how he died."

"Did he tell you so?"

"No, he hardly said anything, and little that made sense." In fact, Frodo wondered now if the ghost had been speaking to him at all. Or had those odd questions been addressed to someone else, someone the Elf had met on that long-ago day of his death, when the houses on this street were all occupied? Perhaps he'd been speaking to his murderer.

Frodo also realized that the Elf hadn't been wearing the brooch that had been found with the body. He tried to remember if he'd seen it in his previous dream, but didn't recall.

Merry laughed. "They never do say anything helpful, do they? It'd be much easier if a ghost would only appear and say, 'So-and-so murdered me. Avenge my death!' instead of making you guess."

"Well, I can't avenge anything," Frodo answered. "It all happened hundreds of years ago. Unless he was killed by another Elf, the murderer is long dead too."

"But you are going to try to find out, aren't you?" asked Merry. "I could see it in your eyes, when Faramir spoke of it today."

"I've done it before--you remember."

"The Lady Aredhel in the old story? Yes, I remember."

"She'd been dead much longer than this Elf could possibly be, and I found out who killed her just by reading a few books. Maybe I won't find the answer this time, but it's a puzzle I can't resist looking into. And if the ghost really is asking for my help, I don't see how I can refuse."

They went into the house and to Frodo's room. Frodo climbed up into bed. Before Merry joined him, he took the belt from his dressing gown.

"I remember that when you looked into that other Elf's death, you went running around Bag End at night, when you ought to've been in bed then too," he said. "Investigate all you like, and I'll help you, but that's not going to happen this time."

Merry scrambled up onto the bed to tie one end of the cord to the bedpost; after pinning his cousin, who lay supine, by throwing a leg over his waist and sitting on him, he tied the other end of the cord around Frodo's left wrist.

"I can untie that easily, Merry," said Frodo.

"When you're awake, yes. The point is to keep you from walking in your sleep. What if you took a dangerous tumble down the stairs the next time you went for a midnight stroll? If you fell and broke your head open, everyone would say it was my fault for not watching over you carefully enough." Merry still sat astride Frodo; when he finished double-knotting the cord around his wrist, he leaned down to kiss his mouth. "If that ghost-Elf wants to pop into your dreams and tell you who killed him, he'll have to come here to do it."

Frodo smiled. "Let's hope he doesn't come again tonight." The sensation of Merry's weight on him and thighs pressed to either side of his waist was rather stimulating. He began to wriggle and buck his hips slightly, teasingly, not enough to toss Merry off, but enough to throw him off balance and make him grab hold of the front of Frodo's nightshirt.

"Stop it, Frodo!" Merry said with a laugh. "If you don't behave yourself, I might have to stay on you all night."

"You can certainly try," Frodo rejoined and bucked his hips again, which provoked another laugh. As Merry leaned down to kiss him, Frodo tried to put his hand on his cousin's curls--when he felt a sudden yank at his wrist as the cord was pulled taut.

Merry looked up to find Frodo's hand suspended a few inches from his head. "Do you want me to untie that?"

"No..." said Frodo, testing the restraint. "Let's leave it."

The next morning, Frodo went up to the citadel to see the King and ask for permission to proceed with an investigation into the murdered Elf's identity. "If I can do that," he explained, "I also hope to find out the circumstances under which he was killed."

"And perhaps discover who killed him?" Aragorn suggested with a gentle smile.

"It is my profession, as much as I have any," Frodo replied. "It may be impossible to discover anything after so many years, but I'd like to try, if you'll let me. I feel- well, I feel as if he wants me to learn how he died, even if the opportunity to seek justice for him passed long ago."

"'He'?" the King repeated. "You mean, the Elf?"

"Yes," Frodo admitted reluctantly. "I've seen him again." He told Aragorn of his dream last night, and what the ghost of the Elf had said to him. He felt rather foolish talking about his dreams as if they were true, but he also felt they were important.

As he described his dream, Queen Arwen, who'd been sitting silently by during Frodo's conversation with her husband, looked extremely interested. "You must have a remarkable sensitivity to those lost between life and true death, Frodo, to have dreamt of him in this way," she said when he had finished.

"I've had such dreams before, my lady," Frodo told her. "When I was studying the history of Gondolin to look into the death of Lady Aredhel, I dreamt of her. I saw her on the shore of the Sea--I've dreamt often of the Sea, even before you told me that I might see it one day. Aredhel asked me to seek the truth. At the time, I thought it nothing more than an odd dream. I'd been reading her story, so she was naturally on my mind. Just the same, it all seemed very real, and so it does this time too."

"It was real, Frodo," Arwen replied. "Aredhel and the one who has been found were both brutally murdered. They died by blade and poison, and by treachery, and did not have the choice of going to the Undying Lands. That is why they linger in the shadow-world, and have not passed into the Halls of Mandos to find their rest. This one has troubled my thoughts since his body was discovered, and your dream confirms what I feared most for him. He is not yet at peace."

She spoke of such things as common fact. Perhaps they were. Frodo recalled Aragorn's tale of the ghosts of the oath-breakers whom he had engaged for his service in battle, and who had gone to their rest only when their oaths had been fulfilled. The spectres of the long-dead Men and Elves who had appeared in the lights of the Dead Marshes were also said to have departed after Sauron's fall.

It was heartening to Frodo that both the King and Queen were taking his peculiar experiences seriously and didn't seem to think these dreams of his at all odd. It encouraged him to tell them more. "I think that bearing the Ring has made me more sensitive to the- ah- other side," he said. "Whenever I put it on my finger, I could see. I saw the Eye turned upon me, and I saw things that were happening far away. I saw into the shadow-world--the dark side of that world, at any rate. I could see the Ringwraiths for what they were beneath their cloaks."

Aragorn nodded. "They were neither dead nor living, but existed between the two states."

"Yes, and when I wore the Ring, they could see me," Frodo said softly, and shuddered. Both he and Aragorn remembered well that moment of fear and incredible folly when he'd succumbed to the urge to put on the Ring... and the Nazgul had found him. He bore the scar of the Witch-King's blade on his shoulder to this day. "By the end, even though I only bore the Ring around my neck and didn't wear it, I was being drawn into that other world. It seemed more clear to me than this living world. The Ring is gone, but I still sometimes feel as if I can see more than I should."

He was worried that the two would be alarmed to hear where this strange power of his had come from, but Arwen said, "Your gift was born in darkness, but the gift of olori is not in itself dark. Those who bore the Three Rings--my father, my grandmother--had similar powers at their command with no taint, and there are those among the Eldar who are born with the gift."

"If you use this power for good ends only, I think it will do you no harm," Aragorn assured him. "You have my permission to search as you please, Frodo. We all wish to know more about the murdered Elf and how he came to lie where he was found. After your success in finding the poisoner, I'm certain that if there is anything to be found in this case, you will find it. All the help you need will be placed at your disposal. What can I do to aid you?"

"I'd like access to the oldest records of the city, please," Frodo requested. "If you're right about the age of the armor he was wearing, this Elf must have come to Minas Tirith between the years 500 and 1500 of the Third Age--or, I should say, come to Minas Anor, as the city was called then. If I study the history of that era, I might find a name, and perhaps more."

"It shall be done," the King consented.

Having gained Aragorn's permission and full blessings, Frodo left the royal apartments and went down to the Hall of Record on the ground floor of the great hall to find Master Scribe Erlotibin. He'd been reluctant to ask for the scribe's assistance without the King's authority behind him; the course of his recent investigation had caused one of Erlotibin's brothers to be pardoned after banishment and disgrace, but had also led the other to resign from the King's Council. Frodo hadn't spoken to Erlotibin since then, and had no idea how the scribe felt about him.

But when he entered the Hall of Record, the Master Scribe welcomed him without reserve and asked what he could do for the hobbit.

"I'd like to learn something of the history of the city," Frodo explained his errand. "Can you tell me how far back the records are kept?"

"The city archives go back to Anarion's day," Erlotibin answered promptly, then admitted, "though those earliest records are not preserved in an orderly fashion. They're in a mess, I'm sorry to say, but some remarkable pieces of historical interest have been recovered recently. I can show you the account of Isildur, written in his own hand after his battle with Sauron, of how he cut the Ring from the Enemy's Hand. Mithrandir discovered it among the ancient texts in the library a few years ago, if you'd like to see it."

"Yes, I'd like to, very much," said Frodo. Gandalf had told him of the discovery when the wizard had returned unexpectedly to Bag End one night and confirmed that Uncle Bilbo's magic ring was the One Ring, thought lost for millennia. Perhaps Isildur's story could be used as an introductory preface to his own book? "But not just now. There's another matter I'm interested in studying--both the King and Faramir have said I might. You've heard about the body that was found beneath the citadel the day before yesterday?"

"Yes, indeed! Everyone's been talking about it."

"Then you know it was the body of an Elf. He'd lain there for at least a thousand years, and he was apparently stabbed from behind with a knife. I want to find out who he was. Can you help me find stories that mention earlier sightings of the ghost, to see how far back it's been seen? I'd also like to see if we can find any historical accounts of Elves that visited the city since the Last Alliance, and who might've disappeared."

Only the most recent and most important papers were kept in the Hall of Record within the citadel. The archives of the city were stored in the library on the fourth level. Erlotibin escorted Frodo down through the city and introduced him to Ullathor, the librarian, who admitted them to the archives.

As Erlotibin had said, the archives were a mess: dust-covered books and loose sheaves and scrolls of parchment lay stacked on tables and countless shelves. Here and there, a painted number or note tacked to the end of a shelf indicated a year of the city's history or subject matter; otherwise, there was no way to tell what anything was without reading it.

"The oldest writings are in much better order now than they were five years ago," Ullathor said as he led the party through room upon book-piled room, down three or four steps at a time, into the heart of the library. "It was Mithrandir who was last in here, and he put the papers he looked over into a sort of chronology. It's all here--nothing's ever been thrown away, though you may find edges and bindings nibbled by mice. What is it you're searching for, Little One?"

He was very interested when Frodo repeated his errand, for all the city had heard of the skeleton discovered in the citadel, and he was only too happy to help find clues to its identity.

Frodo spent the rest of the afternoon with the two Men, digging through the old texts and reading the faded ink by candlelight, for the thin slits of windows let in only a little light. The sensible thing to do, they all agreed, was start with the oldest records and work their way up.

It seemed that in the years following the Last Alliance, Gondor and the Elves at Rivendell had remained in a sort of loose friendship: there were innumerable copies of letters sent from the early Kings to "my kinsman, Lord Elrond," reporting the Men of Gondor's vigilant watch over the ruins of Mordor for signs of Sauron's return, accompanying gifts on Elrond's marriage to Celebrian, and the births of his sons and daughter, and announcing their own royal weddings, births, and deaths. Elrond himself never came to Minas Anor, but he often sent messengers to the city in those days: Frodo found so many court records that mentioned Elven emissaries being welcomed by various Kings that he began to make a list of every name, although he found nothing to indicate that any of these Elves had disappeared mysteriously during their visits.

The hours passed quickly, and before Frodo realized it, it was nearly time for dinner. Ullathor said that he was welcome to come back as often as he needed to, and let Frodo borrow an enormous leather-bound tome of the history of Gondor; Erlotibin, who lived with his brothers in one of the houses near Gandalf's, carried the heavy book for the hobbit and left him with it at the front door.

Frodo went into the house, grimy with dust, fingers ink-stained, to find Gandalf and Merry waiting for him. He told them where he'd been and how he had spent his day.

"I wish you all success, Frodo, though I don't think you realize the extent of the task you plan to undertake," said Gandalf as he relieved Frodo of his burden. "It took me weeks of pouring over old manuscripts to find that scroll of Isildur's."

"I expect that this will take at least as long," said Frodo, undeterred. "The Elf has been dead for hundreds of years. A few more weeks won't matter."

"It may take months."

"I have the time."

Gandalf looked a little concerned about Frodo's lack of urgency, but the hobbit put off any questions by saying, "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a quick wash-up before dinner," and then headed to the bathroom.

They did not speak of it again until after dinner. Frodo had settled on the hearth before the sitting-room fire to begin reading the history of Gondor, when Gandalf came in and sat in one of the chairs behind him.

"When I came for you in February to tell you you'd been summoned by the King to investigate these poisonings, you were reluctant to leave the Shire," he said after observing the hobbit quietly for a few minutes. "You were homesick at first, and thought of nothing but Bag End and Sam. I thought you'd be eager to go back to them as soon as your business here had been finished. Your business was finished over a month ago, Frodo, and you show no sign of wanting to go home."

"It's not that I don't want to go home again," answered Frodo. "I miss the Shire, and Sam, but I still have things to do here, and there's no need to rush off. There's only one reason I can see for haste: to go to Rivendell and see Uncle Bilbo." As a sudden, alarming idea occurred to him, he looked up from his book and turned wide and anxious eyes to the wizard. "You said he had less time than I do... Is it so urgent that we must go right away?"

"If it were as urgent as that, I would have insisted we leave as soon as your investigation was concluded and you were well enough to travel, and you would not be reluctant to go," Gandalf replied. "Bilbo is well. He's in no pain. Elrond sustains him in comfort, and he is content to sit and dream before his fire until the time when he will be conveyed over the Sea with the last of the Elves, under Elrond's protection. That will not happen for some time yet. We need not hasten from Minas Tirith today or tomorrow, if you wish to stay here."

"I do, for now," said Frodo. "You see, I think it's best if I leave Sam alone with his new family, and best for Merry and me. You know all about that, don't you? Me and Merry?"

He hadn't told Gandalf when he and Merry had become lovers, but the wizard had surely observed that their relationship had changed since he'd come to Minas Tirith. Gandalf had turned out to be more understanding of this peculiarity of theirs than Frodo had expected, but the hobbit still felt rather shy about discussing his private life after keeping it secret for so long.

"I've guessed that you no longer considered yourselves as brothers," Gandalf said, "but I thought it better to say nothing of it before you were ready to tell me yourself."

Frodo heard the tone of reproach in this reply and felt he had to explain. "I didn't lie, Gandalf, when I told you that Merry and I were like brothers. That was just what I felt for him when I said it. But since then... well, we've talked it over and decided that, since Sam is married and Pippin's family wants him to be too, we ought leave them to it and try to be happy together. And we have been--but it's much easier for us to go on being happy here, far away from Sam and Rosie and Pippin. We don't have to think about them. I know we must go home eventually, but we can certainly stay long enough for me to look into this mystery, even if it takes a month or two."

Ullathor had something for him the next day. The librarian's enthusiasm for the search had led him to remain in the archives throughout that evening after Frodo and Erlotibin had gone, and when Frodo returned the following morning, Ullathor displayed his find: a map of the citadel dated from 420 of the Third Age.

"That was the year in which King Ostoher rebuilt the citadel in Minas Anor," Ullathor explained as he spread the sheet of ancient parchment across a table in the library's well-lit scriptorium. From his reading the night before, Frodo knew that during the peaceful centuries immediately following Sauron's fall at the end of the Second Age, the Kings of Gondor and their nobles had made their homes in Osgiliath and governed the kingdom from there, while the old fortress atop Minas Anor sat unused. When a new threat in the form of Men from the East had arisen, the fortified city had been restored and the citadel rebuilt.

Frodo climbed up to stand on a chair and look over the map: the ink was muddy brown and faded with great age, but the familiar spear-head shape of the citadel courtyard was boldly outlined. Within it, he could see the great hall, feast hall, and another building to the east, now gone, arranged around the fountain, which was all that remained of the old fortress, and the white tree which Isildur had planted beside it in remembrance of his brother Anarion before he'd gone away to meet his own tragic end at Gladden Field.

"The White Tower isn't there," Frodo observed, and touched the place where it should be.

"No," said Ullathor. "The tower wasn't built until much later, 1900 or thereabouts, and rebuilt by Ecthelion around 2700. And the old armory you see there was struck by lightning, and its ruins torn down when the present guards hall was built. But what I thought you would find most interesting are the tunnels." He indicated fainter lines that ran between the shapes of the buildings, and beyond them to chambers beneath the courtyard.

From his journey through these same passageways, Frodo easily recognized the long tunnel that extended nearly to the end of the courtyard, and he leaned closer to study the narrower lines that intersected it until he found the one that curved back along the eastward edge. He traced it with a finger until he came to the wall above the street on the sixth level.

"Was that where the- ah- body was found?" Ullathor asked.

"Yes, right here. There was a stairway that went down..." From the map, he could see that the tunnel went on for several yards beyond this point, running beside the outer wall. He distinctly recalled the rubble-cluttered passage leading away into darkness from the bottom of the stair, but hadn't had the opportunity at that time to go on. He wondered where the tunnel led to; he'd have to ask if he could return and explore further once the work-men had cleared the way. "Was there a door somewhere in this wall?"

"As a matter of fact, there was. Some of the old stories tell of a door known only to the denizens of the citadel. In those days, the heads of the noble houses would take this secret way to visit the King on clandestine business, and he to call upon them. It was sealed off long ago."

Faramir had said something like this while they were in the tunnel where the Elf's body had been found; Frodo would have to ask him what he knew about it.

Both he and Ullathor agreed that finding out when the tunnel had been sealed would give them a good indication of when the body had been placed there. While the librarian searched for further references to alterations to the tunnels beneath the citadel, Frodo continued to look for records of visiting Elves.

Many Elves had come to Minas Anor in the first centuries after the Last Alliance, some repeatedly over the years. Many were unnamed in the court records of the day: "An emissary from Imladris arrived for the King"--how many times did this same sentence appear! Whenever he found an Elvish name, Frodo made note of it and tried to find out what had happened to that visitor. They all seemed to leave the city safely within a short time of their arrival.

The rest of the week passed in research; Frodo spent his mornings in the library, hunting down Elves. After four days, he reached the end of the 7th century. By that date, the number of Elves that visited the city had dwindled. A messenger from Rivendell was now a remarkable event.

Erlotibin's duties in the Hall of Record had kept him away from the library, but one afternoon, he came to Gandalf's house, bringing a small book he had discovered.

"I've been looking for this for days," he said as he gave the book to Frodo. "I remembered it when you first asked me about sightings of the ghost. When I was an apprentice scribe, my predecessor spoke often of his interest in the folklore and legends of the city. He'd made a collection of such curious events."

"I can read all about the ghost?" Frodo asked, smiling eagerly as he took the book.

"Among other things. You'll find it all fascinating to read, but I've marked the pertinent section for you."

Frodo thanked Erlotibin, and began to read the book as soon as his visitor had gone. He went on reading after dinner until bedtime. The last Master Scribe had compiled some remarkable stories: Of "Old Bones," a soldier who would not shirk his duties even after death, but continued to patrol the city battlements in skeletal form until a dauntless captain ordered him to rest in peace. Of unearthly voices heard to lament the death of the White Tree. Of a blood-stain on the floor of an Inn on the third level which could never be washed away, but refreshed itself on the same day each year.

"We ought to go see if it's still there," said Merry when Frodo read this last aloud to him. "Though I suppose that if it's in a room they use, they must keep it hidden under a bit of rug."

To the amazement of both hobbits, there was also a story about "little people" who'd been brought to the city at the end of the 20th century. From the history of the Shire, both Frodo and Merry knew that a company of hobbit archers had been sent to the aid of the King at Fornost around that same time, and were presumed to have been killed in battle, since none ever returned home. If these "little people" were survivors, how and why they had made their way to Minas Anor remained a mystery.

There were many tales of other ghostly apparitions seen in the city throughout its long history, but the ghost that appeared in the uppermost end of the high street was of primary interest, not only to Frodo, but to the late Master Scribe who had gathered noteworthy sightings of it.

According to the old scribe's book, the last sighting of the ghost had been in 2988. A figure described as "armor-clad, with eyes of flame," was seen walking at midnight by Prince Ibritalant of Dol Amroth, who was staying as a guest in the city and returning from the citadel to the House of Hurin where he was lodged. The old Master Scribe had added a note that this vision presaged the death of the Prince's sister, Denethor's wife, Lady Finduilas; the lady, who had been in a decline, died a few weeks later. It was this event that had begun the scribe's interest in the ghost and other odd legends within the city.

The ghost was said to be a harbinger of ill-tidings: it had been seen before the deaths of several Stewards, and after Earnur, the last ruling King of Gondor, had ridden away to confront the Nazgul at Minas Morgul and never returned. It had been seen several times during the Kinstrife: "The visage of the slain Elf appeared to Prince Castamir this night, to the despair of all," a court scribe had written in 1435. "The shade of the accursed Elf" had also appeared in 1048 to the Steward of that age before the body of his son, killed in battle, was brought home for burial.

These earliest citations were the most intriguing. Evidently, the ghost was well-known to them. Had they known who it was? If they had, the recorder of these events hadn't thought it worth mentioning, or else the old Master Scribe hadn't bothered to include it in his notes--the latter of which, Frodo thought unlikely. Nowhere in the book did he find any sign that the old Master had discovered the ghostly figure's identity. He had listed its appearances, but had not explored the tale behind them.

Frodo continued to read until Merry made him blow out the candle, but he lay awake long afterwards, worried. Faramir had laughed when he spoke of the ghost, but if the figure was a harbinger of death or disaster--especially for the families of the kings and stewards--surely this latest appearance meant that something terrible was about to happen?

Frodo went up to the citadel the next day to warn Faramir. But he when he told Faramir about the book he'd been reading and relayed his fears, the young steward was just as unconcerned as he'd been when he'd first heard Frodo's tale of seeing the ghost.

"Aren't you alarmed?" Frodo asked him, surprised. "From what I've read, the ghost is said to presage some tragic event. You must have known that already. Don't you believe it's true?"

Faramir shook his head. "I've never believed it. Even when Boromir and I were children and dared each other to walk down that part of the street at night, it was only a game we played to frighten ourselves."

"And when your mother died?" Frodo ventured delicately. "The ghost was last seen then, by her own brother."

"Yes, I recall it. Father said it was all nonsense. He doubted that Uncle Ibritalant had seen the ghost at all, and quashed tales that it had anything to do with Mother's death as superstitious prattle whenever he heard them. My mother was ill for a long time before that summer, Frodo. I fear she was destined to die young. No ghost was seen at the death of my grandfather, nor at Father's death nor Boromir's. I believe that people see what they wish to see."

"You mean, the ghost is only in our imaginations?" Frodo asked. "Do you believe that I saw it?"

"I believe you did, and others have too. The body that was found in the tunnels is proof of that. I mean that whenever the ghost appears, people look for a tragedy to follow. When none occurs, they forget that sighting. But when one occurs, much is made of it! The scribes of old made note of the sightings that preceded such events, and overlooked the ones that foretold nothing." Faramir gave the not-entirely reassured hobbit a smile. "I also feel certain that the ghost has appeared to you for reasons other than to predict doom, Frodo. According to our Queen, you have a strong sympathy with the restless spirit of this murdered Elf. I know of no one who's dreamt of him, as you have. If he does carry a curse for my family or the King's, then you'll be the one to lay it to rest."

Frodo thought Faramir was joking, since the steward didn't believe there was any danger to begin with, but perhaps this was just what he could do, once he'd discovered who killed the Elf. The association of the two ideas had already led his suspicions along unpleasant lines.

"But enough of this," said Faramir. "I'm glad you came today, Frodo. I wanted to see you. If you can tear yourself away from your studies in the library, would you like to take another walk in the tunnels? The workmen have cleared the rest of that passage below the stair where the Elf's body was found, and think they've located the door at the other end. There is a trick to open it. I was going to go and see if I could do it myself. Will you come with me?"

Frodo agreed eagerly. Faramir took a torch, and they went down through the stairwell in the westward tower of the great hall, into the tunnel beneath the building.

"Do you know when that tunnel was bricked up?" Frodo asked as they went down the long central passage. "I've asked your librarian Ullathor to see if he can find an answer, but he hasn't been able to yet."

"I don't know. There used to be a door, which was kept locked, at this end of the passageway. Look there--you can see where the hinges were removed." As they reached the intersection with the narrower tunnel, Faramir moved the torch closer to one wall to pick out rust-stained gouges where ironmongery had been pulled out of the stone. "In the days when this secret passage was used, only the King and Steward had keys to the door, but other members of their households could be granted permission go this way."

"You seem to know quite a lot about it," observed Frodo.

"I'd never seen it before we first came down here last week, but I've heard the old tales of it all my life. There are stories of it that have endured in the citadel for hundreds of years, long after anyone could tell where the tunnel used to be. My brother and I were forbidden to come down here when we were boys--but we would go in to explore just the same. We used to search for the secret way, but of course we never found it. We didn't know where to look, and this place was filled with an Age's worth of rubbish."

They were now at the stairway where the body had been found. The rubble on the landing had been cleared away. "Have a care, Frodo," Faramir warned him as the hobbit stepped forward to peer into the gap where the body had lain. "The foreman of the crew at work here tells me that they've found the remains of an older, steeper stair beside this one, worn to ruins and not safe. He thinks that the brick wall set here was meant to shut that older stair off. It's my guess that our murderer took advantage of this repair, and the body of the murdered Elf was cast inside while the wall was freshly built--it would only be a matter of taking aside a few bricks, or else finishing a job that had been left half-done. There are also signs below that there were once plans to cut a door at the foot of the old stair."

"It would have opened directly across from our house, wouldn't it?" asked Frodo.

"Yes, and that makes a certain sense, if they meant for Stewards of old to visit the King. It would've been more convenient in later years. Unfortunately, the work was abandoned before the rock was pierced." They went down the long stairway into darkness, Faramir keeping Frodo close to him in the torchlight, although the hobbit's feet were perfectly sure and steady.

"Gandalf's house, the house we live in," Frodo said. "Who owns it? Is it yours, Faramir?"

"It was the traditional home of the Stewards of Gondor before the Ruling Days. I thought you knew that, Frodo."

"I guessed it might be so." No one had said so distinctly, but the fact was alluded to often in the historical accounts he'd read and in conversations, just as Faramir had done a moment ago. Perhaps no one who lived in Minas Tirith, past or present, had thought it necessary to say something so obvious aloud. "I've seen it called the House of Hurin."

"It has been called so," Faramir confirmed. "That is also the name of our family line, who have been stewards since Hurin's day. I've never lived in that house, nor did my father, nor any steward since the days of the last king before Elessar's coming."

"But it's been inhabited since then. Someone lived there not too long before us." Frodo remembered when he and the other members of the fellowship had first come to the house, they had found it ready to be occupied, with rooms full of furnishings, as well as plates and kitchen-ware, books, bed-linens and towels.

"It is sometimes given to guests who abide in Minas Tirith for a time, as Mithrandir does."

"And Prince Ibritalant?" asked Frodo, remembering that the Prince had been staying there when he'd seen the ghost.

"Uncle Ibritalant did not like my father--he blamed him for my mother's decline--and he always took residence outside the citadel when he came to visit. I thought that Eowyn and I would take it as our home, but the King and Queen would have us remain in the great hall and share the royal apartments with them."

"I suppose they're glad of the company," Frodo said. And, since there were many spacious chambers on the upper floors of the great hall, both couples had plenty of room to live comfortably and bring up children.

At the bottom of the stair was a straight and narrow tunnel that ran next to the supporting outer wall. Faramir led the way until the tunnel turned at a right angle to the left; here, the natural rock ended, and they faced a dead end against a Man-made wall of stones.

"It must be here," Faramir said, and gave the torch to Frodo. Reaching up over his head to place both hands on the wall, he pressed on a series of smaller stones set above a large slab of rock. "The trick is to press two of these at once, but the old stories don't say which ones. If I can't find it out, we'll have to go back the way we came."

At last, Faramir found the right ones. With a rasping groan of stone moving against stone, the slab swung back to reveal daylight. They stepped out through the open door into the archway beneath the guards' watch-station--just where Frodo had anticipated, and just where the Elf had been headed in his last dream.

After this, it was not remarkable that Frodo should dream of the tunnels. In his dreams that very night, he went along that same narrow and dark passage he had with Faramir, but in the opposite direction. Ahead of him, the figure of the Elf walked with sure and swift steps, as if the way was well-known to him. The Elf bore no torch, but he didn't seem to need one. A soft glow emanated about him.

They went up the stairs. While these were the same stairs that he and Faramir had walked down that day, Frodo saw that they were of newly cut stone and there was a dark, deep gap between them and the outer wall; in it lay an older, circular stairway, its steps worn to smoothness. More new stones had been raised to seal off this gap, just as Faramir had said, and on the landing above, he saw signs of fresh mortar-work and unused bricks stacked on the landing.

As the Elf approached the top, Frodo cried out, certain that he was about to witness the murder--but the Elf reached the upper landing without incident, then turned and went around the corner. Frodo scrambled up and ran after him, stumbling in the darkness.

By the time he caught up, the Elf had gone into the wide, central tunnel and was headed in the direction of the citadel buildings. The Elf ascended the stair that went up into the great hall, but Frodo remained below. He wanted desperately to follow, to see where the Elf was going and whom he was meeting there at this late hour, but he was oddly restrained. His feet felt rooted to the stone floor, and he couldn't take another step.

From above, he heard a voice say, "Ah! Welcome, Emissary! You've been expected."

"I'd understood that our business with the King was finished," a soft, melodious voice replied.

"It has, but there is another matter you and I must speak of, a matter most confidential..."

Frodo made a greater effort to go up the steps into the hall, and in his struggles to lift his feet, stumbled. As he fell forward, he awoke.

He was lying on the stone floor just where he'd been in his dream, in the tunnel beneath the great hall, at the foot of the stair going up into the westward tower. He must have gone through the tunnels, just as he'd dreamed... but how? And how was he going to get home? He didn't see how he could navigate the tunnels in total darkness, even if he had managed it before.

The only thing to do was go upstairs, cross the courtyard, and take the public passageway down to the sixth level. Frodo went up into the great hall, as the Elf had done centuries ago, but tonight it was dark and silent. He pulled open the side-door, stole out on the westward side of the building and crept as quietly as he could around the base of the White Tower. He was reluctant to let the guards that kept watch by the tunnel entrance see him, but knew there was no way to go past without drawing their attention, and having to explain his presence.

When the guards did notice him, they recognized him--the halflings were well known to everyone in the citadel--and came forward to see if he was all right. Beregond, who was out making the rounds of the citadel to see all was well before going to bed himself, was summoned immediately.

"How did you get here, Frodo?" the captain asked. "I didn't know you were in the citadel tonight."

"I wasn't. I came up through the old tunnel under the courtyard... I think." Frodo was aware that the captain and guards were looking at him curiously, for his nightshirt and hands were smeared with grime, and cobwebs hung in his hair. He must look as if he'd been crawling through caves. When he lifted his hand, he also realized that he still had the cord to Merry's dressing-gown knotted around his left wrist; the other end, which should be tied around the bed-post, had been undone. "I've been walking in my sleep lately," he explained. "This is to keep me from wandering."

"It doesn't seem to have worked," said Beregond, smiling. "Shall I take you home, Frodo? If Mithrandir and your kinsman Merry have discovered you've gone, they must be worried." He did not wait for an answer, but picked the hobbit up effortlessly. Frodo was too bewildered and weary to protest.

Beregond carried him out of the citadel and down to the street below, where Merry and Gandalf were both out of the house and searching for him. They looked extremely relieved when Beregond appeared, and set Frodo down before them.

"Are you all right?" Merry asked as he ran up to his cousin and hugged him hard. "I woke up, and didn't know where you'd gone. Gandalf and I have been looking all up and down the street." He plucked a thick strand of cobweb from Frodo's hair. "Where were you?"

"I'm not sure myself." Frodo told them of his dream, and how he had awakened in the passage beneath the great hall. "I've no idea how I came to be there. I'm sorry," he said sheepishly as he gave the dressing-gown cord back to Merry. "I must have unknotted it, but I've truly no memory of doing so."

"I've heard of your unusual dreams, Frodo," Gandalf said, and regarded the hobbits sternly, "but how long have you been walking in your sleep like this?"

"It's only happened once or twice before," Frodo answered.

"Twice," said Merry, "since he first saw the ghost of that Elf. But he's never gone so far from home before. I told Gandalf the last time, you'd gone up toward the street's end, Frodo--I thought you must've gone into through the tunnel." He held Frodo back at arms-length to look over his bedraggled nightclothes. "You did, didn't you?

"I must have. I can think of no other explanation for how I got into the citadel without being seen. I saw Faramir open the secret door from within. Perhaps I opened it from the outside."

"We were just puzzling over that ourselves," said Gandalf, and invited Frodo to give it try.

Frodo recalled which slab of stone within the archway concealed the entrance to the tunnel, but no matter where he pressed on the surface of the wall around it, he couldn't find the trigger that opened the door. At his suggestion, Beregond and Gandalf also tried the stones above the slab, as Faramir had from the other side, although these were far above a hobbit's reach. It was Beregond who found it: by pressing one hand on a stone above the upper right corner of the slab, the panel moved aside with a gritty rumble.

Frodo stared into the entrance of the tunnel beyond. "If I opened the door that way, I couldn't begin to tell you how I did it."

For the rest of that night and every night thereafter, Gandalf locked the door to Frodo's room from the outside, and did not unlock it again until breakfast-time.

"It's the only thing to do," said Merry one night not long after Frodo's sleep-walk into the citadel. "I can't tie you hand and foot to the bedposts--the bed's too big and we don't have enough rope. Besides, I don't think you'd be very comfortable trying to sleep that way, and we couldn't have much fun."

"Oh, we might manage some fun!" Frodo laughed. He'd been giving the idea some thought since Merry had started tying his wrist at night. "All the same, I doubt if ropes or locked doors will do any good to keep me in, Merry. I couldn't have possibly opened that secret door, not without a ladder. Even a tall Man like Captain Beregond had to reach up over his head to touch the trick stone."

"It must've been the ghost," Merry replied.

"Yes, exactly. And if he wants me to follow him again, he'll get me out of this room, even through a locked door."

"He'll have to get past Gandalf and me to do it. We'll be keeping a closer watch over you from now on." In addition to the locked door, Merry had also taken to tying the other end of the dressing-gown cord around his own wrist rather than the bedpost, on the theory that he would wake up if Frodo or any ghost tried to undo it.

Before they went to sleep that night, Frodo read for awhile from the huge history book the librarian had given him. The book covered all of Gondor's history from Elendil's founding of the city after the destruction of Numenor to the end of the stewardship of Ecthelion II, Denethor's father. Except for the evening he'd read the tales of ghosts and city folklore, he'd read a chapter or two of history every night--a sure way to put anyone to sleep, Merry had joked.

By this time, Frodo's nightly reading had taken him up to 1020 and the early years of the reign of young King Ciryaher, who would later be known as Hyarmendacil, "South Victor," after he drove the long-encroaching Men of Harad from Gondor's southern borders in 1050, defeating them utterly. It was to be a long and glorious reign; under Hyarmendacil, Gondor reached the pinnacle of its power, influence, and magnificence. This king would rule a vast kingdom.

"But even as Gondor knew its greatest glory," wrote the historian who'd written the book, "the darkness of the Enemy returned and grew. Mordor was guarded by great fortresses in the mountains passes of Ephel Duath and watched closely for signs of the Dark Lord's presence, but Sauron made his return in another place. He did not show himself in his realm of old, but took quiet abode deep in the great forest then called Greenwood. By 1100, the Black Tower of Dol Goldur was known by the Men of Gondor and Elves alike to be inhabited, but the identity of the Necromancer who dwelt within remained a mystery for many years. By then, Sauron had regained his powers and cast a blight upon the forest, which was now known as Mirkwood.

"Yet the return of the Enemy might have been discovered long before. In the year 1021, two messengers from Imladris arrived to see the King. They brought dire tidings of a darkness sensed in the southern eaves of the Greenwood, upon Gondor's own border.

"The Elven messengers dwelt for a time in Minas Anor and had words with the King. But Ciryaher was yet a youth and guided in all things by his most trusted advisor, his Steward Lord Aiglemerth, who had also been Steward in his father's day. Ciryaher took the counsel of Aiglemerth and would not heed the Elven messengers' warnings of the danger upon Gondor's border. He would not act, for his mind was much upon the threat to the south, the Men of Harad, who had slain his own father Ciryandil five years before. At last, the Elves were dismissed from the King's presence. They went from the court and were never seen again, nor has any Elf come to Gondor in goodwill since.

"Had young Ciryaher heeded the warnings, Gondor might have allied itself with the Elves of Imladris and of the Greenwood, as they had a thousand years before, and routed the Enemy before he could grow to great powers. But this chance was lost, and the darkness of Mordor now grows daily upon us."

Frodo laughed and put his free hand upon these paragraphs. "I've found it! It's right here, Merry. It's been here in the house with me since that first day!"

Now that a likely date for the event had been determined, the rest of the story was easy to find.

"The entire account of the Elves' meetings with King Cirahyer is right here," Frodo told his audience of King and Queen, Gandalf, Faramir, Eowyn, and Merry the following evening. They were in the private sitting room of the royal apartments in the citadel, and Frodo sat with a book from the library open in his lap. "Once he knew where to look, Ullathor put his hands the court records for me in a matter of minutes. It's just as the history book says: two Elves from Rivendell had been sent on an errand to King Thranduil in Mirkwood, or Greenwood, as the forest was called then. Whatever their business was with Thranduil, it isn't recorded--perhaps the Elves didn't talk of it--but while they were there, they learned that some dark presence had taken up residence in the southern end of the Wood. It was Sauron, returned, but no one knew that yet."

"That fact was not to be known for nearly two thousand years," Gandalf confirmed. "Though many became aware of the presence of this dark force as it grew and cast its blight upon the Wood, none suspected it to be Sauron. We guessed that it might be one of the Nazgul or some other servant of the Enemy who had survived its master's downfall."

"Even so, two thousand years seems like an awfully long time to let something so dangerous sit there unchecked," said Merry. "Didn't anyone go and see who it was?"

The wizard scowled at this impertinence. "None dared examine it too closely. Those who drew too near Dol Goldur rarely returned. Would you have gone to investigate under such circumstances, Merry Brandybuck? I ventured into the dungeons of Dol Goldur myself, 170 years ago, at great peril to my own life. I barely escaped, but I confirmed at last the identity of the Necromancer who inhabited the tower. I brought the truth to the attention of the White Council and urged action then. Saruman advised against it, for reasons of his own that I did not comprehend. It was not until one hundred years later, when Saruman learned that Sauron was searching for the Ring, which he meant to find for himself, that he recommended an attack upon Dol Goldur to distract the Enemy from his prize. This was done, and the Enemy was driven out... and into Mordor. That the Ring had already been found, by Bilbo, escaped the notice of all for some time."

"The Elves who came to Gondor had the same idea about assaulting the tower, although they didn't know who lived in it," said Frodo. "Since the danger lay near Gondor's borders, they thought the King of Gondor ought to know about it, so they came to Minas Anor to warn him and ask for his aid. Even though Gondor had just been through a fierce war with Harad, they could still assemble a greater army than all the Elves together if one was needed to do battle. But King Ciryaher didn't heed their warning. He took the advice of his Steward, Lord Aiglemerth- An ancestor of yours?" he asked, looking up from his book at Faramir.

"No," answered Faramir. "The Stewardship was not yet an hereditary office. It wouldn't belong to my family exclusively for another six hundred years."

"Not until Hurin's day," said Frodo, who remembered what Faramir had said about his family name.

"Yes, that's so. Aiglemerth's family has long since died out."

"Anyway, the King was guided by his Steward, and his own desire for revenge against the Men of Harad who had killed his father. According to these court records, they had several go-rounds on the subject over a period of weeks. The Elves want King Ciryaher to send an army to Dol Goldur, although they don't call it by that name. They say that the Elves of Greenwood, Lothlorien, and Rivendell will join forces with the army of Men to confront the dark presence and drive it forth. The King refuses to give them a definite answer about whether or not he'll help. He puts the Elves off by saying he'll 'give the question his consideration,' and that ends the session until the next time the Elves come to the citadel and ask what he's decided to do. But in the notes of his private council, we can see what the King and Lord Aiglemerth truly thought of the matter. Aiglemerth persuaded the King that there was no real danger from the Greenwood, and that the armies of Gondor would be better used against Harad. It seems he wanted revenge for the old King's death as much as Ciryaher did. There's only one voice of dissent in the council, from someone named Aigande. I can't make out who he was, exactly--he isn't given a title in these old council records, like everyone else."

"He was Lord Aiglemerth's son," said Faramir, "and a friend to the King. At the time you speak of, he would have been a youth himself, and perhaps held no official place at court."

"Was he?" asked Frodo, taking more interest now that he understood the relationships. A moment ago, Aigande had only been a name on a page, a somewhat cryptic figure in this ancient drama. "Well, Aigande wanted to go to the Wood. He even offered to lead an army there himself in Ciryaher's name." He wondered why the young Man had opposed his father and given his friend the King contrary advice. "But the King wouldn't let him go. He said that he had need of Aigande beside him. He doesn't want to waste Men in the north when they ought to build their armies to strike in the south, which they did do eventually. It made Ciryaher the most powerful King of Men on Middle-Earth since the fall of Numenor.

"In the end, when pressed for an answer, Ciryaher admitted to the Elves that he had no intention of sending any Men into the Greenwood. There were some hard words over it. When he heard the King's decision, one of the Elves said, 'On your head be it, and the heads of your line hereafter,' which Ciryaher seems to take as a curse or threat. He sent the Elves away that very day... or did he? They were not seen again in Gondor. If my dreams are true, then one was called back that night for one final, secret meeting. He went into the citadel through the secret tunnel and met with someone, not the King. I don't know who. Was he killed then and there? But at last, we have names!" Frodo read from the account of the first meeting: "'The King welcomed Elspar the Far-Seer, who was known to the kings of old as an emissary of Lord Elrond of Imladris'--which is quite true, by the way. I've found his name a dozen times in the court records before this. The other was 'his companion, who was called Dadenmiel'."

When she heard these names, Arwen said, "Yes, I remember them. I well remember Elspar Olorodin. He was indeed in the service of my father."

Frodo recalled that Arwen had used a similar word when speaking of his own sensitivity: olori, which meant 'vision' or 'dream'. She'd also said that some Elves were born with this ability. "What does that name mean, my lady--Olorodin?" he asked. "Is it the same as 'Far-Seer'?"

"That is how the Common Tongue best describes Elspar's talent," she answered. "He could not foresee what was to come, but he saw what was happening at a great distance. It is a gift highly valued, and he became a traveler and messenger because of it." Arwen smiled. "He was often at Imladris when I was a young maiden, but has not been seen there in long years. He was most handsome, and greatly admired. Dadenmiel too was of a surpassing beauty. He was but a youth, born since the end of the Second Age, and a friend of my brothers. He entered the tutelage Elspar and departed with him on an errand to the east not long before I first left Imladris myself to abide in Lothlorien. I have not seen either since, but I've often wondered what became of them."

Aragorn stared at her with sudden curiosity; he knew full well that his wife was more than 2700 years old, but it came as a surprise to him to hear her speak of the beauty of Elven males and realize that she hadn't spent all that time entirely untouched.

As if divining his thoughts, Arwen laughed. "It was long before your birth, Estel. Would you have me lie sleeping within a spell to await your kiss? I gave my heart to none."

"You mean, you knew you were fated to love someone else one day?" asked Eowyn.

"I knew my father would not have me wed so young--I was no more than 800 when they departed--nor one whose birth was not equal to my own. And also, once he met Elspar, I saw that it would have been fruitless for me or any maiden to love Dadenmiel. They were melani." Arwen looked at the group seated around her. "Do you know the word? There is none like it in the Common Tongue. They were beloved of each other, and had no heart to give to women-kind--like you." Her eyes turned to the hobbits. She spoke, as she always did, in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the astonishing things she said were common knowledge. "I did not know, before I saw the four of you periannath paired that this was also the way of other people."

Frodo felt his face grow hot with a blush, not merely because of what Arwen had just said, but because he could see that the others in the room weren't surprised by it, although Faramir and Aragorn appeared a little discomfited.

Merry answered, "It's isn't very common amongst our people, my lady. Hobbits don't have any words for it either--not nice ones, anyway."

"If one of these Elves was the one murdered here," said Gandalf, "would the other have left the city without him?"

"What do you think happened to the other Elf, Frodo?" Aragorn asked.

Spurred by this gentle prompting, Frodo answered, "I don't know. Perhaps he's buried here too, and hasn't been found yet." He was still blushing, but recovering from his embarrassment and confusion. Not only was everyone unsurprised by Arwen's statement, they didn't even seem to regard it as anything remarkable. The conversation was going on as before. "Or perhaps Elspar sent Dadenmiel away before he went to his final meeting in the citadel, to ensure his- ah- beloved's safety. I think it's more likely that the murdered Elf was Elspar. He was the leader of the two, and already known in the city. If there was a confidential matter that required one last meeting, I feel certain he would have been summoned. He also had more opportunity to draw someone's ire."

"Whose?" asked the King.

Frodo hesitated, then spoke an idea that had been on his mind for some time. "One thing's been obvious from the first: Not many people had access to the secret tunnel between the citadel and the Steward's home even when it was open, but only one Man had the authority to seal it off." He turned to Faramir. "The entrance was bricked up--isn't that what the work-foreman said?"

"It was," Faramir answered gravely, knowing what Frodo was about to say.

But it was Aragorn who spoke first, "Do you say that the King murdered his guests?"

"Not quite. I doubt that a King of Gondor would have to commit murders with his own hand," Frodo answered. "And I don't see a Man later famed for his bravery in battle cravenly stabbing someone in the back. But if he did have that tunnel bricked up, it suggests that he knew what lay within it and feared the discovery. He must have known what had been done, afterwards if not before, and knew or guessed who had done it. If that's so, then it was someone he wished to protect."

"Someone whose interests coincided with his own," said Gandalf. "Someone with more reason than he to see that the Elves who had troubled them were gone for good?"

"Yes," said Frodo. "That can only mean the Steward, Lord Aiglemerth."

Ullathor continued his search through the city archives, focusing on the early reign of Ciryaher. In the days that followed, he had new information to offer each time Frodo visited the library, some of it extremely curious.

The oddest piece came from the old logs of a captain of the Guard, whose duties included making note of every stranger who appeared at the city gate and asked to enter. The arrival of the Elves was described in a brief paragraph, and the captain had noted that after these unusual visitors were escorted to the citadel to see the King, they were made welcome as guests in the house of Lord Aiglemerth. In light of what had happened afterwards, this struck Frodo as a very strange and alarming choice for lodgings.

He asked Faramir, who knew a great deal of the city's history, especially where it concerned the Stewards and his own family.

"In those days, the great hall in the citadel was a place for the king to confer with his council and hold audience," Faramir answered Frodo's questions. "The King's quarters then were not so large nor so fine as the royal apartments are today. There was no guards hall--the guards were quartered in the old garrison on the first level--and the guest chambers behind the great hall weren't built 'til around 2500, so there was no place for guests to stay. Distinguished visitors were welcomed into the homes of the noble families. In spite of what happened to them later, it was meant as a sign of the King's high esteem for the Elves that he sent them to his Steward's house."

"But all the same," said Frodo, "it must have been an awkward situation all around. The Elves can't have felt very welcome if they knew how Aiglemerth was advising the King to refuse them aid." He wondered: Had the Elves known how Aiglemerth was working against them? Could they have been aware of the danger they were in?

Faramir also confirmed that Aiglemerth's house had later become the House of Hurin, the same house where Frodo, Gandalf and Merry were living now.

"It was the house of Aiglemerth's family, I believe," he told Frodo. "It wasn't until Hurin, who came from Emyn Arnen, that the house was made the official residence of the Stewards. It sat empty for many years after Aiglemerth's death, since his family line died with him, and all subsequent Stewards were chosen from among the other great noble families of the city, who already had homes of their own in the same street."

"He was the last of his line?" asked Frodo. "But you said there was a son. Aigande. What happened to him?"

"Aigande died before his father. He was killed in battle during the wars with the Harad, as a matter of fact. There is a famous old poem about it, written in his memory. I'm sure the library will have a copy--ask Ullathor if you'd like to read it."

"Yes, I will. Thank you." Frodo wondered again about this son of Aiglemerth's. He had been a young Man at the time of the Elves' visit, and must have been living in his father's house when their remarkable visitors were there. What had he witnessed? Had he befriended the Elves? That would explain why he'd taken up their cause when his father was advising the King to do nothing.

The last piece of information that Ullathor discovered in the old treasury accounts merely confirmed what Frodo had already guessed: in 1020, King Ciryaher had commissioned workmen to close off the old stairway in the secret tunnel, as it had fallen into decay and become a danger; a new stair was built. A new door was also ordered to be cut at the foot of the stair, to open directly across from the Stewart's house, but even before this work had begun, the King ordered the gates to the tunnel locked and the passage closed to all. The secret way had remained shut until the end of his long reign. After his death in 1159, his son Atanatar Alcarin had the gates unlocked and the passage was reopened for a few years, until "certain disturbances" caused it to be closed permanently. The entrance to the tunnel was then bricked up.

These facts, more than anything, told Frodo that he was indeed on the right path to the truth. Although the accounts did not specify what "disturbances" had led the tunnel to be closed, he guessed that the ghost had made some appearances there too.

---

One night near Midsummer, Frodo dreamt that he stood again at the foot of the stairwell that went up into the citadel. He was alone, but the Elf he'd followed through the tunnels in his previous dream must have just gone upstairs; he could hear voices murmuring above, but their words were indistinct.

Suddenly, the Elf's voice cried out, "No! I refuse! I would not betray him so."

Frodo tried to move, but felt as powerless to take a step as he had the last time he'd stood here. He shouted the name, "Elspar!"

Then he woke. He wasn't at the foot of the stair in the citadel, as he'd expected, but in his own bed. The cord that bound him to Merry was still knotted about his wrist. His own voice rang in his head, almost as if he'd shouted aloud, but as his drowsiness dissipated, he realized that he also heard another, softer sound. Someone was weeping.

Frodo lifted his head from the pillow. "Merry?" But Merry lay quiet beside him, fast asleep.

He definitely heard the sobbing. This was no dream, nor the sound of wind in the chimney or rain gurgling in the gutters, for it was a clear and still night. The sound was growing louder; it seemed very near him in the darkness of the room... and yet at the same time, it seemed very far away, as if he were hearing it echoed from the other side of a vast chasm.

He sat up. There was no light in the room beyond glints of moonlight that shone through gaps in the window-curtains, but he could discern the shapes of familiar pieces of furniture: the table he used as a writing-desk; the large and looming wardrobe; the wash-stand in the corner; the chairs by the fire... and something else. Another shape sat huddled before the fire, a shape like a Man. Its head was down and the broad shoulders shuddered with each sobbing breath. It sounded as if its heart were breaking.

"Merry-!" Frodo hissed urgently under his breath, and shoved his cousin to try and wake him. "Merry, look!" He did not dare take his eyes from the figure seated at the hearth, for fear it would disappear the instant he turned away.

Merry stirred sleepily. "What is it, Frodo?"

"Look."

Merry lifted his head to look, saw, and sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. "Frodo-!" He grabbed his cousin's arm. "What is that? Who-?"

The two hobbits sat staring at the sobbing thing beyond the foot of the bed, not daring to move and disturb it, but not certain what they should do. What did one say to a weeping ghost? Could they speak to it? Would it answer?

Then there was an odd rippling in the air, like rings on the surface of a pond, and the shape was gone. The room was silent.

Merry let out a huff of breath. "You're probably used to seeing ghosts all over, Frodo, but I never have before. What a fright to wake up to! Was that your Elf?"

"I don't think so." It was hard to tell in this faint light, but this figure had seemed brawnier than the slender Elf in his dreams, and dark-haired while his Elf was silver-fair. "I think it was someone else."

"The other Elf, you mean?"

"Perhaps." But Frodo wondered--Who had slept in this same room in this house two thousand years ago? A new idea was beginning to take shape in his mind: the Elf might not have been killed over the matter of sending Men to Dol Goldur, but for another more personal reason.

I would not betray him so, the Elf had cried. Betray who? The other Elf? Elrond? Thranduil? Aigande? What had he been asked to do? And who had he been speaking to?

The next morning, Frodo went up to the citadel to pay a call upon Arwen in the royal chambers. While he'd seen the Queen often among her ladies in the boudoir since that day when she had embarrassed him with her innocent indiscretion, he'd had no chance to speak to her privately. But on this day, after his sight of the sobbing apparition and the idea that had followed it, he put aside his shyness and came to her on a special errand.

That incident had also been on Arwen's mind, for she welcomed Frodo into her sitting room the moment her page announced his arrival, as if she'd been expecting him, and once they were alone, told him, "I have wanted to apologize to you, Frodo. I caused you distress, when I did not mean to. Melani such as Elspar and Dadenmiel are well known to Elven-kind. I didn't understand that it would shame you to speak so of you and Merry."

"I'm not ashamed, exactly," Frodo answered, and turned pink at the points of his ears. "I'm quite happy to be as I am. But as Merry said, it doesn't happen very often among hobbits. When it does, it isn't generally talked about. I'm not used to hearing people discuss it in public, nor speaking about it myself except with my closest friends--Merry, Sam, Pippin. Those who understand."

Arwen nodded gravely. "Yes, that is also the way of Man-kind, or so I have been told."

"Some boys have these feelings for each other when they're young," Frodo continued to explain, "but most grow out of it once they reach an age to marry. It's rare to be like Merry and me, and never want a wife or children at all."

"Is that what became of your Samwise... and Pippin too?" she asked. "We wondered when Merry first came here, and wouldn't speak of why he'd left his home. Eowyn said it must have to do with Pippin, since he never spoke his name, while yours and those of his kindred were often upon his lips. We saw how the two were bonded to each other, as you were to Sam."

"Yes, well..." Frodo ducked his head. Everyone had seen what he and Sam felt for each other, apparently. And he thought they'd been so discreet!

"It puzzled me that you should bond thereafter with Merry."

"We thought it the best thing to do, under the circumstances, since we are alike in this one respect."

Arwen nodded again. "I'm glad that you can find love twice. We of the Eldar can only give our hearts once. It is our greatest joy, as well as our greatest grief if that love is lost. When my beloved Estel departs this realm..."

Her eyes grew sad and, for once, Frodo knew what she was thinking: even though she'd given up her immortality to be with Aragorn, she would surely outlive him. To lead her away from this morbid line of thought, he changed the subject to the one that had brought him here today. "I hoped you could tell me more about the two Elves, my lady. You knew them."

"Yes," she answered, smiling a little at this abrupt transition, as if she perceived why Frodo had done it. "What can I tell you about them, Frodo?"

"It was the cloak-pin found with the body that I'm most curious about, the one with the green gemstone. Do you recall if Elspar or Dadenmiel had such a gemstone when you saw them last?"

"I last saw Elspar and Dadenmiel many years before they came to this city, Frodo," Arwen answered. "I didn't recognize that cloak-pin when I saw it. I would have said the name of the one who wore it, had I known. This I do know: The mithril in which the gem was set was not fashioned by the smiths of Imladris, nor by the Elves of Lothlorien."

"The Elves of Mirkwood, then?" asked Frodo. "Perhaps a gift or token from King Thranduil?"

"I can make no better guess," said Arwen. "My father has often said that Thranduil is an insular king, concerned only with his woodland realm, and suspicious of those who come from outside it, but he can be generous to those visitors who have gained his trust or favor. That is why my father would send Elspar to him when they must have dealings--the Far Seer was in Thranduil's favor, and the King of the Wood would hear his words when he might scorn another."

"Then you think it's more likely that Thranduil would give such a piece of jewelry to Elspar than to Dadenmiel?" Frodo asked her.

"Yes," Arwen agreed. "It seems to me more likely."

Thereafter, Frodo visited the city library daily, but now he was searching for answers to specific questions. He was primarily interested Aiglemerth's son, Aigande, and Ullathor provided whatever information he could find.

As Faramir had said, Aigande had had no position in the court at the time of the murders, but he would become Ciryaher's captain of the citadel guard in 1022 and led the first campaigns against the Harad when the armies of Gondor were ready to fight. He was killed in battle in Umbar in 1048, unmarried, childless, and the last of his family line.

The King had been grief-stricken at the loss, and redoubled his assaults on the Harad until they were completely defeated and he had gained a reputation for ferocity in war that was remembered even today. Ciryaher--or Hyarmendacil, as he was thereafter called in all historical records--refused to marry for many years after Aigande's death, and only did so when his council insisted that he produce an heir, or else name one from among his nearest kinsmen. Hyarmendacil evidently preferred to have a son of his own blood succeed to his throne, and married a lady whom his advisors recommended; according to all accounts, the King and Queen were indifferent to each other and lived apart after they had produced the necessary heir.

Ullathor had also lent Frodo a copy of the famous poem about the death of Aigande. Frodo read it aloud to Merry one evening before dinner; he was moved nearly to tears at the description of how Captain Aigande had been fatally wounded, sacrificing himself to defend his king, and had died in Ciryaher's arms. What struck Frodo most was the account of the death itself, particularly Aigande's and Ciryaher's last words.

According to the poem, Aigande had said:

"I am happy, beloved King, to have stayed at your side, That I might rest one last time in your arms ere I died."

Ciryaher had replied:

"Sleep well then, my love, before this life's end. Take this with thee in membrance, o dearest friend."

Then he had kissed Aigande farewell. After the battle, Aigande's body had been taken back to Minas Anor to be placed in his family's tomb in the Silent Street. The poem ended there, with Ciryaher vowing to have the blood of all Harad in recompense for the spilt blood of his friend.

"Perhaps I'm seeing too much in their professions of love," Frodo admitted as he closed the thin little poetry book. "It's like Men, even today, to make a great scene and give speeches at a friend's death." He remembered how Aragorn had described Boromir's death; they'd spoken to each other in similar fashion, and Aragorn had even kissed Boromir on the brow in farewell--and yet as far as Frodo knew, there'd never been anything lover-like between those two.

"Maybe it's just the way the poem's written," said Merry. "The poet would want to fancy up their words a bit. Even if it's close to what King Ciryaher and Aigande actually said, I'm sure they didn't say it in rhyme like that."

"But this poem was commissioned by the King, in his memory of his friend. It mightn't be the exact truth, but he approved of how Aigande's death was described. It's how he wanted his own feelings for Aigande to be known. Perhaps it's what he wished they'd said to each other at the end. Do you think I'm right, Merry? Two Men, close friends from boyhood, neither married, and calling each other 'beloved'. Were they like you and me--or, more to the point, like the two Elves?"

"You're probably right," said Merry. "But if it was true, what of it? It's a bit of gossip from two thousand years ago. It doesn't tell you who killed that Elf, does it?"

"On the contrary, my dear Merry," Frodo responded. "It answers a great deal. I think I know what happened to the Elves, or at least the one we've found."

"Several parts of this mystery have puzzled me from the beginning," Frodo said the next day; by arrangement, his friends had all gathered in the sitting room in the royal chambers. They sat around him--King and Queen, Steward and his Lady, Gandalf and Merry--waiting eagerly to hear his explanation of who had placed the body of the Elf in the wall beneath the citadel, and why.

"One thing that puzzled me," he began. "The old folklore of the city has it that an appearance of the ghost presages a death or other disaster, especially for the families of the kings and stewards. Faramir thinks it's all superstitious bosh, and after some consideration, I agree that he's right. One of the Elves may have cursed Ciryaher's line and Aiglemerth's too, but both their lines ended long ago. Neither Faramir nor Strider is a descendent of that other king and steward."

Faramir smiled. "I'm pleased to hear I am in no danger."

Frodo returned the smile. "But you must admit that the ghost is bound to them somehow? He only appears in the street across from our house, Aiglemerth's house."

"That's where his body was hidden, where we found it," said Faramir. "It's no marvel that he should walk there."

"Yes, but it's more than that," Frodo replied. "I believe he's bound to that house and its residents. He's often seen by people who dwell in it. It's where he was lodged during the last days of his life, and where his murderer and betrayer lived. He made one of his earliest appearances, if not the very first, to Aiglemerth himself, after his son Aigande's death."

These last sentences caused a mild sensation, but everyone knew that Frodo suspected Lord Aiglemerth.

"Another thing wasn't right: Whenever I tried to match what I saw in my dreams with known facts, they didn't fit." Frodo placed a hand at his throat, where a pin would clasp the collar of cloak. "That green brooch found with the body puzzled me very much. It must've belonged to the murdered Elf. He was wearing it when his body was concealed, and almost certainly when he was killed--but the Elf in my dreams isn't.

"It was stupid of me not to understand, even after I learned that there were two Elves. You see, don't you?" He looked up at the people seated around him, and could see that they didn't. "The Elf in my dreams isn't the ghost, but the other one! I think I only ever saw the ghost himself in my dreams once, that first time. Even then, I can't be sure--it was always a tall, fair, and slender figure in a gray cloak. I didn't see his face."

His audience continued to look perplexed. "Was it Dadenmiel who was murdered, not Elspar?" asked Eowyn. "Or is it the other way around?"

"I've confused the two myself often enough," Frodo answered, with a little laugh. "When I first began to dream of the Elf who went into the citadel through the tunnels, I believed I was meant to witness the murder as it was committed. But another thing that puzzled me was how I saw it all. The Elf knew I followed him. He spoke to me once, but his words made no sense. They were quite odd. He said, 'Do you think this is your errand? Will you safeguard me to my destination, when I alone am summoned?' I wondered if he were really speaking to me."

"Those words were meant for someone else," Gandalf said.

"Yes, precisely! Someone he met in the street that night, just before he went into the citadel. I wondered for a time if he might be speaking to his murderer. Well, that was wrong. The Elf wasn't wary or suspicious of the person he was speaking to. He seemed almost amused to find someone had followed him. He sounded as if he were being offered protection, and doubted he needed it." It was the type of offer Frodo had heard countless times himself these past years from the people who loved him, who saw his illness and wanted to help him... and especially from the one person who loved him best and wanted nothing more than to look after him. How often had they had similar conversations--Sam fussing, and he replying in that tolerant, affectionate tone, letting himself be protected even when he didn't think he needed it?

He felt a sudden pang of unbearable longing at the memories, and quashed it. No, he wouldn't think of Sam now. He went on, speaking quickly, "There was only one person he would speak to that way--his beloved companion. Elspar. It was Dadenmiel, not Elspar, who was summoned back to the citadel for a private conference that night. It's Dadenmiel I see, through Elspar's eyes. I am seeing how he followed Dadenmiel through the tunnels into the citadel to try and safeguard him, and how he was killed for it."

"But why?" asked Arwen, her eyes wide with horror. "They disagreed. They were sent away. Why spill their blood over it?"

"That will be a bit difficult to explain, my lady, but I will do my best. To begin with, Elspar and Dadenmiel were not the only two who were beloved of each other in this sad story. King Ciryaher and his friend Aigande were also- ah-more than friends." In spite of himself, Frodo blushed even as he spoke this delicate phrase before such great ladies and lords.

"Such was whispered of them, even in their own day," Faramir confirmed. "The nature of Ciryaher's love for Aigande is often hinted in the old histories--you must have read them yourself, Frodo--but it has never been the way of the Men of Gondor to speak of these matters openly."

"No," Frodo agreed, "nor hobbits. Not the way the Elves do. It must have been a shock to the people of Minas Anor to see what the two Elven emissaries were to each other. Some perhaps envied the freedom they had. They didn't have to keep their love a secret, nor live their lives in whispers for fear of scandal or shame. I think Aigande felt that way. It's my belief that while the Elves were guests in his father's home, Aigande spoke with them often, befriended them. He was attracted by their ways and he grew sympathetic to their cause. He took their part against his father, and advised the King to aid them. I suspect that, in the end, he may have intended to go with them, even if Ciryaher did not send other Men to Dol Goldur.

"You must understand that the rest is only guesses. I've no proof that a word I say is true. What I think happened is this: If it had simply been a matter of disagreement over Mirkwood, I believe that it would have ended once the King dismissed the Elves. They would have gone away unaided, but unharmed. But Aigande made the problem more complicated, and made their quarrel with the Elves more personal for both his father and the King. Ciryaher, of course, would want his beloved to stay with him. And Aigande's father... well, Lord Aiglemerth mightn't have understood his son's love for the young King. He may have been horrified by the Elves' open love for each other, and terribly afraid that his son should be seduced away by them. He'd want to put a stop to it.

"From the fragment of conversation I overheard in my dreams, I think it was Lord Aiglemerth who called Dadenmiel to the citadel for one last meeting after the King had sent both Elves away. Perhaps he acted with the King's authority, or perhaps the King didn't know what his steward planned. I don't know what Lord Aiglemerth asked of Dadenmiel, but I can guess it was one of two things: Either he wanted Dadenmiel to spurn Aigande's offer to accompany them, or else Dadenmiel was to work against Elspar somehow so that he wouldn't let Aigande join them."

"But why invite Dadenmiel?" asked Gandalf. "He was the younger of the two Elves, the subordinate. It might have been more effective to confront Elspar directly."

"Perhaps," said Frodo, "but Aiglemerth may have chosen Dadenmiel because he thought the younger Elf would be more impressionable and easy to sway. The accounts of their final meeting with the King aren't specific, but I'm sure Elspar was the Elf who said 'on your head be it.' I'd be surprised if Aiglemerth wanted to argue with him again. But whatever he wanted Dadenmiel to do, Dadenmiel refused. He would not betray Elspar, or the young Man. And where was Elspar while this happened? Below. In the passage under the great hall, at the foot of the stair, listening as I was. I think that's why I'm powerless to move from that spot when I stand there in my dreams--because he didn't move. I also believe he was killed there."

"You still haven't said why, or who," said Merry. "You wouldn't tell me last night either. It's most unfair of you, Frodo, to drag it out and tease this way. For all your talk of what Lord Aiglemerth was up to, he couldn't have committed the murder. He was upstairs with the other Elf. And it couldn't be the other Elf, since he was upstairs too. It wasn't the King, was it? Surely not the son? There isn't anybody else we know of."

"I'm not certain how it happened," Frodo admitted, "but I am sure it was Lord Aiglemerth's doing, though he wasn't there to put his own hand to it."

"Hired ruffians?" guessed Aragorn.

"I believe so. They wouldn't have employed the citadel Guard for such a task--if they had, there wouldn't have been a need for such secrecy, sending Dadenmiel into the citadel through the secret passage rather than through the public way and past the guardsmen on watch that night. The ruffians would have come into the citadel the same way. What happened may have been an accident. They may have only meant to frighten the Elves, or to see them tossed out of the city if they refused to leave peaceably. They didn't expect to find Elspar there, waiting. Perhaps one of the Men stabbed him the back before he saw them and could cry out a warning to his friend. If he did see them, he would've fought them and tried to warn Dadenmiel that they were in a trap, and he was stabbed from behind in the fight. Perhaps Dadenmiel was warned and fled to safety. Or perhaps he was killed too. I fear the latter, my lady, if he hasn't been seen since," Frodo added apologetically to Arwen, who looked very distressed as she heard this explanation.

"The murderers couldn't leave the body of the slain Elspar where he'd fallen, nor carry it from the citadel without drawing unwelcome attention. So they took him back into the tunnel he had just passed through, to the place where new bricks and mortar were freshly laid at the top of the old stair, and sealed him within.

"King Ciryaher mayn't have known of it beforehand. He may have known nothing of Aiglemerth's plans, or only asked his trusted steward to attend to the problem of the Elves and was horrified to learn how it had been attended to. But he couldn't betray Aiglemerth, and so shut up the tunnel to conceal the crime. I also think that Aigande learned of it--he is the one we heard sobbing last night, Merry. I can't say it's all true," Frodo concluded, "but that is what I believe happened."

There was a moment of quiet, as the others in the room considered what Frodo had told them. Eowyn asked what the others were thinking, "Will the poor creature be laid to rest now you've found out what happened to him?"

Frodo shook his head helplessly. "I've done my best to find the truth, with the information I could find. Elspar's murderers and all who knew him in this city are long dead and in their tombs."

A light appeared in Aragorn's eyes at these last words. "Perhaps we may settle the question there."

They went down into the Rath Dinen. Except for funerals, memorial ceremonies, and the routine entrances and exits of caretakers, the gates of the street were always kept locked. Visitors to the tombs were only allowed to pass at the express permission of the Lord of the City.

When both lords of the city, with their respective ladies, the wizard, two hobbits, and Captain Beregond--who had been told enough of the story to bring along the small wooden box in which he had stored the items found with the Elf's body--approached the gates, the porter admitted them without a word and bowed low as the party went past. They crossed the bridge to the Silent Street, which wound back and forth up the northern face of the mountain behind the hill Minas Tirith was built upon. On either side of the street were magnificent mausoleums of marble, most of them black and white, but here and there were columned porticos, domes, and delicate spires of misty gray or even rosy pink. The door of each crypt bore a family crest traced in gold, and new, outlying wings on the oldest crypts crowded against each other. The royal crypt was at the top end of the street, larger and more grand than all the others.

Frodo and Merry had only been here once before, on the day the Elf's body had been interred, and they gaped in wonder. Family crypts were nothing new to them--most hobbit families had a barrow tunneled into a hillside where their dead were laid to rest, and the Brandybuck crypt had a fancier brass-plated door than any--but this elaborate marble city that no living soul would ever dwell in was strange and wonderful, and a little frightening. Frodo recalled words of Gandalf's that Pippin had once repeated to him, about the nobles of Minas Tirith: "Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living, and counted the old names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons..." He saw now what the wizard meant by these words; these tombs were more beautiful and well kept than many a house within the city.

"May I see them first?" Frodo requested, piping voice breaking into the austere silence of the place, sounding loud and disruptive to his own ears. "Will you show me, please?" he added in a softer and, he hoped, more respectful tone.

He didn't say whom he wanted to see, but Faramir nodded in under-standing and led the party up the street to the oldest crypts. They stopped before one of gray marble with a golden device upon the door like a spear-head or stylized thorn. Frodo had seen this device before, on the cover of the book containing the poem about Aigande's death.

"It is the Snowthorn, the family crest," Faramir answered Frodo's whispered query. "Lord Aiglemerth lies within, and his family to the last." The young steward opened the door, which was not locked, and they went inside.

The mausoleum was cool within, well tended and free of dust, as all the crypts were, and lit by narrow horizontal slits of windows beneath the dome. Aigande's tomb was directly beneath the center of the dome, raised up on a platform so that it stood more than five feet high. Writ upon the side facing the door in gold lettering were the dead Man's name, the date, place, and circumstances of his death, and an inscription that Gandalf translated: "Beloved of his King, who mourns the loss most grievously."

At Frodo's request, Aragorn lifted him up onto his shoulder so the hobbit could have a better look at the effigy atop the tomb: It looked like a sleeping Man, eyes shut, hands folded on his armor-plated breast with the fingers curled around the hilt of a sword that pointed downward over the length of the reposing body to the feet. As Frodo gazed at the placid, handsome profile carved in stone, he wondered if it bore a resemblance to the Man who lay entombed here. He would like to put a face to that sobbing figure he and Merry had seen at the foot of the bed last night.

Aigande had died in battle nearly thirty years after the murder of Elspar. According to the poem, he'd said that he was glad he'd remained with Ciryaher after all. Had he been thinking of the Elves and his desire to go with them at the moment of his own death? Or was it what Ciryaher had hoped his friend would say?

The tomb of Aiglemerth was next behind his son's, even though he had died twenty years later. The face of this effigy wore a grim expression, with lines cut deep on the brow and bracketing the small, straight mouth, and the long chin was emphasized by a pointed beard. Was this the face of a Man who had deliberately arranged a murder, or who had accidentally brought about the death of the Elves and lived thereafter with the knowledge of his crime on his conscience? The hands clasped, not a sword, but a book that lay open upon his chest. On the stone pages were carved: "He gave all for the sake of his Kings' glory."

Beyond Aiglemerth's tomb lay two long rows of similar tombs, each bearing effigies of lords and ladies of this once distinguished family, receding into the darkness of the wings on either side of the central dome.

"Well?" said Merry expectantly after Frodo had looked over the tombs, as if he were hoping for some marvelous discovery. But Frodo had none; Aragorn may have brought them to Rath Dinen with a definite purpose in mind, but he had only wanted to see these Men whom he'd read so much about.

"There is nothing here," said Gandalf, "except old bones."

Arwen added solemnly. "Whatever else remains of them is not here, but has gone long ago."

When they left this tomb, they went up to the royal mausoleum at the end of the street, black and white, with doors of solid gold and gold leaf upon the high dome. Bright gems were set as the seven stars around the white tree on the crest of Gondor. The tombs of the earliest kings were unassuming, almost severe in their plainness, but became larger and more impressive in later years, as the glory of Gondor grew. The tomb of Hyarmendacil was a breathtaking structure of gold, red marble, and colorful gemstones, dominating the end of a wing. Effusive praise of this mighty king's accomplishments were inscribed on all four sides of the tomb and the tall platform that supported it.

But the party did not examine this remarkable memorial for long, instead turning their attention to an unadorned box with no effigy nor inscriptions that had recently been placed in the central hall, beneath a westward-facing window.

Aragorn placed his hand upon the flat marble lid of this newest tomb and spoke the words, "Hear me, Elspar Olorodin!" as if he were addressing the spirit of the Elf whose bones lay within.

His voice rang out, echoing against the smooth stone walls in an undeniable tone of authority. Frodo felt sure that the spirit must indeed be listening, and he reached out to take Merry's hand. Eowyn moved closer to Faramir, and Arwen silently took her place at her husband's side.

"Your body is laid to rest in a place of honor, no longer lost, hidden and nameless," the King spoke. "Your murderers have been declared. Let them face whatever justice they have awaiting them in the next realm, for they are beyond the reach of all justice here. All has been done that can be done. Rest, Elspar. Walk no more. May you at find your peace at last in the Halls of Mandos."

At a gesture from his King, Beregond stepped forward and offered the wooden box he had brought with him, containing all the items found with the Elf's bones. From this box, Aragorn took out the brooch with the green gemstone and placed it on top of the tomb.

"A plaque will be affixed here, with this stone," he declared. "Elspar's name shall be writ upon it, and the tale of his murder and finding, so that all will know why he lies here."

As they left the Silent Street, Merry leaned close to Frodo's ear to murmur, "Is that the end? Will it be enough?"

"I hope so," Frodo murmured in reply. He could only wait now and see if the ghost made another appearance.

The next day, Frodo returned the books borrowed from the library and thanked Ullathor for his assistance. He told the librarian what deductions he had made from the information they'd discovered, with some delicate glossing over of the relationships between the two Elves and King Ciryaher and Aigande. During the course of the day, he would repeat his story to Beregond and Erlotibin, who would also want to know how the Elf's body had come to be placed in the tunnel, and by whom.

None were shocked to hear Lord Aiglemerth named as the one responsible for the murder of the Elf and concealment of his body. The steward was only a dim historical figure to them, with no living descendants to be disgraced by his actions. Beregond wrote a note in his daily log that the mystery of the skeleton found in the old tunnel had been solved, and Erlotibin announced his intentions of writing an account of the true history of the event, if Frodo would be so kind to give his assistance. Aragorn ordered a plaque to be engraved for the Elf's tomb.

In spite of Frodo's hopes that this would be the end of the matter, he had another of his dreams that night. An Elf stood at foot of bed, regarding him silently. Which one? Frodo wasn't sure; the hood of the gray cloak was drawn over the face, and he could only see an ivory chin and eyes that sparkled in the darkness. But, for the first time, he felt as if those shining eyes were truly fixed on him, seeing him and not the memory of another time.

"You're not at rest," he said. "Why? What else am I meant to do?"

He heard no words in reply, but felt the answer as an echo within his head, See it home.

"See what?"

There was no answer. The Elf was gone.

Frodo sat upright and tried to scramble to the foot of the bed to follow it, when he was abruptly tugged back by the cord about his wrist, and Merry yelped, "Ow! Frodo, stop! What're you doing?"

Frodo stopped and turned to look back over his shoulder. Behind him, his cousin was sitting up in bed and rubbing his own wrist, which the other end of the cord was tied to. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was dreaming." Or had he been awake all this time?

"Sleepwalking again?" asked Merry. "I thought that was all over and done with."

"It isn't. He was here, Merry, in this room. It isn't finished. There's something more I have to do... only I don't understand what it is he wants. I'm supposed to 'see something home.'"

"Didn't he tell you what? No, of course not. That'd be too easy." Merry began to crawl toward him, then stopped suddenly, staring. "Here, Frodo--what's that?"

Frodo looked to see what his cousin was referring to. The bed was enormous, with tall posts at each corner, heavy brocade curtains that could be drawn around it, but which Frodo normally kept tied back, and set so high off the floor that a small set of wooden steps or a good leap were required to climb up into it every night. Merry claimed that at least eight hobbits could sleep on it comfortably without crowding each other. The mattress extended for more than four feet beyond their toes, and on that smooth expanse of quilt beyond the point where Frodo sat lay a small, round object.

Merry crawled to the bedside table to find and light a candle. When he brought it closer to examine the object, it caught the flickering light and glittered green and silver. Both hobbits recognized it instantly.

It was the brooch, which Aragorn had left on the Elf's tomb the day before.

---

"It couldn't have been taken from the tomb by mortal hands," said Aragorn after he had heard the story. The hobbits had gone up to the citadel first thing that morning, bringing the brooch with them. The problem had been under investigation and much discussion during the day. It was evening now, the hour before dinner, and the brooch sat on a table in the royal chambers, with an extremely puzzled party gathered around it. "The porter has let no one pass the gates since we went in, not even the caretakers. Beregond has questioned the guardsmen on night patrol, and they saw no one near the entrance to the Rath Dinen this past night or the night before, nor any sign of robbery."

"None would dare touch any token, no matter how valuable, left in the Silent Street," added Faramir. "It would be the greatest sacrilege to steal from the dead."

"It's just as I've been saying!" cried Merry. "The ghost brought it. If it can untie knots and open secret doors, a little thing like that would be no trouble to carry down the street to give to Frodo."

"But what does it want of him?" Eowyn wondered. "What more can be done? Surely Frodo's done everything he can."

"Nevertheless, there is something more here, undone." Gandalf came to stand beside the hobbit, who sat by the table on which the brooch lay. "What did this ghost say to you, Frodo, exactly? Perhaps we can work out the riddle of its words."

"It didn't say anything, but I understood what it wanted of me." Frodo had not taken his eyes from the brooch. "I am to take this 'home,' although I haven't the least idea where that is. And what am I do with it once I've taken it there? Could it be Thranduil's Hall in Mirkwood?" He looked up at Arwen. "If you're right, my lady, the King made a gift of this gem to Elspar. Perhaps he wants it returned and his story told, so that the mission that brought him here will be completed at last. Or could it be Rivendell, which was Elspar's home?"

"Perhaps you are meant to bring the tale to my father," answered Arwen. "He must have wondered at the fate of the Far Seer more than I."

"I think we ought to go to Mirkwood first, before we try Rivendell," said Merry. "We've never been there before, have we, Frodo? If you'll take us, Gandalf, and introduce us to the King, Frodo can speak to him about Elspar, and see if that settles the poor ghost to rest. And maybe we can take in Dale while we're in the neighborhood?"

There was some discussion of this idea over the next few days. Mirkwood was a long way to go for the sake of seeing a ghost to rest, but the hobbits were both keen to visit the places Bilbo had visited during his adventures, and in the end Gandalf agreed that it was the best course to take. They planned to depart at the end of the month.

The ghost did not reappear.

One evening, when they were all gathered again in the royal chambers, a page came in and announced that a traveler had arrived to see the King. A moment later, Pippin entered, bringing the sad news that Merry's father Saradoc had died and he must return to the Shire as soon as possible if he wanted to be Master of Buckland.

All their plans were immediately changed. Frodo ceased to think of ghosts and murders that had occurred two thousand years ago; he had another death closer to his own heart to consider, and the grief that the news had brought to his cousin. He also had to think of how Pippin's arrival would affect the new relationship he and Merry had embarked upon these last few months.

The hobbits packed their bags that evening, and left the next day to return to the Shire by way of Rivendell. Gandalf would accompany them as far as Rivendell, since he also had business there. Frodo decided to take the brooch with him to give to Elrond, and tell him the tale of Elspar's death, as Arwen had suggested. If this was not what Elspar wished, then Gandalf agreed to carry the gem to Thranduil for him. Frodo would not make the journey to Mirkwood; he had to accompany Merry back to Buckland and, after being away so long, he was ready to go home.

When the three young hobbits entered the long and quiet hall at the back of Elrond's house, Old Bilbo Baggins looked up from his doze by the fire and beamed with delight. "Frodo, my lad! How wonderful to see you!" Bilbo held out both hands to his nephew; Frodo took them and bent down over his uncle's chair to give him a kiss on the cheek. Bilbo returned the kiss, then looked beyond Frodo at the other two hobbits. "And Merry and Pippin--hello! Whatever brings you lads to Rivendell? I thought you went back to the Shire months ago."

"We did," said Frodo, "but we came out again to return to Minas Tirith."

"Frodo's been solving a murder or two for the King," Merry added. "We're just on our way home now."

These comings and goings appeared to confuse the elderly hobbit, though he took great interest in all the adventures they'd been having, was very proud of Frodo's success as a detective, and insisted that Frodo write it all down. He asked after Sam, and whether or not the gold he'd sent as a wedding present had been received. He was delighted to hear about the new baby. It was harder, however, to make Bilbo understand that Saradoc Brandybuck had died and Merry was now Master of the Hall; as far as Bilbo was concerned, his contemporary, Old Rory, was Master still.

Frodo found it heartbreaking to see his uncle, whom he had always considered the cleverest hobbit in the Shire, with his wits wandering so. While Bilbo still showed occasional glints of his old sharpness, his mental condition had obviously grown worse since Frodo's previous visit to Rivendell. That nearly incoherent letter he'd received last spring should have warned him. Bilbo was 115 now, nearly 116--an age few hobbits attained. Gandalf had said that Elrond's skill as a healer would sustain Bilbo until it was time for them to go to the West, but that day was rapidly drawing near.

When Bilbo grew tired, he ended the conversation by simply dropping off to sleep. Once his head drooped, the young hobbits rose quietly from their seats on the floor around Bilbo's chair and went out. They did not say a word to each other as they exited. They'd had little opportunity to talk privately during their long ride from Minas Tirith, since Gandalf had come with them so far, and now that they were alone together, didn't know what to say.

It had been a tense and awkward journey for the trio. Even though he and Merry had little chance even for a kiss or cuddle along the way, Frodo felt self-conscious and apologetic whenever he noticed how Pippin was watching them. He didn't want to flaunt. In fact, he would have retreated tactfully and left Merry to Pippin if his cousins had shown any sign of wanting to reunite, but Merry kept Pippin carefully at arms-length, and Pippin didn't seem to be angry or jealous about this cool treatment; instead, he looked oddly abashed, as if he were the one who'd done something wrong and had the most reason to feel guilty.

Gandalf met them on the latticed veranda outside the hall. "I've been looking all over for you. Chambers have been made ready for you near Bilbo's. You've been given three rooms--you may arrange things as you like amongst yourselves. There is also a courier leaving tomorrow morning for the Gray Havens. If you wish to send messages to the Shire and tell them of your return, he will carry them for you." They would only stay in Rivendell for a few days, but it would be at least three more weeks before they reached Buckland and the borders of the Shire. A swift Elven horse would cover the same distance much more quickly than their ponies.

But before Frodo could go on to find his room, the wizard put a hand on his shoulder and added, "I've had a few words with Lord Elrond, Frodo. He wishes to see you this afternoon, and hear your tale of the death of Elspar."

Merry and Pippin waited for him farther down the veranda. "Well?" asked Merry when Frodo joined them. "How do you want to 'arrange things amongst ourselves'?"

Frodo realized that they were asking him to make the decision, and he made the most diplomatic choice. "I think we each ought to have our own rooms," he answered. "It's best, under the circumstances, until we can sort things out."

"I don't know what you mean," Merry said pointedly. "It's already been sorted out."

This made Pippin look penitent and he brushed past them swiftly, head down, and mumbled something about taking the room at the end of the hall and "getting out of your way."

"You don't need to treat him like that, Merry," Frodo said after Pippin had gone.

"Yes, I do," Merry retorted. "It's better that I keep him away from me. If I don't, we'll only be right back where we were when we left off. Everything'll be just as it was before, and I won't go through that again. I can't." His eyes grew sad, and Frodo saw how hard this was for him to do, but he was determined to do it. "I have to be Master of the Hall, as Father would want. And Pip will have to do as his family wants, sooner or later. I'm going to write Mother and Uncle Merry and tell them I'm on my way home." Then he asked, "What about you, Frodo? Will you write to Sam?"

Frodo nodded. "But I don't think I'll tell him- ah- everything. I can't explain what's happened in a letter." He wasn't certain what he was going to tell Sam when he did go home. The truth would be difficult, and painful.

"Are you going back to live at Bag End?"

"No, not right away. I'll have to gather my things and have a talk with Sam, but I plan to stay awhile in Buckland to be near you and see you settled in as Master. You'll need your friends about you, and if you won't have Pippin, you'll need me all the more."

Hearing this, Merry gave him a small smile. "Yes, I will." He held out a hand, and Frodo took it. They went to find their rooms.

"But I won't live at the Hall," Frodo continued. "I want peace and quiet to finish my book. I'll take one of the cottages. Crickhollow, if it's empty. After that..." He didn't know. He couldn't see that far ahead.

---

After Frodo had settled his belongings into the room next to Bilbo's and written a short note to send to Sam, he sought out Elrond. As he went around the house and the gardens, plazas, and gazebos that surrounded it, he saw how much Rivendell had changed since he'd been here last. The master of Rivendell was preparing to leave, and many Elves had already gone to the West ahead of him. The great halls were silent and the courtyards once filled with people were now empty.

He found Elrond in the lower hall at the front of his house, again in conference with Gandalf. "We've been discussing Bilbo's journey to the West, and yours too, Frodo," said Elrond once he had welcomed the hobbit to his home. "Have you seen Bilbo since your arrival?"

"Yes, I've just spoken with him." Frodo answered solemnly. "He's sinking, isn't he?"

"His mind and strength of body are not what they once were," Elrond affirmed. "The power of the Ring sustained him beyond the normal years of your kind, and now that it is destroyed, he ages rapidly. He must go to the West soon--and will go, under my protection. We plan to leave a year from now in the autumn. You may come with us, Frodo. Gandalf has told me of my daughter's gift to you."

In spite of Bilbo's fading condition, Frodo hadn't expected to hear that they would be leaving so soon. "And if I'm not ready-?" While he was grateful for the opportunity to go the Undying Lands, he'd begun to feel much better since Arwen had given him her token. He thought he'd be able to stay on in Middle-earth for many years more. "Must I give up my chance if I don't want to leave yet?"

"No," Elrond assured him. "You may come later, if that is your wish. Though I will go soon, Elves will remain on these shores for some years to come--longer than the life of a hobbit. When you are ready, you have only to travel to the Gray Havens beyond the western borders of your homeland, beyond the Downs and the White Towers. You will be taken then to the Undying Lands."

"And I will wait, and accompany you," said Gandalf.

"You, Gandalf?" Frodo hadn't realized. "You're going to the West too?"

"It is where I come from," the wizard answered. "My time here is also done. I have seen Aragorn through the early days of his reign and given my counsel when asked for it, but he doesn't need me to guide him... any more than you do, Frodo. You will go on and do very well at whatever work you do, for as long as you choose to stay in the Shire. But I think you will be glad of the company of an old friend when you travel to a new land."

Frodo smiled in relief, and agreed that he would, very much.

After this, Gandalf left him to speak with Elrond alone. "I've also heard about your work, Frodo," Elrond said dryly. "You have a talent for finding out that was said to happen in the past, isn't so."

Frodo knew the half-Elven lord wasn't referring to his recent investigations in Minas Tirith, but the work he'd done last year, when he'd looked into the death of Lady Aredhel in Gondolin and had discovered that her murderer was not her husband Eol, as tradition had had it for thousands of years. The truth behind the Lady's death was not one that Lord Elrond, as a descendant of King Turgon, would find pleasing.

"Gandalf tells me that you've made a discovery in Minas Tirith that concerns me," Elrond continued.

"Yes, my lord. It has to do with two Elves who were once in your service, long ago. Elspar Olorodin and Dadenmiel." Frodo saw that Elrond was immediately interested when he heard the names. "I'm afraid it's bad news."

He told Elrond how Elspar's body had been found in the sealed tunnel beneath the citadel, and how his odd dreams of the Elf's ghost and his research in the city's library had led him to find who had put it there. He tried to give Elrond the brooch with the green gem, but Elrond would not take it.

"It is not meant for me," he said. "I see now why Gandalf speaks so highly of your talents, Frodo. He does not exaggerate. It is interesting to hear how you gather your pieces of information and assemble them to find the truth--but in this instance, there is one important piece you are missing. If you come this even-tide to the gallery above, I will provide that last piece."

That evening after a quiet dinner with Bilbo and his cousins, Frodo went up to the gallery as arranged. Elrond wasn't there, but another Elf sat in the dimly-lit corner behind the statue which once held the broken sword Narsil, eyes closed as if he were asleep. The Elf looked pain-wracked and withered, as if he'd been tortured in mind and body. His hair was ash-white and his skin parchment-thin stretched over prominent bones, but Frodo recognized him instantly: this was the Elf from his dreams.

The Elf's appearance came as a surprise: Arwen had said that Dadenmiel was a young Elf like herself, born since the beginning of the Third Age, and he should therefore appear to be as youthful as she. Something terrible must have happened to age him so frightfully before his time.

Frodo hesitated shyly by the statue, not wishing to wake the Elf if he were asleep, when the Elf spoke: "I've been awaiting you, Little One, if you are the periannath my lord Elrond told me would meet me here." And then he opened his eyes to find the hobbit standing before him.

"Yes, I am he," Frodo answered. "And you are Dadenmiel, Elspar Olorodin's companion?"

"No," the Elf answered, "I am Elspar. From the tale you bring, I fear it is Dadenmiel who is dead."

"I've feared as much for some time," said Elspar. "My sight is far, but when I looked for Dadenmiel, I did not find him. In my dreams of late, I have glimpsed him in the city of Minas Anor. I saw him found, entombed... and yet he walked still. I saw you too, though I did not understand who you were or what part you played in the things I saw. I feared then, but it grieves me to learn that his death came so soon after we parted." He looked into Frodo's eyes with sudden urgency. "I pray you will tell me all you know, Little One. I should like to hear what became of my Dadenmiel after I left him, and how he came to such a terrible end."

"Yes, of course. And I hope you'll do the same." Frodo saw that he had made a lot of guesses about the murdered Elf, and some of them were obviously wrong. "Will you tell me what really happened that night? You do remember, don't you?"

"I remember. I have dwelt much upon those days since I was last in Minas Anor. Dadenmiel has often been in my thoughts in these long years."

"He was alive when you saw him last?" asked Frodo. "You left the city without him?"

Elspar nodded. "Dadenmiel meant to stay in Minas Anor awhile longer."

"Was that the same night after King Ciryaher dismissed your petition to send an army of Men to Dol Goldur, and sent you away, but you went back to the citadel one last time for a secret meeting?"

"Yes..." the Elf looked intrigued. "You know of the errand that brought us to Minas Anor? You know what followed?"

"I've seen a part that night, in my dreams." Frodo told Elspar all he'd seen, from his first glimpse of the ghost in the street to his final dream after Aragorn had tried to send the restless spirit to find peace. He repeated all he'd read in the historical accounts of the Elves' meetings with Ciryaher, but was careful to leave out his previous conjectures; he didn't want to repeat his mistake and guess too much.

Elspar looked even more interested as Frodo described his dreams. "It seems we have seen much the same things, Little One! I didn't know that periannath were capable of olori--the dreams of true sight." He began to consider the tiny creature standing before him with greater curiosity.

"Was what I saw true then?" Frodo asked, growing eager in spite of his resolve. "Was it Lord Aiglemerth who invited you to return that night?"

"It was," Elspar confirmed. "You know what we would ask of Gondor in the way of aid in confronting the Dark Lord. I saw at once that the King's Steward would be the greatest hindrance to our purpose. He resented our presence and considered us bringers of ill news. He did not wish his King's thoughts to stray to the north. We upset his plans to make war in the south. I knew that he advised the King to refuse the aid we requested, but I also knew that his son Aigande had the King's favor and took our part. The King might be swayed to either course. At last, he decided against us. It was a foolish choice, one which many thousands have had cause to regret, those in Gondor not least of all."

"Did you say those words: 'On your head be it, and the heads of your line hereafter'?" asked Frodo.

"I was angry at their folly and lack of heed for the future. My words were meant for Aiglemerth, but he would have it that I cursed his King, and Ciryaher would hear no more. He bade me go from his sight. I left the hall of the king, and also left the house of Aiglemerth. I would not stay as a guest under false welcome after such words had passed between us, and took lodging at an Inn within the city for that night. I meant to depart at daybreak. It was there I received a message from Aiglemerth, requesting that I return to the citadel one last time, at an hour when all were asleep. I was to come by a secret way. Lord Aiglemerth gave me most explicit instructions on the means to open the door and the path to take, but I knew the way well long before his birth, for I had been called to visit other kings of Gondor in earlier days through this same way. I was wary at what business Aiglemerth would have with me, but go, I did."

"And you met Dadenmiel on your way?" Frodo asked, thinking of how his dreams had begun with the cloaked figure of the Elf coming up the street. This point had always puzzled him; he'd wondered where the Elf was coming from.

"He had remained at the house of Aiglemerth and so learned of our meeting, and kept watch for me to pass. He feared for my safety and meant to accompany me. He too had put on his armor, which he hadn't worn since we'd come to Minas Anor, in anticipation of a trap. He would fight at my side." As Elspar recalled the loyalty and bravery of his beloved friend, that wry, amused, affectionate, smile Frodo had seen in his dreams appeared. "I refused his company. If there were danger ahead, I would face it alone." His eyes flickered to Frodo. "But you say he followed me?"

"Yes, I think so," the hobbit answered. "Didn't you know?"

"My mind's eye was not upon him ere I left him at the door to the secret way. I looked to what lay ahead--to Lord Aiglemerth, who awaited me within the king's hall."

"What did Aiglemerth want?"

"He said he had invited me, not to speak with the King again, but on 'a matter most confidential' that would benefit both he and I if I would agree to do as he asked. I knew at once what he wanted. In spite of our great disagreement and the hard words spoken between us when we last met, he thought we had common cause in the matter of Dadenmiel and Aigande. He thought I would aid him in seeing them parted from each other. He wanted me to ensure that Dadenmiel went with me when I left the city, and that his son Aigande did not."

For a moment, Frodo was utterly confused, then he realized he had misunderstood a crucial part of the circumstances that had led to Dadenmiel's death, a part that Elspar assumed he already knew. He'd been very close when he'd guessed that Aigande had been attracted by the Elves' more open way of loving and had befriended them during their stay in his father's house. But there was more: Dadenmiel had stayed on in Aiglemerth's house that last night, had chosen to stay on in the city after Elspar had been asked to leave. Aiglemerth had wanted the two of them separated... And Dadenmiel's ghost had first appeared at Aigande's death. "Dadenmiel and Aigande--they'd fallen in love?"

Elspar nodded. "They spent much time in each other's company during the weeks we abided in Minas Anor, in the house of Aiglemerth. They found themselves in great sympathy, and love grew from it. It was only to be expected. Such is the way of youth, and they were both very young."

"But I thought Dadenmiel loved you," said Frodo. "The Lady Arwen told me that Elves only give their hearts once. Isn't that so?"

"It is so," Elspar replied. "My heart was given to Dadenmiel from the moment I returned to Imladris and saw him, but his love for me was that of a pupil for an esteemed master, no more. It pained me that he wished to stay with Aigande rather than accompany me, but I would not give him pain by parting him from his beloved. We must sometimes release those whom we love from the bonds of our love for their own sake, even at cost to ourselves."

"Yes," Frodo breathed softly in agreement; he was trying to do the same thing for Sam, and knew exactly what Elspar must have felt.

"Lord Aiglemerth could not understand why I refused to betray Dadenmiel. He thought I meant to spite him for our disagreement, or else to sow a seed of discord between his son and the King that would bear fruit in my favor. He wanted his son for the King."

"He knew about that?"

"Oh, yes. Aiglemerth had long encouraged the King's affection for his son, in hopes that he might increase his own influence over Ciryaher through Aigande, until he saw that Aigande's counsel was different from his own. He blamed Dadenmiel for that, and feared Ciryaher might be guided by their advice rather than his. He said Dadenmiel had 'cast a spell' upon Aigande." That wry smile returned. "I am often puzzled by Men's ideas of what powers the Eldar possess. 'Magic,' they call it, but they use the same word for the works of the Dark Lord and his minions, and seem to think there is little difference between one and the other. No, no 'spell' was cast. Dadenmiel had given his heart to Aigande, and his love was repaid in full."

"What happened then, when you refused?" Frodo asked.

"Aiglemerth was filled with wrath. He spoke as I have told you, made such accusations against both Dadenmiel and myself that I could not bear to hear. Our words of that afternoon were nothing to our quarrel that night. At the end, he said he would be rid of at least one meddlesome Elf that night. He summoned a guard to escort me away--out of the citadel, and out of the city."

"You didn't go back through the secret tunnel?"

"No, I was taken through the open passageway and the great gates."

"And you never saw Dadenmiel again?"

"Neither living nor dead," said Elspar, and Frodo heard the sorrowful throb in his voice. "It is that which grieves me most. I did not bid my Dadenmiel farewell. I did not guess how Aiglemerth intended to 'rid' himself of the other 'meddlesome Elf.' If what you say is true, Little One, then I would have done better to do as Aiglemerth asked and kept Dadenmiel with me. He would not have died. I thought he was at the house of Aiglemerth when I left Minas Anor, and that he remained in the city of Men with Aigande despite Aiglemerth's wrath, or else they both left the city to follow me in my path."

"Where did you go?" Frodo looked over the Elf's withered face. "Where have you been since then?"

Elspar's answer shocked, but did not surprise him: "In the dungeons of Dol Goldur. When I fled Minas Anor, I returned to the Greenwood to learn what I could of the darkness that dwelt there before I went to King Thranduil with my news. As I drew close to the hill and the black tower upon it, I was set upon and made captive. And there I remained imprisoned, my body in torment. I might have gone mad, as others imprisoned had done, but my mind was free so long as I could see beyond the walls of my cell. After many long years, the tower was besieged by the istari and the Dark Lord driven out. Those of us imprisoned were at last set free. I sought the succor of the Elves of the Wood and have been in their care since then. It is only since the Enemy's final destruction that I have returned to my lord Elrond's house, but my hurts are too grievous to endure here much longer. I shall seek my peace in the West when my lord goes." He smiled gently at Frodo. "But I am glad that you bring me the true tale of my Dadenmiel's fate. If I did not see him in the West, I would have wondered always what became of him, and found no answer."

"I still don't know all the truth of it," Frodo admitted. "But I'm closer now to understanding what happened to him, because of what you've told me. Perhaps this as close as we'll ever be to knowing the whole story. At least, I can give you this." He had brought the brooch with him in his waistcoat pocket; he brought it out now and offered it to Elspar. "I think Dadenmiel wanted me to give it to you. It was yours originally, wasn't it?" He hoped he'd gotten that much right.

"Yes, it was given me by Thranduil of the Greenwood as a token when I acted as messenger between him and my lord Elrond. I gave it to Dadenmiel on the day we parted, to remember me." As Elspar took the brooch in his hand, he stared down at it and his gaze grew unfocused, as if he were looking at something very far away. "Thank you, Little One, for returning it home."

"That must be the end of it," Merry said when Frodo told him and Pippin of his conversation with Elspar; Frodo had found his cousins sitting in the garden together after he left the gallery, but things between them still appeared to be strained. "You've done all you possibly can for the dead Elf, Frodo. You told the other one how he died, gave him that pin. What more could he want?"

Frodo hoped that Merry was right this time, and yet he felt that it wasn't finished.

The three hobbits said good-night and went to their separate rooms. When he awoke later that night to find an Elf standing at the foot of his bed, Frodo first thought he was having another dream. Then he realized that Elspar was really there.

"Do I disturb you, Little One?" Elspar asked.

"No, it's all right." Frodo sat up, drowsily brushing his hair from his eyes. "What do you want?"

"I need your aid. I have sought to find Dadenmiel from afar, but he is beyond my sight. You have a bond with his spirit and can see him in a way I cannot. Will you assist me?"

"Yes, of course. What can I do?"

"Come to me." Elspar sat down in a chair by the windows. Frodo rose from the bed and went to stand before him. The Elf picked him up to sit in his lap, and put both arms loosely around him so that they could both hold the brooch; his own long-fingered, bone-slender hands closed over the hobbit's smaller hands. Elspar gazed out of the windows toward the southeast, in the direction of Minas Tirith, hundreds of miles away. Long, silent minutes passed, and Frodo shut his own eyes and let his head rest against Elspar's chest.

He almost thought he'd fallen back to sleep in the Elf's arms, but he was aware of the room around him, the hands that enclosed his, cool to the touch and light as a brush of feathers, and the bright glint of green that shone between their nested fingers. There was a glimmer of light like a candle's flame reflected in the heart of the gemstone... or was it the sunrise? Had they sat up all night?

No, it was a flame, the light of a torch burning at the top of the stairwell in the western tower of the great hall of Minas Tirith's citadel. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, in the passage beneath the hall, as he'd been in his dreams before. Frodo began to understand that somehow Elspar was using his connection with the dead Elf and ability to see what Dadenmiel had seen, and combining it with his own Far-Seeing.

Above in the great hall, voices were raised in anger, Elspar's and Lord Aiglemerth's. Aiglemerth accused the Elves of putting some sort of enchantment over his son to corrupt and mislead him, an accusation that Elspar objected to fiercely.

"They are in love, lord steward. That is the same for your kind as ours."

"Not quite the same! You can't tell me you're happy to leave your catamite behind, unless you have something to gain by his loss."

"He is free to do as he wishes, to stay or go."

"That remains to be seen. You, however, shall go now. I will rid myself of one meddlesome Elf this night, if not two." There was a sound of heavy boots on the floor above.

"Elspar-!" Frodo heard a third voice shout, but this was nearer, almost as if he'd spoken himself. Was it Dadenmiel's?

He started up the stair, when a dark shape blocked the light of the torch and a shadow was cast down upon him. Aiglemerth stood at the top of the stair. Frodo would have recognized him even if he hadn't known who Elspar had gone to meet: The face carved on the effigy was a good likeness, although Aiglemerth at this time was some fifty years younger and the hard lines had not yet cut so deeply into his face. "Ah," he said. "The other one. I did not expect to find you here. Your companion has gone."

"What have you done with him?" that voice that must be Dadenmiel's demanded.

"Elspar? He's being escorted from the city, as you will also be shortly," Aiglemerth answered as he descended the stair. "I won't have you here any longer. You've had the King's answer and been sent on your way. Leave now, and seek not to seduce my son into your plans."

"Seduce?" Frodo turned, and saw another figure behind him, coming forward from the long, unlit tunnel beneath the courtyard. It was a young Man, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, boyishly handsome. This must be Aigande. "And how is that different, Father, from what you would have me do with Cirya? If Dadenmiel must leave, then I will go with him. It is what I wish to do."

"Shall we go?" said Dadenmiel. "Tonight."

"Tonight." Aigande smiled and held out a hand toward him. Then his expression changed to one of shock and disbelief. He cried out, "Father, no-!"

Frodo felt a sharp pain, as if he had been stabbed in his back, and he fell forward into the arms of the young Man, who caught him. They sank to the floor. Aigande gazed down at him with wild, tearful, agonized eyes and tried to raise him, to aid him somehow; he tried to speak, but there was a warmth rising in his throat that choked the words. Aiglemerth stood over them, watching silently, and then turned at the sound of boot-steps coming down the stair. Another shadow-shape blocked the light.

The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in over him was a figure on the stair, fair hair lit to bright gold by the torchlight behind him. A horrified voice spoke, "Oh, Aigande..."

Then everything went black.

"We have seen the truth of it," said Elspar. "Grant thee rest now, my Dadenmiel."

Frodo no longer saw through Dadenmiel's eyes, but saw Dadenmiel himself for the first time. The hood of the cloak thrown was back, and Frodo wondered that he could ever have confused one Elf with the other. Dadenmiel's face was not a white mask of death, but a living one, as beautiful as Arwen had said, and smiling softly. Then he was gone.

Frodo opened his eyes. He was himself again, separate from that long-dead Elf and haunted by him no longer. He was in his room at Rivendell, in Elspar's lap with the Far Seer's arms around him and the brooch still clasped in his hands.

"So that was what really happened," he said. No ruffians, no accidental stabbing, but a cold-blooded, deliberate act to keep Aigande from leaving with the Elves; at least, he'd guessed that much correctly. "That Man on the stair at the last--was that Ciryaher, the King?"

"It was," confirmed Elspar.

Another part of the mystery became clear. "He must have thought Aigande killed Dadenmiel," Frodo said. "That's why he helped to keep the murder secret--he was protecting the son, not the father!" Had Aigande tried to tell the truth, he wondered, or had Aiglemerth spoken more swiftly while his son was too stunned and grief-stricken to say what had actually happened, and found himself helplessly trapped? He recalled that sobbing figure he and Merry had seen that night, and imagined of the depth of despair that Aigande must have felt after Dadenmiel's death.

"It is what Dadenmiel meant me to know." As Elspar rose from his chair, he lifted Frodo and set him down on the floor with a single smooth and graceful motion. The Elf's face was wet with tears, but he too was smiling. "He will be at peace now in the Halls of Mandos, and perhaps that other youth is with him. Thank you, Little One. I will go into the West when Lord Elrond departs, but I shall be lonely for all eternity without the one I love best."

At these words, Frodo felt a stab of sorrow that had nothing to do with the Elves. After Elspar had gone, he curled up in his bed and burst into tears.

He too would go into the West. Not this coming autumn, but one day not far in the future when he was, like Elspar, too overcome by his wounds and too weary to go on living in Middle-earth. It would be a welcome escape; to be healed was better than dying in pain. But there was a price: While he would have a few dear friends with him--Gandalf, Uncle Bilbo--he would never see the Shire again, nor any other hobbits. None of his family. Not Merry, nor Pippin. Not Sam.

"What's wrong, Frodo?" Hearing Frodo's sobs, Merry had come along the balcony outside their rooms and in though the windows. "I saw that Elf come in awhile ago. What did he say to you?"

"Nothing! He only wanted me to help him put his friend to rest." As Merry climbed into bed beside him, Frodo held onto him tightly; he didn't want to be alone tonight after all. "I just realized that the Lady's gift to me has a bite to it. I won't have to die. I'll live, perhaps forever, but I'm going to be awfully lonely all that time..."