Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they have been and forever shall be J.R.R. Tolkien's creations.

Summary: This story takes place at the House of Elrond in Rivendell. Upon repeatedly watching the stills and in-depth documentaries of the making of "The Lord of the Rings," I seem to believe that there should have been a scene between Arwen and Frodo before after Frodo met up with his cousins and before discovering his Uncle Bilbo on a bench. This short story entertains the idea that Arwen revealed her true Elven form to Frodo many times before he awoke with Gandalf at his side and had longed to see the one who held him back from death's door. Please enjoy!

Embracing the Light

It was all too quiet as he called out to the only one he trusted, "Sam?" When there was no reply, he called out for another, "Gandalf?" Somehow, he knew someone was there with him, but why was there no answer to his cries? The last thing the injured hobbit remembered was a musical voice whispering Elvish into his ear, the softest material he had ever felt grazing his flushed face. "Please," he breathed out, trying to force his eyes to see beyond the darkness, "help me." As if on cue, that same voice penetrated the fog, telling him to be still, that something might hurt if he moved. Suddenly, Frodo gasped as alien fingers probed the wound the Ring-wraith inflicted, his body bucking at the intrusion. He tried to slap at the unseen hands, but the fingers were relentless and his strength failing. Whispers continued above his head, his mind barely registering them over the fiery pain in his shoulder, trying not to succumb to the inevitable dark chasm that waited to welcome him.

A cool cloth was laid upon his sweaty brow, but that did not keep him from lolling his head from side to side. "Hurts ... plea ... please stop!" he cried out, his head rebounding off the feather pillow, but to no avail did the probing stop. More whispers and his head was stopped from its lolling within delicate hands, a musical voice penetrating the darkness that was closing in around him.

"Frodo," the voice called out, "Hear me, Tithen Min."

Frodo's frantic breathing slowed to gasps, his fading blue eyes seeming to focus on a lighted image that was closing in. Her? He asked himself recognizing the She-elf from the forest; the one whom Aragorn had given him to for safety. Frodo felt the comfort of the light and wanted to be embraced by it, to have it touch his very soul. The pure beauty of Her was intoxicating, and realized that She was his salvation.

"What is he doing?" a male voice asked feeling the hobbit's limbs tense within his grasp.

"Let him go, see what he does. I feel his mind relaxing, Elladan," the half Elven Lord's daughter encouraged her brother.

"But what if he..." he cautioned before being cut off.

"Please, just do it," she asked and when there was no movement on her brother's part her pleading eyes settled on her father. "Ada?"

Lord Elrond listened to the words exchanged concentrating intently. When he had heard his name, Elrond knew then that his daughter's dark eyes rested upon him, waiting for an answer. So many years had gone by and still Arwen could manipulate him as well as any man to her side. Ever since her mother, his wife, left for Valinor, he had never really been able to say no to her and always gave in to her wishes if they were found to be harmless.

The Lord of Imladris gray eyes drew up from his task for a moment and lingered on his daughter then angled his head to his left, indicating to his son to comply with Arwen's wishes.

With a nod of obedience, as much as respect for his father's position, Elladan loosened his grip upon the little one's right arm. The Elven trio then observed Frodo's right hand slowly rise from the coverlet as if in a dream, his fingertips landing on the elf maiden's cheek, gently caressing it.

Sighing, Frodo closed his eyes and let his mind go freely, his hand dropping back to its original position, "So, beautiful."

A smile crept across Elladan's face as his sister looked up, her cheeks flushed. "It seems as if you have an admirer," he teased.

"Ellad..." she was about to say, but was interrupted by her father's voice.

"Prepare him my daughter, the hobbit will need your encouragement as I have to penetrate deeper into his flesh," the healer warned; the hobbit's wound bleeding profusely from beneath his submerged fingertips. Arwen bent forward, once again concentrating on the being she embraced tightly within her mind. Then the Lord of Imladris looked to his eldest son, "Elladan, you may have to restrain him. He is strong, but his spirit is failing. I am afraid he may succumb to the Dark Lord before this night ends," Elrond grimaced, taking in for the first time that night the pale sickly form of Bilbo's cousin as the one who had been chosen by chance to save the races of Middle-Earth.