Disclaimer: AU Story. My third large LOTR fic. I can't stop! None of the characters or settings are mine. They all belong to Tolkien. I wish I were related to Tolkien, don't you? It would be so cool! Oh, and the plot here is derived from my own imagination. Hope you enjoy!

Memories of Home--

How much would it take to bring Frodo home? What would he see when he returned? And how much would he remember?

~ Chapter One ~

"Samwise Gardener, are you ever planning on coming inside?" Rosie called in exasperated tones. The hobbit smiled to himself.

"I'll be there in a moment. Just thinking, is all," he replied. His wife let out a long sigh but retreated back to her kitchen once more. Sam was propped up in the garden of Bag End, contemplating life. He was feeling old. Not frail or particularly forgetful, but he could sense every year passing now. He had never felt like this before. Not since eleven years ago. He tried so hard to concentrate on forgetting it all and focus on his new life. But there had been so much before and there was so little now. And every day passed as slowly as a week for him. Eleven years, when written down, can be borne. But when you are forced to live every single day of every single month eleven times over... that cannot be properly described. Sam found it hard even to see his friends, Merry and Pippin again. They themselves brought back painful memories. His previous life- Gamgee life, he called it- had been shattered, like glass. And he was trying to resist piecing it back together again. Thinking too hard made his heart ache.

Sam clambered to his feet, dusted himself off and then returned back inside, leaving the star-strewn night to wear itself out to the fringes of dawn.

--

Aragorn slumped in his throne, fingers drumming on the rest as he thought. Arwen watched him from behind the door and smiled. She gently closed the door behind her and then left for her chambers.

The King felt restless. He often did around this time of year. When the winds chilled and the nights began to linger. September was a worn, tired old month. A herald of winter of bitter memories. It was the evening of the twentieth day and Aragorn felt as if he might burst with anxiety. Something was happening out there and he was sitting in a palace. Suddenly, somehow, all his tasks of celebrations and festivities seemed so very meaningless and unimportant compared to what was going on in the wide world. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and let out a frustrated sigh. No one else seemed to be affected by it. Why him? Why this sudden rush of strange emotions? Aragorn shook the harsh memories from his mind. He did not want to remember Pelennor, the Paths of the Dead..

At last, with great misgivings, Aragorn rose up, stretched and then followed Arwen through the side door and up to bed.

--

Deep in his woodland realm, Legolas was pacing up and down beside the stream. Dreams. They had plagued him since September's first. Days suddenly became apparent to him. Memories of Boromir, Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf and of Black Riders haunted his steps. His father worried about him all the time now. But Legolas did not want to be fretted over. Everyone around him seemed very useless suddenly. Like food he had eaten for too long. The taste of lembas came to his lips. A meal he had eaten so often years ago.

"Legolas!" cried someone through the trees. The elf did not look up.

"Father?" he said.

"Why do you walk here? Why do you stare into the waters, lost in your thoughts? Legolas, there is something wrong," his father spoke softly. He entered the clearing from the side and Legolas finally paused to look at him. The old elf met the icy gaze then turned away, feeling ashamed at his questions. His son had become more dominant, more like a leader since he returned. He often asked if Legolas wished to take his place as king of Mirkwood but every time he had declined. And now, in this frosty month, he had grown silent and more contemplative. And he would only speak to say that he was waiting for something. Waiting.

--

Erebor was a dark and dank place, Gimli had found. It was so pointless all of a sudden. All these jewels and all these tales. They had become insignificant. Gimli was sitting on a rock overlooking the grey undisturbed water of the lake. It reminded him of another, far more sinister pool far away. And it brought him much grief. But the dwarf was determined not to remember the sorrow of Moria or the fear on Khazad-Dûm. There were voices still shouting and bellowing in his head. Familiar ones, at that.

'You will accompany him..'

Him? No, not him. That brought too much pain even in thought for Gimli. He had left so very long ago. It felt like an age. Tears came to his eyes but he quickly dashed them away, feeling foolish and far to be old to be weeping. But he felt so very out of place here. Lots of dwarves that he was sure he had been close to once. But he had a longing to see elves again and men and hobbits. And he ached to see his companions.

--

Merry and Pippin were sitting silently in the manor's tiny sitting room. There was no sound there but the ticking of the clock as night approached the small hours and the slight crackling of flames in the hearth. The hobbits were lost in twisting thoughts. They wanted to go adventuring. The last few weeks had been spent wandering the wilds of marshes and hills. They even tried to go without food on their latest expedition and had to be towed back by their friends.

Pippin was beginning to feel the sensation of age. He had been young, once. And he remembered feeling young. Audacity and liveliness. But now he felt restless. But it was as though weights had been loaded into his arms and legs and pinned him to one place. His head was spinning alarmingly with memories of ethereal woods and of grand white cities.

Merry felt cold. He was sitting right against the fire but still his bones seemed to be leaden with ice. He kept expecting something enormous to happen. The roof falling in or a messenger to burst through the door bearing incredible news. But somehow, lots of nothing was happening. Wild thoughts crashed through his mind. Of horses and eagles. Of friends and enemies. And he wanted to see it all again! All at once! But still, nothing continued happening.

And it was driving the Fellowship wild.

~

Interested?

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