IN GREEN
The fellowship had stopped, to rest both eyelids and feet from the ever- lenghtening walk to Mount Doom. Frodo knew the weight of what he was bearing, knew its importance, felt its influence and had thus far managed to close his mind to it - and lying to Gandalf when the wizard asked, out of worry, in saying that the ring was not calling louder as they approached its master. With every step, the voice changed, became so slightly different. The Hobbit could not tell in what way it changed, how it did, could not describe it. precisely. It was just different. Sometimes, the ring felt lighter. Sometimes the metal seemed to tighten around the chain clinging to it and Frodo felt its weight hanging from his neck. This pressure, this force, hanging from his neck. That he had felt, along with the creeping terror, when the black rider had leaned over the protecting, serpenting root hiding him and his three friends. As if the ring called. Not begged to be taken. There was no pity in this, no prayer. It was merely. an order, firm and autoritarian, yet soft and seductive.
These were the changes of the ring. Frodo knew it well now. The ring. The ring that he had been given. He knew it intimately, as every object inside his comfortable and how missed hole. He knew it by heart, knew its habits, knew its temperature, knew when something changed, anything, size or shape or feel or anything.
Was this power ? This that he felt sometimes. Power. The attraction, brief, but present, that had ruled over him for a few seconds when he had put on the ring in Bree. It had been an accident. But the ring had not felt it as such. It had not made him feel as such. It had made him feel that it was wanted and meant. The ring could make him feel as it pleased and, perhaps was this the scariest, as it needed, when it wanted so, when Frodo put it on and allowed it to rule him.
Power. So this. strange sensation was what Men were looking for. What they were dependent upon. It had been thrilling, for one small instant, it had, but then it had. faded away. And Frodo had recalled what he held in his hand, that in Bree he expected Gandalf - expecting him all the more after all that had been said, Sauron, the One Ring, his One Ring, his own, his doing, his creation, his slave as much as Sauron by concentrating all of its power in it had in fact become the slave of this golden object - the mistake that had in the end taken him down, that would, or so the Elves and Aragorn and Gandalf hoped, take him down forever. And what had Gandalf said also about the end of the world.
About Sauron searching for the Shire, for Baggins. This was what had got him scared, for the first time. He knew Men now. Knew that they expected, that they themselves were this way, for one to care and be scared for his own sake primarily. But that was not it. To see the Shire, peaceful, perfect and quiet Shire, his home, his people and his friends, being invaded with these black riders. had become a nightmare haunting his sleep.
When he had remembered all that, the feeling of what had to be power had left him, leaving an empty and deceived shell behind. Power. What Men were so eager of. So eager in fact that Boromir had wanted the ring to be kept. Frodo had felt its voice then. distort and flee from his own ears to tempt those of others. The Elves and Gandalf knew it had to be destroyed and knew that the enemy's strenght was their weakness : power. If the fellowship was broken it would be because a one and only thing : power. Power than men wanted to gain. And if Sauron won, it was because of his own power, his power over the ring, which power was over all of them : him the bearer first and then through him, through Frodo Bagging, its influence was being communicated to all others, Elves or wizards or Kings or Men they were. They all were attracted by it. Frodo had seen it in their eyes.
But now, it was time for nothing else than for their feet to rest quietly on the ground, not supporting their weight. Leaning his back against a flat rock, unfastening the clasp of the hood he wore and hearing the metallic sound of Sting hitting the rock, Frodo rested. He wanted his bed, his comfortable bed, wished he had never been embarked in this adventure. This quest. It was none of the Hobbit's business. The mistake had been made by Men, many Men here, in the fellowship would be strong enough to carry the ring and bring it where it should be brought.
No. No. That was a lie. That was a lie. An imposed lie. Imposed by what ? What had forced the impetuous thought into his brain ? What ?
The young little one's fingers found the ring, stroked it through his shirt, where it was hanging on the chain. The ring. Its influence, creeping into his mind. It had come with power also. This reciprocate power. The power that he had over the ring and the power that the ring had over him. Which in fact were only one. Since the power he thought he had over the ring was an illusion created by it so its control over its bearer would the more easier.
Angrily, Frodo opened his eyes, they found nothing in front of him : night had fallen. A few meters away from him, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir were gathered around Gandalf's illuminating stick. The wizard was at the end of the magically built object and was slowly blowing rings of smoke in the air. Legolas, the elf prince, was sitting on his heels, at the edge of the circle of light, his features brought to a silvery shadow of themselves by the distance the Elf had put between himself and the light. Gimli was loudly saying something. Saying something. A tale. Gandalf was half listening, his eyes searching the darkness around them. Aragorn and Boromir's attention were fully given to Gimli's words, their faces showing their amusement at the tale as well as their slight dread of incertitude : about what could be hid in these shadows.
He had fallen asleep. He had dreamed, or thought while he slept. Or perhaps had he just closed his eyes and drifted away, not sleeping just yet, but definitely losing contact. Anyhow, a portion of time, a matter of hours had been lost. He slowly sat up, straightened his back against the rock wall behind him and pushed back the covers that someone had protectively drawn over his sleeping form.
Sam no doubt. Who was sitting about three fet away from him and slowly chewing on what looked like some kind of bread. His friend turned to him as soon as he sat up and blinked the limbo of sleep away. "Mr. Frodo. It's good you're awake. We kept some for you. It isn't very good, but it's all we've got," said Sam as some part of the bread was transferred from the insides of the other Hobbit's bag to his hands.
"Thank you Sam."
Frodo started to chew on the bread, using the calmness brought by the gesture as a mantra to will himself out of the remnants of sleep and especially out of these thoughts that had come with it. Plaguing. The thoughts that had been plaguing his sleep all along. They were the reason why he had never felt fully rested after sleeping, the ring-bearer realized, understanding a part of what Gandalf had often said he was risking by accepting the task of carrying the ring to Mordor.
He let his eyes drift away to the fire. Sam was turned toward it, and listened intently to the story told by Gimli, about a great fight, "the one which Mr. Bilbo was part of Mr. Frodo," would say Sam when Frodo would attempt to catch up. This story he knew so well seemed different now that it was told by another. Though evidently, the progression was much more different since Gimli often added personnal thoughts and related excerpt of his people's glory to it.
Silence came back when when Gimli stopped telling his tale, the end coming. At which he pointed out that the Bilbo of the story was the well-known Bilbo Baggins, honorable uncle of Frodo Baggins which they were themselves honored to find themselves in the company of.
Frodo's thoughts again drifted away. Away from this place, away from these mysterious persons he had thought he would never meet but in Bilbo's tales. Away from the adventure, ancient adventure of Bilbo, it had become his and was now his own preoccupation. The adventure. He had thought so much about it while being cloistered, or so it had at the time felt like in the Shire. Cloistered within this golden prison had he thought when he was younger and when he had learned that his uncle Bilbo had been off somewhere else and had lived extraordinary adventures that were spoken of in the Shire in low and secretive tones - these speakers being somewhat put ill-at-ease by the fact that someone who had accomplished something unexpected was living in Bag End.
The Shire. His home. The thought intervened, imposing itself. Not as the ring done it, by force, but as it was naturally being done : the idea slowly crept to his mind, slipping through the edge of his other thoughts and coming forward. On the front, rapidly becoming his main concern.
Of course, as he spoke the words, silence was still there. His voice was loud and clear, though he would have wished to keep it down. He meant the words for only Sam to hear them, yet the whole fellowship, but for the sleeping Merry and Pippin, heard every details of them. "Sam. We'll need to pain the front door of Bag End. When we get back I mean."
The Elf's, Dwarf's, wizard's and the two men's heads came up at the hearing of the words. Frodo felt a faint blush climb its way up to his cheeks. Thankfully enough, Sam answered still, showing a faint dosage of bravery for which Frodo was yet more thankful by speaking loudly. "Yes Mr. Frodo you're right. The green's been fading. We'll take care of it when we get back."
Aragorn's voice came up, startling both of them. Frodo's head jerked up. "And in what color shall you paint your door Frodo ?"
Sam pointed in, his voice raising, he sounded almost defendant. "In green, of course. What other color than green can a door be I ask of you ?" His voice lowered when he realized whom he was adressing.
But the man's face broke into a smile as he looked down towards the light born from Gandalf's magic. Frodo as well smiled, contaminated by the hilarity of it all. "Accept my apologize Master Gamegie. And why do it have to be green ?" All superiority that Frodo knew could have been found there was suddenly off the man's voice, so much that Sam stammered before finally voicing the anser clearly.
"It-t.It's to be green because it's always been so as long as memory tells in the Shire."
Gandalf's lips formed a smile before blowing yet another ring in the air. The elfin, delicate and usually serious looking features of Prince Legolas also were touched by the ghost of a smile. Gimli grinned in his beard and Boromir smiled as he followed on the on-going conversation.
"But with all the history of the Baggins," Meriadoc's suddenly very awake voice sprouted up, rooted into the mass of blankets beneath which he had put himself. "With all your history. These adventures. Bilbo's and now yours Cousin Frodo, couldn't you allow some further unexpectedness. Paint your door in. say blue ? Or yellow ?"
Sam pursued arguing as Frodo smiled fully and yawned the definite yawn of awakening.
"You've always searched for unexpected haven't you ?" threw Sam Gamegie, and it sounded almost as an insult. In other circumstances and if he had not been himself profoundly taken in this same adventure, Sam's words would have been a firm accusation. To which Merry vividly, yet friendly responded, announcing a verbal match once more.
Gandalf returned his attention to the group before him as the four Hobbits became engaged in the friendly fight. "All of you must somehow wonder why a Hobbit. Why a Hobbit was chosen to be ring-bearer," The wizard paused, tearing some more smoke from the fuming tobacco and letting it filter in between his parted lips. The attention of all of the four other united around the light of his stick was now his. It visibly was a question that some of them would have been asking if they had not feared to anger. "This is why," Gandalf said, pointing at the scene going on still, the Hobbits' now quieter talking pierced with many bursts of laugh. "They are laughing. The ring-bearer is laughing why all of us are worrying about what might be hidden into darkness.
"A Man, an Elf, even a Dwarf, all of us, all of our people who have been brought in contact with evil and with the rings before, would be suspected by the Dark Lord. But will Sauron suspect anything coming from."
"Such an innocent creature," continued Aragorn, perhaps for the first time fully realizing the why, a question that, he could not deny it, he had been pondering about. "I certainly hope for Frodo's sake that the Dark Lord won't find about him before the ring will be on its way down into the depth of Mount Doom."
"And yet I feel, and I fear, that the ring might be getting to him, to his heart. He put it on many times." Gandalf lowered his voice at this point, seeing that Frodo had slipped out of the conversation of the Hobbits to listen to theirs. "And he doesn't think that he should have been chosen to do this. It's starting to use this weakness," Gandalf said, adding an unconscious emphasis on the 'it'. Meaning both the ring and its master waiting for his own to come back to him.
"As it's used the weaknesses of others before him," whispered Aragorn, shadows visible in his eyes. The topic of Isildur's failure and weakness at the determinating moment was always something bitter to him. Boromir's face darkened as well. Elrond's voice seemed to echoe, being carried out by the wind weaving in the trees' leaves. I was there when the strenght of Man failed.
Prince Legolas had the kindness to input, breaking the terrible stillness of silence. His words though did not will their minds on to better thoughts. "We all feel it Gandalf."
"He'll give up." Boromir had spoken there. And Gandalf turned slightly, his eyes looking aside, catching a glimpse of Frodo's own brown eyes fixed on the talking group. He could, hopefully, not hear their words. Though the reason and subject of their discussion had to seem obvious from the stare of dread that had woken up in the depth of the innocent eyes.
"We all would, eventually." Legolas had spoken again, quieting the man's constant doubts at the choice of the identity of the ring-bearer. "The ring eats its bearer from the inside and consume their heart with its master's voice. We are all lucky that Frodo Baggins stepped forward at Elrond's council. If he had not, none of us would have carried the ring without putting to it our own rage. And victory would have been Sauron's from his moment on."
"It'll be slower if we're lucky. And if Frodo's strong enough," added Gandalf. "I've seen how the ring's changed Bilbo Baggins. He had never realized how much he was unwilling to let it get away from him until the moment to pass it on to Frodo came. Its influence can be subtle. But it is. And sooner or later, it'll act on Frodo." Gandalf's voice lowered yet more, making it almost inaudible. "In fact, the changes have already begun."
Frodo had definitely raised at hearing the words concerning the possibility that he might not be strong enough. His honor had been touched first. He would last. Then had come fear. Fear that Gandalf was right. Then anger. Anger at them all for doubting him, for plotting in his back.
Gandalf's voice sounded warm again when he extended an arm open toward him. "Frodo, come forward." the wizard invited.
"You were talking about me, weren't you ?" the Hobbit said, his voice cool in a way that all of the others present immediately noticed. "About the ring. eating me from the inside." a side-look was thrown Legola's way. "And about the weakness it would use against me." Another glance thrown at Aragorn.
These words had been unusually lashing. They almost sounded like they had been spoken by another one through Frodo's mouth. Everyone of them noticed this fact, as Frodo sat on the ground, trembling. Gandalf swallowed. This had been the first real try at the ring's gaining of power over the Hobbit bearing it. It was somehow. shocking to see such a good-natured being become this.
Gollum was not far. Not so far away from this youthful and smiling Hobbit.
The voice had come back to its familiar tone, its familiar innocence, its familiar joyfulness and childishness, somewhat, hid just beneath the surface of Frodo. "You were talking about me weren't you ?" the ring-bearer asked again. The question now was sounding much more innocent, much more detached, less concerned. Just a request.
"We were Frodo," was Gandalf's first answer. "We're. concerned about you," the old man added seeing that the young little one's eyes had not lost the mildly dreadful look they bore.
All those eyes fixed on him. All those important people that a few months ago were not living in the same world than he. Gimli the Dwarf, whose fingers caressed the edge of his axe. Legolas the Elf, gazing at him, his eyes seemed blue though darkness had surrounded the place where he was sitting on his heels on a prominent rock. The two men, their expecting eyes turned on him. And Gandalf, waiting for his words. He realized that he had somehow fallen to the ground, that he was sitting on it. He knew that it had happened again.
The power had come back. Only it had not been when he had put the ring on, or when he was asleep. It had been while he was awake and attentive enough to block its power away from him. Its power was growing, the Hobbits understood, dread creeping and strenghtening. "I'm scared." They expected him to continue. "It puts things in my dreams Gandalf you know ? When I sleep I see places that I've never been at. People that I've met. Or things that I've never done." It. The ring. The One Ring. Sauron's ring.
Legolas's softer voice entered in the conversation shattering the kind of transe that had begun since Frodo had started speaking. As all the others but for Gandalf had been clinging to his lips. "The ring's power is growing. The longer it stays with you and the greater will it grow. While its master's calls grow more and more demanding. It will become heavier and heavier to bear Frodo, the closer you get to Mount Doom, the heavier it will become."
A long pause was passed by. These words were not to be taken lightly. Finally Frodo spoke up again. His voice bore some strange things. Some strange needs. He wanted them to understand how he felt, how it felt. He wanted to convince them that he was scared. He wanted to tell them that he was scared. "I'm scared," his own voice sounded rasp to his ears.
Gandalf looked down at the light coming from his stick, this light that was to his command. "All of us are Frodo." He knew that it was not comforting. Though he hoped it somehow satiated whatever wishes that the Hobbit had wanted to fulfill by telling them this. And he hoped as well that Frodo was well-aware that now that he had revealed this, he could find himself enemies within the fellowship, some persons who would doubt his strenght, which would lead to distrust, which would lead to fear and hatred and fight and death.
But understanding had crept into Frodo. The understanding of this.
As well as something else. Something stronger. Something that hurt yet more. Because Frodo understood, as he turned to look aside at his companions, at his friends, at Sam and Merry and Pippin, he understood, he knew somehow that from now on, from this moment, he was excluded. That he would never laugh like this again. That he would never know innocence again. Nor innocence nor peace. Nor the life that he had had before knowing of the existence of the ring and of its power.
But for yet more years and decades, Frodo Baggins would wonder if at this point the ring's power had begun to cling to him already, strongly enough to make irrepairable changes in him, or had he simply understood.
END
The fellowship had stopped, to rest both eyelids and feet from the ever- lenghtening walk to Mount Doom. Frodo knew the weight of what he was bearing, knew its importance, felt its influence and had thus far managed to close his mind to it - and lying to Gandalf when the wizard asked, out of worry, in saying that the ring was not calling louder as they approached its master. With every step, the voice changed, became so slightly different. The Hobbit could not tell in what way it changed, how it did, could not describe it. precisely. It was just different. Sometimes, the ring felt lighter. Sometimes the metal seemed to tighten around the chain clinging to it and Frodo felt its weight hanging from his neck. This pressure, this force, hanging from his neck. That he had felt, along with the creeping terror, when the black rider had leaned over the protecting, serpenting root hiding him and his three friends. As if the ring called. Not begged to be taken. There was no pity in this, no prayer. It was merely. an order, firm and autoritarian, yet soft and seductive.
These were the changes of the ring. Frodo knew it well now. The ring. The ring that he had been given. He knew it intimately, as every object inside his comfortable and how missed hole. He knew it by heart, knew its habits, knew its temperature, knew when something changed, anything, size or shape or feel or anything.
Was this power ? This that he felt sometimes. Power. The attraction, brief, but present, that had ruled over him for a few seconds when he had put on the ring in Bree. It had been an accident. But the ring had not felt it as such. It had not made him feel as such. It had made him feel that it was wanted and meant. The ring could make him feel as it pleased and, perhaps was this the scariest, as it needed, when it wanted so, when Frodo put it on and allowed it to rule him.
Power. So this. strange sensation was what Men were looking for. What they were dependent upon. It had been thrilling, for one small instant, it had, but then it had. faded away. And Frodo had recalled what he held in his hand, that in Bree he expected Gandalf - expecting him all the more after all that had been said, Sauron, the One Ring, his One Ring, his own, his doing, his creation, his slave as much as Sauron by concentrating all of its power in it had in fact become the slave of this golden object - the mistake that had in the end taken him down, that would, or so the Elves and Aragorn and Gandalf hoped, take him down forever. And what had Gandalf said also about the end of the world.
About Sauron searching for the Shire, for Baggins. This was what had got him scared, for the first time. He knew Men now. Knew that they expected, that they themselves were this way, for one to care and be scared for his own sake primarily. But that was not it. To see the Shire, peaceful, perfect and quiet Shire, his home, his people and his friends, being invaded with these black riders. had become a nightmare haunting his sleep.
When he had remembered all that, the feeling of what had to be power had left him, leaving an empty and deceived shell behind. Power. What Men were so eager of. So eager in fact that Boromir had wanted the ring to be kept. Frodo had felt its voice then. distort and flee from his own ears to tempt those of others. The Elves and Gandalf knew it had to be destroyed and knew that the enemy's strenght was their weakness : power. If the fellowship was broken it would be because a one and only thing : power. Power than men wanted to gain. And if Sauron won, it was because of his own power, his power over the ring, which power was over all of them : him the bearer first and then through him, through Frodo Bagging, its influence was being communicated to all others, Elves or wizards or Kings or Men they were. They all were attracted by it. Frodo had seen it in their eyes.
But now, it was time for nothing else than for their feet to rest quietly on the ground, not supporting their weight. Leaning his back against a flat rock, unfastening the clasp of the hood he wore and hearing the metallic sound of Sting hitting the rock, Frodo rested. He wanted his bed, his comfortable bed, wished he had never been embarked in this adventure. This quest. It was none of the Hobbit's business. The mistake had been made by Men, many Men here, in the fellowship would be strong enough to carry the ring and bring it where it should be brought.
No. No. That was a lie. That was a lie. An imposed lie. Imposed by what ? What had forced the impetuous thought into his brain ? What ?
The young little one's fingers found the ring, stroked it through his shirt, where it was hanging on the chain. The ring. Its influence, creeping into his mind. It had come with power also. This reciprocate power. The power that he had over the ring and the power that the ring had over him. Which in fact were only one. Since the power he thought he had over the ring was an illusion created by it so its control over its bearer would the more easier.
Angrily, Frodo opened his eyes, they found nothing in front of him : night had fallen. A few meters away from him, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir were gathered around Gandalf's illuminating stick. The wizard was at the end of the magically built object and was slowly blowing rings of smoke in the air. Legolas, the elf prince, was sitting on his heels, at the edge of the circle of light, his features brought to a silvery shadow of themselves by the distance the Elf had put between himself and the light. Gimli was loudly saying something. Saying something. A tale. Gandalf was half listening, his eyes searching the darkness around them. Aragorn and Boromir's attention were fully given to Gimli's words, their faces showing their amusement at the tale as well as their slight dread of incertitude : about what could be hid in these shadows.
He had fallen asleep. He had dreamed, or thought while he slept. Or perhaps had he just closed his eyes and drifted away, not sleeping just yet, but definitely losing contact. Anyhow, a portion of time, a matter of hours had been lost. He slowly sat up, straightened his back against the rock wall behind him and pushed back the covers that someone had protectively drawn over his sleeping form.
Sam no doubt. Who was sitting about three fet away from him and slowly chewing on what looked like some kind of bread. His friend turned to him as soon as he sat up and blinked the limbo of sleep away. "Mr. Frodo. It's good you're awake. We kept some for you. It isn't very good, but it's all we've got," said Sam as some part of the bread was transferred from the insides of the other Hobbit's bag to his hands.
"Thank you Sam."
Frodo started to chew on the bread, using the calmness brought by the gesture as a mantra to will himself out of the remnants of sleep and especially out of these thoughts that had come with it. Plaguing. The thoughts that had been plaguing his sleep all along. They were the reason why he had never felt fully rested after sleeping, the ring-bearer realized, understanding a part of what Gandalf had often said he was risking by accepting the task of carrying the ring to Mordor.
He let his eyes drift away to the fire. Sam was turned toward it, and listened intently to the story told by Gimli, about a great fight, "the one which Mr. Bilbo was part of Mr. Frodo," would say Sam when Frodo would attempt to catch up. This story he knew so well seemed different now that it was told by another. Though evidently, the progression was much more different since Gimli often added personnal thoughts and related excerpt of his people's glory to it.
Silence came back when when Gimli stopped telling his tale, the end coming. At which he pointed out that the Bilbo of the story was the well-known Bilbo Baggins, honorable uncle of Frodo Baggins which they were themselves honored to find themselves in the company of.
Frodo's thoughts again drifted away. Away from this place, away from these mysterious persons he had thought he would never meet but in Bilbo's tales. Away from the adventure, ancient adventure of Bilbo, it had become his and was now his own preoccupation. The adventure. He had thought so much about it while being cloistered, or so it had at the time felt like in the Shire. Cloistered within this golden prison had he thought when he was younger and when he had learned that his uncle Bilbo had been off somewhere else and had lived extraordinary adventures that were spoken of in the Shire in low and secretive tones - these speakers being somewhat put ill-at-ease by the fact that someone who had accomplished something unexpected was living in Bag End.
The Shire. His home. The thought intervened, imposing itself. Not as the ring done it, by force, but as it was naturally being done : the idea slowly crept to his mind, slipping through the edge of his other thoughts and coming forward. On the front, rapidly becoming his main concern.
Of course, as he spoke the words, silence was still there. His voice was loud and clear, though he would have wished to keep it down. He meant the words for only Sam to hear them, yet the whole fellowship, but for the sleeping Merry and Pippin, heard every details of them. "Sam. We'll need to pain the front door of Bag End. When we get back I mean."
The Elf's, Dwarf's, wizard's and the two men's heads came up at the hearing of the words. Frodo felt a faint blush climb its way up to his cheeks. Thankfully enough, Sam answered still, showing a faint dosage of bravery for which Frodo was yet more thankful by speaking loudly. "Yes Mr. Frodo you're right. The green's been fading. We'll take care of it when we get back."
Aragorn's voice came up, startling both of them. Frodo's head jerked up. "And in what color shall you paint your door Frodo ?"
Sam pointed in, his voice raising, he sounded almost defendant. "In green, of course. What other color than green can a door be I ask of you ?" His voice lowered when he realized whom he was adressing.
But the man's face broke into a smile as he looked down towards the light born from Gandalf's magic. Frodo as well smiled, contaminated by the hilarity of it all. "Accept my apologize Master Gamegie. And why do it have to be green ?" All superiority that Frodo knew could have been found there was suddenly off the man's voice, so much that Sam stammered before finally voicing the anser clearly.
"It-t.It's to be green because it's always been so as long as memory tells in the Shire."
Gandalf's lips formed a smile before blowing yet another ring in the air. The elfin, delicate and usually serious looking features of Prince Legolas also were touched by the ghost of a smile. Gimli grinned in his beard and Boromir smiled as he followed on the on-going conversation.
"But with all the history of the Baggins," Meriadoc's suddenly very awake voice sprouted up, rooted into the mass of blankets beneath which he had put himself. "With all your history. These adventures. Bilbo's and now yours Cousin Frodo, couldn't you allow some further unexpectedness. Paint your door in. say blue ? Or yellow ?"
Sam pursued arguing as Frodo smiled fully and yawned the definite yawn of awakening.
"You've always searched for unexpected haven't you ?" threw Sam Gamegie, and it sounded almost as an insult. In other circumstances and if he had not been himself profoundly taken in this same adventure, Sam's words would have been a firm accusation. To which Merry vividly, yet friendly responded, announcing a verbal match once more.
Gandalf returned his attention to the group before him as the four Hobbits became engaged in the friendly fight. "All of you must somehow wonder why a Hobbit. Why a Hobbit was chosen to be ring-bearer," The wizard paused, tearing some more smoke from the fuming tobacco and letting it filter in between his parted lips. The attention of all of the four other united around the light of his stick was now his. It visibly was a question that some of them would have been asking if they had not feared to anger. "This is why," Gandalf said, pointing at the scene going on still, the Hobbits' now quieter talking pierced with many bursts of laugh. "They are laughing. The ring-bearer is laughing why all of us are worrying about what might be hidden into darkness.
"A Man, an Elf, even a Dwarf, all of us, all of our people who have been brought in contact with evil and with the rings before, would be suspected by the Dark Lord. But will Sauron suspect anything coming from."
"Such an innocent creature," continued Aragorn, perhaps for the first time fully realizing the why, a question that, he could not deny it, he had been pondering about. "I certainly hope for Frodo's sake that the Dark Lord won't find about him before the ring will be on its way down into the depth of Mount Doom."
"And yet I feel, and I fear, that the ring might be getting to him, to his heart. He put it on many times." Gandalf lowered his voice at this point, seeing that Frodo had slipped out of the conversation of the Hobbits to listen to theirs. "And he doesn't think that he should have been chosen to do this. It's starting to use this weakness," Gandalf said, adding an unconscious emphasis on the 'it'. Meaning both the ring and its master waiting for his own to come back to him.
"As it's used the weaknesses of others before him," whispered Aragorn, shadows visible in his eyes. The topic of Isildur's failure and weakness at the determinating moment was always something bitter to him. Boromir's face darkened as well. Elrond's voice seemed to echoe, being carried out by the wind weaving in the trees' leaves. I was there when the strenght of Man failed.
Prince Legolas had the kindness to input, breaking the terrible stillness of silence. His words though did not will their minds on to better thoughts. "We all feel it Gandalf."
"He'll give up." Boromir had spoken there. And Gandalf turned slightly, his eyes looking aside, catching a glimpse of Frodo's own brown eyes fixed on the talking group. He could, hopefully, not hear their words. Though the reason and subject of their discussion had to seem obvious from the stare of dread that had woken up in the depth of the innocent eyes.
"We all would, eventually." Legolas had spoken again, quieting the man's constant doubts at the choice of the identity of the ring-bearer. "The ring eats its bearer from the inside and consume their heart with its master's voice. We are all lucky that Frodo Baggins stepped forward at Elrond's council. If he had not, none of us would have carried the ring without putting to it our own rage. And victory would have been Sauron's from his moment on."
"It'll be slower if we're lucky. And if Frodo's strong enough," added Gandalf. "I've seen how the ring's changed Bilbo Baggins. He had never realized how much he was unwilling to let it get away from him until the moment to pass it on to Frodo came. Its influence can be subtle. But it is. And sooner or later, it'll act on Frodo." Gandalf's voice lowered yet more, making it almost inaudible. "In fact, the changes have already begun."
Frodo had definitely raised at hearing the words concerning the possibility that he might not be strong enough. His honor had been touched first. He would last. Then had come fear. Fear that Gandalf was right. Then anger. Anger at them all for doubting him, for plotting in his back.
Gandalf's voice sounded warm again when he extended an arm open toward him. "Frodo, come forward." the wizard invited.
"You were talking about me, weren't you ?" the Hobbit said, his voice cool in a way that all of the others present immediately noticed. "About the ring. eating me from the inside." a side-look was thrown Legola's way. "And about the weakness it would use against me." Another glance thrown at Aragorn.
These words had been unusually lashing. They almost sounded like they had been spoken by another one through Frodo's mouth. Everyone of them noticed this fact, as Frodo sat on the ground, trembling. Gandalf swallowed. This had been the first real try at the ring's gaining of power over the Hobbit bearing it. It was somehow. shocking to see such a good-natured being become this.
Gollum was not far. Not so far away from this youthful and smiling Hobbit.
The voice had come back to its familiar tone, its familiar innocence, its familiar joyfulness and childishness, somewhat, hid just beneath the surface of Frodo. "You were talking about me weren't you ?" the ring-bearer asked again. The question now was sounding much more innocent, much more detached, less concerned. Just a request.
"We were Frodo," was Gandalf's first answer. "We're. concerned about you," the old man added seeing that the young little one's eyes had not lost the mildly dreadful look they bore.
All those eyes fixed on him. All those important people that a few months ago were not living in the same world than he. Gimli the Dwarf, whose fingers caressed the edge of his axe. Legolas the Elf, gazing at him, his eyes seemed blue though darkness had surrounded the place where he was sitting on his heels on a prominent rock. The two men, their expecting eyes turned on him. And Gandalf, waiting for his words. He realized that he had somehow fallen to the ground, that he was sitting on it. He knew that it had happened again.
The power had come back. Only it had not been when he had put the ring on, or when he was asleep. It had been while he was awake and attentive enough to block its power away from him. Its power was growing, the Hobbits understood, dread creeping and strenghtening. "I'm scared." They expected him to continue. "It puts things in my dreams Gandalf you know ? When I sleep I see places that I've never been at. People that I've met. Or things that I've never done." It. The ring. The One Ring. Sauron's ring.
Legolas's softer voice entered in the conversation shattering the kind of transe that had begun since Frodo had started speaking. As all the others but for Gandalf had been clinging to his lips. "The ring's power is growing. The longer it stays with you and the greater will it grow. While its master's calls grow more and more demanding. It will become heavier and heavier to bear Frodo, the closer you get to Mount Doom, the heavier it will become."
A long pause was passed by. These words were not to be taken lightly. Finally Frodo spoke up again. His voice bore some strange things. Some strange needs. He wanted them to understand how he felt, how it felt. He wanted to convince them that he was scared. He wanted to tell them that he was scared. "I'm scared," his own voice sounded rasp to his ears.
Gandalf looked down at the light coming from his stick, this light that was to his command. "All of us are Frodo." He knew that it was not comforting. Though he hoped it somehow satiated whatever wishes that the Hobbit had wanted to fulfill by telling them this. And he hoped as well that Frodo was well-aware that now that he had revealed this, he could find himself enemies within the fellowship, some persons who would doubt his strenght, which would lead to distrust, which would lead to fear and hatred and fight and death.
But understanding had crept into Frodo. The understanding of this.
As well as something else. Something stronger. Something that hurt yet more. Because Frodo understood, as he turned to look aside at his companions, at his friends, at Sam and Merry and Pippin, he understood, he knew somehow that from now on, from this moment, he was excluded. That he would never laugh like this again. That he would never know innocence again. Nor innocence nor peace. Nor the life that he had had before knowing of the existence of the ring and of its power.
But for yet more years and decades, Frodo Baggins would wonder if at this point the ring's power had begun to cling to him already, strongly enough to make irrepairable changes in him, or had he simply understood.
END