A/N: Wow! Such response for the last chapter! You guys kill me :) I love the enthusiasm, I hope you'll all keep it coming! Apropos of nothing, here is the next chapter, posted early! Enjoy! :)
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, the melancholy that had shadowed their company seemed to pass and their journey became a merry, rambling affair. The hobbits didn't seem to be in any hurry and Gandalf didn't seem to be in mind to hurry them along, but as the mornings grew chillier, Mel began to feel the first stirrings of anxiousness. She had hoped they might be through with all this before winter set in, but it was mid-October and it felt like they were no nearer to finding what they sought. They had left the forests of Rivendell behind and the only trees that dotted the plains were young and had no stories to tell of the Entwives, though she often asked as she passed. Surely there should at least be stories, legends, something... She began to doubt the wisdom of coming this way, a gnawing in her gut that warred with her conviction that there was nothing else they could have done.
It took a few weeks before Mel saw anything that made her believe they might actually be making some progress. The ruin of an old tower sat on a lone hill in the distance, looking out over the plains, the startling beauty of the setting sun contrasting starkly with the dreariness of the structure.
"That is the ruin of Amon Sûl," Boromir said, glancing up at the sky rapidly clouding over above them, "We should make camp there. A rain is coming on and it will give us a bit of shelter-"
"No."
Everyone turned toward Frodo, whose face had gone so pale it seemed almost transparent. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword in a white knuckled grip.
"No, let's just… let's just move on," he said, his voice harsh and desperate, "Please."
The other hobbits all dropped their heads and said nothing. Boromir glanced at Mel and she gave him a little shake of her head. Boromir nodded.
"Very well, little one," he said, "If you think it best."
He had taken to calling them all that, 'little one', a remnant of the old days, and Mel didn't think he knew, but sometimes the hobbits gave him odd looks afterward when his back was turned, as if they could almost glimpse the true Boromir behind the mask he wore.
They made camp well beyond the watchtower, and once the fire was bright and food had been handed around, Frodo quite deliberately sat down beside Boromir, poking absently at a tomato slice with his fork. Boromir went almost unnaturally still. After several moments, the hobbit spoke.
"I wanted to apologize," he said, in a very formal tone, "I know you must think it quite ridiculous of me to pass up the opportunity at shelter there on the cliff tops."
"I think no such thing of you, Master Baggins," Boromir said, stiffly, but not unkindly.
"The truth is, well, when we passed this way before, we had a bit of a… well a struggle you might call it. With the Nazgul."
Boromir stared at Frodo, plate forgotten in his hand.
"Nazgul?" he said, as if having trouble processing it, "Nazgul came here?"
Frodo nodded, but didn't look up from his mutilated tomato slice.
"They were looking for me. For what I carried, anyway. I was foolish…"
"We were all a little foolish that night, begging your pardon Mister Frodo." Sam said quietly.
All of the hobbits were staring at their feet or into the fire, distant and haunted.
"Well, be that as it may," Frodo conceded, "We were trapped up there, and I was stabbed," He pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the knotted scar just below his collarbone, "The wound still pains me sometimes."
Mel shuddered and pushed in closer to Boromir's side. Boromir looked both pained and awed. He reached out a hand, almost absently, and brushed at the wound with a rough fingertip, then pulled back as if he had just remembered himself. Frodo tugged the shirt back up to cover the scar self-consciously.
"You are the bravest and strongest creature I have ever known, Frodo Baggins of the Shire," Boromir whispered.
Frodo jerked and stared at him, but it took a second for Mel to figure out why. In that moment, Boromir had sounded more like his old self than she had heard in ages. Boromir seemed to recognize it too, because he immediately dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, cutting into a sausage with concentration.
"You did not have to relive such horror on my account," he said gruffly, as if to make up for the bit of himself he had allowed to shine through, "I would have taken your word."
"Yes, well," Frodo said, dropping his eyes back to his own plate, "The two of you have traveled with us for many weeks now. And you are friends of Gandalf. Any friend of Gandalf is a friend of mine, and as my friends, I think you have a right to know why you might be getting rained on in the middle of the night."
He managed a half smile in their direction and caught Mel's eye. She smiled back at him. Boromir did not look up, merely nodded. Mel was fairly certain that she was the only one that noticed he had gone unnaturally still again. Frodo certainly didn't seem to notice, only smiled and finally began to eat the food he had been merely picking at before.
When the time came to turn in, Boromir volunteered for the first watch. Mel sat up with him, and for a long time they watched the stars whirl overhead in comfortable silence. Once the hobbits had dropped off to sleep, she told him in a whisper what she could remember of the hobbits' journey from the Shire to Rivendell, including what had happened to Frodo on Weathertop.
"No one person should have to endure such hardship," Boromir said when she was done.
He was staring over the embers of the fire, toward the bundle of blankets that contained the hobbits.
"Had I known, when all this began-"
"-it wouldn't have made any difference," Mel murmured, tucking herself into his side, "Frodo made his choices and fought his battles. He has battles still to face, but he will face them and he will come through, because he is strong and brave and kind. Everything will turn out alright in the end. You'll see."
Boromir nodded, but his gaze was distant, not troubled, but pained.
"He called us friends," he whispered, almost too low for Mel to hear, "If he only knew..."
Mel smiled and wound her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"It wouldn't make any difference," she said again, "I know you don't believe that, but it wouldn't."
Boromir did not answer. Mel closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder, trying to will the words into his soul.
The next morning it started to rain, but this didn't seem to dampen the spirits of the hobbits in the least, despite the fact that the rain did not show any signs of letting up any time soon. It continued all day in a steady stream that was not quite a drizzle, not quite a downpour, and when they finally made camp only Gandalf was able to make a fire from the damp wood they could find. But once the fire was crackling under the cover of the dripping trees, with everyone warm and a hot meal in their bellies, it didn't really seem that bad.
But the rain continued the next day. And the next. On the third day, Mel could see evidence of wear and tear on the hobbits good spirits.
"You know, Gandalf," Pippin said, his pony sauntering up to next to Shadowfax, "You being a wizard and all, shouldn't you be able to do something about-" He waved his hand in the air absently, "-all this?"
Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the hobbit, pausing for a moment almost in shock. Then he shook his head, sending rain water scattering from the hood of his cloak.
"You are certainly not the first to ask such a thing of me, Peregrin Took, and I imagine you will not be the last. But I will tell you what I told the one who came before you: if you are looking for someone to change the patterns of the weather, you shall have to find yourself another wizard."
"Oh no, thank you!" Merry said, urging his pony forward, "I think we've had quite enough of wizards and the like. Other than you, of course, Gandalf. You seem to be the only decent one of the lot."
"Now I wouldn't go so far as all that," Gandalf countered, "The others of my order are odd, to be sure, and mostly reclusive, but that does not make them either bad or good. And though Saruman was corrupted, he was not always so. He was once very good and very wise. Do not be so quick to judge that which you have not seen the whole of, Meriadoc Brandybuck. Most of those we think now to be evil did not begin that way. Even Sauron was once a force of creation, rather than destruction."
"What, Sauron?" Merry exclaimed, "Come now Gandalf, you make very bad jests."
"Which is why I rarely do so, and I am not joking now," Gandalf said, sternly, "Before his heart was turned to darkness, Sauron was a student of Aulë, the maker of the dwarves. Would you call Gimli evil?"
"Certainly not!" Pippin exclaimed, "He is one of the bravest people we know!"
"And yet Sauron learned all his craft at the feet of his Maker, many long years ago. He crafted the great Rings using his teachings. Not everything is exactly as you see it, Meriadoc Brandybuck, you should remember that."
The hobbits seemed quite puzzled by this and no more was said on the matter, but Mel thought that Frodo rode with his head a little further buried in his hood than usual. Of course, that could have just been the rain.
Their already slow progress had been dragged down to a crawl that drove Mel almost to distraction, but they did finally make it to Bree by nightfall on the fifth day. It took quite a lot of banging on the gate, but finally someone opened up and, after a few cryptic words, they were all let inside, though Boromir and Mel were given quite a long, suspicious stare before Gandalf vouched for them. They passed through the streets of the little town and Mel thought it seemed quite a bit more deserted than it should be. Where was everyone? It was dark and it was raining, maybe that just meant everyone was staying indoors. But even the Prancing Pony, which Mel had felt sure would be bustling, had only a few patrons.
Mel liked Barliman Butterbur instantly, just as she had imagined she would, just as she imagined everyone probably did. But even the innkeeper's ineffable enthusiasm was not enough to erase the pall that seemed to have settled over the whole place.
"Things have just not been quite the same since you've been away, little masters," Barliman said over mugs of ale by the fire, "There's been trouble, a good sight of it, some of our own even killed in a skirmish not too long back!"
"How many?" Gandalf asked, puffing on his pipe with a disquieted expression.
"Three and two," he said, describing the whole affair in great detail, "And we've heard queer things coming out of the Shire too. It's odd times, I tell you, and we want nothing more than to be let be. But I'm sure it'll all be sorted out now, what with the king and all."
Mel sipped her ale and caught Boromir giving her a strange look. She raised an eyebrow and he shook his head slightly. A conversation for later, then. But not much later. Once they were ensconced in a room ('on the house to friends of Gandalf,' Barliman had said), Boromir sat her down and asked outright.
"What is happening in the Shire?"
Mel sighed and bent to tug off her boots, wiggling her toes in the rough fiber of the rug.
"Saruman and Grima have taken control."
Boromir jerked back, startled.
"The wizard, Saruman?"
Mel nodded, but didn't look up from her toes.
"He's taken over the running of the Shire, causing mischief and chaos, just... just for the pure hell of it, really. He's got a bunch of others working with him, it's a real mess. The people here in Bree don't know the half of it, I'm sure. I don't even remember most of what happens, but I remember it is a mess."
"And they're riding right into it," Boromir said, sighing and running a hand through his hair, "And I suppose there is nothing to be done about it?"
Mel shook her head.
"No, they need to take care of it, in their own way. Believe it or not, it does the hobbits good to fight their own battles. It shows them that they're strong, and it gets our four friends right with their own people. It all works out in the end."
Boromir stood suddenly, pacing before the fireplace, running his hands through his hair absently.
"It just seems so…" He ruffled his hair again, "…so unfair. Haven't they been through enough? That they must come home and be faced with…"
He waved his hand in the air in a general gesture.
"It's not so bad," Mel said, "Trust me. They'll be alright."
"Would you tell me if they weren't?" he snapped, and immediately turned away, covering his face with his hand, heaving a deep breath, "That was uncalled for," he muttered, his voice still muffled by his hand, "Forgive me."
Mel got up and stood next to him, putting a hand firmly on his shoulder and pressing her cheek to his back.
"There's nothing to forgive," she assured him in a soft murmur, "I would tell you, and I know you know that. You're tired and you're scared. It's alright."
He dropped his hand from his face and covered hers instead.
"I draw my strength from you as ever, Melody."
She smiled and rose up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his temple.
"I'm sure I'll be needing yours for what's coming up," she said.
"What I have to give, I give you freely," he answered, turning to cup her face in his hands, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb, "Always and everything, my love."
He leaned down to kiss her and they didn't do much more talking the rest of the night.
They stayed in Bree all the next day, resting and gathering chatter from the locals. Not much of it was good, but the arrival of the hobbits and the tales they had to tell in trade around the Prancing Pony's cozy fire did much to ease the townspeople's troubled minds, even if it only brought more trouble to the minds of the hobbits. By the next morning, it was easy to see they were anxious to be off home, to see the truth of what had happened in their dear old Shire while they'd been away. The company packed up and headed off fairly quickly, but they hadn't gone too far into the rolling green country, when Gandalf turned aside.
"This is where we leave you, my dear hobbits," the wizard said, "As you know, Lindel, Esgalion, and I have business to attend to in the Old Forest."
"Oh, will you be seeing old Tom then?" Pippin asked, eager as ever.
Mel jumped and stared, first at Pippin, and then at Gandalf. Tom? Had that been what Gandalf meant, 'an old friend'? He hadn't said, but… Mel barely dared to hope…
"I think I should dearly like to see Tom Bombadil and Goldberry one more time," Frodo said, staring over the mist-covered hills, "I wonder how they are getting on?"
"As well as ever, you may be sure," Gandalf said, "And I should guess not much interested in anything that we have done or seen, except perhaps this-" He waved an arm in Mel and Boromir's general direction, "-business with the Ents. That I think might pique his interest very much, and the interest of his wife, if truth be told. But we shall see soon enough. As for you, my fine fellows…" He turned his attention fully back to the hobbits, "I think it would be wise for you all to press on for home, or you will not come to the Brandywine Bridge before the gates are locked up for the night."
"But there aren't any gates!" Merry said, rolling his eyes as if this were the most ridiculous notion.
"You mean there weren't any gates," Gandalf said solemnly, his eyes wandering behind them to linger on the road running in a rambling manner away west, "I think you might find some now…"
His gaze refocused on the hobbits, looking up at him with a hint of unease and confusion in their eyes. He smiled, reassuringly.
"But you'll manage alright. Yes, quite alright."
He turned Shadowfax toward the misted hills to the north.
"Come now, Calenhiril, and bring your companion with you. We've much to do ourselves."
He turned and waved over his shoulder at the hobbits.
"Good-bye, dear friends!"
They all waved back from their ponies and called out good-byes.
"I hope you find what you're looking for, Mel!" Frodo called.
Mel saw Boromir startle out of the corner of her eye, but she only smiled and called back.
"Thank you, Frodo. I wish the same for you."
Gandalf had already taken Shadowfax into the hills and Mel and Boromir urged their horses to catch up. The hobbits shouted a few more "take cares" and "farewells", and Mel and Boromir both turned to wave again, but Gandalf was urging them onward and they were forced to turn and race to keep up with him. When Mel glanced back one last time, the hobbits were gone. Off home. She smiled at the thought, despite what she knew waited for them there.
"He knew your name," Boromir said, when they were well into the rolling countryside with only Gandalf to hear, "Frodo. He knew your real name."
"Of course," Mel said, "I told it to him."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing. He never asked me to explain. Just said that it suited me."
Boromir furrowed his brow, but finally he nodded.
"Well enough, I suppose," he agreed grudgingly, "But I think I shall always prefer your full name to that shortened appellation you insist upon."
Mel smiled fondly at him.
"On your lips, Boromir, so do I."
Boromir's expression softened into a fond smile that mirrored her own. Before she could blush at her own words, she urged her horse up to flank Gandalf, who had been deliberately silent up to now.
"So," she said, trying to mask her giddy excitement with casual indifference, "Tom Bombadil?"
"Yes," Gandalf agreed, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon, "Tom Bombadil. He keeps to the Old Forest, you know, if anyone was to have any thoughts as to the nature or disappearance of the Entwives, it will be him. Or his wife Goldberry perhaps. Either way, speaking to them seems prudent."
The wizard then gave her a sideways glance that was nearly a smirk.
"I assume you do not object."
"No," Mel said, a little too quickly if the quirk of the wizard's lips was any judge, "No, not at all."
"Who is this Tom Bombadil?" Boromir asked, sidling up beside them, "Is he a woodsman?"
"Hardly!" Gandalf huffed with laughter, "Certainly not in the traditional sense."
"He's a mystery," Mel said, "Even in my world, where these things are picked over and analyzed practically to death, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry are mysteries. No one knows exactly what they are, except that they're ancient and wise and completely lovely creatures, or so I've heard."
"You are not wrong," Gandalf said, "Though they are an odd pair, I find their company quite captivating."
"And we must pass through this place to find them?" Boromir asked, glancing around warily.
They had reached the misty hills of the Barrow-downs, but Mel was more intrigued than frightened. The sun was still shining through the mist, and the barrows dotting the tops of the hills were no more than piles of rocks with broken doors or dark openings. If Mel looked too closely at any of them she did begin to feel a bit of a chill, but it was nothing she couldn't shake off. And besides, Gandalf was with them, which made it difficult to feel any real fear.
"Do the Barrow-wights still haunt this place, Gandalf?" she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, "Or did the fall of Sauron take care of them too?"
"It was the fall of the Witch-King of Angmar that caused the undoing of the Barrow-wights," Gandalf said, "They were his creatures, born of his magic. What you feel now is nothing more than a shadow, an echo of their presence that will soon pass. By this time next year, I'd wager, the people of these lands will hardly remember why they were afraid to pass through this country in the first place."
"I cannot imagine how," Boromir said solemnly, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt.
"That won't do you any good, you know," Mel said, nodding at his sword, "They're ghosts, not exactly susceptible to steel."
"It is more for my own comfort than for protection," Boromir said, without a hint of shame or irony.
Mel rolled her eyes, but she left him alone.
Despite Boromir's unease, they passed through the Barrow-downs without incident and reached the edge of the Old Forest. But the sun had already set, leaving only the orange and pink of its passing on the horizon, and so Gandalf suggested they make camp for the night.
"I thought you said this Tom Bombadil was a friend of yours?" Boromir said as they dismounted just short of the forest's edge, "Could we not press on and find shelter with him for the night?"
"I have known Tom Bombadil for many long years," Gandalf said, "But that does not mean I wish to impose upon his hospitality on short-notice, uninvited."
"You don't know where he lives, do you?" Mel said, throwing a half-joking look Gandalf's way.
The wizard pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, but his lack of definitive answer was all the answer Mel needed. She stared at the wizard incredulously for a few seconds before she burst into an unexpected peal of laughter.
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, trying to rein herself in unsuccessfully, "Oh my god, you really don't! You don't know where he lives!"
"He is a very reclusive creature," Gandalf insisted, stubbornly, "His house is not always located in the same place, and so he cannot always be found in the same place."
"So, to be perfectly clear," Boromir said, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at the wizard, "We are on the edge of a field that was, until very recently, filled with deadly, malevolent spirits, on the verge of entering a forest with a reputation for being filled with dangerous creatures of varying and unknown degrees…"
"And the trees have a tendency to try to swallow you whole," Mel added helpfully.
Boromir stared at her. Mel cringed.
"I'm just saying."
"…with trees that apparently want to eat us," Boromir amended slowly, turning back to Gandalf, "And you propose that we enter this forest to find a man who, by your own admission, does not particularly want to be found and whose house, by some enchantment I assume, is impossible to locate, even by you."
There was a long pause. Gandalf did not reply, did not even bother to bluster, just gave Boromir a long measured look. Boromir's eyes flicked back and forth between Mel and Gandalf for several seconds, but finally he rolled his eyes and sighed, turning back to his horse.
"Gandalf, I feel I can safely say that traveling with you is never dull."
Mel burst into another gale of laughter and Gandalf smiled enigmatically as ever and they continued to set camp for the night with no more talk of what lay ahead or behind.
A/N: Wow, that was quite the history lesson. I hope I got my facts right for the most part. I think I did :) Until next time!