Good news: Found a job. Temporary, but awesome.
Bad news: Didn't update quickly.
Good news: Loving rehearsals for the show.
Bad news: Whoops, lost my voice for a few days.
Good news: Birthday! Wooo!
Bad news: Lots and lots of rain.
Good news: Extra long chapter!
Bad news: There's only the epilogue left!
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He was coming back to himself. There was warmth here, not cold stone. Softness rather than the roughness he had been forced to become accustomed to. Sweet and clean air replacing the stale atmosphere of the Tower. And light, it was lighter here. Eyes closed, he paused to take a moment and consider himself. He was lying on his side in a bed, it felt like. No longer in armour, he was clothed in something soft and comfortable – a nightshirt of some kind. There was a gentle pressure around his torso – bandages. He realised his back was no longer a source of intense pain, but had reduced to a dull ache. He must have been placed on his side to reduce the pressure upon the wounds.
He tried to open his eyes, but found they stayed firmly closed. Upon further investigation he discovered there was a length of soft cloth wound around his head, shielding his eyes. He lifted a hand to remove it when a voice stopped him.
"Frodo?"
Instinctively, Frodo turned his head towards the voice. He recognised the soft tone and intonations, and smiled. Aragorn, if he was to be any judge. What light he could sense around him dimmed, and Frodo's sharp ears caught the slight sound of movement as Aragorn came closer to him.
"Frodo, you've been captive in darkness. Two days ago, when you stood before me on the field of battle, the sky was partly shrouded – what light shone though was not strong. This morning, the sky is clear and the sun is bright. The shadows are no more – but your eyes will be sensitive to the light."
Frodo nodded, and lifted a hand to his bandaged eyes once more. "When can I remove the binding, Sire?"
"When you are ready," Aragorn's voice replied. "It is dim enough for you to remove it now, should you wish."
Gently, Frodo grasped the edge of the cloth and pulled it down his face. The pressure on his eyes was lifted, and he began to ease them open.
He was indeed lying in a soft bed, the pale blankets drawn up around him. Standing beside him was Aragorn, who smiled and knelt to his height. Frodo considered him in the gentle light. Weary from battle and duty was the King, but his eyes were filled with happiness and relief. He wore no crown or sword, and was dressed in soft vestments, the proud Tree of Gondor upon them.
The pavilion was dimly lit, daylight sneaking in only around the edge of the entrance. The light was enough to see by, and within the tent Frodo could make out various pieces of furniture: a few chairs, and some small tables covered in objects. Beside Frodo's bed there was another small but ornately carved table, separating his bed from another that was sharing the pavilion. Within it, deeply asleep and untroubled in dreams, lay Sam. Frodo could just make out the bandage on his shoulder, and the dressing about the head-wound he bore.
"How is he?" Frodo asked quietly.
The King sighed, looking across to the other bed. "His shoulder will take some time to heal. The injury is deep, but the blade wasn't poisoned or cursed." Aragorn turned his gaze onto Frodo, who was staring at his friend, brows knit in concern. "He won't have full use of his arm for a few weeks, until it returns to its normal strength."
"I'll help him."
Aragorn couldn't help but smile. "I know you will, my friend. But you must also be aware of your own healing. Your back…" he sighed. "Such wounds of brutality will take time to mend."
"I know," Frodo replied quietly, before glancing at Aragorn as if a sudden thought had struck him. "Sire, how do you fare? I know Sauron was leading Mordor's army."
Aragorn shifted his weight slightly. "I encountered him on the field. Never did I think that would eventuate. Our swords crossed, and I ended his threat." The King's eyes were distant, re-living the battle. He had thought much since Sauron had fallen – there was something poetic there, in that Isildur's blood had once again faced the shadow of old, and once again had cast it down. Only this time, he had stood tall after the fight's end, and not been torn down by weakness like he had once feared.
But enough of that. For now there were more pressing matters to attend to – injuries of body and soul required attention. His own thoughts had been considered and put aside, and at present that was enough. There would be time for deeper contemplation on the subject and its possible consequences when he stood once more in the White City, with his Queen at his side. Arwen would be only too happy to speak with him about all private thoughts he may have. Aragorn glanced at the thoughtful hobbit – after all, the King was not the only one who must have an odd internal dialogue at present.
"Frodo…" Aragorn hesitated. It was strange to see the usually eloquent King of Gondor seemingly lost for words. "If you find you need someone to speak your mind to, concerning what happened in the tower-"
"I know I can come to you, Sire," Frodo gently interrupted, sparing Aragorn finishing his sentiment. This time it was the halfling's turn to hesitate. "I take it you have spoken with Captain Faramir and the White Lady?"
Aragorn nodded slowly, looking at Frodo closely. He and Mithrandir had been understandably surprised when Faramir had reported on what had happened in the Tower, as it was most unlike Frodo to have taken a life, but then again it had been exceptional circumstances. Looking at the halfling now, Aragorn didn't know if he expected to perceive some great change within his friend. The level hobbit-stare that met his gaze was one of great familiarity, but Aragorn supposed there was something different. A confidence? No, not quite – more like a serenity, a calmness of one who had gone through something great, and discovered something about themselves along the way.
So Frodo still does not see the heroism in his actions, Aragorn realized. He takes no pride in what he did, yet does not dismiss it either. He simply accepts his actions as what happened. An extraordinary hobbit.
"I will let you rest," Aragorn said aloud. Frodo smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. Aragorn stood, knowing his dear friend's mind must be restless – Frodo was usually a thoughtful and perceptive hobbit, more so than others of his land; and most other beings in Middle Earth, Aragorn would wager. His ordeal within the Tower and his actions must be the subject of much contemplation. Best to leave him to his thoughts.
Aragorn paused at the entrance of the pavilion to look back. Frodo had already closed his eyes, though whether in sleep or thought Aragorn could not tell.
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Sam's eyes flickered open slowly. For a moment he couldn't recall why on earth he was still in bed when he could see a hint of bright sun – and then recalled where he was. Or, he supposed, where he must be: safe. His shoulder was aching bitterly, and his head throbbed from Melkor's blow, but they were dressed in clean linen – Aragorn's handwork, Sam guessed.
Sighing, Sam glanced around the tent. In the dim light he could make out another bed. It was empty, its soft sheets pushed back and the pale pillows supporting no one. The resident of the bed was, in fact, beside him.
Frodo was asleep, his head resting on his folded arms. He had been sitting, Sam could see, in a chair drawn right up beside his own bed, and even though Frodo's lower half was still in the chair, his torso rested upon the coverlet. His face was smooth in the peace of sleep, and looked surprisingly healthy for what he had undergone: not like last time. Though his skin was still pale (though, Sam considered, Frodo was typically fairer skinned than most) the only obvious indications of any past experiences was a bruise upon his cheekbone from where Melkor had struck him, and the missing finger, which was resting on the bed openly. For a moment, he looked like the hobbit who had started on this whole ordeal, rather than one who had finished it.
Sam smiled at his friend's obvious concern for his well-being. He felt, he decided after a moment of deliberation, fairly under the weather. His shoulder ached badly, as did his head, and he felt exhausted and irritatingly weakened. Sam cast his mind back. He could remember being taken by the Nazgul and bought before Melkor – even the thought made shudders run down his spine – but then most things blended together, and time became immaterial. He had been restrained, and beaten. Frodo had been there at some points, begging Melkor to stop, hadn't he? His shoulder had been cut, Melkor had tortured him…
…and then movement. The flurry of other people in the room, and gentle hands cutting him down. There had been a fight. And…
Sam's brow furrowed. Was he recalling everything correctly? Had he really seen…but the more he thought about it, the more he knew it was true. He had seen Frodo rise from where he had collapsed, and take the knife from beside him.
And he had killed Melkor.
Sam looked down at his dearest friend once more. Frodo Baggins, the Ringbearer who had been thrown into dealings far bigger than himself and his land, gone through turmoil greater men would have quailed from, and shown compassion and mercy even when tormented; had never killed on the Quest. Sam had seen him defend himself many a time, but could not recall a time when Sting had passed through the flesh of another living thing to end it. Even in the Shire, with Sharkey's men and Sharkey himself, Frodo had shown mercy rather than steel.
But this time, he had killed – and killed Melkor, no less. With great calmness and simplicity, to save them all. This time, the strength that had granted him such mercy in the past had given him the fortitude to make the final move against all odds, and save them. When placed in a situation where he had the chance to defend those he loved, was it any wonder Frodo had stood before the shadow and fought for them?
No, Sam thought. Not really.
After all, wasn't that what he had done last time? Become the Ringbearer to save his homeland and all those in it? Given up his home, his mind, and very nearly his soul, to stand against a great shadow and fight how he felt he could? Forced to face a shadow again, he didn't have the Ring to work against him, and was free to stand as the hero, the defender, Sam (and others) had always seen in him – willing to fight for others, refusing to give in.
Frodo murmured something in his sleep and shifted slightly. The movement caused him to wake with a soft curse as he gingerly raised himself up on his arms, and glanced up to find Sam eyes upon him.
"Sam!" Frodo smiled warmly at his dear friend. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to wake you."
"Oh, I was already awake."
Frodo reached out to take one of Sam's hands in his own. "How are you feeling?"
"Not as well as I'd like," Sam frowned. "But I suppose that's to be expected when we keep getting involved in grand adventures. Why is it so dim in here?"
"My fault, I'm afraid. My eyes are a bit sensitive to light, from having been in the dungeons," Frodo explained, before he pressed Sam's hand. "I am so happy to see you awake." Then the smile faded and his grasp slipped. Something sad came over him and he bowed his head. "Sam, I owe you such an apology. And I know I can't be forgiven for it."
Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Frodo shook his head in silence. Sam, sensing he was trying to say something, didn't press the point. Frodo looked back at his friend, and Sam was surprised to see the beginnings of tears in Frodo's blue eyes.
"Sam; I was willing to let you die. I was actually going to let you be killed instead of save you when it was within my power to. I know you can't forgive me for that, and I don't expect to be forgiven. I don't deserve it. I let you suffer instead of stopping it. It broke my heart to see you bound and beaten, but I couldn't…I'm so sorry." Frodo bowed his head again as he began to weep. "So sorry."
Sam was speechless. Surely Frodo didn't really think that his choice – which had not actually been a choice at all, really – would cause Sam to hold it against him? How could he? Yes, he had been in immense pain, and yes, he had desperately wanted it to stop – but he had never expected Frodo to put one hobbit before all of Middle Earth. Sam reached out and laid a hand atop Frodo's bowed head. Frodo flinched slightly, but did not move away. Sam sighed.
"Frodo Baggins. I've known you almost my whole life. There are times when you display wisdom and perception that rivals the elves. And there are times when you are affected by nightmares. Times when you laugh like nothing bad ever happened. And then there are times that I can't believe you would think the way you do and display thick-headedness typical of a Boffin. I could never hold this against you."
Frodo raised his head, tears still fresh upon his face. "But I was going to let you die, Sam. Just because I was stubborn."
"No, you were going to do the right thing to save us all, even though the price you would pay was heartbreaking for you. That, my dear Frodo, is strength. You were willing to take that price upon yourself rather than shy away from it and take the easy way out." Sam smiled. "I have never known you to take an easy way out."
Frodo half-smiled despite his tears. "It's the Baggins stubbornness."
Sam reached out and gave his dear friend a tight, if somewhat awkward, embrace. "There's nothing to forgive, Frodo."
There was a sound of footsteps outside, and then Aragorn's voice. "My friends, may I disturb you?"
"Of course, Sire," Sam called. Frodo closed his eyes as the bright sun spilled inside for an instant. Aragorn quickly stepped into the pavilion and pulled the material back across the entrance, letting the comforting dimness return.
"I'm so sorry, my friends. Am I interrupting?" Aragorn asked gently as he came forward.
"Not at all, Sire," Said Sam as Frodo turned back to sit on the edge of his own bed, taking the chance to remove evidence of his tears as he did.
Aragorn set down the small box he carried and leaned over Sam, gently taking his shoulder in one hand and manipulating it with an expert eye. After a moment, and a few soft gasps of discomfort form Sam, the King of Gondor nodded. "The stitches are holding, and the bleeding has stopped. You won't be able to use the arm for some time, but it should heal without complication." He turned his attention to Sam's head-wound next. "But this dressing needs to be changed."
Frodo watched as Aragorn deftly removed the current linen and cast it aside. Underneath, gash was still bloody and deep with ragged edges, and surrounded by deep purple bruising, and Frodo felt his heart twist in guilt. Aragorn produced a poultice from the box he had with him and gently spread some on the wound, before binding Sam's head with a length of clean white linen. "You will have a scar, I think, Master Samwise."
A thought about what Rosie might think about Sam having a scar faded from Frodo's mind as Aragorn approached him purposefully, and with some apprehension Frodo carefully removed his nightshirt and lay on his stomach upon the bed. A few moments later he felt Aragorn carefully begin to remove the bandages, and once that was done, felt another layer of linen peeled from his back. Gritting his teeth against the pain of it, Frodo heard Sam gasp as his back was revealed.
Frodo's back was a criss-cross of bloody and deep cuts. Scars from the Tower of Cirith Ungol were all but lost amongst the new wounds, their silvered skin disappearing next to the angry red skin that surrounded the cuts. Deep layers of bruising covered every inch of skin that hadn't been ripped open. Some injuries were evidently newer than others, and others had crossed over one another so many times Sam shuddered to think what the increased pain would have been like. Many gashes were still open and bleeding slightly, the blood bright against the pale skin of the one who had endured it.
Aragorn gently covered Frodo's whole back with the poultice he carried. The process took many minutes and great care, and when he was finally finished Aragorn placed a new square of linen across the entire area, before helping Frodo to stand and replacing the bandage around him. Frodo slipped his nightshirt back on, and the bandage was lost from view. Under Aragorn's authoritative gaze he slipped back into the bed, once more resting on his side as he waited for the pain to fade.
"I cannot begin to consider what long-term effects these ordeals may have on you, Frodo," Said Aragorn, who was watching him closely. "You have suffered greatly in mind and body during both the War of the Ring and this latest trial – and that is sure to effect you. How, I cannot guess."
"I am sure I will know soon enough, Sire," Frodo replied, not looking at Sam.
Aragorn nodded, still troubled. "You must rest, my brave friends. Merry and Pippin will be glad to hear you are awake, and I will be sure to send them to you." He bowed to them. "It is ever my pleasure to serve you, My Lords."
And with that, he was gone, leaving two slightly embarrassed hobbits behind him.
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The next morning, Frodo rose and dressed early. It was still party dark outside, the grey light of pre-dawn not having yet given way to the rise of the sun. He passed the sleeping Sam and stole quietly out of the pavilion, moving through the still slumbering camp with no more sound than a light rustle of the grass.
It wasn't long before he came upon a small hillock, still within sight of the camp. It was exactly what he had been looking for, and in such a place as Ithilien it had not taken long to find. Being careful of his injuries, Frodo settled himself upon a boulder and looked to the east. This gave him a clear view of the Mountains of Shadow, and he raised his gaze to the sky above them, and the tell-tale patch of lightening cloud.
Frodo sat unmoving in the cool dawn air as he waited, comfortable in the silence and the stillness of Ithilien. It did not take long for the first rays of golden light to pass over the mountains, and reach the small figure that awaited it. Frodo closed his eyes in quiet joy as the light washed over him, bringing the new day. Mere days ago he had been in the Tower, in the dim shadows and thought this had been lost to him.
For long moments he did nothing more than just sit in the sunlight, feeling the warmth of it on his skin and the relaxation it bought. And so it was that Sam, Merry and Pippin found him; sitting with his eyes closed, completely still, taking comfort in the light of the sun.
"You're awake early, cousin," said Merry, leaning on the boulder next to Frodo.
"As are all of you," Frodo replied without opening his eyes. "I merely came to greet the dawn."
"So we see," Pippin muttered, as Frodo opened his eyes and smiled at the three of them.
"Sam, you shouldn't be exerting yourself," said Frodo, as his friend sat down beside him. Sam's arm was in a sling, and his head was still bandaged.
Sam fixed him with a level stare. "Neither should you. I've seen your back."
Frodo half-shrugged. That was very true; and his back did ache something terrible after his walk to the hillock. He supposed Aragorn would have rebuked him for doing it, and he might regret it later, but for now he was happy he had come to see the sun rise, and feel its warmth upon him. The companionable silence stretched and Frodo breathed deeply, tasting the sweet air of Ithilien.
"Frodo, what happened in the Tower?" Merry asked gently.
Frodo's face grew thoughtful, but he didn't shy away from the question. "I suppose it doesn't feel so bad to speak of, here in the bright sun." He sighed quietly, as if to himself. "What I underwent is no uplifting subject: I was tortured and tormented. In some ways, I do not wish to discuss it, as I do not want any of you to treat me differently for my imprisonment or my actions. I know I was seen differently after the War; Aragorn made the mistake of terming it 'fragile' from my ordeal during it. I scolded him for it – I rebuked the King of Gondor like he was rude hobbit-lad!" Frodo laughed aloud. When he spoke again, the smile was still on his lips, warming his eyes. "As changed as some may perceive me, I am still myself."
"Was it like bearing the Ring?" Pippin asked.
Frodo considered this for a moment. His three closest friends were among the few Frodo had spoken to about bearing the accused object, and as such understood what had happened as much as Frodo had been able to explain it. Sam, of course, had been in a position to understand far more easily having witnessed it.
"In some ways. This pain was far more physical, but the mental manipulation was not lacking. However, this time, I kept my mind. In the dungeons I came to terms with my actions and failings during the War of the Ring. In no way have I accepted what I did, but somehow I feel my actions as of late have gone some way to rectifying my past failings. I looked into the shadows again, and this time…I resisted," he said softly, his eyes distant. "I did not fall."
Frodo became silent. For a while, there was only the sound of birdsong in the air and the distant sounds of the encampment. Frodo turned his face back to the sun, closing his eyes as he began to speak softly, appreciating that his closest friends were simply letting him speak rather than pushing for information. "In that cell, in the darkness, I thought my life was all I had left, all that could be taken from me. When I realized that it wasn't, and that though I could die they could never take from me my love for you all, and my honour and integrity – I found within myself a strength I did not know existed. Strength I had believed myself incapable of having; to defend what I fought for, and willingly die defending it. I would not condemn Middle Earth and all in it to darkness. I had nothing left to lose, nothing left to fear, and everything to fight for." Frodo paused, and sighed deeply as he opened his eyes. He looked up over the mountains, staring at the bright sky but not seeing it, lost within his thoughts. "I don't know how it happened, but my fear left me and I refused to yield."
The three listeners knew their dear friend well enough to know that this was evidently something he had been thinking about a lot – and keeping to himself. Frodo had always been very thoughtful, but it also meant that he kept many things hidden away. Now given the chance to voice his thoughts aloud, it was helping him to sort everything out as much as it was explaining to them what had happened.
"I didn't know you could throw that well," Pippin said quietly to his elder cousin, who nodded once.
"I realized I had the chance to do something…" Frodo trailed off, looking for the right word.
"Heroic?" Merry provided.
Frodo's grimaced at the grandiose term. "Not as such. Something right. Even though what I have done will be classified by many as heroic, I don't feel like a hero. Last time that was because of failing on my part, failing that has haunted me since. But now…it is because I did what I could for those I loved. I did what anyone would have done. Not for glory, or even for Middle Earth. I did it because I refused to stand idle while you were all in such danger. Should I be praised for that? For doing what was right? I do not think so."
"You realize how many you saved?" Sam asked gently.
Frodo half-shrugged, once again careful of his wounds. "I didn't act for them. I acted for you. It may not be a big difference to some, but it is to me: there was no Middle Earth, no Shire, in that chamber. There was only us. I didn't think about consequences, or even who Melkor was, not really. To not do anything was to give in to the situation. I simply refused to do that."
Frodo could not see it, but his three friends shared an incredulous glance. The very person – the very hobbit – who had killed one of the greatest threats to Middle Earth, could not see the greatness in his own actions. Frodo never had recognised his own heroic nature; never seen the greatness or wisdom others perceived in him. Even though now he admitted to finding strength within the darkness, and fighting back in a display of willpower that would have been unheard of for most, he still viewed it with sensible and modest hobbit-nature. Frodo Baggins was one-of-a-kind, even if he couldn't see it.
After a moment Frodo sighed, as if coming to a decision. "What happened has happened; and it cannot be changed now. I will speak of this further to you all, as my most trusted friends and brothers; but I feel that is enough for now. I came to greet the sun and she has bathed me in light – I thought never to see her again." Frodo stood with careful movements. "We should return. Aragorn may forget his kingly nature if he realises two of his patients have escaped."
Laughing, the four hobbits turned their backs on Mordor, and walked back towards the camp.
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Extra long chapter because you guys are awesome. Reviews appreciated.