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.
Mistoffelees: Hehe *blush* D'aw, thank you. Don't worry, I update quite quickly so hopefully you'll have some hair left to read the next chapter
Koko Kung: Yay- go you! Write, Koko, write! Can I see the piccies? Please? Lossa LOTR, mmmmm.
Holly Wood: Ah, there is more suspense to come, my dear. *strokes white cat* Frodo will be, um, shall we say, angst-y in proceeding chapters.
Crazytook: Go Sam- go Sam! *does little known Sam dance* About the south trip, I know, I appear to be sticking another item into this cauldron- hey, what a weird metaphor- but it is to some purpose. I'm flattered that you're willing to trust me on this one.
TrueFan: Hi TrueFan! Huggles! Thank you! I heard that you can get randomness in a jar now...
Elf of Rivendell: Not exactly a wasteland. But there was something that has always intrigued me. "Lothlórien will fade." Because it was made by the elven rings. So it has faded. Ish. Nasty Tom, but I'm going to be tolerant here and let him be nice
MagicalRachel: Don't fret- do you really think Sam's going to let Frodo go without him...? Thank you for the extract. Is so cool! Is so cool! But you just gave me a bit of it- I need it all, man! Come on, don't hold out on me, man! I know, after the Reviewer Spoof, I have mixed feelings towards Tom
Senni: Thank you for the criticism. The Gardener/ Gardner part, yes, I think it was spelt Gardner too but because I am quintessentially English and spelt it a different way. I'm not sure that it is something I will change. I'm very pleased you noticed it but I think either way works. It's my one little streak of originality. Ah- the stairs I can apologise for very much so. I did it purely for the purposes of the story so that Ematen and Frodo could have somewhere peaceful to go. It probably won't be mentioned again and I am sorry if this ruined your enjoyment. But I am very pleased that you liked it otherwise!
Shirebound: I know- I really dislike Tomb Bombadil's character in the story so I've decided to experiment and see if I can learn to like him. He speaks so musically- as if everything has already been written down for him. -Ooh er! I'm happy that you think I am keeping these storylines in check, I just hope I can reign them in so that they start mixing together and I will have a nice uncreased plot.
~ Chapter Sixteen ~
Aragorn pulled aside a giant cobweb that had fallen across the great golden gates of Caras Galadhon. They were rusted and weak and easy to push open. Aragorn's breath caught in his throat. Th last time he had seen this exact view, it had been twinkling with lanterns amid the glorious white and green of the forest. But now it was a dead land. The trees were a dark grey, hollowed and ridged with fungi. Snow layered the ground in great ugly drifts, tossing up the spearheaded leaves into mounds. Not mounds.
They were cairns.
Aragorn moved solemnly towards one of the leafy piles and brushed some of the foliage away. Underneath was a prominence of stones and a slab upon it reading: "Here lies Lómelindë Helkaboriel" in elvish. The man recoiled in horror.
"She stayed? Then- then why did she die? Why did they all die?"
He gazed round at the cemetery around him. It was unbelievable. That such beauty had come to such terrible ruin. All because...of one small ring. A band of gold. But it had contained the very soul of the Dark Lord. It was a living thing. It had ruled for many Ages, biding its time until it was found. And then it had torn the world apart. It had ruined Middle-Earth. It had taken so much death to quell the Ring's power. And even now it was gone, there was so much desolation left behind.
"On, Brégo," Aragorn instructed coldly, remounting his horse. The beast turned about and galloped out of Lothlórien. They rode away towards the Misty Mountains, never looking back. They would never know why those last elves had died.
--
Sam was quiet for a long time. Then he said,
"And you want to go?"
"Yes, Sam," Frodo answered in a low voice. His friend did not speak. But he looked up, eyes filled with sadness. Frodo thought his heart might break.
"Please! I cannot go on like this!" he cried. "Always on the verge of knowing and yet never... Sam, if you do not wish to tell me about the item that brought me so much suffering, then let me at least have questions answered at the south. It will not be long. When I return, I will know more. I will be closer to becoming Frodo again."
"But you are Frodo," Sam said vehemently, "You're here ain't you? It's you, not someone else."
The hobbit shook his head and sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table.
"I might as well be. You know, Sam. I am not the friend that you once knew. I just take his appearance. Maybe someday I will be able to resemble his mind as it was when he left but- but, Sam I am not him. I am just another blank canvas."
"Please, Mister Frodo," Sam choked, taking the pale hands in his darker ones, "Please don't say that. I waited so long for you to come back. Don't tell me that you haven't. Please."
Frodo looked away. With a dejected sigh, he pulled his hands free and got to his feet. He walked over to his old satchel hanging from the hook by the door.
"I must go to the south," he said, keeping his eyes on the floor. Sam put his chin on the table and swallowed back the tears.
"I know, Mister Frodo. And I'm coming too."
Frodo looked up, half a grin forming on his face. Before he could speak, his companion had raised a hand. A frown now creased his face and as he spoke, the lines grew deeper.
"You know, Frodo," he said shakily, "Though you won't remember it- I failed you so many times. You were my master and I failed you. Just like the ninnyhammer I am. I tried to bear that weight off your shoulders but you- you wouldn't let me so I carried you. Carried you right up the sides of a..."
"A mountain of fire. Yes. I do remember. Of all my memories, that's always been the clearest. So tired and thirsty. I was far too weak to go on. And then...you carried me up a mountain of fire. On your back."
"That's why I have to come. That's what I swore I'd always do after I failed you. I'm going to see no harm comes to you nor Emáten. I know Rosie won't like it but...I think she'll understand."
Sam looked up and met his friend's gaze. He sniffed and then left for his own room without another word. Frodo felt a pang of guilt. This was something he had done many times in the past. He felt it. Taking Sam away from all he held dear. This was not right. Sam should not have to look after him all the time when he had a family to look after. Emáten's hand came down on his shoulder and Frodo looked up.
"Why is he doing all this for me?" he asked meekly. The man gave a small smile.
"You're his best friend," he said, "And that's what friends are for. They carry each other."
--
Sam could remember Cirith Ungol. So bright and clear that it pierced the folds of his mind and he could almost see it right in front of him. He could remember that feeling of despair. Looking down into his master's chalk white face, cold and lifeless. He had believed so strongly that Frodo was dead. Utter despair. To think that the quest nearly took away his life. Nearly took him away from Sam. He swallowed and leant heavily on the doorpost. That memory had seared his heart like fire.
That was all he had seen when Frodo had gone. All that he could picture. A lasting image of his companion's face. And it was still there. But he had lived! He had not died! It did not fail. That wash of relief flooded over him as it had done when he found Frodo again. He was downstairs, his eyes open, breath filling his lungs. A living being.
But no more than that. Sam knew. He had the chance of bringing that body back to life. Of finding Frodo again. He could bring it back for his friend. With one word. So small a thing...
"No," Sam said aloud, making himself jump. No. He would not return that agony. That terrible fear. Maybe it was too late? Perhaps it wouldn't even matter? But somehow, Sam knew it would. In the end.
The choices were lying before him. Yet more choices. Decisions that he did not want to be the one to make. Either leave Frodo to piece back his past together... or bring back Frodo the Ringbearer with one word.
Mistoffelees: Hehe *blush* D'aw, thank you. Don't worry, I update quite quickly so hopefully you'll have some hair left to read the next chapter
Koko Kung: Yay- go you! Write, Koko, write! Can I see the piccies? Please? Lossa LOTR, mmmmm.
Holly Wood: Ah, there is more suspense to come, my dear. *strokes white cat* Frodo will be, um, shall we say, angst-y in proceeding chapters.
Crazytook: Go Sam- go Sam! *does little known Sam dance* About the south trip, I know, I appear to be sticking another item into this cauldron- hey, what a weird metaphor- but it is to some purpose. I'm flattered that you're willing to trust me on this one.
TrueFan: Hi TrueFan! Huggles! Thank you! I heard that you can get randomness in a jar now...
Elf of Rivendell: Not exactly a wasteland. But there was something that has always intrigued me. "Lothlórien will fade." Because it was made by the elven rings. So it has faded. Ish. Nasty Tom, but I'm going to be tolerant here and let him be nice
MagicalRachel: Don't fret- do you really think Sam's going to let Frodo go without him...? Thank you for the extract. Is so cool! Is so cool! But you just gave me a bit of it- I need it all, man! Come on, don't hold out on me, man! I know, after the Reviewer Spoof, I have mixed feelings towards Tom
Senni: Thank you for the criticism. The Gardener/ Gardner part, yes, I think it was spelt Gardner too but because I am quintessentially English and spelt it a different way. I'm not sure that it is something I will change. I'm very pleased you noticed it but I think either way works. It's my one little streak of originality. Ah- the stairs I can apologise for very much so. I did it purely for the purposes of the story so that Ematen and Frodo could have somewhere peaceful to go. It probably won't be mentioned again and I am sorry if this ruined your enjoyment. But I am very pleased that you liked it otherwise!
Shirebound: I know- I really dislike Tomb Bombadil's character in the story so I've decided to experiment and see if I can learn to like him. He speaks so musically- as if everything has already been written down for him. -Ooh er! I'm happy that you think I am keeping these storylines in check, I just hope I can reign them in so that they start mixing together and I will have a nice uncreased plot.
~ Chapter Sixteen ~
Aragorn pulled aside a giant cobweb that had fallen across the great golden gates of Caras Galadhon. They were rusted and weak and easy to push open. Aragorn's breath caught in his throat. Th last time he had seen this exact view, it had been twinkling with lanterns amid the glorious white and green of the forest. But now it was a dead land. The trees were a dark grey, hollowed and ridged with fungi. Snow layered the ground in great ugly drifts, tossing up the spearheaded leaves into mounds. Not mounds.
They were cairns.
Aragorn moved solemnly towards one of the leafy piles and brushed some of the foliage away. Underneath was a prominence of stones and a slab upon it reading: "Here lies Lómelindë Helkaboriel" in elvish. The man recoiled in horror.
"She stayed? Then- then why did she die? Why did they all die?"
He gazed round at the cemetery around him. It was unbelievable. That such beauty had come to such terrible ruin. All because...of one small ring. A band of gold. But it had contained the very soul of the Dark Lord. It was a living thing. It had ruled for many Ages, biding its time until it was found. And then it had torn the world apart. It had ruined Middle-Earth. It had taken so much death to quell the Ring's power. And even now it was gone, there was so much desolation left behind.
"On, Brégo," Aragorn instructed coldly, remounting his horse. The beast turned about and galloped out of Lothlórien. They rode away towards the Misty Mountains, never looking back. They would never know why those last elves had died.
--
Sam was quiet for a long time. Then he said,
"And you want to go?"
"Yes, Sam," Frodo answered in a low voice. His friend did not speak. But he looked up, eyes filled with sadness. Frodo thought his heart might break.
"Please! I cannot go on like this!" he cried. "Always on the verge of knowing and yet never... Sam, if you do not wish to tell me about the item that brought me so much suffering, then let me at least have questions answered at the south. It will not be long. When I return, I will know more. I will be closer to becoming Frodo again."
"But you are Frodo," Sam said vehemently, "You're here ain't you? It's you, not someone else."
The hobbit shook his head and sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table.
"I might as well be. You know, Sam. I am not the friend that you once knew. I just take his appearance. Maybe someday I will be able to resemble his mind as it was when he left but- but, Sam I am not him. I am just another blank canvas."
"Please, Mister Frodo," Sam choked, taking the pale hands in his darker ones, "Please don't say that. I waited so long for you to come back. Don't tell me that you haven't. Please."
Frodo looked away. With a dejected sigh, he pulled his hands free and got to his feet. He walked over to his old satchel hanging from the hook by the door.
"I must go to the south," he said, keeping his eyes on the floor. Sam put his chin on the table and swallowed back the tears.
"I know, Mister Frodo. And I'm coming too."
Frodo looked up, half a grin forming on his face. Before he could speak, his companion had raised a hand. A frown now creased his face and as he spoke, the lines grew deeper.
"You know, Frodo," he said shakily, "Though you won't remember it- I failed you so many times. You were my master and I failed you. Just like the ninnyhammer I am. I tried to bear that weight off your shoulders but you- you wouldn't let me so I carried you. Carried you right up the sides of a..."
"A mountain of fire. Yes. I do remember. Of all my memories, that's always been the clearest. So tired and thirsty. I was far too weak to go on. And then...you carried me up a mountain of fire. On your back."
"That's why I have to come. That's what I swore I'd always do after I failed you. I'm going to see no harm comes to you nor Emáten. I know Rosie won't like it but...I think she'll understand."
Sam looked up and met his friend's gaze. He sniffed and then left for his own room without another word. Frodo felt a pang of guilt. This was something he had done many times in the past. He felt it. Taking Sam away from all he held dear. This was not right. Sam should not have to look after him all the time when he had a family to look after. Emáten's hand came down on his shoulder and Frodo looked up.
"Why is he doing all this for me?" he asked meekly. The man gave a small smile.
"You're his best friend," he said, "And that's what friends are for. They carry each other."
--
Sam could remember Cirith Ungol. So bright and clear that it pierced the folds of his mind and he could almost see it right in front of him. He could remember that feeling of despair. Looking down into his master's chalk white face, cold and lifeless. He had believed so strongly that Frodo was dead. Utter despair. To think that the quest nearly took away his life. Nearly took him away from Sam. He swallowed and leant heavily on the doorpost. That memory had seared his heart like fire.
That was all he had seen when Frodo had gone. All that he could picture. A lasting image of his companion's face. And it was still there. But he had lived! He had not died! It did not fail. That wash of relief flooded over him as it had done when he found Frodo again. He was downstairs, his eyes open, breath filling his lungs. A living being.
But no more than that. Sam knew. He had the chance of bringing that body back to life. Of finding Frodo again. He could bring it back for his friend. With one word. So small a thing...
"No," Sam said aloud, making himself jump. No. He would not return that agony. That terrible fear. Maybe it was too late? Perhaps it wouldn't even matter? But somehow, Sam knew it would. In the end.
The choices were lying before him. Yet more choices. Decisions that he did not want to be the one to make. Either leave Frodo to piece back his past together... or bring back Frodo the Ringbearer with one word.
