CHAPTER 6 – A Scattering of Light
For those interested in story construction . . . this chapter is not based upon role play but does hold some direct quotes or paraphrases from Return of the King.
As he had before, Elrond carried a drowsing Frodo for the two-day journey to the Grey Havens, rousing him only long enough to administer medicines or nourishment, and continuing to strengthen the failing body with his own fea; although now he was supported in this task by his kin.
At length they came to Mithlond and the elven lord sent a gentle string of waking song into Frodo's mind. Frodo sighed, his body stretching slightly with returning consciousness, like a kitten awakening from a long nap in the sun. Dark fringed eyelids fluttered for a moment and then opened. Elrond waited a moment, watching the little hobbit trying to piece together where he was and why. With gathering awareness came sadness and the weary cornflower blue eyes sought out Elrond's face.
"How long . . . have I . . . lost this time?" It seemed to the Ringbearer that as his life grew shorter more of it was taken from him in sleep. It was flowing away from him like sand in an hourglass and he was powerless to stop it.
Elrond unhooked a small flask from his saddle pommel and, opening it, put it to Frodo's lips. The little hobbit accepted the cool liquid gratefully, mildly pleased to find that he was able to swallow the Miruvor without needing the healer's assistance . . . although not without some effort. Guessing at Frodo's line of thought, the elf replied succinctly.
"Two days. We are coming to the gates of the Grey Havens and I thought that you may wish to see them." Hooking the strap of the flask over his saddle pommel once more he raised Frodo slowly, pausing when the already pale face blanched. Elrond was about to think better of it and lower him again when Frodo's tiny fist clenched in his sleeve.
"No . . . please. I . . . want to see. I . . . can do this." He struggled ineffectually to rise and in the end Elrond had to help him for fear that he would exhaust himself in the trying. Finally the Ringbearer sat, still within the shadow of the elf's warm grey cloak and leaning weakly against Elrond's chest with a strong arm supporting his back. What he saw, as far as he was concerned, justified the effort.
On his pony at Elrond's side, Sam looked about in wonder as the folk of Imladris unfurled silken standards; deep sapphire blue with a tiny border of mallorn leaves and stars, the gossamer fabrics whispering as they were caught up by the sea breeze. The folk of Lothlorien carried no standard, merely falling into ranks behind their kin, but the Lady Galadriel came forward to ride with the other Ringbearers. Gildor lead Bilbo's pony, with its nodding occupant to ride behind them, with Sam.
Frodo squinted ahead, towards the dazzle of the tall silver clad gates, their surfaces etched with a device of ships and waves. They were set within a girdle of grey stone wall, delicately crenellated and pierced by archer's slits. At regular intervals standards snapped in the breeze atop slender poles, their fabric embroidered with pale, swan-prowed, ships and the little hobbit could see tall, bow wielding figures walking too and fro atop the walls, sharp elven eyes scanning the horizons. Above all white gulls wheeled in a sky the colour of Elrond's standard.
A cool breeze flowed towards them, carrying with it the cry of gulls and the smell of seaweed; leaving a salt taste in their mouths. A horn blew somewhere above them and the gates swung slowly inward to admit their party.
Before they could enter, however, a tall, grey clad figure rode towards them. Frodo blinked in confusion, thinking at first that this was a mortal man, but as he drew closer it became clear that he was elven, even though his hair was grey and his beard was longer than Gandalf's.
He sat upon a grey horse before the group, his eyes keen as stars, holding the leaders. Frodo shrank back into the shadow of Elrond's cloak as he met those eyes but they did not linger upon him long, rising to find those of the Lord of Imladris, with questions in their depths. There seemed to be a silent exchange and Sam saw Elrond shake his head slightly as he drew Frodo closer to him.
Elrond and Galadriel bowed and it was the Lord of Imladris that spoke, his strong voice carrying clearly above the scream of the gulls, riding the thermals above them.
"The Ringbearers seek entry to Mithlond to take ship to the West. Will Cirdan the Shipwright give them passage?"
Cirdan bowed in return, his eyes drifting to the Lady of the Golden Wood. "I will indeed . . . and a welcome to all who have been exiled in this land, far from their home." He turned and with a sweep of his hand, invited them through the wide gates. "All is now ready." And he led the way through the shining portal and into the town.
Mithlond was small, compared to the cities of men. It boasted no tall trees like Lothlorien nor rushing falls like Imladris, yet it had a feel just as ageless and yet ancient as the other elven outposts.
Its grey stone buildings were low and simple, but each doorway and window boasted a wealth of delicate carving, the style and content echoing those of the Grey Towers. The air was filled with song that soothed the hobbits and made it difficult for them to keep track of time and direction . . . except that they always travelled downward. Then they rounded a corner and suddenly the harbour was before them and, sitting at the dock, a large white ship, its prow shaped in the likeness of a huge swan.
Suddenly Sam cried out and Frodo looked to see what had startled him. Upon the quay, beside a great grey horse stood a figure robed all in white awaiting them. As he turned and came towards them Frodo saw that Gandalf now wore openly on his hand the Third Ring, Narya the Great, and the stone upon it was red as fire. The ancient wizard slapped Sam on the shoulder and looked up at Frodo. But it was Galadriel who spoke first.
"And so now all the Ringbearers are assembled and the tale of the rings of power is ended."
Frodo's slightly breathless voice followed. "Gandalf. Will . . . will you . . . be travelling . . . with us?"
The wizard laid a warm, callused hand upon Frodo's foot. "Indeed I will."
"Well, this will be a pleasant voyage," murmured Bilbo. "How nice to see you Gandalf. We will be able to talk of old times to while away the hours."
Looking behind Elrond, to where the white haired hobbit sat beaming, Gandalf chuckled as he patted a small bag at his belt. "And share a pipe of Old Toby?" If it were possible, Bilbo's smile would have widened.
Any hopes of riding back to the Shire in the company of the old wizard fled Sam's mind and his heart grew heavy, for it seemed to him that he was about to make a very bitter parting and the road home would be very long indeed. True enough, Lord Elrond had said that he could have an escort . . . but elves were not hobbits and Gandalf at least, he had come to know.
Elrond handed Frodo over to Gildor while he dismounted then took him back gently. All about them the rest of the party were dismounting and boarding the pale ship, their horses being led away by Cirdan's people. Elrond settled Frodo upon a sun-warmed bench leaning against a stone wall.
"I will leave you alone to say goodbye to your friend." He turned and walked off a little way to speak with Cirdan, who was supervising the loading of baggage and last minute provisions.
The sharp-eyed elf nodded to Elrond as he approached. "There is a storm on the way. I can smell it in the air," he advised, matter-of-factly. "If you do not leave on this tide you may have to wait several days for the sea to subside. As it is, you will be hard pressed to run before it."
Elrond scanned the horizon, unable to find any trace of the weather the shipwright predicted but willing to bow to his greater knowledge on these matters. This was not Imladris.
"We cannot wait. We must get Master Frodo from Middle-earth as soon as we may. He is failing and I do not know how long I can hold him."
"Perhaps it would be wiser not to try," Cirdan murmured.
"While there is hope of his healing I will try," Elrond replied, firmly.
Keen eyes, pale as silver, looked long at his companion. "And if he decides to let go? Will you hold him then, against his will?"
Elrond returned the gaze for a long moment and then turned suddenly at the clatter of pony's hooves on cobbles. Up rode Merry and Pippin in great haste. And amid his tears Pippin laughed at Frodo's surprised expression.
"You tried to give us the slip once before and failed, Frodo," he said as he jumped down. "This time you have nearly succeeded, but you have failed again. It was not Sam, though that gave you away this time, but Gandalf himself!"
"Yes," said Gandalf, "for it will be better to ride back three together than one alone. Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of the fellowship of Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep for not all tears are an evil." With those final words, the wizard turned and boarded the waiting ship.
When Frodo did not stand Merry and Pippin reached down and hugged him and then left him alone with Sam. The gardener sat down next to his friend upon the warm stone bench, unsure what to say and unsure whether he would be able to voice it around his tears if he did. A cold hand slipped hesitantly into his, where it lay on his knee and Sam wrapped warm fingers around it tightly.
"I am . . . sorry that I . . . could not . . . stay and watch . . . Elanor grow up . . . into a lovely . . . young maiden. I . . . would have liked . . . that more than anything."
Sam gulped, tears spilling over and running down his face. He could not bear to even look at Frodo. "If you find healing will you come back to us?"
"I am . . . not sure . . . that I will . . . be allowed. But . . . if you want to . . . later . . . you can follow."
Sam turned to look at his master at last, only to find that his face too, shone with tears. "I'll be there, Mr Frodo. That's a promise."
"Oh, Sam." Frodo disentangled his hand, reaching out his arms weakly, and Sam gathered him to his sturdy chest. Both sat thus, sobbing, for some minutes until the sound of a throat being cleared brought them back to themselves.
"It is time to board, Master Frodo." Elrond stood a few steps away, his face filled with compassion and understanding. He had sat as they before, upon that very bench.
Sam drew away, wiping his face on his sleeve and Frodo wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Stepping forward, Elrond made to lift him but Frodo shrank away. "I will walk."
Both Sam and Elrond looked as though they would protest but one glance at Frodo's face stopped them. This was the hobbit who had gone on, when all hope was lost . . . and made it to Mount Doom. Elrond nodded and Sam helped his master rise, with a hand beneath his elbow. In the distance Elrond saw Merry and Pippin watching, their brows furrowed in concern as they saw Frodo's plight and Pippin would have rushed forward, but Merry held him back.
With infinite slowness, Frodo walked the few steps to the gangplank, leaning heavily upon Sam. Elrond slipped in front of Frodo, taking both the Ringbearer's hands in his to lead him on to the ship, leaving Sam silent and still upon the dock. As he took his first step onto the deck however, Frodo's knees gave way and Elrond had to scoop him up in his arms once more.
Frodo's head turned, his eyes seeking out those of his friend. "Goodbye . . dear Sam. Be . . . happy enough . . . for both . . . of us."
The gangplank was raised, and the sails were drawn up, and the wind blew, and slowly the ship slipped away down the long grey firth.
As the harbour mouth faded in the distance, Frodo suddenly fished within the pockets of his coat and drew out the Lady's Starglass. With the last of his failing strength he held up the glass and it flashed forth once, then his hand dropped, the glass falling from nerveless fingers to roll upon the deck as he slumped, unconscious in Elrond's arms.
The delicate glass vial, which had come through so much danger, finally shattered upon the deck, the water spilling and soaking away, leaving only a faint mark on the wood.
TBC
For those who asked….yes….fea is another word for soul or spirit.