Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Endymion: You may not have felt able to leave the review you wanted, but you were eloquent nonetheless. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement.

Shirebound: Exactly. Unfortunately, Frodo is too blinded by his feelings over what happened to be able to judge himself more accurately, or more kindly. And thank you – I hope that I may live up to the task...

Mariole: Thank you so much for your encouraging and thoughtful review. I actually had already intended for this chapter to introduce such a conversation, but for you to read the story so far and to care about how it is written is a great compliment. After reading your review, I reread the first two chapters and thought how I might improve them. Then I forged ahead with Chapter 3. I truly hope that it meets with your approval. I look forward to any other comments or suggestions that you might want to make.

Niphredil Of Doriath: Yes, it can be difficult for the one-time reader to pick that up. I first read LOTR when I was nine, and so many such understated details were lost on me. One of the joys of rereading the book as I gradually got older was to discover such nuances which deepened even further the meaning of the whole story.

Lizmybit, Claudia, Cstini, Kay, and Katakanadian (love your pen name!): Thank you for your reviews. Many reviewers have written that they enjoy the presence of the children. This has been an unexpected but welcome reaction, considering that the children are not meant to be a major part of the story, but rather a thread that runs through the weave, occasionally disappearing and reappearing. So while some upcoming chapters may not feature the children, they will return.


Chapter 3: Intrusion


The fields crawled with figures moving to and fro. Faint voices could be heard, when lulls in the wind allowed: helpers crying out to one another as they moved across the vast open space. Sometimes the voices called out in companionable complaint or encouragement and, at other times, a note of relief or dismay could be heard as some artifact treasured -- or dreaded as the bringer of evil news -- was unearthed.

Frodo watched all of this, unable to look away. The labour of those who cleared the fields below told of the terrible trials of the people who had risked all and nearly lost all in this great land. He had not known at the time, as he toiled through the lands of Mordor, of the terrible battle being waged on these fields before him. He was glad that he hadn't known, hadn't known the extent of the desperation and the anxious hopes that had been riding on his ability to fulfil the Quest--the hopes that had depended on the all-fateful outcome of his own deeds. If he had known, would he have acted differently? Would he have been able to withstand the power of the Ring?

His heart quailed at the possible answer. He couldn't know what the outcome would have been, but he feared the thought that it would very likely have made no difference. Shaking, he gathered the folds of his cloak more tightly around him and bowed his head against his bent knees.


* * *

Fellen hadn't stirred for some time now, and his legs were cramping. He didn't want to move, as he wasn't quite sure that, if he were to do so, he would be steady enough to not make a noise. For some time now, the Pheriannath had been sitting, head lowered and arms tightly wrapped around his knees. Every angle of his body, even the very rigid motionlessness, spoke of something terribly wrong. What it was that could affect the Ringbearer so was beyond Fellen's comprehension. What he could understand, however, was the overwhelming need to be alone. Unfortunately, the cramping in his legs had become painful and the need to move imperative.

As slowly as possible, he got to his feet but, at the last moment, unbalanced, he wobbled and hastily put out his hand against the wall.

The sudden movement caught the Ringbearer's attention, and Fellen froze in dismay. For what seemed like a long moment, he hovered there, caught, before he righted himself. What should he do? If he immediately left, he would look like he had been spying on him (which, in truth, he had been). But he didn't want the Ringbearer to simply dismiss him as a nuisance. A sudden desire to make the Pheriannath understand that Fellen could sense his mood and respect it overwhelmed him.

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Fellen very slowly and casually (or so he hoped) hoisted himself up onto the wall. He too settled back against one of the blocks of stone that were paced along the wall at regular intervals. He was not even ten feet away now and directly facing the huddled figure, but perhaps he was not so close that he would be a bother ....


* * *

"Mr. Strider, sir," cried Sam, a little breathless. Scrambling up the steps after Aragorn's long strides left him winded. "Please wait a moment."

Aragorn turned on the topmost step. The guards behind him looked slightly shocked, but amused, to see their king addressed in such a familiar manner.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I did not see you. Indeed, I have not seen you for a week or more."

"Oh, well," Sam stammered, "you've been busy what with a kingdom and all."

"Perhaps. However, I don't wish to lose sight of the Fellowship altogether while you are here. What brings you to me now? How may I help you?"

"It's Mr. Frodo, sir. Can I talk to you?"

"Frodo? Is there something wrong?"

Sam dithered for a moment. "Could I talk to you first, private like?" He glanced uncomfortably at the guards.

Aragorn looked at him solemnly and then said, "Follow me."


* * *

Frodo looked away, discomfited. The child was sitting quite close to him, but didn't seem to want to talk. The demands of courtesy insisted that he speak to the child, but the fear that this would open the floodgates of unwelcome chatter kept him silent. He had always felt comfortable around children before, but then, he had always felt comfortable around people altogether. Now he couldn't bear to be near anyone, let alone this child who seemed to have been drawn to him. No doubt it was the legend of the Ringbearer that so drew him.

Poor child, thought Frodo. He must be disappointed. He looks at me and sees what? Some kind of awkward thing that does not have the courage to talk to him?

Fellen was looking at Frodo openly now. In actual fact, the Ringbearer's unwillingness to look at him had made him feel a little more comfortable. Nothing need be acknowledged. Nothing need be said.

Poor Pheriannath, he thought. "He looks so lonely. Does being a hero mean he can't talk to other people as normal folk do? Does being a hero mean you are always alone?

And then the Ringbearer looked at him. Their eyes met, and Fellen held his breath. If only he wouldn't take offence! The boy forced himself to relax, to look as if he were there simply because he wanted to be there, and not because of any reverence for a hero. But as the moment stretched longer, he soon forgot his nervousness, for looking into the Ringbearer's eyes was a curious thing: on one hand, they were guarded, as if to ward off something that might bring harm, but on the other, they were gentle. He felt that he could know Frodo just by looking into the warm depths of those eyes. But then the moment passed. There was the slightest of nods before Frodo looked away once again.

Disappointed but slightly comforted, Fellen too looked away. It was all right. Nothing need be said. The Ringbearer was still unhappy, but he had accepted Fellen's presence. That was enough.


* * *

Sam scrambled up the steep incline and arrived at the wall, slightly winded. Minas Tirith was surely a grand city and all that, he thought to himself, but the ever-lasting stairs, slopes and ramparts were a challenge for any hobbit still trying to put some meat on his bones.

"Mr. Frodo," he called. "Are you still here?"

Then he spotted him. As he trotted over, a small child suddenly detached itself from a niche in the wall and ran off. Curious, Sam looked back at the retreating figure for a moment before he turned to Frodo.

"Here you are, Master. Still here, and frozen solid, I wager. This is not a day to be up on this chilly ledge, even though it be spring and all."

"I'm all right, Sam," Frodo said softly. "I don't feel the cold."

"You don't notice the cold, rather. Here. Here's another cloak. This will keep you warm enough."

"I already have two cloaks on. Thank you, but I don't need another."

"Now, just humour me, Mr. Frodo."

"I said, I don't need another," said Frodo sharply. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I just feel stifled with all this attention people insist on giving me. I just want some peace. That's all."

"Frankly, sir, I don't believe you. Why, you handled all the attention you were given quite nicely at Rivendell, and at Lothlorien. You didn't turn no-one away then." Sam sat down on the wall, keeping half an eye warily on the drop below. He swallowed compulsively and inched a little closer to Frodo.

"Go away, Sam. You can't help me."

"Don't be hard, Master. I'm not going nowhere."

"I want to be alone."

"I know you do. You've told me enough times already. But if you'll forgive me, sir, this time I won't leave and that's a fact."

"A fact?" Frodo at last looked at him. "There is nothing for you here, Sam. Only a stupid hobbit who cannot be trusted to see anything through."

"That's not true," responded Sam hotly. "Don't you say such things about yourself, Mr. Frodo!"

"Why not, when they are true."

"They're not true! What put such notions into your head?"

Frodo sighed and looked back out over the city. "You should know, Sam. You were there. You were there when I went back on my promise, my vow."

"Just you wait a moment there, Mr. Frodo," said Sam warily. "I don't hold with you saying such things. You never went back on any promise, no how.

"Didn't I? I am so sorry, Sam, but I can't bear to talk about this. Please leave me alone."

"No."

"No? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I won't go nowhere. Day by day, you've been sitting out here, broodin' on all manner of hurtful things, no doubt. We're all worried about you, all of us. You ain't doin' none of us, or yourself, any good, stuck out here with your face lookin' all pinched and drawn. I simply won't budge. From now on, where you go, I go. Wherever you are, there I am. You're not gettin' rid of me, and that's the end of the matter. Sir.

"As I've said once before, of all the confounded nuisances, you are the worst, Sam."

"I seem to remember, sir, the last time you said that, you were happy to have me with you."

Frodo looked at him, startled, and then, with a sound between a choke and a sob, threw his arms around Sam and buried his head against Sam's shoulder.

"Here, now," said Sam a little awkwardly (although secretly relieved). He patted Frodo a little on the back. "Then there'll be no more talk of stayin' lonesome like?

"Oh, Sam," whispered Frodo. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, then. I do. Come back with me, Mr. Frodo. You can't stay out here for the rest of your life with your belly tyin' itself in knots."

Frodo raised his head from Sam's shoulder. "How did you know?" He gave a slight hysterical laugh.

"Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face, beggin' your pardon, sir. No wonder you can't eat anything."

Frodo shuddered, and then buried his face once more against Sam. Slowly, Sam put his arms around Frodo and held him.

At last, he said, "Come on, come back with me."

They got up together, with Sam's arms still tenderly around his Master.

"Where are we going?" Frodo said, half wondering, half fearful.

"I'm takin' you to the Houses of Healing. Someone is waiting for you there."


To be continued