SEAL ON MY HEART

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see Introduction

Warning: this story contains implied m/m interaction – don't read it if it's not your thing.

Rating: PG, I guess.

Author's notes:

As earlier, the descriptions and a few lines of dialogue are taken from the HoMe-books ''The Return of the Shadow'' and ''The Treason of Isengard''. It turned out rather differently than what I originally had in my mind, but we all know that it's the characters who are really in control.g

My thanks to Deborah for suggesting the opening quote. I tried to turn it more ancient, the changes I made are probably horrible, but….shrugs

And once again, my heartfelt thanks to Isabeau of Greenlea for beta-reading.

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

''Wherever thou goest, I will go;

and where ever thou stayest, I shall stay.

Thy people shall become as mine […]

And where ever thou diest,

I, too, shall die there and be buried with thee. […]

Death alone shall part me from thee.''

(Loosely quoted after the Book of Ruth)

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

Chapter Four: The Ring Goes South

The next morning came, cold and grey, as was common in the middle of December in those days. The East Wind was streaming through the bare branches of the trees, and making the fir-trees in the hills seethe. The hurrying clouds were low and sunless. As the cheerless shadows of the early evening began to fall, the companions of the Ring were ready to depart. Their farewells had all been said by the fire in the great hall, and they were waiting only for Gandalf, who was still in the house, speaking some last words in private with Elrond.

Their spare food and other necessaries were laden on seven sure-footed ponies: two for the two hobbits, one for the Dwarf, and four for the others. Only Gildor had a big horse with him: his trusted pack animal that had accompanied him on many of his journeys and was able to walk on any path a hill pony could go.

The travelers themselves were to go on foot, for their course was set through lands where there were few roads and paths were rough and difficult. Sooner or later they would have to cross the Mountains. They had planned to depart early and quietly, under the cloak of the grey dawn, for Elrond had warned them to journey by dusk and dark as often as might be, and to lie híd when they could in the broad daylight.

''When the tidings reach Sauron,'' he said, ''of the discomfiture of the Nine Riders, he will be filled with great anger. When the hunt begins again, it will be far greater and more ravenous.''

''Are there still more Black Riders then?'' asked Frodo. Elrond shook his head solemnly.

''Nay! There are but Nine Ringwraiths. But when they come forth again, I fear they will bring a host of evil things in their train, even if Glorfindel is able to keep part of their forces occupied in Mirkwood. You must beware of even the sky above you as you go on your way.''

Heeding Elrond's advice, they were going to journey for the most part by dusk or dark. It meant little to the keen-eyed Elves, but Sam, who was standing by the pack-ponies, was sucking his teeth and staring moodily at the Great House – his desire for adventure was at low ebb. But in that hour none of the hobbits had any heart for their journey, regardless if it led them to the Black Land or back to their own – a chill was coming in their hearts and a cold wind in their faces, and their hopes waned.

A gleam of firelight came from the open doors; lights were glowing in many windows, and t he world outside seemed empty and cold. Bilbo, huddled in his cloak, stood silent on the doorstep beside Frodo, while Merry and Pippin stood forlornly a few steps away, with tears in their eyes.

Arwen and Elladan had already said their farewells to their father and stood together, clad in leggings, tunics and cloaks of shadowy grey, in the fashion of the Silvan folk of Lothlórien, armed with swords and bows, the full quivers strapped on their backs. Each of them had their long, raven-black hair woven into a single, tight braid, to keep it out of their   faces. Elrohir stood with them, paler than Death itself, unmistakable pain written in his features.

Boromir, wearing his black leather cloak above his mail shirt and his velvet tunic, stood a little way away, not waiting to disturb their last moments together. He wore the silver collar proudly and openly, to the wide-eyed astonishment of the Elves of the valley, but his tunic was held together just below the throat by the time-blackened silver clasp he had received as the token of their mutual promise from the Lady Éowyn of Rohan.

Gildor Inglorion stood by his horse, wearing the usual green and grey traveling garb of his Wandering Company, his golden hair bound into a thick club with thin leather straps, his great sword on his back, long throwing knives hanging from his belt. He, too, stood alone, having said his farewells to his own people in private. They were standing in patient silence among the trees to witness his parting.

Not far from him stood Gimli, the Dwarf – also alone, for his father had returned to Erebor shortly after the Council, and there were none of his kind left in the valley to see him off.  He wore openly a short shirt of steel-rings, for Dwarves make light of burdens; and in his belt was a broad-bladed axe, gifted him by Glóin, since he had broken his own in the foolish attempt to destroy the Ring.

Aragorn sat on the frosty ground, next to the door, with his head bowed to his knees. Boromir could guess what he was brooding about, having overheard his last conversation with Arwen, and from the compassionate looks the Lady Undómiel was giving his bent form she did, too. Nevertheless, she remained with her siblings, – after all, it was Elrohir she was going to leave behind.

At last Elrond came out with Gandalf, his storm-grey eyes clouded with sorrow and dark foreboding. Strangely enough, his saddest look was given to Aragorn, not his own children who were about to leave.

''Farewell now,'' he said. ''May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you. And may many white stars shine on your journey!'' He embraced his children one last time, then Aragorn, then – after a short hesitation – even Boromir, and, looking into the Man's eyes, added with a low voice: ''May the stars of the Lady Elbereth shine upon your faces and Manwë, Lord of the Winds watch over your paths.''

Aragorn stiffened visibly as his sharp ears caught these parting words, for that last phrase was, in fact, part of the fatherly blessing in the Elven wedding ceremony, invoked by the father calling Manwë as his witness that his blessing was truly given. It showed how completely Elrond had accepted the one-sided choice of his firstborn – even if he could not, would not ever agree with it.

''Good… good luck!'' said Bilbo, stuttering a little (from the cold perhaps), while Merry and Pippin clung to Frodo, sobbing openly. ''I suppose you will not be able to keep a diary, Frodo my lad, but I shall expect a full account when you get back. And do not be too long about it – I have lived longer than I expected already. Farewell!''

Frodo nodded wordlessly, embracing the old hobbit one last time; then he turned away, freeing himself from the arms of his young cousins, and joining the clearly frightened Sam.

Many others of Elrond's household stood in the shadows and watched them go, bidding them farewell with soft voices. Young Lindir remained in Arwen's arms for long, heartbreaking moments, though his beautiful face was calm and serene. Erestor hugged Elladan with an intimate ferocity that made Boromir wonder if they might have had something ere the seneschal married the young minstrel, exchanging soft words of grief and comfort in a voice so low that he could not hear what was said. Then Elladan took a deep breath, let go of his foster brother and stepped away from him with a somewhat forced smile.

There was no laughter, no songs or music. Silently at last they turned away, just as the Wandering Company faded back ever deeper among the trees, and leading their ponies, they vanished swiftly into the still, dark, grey dawn.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We crossed the bridge of Bruinen and wound slowly up the long, steep paths out of the cloven vale of Imladris and came at length to the high moors, grey and formless under misty stars.  There I halted for a moment to take a last look down at the lights of the Last Homely House – my home, where I had spent my whole life. For though I often rode out with my brother on errantry, or to hunt down more of the cursed Orcs, I knew this journey would be different from the adventures I had before.

This time, the fate of Middle-earth itself was at risk.

And the life of the one to whom I had given my heart, freely and utterly.

My beloved let the others overtake us and came to my side, watching my face warily.

''Do you regret your choice?'' he asked, his voice low and full of sorrow. '''Tis not too late yet for you to turn back. You know I cannot promise you anything.''

I smiled and shook my head. How could he believe that I would leave him, no matter what happened? Being allowed to go with him was more than I could hope for.

''Nay, I regret nothing,'' I replied. ''I would make the same choice over and over again. 'Tis just – even if I am to return to my father's house some day, it will never be the same again.''

''Because of me,'' he added bitterly, and I had to nod, for that was the truth – more than he could ever guess.

''In a sense, aye. But changes would have come even without you; for regardless of how hard the Elves try to keep the face of Arda the same, in the end they cannot keep the changes from coming. And for my part, I am grateful that one of these changes brought you into my life.''

''Not many of your people share your feelings, I fear,'' he said, his eyes darkening with that deep sadness I saw much too often in them; and I had to agree once again.

''Nay, they do not. But 'tis my life and my choice to make, and no one can choose without losing some of their possible choices and settling for other ones. Worry not about me, meleth-nîn, for my choice gladdens my heart and gives my life a purpose I knew not before.''

This was not the first time I called him my beloved, yet never before openly; and I regretted doing so at once, for it clearly made him uncomfortable.

''We have to go,'' he said evasively, ''or else we shall fall behind too much.''

After the Ford we left the West Road that crossed Bruinen; and turning left we went on by narrow paths among the folded lands – then South. Our purpose was to hold this course for many miles and days on the western side of the Hithaeglir. The country was much wilder and rougher than in the green valley of Anduin in Wilderland on the eastern side of the Mountain, where Elrohir and I usually travelled when on our way to Lothlórien, and our going now would be much slower, the more so because we had to walk with hobbits and Men; but we hoped in this way to escape the notice of enemies. The spies of Sauron had hitherto seldom been seen in the western regions; and the paths were little known except to Gildor and myself.

Mithrandir walked in front, and with him went Gildor, who knew this country even in the dark, having been on the road for the better part of this Age. Arwen and Estel followed them in less than companionable silence; then came the hobbits, and Gimli the Dwarf alone. Boromir and I walked as rearguard, so that we had keen Elven eyes in front, in the middle and in the rear.  No enemy could take us by surprise.

The first part of our journey was cheerless and grim, and I could see how the hobbits suffered from the cold wind. Indeed, it blew icily from the eastern mountains for many sunless days and no garment seemed able to keep out its searching fingers. Father had furnished us with warm clothes, of course:  with jackets and cloaks lined with fur as well as many blankets, but we seldom felt warm, either moving or at rest.

As Elves, we suffered less from the weather, so whenever we found a sleeping place during the middle of the day – in some hollow of the land, or hidden under the tangled thorn-bushes that grew in great thickets in these parts – we tried to share our body heat with our freezing companions.

With his customary Dwarven stubbornness, Gimli refused of course to ''lie with an Elf'' (as he put it); but the hobbits were more than happy to cuddle with Gildor, whom they already knew from their long and perilous journey from the Shire to Imladris. Estel and Arwen, too, shared their blankets, and I was eager myself to keep my proud, brick-headed and yet oh-so-tender-hearted Gondorian Prince warm. We had to restrain ourselves, of course, for this was not the time to dally, but it still felt good to hold him in my arms and sing to him, audible only to the two of us, when the nightmares came.

For they came back to him with a violence that none of us had expected, filling his dreams with images of decay and a fiery death, for him as well as for his beloved city, so that he was often shaking in my arms, caught in some unknown horror, and it was not easy to wake him. I began to understand that it was the Ring itself reaching out to him, who had already been touched by the Shadow, and that I would have a long and hard battle to fight against its power, if I wanted to keep my beloved from falling.

I could only hope that my love would be strong enough and pure enough to protect him.

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

It seemed to Boromir that they were creeping like snails and getting nowhere; for each day the land looked much as it had done the day before. Yet all the while the Misty Mountains, which south of Imladris bent westward, were drawing nearer. More and more often they found no paths and had to make wide turns to avoid either steep places or thickets or sullen, treacherous swamps. The land was tumbled in barren hills and deep valleys, filled with turbulent waters(1).

Yet Gildor always found his way around all those hindrances, with the uncanny instinct that the wandering Elves seemed to share with the birds who fly South in the winter season. His skill could not be matched even by the Rangers of the North, to Aragorn's dismay. For the Ranger seemed less than happy now that he had to follow Gildor's lead, while Gildor – though haughty towards the Men, the Dwarf, and even to the other Elves – seemed to get along with the hobbits perfectly well.

On the rare occasions when they dared to light a fire, he often sat with Frodo and Sam at the dying embers afterwards, talking with them about the Shire, the paths and roads of which he knew like the back of his hand, and the hobbits hesitated not to pour out their hearts to him.

''That I can understand'', said Gildor on the sixth day of their journey, speaking with Frodo about the divided mind of the latter about leaving the Shire. ''Half your heart wished to go, but the other half held you back; for its home was in the Shire, and its delight in bed and board and the voices of friends, and in the changing of gentle seasons among the fields and trees. And since you are a hobbit, that half is the stronger, as it was even in Bilbo.  What has made it surrender?''

''True; I am an ordinary hobbit, and so I always shall be, I deem,'' answered Frodo slowly and thoughtfully. ''But alas! A most un-hobbit-like fate has been laid upon me.''

''Then you are not an ordinary hobbit,'' replied Gildor, and a fond smile softened remarkably the steely hardness of his fair face, ''for otherwise that could not be so. But the half of you that is plain hobbit will suffer much, I fear, from being forced to follow the other half which is worthy of the strange fate, until it, too, becomes worthy – and yet remains hobbit.''

''So I shall change and become a stranger to myself?'' Frodo murmured, clearly unhappy about that possibility.

''Nay, not a stranger,'' said Gildor, ''though that change might be the very purpose of your fate – or the purpose of that part of your fate which concerns you yourself. The hobbit half that loves the Shire is not to be despised but it has to be taught, and to rediscover the changing seasons and voices of friends when they have been lost.(2)''

''You speak in riddles again,'' Frodo complained glumly. Gildor nodded.

''I do. For though foresight might come to the Wise at times of great need, its messages are never easy to unravel, and even if they were, I would not wish to concern you with things that might or might not come true. Rest now, little Elf-friend. You need to save your strength; for the road shall not grow any easier for many days yet.''

With that he rose and went to take over the watch from Boromir, who was greatly relieved to be able to return to his bedroll – and to the safety and warmth of Elladan's arms.

''That was a most intriguing conversation,'' he mentioned in a low voice.

''Mmhm,'' Elladan agreed sleepily. ''Gildor can be infuriating at times, but he is wise nonetheless. The Wandering Companies see more of Arda than any other Elves, and he has been on the road for some four thousand years at the very least.''

''I thought he was the Lord of Edhellond…?''

''He is. Sometimes he even stays there for years. But mostly he lives on the road. In the First Age, there were whole tribes, mostly of the Green-Elves, who had no permanent dwellings. But alas, those times are over. Only small groups like Gildor's company keep their old ways and spend their lives traveling all over Middle-earth.''

''You regret this?'' Boromir asked in surprise. Elladan nodded.

''We all do. The Wandering Companies once connected all Elven realms and settlements, brought tidings and new songs, kept the trade among the different tribes alive. With their vanishing, a whole intricate network of contacts all over the western lands was lost, and we became estranged, not only from Men but from each other as well. Thus the handful of wandering Elves that still walk the endless paths of Middle-earth are very precious to us – and I am grateful that Gildor asked to come with us. If there is a way to reach our goal, he will find it. And for that, I gladly overlook his manners,'' he added with a grin.

Boromir smiled thoughtfully, drawing a calloused fingertip along the elegantly-sculpted cheekbone of his Elf in a gentle caress. Elladan gave him a curious look.

''What ails you? 'Tis not your custom to show your affection so openly.''

''True,'' the Man admitted, ''but no one can see us right now. I…I just wish we could have some more privacy.''

''So do I,'' sighed Elladan, ''but I fear that is not likely to happen ere we reach the realm of my grandparents.''

''How far is it?'' Boromir asked hopefully, but Elladan only shook his head.

''Too far. Let us rest now, as well as we can. We have a long way to go ere we can sleep undisturbed and without fear again.''

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

He was right, of course, and so we cuddled close and slept as had become our way since we left Imladris. And even though I somewhat missed our more intimate encounters, it was wonderful to feel the warmth of his body, spooned up against my back; the safe circle of his arms around me; the soft caress of his warm breath on my neck. To hear that low, lyrical humming that always signaled that he was about to fall asleep. Elves could  remind one remarkably of cats at times.

Finally, his voice trailed off and his breathing became slower and deeper, and I knew that he was asleep. Unlike him, I lay awake for what seemed hours to me, pondering over this unexpected turn of events. What we had had at Imladris was supposed to be a short, if torrid affair, a way to ease the need and loneliness in both of our hearts. Something we had both expected to end once I left Imladris to return home.

But then my Elf fell in love with me, I still cannot understand how or why, for I certainly did little else during that time but hurt and insult him in my pain and confusion, and ere I knew what was happening, he not only swore a one-sided oath that bound him to me for eternity, but was also allowed to come with us on this insane quest.

He asked to come, for he wanted to protect me – not from the weapons of the Enemy, for I needed no protection from that and he knew it (I am a seasoned warrior, after all) – but from the Shadow that befell my heart under that ruined bridge in Osgiliath. I know he fears that my longing for the Ring's power could overwhelm me. He knows not the Men of Gondor. He knows not we would never turn against those we have promised to protect.

Or would we? Even though I only want the Ring to protect my people, would I possibly try to overwhelm the Halfling and take the Ring by force, if not for the warm restraints of my lover's embrace? I know not. I hope, by the Valar, I hope I would be strong enough and wise enough to see what has to be done and to conduct myself accordingly.

Still, I am so grateful for his presence. For I am but a Man, a mere soldier, whose strength had been sorely tested in the recent years – mayhap once too many times. And he asks naught of me. He simply takes me for what I am, for who I am, without demanding that I  fulfill any expectations. With him, I need not  prove anything. With him, I truly can rest.

I need not turn in his arms to see his face before me, noble and fair and clouded with hidden sorrows, many of which have been caused by me, his clear grey eyes unfocused but open, as Elves always sleep at times of great peril and readiness. I wish I could give him what he truly needs – what he deserves, just as he has given up his family and his home for me. I wish I could love him the way he loves me. But alas! None of us can command our own hearts, and there is no way on Earth to force us to feel what we do not.

And even if my heart were to change, I could not be with him forever. Not only because of the laws and customs of my land –  there is no chance my father would accept me having a male consort, Elf or not – but because I am promised already. I cannot even lay the blame upon Father, for it was I who made that promise to the Lady Éowyn, of my own free will, ere the Steward of Gondor could make his choice. And unless the White Lady of Rohan releases me voluntarily, I am bound to my given word.

I do not even know if I want to be released from my obligations. Duty has always come first and foremost for me, just as it has come for Father and for the whole of our family. And though I am not as ashamed of having a male lover as I might have been half a year ago,  I cannot abandon the sacred duty of Mardil's Heirs for my own pleasure.

Nor does my fair and generous Elf ask me to do so. 'Tis still beyond my understanding, but he is ready to take what little I can give him – which is truly very little on this journey, being denied even the comfort of flesh we shared before – without asking for more. I know I cannot change the way things are between us… and yet, I begin to wish they were different.

''You should be sleeping…,'' blast, my thoughts must have awakened him; I keep forgetting how that Stone connects us in way that I have never been connected to anyone before. ''You brood too much, meleth-nîn,'' he adds, and I can feel him smiling against my back. '''Tis how it is, and no amount of anguish can change it. You give me what you can, and that is enough for me. Now, go to sleep, for until you do I cannot, either, and I  would truly like to.''

No matter how much I tried, I could not remember afterwards what he did to me next. I felt his warm hand gently touching my chilled forehead – then everything went dark at once, and I did not wake til it was time for us to set off again.

''I told you that I was taught to become a healer,'' he said with a shrug when I asked him about it, and that was all the answer I could ever get out of him on the matter.

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

End notes:

(1) Quoted loosely after ''The Return of the Shadow'' (HoME 6), p. 418.

(2) Quoted loosely after ''The Return of the Shadow'' (HoME 6), p. 281. Originally, this would have been part of Frodo and Gildor's conversation above Woodhall. Unfortunately, Tolkien later rejected it – and I picked it up as an excellent proof of Gildor's wisdom.

The Bible quote in original:

Wherever you go, I shall go

Where you dwell, I shall dwell

Your people shall be my people

And your God my God.

Where you die, I shall die

And there I shall be buried.

(Ruth 1:16-17)