Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace";
much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to
belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy
it. ^^
Shirebound: So many lines! I am so honoured you're enjoying this and making such bounce-inducing comments ^^
Lily Baggins: Considering I worship yours, I am thrilled that you like my hobbits :-P Thank you so much for your lovely comments!
MagicalRachel: Aw, thank you. I promise I will henceforth attempt to be a snuggly...angsty fic writer. But only if you promise me that you'll start writing something long and hobbit-filled very soon... Oh, by the way, I wonder if you notice the little green men reference in this chapter ^^
Bookworm2000: You like them! You really do! Thank you; Frodo and Sam are central to this tale so it's great when they come across well. Please put that line in your bio, honestly, it suits you down to the ground :-)
Lady Pheonix Star: Thank you! Although I'm not sure what you mean by the "soldier" part...Do you mean that I referred to them as soldiers? If so, I apologise, blame the fingers!
Augh, I am so sorry for not updating. Been about ten weeks now *hangs head in shame and crawls back to writing pit* I must stop saying that I will try and update quicker because more often than not I never do. Well, hope this chapter turns out OK and that you wonderful people enjoy it.
~ Chapter Seven ~
Warmth was seeping back into Minas Tirith. It shimmered in the air and wafted the ash that once poisoned the land far away and back into the abyss that was Mordor. The grass broke free from clods of mud and billowed about like tiny green figures in the air, dancing and spinning amid the trees that were blossoming anew. Faramir plucked a blade from a scurry of wind and studied it with interest. It was how his companions often found him; within the shade of a tree, gathering earth or a flower in his hands, rolling it between his fingers and taking in every detail. Only today would they disturb him.
"Sir," said a small flushed messenger boy, "I bring word from Ithilien. Of the Ringbearers."
"The Ringbearers?" said Faramir, sitting up, restraining his instincts to shake the boy. The messenger was nodding and smiling.
"Both have woken and they are well. King Aragorn-"
"He hasn't come that far yet," Faramir pointed out.
"I apologise- Lord Aragorn wishes that you return to Ithilien."
The captain slumped unhappily back beneath the tree, dropping the grass in his hand back to earth. He sighed.
"I'm afraid I cannot come," he muttered, "I have been confined to the house and this garden until the healers deem me fit enough to walk on my own two feet."
The messenger grinned at him.
"That is odd, Captain Faramir, as when I told them of what had happened, they insisted upon your going."
He watched with interest as Faramir's face lit up and shattered into smiles and peals of laughter.
--
Gandalf was sitting on top of a large hill, beyond the pavilions and bustle of restless soldiers. His staff was propped up on his right knee and a pipe was protruding from his lips that, along with his hunched shoulders and deep frown, gave him a very thoughtful mannerism. He seemed to be looking far beyond the horizon and into the retreats of the world, some of which even elves were not aware of. He was listening, in point of fact. Listening to the wind and the news it brought from across Middle-Earth. It sang of what it had seen in songs that would never be recorded and rarely ever heard. But today, Gandalf closed his eyes to anything else and heeded only the chorus of the wind.
"Gandalf," Pippin said brightly, "What are you doing? I've been looking for you for hours!"
Gandalf almost bit through the stem of his pipe as his eyes flew open to meet with Pippin's curious gaze.
"Meddlesome hobbit," he growled, but either the reply went unheard or was simply ignored, as there was no attempt made to leave him in peace.
"Come on! I think it's high time you came back to Frodo and Sam, don't you? You can't keep wandering off to let them fend for themselves-"
"I did no such thing!" the wizard thundered, on his feet in a trice and towering over Pippin like a storm cloud. "I did nothing but help Frodo. It was his choice! I played no part in it!"
His friend was staring at him in terror, cowering down among the waves of grass, green eyes wide. He had just been witness to a great many emotions and one huge lie. But now, when he blinked away the last few visions of the furious magician, Pippin found himself in the shadow of a withered old man, leaning on his staff and looking thoroughly miserable. So Gandalf had not been as rock steady as the hobbit supposed. It had never occurred to him before that someone so very powerful and eminent could be victim to the same doubts as everyone else. Gandalf had never been everyone else before. But Pippin did not question this. Taking the wizard's hand, he let his companion lower himself down again, then he crawled into the white lap and sat there like a small sentry.
They did not speak. The wind continued on its unseen road through the skies, now bearing news of a hobbit and wizard seated in Ithilien. But neither moved. Not until Pippin had let enough time run by for Gandalf to have gathered a few answers from himself.
"Come on," he said quietly, "Let's go and see Frodo and Sam."
And the two of them got up and walked silently down from the ridge back towards the striped pavilions.
--
Most people found it quite a surprise that, when completely rested, it was hard to get Frodo to sleep at all. He was bright-eyed and alert, pacing up and down inside the white tent, often walking through Ithilien with a cohort of worried healers parading behind him. In the end, they gave up trying to coax him into sleep and left it to Sam.
"Master," the hobbit sighed, "If you go on like this much longer, I'm coming over there to pin your eyelids down myself. Being up and about's all well and good but you need your rest like the rest of us."
"Honestly, Sam, I'm fine," Frodo protested. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reels of parchment spread out on his knees and a quill lodged between his inky fingers. The papers were a mess of notes and half- remembered songs. A sketch of Rivendell's tallest minaret coiled up the side of a page like ivy. _A Elbereth, Gilthoniel_ was inscribed below it and Sam knew all too well how much they represented. How many hardships those small words had seen him through. But he shook himself out of such ridiculous reverie. For he also knew that Frodo needed sleep.
"Fine, you may be, but the shut-eye you missed out in Mordor, Frodo, I think you need to be making up for it."
"Making up for it? I hardly think-"
"You might not but I do," Sam scolded as harshly as he dared, "Now you ain't a child and I'm not going to treat you like one. But if you don't get your own self looked after then I'll act as if you are. And, if needs be, I'll get Merry and Pippin to help me."
Frodo laughed musically, in a way that many had only dreamed of hearing. He shook his head then, with a sigh, began folding up papers and putting them back in the drawers by his bedside.
"Whatever would I do without you, Sam?" he said with a smile, looking up at his friend, "No matter how many rebellious, mutinous ideas I come up with, you always manage to see me right."
"It's because," answered Sam, "Deep down, Mister Frodo, you're an obedient hobbit."
"Is that it? Well, I'll do my best to listen to my instincts next time. Though I warn you, I won't sleep one bit."
He curled up a moment on the pillows and seemed as if he might make the effort to get up again but it seemed quite beyond him. His eyes closed. Fluttered open. Closed again. Stayed shut. Sam watched him with all the love he had when he had slept in among the weeds of Ithilien gardens. And he had never felt prouder. Suddenly, just then, with no real explanation for it, he was overcome with affection for his friend. Frodo Baggins, who had done so very much; bearing the fate of the world around his neck and fighting threatening darkness, only to be nagged about his lack of sleep. He, who had torn his feet on stones and crawled up a black mountainside, was now curled up beneath snowy sheets, hands beneath his head.
Sam sat on his own bed and just watched Frodo sleep. He had only ever seen him in this light once before and he wanted to treasure it with his most sacred memories. He was in awe of what they had achieved; perhaps more so than any one else in the world could be. For he had been there. He had seen Frodo's eyes clear when the Ring was gone. He had sworn to protect him.
"I'll save him, I'll not save you," he hissed.
And in the darkness, the voices fell silent.
Shirebound: So many lines! I am so honoured you're enjoying this and making such bounce-inducing comments ^^
Lily Baggins: Considering I worship yours, I am thrilled that you like my hobbits :-P Thank you so much for your lovely comments!
MagicalRachel: Aw, thank you. I promise I will henceforth attempt to be a snuggly...angsty fic writer. But only if you promise me that you'll start writing something long and hobbit-filled very soon... Oh, by the way, I wonder if you notice the little green men reference in this chapter ^^
Bookworm2000: You like them! You really do! Thank you; Frodo and Sam are central to this tale so it's great when they come across well. Please put that line in your bio, honestly, it suits you down to the ground :-)
Lady Pheonix Star: Thank you! Although I'm not sure what you mean by the "soldier" part...Do you mean that I referred to them as soldiers? If so, I apologise, blame the fingers!
Augh, I am so sorry for not updating. Been about ten weeks now *hangs head in shame and crawls back to writing pit* I must stop saying that I will try and update quicker because more often than not I never do. Well, hope this chapter turns out OK and that you wonderful people enjoy it.
~ Chapter Seven ~
Warmth was seeping back into Minas Tirith. It shimmered in the air and wafted the ash that once poisoned the land far away and back into the abyss that was Mordor. The grass broke free from clods of mud and billowed about like tiny green figures in the air, dancing and spinning amid the trees that were blossoming anew. Faramir plucked a blade from a scurry of wind and studied it with interest. It was how his companions often found him; within the shade of a tree, gathering earth or a flower in his hands, rolling it between his fingers and taking in every detail. Only today would they disturb him.
"Sir," said a small flushed messenger boy, "I bring word from Ithilien. Of the Ringbearers."
"The Ringbearers?" said Faramir, sitting up, restraining his instincts to shake the boy. The messenger was nodding and smiling.
"Both have woken and they are well. King Aragorn-"
"He hasn't come that far yet," Faramir pointed out.
"I apologise- Lord Aragorn wishes that you return to Ithilien."
The captain slumped unhappily back beneath the tree, dropping the grass in his hand back to earth. He sighed.
"I'm afraid I cannot come," he muttered, "I have been confined to the house and this garden until the healers deem me fit enough to walk on my own two feet."
The messenger grinned at him.
"That is odd, Captain Faramir, as when I told them of what had happened, they insisted upon your going."
He watched with interest as Faramir's face lit up and shattered into smiles and peals of laughter.
--
Gandalf was sitting on top of a large hill, beyond the pavilions and bustle of restless soldiers. His staff was propped up on his right knee and a pipe was protruding from his lips that, along with his hunched shoulders and deep frown, gave him a very thoughtful mannerism. He seemed to be looking far beyond the horizon and into the retreats of the world, some of which even elves were not aware of. He was listening, in point of fact. Listening to the wind and the news it brought from across Middle-Earth. It sang of what it had seen in songs that would never be recorded and rarely ever heard. But today, Gandalf closed his eyes to anything else and heeded only the chorus of the wind.
"Gandalf," Pippin said brightly, "What are you doing? I've been looking for you for hours!"
Gandalf almost bit through the stem of his pipe as his eyes flew open to meet with Pippin's curious gaze.
"Meddlesome hobbit," he growled, but either the reply went unheard or was simply ignored, as there was no attempt made to leave him in peace.
"Come on! I think it's high time you came back to Frodo and Sam, don't you? You can't keep wandering off to let them fend for themselves-"
"I did no such thing!" the wizard thundered, on his feet in a trice and towering over Pippin like a storm cloud. "I did nothing but help Frodo. It was his choice! I played no part in it!"
His friend was staring at him in terror, cowering down among the waves of grass, green eyes wide. He had just been witness to a great many emotions and one huge lie. But now, when he blinked away the last few visions of the furious magician, Pippin found himself in the shadow of a withered old man, leaning on his staff and looking thoroughly miserable. So Gandalf had not been as rock steady as the hobbit supposed. It had never occurred to him before that someone so very powerful and eminent could be victim to the same doubts as everyone else. Gandalf had never been everyone else before. But Pippin did not question this. Taking the wizard's hand, he let his companion lower himself down again, then he crawled into the white lap and sat there like a small sentry.
They did not speak. The wind continued on its unseen road through the skies, now bearing news of a hobbit and wizard seated in Ithilien. But neither moved. Not until Pippin had let enough time run by for Gandalf to have gathered a few answers from himself.
"Come on," he said quietly, "Let's go and see Frodo and Sam."
And the two of them got up and walked silently down from the ridge back towards the striped pavilions.
--
Most people found it quite a surprise that, when completely rested, it was hard to get Frodo to sleep at all. He was bright-eyed and alert, pacing up and down inside the white tent, often walking through Ithilien with a cohort of worried healers parading behind him. In the end, they gave up trying to coax him into sleep and left it to Sam.
"Master," the hobbit sighed, "If you go on like this much longer, I'm coming over there to pin your eyelids down myself. Being up and about's all well and good but you need your rest like the rest of us."
"Honestly, Sam, I'm fine," Frodo protested. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reels of parchment spread out on his knees and a quill lodged between his inky fingers. The papers were a mess of notes and half- remembered songs. A sketch of Rivendell's tallest minaret coiled up the side of a page like ivy. _A Elbereth, Gilthoniel_ was inscribed below it and Sam knew all too well how much they represented. How many hardships those small words had seen him through. But he shook himself out of such ridiculous reverie. For he also knew that Frodo needed sleep.
"Fine, you may be, but the shut-eye you missed out in Mordor, Frodo, I think you need to be making up for it."
"Making up for it? I hardly think-"
"You might not but I do," Sam scolded as harshly as he dared, "Now you ain't a child and I'm not going to treat you like one. But if you don't get your own self looked after then I'll act as if you are. And, if needs be, I'll get Merry and Pippin to help me."
Frodo laughed musically, in a way that many had only dreamed of hearing. He shook his head then, with a sigh, began folding up papers and putting them back in the drawers by his bedside.
"Whatever would I do without you, Sam?" he said with a smile, looking up at his friend, "No matter how many rebellious, mutinous ideas I come up with, you always manage to see me right."
"It's because," answered Sam, "Deep down, Mister Frodo, you're an obedient hobbit."
"Is that it? Well, I'll do my best to listen to my instincts next time. Though I warn you, I won't sleep one bit."
He curled up a moment on the pillows and seemed as if he might make the effort to get up again but it seemed quite beyond him. His eyes closed. Fluttered open. Closed again. Stayed shut. Sam watched him with all the love he had when he had slept in among the weeds of Ithilien gardens. And he had never felt prouder. Suddenly, just then, with no real explanation for it, he was overcome with affection for his friend. Frodo Baggins, who had done so very much; bearing the fate of the world around his neck and fighting threatening darkness, only to be nagged about his lack of sleep. He, who had torn his feet on stones and crawled up a black mountainside, was now curled up beneath snowy sheets, hands beneath his head.
Sam sat on his own bed and just watched Frodo sleep. He had only ever seen him in this light once before and he wanted to treasure it with his most sacred memories. He was in awe of what they had achieved; perhaps more so than any one else in the world could be. For he had been there. He had seen Frodo's eyes clear when the Ring was gone. He had sworn to protect him.
"I'll save him, I'll not save you," he hissed.
And in the darkness, the voices fell silent.