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. ^^
~ Chapter Nine ~
Pippin had mentioned nothing of Gandalf's strange exclamation the previous day and was not about to. He had felt the same for a very long time; lost for answers. He shook his head, still amazed that even a powerful wizard could have any worries whatsoever. So he focused all his attention on Frodo. The hobbit was still writing reams of notes by watery candlelight.
"I can't think what you have left to write about, cousin!" he sighed, wrapping his arms round his knees and leaning forward to look over Frodo's shoulder. Frodo glanced round at him.
"Plenty! I'm still writing all that you and Merry told me but I've still to hear the tale from Aragorn, Gandalf, well, from everyone, really."
"Could you read me some?"
"Of course!"
Frodo rolled over onto his side, meeting his cousin's curiosity with a wide grin. Then his eyes fell to the page and his lips brought Fangorn sprouting up around them, so that green leafy branches swung overhead and hooded wooden eyes watched them from every side.
"'Where all had looked so shabby and grey before, the wood now gleamed with rich browns, and with the smooth black-greys of bark like polished leather. The boles of the trees grew with a soft green like young grass: early spring or a fleeting vision of it was about them...'"
Merry stood by the tent entrance and wept. He could not help himself. It was beautiful. Just as pure and wondrous as Frodo's soul that breathed life into words. Even now, if he half-closed his eyes, he could see that clearing once again and Pippin's bright voice saying '...I almost felt I liked the place...' How long ago was that now? Ten, twenty years? No. The cold and the fear had lingered in him and his feet had pressed into mossy earth just a month before. How clearly it returned to him. Hurriedly wiping his eyes, he came into to join his cousins, plastering a smile over his memories with remarkable expertise.
--
Sam extinguished his candle and then drew back the covers of his bed, stepping thankfully into blissful warmth. Merry and Pippin were talking in low voices in the opposite beds while Frodo still adamantly wrote.
"Please, Mister Frodo," Sam pleaded, "You'll damage your eyes if you go on much longer."
"Can't, Sam," came the whispered reply.
"But you must. You've got to or things won't come to any good."
There was a long exhale of defeat and Sam could make out his master replacing the quill and parchment into the drawers beside him.
"Very well, Sam. I'm sorry, it's just..." he let out another sad sigh, "Goodnight."
"'Night, Mister Frodo."
The little hobbit settled himself down, still facing Frodo as always, and let sleep claim him. No longer did he have to sit and keep guard from watching eyes or clutch his companion's frozen hand and soothe his fretful cries as he slept. They were safe. Almost home, as he had promised.
--
All about him was thick darkness. The wind swept in with a shrill scream and then died away. Sam sat up abruptly, fingers curled in the bedspread. He breathed out with relief. He was still there. In the gardens and safe. He remained there for a while, trying to clear his mind of any evil picture that might attempt to deceive him. It got him to wondering what had woken him. It was very odd. Things like the wind in the trees- a sound that comforted him more than anything- or the call of any nightly beast never roused him. So...
Head filled with wishes and prayers that it would not be so (_You can't make it be him! Please let him be alright. Don't let him be hurting anymore_) he turned to the bed beside him. And Frodo's scream tore the night like blades. Sam tumbled out from under covers and sheets, blinded by tears, struggling to his feet and crawling up to where his master thrashed and shrieked.
"Oh, Frodo, my dear, my dear..." he whispered, taking his friend's contorted hand and holding it to his heart, which fluttered madly and broke at the sight of the tortured hobbit. Another scream, as sheer and keen as glass, tore into his soul.
"Sam, what's going on!" Merry cried. He was hurrying across and was at once at his friend's side. "What's happening to him!"
"I don't know, I don't know!" Sam yelled at him. At his shout, he felt Frodo's fingers dig into his palm and an exhausted sob broke free from his master's mouth. He lay very still, wracked with tremors. Sam looked at him closely, just able to make out the wide glazed open eyes. Without looking up, he instructed Merry to go and find Aragorn quickly. Merry dashed out into the night, pausing only momentarily to gaze anxiously back at Frodo.
--
The king lay in peaceful dreams of gardens and of stars. High overhead, the most radiant of all these smiled down upon him and in his mind, he felt the gentle touch of his beloved and heard her voice, though faint, whisper to him as it came. 'Wake,' she breathed, 'Awaken, my love.' Aragorn was quite startled when Arwen's voice abruptly turned to a high and worried tone. He became aware of his surroundings, too late to stop himself rolling out of bed with a thump.
"Merry," he sighed, "What on earth..."
"Strider," Merry cried, slipping back into times when the same peril threatened his cousin, "Frodo is ill, I think. You must come, please!"
Aragorn pressed his lips together and struggled upright. He grasped Merry's hand and they both ran from the tent, much to the consternation of the sentries. The two stopped outside Gandalf's tent and then ducked inside to find the wizard just about to leave. He stared at them for a moment and then nodded.
"Take me to him," he commanded.
--
Dim light of dawn filtered its way into the crevices and openings of the hobbits' tent. Yet it did not stir the solemn guards from their posts at Frodo's side. He sat shakily with his back to the headboard, clasping Sam's hand and nodding whenever anyone asked if he felt any better. Aragorn and Gandalf were standing guard outside, making sure that no healers entered in that morning. This wound was deeper than they could even hope to remedy. The king turned to the wizard, darkness shading his eyes against the bright sunlight.
"What does this mean?" he said, "It hasn't..."
"No, no. Thankfully, for the moment, I think Frodo has merely suffered a frightening nightmare. But...it could be the reason why he has not been sleeping."
"So Frodo knew about this? He could have told us! He should have!"
"Aragorn," Gandalf reprimanded, "We do not know what he thought. I am simply suggesting it. And if he wanted to keep it from us, I am sure he had a good enough reason. Sam, for instance."
"What about Sam?"
"Think carefully. Would you wish to lay your darkest troubles and fears on the one you loved best?"
Aragorn opened his mouth to make a reply but closed it again, retreating instead to his own thoughts. He had seen only briefly into his small friend's mind and even that had taken his breath away, and stopped his heart's beating. He looked up at the jagged black rise of Mordor mountains in the distant east. He dared not imagine the fear the hobbits had encountered there. But he wondered...had the fear been great enough, and the peril so intolerable, then either could easily imbed themselves in innocent minds. A long chafing line on the back of Frodo's neck still bore ugly testimony to the Ring. An echo of such a powerful trinket may have, quite effortlessly, implanted itself amid those dark curls, hiding in the darkest recesses of those luminous eyes. Aragorn shook his head angrily to himself. No! He would not let that happen! Not to Frodo! Not to Frodo...
~
ROTK inspired most of these two chapters so I've been quite floppy and useless while writing. Hope you liked them, nonetheless. Oh, yes, of course! And a very happy Christmas and (if my updater-prodder fails me again) a hobbit-filled New Year ^^
~ Chapter Nine ~
Pippin had mentioned nothing of Gandalf's strange exclamation the previous day and was not about to. He had felt the same for a very long time; lost for answers. He shook his head, still amazed that even a powerful wizard could have any worries whatsoever. So he focused all his attention on Frodo. The hobbit was still writing reams of notes by watery candlelight.
"I can't think what you have left to write about, cousin!" he sighed, wrapping his arms round his knees and leaning forward to look over Frodo's shoulder. Frodo glanced round at him.
"Plenty! I'm still writing all that you and Merry told me but I've still to hear the tale from Aragorn, Gandalf, well, from everyone, really."
"Could you read me some?"
"Of course!"
Frodo rolled over onto his side, meeting his cousin's curiosity with a wide grin. Then his eyes fell to the page and his lips brought Fangorn sprouting up around them, so that green leafy branches swung overhead and hooded wooden eyes watched them from every side.
"'Where all had looked so shabby and grey before, the wood now gleamed with rich browns, and with the smooth black-greys of bark like polished leather. The boles of the trees grew with a soft green like young grass: early spring or a fleeting vision of it was about them...'"
Merry stood by the tent entrance and wept. He could not help himself. It was beautiful. Just as pure and wondrous as Frodo's soul that breathed life into words. Even now, if he half-closed his eyes, he could see that clearing once again and Pippin's bright voice saying '...I almost felt I liked the place...' How long ago was that now? Ten, twenty years? No. The cold and the fear had lingered in him and his feet had pressed into mossy earth just a month before. How clearly it returned to him. Hurriedly wiping his eyes, he came into to join his cousins, plastering a smile over his memories with remarkable expertise.
--
Sam extinguished his candle and then drew back the covers of his bed, stepping thankfully into blissful warmth. Merry and Pippin were talking in low voices in the opposite beds while Frodo still adamantly wrote.
"Please, Mister Frodo," Sam pleaded, "You'll damage your eyes if you go on much longer."
"Can't, Sam," came the whispered reply.
"But you must. You've got to or things won't come to any good."
There was a long exhale of defeat and Sam could make out his master replacing the quill and parchment into the drawers beside him.
"Very well, Sam. I'm sorry, it's just..." he let out another sad sigh, "Goodnight."
"'Night, Mister Frodo."
The little hobbit settled himself down, still facing Frodo as always, and let sleep claim him. No longer did he have to sit and keep guard from watching eyes or clutch his companion's frozen hand and soothe his fretful cries as he slept. They were safe. Almost home, as he had promised.
--
All about him was thick darkness. The wind swept in with a shrill scream and then died away. Sam sat up abruptly, fingers curled in the bedspread. He breathed out with relief. He was still there. In the gardens and safe. He remained there for a while, trying to clear his mind of any evil picture that might attempt to deceive him. It got him to wondering what had woken him. It was very odd. Things like the wind in the trees- a sound that comforted him more than anything- or the call of any nightly beast never roused him. So...
Head filled with wishes and prayers that it would not be so (_You can't make it be him! Please let him be alright. Don't let him be hurting anymore_) he turned to the bed beside him. And Frodo's scream tore the night like blades. Sam tumbled out from under covers and sheets, blinded by tears, struggling to his feet and crawling up to where his master thrashed and shrieked.
"Oh, Frodo, my dear, my dear..." he whispered, taking his friend's contorted hand and holding it to his heart, which fluttered madly and broke at the sight of the tortured hobbit. Another scream, as sheer and keen as glass, tore into his soul.
"Sam, what's going on!" Merry cried. He was hurrying across and was at once at his friend's side. "What's happening to him!"
"I don't know, I don't know!" Sam yelled at him. At his shout, he felt Frodo's fingers dig into his palm and an exhausted sob broke free from his master's mouth. He lay very still, wracked with tremors. Sam looked at him closely, just able to make out the wide glazed open eyes. Without looking up, he instructed Merry to go and find Aragorn quickly. Merry dashed out into the night, pausing only momentarily to gaze anxiously back at Frodo.
--
The king lay in peaceful dreams of gardens and of stars. High overhead, the most radiant of all these smiled down upon him and in his mind, he felt the gentle touch of his beloved and heard her voice, though faint, whisper to him as it came. 'Wake,' she breathed, 'Awaken, my love.' Aragorn was quite startled when Arwen's voice abruptly turned to a high and worried tone. He became aware of his surroundings, too late to stop himself rolling out of bed with a thump.
"Merry," he sighed, "What on earth..."
"Strider," Merry cried, slipping back into times when the same peril threatened his cousin, "Frodo is ill, I think. You must come, please!"
Aragorn pressed his lips together and struggled upright. He grasped Merry's hand and they both ran from the tent, much to the consternation of the sentries. The two stopped outside Gandalf's tent and then ducked inside to find the wizard just about to leave. He stared at them for a moment and then nodded.
"Take me to him," he commanded.
--
Dim light of dawn filtered its way into the crevices and openings of the hobbits' tent. Yet it did not stir the solemn guards from their posts at Frodo's side. He sat shakily with his back to the headboard, clasping Sam's hand and nodding whenever anyone asked if he felt any better. Aragorn and Gandalf were standing guard outside, making sure that no healers entered in that morning. This wound was deeper than they could even hope to remedy. The king turned to the wizard, darkness shading his eyes against the bright sunlight.
"What does this mean?" he said, "It hasn't..."
"No, no. Thankfully, for the moment, I think Frodo has merely suffered a frightening nightmare. But...it could be the reason why he has not been sleeping."
"So Frodo knew about this? He could have told us! He should have!"
"Aragorn," Gandalf reprimanded, "We do not know what he thought. I am simply suggesting it. And if he wanted to keep it from us, I am sure he had a good enough reason. Sam, for instance."
"What about Sam?"
"Think carefully. Would you wish to lay your darkest troubles and fears on the one you loved best?"
Aragorn opened his mouth to make a reply but closed it again, retreating instead to his own thoughts. He had seen only briefly into his small friend's mind and even that had taken his breath away, and stopped his heart's beating. He looked up at the jagged black rise of Mordor mountains in the distant east. He dared not imagine the fear the hobbits had encountered there. But he wondered...had the fear been great enough, and the peril so intolerable, then either could easily imbed themselves in innocent minds. A long chafing line on the back of Frodo's neck still bore ugly testimony to the Ring. An echo of such a powerful trinket may have, quite effortlessly, implanted itself amid those dark curls, hiding in the darkest recesses of those luminous eyes. Aragorn shook his head angrily to himself. No! He would not let that happen! Not to Frodo! Not to Frodo...
~
ROTK inspired most of these two chapters so I've been quite floppy and useless while writing. Hope you liked them, nonetheless. Oh, yes, of course! And a very happy Christmas and (if my updater-prodder fails me again) a hobbit-filled New Year ^^