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. ^^
Cstini: That's OK! It's lovely to know that you're still enjoying it after all this time. Frodo won't abandon Sam for too long, don't worry ^^
FrodoBaggins87: *hangs head in shame* Gosh, I am so sorry. This just goes to show what a terrible planner of stories I am. In answer to your questions: you know the mountains between Ithilien and Mordor? Frodo is currently climbing up one of those in order to see Mordor again. His emotions are very screwed up at the moment, mainly due to the Ring's memory. It was something I read somewhere in a fanfic where the Ring had 'become part of Frodo's spirit'. It is still with him, in a way, if only in memory. What he is basically trying to do is touch the Ring one last time because he knows he only needs to do this once more for him to have the strength of will to cast it away. It is revealed in this chapter what has caused him to believe so fervently that the Ring is alive... Hope this answers a little of your confusion and, again, I am terribly sorry. I promise to plan better in the future.
Aemilia Rose: I know! Poor Frodo! I really should treat him better but...you know...those big round eyes staring up in consternation as I send him on mad quests back to Mordor...can't resist ^^
Heartofahobbit: I don't know if I successfully achieved it but your description of the Ring's effect on Frodo is beautiful! "Angst of the inner mind"; I wonder how many breeds of angst there are!
Shirebound: Oh, Shirebound, surely you know that by now I would never send Frodo off with provisions and belongings because I am stupid Ailsa Joy who does not remember these things ;) Thank you for pointing it out and I think I will mention my stupidity in later chapters but blame it on Frodo because I am mean...
Skye12: Sorry! I think the chapter was short because I wrote it all in shorthand and could not think of ways to lengthen it once on the computer. Yep! Can you imagine what Frodo would have done if he could have foreseen this? Run away and hide behind Sam? Heh. Speaking of angst, what a beautiful chapter of Imprisoned you posted. Glad you're back! Elámen has his whole family restored!
~ Chapter Twelve ~
Though distraught in this hunt for his master, Sam found he could not go any further. He forced his feet pace after pace but he could no longer ignore the wrenching pain in his sides and the sores blistering on his feet. He gasped in frustration as Gandalf grew all the more distant, his hat sometimes peaking the tall grasses then falling out of sight.
"Come on, Sam," he chided himself desperately, "A little exercise never hurt no one"
But despite his whole-hearted efforts, it continued to hurt. And ache. And pound. He collapsed in a futile heap, the ground rushing up to meet his jaw in an earthy pebbled wave.
--
Gandalf was beyond all awareness of Sam's presence. He simply knew, with an almost feral instinct, that he had to get to Frodo. He would be there in the Ringbearer's hour of need. He would be there as much as he had not been the first time round. When all hope failed and stars melted from darkening skies, Frodo had thought him dead and had not even sought comfort in the knowledge of the wizard's existence. Gandalf thought back to the Council and how, if he had had the wit or foresight to comprehend future events, he would have forbade the hobbits from setting another foot into the east. Frodo would never have been wracked with nightmares so vivid that they stole sleep from him.
But no! he thought wretchedly. Not even that. What of the Morgul blade that now left its black wound in Frodo's spirit? That was his doing also. When Frodo had screamed for him into that fathomless night, h had skulked in Orthanc and paced like some haggard old man. All because he dare not touch the Ring.
Would the risks have been greater? Yes. Would the Ring be kept secret? No. Would Frodo be spared?
Gandalf fixed his gaze on the fast approaching mountains. It was a wall to a wilderness. He had seen it, seated on Gwahir, he had looked back over his shoulder and seen the abyss open up around Mount Doom. He had watched with saucer eyes as the flames trembled into darkness and rocks were crushed to sand on the ash-choked Gorgoroth. The dying spark of Barad-Dûr and the lone scream of a Nazgûl as its wings were torn to shreds. In a single glance, he saw the world's end, just as he had predicted. The only difference was, Frodo was alive. A thing Gandalf had long put out of all hope. He never imagined that pale, narrow hobbit would survive once his last task was done. He believed implicitly that Frodo would achieve what was asked of him but not without making an ultimate sacrifice in payment.
It had assailed the wizard with wild frightening notions. More likely than thinking of how to revive his beloved charge, he had thought of how to explain to the Shire-folk that Mr. Frodo would not be returning...in one terrible moment of grief, when Faramir had ridden out to his doom, he had even come up with the words to say to his dying friend. Now they themselves had been plucked from possibility. For Frodo had survived.
The ground was rougher on Ithilien's eastern border. He had to lean more heavily on his staff, watch more carefully the road ahead. But it was hard to do this through a blurry haze of unshed wonder.
--
Whenever Frodo believed he had come to the last ledge, he was proved wrong. There was always a little more mountain just beyond the sun-stained rocks. Here and there, he could spot wide crevasses torn into the stonescape, where earthquakes had pulled at these granite soldiers, yet guarding Mordor from view. And it was these that made Frodo begin to doubt. He remembered a crack in the rocks. An enormous broken slab jutting out over the drop. He could recall the smell of brimstone and a persistent hissing in his ear. Perhaps that was where the Ring was. The room where he might be rid of it. He could let it go; let it fall into...the fire...
A scatter of stones escaped from under his sole and he stopped, fingers still clutching the ledge above. Aragorn had said the Ring was gone. Hadn't he? Yes...it seemed quite ridiculous now that he had forgotten. Not forgotten, not even that, why had he chosen not to believe it? Something in that dream. There had been something in that nightmare. All he could remember clearly was the complete absence of his friend and the bitter grief he suffered. Yet what had been calling through it all? What had convinced him? The gentle thudding and familiar pounding that seemed intertwined to his own rhythm of thought and emotion. Frodo's free hand crept to the space just beneath his collarbone in blind desire. A heartbeat.
All through the nightmare, whether caused by his own pulse or someone else's, it had been there, distorted to that which was more dear to him than any. With renewed determination, he pressed down into the ground again and reached up.
The Ring lived.
--
The cousins exchanged worried glances then looked up to Faramir. He was sitting astride a tall white stallion, appearing the very picture of a Steward, with the moonlight streaming in behind him.
"We will head south, I think. Hopefully, we might find some clue nearer Frodo's original path."
Merry's smaller steed shuddered against the frosty air and the hobbit held on for dear life, while asking Faramir with round eyes, "You mean, he may have tried to get back?"
"He may well have. Something has made him flee and it has to be something to do with the Ring."
"Perhaps something frightened him," Pippin said quietly, fumbling awkwardly with the reins before him, "Maybe he saw something that scared him away."
In this dark tangled garden, it seemed possible for anything and everything to scare you into flight. No matter how much darkness had been staved off, night retained an indescribable terror that no army or ancient weapon could undo.
"But what?" Merry replied, voice no more than a whisper. There was no answer for this, obviously and no satisfactory reason.
This was madness...
"We must not jump to conclusions," Faramir said at once, "It might not even be under Frodo's control to leave."
All the more reason to believe he was drifting over the edge.
"Come," the steward instructed, breaking any heretical lines of thought that may have been growing in that sheltered glade. The horses pulled away and turned down to the south, treading the old orc routes with some caution. Their riders' eyes continually scoured the undergrowth for a sign or shape that could help them retrieve their elusive companion. Merry turned sharply at a quiet sound nearby but it did not come from the woodland. He looked at Pippin's back, positioned rigidly on the pony in front. He was whispering fervently over and over. Merry did not have the heart to listen to these private wishes but instead cast his own up to the heavens. He hoped that the Nen Dîn could carry his words all that way to the elven ears of the Lady in her wood, where all wishes eventually went.
Cstini: That's OK! It's lovely to know that you're still enjoying it after all this time. Frodo won't abandon Sam for too long, don't worry ^^
FrodoBaggins87: *hangs head in shame* Gosh, I am so sorry. This just goes to show what a terrible planner of stories I am. In answer to your questions: you know the mountains between Ithilien and Mordor? Frodo is currently climbing up one of those in order to see Mordor again. His emotions are very screwed up at the moment, mainly due to the Ring's memory. It was something I read somewhere in a fanfic where the Ring had 'become part of Frodo's spirit'. It is still with him, in a way, if only in memory. What he is basically trying to do is touch the Ring one last time because he knows he only needs to do this once more for him to have the strength of will to cast it away. It is revealed in this chapter what has caused him to believe so fervently that the Ring is alive... Hope this answers a little of your confusion and, again, I am terribly sorry. I promise to plan better in the future.
Aemilia Rose: I know! Poor Frodo! I really should treat him better but...you know...those big round eyes staring up in consternation as I send him on mad quests back to Mordor...can't resist ^^
Heartofahobbit: I don't know if I successfully achieved it but your description of the Ring's effect on Frodo is beautiful! "Angst of the inner mind"; I wonder how many breeds of angst there are!
Shirebound: Oh, Shirebound, surely you know that by now I would never send Frodo off with provisions and belongings because I am stupid Ailsa Joy who does not remember these things ;) Thank you for pointing it out and I think I will mention my stupidity in later chapters but blame it on Frodo because I am mean...
Skye12: Sorry! I think the chapter was short because I wrote it all in shorthand and could not think of ways to lengthen it once on the computer. Yep! Can you imagine what Frodo would have done if he could have foreseen this? Run away and hide behind Sam? Heh. Speaking of angst, what a beautiful chapter of Imprisoned you posted. Glad you're back! Elámen has his whole family restored!
~ Chapter Twelve ~
Though distraught in this hunt for his master, Sam found he could not go any further. He forced his feet pace after pace but he could no longer ignore the wrenching pain in his sides and the sores blistering on his feet. He gasped in frustration as Gandalf grew all the more distant, his hat sometimes peaking the tall grasses then falling out of sight.
"Come on, Sam," he chided himself desperately, "A little exercise never hurt no one"
But despite his whole-hearted efforts, it continued to hurt. And ache. And pound. He collapsed in a futile heap, the ground rushing up to meet his jaw in an earthy pebbled wave.
--
Gandalf was beyond all awareness of Sam's presence. He simply knew, with an almost feral instinct, that he had to get to Frodo. He would be there in the Ringbearer's hour of need. He would be there as much as he had not been the first time round. When all hope failed and stars melted from darkening skies, Frodo had thought him dead and had not even sought comfort in the knowledge of the wizard's existence. Gandalf thought back to the Council and how, if he had had the wit or foresight to comprehend future events, he would have forbade the hobbits from setting another foot into the east. Frodo would never have been wracked with nightmares so vivid that they stole sleep from him.
But no! he thought wretchedly. Not even that. What of the Morgul blade that now left its black wound in Frodo's spirit? That was his doing also. When Frodo had screamed for him into that fathomless night, h had skulked in Orthanc and paced like some haggard old man. All because he dare not touch the Ring.
Would the risks have been greater? Yes. Would the Ring be kept secret? No. Would Frodo be spared?
Gandalf fixed his gaze on the fast approaching mountains. It was a wall to a wilderness. He had seen it, seated on Gwahir, he had looked back over his shoulder and seen the abyss open up around Mount Doom. He had watched with saucer eyes as the flames trembled into darkness and rocks were crushed to sand on the ash-choked Gorgoroth. The dying spark of Barad-Dûr and the lone scream of a Nazgûl as its wings were torn to shreds. In a single glance, he saw the world's end, just as he had predicted. The only difference was, Frodo was alive. A thing Gandalf had long put out of all hope. He never imagined that pale, narrow hobbit would survive once his last task was done. He believed implicitly that Frodo would achieve what was asked of him but not without making an ultimate sacrifice in payment.
It had assailed the wizard with wild frightening notions. More likely than thinking of how to revive his beloved charge, he had thought of how to explain to the Shire-folk that Mr. Frodo would not be returning...in one terrible moment of grief, when Faramir had ridden out to his doom, he had even come up with the words to say to his dying friend. Now they themselves had been plucked from possibility. For Frodo had survived.
The ground was rougher on Ithilien's eastern border. He had to lean more heavily on his staff, watch more carefully the road ahead. But it was hard to do this through a blurry haze of unshed wonder.
--
Whenever Frodo believed he had come to the last ledge, he was proved wrong. There was always a little more mountain just beyond the sun-stained rocks. Here and there, he could spot wide crevasses torn into the stonescape, where earthquakes had pulled at these granite soldiers, yet guarding Mordor from view. And it was these that made Frodo begin to doubt. He remembered a crack in the rocks. An enormous broken slab jutting out over the drop. He could recall the smell of brimstone and a persistent hissing in his ear. Perhaps that was where the Ring was. The room where he might be rid of it. He could let it go; let it fall into...the fire...
A scatter of stones escaped from under his sole and he stopped, fingers still clutching the ledge above. Aragorn had said the Ring was gone. Hadn't he? Yes...it seemed quite ridiculous now that he had forgotten. Not forgotten, not even that, why had he chosen not to believe it? Something in that dream. There had been something in that nightmare. All he could remember clearly was the complete absence of his friend and the bitter grief he suffered. Yet what had been calling through it all? What had convinced him? The gentle thudding and familiar pounding that seemed intertwined to his own rhythm of thought and emotion. Frodo's free hand crept to the space just beneath his collarbone in blind desire. A heartbeat.
All through the nightmare, whether caused by his own pulse or someone else's, it had been there, distorted to that which was more dear to him than any. With renewed determination, he pressed down into the ground again and reached up.
The Ring lived.
--
The cousins exchanged worried glances then looked up to Faramir. He was sitting astride a tall white stallion, appearing the very picture of a Steward, with the moonlight streaming in behind him.
"We will head south, I think. Hopefully, we might find some clue nearer Frodo's original path."
Merry's smaller steed shuddered against the frosty air and the hobbit held on for dear life, while asking Faramir with round eyes, "You mean, he may have tried to get back?"
"He may well have. Something has made him flee and it has to be something to do with the Ring."
"Perhaps something frightened him," Pippin said quietly, fumbling awkwardly with the reins before him, "Maybe he saw something that scared him away."
In this dark tangled garden, it seemed possible for anything and everything to scare you into flight. No matter how much darkness had been staved off, night retained an indescribable terror that no army or ancient weapon could undo.
"But what?" Merry replied, voice no more than a whisper. There was no answer for this, obviously and no satisfactory reason.
This was madness...
"We must not jump to conclusions," Faramir said at once, "It might not even be under Frodo's control to leave."
All the more reason to believe he was drifting over the edge.
"Come," the steward instructed, breaking any heretical lines of thought that may have been growing in that sheltered glade. The horses pulled away and turned down to the south, treading the old orc routes with some caution. Their riders' eyes continually scoured the undergrowth for a sign or shape that could help them retrieve their elusive companion. Merry turned sharply at a quiet sound nearby but it did not come from the woodland. He looked at Pippin's back, positioned rigidly on the pony in front. He was whispering fervently over and over. Merry did not have the heart to listen to these private wishes but instead cast his own up to the heavens. He hoped that the Nen Dîn could carry his words all that way to the elven ears of the Lady in her wood, where all wishes eventually went.