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.
Bookworm2000: Just for you, I shall return to Sam. I think I have neglected him far too much, you're right. See? I'm not being completely evil
Skye12: "Insatiable wench", am I? Sorry, I shall try and pretend I've forgotten about NZ for you. I am thrilled you liked Mordor's description (coming from you, my friend, that is the highest compliment) I'm very glad I managed to please you in terms of character portrayal because lately they seem to have been drifting in and out. Thank you very much for your poking. If it were not for that, I am sure this chapter would have taken an even longer time in coming hugs
FrodoBaggins87: buries head in hands and wails I am so sorry, I tried so hard not to make it anymore confusing. I promise now, I promise faithfully that the chapters won't be half as confuzzling. As Shirebound very aptly suggested, I now have a goal to work towards. My characters have one road to follow and I refuse to let them go off at a tangent again. So very sorry!
Shirebound: hugs Frodo for you I know, poor both of them! Stuck on a mountain without any food. Considering how much I love them, I do seem to put them in impossible positions.
Szhismine: I know! Hasn't Gandalf got a one-track mind? Very foolish wizard. So pleased you're enjoying this and I apologise for the lengthy delay in updating!
ShireElf: Heh, thank you very much (for both hugs and compliment), you're too good to me
I am dreadfully sorry for leaving this story for such an appalling long time. I think that if Kings of the Horizon was happening in real time then Frodo could have reached the Grey Havens by now! Well, thanks to Skye's prodding for an update, I have had an idea...There is a little scene I refer to which is from Garden of the Moon but I don't think you have to have read it. But there is a line stolen from Romeo and Juliet here, one that touched me very much when I saw the play
Chapter Fourteen
Afterwards, all Sam would remember was light. Drowning out the darkness like quicksilver and pouring into the very origins of shadow. It was gone a soon as it had arrived but Sam still had to blink to focus once more on the night sky. He had little recollection of his fall, but for its terrible timing.
"Gandalf?" he tried to call but his voice could not struggle past his lips. His whole body felt leaden. Strange then how, with apparent ease, two slender hands passed under his back and under his knees and lifted him up. Sam blinked again in the face of Arwen's dazzling smile. She called something in elvish over her shoulder and more of her people appeared. A group of tall elegant shapes cut into Ithilien's deep dark. Sam thought he was being wrapped in silk, but that was impossible, he thought, why would they wrap him so securely and so warmly? All he could see was Lady Arwen's face, her profile as she spoke to one of her companions. Then her eyes came to rest softly on Sam's and it was all he could do to catch his breath.
"Samwise," she asked gently, "How came you here? Do you remember?"
"Gandalf...we were following Frodo...weren't we? I'm sorry, milady, I don't know but it's gotten awfully blurry in my head."
"Ah, that would explain what we saw on the mountains as we rode," Arwen replied in a voice that sounded like it was part of silence.
"Would it? I'm sorry, milady, I can't make..."
Arwen turned his head a little so he could see the dim flickering shape moving down the base of the distant rock-face. Even as it disappeared into the rise of the grassy verge, Sam thought he could feel the drumming of approaching hooves reverberating beneath him. Still too groggy to understand why, he felt a surge of complacency wash over him, as if things had righted themselves while he had been lying in slumber. Yet even as he watched, elves began passing into his line of vision, hailing the rider with their musical voices. Sam struggled to comprehend how on earth he had fallen behind so quickly and why he could not remember the elves coming. In the end, he was so confused that he allowed himself to drift backwards into Arwen's arms and gaze up into the heavens, where no complications seemed to assail the stars.
--
"He's alright? Oh, thank you, Lord Elrond, thank goodness for that!"
"It is Arwen who saw him," Elrond replied to the wizard, helping he and Frodo down from Shadowfax, "It was she who called for us to halt."
Frodo looked clearly anxious to see his friend and the elven lord sensed this.
"Come with me, Ringbearer," he offered, extended his hand slightly. Frodo took it gratefully and allowed himself to be led to his gardener's side. He was lying in the Evenstar's arms, her cloak curled about him and his eyes half-closed with exhaustion. Frodo knelt beside her, too glad to see Sam to be overwhelmed by her presence and contented himself whispering nonsense into his ear.
"...why not wait in Minas Tirith?" Gandalf was asking, his eyes still lingering on the two hobbits, so nearly parted again.
"Ah, that is my daughter again," Elrond confessed, "When she saw you and the rest had not yet returned to the city then we carried on. It seems a few more followed our example. Why have you left it so long?"
"Frodo has only recently been regaining his strength and...well, then this, of course." The eyebrows ducked lower and he let out a long breath. "But I do believe things should return to something resembling normal. We are ready to go back and, with some good sleep and plenty of Sam-tending, Frodo should be the same."
"Good. Then come, Mithrandir, Arwen can carry them both on her steed and we will ride to the encampment."
With a brief nod of acknowledgement, they parted to alert the elves to their leaving and the company began climbing back onto horses.
"Come," Arwen whispered to Frodo, rising up to tower over him, "You may ride with me."
She bore Sam to her pale mount and lifted he and Frodo up to sit before her. The horses moved with one accord and no one could tell which hoof had been the first to lift. The lanterns were lifted to swing before them and spread silver on the undergrowth. The path to Faramir's hidden glade.
--
Night was waning when they finally returned to the hideaway. Soldiers streamed out from behind the waterfall. Aragorn, wearied by his search, had dropped down onto a bench outside one of the horse corrals. Only when the commotion began did he glance up. He sat bolt upright and gasped at the sight.
"Arwen!" he exclaimed, "But this...how did you...this is as if..."
Arwen smiled at him and the birds, to Aragorn, might well have stopped singing for thinking it was not night. He got to his feet but instantly found his mouth covered by a firm slender hand.
"Later," she breathed.
She took him by the hand and led him gently away through the grass that seemed to part just for her. Upon reaching a tall white tent, she drew back the partition of cloth and let the king gaze within. Two exhausted looking hobbits had been lain down on their beds. Sam was fast asleep, only a few stray blonde curls escaping from under the covers. Frodo, not a few feet away, had evidently lost conscienceless in the middle of a book, for he was draped back over pillows and cushions, his thumb lodged between the pages of The Silmarillion. Gandalf looked up from his vigil and nodded at Aragorn. Arwen let the curtain fall again, leaving her betrothed feeling quite dumbfounded.
"But when did this happen?" he whispered in amazement, "Where did you find him?"
"Gandalf found Frodo on the border between Ithilien and the Black Land. From what he told my father and I...it seems he had not come to terms with the loss of the Ring."
"I should have seen as much."
She looked at him sadly.
"And what would you have done for him? At least this way, he now understands. He will never be rid of it. Not wholly."
Aragorn thought he should have realised. He felt ashamed at not seeing it, but somehow, not surprised. The withered shadow of Frodo that had returned from Mount Doom was not that which had ventured towards it. It was the same face, the same body, same hands and feet, but it was a spent form.
"There is nothing I can do for him now," he whispered, suddenly aware of how cold the night had become. His eyes drifted to eastern mountains and wind-swept grassland. "My aid cannot save him."
"Let him forget," Arwen replied. She gently folded her arms around his neck and looked at him pointedly. "Let him forget and go on as he would want. Do not let It drag him down. Treat him as you would a hero, not paying reverence to a corpse." She placed her lips close to his ear and her warm breath seemed to pull away the chill starry cords entwining Aragorn's heart. "He is not lost yet."
--
On their journey south, Faramir and the two other hobbits had come across a few other signs of Frodo and Sam's original path. A small fire here and the remains of a meal hidden in the grass. The horses struggled up a steep hill to overlook the gardens and then down and out across the plains. Unfortunately, in the glimmer of morning light, when they came to the point on the other side of Osgiliath, where the hobbits should have met with crossroads, the route was blocked. The great statues of kings had collapsed on top of the other, sending their crowns of white flowers into undulations amongst the blackened trees. The way was shut. No hobbit, or anything bigger than a horsefly could make their way through there. Merry and Pippin halted there for sometime, in silent memory for the fallen kings. Faramir turned his steed about as they paused, examining the journey back. He imagined he saw the fair glimmering of Minas Tirith, silhouetting Éowyn's shape against its white walls. But, of course, how could he possibly have seen that? How indeed...
"It is time we started back, I fear," he said over his shoulder.
His companions nodded, Merry leaning across to speak softly to his cousin, who nodded stiffly and blinked against an onslaught of emotion. They followed him back along the road in relative quiet. Over the past week or so, birds had started to return to the wooded spot, and faint songs murmured through the ruins of stone and glade. The whole place felt as if it were reviving, without any aid from mortal hand. Life was flourishing golden and green, in a garden that had seemed long bereft of spirit.
Bookworm2000: Just for you, I shall return to Sam. I think I have neglected him far too much, you're right. See? I'm not being completely evil
Skye12: "Insatiable wench", am I? Sorry, I shall try and pretend I've forgotten about NZ for you. I am thrilled you liked Mordor's description (coming from you, my friend, that is the highest compliment) I'm very glad I managed to please you in terms of character portrayal because lately they seem to have been drifting in and out. Thank you very much for your poking. If it were not for that, I am sure this chapter would have taken an even longer time in coming hugs
FrodoBaggins87: buries head in hands and wails I am so sorry, I tried so hard not to make it anymore confusing. I promise now, I promise faithfully that the chapters won't be half as confuzzling. As Shirebound very aptly suggested, I now have a goal to work towards. My characters have one road to follow and I refuse to let them go off at a tangent again. So very sorry!
Shirebound: hugs Frodo for you I know, poor both of them! Stuck on a mountain without any food. Considering how much I love them, I do seem to put them in impossible positions.
Szhismine: I know! Hasn't Gandalf got a one-track mind? Very foolish wizard. So pleased you're enjoying this and I apologise for the lengthy delay in updating!
ShireElf: Heh, thank you very much (for both hugs and compliment), you're too good to me
I am dreadfully sorry for leaving this story for such an appalling long time. I think that if Kings of the Horizon was happening in real time then Frodo could have reached the Grey Havens by now! Well, thanks to Skye's prodding for an update, I have had an idea...There is a little scene I refer to which is from Garden of the Moon but I don't think you have to have read it. But there is a line stolen from Romeo and Juliet here, one that touched me very much when I saw the play
Chapter Fourteen
Afterwards, all Sam would remember was light. Drowning out the darkness like quicksilver and pouring into the very origins of shadow. It was gone a soon as it had arrived but Sam still had to blink to focus once more on the night sky. He had little recollection of his fall, but for its terrible timing.
"Gandalf?" he tried to call but his voice could not struggle past his lips. His whole body felt leaden. Strange then how, with apparent ease, two slender hands passed under his back and under his knees and lifted him up. Sam blinked again in the face of Arwen's dazzling smile. She called something in elvish over her shoulder and more of her people appeared. A group of tall elegant shapes cut into Ithilien's deep dark. Sam thought he was being wrapped in silk, but that was impossible, he thought, why would they wrap him so securely and so warmly? All he could see was Lady Arwen's face, her profile as she spoke to one of her companions. Then her eyes came to rest softly on Sam's and it was all he could do to catch his breath.
"Samwise," she asked gently, "How came you here? Do you remember?"
"Gandalf...we were following Frodo...weren't we? I'm sorry, milady, I don't know but it's gotten awfully blurry in my head."
"Ah, that would explain what we saw on the mountains as we rode," Arwen replied in a voice that sounded like it was part of silence.
"Would it? I'm sorry, milady, I can't make..."
Arwen turned his head a little so he could see the dim flickering shape moving down the base of the distant rock-face. Even as it disappeared into the rise of the grassy verge, Sam thought he could feel the drumming of approaching hooves reverberating beneath him. Still too groggy to understand why, he felt a surge of complacency wash over him, as if things had righted themselves while he had been lying in slumber. Yet even as he watched, elves began passing into his line of vision, hailing the rider with their musical voices. Sam struggled to comprehend how on earth he had fallen behind so quickly and why he could not remember the elves coming. In the end, he was so confused that he allowed himself to drift backwards into Arwen's arms and gaze up into the heavens, where no complications seemed to assail the stars.
--
"He's alright? Oh, thank you, Lord Elrond, thank goodness for that!"
"It is Arwen who saw him," Elrond replied to the wizard, helping he and Frodo down from Shadowfax, "It was she who called for us to halt."
Frodo looked clearly anxious to see his friend and the elven lord sensed this.
"Come with me, Ringbearer," he offered, extended his hand slightly. Frodo took it gratefully and allowed himself to be led to his gardener's side. He was lying in the Evenstar's arms, her cloak curled about him and his eyes half-closed with exhaustion. Frodo knelt beside her, too glad to see Sam to be overwhelmed by her presence and contented himself whispering nonsense into his ear.
"...why not wait in Minas Tirith?" Gandalf was asking, his eyes still lingering on the two hobbits, so nearly parted again.
"Ah, that is my daughter again," Elrond confessed, "When she saw you and the rest had not yet returned to the city then we carried on. It seems a few more followed our example. Why have you left it so long?"
"Frodo has only recently been regaining his strength and...well, then this, of course." The eyebrows ducked lower and he let out a long breath. "But I do believe things should return to something resembling normal. We are ready to go back and, with some good sleep and plenty of Sam-tending, Frodo should be the same."
"Good. Then come, Mithrandir, Arwen can carry them both on her steed and we will ride to the encampment."
With a brief nod of acknowledgement, they parted to alert the elves to their leaving and the company began climbing back onto horses.
"Come," Arwen whispered to Frodo, rising up to tower over him, "You may ride with me."
She bore Sam to her pale mount and lifted he and Frodo up to sit before her. The horses moved with one accord and no one could tell which hoof had been the first to lift. The lanterns were lifted to swing before them and spread silver on the undergrowth. The path to Faramir's hidden glade.
--
Night was waning when they finally returned to the hideaway. Soldiers streamed out from behind the waterfall. Aragorn, wearied by his search, had dropped down onto a bench outside one of the horse corrals. Only when the commotion began did he glance up. He sat bolt upright and gasped at the sight.
"Arwen!" he exclaimed, "But this...how did you...this is as if..."
Arwen smiled at him and the birds, to Aragorn, might well have stopped singing for thinking it was not night. He got to his feet but instantly found his mouth covered by a firm slender hand.
"Later," she breathed.
She took him by the hand and led him gently away through the grass that seemed to part just for her. Upon reaching a tall white tent, she drew back the partition of cloth and let the king gaze within. Two exhausted looking hobbits had been lain down on their beds. Sam was fast asleep, only a few stray blonde curls escaping from under the covers. Frodo, not a few feet away, had evidently lost conscienceless in the middle of a book, for he was draped back over pillows and cushions, his thumb lodged between the pages of The Silmarillion. Gandalf looked up from his vigil and nodded at Aragorn. Arwen let the curtain fall again, leaving her betrothed feeling quite dumbfounded.
"But when did this happen?" he whispered in amazement, "Where did you find him?"
"Gandalf found Frodo on the border between Ithilien and the Black Land. From what he told my father and I...it seems he had not come to terms with the loss of the Ring."
"I should have seen as much."
She looked at him sadly.
"And what would you have done for him? At least this way, he now understands. He will never be rid of it. Not wholly."
Aragorn thought he should have realised. He felt ashamed at not seeing it, but somehow, not surprised. The withered shadow of Frodo that had returned from Mount Doom was not that which had ventured towards it. It was the same face, the same body, same hands and feet, but it was a spent form.
"There is nothing I can do for him now," he whispered, suddenly aware of how cold the night had become. His eyes drifted to eastern mountains and wind-swept grassland. "My aid cannot save him."
"Let him forget," Arwen replied. She gently folded her arms around his neck and looked at him pointedly. "Let him forget and go on as he would want. Do not let It drag him down. Treat him as you would a hero, not paying reverence to a corpse." She placed her lips close to his ear and her warm breath seemed to pull away the chill starry cords entwining Aragorn's heart. "He is not lost yet."
--
On their journey south, Faramir and the two other hobbits had come across a few other signs of Frodo and Sam's original path. A small fire here and the remains of a meal hidden in the grass. The horses struggled up a steep hill to overlook the gardens and then down and out across the plains. Unfortunately, in the glimmer of morning light, when they came to the point on the other side of Osgiliath, where the hobbits should have met with crossroads, the route was blocked. The great statues of kings had collapsed on top of the other, sending their crowns of white flowers into undulations amongst the blackened trees. The way was shut. No hobbit, or anything bigger than a horsefly could make their way through there. Merry and Pippin halted there for sometime, in silent memory for the fallen kings. Faramir turned his steed about as they paused, examining the journey back. He imagined he saw the fair glimmering of Minas Tirith, silhouetting Éowyn's shape against its white walls. But, of course, how could he possibly have seen that? How indeed...
"It is time we started back, I fear," he said over his shoulder.
His companions nodded, Merry leaning across to speak softly to his cousin, who nodded stiffly and blinked against an onslaught of emotion. They followed him back along the road in relative quiet. Over the past week or so, birds had started to return to the wooded spot, and faint songs murmured through the ruins of stone and glade. The whole place felt as if it were reviving, without any aid from mortal hand. Life was flourishing golden and green, in a garden that had seemed long bereft of spirit.