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.
I can only say that I am finally finishing the story and that it will updated in full soon. If you have completely lost track of this story, I cannot apologise enough for the enormous delay. But here you are, a very gentle, hopefully revealing chapter of 'Kings of the Horizon'. Thank you to all who reviewed, I will answer your posts at Chapter Sixteen.
Chapter Fifteen
Morning was like a blaze of lightning through a storm cloud. The camp was quiet for longer than usual. The sky was not clear but a still grey, breezed with gold and silver. Ithilien was a harbour of life, where the world seemed to pause for a moment, before wending on its way. The tents flapped gently over the scars in the soil; of discarded swords, of dented shields, of landing eagles...
There was a sudden, startling explosion. Aragorn woke abruptly from his bench out in the open, eyes wide, hand already at his belt and wondering wildly why on earth no one was attacking. As he slowly came back into consciousness, there came another riotous outburst of noise. Kicking off the blanket someone had kindly draped over him, he jumped up from his perch and ran across the lawn to the source of the sound. He found a guilt-ridden Faramir standing by the opening of the hobbit dwelling. He cringed visibly at the sight of Aragorn and almost fell over himself in his instinct to bow, which only now came upon him in his moment of shame.
"Lord Aragorn," he apologised, "We only arrived minutes ago. Minutes! And when they told us of Frodo's fortunate retrieval..."
"Argh! Pippin!"
"Well, you deserve it ten times over, you ridiculous hobbit!"
"...and of Sam's," Faramir carried on uselessly over the cries from within, "I swear, Aragorn, I tried, I honestly-"
"…half way to Osgiliath and back…"
"So we're going to make sure you stay right where you are..."
Aragorn sighed and gave Faramir a half-smile.
"I am sure you tried your very hardest. But not a man in Gondor could hold those two back."
"Sam!" came a strangled cry.
The king hastily ducked inside, ready to untangle whatever fray had ensued between Merry, Pippin and their cousin. Surprisingly, when he entered, the hobbits had desisted and Frodo was sitting up in bed, still bleary from his rude awakening, The Silmarillion still balanced precariously on his lap. Things became apparent when Aragorn noticed that Sam had come to his master's aid and was now standing on the opposite side of the bed, talking, seemingly, to his feet.
"I'm sorry, sirs, I know you've had a right runabout, same as the rest of us. If it's any consolation, you can have my breakfast today. But Mister Frodo needs a full day of sleeping if I'm to see to it..."
"Really?" said Frodo, hopefully.
"Alright," said a sullen voice from out of sight, "Sorry to have woken you, Sam. We'll leave well alone today."
"Thank you," Sam and Frodo answered together with equal relief.
Merry and Pippin rose into view, putting on masks of mock outrage.
"Well, if one cannot attack a long lost cousin, one is surely abusing his station as relation and confidant," Merry commented dryly, in a splendid impression of his least favourite aunt.
Pippin tried to pluck up the nerve to continue the game but he was too relieved to see his friend back and well again. He threw his arms round Frodo's neck, kissed him on the cheek then departed with Merry.
"Good morning!" said Aragorn to the remaining pair.
Sam and Frodo smiled back and wished him a pleasant morning too. It was almost Rivendell again; the man recalled vividly of being told of Frodo's recovery, running to the room and being greeted with a warm smile and a genial greeting. As though nothing had changed. Such is the most pleasing aspect of hobbits.
"How did you sleep, both of you?"
"Sam, I think better than I," Frodo replied, grinning at his gardener, who, in comparison, seemed oddly quiet.
"We slept well enough, thank you, sir," he muttered. He caught himself making his bed and had to fold back all the sheets once more to climb back under. Even then, the listless discomfort on his face did not subside. Aragorn made a mental note to ask after Sam's welfare later that day- till then, perhaps a lie-in would do the both of them the world of good. He bid them a good rest, saying,
"I will make sure you are not disturbed."
Coming out of the tent again, he found Faramir just about to set off after Merry and Pippin. The steward came to a halt when Aragorn emerged.
"How are they?"
"Well enough as to be expected. Frodo seems...himself again, which is a thing to be grateful for. Sam is less so. But he seems certain enough that what they both need is a good long sleep, like before. Will you come with me to find some guards to stand outside?"
Faramir wavered slightly on his feet. Aragorn could see the thoughts stumbling across his face, bumping into each other as they determined to become coherent. He opened his mouth slightly to ask for a repetition of the question but Aragorn stopped him.
"Forgive me," he apologised, "What on earth am I doing? Go. Lie yourself down somewhere quiet and have the day for yourself."
He clapped the man on the shoulder then deftly turned him round and guided him in the opposite direction towards the nearest tent.
--
"This is all you have to relate?"
Elrond's face was cool and unreadable. His eyebrows rose slightly whenever Gandalf spoke, which was quite unerring, as if he found it constantly alarming to hear of the things that went on in the world. The wizard nodded in answer to the question:
"I do not believe that Frodo will attempt anything else. If not at peace within himself, he may well be too exhausted to try again for the Ring."
They were sitting out on the hillside and had been there since the sun rose, had been there even as it crested the horizon and bloomed in the sky. Gandalf was smoking quietly while Elrond was content simply to sit and observe him through serene grey eyes. His face was slightly bruised in places, no doubt keepsakes of the long journey from Rivendell. His robes were muddied round the hem; a thing Gandalf had rarely seen among elves. They always looked so pristine and tall. But, if it was possible, since they had last met, Elrond had grown visibly wearier. He was like a being passing into the Autumn of his time; an age of fallen graces and windblown memories, that seemed all the more poignant so many years ahead.
Here, they felt at ease to rest. The company of one another being enough and the conversation just as pleasing. Gandalf had described as fully as he could how Frodo had been since returned from Mordor. The death-like sleep that he had entered and all the weights that had pressed on his mind since then. It was only now, in this silence, that Elrond thought it the time to raise a subject that had been darkening his own mind.
"You feel different, my friend," he said, "You do not speak in the same way nor act in a manner I thought common with you."
"Do any of us?" Gandalf muttered, chewing on the stem of his pipe and squinting out at the middle-distance.
"No," Elrond mused, "But when you speak of Frodo, I see...there is a greater change there than with any other you spoke of."
"Elvish nonsense."
A raise of the eyebrow, but he would not be turned aside so easily.
"I think not. My friend, you are ill at ease. Come, we are in a peaceful garden. The night has passed. You are free to speak. Do not hide something when wizards have not the ability to keep their secrets."
Gandalf blew out an angry ring of smoke and snorted.
"Our secrets are kept well enough. It is just prying folk of Rivendell that happen to come across them and wonder at them, like a child with a locked box. 'Oh," he mimicked mercilessly, "Oh, what can this box hide'? Cannot keep their secrets indeed."
"Then will you please give me some clue as to this hesitancy?"
Gandalf bit down on the pipe stem so hard that he left marks in the wood. He glowered sidelong at Elrond and said, in a way entirely altered from his original light tone,
"I have come to terms with what I can. Frodo has a far greater price to pay, with a shadow of a Ring dogging his steps. It is I that come away with understanding of the world. All that he must have gained is a greater loathing for it. All he learnt..."
Elrond's mouth straightened into a thin line. It was clear he had gained all the answer he required. He reached out with an audacity alien to most of his kind and touched his companion on the knee.
"There is no need for this emotion. If any other man or beast had asked it of them, Frodo would have taken the Ring. If you had entrusted It to anyone else in Middle-Earth, or even in the Shire, I do not believe they would have succeeded in the Quest. There is no need."
His look changed and he observed the wizard quietly, who was self-consciously fiddling with his pipe and scraping out the dregs of weed from its bowl with his forefinger. The elf went on,
"And though you think you have not suffered, there is much change here. You have lost a great deal in this war. Tell me, what happened when you travelled through Mordor? It is something, I can see."
"Another box you've found to shake, Lord Elrond?"
Gandalf sighed and looked down at the slender hand upon his robe. His gaze seemed to travel earthwards, down through the lattice of dust and grass and trodden leaves to the other side of the world.
"I lost my voice. The Mordor air sucked all my languages from me as we flew from Mount Doom. I...I lost my voice," he whispered, and the breeze stole away the rest of his words.