Chapter 2: The Ringbearer and his Wound
I accidentally ran across Frodo one day sitting quietly in a garden in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. It was after the crowning of the King. The Ringbearer was sitting crossed-legged on a stone bench up against a wall covered in old ivy. He was resting in a pool of sunlight, a blanket wrapped about his shoulders and chin raised toward the sun. I didn't wish to disturb Frodo, who had obviously retreated to this little-used corner of an old, secluded and neglected garden. But Frodo bade me stay for awhile and I acquiesced.
"We have not had many chances to talk directly to each other in all this time," he said. "What brings you to this garden today?"
"I am exploring the city," I replied. "And, taking a short break from being with Gimli, truth be known."
Frodo chuckled and shifted the overlarge woolen cloak about his shoulders. "Too much talk of stonework and streets and rebuilding?"
"Something like that," I smiled. "I love Gimli dearly, but every now and then I must get out and walk where green things grow. Refresh myself in wood and water. I enjoy feeling the city breathe."
"The city breathe?" Frodo asked.
"Yes. When we first entered Minas Tirith after the great battle of Pellanor Fields, it could barely whisper a greeting. The trees and earth and, yes, even stone of the city were choking on decay and neglect. It spoke to me of past glories, yet offered only sighs of woe and despair.
"But now that the Enemy has been defeated and the King has returned, the city has changed," I continued. "It trembles in anticipation of each new day. The trees and little gardens smile now. The very rock rejoices with hope and renewal. Mortals can see it in the planting of the new white tree of the King. But I enjoy finding the still, small places where the city's heartbeat can be heard best."
Frodo smiled and turned his face to the sun, shutting his eyes and settling back into the embrace of the ivy running up the wall.
"And what brings you to this garden?" I asked.
"I also need time to be alone," Frodo quietly answered without opening his eyes. "To recover, or at least, to come to terms with what has happened."
We sat in silence for awhile. I finally turned to the small hobbit. The sun had moved a little so that it was not directly in his eyes. Yet a shadow crossed the hobbit's countenance and he shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a bit.
"Forgive my rudeness," I said, "but I see you are yet in pain. I confess ignorance concerning the healing ways of mortals, but I am confused. Samwise and Peregrin and Meriodoc have recovered from their wounds and tribulations. In fact, it seems to me that hobbits heal quicker than Men. And you yourself appear to be well when you are with them. But now I see a shadow upon your heart. What then continues to trouble you?"
Frodo swallowed and looked aside. A blush of embarrassment started to his otherwise pale cheeks.
"Forgive me," I said, rising from my seat in alarm and bowing deeply. "I did not mean to hurt you further. That was grossly inconsiderate of me. I will leave you to your rest."
"No, no," Frodo reached out and caught me by the sleeve before I could turn. "Please stay awhile. It is nothing. I was not prepared to handle such a question right then. Please, Legolas. Please sit back down and stay with me. Please stay."
I was terribly embarrassed at my lack of sensitivity to his distress, but the pleading in his voice forced me to resume my seat beside him. Frodo turned to face me.
"You see," Frodo began, "I do not talk about it with Sam or the others, but . well . the wound I received on Amon Sul has begun to trouble me again."
"The Morgul-blade wound?" I knew of it, of course. Everyone at the Council of Elrond knew of the Nazgul attack.
Frodo nodded.
"I thought Lord Elrond healed you of that wounding back in Imladris prior to our journey."
"Well, yes," Frodo said, "but he used his Ring of Power."
"I am afraid I don't understand," I said. "I do not know much about the Elvish Rings of Power or how that factors into your healing."
Frodo shifted so that his legs dangled over the edge of the bench. "I knew nothing about them until Gandalf explained the whole history of the Rings to me one night. I knew there were three Elvish Rings of Power, seven for the Dwarves, and nine for Men, but Gandalf did not divulge to me who had the Rings or if they were ever used."
He smiled a tight smile. "I found out the hard way, didn't I?" He laughed a tight little sound devoid of all mirth. "Lord Elrond has one of the Rings. The Lady Galadriel, another. And Gandalf the third, though that one was given to him by Lord Cirdan the Shipwright."
Frodo started to rub the stump of the missing ring finger from his right hand. "When I woke up in Rivendell after the attack, Gandalf told me that Lord Elrond healed me of the wound. It bothered me quite a bit for the first month, but gradually healed up until I did not notice it much during the quest."
A wry, dark grin appeared on his lips. "With a few, notable exceptions."
I settled back into myself, letting the Ringbearer speak at his own pace. I had never heard him talk so freely about any of his wounds. He seemed to need to think aloud through this problem. So I let him use me as a sounding board to clarify his own tangled thoughts.
"A few times during our journey to the Mountain, Sam and I were close to the Nazgul," he continued. "At those times of vulnerability I could feel their presence. I believe they were still wearing their own rings of power. Sometimes it was as if the Witch King were stabbing me all over again. Terrible pain. Terrible. If Sam had not been there with me during those times, I do not believe I would have survived."
He was now rubbing his left arm; shaking his head. "I don't know, Legolas." he said. "I can not be sure, but somehow they are all tied together. The One Ring. The Rings worn by the Nazgul. The Morgul-blade. The Elvish Ring Lord Elrond used to heal me. Somehow they are connected. And when the One Ring was destroyed, I thought I would be forever rid of the pain from the wound."
He stopped and looked at me. His blue eyes clouded over and he sighed. "But it seems the opposite is true."
"Have you asked Lord Elrond about this?" I inquired.
"Perhaps I shall," he replied, getting up from the bench and gathering the blanket into his arms. "Thank you for listening. Please though, please don't mention this to anyone else. Particularly not to Sam. He worries about me enough as it is."
"As you wish, Frodo," I replied as I also stood.
"See you tonight at the banquet," he said as he left the garden and headed up the stone street towards the houses where the hobbits and Gandalf were staying.
I did see him later that evening at the banquet. He presented himself in the same manner as his kinfolk and servant, save for a subtle reluctance to exert himself physically as much as they. He laughed when it was appropriate. Smiled when it was required. Talked when spoken to. But I could see the shadows lurking behind his carefully-constructed countenance. And I could sense that he knew I knew.
I accidentally ran across Frodo one day sitting quietly in a garden in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. It was after the crowning of the King. The Ringbearer was sitting crossed-legged on a stone bench up against a wall covered in old ivy. He was resting in a pool of sunlight, a blanket wrapped about his shoulders and chin raised toward the sun. I didn't wish to disturb Frodo, who had obviously retreated to this little-used corner of an old, secluded and neglected garden. But Frodo bade me stay for awhile and I acquiesced.
"We have not had many chances to talk directly to each other in all this time," he said. "What brings you to this garden today?"
"I am exploring the city," I replied. "And, taking a short break from being with Gimli, truth be known."
Frodo chuckled and shifted the overlarge woolen cloak about his shoulders. "Too much talk of stonework and streets and rebuilding?"
"Something like that," I smiled. "I love Gimli dearly, but every now and then I must get out and walk where green things grow. Refresh myself in wood and water. I enjoy feeling the city breathe."
"The city breathe?" Frodo asked.
"Yes. When we first entered Minas Tirith after the great battle of Pellanor Fields, it could barely whisper a greeting. The trees and earth and, yes, even stone of the city were choking on decay and neglect. It spoke to me of past glories, yet offered only sighs of woe and despair.
"But now that the Enemy has been defeated and the King has returned, the city has changed," I continued. "It trembles in anticipation of each new day. The trees and little gardens smile now. The very rock rejoices with hope and renewal. Mortals can see it in the planting of the new white tree of the King. But I enjoy finding the still, small places where the city's heartbeat can be heard best."
Frodo smiled and turned his face to the sun, shutting his eyes and settling back into the embrace of the ivy running up the wall.
"And what brings you to this garden?" I asked.
"I also need time to be alone," Frodo quietly answered without opening his eyes. "To recover, or at least, to come to terms with what has happened."
We sat in silence for awhile. I finally turned to the small hobbit. The sun had moved a little so that it was not directly in his eyes. Yet a shadow crossed the hobbit's countenance and he shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a bit.
"Forgive my rudeness," I said, "but I see you are yet in pain. I confess ignorance concerning the healing ways of mortals, but I am confused. Samwise and Peregrin and Meriodoc have recovered from their wounds and tribulations. In fact, it seems to me that hobbits heal quicker than Men. And you yourself appear to be well when you are with them. But now I see a shadow upon your heart. What then continues to trouble you?"
Frodo swallowed and looked aside. A blush of embarrassment started to his otherwise pale cheeks.
"Forgive me," I said, rising from my seat in alarm and bowing deeply. "I did not mean to hurt you further. That was grossly inconsiderate of me. I will leave you to your rest."
"No, no," Frodo reached out and caught me by the sleeve before I could turn. "Please stay awhile. It is nothing. I was not prepared to handle such a question right then. Please, Legolas. Please sit back down and stay with me. Please stay."
I was terribly embarrassed at my lack of sensitivity to his distress, but the pleading in his voice forced me to resume my seat beside him. Frodo turned to face me.
"You see," Frodo began, "I do not talk about it with Sam or the others, but . well . the wound I received on Amon Sul has begun to trouble me again."
"The Morgul-blade wound?" I knew of it, of course. Everyone at the Council of Elrond knew of the Nazgul attack.
Frodo nodded.
"I thought Lord Elrond healed you of that wounding back in Imladris prior to our journey."
"Well, yes," Frodo said, "but he used his Ring of Power."
"I am afraid I don't understand," I said. "I do not know much about the Elvish Rings of Power or how that factors into your healing."
Frodo shifted so that his legs dangled over the edge of the bench. "I knew nothing about them until Gandalf explained the whole history of the Rings to me one night. I knew there were three Elvish Rings of Power, seven for the Dwarves, and nine for Men, but Gandalf did not divulge to me who had the Rings or if they were ever used."
He smiled a tight smile. "I found out the hard way, didn't I?" He laughed a tight little sound devoid of all mirth. "Lord Elrond has one of the Rings. The Lady Galadriel, another. And Gandalf the third, though that one was given to him by Lord Cirdan the Shipwright."
Frodo started to rub the stump of the missing ring finger from his right hand. "When I woke up in Rivendell after the attack, Gandalf told me that Lord Elrond healed me of the wound. It bothered me quite a bit for the first month, but gradually healed up until I did not notice it much during the quest."
A wry, dark grin appeared on his lips. "With a few, notable exceptions."
I settled back into myself, letting the Ringbearer speak at his own pace. I had never heard him talk so freely about any of his wounds. He seemed to need to think aloud through this problem. So I let him use me as a sounding board to clarify his own tangled thoughts.
"A few times during our journey to the Mountain, Sam and I were close to the Nazgul," he continued. "At those times of vulnerability I could feel their presence. I believe they were still wearing their own rings of power. Sometimes it was as if the Witch King were stabbing me all over again. Terrible pain. Terrible. If Sam had not been there with me during those times, I do not believe I would have survived."
He was now rubbing his left arm; shaking his head. "I don't know, Legolas." he said. "I can not be sure, but somehow they are all tied together. The One Ring. The Rings worn by the Nazgul. The Morgul-blade. The Elvish Ring Lord Elrond used to heal me. Somehow they are connected. And when the One Ring was destroyed, I thought I would be forever rid of the pain from the wound."
He stopped and looked at me. His blue eyes clouded over and he sighed. "But it seems the opposite is true."
"Have you asked Lord Elrond about this?" I inquired.
"Perhaps I shall," he replied, getting up from the bench and gathering the blanket into his arms. "Thank you for listening. Please though, please don't mention this to anyone else. Particularly not to Sam. He worries about me enough as it is."
"As you wish, Frodo," I replied as I also stood.
"See you tonight at the banquet," he said as he left the garden and headed up the stone street towards the houses where the hobbits and Gandalf were staying.
I did see him later that evening at the banquet. He presented himself in the same manner as his kinfolk and servant, save for a subtle reluctance to exert himself physically as much as they. He laughed when it was appropriate. Smiled when it was required. Talked when spoken to. But I could see the shadows lurking behind his carefully-constructed countenance. And I could sense that he knew I knew.