The Return of the Ring
Chapter two – Alone No More
---------------------------------------------
Night had fallen at last; the silvery moon now hung in the darkened sky, like a watchful, shining eye, and it illuminated a small figure huddled over a bright campfire on the riverbank, where the swift river flowed near.
It was Frodo who was sitting over the campfire, pondering over his great loss. He did not need to be told what had become of Bilbo: from what the hobbit's heart was telling him, whatever had happened, it could not be good.
Frodo had walked aimlessly for some miles, being too caught up in himself to worry about eating. He had drunk from the river, and the water seemed refreshing, though it did not pull him away from his heavy thoughts. It was one late in the morning when he finally came to rest at the riverbank, though he could not sleep when he had lain upon the wet mud.
So now, an hour later, he was huddled over the campfire that he had clumsily made, close to collapsing of exhaustion from his walk. But, he was not only sitting on the ground: if anyone looked close enough, they could see that he was slowly turning a certain gold ring in his forefingers, staring at it with all interest. He had certainly not let that slip from his mind, especially since he had an odd feeling that someone was following him.
It was then, as he was doing nothing more than staring at his prize, that a slight wind picked up suddenly; it made the bright fire flicker slightly, for only a second, and it made the trees surrounding him wave their branches in the dark night, creating the sound of hundreds of rustling leaves, like the sound of a strong gale down a narrow alleyway. Even the trees, then, which looked so friendly and harmless in the day, seemed like giant figures, looming up out of the ground, shaking their branches like enormous fists. The river shone in the moonlight, and it seemed as if shadows of faces were looking up at Frodo through the water.
And then, as the hobbit looked around wildly, it seemed as if, for only a flash, that he saw two, large, lights under an unusually thick tree, though they seemed to be staring straight at him – then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone.
Frodo shifted uncomfortably; he looked down at his gleaming ring, that he had not forgotten about, and, without hesitation, slid it quickly into his waistcoat pocket. Could it be, though he had not wanted to believe it, that someone was truly following him? He soon brought to mind a similar incident on his first day of waking from his long sleep, when he had seen something move back into the trees: a figure, of some kind.
But then, there were other things to think about – feeling sleep now overwhelm him, Frodo laid down upon the ground, shut his eyes, and drifted off into a deep slumber almost immediately, forgetting about the fire that was now burning low.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Thud.
Thud.
The sound of light footsteps came to Frodo's half-unconscious mind, and there seemed to be a soft hiss coming from somewhere in front of him, followed by a far-off yell. A thing light and speedy shot past the hobbit, blowing his hair slightly, and he heard something pierce the ground about five centimetres away from his nose. He opened his eyes slowly, and, through a slightly obscured view, he could see a stick of some sort embedded into the mud near him, though it was all very hazy. Though, anyone could see that it was daylight.
"Captain!" called out a far-off voice. "Captain, that is a traveller I see, lying upon the cold ground!"
Frodo, still feeling half-asleep, looked closer at the stick in front of him and realised, to his slight horror, that it wasn't a stick, but an arrow.
"I see him, though at first I mistook it for a rock of some kind! Would you believe him to know anything of our creature-friend?" asked a voice, which also seemed to be quite far away.
There was talking from somewhere, and Frodo opened his eyes the wider – footsteps were now, no doubt, coming towards him. But then, they stopped, and the hobbit, now feeling quite awake, took no time in bolting upright from his lying position, and running off into the trees not far away. He thought that they were coming to steal his ring, which he had brought to mind as soon as he had woken.
He did not squander his time in turning to look at the two men behind him, who were dressed in fine cloaks with hoods, quivers on their backs, and a bow each at their side. Though, his sudden movement caught their attention, and with a cry, they chased after him into the darkness of the trees.
"Come back to us!" the first man called, stopping suddenly in a clearing. His voice sounded strong and heroic, and dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders. "We would not hurt you, unless you are a servant of some evil. Or, is that what you might be? Is that why you run from us?"
Frodo had, by this time, stopped running, and was in the view of the speaker, who now appeared to be approaching him. Making sure that the ring was safe in his pocket, Frodo turned and met the man's gaze.
"What would you do?" the hobbit questioned, though before anyone had a chance to answer, he felt something heavy being thrown over his head, and his vision was suddenly obscured by blackness.
"Do not fear us, little one," came a soft voice from behind Frodo. "We are nothing but warriors of Gondor: of this land you walk on. We would not bring harm to you, unless you have harm in mind for us?"
"There –" began Frodo, but the voice behind him made a hissing noise to silence him.
"Listen!"
No sound was heard for a minute; only the calm breeze blowing throughout the small wood, and the heavy breathing of the men. But then…then came a new sound – a quiet sound – was that footsteps? Not Men's footsteps: they were far too light for that.
"That creature," whispered the man in front of Frodo, who had originally chased him. "That creature lurks in these woods: what has the little one to do with it?"
"We shall see," said the man behind the hobbit. He sounded young – very young, in fact. "We shall see once we reach our homeland. Come! Do not be afraid, little one: our aim is not to hunt the innocent, but to hunt those who endanger the innocent. If you are not in league with this creature, than you shall be released, for that is what our old captain would have required."
By this time, Frodo had a mixed array of thoughts in his now-tired mind; what was the creature that these men spoke of? Who, exactly, were these men? If he had heard these people correctly, what was he doing in Gondor?
But, before he could reach any conclusion, the man behind him gave him a slight push, and began leading him through the small wood.
The hobbit felt his feet turn left on the woodland path…then right…his toe was stubbed against a small rock sticking out of the ground, yet the men did not remove the blindfold. Strange noises echoed throughout the trees; it seemed to Frodo as if he was walking towards his death. Then, all would fall silent, and the only sound was the heavy tread of the warriors in front and behind him.
Finally, as they reached the end of the trees, the hobbit could see the sudden brightness of the sun that filtered through the dark cloth in front of his eyes. The three of them halted, and as Frodo listened, he realised that the man with the dark hair was actually talking.
"Aganzîr, will the others be joining us?" he asked, and the man behind the hobbit – Aganzîr – then spoke.
"No; their journey with us did not continue. They headed West, to Minas Tirith, for an intruder was seen attempting to breach the gates."
"An intruder?" asked the first man, though no more was said, and Frodo followed without a word. He guessed the two warriors were inexperienced.
It seemed as if they wandered for many miles; rarely they stopped, even when the dark sheet of night fell upon them. The hobbit grew tired; though he seemed always to be tired. He could have lain there then, on the cold ground, and huddled up, never to be disturbed, reliving the only memories he had left. But even they seemed to be fading.
Frodo saw the sun rise twice, and the moon once, before they finally reached an area where habitation seemed possible – and the two men saw this as luck, for they had eaten the last of their food. A day and night they stayed there, and the villagers showed them much courtesy, for not only did they give them water and food, but horses and information on how distant they were from Minas Tirith.
On their journey they continued, their horses being dark fragments against a sea of baron, dusty land. They passed over the Great River and left the animals to return home. They walked…would they ever stop? It seemed so long ago that they set out; the hobbit wished he had been allowed to remain on the riverbank…his pace began to slacken…his mind began to drift…
"Come on, you!" said the man whose name was Aganzîr. He gave the 'prisoner' a push, and began to trudge along behind him.
The other was a little way ahead of them, standing on the brow of the hill they were climbing. Why had he stopped? There was no time to watch the scenery: they had walking to do.
"Why do you wait like that, Indilhêr?" asked the walking man impatiently, but now they too had reached the top of the slope, and he finished and stood quite motionless, staring at the sight that greeted them beyond.
Minas Tirith – no time could seem to wreck the perfection of those City walls. No creature, living or dead, could spoil her. She was as she had always been: tall, proud and magnificent, and there she stood, the spring sun beating down on her from above, the dust-ridden plains stretching out to greet the three travellers.
Indilhêr grasped Frodo's shoulder firmly and together they began to walk towards the great doors of the City, Aganzîr following in their wake reluctantly.
All the while they walked the Ringbearer kept his eyes on the building at the top of the City, all the while he thought of what he would say to King Elessar. Would the King of Gondor be happy to see him? Or would he be angry, perhaps, that he had come at such short notice?
But now it was too late to think; already they had reached the giant doors of the palace, and they passed through into the home of the King beyond, mere shadows in a baron castle. Frodo's cautious footing made no noise, yet the two men either side of him trudged along, they faces filled with boredom, as if their hostage was 'just another one' to be brought to the City; another meaningless traveller.
And then they halted, for they had come to the tall door of polished metal, and one of the men knocked twice upon it, his face for some reason now eager, excited. The way was suddenly thrown open to them, and Frodo was led into the Hall, though his eyes were not set on the newly-placed tapestries on the walls, nor on the King himself; rather, on the figure clad in brown which stood in the centre of the room, motionless.
The King looked up, and for a second the hobbit felt relief flood over him – there was Aragorn, unchanged, a smile beginning to play across his lips at the sight of his halfling friend. His robes were in many kingly colours and layers, and a golden crown was set upon his head, framing his aging face. He hardly glanced at the two warriors.
" My friend?" exclaimed Aragorn, his voice hardly a whisper. "My companion? It cannot be!"
The brown figure, once unmoving, silent, suddenly turned and looked at the hobbit, and though Frodo thought him familiar he could not name him – his hood threw shadows over his face, but two bright eyes shone out and pierced the darkness of the room. He said nothing.
"My Lord," began one of the men, looking at Frodo in sudden wonder as he remembered the name, "you know this boy?"
"I do, Indilhêr," replied Elessar, and he smiled. "But, a boy? Nay. There stands Frodo, son of Drogo, halfling from the North. Release him! Surely you know of the tale of the War of the Ring?"
"Indeed, my Lord; I have been told many tales of the War of the Ring – many, yet in each of them I have been told that the hero of the story sailed over the Western Sea and was never seen again."
A great silence fell upon them; Frodo shifted on the spot uncomfortably. He looked up at the man who had spoken – the one he had thought sounded young on their first meeting – and realised how youthful he looked: he must only have been sixteen years old at the most.
"What you say is true, Indilhêr…" said Aragorn at length, a curious look in his eyes. "I was told of his going, but I had quite forgotten. But let us not speak of it! This halfling deserves great hospitality from us. He had travelled far in uncertain hands, I deem, and it is no less than a miracle that he is safe and well. Come, tell me how you found him."
And so, the men began an account of how they found the hobbit; how they had gone hunting in South Gondor, and they had stumbled upon the creature who they had attempted to shoot. But, Frodo did not listen; he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Still, the brown-clad figure stared at the halfling, though no one seemed to notice him – he had not yet been acknowledged. Such keen, bright eyes he had! A strand of hair fell in front of his face; he brushed it away with an absent mind. Suddenly, he looked away.
"…but not only was he in South Gondor, my Lord, he was also sleeping with the shadow of the Nameless Land over his very head…"
Frodo came back again, from his thoughts. He hadn't realised the men were speaking about him, telling Elessar how he had been found. He didn't want them to tell him.
"That troubles me little," said the King, though a slight frown played across his brow. "The place you call the Nameless Land now bears small meaning. Some may go so far as to call it dead; a land of old stories, waiting to be told, but where evil has been vanquished, and no longer exists. But those people are young – they understand not as we do."
Indilhêr took a glance towards Frodo; gone was the wonder in his eyes: he was again a soldier of Minas Tirith, a guardian of the City.
"Might we have your leave then, my Lord?" he asked, seeming to be suddenly aware of the man clad in brown looking at him intently with keen eyes. "We see you already have company, and our City needs more support."
"So be it," said Aragorn. "Go; you have my leave. But leave Mr Baggins here; I must speak with him."
The two men bowed low and exited the Hall. The King beckoned for Frodo to come nearer, a slight smile playing across his lips.
"My friend!" spoke he, a strange, almost confused, tone to his voice. "My heart is light at seeing your face again and yet you look grave. Does something trouble you? I trust those two men of the City treated you well?"
As he walked forwards and saw the man upon the throne more clearly, the halfling suddenly saw how wise and kingly Aragorn looked now; it reminded him of the tales of the bygone Kings that once were, and for a second Frodo imagined he was looking upon Isildur himself, home after cutting the Ring from Sauron's hand, laughing, perhaps, with his men and eating merrily. But suddenly he was back again, and he stood before Elessar with a strange expression, no more thought penetrating his injured mind.
"They treated me well enough," he replied at length. "But who were they?"
"Only rangers of Gondor," said Aragorn. "The younger one I do not fully trust, though Aganzîr is wiser and was made Captain of the Rangers by myself, not long ago. He has made for a good replacement."
"Replacement?"
"Yes; he took over from Lord Faramir."
"But what became of Lord Faramir?" asked the man clad in brown, a mysterious tone to his voice. Elessar took a glance towards him, and spoke again:
"Indeed: that is what we all ask. None know what became of him. Twelve years ago he vanished from his home across the Anduin, and he left nothing but a dust to settle in his wake. His wife still mourns for him… and her son, for he vanished not long after his father. It is said by the younger generation of the City that he was driven mad as Lord Denethor was, and so plunged himself into the Southern Seas; others say he fled to join his brother in death; and some even dare to say that he became tired of Gondor and so journeyed to the North to live with his halfling friends."
"And you?" questioned the stranger.
"I have my own beliefs," said Aragorn. "Of which, I shall keep to myself. Frodo, ask no more of Lord Faramir."
The halfling looked to one of the many statues in the Hall, his eyes filled with a faraway gaze.
"This is grievous news indeed," he said. "I believe he was a good captain, and if it had not been for him I would soon have perished. How I shall miss him!" And he sighed deeply. "I would have liked to see him one more time." He took a step towards the brown-clad man, and suddenly he tripped, as if his feet could not carry him properly.
"Frodo?" asked the King, a look of concern suddenly passing over his face. "Are you well?"
"Perhaps he is weary," the stranger said, and his eyes seemed to glint under the hood's shadow even more than they had done before. "He does not know yet who I am: it is tiring work speaking to an unknown man." The halfling looked at him steadily, and they stared at one another, lost in a strange moment of sudden familiarity.
"This is a companion of mine, Frodo," came Aragorn's voice, and the feeling vanished, lost to another time, another world. "He travels here with tidings."
"Strange tidings indeed," replied the stranger, and he seemed to look away, but not to the King: rather, to the Steward's chair. "I have travelled far to bring them, but you may say they are meaningless and dwell upon a man's word. Or, you may say they have a great truth in them: so great as to save many things from needless destruction. But let us not speak of that now."
"Nay," replied the King. "But any tidings brought are heeded."
"Your words comfort me, then. Might I have your leave, also, my Lord?" asked the other man. "I would advise you time with your companion. Perhaps we will speak more in depth in short time, if you wish it?" He again took another glance towards Frodo; a glance of warning, almost.
"That I will turn my attention too. Yes, friend, you have my leave, but I trust you will eat and drink with us, still?"
"If I am still welcome, your Majesty. Very well; good-bye!" And he bowed, turned, and exited through the door, but as he did so Frodo caught a glimpse of his face as the hood was blown back slightly, and he was reminded of someone in the past. He looked at Aragorn, but was spared the difficulty of beginning the conversation.
"You feel you have seen him before, I deem?" he asked, but without waiting for an answer. "Perhaps you will soon come to understand him and his reason for being here. But, come! It has been too long since our last meeting, and I was wrong in believing you to be far away now. I shall not hinder you for long."
When seating was brought in and wine and food were given to Frodo, he felt his heart lighter, and began his account of his recent past, at Elessar's bidding. He explained Bilbo, just a few hours after they had set sail from the Havens, telling Frodo of where his heart longed to go, and how they had 'escaped' on that late night, and the rowing boat, and the older hobbit's sudden, strange attitude that did not cease. Frodo talked about the water he drunk – how it was sweet tasting at first, and then stagnant, and how it made his head swim and his vision different. Aragorn listened with great interest, nodding his head in some places, frowning in others, though he looked almost concerned when the hobbit finished and took a draught of wine.
"Ah, poor old Bilbo," he said at length. "I wonder what has become of him now. But, it seems almost as I had feared: That some strange new evil has awoken, somewhere. How, I do not know, and I am not even sure that the wisest would know, if they were here." He looked at Frodo with a keen, stern glance, as if he suspected something, and the hobbit ran a hand over the pocket where the Ring lay hidden, checking its presence. But the expression on the King's face was gone, and with it, the curiosity. He continued. "It seems strange that you should be brought here, and though we are glad of visits from companions, old or new, it is not entirely fortunate. But these things can be overcome; they are but small hindrances in a world of misgiving."
"Aragorn," said Frodo, "I do not understand. What has happened? You speak of new evil arising; I feel there is nothing to doubt."
"Nay, none outside the borders of our own land would suspect anything, and in your little land in the North, the world is as merry as ever. But," and here he fell quite silent, as if listening, "it must be known to my people that something seems to be awakening, somewhere, and I do not feel it is good or will help Gondor in any way.
Eighteen days ago, I was returning from a visit to Rohan on horseback with a host of my men, and I suspected little of any evil then. We travelled by day, and slept by night, and on our route we passed over the Entwash and so by Cair Andros.
On one night, we slept near the Great River, and I did not sleep as the others did by some choice, which was fortunate for me. And then I remember sometime during the Late Hour a terrible shriek came from somewhere yonder East, and when I looked, to my dismay I felt sure I saw a great red smoke or flame shoot up into the sky, and suddenly it was gone. No trace of it was left behind. My men had been awoken by it, but they had seen nothing.
And now I believe a thing is stirring again in the Shadow Land of Mordor. Other strange things have happened besides my own account, but we have little time for pondering, if my beliefs are true. I feel the strange feeling of evil when I look to the East of our own lands, a growing sense of fear: peace in the City will no longer reside here in short time, I deem.
Frodo, has your own tale come to an end?"
This statement seemed to take the halfling by slight surprise, and he was not prepared to answer. How could he tell Aragorn, so soon into their meeting, that he had re-discovered the Ring of Power? He said the first thing that reached his mind:
"Yes, my Lord. Perhaps there are small details I did not include, but I have finished anyhow." But Aragorn's face was suddenly solemn and curious, his eyes filled with a slight sense of disbelief.
"Very well, Frodo, my companion of old. But let it be known to you and all my people that the unity of the Fellowship still holds strong, even if I am King of Gondor."
The halfling looked to the platter before him and said nothing.
"But, time presses. You are weary, no doubt, and I will question you no more. Perhaps tomorrow your heart will be lighter, and only then will I ask everything of your journey, including every small detail that you say you may have left. But until then: rest! I have not looked on you for many a year: there is no need to question you wholly, not now, so soon after our reunion."
Frodo looked up and smiled.
"It seems like many a year, Lord Aragorn, though it is only two or three years at the most since I last set my foot in this City."
A sudden frown played across the King's brow: his hobbit companion must have been very tired indeed, and perhaps unwell. He managed a warm smile, and then beckoned for his friend to leave.
"May a peaceful sleep come to you," he said, and with a bow Frodo turned and left the room, just as the brown-clad man had done so earlier that afternoon.
And thus, the King of Gondor gathered his robes of many colours and stood up from his chair with little effort; his hand gently scratched his crinkled brow as he watched the doors of the Hall close, and his mind was awake with many strange thoughts – one of which being that the young hobbit did not seem to realise that five years and a decade had passed since their last meeting.
---------------------------------------------