Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Twelve
Summary: "What were the Riders trying to do?" "They tried to pierce your heart with a Morgul-knife which remains in the wound. If they had succeeded, you would have become like they are, only weaker and under their command. You would have become a wraith under the dominion of the Dark Lord…" --Frodo and Gandalf at Rivendell
Notes: This is now completely A/U, and has elements of the books and the movies within.
Disclaimer: Some of this story is quoted directly from the trilogy itself. I will note these excerpts with italics, so pay attention and don't sue me for plagiarism! I wouldn't dream of such an offense against the great JRR!!
Further notes: My Elvish resources are: the LOTR trilogy, The Silmarillion, The Complete Guide to Middle-earth by Robert Foster, the LOTR movie soundtrack's lyric booklet, and the Ardalambion website.
Replies to reviews:
Treehugger: (wide-eyed stare) A Black Arrow? For me? Ohmagosh, I've created a monster… LOL Thanks for the long and speedy review! In a fiendish sort of way, I hope you like Chapter Twelve, with its wonderful conclusion to my cliffhanger (evil cackle). :)
Staggering Wood-elf: Hi there! Thanks for the great review, glad you liked the chapter! And here are six exclamation points just for you. !!!!!! :)
Cassia: OHMAGARSH, I've been reviewed by one of my all-time FAVORITE authors here at FF.net!!!! What do I do? Oh, uh, here's a whole batch of chocolate Elf lords and a bag of gummy Rangers, just because you REVIEWED ME!!!!! And you are a genius if you can figure out what I'm going to do here…do tell me if you were right, because I'd love to know! Enjoy!
Salak: Oh, nin mellon, I am sorry about the long time between the updates (see notes at the end of this chapter). I hope you dance for this chapter as much as you have for previous ones! Enjoy! :)
Raen: Thanks for the smiley faces! I'm so glad you're back on the board; I missed you terribly. Do keep reading (and reviewing) so nicely! :)
Now, on with the tale…
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For Frodo, it seemed as though the world was moving at not quite half-speed; whether the delay in his perception was caused by fear or by shock, he could not know. Events registered on him slowly, and yet their portent reached him with terrible swiftness and clarity. He saw the silver arrow burst from within the snapping flames, and for one delirious moment he wondered if the fire itself might have given birth to the cruel barb. Then he watched in open-mouthed dismay as the arrow struck its target with fatal precision. Boromir rocked back on his heels as the glinting shaft drove into his chest, the spiteful tip of it piercing all the way through his heart and emerging victoriously out the back.
In the course of his Quest, Frodo had garnered some experience with death. He had suffered the deepest sorrow when Gandalf had fallen into the shadows of the chasm beneath the Bridge of Khazâd-dûm, and even the wizard's miraculous return could not fully erase the pain that memory carried with it. But never before had Frodo been so close at hand for a violent death such as the one that befell Boromir. The Man stood unmoving for a moment, blinking and touching the dart embedded in his breast, as if he could not quite fathom what had happened. At length he turned a glazed stare upon Frodo and the others, and said hoarsely, "Run, little ones!" Then he collapsed, and lay with unseeing eyes directed up at the stars.
Sam yanked at Frodo's arm. "Run, Mr. Frodo! Run!"
Frodo moved sluggishly, still absorbing the horrific event they had witnessed. Merry and Pippin joined Sam in his frantic attempts to drag Frodo away from the fire and whatever foe lay beyond it. Frodo shook his head and stumbled along with his fellow hobbits, clutching the fiery branch between numb fingers. His heart slammed against his ribs in terror, and his lungs heaved in quick gasps. He could not find the voice to cry out to Aragorn or the Elves for help. "Sam," he panted. "Call to the others! I have not the breath!"
Sam opened his mouth to do as his master had asked, but ere he could make a single sound there came a harsh, rasping voice from past the flames and the still body of Boromir. The words it spoke chilled Frodo's blood, despite the heat of the flames licking closer along the bough he held. The insistent cries of his friends, the tugging at his arms, and the seemingly distant wailing of the embattled Nazgûl all faded away, swallowed up by that voice.
"Surrender, Frodo Baggins," it demanded.
Frodo's feet dragged, and he suddenly found that it was all he could do to keep moving away from the fire and the enemy beyond. A flare of anger rose in him then, as he realized that it was the Ring's doing, that the cursed thing was eagerly striving to return to the hand of its Master's servant so that it might be reunited with the Dark Lord whose essence it preserved. "No!" he cried, casting a terrified glance backwards. He threw himself doggedly forward, helped by his friends' hands. In his haste, he dropped the flaming branch, which thankfully sputtered and died instead of setting the green grass ablaze.
"Strider!" Sam cried out. "Strider, where are you?"
"Frodo!" the Ranger answered faintly amid the metallic clang of distant combat, but he sounded much too far away. Neither Alcarin nor Lelemir replied; Frodo and his fellows had not a spare moment to wonder how the two fared.
There was a loud series of thuds behind them, and Merry and Pippin gave a yelp of fear. Frodo could make no sound, but his fright was no less. The enemy had leaped over the fire, emerging from the darkness like an apparition fabricated within some poor soul's nightmares. In the place of a black-swathed Rider in pursuit there was a creature garbed in silver, mounted upon a silver and white horse. A great bow of the same hue as its owner's raiment hung strapped to the saddle, having been so placed after its arrow had slain Boromir. The gaping cavern within the Rider's thickly draped hood yawned ominously at the hobbits, and there was no visible countenance therein.
Frodo expected the strange silver-wrapped Rider to charge, and he made ready to throw his friends to the ground that they might survive the onslaught, but to his amazement no attack came at first. Instead, the creature spoke again, sounding as though all the moisture in its throat had dried up and turned to grit. "Surrender, or you shall see your companions slain before your eyes ere you are taken!" it hissed.
Pippin gasped, but Merry kept hold of Frodo's elbow and shouted, "If you want him, you'll have to put us all down first!"
"No," Frodo whispered to himself. The Silver Rider drew a long white blade from a sheath at its belt, and though its make was familiar, Frodo had no time to contemplate it. Tendrils of despair twined around his heart, for he knew in that moment that no rescue was coming. Aragorn and Alcarin were beset by the Black Riders, and could not free themselves soon enough. Lelemir had vanished into the night, waging a desperate battle with the fifth Nazgûl. Boromir was dead; his sword lay still in his limp fingers. Frodo then looked at Sam, and as he gazed upon the other hobbit's alarmed face, he knew that he could not allow the deaths of his friends in a vain effort to save himself. Neither could he let the Ring he carried fall into the hands of the Dark Lord's servant, however; hence, there was only one course left to him. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he pulled Sam close to his side so that the Silver Rider's view of their hands would be mostly blocked.
"Sam," Frodo whispered, just loudly enough so that his friend could hear. "Take this. Do what you must."
Sam felt a small cold weight pressed into his hand, and he stared down in shock at the gold and silver glint in his palm. Though the fire's light was dimmed at that distance, and his own shadow hindered its flickering beams, the stars and Moon were more than adequate to reveal Frodo's offering. The Ring lay there, still secure on the silver chain that Frodo had worn about his neck. "Mr. Frodo, no!" Sam said in horror, thrusting the thing back at his master. "What do you mean by giving me this? I shall not take it, sir!"
Frodo quailed at the yearning in his heart to recover the Ring he had borne; had it so great a hold on him already that he could not bear to be parted with it? "Take it, Sam!" he hissed frantically. Then he dug into his pocket and swiftly gave over the radiant Phial of Galadriel, the Lady's gift to him upon his first departure from Lórien. Somehow, Frodo knew that it would better serve Sam than it would himself.
Sam looked at his master with wide, fearful eyes, and his expression begged Frodo for some kind of explanation. "But, Mr. Frodo, these are yours!" he whimpered uncomprehendingly.
In a burst of desperation, fueled perhaps by the knowledge that the Silver Rider was growing impatient, Frodo pushed Sam away, saying only, "Beware Men, for they easily fall prey!"
"What's happened?" Pippin cried.
There was no time for reply, as at that moment the silver horse reared up with a mighty shriek and bore down on the hobbits with frightening speed. Frodo shoved Merry and Pippin to the side so that they would not be trampled beneath the beast's hooves, and then he ran, at once terrified and exuberant; for though his own capture was almost certain, he had not failed in his duty. The Ring would be taken to Mount Doom and cast to its destruction, not by a Baggins after all, but by Samwise Gamgee. Aragorn and the others would surely aid Sam just as well as they had done for Frodo, and with their help the Quest would yet succeed. The Enemy had not yet won.
But all such thoughts of anticipated victory were driven from Frodo's mind as a chorus of hoof beats thundered in his ears. He was suddenly yanked from the ground, feet kicking in the air, and held tightly in the grasp of silver claws from which there could be no escape. Frodo felt himself being hoisted effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing at all, and then he was slung over the cold silvery saddle. The reins slapped his face and neck. Cold dread seized his heart. His skin crawled at the nearness of the creature that held him clasped about the chest with an unbreakable grip. And Frodo found air enough in his constricted lungs to give a single, desolate cry. "Aragorn!"
If there was an answer, Frodo did not hear it, for the silver steed that bore him tore across the plain with the swiftness of a storm wind. And the Silver Rider, having snatched its prey, turned its mount to the northwest and fled, disappearing into the night as suddenly as it had come.
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Sam Gamgee heard the despairing cry of his master, but both Frodo and his strange silver-clad pursuer had evaporated into the night that lay outside of the fire's dancing gleam. "Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, scrambling to his feet. He pushed the Phial into his pocket, wincing at the necessity of the somewhat uncouth handling of the Lady's gift, and he drew his sword with his right hand, still clutching the Ring in his left. There was no reply to his call, and Sam felt fear surging in his throat as he considered what might have happened. "Mr. Frodo, it's your Sam calling! Can you hear me? Oh, answer me, do!" The hobbit squinted as he tried to see past the dark curtain before him, and for once in his life he really did wish he had Elf-eyes instead of his own.
"Frodo! Answer us, lad! Where are you?" Merry cried out, also sliding his blade from its short scabbard and peering into the shadows.
"What if he's gone? Taken, I mean?" Pippin asked quaveringly, and the tip of his sword trembled tellingly. "What will we do?"
"I suppose we'll think of that when we get to it, but right now Frodo needs us. Come on!" Sam commanded. "Hold on, Mr. Frodo, we're coming for you, sir!" he called, heading in the direction Frodo and the Rider had taken.
He was promptly halted by a towering figure that emerged from the darkness in a swirl of dark robes. The Nazgûl's blackened sword sang through the air in a vicious arc, and would have cleaved Sam in two if he had not been yanked backwards by Merry and Pippin. The hobbits set up a loud cry of alarm, retreating as fast as they possibly could. Their short swords they held before them, but the blades seemed pitifully small when compared with the heavy weapon wielded by the Black Rider. Sam in particular hastened to get away from the creature, for he still clutched the gold band and its chain to his breast, and he knew the Rider would be looking for it specifically. Sam did not know whether the Rider could sense the Ring's presence since he hadn't put it on, but he did not want to make himself an obvious target.
"See here, you big dead thing, I'm tired of you chasing us!" Merry shouted defiantly, his voice shaking only a little. "Why don't you go bother someone your own size?"
"They already have Frodo, what do they want with us?" Pippin choked out under his breath.
The Nazgûl did not reply to either of them, but merely continued to advance. It raised its black-hafted weapon and prepared to strike its prey down. Sam tried to cry out to Strider again, but there was no air in his lungs. Fear had stolen his breath away. "Oh, dear Mr. Frodo, dear sir," he mumbled. "I've failed you." For he expected at any moment to be cut down by the wraith's blade, and then dispossessed of the very Ring he and the others had pledged to destroy at any cost. He had not only failed Frodo, but all of Middle-earth as well.
Never before had Sam felt such a heavy weight on his heart; he suddenly understood well his master's burden, and also the strange anxiety he had seen in Frodo's eyes on the occasions when the other hobbit had thought no one was looking at him. Frodo had carried with him not only a Ring and a vow, but also the constant harrowing dread that he would fail, to the ruin of everyone he knew and loved. Had not Sam's heart been filled with terror, it would have swelled with pride to consider Frodo's courage. As it was, Sam crushed his hand and the Ring to his heart and raised his sword, determined to keep the thing from the Enemy as long as possible.
The Black Rider paused then, as if deciding which of the hobbits it would slay first, and Sam heard Pippin swallow hard beside him. Suddenly, the Rider let out a piercing shriek as a shining blade engraved with Elf-runes burst through the front of its black shroud. As the astonished hobbits watched, the Rider was speared quickly through its immaterial chest, and then the flashing long-knife was snatched back out and driven through the creature's empty hood. The wraith stumbled forward and whipped around to face its attacker, howling dreadfully; Sam did not know if the thing could feel pain, or if it was just angry at the interruption. He and the others drew back as far as they could, thinking to avoid being trampled in the ensuing battle. They were relieved and curious, however, for they knew not to whom they owed their lives.
"Si hi tela, thaur Úlairi!" cried a familiar voice. This ends now, foul wraith!
It was Lelemir, returned from the dark into which she had disappeared some time before, battling perhaps the very same Nazgûl that she now challenged. Her flaxen hair fell about her face in disarray, and a streak of crimson blood ran down one side of her countenance, but her bright eyes sparked with pique. "I am not so easily overcome, fell creature!" she snapped, bringing her long and deceptively trim blade to bear once more, so fiercely that it thrust the heavier Nazgûl weapon to the side. "And these little ones are not yours to take this night!"
Sam, Merry and Pippin watched in amazement as the Elf princess drove the larger Nazgûl backwards through sheer force of will. The Rider seemed somewhat surprised by her ire, and was apparently willing to give ground in order to wear out her tenacity. Lelemir gave the creature no respite as she whipped her blade about in tight arcs and complex spirals, seeking a hole in the Nazgûl's defense. Impalement would in no way harm the creature, yet the Rider fended off the attack out of habit and reflex. Their weapons clashed with metallic rasps and strident clangs, sliding apart only briefly before coming back together. The Nazgûl's blade scored twice, but the hurts were minor, and Lelemir persisted with little more than a pained grimace to alert the enemy to her injuries. Yet though her long-knife was quick, she was unable to tear again into the shifting black robes of her opponent; the wraith was a skilled combatant, and it blocked every blow just soon enough.
Then the Nazgûl reared back quite suddenly and dealt a brutal blow, one that flung Lelemir to the ground and knocked her weapon from her hand. The Elf maiden tried to leap up, but her foe planted a blackened metal boot on the back of her shoulders and pinned her to the earth. She grasped for her fallen blade, but it lay beyond her fingers' reach. Sam gave a horrified cry and thought to charge to her rescue, for the Rider was raising its sword to deliver the killing blow. Lelemir made no sound, and her golden hair spilled to the ground to obscure her expression; only her fingers clawing into the grass betrayed her fright.
Just as Sam mustered his courage, he was relieved to see Aragorn charge into view near the Nazgûl and its intended victim. With a wordless shout, the Ranger swung his heavy sword in a vicious arc that knocked the Rider's blade away from Lelemir's prone form. "By Elbereth, you shall claim no more victims tonight!" Aragorn declared grimly.
The Black Rider shrieked, enraged at having been thwarted yet again. It had no choice but to release Lelemir and contend with the new threat posed by the Man. Lelemir sprang up, gasping for air; the Nazgûl's tread had lain heavy upon her for those moments, and all the breath had been crushed from her lungs. She seized her blade from the ground and made as if to rejoin the battle, but she was halted by Aragorn's command: "Lelemir, stay with the hobbits and guard them!"
Sam feared for a moment that the princess would argue, but she did not, choosing instead to obey the Ranger's directive. Lelemir slowly backed away from the escalating battle between Aragorn and the Nazgûl, directing a fierce glare at the creature before turning away. She darted over to where the hobbits clustered together in a tight knot, wisely keeping her blade at the ready in case of another attack. Her gray eyes swept the three gathered before her. "Where is Frodo?" she queried in a dreadful tone that brooked no hedging.
"G-gone," Pippin stammered out, unnerved by the implacable ferocity yet seething behind the Elf's calm gaze. "A silver Rider got him. We couldn't stop it." This last ended in a strangled sob, as the hobbit was unable to contain his grief any longer.
Lelemir cast a bleak look across the grass at Aragorn, who fought still with the Rider, and she touched a hand to her heart as though it ached. "The Ring is captive, then?" she murmured.
Sam could barely speak, but he pressed the words out of his clogged throat. "No, Princess. I…I have it here, in my hand."
Lelemir's gaze snapped round and lanced through the hobbit. For a long moment, she did not speak. Then she answered very quietly, "You have it? How did this come to pass, Master Perian?"
"Mr. Frodo gave it to me!" Sam cried miserably, clenching the Ring so tightly his fingers throbbed. "I didn't want it, but he gave it anyway! Right before the Rider took him!" With those words, Sam lost all control of himself and began to weep inconsolably. He dropped to his knees and doubled over, pressing his forehead into the cool grass. He no longer cared that a battle yet raged nearby, nor did he hear the ringing of the swords as they smashed together. In his ears was the last cry of his master, and in his memory he saw only Frodo's desperate face. Heaving sobs shook his entire body, and he was dimly aware that Merry and Pippin knelt at his sides.
It seemed to Sam that several hours flew by the wayside, but in reality there was very little passage of time. The next things he knew were the gentle hands at his shoulders, lifting his face from the ground. He blinked his tear-swollen eyes at Aragorn, whose face reflected gentle concern. "Are you still with us, Master Samwise?" the Ranger asked softly.
Sam swallowed, and then whispered, "Yes." His throat was very dry. Merry and Pippin had not moved, and they wordlessly touched their friend's shoulders to offer support if it was needed. Sam could not bring himself to smile, not even weakly, so raw was his grief for Frodo. He realized with a start that the wailing of the Nazgûl had ceased, as had the metallic ringing of battle. "Is it over?" he asked, coughing.
Aragorn handed the hobbit a flask of water, glancing behind Sam as if exchanging glances with someone. "Yes, for the moment," he answered. "The Riders have all fled."
Sam drank gratefully, but as soon as he had finished he was once again conscious of the small, cold weight in his hand. He took in a deep breath. "Strider," he forced out, "Mister Frodo is gone. The thing that killed Boromir took Frodo as well, but I don't know if it killed him or not; it was too dark to see. But I have the Ring here. And Galadriel's gift." His words were choppy and all out of order, but Sam was too tired and depressed to care overmuch.
Aragorn nodded wearily. His face was lined with pain. "Yes, Sam, I know. It grieves me to question you on the matter, for your heart is perhaps the most wounded of all, but I must know this: was it a Nazgûl that took Frodo?"
"It was like one, but not quite," Merry answered for Sam. "It was all dressed in silver, and rode a silver horse instead of black. And it spoke to us!" The hobbit shuddered in remembering. "It spoke to us," he repeated softly. "It told Frodo to surrender, and that it would kill us if he didn't."
"That is most unusual. The Nine do not normally bargain with their prey," said Alcarin's fluid voice. He was behind Sam, somewhere to the left.
"I wonder now if it is indeed to be counted among the Nine," Aragorn said somberly. "Lady Galadriel gave me word of a strange silver-clad rider ere we departed Lórien the second time, but none there knew aught of its origin or its motive. I believe it has at last revealed its purpose this night; but I am yet mystified as to its loyalty. Does it indeed heed the call of the Dark One in Barad-dûr, or is its master some other unknown foe?" Turning back to Sam, he then asked, "Did the creature say anything else?"
Sam shook his head. "No, no, nothing else. Mr. Frodo gave me the Ring and ran away, to get the Rider away from the rest of us, I suppose, now that I'm thinking of it." He looked down at the ground, feeling new tears stinging his already sore eyes. "And then we heard him call out, and that was the end of it. The next thing we knew, Mr. Frodo was gone and one of the Black Riders was attacking us."
Aragorn's dark eyes were shadowed with sadness, and his tone was compassionate. "And so you are now the Ring Bearer, Samwise Gamgee. Are you prepared to accept that charge?"
Sam met the Ranger's gaze. "No, sir, I'm not," he said honestly. "But for Mr. Frodo's sake, sir, I'll try my hardest."
The Dúnadan nodded once, acknowledging that. "Then I give my pledge to you as well; that if by my life or death I may aid you, so be it. My sword is at your service."
Sam bit his lip, hoping his fear didn't show too much. "Thank you," he whispered.
"What will we do now?" Pippin asked softly.
Aragorn stood, pulling Sam to his feet as well, and ushered the hobbits toward the dying fire. "There is nothing to be done tonight except to rest and recover from this night's hardship," he said. "Tomorrow we continue for Edoras."
"What about Frodo?" Merry ventured flatly.
Sam saw the Ranger's shoulders slump a little, as though he carried a great load to which another burden had been added. "We cannot help him now," Aragorn said firmly. His tone was strained; and while Sam hated the words, he knew that Aragorn despised them all the more, for he was the one required to utter them. "Frodo's fate lies in other hands. We must continue on and carry out the Quest Frodo began, or his journey thus far was in vain."
At that, Pippin began to weep, but very quietly. Merry took his friend aside and sat with him, holding the younger hobbit's shoulders comfortingly. Sam sank to the ground next the two; the terror and sorrow of the night had quite exhausted him, even without including all the running and hauling Frodo along. Aragorn was busy stoking the fire, and the Elves stood guard as they had before, if not more vigilantly. Sam watched Aragorn for a time, and it was then that he noticed that Boromir's body was missing from where he had fallen by the fireside. He looked all around, and finally saw the figure lying flat on the ground on the opposite side of the blaze. Boromir had been covered with a thick cloak; Aragorn's, most likely.
Aragorn caught Sam's look, and he sighed sadly. ""A noble man, and a true son of Gondor," he murmured. "How I wish he had not come to this end, and so far from home! But there is nothing to be done now, save to bring tidings to his father and brother in Minas Tirith."
Sam remembered Frodo's last words to him: "Beware Men, for they easily fall prey!" He felt a sudden inexplicable surge of fear at the notion of entering the greatest City of Men, but he kept those thoughts to himself. "What shall we do with…with the body?" he asked hesitantly.
"I would that we were able to carry it to Denethor, so that he could give his son and heir a proper funeral," Aragorn replied. "But we cannot. Therefore Alcarin and I will construct a sort of pyre in the early morning, and thence we will bid farewell to Boromir. Alas! this should not have happened," he muttered, and then fell silent, and would say no more on the matter for the moment.
Sam was quiet for a long while afterwards, and then he looked at Aragorn again. As if for the first time, he perceived the rents in the Ranger's clothing and the bloody gash at his temple. "Oughtn't someone to look after your wounds, Mr. Strider?" Sam asked, reaching for his pack to find some cloth and the healing salve given him by one of the Elves of Lórien.
Aragorn smiled faintly in spite of his grimness. "If you're of a mind to, Sam, then I suppose you must. Thank you for your consideration." For the Ranger knew that activity would remove painful thoughts of Frodo, for some moments at least, and he wished to give Sam what respite was possible. Therefore he shed his thick outer tunic and allowed Sam to tend his cuts as the hobbit thought best. The injuries were trifling compared to others Aragorn had suffered in the past, but he was greatly heartened by Sam's concern.
When Sam had finished, he stood back and brushed off his hands. He was not quite his old self, not really; the grief in his face remained still, and Aragorn suspected it would not fade for a long while. The voice was almost like the old Sam's, however. "Well, that will have to do, I suppose. Not very good, maybe; certainly not as good as Master Elrond would have it, but there's nothing to be done about that. Do you hurt any less, Strider?"
Aragorn smiled in return. "Aye, Master Samwise, I feel much better. Although I expect I still look as foul as ever I have, wouldn't you say so?"
Sam stared at him, then gave a surprised chuckle. Aragorn was referring to a remark Frodo had made in Bree, soon after the hobbits had first met the mysterious Ranger called Strider. A letter from Gandalf had proven Strider's sincerity, and Frodo had said that he'd believed the Ranger to be a friend even before such proof was given, for "one of his spies would—well, seem fairer and feel fouler, if you understand." And "his" had referred to the Enemy.
Strider had merely laughed, replying, "I see. I look foul and feel fair. Is that it?" So now, with his question to Sam, the Dúnadan was making a small jest.
"I do say so, Mr. Strider, I do," Sam answered, a tiny smile still tugging the corners of his mouth upward despite the haunted look in his eyes. "But here now! It is Lelemir's turn, for I know she was hurt while protecting us from the Rider before you came. Where is she?"
"She and Alcarin stand guard, but I will take her place for a time," Aragorn said. "Wait, and I shall send her to you." With that, he stood and replaced his outer tunic, then moved away into the shadows.
Some moments after, Lelemir did indeed arrive, and she came to sit by Sam. The severity of her earlier expression had faded, and she once more appeared the calm and kind princess Sam had come to trust and care for as he had her brother Legolas. The thought of the missing Elf brought yet another lump of pain to Sam's throat, but he swallowed it, unwilling to drown himself in his own hurt. He instead concentrated on Lelemir. He had seen the bleeding cut on her brow earlier, and now he observed the slashes left in her tunic by the Ringwraith's cruel blows. The earthen-brown riding leather of her outer clothing was ripped, but more distressing were the rust-colored stains gathered around the tears.
"Begging your pardon, Lady Lelemir, but it won't do to leave those cuts to themselves," Sam said, blushing. "May I tend them?"
Lelemir smiled gently, having spoken to Aragorn before coming over. "Of course, Sam. Is that a salve of Lórien I smell? I thought so; the Galadhrim are skilled in the craft of healing." As she spoke, she unstrapped her quiver and Elven-sheaths from her back, and then gingerly removed her outer travel tunic, revealing the morning-gray raiment beneath. One of the wounds traced a russet path slantwise across the bone directly beneath the juncture between her neck and shoulders; and also the ribs on the lower right side had taken a blow. Lelemir spoke reassuringly to Sam, saying, "It is truly much less appalling than it appears, Master Perian. Remember, the Elves heal quickly, and with less strain than do mortals!"
"All the same, I would feel better if there was at least some balm on those wounds," Sam said stubbornly. "And I insist on cleaning the cut on your forehead. It won't do to leave it, I say!"
Lelemir waved a hand submissively. "Then you must certainly do as you will, Sam, for I shall not hinder such determination to show kindness. Only leave the other wounds to me; I shall attend to them myself."
Sam agreed, and it was with great tenderness and care that he cleaned the blood from the Elf maiden's fair features. The cut, he was relieved to see, was small, and so when he had cleaned it, he applied a dab of salve and pronounced it tended.
Lelemir had sat still and quiet throughout the hobbit's ministrations, but now she smiled appreciatively at him, so that he blushed again and ducked his head. "Thank you, Master Perian. Surely I could not have asked for a better mending. And now, as I said, I will tend the other wounds. Sit beside me for a while, and speak if you wish."
Sam sat down, for thus far his short stature had compelled him to remain standing in order to see to his companions' injuries. He watched Lelemir part the slashed fabric concealing the wound at her left shoulder, and she winced fleetingly as she dabbed the blood away. Then she did as the hobbit had, cleaning and spreading healing salve on the cut. She repeated the process for the injury to her ribs.
"Thank you for saving us from the Black Rider," Sam said suddenly, as if just remembering. "I forgot to tell Aragorn the same, but I will tell you now. Thank you for saving our lives."
Lelemir sighed then, and for a moment she gazed into the fire with a curious sadness in her eyes. At length she spoke. "Truly, Aragorn deserves your gratitude more than I. I was foolish to rush upon the Ringwraith as I did. I was rash to think that I alone could best the creature, for it had just put me to the ground but a minute earlier! Nay, Sam, I very nearly caused the deaths of us all, and for that I must ask forgiveness."
Sam was surprised at her words. "Well, I forgive you, even though I don't rightly see how it's your fault the Rider is as nasty as it is. You stopped it from slicing us right down the middle, didn't you? I think that's reason enough for thankfulness on my part."
"Nevertheless, I should have attempted to draw the wraith away from you and the others, instead of trying to overpower it as I did," Lelemir said softly. "Legolas and I inherited our father's pride in place of our mother's temperance, I know. And now I fear that Aragorn and Alcarin think me a child, impulsive and unreliable." She turned her face to Sam, and regarded him soberly. "I swear to you, Samwise Gamgee, I shall not make the same mistake again as I did this night. But if you now regret my presence with you, I will go with all haste, for I would not cause you more worry." In her voice and expression there was no pleading, and neither was there any manner of wheedling; her words were genuine, of that Sam was sure.
"Nonsense," he said kindly. "If you'll excuse my saying so, Lady Lelemir, it is silly twaddle to even think of your leaving us. I won't have it, and I'm sure Strider and Lord Alcarin feel the same. And I do feel safer with you here," Sam added firmly. "Whatever your mistake, it's pretty clear to me that you know about it (even if I don't), and have resolved to fix it, so there's no need for this talk of leaving!" For emphasis, he snorted in a way that was oddly reminiscent of Bilbo. "Leaving, indeed!"
Lelemir stared at him for a long moment, and then her face was transformed as a brilliant smile broke into her expression. "A burden is lifted from my heart, Master Perian," she told him. "You have eased my troubles somewhat, and for that I heartily thank you. But come!" She lowered her voice. "We must speak more quietly, for your companions have fallen asleep."
Sam looked over and saw that it was true; Merry and Pippin had curled up and drifted off into slumber. "Ah, well, they need the rest," he muttered. "And so do I. But I don't think I shall be able to sleep. Is Lord Alcarin in need of tending?" he asked abruptly.
Lelemir had finished seeing to her own wounds, and she eased her outer tunic back on and refastened her weapons to her person. "I do not know, but I shall certainly ask him. Again, thank you, for both the mending and your words." Then she was gone once more, into the darkness of the aging night.
Sam sat alone for a few moments, thinking. He wondered, as he had many times already, where Frodo was, and what he was doing. Sam supposed his master was likely still being carried on the silver horse, since it hadn't been long since his capture. "Where are you going, Mr. Frodo?" he murmured to himself. "And what will happen when you get there?" He sighed and looked down at his hands, feeling new tears creeping into his tired eyes. Sam hadn't the heart to place the Ring at his neck just yet, so instead he had slipped it into his pocket, the one unoccupied by the Phial of Galadriel; somehow, it had seemed wrong to nest the two objects within the same pocket. He felt an urge to take the Ring out and look at it, but he shook his head and refused to do so; just carrying the thing was unnerving enough, without concentrating on its presence.
"It would avail you much to sleep now," said a clear, gentle voice from above, "for troubles often seem most bleak when viewed through eyes heavy with weariness."
Sam looked up at Alcarin, who was just then folding his long frame down upon the ground next to the hobbit. Sam fidgeted with the grass in front of his crossed legs; he was still a little shy around the Elf. Younger, merrier folk such as Legolas and Lelemir were one thing; old and powerful lords like Alcarin were quite another. Sam didn't know exactly how to address him. "You're right, of course, Lord Alcarin," the hobbit said politely, "but I think I would feel the same way even if I'd had a long rest beforehand, sir."
Alcarin's dark gray eyes shone with firelight, reminding Sam of the fierce sheen that had come upon the Elf during the battle with the Nazgûl. "Mayhap, Master Perian, mayhap. This has been a distressing eve for all, and most especially for you and your companions. I see that the masters Brandybuck and Took have taken their leave already."
Sam nodded, glancing at his slumbering friends. "That they did, sir. Myself, I'm too tired to sleep, if you know what I mean. And I can't stop thinking about poor Mr. Frodo, either," he added glumly. "I wish he were still here, or even that I had been snared with him. At least then he wouldn't be all alone with that monster that took him!"
"Your fear for your master's plight is admirable," Alcarin said softly. "But think on this: had you been captured alongside Frodo, of what help could you be to him, or to this Fellowship? Would Frodo not grieve all the more for your entrapment in the midst of the peril that has seized him?"
Sam lowered his head and said nothing for several moments. Finally, he replied, "Yes, I suppose that's true. Mr. Frodo wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to the rest of us; that's why he ran off in such a hurry, so the creature would pay attention to him and not us."
Alcarin sighed at length, and his tone was sorrowful. "I too mourn Frodo's loss, Samwise. There are few in my recollection whose courage and spirit matched those of your master. Had I the power, I would pursue him even now, and wrest him away from the Enemy myself. But alas! such was not meant to be. Frodo's fate now rests in the fair hands of the Lady of the Stars."
At that, Sam looked up at the glittering field of lights sprayed across the darkness above. He remembered the green leaf that had fallen into Frodo' lap in the boat, and Aragorn's words about hobbits being under Elbereth's protection just as Men were. He touched the Phial still in his pocket, and focused a silent plea upon the brightest star he could find. Whether it was indeed Gil-Estel, Sam didn't know, but all the same he felt a little better.
Abruptly, Sam remembered his purpose in requesting Alcarin's presence. "Oh, me dear!" he muttered. "I had completely forgot what I was going to ask you, Lord Alcarin. I was wondering, did those Black Riders hurt you at all? What I mean to say is, do you need any tending? I would be happy to do it for you, sir. If you want me to, that is, because I certainly can, and it would be a privilege." Sam felt his ears burning with his own awkwardness.
But Alcarin chuckled deep in his throat. "I thank you, Master Hobbit, but nay, the wraiths touched me not at all. Theirs was a potent defense, to be sure, but they had not the strength to injure."
"I should have expected that, sir," Sam said truthfully, though privately he was awed.
The Elf lord's expression took on a serious air. "Such is not always so, Samwise. There were but two Nazgûl set upon me, and while they were endurable, I assure you that mine was no easy task. I say this not to lessen your confidence, but to forestall impressions of invulnerability. Even I would be hard-pressed to repel, as was once said, an Orc army."
Sam realized that Alcarin was referring to his whispered comment in the Hall of Lórien. He blushed even more furiously than before. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.
Alcarin's expression remained open and amused. "Be not discomfited, Master Perian. There is no need to treat me as royalty, for that is not my place and I shall not behave as such. Neither are you obliged to address me as 'lord,' for that is a title reserved for use by those under my command in Rivendell. Friends do not address each other so formally, I think. Therefore, if it seems good to you, I will no longer call you by your proper name of Samwise, but merely Sam, and also Master Perian, for that is what you are in the Elder Tongue; and you may in return apply to me my given name, Alcarin."
Sam looked in wonder at the Elf-lord; for in truth, he had not expected such kindliness. Alcarin was dignified and gracious after the fashion of his kindred, but he had a rather grave manner about him that did not lend itself to overt friendliness. Yet perhaps he had sensed Sam's uneasiness, and wished to alleviate it. "Well, sir, you've surprised me, no lying about that," Sam finally said. "But I think I prefer your suggestion. I will be Sam to you. Though I will probably slip at one time or another and use your title, if that's all right."
Alcarin gave the hobbit a smile, and replied, "Yes, that will be forgiven on occasion." His fair features relaxed then, and his gaze grew concerned. "Now, as your friend, Sam, I must ask how you fare at this moment. Though a smile touches your face, your spirit remains bowed. I fear what may happen if you do not regain your confidence ere you embark upon your task; for I have seen many a valiant soul crumble inwardly with grief, only to give way under the strain of hardship."
Sam's hand went to his pocket without his even realizing, and he swallowed. "I don't know about the crumbling part, Lor—I mean, Alcarin. But I do feel a little empty inside, like a piece of me got torn out and taken away with Mr. Frodo." His voice faltered a bit when he spoke Frodo's name, and it seemed as though a well of feeling he hadn't known existed had opened up inside. "He wasn't just my master, you see, but my dearest friend as well. I couldn't bear it if anyone was cruel to him."
Alcarin's face was grave. "I see that your heart grieves more bitterly than most, Sam, and more so now that you must decide the fate of this burden that was thrust upon you. That is why you do not wear the Ring about your neck. You do not believe you will have the strength to fulfill the task given you."
Sam was strangely quieted all through at the Elf's words, as though his entire mind had hushed in order to hear. "Yes," he murmured, drawing the Ring from his pocket and laying it on the grass before him. He stared at it forlornly. "Mr. Frodo is so much stronger and wiser than I am. I'm just Sam Gamgee, you know, not a Ringbearer or anything else awfully special. I wasn't chosen by whatever fates picked the Bagginses to get caught up in this whole mess. What if I fail, when he would have succeeded?"
"It is not given to me to see what lies ahead of you, Master Perian," Alcarin told him solemnly. "Yet thus have I seen: while your heart cries out in pain, your kindness drives you to persevere in service to others. Were you not firstly concerned with the welfare of Aragorn, Lelemir and myself? In truth, this is testimony to the stamina of your spirit. Therefore I say to you, Sam, that you possess far more strength than you credit yourself with, and it would be a misfortune indeed were you to underestimate yourself unduly.
"And what of strength and wisdom? Indeed, there are many beings that roam the land who would be deemed by the Wise as far more capable than a young hobbit of the Shire. Yet this charge was given into the hands of just such a hobbit, and your master has served his calling with valor greater than that of numerous purported 'nobler' beings I have witnessed. You and your fellows, Samwise Gamgee, have filled me with wonder in the short time I have known you. Though you know not the way, and are pressed on every side by hardship and peril, you do not waiver. Hence, the source of your strength lies not in bodily might, nor in intellectual prowess; but instead in this—your love for and steadfast allegiance to one another. So long as these bonds remain unbroken by your own will, they shall forever endure, even in the heart of the Shadow.
"One more word of counsel, and then I shall leave you to your rest. Upon every course there are many paths; and though two persons may share a goal, they may not be meant for like paths. Fear not that you will stray from the road Frodo might have chosen, for your way may depart from his ere you reach the goal he strove for. Choose for yourself the paths you will take, Sam, and do not allow your master's shadow to lead you astray. Frodo and Bilbo were indeed chosen by fates, as you call them, to bear the Ring; but who is to say that you were not also chosen, to carry on in their stead?" The Elf lord placed a hand on Sam's shoulder for a brief moment, then removed it and concluded, "I believe you shall indeed persist in your duty, Sam, for that is your way. Such diligence is a gift to be greatly admired."
They sat in silence then, and Sam thought long about what Alcarin had said. He felt no great relief in his heart, for his master's absence was still a heavy pain. But the journey ahead seemed a little less dark, and for that the hobbit was grateful. He looked down again at the Ring, glinting dully in the dying firelight, and it was then that he felt a rush of resolve. "Well, then, if this is my luck, then I may as well take it in full," Sam said aloud. "My old gaffer always says it's best to take things as they come, especially when other folks are at stake."
With that, he grasped the chain and slipped it over his head, tucking the gold band beneath his shirt. Its weight was new and unfamiliar, but at the same time not. It felt right, somehow. Sam didn't know whether that was a good thing, but he hadn't the wits to consider it just then. His eyelids were much heavier than they had been, it seemed, and his yawn was such that he thought he might just split his head in two. "I think I shall sleep now, Lord Alcarin," Sam mumbled drowsily. "Oh, bother, there I go again…"
"Do not trouble yourself, my young friend," Alcarin said softly, watching as the hobbit tipped over and curled up on the grass where he sat. In no time at all, Sam's breathing evened, and he was asleep. Alcarin rose without a sound and returned to his watch under the stars, joining Aragorn and Lelemir in their continuing vigil. There were precious few hours left ere the Daystar would rise, and then would begin their journey to Edoras.
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End of Chapter Twelve.
In the next chapter, I plan to return to Lórien and pick up the continuing story of Gimli and the Elves. This is necessary if I am to further the events concerning the Renewed Fellowship, Lasselanta, and the captive Frodo.
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