Wounds of Greatness
by Camilla Sandman
Author's Note: For siraj, as asked for.
II
In the West, the sun's shadow was a thin line of yellow and red on the horizon. Dawn was upon Gondor and no darkness to hinder it any more. No outer darkness, for Sauron had fallen.
But within, Sauron's ghost could still blacken all and Frodo stood on an empty wall above Minas Tirith, feeling tired and wounded and cold.
The celebrations had been magnificent and all had looked upon him and Sam with wonder, as man might look at the sun after years of blindness. It was more fame and renown than any living could desire. A long time ago he might have revelled in it. A long time ago was not today.
"You fled the feast too, I see," Gimli's deep voice said behind him and Frodo turned, feeling a strange relief it was not Sam; Sam, who would try to make him feel better. "I keep trying to tell Legolas not all love songs as much as Elves."
"It's not that," Frodo muttered, feeling the Dwarf's keen eyes on him, burrowing deep. "They're all here, looking at Sam and me as if we are heroes. I am not."
"You carried the Ring of the Dark Lord to Mordor's heart and Sauron's undoing. Most would proclaim that a heroic act and those who would not are Orcs," Gimli replied, coming to look out over Minas Tirith next to him. The scars of the war were still highly visible with gashes in the buildings bleeding only rock and myrtle. Minas Tirith would be mended, but it would not be the same.
"If not for Gollum, I would not have done it at all."
"If not for you, Gollum would not have done it."
"If not for you, for Legolas, for Aragorn, for Gandalf… If not for all of you, neither Gollum nor I would have done it," Frodo countered quickly.
Gimli smiled. "Perhaps then we are all heroes together and none of us hero merely alone. It is strange times indeed when a Dwarf and an Elf are heroic together."
"It is strange times," Frodo agreed. "I didn't think I would ever be finishing an adventure Bilbo started."
"In a sense, I have too walked a path my father was at the beginning of," Gimli said after a moment. "We have perhaps both lived in a shadow – you in Bilbo's, I in Glóin's. We were both raised with tales of their adventures."
Frodo nodded slowly.
"And when the time came," the Dwarf went on, his pipe blowing smoke into the faint mist, "we were both caught in an adventure far darker and costlier than theirs. And I think this troubles you."
"Yes. I wanted it when I was young. I wanted to exceed him. I love Bilbo, but I wanted my own adventure. I didn't understand…" Frodo halted, staring at his hand, four fingers clutching the white stone.
One of his wounds, but he would have taken many more wounds to his flesh if it had saved him even one from his mind.
"We all dream of doing greater deeds than those who passed before us," Gimli said calmly. "There is no shame in dreams. Wiser men than Frodo Baggins and Gimli, Glóin's son, have found that greater deeds often bring the touch of darkness too. As Legolas's kin learned long ago, as I saw in the shadow of Moria. Great were the halls of Khazad-dûm and great was its fall into shadow. Greatness comes at a cost and few pay it well."
"Do you regret seeing Moria?" Frodo asked, feeling the grief in his friend's voice.
"No; though it felt a mortal wound at the time. I thought my heart might break at the pain and understanding I felt at seeing my kindred's greatness – and fall from it. I will not return to them the same. As you will not to yours, but your wound was deeper and your deeds greater."
"I don't feel great," Frodo said quietly, remembering Aragorn's low bow to him and the overwhelming desire he'd felt to protest it.
"That, my dear Hobbit, is perhaps why you are," Gimli replied, a hint of affection in his voice. "Those who think themselves great men hesitate to do great deeds because they will always consider first whether it will be a great deed in tales or not. But greatness lies not in tales. Greatness is in hope, in courage, in friendship in face of death. It is in your heart, Frodo and you carry the wounds of it."
They were both silent for a while, the mist fading as the air of night did, darkness being chased from the sky, leaving only the blue herald of another day.
"I wish sometimes I was a lesser person," Frodo suddenly said and to his surprise, he felt the Dwarf put a friendly arm on his shoulder, the shoulder that still felt cold from darkness' knife.
"As do I, Master Frodo. As do I."
They stood still, the first rays of sun hitting the white stone of Minas Tirith and driving night's touch into the future when night would come again. But for now, Frodo felt strangely certain, it was going to be a great, great day.
FIN