Faces of War
Chapter 19: Reconciling
Disclaimer...these Characters are the creation of a master writer...I am only "spreading my literary wings" and having fun....for true writing talent....read books by JRR Tolkien
ClaudiaofBree...Can't believe my spell check doesn't have Elvish names in it....there must be program for that somewhere! Thanks for the heads up on spelling...I went back and tried to clean some of that up! I really am enjoying the AU aspect of writing...contrasting Frodo with the children of men has been very interesting...this chapter has more reflective thoughts from Frodo on this matter! Yes, Aragorn is very torn about where his duties lie ( I made some quick adjustments to ch. 18 to show that)...but he fears for the passion and impulsiveness of the hobbits!
LilyBaggins...Thanks for your compliments....I never thought I would "enjoy" conjuring up images of pain and sffering...but writing descriptively is writing to paint a picture....no matter the image eh? Frodo is beginning to see how much trouble he is in...and finding out what his priorities are.....sadly...he does not consider himself a priority.....there will be more angst and foresadowing of a great evil coming his way! Enjoy the chapter....
endymion2...The elves do not play a big role in this story...Legolas is there as a reminder of "fellowship"...and as a backdrop for Gimli's stark demeanor....this is a story of men and hobbits.....I added a little bit to chapter 18 about why Aragorn is not joining the rescue party...yet...he is quite torn between proving himself as King and providing care to those who brought him his "Kingship"!Rosetta is the embodiment fo innocence and childish wonder...a soul made to carry dreams and wonder wherever she goes....a bit "stuck" in her love of stories and "fantasies"...even as her "Sir Frodo" was as a child!
Warning..This chapter will show the depth of Frodo's insecurities and what some will do to satisfy their need to dominate....
This chapter makes some reference to the predatory violence and lust of Anborn...the ruffian who is Dalmer's brother...and who is being "foreshadowed" in this chapter for his entry into the story in chapter 20. Things get pretty rough for dear Frodo...please if you are objecting to this sort of "activity"...all I hope tastefully referenced...move on to chapter 21...or skip the portions of the chapter delineated with ******* across the text ( marking beginning and end of portions you may find 'uncomfortable'...the rest of the story will flow even if you do not read these marked portions)
Frodo spent his first days of consciousness observing the routines the children had fallen into. He himself was too weak to enter the mines and knew he'd have to find a way to show to Dalmer the wisdom of keeping him with the children, he feared for their safety and knew he'd be little help if he were not allowed to stay with them. He set about devising a plan to encourage his captors to keep them all together. He watched the children head to their tasks each day, saw the fear and hopelessness that colored their faces and his plan was set in motion. Frodo was able to convince Dalmer that the children listened to the halfling, and that in exchange for better treatment, he would encourage the children to be more productive in their mining tasks. Frodo grimaced to himself as he watched Toleman, the old cook, come to give Kylos and Rosetta their chores for the day, for while they were absolved of mine work for now, there was still work to be done. He hoped that whatever the day's chore might be, it would lead to more food for the children. Dalmer's notion of 'better treatment' had amounted to one extra piece of bread each day, and while it was not much it was one more hope the children held to.
He watched from his pallet and reflected upon the last few days. The children were finding hope, hope in the plans he was making for their escape, hope in the nights of softly spoken tales and hushed elven tunes he sang to soothe their fears. He watched as Kylos set about peeling a vast quantity of potatoes while Rosetta was given the task of grinding wheat in a small hand mill. Frodo waited patiently for the cook to bring him his chore and smiled at the thought of what Sam would think to see him, the master of Bag End, setting up to help with food preparation. As he awaited Toleman's task Frodo watched warily as the large burley form of Galen shadowed his resting place. Frodo shrank back a bit, the memory of the pain Galen'd inflicted, necessary though it had been deemed, was still fresh in his mind.
"Now jest ye lie still halfling, I'll not hurt ye if I can help it" the guards gruff voice said softly. Frodo groaned as Galen knelt down and began to unwrap the dressings from his foot. He winced, his foot throbbed as the gradual release of the dressings allowed his leg to show it's swelling. As gentle as the large guard tried to be, any jostling of the foot brought pain and Frodo felt tears come to his eyes as he fought to keep still. Galen looked at the foot appraisingly "hurts ye some I see...I am tryin' ta be kind ta ya little one, but it does need tendin' "
Frodo nodded wordlessly, he sensed that this burley man would help them, and that his fear and mistrust had best be saved for those more likely to enact Dalmer's foul commands. As Galen finished unwrapping the foot and began to wash it once more in the herbs given him by Toleman, he pursed his lips in worry. Frodo watched Galen face and saw the concern in his dark eyes. He tried to sit up to see that which worried the man but Galen pressed his hands gently to the halflings shoulders to keep him down "rest easy there little one, 'twill do ya no good ta be
fussin' " he said quietly. Galen rocked back on his heels and contemplated the options before him, the halflings foot was becoming infected, he saw the beginning of pale red streaks upon the foot and noted the dry heat radiating from the leg.
With a deeply indrawn breath Frodo said with quiet resignation "I am aware that it is becoming infected" he looked to where Kylos and Rosetta were toiling at their task, not wanting to be heard and then continued ..."and while I thank you for all you've done..." he paused once more to choose the right words as Galen stared first at his leg and then to Frodo's clear blue eyes.
The hobbit licked his dry lips and began again "I know that once blood poisoning sets in, well I know that healing is not likely". Galen tried to protest but Frodo stopped him with an angry shake of his dark curls " Do not pretend with me, I am full grown in my land, though as a child I may appear in size to you...I know of what I speak. " He coughed weakly from his verbal exertion and continued "I see that you have a good heart Galen, that you will seek to repair the damages your pain and anger have forced you to. I will need your help to save the children, no matter my state" he said quietly as he inclined his head in the direction of his wounded foot. He reached to grab the big man's arm and held him fast as he whispered " they must be saved."
The shaken hobbit closed his eyes to rest but a moment and Galen took in the refined beauty and grace of his slender features, the quiet acceptance of pain and the brave hope for the children offered through the halflings words and he felt weary. His heart ached for the quietly brave hobbit before him and he resolved to do all in his power to right his own destructive path. Frodo opened his eyes once more, their wide blue expanses bored into Galen heart. "You will help us"
Frodo said, certainty in his voice and relief in his mind.
The steady clop clop of pony hooves and creak of wooden wheels was the sound that echoed through the sparse landscape. The two carts, marking their way with a trail of dust, made their way from the river garrison. The stern faced dwarf raised the water skin to his lips and silently handed it to his companion. Sam took the water with a nod of thanks and then went back to his perusal of the land about him. The day was growing old and the hobbit did not know if it was the lateness of the hour or the burden of his mind, but he'd not felt this weary since Mordor.
Gimli looked to the long face of his cart mate "Mr. Baggins has a strength in him Master Gamgee that is not easily put aside....he'll not give in ta the evil of these men with ease." Sam nodded and sighed "aye, stubborn as the day 'tis long....a regular Baggins trait that, but 'tis just that side 'o his nature that I fear for....he'll not give in a whit and they'll jest hurt him more fer his defiance Gimli." The swarthy dwarf grunted his agreement and the silence of the ride continued. Sam was frustrated by their lack of progress. They'd been to one quarry and the river garrison seeking news, but none was to be had. Their inquiries and questions had raised eyebrows, but no answers had as yet been found.
Sam looked over the dusty plains before him, the vista was sweeping in it's scale. Low lying scrub brush punctuated with dry grasses and the white mountains overshadowing all to their west. The quiet hobbit did not see the views before him, but the abandoned settlements, burned out farms and the carrion of dead livestock that had filled his vision over the past few days. The agony of war had hit the people of Gondor with swift and malicious efficiency. Sam saw in his mind the the vacant stares and hopeless demeanor of the people he'd met on his travels through the region. Soldiers, farmers, craftsmen, women and men alike all bore the deep scars of fear and mistrust that Sauron's legacy of evil had left to them. His heart was forever tied to the love of his friend and master, but his plain hobbit sensibilities were stricken by the horror of Sauron's onslaught. He sighed, saddened by the destruction he'd witnessed and by the despair and anger that went unspoken amongst the peoples of Gondor.
As the day's heat began to fade and the dusty trail of the carts wake gave way to the silent swish of grasses underneath, they had put 10 leagues behind them and were choosing a spot to make camp. Sam, as he had done on journeys past, assumed the role of cook and soon had a camp meal of fried cornmeal, sausage with cabbage, and baked apples warm from the embers of the fire, ready to be eaten. They ate for sustenance with few comments or pleasantries at first. Soon however, Pippin could not resist the urge to compare this meal to one they'd enjoyed as the fellowship had first left Rivendell less than a year ago. Pippin tried to bring his special levity and lightness to the memory and soon had all around the fire laughing with his recounting as he told of Legolas and how taken he'd been with Sam's baked apples when first he tasted them.
"So fond was the Prince of Mirkwood with yer cooking of these apples Sam that when Gandalf sought ta find a light for his pipe, the elf tried ta snitch Gandalf's apple" Pippin said, eyes twinkling in merriment. "Yes...I do recall that our friend the wizard threatened to curl the Prince's hair and turn him into the tallest hobbit ever seen." Merry added. Gimli laughed, his hearty deep sounds of mirth as he remembered that night. Sam smiled at the memory as well and caught up in the spirt of the moment added "and do ye recall that Mr. Frodo said that if Gandalf would turn the Prince's hair black in the process he'd accept him as a Baggins....since they were already considered an odd lot". Sam's smile faded as the joy filled memory turned to fear and he found himself up and walking away from the fire as the joy and pain of that memory became too much to bear. As he walked away from the fire he shook his head and clenched his fists in anger, those moments had belonged to a world where their every waking moment was born of uncertainty and the nature of the quest had given them license to form friendships that crossed all boundaries. A world where fear stalked them even as hope guided them forward and the righteousness of their mission lent them strength. He looked up to the clear beauty of the distant stars and he recalled Frodo's tales of the Iluvatar, the beauty of the Silmarils and the everlasting spirit of Elbereth. He found himself wondering if he'd ever again have the hope and strength that he'd found in the quiet commitment and certainty of goodness, that even in a world poised on the edge of madness his friend had stalwartly upheld. "Wherever you are Mr. Frodo, I hope you find strength from the light of our Lady's star" he whispered "her light is a gift master...another light ta fill yes dark times" he whispered and he lay down by the ponies where he'd placed his bedroll and watched the twinkling stars bid him good night through the whispy clouds.
Frodo found he couldn't sleep, though his body craved it, his mind could not accept it, and so he watched the children. He'd sent them, the youngest among them cuddled at his feet, the elder children standing in quiet nonchalance in the background, to sleep with his telling of the story of Turin and Nienor, their bravery and tragic love in the face of obstacles beyond the thoughts of mortals had always inspired Frodo. He had ensured that the deeds of brave Turin as he searched for his lost love and the loyalty of Nienor were amplified in his telling of the tale. He needed the children to have the belief that against all odds, love can prevail. He watched the children in their various postures of sleep, some stone still, some fluidly moving as they gently sought positions of comfort and others thrashing as their sleep fought them. He felt a little guilty that he'd not told the full tale of Neinor and Turin, the tragedy and loss of truth that beset them in their quest to aide those they loved. He could not be blamed for wanting the children to see only the heros of a story, after all...he could not yet tell them even of his own part in the tale in which they had fallen.
He turned to stroke Rosetta's cheek, she'd once more cuddled up beside him and had entangled herself within the confines of his blankets in such a way as to make rest for him impossible. 'Worse that that imp of a Took I dare say' he thought as he smiled at the memory of nights spent fighting his dear cousin for the sanctuary of even one blanket as they shared beds in Brandy hall or the great Smials of Tookland. He gently smoothed the curls that fell from her filthy kerchief, he longed to see what she would look like in the fair clothing of the palace...fine silks and soft brocades to wrap her gentle spirit in. He sighed, his thoughts wandered and he wondered if he'd see Galen tonight. He'd noticed the pain of his foot becoming more difficult to ignore and hoped that the burley guard had pulled a night time duty so that he might have some of the pain easing herbs that Toleman so ably provided, and so subtly gave to his friend Galen.
He leaned his head back against the cool smoothness of the cavern's wall, he could feel weakness creeping into his body, moments of strength and will were slowly becoming overlaid with the ever present tiredness that sought to overwhelm him. He knew that the slowly growing fever within his body was gradually robbing him of his daytime energy and his nighttimes's restoring slumber. He sighed as he once more ran a slender finger down the dust covered cheek of his princess. He contemplated her gentle nature and sweetly blossoming beauty 'she'll be a handsome lass as she grows' he found himself thinking. ' I wish I could see her innocence become the radiance of womanhood as she grows to maturity' he found himself thinking.
Frodo set his lips a thin line and slowly rocked his head from side to side, he'd thought himself prepared to die, had craved the peace and endless sleep of death and had resented his awakening at Cormallen. He had then been angry at a world that couldn't, wouldn't let him go. At least that was how he had felt a lifetime ago. Now, looking about the room, he realized that the treasures he'd fought for were not embodied in lands or building or in the sovereignty of territories..but in lives, in the future of the all the children of Middle Earth. He hung his head
' save the Shire indeed Frodo Baggins, tis not the Shire...but the hope of free and innocent people everywhere that needed saving.' He bit his lip as his thoughts began to unravel once more and he fought to maintain the thread of his purpose.
His dark thoughts rose up to consume him, 'so many unfulfilled dreams' he thought 'such pain and unrelenting despair abounds...this is my legacy' he thought. A tear fell silently 'I have brought this pain to the people's of Gondor...if I had been but a few days faster, Gondor would have been spared.' His thumb made careful circles upon the dust covered cheek of his Princess , his head was beginning to ache and his ever present thirst was signaling the the slow rise of his fever. He looked curiously to his foot and could see that the infection had spread. The skin was hot and swelling, it ached just to move it. Moving was a necessity however and so Galen had fashioned for Frodo a crutch and the hobbit used it when necessary.
Frodo found the incessant wandering of his thoughts disarming. He'd always prided himself on his rational and well organized thoughts. In his life before he was "the Ringbearer" his life had often revolved around the simple satisfaction of reading and translating books, observing maps and learning the elvish language to his cousin's satisfaction. His mind switched gears again, and he wandered to the present.
Just today they'd given Rosetta the job of crawling to the tight crevices of the mining areas, where she was to place the explosives and run the fuses, so when the time was right they'd blow sections of the cave to find more gold. He furrowed his brow in worry, the thought of the little one beside him handling explosives was frightening to him, especially the first few he'd seen her called upon to place. He'd offered his services to Dalmer then, not wanting to see his Princess losing limbs or life, he offered to make the explosives. 'Gandalf' he thought tiredly ' you'll never know what those scamps learned from watching you my friend.'. He was grateful that Merry and Pippin had been so inquisitive and nosey, for through their antics he'd learned what was required to construct exploding devices. His mind drifted through pictures of his past, Bilbo's party, the pranks of his cousins, the smile of his dear Sam.
The night wore on and still Frodo could neither sleep, nor organize his thoughts. He worried that the wanderings of his thoughts were a reflection of his growing fever, or perhaps from his lack of proper eating these past days. His fingers brushed a stray hair from Rosetta's face and she mumbled something in her sleep as she twitched her tiny nose. He smiled at her, she was all that was important to him now, seeing that she and the other children made it to safety. His stomach gave a sudden rumble. He'd long ago given up any real interest in food and had been giving the majority of his rations to the children, eating the barest amount to sustain him. He shifted his position and noticed the increased throbbing of his leg, he shifted yet again to bring relief, but his movements did nothing to quell the ache. 'I am so tired ' he thought 'so weary of pain and darkness'. He was beginning to realize that his chances of escape grew less with each day the blood poisoning took hold.
'I must hold on to see them through this' he thought as he looked about the cavern to the sleeping children '...then I shall have my rest'. He didn't regret the thought of leaving, his life after Mordor had been empty, dark, a void with no light or comfort to guide him. What he found unbearable were the thoughts he held of those he'd leave behind. He tried to console himself, to ease his guilt and sadness by imagining the lives his loved ones would lead in his absence.
'Sam, my dear Sam...you shall join yourself forever to the finest lass in the Shire....and through you the future will take hold as you teach others of what we almost lost.' His thoughts continued and images of Merry and Pippin arose, his cousins and beloved playmates of an otherwise dark childhood. 'They have each other, and their future's to look to.' A twinge of pain caused him to grimace and he fought to keep his thoughts trained on those he'd miss most. 'Strider, my brave and noble friend...you shall have the love of the Evenstar and the joy of seeing the rebirth of your fair city'.
Through his mind flashed images of moments past, time spent with the other valiant members of the Fellowship. The honor and grace of Legolas, the steely determination of Gimli, the strength and torment of Boromir. He pulled his hand from Rosetta's curls and clenched his fists as his body recalled the pain of that day so long ago. 'Oh Boromir, too late did I see the madness my burden caused you.' He stared to the vast depths of the cave, seeing not rock and sharply angled walls, but a sun filled day on Amon Hen.
He closed his eyes, he could see the shadows the dancing sunlight made through the gently waving leaves, smell the musty odor of leaves and rich earth, feel his fear as the large man before him encroached upon his space. 'Oh Boromir' he thought 'you too felt it's evil draw...why did I not see it sooner?'. He shuddered with the memory of that afternoon as his pain and guilt for lives he'd been too weak to save threatened to overwhelm him he stifled a sob and buried his face in his hands. 'Too weak' he thought 'I was too weak and but for me Boromir is gone'. He took a deep breath to control his racing emotions, his random thoughts and images a maelstorm of colors in his mind.
His fevering mind took him once more to the past and he was transported to an afternoon of bright sunshine and promise, that turned to dread in the woods of Ithilien. The cool dampness of another cave, another time filled his memory and image upon image came to him. A forced march with hands bound and eyes shielded, staggering on the uneven terrain of the forest, the relief of having the blindfold removed. He recalled how with the removal of the cloth upon his eyes, he'd first turned to Sam, a quick visual check put him more at ease and he breathed deeply his relief. Sam had not known it, but the man chosen to 'guide' Frodo through the woods had taken every opportunity to assist Frodo in his stumbling, then used his solicitous concern to carefully grope and 'check' his body. By the time they'd reached the caves Frodo had felt shame as well as fear. One look from Sam, his 'it will be fine Mr. Frodo, your Sam's here face' had calmed him. He smiled as he recalled how Sam's facial expression had had the power to bring him from panic, ease his fears and calm his frayed nerves.
Images from the cave continued to whirl through his mind, the beauty of the waterfall cascading behind them, the depth of the spacious cave, Henneth Annun, camp of the Gondorian soldiers soon became another site of fear.. That afternoon, after being briefly questioned by Captain Faramir, they'd been sent to rest and regroup in a space to the back of the cave. While they were held as prisoners, Frodo had then felt no fear, for he'd sensed that Faramir was a man of honor. He sighed as he recalled how very tired and ill he'd felt after their long forced march. They'd looked to one another, each offering what comfort their eyes could tell to the other when his guide from the day's march returned and forced Frodo to his feet. He'd been a little uneasy, but to keep Sam from further worry he'd remained calm as he was forced from the back of the cave and brought down a narrow corridor and to another dank room. As they entered the room, his guide had shoved him roughly to the floor and had begun firing questions at such a pace that Frodo's weary mind could not keep pace.
The tall and angry man had lost patience and had slapped him when Frodo's answers came too slowly or not at all. "Please, allow me to answer at a pace I can accommodate" he'd pleaded as he'd tried to avert his gaze from the frightening vision of the man before him. His efforts earned him another slap and the man had growled "look ta me when I speak to you spy". He'd wiped the blood from his lip and said softly "please sir, let me answer your questions as I may". The man had only narrowed his eyes and muttered some foul curse about 'spies' and had kicked him till Frodo'd felt muscles, already worn, tear from the impact and he'd gasped in pain. That brought the man to a stop and he'd felt himself roughly pulled upward and his captor shoved him roughly to a wall, his face inches from Frodo's wide blue eyes "please, allow me to answer your questions as I may' he'd pleaded then, wishing to spare his worn body more pain.
The angry man had filled his hand with Frodo's sweaty curls and pulled his head back till Frodo'd had no place to look but into the depths of dark grey eyes filled with hatred and something else, a feeling of panic set in as he'd recognized the look in the man's eyes. It was lust, a pure and overpowering desire from one of strength to dominate, overpower and claim another for his own twisted purpose, he'd seen that look only once before. He'd shuddered as he realized that the nightmares of his childhood and the unwanted attentions of another might soon again be his. He'd fought the memory of his childhood even as he'd attempted to twist from the guards's grasp. He'd found he could control neither.
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Panic he'd also felt that day, long ago, whilst in the company of his Uncle Saradoc he'd made a trip to a merchant fair in Bree. A young tween, he'd been in awe of the sights about him and he'd had difficulty keeping up with his Uncle as his head spun from one novelty to the next. He'd stopped at a book vender as the voice of his Uncle and a local merchant faded in the distance. Turning to find his Uncle he'd been surprised to find his way blocked by two men. He had politely tried to excuse himself and follow the retreating sound of his Uncles' discourse when the man had grabbed his arm "what's yer hurry pretty boy?" the man had asked grabbing Frodo's wrist with one hand and caressing his cheek with the other. He'd not then understood the mans intent, but had felt a sick feeling in his stomach and a sense of shame slowly creeping over him. He'd blushed and the man's eyes had lit up as he'd taken his large hand and rubbed the hobbit's neck with "Yer a beaut, what 'll cost fer my friend and I ta taste yer charms?" The man had said, voice thick with emotions. Frodo'd been so stunned he'd been unable to answer and the man got angry "Playin' hard ta get? I'll show ya hard" he'd sneered and the hobbit tween had felt himself grabbed and thrust to a nearby ally.
Frodo'd realized than that he needed to fight, he didn't clearly understand what the men had wanted from him, but knew in his young heart that it was wrong. He opened his mouth to scream and felt his lips covered with the man's hand. They backed him to the wall and as Frodo'd tried to scream his rage and fear once more, the man had slapped him and then kissed him. He'd been kissed before, by maiden aunts, by elderly matrons and one or two shy lasses, tentative, nurturing and kind kisses that had made him feel loved and wanted. This kiss brought him to the edge of his shame and he felt defiled. As the man's hands began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt he'd felt himself falling into a black emptiness.
The next thing he was aware of was his Uncle, concern and suspicion etched upon his face. Frodo'd try to reassure Uncle Saradoc that he was fine, while inside he felt himself screaming in pain and fear. Saradoc, not fully reassured by the claims of his charge nodded briefly and turned to the merchant at his side. Frodo'd heard the words "just a misunderstanding Brandybuck...they took him for a brothel boy. Ye'd best be careful with 'im here in town, he's a beauty and next time ya won't be so lucky". His Uncle had taken him back to the local inn and spent the next days studiously avoiding Frodo's eyes and questions.
He recalled the pain of those days, and upon return to Brandy hall the questioning glances of his older relations, silence when he'd walk into a room, giggles from the girls and the taunting of his male cousins. He'd grown to hate all about him that was different, after all these many years their unspoken fears and accusations still hurt. He'd soon learned that he was odd, different and an embarrassment to all...all except his Uncle Bilbo.
His mind shifted once more and he was back in Henneth Annun. The guard had flung him down upon a table, wrenched his shirt from his back and tied his hands to the legs of the table. As he felt the stinging of a taut leather strand upon his back, he'd wanted to cry out, but knew he'd have to spare his Sam torments he could nothing to change, so he'd bitten his lip to quiet his cries. After another blow or two he'd felt blood flow in a trickle down his back and had heard the cadence of heavy breathing in his ears. Hands, large and rough hands sought to remove clothing even as they caressed his body and he'd closed his eyes and prayed for this torment to be over quickly when from the corner of his fear shadowed mind he'd heard "Anborn, remove yourself from here at once". He'd fainted then and never spoke to any of his shameful treatment at the hands of the guard named Anborn.
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It was nearly morning now, he could tell from the sounds of increased activity within the cave, for no sunshine could penetrate the walls of this prison. He was slowly coming back to the realities of the present, Rosetta's warm breath upon his hand, the musty smell of the old blankets upon which they lay, the throb of pain from his swollen leg and foot. Yes, it was nearly daytime once more. He swallowed his memories, his agonies of the past and made ready to meet the needs of the present as the children about him began to stir.