Chapter 39
Faces of War: Pursuing
Disclaimer: The characters contained within this story, or at least most of them, are the property of J.R.R Tolkien....a master at his craft.
Renee....Glad this story cheered your day during the last chapter....our ailing hero is near to despair...it will be the love of the many and the few who bring him back!
Iorhael....yeah....Frodo's body is saved....but what of his mind? If I could write the "mental" angst of the ringbearer half as well as you, I'd feel this a story to be proud of! If you've any words of wisdom about my dabbling in "angst fiction" I'd love to hear how to make the story better!
Lovethosehobbits....here it is...the next chapter....a bit of a "twining" of the story threads occurs here....bringing together some "loose ends".
TTTurtle...I'm glad my redistribution of spacing helps you to read...I have to keep reminding myself to check the text for "ease of consumption"....please "get on me" if I slip into my old extended paragraphs! I'm thrilled that you like the story...It's really become a part of me....envisioning settings and characters....I hop you continue to read and that you enjoy it!
The quiet of the early morning held still the sleeping figures upon the ground, scattered about in heaps of two and three, arms and legs greedily clutching the little warmth given them by thin blankets and the presence of one another. Galen walked his sentry path about the perimeter of the camp, feet mechanically moving to keep pace with the steady train of thoughts that occupied his mind. ' Three days' he thought ' 'tis but three days since we left the caves...' he sighed wondering again if they'd done the right thing. His mind was overcome with the random images of a little blond girl and her dark haired protector, he felt a lump rise in his throat and he found himself praying to whatever god would listen, that the Hobbits were right, that there was no way they'd left behind in the rubble of the cave the light of the princess and the fading spirit of her prince. He sighed deeply and shaking his head to distract himself looked to the newly arisen sun and it's soft blanket of rose and gold as it crept over the barren landscape all about them. He made his way over to the circle of stones that held the camps fire and squatted down to talk to another who found peace in the newness of the day.
Gimli stared pensively into the dying embers of the fire, wondering idly if he should rekindle it to provide a means to cook for their company, but was distanced from these mundane thoughts by the presence of the former guard. "Ha, Galen....'twill be time to head out soon....do ya suppose we should kindle the fire ta help the hobbits with the breakfast?" Galen shook his head, his lips pressed firmly to a line of worry "no time Master Gimli....we shall reach the river today...." he looked towards the children clustered about him "they're strong Sir, and they'll be stronger yet when we reach their Ada....hot food or no, we've got to head out" he said , his voice soft spoken and sincere. The stocky dwarf contemplated the tall mans words but a moment "Aye, 'tis right ye are then....'tis away we must be" he groaned just a bit as he rose stiffly to his feet "let me go wake that rascal Pippin....he'll know how ta rouse and move the youngins."
Within the hour Pippin had, shaking the sleep from his own eyes, roused first his cousin and then the rest of the camp with a round of gentle nudges, whispered entreaties and softly spoken promises. As Merry tied down the last of the provisions to their lead cart he flashed a knowing look to his cousin, a look that spoke the troubles of his heart, today would be the day, they both felt it. With a hearty "eeh yah" and a flick of the reins Gimli urged the draft ponies from their complacent stance and their day began once more. The two carts, and their assorted foot weary companions headed west, seeking to allay their fears and find their comfort as they sought the waters of the Anduin.
The breathy and melodious tune before him brought Faramir from his revere, he tightened his grip about the tiny child set before him on the saddle, it had been just a few days since she'd risen from her sick bed and he marveled at how resilient she was. "What 'tis the song you seek to bring forth little one?" the Stewards son asked, his lips twitching in a barely repressed smile. The blond curls nestled in his chest tilted back so that for a moment he caught the shine of her dark blue eyes " 'tis a song of the elves, one that Sir Frodo used ta sing when we were in need of comfort" she said wistfully "he could sing it ever so much better, he knew all the words and I can remember but a few." Her voice echoed with saddened resignation, as if she expected never to be given the chance to hear such words again. "Well, you must keep trying mistress Rosetta, do not give up and perhaps you will find more words within you." the ranger said with quiet knowing. Faramir felt her squirm a bit and re settle herself to a position of shifted comfort, she rocked her head back and forth but a moment "Sir Frodo has all my words Faramir, his song feels too quiet to me now" she sighed the sigh of diminishing hope that Faramir knew only too well and continued, her sad poignant words a gently abrasive reminder of his task "I have no words within me without the song of my Sir Frodo." He bent his head down over her curls, eyes never straying from the horizon, as he pointed towards the west "then we shall find his song little one, we will find the words you need very soon....but you must be brave, for the Sir Frodo you hold so dear may need your help if he is to remember how to sing. Can you be brave ?" he asked, knowing his words would bring her disquiet he squeezed her carefully to remind her of his protection.
Rosetta thought but a moment and replied in words clear and knowing "I can show him all the good inside, just as he showed me, I will help him find his quiet places Faramir" her voice grew softer as she added "I need his words or the songs I sing will not be enough." Faramir found himself wondering 'enough for what?', yet wanting to bring her comfort shifted his hand from it's position about her waist to reach up and stroke her small cheek "your song is filled with it's own special beauty" he whispered, wanting to reassure her, to give her hope that all would be well. The tiny child was silent a moment and she reached up to grasp the rough hand caressing her cheek, petite fingers entwining themself amongst his great calloused ones "we children need his song Lord Faramir, we need our Ada Frodo to keep us safe and strong....what do you and the King need him for?" she asked innocently, her wide dark blue eyes fixed upwards towards him.
Faramir shook his head, there was no easy answer to this...was Frodo 'needed' by the King? Was the life of the ringbearer tied to the lives of men? He moved his hand from her soft cheek to once more grasp her protectively about the waist, " his deeds will live forever, and his heart shall help heal a nation filled with hate and distrust....I can not speak for the Kind young one, but for my part I can say that the world of men would be a place of less sincerity were it not for your Ada Frodo." He paused a moment and thought of the Ringbearer, thought of his capture at Ithilian, the questioning in the caves of Henneth Annun, the hard and cruel march to Osgiliath....through it all Frodo had maintained a gentle righteousness, a quiet dignity and soothing strength that he knew was only bestowed upon those whose life was a reflection of their own unwavering faith and pure intentions. They rode in silence a while and Faramir noted a gradually growing heaviness in the quiet body before him, he shifted her to allow her greater comfort as they lumbered across the seemingly endless expanse of dusty harsh terrain and smiled as he heard the snuffled pattern of breathing which indicated sleep had claimed his passenger."Rest well my child" he whispered to her blond curls " by the will of the Valar we shall soon have our strength returned to us."
Frodo lay in darkness, his world reduced to the small quiet corners of his mind. He was only remotely aware of his physical body, could see as if from a distance when pain assailed him, when arms sought to bring comfort or when nourishment was offered to bring sustenance. He watched as his body cried out in discomfort, as his limbs struggled to escape arms he expected would only bring hurt, or his mouth refused food as he sought for his one item of comfort. He had only the drive and will to attend to the soothing stillness and nourishment his mind so desperately craved, his one focus, his one reason to hang to his slender thread of life was the paste of the flower that held him within it's insidious grasp. He wandered in his mind, anxiously waiting to emerge from his shadowy world of peace and numbness to partake of the life sustaining elixir which brought him to the darkest and most quiet corners of his fading memories. His body was a vessel of pain, his weakened resolve, failing strength of purpose and his ever present guilt were all that bound him to the fraying thread of his life. He could not face his choices, could not reconcile his memories nor bear to recall the images of the degradation he'd been forced to. He folded tighter within himself, channeling his heart, his soul and his hope to the quietest corners of himself. Murmurs in his mind sought to bring him forth, whispers of compassion, promises of healing and the lilting song of his long ago love wove through his doubts and shadowy memories. The shame he'd been forced to endure, the pain of his failures, the guilt of the losses he'd borne loomed about him and he retreated in despair from those who loved him. With no sight of a future and no one to live for, he closed his mind and pushed away the distant voices who sought to aid him.
With a muffled curse and the shuffle of stumbling feet, Mendal was dragged to the side of his mount. The angry ruffian spat at his Orc handler and glared defiantly as his hands, which had been bound before him were further tethered to the line which lead behind the saddle. Durzak, paying the angry man no heed, proceeded to ensure that all his knots were securely tied, then stepped forward to hold fast to the bridle of beast beside him. Aragorn eyed the saddle doubtfully, he was worried that the trek down the hill upon the horse's back would prove too much for Frodo in his weakened state, that the horse would not easily bear the burden of it's two riders and he turned to tell Qurag of his fears. The Orc, as if reading the Kings mind, looked down to where Sam was carefully wiping his master's face with a dampened towel "horse not good, ride rough...." he stated cryptically as he tilted his head towards the figure of the King. Sam paused in his ceaseless care taking and wordlessly spoke his question in the sepia infused hazel of his eyes to the King . Aragorn nodded and picking up his pack upon one shoulder, began to bend down to take the fragile form of the ringbearer in his arms, he would carry the fading spirit he'd grown so to admire.
A harsh snicker and derisive snort came from behind him and he tilted his head to see over his shoulder, pausing in his task, his gaze landing upon Mendal, the source of the mocking laughter. "Worried fer yer half high eh my King?" the man said with a snort "worry not, his mind tis broke, his body too with what we done ta 'im. " he laughed. Aragorn, forgetting his intentions towards Frodo moved angrily towards the prisoner, stopped by the agile yet brawny might of Qurag, the King reached to grab the ruffian before him, he found his arms suddenly entangled by those of the Orc as he seethed just feet from where the man stood laughing.
"He feels nothing my King....'Fingirn' 'tis a naught but a bunk warmer he is....he'll feel only what the death flower lets 'em" he laughed. Qurag, sensing the fury of the man in his grip, lifted his arms to press Aragorn back from his posture of hatred, grey eyes flashing his contempt the King sought to steady his anger, ragged breaths emanating from his flared nostrils. Mendal shook his head slowly side to side as he smirked " he 'tis a corsair now, marked and branded by Keldor himself....I seen his 'attachment' to yer Ringbearer...ye'll not rest whilst yer trying ta make off with one 'o Keldors bunk boys." The scraggily and unkempt ruffian looked towards the prone body of the ringbearer, he lifted one eyebrow and licked his lips "aye, and havin' tasted his charms....a body can't blame the Corsairs fer fightin' fer their bounty....he 'tis a pleasure Keldor's men twould die fer.".
A sudden cry of rage broke the tenseness of the moment as Sam rose to his feet beside the frail quiet of his master, hands clenched in rage and eyes burning with smoldering hatred he stepped towards the man whose words caused such stabbing pain. "No" the angry Hobbit growled "no I tell you, ye'll say no more of my master...ye'll speak no more of Frodo son of Drogo, ye'll utter no words about this 'Fingirn'....his name is FRODO" he said scathingly "there 'tis no Fingirn here....his star will never fall, his spirit never falter...no matter the pain ye give 'im". Qurag found himself holding now not just to the king but also to the fury of the sandy haired Hobbit who tended to his spirit brother, the tale teller. The Orc held the anger of the two within his grasp and with a mighty effort managed to still them as they struggled to advance in their fury, to do harm to the man tied behind the horse.
Mendal, who'd sized up his adversaries quickly, laughed as he saw he was in no danger "in that yer mistaken my little one' he said with oily intent "his light has gone out...his star speaks only of death and darkness now my little one...soon ye'll see that as Keldor comes back to claim what is his....fool yerself all yer wantin' " Mendal said as he looked over the three faces before him "yer friend 'tis the slave of the corsairs now...he bears their mark and wears their ring within his ear...Keldor has joined yer halfhigh ta his ranks....and they never forget those in their ranks." the defiant ruffian spat as Durzak, who'd seen the stress upon his own master's face, grasped the bridle of the horse and began to lead Mendal from the summit of the hill.
The muscled arms of Qurag began to tremble with the strain of his peacemaking, he snorted in relief as Durzak, with no order from the king or request from him had begun to lead Mendal down the steep and narrow path to the river. Aragorn, his fists clenched in tight balls of fury, allowed his erratic breathing to retain it's normal rhythm. With a last full breath of air he hung his head in shame and allowed Qurag to gradually loosed his hold upon him. He turned to offer Sam what comfort he could, to try and make amends for the poison they'd heard from the foul words of Mendal. Turning to take Sam into his grasp Aragorn was startled to see Sam's earth toned eyes riveted upon him, the brown and gold of Sam's eyes ablaze with undisguised rage.
"Sam...." he said softly as he reached to clasp his friends shoulder "Sam, his words are an evil we shall endure no more" he pleaded for understanding as he handed a scrap of cloth to Durzak to bind within the mouth of the ruffian. Qurag added a few grunts in their language and soon Durzak had Mendal tethered and gagged.
Aragorn waited for Sam's approval, his eyes seeking understanding and fellowship. Sam, whose formally warm toned eyes glinted with a metallic hardness and hatred turned from his King and approached Qurag. "The world 'o men does not deserve 'em Qurag, I'll see 'em hurt no more...." and so saying the steady hobbit brushed past Aragorn and gestured with pleading eyes for Qurag to take up his most precious bundle. Qurag looked but once to the sad countenance of the King and seeing no argument there, he bent and gently nestled Frodo's limp and battered body in his arms. Sam, unable to meet the gaze of his friend and King extended his arm to indicate the path that they would all follow.