Hello everyone! Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and Happy belated Easter to those who celebrate it! I hope that you're all doing okay, and I'm sorry I missed a week – I hope you enjoy this chapter.
This chapter circles around a FANTASTIC song called Nienna by Oonagh that I found on Spotify that I HIGHLY recommend you listen to, it's just gorgeous! The lyrics are in German and Elvish, and I have used the English translation of the lyrics (plus the elvish) in this chapter. I obviously lay no claim to the lyrics and highly recommend that you listen to the song. The full German lyrics are at the bottom for those who are interested.
As ever, please forgive any typos.
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve: Nyérë ar Nienna
The blood was everywhere – black and thick over his hands and his clothes and his face, and in his mouth, and Frodo did not know if he trembled from disgust, or from rage. The corpses of the orcs were all around him, strewn the walkway into the volcano, and only two bodies were moving.
Nelly, and Sam.
"It – it's over," Nelly sobbed, and Frodo looked up sharply. There was a tremor in her voice. "It's – it's over now, Frodo. Get rid of it."
The fury in Frodo's gut grew stronger, and his fists curled. How dare she – how dare she, after all he had done? It was his, the Ring had saved them, it had saved them all, and now she wanted to destroy it? His precious?
"It just saved you," he snarled, drawing himself upright. "I saved you!"
"Yes, I know, but… Frodo, please…" Nelly's whimpers trailed off, and she looked at Sam, and Frodo could see her pleading with him for support – no, plotting - plotting to steal it from Frodo, to destroy their most precious thing –
"It's mine!" yelled Frodo, and she looked back at him. "Mine! I saved you, I used it, it's mine, you ungrateful little-" His anger dragged him towards her, but then Nelly whimpered, covering her head with her arms and cringing into the burning stone.
Nelly.
"Please," Sam whispered, and Frodo flinched. "Don't you let it kill us, Frodo, please. Don't you let it kill us, don't you let it kill us…"
Kill them? He, he did not want to kill them, just to make them see – to make them see that the Ring –
He gazed down at his palm, at the pure, beautiful gold upon it. It was calling to him, begging to be saved, whispering promise after promise into his mind, but then Frodo realised…
He seen the looks on Nelly and Sam's faces. They would not let him leave with it.
The price to claim the Ring was their lives.
They were both injured. It would be easy.
"Please…" begged Sam, and Frodo heard Nelly sob quietly.
Sam.
Nelly.
He drew a deep breath, and forced his hand out –
Over the abyss –
His heart seared with the yearning to pull his hand back, to stop this madness, and he closed his eyes.
"No!"
The screech was so sudden that Frodo did not have time to cry out, but he heard Sam and Nelly scream as an orc barrelled into him, throwing Frodo over the edge of the walkway. Desperate, he grabbed at the stone flying past him, and by some miracle his fingers caught the rock –
And the orc caught him.
Gasping, Frodo tried to kick the creature off, but it snarled and held on and his arms ached and he had to stop struggling. He could not hold on for both of them, not like this – not for long –
The chain of the ring bit into his palm.
"Throw – throw it up!" snarled the orc, flailing its legs and digging its claws into Frodo's flesh.
"Frodo!"
Sam.
The Ring danced around his wrist, and louder than ever it screamed in his head and his heart and his soul.
Throw me up – throw me up!
His fingers uncurled from the stone, and his other arm shrieked with the effort of his weight, and he made to grab the Ring –
The orc shrieked, heaving itself up, and then its claws raked across the back of Frodo's leg and he gasped, and the Ring fell –
And Sam's face appeared above him, and he thrust his hand down. "Hold on, hold on, Frodo! Nelly, help me!"
The orc growled, and Frodo grappled with the stone, reaching desperately for Sam's hand, but the orc was too heavy.
"Get off him!" Sam bellowed. "Get off him, you beast, get off! Hold on, Frodo – no!"
And Frodo felt the orc's teeth sink into his leg and rip at his flesh, and he screamed –
And he woke up. He was shivering, shivering and sweating, but he was also beneath a warm blanket, and his head was pillowed.
How had they found blankets and pillows in Mordor?
Slowly, the memory returned to him, and the dark tent came into view. There were in Ithilien – Pippin and Gimli and Gandalf were there. They were safe.
He let out a slow breath, and wiped at his eyes.
They had praised him, they all had, but Frodo had failed. It was only by chance and fumbling fingers that he dropped the ring in the end. His hand had tried to close around it, and he honestly could not say whether or not he would have thrown it up or tossed it down. He liked to think he would have dropped it, but he was not so sure.
It was Sam who deserved the credit. Sam, and Bróin, and Nelly, who had suffered so badly, who he had – for even a fraction of a second –
He swallowed, and sat up, burying his head in his hands. He could not have hurt them – he would never have hurt them. Would he? Did they know how fiercely the Ring had pulled him, how close he had come to pushing past them, leaving them there on the ground, using force if he had to? Sam protested that he owed them nothing, but that was not true. That was not true at all.
It had been easier to ignore it on the road. He had been so busy trying to keep them alive, to keep the ex-prisoners of Mordor alive, trying so hard to get them to safety. Now they were here, there was nothing to stop him from remembering.
Tears stung at his cheeks, and he sniffed, trying not to wake the others. Sam and Bróin were cuddled up beside him, both fast asleep. For the first time in weeks, there was colour to Bróin's cheeks, and Sam was no longer grimacing in his sleep.
Despite himself, a warmth rose in Frodo's heart, a warmth that grew when he glanced at Toothy. The warg was curled up at the end of Bróin's bed, keeping a weary watch on the young dwarf. He had nearly scared the other wounded in the tent half to death when he had attempted to dig his way in, but at a single word from Bróin he had settled down, meek as a lamb. When he finished laughing, Aragorn said that Toothy could stay, but he also moved the other wounded into a different tent.
"The fellowship can sleep in here with your warg," he said, grinning. "I fear that others may not manage it."
But when Frodo looked around, he realised that the tent was almost empty. Gimli was no longer there, and neither was Aragorn or Legolas or Boromir or Gandalf. It was not yet morning – he knew that – it was still dark outside.
Fear fluttered in his heart and curled his gut, but as it did, he began to hear the sound of singing from outside.
"On the edge of the world she looks outside, in the darkness of the night she shows
Where the morning is breaking already, she is the light, that gives hope."
He knew that voice – that was Legolas. Almost at once, his fear melted away into curiosity, and he peered towards the sound. Through the tent, he could make out many shadows, but also the flickering of a fire, and he listened intently.
"Just listen to the wind, close your eyes and hear her song,
The distant call, it awakens the force that you still have inside you, even now."
Then, the song slipped into elvish, and as Frodo listened, the hair on his arms stood on end.
"Manan ta olya?
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Nyérë venya ëa, ëa, Oialea
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Estel almarëan hiruva."
(Why is there so much?
There is grief here, Grief here, Nienna
Our grief is Eternal
There is grief here, Grief here, Nienna
Find blessed hope.)
Grabbing his at the shield around his neck, Frodo swallowed, and glanced towards Bróin's make-shift crutches. He had been instructed to rest, but the song seemed to be calling to him, and in an instant he made up his mind.
"She accepts you, restores you, she is with you when you seek her
And need her help. Your suffering shows her the way."
He dragged the crutches beneath him and heaved himself up, trying to ignore the way that his arms trembled from the effort. If there was ever a time to be accepted, restored, it was now.
"Trust that she shares the destiny that is upon you
Her distant call, it awakens the force that you still have inside you, even now"
Frodo stumbled, and Toothy rose with a small whine, staring at him intently. Frodo tried to catch his breath, but the effort of holding himself up was harder than he thought. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes, and he stared at the door of the tent.
"Manan ta olya?
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna."
There were others singing now, a small swell of voices that he recognised as the whole fellowship – save for the hobbits – and as they sung Toothy padded towards Frodo, carefully avoiding Bróin and Sam. He nudged at Frodo's arm, and Frodo started to fall, throwing out his arm over Toothy's great head to stop himself –
And Toothy shifted so Frodo was standing up. So that he was taking Frodo's weight.
"Nyérë venya ëa, ëa, Oialea
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna."
Frodo felt a lump in his throat, and he smiled, resting his face against Toothy's for a moment.
"Thank you," he whispered, and Toothy gave a small huff. Together, they hobbled towards the door.
"Estel almarëan hiruva."
Notes of a wooden flute met Frodo's ears as they made there way outside, rounding the corner of the tent. A cool wind ran through him, reminding him quite suddenly that he was now in no more than an undershirt and trousers, but he hobbled on, rounding the corner of the tent.
The first thing he saw was the campfire, crackling and warm and beautiful, and then he saw who was there around it, and his mouth dropped open.
Every single one of the people they had saved from Mordor was sitting in a circle around the fire, many swaddled in blankets or capes, and they were not alone. Legolas sat among them, opposite Frodo, and at his lips was a small wooden flute. His eyes were closed as he played.
Also in the circle was Gimli, seated between two of the dwarves, and a few places away was Aragorn, and then another few places along was Boromir, and flanking Eluréd and Elurín on the other side of the circle were Elrond's sons. On Legolas' right, separated from the elf by Mari, and her father and brother, was Gandalf. None of them bore any remnants of armour, not even Gimli, and they were all sitting in the same posture – cross-legged, with their hands on their knees.
Those who had been in the fellowship had their eyes closed, and their palms open, facing the sky, but many of those who had come from Mordor held their hands as fists, and kept their eyes wide open. But they did not look afraid. Not anymore afraid than normal, at least. Some of them almost looked peaceful, and as Frodo watched, Eluréd, Elurín, and Taurion closed their eyes.
Frodo did not know what was going on, but something about the scene before him took his breath away.
Legolas lowered his flute, and Frodo felt a chill run down his spine as he began to sing, joined by Elrond's sons, and those who had been in the fellowship.
"Manan ta olya?
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna."
Slowly, like a flower feeling the light of the sun, Taurion's hands opened, and his palms faced the sky.
"Nyérë venya ëa, ëa, Oialea"
And Mari closed her eyes.
"Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna.
Estel almarëan hiruva."
Eyes closed, Legolas nodded, and tilted his head up towards the moon.
"Manan ta olya?"
And then, those frightened, broken people who Frodo had barely heard speak began to move their lips. Some barely reached the volume of a whisper, and others less than that, but they all mouthed the words that the others sang, and Frodo's heart swelled.
"Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna.
Nyérë venya ëa, ëa, Oialea,"
Their palms were facing the sky. All their palms were facing the sky. Frodo did not know what that meant – he had never seen anything like this before – but he knew that it was important, and he felt tears fall from his chin before he even realised he was crying.
"Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna.
Estel almarëan hiruva."
The strength in Frodo's good leg gave out, and he collapsed into Toothy's side, steadying himself with a silent curse as the warg whined.
"Shh, shh!" he hurried, but it was too late – Legolas' eyes were open.
"Frodo," he said, his face pinching in concern. Every other pair of eyes turned to him, and though many of the faces smiled his way, Frodo felt his cheeks burn red. "I hope I did not wake you?"
"Oh, no!" Frodo said quickly, before any of the survivors of Mordor stared thinking that they should move. "No, I was already awake. I'm sorry I interrupted, I didn't mean to – I just wanted to hear the song you were singing… It is beautiful…"
Legolas smiled softly. When he spoke, his voice was far gentler than Frodo had ever heard it. "It is a song of praise and pleading to the Lady Nienna. As I told our friends, it is what we sing in my lands when we are beset by grief too large to face. It is how we pray when we do not know where else to begin healing. Would you like to join us?"
Frodo hesitated. "I… I wouldn't want to intrude."
"You wouldn't be," said Aragorn, standing up. "May I help?"
A little unsure, Frodo nodded, and the man rose, striding over to Toothy and scratching the warg behind the ear. How he was so at ease with the beast so quickly, Frodo did not know, but Aragorn did not seem to give it much thought. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Frodo's waist, and all but carried him over to the circle. Several of the others shifted back to allow room to let him in, and Aragorn led him to a space in the circle, between Taurion and Maeve. Then, he sat back down himself, and nodded at Legolas.
Legolas inclined his head. "We sit in such a way to stay grounded to the earth, but with your leg it may be uncomfortable…"
Frodo shifted experimentally, tucking his uninjured leg underneath, and resting the wounded limb on top. It was not exactly like the others, but it was also not horribly uncomfortable, so he nodded at Legolas.
The elf smiled, and placed his hands on his knees, and Frodo copied, letting his palms stare up at the sky above him. He felt a little silly, especially among the company of those like Elrond's sons, but he took a deep breath, and Legolas nodded.
"In my home, it is custom to take the hands of those beside you during this prayer," he said softly, pressing the insides of his fingers against each other and curling his hands together. "I do not expect it to happen here – not if it is not wanted. It is a symbol of trust, and I understand that for some of you such a thing may be broken for a while. But my hands will be open, if any wish to take them."
A lump growing in his throat, Frodo kept his hands as open as he could, until it almost hurt, and while many other hands closed, Aragorn, Boromir, Gandalf, Gimli, and Elrond's sons all kept their hands open.
"The song is a prayer, and a mantra, and a comfort," he murmured, and though he looked at Frodo, Legolas' eyes moved over the others as well. "You may choose just to listen, but the words have more power when they are sung aloud."
Frodo nodded, and then Legolas closed his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he began to sing again.
"On the edge of the world she looks outside, in the darkness of the night she shows
Where the morning is breaking already, she is the light, that gives hope.
Just listen to the wind, close your eyes and hear her song,
The distant call, it awakens the force that you still have inside you, even now.
Manan ta olya?"
Frodo took a deep breath, and he began to sing.
"Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Nyérë venya ëa, ëa, Oialea."
Slowly, the voices around him became a little louder, a little clearer, until he could make out their owners. Taurion, and Petyr. Eluréd, Elurín, Mari, and Andwise. Then he could hear Astrid and Nali, full-blooded dwarves singing along in elvish, and beneath his closed eyelids his tears welled.
"Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Estel almarëan hiruva."
Most of the voices faded as Legolas led the second verse, but a couple of folk had heard the lyrics well enough the first time to sing along. Frodo simply listened.
"She accepts you, restores you, she is with you when you seek her
And need her help. Your suffering shows her the way.
Trust that she shares the destiny that is upon you."
Did she share the destiny upon him? No – Frodo had been alone in Mount Doom. He had had Sam and Nelly, and he had been alone, because no one had known, had understood, no one could –
Could they?
"Her distant call, it awakens the force that you still have inside you, even now."
And then he felt a hand brush against the tips of his fingers, and he held his breath. Slowly, ever so slowly, Taurion rested his fingers on top of Frodo's, and with a lump in his throat, Frodo curled his hand around the man's. Almost in the same moment, trembling fingers reached for his left hand too, and Frodo swallowed as Maeve wrapped her hand around his.
And together, they sang.
"Manan ta olya?
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Nyérë venya ëa, ëa, Oialea
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Estel almarëan hiruva."
Again and again, they repeated the chorus, and on every iteration it grew stronger, and the grips on Frodo's hands became surer. A strange sort of feeling began overwhelm his heart, a feeling he could not name. It was not pain, nor discomfort – but it was not hope, or joy, either.
Around him, the world began to warm, and to grow lighter, and slowly, Frodo became aware of the sun shining down on his face. They must have been singing for at least an hour, but he did not feel tired, and his voice was not sore. He felt calm, and strangely empty.
He felt peace.
"Manan ta olya?
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Nyérë venya ëa, ëa, Oialea
Nyérë símen ëa, ëa, Nyérë símen, Nienna
Estel almarëan hiruva."
A low note blew from a flute, and Frodo opened his eyes, blinking against the morning light. Throughout the circle, others opened their eyes and blinked too, and some broke their hands away, but not before Frodo could see that the circle had been unbroken.
That every single one of the survivors of Mordor had held the hands of those beside them, even the old dwarf Knútr, who had never looked at Frodo and the others without suspicion.
They had gathered a bit of a crowd – soldiers of Gondor and Rohan were peering over at them with eyes misted with awe, and Pippin and Sam stood nearby. There were tears streaming down Sam's face, falling over the biggest smile Frodo had seen for weeks.
"It may be best to pause for a while now," said Legolas, looking to Aragorn. "I would not want anyone to miss breakfast. I hope that I-" to Frodo's surprise, the elf broke off, looking down to the ground. "I hope that was of help to you." Then, swift and sudden, he rose, wincing as those beside him flinched. Without hesitation, he turned and swept away into the crowd at the camp, and Frodo blinked.
"I'll go after him," said Gimli, with the disgruntled heir of a parent chasing a child, but there was worry in his eyes as he rose and hurried off after the elf.
"I would have you all aware of what is going on," said Aragorn, drawing the eyes of the survivors, and of Frodo. "We mean to move out today – we are making for Minas Tirith. All who wish to join us are more than welcome, and we have provision for those of you who are injured and may find walking more difficult. When we reach the White City, we will be able to remove those cuffs from your wrists – I fear we do not have the tools to do it now. You are more than welcome to stay there, though if you wish to return to your own lands, or travel elsewhere, we will aid you with that, where we can."
The survivors shifted, and Taurion broke his hand away from Frodo's, glancing down at his lap.
"Where… where will you go, Mr Frodo?"
Surprised, Frodo glanced up at Sam and Pippin before answering. "I – I will be going to Minas Tirith, for a little while, I think – and then we'll be going home. To Erebor."
Taurion nodded, glancing at Petyr, and then lowering his gaze.
"I think that it sounds like Aragorn has a rather marvellous plan, especially in regards to breakfast," said Gandalf, getting to his feed with a surprising grace. "Frodo, my lad, might I have a quick word before we eat?"
Frodo nodded, and the wizard smiled, holding out his hand and helping Frodo up onto his good foot. Placing a careful hand on Frodo's side, Gandalf took most of the hobbit's weight, and guided him a short way out of the campsite, until they came upon a fallen tree.
"Ah yes. This will do nicely," said Gandalf, with great satisfaction. He sat down, helping Frodo up beside him, and then he drew out his pipe. In a matter of moments, the comforting scent of pipe weed filled the air. Frodo had lost his own pipe quite a while ago, but he did not mind much. Gandalf offered him a puff, but Frodo shook his head. He did not feel like smoking. The wizard gave a sad smile. "So, my lad. How are you faring?"
"Fine," Frodo promised, but his voice sounded a little too hasty, even to his own ears.
Gandalf sighed heavily, a deep sadness in his eyes, and Frodo looked away. The wizard reached out, wrapping his arm around Frodo's shoulder and holding him close. "I am sorry, Frodo. I am sorry for what you had to face, for the damage that the Ring wrought upon you."
"It was my fault," he mumbled, curling his toes as the guilt crept through him again. "I took the Ring, I – I deserved-"
"No," said Gandalf, his grip tightening. "No, Frodo. You do not deserve what happened to you. What you did was very brave. Foolish, perhaps, but brave. And, in a round about way, very honourable. What you have done, Frodo, is save the entire world. Your family lives because of you. This army is alive because of you. Those people – those souls who endured more than most ever could – they are alive, because of you. You, Frodo Baggins, are a hero. But what the tales do not tell you is that all heroes end their quests with heavy hearts."
Frodo's lips trembled, and he stared down at his toes. "I… I nearly took it, Gandalf. At the last minute I stopped, and I was going to take it – and then the orcs came in with Nelly, and they stabbed Sam, and I – I killed all of them – but then I nearly took it again. I – they – they call me a hero, but I don't even know if I meant to drop it, Gandalf – I – there was a second when I – when I – I considered – they wouldn't let me go and I – I thought – just a second, but –"
"Oh, Frodo," whispered Gandalf, and Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to sob. "What matters is that you fought it. You did not harm Sam, or Nelly. There is strength in that that you cannot deny. And did you not forgive Boromir for attacking you when the ring ensnared him?"
"It's not the same," Frodo croaked.
"Why not?"
"I-" Frodo broke off, and hung his head.
"Was Bilbo mistaken when he told me that at only twenty years old you had managed to separate Thorin's actions during the gold sickness from his character?"
Frodo's fingers wound around the shield about his neck, and he shook his head slightly.
"So what makes this so different?" probed the wizard gently. "Both Thorin and Boromir acted out the manipulations of gold, and the Ring, and you were able to forgive them, Frodo. Why would it be so wrong to forgive yourself?"
Frodo bowed his head, pursing his lips to try and keep them from trembling. "I… I don't know."
Gandalf sighed sadly, drawing him closer. "I know, my lad. These wounds will take time to heal. But you must know that you are worthy of forgiveness, and deserving of so much more."
"Do… do you think I can?" Frodo whispered. His throat felt very tight. "Heal, I mean? Do you think I'll ever be rid what it did to me?"
Gandalf closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I do. Bagginses, I have found, are most resilient folk." The wizard paused for a long moment, and then he opened his eyes. "I have met her, you know."
Frodo sniffed, glancing up at the wizard. There was a sad, wistful smile on his face. "Who?"
Gandalf's eyes twinkled, and a tear ran down his nose. "The Lady Nienna. In my youth, I spent a great deal of time with her – listening, and learning. Much of what I am is thanks to her. And though to you it may seem strange, or perhaps even impossible, it is true that she weeps for every sorrow of every soul on this earth. It is through sorrow and grief that we come to healing, but we never pass through them alone. Never." Gandalf's smile grew a little stronger, and he ran a hand over Frodo's hair. "And you are less alone than most. This will take time to heal… but in the meantime, you have a great many people who care about you, and will care for you."
Frodo lowered his eyes. "I – I can't help but feel that it's my turn to take care of them."
"The two are not mutually exclusive," said Gandalf gently. "You can take care of them even as they take care of you."
Frodo glanced down at his little mithril shield, turning it over in his fingers. "What… what is she like, Gandalf? The Lady Nienna?"
"Well," said Gandalf slowly, a small, reverent smile on his face, "she is a little hard to describe. But more than anything, Frodo she is kind. She cares for all the peoples of Middle-Earth, for everything that lives, and breathes. Many look to her with fear – they see only grief and sorrow, and suffering, but that is not all she is. The Lady Nienna is pity, and courage, and peace. In many ways, she is love. And she never, ever, turns her back on those who call to her."
Taking a deep breath, Frodo looked up at the wizard. "Then why didn't she help us? If she can hear the suffering of everyone, why did she not help the slaves of Lugbúrz sooner, or, or help us destroy the ring? Why did the Valar not help us?"
Gandalf sighed heavily, and rubbed Frodo's shoulder. "That is… well, it is a rather complicated question, Frodo. The Valar do not interfere on Middle-Earth – and they have good reason. It is… dangerous. But that does not mean they did not help, nor that they have forgotten us. For one thing, they sent me here." Frodo looked up, startled, and Gandalf smiled. "Yes, Frodo. From the first day I was sent to Middle-Earth, it was to counter the darkness of Sauron. And may I tell you a secret?"
Frodo nodded, and Gandalf leant in closer.
"I did not wish to come," he whispered. "I was afraid."
"You?" Frodo gasped, and Gandalf smiled.
"Yes, me," he said, staring up at the sky. "Yes, I was afraid. But at the counsel of Manwë, and of Nienna, I came. And that, I think, is a good thing."
"It is," said Frodo, nodding earnestly. "We could not have done it without you."
Gandalf's smile grew, and he squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Well, I don't know about that – but I helped. And the Valar can help in other ways, too. They cannot interfere, no, but think carefully, Frodo. Can you honestly tell me that you did not feel Nienna with you today?"
Frodo thought back to the circle, to the song. To the strange, peaceful feeling within him – the one he could not name. He looked up in surprise. "That was her?"
Gandalf inclined his head.
A bird fluttered down from the sky, chirping cheerfully, and landed at the end of the tree they were sitting on. Frodo watched it dance from branch to branch, feeling rather like he was flying himself – flying or falling.
"It can be a little overwhelming, can it not?" Gandalf murmured. "Knowing that we are not alone."
"Yes… yes, it can…" Frodo glanced towards the tents. "Do you think that they will be alright? The survivors of Mordor, I mean…"
"They have good reason to hope," said Gandalf firmly, looking down at Frodo. "They have been through hardships that most could never imagine, and some have survived through Ages – Eluréd and Elurín… how they did not fade I do not know. But they were rescued, and they were brought to safety. And you did that, Frodo. You and Nelly, and Bróin and Sam. That is a deed worth praising on its own. You have had a great impression on them."
"What do you mean?"
Gandalf raised his eyebrows. "Well, why do you think they were camping outside your tent? We had found space in another tent for them, but they would not settle. When your warg left to find Bróin, they followed."
An unpleasant squirming took hold of Frodo's stomach, and he wrapped his arm around himself. "I think they think we're their masters now."
"I'm not so sure," said Gandalf. "That will likely be an element, but if that was all there was to it, they would have stayed where they were when you left them. What is more, if that was all they believed, I doubt Eluréd and Elurín would've given their true names to Elrond's sons. They trust you, Frodo, as much as they can trust."
"It – it is such a responsibility," Frodo breathed, hating how whiny he must sound, but Gandalf just sighed, and held him closer.
"I know. I know, my lad. But you are not shouldering it alone. We will help you. Take this morning. Elrohir came and woke me a few hours before dawn. He was concerned – he woke from a dream to find Eluréd and Elurín missing from their tent, only to discover them outside with the others. They were all awake, waiting, and afraid, and so we decided to help, if we could. Legolas had the idea of a song of prayer, and I thought it a good idea indeed."
"I never really thought much about the customs of Mirkwood before," Frodo admitted. "That's what it is, isn't it?"
"Yes." Gandalf sighed heavily. "Yes, it is."
"Is that why Legolas was so upset? At the end of it?"
Gandalf smiled sadly. "I believe so, yes. That – and the fact that Legolas has seen a thing like this before."
"He has?"
"Yes," Gandalf sighed once more, his smile fading completely. "Has he ever told you the story of his brothers?"
Surprised, Frodo looked back towards the tents. "Legolas has brothers?"
Gandalf nodded slowly. "Once, he had three. Nimaras, Thaunion, and Alfirin. Legolas was the youngest, by a decade or so. He was little more than an infant when his brothers went out hunting in the forest… Nimaras was the only one of the three close to adulthood at the time, but even he was not of age. The three princes were children, still, and in their adventures, they wandered a little too far from home. They were waylaid by orcs in the outskirts of the forest."
A chill ran down Frodo's spine, and he felt his toes curl up.
"Thranduil led out a hunting party at once, a small army, but his sons had vanished. For three years, he searched, plundering orc hovel after orc hovel and searching every reach of the Misty Mountains, until at last he came upon an orc dungeon dug deep into the roots of a great peak. There, he found his sons, chained hand and foot and digging for ore in the darkness. They were weak, and badly hurt. Badly, badly hurt." Gandalf sighed heavily. "Thaunion passed away in his father's arms on the way back to the Woodland Realm."
Horror coiled around Frodo's heart, and his grip on his necklace grew painfully tight. He had never liked Thranduil, never, but understanding was beginning to awaken in his heart. Holding his son as he died… it was no wonder the Elvenking seemed so closed off and cold.
"Nimaras and Alfirin survived, but their wounds ran deep, in both body and spirit. Night after night, their mother would bring her family together, and they would sing the prayer to Nienna, in the hopes that it would bring the princes peace. I have been told it was the first song that Legolas learnt how to sing. For Alfirin, it was enough to allow him to begin healing. He was the youngest, save for Legolas, and after a good long while, he began to smile again, and to sing songs other than lamentations. But for Nimaras… Nimaras could never truly heal while he remained in Middle-Earth. He blamed himself for their capture, and for Thaunion's death. It was not his fault, of course – but he was the oldest, and he was never able to forgive himself. Even with the care of his parents, and the love of his brothers, Nimaras began to waste away, until his mother made the decision to take him to the West, to Valinor. They left when Legolas was nine years old."
For a moment, Frodo was stunned to silence. How could he have known Legolas for two decades and never had any idea of the grief he had suffered? How could he not have known that Legolas had lost his brothers? How had he never wondered where the Queen of the Woodland Realm might be, when Thranduil always sat alone?
"I – I never thought – he, he always seems so… light-hearted," Frodo whispered, glancing up at Gandalf. "I never imagined…"
"A great deal of the time, our dear Legolas is light-hearted – and frankly, he can be a little naïve at times," said the wizard, a fond smile on his face. "It is a particular problem among Wood Elves. Legolas was very young when this happened, Frodo, and children can be remarkably resilient at that age. Thranduil may not strike you as the most reasonable of people, but for all his flaws he is not a bad father. He sheltered Legolas from the worst of the pain as best he could. Yes, there is grief in Legolas' past, and I do not doubt the plight of those imprisoned in Mordor is one that touches him greatly, but he is still the same Legolas you know. Light-hearted and quick-footed, and sometimes utterly oblivious to the outside world."
A small smile tugged at Frodo's lips, even as he wiped his eyes. A part of him still could not understand it, how someone so calm and cheerful could grow from such a horrible thing, but then his mind turned to his own parents. He had watched them drown, watched a strange dwarf murder them, when he was ten years old. The grief was part of him, and always would be, but it was not who he was. He had healed, and he was happy.
Or at least, he had been happy.
Before the Ring.
Fresh tears stung the backs of his eyes, and Frodo took a deep breath. "Is… is this a secret, Gandalf? I've never heard Legolas speak of his past…"
Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever asked?"
Frodo considered that for a moment. "No… I suppose not. What happened to Alfirin?"
To Frodo's relief, the wizard smiled. "Oh, he still lives in Mirkwood. I have not met him myself, but I hear he is a gentle soul. Far calmer than Legolas and Thranduil, in any case. He is a healer, now – and I believe his speciality is in the healing of animals. Radagast has met him, and I have never heard him speak higher praise of anyone on two legs."
The heavy, comforting thud of dwarven footsteps drew Frodo's attention to the left, and he saw Legolas and Gimli approaching from the woods. Though Gimli smiled at Frodo, his eyes were grave, and there was a deep sadness in Legolas' eyes that belied his own smile.
"I'm not surprised. Alfirin is the best healer of animals this side of the sea," Legolas said to Frodo, as though he had been part of the conversation all along. "And his own wounds healed long ago – as did mine." The elf paused, and then his smile grew a little stronger. "He is also useless with a sword, and even worse with a bow. He bears no weapons, though if you interrupt him while he's painting, he will smack you with a paintbrush hard enough to bruise. He is a good brother."
Gandalf smiled. "Good morning, Legolas."
Legolas bowed his head, and looked at Frodo. "I believe you have just heard the same story that I relayed to Gimli – but the past can rest for awhile now. Those wounds are long healed. If we linger much longer we may miss breakfast."
As if on cue, Frodo's stomach growled, and Gimli laughed gruffly. "Some things never change… C'mon, Frodo, hop on my back. It'll be quicker than limping along."
Frodo glanced up at Gandalf, and the wizard ruffled his hair.
"We can speak more later," he promised. "You will be alright, Frodo."
"Alright?" said Gimli indignantly, even as Frodo slid onto his back. "Of course you'll be alright! You don't have permission for anything else! By some miracle we've got you back in one piece – more or less – and I'm not about to let you fall apart on the way home. Dís'll have my beard."
Warmth glowed in Frodo's heart, and he smiled, resting his chin on Gimli's shoulder and hugging tightly to the dwarf. Without a word, Gimli reached up at squeezed Frodo's arm.
The breakfast was watery oatmeal, bland as anything, but it was warm, and it was not nettles, and it was wonderful. Aragorn brought out Nelly to eat with them in the morning sun, and to Frodo's relief there was colour in her cheeks and a smile on her face. As soon as he saw her, Toothy gave a whine of satisfaction and circled the group, before promptly falling to sleep at her feet.
While they were eating, a man with rich blonde hair approached them, and bowed low.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said. "My name is Éomer – Aragorn has told me much about you. I am glad to find you alive."
"Nice to meet you," said Frodo.
"His sister's adopted Merry," said Pippin cheerfully. "They killed the Witch-King together."
"They what?" choked Frodo, and Éomer sighed heavily.
"To be frank, it's less surprising than my sister adopting anyone. She's not particularly the most… nurturing of folk."
"She's like you but fiercer." Pippin said, nodding at Nelly. "And scarier."
Nelly glared at Pippin, and Éomer raised his eyebrows.
"I see… You are the famous Nelly…"
"Famous?" repeated Nelly, her glare at Pippin growing hotter.
"Indeed… Pippin cited you as the reason why I should not be surprised that Éowyn dressed as a man and snuck onto the battlefield, and nearly got herself killed." Éomer said grimly. "I believe his words were 'it's what Nelly would do.'"
Frodo stiffened, glancing sidelong at Nelly, who stared Éomer in surprise, her eyes wide. Frodo held his breath.
"Seeing the glare you just gave your brother, I would believe it," said Éomer, smiling wearily, and Frodo sighed.
"Oh, thank goodness…"
"I believe Éowyn would be most honoured to meet you, Miss Nelly," Éomer said. "As Pippin said, she is very fond of Merry. You may not get him back at the end of all of this."
Frodo laughed. "I think Kíli might have something to say about that…"
Nelly ignored him, smiling up at Faramir. "I'd be honoured to meet the Lady Éowyn. She sounds wonderful."
"Oh, she is," said Pippin casually. "But you don't want to make her angry. Like I said, she's like you, but scarier."
"Pippin!"
Éomer grinned, but then his expression softened, and became more serious. "I have come to offer help, if I may. Your companions – those who have survived the mines of Mordor – I imagine they are wearier even than us. I have spoken to my men, and found two dozen riders who will lead their horses, and allow your companions to ride."
Aragorn looked up in surprise. "You did not have to do that, my friend."
Éomer inclined his head. "We know. With your leave, Aragorn, I fetch them when it is time to depart."
Aragorn put his hand on his heart and bowed his head, and Frodo, Bróin, Sam, and Nelly copied the gesture. Pippin simply smiled, and continued his oatmeal.
"Éomer is the king of Rohan," said Aragorn softly. "His uncle, Théoden, was killed in the battle at Minas Tirith."
Frodo's heart sank slightly. "Oh… I'm sorry…"
Gimli sighed, and ladled a third helping of meal into Sam's bowl. "The Riders of Rohan view their horses as close as kin," he explained. "That was a grand gesture indeed."
"Gimli would know," Boromir said dryly. "When first he met the Rohirrim, he made quite a fuss about riding."
"I did not," said Gimli hotly. "The man was the one who made a fuss." He put on a high-pitched voice and screwed his face up. "'Whoever has heard of a horse of the Mark being gifted to a dwarf?' I just replied that no one had."
Frodo smiled into his bowl.
When breakfast had ended, Éomer brought forward his riders, and to Frodo could not help but smile when he realised that none of the Rohirrim were carrying their helmets tucked under, allowing the survivors of Mordor to clearly see their faces. One by one, they helped the survivors mount the horses, with several riders sitting before dwarves to make them more comfortable.
Éomer lifted both Nelly and Gimli up onto his own horse, leading it from the ground with a smile, and Pippin rode before Boromir. It had not escaped Frodo's notice that Boromir had been badly wounded in the battle at the gates, and he was relieved to see the man riding. Aragorn settled Frodo and Sam on his own horse, and like Éomer he led from the ground, while Bróin rode on Toothy once again.
As for Legolas, during most of the day he walked among them, but other times he would drop back, delivering small portions of nuts and berries to the survivors of Mordor.
Sometimes, Frodo could hear him singing.
I hope you enjoyed that chapter, please do let me know what you think! I hope that you're all well and safe, and that you take care until next time!
These are the German Lyrics to the song Nienna by Oonagh – the translation of the German lyrics comes from ENTIRELY Google, whilst my translation of the chorus is a mix of google's translation, my own vague knowledge of Quenya and Sindarin, and resources such as David Salo's Gateway to Sindarin and the awesome website elfdict. com.
Am rand der welt blickt sie hinaus
Zeigt in der dunkelheit der nacht,
Wo schon der morgen graut.
Sie ist das licht, das hoffnung gibt
Lausch nur dem wind
Schließ deine augen und du hörst ihr lied
Der ferne ruf, er weckt die kraft
Die du auch jetzt noch in dir hast
Manan ta olya
Nyére símen ëa, ëa (warum gibt es so viel leid hier)
Nyére símen, Niënna (warum gibt es k*mmer, niënna)
Nyére venya ëa, ëa(unser leid hier)
Oialea (ist ewig)
Nyére símen ëa, ëa (gibt es leid hier)
Nyére símen, niënna (gibt es k*mmer, niënna)
Estel almarëan hiruva (um wieder hoffnung zu finden)
Sie nimmt dich an, richtet dich auf
Sie ist bei dir, wenn du sie suchst
Und ihre hilfe brauchst
Dein leiden weist dir ihren weg
Vertrau darauf, sie teilt das schicksal
Das dir auferlegt
Ihr ferner ruf, er weckt die kraft
Die du auch jetzt noch in dir hast
Manan ta olya
Nyére símen ëa, ëa
Nyére símen, Niënna
Nyére venya ëa, ëa
Oialea
Nyére símen ëa, ëa
Nyére símen, Niënna
Estel almarëan hiruva
Manan ta olya
Nyére símen ëa, ëa
Nyére símen, Niënna
Nyére venya ëa, ëa
Oialea
Nyére símen ëa, ëa
Nyére símen, Niënna
Estel almarëan hiruva
Until next time, take care!