It was a darksome dungeon with bitter cold radiating from the black stone walls and a sound of dripping water somewhere. A gigantic cave troll tramped in carrying something in its arms and dumped it at Frodo’s feet.

It was Aragorn, bruised and battered, his armor rent and black with Orc blood. He lay still for so long Frodo began to fear he was dead, but - finally - his eyes opened. He sat up, glancing warily around him then he saw Frodo and his eyes widened in an expression of pure horror, before filling with tears.

“Oh Frodo, what have you done?” he whispered brokenly.

Still unable to find his voice Frodo reached towards his friend - and saw a giant black claw, a golden ring gleaming on one talon, at the end of his arm.

“NO!”

“Frodo?”

He blinked away the nightmare and realized he was sitting bolt upright in bed in his darkened room at Cair Andros with Aragorn, safe and whole, looking down at him in concern. “Aragorn...you‘re all right... I didn‘t...”

The King sat down on the bed and put his arms comfortingly around his small friend. “Of course I’m all right,” he said gently, “you saved me, saved us all, Frodo, you know that.”

But Frodo shook his head, cheek rubbing against the velvet of Aragorn’s tunic. “No, you don’t know, I betrayed you -”

“I do know.” Aragorn corrected gently. “You told me how you claimed the Ring for yourself - don‘t you remember?” he pushed the Hobbit back to arms length so he could look him in the eye. “So did Isildur, my ancestor, and all my life I have blamed him for it, and feared the same weakness in myself - until you taught me better.”

“The power of the Ring, there in the place of its making, was too great for any will to withstand. Even that of a King of Men with the blood of a holy Maiar in his veins,” Aragorn smiled “or that of a Baggins of the Shire.” the smile faded. “I was wrong to blame Isildur and think him weak, just as you are wrong to blame yourself, Frodo. You both attempted something beyond the strength of any embodied being - of course you could not do it!”

“Maybe so.” Frodo said quietly. “But it seems to me I deserve no credit either. If not for Smeagol the Ring would be back on Sauron’s hand.”

“True.” Aragorn agreed. “But Smeagol would not have been there had you not spared him, and taken him for your guide.” again he smiled. “So you see it all comes back to you, Ringbearer. It was thanks to you that both the Ring and its destroyer were in that place.”

Frodo settled back against his pillow. “I suppose you’re right, but I keep having nightmares about what could have happened.”

“So do I.” Aragorn said quietly. “So do we all. They will pass in time, but none of us can go back to what we were.” gently he touched Frodo’s cheek. “You must accustom yourself to being the Ringbearer, as I must get used to being King.”

“And the King has far more important things to do than hold the Ringbearer’s hand.” Frodo said, essaying a smile.

Aragorn rose to leave. “No he does not.”

He closed the door to Frodo’s room gently behind him and crossed the gallery to join Gandalf, softly luminous in his white robes, smoking his pipe at the railing.

“Another nightmare?” the wizard asked quietly.

Aragorn nodded, leaning wearily against the stone balustrade. “That is to be expected of course. But I sense something is troubling Frodo, something he cannot bring himself to tell either you or me.”

“There is no one in Middle Earth who can do more for him than you, my friend.” Gandalf said gently after a short silence.

“No.” Aragorn straightened, a decision made. “There is another who may do him more good than I. And not too far off, I will send for him.”

***

“- then Faramir told us he was Boromir’s brother, and that Boromir was dead. And I feared the rest of the company had died too, including Merry and Pippin.”

“But we hadn’t, only Boromir.” Merry interrupted. “You remember, Frodo, how we led the Orcs away from you? Well Boromir burst out of the woods just as they had us cornered and fought them off.”

“But there were always more, hundreds of them coming from every direction -”

“Not hundreds, Pip.” Merry corrected. “I don’t suppose there was more than two or three hundred of them all together - and a lot of those were busy with the others.”

“Well it seemed like hundreds.” Pippin answered. “Boromir blew his horn for help but Strider and Gimli and Legolas had plenty of trouble of their own and couldn’t get to us. Then an Uruk came with a bow..” he stopped, gulping painfully.

“There have already been many songs about the last battle of Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, and the capture of his companions.” the harpist said gently. “It is the Ringbearers’ story I am here to hear.”

They were sitting in an inner courtyard of the fortress of Cair Andros, it had a fountain at its center and was green with potted herbs. Frodo was stretched out on a rug in the sun with Merry and Pippin sitting cross-legged nearby while Sam pottered among the plants with a pair of clippers.

The harpist was sitting on the edge of the fountain, fingers straying idly over the strings of the instrument in his lap. He seemed quite old, with shaggy white hair and a deeply lined face, and looked to Frodo like one who had suffered - and he was stone blind. Frodo suspected he was even older than he looked and not a Man at all - a wizard maybe, like Gandalf, or kin to them. He had told them to call him Tal-argan, but Frodo was quite sure that was not his true name.

The dark, sightless eyes, turned to him. “Go on, Ringbearer.” he prompted

‘Right.” Frodo said. “I didn’t know what had happened, I was afraid the others were dead. And afraid to tell Faramir the truth so I lied.” he smiled wryly. “Which was a mistake because of course he knew I was lying and distrusted me all the more. So there we were, neither of us trusting the other. Then Smeagol decided to fish in the pool below Faramir‘s hideout.

“He - Faramir that is - woke me up and took me outside to see. I‘d lied to him about there being anybody but Sam with me. He knew it and guessed it was Smeagol. Faramir was all set to shoot him so I had to admit the poor creature was with me and begged to be allowed to go down to him.” he swallowed unhappily, remembering. “Faramir’s Men grabbed him as soon as I’d coaxed him away from the pool, I’ll never forget the look he gave me - I don’t think he ever forgave me for betraying him like that.”

“What guff!” Sam snapped, straightening abruptly from his inspection of a rosemary bush. “You saved his cursed life is what you did, Frodo. It wasn’t your fault Faramir got a bit rough with him.”

“More than a bit rough, Sam.” Frodo said quietly. “They beat him to make him talk.”

“I’m sorry,” said Pippin, “but that doesn’t sound like Faramir at all!”

“He felt he had to do it, Mr. Pippin.” Sam explained. “He had to find out what Mr. Frodo and I were up to, and making Gollum talk was the only way - and of course he could see what a nasty treacherous creature it was.”

“He’s a good Man, Pippin,” Frodo said gently, “scared as I was I could see that. He was trying to do the right thing - unfortunately he decided the right thing was to take us to Minas Tirith.”

Pippin winced. “Thank goodness he thought the better of it! giving the Ring to Denethor would have been a disaster. He was a good Man too - at heart,” he continued earnestly, “but he’d been driven half mad by grief and couldn’t have been trusted with something like the Ring.”

***

“Pippin’s right,” Aragorn said quietly, gazing across the river at the army encampment as they stood smoking their pipes in the evening cool on the gallery outside Frodo‘s chamber. “Denethor was not to be trusted, that’s why I was so set against going to Minas Tirith.” he smiled wryly. “But of course I couldn’t tell Boromir that.”

“No.” Frodo agreed. “He wouldn’t have appreciated it at all.”

Aragorn glanced down, sidelong. “I know what Boromir tried to do, Frodo. He told me himself before he died.”

The Hobbit’s eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t his fault, it was the Ring. I was afraid it had ruined him.”

“No. He freed himself from its hold and died clean of taint.” Aragorn answered firmly. “I was there at the last, Frodo. I know this for certain.”

“I’m so glad. I was desperately worried about what might have happened between him and the rest of you after I’d gone.”

Aragorn smiled faintly. “You thought maybe it wasn’t Orcs who had killed him?”

“It occurred to me.” Frodo admitted. “Thank goodness I was wrong!”

***

Aragorn lay slumped against the black wall, dirty cheek resting on his chained hands, his face half hidden by sweat soaked strings of hair. Frodo bent over him and his eyes opened. For a moment he stared up without recognition, then a terrible look of hatred and revulsion swept over his face.

“Traitor!” he spat.

Frodo woke with a start, shivering in his bed. Aragorn wasn’t there to comfort him this time - he’d gone down to the army camp after dinner to see to all the kingly duties he’d been neglecting for Frodo’s sake. The Hobbit threw back the covers and got out of bed, caught up his grey cloak wrapped it over his nightshirt and went outside. A walk would do him good.

He went down the long gallery, past Sam’s room, and Merry and Pippin’s. He heard Gimli’s snore floating through the window of the room he shared with Legolas but either the Elf wasn’t there or he was sunk too deep in his own dreams to hear Frodo pass - for he didn’t appear. To the Hobbit’s relief. He didn’t want to have to explain what was wrong or listen to any more well meant comfort. He came to a door, and to a flight of steps spiraling down to the little herb scented courtyard.

It was bright with moonlight reflected off the white stone walls and the soft bubbling of the fountain was counter-pointed by the twinkling notes of a harp. Frodo stopped in surprise in the doorway; Tal-argan was there, sitting on the fountain’s verge as if he’d not moved since they’d left him hours before, gently strumming his harp. Suddenly he stilled it with a hand flattened over the strings and turned his head sharply towards the turret door. “Who is there?”

“Me, Frodo.” the Hobbit stammered. He moved into the yard, eyes fixed on the harpist’s face. Perhaps it was the moonlight silvering the fine features and smoothing over the lines that marred them but suddenly he saw the shadow of a familiar kind of beauty beneath the worn surface. “You’re an Elf.” he breathed wonderingly. “But - but you look old.”

“I am old.” Tal-argan smiled. “Very old, and somewhat the worse for wear.” his fingers danced over the strings of his harp, sending a glissando of notes shivering through the moonlit air.

“Who are you?” Frodo demanded. “What happened to you?”

Tal-argan shook his head. “I am here to listen to your story Ringbearer, not to tell you mine.”

“Not just for the song.” Frodo said flatly.

“Not just for the song.” the harpist agreed. “What haunts your dreams so you can find no rest, Ringbearer?”

“You expect me to tell you? I don’t even know you!”

“You know Aragorn and Gandalf, why not tell one of them?”

“No!”

Tal-argan nodded to himself, as if something he’d suspected had just been confirmed. “It is guilt then. Frodo, whatever wrong you’ve done silence won’t heal it.” he smiled faintly. “Believe me I know.”

“Do you? How?”

“You are not the only one to have fallen into darkness and sinned.” Tal-argan replied. “But I have no wish to tell you my history, any more than you wish to speak of your own trouble. So let us be silent and enjoy the moonlight together.”

Frodo eased himself down on a step. “But you can’t see the moonlight.”

“No, but I can feel its coolness on my skin, just as I can feel the warmth of the sun. I was not always blind, I remember moon and sun and the light of Elbereth’s stars.” He had a beautiful voice, deep and rich, and his fingers wove a shimmering music - like light turned into sound. Frodo’s eyes grew heavy, began to close.

“Sleep if you wish, Little One, I promise no nightmares will trouble you.”

And Frodo believed him, though he didn’t know why. He lay down on the step and yielded himself to his weariness, and the soft enchantment of music and moonlight.

It was spring, the apple trees in the orchard were in full bloom and the air was full of their scent and blowing petals. Frodo sat reading in his favorite seat, a broad branch of the gnarled old grandfather tree, brushing windblown blossoms from the pages and laughing at Bilbo’s comic verse. He woke - still smiling in his sunlit room at Cair Andros.

*’I’m alive,’* he thought, *’I’m going to see Bilbo and the Shire again.’* and for a moment he was filled from crown to tingling toes with the same joyous relief as he’d felt when the Ring was destroyed. Then his trouble and pain came back to him - but seemed somehow the lighter and unable to kill the sudden hope in his heart. *’Maybe I will get better, maybe time will heal just as Aragorn said.’*

He made a real hearty Hobbit breakfast that morning, rather than just picking at his food as usual. Sam was delighted, and Pippin and Merry too. “I was afraid talking about the quest would make you worse,” the last told him, “but it seems to have done you nothing but good.”

“Maybe he needed to get it off his chest.” Pippin suggested.

“Maybe I did.” said Frodo.

Breakfast, as usual, was followed by a stroll through the fortress’s steep terraced gardens. The fruit trees there were in full flower as was every other plant. “I just don’t understand it.” said Sam. “It’s barely spring, most of these things shouldn’t be in bloom yet.”

“Maybe the seasons are different so far south.” Merry offered.

“Well, yes, I suppose they’re bound to be.” Sam conceded. “But I wouldn’t expect them to be this different!”

“It’s not the seasons,” Frodo said with certainty, “it’s magic, I can feel it. Somebody’s used power to make the land bloom.”

The three other Hobbits looked at him in surprise. “Like the Lady Galadriel maybe?” Sam asked after a moment.

“No.” Frodo answered slowly, “Not the Lady.” Galadriel’s Ring would have lost its power when the One was destroyed. “She’s part of the old order, the Elder World that is passing away. But there are new powers arising that belong to this New Age - one of them did this.”

The others were eyeing him oddly - even Sam - and Frodo didn’t blame them. How did he know all that? How could he? Yet somehow he did. He abruptly changed the subject: “What about those mushrooms Merry mentioned? Let’s have a look and see if they’re fit to eat.”

A long, leisurely mushroom hunt took up the rest of the morning. Afterwards Merry and Pippin carried the spoils down to the kitchens to make lunch. The two of them had taken over the cooking of all the Hobbit’s meals regardless of their dignity as knights or the objections - if any - of the kitchen staff.

“Good, solid Shire cooking is what the two of you need, not fancy foreign fare.” Merry had said.

“Right.” Pippin had agreed heartily. “They’re very fine folk here in the South but they don’t know the first thing about cookery!”

Frodo and Sam went back to their rooms for a wash and a change, then proceeded to the little herb court where they found Tal-argan waiting, Frodo was beginning to wonder if he ever left it. “You did give me good dreams last night,” he told the harpist. “how did you do it?”

“By bringing back pleasant memories you had forgotten.” he replied, and smiled. “There were many to chose from. You have had a happy life, Frodo Baggins.”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly, “I have, but I forgot it for a while.”

“Remember it.” Tal-argan said seriously. “And that you have much to live for; home and family and friends who love you.”

“I know.” Frodo whispered. Friends he had betrayed - but he wouldn’t say that in front of Sam. “I don’t remember going back to my bed.”

The harpist laughed. “I carried you there. I wasn’t about to wake you after going to the trouble of lulling you to sleep but Aragorn would have been very angry with me if I let you take a chill.”

Sam looked surprised at that. “How? I mean not being able to see and all...?”

“I am blind not helpless, Master Gamgee.” Tal-argan answered crisply, then smiled a little wryly. “And I know this fortress very well - I spent well over a hundred years here as a ‘guest’ of King Turambar and his son Atanatar.”

Frodo frowned. “You mean Kings of Gondor held you prisoner - why?”

“I didn’t like the way they governed their eastern lands and tried to do something about it.” He shrugged a little. “Luckily for me Siriondil proved more enlightened than his father and grandfather and let me go.”

Frodo’s frown deepened. “Does Aragorn know all that?”

“Of course.” Tal-argan said serenely.

Frodo was prevented from asking any more questions by the noisy arrival of Merry and Pippin, followed by a couple of kitchen boys, all four loaded down with large, heavily burdened trays. They laid the dishes out on one of the benches near the fountain, and put the plates and cups and the rest of the table ware on the other. Then the boys departed with the trays and Merry began to uncover the dishes.

“I thought a good hot lunch today, since Frodo’s finally hungry again.” he said. “We’ve got chops and bird on toast and a nice beefsteak with asparagus and peas for greens and of course mushrooms!”

“And strawberry tarts, treacle pudding and jellies for desert.” put in Pippin pouring red wine into the pewter cups - he’d explained the Southern beer wasn’t fit to drink.

“Sounds delicious.” Frodo said sincerely.

“Now then,” said Pippin after all four Hobbits has served themselves with generous helpings and Tal-argan accepted a bit of bird and a few stalks of asparagus to keep them company, “where were we?”

“Cirith Ungol, Shelob’d just stung me.” Frodo answered. “But what happened after that is more Sam’s story than mine.” and he turned expectantly to his friend who, predictably, blushed bright red.

“Well, Sam?” Tal-argan prompted after a moment.

The red ebbed away leaving poor Samwise pale with remembered grief and fear. “I thought Mr. Frodo was dead,” he began slowly, “he was white as paper and his eyes were open and staring and he didn’t seem to be breathing....I thought he was dead,” he swallowed hard, “I’d been sent along to look after him and I’d failed.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sam, but mine.” Frodo interrupted firmly. “I sent you away.”

“Because that Gollum tricked you into it.” Sam answered with a touch of venom, then went on. “I just huddled there crying over you, Frodo, and then I heard somebody coming and Sting started glowing blue so I knew it was Orcs.” he stopped, swallowed again. “So - I took the Ring from around Mr. Frodo’s neck and hid, leaving him there for the Orcs to find.”

“Exactly the right thing to do.” Frodo told him. “There was no way you could have known I was alive - and the Ring had to be kept out of enemy hands.”

“That’s what I thought too.” Sam agreed, a little color coming back into his face. “I guess it was an honest enough mistake, but I felt a right fool and pretty near desperate when I heard that there Orc say you were still alive and they carried you off!” he shrugged a little helplessly. “I didn’t know what to do - there was way to many of them for me to tackle so I followed and saw them carry Mr. Frodo into a nasty old stone tower full of Orcs. I really was desperate then, hovering outside, trying to think of a way in - then I remembered about the Ring....”

“Oh, Sam,” Merry breathed, “don’t tell me you put it on!”

“I’m afraid I did, Mr. Merry. It was like I’d clean forgot everything I knew about it - except the bit about making you invisible.” he stared over their heads, brow slightly knit, as he remembered. “It was like a fog had come up and swallowed me, the world went all grey and hazy, and I could feel him - Sauron - looking for me but he couldn’t see me through the fog. And I could hear - everything! Shelob bubbling and moaning somewhere in her caves, the Orcs snarling and snapping at each other inside the tower.” he swallowed again. “And I heard the Ring talking to me.”

“Talking to you?” Pippin echoed astonished.

“Well not talking exactly, but it said things to me without any words showed me things, made promises...”

“What kind of promises?” Pippin asked, puzzled.

Slowly the color mounted in Sam’s face. “Crazy things; swords, kingdoms, the sun the moon and all the stars besides!” he took a deep breath. “I won’t say I wasn’t tempted - but only for a moment! I mean me, Sam Gamgee, a great warrior and king? Even if the Ring’d meant it I couldn’t have done it - and anyway it was all a trick and a cheat.” he hesitated a moment then added. “And besides - I don’t want crowns and castles and the like, just a nice little hole and bit of garden and - and -”

“And Rosie Cotton to share it.” said Frodo with a smile.

Sam turned bright red but he nodded. “I pulled the Ring off as fast as I could and put it in my pocket. But even with it off I could hear shouting from inside the tower and a clattering, clashing sound as if folk were fighting.”

“I could hear it too.” Frodo said quietly. “I was awake by then, lying bound and helpless on the floor at the top of the tower. It started with two Orcs, the commander and an officer I think, fighting over my mithril coat then spread through the whole garrison.”

Tal-argan nodded. “It’s not difficult to stir up dissension among Orcs. Rather the trouble lies in preventing it.”

“I believe you.” said Sam. “I decided to sneak up to the gate and see what was going on.” a look of bewildered distaste passed over his face. “They were all dead, lying in heaps. They’d killed each other - well most of them. I did meet three or four on the stair but I took care of them right enough. I wasn’t about to let anybody or anything come between me and Mr. Frodo.”

“Sam got to me just in the knick of time,” Frodo continued, “just before the one surviving Orc could kill me. I was so glad to see him - and in despair too. You see I thought the Orcs had taken the Ring but Sam told me he had it, and showed it to me. I ordered him to give it back - but for a moment there I was afraid he wouldn’t obey.”

“I’m sorry about that, Frodo,” Sam said earnestly, “it was like I was two people; the real me who wanted to give it back just as you’d asked, and a part under the Ring’s spell that didn’t want to give it up.”

“And the real Sam won.” Frodo smiled at his friend, then it faded. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, Sam, but the Ring had already done its worst to me - there wasn’t any point in putting you through all that too. Besides I doubt we’d have made it to the Mountain if we’d both been in as poor shape as I was by then.”

Sam nodded. “It was your burden just as you said, Frodo. My job was to help you along.”

“And you did, magnificently.” he turned to Tal-argan. “Be sure to say in your song that Frodo Ninefinger wouldn’t have gotten far without the help of Samwise the Strong.”

“Oh, Mr. Frodo!” said Sam, red faced but pleased in spite of himself.

When they’d finished lunch Sam, Merry and Pippin carried the emptied dishes and soiled plates back down to the kitchens leaving Frodo alone with the harpist. “Was it Turambar or Atanatar who put out your eyes?” he asked bluntly.

Tal-argan looked shocked. “Of course not! While they may have been, at times, less than generous and just to Men of other kinds the Anarioni were of the blood of Elendil and descendants of Luthien the Fair, they did not do such things!”

“Sorry.” Frodo said, a little chastened. “But I couldn’t help wondering...you did say they’d held you prisoner.”

“For what seemed to them to be good reason.” said the harpist. “But I have, from time to time, found myself in less merciful hands.”

“Sauron’s?” Frodo asked.

Tal-argan hesitated a moment then nodded. “Yes.”

“In - in Barad-dur?”

“No!” the harpist shuddered. “Or I would not be speaking to you now - no one escaped from the Dark Tower.”

“Have you been inside Mordor? Do you know what it’s like?”

A strange, wistful expression came over Tal-argan’s lined face. “I passed through those lands once, very long ago, before Sauron took them for his seat and kingdom. I remember the plain of Gorgoroth as green and fruitful, and the Mountain of Doom when it was but a small cone belching occasional gusts of grey smoke that floated across the blue sky like clouds.”

Frodo tried to imagine the Black Land he remembered as anything but desolation and failed. “Sauron is fallen but Mordor will never be green and fruitful again.”

Tal-argan turned his head sharply and the darkened eyes fixed on Frodo almost as if they could see him. “Never? Never is too long a word for any mortal - or even an Elf to speak. Gorgoroth will be fair green Riognach again someday - though the healing will be slow and perhaps too long even for me to see the end of it.”

Frodo shook his head. “You do not know how the land has been tormented.”

“No.” the harpist agreed. “But I believe that life is stronger than unlife. The power of Yavanna works slowly but it is very great, in the end she will prevail.”

“I hope you’re right.” Frodo said softly, doubting but wanting to believe. For if the barren land of Mordor could be healed - then so could he.

It was the arrival of a flotilla of barges from Minas Tirith, packed with supplies and reinforcement, that took Aragorn from Frodo’s side and down into the encampment on the field of Cormallen.

“This exceeds my hopes,” he told Imrahil as they watched the fresh levies disembark. “I am fortunate in my Steward.”

“And in your Queen.” said the Prince. *1

Aragorn laughed. “That I already knew.”

Many of the scouts he’d sent out - his Rangers and Faramir’s - had also returned, some with ill news.

“The Enemy’s creatures have found themselves deep holes to hide in. They must be rooted out but there is no urgency - with their master gone they have no heart to do aught but hide.” Aragorn told the Captains of the West as they sat in council. “Our chief concern must be our deluded fellow Men. Some lord or captain among the Southrons is marshalling the remnants of their army in Ithilien, perhaps contemplating an attack on the City. They must be driven back to their own country.” he smiled at Eomer, seated at his right hand. “It is a job for horsemen. Would you take charge of the matter, Eomer King? Prince Imrahil and his knights together with your riders should be a sufficient force.”

“If such is your wish.” Eomer answered promptly. “I take it we are meant to harry, not to engage in open battle?”

“Exactly.” Aragorn agreed. “Your knights and the Ithilien Rangers together should be enough to persuade the Haradrim a swift return their own country is their wisest course. But I want no more blood shed than is absolutely necessary, for these are Men and our kin. I would wean them from the Shadow and make them our friends.”

Imrahil shook his head ruefully. “I fear you hope for too much, my Lord. Harad and Gondor have been enemies time out of mind.”

“True.” said Aragorn. “But all the fault was not on Harad’s side, the Ship Kings too had much to answer for.” his face turned stern and his voice took on a commanding edge. “Understand me, my Lords of Gondor, I neither seek nor desire an empire of subject peoples. Only that which is Gondor’s by right - Harondor and Umbar - and not one rod of land more.”

Imrahil and the other Captains nodded obediently but still looked doubtful.

“Men can turn from the Shadow, my Lords,” the stranger at their council said quietly from his seat at the King’s left hand. “mine did,” he smiled at Aragorn, “though not without help.”

He was a stocky, fair haired, blue eyed Man - not unlike the Riders of Rohan. But his dress was very different indeed; his short jacket and high boots were richly embellished with glittering medallions of gold. Of gold too were the linked plates of his belt and the wide collar, curiously chased and wrought, around his throat. This was Batrad, chief of the Princes of Rhovanion, descended from both the Northmen and the Wainriders who had conquered them.

“I am glad you have come, Batrad,” Aragorn told him, “I would have your council on our Eastern foes.”

“And I desired to see for myself what force you had at your command.” the glittering prince replied with a smile. “So when you sent for Runa I decided to come too.”

“Runa?” Eomer echoed blankly. “Surely you cannot mean Rune!”

“He does.” said Aragorn. “Rune, as you call him, is an old friend of mine. I desired his help for the Ringbearer.”

Eomer stared. “A friend of yours?” he echoed incredulously.

“Who exactly is this Rune and how do you come to know of him, my Lord of the Mark?” Imrahil asked curiously.

“He is a name from our oldest legends, from the days before our fathers’ fathers came west.” Eomer answered, shaking his head all amazed. “He was a great singer and dwimmer crafty according to the tales. But that he should still walk the world is a great wonder.” he turned to Gandalf. “Is he a wizard then?”

“Not of my order.” the other said, a faint frown drawing his white brows together.

Aragorn set the bulk of his new levies to the task of driving the remnants of the Easterling army back to their own lands. But for a select few he had a grimmer duty; to enter into Mordor itself and throw down its strongholds and fastnesses lest they become refuges for Sauron’s surviving servants. This work he gave to his own Rangers, hardened to horror by long years of secret warfare in the North, and to the grim veterans of the eastern marches among the Gondorian soldiery. To Elladan and Elrohir he gave a special and most terrible task; to enter the twisting labyrinth of Cirith Ungol and destroy Shelob.

“Sam must have wounded her badly,” Aragorn told his brothers by marriage, “There will never be a better time to put an end to her once and for all.”

“We agree.” said Elladan.

***

After the council Aragorn opened and read his letters from both Queen and Steward. Arwen’s made him smile, and sigh as well. She would not come to Cormallen. It was undoubtedly the right answer - and the one he had expected - yet for all that he was disappointed. It would be long before he was free to ride to Minas Tirith and see her again.

In the postscript of her letter Arwen made some reference to the chief matter of Faramir’s, which was no more or less than a detailed and worried description of Gondor’s empty treasury and exhausted credit. The long wars had drained the realm of its wealth and Faramir could see no way of paying for the needs of the army and the rebuilding of the City, but Aragorn could. He sent for Gimli.

The Dwarf entered the King’s tent to find his old friend and companion sitting unattended upon his chair of state. “Gimli son of Gloin, Lord of Erebor,” Aragorn said formally, “the time has at last come when the Dunedain ask return for the help they gave to the People of Durin of Old.”

“And high time too.” Gimli answered less formally. “We Dwarves do not like debts hanging over our heads!” *2

Aragorn smiled at that, then sobered and continued. “I must have gold for the needs of Gondor, a great deal of gold I fear. But I do not ask it as a gift, merely a loan between friends. Gondor was a wealthy Kingdom once and I doubt not will become so again and able to repay you double fold what you now lend us.”

“We would give you all the treasure of Dain as a free gift if you asked it of us, you know that Aragorn Dunadan.” Gimli replied as seriously. “If you will have it only as a loan, so be it. But we will take not one gold piece more than we lend in repayment.”

“And there are those who say the Dwarves are ungenerous!” said Aragorn.

“We can be, it must be admitted we can be at times.” Gimli conceded. “But none will deny that we always pay our debts - and in full with no half measures!”

***

After Gimli left Eomer came, a letter in his hand and a troubled frown upon his face. “Eowyn will not come to Cormallen,” he told Aragorn. “She says she is fully recovered but I don’t know if I can believe her.”

“You can.” the King assured him. “Arwen says the same in her letter to me. Eowyn has left the care of the Healers and is helping my wife set the Citadel in order.”

“But why will she not come to me?” Eomer asked, a little forlornly. “I need to see for myself that she is well again. And all the army would do her honor.”

Aragorn smiled wryly. “I fear the fault is mine, Eomer. You she no doubt wishes to see, but me? It may be long indeed before she is ready to look on my face again.”

“You did no wrong, Aragorn.” the younger Man said earnestly.

“Yet all unwillingly I dealt Eowyn a hurt it may take long to heal.” the King sighed. “At least she is no longer in despair. I hope all will be well with her now.”

“I do not doubt but it will.” Eomer said stoutly. “She just needs a little more time. When I return from harrying the Southrons I will write again. Then she will come, I am sure.”

***

Aragorn spent the night at the camp but the next morning, after bidding farewell to King Eomer and Prince Imrahil and watching them march out at the head of their knights, he returned to the fortress of Cair Andros with Gandalf.

The wizard was deeply perturbed by what Eomer and Batrad had told him about Runa. “Such long life is not natural in a Man. Only those who have dealings with the Shadow live so long.”

“Runa is not a Man,” Aragorn answered calmly, “nor is he darkened by the Shadow - not now.”

“Not now?” Gandalf echoed with a sharp glance.

“He has been deep in Darkness in his time, as deep as Frodo, and found his way out. That is why I thought he could to help our friend.” Aragorn shot the wizard a sidelong glance, glinting with humor. “Never fear, Gandalf, he is one you knew well once - at least by repute.” and he would not say one word more, answering all further questions with a brief; “You will see.”

King and somewhat disgruntled wizard made their way through the winding passages of the fortress towards the small, sunny court where the Ringbearer and his companions could usually be found. They were there now, Aragorn and Gandalf heard Frodo’s voice echo clearly down the corridor:

“- and so poor Sam carried me, upside down and arse foremost, up the mountain to the Cracks of Doom.”

“I beg your leave to alter that description somewhat.” said a deeper, musical voice tinged with amusement.

“All right.” Frodo conceded. “As long as you make it clear that Samwise the Strong carried his fainting master bodily up the mountainside, sick and weary as he was!”

Gandalf had stopped dead in his tracks, one hand closed around Aragorn’s arm like a vise. “Him? I cannot believe it! Where did you find him?”

“In Rhun, on one of my journeys long ago.” the King replied.

The wizard shook his head. “That he should still be alive -”

“Alive but much the worse for wear, as he himself says.” Aragorn interrupted. “He is far from the Elf you remember, Gandalf, aged like a Mortal Man by long years of hardship. And he is blind.”

The wizard flinched. “Blind?”

Aragorn nodded gravely. “For many centuries now. I do not know exactly what happened, he never speaks of it, but it was Sauron’s work - of that much I am sure.”

The voices continued to echo merrily off the stone walls of the passage. Gandalf listened intently. “Frodo sounds better, much better.”

“Yes.” Aragorn agreed. “I thought Tal-argan would help him.” the wizard looked a question. “That is the name he gave to the Hobbits.”

They waited until the Little Folk had left the court, carrying their second breakfast dishes back to the kitchens, that they might have a few moments alone with Tal-argan.

The harpist was sitting as usual on the edge of the fountain, his head turned sharply as they entered. “Aragorn?”

“Yes. And another you may remember.”

Gandalf‘s voice betrayed nothing of the horror and pity clearly visible on his face. “I had both another name and another guise when we saw each other long ago in lost Beleriand. I was Olorin of the Host of the Valar.”

“The healer, servant of Lorien and Este.” Tal-argan said, enlightened, “I do remember.” his face and lightless eyes turned fractionally towards Aragorn. “You were right. Frodo is holding something back, something he is ashamed of.”

The King shook his head. “Whatever it is, it can be of no moment compared to what he has done.”

“It is of great moment to Frodo.“ Tal-argan said sharply. “Aragorn, you do not heal a wounded spirit by telling him he is troubling himself over nothing! Whatever it is it is not ‘nothing‘ in Frodo‘s eyes.”

“I stand reproved.” said Aragorn. “He has not told you what it is?”

“No. Why should he? As he himself said he barely knows me.”

“Yet by his voice his heart is lighter.” said Gandalf. “That is your doing I think.”

“In a small degree.” the harpist shrugged. “I have given him good dreams in place of nightmares. He is sleeping better and putting on flesh. As he gains strength he will be better able to master his trouble.” Tal-argan smiled. “Who knows, perhaps he too will decide it is a matter of no moment. We will see.”

“Have you told Frodo who you are?” Aragorn asked.

“No. And I don’t want you to either, Aragorn. The mystery exercises his wits and gives him something besides his hurts to think on.”

“Yes,” Gandalf agreed. “A distraction is just what Frodo needs now.”

***

Notes:

1. In this AU Arwen rode with the Grey Company and was left as Queen in Minas Tirith. See ‘I have Made My Choice’ and ‘The Steward and the Queen’ by this author (adv.)

2. The ‘debt’ is for the Ranger’s sheltering the women and children of Durin’s race and conveying them to refuge with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains after Moria was abandoned to the Balrog.

Note: On the Peoples of Rhovanion

The Wainriders were an eastern people who invaded and conquered the Northmen of Rhovanion c. TA 1856 reducing those who did not flee to servitude. A slave rebellion at the same time King Calimehtar’s offensive against the Wainriders, (c. TA 1899) failed and they remained in possession of Rhovanion despite their defeat at Calimehtar’s hands. The Wainrider’s final attack against Gondor was made in TA 1944 in co-ordination with the Haradrim and Khand who attacked from the south. King Ondoher and the northern army were defeated, and he and both his sons killed, but Earnil defeated the Harad on the River Poros and came north to destroy the Wainriders in their camps and they fled back to their own lands. There is no further mention of the Wainriders or Rhovanion in Professor Tolkien’s works. (Canon)

After their crushing defeat by Earnil II the Wainriders retired to lick their wounds in their permanent settlements under the eaves of Mirkwood. Their blood mixed with that of their Northmen slaves and slowly a form of the Northmen’s speech replaced their native tongue. They lived in fear of the Necromancer of Dol Guldur, and hated him for it. When he was driven out a shadow departed from the Rhovanioni, (who were no longer the Wainriders of old) and they were open to the influence of the Blue Wizards and Runa the harpist who had already done much to wean their eastern kin from the Dark Lord. Thengel of Rohan and Aragorn as Thorongil both work to bring the Princes of Rhovanion into alliance with Gondor - and succeed. Had they not the Elves and Men of the Mirkwood would have had more than attacks from Dol Guldur to contend with. The Rhovanioni, like Erebor and Dale, held at bay the hordes of Sauron dominated Easterlings that might otherwise have overwhelmed the West. (Fanon!)

Aragorn finished stitching the long, diagonal sword cut and laid a pad of clean linen over it, then gestured for the orderly to lift the patient so he could wind the long bandage around his chest to hold the dressing in place.

The Gondorian surgeon jittered behind him “Your grace should not be doing this.”

Aragorn glanced back, the quicksilver gleam of his deep eyes faintly luminous in the dim light. “Why not?” finished he rose and rinsed his hands in the bowl held by another orderly. “You are short handed here, and I was a healer long before I was a king.”

“You have always been King, my lord, if unrecognized.” the patient wheezed as the orderly made him comfortable.

Aragorn gave the man one of his flashing but fleeting smiles. “Perhaps so. But my duties as healer never conflicted before, and I see no reason why they should now.” He looked back at the surgeon, eyebrows rising. “Do they not say in Gondor the hands of the King are the hands of a healer?”

The man bowed resignedly and continued his rounds. Smiling inwardly Aragorn looked down the line of beds in the long fortress gallery they’d turned into a field hospital. All seemed to be in order. Perhaps it was time he was about his other duties. Then he saw not one but two familiar figures at the far end.

The wounded soldier fell silent as Aragorn approached and Tal-argan, sitting by his bed, turned his head. “King Elessar?”

“Yes. I am glad to see you here, my friend. Not all wounds are in the body, especially when fighting such a foe as this.” then Aragorn glanced at Frodo, standing silent behind aged Elf’s stool. “What are you doing here, Ringbearer?”

“Tal-argan needed some one to guide him, he doesn’t know this part of the fortress.” Frodo answered, speaking softly.

“These halls were built after my time here.” the Elf agreed.

Aragorn looked at Frodo thoughtfully. He himself would not have chosen to bring the Ringbearer to a place so full of pain. But Tal-argan was far wiser than he in the healing of wounded spirits. No doubt he knew well what he was doing.

The King laid a hand lightly, briefly on the Elf’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming, there are many here in need of your kind of healing.” then he turned back to the Hobbit. “See he doesn’t overtire himself, Frodo. Sometimes our friend forgets there are limits to his endurance as well.”

Tal-argan snorted. “I was fighting battles -and tending the wounded after - before the Fathers of Men saw the light of day, whippersnapper!” Aragorn laughed softly and moved away down the gallery.

Frodo wished Strider hadn’t called him ’Ringbearer’. Nobody had paid him much attention till then, but now he could feel furtive glances and not quite hear the whispers as the news spread from bed to bed. He kept his own eyes firmly on Tal-argan’s back, reminding himself to watch for signs of weariness. It was unexpectedly pleasant to be the caretaker for a change rather than the object of everybody else’s care and concern.

He tried not to listen to what the Men told Tal-argan and what he said in return, recognizing that it was intensely personal and private. He distracted himself by musing over the clue the mysterious Elf had given him. If Tal-argan had fought battles before the Fathers of Men were born he must be very old indeed, born during the Age of the Trees. But was he a Noldor exile or a Sinda? The latter seemed more likely, as the Sinda were famous singers. But was his story one Frodo might know from old songs, or one never told? Morgoth had taken many Elves captive and held them in bitter slavery until they were released by the Host of the Valar, had Tal-Argan been one of them?

He watched his charge carefully and when the broad shoulders began to droop called a halt. Of course Tal-argan protested but Frodo would have none of it and concluded the argument triumphantly by citing the King’s command.

“Maybe you’re not Aragorn’s subject but I am.” Frodo said crisply. “He told me to not to let you overtire yourself and I’m going to do as he said. Besides it’s time the Men were asleep too. We’ll come back tomorrow, after you’ve all had a good rest.”

Tal-argan’s lips twitched but he bowed his head in submission and allowed himself to be led away. Frodo had held him by the left hand as they went down, but now he took the right and felt an odd bumpiness. As they emerged into the bright, lamplit gallery of the royal apartments Frodo turned the hand he held over and saw the palm was scored with an intricate network of fine scars, thin lines forming a circular pattern.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Tal-argan smiled. “An old wound, long healed.”

“I can see that, but what made it?”

“My sins.” he answered.

Frodo looked sharply up at the Elf’s face, but saw only his normal serenity. “Sins don’t usually leave scars.”

“Don’t they?” Tal-argan asked. And Frodo, remembering his own missing finger, asked no more. But he wondered.

Tal-argan had a small room opening off the herb court. Frodo saw him to it and settled on his bed before closing the door gently behind him and going to join his companions for supper.

Aragorn, Gandalf, Sam and Legolas were already seated at the round table in the dining room off the same gallery as their bedrooms. “Where’s Gimli?” Frodo asked climbing into his own man-sized chair.

“I’ve sent him on a mission to Erebor.” Aragorn explained.

“Oh.” Frodo smiled at Legolas. “I’m surprised you didn’t go with him, the two of you are practically inseparable these days.”

The Elf smiled ruefully back. “I did offer but Gimli felt my presence might be regarded as an intrusion by his people.”

“Most Dwarves don’t feel towards Elves as Gimli now does.” Gandalf observed. “Nor do most Elves feel as Legolas now does about Dwarves.”

“At least one Dwarf.” said Legolas.

When Merry and Pippin came in they had two Men with them; a plainly dressed soldier with a look of Aragorn about him and a tall leather clad man with long golden hair.

“This is my Lord Eomer, King of Rohan.” Merry said introducing the latter to Frodo and Sam.

The Man bowed. “I am honored, Ringbearers. All the West owes you a debt that can never be repaid.”

Sam blushed but Frodo answered with a composure that surprised even himself. “Thank you, my Lord, but we had a great deal of help from all the Free Peoples. And I owe you for your kindness to my kinsman Meriadoc.”

Eomer laughed. “Nay Sir Meriadoc has done such service to the Mark as to leave us deeply in his debt - and in yours for bringing him into our land.”

Merry was almost as red as Samwise. “That will do, sir! and you too Frodo. We’re here to eat, not exchange courtesies till morning!”

Eomer laughed again and took the chair Merry pulled out for him.

“And this is my friend Beregond.” said Pippin. The soldier bowed silently and took a seat besides Pippin, somehow managing to efface himself while sitting in plain sight - just as Aragorn could.

“Where’s Gimli?” Pippin asked as servants brought the food.

“I have sent him to the Lonely Mountain to speak with Dain on my behalf.” Aragorn explained again.

“Goodness!” said Merry. “That’s quite a trip. It’ll take him forever to get there and back.”

“I expect him back within the month.” the King said. “He agreed to ride.”

Legolas, Merry, Pippin, Eomer and even Beregond all smiled at that. “Poor old Gimli!” said Merry.

“Poor horse, you mean. And poor whoever he’s traveling with!” said Pippin.

“I leave myself tomorrow to harry the retreating Southrons.” said the King of Rohan, after the laughter had died down. “But I could not miss this chance to pay my respects to the Ringbearers.”

“Thank you.” Frodo said again. Glancing at Merry he thought he caught a slightly wistful look on his cousin’s face. “You will be taking Meriadoc of course.”

“I should like nothing better.” Eomer answered promptly. “But he asked leave to attend on you Ringbearer which I was glad to grant.”

“And Sam and I were glad to have him.” said Frodo. “But we’re pretty much recovered now and I think it’s time Sir Meriadoc returned to his proper duties.”

“But -” Merry began, astounded.

“But nothing.” Frodo interrupted firmly. “I’m feeling much better now and I’m tired of being cosseted and coddled - and so is Sam. Aren’t you, Sam?”

His gardener nodded emphatically. “I can’t say I like being treated like an invalid now I‘m on my feet again. Grateful as I am to you all for taking care of Mr. Frodo and me when we were so sick.”

“Right. And that goes for you too, Pip - Sir Peregrin Trollbane I should say! - you’re the King’s esquire and I’m sure Aragorn has things for you to do.”

“I do indeed. If the Ringbearers can spare you.” the King said promptly.

“Well...if you say so, Frodo.” Merry said doubtfully.

“I do.” his cousin said firmly.

The two younger Hobbits looked at Gandalf. “If Frodo and Sam say they feel well enough to do without further nursing we should take them at their word.” the wizard said. “King Elessar and King Eomer have need of the services of all their knights.”

“So that settled that.” said Frodo, with visible satisfaction.

***

“This is a very good sign indeed.” Gandalf told Aragorn later, after the Hobbits had gone to bed. “At last Frodo begins to assert himself again, his lethargy has been broken.”

“By Tal-argan.” said Aragorn with a smile.

the wizard nodded. “Yes. It was a wise decision to bring him here. Frodo isn’t out of the woods yet, but he is better. Much better.”

“I begin to hope for a full recovery.” said Aragorn.

Gandalf frowned, troubled. “I hope for it also - but it may be too much to ask.”

****

Tucked securely into bed Frodo frowned at the carved beams of the ceiling. His missing finger was due to his great sin - but it had been Gollum’s teeth that inflicted the wound. What could make so strange a mark as Tal-argan bore, like a tiny circle of net had been burned into his palm?

Frodo came down the steps from the bedroom gallery, Sam at his heels, and turned in the tall back doors to the King’s hall. This was a long marble vaulted room lined with statues and stone benches. Gandalf was there, sitting near the back door, his robes and hair even whiter than the wall behind him. And next to him was what could only be another wizard. The two Hobbits stopped and stared.

Gandalf called them over. “Frodo, Sam.” they exchanged a look and went. “I would like you two to meet my cousin Lehtan Bluecloak.”

Frodo bowed , trying not to stare. The strange wizard was white haired and bearded like Gandalf with pale grey eyes set in a tanned and weathered face, and wrapped in a blue cloak - just as his name suggested. Frodo had a feeling he’d heard it somewhere before but it was Sam who placed it.

“Lehtan Bluecloak from the old stories?” he frowned, almost combatively. “Where‘s Dagen then?”

The strange wizard laughed. “So the Little Ones remember us still. Good.” he had a deep, mellow voice brimming with warmth and humor, just the way Gandalf’s did when he was in a good mood. “Dagen is still with the Rhovanioni, but he will be joining us here in due time.”

Sam turned to Gandalf. “*You’re* not in the old stories!”

Their wizard friend smiled. “I didn’t come to know Hobbits until after you’d settled in your Shire.”

“Well after you had passed out of our ken.” said Lehtan.

By now Frodo had remembered the stories too...not ancient Elven tales but bedtime stories for young Hobbits. “You and Dagen killed the Black Beast.” he said, remembering.

Lehtan smiled again. “That’s right. Beast killing is our speciality. We live in the East, when your folk passed over the mountains they passed out of our care.” he glanced sidelong at his fellow wizard. “Fortunately Gandalf was there to take you in hand.”

“Say rather to be taken in hand!” Gandalf laughed.

“Imagine Lehtan and Dagen from the old stories, large as life if not as natural.” Sam said shaking his head as they continued on to their usual haunt in the herb court. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised, we’ve been surrounded by old stories come to life ever since we started on this business.”

“I suppose the difference is the Blue Wizards are one of our legends, not a tale of Elves or Men.” Frodo offered.

“I expect you and Dagen to spend at least some of your time here in the West after I am gone.” Gandalf was saying to his kinsman back in the hall.

Lehtan nodded. “Of course.” then he smiled. “We will do our best to take your place.”

“And Saruman’s.” Gandalf sighed.

Both wizards were silent an long moment, mourning the fall of their comrade.

“I remember, when first we were chosen for this task, of us all Curumo alone was not afraid.” Lehtan said at last.

“Perhaps that should have warned us.” said Gandalf sadly.

“As I recall at the time we took it as a mark of grace.” Lehtan replied wryly.

Gandalf sighed again. “So we did.” then shrugged regret aside and turned the subject. “We were speaking of Tal-argan.”

“Or Runa as he is most often named in the East.” Lehtan agreed. “He was already known to Morinehtar and Romestamo when we joined them in the Eastlands but worked in his own ways apart from them.”

“Was he blind?”

Lehtan nodded. “Yes. I know no more than you how or when it happened. Our Elven colleagues might know but they have never spoken of it.”

“He should return with us to the Blessed Lands.” Gandalf said.

Lehtan’s brows rose. “Should he? I doubt he will think so.”

“Then I will convince him otherwise.” Gandalf said determinedly. But it was not until that evening that he found an opportunity to speak alone with Tal-argan.

The aged Elf had spent his day spreading his unique form of healing among the wounded Men in the lower galleries, guided by both Frodo and Sam who seemed to find a curious kind of solace in the work. Aragorn and Eomer had returned to the camp taking Legolas, Merry and Pippin with them so it was a very small company indeed that sat down to sup together and sit smoking on the gallery afterward, just the Ringbearers, Gandalf and his brother wizard. The sickle of the old moon was high in the starry sky when the Hobbits finally went off to bed leaving Gandalf free to seek out Tal-argan in his little chamber off the herb court.

The Elf lay, darkened eyes closed, on the bed but they opened the moment Gandalf’s shadow fell across him. “Olorin?”

“Yes.” the wizard came into the room, white robes faintly luminous in the dimness. “I would talk with you if I may.”

“Of course.” Tal-argan said politely. Gandalf found a chair and sat gazing sadly at the ruin before him. “What is it you would say to me?” the Elf prompted.

“The Third Age is ended and the Fourth Age will be an age of Men, it is time for remnants of the Elder Days to leave Middle Earth and return their long home in the West.”

A slow smile spread over Tal-argan’s ravaged face. “And you would include me among the remnants? No, Mithrandir. I have rejected Blessedness and been rejected by it. I stay here.”

“It is true that you have rejected us but never have we rejected you.” Gandalf said earnestly.

Thin arched brows rose. “No? ’On the House of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also.’ the Doomsman said: ‘And your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies and find little pity though all whom ye have slain shall entreat for you.’ Thank you, Mithrandir but given a choice I would prefer not to spend the remaining Ages of the World in the Dark Halls!”

“You have indeed spent too much time among Men if like them you believe the Valar to be both unreasonable and unkind.” Gandalf replied heavily. “Are you not already punished far more cruelly than any sentence my Masters would impose?”

Tal-argan shook his head. “Penance is not punishment, Mithrandir. I think blindness a most fitting expiation for my sins, as is the work I do among Men.” then more gently. “I know very well the Valar are merciful as well as just, perhaps more merciful than I deserve. But I have surrendered myself to the One above them. By Him I swore and His justice I will abide, trusting also in His mercy. And while I wait for His judgment I will do His work among His children.”

“In a ruined body.” Gandalf said sadly.

Tal-argan laughed. “Ruined? Not so, Mithrandir! I am as hardy as ever I was - if not so pretty. And if I have my aches and pains they but help me relate to the mortals around me.” then more seriously. “Better a damaged body than a damaged soul. Believe me, Mithrandir, I prefer my present state a thousand times over to my former one!”

Gandalf studied him thoughtfully. “Lehtan said you would not wish to go, and hinted he thought it right that you stayed. And I...I find myself halfway agreeing with you both.”

‘That is good.” Tal-argan smiled, then said soberly. “If I am commanded to return I will obey. But I wish to stay, just as I am, here in Middle Earth.”

“I do not command you, I cannot.” Gandalf rose. “I must think on what you have said. We will speak further.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Tal-argan returned with a glint of humor.

****

Down in the King’s camp a wakeful Pippin was talking to Legolas. They sat outside the King’s tent where lights still burned and the voices of captains and scouts murmured, the Hobbit with his pipe and the Elf sitting upwind fletching arrows.

“Frodo is better, much better.” Pippin was saying. “But he’s not back to his old self yet.”

“Nor will he ever be.” said the Elf.

“Legolas!” Pippin protested

“Frodo cannot go back to what he was after all he has seen and suffered.” the Elf explained patiently. “Any more than you can, Peregrin Took.”

“Me?” Pippin said blinking in astonishment. “I’m all right.”

“Indeed you are, Sir Peregrin Trollbane. But you are not the heedless young Hobbit that set off on this quest. You too and been changed.” Legolas smiled wryly. “As have I, old as I am by your measures. I have learned much of Men and befriended a Dwarf and come to understand that my folk have not always been in the right in their dealings with others.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. Not even Elves.” said Pippin.

“Alas all too true.” Legolas agreed. “But my point is none of us are as we were. We have passed together through fire and death and darkness and come back into the light reborn and renewed and no longer the Elf or Man or Dwarf or Hobbit we were before.”

“Except for Boromir.” Pippin said, tears starting in his eyes.

“No, Pippin, no! Boromir is the most changed of us all.” Legolas protested. “He passed through terrible trials, but in the end he prevailed and gave up a soul strengthened and purified to the One.”

“But he died!” Pippin cried.

“Death is not the worst thing that can befall us, as you should know very well by now my Little Friend.” the Elf chided gently.

“That’s true.” Pippin sighed. “But I still wish Boromir were here to enjoy our victory.”

“As do I.” Legolas sighed. “But never fear, Pippin. Though Boromir is not with us, he knows and is happy in the fall of Sauron and the saving of his City. And where-ever he is he wishes you and us all well.”

“I hope you’re right.” said Pippin.

Elladan and Elrohir were the first of those sent out to return to the King’s camp at Cormallen. After making their report to Aragorn they went up to the fortress, along with Pippin who carried their request to see Sam.

“Me?” Sam echoed startled.

“None other.” Pippin grinned.

Sam looked to Frodo for help. “But why?”

“Let’s ask them in and find out.” his master suggested.

They were in Frodo’s chamber playing backgammon, a comfortingly familiar pastime that made them both feel more like their old selves. The entry of the Half-Elven brothers rather broke the spell reminding both Ringbearers sharply of where they were and who they had become.

Still that wasn’t Elladan and Elrohir’s fault and Frodo asked them politely to sit and offered wine. Pippin set the chairs and filled the goblets like the well trained esquire he’d become.

“But of course it’s Sam, you’ve come to see.” Frodo said once they were all settled, cups in hand.

Elladan smiled at the nervous Hobbit. “Indeed yes. Aragorn sent us to finish off Shelob, knowing that Samwise had left her wounded and we were unlikely to get a better chance to put and end to her.”

Sam and Frodo both winced, remembering Shelob’s dark, web filled tunnels.

“Poor you!” said Pippin sympathetically, standing behind Frodo’s chair like a proper esquire - but speaking out like the impulsive Hobbit he still was.

“Not at all.” Elrohir laughed. “When we tracked Shelob to her lair we found there was nothing for us to do. She had died some time before of the wounds you gave her, Samwise.”

“Did she?” Sam asked wonderingly. “Well that is a bit of surprise. I knew I’d gotten at least one good thrust into her but she scrambled away so fast I didn’t think it was mortal. She went, that was enough for me!”

“Quite so.” Elladan agreed, smiling. “You had other, heavier concerns. Still it is a great feat, worthy of song.”

“Yes.” Frodo put in. “We must add ‘Spider Bane’ to your titles ‘Samwise the Strong’ Ringbearer!”

Sam blushed.

***

When King Eomer and his horsemen rode back into the camp at Cormallen a week or so later Pippin was right there to meet them - or rather Merry, riding on his pony Stybba next to the banner bearer right behind the King. Pippin went forward to stand at his cousin’s stirrup as he dismounted.

“How did it go?”

“Smooth as you please.” Merry replied cheerfully. “Excuse me.” he moved Pippin aside to ask Eomer. “Will you be needing me, my Lord?”

The young King gave them both a smile. “No. You are free to trade war stories with your good cousin, Sir Holdwine. Be sure you do our deeds justice!”

“No fear of that, sir!” Merry replied grinning. Then he and Pippin went off to enjoy a pipe and a chat as Eomer and his lieutenants disappeared into Aragorn’s tent.

“This southern stuff isn’t bad, but it’s not Longbottom leaf.” Merry remarked casually as he took his first puff.

“To think they use it for moth repellant!” Pippin said, shaking his head.

“And tea for medicine. The Gondorim are an odd lot, no mistaking.” Merry agreed, but indulgently as one comments on the eccentricities of a friend.

“So, what did you lot do to the Southrons?”

Merry’s grin broadened. “It was easy as you please. The Swarthy Men are still spooked by the fall of Barad-dur it wasn’t hard to make them run, in fact I’m surprised somebody managed to make them stand! Eomer was very clever, he divided us up into little bands hitting the enemy one after another so they thought there were a whole lot more of us then there were.

”They had this big camp at the crossroads - you remember the place - about six thousand all told Eomer said, three times our number, but we stampeded them into running like rabbits just the same! They left their tents and other goods behind and I picked up a few souvenirs, including a little ivory oliphant for Sam.”

“He’ll appreciate that.” Pippin’s grin faded. “Merry, do you ever look around and think ’what am I doing here?’”

His cousin smiled crookedly. “All the time. We’re a long way from the Shire and Farmer Maggot’s vegetable garden.”

Pippin’s grin reappeared at the memory. “Poor old, Maggot. We really shouldn’t have done that, Merry.”

“No we shouldn’t have. We’ll make it up to him when we get back.”

“I wonder how many silver pennies ten or fifteen years of garden raiding are worth.” Pippin wondered ruefully.

“Don’t worry, he’ll know!” Merry retorted and they both laughed.

“Funny I never thought it was wrong to steal vegetables from Farmer Maggot before.” Pippin mused. “I guess Legolas was right about us all being changed, not just Frodo and Sam.”

“Of course he is. You remember how he and Gimli could scarcely exchange a civil word back at the beginning, now look at them thick as thieves! Gandalf’s certainly different -”

“Being dead will do that to you I guess.” Pippin chirped pertly.

“Right. And even old Strider’s taken to combing his hair!” they shared another laugh, then Merry said more seriously. “As for you and me, Pip, I think we’ve grown up.”

“I suppose that’s it.” his cousin agreed. “And about time too, my Dad would say.”

“Mine too. I wonder what he and Uncle Paladin will have to say about all this.”

“Probably won’t believe the half of it.” said Pippin.

“Probably not.” Merry agreed.

***

Gimli was the last to return to the camp at Cormallen. He had with him a train of Dwarves and Men of Dale but neither wagons nor pack ponies to the puzzlement of the two Hobbits who went to meet him.

“Strider said you went to get gold to help him pay for rebuilding Minas Tirith.” said Pippin as the Dwarf dismounted.

Gimli laughed. “So he did, young Hobbit.” his eyes twinkled. “Surely you weren’t expecting me to take a treasure train through country so disturbed? I have brought a sealed draft for thirty thousands hundredweight of gold from the King Under the Mountain and his treasure masters, and two score stonemasons and metal smiths to help Aragorn put his city in order.”

“Thirty thousands!” Merry echoed, eyes popping.

“A small advance.” Gimli said, well pleased by his reaction. “The Dwarves always pay their debts, Sir Meriadoc. Always. Now, where is Aragorn?”

The King was not in camp that day, Pippin explained. He had gone up to Cair Andros to see the several dozen Eastern and Southron leaders taken in battle settled in their quarters. “They’ll be more secure and more isolated up there. We were always having incidents with them in camp.”

“I don’t doubt it. And Legolas?”

“He’s at the fortress too.” said Pippin. “He’ll be glad to see you.”

Gimli humphed, looking at once pleased and embarrassed. “I’ll be glad to see him too - but don’t tell him I said so!”

“Never.” Pippin promised grinning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” added Merry, keeping a straight face with some difficulty.

***

Frodo and Sam walked into the King’s hall, on their way from the herb court to their chambers, and found it full of Dwarves with a sprinkling of stocky, fair haired men who looked somewhat like the Rohirrim. (1) The two Ringbearers exchanged surprised glances then worked their way forward towards the dais where Aragorn’s head could be seen towering over the shorter folk around him, with Legolas‘ golden poll just behind him. When they arrived at the fore front of the crowd the Hobbits saw the King had Merry and Pippin with him too and good old Gimli.

“So that’s where all these Dwarves came from.” Sam breathed in Frodo’s ear.

“We thank you heartily for coming to our aid,” Aragorn was saying over Gimli’s head to the Men and Dwarves behind him. “and will gladly make full use of your skills when we return to our capital.” then he looked down again at Gimli. “In the meantime this fortress has taken some battle damage and I have no craftsmen of my own to put it right.”

The Dwarf chuckled. “Good. It will help us pass the time. I take it we’ll be quartered up here then?”

“Of course.” Aragorn smiled. “I don’t doubt your folk will find stone rooms more welcoming than tent walls.”

“Absolutely.” said Gimli cheerfully. “Personally I’ve had enough open air and greenery to last a lifetime!”

Legolas snorted but said nothing.

Gimli grinned, pleased that his shot had gone home, then turned and saw Frodo and Sam standing below the dais. “Ah, Ringbearer - and Sam - you’re looking well.”

“Thank you. We’re feeling much better too.” Frodo answered. Obeying a gesture from Aragorn he and Sam climbed the steps of the dais to join their companions.

“I have something for you, or rather for old Bilbo.” Gimli took a small, leaden casket from a pouch on his belt and offered it to Frodo. He opened it and gasped.

Inside was a great white jewel, round and faceted gathering all the light in the hall and sending it back in rainbow reflections that danced over Frodo’s dazzled face. After a long moment he tore his eyes away to look at Gimli. “Not - not the Arkenstone!”

The Dwarf smiled, shaking his head. “Oh no. The Heart of the Mountain still bides on the breast of King Thorin. My father and uncles made this jewel by ancient, secret arts for their valiant burglar.” (2)

“It’s wonderful!” said Merry pushing closer for a better look. Pippin and Sam nodded emphatic agreement and even Legolas looked impressed.

Gimli beamed. “It was long in the making with many false starts, and then these troubles kept us from sending it before.”

“I’m sure Bilbo will love it.” Frodo said earnestly. “He’s often described the Arkenstone to me and regretted he‘d never see it again.”

Gimli both smiled and sighed. “It’s not a patch on the true stone,” he confessed, “being but a work of Dwarf craft and not from the hand of the Great Maker as the Arkenstone is. Still my father and uncles hope Bilbo will treasure it for old times sake - and as a token of the gratitude of the Kingdom under the Mountain.”

“I know he will.” said Frodo.

Later in his room Frodo took the stone from its casket and held it up to the window to sparkle blindingly in the sunlight. It wasn’t quite so big as the Arkenstone, having been made to fit comfortably into a Hobbit palm, but it was hard for him to believe any stone could be more beautiful. *’Bilbo will love it.’* he said again to himself.

A sudden fear struck him and his hand closed tightly around the gem. What of Bilbo? What had the destruction of the Ring done to him who had born it for so long? *’But he gave it up.’* Frodo admonished himself. *’It no longer affected him, Gandalf said so. He’ll be fine - he must be!’* Forcing himself back to calmness he put the stone away in its chest. Then looking at his palm saw his spasmodic grip had imprinted the facets of the jewel on his palm like a little circle of net. It reminded him of something he’d seen - and recently too - then it came to him. The mark on his palm was almost identical to the faded white scars on Tal-argan’s.

Frodo stood, staring at his hand, mind racing to an almost unbelievable conclusion. It couldn’t be - but if it was it would certainly explain the Old Elf’s mystery.

***

Notes:

1. The Men of Dale and the Long Lakers are said by Tolkien to be descended from the Northmen like the Rohirrim.

2. These were most likely learned from Noldorin craftsmen in the First or Second Age.