Many hugs and deep appreciation to some very special friends who provided insight or research toward the shaping of this story.  I'm truly grateful for your assistance.

This story is based in book-verse, with bits of movie-verse interwoven at the author’s discretion.

DISCLAIMER:  Professor Tolkien’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.  Alcaren, Brengil, and Tirthor are my own invention.

___________________________

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 1 -- The Tower of the Sun

“It was in the very hour that Faramir was brought to the Tower that many of us saw a strange light in the topmost chamber,” said Beregond.  “But we have seen that light before, and it has long been rumoured in the City that the Lord would at times wrestle in thought with his Enemy.”  ‘The Pyre of Denethor’, The Return of the King

**

May 23

At the sound of wild howling from inside the house, Alcaren flung open the door and rushed in, his sword drawn.  The four hobbits, seated at a low table in the dining room and playing a Gondorian card game they had learned, looked up in surprise.

“We’re all right, Alcaren,” Merry grinned.  “That bellow you heard was just my young cousin.”

Alcaren smiled in relief.  “It is my honor to be here should you need anything,” he said, bowing to the hobbits.  “However, any further sounds of that nature will render it difficult for me to discern whether you are being endangered by friend or foe.”

“He cheated,” Pippin declared, glaring at Frodo.  “You should lock him up where he can’t prey on his innocent kin.”

“Imprison one of the Ringbearers?” Alcaren gasped in horror.  “The King would have my head.”

“Mr. Pippin’s just havin’ a joke with you,” Sam assured the Man.

Alcaren relaxed and sheathed his sword, and accepted the cup of tea Merry offered him.  The teasing and informality of the hobbits was quite endearing, but still tended to take him by surprise.

“Are there really prisons here?” Merry asked him curiously.

“There is one in the Second Circle,” Alcaren explained, “and a small, rarely-used guardroom in the Citadel for use of the Stewards.”

“We should take a look at it,” Frodo declared, curious to know everything about this strange city of stone.  “And I never cheat, Peregrin.  You need to learn the more subtle rules of this game.”

“Sir,” Sam said cautiously, “I don’t like the idea of you goin’ into any musty, dark lock-hole, especially at night.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Sam?” Frodo chuckled.  He looked at Alcaren expectantly.  “Would you guide us down to this guardroom, Alcaren?”

"I can guide you up to it," Alcaren corrected, “with the Steward or King’s permission.  We would need to ascend the Tower."

"Up?" Frodo asked.  He paled a bit.  "The Orcs at the tower east of Minas Morgul kept their prisoners... at the top."

“I suspect that is so," Alcaren said, his eyes darkening.  "As you may know, Minas Tirith and Minas Morgul were once sister cities, built in spirals climbing ever skyward; with a tower atop both.  The guard post of which you speak was also built by the Men of Gondor, as a watchtower on the edge of the Black Lands.  It would be logical to assume that it is, in appearance, of like fashion to the other towers – with its most secure rooms at the top; however, I do not know of anyone now living who has reported back as to its true nature."

“You have now,” Sam said.  “Mr. Frodo was held captive there for more than a day, and... I was there, too.”

“You were more than ‘there’,” Frodo said quietly, getting up and putting his arm around Sam’s broad shoulders.

“I have heard this, but...” Alcaren bowed his head slightly.  “Forgive me, Ringbearers.  There are so many tales flying about, that---”

“Alcaren,” Frodo said, “I know it is difficult for you, but please call me Frodo.  This is Sam.  And I understand your confusion; Sam and I have heard such a profusion of tales from my cousins and companions, it is indeed difficult to know what to believe, and what has been exaggerated.”

“I never exaggerate,” Pippin sniffed, unobtrusively turning over Frodo’s hidden cards.  “You were bluffing!”  He scowled at his cousin.

“Was I?” Frodo asked casually.  He looked pleased with himself.  “Well then, who wants to come with me to see this lock-hole?”

“Supper first,” Merry declared.  Despite his apparent good humor and unquenchable curiosity, Frodo looked shaken, and Merry was sorry he had brought up the subject of prisons in the first place.  “Why don’t we investigate tomorrow, in daylight?”

“I must obtain permission,” Alcaren reminded them.  “The guardroom about which you are curious is near a private chamber at the top of the Tower, in which Lord Denethor spent much time.  The King alone now goes up there.”

Pippin nodded to himself, but said nothing.  He was the only hobbit who had seen Denethor’s palantír, and heard the rumors of where it had been kept.  He wondered if the King now kept, in the same upper chamber, the Seeing Stone that Gandalf had given him near Isengard.  Pippin wondered what it would be like to hold the Stone once again, now that someone like Strider controlled it, and not Saruman.  To look into its depths again...  With an effort, he shook off the unbidden thought.

“Join us for supper, Alcaren,” Frodo said.  The hobbits got to their feet and swarmed toward the kitchen, taking Alcaren with them.  “Do you like roast chicken and mushrooms?”

**

May 24

Morning dawned clear and bright, and Alcaren reported to the hobbits that he had obtained permission for them to visit the guardroom – and that the Steward himself would accompany the five of them up the many steps that led to the top of the Tower of Ecthelion.

The stairs wound up and up, and as he reached the top step, Frodo stumbled and nearly fell.  Sam and Faramir both reached out to steady him.

“We have arrived at the top, my friend, and you must rest for a moment,” Faramir said.  “You are not that many days out of bed, and I understand that your feet are still tender from your ordeal.”

“They are,” Frodo admitted.  He stopped to catch his breath.  “Perhaps climbing so many stairs, so soon, was not the wisest of ideas.”

The hobbits looked around curiously as they reached the pinnacle of the Tower.  Before them was a wide, empty corridor lined with ancient and sumptuous tapestries.  Shafts of light shone through small windows.

“My father’s – I mean, the King’s – private chamber, as well as the guardroom, are---”

“Up there,” Frodo interrupted Faramir.  He pointed to the ceiling.  “There is a secret door somewhere, is there not?”

“That is known to very few,” Faramir replied quietly.  “You know this because you were held in a similar room?”

Frodo nodded.

“The towers are indeed, then, built in like manner,” Alcaren said.  “Frodo, are you certain you wish to ascend further?”

Frodo nodded again, and Faramir pulled aside one of the tapestries to reveal a hidden door.  Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked it, then swung it open to reveal a short flight of steps leading further up.  Sam looked grim, and glanced uneasily at Frodo.

“It’s all right, Sam,” Frodo reassured his friend.  “I just want to take a look.”

“Take it slow, Frodo,” Merry said.  “Can you make it?”

“I’ll be limping tomorrow for certain,” Frodo smiled, “but I can manage a few more steps.”  He led the way, climbing slowly, and soon the four hobbits and two Men were standing together at the very top – in a small hallway flanked by two massive doors, closed and locked.

Pippin stood frowning at one of the two doors.  “It’s in there,” he murmured.

“It is within that chamber that the King now keeps the palantír of Isengard,” Faramir said.  “None but he may enter.”

“Pip,” Merry asked curiously, “did you already know that was where Strider kept the Stone?”

Pippin shook his head.  “I just... had a feeling.”

“Come on,” Merry sighed, steering his young cousin away from the door.

Faramir unlocked the other door.

“Here is the guardroom, Frodo.” he said.  “I do not think you will find much of interest here.”  He stepped into the small room, lit dimly through narrow slits in the thick walls.  The room was empty save for a bedframe and a few benches.

“I do not believe this room has been used in many a year,” Faramir said, looking around and motioning for the hobbits to enter.  “No one was held here long, it was rather for...”  He quickly came to Frodo’s side.  “My friend, are you unwell?”

“It’s the same,” Frodo murmured, looking around.  He had gone quite pale.  “This room... the shape of the windows... everything looks exactly like...”  He swayed a moment, feeling dizzy.  “Oh Sam, how did you ever find me up here?  I mean... up there.”  He frowned, shaking his head to clear it.  “What a strange feeling.  My memories are unclear about so many things.  When I awoke, amongst the Orcs, and the Ring was gone... I scarcely knew what was real and what were dreams.  It’s all so vague, except for how sick and frightened I was, and the questioning, and the eyes...”

“That’s enough,” Merry said forcefully.  “Frodo, this place isn’t good for you.  We need to leave.”

“Come on, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said softly, taking his master’s hand.  “Why remember that dreadful place?”

Frodo took a deep breath.  “That’s just the problem, Sam.  I wish I did remember more.  I’ve tried and tried.  You said at least a day had passed before you found me, but it seemed a week.  Everything was blurred and unreal.”  He looked up at Faramir and Alcaren.  “I would like to know more about this tower... and the others.”

“All right,” Faramir agreed.  “But please sit down for a moment, and rest.”  He led Frodo to one of the benches, and the other hobbits grouped around him.

“Minas Tirith was once known as Minas Anor,” Faramir began, “the Tower of the Sun.”

“The King has spoken of restoring that name to the City, if the people desire it,” Alcaren added.

“Minas Ithil – now called Minas Morgul – was our sister-city, abandoned long ago to the Dark Lord’s servants,” Faramir continued.  “Further east, the Tower of Cirith Ungol was built to stand guard over Gorgoroth Plain.  The sentries were to alert Minas Ithil of any movement below, or disturbance, and Minas Ithil would in turn alert Minas Anor.”

“Using beacons?” Pippin asked.

“If necessary,” Alcaren said, smiling at the young hobbit.  Pippin’s courageous climb to light the beacon, alerting the Rohirrim to the City’s plight, was now well known.

Frodo looked up at Faramir thoughtfully.

“How far is it to where I was held?”

“Perhaps eighty miles,” Faramir replied.  “There is now much coming and going along the Morgul Road since Aragorn has ordered scouting continued, and repairs begun.”

“I doubt the tower where I was held still stands,” Frodo said.  “Was not everything in Mordor cast down when the Ring was destroyed?"

“I have been told that the foundations of all structures built or enhanced by the power of the One Ring were indeed cast down at Its unmaking,” Faramir said, “but Minas Morgul and the tower at Cirith Ungol were built by the men of Gondor, not the Dark Lord.  I do not doubt that the guard tower in which you were held still stands, deserted and haunted by evil.”

“The front gate was smashed when I used the Lady’s glass,” Sam reminded Frodo.

“I remember,” Frodo murmured.  He got to his feet and began wandering around the small room.  “It’s what I don’t remember that haunts me.  What happened to me there?  I barely knew what was real until Sam came for me.  I didn’t know what had happened, or how I got there.  I was so sick, and the dreams were...”  He gazed out one of the small windows.  “Would I have to stand there again, to truly remember?” he whispered.  He turned suddenly to face his friends, with a determined look on his face.

"No," Sam blurted out. "No, sir, you musn't."

"Mustn't what?" Pippin asked.

“Alcaren,” Frodo said, “my feet are rather sore, and I’m not certain I can manage descending all those stairs; would you mind terribly if--"

“It would be my honor, Frodo,” Alcaren said.  He knelt, and gently lifted Frodo into his arms.

“Mustn’t what?” Pippin repeated.  “Sam, what’s going on?”

Sam just shook his head in frustration, and exchanged a knowing glance with Merry.  The hobbits followed Alcaren out the door, and Faramir closed and locked it again before the small company began to descend the many stairs.

** TBC **

A few lines from this chapter were first posted as a short scene in my LiveJournal in 2003.

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 2 -- Resolve

“Legolas shall be for the Elves; and Gimli son of Gloín for the Dwarves.  They are willing to go at least to the passes of the Mountains, and maybe beyond.”  ‘The Ring Goes South’, The Fellowship of the Ring

**

May 25

The following afternoon, Aragorn looked up in surprise when he heard that Samwise Gamgee requested an audience.

“Come in, Sam,” Aragorn said, rising from his desk with a smile.  “You are most welcome at any time.  How did the expedition up into the tower go?”

“Bad, sir,” Sam declared.  “It reminded Mr. Frodo of that dreadful place where he was captured, and now he’s got it in his head to go back there.  He wants to remember everything.  Why, I can’t imagine.”

“I can,” Aragorn said quietly.  “I have seen many Men insist on revisiting a place where they experienced a traumatic event, so that they might set fragmented memories in order.  It is often very healing... but some are unable to bear the burden of their memories, and fare less well.”  He sat on a low, wide chair and motioned for Sam to join him.  “Sam, remember what Frodo experienced there; the Ring was gone, you were gone, he was ill and terrified... I doubt he had any expectation of rescue, or any hope left for himself, or for Middle-earth.  He had no control over what happened to him in that tower – no choices, no freedom.  Returning of his own free will is very courageous, and may bring him great peace.”

“You don’t know what it was like,” Sam murmured.

“No, I don’t,” Aragorn said gently.  “Have you told him of your concerns?”

“’Course I have,” Sam sighed.  “But you know Mr. Frodo; he could barely walk after climbin’ all those stairs yesterday, but there’s no holdin’ him back once he gets an idea into his stubborn head.  He’s asked Alcaren to see if there are any ponies in the City besides the one the riders brought here for Mr. Merry.”

“His stubbornness – and your strength and love – saved us all, Sam,” Aragorn reminded him.  “No Orcs have been spotted anywhere along the Morgul Road, and I have patrols out as well as workmen.  There have been no incidents.  If Frodo is determined to go, I will arrange for horses, a well-armed escort, and---”

“You have to come sir,” Sam blurted out.

“Sam, I underst---"

“Strider, please come,” Sam said desperately.  “I can’t explain it, but Mr. Frodo’ll need you.  I just know it.”  He got to his feet and began to pace agitatedly back and forth.  “It was an awful place, sir, just awful.  The dead Orcs will still be there, I suppose, all those bodies everywhere... the front door is just rubble, since the Lady’s glass made those horrid statues crumble so, and Mr. Frodo was... was whipped, and...”  He started weeping, unable to go on.

The King strode quickly over to Sam, knelt, and pulled the distraught hobbit into his arms.  He glanced for a moment back at his desk, piled high with scrolls and books, rebuilding plans, appointments, and messages from envoys – all awaiting his time and attention.  But they could wait, and other, more important things, could not.  “For Frodo!” he heard echo through his thoughts.  He trusted Sam’s instincts about Frodo even above his own.  If Sam sensed that he needed to be there... if Frodo had the courage to return to Cirith Ungol...

“Strider?” Sam asked pleadingly.

“All right,” Aragorn said softly. “Be at ease, Sam.  I will leave Faramir here as Steward, and come with you.”

“Thank you,” Sam gasped, wiping his eyes.  “And will you come check on Mr. Frodo later?”

“I was planning to do so.  And I will ask leave to accompany him, as I did in Bree.  Hopefully, he will not be too stubborn to allow it.”

“Allow it?” Sam asked, puzzled.  “But... you’re the king now.”

“I am,” Aragorn said softly, “and Frodo is an honored guest, and a free citizen of the West.  I will not order his coming and going, or impose myself on him as a companion if he does not wish it.”

“He’ll wish it,” Sam said with a firmness that brought a smile to Aragorn’s face.  Sam bowed and took his leave, and Aragorn’s smile slowly faded.  Frodo’s experience in the Tower had been traumatic, to say the least – perhaps more than any of them guessed, or Frodo even remembered.  He suspected that on this journey about to be undertaken, many things would be revealed about which Frodo and Sam had never spoken... and much would be faced when Frodo stood once more in the room of his torment.

Aragorn took a deep breath and stood up, then went to find his Steward; there was much to be done in preparation.  The physical journey would be short... but he knew firsthand that the difficulties of many journeys were not always judged in distance alone, but in the hearts and minds of those who undertook them.

*~*~*~*~*

As the sun began to set that day, Aragorn paid a visit to the house where his friends were dwelling.  Alcaren bowed deeply and bid him enter.

“Merry and Pippin are ‘out and about’, as they call it,” Alcaren told him, “and the hobbits’ Companions are due back later this evening.  You will find Sam and Frodo inside, sir.”  He was clearly uncomfortable calling the Ringbearers by their first names, but Aragorn smiled at him and clasped the Man on his arm.

“The hobbits speak well of you, Alcaren,” Aragorn said warmly.  “You have gained their trust and friendship, and my thanks.”

“It is a pleasure to serve them – and you – sir.”  Alcaren smiled his pleasure.  Faramir had recommended him for this duty, and Alcaren was most grateful that the Lord Steward and the King himself entrusted their friends into his care on those occasions when the wizard, elf, and dwarf were elsewhere in the City.  Escorting the small heroes when required, and seeing to it that their needs were met -- for books, provisions, tales, information, or ensuring safety or privacy -- brought more joy and purpose into his life than he had known since the untimely death of his wife. 

Aragorn entered the house, in which equally enticing fragrances of supper cooking and the flower-laden garden competed delightfully.  Calling out softly, he heard Sam answering him from Frodo’s room.  He found Frodo sitting on his bed, his feet propped up on a pillow.  Sam hovered nearby, ringing out a cloth in a bowl of cool water.

“Strider!” Sam cried in delight.  Relief showed in his eyes as the King entered the room.  “Mr. Frodo’s got a headache, and his feet are awful sore,” he continued before Frodo could speak.  “I warned him he should rest in bed today, but he would go explorin’.  Won’t even lie down, even when---”

“Sam,” Frodo chuckled, “there’s no need to speak about me as if I wasn’t here.  It’s barely a headache.  A bit of supper will see me right.”   He smiled up at Aragorn.  “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, Your Majesty?”

“Keep that up, and I’ll have to start calling you ‘Ringbearer’,” Aragorn smiled back.  “I heard that you climbed a good many stairs yesterday; can’t I check on my favorite patient once in a while?”

“Hmm,” Frodo said suspiciously.

Aragorn felt Frodo’s brow for fever and, finding none, sat next to Frodo to check his feet.  Frodo flinched slightly, then relaxed as Aragorn’s fingers massaged his feet very gently, easing the soreness.  Aragorn thought about the fact that Sam’s feet had healed so much more swiftly than Frodo’s.  As he and Gandalf had feared, Frodo's body could no longer recover as rapidly as before his near-death in Mordor.  The Ring had gone, and taken more with It than he dared think about.

"A few days off your feet should work wonders," Aragorn said.  “I promise you, Frodo, that the City will still be here when you’re well enough to investigate every inch of it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”  Frodo frowned suddenly.  “You left the bedroom door open.”

“Do you wish me to close it?” Aragorn asked, puzzled.

"Aragorn, it's undignified for the High King of the Reunited Kingdoms to be rubbing the feet of a battered hobbit. What if Alcaren should see you?"

"I should be honored to be seen in your service, Frodo."

Frodo shook his head. "Honestly, sometimes you just make no sense at all."

Aragorn grinned and stood up.

“I appreciate your visit, but I’m certain that the state of my feet cannot be the only reason for it,” Frodo said with a knowing smile.  “I assume you have heard about my plan; are you here to talk me out of it?”

“No,” Aragorn replied.  “If you feel the need to take this journey, my friend, that is reason enough.  I am here to offer you my companionship along the way.”

“Truly?” Frodo asked joyfully.

“And we offer ours,” suddenly came a soft voice from the doorway.  Legolas entered the room, followed by Gimli.

“Welcome back,” Frodo smiled happily.  “We have missed you, and Gandalf.”

“And we have missed all of you,” Gimli said, “although I have gained much information from our explorations.”  He addressed Aragorn.  “Citizens not otherwise engaged in planting or trade have begun the tasks of repairing the buildings and inner walls.  Once my folk arrive, the work will go more swiftly.  The City gate, however, will take much more time, and materials.”

“Are you well, Frodo?” Legolas inquired.  “You are seldom abed at this early hour.”

“I’m fine,” Frodo assured him.  “Legolas, what did you mean when you said, ‘And we offer ours’?”

“We were met by Pippin and Merry on our way back to the house,” Gimli explained.  “They told us that you wish to revisit the tower of Cirith Ungol.”

“Such a journey is not without peril, my friend,” Legolas said gravely.  “Perhaps it is a good thing that mortals do not remember everything that occurs.”

“I want to remember everything,” Frodo said quietly, “although I suspect I never will.”

“Frodo, Legolas makes a good point,” Aragorn said.  “Returning to a scene of such trauma may evoke memories and feelings quite vivid and frightening.”

“Remembering so little is frightening to me,” Frodo insisted.  “What memories I do have are... distorted, and blurred.  I lost so much of myself in that tower; perhaps nothing can be gained from returning, but I feel I must try.”

“Well then, this Elf and I have been talking,” Gimli said briskly.  “As you may remember, we never formally pledged to accompany you to Mordor -- save in our hearts.”

“I knew you would come with me,” Frodo said, his eyes shining.  “I knew all of you would – which is why I left.”

“This may be our only chance to see you safely to the Black Lands and back, if you will have us,” Gimli continued, bowing slightly.  “We would very much like to accompany you, Master Baggins.”

Frodo looked up at Legolas, who smiled and nodded.

“Thank you,” Frodo said gratefully.  “Faramir assures me that the distance is not great – taking the Road, of course.  Sam and I went... a different way.”

“We know,” Gandalf said, poking his head into the room and smiling at Frodo.  “Let us forego the path you and Sam took, shall we?  I suspect my old bones would protest so many steps -- winding, straight, or otherwise.”

“You’re comin’ as well, Gandalf?” Sam beamed with delight.

Aragorn saw the happiness – and relief – on both hobbits’ faces.  Frodo had been denied the guidance into Mordor on which he had relied the first time -- denied all but Sam, and Sméagol --  but this time, all of his friends would be with him.

** TBC **

Ainu Laire:  I’m so pleased you like/love Alcaren; I liked him right away, too.  I think being around hobbits makes him loveable (or maybe Faramir picked someone loveable to be around the hobbits).  Thank you for your enthusiasm!

Amy:  Yes, I’ve been thinking a lot about these towers, and how alike they must be (or must have been, at the beginning).  We never know where a story idea will come from, do we?

Andrea:  I really don’t think Frodo realizes the dangers of revisiting this trauma, but he believes the possible gain is worth the risk.  And yes, at least this time he’ll be surrounded by his friends.

aprilkat:  And thank you, my friend, for helping with insights for this story.  Yes, Frodo has much to learn from this journey -- but he's not the only one.

Baggins Babe:  And I'm thrilled to be starting a new story!  The hobbits have definitely found a new and supportive friend in Alcaren.

Cathleen:  Thank you so much, Cathleen.  I hope to keep things engrossing!

Claudia:  Well.... there might be a smidgen of angst ahead.  And thank you for your insights for this story.

Cuthalion:  This tale has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?  I’m excited to finally get it started.  Thank you for your insights and help.

Dreamflower:  Frodo’s friends may not approve, but they will certainly support him in his decision.  And Pippin does seem to still be a bit drawn to the palantir, doesn’t he?

Gandalfs apprentice:  I know it can be a bit confusing, but as my summary states, “This story is based in book-verse, with bits of movie-verse interwoven at the author’s discretion”.  Just bits of movie-verse here and there!  :D

Garnet Took:  I think Frodo would definitely remember details from the room he was held in, especially since he explored it thoroughly once Sam found him... it’s what happened in his mind and emotions that are jumbled.

Gentle Hobbit:  I hope the story lives up to your expectations, and I’m very grateful for all your help.  Yes, Sam never has a problem speaking his mind... but Frodo most definitely has a will of his own.

Grey Wonderer:  I'll try to keep things interesting for our intrepid hobbits!

harrowcat:  Frodo and Sam make a great team. Frodo sees something that he feels must be accomplished, and Sam does his best to give a realistic warning – then be there for practical and unconditional support.

jodancingtree:  Thank you, Jo.  "Steadfast yet vulnerable" is exactly the kind of Frodo I try to write.

Linda Hoyland:  I certainly hope this turns out to be an exciting story.  All the characters are in for a very interesting time.

Lindelea:  No side trails here!  If I set something up for one of the hobbits -- such as Pip wondering about the palantir -- you can be sure it’ll be explored and resolved at some point.  But I don’t think there will be any further mention of the guardroom; it was probably used to hold political prisoners on a short-term basis.

Lotrgirl1415:  Oh my, thank you!  If you've been waiting for a story on this theme, I certainly hope this one meets your expectations.

MelanyeBaggins:  Thanks, Melanye!  I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Niphrandl:  Ah, that Baggins stubbornness.  Few forces can oppose it.

Pearl Took:  I have this urge to explore a bit of the darkness once in awhile.  What an infinite World we have in which to play.

rabidsamfan:  There will certainly be angst... as well as hobbityness.  And lots of Sam!  Yes, he’s just aghast at what his master’s determined to do.

Siorah:  A Happy Dance!  That's a lovely compliment.

SlightlyTookish:  Thank you so much for your enthusiasm.  I’m having such fun planning out this story, and what everyone in it will learn and experience.

SurgicalSteel:  I love how you describe “Frodo having flashbacks to what he can't quite remember”.  Ah, hobbity interactions... my favorite kind!

Telpethoron:  It's courageous beyond words when someone is willing to go back and face an experience like Frodo (and Sam) had.  Strength of will (and strength and love of friends) can work wonders in our lives.  Thank you for coming along for the ride!

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 3 -- The Cross-Roads

“My axe is restless in my hand.  Give me a row of orc-necks and room to swing and all weariness will fall from me!”  ‘Helm’s Deep’, The Two Towers

**

May 27

Stybba, gifted to Merry by Théoden King, was found to be the only pony in the City.  More could be procured in time, from Rohan, but Frodo didn’t want to wait.  It was agreed that Frodo, Sam, and Pippin would ride on the horses of those escorting them – Frodo with Aragorn, Sam with Alcaren, who was delighted that the hobbits wished him to come, and Pippin once more with Gandalf on Shadowfax.  Legolas and Gimli would share Arod, as had become routine.

“Do we really need so many Men?” Frodo asked.  The stables were a frenzy of activity as everyone packed and mounted their horses.  The Company included several dozen well-armed soldiers, most of them Dúnedain of the King’s personal guard.  Two carts were loaded with provisions, light tents, cooking pots, and other gear of travel.

“It is not because I believe we will be in any danger of attack,” Aragorn assured him.  He knew that his scouts -- along with the powers of Sting and Gandalf’s sword, Glamdring -- would serve to alert the party if stray Orcs were near.  “However, it never hurts to be cautious.  There are certain tasks that must be seen to, before we arrive at the Orcs’ tower.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sam told us that the front gate fell in when you both passed through it during your escape.  A safe way into the courtyard may need to be found.”

“That’s true,” Frodo said thoughtfully.

“Also, Frodo, it has been several months since you and Sam escaped -- and the tower and courtyard are no doubt still full of dead Orcs,” Aragorn said gravely.  “I wish as many bodies as possible gathered and burned.  Our full escort will remain with us until we are nearer the tower, at which time I will send a good number of them ahead.”

“I see,” Frodo said quietly.  “Thank you for thinking of all those things.”

“I had help,” Aragorn smiled.  “Once your cousins gave up trying to talk you out of this journey, they worked with Faramir and myself in making arrangements and trying to anticipate everything that might be needed.”

Despite his reassurances that they faced little to no danger on this journey, Aragorn was glad to know that Frodo still wore the mithril mail beneath his shirt, and had agreed to pack (but not wear) the small sword that Sam had carried throughout most of the Quest.  Sam now kept Sting sheathed at his side, at Frodo’s insistence.

“There will be no lack of water along the way.”  Aragorn lifted his small friend onto Brego’s back, and mounted his steed behind him.  “Many men labor in Osgiliath, at the River, and along the Morgul Road to repair damage.  Caches of water and feed for the horses have been set up even well beyond the Cross-Roads.  We will reach there sometime tomorrow, depending upon how long it takes all of us to be ferried across the River.”

“You know of the Cross-Roads?” Frodo asked curiously.

“Indeed I do.  All who accompanied me to the Black Gate – including Pippin and Gandalf – went that way.  Only Gandalf and I rode further east, to the bridge leading to Minas Morgul itself.  We cast down the bridge, but the road is undamaged.”  Aragorn wrapped an arm around Frodo.  “We held out all hope possible for your safe return,” he said.  “We left the road intact in the event you and Sam might need to return from Mordor the same way you entered it.”

“Thank you.  As it turned out, however, we didn’t use the road... much.  There was another, darker way.”  Frodo clutched for a moment at Aragorn’s arm.

“I know,” Aragorn said.  “How are your feet this morning?”

”Still a little tender, but much better than they were,” Frodo said, wiggling them.  “I’m glad we’re riding this time, and not walking.”  He patted Brego.  “On the other hand, I haven’t been on a horse since... Asfaloth.”

“I predict that more than your feet will be a bit sore by the time we stop today,” Aragorn chuckled.  “We’re taking the trip to the tower in easy stages – three to four days, most likely.”

Aragorn gave Brego the signal to walk, the rest of the Company lining up behind him.

“I hope this journey brings you what you seek, Frodo.”

“So do I.”

**

May 28

As Aragorn had anticipated, the greater part of the first day’s journey was consumed by the gentle ride to Osgiliath, then getting the horses and gear across the mile-wide Anduin on the newly-repaired ferries.  Everywhere they met workmen, artisans, or the occasional scout or southern Ranger, the Men had been astonished and delighted to greet the King and his Companions.  All wished to meet the pheriannath, and marvelled at the sight of an Elf and Dwarf riding together, Legolas’ fair voice often raised in song.

Even with frequent rest stops, both Frodo and Sam -- unused to sitting horseback -- felt a little sore by late afternoon, and were most grateful when the party stopped to camp a few hours east of the River.

And so, it was not until late morning of the second day when the Company reached the great ring of trees which marked the convergence of the two mighty roads.

“Oh Sam, look!” Frodo cried.  “Aragorn, please set me down.”

Aragorn dismounted and lifted Frodo to the ground, and Alcaren did the same with Sam.

Their eyes shining, Frodo and Sam looked up.  There before them was the huge, sitting figure they had seen more than two months earlier -- despoiled no longer.  The crude Orc-markings had been scoured away, and the noble, bearded head – still crowned with flowers – had been re-set on massive shoulders.

“We came this way as we traveled to the Black Gate,” Gandalf said, patting Shadowfax gently.  “Aragorn ordered that the statue be cleansed.”

“Does anyone know who this was?” Frodo asked.

“Alas, no; the inscription on the king’s pedestal was worn away,” Aragorn said.

“We, also, felt it was a king,” Frodo said.

“Your instincts are good, Frodo,” Aragorn said softly.  “’The Cross-Roads of the Fallen King’... so this place has been known for a long time.  Perhaps this is he who saw to the building of the roads.”  He bowed before the massive stone figure, and Alcaren did the same.

“Your lands are free once more,” Aragorn whispered, touching the statue for a moment.  He smiled down at Frodo.  “Did I hear a stomach growling?”

“I think that was yours, Strider,” Sam laughed.  “We’ll make a hobbit of you, yet.”

At the King’s request, everyone began unpacking provisions and tending their horses.

“Shadowfax is very beautiful,” Frodo observed to Pippin.

“And have you noticed?” Pippin asked.  “The other horses all wait until he drinks first, and let him have the best feed.  They know.”

“Quality,” Sam said knowingly.  “You can always tell.”

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo leaned against Gandalf, gazing into the comforting fire Sam had insisted on kindling “to make a proper tea” for elevenses.

“It’s so different now,” Frodo mused.  A gentle spring breeze blew through the giant, ancient trees, and birdsong could be heard.  “Everything was so oppressive when Sam and I were here last... lonely, and still, and deadly quiet.  We could only travel at night, and the days were so very dim... hardly any food, being tired, hunted... watched... it seemed that everything was watching.”

“Sauron is gone,” Aragorn said softly, “as are the Nazgúl -- and the dark spells they wove about this land.”

“Sometimes I still can’t quite believe it,” Frodo whispered.

“You may believe your eyes, Frodo,” Alcaren said with a smile, motioning toward Aragorn.  “The King has returned.”

“And you do look the perfect Ranger-King, Strider,” Merry observed.

Everyone laughed.  Aragorn certainly appeared every inch the King -- with his tall and noble bearing, the Elessar stone pinned to his cloak, and Andúril at his side -- while at the same time, a northern Ranger with his worn boots, and relaxed but alert manner.

“By the way, I’ve figured out your game, Aragorn,” Frodo teased.  “I know why you really agreed to come with us.”

“And why is that?” Aragorn smiled.

“When Sam and I awoke, Gandalf said something about the Orc-rags we had worn in Mordor being preserved.  I can’t imagine why.  But you just want to find more mementos in that tower for some sort of exhibit, don’t you?  My clothes, or somesuch.”

“Retrieving your clothes,” Aragorn mused, puffing on his pipe.  “Indeed, you have divined the hidden purpose of this entire expedition.”

“Why didn’t that creature at the Black Gate give us back Frodo’s clothes, as well as... as his cloak, and the mithril, and Sam’s sword?” Pippin asked a little hesitantly.

“I don’t think the Orcs were very... gentle when they removed them, Pip,” Frodo said quietly.  “I doubt there was much left of them.”

“It was your turn, Frodo,” Merry said, trying quickly to lighten his cousin’s mood.  “The wights took all our clothes in that barrow, but not yours.  It’s only fair that you ended up a bit bare also.”

“More than a bit!” Sam laughed, happy to see his master smile.

“Everything feels so different,” Frodo marvelled again.  He lay back and looked up at the clouds.  Soft conversation drifted about him until he fell asleep, and he knew nothing more until Sam woke him for supper.

“We’ll be stayin’ here tonight, Mr. Frodo,” Sam told him.  “We haven’t come that far today, but Strider and Gandalf say we should stop.  They say, if we keep goin’ a few more hours today, we’d most likely reach the Orcs’ tower tomorrow evenin’, and...”

“And they don’t think we should arrive there at night,” Frodo said quietly.  “Neither do I, Sam.”

“Besides, it’ll give Gimli and the Men more time to... well, you know,” Sam muttered.

“Has Gimli gone with them?” Frodo asked, surprised.  Sam nodded.

While Frodo slept, Gimli had mounted a spare horse – awkwardly, and with assistance – and ridden off eastward along the road, accompanied by a dozen sturdy Men.

“He wishes to ride ahead with them,” Legolas had said to Pippin, Merry, and Sam.  They all knew where the Men were going, and the grim duty they would perform at the Tower of Cirith Ungol.

“I’m glad not to have that duty,” Pippin shivered.   “I don’t wish to see another pyre, if it can be avoided.”  Denethor standing upon the pyre, soaked in oil, holding the Seeing Stone in his hand...

“It’s all right, Pip,” Merry said, putting an arm around his young cousin.  He smiled up at Legolas.  “It was good of Gimli to go with the Men.  He’s not much for riding, is he?”

“No,” Legolas said.  “He has at last learned to ride at need, but usually chooses not to do so.  In this instance, I doubt our stalwart friend believes that mere Men can clear a path through the rubble without his aid, or carry so many bodies.”  He exchanged a glance with Aragorn, and said no more.  What he had said was the truth, as far as it went.

Aragorn had assembled the Men who had volunteered to gather and burn the dead Orcs, ensuring that each had gloves, and a stout cloth for covering their mouths and noses when handling the decaying bodies.  He had also given orders that no one was to disturb the room in the upper turret where Frodo had been held captive. As the Men were preparing to set out, Legolas saw Gimli take the King aside and speak quietly with him.  Aragorn’s eyes had flickered once to Frodo’s sleeping form, then back to Gimli, before he nodded, resting his hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder for a moment.  Gimli had fetched his axe before joining the waiting Men, and riding off with them.

Legolas knew that, ever since Ithilien -- when they had both seen the whip weal on Frodo’s side -- Gimli had fervently wished he had come face to face in battle with the Orc from Cirith Ungol who had dealt such a cruel hurt to someone so small and helpless.  He had spoken of it more than once, with a strange glint in his eyes.

Legolas suspected that Gimli would be the first to seek out the Orc called Snaga where he lay -- at the foot of the ladder in the Tower, arm severed by Sam and neck broken in the fall.  And that his friend would see to it that there was little left of that particular Orc to be thrown on the pyre... Legolas had no doubt whatsoever.

** TBC **

Andrea:  Revisiting Cirith Ungol certainly won’t be pleasant, but I would never put Frodo through anything more than he (or I!) could handle.

Anso the Hobbit:  Healing comes in many forms, as we all know... and Frodo won't be the only one to experience interesting things on this journey.  Thank you for reading!

aprilkat:  I love how you describe Frodo – “unflinchingly constant and unsparing of himself” – and am so gratified that you feel my characterizations are “true”.  Thank you for your lovely words.  Since I haven’t yet planned every detail or scene of this story, I suspect that Frodo’s journey with his renewed Fellowship will bring many experiences to them that they – and I – don’t anticipate.

Ariel:  Thank you for the vote of confidence.  I doubt I can -- or wish to -- ever write as angsty as most folks crave, but I try to at least keep things interesting!

Armariel:  I hope we never run out of fanfic to write... and read!  No need to hurry, the stories will always be here when you’re ready to read.  I'm glad you feel this storyline will work!  I hope so.

Baggins Babe:  I’ve wanted to write this story for soooo long, and it’s a relief to finally have time to devote to it.  Thank you for such enthusiasm.

Cuthalion:  “For Frodo!”  Yes, what a powerful and wonderful scene.  Aragorn more than appreciates what Frodo and Sam accomplished, but even he may not realize everything they went through to achieve what they did.  The Fellowship will be learning many things on this journey.

Dreamflower:  I love how you summarize this:  “For instead of going to get *rid* of something, he is going to *recover* something--his memory of what happened.”  Exactly!  :D
Garnet Took:  Thank you!  I wish I could update even faster, but this is a challenging story to write.

Gentle Hobbit:  You’re absolutely right.  Many more folks than Frodo are about to learn (and experience) some very interesting and revealing things.

harrowcat:  Yes, I can’t imagine Aragorn that could have made any other choice than to accompany his brave friend, and help in any way he can.

lbilover:  I do love writing "Fellowship" stories -- pre- or post-Quest.  Finding such true and supportive friends in one's life is a rare and wonderful thing, and Frodo has certainly found them.

Lily:  I’m sure Frodo is more than a bit frightened of this journey... but his need to understand more clearly what happened to him overrides his fear.

Lily Baggins:  There will certainly be enough banter to keep the story from falling into utter Darkness!  I’m not sure I know how to write without it.  And I wonder if Alcaren realizes that we all want his job as “hobbit caretaker”!  What a lucky guy.

Linda Hoyland:  I'm glad you like 'my' Aragorn!  We'll be seeing a lot of him in this story.

Mysterious Jedi:  Fellowship and h/c... a combination I love, as well!

Niphrandl:  Yes, unfortunately Faramir has to stay behind.  You’re right, someone has to run the Kingdom when the King is away.

Queen Galadriel:  I’m very pleased that this story seems “original”.  As the years of fanfic go on, some of us worry that we’re repeating ourselves, or going over ground that others have already covered.  I’ve had the idea for this story in my head for a year, and am so glad to finally be writing it.

rabidsamfan:  Sam will be giving – and getting – comfort in this story.  And don’t worry – Frodo does realize that this will be a difficult journey for his friend.

SlightlyTookish:  Three cheers indeed for the Fellowship ‘reunited’. And I know there hasn’t been much Pippin yet, but... stay tuned for Chapter 4!

SurgicalSteel:  Sam does have some healing to do!  I’m still working out that part of the story.  And I always wondered what the Quest would have been like if the Fellowship (or most of it) had actually made it to Mordor -- or at least its borders -- together.  I’m looking forward to getting deeper into the story and exploring a lot of these issues.

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 4 – The Tower of the Moon

“A little path leading up into the mountains; and then a stair, a narrow stair.  O yes, very long and narrow.  And then more stairs.  And then” – his voice sank even lower – “a tunnel; and at last a little cleft, and a path high above the main pass.”  ‘The Black Gate is Closed’, The Two Towers

**

May 29

I have to look.  I must.  With an effort, Frodo raised his eyes.  Minas Morgul, the city of the Ringwraiths, loomed before them.

Aragorn and Alcaren dismounted in silence, and walked to the edge of the road.  The bridge to Minas Morgul was broken, and no sound or movement could be discerned from the empty city.

“This...” Alcaren whispered, “...is what became of Minas Ithil?  This?”  He stared in horror and anger at the ruined city, tears falling unheeded from his eyes.  “My lord, what will you order done here?  Will Minas Ithil be rebuilt?”

“No, Alcaren,” Aragorn said softly.  He lay a comforting hand on the Man’s shoulder.  “Those who dwelt here were the Dark Lord’s foulest servants, the Nazgûl.  The city cannot be cleansed, but must be dismantled.  Perhaps someday...” He left the thought unspoken, as both Men mourned the devastation of what legend told had been a fair and noble city, marble walls once proudly gleaming and bright moonlight shining through its tower.

“Aragorn,” Frodo said hesitantly from his perch on Brego’s back, “we’re not camping here, are we?”

“No, Frodo,” Aragorn assured him, and the others.  “We will travel a bit further east toward the guardtower, but halt our journey today before reaching it.  We will search for a wide enough area that will serve as a campsite.”

“I’m afraid Sam and I won’t be any help in pointing one out,” Frodo sighed.  “This area is where we left the road.”

“We left it... there,” Sam said, pointing to the gap on the northern side of the road.  Everyone’s eyes followed his finger, as he traced a path up the cliff.

“You climbed that high?” Merry asked, amazed.

“We were so tired, even before we started to climb,” Frodo said quietly.  “And once up there... it was as if time itself ceased to exist inside the tunnel.  It was darker than Moria.”    He reached into his vest pocket where he kept the Phial of Galadriel, and was relieved to feel its gentle light pulse through his fingers

“Aye, it was,” Sam agreed.  He was torn between begging Frodo to turn back and not continue pursuing these dark memories, and trying to understand his master’s need to remember what he could.

“Is that... spider-thing still alive?” Pippin asked.

“It better not be,” Sam declared, his hand unconsciously clutching Sting’s hilt.

“Someday we will seal that tunnel and all ways in or out,” Aragorn said firmly.  “To the extent of my powers, no threat or embodiment of evil from this area will be allowed to haunt the lives -- or dreams -- of my people.”  He and Alcaren remounted their horses, and everyone took one last look at the ruined city.

“This is where it all started,” Frodo murmured.  The others strained to hear his soft voice.  “Faramir had told us about Boromir... All I could think of was, what had happened to the rest of you?  There was no way to know, only that it was likely that most of you had also been slain.”  He closed his eyes and pressed back against Aragorn, who wrapped his arms around the small one seated in front of him.  “The Ring wanted me to bring It to this city.  Sam and Sméagol stopped me, and we hid. We saw... from up on the cliff, we saw the army set out.  So many of them!  How could there be any hope left for any of you who were left?”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam warned. “Please, sir, you don’t need to---”

“But I do need to, Sam,” Frodo whispered.  He opened his eyes, but his voice was still quiet, dreamlike -- and Aragorn could feel him trembling.  “The Wraith King knew I was here... that the Ring was somewhere near... I felt it.  He felt it.  But they moved on, and we... climbed.  So many stairs, but we did it.”  His eyes roamed the cliff-face.  “It took so long, I wonder if the stairs went seven or eight miles before reaching... the tunnel.”

Sam nodded in agreement.  “It might have been that far, at that.”

“Oh Sam, without you, I don’t know how I would have made it through that darkness.”  Frodo took a deep breath, and Aragorn could feel his heart pounding wildly.  “After Sméagol left us... even when the eyes were chasing us... I was still myself.  I knew what I had to do.  But then at last I was running, and something hit me, and...”  He shook his head.  “That’s when everything gets blurred.  I want to remember.”

“We’ll help you, Frodo, if we can,” Pippin said, tears running down his face.

Merry, astride Stybba, had gone very pale, thinking about what Frodo and Sam had endured even before their encounter with the creature Sam had heard the Orcs call ‘Shelob’.

“How far is there yet to go before we reach the tower?” Merry asked.

“Perhaps 20 miles,” Aragorn replied.  “We will arrive tomorrow morning.”

That tunnel might span 12 of those miles, then, Merry thought, going back over everything Frodo had said.  His cousin and Sam had walked in foul air, abandoned by Gollum, afraid and hungry – in total darkness – for twelve miles.  He looked at Aragorn, his eyes brimming with tears.  “Let’s get away from this place,” he urged.

“Are you ready to move on, Frodo?” Gandalf asked.

Frodo nodded, then suddenly fumbled for the water bottle tied to Brego’s saddlebag, and drank it dry.  One of the nearby Men hurried over to refill the Ringbearer’s bottle with fresh water.

“Thank you,” Frodo said with a tremulous smile.  “I’m not even that thirsty, but seem to need to keep drinking.  It makes no sense that I feel so desperate about keeping a full bottle near me.”

“On the contrary, it makes perfect sense,” Legolas spoke.  “Your body remembers the thirst, and you need to assure yourself that water is at hand.”

Aragorn and Gandalf exchanged a glance, and quick-eyed Merry saw that they both looked grave.  Frodo’s body was beginning to exhibit symptoms of re-living what it had endured on the original journey through Cirith Ungol.  Thirst -- real or imagined -- was just the first, and most minor of what he would no doubt experience.  If full memories should return of the spider’s bite, the sickness brought on by the poison coursing through his small body, the interrogation, humiliation, the terrible aloneness, the knowledge that the Ring had been taken, and with it, all hope...

“Merry,” Pippin whispered as Shadowfax drew abreast of Stybba, “Frodo will have us with him, this time.  It’ll be all right.”

“I know,” Merry whispered back, trying to believe it.

Frodo was very quiet as they rode eastward, and remained so even when a suitable campsite was found within a wide shelter of rocks north of the road.  Everyone was aware that he had been shaken by the sight of Minas Morgul, and that the realization that they would arrive at the Orcs' tower the next day lay heavily upon him.  Something had to be done, and as fires were lit and the company settled down to prepare and eat supper, Pippin decided that he was the one to do it.

*~*~*~*~*

“Where do you come up with these questions?” Frodo asked in amusement.

“The only important question is, how long is a certain cousin going to take to answer?” Pippin asked, digging into his plate of stew.  Well?” he asked Merry.  “You’ve had enough time to think, you lazy Brandybuck.”

“I know!” Merry said triumphantly, relieved to have thought of something.  “They’re both older than they look.”

“Sam?  Your turn,” said Pippin.

“They’ve both lost their parents,” Sam said a bit sadly.

“They were both born in Eriador,” Gandalf offered.

Legolas and Alcaren exchanged amused glances.  The game that Pippin had announced as a diverting bit of evening conversation, “What do Frodo and Strider have in common?” was turning out to be quite educational.  Alcaren, unused to a ruler who laughed and joked as did King Elessar, sat quietly listening, amazed and delighted with the conversation.

“I have one, too,” Pippin announced.  “Broken swords.”  He grinned.  “Frodo’s broke at... at the Ford, and Strider had his fixed up in Rivendell.”

“Re-forged, Peregrin,” Merry said, “not ‘fixed up’.”

“Same thing,” Pippin said airily.

“We’re practically related, Aragorn,” Frodo grinned with delight.

“How about you, Legolas?” Pippin asked hopefully.

“Let me see...” the Elf said thoughtfully.  “Ah, I have it!  Both our noble hobbit and esteemed King have travelled under surreptitious names.  ‘Underhill’, was it?  And...” Legolas laughed.  “How many names have you travelled under, Aragorn?”

“More than there are stars in the sky,” Gandalf said.  He sat smoking contentedly.  “Frodo, you and Aragorn do, indeed, have much in common.”  He winked at the young Took.  “Well done, Pippin.”

Pippin beamed at the wizard’s praise.

Frodo saw Sam gazing up at the cliff-face which concealed the long, dark passage he and his master had survived. 

“I know you don’t want to be here, Sam,” Frodo said softly.  “Neither do I; but there’s something I have to do before the end.”  He smiled.  “Remember when you said that, back in the Shire?”

“Now don’t go usin’ my own words against me, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said.  “I’m just glad you didn’t go sneakin’ off without us.  If you can do this, sir, so can I.”

“All of you show great courage and spirit,” Alcaren smiled at the four hobbits.

“It’s all Gandalf’s fault,” Frodo told him, casting a mischievous glance at the wizard.  “Hobbits were living perfectly uneventful lives before he pushed my cousin Bilbo out the door on his Adventure with the Dwarves.  Bilbo then surprised himself by facing trolls and spiders, and had the courage to enter a dragon’s cave more than once, when he knew exactly what was waiting for him there.  And he was the only one at the Council to volunteer to take the Ring.”

“Except for you.”  Pippin looked proudly at his cousin.

Merry took up the story.  “And growing up hearing Bilbo’s tales, is it any wonder that Gandalf was able to talk one – or more – of us into another Adventure?”

“I hardly think--” Gandalf protested.

“Besides, most of my cousins are quite mad, Alcaren,” Merry continued.  “It makes for an interesting family.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Pippin spluttered, as Frodo and Sam nearly fell over with laughter.

As the camp prepared for sleep, Aragorn was delighted to hear Frodo continuing to joke with his cousins, his grim mood from earlier in the day temporarily eased.  Gandalf and Legolas joined him at the edge of camp.

“Frodo’s spirit is bright once more,” Legolas observed quietly.  “Pippin and Merry work very hard to distract him – and Sam – from dark thoughts.”

“Yes, they do,” Aragorn agreed.  “The Men are lighter of heart now than before, as well.  Bless those young hobbits.”

“They’re scamps, every one of them,” Gandalf chuckled.

“Yes, imagine blaming you for everything,” Aragorn grinned.  “Whatever were they thinking?”

** TBC **

Andrea:  Gimli definitely feels that he has some unfinished business at the Orcs’ tower.  He’s a tough, uncompromising warrior, but his love for the hobbits always shines through.

Anonymous:  “Resolving unfinished business” is exactly what this story is about... for many of them.

Baggins Babe:  I found myself thinking quite a lot about Gimli for this story, and all the ways this journey would be meaningful for him.

Bodkin:  Frodo and his companions have certainly never backed down from any challenge, and it’s very meaningful to see things through together -- as much as possible.

Claudia:  Thank you so much.  The story will soon definitely turn to the more 'angsty' side, but... hobbits will be hobbits.  And I love surrounding them with Big Folk -- as protectors, or maybe just as friends.

Dreamflower:  I’m so happy you feel the characters are “in character”!  I’m trying to become a little more courageous in my writing.  And as the next chapter will show, Frodo really is being helped to understand the difference he’s made.

Garnet Took:  We’re starting to see just what Merry and Pippin’s presence means to Frodo, and to everyone else.  As Legolas and Aragorn observe in this chapter, they’re continually aware of the mood of their cousin – and the entire camp – and work unceasingly to bring a smile to everyone’s face.

harrowcat:  Aragorn (and I) just didn’t think it was necessary for the hobbits to see any more Orc corpses lying about – they’d seen enough of them already on this Quest!

Larner:  Frodo is certainly surrounded by love and support.  I think it would be very satisfying for his friends to finally see him "there and back again" to Mordor (or at least the edge of it), as they always planned to.

lbilover:  It was interesting for the Professor to include the king’s fallen and desecrated statue in TTT – a short, meaningful little scene that gave Frodo a moment of hope.  I just had to revisit it, and let Frodo see that the healing of the land has begun.

Lily:  This story certainly isn’t my usual fluff, but I’m very happy you’re enjoying it.

periantari:  I guarantee that Sam and his thoughts/fears will be woven throughout this story.  Eeeee, thumbs up!  Thank you.

Queen Galadriel:  Frodo is doing his very best to “hold in his fear” – with a little help from his friends.

rabidsamfan:  What a shame there was so little singing in the movies – the books were full of song and verse, and I would love to hear an Elf with his voice raised in song.

SlightlyTookish:  Can you imagine a common workman (or lonely scout or Ranger) seeing this procession?  What a rare treat for them.

SurgicalSteel:  Oooh, ‘soul-wounds’... I like that phrase a lot.  Yes, although the story is primarily about Frodo, he’s certainly not the only one finding this to be an interesting journey.

In addition to the hugs at the beginning of Chapter 1 for a group of friends who gifted me with insights for this story, I want to give a special “thank you” at this time to Febobe (Frodo Baggins of Bag End) and Gentle Hobbit, whose generous and thoughtful suggestions are contributing enormously to the shaping of key elements of the story.

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 5 – The Watchers

In time the City was made more fair than it had ever been, even in the days of its first glory; and it was filled with trees and with fountains, and its gates were wrought of mithril and steel, and its streets were paved with white marble; and the Folk of the Mountain laboured in it.”
‘The Steward and the King’, The Return of the King

**

May 30

“Someone approaches,” Legolas said suddenly, peering eastward down the road.  Several of the Men drew their swords, and Sam automatically checked to see if Sting was glowing -- although none could yet see (or hear) what had drawn the Elf’s attention.

Aragorn came to Legolas’ side, but did not appear alarmed.  He knew that there were scouts patrolling at intervals along the road.  If anything dangerous was approaching, he and the company would have been warned.

“It’s Gimli!” Merry cried.  And indeed it was.  As soon as the sun rose, Gimli had ridden back to meet them -- sitting his horse as awkwardly as he had two days before.

“Help me down, gentlemen!” Gimli pleaded to the amused Men.  He sighed with relief when his feet touched the ground, and everyone grouped around him to hear his report.

“We were just about to start out,” Aragorn said to the Dwarf.  “What can you report?”

“All goes well,” Gimli said.  “Sam did not exaggerate the number of Orc bodies left rotting.  I have never seen such...” He stopped, aware that the young hobbits were listening.  Gimli’s clothes smelled of smoke, and he went on to say simply that the pyre was a mighty one, and that the Men were performing their duties well and without complaint.  He caught Legolas’ eye, and the Elf could see that his friend’s demeanor was grim... but satisfied.  It was obvious that Gimli, as well, had seen to a certain duty.

“What’s this?” Pippin asked, swatting at Gimli’s tunic.  A great cloud erupted from it.

“A fine dust covers the road ahead,” Gimli replied.

“The ash,” Frodo whispered.  He took a drink from his water bottle.

“Aye,” Gimli agreed.  “The Mountain – what is left of it – can be seen from the upper levels of the tower.  Ash and debris were apparently blown for many miles.  The road near the tower is also littered with small rocks.”  He glanced down at the hobbits’ feet.  “Many of the stones are sharp – some of them almost glass-like.  You must step carefully.”

“Rocks from the Mountain were thrown this far?” Frodo asked in amazement.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, “you’ll not be walkin’ about on sharp rocks or bits o’ glass.  Not with your feet still healin’ and all.  I’ll not have it.”

“Nor will I,” Aragorn said firmly.

“I should have come alone,” Frodo said, his friends’ concern bringing a smile to his lips.

“Not this time,” Pippin and Merry said with one voice.

“Gimli,” Frodo asked quietly, “what is it like... at the tower?”

“It stands,” Gimli said.  “As Sam reported, part of the wall surrounding what must have been the front entrance to the courtyard is in ruins -- but we cleared a way in.  Massive statues of evil appearance were also found broken and cast down.”

“I thought of ’em as ‘the Watchers’,” Sam said.  “They were alive, somehow.”

“Yes,” Gandalf agreed.  “In a sense, they were.  Apparently, there was nothing that Sauron could not corrupt and twist to his will – even living rock.”

“Aye,” Gimli glowered.

“Continue, Gimli,” Aragorn urged.  “I wish to know what awaits us.”

“Once the bodies were gathered, and the pyre well begun, we kindled small fires in the main corridors within the tower, using the aromatic leaves you gave us.  The foul air has been cleared, and the Men take their meals, and sleep, in an empty chamber on the first level.  We explored the tower thoroughly – save for the turret,” Gimli said, looking at Frodo for a moment.

“Is there water?” Alcaren asked.  “The horses will have need of it.”

“Not fresh, but it is drinkable.  We also located large stores of dried meats and grains in a locked storage room; the grains are being fed to the horses.”

Sam sighed.  “Wish we’d had time to look for those things, Mr. Frodo.”

“So do I, Sam,” Frodo said, “but we didn’t.  We escaped only just in time.”

“We also found barrels of a brown liquor of some type,” Gimli said.  “I tasted it, and it burned as fire.  The most potent ale is mild in comparison.”

“A burning drink?” Frodo said with a grimace.  “I remember that.”

“So do we,” Merry said, and Pippin nodded.  “The Orcs that captured Pip and me forced us to drink some.”

“One more thing, Aragorn,” Gimli said, his eyes smouldering suddenly, “I believe that the problem of finding suitable materials to use in rebuilding the gates of Minas Tirith has been solved.”

“What did you find?” Merry asked curiously.

“Mithril,” Gimli replied.  He clenched his fists in anger.  “Great stores of raw ore fill several rooms -- plunder from Moria.  It had been reported among my folk for many years that Sauron coveted mithril and ordered it brought to him; however, this hoard had apparently not yet been shipped across the Plain to Barad Dûr.”

“You do not wish such a treasure returned to your people?” Aragorn asked.  “That is most generous, Gimli.”

“My folk will craft you a gate of which any King can be proud,” Gimli said with a bow.  “When the time comes, we will bring the mithril back to the City.  But now...”  He looked over at the horse he had ridden, which was being tended to by one of the Men.  “Legolas, when we move on, I ask leave to share Arod with you once again.  Two such harrowing rides on that unforgiving beast over there are more than enough for any Dwarf!”  He walked off a bit unsteadily, which brought a smile to many lips; all knew that Gimli had been given the gentlest horse to ride, with the smoothest and most sure gait.

“Were Mr. Frodo and me... all covered in that ash, Gandalf?” Sam asked.

“You were, indeed,” Gandalf said, exchanging a look with Aragorn.  “We could scarcely tell you from Frodo when you were found.”

“That is untrue, Gandalf,” Aragorn said teasingly.  “It was quite simple to tell them apart; Sam was better dressed!”

“We’re not back on the subject of Frodo’s clothes again, are we?” Merry asked.

“What am I going to do with all of you?” Frodo shook his head in mock exasperation.

“Put up with us,” Pippin declared.  “That’s what families do, after all.”

*~*~*~*~*

Gimli and Legolas rode at the head of the company on Arod, with Gimli pointing out the clearest path on the increasingly rock-strewn road.  As he had warned them, the debris from the shattered mountain was plentiful – and sharp.  The Men were mindful of the horses’ hooves as they rode slowly toward the tower.

It didn’t take long for the dusting of ash that covering the road to be disturbed enough to start Frodo coughing.  He heard Pippin murmur something to Gandalf, and then Shadowfax came abreast of Brego.  Pippin hastily untied his scarf and handed it to Frodo.

“Good idea, Pippin,” Aragorn said.  “Frodo, your lungs are still recovering from the searing ash and poisonous fumes from the Mountain.”

“I feel as fragile as a basket of eggs,” Frodo sighed.

“You grow stronger,” Aragorn assured him.  “Every day brings further healing.”

After another long drink, Frodo tied the scarf around his mouth and nose, and soon his coughing subsided.

“You look like Captain Faramir did, when we met him,” Sam said.  “Remember, sir?  He was all masked and hooded.”

“No one could mistake me for a Ranger, Sam,” Frodo said, his voice muffled by the scarf.  He wiggled his feet.  “No boots.  No scruffy beard.”

“That scarf is a bit beard-like,” Merry offered, “especially having being through so much--”

“I smell smoke,” Pippin whispered suddenly.

A high stone wall suddenly rose to their left.  And then, looming above the wall where it hugged the cliff-face, all could see the tower.  Frodo looked up and shuddered.  The last time he had seen this place, from the road down in the valley, a Nazgûl had been perched upon the wall.  It had been so close... they had been so close to being seen, recaptured, taken...

“Frodo,” Aragorn asked softly, “how are you doing?”

“It’s a bit... overwhelming,” Frodo replied, trying to calm his pounding heart.  “May we stop outside the gate, before going in?”

“We are here to assist in whatever ways you need,” Aragorn said.  “No one will rush you.”

“Are we in Mordor?” Pippin asked.  “Did we get here with Frodo... at last?”

“Yes, Pippin,” Gandalf replied.  “We have crossed to the eastern side of the Ephel Dúath – the Mountains of Shadow.”

“Mordor,” Alcaren murmured.  “Few of this Age have come here of their own free will... and even fewer would have chosen to make the journey twice.  I am honored to be in this company, Frodo.”

“I never imagined choosing to return,” Frodo admitted.  “I wonder what Bilbo would say about all this?”

“He’d be wondering about lunch,” Merry said with a grin.

“You’re right.” Frodo found himself smiling.  Good old Merry.

While everyone else rode ahead into the courtyard, Aragorn, Gandalf, Merry, and Alcaren halted their mounts at the tumbled heap of stones which had once been the front gateway of the wall protecting the tower.  A path through the rubble had been cleared, and the pyre could be seen – still smouldering -- at one end of the courtyard.

“I think I heard ’em,” Sam murmured.  He reached out from where he sat in front of Alcaren and touched a massive piece of broken statuary.  “There were sirens, and then some awful sounds when the wraith got here.  These here Watchers must have been startin’ to fall.”

“I felt a wavering of Sauron’s defenses when you and Frodo escaped, and these guardians tried to resist you... and failed,” Gandalf said gravely.  “Calling upon Elbereth magnified Eärendil’s light and the intensity of the phial.  Such an assault, wielded by two beings of Power, was enough to break the sentinals’ strength.”

“I wasn’t any ‘being of Power’,” Sam said, shaking his head.  “Why, you sound like Mr. Frodo; he once joked that I’d end up by becoming a wizard – or a warrior.  I never wanted to be neither.”

“You never wanted to be, Sam, but you were,” Frodo said, handing Pippin's scarf back to him.  “You should be proud of yourself.  Middle-earth owes you a debt it can never repay.”

“It’s you who should feel proud, Mr. Frodo,” Sam demurred.

“He most certainly should,” Gandalf said softly, “Frodo, bringing the Ring to the Fire so that it could be destroyed was not your only accomplishment in strength of will – far, far from it.  You held the Ring in your keeping for 17 years, and never used it; you resisted a deadly wound for longer than any of us dared hope; you chose to leave your friends behind – even Sam – in order not to bring them further into danger.   And Frodo...” the wizard smiled at the wide-eyed hobbit.  “I meant what I said.  Two beings of Power passed through this gate, and brought it down.  Because of you and Sam, the dark magic binding these ‘Watchers’ to Sauron’s will was unmade.”

“That’s right,” Merry said firmly.  “You and Sam keep trying to give the other credit for something you did together.  It’s time to get it into your thick skulls that you both did something astounding.”

Frodo and Sam glanced at one another, and Frodo gave Sam’s leg a gentle kick.

“I’ll try to get it through my thick skull if you will, Sam.”

Sam just blushed and looked down at his toes.  He knew the truth of it – that he had only done what he had to, to rescue Mr. Frodo.  That was that.

“I wish to speak with the Men who have served their duty here,” Aragorn said, dismounting.  Sharp stones crunched under his boots.  “Frodo, there is no hurry; come to the tower whenever you are ready.  But you are not to walk; I know you do not wish it, but someone must either lead you on Brego, or carry you.”

“I know,” Frodo nodded.

Aragorn strode into the courtyard and approached the Men who had been tending the pyre.

“Will you be ready soon, Frodo?” Pippin asked.  “Merry would have to mention lunch.”

Frodo looked toward the courtyard and took a deep breath. “There’s just one thing.  Gandalf...”

“Yes?” the wizard asked gently.

“I have a favor to ask.  A rather large favor.”

** TBC **

**

Amy:  Pippin is quite clever, isn’t he?  I love finding ways for him to cheer up his cousins.  And the angst is definitely underway; but there will always be comfort readily at hand!

Andrea:  I suspect that Pippin and Merry know very well that they’re helping, in the best way they can.  There’s nothing like hobbits to bring a bit of light into the darkest of places.

aprilkat:  I’m glad the characters seem ‘in character’!

Armariel:  I’m definitely trying to balance light and dark.  And I hope you had a truly wonderful birthday.

Cornix:  Yes, this is a rather ‘gritty’ story for me, isn’t it?  Sometimes (as in “Mind to Mind” or “Spellbound”) there’s an angsty plotline that just won’t leave me alone until I tackle it.  It doesn’t happen very often, though!

Cuthalion:  And the ‘noble, dwarvish warrior’ returns... satisfied with a job well done.  Yes, the angst has begun!  I think I’ll go hide until it’s over.  :D

demeter d:  I enjoy Larner’s stories very much; she has a lovely and well-thought-out vision of what Frodo, Aragorn, and Sam “might have been” to one another.  And I thought both the book- and movie-Shelob were frightening, each in their own way – but I have to close my eyes when movie-Shelob stings Frodo!

Dreamflower:  Actually, it is all Gandalf’s fault.  But what else could he do?  Luckily he had resilient, courageous, and tenacious hobbits to help “get the job done”.

Endaewen:  Thank you for such a wonderful compliment.  This is a very challenging story for me to write.

Frodo Baggins:  Thank you for the enthusiasm!  :D

Gandalfs apprentice:  I’m very happy you’re enjoying this.  It’s a challenge to get everything blended, and make sure each character is given a chance to contribute.

Garnet Took:  Yes, Frodo is on a very emotional journey.  I think that his companions – especially his cousins – are very much aware of what they can contribute toward Frodo’s emotional support, and don’t hesitate to do so.

harrowcat:  Cirith Ungol (book or film) is definitely a creeeeeepy place.  It’s too bad PJ had to abbreviate so much of the story, but he certainly made wondrous films for all of us.

lbilover:  I’ve given a lot of thought to Frodo’s companions realizing – as best they can – what Frodo and Sam actually went through.  Merry and Pippin may also find themselves thinking about what they might have gone through, had they had a chance to accompany their cousin the first time.  (And my apology for the typo in my response to your review of Chapter 4 – which has been fixed!)

Indigo Bunting:  It’s a challenge coming up with new Fellowship stories, and giving the characters a ‘voice’ that rings true.  Thank you very much for your kind words.

Larner:  Ohhh, I love your contributions to the guessing game from Chapter 4.

Lily:  Merry and Pippin are truly doing their best for Frodo!

Linda Hoyland:  Frodo went through such an emotional, mental, and physical trial at Minas Morgul, seeing Sauron’s army massing, and wondering if anything he was doing would matter.

lotrgirl1415:  You know that Frodo will be all right (eventually) if you’re reading one of my stories!  And it was such fun thinking up all the things Frodo and Aragorn have in common.  Leave it to Pippin to make a diverting game out of it.

Niphrandl:  Hobbits are very resilient and “tough as tree roots”, so I’m positive Frodo and Sam will come out of this intact!  They’re lucky to have such good and supportive friends.

Pearl Took:  I like what Gimli was off doing, too.  The Dwarves’ hatred of Orcs would compel him, I think.

Periantari:  Pippin just had to find a way to cheer everyone up after seeing Minas Morgul, which would have been a depressing experience for the entire company.

puppypersonLOTR:  We never do hear anything about Mordor post-Quest, so it’s fun (and challenging) to write a story like this.

rabidsamfan:  You can hear someone’s story, or look at a place on a map, but there’s nothing like going there and seeing for yourself, to truly understand... as much as you can, anyway.

Siorah:  Wow, thank you!

SlightlyTookish:  I’m afraid the “angsty quotient” will be somewhat high now for awhile, but never too much so, I hope.  Anywhere I can squeeze in a bit of “hobbityness”, I certainly will.

SurgicalSteel:  I definitely agree that Frodo suffered from PTSD, or its Middle-earth equivalent.  Our inner battles can be as devastating as our outer ones.  (Pippin squeezes you back.)

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 6 – On the Threshold

Up, up he went.  It was dark save for an occasional torch flaring at a turn, or beside some opening that led into the higher levels of the Tower.  Sam tried to count the steps, but after two hundred he lost his reckoning.  ‘The Tower of Cirith Ungol’, The Return of the King

**

May 30

A sheltered area of the courtyard had been turned into a makeshift stable, and the horses (and Stybba) were led to where water and grain awaited them.

As Aragorn neared the pyre, a guardsman named Brengil stepped forward and bowed.

“My Lord King, you will find that all of your orders have been carried out, and the area secured.”

“You have my thanks,” Aragorn replied.  “Gimli told us of your diligent work here.”

“Gimli is a marvel,” Brengil said with admiration.  “I doubt we could have accomplished so much, in so short a time, without him.”  He looked up at the tower.  “Sire, what will become of this place?  It is sturdily built.”

“I do not know,” Aragorn said thoughtfully.  “Once the Ringbearer has made his peace here, perhaps I will know what to do.”  He lowered his voice.  “Did you find anything amiss within the tower, or hear any sounds from... behind it?”

“Nothing,” Brengil replied.  “There were no Orcs alive, and no sign of prisoners.  The conditions we found here were...”  He just shook his head.  “It was unspeakable.  We have only begun sorting through some of the debris to determine what might be salvageable.”  He motioned to a small mountain of weaponry, mail, garments, pots, drums, and countless metal instruments and devices.  “As for what lies behind the tower,” he continued, “there are two solid, barred doors set between the lowest chamber and the tunnels on the other side -- just as Master Samwise described.  If the foul beast in spider-form yet lives, there is no way for it to reach us.”

“Thank you.”  Aragorn addressed all of the Men.  “Well done.  Those of you with families awaiting you may return to Minas Tirith.”  He was unsurprised – and gratified – when all of them asked to be allowed to stay.  None wished to leave their King’s side, or abandon the Ringbearer should he have need of them.  As one, they looked up with respect as Alcaren carried Frodo into the courtyard, the other hobbits walking behind.

“We should have thought to find something to sweep a path,” Brengil said regretfully.  “The hobbits walk unprotected on the sharp stones.”

“Frodo’s feet are still healing, but you will find that the other three have little trouble; they are very sure-footed,” Aragorn said with a smile.  “You have done all that I asked.”

“It was our honor, my lord.”

The courtyard contained many dark brown stains, and Alcaren realized that it must be dried blood.  Peering into the front passageway of the tower, he saw that the floor was likewise stained in many places.  He carefully set Frodo down on a patch of clean paving stone just inside the doorway.

“Thank you,” Frodo smiled up at the Man.  He cautiously looked around, but recognized almost nothing.  Escaping down stairs lit only by torches, in fear and weariness, Frodo had scarcely noticed anything about the tower in which he had been held, with the exception of the turret room.  It was Sam who had...

Sam was still outside, seemingly loathe to enter.

“Sam,” Frodo called softly.  He held out his hand.  “Come, Sam.  We’ll have a bit of lunch, then---”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam turned a pleading face to his master.  “Can’t you do your rememberin’ out here?”

“I may not choose to spend much time... upstairs,” Frodo admitted, “but I must see that room again, even if just for a moment.  I know this place holds dreadful memories for you, my dear Sam... but I have hardly any memories at all... yet.  You needn’t come with me.”

“Not come with you?” Sam cried out, aghast.  “I’ll not leave you alone, sir.  Not ever.”  Taking Frodo’s hand, he stepped across the threshold.

*~*~*~*~*

Gear was unloaded from the carts and saddlebags and brought into the tower, where – as Gimli had reported – a rough camp had been set up in one of the rooms.    Blankets and bedrolls were spread out on the recently-cleared floor, and the boxes and sacks of provisions were set on crude tables.

“Eat,” Merry said firmly.  He and Pippin sat down on the blanketed floor next to Frodo and Sam, holding plates of bread, fruit, and cheeses.

“Yes sir.”  Frodo obediently picked up a hunk of cheese.

“I don’t know what kind of leaves Strider gave the Men to burn, but the air isn’t too bad,” Sam said.  “I thought... well, I thought it’d be pretty awful in here.”

“You too,” Pippin declared, putting one of the plates right in Sam’s lap.

“I’m not really hungry, Mr. Pippin,” Sam murmured.

“Sam,” Frodo said, “please eat.  Just a little.”

“I...” Sam shook his head.  “Maybe later, sir.”

After the travelers had eaten and rested, Frodo expressed a wish to go up to the turret room before it got dark.  He invited Alcaren to come with them, but the Man shook his head.

“I do not wish to intrude,” Alcaren demurred.  “I will hear your tale when you return.”  He felt that the Companions of the Ring might not wish a stranger present at such a time.

“You’re family now,” Frodo insisted, sensing his concern.  “Please come.”  All four hobbits looked up at Alcaren expectantly.

“Thank you Frodo.”  Alcaren was warmed by these new friendships, and by the smile and nod from the King.  “It is long since I have been part of... a family.”

Gimli led the way up the stairs, followed by Legolas, the hobbits, then Aragorn, Alcaren, and Gandalf.

“There’s hundreds of stairs, Mr. Frodo,” Sam reminded his master.

“I’m sure I can make it to the top, at least once,” Frodo assured his friend.  “My feet are much better.”

It was a solemn group that climbed slowly, one level after another.  The stairs were also, at intervals, stained with dried blood, and Merry found himself trying to imagine what had happened here.  The Orcs had carried Frodo’s unconscious body up all these stairs, and thrown him in prison.  His cousin.  And Sam’s desperate attempt to free Frodo – in a tower inhabited by Orcs, lit only by torches...  Sam had been weary and thirsty, terrified, with no one to guide him, not knowing if his master was dead or alive.

At last the stairs ended, and the company arrived at the upper level.  They found themselves in an empty chamber lined with doors.  At the far end, partially in shadow, a crude ladder could be seen that led to a small opening in the ceiling.

Gimli turned to Frodo.  “If you will allow me to go first,” he said gravely, “there is a task I would like to perform before you continue.”  He pulled a piece of cloth from his belt.  “The hand of that foul Orc who was whipping you...” His eyes narrowed with rage, but his voice remained soft.  “I will remove it, with your permission.”

Snaga.  “Thank you, Gimli,” Frodo whispered.

Gimli strode to the ladder and climbed up to the prison room which neither he nor the Men had disturbed.  There, on the dusty floor, lay the rotting hand, and next to it, a long, cruel whip.  He wrapped the hand in the cloth he held, then curled the whip and tucked it into his belt where neither Frodo nor Sam would see it.  He then climbed back down the ladder and returned to his friends.  Everyone’s eyes strayed to the tightly-wrapped bundle he held.

“I will return to the courtyard and throw this... thing... on the fire.  Legolas will come to find me, if there is need.” Gimli nodded solemnly to Frodo and Sam, then to Aragorn, and left them.

Frodo walked slowly towards the ladder, feeling as if he was in a dream.  When he started up, he felt Sam’s solid, comforting presence right behind him.

*~*~*~*~*

Alcaren’s eyes swept the room; that it had been used as a prison, and nothing else, was evident.  There was no bed, chair, or table – nothing but piles of rags heaped against the far wall, and a few wooden buckets that had probably held water or scraps of food, or perhaps used for a prisoner to relieve himself.  A fine layer of ash-dust covered everything, making the room look as if it had been abandoned for many years.

“There’s nothin’ left of it!” Sam gasped.  Peering out one of the windows of the turret for a moment, he found himself staring in amazement at Gorgoroth Plain – and the broken, tumbled heap of black stone that had once been Mount Doom.  Merry and Pippin joined him at the window, gazing wide eyed at the miles of scorched ground where lava had flowed and rocks had been hurled.

“Where was the Dark Tower?” Merry asked, his voice hushed.

“Beyond the Mountain,” Sam replied.  “I suppose that’s all rubble, too.”

“Strider,” Pippin asked, “will you ever go looking for the Stone?”

“What stone, Pippin?”

“The Seeing Stone.”  Pippin turned earnest, troubled eyes up to the King.  “The one Sauron had at his tower – will you ever look for it?”

“No,” Aragorn said firmly.  “Even if it wasn’t crushed to dust in the fall of Barad Dûr, which I suspect it was, and even if it could be found... I would not touch it.  It took great effort to wrench the Orthanc Stone to my will; I have my doubts that anyone could – or would want to – control a palantír used for so long by the Dark Lord.”

“I understand,” Pippin murmured, turning back to the window.  “I was just wondering.”

Frodo seemed to have no interest in the view, but rather prowled slowly around the room.   This chamber, which he had explored thoroughly after Sam found him, looked slightly different than he remembered.  The endless questioning...  “What are you?  Why are you here?”  Fragments of memory sifted through his mind in much the same way sunlight was filtering through the narrow windows.  He knelt to touch the water bottle the Orcs had slashed with their knives.  “Can you guess what happens to spies?”  Frodo shuddered and picked up the bottle, clenching it convulsively to his chest.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, kneeling in the dust next to his master.  “It’s all right, sir.  We’re all here with you.”

“I know,” Frodo murmured.  “Oh Sam...”  He bowed his head, overcome by the realization that he was truly back in this room.  He let the bottle drop and squeezed Sam’s hand for a moment before getting to his feet and turning to face his friends, who were quietly waiting... and watching him with concern.

“Do you wish to go ahead, Frodo?” Gandalf asked.

“Yes.  As I thought, I just need a little help... getting started.”

“You two sound as if you have planned something,” Legolas said.

“We have.”  Frodo took a deep breath.  “Being up here is helping; but it’s as if everything happened to someone else, and not me.  Memories are jumbled and out of order.”  He looked up at Gandalf.  “Perhaps if I remembered more clearly what happened... before I was brought here.  That might help me sort things out.”

Gandalf nodded, motioning for Frodo to join him.  Frodo came to stand next to the wizard, and took his hand.

“Frodo, what do you propose to do?” Aragorn asked.

“In Rivendell, Gandalf told me that he had read my mind and memories to learn what happened to us,” Frodo told them.  “I didn’t know he could do that.  He’s agreed to help me remember some things.”

“I will see the memories, and let Frodo see them, as well,” Gandalf explained.  “They will be vivid, Frodo; be certain before you agree to this.  Once open, the door of memory may not be easy to close.”

“I am ready.”

Sam wanted to protest, and drag his master out of this room, down the ladder, and back to Minas Tirith that very minute... but Mr. Frodo would never rest until he got all this remembering done.  He would just have to stand by and watch.

** TBC **

Andrea:  Yes, Merry and Pip at last make it to Mordor, giving Frodo their utmost in support and love.

aprilkat:  I’ve spent so much time thinking about that tower, the gate, the Watchers, the turret room... I’m so glad the images are coming through clearly.

Baggins Babe:  The book Master of Middle-earth says that the main theme of LOTR “is to tell how the unknowing come to know, and the unknown become known and honored by other races.”  This is certainly true of Frodo and Sam – two humble, good people who gain renown and honor amongst the Great.

Clever Hobbit:  You expect comfort in one of *my* stories?  How odd... *grins*

Cuthalion:  Eeee, angst!  (Well, as much as I can handle, anyway.)  Thank you so much for the encouragement.

Daynawayna:  If only Boromir could be there; but Alcaren is taking his place, in a sense, so the Fellowship can still have all its members.

Endaewen:  Thank you so much.  I’m glad the characters seem ‘true’.

Grey Wonderer:  Sam will always help Frodo "get the job done" -- even if it might be a dangerous road.

harrowcat:  The “sense of family between Writers and Reviewers” is one of the main reasons I write!  What a wonderful way for all of us to communicate and share ideas, and our love for these characters and their world.  Great plot bunny, BTW.  I think a multi-chapter fic could be devoted just to Gandalf’s POV of the entire War of the Ring.  Maybe someone will be inspired.

lbilover:  Thank you for the hug; this is such an angsty story for me, I need lots of them!

Lily:  I think, deep down inside, Frodo knows and is in awe of what he accomplished.  But Sam is just too humble to let such grand thoughts enter his head.

Linda Hoyland:  Thank you, Linda.  ‘Canon’ is still the best source of inspiration.

Pearl Took:  I don’t even know where that mithril idea came from, Pearl.  I’m just awestruck at the mysteries of the creative process.

Queen Galadriel:  Cliffhangers just sneak in all by themselves!  There doesn’t seem to be much I can do to stop them... :D

rabidsamfan:  Oh, I love how you word that – “the way they keep working together, whether it’s to find a way to protect Frodo’s feet or his heart”.  And Sam just doesn’t realize how much of a “being of Power” he truly is.

SlightlyTookish:  I don’t know why PJ gave Pippin a scarf to wear, but it’s sure wonderful.

SurgicalSteel:  You have to admit that I’ve been very restrained about ending chapters in cliffhangers... well, until now, I guess.  *sigh*  I blame the story!  It just wants to be told in a certain way.

Tigger:  This group is truly a “family of the heart”, as you say... and as you can see from this chapter!  Frodo is indeed lucky to have such a supportive “family” with him.

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 7 – What Might Have Been

“Nar – this little filth, he’ll wake up, in a few hours; and beyond feeling a bit sick for a bit, he’ll be all right.  Or would be, if Lugbúrz would let him alone.  And of course, beyond wondering where he is and what’s happened to him.”  ‘The Choices of Master Samwise’, The Two Towers

**

May 30

“I was running.”  Frodo’s voice was soft and his eyes unfocused.  Intent on what Gandalf was letting him see, he seemed unaware of his surroundings.  “I felt fresh air – oh, at last! – on my face.  I... I left Sam behind to deal with the eyes.  I left him.  How could I have done that?  I think the Ring was starting to get stronger.  It wanted to get out of that tunnel, get to... get to Him...”

“Gandalf, are you sure this is a good idea?” Sam whispered frantically.  Gandalf held one of Frodo’s hands, and Sam the other.  “He feels awful cold.”

“Sam, this is why he came all this way,” the wizard said quietly.  “Frodo is in... both places right now, the world of reality and the world of memory.”

“I heard something,” Frodo was saying.  “It came from the left.  What... something hit me, and I fell to the ground.  I thought it must be Sméagol.  But before I could...”  Suddenly he grimaced and turned pale.  “I was pressed to the ground, and felt a sharp... I felt it go into my neck, and slide deep inside, it was cold and horrid...”

Sam stifled a sob.  If only he had been able to keep up!  If only he had prevented that creature from reaching his master!

“It was dark and cold and I... it was so dark, and I was all alone in the dark, and there were eyes everywhere.  I dreamed that everyone was laughing at me, that I failed, and Sam was gone, and the Ring, and... and then after... it felt like days... something was shaking me... slapping my face.  My throat was burning, and someone was shaking me and laughing, and...”  Frodo’s breath came in gasps as one nightmare dissolved into another.  It was no longer dark, but his vision was blurred and the dizziness was nearly overwhelming.  He was being poked and slapped, pushed from one set of cruel arms to another, then tossed to the floor.  Everywhere there were eyes – cruel, cold eyes.  Har, look at him!  She must’ve bit him good!  He shuddered and convulsed, overcome with nausea.  Bein’ sick’s the least of your worries, little rat! 

Frodo suddenly fell to his knees, Gandalf and Sam still holding onto him.  He began to retch, and Legolas quickly pushed one of the buckets in front of him.

“Mithrandir,” the Elf murmured, “do you see what he sees?”  He pressed cool fingers to Frodo’s brow.

“Yes,” the wizard said, his face grave.  “Frodo’s memories are open to both of us.”

Even after he had emptied his stomach, Frodo continued retching uncontrollably.  He finally went limp, shivering.

“Sir,” Sam said desperately, “come back!”  He wiped his master’s mouth and urged him to drink.

Water.  Not that burning stuff.  Water...

“Frodo, can you hear me?” Gandalf asked softly.  “Do you know where you are?”

“Yes,” Frodo whispered, his eyes closed.  “It felt so real.  My neck hurts.  Dizzy... why...”

Aragorn took Legolas' place in front of Frodo.  He touched one hand to Frodo's wrist, and the other -- gently -- to the back of the hobbit's neck, which felt hot.

“Frodo, your body is reacting to what it remembers,” Aragorn said.  “Being confronted – by sword and searing light –angered Shelob, and caused her to consider you and Sam a serious threat.  To ensure that you were subdued, she may have injected you with a larger dose of venom than was usual to simply quiet her prey.”

“Sam,” Pippin asked in a hushed voice, “how large was that spider?”

“Maybe...” Sam looked around.  “Nearly as big as this room, Mr. Pippin.”

Finally, Frodo’s breathing calmed, and his eyes fluttered open.  He realized he was huddled against Gandalf, safe in the wizard’s arms; Sam and Aragorn knelt in the dust next to him, gazing at him with concern.  There were tears on Sam’s face.  Alcaren stood nearby, with soothing hands on Pippin and Merry’s shoulders.  His cousins looked stricken, Merry nearly frantic.

“I am sorry, Frodo,” Gandalf said.

“Don’t be,” Frodo replied.  “It’s what I wanted.”  He looked around the room.  “I remember waking up here.  The Orcs...” He shuddered.

“That’s enough for now,” Aragorn said firmly.  “We’ve plenty of time, Frodo; I want you to go downstairs and rest for a bit.”

"No," Frodo protested.  "There's still so much I have to..." He tried unsuccessfully to get to his feet, but the dizziness was too intense.  "All right," he sighed, sagging weakly against Gandalf.

“I’ve got you, my boy,” the wizard said, lifting Frodo gently into his arms.

Everyone began to file down the ladder until only Pippin and Merry remained.

“Aren’t you coming?” Pippin asked.  Merry stood still as a stone, deathly pale.  “What is it?”  Pippin ran to his cousin’s side and took his hand.  “You’re so cold!  Oh Merry, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Pip,” Merry whispered, “if the Orcs had taken us to Isengard... You saw how easily Gandalf helped Frodo remember.  Saruman’s a wizard, too.  He would have looked at our memories and had all our secrets out of us with no trouble at all.  He would have learned everything about Strider, and Frodo, and the Ring...”  He swallowed hard.  And then he would have let the Orcs have us.  “There wouldn’t have been any Sam to rescue us, Pip.”

“Strider would never have let that happen,” Pippin said fervently.  “He and Legolas and Gimli kept looking for us.  They followed and followed and never stopped.  And Gandalf had come back by then, too.  He would have ridden right up to that tower and broken Saruman’s staff, just like we saw him do, and freed us.”  He held tightly to his cousin’s hand.  “But none of that happened, Merry.  We weren’t meant to be captured; we were meant to be found by Treebeard, and made knights, and come here to be with Frodo.”

Merry closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  There’s nothing to be gained by dwelling on what might have been.  Or is there?  We made it back, even Frodo and Sam.  We’re all right.

“Merry?” Pippin asked anxiously.  “You know I’m right, don’t you?”

“You usually are.”  Merry opened his eyes and smiled, and Pippin grinned with relief.

“I’m ready now,” Merry said.  He took a good look around the room where Frodo had been held captive.  He realized that he never wanted to forget what had happened to any of them, nor what might have happened.  It was the only way to truly appreciate what it meant to be free, and to have helped others be free.  We made it back.  We’re all right.

“As difficult as this is for Frodo,” Merry said quietly, “I think I’m beginning to understand why he wanted to come back here.”

*~*~*~*~*

Gandalf carried Frodo slowly down the stairs to the first level, then settled him on a blanket among the bedrolls.  As he had known would happen, the moment he stepped back, Frodo was surrounded by hobbits.  Sam left his master’s side for a moment, then scurried back, holding a mug that steamed fragrantly.

“Here, sir.  And there’s more where that came from.  Gimli’s got the Men starting supper.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo murmured, grateful for the hot tea.  The thick mug felt wonderfully solid in his hands.  “Oh Merry, that’s just wonderful.”  He sighed as his cousin began to gently rub the back of his neck.  “The pain... the memory of the pain is nearly gone.”

“I’m going to help them out over there,” Pippin declared, getting to his feet.  “You and Sam must both be starving.”  He strode over to the huge hearth, which blazed with pieces of crude furniture that Gimli had hacked apart for firewood.  Several of the Men had unpacked provisions from boxes and sacks, and were tending cooking pots.

“How’s your stomach, Mr. Frodo?”

“Much better.  Oh Sam, I hate to put you through this.  I do realize how difficult it is for you to be here.”

“It’s you who’s bein’ ‘put through this’,” Sam sighed.  “I wish you wouldn’t, sir.”

“I know.”

“Frodo...” Alcaren came over and knelt next to the hobbits.  “Are you well?”

“Yes,” Frodo assured him.  He looked away, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry you had to witness such a... spectacle.”

“What I witness, Frodo, is the courageous person you were, are, and will continue to be.  You carried out your duty, as Ringbearer, to the last of your strength and to the very brink of death.  And you have chosen to return to a place of great torment and remember what few others could bear.”

“But I’m no longer the Ringbearer, Alcaren,” Frodo said, troubled.  “I’m not sure who I am.”

“Frodo,” Alcaren said firmly, “when a guardsman or captain retires from service, he is perhaps no longer called by his rank; but is he not still the sum of all his experiences?  Does he not still carry within him the honor and respect he has earned?”

When Frodo didn’t answer, Alcaren got to his feet and started to leave.

“Alcaren,” Frodo called him back, “I’m glad you’re here.  I’m grateful that all of you are here.  I can’t imagine what it would have been like, coming back to this place, had the Men not have been willing to...”  He stopped, trying not to think about the pyre.

“I will tell them of your regard, Frodo,” Alcaren said, bowing slightly.  “They will be most pleased.”

*~*~*~*~*

It was late, Frodo assumed.  He lay wrapped in blankets between Merry and Sam, who – like nearly everyone else – were sound asleep in the large common-room.  Finally.  A few torches still burned, and the hearth glowed softly.

It had been a soothing evening.  Legolas sang of green lands that were, and the renewed lands yet to be, while Brengil and his comrades had been persuaded to tell tales of Boromir, their former captain.  To hear about Boromir from Men who respected him, and to learn more of who he had been... before, was unexpectedly healing for Frodo.

To Frodo’s relief, Sam had finally felt settled enough to eat something.  They sat with Aragorn and Gandalf for some time, sharing quiet talk that had been calming for both hobbits.

The nausea had gone, and Frodo had enjoyed and kept down a small portion of stew and bread.  Aragorn and Gandalf -- even Gimli -- hovered like mother hens until he assured them that he was recovering nicely.  The dizziness had also faded, along with the pain in his neck.

But he couldn’t sleep.  Disjointed flashes of memory, more vivid than before, continued to assail him.  Orc voices seemed to echo from the walls.  The Orcs had laughed and ridiculed him... had not even known what he was.

And what was I?

There was so much left to remember, and sort out, but...  I can’t put Sam through that again.  And Merry hardly spoke a word all evening.  Why should I put *anyone* through it again? 

Frodo sat up restlessly.

I can remember on my own, now, can’t I?  Gandalf opened the door, and now I can go through it by myself.  I have to go back up there -- now, when no one will notice I’m gone, or be distressed by whatever might happen when I let the memories come flooding back.

He suddenly pushed back the blankets, got to his feet, and left the room.  The guard at the door nodded to Frodo respectfully, but didn’t feel it was his place to question the Ringbearer about where he might be going.  The tower was secure, after all.

At the bottom of the stairs that led to the upper levels, Frodo hesitated.  He wouldn’t need a torch, since his night vision was still quite acute.  One good thing came from that cursed wound, anyway.

His feet weren’t feeling too badly, but surely another long climb up – and then back down – wouldn’t be good for them.  Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.  In the morning, he could...

But I’m no longer the Ringbearer, Alcaren.  I’m not sure who I am.

Frodo shook off his doubts and steeled himself for the climb. 

If Sam could endure these stairs to find me, I can endure them one more time... to find myself.

** TBC **

Andrea:  Thank you for your trust, Andrea.  I promise to take good care of everyone, including Frodo.  I wouldn’t put him, you, or myself through all this without a healing and gentle ending in mind.

Anonymous:  Indeed, pure-canon Frodo probably would have 'brushed off' the trauma of any lost or unclear memories and just gone home; but hopefully I'm making this "what if" scenario believable. Fanfiction lets us imagine... anything!

Antane:  Yes, Sam knows just where he belongs, doesn't he?

aprilkat:  Yes, that tower would have just been a vague idea to everyone, had they not accompanied Frodo and seen the place (and his experiences there) with their own eyes.

Baggins Babe:  You’re right, the Fellowship is definitely growing to include everyone who now loves and respects Frodo and his Companions.  A wonderful extended family!

Bodkin:  If it comforts you, Frodo will definitely come to understand that good memories can be buried along with the bad – and that the joy of remembering good things can balance out the angst of remembering bad things.

Cuthalion:  Oh yes, Sam shows his quality at every step, doesn’t he?  We all need a Sam in our lives.  :D

Dreamflower:  I’m trying to remember to add little details – such as the rubble and the dust -- and imagining what it might have really been like.

Frodo Baggins:  Oh dear, we might have to endure just a few more cliffhangers... hang in there...

Gentle Hobbit:  Thank you for highlighting the details you’re enjoying.  I’ve been thinking so hard about this story, for so long, it’s almost as if I can see everything happening in front of me.

harrowcat:  There’s no one quite like Sam, is there?  And yes, Pippin definitely has some unresolved issues regarding “those dratted stones”.  Eeee, this chapter is where the ‘gulp’ warning should start!

Larner:  Yes, Frodo would rather face the truth, and true memories, than be forever haunted by the vague and frightening half-memories he has now.

lbilover:  Nothing about this tale is easy for me to write (except for the more lighthearted moments and banter), but this story has been trying to get me to tell it for almost a year.

Lily Baggins:  What is this obsession of mine to fill in canon-gaps?  It’s such fun, but boy, does it take a lot of research.  Thanks so much for your lovely reviews, Lily.  But omigosh, a sequel?  I suspect I’ll be more traumatized than Frodo when this story is over!

Linda Hoyland:  I doubt the soldiers of Minas Tirith ever imagined a ruler such as King Elessar -- something that will come up again in the next chapter, I think.

lotrgirl1415:  I have a limited angst-threshold, so things won’t get too bad!  (Or if they do, I promise that everything will work out in the end...)

Queen Galadriel:  Thank you for your trust!  Everyone and everything will be fine by the end of the story.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sila Lumenn:  I enjoy basing a story in canon, as much as possible.  And now we have the films and fanfiction, making the Tale of Middle-earth even more infinitely expandable and fun to imagine.

SlightlyTookish:  I love bringing Alcaren into this “family”, which will be expanded even more before the end of the story.

SurgicalSteel:  I don’t think the Professor really 'closed the book' on what happened to Shelob.  Is she or isn’t she?  Maybe it’s scarier not knowing...  And oh yes, Gimli now has whatever closure was available to him regarding Snaga... I suspect he’ll sleep easier now.

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 8 – The Return of the King

But when Aragorn arose all that beheld him gazed in silence, for it seemed to them that he was revealed to them now for the first time.  Tall as the sea-kings of old, he stood above all that were near; ancient of days he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood; and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing were in his hands, and a light was about him.  And then Faramir cried:  “Behold the King!”  ‘The Steward and the King’, The Return of the King

**

May 30

“He is a beauty,” Alcaren said in admiration.

“He is a rascal,” Aragorn chuckled.  “But we have been through much together.”  He stroked Brego’s long nose fondly, then turned to the magnificent, silver-white horse calmly watching them.  “Perhaps Shadowfax will teach him some manners while they are together.”

“I had never imagined such a one as he,” Alcaren said, gazing at Shadowfax.  “It is the age of legends come to life.”

Aragorn bid goodnight in Elvish to Brego and Shadowfax, and gave Stybba a gentle pat.  He and Alcaren made a final check that the horses were well settled, then stood together out in the courtyard.  The night sky glittered above them.

“It is many years since stars were seen above Mordor,” Aragorn said.  “Long has the air been choked with fumes, and from the growing shadow of the Dark Lord.”

Alcaren suddenly noticed a rare sight.  “Your jewel...” he said in awe.  “It appears to reflect the light of the stars from within its depths.”

Aragorn nodded, and reverently touched the great emerald pinned to his cloak.  “It reacts differently to sun, moon, and starlight.”

Alcaren was suddenly struck by where he was, and with whom.  I stand here with the King.  He marveled at the thought.

A chill breeze blew through the courtyard, picking up swirls of ash and dust.

“There is rain in the air,” Alcaren said absently.  “Perhaps tomorrow evening...”

“Not many would sense that.”

“So I have learned,” Alcaren said quietly.  “I do not often speak of such things.  For as long as I can remember, I have felt more at home out of doors than within City walls.  I sometimes know things... that others do not.”

“The hobbits may recognize in you a kindred spirit.  They are nearly as attuned to nature as the Elves.”  Aragorn grew thoughtful.  “They do not trust easily, Alcaren; they find many Men to be loud and ungraceful, and difficult to understand – including myself, when first we met.”

“You and your Companions honor me with your friendship, Sire,” Alcaren murmured.  “An empty heart is not easily filled.”

“I have heard that your wife was carried off by illness,” Aragorn said softly.  “Do you believe you will ever marry again?”

“Perhaps someday,” Alcaren sighed.  “I am still trying... to forget.”

“And Frodo is trying to remember.  You may have something to teach one another.”

“I do not doubt that Frodo can teach all of us many things,” Alcaren said gravely.  “My lord, what do you believe will happen tomorrow?  Has he found what he sought?”

“Not yet,” Aragorn said definitely.  “Frodo has an intelligent, scholar’s mind, and an unusual degree of determination.  He will pursue whatever memories he can retrieve, no matter what the cost to himself.  Only when he feels he has learned whatever this place has to teach him will he be satisfied, and be willing to return to Minas Tirith.”  He stretched wearily.

“You should go to your rest,” Alcaren said respectfully.  “Morning will come soon enough.”

“You are right,” Aragorn smiled.  “Pippin and Sam will be up at sunrise, hurrying up breakfast.”  He and Alcaren walked back into the tower.  As they approached the common-room, the guard stepped forward to greet them.

“All is well within, Sire.  However, the Ringbearer is abroad.”

“Where did he go?” Alcaren asked quickly.  “How long has he been gone?”

“He went up the staircase, alone,” the guard replied, “perhaps an hour ago.”

“I should have anticipated this,” Aragorn sighed.  “Did he take anything with him?  A water bottle, or a torch?”

“Nothing; not even his cloak against the night air.”  The guard stood tensely.  “Should I have insisted on accompanying him?”

“No.  You had no orders to do so.  If Frodo went alone, it means that he did not wish for any companions; and I suspect I know why.  However, I would like to observe that he is safe – from where he does not know he is being watched, if necessary.”

“I will go with you,” Alcaren said at once.  “Please, my lord, wait long enough for me get some water, and Frodo’s cloak.”

“He may need more than that,” Aragorn murmured thoughtfully.  “Alcaren, see if you can wake Sam without disturbing the others.  I believe he should come with us.”

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo winced as each rung of the ladder pressed into the bottoms of his feet.  Aragorn probably won’t let me walk for a month, after this, he thought ruefully.  I had to come, though... I had to.  He finally reached the turret room, his feet throbbing.  The chamber was quiet and still, lit faintly by the starlight coming through the narrow windows.  The air was cold, and Frodo regretted not remembering to wear his Lórien cloak.

“Who dressed this little rat in such fine clothes, eh?”

Frodo gasped and spun around, but he was alone.

“It’s not real,” he whispered reassuringly.  “There are no more Orcs.  It’s only a memory.  But that’s why I came, isn’t it?  To remember?”  He sat on the floor next to the pile of filthy rags, and leaned back against the wall.  I woke up sick and dizzy, he thought, concentrating on the cascade of memories Gandalf had opened for him.  He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself to stay warm.  It was cold then, too.  They were tossing me about and laughing, and I couldn’t stop shivering and I was so afraid...

“What are you?”

Frodo gasped in horror as cruel, cold eyes peered at him from every direction.

“Why are you here?”

Don’t tell them, don’t tell.  How did I get here?  Frodo was helpless to resist as claws and knives ripped apart his clothing.

“Look at that!  Such a pretty shirt for a filthy spy!”

The mithril shirt was pulled roughly over his head, and he was tossed aside as a wild howling broke forth from the assembled Orcs.

Bilbo’s shirt!  He trusted me with... The... the Ring!  Did they get it?  They must have it!  The Council trusted me... No no!  Is this just another nightmare?  Where’s Sam?

“Don’t hurt him; orders are to deliver all spies, in good shape to question, and all their possessions.  Give me that shirt.”

“Har, why should you get it?  And where did you steal it from, little rat?  Is this what the Boss is looking for?  What are you, anyway?”

“We’ll find out.”

Frodo looked up in terror as two enormous Orcs loomed over him, waving long knives.

This isn’t real.  This is a memory.  Frodo’s vision blurred, and the Orc forms flickered for a moment before becoming solid once more.

“Can he talk?  What is he?”

“Who knows?  Who cares?  ’Ere, the sun’s coming up; we’re going below.  See what you can find out.  And don’t starve or cut him, see?  He’s to be delivered in good shape.  Orders.”

“She bit him good, didn’t she?  Look at him shivering.  You cold, little rat?  ’Ere, give him more of that brew; he’s got a lot of talking to do.”

Frodo gagged and his throat burned as he was forced to drink.  He tried to focus on the two brutes bending over him.  He wouldn’t tell them anything.  They had the Ring, what more did they want?  What hope was left?

No, this isn’t real!  How do I stop this?  How do I get back?

*~*~*~*~*

Alcaren hurried into the common-room to find Sam already awake.  The hobbit was sitting up, looking worriedly around the room.

“Sam,” Alcaren whispered, kneeling next to him, “will you come with me?  The King is just outside the door, and requests your presence.”

“Where’s Mr. Frodo?” Sam whispered urgently.  “Is he all right?”  He reached for his cloak, and saw that Frodo’s was still neatly folded next to his.

“The King will explain,” Alcaren replied, wishing he had more information to give.  As Sam scrambled to his feet, Alcaren gathered up Frodo’s cloak and water bottle and, on an impulse, one of the blankets.  His actions took mere seconds, but by the time he stood up, Sam had dashed across the room and was out the door to where Aragorn and the guard waited.

“Where is he?” Sam asked, gazing up at the King in alarm.  “What’s happened?”

“Sam,” Aragorn said gently, crouching down, “Frodo went up the stairs about an hour ago.  That is all we know.”

“Alone?” Sam gasped.

“He obviously meant to go back up there alone; he may not wish for anyone to be with him.”

“But you saw him before, with Gandalf,” Sam insisted.  “He didn’t even know where he was.  What if he gets lost in some awful...”  His eyes widened in fear at the thought of his master re-living the Orcs’ interrogation, being whipped...  “Strider,” he cried out, “I won’t let Mr. Frodo go through that alone, not again.  We have to---”

“We are,” Aragorn said firmly.  He stood up and addressed the guard, who was staring at him.  “Tirthor, you did nothing wrong.”  He clasped the man on the arm.  “You have stood here for many hours; will you be relieved soon?”

“Yes, Sire,” the guard replied.  King Elessar knows my name, he thought dazedly.  He looks to our welfare as would our captain.  Lord Denethor had barely acknowledged his – or his fellows’ – existence.  For the first time, he fully realized the measure and quality of their new king.  Never had he dreamed that such a ruler as this could exist.

Alcaren joined them, a small pack slung over his shoulder, and he and Aragorn followed a frantic Sam to the staircase.  Aragorn took two torches from their wall holders and, handing one to Alcaren, they began to climb.

A few minutes later Brengil emerged from the common-room, fastening his sword at his side.

“It is my watch, Tirthor,” he said.  “Is anything amiss?  I saw Alcaren come for Master Samwise.”

“They – and the King – are on their way to the top level,” Tirthor told him.  “The Ringbearer went up alone, and they wish to ensure that he is safe.”

“That upper chamber is said to be a place of evil memories for Master Frodo,” Brengil said, concerned.  “I hope he will be all right.”

“He will be.”

“You sound quite certain of that.”

“I am,” Tirthor said, with a confidence that he knew would never leave him.  “Our King will be with him.”

** TBC **

Andrea:  Merry is very sharp, and I imagine him as someone who quietly takes in everything around him and comes to his own, very perceptive, conclusions.

aprilkat:  Thank you so much.  Chapters 7 and 8 were very difficult for me to write.  And this journey will bring a degree of closure (or at least new insight) for nearly everyone.

Baggins Babe:  The worst of the angst is over, BB!  I had to rush through it to spare myself Frodo.  :D

Bodkin:  Frodo – like all of us – must be true to his nature.  And trying to spare his friends danger or worry is definitely his nature.

Dreamflower:  I just can’t see anything permanently marring Pippin’s optimism!  Thank you so much for feeling that everyone’s reactions in Chapter 7 were in character; it wasn’t an easy chapter for me to write.

Elanor Silmariën:  I can’t imagine writing a Fellowship story where the hobbits weren’t caring for one another.  I love surrounding Frodo with supportive and gentle friends.  And Alcaren reminds me of Faramir, too.  Faramir is the one who originally assigned Alcaren as the hobbits’ guard and helper, and I suspect he picked someone he felt would make the hobbits feel comfortable and safe.

Frodo Baggins:  I don’t enjoy writing stories that stay too angsty for too long.  Thank you for enjoying this.  I really am updating as quickly as I can manage! :D

harrowcat:  Frodo does have a habit of trying to leave his friends behind, for their own good.  It rarely works, does it?

Larner:  Much of this story is evolving organically, as I try to imagine what someone’s reaction or actions would be, in this situation.  I’m glad it’s ringing true.

lbilover:  There are so many what-ifs in the books!  What a joy to be able to find creative ways to explore them... and even more of a joy to have folks to share them with.

Lily:  What a surprise!  Several “someone’s” did make up their minds to follow him!

Linda Hoyland:  Thank you, Linda.  Yes, it’s chilling to imagine what “might have been”, regarding Pippin and Merry.  It’s probably something they would both be wise not to dwell on too much.

Lotrgirl1415:  I have a fangirl!  I love your enthusiasm.  And I’ll be sad when this story’s over, too; every story is very special to me.

Pearl Took:  I’m trying to write this story somewhat in layers, as everyone on the journey is discovering different things, in different ways.  I like opening up tiny subplots (such as Pippin’s thoughts about the palantir) and finding a way to tie up all the loose ends by the end of the story.  And... Pippin’s asleep, is where he is!  Shhhhh, don’t wake him...

Periantari:  Thank you for highlighting those lines, which I really like, too!  Oh good, maybe Frodo won’t feel nearly so alone if you’re with him.  :D

Queen Galadriel:  Darn that Frodo and his selfless attitude!  Silly hobbit.  I think that’s why his friends (and we) love him so much.

SlightlyTookish:  Merry would have done a lot of thinking about everything that did – and didn’t – happen to him and Pippin.  It’s easy to imagine that it would be Pippin who would relieve his cousin’s distress about “what might have been”.

SurgicalSteel:  Yes, I think that tiny scene is as close as I’ll ever choose to speculate about what might have happened had Saruman actually captured Merry and Pippin.

Tigger:  When Sam overheard the Orcs saying that Frodo would feel “a bit sick” when he awoke, I got to thinking about how he really might have felt.  Hobbits are so small, and Shelob was really very dangerous.

The song in this chapter is from The Return of the King, and Bilbo’s poetry is from The Fellowship of the Ring.

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 9 --  Until the Stars Are All Alight

“I can hardly believe it,” said Frodo, clutching him.  “There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam!  Then I wasn’t dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer?  Was it you?”  ‘The Tower of Cirith Ungol’, The Return of the King

**

June 1

Sam, Aragorn, and Alcaren stood at the bottom of the ladder, glancing uneasily at one another in the flickering light of the torches.  There was no sound from the turret room, and the dark opening gaped ominously above them.

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam called up cautiously.  When there was no response, he simply started up the ladder.

“Just wait,” Aragorn said to Alcaren.  “Sam will know how to handle... whatever is happening.”

A minute passed.  Two.  All at once, the Men were surprised to hear something quite unexpected.

“Though here at journey’s end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep...”

“Is Sam... singing?” Alcaren asked in amazement.

“...above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.”

Silence.  Then there was a murmur of soft voices.

“Frodo must be in a bad way,” Aragorn said, concerned.  “Sam must have needed to call him back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Strider?” Sam’s voice floated down to them.

Aragorn and Alcaren quickly placed their torches into wall brackets, then Aragorn led the way up the ladder.  When Alcaren stepped into the turret room, lit only faintly by starlight, Aragorn grasped his sleeve and pulled him to one side.

“Just stay quiet and still,” Aragorn whispered.  “Sam wants us to wait.”

As Alcaren’s eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he realized that, against the far wall, two small shapes sat huddled on the dusty floor.  Frodo was curled in Sam’s arms, holding his left side as if in pain... and Sam was rocking his master gently.

“I couldn’t stop them, Sam,” Frodo sobbed.  “How could I fight them?  What could I do?”

“Nothing, sir.  No one expected you to fight ’em, or do anything more than you did.”

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Frodo whispered.  “Even though I didn’t have any hope left, I still didn’t tell.”

“I know you didn’t.  Are you feelin’ any better now, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked anxiously.

“I’m cold, but all right,” Frodo said.  “I’m just aching and weary, and... oh Sam, they took it!  They must have taken it!”

“The Ring, sir?” Sam asked, confused.  “But Mr. Frodo, don’t you remember---”

“Where is it?” Frodo asked, clutching at Sam desperately.  “Did you... do you have it, Sam?  Didn’t you have it?”

“Sam,” Alcaren said suddenly, “give him this.  Perhaps it will help.”  He reached down his shirt and pulled out a plain gold ring hung on a silver chain.  He pulled the chain over his head and undid the clasp.

“When my wife died, I could no longer bear to wear this,” Alcaran explained to Aragorn and Sam, removing the marriage band from the chain.  “But I could not bear to be without it, either.  Perhaps Frodo may find some comfort in it.”  He came within an arm’s length of where the hobbits sat, gave Sam the ring, then stepped back.  Sam nodded gratefully, but Frodo seemed not to be aware of anyone else in the room.

“Here, sir,” Sam said softly, handing Frodo Alcaren’s ring.  “Put this away where it’ll be safe.”

Frodo took the ring and sighed with relief, pushing it into a deep pocket.  “Thank you, Sam,” he murmured.  “I can go on, now.”

“Strider,” Sam said worriedly, “what do we do?  He’s... like Gandalf said, he’s in both places, I think.”

“Let me see if I can assist,” Aragorn said, walking slowly to where the hobbits sat.  “Frodo...” He knelt in front of Frodo and held out his hands.  “Dear friend, do you know me?”

Frodo looked up and gasped as a large, shadowed form hovered over him.  In desperation, he pressed back against Sam and quickly reached inside his weskit, drawing forth the phial gifted to him by Galadriel.  The room was suddenly ablaze with light.  Alcaren looked around, dazzled.

Sam stared at Aragorn’s emerald brooch as it reflected and magnified the phial’s radiance.  “Oh Mr. Frodo, isn’t it beautiful?  Don’t you know Strider?  And here’s Alcaren.  You’re safe, sir.  It’s all over and done.”  He had tears streaming down his face.  “The orcs are gone, and you’re safe, and they can’t hurt you ever again.  Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo seemed mesmerized by the sight before him; the air around them was full of shining stars, glittering with a pure, fresh green, sparkling gold, and clear white.  The facets of a beautiful gem filled his vision.  An emerald... He was back in Lord Elrond’s Hall of Fire, listening to Bilbo’s dear voice...

his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.

An emerald.  Aragorn wears that now.  I saw the Lady give it to him.  Frodo slowly felt the fear and confusion drain out of him, as if absorbed by the lights dancing before his eyes.  The pain in his side faded, and his mind cleared as he looked up at the King’s face.  “Aragorn?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said softly.

“Mr. Frodo, are you all right?”

“I... think so,” Frodo said slowly.  Sam was holding him, and the phial blazed, and Aragorn’s smiling face was before him.  It’s over.  He took several deep breaths, and Sam felt his master relax.

“I knew you needed to be here, Strider,” Sam said, his eyes shining.  “Back in the City -- I just knew it.”

“So you did,” Aragorn remembered.

“What a frightening experience,” Frodo said.  “I knew I was only seeing memories, but they were so real.  It was happening all over again...”  His innate curiosity suddenly overriding all else, he held the phial closer to the brooch, fascinated.  Frodo touched the emerald gently, his eyes as brilliant as the sparkling jewel.  ““My goodness, that’s amazing, Aragorn.  Is there some magic to this?”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that, myself,” Aragorn chuckled, enveloping both Frodo and Sam in a hug.

“What time is it?” Frodo asked.  He wiped a sleeve over his tear-stained face.

“Nearly sunrise,” Alcaren said.  He knelt and opened his pack, drawing out a water bottle, cloak, and blanket.  He handed the bottle to Frodo.

“Thank you,” Frodo said gratefully, taking a long drink.  He put away the phial and started to get up, then winced and thought better of it.

“How are you feeling, you stubborn hobbit?” Aragorn asked.  He gently touched Frodo’s feet, which were slightly swollen.

“I’m sorry, Aragorn,” Frodo said quietly.  “I’ve undone all the healing.”

“Your feet will heal again, once you stay off them as you should,” Aragorn assured him.  “And you will stay off them, mark my word.”  He took the cloak and blanket from Alcaren, and shook them out.

“Can you tell us what you experienced tonight?” Alcaren asked.

“I can’t talk about it quite yet.  I need to think about some things, and get them sorted out...” Frodo yawned, and realized that he was shaking with cold.

“Take all the time you need.”  Aragorn wrapped Frodo warmly before gathering him up and getting to his feet.

“Oh Sam,” Frodo sighed, “I heard your song and tried to follow.  I didn’t know what was a dream, and what was the past, and what... was real.  Thank you for coming after me – both times.  What would I have done without you?”

“But sir,” Sam burst out, “I couldn’t protect you from all those awful things.  I let that spider get you, and then the Orcs were off with you before I could---”

“Sam,” Frodo said firmly, “you did everything you could.  Everything.  And... so did I.”  He seemed surprised by his own words.  “I lost hope in this room... and found it again, thanks to you.”

Aragorn smiled.  “It sounds to me as if coming up here helped you to find more healing than you lost.”   He carried Frodo down the ladder, then waited while Alcaren and Sam descended.

“Sam,” Alcaren said, “you must be weary, as well; those stairs were not built for hobbit legs.  Will you allow me to assist you?”

Sam started to shake his head, but suddenly realized how cold and tired he was.  “All right,” he said.  “Thank you, sir.”

Alcaren reached into his pack and produced a second blanket that he had brought in case it was needed.  Before Sam could protest, he was wrapped in it and lifted gently.

“We won’t need the torches any longer,” Aragorn said.  It was dawn, and the first pale rays of sunlight began to filter through the windows.  “By the way, Sam, when did Bilbo translate that song?”

“Sir?”

“The tune you were singing is unfamiliar to me,” Aragorn explained, “but the words are from a very ancient song.  I assumed that Bilbo translated it, and taught it to you.”

“No, sir,” Sam shook his head.  “I hadn’t ever heard those words before.  They just... came to me when we were here before.”

“And to me,” Frodo said.

“Why do words come into our heads sometime, even when we haven’t learned them?” Sam asked curiously.

“That is a very good question,” Aragorn chuckled.  “There are many questions hobbits ask which I cannot answer.”

“That sounds like something Gandalf would say,” Frodo murmured drowsily.

“You need some sleep,” Aragorn told him.

“My feet are throbbing so... I’m not sure I’ll be able to,” Frodo admitted.

Sam heard Aragorn ask Frodo something in a soft voice, then whisper a few words in what sounded like some sort of Elvish chanting.

They were halfway down the long staircase when Merry came pelting up the steps, followed closely by Pippin.  They both gasped with relief when they saw the two Men.

“Where’s Frodo?  And Sam?” Merry cried.  He suddenly realized that both Aragorn and Alcaren had a hobbit in their arms.  “They’re not hurt, are they, Strider?”

“I’m here, Mr. Merry,” Sam said from his perch in Alcaren’s arms.

“Is Frodo all right?  He tried to sneak off again, didn’t he?”  Pippin stood on tiptoe, trying to peek into the blanket-wrapped bundle that Aragorn was holding.  “You silly Baggins, are you in there?”

“He’s sound asleep,” Aragorn replied.  “He’s been through quite a bit, but will be fine.”

“Did you help him fall asleep?” Merry asked shrewdly.  “Just a little?”

“Just a little,” Aragorn said with a smile.  “I did ask permission this time.”

“It has been a long night,” Alcaren observed.  “Some sleep will be welcome.”

“I agree,” Aragorn said.  “Sir Peregrin, after the morning meal, perhaps you can see to it that the Men are somewhat quiet so that we may rest?”

“I’ll guard the door myself,” Pippin declared solemnly, standing tall.  Even though the young hobbit was short of breath and his hair was rumpled, Alcaren could see the dignity and maturity in the small form.

“Strider,” Merry asked as they started down, “what happened?  Does Frodo remember everything?”

“He now remembers everything that is important to him,” Aragorn said, gazing into the peaceful face of the hobbit sleeping in his arms.  “When he has rested and thought about his experience, I believe he will share with us what he learned.”

“Alcaren,” Sam said, looking up at the Man, “don’t worry about your ring, sir.  You’ll get it back.”

“I am not concerned, Sam,” Alcaren assured him.  “Frodo will return it when he is ready.”

“What ring?” Pippin asked.  “Merry, we keep missing everything.”

** TBC **

Andrea:  Yes, Aragorn was quite diplomatic in describing Frodo’s stubborn nature!  But a tenacious hobbit makes for a formidable Ringbearer.  And I like thinking about Aragorn as a “father” to his people.  They will truly love him, I think.

Antane:  I delayed writing this story for a long time because I knew it would be an angsty one.  But I think the worst is over, now.  Whew!  And I hope you liked the “hobbity reunion” you were hoping for.  More hobbity scenes are on their way.

aprilkat:  Sam was right, way back in Chapter 2 – Aragorn definitely needed to be with Frodo on this journey.  They all did.

Baggins Babe:  I’m sure there are plenty of really angsty Cirith Ungol stories out there, but I couldn’t take this any further than I did.  Back to hobbityness, quick!

Coriandra:  Thank you for reading!  Yes, Frodo is lucky to have such friends; they’d never let him down.

Cuthalion:  I’m glad you like my guardsmen!  I never used to even attempt writing OC’s, but I’m trying to be braver.  I’m afraid Horatio Hornblower is one of the classics I’ve missed – but I’ll try to see it someday.

Dreamflower:  You’re right in that Frodo is in for a scolding – but a loving one.

Elanor Silmariën:  Frodo’s friends (and I) would never let anything too serious happen to him.  :D

Endaewen:  Yes, look what this angsty story did to me!  Cliffhangers everywhere you look...

Frodo Baggins:  I could never write anything with angst (especially for Frodo) unless there was plenty of TLC.

harrowcat:  Thank you for trusting me!  And I wish I had Aragorn’s memory for names and faces, too; I have to meet someone several times before I remember their name.

Larner:  Yes, it’s quite liberating to be able to sprinkle a bit of movie-verse into a story when possible, and it also builds a bridge for folks who haven’t yet read the books.

lbilover:  Thank you so much for saying that this is “touching”.  I’m exploring very strong feelings in this story, but always hoped that respect and caring would come through the strongest.

Lily:  I think we’ve finally reached the end of the cliffhangers, Lily (the evil ones, anyway).  Some stories just lend themselves to more suspenseful chapters than others.

Lily Baggins:  Thank you so much, and I’m sorry to be putting you through so much evilcliffhangeryness.  And oh yes, Frodo’s tender feet... Perhaps Aragorn should be a bit stern! with him in the next chapter?

Linda Hoyland:  Aragorn is a wonderful person, isn’t he?  He waited a very long time for his destiny to be fulfilled, and I can well imagine the marvelous king he became.

Pearl Took:  Someone once said, “If they fear you they will fight for you, but if they love you, they will die for you.”  A king who is loved will have a much stronger kingdom than one who is feared.

Periantari:  Wrapping Frodo in a blanket... yes, that’s just what he needed!

puppypersonLOTR:  I suspect that it took Gondor awhile to grasp the fact that the King had returned... and that he was a ruler unlike any they had ever imagined.  Eee, forgive me for the evil cliffies!  I think we’ve finally seen the last of them.

Queen Galadriel:  I first read the LOTR books nearly 30 years ago, and my favorite character was Frodo-and-Sam.  I just never imagined either of them without the other.  I think Frodo gave Sam purpose and helped him to grow as a person, and Sam gave Frodo a practical to-the-death friend and protector.

SlightlyTookish:  I like imagining how Aragorn would have appeared to the Gondorians.  He had a chance to learn the best ways to rule others from observing Elrond, Ecthelion and Théoden... and the worst ways, from observing Denethor.

SurgicalSteel:  Alcaren continues to surprise me – I never dreamed he would play such a large role in this story, and in Frodo’s recovery.

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 10 --  That Which Is Unseen

“If all the seven stones were laid out before me now, I should shut my eyes and put my hands in my pockets.”  ‘The Palantír’, The Two Towers

**

June 1

“Say you’re very sorry.”

“I’m very sorry, Merry.”

“Say you were a silly Baggins and it was a silly thing to do.”

“It was a silly thing to do, Pippin.”

“Now hot.”

Frodo, sitting on a low bench Gimli had salvaged, lifted his feet out of one basin and into the other.  Aragorn had insisted that soaking his feet in alternating cold and hot water would be good for them and bring down the swelling -- and he had learned not to argue when Aragorn insisted on something regarding his health.  Frodo rather enjoyed the treatment, especially since it did seem to be helping.  What he hadn’t anticipated was that even after his feet began to feel slightly better, no one would let him walk... anywhere.  He found himself wondering if Aragorn had threatened the Men with some dire punishment if the Ringbearer was seen tottering about.

He wouldn’t do that, Frodo thought amusedly to himself.  Pip’s right.  I was foolish, and am paying the price... but I don’t regret it.

Since he had awoken, his cousins and Sam had fairly glued themselves to his side.  But if the truth be told, he was rather enjoying that, too.  There was nothing like hobbits – and their light manner of conversation – to dispel the last lingering shadows.

“At least your feet are clean now,” Merry observed.

“Both you and Sam looked like dustballs when Strider and Alcaren brought you down from that room,” Pippin said, dipping his finger into the water.  Frowning, he carefully lifted a pitcher from the hearth and poured a bit more hot water into the basin.  “Really, Frodo, you should set a better example for any young and impressionable cousins that happen to be about.  Say you will.”

“I will.”

“Now Mr. Pippin,” Sam chuckled, “Mr. Frodo didn’t mean to get all smudgy.  That room is dreadful dusty.”

“Will you need to go back up there again, Frodo?” Merry asked casually.  He had gently washed Frodo’s face when Aragorn settled his sleeping cousin into his bedroll, and it was obvious that Frodo had been crying.  Whatever happened in that turret room had been dreadful, and Merry didn’t think he could bear it if Frodo needed to do any more ‘remembering’.

“No,” Frodo replied.  He swished his feet in the water and smiled.  “I found what I came for.”

“And are you ever planning to tell us about it?” Pippin asked.  “Now cold.”

Frodo grinned, and dutifully plunked his feet back into the other basin.

Merry exchanged a pleased look with Pippin.  Both Frodo and Sam seemed lighter of heart than they had been -- smiling and laughing, and eating with great appetite.  Frodo had come to some realization that was bringing him great peace, and everyone hoped he would soon share what he had learned.

“How are you doing, Sam?” Pippin asked curiously.  “You’re in an awfully good mood.  Did you find what you came for, too?”

“I did, Mr. Pippin,” Sam said softly.

“Another one who won’t talk.”  Merry gave his young cousin a poke on the arm.  “Maybe we should send you up to that room, Pip.  A little peace and quiet would be--”

“Hmmph.”

*~*~*~*~*

Sam had awakened in the early afternoon.  After a light meal, and assured that his master was still sleeping peacefully and was being watched over by his cousins, he wandered outside.  He stood for awhile just outside the door of the tower, enjoying the clean wind and observing the courtyard activity.  Horses were being exercised or groomed, maps were being drawn of the tower, Gorgoroth Plain, and the landscape surrounding them, and the enormous pile of Orc-gear was still being sorted.  Several Men had been ferrying messages between the King and the Steward, and were readying their mounts to ride back to the City.

Sam wandered over to where Gimli stood alone, gazing into the still-smouldering pyre.  The Dwarf held a small barrel in his arms.

“What are you doing, Gimli?” Sam asked.

“This is the last of that noxious liquor the Orcs brewed here,” Gimli said.  With a mighty heave, he threw the barrel into the pyre.  It hissed furiously, then burst into flames.

“Gimli...” Sam said hesitantly, “the Orc that hurt Mr. Frodo... I mean, when you and the Men were carryin’ out all the bodies, did you find---”

“Yes,” Gimli said firmly.  “He is no more, Sam.  You may trust my word on that.”

“I do.  I just thought... I wanted to...”

Gimli extracted something from a pouch at his belt, and handed it to Sam.

Sam’s eyes widened in shock.  “Is that--”

“Yes.  I did not think Frodo would wish to see it.”

Gimli reached a long stick into the pile of dust and bones and stirred, causing a fresh spout of flame to shoot up.

“Throw it in, lad,” Gimli said quietly.  “See it destroyed with your own eyes, and be at peace that the heartless beast who wielded it is no more.”

Sam stared down at Snaga’s whip, lying curled like a serpent in his hands; the sight of it caused his heart to burn with hatred.  He slowly looked up at Gimli, then at the pyre.  With a sudden cry, Sam threw the whip into the flames then stood there motionless, his fists clenched at his sides, until the dried strip of leather had burned to cinders.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes,” Sam whispered.  “Thank you, Gimli.”  He realized that he felt lighter, as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders that he wasn’t aware had been threatening to crush him.

“Sam!”  Pippin stood at the entrance, beckoning to him.  “Frodo’s awake.”

A few minutes after Sam dashed back into the tower, Brengil came over to Gimli.

“Master Dwarf, I found these among the garments, in a bag with other trinkets.  Do you think they are... the Ringbearer’s?”

He opened his hand, and Gimli beheld several small objects – six ornate, well-made buttons, which he recognized.

“They were his, indeed,” Gimli said.  He reached out, and Brengil dropped the buttons – very reluctantly, Gimli thought – into the Dwarf’s hand.

“Here, lad,” Gimli said, giving one of them back.  “Keep this.  Remember what happened here, and what must never be allowed to happen again.”

“Thank you,” Brengil gasped.  He closed his hand over the small token reverently.  “I will treasure this, Master Dwarf, as will my family.  I assure you that nothing will be forgotten.”  He placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly, then left.

My people, too, will remember, Gimli thought to himself.  He would ask Gandalf, but he did not believe that Frodo would want to see these buttons again.  If he was any judge of hobbits, Frodo was beginning to look forward again – not backward.  Aragorn might wish to have a few of these.  The rest I will take home, and preserve, alongside the Lady’s golden hairs.  Generations yet unborn must be told the stories, and shown proof of what occurred.  The memories of Dwarves are long, and we will not forget.

*~*~*~*~*

It was a merry evening.  Aragorn announced that the Company would begin the journey back to Minas Tirith the following day, and everyone was cheered by the news.  The Men looked forward to hot baths, clean clothes, and returning to their families.

Legolas had been gone for most of the day, and only returned to the common-room when supper was nearly over.  He wandered over to where Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli, and the hobbits were gathered.

“And where have you been?” Gimli asked.

“I have been walking down in the valley,” Legolas said, taking some bread and cheese from one of the platters that had been set out.  He sat with his friends.  “The healing of the land has begun; small plants already take root in the soil, but they need tending... and rain.”

“Alcaren says it’ll rain tonight,” Sam told him.

“I agree,” Legolas said.  “The plants will rejoice.”

“You don’t look too happy about it,” Merry observed.

“How can you tell?” Gimli teased the Elf good naturedly, which set Pippin to giggling.

“I am pleased for the land, but...” Legolas looked troubled.  “The farther I walked, the more troubled I felt.  Ever since the Pelargir, when I heard the gulls... the Sea longing stirs in my heart.  I wish to remain in Middle-earth and see to its renewal; however, it will be difficult to know the joy I did before.”

“You are torn in two – as I am,” Frodo said quietly.  “And you must fight, perhaps every minute of every day – as I do.”

“I did not know you felt that way, Frodo.”

“Whether it be an emptiness from... something... which is gone, or the beckoning Sea, we battle that which is unseen, Legolas,” Frodo said.  “A voice, a feeling... a longing that cannot be ignored.”

“I feel that way, too,” Pippin said unexpectedly.

“Pip?” Merry turned to his cousin, concerned.  “You don’t long for the Sea, do you?”

“Of course not,” Pippin said.  “Well, not that I wouldn’t love to see it, of course.”

“Then what?” Frodo asked.

Pippin suddenly looked over at Gandalf.  “Do you remember, Gandalf, near Isengard, when I looked in the Stone?”

“How could I forget?” the wizard asked.

“You said, if I ever felt the urge to... steal one again, that I should tell you.  You said that such things could be cured.”

“Pippin, have you been thinking about the Orthanc Stone all this time?” Aragorn asked.

“Not all this time,” Pippin said.  “But I do think about it sometimes.  Well, rather a lot of the time.  Can you cure that, Gandalf?  With some kind of magic?”

“No, Pippin, not by magic,” Gandalf said gently.  “There are some longings that must be denied, to whatever extent is possible – such as those felt by Frodo and Legolas – and some that must be understood, such as you wishing to gaze once more into a palantír.”  He looked deeply into Pippin’s eyes.  “Tell me why you took it from me, in the first place.”

“I was so curious,” Pippin said in embarrassment.  “When I picked it up, in Isengard, it just drew me in.  It was... it was...”  He sighed.  “I can’t really explain it.”

“And if it was here, before you,” Gandalf continued, “would you be compelled to pick it up, and gaze into it?”

”I would not touch it,” Pippin said with utter certainty.  “But... I would wish to.  Isn’t that wrong?”

“Pip, everyone has desires or wishes for something that can never be fulfilled,” Merry assured his cousin.  “What shows your true measure is whether or not you let it overwhelm you, or you act on it when you know you shouldn’t.”

“Then it’s all right that I think about it now and then?” Pippin asked hopefully.  “It’s not something bad?”

“No,” Gandalf said.  “Frodo and Merry are correct; we all wish for things that are denied us.  Our strength and wisdom in recognizing that fact grows with the years, and with experience.  We must learn to reach out, instead, for what we can have, and for those things that will bring our lives joy.”

“I understand.”

Pippin smiled happily, and Legolas looked thoughtful.

“And now,” Pippin said impatiently, “when is my secretive cousin going to tell us what’s bringing him such joy?  We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“Now,” Frodo said, grinning at him.  He looked around at everyone.  “May we go outside and talk?  If Alcaren and Legolas say it will rain soon, I believe them; and I’d like to be out under the stars.”

** TBC **

Andrea:  Frodo definitely did all he could, and then some... and Chapter 11 will elaborate more on that.  Yes, I had to bring out the blankets eventually, didn’t I?  And I’m so glad you enjoy ‘my’ Pippin -- I plan for the story to end on a very “Pippinish” note.  :D

Antane:  Ah, hobbits.  How we do love them.

aprilkat:  Aragorn did need to be there for Frodo, but also for his Men – who have learned a lot about their King on this journey.

Baggins Babe:  Frodo is definitely rediscovering hope as he rediscovers himself – something that will be brought out more fully in Chapter 11.

Bodkin:  I’m very gratified that you think ‘my’ Sam sounds and acts as he should.  Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right ‘voice’ for characters we all know and love.

Coriandra:  Chapters 7-9 were definitely the hardest for me to write, but now the healing can be realized by all.  I hope you enjoy the resolution (and hobbityness) of the rest of the story!

Cuthalion:  The best emotional healing I could wish for Frodo would be for him to be at peace with his decisions and actions, and know that he did his best.

demeter d:  Somewhere in The Unfinished Tales is the story of the Elessar stone, and I believe it’s mentioned that it had some healing powers.  I feel the same as you – it helps to know that Frodo wasn’t alone... and in fanfiction, we can give him as much extra assistance and companionship as our hearts desire.

Dreamflower:  I like the concept that each person has something to contribute to Frodo’s healing – as well as learning something from this journey.  Ah yes, there certainly does seem to be a lot of “bundling warmly” in my stories – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  :D

Elanor Silmariën:  Aragorn carried Frodo down the stairs wrapped in cloak and blanket, so our brave hobbit was as cuddled as possible!  And we’ll have ‘closure’ with Alcaren’s ring in Chapter 11.

Frodo Baggins:  I think I’ve used up my cliffhanger quota for a few months, don’t you?

Grey Wonderer:  Shadowfax is quite wonderful, isn’t he?  Such a noble and courageous ‘companion’.

harrowcat:  I hope you’re feeling all better!  And how wonderful it would be if the Professor, wherever he is, knows what joy and creativity he’s brought to all of us.

lbilover:  Frodo and Sam are such eternal soul-friends, it’s hard to bear sometimes.  *sniffles with you*

Larner:  I’m afraid I don’t know where Sam’s song came from, any more than Aragorn knew.  Perhaps someone else will tackle that in a future story.  And somewhere in The Unfinished Tales is the story of the Elessar stone.  I really need to research that when I get the time, since I have only a vague memory of its lineage.  I was always struck by that unusual part in FOTR where Aragorn insisted that Bilbo insert a green stone into his poem about Eärendil.

Lily Baggins:  The Professor mentions just once that the King sent Frodo and Sam “into the sweet forgetfulness of sleep” (never explaining how), and that one sentence launched a thousand fanfics!  What fun.

Linda Hoyland:  Alcaren is truly selfless and compassionate, which is probably why Faramir chose him as the hobbits’ helper and companion.

Pearl Took:  Thank you, Pearl.  Yes, Frodo is discovering (to his awe) that he did the very best he could – which will be elaborated on in Chapter 11.

Queen Galadriel:  Yes, fanfic is our ticket to Middle-earth; it helps us to get as close as we can, and learn even more about our beloved characters than we knew before.

SlightlyTookish:  I really love Alcaren!  Thank you so much for loving him too.

SurgicalSteel:  I’m glad this is causing ‘good’ sniffles!

THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 11 --  Renewal

“This is your realm, and the heart of the greater realm that shall be.  The Third Age of the world is ended, and the new age is begun; and it is your task to order its beginning and to preserve what may be preserved.” ‘The Steward and the King’,  The Return of the King

**

June 1

Everyone donned their cloaks, then Alcaren carried Frodo outside and settled him on top of a piece of the ruined wall.  The other hobbits scrambled up to join him, and the two Men, along with Legolas, Gandalf, and Gimli, grouped around them.  The stars glittered above, but tendrils of cloud were beginning to obscure them.  Frodo looked up and smiled.

A cold wind began to blow from the southeast, bringing the scent of rain.  Frodo drew his cloak tighter, his dark curls whipping about his face.

“Gandalf, when did it last rain in Mordor?”

“I do not know,” Gandalf said thoughtfully.  “Sauron held sway over all aspects of his realm, including the weather.”

“Now that the Dark Lord’s hold on this land is ended, the rains are allowed to fall once again,” Aragorn said.  “Streams, rivers, and lakes will be renewed, grasses and trees will once more take root, and animals will eventually return.”

“I know that Legolas found a few plants growin’, but...” Sam looked doubtful.  “Can the land really come back?  Will there really be crops and trees... someday?”

“You have only to look at your own Shire for the answer to that, Sam,” Aragorn said.  “Eriador – including the Shire – is so fertile and rich partially due to something similar that occurred long ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will tell you a very old tale.  Lands now drowned beneath the Sea included a far-northern mountain...”

The hobbits, always eager for a new a story, were instantly quiet and attentive.

“The First Age ended with the destruction and remaking of large amounts of our Middle-earth,” Aragorn continued.  “Lost to the Sea was Thangorodrim -- the volcanic mountain at the heart of Angband, the stronghold of Morgoth.  When Thangorodrim exploded, the lands surrounding it were most likely the same as those now below us – blackened and covered in ash.  As the rains renewed such land, they became very fertile.”

“The Shire was once like that?” Pippin motioned toward Gorgoroth Plain.

“It may very well have been,” Aragorn said.  “Given time, Mordor will also be valued and rich someday, and I hope that willing hands will labor to help make it so.  These lands will be settled and at peace.”

Frodo smiled up at him.  “I feel that way now,” he said.  “At peace.”

“Are you ready to tell us what you learned here?” Merry asked.

“I remembered who I am,” Frodo replied.  “I’m Bilbo’s heir; he trusted me with his secrets, and his greatest treasures.  I’m a hobbit who loves his home; to draw evil away from the Shire, I was willing to leave it and perhaps never return.”  He closed his eyes for a moment.  “And I’m also... the Ringbearer.  I did the best I could, for as long as I could.”  He opened his eyes, and gazed in the direction of the Mountain for a long moment.  “I think... I did the best anyone could have.”

“Then you have learned one of the greatest of all lessons,” Aragorn said.  “Frodo, if someone can look back at their life and know they did their very best, in whatever circumstances in which they found themselves...”  He put an arm around the hobbit’s shoulders.  “You have found a treasure greater than the one you lost.”

“I realized something else, as well,” Frodo continued.  “Here, in this dreadful place, I lost all hope; and, thanks to Sam, found it again.”  He looked up at the King.  “What had you planned to do with this tower?”

“That is a very good question,” Aragorn said.  “What do you wish me to do with it?”

“I want you to use it,” Frodo said firmly.  “Reclaim these lands, Aragorn.  A few days ago you said that no threat or embodiment of evil from this area should be allowed to haunt your people. This place shouldn’t haunt them, either.  Mordor will not always be a place of dread; perhaps, in, time, it will not even be known as ‘Mordor’.  The lands now have hope of renewal, as you said, and perhaps they will even be home to future generations of Men.  You could begin by renaming this place... Minas Estel.”

“How fitting,” Gandalf murmured.

“Sam thought of it,” Frodo said, smiling proudly at Sam.

Aragorn nodded approvingly.

“It shall be as you wish, Frodo.  Perhaps, one day, Minas Estel will take its place with Minas Tirith and a rebuilt Minas Ithil – towers of hope, all three.”

“My lord,” Alcaren said respectfully to Aragorn, “I know of many who might welcome duty here, and in the valleys below.  It is not many days’ ride from Minas Tirith, after all.  Working to cleanse the streams and re-forest the far reaches of your realm...”  He bowed his head.  “It would grant new purpose to some who are weary of war, and have lost much.  Taking part in the renewal of your lands would be joyous indeed.”

At that moment, large, wet drops began to fall on everyone.  Laughing, Pippin tried to catch them on his tongue.   Frodo closed his eyes and let the rain stream over his face, delighting in every drop.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam ventured, “you’re not plannin’ on any other little trips, are you?  You don’t need to go prowlin’ around the Mountain, or...”

“No,” Frodo chuckled.  “This ‘little trip’ was quite enough.”  He smiled gratefully at his friend.  “I could never have done this without you, Sam.”  He looked around at everyone.  "My thanks to all of you.”

Legolas claimed the honor of scooping up Frodo and carrying him back into the tower, and the others hurried after them.  Back in the common-room, wet cloaks were shaken out, then hot tea was passed around as everyone found a comfortable seat near the massive hearth.

“So, Pip,” Merry grinned, “I suppose you heard that we’re leaving tomorrow.  What do you have planned for our entertainment on the way back to the City?”

Pippin instantly leaped to his feet.  He went to his pack and extracted a small parcel, then returned to his place between Merry and Frodo.  With a flourish, he tossed the deck of Gondorian cards in Frodo’s lap.

“And no cheating this time.”

“I didn’t cheat last time, you crazy Took.”

Aragorn noticed Alcaren standing alone at the far end of the massive hearth, smiling at the hobbits, and walked over to him.

“It is good to hear laughter, my lord.”

“Hobbits are remarkably resilient.”  Aragorn nodded toward the gold marriage band on Alcaren’s finger.  “You wear your ring once more.”

“Yes,” Alcaren said softly.  “When Frodo returned it, he told me that anything that carried with it good and loving memories should not be hidden away.”

“He is very wise.”

“He said that memories should be embraced, the good and the bad... that sometimes, they are all we have.”  Alcaren looked at Aragorn curiously.  “Frodo said something else, as well – that I played a part in helping heal something in his heart regarding the Dark Lord’s Ring, and Captain Boromir.”

“Indeed?” Aragorn thought about that.  “I believe I understand.  One Man tried to take something treasured from him, but he found another who was willing to give up something treasured -- to aid him.”

“Captain Boromir tried to take the Ring from Frodo?” Alcaren frowned.  “I had not heard that.”

“Few have,” Aragorn said quietly.  “The full story will be told, in time.”  There was another burst of laughter from the seated group, and Aragorn smiled.  “Come, let us see what mischief is afoot.”

“...and the next night,” Pippin was saying, glancing at Legolas, “we’ll play that game again.”

“What game is that?” Legolas asked.

“We found out what Frodo and Strider have in common,” Pippin reminded him.  “So how about next time... you and Gimli?”

“A Dwarf... share something in common with... an Elf?” Gimli blustered loudly.  “Hah!”

“I know one thing you have in common,” Frodo said to them.  “You are both my trusted friends.”

“Hmmph,” Gimli conceded, his eyes twinkling.  “Very well, I suppose there is one thing we share.  Now then, Peregrin, what are the rules of this card game of yours?”

“I’ll show you,” Pippin said, snatching the deck back from Frodo.  “Do Dwarves know about cards?”

“I have seen such games played,” Gimli replied, “but I have not tried them for myself.”

“Really?” Pippin looked pleased.

“Uh oh,” Merry groaned.

“You’re terribly rich, aren’t you, Gimli?” Pippin asked casually.  “I mean, you found all that mithril here.”

“Gimli gifted that hoard to the King,” Alcaren reminded the young hobbit.

“I forgot about that.”  Pippin looked up at Aragorn with his most innocent expression.  “Would you care to play a few hands, Strider?”

Aragorn sat down, his eyes twinkling.  He took the cards from the young hobbit and shuffled them expertly.

“I’d love to.”

** END **

Andrea:  Frodo is sometimes so determined -- and selfless -- in his decisions, it can cause exasperation for those who care about him.  And everyone in this story truly cares about him.

aprilkat:  There was a lot I wanted to say in this story, but you can imagine my relief when the major angst could be put behind us -- and the comfort, caring, and reflections could finally take over.

Armariel:  I’m so relieved that this story feels ‘sweet’, as I was afraid it would be too dark and angsty.  I’m very sorry to bring it to a close.

Baggins Babe:  Hobbits caring for one another is second in my affections only to Big Folk caring for them.  As long as someone is caring for them!

Bodkin:  Burning that whip was very symbolic for Sam; he now has no doubts that Snaga and his whip are gone, and neither can ever harm or threaten Frodo again.

Clever Hobbit:  I’ve learned so much about Gimli by writing about him.  I really tried to think about what he would contribute to this journey, and what he would take away from it.

Cuthalion:  I debated a long time whether that scene with Gimli, the whip, and the pyre would be more effective with Frodo or with Sam, and finally realized that Sam needed some ‘closure’ of his own.

Daynawayna:  “And I noticed that you just crossed the Angst Line, then came running back to safety.”  I can’t think of a better description!  Thank you so much for your review, and for such a lovely compliment.

Dreamflower:  I always knew that something of Frodo’s clothing would be found, but it took me awhile to figure out exactly what – and who would find them.  A Dwarf who sees the true value of things such as common stones, or the Lady’s hair, would know that a hobbit’s simple buttons needed a lasting memorial.  And it was a pleasure to show that Brengil understood the precious gift he was given.

Elanor Silmariën:  Sam is happy because he now absolutely knows that Snaga and his whip are gone, and neither can ever harm or threaten Frodo again.

Frodo Baggins:  I’m just as sorry to see this end!  Thank you so much for your enthusiasm.

harrowcat:  The scene where Pippin talks about his anxiety over the Seeing Stones is one of the first I ever wrote for this story; I needed to wait for just the right place to include it.

Larner:  I gave a lot of thought to what might happen to any of Frodo’s possessions that might be found in that pile of Orc-gear.  I like imagining that those buttons will be preserved and revered by those who would appreciate them.

lbilover:  Gimli is definitely a soft-hearted Dwarf, especially when it comes to his hobbits.  It’s such a pleasure to see that side of him once in awhile.

Linda Hoyland:  Frodo was certainly not the only one who learned something interesting or important on this journey.  And if you can take such a journey with friends... what could be better?

Pearl Took:  Thank you, Pearl.  There was a lot of emotion in Chapter 10, for everyone.  I’m so glad it worked.

Queen Galadriel:  I just couldn’t wait to get back to the banter and gentle affection that is so much a part of the hobbits’ interactions with one another – and with their friends.

SlightlyTookish:  I definitely wanted to show, in this story, how it might have been for Frodo to have the company of his cousins in Mordor.  You can never be surrounded by too much love.

SurgicalSteel:  There are few things more grin-inducing than a youngster who’s lovingly scolding someone older!