Disclaimer: All the settings and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (except for the minstrel Menelor and the more fully realised Farohan who was nameless in the books). This story is my way of working out or interpreting ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

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Author's Note: This story has been in the planning for the past nine months and after such a delay, it is with quite a sense of accomplishment that I finally post the first chapter! As a harp player myself, I have always had a fondness for the eager but unnamed minstrel who sang "The Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom" on the Field of Cormallen.

However, even though the story features that minstrel as the main (active) character, make no mistake. This tale is about Frodo, and about those of the Fellowship who knew him and loved him dearly. Here then is a story to fill in the fourteen days between the end of the Quest and the day that Sam and Frodo wake to be greeted by the host of Gondor.

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The Minstrel's Quest

Chapter One: The Task is Given

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"They return! They return!"

The cry rang out over the quiet battlefield and tired men looked up in gladness.

"Mithrandir has returned," they shouted. "But look! What does he carry?"

Many wondered at this new sight, for it seemed to them that the White Rider carried a child in his arms. A tumult and rush of air swept over the faces of those nearby. The eagles settled upon the earth, vast wings folding and feathers gleaming in the sunlight.

"It is a perian," one soldier said. "Like the one who was lost to us this day."

"But two periannath there are! Another dangles from the eagle's claw. Ah, now the Captain takes him! Who are these little folk?"

And so the men asked their questions even as they helped one another move the wounded and the dying from the evil land. But the periannath were taken to tents a furlong distant and there also went Aragorn, leader of the Captains of the West, and Mithrandir the White Rider.

All the Men watched and wondered and even the healers were left with curiosity unabated, for no man no matter how skilled in the healing arts were suffered to enter the tent where the periannath lay. One healer was permitted entry: a woman few in words but known for her gentle touch. But she would not talk of the halflings, save one thing:

"The Lord Aragorn tends them as if they were his own kin. Such devotion I have never seen." But pressed further upon the subject, she was silent.

* * *

And so the men waited and asked their questions. Glad they were when Gimli the Dwarf found the lost perian, Peregrin of the Guard, but he too vanished into a healers’ tent and was laid beside Beregond, also of the Guard.

It was with considerable curiosity, therefore, that two Men received their summons from the Lord Aragorn.

These two were harpers and Menelor and Farohan their names: men of skill in the art of music and in the singing of lays -- lays that told of the thrill of battle, or that made men weep from sorrow, or laugh with joy. Large were their harps and strung with bronze, but not so large were they that they could not be carried on the backs of those who plucked their strings.

Menelor was the older, a harper who had seen the late Lord Denethor when he first took up the Stewardship of Minas Tirith. Many lays he had written and sung, and many lighthearted songs also: tuneful melodies that came easily to one's lips on a good day in the sun.

Farohan was his assistant -- younger yet not callow, for he had apprenticed with Menelor, along with other students, for half his life. He was now thirty years of age: eager but not boastful, talkative yet thoughtful.

They sat now near their tent, on a dry patch of withered grass. Menelor was plucking out brief snatches of melodies upon gleaming strings as he murmured words, keeping some and discarding others: words that began to weave into an emerging melody. Farohan sat listening as he lightly ran his fingers up and down the strings of his own harp. Sunlight gleamed on the fresh white bandages around the little finger of his left hand.

"They say," he said, once Menelor's murmurings had ceased, "that more healers are allowed into the tents where the two new periannath lie."

Menelor pursed his lips for a moment and then nodded. "Lord Aragorn cannot tend them at all times. Even he must ask for help. There is much more to be done than to take care of two halflings, no matter how valiant they may be."

"Mithrandir too attends them closely," Farohan said. "How I wish that I could know more! What I have heard so far seems to be out of fantasy and legend -- that they brought down the Dark Lord to ruin. If only there was more to hear than mere rumour."

"You are forgetting yourself," Menelor said placidly. "If there is a tale to be told, then most likely we will have the telling of it! We need merely to wait and news will come. And if it doesn't, then it is not for us to know and you excite yourself needlessly."

Farohan gave him a quick grin and shrug and resumed his light fingerwork. Chords and trills rippled through the air.

* * *

Menelor was quite right, for it was not long before the two harpers were summoned before both Lord Aragorn and the White Wizard. The four sat in a tent apart from all others, and there Aragorn gave them their task.

"I would have you," he said, "write such a lay as would bring great honour upon the two periannath that were brought lately from the fire. For they may be small, but the Ring-bearer Frodo did what none other could do, and Samwise, through friendship and loyalty went with him where few others would dare to go. The West would have foundered and all would be lost if not for the fulfillment of the Ring-bearer's Quest."

And he then told of Frodo's tale -- a seemingly simple version, for it was plain to see that the account was not filled with all facts or subtleties. Nonetheless, Menelor and Farohan listened raptly.

When the accounting of the Ring-bearer's deeds in Mordor was finished, Aragorn looked searchingly into their eyes.

"Will you write this lay and accord fitting honour to the periannath as is their due?"

"We will," answered Menelor simply but earnestly.

Mithrandir too gazed at them thoughtfully and then nodded as if pleased by what he saw. "Yes, I believe you will. I am glad of that." He smiled then. "It will give Sam, I think, great delight to hear it."

"What of the periannath?" Menelor asked suddenly. "It seems to me that they were near death when they arrived. Will they live?"

"They sleep for now," Mithrandir answered. "It remains to be seen if they will awaken."

"But if they do not?"

"Then you will write the lay and we will honour them in memory." With that, Aragorn stood and left the tent.

The wizard too rose to his feet and turned as if to leave. He paused and looked back at the two harpers.

"I think," he said mildly, "that you should name it ‘Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom.’" He nodded, as if to himself, and then smiled. "Yes," he said. "That would do very well." And with that he left.

* * *

The two harpers sat for a moment in silence, and then Farohan breathed out gustily.

"I am so glad that you chose me to be the one to come with you. At first I thought you chose me to follow you into death and despair, but not only is there now hope and joy, but I can see and hear such great things. And that I can be the one to watch you craft these lays..."

"Only one lay, Farohan," Menelor said swiftly, "only one. For I am already busy with the Last Stand of the Captains of the West -- the last stand at the Black Gates which turned from courage in despair to joy in victory. That is quite enough for me."

He stood slowly and straightened. Farohan leapt to his feet, a sudden hope rising within him.

"No," Menelor continued, "that lay will be my last great work. But this lay of the Ring-bearer will be your first. You are ready for it, for you have shown great promise. Indeed that is why I chose you to come with me from among all the others. Will you do this task?"

"I will," Farohan said fervently.

"Then," said Menelor, and his eyes twinkled as he smiled, "you have much work ahead. The Lord Aragorn only told you the end of the story. To craft a lay that will do this perian justice, you will need to know much more."

"Much more," agreed Farohan thoughtfully. "A tale must have a beginning... and it must have a hero that is more than a distant figure, filled with courage though he may be!"

The two harpers passed out from the tent and stood there looking at the wasteland before the mountains of Mordor.

"Yes," said Farohan. "In order to write this lay, I must learn more than the little told to us today. My task now is to learn truly about the Ring-bearer Frodo. Who is he, and what may we learn from him -- he who saved us all."

To be Continued...