Chapter 24 – Seeds of Deceit 

Night is falling when they reach the campsite where Sauron, Rick and the hobbits had slept just five nights before. The ponies and horses have been well-kept by a pair of warriors who had remained behind to care for the beasts and the steeds of the Haradrim. The warriors stand at attention upon hearing the approach of the company. Amros dismisses them as he strides past and they relax just in time to gape at Sauron. Some of their comrades quietly fill them in on all that has happened as the others prepare the camp for the night.

Rick heads directly for his horse. The stallion whinnies excitedly to see him, swishing his tail and nuzzling his snout into Rick’s hand. Rick complies, scratching in all the right places and crooning lovingly. The ponies and pack horses get similar treatment from the hobbits, and even Sauron spares a few minutes to curry his stallion’s coat and comb his mane and tail before checking on their stores and packs.

They remain in the camp that night and set out in the morning after an early breakfast. Going down the hill proves just as difficult as getting up it. The beasts’ hooves slip on the soft sandstone, sending loose pebbles and rocks scattering down the path in front of them. The travelers walk beside their beasts, keeping a tight grip on the reins and helping them find safe footing. Progress is slow and even though they only stop once at midday for rest and food, they do not reach the bottom of the hill until night is nearly fallen. 

The next morning, they forage for food, roots, berries, nuts, cacti and small game to add to their remaining supplies, just enough to feed one extra person for a week; they had not expected Sauron to be going back with them to Harad. They also replenish their water at the river before leaving it behind, refilling their water bottles and jugs.

They ride through the valley and in two more nights they reach the edge of the hills, the barren desert stretching out before them like a white sea of sand. They camp during the day and travel at night for the sake of Frodo and Rick. While their skin has darkened somewhat during the last week, they are still prone to sunburn and no one wishes to make the Ring-bearer, in particular, uncomfortable if it can be prevented.

In the quiet hours before sleep and during travel, they swap many stories and tales of war and home life in Harad and Rohan. Rick makes quick friends with Cepros, and with his and Semira’s help he begins to learn Southron more readily. The Haradrim prove just as respectful of the Ring-bearers as the Khand had been, though they refrain from bowing or calling them by honorifics at Frodo’s request and Amros’s command. 

The Haradrim are ever watchful of Sauron but after a few days of continuously being in his presence, they begin to ask him questions about his journey to defeat the Blue Wizards and of his other missions, past and future. By the time they reach the Harnen River and the port, they are more at ease with him, if still inherently distrustful.

Amros hires a ship to carry Sauron, Rick and the hobbits to the Bay of Belfalas and around Harondor back to the Anduin. The ship will take them all the way to Pelargir, where they will be able to board a Gondorian ship to take them back to Minas Tirith. Rick, Cepros and a handful of warriors go into the bazaar to acquire the necessary supplies for the two-week journey, and when they return everyone helps to carry them onboard, where the hobbits stow everything away in their lodgings. Everything prepared and ready to set sail, the new allies gather on the dock to say farewell. 

“I made this for you,” Cepros says, handing Rick a small leather booklet. “It’s actually mine, a phonetic translation of Haradrim to Westron, but I wrote in the phonetic pronunciation of the Haradrim and Southron words for you to practice.”

“Thank you!” Rick says, accepting the booklet gratefully. “I’ll study this every day and I can practice with the crew.” They clasp hands and bid each other farewell, then Cepros and the warriors retreat to the riverbank. 

“We will not stay long in Gondor,” Sauron tells Amros and Semira. “We’ll remain just long enough to see the hobbits settled, make our reports to the King and gather whatever news we can of the movements of the House of the Eye. I suggest that you also discover what rumors you can, but do not seek out any of your enemies. If my information that the Mouth of Sauron has survived the desolation of Mordor is true, then I do not doubt he would have sought refuge here. He will be in charge of the House of the Eye now and he will not show mercy, not even to you Semira. He doesn’t know what family is anymore.”

“We will find out what we can and begin to seek out our allies in the other Sultanates,” Semira says.

“There is much to be prepared, and not just for your stay,” Amros says. “We have been long from our home and have much to put to rights before we can leave again. There is no need for you to hurry back.”

“The quicker we strike, the better, before the Dark Houses can recover from the loss of the Blue Wizards,” Sauron says. “Look for us to arrive at the beginning of next month. The citadel of the House of the Sun can still be found in the city of Hasuut?”

“It can,” Amros says. “I will tell the guards at the wall that you are coming, however I think it is best while you travel in Harad that you do not use your name. It will only bring you trouble, and that we cannot afford.”

“No Westron aliases either,” Semira says. “That won’t help you much at all once you pass through Harondor. Childeric, you will go by Dericos.”

“Dericos,” Rick says. “Very well but I don’t think anyone will believe I’m a Haradrim. And you can just call me Rick.”

“That’s not the point. If you have a Haradrim name, they will know you are an ally,” Semira explains. “And I like Childeric.” She smiles sweetly, causing Rick to shuffle uncomfortably under the answering glare of Amros. “Sauron, you will go by Yigalos. It means ‘one who seeks redemption’.”

“Very well,” Sauron agrees.

“One who seeks redemption?” Rick says. He considers Sauron closely, pondering the phrase. “We don’t have a name for that in Rohirric. There’s Trewfelagh, or Trewpeny, but those aren’t nearly close enough. I suppose you could just take the words ‘seek’ and ‘redeem’ and try to piece together a name from that but it’s going to sound odd. How about Secaliesan? No, that won’t do. Secleresnis? No, I don’t like that either. Maybe just Aliesan, or even Aliesacan. Oh! I like that one.”

“Rick, that name is only supposed to be for use in Harad,” Sauron points out.

“So? You are seeking redemption aren’t you?” Rick asks. “Aliesacan. It’s a good name, strong, definitive, and it’s much more flattering than ‘Sauron’. I mean, you can’t be walking around with a name like that anymore, now can you? And can’t you just hear it in a story? It’ll capture an audience’s attention. Aliesacan and the Blue Wizards of the East. I tell the tale of Aliesacan, the warrior Maia of the Valar, returned to Middle-earth to protect the Free Peoples from the evil remnants of Mordor. He is Sauron no more. Doesn’t that sound great! I could ask Frodo for help, because he writes too or Sam told me once that he’s written all his experiences of the War of the Ring, and his uncle, or is it his cousin, hobbit relations don’t make much sense to me, but he wrote about his travels too and so Frodo knows a lot about writing adventures, and I do have two weeks at least to work on it which should be enough time, don’t you think? Do I have enough parchment?”

“Hopefully not,” Sauron mutters, his turn now to shift uncomfortably. 

“Huh?” Rick says, lost in thought.

“Never mind. We should get going,” Sauron says.

“Wait,” Semira bids them, smiling fondly at Rick’s excitement for his budding story. “One more thing, before you go.” 

She nudges Amros expectantly and Amros sighs resignedly. He blows a high, piercing whistle and Rick’s stallion comes forth from the company, heading directly for him. Rick takes the horse’s reins and scratches behind his ears, his expression puzzled and hopeful.

“Semira tells me that this stallion has grown quite fond of you, and my guards tell me he was quite forlorn until you returned to camp with us, and Cepros tells me you lost your own horse some time ago,” Amros says graciously. “You may keep the horse, if you wish to have him.”

“Really?” Rick exclaims, his face lighting up to beat the sun. “I can keep him? Thank you, so much. He’s a wonderful horse. I would be honored to have such a horse.”

“Then he is yours,” Amros says. “Treat him well and he will give you many years of service and sire many worthy descendants for your wife and children.”

“Well, I don’t have a family of my own but I will certainly treat him well. I bet all the other horses in Rohan will just love him,” Rick says. 

“He still needs a name,” Semira says. “I have been thinking about it, and I believe I have found it. He will be Matronos. It means ‘joyful gift’ and that is what he is to you, yes?”

“Matronos?” Rick repeats and the stallion whinnies softly upon hearing it. “Do you like that name, then? Hello, Matronos.” The stallion whinnies again, more loudly this time, and steps forward to gently rest his head on Rick’s shoulder. Rick beams at Semira. “Matronos it is, then. Thank you, Semira.”

“It is the least I can do,” she says and beckons one of the deckhands to retrieve the horse and secure him below deck. “Cepros already obtained feed for him, so you need not worry about that. I will see you again soon.”

“By next month,” Rick promises. 

He takes her hand and kisses it, and she presses his hand briefly in return. Then she kneels to the hobbits and hugs them both. “You both truly are as extraordinary as the tales say. I am glad to have met you.”

“I was glad to meet you too, Semira,” Sam says. “You’re a real fine lady, you are.”

“Thank you Sam. You are a brave little gardener, more courageous than the strongest of men,” she praises and Sam blushes.

“The Haradrim are lucky to have you and Amros looking out for them,” Frodo says, “and we’re lucky indeed to have you as an ally.”

“Thank you, Shaman,” Semira replies, grinning mischievously.

Frodo laughs. “You know I’m not a shaman.”

“Aren’t you? No other mortal can do the things you can. The Ring gave you these gifts, but you are still the one who must wield them. This you can do, and yet retain your humanity and modesty. How do you explain this if you are not Shaman?” Semira asks.

“I was meant to carry the Ring,” Frodo says with a shrug. “I was chosen to destroy it.”

“Chosen? By whom? And if you were chosen, it must have been for a reason, yes? I do not know how such things work but I do know that Middle-earth is lucky to have you and Sam in it at this time. May your journey be safe and your road long, and remember Frodo: live your life,” Semira says. 

“Farewell, Semira,” Frodo says and hugs her again. “And thank you.”

The hobbits board the ship first, followed by Sauron and Rick. The ship shoves off as soon as everything is secure, pulling slowly away from the dock into the busy and crowded waters of the Harnen. Rick and the hobbits wave good-bye to their friends, who wave back until they are no more than small dots upon the riverbank.

When the port is far behind and the ship glides along the eastern side of the river with the current, Rick finds Sauron speaking quietly to the captain. “Yigalos! Are you going to be wanting breakfast soon?”

Sauron nods, the name grating, and he wonders if Semira didn’t have that in mind when she chose it. “Yes, breakfast will be fine,” he replies, frowning at the riverbank as the land swiftly slips past. 

“Wait a minute!” Sam says suddenly. He leans in towards Frodo and whispers, “We didn’t get names.”

Frodo laughs. “I suppose we’re just Remi and Matfrid again, then. Or Frodo and Samwise, or Iorhael and Perhael, or Shaman and Servant of Shaman.” He touches the necklace under his robe. “I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

“Well, if that’s all the same, I’d rather go by my own name,” Sam says. “I reckon as Amros wouldn’t hire a crew as meant us harm anyhow.”

“Samwise it is then,” Frodo says. “Shall we help Dericos with breakfast, Samwise?”

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Frodo.”

They follow Rick below deck to the kitchen area and set about making breakfast for themselves alongside the kitchen crew, daydreaming happily of Gondor and Minas Tirith and being able to roam the Citadel and the city freely now that their mission is over. This topic lasts into breakfast, which they eat in their room, and afterward Rick recruits Frodo’s help in writing his story, Of Aliesacan and the Blue Wizards of the East. Sam suggests writing it as a poem and soon all three of them are bent over a blank piece of parchment. Sauron watches them from his perch on his hammock, a heaviness coming over him even as he smiles to hear their excited chatter.

The landscape changes little over the following days. Harondor on the north side of the river is as plain and barren as Harad on the south. Here and there are stretches of grass or a blooming tree of frankincense, but most often they see fields of grain, barley, vegetables and other produce stretching along the riverbanks in between long stretches of arid earth. The farm houses are unlike any the hobbits or Rick have seen before: square, flat-roofed, earthen walls of blinding white. No evidence can be seen of Harondor’s former occupants, which Rick notes with interest.

Once a part of Gondor, Harondor is now chiefly occupied by Haradrim except to its uppermost north along the Anduin. Countless centuries of strife and invasions have driven the Gondorians west of the Anduin long ago, and the land had quickly been claimed by Harad as their own. This is a grievance that many Gondorians wish for King Elessar to amend, but Harad will not give up the land easily. For now an unspoken truce is being held between the two kingdoms as more pressing issues are resolved, but the constant threat of another civil war in Harad has made resolving even the simplest of conflicts difficult and progress has been slow indeed. 

Looking out over the desert, Rick wonders why anyone would fight for such land and if perhaps it would be best to let Harad keep it. He often sees workers in the fields, and going to and from the farm houses. They seem so much a part of the land that Rick can’t imagine it without them there. Yet there is a tension also, for each time their ship passes a field, the workers will stop and peer at them cautiously before deciding they are friends and waving good-day or deciding they are foes and concealing themselves within the crops where they cannot be spied. 

Sam also finds watching the field workers to be interesting. Though the workers are far away, his eyes are sharp and he can often see or guess what tools they are working with. He even recognizes a few of the odd tools he had seen that day in the bazaar. One is a long metal pole with two handles at the top and a wide curving blade that curls around the bottom half of the pole to end in a sharp point. He sees now that this tool is used for breaking the rock-hard earth so that fields can be planted and irrigated. 

Another tool is a sort of half-basket, half-trap on wheels. Rick calls it a wain, or a chariot, only the wains that Rick has heard stories of were used for transporting the Wainriders over Dagorlad to invade his peoples’ ancient home and they were pulled by horses. The wains they see now are loaded with harvested produce, a wooden gate secured to the back of the chariot to keep anything from spilling out. Once the wain is full, the worker picks up the handles and runs it to the storage shed himself.

The hobbits and Rick stay inside most of the day, keeping out of the burning sun. They occupy themselves with Rick’s translation booklet and writing his story. Rick goes often to visit his horse, still marveling at this unexpected gift. He wonders what Semira had to do to convince Amros to give him the horse; it couldn’t have been easy for the man to give away such a magnificent beast, especially to him. Sometimes the hobbits will join him and tell him of their ponies, Bill and Strider, and how they came to acquire them.

They help the kitchen crew in making meals every day, though there is very little in the way of cooking to be done. The meats had been cooked and dried before being brought on board and they need only put the food together at each meal, standing at their work stations and watching the person next to them to learn what to do: lay the rice-wrapping flat on the wooden board, spread the cream sauce over it, take a thin strip of dried meat and pound it until it is soft, then lay that on top of the cream sauce, spread the berry sauce over the meat, then roll the whole thing as tightly as you can and cut it three times. It doesn’t take long for Frodo and Sam to learn how to make the cream sauce and berry sauce, and when the workers have to make more rice-wrapping, they learn how to do that also. 

Sauron can often be found with the captain, going over maps of Harondor and Harad, or else helping the deck crew to sail the ship. There are other ports on the way to the Bay of Belfalas, and when they dock both he and Rick assist with unloading and loading goods and packages. 

Sauron spends his time in the ports speaking with the peasants and the slaves, gathering what news he can. Slaves are often a good source of news, he tells the hobbits, who are both mortified and fascinated by them. Except for the collars around their necks, the slaves are no different in their bearing than their masters, though Sam instantly recognizes the signs of subservience: walking behind the master, offering to carry the heavier burdens, haggling for a lower price for the goods their masters are needing. Several slaves are on their own though and these are the ones that Sauron targets. Most do not even look at him, but one or two might quietly whisper rumors to him as they stand at a stall and pretend to study a particular weave or basket. 

Being the only passengers on the ship, they are often able to enjoy the company of the crew during the quiet hours after nightfall. The ship is anchored in the middle of the river wherever they happen to be and the crew, instead of dashing off to see to various passengers, will sit with them on the deck and trade stories with them. The stories can be about anything but usually entail the lives of the crew, their families and even their customs and traditions. The travelers reciprocate, telling the Haradrim of life in Rohan, Gondor and the Shire. At these times, laughter can often be heard as everyone relates tales of mischievous childhood antics or boisterous family gatherings. When the Haradrim learn of Rick’s hopeless love for Semira, they are quick to tell him of their own foibles in love and reassure him that all will be well in the end. Sauron usually has trouble translating during these tales, being too busy laughing at Rick’s embarrassment.

The nights are somewhat chilled on the river but they find they do not need blankets. Their robes keep them comfortable enough, whether day or night, and after Frodo and Sam abandon their hammocks for their sleeping rolls on the floor, they find that sleeping on the gently bobbing ship is quite soothing. Each night Frodo and Sam put their heads to their pillows, which are made of rolled-up shirts, and fall into instant sleep, exhausted from the long, hot days. They do not stir again until the crew wakes in the predawn hours to ready the ship for sailing again.

On the fourth night Frodo wakes from yet another disturbing dream, with heart racing and cold sweat dripping from his face. His body shakes with fright and his head pounds incessantly. A wave of nausea threatens to overwhelm him, but he fights it back with slow, deep breaths until he feels his body calm and the sickness subside. The headache ebbs to a dull thrumming and as he pushes away the lingering images of his dream, he begins to notice the room around him. Rick sleeps soundly on his hammock, his left foot dangling over the side. Sam snores softly on the floor next to Frodo, the gardener’s brow knit with a dream of his own. The ship creaks and bobs and in the rooms next to the cargo hold below he can hear the crew fast asleep. 

Frodo shifts in his bedroll, inching closer to Sam though not enough to disturb him, and attempts to find a comfortable position to go back to sleep. He can close his eyes easily enough, but the dream will not subside. The images from it leech onto his mind, refusing to let go, and though he tries to think of more pleasant things, he cannot do so. Sleep eludes him and after an hour of listening to Sam’s gentle snores and the soft creaking of the hull, Frodo gets to his feet and climbs the stairs to the deck. 

The cool air against his face is refreshing and the stars shine near as bright as the moon. Other ships are anchored up and down the river, and on the land far off in Harad a small campfire blazes. He wonders who the campers are and what they are doing there and who might be keeping watch so late at night. By giving his mind something else to concentrate on, he can more easily distract himself from his dream, and he finds the clear air has alleviated the last of his headache as well. He walks around the deck with no clear purpose other than to remain here until he is tired enough to return to bed and sleep, hopefully before Sam notices he is missing. 

The deck is quiet except for the distant whisperings of the watchmen on the bow. Frodo cannot make out the words but he can see them sitting against the capstan. He moves away before they can notice him and heads for the stern, where he can lie on the deck and look up at the stars and moon and forget everything else. Only when he reaches the stern he finds Sauron is already there. The Maia stands silently and perfectly still, looking out over the water at the moon’s reflection glittering on the calm surface of the river. 

Frodo pauses and considers returning to the room to give Sauron his solitude, but then Sauron turns and smiles wanly at him. “You couldn’t sleep either?” he asks kindly.

Frodo closes the gap between them to stand beside Sauron. For a long while they stand in silence, the serenity of the night closing in around them, wrapping them in its concealing cloak. Frodo enjoys the star-strewn sky and lets his mind wander to nights spent atop Bag End under the oak tree lying next to Merry and Pippin, or even Fatty and Folco, pointing out all the constellations or making up ones of their own. He realizes with a jolt that he has not done this since before the Quest. 

After a time, Sauron looks at him intently and says, “It’s time, Frodo, to tell me what happened.”

“I know,” Frodo says but finds it difficult to continue without prompting. 

Sauron senses this, so after a few more moments he says, “Why don’t you start with why you’re up so late in the night.”

“I had a dream,” Frodo says, shivering to remember it. 

“I take it this dream was not the pleasant sort,” Sauron guesses.

“Not at all,” Frodo confirms. He wraps his robe tighter around himself to keep the fabric from flapping in the breeze and closes his eyes, as though pretending he is sleeping again will make the telling of it less horrible. “I’m returning to the Shire after the War and the Shire is burnt black. There is no one else to be seen, not even ruffians, and not a bird sings. I am utterly alone. I reach Bag End and Saruman is standing there next to Pallando and Alatar. Saruman laughs when he sees me and he says, ‘Didn’t I foretell that you would enjoy neither long life nor health? Yet you would attempt to cheat your fate and so look at what you’ve done.’ Then Alatar bends down and reaches for a sack at his feet. The sack is wet with fresh blood and as he begins to open it a terrible dread fills me. I know what’s inside and I don’t want to see it. I plead with him to stop but then Pallando says, ‘But you must see. We warned you what would happen if you did not take your rightful place over the Sea.’ Alatar opens the sack and curls his hand around a tuft of golden hair. That’s when I woke up. That's always when I wake up.” 

“Then this isn't the first time you’ve had this dream? Have there been others?” Sauron asks. 

Frodo pries his eyes open and shudders. “It's always the same one.”

“What was inside the bag?” Sauron asks next. 

Frodo swallows and takes a few moments to gather his wits. “It was Sam, or what was left of him.”

“And Pallando said they warned you,” Sauron says. “Is this what they made you see then, when you were fighting them?”

“It’s one of the things,” Frodo says. “It’s a lie, I know that, but it feels so real.” He shudders again and pulls his robe tighter still. “Saruman did say I would not enjoy health or long life. Until recently, I thought it was true. I thought I would either have to die here in illness or leave for the Undying Lands to seek healing, if I could be healed. I was just beginning to accept that I might be able to remain here still when we reached the Blue Wizards’ lair. 

“During our confrontation, they showed me other things. They showed me what will happen if I try to remain in the Shire and live a normal life. They showed me that I will fail. I will marry and my wife will die in childbirth, her and the bairn. In my grief I will grow ill again, so ill I cannot leave the bed, and Sam will wear himself ragged trying to make me better, ignoring his own family in the process. His son will try to follow him up the Hill one day and be hit by a runaway trap coming down the lane, a trap that Sam failed to secure properly when he left it outside the garden gate. His son will die from his injuries and Rose will sink into despair and bitterness, and it will all be too much for Sam in the end. He’ll die and I’ll follow, and those who are left behind, Merry and Pippin, Folco and Fatty, everyone will be left to deal with the consequences. Merry will become embittered because he could not convince me to go over the Sea when there was still time, and because of his hardness the people of Buckland and the Eastfarthing will not have the charity of the Brandybucks to see them through sparse winters and dry summers and many will suffer for it. Pippin will refuse the Thainship, and he’ll do well enough. Reginard will be a reasonable Thain but the Tooklands won’t flourish as they have done. 

“It’s all rather dire and dramatic really, and I try to tell myself that none of it’s true, but what if it is true, and all this suffering can be prevented if only I take my place in Valinor?”

Sauron rests his elbows on the rail and leans forward as he considers Frodo’s question. That the wizards should make him see such things is no less than what he had expected, and it is understandable that Frodo will be confused and worried. Sauron understands now why Frodo has been so reluctant to speak of this while the others are present.

“I don’t know how to guide you in this, Frodo,” Sauron says at length. “Saruman was a liar and his voice was his most dangerous weapon. He said he foretold your demise, but he could just as easily have been planting the seed for you to grow. Despite yourself, knowing what he was capable of, you listened to him and began to make it so. However, he could have been telling the truth as he saw it in that moment, and again used his voice to ensure it would come to the ending that he desired. He very nearly succeeded, from what I saw when I came to Bag End. In this way, Saruman was more treacherous than Pallando and Alatar. He forever twisted the truth just enough that the lie could not be detected, and more often than not this caused a fate much worse than a lie all on its own. He did the same with Lotho and the Bracegirdles, and with Théoden King. 

“Did he truly foretell your future? No one now left in Middle-earth can say for certain. Galadriel’s mirror speaks no more and the Palantír in Elessar’s keeping is not for you to use. Yet even if you could use such instruments, you must remember that they show you glimpses only and while what they show you is the truth it is very easy to derive a falsehood from them.”

“Like Denethor,” Frodo says. “You did the same to him as Saruman did to Théoden and Lotho. You showed him the truth and twisted it with lies so that he would despair. And yet everything you showed him did come to pass. So what Alatar and Pallando showed me, those things will happen too, if I stay?”

“This is not a true prophecy, Frodo. A prophecy tells you what will be. It is not dependent on ‘what ifs’. However,” Sauron cautions, “it could just as easily be the truth as it is a lie. Childbirth is dangerous and women, even strong and healthy women, die often during it. That is true and the despair that follows is equally true. Will such a sequence of events occur? The answer could just as easily be ‘yes’ as it is ‘no’. But you need not leave to prevent any of this. You can simply not marry. Or should you marry and on the chance that you do lose your wife in childbirth, you can always leave for Valinor and find your healing then, before anyone else need suffer. And so you see that their vision of your future is full of holes.”

“So it was a lie?” Frodo asks again.

“I think they were very clever and they knew the best way to defeat their enemy was with the enemy's own weapon,” Sauron answers. “They detected your deepest fears and exploited them. It was malicious and full of depravity, and so exactly what they would have done.”

“And Saruman was lying too?”

“Saruman I think told you the truth as he saw it. He saw you ill and dying young, and you certainly were on your way to doing just that when I found you,” Sauron says. “However, just like Denethor, he saw a glimpse only and from that he derived a lie and planted the seed within you for your own destruction. I think we have sufficiently uprooted that seed, don’t you?”

Frodo manages a weak smile. “I would say that we have, but it has been replaced by another it seems.”

“At least you know this and so you can weed it out, just as before,” Sauron assures. “The option to sail will always remain open to you: that is your reward. But to remain and live your life is also an option: that is your gift.”

“Rewards are all well and good, but I’ve always enjoyed giving gifts more,” Frodo says, smiling genuinely this time. “I want to stay. I want to try anyway.”

“Then try,” Sauron says. “You can always change your mind later if you must, the key word there being ‘must’.”

“Indeed. What must I do? I’ve asked that question twice of others, but never once have I asked it of myself. Third time pays for all as they say, but the answer is not so clear this time. Still, this has helped, speaking to you. Thank you… Aliesacan,” Frodo says, grinning impishly. 

Sauron groans softly at the name but only answers, “You’re welcome, Great Shaman.”

Frodo begins to turn but pauses as he remembers what Sauron had first said when he stepped onto the deck. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asks.

“Me? I suppose I was waiting for you,” Sauron answers. “Go back inside before Sam comes looking for you. I’ll be there shortly.”

Frodo complies and returns to the room just as Sam is stirring, blinking and looking for his master. Sam sighs with relief to see Frodo return, and he slumps back into his bedroll without a word. He’s snoozing again before Frodo even crawls into his sleeping roll. Frodo settles himself quickly, peering up at Rick’s hammock to find the lad has shifted in his sleep, so that his right foot and arm now dangle over the edge of the hammock. Frodo chuckles softly to see this and hopes Rick doesn’t fall out of that odd contraption in his sleep. Before the wish fully forms, he has drifted off to gentle dreams of a green Shire filled with life and laughter.

When Sauron comes into the room a few minutes later, he finds Frodo smiling in his sleep, Sam snoozing deeply and Rick muttering softly in his dreams. Sauron watches them through the last hours of night, eased by their peaceful slumber even as sleep eludes him.

To be continued…

GF 7/30/07