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Till We Have Faces  by Antane

“Where to today, little brother?” Boromir asked on his and Frodo’s daily morning walk.

The grip on Boromir’s hand tightened painfully and Frodo’s throat was dry. “The spider’s lair. I have written of it before and been there each year on the day she wounded me. It does not get better, but I hope with the Lady’s light and the memory of the light of the phial the Lady Galadriel gave and Sam’s loving defense of me, I can endure it one more time.”

“Can I come with you? I could not be there before, but I would wish to help you face the terror this time.”

Frodo’s grip lessened a little on Boromir’s hand. “Yes, I would welcome that.”

So it was that man and hobbit come into the garden together where Frodo liked to write. Boromir knew he could not enter the dark terror as fully as Frodo did and would, but he wished he could. He thought perhaps by asking his little brother questions, he could keep him grounded in the present rather than lost in the past.

“How did you enter such a terrible place?”

“There was stairs, so many, many stairs. I couldn’t have counted them all even I had wanted. It was all Sam and I could do to raise our knees and feet one step after another with Gollum guiding us. We had no idea where he was leading us. He had spoken of a tunnel but did not say there was a great evil lurking there, waiting to devour us.”

“Our own tales do not speak of it beyond that a unnamed, unknown terror was there. Whether anyone actually saw what you did I don’t know. Perhaps our elders did, but they would not give tell of it.”

“No one should have to speak of it. I only wrote of it to celebrate my Sam’s victory over such a foul beast. Whether the terror remains still, I do not know. I would not wish anyone to enter such a black hole to find out.” Frodo’s voice already began to fade as the memories began to displace the present. “Always somewhere, the nightmare lurks. I can hear her, feel her eyes upon me, such terrible malice, such unflagging hatred. Only Sauron’s Eye pierced me deeper.”

As the dark closed in around Frodo, Boromir feared his little brother was beyond where he could follow. He held onto the Ring-bearer’s hand and with the other half-withdrew his sword. Even if there was only a phantom spider here, he could feel the terror of it just from Frodo’s voice and the hand that had grown cold in his. The darkness closed around him as well, as the hobbit’s voice drew him in.

“Such blackness. A foul stench. She’s coming. Evil spider eyes, huge bloated body, swaying ... sagging. Great long hairy legs. Claws, groping, feeling, reaching out for me. Sam! Sam! Help me! Please! She’s getting nearer!”

Boromir jumped up and withdrew his sword fully, ready for battle. But as he came back to himself, he saw no one. The garden was bright, the wind gentle, the birds singing. His sword was of no use here. He laid it down to bring better aid to Frodo. He knelt and embraced his little brother, who trembled and moaned in his arms.

In the terrible black, Frodo saw a light. It was neither the Lady’s light nor the brilliant light of the phial or even Sam’s fierce glow. Yet, it surrounded him with a protective glow and shielded him from his foe. He saw her just beyond it, still groping out for him, but clawing only at the air. She was no less fearsome than before, but the formidable strength of the light that had sprung up as soon as she had lunged at him kept her at bay. Frodo watched as she futilely tried to rend it with her claws and tear it apart with her malice, but she could not defeat it. He felt her anger and hatred as strongly as he had then, but it was not now directed toward him. The light held firm against it until she could no longer withstand its indefatigable power and withdrew.

Frodo woke with a gasp. Shelob was gone. He felt terribly weary but the wound she had given him did not throb as it always had before. He looked up into Boromir’s eyes. His throat felt dry and sore. “Thank you for being with me and defeating the eyes.”

Boromir smiled. “You and Sam did so first.”

A/N: Some of Frodo’s memories are from a nightmare he had after returning home, as recorded in the magnificent BBC Radio adaptation of the tale. This is from the slightly extended version that came out in 2002 with ‘bookends’ of Frodo recounting more of his journey at the start and end of some of the discs. This is from the beginning of the Return of the King discs.





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