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Under The Northern Stars
Frodo adjusted the substantial pack on his shoulders and gave a
thoughtful glance back towards Sam. It had been his own idea, after all, and now
that they were a day out from Bag End, he had no doubts as to a certain
reluctance on the part of Sam regarding the direction in which they were
heading.
Certainly, over the course of their lives together, they had taken numerous
extended walking tours. Most had been during the benign months of summer,
although winter weather had not slowed them down when needs be. But as the years
went by, and Frodo began to near the age Bilbo had been when he left on his
first adventure, he was beginning to feel a restlessness of spirit that only
seemed to ease as he set foot upon the Road once again, and found himself far
from Bag End. Up until now, their excursions had always been safely within the
homely environs of the Shire, and even if the Brandybucks had on occasion not
provided the warmest of welcomes, still, Brandy Hall was hardly a remote
hinterland of hobbit society. Thus Frodo’s proposal to visit Lake Evendim,
birthplace of the Brandywine, had been quite a surprise to Sam, and though he
sought to hide his unease, Frodo knew that the idea of being so far from the
heart of the Shire was disturbing to him.
However, Frodo had found the thought of the furthest reaches of the Shire, if
indeed that far land was still the Shire, oddly compelling, for he could not
entirely suppress his belief as of late that hobbit society was irredeemably
stodgy, and that the lands of other folk must hold wonders not to be neglected
by an adventurous sort of hobbit. His own sense of freedom had become
circumscribed by Sam’s need to be supportive of his family and their own garden,
and soon enough spring would be upon them with its blossom and clear skies and
its uncompromising need to plant and sow. So even though this early in the year
the weather promised to be none too pleasant, it was their last chance for an
extended trip, and Frodo seized it. The winter had been rather mild, after all,
and even this far from Hobbiton, the only snow to be seen was the occasional
drift under the shadiest of trees, and was easily avoidable.
Sam tramped along at his side, and tried his best to hide his misgivings. He was
well aware that it was less than a year until Frodo would be fifty years old,
and he knew, just as well as Frodo, that that had been Bilbo’s age when he had
abruptly left the Shire in the company of dwarves. Sometimes, it seemed to him,
that Frodo was seeking the least of excuses to be gone as well, and Sam was
determined that if that day should come, Frodo would not be leaving alone. So he
quietly walked at Frodo’s side, and made no comment regarding the chill wind and
misty clouds that were starting to gather on the low hills about them.
&&&&&
There was not much in the way of inns to be found along this great ruined
thoroughfare that ran from the north, an artifact of days long since gone by.
And that was not necessarily a drawback, for Sam and Frodo had both found inns,
at least those in areas where they were not known, problematic. Sam was nearly
always automatically assumed by the innkeeper to be the help, and thus shooed
off to spend the night in the company of the stable hands or kitchen lads.
Initially, Frodo had put his foot down about the matter, but Sam hated the fuss
and icy scrutiny of strangers, and out of consideration for him, Frodo found
himself alone on a hard cold straw bed on more than one occasion.
But that question seemed moot this second evening from Bag End, for there was
little trace of hobbit habitation along the overgrown road, bordered by tall
pine forests. There was the occasional gleam of a faint light, in the distance
under the trees, but whether it was a warm hearth, or merely a trick of the
rapidly sinking sun against bare rock, the answer was not worth the cost of
making their way through the thick forest undergrowth, and they chose to stay
near the road.
As darkness began to fall, they found a small clearing near the road in the
midst of a thicket, close by the border of a small stream, and quietly and
efficiently began to set up camp. Frodo looked about for branches and small bits
of wood for kindling, and quickly had a small campfire crackling. Sam, in the
meantime, had laid out their blankets just near enough to the fire to warm them,
and had gone to the stream with both his pot and kettle to fetch water. He
returned and deftly propped two large branches over the fire, safely out of the
way of the flames, and hung the kettle there to boil. Into the pot, he neatly
sliced a couple of potatoes, a carrot, and some onion, and a pinch of salt from
his well-guarded salt-box. A sausage or two, as well as a touch of herbs,
completed the soup, and by the time the sun had completely set, the two hobbits
were comfortably wrapped in warm blankets by the smoldering fire, and peaceably
feasting on tea and soup and the last of the brown loaf they had begun that
morning.
“Looks to be a damp night,” judged Sam, watching clouds beginning to cover the
stars in the dark night sky, “but I don’t think ‘twill rain.”
Frodo glanced up as well, and gave a confirming nod. “Just mist,” he agreed,
“and I don’t doubt that it will be icy, before morning comes.” He gave Sam a
slight rueful smile. “I’m sorry I hauled you out into this sort of weather, my
dear, but I was feeling rather pent up, you know, and we’ve never been up this
way much…”
But Sam warmly returned his smile and, emerging out of the blankets to collect
the cups and plates for a quick wash-up, let his hand gently brush against
Frodo’s cheek as he stood up. “Naught t’be worrit about, me dear,” he murmured
softly, before disappearing into the darkness in the direction of the stream.
It was not a night to sit about the fire for long, so in no time, they were
lying wrapped tightly together under the blankets, beside the smoldering logs.
It was also not a night to be shedding much in the way of garments, but somehow
Frodo’s hand had managed to slip under both Sam’s jacket and heavy cotton shirt,
and had found the warm smooth flesh of Sam’s waist. Sam, for his part, was in
his favorite position, which consisted of lying half across Frodo with his head
firmly tucked against the hollow of Frodo’s shoulder, and with a hand buried
under Frodo’s clothing, laying tenderly but possessively on Frodo’s chest.
“One of your brothers lived this way, once, did he not, Sam?” Frodo’s voice was
soft in Sam’s ear.
“Aye,” murmured Sam, entranced as always with the gentle rise and fall of
Frodo’s chest.
“The same one your father wished to send you to, those many years ago?” Frodo
persisted.
“Oh, aye,” Sam couldn’t help a bit of a smile at the memory. “Not that it came
t’much, in the end.”
Frodo was silent for a few moments, and Sam knew the recollection of that night
was as vivid in Frodo’s memory as his own. “Would you have come back?” came the
quiet question, just as Sam suspected it would.
“I would have flown straight t’you, like the dove to her cote,” he whispered
without hesitation, turning up and kissing Frodo’s cheek lingeringly. “As soon
as ever I could.” He could feel Frodo smile, and then turn his head as well so
that their mouths met. It was a long slow loving kiss, something that had become
as natural and essential to both of them as breathing, and even so, as they drew
apart, Sam had to ask. “Would you have been waiting for me, Frodo-love?”
Frodo was silent for several moments, but Sam could feel his embrace tighten.
And then his voice came once again, but with a curious catch in it. “I thought
my heart would break forever, that night,” he answered softly. “I knew I was in
love with you, but I don’t think I realized quite how much, until then. I don’t
honestly know quite how I would have borne it.”
“Oh, Frodo,” Sam exclaimed, immediately sorry that he had asked, “but it never
happened, me darling, never at all. You are with me always, and always will be,
and that’d be all there is to that. Naught t’worrit about, me own sweet dearie.”
Frodo wordlessly answered with a more passionate kiss, and the campfire had
quite died away before they were both asleep.
&&&&&
Sam awoke with a happy heart, but to a cold and misty morning. Carefully, he
withdrew himself from Frodo’s embrace, attempting to not awaken him just yet,
and looked about the clearing for more wood for the morning’s fire. They’d be on
their way again before long, no doubt, but it would never do to be off without a
mug or two of hot cheering tea, and at least a first breakfast.
The morning was shrouded in a cold white mist, damp and clammy. Thankfully, Sam
knew where the stream lay, for otherwise he would have been quite at a loss. But
he carefully studied his bearings and was away from the campfire and then back
again without incident.
Silently coaxing the fire back to flame again, he hung the kettle on the branch
to boil again, and sat close to Frodo, reluctant to wake him by crawling under
the blankets with him. Taking the opportunity to study Frodo’s relaxed
expression, Sam realized that he lay evidently lost in pleasant dreams, for
there was a faint smile on his lips. Not for the first time, he wondered at the
youthfulness of Frodo’s features, obviously a Baggins trait, for Bilbo always
appeared far younger than his years as well. As much as Frodo would fret on
occasion about being so much older than Sam, Sam always privately thought that a
preposterous matter over which to be concerned. He had no doubt that, at this
rate, the day would eventually come when he would appear older than Frodo, for
he could never imagine those graceful features aging at all. It didn’t take too
long for Sam to resolve that the risk of waking Frodo must be faced, for the
temptation of that tantilizingly warm body in his arms was impossible to resist
any longer.
So under the blankets he slipped once again, folding his arms around Frodo, and
smiling as Frodo, sleepily blinking open his eyes, returned the embrace. “I was
dreaming about you,” Frodo whispered, lightly kissing his cheek, “and here you
are.”
“Just startin’ up the tea, dearie,” Sam murmured, trailing kisses down the side
of Frodo’s neck. “Not so far away at all.”
“Ah, Sam, you spoil me so,” came a deep chuckle from Frodo, as he threw back his
neck to Sam’s most alluring invitation.
“No more’n you deserve, me dear,” was the throaty response, as Sam’s strong hand
ran lingeringly up Frodo’s side.
“Remind me, my dear, why we still have all this clothing on,” Frodo asked
rhetorically, promptly setting about divesting himself and Sam of the most
significant portions of same.
“Well, it was that cold last night, Frodo-love,” Sam felt compelled to point
out, as he fell to assisting Frodo with alacrity.
“That was no reason at all, absolutely no reason,” was the rather distracted
reply, and feeling Frodo’s hand suddenly wrap most significantly around himself,
Sam could only manage a breathless gasp of complete agreement.
First breakfast was somewhat late that morning.
&&&&&
The mist showed no sign of letting up that morning, so first breakfast, and
indeed, second breakfast passed by, and still the two hobbits remained,
well-tucked into their woolen blankets, until late into the morning. For, as
Frodo quite sensibly pointed out, with such an unfamiliar road as they were
following, it made no sense whatsoever to go blindly stumbling about in the
thick white fog. There was plenty of time, after all, and if they should choose
to spend a day or two where they were, well, what of it? Sam had cheerfully
assented, and only made the sporadic foray out for more water for the kettle,
for indeed, spending the morning snuggled in Frodo’s arms was pure bliss, no
matter how hard the ground. Their conversation, occasionally desultory, had
strayed from topic to topic but eventually had in time lit upon tales of the
lands to which they were headed.
“So this was once the land of the Kings of Men?” Sam asked, a bit confused and
still trying to piece together what Frodo was telling him.
“Well, a very long time ago, I suppose,” Frodo replied thoughtfully. “That would
have been back in the times before the Shire; when hobbits were still living in
the east. But those times were hard, and they moved westward, out from the Misty
Mountains into the West. They say that the great Kings of Men, in their Northern
Kingdom, gave the Shire to hobbits in exchange for keeping the Bridge. And that
we have done all these many years, while the Northern Kingdom faded away into
memory only. So Lake Evendim would be the closest that hobbits came to those
Kings of the West. And I’ve always wondered what was left of it all.”
“And that’d be why we’d be here, rather than at our hearth,” Sam smiled fondly
at him. “Well, it does sound like a rather grand adventure, Frodo-love, for all
that we are lost here in the mist.”
“Why, Sam, not lost at all,” Frodo answered with a teasing laugh, and a quick
burrow of his slightly chill-reddened nose against Sam’s warmly clad shoulder.
“For are you not here with me? So how could I ever be lost?”
Direct conversation trailed off somewhat after that remark, and the hours of the
rest of the morning passed by unnoticed, albeit in a most entertaining manner.
&&&&&
It wasn’t until the height of noon that the mist had finally burnt off, and the
two hobbits collected their gear, broke camp, and took to the road once again.
The sky remained a whitened blank, but the forests, and more importantly the
road, were clearly visible once again. “These are different woods, t’be sure,”
Sam commented with an interested eye. “Pine aplenty we have in the Shire, an’
cedar likewise, but these other trees are a different lot.”
“Spruce, I believe,” Frodo gave the forest to either side a critical glance.
“And fir as well, I think.” He glanced ahead, where the road lay straight and
open, and only partially over-grown to the sides. “This was quite a feat, this
road. See how grand it still lies, even though those who made it are long since
gone. They must have been mighty indeed, those old Kings of the West.”
“And they gave us hobbits the Shire,” Sam commented, somewhat wonderingly.
“Well, that was uncommonly fair, and no mistake, for I doubt if wherever we came
from could ever have been so fine.”
Frodo smiled fondly at him, and walking closer, reached out and intertwined
Sam’s fingers in his own.
Sam’s heart gave a leap at that simple action, as he returned the affectionate
clasp, for it was something that Frodo did not often do, and he immediately cast
any remaining doubt regarding this expedition out of his mind, feeling supremely
happy.
A tall cloaked figure, as brown as the pine trunk he stood against and as
equally unnoticed by the travelers, watched them pass with keen eyes and a
mildly curious expression. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he vanished
into the deep forest.
&&&&&&
The small stream by which they had camped the previous evening grew as it ran
beside the road, while they walked on that afternoon. After the side of the road
had dropped away, falling into a rocky bed below where they were walking, they
came to a fork where the stream had split up with a larger river, the Brandywine
River itself. From where they stood, watching the mighty River in awe, they
could see the major portion of the Brandywine surging over boulders and
disappearing into a canyon that drew it away from the road. A bit of late
afternoon’s slanting amber light had finally broken through the haze and shone
upon the fine mist that arose from the water, golden and glittering. Sam gazed
upon the beautiful sight with awe. “Now isn’t that fine?” he turned, commenting
softly to Frodo, but Frodo’s attention was fixed further up the road.
“Listen, dear, do you hear it?” he asked, giving Sam a delighted smile, and
grasping his hand once again. “It can’t be that far ahead.”
And indeed, Sam could now hear the muffled sound as well, a sort of dull
pounding. But before he had a chance to inquire as its nature, Frodo gave him an
insistent tug, and started to walk on a brisk pace. “We should be able to make
it before dark, Sam. What a glorious sight it must be!”
Sam scrambled to keep up, and as he did so, recognized the sound. It was water,
but an unleashed and mighty sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before. It
was something like he had thought the sea must sound, for his dreams had been
disturbed as of late, but when they turned the rocky corner of the road ahead,
he saw that it was something very different.
A tremendous burst of spray and pouring water came plummeting down from a cliff
high above them. It fell foaming into a huge rock strewn pool far down from the
side of the road, and burst wildly up again, surging into the river that they
had been following. The road had changed as well, for no longer was it a broad
sandy thoroughfare, but a jagged ledge, cut into broad steps, disappearing into
the growing gloom, up the side of the rocky mountain wall of the falls to where
it disappeared into the mist above.
“Oh, Frodo!” Sam gasped, shocked at the awesome sight. “Glory! Ain’t that
something! But surely, we’d not be trying to make our way up that? That ain’t
made for the likes o’hobbits, no ways!”
“It is rather breath-taking, isn’t it?” Frodo exclaimed, with a broad grin. “And
don’t you worry, Sam dear; it’s far too late this afternoon to be attempting any
thing of the sort.”
That was not the most comforting response to Sam, but there was no time to
debate it now, as Frodo turned back again the rocky corner they had just passed.
“I thought I noticed a decent enough spot to spend the night, but I was rather
distracted…” he muttered. “Ah! Here it is.” He turned back to Sam, who had
followed him out of sight of the falls, and pointed toward a nook that appeared
comfortable enough; well-wooded about, and sheltered from spray and most of the
thunder of the falls. “It’s too dark now to make any decisions tonight. We can
get a better look at the whole affair tomorrow.”
Sam nervously kept his apprehensions to himself as he set up camp, but that
night, under the blankets, his grip on Frodo was unusually tight. Frodo said
nothing, but stroked his curls from his forehead soothingly and kissed him
warmly. “Don’t you worry, Sam-love,” he whispered. “If it looks impossible
tomorrow, we’ll just look for another way.”
Sam nodded silently, but he heard the suppressed note of excitement in Frodo’s
voice, and kept his own doubts to himself. It wasn’t long before he felt Frodo’s
body relax against his, as he fell into sleep, but it was much longer before
sleep came for Sam. The howl of wolves that began late in the night did not
help.
&&&&&
Strider looked up in surprise as a couple of his men deferentially escorted the
wizard into their camp. “Radagast!” he exclaimed. “Seeing you is unanticipated.
Gandalf, I expected, but I thought you’d still be in the lands to the south.”
The old wizard, with his shaggy unkempt hair and decidedly dusty and tattered
traveling garments, briefly shook his head. “Plans have changed,” he pronounced
in his customarily slow and gravelly voice; sounding, as always, as if the words
themselves had to be remembered before they were spoken. “Gandalf will come
indeed, but later than expected. And he has not the time to venture this far
north, but bids me find you instead, to deliver a message.”
“Indeed?” queried Strider curiously. “Then this must be a matter for close
council. Let us retire,” he motioned welcomingly to the visitor, and led the
wizard to his tent. Some short time later, the wizard was comfortably seated
before the central fire that burned continuously in the large tent, and was
well-wrapped in a warm blanket with something hot and strong to drink in his
hand.
“Ah,” he rumbled, at last, as Strider seated himself on the rug at his side and
patiently awaited the wizard’s pleasure. “ ‘Tis a good life you have here,
Elessar. Naught of the frippery of Rivendell. All the comforts that really
matter. Good and trustworthy men about you. But there are matters to be
addressed.”
Strider nodded acknowledgement, for in fact the wizard spoke the truth, at least
in all regards save one, which was closely guarded in his heart. Still curious,
however, he tried to gently lead the visitor to the topic at hand. “You
mentioned Gandalf and a message for me,” he queried, deferentially. “Might I ask
as to its nature?”
“Hmmm,” Radagast growled softly, and then fell silent, staring into the flames.
Long moments passed, as Strider tried his best to control his curiosity. He had
learned a very long time ago that there was no point to trying to hurry Radagast
on any matter.
At last, the brown wizard gave a soft grunt, and straightening in his seat,
directed a piercing gaze at the man. “There is great evil abroad,” he stated
abruptly, his words for once clear and precise. “There has been treachery and
betrayal, and Middle Earth may never be the same. One of the instruments of the
Dark Lord himself, indeed, his most powerful invention, now lies in the Shire.
Those who hold It know not what they have, and he is determined to seize It
before It is lost to him forever. Before very long, evil will assault the Shire,
and what you have guarded there for so long may well be irretrievably gone.”
“Gandalf should have been here by now,” the wizard continued, not noticing
Strider’s expression of dismay and turning his eyes back to the fire. He fell
silent again for several moments and then abruptly glanced back to Strider. “It
is a Ring,” his words were once again meticulous and sharp. “Utterly evil and
seductive. It promises everything to the bearer, and if that invitation is
accepted, the bearer is destroyed. He will answer to the will of the Dark Lord
alone, and any goodness that was in his heart is lost forever. Sauron,” and at
the mention on that foul name, Strider paled visibly, “is inexorably committed
to recovering this instrument of his power, which he carelessly lost so very
long ago, for when he does so, his power over Middle Earth will be unbreakable.”
“But what is so very odd,” he continued more slowly, sightlessly turning back to
the fire once again, “is that the very hobbit who, albeit unknowingly, holds
this device, is even now approaching us, far from his home. Frodo Baggins is his
name, and he is camped by the falls, this very night, with a companion of his.”
“Frodo Baggins?” Strider had finally found his voice. “Is he related to Bilbo
Baggins, then?”
“The hobbit who dwells at Rivendell?” and even in the midst of his grim tidings,
Radagast could not help a glance of amusement toward Strider. “The very same
indeed. Bilbo’s heir and cousin, I believe, point of fact. I’m sure Bilbo would
be delighted to give you the precise genealogy, should he ever have the
opportunity.”
“Why does he come here, then?” persisted Strider. “And does he bear that of
which you spoke even now?”
“I’m not certain of the first. And as for the later, I suspect not, and that is
most curious,” murmured the wizard, his gaze returning sightlessly to the fire.
“Bilbo held It in his possession for many years, and the fact that drew It to
Gandalf’s attention was that Bilbo never seemed to leave It out of his pocket,
but was forever handling It. It is most unlike a hobbit to be attracted to any
manufactured device, especially one of metal, you must admit. A dwarf, perhaps,
but not a hobbit. That is what aroused Gandalf’s suspicions and caused him to
journey to Gondor, where he discovered the truth of this seemingly innocent
bauble. Bilbo certainly never had any idea of Its power, and it would seem that
Its present owner does not either. For otherwise he would never be so far from
home without It.”
“But how can you know he does not have this device on him?” Strider queried, not
understanding.
The wizard’s dark eyes returned to those of the man. “His hand was joined with
that of his companion,” he mentioned briefly, with the ghost of a smile playing
about his lips. “The Ring is, above all, possessive and desirous for all Its
owner’s attention. I daresay it’s safe to assume that he has not brought It on
this trip. Indeed, Gandalf told me that he had left quite precise instructions
with Frodo as to the inadvisability of using It, and it seems as though the
young hobbit has complied, quite fortunately for us all.”
There were a few moments of silence as Strider tried to make sense of all this,
and Radagast turned his attention back to the flames. Finally Strider gave a
polite cough, to attract the wizard’s attention again, and when he had done so,
hesitantly questioned him. “You mentioned that Gandalf had a message for me?” he
gently prompted him. “Might I ask what the message would be?”
“Hrrmph, certainly,” Radagast blinked as if drawing his attention back from very
far away. “Yes, the message. Quite nearly forgot that.” With a long swallow, he
drained the goblet, and setting it down near his seat, continued on. “Gandalf
has sent word to me that he will, within the month, be journeying to the Shire
to summon Frodo. The Ring must be brought to Rivendell, where Its fate shall be
decided by the free people of Middle Earth. Every day It remains in the Shire,
It imperils that fair land, for it will not be long before Sauron discovers Its
whereabouts, and the Shire will never be able to withstand his wrath.”
“Does Gandalf wish me to carry this thing to Rivendell, then?” Strider asked
curiously.
“No!” exclaimed Radagast abruptly at Strider’s question, and gave him a piercing
look. “You are never to touch this foul instrument, Elessar, just as neither
Gandalf nor I may. The more powerful the possessor, the more quickly he is
turned to evil, and none of us may risk that. Indeed, Gandalf believes that only
a hobbit may carry it and remain unharmed, and not even for long at that, for of
all races on Middle Earth, hobbits are the least attracted to the seductions of
power.”
“So he is going to ask that this young hobbit bear this malevolent thing to
Rivendell?” Strider asked, rather incredulously. “That seems rather an unjust
request of him to make.”
“There are other reasons,” Radagast’s gaze returned to the fire, and to Strider,
it seemed as though there was sadness in that rough voice. “But your part,
Elessar, is to meet this hobbit, and accompany and protect him, if needs be.
Gandalf hopes to be accompanying him as well, but there is a mission that he
must carry out first, and there is the possibility he may be detained. I warned
Gandalf that he has always been stronger than we, but Gandalf persists in
relying on old bonds of friendship, despite everything. Leave it be, I’ve told
him, but he insists that he must see for himself…” the troubled mutter trailed
bewilderingly off, but Strider dared not ask and waited patiently for the wizard
to continue. “Late summer, in Bree,” the shaggy head spun around towards him
once more, his words again precise. “Inn of the Prancing Pony. Wait there as
long as it takes. I will take you to see Frodo Baggins tomorrow, so that you may
not mistake him then. It is essential, however, that he does not see us.”
“I have been invisible to hobbits for many years,” Strider responded wryly,
rising from his rug. “It is not a skill that requires a great deal of cunning.”
&&&&&
Sam reached the summit with decidedly wobbly legs and an undisguised sigh of
relief. That tedious treacherous climb up the great stone stairs, too widely
spread apart for the comfort of a hobbit, and slick with the spray from the
falls, was an experience that he did not wish to repeat anytime soon. The
thought of a trip back down those very same stairs, with the turbulent
Brandywine roaring at the side of them, did not bear consideration. But Frodo
had chuckled warmly, as he reached out and pulled Sam up the final step, giving
him a quick reassuring and rather apologetic kiss, and quite logically pointed
out that there must be another route. “That road would never have the supply
route,” he comforted Sam, “for nothing heavy or cumbersome could have ever been
hauled that way. There must be another route, and that’s what we will use when
we return.”
“An’ I’d be thankin’ you for that, m’dear,” Sam responded with a quick grateful
smile. “Sometimes, the long way about’d be the best, and those are stairs I’d
not like to be goin’ down, no ways.” He shrugged his pack back up his shoulders
and gazed about. “But ‘tis another country up here, altogether now.”
Frodo glanced about them as well at Sam’s remark, and had to admit that Sam was
right. The deep forests were sparser up here, and the banks of snow lay under
nearly every tree. There was a decided nip to the air, as well as a bit of a
tang that Sam could not place at all, and the dark grey sky indicated that
winter was far from over in these parts, if indeed, Sam thought privately to
himself, it ever left them.
The Brandywine still flowed to their right, swift and turbulent in the center
before it disappeared over the precipice of the falls, but it was also
considerably wider at this point. The water along the banks was much shallower,
and splashed against the rocky shores in a far less violent fashion than it had
below. In fact, there appeared further ahead some sort of ruined weir, half
swept away by the relentless water.
“Look, Sam!” Frodo’s excitement was unmistakable, as he pointed it out to his
companion. “There may be remains of the ancient home of the Kings of Westernesse
still here after all!”
Sam couldn’t help a quick thrill of foreboding at that notion, however, Frodo’s
enthusiasm was beginning to be contagious, and it certainly appeared that no
matter what this place might have been in the distant past, it was undeniably
deserted now. “No way of knowin’ unless we look,” he gave Frodo a grin and,
Frodo once again taking the lead, they began to follow the river’s edge
upstream.
&&&&&
Strider stood unseen under the trees next to Radagast, and stared thoughtfully
at the departing travelers. “You’re quite right, not an ordinary hobbit at all,”
he spoke softly to the wizard. “At least, the dark-haired one is not. Bilbo
Baggins’ cousin, you say? Certainly not much of a resemblance between the two.”
“Not in appearance, that is true,” the response came in a low murmur. “But in
other ways, they are very much alike. Curious and brave, and not afraid of
leaving the comforts of the Shire. Traits that he’ll be needing quite soon, it
would seem.”
“And the other hobbit?” the ranger turned curiously to him. “What do we know of
him?”
“Other than the fact he obviously means a good deal to Frodo Baggins, not much,”
Radagast gave a soft rumble of a chuckle. “However, Gandalf had mentioned that
Mr. Baggins would likely have a companion with him, and I think that we may
safely assume that is who he meant.”
“Well, the first is definitely not a face I’m likely to forget,” Strider nodded
with a slight smile. “Tell Gandalf I will be awaiting him and the hobbits at the
Prancing Pony from mid-summer on. I have no doubt but that Butterbur will be
delighted to have my company for such an extended period of time,” he added with
a wry grin.
&&&&&
Frodo stood out on the carefully stacked stones which left a quiet pool to one
side of the river, his strong toes carefully planted on the wet slippery rocks.
“See how cunning this is, Sam,” he shouted enthusiastically to the younger
hobbit, who was standing on the shore, nervously watching him. “Fish feeding
along the banks are swept into this pool, and cannot overcome the current to get
out,” he explained, pointing to the current-facing opening contrived by a few
well placed boulders.
“Aye, ‘tis clever enough,” Sam had to admit as he held out a hand to Frodo,
cautiously making his way back along the weir. “But who’d be takin’ the fish
these days?” he added thoughtfully, as he tugged Frodo ashore.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s some sort of animal about that finds this a handy feeding
ground,” Frodo replied, with a careless shrug. “Weasels, or something of the
sort, no doubt.”
Sam thought of the howls of the wolves he had heard the night before and warily
considered several more likely creatures, none of which he would care to
encounter, but said no more as Frodo lifted his pack into place once again, and
eagerly set off.
More and more rock ruins began to appear as they continued on; low stone walls,
and what seemed to have once been small stone buildings, now open to the sky and
with nothing but seared grass showing in patches beneath the snowdrifts within.
The trees had become more scarce, and the land between was flatter and showed
signs of having been tilled once. But any perishable artifacts of those who had
once lived here were long gone, and it was only the wind-swept bones of a
forgotten life that still lay exposed to the hobbits’ curiosity.
When they stopped for a quick lunch, Sam hastily constructing, in the shelter of
the corner of two tumbled-down stone walls, the fire necessary to brew a
cheering mug of tea, Frodo took the opportunity to hunt through his pack. “Here
it is, although a trifle worse for wear, I suppose,” he laughed, brushing a
smear of butter from the map he triumphantly produced from the depths of the
crowded pack. “Oh, and also a jar of some of those toffees your sister May does
so well,” he added with a grin, handing it over to a startled Sam. “I thought
I’d surprise you with a bit of a sweet, Sam love, you do have such a fondness
for them.”
“As if you wouldn’t have the same, m‘dear,” Sam, smiling, scoffed gently and
opened it, offering it to Frodo first.
“Too true, Sam dearest, all too true,” Frodo chuckled, quickly accepting one.
“But look where we must be,” he added, smoothing the copy of the map, that he
had made last winter in Bag End’s study, over a flat stone. “This must be the
North Moors at last, for see, these are the falls, and these ruins about us must
be those of Annuminas.” Looking up, he gazed at the deserted road ahead. “The
Dim Hills lie before us, to the west, and then Lake Evendim itself. How I should
love to see that,” he added, softly and almost wistfully.
“Well, then, so we shall,” Sam replied stoutly, handing him his mug of tea.
“Here’s some dried apple and cheese still left from second breakfast, and I
suspect that if we spend only a moment or two by the weir, why, we might just
end up with a fine trout to cart along with us for our dinner.”
“What an excellent idea, Sam,” Frodo smiled, gratefully accepting the mug and
food. “It’s not as if we’ve an appointment to keep, after all. I suppose
reaching the Lake tomorrow or the next day will do just as well, and it never
does to pass up one of your excellent fish dinners.”
&&&&&&
It was later that day, just after noon, when they reached ruins of Annuminas
itself. The road had passed more and more of the stone ruins, and the imprint of
the remnants of the buildings had been increasing in size as well. The road had
been climbing for awhile, but as they topped a small crest and looked down,
Frodo breathed the word, “Annuminas!” in wonder as suddenly, in the valley below
them, were tall stone spires, great walls with majestic arched openings, and
vast entryways, with nothing but the keystone left above them. All were
magnificent, the relics of a kingdom more regal and splendid than any either of
them could ever have imagined, and all was utter decay. Some of the walls had
long since fallen into heaps of crumbling and lichen-covered stone, and some of
the remains of the towers were crowned by the unmistakable nests of great birds
of prey. Snow still lay drifted into the corners, and everything about this
frozen and desolate land lay entirely still.
“This ain’t never the Shire,” Sam murmured, staring in awe at the sight in the
valley below them. “It’s as if we’d stepped into a tale of the past,
Frodo-love.”
“Oh, Sam, you’re so right,” Frodo’s eyes were sparkling as his words formed
small misty clouds in the frigid air. “Isn’t it glorious? How grand it must have
been! What a shame we could not have seen it then!” And the shiver he gave was
not entirely due to the rapidly dropping temperature, as the setting sun was
reddening the darkening clouds.
&&&&&
Strider walked with Radagast past the silent ranger sentries, and gazed to the
east, where the dark night sky was veiled in clouds. As they stood somberly
together, Radagast preparing to depart, the low mournful wail of wolves on the
hunt pierced the silence. Strider gave the wizard an uneasy glance at that
sound. “Should I guard the hobbits?” he asked uncertainly. “I doubt that they
are used to creatures that fierce.”
But Radagast gave a dismissive shake of his head at the thought. “It has not
been a harsh winter; there is game aplenty. The wolves will not be bothering
your guests. There are worse in this world, I tell you, Elessar,” he turned with
a grim expression to his companion. “Creatures have been created who take joy in
the killing, even when they have no need to feed. We can only hope that they do
not reach these lands. Many matters are coming to a conclusion, my dear young
friend, and times will become much harder before they become better, if indeed
they ever do. But we all have a part that we must play in this, and none of us
may falter, or all will be lost. Hold true, Elessar, always, to what you know to
be right, and may the Valar be with you, and indeed, with us all.”
And with those words, he was gone into the night, leaving a startled and greatly
concerned man behind.
&&&&&&
Frodo dragged the heavy fir branch to the alcove, and surveyed it with
satisfaction. It must have been snapped off by the weight of the snow upon it
quite recently, since the needles were yet still green and fragrant. Snow had
begun to lightly fall, during the course of the afternoon, and he expected the
shelter that the branch, wedged between two stone walls, would afford them that
night would prove most welcome. With Sam’s assistance, it was shoved into place,
and the pieces of branch broken off were carefully gathered together for their
campfire. Sam had searched quite thoroughly, in the meantime, for some
relatively dry wood, and managed to find a few such dead branches. So by the
time it was dark, the hobbits had made a comfortable camp for themselves, fairly
dry and protected from the chill winds and increasing snow. The flames were
finally coaxed into life, and the fat trout was grilled to perfection,
accompanied by some herbs and Sam’s excellent fried taters. With the more than
satisfactory meal in their stomachs, and a hot mug of tea in hand, it was quite
an agreeable end to what had been an eventful day.
They had wandered through the overgrown and empty streets of Annuminas, gazing
with wonder at the ruins, and trying to guess what they had once been. The great
palace was unmistakable, but Sam had taken special interest in the streets of
what appeared to be shops and the like. “A smithy!” he had called out in delight
to Frodo, after one such discovery. “Just see this great hearth, and this
cistern! And here, there are still bits of metal about. Iron, and bronze,
seemingly,” he added, picking up just such an object. Sam stared at it then,
transfixed by the heavy piece and only able to faintly guess at its purpose,
murmuring, “How old these’d be, I wonder?”
Frodo had walked over and examined them curiously as well. “Some sort of
flattened ring,” he hazarded a guess. “Used for a bridle, or a saddle,
possibly.”
Sam considered this, turning the bit of metal over in his hand. “Aye,” he
allowed at last, “but look how large it’d be. Are they that much larger’n we
then, Frodo?” He looked at the remains of wall about them with a somewhat
intimidated air. “Have you ever seen a Big Person, me dear?”
“No, not really,” Frodo confessed, with a bit of a smile. “I’ve seen a dwarf or
two, come to call on Bilbo, but they are not that much taller than a hobbit. But
never a Big Person. Unless, of course, you consider Gandalf one, but somehow I
think that wizards would be the grandest of all. Not that all the folk of
Hobbiton would be agreeing with me on that matter,” he added with an impish
smile.
Sam gave a short chuckle. “Aye, true enough. But Elves, now,” he got a sudden
wistful look about him. “Elves, that’d be something right fine. But they’d not
be in these parts, no ways.” And then they both jumped, quite startled, as a
lofty pine behind them suddenly let a drooping branch crack and fall under the
weight of the snow that had once again begun to softly sift down on them. And it
was well they did, for there had silently gathered a pack of creatures right
behind them. Dogs were not that familiar a sight in the Shire, but they both
immediately knew that these grey thickly-furred beasts were not dogs at all. At
least five pairs of gold eyes watched them intently, but the wolves seemed as
startled to see them as were the hobbits, and made no motion, at least for the
moment, to approach them.
Sam’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight, but even through his fear,
suddenly realized what he held in his hands. “Frodo,” he whispered, and as Frodo
gave him a quick glance, deftly tossed one of the heavy metal rings towards him.
Frodo caught it, the side of his mouth quirking confidently up, and Sam suddenly
felt much better about their situation. No hobbit, with something heavy and
solid in his hands, was entirely without a weapon, and he knew that Frodo’s aim
was absolutely unfailing.
The leader of the pack now slowly began to approach them, his head lowering and
the fur on his neck suddenly bristling up. He gave a low growl, baring
impressive fangs, and the others began to unhurriedly fan out around them into a
semi-circle. But Frodo’s expression did not change, even as he quickly muttered,
“Another, Sam. Quickly!”
Sam tossed the other ring that he held at Frodo’s command, and then watched as
Frodo swiftly launched both of the heavy pieces of metal, one each at the ground
on either side of the wolf. Even though neither had hit him, the wolf gave a
terrified yip at the onslaught, and nearly instantly vanished, the rest of the
pack along with him.
Frodo’s laugh startled the ravens that had been perched on an arch high
overhead, watching the proceedings with interest, and with shrill caws, they
flapped heavily away into the leaden sky. “That ought to keep them from
bothering us again,” he chuckled, his eyes merry and his cheeks bright red in
the cold. “Hobbits may not have much in the way of teeth, but we do have certain
other skills. All the same, it might not be a bad idea to take some of this
metal with us, at least for the time being.”
Now, cozily snuggled against Frodo under their woolen blankets, it was easy for
Sam to forget that moment of terror that he had felt. Remembering Frodo’s face
during the confrontation, he realized that he had not seen anything on those
beloved features other than confidence, an easy assurance, and unmistakably, an
undisguised enjoyment of the excitement. And it was then that he finally knew.
Knew that Frodo was meant to leave the Shire one day. Knew that the anniversary
of Bilbo’s departure had nothing at all to do with it, really, but that it was a
path upon which Frodo had been set his whole life. And he also knew, without any
doubts, that Frodo would have left a very long while ago, if it weren’t for him.
That was the moment that he realized that he would be leaving the Shire as well,
with his family, his friends, all that he knew, left behind him. When this would
happen, he did not know, but it would happen as inevitably as spring followed
winter, even in a land such as this. But the one he would never leave was the
one his arms tightly circled, as they both stared at the reddened embers of the
fire, each lost in thought.
“You’re far away, Sam dear,” came Frodo’s soft voice as Sam lay in his customary
position on Frodo, his head tucked under Frodo’s chin. The back of a gentle hand
stroked his cheek once, tenderly, before disappearing under the blankets again.
“In five years, Frodo,” Sam said slowly, unable to stop himself. “Ten years,
mayhap. Will we still be at Bag End, do you think?”
There was silence for a few moments, and Sam fixed his gaze on the last of the
burning embers, the golden core nearly all replaced by a red glow. Then came the
quiet response, “Would you want to be, Sam?”
“I don’t have to be,” Sam’s response came as swift as thought. “It’d not be what
means the most t’me.”
“Your family relies a great deal on you,” Frodo’s words were quiet and
noncommittal.
“But I can’t be makin’ my life about that,” Sam tightened his grasp ever so
slightly. “The gaffer was going t’send me north to my brother’s, once. They
would have gotten used t’not havin’ me about the place.”
“Good point,” Frodo had to allow at that, and Sam could hear the hint of
amusement in his voice. “But still, Sam, you were but a young lad then, and not
the hobbit you are now.”
“Wasn’t too young t’be knowin’ my mind then, and ain’t too obliged to my family
t’be knowin’ my mind now,” and a slight note of truculence crept into Sam’s
tone.
Frodo’s hand returned to his cheek and cupped it softly, but he said not a word.
The last of the embers gave a quick spark just then, and faded into black, and
the night was completely dark. But Sam needed no light as he turned against
Frodo and raising his head slightly, found Frodo’s willing mouth. “I’ll follow
you the wide world over, Frodo me love,” he whispered, when the long, slowly
sensuous kiss had ended. “We’ll find great cities, and dragons and elves, and
great ancient forests, and lands where it’d be summer all the time. Everything
out of those wonderful books of Mr. Bilbo’s, dearie. And then we’ll come back to
Bag End, but when you like, we’ll be off again. Just say the word.”
He felt Frodo move slightly under him, adjusting to him, and then those familiar
hands slid under his jacket, tugging his shirt upwards. “Would you do that for
me, my dearest Sam?” he heard Frodo’s muted voice in his ear.
“Oh, Frodo,” he sighed, his own hands now slipping under waistband of Frodo’s
trousers, nimbly unfastening them with the skill of many years. “There’s not a
thing in all the world I would not do for you, my own love. And I’d be a’that
happy, me darling, to be doin’ it for you. The rest of the world’ll have to be
mindin’ itself now, for I’ve no thought for it, no ways.”
“Ah, Sam.” It was too dark to see Frodo’s face, but Sam knew he heard the
slightest catch in Frodo’s voice, and Frodo’s hands, now finding the flesh of
his waist, caressed his sides and, making only the briefest of pauses to
unfasten his trousers as well, continued to glide downwards. “You are the
greatest gift, Sam, a prize I don’t know how I ever earned. I love you with all
my heart, beloved, and always will.” And with that, his mouth was on Sam’s yet
again, and their hands were on each other, and they sighed, and softly moaned,
and rocked together, until they became one, once more.
&&&&&
It was the next day, when Frodo stood at the shore of Lake Evendim, that Sam
glanced at his face, the chill tangy winds lifting and twisting his dark curls,
and his eyes on the rolling, white-capped grey waves that seemed to stretch to
the ends of the earth. Sam stood on the stony shore not far from him, watching
the unfamiliar birds circle about, diving down from the pines that ran along the
water’s edge. But Frodo’s gaze was focused far away, and Sam was not surprised
to hear him murmur, “It’s so very immense, Sam, I never thought. Do you suppose
the sea looks like this?”
But before Sam’s heart could feel its familiar twist at that notion, Frodo
turned back to him, and smiled. “Not without you, Sam-love,” he said quietly,
holding a hand out to Sam, and for once, the expression in his eyes
unequivocally and unquestionably devoted. “Not without you.”
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