Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

What is wrong with Frodo? Legolas wondered for the hundredth time since entering Lorien. After leaving the flet, Haldir had led them to Caras Galadhon where they had met the Lord and Lady of the Wood. The Lady Galadriel had spoken to each of them in his own mind, disturbing some and comforting others. Frodo’s grief had appeared to be alleviated at the time, but since then he had once again grown brooding and silent. The whole Company had been grieved over Mithrandir’s death, the pheriannath especially, but their sadness had lifted once they reached the peace of Laurelindorenan and the comfort of the Lady. Frodo’s grief, too, should have been lifted, but there was still pain in his every glance. In the back of Legolas’ mind, the reason for it flitted about, but he was unable to catch the elusive thing. There was something that he, something that they were all, missing. What was it? He would approach Frodo later and offer his own comfort.

Sam was worried about Mister Frodo. He wasn’t eating anything, not natural for a hobbit, Baggins though he was; he slept but seldom, and when he did sleep he tossed and turned and would often cry out, “No! I’m sorry… I’m so sorry….” Gandalf’s death had hurt them all, but Frodo was taking it hard… it wasn’t healthy! After they’d seen the White Lady, Frodo had been at peace for a while, but his sadness had slowly re-emerged. Sam had tried to ask him about it, but Frodo had gently brushed him off. Nothing was wrong, he’d say, and would Sam please stop asking him about it? Samwise shook his head. It just wasn’t natural.

Aragorn chafed at the promise he had made. Frodo needed help, and he clearly was not going to ask for it, so someone would have to ask him about it. Alas, Aragorn had given his word not to ask of it, and Samwise was not having much better fortune. Boromir had talked to him, and it seemed as if that had helped, but Frodo was slipping back into his grief. Even Lady Galadriel had not rid him of it. The other hobbits had begun sharing memories and laughing at remembered quirks of Gandalf a few days after his passing, but not Frodo. True, he had been closer to the wizard than the others, but by now he should have joined his cousins in remembering Gandalf as he had lived. Aragorn had often come very close to talking to Frodo again, but he had kept his word. He would not break it.

Merry was worried. It seemed as if he hadn’t stopped worrying for years now. Pippin had healed, and had returned to his normal self, though now he seemed to take things more seriously. Boromir and Peregrin had bonded over the weeks they’d been in Lorien, and it seemed as if the Man was the key to Pippin’s regained… well, Pippin-ness. But Frodo… Frodo was a different story. His cousin had been so… quiet, so sad. His eyes… Merry could barely stand to look at them. Frodo would often wander off into the woods by himself for hours upon end, and when he returned he would appear to be comforted, but within a few minutes of returning he would again fall silent. Merry hadn’t approached Frodo about it, but he had kept a close eye on him whenever possible.

Gimli’s thoughts wandered from one matter to another. Well, mainly two. Frodo, Galadriel, Frodo, Galadriel… She was so beautiful. Gimli had never seen anything… anything as lovely as the Lady of the Wood. Something, not in her appearance but more in her mind, reminded him of his own kind. Something subtle… that perhaps only a Dwarf could discern, but it was there. As for the other matter... what was wrong with the Ringbearer, anyway? Gimli couldn’t quite put his finger on it... but there was something deeply the matter with the hobbit. Gimli wasn’t very good with words or comfort, but perhaps he should speak to Legolas about it. The Elf had been showing him kindness recently, and Gimli had dropped his... distaste for the Prince since reaching Caras Galadhon. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He’d talk to Legolas first thing in the morning... Now, Galadriel....

Pippin crouched behind one of the large tree trunks. He risked a peek around it, and quickly pulled his head back again. One... two... three... NOW! “Boo!” He cried. But Frodo was not there. Bewildered, Pippin looked around quickly. Where had he gone? He wasn’t... he wasn’t anywhere. He’d just been there! Pippin had seen him! He sighed. Well, so much for making him laugh. He thought dejectedly. His oldest cousin had been overly quiet lately... He’d always been sort of quiet, but now he just didn’t talk. At all. Peregrin couldn’t imagine how it was possible not to talk for more than five minutes, much less all the time. He remembered how he’d felt after Gandalf had died and how Boromir had helped him. Boromir had talked to Frodo too, but he hadn’t achieved quite the same effect with him. Pippin sighed again. What could be bothering his cousin this much?

The Grief and Guilt of a Ringbearer by Cantora Eledhwen