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The Trial of Frodo Baggins  by Gentle Hobbit

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out 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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Chapter 10: Kindred Spirits

They brought his bed over to the window which had been opened wide and they made him comfortable with many pillows. The afternoon sun shone strong and warm upon him, yet Frodo stood by his side and gazed down at his face sorrowfully, for the man still lay lost in evil dreams.

"How is he?" Frodo asked of the man standing beside him.

"Much better in body, my lord, since you tended to his wound. It no longer frets him as it did before."

Frodo smiled a little awkwardly. "I would prefer it if you were to simply call me Frodo. I am no lord, neither here nor in my own land."

"Then I will do so. I am called Tenegold."

Frodo bowed. "You have a great love for your captain. How did he come to such an evil state?"

Tenegold frowned. "It has been a slow and gradual process. Do not think he is weak, for he has dealt with more than men are made for, and I am thankful that I was not asked to endure the same." He fell into a reverie for a moment.

Frodo, sensing a need for his presence, climbed up onto the neighbouring window sill. Tenegold leaned against the stone wall. He spoke again.

"The City was under siege, and the Enemy had brought a terrible machine up to the very Gate. My company was fighting to keep the enemy from the Walls if the evil chance should fall that the Gate should be broken. The knights of Dol Amroth fought with us and together we were valiant! But my captain was the greatest of us all and he slew orcs until they were piled about his feet. But all was to no avail, for when the hideous machine -- a great ram -- was set to the Gate, a terror came that none of us could stand."

He stopped speaking, and trembled.

"If you don't wish to speak of it---" said Frodo, but the man shook his head.

"It is better to," he said. He breathed deeply and calmed himself. "They say that it was the Lord of the Nazgul; the Witch King of Angmar---" He broke off once more. "Are you all right, Frodo?" He looked at him with concern.

"I am all right," Frodo answered with difficulty. He took his hand away from his left shoulder. "Please continue."

Dubiously, Tenegold nodded slowly. "I have heard the tale in turn from those who heard it on the Field of Cormallen. Truly, you suffered a grave hurt from the Lord of the Nazgul. But forgive me. I see that the memory of it still lies heavy upon you. I will speak of your tale no longer."

"When the foul wraith came nigh, few of us could move. Those that could dropped their swords and ran, so great was their fear. But our captain stood between the Gate and the Black Horseman, and he would not let it pass. And when the men saw him, they took heart and did not run. But then the Wraith spoke thrice, the great ram swung thrice -- and on the third assay the Gate burst asunder with such a force that no-one could have foreseen. Alas! All those near the Gate were caught in the fury and were gravely wounded. Many were killed. I too was struck by debris but chance favoured me and, with effort, I soon could stand once more. But my Captain was thrown to the very feet of the Lord of the Nazgul."

Tenegold stopped and came out of his memory to see Frodo watching him in horrid fascination.

"What happened then?" Frodo whispered.

Tenegold looked down at his captain and put a hand gently on his shoulder. "The Nazgul laughed, a ghastly sound! and strode forward, over his very body. Once more, all was stillness, all waited, until Mithrandir came. Ah, Mithrandir!" He closed his eyes. "In all our terror, it was a grand thing to see. The Nazgul could not pass. And then, in that moment, we all harkened to the horns of the Riders of Rohan. At last, at last! We had a chance." Tenegold opened his eyes then and looked directly at Frodo. "But we could no longer fight. Those such as I who could move took up our wounded and retreated into the City."

He paused and held out his arms. "As you can see, my wounds have knitted well. Indeed, they would have bid me to leave these Houses were it not for my Captain. From the very moment he was brought here, he has lain in a dark dream. It was not until the King came and laid healing hands upon his body that he could awaken. But when he learned of the great numbers of our company who died in the breaking of the Gate, he could only blame himself. If others had not taken heart by his example and stayed when they had the chance to flee, they would have been still living. When faced with this seeming truth, he sunk back down into fevers and guilt-ridden dreams."

"But he could not have known!" said Frodo, upset.

"No, he could not have known," said Tenegold softly. "No one could have known of such an explosion. Truly that ram was laid with evil spells. Yet he lies here still. He does not die, but it seems he cannot live. His hurts do not heal, for he thrashes about when fey moods take him. But he knows my voice and my touch, even as he rejects all others." He smiled sadly. "When he called you a foul thing this morning, he did not know who you were. But in his dreams, the Lord of the Nazgul haunts him still."

* * *

Eowyn found Frodo later, once all needed work was done, sitting alone in his room.

"I heard that you were talking with Tenegold," she said, and sat down beside him.

"Yes," said Frodo. "He told me of what had happened to his company and his captain during the battle."

Eowyn sighed. "I too heard of that tale."

"Can there be nothing done for him?" asked Frodo. "It seems that there is no hope left."

She shook her head. "I do not know. The healers tend him day and night, but he is lost within himself. If there is aught that can be done -- I cannot say." She picked up Frodo's right hand then and began to work upon it.

Frodo watched her silently for a moment. Even as his fingers relaxed, and warmth stole through his hand, his thoughts turned towards the Nazgul and he shuddered.

"Did you not also suffer hurt from the Witch King?" he asked. "You told me of such an encounter, but I do not know what happened."

"I did," she said, and stayed her work upon his hand. "And I have not told you of it for I thought that it might give you distress. Do you wish to hear it?"

"I do now," said Frodo. "You see, until recently I thought myself alone in my misfortune with the Nazgul, but no longer do I think so."

"No, you are not, except in one way. For you are the only one the Nazgul sought. But perhaps we shared some kind of chance fate. For we both faced it, and fought it. It need not matter that you did not kill it! You defied it and that played no small part in its future downfall."

And so Eowyn told Frodo her story, even as she continued to work upon his hand. And if during the telling, her ministrations took a little longer or were more intense than was strictly necessary, neither she nor Frodo saw need to mention it. Indeed, once she had finished, Frodo was so moved that he found it within himself to tell her of his ill-fated encounter at Weathertop, and his flight to the Ford of Bruinen.

He found Eowyn to be an attentive and careful audience, one who did not ply him with questions or make unneedful comments. And as he talked on, the fellow-feeling grew strong within them both to the point where Frodo grieved even more at the thought of her departure on the morrow.

When he told her of this, she smiled sadly. "Yes. I feel it too. But perhaps there is someone else who would understand you if you wished to talk of your evil memories. Your kinsman Meriadoc too has fought the Nazgul, and would, no doubt, be glad to share your burden, as perhaps you could his."

"Merry," whispered Frodo. "I had forgotten. But he seemed so sure and unplagued by worries -- it seemed unlikely that he would need comfort. Yet he may! And what about you?"

Eowyn laughed then, a clear and delightful sound. "Do not fear for me! For when I return to Minas Tirith, I shall have Lord Faramir. Although I shall miss you, Frodo. But I hope to see you once more if perchance you come through Rohan on your journey home. If you come, and I have yet to return to Gondor, I shall take great pleasure in showing you my country and hosting you in the Golden Hall."

Frodo got up and bowed. "If I can, I shall come. I would not miss it if I were to have any choice in my route home."

"Then come and bid me farewell on the morrow, and if we have the good chance to have one further meeting, we shall delight in it!"

* * *

"Are you that sure you know where his house is?" Sam said skeptically as Pippin once more paused to look down a side street.

Pippin flapped his hands impatiently to quieten Sam. "Of course I do. I am just thinking, that's all."

"He doesn't remember," said Merry drily. "All that time to yourself in the City, and you still can't make your way around."

"I was on duty," Pippin said loftily. "I had more important things to do than to remember where I was on only one occasion!"

"So you don't remember where it is!" said Sam.

Pippin looked at him, a look of long suffering etched on his face. Suddenly he brightened. "Ah, Beregond! We were just on our way to you."

"We were?" asked Merry, and got a sharp elbow in his ribs.

"If you were, then you got yourself turned around," said Beregond chuckling. "It is back the way you came."

"Oh," said Pippin, crestfallen.

"Never mind," said Beregond. "The children are waiting for you and they are quite excited."

Pippin smiled. And once more they were on their way.

* * *

The tree towered over him, and he could hear the wind thrumming through the branches as he pressed himself against the trunk and out of sight of the Houses. Fellen had agonized over abandoning his group of friends who were, no doubt, meeting the hobbits at Bergil's house at this very moment. Was the Ring-bearer going to that meeting? Fellen did not know the answer, but the perian had said that he would be in the Garden around this time. Yet he was not here. And even though Fellen's punishment was ended and he was no longer confined to his level of the city, the boy knew that it was quite likely his freedom would be curtailed once more if his parents were to learn of his coming to the sixth level of the City.

The bark of the tree was rough and thick, and he could feel it creasing his cheek. But he could not move, for now he could hear footsteps on a path and unfamiliar voices. He shrank even closer to the tree and hoped that the intruders would pass by without noticing.

Pass by they did, and once they were gone, Fellen cautiously looked around the tree. Suddenly his heart leapt for joy, for he could see Frodo walking slowly out into the gardens.

Fellen dashed out from the safety of the tree, but no sooner than he had gone a few steps, Frodo looked towards him. The Ring-bearer seemed to sense that the trees offered welcome cover to the boy, for he changed his direction and drew nigh.

"You came!" saidFellen.

* * *

"Right then," said Sam. "Manrim, is it? You just stand there next to Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, and we shall see."

With a grin, Manrim scrambled to his feet and stood next to the two hobbits. "I am taller!" he cried happily.

"Only by an inch," said Telgan dismissively.

"Looks like we'll have to visit Treebeard again," said Pippin in an undertone to Merry, "if we're to keep our hero status among these young folk..."

Alnoth's sharp ears caught his whisper. "Who's Treebeard? Is he somebody you fought?"

"Goodness, no!" said Merry surprised and more than a little shocked. "He's an Ent."

"An Ent? What is an Ent? Can we fight it?"

Merry looked helplessly at the other two.

"No," said Sam firmly. "I've never met him, and from what I've heard, I wouldn't want to be making him angry. 'Tisn't safe."

"Besides," said Pippin, "there's been enough fighting what with orcs and trolls and Nazgul."

"Ooooh," whispered four children. All eyes were firmly fixed on Pippin. "Tell us about the Nazgul," said Felnor.

Pippin hesitated and looked at Merry.

"No thanks," said Merry. "But you tell them about that troll you killed. That's one for the storybooks!"

"It is indeed," said Sam. "I wouldn't mind hearing about that again."

Pippin grinned happily. "All right, if you insist." His voice lowered confidentially. "I am not going to tell you all about our trip to the gates of Mordor. That was horrible stuff, and I don't even want to think about it. But, that troll... well... all you lot know how short we hobbits are. But do you know how big trolls are? You do? Well, then, you can certainly imagine what would happen if one of those great ugly beasts were to land on top of you after you had smitten it with your sword..."

* * *

They sat in a small secluded niche set in the wall, hidden from most eyes by the trees between them and the Houses, and by bushes and flowers about them. Frodo had thought to sit on the Wall once more, or perhaps amongst the trees, but Fellen earnestly begged him to come to this nook, away from chance encounter.

With a small but gentle smile, Frodo willingly followed, and now the two were hidden, comfortably settled with their backs against the stones.

At first Frodo waited, wishing to give Fellen a chance if the boy indeed wanted to ask questions of him. But when no questions were forthcoming, Frodo looked at him, puzzled.

"Why aren't you with the other children? Aren't they meeting the other hobbits now?"

Fellen looked quite astonished that Frodo should ask this. "I wanted to meet you," he said. "You are the Ring-bearer."

Frodo winced.

"I'm sorry!" said Fellen, aghast. "Shouldn't I have said that?"

"No, no, it's all right," Frodo said quickly, ashamed of himself.

Fellen frowned, and earnestly said, "You aren't like the other Pheriannath. You seem so sad. I have wondered why." Then, quickly, "But I haven't said anything to anyone!"

Frodo looked at him in mute surprise. Cautiously, he smiled. "Thank you."

Fellen smiled back, a broad and happy grin. But then it faded. "Why are you so unhappy," he asked hesitantly. "You threw down the Dark Lord. Did he hurt you?"

Once again Frodo was at a loss for words. At last he said with difficulty, "I suppose he did."

"Oh." Fellen didn't quite know how to take this unexpected and straightforward answer. "Is that why you are here, at the Houses of Healing?"

"Partly," said Frodo, wondering anxiously what direction the boy's questions would turn to next. But Fellen sensed his mood

"I am asking too many questions, aren't I," he said, downcast.

"Perhaps a little," Frodo admitted. "But I don't mind. However, I'd rather not talk about why I am here, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Fellen said, eager to agree to anything the Ring-bearer might want. "But I would like you to be my friend," he added, a little wistfully.

A little dazed, Frodo wondered briefly if this child were sent by the Healers, or perhaps Aragorn, or even Sam. But no sooner had that thought occurred to him than it vanished. The boy's questions were honest and unfeigned.

"All right," he said, touched by the boy's simple request. "But on two conditions," he added, a little sternly.

Fellen's eyes widened and he nodded vigorously.

"One: that you call me Frodo."

The boy nodded again. "Frodo," he whispered.

"And two: that you don't treat me like a hero. All right?"

"But you are a hero," objected Fellen. "Everybody knows it."

Frodo sighed. "Maybe, but I don't feel like a hero, and..." he trailed off. Fellen sat there, expectantly waiting. Frodo sighed again. "Look, I am going to tell you something. I made a great mistake and I almost hurt many people. So, you see, I am not a hero. I helped throw down the Dark Lord, yes. But it wasn't only me. Sam is a bigger hero than I am. And Merry and Pippin helped save Minas Tirith. Really, they are more important."

"But you didn't want to hurt anybody, right?" asked Fellen perplexed.

"Well, no, I didn't."

"And you actually went into Mordor, right? You chose to go into Mordor."

"I did," Frodo admitted.

"But nobody wants to go to Mordor. You went there to throw the Ring into the Fire. I heard the story."

"I wanted to do that..."

"But nobody wanted to go there! You wanted to help all of us, so you went there!" Fellen was upset. "Only a hero would do that! You might have been killed."

Shocked and dismayed, Frodo stared at the boy who was on the verge of tears. He had said too much, even as he thought that he was saying little.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I suppose you are right, from the way you see it. All right then, I won't say I'm not a hero. But if you want to be my friend, then please don't treat me like a hero. It is too uncomfortable. Just treat me like a friend. All right?"

"All right," said Fellen. Hesitantly, he smiled through his tears. "No wonder you are sad if you always think about your mistake. I am always making mistakes, but I don't want to think about them."

Suddenly Frodo laughed -- a small sound in the beginning, but it grew as he gave himself over to mirth. He felt such relief in being accepted as other than a hero. Fellen joined in, hesitant at first, but soon he was giggling with abandon.

"Oh dear," Frodo said, wiping his eyes. "Yes, I think we shall be good friends. All right then, friend, what would you like to do?"

Fellen jumped to his feet. "There is something I want to show you."

Frodo stood. "Where is it?"

"On the third level. But I know ways that will take us there quickly. You needn't go by the road!"

"Ah," said Frodo, a little disappointed. "I cannot leave the Houses of Healing. I have promised that I will stay here until they give me leave to go."

"That's all right," said Fellen. "I can show you later."

Frodo smiled. "I shall look forward to it then."

 

To be continued.





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