Disclaimer: All the settings and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (except for the minstrel Menelor and the more fully realized Farohan who was nameless in the books). This story is my way of working out or interpreting ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's Note: The quotation at the beginning of this chapter is lifted directly out of The Return of the King. The words are written, of course, by Tolkien (George Allen & Unwin, 1965, p. 232). They are set in italics for identification.

There is a fairly brief reference in this epilogue to a character that is from another story of mine: The Trial of Frodo Baggins. It is not necessary to have read that story to understand this epilogue, although it would bring background to the character. It is enough to know that this other character also learned of Frodo in his own way, met him briefly and, like Farohan, missed him greatly when he left Minas Tirith.

Epilogue

And at the last, as the Sun fell from the noon and the shadows of the trees lengthened, he ended. "Praise them with great praise!" he said and knelt. And then Aragorn stood up, and all the host arose, and they passed to pavilions made ready, to eat and drink and make merry while the day lasted.

~o~O~o~

All the rest of the day, Farohan and Menelor moved about the tables in the pavilions, playing their harps and singing as was their custom.

Only distantly could Farohan see the Ring-bearers, yet during the evening feast, he heard the glad voice of Samwise break through the clamour. Then he knew that the Hobbit had caught sight of Merry and Pippin as they were fulfilling their duties to their Kings.

~o~O~o~

Farohan did not see the hobbits after that day for a long time, for now that the waiting was over, his own duties as minstrel kept him busy, and the four hobbits went out and explored Ithilien together. But one evening, when Farohan was sitting on the banks of the Anduin and listening to the ripples of the water against the river edge, he heard a gentle voice from behind him, asking his pardon.

There in the soft shadows of twilight stood Frodo.

Farohan hastily moved to stand up, but the Ring-bearer bade him stay seated.

"It is easier for me not to have to look up," he said. "May I join you?"

"Of course!" stammered Farohan. "I would be honoured."

Frodo sat down but he was silent. Farohan studied him. In the last flush of fading light from the sunset, Frodo's face seemed younger, as if the light had smoothed away the fine lines that Farohan had seen earlier. But his eyes were of an aged soul, soft and thoughtful, but unhurried and at peace.

"You do not keep company with your friends tonight," said Farohan. "Are you well?"

"Oh no," said Frodo. "No. I am well." He looked out over the water and gave a little laugh. "I suppose I am in the mood for quieter company tonight. And when I saw you there, I thought I should like to meet you. I do hope you don't mind. Please let me know if I am intruding."

"You are not," Farohan assured him. "I was, in truth, enjoying the quiet, and the sounds of the breeze and the river. Yet I have wanted to meet you--very much."

Now, in turn, the Ring-bearer studied him. Farohan sat still and looked out to the ships that drifted in their moorings. He could still feel the Ring-bearer's gaze, but he patiently submitted to it. Surely it was Frodo's turn now to examine him!

And then, with a sudden smile, Frodo spoke. "Yes. I thought I knew you. You are the minstrel with the beautiful voice. And behind you must be your harp, wrapped closely though it seems to be. You sang the lay about--the lay that Sam loves."

"The lay about you," Farohan said gently.

Frodo looked down then, and Farohan caught a quick movement of his hands; the left covered and clasped the right.

"Yes," Frodo said softly. "The lay about me."

Farohan shifted then and sat, one leg folded beneath him, facing the Ring-bearer. "Was... was it all right? Did it meet with your approval? I... I so hoped that I took no undue liberty."

Frodo laughed then, and it was a lighter sound. "Oh no. No. Not at all. Do not mind me! If I seem sombre, it is just a mood that is on me tonight." But his voice became quiet again. "The lay," he said, and he lingered over the word. "Sam loved it ever so much."

Farohan let out his breath. "I am glad. So glad."

But Frodo continued. "Did you know--although I don't know how you could have--Sam had longed to hear just such a telling of the story, sung at some grand gathering." A note of wonder had crept into his voice. "He even had the name already chosen--the very same as yours."

Farohan started. Gandalf! he thought. Frodo looked at him and waited, but Farohan said nothing. And so Frodo spoke again.

"It gave me such great pleasure to see Sam's delight, and so I must thank you for your gift of kindness."

"It was my honour to be the one to sing that lay." Farohan said, almost fiercely. "The more I learned about what you had done, and who you are, the more I loved you. All who know you love you."

But on hearing these words, Frodo looked away. At last his own words came, low but with feeling. "You do me too much honour, I fear. Yet, for that, I must thank you. Sam and I have been shown nothing but kindness since we awoke, and these have been glad days."

Sudden doubt assailed Farohan. "I didn't... the lay did not cause you pain?"

Frodo looked fully at him then, and there was a faint smile on his face. "I suppose it did, a bit. Perhaps it is a sign of your great skill that I felt almost as if I were there once more. It is not a thing I would wish to visit again."

But when Farohan bowed his head, the soft voice spoke again. "Please do not fret. The lay was beautiful, and it has given great pleasure. And of all the rewards I think Sam should have, for all that he has done, this one is among the greatest. And so I treasure what you have done. For that, I would gladly listen to it again."

Farohan looked up again, and there was Frodo's face, gentle in the shadows. The last of the light lingered low in the west, but no longer did it reach the eastern shore of the Anduin.

Farohan never knew afterwards what had moved him to do what next he did. Perhaps it was the last of the twilight that faintly lined Frodo's face in some elusive manner. Perhaps it was something in the way Frodo leaned just slightly into the soft breeze, as if the wind were some living thing that brought its own whispers of what might be or what may have been.

"Come with me onto one of those ships," Farohan said. "Come--I wish to show you something."

And so the Ring-bearer, without hesitation or guarded feeling, followed the minstrel onto the nearest of the ships. Up to the prow Farohan went, bearing the harp and Frodo came after, content not to ask questions but to wait for whatever Farohan might do next.

And Farohan sat in the vee of the prow on a great pile of sacking that awaited the morrow's storage and he rested the harp, still in its wrapping, up high so that the breeze, stronger over water, beat softly against it.

"Sit close to the harp," Farohan said, and Frodo silently obeyed.

And when Frodo himself was perched high on a crate, Farohan whispered softly, "Listen!"

And he drew away the cloth with one hand as the other steadied the harp. And within the frame of the harp, through the shadowy lines of the strings, he could see Frodo's face faintly.

Softly at first the sound came, and Frodo leaned forward so as to hear it better. For the wind caught each and every string, from the greatest span to the smallest, and set them whispering, just a faint breath of a chime at the first. But as the breeze caught the strings more firmly, the whisper became a hum, and the hum became a stream of sound, as if the stars were ringing softly in the firmament.

Frodo's eyes widened, and he pressed himself closer--not quite touching--yet he was drawn to the strings as a moth to a flame. And he stayed there, with a faint smile on his face, unmoving.

And so they listened, and Farohan felt the wind stream through the humming strings, and it flowed through the dark curls of the Ring-bearer's hair in a steady, never-ceasing motion. It was not until at last the wind dropped and the singing of the strings ceased that the two moved again. But caught by the hush of the night, and the music echoing in their heads, they did not speak again but smiled instead and went separately to shore and to their rest.

~o~O~o~

After that night on the ship, Farohan did not see Frodo again save at a distance. Yet he was comforted in his disappointment, for each time he thought of Frodo's quiet joy that night over the song of wind and harp, he knew this: that even though he had finished his lay and learned what he could of Frodo, the story itself would continue. Frodo still had more of his own story to live. Yet Farohan often felt a pang of loss, for he knew Frodo would soon leave for his homeland and be no more amongst Men.

But it was on such a day, well into fall, and several months after the pheriannath had left Minas Tirith that Farohan met Legolas. Upon speaking wistfully of the Ring-bearer, Farohan was taken by the Elf to a dwelling on the 5th circle of the City. And here Legolas introduced him to a young lad.

"It seems to me," said Legolas to the two of them, "that you are united by a love for Frodo. Beregond told me of you, Fellen, when I was last in Ithilien, not five days ago. He bade me to introduce you to Farohan. For both of you miss Frodo, and both of you have thought to learn Sindarin because of him. I would teach you if you were willing."

And Farohan and Fellen each rejoiced to find in the other one who shared his thoughts, and they took up the offer of Legolas.

And through his friendship with Fellen, and their talks of Frodo, Farohan finally felt at peace. For he knew that Frodo was among his own kind in the land of the pheriannath where surely his tale would be told. And in Gondor? The lay would live and change, passed from one minstrel to another. For the harpers, the story-tellers--they would live and die, but the story of Frodo Baggins would continue for ever more.

The End