THE THREE TOWERS

Chapter 6 – On the Threshold

Up, up he went.  It was dark save for an occasional torch flaring at a turn, or beside some opening that led into the higher levels of the Tower.  Sam tried to count the steps, but after two hundred he lost his reckoning.  ‘The Tower of Cirith Ungol’, The Return of the King

**

May 30

A sheltered area of the courtyard had been turned into a makeshift stable, and the horses (and Stybba) were led to where water and grain awaited them.

As Aragorn neared the pyre, a guardsman named Brengil stepped forward and bowed.

“My Lord King, you will find that all of your orders have been carried out, and the area secured.”

“You have my thanks,” Aragorn replied.  “Gimli told us of your diligent work here.”

“Gimli is a marvel,” Brengil said with admiration.  “I doubt we could have accomplished so much, in so short a time, without him.”  He looked up at the tower.  “Sire, what will become of this place?  It is sturdily built.”

“I do not know,” Aragorn said thoughtfully.  “Once the Ringbearer has made his peace here, perhaps I will know what to do.”  He lowered his voice.  “Did you find anything amiss within the tower, or hear any sounds from... behind it?”

“Nothing,” Brengil replied.  “There were no Orcs alive, and no sign of prisoners.  The conditions we found here were...”  He just shook his head.  “It was unspeakable.  We have only begun sorting through some of the debris to determine what might be salvageable.”  He motioned to a small mountain of weaponry, mail, garments, pots, drums, and countless metal instruments and devices.  “As for what lies behind the tower,” he continued, “there are two solid, barred doors set between the lowest chamber and the tunnels on the other side -- just as Master Samwise described.  If the foul beast in spider-form yet lives, there is no way for it to reach us.”

“Thank you.”  Aragorn addressed all of the Men.  “Well done.  Those of you with families awaiting you may return to Minas Tirith.”  He was unsurprised – and gratified – when all of them asked to be allowed to stay.  None wished to leave their King’s side, or abandon the Ringbearer should he have need of them.  As one, they looked up with respect as Alcaren carried Frodo into the courtyard, the other hobbits walking behind.

“We should have thought to find something to sweep a path,” Brengil said regretfully.  “The hobbits walk unprotected on the sharp stones.”

“Frodo’s feet are still healing, but you will find that the other three have little trouble; they are very sure-footed,” Aragorn said with a smile.  “You have done all that I asked.”

“It was our honor, my lord.”

The courtyard contained many dark brown stains, and Alcaren realized that it must be dried blood.  Peering into the front passageway of the tower, he saw that the floor was likewise stained in many places.  He carefully set Frodo down on a patch of clean paving stone just inside the doorway.

“Thank you,” Frodo smiled up at the Man.  He cautiously looked around, but recognized almost nothing.  Escaping down stairs lit only by torches, in fear and weariness, Frodo had scarcely noticed anything about the tower in which he had been held, with the exception of the turret room.  It was Sam who had...

Sam was still outside, seemingly loathe to enter.

“Sam,” Frodo called softly.  He held out his hand.  “Come, Sam.  We’ll have a bit of lunch, then---”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam turned a pleading face to his master.  “Can’t you do your rememberin’ out here?”

“I may not choose to spend much time... upstairs,” Frodo admitted, “but I must see that room again, even if just for a moment.  I know this place holds dreadful memories for you, my dear Sam... but I have hardly any memories at all... yet.  You needn’t come with me.”

“Not come with you?” Sam cried out, aghast.  “I’ll not leave you alone, sir.  Not ever.”  Taking Frodo’s hand, he stepped across the threshold.

*~*~*~*~*

Gear was unloaded from the carts and saddlebags and brought into the tower, where – as Gimli had reported – a rough camp had been set up in one of the rooms.    Blankets and bedrolls were spread out on the recently-cleared floor, and the boxes and sacks of provisions were set on crude tables.

“Eat,” Merry said firmly.  He and Pippin sat down on the blanketed floor next to Frodo and Sam, holding plates of bread, fruit, and cheeses.

“Yes sir.”  Frodo obediently picked up a hunk of cheese.

“I don’t know what kind of leaves Strider gave the Men to burn, but the air isn’t too bad,” Sam said.  “I thought... well, I thought it’d be pretty awful in here.”

“You too,” Pippin declared, putting one of the plates right in Sam’s lap.

“I’m not really hungry, Mr. Pippin,” Sam murmured.

“Sam,” Frodo said, “please eat.  Just a little.”

“I...” Sam shook his head.  “Maybe later, sir.”

After the travelers had eaten and rested, Frodo expressed a wish to go up to the turret room before it got dark.  He invited Alcaren to come with them, but the Man shook his head.

“I do not wish to intrude,” Alcaren demurred.  “I will hear your tale when you return.”  He felt that the Companions of the Ring might not wish a stranger present at such a time.

“You’re family now,” Frodo insisted, sensing his concern.  “Please come.”  All four hobbits looked up at Alcaren expectantly.

“Thank you Frodo.”  Alcaren was warmed by these new friendships, and by the smile and nod from the King.  “It is long since I have been part of... a family.”

Gimli led the way up the stairs, followed by Legolas, the hobbits, then Aragorn, Alcaren, and Gandalf.

“There’s hundreds of stairs, Mr. Frodo,” Sam reminded his master.

“I’m sure I can make it to the top, at least once,” Frodo assured his friend.  “My feet are much better.”

It was a solemn group that climbed slowly, one level after another.  The stairs were also, at intervals, stained with dried blood, and Merry found himself trying to imagine what had happened here.  The Orcs had carried Frodo’s unconscious body up all these stairs, and thrown him in prison.  His cousin.  And Sam’s desperate attempt to free Frodo – in a tower inhabited by Orcs, lit only by torches...  Sam had been weary and thirsty, terrified, with no one to guide him, not knowing if his master was dead or alive.

At last the stairs ended, and the company arrived at the upper level.  They found themselves in an empty chamber lined with doors.  At the far end, partially in shadow, a crude ladder could be seen that led to a small opening in the ceiling.

Gimli turned to Frodo.  “If you will allow me to go first,” he said gravely, “there is a task I would like to perform before you continue.”  He pulled a piece of cloth from his belt.  “The hand of that foul Orc who was whipping you...” His eyes narrowed with rage, but his voice remained soft.  “I will remove it, with your permission.”

Snaga.  “Thank you, Gimli,” Frodo whispered.

Gimli strode to the ladder and climbed up to the prison room which neither he nor the Men had disturbed.  There, on the dusty floor, lay the rotting hand, and next to it, a long, cruel whip.  He wrapped the hand in the cloth he held, then curled the whip and tucked it into his belt where neither Frodo nor Sam would see it.  He then climbed back down the ladder and returned to his friends.  Everyone’s eyes strayed to the tightly-wrapped bundle he held.

“I will return to the courtyard and throw this... thing... on the fire.  Legolas will come to find me, if there is need.” Gimli nodded solemnly to Frodo and Sam, then to Aragorn, and left them.

Frodo walked slowly towards the ladder, feeling as if he was in a dream.  When he started up, he felt Sam’s solid, comforting presence right behind him.

*~*~*~*~*

Alcaren’s eyes swept the room; that it had been used as a prison, and nothing else, was evident.  There was no bed, chair, or table – nothing but piles of rags heaped against the far wall, and a few wooden buckets that had probably held water or scraps of food, or perhaps used for a prisoner to relieve himself.  A fine layer of ash-dust covered everything, making the room look as if it had been abandoned for many years.

“There’s nothin’ left of it!” Sam gasped.  Peering out one of the windows of the turret for a moment, he found himself staring in amazement at Gorgoroth Plain – and the broken, tumbled heap of black stone that had once been Mount Doom.  Merry and Pippin joined him at the window, gazing wide eyed at the miles of scorched ground where lava had flowed and rocks had been hurled.

“Where was the Dark Tower?” Merry asked, his voice hushed.

“Beyond the Mountain,” Sam replied.  “I suppose that’s all rubble, too.”

“Strider,” Pippin asked, “will you ever go looking for the Stone?”

“What stone, Pippin?”

“The Seeing Stone.”  Pippin turned earnest, troubled eyes up to the King.  “The one Sauron had at his tower – will you ever look for it?”

“No,” Aragorn said firmly.  “Even if it wasn’t crushed to dust in the fall of Barad Dûr, which I suspect it was, and even if it could be found... I would not touch it.  It took great effort to wrench the Orthanc Stone to my will; I have my doubts that anyone could – or would want to – control a palantír used for so long by the Dark Lord.”

“I understand,” Pippin murmured, turning back to the window.  “I was just wondering.”

Frodo seemed to have no interest in the view, but rather prowled slowly around the room.   This chamber, which he had explored thoroughly after Sam found him, looked slightly different than he remembered.  The endless questioning...  “What are you?  Why are you here?”  Fragments of memory sifted through his mind in much the same way sunlight was filtering through the narrow windows.  He knelt to touch the water bottle the Orcs had slashed with their knives.  “Can you guess what happens to spies?”  Frodo shuddered and picked up the bottle, clenching it convulsively to his chest.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, kneeling in the dust next to his master.  “It’s all right, sir.  We’re all here with you.”

“I know,” Frodo murmured.  “Oh Sam...”  He bowed his head, overcome by the realization that he was truly back in this room.  He let the bottle drop and squeezed Sam’s hand for a moment before getting to his feet and turning to face his friends, who were quietly waiting... and watching him with concern.

“Do you wish to go ahead, Frodo?” Gandalf asked.

“Yes.  As I thought, I just need a little help... getting started.”

“You two sound as if you have planned something,” Legolas said.

“We have.”  Frodo took a deep breath.  “Being up here is helping; but it’s as if everything happened to someone else, and not me.  Memories are jumbled and out of order.”  He looked up at Gandalf.  “Perhaps if I remembered more clearly what happened... before I was brought here.  That might help me sort things out.”

Gandalf nodded, motioning for Frodo to join him.  Frodo came to stand next to the wizard, and took his hand.

“Frodo, what do you propose to do?” Aragorn asked.

“In Rivendell, Gandalf told me that he had read my mind and memories to learn what happened to us,” Frodo told them.  “I didn’t know he could do that.  He’s agreed to help me remember some things.”

“I will see the memories, and let Frodo see them, as well,” Gandalf explained.  “They will be vivid, Frodo; be certain before you agree to this.  Once open, the door of memory may not be easy to close.”

“I am ready.”

Sam wanted to protest, and drag his master out of this room, down the ladder, and back to Minas Tirith that very minute... but Mr. Frodo would never rest until he got all this remembering done.  He would just have to stand by and watch.

** TBC **

Andrea:  Yes, Merry and Pip at last make it to Mordor, giving Frodo their utmost in support and love.

aprilkat:  I’ve spent so much time thinking about that tower, the gate, the Watchers, the turret room... I’m so glad the images are coming through clearly.

Baggins Babe:  The book Master of Middle-earth says that the main theme of LOTR “is to tell how the unknowing come to know, and the unknown become known and honored by other races.”  This is certainly true of Frodo and Sam – two humble, good people who gain renown and honor amongst the Great.

Clever Hobbit:  You expect comfort in one of *my* stories?  How odd... *grins*

Cuthalion:  Eeee, angst!  (Well, as much as I can handle, anyway.)  Thank you so much for the encouragement.

Daynawayna:  If only Boromir could be there; but Alcaren is taking his place, in a sense, so the Fellowship can still have all its members.

Endaewen:  Thank you so much.  I’m glad the characters seem ‘true’.

Grey Wonderer:  Sam will always help Frodo "get the job done" -- even if it might be a dangerous road.

harrowcat:  The “sense of family between Writers and Reviewers” is one of the main reasons I write!  What a wonderful way for all of us to communicate and share ideas, and our love for these characters and their world.  Great plot bunny, BTW.  I think a multi-chapter fic could be devoted just to Gandalf’s POV of the entire War of the Ring.  Maybe someone will be inspired.

lbilover:  Thank you for the hug; this is such an angsty story for me, I need lots of them!

Lily:  I think, deep down inside, Frodo knows and is in awe of what he accomplished.  But Sam is just too humble to let such grand thoughts enter his head.

Linda Hoyland:  Thank you, Linda.  ‘Canon’ is still the best source of inspiration.

Pearl Took:  I don’t even know where that mithril idea came from, Pearl.  I’m just awestruck at the mysteries of the creative process.

Queen Galadriel:  Cliffhangers just sneak in all by themselves!  There doesn’t seem to be much I can do to stop them... :D

rabidsamfan:  Oh, I love how you word that – “the way they keep working together, whether it’s to find a way to protect Frodo’s feet or his heart”.  And Sam just doesn’t realize how much of a “being of Power” he truly is.

SlightlyTookish:  I don’t know why PJ gave Pippin a scarf to wear, but it’s sure wonderful.

SurgicalSteel:  You have to admit that I’ve been very restrained about ending chapters in cliffhangers... well, until now, I guess.  *sigh*  I blame the story!  It just wants to be told in a certain way.

Tigger:  This group is truly a “family of the heart”, as you say... and as you can see from this chapter!  Frodo is indeed lucky to have such a supportive “family” with him.