Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2007-05-15 12:42 pm
sophinisba) wrote2007-05-15 12:42 pm
Entry tags:
new hobbit fic, chapter 1/11, Loss
Here is the first chapter of new hobbit fic, very angsty but not as dark as Not Yourself. There is comfort to go along with the hurt in this one. :) Suggested titles are welcome!
Rating: PG for this chapter and most of the fic, eventually R.
Main characters: Frodo and Rosie. (This chapter also features Gandalf, Aragorn, Merry, Pippin, and Marigold.)
Genre: Angst, post-quest Shire AU. Multiple pairings of male and female hobbits.
Warnings: Severe angst, character death.
More detailed pairings/warnings/summary/spoilers for those who don't want to be surprised.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danachan for long-term support as well as beta reading. Characters and settings from J.R.R. Tolkien (fanfic, not for profit, etc.). Further inspiration taken from many other fanfic writers, including rubynye, monkeycrackmary, and danachan for their hobbit lasses, and nickeyb, who wrote Sacrifice, the AU that first gave me the idea for this one.
Note for those wary of reading WIPs: This fic is not finished yet, but I'm pretty confident that it will be by the end of the summer (or, who knows, maybe a lot sooner). I have written almost 40,000 words of it so far and expect it to end up with around 50,000. I've written at least part of all eleven chapters, so I shouldn't get stuck trying to figure out how it ends. I might not always update regularly but there aren't any real cliffhangers.
People who don't get sick of Frodo-at-Cormallen fics are encouraged to read (the first half of) this chapter even if they don't think they'll read a long fic that's mostly about hobbits in the Shire.
Sam wrested it from Frodo's hand and then slipped, fell, and disappeared. And suddenly there was nothing left for Frodo to struggle for or against. Nothing to do but stand still and wait for the end.
But somehow he wasn't strong enough even for that. He felt a lick of fire as molten rock splashed against his skin, and in panic he turned and fled, out of the mountain, away, as fast as he could run.
The raging heat followed him outside, and the rest of the world was falling away. In relief and agony, Frodo collapsed along with it.
Rosie was cutting carrots and chatting with Marigold when the sudden, intense heat came over her, and her knees gave out, and a few seconds later she was embarrassed to find herself collapsed on the floor of her own kitchen. She didn't notice the blood or the pain until after she'd heard Marigold screaming, watched her rush over to wrap Rosie's index finger in a dish towel. Marigold looked terrified and Rosie could only feel distant, different, vaguely sensing that a part of her was missing that had nothing to do with her hand. She had another reason to scream.
He was aware of pain before anything else, unable to place it. With no idea of where he himself was, he knew part of him was missing.
Not dead, was the first coherent thought to come to him. If he had died he would not be breathing, and he knew he must be breathing because the air was like fire in his lungs, even as something cool and wet was smoothed over his skin. There were voices, and probably movements nearby, and then words, suddenly close and clear. "It's all right, Frodo. Open your eyes now."
More fire then, the air a shock to his eyes, and the sight something not to be believed. Frodo closed his eyes again.
Not dead, not Gandalf either, he thought. It was not possible. Of all the impossible things Frodo had wished for in the past months, he'd never had any hope of seeing this face again, and yet here he was when Frodo dared to look for him again. And struggling wildly against the certain knowledge in his brain was a fierce hope that all the evil things he had seen might come undone, that those who had fallen into shadow might come back. Changed, of course, as Frodo himself was changed, but whole and healthy again, and near enough to touch and embrace.
Frightened as he was to voice his hope aloud, he took another burning breath and spoke a single word, "Sam," wondering vaguely if he meant it as a question, a plea, or perhaps as an explanation. An apology.
"I know little of what happened after the two of you left Faramir at Henneth Annûn" Gandalf said. "After the Ring was destroyed and as Sauron's dominion was falling around us, Gwaihir of the eagles carried me to Orodruin to see if we might find you and Samwise and bring you back before the mountain collapsed completely. I saw Gollum's body already half covered by the liquid rock, but with the stillness of death. And I saw you lying alone, on an island of rock soon to be consumed. We carried you away and you have been resting here in Ithilien since. Frodo, we have no knowledge of Sam."
Frodo knew he should not be surprised by this. He had seen Sam fall with his own eyes, after all. He knew Sam was dead and knew he, Frodo, was to blame, and yet Gandalf's simple, gentle speech brought the panic and the shock of it back in a rush. Frodo felt himself begin to tremble, and his eyes lost focus. He didn't want to lose consciousness again, and in an effort to stay present he tried to speak. "He – we got to the – I tried, Gandalf, I thought if I could just get…"
He felt Gandalf's hand on the side of his face, calm and soothing, before he heard the wizard's whisper, words in a language he did not clearly comprehend but that bid him wait, rest, be patient. And even as Frodo's mind rebelled at being hushed like a child, he felt relieved to fall silent again, let his head fall against the pillows, and trust his friend's quiet assurance that there would be time for such explanations later.
He must have slept, and perhaps been given medicine. He sensed an earthenware cup at his lips, a strong arm supporting his back, and a cold white cloud about the edges of his vision and consciousness. "Try to drink some of this, Frodo," said a voice. And he tried, sipped at the warm liquid, and even swallowed once, but choked when he tried again, and coughed up half of what he'd swallowed the first time. Frodo closed his eyes and willed the dizziness to stop.
The strong hands held him steady while a warm wet cloth wiped the spilled liquid from his chin and neck. Frodo felt embarrassed and when he could breathe again he gasped "I'm sorry, Strider," only then realizing he had recognized the man who held him.
He opened his eyes then and stared harder, trying to clear away the blurry edges of his sight, and he was able to make out a warm smile in a deeply lined and tired face. "Do not be," Aragorn said, "but see if you can try again. I want to help you get some of your strength back."
Frodo nodded, and concentrated on drinking slowly and steadily, making an effort not to think about who was helping him or the things he wanted to say. And certainly not to let his thoughts go back to what had brought him here. Frodo felt the heat of the drink slick down his throat and spread through his chest and belly. His vision cleared more, the world stopped spinning, and all of him felt a bit stronger as Aragorn set the cup down on the ground and gently lowered Frodo's head.
"Thank you, Aragorn," said Frodo. "I'm so happy to see you." Because something needed to be said, even if happy was not quite an accurate word, and Frodo chose not to ponder at the moment whether he'd ever really be happy again. Aragorn was good, and Aragorn was alive.
"And I am glad to see you," said the man, "awake and aware, finally, and on your way to recovery." Frodo looked at him quizzically. "It is nearly two weeks since you were brought here, Frodo. It pained us not to be able to give you any food after your long ordeal. And even before you were rescued, how long had it been since you'd eaten anything other than lembas bread?"
The question seemed absurd and irrelevant to him, and rather than try to answer it he shook his head. "The others," he said. "Merry and Pippin," and he tried to think of other names.
"Yes, they too are awake and aware, and eager to see you. Frodo, Faramir told you of Boromir's death?"
"Yes," Frodo said hollowly. He hadn't thought of Boromir in long weeks.
"The rest of our Company has survived to see the quest achieved."
Except for one, thought Frodo, and wondered how long it would be before he'd be able to speak of it.
"Your cousins both fought bravely in the battles against our enemy," Aragorn continued. "Pippin has been sleeping in the tent next to yours. He woke up yesterday, and Merry has been tending to him."
Frodo's heart was beating fast, full of relief to know his cousins were alive and curiosity, even distrust, a need to know the ill news Aragorn was trying to shield him from. "Pippin," was all his could articulate.
"Pippin was injured in the last battle. We expect him to make a full recovery, but he won't be able to move very much at first. You know if he could he'd be sneaking his head under the flap of this tent the moment he heard you were awake."
"Merry will want to stay with him," Frodo murmured.
"Everyone wants to be with you, Frodo. Gandalf and I have kept them away so far in order to give you more time to rest, but Merry and Pippin, and Legolas and Gimli, and Gandalf and I, we all love you very much, and we all want to be here to help you through this. Do you understand that?"
And Frodo felt like the most despicable creature on the earth, then, for Merry and Pippin and Legolas and Gimli and Gandalf and Aragorn all loved him, and even as he knew he didn't deserve that, it wasn't enough. Because everything Frodo loved was lost, and he would never get it – never get them – back.
"Yes," he said softly, forcing himself to smile and hoping the tears would look like gratitude. "Thank you, Aragorn."
He was able to sleep some more, and later in the day Merry and Pippin did come to see him. Pippin was walking but leaning heavily on his cousin. Both had cuts and bruises visible on their faces, though Merry's were mostly faded. Pippin breathed shallowly and Frodo gasped at the sight of him, the suffering evident in his face. Pippin in turn looked shocked at the sight of Frodo, and Frodo thought for the first time what a wreck he himself must look. He self-consciously touched one of the deeper cuts on his own face and wished to disappear. He watched Merry whisper something in Pippin's ear and Pippin smoothed his features, then smiled his own smile and, as quickly as he could without falling, knelt down by Frodo's side.
"Have you tried standing up yet?" Pippin asked encouragingly.
Frodo shook his head. "Had a hard enough time sitting up to drink Aragorn's medicine earlier," he said.
Pippin nodded with understanding. "The dizziness, yes?"
"Yes."
"But you're ready to try again?"
Frodo didn't really want to, and Merry looked hesitant, as if he wished Pippin hadn't spoken. But here was Pippin, clearly very badly injured himself and only having risen the day before, and he wanted it, expected it of the oldest cousin, the bravest, the leader.
So Frodo agreed. Merry came behind his head and helped push him up, then arranged the pillows to support him, while Frodo caught hold of Pippin. And Pippin held him, hugged him more tightly than he really needed, but it felt good. "We all have our own hurts to get over, Frodo," he said. "And we will get over them. We'll do it together."
"My dear cousins," said Frodo, still wrapped in Pippin's arms and feeling Merry close behind him, Merry's hand rubbing his back. "My dear friends, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for all you've suffered for having come on this journey with me."
"No regrets, Frodo," Merry said softly in his ear. "Having helped save the world feels good, I won't deny it, but we came along then because we wanted to help you, and all of it's worth it if it means we can help you today."
Frodo could not really believe that they had no regrets. He was sure he would never feel that way himself, at any rate. But he thanked them, and held them, and told them he loved them. It was good, all of it was. And they didn't talk about Sam, but Frodo felt there would be time for that later.
It was different from recovering at Rivendell, as of course it would have to be, for a thousand different reasons. With the lingering stink of battle, with Pippin hurt. Without Sam to hold his hand or to support him when he tried to rise. Without as much of a reason to try to get up, since he had trouble seeing what was meant to come after this.
Still, Merry and Pippin were dear and attentive and helped him as well as they could. They brought him soup and boiled fruit, and everything was much easier to swallow this time. Frodo still felt weak, but the dizziness was much less, and with both cousins' help he was able to stand for a short time and even to walk a few steps.
After just over an hour Gandalf insisted that they go, saying Pippin needed to rest and so did Frodo.
Pippin helped Frodo to sit back down on his pallet and asked, "Mightn't we rest here though? All in the same tent?" And Gandalf looked at Frodo, who closed his eyes so as not to have to answer.
"We will decide later tonight," Gandalf said, "after the festivities."
Pippin might have been ready to protest, but Merry nodded to Gandalf and guided his younger cousin away. Once they were gone, Gandalf sat down at Frodo's side, and Frodo asked guardedly, "What are the... festivities?"
"Now that you are awake, we wish to honor you, Frodo, and to honor Samwise and the others who have fallen. We wish to celebrate that the Quest has been achieved."
"But Sam..." Frodo was so shocked by the idea he could not even think to explain the wrongness of it. "We cannot possibly celebrate," he said.
Gandalf looked at him gravely. "Nearly all those who are gathered here fought in the last battle," he said. "Many of them have been injured. They have all watched men die and many have lost dear friends for this cause. Do not think that we plan an empty celebration that does not acknowledge this great sacrifice. We mean to tell everyone that their sacrifices were worthwhile." He paused. "This is a message that I want you to understand as well, Frodo."
But this was far too much to try understand or argue with now. Frodo shook his head. "I can't... I mean to say, I will not be able to feel joy in any of this, I am sorry. But if you say it must be done for the sake of these men, that it will bring peace to their hearts, then I will go." Gandalf's look said he was moved but still wanted more, and to keep him from saying anything more about peace or healing Frodo asked, "What will be expected of me, Gandalf? What must I do?"
"You need not make any grand speeches or even say a word if you would prefer not to. The people wish merely to see and to praise the Ring-bearer. The feast is a short distance away and I shall walk by your side; if you find it is too far I would be honored to carry you."
Still barely able to believe or comprehend any of this, Frodo asked, "And what shall I wear?"
"Those things which were taken from you, Frodo. Your traveling clothes, the mithril-coat and the elven-cloak, and the sword that Sam took from the Barrow-downs."
"But how can this be?" Frodo asked in confusion, near panic as memories came back to him. "They were taken, those things, I – We had to – "
"Hush, Frodo." Gandalf was close, an arm supporting him, his voice soothing in Frodo's ear. "They were... returned." Something told him that this was yet another part of the greater story that he would rather not hear or speak of today.
"Very well," he said, and took several more measured breaths before continuing, "I should love to wear the mithril shirt and the elven-cloak again, but I do not wish for any sword."
"Tonight at least you should wear one," said Gandalf.
Frodo hesitated for only a moment and then spoke firmly. "No," he said, "let those who had to carry arms in this fight carry them again tonight, and let them be honored for it, but this was not my part. I had to carry only the Ring," and failed even at that, he thought, as words suddenly abandoned him again.
"Only the Ring," Gandalf said softly, as if speaking to himself.
"All I mean to say, Gandalf, is that I did not use Sam's sword, or the other that was lost. I never struck a blow to man or orc, and even so I – Sam and I, that is, managed to carry out our task. I want this part of our tale to be known, that there are other weapons against evil than sword or bow or axe. That there are other ways of…" He stopped, and looked up at his old friend, who was nodding and smiling slightly but with a sadness in his face that Frodo found almost overwhelming. "But I don't have to work so hard to explain things to you, do I, Gandalf? You understand?"
"Yes, Frodo, I do."
Marigold was as lovely as ever, standing in the doorway, and Rosie wondered how she could take it, how she could stand living in the new house they'd moved her family to, how she could take care of her father and all his sadness over his lost home and his lost son, and still smile like that.
"Tom's not here, Mari." Rosie smiled apologetically. "He and Dad went to Hobbiton to try to see about getting some more supplies, he's..."
"And what makes you so sure I came here to see Tom?" said Marigold.
"What else do you ever come here for then?"
Mari darted to give her a kiss on the cheek, and Rosie overcame her surprise to return it lightly. "Rosie, don't be dense. Your brother's a dear and I suppose he's the love of my life…"
"Suppose?" Rosie repeated with feigned offense.
"…But surely you know you were always my favorite."
Mari kissed Rosie's other cheek and this time Rosie was too surprised to react before Mari passed by her and into the kitchen, reaching proprietarily for flour and sugar and mixing bowls and saying something about having to hide these strawberries under her skirts for fear they'd be confiscated and, she laughed, "shared."
Rosie followed slowly into the kitchen, her mind in several places at once, and touching absently at the bandage on her right hand. Marigold turned from the work she'd already begun and glanced at the bandage. "Ah, Rosie, I forgot to ask, is your finger feeling better then?"
"It's healing up fine, I'm lucky Daisy was there to tend to it right away."
Mari came over to stand by Rosie and made to touch it, but hesitated, probably realizing it was best left with the bandage on. "Lucky indeed," she said, "if it'd been me with my clumsy self to take care of you you'd most likely be doing without that finger today."
"Don't be too hard on yourself," said Rosie. "You're not the one who was clumsy enough to nearly slice off her own finger with a kitchen knife."
That had been two weeks previous. They'd been making stew with the vegetables Rosie'd brought up from their family's farm, since the Gamgees had lost their own plots. Mari had been sitting on a stool peeling taters and Rosie cutting up carrots at the table when it happened. Rosie hadn't figured out where that new emptiness came from until long afterwards. After Daisy had tended to the cut, which was fairly deep but looked like it would heal cleanly. After she'd watched Marigold clean up the mess in the kitchen while sipping pennyroyal tea. Only hours after she'd gone home and convinced her brothers it wasn't as bad as it looked and shut herself in her room to weep had she realized what she was weeping for.
She meant to tell Marigold what she now felt, but she couldn't think how to say it just yet. And eager not to think any more about her own injury, she thought back to the conversation at the door. "I was your favorite, after all, I'd forgotten that."
"Oh!" Mari laughed, turning back to her shortcake. "Always! Since we were wee lasses tagging along after our big brothers, and them thinking they were so impressive since they'd turned ten."
That would have been around the time master Frodo moved in with his Uncle Bilbo, Rosie thought, and the stab in her chest was light, almost comforting it was so familiar. Anyhow, Sam wasn't spending all that much time in the garden then. He had plenty of time for exploring the backways of Hobbiton, Bywater, and surroundings with his favorite cousin Tom Cotton. And he may have resented having to look after his little sister Marigold, but he never once complained about Tom bringing along his little sister Rosie or her twin Jolly. As they got older Sam and Tom had to spend more and more time with their fathers learning their respective professions, but in their free time they were always together. Jolly discovered he preferred being a big brother to Nick and Nibs rather than a little brother to Tom. So the four of them became a unit, Tom, Sam, Rosie, and Marigold, the best of friends and cousins all together… but Mari was right; that didn't keep them from having favorites. Just when, she pondered now, had Rosie decided Sam was the one she loved best of all?
"Do you remember when we first came up with the Plan, Mari?"
"What, to marry each other crossways? You with Sam and me with Tom? I can't say I remember when it was, but I remember you whispering it in my ear sure enough."
"We never did get around to telling the lads," said Rosie.
"Ah, they'll catch on when the time's right. Our Sam always was a little slow." Marigold's face wasn't visible as she was turned in the other direction, and Rosie wondered if she felt the same flare in her heart when she spoke her brother's name. She wondered if that pain would get softer as the years went by. "Leastways as far as putting those kinds of feelings into words."
"Or actions," Rosie was able to smile slightly as she said it.
"That's where we lasses have to take matters into our own hands sometimes, if you take my meaning."
"Been taking Tom into your hands much lately, Marigold?"
Mari turned around then, picked a strawberry from the bowl, and kept her eyes on Rosie as she put it in her mouth. She sucked hard enough to bring the juices out, but didn't bite it off the stem she kept in her fingers. Drawing it out again, she smiled sweetly. "Hands is for babies," she said.
And Rosie laughed, long and clear, as she seldom laughed these days. And walked over and bit the strawberry off the stem Mari still held. It had been overly ripe and bursting with juice and now it was wrung out but still full of flavor, and Rosie loved Mari dearly, and said so.
Time passed in measuring and stirring and mocking of Pimple Sackville-Baggins, and Rosie felt the danger around the name and worried for Tom and her father going to Hobbiton today, but Marigold somehow kept the conversation light and sweet as the whipped cream. When they pulled the shortcake out of the oven Rosie said they should call in Nick and Nibs, and Mari said they should have a taste for themselves first.
"You never know with those two," she added. "They might take all the goodies for themselves. Not so considerate as Tom and Sam. D'you remember when we did this last year, Rosie, how Sam sat there at the table with all this goodness on his plate, and he wouldn't touch it till you'd sat down and had the first bite yourself?"
Rosie remembered, though she hadn't thought of it, but she found she couldn't speak. She worked at arranging cream and strawberries on the cakes instead.
"Are you quite well, dear?" Mari said softly. "Have I upset you?"
Rosie shook her head. "It's nothing," she managed, feeling the lie on her tongue and the tears starting in her eyes.
"Look, Rosie, it's been six months he's been gone…"
"And sixteen days," Rosie snapped without thinking, without looking up, grateful that the anger was stronger than the sadness for the moment and stopped her from crying. Mari looked at her steadily.
"Since we saw him, yes, though a few days less since they disappeared altogether." So Rosie wasn't the only one counting the days. "We'll call it six and a half then."
Rosie set down the food and the spoons, met her friend's eyes and frowned. "This is to make me feel better, Mari?"
"How long was old Mr. Bilbo gone on his journey?"
"Mr. Bilbo? Since we were teens… 1401, wasn't it?"
"Nay, Rosie, I mean his first adventure, back before we were born, when he went off for so long everyone thought he was dead, and then he came back again with all that treasure."
"Can't say as I know or care, Mari, though certainly Sam could give you all the details," and she bit her lip before she could finish, if he were here. For she hadn't meant to say his name, she didn't ought to say his name any more than necessary, or think of him coming back or telling more stories of Elves and Men and Dwarves and Bagginses. And Rosie wanted this conversation over and done with, but Marigold smiled broadly.
"Aye, he always loved hearing Mr. Bilbo's stories, didn't he? And so proud he could remember every last detail, I bet he could tell us which day of the week he left on, and the names of all them Dwarves and even what color cloaks they were wearing when they first showed up at his door. All I'm saying, Rosie, is I've a notion it was a good many months, maybe near like a year, but then he came back and gave the Sackville-Bagginses what for. Well, that's what I expect Mr. Frodo to come back and do any day now."
Frodo. Rosie swallowed and opened her mouth to speak, although with no clear idea of what she meant to say, but Marigold blithely continued, "Or maybe next month, or maybe next year sometime. He and Mr. Bilbo ain't like other folk, you can't expect 'em to follow the same schedule as other folk do."
"You never know what to expect from a Baggins," Rosie agreed reluctantly.
"You never do!" Mari seemed delighted to think she was finally making some headway.
"But Sam," Rosie insisted. "He's got no call…"
"Ah, well, our Sam, he... He's got his own ideas of what it means to do what's right."
"He isn't coming back, Mari. Not next month and not next year either. He's left us."
Marigold shook her head. "But not for good."
"Do you even hear what I'm telling you, Mari? I feel this. I know this. Had my suspicions and my fears ever since he left, and before that even, but I know it now – "
"D'you think I don't miss him?" Mari interrupted. And she was still smiling, she'd never stopped, but suddenly Rosie saw a strain at the corners of her mouth. Tension, Rosie thought, from trying too hard to hide the worry. Mari looked away for the first time, and took a few breaths, then looked back into Rosie's eyes. "You're not the only one to worry about him, every day that passes, dear. But I say we give him a little more time. Give him the year folks should have given Mr. Bilbo, and see if he and Mr. Frodo don't come traipsing back to Crickhollow one fine day, or better yet right back up to the green door of Bag End, singing some silly song and who knows, carrying more treasure than old Mr. Bilbo even dreamt of. Won't that be nice then?" And Rosie had to smile, when Mari grinned at her like that. "And see if Sam ain't ready to marry you by then, with all the adventuring he talked about all those years out of his system for too uncomfortable and wet and too far away from you."
"And all the Baggins out of his system too?"
"He'll be completely fed up with Bagginses, Brandybucks, Tooks, and gentlehobbits of any kind, and ready to settle down with the lass he always knew he would. Mark my words, Rose Cotton. Just give him a year."
"Ah, Mari, I never could stand up to you."
"You never could."
"But if he's not standing on my doorstep on September the 23rd, I'm going to work on my brother for you, and you and me'll be sisters with or without Sam."
"He'll be there," Marigold said with conviction. "And if he hasn't figured out what he really wants by then, I'll be going to work on him too."
To his own great surprise, Frodo did not stumble along the way and needed no help to reach the King's table. Gandalf walked at his side and looked on him with pride. Legolas and Gimli greeted him warmly, and Aragorn and the other rulers knelt before him. Merry and Pippin looked noble and beautiful in their new uniforms. Frodo was grateful and humble before them all and smiled his best smile, thinking of all the sacrifices everyone had made and wanting to be strong and brave for them. And still he wished he had perished with Sam in the fire.
In the end Rosie gave in to Marigold. It wasn't that she believed a word of these bright, hopeful predictions. On the contrary, now that Rosie had said it out loud she was more certain than ever that she was right, that her heart knew, her Sam was gone. But she gave in because she loved giving in to Marigold, seeing that look of triumph in her dear friend's eyes. And who was Rosie Cotton to tell Marigold Gamgee that her brother was dead, with nothing more to go on than the emptiness inside her that took away her breath?
next part | series tag | fic index
Rating: PG for this chapter and most of the fic, eventually R.
Main characters: Frodo and Rosie. (This chapter also features Gandalf, Aragorn, Merry, Pippin, and Marigold.)
Genre: Angst, post-quest Shire AU. Multiple pairings of male and female hobbits.
Warnings: Severe angst, character death.
More detailed pairings/warnings/summary/spoilers for those who don't want to be surprised.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to
danachan for long-term support as well as beta reading. Characters and settings from J.R.R. Tolkien (fanfic, not for profit, etc.). Further inspiration taken from many other fanfic writers, including rubynye, monkeycrackmary, and danachan for their hobbit lasses, and nickeyb, who wrote Sacrifice, the AU that first gave me the idea for this one. Note for those wary of reading WIPs: This fic is not finished yet, but I'm pretty confident that it will be by the end of the summer (or, who knows, maybe a lot sooner). I have written almost 40,000 words of it so far and expect it to end up with around 50,000. I've written at least part of all eleven chapters, so I shouldn't get stuck trying to figure out how it ends. I might not always update regularly but there aren't any real cliffhangers.
People who don't get sick of Frodo-at-Cormallen fics are encouraged to read (the first half of) this chapter even if they don't think they'll read a long fic that's mostly about hobbits in the Shire.
Sam wrested it from Frodo's hand and then slipped, fell, and disappeared. And suddenly there was nothing left for Frodo to struggle for or against. Nothing to do but stand still and wait for the end.
But somehow he wasn't strong enough even for that. He felt a lick of fire as molten rock splashed against his skin, and in panic he turned and fled, out of the mountain, away, as fast as he could run.
The raging heat followed him outside, and the rest of the world was falling away. In relief and agony, Frodo collapsed along with it.
Rosie was cutting carrots and chatting with Marigold when the sudden, intense heat came over her, and her knees gave out, and a few seconds later she was embarrassed to find herself collapsed on the floor of her own kitchen. She didn't notice the blood or the pain until after she'd heard Marigold screaming, watched her rush over to wrap Rosie's index finger in a dish towel. Marigold looked terrified and Rosie could only feel distant, different, vaguely sensing that a part of her was missing that had nothing to do with her hand. She had another reason to scream.
He was aware of pain before anything else, unable to place it. With no idea of where he himself was, he knew part of him was missing.
Not dead, was the first coherent thought to come to him. If he had died he would not be breathing, and he knew he must be breathing because the air was like fire in his lungs, even as something cool and wet was smoothed over his skin. There were voices, and probably movements nearby, and then words, suddenly close and clear. "It's all right, Frodo. Open your eyes now."
More fire then, the air a shock to his eyes, and the sight something not to be believed. Frodo closed his eyes again.
Not dead, not Gandalf either, he thought. It was not possible. Of all the impossible things Frodo had wished for in the past months, he'd never had any hope of seeing this face again, and yet here he was when Frodo dared to look for him again. And struggling wildly against the certain knowledge in his brain was a fierce hope that all the evil things he had seen might come undone, that those who had fallen into shadow might come back. Changed, of course, as Frodo himself was changed, but whole and healthy again, and near enough to touch and embrace.
Frightened as he was to voice his hope aloud, he took another burning breath and spoke a single word, "Sam," wondering vaguely if he meant it as a question, a plea, or perhaps as an explanation. An apology.
"I know little of what happened after the two of you left Faramir at Henneth Annûn" Gandalf said. "After the Ring was destroyed and as Sauron's dominion was falling around us, Gwaihir of the eagles carried me to Orodruin to see if we might find you and Samwise and bring you back before the mountain collapsed completely. I saw Gollum's body already half covered by the liquid rock, but with the stillness of death. And I saw you lying alone, on an island of rock soon to be consumed. We carried you away and you have been resting here in Ithilien since. Frodo, we have no knowledge of Sam."
Frodo knew he should not be surprised by this. He had seen Sam fall with his own eyes, after all. He knew Sam was dead and knew he, Frodo, was to blame, and yet Gandalf's simple, gentle speech brought the panic and the shock of it back in a rush. Frodo felt himself begin to tremble, and his eyes lost focus. He didn't want to lose consciousness again, and in an effort to stay present he tried to speak. "He – we got to the – I tried, Gandalf, I thought if I could just get…"
He felt Gandalf's hand on the side of his face, calm and soothing, before he heard the wizard's whisper, words in a language he did not clearly comprehend but that bid him wait, rest, be patient. And even as Frodo's mind rebelled at being hushed like a child, he felt relieved to fall silent again, let his head fall against the pillows, and trust his friend's quiet assurance that there would be time for such explanations later.
He must have slept, and perhaps been given medicine. He sensed an earthenware cup at his lips, a strong arm supporting his back, and a cold white cloud about the edges of his vision and consciousness. "Try to drink some of this, Frodo," said a voice. And he tried, sipped at the warm liquid, and even swallowed once, but choked when he tried again, and coughed up half of what he'd swallowed the first time. Frodo closed his eyes and willed the dizziness to stop.
The strong hands held him steady while a warm wet cloth wiped the spilled liquid from his chin and neck. Frodo felt embarrassed and when he could breathe again he gasped "I'm sorry, Strider," only then realizing he had recognized the man who held him.
He opened his eyes then and stared harder, trying to clear away the blurry edges of his sight, and he was able to make out a warm smile in a deeply lined and tired face. "Do not be," Aragorn said, "but see if you can try again. I want to help you get some of your strength back."
Frodo nodded, and concentrated on drinking slowly and steadily, making an effort not to think about who was helping him or the things he wanted to say. And certainly not to let his thoughts go back to what had brought him here. Frodo felt the heat of the drink slick down his throat and spread through his chest and belly. His vision cleared more, the world stopped spinning, and all of him felt a bit stronger as Aragorn set the cup down on the ground and gently lowered Frodo's head.
"Thank you, Aragorn," said Frodo. "I'm so happy to see you." Because something needed to be said, even if happy was not quite an accurate word, and Frodo chose not to ponder at the moment whether he'd ever really be happy again. Aragorn was good, and Aragorn was alive.
"And I am glad to see you," said the man, "awake and aware, finally, and on your way to recovery." Frodo looked at him quizzically. "It is nearly two weeks since you were brought here, Frodo. It pained us not to be able to give you any food after your long ordeal. And even before you were rescued, how long had it been since you'd eaten anything other than lembas bread?"
The question seemed absurd and irrelevant to him, and rather than try to answer it he shook his head. "The others," he said. "Merry and Pippin," and he tried to think of other names.
"Yes, they too are awake and aware, and eager to see you. Frodo, Faramir told you of Boromir's death?"
"Yes," Frodo said hollowly. He hadn't thought of Boromir in long weeks.
"The rest of our Company has survived to see the quest achieved."
Except for one, thought Frodo, and wondered how long it would be before he'd be able to speak of it.
"Your cousins both fought bravely in the battles against our enemy," Aragorn continued. "Pippin has been sleeping in the tent next to yours. He woke up yesterday, and Merry has been tending to him."
Frodo's heart was beating fast, full of relief to know his cousins were alive and curiosity, even distrust, a need to know the ill news Aragorn was trying to shield him from. "Pippin," was all his could articulate.
"Pippin was injured in the last battle. We expect him to make a full recovery, but he won't be able to move very much at first. You know if he could he'd be sneaking his head under the flap of this tent the moment he heard you were awake."
"Merry will want to stay with him," Frodo murmured.
"Everyone wants to be with you, Frodo. Gandalf and I have kept them away so far in order to give you more time to rest, but Merry and Pippin, and Legolas and Gimli, and Gandalf and I, we all love you very much, and we all want to be here to help you through this. Do you understand that?"
And Frodo felt like the most despicable creature on the earth, then, for Merry and Pippin and Legolas and Gimli and Gandalf and Aragorn all loved him, and even as he knew he didn't deserve that, it wasn't enough. Because everything Frodo loved was lost, and he would never get it – never get them – back.
"Yes," he said softly, forcing himself to smile and hoping the tears would look like gratitude. "Thank you, Aragorn."
He was able to sleep some more, and later in the day Merry and Pippin did come to see him. Pippin was walking but leaning heavily on his cousin. Both had cuts and bruises visible on their faces, though Merry's were mostly faded. Pippin breathed shallowly and Frodo gasped at the sight of him, the suffering evident in his face. Pippin in turn looked shocked at the sight of Frodo, and Frodo thought for the first time what a wreck he himself must look. He self-consciously touched one of the deeper cuts on his own face and wished to disappear. He watched Merry whisper something in Pippin's ear and Pippin smoothed his features, then smiled his own smile and, as quickly as he could without falling, knelt down by Frodo's side.
"Have you tried standing up yet?" Pippin asked encouragingly.
Frodo shook his head. "Had a hard enough time sitting up to drink Aragorn's medicine earlier," he said.
Pippin nodded with understanding. "The dizziness, yes?"
"Yes."
"But you're ready to try again?"
Frodo didn't really want to, and Merry looked hesitant, as if he wished Pippin hadn't spoken. But here was Pippin, clearly very badly injured himself and only having risen the day before, and he wanted it, expected it of the oldest cousin, the bravest, the leader.
So Frodo agreed. Merry came behind his head and helped push him up, then arranged the pillows to support him, while Frodo caught hold of Pippin. And Pippin held him, hugged him more tightly than he really needed, but it felt good. "We all have our own hurts to get over, Frodo," he said. "And we will get over them. We'll do it together."
"My dear cousins," said Frodo, still wrapped in Pippin's arms and feeling Merry close behind him, Merry's hand rubbing his back. "My dear friends, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for all you've suffered for having come on this journey with me."
"No regrets, Frodo," Merry said softly in his ear. "Having helped save the world feels good, I won't deny it, but we came along then because we wanted to help you, and all of it's worth it if it means we can help you today."
Frodo could not really believe that they had no regrets. He was sure he would never feel that way himself, at any rate. But he thanked them, and held them, and told them he loved them. It was good, all of it was. And they didn't talk about Sam, but Frodo felt there would be time for that later.
It was different from recovering at Rivendell, as of course it would have to be, for a thousand different reasons. With the lingering stink of battle, with Pippin hurt. Without Sam to hold his hand or to support him when he tried to rise. Without as much of a reason to try to get up, since he had trouble seeing what was meant to come after this.
Still, Merry and Pippin were dear and attentive and helped him as well as they could. They brought him soup and boiled fruit, and everything was much easier to swallow this time. Frodo still felt weak, but the dizziness was much less, and with both cousins' help he was able to stand for a short time and even to walk a few steps.
After just over an hour Gandalf insisted that they go, saying Pippin needed to rest and so did Frodo.
Pippin helped Frodo to sit back down on his pallet and asked, "Mightn't we rest here though? All in the same tent?" And Gandalf looked at Frodo, who closed his eyes so as not to have to answer.
"We will decide later tonight," Gandalf said, "after the festivities."
Pippin might have been ready to protest, but Merry nodded to Gandalf and guided his younger cousin away. Once they were gone, Gandalf sat down at Frodo's side, and Frodo asked guardedly, "What are the... festivities?"
"Now that you are awake, we wish to honor you, Frodo, and to honor Samwise and the others who have fallen. We wish to celebrate that the Quest has been achieved."
"But Sam..." Frodo was so shocked by the idea he could not even think to explain the wrongness of it. "We cannot possibly celebrate," he said.
Gandalf looked at him gravely. "Nearly all those who are gathered here fought in the last battle," he said. "Many of them have been injured. They have all watched men die and many have lost dear friends for this cause. Do not think that we plan an empty celebration that does not acknowledge this great sacrifice. We mean to tell everyone that their sacrifices were worthwhile." He paused. "This is a message that I want you to understand as well, Frodo."
But this was far too much to try understand or argue with now. Frodo shook his head. "I can't... I mean to say, I will not be able to feel joy in any of this, I am sorry. But if you say it must be done for the sake of these men, that it will bring peace to their hearts, then I will go." Gandalf's look said he was moved but still wanted more, and to keep him from saying anything more about peace or healing Frodo asked, "What will be expected of me, Gandalf? What must I do?"
"You need not make any grand speeches or even say a word if you would prefer not to. The people wish merely to see and to praise the Ring-bearer. The feast is a short distance away and I shall walk by your side; if you find it is too far I would be honored to carry you."
Still barely able to believe or comprehend any of this, Frodo asked, "And what shall I wear?"
"Those things which were taken from you, Frodo. Your traveling clothes, the mithril-coat and the elven-cloak, and the sword that Sam took from the Barrow-downs."
"But how can this be?" Frodo asked in confusion, near panic as memories came back to him. "They were taken, those things, I – We had to – "
"Hush, Frodo." Gandalf was close, an arm supporting him, his voice soothing in Frodo's ear. "They were... returned." Something told him that this was yet another part of the greater story that he would rather not hear or speak of today.
"Very well," he said, and took several more measured breaths before continuing, "I should love to wear the mithril shirt and the elven-cloak again, but I do not wish for any sword."
"Tonight at least you should wear one," said Gandalf.
Frodo hesitated for only a moment and then spoke firmly. "No," he said, "let those who had to carry arms in this fight carry them again tonight, and let them be honored for it, but this was not my part. I had to carry only the Ring," and failed even at that, he thought, as words suddenly abandoned him again.
"Only the Ring," Gandalf said softly, as if speaking to himself.
"All I mean to say, Gandalf, is that I did not use Sam's sword, or the other that was lost. I never struck a blow to man or orc, and even so I – Sam and I, that is, managed to carry out our task. I want this part of our tale to be known, that there are other weapons against evil than sword or bow or axe. That there are other ways of…" He stopped, and looked up at his old friend, who was nodding and smiling slightly but with a sadness in his face that Frodo found almost overwhelming. "But I don't have to work so hard to explain things to you, do I, Gandalf? You understand?"
"Yes, Frodo, I do."
Marigold was as lovely as ever, standing in the doorway, and Rosie wondered how she could take it, how she could stand living in the new house they'd moved her family to, how she could take care of her father and all his sadness over his lost home and his lost son, and still smile like that.
"Tom's not here, Mari." Rosie smiled apologetically. "He and Dad went to Hobbiton to try to see about getting some more supplies, he's..."
"And what makes you so sure I came here to see Tom?" said Marigold.
"What else do you ever come here for then?"
Mari darted to give her a kiss on the cheek, and Rosie overcame her surprise to return it lightly. "Rosie, don't be dense. Your brother's a dear and I suppose he's the love of my life…"
"Suppose?" Rosie repeated with feigned offense.
"…But surely you know you were always my favorite."
Mari kissed Rosie's other cheek and this time Rosie was too surprised to react before Mari passed by her and into the kitchen, reaching proprietarily for flour and sugar and mixing bowls and saying something about having to hide these strawberries under her skirts for fear they'd be confiscated and, she laughed, "shared."
Rosie followed slowly into the kitchen, her mind in several places at once, and touching absently at the bandage on her right hand. Marigold turned from the work she'd already begun and glanced at the bandage. "Ah, Rosie, I forgot to ask, is your finger feeling better then?"
"It's healing up fine, I'm lucky Daisy was there to tend to it right away."
Mari came over to stand by Rosie and made to touch it, but hesitated, probably realizing it was best left with the bandage on. "Lucky indeed," she said, "if it'd been me with my clumsy self to take care of you you'd most likely be doing without that finger today."
"Don't be too hard on yourself," said Rosie. "You're not the one who was clumsy enough to nearly slice off her own finger with a kitchen knife."
That had been two weeks previous. They'd been making stew with the vegetables Rosie'd brought up from their family's farm, since the Gamgees had lost their own plots. Mari had been sitting on a stool peeling taters and Rosie cutting up carrots at the table when it happened. Rosie hadn't figured out where that new emptiness came from until long afterwards. After Daisy had tended to the cut, which was fairly deep but looked like it would heal cleanly. After she'd watched Marigold clean up the mess in the kitchen while sipping pennyroyal tea. Only hours after she'd gone home and convinced her brothers it wasn't as bad as it looked and shut herself in her room to weep had she realized what she was weeping for.
She meant to tell Marigold what she now felt, but she couldn't think how to say it just yet. And eager not to think any more about her own injury, she thought back to the conversation at the door. "I was your favorite, after all, I'd forgotten that."
"Oh!" Mari laughed, turning back to her shortcake. "Always! Since we were wee lasses tagging along after our big brothers, and them thinking they were so impressive since they'd turned ten."
That would have been around the time master Frodo moved in with his Uncle Bilbo, Rosie thought, and the stab in her chest was light, almost comforting it was so familiar. Anyhow, Sam wasn't spending all that much time in the garden then. He had plenty of time for exploring the backways of Hobbiton, Bywater, and surroundings with his favorite cousin Tom Cotton. And he may have resented having to look after his little sister Marigold, but he never once complained about Tom bringing along his little sister Rosie or her twin Jolly. As they got older Sam and Tom had to spend more and more time with their fathers learning their respective professions, but in their free time they were always together. Jolly discovered he preferred being a big brother to Nick and Nibs rather than a little brother to Tom. So the four of them became a unit, Tom, Sam, Rosie, and Marigold, the best of friends and cousins all together… but Mari was right; that didn't keep them from having favorites. Just when, she pondered now, had Rosie decided Sam was the one she loved best of all?
"Do you remember when we first came up with the Plan, Mari?"
"What, to marry each other crossways? You with Sam and me with Tom? I can't say I remember when it was, but I remember you whispering it in my ear sure enough."
"We never did get around to telling the lads," said Rosie.
"Ah, they'll catch on when the time's right. Our Sam always was a little slow." Marigold's face wasn't visible as she was turned in the other direction, and Rosie wondered if she felt the same flare in her heart when she spoke her brother's name. She wondered if that pain would get softer as the years went by. "Leastways as far as putting those kinds of feelings into words."
"Or actions," Rosie was able to smile slightly as she said it.
"That's where we lasses have to take matters into our own hands sometimes, if you take my meaning."
"Been taking Tom into your hands much lately, Marigold?"
Mari turned around then, picked a strawberry from the bowl, and kept her eyes on Rosie as she put it in her mouth. She sucked hard enough to bring the juices out, but didn't bite it off the stem she kept in her fingers. Drawing it out again, she smiled sweetly. "Hands is for babies," she said.
And Rosie laughed, long and clear, as she seldom laughed these days. And walked over and bit the strawberry off the stem Mari still held. It had been overly ripe and bursting with juice and now it was wrung out but still full of flavor, and Rosie loved Mari dearly, and said so.
Time passed in measuring and stirring and mocking of Pimple Sackville-Baggins, and Rosie felt the danger around the name and worried for Tom and her father going to Hobbiton today, but Marigold somehow kept the conversation light and sweet as the whipped cream. When they pulled the shortcake out of the oven Rosie said they should call in Nick and Nibs, and Mari said they should have a taste for themselves first.
"You never know with those two," she added. "They might take all the goodies for themselves. Not so considerate as Tom and Sam. D'you remember when we did this last year, Rosie, how Sam sat there at the table with all this goodness on his plate, and he wouldn't touch it till you'd sat down and had the first bite yourself?"
Rosie remembered, though she hadn't thought of it, but she found she couldn't speak. She worked at arranging cream and strawberries on the cakes instead.
"Are you quite well, dear?" Mari said softly. "Have I upset you?"
Rosie shook her head. "It's nothing," she managed, feeling the lie on her tongue and the tears starting in her eyes.
"Look, Rosie, it's been six months he's been gone…"
"And sixteen days," Rosie snapped without thinking, without looking up, grateful that the anger was stronger than the sadness for the moment and stopped her from crying. Mari looked at her steadily.
"Since we saw him, yes, though a few days less since they disappeared altogether." So Rosie wasn't the only one counting the days. "We'll call it six and a half then."
Rosie set down the food and the spoons, met her friend's eyes and frowned. "This is to make me feel better, Mari?"
"How long was old Mr. Bilbo gone on his journey?"
"Mr. Bilbo? Since we were teens… 1401, wasn't it?"
"Nay, Rosie, I mean his first adventure, back before we were born, when he went off for so long everyone thought he was dead, and then he came back again with all that treasure."
"Can't say as I know or care, Mari, though certainly Sam could give you all the details," and she bit her lip before she could finish, if he were here. For she hadn't meant to say his name, she didn't ought to say his name any more than necessary, or think of him coming back or telling more stories of Elves and Men and Dwarves and Bagginses. And Rosie wanted this conversation over and done with, but Marigold smiled broadly.
"Aye, he always loved hearing Mr. Bilbo's stories, didn't he? And so proud he could remember every last detail, I bet he could tell us which day of the week he left on, and the names of all them Dwarves and even what color cloaks they were wearing when they first showed up at his door. All I'm saying, Rosie, is I've a notion it was a good many months, maybe near like a year, but then he came back and gave the Sackville-Bagginses what for. Well, that's what I expect Mr. Frodo to come back and do any day now."
Frodo. Rosie swallowed and opened her mouth to speak, although with no clear idea of what she meant to say, but Marigold blithely continued, "Or maybe next month, or maybe next year sometime. He and Mr. Bilbo ain't like other folk, you can't expect 'em to follow the same schedule as other folk do."
"You never know what to expect from a Baggins," Rosie agreed reluctantly.
"You never do!" Mari seemed delighted to think she was finally making some headway.
"But Sam," Rosie insisted. "He's got no call…"
"Ah, well, our Sam, he... He's got his own ideas of what it means to do what's right."
"He isn't coming back, Mari. Not next month and not next year either. He's left us."
Marigold shook her head. "But not for good."
"Do you even hear what I'm telling you, Mari? I feel this. I know this. Had my suspicions and my fears ever since he left, and before that even, but I know it now – "
"D'you think I don't miss him?" Mari interrupted. And she was still smiling, she'd never stopped, but suddenly Rosie saw a strain at the corners of her mouth. Tension, Rosie thought, from trying too hard to hide the worry. Mari looked away for the first time, and took a few breaths, then looked back into Rosie's eyes. "You're not the only one to worry about him, every day that passes, dear. But I say we give him a little more time. Give him the year folks should have given Mr. Bilbo, and see if he and Mr. Frodo don't come traipsing back to Crickhollow one fine day, or better yet right back up to the green door of Bag End, singing some silly song and who knows, carrying more treasure than old Mr. Bilbo even dreamt of. Won't that be nice then?" And Rosie had to smile, when Mari grinned at her like that. "And see if Sam ain't ready to marry you by then, with all the adventuring he talked about all those years out of his system for too uncomfortable and wet and too far away from you."
"And all the Baggins out of his system too?"
"He'll be completely fed up with Bagginses, Brandybucks, Tooks, and gentlehobbits of any kind, and ready to settle down with the lass he always knew he would. Mark my words, Rose Cotton. Just give him a year."
"Ah, Mari, I never could stand up to you."
"You never could."
"But if he's not standing on my doorstep on September the 23rd, I'm going to work on my brother for you, and you and me'll be sisters with or without Sam."
"He'll be there," Marigold said with conviction. "And if he hasn't figured out what he really wants by then, I'll be going to work on him too."
To his own great surprise, Frodo did not stumble along the way and needed no help to reach the King's table. Gandalf walked at his side and looked on him with pride. Legolas and Gimli greeted him warmly, and Aragorn and the other rulers knelt before him. Merry and Pippin looked noble and beautiful in their new uniforms. Frodo was grateful and humble before them all and smiled his best smile, thinking of all the sacrifices everyone had made and wanting to be strong and brave for them. And still he wished he had perished with Sam in the fire.
In the end Rosie gave in to Marigold. It wasn't that she believed a word of these bright, hopeful predictions. On the contrary, now that Rosie had said it out loud she was more certain than ever that she was right, that her heart knew, her Sam was gone. But she gave in because she loved giving in to Marigold, seeing that look of triumph in her dear friend's eyes. And who was Rosie Cotton to tell Marigold Gamgee that her brother was dead, with nothing more to go on than the emptiness inside her that took away her breath?
next part | series tag | fic index
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I was rather hoping that Frodo and Rosie could be there for each other, since no one else would understand...
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Poor Frodo--this is going to be *so* much worse for him; he felt guilty enough when it was Gollum--how much moreso now it's Sam who was lost! I have to say, this part really got to me:
Because something needed to be said, even if happy was not quite an accurate word, and Frodo chose not to ponder at the moment whether he'd ever really be happy again. Aragorn was good, and Aragorn was alive.
*SO* Frodo! Even when he cannot be happy for himself, he can still appreciate the happiness of others. And he still has those he loves.
no subject
I love making Frodo concerned about the people around him even when he is going through such awful things himself. I love Frodo so much!
no subject
no subject
Goodness, yeah. Maybe after I finish I will have to come back and do an AU of the AU. :D Thank you very much for your comments, they really make me feel good! I should have more soon.
no subject
And who was Rosie Cotton to tell Marigold Gamgee that her brother was dead, with nothing more to go on than the emptiness inside her that took away her breath?
::cries:: :(
You do angst REALLY well. :thumbsup:
no subject
no subject
no subject