Even though Frodo had finished the investigation that had brought him to Minas Tirith, he remained in the city. Gandalf spoke of traveling to Rivendell eventually, and Frodo intended to accompany him and go on to the Shire from there, but their plans were yet indefinite. Until their date of departure was more certain, Frodo was happy to stay on in the city with his old friends, and to have fun with Merry.
Late one April night, after an evening of drinking and merriment at the Steward's Arms tavern, the hobbits were walking back to the house they shared with Gandalf on the city's sixth level. Both were wobbly on their feet, but Frodo was a little more sober than his cousin and supported Merry with an arm around his waist.
"I think I could get used to these Gondorian ales," said Frodo, laughing as they headed up the street, "but I won't ever be used to the way the Big Folk make a hero of me."
"Why shouldn't they?" Merry responded. "'Course you're a hero to them, Frodo! You found the poisoner! Everyone was too frightened to eat or drink for weeks, for fear of dropping dead. It's the second time you've saved them from danger, and they're grateful. It's no surprise to me if every guard in the citadel wanted to buy you a pint of ale. Well deserved, I'd say."
"I feel like every guard in the citadel tried to buy me a pint tonight! I couldn't drink that much, Merry--I'd drown!"
"If you get into difficulties with your ale, I'll be glad to help you finish it off. The soldiers're always buying drinks for me."
"They like to see you get so tipsy you dance on the table-top," Frodo told him, teasing.
Merry laughed. "And I did, didn't I? They'd do it themselves, but they can't, not in those great, heavy boots they wear. They'd stomp the tables to pieces!"
They went through the tunnel past the entrance to the citadel. The house was just ahead on the eastern side of the street; on the other was the sheer rock face that supported the citadel's vast courtyard above them.
"You're too modest, Frodo," said Merry. "That's your trouble." He took his cousin by the arm and swung him so they were standing face to face, swaying a little unsteadily. "You just have to get used to the idea that everybody thinks you're as marvelous as I do." Then he kissed him.
Frodo wasn't surprised at the kiss. Merry was trying to get over Pippin, and he was trying his best not to think about Sam; they had agreed that this was the most effective way to do both.
They stood just outside the tunnel, kissing and laughing between kisses, when Frodo caught an odd glimmering shape out of the corner of his eye.
"What was that?"
"What was what?" asked Merry.
"I thought I saw someone standing over there--by the wall." He'd only glimpsed it for an instant, but it had appeared to be a figure wearing a hooded gray cloak, with silvery glints of armor beneath, catching the moonlight.
Merry, whose back had been toward the figure, turned to look over his shoulder. He saw nothing. "Don't be silly, Frodo. There's no one around. They're all in bed, and so should we be too." He tried to pull Frodo into in another kiss, but Frodo shoved him back and went up the street to investigate.
Aside from a few ragged outcroppings of rock, there was no place for a person to hide without crossing the street and going into one of the houses. Frodo was certain no one had done that. He peeked behind the first outcropping, nearest to the place where he thought he'd seen the Man standing. No one was there. He put one hand on the rock wall, but of course it was solid stone. No one could have gone through it.
Merry had come up behind him to peer at the blank wall as well. "What is it?" he asked again.
"Nothing," Frodo answered. "It must've been a trick of the light, or else I'm drunker than I thought."
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Secret in Ancient Stone by Kathryn Ramage
Story notes: This story takes place three years after the fall of Mordor, in the spring and summer of 3022 of the Third Age and begins a week or so after the end of events in "Poison in the Citadel" (except for the epilogue about Pippin's arrival; he hasn't gotten to Minas Tirith yet for the first part of this story).
Some of the names of historical Gondorian persons and events are taken from the appendices at the end of ROTK, but the incident that leads to the murder of the Elf in this story, and the Elf himself, are my own creations.
Credit where it's due: To Karen, who wrote to me about a dream she'd had of Frodo's finding the ghost of an Elf-child in Minas Tirith and thought I could make a story out of it. I've changed the story, and the age of the ghost, from her original idea, but the idea was hers to begin with and I wouldn't have written this story without her suggestion.
The Frodo Investigates! series
