The King's Halfling by Claudia

Aragorn's tread was heavy as he climbed the winding stairs up to his chamber.

Our chamber, he thought with a sickening lurch of his stomach.

He had dismissed all whom wished to speak to him with a flick of his hand and his eyes had narrowed into the steely gaze that had made him so frightening to folk in Bree. Nobody dared speak to him, and this was just as well, but – they looked away in fear, and he felt the crush of isolation. He had no desire to be a tyrant. He wished only to fall into the dark forgetfulness of sleep. Not that his sleep would be pleasant. Whenever he closed his eyes, Frodo's eyes haunted him, wide and rimmed with red, looking to him for help. The last look Frodo had cast in his direction would burn in his mind forever, and he had felt the hobbit's heart close forever against him with an audible click.

I have the power to release him, Aragorn thought, clenching his fists. I only need go down into the cold dark myself and bid him go free.

He had no right to hold the Ringbearer. His only crime had been in not telling Aragorn that he was in trouble. And the role Frodo had played in the crime had been like a grain of sand in the deserts of Harad compared to all the hobbit had done for Middle earth.

Aragorn would release Frodo, and soon. To do otherwise was cruel and displayed the most wretched ingratitude.

But Aragorn hesitated, and he knew deep in his heart the reason. Holding Frodo had ceased to have anything to do with his insignificant crime at this time. His hesitancy in releasing Frodo stemmed from a much more cowardly reason.

Aragorn knew that when Frodo was free, he would leave forever.

Aragorn leaned against the arched door to the chamber and surveyed the room that he had shared with Frodo for the past year. The miserable pounding in his head gave him a slight dizzy spell. Frodo's nightshirt was still carelessly strewn on the bed; the hobbit had flung his cloak over the back of a chair. Aragorn staggered across the room and crawled into his side of the bed, his throat heavy.

"Frodo." He longed to have Frodo in his arms now, the Frodo of several weeks ago, whose eyes had sparkled with joy whenever Aragorn had deigned to show him the love he craved.

Aragorn let out a harsh sigh. That he had caused nothing but misery for Frodo seeped deep in his bones. He thought back to Frodo's birthday. He had told Frodo he would meet him in the courtyard – he now remembered, and the hobbit had waited in vain for three hours.

Then instead of making any attempt to soothe Frodo's hurt over the matter, Aragorn had left for Emyn Arnen without even coming in to bid him farewell.

And now Aragorn had struck a deadly blow to their already flailing love as soon as his command to imprison Frodo had been uttered. He could have retracted it, but even had he done so, the words would hang ever between them like the cruel ice on the top of Caradhras that never melted.

He had never had the chance to tell Frodo the pleasant surprise he had planned for him--that he had called Pippin back to Gondor for duty and that he should be here within a month. He wondered if such knowledge would keep Frodo, at least delay him from leaving.

Most of his men gave him uneasy looks as of late. They read the torment in his heart, though he kept his face immobile. Years of living as a Ranger had granted him sharp hearing, and the disapproving whispers had trickled to him.

"...if he would throw the Ringbearer in prison..."

"...if not for his deeds, there would be no Minas Tirith, herbs or not."

"...his own love he could throw away so easily..."

These whispers festered inside him because they were true. Aragorn had at last found his place in the world. Years of wandering friendless, country-less, had given him a rich appreciation of place, to have a city and a people to at last call his own. Without Frodo's bravery, none of it would have come to be.

And it had been Frodo who had given heart to his new life. All those long, tiring days when he was growing accustomed to his role as king, when he ached from dealing with person after person when his nature craved solitary wandering. All those days, and always he had Frodo to come home to.

I would make it up to him.

"My lord."

Aragorn had not heard the knock, and the voice of the guard startled him. He forced himself to focus on the guard who had intruded on his thoughts. He must try to pretend as though he were interested and concerned. He had a kingdom in his hands, and people who looked to him for guidance and leadership.

Then he recognized the guard -- his name was Damin and Frodo had pointed him out as one who had become a friend while Aragorn was in Emyn Arnen – and he became genuinely alert.

"What is it?"

"I am sorry to intrude." The guard bowed again. "But the Ringbearer...he has not eaten in three days."

Aragorn's heart sped. "What do you mean? Speak plainly."

"He will speak to no one." The guard's voice cracked, and Aragorn realized just how deeply the guard cared for Frodo.

They all love him so much, Aragorn thought with the worst pain in his heart yet. And it is I who had his heart and destroyed it!

Aragorn kept his face impassive. He had only meant to keep Frodo imprisoned a short time, but somehow a week had passed.

A sickening memory came back to him – a long ago conversation he had had with a healer in Bree.

Aragorn had denied that the Men of Bree and Hobbits of Bree had laws that were so very different from each other. "And if that is the case, perhaps more attempt should be made to work together. It would behoove the folk of Bree to come together, all the more now that darkness gathers."

"Aye, perhaps so," the healer said. "But the hobbits are much less harsh on their kind. Much less."

"What do you mean?"

"They do not imprison those who have broken the law. Hobbits cannot be imprisoned. Every hobbit imprisoned has fallen ill and died or has simply stopped eating and drinking. They gain strength from the earth, and without it, they whither."

Aragorn had believed the healer's ramblings to be coincidental nonsense, but now a cold surety pressed on his heart.




Frodo could not stop shivering. He was damp all over. Damin had not returned with a blanket or cloak, but that was all right. He didn't want to talk to him. If he did, he would weep in misery, and Damin would think him pathetic and leave him. In fact, Damin had probably already found out just why Frodo was in prison, and that was the reason he had not returned.

Frodo forced himself onto shaky feet. He could hear the echoes of crude laughter and curses from the distant cells. He clutched himself, shivering violently. His stomach and chest throbbed where he had been kicked and punched earlier in the abandoned shop. He walked in a circle around the cell, hoping to warm himself. He could not imagine how he would sleep this night.

He began making wider circles around the inside of the cell, and in doing so realized just how closed in he was and just how hard the stone beneath his feet was. He tried to calm the panicked fluttering of his heart. He had a nearly uncontrollable urge to run to the bars and shake them, screaming for daylight and fresh air.

While he walked, forcing one step in front of the other, his mind grasped at everything and anything about his situation. At which point could he have changed his fate? If he had not stayed in Minas Tirith...if Aven had not sent him on that hapless errand to the abandoned shop...if he had not run into Triston...if he had told Holis and Aven about the threat to Aven...if he had told Aragorn... Perhaps things would have gone differently. Well, he had been foolish. He had been so worried about Aven getting hurt, but if he had told Holis, the Captain of Gondor could have called more of the guard to protect Aven. And now Aven despised him, Holis had taken a deadly hurt, and Aragorn – well, Aragorn had just been given the justification he needed to push Frodo out of his life, as he had no doubt desired for the past few months.

Frodo blinked back tears. Now he knew for certain that it was over – all that had been held together with the most delicate of threads had now frayed and snapped apart. Everything clicked at once. He could not stay in Minas Tirith. Even if Aragorn released him now and apologized on bent knees before him, nothing could take this back. Frodo could walk away, knowing he would never again see Aragorn, and it no longer pierced his heart. The long solitary journey home should give him time to think and process. By the time he reached the green hills of the Shire, he would be ready to rest at last.

Damin returned to his cell, his face wan with concern. "Frodo, I could not find you another blanket, but I will leave you my cloak. I cannot watch you..." He swallowed. "Shivering like this." He knelt beside Frodo and wrapped the cloak around him. "I will bring you part of my supper. No sense in feeding you the same fare as the other prisoners. I am certain the king...whatever his intentions, would not have you suffer."

He left bread and fresh butter, as well as an apple. Frodo's throat closed at the sight of it. Food could give him no pleasure. He never wished to eat again. "Frodo...I don't know what has happened, but I know you did not deserve this. Not to be down here."

Damin's voice broke, and Frodo wished he could speak.




Frodo lifted a piece of bread, feeling that he ought to eat, but being unable to. His throat closed up and he could not even eat one bite without the urge to vomit. He gripped his stomach as the wave passed.

Dark and stone. He tried to picture Bag End, he was certain Sam must have fixed it up beautifully with flowers and vegetables. He tried to capture the memory of freshly cut grass between his toes, a whiff of spring blossoms, the hum of insects. But the dark stone cell pressed close to his heart.

He remembered lying curled in Aragorn's arms one late morning when things were good. Aragorn had nuzzled his rough face against Frodo's neck, planting kisses here and there. Frodo shivered at the memory.

"Are you happy?" Frodo had asked, searching for something in those gray eyes – perhaps utter devotion.

His shoulder gave a cold throb, a reminder that things could indeed get worse.

"Frodo." Damin's voice intruded on his thoughts, and he wondered how long had passed since the guard had last come. The guard wrapped his voluminous cloak around Frodo's thin shoulders. "Frodo...I'm going to stay here with you. You've not eaten in days and your lips are parched. You don't have to speak to me, but please...please..."

Frodo turned his lips away from the cup of water. Damin was kind – he'd not forget it – but if he swallowed anything he'd throw up, and he didn't think he had the energy.

"Come, Frodo." Damin's voice grew hard. "I will not sit here and watch you fade in my arms."

Frodo clutched Damin's arm and rested his head against the man's arm.

"Oh, Frodo," Damin sighed, and Frodo drifted into a feverish sleep.




The fire, consumed by frigid malice, licked at Frodo, deriving strength from the cold in Frodo's shoulder.

"The Ring is mine." The words echoed again and again through him, and sent the familiar dizzy surge through him. How wonderful it had felt to stop resisting the poison of the Ring!

"Frodo." The voice yanked Frodo from the fire and back into the chill of the cell. "Frodo." Warm arms wrapped around him, lifting his head, patting his cheeks. "Wake up." It was Damin, and he was smiling. "You are to be released. The king wishes to see you now."

Frodo was too weak to answer that he did not wish to see the king.




Frodo looked pale and shaken when he reached the chamber, but Aragorn did not expect the ice in his eyes. He had expected rage or accusation or sadness – anything but this.

"Frodo," Aragorn forced himself to say. Frodo paused, as if he had heard something but was not sure what.

Then he straightened his shoulders. "I have only come to collect my belongings and I shall leave."

"No..." Aragorn said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "You must stay."

Frodo turned to him with such hatred that he stepped back.

"Frodo..." Aragorn said again, feeling weak and helpless. A loud ringing filled his ears. He gripped Frodo's shoulder, and his heart plunged when Frodo flinched and pulled away. "Where...where will you go?"

"Home...I must return to the Shire." Frodo's voice had softened, but not toward Aragorn.

"Stay for tonight," Aragorn pleaded. If he lost this, he knew he had lost Frodo forever. "You are not well...and there are things...I must talk to you. I have been wrong."

"Aragorn..." Frodo's voice was clear and terrible and he met Aragorn's gaze fully. "Am I free or am I still a prisoner?"

"I have released you..." Aragorn said. "I should never have – " He felt as if he had received a mighty blow to his chest.

"Then I am free to go."

"Will you not stay and have a meal before you go...What hobbit could turn down a meal?" Aragorn tried to joke, though his lips felt numb. He was losing his love, the only one who mattered.

"Please...Frodo...I know I have no such right to beg of you."

Frodo ignored him as he carefully packed his knapsack. Aragorn saw how he shook. The hobbit had not eaten in days – he could not possibly make it outside the city gates.

"No, Aragorn," Frodo said as he walked out the door. "No, you do not."




Holis gripped Frodo's hand. Tears had formed in his eyes. "I am so happy to see you well...I heard...when I heard you were attacked in the shop with those men and then." He swallowed. "The king only kept you imprisoned for a short time--"

"Holis, I am leaving Minas Tirith. I came to say good-bye."

"Leaving?" Holis looked crushed, and Frodo managed a smile. The Man had been a good friend to him, and he would miss him.

"This is long overdue, Holis. I miss my home dreadfully."

"He does love you..." Holis said, his voice cracking. "As do – we all."

"Holis?" Frodo's eyes filled with tears. Walking through the last gate would be more difficult than he had anticipated. "I do so appreciate all you've done for me." Frodo kissed Holis' brow. "I love you so, though not in the way you might have wished..."

At that moment, Aven bustled in – and froze when he saw Frodo. Frodo's heart jolted, remembering the muddy hatred in the man's eyes, but he did not move.

Holis' hand grasped Frodo's cheek. "Farewell then, my sweet halfling. I dearly hope we will someday meet."

"I hope so too," Frodo said, but there was little hope of that happening. Frodo straightened and began to walk by Aven.

"Are you leaving Minas Tirith, Frodo?" Aven's voice was soft, and it made Frodo's throat hurt. There had been so many good days, when Aven had been kind and gentle, a good friend.

"Yes," Frodo finally managed, his heart thudding painfully. He could not look up at that face.

"Frodo." Aven knelt so that he was on Frodo's level and slid his hand under Frodo's chin. "You are not in any condition to travel. I know you did not eat for several days and you're on the verge of collapse. I will not have it happen in the wild where there is no help for you."

The concern in his voice was as it had been before, and Frodo nearly wept. "Aven...I cannot. Not after."

"I do not blame you, not anymore. I know now there were those who bullied and frightened you. I am deeply ashamed. If not for you, there would be no free peoples anymore – it matters not."

Frodo's ears were filled with a buzzing. He tried to focus on the door ahead, but everything wavered and shuddered. Aven was right -- he was going to collapse and there was nothing that could be done about it.



When Frodo woke, he found himself propped up by soft pillows, and someone, presumably Aven, had tucked him into one of the beds in the House of Healing. He had a vague recollection of fainting, of collapsing into the healer's arms, and now his limbs felt heavy and useless. His lips were so dry that when he tried to lick them, the cracked edges bit into his tongue.

He could not fully grasp what had happened to him, how he had come to be in this bed in the House of Healing. He must have fainted after returning from wandering lost in Minas Tirith's lower levels after meeting Tristan. No, that wasn't right. Frodo frowned, looking around the room. Too much had happened since then. His heart turned cold as he recalled. Aragorn had returned and Holis had been badly injured and he had betrayed Aven's trust. Frodo had endured a terrible nightmare of shivering in a dank prison deep underground where rats scuttled.

His head swam and his eyes burned. And now he was ill, just when he needed his strength the most. When he shifted in bed, he was suddenly aware that a cool cloth rested on his brow. On the bed beside him, Holis slept fitfully. Frodo started when he suddenly noticed Damin the guard sitting beside his bed. How gentle the guard's arms had been while wrapped around Frodo to still the hobbit's shivering in the dark prison! Frodo's heart filled with affection for the young man.

"Damin," Frodo whispered. Damin leaned forward when he saw that Frodo was awake.

"How do you feel?" the guard whispered. "I cannot stay long. I am due for duty in just a short hour."

Frodo managed a soft smile. "You were so kind to me...down there."

"You did not belong in such a foul place."

Frodo's mouth twisted slightly. "Do you know how long I am to stay bedridden? I do not wish to delay my travel." To be forced to once again look upon Aragorn would cause the ache in his chest to crack open once again, and he could not bear it.

Damin nodded, swallowing. "Aven said you will not be fit for travel for several days, possibly a week or more."

Frodo closed his eyes in despair. "Weeks?" He let out a mournful sigh.

"You did not eat or drink for days. I feared for your life." Damin looked behind him. "The king is near. He has been waiting for you to awaken."

"I cannot speak to him," Frodo said in a low voice. "Not now."

"That would be between you and the king, I am afraid," Damin said, rising to his feet. "It is not my place to stop him."

The king. That Aragorn had come to be only a title caused Frodo's throat to twist in fresh pain.

Damin continued. "Perhaps if I told him your wish..."

Frodo managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Damin. You are a man of rare honor, but you do not have to do that."

"I have done nothing to earn such a title," Damin said.

"I shall never forget your kindness." Frodo paused before continuing. "I am not such an innocent to foul places as you would believe. I've been in captivity before. During...I was held by orcs." Frodo shivered uncontrollably. He could still feel the rope around his wrists, the burn of the whip, their foul hands, their rank breaths in his ears.

"You do not have to speak of it."

Aragorn entered then. "Is he –" When he saw Frodo awake, he seemed surprised, though he quickly composed himself again. He looked away.

"Please leave me."

"I will check on your wounds."

Frodo could not resist a glance then. Aragorn's eyes were naked with pain, and he looked as though he had not slept in days. Frodo knew that all he need do to take away that pain in Aragorn's eyes was to smile at him, to once again open his heart to him.

But he did not, could not. "Aven has already taken care of me. I need only rest. Please, Aragorn." At last he forced his gaze to fully meet the king's grave gaze. "If you have any mercy at all, you will leave me now."

Damin remained nearby at attention, eyes closed, clearly miserable. Frodo was sorry that his dear friend had to be witness to such an awkward scene.

"Very well." Aragorn's voice was tight, his shoulders tense, and he strode out of the room.


The next day, Frodo felt well enough to be out of bed. Aven declared travel still out of the question, especially with his cracked rib. Frodo stood at the window, gazing out into the stone street, wincing at the pain in his rib every time he breathed. If he could only breathe strength into his limbs so that he could leave!

Aragorn arrived again, not long after, and Frodo turned away in despair. If he did not leave Minas Tirith soon, his heart would betray him and keep him from doing what was best for him. Aragorn's face was so dear and familiar, even after all he had done. Frodo lifted his chin, but said nothing.

Aragorn kneeled before him and grasped the hobbit's chin, forcing him to look at him. "You did not tell me you had been injured in the shop by Triston's men. Aven tells me you might have had grave injuries inside, that you might have bled to death."

"Would it have made a difference if I had told you? You had already determined the best fate for me."

Aragorn bowed his head. He said nothing, and Frodo felt fresh anger at him. He would not melt before Aragorn's naked humbleness. He pulled out of Aragorn's grip and clutched the windowsill, gazing out into the streets without seeing anything. Aragorn touched his shoulder, but Frodo flinched as if Aragorn had struck him, and the hand withdrew.

Frodo did not move until he heard Aragorn's footsteps recede. The pain that had crushed his chest broke apart at last and he wept. He tried to muffle the sounds because Holis was sleeping, but to his dismay, Holis opened his eyes and became concerned.

"Frodo," he whispered, stretching his hand toward Frodo. Though he could not reach, the gesture moved Frodo greatly.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Frodo said, wiping his eyes and returning to sit on the edge of his bed.

"Do not worry on my behalf," Holis said. "It wrings my heart to see you so sad."

"I will be sad for a long time."

"I know."

Frodo closed his eyes and fell into a swift sleep.


He had returned home to the Shire. Sam was working in the garden, just as he always had, only now of course he was the master of Bag End. Frodo's heart lifted in joy when he saw him, and he ran up the road toward the gate. He was among hobbits at last, good earth between his toes, and he could not wait to tell all he had endured to his dear friend. He could not wait to have fresh bread and blueberry jam and mushrooms again. How he had missed mushrooms, cooked properly as only hobbits understood how.

Sam! Frodo cried in joy. But when Sam looked at him, his eyes only narrowed and he shook his head.

Frodo's heart turned cold. Sam, what is it?

I told you so, sir. That man's ruined you.

No, Sam. I'm home.

But Sam ignored him. Frodo had never felt so alone in all his life. He stood in the middle of the road, uninvited and cold.




"If you would turn your heart against me for the remainder of our days, at least you can afford me one walk in the garden."

Aragorn's voice wormed its way into Frodo's heart, working on the fastenings, determined to open it again.

"Very well. One walk."

They walked in stony silence for a long time. Frodo's heart throbbed for the blissful days when they had walked in this very garden hand in hand. Then Frodo had listened with joy in his heart as Aragorn had explained the varying healing plants that grew there. But now Frodo could scarcely bear to look upon the same garden that had caused so much grief. He could not offer his hand to Aragorn, though he knew the man would gladly receive it.

"When I was in Emyn Arnen," Aragorn finally said in a broken voice. "I had a terrible nightmare, the kind one wishes to forget upon waking but which has continued to haunt me. In this dream, I had beaten you viciously with my bare hands. I had no control over my actions until...I saw that you were mortally wounded because of what I had done to you, Frodo." Aragorn took in a breath. "I was forced to slice your throat to end your suffering."

Frodo glanced up at him, surprised by the trembling in the king's voice, but still he said nothing.

Aragorn continued. "It was the only thing to do, since such injuries as I had dealt you could not be fixed, even by healing hands."

"It was but a nightmare," Frodo finally said.

"But a true nightmare," Aragorn said. "Those with Numenorean blood have the gift of sight." He took in a deep sigh. "I know in truth I have battered all that was sacred between us. I made poor decisions, which have nearly cost your life, have cost me your love and which have broken your heart until it has hardened against me. The only thing for me to do is to let you go, severe my ties with you, as you wish."

Frodo did not answer. His throat had clenched with such tight pain that he feared to try to speak.

"Do you understand me?" Aragorn asked. His gray eyes were sober, his face pulled into a tight mask.

Frodo nodded. "You will willingly let me go," he whispered.

"I could fall to my knees before you and beg you to stay with me. I could promise you anything of your desire. I could love you with utmost tenderness until you melted in my embrace. But I cannot turn back what I have done already, and I see you are lost to me. I will not try to possess that which is lost."

Frodo sank onto a nearby bench, his head bowed.

"Until Aven gives you leave to travel, I will not trouble you further."

Frodo nodded, his throat aching, keeping his head bowed so that he did not need to watch Aragorn's retreat. When he was alone, truly alone, it seemed that there was not enough darkness in all the night to match that which he felt in his heart.




Frodo rubbed his eyes. No, it could not be. From where he was sitting on the front stoop of the Healing House it appeared a hobbit on a pony, dressed in the garb of a guard of the citadel, was making his way up the street, waving to all who would recognize him. Frodo stood on shaking legs, unable to believe his ears when he finally recognized Pippin's voice.

"Pippin!" He yelled, breaking into a run down the road. "Pippin!"

The little guard's head whipped in the direction of Frodo's voice. His bright face grew happy and his lips turned up in open joy. "Cousin Frodo!" Pippin jumped from his pony and threw his bulky self into Frodo, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Those around them watched in amusement as the hobbits greeted each other with unabashed emotion, weeping and hugging.

"He kept it a surprise, I see," Pippin finally said. "He's good." He nodded. Frodo swallowed and nodded. Of course, Pippin still assumed that all was well between himself and Aragorn.

"We were so worried! When Aragorn sent for me, he said you'd been ill and could use hobbit company. He wished me to come to cheer you up. You don't look ill, thankfully, just a bit tired and pale. Aragorn has taken good care of you, has he not?"

Frodo's face fell then, and he swallowed hard. He hated to turn this merry greeting into grim truth, but he could not pretend to be in a situation he was not for too much longer.

Pippin grew serious. "Something is wrong."

"Much has happened," Frodo said quietly. "It is a long story. I shall be returning to the Shire soon. Follow me to where I am confined for a few more days at least."

"Oh, no. You are ill, then." Pippin led his pony behind them as they walked back up the street toward the Houses of Healing. "It's not serious then, is it? You're not...you'll live, right?"

Frodo laughed with some effort. Though his heart was crushed, seeing Pippin brought new life into him, and all the more he was eager to return to the Shire.

"I shall live. Come, Peregrin Took. There is another guard of the citadel recovering that I would have you meet." Frodo's eyes twinkled as he realized just how much Holis would take to Pippin.




Four years later

Frodo sat on the bench in front of his round door, gazing out over the party field. Funny how he still thought of it as the "party field." He closed his eyes, surprised by how vividly he could still hear the crack of fireworks, the vigorous music, and Sam's nervous laughter. How full of life and youthful energy he had been that night!

With a fond smile, Frodo watched Sam dig patiently around the marigolds so that he could pull stubborn weeds out by their roots. His sturdy hands had long since healed from the burns received in Mordor, and his back was just as sturdy as it had been when he had carried Frodo up the mountain.

Frodo breathed in the aroma of freshly overturned soil. Even in the early fall, when living things prepared to die or sleep, this smell reminded him of spring. Little Elanor helped her dad, her fat face flushed, her little feet filthy. She smiled at Frodo, and she trotted to him with a daisy clutched in her fist. "Pretty!" She thrust the flower at Frodo.

Frodo laughed. "Thank you, sweetheart!"

His shoulder throbbed slightly, and he flexed the fingers in his left hand, dismayed by their numbness. It was too soon. His birthday had not even yet arrived, and already his body failed, weakening to an illness that would continue to worsen for several weeks. The afternoon light began to thin, and a chill breeze made him wish he had brought out his cloak. Yes, October was still weeks away, and already he could feel that thin veil of despair creep over his heart. Every illness stole yet another part of him, a part that withered and died and could not be replaced.

Soon there would be nothing left at all.

A movement behind the hedges startled him, and he leaped to his feet. A hobbit he had never seen before stood uncertainly in front of the gate to Bag End.

Sam paused in his weeding and glared. "Do you know him, Mr. Frodo?" What Sam did not say but meant was, "Must folk bother you at home when you are off your mayoral duties?"

"No," Frodo said with a puzzled frown. "But I suppose I should find out what he wants." He walked down to the gate, the pain in his shoulder forgotten for the moment.

The hobbit – large and strong-looking, though not so much as Merry or Pippin, Frodo was proud to note -- carried weapons, which was indeed unusual for a hobbit of the Shire. Frodo wondered if he came from Bree, and his heart sped. He could not help an image of Aragorn, though he stopped the thought before his heart could feel pain. If Aragorn had not contacted him by now, he would not likely ever do so.

Frodo swallowed. That was what he had wanted, of course.

"May I help you?" he asked the strange hobbit, trying to keep his voice steady. Sam hovered right behind him, his hands filthy.

"Are you Frodo Baggins?" The hobbit had an odd accent, certainly not from either the Hobbiton area or Buckland.

Frodo nodded.

"I am sorry to disturb you." The hobbit bowed slightly. "I am a bounder who patrols the borders of the Shire near the Brandywine River. I have been commanded by the king's men to deliver a message to a Frodo Baggins, mayor of Hobbiton, of Bag End."

"That is I," Frodo said, taking the message in a shaking hand. The world seemed to dim, and he was scarcely aware of anything but his harsh breathing. He stumbled back to the bench without even a farewell to the bounder, who walked away without further ado. Frodo read the message, his heart pounding in his ears, and his vision narrowed to only include the words on the faded paper.

"Mr. Frodo, are you all right?" Sam was beside him, supporting his elbow and keeping him steady. "Now just you sit steady now, Mr. Frodo. Don't you move until you feel well enough to go back inside. Then I'll make you some hot tea and you'll go to bed."

Aragorn had sent for him. He had come at last.




Frodo used every ounce of his strength to keep his shoulders erect, his face impassive, as befit the mayor of Hobbiton when he comes before the King.

"My lord," he managed, and he bowed with gentle deference. Aragorn did not answer. The guards that surrounded the king looked stiff, void of emotion. No Holis or Damin.

He nearly smiled at the memory of the last time he had seen Holis. Pippin had been sitting on the edge of the wounded captain's bed, tending to one of his wounds, and Holis' hand had rested on the hobbit's chin. Pippin had still not returned to the Shire, so Frodo assumed all was still well between them.

Holis and Pippin – they both deserved the honest love they could bestow upon one another.

"My friend." Aragorn uttered. Strands of gray now colored his hair. There were creases around his eyes that had not been there even four years earlier.

Frodo took a breath. "It is an honor to greet my lord on the borders of the Shire."




Aragorn had feared what he would find when he saw Frodo after all this time. Sam's letter had described Frodo's health in sober tones. His anniversary illnesses had become more ravaging and drawn out. His eyes were hollow, and he always seemed to listen for a distant call that only he could hear. Aragorn had feared that his Frodo would be naught but a broken, thin shadow.

He had not expected Frodo to look so ethereal. His curls brushed against smooth skin, his eyes – so achingly out of touch, like a distant star. They reflected no pain but only it seemed, because in order to feel pain, one needed to be connected to the world and its concerns.

Aragorn had a desperate urge to fall to his knees and crush Frodo in his arms. The ice might melt – or Frodo would stiffen and shatter into dust.

"My lord?" Frodo's eyes were wide and questioning. "What duty would you have me do on behalf of the Shire?"

"Frodo..." Aragorn forced himself back to formality. He could not show his own pain before his men, and certainly not before that unworldly gaze. How wrenchingly similar it was to the gaze in Arwen's eyes that last time in Rivendell, when she had slipped her cold hand in his and looked toward the sea.

Aragorn forced his hands not to tremble as he unrolled the parchment in his hands. "I have come to read a proclamation, one that you shall relate to your people."

"Yes, my lord." Frodo bowed again.

Aragorn would not let Frodo's aloofness twist him inside. He blocked out the memory of how once that same soft voice had been warm with affection, ragged with pain, familiar. Now that seemed like a distant dream, something that had not actually transpired.




Frodo was remembering how Aragorn's unshaved cheek had once set fire to his smooth skin. He remembered how those same long fingers had brought him back to life when he had burned in a near-death state, still seeking the Ring.

Frodo had already accepted that his time in this world was waning, and that he would soon pass over the sea. But as Aragorn read aloud that edict which banned men from entering the Shire, his throat filled with such aching despair that for a moment he was wrenched back to this world.

He had been fully aware of how a buried part of his heart had continued to hold hope that Aragorn would come for him. His edict would now make that impossible. With a single paper, Aragorn had hammered the final stroke to cleave them apart forever. For Frodo, it would be when he boarded that ship.

"I shall send word throughout the Shire of your law," Frodo said with a stiff bow. "Is that all my lord wills?"

Aragorn stood tall, like a noble statue of old. At one time, those arms, now thick with armor, had protected him from cold nights. His long fingers had slid playfully between Frodo's smaller ones, especially when they had laughed long into the night.

"Yes." Frodo was not certain, but it seemed that Aragorn's eyes glistened.

"You journeyed from Minas Tirith to relay this simple message?" Frodo asked, his voice cracking slightly, forgetting for just a moment that he meant to remain stiff and formal.

Aragorn's voice softened. "This is an edict of rare significance," he said. "It would be foolish for me to send a messenger. We are staying at Lake Evendim, not far from your borders."

"Farewell, my lord," Frodo finally said, placing his hand over his breast and bowing. He could capture this moment and hold it deep inside. Perhaps after it blurred around the edges and then faded altogether, this image of Aragorn would return to him in dreams.

"Namarie."

Frodo only bowed again, but he did not trust his voice to utter more.




Frodo was not sure how he made it back to Bag End. He later remembered placing one foot in front of the other, through winding trails, through thick crops of woods. That first night he recalled sleeping under a tree, heedless of the creeping cold in his shoulder. He dreamed about a vast sky twinkling with starlight over a dark sea. He heard gulls cry and the scent of the sea was so strong it clutched his heart with yearning that left tears on his cheeks upon awakening.




Aragorn rode in silence, his back stiff and straight. To those who did not know him well, his eyes appeared cold, his countenance stern. Years of being alone in the wilderness had allowed him to hide the pain. Nay, pain was too mild a term to put to the crushing, wringing of his heart.

During the last four years, he had lived in a half dream state, keeping hope that he would make his way to the Shire and enough time would have passed that Frodo would forgive him and they would greet each other as lovers.

Frodo was lost to him -- more so now than four years earlier. He should have fought for him...should never have let him leave Minas Tirith. But he knew the only way he could have prevented the stubborn hobbit from leaving was throwing him back into prison – and he still burned with shame over his treatment of the Ringbearer...his love.




The pony bearing Frodo rounded the last bend, and the sea spread out before him at last, its scent loosening the tension in his chest. Here, at the harbor, dappled in warm late afternoon sunlight, the dull ache in his shoulder faded. He felt weak but giddy, the way he had often felt upon waking the first day after an anniversary illness.

"We saw a lot of different places on our journey, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "But nothing like this. And to think it's so close to the Shire."

"I dreamed about it," Frodo murmured. A gull soared high into the sky, contrasting with the blue sky. "A long time ago."

"Old Sandyman used to poke fun of me for wanting for moonshine when I talked about the elves sailing. But look here." His voice faded with the wonder of it.

Frodo smiled and affectionately slipped his arm through Sam's. "You'll witness the greatest of elves leaving Middle earth."

Galadriel, Elrond, and Cirdan stood, tall and fair. Frodo looked into their distant eyes and saw there understanding, a reflection of his own detachment from this world. As Galadriel boarded the ship, she spoke not a word, but bestowed a smile upon Frodo, full of promise and healing.

Bilbo, Elrond, and Galadriel had already boarded the ship. Gandalf beckoned to Frodo, and Sam and Merry at last understood. Sam gripped Frodo, sobbing unabashedly, while Frodo tried to explain, all the while gazing with longing toward the ship.

Gandalf's sharp voice roused Frodo out of his dreamy state. "Aragorn?"

Frodo pulled out of Sam's embrace, and his heart lurched as Aragorn dismounted from his steed and strode purposefully toward him. Merry and Sam fumbled to bow before their friend and king, but Aragorn had no eyes for any, save Frodo.

"You must not leave."

Gandalf put a steady hand on Frodo's shoulder and asked in a quiet voice, "Aragorn, what is your intention at this hour? The ship must set sail."

The heart-achingly familiar scent of horse and leather blocked the sea scent. "How...?" A heated rage filled his chest, that Aragorn had broken his calm, yet mixed in with the rage was wonder that the king had ridden all the way to the harbor to stop him.

Aragorn knelt before Frodo and took the hobbit's chilled hands in his. "Come with me. Do not leave these shores."

Frodo swallowed. How warm and earthy Aragorn's hands felt! He had nearly forgotten how those steady hands had often kept away nightmares.

"My days in Middle earth are over," Frodo said haltingly, glancing at the ship. The waves splashed against the side of the ship, calling him, clutching for his heart.

Aragorn's mask fell, and it did not seem to bother him that Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, and the hobbits all bore witness. "I've never stopped loving you." His words tumbled out, slurred and wretched. "I have done you grave wrong after grave wrong, but when I lost you...a hole gaped right here." Aragorn tapped his chest. "And it has never been filled. Time does not heal it, as it did when Arwen passed." He glanced at Elrond. "For never once did I feel responsible for her pain--"

"Aragorn..." Frodo's heart sped and warmth filled his cheeks. He had longed to hear those very words through many long, sleepless nights since his return to the Shire. "But..." He glanced toward the ship.

"No. Please." Aragorn squeezed Frodo's hands.

"I cannot go back," Frodo said, looking downward. "Minas Tirith is no place for a hobbit."

"No, no, Frodo," Aragorn said, shaking his head. "We shall not live in Minas Tirith. I will leave charge of the city to Faramir—for now."

"But where would we live, if you have banned all men from entering the Shire?"

Aragorn's face lit up with relief. Seeing that Frodo seemed to be giving in, he talked faster. "Lake Evendim. It is a quiet place. And yet it is a short journey back to the Shire for you to visit your cousins and Sam. I only know I cannot live without you at my side."

"So..." Frodo smiled at last. "I could have both -- you and the Shire." His smile faded. "But you would have a wounded hobbit on your hands all your life. My illnesses have grown worse, Aragorn, and I will most likely perish long before you. What then?"

Aragorn sighed, kissing the tops of Frodo's hands. "My life will be long, this I know to be true. Certainly I am destined to know grief. But should I lose you now, I will have many more years of grief to endure."

"Frodo," Gandalf broke in. "It is time."

Frodo looked toward the ship. Bilbo had already settled into a chair, his eyes closed.

"Look at me." Aragorn tilted Frodo's chin up. Frodo looked at him through blurred eyes. "Look at me fully in my eyes and tell me you would leave me forever."

They were silent as Frodo gazed into gray eyes and found what he sought.

"I love you." Frodo collapsed into Aragorn's embrace, just as he had dreamed of doing for years. Unyielding arms slid around his slight waist, nearly crushing the breath from him. He looked up, and Aragorn's lips descended on his, devouring, until neither could breathe.

"I will stay," Frodo said, gasping for breath. He turned to Gandalf. "I will stay." He laughed in pure joy. Merry and Sam looked at him in overjoyed surprise.

"Are you certain of this path?" Gandalf asked, his eyes bent with sadness. "There will be no more ships, Frodo, should you make this choice."

Frodo looked again to the ship. It was true he would never see Bilbo or Gandalf again. But if he stepped on the ship, he would never see Sam or Merry or Pippin. And Aragorn, whom he needed more than he thought.

"I will not persuade you further," Aragorn said, releasing Frodo. "If you seek healing in the West, know that my love for you will still remain constant. If you stay here, I will humbly spend the rest of my days making certain you know my love."

"I will stay," Frodo repeated.

Sam and Merry rushed to Frodo, pressing him in their rough embraces. Sam babbled incoherently through his tears, and Merry said nothing – just continued to squeeze. Aragorn watched patiently, and as he looked upon Frodo, the aged hollowness left his eyes.

A brief time was allowed for Frodo to bid farewell to Bilbo and Gandalf.

Frodo and Aragorn and the hobbits watched the ship glide through the firth and into the open sea. Aragorn held Frodo in a firm embrace. The younger hobbits wept quietly for the loss of Gandalf and Bilbo, though Frodo's eyes were dry.

At last Merry and Sam bid farewell to Frodo, a much more hopeful farewell this time, and turned their ponies in the direction of the Shire.

"Shall we?" Aragorn asked. Frodo nodded, his heart full at last, but he did not speak. He could look forward to many years to come, in which they could fill the night with tales of what they had done over the years they had been estranged. There was time enough for that later.

For now, as the ship bearing the last of the great Rings passed into the West, Frodo was content just to remain in silent companionship with his Aragorn.
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