SEAL
ON MY HEART
by Soledad
Disclaimer: see Introduction
Warning: this story contains implied m/m interaction – don’t read it if it’s not your thing.
Rating: PG, I guess.
Author’s
notes:
As earlier,
the descriptions and a few lines of dialogue are taken from the
HoMe-books ’’The Return of the Shadow’’ and ’’The
Treason of Isengard’’. It turned out rather differently than
what I originally had in my mind, but we all know that it’s the
characters who are really in control.<g>
My thanks to
Deborah for suggesting the opening quote. I tried to turn it more
ancient, the changes I made are probably horrible,
but….<shrugs>
And once
again, my heartfelt thanks to Isabeau of Greenlea for
beta-reading.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
''Wherever thou goest, I will go;
and where ever thou stayest, I shall stay.
Thy people shall become as mine [...]
And where ever thou diest,
I, too, shall die there and be buried with thee. [...]
Death alone shall part me from thee.''
(Loosely quoted after the Book of Ruth)
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
Chapter Four: The Ring Goes South
The next
morning came, cold and grey, as was common in the middle of
December in those days. The East Wind was streaming through the
bare branches of the trees, and making the fir-trees in the hills
seethe. The hurrying clouds were low and sunless. As the
cheerless shadows of the early evening began to fall, the
companions of the Ring were ready to depart. Their farewells had
all been said by the fire in the great hall, and they were
waiting only for Gandalf, who was still in the house, speaking
some last words in private with Elrond.
Their spare
food and other necessaries were laden on seven sure-footed
ponies: two for the two hobbits, one for the Dwarf, and four for
the others. Only Gildor had a big horse with him: his trusted
pack animal that had accompanied him on many of his journeys and
was able to walk on any path a hill pony could go.
The travelers
themselves were to go on foot, for their course was set through
lands where there were few roads and paths were rough and
difficult. Sooner or later they would have to cross the
Mountains. They had planned to depart early and quietly, under
the cloak of the grey dawn, for Elrond had warned them to journey
by dusk and dark as often as might be, and to lie híd when they
could in the broad daylight.
’’When the
tidings reach Sauron,’‘ he said, ’’of the discomfiture of
the Nine Riders, he will be filled with great anger. When the
hunt begins again, it will be far greater and more
ravenous.’’
’’Are
there still more Black Riders then?’’ asked Frodo. Elrond
shook his head solemnly.
’’Nay!
There are but Nine Ringwraiths. But when they come forth again, I
fear they will bring a host of evil things in their train, even
if Glorfindel is able to keep part of their forces occupied in
Mirkwood. You must beware of even the sky above you as you go on
your way.’’
Heeding
Elrond’s advice, they were going to journey for the most part
by dusk or dark. It meant little to the keen-eyed Elves, but Sam,
who was standing by the pack-ponies, was sucking his teeth and
staring moodily at the Great House – his desire for adventure
was at low ebb. But in that hour none of the hobbits had any
heart for their journey, regardless if it led them to the Black
Land or back to their own – a chill was coming in their hearts
and a cold wind in their faces, and their hopes waned.
A gleam of
firelight came from the open doors; lights were glowing in many
windows, and t he world outside seemed empty and cold. Bilbo,
huddled in his cloak, stood silent on the doorstep beside Frodo,
while Merry and Pippin stood forlornly a few steps away, with
tears in their eyes.
Arwen and
Elladan had already said their farewells to their father and
stood together, clad in leggings, tunics and cloaks of shadowy
grey, in the fashion of the Silvan folk of Lothlórien, armed
with swords and bows, the full quivers strapped on their backs.
Each of them had their long, raven-black hair woven into a
single, tight braid, to keep it out of their faces. Elrohir
stood with them, paler than Death itself, unmistakable pain
written in his features.
Boromir,
wearing his black leather cloak above his mail shirt and his
velvet tunic, stood a little way away, not waiting to disturb
their last moments together. He wore the silver collar proudly
and openly, to the wide-eyed astonishment of the Elves of the
valley, but his tunic was held together just below the throat by
the time-blackened silver clasp he had received as the token of
their mutual promise from the Lady Éowyn of Rohan.
Gildor
Inglorion stood by his horse, wearing the usual green and grey
traveling garb of his Wandering Company, his golden hair bound
into a thick club with thin leather straps, his great sword on
his back, long throwing knives hanging from his belt. He, too,
stood alone, having said his farewells to his own people in
private. They were standing in patient silence among the trees to
witness his parting.
Not far from
him stood Gimli, the Dwarf – also alone, for his father had
returned to Erebor shortly after the Council, and there were none
of his kind left in the valley to see him off. He wore openly a
short shirt of steel-rings, for Dwarves make light of burdens;
and in his belt was a broad-bladed axe, gifted him by Glóin,
since he had broken his own in the foolish attempt to destroy the
Ring.
Aragorn sat on
the frosty ground, next to the door, with his head bowed to his
knees. Boromir could guess what he was brooding about, having
overheard his last conversation with Arwen, and from the
compassionate looks the Lady Undómiel was giving his bent form
she did, too. Nevertheless, she remained with her siblings, –
after all, it was Elrohir she was going to leave behind.
At last Elrond
came out with Gandalf, his storm-grey eyes clouded with sorrow
and dark foreboding. Strangely enough, his saddest look was given
to Aragorn, not his own children who were about to leave.
’’Farewell
now,’‘ he said. ’’May the blessings of Elves and Men and
all free folk go with you. And may many white stars shine on your
journey!’’ He embraced his children one last time, then
Aragorn, then – after a short hesitation – even Boromir, and,
looking into the Man’s eyes, added with a low voice: ''May the
stars of the Lady Elbereth shine upon your faces and Manwë, Lord
of the Winds watch over your paths.''
Aragorn
stiffened visibly as his sharp ears caught these parting words,
for that last phrase was, in fact, part of the fatherly blessing
in the Elven wedding ceremony, invoked by the father calling
Manwë as his witness that his blessing was truly given. It
showed how completely Elrond had accepted the one-sided choice of
his firstborn – even if he could not, would not ever agree with
it.
’’Good…
good luck!’’ said Bilbo, stuttering a little (from the cold
perhaps), while Merry and Pippin clung to Frodo, sobbing openly.
’’I suppose you will not be able to keep a diary, Frodo my
lad, but I shall expect a full account when you get back. And do
not be too long about it – I have lived longer than I expected
already. Farewell!’’
Frodo nodded
wordlessly, embracing the old hobbit one last time; then he
turned away, freeing himself from the arms of his young cousins,
and joining the clearly frightened Sam.
Many others of
Elrond's household stood in the shadows and watched them go,
bidding them farewell with soft voices. Young Lindir remained in
Arwen’s arms for long, heartbreaking moments, though his
beautiful face was calm and serene. Erestor hugged Elladan with
an intimate ferocity that made Boromir wonder if they might have
had something ere the seneschal married the young minstrel,
exchanging soft words of grief and comfort in a voice so low that
he could not hear what was said. Then Elladan took a deep breath,
let go of his foster brother and stepped away from him with a
somewhat forced smile.
There was no
laughter, no songs or music. Silently at last they turned away,
just as the Wandering Company faded back ever deeper among the
trees, and leading their ponies, they vanished swiftly into the
still, dark, grey dawn.
* * * * * * *
* * * *
We crossed the
bridge of Bruinen and wound slowly up the long, steep paths out
of the cloven vale of Imladris and came at length to the high
moors, grey and formless under misty stars. There I halted for
a moment to take a last look down at the lights of the Last
Homely House – my home, where I had spent my whole life. For
though I often rode out with my brother on errantry, or to hunt
down more of the cursed Orcs, I knew this journey would be
different from the adventures I had before.
This time, the
fate of Middle-earth itself was at risk.
And the life
of the one to whom I had given my heart, freely and utterly.
My beloved let
the others overtake us and came to my side, watching my face
warily.
’’Do you
regret your choice?’’ he asked, his voice low and full of
sorrow. ’’’Tis not too late yet for you to turn back. You
know I cannot promise you anything.’’
I smiled and
shook my head. How could he believe that I would leave him, no
matter what happened? Being allowed to go with him was more than
I could hope for.
’’Nay, I
regret nothing,’‘ I replied. ’’I would make the same
choice over and over again. ’Tis just – even if I am to
return to my father’s house some day, it will never be the same
again.’’
’’Because
of me,’‘ he added bitterly, and I had to nod, for that was
the truth – more than he could ever guess.
’’In a
sense, aye. But changes would have come even without you; for
regardless of how hard the Elves try to keep the face of Arda the
same, in the end they cannot keep the changes from coming. And
for my part, I am grateful that one of these changes brought you
into my life.’’
’’Not many
of your people share your feelings, I fear,’‘ he said, his
eyes darkening with that deep sadness I saw much too often in
them; and I had to agree once again.
’’Nay,
they do not. But ’tis my life and my choice to make, and no one
can choose without losing some of their possible choices and
settling for other ones. Worry not about me, meleth-nîn,
for my choice gladdens my heart and gives my life a purpose I
knew not before.’’
This was not
the first time I called him my beloved, yet never before openly;
and I regretted doing so at once, for it clearly made him
uncomfortable.
’’We have
to go,’‘ he said evasively, ’’or else we shall fall
behind too much.’’
After the Ford
we left the West Road that crossed Bruinen; and turning left we
went on by narrow paths among the folded lands – then South.
Our purpose was to hold this course for many miles and days on
the western side of the Hithaeglir. The country was much wilder
and rougher than in the green valley of Anduin in Wilderland on
the eastern side of the Mountain, where Elrohir and I usually
travelled when on our way to Lothlórien, and our going now would
be much slower, the more so because we had to walk with hobbits
and Men; but we hoped in this way to escape the notice of
enemies. The spies of Sauron had hitherto seldom been seen in the
western regions; and the paths were little known except to Gildor
and myself.
Mithrandir
walked in front, and with him went Gildor, who knew this country
even in the dark, having been on the road for the better part of
this Age. Arwen and Estel followed them in less than
companionable silence; then came the hobbits, and Gimli the Dwarf
alone. Boromir and I walked as rearguard, so that we had keen
Elven eyes in front, in the middle and in the rear. No enemy
could take us by surprise.
The first part
of our journey was cheerless and grim, and I could see how the
hobbits suffered from the cold wind. Indeed, it blew icily from
the eastern mountains for many sunless days and no garment seemed
able to keep out its searching fingers. Father had furnished us
with warm clothes, of course: with jackets and cloaks lined
with fur as well as many blankets, but we seldom felt warm,
either moving or at rest.
As Elves, we
suffered less from the weather, so whenever we found a sleeping
place during the middle of the day – in some hollow of the
land, or hidden under the tangled thorn-bushes that grew in great
thickets in these parts – we tried to share our body heat with
our freezing companions.
With his
customary Dwarven stubbornness, Gimli refused of course to
’’lie with an Elf’’ (as he put it); but the hobbits were
more than happy to cuddle with Gildor, whom they already knew
from their long and perilous journey from the Shire to Imladris.
Estel and Arwen, too, shared their blankets, and I was eager
myself to keep my proud, brick-headed and yet
oh-so-tender-hearted Gondorian Prince warm. We had to restrain
ourselves, of course, for this was not the time to dally, but it
still felt good to hold him in my arms and sing to him, audible
only to the two of us, when the nightmares came.
For they came
back to him with a violence that none of us had expected, filling
his dreams with images of decay and a fiery death, for him as
well as for his beloved city, so that he was often shaking in my
arms, caught in some unknown horror, and it was not easy to wake
him. I began to understand that it was the Ring itself reaching
out to him, who had already been touched by the Shadow, and that
I would have a long and hard battle to fight against its power,
if I wanted to keep my beloved from falling.
I could only
hope that my love would be strong enough and pure enough to
protect him.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
It seemed to
Boromir that they were creeping like snails and getting nowhere;
for each day the land looked much as it had done the day before.
Yet all the while the Misty Mountains, which south of Imladris
bent westward, were drawing nearer. More and more often they
found no paths and had to make wide turns to avoid either steep
places or thickets or sullen, treacherous swamps. The land was
tumbled in barren hills and deep valleys, filled with turbulent
waters(1).
Yet Gildor
always found his way around all those hindrances, with the
uncanny instinct that the wandering Elves seemed to share with
the birds who fly South in the winter season. His skill could not
be matched even by the Rangers of the North, to Aragorn’s
dismay. For the Ranger seemed less than happy now that he had to
follow Gildor’s lead, while Gildor – though haughty towards
the Men, the Dwarf, and even to the other Elves – seemed to get
along with the hobbits perfectly well.
On the rare
occasions when they dared to light a fire, he often sat with
Frodo and Sam at the dying embers afterwards, talking with them
about the Shire, the paths and roads of which he knew like the
back of his hand, and the hobbits hesitated not to pour out their
hearts to him.
’’That
I can understand’’, said Gildor on the sixth day of their
journey, speaking with Frodo about the divided mind of the latter
about leaving the Shire. ’’Half your heart wished to go, but
the other half held you back; for its home was in the Shire, and
its delight in bed and board and the voices of friends, and in
the changing of gentle seasons among the fields and trees. And
since you are a hobbit, that half is the stronger, as it was even
in Bilbo. What has made it surrender?’’
’’True; I
am an ordinary hobbit, and so I always shall be, I deem,’‘
answered Frodo slowly and thoughtfully. ’’But alas! A most
un-hobbit-like fate has been laid upon me.’’
’’Then you
are not an ordinary hobbit,’‘ replied Gildor, and a
fond smile softened remarkably the steely hardness of his fair
face, ’’for otherwise that could not be so. But the half of
you that is plain hobbit will suffer much, I fear, from being
forced to follow the other half which is worthy of the strange
fate, until it, too, becomes worthy – and yet remains
hobbit.’’
’’So I
shall change and become a stranger to myself?’’ Frodo
murmured, clearly unhappy about that possibility.
’’Nay, not
a stranger,’‘ said Gildor, ’’though that change might be
the very purpose of your fate – or the purpose of that part of
your fate which concerns you yourself. The hobbit half that loves
the Shire is not to be despised but it has to be taught, and to
rediscover the changing seasons and voices of friends when they
have been lost.(2)’’
’’You
speak in riddles again,’‘ Frodo complained glumly. Gildor
nodded.
’’I do.
For though foresight might come to the Wise at times of great
need, its messages are never easy to unravel, and even if they
were, I would not wish to concern you with things that might or
might not come true. Rest now, little Elf-friend. You need to
save your strength; for the road shall not grow any easier for
many days yet.’’
With that he
rose and went to take over the watch from Boromir, who was
greatly relieved to be able to return to his bedroll – and to
the safety and warmth of Elladan’s arms.
’’That was
a most intriguing conversation,’‘ he mentioned in a low
voice.
’’Mmhm,’‘
Elladan agreed sleepily. ’’Gildor can be infuriating at
times, but he is wise nonetheless. The Wandering Companies see
more of Arda than any other Elves, and he has been on the road
for some four thousand years at the very least.’’
’’I
thought he was the Lord of Edhellond…?’’
’’He is.
Sometimes he even stays there for years. But mostly he lives on
the road. In the First Age, there were whole tribes, mostly of
the Green-Elves, who had no permanent dwellings. But alas, those
times are over. Only small groups like Gildor’s company keep
their old ways and spend their lives traveling all over
Middle-earth.’’
’’You
regret this?’’ Boromir asked in surprise. Elladan nodded.
’’We all
do. The Wandering Companies once connected all Elven realms and
settlements, brought tidings and new songs, kept the trade among
the different tribes alive. With their vanishing, a whole
intricate network of contacts all over the western lands was
lost, and we became estranged, not only from Men but from each
other as well. Thus the handful of wandering Elves that still
walk the endless paths of Middle-earth are very precious to us
– and I am grateful that Gildor asked to come with us. If
there is a way to reach our goal, he will find it. And for that,
I gladly overlook his manners,’‘ he added with a grin.
Boromir smiled
thoughtfully, drawing a calloused fingertip along the
elegantly-sculpted cheekbone of his Elf in a gentle caress.
Elladan gave him a curious look.
’’What
ails you? ’Tis not your custom to show your affection so
openly.’’
’’True,’‘
the Man admitted, ’’but no one can see us right now. I…I
just wish we could have some more privacy.’’
’’So do
I,’‘ sighed Elladan, ’’but I fear that is not likely to
happen ere we reach the realm of my grandparents.’’
’’How far
is it?’’ Boromir asked hopefully, but Elladan only shook his
head.
’’Too far.
Let us rest now, as well as we can. We have a long way to go ere
we can sleep undisturbed and without fear again.’’
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
He was right,
of course, and so we cuddled close and slept as had become our
way since we left Imladris. And even though I somewhat missed our
more intimate encounters, it was wonderful to feel the warmth of
his body, spooned up against my back; the safe circle of his arms
around me; the soft caress of his warm breath on my neck. To hear
that low, lyrical humming that always signaled that he was about
to fall asleep. Elves could remind one remarkably of cats at
times.
Finally, his
voice trailed off and his breathing became slower and deeper, and
I knew that he was asleep. Unlike him, I lay awake for what
seemed hours to me, pondering over this unexpected turn of
events. What we had had at Imladris was supposed to be a short,
if torrid affair, a way to ease the need and loneliness in both
of our hearts. Something we had both expected to end once I left
Imladris to return home.
But then my
Elf fell in love with me, I still cannot understand how or why,
for I certainly did little else during that time but hurt and
insult him in my pain and confusion, and ere I knew what was
happening, he not only swore a one-sided oath that bound him to
me for eternity, but was also allowed to come with us on this
insane quest.
He asked to
come, for he wanted to protect me – not from the weapons of the
Enemy, for I needed no protection from that and he knew it
(I am a seasoned warrior, after all) – but from the Shadow that
befell my heart under that ruined bridge in Osgiliath. I know he
fears that my longing for the Ring’s power could overwhelm me.
He knows not the Men of Gondor. He knows not we would never turn
against those we have promised to protect.
Or would we?
Even though I only want the Ring to protect my people, would I
possibly try to overwhelm the Halfling and take the Ring by
force, if not for the warm restraints of my lover’s embrace? I
know not. I hope, by the Valar, I hope I would be strong
enough and wise enough to see what has to be done and to
conduct myself accordingly.
Still, I am so
grateful for his presence. For I am but a Man, a mere soldier,
whose strength had been sorely tested in the recent years –
mayhap once too many times. And he asks naught of me. He simply
takes me for what I am, for who I am, without demanding
that I fulfill any expectations. With him, I need not prove anything.
With him, I truly can rest.
I need not
turn in his arms to see his face before me, noble and fair and
clouded with hidden sorrows, many of which have been caused by
me, his clear grey eyes unfocused but open, as Elves always sleep
at times of great peril and readiness. I wish I could give him
what he truly needs – what he deserves, just as he has given up
his family and his home for me. I wish I could love him the way
he loves me. But alas! None of us can command our own hearts, and
there is no way on Earth to force us to feel what we do not.
And even if my
heart were to change, I could not be with him forever. Not only
because of the laws and customs of my land – there is no
chance my father would accept me having a male consort, Elf or
not – but because I am promised already. I cannot even lay the
blame upon Father, for it was I who made that promise to the Lady
Éowyn, of my own free will, ere the Steward of Gondor could make
his choice. And unless the White Lady of Rohan releases me
voluntarily, I am bound to my given word.
I do not even
know if I want to be released from my obligations. Duty
has always come first and foremost for me, just as it has come
for Father and for the whole of our family. And though I am not
as ashamed of having a male lover as I might have been half a
year ago, I cannot abandon the sacred duty of Mardil’s Heirs
for my own pleasure.
Nor does my
fair and generous Elf ask me to do so. ’Tis still beyond my
understanding, but he is ready to take what little I can give him
– which is truly very little on this journey, being
denied even the comfort of flesh we shared before – without
asking for more. I know I cannot change the way things are
between us… and yet, I begin to wish they were different.
’’You
should be sleeping…,’‘ blast, my thoughts must have
awakened him; I keep forgetting how that Stone connects us in way
that I have never been connected to anyone before. ’’You
brood too much, meleth-nîn,’‘ he adds, and I can feel
him smiling against my back. ’’’Tis how it is, and no
amount of anguish can change it. You give me what you can, and
that is enough for me. Now, go to sleep, for until you do I
cannot, either, and I would truly like to.’’
No matter how
much I tried, I could not remember afterwards what he did to me
next. I felt his warm hand gently touching my chilled forehead
– then everything went dark at once, and I did not wake til it
was time for us to set off again.
’’I told
you that I was taught to become a healer,’‘ he said with a
shrug when I asked him about it, and that was all the answer I
could ever get out of him on the matter.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) Quoted
loosely after ’’The Return of the Shadow’’ (HoME 6), p.
418.
(2) Quoted
loosely after ’’The Return of the Shadow’’ (HoME 6), p.
281. Originally, this would have been part of Frodo and
Gildor’s conversation above Woodhall. Unfortunately, Tolkien
later rejected it – and I picked it up as an excellent proof of
Gildor’s wisdom.
The Bible
quote in original:
Wherever you go, I shall go
Where you dwell, I shall dwell
Your people shall be my people
And your God my God.
Where you die, I shall die
And there I shall be buried.
(Ruth 1:16-17)