Come What May

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Come What May

By Ariel

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, written solely love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and situations used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises. The author receives no money or other remuneration for presenting this work but the pleasure of enjoying the Professor's lovely creations

Part 1 – Before

You walk around the quiet smial peering into corners and idly noting that your sisters have gone. You think you know where and will leave soon yourself, but for a while still you linger, unable to leave this place of such happy memories. It has always been your lot to stay longer and feel sadder than the rest of your kind.

You find him in the deepest room, a dark, windowless place with a great fireplace and many overstuffed chairs. He has a book on his lap but is not reading it. His bright eyes stare into the fire and his thought seems a million miles away.

"You're still here!" you exclaim. "I thought you'd gone...."

He stirs and, as if just noticing it open on his lap, closes the book.

"Why would I go?" he asks. "I know the story." There is no bitterness nor resignation nor sorrow in his voice. He merely states facts. You come to him and take up his precious hand to leave a kiss on its pale back. "When do you plan to go?" he asks.

"Soon," you answer. "I haven't far to travel and will be back before you know it."

He returns to his absent study of the flames but does not take back his hand. You stroke it gently and wait by his side, wondering at what further words he would have with you. When they come, they are spoken softly, but without expectation, somberly, with no petulance and only a touch of regret.

"Will you return?" he asks.

Tears spring instantly to your eyes and you bite your lip to stem the cry that threatens. In all your life you have never felt a surge of protective love like that which grips you now. You wish to reach out and pull him to you but he sits, immobile, an untouchable fortress, un-pitiable and yet so beautiful in his strength he makes you weep. You draw in a deep breath, willing yourself to speak with more control than you feel.

“I know the story too,” you answer. “And for all the trials, misinterpretations and heartaches, I have always returned to you. You called my soul many long years ago and there is no other with even half the fortitude to claim it. I am yours, my lord, and come what may, I always will be.”

He says no word in answer, but you can feel, after a long moment’s stillness, him gently squeeze your hand.

“All my companions deserve their accolades. They were all fine and fair and courageous without measure. I love each one of them more than life itself, but…” His smile is wry but the light is returning to his eye. “I am glad there are a few who deign to love me well even when reminded of the bright glory the other Travelers earned.” He looks up at you and smiles. “I may not deserve it, but I treasure your love more than you will ever know.”

You smile once more through your tears. “Oh, my sweet lord, you deserve much more than even we can give. To those with eyes to see your light will always shine brighter than the sun. I do not begrudge the love the others claim, and celebrate their fortune, but there has ever been only one for me; you my lord. And, whether it be deemed fortune or curse, whether I be thought foolish or wise, I will always love you before any other, come what may.”

Part 2 - After

You walk into the smial and hear the sound of happy voices near the study, of feminine squeals and partying, but you do not feel quite ready to visit with the others just yet. You are pleased they are happy but need some solitude to think and settle before being buffeted by their joyful exuberance. You approach the back tunnel and, listening, are relieved to hear no movement. You will be able to make your way to your room without seeing anyone.

Along the darkened hallway you glide as soundlessly as a hobbit lass can and in the all-encompassing dark you see the glimmer of candlelight peeking out from around the seal of a little used door. It is the wine cellar - and it seems one of the lasses has left a candle burning in it. You open the door and close it quickly behind you. You will retrieve the candle for safety's sake. It would not do to have the smial burn down around you all.

The light glimmers from the back of the room behind the stacks - probably from the one small table in the corner - the only furniture in here besides the racks of wine bottles. Feeble yellow light flickers off rounded glass surfaces as you make your way to retrieve the forgotten candle.

You round the end of the last stack and the sight that greets you makes you nearly jump out of your skin. There is someone else in the room with you - someone who was even more silent than you had been. Frodo is propped up in the only chair. His feet are crossed and rest casually on the end of a beer barrel. He holds a glass of wine in his hand and looks up at you thoughtfully. He does not seem as surprised to see you as you were to see him. Perhaps he heard you enter or perhaps he expected one of the lasses to find him sooner or later.

As you regain your breath and still your beating heart you see the bottle that he has opened sitting on the small table. It is more than half empty, and beside it you see a small object that seems uncannily incongruous in the homey smial; a small, blue, cardboard box with the illustration of a three windowed panel on it. You allay your shock at seeing this item and turn to Frodo.

"You frightened me! I didn't realize anyone would be in here."

"Nor did I…" he replies evenly. You can sense he is in an odd mood, almost fey, as he takes a calculated sip of his wine.

"I will leave you, my lord. Please pardon the disturbance. I noticed the light of the candle from the hall and thought it abandoned. I was only thinking of our safety." You curtsey quickly and turn to go.

"Wait…" he says in a softer tone, almost sadly. "Would you answer a question I put to you?"

"Of course, my lord," you reply.

He stirs a bit uncomfortably and you glance at the small box on the desk.

"I see you went anyway," you offer. He looks up at you warningly but after a moment sighs and looks away.

"Horrified fascination, I think," he wryly scoffs. "Or vanity… though I should have known better than to try and serve my pride."

Your response is heartfelt and longing, you can feel his pain. "Oh, my lord,…" You want to reach for him but his body posture does not invite comforting. He came here for solitude and wine, not your touch. He looks up at you from beneath disheveled curls, his gaze critical in the dim candlelight.

"Is that truly how the lot of you see the tale?" he asks softly.

So that was what this was about.

"Not exactly, my lord," you whisper with a heartfelt sigh. "It is not quite the tale you wrought, but they tried to do you honor, I think. Though I can only speak for myself, I have always held the experience, and you yourself, far too dear for any reflection to do you justice." You reach out to stroke the top of his foot. Even through the hair, you can feel how cool it is to your touch. "You are to each of us what we most desire, is it any wonder that we all would see you somewhat differently?"

He stirs again. You take your hand away.

"The looking glass sometimes shows an unexpected image…" he murmurs. He sits up in the chair, looks into his glass and sighs. "You must not mind me, my dear… I worked a very long time putting the tale to paper in the Red Book and did my best to relay an accurate account. Perhaps it is vanity to think so highly of my skill as to imagine my words inviolate." He takes a longer drink of his wine. You smile tenderly, noting the flush of rose that is spread liberally across his nose.

"I would put it to you, my beloved, that it is more a failing of those who interpret them rather than your words themselves. You must be charitable. Not all have eyes to see." You smile. "And there is always meaning lost when words are translated from one language to another." You pause a moment, gathering your thoughts, and move to his side by squeezing between the beer barrel he is using as a footrest and the nearest rack of wine. He looks up warningly as you come closer but does not stop your determined progress. You settle on the floor beside him, drape your arms around his lap and look up in adoration. He looks back to his wine.

"I have eyes, beloved…" you whisper. "And I see… I have always seen. It matters not what anyone else has said or shown, I know what you are to me, and I love that blessed thing. I will always love it." You lay your head on his lap. "Even were the world to shun you and this isle cast you adrift, I would follow you, my precious lord, come what may."

After a long moment his hand comes down, hesitantly to stroke your curls. He is still unnerved and confused. You know he has long wondered what it was that kept his ladies with him. Perhaps he thought to find the answer to the riddle, you do not know, but you feel for him. He knows the truth of his tale better than any other; better than you or any of your sisters, and you can feel in him how odd it must be to see another’s subtly altered vision of it.

“Was it very different, do you think?” you ask kindly.

He pulls a face and shakes his head. “I suppose not in important ways.” He drains his glass and reaches over to pour himself another. “It makes you wonder how those in the great tales must have felt when they were in them. And how odd would they have felt hearing them told around the fire years later? I am certain it will pass.” He looks hesitantly towards you.

“And what…”

You blush and he does not finish the question. Then you turn and bury your face in his lap. At long last you shift enough for your soft voice just to be heard in the quiet air.

“Does it matter?” You smile as you feel the real warmth of his thigh rising against your cheek. “I have something that I value more than any image, any interpretation of light and sound. I have you, here and now. I have my sisters who also love you without measure. I have this cherished place. No matter how time changes us, pulls us to other paths, I will always have this moment and the love I hold for you. None can change that.” Your arms tighten around his waist and you find yourself trembling. “From the moment I read your tale, I loved you, and the moment saw this smial I knew I was home, and ever would be.” You raise your eyes to his reverently and the tears you could not earlier shed flow freely. You smile amid them and take strength from the light that you have always been able to see in him. It is still all you have ever needed.

“…Come what may…” he sighs.

End...