Holiday to Remember 2/4, rated PG13 (gen)
Nov. 24th, 2008 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: A Holiday to Remember
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG13
Pairing: None
Summary: When Frodo and Merry agree to do a job for a couple of strange men in return for a holiday to Minas Tirith, they get more than they bargain for…Based on the show “Locked Up Abroad”
A/N: I realize that Merry is 15 years younger than Frodo book canon, but in this I’m making it more movie canon. This is so incredibly AU anyway, so I’m just saying that Merry’s about five years younger than Frodo here.
Part 1
The city of Minas Tirith far exceeded the hobbits’ expectations. From the moment Frodo caught a glimpse of the white glimmering towers that seemed to stretch up into an infinite jewel blue sky, he had been struck dumb with wonder. Their travels up until that point had been a blur of dusty trails, tasteless meals of dried meat and berries, cold barren wilderness, and uncomfortable nights camping on frozen ground under the stars. The hobbits had begun to question the wisdom of coming along on this quest, and Frodo had begun to worry that the men’s idea of their coming luxury accommodations in Minas Tirith might be far more bare-boned than a hobbit’s.
But here they were now, in the grandest of cities of Men. Barlen and Kanat shuttled them through the first gates and up a sharply inclining street. The street bustled with tall and noble-looking people going about their daily business. Horses clattered past them. People shouted their wares, and lines of tall soldiers in gleaming black and silver marched. If Frodo and Merry had thought Bree was busy and loud, they would now say that in comparison to Minas Tirith, Bree was as quiet as a countryside. Stone buildings towered to unknown heights above them, decorated by intricately carved terraces. People stared at the strangers, but not for long, and Frodo assumed that most people probably guessed that they were children.
Barlen and Kanat led them up through several more gates until at last they reached a tall, clean white stone building with an arched door. Once inside, Frodo could see it was an inn, but it was the fanciest inn he had ever seen. His eyes widened at the marble floors, the high dome ceiling, artwork on all the walls.
If they were shocked by the extravagance of the inn, they were even more so by the huge room. Two beds, bigger than any Frodo had ever seen, were decorated by plush pillows and layered with down feather blankets. Nearby baths appeared more like small ponds filled with bubbling water into which flowed waterfalls of clear clean water. A huge curved window overlooked most of the White City and beyond. Frodo caught sight of the silver Anduin River glittering with late afternoon sun.
“Good gracious,” Frodo said to himself. “It’s almost as if we’re guests of the Steward himself.”
“I trust you find your lodgings to your liking?” Barlen asked.
“To my liking?” Frodo laughed. He turned around and squeezed Merry around the waist. “This is beyond anything I could ever imagine.”
Merry nodded, too stunned to speak.
“Here you will stay here for two weeks,” Barlen went on. “Forget not that you are not to speak of your mission to anyone. That is of utmost importance. People will be curious about you, and you are only to say that you are on a holiday. We will come to you the evening before the deed.”
“Of course,” Frodo said, rather insulted that Barlen had needed to remind them of discretion.
After Barlen and Kanat left them, Frodo and Merry scurried toward the baths with eager laughter. Merry dipped a furry foot inside. “It’s warm. I’m getting in now.”
“And look here,” Frodo said, picking up a menu. “All this food can be ordered right up here to the room! I’ve never heard of some of these foods. Orange-flavored chicken? Salmon and wedged potatoes? Shall we order one of everything, just to taste it?”
Merry laughed. “One of everything sounds good. Anything is better than the abominable grub we lived on while traveling.”
The food turned out to be beyond anything Frodo had ever tasted. Meats flavored with new herbs and spices. Some dishes that he bit into filled his mouth with spices so pungent that his eyes watered. Others were tangy and tart. The sweet dishes consisted of honeyed pastry and almonds, and the hobbits couldn’t get enough of those.
They went to sleep with nicely full stomachs. Frodo curled the down blanket around him until he slept in a cocoon of soft warmth. He slept far better than he had since leaving Bree.
In the morning, after the hobbits had already ordered and eaten two breakfasts, Frodo asked the servant about the library in the Citadel. The servant had already become quite charmed by the sweet, curious Halflings who ate more at one sitting than an entire company of Citadel guards. He had once himself been a guard of the Citadel but had been forced to retire because of a battle injury.
“I’ll take you myself,” he said. “The guards will let us pass. They know me and you’ll be my guest.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” Frodo turned to Merry. “Do you want to go?”
“Maybe another day,” Merry said. “Today I believe I’ll just relax in the bath and nap some more. Go on and have a good time. Don’t get yourself into any trouble!”
Frodo followed the servant up the street, through the gates to the Citadel, and across the very courtyard he knew he was to later sneak into. Stony-faced guards eyed him in curiosity and Frodo tried not to let his eyes linger too long on the dead tree.
The tree was forgotten when Frodo reached the library. Minas Tirith’s library housed more books and scrolls and maps than Frodo had ever seen in one place. Oh how he longed for Bilbo to be there with him. He imagined sitting for hours with Bilbo in this library, poring over scroll after scroll, asking millions of questions, losing track of time.
The servant bowed. “I will leave you here, Master Halfling. Nobody much comes in here, although occasionally the Steward’s son does.”
“Oh,” Frodo said in surprise. “How shall I address him if he does come here?”
The servant smiled. “A simple bow will do. Young Faramir doesn’t care much for formalities. He fancies books and has a love of faraway places. I am quite certain he will enjoy talking to you.”
The servant took his leave, and Frodo spent the first hour wandering the room, trying to decide what to look at first. At last he pulled down some scrolls that looked like maps. He was smiling over a detailed map of Harad when he heard a soft noise. He glanced up to see a visibly shocked young man with golden hair that fell at his shoulders and gray eyes, noble in features, too well dressed to be a servant.
The Steward’s son, Frodo thought, flustered. He stumbled from his chair and bowed.
“No, no, none of that,” the young man said, waving his hand in embarrassment. “I am Faramir, the steward’s son.” He looked at Frodo in wonder. “What sort of creature are you?”
“I am Frodo Baggins, a Halfling of the Shire. Far to the north.”
“You come out of legends, here in our own library. Whence…?”
Frodo laughed, somewhat embarrassed by Faramir‘s fascination. “My kinsman Meriadoc Brandybuck and I have come for a rare holiday. I had heard about your library and had to see for myself. Have I disturbed you? Would you like me to leave you in peace?”
“No, no, on the contrary, I very much want to ask you about your land and your people. Would you join me for a late lunch?”
“Certainly.” Frodo could not wait to tell Merry about this. Lunch with the Steward’s son. Merry would be awfully sorry he chose a bath over the library. “I would be honored to join you for lunch.”
Once on the terrace outside of Faramir’s quarters, Frodo was in awe of just how beautiful Minas Tirith and the surrounding lands were. The Anduin was silver and misty in the distance. The fields beyond the city were a patchwork of greens and yellows. The stone that made the city shimmered under the sunlight. And so much ornate architecture, so different and so much more refined and advanced than anything Frodo had ever seen in the Shire and Breeland.
Their lunch consisted of cold meats and fresh bread, butter and jam, and other dainties. A jug contained the finest red wine in Gondor.
Frodo took a sip of wine. “Your city is astonishing. There is so much beauty. You must have a rich history, especially given that you live on the border,” he swallowed, “Of so many enemies.”
Faramir nodded. “This is a city worth preserving. We are often at war, which casts a shadow on everything.”
“War?”
Faramir looked amused. “You Halflings truly are sheltered, aren’t you?”
Frodo grimaced apologetically. “I’m afraid so.”
“Do not ever beg pardon for that,” Faramir said with surprising passion. “It moves my heart to know that such pockets of safety remain in the world. It is a reminder of why the noble men of Gondor fight.”
“Yes,” Frodo said. “The valor of your people deserve many thanks. Thank you, Faramir.”
Faramir flushed. “I myself am not a fighter. That is, I do my duty when it calls, but it is my brother Boromir who is the warrior in the family. We fight against the shadow in the east, but at times it seems pointless and dull, and very dark.”
Frodo sipped more wine. “Most of my people are unaware that there is such nobility, fighting for their protection.”
“Tell me about your land,” Faramir said. “It must be bountiful and peaceful.”
Frodo smiled. “What would you like to know?”
Faramir smiled. “Everything you would tell me.”
So Frodo spoke on and on about the Shire. At first he spoke haltingly, rather afraid that he might bore the steward’s son, but as he took more wine, his tongue loosened. He found Faramir to be a very focused and sympathetic listener. Frodo found himself telling him about the night his parents had drowned in the Brandywine and how he had been raised an orphan in Brandy Hall for so many years until Bilbo had taken him away as his heir.
Faramir looked deeply sympathetic. “I lost my mother when I was very young, too,” he said. “I am sorry. And in effect I lost my father, too, for he became grim and distant after she died.”
“I do not remember much about my parents,” Frodo said. “But I remember that my mother had kindly rosy cheeks and that my father had a deep laugh. I think they were merry folk.” A pang of wistfulness took his heart. “But I would rather talk about something more cheerful, I think.”
He went on to describe a foolish prank he had played as a youngster at Brandy Hall, and the mood lightened again. They exchanged childhood stories back and forth, from Frodo’s mushroom excursions to Faramir’s hiding in the library to avoid sword play. Frodo had not laughed so much in a long time.
“I am sorry,” Faramir finally said. “Soon I must take my leave and fulfill some of my duties. Training new guards today.”
“Not your favorite thing to do,” Frodo said. The sun was already started to set. Merry was probably worried.
“Nay,” Faramir said. “I will gladly go a few moments late. Father is already not pleased with me. He does not bother to give me anything more challenging than training the city guards, such as those who guard the White Tree in the courtyard.”
Frodo felt suddenly jolted back into the reality of what his purpose in Minas Tirith was. “Guards…for the tree?”
“You probably do not know much about it, being from such a faraway land.”
Frodo said nothing, and Faramir continued, “Long ago the hope of our land died with this tree, but we keep it guarded as a sign of hope. It is the noble duty of the Steward of Minas Tirith to keep it so.”
“What do you guard against?”
“Many things. Some of it symbolic, a reminder of the generations that have passed since the founding of the city.”
Frodo nodded.
“But,” Faramir went on. “We have also had trouble with vandalism. You see, there grows on the bark of this dead tree a special herb. Men of bad intent try to steal it. There is no medicinal use for it, but it provides a feeling of false wellbeing to whosoever drinks it. In fact the herb can be very dangerous and has been known to kill people even in small doses.”
“No medicinal use?” Frodo asked. His heart felt tight and constricted inside his chest. “Not even for the relief of any ailments, pain perhaps?”
“Nay.” Faramir laughed bitterly. “The herb is in truth foul. It does not grow on live trees. It is said that is left over from ages past from the Black Numenoreans.”
Frodo was struck silent. He felt suddenly cold. Barlen and Kanat had lied, and Frodo had been foolish enough to believe the nonsense about pain relief for Kanat’s sister. He was embarrassed by how innocent he had been, how eager he had been to squelch all suspicions in order to go on this journey. The two men had known how unworldly he and Merry had been, how vulnerable hobbits were to the harsh outside world.
“And now I really must take your leave,” Faramir said. “Talking to you is far better diversion. Perhaps tomorrow we can dine together again.”
“I would like that,” Frodo said automatically, although his throat closed miserably. He did not feel worthy of such a friendship. He wished he could trust Faramir. If he could feel sure that Kanat and Barlen would be locked up, he would. But then he didn’t know if Kanat and Barlen had other friends in the city who might avenge them and who surely knew about the Halflings in Minas Tirith who were supposed to work for them.
That night Frodo and Merry lay on their beds, contemplating their day. Frodo had told Merry all about his afternoon with Faramir, although he was sad that it had ended on such an uncomfortable note.
“I cannot believe it,” Merry said. “You dined with the Steward’s son?”
“I did,” Frodo said. “But I only wish I was truly here on a holiday.” He then told Merry what Faramir had told him about the herb. “He’s a good man and I regret betraying his friendship.”
“I might have known,” Merry said under his breath. “Well, there’s nothing to it but to just get it over with when the time comes.”
“Yes, yes,” Frodo said. “We should just get it over with. Surely there can’t be too much harm in just a bit of the bark being taken away.”
During the next two weeks, Frodo tried to shove the coming burglary to the back of his mind. He decided that he would enjoy every day that he was in Minas Tirith. He would enjoy Faramir’s friendship for what it was worth every day.
As the two weeks passed, his friendship with Faramir deepened, and sometimes they spent hours just sitting in the library reading in silent companionship. Other times they dined together on Faramir‘s terrace. Faramir took him and Merry on a tour of the city.
Usually Merry did not come with Frodo to meet Faramir because he had befriended some of the other guests in the lodging, two noblemen from Dol Amroth. He had purchased several trinkets and souvenirs to bring back to the Shire.
Each night they told each other about their adventures while sampling all the delicacies of Minas Tirith. Sometimes Frodo even forgot why he was in Minas Tirith and during those times, he truly felt content.
Then came the evening before the deed was to be done. Frodo and Merry were restless. In fact they had sent most of their food back to the kitchen uneaten. They took no enjoyment out of the baths or the beautiful sunset that turned the Anduin a beautiful shade of glimmering pink.
“This is a fine pickle we have ourselves in, as Samwise Gamgee would say,” Frodo said. “This is abominable. I wish, oh if only there was a way to get out of it. Maybe they can find a local lad.”
“We could ask them if someone else can do it and we can pay them for their trouble,” Merry said. “We may have to beg, borrow, and steal from everyone we know, but it might be worth it in the end.”
“I should have told Faramir,” Frodo said with a sigh. “He might have helped.”
“Too risky,” Merry said, shaking his head. “We don’t know what would have come of that. Best just to go forth with it, I suppose, and leave. Lesson learned.”
A knock at the door startled them. Reluctantly Frodo climbed off the bed and walked to the door. He looked back at Merry in despair before opening it.
It was Barlen and Kanat, as expected. They seemed larger than usual, more ominous. Frodo beckoned them inside the room, and they closed the door tightly behind them.
“Have you enjoyed your holiday?” Kanat asked.
“Very much so,” Merry said. Frodo nodded. His throat felt tight.
“The food is to your liking, I take it,” Barlen said with a smirk, “based on your food tab.”
Frodo flushed. “It was very good, thank you.”
Barlen settled in a plush arm chair. “I want to go over the details of what you will do when you get the bark.”
“Barlen,” Frodo broke in. “Merry and I were thinking.” He looked wildly at his cousin. Merry sighed and looked down at his feet.
Barlen’s eyes narrowed.
Frodo continued, his heart pounding. “That is, we wondered if we might pay you and you find a local lad to do this deed.”
Kanat rolled his eyes and laughed grimly.
Barlen’s eyes hardened. “But we took you here for the very purpose of you doing this job. You’re not backing out on your side of the deal, are you?”
“We would pay you for all your trouble,” Frodo said quickly. “We are not cheating you. We only, well--”
“We would rather someone else did it,” Merry finished.
Barlen jumped to his feet and drew his sword. Frodo stumbled backward against the bed.
Barlen strode to Frodo and put his blade at Frodo’s neck. “I don’t want to get rough about this, but if I have to, I will. You have but one choice. That choice is to get the herb for us. At that time of your successful gathering of the herb, we will guarantee your safe passage home and we will part ways in Bree again, no harm done. We are men of our words. But if you deceive us in any way, such as if you were to say, disappear, in the next few hours and we couldn’t find you, then we will hunt you down and you will beg for death. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes,” Frodo said. The blade was cold on his throat. He and Merry were way over their heads in this matter. Even if they were to successfully escape Minas Tirith, there was no way that they could manage the trip home on their own. He could beg for help from Faramir, but that might make it worse. Either Faramir would decide that he was a criminal and have him banished or locked up, or Barlen would find out, and that would be far worse.
“I’m glad that’s clear,” Barlen said, sheathing his sword. “Now let’s go over what I want you to do.”
Frodo could barely pay attention as Barlen unfolded the map of the courtyard. Oh, if only it were all over already.
“The guard changes at midnight,” Barlen said. “You are to sneak through this hole in the wall. Do you see?” He tapped on the map.
Frodo cleared his throat. “How do we guarantee that you’ll grant us safe passage back to Bree?”
Merry paled, but Frodo went on, “You have threatened us several times. How can we guarantee a safe passage home?”
Barlen laughed. “All we want is the bark. If you get the bark to us safe and sound, you’ll hear no more threats from us.”
Frodo had no way of knowing whether it was true or not, but he had no choice but to accept Barlen‘s word for that.
At last Barlen and Kanat left with the promise that they would be back at dawn for the bark.
“I’m sorry,” Frodo said to Merry after they left. “This is all my fault. I got you into this mess. I should know better. Perhaps we shouldn’t give them all the herb until we get back to Bree.”
Merry snorted. “What will stop them from taking it from us by force?”
Frodo sighed. “Oh, Merry. I only wish we truly were just here on a holiday. If we get through this, perhaps we’ll come back some day as guests of honor to the Steward’s son. He’s a kind man. A very kind man.”
“Maybe you could appeal to his kindness to protect us,” Merry said.
“I’ve considered it, but I do not think it is wise,” Frodo said. “Too much could go wrong. Faramir has no obligation to help. And it seems his father does not give him much authority.”
Merry leaned forward. “But it seems to me that he took a liking to you. He might help more than you imagine. And surely he’d like to know of any lawlessness going on in his city.”
“I was thinking,” Frodo said, looking forward and clutching his hands together. “That I should be the one to do the deed. Alone. One of us is better than two, and if something happens or if I get caught, then it won’t be both of us caught. You can send for help then.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Merry said fiercely. “We’re in this together.”
“One hobbit is stealthier than two.”
“I know.” Merry squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “But all the same, let us just get it done and over with and when we get home, we’ll have quite the tale for poor Pippin, who is no doubt beside himself that we’ve left him behind for this grand adventure.”
Frodo managed a grin, and the ominous clot in his stomach relieved. “Oh, can you imagine if he was here? He would have somehow talked the men out of making us do this.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Merry said, forcing a laugh. “He would probably be in jail right now. Or gotten all three of us thrown in prison.”
“Perhaps,” Frodo said. “I was wondering…on the way home, do you suppose our er…companions would take us back by way of Rivendell? From there I suppose we could make our way home on our own on the main road.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Merry said, although he looked uncertain. “But don’t forget that they’re criminals. Do you really suppose they’d like to be anywhere near to Elves, who would likely read their hearts?”
“You’re right, I suppose,” Frodo said in a wistful manner. “Although I dearly wish that I could see Bilbo. It’s been such a long time.”
“We don’t even know for certain that he’s there.”
“His heart has always lain in Rivendell,” Frodo said.
“Maybe Rivendell can be our next adventure. And we don’t need these criminals for that.”
Frodo grasped Merry‘s hand. “Merry, I’m glad that you’re here. I‘ve really made a muddle of things. I promise I will make this up to you when we get back home.”
Merry squeezed Frodo’s hand. “I wouldn’t have let you go through this on your own.”
“I’m going on my own to get the bark.”
“Frodo-”
Frodo put up his hand to silence his cousin. “What could be quieter than one lone hobbit? You stay here. Just in case it goes wrong. I’ll need you then. Then I‘ll beg you to go to Faramir and plead help.”
“Hush,” Merry said. “Don’t even say that it will go wrong. You’ll be back in an hour or two. I’ll be up waiting.”
Frodo got up. He lifted his cloak and then thought better of it. The fewer clothes he wore, the more likely he could be stealthy.
“Be careful,” Merry said. “Don’t you get caught. I can’t imagine being in this stone city without you.”
Frodo kissed Merry’s cheek and stepped out into the dark street. He trekked over the cold stone, shivering, until he reached the gate. He could not go through the gate as he did as Faramir’s guest. This time he was to sneak around it. He crouched forward as to avoid being seen by the gate guards. He flattened himself against the stone wall. In order to get to the breach in the wall, he had to shimmy along a lethal edge. He looked down into the dizzying abyss that during daylight would be the Pelennor Fields below. If he slipped, he would come to a nasty end. He forced himself not to look and focused on placing one foot in front of the other. He breathed in and out, thinking only of reaching the hole in the wall.
After what felt like hours but was most likely just a few minutes, he arrived at the hole. He could see why Barlen and Kanat only picked small lads to do this task. Only a small lad or hobbit could possibly fit through the tiny hole. Frodo was relieved to crawl away from the edge, but once inside the hole, he felt stifled, closed in. He was supposed to wait like a burrowed rabbit until he saw the changing of the guard.
He waited. Despite the night chill, sweat pooled under his arms and trickled down his back. Just as he despaired ever getting out of the hole, the guards started to shift, and he knew he had to move or he would never get another chance. He slithered forward out of the hole, dropped to the dewy grass, and scrambled to his feet. He tried to keep as low to the ground as possible. His stomach fluttered, but he ignored it. He ran as quickly and quietly as he could across the courtyard, not even daring to release his breath until he stumbled at the base of the tree.
Quickly, quickly, the guards were changing and any minute, if they looked down at a certain angle, they were bound to see him. His now numb hands trembled as he pried at a piece of bark. It came loose with an alarmingly loud crack. Frodo cringed in terror, staying absolutely frozen. The sweat on his brow turned cold and then hot. He had the bark in his hands now. All he had to do was make it back to that hole. He did not know how he was going to do it. The guard had already changed. Surely they would now notice a shadow darting across the grass. And even if he made it back to the hole, he would have to face another harrowing walk along that ledge again.
Frodo kept a final eye on the one guard that he could see. He saw that he was distracted, looking in a different direction. Frodo took his chance and bolted across the field, keeping himself crouched down, silent, no more noticeable than a rabbit. So far so good. No alarm had been sounded. Nobody had shouted. He reached the hole. Once inside it again, he clutched himself, shivering with relief. He had made it.
He waited until the trembling passed and he had gathered his strength again before he placed the bark inside his trouser pocket. The sooner he got back to Merry the better. They could then order a celebratory feast from the kitchen. He had eaten almost nothing that evening and was alarmingly hungry.
He just had to make it along this dangerous edge again and he would be free. Walking along the edge this time was much harder the second time, especially now that his muscles felt fatigued from the dart across the courtyard and back. Before he hadn’t known what to expect, but now he knew that it was a long trek back to solid ground.
“One foot at a time, one foot at a time,” he muttered to himself. “No use thinking about more than that. And for goodness sake, don’t look down.”
Step after step, he inched along, clutching the stone wall with icy fingers. He began to go a little faster, knowing that when he finally finished, he would be free to go back to Merry, free for them both to go back home.
Then his left foot slipped. He grabbed at a jutting rock, his heart pounding as his body flailed to find balance. For several seconds it was up in the air whether he was to live or perish, to stay on the ledge or go plummeting far, far into the abyss. Finally it seemed he was safe again. He leaned his sweaty brow against the stone and took several big, gasping breathes, struggling to gain the courage to keep going.
At last he got the courage to go on, although he went much slower now.
After what felt like years, Frodo stumbled back onto the shadowy road in front of the gate. He looked behind him. He trembled all over now that the immediate danger to his life was over. He had the bark and now he just needed to make his way back down the shadowy street.
“Halt.”
The stern voice twisted Frodo’s insides. He stopped. Cold metal touched his throat.
Go on to part 3
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG13
Pairing: None
Summary: When Frodo and Merry agree to do a job for a couple of strange men in return for a holiday to Minas Tirith, they get more than they bargain for…Based on the show “Locked Up Abroad”
A/N: I realize that Merry is 15 years younger than Frodo book canon, but in this I’m making it more movie canon. This is so incredibly AU anyway, so I’m just saying that Merry’s about five years younger than Frodo here.
Part 1
The city of Minas Tirith far exceeded the hobbits’ expectations. From the moment Frodo caught a glimpse of the white glimmering towers that seemed to stretch up into an infinite jewel blue sky, he had been struck dumb with wonder. Their travels up until that point had been a blur of dusty trails, tasteless meals of dried meat and berries, cold barren wilderness, and uncomfortable nights camping on frozen ground under the stars. The hobbits had begun to question the wisdom of coming along on this quest, and Frodo had begun to worry that the men’s idea of their coming luxury accommodations in Minas Tirith might be far more bare-boned than a hobbit’s.
But here they were now, in the grandest of cities of Men. Barlen and Kanat shuttled them through the first gates and up a sharply inclining street. The street bustled with tall and noble-looking people going about their daily business. Horses clattered past them. People shouted their wares, and lines of tall soldiers in gleaming black and silver marched. If Frodo and Merry had thought Bree was busy and loud, they would now say that in comparison to Minas Tirith, Bree was as quiet as a countryside. Stone buildings towered to unknown heights above them, decorated by intricately carved terraces. People stared at the strangers, but not for long, and Frodo assumed that most people probably guessed that they were children.
Barlen and Kanat led them up through several more gates until at last they reached a tall, clean white stone building with an arched door. Once inside, Frodo could see it was an inn, but it was the fanciest inn he had ever seen. His eyes widened at the marble floors, the high dome ceiling, artwork on all the walls.
If they were shocked by the extravagance of the inn, they were even more so by the huge room. Two beds, bigger than any Frodo had ever seen, were decorated by plush pillows and layered with down feather blankets. Nearby baths appeared more like small ponds filled with bubbling water into which flowed waterfalls of clear clean water. A huge curved window overlooked most of the White City and beyond. Frodo caught sight of the silver Anduin River glittering with late afternoon sun.
“Good gracious,” Frodo said to himself. “It’s almost as if we’re guests of the Steward himself.”
“I trust you find your lodgings to your liking?” Barlen asked.
“To my liking?” Frodo laughed. He turned around and squeezed Merry around the waist. “This is beyond anything I could ever imagine.”
Merry nodded, too stunned to speak.
“Here you will stay here for two weeks,” Barlen went on. “Forget not that you are not to speak of your mission to anyone. That is of utmost importance. People will be curious about you, and you are only to say that you are on a holiday. We will come to you the evening before the deed.”
“Of course,” Frodo said, rather insulted that Barlen had needed to remind them of discretion.
After Barlen and Kanat left them, Frodo and Merry scurried toward the baths with eager laughter. Merry dipped a furry foot inside. “It’s warm. I’m getting in now.”
“And look here,” Frodo said, picking up a menu. “All this food can be ordered right up here to the room! I’ve never heard of some of these foods. Orange-flavored chicken? Salmon and wedged potatoes? Shall we order one of everything, just to taste it?”
Merry laughed. “One of everything sounds good. Anything is better than the abominable grub we lived on while traveling.”
The food turned out to be beyond anything Frodo had ever tasted. Meats flavored with new herbs and spices. Some dishes that he bit into filled his mouth with spices so pungent that his eyes watered. Others were tangy and tart. The sweet dishes consisted of honeyed pastry and almonds, and the hobbits couldn’t get enough of those.
They went to sleep with nicely full stomachs. Frodo curled the down blanket around him until he slept in a cocoon of soft warmth. He slept far better than he had since leaving Bree.
In the morning, after the hobbits had already ordered and eaten two breakfasts, Frodo asked the servant about the library in the Citadel. The servant had already become quite charmed by the sweet, curious Halflings who ate more at one sitting than an entire company of Citadel guards. He had once himself been a guard of the Citadel but had been forced to retire because of a battle injury.
“I’ll take you myself,” he said. “The guards will let us pass. They know me and you’ll be my guest.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” Frodo turned to Merry. “Do you want to go?”
“Maybe another day,” Merry said. “Today I believe I’ll just relax in the bath and nap some more. Go on and have a good time. Don’t get yourself into any trouble!”
Frodo followed the servant up the street, through the gates to the Citadel, and across the very courtyard he knew he was to later sneak into. Stony-faced guards eyed him in curiosity and Frodo tried not to let his eyes linger too long on the dead tree.
The tree was forgotten when Frodo reached the library. Minas Tirith’s library housed more books and scrolls and maps than Frodo had ever seen in one place. Oh how he longed for Bilbo to be there with him. He imagined sitting for hours with Bilbo in this library, poring over scroll after scroll, asking millions of questions, losing track of time.
The servant bowed. “I will leave you here, Master Halfling. Nobody much comes in here, although occasionally the Steward’s son does.”
“Oh,” Frodo said in surprise. “How shall I address him if he does come here?”
The servant smiled. “A simple bow will do. Young Faramir doesn’t care much for formalities. He fancies books and has a love of faraway places. I am quite certain he will enjoy talking to you.”
The servant took his leave, and Frodo spent the first hour wandering the room, trying to decide what to look at first. At last he pulled down some scrolls that looked like maps. He was smiling over a detailed map of Harad when he heard a soft noise. He glanced up to see a visibly shocked young man with golden hair that fell at his shoulders and gray eyes, noble in features, too well dressed to be a servant.
The Steward’s son, Frodo thought, flustered. He stumbled from his chair and bowed.
“No, no, none of that,” the young man said, waving his hand in embarrassment. “I am Faramir, the steward’s son.” He looked at Frodo in wonder. “What sort of creature are you?”
“I am Frodo Baggins, a Halfling of the Shire. Far to the north.”
“You come out of legends, here in our own library. Whence…?”
Frodo laughed, somewhat embarrassed by Faramir‘s fascination. “My kinsman Meriadoc Brandybuck and I have come for a rare holiday. I had heard about your library and had to see for myself. Have I disturbed you? Would you like me to leave you in peace?”
“No, no, on the contrary, I very much want to ask you about your land and your people. Would you join me for a late lunch?”
“Certainly.” Frodo could not wait to tell Merry about this. Lunch with the Steward’s son. Merry would be awfully sorry he chose a bath over the library. “I would be honored to join you for lunch.”
Once on the terrace outside of Faramir’s quarters, Frodo was in awe of just how beautiful Minas Tirith and the surrounding lands were. The Anduin was silver and misty in the distance. The fields beyond the city were a patchwork of greens and yellows. The stone that made the city shimmered under the sunlight. And so much ornate architecture, so different and so much more refined and advanced than anything Frodo had ever seen in the Shire and Breeland.
Their lunch consisted of cold meats and fresh bread, butter and jam, and other dainties. A jug contained the finest red wine in Gondor.
Frodo took a sip of wine. “Your city is astonishing. There is so much beauty. You must have a rich history, especially given that you live on the border,” he swallowed, “Of so many enemies.”
Faramir nodded. “This is a city worth preserving. We are often at war, which casts a shadow on everything.”
“War?”
Faramir looked amused. “You Halflings truly are sheltered, aren’t you?”
Frodo grimaced apologetically. “I’m afraid so.”
“Do not ever beg pardon for that,” Faramir said with surprising passion. “It moves my heart to know that such pockets of safety remain in the world. It is a reminder of why the noble men of Gondor fight.”
“Yes,” Frodo said. “The valor of your people deserve many thanks. Thank you, Faramir.”
Faramir flushed. “I myself am not a fighter. That is, I do my duty when it calls, but it is my brother Boromir who is the warrior in the family. We fight against the shadow in the east, but at times it seems pointless and dull, and very dark.”
Frodo sipped more wine. “Most of my people are unaware that there is such nobility, fighting for their protection.”
“Tell me about your land,” Faramir said. “It must be bountiful and peaceful.”
Frodo smiled. “What would you like to know?”
Faramir smiled. “Everything you would tell me.”
So Frodo spoke on and on about the Shire. At first he spoke haltingly, rather afraid that he might bore the steward’s son, but as he took more wine, his tongue loosened. He found Faramir to be a very focused and sympathetic listener. Frodo found himself telling him about the night his parents had drowned in the Brandywine and how he had been raised an orphan in Brandy Hall for so many years until Bilbo had taken him away as his heir.
Faramir looked deeply sympathetic. “I lost my mother when I was very young, too,” he said. “I am sorry. And in effect I lost my father, too, for he became grim and distant after she died.”
“I do not remember much about my parents,” Frodo said. “But I remember that my mother had kindly rosy cheeks and that my father had a deep laugh. I think they were merry folk.” A pang of wistfulness took his heart. “But I would rather talk about something more cheerful, I think.”
He went on to describe a foolish prank he had played as a youngster at Brandy Hall, and the mood lightened again. They exchanged childhood stories back and forth, from Frodo’s mushroom excursions to Faramir’s hiding in the library to avoid sword play. Frodo had not laughed so much in a long time.
“I am sorry,” Faramir finally said. “Soon I must take my leave and fulfill some of my duties. Training new guards today.”
“Not your favorite thing to do,” Frodo said. The sun was already started to set. Merry was probably worried.
“Nay,” Faramir said. “I will gladly go a few moments late. Father is already not pleased with me. He does not bother to give me anything more challenging than training the city guards, such as those who guard the White Tree in the courtyard.”
Frodo felt suddenly jolted back into the reality of what his purpose in Minas Tirith was. “Guards…for the tree?”
“You probably do not know much about it, being from such a faraway land.”
Frodo said nothing, and Faramir continued, “Long ago the hope of our land died with this tree, but we keep it guarded as a sign of hope. It is the noble duty of the Steward of Minas Tirith to keep it so.”
“What do you guard against?”
“Many things. Some of it symbolic, a reminder of the generations that have passed since the founding of the city.”
Frodo nodded.
“But,” Faramir went on. “We have also had trouble with vandalism. You see, there grows on the bark of this dead tree a special herb. Men of bad intent try to steal it. There is no medicinal use for it, but it provides a feeling of false wellbeing to whosoever drinks it. In fact the herb can be very dangerous and has been known to kill people even in small doses.”
“No medicinal use?” Frodo asked. His heart felt tight and constricted inside his chest. “Not even for the relief of any ailments, pain perhaps?”
“Nay.” Faramir laughed bitterly. “The herb is in truth foul. It does not grow on live trees. It is said that is left over from ages past from the Black Numenoreans.”
Frodo was struck silent. He felt suddenly cold. Barlen and Kanat had lied, and Frodo had been foolish enough to believe the nonsense about pain relief for Kanat’s sister. He was embarrassed by how innocent he had been, how eager he had been to squelch all suspicions in order to go on this journey. The two men had known how unworldly he and Merry had been, how vulnerable hobbits were to the harsh outside world.
“And now I really must take your leave,” Faramir said. “Talking to you is far better diversion. Perhaps tomorrow we can dine together again.”
“I would like that,” Frodo said automatically, although his throat closed miserably. He did not feel worthy of such a friendship. He wished he could trust Faramir. If he could feel sure that Kanat and Barlen would be locked up, he would. But then he didn’t know if Kanat and Barlen had other friends in the city who might avenge them and who surely knew about the Halflings in Minas Tirith who were supposed to work for them.
That night Frodo and Merry lay on their beds, contemplating their day. Frodo had told Merry all about his afternoon with Faramir, although he was sad that it had ended on such an uncomfortable note.
“I cannot believe it,” Merry said. “You dined with the Steward’s son?”
“I did,” Frodo said. “But I only wish I was truly here on a holiday.” He then told Merry what Faramir had told him about the herb. “He’s a good man and I regret betraying his friendship.”
“I might have known,” Merry said under his breath. “Well, there’s nothing to it but to just get it over with when the time comes.”
“Yes, yes,” Frodo said. “We should just get it over with. Surely there can’t be too much harm in just a bit of the bark being taken away.”
During the next two weeks, Frodo tried to shove the coming burglary to the back of his mind. He decided that he would enjoy every day that he was in Minas Tirith. He would enjoy Faramir’s friendship for what it was worth every day.
As the two weeks passed, his friendship with Faramir deepened, and sometimes they spent hours just sitting in the library reading in silent companionship. Other times they dined together on Faramir‘s terrace. Faramir took him and Merry on a tour of the city.
Usually Merry did not come with Frodo to meet Faramir because he had befriended some of the other guests in the lodging, two noblemen from Dol Amroth. He had purchased several trinkets and souvenirs to bring back to the Shire.
Each night they told each other about their adventures while sampling all the delicacies of Minas Tirith. Sometimes Frodo even forgot why he was in Minas Tirith and during those times, he truly felt content.
Then came the evening before the deed was to be done. Frodo and Merry were restless. In fact they had sent most of their food back to the kitchen uneaten. They took no enjoyment out of the baths or the beautiful sunset that turned the Anduin a beautiful shade of glimmering pink.
“This is a fine pickle we have ourselves in, as Samwise Gamgee would say,” Frodo said. “This is abominable. I wish, oh if only there was a way to get out of it. Maybe they can find a local lad.”
“We could ask them if someone else can do it and we can pay them for their trouble,” Merry said. “We may have to beg, borrow, and steal from everyone we know, but it might be worth it in the end.”
“I should have told Faramir,” Frodo said with a sigh. “He might have helped.”
“Too risky,” Merry said, shaking his head. “We don’t know what would have come of that. Best just to go forth with it, I suppose, and leave. Lesson learned.”
A knock at the door startled them. Reluctantly Frodo climbed off the bed and walked to the door. He looked back at Merry in despair before opening it.
It was Barlen and Kanat, as expected. They seemed larger than usual, more ominous. Frodo beckoned them inside the room, and they closed the door tightly behind them.
“Have you enjoyed your holiday?” Kanat asked.
“Very much so,” Merry said. Frodo nodded. His throat felt tight.
“The food is to your liking, I take it,” Barlen said with a smirk, “based on your food tab.”
Frodo flushed. “It was very good, thank you.”
Barlen settled in a plush arm chair. “I want to go over the details of what you will do when you get the bark.”
“Barlen,” Frodo broke in. “Merry and I were thinking.” He looked wildly at his cousin. Merry sighed and looked down at his feet.
Barlen’s eyes narrowed.
Frodo continued, his heart pounding. “That is, we wondered if we might pay you and you find a local lad to do this deed.”
Kanat rolled his eyes and laughed grimly.
Barlen’s eyes hardened. “But we took you here for the very purpose of you doing this job. You’re not backing out on your side of the deal, are you?”
“We would pay you for all your trouble,” Frodo said quickly. “We are not cheating you. We only, well--”
“We would rather someone else did it,” Merry finished.
Barlen jumped to his feet and drew his sword. Frodo stumbled backward against the bed.
Barlen strode to Frodo and put his blade at Frodo’s neck. “I don’t want to get rough about this, but if I have to, I will. You have but one choice. That choice is to get the herb for us. At that time of your successful gathering of the herb, we will guarantee your safe passage home and we will part ways in Bree again, no harm done. We are men of our words. But if you deceive us in any way, such as if you were to say, disappear, in the next few hours and we couldn’t find you, then we will hunt you down and you will beg for death. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes,” Frodo said. The blade was cold on his throat. He and Merry were way over their heads in this matter. Even if they were to successfully escape Minas Tirith, there was no way that they could manage the trip home on their own. He could beg for help from Faramir, but that might make it worse. Either Faramir would decide that he was a criminal and have him banished or locked up, or Barlen would find out, and that would be far worse.
“I’m glad that’s clear,” Barlen said, sheathing his sword. “Now let’s go over what I want you to do.”
Frodo could barely pay attention as Barlen unfolded the map of the courtyard. Oh, if only it were all over already.
“The guard changes at midnight,” Barlen said. “You are to sneak through this hole in the wall. Do you see?” He tapped on the map.
Frodo cleared his throat. “How do we guarantee that you’ll grant us safe passage back to Bree?”
Merry paled, but Frodo went on, “You have threatened us several times. How can we guarantee a safe passage home?”
Barlen laughed. “All we want is the bark. If you get the bark to us safe and sound, you’ll hear no more threats from us.”
Frodo had no way of knowing whether it was true or not, but he had no choice but to accept Barlen‘s word for that.
At last Barlen and Kanat left with the promise that they would be back at dawn for the bark.
“I’m sorry,” Frodo said to Merry after they left. “This is all my fault. I got you into this mess. I should know better. Perhaps we shouldn’t give them all the herb until we get back to Bree.”
Merry snorted. “What will stop them from taking it from us by force?”
Frodo sighed. “Oh, Merry. I only wish we truly were just here on a holiday. If we get through this, perhaps we’ll come back some day as guests of honor to the Steward’s son. He’s a kind man. A very kind man.”
“Maybe you could appeal to his kindness to protect us,” Merry said.
“I’ve considered it, but I do not think it is wise,” Frodo said. “Too much could go wrong. Faramir has no obligation to help. And it seems his father does not give him much authority.”
Merry leaned forward. “But it seems to me that he took a liking to you. He might help more than you imagine. And surely he’d like to know of any lawlessness going on in his city.”
“I was thinking,” Frodo said, looking forward and clutching his hands together. “That I should be the one to do the deed. Alone. One of us is better than two, and if something happens or if I get caught, then it won’t be both of us caught. You can send for help then.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Merry said fiercely. “We’re in this together.”
“One hobbit is stealthier than two.”
“I know.” Merry squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “But all the same, let us just get it done and over with and when we get home, we’ll have quite the tale for poor Pippin, who is no doubt beside himself that we’ve left him behind for this grand adventure.”
Frodo managed a grin, and the ominous clot in his stomach relieved. “Oh, can you imagine if he was here? He would have somehow talked the men out of making us do this.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Merry said, forcing a laugh. “He would probably be in jail right now. Or gotten all three of us thrown in prison.”
“Perhaps,” Frodo said. “I was wondering…on the way home, do you suppose our er…companions would take us back by way of Rivendell? From there I suppose we could make our way home on our own on the main road.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Merry said, although he looked uncertain. “But don’t forget that they’re criminals. Do you really suppose they’d like to be anywhere near to Elves, who would likely read their hearts?”
“You’re right, I suppose,” Frodo said in a wistful manner. “Although I dearly wish that I could see Bilbo. It’s been such a long time.”
“We don’t even know for certain that he’s there.”
“His heart has always lain in Rivendell,” Frodo said.
“Maybe Rivendell can be our next adventure. And we don’t need these criminals for that.”
Frodo grasped Merry‘s hand. “Merry, I’m glad that you’re here. I‘ve really made a muddle of things. I promise I will make this up to you when we get back home.”
Merry squeezed Frodo’s hand. “I wouldn’t have let you go through this on your own.”
“I’m going on my own to get the bark.”
“Frodo-”
Frodo put up his hand to silence his cousin. “What could be quieter than one lone hobbit? You stay here. Just in case it goes wrong. I’ll need you then. Then I‘ll beg you to go to Faramir and plead help.”
“Hush,” Merry said. “Don’t even say that it will go wrong. You’ll be back in an hour or two. I’ll be up waiting.”
Frodo got up. He lifted his cloak and then thought better of it. The fewer clothes he wore, the more likely he could be stealthy.
“Be careful,” Merry said. “Don’t you get caught. I can’t imagine being in this stone city without you.”
Frodo kissed Merry’s cheek and stepped out into the dark street. He trekked over the cold stone, shivering, until he reached the gate. He could not go through the gate as he did as Faramir’s guest. This time he was to sneak around it. He crouched forward as to avoid being seen by the gate guards. He flattened himself against the stone wall. In order to get to the breach in the wall, he had to shimmy along a lethal edge. He looked down into the dizzying abyss that during daylight would be the Pelennor Fields below. If he slipped, he would come to a nasty end. He forced himself not to look and focused on placing one foot in front of the other. He breathed in and out, thinking only of reaching the hole in the wall.
After what felt like hours but was most likely just a few minutes, he arrived at the hole. He could see why Barlen and Kanat only picked small lads to do this task. Only a small lad or hobbit could possibly fit through the tiny hole. Frodo was relieved to crawl away from the edge, but once inside the hole, he felt stifled, closed in. He was supposed to wait like a burrowed rabbit until he saw the changing of the guard.
He waited. Despite the night chill, sweat pooled under his arms and trickled down his back. Just as he despaired ever getting out of the hole, the guards started to shift, and he knew he had to move or he would never get another chance. He slithered forward out of the hole, dropped to the dewy grass, and scrambled to his feet. He tried to keep as low to the ground as possible. His stomach fluttered, but he ignored it. He ran as quickly and quietly as he could across the courtyard, not even daring to release his breath until he stumbled at the base of the tree.
Quickly, quickly, the guards were changing and any minute, if they looked down at a certain angle, they were bound to see him. His now numb hands trembled as he pried at a piece of bark. It came loose with an alarmingly loud crack. Frodo cringed in terror, staying absolutely frozen. The sweat on his brow turned cold and then hot. He had the bark in his hands now. All he had to do was make it back to that hole. He did not know how he was going to do it. The guard had already changed. Surely they would now notice a shadow darting across the grass. And even if he made it back to the hole, he would have to face another harrowing walk along that ledge again.
Frodo kept a final eye on the one guard that he could see. He saw that he was distracted, looking in a different direction. Frodo took his chance and bolted across the field, keeping himself crouched down, silent, no more noticeable than a rabbit. So far so good. No alarm had been sounded. Nobody had shouted. He reached the hole. Once inside it again, he clutched himself, shivering with relief. He had made it.
He waited until the trembling passed and he had gathered his strength again before he placed the bark inside his trouser pocket. The sooner he got back to Merry the better. They could then order a celebratory feast from the kitchen. He had eaten almost nothing that evening and was alarmingly hungry.
He just had to make it along this dangerous edge again and he would be free. Walking along the edge this time was much harder the second time, especially now that his muscles felt fatigued from the dart across the courtyard and back. Before he hadn’t known what to expect, but now he knew that it was a long trek back to solid ground.
“One foot at a time, one foot at a time,” he muttered to himself. “No use thinking about more than that. And for goodness sake, don’t look down.”
Step after step, he inched along, clutching the stone wall with icy fingers. He began to go a little faster, knowing that when he finally finished, he would be free to go back to Merry, free for them both to go back home.
Then his left foot slipped. He grabbed at a jutting rock, his heart pounding as his body flailed to find balance. For several seconds it was up in the air whether he was to live or perish, to stay on the ledge or go plummeting far, far into the abyss. Finally it seemed he was safe again. He leaned his sweaty brow against the stone and took several big, gasping breathes, struggling to gain the courage to keep going.
At last he got the courage to go on, although he went much slower now.
After what felt like years, Frodo stumbled back onto the shadowy road in front of the gate. He looked behind him. He trembled all over now that the immediate danger to his life was over. He had the bark and now he just needed to make his way back down the shadowy street.
“Halt.”
The stern voice twisted Frodo’s insides. He stopped. Cold metal touched his throat.
Go on to part 3