Chapter 13

Sam scratched his head. 'Bless me, Mr. Frodo, it this isn't the best garden I've ever had,' he said, 'It never needs watering, and the plants are growing like weeds, of which, you might note, there are none. I don't rightly understand.'

Frodo looked up from the book that he was reading under the shade of a maple tree. 'I don't know, Sam, I really don't know.' He looked back down at the book.

Sam frowned, then smiled, and popped a ripe red cherry tomato into his mouth. 'Well, I don't see no sense in complaining.'

Frodo smiled. 'Neither do I, Sam.'

Merry walked up, followed by Pippin. 'What's going on?' asked Merry.

'Sam is marveling over his garden,' said Frodo.

'What's the garden doing, Sam?' asked Pippin.

'It's growing just splendidly, Mr. Pippin, I don't understand it.'

Pippin looked at the garden. 'I thought you were a good gardener, Sam, why should your garden doing well surprise you?'

'It's doing so well, Mr. Pippin, that it doesn't seem natural.'

Merry laughed. 'Are you fishing for compliments, Sam?'

Sam shook his head. 'No, I don't understand it.'

'It's a beautiful garden, Sam,' said Pippin, who was obviously growing bored. 'Why don't you just leave it at that?'

Sam sighed, but of course no one shared his curiosity.

He touched the still moist soil; still moist even though it was the end of August, and all the grass around had turned brown under the sun, and the garden had not been watered all summer except by the rain, it never needed any.

Frodo smiled at him. 'Why don't you let it go, Sam? It's a beautiful garden, maybe someone about has been working a bit of magic?'

Sam nodded. 'Could be.'

Frodo smiled and shook his head, looking back down at his book.

'Mr. Frodo?'

'Yes, Sam?'

'It just puzzles me, that's all.'

'You have two elves and a dwarf running loose and it puzzles you that your plants are growing well?'

Sam shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed. 'Maybe.'

'Sam, why don't you ask them? They probably know what they have been up to.'

Sam nodded. 'I might.'

He stood quietly, watching Frodo.

Frodo looked up again. 'What is it, Sam?'

'I miss the Shire.'

Frodo closed his eyes. 'Before I left, Sam, I said good-bye to the Shire, knowing fully that I might never see it again.'

'And did that help?' asked Sam.

Frodo sighed and shook his head. 'No, it didn't, Sam.' He looked about him. 'I miss the Shire so badly sometimes I wake up at night crying.'

Sam looked very concerned. 'Do you, Mr. Frodo?'

'Yes, Sam, I guess I can't help it.' He patted the grass next to him and Sam sat down.

'Neither can I,' said Sam. 'I miss my gaffer and my home and my brothers and my sisters and the Cottons and Rosie…' Sam trailed off, tears forming in his big brown eyes.

'I know, Sam, I know,' said Frodo, putting an arm about his shoulders and drawing him against him. He rubbed Sam's arm absently, and, with his free hand, he touched the ring that hung about his neck, it lay cool against his skin, cool and heavy.

'And Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, they miss everything to. They shouldn't even be here,' said Sam, wiping away his tears.

Frodo smiled sadly at him. 'No, Sam, they shouldn't.'

'They would be so much happier at home.'

'Yes, they would,' Frodo agreed. 'But that's not how things are, Sam, and we're just going to have to learn to live with it.'

Sam looked up at him. 'You're so very brave, Mr. Frodo,' he said, admiringly.

Frodo tried to smile. 'So are you, Sam.'

'Not nearly as brave as you,' Sam said quickly.

Frodo shrugged. 'I'm just as brave as I have to be, no more, no more at all.'

Legolas turned away, leaving Frodo and Sam alone, his heart ached for them, yet he could think of nothing to say to comfort them. He kicked at the brown grass and slipped deeper into the woods. The trees welcomed him gently, and he pressed back against one looking up at the crooked branches reaching gladly to the vivid blue sky; grey and green, the trees swayed proudly in the warm wind.

The forest reminded him of his home, of the tall trees of Mirkwood that he had so long climbed in, playing hide-and-go-seek in the strong branches; that would be something fun to do, maybe he could get everyone to join. But no, they would say it was a child's game. He wondered vainly what it was about mortals that made them give up their 'childish' ways, why were they so intent on being 'all grown up'? It seemed rather immature to him, running about making sure they acted in a prescribed, preset manner just to prove they could make their own decisions. Boromir made sure to act the path of an adult; but it seemed almost ingrained in him, as if he did not even need to try. Perhaps he had never truly been a child, growing up to be a warrior in a time of war and threats of war left little time for games it would seem, but still he was a kind man. Aragorn was different; he was so grave and stern—sterner than Boromir—roughened and depressed, and yet it seemed that he would not find it embarrassing to play, but rather that he had forgotten how; too many years in the wild and too many years of secret fighting had left him distant and grim; he seemed to believe it was his fate to be sad, carrying the weight of others on his shoulders. Sometimes he wondered if they deemed him immature with his teasing and ridiculous songs; they sometimes laughed at them together, almost conspiratorly, when he was a little ways gone.

The hobbits had no fear of being seen as childish, they left the affairs of 'big people' to 'big people' and wanted their own affairs left to themselves. They were not afraid to be seen as craven, not afraid to laugh and play, not afraid to tell the rest of the world to leave them alone so that they could live in peace and happiness, eating and drinking to the end of their merry days. That was their way, and it was a good one.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to judge the men too harshly; they had reasons for their ways, it was different for mortals, their lives passed so quickly, they had so little time to prove themselves. He tried to imagine what it was like to be a mortal, to know that you would die, that whatever you did you would not see its effects carried out to their ends. Like throwing a rock in a pond and knowing that you would only see the first two ripples, or lighting a bonfire and only being able to see the kindling burn. Was that what it was like? If so, there was little wonder that men scarcely cared what there actions would bring, little wonder that they only thought of what their actions would do for them, not the effects they would have on the world, on others, on the future; it seemed the most dangerous thing about men. He shook his head, trying to clear it; a philosophical assessment of men and their ways was not something he was capable of pursuing at the time.

Gimli, of course thought him foolish, most dwarves did. Dwarves were like that, they were worse than men when it came to acting 'mature'. Dwarves thought that they had to walk around being proper and presentable never taking any time for matters of amusement or love. They mined the grounds stoically and put their treasures up to admire with stiff nods of the head and hands clasped behind their backs, stomping through their dark halls in full armor. Gimli might think his songs were foolish, but…but…Gimli had a beard! Legolas folded his arms firmly.

A sudden horrific thought struck him—the garden; they had done it together, he and Gimli, even if they had not meant to. They had accomplished a goal by fighting each other; as strange as it seemed, it was true. It was their garden really—a joint effort. He groaned and closed his eyes. A nudge from his conscience asked him what it was that made him so embarrassed, what was so bad about the dwarf? A dwarf who was fighting on his side against a common enemy? But he pushed it aside, eager to ignore it. His father had taught him that dwarves were not to be trusted, and that was where it would stand.

When he got back to the house Aragorn greeted him with a sandwich.

'Here,' he said. 'I thought you might be hungry.'

Legolas took the sandwich looking a little confused.

'Come upstairs,' said Aragorn.

Legolas followed him upstairs.

'We're holding a council,' said Aragorn, opening the door to his bedroom.

Legolas walked in.

'Hello, Boromir,' he said.

Boromir nodded.

'Is this all?' asked Legolas.

'Yes,' said Aragorn. 'It's just us three.'

'What is this council about?' asked Legolas; he sat down on Aragorn's bed and picked at the sandwich.

'We have now been in this world for over two months,' said Aragorn. 'And we are not much closer to leaving than we were when we first arrived. Furthermore, we have taken almost no action in to try to destroy the ring.'

'We've been researching volcanoes,' said Legolas, 'but we can't seem to find one that Elrond can positively identify as Orodruin, although he does say that the mountain could have been changed with the time.'

'The point is,' said Aragorn, 'the way things are going, we'll be trapped here forever.'

'It Sauron isn't here to find it,' said Legolas, 'why not throw the ring into the sea? And why are we having this council without Elrond?'

'Saruman is here,' said Aragorn.

'And can he find it in the ocean?'

'He could use a submarine and radar, perhaps,' said Boromir.

Legolas frowned. 'And, while we're at it,' he continued, 'why isn't Sauron here? If we weren't there to destroy him, why isn't he still around causing trouble? And what if this all some grand illusion of his, and we are actually still in Middle-earth and this all a great hologram?'

'Those are all very good questions,' said Aragorn, 'and ones that I, unfortunately, do not have the answers too.'

'You don't know why you didn't tell Elrond to come?' asked Legolas incredulously.

'I didn't tell Elrond to come because I wanted to talk to you two alone,' said Aragorn.

The other two nodded. Aragorn sat down cross-legged on his bed next to Legolas and looked at Boromir who was sitting across from him, his arms folded.

'Now, the real reason I called this council is because I have a task to assign one of us that I don't think Elrond would approve of.'

'What is that?' asked Legolas nervously.

Aragorn sighed deeply and pulled out a book from under his bed. 'To read this.' He put the book down. It was a large, heavy book, with a dark cover showing a picture of a gleaming ring with a band of fiery letters wrapped around its middle. Above that were finely scripted letters that read The Lord of the Rings.

Boromir shuddered.

Legolas ran his fingers over the cover and then drew them back. 'Do you really mean…?'

'Yes.' Aragorn looked down at the book. 'One of us must read it.'

Legolas tentatively opened the cover. It fell open easily.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie

He read it over slowly, his breath felt shaky as he turned the next page. Boromir slapped his hand away and slammed the book shut. It snapped to with a muffled bang and lay innocently on the covers looking up at them.

'Why?' hissed Boromir, looking into Aragorn's eyes.

'To understand things better,' answered Aragorn, not looking away.

'What if we discover something that we don't like?' asked Boromir.

'There are many things that we don't like,' said Aragorn, 'that does not mean they are not true.'

'And how do we know this book is?' Boromir demanded.

'We don't,' said Aragorn, 'we know nothing about it. That is why one of must read it.'

'I don't want to,' said Legolas, drawing back.

'Nor do I,' said Boromir.

'None of us do, but I fear it must be done,' said Aragorn. 'This isn't a decision about who would like to read it, but about who is best qualified.'

Legolas reached for the book again, it seemed somehow irresistible. He ran his fingers over the smooth cover and down the spine; he shivered. The others were staring at him; perhaps they thought he should do it. He opened it again, randomly to somewhere near the beginning and read:

The Company spent that night in the great cavernous hall, huddled close together in a corner to escape the draught: there seemed to be a steady inflow of chill air through the eastern archway. All about them as they lay hung the darkness, hollow and immense, and they were oppressed by the loneliness and vastness of the dolven halls and endlessly branching stairs and passages. The wildest imaginings that dark rumour had ever suggested to the hobbits fell altogether short of the actual dread and wonder of Moria.

'So we went in,' whispered Legolas, turning the page. A song sung by Gimli, more writing; he skimmed over it and turned the pages again.

The day was now growing, and the fog had lifted a little. It was decided that Aragorn and Legolas should at once go forward along the shore, while the others remained by the boats. Aragorn hoped to find some way by which they could carry both their boats and their baggage to the smoother water beyond the Rapids.

He flipped further on.

The hobbits were now wholly in the hands of Gollum. They did not know, and could not guess in that misty light, that they were in fact only just within the northern borders of the marshes, the main expanse of which lay south of them. They could, if they had known the lands, with some delay have retraced their steps a little…

He turned further on.

'Why not? What is wrong with Strider?' Pippin whispered. 'He meant to come here, didn't he? And he'll be arriving soon himself, anyway.'

'Maybe, maybe,' said Gandalf. 'Though if he comes, it is likely to be in some way that no one expects, not even Denethor. It will be better so. At least he should come unheralded by us.'

He went on, the pages turning without hesitation under his trembling fingers. The men watched him with dreadful curiosity.

'Faramir! The Lord Faramir! It is his call!' cried Beregond. 'Brave heart! But how can he win to the Gate, if these hell-hawks have other weapons than fear? But look! They hold on. They will make the gate. No! the horses are running mad. Look! The men are thrown; they are running on foot.'

He closed the book.

'What does it say?' asked Boromir.

'I do not know,' said Legolas. 'I do not want to know.' He turned away from them.

'What is it?' asked Aragorn, laying a hand on his shoulder.

'It is nothing,' said Legolas, 'save that I feel that there is dreadful news in those pages, and I do not wish to find it.' He pushed the book away.

Aragorn drummed his fingers on the cover and turned to Boromir.

Boromir shook his head.

'You should read it, Aragorn,' said Legolas. 'You're the one who came up with the idea.'

Aragorn picked the book up, looking troubled. 'I don't know if I dare.'

'Perhaps no one should,' said Boromir.

Legolas sighed, he felt dread and curiosity; his heart was tight and he knew that he wanted to know. Why had the hobbits been with Gollum? What had happened in Moria? Had the ring been destroyed? And what of Sauron? And himself? Or Boromir? Or Aragorn? Had he become king? Had he wed Arwen? Had he died? Would the book have the answers? And Boromir, would it show his weakness, the one that he promised not to let Aragorn know of? He turned back to the men hastily. Aragorn was reluctantly agreeing to the task.

'I'll do it,' he said.

Aragorn turned to him. 'You will?'

'Yes, I shall.' He took the book from the relieved ranger and held it against him. 'I am the fastest reader here.'

Aragorn nodded. 'Very well then.'

Legolas smiled at them. 'I think that I shall get to it now.' He bowed his head as he left them to find a comfortable spot to begin the read.