A Heavy Burden

I don't own them. They belong to Mr Tolkien.

Frodo stared down at his hands, still able to feel the weight . . . the weight of the crown . . . the Ring . . . failure . . . guilt.

He listened to the others settling down to second breakfast but, having no appetite, had come out into the garden and now sat staring down at the gap where his finger should be. A shadow fell across his hands and Frodo looked up into the noble face of the King. Aragorn stayed him when he would have jumped up, and settled himself on the bench at Frodo's side.

"What troubles you? I come to visit my favourite subjects on my first morning as King and find one of them unhappy. That does not bode well for my reign."

Frodo allowed himself a weak smile and returned to the examination of his fingers. "There was a minstrel in the street outside this morning. They all sing of the brave saviour of Middle earth . . . a hero. They think I went willingly . . . that it was I who destroyed the enemy's ring."

"And you do not believe that you are a hero?"

Frodo nodded, still unable to tear his gaze away from the evidence of his failure. Suddenly a large hand took hold of his and the King bent his head, gently kissing the nub of maimed finger.

Aragorn's spoke with the surety of one who had long ago confronted this problem. "Heroes are not born. Think you that Beren would have trod the path he did if he had been given any other choice? You did all that you were asked . . . and more than was expected."

"But I claimed It. At the end I failed," Frodo whispered.

Aragorn wrapped the small hand within his own. "Then how is it that you sit here talking with the newly crowned King of Gondor?"

Frodo disengaged his hand, hiding it within his pocket. "Chance. It was Gollum who saw the job done. They should sing of him . . . poor tormented creature."

"And who was it spared his life? Who was it that tried to understand and help him? Who was it that, for a few brief days, rediscovered Smeagol?"

The small jaw clenched, it's shape still too sharp for a hobbit. It was clear to the King that Frodo had missed more than second breakfast. "And then I delivered him up to Faramir." The small figure pronounced, self loathing evident in the downturn of his mouth.

Aragorn sighed and dropped a hand to his friend's shoulder. "We do what we must. And your action on that occasion saved his life."

Blue eyes, brimming with tears, Frodo finally looked up into Aragorn's face. "But in doing so I lost his soul."

"His soul was not yours to keep, Frodo. And if he kindled such pity in your heart I cannot help but think that his Creator would show even more. Perhaps this is not the end of his song. Be at peace, Ringbearer. No-one could have done more."

The small hobbit leaned into Aragorn's side and the man held him as tears, witheld too long, were finally released. Whether those tears were now for Smeagol or Frodo, the Elessar did not enquire.

END