The Adventures of Frodo Gardner
Volume II Through Shadows to the Edge of Night By Dolores J. Nurss
Chapter 4, Part 34 Independence (November 22, 1451)
Frodo got off to a late
start the next morning in a cold rain, riding one very
disgruntled little mare who obviously wondered why the
saddle bags got heavy again all of a sudden. "This
is it," Frodo thought. "If I ever had any doubt
before, this is the point where I really, truly become an
adult--I don't care what the calendar says." The
city did not overwhelm him quite so much in the rain; the
weather laid low all the dust and smoke, the laundry and
the market-wares had vanished from his view, the doors
and windows stood shut, and as few people as possible
hunched outdoors, hastening to warm hearths out of sight.
The splash of hooves in puddles made a music that would
sound grand and solemn only to someone very young and
dramatic, but Frodo relished every liquid note.
In no time at all the wide prairies of Rohan spread
before him, the city of Edoras dwindling behind him to a
rain-veiled smudge. The grasses shuddered under the
bluster as raindrops made a hushing sound across the
landscape, and all else fell silent all around them,
except for the soft clop of pony-hooves in mud. Frodo
would have felt very cold and miserable indeed, if not
for a single thought warming his breast. "I'm on my
own now. I am entirely, completely on my own." He
couldn't quite understand why such a thought didn't
dismay him (and indeed, he did feel more than a little
thrill of fear.) But something satisfied him beyond words
to know that he had nobody to fish him out if he made a
mistake, nobody to notice for a fortnight or more if
anything happened to him, nobody to advise him, nag him,
make sure he succeeded in spite of himself. If Frodo made
it to Gondor in one piece, he could credit it all to
himself.
The South Road unfurled before him like a muddy river
cleaving through grassy shores, but crushed stone
actually made it quite firm enough for Billie-Lass.
"The road goes ever on and on," he hummed to
himself, "Down from the door where it began."
It occurred to him that the door at Bag End must have a
particularly strong current running from its step.
"Now, how did that old song go? And I must follow if
I can--or I will follow if I can...several versions,
aren't there? Pursuing it with..." he glanced down
at his pony. "Pursuing it with your feet,
Billie-Lass, you lucky girl." He couldn't remember
all the words, except something in there about
"where many paths and errands meet". He
certainly hadn't expected to cross paths with all the
strange errands he had met so far!
"But that's what adventure's all about,
surely," he said out loud, unabashed, with nobody to
hear him talking to himself aside from a mare who was
pointedly not paying attention. "Unexpected
chances--stone trolls and talking trees, magic mirrors
full of starlight, enemies leaping at you unawares,
and elves stepping out of woods you thought you
knew." This common road beneath him, mere gravel and
clay pounded solid by the passage of merchants bent on
little beyond their ledgers and the hope of their own
sweet hearths, this ordinary ribbon of earth had already
carried him into the mysterious realm of his father's
tales--and beyond, to tales not yet told, tales he had
yet to make happen, himself, personally. He rode on in
silence for awhile, awed by the thought, till that awe
tranformed in his breast into a song and the music welled
up from him like something beyond his control, making his
toes curl with pleasure on the cold, wet stirrups. All
around him the rolling hills shimmered in the storm from
a few rays of sunlight only now beginning to peep under
the hem of the clouds, and he knew, deep in his heart,
that a rainbow would just have to break out any minute
now.
For years to come one of Frodo Gardner's fondest memories
would be this day, striking out completely on his own for
the very first time, singing in a cold November rain.
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