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This was a stupid idea and Frodo knew it.
It was so stupid but Frodo had to do it, lest he suffered yet another restless night.
Frodo smiled politely at the brown-haired elf who called for him to celebrate.
“I’m afraid I cannot. Perhaps later,”
The elf laughed heartily, and turned away.
Frodo let out a breath of relief, and continued his walk steadily to Yavanna’s ever-changing forest. Frodo personally liked it better than the evergreen plants, being reminded of home there. He witnessed the wind blow the barren trees, the branches croaking and groaning. He realized it must be turning into winter.
Frodo wrapped his dark-green cloak closer, feeling a slight nip in the air as he ventured further into the forest. He finally reached the dark tangled mass of slumbering bushes, when he started to look for the small path that he knew connected to his.
He found it, and so off he went, under the protection of brambles.
He let his thoughts wander freely as he went, and then felt his heartbeat quicken as he neared his destination. Blood thrummed under his skin, and he had to remember to breathe.
He finally walked into the circle from under the brambles, and found the very thing he wished to see.
He stared, not knowing what to say, and not knowing how to calm his racing heart.
“I do not know why I am even here,”
Frodo finally whispered.
He stared at the monster who wrecked his life, whispered lies into his ear, and hurt him beyond repair. At the current moment though, his monster looked weak. He was collapsed to the ground, and his handsome face was drawn in, his eyes unreadable.
Sauron. Mairon, apparently.
Snowflakes gently fell to the ground, covering Mairon’s shoulders, as he was still as statue. Frodo felt an alarming sense of pity, remembering how Gandalf described his punishment.
‘We dare not throw him in the void with his master, and we cannot kill him. So whether one views it as an act of mercy, or cruelty, Sauron is cursed to be still, to be helpless, while even the smallest creature has more will than him,”
Frodo remembered how confused he had felt, and questioned.
“He is still alive?”
“Yes,”
Frodo knew Gandalf wouldn’t want him here, none of them would. But ever since he had found out about this, he felt a burning within him. He knew, that even in Valindor, nothing could make him at peace until he sought his monster.
Frodo looked over him, before noting Sauron’s hand. It… had missing fingers. Like Frodo's.
Frodo’s body fought a shiver, suddenly feeing a sickness rise in him before he swallowed. He was suddenly reminded of all his questions that never received an answer.
Frodo grimaced before glancing up at the fair, frozen face.
“What in the Eru could have happened to you to make you do all this?”
He searched Mairon’s face, feeling despair seep slowly into his chest. His breath steamed up in front of him, and all of the questions flooded his mind. Then he felt frustration bubble over, forcing him to shake. He babbled, and tugged at his dark hair with his hands.
“Why? Why did you hate middle earth so much? Why couldn’t you-“
Frodo cut himself, closing his eyes that burned, not wanting to finish the sentence. He choked, and felt warm tears fall roll down his face.
He collapsed, hearing the crunch of the snow and feeling the confusion and hurt he had thought he left behind.
He felt so lonely, even though he was surrounded by so many people, the one person he wished to speak to the most, even though fear threatened to choke him over it, couldn’t.
Hell, he wouldn’t. He hated Frodo, that much was clear. Yet, Frodo wished it wasn’t so, just so he could get some peace of mind.
Just so he could get answers on why this all happened.
“I wish I could just hate you, and let it be, but I cannot. I don’t know why I can’t; you tried to ruin me, and almost did,”
The last word ended with a croak. Frodo looked up with a reddened nose, and reddened eyes. He felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, and he just wanted to lay there, and not move with Mairon. But he couldn’t.
Despite the fact that the snow was quickly piling on, Frodo felt no chill. Of course, he did not notice this, on the account of his exhaustion. He sighed, rubbing his eyes, and he felt so foolish. He knew he wasn’t going to get answers, and yet he had hoped beyond hope.
He stood up, letting the snow fall off his cloak. He stared into Mairon’s solemn face as snow piled on his head. He deserved this and more for all the havoc he had caused, but Frodo could not find any contempt in him. He was too tired to feel anger, and fear.
Then he did something truly foolish. He unwrapped his scarf, and wrapped it around Mairon’s neck.
“Good night,”
The snow piled on and on, as Frodo left, and continued even as he was gone.
But even so, the ice that covered Mairon, began to thaw, and even though Mairon could not flee nor shift, he must have found some sort of willpower for he moved his hand and he grabbed the scarf, finger curling around the thing. Then, there was movement no more.
No one knows whether he meant to snatch it away, or perhaps, find an odd sort of comfort in it.
A comfort in the pity of his enemy that should have hated him the most.
His face was still unreadable.