Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time it happened, it was a bit of a shock. The hobbits were asleep in Lothlorien, with Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sitting outside, staring numbly into the fire.

“I shouldn’t have suggested Moria,” muttered Gimli.

“Perhaps not,” responded Legolas, sourness coloring his voice.

“Peace, friends,” Aragorn interceded before a fight could develop.

“And you shall be known as the Fellowship of the Ring!” announced Elrond.

The lot of them looked around in shock, finding themselves standing once more in Imraldis, before Elrond, all nine of them still alive. Gandalf included. They were too stunned by the situation to do much other than allow Elrond to explain to them their quest and then dismiss them to prepare. Instead of breaking up into their clumps as they had the first time, they all followed Aragorn and Gandalf through the halls into somewhere more private. There, they stared at each other for a long while, before Pippin broke the silence.

“Did we all have the same dream? Where there was a balrog, and it took Gandalf, and we went to Lothlorien?”

“What elven magic is this?” snarled Gimli, “How can we have lived an experience together, only to find it replaced with the past?”

“Peace, friend,” interjected Aragorn. That statement caused all of them to start, since it hadn’t become a habit of his until well into the journey. They stood in silence for another long moment.

“It must be a blessing upon the quest,” stated Frodo at last. “We were gifted a vision of what must not come to pass, and allowed an insight into our fellow companions, to make the following journey a bit easier.”

“A blessing of the Valar,” murmured Legoals. “But what do we do now?”

Once again, there was silence.

“What else can we do?” asked Gandalf finally. “We set out as we dreamed we did, and attempt to make it through Moria without waking the balrog.”

“Or, since it was deemed foolish in our vision,” interrupted Boromir, “we can take the pass in Gondor, and avoid both the storm of Saruman and the death of Moria.”

“No,” said Merry, surprising everyone. “No, the vision was given to us for a reason. It showed us a path to take. How do we know it isn’t a path to success?”

“Because Gandalf died!” shouted Pippin. “And it’s my fault!”

“Perhaps you shall learn to control your foolishness!” retorted Gandalf, causing Aragorn to move between the two of them and interrupt.

“Stop this madness! All of you!” When he was sure that no one was going to interrupt, he continued. “We were taught a lesson by this vision, that we must work together, or else all is lost. This infighting between us is not useful!”

“But what path do we take?” asked Merry. “The path we were shown, or a different one?”

“We let the ring bearer decide,” announced Gandalf.

Frodo stared off into the distance for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. “We made it to Lothlorien. We can do that again. All we need to do in Moria is not wake the thing in the lake, nor the goblins and orcs in the mines, and most of all not the balrog. We know the route now. I think we should take Moria again.”

“So it is decided,” Aragorn said.

“For better or worse,” muttered Boromir.

--

By an unspoken agreement, the Fellowship did not speak of the oddity they had experienced. If the hobbits were better with their weapons than they had been in the dream, Boromir didn’t mention it. If they passed a landmark he remembered, Aragorn still treated it as a new and interesting threat. Gandalf still lectured about the world around them. Gimli and Legolas still argued as their parents once did, and if there was less fire in it, no one said anything. It wasn’t until their path reached the point where it branched, one way going to Caradhras, the other going to Moria, that they even acknowledged their group dream once again.

“We know that the pass is blocked,” stated Gimli, “so why would we bother taking that road again?”

“Because that’s the path that was shown to us,” Legolas replied, “and we’re following that.”

“No, Gimli’s right,” said Boromir. “The pass wasted days of our journey, of our supplies, of our energy.” If we’re going to take Moria, we may as well just take Moria and be done with it!”

“I will admit that I am not looking forward to forcing my way through that snow again,” said Aragorn, eyeing the mountain unhappily.

“Me neither,” said Sam, matching the expression.

“It’s decided,” said Frodo. “We take Moria first, and we try not to wake the things living there.”

This time they knew the password to get in, so there was no Watcher to grab them and pull them under the lake, nor would it barricade the way out. They picked their way through the halls, guessing at the correct path based on what they remembered. Finally, after a few days of travel, they made it to the room with the tomb and the well, where everything had fallen apart last time. As they stopped to rest, Pippin eyed the figure on the well warily.

“Don’t touch it, Pip,” Merry cautioned.

“I’m not going to,” Pippin retorted. “I don’t want to kill Gandalf again.”

“You didn’t kill me, Pippin,” Gandalf said quietly. “Don’t give yourself that much credit. It was the balrog, and I killed it first.”

“You never told us what you experienced,” Legolas noted. “What happened when you fell?”

“I fell for days, fighting the balrog all the while. We fell to the bottom of the bottomless pit, then fought our way to the top of the Endless Stair. I finally smote the beast, but my wounds were too great. I fell into unconsciousness, and when I awoke, we were being dismissed by Lord Elrond once again.”

Aragorn frowned. “How many days would you say it took?” he asked.

“It felt like an eternity,” Gandalf huffed. “But if you must make me guess, I would say… about 4?”

“That’s how long we were in Lothlorien,” Boromir observed. “Could… could your death…”

“That’s what I was wondering,” replied Aragorn. “But we’ve dallied here too long. We must move.”

Once again they began their trek through Moria. They were being followed, and they knew it. At first, they thought it was just Gollum, but then the two eyes became four, became six, became ten, became more than felt safe. Aragorn and Boromir unsheathed their swords as they walked, and Gimli held his axe at the ready. They, along with Legolas, walked around the hobbits, shielding them with their bodies should anything happen. But nothing did. Either their watchers weren’t there or weren’t willing to risk an engagement with them, and they made it out of Moria with all 9 of them alive. They stood along the edge of the cliffside, feeling the sunlight on their face for the first time in a week, and finally felt the weight of their weird vision lift off of their shoulders.

Later, Boromir swore up and down that goblins could smell complacency as well as fear. Gandalf held that that was ridiculous; they must have been waiting for them to let their guards down, and they had very visibly done that. Gimli supported the theory that there was a dwarven watch station by the exit, so the goblins had the high ground in the situation, and it was the first time that had happened the whole trip. Whatever the reason, as they stood there, revealing in the sunlight, a goblin arrow appeared out of the door and shot Frodo in the back of the neck, just above the end of his mithril shirt. He didn’t even have time to scream out in pain, just gasped quietly.

“And you shall be known as the Fellowship of the Ring!” announced Elrond.

They stood in dumbfounded silence for a long moment.

“What is GOING ON?” shouted Pippin as Frodo’s hand snapped up to the back of his neck.

“What is going on, Peregrin Took--” started Elrond, but Sam interrupted him.

“Mr. Frodo, are you alright?!”

Aragorn made it to Frodo first, though, and pulled the back of his shirt down to see where the arrow had hit. The skin was unblemished.

“That shot should have killed you,” muttered Aragorn.

“I feel as though something has happened without my knowledge,” said Elrond, surveying the varying states of distress of the people who had, to his eyes, been fine moments before.

“We made it through Moria,” started Merry, “and Frodo got shot!”

“But there wasn’t a balrog this time!” continued Pippin.

“Or all the goblins--”

“But we also didn’t try the mountain pass--”

“What is going on?”

Silence fell after Merry’s question. Elrond looked completely bewildered. Gandalf frowned in thought.

“I died,” said Frodo at last. “I died, and whatever blessing the Valar gave us caused us to come back here to try again. Just like Gandalf last time.”

Once again, silence fell. Finally, Sam spoke up with the thought that was on everyone’s mind.

“This is going to be a long quest.”

Chapter Text

There was no discussion as they approached Moria this time. The plan was set: go through the caverns without waking anything, get the hell away from the mountains before they relaxed, make for Lothlorien and discuss what to do next there. This third time, they picked their way through the halls of Moria more surely than before. Without having to consider decisions or discuss the history (which they all knew from two times through) they made it through a day faster than either of their previous attempts. If Frodo was a bit ashen upon leaving the mines, glancing around a bit erratically, and refusing to stay in the back of the group, no one commented. Instead of reveling in the sunlight, they kept up a quick march for the rest of daylight until they reached the very edge of Lothlorien. There, they all came to a stop, surveying the path ahead of them.

“I don’t want to be blindfolded by an elf again,” stated Gimli. Sam looked as though he might agree, but said nothing.

“We don’t really have a choice,” responded Legolas. “We need to pass through, and that’s the only way they’ll let us.”

“We have Gandalf with us this time,” Aragorn said. “Maybe it’ll be different.”

Gandalf was frowning. “They blindfolded you to enter, last time?”

“Yes,” said Frodo. “They tried to turn us back because of the evil we brought with us, then Aragorn negotiated for us to meet with Galadriel, and so they blindfolded us until she sent word to them that it was okay for us to see where we were going.”

“They didn’t know we were coming this way,” Gandalf said. “You must have been caught by a passing patrol.”

“We’re a day faster than we were; they might not be here,” Aragorn noted. “We must proceed.”

Slowly, the Fellowship started up again, moving just as quietly as they had through Moria, to enter into Lothlorien.

Aragorn and Gandalf were right. They met with no resistance as they passed through the woods. The pair of them led the way, both having visited before enough times to know the correct path to Caras Galadhon. Somehow, Galadriel and Celeborn were waiting for them as they arrived.

“Welcome, Fellowship,” said Galadriel, making direct eye contact with Gandalf. “We are pleased that you have made it here safely.” She continued to speak, shifting her eye contact to each member of the Fellowship individually. As her eyes moved away, each member paled and shifted their weight, with the exception of Gandalf and Aragorn.

Once she had finished her welcoming speech, she requested Gandalf stay behind and sent the remaining eight of the Fellowship off to rest. The chance for a safe night’s sleep was gladly taken by all, and so none of them were awake when Gandalf returned to join the group.

Their stay in Lorien was brief. Gandalf and Galadriel spent a few days strategizing while the remainder of the Fellowship prepared to set out again, collecting supplies and taking advantage of the training grounds to teach the hobbits how to handle swords just a little bit better. Throughout it all, though, a sense of unease pervaded the Fellowship. The eight of them felt as though they ought to be mourning Gandalf, and Gandalf himself felt as though he was missing out on something important. None of them had a solution.

Finally, it was the last evening of their stay. As they were settling down for their rest, Galadriel took Frodo aside and led him deep into the forest.

“Come,” she said once they reached a clearing. “I wish for you to look in the Mirror.”

“What will I see?” Frodo asked.

“Things that were, things that are, and things that have not yet come to pass.”

Frodo sighed and with not a small amount of trepidation stepped up to the pedestal and looked into the mirror.

The image started clear and bright. It showed him the Shire, and Bag End, just as he had left it. Then there was an image of Rivendell and the Council of Elrond. Then it started to jumble. Half an image would appear, or an image overlayed with another. He saw Pippin with an orc blade through his chest while he laughed and spoke with Gandalf in a white city. He saw Aragorn being crowned king, only the crown was being placed on a body-less head. The images started flashing faster as they became less distinct. Soon it was just a jumble of color, turning more and more red and orange as the Eye of Sauron began to take shape. Startled, Frodo fell backwards off of the pedestal, severing the connection between himself and the Mirror. Galadriel began to speak, telling him that that image haunted her as well, but Frodo wasn’t paying attention. How many dead bodies of his friends had he just seen? How many times was he going to have to relive this very moment, with the Mirror and Galadriel and the gruesome deaths it represented? Was this ever going to end?

--

The obvious route from Lothlorien to Mordor was to take the river. The obvious way to take the river was by boat. Sam knew this. Knowing it didn’t make him feel any better about it. He held the rope he had been gifted tightly in his hands, hoping that it would keep him grounded as he got into a boat with Frodo. At least Frodo knew a little bit about sailing, so if something went wrong he could help Aragorn figure it out. The boat was pushed off from the dock, and Sam closed his eyes and gripped the sides tightly, rope still intertwined between his fingers. It was nice of Galadriel to give it to him. He had been regretting not having any for the whole trip.

Suddenly, he heard a splash. His eyes snapped open, expecting the world to be filtered through layers of water, certain that the splash he heard was himself falling in. But he was dry. He was okay. There was more splashing, and swearing, coming from behind him. It took more effort than he had ever exerted before, but Sam successfully turned around to see what was going on. It was hard to tell amid the waves and limbs and shouting. One of the boats was definitely the wrong way up. Had Pippin tipped it? No, he was on the shore with Merry. Where were the others? The dark mass on the bottom of the river began to take shape. It was definitely at least two people based on the number of limbs he could make out. No, three. Sam could just barely make out the golden-blond hair of Legolas. Legolas couldn’t have tipped the boat though. He knew how boats worked.

The boat lurched to the side and there was a splash. Sam grabbed the sides again as water rained down on him. He turned back to see Aragorn swimming for the mess that was the other boat. What is happening? Sam thought.

“Gimli fell in,” Frodo said, and Sam realized he must have said it out loud. “He overturned the boat, and Boromir and Aragorn are trying to rescue him.”

“Can’t we do something?” Sam asked. He didn’t think breathing in water was a good idea for very long.

“And you shall be known as the Fellowship of the Ring!” announced Elrond.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Gimli stiffen. His own hands felt empty without the rope he had just been clinging to. Nobody reacted as Elrond explained to them the next steps for their journey. Nobody continued to react until they were safely away from anyone who wasn’t Fellowship. Then the yelling started.

“How could you be so stupid as to think--”

“I’ve never ridden in a boat before! How was I supposed to--”

“Peace, friends, peace! It was an honest mistake--”

“I don’t WANT to do this again, but because--”

“--if he could just BALANCE then--”

Sam moved slowly away from the argument. Nothing useful was getting done here. It was loud and the residual stress from being in the boat was not making it easy to follow.

--

They didn’t need to discuss the trip back to Lothlorien. It was straightforward to the point of boring, even if they had only done it a handful of times. Soon they were once again standing at the dock and preparing to set out once again. As their hosts began the elaborate speeches to send them off, Legolas grabbed Gimli and the hobbits and pulled them to the back of the group. There, he started whispering instructions to them, keeping his eyes on the speakers the whole time.

“Boats are unstable by nature – make sure you keep as much of your weight to the center as possible – don’t look over the edge too far – don’t sit too close to the rim--”

Finally it was time to board the vessels. This time, instead of boarding first and “letting the Ringbearer lead the way,” Sam, Frodo, and Aragorn held back so that Aragorn and Boromir could help the others embark. There was a tense moment as Gimli stepped in and the boat wobbled dangerously, but he quickly threw his pack (which he had filled with the weapons he didn’t immediately need in order to balance out the weight of his armor) to the other side and it steadied. Legolas leapt nimbly in behind him, and Gandalf rounded out the trio. Then Merry, Pippin, and Boromir took the next, and Aragorn, Sam, and Frodo in the last. This time, they had made it out of the docks of Lothlorien.

Unfortunately, it turned out that Legolas’s boating knowledge did not extend to how to steer with cavalry-armor weight in the vessel, never mind the density of dwarf and full grown man. Gandalf tried to help, but there was too much thinking and not enough doing to keep the boat from ramming head on into the first boulder in the mild rapids they had to pass through. Elven boats are of sturdy make, and the wood of Lothlorien helped, but mass plus speed equals force that has to go somewhere, and the prow shattered, spilling the three of them out. This time, Legolas successfully made it up onto the boulder that ended their journey, but once again Gimli lost the fight to his armor and they were reset once again.

The third time they made it to the docks of Lothlorien, they rearranged the seating. Pippin, being the smallest of the Fellowship, joined Legolas and Gimli, at last allowing Legolas to steer and Gimli to keep his plate armor on him, and Gandalf joined instead with Merry and Boromir. And finally, finally they were able to make it to the first night downstream of Lothlorien.

Chapter Text

They knew they were being followed. Each night they set a guard watching the east bank, hoping that Sauron’s arm had not grown long enough to reach them on the western side. There were spies among the birds that Legolas shot down from time to time, but no one hoped that he was getting all of them. Throughout it all, Frodo agonized. The images he had seen in the Mirror had not changed any of the times he had seen them. Could he do anything to save his friends? Their deaths would likely not stick, but-- and here he rubbed the back of his neck, where he had been shot, every time he thought about it-- dying hurt, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat ever again. In addition, Boromir was being… odd. He was aggressive at times, apologetic at others. He was the older brother Frodo had never had one minute and a Sacksville-Baggins the next. He watched Frodo when he thought Frodo wasn’t looking. And he muttered in his sleep. Frodo needed to get away from him, that much he knew. But what was he supposed to do? He didn’t know the way to Mordor, beyond ‘head vaguely east and hope.’ And what if he did escape the Fellowship and someone died, and then everyone reset? He would need to explain, and there would be arguing, and then the next time they would know and follow him, or prevent him from escaping. Sam especially would make sure of it. What was he supposed to do?

“We need to cross to the other side, but not tonight. We’ll rest here.”

He needed to make the decision quickly. The closer to Mordor that they got, the more difficult it would be to slip away. As his comrades set up camp, Frodo slipped away from the group and set about wandering the forest. Should he leave? Should he stay? His presence was endangering the rest of the group. He needed to leave. But Sam, oh Sam… Sam would never forgive him.

“None of us should be wandering alone,” a voice called, and Frodo froze. “Least of all you!” Boromir came into view, picking up sticks and small logs as he went. Of all the Fellowship, he was the one Frodo wanted to see the least.

“I just needed to think,” he said, trying to keep a careful distance from the man. Boromir laughed.

“Yes, thinking. This cursed trip is perfect for thinking.”

Suddenly Boromir was right in front of him, towering over him, with a fire in his eyes that Frodo wasn’t used to. He tried to take a step back, but Boromir caught his wrist and held him tight.

“If you would but give the Ring to me, none of this would have to happen! We wouldn’t need to keep doing this trip over and over again, fearful of a fate worse than death! Give it to me!”

Boromir grabbed at Frodo’s shirt, trying to find the Ring. Frodo kicked out at him, hitting him in the knee and startling him into letting him go. He immediately put several paces (Man sized paces, not Hobbit ones) between himself and the man.

“You are not yourself, Boromir,” he said, trying to get the man to see reason. It didn’t work. Boromir lunged at him again, and Frodo turned and ran back towards the river.

Suddenly an arrow thudded into the tree next to him and he whirled away in shock. Was Boromir trying to kill him? No, the arrow was unlike any of the arrows owned by the Fellowship. They were being attacked. Frodo hit the ground quickly and army-crawled to the nearest cover. What was he going to do now?

This would be the perfect chance to slip away. But if they were under attack, it made it that much more likely that someone would die and he would be pulled back to the Fellowship.

What should he do?

He needed to leave, and now.

Frodo scrambled to his feet and darted back through the trees towards the campsite. Reaching it, he found no one there. He smiled grimly and grabbed his backpack and began shoving a boat off into the water.

“MR FRODO!”

Frodo winced at the voice. He loved Sam, really he did, but why did he insist on following him?

“MR FRODO! WAIT!”

Frodo didn’t wait. Once the boat was off the shore he climbed into it and grabbed an oar to shove off further.

“MR FRODO!”

“You can’t follow me Sam!” Frodo shouted back. “I need to do this alone!”

“I know that! And I’m coming with you!”

Frodo heard splashing and swore. He looked back and saw Sam wading into the river.

“You can’t swim, Sam! Don’t!”

He couldn’t just let him die! Frodo struggled with the boat a minute before it started to turn back towards the shore. Sam was in too deep, under the water. Frodo shoved with all of his might and made it to his side. He reached over and grabbed Sam by the backpack and hauled him over the side of the boat where he slapped wetly against the bottom, coughing. Coughing, but very much alive, and likely to stay that way.

“I’m not leaving you, Mr. Frodo,” Sam announced between coughs. “I promised I’d follow you, and I intend to keep that promise.”

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe having Sam by his side could help on this journey.

“And you shall be known as the Fellowship of the Ring!” announced Elrond.

Frodo looked quickly over to Sam, who looked just as dumbstruck as he felt. So it wasn’t Sam who died. Who was it? Both Aragorn and Boromir were deathly pale. Legolas and Gimli both looked confused. Gandalf was as unreadable as ever. And Merry and Pippin—wait. Where were Merry and Pippin? Why weren’t they here? What had happened to them?

Elrond was still talking and the Fellowship knew better than to react in front of the elven lord. But as soon as they were dismissed and alone, all hell broke loose.

“Where are they?” shouted Boromir. “Where are the little ones?”

“The orcs took them as you died,” Aragorn said. “Maybe they stayed with the orcs?”

“But why?” shouted Boromir. “Why wouldn’t they reset with us? What evil is this?”

“I don’t know,” Aragorn responded. No one else had a theory to offer either. Merry and Pippin were gone.