Chapter Text
Only Frodo and sometimes Sam, were allowed to answer the radio.
This was at Gandalf’s insistence. When the radio started to ring, no one was allowed to pick it up, except those two. If Gandalf heard anyone else’s voice on the other end, and they weren’t in immediate danger of being eaten by a sea monster, he was hanging up.
Gandalf was their “man on the mainland”, their one connection to the real world, where such things as wifi and I-Phones and Starbucks and general civilization still existed.
His voice was all that tied them to reality, for without it, the months manning the lighthouse, surrounded by sky, stone and sea, where all remained the same, yet was in an ever constant state of flux, same faces, same routines, tides always in motion, clouds forming and reforming in their endless variety, was enough to drive anyone a bit kooky.
Especially when, as Gandalf was quick to point out, one of said faces was ‘Pippin fuckin’ Took’s’.
Pippin was the first to be banned from using the radio, but the others all followed suit swiftly enough. Merry got himself banned in solidarity. Gimli said he got himself banned in solidarity, but his ears went red whenever the subject came up. No one knew what Legolas got banned for, but Gandalf still growled whenever his name was mentioned.
Aragorn was banned from answering the radio because he would try to get Gandalf to pass along messages to his girlfriend, Arwen.
The gang was divided as to whether or not Gandalf banned Aragorn because most of those messages were ballads, that he’d composed and wanted Gandalf to pass along to Arwen in song , or because Gandalf knew that Arwen actually was a figment of Aragorn’s imagination, something the rest of the gang was on the fence about.
Boromir was banned from talking on the radio for complaining too much on the radio that Gandalf only wanted to talk to Frodo (and sometimes Sam) on the radio.
Faramir’s ban was self-imposed. For two years now he’d been working on his thesis on Third-Age Regional Dialects In Gondorian Farming Communities and Their Impact on Fourth-Age Folklore, and six months shut away on a storm tossed island, away from all distractions, excepting the carefully arranged rota of chores that would only help to keep his mind ordered and steady, seemed an ideal way of cracking on with his writing, earning a bit of cash, and spending some quality time with his brother.
Also, Gandalf had asked Frodo and Sam to keep Faramir off the radio, because last they spoke Faramir was distracted for ten minutes talking about Wyn, her smile, her laugh, her hair, and whether or not farmgirls from Rohan were known for having predilections for bookish linguists with man buns (and admittedly rather impressive biceps.)
Wyn too kept off the radio, on the grounds that she ‘took this blasted job to get away from people,’ and it was bad enough she still had to put up with the lot of them.
She said as much pretty much every other day, but then she’d smile and say ‘Except for you, Merry, of course. We’re good.’
No one quite knew why Wyn, sullen, snappish, broody Wyn, had taken Merry, who was all things mellow and outgoing, to be her ‘chosen one’, the one she would dredge up some manners for. The one for whom she would remember her ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’, who she would offer to get a drink for instead of barking ‘Get it yourself!’ whenever asked, who she would smile at and thank nicely whenever he would open the door or help her with her scarf. No one could name when, where or why this phenomena occurred, only that it did.
(Merry’s stock of longbottom leaf was agreed to be a strong point in his favour).
The truth was that in Merry, Wyn saw all the easiness, approachability, and warmth of heart that she felt herself lacking, and dearly missed.
Wyn played very well at the lone wolf, but she craved the easy camaraderie, the warmth, the brotherhood, shared by the team, and Merry had seen that and opened the door for her, inviting her in, offering her a standing invitation to join their modest fellowship, while still maintaining her carefully honed, reclusive ice maiden, ‘thou shalt touch me not’ reputation, which more than pride made paramount she keep.
Faramir, she was yet to admit vocally had also made the cut, and been inducted into the hallowed realm of “people she can stand to be around longer than five minutes (population: one)”, but if there was an empty seat beside him, she’d take it, and she didn’t always say no when he offered to accompany her on her chores, or to go and listen to the seagulls, or join him in looking out over the waves at sunset.
She even let him cut her hair. True, she’d only agreed to do so after he’d managed to trim Gimli’s, Boromir’s and Frodo’s hair without disaster, and convinced Legolas to let him even up the edges of his precious golden locks, to grudging satisfaction, (Aragorn point blank refused, it was hard enough convincing him to shampoo most weeks, let alone cut), but this was enough to keep him hoping, and far from cracking on with his thesis, Faramir found himself spending more and more time writing Sindarin poetry in the resident snow princess’s honour.
Boromir found this both tragic yet hilarious.
Faramir, Boromir was first to admit, had never lacked in romantic interest.
The family name, the family looks, the family money, the gentle spirit that was all Faramir, (and the family biceps), had been more than enough for Faramir to catch more than one lady’s eye.
Tragically for said ladies, since Faramir’s first and only heartbreak at age six, when lovely Nurse Ioreth had rejected his proposal of marriage whilst holding his hand during an injection, Faramir had known no other passion than books. That is, until coming to Himling Island, when in pursuit of total peace and zero distraction, he had the misfortune of encountering the greatest distraction of all.
This particular night, for instance, which Faramir had mentally put aside towards focussing on the influences of Rohirric language on the borders of Northern Gondor, he was instead in the midst of an epic chess match, in which he and Éowyn were doing fierce battle for victory.
Aragorn was hunched over his old guitar, strumming away and muttering a new set of lyrics under his breath, another song for his “girlfriend from Rivendell”.
Gimli, Merry and Pippin were clustered around the coffee table, an assortment of stones, shells and dried fish and bird bones laid before them. They had of late taken to “sculpture”, collecting debris from across the island to create what some might call art, in order to cheer the place up a bit.
Legolas had gone on a walk, to lose himself in the “call of the sea”.
‘I have sea-longing,’ he said. ‘Salt-water runs through my veins. It is like the tide. There within me, always. Falling and rising.’
‘Bollocks. You grew up in a gated community in Mirkwood,’ Gimli said. ‘Your dad is the CEO of an insurance company. And you stole that line from Moana.’
Sam was in the kitchen, while Frodo debriefed with Gandalf over the radio.
‘Right, well, I think that’s everything,’ Gandalf said. ‘The storm will make things rocky for ya for a few days but if you don’t do anything foolish, you’ll be alright. You all know how to handle yourselves.’ Static crackled in Frodo’s ears, as Gandalf paused a moment. ‘Actually, you’d best consider tying Pippin to a chair until the worst of it is passed.’
‘I’ll pass that onto Aragorn,’ Frodo said with a chuckle. ‘Anything else we should be watching out for?’
‘No, no, that’s everything. Except a reminder to keep an eye out for missing princesses washing up on the shore.’
Frodo grinned. ‘Of course, always worth looking out for. Wearing a crown of shells and scales on her legs, right?’
‘No, actually,’ Gandalf said. ‘This one is blonde, wears a crown only during state dinners, and jodhpurs on her legs.’
‘Jodhpurs?’
‘King Théoden’s niece, Éowyn of Rohan, she’s been missing four months now.’
Frodo frowned. ‘Four months? There wasn’t anything in the news before we left,’ he said. Frodo didn’t usually follow the Rohan Royals all that much (although Sam’s Rosie did inherit her gran’s rather nice commemorative plates from King Théoden’s wedding to Lady Elfhild, that they always saved for scones), but he was pretty sure a missing princess would have made his X feed.
‘They wanted to keep it quiet,’ Théoden said. ‘Try and track her down before the press could make a stink of it. Said the last thing the secret service needed was the press and wannabe detectives getting involved, at least that was their excuse. But it’s been months and there’s not been hide nor hair of her, so they ended up doing a general plea to the public for information. Although, with her being gone all this time, folks had already started wondering where she was, and the royals couldn’t cover up her disappearance much longer, not with the conspiracy nuts thinking they murdered her and buried her body in Dunharrow.’
‘Mad,’ Frodo said. ‘Here, Wyn’s from Rohan, she’ll want to know.’ He put his hand over the radio. ‘Hey Wyn!’
Wyn looked up from the chessboard. ‘Yeah?’
‘You know the Princess of Rohan?’
Wyn turned back to the chessboard. ‘Not personally. Oh nice work, Faramir you sucker, moving you Bishop there. Now I can take it with my horsey.’
Faramir hadn’t been playing his best the last few moves. A stray lock of hair had fallen over Wyn’s forehead and was distracting him. ‘Knight,’ was all he could say, fighting down the urge to comb it back.
Wyn glared at him, lifted said piece, neighed solemnly, and checked his Bishop. ‘Horsey,’ she said. ‘What about the princess, Frodo?’
‘She’s missing.’
‘Did they do her in like they did Princess Théodwyn?’ Gimli asked.
‘Thought Princess Théodwyn died of sepsis,’ Boromir said.
‘She did,’ Pippin said. ‘When my mum saw me mucking about with her garden shears, she said they’d cut my fingers off, give me sepsis, and kill me off in a day like they did Princess Théodwyn.’
‘Nah, it was murder,’ Gimli said. ‘After husband died she went off the rails and was having all sorts of affairs with unsuitable blokes, so the royals offed her.’
‘Suicide,’ Wyn said. ‘Princess Théodwyn killed herself after her husband died. The royals just said it was sepsis to avoid scandal.’
Faramir looked curiously at Wyn. ‘How do you know that?’
Wyn shrugged. ‘I heard it on a podcast.’
‘And you can always trust a podcast,’ Aragorn said. He looked up from his guitar at Frodo. ‘And I guess the internet’s being completely sane and reasonable about this, and totally respectful of her family’s suffering at this time?’
‘I don’t know, I’ll check’ Frodo said. He put the question to Gandalf, only to be met with a harsh bark of laughter. ‘I think we can take that as a no,’ he told the others, holding the cackling radio at a distance.
‘She’ll probably just be on holiday,’ Merry said. ‘Royals do like their holidays.’
‘Who’s on holiday?’ Sam asked, bearing a steaming vat of cheesy pasta bake.
‘The Princess of Rohan,’ Pippin said. ‘Only she’s not on holiday, she’s gone missing. Maybe murdered, jury’s still out.’
‘The royal family’s put out an urgent plea for information on her whereabouts,’ Frodo said.
‘Oh no,’ Sam said, looking truly distressed. ‘Rosie will be gutted. She always said the Rohan Royals were her favourite. She went and got a dress for fifty castars last Yule because it looked a bit like the one the princess wore.’
‘Which one?’ Wyn asked.
‘Um, the blue one she wore to the hospital gala, with the stars on?’ Sam said.
‘Oh yeah,’ Wyn said, nodding and turning back to the board. ‘That one was pretty. Checkmate.’
‘Shit!’ Faramir shouted, before clapping his hands over his mouth.
‘Oy, watch your language around the lady!’ Boromir wagged his finger, the corners of his eyes creasing with mirth. ‘If I hear you speaking like that again, young man, I’ll fucking wash your fucking mouth out with soap.’
‘You can all go wash up,’ Sam said, eyeing up Gimli, Merry and Pippin’s “artwork”. ‘Especially you three. Dinner on the table in four.’
Gimli grunted and rose to his feet, making for the door. ‘I’d better go and make sure the Little Mer-prat didn’t go falling into the sea,’ he said. ‘If I’m not back in ten, presume we set sail for the Grey Havens and bid us farewell forever.’
‘Will do,’ Aragorn said, putting away his guitar, ‘but we’ll save you some dinner, just in case.’