Disclaimer- The books belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, I simply try to elaborate
on them.
A/N- Written to Enya's "Aniron" for the Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack. I know this isn't about the book, but there is no other place to put it. My interpretation of the scene "The Council of Elrond", when Frodo valiantly claims the journey to return the ring. The look on Gandalf's face tore my heart apart, so I felt a poetic need to write this.
He turned around, the expression on his wizened face one that the hobbit would-- until the end of time-- have kept in his heart. The look of misfortune; of defeat and pain. Of weepy nights, tearstained suns, and stricken days. Only his resolve kept him alive, and he threw the will away only to resolve a matter deep within, a matter that could either destroy or revive a world torn apart by the greed of the human heart.
And still, he accepted. And the old wizard would keep his tongue and dutifully show the little hobbit the way. The way to what? To honor, adventure, to peace? The way to calamity, aching, to harsh reality? A path that must be taken, but surely not by one so innocent, one who has already given up so much in escape from something he did not choose. The safekeeping of something he did not want. Yet, there was an attraction as undeniable as the revolution of the moon.
For one did not simply choose this task. The task chooses the One.
And still, the task would always betray the chosen.
A/N- Very short, but pretty straightforward. Reviews are welcome, please.
A/N- Written to Enya's "Aniron" for the Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack. I know this isn't about the book, but there is no other place to put it. My interpretation of the scene "The Council of Elrond", when Frodo valiantly claims the journey to return the ring. The look on Gandalf's face tore my heart apart, so I felt a poetic need to write this.
He turned around, the expression on his wizened face one that the hobbit would-- until the end of time-- have kept in his heart. The look of misfortune; of defeat and pain. Of weepy nights, tearstained suns, and stricken days. Only his resolve kept him alive, and he threw the will away only to resolve a matter deep within, a matter that could either destroy or revive a world torn apart by the greed of the human heart.
And still, he accepted. And the old wizard would keep his tongue and dutifully show the little hobbit the way. The way to what? To honor, adventure, to peace? The way to calamity, aching, to harsh reality? A path that must be taken, but surely not by one so innocent, one who has already given up so much in escape from something he did not choose. The safekeeping of something he did not want. Yet, there was an attraction as undeniable as the revolution of the moon.
For one did not simply choose this task. The task chooses the One.
And still, the task would always betray the chosen.
A/N- Very short, but pretty straightforward. Reviews are welcome, please.