'Til the Bitter End
A "Lord of the Rings" fan fiction
By: Bryan Peralta
Deep within the hallowed halls of Lord Elrond's court, curious creatures of Middle Earth convene to discuss the fate of the One Ring. Representatives of the kingdoms entrusted with the original rings of power form the Council of Lord Elrond: human prince and ruler of Gondor, Boromir; the exiled ranger known as Stryder, but more affectionately known as Aragorn to the Elves and to the royal family of Gondor; ever knowledgeable Gendalf, the Grey of the Order of Wizards; Gimli, the stout warrior, come from the industrial peoples known as Dwarves; the fair and lovely Legolas, son of Thrnduil, Lord of the Elves of Mirkwood, along with his entourage; and the one who presides over all dealings within the protected realm of the valley, Lord Elrond Peredhil, Master of Rivendell. Born to mothers of differing loyalties, and yet here they are bound with common cause, to share in similar fate.
The Ring—master and predeterminer of the fates—wields strange power over those who would dare stand in its presence. For it is the sounds of madness and argumentation that have erupted amongst the Council. Plots and schemes and planning, all found in frustration, for one cannot as easily determine the fate of a higher power than to rock the heavens themselves. Pride and ignorance on the part of mere mortals and for the love of life and all things belonging to Middle Earth on the part of fair Elves, discord lends a hand in fowling peaceful efforts. But the humility on the part of a seemingly 'inferior' halfling holds the key that shall open the way for far much grander and splendid things.
Within the Council, Gendalf grips his staff in stress, hoping to contain his rage at the sight of the hellish quarrel before him. Yet a calm sets in when he catches a glimpse of young Frodo Baggins from the corner of his eye. There is hope twinkling in the eye of an aging old wizard as a smile emerges at the sight of this welcome Hobbit.
Frodo, of whom it is least expected to have any say in this matter, steps forward meekly. Short in stature and with humble feet, the young Hobbit braces himself in shouting, "I will do it!"
A silence over takes the member of the Council. And faces of dumb foundedness all turn in the direction of whence this meekish cry came forth.
"I will take the Ring…," says Frodo, "I will take the Ring to the Land of Mordor."
Somewhat shocked and dismayed at his words, the boastful Boromir breaks out in a chuckle, "You? A little Halfling?"
"I will go with him," Legolas says in defense. He takes a knee to Frodo, and gazing into his eyes with all sincerity he says, "You have my bow at your side"
"Aye, and me axe!" lends Gimli.
Realizing the foolishness of their argument, Aragorn's shoulders drop in shame. With a deep breath he raises his head and steps forward with his sword in hand. Placing his right hand on the shoulder of Legolas and taking to his knee alongside, Aragorn, too, lends his support, "Indeed, it is true a you are just a Halfling in the eyes of many. But I see what Hobbits are really made of, and it is of far tougher stuff than any surface appearance can give. This task you chosen to take upon yourself is no easy one at that. You will need the help of friends. Already you have the bow of an Elf and the axe of a Dwarf. Will you accept the sword of a man as well?"
Frodo, suddenly realizing the enormity of the challenge he must overcome, looks around him as if searching for a soothing face. And there stands Gendalf, the Grey, with his gentle eyes peering from below the brim of his pointy wizard's hat. Frodo checks himself and gathers all his thoughts.
Boromir, growing quite tired of the continuing silence, breaks free from his proud statue like stance and steps over to the huddled bunch. His gaze meets those around him while it finally meets with Frodo's expression of confusion and vulnerability. "I forbid you to accept the sword of any man, especially that of young Aragorn, here," he says, "Unless, that is, you also take mine." Boromir smiles with reassuringness.
Just then, a small bundle of a rather plump body wrapped in clothing and leaves and twigs stumbles in. The little mess picks itself and to assume the form of fellow Hobbit Samwise Gamgee. "Don't forget me," he says.
"And me!"
"Oh, me, too!" stumbles in Merry and Pippin.
Their little comical entrance manages a smile out of Frodo and his growing fellowship.
"Seems to me," says Gendalf, as he stands to join their numbers, "you're going to need a babysitter—and a friend. A friend that knows a little a magic and a wears a pointy hat," he tips his hat and winks.
"So it seems it's rather settled then," says Lord Elrond from his high seat of office.
"Not quite," interrupts Gendalf, "Young Frodo is still left with a decision." Gendalf then turns to Frodo and looks at him with all seriousness. "How about it, Frodo? Will you have the bravery and strength to accomplish this task, save knowing that it is only you who can complete the last leg of this task?"
Still unsure and a bit overwhelmed by his newly gained position, Frodo breathes heavily with nervousness. Gendalf senses his distress and places a calming hand on the young Hobbits crown. Feeling a sense of duty and a renewed spirit of courage, Frodo stands firm. "Knowing that I may lose my life along with yours during this course, I shall bravely press on in accomplishing this task for the sake of all that we know to be true and right with this world. I am but a small thing in this vast universe, yet here I stand with the chance to determine the fate of us all. Dear friends, the love I have for you all runs deep within my heart. So it is with great sentiment that I resolve to accept the fate-changing task at hand, save you all stand by my side in all faith and integrity in all we believe to be just and true."
"Well, well," says Elrond in amazement and wonder, "As the nine of you swear to accomplish what it is you set out to do, you shall then become a fellowship. And thus I deem you nine 'The Fellowship of the Ring!'"
* * *
Far beneath the surface of the ground, deep within the caves and passageways of Moria, our newly formed intrepid Fellowship makes its way through the absence of any sunlight. Gendalf has warned the others of great dangers that lie in wait should anyone take a false step or be led in the wrong direction. Under his further guidance, they maintain absolute silence except for the sounds of their careful footsteps. Guided by the light issuing forth from Gendalf's staff, the nine press on bravely.
After what seems like days of traveling in pitch black darkness, the Nine settle down to rest for what little time they have left in escaping the caves of Moria. The Hobbits settle in together to share some snacks and talks of the Shire, save Frodo, who chooses a solitary moment to gather his thoughts. Boromir and Gimli aid in standing watch along Gendalf's side. As for Aaragorn and Legolas, they, too, stand watch, covering the rear of the group.
With no fire to keep them warm, Aragorn and Legolas sit closely together to share their body warmth. At their close proximity, Aragorn can't but help noticing Legolas' Elven beauty, even in what little light there is within the halls of cavernous halls of Moria. He continually averts his eyes for fear of Legolas taking notice. Aragorn clears his throat as he tries to set his thoughts elsewhere. Legolas' ears perk up with attentiveness and he turns toward Aragorn.
"Something troubles you, my friend?" Legolas inquires.
"Ah, wha-a, nah-n-no," Aragorn stutters, "it's nothing. Nothing at all." He then smiles to disguise his discomfort and to avert any further questioning. But in his mind all that occupies his thoughts are how he sees the beauty of Legolas in rivalry with that of Arwen. 'Impossible,' he thinks to himself, 'Legolas' beauty could never compare to that of fair Arwen. She would give her life for me and as I would for her. I love… Ar- … Arwah-…' he mentally stumbles. Though Aragorn and Arwen share a strong love for each other, he is held captive by the charming looks of yon Legolas.
"I cannot help but feel woeful by how much this darkness goes on," says Legolas in beginning a conversation, "I miss those days when I once basked naked as a newborn babe in the warm midday sunshine in the grassy meadows of my childhood home of Mirkwood. I miss bathing in the hidden lakes with nothing on except for the skin on my back. It feels so good to have every part of your body enveloped in the soothing silkiness of hot water from natural springs."
Aragorn listens with interest and imagines Legolas in all his glory in the grassy meadow and in the hidden lakes and the hot springs. He then imagines himself with him, feeling his soft, unblemished skin against his rugged, battle-worn mortal body. The dreamed sensation of feeling every tensing muscle, every muscular ripple, all contrasted with that of tasting of his sweet, soft lips. It all floods his mind and brings a smile of unimaginable joy to Aragorn's face.
"And what of you, Aragorn?" continues Logolas. He nudges Aragorn out of his silent, trance-like state and asks, "Do you hold any special memories of your days as a 'spring buck?'"
"Nay," Aragorn slowly starts out. "All the memories I have are filled with woeful sorrow and the cries of small children being slaughtered. I have fought for so long, I've forgotten what it was to be happy. I've forgotten what it was to feel love…" his voice trails off in sentimental recounting. "That is until I met Arwen. Ah, fair Arwen. It was she who had breathed life back into this hardened heart of mine. But as strong as our love is, a strong lust it is not. And that part of me seems to have never had the chance to grow."
Legolas listens intently and tries to understand what it is Aragorn must be feeling. While Elves and Man share similar emotions, those belonging to Elves exist on a higher plane greater than any man's. It reaches far above any human comprehension. But having sentiment towards Aragorn, this one man, he leans over in helping him to comprehend lust from that of an Elf.
Sitting so close to together, Legolas places his arm behind Aragorn and leans intimately toward him. "Tell me, mortal," Legolas gently utters into Argorn's ear, "what lust of an half human Elf could ever compare to the pure bliss of experiencing the passion of a full bred Eldar?"
Aragorn turns his head and looks into Legolas' burning eyes. Enticed by his beauty and the prospect of finally tasting his sweet, soft lips, he leans in closer toward him. As he closes his eyes, he can detect the intoxicating perfume of spices and earth with every wisp of Legolas' velvety locks of hair. His warm breath brushes against his flushed, warm cheeks and the thunderous beating of Aragorn's mortal heart gives evidence of a renewed spirit, a renewed life—a renewed passion.
"On your feet," Gendalf carefully cries.
A moment that seemed to stretch into eternity comes to a screeching halt and the spell of the moment is broken.
"Ahem," Aragorn clears his throat. Looking around to match anyone's gaze that happened to see what just had expired, he gathers himself and walks off as if nothing happened. And as he marched away, Legolas' longing eyes beckoned him to return to complete that moment. But in his heart he knew it did not end there for his keen senses told him so. He understood this man so well that he could predict his future with his every move and mannerism. The time will come again for another lesson in Eldari passion. And he knows with a sense of shrewdness that Aragorn shall learn this lesson well and he shall never forget it. With that rest assured in his mind he plays along with Aragorn's act and continues just as well as nothing happened and continues along with the other eight. As careful as they might try to be, however, they did not escape the one who bears the Ring. The one—who at the time—wore the ring.
* * *
A "Lord of the Rings" fan fiction
By: Bryan Peralta
Deep within the hallowed halls of Lord Elrond's court, curious creatures of Middle Earth convene to discuss the fate of the One Ring. Representatives of the kingdoms entrusted with the original rings of power form the Council of Lord Elrond: human prince and ruler of Gondor, Boromir; the exiled ranger known as Stryder, but more affectionately known as Aragorn to the Elves and to the royal family of Gondor; ever knowledgeable Gendalf, the Grey of the Order of Wizards; Gimli, the stout warrior, come from the industrial peoples known as Dwarves; the fair and lovely Legolas, son of Thrnduil, Lord of the Elves of Mirkwood, along with his entourage; and the one who presides over all dealings within the protected realm of the valley, Lord Elrond Peredhil, Master of Rivendell. Born to mothers of differing loyalties, and yet here they are bound with common cause, to share in similar fate.
The Ring—master and predeterminer of the fates—wields strange power over those who would dare stand in its presence. For it is the sounds of madness and argumentation that have erupted amongst the Council. Plots and schemes and planning, all found in frustration, for one cannot as easily determine the fate of a higher power than to rock the heavens themselves. Pride and ignorance on the part of mere mortals and for the love of life and all things belonging to Middle Earth on the part of fair Elves, discord lends a hand in fowling peaceful efforts. But the humility on the part of a seemingly 'inferior' halfling holds the key that shall open the way for far much grander and splendid things.
Within the Council, Gendalf grips his staff in stress, hoping to contain his rage at the sight of the hellish quarrel before him. Yet a calm sets in when he catches a glimpse of young Frodo Baggins from the corner of his eye. There is hope twinkling in the eye of an aging old wizard as a smile emerges at the sight of this welcome Hobbit.
Frodo, of whom it is least expected to have any say in this matter, steps forward meekly. Short in stature and with humble feet, the young Hobbit braces himself in shouting, "I will do it!"
A silence over takes the member of the Council. And faces of dumb foundedness all turn in the direction of whence this meekish cry came forth.
"I will take the Ring…," says Frodo, "I will take the Ring to the Land of Mordor."
Somewhat shocked and dismayed at his words, the boastful Boromir breaks out in a chuckle, "You? A little Halfling?"
"I will go with him," Legolas says in defense. He takes a knee to Frodo, and gazing into his eyes with all sincerity he says, "You have my bow at your side"
"Aye, and me axe!" lends Gimli.
Realizing the foolishness of their argument, Aragorn's shoulders drop in shame. With a deep breath he raises his head and steps forward with his sword in hand. Placing his right hand on the shoulder of Legolas and taking to his knee alongside, Aragorn, too, lends his support, "Indeed, it is true a you are just a Halfling in the eyes of many. But I see what Hobbits are really made of, and it is of far tougher stuff than any surface appearance can give. This task you chosen to take upon yourself is no easy one at that. You will need the help of friends. Already you have the bow of an Elf and the axe of a Dwarf. Will you accept the sword of a man as well?"
Frodo, suddenly realizing the enormity of the challenge he must overcome, looks around him as if searching for a soothing face. And there stands Gendalf, the Grey, with his gentle eyes peering from below the brim of his pointy wizard's hat. Frodo checks himself and gathers all his thoughts.
Boromir, growing quite tired of the continuing silence, breaks free from his proud statue like stance and steps over to the huddled bunch. His gaze meets those around him while it finally meets with Frodo's expression of confusion and vulnerability. "I forbid you to accept the sword of any man, especially that of young Aragorn, here," he says, "Unless, that is, you also take mine." Boromir smiles with reassuringness.
Just then, a small bundle of a rather plump body wrapped in clothing and leaves and twigs stumbles in. The little mess picks itself and to assume the form of fellow Hobbit Samwise Gamgee. "Don't forget me," he says.
"And me!"
"Oh, me, too!" stumbles in Merry and Pippin.
Their little comical entrance manages a smile out of Frodo and his growing fellowship.
"Seems to me," says Gendalf, as he stands to join their numbers, "you're going to need a babysitter—and a friend. A friend that knows a little a magic and a wears a pointy hat," he tips his hat and winks.
"So it seems it's rather settled then," says Lord Elrond from his high seat of office.
"Not quite," interrupts Gendalf, "Young Frodo is still left with a decision." Gendalf then turns to Frodo and looks at him with all seriousness. "How about it, Frodo? Will you have the bravery and strength to accomplish this task, save knowing that it is only you who can complete the last leg of this task?"
Still unsure and a bit overwhelmed by his newly gained position, Frodo breathes heavily with nervousness. Gendalf senses his distress and places a calming hand on the young Hobbits crown. Feeling a sense of duty and a renewed spirit of courage, Frodo stands firm. "Knowing that I may lose my life along with yours during this course, I shall bravely press on in accomplishing this task for the sake of all that we know to be true and right with this world. I am but a small thing in this vast universe, yet here I stand with the chance to determine the fate of us all. Dear friends, the love I have for you all runs deep within my heart. So it is with great sentiment that I resolve to accept the fate-changing task at hand, save you all stand by my side in all faith and integrity in all we believe to be just and true."
"Well, well," says Elrond in amazement and wonder, "As the nine of you swear to accomplish what it is you set out to do, you shall then become a fellowship. And thus I deem you nine 'The Fellowship of the Ring!'"
* * *
Far beneath the surface of the ground, deep within the caves and passageways of Moria, our newly formed intrepid Fellowship makes its way through the absence of any sunlight. Gendalf has warned the others of great dangers that lie in wait should anyone take a false step or be led in the wrong direction. Under his further guidance, they maintain absolute silence except for the sounds of their careful footsteps. Guided by the light issuing forth from Gendalf's staff, the nine press on bravely.
After what seems like days of traveling in pitch black darkness, the Nine settle down to rest for what little time they have left in escaping the caves of Moria. The Hobbits settle in together to share some snacks and talks of the Shire, save Frodo, who chooses a solitary moment to gather his thoughts. Boromir and Gimli aid in standing watch along Gendalf's side. As for Aaragorn and Legolas, they, too, stand watch, covering the rear of the group.
With no fire to keep them warm, Aragorn and Legolas sit closely together to share their body warmth. At their close proximity, Aragorn can't but help noticing Legolas' Elven beauty, even in what little light there is within the halls of cavernous halls of Moria. He continually averts his eyes for fear of Legolas taking notice. Aragorn clears his throat as he tries to set his thoughts elsewhere. Legolas' ears perk up with attentiveness and he turns toward Aragorn.
"Something troubles you, my friend?" Legolas inquires.
"Ah, wha-a, nah-n-no," Aragorn stutters, "it's nothing. Nothing at all." He then smiles to disguise his discomfort and to avert any further questioning. But in his mind all that occupies his thoughts are how he sees the beauty of Legolas in rivalry with that of Arwen. 'Impossible,' he thinks to himself, 'Legolas' beauty could never compare to that of fair Arwen. She would give her life for me and as I would for her. I love… Ar- … Arwah-…' he mentally stumbles. Though Aragorn and Arwen share a strong love for each other, he is held captive by the charming looks of yon Legolas.
"I cannot help but feel woeful by how much this darkness goes on," says Legolas in beginning a conversation, "I miss those days when I once basked naked as a newborn babe in the warm midday sunshine in the grassy meadows of my childhood home of Mirkwood. I miss bathing in the hidden lakes with nothing on except for the skin on my back. It feels so good to have every part of your body enveloped in the soothing silkiness of hot water from natural springs."
Aragorn listens with interest and imagines Legolas in all his glory in the grassy meadow and in the hidden lakes and the hot springs. He then imagines himself with him, feeling his soft, unblemished skin against his rugged, battle-worn mortal body. The dreamed sensation of feeling every tensing muscle, every muscular ripple, all contrasted with that of tasting of his sweet, soft lips. It all floods his mind and brings a smile of unimaginable joy to Aragorn's face.
"And what of you, Aragorn?" continues Logolas. He nudges Aragorn out of his silent, trance-like state and asks, "Do you hold any special memories of your days as a 'spring buck?'"
"Nay," Aragorn slowly starts out. "All the memories I have are filled with woeful sorrow and the cries of small children being slaughtered. I have fought for so long, I've forgotten what it was to be happy. I've forgotten what it was to feel love…" his voice trails off in sentimental recounting. "That is until I met Arwen. Ah, fair Arwen. It was she who had breathed life back into this hardened heart of mine. But as strong as our love is, a strong lust it is not. And that part of me seems to have never had the chance to grow."
Legolas listens intently and tries to understand what it is Aragorn must be feeling. While Elves and Man share similar emotions, those belonging to Elves exist on a higher plane greater than any man's. It reaches far above any human comprehension. But having sentiment towards Aragorn, this one man, he leans over in helping him to comprehend lust from that of an Elf.
Sitting so close to together, Legolas places his arm behind Aragorn and leans intimately toward him. "Tell me, mortal," Legolas gently utters into Argorn's ear, "what lust of an half human Elf could ever compare to the pure bliss of experiencing the passion of a full bred Eldar?"
Aragorn turns his head and looks into Legolas' burning eyes. Enticed by his beauty and the prospect of finally tasting his sweet, soft lips, he leans in closer toward him. As he closes his eyes, he can detect the intoxicating perfume of spices and earth with every wisp of Legolas' velvety locks of hair. His warm breath brushes against his flushed, warm cheeks and the thunderous beating of Aragorn's mortal heart gives evidence of a renewed spirit, a renewed life—a renewed passion.
"On your feet," Gendalf carefully cries.
A moment that seemed to stretch into eternity comes to a screeching halt and the spell of the moment is broken.
"Ahem," Aragorn clears his throat. Looking around to match anyone's gaze that happened to see what just had expired, he gathers himself and walks off as if nothing happened. And as he marched away, Legolas' longing eyes beckoned him to return to complete that moment. But in his heart he knew it did not end there for his keen senses told him so. He understood this man so well that he could predict his future with his every move and mannerism. The time will come again for another lesson in Eldari passion. And he knows with a sense of shrewdness that Aragorn shall learn this lesson well and he shall never forget it. With that rest assured in his mind he plays along with Aragorn's act and continues just as well as nothing happened and continues along with the other eight. As careful as they might try to be, however, they did not escape the one who bears the Ring. The one—who at the time—wore the ring.
* * *