Author's Note:
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.
All OCs belong to me.
More bookish.
Flames not appreciated. Constructive criticism is accepted.
~S~
Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
He wished this was not his burden. He wished he was not the one to be bearing the Ring of Power. But it was his Quest. It was his mission to destroy it.
Frodo Baggins slipped his fingers into his collar, touching the chain that held the Ring of Power. He felt so insignificant, carrying it. In the Council of the Peredhil Elrond, there were so many lords sitting and yet it was he who volunteered to take the Ring to Mount Doom.
The Ring tugged at him, calling him to slip it on but he resisted the urge. He now understand why Lord Elrond was interested in him. His resistance to the Ring's call was strong but Frodo felt his resolve break ever so slowly, like small chips of stone falling from a high stone wall of a fortress. It occurred in small amounts but it happening rapidly. How long will he last, he did not know.
He often thought of his uncle's stories of adventures, of the nights he spent with the elves and the days trekking with the dwarves. When he was a child, he used to play in the meadows, pretending to be gone for some sort of an adventure like the ones his uncle had.
But adventures were far too different. It was not a game to play in the afternoon and return home to a warm bed and a meal waiting on the table. It was so very different. There were unknown lands and roads, and people different from the ones in Bree near the Shire.
He could hear Sam snoring loudly beside him and he glanced at him in faint amusement. He had no doubt that he was truly asleep. Their travelling taxed their strengths and they slept while they could.
He got up from his uncomfortable stony seat and looked around him. He was in the Wilderness. There were no roads, no pathways and no people. He was going to Mordor. He felt his Tookish blood boil in eagerness. There was that curiosity awakening in his heart. There were no Roads, but the path to Mordor was still there. And it will go on and on, winding around the stones and under the trees till he reached his destination. He bent and woke Sam up.
"Come on, Sam," Frodo said quietly. "We have a long way to go yet."
oOo
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea,
They were the elves that had no home. They were always travelling, always moving. Oh, they had a place to stay if they ever wanted time of respite. They could stay either in the Grey Havens, or in the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond. But they preferred to wander.
They sang in the night, of their Lady Elbereth. They had crossed the rivers, knowing they will never meet the sea, and even took refuge in the dark caves when the weather was harsh and rabid.
They were Exiles, the High Elves or the Noldorin. They were once great in number and in fame. But the Second Age had ended in war and ruin and their numbers had broken and spread. Many had left for the Land Beyond the Sea, but few remained, lingering till their hearts yearned for the Sea.
Gildor led his horse slowly through the trees, his voice joining the singing of his company. The ladies were upon the horses but their brothers, sons and husbands either rode or walked, leading the empty-saddled horses behind them.
Among the singing he caught the sound of one particular voice. It did not belong to any Elf, but it was pleasing to hear, but not as gruff as that of a Man. He turned his head to the voice and caught the singer huddled against a tree. He was very small, and thin with curly hair and merry eyes.
"A Halfling who knows our songs!" Gildor exclaimed, breaking the song. He halted his horse. The Halfling flushed and bowed low.
"Fo-forgive me." The Hallfling stuttered. "I could not help myself. It has been too long since I had been in the company of Elves. And I could not resist this opportunity."
"You speak as if you have met our kind before." Gildor said, dismounting his horse and walking up to the Halfling.
"Indeed! Why, I was in the company of Lord Elrond himself!"
There was murmurings among the Elves and Gildor lowered himself on one knee.
"What is your name?"
"Bilbo Baggins of Bag End."
Gildor clasped the Halfling's hand in his own with warmth.
"My name is Gildor, son of Inglor of the House of Finrod. Come, it seems you have a story to tell. And I am interested in knowing it."
oOo
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Bilbo stuck out his lower lip and curled into himself to keep his body warm. It was cold, this close to the Lonely Mountain. He glanced behind him, seeing the Lonely Mountain's peak high in the sky. Thorin's grave rested at the foot of it and they had just paid their respects to him. he turned his head to the front again and shivered as the new gust of cold picked up.
He jumped when he felt a heavy cloth fall over his shoulders. He looked down, startled, to see it was someone's large cloak that must have looked comical on him. he looked up to see an elf looking back at him in amusement.
"You look lost." The elf said, sitting down beside the Halfling. "If it weren't for the Mithril armor, I would have thought you were a poor rat dragged into this twisted and horrible affair."
Bilbo pulled the cloak gratefully around himself. He glanced at the elf. He was tall, as they all were, with straight black hair. It was braided, with a single silver feather hanging from one of his braids. He wore dual knives and his quiver and bow. His relaxed profile looked strange combined with his armor, and Bilbo knew these Elves were very, very dangerous in battle.
"I feel like a poor rat dragged into this twisted and horrible affair." Bilbo admitted. Then he hastily added, "That is to say, no offense to you or your king. I am sure all leaders here were thinking with their heads and not their prides. Oh, I did not mean to- You see."
The elf laughed. Bilbo blinked. It was pure laughter, with no malice or scorn into it. It made Bilbo give a small smile.
"I understand what you mean. Do not worry. We are comfortable enough with our Lord King that we tell him what we think of his plans without a worry."
Bilbo grimaced, thinking someone as great as King Thranduil actually took no offence from his officers.
"Who might I be speaking to?"
"My name is Hanon. I am the Head Commander of the Rangers of my Lord King's army." Hanon said, comfortably straightening his legs and crossing them at the ankles. He leaned back and rested his weight on his hands.
"Bilbo Baggins of Bag End."
"I know who you are, Halfling." Hanon said. "You are quite a thorn in my Lord King's side. We have been teasing him mercilessly on the fact that an insignificant Halfling was capable of going through his gates without raising an alarm." Hanon snorted in amusement. "Warriors. That's how they all are. They think what they do is without a flaw and something always happens."
Bilbo squirmed uncomfortably. It was uncommon to hear an elf speak of his superior with such frank disregard, but Bilbo sensed an underlying tone of respect, not spite, in his words. From the way Hanon spoke, he guessed that Thranduil was a Warrior, and Rangers and Warriors had some sort of rivalry in between them.
His musings were interrupted when the King walked passed them.
"Hanon! Prepare your Rangers to return to our forest."
At once, Hanon got to his feet, saying, "Right away, Sire!" There was that tone of respect, loyalty in Hanon's voice. The Head Commander looked down at the Halfling, "We will see each other again, little Master Baggins!"
"Your cloak-"
"I will take it back." Hanon promised, laughing. "But you need it more than I do. When we reach the forest, then I will have it returned. I need it to hide in the trees of the forest when I am out on patrol."
Weeks passed by, and soon Bilbo Baggins found himself in the Shire. He did remember to return the elf's cloak. The air here in the Shire was sweet and fresh. Nothing had changed since he had gone, except perhaps the excitement around his disappearance when people thought him to be dead. But the month of June was here and bright flowers were in bloom in the meadow. He took out his walking stick and went for a walk. He breathed in deeply.
"Ah, this is… this is wonderful."
oOo
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon,
"Keep up!" Aragorn shouted over his shoulder.
He did not take names, because the only behind him was the dwarf and Legolas was running effortlessly beside him. He heard Gimli pant and growl and try to run faster.
A few hours later, Legolas stopped and placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder.
"Enough." Legolas said quietly.
"A few more hours of a run-"
"Will be futile until you rest." Legolas finished. "Gimli is tired and so are you."
"The Halflings-"
"Will be in trouble if you go to them tired and weary."
It was nighttime and they had been trekking across the lands for three days. They were trying to catch up to the orcs who had taken the Halflings.
Aragorn and Gimli both rolled into their cloaks and slept. And whenever they awoke, they saw Legolas standing tall, a silhouette only seen in the light of the stars and the full moon. They dimly heard his soft singing, lulling them back to sleep. And every time they awoke, they looked up to see the elf's cloaked figure. And as the elf sang, the stars were stronger in their light. And the full moon shone down upon them.
Their path led to the mountains of Rohan where they made their stand in Helm's Deep. After that they met their companions at last in Isengard. All the events were in their place, and back in Edoras, they sat quietly, listening to Legolas sing softly.
And as he sang, the stars and the moon seem to be brighter.
oOo
Roads go ever ever on,
Under cloud and under star,
He walked around in the library, hands clasped behind his back. He loved libraries, the stories on the shelves interested him and he was curious on knowing more. He took a turn and went to the high shelves carrying the books on poetry and music. He lifted his slim fingers and let them travel across the books. He smiled in joy, enjoying the feel of the smooth covers of the books under his fingertips.
All these books were either copied from the libraries of Gondor or Rivendell. He could not go and get it himself. Neither could his brothers. Others could move about more inconspicuously than him and were able to bring the books to their land.
He pulled out one book and opened it. He read it, his soft smile fading slowly. It was on the Simarillion and he continued to read it briefly until he reached the verses on Maglor wandering by the sea-shores in sadness.
He briefly closed his eyes. He remembered those horrible long years. He had wandered along the shores, lamenting and crying for his brothers, his foster-sons, his people, his mother whom he had been sure he would never meet again. Then he wandered to the roads, never caring if it was a cloudy night or a night of clear skies. He had been drenched into rain or dried in the blistering hot sun but he never cared at all.
It was only later he was given a chance to prove himself again. And his people rose from the ashes and reunited.
His roads finally led him here, in this beautiful castle. His brothers were with him. he had a life here now, and a love and people to protect.
He opened his stormy grey eyes and placed the book back in the shelf. He absent-mindedly brushed his heavy black hair with one hand, sighing when his curly tips tugged when his hand passed through them.
"What roads…" he murmured under his breath. "What travelling…"
His musings were cut short when he heard peals of laughter coming through the slightly opened double doors of the library. The doors slammed open and children ran to him, crowding around him. The eldest of them was barely higher than Maglor's waist.
"A song, a song!" They chanted.
"You were all supposed to be with your teachers." Maglor's soft protest was drowned out by the children's shouts.
"A song! Give us a song!"
"Demanding little creatures, are they not?" He caught his brother standing at the doorway, hands on his waist. His handsome face was in a smile, and he had cut his vivid red hair short to be different from his twin brother.
"They are." Maglor admitted reluctantly to Amburassa, looking down to see them tug on his sleeves and belt. Then he spoke in a louder tone, "Enough! Protest any longer and I will not sing a single note!
The children immediately became quiet, their wide pleading eyes almost making him laugh.
"I feel like I am surrounded by Amburassa, Elrond and Elros, and other children together!" Maglor complained.
But his complaint ended after a while. Soon he sat outside the library on the stairs, singing quietly with one of his brothers' daughter on his lap and surrounded by other children.
Soon the crowd around him thickened. His brothers sat together on the stairs, Celegorm leaning against Maedhros' legs and Caranthir resting his head on Maedhros' strong shoulder. He caught a glimpse of his mother finalizing a small statue the size of a hand on her lap. And from an open door leading to his quarters, he caught sight of his wife. He smiled.
The roads were long and ever- going. But the end of it was worth the wait.
oOo
Yet feet that wandering have gone,
Turn at last to home afar,
"Where is he?" Thranduil roared on the top of his lungs, hastening down the steps. Behind him, he heard stifled laughter.
"I am not in the mood of laughing, you three." He added, snarling. "Open the gates," he snapped at the wardens, who hastened to have the gates opened.
The three culprits came to stand beside the King. None of them, including the king himself were acting on their right minds. Who would, in this occasion? The Dark Lord was finally defeated, their forest was rid of all evil and they had a certain elf returning to them.
"I must assure you, I was not laughing, Sire." Thorontur, Thranduil's chief advisor said gravely. There was a hint of a faint smile around his lips.
"You laughed first!" Hanon retorted, straightening his collar. He too, attempted to put on a show of a grave image. But unlike Thorontur, he was failing miserably because of a wide smile on his face. the third did not bother to do anything of the sort but addressed the visibly harassed wardens to console them against the harsh words of the king.
"He is a father finally meeting his son after a little more than a year." He told them. "I will reproach him on your behalf later."
"And do not expect Fion to be this kind towards you again." Hanon said, clapping the speaker on the shoulder as he spoke of him. "He is as irritable and prickly as a thorn bush when he returns to his usual self."
"As if you know me and my personality." Fion replied.
"I had the unfortunate tendency to be with you, Fion, and let us not forget your prickly, irritable, annoying, gruff self for all these years we worked together."
"Both of you, stop arguing." Thranduil told them, gaining somewhat control over himself. He still tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for his son to come through the gates.
The trio had the strong urge to annoy him further, but they saw Thranduil's impatient form, his obvious longing to meet his son again. They kept their silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, a familiar figure rode into the gates.
The gathered crowd held their silence as the figure dismounted. He was all too familiar. The tall, lean form, the fair hair, that merry but almost mischievous smile and the bright blue eyes.
Father and son studied one another for a long while. Then Thranduil pulled him into a tight embrace. Legolas grabbed him with the same intensity, feeling like a young elfling. And Thranduil felt like a father.
When they let each other go, Thranduil smiled at his son.
"The next time I send you to Imladris, I am placing a strong guard with you." Thranduil told him. "Your feet wander when you are only sent with your friends."
Legolas laughed.
They were free.
oOo
Eyes that fire and sword have seen,
And horror in the halls of stone,
He heard the trees scream in agony to him as he jumped from branch to branch.
"Thranduil, get down, or you might catch the fire!"
He did not heed the warning, but balanced his weight on the branch of the tree.
His forest was burning. The trees were on fire. His beloved forest… the leaves were black and the trunks were surrounded by flames that licked them up.
"Timber!"
The Elven Ranger's warning shout was enough to dodge the flaming tree that fell to the ground.
"Cut the inflamed trees!" Thranduil shouted. "Do not let it spread to the other trees!"
They worked fast. It was dangerous and hard. Twice, Thranduil lost his footing on the trees, for he was not accustomed to the branches as his Rangers were. He was a Warrior after all. He would have fallen to his death in the second one if it had not been for the tree catching him in time.
"Thranduil, enough!" Olben shouted to him. "Get down!"
"I have to save my people!"
"You have to live for your people!" Olben said, grabbing him before he jumped to another tree. "You are our leader, Thranduil. Do not blind yourself with this feeling of abandon. Do not do this to us!"
Thranduil sighed and jumped down to the tree.
As for Bard, he was having his own problems. Dale was in chaos, and the swords swung through the air freely. Innocents were being killed by Sauron's forces, and he ran on to challenge as many orcs as he could.
"The Lonely Mountain!" Bard shouted. "Get to the Mountain! We have people to protect. Our wives and children depend on us!"
He grunted in pain, and looked down. He saw a spear tip coming out of his chest. He fell forward.
"Father!"
"Your kingdom now." He managed to choke out. Then he passed away.
In the Lonely Mountain, King Dáin stood at the gates of his domain, swinging his axe to down as many orcs as he could.
He roared in pain, feeling an orc's sword embed deep into his side. He cut down the orc and freed himself from the sword.
It was a fool's fight. It was useless. But he had to protect his people.
He finally took a sword to the chest. He fell back, momentarily lost in the confusion. He felt the pain, and the numbing reality of coming death.
"My lord!" Someone shouted to him.
"Thorin-" He stuttered. "Thorin St-stone-stonehelm will lead you."
He heard no reply. He died soon after.
oOo
Look at last on meadows green,
And trees and hills they long have known,
There were shouts of joy and screams of relief filling the air as the Rohirrim rode inside. This was no time for protocol, no time for splendor that would be written down in ballads for years later. The women pulled down their male relatives in their haste to hug them tightly in relief. The men laughed, pulling their mothers, wives and sisters in tight hugs. They touched each other's faces in wonder, as if they could not believe this was reality, as if they could not believe they were free.
Éomer gave a small smile as one of the returning fathers grabbed his children in his strong arms and whirled them around in circles, causing the children to squeal in delight.
Everything seemed so different and fresh after the War. The grass was greener, the air smelled freer, there was a brighter light in the sunshine. Éomer grabbed Éothain's arm.
"Do you see it, Éothain?"
"The grass and the soil?" Éothain asked. "Aye, brings back childhood memories, do they not?"
Éomer smiled. "Aye, they do."
Rohan was now what they remembered from their childhood. The meadows where they played in, the trees they rode under and the hills they lived on.
~S~
Author's Note:
Well, trying to return to the game after getting hacked. My muse was dying and had to awaken him/her? up again.
I hope I have not lost my thunder.
Bilbo's walking song always made me think of other people as well. Like Thranduil, how long did he fight the evil of his forest? Or Eomer, who watched his people slowly get oppressed or his land be different from the time he was child?
Olben, Fion and Hanon are my OCs. And the Rangers and Warriors is my creation as well. They are mentioned here and there in my stories.
The Maglor scene... yeah. I could not resist. I had to put in Maglor. I could not help it. He must have travelled for years and years. I had to put him in. And I can give him a happy ending because in Tolkien's works he does get a happy ending.
Good? Bad? Let me know!