~*~* Author's Note: This idea came to me while watching Lord of the Rings, and seeing Pip's
expression on Weathertop when receiving his sword from Aragorn. This is my first PoV, so
please let me know what you think! *~*~
Who would have thought that, within moments, my life would change? All I used to
ever think about was food, and how to stay out of trouble while pulling some prank with
Merry. It was a simple life, and I adored it completely. I never really longed for
adventure, or to journey like Frodo and Sam wished. Frodo always dreamed of following in his
uncle's footsteps, even though he loved the Shire, and Sam desired to meet the elves. But I was happy just playing in the Shire, eating several meals a day and then returning to my lovely home at night. I hadn't even come of age yet, and here I was, facing this journey.
What had started as a perfectly innocent romp in Farmer Maggot's feilds with Merry,
to get mushrooms, potatoes, celery, and carrots, had quickly turned to an adventure, a
journey. I hadn't known then, but by following Frodo and Sam to Bree, my entire life, my
entire existance as I knew it, would forever be changed. We were nearly killed that night at
The Prancing Pony - killed dead, long before our times. Had Strider not been there - I care
not to imagine what may have happened. It is lucky he was, though. Else I may not be alive
now, and never have the chance to return to the Shire - to return to my home and the bottle
of ale I left on the table. I may not have the chance, even now.
I'm looking at it. How strange, a peice of metal, making me think such thoughts and
reflect on myself. I hadn't been one to do much thinking, not serious thinking, anyway. Most
of my thinkin' was about the next trick Merry and I would pull, and about my next meal. But
now - now, I hold it in my hand, feel it's weight, hear it's whisper to me. Merry, Sam,
Frodo - they have already unsheathed their swords. I merely look at mine. It is at this
moment that I realize, nothing will be the same. Even if I do return to the Shire, I will
not be unchanged. I will have wounds, ones that run deep, and I will be older. And I will
have seen Elves, and perhaps other things - both wonderful and unimaginably terrifying. I
will be changed. Hobbits hate change as a rule. And although the Tooks are not the best
examples of Hobbits, we do follow that rule. Finally, I unsheath it, watch it glimmer
softly, gently. Exhaust from the journey overcomes me, and I become tired quickly. I sheath
the sword, hoping that I'll not have to take it out again.
expression on Weathertop when receiving his sword from Aragorn. This is my first PoV, so
please let me know what you think! *~*~
Who would have thought that, within moments, my life would change? All I used to
ever think about was food, and how to stay out of trouble while pulling some prank with
Merry. It was a simple life, and I adored it completely. I never really longed for
adventure, or to journey like Frodo and Sam wished. Frodo always dreamed of following in his
uncle's footsteps, even though he loved the Shire, and Sam desired to meet the elves. But I was happy just playing in the Shire, eating several meals a day and then returning to my lovely home at night. I hadn't even come of age yet, and here I was, facing this journey.
What had started as a perfectly innocent romp in Farmer Maggot's feilds with Merry,
to get mushrooms, potatoes, celery, and carrots, had quickly turned to an adventure, a
journey. I hadn't known then, but by following Frodo and Sam to Bree, my entire life, my
entire existance as I knew it, would forever be changed. We were nearly killed that night at
The Prancing Pony - killed dead, long before our times. Had Strider not been there - I care
not to imagine what may have happened. It is lucky he was, though. Else I may not be alive
now, and never have the chance to return to the Shire - to return to my home and the bottle
of ale I left on the table. I may not have the chance, even now.
I'm looking at it. How strange, a peice of metal, making me think such thoughts and
reflect on myself. I hadn't been one to do much thinking, not serious thinking, anyway. Most
of my thinkin' was about the next trick Merry and I would pull, and about my next meal. But
now - now, I hold it in my hand, feel it's weight, hear it's whisper to me. Merry, Sam,
Frodo - they have already unsheathed their swords. I merely look at mine. It is at this
moment that I realize, nothing will be the same. Even if I do return to the Shire, I will
not be unchanged. I will have wounds, ones that run deep, and I will be older. And I will
have seen Elves, and perhaps other things - both wonderful and unimaginably terrifying. I
will be changed. Hobbits hate change as a rule. And although the Tooks are not the best
examples of Hobbits, we do follow that rule. Finally, I unsheath it, watch it glimmer
softly, gently. Exhaust from the journey overcomes me, and I become tired quickly. I sheath
the sword, hoping that I'll not have to take it out again.
