A/N- Continuing with my "thoughts of" stories. These are the thoughts of
Celeborn as the Fellowship departs Lothlorien, and he remarks on the
"death" of Gandalf. As always, I don't own these characters or places.
This is based on the DVD Extended version of Lord of the Rings. R/R
Thanks!
A Time of Darkness
If not for the crunching of the dwarf's boots, I would not have known that the Fellowship approached, so lost in thought I was. Snapping back to attention, I turned to Galadriel and took her hand, leading her down the stairs to meet those who held the fate of Middle-Earth in their hands.
I stopped then, one step behind Galadriel, and looked at the faces of those standing before me. Pain, sadness, and a bone-chilling weariness criss- crossed each of their faces, but none quite so much as the young hobbit who held the ring.
Yes, I immediately knew which one carried the One Ring. I heard it call to me the moment it entered my woods. I felt it's power, as I am sure Galadriel had as well, singing to us; it's voice at the same time beautiful and deceiving.
I looked at young Frodo Baggins, and offered him the most comforting smile I could manage. He returned my gaze, and what I saw in it should not have been possible for one so young. He was in deep mourning. But mourning what?
"Eight there are, yet nine there were, set out from Rivendell." I hear myself say as the truth came crashing in on me. Gandalf, no. "Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I would much like to speak with him."
I say something else, my voice echoing hollowly. I do not know recall what I said, something about no longer being able to see him. It did not matter, for I knew, even before the air had given life to the words, that Gandalf the Grey was dead.
I hear my beloved Galadriel say he had fallen into shadow. Thranduil's son speaks, telling us Gandalf was taken by a Balrog. Others speak, voices I do not hear, as my mind tries to form around the thought that Gandalf no longer walks these lands.
I look down at the stairs beneath me, and realize that our time here is indeed over. Gandalf was gone. The Allies of the Elves were diminishing. It was time to go.
I say a quick prayer of thanks as Galadriel takes over the conversation. I do not think I have the heart to speak further to this Fellowship, save to ask what would become of them.
I glance around the room; catching the sorrowful gaze of Haldir, march warden of Lothlorien. He grieves as I grieve. Tonight the whole of Lothlorien would grieve for Gandalf the Grey. The songs of the Elves would ring out bittersweet memories in honor of the One who had stood beside us for longer than the Age of Man.
I turned, as Galadriel dismissed the Fellowship, and motioned for Haldir to accompany me, as I set out to spread the word of Gandalf's passing.
Long into the night, and through the morning, we sang. We sang of his life and the joy the Wizard bought to the Elves. We sang of his stories. We sang of his passing. We sang of Gandalf the Grey.
A Time of Darkness
If not for the crunching of the dwarf's boots, I would not have known that the Fellowship approached, so lost in thought I was. Snapping back to attention, I turned to Galadriel and took her hand, leading her down the stairs to meet those who held the fate of Middle-Earth in their hands.
I stopped then, one step behind Galadriel, and looked at the faces of those standing before me. Pain, sadness, and a bone-chilling weariness criss- crossed each of their faces, but none quite so much as the young hobbit who held the ring.
Yes, I immediately knew which one carried the One Ring. I heard it call to me the moment it entered my woods. I felt it's power, as I am sure Galadriel had as well, singing to us; it's voice at the same time beautiful and deceiving.
I looked at young Frodo Baggins, and offered him the most comforting smile I could manage. He returned my gaze, and what I saw in it should not have been possible for one so young. He was in deep mourning. But mourning what?
"Eight there are, yet nine there were, set out from Rivendell." I hear myself say as the truth came crashing in on me. Gandalf, no. "Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I would much like to speak with him."
I say something else, my voice echoing hollowly. I do not know recall what I said, something about no longer being able to see him. It did not matter, for I knew, even before the air had given life to the words, that Gandalf the Grey was dead.
I hear my beloved Galadriel say he had fallen into shadow. Thranduil's son speaks, telling us Gandalf was taken by a Balrog. Others speak, voices I do not hear, as my mind tries to form around the thought that Gandalf no longer walks these lands.
I look down at the stairs beneath me, and realize that our time here is indeed over. Gandalf was gone. The Allies of the Elves were diminishing. It was time to go.
I say a quick prayer of thanks as Galadriel takes over the conversation. I do not think I have the heart to speak further to this Fellowship, save to ask what would become of them.
I glance around the room; catching the sorrowful gaze of Haldir, march warden of Lothlorien. He grieves as I grieve. Tonight the whole of Lothlorien would grieve for Gandalf the Grey. The songs of the Elves would ring out bittersweet memories in honor of the One who had stood beside us for longer than the Age of Man.
I turned, as Galadriel dismissed the Fellowship, and motioned for Haldir to accompany me, as I set out to spread the word of Gandalf's passing.
Long into the night, and through the morning, we sang. We sang of his life and the joy the Wizard bought to the Elves. We sang of his stories. We sang of his passing. We sang of Gandalf the Grey.