In the Veiling of the Sun
By Bazy
I sit in the garden, looking out over the rolling hills of the Shire. I sigh, why can't I be content with this? With Bag End? With my cousins Merry and Pippin, and of course Sam? I miss Bilbo, that's why. I don't even think twice about it: he's my father. "Uncle Bilbo" is just his title. It seems sometimes, that he is the only one that does understand me. Oh sure, Sam understands me very well, more than most hobbits, but Bilbo and I are so very similar, I was content back then.
Then he had to go and leave like that. I was told of course, and I could understand Bilbo's lust to leave, to find new adventures. For I also feel that way at times, not as strongly though, I do love the Shire. But, sometimes. sometimes I feel that I can't take all the rumors and talking behind my back, it does hurt. And I just want to run away from it all, sometimes I wish something bad would happen in the Shire just to teach its ignorant inhabitants a lesson, but then I see their bliss. They're simple, they care nothing of the goings on out of the Shire, and they are perfectly happy with their inns and parties, friends and family.
I sigh again and get up, walk back into Bag End. It's so quiet. I really hate that part about being alone: the silence. I walk into the study and look at the maps strewn over the table. I look at how carefully Bilbo has drawn the mountains and trees, and marked places like Rivendell and Esgaroth. I wonder if I will ever go to those places.
I sit down in a chair, suddenly feeling very dizzy. Then the visions start. There is red fire everywhere, and I seem to still be in my house, but it's burning. Shadows dart out at me through the flames, and I frantically try to avoid them. I can hear distant laughter, terrifying laughter. It grows stronger and stronger until it is all I can hear, all I can think about. I don't even remember myself, I only know the fear and hatred I feel for that laughter, and even when it stops, I'm still afraid. Then there is a blinding red flash and..
I'm in the Tower. It was just a dream, I tell myself, but I don't believe that... I think that Sauron knows exactly where I am, that he can see me. He's just sitting in his fortress, waiting. Cirith Ungol: this place is so awful, I hope Sam comes soon. I know he will come, nothing could keep him away, dear Sam. Half of me wants him to, for my sake. But the other half of me, the sensible half, wants him to stay as far away from me as he can, for his own sake. And if he somehow managed to salvage the Ring. I don't want to think about it. He might just make it you know, there's enough food, if he even saved some of that, for him to journey to Mt. Doom by himself. The Ring doesn't have the same hold over him that it has over me. I wouldn't destroy it. I couldn't. It's become a part of me, even in Rivendell when Gimli's axe struck it. Imagine how painful for me destroying that Ring entirely would be. And Gimli didn't even scratch it. It would break my will, or what's left of it.
What was that? My train of thought is interrupted; I hear something, it sounds like singing, and what orc would sing?
In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring, the trees may bud, the waters run, the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white amid their branching hair.
Hope stirs in my heart briefly, as I think of the countless stars of heaven's field, looking down on the silver-green hills of the Shire, painted by the moon and the stars.
Though here at journey's end I lie in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.
I murmur the last lines back to myself, I will not say the Day is done, Nor bid the Stars farewell. It was Sam. I call out to him, but my voice is hoarse and quiet. Then I hear a ladder clank against the stone at the entrance to my prison; it was that appalling orc again. I brace myself.
The glowing red light in the chamber gets brighter and I see blood dripping down the walls, black blood, glistening in the light. I hear Him again, whispering to me, I try to turn away and ignore it, but the voice echos everywhere. I can't hide. I hear the sound of the orc's foul voice, I don't know what he's saying. Then I see him, hideous and menacing, he strikes me with his whip and I cry out. What else can I do? I'm so tired, in more ways than one. I fall into another dream, with the pain vibrating through me. Sauron. I can see him now, sitting in Barad-dur, moving his armies, but he is also searching, searching for me. His gaze meets mine and it is terrible. I am fearfully absorbed with it, I can't avert my thoughts. I'm unable to even move for the terror creeping into the corners of my mind.
"Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear! It's Sam, I've come!" I opened my eyes. Sam sounded so glad, I hadn't heard a happy tone of voice for what seemed like weeks. I half thought I was still dreaming, and yet how could that be? The good parts of the dreams never seemed real, only the evil parts did. But Sam was here now, and everything would have to be all right.
I sit in the garden, looking out over the rolling hills of the Shire. I sigh, why can't I be content with this? With Bag End? With my cousins Merry and Pippin, and of course Sam? I miss Bilbo, that's why. I don't even think twice about it: he's my father. "Uncle Bilbo" is just his title. It seems sometimes, that he is the only one that does understand me. Oh sure, Sam understands me very well, more than most hobbits, but Bilbo and I are so very similar, I was content back then.
Then he had to go and leave like that. I was told of course, and I could understand Bilbo's lust to leave, to find new adventures. For I also feel that way at times, not as strongly though, I do love the Shire. But, sometimes. sometimes I feel that I can't take all the rumors and talking behind my back, it does hurt. And I just want to run away from it all, sometimes I wish something bad would happen in the Shire just to teach its ignorant inhabitants a lesson, but then I see their bliss. They're simple, they care nothing of the goings on out of the Shire, and they are perfectly happy with their inns and parties, friends and family.
I sigh again and get up, walk back into Bag End. It's so quiet. I really hate that part about being alone: the silence. I walk into the study and look at the maps strewn over the table. I look at how carefully Bilbo has drawn the mountains and trees, and marked places like Rivendell and Esgaroth. I wonder if I will ever go to those places.
I sit down in a chair, suddenly feeling very dizzy. Then the visions start. There is red fire everywhere, and I seem to still be in my house, but it's burning. Shadows dart out at me through the flames, and I frantically try to avoid them. I can hear distant laughter, terrifying laughter. It grows stronger and stronger until it is all I can hear, all I can think about. I don't even remember myself, I only know the fear and hatred I feel for that laughter, and even when it stops, I'm still afraid. Then there is a blinding red flash and..
I'm in the Tower. It was just a dream, I tell myself, but I don't believe that... I think that Sauron knows exactly where I am, that he can see me. He's just sitting in his fortress, waiting. Cirith Ungol: this place is so awful, I hope Sam comes soon. I know he will come, nothing could keep him away, dear Sam. Half of me wants him to, for my sake. But the other half of me, the sensible half, wants him to stay as far away from me as he can, for his own sake. And if he somehow managed to salvage the Ring. I don't want to think about it. He might just make it you know, there's enough food, if he even saved some of that, for him to journey to Mt. Doom by himself. The Ring doesn't have the same hold over him that it has over me. I wouldn't destroy it. I couldn't. It's become a part of me, even in Rivendell when Gimli's axe struck it. Imagine how painful for me destroying that Ring entirely would be. And Gimli didn't even scratch it. It would break my will, or what's left of it.
What was that? My train of thought is interrupted; I hear something, it sounds like singing, and what orc would sing?
In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring, the trees may bud, the waters run, the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white amid their branching hair.
Hope stirs in my heart briefly, as I think of the countless stars of heaven's field, looking down on the silver-green hills of the Shire, painted by the moon and the stars.
Though here at journey's end I lie in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.
I murmur the last lines back to myself, I will not say the Day is done, Nor bid the Stars farewell. It was Sam. I call out to him, but my voice is hoarse and quiet. Then I hear a ladder clank against the stone at the entrance to my prison; it was that appalling orc again. I brace myself.
The glowing red light in the chamber gets brighter and I see blood dripping down the walls, black blood, glistening in the light. I hear Him again, whispering to me, I try to turn away and ignore it, but the voice echos everywhere. I can't hide. I hear the sound of the orc's foul voice, I don't know what he's saying. Then I see him, hideous and menacing, he strikes me with his whip and I cry out. What else can I do? I'm so tired, in more ways than one. I fall into another dream, with the pain vibrating through me. Sauron. I can see him now, sitting in Barad-dur, moving his armies, but he is also searching, searching for me. His gaze meets mine and it is terrible. I am fearfully absorbed with it, I can't avert my thoughts. I'm unable to even move for the terror creeping into the corners of my mind.
"Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear! It's Sam, I've come!" I opened my eyes. Sam sounded so glad, I hadn't heard a happy tone of voice for what seemed like weeks. I half thought I was still dreaming, and yet how could that be? The good parts of the dreams never seemed real, only the evil parts did. But Sam was here now, and everything would have to be all right.