Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings.
Author's Comments: I apologize if my translations are incorrect. I'm using an online dictionary.
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BOOK I
Chapter 1
A Nameless Fear
The grass of the field was lush, and green, and freckled with large, bright yellow flowers as far as the eye could see. Immense leafy trees erupted from the ground in the regions around this field, and the many other similar to it. Rolling hills protruded through the surface of the grassy vicinities of the land. Crude fences were plotted about the land, mostly surrounding the rich golden wheat, towering corn stalks, or simply dividing the meadows from the large dirt road that made its way past the hills and grassy spots. All in all it was a beautiful area, well away from the dangers of the outside world. Birds sang, for they had no cares in such a quiet place. The sun in the bluebird sky smiled down upon the peaceful landscape. The woods, the fields, little rivers, and she took great care to embrace upon a certain field and the figure that walked upon it.
The figure was small, and dressed in a simple outfit. It consisted of a light-blue buttoned shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, and partially undone, exposing the pale skin of his lower neck. He wore a pair of dark-blue breeches that were held up by crisscrossing straps of the same colour. His hair was curly, and full, and cascaded down the nape of his neck. Its colour was a dark-auburn hue that under the embrace of the sun shone almost red. The hair framed a face of pale complexion, and soft features except for a small cleft in his chin, and a chiselled nose. His large eyes opened to reveal that they were a light blue circumscribed by a ring of dark-blue, and his mouth was oddly shaped, giving him a solemn expression. His ears, barely visible under his hair were slightly pointed, combined with his pale skin gave him more of an elvish appearance. This contrasted with his feet, which were larger than would be expected of someone of his stature, and surprisingly furry. This appearance categorized him as what the Big Folk call Halflings, what the elves call Periannath, and what the Little Folk call hobbits.
The hobbit strode across the field, savouring each step as though it might be his last. He took delicate time to embrace in all that surrounded him. He closed his eyes, and simply stood, allowing the pleasure to course through his body. The sweet smell of the flowers lingered about him. The perfumes were all so different, and unique to the flower from hence they came, but they all blended to a fragrance that was indescribable and wonderful. The babble of the river and the chirping of the birds were a simple yet beautiful melody that chorused together in a wonderful harmony. The breeze caressed his face and neck, and he arched his neck indulging in the simple pleasure that it provided him.
Many years had passed since the hobbit had last been here. He walked across the field stopped, and climbed up onto the crude fence that surrounded it. He looked around, surveying the landscape, a sad smile on his solemn face. His name was Frodo Baggins, and to him the land known to many as simply the Shire was not just the Shire. It was home. He was filled with bittersweet memories of the Shire. Unlike most hobbits, he had not been able to spend all his life there.
Frodo jumped lightly down from his perch and began to walk. His pace increased as the slope of the hill grew steeper. Nestled in the hills were hobbit-holes, and the hobbits were beginning to come out to enjoy the day. A genuine smile broke Frodo's face, brightening his features, and he trotted quickly down the hill to join the hobbits below. The gravel road made no sound under his light footfalls as he came towards the market place. The hobbits took no notice of him, which Frodo found a bit odd. He turned around and saw old Mr. Proudfoot gardening outside.
"Good morning Mr. Proudfoot," Frodo greeted the old hobbit warmly. "Beautiful day isn't it?" The old hobbit did not even look up from his work. "Good morning Mr. Proudfoot." Frodo repeated, a bit louder. He did not recall that the old hobbit was hard of hearing, but seventeen years might have changed that.
Finally Mr. Proudfoot looked up and shouted, "Good morning!" Frodo was startled. Mr. Proudfoot had to be hard of hearing, he reasoned, for there was no other reason to shout a good morning to someone standing right in front of you.
Frodo was just about to reply, when someone shouted from behind him, "Good morning!" The hobbit turned around and saw the Gaffer, Sam's father, standing outside his mill.
"Lovely day isn't it?" shouted Mr. Proudfoot.
"Indeed!" shouted the Gaffer.
Frodo stood flummoxed in the middle of the road while the conversation continued. It was as though he was not even there. Shrugging, he continued on. Looking up the road, he could see a figure with an umbrella. It was none other than Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. Frodo stopped to say hello, but she walked right on past him without so much as even a glance. Frodo was very taken aback then he became even more puzzled. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had died years ago. He turned around, but she had gone, disappeared off of the road completely. Frodo shivered, and continued walking.
Hurriedly, Frodo walked up the gravel road towards The Hill, a large mound indented with a good number of hobbit-holes, but one in particular that had a round green door and a brass knob in the exact middle. This was known throughout the Shire as Bag End. Frodo had lived here for a good many years before he had been forced from the Shire. Frodo opened the wooden gate, and went up the stone steps to the door. He raised his fist and knocked on the door. The sound echoed oddly, and the hobbit waited patiently. The door opened and the face of another hobbit appeared. His face lit up and he rushed outside.
"Mr. Frodo!" he exclaimed, and threw his arms around the hobbit. "It's wonderful to see you again."
"It's good to see you Sam," Frodo agreed as he held his old friend and loyal companion tightly.
"Come in, Mr. Frodo, come in!" Sam invited excitedly, and Frodo stepped inside. Sam was so excited that he forgot to close the door. Frodo smiled at his friend's excitement, and closed the door behind him, and surveyed the inside of Bag End.
It was like any other hobbit-hole in the Shire: long comfortable halls with no other levels, many rooms and entire cupboards devoted to food. Sam grabbed Frodo's hand, and eagerly led him down the long hallway, into the kitchen. Inside there was a nice wooden table shining with polish, and set with three chairs, also shining. Other chairs were stacked in the adjoining room. On one of these chairs sat a pretty hobbit with long curly dark-blonde hair, and bright healthy skin clothed in a simple blue dress, and on her lap sat a small hobbit-girl with golden hair sucking on a bottle.
"Look, Rose, my dear, Mr. Frodo's come to visit us!" Sam exclaimed, happily.
Rose Cotton's merry brown eyes brightened, and her smile lit up the already well-lighted room, and she stood up.
"Hello, Frodo," she said warmly, brushing her long curly hair away from her face with one hand, still holding the infant in her other arm. She put her arm around embraced him.
Frodo held her tightly. He wished he did not have to let go. Though he had no desire for Rose, he had missed her and Sam terribly over the long time that he had been gone. He found it odd that it was not mentioned that he had been away for as long as he had. The hobbit-girl looked up from her bottle and peered up at Frodo with inquisitive blue eyes.
"This is Elanor, as you know," Sam referred to his fair young daughter in this way because it had been Frodo who suggested they name her that. Sam had told him that he and Rose had agreed to name the child Frodo if a lad, but things got complicated when the child turned out to be a fair young maid with golden hair, which was uncommon for hobbit-children.
She had been born after the Scouring of the Shire, and all the hobbit-children born at that time were blessed with an elvish appearance. Sam had been quite distraught at what to name her, so Frodo suggested Elanor after the beautiful moonlike flowers in Lothlórien.
"Say hello to Uncle Frodo!" Sam instructed the infant affectionately. Elanor gurgled, and stuck her tongue out at Frodo. Frodo laughed and poked her gently on the nose. She giggled and grabbed his finger, and began to suck on it. Frodo wondered why Sam had told her to address him as 'Uncle', for he was not related to the family. Then an odd thought struck Frodo. He had seen Elanor years ago, and she had been only six months old, and visiting now seventeen years later, she had not aged at all. She should have been at least seventeen. This perplexed him, but he resolved not to dwell upon it.
Once Elanor had released him and resumed with her bottle, Frodo sat down and chatted with Rose and Sam. It amused him to think that Sam had once been afraid to talk to Rose because he liked her. Sam was the only one who called Rose Cotton by her true name. Everyone else in the Shire had always affectionately known her as Rosie.
"How're Merry and Pippin?" Frodo asked.
Sam smiled heartily and suggested, "Well, Mr. Frodo, why don't we go and see them?"
Rose got up and took the empty bottle from Elanor, and the infant wailed unhappily. Rose rocked her, crooning softly, but to no avail. Elanor continued to cry.
"May I hold her?" Frodo asked. Rose nodded, and he trotted over and gently removed the wailing infant from her mother's arms, and stroked Elanor's ivory cheek. At once she quieted, and seemed to fall immediately to sleep. Frodo shrugged sheepishly at Rose's vexed expression and they set off.
Elanor snored softly in Frodo's arms as he walked along the deserted dirt path. The Shire, Frodo realized, was now empty, and that was very odd. Only minutes ago, the hobbits had been bustling about in the market place. Now there was no trace of any hobbit, in or even remotely near the market.
Rose and Sam walked ahead of Frodo and Elanor, holding hands. They neared a hole that had a small wooden fence around it, and on the fence was a sign reading 'Residence of Took' which meant it was Pippin's house.
"Hopefully they're having afternoon tea together," Sam muttered from behind Frodo.
The hobbit reached up with one fist while balancing the snoring Elanor in the other, and as he did so, he noticed that all of his fingers were intact. His ring finger should have been missing.
"Is something wrong Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked. Frodo shook his head and knocked on the wooden door, which echoed oddly. A patter of feet was heard inside and the door opened, and Peregrin Took came out onto the mat. An expression of surprise, and delight, crossed his face.
"Frodo!" he exclaimed, his thick accent showing through each syllable, and then he shouted. "Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!"
More pattering feet were heard, and moments later, Meriadoc Brandybuck came down the hallway to stand in the doorway next to Pippin, and as well as his friend, could barely contain his excitement and surprise.
"Hello, Frodo!" he exclaimed.
Elanor opened her blue eyes and gurgled at the two hobbits. Rose came and took her daughter back into her arms, enabling Frodo to embrace his two friends.
"Come in!" Pippin insisted, and they set inside the hole of Peregrin Took.
Frodo had never been inside Pippin's hole. It was larger than a normal hobbit-hole, for Merry and Pippin stood over four feet tall due to draughts of entwash, which the ent, Treebeard, had given them in the forest of Fangorn. Because of this, they were both taller than the average hobbit.
Lavish rooms could be found every few yards or so and located in the seating area were placed very comfortable chairs and a fire was crackling merrily in the hearth. Elanor went back to sleep in her mother's arms and did not move again.
Soon they were seated around the fire and chatting as they used to. They conversed about the goings-on in the Shire, and Frodo noted that the conversation was stilted, and often came a few moments after the speakers mouth actually began to move. As they spoke, Frodo was struck with another odd thought. Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Rose appeared to be the exact ages that they had been before Frodo's departure. Despairingly he realized that something was terribly wrong. Too much was had been out of the ordinary to be real.
Instantaneously, Frodo found himself outside in the fields, and he did not remember leaving. The sun was setting and dark shadows were starting to spread across the Shire, and Frodo frolicked about in the fields. He danced about without a care in the world, and threw himself upon the soft grass. Looking up, he could see the beautiful colours of red orange and some pink spreading across the sky.
He looked at the fluffy white clouds, and saw many things to be held in their depths. One of the clouds looked like a rabbit, which caused the hobbit to laugh. His laughter sounded strangely stilted, and delayed. He got up again, and proceeded to skip and dance about in the fields twirling about as he did so. The grass was cool on his feet as he hopped about. He picked flowers as he went along, smelling them and sticking them in his curly dark-auburn hair. He did not care how ridiculous he might look with flowers sticking out of his hair, for he wanted to enjoy as much as he could before he was forced back into reality. The hobbit twirled and spun causing the majority of the flowers to fall on his face, but this did not darken his mood. Instead, he picked them up and stuck the flowers back in his hair.
Frodo reached down and plucked a particularly pretty white flower and smelled it letting its fresh fragrance absorb him. Opening his eyes, Frodo saw that the flower had died in his hand. He looked down at his feet. Beneath his bare and furry feet, the grass was shrivelling and dying. Frodo looked up and saw that the grass all around him was slowly dying and curling up as though being burnt.
Frodo was much alarmed by this phenomenon until he felt heat on his face. Looking up, Frodo saw something coming towards him. It looked like a gigantic fireball. Frodo froze and found that he could no longer move, or speak. It was not a fireball moving across the now dead flowers, but a great Eye, lidless, wreathed in flame. It was the Eye of Sauron. It came towards Frodo and the familiar dark voice sounded terribly in his ears.
"You cannot hide," it thundered.
The Eye continued to close in on him, and the hobbit brought his hands up to his face to try and protect himself from its gaze. He felt his legs give way beneath him, and frantically tried to crawl away. He scrambled backwards until his back touched something hard, and he realized he had nowhere to go. The Eye did not stop, but bore down on the hobbit. Frodo brought up his hands again to try and protect himself and squeezed his eyes shut.
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Frodo woke, and sat up quickly from his sleep, panting heavily. His little body was covered in a cold sweat, which had caused his light mauve shirt, and breeches to stick to him. The large eyes of the hobbit darted from shadow to shadow, expecting the Eye to expose itself. Frodo tried to calm himself, but the Eye was fresh in his mind. Tormenting him once again, as it had twenty years before.
This torment had begun with a hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins, one of the most respectable hobbits in the Shire. However, Bilbo had had a Took for a mother, and it was rumoured throughout Shire that one of the Tooks in the line of many, had taken a fairy for a wife. This was not quite believed by anyone, but it did make an explanation as to why it was always Tooks who would suddenly pack up and go seeking for adventure.
However, this Took-side of Bilbo remained dormant for quite some time. In fact it took until Bilbo Baggins had reached the ripe age of fifty-one, which is equivalent to approximately thirty to the Big Folk for hobbits do not age as rapidly as the Big Folk, for the Took-side to awaken. It was coincidental, to when Bilbo was outside on his porch that an old man passed by his hobbit-hole.
This old man was actually a wizard, and like most wizards, he went by some very different names. To the elves he was Mithrandir, in the common tongue the Grey Pilgrim, but he known mainly as Gandalf the Grey. Now Gandalf had been responsible for many quiet hobbits going on adventures, which were looked upon with great disdain by the majority of hobbit folk, and so was looked upon with many different views throughout the Shire. Most feared him, for he was, after all, a wizard. He was famous for his fireworks, and this was indeed the thing that Mr. Bilbo remembered with much excitement upon meeting the wizard. The day had started with a hearty "Good morning!" from Bilbo, and ended with the hobbit becoming the burglar and fourteenth member of a group of thirteen dwarves who were sitting in the dining room Bag End, talking about treasure, and mountains, and dragons.
Frodo was the adopted nephew of Bilbo Baggins, and had always been a bit unusual. He had been orphaned at nine years of age, when his parents drowned, and Bilbo had taken him in, and proclaimed him his nephew and heir to his belongings. He had always had a thirst for news of what was happening beyond the Shire, and Bilbo had certainly increased that thirst with stories of his adventure. However, it was because of Bilbo's adventure that Frodo had been forced out of the Shire.
Burglar Bilbo Baggins had found a Ring in the caverns of the Misty Mountains, and claimed it as his own. However, this was no ordinary Ring. It was the key to the power and destruction of the Shadow in the East. The Ring was one of the many unusual things that Bilbo had brought back from his adventure. And it was one of the things that Frodo had inherited.
"I destroyed The Ring," Frodo insisted to no one. "I destroyed it." Despite these words however, Frodo found himself filled with a fearsome doubt. Painfully, he recalled the events that had permanently altered his life.
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He had traveled endlessly with his loyal friend, Sam. Through the horrible Dead Marshes, through the dark caves surrounding Mordor, then into Mordor and right up to Mount Doom itself. The One Ring became such a burden that the hobbit had found he could no longer walk. Determined not to give up, he had begun to crawl up the side of the mountain. Sam then picked him up and carried him up the mountain, which was a big task for a hobbit.
Once inside, Frodo had bent under the power of The Ring and claimed it for his own. It was then that Gollum, who had led Frodo into Mordor, had run forwards. He bit off Frodo's finger that held The Ring. Gollum's had danced about in joy at reclaiming his Precious, but he strayed too close to the cracks of doom until he was balancing precariously on the edge. He teetered and fell over wailing, "Precious!" but Frodo had never seen The Ring disappear into the flames. It was still possible, though highly unlikely, that Gollum might have survived.
Frodo was much alarmed by these thoughts. Quickly he got out of his comfortable bed and scurried down the long hallway to the door. This he pushed open and ran as fast as his hobbit-legs could carry him across the meadow.
The meadow was large and had a lake in the middle filled with crystal-clear water. Out of this lake flowed a river, which babbled pleasantly with a sound of harps playing for all time which went forever down and eventually out to the large lakes of Middle-earth. The grass was lush, and always perfectly green, the sun always shone pleasantly, and occasionally it rained lightly. The evening sky was always splashed with stars. There was no evil here. Around the meadow hung a thin everlasting mist, which gave an unearthly tone about the whole place. Tall slender-white trees stood around the meadow, and reached up to the starlit skies with their fair branches of leafy green. The tiny flowers in the meadow, which lay spread out across the misty grass, were beginning to open, and showing a tiny bit of their golden petals.
Frodo rushed past, across the meadow where now the mist was beginning to rise just a bit, past the tall white trees, past the flowers, past the lake of crystal-clear water, across the river which was cool, and the pebbles on the bottom smooth, to the large group of tall white trees both fairer, and taller by far than the ones in the meadow. Into this he ran silently, taking care not to alert anyone. Though, this was not something that Frodo had to worry about, because he was a hobbit.
Hobbits are actually Halflings. Generally, they are little people about half the height of the Big Folk with good-natured faces, curly hair and a large capacity for food. Hobbits love to eat, and will eat eight meals a day if they can. On their feet there are no shoes, for the soles of their feet are tough, and they have curly hair on their feet that is the same as what is on their heads. They have no magic about them other than a superb sense of sight and hearing. They have the ability to move absolutely silently when needed. They are smaller than the bearded dwarves, and do not have beards. They are inclined to laugh, and make merry as they wish. They dress mostly in bright colours, especially green and yellow. Their ears are pointed like those of an elf but are not as fair to look at.
Frodo was even considered odd within these hobbit standards. He had even sharper senses than a hobbit because he had been stabbed with the blade of a Nazgûl and nearly became a wraith. Because of this, his hearing and sight had been sharpened almost painfully so he could move so quietly that not even another hobbit could hear him. And into the group of trees the hobbit ran.
In the center of the vast group of trees was a tree even fairer and taller than the ones around it. On this tree spiralled a large staircase marbled white, and reaching up through the mist, and up these stairs went the hobbit, panting though the air held no impurities as it does most obviously in the world.
Up the long endless stairs up through the mist he past and shivered at its cool, unearthly caress on his face. The stairs ended here, and in front of the hobbit towered two great gates, intricate and beautiful in design and delved of gold and silver it stood. Many odd and mysterious shapes were wound into those gates. Here and there a small gold or silver dragon snaked its way around. Gold and silver trees stood fair and tall and, occasionally a little gold or silver hobbit could be found. This and many more marvellous things were twisted into the great gates, and in front of these Frodo stood.
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By this time, the hobbit had calmed down and was debating whether he should bother waking the elves at this time. He raised his fist, but lowered it unsure of what he should do. Frodo paced in front of the gates and battled between telling Lady Galadriel now, or wait until morning. After all, his dream might have meant nothing, and he did not wish to waste Galadriel's time. Though Galadriel was The Lady of Light, she possessed a great and terrible power. She was a Ring-bearer, keeper of Nenya, one of The Three Great Rings bestowed upon the elves. If corrupted, Galadriel had the power to become the next Dark Lord.
After some time had passed, Frodo finally sat down, and thought it over. He knew that dreams were strange phenomena that often meant nothing at all, but were merely a collection of the thoughts of the dreamer. His thoughts were black, as he pondered the possible meaning of his vision. If The Ring had not been destroyed, then the forces of Evil would not have dwindled as they had that day. Evil would have endured.
These thoughts were as black as Evil itself. There was no light, no answers, or perhaps the answers were just as Evil, as the thoughts had been. Frodo felt as though he was lost in a Shadow of undefined hatred. Abruptly the great fiery Eye flashed across his mind, and the hobbit leapt to his feat, pounded on the mithril gates with his fist, and waited anxiously, the Eye ever constant in his mind.
Finally the mithril gates opened, and standing in the gateway was a single elf. Though Frodo knew that he had just woken him, the elf looked as fair as he always did. The moonlight shimmered down, and glittered on a white gem on a pendant that lay on the elf's bare chest.
This was the gem Evenstar, a gem given to Frodo by the elf-maiden Arwen. She had given her immortality for the mortal man Aragorn, and remained in Middle-earth when the rest of her race had left for The Undying Lands. She had allowed Frodo to take her place on the ship, and had blessed him with Evenstar to ease the pain of his journey. It was the symbol of elvish immortality, and so Frodo had given this pendant to the elf standing in front of him.
"Athelas, I need to speak with Galadriel," Frodo informed the elf. Athelas obviously thought this a strange request at such an hour, but he obliged to Frodo's request, and let him inside.
Athelas was an orphan. He had been named after the athelas plant, which was an elvish plant with great healing abilities, and had partially saved Frodo's life from a wound from a Morgul blade. Athelas had been born shortly before the War of The Ring. He had aged as a Mortal would for the twenty years that had passed. Time was immortal in The Undying Lands, and now Athelas was included as the immortal being that he was.
Athelas seemed to have the appearance of any other elf from Lothlórien. He had long light-blond hair that was straight and fell just below his shoulders. He had pointed ears, a tall and slender body that though muscular, was light enough to leave no marks upon any surface. And despite his age, he was wise. His eyes, however, set him apart from the normal elf. His eyes were of an amber quality that penetrated all under their gaze.
Athelas loved stories. This was because he had not known the real world as everyone else, and was unaccustomed to the dangers, happiness, and pleasures that life could bring. Like all other elves, Athelas had been taught how to defend himself with a bow and arrow, and daggers, and was an expert archer. He was an expert swordsman as well.
Since he was an infant, Athelas had never had parents, for both of his had been killed in the War of The Ring. Galadriel had taken him in until the elves passed into The Undying Lands and from that time, Frodo had looked after him. The hobbit had taught Athelas how to move silently so that even a hobbit with their sharp ears would have difficulty hearing him. Along with this skill, and some others, Frodo, to some extent, had taught Athelas how to fight with a sword. This skill the elf learned quickly and was now equally dangerous with a sword as he was with a bow. But now, as he led Frodo to the realm of Lady Galadriel, he was armed with neither sword nor bow.
Frodo followed the elf to where The Lady of the Wood kept her stay. Again he began to feel doubtful that his vision was worth her time at this hour of the night, but even as he thought this, the Eye ripped through his mind causing his breath to catch in his throat. Athelas looked down at the hobbit with concern, but said nothing. Finally they halted by another staircase. Frodo brought his hand to his head, trying to rid his mind of the great Eye that was haunting him.
Frodo glanced up and saw The Lady descending towards him. She was by far taller than he, and yet now more than ever did she seem to tower over him. Her golden hair was crowned with a silver circlet, and flowed down her back, and over her shoulders. Her gown was pure-white with sleeves extending below the hands of the elf, and the front exposed the pale skin of her upper chest, and had a sliver brooch on the bosom of the dress. On her finger was Nenya, and on her face was a mysterious smile that suggested that she knew something that no one else did.
She looked down upon Frodo, her blue eyes penetrating him, and the hobbit felt his clothes being stripped away until he was standing vulnerable in front of her. He shifted uncomfortably, and she bore even deeper, into the core of his being, probing his very soul, learning his darkest secrets, his wildest passions, and his deepest fears.
Finally she released him from her gaze, and Frodo was relieved to find himself still fully clothed. He wondered how long she had held him in her gaze. He knew that not many could endure Galadriel's penetrating gaze for very long. Frodo shivered slightly, and rubbed his arms. Reluctantly he lowered his hands to his sides, and waited for her to speak.
"Your thoughts are black," she said softly. "What is it that you are dwelling upon that has the colour of such Evil?"
"Evil, Lady," Frodo replied. "I saw the Eye. After all these years of peace from it, it's come to haunt me again."
"I knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth would be revealed," Galadriel said softly. "The Shadow in the East has been growing in my mind. Even from across the Sea."
"What does it mean?" Frodo asked hesitantly.
"I think that you can answer that question Frodo," she looked down upon him keenly, and Frodo squirmed underneath her gaze.
"I failed," he replied, averting his eyes from hers, and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. "I've caused the survival of the Dark Lord." He paused and raised his eyes again. "And I must stop Him."
"These are indeed ill tidings, Lady," a female elven voice spoke from the shadows above the stairs. "Should Elrond be informed? If the war for Middle-earth has not been finished then we must take action!"
"Yes Eáránë," Galadriel replied, and two elves descended the staircase.
"I will go tell Elrond then," Eáránë took Frodo's breath away. She had jet-black hair was pulled into tiny braids by her temples, and was dressed in a beautiful black dress. This dress was unlike anything the Halfling had ever seen before. The bodice was stiff with slight boned edges that traveled down to the end of the bodice, which tapered, into a v-shape at her waist. The bosom of the dress exposed her upper chest, and was decorated with black flowers that extended onto the slender straps that went over her shoulders. Her eyes were a grey-blue that gazed at him intently, and Frodo found that he could not take his eyes off of her.
"Tell Elrond to gather his best warriors and healers to be ready for departure by sunrise tomorrow," Galadriel instructed. Eáránë nodded and departed back up the staircase. Frodo noted that the back of her dress was low and tied with cords, and that the skirt was split below the knee and became a semi-transparent train with the same black flowers as the front.
Frodo turned back to Galadriel, and she gazed down upon him, a grim expression upon her mysterious face. Frodo felt as though he was shrinking and quivered as he was stripped of everything he had.
"Do not worry so, Ring-bearer," Galadriel said finally. Frodo sighed, as she released him from her gaze, and he returned to his normal height. "I know that you are distressed." She said softly. "As soon as I hear word from Elrond, I will send a messenger to inform you of our plans. Until then, prepare yourself for the trip back to Middle-earth. The time of the elves is over, but I will not let Middle-earth stand alone in its fight." With this being said, Galadriel turned and ascended the staircase, and disappeared into the shadows.
Frodo stood at the base of the stairs momentarily, and then turned and walked slowly down the hallway. His vision was black, and his entire body hunched in defeat. Methodically, he walked down the stairs and towards his hobbit-hole.
As he neared his home, he passed a tombstone, and stopped to gaze down at it. On the stone was carved, "Here Lies Bilbo Baggins, the One Who Started it All." On the next line was engraved, "2890 – 3035". Frodo sighed and stared angrily at the cold stone surface. He wished in vain that Bilbo had never left him The Ring. He did know though that if he had not had to carry The Ring, someone else would have had to, and that was not a thought that the hobbit cared much for. He would not wish his suffering upon any being. It was his task, and he had to finish it. Frodo set his jaw, being gloomy was not about to solve anything. He looked at his hobbit-hole with a grim determination. The door was still open from his haste to tell Galadriel of his dream.
Closing the door behind him, Frodo went into his room, opened his closet, and took out an old backpack. He carried it to the bed, and dumped out the contents onto the mattress. Frodo did not even look at the contents on his bed, but went back to his closet, and pulled out an older change of clothing, and put them on. Going back to the closet, he pulled out a fabric-wrapped object. Carefully unwrapping the red folds, Frodo drew unwrapped his elvish sword Sting, in its sheath. Fingers trembling, Frodo took hold of Sting's handle, and drew out the sword. The hobbit gazed at the blade, re-sheathed it, and placed it beside the bed.
Frodo worked quickly so that he would have as much time as possible to gather his things together. The hobbit trotted into his kitchen and began taking out food from the vast pantries. Though Frodo lacked the endless appetite of an ordinary hobbit, he knew that the journey ahead of him was long, and he would need a lot of sustenance. Frodo decided to bide his time by baking some cookies for the long road. He knew that lembas would grow to become quite despised as the time passed, and so wanted to make a variety for him to eat.
Tying an apron around his slim waist, Frodo began to gather his ingredients, and soon was bustling about, popping baking sheets into the oven. He had just taken his third batch out, when there was a knock on his door.
"I'll be there in a moment," Frodo called, and trotted to the door trying to dust the flour off of his shirt. Opening the door, he discovered Eáránë standing gracefully upon the mat. "Come in, come in," Frodo insisted. Eáránë ducked her head, and entered the hobbit-hole.
"So you are Frodo Baggins," she said. Frodo nodded, and she smiled down at him. "I am Eáránë Elensar. I have heard many things about you."
"Really," Frodo inquired cautiously.
"You are to be credited Frodo," Eáránë replied quietly. "You took a burden that none wished to take, and you took it into Mordor, into the heart of Mount Doom, and only then did The Ring finally corrupt you."
Frodo shuddered at the thought of the hell that he had been through so many years ago. It almost did not seem real, and yet his illness and pains were enough to prove him otherwise. He lowered his eyes, unable to deal with the reality that had caused his perfectly happy life to alter forever.
"Are you coming to Middle-earth as well?" Frodo inquired at length.
"Yes, I am an Elvish Healer," she replied. "We do not know what it is that lies ahead of us, but we need all the help we can get."
Eáránë placed her hand gently on Frodo's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The Halfling glanced momentarily up at her, and felt some of his pain lesson. Some of the weight was lifted from his chest, and he breathed easier. Eáránë noticed a pleasant aroma, and recognized it as the smell of something baking.
"Are you cooking something?" she asked curiously. Frodo jumped, looked at her apologetically, and then ran down the hallway. Grabbing an oven-mitt, he opened up the oven, pulled his cookies out, and set them down on the counter. He looked up to see Eáránë duck her head and gracefully enter.
"Sorry about that," he apologized breathlessly. "I didn't want them to burn."
"Do not apologize," Eáránë smiled. "I do not mind." Then she asked. "What are these?"
"Shortbread cookies," the hobbit replied. "I figured that I'd probably get sick of lembas at some point." He smiled grimly.
"You have not made an overabundance," Eáránë mused.
"I lack the rampant appetite of a normal hobbit," Frodo replied softly. "I lost it many years ago, and simply didn't regain it."
"May I have one?" Eáránë inquired.
"Of course," Frodo smiled. "Help yourself. I'm going to put these into tins for the journey." Frodo went to the cupboard and pulled down some tins. Taking them over to the counter, he could see Eáránë pick up one, and bite into it.
"These are delicious!" the elf exclaimed. Frodo smiled, and began to put the cookies closest to him into the tin.
"So you told Elrond of the news?" he asked softly.
Eáránë swallowed before answering, "Yes." Was all she said.Eáránë picked up another cookie, and crossed the space between herself and the Halfling. Frodo watched her curiously, as she came and stood beside him. "Have a cookie." She said simply. Frodo was too surprised to do otherwise, and opened his mouth while continuing to put cookies into the tin. Eáránë placed the cookie into his mouth, and as she withdrew her fingers, they brushed against the sensitive skin of Frodo's lips. Frodo felt his pulse increase in pace, and his breathing come a bit faster into his lungs. Feelings that were unknown to the hobbit coursed through his small body. He felt as though he was excited and terrified simultaneously. Frodo chewed on the shortbread slowly. Despite these feelings, he liked Eáránë's presence.
Gradually the hobbit became aware that Eáránë was watching him. He glanced up at the elf and she held him in her gaze momentarily and smiled at him. Frodo felt his heart skip a beat. Confused, he closed the tin, and placed it on the counter-top.
"Are you not bringing those on the journey?" Eáránë asked, another smile breaking the serious expression on her elvish face.
"Yes, I was just thinking," Frodo replied softly. Eáránë's smile turned to a one of understanding. "I'm going to put this into my pack, in my room." He picked up the tin, and carried it down the hall and into his room. Placing it down of the bed, Frodo returned to the kitchen and began to gather other food. He picked out some apples, a loaf of bread, and some sausages. He glanced up, and noted that Eáránë was placing the cookies around her into tins.
"Thanks," he meant it. She smiled.
"I thought I might as well make myself useful," she explained, and picked up the now full tins of cookies. Frodo led her into his room, carrying the other food in his arms.
"You can just put the tins on the bed for now," Frodo felt a bit self conscious that his room was in such a bad state. Eáránë did as she was told, and looked around the hobbit's room.
Finally she turned her gaze back onto the Halfling, "Well it was a pleasure to meet you Frodo Baggins…"
"Wait!" Frodo exclaimed stopping the elf in mid-sentence. "You don't have to leave."
"You still have much to pack," Eáránë replied. "I should let you get on with your preparations."
"Please stay," Frodo pleaded. He knew that she would not understand his urgency for her to stay. He did not thoroughly comprehend his desperation either, but he liked her presence, and he hated being alone, and he knew that he would be alone for a very long period of time.
Eáránë raised her eyebrows at the Halfling, but glided over to the bed, and began to place the tins into Frodo's pack. She did not speak, but simply turned her attention to the contents that Frodo had dumped out of his pack. She picked up the shirt of mithril and inspected it quietly while Frodo continued to place food into his pack.
"Mithril," she murmured running her fingers over the beautiful craft. "Is it true that your uncle found this in a Troll cave?"
Frodo laughed quietly, "No Bilbo received the shirt of mail from Smaug's lair."
"Of course," Eáránë shook her head. "I knew that one of the gifts that your uncle gave you was from the lair of Smaug, and the other was from the Troll's lair." She carefully placed the shirt of mithril into Frodo's pack.
"Sting was from the Troll's lair," Frodo replied as he placed the leftover lembas into his pack. Eáránë picked up Sting, and drew the sword from its sheath.
"You will need this blade," she informed the hobbit sadly. "The War for Middle-earth has only just begun." Frodo sighed. Hearing that from Eáránë was torture.
"It should've ended twenty years ago," his soft voice was sullen, and he sat down on the bed. He glanced up at Eáránë, but her attention was still focused on Sting. Finally the elf placed Sting back into its sheath and examined the clothing that Frodo wore to bed.
"Rivendell healing garments," she said sadly and looked up at Frodo her eyes resting upon the spot on his left shoulder were the wound was located. Her eyes seemed to penetrate his clothing, so that the hobbit felt as though she was looking directly at the wound.
Frodo suddenly realized with horror that the Phial of Galadriel was missing. He was pretty sure that he had dumped it onto the bed along with the other things, yet it was not there. Frantically he began to search his room.
"What are you looking for?" Eáránë asked.
"The phial that Galadriel gave me," the hobbit replied. Eáránë glided towards him, and held up the phial.
"Is this it?" she asked softly, and she placed it into his hand, her fingers brushing his fingers. Again the hobbit felt his pulse and breathing increase in pace. Breathlessly he nodded at the elf's question.
"It is beautiful," she murmured softly, running her slender fingers over the delicate grooves of the phial. They were so close to coming in contact with his fingers as he held the phial in his trembling hand. Frodo noticed how her fingers moved over the glass and he began to notice the slight incline of her head, the gentle arc of her neck, the exact way her black gown fitted her slender frame. She looked up and his eyes locked with hers.
Eáránë saw so much pain reflected in the beautiful depths of his eyes, so much torment, so much suffering, so much that she felt should not have been there. Eáránë wondered how such an innocent creature could endure such a burden for such a length of time.
Abruptly, the elf realized how far she was delving into the Halfling. With embarrassment she released him from her gaze, and looked down at the phial again.
"I can only hope that the phial will bring you hope when you feel you have none left," she smiled sadly.
"I expect that that'll happen," Frodo replied, his soft voice barely even audible. "Last time, I lost faith in everyone around me. I have to do this alone just so that I don't cause anyone any extra grief."
"Completing such a task single-handedly is not a simple matter," Eáránë retorted. "To take The Ring of Power to the place it was forged, and cast it into the chasm of Evil is not a task many could complete. You must bear this in mind the next time you start belittling yourself."
Frodo sighed and Eáránë knelt before him so that she could regard him eye to eye, "I have also heard that hobbits are capable of much more than they appear." She said with an encouraging smile. "But if you should lose hope, try to remember that your companions believe in you. I believe in you. I will always believe in you no matter what the circumstances."
She smiled at him, and placed her hand on his cheek. She looked down upon the phial again, and her eyes narrowed. Gently she took the Halfling's hand and turned it over.
"Oh this will not do at all," she said looking down upon Frodo's missing finger, and she gently clasped her hands around his. "Tultanyë i valasa i quendi, an entulessë i lepsë man i Periannath vanwa an i Oronsa Ambar." Frodo felt warmth spread across his hand, and when Eáránë removed her hands from his, all of the fingers were intact.
"Thank-you," he breathed. Eáránë inclined her slightly, a small smile on her face.
"The Lady has also told me to inform you to meet by the lake at dawn," she said. "Get some rest, you will need it." Frodo showed her to the door, and then returned to his room. He got undressed and changed into traveling clothes. He folded his change of clothing and placed it into his pack and fastened it. Then clutching the phial to his breast he lay down and finally passed into a restless sleep.
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Translations in order of appearance:
I summon the Angelic Power of the Elves, to return the finger that the Halfling lost to the Mountain of Doom
