Well, so much for getting my ass in gear and updating quickly. It's been…what, near two months? Three? …since I last updated. I am shocked and ashamed.
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The six companions greeted each other as they met in the courtyard. Lord Elrond stepped down from where he was and inclined his head slightly to them.
"Not even a year since the last ordeal was over, we, once again, say farewell to a group of companions in this courtyard. May Iluvatar be with you all."
Slowly, turning their backs on Elrond and his elves, the companions climbed the winding path that led up the side of the valley of Imladris. Each footfall, each step, led them further from the warmth and civilisation of Rivendell, led them further into the wild lands of Middle-Earth, further into the unknown future.
They were silent, each person lost in their own thoughts and feelings. It was like the Fellowship had been when they had left on their fateful journey – only this time, there was a change in the general atmosphere of the group. The Fellowship knew the impending danger, knew the enemy was watching, knew the enemy knew where they were and where they were going, and all were worried, all didn't know what could happen.
This time, the companions knew the danger, yes – but the enemy had no idea where they would go. They had no errand, no particular place to go; all of Middle-Earth was open for them. True, the future was clouded, but one thing the companions knew – this was now not a game of speed or strength, as it had been last time, but now a game of logic and wits, of strategy, as the companions would have to craftily elude the enemy.
Knowing that they had the slight advantage at this point in time gave the atmosphere a slight lift, let the companions, though alert, relax a little.
After a half hour or so of walking, the Companions reached the top of the valley. The Eagles were waiting, as they had been told they would, but this time there was six eagles instead of five.
Bows were exchanged, and the Companions mounted. The trip across the Misty Mountains to the edge of Mirkwood took just over an hour. Some talked, some sang, others sat in thought.
As the Eagles touched down on the Eastern side of the mountains, and the Companions dismounted, Frodo looked onto a part of Middle-earth where he had never been before. Mirkwood he knew about from Bilbo's tales. While flying over, he had looked for the Carrock and the house of Beorn. He had seen them both, small patches of colour on the land below.
And bidding the Eagles farewell, and watching them fly back across the Misty Mountains to their eyries, the Companions started their own journey walking down the edge of Mirkwood.
It was mid-morning; the sun was high and the air warm. The companions saw no living creatures, but heard many birds, and the feeling of the group was light and happy.
Because they could go at their own leisurely pace, the Companions didn't try to cover leagues and leagues of ground. It was late in the day when they came upon a small stream, flowing with cool, clear water. It flowed down from the mountains, until it went over a small cliff, where it cascaded down the bank into a pool, then snaked off into Mirkwood.
The cliff it went over was a small clearing on Mirkwood's edge. The forest ground on either side sloped into a natural dip, where as the land to the west of Mirkwood kept going as flat as ever, creating a hollow with forest on three sides and rock cliff on one side.
It was Pippin that discovered this private paradise. He called the others over to it, and it only took a few moments to decide within the group to stay for a few days here. It was peaceful, secret, undiscovered by anyone, and safe.
In the cliff was a cave – not overly big, but big enough for the six Companions to move in, so to speak. The clearing itself was large enough to be accommodating for them and a fire, with much room to spare.
The Companions felt they could drop their guard a little, relax in the small piece of peace they had discovered.
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Over the next few days, the glade felt like a near equivalent to home. Spirits were lifted, rest was claimed, and relaxation was everywhere. There was hardly any talk or thought of anything outside this clearing. It was like another world for the Companions, a world just of their own.
Faramir took the time to teach the Hobbits archery. Aragorn had given them bows, so Faramir set up some crude targets and gave them all some quick lessons. Hobbits have bows in the Shire; so the four of them were not utter failures of students, rather students who had not done it for a while.
They all managed to hit the targets (sometimes not their own), but improved as the days wore on. Pippin was the best marksman out of them, the other three good, but not excellent.
Frodo managed too – it was the first time he had properly used his maimed left hand after the war of the ring. He could only hold his bow with his three remaining fingers, but even with his disadvantage, he was still a very good shot.
The companions also started to take up the time in the day in good use, although it bought back a little of the remembrance of the danger. When hey weren't shooting, the Hobbits practiced swordplay with each other, sparing until they were too tired, someone lost their blade, or one got in under a guard. They were careful to wind fabric around the blades so not to hurt one another.
Through the days, they honed their skills – although they were not champions. The practise took up the sunlight hours in the day, and the moonlight ones were spent around a fire and sleeping, a contented sleep with bought major refreshment to all.
Except one.
For the third or fourth time that night, Frodo awoke from another nightmare. They had been plaguing him again and again, never letting him sleep. The days had been drawing closer, but Frodo knew to tell anything would break the joyful atmosphere. He sighed, rolled back over and tried to get back to sleep.
The next day was like the others – talk, laugh, practice, relax. Frodo smiled on the outside, and cried on the inside. He tried not to let on, and it worked. Sam noticed he was quieter, but thought no more of it – after all, what could be bothering Frodo here?
In the late afternoon, Frodo climbed onto a rocky sunlight ledge. It wasn't very high above the camp, but the ledge itself was deep enough for him not to be seen. In the fading sun, Frodo let his guard down. Silent tears trailed down his face and onto the ground below.
All the thoughts that had been in his mind since Rivendell finally came together. He couldn't take it. He wasn't going to…a thought hit him suddenly, an idea. He knew it could well be the only way…
He sat and cried a while longer, then dried his tears, and took time to just sit. When he was sure his mask of calmness and joy wasn't shattered, he climbed back down to the clearing.
Frodo woke suddenly, from another haunting nightmare of fire, wraiths, the Eye and darkness. Casting a glance around the cave, he notes all his companions were still asleep lost in their own peaceful dreams.
Knowing no sleep would come; Frodo crept silently past his companions and out of the cave to the moonlight glade.
Shadows lay on the softly light ground, nightly noises of the forest a whisper in the background. Drawing close to the waterfall, Frodo saw his own reflection in the swirling water. It wasn't like the gaunt face from the War of the Ring, but it was a saddened face. With out the 'mask' he had been wearing, anyone who looked in his eyes would see what he thought. See the terrified, saddened, depressed soul within.
Frodo drew away from the water, back to the main part of the clearing itself. Reaching to the inside of the cave, his fingers grasped the hilt of his dagger, given to him by Aragorn.
The blade glinted eerily in the moonlight. It was a reassuring, yet evil weight in his right hand. He had already made a decision – the blade would cut the arteries on his arms, letting him bleed, letting him fade into a world of darkness before deaths' icy hand closed around him forever.
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I'm not too sure how many people have done this (points to last paragraph) with LotR – to me, it just doesn't fit with Middle-Earth. If you're not happy with it, don't get all evil at me and send a major flame, just say. Anyway, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! I won't keep writing if no one reviews me, cause I'll know no one likes my story!
