Disclaimer: I'm not making money out of this fic. The characters belong to
Tolkien, or whoever owns the rights. I wish they *were* mine.
Chapter 2: A Harder Path to Tread
Sam woke suddenly, sweating and uncomfortably aware of the distance between him and the ground. His aerial slumber had been disturbed by his gently sleeping master, shifting gently on the wooden platform. Frodo's turnings had revealed a glint of gold, visible on a silver chain around his neck, the moon giving tiny golden reflections of the ring bearer's peaceful face. Sam was so glad of his master's childish snores and the peace he had found in the realm of the Lady of the Wood. Perhaps even a little jealous- after the stress and trouble of the last few months, Sam would have given anything to have a night's sleep like Frodo seemed to be enjoying by the contented smile on his face.
Before he had returned to the bower to sleep though, Sam's master had followed the Lady Galadriel, astonishingly bright and elvin, to a hidden glade where something had happened. Sam didn't know what, but by the confused and frightened look on Frodo's face it hadn't been a pleasant experience. Now, judging by the moon, it was just gone midnight and Sam's eternal curiosity in the affairs of the elves, coupled with an absolute need to know what had happened to Frodo earlier, was taking over. Gently, he slipped his arm away from Frodo's waist, and swallowing sharply, he began to descend the impossibly tall Mallorn.
He had made a point of remembering the way through the groves and glades and open clearings of Lothlorien and with relief Sam soon stood at the entrance to the leafy enclosure that Frodo had entered. Sam hadn't been allowed. This refusal had cemented the feeling that in many ways his beloved friend was leaving him behind in some way, leaving him by himself in a world that was far too big for his little hobbit-feet. As he pushed aside the curtain of hanging vines, he gasped at the light that filled the clearing, silver phosphorescence that emanated from a silver basin in the shadow of an imposing Mallorn. A trickling stream filled the basin and a tall and graceful vessel stood by the side to catch its waters.
It wasn't hard to guess that Frodo had gazed into the pool and had seen some horror there. Sam had gobbled up legends of the elves as a hobbit-lad and had no doubt in his mind that this was the eternal mirror of Galadriel, ever changing, never the same, its glimpses of the future subtly shifting as often as the waters over spilled. He knew what he must do. He would share in his master's experiences- maybe the last time they would have some common ground- and perhaps this would be a comfort to him. Resolutely, he climbed with strong feet an emergent root that was tall enough to lift him to the bowl's rim. At first he could see nothing but a rippled reflection of the night sky due to the rivulets that ran down the tree and shattered the illusions. Sam stopped the dripping and trickling with the silver ewer left for that purpose, quickly checked that he was alone, tried hard to dispel his guilt and opened his eyes to the full enchantment of the Mirror.
It was over very quickly, if not painlessly. In seconds, Sam saw so many things, wonderful and terrible, that he didn't have time to know which was which. He saw towers of fire before a beautifully maturing forest. He saw the elves at Rivendell, singing in their ethereal voices, but in the background he heard the terrible screams of tortured souls. He felt the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck, just as he had at home in the Shire, but he was immersed in the darkness of Moria, watching the writhing flames of the Balrog. He saw so many paradoxes that he simply could no longer comprehend what was before him and he was getting dizzy and he felt like he was spinning over and over and his head, o how his head was aching.
Sam blinked a few times and opened his eyes. He'd knocked over the silver vessel so once again ripples were spreading across the pool and he could see no more. He sighed, thankful for the respite and sat on the base of the hard pedestal. Now the ordeal was over he could understand what Frodo had been through, and, thanks to the vision, what he faced. It was true- what the lady Galadriel had said- the edge of a knife. It would take almost nothing to tip the scales away from them and Sam was part of that delicate balance. he could see that now. His job was to stand by his master and he was equal to that task. And anyhow, he'd never leave him, not for all the world. Anywhere in Middle Earth, anywhere, even back into Moria, that's where he'd go for Frodo. But for now, Sam deemed it enough for his truest friend just to return back to the scarily tall Mallorn where he slept. now that was a task he truly dreaded.
Chapter 2: A Harder Path to Tread
Sam woke suddenly, sweating and uncomfortably aware of the distance between him and the ground. His aerial slumber had been disturbed by his gently sleeping master, shifting gently on the wooden platform. Frodo's turnings had revealed a glint of gold, visible on a silver chain around his neck, the moon giving tiny golden reflections of the ring bearer's peaceful face. Sam was so glad of his master's childish snores and the peace he had found in the realm of the Lady of the Wood. Perhaps even a little jealous- after the stress and trouble of the last few months, Sam would have given anything to have a night's sleep like Frodo seemed to be enjoying by the contented smile on his face.
Before he had returned to the bower to sleep though, Sam's master had followed the Lady Galadriel, astonishingly bright and elvin, to a hidden glade where something had happened. Sam didn't know what, but by the confused and frightened look on Frodo's face it hadn't been a pleasant experience. Now, judging by the moon, it was just gone midnight and Sam's eternal curiosity in the affairs of the elves, coupled with an absolute need to know what had happened to Frodo earlier, was taking over. Gently, he slipped his arm away from Frodo's waist, and swallowing sharply, he began to descend the impossibly tall Mallorn.
He had made a point of remembering the way through the groves and glades and open clearings of Lothlorien and with relief Sam soon stood at the entrance to the leafy enclosure that Frodo had entered. Sam hadn't been allowed. This refusal had cemented the feeling that in many ways his beloved friend was leaving him behind in some way, leaving him by himself in a world that was far too big for his little hobbit-feet. As he pushed aside the curtain of hanging vines, he gasped at the light that filled the clearing, silver phosphorescence that emanated from a silver basin in the shadow of an imposing Mallorn. A trickling stream filled the basin and a tall and graceful vessel stood by the side to catch its waters.
It wasn't hard to guess that Frodo had gazed into the pool and had seen some horror there. Sam had gobbled up legends of the elves as a hobbit-lad and had no doubt in his mind that this was the eternal mirror of Galadriel, ever changing, never the same, its glimpses of the future subtly shifting as often as the waters over spilled. He knew what he must do. He would share in his master's experiences- maybe the last time they would have some common ground- and perhaps this would be a comfort to him. Resolutely, he climbed with strong feet an emergent root that was tall enough to lift him to the bowl's rim. At first he could see nothing but a rippled reflection of the night sky due to the rivulets that ran down the tree and shattered the illusions. Sam stopped the dripping and trickling with the silver ewer left for that purpose, quickly checked that he was alone, tried hard to dispel his guilt and opened his eyes to the full enchantment of the Mirror.
It was over very quickly, if not painlessly. In seconds, Sam saw so many things, wonderful and terrible, that he didn't have time to know which was which. He saw towers of fire before a beautifully maturing forest. He saw the elves at Rivendell, singing in their ethereal voices, but in the background he heard the terrible screams of tortured souls. He felt the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck, just as he had at home in the Shire, but he was immersed in the darkness of Moria, watching the writhing flames of the Balrog. He saw so many paradoxes that he simply could no longer comprehend what was before him and he was getting dizzy and he felt like he was spinning over and over and his head, o how his head was aching.
Sam blinked a few times and opened his eyes. He'd knocked over the silver vessel so once again ripples were spreading across the pool and he could see no more. He sighed, thankful for the respite and sat on the base of the hard pedestal. Now the ordeal was over he could understand what Frodo had been through, and, thanks to the vision, what he faced. It was true- what the lady Galadriel had said- the edge of a knife. It would take almost nothing to tip the scales away from them and Sam was part of that delicate balance. he could see that now. His job was to stand by his master and he was equal to that task. And anyhow, he'd never leave him, not for all the world. Anywhere in Middle Earth, anywhere, even back into Moria, that's where he'd go for Frodo. But for now, Sam deemed it enough for his truest friend just to return back to the scarily tall Mallorn where he slept. now that was a task he truly dreaded.