Epilogue
The graves of fallen heroes had been covered in water when Anduin changed course for a while, then left it all as a great marsh. In 1980 the Nazgûls had returned to Mordor, and their King roused allies everywhere: a balrog in Moria, orcs and trolls and evil men. And spirits, homeless, restless, bodiless, desperate. Mortals who had attempted sorcery and failed, maiar who had died and yet not died, and elves who refused the west and still clung to some desperate desire left from their long lives.
Such a one was Imladviel.
Year 3019 of the Third Age (1419 in the Shire Calendar)
Sméagol led the way for his master and the fat hobbit. The master walked last, with the precious, and Sméagol thought it was perhaps not wise. Someone could attack from behind, or he could fall, he looked so tired. Such a clumsy hobbit. But Sméagol did not dare speak his mind to the fat hobbit. He was so suspicious, never trusted Sméagol, probably thought Sméagol was the most dangerous thing around. Yes, Sméagol was strong and smart and not clumsy at all. Wise of Sam to fear him. But they had the same master now.
*...precious. The Precious of the Eye. Last thing I ever saw, the Eye. Aimed an arrow. For my mother's blood. Couldn't kill the Wraith. So kill his lord. Then - everything. The red stone in mithril. My mother's gold. To Elrond. Then walk the forest in flesh. Back home. Lindál, Gladhír.
Come, precious. Who are you? A mortal. Isildur? No. Nobody I know.
Such a long time. Could be anyone.
No matter. Enemy.
Come, look at me! There is no water. No marsh. No body. There is a battlefield and you are about to be crowned. Let me put the laurels of a hero on your head. Lay down your burden and be at peace. Everything is over. Thank you...
No! Don't go! Let him stay! Who took him? None of us. A stranger.
A hero took him. I am unworthy. I am ashamed. I....
...Oh, Elbereth! So bright.
Down there, the little flames. I rise. Be blessed and find peace and remain heroes to the end all the three of you...*
Sam stared at Gollum in amazement. Why had he rescued Frodo? He and not Sam? For the ring? It must be for the ring. But still, Gaffer would call him slow as a snail when he heard of this...
The graves of fallen heroes had been covered in water when Anduin changed course for a while, then left it all as a great marsh. In 1980 the Nazgûls had returned to Mordor, and their King roused allies everywhere: a balrog in Moria, orcs and trolls and evil men. And spirits, homeless, restless, bodiless, desperate. Mortals who had attempted sorcery and failed, maiar who had died and yet not died, and elves who refused the west and still clung to some desperate desire left from their long lives.
Such a one was Imladviel.
Year 3019 of the Third Age (1419 in the Shire Calendar)
Sméagol led the way for his master and the fat hobbit. The master walked last, with the precious, and Sméagol thought it was perhaps not wise. Someone could attack from behind, or he could fall, he looked so tired. Such a clumsy hobbit. But Sméagol did not dare speak his mind to the fat hobbit. He was so suspicious, never trusted Sméagol, probably thought Sméagol was the most dangerous thing around. Yes, Sméagol was strong and smart and not clumsy at all. Wise of Sam to fear him. But they had the same master now.
*...precious. The Precious of the Eye. Last thing I ever saw, the Eye. Aimed an arrow. For my mother's blood. Couldn't kill the Wraith. So kill his lord. Then - everything. The red stone in mithril. My mother's gold. To Elrond. Then walk the forest in flesh. Back home. Lindál, Gladhír.
Come, precious. Who are you? A mortal. Isildur? No. Nobody I know.
Such a long time. Could be anyone.
No matter. Enemy.
Come, look at me! There is no water. No marsh. No body. There is a battlefield and you are about to be crowned. Let me put the laurels of a hero on your head. Lay down your burden and be at peace. Everything is over. Thank you...
No! Don't go! Let him stay! Who took him? None of us. A stranger.
A hero took him. I am unworthy. I am ashamed. I....
...Oh, Elbereth! So bright.
Down there, the little flames. I rise. Be blessed and find peace and remain heroes to the end all the three of you...*
Sam stared at Gollum in amazement. Why had he rescued Frodo? He and not Sam? For the ring? It must be for the ring. But still, Gaffer would call him slow as a snail when he heard of this...