Disclaimer: AU Story. My second large fic because it gave me so much
pleasure writing the last. I do not own any of the characters or places in
this story- both belong to the genius, Tolkien. I know; I torture the
characters but I will do my very best to save them. Hope you enjoy!
Trials of Lórien--
The sequel to Lost in Moria. So much doubt comes with the loss of Gandalf. Would the Fellowship manage to pull itself together again? Would they be able to overcome their despair? And will anything ever be the same after all that they have seen in the shadows of the world?
~ Chapter One ~
"Lothlórien!" cried Legolas. "Lothlórien! We have come to the eaves of the Golden Wood."
"Look, Mister Frodo! All them malorn trees that Mister Bilbo told us about. It really is beautiful, isn't it?" Sam said softly, taking Frodo's arm. But his master did not reply. His silence was frightening. So far, Samwise had always been able to depend on Frodo to be there for him. To tell him things would be alright. But now he would not speak. Not to anyone. Aragorn had told him that Frodo would need to time to get over it-, as did they all- but this was almost too much. Sam felt that in some way he was to blame for his master's grief. He could not see how but he was upset to think that he had hurt Frodo in some way or another.
Legolas felt a thrill at the sight of the woodland. But he felt guilty because of it. He should not feel so happy when such terror had just befallen the company. He felt ashamed at his outburst now and was quiet from then on. But no one seemed to notice as they walked in under the canopy. The calm of Lórien filled them with peace. Such silence. Such beauty. They had not felt like this in days. How long had they spent watching the shadows? How many days was it since they had slept without waking to the sound of screams and cries? It felt like a lifetime to them.
"I bet Gandalf would have loved this," Pippin said dreamily, without really thinking. Merry gave him a reprimanding glare. The hobbit bit his lip, looking apologetically towards Frodo. But his eyes were cast to the ground and they could tell from his face that he was trying not to cry. Pippin had never seen someone cry so much as Frodo had at the Dimrill Dale. Though they had not rested long. Frodo had wept. After all the hardships of Moria, only to lose Gandalf. No, Pippin had never seen anyone cry like that.
The night sky glowed overhead, the stars like embers caught in its dark net. Aragorn lead the way forward.
"We are still more than five leagues from the Gates but we may only go on a short way. We all need some rest," he said. He was weary with fatigue and sorrow. His legs were telling him that he had walked a hundred miles and a weight bore down on him like lead. But he struggled on, working his way through the underbrush. They all walked for about a mile before they came to a stream. It shimmered at their feet, like a palely lit road.
"Nimrodel," breathed Legolas. And the name filled the hobbits with wonder. They gazed at it rippling before them, watching it lap at the smooth grey shores. "Come, friends," Legolas went on, "Let us bathe our feet for it is said to heal the weary."
The Fellowship stepped into the cool waters and felt loads lifted from them. They stood for some time, immersed in moonlight, letting their aches wash away with the current. Then, they waded across to the opposite bank and Aragorn let them rest there. But Frodo stood for a while on his own, seemingly oblivious to the world around. He was listening to the voice of the river. It sang to him in gentle tones. It felt empathy for him and said it wished to ease his suffering.
"Let me take you away. Come, follow me and I will take you to your quest's end. Then all will be done. The wizard will come to you, yet. Come, come and follow me."
Frodo looked downstream. The Nimrodel coiled on like a snake through the woodland, like a woman running out, her hair trailing behind her. She coaxed and called to him.
"Frodo," she whispered, "There is still hope. Follow my path and I can lead you to the end. It shall all be over. Gandalf is there. He is waiting for you there. Come. Do not fear. All will be well. Your friends will be safe here and when your task is done, I will bring you back here. Follow me."
"Mister Frodo?"
But Frodo was too far gone. He began to walk downstream, following the curving course of the river. It could all come to an end! And Gandalf was there! Oh, the others would be so happy!
"Frodo! Where are you going?"
He walked on, feeling the cold numb his legs. The soft voice sang on, her words filling him with joy. He felt someone touch his arm. He ignored it and went on. A hand took his, gently. But he walked on. There was splashing and voices. People calling his name. But Nimrodel's soothing tones drowned out everything. He walked along the starlit walkway, feeling as if he was melting away. It was so easy, he thought. And how fortunate for him that at last someone knew how he felt. Could say all the right things to him. But there was pressure on his arms now, hauling him backwards, preventing him from going on. Didn't they understand? He wanted to see Gandalf again! He needed to end his quest!
"Frodo, it's alright! It's us! It's your friends!"
"No, let me go! I need to finish the quest!" he hissed. But someone had picked him up and was taking him away from the river. Her voice kept calling to him.
"Please, Frodo. Gandalf wants to see you! He wants to see you destroy the Ring!"
The Ring? Frodo felt everything coming back to him. The voice of the Nimrodel faded to a whisper and then it had gone entirely. And he was looking at the stream over Boromir's shoulder. Reality came crashing down around him. The quest was not to be ended. Gandalf was gone. All hope was lost. He closed his eyes and felt the pain throbbing in his heart. But he could no longer cry. His eyes were dry of tears. Frodo was lifted down and placed back on the bank. He saw Sam at his side and he reached out, clutching his friend, willing it not to be real.
"The river spoke to me, Sam. It said that everything would be alright. It said that Gandalf was there. But it's not. It's real and it all happened."
Sam held him tightly, gazing up fearfully at Aragorn. They had watched Frodo walk down the stream and they had seen the wild desperation in his eyes. So determined. But now it was gone and all that was left was despair.
"Oh, Sam. I'd give anything for it not to be true," he heard Frodo gasp, "I cannot go on like this."
Trials of Lórien--
The sequel to Lost in Moria. So much doubt comes with the loss of Gandalf. Would the Fellowship manage to pull itself together again? Would they be able to overcome their despair? And will anything ever be the same after all that they have seen in the shadows of the world?
~ Chapter One ~
"Lothlórien!" cried Legolas. "Lothlórien! We have come to the eaves of the Golden Wood."
"Look, Mister Frodo! All them malorn trees that Mister Bilbo told us about. It really is beautiful, isn't it?" Sam said softly, taking Frodo's arm. But his master did not reply. His silence was frightening. So far, Samwise had always been able to depend on Frodo to be there for him. To tell him things would be alright. But now he would not speak. Not to anyone. Aragorn had told him that Frodo would need to time to get over it-, as did they all- but this was almost too much. Sam felt that in some way he was to blame for his master's grief. He could not see how but he was upset to think that he had hurt Frodo in some way or another.
Legolas felt a thrill at the sight of the woodland. But he felt guilty because of it. He should not feel so happy when such terror had just befallen the company. He felt ashamed at his outburst now and was quiet from then on. But no one seemed to notice as they walked in under the canopy. The calm of Lórien filled them with peace. Such silence. Such beauty. They had not felt like this in days. How long had they spent watching the shadows? How many days was it since they had slept without waking to the sound of screams and cries? It felt like a lifetime to them.
"I bet Gandalf would have loved this," Pippin said dreamily, without really thinking. Merry gave him a reprimanding glare. The hobbit bit his lip, looking apologetically towards Frodo. But his eyes were cast to the ground and they could tell from his face that he was trying not to cry. Pippin had never seen someone cry so much as Frodo had at the Dimrill Dale. Though they had not rested long. Frodo had wept. After all the hardships of Moria, only to lose Gandalf. No, Pippin had never seen anyone cry like that.
The night sky glowed overhead, the stars like embers caught in its dark net. Aragorn lead the way forward.
"We are still more than five leagues from the Gates but we may only go on a short way. We all need some rest," he said. He was weary with fatigue and sorrow. His legs were telling him that he had walked a hundred miles and a weight bore down on him like lead. But he struggled on, working his way through the underbrush. They all walked for about a mile before they came to a stream. It shimmered at their feet, like a palely lit road.
"Nimrodel," breathed Legolas. And the name filled the hobbits with wonder. They gazed at it rippling before them, watching it lap at the smooth grey shores. "Come, friends," Legolas went on, "Let us bathe our feet for it is said to heal the weary."
The Fellowship stepped into the cool waters and felt loads lifted from them. They stood for some time, immersed in moonlight, letting their aches wash away with the current. Then, they waded across to the opposite bank and Aragorn let them rest there. But Frodo stood for a while on his own, seemingly oblivious to the world around. He was listening to the voice of the river. It sang to him in gentle tones. It felt empathy for him and said it wished to ease his suffering.
"Let me take you away. Come, follow me and I will take you to your quest's end. Then all will be done. The wizard will come to you, yet. Come, come and follow me."
Frodo looked downstream. The Nimrodel coiled on like a snake through the woodland, like a woman running out, her hair trailing behind her. She coaxed and called to him.
"Frodo," she whispered, "There is still hope. Follow my path and I can lead you to the end. It shall all be over. Gandalf is there. He is waiting for you there. Come. Do not fear. All will be well. Your friends will be safe here and when your task is done, I will bring you back here. Follow me."
"Mister Frodo?"
But Frodo was too far gone. He began to walk downstream, following the curving course of the river. It could all come to an end! And Gandalf was there! Oh, the others would be so happy!
"Frodo! Where are you going?"
He walked on, feeling the cold numb his legs. The soft voice sang on, her words filling him with joy. He felt someone touch his arm. He ignored it and went on. A hand took his, gently. But he walked on. There was splashing and voices. People calling his name. But Nimrodel's soothing tones drowned out everything. He walked along the starlit walkway, feeling as if he was melting away. It was so easy, he thought. And how fortunate for him that at last someone knew how he felt. Could say all the right things to him. But there was pressure on his arms now, hauling him backwards, preventing him from going on. Didn't they understand? He wanted to see Gandalf again! He needed to end his quest!
"Frodo, it's alright! It's us! It's your friends!"
"No, let me go! I need to finish the quest!" he hissed. But someone had picked him up and was taking him away from the river. Her voice kept calling to him.
"Please, Frodo. Gandalf wants to see you! He wants to see you destroy the Ring!"
The Ring? Frodo felt everything coming back to him. The voice of the Nimrodel faded to a whisper and then it had gone entirely. And he was looking at the stream over Boromir's shoulder. Reality came crashing down around him. The quest was not to be ended. Gandalf was gone. All hope was lost. He closed his eyes and felt the pain throbbing in his heart. But he could no longer cry. His eyes were dry of tears. Frodo was lifted down and placed back on the bank. He saw Sam at his side and he reached out, clutching his friend, willing it not to be real.
"The river spoke to me, Sam. It said that everything would be alright. It said that Gandalf was there. But it's not. It's real and it all happened."
Sam held him tightly, gazing up fearfully at Aragorn. They had watched Frodo walk down the stream and they had seen the wild desperation in his eyes. So determined. But now it was gone and all that was left was despair.
"Oh, Sam. I'd give anything for it not to be true," he heard Frodo gasp, "I cannot go on like this."