Depression has taken on new meaning for me. I never imagined that
something like this would happen to me, Frodo Baggins of Bag End. But it
has. And I cannot imagine anything being harder.
I am not actually speaking of the Ring, though that in itself is agonizing. I am speaking of my infatuation with Aragorn. I thought that I could let go, simply will my feelings away. But apparently not. This....crush, I shall call it, rears its head everytime his eyes meet mine. I can't seem to control myself.
The snow of Caradhras does not feel cold to my feet. At least, not much. Hobbit feet are tough things, and mine are no different. But ice has gathered on my lashes and snow in my hair. I am cold all over, and the snow and ice that touches my skin melts into cold water and dampens my skin, causing me to shiver in the icy wind.
I have fallen to the back of the group, so tired am I. Aragorn, as always, walks behind me. It is a sunny day, but the sun seems somehow cold and thin in the vibrant sapphire sky. The rays of its light do nothing to warm me.
But I endure, climbing the ridge after Boromir, struggling to lift each foot out of the icy snow that clutches at it, making each step a difficulty.
When I fall, Aragorn is there to catch me. The first thing I feel is the lack of the Ring. My hand frantically reaches inside my shirt of its own accord, searching for the chain that secures the Ring around my neck. It's gone.
Its chain reflects the sun as a dull gold where it lies against the snow. It lies next to Boromir, and I can feel it trying to abandon me. Its powers are like acid, corroding the hearts of even the strongest. And Boromir is no exception.
He lifts it by its chain, his eyes always fixated on its dull sheen.
"Boromir," Aragorn, my protector as always.
"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing." It is drawing him in, tempting him. And even as I watch this, a small part of me is jealous. It screams, 'Give me back what is mine!' And it reminds me sharply of Gollum. If I give in to that voice, then I will become him.
"Boromir. Give Frodo the Ring." One of his hands lies unobtrusively on my shoulder. But I feel its loss greatly when it reaches for his sword.
"As you wish. I care not." Boromir holds the Ring at a distance from his body. And through his bravado, I can see the paling of his face. He knows as well as I how close it came to seducing him. I snatch it from him quickly, as much out of my need for it as for my fear of his falling to it.
I almost chuckle when I place the Ring back around my neck. I can feel it raging that its plans have been foiled. So there. It can't get rid of me that easily.
***
Winds whip at us for all directions, and for once, my short stature is of an advantage against the howling wind. I don't have it as hard as Boromir, Aragorn and Gandalf. Legolas, however, seems entirely untroubled by it, bounding across the snow as he is.
Legolas' keen elf ears pick up something. "There is a fell voice on the wind!" He shouts to be heard. Snow swirls at us from all angles, and I am no longer sure which way is which.
"It's Saruman!" Gandalf calls back. He begins chanting, and then fear clutches at my heart, and I press into Aragorn as a large amount of snow and rocks break loose and come tumbling down the mountain towards us.
I think in that moment that I am going to die. I will be swept off the mountain as easily as a speck of dust and I will be powerless as I fall, looking up at the others.
It is even more frightening when I am buried under the mountains of icy snow. It is everywhere, and I cannot breathe. Only the steady proximity of Aragorn calms me. He still has not left my side, despite the small avalanche Saruman has brought on us.
Relief washes over me in waves when my hand breaks the icy crust. "We must go back!" Aragorn says.
They argue for a few moments about the road we are to take, and then, courtesy of Gandalf, the weight of the decision comes to rest on me. "We will go through the mines of Moria," I say, without much hesitation. I have no desire to see the Gap of Rohan or pass any closer to Mordor than necessary. I know that eventually it will be inevitable, but I will delay that particular horror as long as I can.
Gandalf looks defeated, like I have made the wrong choice. I wish I had not decided on Moria, despite Gimli's enthusiasm. Because the look on Gandalf's face tells me that there is more to Moria than what I have been told.
***
We're back-tracking now. It's rather unpleasant to know that all the hard work of climbing this forsaken mountain was for nothing, and has now the added exertion of getting back down.
I wish I knew why Aragorn doesn't want me. Even thinking that to myself sounds rather egotistical. Like I can't understand why he wouldn't want me. He is sending me so many mixed signals, I hardly even know which way is up anymore. I simply don't understand, and I am sensing that it would be folly to approach him now.
It's his watch, but I do not sleep. Instead, I am watching him watching me. He thinks I am asleep, but I have slitted my eyelids to make them appear closed. And this is how I can observe the lustful way that his eyes fixate on me. Alone, with no one to watch, or at least, not that he knows of, his emotions show easily on his face.
What I see there only confuses me more. There is affection in those eyes, and longing. Want, for certain. And dismay. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
After a time, my body betrays me, and I fall asleep for real, with Aragorn being the last thing I see before sleep takes me.
***
Moria. Dark and fearful. I wish I had never chosen this route. The darkness is infecting me, because it is not that of the clear, clean night, where there are no walls or fences to bind us. No, here the darkness is filled with the smell of stale air, and the walls are a presence all around us. In the dark, it almost seems as if they are closing in on us.
I am not the only one shaken by this lightless existance. The others feel it too, especially Legolas. Merry and Pippin often sit up long after Gandalf has extinguished the light from his staff. And I sometimes see Aragorn or Boromir sitting on a rock and staring out into the darkness when we take breaks. They are worried, as am I, that something else is caged in here with us, and we've got no place to run to.
At times like this, I wonder what would happen if something were to strike me down in the darkness, and I should not survive this day. Or the next. When left alone with nothing but my thoughts, they often turn to paranoia and morbidity.
I am not actually speaking of the Ring, though that in itself is agonizing. I am speaking of my infatuation with Aragorn. I thought that I could let go, simply will my feelings away. But apparently not. This....crush, I shall call it, rears its head everytime his eyes meet mine. I can't seem to control myself.
The snow of Caradhras does not feel cold to my feet. At least, not much. Hobbit feet are tough things, and mine are no different. But ice has gathered on my lashes and snow in my hair. I am cold all over, and the snow and ice that touches my skin melts into cold water and dampens my skin, causing me to shiver in the icy wind.
I have fallen to the back of the group, so tired am I. Aragorn, as always, walks behind me. It is a sunny day, but the sun seems somehow cold and thin in the vibrant sapphire sky. The rays of its light do nothing to warm me.
But I endure, climbing the ridge after Boromir, struggling to lift each foot out of the icy snow that clutches at it, making each step a difficulty.
When I fall, Aragorn is there to catch me. The first thing I feel is the lack of the Ring. My hand frantically reaches inside my shirt of its own accord, searching for the chain that secures the Ring around my neck. It's gone.
Its chain reflects the sun as a dull gold where it lies against the snow. It lies next to Boromir, and I can feel it trying to abandon me. Its powers are like acid, corroding the hearts of even the strongest. And Boromir is no exception.
He lifts it by its chain, his eyes always fixated on its dull sheen.
"Boromir," Aragorn, my protector as always.
"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing." It is drawing him in, tempting him. And even as I watch this, a small part of me is jealous. It screams, 'Give me back what is mine!' And it reminds me sharply of Gollum. If I give in to that voice, then I will become him.
"Boromir. Give Frodo the Ring." One of his hands lies unobtrusively on my shoulder. But I feel its loss greatly when it reaches for his sword.
"As you wish. I care not." Boromir holds the Ring at a distance from his body. And through his bravado, I can see the paling of his face. He knows as well as I how close it came to seducing him. I snatch it from him quickly, as much out of my need for it as for my fear of his falling to it.
I almost chuckle when I place the Ring back around my neck. I can feel it raging that its plans have been foiled. So there. It can't get rid of me that easily.
***
Winds whip at us for all directions, and for once, my short stature is of an advantage against the howling wind. I don't have it as hard as Boromir, Aragorn and Gandalf. Legolas, however, seems entirely untroubled by it, bounding across the snow as he is.
Legolas' keen elf ears pick up something. "There is a fell voice on the wind!" He shouts to be heard. Snow swirls at us from all angles, and I am no longer sure which way is which.
"It's Saruman!" Gandalf calls back. He begins chanting, and then fear clutches at my heart, and I press into Aragorn as a large amount of snow and rocks break loose and come tumbling down the mountain towards us.
I think in that moment that I am going to die. I will be swept off the mountain as easily as a speck of dust and I will be powerless as I fall, looking up at the others.
It is even more frightening when I am buried under the mountains of icy snow. It is everywhere, and I cannot breathe. Only the steady proximity of Aragorn calms me. He still has not left my side, despite the small avalanche Saruman has brought on us.
Relief washes over me in waves when my hand breaks the icy crust. "We must go back!" Aragorn says.
They argue for a few moments about the road we are to take, and then, courtesy of Gandalf, the weight of the decision comes to rest on me. "We will go through the mines of Moria," I say, without much hesitation. I have no desire to see the Gap of Rohan or pass any closer to Mordor than necessary. I know that eventually it will be inevitable, but I will delay that particular horror as long as I can.
Gandalf looks defeated, like I have made the wrong choice. I wish I had not decided on Moria, despite Gimli's enthusiasm. Because the look on Gandalf's face tells me that there is more to Moria than what I have been told.
***
We're back-tracking now. It's rather unpleasant to know that all the hard work of climbing this forsaken mountain was for nothing, and has now the added exertion of getting back down.
I wish I knew why Aragorn doesn't want me. Even thinking that to myself sounds rather egotistical. Like I can't understand why he wouldn't want me. He is sending me so many mixed signals, I hardly even know which way is up anymore. I simply don't understand, and I am sensing that it would be folly to approach him now.
It's his watch, but I do not sleep. Instead, I am watching him watching me. He thinks I am asleep, but I have slitted my eyelids to make them appear closed. And this is how I can observe the lustful way that his eyes fixate on me. Alone, with no one to watch, or at least, not that he knows of, his emotions show easily on his face.
What I see there only confuses me more. There is affection in those eyes, and longing. Want, for certain. And dismay. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
After a time, my body betrays me, and I fall asleep for real, with Aragorn being the last thing I see before sleep takes me.
***
Moria. Dark and fearful. I wish I had never chosen this route. The darkness is infecting me, because it is not that of the clear, clean night, where there are no walls or fences to bind us. No, here the darkness is filled with the smell of stale air, and the walls are a presence all around us. In the dark, it almost seems as if they are closing in on us.
I am not the only one shaken by this lightless existance. The others feel it too, especially Legolas. Merry and Pippin often sit up long after Gandalf has extinguished the light from his staff. And I sometimes see Aragorn or Boromir sitting on a rock and staring out into the darkness when we take breaks. They are worried, as am I, that something else is caged in here with us, and we've got no place to run to.
At times like this, I wonder what would happen if something were to strike me down in the darkness, and I should not survive this day. Or the next. When left alone with nothing but my thoughts, they often turn to paranoia and morbidity.