The Rape of Arnor
Genre: General/ Angst
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing! It's not mine! Please don't sue me!
Author's Note: After months of toiling with this less-than-900-words-drabble, I must give my heartiest thanks (and possibly my soul), to Jova (appl3sauce...go read her stuff) for getting me out of an all-to-long writiers block in the time span of two days. You rock my socks all the way to Japan.
Dedication: Jake 'Snabbval' Trulli, and Brian 'I-am-not-a-pepsi-bottle' Trulli. I know that, even if you are shipped away to Chicago, ne'er to live here again, that all three of us will be ok. It won't be easy, but we'll all be fine.
I dug my toes into the black earth beneath me, a way for me to engrain the fact that I was actually back in the Shire into my mind and heart. The dirt crumbled and felt cool on my travel-weary feet, and I glanced down. Next to my foot, a small plant had pushed its way up through the ebony soil. It was frail looking and meager, clinging onto feeble rays of sunlight and almost non-existent rainfall to sustain itself. It lay in the ground, twisted and trampled-upon, it's tips gone brown from lack of water.
It looked utterly defeated. A lone piece of carrion.
It looked much the same as I felt.
When the four of us had returned, no one knew what to expect. I recall how, upon arriving in Hobbiton, I studied the landscape for some sort of clue as to how the disorder and evil here had started, but I found nothing. The once green Shire had turned a lifeless brown, and black smoke curled into the sky like a twisting finger, polluting the air. Hills were worn down, rivers had been transformed into thin lines of murky water, and trees were now reduced to nothing but stumps. Hobbiton had been turned into a testimony of evil, days of green and blue now but bitter, distant memories to the hobbits who lived there.
It was not only Hobbiton that had fallen to this fate. The whole of the Shire was a black wasteland, along with the lands surrounding it. Everywhere had been pillaged, burnt, and killed. It was a corrupt force brought to my doorstep that I believed I could no longer stop. It was the one fate I wish had never befallen my kinsmen and my home. It was the Rape of Arnor, and it seemed that there was nothing I, nor anyone else, could do to stop it.
But it was stopped; though by luck, miracle, or some mixture of both, I don't know. The ruffians were cleared out, families were reunited. But some cuts run too deep; some scars never fully heal. The darkness had been brought right to our very doorstep, and for the rest of our lives, that thought would plague us. How could any of us be the same?
I sat next to the small plant, and lifted its tip gingerly off the ground. This plant, too, had been saved by luck. In fact, I was surprised at the fact that it still existed, in the state it was. . . But it was alive. Struggling, but alive.
But why, though? I wondered. It was just a speck of green in a great mound of wasteland. What did this little plant have to live for, that made it struggle every minute for another breath of air, another drop of water?
My thoughts were interrupted, however, with the arrival of Samwise Gamgee. He sat next to me, and after a small glance at the earth around us, he asked, "What's that you got there, Mr. Merry?"
I paused for a moment. I wasn't really too sure what to tell Sam, so I said, "You being the gardener extraordinaire, look at this and tell me what you see" Sam laughed at the comment on his gardening skills and crouched next to the little plant, inspecting it carefully.
"It's just a little weed, Mr. Merry," Sam observed. "A dandelion, I'd guess. But it looks like it's got naught left in it to live. To dry and black, this place was, for even a plant so small to live."
I nodded absentmindedly and looked into the streets as another silence drifted in. I watched as a pair of lads hauled some wooden planks by us; they were on their way to rebuild some other part of Hobbiton that had been brought to ruin while it had been terrorized by the ruffians.
"Does it have another chance, Sam?" I asked suddenly. I was referring to everything: The little plant at my feet. . . The Shire. . .Myself. . . All those who had to see what they cherished the most destroyed by the ruffians. . . Was there another chance for life in this world for us?
"Oh, sure!" Sam responded promptly, "'Where there's life, there's hope; and a need for vittles,' as my Gaffer used to say. If you struggle hard enough for something and put plenty of care into it, everything will be fine in the end."
He left soon afterwards, leaving me deep in thought. Maybe he was right. . . If we all worked hard enough, the Shire could be brought back to its original beauty; everything would be as it used to be. . .
I pulled my canteen from my pack and shook it slightly. There were still some drops left inside it. Then I bent down, canteen in hand, and gently poured some water over the small plant. The soil absorbed the moisture, and went black. Already, the delicate leaves looked greener in the sunlight.
The plant had another chance at life, at happiness. A renewed spirit.
And in my heart, I knew it was the same way for the Shire. . . and for me.
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