Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace";
much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to
belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy
it. ^^
Kings of the Horizon--
From the final storm at Orodruin, to healing in Ithilien, to the crowning in Minas Tirith. What of the reunion of the Fellowship? How have their feelings changed since all that has happened during the War? Will things ever go back to what they were?
~ Chapter One ~
Fire was belched into the air set about with clouds of molten rock. Black flames quivered beneath the burning sky. All was afire, making the heat almost unbearable. Yet, amid all this ruin, two tiny figures knelt on a lone rock- and island on a sea of golden lava. Forehead was pressed to forehead, eyes were closed tight and their hands locked together in defiance of the wailing storm. They could hardly draw breath, for the air was clogged with smoke and sulphur. They gagged at the bitter stench of brimstone. All the while, their eyes remained shut. At least behind them there was no such hideous landscape.
The world collapsed around them. Towers split and fell, while the mountains groaned as crumbling earth dragged them down. It was then, when every skyline was shattered, that one of the figures managed to speak, his lips stumbling over the words as if they were rocks.
"It'll be alright."
His companion made no answer, but seemed to let out a sigh, leaving a shadow of breath on the poisoned air.
--
Gandalf was almost beside himself with terror. Though he had searched the mountainside of Orodruin time and time again, the eagle beneath him soaring in and out of the clouds, there was still no sign of his beloved friends. In desperation, he had tried calling for them, saying that he was here to take them to safety. He constantly berated himself for ever letting such wondrous folk into Mordor to be scarred by its evil.
"Mithrandir!"
The wizard was shaken from his reverie by his eagle's cry. His fingers dug into the golden plumage.
"Have you seen them?" he shouted, "Is there some sign, Gwahir?"
"Below us!"
Gandalf almost fell from his perch in his hurry to lean out and catch a glimpse of the hobbits. Sure as his charge's word, there they lay, their hands entwined and eyes closed. Gwahir swooped down, arching his wings back and forth to scatter the fog of smoke that almost blocked the figures from view. He lowered himself down onto the rocky ledge. Magma was licking at its edges and frothing over the lip of island. Gandalf struggled onto it, not caring if he came to harm. He bent down and ever so gently lifted the closest body and drew it close. It was Sam. No longer the stout, red- cheeked hobbit he had known. There were no wide honest eyes to greet him. If Gandalf had not hoped otherwise, he would have thought him dead. But he refused to let his mind dwell on that.
"Mithrandir, we must hurry!" he heard Gwahir's frantic cry and he knew it was true. Already, he could hear the rending of stones at the approach of yet more lava. Flames erupted close by and Gandalf quickly placed Sam on the eagle's back. Then he turned and took a faltering step towards the other limp bundle. Frodo did not stir or make a sound when he was lifted. But Gandalf did not look down into his face. He found himself at a point of absolute fear. Though even in the worst of circumstances, he had managed to keep calm in both himself and others. But now, sheer panic coursed through him. What thanks was this? For all their efforts- and great, the wizard did not doubt them to be- these two hobbits were almost lost on a burning mountain and only ever honoured in memory.
"Mithrandir!"
Gwahir was already rising as the heat became too much for him. Gandalf grabbed hold of a wing and hauled himself painfully up onto the eagle's back. As the mount rose higher, he drew the two hobbits into his lap and held them close.
"The world can be mended," he whispered, "But if we lose these heroes then we cannot find them again."
The eagle heard his words but did not respond. Instead, he wheeled back into the sky, black with ashen clouds.
--
"Victory!"
It was being sung to the blistering skies.
"Victory!"
Aragorn rose groggily to his feet, leaning heavily on the soldier beside him. There was something so peculiar about this scene. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of it all. For too many years they had fought and too many lives had been lost. And yet, as the atmosphere glowed with heat, he knew it was over. He closed his eyes. Finally.
"Aragorn! Aragorn!" came the frantic cries.
His eyes snapped open again to see both Legolas and Gimli sprinting towards him. Thanking the soldier, he allowed himself to stumble forward into their embrace. They all sighed as one, each expressing their immense relief that the other still stood. When so many fell to blade and arrow, it was almost unbelievable to find that all three were alive. Able to turn their faces to their companions and smile until their jaws ached.
"Frodo has succeeded," Legolas said quietly, to no one in particular. Gimli raised his eyes to the ragged horizon of mountains and shuddered.
"That may be so," he muttered, "He and Samwise saved us not a moment too soon. But...if they were at hand to witness the destruction of the Ring..."
"Do not speak of it, Gimli," the king snapped. He drew away and his gaze followed his companion's. "We cannot know what happened. Frodo knew all along the risk of what was to come. If he succeeded then maybe...maybe there is hope."
"There has been hope for salvation throughout much of this War," replied Legolas, "And at last it has been granted. Now we must send our blessing to wherever our friends are now."
They made to turn but found that none of them could take their eyes away. For a vast eagle had appeared over the highest peak, shining like a sliver of fallen sunlight against the darkness.
"Gandalf returns!" Aragorn cried in delight.
He leapt forward, now heedless of his wounds, and sprinted faster than he thought himself able, crying the wizard's name all the while. The great bird drew lower and the men scattered away to allow it landing space. But Gwahir's wings could not keep Aragorn at bay. He reached Gandalf's side the moment the claws had sunk into the earth. By the position of his companion, he was ready to be disappointed.
"You did not find them?" he asked in a small voice. But it appeared that Gandalf ignored this statement because he merely said, a little breathlessly,
"Take Samwise. I will bear Frodo. We must tend to them immediately."
A sad broken bundle was passed down into Aragorn's arms. And, with Legolas and Gimli running up behind him, all three stared down in wonder at the grime-smeared face of their beloved Sam.
~
I'm not really a pyromaniac, just a little preoccupied. Hope you enjoyed it and that you will read further!
Kings of the Horizon--
From the final storm at Orodruin, to healing in Ithilien, to the crowning in Minas Tirith. What of the reunion of the Fellowship? How have their feelings changed since all that has happened during the War? Will things ever go back to what they were?
~ Chapter One ~
Fire was belched into the air set about with clouds of molten rock. Black flames quivered beneath the burning sky. All was afire, making the heat almost unbearable. Yet, amid all this ruin, two tiny figures knelt on a lone rock- and island on a sea of golden lava. Forehead was pressed to forehead, eyes were closed tight and their hands locked together in defiance of the wailing storm. They could hardly draw breath, for the air was clogged with smoke and sulphur. They gagged at the bitter stench of brimstone. All the while, their eyes remained shut. At least behind them there was no such hideous landscape.
The world collapsed around them. Towers split and fell, while the mountains groaned as crumbling earth dragged them down. It was then, when every skyline was shattered, that one of the figures managed to speak, his lips stumbling over the words as if they were rocks.
"It'll be alright."
His companion made no answer, but seemed to let out a sigh, leaving a shadow of breath on the poisoned air.
--
Gandalf was almost beside himself with terror. Though he had searched the mountainside of Orodruin time and time again, the eagle beneath him soaring in and out of the clouds, there was still no sign of his beloved friends. In desperation, he had tried calling for them, saying that he was here to take them to safety. He constantly berated himself for ever letting such wondrous folk into Mordor to be scarred by its evil.
"Mithrandir!"
The wizard was shaken from his reverie by his eagle's cry. His fingers dug into the golden plumage.
"Have you seen them?" he shouted, "Is there some sign, Gwahir?"
"Below us!"
Gandalf almost fell from his perch in his hurry to lean out and catch a glimpse of the hobbits. Sure as his charge's word, there they lay, their hands entwined and eyes closed. Gwahir swooped down, arching his wings back and forth to scatter the fog of smoke that almost blocked the figures from view. He lowered himself down onto the rocky ledge. Magma was licking at its edges and frothing over the lip of island. Gandalf struggled onto it, not caring if he came to harm. He bent down and ever so gently lifted the closest body and drew it close. It was Sam. No longer the stout, red- cheeked hobbit he had known. There were no wide honest eyes to greet him. If Gandalf had not hoped otherwise, he would have thought him dead. But he refused to let his mind dwell on that.
"Mithrandir, we must hurry!" he heard Gwahir's frantic cry and he knew it was true. Already, he could hear the rending of stones at the approach of yet more lava. Flames erupted close by and Gandalf quickly placed Sam on the eagle's back. Then he turned and took a faltering step towards the other limp bundle. Frodo did not stir or make a sound when he was lifted. But Gandalf did not look down into his face. He found himself at a point of absolute fear. Though even in the worst of circumstances, he had managed to keep calm in both himself and others. But now, sheer panic coursed through him. What thanks was this? For all their efforts- and great, the wizard did not doubt them to be- these two hobbits were almost lost on a burning mountain and only ever honoured in memory.
"Mithrandir!"
Gwahir was already rising as the heat became too much for him. Gandalf grabbed hold of a wing and hauled himself painfully up onto the eagle's back. As the mount rose higher, he drew the two hobbits into his lap and held them close.
"The world can be mended," he whispered, "But if we lose these heroes then we cannot find them again."
The eagle heard his words but did not respond. Instead, he wheeled back into the sky, black with ashen clouds.
--
"Victory!"
It was being sung to the blistering skies.
"Victory!"
Aragorn rose groggily to his feet, leaning heavily on the soldier beside him. There was something so peculiar about this scene. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of it all. For too many years they had fought and too many lives had been lost. And yet, as the atmosphere glowed with heat, he knew it was over. He closed his eyes. Finally.
"Aragorn! Aragorn!" came the frantic cries.
His eyes snapped open again to see both Legolas and Gimli sprinting towards him. Thanking the soldier, he allowed himself to stumble forward into their embrace. They all sighed as one, each expressing their immense relief that the other still stood. When so many fell to blade and arrow, it was almost unbelievable to find that all three were alive. Able to turn their faces to their companions and smile until their jaws ached.
"Frodo has succeeded," Legolas said quietly, to no one in particular. Gimli raised his eyes to the ragged horizon of mountains and shuddered.
"That may be so," he muttered, "He and Samwise saved us not a moment too soon. But...if they were at hand to witness the destruction of the Ring..."
"Do not speak of it, Gimli," the king snapped. He drew away and his gaze followed his companion's. "We cannot know what happened. Frodo knew all along the risk of what was to come. If he succeeded then maybe...maybe there is hope."
"There has been hope for salvation throughout much of this War," replied Legolas, "And at last it has been granted. Now we must send our blessing to wherever our friends are now."
They made to turn but found that none of them could take their eyes away. For a vast eagle had appeared over the highest peak, shining like a sliver of fallen sunlight against the darkness.
"Gandalf returns!" Aragorn cried in delight.
He leapt forward, now heedless of his wounds, and sprinted faster than he thought himself able, crying the wizard's name all the while. The great bird drew lower and the men scattered away to allow it landing space. But Gwahir's wings could not keep Aragorn at bay. He reached Gandalf's side the moment the claws had sunk into the earth. By the position of his companion, he was ready to be disappointed.
"You did not find them?" he asked in a small voice. But it appeared that Gandalf ignored this statement because he merely said, a little breathlessly,
"Take Samwise. I will bear Frodo. We must tend to them immediately."
A sad broken bundle was passed down into Aragorn's arms. And, with Legolas and Gimli running up behind him, all three stared down in wonder at the grime-smeared face of their beloved Sam.
~
I'm not really a pyromaniac, just a little preoccupied. Hope you enjoyed it and that you will read further!