Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Nine
Author: Katharine the Great
Summary: If you've been reading, you know the drill.
Notes: This is now completely A/U, and has elements of the books and the movies within.
Disclaimer: Some of this story is quoted directly from the trilogy itself. I will note these excerpts with italics, so pay attention and don't sue me for plagiarism! I wouldn't dream of such an offense against the great JRR!!
Further notes: My resources for Elvish include: the LOTR trilogy, The Silmarillion, The Complete Guide to Middle-earth by Robert Foster, the LOTR movie soundtrack's lyric booklet, and the Ardalambion website.
Replies to reviews:
Staggering Wood-elf: Hi, and welcome back! I'm glad you like "The Silmarillion" as much as I do. It's so great! And you think you've set up camp? Ha! Producing this fic has become a full time job! :) Enjoy!
AJ Matthews: That's better. Although I suggest you get a squeeze toy to massacre when you feel the urge to chew your nails, because I get the feeling you're going to want to bite your whole fingers off when you read the end of this chapter…and the next one…(evil cackle) Enjoy! :)
Salak: Hey there, and welcome! So glad you're enjoying, and Francine says she can't wait either! Enjoy! :)
ArtemisPrime: Hello, and may I say that your pen name is intriguing? It is! Thank you for your kind comments about my work. Also, I know EXACTLY what you mean when you say you aren't sure about Lelemir…I would feel the same. I promise, she does have a unique and special purpose for existing, and she will not just become a self-insertion ploy or "feminazi-girl power" tool! As for your curiosity, wait and see what I and my bunny shall do…hee hee hee…:) Enjoy!
Treehugger: Welcome back! I just want to say thank you SO much for your detailed chapter-by-chapter reviews…they are muchly appreciated! I am so glad you like my story and its individual components. Prepare to be WOWed again as I delve deeper into the terrible realm of my Plotbunny's evil and sadistic mind! (evil snicker) :) I'm glad you've caught up! Enjoy!
And now, on to the tale…
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Frodo and his fellow hobbits gathered together with Aragorn and Boromir ere the first beams of dawn slipped over the horizon. They were all of them furnished with fresh supplies and clean Elven-cloaks, as commanded by Lord Celeborn. Gandalf was present as well, for he wished to walk with them as far as the bank of the Silverlode River. There they would at last part ways, with the Renewed Fellowship continuing on toward Mordor and Gandalf departing on errands unknown.
"If the condition of the world had allowed it, I would have gone on with you to Mordor," Gandalf told them solemnly, casting a piercing gaze over the six before him. "For now you are to be but eight of nine, and there is much peril laid out before you. However I must do what is needed in other parts of the land. I have faith that you will not fail in your mission if you remain true to it. Now I shall give you a gift, Frodo, one that is not lightly given and should not be used in vain."
The wizard drew from within his white robes a small brown cocoon that was inscribed with delicate gold whorls. It seemed tiny and ordinary between Gandalf's fingers. Kneeling, he placed it in Frodo's palm and closed the hobbit's hand around it. "This is an item of great value, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf told him with a serious look. "Place it in the safest pocket you wear. Pay heed; do not allow it to fall by the wayside!"
The cocoon felt warm in Frodo's hand. "What is it, Gandalf?" he asked.
"It is a laurëquéndi, a Golden Speaker," Gandalf said softly. "If ever you are faced by a danger insurmountable, from which there can be no retreat and against which you can achieve no victory, then speak the words that I shall give you. This very same cocoon shall thereafter cease to be dormant, and shall yield a singular creature whose sole purpose is to observe and give testimony to the one who commands its loyalty." As Gandalf spoke, he seemed to grow brighter and more ancient. For just an instant, Frodo glimpsed an inkling of the elemental power contained within the wizard's white-robed frame, and it amazed him so that he could not speak. Gandalf continued, "If you should loose it, Frodo, it will return to me in order that I might send what help I can to you. But do this only at the hour of greatest need, for the laurëquéndi's gift is given but once before its life is sapped by the energy it expends in its task."
Frodo felt a lump growing in his throat, and for several minutes he stood wordless. Finally he found the breath to speak, and he whispered, "Thank you, Gandalf. I shall cherish it." With that, he carefully placed the cocoon into the inner pocket of his vest.
Gandalf laid one hand over the pocket and the cocoon therein. "Repeat these words, Frodo, and commit them to memory. Take care not to say them after I have removed my hand, or the creature will wake and die without purpose. The words are these: Utulie'n mornië, Mithrandir. Say them now, and take them to heart."
Frodo repeated the words until Gandalf was satisfied and removed the hand of silence from the cocoon. He knew that Mithrandir was the Elves' name for Gandalf, and it meant "Gray Wanderer." The other words were strange to him, and he asked as to their meaning. "The words mean, 'the night has come,'" the wizard answered. "Be sure to save this gift for a time of deepest distress, Frodo. I promise I shall send whatever aid I may to your side as soon as I hear the voice of the laurëquéndi."
"Thank you, Gandalf," Frodo said. He tried his best to keep his tears back. "As long as I carry this, I will feel as though you walk with me still, even when you have gone."
The wizard smiled and stood once more, regarding Frodo with a twinkle in his eye. "Ah, Frodo my lad, you and your kin never cease to amaze even one so old as I am. To think that four hobbits would accept such a task with as much grace and hardiness of spirit as you have! It has never been conceived of, and I daresay its like will never be witnessed upon these shores again."
Pippin sniffed a little. "Will we see you again, Gandalf?"
The wizard chuckled and ruffled the hobbit's curly hair. "If you keep your wits about you and stay by Aragorn's side, Peregrin, I believe you may. Just don't go off on some foolish Took caper!"
"Look!" Merry exclaimed suddenly. "The Elves are coming!"
As he spoke, a small contingent of Elven folk appeared from the trees around them. The Sun's fiery disc had risen partway, and the mallorn leaves twinkled in the golden rays. The Elves approached silently, with not even a footfall to announce their arrival, and as they drew nearer their faces became apparent.
To one side was Lelemir, whose transformation from a Lady of Mirkwood to a roving Wood-elf rendered her nearly unrecognizable at first. She had exchanged her bright gowns and shining adornments for layers of tunic and leggings very much like Legolas had worn, except that hers were fashioned in hues of earthen-brown and morning-gray. The foremost locks of her golden hair were pulled back into a single spiraling braid nestled amid the remaining free tresses, while some stray wisps waved around her face. Strangely, she seemed as much at ease with her bow and quiver and Elven-knives as she had with her delicately wrought finery.
At the princess' left strode Alcarin of Rivendell. Frodo was again struck by the raven-haired Elf lord's stature and bearing. He towered over his companions, and yet in no way diminished their persons. He was clad in the deep forest greens of Rivendell's East Guardianship, and at his side was a mighty graven sword crafted by Elven smiths. He too bore a bow and quiver slung across his back.
"Good morning," Pippin called cheerily, forgetting for the moment about Gandalf's coming separation from them.
"A good morning it is," Alcarin replied with a broad smile. "Sunlit and greeted by the cheerful voices of young hobbits."
The Elves drew closer, and as they did so Frodo turned his attention to the third of their number. He was a familiar youthful-looking individual with flaxen hair and silent tread. He came up beside the others, and Aragorn was the first to recognize him. "Haldir!" the Dúnadan said in greeting. "What brings you from the northern watch, my friend?"
"I am sent to guide you once more to the bank of the River," Haldir replied with a smile. "The Lady felt it was appropriate that I should lead you as I did upon your last departure, and I confess I was delighted to acquiesce. My only regret is that I shall not be permitted to share a jest with your agreeable Dwarf friend along the way!"
Frodo well-remembered Gimli's negative reaction to Haldir's initial insistence that he be blindfolded for the first leg of their journey through Lórien. "I am glad you have come, Haldir," he said, smiling in return. "Gimli gave his farewells last night when he took supper with us. He wished to stand among the Elves who will gather on the bank at the juncture between the Silverlode and the Anduin in order to see us off on that last bend."
"That is well, for a marvelous gathering it shall be," Haldir said. "Come! It is time we set forth. The Daystar rises in the sky, and you are expected by the Lord and Lady."
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High noon was at hand when the travelers came at last to the lawn from whence they had set out three weeks and three days beforehand. There they found the three small gray vessels that had borne them upon the Anduin. The boats had been cleaned to their original sheen, and low arched coverlets had been attached to their sterns to serve as some shelter against Orc-arrows.
Haldir gave to each of the Renewed Fellowship a small package of lembas, the Elven waybread of sweet taste and miraculous strength-renewing properties. "From Lady Galadriel herself, to keep you in good health for as long as it endures," he said. "And now we must part ways, Elf-kindred and Elf-friends alike. May Tintallë Elentári keep you and provide for your well-being on the path laid down for you!" For Tintallë Elentári was one of the many names by which the Elves knew Varda, or Elbereth, the Queen of the Valar and Kindler of the stars so beloved by the Firstborn.
The Company said good-bye to Gandalf with much emotion, for they all felt that they had just regained him, and were now losing him again. But Frodo pressed a hand to the laurëquéndi nestled within his breast pocket and was comforted.
They arranged themselves in this fashion: Aragorn took Frodo and Sam into his boat, as before; Merry and Pippin elected to remain with Boromir; and Alcarin and Lelemir took the third vessel. Haldir and Gandalf stepped away from the boats, and stood still high upon the lawn long after the boats had been washed out into the center of the Silverlode and carried around a curve in the River's watery path. The hobbits in particular watched until Gandalf's shimmering white figure passed out of sight.
Frodo gazed upon the mallorn trees passing by as the boat sailed down the shining Silverlode. He was heartened somewhat by the knowledge that Gandalf lived and also by the wizard's gift, but the loss of Legolas still weighed heavily upon him. Gimli would be missed as well, and Gandalf especially. Still, Frodo had a degree of peace; Gimli would surely not yield to defeat until Legolas was safe, and so the Elf was almost assured of rescue. Gandalf's errand had remained unnamed, but the wizard was certainly planning to work at some matter of import in the war against Sauron. Also, Frodo was reassured by the presence of Legolas' spirited sister and Master Elrond's splendid Guardian.
At last the boats came to the sharp turn beyond which the original Company had met the Swan-ship bearing Galadriel and Celeborn, who had come to invite them to a parting feast. There was no such greeting this time, but the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim had gathered together with Gimli and many Elves of Lórien on the grass of Egladil, the plain where the feast had been held. Now there was only a silent, solemn farewell. Gimli raised one hand in salute, but his face was troubled. He seemed loathe to disturb the quiet in the place, and so did not speak as the three vessels glided past. Galadriel and Celeborn stood together on the bank, a vision of shimmering white and gold and silver in the growing sunlight.
Just as the boats passed, Galadriel's voice carried over the waters with clarity like a bell, singing a part of the song she had sung upon their last parting in like manner, but with some variance in tone and lyric: "Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar nu vilya. Mornië alantië; tiro! êl eria e môr, ar aurë entuluva! Namárië!" Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar under the sky. Darkness has fallen; look! a star rises out of the darkness, day shall come again! Farewell!
The Silverlode soon spilled out into the swift currents of the Anduin River, and as the boats were swept away Frodo looked back at the way they had come. As before, the figures of the Galadhrim diminished in size but not in radiance, for they glowed beneath Anor's bright beams just as they had in the light of their cherished stars. Galadriel, Celeborn, Gimli, and the rest faded only when the boats turned sharply with the River's flow, thereby cutting the last of the mallorn-trees and their occupants off from the Company's view.
"Namárië, Laurelindorinan," Aragorn said aloud with much reverence in his tone. Farewell, Land of the Valley of Singing Gold. It was the original name of the Golden Wood, long-forgotten by all but a few of the mortal Men of Middle-earth.
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So the Renewed Fellowship continued their journey. The woods marched on either bank, but there were no golden-leaved mallorns beyond the forest of Lórien. As before, Aragorn was content to let the boats glide with the current so that their occupants could conserve their strength for the days to come. Also, no decision had yet been made as to whether they would press on for Mordor without cease, or halt for a short time in the White City of Minas Tirith, the city wherein reigned Boromir's father Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. Unlike previously, however, the boats shied away from the two banks; none of the Company wished to draw another enemy attack such as the one that had deprived them of Legolas.
They adopted a system of shifts much like that used by the remnant of the first Company on their return voyage to Lórien. One occupant in each vessel was awake at any given time so as to keep watch for enemy movement on the shores. Alcarin and Lelemir in particular strained their keen eyes and ears, for they needed no sleep as did mortals, but merely rested their minds in the peculiar waking-sleep of the Elves. Each boat had its own supply of food and water as well, so there was no need to make camp in order to share provisions.
Because they did not stop along the way, they progressed more swiftly down the River, and so came to the cursed place of the Nazgûl attack and Legolas' downfall in five days rather than eight. Every eye was affixed to that site; the Men and the hobbits gazed at it mournfully, with many a worried thought for their missing and presumably captive friend. Alcarin and Lelemir sensed the distress and followed the others' gazes, and Lelemir knew in her heart that her brother had met his doom in that place.
Lelemir wept openly then, but restrained her outcry for fear of alerting the enemy as to their presence. "Ai Legolas, nin muindor," she murmured with downcast gaze and tear-filled eyes, "i lasmir Taur e-Ndaedelos. An si nin ciruren nirnaeth arnoediad, ar mornië utulië. Ai, Elbereth Tintallë! Caled veleg ethuiannen, ar nin fae nienor!" Ah, Legolas, my brother, the jewel-leaf of Mirkwood. For now my heart is cut with tears unnumbered, and darkness has come. Ah, Elbereth the Kindler! A great light has gone out, and my spirit mourns!
Frodo could hear but little of her words, but he was moved by her sorrow. He too was burdened by the absence of the merry-hearted Elf whose songs had lifted their spirits more than one time during their journeys. Legolas had never refused to sing when asked, and often did so without any request at all. Sometimes he would weave a low, delicate melody; other times the tune would be robust and full-throated. Always they were beautiful to hear, and soothing to weary souls.
Frodo closed his eyes and recalled the calm that had seemed to fall over the world when Legolas sang to them. His throat hurt. He touched the Phial of Galadriel tucked into his pocket, the marvelous gift that the Lady had given to him at their first parting. In it was caught the light of Eärendil, the evening star. "Keep our friend safe, Lady Elbereth," he whispered hesitantly, unsure whether it was proper for a hobbit to address the great Lady of the Stars to whom all Elves tendered adulation.
A fragile weight settled onto Frodo's bare feet, and as he opened his eyes he gave a startled gasp. There was a single leaf, green as a field in summer, but from whence it had come was impossible to say. There were no such leaves on the trees along the banks. Frodo's eyes filled with tears as he gingerly picked up the leaf. Though he knew not what it signified, it was a thing of simple beauty, the first of its kind he had seen since their leaving of Lórien.
Aragorn had seen and heard all, and he placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Perhaps the Lady heard you," he murmured. "For Legolas' name means 'green-leaf' in the tongue of his people."
At that, Sam looked up at the sky. "That would be something, wouldn't it, Mr. Frodo?" he asked softly. "If she actually did hear us and all? What with us not being Elves, I mean."
"The Queen of the Valar cares for all the Híni Ilúvataro, the Children of God," Aragorn said gravely. "As I recall, hobbits were once closely related to Men, the Younger Children, and so that places you under Elbereth's guardianship as well."
"Isn't that something?" Sam muttered wonderingly, shaking his head and peering up once more at the graying sky. "Isn't that just something?"
But Frodo held the flawless green leaf, Elbereth's gift to him, and breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Perhaps Legolas would be all right after all.
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The Silver Wraith was patient.
Perhaps it was a quality drawn from his Elven derivation, or some figment of Saruman that had been ingrained along with the Istari's will and power. In either instance, Lasselanta of Isengard was a patient creature, willing to wait for his prey to falter so that he could snatch it away without engaging in long, fruitless battle.
For now he perceived that two of the Firstborn had been added to those who accompanied the Halfling he pursued. Likely it was Saruman's doing that the Wraith could know such, for Lasselanta did not dare follow near or he would surely be discovered. He did not fear the Firstborn, but neither would he charge into a foolhardy battle with those whose kin had been known to drive back even the Nine of Minas Morgul. Those Nine he had sensed only once, and that briefly, for they had fled to the southeast on the very night of Lasselanta's silent vigil upon the hill south of Lothlórien. Their dark presence had sung into the Silver Wraith's being, and for an instant he had felt compelled to join them in their flight. But Saruman's voice had called him back ere he embarked upon any such deed, and so Lasselanta remained in the service of Orthanc.
Lasselanta eased his silver steed forward over the hills of Eastemnet, preferring to conserve the beast's strength and speed for such time as it was needed. On occasion he would meet Men of Rohan, valiant warriors mounted upon horses of great beauty and fleet foot. These the Silver Wraith slew without hesitation, both man and beast, for he was possessed of no pity and desired not to be set upon by an army of Rohirrim ere his task was completed. Before long, his blades and arrows ran red with the blood of Rohan.
So it came to pass that Lasselanta paused in his movement, heeding the whispers that abounded in his mind. They were the voice of Saruman, bidding him take notice of what the Istari perceived already. The Halfling he sought had taken to the shore once again, for what purpose he knew not; this, however, he knew: the hunted was no longer carried by the safety of the River Anduin.
The wraith then urged his horse on with great haste, for he wished to overtake the Halfling and his fellows ere they returned to the River's currents. Ever before him was the face of Frodo Baggins, that hobbit who had become his prey for the powerful trinket he bore. And Lasselanta would slay without mercy any who attempted to halt his purpose, for so he had been commanded by the lord of Isengard. He cared not for those who traveled with the Halfling; all traces of loyalty and friendship that the wraith's former Elven incarnation might have felt toward them had been stripped away in the freezing white glare of Saruman's power.
The lord of Orthanc kept his attention closely fixed upon his Elven-wraith, though whether it was out of fear or pride none could say. Possibly he wondered if the call of Sauron would unmake the bonds of allegiance and subservience that Saruman had fashioned within the wraith, and then replace them with his own dark purposes. Saruman had no wish to be discovered in his rebellion.
Yet as he considered events with the long sight of the Istari, Saruman saw that the time was near, and smiled to himself with great pleasure. The One Ring was at last within his reach, and with it the power to defy even the mighty will of the Dark Lord…
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End of Chapter Nine. Francine is an unmerciful little wretch, isn't she, to leave you all dangling like this?
Note: Although the components of Galadriel's parting song and Lelemir's lament were drawn from other works (see Further Notes at the beginning of the chapter), they were arranged by Francine and I. Also, the laurëquéndi that Gandalf gave to Frodo is so totally mine. Review!
