June 8, Third Age 3019

I suffer a rather violent 'What must it have been like?' attack

While I am in Minas Tirith along with (most of) the rest of the Fellowship of the Ring – indeed, with most of the surviving consequential figures in the war of the Ring – I have been taking advantage of the opportunity and beginning to collect people's accounts for my book. (I mean my real book – the one with the actual story in it.) After all, the story told from my perspective alone would be very much incomplete, and rather dull besides. And depressing, the side of me inclined to self-pity adds.

Hearing the tales of what went on in my absence has been "an eye-opener," to use another apt expression of Sam's, and humbling as well: there were so many world-shaping events happening so quickly, so much splendor and heroism and heartache, that I feel at once very grand because I was such an instrumental part of it all and very small because I was but a part. And all these tales have caused me to speculate wonderingly about what all the other participants in this historic struggle must have felt as they witnessed new marvels with every day. Or, in Boromir's words, I was attacked by a storm of "what must it have been like?" questions. So here is a short list*:

- What must it have been like for an old, worldly-wise warrior to daily watch wondrous beings walk out of legend and the pages of children's fairy stories?

- What must it have been like for a weary soldier who had lost all hope to see the sun rise over Helm's Deep and bring with it an unlooked-for miracle?

- What must it have been like for those who walked the Paths of the Dead to watch in awe as the gray ghosts rose to follow the true King?

- What must it have been like for the horses on the Paths of the Dead to be led into darkness and fear to what end** they knew not, and to follow only for the love of a master?

- What must it have been like to despair on Pelennor Fields as black sails appeared on the seas, and then to behold, like a vision, Hope itself, manifest as a beacon of shining tree and stars?

- What must it have been like to behold Lady Éowyn, magnificent and fair in her desperation, defying unafraid the Lord of the Nazgûl to defend her fallen king, perhaps to her own death?

- What must it have been like for Aragorn to make the impossible choice to march an army to near-certain suicide with no hope but what rested on the strength of two hobbits alone in the Land of Shadow?

- And what must it have been like for a common soldier, just one among six thousands prepared to fight hopelessly to the death at the Morannon, to suddenly to be a witness to the very moment of the Dark Tower's fall?

And egocentric as it may sound, I wonder whether anyone speculates about what it must have been like to stand in my shoes. Do they ask: What must it have been like to walk into certain death and then in the end to wake up alive?

And I would have to answer: It defies description. I myself am still trying to figure out just what it was like.

Comments from the modern-day "translator" (which is how I can justify my need to pedantically point out the use of literary techniques):

* Note the allusions that Frodo makes to his own journey through both comparison and contrast of his and Sam's experiences with the experiences he considers here.

** Another double entendre (sorry, Professor Tolkien!) – "end" is most plainly used to mean "purpose" when talking about the horses, but if Frodo is making a veiled reference to Sam and his own curiosity about his closest companion's feelings, "end" should also be construed as "fate" or "outcome."

Author's Note (continued): And for those who might take offense that dear, practical, rational, loyal, intelligent Sam is being compared to a horse, willing to be led blindly and unquestioningly "for the love of a master," keep in mind that both Frodo and Tolkien were of the gentry. As much as Frodo loves and values Sam as a friend, he also addresses him as a child, calling him "lad," or "Master Samwise Gamgee" when, as I learned from Charles Dickens' David Copperfield, an adult would be titled "Mister." Tolkien does that, too, as a matter of fact – note the chapter title "The Choices of Master Samwise." Also note that when Sam, of the servant class, respectfully addresses his upper-class hobbit companions, he says "Mr. Frodo" and "Mr. Merry," but "Master Pippin" because only Pippin has not yet come of age. Sam is older than Merry, but he is still "Master Gamgee" to Frodo – certainly not malicious belittlement, but nonetheless a statement, however unintentional, of Sam's social inferiority.

Remember also (especially Rose Cotton, in answer to her review) that this is only a metaphor, not a renaming, and that with a metaphor come all of its implications. Yes, horses are domesticated servants to humans, but they are also traditionally viewed as noble both because of their unique relationships of mutual loyalty and love with their masters and because of their steadfastness, strength, and courage. Horses are praised in epic poetry, so it's not as if Frodo is insulting Sam, nor is he calling him an animal. Note in the above paragraph the word compared, and remember that poets compare people to animals (and vice versa) all the time.

One thing I really love about multi-chapter fics is that I can respond to reviewers' comments on previous chapters. So, Kathy B., to address your concerns: I do respect Tolkien for the realism and vividness with which he crafted his world, but we all good-naturedly rib those we love from time to time, and it can be quite a task to plow through all that lengthy description. (Ha! Look who's talking – Miss Neverending Sentences herself!)

And about the Sindarin/French thing: I had read the Quenya : Sindarin :: Finnish : Welsh analogy. My Quenya : Sindarin : Westron :: Latin : French : Modern English comparison referred mostly to usage, not necessarily linguistic structure. Tolkien himself nicknamed Quenya "Elven-latin" because, like Latin, it is a "mostly dead" intellectual, formal, or ceremonial language; Sindarin, like French, is a living language that is related but dissimilar in sound to the dead language. Latin and French words, phrases, and expressions are an ingrained part of the educated English speaker's everyday vocabulary and commonly known as the languages of culture and the cultured, but virtually no native anglophone today makes offhand use of Finnish or Welsh. Incidentally, I did not know that Tolkien hated all things French. I happen to think that French is a beautiful language and that Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo is one of the best books I've ever read; the grave-rolling Professor and I must agree to disagree.

As a final item: Wow. That entry took a miraculously short amount of time. Think of it as recompense for the two-month hiatus. And sorry that the author's note is longer than the actual entry, but I am infamous for turning simple remarks into scholarly rants.