The White Ship Sails
Rating: K+ for angst and grief.
I wrote this series about 9 years ago, when The Lord of the Rings consumed my life. But with The Hobbit now on the horizon, I thought it would be nice to share my old stories again. My writing style has changed dramatically since then, but I won't change a word. I'd hate to lose the depth of compassion I felt when I wrote of my beloved hobbits all those years ago. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the series as much as I enjoyed once writing it.
Chapter Three - An Untouchable Storm
The stunned astonishment was instantaneous. While Frodo had slept peacefully below deck, a storm had arisen; the darkened clouds flashed and swirled in a frightened display of power, and the water rushed by at swift speeds. Yet, his amazement did not stem from the storm itself.
The White Ship beneath his feet was untouched, completely, entirely, untouched by the force of the waves and wind. A soft circle of pure white surrounded the ship, rising past the storm's force, to the sight of clear sky the hue of sapphire far above.
With one hesitant foot placed in front of the other, Frodo emerged from the stairwell, cautiously tiptoeing to the very edge of the railing, unable to remove his sight from the glorious splendor displayed before his eyes. The water was thoroughly clear and calm for a space of several yards, utterly separating the passengers from the buffeting forces, as if an impenetrable wall had been drawn between the ship and outside world.
Frodo's eyes drank in the view, his jaw slightly limp, as Bilbo chuckled beside him. Samwise, how you would have loved this sight. A warmth spread throughout his soul, someday, Sam would indeed be viewing this very same phenomenon. "How," his voice stuttered, "is this possible. I've never seen anything . . . how can this be." Bilbo's voice held joy intermixed with awe, "I could never fully explain this occurrence, Frodo. Gandalf is the only one, other than Lord Elrond or Lady Galadriel, who has the knowledge of such things."
The name startled Frodo, he had quite forgotten his wizened friend was also aboard this ship. His agony had been so potent, he had lost sight and recollection of all others. The thought brought a twinge of regret to his heart. Turning away from the railing, Frodo took a step, only to be halted by a gentle grasp upon his shoulder. He whirled to face the features he had known so well throughout his years; twinkling eyes set under thick, bushy brows and a mouth whose smiles brought sunshine into any heart, surrounded with white hair and flowing silver beard.
"Gandalf!" Frodo's joy was so immediate he forgot himself and flung his arms about the wizard, clinging tightly to the one other person he had desired to never be parted. Gandalf eased the ardent Hobbit to a distance, then knelt to a more comfortable level, eyes even with Frodo's sparkling gaze. "Gandalf, how is it that we are in the midst of a horrific storm, and yet," pivoting toward the sea, "we are protected from the outcome and devastation. I don't understand."
Placing a hand between Frodo's shoulder blades, Gandalf guided the Hobbit until he was facing the raging waters of the sea. With a sigh, and a penetrating expression of contemplation, he spoke, "Frodo, what do you see?" A confused line awoke between Frodo's brows.
Gandalf smiled kindly, and stroked his beard with an idle finger. "At this moment, you are viewing a storm filled with might and strength enough to send our Elven vessel into the heart of the sea. And yet, our tiny craft is still afloat, protected from these rages." Frodo listened with rapt attention, his eyes never straying from Gandalf's solemn features. "Frodo, we are sailing from this world into one of an entirely different level of understanding. We can no longer be touched or harmed by the dangers which plague and persecute everyday life. We still feel the presence of such things, yet remain completely unaffected by them."
"It is a gift granted by Eru, to his children The Firstborn. One which is never totally comprehended, yet always fully appreciated." Frodo's gaze was once again drawn to the sea, the distant clash of lightening leaping repeatedly from cloud to cloud, at times directly into the frothing water.
"It cannot touch us," his voice, lowered in reverence, halted, eyes shone with the newfound knowledge of Eru's love toward his creation. Wrapping one arm about Frodo and the other encompassing Bilbo who had remained thoughtfully silent during the interlude, Gandalf answered with muted joy and gratitude, "No, the storms cannot touch us."