Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 23:42:26 GMT
Author: Jessica Kleeberger
Rated: K
“And for you, Frodo Baggins, I give you the light of Earendil our most beloved star. May it be a light to you in dark places when all other lights go out.” – Galadriel, the Fellowship of the Ring
Summary: A dark lord waits to take back his own while an elf maiden waits for her beloved. An orc waits for the chance to fight and prove himself in battle while a hobbit waits for a battle he dreads. Everyone in Middle Earth is waiting, and they all see one thing in common: a symbol of light and hope. But whose hopes will come true?
My ring. Although worn on a different finger than it was of old, it shall soon be restored to its full glory- the glory that will come when it occupies its rightful place on its master’s hand, as it glints in the last rays of fading sun light. All who see it shall bow in fear, coveting its perfect beauty even as they revile it and despair. I will admire the best and most beautiful of my creations, letting the sight of its brilliant gold fill the void in my heart. How dare that brazen mortal Isildur steal my ring- and with it a part of me. He and his descendants have paid for that deed, as will all of Middle Earth. I will fill my servants with my passion and fuel the growing storm over Mordor with my anger. Brooding clouds, fiery flashes of lightning, the jeering of orcs eager for man flesh and destruction: yes, the last free peoples of Middle Earth shall pay dearly for their insolence. Who are elves, dwarves, men – and halflings- to defy me now? Whoever now carries it, I bid you to put my ring on in pride and triumph. Its power will taunt you, twist your heart and mind until your very soul is laid withering and helpless before the least of my whims. The sight of the ring on my hand will gall your heart. You thought it wise to use it against me, but all the while you were unwittingly, so foolishly playing into my hand, and in bitterness you shall rue your failure. To see the fairest, most powerful thing your fingers have ever grasped being worn on the Enemy’s hand despite your efforts will be torture enough, but no- that shall be the least of your miseries in my tower.
In the distance, I see a small white city, seeming to glow against the stormy darkness like a star- like the light of Earendil. It is a symbol of hope and freedom to light the night skies, shining with a power I cannot blemish nor dim. Surely that cannot be a sign that Minas Tirith is also beyond my reach! Nobleness and strength belong to the heir of Isildur, and he could yet rally their forces. The men of Gondor are brave, and they have endured years uncounted- No, no! That city of lowly usurpers will fall. They have killed the lord of the Nazgul, my chief servant, and triumphed on the battle field- but only for a day. My true power has yet to be unleashed, and when the dam opens, they shall be swept away, drowned in the black flood. Then Minas Tirith will crumble beneath the iron clad feet of my orcs, beneath the dark winged shadow of my Nazgul. My ring and Middle Earth shall again be mine. I have only to wait.
O0o
Arwen sighed and brushed aside the curtain to glance at the star light glimmering on the waters of Bruinen. The movement was born of a restlessness that was strange to an elf who yet had centuries of life to cherish. Elrond watched her silently from the doorway. Oh, my Arwen…If Aragorn triumphs, you shall be robbed of those centuries. Despite his sorrow, the elf lord knew he had accepted his daughter’s choice. He trusted her to make this decision- oh, but how he wished he could change the results! The inevitability of his foster son’s passing after a long and successful life would have been difficult on Arwen, but at least she would have had years to love and be loved, to bear children, and to commit life with her beloved to the realm of blessed memory. But if Aragorn died now in hopeless battle against the forces of Mordor, what comfort would there be for her?
Arwen slipped to Elrond’s side, entwining her slender fingers through his. “Do not give up hope yet, Ada,” she whispered, gesturing to the shining star outside the window. “Even if a cloud conceals the light of Earendil, that doesn’t mean it is not there. We merely cannot see it- the same is true for our hope. You have done everything you can to help Estel and Frodo succeed- now we have only to trust them and wait.”
O0o
I blink, trying to ignore the point of light that has appeared in the night sky- curse elf filth and their stars! I throw the full weight of my nervous excitement and energy into a final shove, snarling under my breath as Gorgu pushes me and Vambag apart. “Break it up, maggots!” It doesn’t matter- I will get my share of warfare- and tasty man flesh- tomorrow. Finally, our time has come. Since our early days, we have been hated by the stinking elves and have been used as slaves to the Eye. Now the time has come to prove ourselves. We shall prove that orcs have just as much right to dwell in Middle Earth as the other scum does. And of course, we shall fill our empty bellies with man flesh. The time of the orc has come! Until tomorrow, we just got to wait.
O0o
“Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight,” Rosie whispered, then immediately felt silly for repeating a child’s nursery rhyme. She wondered if Sam, where ever he was, could see the star, too.
“What was that?” a good natured voice teased at her side.
Rosie blushed and elbowed her brother. “Oh, go ‘long with you, Tom!” Wistfully she added, “If Sam and Mr. Frodo were here, they would put the Shire back to rights. Those ruffians would have to stop churning up gardens and throwing decent hobbits into the Lock Holes then!”
Sam- with his curly blonde hair and amiable grin, and his impressive knowledge of gardening. She loved the way his eyes sparkled with good humor and his devotion to his work showed in each trimmed yard. Even his bashfulness around her was rather sweet, and the fact that he had no idea of his appeal only added to his charms. Rosie’s thoughts must have shown on her face, because Tom was watching her carefully.
“You like him, and I’m glad of it. Sam’s a fine fellow,” Tom said, his voice kind but doubtful. “Only- he has been gone awhile, Rosie.”
“He will come home!” she protested. “Old Mr. Bilbo did, and Mr. Frodo’s like him. He and Sam will get home all right.”
“I’m sure they will,” her brother soothed, although Rosie recognized the words were for her benefit and did not stem out of genuine belief. “Well, I’m going to wash up and go in for supper. You had better come along before Nibs eats all the stew.”
“I will in a minute,” Rosie agreed, thoughts already turning back to Sam. When he came home, she would cook him a nice big batch of taters- even if Sam was a good cook, he would still need some looking after. After all, he had gone on a long journey, to where ever it was he had gone with Mister Frodo. Not for the first time, Rosie regretted that she knew so little about their quest. Sam could be facing any amount of dangers, and she would never know. Why, Sam might even see trolls or goblins like in Mr. Bilbo’s old stories! Then a pang of fear struck her- what if Tom was right and Sam never did come home? Suddenly, Rosie did not care if wishing on the twinkling light was sentimental. She raised her eyes to the sky and whispered, “Please, bring Sam home safe.” Could wishes come true? There was nothing she could do but wait and see.
O0o
A curly haired hobbit dressed in the armor of Gondor crouched down next to the fire, half-heartedly munching on a small chunk of stale bread. He watched the flames flicker in the twilight, worrying about his friends who would be facing the fire of Mordor and the battle he himself would fight in the next day. Waiting in the dark, wondering about the future of himself, his friends, and all of Middle Earth- that had to be even worse than the heat and chaos of battle. Pippin turned and smiled as he heard the welcome sound of soft footsteps interrupt his thoughts. “Hello, Strider- um, I mean, Lord Aragorn.”
“I appreciate your consideration, Pippin, but I truly do not mind if you use that name.”
Pippin nodded in acknowledgment, then wrinkled his nose as he took another reluctant bite of bread. “Ugh, I wish I could throw this into Mount Doom. Hobbits are not choosy – well, except the Sackville Baggins - but this is not even fit for an orc.”
Aragorn rewarded him with a smile, but continued to study him thoughtfully. “Indeed, but I sense that something bothers you tonight other than the ineptitude of our cooks. Although it is not their fault- I am certain even Lord Elrond’s household could not make these rations taste better.”
“It was something that Bilbo said. He was going to end his book with, ‘And he lived happily ever after until the end of his days.’” Pippin stared at the fire. “I don’t think our story will end like that, Strider.”
“Perhaps not, but we must do our best to fight Sauron nonetheless.” Aragorn pointed to a small star just appearing in the evening sky. “Do you see that star, Pippin?”
“Yes. What’s so special about it, Strider?”
“It is the light of Earendil. I suppose Bilbo and Frodo have told you about the Dark Lord Morgoth who had the power to command even Sauron?”
“A little,” Pippin replied hopefully. A hobbit’s penchant for history and tales was not easily subdued, and any distraction from thoughts of the upcoming battle was most welcome.
“Well, Morgoth had stolen three jewels, the Silmarils. These were no mere gems, and their beauty far exceeded even the most beautiful stone work of the dwarves. The Silmarils shone with the light of the two trees of Valinor, and Morgoth proudly placed the bright, fair stones on his dark brow. A brave elvish maid and her lover went into the very heart of his black fortress and plucked one of them from his crown.”
“Beren and Luthien!” Pippin exclaimed.
“Yes. After their death, the jewel was passed on to their descendants. Some elves coveted the Silmaril and believed it to be rightfully theirs, so they attacked the Havens to regain it. Elwing, a descendant of Luthien and the wife of Earendil, leapt into the sea with the Silmaril to prevent the jewel from being taken. However, at the last moment, she took the form of a swan and flew to find Earendil. They then sailed to the Undying Lands to plead on behalf of their kindred, to beg for deliverance from their oppressor. Well, they obtained the help they had desired, but Earendil and Elwing could never return to Middle Earth.”
“That’s not a very happy ending,” Pippin remarked sadly.
“Oh, but it is. Now Earendil sails his ship Vingilot among the stars, the light of the last Silmaril still gleaming on his brow.”
“The light of Earendil’s star,” Pippin murmured, remembering the phial of light given to his cousin in Lothlorien. “A light for when all others go out.”
“Yes, Gil Estel, a symbol of hope to those in Middle Earth who are oppressed. The light of which Frodo now carries,” Aragorn finished.
Both man and hobbit fell silent, gazing at the star.
“Strider?” Pippin said softly. “Even if our own tale does not end well, fighting for light and beauty, for hope, for Frodo and Sam, for the Shire- that is well worth giving our lives for.”
And give their lives they very well might… But for now, they had only to wait.
O0o
Legolas was staring at the sky, despondently humming a lay that Gimli suspected had to do with the sea. At least when Legolas was fighting, he forgot about that accursed sea longing. The dwarf suspected waiting, dwelling on the allure of the waves that the elf could not succumb to, was far more difficult for Legolas than any battle. He decided to take it upon himself to distract his friend.
“Are you looking at the stars again, Legolas?” Gimli asked, shaking his head. “I shall never fully understand the strange elvish fascination with stars.”
Legolas looked at the dwarf as if confused why he should even have to explain this. Just as Gimli was preparing himself to hear the history of the stars, from their creation by Varda to the story of Earendil, the elf changed tact.
“Imagine a beautiful jewel taken from the mines and shined and polished by the best craft the dwarves of Erebor have to offer. Such a gem would seem to shine of its own light, would it not?”
“Aye.”
“Imagine a whole cave of them, with the stones gleaming amid the dark, and you will know why elves feel as we do about the stars and the night sky.”
“I thought that was the way you felt about trees. Apparently elves feel like that about all creation.”
“Except for caves,” Legolas smiled.
“Ah, but you forget the Noldor. They had some skill with stone craft- for elves, anyway. Perhaps it is just a certain elvish princeling who feels thus about underground travel,” Gimli teased.
“Underground, it is as dark as a sky without stars, and the walls close about me. Only a dwarf or a race of elves as corrupted as the Noldor could like such conditions.”
“If we are speaking about what your home says about you, then Mirkwood elves are surely a point of interest. Who would want to live in such a dark, twisted forest?”
Instead of cheerfully returning the banter, Legolas became quiet and sad. “It was not always so. Once it was beautiful…”
Gimli immediately felt guilty for the thoughtless quip. “I know, and it will be so again. The star you love is proof of that. The Silmaril once dwelt in the darkness of Morgoth’s fortress, serving as an adornment to his dark crown, but now it dances in the sky. Your forest, too, will be freed from the evil. “
“And the star brings hope,” Legolas added. “Just as you have brought to me now, Gimli. Thank you, my friend.”
“It helps to while away the hours,” the dwarf shrugged with a grin.
But there were yet many hours before daylight, and they could only wait.
Rated: K
“And for you, Frodo Baggins, I give you the light of Earendil our most beloved star. May it be a light to you in dark places when all other lights go out.” – Galadriel, the Fellowship of the Ring
Summary: A dark lord waits to take back his own while an elf maiden waits for her beloved. An orc waits for the chance to fight and prove himself in battle while a hobbit waits for a battle he dreads. Everyone in Middle Earth is waiting, and they all see one thing in common: a symbol of light and hope. But whose hopes will come true?
My ring. Although worn on a different finger than it was of old, it shall soon be restored to its full glory- the glory that will come when it occupies its rightful place on its master’s hand, as it glints in the last rays of fading sun light. All who see it shall bow in fear, coveting its perfect beauty even as they revile it and despair. I will admire the best and most beautiful of my creations, letting the sight of its brilliant gold fill the void in my heart. How dare that brazen mortal Isildur steal my ring- and with it a part of me. He and his descendants have paid for that deed, as will all of Middle Earth. I will fill my servants with my passion and fuel the growing storm over Mordor with my anger. Brooding clouds, fiery flashes of lightning, the jeering of orcs eager for man flesh and destruction: yes, the last free peoples of Middle Earth shall pay dearly for their insolence. Who are elves, dwarves, men – and halflings- to defy me now? Whoever now carries it, I bid you to put my ring on in pride and triumph. Its power will taunt you, twist your heart and mind until your very soul is laid withering and helpless before the least of my whims. The sight of the ring on my hand will gall your heart. You thought it wise to use it against me, but all the while you were unwittingly, so foolishly playing into my hand, and in bitterness you shall rue your failure. To see the fairest, most powerful thing your fingers have ever grasped being worn on the Enemy’s hand despite your efforts will be torture enough, but no- that shall be the least of your miseries in my tower.
In the distance, I see a small white city, seeming to glow against the stormy darkness like a star- like the light of Earendil. It is a symbol of hope and freedom to light the night skies, shining with a power I cannot blemish nor dim. Surely that cannot be a sign that Minas Tirith is also beyond my reach! Nobleness and strength belong to the heir of Isildur, and he could yet rally their forces. The men of Gondor are brave, and they have endured years uncounted- No, no! That city of lowly usurpers will fall. They have killed the lord of the Nazgul, my chief servant, and triumphed on the battle field- but only for a day. My true power has yet to be unleashed, and when the dam opens, they shall be swept away, drowned in the black flood. Then Minas Tirith will crumble beneath the iron clad feet of my orcs, beneath the dark winged shadow of my Nazgul. My ring and Middle Earth shall again be mine. I have only to wait.
O0o
Arwen sighed and brushed aside the curtain to glance at the star light glimmering on the waters of Bruinen. The movement was born of a restlessness that was strange to an elf who yet had centuries of life to cherish. Elrond watched her silently from the doorway. Oh, my Arwen…If Aragorn triumphs, you shall be robbed of those centuries. Despite his sorrow, the elf lord knew he had accepted his daughter’s choice. He trusted her to make this decision- oh, but how he wished he could change the results! The inevitability of his foster son’s passing after a long and successful life would have been difficult on Arwen, but at least she would have had years to love and be loved, to bear children, and to commit life with her beloved to the realm of blessed memory. But if Aragorn died now in hopeless battle against the forces of Mordor, what comfort would there be for her?
Arwen slipped to Elrond’s side, entwining her slender fingers through his. “Do not give up hope yet, Ada,” she whispered, gesturing to the shining star outside the window. “Even if a cloud conceals the light of Earendil, that doesn’t mean it is not there. We merely cannot see it- the same is true for our hope. You have done everything you can to help Estel and Frodo succeed- now we have only to trust them and wait.”
O0o
I blink, trying to ignore the point of light that has appeared in the night sky- curse elf filth and their stars! I throw the full weight of my nervous excitement and energy into a final shove, snarling under my breath as Gorgu pushes me and Vambag apart. “Break it up, maggots!” It doesn’t matter- I will get my share of warfare- and tasty man flesh- tomorrow. Finally, our time has come. Since our early days, we have been hated by the stinking elves and have been used as slaves to the Eye. Now the time has come to prove ourselves. We shall prove that orcs have just as much right to dwell in Middle Earth as the other scum does. And of course, we shall fill our empty bellies with man flesh. The time of the orc has come! Until tomorrow, we just got to wait.
O0o
“Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight,” Rosie whispered, then immediately felt silly for repeating a child’s nursery rhyme. She wondered if Sam, where ever he was, could see the star, too.
“What was that?” a good natured voice teased at her side.
Rosie blushed and elbowed her brother. “Oh, go ‘long with you, Tom!” Wistfully she added, “If Sam and Mr. Frodo were here, they would put the Shire back to rights. Those ruffians would have to stop churning up gardens and throwing decent hobbits into the Lock Holes then!”
Sam- with his curly blonde hair and amiable grin, and his impressive knowledge of gardening. She loved the way his eyes sparkled with good humor and his devotion to his work showed in each trimmed yard. Even his bashfulness around her was rather sweet, and the fact that he had no idea of his appeal only added to his charms. Rosie’s thoughts must have shown on her face, because Tom was watching her carefully.
“You like him, and I’m glad of it. Sam’s a fine fellow,” Tom said, his voice kind but doubtful. “Only- he has been gone awhile, Rosie.”
“He will come home!” she protested. “Old Mr. Bilbo did, and Mr. Frodo’s like him. He and Sam will get home all right.”
“I’m sure they will,” her brother soothed, although Rosie recognized the words were for her benefit and did not stem out of genuine belief. “Well, I’m going to wash up and go in for supper. You had better come along before Nibs eats all the stew.”
“I will in a minute,” Rosie agreed, thoughts already turning back to Sam. When he came home, she would cook him a nice big batch of taters- even if Sam was a good cook, he would still need some looking after. After all, he had gone on a long journey, to where ever it was he had gone with Mister Frodo. Not for the first time, Rosie regretted that she knew so little about their quest. Sam could be facing any amount of dangers, and she would never know. Why, Sam might even see trolls or goblins like in Mr. Bilbo’s old stories! Then a pang of fear struck her- what if Tom was right and Sam never did come home? Suddenly, Rosie did not care if wishing on the twinkling light was sentimental. She raised her eyes to the sky and whispered, “Please, bring Sam home safe.” Could wishes come true? There was nothing she could do but wait and see.
O0o
A curly haired hobbit dressed in the armor of Gondor crouched down next to the fire, half-heartedly munching on a small chunk of stale bread. He watched the flames flicker in the twilight, worrying about his friends who would be facing the fire of Mordor and the battle he himself would fight in the next day. Waiting in the dark, wondering about the future of himself, his friends, and all of Middle Earth- that had to be even worse than the heat and chaos of battle. Pippin turned and smiled as he heard the welcome sound of soft footsteps interrupt his thoughts. “Hello, Strider- um, I mean, Lord Aragorn.”
“I appreciate your consideration, Pippin, but I truly do not mind if you use that name.”
Pippin nodded in acknowledgment, then wrinkled his nose as he took another reluctant bite of bread. “Ugh, I wish I could throw this into Mount Doom. Hobbits are not choosy – well, except the Sackville Baggins - but this is not even fit for an orc.”
Aragorn rewarded him with a smile, but continued to study him thoughtfully. “Indeed, but I sense that something bothers you tonight other than the ineptitude of our cooks. Although it is not their fault- I am certain even Lord Elrond’s household could not make these rations taste better.”
“It was something that Bilbo said. He was going to end his book with, ‘And he lived happily ever after until the end of his days.’” Pippin stared at the fire. “I don’t think our story will end like that, Strider.”
“Perhaps not, but we must do our best to fight Sauron nonetheless.” Aragorn pointed to a small star just appearing in the evening sky. “Do you see that star, Pippin?”
“Yes. What’s so special about it, Strider?”
“It is the light of Earendil. I suppose Bilbo and Frodo have told you about the Dark Lord Morgoth who had the power to command even Sauron?”
“A little,” Pippin replied hopefully. A hobbit’s penchant for history and tales was not easily subdued, and any distraction from thoughts of the upcoming battle was most welcome.
“Well, Morgoth had stolen three jewels, the Silmarils. These were no mere gems, and their beauty far exceeded even the most beautiful stone work of the dwarves. The Silmarils shone with the light of the two trees of Valinor, and Morgoth proudly placed the bright, fair stones on his dark brow. A brave elvish maid and her lover went into the very heart of his black fortress and plucked one of them from his crown.”
“Beren and Luthien!” Pippin exclaimed.
“Yes. After their death, the jewel was passed on to their descendants. Some elves coveted the Silmaril and believed it to be rightfully theirs, so they attacked the Havens to regain it. Elwing, a descendant of Luthien and the wife of Earendil, leapt into the sea with the Silmaril to prevent the jewel from being taken. However, at the last moment, she took the form of a swan and flew to find Earendil. They then sailed to the Undying Lands to plead on behalf of their kindred, to beg for deliverance from their oppressor. Well, they obtained the help they had desired, but Earendil and Elwing could never return to Middle Earth.”
“That’s not a very happy ending,” Pippin remarked sadly.
“Oh, but it is. Now Earendil sails his ship Vingilot among the stars, the light of the last Silmaril still gleaming on his brow.”
“The light of Earendil’s star,” Pippin murmured, remembering the phial of light given to his cousin in Lothlorien. “A light for when all others go out.”
“Yes, Gil Estel, a symbol of hope to those in Middle Earth who are oppressed. The light of which Frodo now carries,” Aragorn finished.
Both man and hobbit fell silent, gazing at the star.
“Strider?” Pippin said softly. “Even if our own tale does not end well, fighting for light and beauty, for hope, for Frodo and Sam, for the Shire- that is well worth giving our lives for.”
And give their lives they very well might… But for now, they had only to wait.
O0o
Legolas was staring at the sky, despondently humming a lay that Gimli suspected had to do with the sea. At least when Legolas was fighting, he forgot about that accursed sea longing. The dwarf suspected waiting, dwelling on the allure of the waves that the elf could not succumb to, was far more difficult for Legolas than any battle. He decided to take it upon himself to distract his friend.
“Are you looking at the stars again, Legolas?” Gimli asked, shaking his head. “I shall never fully understand the strange elvish fascination with stars.”
Legolas looked at the dwarf as if confused why he should even have to explain this. Just as Gimli was preparing himself to hear the history of the stars, from their creation by Varda to the story of Earendil, the elf changed tact.
“Imagine a beautiful jewel taken from the mines and shined and polished by the best craft the dwarves of Erebor have to offer. Such a gem would seem to shine of its own light, would it not?”
“Aye.”
“Imagine a whole cave of them, with the stones gleaming amid the dark, and you will know why elves feel as we do about the stars and the night sky.”
“I thought that was the way you felt about trees. Apparently elves feel like that about all creation.”
“Except for caves,” Legolas smiled.
“Ah, but you forget the Noldor. They had some skill with stone craft- for elves, anyway. Perhaps it is just a certain elvish princeling who feels thus about underground travel,” Gimli teased.
“Underground, it is as dark as a sky without stars, and the walls close about me. Only a dwarf or a race of elves as corrupted as the Noldor could like such conditions.”
“If we are speaking about what your home says about you, then Mirkwood elves are surely a point of interest. Who would want to live in such a dark, twisted forest?”
Instead of cheerfully returning the banter, Legolas became quiet and sad. “It was not always so. Once it was beautiful…”
Gimli immediately felt guilty for the thoughtless quip. “I know, and it will be so again. The star you love is proof of that. The Silmaril once dwelt in the darkness of Morgoth’s fortress, serving as an adornment to his dark crown, but now it dances in the sky. Your forest, too, will be freed from the evil. “
“And the star brings hope,” Legolas added. “Just as you have brought to me now, Gimli. Thank you, my friend.”
“It helps to while away the hours,” the dwarf shrugged with a grin.
But there were yet many hours before daylight, and they could only wait.