They told me I had a name

[frodofigment]

A name. A name. Gray... Balance... Frodo. A personality. Frodo. A love. Young Sam. Too young. Naive, both of us. A journey. Pain, suffering...love lost before the journey could be taken. Bleeding of the emotional kind. Salty tears on lips beginning to feel, and a tongue beginning to taste. Being told that I cannot die, that I must write. I cannot

Comments

[trahald]

No, no making anything. Keep your apple if you will, even if it will rot. Make things after you eat something, or tap into the Realm itself. No energy yet for making in hobbit form.

A horned horse lost at sea. Yes. Great trinity we have, yes. You, a hart, and a serpent. Good and evil, or whatever they may be, I leave that to the three to play their games. All "I am the one you follow, I am the one you trust." Not a one of you know what you're doing, me thinks. Not a one. Power games, and mind tricks, all of it. Sméagol does what he can, and stays away. Not wanting to be involved in the threes foolery. It's better to pretend you don't exist, right. At least you have personality...try talking to Chaos when he isn't out to kill someone in a dramatic way. It is like talking to a snake that thinks it is a god. Talk to Order, and you are talking to the trees. Talk to Balance *nods at Iorhael* and you are talking to a hobbit at least...but y'still think you're a god. *snorts and turns his horse* And the mun cries...save him, save him, as if there is no power in writing. Save him, as if the Realm does not bend to the hands of a writer. So Sméagol does as he tolds, brings an apple to the sea with some rope and fishes for one of the three...hoping he doesn't pull up the one that's all spit and vinegar. I did, but I suppose that's better than the brimstone and fire. *chuckles to himself and looks over his shoulder to see if Iorhael is following* Come on. It will do you good to be around hobbits. Get the sea out of your ears, at least.

[frodofigment]

~climbs on the horse, still holding his apple. Sends out a tendril, rooting into the ground, feeding from the earth~ I'm not used to this anymore. Blended in...the Realm feeds me without request, and I feed it. I barily remember the turmoil of being in the form I wanted.

~follows Sméagol, frowning~ I have never heard anyone speak against the trinity so. ~looks at his apple~ I suppose you are right though. We do struggle often for who gets the most power and control. At least Chaos and I do. Order is content to wander into the forest...make it perfect there, unchanging. Chaos wants to shake things up...make things more molten. As if the Realm does not change enough already. I just want...this. This stillness that provides the possibilities of change. I want things to be right. Perhaps what I see as right is different from what the muses do. ...Spit and vinegar? Me? I'm afraid you're mistaken. ~looks back at the sea~ I'm not sure if I'm ready to see the other hobbits. Or to get the sea out of my ears. I'm still unstable, I think.

[trahald]

Great. Now get used to being a hobbit again, eh? Or I get off horse, tie you to other one and lead you back to the Shire...maybe I'll put you in a nice stable, maybe not. Then you'd really want to be a hobbit again. You existed this way before, you can do it again.

*reaches for a coil of rope* I'll make good on my threat, Iorhael. Come now. Your mother is waiting. I do not mean to hold you against your will, but it is long enough. Of three, you listen most to muses and help balance things out so we do not have so many...failures. Many who have been made since you went to sea have failed after leaving the three. They fade. Nurture them again, as you used to. Repair. Make the Realm how it was again. Then, we work on the writer. Show that there is still power in words.