Busy Little Bee
I've been writing up a storm (for me) lately. Bit by bit words and ideas are coming together and here, for your reading pleasure, is the next part of my growing collection of hobbit ficlets. Here is Frodo after Weathertop.
(BTW, to those people who want more of the Crazy Adventures in the Multiverse, I'll have the next part up soon).
Frodo
Day and night were becoming one. The grey land through which they trekked during the day was blending together with the misty world of his dreams and Frodo was no longer sure that he could differentiate between the two. His attention drifted through the cloud-heavy days, he was unable to focus on those around him, incapable of hearing the comments of his friends and kin, impotent to find the desire within himself to continue journeying down the never-ending Road.
A spear of cold shot down his left arm, causing Frodo to gasp softly. His arm had grown progressively numb since that night under Weathertop and the sudden burning sensation was as surprising as it was terrifying. It was frightening as a reminder of the evil that pursued and preceded him and of the Evil that he carried himself. Yet, that memory of fear could not stir him out of the apathy into which he was sinking ever more quickly.
Shadows and shades rose before Frodo’s eyes and in his mind the whispers grew stronger, more insistent. He was powerless to ignore them and so they echoed through his mind, urging him to let go, telling him to lay his Burden aside and accept his Fate. The wound in his shoulder throbbed in time with the lilting, insidious, interminable mutterings that stopped his ears to the sounds of the outside world. He felt his will slowly and subtly slipping away in the face of such implacable desire and he sensed himself falling slowly, inexorably into the cold, binding haze.
Without warning the mist cleared away from his eyes. The sun shone warm upon his face and he sighed as he sensed Bill whicker beneath him. Frodo turned his face up into the cleansing heat and rejoiced in the light, though it shone pale from an overhung sky. The cold in his arm lessened and his thoughts came sharply into focus. His heart swelled with a sudden blinding hope and Frodo, though horrified by the memory of engulfing mist, felt his will come to bear and the strength to continue rose from within. As a lonely plant he reached to the Sun and basked in her hope of life.
(BTW, to those people who want more of the Crazy Adventures in the Multiverse, I'll have the next part up soon).
Frodo
Day and night were becoming one. The grey land through which they trekked during the day was blending together with the misty world of his dreams and Frodo was no longer sure that he could differentiate between the two. His attention drifted through the cloud-heavy days, he was unable to focus on those around him, incapable of hearing the comments of his friends and kin, impotent to find the desire within himself to continue journeying down the never-ending Road.
A spear of cold shot down his left arm, causing Frodo to gasp softly. His arm had grown progressively numb since that night under Weathertop and the sudden burning sensation was as surprising as it was terrifying. It was frightening as a reminder of the evil that pursued and preceded him and of the Evil that he carried himself. Yet, that memory of fear could not stir him out of the apathy into which he was sinking ever more quickly.
Shadows and shades rose before Frodo’s eyes and in his mind the whispers grew stronger, more insistent. He was powerless to ignore them and so they echoed through his mind, urging him to let go, telling him to lay his Burden aside and accept his Fate. The wound in his shoulder throbbed in time with the lilting, insidious, interminable mutterings that stopped his ears to the sounds of the outside world. He felt his will slowly and subtly slipping away in the face of such implacable desire and he sensed himself falling slowly, inexorably into the cold, binding haze.
Without warning the mist cleared away from his eyes. The sun shone warm upon his face and he sighed as he sensed Bill whicker beneath him. Frodo turned his face up into the cleansing heat and rejoiced in the light, though it shone pale from an overhung sky. The cold in his arm lessened and his thoughts came sharply into focus. His heart swelled with a sudden blinding hope and Frodo, though horrified by the memory of engulfing mist, felt his will come to bear and the strength to continue rose from within. As a lonely plant he reached to the Sun and basked in her hope of life.