(no subject)
“I’m sorry, Sam,” whispered Frodo. The truth of the situation found him only when it was too late; the thick webbing he’d been caught in now seemed to cling everywhere. “I’m so sorry.” He had freed himself, but at what price? Sting was now gone, and Smeagol fallen to what could only be his death. The once-hobbit had betrayed him in the end, and any thought of the monstrous spider in the caverns behind him sent Frodo reeling once again. He stumbled forward, along the rocky path, sick and desperate, and then he fell.
The dank and musty smell that covered the general stench of death and fear that had begun to cling to all rocks since Frodo had come within sight of Mordor disappeared once he tumbled to the ground. Where there was once black rock, there was sweet grass; where there had once been strewn Orc remains, there was mist floating on a cool breeze. Frodo turned up his face, unsure what he would find, and could see only the face of the Lady Galadriel, framed by golden hair. Her expression found shame welling up within him. She would be so disappointed, he thought, to find that he’d left Sam behind. Dear, sweet Sam, who he’d pushed away out of his own wretched fear and jealousy. Frodo’s mouth was dry as he stared up at the Lady, unable to speak.
“This task was appointed to you, Frodo of the Shire If you do not find a way, no one will.”
Galadriel reached out for his hand, and he strained towards her, and towards the light that surrounded her--
--only to find himself once again on his feet, in the depths of a cavern he knew could only bring him death or worse. He pushed himself forward, the earlier desperation giving way into grim determination to forge ahead, no matter the cost. The giant spider was behind him, after all, no doubt bemoaning its lack of a meal. She, Smeagol had said, and through Frodo shudders to assign it any further attributes, that one would stick.
A curve showed in the path ahead, and meaning not to show any hesitation, Frodo flung himself around the corner, only to find himself in another place entirely.
Giant rocks loomed around him, but his feet were suddenly wet, and the ground beneath him turned soft and gave each step. More than that, there was light everywhere, so brilliant that he could not see for several moments. It burned in a pleasant way, soaking through the hobbit until his eyes were clear.
Frodo almost wished that his vision had remained gone, for he could not be in Mordor, nor any place he had heard of before. There was an ocean, vast and strikingly blue, and fine sand, and beyond it all, the greenest forest he’d seen since Lothlorien. “I am dreaming again,” said Frodo to himself, in a moment of hesitation, and he turned to see if perhaps Galadriel stood with him once again.
But as he had been in Mordor, he stood alone, in a land where he was an utter stranger.
[Traditional debut!]
The dank and musty smell that covered the general stench of death and fear that had begun to cling to all rocks since Frodo had come within sight of Mordor disappeared once he tumbled to the ground. Where there was once black rock, there was sweet grass; where there had once been strewn Orc remains, there was mist floating on a cool breeze. Frodo turned up his face, unsure what he would find, and could see only the face of the Lady Galadriel, framed by golden hair. Her expression found shame welling up within him. She would be so disappointed, he thought, to find that he’d left Sam behind. Dear, sweet Sam, who he’d pushed away out of his own wretched fear and jealousy. Frodo’s mouth was dry as he stared up at the Lady, unable to speak.
“This task was appointed to you, Frodo of the Shire If you do not find a way, no one will.”
Galadriel reached out for his hand, and he strained towards her, and towards the light that surrounded her--
--only to find himself once again on his feet, in the depths of a cavern he knew could only bring him death or worse. He pushed himself forward, the earlier desperation giving way into grim determination to forge ahead, no matter the cost. The giant spider was behind him, after all, no doubt bemoaning its lack of a meal. She, Smeagol had said, and through Frodo shudders to assign it any further attributes, that one would stick.
A curve showed in the path ahead, and meaning not to show any hesitation, Frodo flung himself around the corner, only to find himself in another place entirely.
Giant rocks loomed around him, but his feet were suddenly wet, and the ground beneath him turned soft and gave each step. More than that, there was light everywhere, so brilliant that he could not see for several moments. It burned in a pleasant way, soaking through the hobbit until his eyes were clear.
Frodo almost wished that his vision had remained gone, for he could not be in Mordor, nor any place he had heard of before. There was an ocean, vast and strikingly blue, and fine sand, and beyond it all, the greenest forest he’d seen since Lothlorien. “I am dreaming again,” said Frodo to himself, in a moment of hesitation, and he turned to see if perhaps Galadriel stood with him once again.
But as he had been in Mordor, he stood alone, in a land where he was an utter stranger.
[Traditional debut!]