Lord of the Rings: Ringbearers
Byakuya =/= Elrond, but I haven't managed to get any LOTR icons yet. One day, I will post something that I'm not too chickenshit to post to a comm, but today is not that day. Still, hopefully I didn't unintentionally emulate the fics I was complaining about a few entries ago. Main fic index is here.
Title: Ringbearers
Series: None
Word Count: 672
Disclaimer Post
Summary: To bear a ring of power is to be alone.
Notes: This is based on the movies, as I haven't read all of the books yet. I don't remember if Elrond is wearing Vilya in any scene in the movie and I haven't gone back to check yet, but call it creative license. He was the one that brought it up, anyway. Feedback would be most appreciated. I'm not sure I've hit quite the right note here, and I find this fandom ungodly intimidating to begin with. I'm going to shut up now and let y'all get to the fic.
To bear a ring of power is to be alone.
Lady Galadriel’s words gave Frodo no rest; they haunted his every waking moment and followed him even into his dreams. The words echoed over and over in his mind and heart long after they had faded from his ears. As hers was not the only voice to haunt him, and by far not the most insidious, he had very nearly managed to put the import of the words out of his mind. Then the words returned, and this time a very different-and startlingly familiar-voice bore them to Frodo’s ears.
“To bear a ring of power is to be alone, Frodo Baggins.”
Frodo turned and beheld a face he could not honestly say he had ever expected to see again. “Lord Elrond?”
“Yes, Frodo.”
“I’m sleeping,” Frodo said, feeling utterly certain on that point and all the more confused for it.
“You are. Yet here you are, and here I am.”
“Then I’m dreaming. Is that right?”
Elrond managed to look both gentle and irritated at the same time. The world seemed to snap back into place. He was being slow, and Lord Elrond was displeased, but elven patience could outlast everything, even the end of all things.
“This, then, is my fate,” Frodo said softly, and even he couldn’t be sure if he was asking or telling, until the elf lord offered the validation he hadn’t even known he needed. Elrond lifted his right hand in an eerie mirror of Lady Galadriel’s gesture. Frodo was surprised to see a ring set with a blue stone upon Elrond’s ring finger. Had that always been there, and he simply never noticed? He couldn’t immediately recall seeing the deceptively simple-looking ring before, but as he gazed on it, he suddenly realized why Lord Elrond, of all the people he’d ever met, had been the one to meet him in his dreams this night.
“Long has Vilya been my burden to bear, Frodo Baggins, and often have I wished for release from it, however briefly. But I would not take such release even were it offered. I could never trust it to another’s hands, nor could I allow another soul to be doomed to take my place.”
Lord Elrond’s hands disappeared into his robes, hiding the ring he bore from sight, but Frodo hardly noticed. He slowly turned his fellow ringbearers’ words over and over in his mind, searching for the truth he was sure he’d somehow missed. When it came to him, he nearly laughed aloud, though he had very little humor left in him. Truly, had it been that obvious?
“To bear a ring of power is to be alone,” he said, sounding more broken than he’d ever thought himself capable and feeling all the stronger for it. “We are all alone, every single one of us struggling towards the same lonely goal.”
The lord of Imladris closed the distance between himself and the bearer of the One Ring, but he did not kneel. Elrond reached out and rested his hand not on Frodo’s head, like a parent to a child, but on his shoulder, as one comrade to another. His eyes, when Frodo chanced to look into them, were very old and very sad. His voice suddenly reminded Frodo of a gentle rain on a warm spring evening, the kind that seemed to settle into his very soul.
“I cannot have as much faith in you as you deserve, Frodo, nor as much as I would like. But I will pray for you, nonetheless.”
Frodo recklessly promised himself that if he managed to survive, he would never take the gift of those spring evenings for granted again, for so long as he lived. Too much had been-and would yet be-lost to this war. The dream began to fade then, taking the elf lord with it, but for the first time in a long, dark while, Frodo woke from sleep with hope in his heart and silence in his mind.
Title: Ringbearers
Series: None
Word Count: 672
Disclaimer Post
Summary: To bear a ring of power is to be alone.
Notes: This is based on the movies, as I haven't read all of the books yet. I don't remember if Elrond is wearing Vilya in any scene in the movie and I haven't gone back to check yet, but call it creative license. He was the one that brought it up, anyway. Feedback would be most appreciated. I'm not sure I've hit quite the right note here, and I find this fandom ungodly intimidating to begin with. I'm going to shut up now and let y'all get to the fic.
To bear a ring of power is to be alone.
Lady Galadriel’s words gave Frodo no rest; they haunted his every waking moment and followed him even into his dreams. The words echoed over and over in his mind and heart long after they had faded from his ears. As hers was not the only voice to haunt him, and by far not the most insidious, he had very nearly managed to put the import of the words out of his mind. Then the words returned, and this time a very different-and startlingly familiar-voice bore them to Frodo’s ears.
“To bear a ring of power is to be alone, Frodo Baggins.”
Frodo turned and beheld a face he could not honestly say he had ever expected to see again. “Lord Elrond?”
“Yes, Frodo.”
“I’m sleeping,” Frodo said, feeling utterly certain on that point and all the more confused for it.
“You are. Yet here you are, and here I am.”
“Then I’m dreaming. Is that right?”
Elrond managed to look both gentle and irritated at the same time. The world seemed to snap back into place. He was being slow, and Lord Elrond was displeased, but elven patience could outlast everything, even the end of all things.
“This, then, is my fate,” Frodo said softly, and even he couldn’t be sure if he was asking or telling, until the elf lord offered the validation he hadn’t even known he needed. Elrond lifted his right hand in an eerie mirror of Lady Galadriel’s gesture. Frodo was surprised to see a ring set with a blue stone upon Elrond’s ring finger. Had that always been there, and he simply never noticed? He couldn’t immediately recall seeing the deceptively simple-looking ring before, but as he gazed on it, he suddenly realized why Lord Elrond, of all the people he’d ever met, had been the one to meet him in his dreams this night.
“Long has Vilya been my burden to bear, Frodo Baggins, and often have I wished for release from it, however briefly. But I would not take such release even were it offered. I could never trust it to another’s hands, nor could I allow another soul to be doomed to take my place.”
Lord Elrond’s hands disappeared into his robes, hiding the ring he bore from sight, but Frodo hardly noticed. He slowly turned his fellow ringbearers’ words over and over in his mind, searching for the truth he was sure he’d somehow missed. When it came to him, he nearly laughed aloud, though he had very little humor left in him. Truly, had it been that obvious?
“To bear a ring of power is to be alone,” he said, sounding more broken than he’d ever thought himself capable and feeling all the stronger for it. “We are all alone, every single one of us struggling towards the same lonely goal.”
The lord of Imladris closed the distance between himself and the bearer of the One Ring, but he did not kneel. Elrond reached out and rested his hand not on Frodo’s head, like a parent to a child, but on his shoulder, as one comrade to another. His eyes, when Frodo chanced to look into them, were very old and very sad. His voice suddenly reminded Frodo of a gentle rain on a warm spring evening, the kind that seemed to settle into his very soul.
“I cannot have as much faith in you as you deserve, Frodo, nor as much as I would like. But I will pray for you, nonetheless.”
Frodo recklessly promised himself that if he managed to survive, he would never take the gift of those spring evenings for granted again, for so long as he lived. Too much had been-and would yet be-lost to this war. The dream began to fade then, taking the elf lord with it, but for the first time in a long, dark while, Frodo woke from sleep with hope in his heart and silence in his mind.