Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine; they belong to the illustrious Professor Tolkien. I have merely borrowed them to play with but I promise to return them.

A devil had come. A fiery demon of darkness was upon them and Gandalf was the only barrier between it and the rest of the Fellowship. Frodo watched, amazed, as his long-time friend and councilor did battle with this monster; as he revealed powers and skills Frodo had never known or imagined he had possessed.

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. Dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun!” The Balrog reared up to his full height, which was enormous. Gandalf looked so small. Their swords clashed with a resounded CLANG! The sword of the Balrog shattered into molten fragments. “Go back to the Shadow!” Gandalf raised his staff. “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” He shouted, his voice filled with power and command. He brought his staff down upon the Bridge with a CRACK! Frodo saw the Bridge crack and crumble in front of the Balrog. With a ripping sound the Bridge split completely in two and the Balrog fell into the bottomless chasm of Khazad-dum. Frodo began to heave a sigh of relief as Gandalf turned wearily and began to walk towards them. Suddenly, the Balrog’s whip SNAPPED up and entwined itself around Gandalf’s legs. Frodo gasped in horror and a look of shock came over Gandalf’s face as the fiery whip pulled him down. He grasped vainly at the chipped rock Bridge. Frodo heard someone scream “No, no!” Frodo tried to run to Gandalf. He had to help him! Someone firmly held him back. “GANDALF!” Frodo cried desperately. There was a moment of tense silence as Gandalf hung to the rock by his fingertips.

“Fly, you fools!” Gandalf said fiercely. Then his fingers gave way and he fell into darkness.

“NO!” Frodo screamed, his voice filled with anguish. He struggled against the strong person who was holding him back. Gandalf! He had to go to Gandalf! The big person began to pull him away. No! He could not leave Gandalf! Couldn’t this person understand that? The person forcibly picked him up and began to carry him away. “NO!!!” Frodo cried again. His heart was being ripped from him. This was not real! It was yet another nightmare. Gandalf!

“Aragorn!” Frodo vaguely heard the person holding him yell. Frodo began to kick and beat against the big person’s chest. He must put him down! He had to go back to Gandalf! Why couldn’t he understand? The person paid no attention to him and carried him the rest of the way through Moria. Frodo’s body began shaking with sobs. The person, Boromir, Frodo realized, held him closer as if to comfort him and began to stroke his curls. “Shh, little one.” He whispered into Frodo’s ear. Frodo laid his head down on the Big Man’s shoulder and wept. Gandalf. Frodo’s grief overwhelmed him and it seemed as if a giant fist had gripped his chest and was squeezing it in two.

I know this is short, but it IS a prologue after all, and they aren’t supposed to be that long anyway. I had to kind of lead up to my story with this. If you read it, review it!!! I need ideas and suggestions, along with constructive criticism and comments. Compliments and praise would be fine as well. It takes only thirty seconds, just review it!

Jules: Thanks so much for your review! *glomptackle* You were my sole reviewer... *sob* More is coming! Much, much more!

In the hours after Gandalf’s fall a voice ran through Frodo’s mind. His own voice, over and over again. “We shall go through the mines. We shall go through the mines. We shall go through the mines…” He had made that decision. Gandalf had given him a choice and Frodo had failed him, with Gandalf’s death as the consequence.

Frodo glanced around at his remaining companions and saw grief written on their features. The other hobbits showed it openly and at times a sob would escape Pippin’s attempted stoic reserve. Legolas was a mixture of confusion and sorrow: being one of the Elven-kind he did not experience death often, and was all the more affected by it when he did. Aragorn, though, was the most painful to look at. Out of all the Fellowship he had known Gandalf best and had been Gandalf’s primary councilor on this journey. It was Aragorn who now had to lead the Fellowship on, so he tried to hide his pain, but it was still there and Frodo saw it clearly. All this grief was because of him.

“We shall let the Ringbearer decide.” Gandalf had said. Because of his own selfishness, his desire to get out of the biting cold, Frodo had chosen the more dangerous road. ‘I’m such a fool.’ Frodo thought bitterly. ‘Gandalf…’

Sam looked at Mister Frodo worriedly. He hadn’t spoken at all since they’d left the mines. ‘He looks awful pale,’ Sam thought. ‘He don’t seem to be ‘oldin’ up as well as the rest of us.’ Samwise quickened his pace to catch up with Strider. He’d know what to do. “Strider?” Sam said softly, trying to match the Ranger’s long pace. Aragorn looked down and waited for him to continue. “Strider, Mister Frodo’s kind of been lagging behind for a while and he ‘asn’t been sayin’ anything… and, well, I was thinkin’ maybe that it has somethin’ to do with that knock ’e got from that cave troll back there and I was, well, I was wonderin’ if maybe you could take a look at him.”

Strider looked pained for a moment, but quickly concealed it and said, “Of course, Sam. We will stop as soon as we get to this stream in the bottom of this valley.”

Sam was relieved. “Thank you.” He said and fell back into his place beside Frodo.

Aragorn berated himself for not noticing it before. It was obvious that Frodo was in real pain and seemingly on the verge of exhaustion. Gandalf had had faith in his ability to guide the Fellowship. “Lead them on, Aragorn.” He had said. Yet already Aragorn had failed to notice that the most important member of the Company was about to collapse. Gandalf would have noticed it sooner. He would have known what to do.

*“Aragorn?” Legolas’ voice broke through his gray thoughts. He spoke in Elvish. “Nar le man, mellon nin?” Aragorn did not look at him.

“Unen!” He responded fiercely. “Mithrandir na firn,” He switched back to Westron. “And already I am failing the Fellowship.” He looked back meaningfully at Frodo. Legolas followed his gaze.

“Ai,” He said. He clasped Aragorn’s shoulder comfortingly. “Dan estel, Elessar. Aure entuluva!”* Aragorn smiled weakly in gratitude.

“Thank you, my friend.” By this time they had reached the stream. Now to see about Frodo.

Yes, I know, another short chappie. But I’m writing often and there will be lots of them! Bear with me! *hint hint reviews compel me to write faster hint*

PLEASE SEND REVIEWS! I need suggestions, ideas, constructive criticism, CORRECTIONS FOR THE ELVISH, compliments, comments, etc. It’s so easy! Just press the handy-dandy review button! (my brother watches Blues Clues, alright?)

“Aragorn?” Legolas’ voice broke through his gray thoughts. He spoke in Elvish. “Are you good (well), my friend?”Aragorn did not look at him.

“I am not.” He responded fiercely. “Gandalf is dead,” He switched back to Westron. “And already I am failing the Fellowship.” He looked back meaningfully at Frodo. Legolas followed his gaze.

Mysterious Jedi: Oh thank you! I’m so glad you like it. Heh, sorry about the confusion with ff.net and everything.

JULES6: Thanks! That’s so cool you’re writing a story in this time period too! Let me know when you publish it!

Lossenchristal: Thanks! No one’s ever really commented on my style before. I appreciate it!! And I’m afraid I kind of skipped over that part, though I love it too!

Pebbles: Oh! What a compliment! All the chapters are already written up to a point, so I can’t change that. They will get a little longer, though.

Note: I am not a healer or anything so forgive me if my medical terms and such are not accurate.

They had stopped to rest by the stream. They had been walking for hours and they still had several more to go before they reached Lothlorien. The hobbits had plopped down in a heap upon arrival, all but Frodo. He sat a little way off from the rest, staring thoughtfully into the swift-moving stream. Aragorn approached him and was amused to notice Samwise watching his every move. He sat down cross-legged on the grass in front of Frodo, who raised his head to meet Aragorn’s gaze. Aragorn felt a twinge inside him; there was so much pain in those eyes. He put on a smile.

“Hello there, Frodo. How are you holding up?” he asked him. A wry look came over Frodo’s face.

“I am well, no matter what Sam told you back there.” He responded dryly. Aragorn raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, really? Well, I seem to recall you being in the wrong spot when a very large troll through his javelin.” He said just as dryly. He saw Frodo give a barely perceptible sigh.

“While it didn’t kill you,” Aragorn continued, undaunted. “It most likely injured you. May I look at it?” Frodo nodded resignedly. “Has it been hurting you?” Aragorn asked as he began to remove Frodo’s cloak and shirt.

“It… it has been uncomfortable and sometimes it is difficult to breath.” Frodo answered. Aragorn gently lifted the coat of mithril and the soft jerkin underneath to examine Frodo’s chest and stomach. He hissed sharply when he saw the large blue-black bruise that had formed and the many cuts and scratches made by sharp mithril-rings that had torn through the jerkin. It was amazing that Frodo had been able to walk at all, much less for hours on end! He gently felt Frodo’s ribs and stopped when Frodo winced.

“It is not as bad as it could have been,” Aragorn stated. “There is bruising and several scratches, and you have a bruised rib, that is why it is difficult to draw breath. It may be cracked, I cannot tell yet for sure.” He began to dig around in his pack and pulled out a roll of bandages that he had hoped would not be needed.

“Sam?” He called to the pile of hobbits. A red-brown head popped up. “Could you come here for a moment?” Sam was at their side in an instant and looked at Strider expectantly. Aragorn showed him a dried-out herb. “Could you see if there is any more of this around here? I believe it grows in this area.” With a nod at Frodo, Sam was off to find the soothing plant.

“Frodo, there is more bothering you than this wound.” Aragorn said softly. Frodo hesitated.

“No, no, I’m alright.” Aragorn groaned inwardly at the hobbit’s stubbornness.

“Frodo, the Council gave you companions so that they could help you in any and every way. Will you not tell me what is wrong?”

Frodo’s eyes flashed. “Nothing is wrong, Aragorn! Don’t ask me again!” Aragorn flinched, shocked by this fierce response. The other members of the Fellowship looked at them curiously and there was concern in Merry and Pippin’s eyes. Anything Aragorn could have said was cut off by Sam, who had returned with the herb.

“Yes, Sam,” Aragorn said, taking it. “This is fine. Thank you. Go rest now, we must start again in a little while.” Sam nodded at him, glanced at Frodo worriedly, and walked back to the hobbit heap. Aragorn crushed the herb into a salve and put it on Frodo’s cuts and bruises. He began to wrap Frodo’s chest with the bandages and Frodo relaxed visibly as the salve began to work.

“Aragorn… I’m sorry I lost my temper. I… please don’t ask me again.” Aragorn rose and looked down at Frodo with understanding.

“Be at peace, Ringbearer, I will not ask of it further.” He said and walked over to talk to Legolas. ‘Gandalf…’

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Pippin was miserable. He glanced over at Frodo, but that only made it worse. His cousin had no comfort for him this time; Frodo needed consoling himself.

Why had he bothered that arrow? Why could he not seem to think before he did something? Why was he always so foolish? Pippin snuffled a bit before he could stop himself.

“Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!” Gandalf had said, snatching back his hat and staff.

Until now Boromir had not understood fully the relationship between Mithrandir and the halflings. He had noticed, of course, the comfortable way that they joked or bantered with each other; a way in which Boromir never would have dared deal with the wizard. But now… now he saw the love the hobbits had for him and he imagined how much Mithrandir must have cared for them in return.

Young Peregrin especially seemed devastated. The little one still cried occasionally, though he obviously did not want to show the others his grief. The Ringbearer, too, seemed full of pain, and with good reason: he had known Gandalf best out of the hobbits. But Pippin… he was so young!

Boromir shortened his strides and fell into step beside Peregrin, who was walking apart from the others. He ruffled his curls a bit, but did not get the hoped-for smile.

“You walk as with a great burden, little one. Will you tell me what is the matter?” Boromir asked gently. Pippin was silent for a moment.

“Gandalf…” he said reluctantly. Boromir waited. “Gandalf, he… I… if I hadn’t touched anything then the goblins would not have come, and… and then the monster wouldn’t have come and Gandalf would still be here walking with us and laughing when I said how much my feet hurt and how hungry I am… but he’s not, Boromir, and it’s all my fault!” This came out in a rush. Pippin’s voice had been rising in pitch and by the end he was practically in tears. The others were pretending not to notice, though Meriadoc looked as if he could barely restrain himself from running to comfort his younger cousin.

“Peregrin,” Boromir began, shocked to think that this young one was carrying such a weight. “You did not know the dwarf would fall. Had you known, you would not have bothered it. Gandalf knew that.” Pippin just began to cry, though Boromir could see he was ashamed of himself. ‘He need not be,’ he thought. ‘He has been through so much…’ Boromir caught Aragorn’s eye and signaled for the company to stop.

“Let’s have one more rest before we reach Lorien, but only for a moment.” Aragorn announced to the Fellowship. They all dispersed into groups and the other hobbits collapsed wearily on the ground, leaving Boromir and Pippin to themselves. Boromir sat down and pulled Pippin onto his lap.

“There, there, little one,” he soothed. “It is not your fault and you must not think such things.” Pippin looked up at him doubtfully, but his crying was reduced to occasional sobs. “It was impossible that we could have passed through Moria unnoticed, something else would have alerted the orcs to our presence even if that had not.” Boromir continued. Peregrin still looked doubtful.

“Gandalf knew that as well. He held no grudge against you, Peregrin, you may be assured of that.” Boromir said with finality. Pippin still looked wretched, but some of the pain was gone from his eyes.

“Thank you, Boromir. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Pippin said, snuggling into his chest. Boromir was surprised at this show of affection, and he was even more shocked to realize how close these small hobbits were to his heart, especially this one. He loved him as he would his own son.

“And I don’t know where this Fellowship would be without you, Peregrin Took.” Boromir said solemnly. Pippin looked up.

“Really?” Boromir nodded. “Boromir, do you think you could talk to Frodo, too?” Pippin asked. Boromir shifted uncomfortably. Talk to the Ringbearer… “He seems even more sad than I am.” Pippin finished. Boromir sighed but said,

“Of course, little one.” Just then Aragorn walked up and Boromir once again felt uncomfortable in his position. Peregrin wasn’t a child, after all.

“Boromir, Pippin, it’s time to go. We will not stop again until we’ve reached Lorien.” Aragorn said, and he walked off to tell the others. The pair rose. Suddenly, Boromir had a thought. Child or no…

“Well, I can fix that.” Boromir said mischievously and with a roar he swept Pippin up and set him on his shoulders. Pippin burst into a fit of giggles.

“Boromir!” he cried. Boromir laughed, pleased he had made Pippin forget his sadness for a moment.

Hmm… perhaps I should make this into a vignette all its very own, what do you think? It’s LONGER than the others! Yey! My muse changed her ways… at least for now.

Send reviews!!! Must know what you think! Point out errors and lines you liked and just anything! Just review it pawaleese! As our dear Elijah Wood says, “That would be lovely.” And anyway if you don’t I’m going to get Deranged Lil’ Hobbit to send over her Giant Squirrel of Mass Destruction with a loaded water gun!!! *raspberry*

The Fellowship had reached Lothlorien, entering the wood in the afternoon just as the light was beginning to fade. It had been a relief for Frodo to walk in the cool shade of the trees. An aura of peace had passed over the Company, though all had been wary of the mystery surrounded Laurelindorenan, the Valley of the Singing Gold.

They had barely entered the forest when the elves of that place, the Galadhrim, had greeted them with the points of arrows and the ageless people had only slightly relaxed when they realized who they were. The Fellowship had been led farther into the forest and up onto a lofty flet in one of the immense trees as night fell upon Lorien.

“The leader of this company is Haldir,” Aragorn had pointed out to Frodo the tall Elf who had spoken to them rather rudely, towards Gimli especially, when the Elves had first come upon them.

Aragorn and Legolas, a Dunadan and a Prince of Mirkwood, seemed known to the Galadhrim, but the reserved Elves appeared very nearly afraid of Frodo and the Ring he carried. “You bring great evil with you.” Haldir had said, looking pointedly at him. “You can go no further.” Haldir’s words had stirred Frodo’s memory and his mind wandered to the voice that had been in Frodo’s mind after they had entered Lothlorien. It had not been his own this time, but rather a woman’s, deep and powerful. The echoes of it still disturbed his thoughts. ‘Frodo... your coming to us... is as the footsteps of Doom.... You bring great evil here, Ringbearer.’

Frodo dragged himself away from the hypnotic voice that haunted his mind and back to the present. Aragorn was trying to convince Haldir to let them continue on and the two had been speaking heatedly for the past hour. Now it looked as if Aragorn was actually pleading with the Elf. Frodo’s gut twisted as he realized again how desperate their situation really was.

Frodo looked around at the Fellowship. Legolas was resting comfortably on this high perch, but looked rather restless. He caught the elf’s eye and their gaze met, but neither had any comfort to offer the other and they looked away after a moment. Sam glanced at him as if to make sure he was still indeed there, as he had done every few minutes since they’d left the Mines. It was beginning to get tiresome, but Frodo knew Sam was only worried about him so he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to end up snapping at him like he had at Aragorn but a few hours earlier. Frodo tried to give Samwise an encouraging smile, but his face refused even to create a façade of happiness and all that came out of the effort was a slight shift in Frodo’s lips. He gave up and did his own check for Merry and Pippin. They were huddled together on the other side of the flet, and they looked quite miserable so high off the ground. Peregrin had taken Gandalf’s death badly, though it seemed Boromir had eased his pain somewhat when the Company had stopped that last time before reaching Lothlorien. Frodo didn’t know how he had done it, but he was grateful to the Man for helping his youngest cousin. Gimli was sitting as far away from Elves as possible and looked extremely uncomfortable being in their realm. Out of long-time habit, Frodo began to search for Gandalf. ‘Gandalf...? Gandalf? Oh... Gandalf.’ Memories that had been temporarily eased came flooding back to him and tears welled up suddenly in his eyes, but Frodo was determined not to let them fall. Boromir must have noticed anyway.

“Gandalf’s death was not in vain,” he said gently. “Nor would he have you give up hope.” he paused and looked at Frodo piercingly. “You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. Don’t carry the weight of the dead.”

While Frodo’s mind could find no true comfort in the words, his spirit did and indeed it felt as if a great weight that he hadn’t even known was there had been lifted.

As he began to relax, Haldir was suddenly before them. “You will follow me.” he said and he led them off the flet.

The sun had risen over the golden trees and light touched the faces of the Company. Boromir was wary of these Elves; he did not trust them and always it seemed as if someone was listening to his very thoughts. He glanced around at those that surrounded the remaining eight of the Fellowship and, deciding they were not an immediate threat, relaxed into thought. The Ringbearer... Frodo was slightly behind him and Boromir was pleased to note that he walked with a lighter step, though shadows still clouded his face. Boromir always kept track of him now. What if something should happen to him? What if he should wander off like he had after they’d left the Mines? What would become of the Ring if he did? Boromir shook his head to rid himself of that voice that haunted his steps and dreams. ‘Keep Frodo in your sight... follow him...’ a seductive tone had been whispering. ‘Leave me!’ Boromir told the voice. ‘Please leave me alone...’

“Boromir?” a soft voice at his side jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked down and was startled to find Frodo himself.

“No, no.” Frodo shook his head. “I just... I wanted to thank you for what you said last night. It... I found a comfort in your words that you will probably never realize.” Boromir was surprised. He hadn’t expected gratitude... the Ringbearer had been avoiding him, it seemed, for quite a while. When he didn’t say anything, Frodo continued. “And I also wanted to thank you for whatever you did to help Pippin.” he said, looking over at the mentioned cousin who was enthralled, in the morning light and safely on the ground, with the Elves and the trees and every other new Valar-be-blessed thing and he was now busy asking Haldir who-knew-what. The Elf, though, did not seem to mind; rather he appeared amused.

‘The Valar help him if Pippin thinks he has found someone to answer all of his many questions.’ Boromir thought. “You are very welcome, on both accounts.” he said. He paused, wondering if he should reveal to Frodo what Peregrin had most likely told him in confidence. ‘He needs to know.’ he decided, though it irked him to break even a promise not verbally given. “Your cousin seemed to think Gandalf’s death was his fault.” he said reluctantly. Frodo started, but composed himself quickly. “Is there something wrong?” Boromir asked, concerned.

“No, nothing’s wrong... I just, I’m fine, Boromir. Thank you again...” Frodo said hastily and he made his way over to his cousins.

(Note: Some of the above dialogue is from a scene in the movie “The Fellowship of the Ring”.)

What is wrong with Frodo? Legolas wondered for the hundredth time since entering Lorien. After leaving the flet, Haldir had led them to Caras Galadhon where they had met the Lord and Lady of the Wood. The Lady Galadriel had spoken to each of them in his own mind, disturbing some and comforting others. Frodo’s grief had appeared to be alleviated at the time, but since then he had once again grown brooding and silent. The whole Company had been grieved over Mithrandir’s death, the pheriannath especially, but their sadness had lifted once they reached the peace of Laurelindorenan and the comfort of the Lady. Frodo’s grief, too, should have been lifted, but there was still pain in his every glance. In the back of Legolas’ mind, the reason for it flitted about, but he was unable to catch the elusive thing. There was something that he, something that they were all, missing. What was it? He would approach Frodo later and offer his own comfort.

Sam was worried about Mister Frodo. He wasn’t eating anything, not natural for a hobbit, Baggins though he was; he slept but seldom, and when he did sleep he tossed and turned and would often cry out, “No! I’m sorry… I’m so sorry….” Gandalf’s death had hurt them all, but Frodo was taking it hard… it wasn’t healthy! After they’d seen the White Lady, Frodo had been at peace for a while, but his sadness had slowly re-emerged. Sam had tried to ask him about it, but Frodo had gently brushed him off. Nothing was wrong, he’d say, and would Sam please stop asking him about it? Samwise shook his head. It just wasn’t natural.

Aragorn chafed at the promise he had made. Frodo needed help, and he clearly was not going to ask for it, so someone would have to ask him about it. Alas, Aragorn had given his word not to ask of it, and Samwise was not having much better fortune. Boromir had talked to him, and it seemed as if that had helped, but Frodo was slipping back into his grief. Even Lady Galadriel had not rid him of it. The other hobbits had begun sharing memories and laughing at remembered quirks of Gandalf a few days after his passing, but not Frodo. True, he had been closer to the wizard than the others, but by now he should have joined his cousins in remembering Gandalf as he had lived. Aragorn had often come very close to talking to Frodo again, but he had kept his word. He would not break it.

Merry was worried. It seemed as if he hadn’t stopped worrying for years now. Pippin had healed, and had returned to his normal self, though now he seemed to take things more seriously. Boromir and Peregrin had bonded over the weeks they’d been in Lorien, and it seemed as if the Man was the key to Pippin’s regained… well, Pippin-ness. But Frodo… Frodo was a different story. His cousin had been so… quiet, so sad. His eyes… Merry could barely stand to look at them. Frodo would often wander off into the woods by himself for hours upon end, and when he returned he would appear to be comforted, but within a few minutes of returning he would again fall silent. Merry hadn’t approached Frodo about it, but he had kept a close eye on him whenever possible.

Gimli’s thoughts wandered from one matter to another. Well, mainly two. Frodo, Galadriel, Frodo, Galadriel… She was so beautiful. Gimli had never seen anything… anything as lovely as the Lady of the Wood. Something, not in her appearance but more in her mind, reminded him of his own kind. Something subtle… that perhaps only a Dwarf could discern, but it was there. As for the other matter... what was wrong with the Ringbearer, anyway? Gimli couldn’t quite put his finger on it... but there was something deeply the matter with the hobbit. Gimli wasn’t very good with words or comfort, but perhaps he should speak to Legolas about it. The Elf had been showing him kindness recently, and Gimli had dropped his... distaste for the Prince since reaching Caras Galadhon. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He’d talk to Legolas first thing in the morning... Now, Galadriel....

Pippin crouched behind one of the large tree trunks. He risked a peek around it, and quickly pulled his head back again. One... two... three... NOW! “Boo!” He cried. But Frodo was not there. Bewildered, Pippin looked around quickly. Where had he gone? He wasn’t... he wasn’t anywhere. He’d just been there! Pippin had seen him! He sighed. Well, so much for making him laugh. He thought dejectedly. His oldest cousin had been overly quiet lately... He’d always been sort of quiet, but now he just didn’t talk. At all. Peregrin couldn’t imagine how it was possible not to talk for more than five minutes, much less all the time. He remembered how he’d felt after Gandalf had died and how Boromir had helped him. Boromir had talked to Frodo too, but he hadn’t achieved quite the same effect with him. Pippin sighed again. What could be bothering his cousin this much?

The Grief and Guilt of a Ringbearer by Cantora Eledhwen