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Jul. 18th, 2004 10:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: The Journey of the Lady’s Phial
Author: Claudia
Rating: G
Summary: A series of vignettes about Frodo and Sam on quest, linked together by the Phial of Galadriel.
Disclaimer: I make no money from this.
S/N: A few direct book quotes in dialogue.
Gray and Leafless World
Frodo kept his eyes fixed on the Lady Galadriel as the boats glided away from the fair land on a silver stream. Frodo bowed his head as a weight pressed hard against his chest. The clear sad song of Varda carried over the hushed murmur of paddles cutting through water. He did not know the words, but it touched his heart in a way he did not understand.
Frodo took the phial from a pocket in his tunic, pressing the cool glass against his chilled fingers. Golden fountains of light from inside warmed his heart, and he could almost hear Galadriel’s musical laugh. He imagined how he would describe to Bilbo the keen difference between the Elves of Lorien and those in Rivendell. He could tell him about the superficial distinctions, such as dress or coloring, or how the music of Lorien seemed more mournful than merry. But his heart told him the heart of the answer lay inside the phial. Just clutching the star-glass close, hope stirred in his heart, yet it was poignant and spoke of inevitable loss.
I can walk into the darkness, he thought. Alone, if need be.
“It’s a mighty fine gift, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. He looked longingly behind him and seemed morose, as did most of the company. Even Merry and Pippin sat hunched over, subdued and melancholy.
At last Frodo nodded, but still he could find no words.
Sam shook his head. “It’s a bit like leaving the shelter of hearth and a hot meal and having to go out into the storm again. It chills my heart, it does.” He peered suspiciously into the water, clutching the side of the boat. “And I don’t like this boat business, neither. The sooner we’re on solid ground, the better.”
“Fear not, Sam,” Aragorn said with a smile. “Boats made in that fair realm do not sink so easily.”
Sam muttered something about how the Gaffer would never believe Sam Gamgee had been in a boat. Frodo slipped his gift back into his tunic. The haunting music had faded, and he only heard the rhythmic whisper of paddles slicing through water.
The boats circled a bend, and the fair land was lost to them forever.
A Light when All Other Lights Go Out
There was a menace in this stench-filled dark, and no mistake. Sam had been on edge since entering this wretched place, and his throat felt tight, like someone had wrapped a handkerchief around his neck and squeezed. Stinker had led them in here, and Sam had a wretched feeling about it.
“Mr. Frodo—“
“Hush.” Frodo’s voice was gentle, but it held command. Sam could not remember a time when he’d not looked up to Frodo, and it had naught to do with his station. There were many as had jewels and money and would never earn respect as far as Sam Gamgee was concerned. But Mr. Frodo – Sam had loved him from the very first time he had visited Bag End and found a patient teacher who never, like many lads of his age would have done, said, “Run along now” when Sam wanted to hear just one more song or story. Sam would follow him to the ends of the world.
That I’m doing, he thought grimly.
The gurgling hiss of whatever was hidden in the bowels of the tunnel approached. It was dark as the blackest night, and no light could ever get through—
Light. He remembered his master caressing the Lady’s gift in the boat that sad day they’d left Lorien and how as Sam had stared, it had spouted delightful bursts of light, like poor Mr. Gandalf’s fireworks.
A light for you when all other lights go out…
“The Lady’s Gift!” Sam burst out. “The star-glass! A light to you in dark places, she said it was to be. The star-glass!”
And now Frodo thrust the phial toward the ominous sound, and in Sam’s mind, Frodo looked like an Elf lord, his wise face chiseled and stern. The light in his hand started like a small white flame, uncertain, before catching fire, dazzling the foul cave with starlight.
When Frodo shouted in Elvish, it sounded right natural, as if he had always spoken in that fair tongue. Near blinded by the dazzle, pride stirred in Samwise Gamgee’s chest, that his Mr. Frodo was not only good and true, but he was braver than many of the warriors of the Big Folk. He bet even Strider hadn’t faced something like this. The Elves might even make a song of it, they would, if Frodo and Sam lived to tell about it.
Bulbous eyes – many of them -- filled with the worst kind of evil – as if Sauron himself had come down from his tower to gloat — blinked at them.
Frodo’s eyes no longer drooped with weariness or despair. They were clear, piercing, and his jaw was set in determination as still holding the phial before him, he drew out Sting. Sam drew his own sword and followed close behind. Though he quaked, he’d fight to his death if that filth attacked his master.
The eyes closed and the hulking creature retreated into darkness, unable to bear the agony of looking at an Elvish star fallen to Middle earth.
Where I can’t Follow
Frodo was dead, his face pale and still. No chafing of hands and brow, begging, weeping, or rage against the nearby stones had brought him back. His Frodo had died far from the comfort of Bag End, where he should have lived long into old age, writing and reading and taking long leisurely walks under the starlight. Sam’s throat filled, as it had not quite hit him that he would never again hear Frodo’s soft voice again, and he stifled a sob. He could not even bury him, not in this Enemy’s land full of orcs and carrions.
He lay his head in his hands and wept. Darkness fell over his heart, a far heavier dark than inside the monster’s lair. He did not picture anything that had happened so far on the quest. He pictured instead dear Mr. Frodo at work at his desk safe in Bag End, turning to Sam with a welcoming smile, ever patient, never annoyed at having been interrupted. He pictured him singing in his clear strong voice, ever eager to put a new song Bilbo had made up to melody. He pictured the many times as a lad he had answered his door to find Frodo there, bearing sacks of extra vegetables from the garden that he and Bilbo could never finish.
At last Sam knew he must continue on – his heart had already broken for a second time when he had taken it from Frodo and his Frodo had not stirred, not at all. He took Sting, leaving his own sword beside Frodo’s still form. And he lifted the Lady’s star-glass. With a shaking hand, he held it over Frodo’s face, hoping beyond hope that the flickering Elvish starlight inside would bathe him with life. But still Frodo did not stir, and the glow did not catch fire, as it needed to be fed by a light that had gone out forever.
“I’ll need this now,” Sam said through his tears. “for I’ll always be in the dark now.”
And he put the light in his tunic and walked away, not knowing whether the heavy burden pressing on his shoulders was from the Ring or from knowing he would soon look back and not see his master.
Star-Glass
Frodo could feel nothing but weary joy that he lay in Sam’s arms and that it was not a dream. The Ring was gone – his mind itched with a loss he could not begin to feel yet. His back burned furiously from the whip welts. And he was so cold. They had stripped him of everything. Everything.
Yet beyond all hope, Sam had found him and he was warm in his arms. At least they could perish together at the ending of the world. For now all would surely come to darkness.
“Mr. Frodo, you know I’d hold you near forever, but we best be getting out of here. I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before more of those brutes come up here. Are you in pain?”
“It’s no use, Sam,” Frodo said, his content smile fading. The arms that held him had the strength of an Elf warrior.
“We’ve just got to get you dressed, and then we’ll be on our way –“
“Sam – they took everything.”
Sam took a breath, as if reluctant to speak. His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he had been weeping for days. “No, Mr. Frodo. Not everything. With a shaking fist, he pulled the Ring, still on its chain, from his pocket.
And at last the Ring was in Frodo’s keeping again, and it soothed the growing itch in his mind. He could not bear to meet Sam’s wounded eyes. He had nearly struck him down, and he could not feel darker inside. Dear, sweet Sam. Even if Frodo had struck him down, Sam would bear it with dignity and forgive him.
“It is my burden to bear,” he said again. “I am sorry.” His arm passed before his eyes, shielding himself from a distant eye that ever probed for him.
“And I kept this,” Sam said, and in his hand glowed the light of Earendil. Frodo met Sam’s eyes at last, clutching the light, and the darkness inside him faded. Only reluctantly did he put it away, for they needed only stealth at the end of their journey.
Everything Sad Come Untrue
Frodo thought it surely must be a dream, some trickery of the Ring, but no, there had been no pleasant dreams for weeks. But now before him, he saw with his own eyes all he had thought was lost -- his dear friends and cousins, his Sam, Gandalf, and rays of warm sunshine bathing his bedcover in golden light.
He could do nothing but laugh, and Gandalf joined his laughter, and that was a splendid sound for all to hear. Merry and Pippin hugged him, fighting for his attention, and he could not believe how big they’d grown. And Aragorn came in, and amidst Pippin’s chatter, Frodo discerned that Strider was now King. Aragorn looked down at Frodo, his eyes soft with admiration, and he bent to kiss Frodo’s brow. “It gladdens my heart to hear your laughter, Ringbearer.”
Frodo’s smile faded slightly and a chill entered his heart. “Do not call me that…please.”
Aragorn bowed slightly. “Frodo, then. Brave beyond words, by whatever name.”
Then Gandalf brought forth something in his hand that glowed soft white.
“Your glass, Frodo, the Lady Galadriel’s gift.”
And Frodo nearly wept, the momentary chill forgotten, for he had been sure it had been lost in the fire and lava at the end of all things.
He clutched the star-glass, but there was no need for it to burst forth in resplendent white fire where there was already so much light.
Passing into the West
They had reached the end. Sam had barely spoken a word since Frodo had told him. He could not. He feared that he would weep and beg, and there would be no sense to it, for it would do no good at all.
Frodo’s face was relaxed, the harshness of the past wounds and trials at last gone, his eyes finally peaceful as he gazed out to the gray, lapping sea.
“I hear them singing,” he said softly, his face otherworldly, as if he were only halfway present. “And I am no longer so cold.”
But I still need him, Sam thought selfishly. I just can’t live without him.
He dug his fingernails into his palms, feeling helpless and cold, like a babe torn from his mother’s breast. He could not show Frodo that his heart was so crushed he could scarcely take breaths. His Frodo deserved to find peace, at whatever cost to Sam. It would do no good to argue with him anyway. Never could there be a hobbit of such stubbornness once his mind was made up. Frodo gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, but he still looked out to sea.
After the good-byes, Frodo boarded the ship with Gandalf, Mr. Bilbo, Galadriel and Elrond. With a choked sob, Sam realized suddenly that he also grieved the passing of enchantment from Middle earth and that every being now boarding that ship had given him possibilities beyond potatoes and cabbages.
Merry and Pippin, weeping quietly, leaned against Sam. Sam was not sure he could bear to watch as the ship pulled off from the harbor. But once it did, he found he could not take his eyes from it. Frodo lifted his hand in gentle farewell, his smile bathed in the phial’s gentle starlight.
Sam could not tell whether Frodo was holding the phial or whether the light shimmered from within him. But more likely it was both -- the phial caught the light from inside Frodo and set it afire, dazzling the gray evening. Sam watched in crushed silence as the ship slid farther out through the firth and into the open sea. Barely aware of the supporting arms of Frodo’s cousins, Sam did not take his eyes from the fading star until at last it blinked out, leaving only a curtain of gray rain.
END
Author: Claudia
Rating: G
Summary: A series of vignettes about Frodo and Sam on quest, linked together by the Phial of Galadriel.
Disclaimer: I make no money from this.
S/N: A few direct book quotes in dialogue.
Gray and Leafless World
Frodo kept his eyes fixed on the Lady Galadriel as the boats glided away from the fair land on a silver stream. Frodo bowed his head as a weight pressed hard against his chest. The clear sad song of Varda carried over the hushed murmur of paddles cutting through water. He did not know the words, but it touched his heart in a way he did not understand.
Frodo took the phial from a pocket in his tunic, pressing the cool glass against his chilled fingers. Golden fountains of light from inside warmed his heart, and he could almost hear Galadriel’s musical laugh. He imagined how he would describe to Bilbo the keen difference between the Elves of Lorien and those in Rivendell. He could tell him about the superficial distinctions, such as dress or coloring, or how the music of Lorien seemed more mournful than merry. But his heart told him the heart of the answer lay inside the phial. Just clutching the star-glass close, hope stirred in his heart, yet it was poignant and spoke of inevitable loss.
I can walk into the darkness, he thought. Alone, if need be.
“It’s a mighty fine gift, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. He looked longingly behind him and seemed morose, as did most of the company. Even Merry and Pippin sat hunched over, subdued and melancholy.
At last Frodo nodded, but still he could find no words.
Sam shook his head. “It’s a bit like leaving the shelter of hearth and a hot meal and having to go out into the storm again. It chills my heart, it does.” He peered suspiciously into the water, clutching the side of the boat. “And I don’t like this boat business, neither. The sooner we’re on solid ground, the better.”
“Fear not, Sam,” Aragorn said with a smile. “Boats made in that fair realm do not sink so easily.”
Sam muttered something about how the Gaffer would never believe Sam Gamgee had been in a boat. Frodo slipped his gift back into his tunic. The haunting music had faded, and he only heard the rhythmic whisper of paddles slicing through water.
The boats circled a bend, and the fair land was lost to them forever.
A Light when All Other Lights Go Out
There was a menace in this stench-filled dark, and no mistake. Sam had been on edge since entering this wretched place, and his throat felt tight, like someone had wrapped a handkerchief around his neck and squeezed. Stinker had led them in here, and Sam had a wretched feeling about it.
“Mr. Frodo—“
“Hush.” Frodo’s voice was gentle, but it held command. Sam could not remember a time when he’d not looked up to Frodo, and it had naught to do with his station. There were many as had jewels and money and would never earn respect as far as Sam Gamgee was concerned. But Mr. Frodo – Sam had loved him from the very first time he had visited Bag End and found a patient teacher who never, like many lads of his age would have done, said, “Run along now” when Sam wanted to hear just one more song or story. Sam would follow him to the ends of the world.
That I’m doing, he thought grimly.
The gurgling hiss of whatever was hidden in the bowels of the tunnel approached. It was dark as the blackest night, and no light could ever get through—
Light. He remembered his master caressing the Lady’s gift in the boat that sad day they’d left Lorien and how as Sam had stared, it had spouted delightful bursts of light, like poor Mr. Gandalf’s fireworks.
A light for you when all other lights go out…
“The Lady’s Gift!” Sam burst out. “The star-glass! A light to you in dark places, she said it was to be. The star-glass!”
And now Frodo thrust the phial toward the ominous sound, and in Sam’s mind, Frodo looked like an Elf lord, his wise face chiseled and stern. The light in his hand started like a small white flame, uncertain, before catching fire, dazzling the foul cave with starlight.
When Frodo shouted in Elvish, it sounded right natural, as if he had always spoken in that fair tongue. Near blinded by the dazzle, pride stirred in Samwise Gamgee’s chest, that his Mr. Frodo was not only good and true, but he was braver than many of the warriors of the Big Folk. He bet even Strider hadn’t faced something like this. The Elves might even make a song of it, they would, if Frodo and Sam lived to tell about it.
Bulbous eyes – many of them -- filled with the worst kind of evil – as if Sauron himself had come down from his tower to gloat — blinked at them.
Frodo’s eyes no longer drooped with weariness or despair. They were clear, piercing, and his jaw was set in determination as still holding the phial before him, he drew out Sting. Sam drew his own sword and followed close behind. Though he quaked, he’d fight to his death if that filth attacked his master.
The eyes closed and the hulking creature retreated into darkness, unable to bear the agony of looking at an Elvish star fallen to Middle earth.
Where I can’t Follow
Frodo was dead, his face pale and still. No chafing of hands and brow, begging, weeping, or rage against the nearby stones had brought him back. His Frodo had died far from the comfort of Bag End, where he should have lived long into old age, writing and reading and taking long leisurely walks under the starlight. Sam’s throat filled, as it had not quite hit him that he would never again hear Frodo’s soft voice again, and he stifled a sob. He could not even bury him, not in this Enemy’s land full of orcs and carrions.
He lay his head in his hands and wept. Darkness fell over his heart, a far heavier dark than inside the monster’s lair. He did not picture anything that had happened so far on the quest. He pictured instead dear Mr. Frodo at work at his desk safe in Bag End, turning to Sam with a welcoming smile, ever patient, never annoyed at having been interrupted. He pictured him singing in his clear strong voice, ever eager to put a new song Bilbo had made up to melody. He pictured the many times as a lad he had answered his door to find Frodo there, bearing sacks of extra vegetables from the garden that he and Bilbo could never finish.
At last Sam knew he must continue on – his heart had already broken for a second time when he had taken it from Frodo and his Frodo had not stirred, not at all. He took Sting, leaving his own sword beside Frodo’s still form. And he lifted the Lady’s star-glass. With a shaking hand, he held it over Frodo’s face, hoping beyond hope that the flickering Elvish starlight inside would bathe him with life. But still Frodo did not stir, and the glow did not catch fire, as it needed to be fed by a light that had gone out forever.
“I’ll need this now,” Sam said through his tears. “for I’ll always be in the dark now.”
And he put the light in his tunic and walked away, not knowing whether the heavy burden pressing on his shoulders was from the Ring or from knowing he would soon look back and not see his master.
Star-Glass
Frodo could feel nothing but weary joy that he lay in Sam’s arms and that it was not a dream. The Ring was gone – his mind itched with a loss he could not begin to feel yet. His back burned furiously from the whip welts. And he was so cold. They had stripped him of everything. Everything.
Yet beyond all hope, Sam had found him and he was warm in his arms. At least they could perish together at the ending of the world. For now all would surely come to darkness.
“Mr. Frodo, you know I’d hold you near forever, but we best be getting out of here. I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before more of those brutes come up here. Are you in pain?”
“It’s no use, Sam,” Frodo said, his content smile fading. The arms that held him had the strength of an Elf warrior.
“We’ve just got to get you dressed, and then we’ll be on our way –“
“Sam – they took everything.”
Sam took a breath, as if reluctant to speak. His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he had been weeping for days. “No, Mr. Frodo. Not everything. With a shaking fist, he pulled the Ring, still on its chain, from his pocket.
And at last the Ring was in Frodo’s keeping again, and it soothed the growing itch in his mind. He could not bear to meet Sam’s wounded eyes. He had nearly struck him down, and he could not feel darker inside. Dear, sweet Sam. Even if Frodo had struck him down, Sam would bear it with dignity and forgive him.
“It is my burden to bear,” he said again. “I am sorry.” His arm passed before his eyes, shielding himself from a distant eye that ever probed for him.
“And I kept this,” Sam said, and in his hand glowed the light of Earendil. Frodo met Sam’s eyes at last, clutching the light, and the darkness inside him faded. Only reluctantly did he put it away, for they needed only stealth at the end of their journey.
Everything Sad Come Untrue
Frodo thought it surely must be a dream, some trickery of the Ring, but no, there had been no pleasant dreams for weeks. But now before him, he saw with his own eyes all he had thought was lost -- his dear friends and cousins, his Sam, Gandalf, and rays of warm sunshine bathing his bedcover in golden light.
He could do nothing but laugh, and Gandalf joined his laughter, and that was a splendid sound for all to hear. Merry and Pippin hugged him, fighting for his attention, and he could not believe how big they’d grown. And Aragorn came in, and amidst Pippin’s chatter, Frodo discerned that Strider was now King. Aragorn looked down at Frodo, his eyes soft with admiration, and he bent to kiss Frodo’s brow. “It gladdens my heart to hear your laughter, Ringbearer.”
Frodo’s smile faded slightly and a chill entered his heart. “Do not call me that…please.”
Aragorn bowed slightly. “Frodo, then. Brave beyond words, by whatever name.”
Then Gandalf brought forth something in his hand that glowed soft white.
“Your glass, Frodo, the Lady Galadriel’s gift.”
And Frodo nearly wept, the momentary chill forgotten, for he had been sure it had been lost in the fire and lava at the end of all things.
He clutched the star-glass, but there was no need for it to burst forth in resplendent white fire where there was already so much light.
Passing into the West
They had reached the end. Sam had barely spoken a word since Frodo had told him. He could not. He feared that he would weep and beg, and there would be no sense to it, for it would do no good at all.
Frodo’s face was relaxed, the harshness of the past wounds and trials at last gone, his eyes finally peaceful as he gazed out to the gray, lapping sea.
“I hear them singing,” he said softly, his face otherworldly, as if he were only halfway present. “And I am no longer so cold.”
But I still need him, Sam thought selfishly. I just can’t live without him.
He dug his fingernails into his palms, feeling helpless and cold, like a babe torn from his mother’s breast. He could not show Frodo that his heart was so crushed he could scarcely take breaths. His Frodo deserved to find peace, at whatever cost to Sam. It would do no good to argue with him anyway. Never could there be a hobbit of such stubbornness once his mind was made up. Frodo gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, but he still looked out to sea.
After the good-byes, Frodo boarded the ship with Gandalf, Mr. Bilbo, Galadriel and Elrond. With a choked sob, Sam realized suddenly that he also grieved the passing of enchantment from Middle earth and that every being now boarding that ship had given him possibilities beyond potatoes and cabbages.
Merry and Pippin, weeping quietly, leaned against Sam. Sam was not sure he could bear to watch as the ship pulled off from the harbor. But once it did, he found he could not take his eyes from it. Frodo lifted his hand in gentle farewell, his smile bathed in the phial’s gentle starlight.
Sam could not tell whether Frodo was holding the phial or whether the light shimmered from within him. But more likely it was both -- the phial caught the light from inside Frodo and set it afire, dazzling the gray evening. Sam watched in crushed silence as the ship slid farther out through the firth and into the open sea. Barely aware of the supporting arms of Frodo’s cousins, Sam did not take his eyes from the fading star until at last it blinked out, leaving only a curtain of gray rain.
END