The Sword That Was Broken
“Seek for the Sword that was broken;
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul spells.
There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur’s Bane shall waken,
And the Halflings forth shall stand.”
The words of Boromir, man of Gondor, spoken during the great council
signaled an end to the waiting for my fellow craftsmen and myself. A
waiting that has lasted an age.
Long had the methods and procedures to be used in the reforging of the
sword of Elendil been debated among those of us who held to the waning
belief that the Men of the West would arise once more.
For many lifetimes among men, the heirs of Elendil have been succored
in Imladris. And time had seen their dwindling. There were many that
said their star had set. That it was futile to hold to the hope that
they would rise again.
For elves, time flows differently and there are those among us still
who know the circumstances of the shattering of that great sword as
more than mere legend. Never again will such a host of men and elves be
assembled. Both our races suffered grievous losses to win the day, but
without the might of men the besieging of Mordor would not have been
possible. And it was a man who cut the Ring from the Dark Lord’s hand
and vanquished him. Thus my fellow craftsmen and I have lingered upon
these shores when so many of our kindred have departed for the West.
Waiting for the time when we would give one last payment to the
memories of our valiant comrades in arms.
Now, the time has arrived. The shards have been carried to the forge.
The blade will shine once more with the light of the sun and the moon
and go to battle upon the marches of Mordor. The heir of Isildur shall
wield it and as the little hobbit has written,
“A light from the shadows shall
Renewed shall be blade that was
the crownless again shall be King.”
The evening shadows fell over the warm earth in brilliant streamers of
purple and orange. The crickets chirped their evening song, and a
whippoorwill called from a stand of trees near the river. There was a
sudden crackling - a small campfire was nearby, just inside a small
clearing of oaks. A man was there, deftly feeding wood to the ever
hungry fire. With a sigh, he sat down by one of the massive trees and
leaned against it. He tugged a travel-worn pack closer to him, and
pulled a pipe and a pouch of tobacco out of it. As he smoked, he
couldn't help but notice the perfect evening.
A sudden distant sound of laughter caught his ear. Rising, he slipped
from tree to tree until he could see who it was that had come to the
far edges of the Shire.
Walking down a wooded lane were two hobbits, talking and singing
together. They were apparently heedless of the surrounding countryside,
merely enjoying the evening together in a companionable stroll.
Aragorn smiled to himself. Bilbo and his young cousin Frodo were out
for a rendezvous with the Elves, it appeared. He watched silently for a
moment more, then slipped back through the trees to his campsite.
Leaning back against his oak tree in the clearing, he drew in a deep
breath of the sweet air. It was moments like this that made guarding
the Shire so rewarding....
(Dedicated To James and Kenneth: My
They sat silent in the darkened hall; brazier light moving across the
ceiling and walls: both staring at the roasted pig and side dishes:
more than they could possibly consume, but lavished before them,
drinking only the ale and stabbing at the chesses.
“You should not travel alone.” The younger muttered under his breath,
The elder was condescending in speech but honest of heart: “I have my
horse: you must take command, father will need your courage and the
army will follow you, before all others. I have never….”
“How far have you ridden into the West? How will….”
“The Riders of Rohan will certainly aid me across their lands and the
Great Road still directs the way there, I shall be...”
“You will ride alone then?”
“It seems.” The elder toppled his bier stein as he reached across the
table and laid his hand on his brothers forearm with a firm grip, not
noticing the spilled ale or caring: “I love you brother!” His voice
echoed in the arched stone hall, for the both of them.
- Onóno Laivindur
The Gondorian archers have been tracking a group of orcs in their
country. Eight have come. Nine orcs are moving. Their feet pounded into
the hard ground. The archers move sighlently through the trees. They
had caught up to them. They each took a arrow out and launched them
into the thick orc armor. They went down with a clunk. Three remained,
the archerers drew out the swords. They slashed at them taking the rest
out one by one. They had succeeded on their mission.
- Onca Icatra
On the Stairs of Moria...
“What?” his frightened cry was drowned by the fierce screams of the Orc
as they shot arrow after arrow at the little group on the stairs. He
was sure he had felt it, a slight trembling under his feet. But no one
else said a word or looked beyond the attack.
There it was again! This time he was certain. Something was terribly
wrong. He looked up, saw Legolas and Gandalf on the far side and
decided. He yelled Merry’s name, placed his arms around Pippin and
Merry’s waists and held on tight. The distance was far and he would be
lifting two Halflings. Would he be able to make it? Would it be safer
to just toss one at a time? The formidable shaking of the stair, still
undiscerned by the others, decided him. He gave a great yell, pushed
with all his might, and jumped the crevice. He made it, with plenty of
room to spare. Arms reached out and held him as he swayed slightly to
the left. But he had made it. A great grin crossed his face.
He lingers there, at the edges of my vision. Go away, I want to
scream. I am all right. It is not I you should worry about. He will not
leave. He stands in the doorway, preventing all from entering. He
allows me this time; alone in the dark and clasping that small, frail
hand. The lad's labored breathing causes me great pain in my heart. His
eyes are closed; his lashes lay dark against his pale face. I will not
leave until he awakens. Only then may I rest my weary head. I feel a
hand on my shoulder. His hand. His presence comforts me, and I allow
myself to shed the tears that have lingered behind my eyes. "He will be
all right." His voice is lilting, musical in a way that mine will never
be. I clasp the hand that touches me so gently, and look up at my
friend. He smiles at me, and repeats, "He will be all right." I nod,
but I will not leave this bedside. Not till that wee hobbit awakens,
and I hear his laughter once again.
Frodo and the flower-garden
Frodo woke up early in the morning. He jumped out of his bed and looked
outside the window. What a beautiful sight! he said to himself. All the
flowers in his garden look so different this day. What was going on?
Was there something that he missed? Why are these flowers blooming so
Frodo took his coat and went outside.
Hmm, the air smells so fresh at the early morning! he said.And it looks
like the sky is perfect blue!! Frodo couldn't resist it any longer and
went into the garden. I have to know if the flowers are really blooming
much more then I thought, frodo said. He walked upto his special flower
garden and went down on his knees. They are beautiful! Frodo shouted.
But why are they looking so different?
When he wanted to get up on his feet again, he heard a voice behind him.
Sam, Frodo replied. you scared me!
Sorry Mister frodo,Sam said. I didn't meant to scare you, but I saw you
walking into your garden and thought something was wrong.
Frodo said: No, but I was just wondering Sam.
What happened with the flowers? They look so different today.
Yes, Mister Frodo, Sam said. But don't you remember? I put some new
plants in your garden yesterday. You asked me if I could make the
garden more brightful, so I took the older plants out and put in some
Bilbo in Rivendell
Bilbo woke suddenly in the dark of the night. Rising, he pulled on a
warm robe and padded out onto the balcony. The night was clear and
crisp, and bright with starlight. Low in the southern sky, Menelvagor
made his nightly journey into the west. Southward Bilbo turned his
eyes. Southward, where dear Frodo had gone, with Aragorn and the
others. Southward, where the Ring had gone. Southward, where his own
heart and mind sometimes wished to go, although his body would not
allow it. Did the Ring call to him still? Or was it the lure of a new
adventure, the opportunity to tread new paths, to see sights unseen
before? Was he jealous that Frodo now bore the Ring, or that the lad
now traveled roads on which his own feet would never take him? What was
it that wrenched at his heart, that had him standing out here each
night since the Fellowship had departed?
A cool breeze drifted down from the Misty Mountains, and the ache in
his heart slowly gave way to the chill in his bones. Of what matter was
it, what drew him to stand out here? None at all, he told himself, for
what held him back was more powerful. Inside, a warm fire and cozy bed
waited for him. Inside were his book and his songs, the stories he had
heard and those he had told, his memories of what had been, and the
Elves with whom he shared them. Inside were warmth, and laughter, and
friends. One last wistful glance beyond the bounds of Rivendell, and
then he turned and went back inside.
- Daughter of Kings
The steady rain slackened a wee bit as Frodo clung to Gandalfs cloak.
They watched the shore fade away into the gray curtains of mist and
only the outline of the coast remained.
"Fear not Frodo, they will recover from this parting as they always
is not for them that I weep Gandalf, but for myself. I leave my home
and all I've known up till now. What lies ahead? I fear it Gandalf, I
"Change is good for the soul Frodo. And besides, you
are not alone. I shall always remain with you and I dare say that you
will see a change for the better within yourself in no time. Fear not
Frodo and Gandalf turned to face the open sea and as they did the sun
shone the brighter and the clouds wisped away.
you Gandalf. I feel better now. Almost free as a butterfly on a summer
breeze. Thank you for sharing your journeys with me. Thank you for
Gandalf put his large hand on Frodo's shoulder and hugged the Hobbit.
"No my friend thank you and you will see that you have many friends
awaiting you, my dear Hobbit."
- Onono Laivindur