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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 spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken;
the crownless again shall be King.”
Strider Watcher
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....
Echoes
(Dedicated To James and Kenneth: My Brothers)
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, thinking aloud.
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.
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 spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken;
the crownless again shall be King.”
- Sevilodorf
Strider Watcher
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....
- Firiel
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Echoes
(Dedicated To James and Kenneth: My Brothers)
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, thinking aloud.
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
Orc Hunting
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.
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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.
Orc Hunting
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
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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.
- Agape4Rivendell
Gimli's Vigil
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.
Gimli's Vigil
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.
- Samwisegirl
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 different now?
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.
Mister Frodo!
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 new ones.
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 different now?
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.
Mister Frodo!
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 new ones.
- mrspippin
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.
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 have."
"It 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 fear it."
"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 my friend."
Frodo and Gandalf turned to face the open sea and as they did the sun shone the brighter and the clouds wisped away.
"Thank 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 everything."
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."
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 have."
"It 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 fear it."
"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 my friend."
Frodo and Gandalf turned to face the open sea and as they did the sun shone the brighter and the clouds wisped away.
"Thank 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 everything."
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
