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lotrchallengesAuthor: IgnobleBard
Title: A Light From the Shadows
Rating: General
Theme: Time in a Bottle
Elements: Memories
Author's Notes: Written for the July 2013 Challenge
Summary: Unbidden memories catch Frodo by surprise
Word Count: 399
The fire barely took away the chill of the late spring evening, and Frodo huddled close to it. He pulled his shawl closer, trying to concentrate on his book, but the words blurred before his eyes. Shifting in his worn but comfortable chair, he gave a little whimper and clutched his chest at the sudden debilitating pain. A long moment passed before the agony eased, leaving him shaken and weak. The Morgul wound always caught him off guard. It was particularly bad this time of year, though he was never completely free of it.
With a sigh, he put the book face down on his lap and stared into the fire. The flames leapt and crackled, devouring the sturdy beech logs, creating distorted, illusory shapes: a sword, a ring, a wheel of fire. Frodo gasped, instantly transported back in memory to Mount Doom. He stood with Sam on the threshold of the door into the mountain as Orodruin heaved around them and the great tower of Barad-Dûr, distant but deceptively close due to its massive height, crashed with the weight of the stars themselves onto the sere plain. Sam was dumbstruck at the sight, yet he, despite the sundering of the mountain on which they stood, felt only calm relief. The burden of the Ring was a fading shadow upon his heart and his own brief future held no fear, only a weary sadness that Sam, brave, loyal Sam, should share his fate.
He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, only just now registering the blood that flowed from his severed finger. Sam turned to him, and whatever he saw in Frodo’s face caused him to fall to his knees and weep with joy in spite of their precarious situation. Then Sam caught sight of his maimed hand, his elation turning to dismay. “Your poor hand,” he cried, placing it over his heart, “and I have nothing to comfort it with.” Frodo felt the steady beat of his friend’s heart beneath the threadbare homespun of his shirt, the warmth of the calloused hands that clasped his own, and something long forgotten stirred within his own breast.
His vision shifted, and he now beheld the yellow flames as the sunlight in Sam’s blond hair on a party day so long ago. Frodo closed his eyes. His four-fingered hand rose and rested over his heart. He smiled and opened his book.
Title: A Light From the Shadows
Rating: General
Theme: Time in a Bottle
Elements: Memories
Author's Notes: Written for the July 2013 Challenge
Summary: Unbidden memories catch Frodo by surprise
Word Count: 399
The fire barely took away the chill of the late spring evening, and Frodo huddled close to it. He pulled his shawl closer, trying to concentrate on his book, but the words blurred before his eyes. Shifting in his worn but comfortable chair, he gave a little whimper and clutched his chest at the sudden debilitating pain. A long moment passed before the agony eased, leaving him shaken and weak. The Morgul wound always caught him off guard. It was particularly bad this time of year, though he was never completely free of it.
With a sigh, he put the book face down on his lap and stared into the fire. The flames leapt and crackled, devouring the sturdy beech logs, creating distorted, illusory shapes: a sword, a ring, a wheel of fire. Frodo gasped, instantly transported back in memory to Mount Doom. He stood with Sam on the threshold of the door into the mountain as Orodruin heaved around them and the great tower of Barad-Dûr, distant but deceptively close due to its massive height, crashed with the weight of the stars themselves onto the sere plain. Sam was dumbstruck at the sight, yet he, despite the sundering of the mountain on which they stood, felt only calm relief. The burden of the Ring was a fading shadow upon his heart and his own brief future held no fear, only a weary sadness that Sam, brave, loyal Sam, should share his fate.
He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, only just now registering the blood that flowed from his severed finger. Sam turned to him, and whatever he saw in Frodo’s face caused him to fall to his knees and weep with joy in spite of their precarious situation. Then Sam caught sight of his maimed hand, his elation turning to dismay. “Your poor hand,” he cried, placing it over his heart, “and I have nothing to comfort it with.” Frodo felt the steady beat of his friend’s heart beneath the threadbare homespun of his shirt, the warmth of the calloused hands that clasped his own, and something long forgotten stirred within his own breast.
His vision shifted, and he now beheld the yellow flames as the sunlight in Sam’s blond hair on a party day so long ago. Frodo closed his eyes. His four-fingered hand rose and rested over his heart. He smiled and opened his book.
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Date: 2013-07-17 02:54 am (UTC)Namarie, God bless, Antane :)
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Date: 2013-07-17 12:31 pm (UTC)