Ficlet: A Walk on the Beach
May. 2nd, 2012 05:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dreamflowerThis little ficlet came to me spontaneously last night. I wasn't much planning on writing such a thing, but Frodo had different ideas...
On the Blessed Isle, Frodo takes another step towards healing...
Rated G
A Walk on the Beach
Frodo could not help the thoughts that kept going around and around in his mind-- yes, he had told Bilbo that he did not mind the letters. He had believed it when he said it. He knew that it was an important task that the Valar had set Gandalf, and he had long known he'd do anything for his friend. And truly, Sauron was defeated and imprisoned.
Yet he kept remembering with embarrassment his flash of anger when confronted with the one who had ruined his life. Sauron had made the Ring, and all he could recall at that moment was how it had felt to be devoured bit by bit by a circle of cold metal. He had lashed out, and been stung by the contemptuous remark that "it was like giving a Silmaril to a kitten"...
His anger had faded as quickly as it had come, but not his shame over losing his temper. Perhaps it was the memory of that shame as well as his desire to help Gandalf that had made him say yes when Bilbo had asked him for permission to write to the prisoner. And then he found that he could not bear to be around when the letters came and Bilbo was preoccupied with his replies.
He stood still as the waves lapped closer. The tide was coming in. In a few minutes the salt water would be lapping at his toes. He took a deep breath of the sea-scented air, and let the sound of the waves calm his heart. Yet still his thoughts returned to that phrase. "Like giving a Silmaril to a kitten."
A kitten. He tried imagining it-- perhaps a white kitten with green eyes, and a little strawberry shaped ginger mark on her forehead. He smiled. He'd not thought much about Strawberry since leaving the Shire. She'd remained behind with Sam and Rose and Elanor-- she'd proved to be an excellent mouser, and she mostly had lived outside, though sometimes she'd come in to spend an evening purring on his lap for a while.
Strawberry with a Silmaril. He smiled to himself. She was a good little creature with no malice in her-- she didn't even play with the mice she caught, but offered them up as her duty and tribute. She probably would have been perfectly safe with a Silmaril.
The Ring on the other hand had been nothing like a Silmaril. It had been the pride and covetousness of those who wanted them that wrought the evils of the First Age, but the Silmarils themselves had been vessels of Light, much like his phial-- which in fact bore some of that Light as he had carried it with him on his dark journey. In a way, he had been a kitten with a Silmaril, or at least a hobbit with a remnant of a Silmaril's light. He found himself smiling, and wondered if he should share that bit of insight with the Lady Galadriel-- she might find it amusing. He was fairly certain that Bilbo and Gandalf would find it amusing.
But the Ring had been filled with malice, ambition and a lust for power. It had tormented him, and finally claimed him. And then it was gone, thanks to Gollum.
Frodo had thought long and hard about what he had learned of hobbits and of Gandalf and of the mysterious ways in which Eru Iluvatar worked his will since he had come to the West. He would never be the innocent hobbit he had once been, and some memories would always come with sorrow. But he had traded his innocence for hard-won knowledge, and the sorrow was only the sorrow proper to the ordinary griefs of life. He no longer felt responsible for all the evils the Ring had wrought during his quest, and he could not regret his choices now.
He looked down at the sand as the water washed over his ankles, and saw his footprints wash away, that had led him to this spot. And as he did, he let it also wash away that tiny sense of resentment and betrayal that he did not even realise until now that he had been feeling-- let Bilbo write as he would to the former Dark Lord of Mordor. Perhaps his cousin's wisdom and kindness would do Sauron some good. Perhaps Gandalf's compassion would move the prisoner to repentence. And perhaps, just perhaps, he could spare some of his own pity for the one who had been so long in bondage to the very Ring he had made. Perhaps his forgiveness was not irrelevant after all.
He looked above, to where the gulls wheeled in flight, and felt his heart lift, and then he turned to see Bilbo coming down the boardwalk towards the pier. He laughed and waved, and made his way towards the person who had always understood him best and loved him most, knowing that would never change no matter what.
______
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a bit of a side-bar to the epistolary story I am co-writing with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pandemonium_213, The Prisoner and the Hobbit, and is set during Chapter 7. Strawberry makes her first appearance in another of my stories, Birthday Present
On the Blessed Isle, Frodo takes another step towards healing...
Rated G
Frodo could not help the thoughts that kept going around and around in his mind-- yes, he had told Bilbo that he did not mind the letters. He had believed it when he said it. He knew that it was an important task that the Valar had set Gandalf, and he had long known he'd do anything for his friend. And truly, Sauron was defeated and imprisoned.
Yet he kept remembering with embarrassment his flash of anger when confronted with the one who had ruined his life. Sauron had made the Ring, and all he could recall at that moment was how it had felt to be devoured bit by bit by a circle of cold metal. He had lashed out, and been stung by the contemptuous remark that "it was like giving a Silmaril to a kitten"...
His anger had faded as quickly as it had come, but not his shame over losing his temper. Perhaps it was the memory of that shame as well as his desire to help Gandalf that had made him say yes when Bilbo had asked him for permission to write to the prisoner. And then he found that he could not bear to be around when the letters came and Bilbo was preoccupied with his replies.
He stood still as the waves lapped closer. The tide was coming in. In a few minutes the salt water would be lapping at his toes. He took a deep breath of the sea-scented air, and let the sound of the waves calm his heart. Yet still his thoughts returned to that phrase. "Like giving a Silmaril to a kitten."
A kitten. He tried imagining it-- perhaps a white kitten with green eyes, and a little strawberry shaped ginger mark on her forehead. He smiled. He'd not thought much about Strawberry since leaving the Shire. She'd remained behind with Sam and Rose and Elanor-- she'd proved to be an excellent mouser, and she mostly had lived outside, though sometimes she'd come in to spend an evening purring on his lap for a while.
Strawberry with a Silmaril. He smiled to himself. She was a good little creature with no malice in her-- she didn't even play with the mice she caught, but offered them up as her duty and tribute. She probably would have been perfectly safe with a Silmaril.
The Ring on the other hand had been nothing like a Silmaril. It had been the pride and covetousness of those who wanted them that wrought the evils of the First Age, but the Silmarils themselves had been vessels of Light, much like his phial-- which in fact bore some of that Light as he had carried it with him on his dark journey. In a way, he had been a kitten with a Silmaril, or at least a hobbit with a remnant of a Silmaril's light. He found himself smiling, and wondered if he should share that bit of insight with the Lady Galadriel-- she might find it amusing. He was fairly certain that Bilbo and Gandalf would find it amusing.
But the Ring had been filled with malice, ambition and a lust for power. It had tormented him, and finally claimed him. And then it was gone, thanks to Gollum.
Frodo had thought long and hard about what he had learned of hobbits and of Gandalf and of the mysterious ways in which Eru Iluvatar worked his will since he had come to the West. He would never be the innocent hobbit he had once been, and some memories would always come with sorrow. But he had traded his innocence for hard-won knowledge, and the sorrow was only the sorrow proper to the ordinary griefs of life. He no longer felt responsible for all the evils the Ring had wrought during his quest, and he could not regret his choices now.
He looked down at the sand as the water washed over his ankles, and saw his footprints wash away, that had led him to this spot. And as he did, he let it also wash away that tiny sense of resentment and betrayal that he did not even realise until now that he had been feeling-- let Bilbo write as he would to the former Dark Lord of Mordor. Perhaps his cousin's wisdom and kindness would do Sauron some good. Perhaps Gandalf's compassion would move the prisoner to repentence. And perhaps, just perhaps, he could spare some of his own pity for the one who had been so long in bondage to the very Ring he had made. Perhaps his forgiveness was not irrelevant after all.
He looked above, to where the gulls wheeled in flight, and felt his heart lift, and then he turned to see Bilbo coming down the boardwalk towards the pier. He laughed and waved, and made his way towards the person who had always understood him best and loved him most, knowing that would never change no matter what.
______
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a bit of a side-bar to the epistolary story I am co-writing with
pandemonium_213, The Prisoner and the Hobbit, and is set during Chapter 7. Strawberry makes her first appearance in another of my stories, Birthday Present