[ frodo's eyes follow the paintings with an ache in his chest. the council of elrond, where it had all began. where he had believed that despite the cost to himself, it had not been in vain. was he to believe now, that it was? he couldn't. he couldn't accept it. what else could he do but believe that there was hope left?
he wished for council, someone to guide him on his road, wherever it had gone, from a spaceship to now a strange, eerie tower. he missed sam, missed legolas and all the other members of the fellowship. he missed gandalf, bilbo. dear faces he had resigned himself to never seeing again when he'd set off on his road.
he hears a voice speak. frodo knows that voice. could not replace it if he tried, he knew it too well. knew it when it grew cross and angry at his uncle, at times himself, as his cousins pippin and merry. a voice that had been a comfort, the first to offer his hand in support when he'd made that fateful choice.
all we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us.
so much wisdom, so much he'd needed it before gandalf had fallen before him, thought to be lost if not for aragorn's words. it was perhaps gandalf who had first had faith in him on the quest, had believed he would succeed--and he found if he were dreaming, that he could not face his friend.
yet that voice speaks his name, and he cannot ignore it. so frodo turns his head, eyes overbright, perhaps with tears and emotions not easily named. it is a tired face that greets him. the hobbit who had flung himself into the wizard's arms once before is no more, at least, for now.
and it's him. it really is gandalf, dearest of friends, wisest of counsellors. and frodo finds he cannot speak, only blink back tears in shock at the sight. he's different somehow, brighter, yet it's the face he knows. the voice he knows. he swallows hard, voice choked: ]
Gandalf?
[ he doesn't know whether to embrace a friend he'd thought lost or assume it to be some dream. if it is a dream, he would think it a good one. he knows little else to say but his name, he's frozen in shock, voice stuck in his throat. frodo never thought he'd see him again, would never hear the voice that had given him so much heart in the past, the fireworks, all the memories of an old friend. could it be more than a dream? ]
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he wished for council, someone to guide him on his road, wherever it had gone, from a spaceship to now a strange, eerie tower. he missed sam, missed legolas and all the other members of the fellowship. he missed gandalf, bilbo. dear faces he had resigned himself to never seeing again when he'd set off on his road.
he hears a voice speak. frodo knows that voice. could not replace it if he tried, he knew it too well. knew it when it grew cross and angry at his uncle, at times himself, as his cousins pippin and merry. a voice that had been a comfort, the first to offer his hand in support when he'd made that fateful choice.
all we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us.
so much wisdom, so much he'd needed it before gandalf had fallen before him, thought to be lost if not for aragorn's words. it was perhaps gandalf who had first had faith in him on the quest, had believed he would succeed--and he found if he were dreaming, that he could not face his friend.
yet that voice speaks his name, and he cannot ignore it. so frodo turns his head, eyes overbright, perhaps with tears and emotions not easily named. it is a tired face that greets him. the hobbit who had flung himself into the wizard's arms once before is no more, at least, for now.
and it's him. it really is gandalf, dearest of friends, wisest of counsellors. and frodo finds he cannot speak, only blink back tears in shock at the sight. he's different somehow, brighter, yet it's the face he knows. the voice he knows. he swallows hard, voice choked: ]
Gandalf?
[ he doesn't know whether to embrace a friend he'd thought lost or assume it to be some dream. if it is a dream, he would think it a good one. he knows little else to say but his name, he's frozen in shock, voice stuck in his throat. frodo never thought he'd see him again, would never hear the voice that had given him so much heart in the past, the fireworks, all the memories of an old friend. could it be more than a dream? ]