Through Fire and Water
Disclaimer : I usually use quotes for these, but I’m going to be a good boy this time. I don’t write disclaimers on my stories, (except for the amusement of the reader J ), but I understand and uphold the necessity for them. Therefore, I make it clearly known here. I do not and never have owned or claimed to own the ideas, stories or anything connected to The Hobbit, The Lord Of The Rings or The Silmarillion (except a Legolas action figure J ), nor do I aim to impersonate or undermine the excellent works of J.R.R. Tolkien. I do, however, strongly suggest that everyone read his books. They are excellent, and the films aren’t bad either.
These stories are based on The Lord Of The Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien. No infringement of copyright is intended. No change to the original text (note, original text, not the 1991 version) is offered or inferred, these ideas are simply add-ons; i.e. what might have occurred beyond what we read. (See below)
Any similarity to the original characters is to be expected as stories on my profile are as close to the books as possible and do not impinge on the movies, except where stated. Any similarity to stories by other authors, however vague, is purely coincidental. (Embarrassingly, I don’t read other people’s fanfic . . .much)
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Author’s note: Some have asked me ‘why do you write fanfic?’ The answer is simple, Tolkien gave us leave to use our imagination. In his own words :-
"I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds, and hands, wielding paint and music and drama."
I raise my hat to him, and continue on my journey to find more of those sketched tales, and fill one in. One such tale follows here.
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Summary : A collection of vignettes, add-ons to the books, or unused snippets of other stories. This was the first of many. Gandalf’s return.
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Thrusting his sword upward, he felt it grind against bone and sunk further. The balrog cried out and went limp, sliding further onto the blade. Slowly it fell, plummeting over the parapet and down into the ground at the foot of the tower.
Gandalf sank into the snow, his heart slowing. Laying down he tried a breath, but it would not come. His heart pounded in his ears, and then came the silence.
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If an Istari kept a diary would he have brought it back with him, left naked as he was at the pinnacle of the snow-capped mountain? His mind was all he had upon returning. And below him lay the Balrog as fresh as if he had left it only a moment ago.
Gandalf staggered to his feet, shivering with the cold, and disorientated. He had been gone for more eons than he cared to count, had gained more knowledge than he could ever have hoped for, and yet he had been returned . . .with nothing.
He looked down at the body of the creature of shadow and flame, blood still oozing from its numerous wounds. The light behind him made him look up. Something touched him, and suddenly he was dressed in the robes of a white wizard. A staff of white was pushed into his hand before so much as word could come to mind. He had forgotten how to speak. So long had he been without the power or the physical form to do so that the sudden reinstating of his essence to this form was bewildering.
Above him floated a being of pure energy, much like he himself had been but a moment or two before. There was a voice, except that it was in his mind, not a physical sound that he could look to find the direction it had come from.
“I return you to this exact time that your body failed and your true self was released.”
“I . . .am dead?” Gandalf whispered, his throat dry for lack of sustenance and use.
“To the beings of this world, yes. You are dead. But you are Istari, you cannot die in a manner that they could comprehend.”
Gandalf nodded. “I must help them,” he replied.
“That is why you have been returned here. Deep in the forests they are crying a lament for you. They loved you.”
“But I have been gone for hundred’s of thousands of years.”
“Our years, perhaps, but only days in their minds.”
“Then there is still time,” Gandalf said almost to himself.
“You leave us with a warning, Saruman. Your powers are greater than they have ever been before, and they are greater than those of us still residing in this world. Remain a secret for as long as possible, do not reveal yourself to anyone until it becomes imperative to do so.”
“For the cause of saving life,” Gandalf realised.
“Beware, there are forces bent on your downfall, and the downfall of our entire civilisation. Only you stand between us and our extinction.”
“I will do what I can,” Gandalf promised.
“No, Saruman. You must not interfere. Guide them to make the right choices, but do not take on the task for them.”
Gandalf cast his eyes away south to the vastness of the forests of Fangorn. “It will not be easy. Both men and elves are stubborn and set firmly in the groove they have carved out for themselves.”
“But not the Free Folk,” the being above him reminded him with much amusement. “You must awaken in them the knowledge that they, too, have a say in what becomes of their world.”
Gandalf sighed gently, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of air rushing in and rushing out of the body returned to him, better than the one he had inhabited prior to his ‘death’. “That will be no easy task.”
He felt the warmth of the being, the closest it could get to smile. Then the light vanished, the tear in space and time gone. He was alone.
Gandalf took a moment to gaze at the white staff in his hand and a slow smile graced his lips. He was back. Perhaps he would not have to reveal himself too soon. He took a moment to gaze down at the carcass of the balrog. It was dried out, meaning that within what to him was a short time, much time had passed beyond the ledge where he stood.
No sooner had he turned than a huge bird swooped in and grabbed him, screeching to the sky. A moment of shocked surprise changed to deep laughter as the wind whipped though Gandalf’s long white hair.
“Gwaihir!” he cried with great delight. “My old friend, where are you taking me?”
“Lothlórien,” the Lord of the Eagles replied. “Galadriel sent me to retrieve your body, but it will please her to find you restored.”
Gandalf laughed again. “So it will,” he replied.
El Fin
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