Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Tolkienist against Mary -Sue ❯ The Shadow of Isildur ( Chapter 5 )

TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE

 

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

 

Notes: You will remark that I stay silent on the adventures of Morgan during the interval between the Party and the beginning of the Quest of the One Ring. It is intentional: I will develop it in the forms of flashbacks.

 

 

Chap 5: The Shadow of Isildur.

 

 

Years had passed since the Party of Bilbo Baggins and the departure of Gandalf the Grey and the mysterious Lady Morgan Uther Pendragon. Frodo Baggins felt disappointed when the regular visits of the old Wizard became few and far between.

 

However, he was agreeably surprised by the much more regular visits of the little protégé of the Grey Pilgrim. Morgan had grown up from a clumsy lost foreigner into a confident great Lady. The young woman had taken to travel alongside Gandalf in a routine. She would walked or rode with him for some months, learning all she can and all he allowed, then he would left her for months in any centres of knowledge they would reach.

 

Here, she would try to blend into the culture, using the fame of Gandalf and her own ways to act, and learned everything she could before the old Wizard came to take her again on the road. The young woman slowly acquired the reputation to be a travelling noble lore mistress and minstrel.

 

As time passed, Frodo was surprised to see how little Morgan changed physically through the years. It had been one of the few times when her gentle smile disappeared. She had explained that as far as her and every lore masters she asked known, she was aging as if the Blood of Numenor flowed into her veins, and yet she wasn't a Dùnedain. She was aging perhaps a year for every decades and it was worrying her.

 

At each of her visit, Frodo had also noted that her comportment changed as she was exposed to more and more of the various cultures of Middle-Earth. She had taken the habit to dress in light grey coloured travelling clothes: She said it was both a wink and homage to the fact that Gandalf the Grey had taken her under his wing. Besides, she liked the functionality and the simple beauty of those clothes and the way this colour brought out her raven hair and her deep black eyes. Pippin had even nicknamed her “The Grey Lady”.

 

Frodo had discovered that she was sometimes as annoyingly mysterious as Gandalf. Although she spoke freely of her experiences with the Dwarves and elves communities that Bilbo or he had encountered, she remained tight-lipped on some regions that her travels brought her to.

 

But the Shire remained dear in her heart and Frodo and his close friends came to long for her visits especially because she always had something for them as gifts. She brought scrolls and some books to Frodo, seeds to Samwise Gamgee and little trinkets for Merry and Pippin.

 

And then, after a little more than sixteen years, the twin hands of Fate and Destiny reached again for certain threads.

 

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In the dark land of Mordor, the Mount Doom continued to belch fire and ash. Built near a chasm where a river of lava flowed, the black fortress of Barad-dûr projected a dark and edged light on all the land and its evil inhabitants. Under the inadequate harsh light of torches, Orcs endlessly worked for the will and command of their dark master and lord. Hammers were constantly beating black iron into weapons of war.

 

The Dark Lord had already moved and its agents had finally found the being they seek. Among the shadows and incessant noises, a painful voice shrilled.

 

“Shire! Shire! Baggins!”

 

The Gates of Minas Morgul opened and nine riders in black on black horses rode out from them, following the orders of their master. Sauron had begun to advance his pieces in the eternal game of the conquest of Middle-Earth.

 

But the forces of Light had never stopped to move as well.

 

Gandalf and Morgan rode up on horses a slope and looked out onto Mount Doom showing abnormal and intense activity nearby the capital of the Gondor. The Grey Wizard and the Grey Lady exchanged a worried look and then rode off at full speed to Minas Tirith.

 

Using their combined network of acquaintances and favours, the Master and his young Apprentice accessed to some deeply hidden and forgotten knowledge in a building full of old scrolls.

 

Rapidly, the Istari and the time-displaced girl began to search, classify and read a massive amount of books, scrolls and individual papers. The duo had time before to practice this way of searching a library for all of its useful knowledge.

 

Morgan searched everywhere, using her small size to her advantage. She then classified each discovery with a short superficial pre-reading and then gave it to Gandalf for a more thorough reading. She also prepared vast amounts of tea, because she will join in the lecture as soon as her own work is finished.

 

As she massaged her tired eyes under her glasses, Morgan smiled as Gandalf smoked a storm, reading the texts she had prepared for him. She sipped her tea and burrowed herself in a mountain of paper. Since the beginning of her association with the Wizard, she had taken a personal vow to help him in his task. Gandalf was part of the White Council, a vast organisation dedicated to the protection of Middle-Earth and the eradication of the Shadow.

 

Little by little, she had built a coherent vision of the multi-millennia conflict that began with Morgoth and she had drawn the conclusion that she couldn't go back to her own world as long as the forces of Evil threatened this universe. She wasn't sure of her exact role in this conflict, but something continued to whisper to her that she was here for a good reason.

 

Then, suddenly, Gandalf put down his mug of tea and frowned as he looked on an old scroll. He began to speak what he was reading for the benefit of Morgan who stopped her own reading for listening attentively.

 

“The year 3434, of the Second Age. Here follows the account of Isildur, High King of Gondor, and the finding of the Ring of Power.” Morgan gulped: At least, a written trace of what they were searching for so long. A familiar headache hit her as Gandalf continued his reading. “It has come to me. The One Ring, which shall be an heirloom of my kingdom. All those who follow in my bloodline shall be bound to its fate, for I will risk no hurt to the Ring. It is precious to me though I buy it with a great pain. The markings upon the band begin to fade. The writing which at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared, a secret now that only fire can tell.” Gandalf stopped his reading and looked to Morgan with fear in his blue eyes: A fear that was reflected in the black eyes of the young woman.

 

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Somewhere in the Shire, a Hobbit was cutting some wood near his smial as the night was falling. His dog began to bark at something that approached. The Hobbit stopped and turned to the spectral apparition: A rider in black on a tall and powerful black horse. The rider had metal gloves and blood could be seen on the hooves of his mount. As terrorized as his master, the dog backed into the house, whimpering. The rider turned his head to the hobbit but nothing but shadows could be seen under his hood.

 

In a hissing, spectral voice, the rider addressed the hobbit, already under his spell. “Shire. Baggins.”

 

His breath coming in short, the hobbit managed to stutter. “There's no Bagginses around here. They're all up in Hobbiton.” The horse neighed as its red eyes flashed. Taking refuge in his house, the hobbit pointed the path away. “That way...”

 

The rider leaved in the metallic fracas of his mount.

 

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At that time in Hobbiton, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin were passing a good evening at the Green Dragon Inn.

 

Merry and Pippin were dancing and singing on a table as Frodo brought mugs of ale for him and Sam and danced around them.

 

Hey ho, to the bottle I go

To heal my heart and drown my woe

Rain may fall and wind may blow

But there still be

Many miles to go

Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain

And the stream that falls from hill to plain

Better than rain or rippling brook

 

Pippin took the final line. “Is a mug of beer inside this Took!”

 

The whole inn burst into laughter.

 

At the table of Sam and the Gaffer, an old hobbit smoked and frowned as he continued his discussion about local gossips. “There's been some strange folk crossing the Shire. Dwarves and others of a less than savoury nature.”

 

The Gaffer shook his head. “War is brewing.”

 

The old hobbit nodded. “Last time she came, I asked our dear young Grey Lady for confirmation: The Mountains are fair teeming with goblins.”

 

A younger hobbit at their table snorted. “Far-off tales and children's stories, that's all that is.” He sneered at the Gaffer. “You're beginning to sound like that old Bilbo Baggins. Cracked, he was. And we all know that a woman's tale is just that: Women's tales.”

 

The Gaffer humphed. “As if you never listened to her tales. And young Mr. Frodo here, he's cracking.”

 

Frodo smiled as he brought the mugs. “And proud of it. Cheers, Gaffer.”

 

The hobbit smiled. “Cheers.”

 

The younger hobbit tried to have the final word. “It's none of our concern what goes on beyond our borders.” He looked intently to Frodo. “Keep your nose out of trouble, and no trouble'll come to you.”

 

Frodo smirked. “Except when trouble comes FOR you.”

 

At the end of the evening, Sam and Frodo leaved the inn, and passed by Rosie Cotton, a Hobbit Lass who was drying a cup. She smiled to Sam. “Good night, lads.”

 

Sam smiled in return, his heart fluttering. “Good night.”

 

An inebriated hobbit knelt before Rosie. “Good night, sweet maiden of the golden ale.”

 

Sam frowned and darkly muttered under his breath. “Mind who you're sweet-talking.”

 

Frodo leaned to him. “Don't worry, Sam. Rosie knows an idiot when she sees one.”

 

Sam blinked. “Does she?”

 

Frodo and Sam arrived to Bag End and the nephew of Bilbo waved to his dear friend and gardener. “Good night, Sam.”

 

“Good night, Mister Frodo.”

 

Frodo entered Bag End and stopped at the door, frowning. The window was opened and his papers were flying about the house.

 

Suddenly, a hand reached for his shoulder from the shadow. He turned around in fright, and saw a dishevelled Gandalf. He jumped again as the door clacked behind him and blinked as he saw Morgan in dirty travel clothes, her glasses flashing under the cold light of the night, shutting it close. He openly gaped as he remarked that she was holding a naked long sword in her right hand.

 

Gandalf plunged his intense gaze into the blue eyes of the young hobbit. “Is it secret? Is it safe?”

 

Frodo began to search in a chest. Morgan and Gandalf were mounting guard and were jumping at the smallest sound outside the smial. Frodo finally reached the envelope where he had put the ring into. “Ah.”

 

Gandalf grabbed it from him and threw it into the fire to the curiously intense dismay of the young hobbit. “What are you doing?”

 

Gandalf took the revealed golden ring out from the fire with tongs and held it out to Frodo. “Hold out your hand, Frodo.” Frodo blinked at Gandalf. “It's quite cool.”

 

Frodo held out his hand and blinked again as he expected the ring to be hot when Gandalf dropped it onto his palm.

 

Gandalf stood up from the fireplace. “What can you see? Can you see anything?”

 

From her place near the door, Morgan turned her head to the Hobbit. “Some letters or something?”

 

Perplexed by the comportment of his two friends, Frodo examined the ring in his hand. “Nothing. There's nothing.”

 

Gandalf sighed in relief and Morgan closed her eyes, sliding along the wall to the floor, also in great relief. However, their eyes opened wide when Frodo continued. “Wait... There are markings.” The dreaded words could be seen on the visage of Frodo, as if the letters produced their own red light. A terror that Morgan felt sixteen years ago seized anew her heart. “It's some form of Elvish. I can't read it.”

 

Gandalf was holding steady his apprentice with the own intensity of his gaze. “There are few who can. The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here.” Reassured that the young woman had regained her countenance, Gandalf turned to a dreadful Frodo.

 

“Mordor?!”

 

Gandalf nodded. “In the common tongue, it says: "One Ring to Rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."”

 

Morgan returned her long sword to its sheath and plunged her intense black eyes in the blue eyes of the hobbit. Her voice took a strange otherworldly quality as if someone else was speaking though her. “Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne. In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.”

 

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The three friends found themselves sitting at the table where the One Ring lay at the centre. Gandalf was smoking, while Frodo prepared some tea. Morgan was slowly combing her hair: A quirk she had developed when she needed to calm herself.

 

Gandalf was looking at the ring as one looked on his worst enemy. “This is the One Ring, forged by the Dark Lord, Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom, taken by Isildur from the hand of Sauron himself.”

 

Frodo's eyes widened as he cupped his mug of tea. “Bilbo found it. In Gollum's cave.”

 

Gandalf nodded. “Yes. For 60 years the Ring lay quiet, in Bilbo's keeping, prolonging his life, delaying old age. But no longer, Frodo. Evil is stirring in Mordor. The Ring has awoken. It's heard its master's call.”

 

Frodo shook his head. He knew his history. “But he was destroyed. Sauron was destroyed.”

 

Morgan sighed. “If only…” Suddenly incomprehensible whispers came from the Ring, and the three looked at it, as though afraid of it.

 

Gandalf grimly continued. “No, Frodo. The spirit of Sauron endured. His life force is bound to the Ring, and the Ring survived. Sauron has returned. His Orcs have multiplied, his fortress of Barad-dûr is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. Sauron needs only this Ring to cover all the lands in a second darkness. He is seeking it. Seeking it, all his thought is bent on it.” Once again, Morgan and Gandalf stared at the ring as if they were staring at a poised deadly poisonous snake. “The Ring yearns above all else to return to the hand of its master. They are one. The Ring and the Dark Lord. Frodo… He must never find it.”

 

Frodo grabbed the ring and walked into the next room, as though seeking for a place to hide it. “All right. We put it away. We keep it hidden. We never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?”

 

Gandalf followed him and remained silent. Morgan stayed behind her master, biting her lower lip and looking at the floor.

 

Frodo fearfully turned to them. “Do they, Gandalf? Morgan?”

 

The wizard shook his head. “There is one other that knew that Bilbo had the Ring. I looked everywhere for the creature Gollum and I managed to lock him under the guard of the elves of Mirkwood. But the enemy found him first. I don't know how long they tortured him for. But amidst the endless screams and inane babble, they discerned two words.”

 

The screams of Gollum shrilled in the imagination of Gandalf and Morgan. “SHIRE! BAGGINS!”

 

Frodo was horrified. “Shire! Baggins?! But that would lead them here!”

 

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Somewhere in the Shire, the riders in black galloped across a road and surely neared where their prey was. A Hobbit held out a lantern to see who was making such a ruckus at this late hour. “Who goes there?” The hobbit's concerned expression turned to one of horror, as one of the riders swung a sword at his head.

 

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Frodo rushed to the Grey Wizard. “Take it Gandalf! Take it!” Frodo held out the Ring to Gandalf.

 

The Istari backed away fearfully. “No, Frodo.”

 

Frodo urgently continued. “You must take it!”

 

Morgan ran between the two and barred the way of Frodo, using her own body as if she was shielding Gandalf from a blow. “NO! You CANNOT offer him this ring!”

 

Frodo then desperately changed of interlocutor. “Then, I'm giving it to you, Morgan!”

 

This time, Morgan backed away, her hands raised, as if she feared to be attacked on the spot. Gandalf caught her in his arms as if he was protecting her. “DON'T... tempt us, Frodo!”

 

In dismay, Frodo lowered his hand.

 

Gandalf continued to hold a shaking Morgan. “I dare not take it. Not even to keep it safe. None of us can take the risk to even touch it. Understand, Frodo, I would use this Ring from a desire to do good.”

 

Morgan regained the control of her nerves. “Frodo… Through Gandalf… Even through me, it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine.” She fearfully stared at the ring. “My own world would be in danger of total destruction.”

 

Frodo shook his head. “But it cannot stay in the Shire!”

 

Gandalf nodded. “NO. No it can't.”

 

Frodo gulped and closed his hand over the Ring. “What must I do?”

 

Helped by Morgan who was muttering about all her previous work being undone, Frodo searched through a cupboard and packed to leave.

 

Gandalf approved. “You must leave. And leave quickly.”

 

Frodo was thinking. “There is a smial at Crickhollow that I was planning on getting as a summer home. It's in the country, a little past Bucklebury.”

 

Gandalf nodded. “Morgan will stay with you, just like an extended visit.” He turned to his apprentice. “If you even glimpse the shadow of a shadow, get Frodo out of the Shire and make for the village of Bree.”

 

Morgan grimly nodded as she finished helping Frodo.

 

Frodo tilted his head and walked out of his bedroom. “Bree... What about you, Gandalf?”

 

“Morgan has some means to reach me in that case. I'll be waiting for you or leaving instructions, at the inn of the Prancing Pony.”

 

Frodo put some apples in his bag. “And the Ring will be safe there?”

 

“I don't know, Frodo. I don't have any answers.” Morgan gulped as she packed a loaf of bread. She didn't have any answers herself, only guesses and conjectures. “I must see the head of my order. He is both wise, and powerful. Trust me, Frodo. He'll know what to do.” Gandalf gazed into the black eyes of his protégé. “Well… This is it, Morgan…”

 

Morgan narrowed her eyes. “I know…” She smirked. “At least, now we know why the Valar had sealed my memory.” She smiled sadly to her mentor. “The fate of the One Ring and my own fate are linked. Just as the bloodline of Isildur is bound to its fate.”

 

Gandalf pressed his lips into a thin line. Curses! He considered Morgan as if she was his adoptive daughter and now, he was forced to risk her life and her soul because of his oath. He rejoined Frodo in the entry hall as he finished taking his travelling clothes. “You'll have to leave the name of Baggins behind you, for that name is not safe outside the Shire. Travel only by day, and stay off the road.”

 

He gave to Frodo his walking stick. “I can cut across country easily enough with Morgan. And Fatty Bolger, Merry and Pippin had already prepared everything at Crickhollow.” Frodo put the ring in his pocket and gazed up to Gandalf. Morgan was beside him in her grey travelling clothes and her own backpack and weapons were ready.

 

The old magician smiled to the pair. “My dear Frodo. Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years, they can still surprise you.”

 

A clicking noise was suddenly heard from the window.

 

Gandalf motioned down the two. “Get down.” Frodo dived on the floor. Morgan knelt and drew a curved dagger of Elven design from her back in her left hand. Gandalf took his staff and slowly moved towards the window. He then pointed his staff out of the window and hit something that cried in pain with a voice familiar to Frodo and Morgan. Quickly, he grabbed it from outside the window.

 

It turned out to be a very familiar male Hobbit. Growling, the Istari dropped him onto the table. “Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee! Have you been eavesdropping?!”

 

Sam shook fearfully his head. “I haven't been dropping no eaves, sir. Honest. I was just cutting the grass under the window there, if you follow me.”

 

Frodo and Morgan stood up, a little smirk on their lips.

 

Gandalf put his hands on his hips. “A little late for trimming the verge, don't you think?”

 

Sam raised his hands in defence. “I heard raised voices...”

 

Gandalf narrowed his eyes. “What did you hear? SPEAK!”

 

Sam stuttered. “N-n-n-nothing important. That is I heard a good deal about a ring, Dark Lord, and something about the end of the world, but, please Mr. Gandalf, sir, please don't hurt me. Don't turn me into anything…unnatural...

 

Gandalf looked at him with a wicked light in his eyes. “Nooo...?” He winked at Morgan and Frodo who were smiling. “Perhaps not...” He leaned to a very worried Sam. “I've thought of a better use for you.”

 

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The next day, at dawn, Gandalf was leading his horse into the woods, with Morgan, Frodo and Sam following him. Morgan had also a horse which she would use to transport the packs of her two friends and thus gaining time.

 

Gandalf turned to a rather charged Sam. “Come along, Samwise, keep up.” As soon as they reached the woods, Gandalf continued his instructions. “Be careful, all of you. The enemy has many spies in his service: Birds, beasts...” The old wizard looked straight at Frodo. “Is it safe?”

 

Frodo put his hand over his coat pocket and palmed the ring inside.

 

Gandalf leaned to him. “Never put it on. For the agents of the Dark Lord will be drawn to its power. Always remember, Frodo: the Ring is trying to get back to its master. It wants to be found by any means possible.” He looked behind Frodo. “In case of any doubt, listen to Morgan.” Gandalf mounted his horse and galloped off into the woods. Birds were heard screeching around the, now alone, three friends. They looked to each others, sighed, shrugged and then began their long walk after securing their packs on Morgan's horse.

 

Sam, Frodo and Morgan set off, travelling across the countryside and cutting across farms and fields. After some time, they came to a field, with knee-high crops. And Sam stopped as he suddenly understood where he was. “This is it.”

 

Morgan and Frodo stopped and turned to the gardener. Frodo raised an eyebrow. “This is what?”

 

“If I take one more step, it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been.”

 

Frodo smiled to Morgan and walked back towards Sam. “Come on, Sam.”

 

Sam took finally a step and blushed as Morgan applauded to him.

 

Frodo chuckled and put his hand onto Sam's shoulder. “Remember what Bilbo used to say? “It's a dangerous business...””

 

Morgan smiled and continued one of the favourite sentences of her first teacher. Even after all this time, she never forgot it. “…“Frodo, going out your door. You step out onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.””

 

That night the trio settled up their camp sight near some large tree limbs. Morgan smiled as she smelled the dinner that Sam was cooking: It was one of the advantages to travel with hobbits. Frodo was taking a long relaxing pause by smoking on a tree limb.

 

Morgan was again slowly combing her long raven locks when she heard one of the most beautiful sounds in all Middle-Earth. She wasn't the only one as Frodo stopped smoking and listened as well. Frodo and Morgan exchanged a grin and the young hobbit leaned to his best friend. “Sam.”

 

The gardener stopped his cooking and his eyes widened when a particular song reached his ears. Frodo and Morgan nodded to him. “Wood-elves.”

 

The trio sneaked to the path where a line of elves were seemingly gliding along the ground. Even the horses had the same ethereal quality as their riders. They were all garbed in cloaks and dresses that seemed to shine with the particular light that only the elves could emit.

 

Morgan took a deep breath and let the magic of the song penetrating her core being.

 

a Galad ren i veniar

 

hi' aladhremmin ennorath

 

A Elbereth Gilthoniel

 

ithil na thul, ithil lin hen”

 

Sam was worried since Morgan was making no effort to hide herself. “Lady Morgan. Please hide yourself.”

 

Still under the spell of the song, Morgan turned shining eyes to the gardener. “They already know we're here, Sam. It is their way to salute and honoured the Elf-Friends among us by letting us seeing and hearing them.”

 

Frodo nodded. Both he and Morgan were considered as Elf-Friend, a very rare honour among the mortal races. “They're going to the harbour beyond the White Towers. To the Grey Havens.”

 

Sam sadly nodded. “They're leaving Middle-Earth.”

 

“Never to return.” Frodo grimly finished.

 

Sam swallowed something in his throat. “I don't know why…it makes me sad.”

 

A tear shone in the eye of Morgan and slowly fell along her cheek. “Because they were the First, our Elders and their time have come… The light they gave to this world will go with them, never to be seen again.”

 

Sombre and yet with a renewed light in their hearts, the three friends regained their camp to dine and sleep for the next day.

 

Sam tried in vain to find a comfortable position for the night. “Everywhere I lie there's a dirty great root sticking into my back.”

 

Frodo smiled on his bedroll. “Just shut your eyes and imagine you're back in your own bed with a soft mattress and a lovely feather pillow.”

 

Now that's was quite the image, but after a moment, Sam sighed again. “It's not working, Mr. Frodo. I'm never going to be able to sleep out here.”

 

Frodo smothered a chuckle. “Me neither, Sam.”

 

Her eyes fixed on the glorious stars above, Morgan smiled and softly began to sing in Elvish. It was a lullaby of love and protection. Under the celestial fires, she called upon their powers to guard their bodies and dreams. As the words of power hung under the cover of the trees, a soothing sleep gently seized the three travellers under the protective gazes of the stars.

 

A very useful and needed protection because, much nearer than they thought, a rider in black was surveying the region from a hill.

 

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Notes: Not too bad. As I said in the beginning I mainly use the film as background and slip a few details from the book here and there. I hope it wasn't too confusing.

 

Why did I make Morgan wait sixteen years before doing something? Well, it's because the poor girl need a modicum of proper skills in order to survive the Quest of the Ring. I could have her protected by the Fellowship just like the Hobbits, but even Merry and Pippin had more useful skills than a normal modern student.

 

I don't think I made her a marysue, since most of her advantages had taken time and effort to be acquired.

 

Please read and review, thanks.