Title & Chapter Number: Hearts in Lothlórien 1/10
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are the work of the Masterful Tolkien. Tolkien's the man! Also, I shamelessly stole, er, borrowed the series title from Stephen King's "Hearts in Atlantis." And the chapter title from Simon and Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence." This story, however, is all mine. I make no money off of this and probably should be working on something where I might actually make some money…but here ya' go.
Warnings: Slash, (DUH!)
Betas: Salina
Cast: Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, Sam, Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Galadriel.
Timeline: TA-AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: What does Galadriel see when she looks inside the hearts of the Fellowship?
Notes: This was not meant to be slash when I started it. My muses have a mind of their own. I won't give away the pairings but I promise nothing squicky or off-the-wall. I swear. There are few chapters that don't have *slash* in them but the overall theme is slash-related. Don't like it, aren't brave enough...don't read. Read it, like it...feed me.
Let's get this clear from the start; I do not, in any way, compare myself with The Lady of the Wood. I worship her. And I am not worthy. However, the only way I could see to do this story was from her POV. It was a challenge draw for Galadriel/someone on Ringfest.
I choose Pippin as the other character for the challenge, and eventually I'll get to that chapter, but for now it's kind of a Galadriel-everyone fic. This is my version of what Galadriel was seeing inside each of the Fellowship upon first meeting them. Big Huge Thanks to Salina for the Beta. May you have all the dark and brooding Men, beautiful Elves, gruff but soft Dwarves and cuddly Hobbits that your heart desires. Special Thanks to Rebecca for letting me bounce ideas off of her.
Sound of Silence
~*~*~*~
"And with that word she held them with her eyes, and in silence looked searchingly at each of them in turn."
-- The Fellowship of the Ring, JRR Tolkien~*~*~*~
This one I do not understand.
Some of them are easier to see inside. Some of them are more open with their hearts than the rest.
Samwise. He is easy to read. He has nothing to hide. His heart is open to all who seek it. Samwise's heart is filled with warmth, bright colors, sweet smells and love. Pure love. When I look inside his deepest thoughts, I see a garden. It is a beautiful garden, worthy of Lothlórien. He loves this garden. Not just the flowers that bloom there, but all of it; the tomatoes, the weeds, the soil. It is all a part of him. There is a hobbit hole to go with it. I look about for Sam's family, but they are not there. Instead, I see the Ringbearer sitting on a bench just off to the side of the garden. His feet are tucked up under him and he seems to be reading a book rather intently. But he is not. I see him peak out of the corners of his eyes, a slight smile curving his lips. He is watching something. He is watching Sam. Sam knows this. Sam is watching him too. No, this is not the home of Samwise. This is the Ringbearer's home. And yet, it is not. Not completely. Yes, now I see. Whatever belongs to Frodo, belongs to Sam. And whatever belongs to Sam, belongs to Frodo. This home, this garden, this heart.
The Ringbearer is the complete opposite of his loyal companion. Frodo's heart is closed. Dark. Hidden. He will not let me in. I try to break through to him, but he has shut me out with such a fierceness that I struggle not to flinch. I speak to him with my mind, but he does not relax. He is afraid. All that he has known in his life, he has lost. His parents. His home. Bilbo. And now Gandalf. He is closing himself off. Pushing them away. It has already begun. I see it in the way he holds his body. He is afraid of losing all that he loves, so he pushes them away to ease the pain. His heart is scarred. And he does not trust himself. He does not have faith that he can accomplish this mission. He can. I know he can. He has a strong will. He is stronger than even he knows. But if he lets his heart turn into darkness, he will lose the one thing that he needs most to survive this ordeal: love.
The Men are easier to read. Men always are. Their hearts are weaker than those of the Elves. Weaker even than those of the Hobbits, as I have quickly discovered.
The same cannot be said for the Men of the Company. Aragorn's heart I have seen inside before. I know what it is he fears. The future. So long has he run from his past, his future. I wonder why he does not run now. I ask him and his thoughts stray to the Ringbearer. Family. It is a simple word. One that I am sure he has not heard on a conscious level. But that is his true heart. Something the Ranger has never known, not really. Why has he chosen this group as a family, I wonder? But now I get no answer. His heart has gone back to the last moments of Gandalf. [Lead them on.] I watch Gandalf fall, over and over, each time a horrible pain clutches my heart. And then I realize, *this* is my answer. Gandalf is the reason that Aragorn embraces them as family, the reason why he now confronts his future. My heart is saddened that the hand of my granddaughter was not the cause, yet my spirits are lifted when I see what his heart truly desires. A table of fine food. A large group settled around it in feast. The Fellowship; warm, rested and safe. And Arwen by his side, a gold wedding band adorns her finger. Yet there is a shadow over this image I see. Gandalf. He is there at the table, but he is barely visible through a thick haze of smoke. What Aragorn truly desires, he can no longer have.
I pull away from him. I cannot watch Gandalf 's fall again.
The other Man, Boromir, is not as easy to read. His heart has been hardened by years of war and the pain of loneliness. Yes, he feels loneliness. His thoughts bend towards his home. Gondor. I have seen the White City before, but not like this. This picture of Gondor is one of desolation, shadow, emptiness. The city is crumbling. There are voices; Men crying out for help, battle cries, last breaths and last words. His father, Denethor. His voice is like a whip. It cracks and stings Boromir. But the Man does not flinch. He has taught himself how to do this, how to pretend that he can give his father everything that he asks for, everything that he demands. This city, these people, they all rest upon his shoulders. The Ring. I see, that is his solution. His father gives him impossible tasks, burdens that no man should have to bear alone, and now he thinks he has found the answer. I tell him this is not the way. He asks me what is. I show him. I show him The White City as I remember it, in all its splendor. The sun captures it and it shines like a million pearls on the sand. I hear his breath catch. He wants it. Then I show him the Ringbearer.
[Look inside him, Boromir,] I command. [Trust in him. See the way to The White City.]
He is breaking. I have pushed him too far. I press a light kiss to the inside of his heart and tell him I will return once again, when he is ready. He does not look at me.
Gimli I am eager to see inside. It has been a long time since I was granted the pleasure of a Dwarf's company. He holds himself proudly, despite his weariness. And yet, he cannot quite bring his eyes up to mine. There is confusion and turmoil in his heart. He has questions about the Elves, about Lothlórien, about…me. But that is not all. There is guilt. And heart-sickness. He has not only lost Gandalf, but his cousin Balin and his kindred in Moria. And Gandalf's fall, Gimli blames himself. He curses the Dwarvish pride that sent Balin and the others into those mines, trying to recapture the glorious days when Dwarves lived in richness and honor. He curses that pride which caused them to dig too deeply and unearth the Balrog. Yet he still stands here, straight with his shoulders back, full of the same pride which he silently curses.
The Elf. One would think that after several ages here on Middle-Earth I would be able to open the heart of an Elf with ease. But Legolas, son of Thranduil, is not so easy. He is guarded. His father has taught him to be wary of all creatures, Elf or not. He reminds me of someone. Haldir. This is at once frightening and encouraging. There is a reason that Haldir is on border guard. He is not easy to penetrate, in matters of the land or the heart. I feel it a shame that Legolas was brought up to live this way, yet grateful, for it means he will not be conflicted with emotional attachments on this journey. Emotions are the easiest things for the One Ring to play off of. I think he smiles at me, though not with his mouth.
Then he shows me something. I know I did not stumble across it by accident. He has shown it to me on purpose. Aragorn. And someone else. No, it cannot be, but yet…Gimli.
[My Father did not teach me to be distrustful. Only to take the time to judge a character properly before handing over the keys to my heart,] he tells me.
[And who have you given these keys too?] I ask.
But he is retreating inside himself, falling back onto his grief and I must move on.
Meriadoc Brandybuck. A bit of honor perhaps. Some proper respect from his fellow Hobbits. From his father. From…yes, Boromir. He flinches when he sees my gaze on him. I have not spoken to him, but he knows I am inside his heart now. He looks away from me. What is it that he fears? I ask him. He says that he does not want me to see.
[It's silly] he insists.
But I see it anyway. It is too much on his mind, too forward in his heart for him to hide it. I suspect even his fellow companions have it figured out by now.
He desires Pippin.
He still won't look at me.
I want to ask more but I feel someone's eyes on me. I turn away from Merry's heart, hoping to get a chance to ask him more later.
Peregrin Took. He is studying me as I have studied the others. I take the time to search his heart, to see what he desires. I find only contentment. There is grief, but he seems to perhaps have found peace with that. He is thinking of food and sleep. I see him sleeping, curled up against Merry, hands intertwined. I wonder if he desires Merry. But no, he has Merry already, hasn't he? I wonder if Gandalf's death has aroused fear of dying in him. But it has not. He seems to know that death is only a part of what he will sacrifice to assure Frodo's success. He is willing. He wants for nothing.
This one I do not understand. It is not the naiveté and innocence of youth. It is the exact opposite. He thinks of anywhere else he could be, and wishes to be right here. He thinks of things he has yet to do with his life, and thinks that he has done the most important things. I look to find what the One Ring might tempt him with, but he has all that he has ever desired. All he asks of me is food and rest and a proper moment to send his goodbyes to Gandalf into the night sky.
This time I speak. I speak to them all.
"I offer you rest, to your bodies and your hearts, for as long as you need."
Then my eyes fall on Peregrin. "And food. I shall have a table set for you at once."
Peregrin smiles at me.
"Welcome to Lothlórien."
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