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truepennyHe looks at the ship and says, "I don't deserve this."
They all stare at him: the tall fair people, the wizard, his friends. "Nonsense, my boy," the wizard says, making a good recovery. "Of course you do. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."
"No," he says, more certain now. "It's not . . . right."
They don't understand him. The tall fair people mostly look bored, a little offended. "You won't get a second chance," warns one of them--he can't tell them apart anymore. His friends are distressed. "But you have to, sir," says one--he has a hard time telling them apart sometimes, too. "You've been so ill."
"Yes, I know. You think I'm dying. But if that's true, isn't this a cheat?"
The tall fair people are definitely offended now. The wizard drags him aside, fingers as gnarled and hard as oak doubtless leaving bruises. "Speak a little fairer, my friend," the wizard advises in a grim whisper.
"I don't mean it's a cheat for them," he protests. "It's their ship. But if I'm dying, shouldn't I have the courage and the honesty to, well, die? And if I'm not dying . . ."
The wizard raises bushy eyebrows. "If?"
"Why should I get to escape being tired and in pain and lonely?"
"You--"
"I failed," he says levelly. "You know that as well as I do. That the quest succeeded is ultimately a happy accident, nothing more. I do not deserve this gift."
"Perhaps it isn't a question of deserving," the wizard suggests.
"Oh, but it is. It's my reward for doing a job none of you wanted." He laughs, bitterly, at the expression on the wizard's face. "Did you really think I didn't know? That that's exactly what it is? My reward for madness and pain and failure. And you know something? Even if I do deserve it, I don't want it. Let one of them"--with a wave at his friends, clustered anxiously on the shore--"go. Any one of them deserves it more than I."
"You are ill."
"It hasn't killed me yet."
"What are you going to do?"
For the first time in--weeks? months? years? He can't remember how long it's been since he last smiled, and the expression is achingly unfamiliar on his face. He says truthfully, almost joyfully, "I have absolutely no bloody idea."
And he turns and walks away.
They all stare at him: the tall fair people, the wizard, his friends. "Nonsense, my boy," the wizard says, making a good recovery. "Of course you do. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."
"No," he says, more certain now. "It's not . . . right."
They don't understand him. The tall fair people mostly look bored, a little offended. "You won't get a second chance," warns one of them--he can't tell them apart anymore. His friends are distressed. "But you have to, sir," says one--he has a hard time telling them apart sometimes, too. "You've been so ill."
"Yes, I know. You think I'm dying. But if that's true, isn't this a cheat?"
The tall fair people are definitely offended now. The wizard drags him aside, fingers as gnarled and hard as oak doubtless leaving bruises. "Speak a little fairer, my friend," the wizard advises in a grim whisper.
"I don't mean it's a cheat for them," he protests. "It's their ship. But if I'm dying, shouldn't I have the courage and the honesty to, well, die? And if I'm not dying . . ."
The wizard raises bushy eyebrows. "If?"
"Why should I get to escape being tired and in pain and lonely?"
"You--"
"I failed," he says levelly. "You know that as well as I do. That the quest succeeded is ultimately a happy accident, nothing more. I do not deserve this gift."
"Perhaps it isn't a question of deserving," the wizard suggests.
"Oh, but it is. It's my reward for doing a job none of you wanted." He laughs, bitterly, at the expression on the wizard's face. "Did you really think I didn't know? That that's exactly what it is? My reward for madness and pain and failure. And you know something? Even if I do deserve it, I don't want it. Let one of them"--with a wave at his friends, clustered anxiously on the shore--"go. Any one of them deserves it more than I."
"You are ill."
"It hasn't killed me yet."
"What are you going to do?"
For the first time in--weeks? months? years? He can't remember how long it's been since he last smiled, and the expression is achingly unfamiliar on his face. He says truthfully, almost joyfully, "I have absolutely no bloody idea."
And he turns and walks away.
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Fascinating
Date: 2007-02-13 04:42 pm (UTC)Did Frodo really EVER have real relationships to connect him to the Shire? His love of the Shire seems to me to be rather detached and condescending from the get-go, at most a love of the familiar . . a rather Asperger's-Syndrome-like abstract fondness. Much is made of the friendship between Frodo and Sam. Were they really friends? There is no equality in their relationship . . Sam SERVES Frodo. Again there is fondess, but not what I would describe as a real friendship. In fact, Frodo is not close to ANY of his fellows, really. Throughout the books he is a little apart and alone. That's why his sailing into the West made sense to me. Why not? Once the Shire changed enough so that Frodo didn't have the familiarity to cling to, what was left to keep him "home"? Did EVIL damage Frodo so that he couldn't live normally at the end of the story? Or did the changes to the Shire (which were wrought by evil, but would have come anyway, albeit more gently) simply kill what little Frodo had to connect him to others?
I like YOUR Ringbearer better than the original, Truepenny. There is loyalty, honesty, and a courage in your character that I don't think exists at all in the original. Your ringbearer is NOT detached.
Alas, I suppose you'd get your socks sued off if you rewrote the whole tale, lol. Plus you probably have other stories clamouring to be written. :-)