Different Choice
by North-took

The Destruction of the Ring

The golden ring fell from Isildur's fingers. It seemed to descend slowly, as though passing through water. The king watched the place where the ring had been, unable to move or heed the cries of his men. He was deaf to their entreaties even as the mountain collapsed around them. All Isildur could see was the perfect golden circle.

The bearers of the lesser rings immediately felt the change caused by the destruction of the One Ring. The Dwarf-lords who kept the Seven felt a strange lightness, a weakening of their own strength. The keepers of the three felt keenly the fading of their own power.

In Rivendell, Elrond's charge Valandil paced his room. Like the sun emerging from behind clouds, the gloom of many dark years was gone to be replaced by a strange calm. Sauron was gone, but how? Valandil wondered who of his family and friends now lay dead. Was he now an orphan? His answer would come weeks later in the form of a summons to the boy. His father and grandfather were dead and his brother now ruled.

The King was dead; long live the King.

Passing of the Evenstar

As Lord Elrond helped his daughter into the gray ship, Arwen turned her face back to the land of her birth. She was full of a sorrow that she could not put into words, as though she left behind something desperately important. It was a strange thought, for her family was amongst her and she left no great friends or love in Middle Earth.

Elrond's measured voice shook her from her reverie. "Daughter, it is time to depart."

Arwen looked back at her father. Behind him, the sun sank into the sea trailing glorious raiment. Surely her destiny lay west with her people; but the blood of her mortal ancestors seemed to want to pull her back. This, Arwen realized with a start, was the moment of her choice.

"Let us go home," she said. Surely all elves born of Middle Earth felt sorrow departing its shores.

Even after she saw the beauty of Valinor, her soul ached for something left behind. A man's image haunted her dreams and she wondered if she had been meant to follow Luthien's path. Was it even possible to commit such an egregious error and miss destiny? She never spoke of it, not even to her family, but Arwen often wondered if her choice had been a mistake.

Storytelling

Frodo Baggins studied the illuminated text before him, marveling at the vivid scarlet and emerald inks. He knew those colors were precious, worth more per ounce than the rest of his entire library. His cousin Bilbo had amassed quite the collection, books the Sackville-Bagginses had no use for and parted with for a fair price as they knew not the collections true worth.

Frodo bit back a smile; the Sackville-Baggineses had no love for him and Frodo knew well that Lobelia sold the books to him because he was the only buyer she'd find in the four farthings. Frodo ran a gentle hand across the fine vellum page and wished that Bilbo had lived long as their legendary ancestor the Old Took. Bilbo had seen one hundred and twelve winters, a respectable number for a hobbit, but he�d shown every one of those winters in his face and bones.

There was a tug at his sleeve. Frodo looked down to see a tiny hobbit lass staring up at him with her mother's wide green eyes.

"Tell me a story," his daughter begged.

�What kind of story would you like to hear," Frodo asked indulgently as he gathered young Primula into his lap.

The little girl thought a moment, her tiny face serious as she contemplated her answer. "A hobbit story!" Primula crowed.

As he began a tale involving the Old Took and an irascible gaffer, Frodo wished hobbits bore some part in the wider sweep of the world. Then he checked himself. Both hobbits and the world at large were better for their slight appearances in the great story of Middle Earth.

The King of the North

The King of Arnor seldom permitted himself to voice his sentiments, even to himself, but he often felt a great emptiness inside him as though part of his heart grew darker and colder with each passing season. He had attempted to give that part of himself over to his lady wife and their children, but always it seemed as though his heart belonged to another whose name he did not know.

When he courted his queen at the behest of their families, Aragorn appreciated their likenesses. Now he saw clearly that they were too similar. Quieter mates who could be the calm centers of their lives would have suited them better. But they had not been afforded such a luxury for theirs was a marriage rooted in politics; the King of Arnor and the beloved niece to Rohan�s king.

At their wedding the difference of their natures seemed trivial, but as the years passed Aragorn realized his error. Not even fifty, Eowyn already showed signs of ending while he remained young and strong. He knew it grated her strong soul to see him able to ride and train the mornings, sit at counsel in evening; and still host foreign embassies at night without tiring. Her strength waned and they both knew it.

Though he did not love Eowyn, he cared greatly for her. The emptiness inside him expanded as he allowed himself to taste the knowledge that within a few decades, he would have to bury his queen.

The bitterness tasted of sea salt.

Lotho Sackville-Baggins was not a good master and that was all Sam Gamgee would say on the matter. He'd never voice that thought � Mr. Lotho and his mother were not generous with their coin but they valued the prestige of Bag End's fine gardens and could not skimp too greatly in his pay. Coins they gave him, enough to purchase service and a measure of loyalty but they had never earned their servant's affection that way the Gaffer claimed old Mr. Bilbo had.

There was no warmth in the Sackville-Bagginses memories of the old Baggins. Mr. Lotho mocked his elderly cousin for leaving no son. As Sam weeded the parsnips, he hid a smile; no lass seemed willing to become Mrs. Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Baggines were becoming thin on the ground and Mr. Lotho�s heir was a distant cousin from Buckland said to be more than half a Brandybuck. With unhappiness eating Mr. Lotho from the inside out, Sam reckoned it would not be many more years before he'd be gardening for that other Mr. Baggins.