What Frodo did not Tell – Part 1

by Feb 15, 2003Stories

Laurie had once been a Tolkien fan, but now that an illegal portal had open, she knew it was necessary to see the full affect of Earthlings going to Middle Earth. It was time to investigate first hand. As she always did, that is, mysterious, at least a first.

Frodo walked along slowly, fingering the Ring in his pocket. Though it had only become his a few days ago; he could not bear to be without it. The hobbit’s thought’s rested on his cousin. He spoke softly to himself, (his first and second cousin once removed on either side, that is.) “Oh Bilbo, I wish I could have come with you. Some day I will follow you and see the mountains. But not now, I guess.”

Frodo stopped, listening. He might have imagined it, but there seemed to be someone watching him. Once, he even fancied seeing a pair of large emerald green eyes. To big to be a hobbit’s, but barely above his own level.

“Hello?” Frodo called out, “Merry, Pippin? This isn’t one of your pranks, is it?”

“No, Mr Baggins.” Frodo spun around at the sound of a soft voice. Sweet and melodious, it reverberated around him, hauntingly. Before him stood a figure, perhaps that of a young woman, though it was difficult to tell. Though the light of day still shown through the woods, she seemed to fade into the background. Her face was shrouded in the shadow of the trees.

“Who are you? Begging your pardon, I mean no offense. But though I have seen many pass this way, they are seldom alone. Are you an elf?”

“I would be rather short for an elf.”

“It is rather queer, but I can’t seem to see you clearly. Yet you know my name.”

“We have met once before.”


“Do you remember the time when you . . . dropped something near a strange hobbit with dark hair whom you did not know?”

“That was you?”

“I have many disguises, I know many things. You may call me . . . Laura, if you wish. I have come from no enemy of yours, and wish only to speak to you.”

“Your speech is strange, though not unpleasent. May I see you more clearly?” In silent agreement, Laura stepped forward. Frodo stiffled a gasp.

She stood before him, barely taller- perhaps four feet- but with a splendor to at least match the elves. With features fair, and deep red hair pulled back, she stood firmly, though lightly, before him.

Though beauty beyond what he had ever seen graced her face, more shocking was the power that radiated from her being.

Laura noticed his astonishment, but did not comment on it. She had always disliked the reaction of men and women alike upon it. But that was not for her to decide. That fate had lain in Contek much earlier- no. I will not tell that story now.

“Pardon,” said Frodo, regaining himself, “I didn’t mean to stare. But of what people are you?”

“My own.”


“I am the last of my kind. And the first. But my story will never end, and yours has just begun. Do you know of what I speak?”

“I do not,” Frodo answered, “unless . . . never mind.”

“Then take care of yourself! Look out for me, especially at unlikely time!” She said, disappearing. I wonder what that means, Frodo thought to himself, she must know Gandalf.

I will attempt not to bore you by reiterating the story you all know so well, for it is the same as Master Tolkien has it, the entire way through. I only write what Frodo was asked not to put in his book by the mysterious Laura (actually, Laurie) whom you have already met. In any case, the did not meet again until Moria. Though perhaps you should know a strange occurance in Rivendell.

Elrond looked up at Gandalf in despair. “I have not the power to retrieve him. The knife tip has been left too deep.” Sam let out a brief cry. The three of them glanced down at the small hobbit sadly. He lay, almost translucent in the early morning light. There came a knock on the door.

Gandalf went to open it, expecting Bilbo to have come back. Instead, stood a small figure, cloaked completely in a deep forest green. The figure looked at Gandalf, and pushed back her hood, slightly, speaking softly in some language foreign to the others. At last, Gandalf nodded.


“Yes? Is Mr. Frodo going to get better?”

“Perhaps. But I must ask you to leave for a few minutes.” Gandalf said, heavily.

“Leave Mr. Frodo? Oh, no sir. I’m sure he wouldn’t like that-“

“He would not like you to stress yourself and lose sleep over him. Go on.” Sam went, shooting a strange look at Laurie (for it was she).

Walking with such silent grace that she would have made a cat feel clumsy, Laurie went to Frodo. Her hood dropped low over her eyes. Laying her hands on him, she moved them to his shoulder- not where the mark was, but to the right. Softly, so that only Frodo could clearly hear, she sang:

Come from the depths of the Nazgul’s sleep
See the light of day once more,
Remember the truth that runs so deep,
In every vein, in every pore.

You are the one who is chosen to go,
May the blade of the wicked melt
Through wind, and shine, and sleet and snow
The power of the Qua is at your call.

Motioning Gandalf and Elrond to come nearer, she showed them the location of the blade tip, embedded deep in the hobbit’s skin. Mutely they watched her, and knew not to tell a soul of the visit.

Bowing, Laurie turned to go, but was stopped by Gandalf’s call.

“Wait! Who are you?”

“Do you not recognize me? I am the healer. Remember seven years gone past?”

“I mean your name, I know only Qualara!”

“Laurie. Call me Laurie.” She stepped into the hall, and bowed to Sam, who blushed. By the time he looked up again, she was gone.

Keen as Frodo’s eye sight and hearing were, he thought himself illusioned at the presence he felt in Moria. It was not Smeagol, but another. It was not Laurie, either.


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