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Another Moment of your Time  by Larner

For Shirebound, RS9, Rhyselle, and all others whose birthdays I've missed in the last month.

Excerpts from “Frodo of the Nine Fingers”

“Stand, Men of the West!  Lo, the Moment of Doom is upon us!”

So called Mithrandir, Grey no longer.  White he is now, Counselor and Guardian, grey veils discarded forever!

“Stand, Men of the West!  Lo, the Moment of Doom is upon us!”

And all stood!  Man and orc, troll and Elf and Dwarf, and beasts whose fell names have never troubled the tongues of the righteous.  None dared move.  Not the soldier in black and silver, nor Rider in greens, browns and gold; not knight with silver swan on blue surcoat, nor Northern Dúnadan in stained greens and grey; not orcs in their confusion nor trolls no longer guided by the Eye’s evil Will.  Even the Fell Creatures upon which the Nazgűl soared appeared to pause in their defense of the air while their Black Riders cried out in shock and despair.

For the Ringbearer and his companion, Samwise the Stouthearted, Samwise the Faithful and Hopeful, had come to the edge of the Fires of Doom, caught in that last moment before action, when at last the Ring in Its Malice took the Ringbearer and broke his otherwise indomitable Will, and thought that in so doing that It had Won!

But Malice too oft Malice mars!

Behold, the craven creature known as Gollum, without willing to do so, saved the Ringbearer, taking Ring and the finger upon which It had sat, falling under Its weight into the Fire himself.

Righteousness was saved from Evil by one of evil will.

And with the Ring’s destruction Mordor itself was destroyed.

“Stand, Men of the West!  Lo, the Moment of Doom is come!”

But it was doom for Mordor and its Lord and its cursed creatures, not doom for those of the West who had found, under the guidance of the one born to be King, courage to stand even before the Black Gates, even before overwhelming forces!


A laita te, laita te!  We praise them with great praise, Perhael and Iorhael, Stouthearted Samwise and Frodo of the Nine Fingers, Hope-filled and All-enduring, Faithful and Wise by Experience, Harthad Uluithiad and Bronwë athan Harthad


Princes of the West they are; Princes of the West they shall be ever!  The Cormacolindor, they offered themselves for our safety, even as we offered ourselves to give them time to win through the Black Land to the Mountain’s core.


The King and his Companions watched the Mountain in its death throes, certain that their beloved Friend and his Esquire had died.  No!

The Eagles cried out in wrath:  No!

The Elder King, watching through Varda’s Window, cried, No!

And Lord Aulë, Lord Mahal of the Naugrim, called out also, No!

The Lord of Earth directed that one hillock should stand to catch the Cormacolindor as they fled the fire, to hold them for the time needed.

The Lord of Air and Breath sent word to his Servants:  Rescue!

Mithrandir called out, and the Great Eagles stooped to him, and on the Wings of the Wind they raced to what remained of Orodruin.

Dropping down, they took up new burdens, and on the Wings of Eagles were the Cormacolindor, now unknowing, drawn out of the Fire, returning to the Living Lands and the Healing Hands of the King!

And although he would not slam shut the Gates to Mandos in their faces, the Doomsman happily enough closed them behind the two small, unwilling heroes as the King called them back to battered bodies, breathed life with the scent of athelas back into their lungs and hearts, and they went not from us.


We stood as the Hour of Doom loomed over us, and Death passed over the Army of the West and the two Pheriannath, fearful though they might have been, yet Valiant beyond measure!

Eglerio!  A laita te, laita te! 


Praise them with Great Praise!


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