I was in darkness, alone with thought I’d rather not hold, feeling its shadow close. I sought to divert my mind and came upon a passage.
In it, Frodo is in an undesirable place, tempted again to wear the Ring. His hands clutch to the chain where the ring is kept, but he fights its draw and sense of need. His hands release from the chain, in search for anything else to which they might hold in resistance to Ring’s draw.
“Then his own will stirred; slowly it forced the hand back and set it to find another thing, a thing lying hidden near his breast. Cold and hard it seemed as his grip closed on it: the phial of Galadriel, so long treasured, and most forgotten till that hour. As he touched it, for a while all thought of the Ring was banished from his mind.”
A Phial of Light, born of a star; gifted, saved, and close-held to heart—forgotten though always present—for moment when most needed. A blessing, gift, from Galadriél—The White Lady, Lady of the Wood, Mistress of Magic—to sustain one’s self against darkness in moments of destiny’s doubts.
For a while, thought of shadow banished.
…Good that becomes from fiction-dream thought through.