When it is fresh, it has much in common with the scent of the summer sea: warm and salty, with the suggestion of rot beneath. When it is not fresh, it has much in common with the scent of rusting metal: crumbling weapons, ruined gates. The Dead Marshes.
Blood follows the Ring in a dark honeyed trail, drawn to its power, drawn to the blood of the Dark Lord forged within its golden band. Blood is purer than iron, warmer than anger. Blood remembers, and it holds the whiff of life long after it has spilled.
The scent of fear.
It clings to all the companions, twisted mirrors of the Nine who hunt the Ring. It reeks from the hobbits in a mixture of piss and slobber like unwashed children. It oozes from the men in their putrid sweat, their oily hair, the seed they spill furtively into their own filthy hands.
The dwarf's fear stinks of rancid meat like his breath. The elf's tang is sweet, like the fragrance of wildflowers torn apart and scattered in a storm. The wizard's fear smells old as the embers surrounding Mount Doom, smoky remains of shadow and flame.
The scent of gold.
It is a living thing, writhing, twisting, singing the words of power that ring the band. It bears the aroma of purest flame, unsullied by base metals, untouched by the hands that have worn it save one. Its odor promises sustenance beyond food, beyond air. To trace it in the wind is to hear the music of salvation. To touch it would be to feel the flames of bliss.
Its scent carries through the bitter snowy air of the mountains and up from the icy waters of the rivers. It is near. Sniff, and it calls.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.