From Shadows To The Spotlight

[Chapter 11: The Price of Greatness. (VI)]

Last Time on Chapter 010 of From Shadows To The Spotlight —

He watched as Arwen searched through the old healer's books, her movements swift, determined.

There was a shadow in her eyes, one that spoke of the weight she, too, carried—a duty she could never cast aside. Robin let Föl's shoulders slump, the weariness of the years settling over him.

Having found the recipe for the cure she thanked him as she left on the hunt for ingredients and requested to keep watch as the elements of the dark that had been following them might be lurking nearby.

Before she left she also apologized for putting the lives of the people of this village in danger.

Now Continuing —

Robin just shooed her away with a wave of his sword, stating that as long as he was alive, he wouldn't allow anyone living in this village to fall prey to evil.

He then turned away, heading back out to patrol the village outskirts, while leaving a young villager with Frodo, who was beginning to stir.

He made his way through the village, each step slow but steady. Protecting this place had been his purpose for so long that he couldn't imagine life any other way.

The villagers approached him with a grateful smile asking about his guest, he told them that one of them was injured and in need of medical aid, they nodded in understanding, thanked him for his service and went back.

When the scene wrapped, the quiet applause of the crew filled the set.

Robin let out a deep breath, feeling the weight of Föl slip away from him, but the character's sorrow lingered, like a ghost. Alex approached, his expression one of pride, giving Robin a nod of approval.

"Brilliant work, Robin," he said quietly. "You brought him to life. It was the first take, but it was so beautiful that I do not want to see that scene any other way. Could we move on, or would you like to try again?"

Robin returned the nod, his expression softening as he replied, "All credit to you, Alex. Föl's story is one worth telling and despite wanting for it be perfect, I think this one is close enough. I would like to save my strength for my final scene."

"I was of the same thought as well. Thank you, for agreeing to do this role." He then turned towards Catherine as spoke with an encouraging smile, "Great work as always, Ms. Jones. Keep it up."

"Thanks, Alex, I just try my best." She replied with a modest smile, though inwardly she was jumping in joy at being able to hold her own against such a veteran actor.

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The following scene was more laid back, it needed no extra preparation, just for two cameras to be strategically placed to keep the focus on the faces of two characters that would be sole participants in the scene and a bit of overcast to change the intensity of light to show that the sun was now rising.

It was small details like this that Alex always paid attention to that made the audiences of the films that he has worked on to feel as if they had been truly transported into the film.

The village had settled into a calm lull as Arwen and Föl moved away, leaving Frodo in the care of a young villager being played by a 17-year-old Ryan Gosling, who had been tasked with watching over him.

Frodo's eyes fluttered open, his face pale, his breathing shallow, but he was beginning to feel the faintest bit of strength returning.

The young man tending to him, a lad not much older than Frodo himself, sat on a small wooden stool beside the cot, fiddling with the edge of his worn shirt, as if uncertain of what to say.

But Frodo's groggy movements caught his attention, and he leaned in, his voice gentle but tinged with excitement.

"Good to see you awake," the young man whispered. "You had us worried there."

Frodo managed a weak smile, and for a few moments, silence hung between them, comfortable yet laden with unspoken words. The young man finally broke the stillness, his voice carrying a quiet wonder.

"You know, this is the happiest I've ever seen old man Föl," he said, almost to himself. He glanced down, looking thoughtful. "Until the two of you arrived, I didn't think he even had any friends."

Frodo's brow furrowed. He could hear the awe in the young man's voice, and his curiosity piqued. "Has he… has he never had any visitors? All these years?"

The boy shook his head, a slight sadness flickering across his face. "Not a single one. He's been here as long as any of us can remember. People say he's protected this village from everything—monsters, shades, even demons."

He paused, his gaze distant. "He's been doing it for longer than we've been alive. I don't think anyone even knows why."

Frodo felt a strange pull in his chest, a feeling that went deeper than curiosity. Here was a man who that had guarded this place for reasons unknown to the young boy before him.

Frodo, who had taken on the mission to bear the ring despite the fears that clawed at him daily, because felt a profound connection to this sense of duty.

He didn't understand it fully, but he yearned to know more. He felt like maybe if he could uncover what kept this old dwarf rooted to this village, to his self-imposed duty, perhaps he could find a part of his ideals that he could adopt for himself to strengthen his own resolve.

After a few minutes, the door creaked open, and Old Man Föl walked in having returned from his patrol, carrying his trusted, well-used broadsword and shield. He carefully placed them on his mantle piece and dusted off his hands.

His weathered face softened as he saw Frodo awake, and he offered the young hobbit a brief nod.

"Glad to see you're still with us, young lad," he grunted, taking a seat near the bed, his gaze steady and unreadable.

He then turned to the young boy and handed him a covered parcel and gently said, "you may leave now, Mathias, and take this to your mum, it should take care of whatever ails your sister."

Ryan now revealed as Mathias, gratefully nodded his head and quietly said his thanks as he left the place, knowing not to argue with the stubborn dwarf, though before leaving he gave a nod of assurance to Frodo as if to say that everything will be alright. It went to show the kind of faith the young man had towards the old man.

Frodo's heart pounded as he took in the old dwarf's presence. The boy's words rang in his mind, and he felt a surge of gratitude and awe as he looked at the tired, steadfast warrior.

Elijah was surprised that Alex hadn't called out "cut" yet, so he decided to make the most of the situation and do his best. Swallowing, he found himself speaking, almost without thinking.

"Sir Föl," he began, his voice hoarse but gentle, "if I may ask… what made you decide to protect this village?"

Föl's eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly, but not in contempt or displeasure. Instead, there was a hint of curiosity in his gaze, perhaps a glimmer of surprise, that some asked him "that" question after all these years.

But he waved his hand dismissively. "Just call me Föl or 'Old Man', I'm no sir or knight."

Frodo nodded, then continued, his voice growing softer. "Alright… Old man Föl. What made you stay here, all these years?"

The old dwarf shrugged, glancing at the ground as if the answer lay buried there. "It's ancient history, lad… doesn't matter.. not any more."

But Frodo didn't back down. His expression softened, his gaze growing distant as he thought about the trials that he had endured till now on his journey—the close calls, the despair, the fear of losing his life and worse of failing in his quest.

A small, pained smile crossed his face, and a single drop of tear traced down his cheek, catching the dim light.

Alex and Peter were observing the scene from behind the camera, watching this all play out with bated breaths, and so were the rest of the cast and crew as if they were watching a fairy tale come to life.

"People don't often risk their lives for something that doesn't matter," Frodo said, his voice shaking slightly with emotion.

Föl's gaze shifted, his brow furrowing as if Frodo's words had struck a chord within him.

He looked away, a deep sigh escaping his chest, and for a moment, Frodo thought that the old man might refuse to answer. But then, Föl's face softened, and he looked back up, meeting Frodo's earnest gaze.

"It's for my wife," he gently murmured with a fond smile, his voice barely above a whisper. Frodo's eyes widened, taken aback by the simple, profound weight of the words.

He'd heard Arwen speak of her old friend, of Föl's wife—a healer, a woman of half-elven blood, skilled and compassionate.

She had passed long ago, but for Föl, it seemed like her spirit still lingered in the stones and streams of this place, in the fields and paths she had once walked upon.

Föl's eyes grew distant, as if he were looking at something that only he could see. "This village was her heart, her home. She cared about every single thing in it.. from the kind villagers that call it home.. to the tallest Alcacia tree that we planted together."

"This... This was the village she loved, and I will protect it until the day I die." He replied solemnly, as if saying an oath he had made to himself a long time ago.

Frodo felt his throat tighten, his heart aching with the weight of Föl's words. He looked down, blinking back his own tears as he whispered, "She must have been… special. For you to still love her this much."

Föl's face softened, and for a fleeting moment, a sorrowful tenderness crossed his features. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he remembered, or at least tried to… His voice grew softer, more vulnerable, and tinged with a hint of sorrow.

"It's been so long, lad," he said, a slight tremor in his voice. "I can't even remember her face now… only the way she made me feel. Loved. Whole. As though… as though I'd found a piece of myself in her."

Frodo's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He felt the weight of Föl's love, the depth of his devotion, and it touched something raw and real within him. He swallowed, struggling to find words, but all he could manage was a trembling whisper.

"The villagers, they're really grateful for all you do.. and your wife.. she… she would be so proud of you."

Föl gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod, his expression filled with a bittersweet peace. "Perhaps," he said softly. "But it doesn't change the promise I made on her grave. This village, this place—it's the last keepsake I've of hers... I'll protect it, and that is enough."

After a moment of silence, Alex's voice echoed through the set. "Cut!"

A hush fell over the cast and crew, a charged silence filled with unspoken emotion. Many of them blinked back tears, their faces reflecting the depth of the scene they had just witnessed.

Robin, still half in character, wiped at his eyes and let out a deep breath, his face breaking into a small, rueful smile as he looked over at Elijah.

Alex approached, a glimmer of pride, gratitude, and pure joy in his eyes as he gave Robin a nod of appreciation.

"Robin, Elijah… incredible work. In all my years of working behind the scenes, this is one of the best performances I've ever had the privilege to see live. Robin.. thank you; you truly brought Föl to life."

The crew erupted into heartfelt applause, honoring the actors' performances, and Robin took a modest bow, a small smile still lingering on his face. For him, it wasn't just a scene—it was a story, one that held a sliver of truth about life and love, about promises that endure even beyond one's death.

As the applause faded, the set fell into a calm hush once more. Robin looked up, a soft, fond smile lingering on his lips, grateful to have brought such a tender story to life.

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A tall, reedy man with a receding hairline and bulbous nose gazed across the sprawling cityscape of Los Angeles from his office window, his fingers tapping against the polished mahogany desk in agitation.

Hollywood's golden lights stretched into the horizon, but tonight they felt dim, overshadowed by one name that loomed larger with every box-office hit.

"Alex Masters," he muttered, barely containing the disdain in his voice. "The man built an empire from dust and favors, and now we're all just supposed to step aside?"

The man done musing to himself finally turned to his assistant, who stood dutifully in the shadows, holding a stack of files. "What do we have to finally put this 'visionary' in his place?"

The assistant gave a slow, confident nod. "You'll be pleased, Mr. Langston. I think I may have found something that'll shake up MONARCH for good. But let's just say… it's more than a story or a headline. It's a game-changer."

Langston's eyes narrowed with intrigue. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as memories of Alex's unprecedented rise flickered through his mind.

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~ A walk down the memory lane ~

Hollywood had always been the stomping ground of giants—the major studios held all the power. Yet, around the late '80s, whispers of a new contender began to circulate among industry insiders.

This upstart was headed by a man named Alex Masters, a nobody who had come out of nowhere. Langston had initially dismissed him as just another wannabe director, a kid with big dreams and no connections.

But that illusion didn't last long.

Langston recalled a particular night—years back—when he'd heard Alex had discovered a young stand-up comedian. Some guy from a small comedy club, Langston had heard, the kind of place where you had to wade through a sea of mediocre acts to find anything worth the admission price.

But Alex had gone out of his way to take a chance on the kid, Jim Carrey, seeing something no one else did.

He'd signed Carrey to a small contract, brought him into the fold at MONARCH, and produced his first feature—a modest comedy that blew up, launching Carrey's career. Within a few short years, the kid was a household name, the face of comedy in Hollywood.

Langston's jaw clenched at the memory. What kind of studio takes a chance on a fucking nobody and actually gets it right? 

But that was the thing about Alex. He had this strange sixth sense for talent, a gut feeling that paid off more often than not. And the industry had taken note.

But it wasn't Carrey alone that propelled [MONARCH] forward. Langston's mind drifted to another moment that solidified Alex's reputation in ways that still haunted him.

To be continued...

{2.5k words}

{TRL: This is the new Hollywood story that has been bouncing around in my head. I really need to get this out so here's another chapter.

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