The End of All Things

He moves through my room, talking to me as if this were just another day.

Too far gone to answer him, I listen to his aged footfalls, feeling the air stir as he passes.

Perhaps he cannot face the truth, but he surely knows.

I am dying.

I do not regret my own passing, having lived a long and blessed life, but I regret leaving him.  He has already lost one he loved more than life and it grieves me to cause him another such pain.  I would stay longer if I could, but my time has come, as it must for all mortals, and I can no longer deny the inevitable.

He sits by my bedside, tired and heartsore, and I know he has been weeping.  He begins to tell me a story, a children’s tale I heard once in my dimly remembered youth.  The slow and loving sound of his voice eases me.  Have I ever told him how much comfort his words have given me?  It is too late to now, but it is my hope that he knew, somehow.

He falters in the telling and murmurs with surprise.  ‘Oh, dear,’ he says and the words are followed by a sigh.  I can see him smiling in my mind’s eye and can hear him settle back in the old chair.  His breathing deepens and slows with sleep.  As I listen, the sound recedes till it is but a whisper and then silence.  Over the gentle rattle of my own breath, I feel the stillness of the room.

He is gone.

Perhaps I should feel grief, but I am glad for him.  He has mourned me twice and that is enough for any life.  He has gone ahead to where his dearest Rose waits and where sorrow will be but a distant memory.

And I am just behind him.

Author's Note:  Elwen, an author whose work I have long enjoyed, asked once for some Frodo healing.  I wanted to give her some, for all the treasures she had given me, and so I began something that was intended to be just a little vig - not even something to save - but it sort of grew on me, and I thought perhaps to save it.  This story is complete, even without this second chapter, but I could see no place else to put this - so here it sits - a 'coda' to a story that was already over. 

Coda

Frodo woke wondering if he was still alive, but the intricate ceiling and dark beams were not the accoutrements of any afterlife he had ever imagined. The Elf beside him was also proof that he still lived. There would be no Elves where he would be going. They went… somewhere else.

"Elrond," he breathed. The tall, dark-haired being stood as if summoned and came to his bedside. There was kindness in his grey eyes and a well of sorrow as deep and piercing as the starlit night over Tol Eressëa.

"Do not speak," the Elf whispered. "I have taken away your pain, but I can do nothing for your main complaint. You have grown old, Frodo. It will soon be time for you to leave us."

"I know," the ancient hobbit whispered. "My friends have gone before me. They wait, though it seems I will be late." A smile creased his wrinkled face.

Elrond bowed his head, but could not resist a smile in answer. "I could not leave you to suffer, Frodo. Though Sam found his own road, you will remember I stood by Bilbo and I will stand by you. There is no sorrow in passing after a life greatly lived, but I would have seen you all on your journeys, if for no other reason than you are dear to me."

"Sam… was not alone." Frodo had difficulty speaking, but at least he could breathe again. "And wanted...."

"I saw," Elrond assured him, bending to stroke grey hair away from a weary brow. "He was smiling. He was with you, the only place he has ever wanted to be." Frodo's eyes had dimmed these past few years, but somehow he could now see the trembling of the great Elf-lord's jaw and the glitter of tears in his eyes quite clearly.

"Why…?" the hobbit whispered, suddenly struck by awe. "Tears?"

Elrond paused and looked deep into his eyes. Though they touched neither crown nor cheek, Frodo could see the years that lay within him. Frodo was but a moment of his life, and yet the Elf's heart had been pricked deep. Frodo raised a trembling hand and touched his friend's arm.

"I am sorry," he sighed, "that we don't live longer."

Elrond laughed a sharp, but musical sound.

"Oh, Frodo," he said, smiling joyously while tears flowed heedless down his cheeks, "you will live long in the memory of the Eldar; as long as the stars shine and the light of the trees is remembered. And I will always treasure that memory. Never doubt it. As great as my pain is, I will never regret the love I've borne you. Never doubt that either." He placed his other hand over Frodo's small, wrinkled one. "I bore you here because I would not have you suffer and, perhaps, because I wanted to tell you goodbye."

Frodo did not know what to say, but the tears that gathered in his own eyes seemed answer enough for the Elf. He patted Frodo's hand and laid it gently across his breast, then bent and kissed the small, snowy head.

"I will sing to you," he said. "Though I know not your path, I have always found music eases any journey." He drew up the chair and, with tears still washing his cheeks, began a lay the likes of which Frodo had never heard. The old hobbit tried to listen to the words, for they seemed almost familiar, but, as the song rose and fell, they seemed to melt like colors on the air. The melody called its own meaning to him; sad and sweet, aching and triumphant at the same time. He breathed it in and let it reverberate through his soul.

It was an elvish lay in the mode of ann-thennath, and the rhythm of its keening melody soothed him. He closed his eyes and lay just listening, until, at last, he realized what his friend was singing; it was Frodo's own song – not the ballad they had sung for him in Minas Tirith, but something Elrond Halfelven himself had written in tribute to his friend. It was the most beautiful song Frodo had ever heard, the finest work of a master of the craft. Drozed deep in peace and cradled in love, the old hobbit took the theme into his heart. It would ease them both.

The End