A/N: this is my first attempt at a fanfic so I beg you good people *falls to knees* have mercy on me. If you have a strange bias against me please don’t mention it in your reviews.*ahem* reviews *cough* But if you for some unfathomable reason like this…*hint, hint; wink, wink*

Oh, and by the way, this might be slightly confusing: this *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** indicates flashback and this *** indicates a break in time. Sorry! Many apologies.

Disclaimer: I *sob* regret to announce, that none of these truly wonderful characters (except for Hirion. He’s mine. Yay!) belong to me. They are J.R.R. Tolkien’s. Not mine. *sigh* Poor me. Please allow me a moment to wallow in my self-pity. Thank you.

“Tol Eressëa is indeed a very lonely isle,” Frodo Baggins thought out loud in a tired, dreamy voice- as usual, not caring if anyone heard. “Very lonely, yes, and quiet too; almost annoyingly so.” He laughed softly. “Never thought I’d be one to say that!” Frodo sighed contentedly. He was lying sprawled on his back in the warm autumn sun watching the clouds, taking advantage of yet another glorious afternoon. “A dose of Merry and Pippin might do this place some good.” The Hobbit smiled fondly in the memory of his two jovial young cousins. “Not so young now, I expect. It has been after all...” Frodo did some quick calculations in his head. “Good Lord! Sixty-One years - nearly to the day since I saw those rascals last. Though-” He grinned. “I truly doubt they’ve changed much. Nothing could ever change them.” But- sadly- he knew that wasn’t, in all honesty, true. They had changed- a great deal; though it was nothing that would leave a lasting scar. “At least- not one that can be seen.” Merry and Pippin had- upon their return from the quest- gone quickly back into their (rather bothersome) ways – cracking jokes, pulling pranks, doing all they possibly could to be a nuisance to their older cousin; thus the list went on… But they had lived the horrors of war. They had seen the haunted gaze of a dying man, the bloody corpses piled upon the battlefield- friends and enemies alike. Both had been injured- nearly an inch from death. Those were not easy memories to erase from the mind. This, Frodo knew very well. He shifted gingerly to settle on his stomach so that he could view the harbour below him, marvelling at the vast endlessness of the sea. “It will never cease to amaze me. Sixty- One years and I still feel as though I’m looking at it for the first time.” This was Frodo’s favourite place on the island. It was a high grassy cliff among the fragrant trees speckled with heather and many flowers (though there were very few flowers blooming this time of year) whose names Frodo didn’t know. He had always been slightly hopeless with the names of plants. From here he could look out at the water and a fragment of the Elven city peeking out from the green beneath his perch. And he could see the ships. The grey ships with their blinding white sails billowing with a strong ocean wind. There was hardly a sight he loved more than to watch them sail in, tall and proud, and moor at the docks, their passengers stepping off lightly with looks of awe on their faces as they took in the land around them. “I remember when I arrived.” Frodo grinned. “I was so enthralled with the island that Gandalf had to guide me off the ship lest I took a wrong step and fell into the water. The Elves must have found me quite odd; I don’t suppose they’d seen a Hobbit before. I must have appeared to be a child to them.” That was one thing he disliked about being so small; people always seemed more than ready to judge his wit by his size. This, to Frodo, was completely unfair. He was never one to boast but he knew that his knowledge could easily surpass that of many of the big people, save for the Elves. But on that day- when they sailed in- nothing could ‘dampen’ his spirits.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
“When will this rain ever stop?” Gildor Inglorion looked down with a smile at the young Hobbit glaring impatiently at the downpour outside the window of the small study near the stern of the vessel.

“It will stop soon enough, Master Perian.” He laughed, knowing that his friend despised that title. The Hobbit turned his glare to the Elf.

“But not nearly soon enough! For my liking, at least.”

“You’ll find that it rains quite a lot at sea, Frodo- and where we are going as well, I suppose.” Gildor replied, sitting down.

“On the island?” Frodo followed suit and chose a large armchair opposite the Elf.

“Yes Frodo.” There was a moments silence as they stared at the slowly lightening dark sky, listening to the hard patter of the rain. Frodo picked up a book (written in the common tongue) with the hope or reading, but there were too many thoughts floating around his mind.

“What’s it like, Gildor? The island, I mean.” He queried.

“Good Arda! I thought your cousins were the curious ones.” Gildor exclaimed in feigned astonishment earning a good- natured smirk from his companion. Frodo had been very quiet and sombre for several weeks but a good two months had passed. He was now quite like his old self- still reserved and soft-spoken but always open to a laugh or a tale as all (his cousin Bilbo in particular) were pleased to see.

“I taught them everything they know.” Frodo said in jest.

“I’m not finding that too hard to believe!” They were quiet again. The rain’s pounding slightly softer.

“Well?” Frodo questioned further.

“I’m tiring of your relentless interrogation, young Hobbit!” The Elf said with a rather strained smile. Frodo watched him with a furrowed brow.

“Do you remember?” He asked softly, gazing blankly at the book lying open on his lap.

“I…” Gildor trailed off with a sigh. He started speaking again, though too lightly for Frodo to hear. “…no… I …long ago…never…” Was all he understood.

“I’m sorry… what is that sound?” They listened keenly. “It- it’s almost like a bell.” He mused. Gildor leapt abruptly from his seat.

“The sea- bells!” He cried. “We’re close!” He looked fondly at Frodo. “You will have your answers soon enough. Come!” The Hobbit darted after him, up the steps to the (slightly slippery) deck. He skidded slightly until a gentle hand reached out to steady him.
“Careful, Master Baggins,” startled, Frodo stared wide-eyed into the fair, knowing face of Galadriel. “Look closely.” There was now a sweet fragrance on the air and, in accompaniment to the ringing of the bells, voices could be heard faint but pure. Then he saw. It was as though the grey rain- curtain had turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.(In the back of his mind, Frodo was reminded vaguely of a dream he once had, though he could not clearly recall it. It had been before the quest, most likely, or maybe early on. Perhaps in the house of Tom Bombadil? Yes, that must have been it.) “Behold, Tol Eressëa!”

“When will we be there?” Frodo asked eagerly.

“Soon,” the voice of Gandalf spoke from behind. “Yes, I know- but not soon enough for your liking.”

“My dear Gandalf, have I really become that predictable?” Frodo scoffed.

“Good heavens, a predictable Baggins? Not since your cousin Bilbo…”

The ship was drawing closer by the instant, cutting smoothly through the still water. The sky was nearly light- tinged with pink and gold. The sails against it filled with a strong breeze. Frodo could see the Island clearly now. It was heavily forested. A brilliant white city was settled in the trees by the shore. Gulls wee crying high above. A dock reached out towards them, ready to welcome them home. “Home. This is home now,” Frodo thought with slight remorse. “Not the Shire.” A clear horn sounded, perhaps to announce their arrival.

“What is that?” Frodo saw high on a grassy hill, a tall tower. In it a light was gleaming.

“It is a lighthouse,” remarked an Elf with a soft voice- one of the many who had appeared alongside them. Frodo could not recall his name. “The beam guides the wayward ships sailing in after dark.” Frodo nodded in understanding.

“Thank you.”

***

“Frodo, mind your step. Come, lad- wake up!” Gandalf shouted at the awestruck Halfling.

“I am awake!”

“Then show it! One foot in front of the other, now.” The wizard shoved him slightly. “Hobbits…” He placed his hands on Frodo’s small shoulders and guided him forcibly down the gangway. The Elves filed after with considerably more grace.

“Where’s Bilbo?”

“Somewhere.” Gandalf was beginning to sound slightly flustered. A regal Elf, robed in silver, stood at the end of the docks to welcome them.

“Mae Govannen, Olorin.” He greeted Gandalf. “Nan Hirion.”

“Olorin? Is that what he-Hirion, was it- called you?” Frodo whispered.

“So I am named in the West.”

Hirion looked suddenly to the Halfling. “A child?” He spoke in the common tongue.

“A Hobbit… er, Perian.” Frodo corrected himself, seeing that the Elf didn’t understand his race’s self-appointed name. Though he was relieved that some here knew this tongue, he was slightly dismayed that he was mistaken for a youngling.

“He is a Ringbearer, and the savior of Middle-Earth.” Added ‘Olorin’. Frodo felt the blood rise hot in his cheeks. He glanced behind, pretending that Gandalf wasn’t speaking. Those who had just stepped lightly from the ship were staring wide-eyed around them. He spied Elrond supporting Bilbo who looked to be asleep.

“As usual” Frodo thought. “Dear old Bilbo.”

“Well, be all means, we would be honoured to hear this tale Master-” Hirion raised his brows.

“Baggins- Frodo, son of Drogo, my lord.” Frodo stammered, feeling rather self- conscious under the Elf’s scrutinizing eye (though he seemed kind), and more than aware of his glowing face.

“Come then, Master Baggins,” Hirion said beckoning them onward. “Welcome to Eldamar.”
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The memory faded though the rushing adrenaline that had come with it did not, leaving him with an escalating bliss. He wondered when the next ship would come, with its world- weary sailors. Maybe… no it would be foolish to get his hopes up again.

“He’s not coming. No…” Frodo sighed sadly. “I wonder if he’s still alive, if any have-”
He shook his head. “No, he’ll come. He’ll be here. I know he will. He’s…” Frodo choked at a small lump rising in his throat. “He’s Sam.” That seemed to be enough confirmation, as images of the long gone past suddenly flooded back.

Dark. Fleeting life. An aching cold, so deep and painful. Mists furling before unseeing eyes. Shadows calling.
fading
Gloom parting. Kind eyes watching, weeping.
fading
Fading fast.

Awakening to light. Life returned, to be taken.

Terror. Terror in the skies. Black shapes, flying high. Wings of hate beating slow. Piercing shrieks. Piercing pain. Black riders. Night searchers. Seeking.
give in
Give it up. Hope lost. Hands frantic. Seeking the burden. The burden they seek.
give in
No! Falling back. Now seeking hope. Warm arms. Gentle words.

Hope found, to be lost.

Running swift. Swifter is evil, pursuing behind. Unseen hunter. Unknowing fleer. Caught in trap. Ever blind. Veil is lifted. Too late. Time is run out. Falling.
dead
Cold. Unmoving. No heart stirring, lungs breathing.
dead
Weeping form. Candle in the night. Never burning dim. Will to go on. dead no more
Continuing on. Death defeated soon better than life.

Plodding on. Heavy hearted. Hope fading. Memory lost. Candle burning dim. But not gone out. Lasting night. Ash, smoke, flame. Heavy burden. Weighing down. Falling down. Hard stone. Long march almost done. Strong arms, lifting. Almost there.
Burden lost. Sorrow gone. Light ahead. Welcoming.
live again

Sunset fading. Stars glimmering. Waves pounding. Friend weeping. Grey ship waiting.
live for me
*No other choice. No other way. I had to take it. I had to pay.

“There was no other choice, there was no other way. I had to take it, I had to pay…” Frodo murmured. He wondered if the memories hurt the others too. He was surprised to find a lonely tear trailing down his fair face.
“I miss you Sam.” He heard a clear horn sound out. The sound smote his heart. “Just maybe…” He gazed out as far as he could. A ship was close. It would be here tomorrow. “Don’t get your hopes up.” But he hoped anyways. He had been lonely for so long, ever since Bilbo had died, long ago. He had friends among the Elves, of course, and Gandalf, but they weren’t the same. They weren’t Hobbits.

Dusk was coming fast. The sky touched with pink. It would be dark soon. Too dark to find his way back. “Oh well!” He could sleep outside, under the stars. “Just like old times.” He smiled slightly. He would pay for it in the morning. “I’m not young anymore, though my looks don’t show it. Thank Eru for that! ” He laughed.

“Good night Sam, wherever you are.” Frodo said to the stars out of habit. “No need for that anymore. I know just where he is.” He thought happily, watching the ship sail ever closer. “I will sleep well tonight and tomorrow…” Frodo closed his eyes. “Tomorrow my Sam will come…”

Disclaimer: Hmmm, let’s see… do I sound like Tolkien? I don’t think so. Do I look like Tolkien? Well… I’m just the disembodied phantom voice of a mad author so it’s kind ofhardto tell. By George- Wait a minute! Am I Tolkien?!? I wish!!! So quite obviouslyI do not own any of these characters or places or anything whatsoever (except for Díneledh)

A/n:  Well, on to chapter two! Hope everyone likes this so far. I am really sorry it took me so long to post. I couldn’t decide whether or not to continue this or not but obviously since I’m writing this I opted to. To my wonderful reviewers thank you sooo much! More reviews would be very, very, very much appreciated. There is one major flashback in this chapter. Flashbacks are probably going to be getting on your nerves, my dear readers. Believe me my nerves are fried! No more after this chapter!  … I hope?       

Reminder: ***  ***  ***  *** *** ***   ***  ***  *** is a flashback and this: *** is a break in time. 

            Frodo awoke to a morning fair and bright. The pale sun peeking over the horizon cast a friendly glow on his ledge. The rays dancing off the tips of the waves were nearly blinding. After looking away bleary-eyed Frodo could still see them in patches of blue and pink wherever he looked. He stretched and yawned widely. “Good lord am I stiff !”  He looked around again, blue eyes now bright and focused, finally realizing that he wasn’t in his soft bed in his hobbit-sized room with the sunlight streaming warm through the gauzy draperies. He was lying on very cold, hard ground without a blanket or even a jacket or cloak! “What am I doing out-” He puzzled for a brief moment. “The Ship!”The thought hit him like a stone to the head. He scrambled to the edge of the grassy shelf. Almost here. Within an hour, it would dock, and his scant hope fulfilled or broken. “No, not broken. He’ll come. I-”

            “Frodo, is everything alright?” A quiet voice said. Frodo reddened, unaware that he had spoken aloud.

            “Yes,” He said rather abruptly. “Everything’s alright.” He turned to face the speaker. It was the Elf who had explained the lighthouse to him; the one who had grown to be his greatest friend of the Elves on Tol Eressëa. Although silent and shy, he had been a great comfort to Frodo when they came and, from what he had come to know, Frodo to him.

***  ***  ***  *** *** ***  ***  ***  ***

            “Is everything alright, Master Baggins?” A gentle voice called from the doorway. Frodo sighed, he sat on the large bed of pale wood, clutching his pack tightly, surveying his room. It was so huge, and white. Not at all like the rooms of Rivendell. They were more comfortable, more like home, in a way. This was…he didn’t know what. He shook his head to clear it and looked to the door. It was the soft-spoken Elf from the ship.

            “Yes. It’s alright.” No! Nothings alright! He wanted to scream. The excitement he had earlier felt was gone. Now he was lost and feeling utterly alone. He’d left his home, his life, his friends, everything he’d ever known. Bilbo was here but, Frodo thought sadly, maybe not for long.

            “Are you alright?” The Elf asked concerned.

            “Yes.” He managed to choke out, swallowing the lump in his throat, shrieking inside. “No, NO, NO!I’m NOT!” The Elf’s brow’s knit with worry. “no…” Frodo whispered.

            “Master Baggins?”

            “Frodo.” He murmured. “Frodo suits me fine.” He suddenly found himself thinking of Sam. Frodo remembered saying something very similar to his friend long ago, when Sam was only a child. Still, it had not seemed to dawn on Sam that Frodo thought of them as being equals rather than servant and master. “Now he’ll never understand.”

            “Frodo, then.” The Elf watched with open concern as the Hobbit tried to hide a small tear that was trailing down his face. He stepped into the room.

              “Who were they?”  Frodo looked at him unwillingly, blue eyes tearing up. He didn’t want to speak for fear he would begin to weep. “The three who remained on the docks.” Frodo let out a silent sob. He didn’t want to think about them. Not now.                               

            “Th-they,” Frodo choked. “Were… companions of mine.”

            “The tall ones, troublemakers- were they not?”

            “My cousins,” Frodo almost chuckled. “Y-yes, yes they were.” Now he did laugh. “They w-were rather annoying at some times, well, most…most of the time.”

            “They had quite the mischievous glint in their eyes.” The Elf said thoughtfully. “What of the other one?” Frodo said nothing, but another tear fell from his eye. The Elf strode over to kneel next to the Hobbit, who seemed terribly small in such a big room.

            “He was… he was my gardener, in the Shire, where we Hobbits come from, but in truth he was my dearest friend- though he refused to accept that. H-he always insisted on calling me ‘Mr.’ Frodo, or ‘Master’. He didn’t feel he deserved to call me by my name!” Frodo sighed in disgust. “He deserved better than the likes of me, if he was meant to have a master. I led him into so much danger!” Frodo didn’t notice that he was startling the Elf with his small outburst. “And he wanted to c-come! He f-felt that it was his duty t-to follow me. Be-because he was my servant!” He spat out the last word as though it was deathly poison. “There was no way that he could have known what would have happened!” Frodo was aware that he was probably blabbering now, and that this Elf probably didn’t have a clue what he was speaking of. “And after all he had done- they had done- I just… I just left! They- they don’t understand. They don’t know why. I couldn’t find the heart to explain.” Frodo gazed almost pleadingly straight into the Elf’s eyes. They were grey-green, like the stormy sea. “I…”

            “What are their names?”

            “My cousins, Merry and Pippin. They were made knights of Rohan and Gondor during the war. It makes me wonder how desperate their lords were for aid to enlist those scoundrels in their services.” The Elf nodded.

            “What of your gardener?”

            “Samwise - Sam.” Frodo’s face darkened. “I don’t suppose I’ll see them again.”

            “But you will, Frodo.” The Hobbit’s brows rose.

            “What?”

            “They are mortal, as are you though you live among the immortal folk. You, I am sorry for saying so, all will… pass on. Death- death is not the end of all things. It is merely another beginning.” The Elf saw that that the Hobbit was listening intently. “Beyond this world there is another place. It is a bright place, peaceful and merry. There are no troubles there, no evils lurking in the dark. Those you loved will be waiting for you. To welcome you home. ” He said smiling warmly at Frodo. “Do not be afraid, Frodo. There is yet a hope you may meet one before, before you leave.”

            “You speak sadly, why? How do you know of this?

            “I had a friend once, many lifetimes ago, ho told me of such things.” The Elf said almost wistfully.

            “What happened to this friend?”

            “He was human. He grew old as I remained unchanged. And then… he died. I did not understand death. His body I could see yet, it wasn’t him. It was like an empty shell.  He was, well, not there anymore. He had gone somewhere else, leaving his form behind. I grieved terribly. I didn’t understand why he had to leave, and why I could never see him again.” His voice grew bitter. “I envy you, Frodo Baggins. You are mortal.”

            “What’s so wonderful about mortality?” Frodo queried. The Elf thought for a brief time.

            “It…ends. You have a great purpose to fulfil in such a short life. Then, when your journey is over, you can rest in peace, without the slightest care or fear. We must simply continue; doomed to watch all that we love wither and die, helpless against the power of time.” The Elf shuddered as if chilled by a nonexistent wind. “You will die, my friend. Your life may be long but you too will fade. And I will be here to see it. I shall grieve once more.” He paused to take several short breaths. “When someone that you have known passes you mourn but there is always the tiny spark in the back of your mind that, though you may not notice it, promises that you may meet them again. We Elves do not have that hope. When one is gone, they are lost, and we must bear that. Do you now understand?” Frodo nodded, shaken. He knew many who were jealous of those that lived forever but he had never thought that immortals would be jealous of them.

            “Nothing will really last forever. It just can’t! Even, even the sun and the stars must die someday. So… so maybe you will meet your friend again.” Frodo said.

            “Maybe.” A ghost of a grin flickered on the Elf’s face. “Just maybe.” His smile now brightened. “Thank you.” Frodo was shocked. What had he done?

            “Your welcome but, for what?” Frodo wished to know.

            “For hope.” The Elf’s smile broadened. “Hope is always a wonderful thing to have.”

            “Is it ever…” Frodo murmured.

            “Well, I’d best leave you to unpack.” He looked at the small satchel still in Frodo’s clutch. “Is that all you brought with you?” The bag was very small but it hardly looked half full.

            “I suppose so.” Frodo said. “Goodbye then.” The Elf made to leave. “Wait!” The Elf stopped. “I forgot to ask your name!”

            “Díneledh.” His face lightened in another grin. Frodo returned it. “I expect you’ll be at dinner?”

            “I expect I will now!” Frodo laughed. “Good bye.” Díneledh left. Frodo looked around his room again. “Oh- I hope I can arrange for a Hobbit-sized room someday. I really do…”

***  ***  ***  *** *** ***  ***  ***  ***

            Frodo turned back to face the ship. The horn was sounding again. “Almost here…” He thought.

            “A ship is arriving. I assumed you’d want to greet it,” Díneledh said. “As always.” It was true. Frodo had developed quite a routine of dashing to the docks to welcome the newcomers. But few boats came now.

            “As always. But,” Frodo said eagerly. “I would like something to eat first.”

            “Hobbits!” The Elf scoffed. “Don’t worry my little friend; I’ve already taken care of that.” He produced a small basket containing biscuits and jam.

            “Bless you!” Frodo grabbed a biscuit eagerly. “I honestly don’t know what I was thinking sleeping out here without even a cloak or jacket!”

            “There is a simple explanation for that: you weren’t thinking!” Díneledh joked.

            “Too true.” Frodo said with his mouth full.

            “Slow down!” The Elf chided as Frodo choked.

            “Sorry-” Frodo muttered. Díneledh sighed exaggeratedly. Frodo finished eating and tried to wipe the jam off of his fingers and onto the ground.

            “Frodo! What is your rush, lad?” The Elf was sounding quite exasperated. He tossed his friend a cloth napkin. Frodo shrugged as he hastily attempted to make his hands less sticky. “Do you think someone special will be coming today?” Frodo pursed his lips but still remained temporarily mute. “Is Sa-”

            “I don’t know!” He finally exploded. He jumped up and shoved the cloth back into the basket.

            “Frodo, please- wait a moment.” Frodo reluctantly sat back down. “If he’s not on this ship… I just don’t want you to get your hopes too high again.”

            “Weren’t you the one who told me that hope is always a wonderful thing to have?” Demanded Frodo.

            “Not too much hope.”

            “You wouldn’t have said that in Mor-”

            “Frodo!” Díneledh was surprised to hear the Hobbit mention Mordor.

            “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” Frodo said sourly.

            “You didn’t lose your temper and even if you had, I would understand.” It made him shudder to think of what the Hobbit must have suffered during that terrible ordeal. “Let’s go; slowly- mind you.” Frodo complied without argument. They walked carefully down the steep hill. “What did make you decide to bed out here?”

            “I was too tired to come back down. I probably would have fallen and broken my neck in the dark anyways.” He tripped slightly (on purpose?) as if to prove his point. “See, I’m a klutz in the daylight too!”

            “No, Frodo your not.” Díneledh sighed (again).

            “What ever you say.”

            “Hobbits…” Díneledh grumbled. “If your cousins are indeed worse than you are I’m glad I didn’t know them.”

            “I taught them everything they know.”

            “I’m finding that quite easy to believe!” The Elf laughed. Frodo scowled at him and in looking up at his friend, stumbled again. “Careful!” Díneledh said as he steadied the Hobbit. “Maybe you are a klutz.”

            “I told you so!”

***

            The sun was burning high with a pleasurable early-autumn heat by the time the companions emerged from the trees to stand on the edge of the white Elven city which served as a port for incoming vessels. Their scramble down the hillside had been easy and uneventful, save for Frodo’s occasional slipping (*to prove his point*), but the Hobbit had been nearly too excitable for the Elf to bear. At every attempt Díneledh made at conversation Frodo would burst out with a stream of incessant and greatly unintelligible chatter. He was quite relieved when the Hobbit finally fell silent to sort the contents of his cluttered mind.

            They passed along a little-traveled road on the border of the city until they came to a small whitewashed dwelling, with a thatched roof, on a grassy lawn very near to the water- Frodo’s home. It looked, from the outside, to be fashioned after Crickhollow, save for the colour of the round door- green, and the low white fence surrounding it. From the time of his coming to The Island, Frodo had not been comfortable living in the Elven quarters, so, in his second year of living there, this Hobbit-sized house had been constructed for him. Bilbo had stayed there also, for a time.

            Frodo quickly dashed inside. He washed his face and neck before grabbing a change of clothes. On a whim he shuffled through an old and dusty chest residing beneath his bed that had been nearly forgotten over the years, until he found what he was searching for. He threw the light grey fabric loosely over his shoulders, his usually nimble fingers fumbling at his neck to clasp the green brooch in the shape of a leaf veined with thin silver. Hastening back outside, he slammed the door loudly behind him.

            Díneledh was waiting patiently beside the gate. From the time his friend had left, late in the afternoon the day before, a growing concern had formed in his head. The Hobbit had been quite irritable, rather tense and distant of late, though, as was his nature, Frodo had kept a closed mouth, refusing to speak of anything that might trouble him. It often amazed the Elf that he didn’t burst with the immensity of all the unspoken emotions bottled up inside. “Come on, now!” Díneledh’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by the impertinent urging of a very impatient someone. A small grey blur rushed by. Díneledh was momentarily shocked, realizing he hadn’t seen that particular cloak since… since the day they had arrived on Eressëa. “I wonder why…”

            “Please!” Frodo pleaded. With a single long stride the other caught up and seized a fistful of finely woven material. Frodo jerked back, eyes blazing. He looked up. “That hurt.” He remarked tonelessly. With reluctance, Díneledh released him deciding that this would not be a good time to have a word with his friend. They went on in silence, skirting the main roads of the city, Elf not daring to speak. Frodo plodded down the lanes broodingly, arms folded tightly over his chest, a cloud of unease hovering about him like the foreboding presence of a dark sky waiting for a storm to be unleashed. “If he doesn’t come then… he never will…” He thought mournfully. “And what then Frodo Baggins? What then is there left to bind you here?” He turned his head to the East, to the unseen horizon. The distant memory of what once had been. “What then?” Díneledh stared at him, a question forming in his keen mind, shaking his head slowly.   

            Nearing the docks, Frodo felt nearly sick with anticipation. Shoved deep in the pockets of his breeches his hands were hot with sweat and trembling slightly. “What ifs” danced wildly through his head. Beneath the calloused soles of his feet he felt the ground change all too steadily from dirt to stone to smooth well worn wood. He kept his face downcast, not wishing to see the ship that may or may not end his long wait and regretting that he had not taken time to level-headedly consider his actions which, his previous ones, so he thought, had not quite been wonderful, especially his sudden flares of temper. “No time for that, now. What’s done is done.”

            A high pure note shattered the momentary calm of Frodo’s mind like a mace to the bone, sending fresh waves of trepidation rolling through him. He stood still at the end of the wharf. He at last looked out scanning over harbour and to the open sea behind. He didn’t allow his vision to linger on the boat though, in his brief glimpse he saw a scattering of tall figures at the ships rail. Frodo could almost hear the gasps of awe and feel the excitement tingling between them. He leaned against a tall grey piling remembering countless times of slumping in the very spot. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, rejoicing in the crisp, cool air. A soft breeze gently blew a fine ocean mist over him, tousling  his chestnut locks.

***     

            Frodo watched the travellers as they stepped lightly in turn onto the dock. He felt as though cool lead was being slowly poured into his heart. Only a handful of passengers remained on board and to his sad dismay, none looked to be any less than six feet tall. It had used to give him pleasure, greeting the newcomers of Eressëa before, though there had always been a quiet disappointment nagging at him that had grown stronger as the years passed by but that had been nothing compared to this crushing of his soul. He had set his hope too high. A choking lump swelled in the Hobbit’s throat and his eyes stung faintly. Only one Elf  left. Frodo barely saw her reach out in front to give something before her a gentle nudge. He thought heard a faint, almost childlike murmuring followed by the Elf’s melodious laughter. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a nearly imperceptible motion. He looked to the ship again.

            A curly head peeked cautiously around the sideboards. A small cloaked figure shuffled into his view. The noon light glinted off the silver veining the green brooch clasped at its neck. The person that was certainly not an Elf walked unsteadily down the gangplank, legs wobbling like those of one that overseas travel did not agree with. The trembling form lifted its head. Wide dark eyes fixed on Frodo. The Hobbit took a shaky breath.

            One lonely tear trailed down Frodo’s face.