Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and family.

No More

“There has always been a Baggins living in Bag End, and there always will be,” I had said long ago before my 111th birthday. It had seemed then that everything would continue undisturbed. Now I know my posterity will not remain there, for he is too deeply hurt. The Ring did so much to him and to me. We will diminish to the West to be seen no more.

But how will Bag End go on? Will her new owners take care of her? Or shall she fall to ruin after the Gamgees die? I cannot bear to think of my home and my parents’ before me lying in waste, unwanted and forgotten, once grand and well thought of. I still remember the day I left her to Frodo. I had been confident she would be cared for, but now he too must go. He too has begun to feel like butter spread over too much bread.

My poor boy cannot live without the healing of the elves. The Ring cursed him; the Ring loathed him for his purpose in going on the Quest. I look up at my lad who is seated beside me, his arm lovingly around my shoulders. “Frodo?”

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Nevermind.” I cannot ask him. I cannot bear the thought of what he may say in response. I want to ask how he feels about the Ring even after It has been destroyed and has destroyed him to some extent. I want to ask how he feels about leaving the Shire, his beloved Shire, and Middle Earth behind. “There has always been a Baggins living in Bag End, and there always will be.” So I would have wished, but so often wishes are forgotten and laid aside. The cool breeze shifts in. “No more,” I mutter. “No more.” And I begin to drift off to slumber.