When One Door Closes…

6 Astron, 1380 SR

Their last breath had been minutes ago, in another world where breathing mattered. They are in a whole new world now, a world that exists only on the river’s bed and that is seen by none. The current that pulls them down is swift and strong, yet the world goes by at a lazy crawl. They look about at their new world with wonder and amazement. They have never seen quite so clearly as they do now. Everything is brought into sharp clarity before their eyes, yet it is tinged with muted softness and grace.

There are small fish swimming about in small plants, which wave languorously with the flow of the river. These things belong here and are at one with this world. Their colors are bright, the fish orange, red and white, blue; the plants are a vibrant green, their long tendrils flickering as a flame of a candle.

Warmth surrounds them. The water, which at first had been chilling and frigid, is now warm and inviting. It envelops them, holds them close, as a parent would a child long missing from home. Silence comes to them from all sides, and as they sink closer to the bottom of the Brandywine, they are not afraid. A calm tranquility fills them, surrounds them. Nothing matters here.

Nothing, that is, except for a vague thought of their son, asleep on the settee in Asphodel’s apartments. Who will take care of him, now that their part in this tale has ended? This thought provokes a final struggle, come too late as the currents hold them fast and all fades to darkness. Their last thought, their final wish, shouted to the relentless waters of the river, is that Frodo be cared for and cared for well.

The current carries their wish away, and it does not go unheard, or unheeded. As they slip away from consciousness and leave the world, they see the answer to their prayers, already fulfilled. A light, golden bright and unwavering, replaces their own. They go in peace, knowing they need not worry for their son’s safety.
 

… Another Door Opens

Warmth surrounds her. The candles, nearly every one that they have in the smial, are placed about the room and are flickering happily, casting everything in a bright golden hue. This is her first bairn to be born in the night, and he had come swiftly, with little announcement or fanfare, almost as if he couldn’t wait to get out into the world. His eyes are open already, eager to take in this new world, and he gazes at her almost solemnly.

She gazes down dazedly at her newborn son. Is it possible to feel this warmth, so strong and undeniable, every time a new bairn is placed in her arms? Is it possible to be so full of love and pride five times over and not burst with the joy of it? How can all this love be held in one body, growing stronger every day, by leaps and bounds that astound her still? Yet it happens again as he yawns and stretches clumsily and returns his steady gaze to hers.

This one is different. This one is special. That she thinks this about every one of her children doesn’t matter or make the conviction any less strong. She knows, in her heart of hearts, that this child will be loved by many and admired by all. He will accomplish things beyond her wildest dreams; he will see things the others cannot even imagine.

Best not let him grow up thinking he’s special then, or he might take advantage and grow lazy, and then the vision, given to her for the merest second, a whisper of a promised future, would never come to pass. Best to name him so that he will always remember practicality and simplicity before anything else. Thinking simply will make him appear simple to others, but there will be no denying his good hobbit sense. As her father always said, better to be thought half wise than half a fool.

She rests a finger to his palm and reflexively he wraps his tiny hand around it, his grip tight and sure.

She smiles, her love blossoming anew. Yes, this one is special, her darling Samwise.
 
 
 

GF 3/26/05