Chapter One- First Sights Beyond

 “Gandalf, is that it?” Frodo asked, staring in awe at the land they were approaching rapidly.

“Yes, my lad, that’s it,” the wizard said, smiling down at the two hobbits on tiptoe trying to see over the edge of the boat.

“What will we do once we get there?” Bilbo asked gazing thoughtfully at the far away land.

“We’ll do what the Eldar tell us to,” Frodo said.

“They will find you lodgings and arrange some dinner for you,” Gandalf replied.

“I should hope they feed us, I’m starved,” Bilbo said rubbing his stomach with his wrinkled hands.

“Never fear, my friend,” Elrond said, putting his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders. “You shall never lack food.”

Frodo glanced back over his shoulder to the now out of sight shores of Middle Earth. ‘I shall never return,’ he thought. ‘But Sam will come. And perhaps Merry and Pippin too.’ In his heart he knew he knew he would never see his two favorite cousins again. At least while he was alive.

The ship landed and the companions got off. The dock was long and seemed to be made of sparkling silver branches. The far off city seemed to be forming out of the trees, and the whole place had a glow similar to that of Lothlorien. Elves were everywhere, and they all glowed with peace and happiness, but Frodo didn’t appear feel it. It felt out of his reach, and all he felt was a shadow on his heart.

A few Elves were there to greet them, a few that Frodo recognized from his wanderings in the woods before leaving on the Quest. Many Elves had given him information regarding the ‘outside world’ as he’d called it then.

They greeted him as Elf-friend, or Ring-bearer, as they did the other Elves and Gandalf. They also greeted Shadowfax, who had come across the sea with Gandalf, respectfully.

Bilbo and Elrond went off talking with a few friends from Rivendell and another Elf named Gildor led Frodo, Gandalf and Galadriel away in another direction. Frodo was glad to see Gildor again, and found that he and his company had left the shores of Middle Earth shortly after meeting Frodo Sam and Pippin in the woods.

But before they entered the forest that obscured the sea from sight, Frodo turned back. He watched the ship, sailing away, and felt a heaviness weigh on his heart. Had he done right to leave all those he loved?

“You couldn’t have helped it, Frodo,” Galadriel said, softly touching his wounded shoulder. “If you had stayed in the Shire it would have killed you. Here you will find healing. Do not fear, Sam will come to you before long.”

Soon Frodo had been shown to a suite in the trees that was to be his and Bilbo’s very own, and was shown where his friends were to be, should he need them.

There were Elves everywhere and they all seemed to know each other, talking to every other person they came across. Gandalf watched Frodo as their guide led them among the gardens. Frodo seemed to fit. Other than his height, his hair and his feet, he looked very much like any other Elf. He had the Elf look of wisdom from an eternity of life in his eyes, increasing since he received Arwen’s jewel.

Gandalf felt glad, knowing that soon Frodo would be alright. Many times back in the Shire, Gandalf and the hobbits, and even Aragorn, at times fretted over Frodo’s well being and state of mind. Aragorn seemed sure that as long as the Ring-bearer had hope of recovery beyond the shores of Middle Earth, he would not harm himself, but Sam seemed to think differently. Until little Elanor came. Then Frodo was so caught up in taking care of the child, as he had done with Merry and Pippin, each in turn, that he only had the dark nights alone with his thoughts and dreams.

But what, they speculated, would have happened if Rosie had miscarried, as the healer and midwife said she almost did? Sam didn’t want to think about what would have happened. The prospects turned his stomach and made the future look bleak.

Therefore Sam was not entirely sad to see Frodo leave, if it meant his life would be spared.

The Elf led Frodo, Gandalf and Galadriel to a large mostly open building that reminded Frodo vaguely of the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.

“This is where we help those like you, Iorhael, those in need of healing,” Gildor said. “Feredir, my friend, is to assist you along that path.” He stepped aside to introduce a younger Elf, who bowed low to Frodo.

“I will do what I can for you, Iorhael,” he said.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Frodo said softly.

Gandalf noted the tone in Frodo’s voice and frowned. Even in the midst of Paradise, he heard despair in his words.

He turned to Galadriel and said, “I believe we should leave the healers to their work.”

Galadriel nodded. But before she left, she knelt down and kissed the top of Frodo’s head. “There is always hope, Frodo Baggins,” she said softly, then left.

Chapter Two-The Problem of Healing

When Gandalf came to Frodo’s room that evening, he found the hobbit lying across the bed, Arwen’s jewel in his hand and tears in his eyes.

“Frodo, what is the matter?” the wizard asked, coming up and sitting on the bed.

“I am too far beyond hope, Gandalf,” Frodo said, trying to steady his voice. “I am being pulled in every direction and I cannot do anything about it.”

Gandalf began to rub Frodo’s back in a soothing way he had often observed Sam or Merry doing while Frodo was ill. “No one is beyond hope. You will get better, believe me.”

Frodo sighed and blinked slowly. “How can there possibly be hope of recovery if, even in this paradise, I still feel its pull on me?”

“It will take a while for that to go away, Frodo. You did not think you would meet with instant healing, did you?” Gandalf said.

“No,” Frodo argued. “But I thought it would not be able to penetrate such a place as this.”

Gandalf sat silently for a moment. “What did Feredir say?”

“He said it would be worse before I am healed,” Frodo replied quietly. “I can’t imagine what could be worse than what I’ve already been through.”

“I shall keep an eye on you. If anything is truly wrong, I’ll know,” Gandalf said, resuming rubbing Frodo’s back.

That comforted the hobbit, who soon fell asleep more or less peacefully. When he heard Frodo’s breathing even out, Gandalf rose and left the room to seek some sleep for himself, praying for his dear friend to recover quickly.

***

The next few days seemed to get better for Frodo. He was settling in nicely, and he loved being with Bilbo in the library. But when a week or so had passed, Gandalf once again found the hobbit in the depths of despair.

Frodo was standing by his desk underneath the window, his left hand on the top of the desk, his right resting on the hilt of a short knife.

Gandalf opened the door and saw what was happening. He hurriedly walked up to Frodo and took the knife out of his trembling hands, saying, kindly but firmly, “That’s not the way, Frodo.”

The distraught hobbit sat down in the desk chair, laid his hands in his lap and looked down at them. Gandalf put a hand under Frodo’s chin and lifted his head to look into his bright blue eyes.

“Don’t give up hope yet,” Gandalf said, wiping the tears off his face. “You will be healed.”

Frodo sighed. “I don’t deserve it Gandalf.” He looked down again as he spoke. “I betrayed Middle Earth by claiming It, and I should have been executed.”

“No, Frodo! You did more for the good of Middle Earth than anyone expected you to. If it weren’t for what you did, the Ring would never have come anywhere close to being destroyed,” Gandalf said. “It was not your task to destroy it.”

Frodo shook his head, but wouldn’t speak any more.

Gandalf looked up when a soft whicker was heard outside. Galadriel and Shadowfax stood outside the window.

“Is all well?” Galadriel asked, eyeing Frodo gently. He didn’t look at her.

“Not at the moment, but all will be resolved before long,” Gandalf said, discretely hiding the knife in the folds of his great white cloak.

Galadriel only smiled sadly. Shadowfax stomped his hoof, and Gandalf replied, “You must escort Frodo to Feredir. I will join you shortly.”

Frodo made an attempt to protest, but Gandalf silenced him with a look, and the hobbit got up and followed the stallion down the path.

Gandalf lingered for a moment, and Galadriel said, “He is plagued by evil still.”

Gandalf nodded. “I can only assume that the Ring’s last bit of treachery was to tell Frodo that he was a traitor and he had failed his quest.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Not, perhaps, the easiest idea to work out of the mind of a stubborn hobbit.”

“He should be watched more carefully. There is no certainty, even here, that he will not try to harm himself again,” Galadriel answered. “He will be healed; I have no doubt that is the will of Iluvitar. But it will be a trial to get there.” With that she turned and left.

Gandalf stood there for a moment, considering the Lady’s words. Then he stirred and headed down the path Shadowfax and Frodo had taken.

Chapter Three-Letters to Sam

For the next three days Gandalf stayed with Frodo as much as possible, leaving him alone only at night, when Shadowfax would stay outside the door and sleep in a patch of moss growing just under the window.

Frodo, for the most part, seemed very subdued and rarely spoke to anyone except Bilbo. He tried steering clear from conversations with Gandalf and Galadriel and only said what was necessary to his healer, Feredir.

Gandalf watched the hobbit with increasing unrest until one morning when he came to visit and found Frodo asleep with his head on his desk a letter on the floor beside him. The wizard reached down, picked it up and began reading.

     Dear Sam, I know you’ll probably never read

     this unless I decide to send it with Cirdan

     next time he comes by. I can’t tell you how

     much I miss you, Sam. I feel lost, and I know

     I can’t come home. I have found no relief

     here, though Lady Galadriel and Gandalf

     believe it will come. But it hasn’t come soon

     enough. I realized how much I depended on

     you to keep me anchored. If I didn’t have

     you and Rosie to worry about, I may have

     died in Minas Tirith. If only that were

     true! It may hurt you to hear me say that

     Sam, but how can anything go back to the

     way it was now? That’s all I wanted from

     the start and because of that horrid Thing,

     I’ve been denied the only thing I ever truly

     wanted. And I know I don’t deserve it because

     I betrayed Middle Earth, and I betrayed you

     by claiming it. I’m sorry Sam. I am truly

     Sorry. Frodo B.

Gandalf sighed and placed the letter on the desk. Then he gently shook Frodo awake and said, “Wake up, lad. Time for breakfast.”

Frodo rubbed his eyes sleepily, then quickly shoved the letter into a fold of the book he was reading. “I’m not hungry, Gandalf,” he said, getting up from the chair and flopping down on the bed.

“Not hungry?” Gandalf asked. “I thought I’d rejoice the day I heard a hobbit say that, but I’m not so sure now,” he responded.

“You’d rejoice if Pippin said that,” Frodo said softly, staring up at the ceiling. He was quiet a moment as Gandalf considered this, then he continued. “I can’t do this Gandalf.” He ran his hands through his hair and looked up at the wizard. “You read that letter, I know you did.”

Gandalf nodded. “Sam will be coming Frodo. You don’t want to disappoint him by not being here when he comes, do you?”

Frodo was about to reply, but Gandalf continued. “He needs you as much as you need him. You should keep writing him, but don’t send the letters.”

Frodo stared at the wizard strangely for a moment.

“Now, you’re coming to breakfast whether you want to or not,” Gandalf ordered.

***

Sam sat alone in the study at Bag End in the midst of an immense pile of paperwork. Suddenly he found himself thinking of Frodo, as he did often. He looked down and realized that at the bottom of a yearly letter (telling the Thain in so many words that he would be delighted to attend his birthday party) he had written:

     Don’t lose hope Frodo. I’m coming after you.

He sat for a moment, thinking about the implications of such statements, but was brought out of his thoughts by his now one year old daughter Elanor teetering in on her short pudgy baby legs to bring him to dinner. He tossed the paper, and set a fresh sheet on the desk to return to later.

Chapter Four-Dreams

For many days after that Frodo would carry around a book, extra blank paper and a charcoal stub, writing letters to Sam. He knew Gandalf had found and read all of them, and somehow that comforted him, and made him feel less alone. Frodo knew Gandalf had found and read all of them, and somehow that comforted him, and made him feel less alone. Frodo knew he would never have another friend like Sam, but he also knew, now, that Sam was not the only one capable of understanding him.

    
Many of the letters Gandalf found were tear-stained and the handwriting was unsteady, but legible. And that coupled with the content of most of the letters made Gandalf sad.

But then, after almost a year of living on the island, the letters Gandalf found began to slowly be Frodo’s memories of the Shire rather than telling Sam he was a traitor. 

It seemed as if Frodo was finally healing. He became more sociable and made a few Elf friends that welcomed him into their activities, as long as his height allowed. He visited his elderly uncle in the library nearly every day and Gandalf, Galadriel and Shadowfax relaxed their guard. Elrond and Gildor were now helping Feredir in the next steps of Frodo’s healing.

For a while all was fine. Frodo became ill on March 13^th, but it only lasted a day and he was back to normal. They were not so lucky the next October.

The afternoon of the fifth Bilbo began to notice his nephew starting to favor his left shoulder.

“Did you hurt yourself in that game yesterday, Frodo?” was the first question he asked.

Frodo had rounded up all the young Elves who wanted to play and taught them how to play a game they played in the Shire called Capture-the-flag. The Elf children enjoyed this immensely, but the older Elves thought it was stupid and wondered why the Ring-bearer, of all people, wanted to take the time to teach Elf children a silly game. They thought maybe it was because the children were the only ones his height.

While playing, Frodo had accidentally stubbed his tow trying to grab the flag (there happened to be a stone in the way of his foot) and was informed by a beautiful ten-year-old Elf girl, named Meldamiriel, that her mother said it wasn’t smart to play outside without shoes. But Frodo knew his uncle wasn’t talking about his toe.

“No, Uncle. It’s a wound I got on my journey,” Frodo replied. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

But he wasn’t fine. That night as soon as he fell asleep he was plagued by nightmares, fiendish, vivid visions of the witch-king of Angmar attacking him, and the Eye of Sauron watching him telling him he’d failed. Then suddenly he heard Galadriel’s voice in his head, saying, “Frodo, return to us! Frodo!”

He awoke and suddenly opened his eyes. Bilbo was sitting on his bed, holding his maimed hand, while Gandalf, Galadriel and Elrond stood around him. He clung to his uncle, who embraced him tightly, surprisingly strong for his age. A dull, icy ache was spreading across his shoulder and he knew that the scar was inflamed. His vision slowly cleared.

“You were calling out in your sleep. Bilbo heard you from his room, and hurried to fetch us,” Gandalf explained to the question in the hobbit’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I woke you all. I didn’t think it would be that bad,” he said quietly.

“We don’t mind being woke up as long as we know you’re alright,” Bilbo informed his nephew.

Frodo shuddered in his arms and Galadriel grabbed an extra blanket from under the bed to cover him with.

“I feel so helpless again,” Frodo said, holding back a sob. “I dreamt about Weathertop, only Sauron was there, taunting me because I failed my mission.”

“You did not fail, Frodo,” Galadriel said. “You succeeded in what you said you would do, which was take the Ring to Mordor.”

Frodo sighed. “But when he said it, I believed him,” he replied. “And he tortured me for it.” He shuddered again and rested his head on Bilbo’s shoulder.

Elrond closed his eyes. He heard in Frodo’s voice that one dream may have undone almost a year of healing for the young hobbit.

Then Frodo broke down and began to sob into his uncle’s shoulder as Bilbo rubbed his back and hummed an Elvish lullaby he had sung to him as a child.

Gandalf had started some tea in a pot on the stove, and helped Elrond prepare it with a few crushed athelas leaves, then handed it to Frodo and told him to drink it.

Frodo did as he was told and soon fell into another restless dream. Gandalf told Bilbo that he should get some sleep, and the elderly hobbit trudged reluctantly back to his own room.

“Do you think it has all been for naught?” Elrond asked quietly, watching the small figure tossing and turning. “It seems to have affected him, even if it was only a dream.”

“No,” Galadriel told her son-in-law. “Nothing is for naught. Frodo has yet to conquer this aspect of his injury. He must face it, Elrond. And he will come out victorious, with your help.” She knelt by Frodo’s bed and helped his groping hands find Arwen’s jewel, then kissed his forehead and said, “Mara mesto, mellon nin.”

His eyes opened for a brief moment and he said, “Rim hennaid, hiril nin,” then fell back asleep almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

And he did face his injury. With the help of the Elves, he managed to defeat is fear of the Witch-King and the pain his shoulder had caused him for years. And once again all was peaceful, for a little while.

Chapter Five-The Passing of Bilbo

Frodo still struggled daily with trying to heal. Some wounds take much longer to heal than others, and for years Frodo was still hearing the evil whispers of the Ring in his mind.

At times, especially in March, the month when he was attacked by Shelob and the Ring was destroyed, Frodo would suddenly be thrown into a bout of depression and feel like a traitor. But all Gandalf needed to do was hand him a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal, and anticipate quite a few tear-stained letters.

With Elrond’s help over the years Frodo began to consider the fact that maybe he hadn’t betrayed Middle Earth, and in his letters he slowly began to stop blaming himself.

Then on October 4^th, just after his 142^nd birthday, Bilbo Baggins died of very old age, and Frodo took to watching the harbor, waiting for Sam to come. He even avoided the library for a few days, until, at Bilbo’s funeral, Galadriel told him that Bilbo wanted him to keep going to the library and keep studying.

And for a while, Gandalf had Shadowfax watch Frodo’s house at night, and many Elves noticed him scribbling on a piece of paper with a charcoal pencil.

Then on the 6^th he started having nightmares every night, and some nights Gandalf or Galadriel would stay with him all night long.

But soon they stopped. Frodo understood that Bilbo was gone. His last words to his nephew, “We will meet again, Frodo-lad,” kept him hopeful. He knew that all was not lost and he believed his uncle’s words.

Chapter Six-Sam Arrives

“Frodo!! Frodo! Come out here!” Frodo looked up from his book and saw a young Elf maiden, now nearly 72 years old, outside his window. Ever since her comment on the fact that Frodo didn’t wear shoes, he had become good friends with Meldamiriel.

“What is it?” Frodo asked, looking at her questioningly.

“There’s a ship at the harbor, and they said your friend is here! I saw him too, a short little fellow like you…” She hadn’t even finished her sentence before Frodo was out the door and dashing down to the docks.

He saw Sam standing there, waiting for him, and threw himself in his friend’s waiting arms. They stood thus for a moment, then Frodo stepped back to examine Sam.

“I missed you so much, Sam!” he said. “You look great!”

Sam smiled and said, “You do to.” And indeed Frodo did look good. He was hardly the pale, thin hobbit he had been before. He’d even put on a few comfortable, hobbity pounds.

“Tell me what’s been happening in the Shire, Sam,” Frodo asked, as they headed up the hill to the house they would now share.

They sat for hours as Sam told Frodo all about each of his 13 children, the never-ceasing antics of their Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin, and how he’d told each of his children about their Uncle Frodo. Then Sam finally asked the question that had been bothering him all evening.

“How are you, Frodo?”

Frodo grinned, making his friend’s heart leap for joy, and he said, “I’m healed, Sam. I’m completely healed!”

Later that night, when Frodo fell asleep on the couch in his study, Sam carried him into his bedroom and watched him sleeping peacefully and contentedly. Frodo was healed and whole again. Sam kissed his forehead, and left the room.

The End

Epilogue-Letter from the Author

These characters don’t belong to me (darn!). Their stories are useful tools to help the author get a message across. The message here is that there is hope of healing and salvation for everyone. Frodo just happens to be my messenger for this story. The message he hears through his close friends is true. You can find the whole story wither by contacting me, or picking up the nearest Bible and reading the book of John. Hannon le!

God bless, Elanor Silmariën