Reconciliation

1:  Crickhollow Abandoned

            “Do you think Pippin will refuse to go with us?” Paladin Took asked his companion as they rode the way between Brandy Hall and Crickhollow.  “I mean, he’d be fully justified if he didn’t speak to me ever again after the way I treated him.”

            “Pippin doesn’t hold grudges,” Saradoc Brandybuck assured him.  “Not his nature.  No,” he continued, straightening some in his saddle, “once he realizes you are indeed sorry for what you said last time you saw him and are willing to believe him now, he’ll forgive you.  And I think the willingness to meet with Lord Halladan will prove your intent.”

            Pal nodded, but couldn’t give over the worry.  It wasn’t three weeks since Pippin’s last visit home to the Great Smial, followed by his hasty departure two nights later after one of his nightmares woke up all along the corridor off which the Thain’s family’s quarters opened.  Paladin Took had overreacted to Pippin’s cries of distress, and had called his son a coward, immature, and irresponsible.  Just the memory of his words that night made the Thain burn with shame.   Sara and Esme had been trying to reassure him repeatedly, in one fashion or another, since the last dinner with Frodo--which was another concern.

            It had been plain to all four of them--Paladin and Eglantine, Saradoc and Esmeralda--that Frodo had little time left to him.  This was a matter of great grief for all of them, for all four of them had always loved Frodo Baggins since the time he was born.  How could they not, first for Primula’s and Drogo’s sakes, and then for his own, maddening Baggins that he was?

            “He said he was spending his birthday with Bilbo, didn’t he?” Sara asked.  Well, it was obvious Sara’s thoughts mirrored Pal’s own.

            “Yes, he did.”

            “But I thought this Rivendell was weeks away from the Shire, even riding.”

            Paladin straightened, for he’d not thought of that when Frodo had indicated this was how he’d intended to spend their mutual birthday.  “How long did the lads say it took them to ride back to Bree from there?” he asked.

            “Almost three weeks,” Sara said thoughtfully.  “Merry commented once it had taken them almost the same length of time riding as it had walking if not longer, if I remember correctly.  Said that Gandalf refused to ride quickly, and that they’d usually camp fairly early and stop for fairly long periods for meals along the way, unlike the trip there.”

            “Almost as if Gandalf didn’t want to part with them,” Pal commented.  “I can’t imagine why it would have taken longer on ponies than on their feet.  I mean, when they were going to Rivendell, didn’t they say Frodo was seriously ill and couldn’t walk a good deal of it--that he was riding the pack pony while the rest of them were walking?”

            Pal could now see the thoughts turning behind his brother-in-law’s eyes.  “I’d not thought of that,” Sara said slowly.  Then he laughed.  “Seems the old Wizard was reluctant to part with them indeed, and probably especially Frodo.”  His face sobered.  “I wonder if Gandalf realized how quickly Frodo would--would begin fading?”

            The Thain shrugged, his own heart twisting in his breast at the grief he felt for his younger cousin.  “Who knows with Wizards?” he responded.  For a time they rode in silence before he said, “I wonder how old Gandalf is?  I mean, he was friends with Grandfather for much of his life, after all.”  The stories old Gerontius had told of his adventures with Gandalf were legion, from the first time they’d met while a number of Tooks were trying to wrestle a wagon out of the flood at the Sarn Ford.  His description of the Wizard on that day had certainly matched how Gandalf had looked at Bilbo and Frodo’s last joint birthday party--the Party.

            Sara slowly was shaking his head.  “I have no idea.  I mean, he’s not appeared to change in all the times I ever saw him--not that I’ve seen him anywhere nearly as often as Bilbo and Frodo did.”

            “Well, if Frodo was to be with Bilbo on their birthday, then they must have brought Bilbo back here.  He’d be what--a hundred thirty-one now?”

            Master and Thain looked at one another thoughtfully.  Finally Sara suggested, “Do you think that they’d bring Bilbo here to be by Frodo when he--when he goes?”

            Paladin grunted, “Or maybe they were just bringing Bilbo here so Frodo could be by him at the end.  I mean--a hundred thirty-one?  He must be inches from dying himself by now.  He’s ancient!”

            “Well, from what little Merry said on the subject it was obvious Bilbo was quite fragile when they were with him in Rivendell.  Said he couldn’t keep awake for long at all, and his thoughts seemed to be wandering.  Said Bilbo indicated he was giving Frodo that sword of his, forgetting he’d already done so.”

            “I wonder,” Pal said, the pain obvious in his voice, “if we’ll be facing--facing a double funeral.  I doubt either would long survive the other at this point--Bilbo for age, Frodo for--for how weak he himself is.”

            “I know,” Sara said, his own voice taut with grief.  “I know Bilbo’s been gone from the Shire for so long it’s been easy not to think of him at all; yet the idea the old Hobbit himself is dying just tears at me.  Especially since--since Frodo----”

            Especially since Frodo is dying, too, Paladin Took finished the thought in his mind, knowing Saradoc Brandybuck was doing the same.

            They rode in silence for a time, finally turned toward Crickhollow and the Hedge beyond it.  Finally the Brandybuck broke the quiet.  “I wonder if we should forego meeting with Lord Halladan right now, Pal.  Maybe we ought to just bring the lads back to the Hall, collect Esme and Lanti, and head for Hobbiton now.  If we hurry we could be there tomorrow evening.  I don’t want--don’t want----”  Again he couldn’t finish, and Paladin could see his sister’s husband was openly weeping.

            “You don’t want him to die alone?” Pal asked gently.  At Sara’s wordless nod, Pal turned his eyes back to the track they followed, not really seeing it.  “Merry and Pippin--they’ll want to say goodbye, too, I know.”

            “He’ll hate it, though,” Sara managed.  “Hates saying goodbye.  Hates leavetakings.  Will want to just slip away alone.”

            “Again,” Pal said, surprised at the amount of bitterness he felt.

            “He’ll want--want the dinner to have been our goodbye.”

            Paladin took a deep breath, then gave a nod.

            They were quiet again for the rest of the ride.  Both felt relief when they spotted the hedges which surrounded the house where their sons lived.  Merry had suggested selling it to Frodo when he indicated he was leaving Hobbiton and retiring to Buckland because of the privacy it afforded.  The high hedges surrounding the property hid a small meadow and spring-fed pond as well as the house, its grounds, and the byre and paddock for the ponies.  A small creek ran from the pond below the hedge on the Western side off to the Brandywine.  It was a self-contained world there, once the gate was shut....

            But the gate wasn’t shut--was hanging open, in fact.  The two fathers looked at one another in alarm, then turned to hurry their ponies through it into the property.

            There was about the house a blankness both found ominous.  No smoke rose from the chimney; no twitch could be seen at the curtains, which were closed.  Paladin was even more alarmed, for Pippin hated having curtains drawn in the daytime, he knew.

            The door was properly shut, and Paladin tried to think where it was Pippin had said they hid the extra key in case it should be locked.  Sara slipped off his pony and tied it to a rail on the paddock fence and hurried to the door, and Pal scrambled to follow suit.  Sara was trying the knob as Paladin joined him on the stoop, noting the place where woodwork had been obviously replaced on the jamb, there near where the lock would be.  The door swung inward, and the two Hobbits squeezed inside.

            The house was utterly silent.

            The grey-green cloaks they’d all four worn back from their journey weren’t hanging on the pegs in the entranceway, nor were their swords hanging there or lying on the bench where Pippin seemed to prefer leaving his.  Saradoc looked at the empty rail at the end of the wall.  “They’ve taken their saddlebags,” he said.

            Paladin led the way to the kitchen.  Someone had begun slicing a loaf of bread and already had sliced cheese; both bread and cheese had been abandoned on the work table and were hard as granite, while the butter crock lay open to the air.  Sara picked up the kettle and examined the firebox for the stove.  “Fire burnt out days ago,” he said, “and the kettle boiled dry.”  The tea caddy sat there, open and tipped on its side, spilled tea leaves littering the counter and the floor.  One plate had been set before a chair on the table, and the other just sat beside it with mugs and utensils lying on it.  The candles on the table had guttered out, and the oil lantern suspended over the workspace was dry and its wick burnt down to the reservoir.  One of the larder doors had been so hastily shut it had fallen open again; a spoon lay forgotten on the floor under the table.

            In Pippin’s room the bed was perfectly made, which made a lump come up in Paladin’s throat, for he’d obviously not slept in it since the linens were changed; but drawers were left half open and with clothing hanging out, indicating things had been hastily grabbed and stowed in his saddlebags, and a shirt lay on the floor, half under the bed.  Merry’s room was little better.

            They returned to the entranceway where Paladin slumped onto the bench.  “They can’t have done it again--just up and disappeared again like this,” he moaned, a feeling of emptiness in his heart.

            Just as it looked as if Saradoc would join him in dejection on the bench there was a knock at the door, and Sara answered it, accepting the two letters the messenger from the Quick Post held out, indicating they were intended for Merry and Pippin.  “They’re from Frodo,” Sara commented as he handed the one intended for Pippin to his wife’s brother.  They shared a look, gave a mutual nod of decision, and each slipped a finger below the wax seal to open the envelope and read what Frodo had written.

Oh, my dearest little Pippin--not that you are little any more.  No, you haven’t been little for quite some time, even before you met Treebeard and accepted your first Ent draught.  I cannot tell you just how much I love you and how very proud I am of you.  I have looked forward for so long to being by you when you come of age, but now I find I won’t be able to do so.

            I’m leaving, Pippin.  I have to.  I don’t particularly want to, but my choices have become quite limited.  Even if I were to stay, I wouldn’t remain long, and I think you understand what I mean.  Healing can’t come to me here, Pippin, not for my body or for my spirit, which was almost destroyed by the Ring.

            I’m so sorry I’m running away, but I can’t take any more partings.  Each one I’ve been forced to face has torn at me until I feel frayed.  I’m going with Lord Elrond as he leaves Middle Earth, and I will not be able to return.  The Lady Arwen sought this grace for me, and in the end the word returned that it was indeed granted--but to Bilbo and Sam as well as myself, for what the Ring did to all of us.  Bilbo goes now, with me.  If we don’t go now--well, then there won’t be another chance for us, simply because we won’t be able to endure for the next ship.  I don’t want Sam to come now, though, so I’ve not told him yet.  He knows I’m leaving the Shire, but thinks I’m going to Rivendell.  He’ll learn the truth only when he has to accept it.

            Please stay by him.  Please help him endure.  He isn’t meant to have his heart torn in two any more, for he’s meant to have the full life I’ve been robbed of.

            I wish I were as strong as you three have been.  And stay by Merry for me--I’ve betrayed him so badly by not telling him earlier.  He needs you so, Pip; the entire Shire needs you and the foolish wisdom you’ve garnered.  Aragorn intends to make the three of you permanent members of his Council, you must realize.  He’s a wise Man, choosing to accept wise counsel from whatever sources he can find.

            I love you, Peregrin Took.  Please forgive me.

                                                            Frodo

            A wave of pain went through Paladin Took as he read this, and he realized it was equally for Frodo and his son.  Well, maybe a bit stronger for his son as he found himself exploding, “The thoughtless little fool!  After all the four of them have been through together, he wouldn’t tell them he was leaving?  That stubborn--Baggins!  This will tear their hearts in two, not being allowed to say goodbye to him!”

            Sara’s face was equally stricken, and he was weeping openly, whether or not he realized it.  It must be worse for Sara, Pal realized, for after all Frodo had been as a son to him for so long.  But when the Brandybuck answered his voice shook only a little.  “He has been very close to dying, Paladin.  I suspect he has chosen this way so that none of us will have to deal with his funeral.”  He looked about the room, as if to seek confirmation of what he now suspected, then spotted it.  On the floor lay a green leaf wrapped around something.  Leaf and contents had been trodden on in the hurry and left lying.  He bent down and lifted it up, found it contained a type of bread he’d never seen before.  He broke off a corner and ate it, then smiled, did the same for Paladin and offered it to him. 

            The Thain was surprised at how delightful the taste of the stuff was.  He savored it, then looked at his companion.  “Elven?”

            “I think so.  I suspect someone came to tell them, to give them word so they could get there in time to say goodbye anyway.”

            “What is this, do you think?”

            “I suspect a travel bread of some kind.  Someone brought them supplies of food they can eat along the way that will keep and is light to pack.”

            Paladin examined the leaf, then smiled tremulously.  “It is from the type of tree that Sam planted in place of the Party Oak, Sara, and it’s like their cloak brooches.  This is from the Elven Lands, then!”

            “Maybe that lembas Merry’s made mention of,” Sara responded.  Both felt surprisingly soothed and reassured, their hearts now calmed and certain their lads weren’t taken from them again, only given the chance they needed to take proper leave of one they’d loved so deeply they’d followed him to unknown dangers in the attempt to keep him safe.

            “So,” the Thain continued, “either an Elf or Gandalf was sent to bring them word, and they brought this.  Apparently they feel the way we do--or at least the way I do--that our lads deserve the right to say goodbye.”  He realized he was weeping tears of grief for Frodo’s going, but that these tears were healing.  “Oh, Frodo--you can’t keep trying to spare others the way you do,” he murmured.

            Sara carefully nodded his head, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.  “I suspect he’s about as torn as they are.  I only hope they were given sufficient warning to make it to the Elven Havens before the ship sails.” 

            Then the two fathers found themselves holding one another, both weeping with mingled loss and relief.

            Merimac, Merimas, Berilac, and their wives had joined Esmeralda and Eglantine in the Master’s private parlor by the time they returned to the Hall.  Esmeralda held out the letter sent to Master and Mistress of Buckland, and Sara took and read it without comment, handing her the letter addressed to Merry as Pal gave the one to Peregrin into Eglantine’s hands.  All looked shocked and equally in grief. 

            “We each received one, too,” Mac said solemnly.  “He thanked me for what I’d taught him over the years and wished me well.”

            Beri scrubbed again at his eyes.  “He asked me to stand by Merry as he’d let me.  Oh, Uncle, you know I will.  But--but why didn’t he tell us?”

            Merimas answered him in a strangled voice, “Because he’s the most stubborn and private of Bagginses as ever was, that’s why, lad.”

            Eglantine asked, “Where are they?”

            Sara answered slowly, “We think they’re on the way to the Havens themselves so as to be there to say goodbye to him.  Someone came to Crickhollow to warn them and to bring them supplies so they could travel quickly and lightly.  We suspect either an Elf or Gandalf was the messenger, for there was a leaf from a tree like that Elven tree Sam planted there in the Party Field, wrapped around a sweet bread, lying on their floor.”

            “He’s apparently taken Sam with him to the Havens, but didn’t tell him ahead of time that was where they were going,” Paladin added.  “He’s let Sam think he was going to Rivendell to retire with Bilbo among the Elves.  He intends for Sam to stay here.”

            Esmeralda’s face was white.  “Our lads won’t try to go with him will they?”

            “No,” Sara said, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.  Mortals can’t go that way, not without a special grace granted by the Powers.  Only Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam have been offered this grace, and obviously from what Frodo’s written Sam doesn’t have to accept the invitation now.”

            “But where is Frodo going?” demanded Beri.

            “To the Elven lands, West of the Sundering Sea,” his uncle answered him.  “Where the Powers themselves can offer him healing.”

            “But he wasn’t sick----” Beri began, but the Thain cut him off.

            “He’s dying, Beri.  He’ll die if he doesn’t accept this, and he knows it.  We could see it in his eyes when we had dinner with him at Bag End that last time.”

            Sara looked at his brothers and nephew.  “Is Brendi in the place?” he asked.

            “He’s been mostly in Buckleberry meeting with Oderdoc’s family for the past few days,” Mac said.  “I don’t know if he’s back yet from today’s session.”

            “There was a letter for him, too,” Esme said, picking up another envelope from the table by her chair and displaying it.  “I asked Horto to keep an eye out for him and let him know I have it.”

            There was a knock at the door, and Horto, who was door warden for the day, led in a Bounder Sara recognized as one of those who guarded the gate at the Brandywine Bridge.  “Beg pardon, Master, Mistress,” Horto said, “but Garthfast here’s come with a summons from the Bridge.  From a Man, I understand,” he said, his distaste obvious.

            Garth was a steady lad originally from the Tighfield area in the Northfarthing.  He knuckled his forehead in respect, his eyes worried.  “There’s a Man, sir,” he explained.  “Come to the gates today and stopped.  Tall, ridin’ a tall bay horse, he was.  Silver cloak about him, with a star on the shoulder like them Men as come afore to send word to you.  The one with the black glove is with ’im, and the young one with the hound, too.  Tall one on the bay’s the one as come to the gate this time.  Says as he’s the Lord Halladan or somethin’ like, sir, and that you met with ’im there in Bree, sir.  Says as he’s come to bring you word about Lord Frodo.  Who’s this Lord Frodo, sir?  He don’t mean Frodo Baggins, do he?”

            Saradoc took in a deep breath, then let it out.  “Yes, I think he does,” he said.  “Frodo and Samwise Gamgee are considered Lords of the Realm in the outer world, you see.”  He looked around the room at the others, then turned back to Garth with decision.  “Go back to the bridge, and bring the three of them across and into the common room at the Bridge Inn.  And if they try to give you any argument about the King’s edict, tell them this is my order, as the Bridge Inn is under my jurisdiction and Buckland isn’t specifically part of the Shire--not exactly.  See to it they get the finest wine or ale or whatever they please that’s available.  Tell them that we’re coming, but need to speak to one of our own before we can leave the Hall.”

            Garth nodded reluctantly.  “As you say, then, sir,” he said.  “I’ll leave now, then.  Into the common room at the Bridge Inn, you say?”

            “Yes.”  Sara’s voice was definite.

            “Will do, then, sir.”  Again Garth knuckled his forehead and went out, his duty clear in his mind.

            It was another fifteen minutes before another knock at the parlor door heralded the arrival of Brendilac Brandybuck.  “Horto told me there was a letter for me,” he began, then stopped, seeing their faces and obviously realizing the import of the attention all were giving him.

            Sara received the letter from Esmeralda and brought it to place in the lawyer’s now reluctant grasp.  “We know it’s from Frodo, Brendi,” he said.  “Did you know he’s leaving the Shire?” he asked.

            Brendi retreated inside himself, behind the mask of his profession as a lawyer of the Shire.  “I can speak of nothing until the eighth of October,” he said formally.

            “Why didn’t you tell us?” Merimas asked.

            “I can speak of nothing until the eighth of October,” the lawyer repeated.

            “Why not?” demanded Berilac.

            “I can speak of nothing until the eighth of October,” Brendi again repeated, almost desperately.

            “Leave it, Beri,” Mac said, placing a hand on the younger Hobbit’s shoulder.  “He’s telling you all he’s allowed.  I take it,” he directed at the lawyer, “he’s made you swear the oath?”

            Brendi nodded, then looked down at the envelope in his hands.  They all could see as a tear splashed down on the vellum.  Brendi was obviously as full of grief as the rest of those in the room.

            “Open it and read it,” Sara suggested, almost gently.

            The lawyer did so with fingers that were almost steady, finally unfolding the paper inside and reading silently.  He then folded it again, and held it to his breast.  “Oh, Frodo,” they could hear him say softly.  “Oh, Frodo.”

            “Where are we to be on the eighth of October?” Sara asked finally.

            “At Bag End.  All are to be at Bag End.”

            “For the reading of his will?”  Sara’s voice was only just steady.  Brendi just looked at him, barred from speaking further by his oath.  “I see,” the Master said quietly.  He gave another sigh.  “Lord Halladan’s come to the Bridge along with Lord Gilfileg and another Ranger.  Do you want to go with us to speak with him?”

            “It’s best I don’t.  I can’t break my oath, you know.”

            “We understand, Brendi,” Sara answered him.  “We won’t devil you further about it, then.”

            With a wordless look of thanks and relief Brendi retreated.

            “Who’s with me, then?” Saradoc said heavily, looking about the room.  Within minutes he, Esmeralda, Paladin, and Eglantine, accompanied by Merimac, were on their way to the Bridge Inn.

2:  Interview with Rangers

            One table capable of handling Men had been built for the Bridge Inn before word came that the King had issued a temporary edict barring Men from entering the Shire without special permission from King, Master, Thain, and Mayor.  At it now sat three of these creatures, and abnormally tall ones at that, thought Nilo Bridgemaster, the inn’s keeper.  He looked at them with mixed curiosity and concern, and then gave an eye to the dog who sat by the chair of the youngest of the three.  The hound appeared well behaved, and had only sought to sniff at one individual, but had stopped at a word from his master.  Now, if only all the dogs brought into the Inn were as well trained, he thought, giving an eye to Nod Bank’s terrier, crouching under Nod’s chair with his whole attention given to the much larger dog across the room.  Ratter had yapped extensively when the Men entered, and was kept from running forward to challenge the great hound only by the string attached to his collar.  He was now straining against the string, and Nilo had no idea what would happen if the small dog were to escape and actually face the larger one.  Probably just be so surprised he’d just stand there and look over his shoulder at Nod to see if it was true, he thought, and chuckled a bit.

            It had been almost three years since the mysterious Rangers had last ridden through the Shire on their great horses, since about the time the four Travelers left the Shire.  Those who lived by the Brandywine Bridge and along the West Road had, for the most part, forgotten how tall they were, save for those who served at the gates and took part in the exchange of mail and dispatches.  To again see Men in the Bridge Inn was, therefore, a shock.  Many of the patrons were looking at the three and the dog with interest, curiosity, and in a few cases, some fear, waiting to see them prove themselves.

            The stir at the door when the Master entered caught the attention of many, and even more so when it was realized Mistress Esmeralda accompanied him as well as Merimac Brandybuck.  It took several moments, however, before their two companions were identified, for it wasn’t common for Paladin and Eglantine Took to be seen in the Bridge Inn.  By that time the Master’s party was already joining the three Men, who had stood courteously, looming over all.  Mistress Eglantine stopped dead at the sight of them standing, and had to be physically led forward by her husband, his arms about her shoulder.  And then the three Men were sitting again, and Saradoc Brandybuck was gesturing for tall stools to be brought so that his party could see over the top of the table. 

            Many nearby were going silent as the Master introduced those with him and the chief of the three Men did the same for himself and his companions, hoping to learn what brought about this unprecedented situation in which five of the greatest of their own were meeting with Men, here in the Bridge Inn.  Nilo realized this was happening and was becoming concerned himself, for no one should be listening in on such talk.  However he was reckoning without the nature of Hobbits. 

            Realizing how so many were seeking to listen to the talk at the large table, Merimac Brandybuck rose and approached the bar, then turned and faced the room.  “Well, my fellow Hobbits,” he proclaimed, “it’s a proud day today for us Brandybucks, for word has come that Belinda Took has agreed to marry our own Bormac Brandybuck of Buckleberry.  Who’ll join me in a toast to their happiness?”  He turned to the bar and proclaimed, “I’m standing the entire house to two drinks!”

            The business that might be being discussed at the tall table for Men was forgotten almost immediately.

            “Now,” Lord Halladan was saying, watching Mac’s performance with approval, “that was clever enough, I must say.”

            “You have to know your Hobbits,” Saradoc commented, “and Mac’s been managing our folk for me now for decades, you must understand.”

            Halladan laughed.  “Certainly Aragorn and my older brother Halbarad could work similarly, as he does with Hardorn, our younger one who is head of his personal guard.”  They turned back to one another.  “I came to let you know that the Lord Frodo Baggins has elected to leave Middle Earth in search of the healing which cannot come to him here.  Considering his secretive nature and his discomfort at speaking of his personal condition and at making proper farewells it was recognized that he was unlikely to warn the folk of the Shire that he was leaving, much less tell any where it is he goes or why.”

            “He sent letters to our sons speaking fairly plainly as to his intentions,” Sara explained, “although those he sent to the rest appear to simply be notifications that he was leaving the Shire and wishes for a pleasant future.”

            “He sent letters to Captain Peregrin and Sir Meriadoc?” Halladan asked.  “He didn’t tell them directly?”

            “Apparently not.  From what we can tell someone came to warn them and they filled their saddlebags, took their ponies, and rode off in haste.  Pal and I...”  He described the scene found at Crickhollow, at last bringing out the evidence of the leaf and bread found on the floor in the entrance.  At that all three Men straightened with what the Hobbits realized was mingled surprise and respect.

            “Lembas!” the one with the black glove said, almost awestruck.  “The Elves will share lembas with these?”

            “Well,” Saradoc said almost defensively, “it’s not like they hadn’t had it before.  Pippin said they were given a store of it as they left Lorien, and that Frodo and Sam were living almost entirely on it during the last two weeks or so of their journey.”

            The Men traded shocked glances.  “Hallowing them to their task?” Lord Halladan asked the one with the black glove.

            “Apparently,” came the response.  Again the Men traded glances before Lord Gilfileg explained.  “Lembas is almost sacred to the Elves, you see.  They rarely share it with mortals, telling us it is perilous for us.  Only with those who are plainly dying will they ordinarily do so, to help in easing the way, we are told.  Elves themselves may eat it basically when they wish; but in Mortals it tends to awaken cravings and desires which we cannot assuage, such as the Sea Longing.  We cannot sail to the Elven lands--indeed we are told that if we were to enter Aman proper we would probably not live long at all, for so strong is the Light of the Valar and so clearly is it woven into the air of the land it would cause our mortal lives to burn more swiftly than our bodies could bear.  Lord Frodo will therefore not be permitted to go beyond the isle of Tol Eressëa, for it was once part of Middle Earth and the influence of the air and Light there is more mingled and less perilous to his nature as a mortal.  It is for this reason that few ships sail directly to the mainland of Aman from Middle Earth, for those who have lived long ages here in the mortal lands must ordinarily accustom themselves to the changed nature of those lands before they move on and approach the abodes of the Highest Elves and the Valar.”

            The young one, who’d been introduced as Eregiel, elaborated.  “We of the Northern Dúnedain have often ridden alongside and even with the patrols sent out from Imladris, and Lords Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond, have ever joined our own patrols from time to time.  When they do so, they usually will bring with them the lembas for their own use; but as Gilfileg has said, they have ever shared them only with the dying or those most sorely hurt but whose loss would be most deeply felt.  Many of those who have received lembas who recovered afterward have been more attuned to the music of Elves, have spoken of hearing the songs of the stars and the wild places, and have been drawn ever Westward to the shores of the Sundering Sea.  This has been told among us ever as a warning.  Lembas cannot extend life, but it can strengthen will and ease deep hurts.  We must assume that it was solely for this reason that the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn chose to share it with the Fellowship.  The Sea Longing must be extraordinarily strong in both the Lords Frodo and Samwise if they lived primarily on it for the last weeks of their great journey.”

            Halladan was now nodding, his own expression most solemn.  “Ever has our cousin Aragorn moved freely among the Elven peoples.  Indeed, when he returned to us from Rivendell when he was a young Man newly advised of his birth, lineage, and possible destiny, he was very like to an Elf himself.  He wore his hair long and straight, with the warrior’s braids for his temple locks and the often elaborate beading of them; his beard didn’t begin to grow until he was in his mid-twenties; he thought in Sindarin and Quenya rather than in Adunaic or Westron as do we raised among our own people.  Many of our young Men, not realizing who he was indeed, referred to him as the Elf princeling and taunted him for his Elvish ways.  But although he passed freely into and out of Imladris, Mithlond, Mirkwood, and Lorien and he was welcomed ever to sojourn among the wandering tribes, yet he told us never had he been granted the right to eat the lembas.”

            “How did you come to know this?” asked Mac, who’d rejoined them, bringing with him drinks for the entire party.

            Eregiel gave a smile and an expressive shrug.  “When I was on my first patrol under Berenion, Aragorn and the sons of Elrond joined us.  The Elves carried a packet of the lembas with them, and several of us younger ones were curious about them and thought to steal some and try them for ourselves.  Aragorn saw the theft and took us aside, explained why we were so foolish, and made us return them and apologize.  When I asked him if he knew what they tasted of, he said that no, he did not, for he didn’t wish to waken any more Elvish cravings in himself than he already entertained.”

            Now it was the turn of the Hobbits at the table to share looks among themselves.  Paladin asked, “Then, Pippin and Merry might one day find themselves facing this--Sea Longing?”

            Gilfileg answered, “It is always possible, Thain Paladin.  However, considering what all of the Fellowship underwent, and particularly the four of your people who bore much of the worst of it, they undoubtedly needed the strengthening offered by the lembas.  Only the journey of the Paths of the Dead were they spared, although the journey across Mordor and up the sides of Mount Doom made by Lords Frodo and Samwise was even worse than that, I think.”

            Halladan nodded, then turned back to the Hobbits.  “I was one of those who followed Aragorn on that dread path; but it could not be anywhere as evil as what those two faced.  We could not tell they were even alive when they were brought out to us, once all was over.  Only the healing hands of the King could call them back again and restore them to us.”

            Esmeralda asked, her voice tight, “If the King’s hands are so healing, why is it that Frodo’s done all but die since he returned?”

            “None has before done what Lord Frodo has achieved, Mistress, and he suffered far deeper hurts than did any others in the Fellowship, even those suffered by your sons.  Only two have survived a Morgul wound in the history of Middle Earth, Lord Frodo being the later of those.  If you had seen the creature called Gollum who carried the Ring for much of five hundred years, you would know what the Ring was capable of doing to its bearers.  We are told he began as one of your people, one of those who lingered in the valley of the Anduin near the Gladden Fields.  He had changed completely, looking more like to a frog at the end according to what both Aragorn and Lord Frodo have told us, his skin growing pallid, his fingers and feet webbed, his eyes gone large to see in the dark places he haunted for so very long.  What changes it had wrought deep in the heart of your kinsman while he must carry it, who can say?

            “Nay, Aragorn has said that the wounds the Ringbearer endured were there too long and too deep for full healing, and Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel have said the same.  It was for this reason the Lady Arwen sought this grace for him, that Lord Frodo might become able to once more appreciate joy and beauty unhampered ere he must in the end accept the Gift of Iluvatar.”

            “Which is what?” the Thain asked.

            “The Gift of Iluvatar?” Halladan queried.  “Death, small master.  Elves consider death to be a special gift offered to mortals.”  Seeing the surprise in their eyes, he continued to explain.  “Do you truly think those who must remain for the life of Arda cannot know great weariness of spirit, particularly those who have lost many and much they once treasured?”

            It was a sobering idea for all of them.  “I see,” the Thain said, his eyes thoughtful.  After a moment, he asked, “Who was it that told you Frodo was leaving?”

            “Our patrols near the borders of the valley of Imladris told us when Lord Elrond’s party left it to head West, bringing with them Master Bilbo.  I was officially advised Lord Frodo had chosen three days ago, while I was traveling between Annúminas and Bree.  The Elves and Master Bilbo entered the Shire on the twentieth, and we were advised they were to meet with Lord Frodo on the twenty-second.  It was expected he would be accompanied to the Havens by Lord Samwise, Sir Meriadoc, and Captain Peregrin.  That he would not tell you and would forbid the others to tell you until after he’d left was considered probable.”

            “Could we catch up with them now?” asked Eglantine.

            “Not only is it not likely, it is also unlikely you would find their camps, even were you to pass these in the broad daylight only feet from the Lord Frodo himself.  This is a native power to most Elves, the ability to cause the eyes of mortals to pass over them unseeing; if the Lord Frodo does not wish you to find him, they will hide him from you until he comes to the Havens themselves.  Nay, I suspect they are already beyond the Western borders of your land by this time.  Could you cross the Shire and the Western Marches beyond and reach the quays of Mithlond in four days?  I doubt they will remain in Middle Earth that long.”

            The eight of them remained quiet for some time, thinking.  Finally Paladin asked them, “Will you tell us of--of what our sons did, out there?”

            Lord Halladan smiled broadly.  “They achieved marvelous feats.  They carried with them blades wrought by our own people, blades which Captain Peregrin told us were taken from one of the barrows from the Barrowdowns east of your land, between the Old Forest and the road to Bree.  According to Captain Peregrin these were given into their hands by Master Tom Bombadil himself after the Lord Frodo saved the others from a most evil death at the hands of a barrow wight.  Lord Frodo carried his until they reached the Ford of Bruinen where the blade broke as he fell from the back of Lord Glorfindel’s horse Asfaloth.”

            “Why did he fall?” asked Esmeralda.  “Bilbo had him taught to ride after he came to Bag End, and Frodo was always an accomplished rider.”

            “I have seen Lord Frodo ride several times, and rode back North in his company.  I know he was a fine rider indeed, even when he was weary.  Yet at the time he fell he was coming close to succumbing to the effects of the Morgul wound, for he’d carried the splinter of the cursed blade for two weeks.  None other has lasted even half that long, my lady.  He could no longer endure after he saw the Enemy’s slaves caught in the flood and washed away.  And the fall from the back of Asfaloth is far greater than any he might have thought to endure from one of your people’s ponies.”

            Halladan straightened and shook his head.  “Aragorn tells of the great courage Lord Frodo showed at that time, seeking to draw his own blade on the Black Riders there at Weathertop.  He knew little of them and their nature, yet he defied him as he could.  His courage was great, just to remain facing them when five faced him together, seeking to overwhelm his will with theirs combined; it was even greater at the Fords where all of the Nine were ranged against him, and he defied them all.  That tale will long be told among us, for most of us couldn’t bear to remain facing one alone, much less five or all nine.

            “Aragorn sought to teach all four Hobbits how to hold their blades, but had little real time for instruction as they sought to come as swiftly as they could to Rivendell.  While in Rivendell they were shown the rudiments of the usage of their blades, even Lord Frodo, who had been given the Elven blade Sting by Master Bilbo.  Of the four, however, only Captain Peregrin and Sir Meriadoc seriously tried to learn to master their blades--which they managed in the end.  In Rivendell they were schooled by the Elven warriors of that place, and then by Captain Boromir of Gondor, who arrived just in time to take part in the Council of Elrond where the Ring was first officially recognized and debate was taken as to how It should be dealt with.

            “Again all four displayed far greater courage and perseverance than any looked to see.  When Lord Frodo offered to take the Ring to Mordor all were amazed save, I think, Elrond and Gandalf, although it caused the Wizard great grief to know Frodo had taken such a task to himself.  Lord Samwise refused to allow Frodo to go without his support, and told others afterwards he simply felt he had a task to accomplish, and would learn what that task was and see it through.  Your sons refused to be parted from their cousin, and threatened to run after the party if they were not allowed.  They recognized that Lord Frodo needed their presence to remain grounded.

            “During the journey Captain Boromir, Aragorn, and Prince Legolas continued to work with the four, but especially Sir Meriadoc and Captain Peregrin, on the handling of their swords.  Lord Samwise came to be able to guard himself; but the other two became increasingly competent, and acquitted themselves well in Moria and later at Amon Hen, although there they were overwhelmed by the number of the enemy and were borne away back Westward to Fangorn Forest.  Along the way Captain Peregrin’s courage and cleverness served them well, assisting the two of them to escape in the end, or so I’m told.”

            And so he told the story much as Frodo had read it from that book of his the last time they were with him, speaking of the courage of each, the intelligence displayed, the strength of character.  As he spoke of how Merry and the Lady Éowyn had between them destroyed the Chieftain of the Nazgul his voice softened in the awe he still felt at the audacity of the deed.  “To convey the terror that the Nazgul wore about them as a Man or Elf wears a cloak is, I fear, impossible, which makes the defense the Lord Frodo made to them and the attack by Sir Meriadoc and the Lady Éowyn that much more the remarkable.  We have faced that one before here in Eriador, although he never regained the power in the North he once held when he was absolute ruler of Angmar.  The horror of his presence was a matter of legend, as he so terrified the steed of Eärnur that it bore him from the field of combat and all who heard his cries or beheld his visage were overwhelmed, their bowels turning to water within them.  Wherever he or his fellows came upon the Pelennor the forces of the West quailed and fell back, even if the moment before they were driving their enemies before them across the battlefield.  They stooped upon the city, and the defenders on the walls would cower down, their hands over their ears, their hearts near stilled with the terror of it.

            “Yet Sir Meriadoc rose from having been stunned by his fall, and dared to set blade to the invisible flesh, and so paralyzed him that the Lady Éowyn, even with her shield arm broken, was able to destroy him at the last.  Both blades burned away, and the hilts were taken into the Citadel of Minas Tirith where they are displayed now with full honor.

            “Sir Meriadoc and the Lady Éowyn were both overwhelmed by the Black Breath, and needed the intervention of Aragorn to bring them back and break the spell of the malady.  Few can break the hold of this condition on its victims, but Aragorn, the sons of Elrond, Elrond himself, and the Lady Arwen can do so as the descendants of Eärendil.  Those who suffer from it find themselves wandering in a bleak landscape where they lose their way, falling into nightmares and delusion, then going still, and finally losing their hold on life itself.  Aragorn was able to call both back to themselves, and then others besides.  How he did all he did that night after the days we spent on the Paths of the Dead, the battle of the Pelargir, the ordering of the reinforcements, and the desperate journey up the River Anduin to the city to join in the battle of the Pelennor I cannot say, save that he is the heir of Isildur.  I am not certain which showed the greater will at the end--my Lord Cousin, Lord Frodo Baggins, or Lord Samwise Gamgee.  All I can say is that we honor all three equally now, and Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck and Captain Peregrin Took but little less.”

            He went on to tell of Pippin’s decision to go with the Army of the West to the assault on the Black Gate to draw Sauron’s attention out of Mordor to allow Frodo and Sam time to get to the Mountain.  “He chose to fight among the Guards of the Citadel and the Men of the City, near to his friend Beregond of the Guard.  Had he not, Beregond and several others would have died.  They stood on the other hill on which our forces fought, and together he and Beregond stood in the front ranks, facing the fiercest of the Enemy’s assault.  I saw him defending himself from the orcs who led the troops attacking their position, and he fought well indeed, particularly for one his size.  He’d learned well to make his stature an advantage instead of a hazard, and he was able to slip under the guard of the great troll that sought to kill Captain Beregond and slew it, although he was not able to get out of the way before it fell upon him.

            “Three were caught beneath the troll in its fall, and all survived due to his courage and skill--and luck.  Yet it nearly cost him all, for he was horribly crushed.  He was yet standing when the troll hit him, and so his ribs were cracked and broken, and his hip disjointed and a leg bone cracked.  He was concussed as well, and bruised over much of his body.  Again Aragorn was needed to call him back from the brink of death, and he was placed in healing sleep for days.  Yet he awoke with his cheerful nature intact, and recovered swiftly.

            “Captain Peregrin rose from his bed but the day before Lords Frodo and Samwise awoke.  Their bones were not broken, although both were weak from their privation and from a fortnight in healing sleep.  Sir Meriadoc was summoned to the Field of Cormallen where the army rested while those who were wounded who could recovered.  He sat by all three as they lay in healing sleep, and did much in the nursing of Captain Peregrin as he recovered.

            “Both of the younger Hobbits insisted on attending on their kings at the feast given when Lords Frodo and Samwise awoke, each giving them honor as he could; and they ratified the ennoblement of those two recognized there on the part of the folk of the Shire.

            “The sacrifices offered by each were great; the honor we hold for them is beyond measure.  You have every right to be proud of the sons of your houses, Masters, Mistresses.  You have every reason to rejoice that each was granted the grace to return to you.  We will all grieve that Lord Frodo was not able to fully recover here in Middle Earth, while we rejoice he was granted the right to go there for his easing at last, that he might be surrounded ever by the beauty of the Undying Lands ere he accepts the Gift when it is proper to him.  And I believe that when that time comes he will accept it with the remarkable grace he has shown throughout.”

            “How was Pippin made a captain of the Guard?” the Thain asked.

            “Captain Gilmaros, the proper Captain of the Guard of the Citadel, asked this for him.  Never had he seen one so newly come to arms so swiftly develop the skill he came to show; and he felt your son’s courage and willingness to spend himself that others might be defended deserved the greatest of honor.  Captain Peregrin had become one of the instructors of new recruits before he left the city to return to your people, and all are impressed by both his skill and his patience in teaching.”

            The tall Man smiled.  “In the days after the coronation of Aragorn as the King Elessar many were called before him to reward their courage and show them honor before all.  Captain Peregrin and Sir Meriadoc were both brought before the court for this purpose, and none deserved it more.  I rejoice to have sat in the chair of the Steward of Arnor to witness this, and it was honor indeed for those of us who traveled with the four Periannath as they came North to return here to your land.”

            “Why did it take so long for them to return to us?” Saradoc asked.  “I understand that the day when the Ring was destroyed was in March, yet they didn’t return to us until the end of October.”

            “First there was the need for recovery for the wounded before they could travel between the camp in Ithilien and Minas Tirith.  It was two full weeks that Lords Samwise and Frodo lay in healing sleep, and they had more recovery to undergo before they were able to travel.  Yet there were others who had more obvious wounds who had even more recovery needed.  Most left the camp East of the River at the end of April that we might camp one last night on the Pelennor before the city of Minas Tirith the night before the first of May.  Aragorn was crowned the morning of the first.

            “Then Aragorn wished for the Hobbits to remain in Minas Tirith with him until the Lady Arwen came for their marriage.  It was no swift journey for those coming from Rivendell and Lothlorien.  They arrived on the eve of Midsummer, and at that time Elrond surrendered the Sceptre of Annúminas to Aragorn as the sign there is again a King in the North kingdom as there is in the South.  The next day was the marriage celebrated before the White Tree of Gondor, and Lords Frodo and Samwise attended on the King for that, as did I and my brother Hardorn, Lords Elladan and Elrohir, and Prince Faramir of Ithilien in Gondor.

            “Not long after, the Rohirrim returned to fetch the body of Théoden King back to their land for proper burial in keeping with their ways, and at that time we went to travel with them.  It was slow traveling with the great wain on which the bier rested, and the trip was slowed also, perhaps, in deference to the comfort of Lord Frodo.  He tended to tire easily, we found, although he was able to do better as long as Aragorn was beside him.  A few days we spent in Edoras after the funeral and the kingmaking of Éomer as new King of Rohan and the handfasting of Prince Faramir to the Lady Éowyn; then at last we continued the journey.  We took leave of Aragorn this side of the Vale of Isengard.  We found all did best if we did not ride long hours during the day, so again we perhaps traveled less swiftly than we might have.  Then we camped for some days while Gandalf, the Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, and Lord Elrond held a last council with one another near the pass of the Redhorn Gate.  Lord Frodo appeared to strengthen over that time.  At last the folk of Lorien took their leave and turned to the pass, and the remainder of us continued North.

            “We didn’t arrive near Rivendell until the third week of September, at which time the four Hobbits turned East to accompany the Elves to Elrond’s house to see Master Bilbo.  They were seen near Amon Sul a month later, and they reached Bree where we’re told they stayed two nights a few days after that.”

            “Did Frodo have difficulty riding?” asked Esme.

            “No, although there were days when he tired easily.  It was not an easy journey for him at times.”

            The Hobbits again looked to one another.

            Lord Halladan was examining Saradoc’s brother.  “You are the one known as Merimac?” he asked.

            “Yes.  Why?”

            “Lord Frodo was speaking of you during his stay.  He held much respect for you and spoke of his gladness for the teaching you offered him when he was a youth.”

            Mac raised his eyebrows with surprise.

            Paladin and Eglantine were looking at one another thoughtfully.  Lanti at last gave a sigh.  “Well, it appears that we can’t consider Pippin just a lad any more, Pal.”

            Slowly Pal nodded thoughtfully.  “That’s obvious enough,” he said.  “I’m shamed I’ve tried to do just that.  Ferdi is right as to how I ought to give him more responsibility, you know.”

            “We certainly found he handled responsibility well,” Lord Halladan assured him.

            “And to find that Pippin is a good influence on Merry was quite a shock for us,” Sara added.

            Esme asked, “Was Frodo often ill, there in Gondor?”

            The tall Man answered carefully, “It is hard to say, Mistress.  He never recovered, apparently, as he did after the attack at Weathertop.  He would have good days and bad ones, and often had difficulty with his digestion.  But, considering what he’d endured that was perhaps to be expected.  Aragorn listed several things which could each in itself harm his digestion, from the great stress and fear of his journey, the lack of proper food and water along the way, the having to drink polluted water from the cisterns along the orc roads, having to breathe in the fumes and ash from the mountain and to swallow them, the poison of the great spider--he had to always watch what he ate and amounts, which tended to drive him to distraction for as a Hobbit this was most unnatural for him.”

            “So, the inability to eat properly wasn’t something that started here when he returned,” the Thain’s wife commented sadly.

            “That is true, Mistress,” Halladan assured her.  Eglantine took a deep breath and looked aside, her mouth working.  She looked at her husband’s sister, whose face was also pale and full of grief.  The Mannish Lord looked from one to the other, his face full of compassion.  “I am sorry--you obviously care deeply for him.”

            Eglantine nodded while Esmeralda glanced at her husband, then back at Halladan.  “Frodo,” Esme explained, “lived with Sara and me after his parents died, as if he were our older son.  He was there when Merry was born.  But we all have always loved him--our Frodo.  To think we will never see him again for as long as we live tears us apart.”

            Halladan sighed, his own expression solemn.  “It will be very difficult for our Lord Cousin as well.  Many are those he has over the years come to think of as if they were brothers to him, but none so swiftly or as deeply as the Lords Frodo and Samwise.  For all that he added his own prayers to those of his wife and the Elves for this grace to be granted to Frodo, still his own heart will hold ever an empty place now until he in his turn accepts the Gift and can come at the last to Frodo’s side--at which time he will undoubtedly seek out my own brother Halbarad to introduce the one to the other.”

            Suddenly all at the table found themselves sharing a gentle laugh with one another as each found tears falling.

3:  The Road Home

            For as long as they could see the light of the Phial of Galadriel in the distance, the three Hobbits remained there on the quay.  Then, after the movement of the distant waves and the curve of Middle Earth hid that light at the last they continued to strain their eyes, and particularly Sam.

            All three had found themselves giving Frodo tremulous smiles as he turned back to look at them as he stepped onto the deck of the ship, for they saw the relief just that act gave him--not a great deal of relief, perhaps, but the strain of decision lifted at last and there was a notable smoothing of his brow; and the look of wonder as he looked up at Gandalf had itself been worthwhile--it seemed so long since they’d seen such an expression on his face.  But it was the dawning expression of hope which had truly caught at their hearts, for it had been even longer since they’d seen hope there.

            Now, however, as the grey ship disappeared to the West they again were grieving--grieving for the loss of Frodo, Gandalf, the Lord Elrond, and the Lady Galadriel, as well as those others who went with them.  Middle Earth would be the poorer, for with these of the great Elves went much of the wonder which each had known during their lives, knowing that in secret corners dwelt such beings.

            They were weeping as they watched into the darkness of the night, and found themselves watching that way until at last behind them the stars began to fade and the sky go grey with the false dawn.

            Círdan came near and drew Merry apart for a moment, giving something into his hands.  Merry examined it, spoke softly with him, then nodded and returned to Pippin’s side.  Immediately, automatically, Pippin’s hand had reached out, gone again about Merry’s shoulders.  Sam noted this with a part of his awareness he railed against within himself.  How could he note such expressions of comforting in others when his own world had just been turned utterly upside down, when his very heart had just been taken from him--not raw and bleeding, he realized, but neatly, surgically, with a minimum of fuss or mess, for the blood had been seeping out of it for so long now....

            He heard Pippin whisper, “What did he give you?”

            “Something for Brendi and Will.  Legal papers, I suspect.  Something Frodo had forgotten earlier, apparently.”

            “He’d know, wouldn’t he--Brendi, I mean?”

            Merry was looking out to sea once more.  “Yes, I suppose he would.  And he can’t say a word, either--Frodo would have sworn him to secrecy.”

            Sam was just aware of the small nod Pippin gave as he settled that bit of information and speculation into the proper corner of his mind.  For all the tousled covers and cushions askew and items left lying in his wake, Peregrin Took’s thinking was quite neat and precise, Sam knew.

            And then the large hand of the shipwright lay on Sam’s own shoulder, and Sam reluctantly looked up into eyes as constant and changeable as the Sea itself.  “When you are ready, sweet Lord Panthail, there will be a ship waiting for you, you will find.  You need not hurry yourself.  If he survives the voyage the Valar will aid him to wait for your coming.”

            “Pretty big if there,” Sam replied softly.

            Círdan smiled.  “Already he has shown far greater endurance than we have learned to look for in mortals.  He has his elderly kinsman there by him to help keep him grounded in Arda.  I do not believe he will give over as easily as he had once thought to do.”  The Lord of Mithlond’s expression sobered.  “Know this--they will not allow him to go without a struggle.  Olórin, Elrond, Artanis--they will do all in their power to see to it his spirit and his body both are allowed to know full healing ere he accepts the Gift.”

            Sam found that reassuring.  He gave a small smile up into the tall Elf’s face--the one bearded Elf he’d ever seen, he realized; then he looked back to the Sea once more.

            The Sun was rising indeed when at last they turned away and left the quay, wandered for a time along the graveled shore, now and then speaking, mostly quiet.  Then, without words, they returned to the harbor to fetch away the ponies, Sam leading away Strider, who kept trying to turn about and go back to fetch his beloved master.

            “He’s not there, Strider,” he said patiently.  “He’s gone on now.  He can’t come back, you see.  He can’t come back.”  And as he explained to the pony he felt the words seeping into the raw places in his heart, somehow easing the pain there.  “He’d of died if’n he’d stayed.  He’d only of died.  Now at least he has hope.”  One last time he looked West, then he resolutely swung himself up onto Bill’s back and turned East once more, back to the new day--the new day without Frodo.  Rosie was waiting for his return.  Elanor was waiting for his return.  He kept in his heart the knowledge that he needn’t have returned after all, that he could again have followed Frodo, helped keep him further grounded, seen him find easing, seen the Light cleansing away the last of the nightmares, seen the healing air which carried the breath of the Valar themselves cleansing away the ache in his shoulder, the guilt from his heart.

            But it was Frodo Baggins who had married Sam to Rosie, who had made certain Sam realized that his marriage to Rose Cotton superseded all previous commitments, that he was not to put family or friends between himself and her and whatever children they might give birth to.  And it was Frodo who had begged him, just before they mounted for the last of their journey to the Havens, to live--to live for the both of them.  “And I’ll do that, Mr. Frodo,” he promised fiercely in the depths of his heart.  “I will live for the both of us!”

            Peregrin Took’s eyes were not seeing the road he traveled--they were seeing Frodo and Gandalf--Frodo and Gandalf looking at one another over Bilbo’s china and silver which were being used to form byres and paddocks for Pippin’s wooden farm animals, back when he was a very little one; Frodo smiling up into the Wizard’s eyes as Gandalf explained an obscure point in one of the books on the history of the First or Second Age; Frodo talking with Gandalf at The Party; Frodo walking by Gandalf’s side through Hollin; Gandalf sitting by Frodo’s bed in the guest house in Minas Tirith, the two discussing the effects of the Ring; Gandalf reaching down his hand to accept Frodo’s as Frodo approached the gangplank onto the grey ship; Gandalf standing by Frodo at the rail as the ship pulled away, his hand on Frodo’s slight shoulder....

            They were both gone, Frodo and Gandalf, and he would see them no more during his lifetime.  There would be no more of Frodo’s chicken baked with mushrooms, no more quiet moments of advice or encouragement, no more stories told in the common in Hobbiton, no more walking trips across the Shire, no more sitting by him atop the Hill, watching the stars.  There would be no more laughter shared with Gandalf, no more looking up at him atop Shadowfax, no more repetitions of “Fool of a Took!”, no more reassuring glances or comforting touches from those large hands, no more questions to be answered or ignored.  How was he going to survive without those two?

            Then he glanced sideways at Merry, seeing how pale Merry’s face was--almost as pale at the moment as Frodo’s own.  If it was bad for himself, he knew it must be twice as bad for Merry.  Frodo had always been there for Merry, and now he wouldn’t be any more.  And Frodo had tried to slip away without them knowing!  Did Frodo realize how deeply that would have hurt Merry, had he succeeded?  True, Frodo was barely there, hadn’t been able to speak with them.  He’d been so pale, almost ghostly.  He’d been thinner than ever when they’d embraced him, and his eyes had shown such weariness.

            He wouldn’t have survived the next anniversary, he thought.  Both he and Merry had known that, had discussed it, had planned to be there for it to hold his hands so that he would know that at the end he wasn’t alone.

            Which would have been worse--Frodo dead, or Frodo gone where he went now, with them knowing at least now Frodo had the chance to heal, knowing that now Frodo could laugh again, knowing that Frodo would be surrounded by those who knew what he’d done and who would fully honor him for it, knowing that Frodo would be surrounded there by the beauty his soul required?  No question--I’d far rather see him gone to Elvenhome than dead, he realized.  And with the realization Frodo would now be able to heal came a surge of joy he’d certainly not expected to feel.

            He’d stood by Aragorn often enough now to know the tune and the words of the Invocation to Healing the Man had sung so often; now he began singing it, dedicating it in his heart to Frodo.  Merry turned his head to look at him, amazed Pippin could sing at a time like this--until he listened to the words and realized what he sang, and then he joined in it.

            O Manwë, come near, and guard this one who requires your aid; let your shining sword keep away every danger.

            Lord Ulmo, let your cleansing waters wash away illness and infection and uncleanness; let them soothe and ease the pain and fevers.

            Lady Estë, grant this one healing and ease; ease the pain of the body, the heaviness of the soul.

            Lady Elbereth, allow your stars to shine upon this one, to ease the fears of the darkness; send Eärendil to show forth hope and to guide the way.

            May all of the Valar compass this one about with healing; may all seek to guide along the way.

            And, having begun to sing, they continued.  Frodo had written a song about Gandalf while they were yet in Lothlorien and had shared that song with Sam.  Sam had written it down and had shared it with them, and had sung it for them one day while Frodo was gone with Aragorn to a hot spring where the two had gone to soak away the bruising Frodo had sustained on his chest and in his heart.  Now Merry and Pippin began to sing it.

            In evening when the Shire was grey,

            his footsteps on the Hill were heard.

            Before the dawn he went away

            on journey long without a word.

            And when that one was done they sang others--walking songs, bathing songs.  They sang for Frodo, Gandalf, and Bilbo, who’d gone with them.  Bilbo might not be able to remain with them long, but at least he’d be there by Frodo while Frodo began his healing, would remind him that he was a Hobbit of the Shire.

            Merry’s heaviness of heart began to lift as he sang with Pippin, something he’d never thought would happen--certainly not now, today.  But Frodo wasn’t going away just to die, but to live again.  Gandalf and Bilbo were by him, would see to it Frodo was kept grounded, would see to it he remembered ever how deeply he was loved--in the Shire, in Gondor, throughout the free lands of Middle Earth.

            As they sang one of Bilbo’s walking songs, Merry could see in his minds eye Frodo, dressed not as a Hobbit but in a silver robe, walking a silvery path through great trees and by shining flowers.

            Around the corner there may wait

            A standing stone or secret gate....

            Find those hidden paths, Merry thought.  Find those hidden paths and explore them, Frodo.  And know that my heart will follow you ever as it has always done, though I can’t come to you while life remains.  But I’ll come to you in the end, you know.  I’ll come to you when all is over and you shall show them to me.

            And so the three of them rode back to the borders of the Shire, Sam silent, Merry and Pippin singing, each dedicating it to Frodo.

            It was midday when they at last stopped, exhausted.  Once the ponies were stripped, rubbed down, and hobbled, Pippin solemnly shared a wafer of lembas among the three of them, and Merry poured a bit of the wine from the wineskin pressed into his hands by Lord Gildor into the battered cup he carried with him, and they shared it in turn. 

            “They feed you well on the journey to the Havens?” Merry asked Sam.

            “Don’t even member eatin’,” Sam said, “although we must of done it.  I member the draughts as Lord Elrond was fixin’ for Frodo, all along the way, though.  Him and Mr. Bilbo both was gettin’ draughts.  He even give me one once, I think.”

            “Did he tell you ahead of time?” Pippin asked.

            Sam shook his head.  “No.  Left me thinkin’ as he was goin’ to Rivendell, he did.  Not till we met with the Elves and I saw as Mr. Bilbo was with ’em and they was headin’ West did I understand.  And here I was busy plannin’ on how we was goin’ to convince Strider to come up and see him while he was there.  Didn’t think as he’d live all that long even if he went there, but at least as he could perhaps linger a few years without needin’ to be laborin’ none, surrounded by beauty and learnin’ and all.”

            The others nodded their understanding.

            After a time Sam said quietly, “Was surprised as you was singin’ at first; but they was the right songs, they was.”

            Pippin nodded solemnly, then murmured, “Thanks.”

            Another time of silence, and at last Merry whispered, “At least he’s not dead.  He has hope.”

            They undid their bedrolls and set them around their small campsite.  For a time they sat on their blankets and looked at one another, then got up and moved the bedrolls together, side by side, and together lay down where they could touch one another, and let their exhaustion take them.

            Sam roused first, and sat up, looking about him for Frodo, then remembering.  They weren’t alone--one of the Elves that had accompanied Gildor Inglorion sat nearby, and had kindled a small, neat fire, and had hung a pot over it from a small tripod constructed of dead wood.  It was late afternoon.

            “Welcome back to awareness, Lord Samwise,” the Elf said quietly.

            “I thought as you was goin’ West with the rest,” Sam observed.

            A graceful shake of his head and the Elf replied, “Not all of us wish to leave at this time, although we accompanied our lord to the Havens to bid him farewell, as you did with the Lord Frodo.  No, there will remain a remnant of our people here on the hither shore for a time yet--until after you have left it, I suspect.  If you will allow me, I would be honored to take the same ship as you do when you go to rejoin your Master.”

            “It would be a great honor,” Sam said as Pippin and Merry awoke and stretched.

            They went back slowly, and as they reached the Woody End a few days later at last they parted, the Elf turning back to the Elven woods hall where he was to meet with others of his folk, Sam headed South toward Hobbiton,  Merry and Pippin continuing Eastward toward Buckleberry.  Not long after he found himself alone Sam came to one of the groves he’d replanted.  He dismounted from his pony and examined the young trees, awed at how much they’d grown in little more than a year and a half, at last sitting in the midst of them, hearing the song of their growth sung in his heart, until at last he rose heavily and headed on foot back toward Hobbiton, followed by Bill and Strider.

            Dusk was falling as he reached Hobbiton and took Strider and Bill to the Ivy Bush’s stables and saw them in their stalls, unharnessed, groomed, fed and watered.  It was dark as he at last turned homeward and saw the green door open to let the light held within escape to welcome him, as he saw his wife’s bright smile of joy, and he was drawn in and pressed down into the Master’s chair in the parlor--for he was the Master of Bag End now, he realized.  He was Master; Rosie was Mistress.  A family at last lived in Bag End, and would fill it before they were through.  The family Frodo himself had desired was there.  Frodo might be gone, but not the family he loved, hoped for, wished to fulfillment.  And as he accepted his daughter into his arms Sam looked up into his wife’s loving eyes and murmured, “Well, I’m back.”

            After they left Sam in the Woody End, Merry and Pippin rode sedately for a time.  Another bout of solemnity had taken them, until at last with an inarticulate cry of grief Merry drubbed his heels into Stybba’s sides and the pony broke into a gallop.  A few moments later Pippin was giving chase, a cry of challenge on his lips.

            So it went for the remainder of the day, the ponies alternately cantering and galloping, catching their masters’ shifting moods.  None challenged them when the reached the Bridge and crossed it; on the East side of it they turned North into Buckland.  Some saw them in the gathering dusk and hailed them, but they didn’t answer.  They passed the doors to the Hall, and at last reached the turning to Crickhollow.  Merimac stood at the gate, opening it for them and drawing it closed behind them.  Light shone behind the curtains, and the door opened as they approached, the Master of Buckland greeting them and drawing them in and bringing them into the parlor where they were made to sit down.

            “Mac will see to Stybba and Jewel,” he assured them.  “Pal is filling the tubs now for you to bathe.  We cleaned the kitchen for you, and Esme sent out fresh bread and new cheese and butter to replace those you left out when you hurried away.  The kettle’s on the boil--would you like some tea--or would you prefer a mug of ale?  Lord Halladan sent in a barrel from the Prancing Pony for the two of you.”

            Pippin seemed to be in a haze of shock; he went with no fuss when his father came in and took his hand to lead him to the bathing room where two of the three tubs Merry had made certain were made available for the house already emitted steam scented with lavender oil.  A few minutes later Merry was joining them, apparently as much at a loss to understand how this had come to be as was Pippin.  The two fathers left them there, and the two younger Hobbits were left to strip themselves and get into the tubs and bathe.  After a time Paladin came in with a tray.  Using his foot he hooked a stool between the two tubs and set the tray upon it, smiled proudly at the two of them, then left again.

            The tray held sliced cheese and roast beef between slices of bread, cress and sliced pickle; plates of baby carrots, broccoli, and slices of cucumber; mugs of tea and glasses of rich buttermilk, mushrooms dipped in batter and deep fried.  Merry and Pippin each ate and drank what they could, then soaped themselves and their hair, finally rinsed themselves and got out, dried themselves, emptied the tubs into the drain, and then set them against the wall with the other one.  At last they donned their nightshirts and dressing gowns, finally quitted the chamber.

            Paladin sat in the parlor with a book in his hand, looked up as they peeped in.  “You two look about done in,” he said simply.  “Your beds are turned down.  Want to sleep for a time?”

            Pippin looked at his father sitting there in his shirtsleeves, the strength of shoulders that used to carry lambs and lads with equal ease; at the eyes that had watched countless dawns as he fed his stock and fought to keep his crops from being taken by drought, pests, and floods; at hands that had wielded hoes and pens.  The disquiet he’d seen in his father’s eyes over the past two years was gone--it was as if the Thain was gone and the farmer was back--the farmer and the father.

            “Da?” said the King’s smallest Guardsman.  He was feeling very young at the moment, and very vulnerable.  He didn’t want to invite more criticism.  But he did want--so wanted--his da.

            Paladin Took was up and out of the chair, dropping the book unheeded on the cushions as he rose.  He stepped forward to take his son in his arms.  “It’s all right, Pip,” he murmured into Pippin’s ear.  “I’m sorry, sweetling.  I’m so sorry.  I fought it so long, but I can’t any more.  Oh, my son--again I almost lost you, and this time due to my own stubbornness and foolishness.  Oh, Pippin, I’m so proud of you--so very, very proud of you.”  He held the younger Hobbit away from himself for a moment.  “And look at you--the youngest Captain, I’m told, in the King’s service.  Lord Halladan just went on and on about how skillful you are----”

            “Lord Halladan?”

            “He was coming to the Prancing Pony, and we were going out to talk with him; but then they were advised about Frodo, so he came here instead.  Sara had him admitted to the Bridge Inn and we spoke with him there.  If your Aragorn is anything like his cousins, I can see just why you honor him so.”

            “Frodo’s gone.  He went to the Undying Lands with the Elves and Gandalf.”

            The Thain was back, but not with the suspicions.  “Gandalf is gone, too?”

            “Yes--Gandalf, Gildor Inglorion, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Frodo, Bilbo....”

            “They took Bilbo, too?  Lord Halladan said he’d come with the Elves.”

            “For what little time he has left.  I suspect it’s mostly to help Frodo keep anchored while he recovers.  He’s been so very close to dying, Da.  His heart, I think, mostly.”

            Saradoc had come from the kitchen, and had his arm around Merry.  “Willigrim had warned Pal and Lanti that Frodo was in fragile condition.”

            “He’s not truly been well since he recovered in Gondor,” Merry said.  “He’s not allowed us to tell anyone, although he couldn’t truly hide it no matter how he tried.  He’s even tried to hide it from us!  We were planning on going to be there on the anniversary, though.  We weren’t going to let him go on alone as he’d planned.”

            “What anniversary?” his father asked.

            Pippin explained, “Of when he was stabbed at Weathertop.  The first anniversary we were coming home--had just left Rivendell and were crossing the Bruinen--and his face looked like it had when the Black Riders were there facing him across the ford.  It was all he could do to make Strider carry him across.  But he seemed to get better, although Gandalf slowed down our going.  That was when Sam started making his tea for Frodo.  Then in March he apparently got sick again, just at the time of the anniversary of when the spider bit him.  He didn’t go to work in Michel Delving for two weeks, and he lost weight.  Then last fall it happened again, and again last spring.  Each time he’s gotten worse.  You saw him at the Free Fair--he’d not have survived another bout.”

            “He even sent Sam off for the thirteenth of March last spring,” Merry said.  “Had Freddy and Budgie there instead so Sam and Rosie would agree to go to the farm for a few days.”

            Pippin added, “At least he has a chance now.  At least he has Lord Elrond by him, and Gandalf and the Lady and Bilbo.  If they can’t help him get through the sixth, no one can.”

            Sara asked softly, “What did he say?”

            Merry was shaking his head.  “He didn’t speak.  Sam told us on the way home he’d not really spoken more than a few words at a time since the birthday, there when they met with the Elves.  Said he was getting quieter and quieter, mostly focusing on Bilbo.”

            “He was surprised to see us, but was mostly relieved we came in spite of his care taken to spare us the parting,” Pippin said.  “He held us, kissed us goodbye, but he didn’t speak.  He was so thin--so very thin--and almost transparent, if you understand me.”  Pippin was weeping again.  He reached up to wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his dressing gown.

            Pal and Sara looked at each other, and then at Merry.  He, too, was weeping once more.  A mutual nod between the fathers, and they led their sons out of the parlor, across to the bedrooms, took them in and saw them into their beds, sat by them, saw them asleep.

            They heard the quiet opening and closing of the door, and went into the parlor to find Mac had sat down on a settle.  “Ponies are taken care of.  Looks as if much of today they’ve just been riding, riding steadily.  They had a bit of food and more of that Elven bread, although only a few wafers left.”  He indicated the saddlebags where he’d laid them over an ottoman.

            Sara went into the bathing room and gathered the discarded clothes, checked their pockets, and dropped them into the basket for laundry.  He brought out what he’d found there--Pippin’s pen knife; a carefully tied coil of twine from a bale of hay; two pebbles; a few coins--one of them a silver penny of the King’s coinage; a cork; and some of the leaves and the careful wooden skewers used to fasten the packets of lembas closed.  A note he’d written to Merry reminding him of a planned meeting with certain farmers from Buckleberry; a marble Frodo gave his cousin when he was just a lad; more coins; a stick of graphite wrapped tightly in thick paper to keep it better protected but with the point protruding; a button pulled from Merry’s waistcoat; his striker; his new leather wallet for his pipeweed; his pipe; a thick packet of papers.  He set these on the table between their chairs.

            Pal had gone to the kitchen to prepare it for the morning.  Then they went with Mac to the paddock to retrieve their own ponies, and headed back for the Hall, prepared to assure their wives that the lads were back and in good condition.

            Esme met them at the door as they arrived.  “There’s a letter from Brendi,” she said.  “He’s gone on to Hobbiton with Oridon and Ordo Goodbody.  He’s confirmed what he said the other day--we’re to be at Bag End day after tomorrow at eleven for the reading of Frodo’s will.”

            “This is cutting it very close indeed,” Sara sighed.  “But we can do it, I think.  We’ll take care of things here.  Can you and Lanti go to Crickhollow very early and get them up and here as shortly after dawn as possible?  We’ll put them in the coach with you lasses, and lead their ponies.  I don’t think they should ride far again so soon.  They were all but falling down tonight from the grief and exhaustion.”

            And so it was that at first light the two Travelers were awakened by their mothers and Berilac, very rapidly dressed and fed, enough clothing for a couple days placed in Pippin’s pack, and hurried out to take their readied ponies to the Hall where they were shifted into the Thain’s coach and they were on their way, still not completely certain how things had been managed quite so efficiently.

4:  The Reading of the Will

            Brendi had taken rooms for Master, Thain, Merry and Pippin, Mac, Merimas, and Beri and their wives at the Green Dragon in Bywater, it being larger than the Ivy Bush.  Many of the other Brandybucks who would wish to be present accompanied the party.  Merry and Pippin drowsed through most of the trip, finding they couldn’t seem to keep awake.  They ate as they traveled, and stopped infrequently to allow for relief to those in the party.  When they arrived in Bywater it was quite late, and Rubo had all in readiness for them.  No one had said much as they traveled, and now they just went to their rooms and collapsed into bed, all feeling quite muzzy.

            Brendi and the Goodbodies, father and son, stayed at the Ivy Bush, and were up early to prepare things for the reading of Frodo’s will.  Timmins and Mags indicated they had all well in hand for the meal to be delivered to Bag End near noon; Ordo picked up the last of the garments to be delivered to Sam appropriate to his new station as Master of Bag End; the last large case of personal bequests to be given today was wrestled into the trap to be taken up the Hill; and not long after nine o’clock Brendi and Oridon presented themselves at the door and indicated they had precise directions as to what they needed to do.

            Sam had eaten the meal Rosie had ready for him soon after his arrival home, then had gone to the bathing room and all but fallen asleep in the tub, and finally had gone to his room and fallen into his bed.  Once Elanor was settled in the crib in the adjacent nursery Rosie had joined him, holding him close most of the night.  He’d awakened early, sat up, and smiled to look down on her sleeping form in the pre-dawn light, then looked about the room.  Some things were different now.  The boxes of ink bottles, drying sand, and blotting paper were now on the desk here instead of on the desk in the study, along with the other items Bilbo had long ago bought for Frodo’s use, about a year after Frodo came to Bag End--all save the stationery box.  Where that might be Sam had no idea.  And hanging over the back of the chair for the desk was the Lord’s mantle Aragorn had presented to Frodo just before they left Minas Tirith.  Sam looked at it thoughtfully.  Frodo had himself placed it there--of that he was certain.  “And just how far have you gone in makin’ me your heir, Frodo Baggins?” he asked that now far-away presence.

            The seventh he spent quietly, doing some work in the garden, examining things about the smial.  He held Rosie and Elanor as he could.  He made a short visit to see his father, but didn’t stay long.  He didn’t eat a good deal, but sat for a time on the short sofa by the fire with his arms about Rosie and her head on his shoulder, then went to bed and slept without any dreams he could later remember.

            When he awoke the morning of the eighth he found Rosie had laid out his clothes for him, and stopped to look at them carefully.  At the Free Fair at Midsummer Frodo had bought a valet stand from a woodworker’s stall; it had been delivered a week later and brought into Sam’s room.  Sam had protested, but Frodo had just shaken his head.  “I have my own, Sam.  I want you to have one fitting for Lord Samwise.”

            On it now was draped a suit of clothing Sam had never seen--new drawers and undervest of fine linen; a finely made shirt of a rich cream color embroidered with silver stars and golden sunbursts; a vest of a royal blue brocade worthy of Aragorn himself; a rich green waistcoat; dark trousers and matching braces.  He went forward and examined them, touching them gently, feeling the richness of the fabrics.

            “Hullo, love,” Rosie said as she sat up.

            “You had this made for me?” he asked.

            “No.  From what as I can tell Master Frodo had it made for you, Sam.  Ordo Goodbody brought it the other day, said as you ought to wear it today.”

            “Why today of all days?”

            “His will’s goin’ to be read today, Sam.  He ordered it done that way.”

            Sam gave a deep sigh, went to the privy, returned and carefully began to dress.  He remembered how odd he felt in Minas Tirith having to dress up in fine clothes, and how Aragorn and Frodo had both laughed and told him that he’d best accustom himself to it, for it was expected of Lord Samwise son of Hamfast.  Well, now he was Master of Bag End it appeared the same was expected of him.

            He was solemn as he ate his breakfast, and at last carried his daughter and a letter from his brother Hal into the parlor to have a time of sheer comfort when the first knock came at the door and he admitted Ordo Goodbody.

            Soon he was retreating to the study to stay out of the way of those who were going in and out and reordering the house for the day.  Shortly after nine the Brandybuck lawyer arrived with Oridon Goodbody, Frodo’s primary banker of discretion, to oversee the last of it.  Today he was all business, but Sam realized that Brendilac Brandybuck was hiding his own grief and concern behind that professional demeanor.  Several times he’d stop with one item or another in his hands, stop and look at it, and would surreptitiously wipe at his eyes.

            Frodo had decided on quite a different form of dispersal of his bequests than had Bilbo.  No selection of items in hall and parlor with tags on them this time; things were neatly sorted into a variety of boxes and cases instead.  The parlor was cleared of furniture and a table set at one side; chairs, couches, settles, and benches were carefully arranged throughout the rest of the room facing that table.  On the table were set a stack of documents sufficient to impress almost anyone, and Brendi even came into the study to ask Sam for the book of the Bagginses and the copies of the will and the deed to Bag End and all other papers Frodo had already gone through with him and Rosie, and these were added to the stack.

            At ten Will Whitfoot arrived with Mina and Gordolac; then others began arriving--Iris Baggins and her brother-in-law Milo Burrows; Folco Boffin; Freddy and Estella Bolger accompanied by Budgie Smallfoot; Daisy and Griffo Boffin; the Proudfoots from the Row; Widow Rumble; Moro and Daisy Burrows; the Thain and Mistress Paladin and other assorted Tooks; Master Saradoc and Mistress Esmeralda and the folk from Buckland; the Cottons; the Gaffer with Marigold and young Tom; then other relatives and neighbors.

            Merry and Pippin had risen early, and indicated they needed to go out on their own for a time and walk; they arrived separately from their parents and families and sat together, Merry beside Estella Bolger.  Shortly after them Mags and Timmins arrived from the Ivy Bush and began carrying food into the dining room where they carefully began arranging it.

            Sam looked in to watch this in amazement.  “What’s all this?” he asked.

            Mags smiled at him.  “Mr. Frodo--he arranged for us to bring all this today, so as you wouldn’t need to cook none.  I hope as he’ll enjoy it, for it’s much as he used to love to eat at the Ivy Bush.”

            She was amazed when the gardener began to weep and withdrew down the passage.  “What did I say, Tim?” she asked.  “What’s he a-cryin’ about?”

            Then Ordo Goodbody looked in, his face very pale.  “This the luncheon Mr. Frodo asked for?” he queried.

            “Yes,” Timmins said, looking up from where he was arranging cakes on a platter.  “Is Mr. Baggins available?  I’d like to give him his change, you see.  Didn’t cost us nearly as much as we’d thought as it would.”

            Ordo blinked several times rapidly.  “I don’t think,” he said carefully, “that he desired any overage returned to him.  But he’s not here today.”

            “Why not?” asked Mags.  “I made one special pheasant pastie just for him, just as he used to like them.”

            Ordo looked away, then back again.  “Mr. Baggins isn’t here,” he said softly.  “We’re reading his will today.”

            Both Mags and Timmins looked on him with shock.  “He dead?” asked Timmins at last.

            “We don’t think so, but he’s left the Shire.  If he hadn’t it’s very likely he would be so.”

            “And he’s not comin’ back, like old Mr. Bilbo?” Mags asked.

            Ordo gave her a slow, reluctant nod.  “That’s right.  He’s gone and can’t return.  Master Gamgee went with him and saw him on his way.”

            Mags sat heavily in a chair.  “It’s not right,” she muttered.  “It’s not right as he ought to of gone.”

            “Then who’s Master of Bag End now?” Timmins asked.

            “Mr. Samwise and Missus Rosie are Master and Mistress of Bag End now,” Ordo explained.

            “Mr. Frodo go back to them foreign parts to be with that King o’ his?” Timmins pressed.

            “No.  He’s gone further than that.  The King shall not see him again, either.”  Timmins and Mags exchanged blank looks.  Ordo finally told them, “He was very ill, you must understand.  He needed special healing.  He’ll not be able to return.  He loved your cooking, Mags, and has been most upset he’s not been able to eat properly for so long.”

            “So I can’t feed him up....”  Mags looked up at him, begging him with her gaze to say it wasn’t so.

            “No, you won’t be able to feed him up.”  He straightened.  “I’m sorry.  I know he didn’t wish for things to happen this way.  However, as they have----”  He gave a wan smile and withdrew, leaving them to slowly finish setting out their offerings.

            When at last the will was read all listened quietly.  Although some were surprised to learn that Frodo had adopted Samwise Gamgee as his heir none seemed to find this amiss, unlike when Bilbo had done the same with Frodo when the Sackville-Bagginses were insistent there had to be irregularities about the will.  All watched with approval when Sam opened the small box presented to him at that and took out the pocket watch Frodo had left for him.  The same approval was given when, in memory of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, a set of dinnerware made of silver by the Dwarves of Erebor was presented to Hyacinth Bracegirdle, with whom Lobelia had spent the last few months of her life.

            At one point Brendi looked at Daisy and Griffo Boffin.  “Fosco and Forsythia weren’t able to come?” he asked.

            “Lilac and Emro refused to let them come early,” Daisy said, making a face.

            “Fosco Baggins is named next family head for the Bagginses, although as he’s not of age as yet he’ll have to do all family business under Will’s supervision,” Brendi explained.

            Iris looked at Daisy with a shrug.  “Ponto certainly couldn’t serve as such, and Porto’s been gone for five years after all.  Guess there’s not a great deal of choice now.”

            “Fosco will do well, Iris,” Daisy promised her.  “You can reassure Ponto of that.  We’ll be bringing him to see you two when they come next time.”  Iris gave a studied nod in response.

            Many of the others looked at one another in question, for most had no idea who this Fosco Baggins was; but those who apparently knew let the matter rest.

            When he reached the bequests intended for Narcissa Boffin, Brendi looked a question at Folco.  “She wouldn’t come,” Folco reported sadly.  “The letter he sent her threw her completely.  I’ve never seen her so heartbroken.”

            “Would you agree to take her bequests to her?  Frodo was himself heartbroken not to be able to offer her more than he did.”

            Folco nodded solemnly, then accepted his own bequests.

            At one point Brendi looked at Sam.  “I think you should know that Frodo’s interests outside the Shire have been granted to the next head of the Baggins family.”

            “That’s right and proper,” Sam grunted.  “I’ve more’n I can properly deal with now in that line, I think.”  The rest looked with curiosity at Sam, except for Merry and Pippin who gave small chuckles.

            It was the final bequests to the Shire itself that took almost all by surprise.  That Frodo had bought a library as a gift for the children of the Shire and had arranged for more books to be added to it from Gondor, the Golden Wood, Rivendell, and elsewhere seemed an extravagant gesture to many there.  But both the Thain and Master were pleased to learn Frodo had set up an endowment for free schools for the children of the Shire, beginning here in the region of the Hill itself.  And the idea of a healers’ herb garden and library certainly found approval by all.

            At last Brendi read the final portion of the will:  Now, a word to the Conspirators, Fredegar, Sam, Pippin, and Merry--to you I leave my frustration and fury, that every time I sought to protect you you refused to allow it.  You would not let me keep my secrets, nor allow me my journey alone to Death.  Each and every time I sought to spare you, your obstinacy put you in harm’s way in spite of all I could think to do.  And now, at last, I find myself able to let loose on you the rage of the wronged Cousin! 

            Yet, the fact remains that you were right, and I was wrong.  In my pride I thought I could bear the burden alone, make my way alone, save the Shire alone.  I humbly beg your forgiveness for the unspoken curses I formulated as I foresaw every disaster you would face that you refused to allow me to bear for you.  For what did I in the paucity of my imagination know of what Terror is?  You proved stronger than I, all of you, even you, Freddy, who feared to leave the safety of the Shire but who proved yourself, to your own amazement, as brave and as dedicated as any.  Each of you went through trials I still cannot imagine, and all have earned every honor ever bestowed upon you.  I bend my knee in respect to each and all of you, and beg you forgive me for this, my last betrayal, for not telling you I am leaving.  I remain a coward, and weak.  I am, I know, physically weak now, and I could not bear seeing your final grief.  Please, please forgive me.

...

            I beg all of you to accept my apologies for the pain and grief that I have given you, wittingly or unwittingly, as I have fought my own long defeat.  And I ask you remember gently your cousin and neighbor and one-time friend,

Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo and Primula

Dated this eighteenth day of September, 1421 S.R.

In Bag End, the Hill, Hobbiton, Westfarthing, The Shire

in Eriador in the Kingdom of Arnor under the rule of the King Elessar

Middle Earth

Post Script:  Please, on our Birthday of September 22, may you always raise a toast to Bilbo and myself, and if I remain within the bounds of Arda, I will do so to you.  F.B.

            Most were weeping now.  At last Brendi wiped his own eyes.  “There are some more personal bequests, but Frodo asked they be personally delivered to the recipients that Sam and Rosie not be importuned as happened after Bilbo left.” 

            “That was thoughtful of him,” Iris commented.  “It was certainly undignified the way Bilbo arranged it.”

            Sam turned to look at Sancho Proudfoot.  “And I’ll tell you now--there’s no treasure behind the walls here.”

            Sancho, who at the age of eleven had been among those who’d convinced themselves there was such at Bag End, flushed and laughed.  “I’ll be remembering that, Sam,” he said.  “And you can be certain as Pando won’t be following in my footsteps there.”

            Brendi now addressed Sam again.  “Oridon and Ordo will be wanting to spend some time to go over the farm shares and partnerships you now control as well, and I’ll have some more to go over with you regarding the same.”

            “We can maybe begin going through that in say, a fortnight’s time or so?” Sam asked, looking between the lawyer and the bankers. 

            “Yes,” Oridon said.  “Give us all a chance to settle to the new situation.”  Sam looked relieved.

            Finally all rose and repaired to the dining room to take part in the meal Frodo had arranged.  Sam found himself returning to the parlor with his plate of food, and Estella, Merry, Folco, and Freddy sat near him with theirs.  His eyes were sad and thoughtful.  “What is it that’s bothering you, Sam?” Merry finally asked.

            Sam shrugged.  “Was just thinkin’,” he said.  “Strider, he dipped into his account with the bankers in the Fourth Circle to pay for his weddin’, and then I did the same.  But for my Master--he dipped into it to pay for his bequests and his wake.”  He looked off toward the window near the front door.  “Don’t seem fair.”  He sighed heavily.  “Wish as he’d done some courtin’ of Miss Narcissa, you know.  He deserved some happiness here afore he went--although if he had, I don’t know as he’d of gone.  He was still likely to of died, I suppose; but maybe just havin’ the chance to be happy that way he’d of lasted longer, not have known as much grief in his decision.”

            “He would have hated for her to see him on the sixth, though,” Freddy said, shaking his head.  “He was appalled Budgie, Viola, and I saw him that way last year.  Did he ever tell you how it hit him?”

            Sam shook his head.  “No--he was talkin’ that mornin’ of how it would never really heal and all, but then he left for your place and seemed right cheerful.  When he come back it was obvious he’d had a bad time; but what it was like I have no idea.  Wasn’t acceptin’ his tea and his digestion was awful again; and was right afraid as he’d die or somethin’ on the twenty-third.  But he didn’t.  All upset about what might of been, you know.  Was a one at times to dig his own grave afore he was even dead.”

            “You speaking of Frodo?” asked Will Whitfoot as he entered and took a nearby seat.  At Sam’s nod the Mayor sighed.  “Wish he’d agreed to run for Mayor.”

            “And not last a whole term?  Not likely, Will,” Sam said.  “He was thinkin’ on it a good deal afore the Free Fair.  But that mornin’ his neck was infected again, and I think then he knew as he was just likely to grow worse and not better.”

            Will shrugged as Mina joined them.  “Well, it was a sad day for the Shire when he decided that.  Even if he couldn’t fill a whole term, the Shire still did best under him, you know.  Brilliant, caring soul he was.”

            All indicated their agreement.

            Pippin had intended to sit near Merry and Sam, but his parents asked him to sit with them instead in the second parlor.  This room had been used very rarely since the death of Belladonna Baggins; even Lobelia, once she moved into Bag End, had found it horribly stiff and uncomfortable.

            Now that they had some privacy, Paladin and Eglantine Took made shift to reconcile with their son.

            “We’ve been wanting to beg your forgiveness, Pippin,” his father told him.  “To accept that you’ve been growing up in spite of us, and that you truly did prove yourself a hero in the outer world while you were gone, was pretty hard for us to do.  It’s hard, you’ll find, to accept that such horrible things exist in the world.  Maybe, when you’re a father yourself, you’ll understand why we--why we reacted the way we did.  To think that you and Frodo and Merry and Sam went off on such a terrible quest to accomplish so much was almost more than we could bear.  We’re your parents--we’re supposed to protect you from such things, and we couldn’t!  And when we began hearing of trolls and these Black Riders and awful rings and so on--it was terrifying.  I didn’t want for that to be true, and your mother couldn’t bear the thought you were ever in any real danger.  To learn what did happen--oh, Pippin!  If we could have spared you we would have.

            “But know this, Pippin--we are so proud of you and what you accomplished!  I know you and Merry and Frodo have tried to explain; but it took the dinner with Frodo and Sam for us to truly understand and accept.  And then there was finding Crickhollow empty and receiving Frodo’s letter to you.  Oh, wait....”  He reached into his jacket and brought out the letter and set it in Pippin’s hands.  “I hope you can forgive me for opening it, but we had to see if this explained why you weren’t there.”

            Pippin looked at his father closely, then looked at the address on the envelope.  Pain twisted his face momentarily.  “He was so weak when he wrote this,” he said.  He lifted the flap and brought out the letter and began reading.  Again he took a deep breath, only barely keeping himself from weeping again.  “Sweet Valar,” he whispered.  “Oh, Frodo!”  He looked up with stricken eyes to share his grief with his father.  “Feeling frayed?  I think I can accept that.  His eyes, there at the Havens--he didn’t say a word, but his eyes said it all.  He couldn’t bear the pain any more.  He couldn’t bear not having hope any more.”  His fingers trembled as he replaced the letter in the envelope, and finally he set it down on the table beside him, then laid his hands in his lap and looked down on them.  “Oh, Frodo,” he said again.

            “Pippin, can you forgive me for what I’ve said to you?  For doubting you, and calling you--calling you a coward?”

            Pippin looked up again into his father’s eyes.  “Forgive you, Da?  Oh, of course I do!  I’ve just wanted you to be--to be like it was before, back when we were on the farm and you weren’t Thain yet.  I just wanted you to understand!”

            Pippin looked up blankly toward the ceiling.  “When I was little you just knew how to be a father.  I asked for something foolish, and you didn’t just say no or even try to explain--you’d say, ‘Let’s just try it and see how it works out, shall we?’ and we’d try it.  In short order I’d see what you could have tried explaining to me, but knew wouldn’t work--that this was a foolish idea and it would end up getting me something quite different than I’d hoped it would.  Only if something was terribly dangerous would you ever just say no or forbid me.  As I got older you would ask me to figure out for myself how something would work out, and encourage me to work it through, although it wasn’t something I liked doing or was particularly good at.

            “And then when I just did something without thinking it out ahead of time and found myself in trouble because of it, you’d shake your head, but you’d stand by me and help me work it out--like the time I took Aunt Diamente’s pearl necklace and broke the string--you helped me find every one of the beads and taught me how to restring them properly and all and made me apologize to her, and everything was better afterwards than it was before, even the necklace because there were knots for each bead now so if the thread broke again all the beads wouldn’t fall off it.

            “But when we had to be there in the Great Smial in the winter you didn’t have time to do that.  Lalia and Cousin Ferumbras were always there, resenting you; pushing you to do things you didn’t want to do, didn’t do well; playing games around you.  Then there was the accident and folk were blaming Pearl, and the worry was so great, the fear they could blacken her name or cause her to do permanent harm to herself.  You couldn’t just help me learn the best way for me any more--instead you had to just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘do it because I said so’ usually without even any explanations.  And you didn’t have time to listen to me any more--instead you’d nod and grunt and were really thinking of far different things altogether.

            “Then Ferumbras died and you were Thain, and you’ve been a good Thain.  But you have to focus so on being Thain we’ve not been able just to talk for--for ages, Da.  I have an idea and you sort of half-listen, mumble or grunt, and forget about it.  I want to try anything and you don’t suggest we try it and see or insist I think it out; instead you just wave your hands at me or tell me outright it’s a fool idea and that’s it.

            “If I’d told you Frodo had really inherited Bilbo’s ring of invisibility, would you have believed it?”

            The Thain looked at his son, hurt in his heart because he knew what Pippin had said was true.  He thought about the question, then answered honestly, “No.”

            “I always thought you believed Bilbo made up that part of the story.”

            Paladin nodded.

            Pippin swallowed, then continued.  “So, since you didn’t believe Frodo had such a ring to begin with, realizing that this ring was dangerous and telling you would have been pointless.”

            Again his father nodded, feeling somewhat bleak.

            “Since you stopped helping me try things or thinking things through, it’s always been Frodo and Merry and even Sam who’ve done that for me.  Now Merry and me, we were worried for Frodo and what might happen to him.  He’d been getting so anxious, so restless.  We knew Frodo would leave to look for Bilbo one day--we knew it; and the closer he got to fifty the more certain we were he’d do it soon.

            “Then Gandalf came back and we realized he was worried about this ring of Bilbo’s that Frodo had now.  We were spying on Frodo--we’d been doing it for a long time, and Sam had helped us do it, for we knew that when Frodo finally left he’d try to do it alone so no one else would be in danger.  And, because he was trying to do it alone we knew it would kill him.  He may be one of the smartest Hobbits ever born, but Frodo Baggins is one of the most impractical when it comes to himself and his safety.  He could throw stones and use his proper punch, but that was all he could do to protect himself.  He wouldn’t have the heart to snare a coney or a bird and kill and gut and skin it for the pot.  He’d have been out there in the wild trying to live on whatever foods he could find growing and fish; but you know as well as I do there are some days the fish just won’t bite or be found in the right places to tickle them out.”

            Again Paladin Took nodded, realizing that Pippin truly understood his cousin.

            “Gandalf asked Frodo to throw the Ring into the parlor fire, right there in the other room, to see if the fire letters could be seen on It if It became hot enough.  Frodo couldn’t do it, Da.  Even then he couldn’t even appear to toss It away, or do something he thought might endanger It, even though he knew in a practical way the parlor fire couldn’t really hurt It.  The Ring was still mostly asleep, Da, yet It had taken him that far already. 

            “So Gandalf took It from Frodo and threw It in himself, and sure enough, the fire lettering did show up on It.  Sam told us afterwards you could hear how Gandalf’s voice changed, how serious he’d become, how worried he was--truly terrified of what he’d learned.  I think that was the only time Gandalf ever really touched the Ring, you know.  He knew how quickly It could take him, you see.  He was already very powerful himself and had been given a strict charge--to teach us here in Middle Earth how to stand up to Sauron, each as we could.  If he had the Ring he could probably have been able to control It--for a time.  But It would have taken him fairly quickly, because no one could really just control that Ring--no one but Sauron himself.  It would have corrupted everything he tried to do with It, and then It would have managed to corrupt him, too. 

            “Frodo tried to give It to him, you see, and he ordered Frodo not to tempt him, for through him the Ring could do more horrible things than we can imagine.

            “The others Frodo tried to give It to said the same.  Elrond wouldn’t even look at It more than he had to; Aragorn refused It utterly; and the Lady Galadriel was strongly tempted but said no, that It would rob her of herself if she tried.  Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, Aragorn--they were all born and bred and trained all their lives to wield power; yet they were afraid of the Ring and what It could do to them, and what It would do to the rest of the world through them.”

            He sighed.  “So we couldn’t tell you, Da.  You wouldn’t have believed us, for you didn’t even believe Bilbo’s story of a ring that made him invisible was true.  And you would have told Uncle Sara and Aunt Esmeralda, and they would have interfered.  Frodo wouldn’t have gotten away in time, for he’d have felt honor-bound to try to intervene for us and to get us out of trouble.  He’d not have sold Bag End or left Hobbiton; and when the Black Riders came they’d have taken him and the Ring, and It would be back with Its Master now, and the whole of Middle Earth would be under Sauron’s control.  And even now the Shire would be beginning to look like Mordor--dead and devastated.” 

            He was shaking markedly.  “I was there, Da, outside Mordor.  I saw through the gate when they opened it to let the emissary through what it looked like.  It was horrible.  And Isengard was the same, for Saruman was already trying to turn himself into Sauron so if he got hold of the Ring he could use It.  You saw what Saruman--Sharkey did here in the short time he was here, Da.  It would have been immeasurably worse if he’d had more time or more Men, and would have been the destruction of all if he’d actually taken the Ring.”

            Eglantine had sat, spellbound, as Pippin spoke.  Now at last she licked her lips, swallowed, and tried to speak.  “So, Pippin, that’s why you didn’t try telling us.”

            He nodded.  “Merry insisted we write the letters, and gave them to Brendi, swearing him to secrecy and not to send them until a month after the birthday.  Brendi had no idea what the letters were about, or what we planned to do, or anything like that.  Merry did talk a bit with Uncle Sara, enough to let him know he’d become aware of a danger facing Frodo that he felt bound to help him through, so Uncle Sara had sort of an idea that Merry had indeed thought it through and wouldn’t do anything foolish.  But then Merry’s always been the practical one.”

            Pal and Lanti both nodded.

            “Merry wasn’t going to allow me to go.  He wouldn’t ask Folco because of Folco’s mum; and Freddy was no good, for we knew he’d never leave the Shire--not then, at least.  Sam would go, for he’d never let Frodo go into any danger without him.  Sam has no problem skinning and gutting coneys, at least.”

            All three of them found themselves sharing a grin.  Then his mother asked, “How did you get Merry and Frodo and Sam to allow you to go?”

            Pippin tossed his head and snorted.  “How was Sam going to even try to tell me no?  He had no authority over me and he knew it.  He’d not have bothered.  Merry tried, and I let him know if he tried to leave without me it I’d follow behind them.  Told them the same at Rivendell, too, and they were wise enough to realize I meant it--all of them, including Frodo and Merry as well as Gandalf and Elrond.

            “Frodo needed me for as long as he stayed with us.  He needed me to help him keep from being overwhelmed with the seriousness of it.  He needed me to help him remember how to laugh.  You two and the folk of the Great Smial--you didn’t need me.  Frodo did; and because he was carrying the Ring, all of Middle Earth needed me to be by him while I could be.”

            Paladin realized he’d been crying again for some minutes.  He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.  “Oh, Pippin--I had no idea.  And it does sound as if you’d--thought it out.”

            Pippin nodded and then sighed.  “Yes, Da, I thought it out.  I’m sorry I hurt you as I did.  But I’m not sorry I went.  Frodo would have laid himself down and died of horror probably before they got through Moria if we hadn’t--Merry, Sam, and me.”  Again he snorted.  “Actually, he’d very likely not have gotten out of the Shire.  He’d have made it to the Bridge and maybe a bit further, but he’d have been taken probably by the ruffians Saruman had already sent to gather around the Shire and the Breelands.  I doubt that Aragorn would have found him before they did.”

            Paladin found himself remembering the last time Frodo came to the Great Smial, before he and Lanti had driven their poor beleaguered cousin out of their presence by refusing to believe him.  He’d commented that Eglantine had already done much to prepare Pippin for courtly ways, and that the Thain had already taught their son much of evaluating situations and thinking things through, preparing him to serve as a counselor to the King.  Looking now at Peregrin’s sad expression, he realized that Frodo hadn’t spoken idle words, that Pippin was far wiser than he’d realized--had taken those early lessons to heart, had learned them well, had put them to good use.

            Paladin Took reached out to his son, tipped Pippin’s face toward his own, and smiled through his continuing tears.  “And you were right, Peregrin Took,” he said, then pulled his son to him in one of the embraces he’d almost forgotten how to give him in the anxious years he’d spent as the Took and Thain of the Shire.  “Oh, my beloved, beloved, so wise son.”  And the last of the reserve Pippin had managed to hold toward his father melted away, a small bit of ice finally succumbing to the cheeriness of a returned Sun.

5:  Openness Returned

            Finally most of the guests took their leave, and at last only Paladin, Eglantine, Saradoc, Esmeralda, Merry, Pippin, Freddy, and Budgie remained with Brendilac Brandybuck at Bag End.  They gathered finally in the dining room with Sam and Rosie.  Marigold had offered to take Elanor for an hour so her parents could speak plainly and without distractions with those left of what life with Frodo had become.  Sam courteously poured wine, cider, or ale for each of those remaining, and once each had a cup before them and perhaps some of the remaining food to nibble on, he began to speak, quietly describing the last two years.

            “He didn’t wish any to realize as how weak he was, as to how wounded he’d been.  He didn’t wish for any of you to know of the scars.  If’n he’d been able to hide the fact as he’d lost his finger, he’d of done so.  But he’d realized if he just did things as he was used to doin’, most folks would never even notice.  And if they did notice he’d threaten them with the Look and they’d back off and not mention it--or at least not where he could hear it.”  No one laughed, but there were some understanding smiles to that observation.

            “So he did his best to hide how he was feelin’, and I suspect as most folks never even noticed there was aught wrong with him.”

            He sighed.  “So, he’d go out and do things anyways, and I was all for it, for he needed some purpose, I knew, to keep him grounded, anchored, here to the Shire.  But we didn’t dream that the anniversaries of when he was hardest hurt would affect him so.  Each time he got worse, and he about give up a time or two, but he’d always pull through anyways, though never as much as he’d done afore.

            “He’d not of lived through the sixth, you see.”

            Budgie Smallfoot cleared his throat and looked at his friend and employer before he added his confirmation of what Sam had said.  “When he came to Mr. Freddy’s house last year he was fine until the evening came, and then the memories of the time when he was stabbed in his shoulder hit him, and he just collapsed with them in the guest room.  His heart was racing and laboring badly.  He was in great distress.  Then last spring he was concerned that the memories would return again as they had the previous year on the anniversary of when he was bitten by the great spider, so he arranged for Sam and Rosie to go to the Cottons’ farm to spend time with them and for Freddy and me to come to Bag End.  It was worse still.  And last summer during the period of extraordinarily hot weather we had--he collapsed.  The heat was to blame, yes, but so was his heart in general.  It was actively failing then.  He was certain he’d not survive when the memories returned in October again.”

            They were all looking at one another now, each realizing that he or she had known this was true, had seen a piece of the puzzle, had realized the face Frodo presented hid the reality of his fading.  They spoke at length, and of how Frodo had yet felt this was little enough in face of what would have been lost had he not done what he’d done.  His life had been little enough to offer, he’d felt, in comparison to the destruction of the Shire which would have occurred had he not agreed to take the Ring out of it, much less the enslavement of all of Middle Earth had the Ring gone back to Sauron.  “He thought it an acceptable sacrifice,” Sam described it, and the rest had nodded their understanding.

            For Thain, Master, and their wives the talk was a revelation, for not only were they finally coming to grips with what Frodo and the others had done and its fuller implications for all, but they were seeing clearly what they’d caught only glimpses of in the past--that Samwise Gamgee was far more than the simple rustic soul most assumed he would be, considering the fact he labored as a gardener, that he’d never sought to be anything else, that he spoke with the language of the lower classes.

            Today, with him dressed as he was, with the watch chain stretched across his rich brocade vest, with his solemn dignity as he sat there, the worthy Master of Bag End now, there could be no hiding the fact Sam was one of the finest Hobbits in the Shire.  And there was the fact which Frodo had made plain to them at that dinner of his--Merry was a Knight of Rohan and Holdwine of the Mark; Pippin was a Knight of Gondor and Captain of the Guard of the Citadel; but Samwise Gamgee was a Lord of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and a beloved counselor of the King himself.  From that day forward none of those present would ever treat Sam with anything less than full respect and deference.

            At last Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck requested that Sam and Rosie bring Elanor and come with them back to Brandy Hall for a few days.  “Please,” implored Esme.  “Frodo was as our older son, after all; we want so to understand what he went through.  And we’d like for you to see where he spent so much of his time as a lad.”

            Sam finally agreed, and once Marigold had returned with Elanor and promised to come in daily to care for the cat, they changed into suitable riding gear, packed Sam’s saddlebags and pack, saw to it the bairn was clean and fed, and joined Master and Mistress for their return to the Hall.  Meanwhile the Thain and Mistress Eglantine took their leave with great tenderness toward all, and left to return to the Great Smials, for there was much which had gone ignored in the past few weeks. 

            Pippin, however, insisted on going back to Buckland with Merry.  “I’ll come to stay with you in a couple weeks, but I’d already promised I’d help with the building of new paddocks for the Hall and some other projects, and they’ve waited too long as it is.  And, I hope you’ll understand, I need some time just to realize that Frodo is gone.  It’s one thing when you’re racing to catch him before he’s gone or returning home or hurrying here or there; it’s quite another thing to just waken to the fact we need to get through this day without him, and it’ll be this way from now on.”

            “I understand, son,” Pal told him.  His mother just held him closely and murmured in his ear how much she loved him and how wonderful it was to realize just how much he’d grown in the past three years.

            Merry couldn’t restrain himself.  “It’s not as if you hadn’t had time and enough to realize just that.  Glad you’ve finally noticed.”

            Pippin’s parents had the grace to blush.  Paladin examined his nephew.  “I see Pippin’s not the only one we underestimated, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” he commented.  “Considering how willfully blind we were behaving, he’s lucky he’s had you and your parents by him all this time as well as Frodo and Sam.”  Then he said, and it was obvious this was from the heart, “Thank you, Merry, for sticking by him when we couldn’t.”

            And Merry was able to forgive them for Pippin’s sake.

            Some were headed into Bywater to the Dragon while others went to the Ivy Bush in Hobbiton to fetch their transports; soon all were mounted and met along the way to the Road, riding North and then East toward Buckland.  Sam rode his Bill, who seemed perfectly happy to be going out once more; Rosie, carrying Elanor, rode the pony Berry given Sam by Éomer of Rohan; while Esme, who’d come in the Took coach, rode Frodo’s own pony Strider, stroking the gelding gently for the sake of the master he’d lost.  As they rode Sam was asked to tell what he knew of Frodo’s decision to leave Middle Earth.

            “Not much I can tell,” he said, shrugging.  “While he was still servin’ as Deputy Mayor we received packets from Lord Strider and the Lady Arwen, along with letters and the first coins of the new King’s coinage.  Mine didn’t say much--seems as Strider was mighty busy that day or somethin’ like.  He explained he’d written more to Frodo, and that they’d arranged for a special grace, but he was leavin’ it to Frodo to share with me what it was.  But he never did.

            “He was terrible weak after the illness in the spring, back in March, but he did his best to hide it, for we was expectin’ Elanor and he didn’t want me worried for him when he felt as I ought to be focussin’ on Rosie and the bairn.  Also, he wasn’t necessarily eatin’ proper or gettin’ his tea as often as he ought.  More and more as he was writin’ he’d get involved and he would just keep on till the fit passed, and then he’d stop and drink his tea and eat some o’ what we’d brought to him. 

            “But after we got back from the farm he lost his balance in the kitchen and burnt his hand, he did.  So I had Marigold come stay while Tom was off on business, and Widow Rumble’d come for a few hours a day, too; and they didn’t realize I was servin’ him foods as would keep and that the tea was really a draught.  They’d see the food was just sittin’ by him, so they’d take it away, thinkin’ as he wasn’t really hungry; and I guess as Marigold was always makin’ him fresh tea--but regular tea.  By the time as Elanor was born on the twenty-fifth he was quite weak.  Was in his study, lyin’ on his sofa there when I went to tell him and he named her.  Then when I come back with her I realized as he couldn’t rise, and that again his tea had been changed.  Insulted my sister sayin’ as this tea wasn’t fresh enough, for she’d brought it to him only minutes afore, and that was when I first explained as it was properly a draught to her.

            “This time he never fully recovered, and he was havin’ nightmares pretty regular.  It was weeks afore he finally was strong enough to walk into the village or climb the Hill again.  Then in May he went to the Great Smial to try to get the Thain and the Mistress to see reason about Mr. Pippin, and I guess it was a disaster, and that night he had to be put to bed with a draught.”

            Sara sighed.  “So they admitted to me.  When he tried to tell them of the Ring and the nature of the Black Riders and Sharkey he became so frustrated with their unwillingness to listen he became ill.  Willigrim found him collapsed near the healer’s wing, I understand, and put him to bed with a draught of poppy juice.”  He saw a tightening in Sam’s jaw at that.  “What is it about poppy juice, Sam?”

            Sam shook his head.  “Nothin’ really, sir; but he appears to of tried it on his own on one other occasion, though I never saw any sign as he ever used it again.  He was havin’ bad nightmares and headaches through much of May and June, though they appear to of got some better afore Midsummer.  He finally seemed better after that, which surprised several.  Went to Buckland for Mr. Merry’s birthday and seemed right cheerful about it, and was goin’ to the Great Smial with them after, only it was so hot and he became ill and asked to be taken to Budgeford instead.  You heard Mr. Freddy--by then he’d realized as he was dyin’--probably was certain of it durin’ the bouts of headaches afore Midsummer, in fact.

            “I don’t know for certain when it was as he chose at the last, but I suspect it wasn’t till not long afore he left.  There was that hot night in September when he slept the last time atop the hill.  After that he was workin’ hard to--to get all his business done.  It may of been then.”

            “So, he’s known since he got the coins from the King the choice was open to him?” Sara asked.

            “Apparently.”

            “But he didn’t tell you?”

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            It was Rosie who answered as Sam shrugged.  “He wanted Sam to stay here, have a full life, stay by me.  Didn’t want Sam runnin’ away from life just when it was again openin’ up for him, to give it all up for his sake.”

            Saradoc looked at Esmeralda, who was looking back at him, her face concerned.  Esme looked at Rosie and Sam and asked, “But I still don’t understand why he’d consider staying here with such an offer before him, particularly after what he said at the dinner that he was too scoured out to feel he had anything to offer to a wife.  Why would he even consider lingering in Middle Earth?  He’s always loved the Elves and speaks their languages and understands their writing and history.  I’d think he’d have gone in a heartbeat.”

            Sam gave a deep sigh before answering slowly, “First, he never felt as he did nothin’ of worth.  You’ve heard him--in spite of bein’ told how many times it took the three of us to do it--hisself, me, and that Gollum, and none others at the time but us could o’ done it, still he members that at the last he couldn’t finish it or keep hisself from bein’ took by It.  Then he members cursin’ Gollum and that Gollum did die just as he said.  He felt--dirty--for havin’ been took by It that last time, and horrified as he could curse anythin’ with death, especially as Gollum died exactly as he’d said. ’Tween the two, he felt he deserved nothin’.

            “Then, I suspect as he didn’t feel right about goin’ there as a mortal, for those lands weren’t meant to be lived in by mortals.”

            “What he said in the letter he wrote Merry was that he was afraid he’d lose himself if he went, although I’m not certain what that meant,” Sara added.  “He indicated this idea terrified him.”

            “He wrote that?” Sam asked.  At Sara’s nod he stared thoughtfully off into the distance.  “The Lady Galadriel was certain as she’d lose herself if’n she were to take the Ring, that the Ring would make her into exactly the same kind of monster as Sauron hisself.  But certainly goin’ to the Undying Lands shouldn’t ought to cause that kind of change in him.”

            Sara said thoughtfully, “In the end, what choice did he have?  Stay and most likely die in a few days of horrible memories, or go and at least have the chance of healing.  If Budgie is right and each time one of these--anniversaries--came he was just getting worse and worse, it sounds as if should he have survived this next one he’d most likely have been bedridden for what time he had left, which probably wouldn’t be all that long.”  He shook his head.  “Those who are bedridden tend to develop the lung sickness, you know.  I’d hate to see him with that again.”

            They continued riding in silence, knowing that for those who couldn’t sit or stand for any period of time the lung sickness could be deadly.

            They stopped at The Floating Log for a meal and the night.  The Master sat on  one side of the table with Mac on one side and Esme on the other; Pippin sat opposite him with Sam on his right and Merry on his left; Rosie sat on the end between Sam and Esme, while Berilac sat at the other end of the table.  They ate their shepherd’s pie and mushrooms fried with bacon, butter, and onions thoughtfully.  Finally when most of the food was gone Saradoc Brandybuck gave his son a searching look.  “I think it’s time, Merry, for you to talk.  We need to understand, and you need to talk about it.  What made you believe Frodo was in danger?”

            Merry gave a deep sigh, and finally began.  He told about the growing restlessness he’d observed in his cousin, and how this was seen also by Sam, Pippin, Freddy, Folco, and even Berilac.  The three others who were named nodded to confirm this.  He explained the Conspiracy and the parts each played in it, and how Sam was their primary spy, and the growing concern once they realized why Gandalf felt Frodo needed to leave the Shire.

            At first he spoke hesitantly; but as he continued, the narrative became more certain and flowing.  He explained the other reasons why he’d felt Crickhollow was the right place for Frodo to settle if he moved to Buckland besides the privacy it offered and the similarity in feel to what Frodo had known at Bag End.  The ability to have ponies available and the access to the gate in the Hedge were explained, and his parents nodded thoughtfully.

            “I did take ponies that were already mine,” Merry explained needlessly.  “And I actually bought the provisions with my own money so as not to leave Frodo feeling guilty that we were taking food from the Hall.  I tried my best to make certain I was behaving responsibly.”

            “Why didn’t you want Frodo to go alone?” his mother asked him.  “After all, he’s been doing walking trips for thirty years and has a great deal of experience at it.”

            “That was here in the Shire, Mum,” Merry said.  “For all he’s the one who’s actually read the most about the outer world and heard the most from Bilbo what it’s really like, yet he was the worst of us for facing the outer world in the end, particularly alone.  He’ll eat meat he buys at the market; but you remember how he was the year he was nineteen and he’d helped care for the lamb he called Softkins and how he wouldn’t eat lamb again here in the Hall for a year after Softkins was butchered.  And you found you had to keep him from helping with the poultry when he realized the hen with the twisted wing had been taken for the kitchens, for how long was it before he’d eat chicken again?  Once his supply of jerked and smoked meat ran out, what would he live on out there in the wild?  If any ruffians found him, maybe he’d stop one or two with his punch; but if it was a party of, say, four or five, what defense could he offer himself?

            “He needed us, Mum.  He needed my practicality and Pippin’s good spirits and energy and Sam’s capabilities.  He’d never have made it to Bree alone, I’m afraid.  He’d certainly not have made it to Rivendell alone.”

            His mother looked down and gave a reluctant nod.

            Pippin described the trip from Bag End to Crickhollow, while Sam described the discussion with the Elves.  They skimmed through their experiences in the Old Forest.  “I’ll certainly not underestimate it again, Dad,” Merry said solemnly to his father; “and if I ever have to go into it again I’ll be extremely circumspect and respectful.  Although the fact I personally know Ents and wood Elves now may offer me some acceptance by the trees in there.  But I still don’t want to enter there anytime but when Tom Bombadil might be abroad, for I would want to be able to count on calling him in case of an emergency.”

            Sam described their time in Bree, the meeting with Strider, and the trip to Amon Sul.  Merry told of the rest of the trip to Rivendell and the terror for Frodo and what might become of him.  Pippin described the confrontation at the ford and how the waters swept the Nazgul away.

            It was very late when all at last went quiet as Sam repeated what Gandalf had told him of the great earthquake and the way all signs of Mordor and its might were swallowed up by the earth itself.  All other patrons had quitted the common room a long time ago, and even the innkeeper had gone to bed after presenting their table with a small cask to keep them company, realizing that this conversation between the Master and his son and these guests would likely go on much of the night.

            Esme’s face was grey with a combination of fatigue and horror at what the four of them had been through.  She looked at Sam with grief in her eyes.  “How were you and Frodo found?”

            “It were Gandalf and the great Eagles,” Sam said with a sigh.  “Their lord Gwaihir, he carried Gandalf, and they flew from the battlefield toward the mountain.  Must of been dodgin’ the fire and explosions and all, for that mountain was tearin’ itself to pieces with us on it, it was.  I’d carried Frodo out of the chamber afore the worst of it worked itself out, and he come to once we was out of there to crawl down the mountain with me.  We found a hill of ash and stone and moved onto it, but couldn’t get off it or nothin’.  Frodo was hisself again, and very calm.  Was thinkin’ as we’d be dead in a few minutes, and was ready to give over, he was.  He comforted me as he could, and we held each other, and then neither of us member any more till we woke in Ithilien.  I woke up and there was Gandalf, but he wasn’t as I membered him, and I realized I was on a bed and not dead after all; then Mr. Frodo woke again--he’d been dozin’, they told me, after he first woke up.  He was cheerful enough then, but it didn’t last.

            “Why of all things they took us to a feast I don’t know, for neither of us could eat proper at that point.  Frodo became tired so quick, although he was doin’ his best to hide it even then.  I’ve never seen such a one as him for makin’ certain as he seemed to be fully in control when he wasn’t.  So I did my best to help him as secret as I could, standin’ by him to help him stay upright and all.

            “It were a few days afore we really began to feel ourselves again.  The camp was huge, and a good deal of it was set aside for them as was seriously wounded.  They had another camp for the wounded Southrons and Easterlings, but it was separated from ours.  Lord Strider and his Elvish brothers was goin’ back and forth a good bit from the one camp to the other.  Until almost all was ready to travel they wouldn’t do so, and certainly Mr. Frodo and me needed feedin’ up.

            “It tore at him to realize he couldn’t eat normal no more--tore his heart to pieces, it did.  His hand would hurt somethin’ awful, with the muscles crampin’ up on him and achin’; his shoulder where he was stabbed at Weathertop would ache much o’ the time.  He was plumb frustrated, he was.  But in time he recovered and even began to laugh a bit; and the day we finally left for Minas Tirith he was quite happy--until he got seasick on the boat as was takin’ us down the river to the harbor near the city.

            “Yet the next day as he was takin’ the Crown from Captain Faramir to bring to Gandalf for the crowning he was shinin’ as much as Strider hisself.  ’Twere right odd, lookin’ from one to the other, seein’ both just full of Light and all.  Even Gandalf was shinin’, he was.”

            “All three of them were beautiful that day,” Pippin said, sitting straight and tall.  “I first understood what being a proper king was looking at Aragorn as he was crowned, I think.  And both Frodo and Gandalf were so proud of him, and so we were proud of all three of them.”

            “After we were in the city,” Merry said, “Pippin and I were often called to serve Aragorn and King Éomer, for after all we were sworn to their service now.  Then Pippin had to do weapons practice, and I began going with him.  Frodo was much on his own, although Aragorn made him one of his counselors and had him meet with deputations and all.  It took a week before he began to explore the city, although the rest of us were checking out the Fifth Circle at least from our second day.  There were a good number of feasts, and we had to attend.  Frodo was so angry because he had to be served small portions and digestible foods while he saw the rest of us eating these truly wonderful dishes and as much as we wanted.  Even then he could get sick.

            “Then we realized his neck where the spider bit him was infected again and was draining.  It’s done that again and again, about every two months since, although he’d try to hide it.”

            “A couple o’ times it didn’t even last much over a month,” Sam put in.

            They all sighed.

            Pippin went on, “Aragorn wanted us to remain for his wedding, although no one would tell us what it was we were waiting for.  He was getting more and more testy by the day as he waited for some sign Arwen was indeed coming to him, until the day he went up on the mountain with Gandalf and found the seedling of the White Tree and brought it back to the city and planted it where the old one had died.  Then he was more cheerful and hopeful and began actively planning for the wedding and her coming.”

            “A few days after the wedding,” Merry said, taking up the tale, “the Rhohirrim returned, and the next day we set off for Rohan for the funeral and home.  But we couldn’t travel all that quickly, so it took a fair amount of time.  We stopped in Rivendell to see Bilbo, and he had rapidly begun to age once the Ring was destroyed.  He was so frail compared to how he’d looked only the previous winter.  Frodo appeared to be all right, but I know Bilbo was very troubled for him.  Once we left Aragorn behind, Frodo stopped accepting the draughts offered him; once we got to Rivendell finally Elrond got him to accept them by presenting them as ‘tea.’  Only then would he drink them.

            “Gandalf came with us to Bree and just beyond, and then told us he was going into the Old Forest to speak with Tom Bombadil.  We then went on alone, and after we got home--well, you know basically what happened then.

            “It was a shock to realize that we couldn’t truly go home again, though.  We weren’t the same, and it was impossible for most folks to begin to understand; and here at home things were changed as well.  Frodo was devastated, for we’d left the Shire to protect it and it hadn’t been protected at all.  And he felt that somehow by selling Lotho Bag End, that lout took it as permission to set himself up as a sort of miniature Sauron right here in the Shire.  Frodo felt fully responsible and wanted to see it all set right.

            “But he couldn’t begin to do it all himself, for he physically couldn’t do it any more.  And once he realized that the spider bite was going to continue getting infected again and again and he was suffering from bouts of the memories on the anniversaries of when he was worst hurt he began to withdraw.  Hid out in Bag End and wrote to avoid having to let folks see how badly hurt he was.”

            “What about the scars we don’t see on you?” Sara asked him.

            “Actually, most of the scars are where you can see them,” Merry said.  “Not like Frodo’s where most of his except the finger were hidden by his clothing.  But we all have scars inside, in our hearts, from some of the most awful things we saw and heard.”  He looked down at his right hand.  “Frodo’s left shoulder and arm would go cold and numb if anyone mentioned Mordor, the Nazgul, the Black Breath, or the Witch King of Angmar.  My right hand does the same, although not as strongly, and I usually recover faster than he did.”

            Saradoc winced at the use of the word did.

            “You saw some of our nightmares last year when we were all at Bag End for Frodo’s birthday, and you heard some of Pippin’s and mine when we’d stay in the Hall.”

            Again there were nods of agreement.  Esme asked, “But what were the ones Frodo had before?”

            Sam raised his chin.  “Gandalf, Strider and me, we talked about that.  Gandalf says as they was brought on by him havin’ the Ring.  Said as he was learnin’ how to deal with it, but the dreams was gettin’ stronger and stronger all the time for him, and comin’ more and more frequent.  Was havin’ dreams of Sauron lookin’ for him and Gollum lookin’ for him, too.”  He shuddered with disgust.  “It was right hard for Frodo, havin’ such things.  I didn’t learn of them until he was lookin’ at maps as was sent to him by Lord Elrond, lookin’ for moon letters on them.  Found them, too, he did.  He’d been havin’ them for years by that time, from what he told me.”

            Esme shuddered herself.

            They soon went to bed, thoughtful and exhausted.  They left the tavern late, and arrived at Brandy Hall in the early evening.  But Master and Mistress had a good deal to think about now.

6:  The King’s Visit

            The King sat his horse upon the headlands, staring off to the West.  He had come too late, for the ship had sailed and those who had come to bid farewell to the Ringbearers had returned Westward to the Shire.  It had all been for naught, or so it appeared.  He’d felt the moment when the ship had found the Straight Path at last, lifting away from the bent surface of the world of the mortal lands to take them across seas Men could no longer set eyes upon to the shores of Aman.

            He sat his horse upon the headlands and watched the rolling of the waves, seen only as glimmers in the darkness of the night, which had fallen as he sat there, and felt them calling to his own heart.  He, too, had eaten the lembas granted the Fellowship by the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn; he knew now that throughout his life he would have times when the Sea Longing would take him, although as the Dúnedan and King of Arnor and Gondor he had tied himself inextricably to Middle Earth until the day of his death alone would release him from the confines of the mortal lands.  How he wished for the moment, however, that he might be on the deck of that grey ship that bore the brother of his soul on his long journey, that together they would see the dawning of the day when at last that ship came within sight of white shores and glistening towers only a few mortals had ever seen.

            “Cherish him!” he prayed the Valar.  “Let him know easing in body and spirit, and let his Light shine fully once more that when the day comes for me I might find my way by it.”

            Aragorn son of Arathorn bade goodbye in his heart to his adar, to the Lady Galadriel, to the Lord Gildor Inglorion, to Lord Erestor, to many of those who had cherished the child Estel growing up in the hidden vale of Imladris.  And he bade farewell to Gandalf and to old Bilbo, grateful that Frodo went not alone of his kind to his new home.  Frodo would need the support Bilbo would give him for as long as the old Hobbit might stay, he knew.  And he bade farewell to Frodo Baggins, the Lord Iorhael, as he sailed to his healing.

            He was almost ready to turn his horse about when the voice spoke behind him.  “What does the King of Men do here on this headland?”

            He turned to look down at a figure dressed in dark robes, an owl upon his shoulder.  Behind him stood a taller, more familiar figure, that of Lord Círdan himself, his face shining faintly in the starlight.  “Lord Radagast; Lord Círdan,” he greeted them as he inclined his head.  Círdan appeared inscrutable as those of the Firstborn often did to mortals, but Aragorn sensed both amusement and compassion in him.  Radagast, on the other hand, evidenced merely curiosity.

            The shipwright spoke.  “Their ship sailed upon the twenty-ninth.  They wished to be at least a week upon the waters to his strengthening ere the sixth might come.  However, I sense that he lies even now on his berth, weakened and near release, although they do not allow him to go without contest.”

            “And even now they sail upon the Straight Path,” Aragorn said.

            “It will serve the better for his healing,” Círdan acknowledged.

            “Sam, Merry, and Pippin have returned toward the Shire?” the Man asked, unnecessarily, he knew.

            “Yes, that they have.  The ship set sail at sunset and they watched the Light of Eärendil borne by the Ringbearer as long as they were able to do so, remaining to the dawn ere they retrieved their ponies and returned toward their own lands.”

            “Sam knows that he is granted this grace also?”

            The Elf sighed.  “Yes, he now does, although the Ringbearer had left him in doubt as to whether this might indeed have been offered him.”

            Aragorn looked Westward once more.  “Oh, Frodo--what are we to do with you?” he asked the starlit skies and the rolling glistening of the Sea.  He looked back at the two who stood looking up at him.  “I thank you for your words, for they comfort me, although they also raise concern, that my small brother should be in such weakened condition.”

            Círdan raised his arms, and the Man saw that he bore a bag that he now offered.  “Here, Estel of Imladris--your adar left this for you.  He sensed you would seek to come to him, although he did not believe you would arrive in time.”

            The brown Wizard spoke.  “My brother will do all he can to encourage yours to remain to his fulfillment, Dúnedan.  And Bilbo of the Shire is at his side.  That one will know the arguments needed to draw Iorhael to remain within the bounds of Arda.”

            “I rejoice this is so,” Aragorn answered.  “The one force sufficient to move the will of a stubborn Baggins, I have learned, is that of an even more stubborn one.”  The three of them shared a smile.

            “I bid you farewell,” Aragorn said to them.  “And I thank you for the comfort you prepared for all of them.  I only grieve I did not come in time.”

            Círdan shook his head.  “I do not know that it would have been wise, youngling.  His heart was already laboring, and gave a distinct lurch when he heard the approach of the two younger Periannath, that he must now bid them farewell.  Whether he would have been able to bear the additional grief of a greeting and then a parting from you is, I fear, doubtful.  He was near to the limit of what he might endure.”

            It was a sobering thought, that his last farewell might have pushed Frodo past that limit.  Aragorn took a deep, sighing breath, looked one last time over his shoulder at the place where he’d seen the great gleam of light as the grey ship lifted from terrestrial waters, in his heart entrusting those it bore one last time to the keeping of the Valar.  He inclined his head again, and turned Olórin Eastward once more.    “Now, Olórin.  Thank you again,” he said, turning his attention back to the Elf and Wizard.

            Radagast stayed him but a moment.  “You have named this one after my brother?” he asked.

            “I hope no offense will be taken by it,” the Man answered him.

            “No, for it is a great honor, I realize.  I believe you have named him wisely, child.  And the gift of his heart and loyalty is well given.  Go--your brothers wait for you some ways East of Bree.”

            A last nod, and the King of Arnor and Gondor spoke to his steed again and they rode away.

            Sometime past midnight he made a camp near the Southern borders of the Shire, and he slept deeply for one of his kind.  He awoke as dawn approached, went to the stream by which he’d made his refuge and washed himself and drank, then returned to roll up his blankets.  Clouds had moved in during the later night, and he realized it was likely to rain shortly, although he sensed the rain would not last long.  Then he paused, turned his head to see a Hobbit looking at him from the cover of a blueberry bush that stood a few feet from where he’d rested, its leaves a brilliant scarlet as it prepared for its winter sleep.

            Aragorn could see the bow the Hobbit held, strung and with an arrow at the ready, but all aimed now at the ground.  The Perian appeared alarmed at being seen by this Man, for usually Big Folk had difficulty discerning their smaller brethren when they wished to remain hidden.  However, this Man had experience at spotting Hobbits, having companioned five of them at various times.

            Aragorn smiled.  “I greet you, small Master,” he said courteously.  “I was readying to prepare a dawn meal for myself.  Will you join me?”

            “What are you doing so close to our borders?” the Hobbit asked suspiciously.

            “I rode in haste to the West, and now return Eastward to seek out my brothers, my friend.”  He looked into the bag given him by Círdan and smiled.  “Ah,” he said with satisfaction, “I see my adar has left for me a slab of bacon and some eggs.  Will you join me in them?”  He drew out the bacon and then one of his belt knives with which to shave it into slices. 

            At first the Hobbit appeared alarmed at the sight of the knife until he saw the use to which the Man was putting it.  At last he replaced the arrow in the quiver he wore and unstrung the bow, then shouldered it, although he still watched the Man somewhat warily.  “You aren’t like the others, those who have settled over there,” the Hobbit commented, indicating a hollow a bit Southeast of their position.

            “No,” Aragorn said, “I suppose I’m not.  I am a Ranger of Arnor, while they are settlers from South of here, I must suppose.”

            “How come you got the same cloak as the Travelers?” the Hobbit asked.

            The Man lifted his head in interest.  “Then you know Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin?” he asked.

            The Hobbit shrugged.  “I’m related to three of them.  And how do you know their names?”

            “I’ve met them, and they’ve met me,” Aragorn answered him.  “I am called Strider.”  He reached into his personal bag to bring out his small pan.

            His companion gave a patronizing sniff, and went back to where his own pack lay behind the bush, rummaged in it and brought out a sizable skillet.  “You’ll never cook enough in that,” he commented.

            The two of them soon had a fire going surrounded by rocks, and when the Hobbit judged all was hot enough he set the skillet over the fire, balanced on the rocks.  Aragorn brought out the eggs, each carefully wrapped in straw and a leaf, while the Hobbit arranged the bacon.  “I take it you’re related to Merry, Pippin, and Frodo through the Old Took,” he commented with a meaningful look at the bow.

            The other shrugged.  “Appears you do know your Hobbits,” he commented.  “Yes.  Beligard Took at your service, sir.”  He gave as good a bow as he could from his kneeling position.  “Where are you coming from?”

            “I rode in haste to the Elf Havens at Mithlond, and now return Eastward to see my brothers and perhaps some of my kin,” the Man said.

            “A good journey to you,” Beligard said.

            “Thank you.  Are you a Bounder or a Shiriff?”

            “Bounder.”

            Beligard Took added a couple apples and brambleberry tarts to the meal, and brought out a packet of tea as well.  Aragorn brought out his wallet of leaf afterwards and they each filled a pipe and sat, companionably smoking.  “How did you come by Longbottom Leaf?” asked the Hobbit.

            “Merry sent me a barrel for Midsummer, and Pippin a barrel of Old Toby and a cask of ale from the Prancing Pony.  They were being very generous.”

            “So, you do know them, then.”

            “Did you doubt me?” the Man asked him.

            The Hobbit shrugged.  “One never knows with Men,” he said.  “Obviously you’re nothing to do with those Big Men of Sharkey’s.”

            Aragorn shuddered.  “Thankfully, no; and my folk have been dealing with those of them ejected from the Shire as we’ve been able to identify them.  None had best trouble your people again.”

            “We thank you, then.”

            At last they took leave of one another, Beligard pleased to see this Man made certain his fire had been put out and was properly buried, and the eggshells and wrappings for the six eggs also properly and neatly disposed of.  He watched as the bearded Man vaulted onto the back of his horse, then rode to the tree over whose branches he’d hung his belongings to reclaim them and settle them about his person.

            “No saddle or bridle?” asked the Hobbit.

            “No,” the Man said.  “This one is not any more likely to accept such things than his sire.  Well, my friend, I wish you a pleasant and peaceful period of service, and bear Strider’s compliments to the sons of Thain and Master, and to the Master of Bag End if you should see him.”

            “None to Sam Gamgee?” Beligard queried, his head slightly cocked to the side.

            Strider’s face became solemn, even sad.  “I fear that when you come to Hobbiton you shall find Sam Gamgee is the Master of Bag End.  Fare thee well, my friend.”  And with a word to his great grey horse the tall Man was gone, disappearing steadily to the East.

            It was late on the second day after that he came even with Elladan, Elrohir, and two other Elves from Imladris.  The faces of his brothers, he realized, were as strained as his own.  Elladan examined him carefully.  “We were laying wagers as to whether you would arrive in time,” he said.  “I take it you came too late.”

            “Yes.  I spoke briefly with Círdan, and with Radagast, who was with him.  They tell me that Frodo was very much weakened when he left, and I was advised it was as well I did not make it to bid him farewell, for his heart was again laboring.”

            Elladan looked to his twin, and then both sighed.  He turned back to his mortal brother.  “When I came to him last fall he was near to death, Estel; and yet he chose to live to see the birth of Lord Samwise’s first-born and beyond.  Ada is by him, as are Mithrandir, Daernaneth, and Master Bilbo.  If any can aid him to hold on, it is these.”

            “Such is my hope.  I would see him healed and able to rejoice fully once more.”

            Elrohir was examining Aragorn’s mount.  “How is it,” he said, a touch of envy in his voice, “that you have come to ride one of the Mearas, brother?”

            Aragorn told the tale of Roheryn straining his leg in Rohan and the coming of Éomer followed by the great grey, and the horse’s acceptance of himself as its rider.  The sons of Elrond were impressed, and bowed respectfully to the horse.  “We greet you, brother,” Elladan said for both, “and thank you for accepting this one.”  Olórin snorted, sniffed at their hands, and indicated he accepted them as companions.  And so the party looked to find a place to camp.

            Glorfindel joined them early on the sixth of October, apparently pleased to find Aragorn with the others.  “From what I can tell all is well about the valley,” he said as he dismounted from Asfaloth, pulling from the white stallion’s back a bundle of provisions.  “Have you determined what you will do now?” he asked Elrond’s twin sons.

            “Estel wishes to remain a few days more to perhaps speak with Merry and Pippin once they have returned to Buckland,” Elladan answered him, “after which we have determined to go South to spend some time with himself and our sister.”

            “If,” Elrohir tempered, “you do not require our presence in Rivendell, that is.”

            “No, Rivendell will remain well governed while the two of you are away, and I believe the four of you will do well to be together at this time.  No, go, and may the Stars light your path.”

            “And you do not stand in danger of such grief as we know or are likely to know?”

            Glorfindel gave an enigmatic smile.  “I perhaps have more direct experience with such grief and partings than do you,” he said.  “No, I will come to no great harm remaining here in the North until you choose to return.”

            One of their party had stayed in hiding outside Bree, and was able to intercept Lords Halladan and Eregiel as they left the Breelands to return to Annúminas.  They joined the King’s camp and exchanged such news as was to be found.  Aragorn listened with interest to the description of the interview with the Master of Buckland and the Thain of the Shire and their wives.

            “So,” he commented at last, “these have indeed remained in ignorance of what has happened to our friends; and now the Thain and his lady seek to understand the truth at last.  A good sign, I hope, for they were still denying anything of import had occurred according to one of the most recent letters I received from Sam.”

            “They were often shocked by what they heard, but appeared to be accepting what was told to them as we spoke.  As for Master Saradoc, his brother, and Mistress Esmeralda—all were intent on learning as much as they could of what had happened, for it appears that while the others would not listen, Sir Meriadoc has refused to speak openly with his family of what he endured.  All appeared more hopeful as we spoke.

            “All were most distressed, however, by the news of the condition of Lord Frodo and his decision to leave the Shire, and spoke of him with a great deal of caring and concern.”

            Aragorn gave a great sigh.  “It has been difficult for all of us,” he commented.  “Alas, my small brother,” he said, looking Westward.  “So many love you, and care for your welfare.”

            After speaking briefly of the business on which Halladan had sent their kinsman Berevrion to Gondor, the two Dúnedain took leave of their King and his companions and once more left for Annúminas.

            One of the Elves offered to take a message into the Shire and bring it to Merry and Pippin once he determined where they might be, and the remaining four moved their camp West of Bree to a clearing on the opposite side of the West Road from the Barrowdowns.

            Once the new camp was settled, Aragorn leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes.  In time he dozed, and as his thoughts began to wander he found himself entering a dream.  He stood in an indeterminate space looking down on a bed—a berth aboard a ship, he recognized.  On the bed, covered to his chest, lay Frodo.  Near his head, on a low stool which had been placed beside the bed, stood Bilbo, his now-sparse hair white and wispy about his face, which showed equal parts worry and exasperation.  Beside Bilbo stood Elrond, the sleeves of his robe rolled up as he accepted heated towels from Lord Gildor and wrapped them about Frodo’s left shoulder and arm.  A brazier hung from the ceiling, and over it had been placed a basin of water in which athelas steeped.  Gildor left the small cabin to be replaced by Gandalf.

            Aragorn realized he was not alone in the place from which he watched, that his mother was on his right and a Man he must assume was his father was on his left, also watching, as were a Hobbit couple opposite them.  The Hobbitess looked a great deal like Merry, but with eyes as blue as Frodo’s own and with Frodo’s strikingly arched brows and long lashes; the gentlehobbit had Frodo’s aquiline nose and cleft chin, and was as handsome as Frodo, although he was considerably broader than Frodo.  Were these Frodo’s parents?

            Throughout the ship the attention of all was fixed on this cabin and on Frodo Baggins; one of the songs of healing was raised and echoed from the salon, personal cabins, the deck of the ship, even from the rigging and tiller.

            Aragorn realized they were seeking to call Frodo back to himself from wherever his spirit wandered, and his heart was wrenched by the paleness and thinness of the Hobbit’s face, the worry line between his brow deeper than he remembered and not eased by his unconscious condition.  “Oh, Frodo,” the Man murmured as he set himself to step out of himself to follow after the wandering spirit and perhaps call it back to its proper place.

            This time the Place where he found himself was one he’d seen rarely before, at times when his adar had been caring for Elves hurt to the death of the body.  It gave the appearance of a great field of green grass and flowers of all colors and kinds, many of which he didn’t recognize.  On the beyond the field rose a great edifice that he recognized with awe as the Halls of Waiting; and there was on the other side of the field the beginning of the Way that led to the Halls and the gardens beyond them.  Aragorn saw no sign of the Gates of Mithril with which he was familiar and between whose leaves Frodo had stood the last time he’d sought to call the Hobbit back to his body.  Had Frodo already gone through the Gates and was this vision simply an assurance Frodo was dead?  Or had something altered for his friend that this time he was able to approach the Halls more directly?

            Frodo stood still on the near side of the field, his attention fixed on the building.  Almost Aragorn approached him, but a hand on one shoulder held him back.  He looked up to see the face of the one he thought to be his own father looking into his own.  No, our son, let the Perian try it first.  If he fails, perhaps this small one will then respond to you.

            Bilbo came from behind Frodo to stand at Frodo’s left shoulder, looked beyond his younger cousin at the greatness of the Halls briefly, he gaze fascinated and almost eager to go to them himself.  But at the last moment he turned away, focused his attention on Frodo as he placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder, physically turning him to look into his eyes.  “Frodo, look at me!” Bilbo commanded.

            In this place there was no worry line between Frodo’s eyes, and his expression reflected not pain but distance.  The thread continuing to tie him to his life in Arda was most tenuous, and he felt full ready, Aragorn realized, to snap it and go on.  But the mere presence of Bilbo there beside him strengthened that cord whatever Frodo’s own desires might be.  Aragorn found himself offering his own thought to the words Bilbo spoke:  It is not yet your time, Frodo.  Come back to us.  You have joy and delight yet to know ere you come there as you must.  But don’t leave us merely because you can!

            Frodo’s expression began to become more present, more alive again, and it was most alive with frustration.  For a moment Frodo’s awareness flickered beyond Bilbo’s presence, seeming to perceive Aragorn watching, then focused back on his older cousin.  Then all were again in the cabin looking down once again on Frodo as he came awake.  “What would your mother say to you spurning a gift before you’d properly received it?”  Bilbo was asking.

            There was a significant amount of resentment and stubbornness to be seen in Frodo’s face as he looked back at Bilbo, and Aragorn found himself wanting to laugh.  Then again Frodo’s attention flickered briefly away from Bilbo, to the watching Aragorn.

            You, too, would bind me here to Arda, brother? the question was asked.

            No, small brother—I would not bind you to any place.  But I would see you know joy ere you leave us completely.  I will not see you again in this life, but I would still have you know the healing offered you, body and spirit, before you accept the Gift in the end.  It is a different gift that you are offered now.  Will you not at least unwrap it as Bilbo suggests, and test to see whether or not it is good?

            He was aware of the Elfstone he wore at the neck of his shirt suddenly flaring with Light, and he offered this to Frodo for his strengthening, and without volition Frodo accepted it; at which time in Aragorn suddenly awoke in the clearing where they now camped.

            “What happened, gwador nín?” asked Elrohir.  “The Elessar suddenly flared with surprising brilliance, just as you reawakened.”

          The Man shook his head.  “I apparently watched Frodo choose to live and heal,” he answered.  “It was rather disconcerting.”  He looked into the faces of his Elven brothers.  “Describe to me the appearance of my father, please,” he asked.

          The twins looked at one another, then back at him.  “Much as you yourself look, Estel, only not quite as worn.  His face was perhaps somewhat longer than yours, and his eyebrows not as straight,” Elrohir said.

          “He had a mole low on his left cheek,” added his brother, “and his hair parted more to the left as well.”

          Both were intrigued by their mortal brother’s smile.  “I see,” he commented.  He looked from one to the other.  “I apparently stood by both my parents, and nearby were what I must assume were Frodo’s parents as well.  All four of them appeared intent on seeing Frodo’s choice, although I cannot think why mine should be drawn to stand witness.”

          Glorfindel had a peculiar smile.  “Not all of the Creator’s actions are clearly explained to us, son to Arathorn and Elrond both.  Do not worry yourself unduly about this at this time.”

          Aragorn nodded, then sighed.  “At least I have hope the grace hasn’t been offered in vain,” he said, at which the others nodded.

            On the tenth Pippin, Merry, and Sam rode out of the Shire to the camp, and Aragorn was relieved to see them at last.  The faces of all three showed evidence of healing grief, grief Aragorn himself shared.  He was amused to see that all three were examining him and his companions much as they were being examined in return.  “You all right?” Merry asked him, accepting his nod in response.

            Aragorn explained how Arwen has advised him that Frodo had chosen at the last and how he’d received the gift of Olórin in Rohan after Roheryn had temporarily lamed himself.  “I was riding toward Imladris when I met my brothers coming to join me.  We camped here hoping that we could hear from you what happened as Frodo, Adar, and the Lady Galadriel rode to the Havens.  What can you tell me?”

          “Little enough,” Sam said quietly, and he sighed before he answered their friend’s request.

          “And you were told by Adar that he’d had time to see to it all he loved had come to good?” the King continued.  At Sam’s solemn nod he sighed, looking at the other two.  “How was it you came in time?”

          Merry and Pippin looked at one another, and at last Pippin described Gandalf’s arrival and words and the lembas given them to be stuffed into saddlebags and pockets; then the mad ride across the Shire and over the Western Marches to the Havens; how Gandalf had left them early on the last day to hold things to their arrival; the arrival and nearly wordless leave-taking. “Frodo himself said nothing,” Pippin said, confirming what Sam had already told.  “He appeared both upset to see us, and relieved at the same time.  The look on his face was—distant.  He no longer belonged here, here in Middle Earth.  It was Elrond who accepted Bilbo’s choice to board the ship; Gandalf took Frodo’s hand once he committed himself.”

          “When he hugged us,” Merry said softly, “it was one of the most—most intimate of embraces I’ve ever felt from anyone; but at the same time he was already withdrawing.  He was the thinnest I’ve ever seen him save when he lay on the bed in Ithilien.  He was so pale, and it was as if his body barely held his Light within it.”

          Aragorn held out his arms to Merry and drew the Hobbit to him.  “If any can convince him to accept the grace fully, Meriadoc Brandybuck, it is those with him.  I have been assured repeatedly that the Lady, our adar, Gandalf, and Bilbo particularly will not allow him to go without great argument.”

          “As long as he doesn’t go Baggins stubborn on all of them,” Merry muttered, and all found themselves chuckling unexpectedly.

          “I think he’ll be well opposed this time,” Aragorn said, releasing Merry and smiling into his eyes through his tears.  “He’s outmatched at four to one, you see.”

          Pippin laughed clearly.  “Frodo might indeed manage to give just Bilbo a contest of wills; but with the others to back Bilbo up?  I think Aragorn’s right, Merry.”

          Sam said quietly, “Well, if he managed to make it through the sixth, I suspect as he’s doin’ well enough now.  If he could get past the memories and all.”

          Merry nodded solemnly.  “Freddy and Budgie have told us how strongly it all hit him the last two times, and what Rosie told us of what her father saw that first March thirteenth….  It’s been getting worse and worse each time, each anniversary.”

          Lord Glorfindel and one of the two others who’d accompanied Elladan and Elrohir had prepared a meal, and now began serving it to the four mortals among them.  Aragorn looked surprised to find himself presented with platter and cup, and thanked the Elven warrior before turning his attention back to the three Hobbits. 

          “How do things go with your parents?” he asked Pippin.

          Pippin shrugged and looked down at his plate.  “Well enough.” He smiled as he raised his eyes to meet Aragorn’s.  “Frodo apparently finally read to them out of his book all the things we’d done.  They’ve apologized to us, and do truly want to know and understand now.  And they’ve listened—truly listened—at last.  It is such a great relief!”  He glanced sideways at Merry and gave a twisted grin.  “And even my beloved cousin here has managed to forgive them.”

          “And that wasn’t a particularly easy thing for me to do,” Merry admitted.  “They’ve been driving poor Pippin and Frodo about mad with all their denial and stubborn insistence the story be retold without all the things they couldn’t believe in.”

          After a time of mutual silence Merry asked, “What will you do now?”

          “I must return to Gondor now, and Minas Tirith.  Yet I can’t hold the trip wasted, for I’ve seen much along the way, if only fleetingly; and I’ve been able to speak with Halladan and Eregiel about Arnor’s situation.  And I’ve seen you three, of course.”

          Pippin stood up and at attention.  “For your journey—do you wish me to accompany you, my Lord?  It is, after all, my duty as a Guard of the Citadel and your personal Guard.”

          Aragorn gave him a smile, rose, and set his hand on his Hobbit Guardsman’s shoulder.  “No, your leave is not up as yet, although you are to hold yourself in readiness for when I come North officially.  I suspect we will be holding conferences between the folk of the various lands that make up the North-kingdom in a few years—two or three years at the most.  At that time we’ll be asking the Thain or his representative to attend those conferences, and probably others from the Shire as well.”

          Pippin saluted solemnly.  “We will be ready, Lord King,” he said, then smiled.  “My da is going to attend these conferences if I have to bring him tied up in a sack!”

          At last they took leave of one another, with Aragorn mounting Olórin and bowing deeply to them from the grey’s back, then turning back toward Bree and the road South, accompanied by the sons of Elrond, Lord Glorfindel, and one of the two Elves who’d been part of the company.  Then they went to their ponies and mounted them, turning West back toward the Shire, escorted by the Elf who’d brought the message to them that the King wished to speak with them.

7:  Heirs and Codicils

            “Pearl?”

            Pearl Took looked up sideways into the eyes of her husband.  He looked as shaken as she herself felt, his face pale and his brow furrowed.  “What is it, Bard?”

            He stopped and pulled her to one side.  “Would you mind going home with Pimmie and Vinca and your parents without me?  I mean, I’ll be along—I’m not planning to stay anywhere, mind you.  But I wish to speak with Brendilac.”

            “About Frodo?”

            He gave a solemn nod.  “If anyone had tried to tell me four years ago I’d be devastated to hear Frodo Baggins had chosen to leave the Shire forever I’d have looked at them amazed, Pearl.  But now—after working alongside him in the Mayor’s office and seeing how deeply he cared for the entire Shire and how—how decent he was----“  Words failed him.  Finally he continued, “I know at the Free Fair he looked as if he were already halfway somewhere else; but he looked so much more—solid when we saw him at Budge Hall in late July.  I want to ask Brendi what he knew and all.”

            Pearl looked at where the rest of those who’d left with them had paused at the end of the lane, looking over their shoulders to ascertain if she and Isumbard were coming or would follow after once they’d finished speaking.  She found herself again fighting tears as she looked up into her husband’s face.  “I see.  He may tell another trained in Shire law what he wouldn’t the rest of us, I suppose.  Or is he still held by his oath, do you think?” 

            Bard shrugged.  He helped write many of the documents and contracts and so on for the Thain’s business and for many of his relatives within the Great Smial.  As he did very little for any living outside the Tooklands, he’d never been required to take the oath himself, for among Tooks there were almost no secrets, such things proving almost impossible to keep in such a tight-knit clan.  “I’d just like—I’d like to understand a bit better, is all.”

            She nodded.  “I’ll be all right with the rest of the family.  We’ll probably remain at the Green Dragon until Mum and Da join us.  If you decide not to return home tonight, just send a message, though.”

            He nodded, leaned down and kissed her gently, then patted her shoulder and nodded toward those waiting patiently at the end of the lane.  He watched after her until she joined the rest and they turned toward Bywater with a few scattered looks toward him; then he turned back to Bag End and sat down on the bench outside the door, taking out his pipe and wallet for leaf and his striker, preparing to wait until the more private talk among Frodo’s nearest and dearest was finished.

            Oridon and Ordo Goodbody were the next to leave the smial, followed closely by the Cottons and Gamgees and their families.  The Proudfoots and Daddy Twofoot had already left with Missus Rumble and the Chubbs.  The Baggins and Boffin relations had been among the first to leave.  Now only a few remained with Brendi to speak with the new Master and Mistress of Bag End.

            Bard remembered the first day he worked with Frodo in Michel Delving, and pausing outside the door to the Mayor’s office to hear Sam Gamgee insisting Frodo accept his medicinal tea.  The servant’s address had still been there in part—indeed it lingered to this day, even with Frodo gone; the servant’s manners were no longer even pretended at.  At the birthday of Sam Gamgee, which had also served as a housewarming for the return of the rightful Master to Bag End, there had been no patronization of Sam by Frodo, Merry, or Pippin; and when Sam spoke all had listened respectfully.  Again at Sam and Rosie’s wedding the equality was obvious between Sam and Frodo; Frodo had not only publically announced Sam's rank in the outer world (not that many realized this wasn't a strange private joke between Frodo and his gardener), but he'd even withdrawn for a time, apparently so that he not draw attention unduly from his friend, whose day that had been.

            And today the gardener had been officially elevated to the status of landholder and Master of the most prestigious home outside the Great Smial and Brandy Hall.  There would be those who would take offense at this turn of events, Bard knew.  Knowing the great respect Frodo himself had held for Samwise Gamgee, Isumbard Took had determined he would do all he could to support Sam however he was able; and felt he could best learn how this might be done by consulting with Frodo’s lawyer.  That and learning more about Frodo and his decision were his main reasons for lingering as he had.  Now, if he could only be certain Brendi would talk.

            At last Marigold Gamgee returned with little Elanor in her arms.  Not long after, Brendilac Brandybuck came out, carrying a large box.  The Took coach was now coming up the lane, ready to take on the Thain and his Lady and those bequests Frodo had made specifically to the Tooks of the Great Smial; Brendi found himself forced to step aside and wait before he would be able to continue on into Hobbiton to the Ivy Bush.

            Bard looked at the coach, then at the lawyer.  “Do you feel like escaping out of the side gate?” he suggested.

            In moments the two of them had done just that and were making their way as rapidly toward the Ivy Bush as Brendi could go carrying his box.  As they walked Bard asked, “Is that Frodo’s bequest to you?”

            The Brandybuck nodded, then after a moment added, “I’d certainly not expected Frodo to leave me anything.”

            “Why not?” the Took asked him.  “Haven’t you known him much of your life?”

            It was a moment before Brendi gave a nod in reply.  “Yes.  His family was visiting Brandy Hall when I was born in November after he was born in September.  We’d play together after his family moved to Buckland, and would have done so more after his folks died had he been allowed.”

            “Why wasn’t it allowed?”  The comment had roused Bard’s curiosity.

            Brendi shrugged as well as he might while carrying the box.  “We never really knew why Frodo wasn’t allowed to play with the rest of us a lot of the time.  But if it looked as if we were planning anything particularly rough at all Menegilda would make certain Frodo was removed from our company.  I never understood why.  Many of the lads were convinced he was sickly or something and made fun of him, or sought to make him the butt of their pranks—or at least at first they did. 

            “However, he became very good at retaliation for simple pranks.  Even then he showed a fine mind for detail and planning—and appreciation of Hobbit nature.  Boridoc once slipped into Frodo’s room and put glue on one edge of the book Frodo had been reading lately; he woke to find his room filled with rats in cages, and a similar cage in the room of each of his sisters, his aunts, his female cousins, and the lass he at the time was head over heels about.  These cages were constructed of twigs tied together—rather ingenious, really.  And, being made of twigs it was relatively easy for the rats to chew themselves out of them.  There were rats all down that wing of the Hall, and of course Bori was blamed.  They thought the other rats were intended to go into his friends’ sisters’ quarters.  As Bori had let rats and mice loose in their rooms before it was easier for the grownups to believe he was at fault this time, too.  Also, Bori wouldn’t tell them what he’d been doing that week during his free time.

            “At the time, all of the traps set for rats and mice in the cellars and pantries and the glass house and stable for Brandy Hall disappeared for a time, as did most of the cats, while the terriers all seemed to be terribly sleepy for better than a week.  In all Frodo must have managed to capture close to thirty rats for that one; and his hands had gouges on them from working with the twigs from which he made the cages.  I never did find out where he kept them while he caught enough, although I learned he’d kept the cats in the old mill building, letting them go only after he placed the cages.  They were all rather fat when they returned home, really, for Frodo had fed them well.  He’d got the idea for how to construct the cages apparently from helping with old Jessup’s fishing weir on the river.  Frodo pilfered Jessup’s weir all the week he was capturing the rats, and was feeding the fish he took to the cats; and he found out an herb that would make the terriers sleepy and was mixing it with minced lamb and feeding it to the dogs twice a day.  I’m not certain how he managed that, for he never really did like dogs, you know.

            “Believe me, after that one Bori never again tried any pranks on Frodo Baggins.”

            Bard’s eyebrows lifted at the ingeniousness of the retaliation.  “How did you find out Frodo had done it?”

            “Well, you see, he had me help gather the twigs and cut them to size, although he constructed the cages himself.  Of course I recognized who must have made them.  And he asked me to let the cats out of the mill, as at the time Bori and his closest friends were watching him closely, trying to figure out how he’d done it.  They knew what Bori had really been doing that week, of course.”

            “What had he been doing?”

            “He and his friends had been spying on the lasses from hiding, and had even stolen some of their clothes while they were swimming in the river.  We all knew he had Merilinde’s undergarments.  Merilinde never spoke to him again after that one and the rat in her room.”

            Bard was laughing out loud.  “I never knew,” he said when at last he got control of himself, “that Frodo was all that ingenious.”

            “You never plundered the fields, gardens, glasshouses, smoke houses, dairies, and mushroom patches of the Marish at his side, Bard,” Brendi said, his own expression lightening.  “He’d think up the most interesting ways of getting the farmers out of the way so we could get in and do a right job of it.  There was one time when he decided we’d go after the Brownloam’s carrot crop.  Polo Brownloam had three daughters, but no sons; and he was certain all the lads were out to despoil the lasses.  Of course, no one gave them much of a look, for first they were quite young yet, and second, they were each built like a wagon.  None of us lads were the least interested in them.  But he was certain we were spying on them and pawing at them behind the barn, and was always threatening us.  Now, I ask you, if you could spy on Merilinde, would you wish to spy on one of the Brownloam lasses?

            “The Brownloams had been to the Hall attending a wedding, and Polo was talking about how all us lads were after his daughters, and Frodo had enough of his talk.  Now, Polo’d always grown excellent carrots, and they’d always won prizes at the Free Fair for their size and quality, and that was another of Polo Brownloam’s vanities.  So Frodo wrote a letter and enclosed it in a letter he was sending to Freddy Bolger, and asked Freddy to put his dad’s seal on it and send it through the Quick Post to Polo’s.  It made it look as if Odovacar was interested in buying a goodly number of carrots for his upcoming birthday party, and asked Polo to bring some samples and meet him at Waymeet to discuss the matter.

            “Well, on the proper day Polo dressed himself and his family all up especially well and headed out for Waymeet, and sat there all day and that night, only realizing he’d been tricked the next morning.  They came home to find the best carrots they’d grown that year had all been harvested.”

            He laughed, then his face saddened again.  “We’d hide our excess in Fred Oldbuck’s parents’ shop in the hidden bolt holes and all.  Fred’s parents never used them, but Fred had found them all out, of course.  Frodo remembered where they were, and had them searched when he was deputy Mayor.  Marco Smallburrow had a goodly amount of goods that he’d claimed as his share of the ‘gathering and sharing’ hidden there, taking advantage of Fred being his brother-in-law.”

            They were now near the Ivy Bush.  Isumbard opened the door so Brendi could go in.  Timmins sat on the stool behind the counter, his face still pale, looking through the small book of tales that had been Frodo Baggins’s bequest to him.  Mags had received a book of recipes by Dwarves and Elves, one Frodo had once copied out for his Aunt Menegilda and which had been given back to him as a keepsake after Gilda’s death.  Bard could see where she sat at one of the tables, going through it, her face pale.  She looked up as the two lawyers entered.  She sighed.  “Knew as he wasn’t right well and losin’ weight, once he got back.  Always wanted to feed him up again,” she said sadly.  “Don’t know as where it was he went when he left the Shire or what he done, but it seems it was fearful.  But no Hobbit deserves to look as he done, to lose so much.”  She looked at Brendi closely.  “Was he truly dyin’, Mr. Brandybuck, sir?”

            Brendi shrugged simply, again as well as he could, as he set the box down on one of the tables.  Finally he looked at her, his own face still.  “He was close to doing so, Missus Broadbelt.  But I suspect he’s finally beginning to feel better now.  He’s been with them since the twenty-second, after all.”

            “He shouldn’t ought to of had to go away to get better,” she said fiercely.

            Brendi sighed, his posture almost stiffly erect.  “Perhaps not, Missus Broadbelt, but the fact remains that all that could be done for him here was being done, and it simply wasn’t enough.  He was so badly hurt, you see.”

            “He ought to of stayed at home instead of goin’ off outside the Shire three years ago, I think.”

            Bard responded, “If he had stayed, we would’ve known worse than Lotho’s Big Men, Mags.  He was doing his best to protect all of us as he could, and he did a fine job of it—a finer job of it than we ever realized.  He’s honored by the King himself for what he did.”

            “How you know that—that the King hisself honors Frodo Baggins?” Timmins demanded.

            “I’ve seen the letters he sent to the Thain about the Lord Frodo Baggins and the Lord Samwise Gamgee and how they are honored throughout the lands of Men, Elves, and Dwarves for their service to all of Middle Earth.  That first summer after the Time of Troubles, were you there at the Free Fair when the Elves sang?”

            “Yes,” Timmins admitted.  “What of it?”

            “That song was written specifically in honor of Frodo and Sam and how they almost died to save all of Middle Earth.  We would have known so much worse than bully-boys and ruffians had they failed in their task.  It’s likely the Shire would have been burnt to the ground and its fields ruined and the survivors enslaved forever had they not done what they did.”

            Will Whitfoot entered from the back.  “I have my trap ready,” he said.  He tossed the stabling fee onto the counter.  “Thanks to both of you for all you did today.”  He looked at Brendi.  “You said you were coming with me?”

            Bard caught the Mayor’s attention.  “Would you mind if I accompany the two of you also?” he asked.  “I was wanting to speak a bit further with Brendi here.”

            Will shrugged and looked at the Brandybuck lawyer.  “If it’s all right by him.”

            At Brendi’s nod they all smiled at one another.  Brendi went on to his room to get his things while Bard said, “I’ll be back shortly with my pony.”  At Will’s nod he hurried off back toward Bywater, and saw Hildibrand headed his way with Bard’s pony in tow, already saddled. 

            “Pearl suggested you might appreciate having Dirgo brought to you,” Hillie said with a brief lightening of his grief.

            “Thank you,” Bard said.  “I should be there fairly late this evening.”

            Soon he was back at the Ivy Bush and turning Dirgo to travel alongside Brendi on his mare, Thrush.  For a time they rode in silence.  Finally he asked, “Where’s the box?”

            Brendi nodded at Will’s trap.  “Will offered to carry it for now, alongside the box for his family.”

            Bard nodded.  Then, after a brief quiet he asked, “How much did he ever tell you?”

            “Most of it, I think.  About the Ring and the reason why they allowed a Hobbit to carry It instead of one of the great Elves or the King taking It.  About how he felt like a failure because at the last It took him and he couldn’t stop It, and found himself contemplating how he should kill Sam.  About how his finger was bitten off….”

            Bard looked at him in shock.  “His finger was bitten off?”

            Brendi nodded.  “By that Gollum Bilbo used to speak of.  He tried to take the Ring back from Frodo, biting Frodo’s finger off to get It, and then fell into the fire himself.  Which was another thing Frodo felt guilty about.”

            “When did he start thinking he was dying?”

            “When do you mean?  During the trip or after he came back?  He almost died several times out there, you see.  Said he was shocked to wake up after he and Sam were rescued and the Ring was destroyed and found they were still alive.  I think he was more than a bit disappointed about it, in fact.”  Then, looking into Bard’s eyes, the Bucklander added, “He didn’t think he’d ever come back, once he’d accepted the burden of taking It to Mordor for Its destruction.  Part of why he left the others, to try to give them a chance to survive.”

            Bard thought on this for a time.  “But Sam wouldn’t let him go on alone?” he asked.  At Brendi’s nod he asked, “Did Frodo write a will before?”

            Brendi again nodded.  “A much simpler one.  Left the bulk of his estate to his young cousins Fosco and Forsythia Baggins.  They’re the children of his Uncle Dudo by his second marriage to Emerald Boffin.”

            “Yes, Everard and Paladin have told me of them.”

            Brendi indicated he understood.  “That time he still left the smials on the Row to those who lived there.  A few personal bequests.  Left the vineyard and press to Lotho and Lobelia.  Named Ponto to follow after him as family head.”

            “But then he came back.”

            “Yes, he came back, and it was all changed.  He felt Sam was the real hero of the trip to Mordor, and wanted the whole Shire to realize just how wise Sam is, so he made certain Sam inherited Bag End.”

            “Why didn’t he leave it to these younger cousins this time?”

            “I asked him that.  He reminded me they’re already going to inherit Daisy and Griffo’s smial and the farm as well as the hole belonging to their parents in Westhall and their foster parents’ portion of the Gravelly farm and their folks’ farm shares.  Said they didn’t need Bag End as well.  As it is they inherit Frodo’s holdings in Gondor and Arnor as well as his title.”

            Bard again was surprised.  “What holdings?”

            Brendi smiled.  “Well, he and Sam were named Lords of the realm, and were awarded lands whose deeds and incomes are granted to them.  Sam will undoubtedly leave his title and lands to his primary heir, while Frodo left his title to young Fosco.  Said Sam certainly didn’t need two titles and such grants.”

            “To go back to a former subject, when did Frodo realize, once he was back here in the Shire, that if he stayed he would most likely die?”

            The Bucklander shook his head.  “I’m not certain, but I suspect by May.  Sam was beginning to despair then, I think.”

            “There are going to be quite a few who won’t understand why Frodo adopted Sam.”

            “Frodo knew that, and didn’t care any longer.”  Then after a moment Brendi added, “He’d actually transferred title before he left the Shire, you see.  Asked Sam if he had a coin, and when Sam gave it to him he gave him a model house in token of the fact he’d just purchased Bag End for it.  The coin was in the envelope I gave him.”

            Bard thought on this for a time.  “Wasn’t taking any chances, was he?”

            “That’s right.  Coin and adoption as heir and will.  Wasn’t going to allow anyone to question the fact he intended Sam and Rosie receive title to Bag End.  Although he didn’t tell Sam outright what he was doing at the time.”

            “So,” the Took said, “he probably knew from last spring he was not going to last.”

            Brendi nodded.

            “And he probably knew before he visited the Great Smial and had that fight with Pal and Lanti.”

            “Yes.”

            “I saw him that night—afterwards.  He was in a great deal of pain at the time.”

            Brendi looked at him with interest.  “Was he really?”

            “White with it.  Next morning he was much better, although he didn’t eat a great deal.  Then at the Free Fair—did you go?”

            “No, I didn’t.  Had a death of one of my clients in the Southfarthing and business pertaining to that.  What was he like then?”

            “Pale and ghostly, he was.  Hadn’t worn a jacket that day, just older pants and a fairly decent shirt and vest.  His appearance shocked Pearl.”

            “Yes, I suppose it would have.”

            “Then he was at Odovacar’s birthday party and seemed to be fine, although I suppose he wasn’t, not really.  Insisted Merry tell about how the song the Elves sang the previous year was written.  He, Merry, and Pippin were all exchanging looks throughout the story, although he wouldn’t let Merry tell us that it was about him and Sam, that he and Sam were the Cormacolindor--the Ringbearers.  Ferdi had it all figured out, though.  Apparently Frodo had told him a bit about carrying the Ring and trying to destroy it.”

            He gave a great sigh.  “That last time Pippin was home—Brand was asking him more about the song and what and who it was about and all, and Pippin still was reluctant to admit it was written to honor the two of them.  Afterwards Ferdi was almost ready to give up on us altogether because we just couldn’t seem to get it, that Frodo and Sam were the Ringbearers.”

            “The Thain and Eglantine appear to finally have come to accept that Pippin needs to be treated as an adult, at least,” Brendi noted.  “That was one of the issues that was bothering Frodo most—that and getting Merry to talk with Sara and Esme.”

            Bard examined Brendi.  “How are you doing with all this, though.  You appear to be as much in grief as the rest of us.”

            Brendi sighed, looking off the direction they were traveling.  Finally he said, “I suppose I am.  No one has ever really thought of me in terms of my friendship with my cousin Frodo before, because, after all, his strongest relationships were always with Merry, Pippin, Sam, Folco, and Freddy.  I mean, they’re the ones who always visited him, you know.”

            He glanced at Bard, then looked back at Will’s trap.  “Yet Frodo’s always been my best friend, although I never felt I reciprocated all I ought to do.  He’d visit with me every time he came to Buckland, although I almost never came here to the Westfarthing to see him after the Party.  When we learned Merilinde was dying, he’s the one who asked all of us, ‘What will make you happiest?’  It’s because of him we decided to marry anyway for what time we could have together.  He stood by me while I dealt with the fact the lass I loved most was dying, he saw to it we married, he stood up for me at our wedding, he stood by me during our marriage, and he saw to it we did indeed live as husband and wife, and he stood by me afterwards.  He took me on as his personal lawyer and helped me get my start.

            “He was always there for me, but I didn’t do much to be there for him until after he came back from almost dying himself.”  He sighed deeply, and a tear fell.  “At least I did my best to see him when I could once he got back.”

            Bard looked at him, then turned his gaze somewhere between his pony’s ears.  “At least you had a friendship already.  I was so jealous of him during the years he and Pearl were so in love, and I felt so triumphant when she threw him over; although do you know I still don’t know why?”

            Brendi’s eyebrows rose at that.  “She’s still not told you?” he asked.

            The Took shook his head.  “I’ll tell you this, though,” he said at length, “she’s never indicated she ever wished she’d married him instead of me.”

            “That’s something,” Brendi agreed.  After a time he said, “So, although you had reason to not see eye to eye before, once he came back you became friends?”

            Bard nodded.  “Working with him when he was younger than me rankled at first—or it did until I realized just how good he was.  I swear he knows more about the Shire than the Thain does—has traveled almost the entire place.  He knows what kinds of crops grow where and what families are clustered in which areas.  He can talk to the folk each as he or she is able to hear.  It’s almost impossible to lie to him—even when he wants to believe you he won’t if you lie to him.  Had a property dispute near Westhall—he even knew where the property markers would be found in spite of a stream changing its bed and covering one of them over.

            “Working with him I learned so much about how to examine things.  We had to teach him to understand the language of the legal papers he was reading; but once he learned that he’d be the first to spot irregularities and understand the implications of changing just a word or two.  I suppose a lot of that comes from the years he’s spent translating Elvish—the recognition as to how apparently minor changes can change meaning.

            “At first we didn’t understand why he’d changed so, and why he ate so little.  To learn it was due to not eating properly for so long during their journey damaging his digestion was a shock.  He would admit so rarely how ill he’d been, much less how ill he might be.”

            “Did he speak much of what he experienced out there?”

            “No, barely anything, except how much he liked this one or that of the people he’d met.  One day I’m going to meet this King Elessar of theirs, you know.  He appears to be a marvelous individual.  All four of them just light up when they speak of him.”

            “Yes, he does sound to be a wonder,” Brendi admitted.  “I saw a couple drawings Frodo did of him—very alert and competent.  And his wife is remarkably beautiful.  I can see why Frodo was drawn to her.”

            Bard straightened with interest.  “Frodo was drawn to our Queen?” he asked.

            “Indeed so,” Brendi affirmed.  “He told me that he found Queen Arwen, the Lady Éowyn, and a young lady he met in Minas Tirith to be among the most beautiful women he’s ever seen anywhere.  That he could still find himself drawn to Narcissa Boffin in spite of that competition I found heartening.”

            “Frodo was drawn also to Narcissa Boffin?”  Bard was even more surprised.  “I know she’s been fascinated by him for years….”

            “From the same time Pearl was first drawn to him,” Brendi agreed.  “Except Narcissa never would have dreamed of throwing him over—never!”

            “How do you know Frodo was drawn to her in return?”

            Brendi smiled, not certain what he should tell the Took lawyer.  Finally he temporized somewhat, feeling that Frodo ought to be allowed to retain his privacy over the drawings he’d done of Narcissa Boffin.  “Let me simply say that Frodo at last, now that he no longer carried Sauron’s Ring, finally began to respond once more to the affection he saw she held for him.  However,” and his face again grew sad, “considering how he recognized his own health had been impaired, he never felt free to return her regard openly, and in the end realized the time had come he must either accept the grace offered him or die.”

            Bard looked at him seriously.  “He encouraged you to marry Merilinde for what time was given her, or so you’ve said?”  At Brendi’s solemn nod he continued, “Then why didn’t he follow his own advice?”

            Brendi shrugged and again looked down the road they traveled.  “What can I say?  He was Frodo, after all, and a bundle of contradictions.  Vain and humble at the same time; intelligent and more foolish than I can say.  To be the one to receive rather than the one to show compassion would be terribly difficult for him, I think.”

            “But isn’t that basically what he’s been doing since he left the Mayor’s office, Brendi?  Mostly he’s stayed hidden in Hobbiton and Bag End, from what I can tell being tended to by Sam Gamgee and his wife.”

            “It’s one thing, I think, to accept compassion from someone who’s walked into the shadows of the greatest horrors you can imagine alongside you, Bard; quite a different thing to accept it from those who’ve never forgotten having to change your nappies or who only admire you for your dancing and your home.”

            “Don’t quite understand what you mean by that, Brandybuck.”

            The Bucklander looked back at the Took.  “Don’t forget that two walked to Mordor together, went through it together, and were brought out of it together.  Samwise Gamgee has seen Frodo at his greatest and his worst, and he honors him for it all.  But for the rest of us—we can’t begin to imagine, most of us, what it was like for Frodo there.  He really wanted to forget it and return to a normal life again, but found he couldn’t—he’d been too deeply scarred by what he went through.  But to open up and allow others to do more than have glimpses of that horror….”

            Brendi stretched as he took a deep breath.  “Sam has known it all, and Merry and Pippin have a fair idea what Frodo went through, considering what they experienced on their own.  But for those of us who stayed here, not even experiencing the terrors of the Time of Troubles is quite enough to fully understand what he felt and saw and endured.  And to open up to accept a wife who has never seen anything of what he experienced—he apparently couldn’t imagine it.

            “One of the last times I saw him he commented he wished he had courted Narcissa and was chiding himself for his own vanity.  But I don’t know that he could have found the—the intimacy needed for a good marriage easy to achieve.  There would always be a part of Frodo Baggins held apart, the scars protected, if you will.  He even tried to hide so much from Sam, a fact Sam recognizes.

            After a few minutes Bard murmured, “His scars protected.  Yes, I can see that in Frodo Baggins.”  Again he went quiet, then commented, “I want to know more, Brendi.  I want to understand as best I can.”

            Brendi shrugged again.  “Ask Sam to let you read Frodo’s book, although it may take a time before it’s available.  He’s not read it himself, and then the Thain has asked for permission to read it as well.”

            “I doubt Sam will let too much time go by before he allows Paladin to read it.  I may sneak it away while it’s at the Great Smial to read it for myself.  Is it very long?”

            Brendi nodded.  “From what I could tell it was indeed pretty long, looking at it in his study.  Sam read a bit of what Frodo had written for it but hadn’t copied into it as yet after the rest of you left.  Told of the journey to the Grey Havens, although it was very simple narrative without a great deal of detail.  Sam said it was almost exactly what happened, and that apparently Frodo had foreseen what would happen and be said.”

            “Did Frodo talk much on the journey?”

            Brendi shook his head.  “Apparently after the first he barely spoke at all.”

            Bard sighed.

            They remained quiet for most of the rest of the way, until they arrived finally in Michel Delving.  They left their mounts at the stable and walked across the square to the Council Hole together.  Together Will and Brendi went through the documents that needed now to be filed, and discussed how the remaining bequests were to be handled.  “I’ll go back to Bag End with a cart when Sam and Rosie return to Hobbiton and take away what I can and see it delivered.  Luckily most were present at the reading and have received what Frodo intended them to have; and anything Sam wishes to share of what’s left I’m certain he’ll deal with when he can handle it and as he realizes who would best benefit by the gifts.”

            “Sounds like a reasonable plan,” Will grunted.

            Bard found himself examining Will closely.  The Mayor looked sad and thoughtful, his hair definitely greyer than it had ever been.  For Old Flourdumpling to look this way didn’t seem right; even when he was first rescued from the Lockholes Will had looked surprised and hopeful in spite of his obvious pain and illness.  For the first time Bard realized Will Whitfoot was indeed getting on in years, and had perhaps good reason to wish he were retired indeed.  Will sat in his chair behind his desk, rubbing his forehead, his eyes filled with a level of pain Bard didn’t remember ever seeing in him before.  “Are you doing all right, Will?” he asked the older Hobbit.

            Will looked up at him from under his brows.  “Nothing to worry about, Bard,” he said dismissively.  “It’s just that----”  He didn’t finish right away, and finally sighed as he turned his chair away slightly.  “Who’d have dreamed,” the Mayor said quietly, half to himself, “I’d have come to love him as I did?” Then, after a minute he added, “It’s like losing Fenton all over again.”

            Bard and Brendi looked at one another.  Fenton Whitfoot had died so long ago, back when they were still in their tweens, the year it seemed everyone was becoming ill and so many had caught the ague or the lung sickness.   There were those who referred to the lung sickness as “the Old Gaffer’s Friend,” but that year it had taken so many who were young and hale as well as those who were enfeebled already.  Both could name several within the confines of Tookland and Buckland who’d died that year, or who’d come close to doing so.  Frodo himself had been very ill, if they remembered rightly.  And Will and Mina Whitfoot had lost their only son to it.

            “We’ll all miss him,” Bard said quietly.  “It’s as if an essential part of the Shire has left us.”

            Will didn’t turn to look at him or Brendi, just nodded.  “Yes,” he said slowly, “although most folks will just decide he was gone all queer the way old Bilbo had gone.  They’ll be certain as he never truly liked the Shire to begin with, and won’t believe how fiercely he loved it.  And once they realize as he was ill, they’ll just say he went as he did to leave all who loved him in confusion.”

            Brendi said solemnly, “It appears you know your Hobbits, sir.”

            Will swiveled to look up at him.  “Been doing this job upwards of forty-three years now.  Only took it because no one could convince Bilbo to run for it.  Tried for years to convince Frodo to take over for me.  No one realizes those two, for all their interest in outside the Shire, knew our land better than anyone else, knew and understood and loved our folk best of all.  You can’t do this job without learning as how the average Hobbit thinks.  You watch.  Old Odo will say it out loud where all can hear soon enough--and by the time he says it you can be certain as much of the rest are thinking it.”

            They couldn’t dispute him.

            Brendi sighed as he rifled inside his waistcoat.  “Do have one last thing,” he said.  “Apparently Frodo realized he’d missed a few details while they were on the way, and had one of the Elves write out something for him.  I suspect it has to do with Fosco and Forsythia Baggins, for he never indicated in the will what supervision ought to be given them until they come of age.”

            Bard looked at him interestedly as the Brandybuck lawyer handed the thick packet to Will.  It was comprised of several sheets of parchment folded loosely together and sealed with a blob of unadorned beeswax.  Will examined it.  “Doesn’t appear to of used that stickpin of his on it the way he always did.”

            Brendi shook his head.  “No, he left that to Fosco and Forsythia.  It appears that was his official signet for the united realm, and Fosco’s inherited his role there.  I suppose that’s part of why he wished the two of them to be part of any business with the outer world, preparing Fosco to become the Lord Baggins after him.”

            Will snorted as he broke the simple wax seal.  “Lord Baggins!  Who in the Shire will realize there is such a thing from now on?” he asked.  “And if the family fails completely, will the title die with it?”  As he shook out the packet he sighed.  “Now there’s a question to ask of the King, I suppose.  Who’d of believed,” he added as he examined the inscriptions on the packets enclosed within, “that the King would indeed come again, and in our time?”

            Will read the pages which had fallen open carefully, then went through them a second time.  He finally handed them to Brendi.  “You were right, Brendilac--it is a codicil to his will.”  Bard noted he had a slight smile on his lips.  “Doesn’t miss a trick, that one,” he said approvingly.  “He’s appointing Narcissa Boffin as their independent guardian, if she’ll accept the post.  He asks that the income from a particular farm share be used to afford her a traveling allowance for when she must go to Westhall or accompany the twins throughout and outside the Shire.”

            “Which farm share is that?” Brendi asked, “His own shares in the Gravelly farm?”

            Will smiled more broadly.  “Of course,” he said.  “If Lilac Gravelly knew she’d be furious.  Please don’t tell her.”

            Bard leaned to read over Brendi’s shoulder.  “Not his writing,” he commented.  “Not any Hobbit’s writing as I’ve ever seen.”

            “Do you think it was written inside the Shire?” Will asked as Brendi finished it and returned it to the Mayor’s desk.

            The Brandybuck nodded.  “Merry suspected it was written one of the first two nights he was with the Elves, and that would be here within the Shire.”

            Will was now examining the signatures of those who’d witnessed the document, then paused at one which was familiar from many years previously.  He looked up at Brendi with surprise.  “Bilbo?  Old Bilbo served as witness?” he asked.

            “He was granted the grace too, Will.  He carried that Ring for sixty-one years, you know, and It hadn’t managed to corrupt him--not yet.”

            “The stubborn old Baggins!” Will said, shaking his head in admiration.  “So, Frodo’s not going alone, there among the Elves.”  The relief he felt was obvious.

            “No, he’s not going alone.”

            “Well, we can certainly approve this,” Will said, his cheerfulness returning as he reached for the bottle of red ink and added his own signature.  Then he looked at them.  “Would you mind adding yours as well, just in case anyone objects that most of these might be meaningless as they’ve apparently left Middle Earth?”

            “Not all that unusual with wills,” Bard commented as he accepted the papers and the quill.  “Half the ones I see executed were written decades ago and were signed by friends, most of whom are gone by the time the will’s read.”

            “I know,” Will nodded.  “But in this case there’s bound to be someone somewhere who’ll object--very possibly Bartolo Bracegirdle.  Was most upset when Lobelia returned Bag End to Frodo.”

            Bard examined the signatures present.  “Frodo’s own signature was pretty weak,” he said softly.  He saw a firm hand, Elrond Eärendilion.  In the same hand as that in which the rest of the codicil was written:  Galadriel Artanis.  He looked back at the previous sheet.  Frodo had dictated this to one of the most legendary of all Elves, one who’d been born in the Blessed Realm and who’d come to Middle Earth following the revolt of the Noldor.  He shivered.  He didn’t recognize the other names--someone named Erestor, and another named Gildor Inglorion, and then others still.  He took a deep breath, dipped the pen into the ink and inscribed his own name below those of immortals.

8:  Peace in the Great Smial

            As they were ready to leave, the door opened to admit one of the Bounders.  Isumbard smiled.  “Hello, Beligard,” he said.  “Coming in after your duty?”

            “Yes, Cousin Bard,” the Bounder said.  “Headin’ for the Great Smial.”

            “Brendi and I are going to catch a meal at the inn,” Bard said, “and then head home.”

            “Then after I make my report I’ll meet you there,” Beli said.  “I’ll be glad to ride home with you.”

            Bard and Brendi walked first to the stable to retrieve Brendi’s box, and then went into the inn and took a table along one wall.  Bobbin smiled down at them.  “Good to see you again, Mr. Brendilac, Mr. Isumbard, sirs.  Haven’t seen the two of you together here for some time.  And where have the two of you been?”

            “We were in Hobbiton with Will, Bobbin.  Just finished with our business a few moments ago.”

            “Did you see Mr. Frodo, then?  Do you think as he’d consider comin’ here at Yule?  I know as he has family and all, but, you see, Pippa’s more’n a bit sweet on him and we’re havin’ quite a celebration and all.  She’s been talkin’ of how good for business as it would be if’n he was to be part of it, maybe give out the prizes for First Footin’ and all, say some words at the bonfire, help pass out the torches.  Will--him’n Mina’s plannin’ to spend Yule with Mr. Bucca and Missus Aster and the childern.”

            He couldn’t help but see how solemn the two of them became.  Bard cleared his throat, but his voice was still a bit rough when he answered, “I’m sorry, Bobbin, but Frodo won’t be able to come.”

            “That’s too bad.  But, then, he has family there at the Great Smial and Brandy Hall and in Budgeford’n all.  Understand as he can’t be everywhere the same evenin’.  Pippa’ll be that disappointed, though.  Ah well,” he continued before the two before him could say any more, “what can I get for you?”

            Spared the need to explain for the moment, they considered briefly and gave their orders.  They watched as Bobbin returned to the bar and spoke through the pass-through to the kitchen to young Miko who served now as cook, then shook his head with a rueful smile at Pippa, whose expression fell.  Brendi sighed.  “Another generation of lasses who have fallen in love with Frodo Baggins,” he said, shaking his head.  “I suspect that when word gets out there are going to be heartbroken ladies all across the Shire.” 

            Bard gave a solemn nod of agreement, then gave his attention to the box.  “What did he leave you?” he asked.

            “I suppose I should open it up and find out,” Brendi said thoughtfully.  “After all, that’s why I brought it in.”  He set the box on the bench between them and made quick work of the toggles which held the lid fastened, lifting it off and setting it on edge between the box and the wall.

            On top of the contents was a carved wooden box made of an unfamiliar wood with a glowing reddish grain.  Gently Brendi lifted it out and examined it.  It was carved all over with vines and blossoms, and had then been rubbed with some kind of sweet-smelling wax.  He set the box between them and together they examined it.

            “Beautiful!” murmured Bard.  Brendi nodded his agreement.

            The lid to this box was hinged.  Brendi had to slip a fingernail into the crack and work at it briefly before the lid finally worked loose enough it could be opened.  Inside was a sheet of Frodo’s soft golden stationery, folded atop something wrapped in a silvery blue cloth of some sort.  Brendi took up the note and unfolded it.

Dearest Brendi,

            I have one last request--or, at least I believe it is the last one I will ask of you.  I ask you to assist in overseeing the care for my young Baggins cousins, Fosco and Forsythia of Westhall, until they are of age.  They have been wonderful younglings to know over the years, and I regret I cannot be there for those times which mean most in their lives.

            You already know I’ve named Fosco family head.  That distinction ought to go to Ponto and Iris, of course, but Ponto can’t exercise the responsibility properly, for he’ll not recover from the ills that he suffered during the Time of Troubles, while Iris is too distracted by his illness and is totally unaccustomed to any such responsibility.  She herself indicated during our last visit that she doesn’t feel competent at this time to take up the role as family head in Ponto’s stead.

            The others remaining of the name are simply unsuitable, being in almost total ignorance of our proper family ties and having no true education.  That doesn’t leave me with much of a choice, obviously.

            I’ve followed the twins since their birth a couple years after the Party, and find they are delightful individuals, highly intelligent and capable, curious, and very responsible.  I know that Fosco’s sight is impaired, but he still can read and write and knows how to keep records.  With his sister’s help until the day he finally marries (and I certainly hope he will indeed marry and father children) I believe he will do well as family head.

            I wish this shirt and the boxes wrapped in it given to Fosco on the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday.  I’m leaving much of my mother’s jewelry as well as a few other items to Narcissa and trusting that she will choose properly from them as similar gifts for Forsythia for the same day.  I’m afraid I’m rather ignorant of what precisely would be the best gift for a lass for that special birthday, better than halfway to being of age.

            Please let Fosco know on that day just how much I love him and how proud I am of him, and how proud I would be to stand by him on that day.  I’m sorry I will miss so much.

            I wore the shirt at Aragorn’s coronation feast and again at his wedding to the Lady Arwen.  The ring was a gift from Prince Imrahil--I never wore it--I can’t bear the thought of wearing any ring myself any more; I kept it because of the giver, actually.  The pipe was given to me by Bilbo on my twenty-fifth birthday, and was carved by the Dwarves of Erebor.  I used to smoke it when I was a tween.  I’d always intended to give it to my eldest son.  And I had intended to adopt the two of them, once I returned--if I returned.

            Dudo never was as broad as my dad was, and I see no sign that Fosco will be any broader than his dad or me before we left the Shire.  The shirt ought to fit him well enough, I think.  I don’t know if he’ll grow to be as tall as me, though.  I rather doubt it, actually.

            Just help guide him to be the best Hobbit he can be, please, Brendi.

            And remember always how very much I’ve always loved you.

                                                            Frodo

            Brendi lifted out the wrapped bundle and carefully unwrapped the shirt from around the two inner boxes.  The carving of the box holding the pipe was lovely, with geometric designs and a stylized hammer and anvil in the center.  Brendi removed the lid to show the pipe lying nestled in the velvet-lined interior, and realized there was another gleam of golden paper carefully folded beneath it.  Realizing this was intended for Fosco, he replaced the lid after Bard had briefly examined pipe and box.  Then he opened the small wooden box and they looked at the ring it contained.

            The shirt was unadorned, and strikingly beautiful with its soft collar and the lacing at the placket and at the cuff.  Each of them handled it, feeling the softness and smoothness of its weave before finally wrapping it once more around the boxes holding pipe and ring and settling them once again into the carved wooden box.

            The rest of the contents were mixed:  a couple of shirts which had obviously never been worn; three books; a set of shirt studs; a silver ale mug; a pair of crystal goblets in a wooden box lined with red satin; a pair of braces which had evidently never been worn; a bag of mixed coins of the King’s coinage; a leather wallet filled with Goolden Lynch leaf; a pair of intricate wooden puzzles; and, at the bottom a small stack of papers.  On top was the picture of the King and Queen together that Frodo had drawn, and under it was the draft copy of the chapter from Frodo’s book which described the coronation of the King.  Brendi leafed through the pages of it and found that inserted in the midst of them was the series of studies of Narcissa Boffin Frodo had drawn the summer day he and Brendi had spoken atop the Hill.  Brendi had shared the picture of King and Queen with Bard, but knew instinctively he would never show any other this sheet.

            At the bottom of the stack was another piece of Frodo’s stationery, not folded this time.  It read simply, Know this, cousin--I will never stop loving you and hoping for your happiness.  Both Brendi and Bard read this before Brendi returned it to the bottom of the box, secreting the pictures of Narcissa beneath it while Bard was examining one of the books.  Together they replaced the rest of the items, Brendi putting the chapter detailing the coronation of the King and the picture of King and Queen now on top of the box for Fosco.

            Bard was smiling gently as he watched the Brandybuck replacing the lid on top.  “It’s a beautiful collection of gifts by which you should remember him,” he commented.  Brendi nodded solemnly.

            Pippa and Bobbin were bringing their meal as Beligard entered, looked about the room, then came to join them.  “Well,” he said as he sat in the chair opposite Brendi, “that’s dealt with, and now I’m free to go home for the next month.”

            “Any difficulties?” asked Bard.  “Any Men near the borders?”

            “No problems.  Did meet one Man near the borders, but he was definitely camped just off the road that now runs South of the Shire toward the West and clearly outside our bounds.  Saw his camp from our side and crept close, up behind a blueberry bush, to try to determine if he offered any danger.  Watched him wake up and go to the stream as runs through the glade where he camped, then he saw me.”

            Bard was alarmed.  “Did he offer any threat?”

            Beli shook his head.  “No, no threat at all.  Quite a decent sort, you know.  Saw me and spoke up fair, and even offered to share his breakfast.  Said as he was a Ranger of Arnor.”

            Brendi smiled.  “I’ve met Lord Gilfileg, who is one of the King’s kinsmen remaining in the North Kingdom, and he’s definitely fair spoken and thoughtful.  I can’t imagine the rest of the Northern Dúnedain as being anything but competent and courteous.”

            “Well,” Beli smiled, “this one was definitely courteous.”

            “Was he going East or West?” asked Bard.

            “Comin from the West.  Said as he was headed East to meet up with his brothers.”  Beligard gave his order to Bobbin, then returned to the subject of his patrol.  “There’s a settlement of Men down that way, about a mile off Southeast of our borders.  Us Bounders, we keep an eye on them.  They’ve built some houses and byres and a barn, none of them much.  Have one field of grain and another of vegetables, and some set aside as pastureland for cattle.  Don’t think they’re doin’ any too bad.  They got some young’uns as come snoopin’ along the borders from time to time, but they’ve been warned off from crossin’ over.  Two Men from their group tried enterin’ our lands last winter.  Merry Brandybuck was there the last time they come over and took ‘em prisoner and then give ‘em to the Rangers.  I think as one of them was allowed to return to his people, but the other’s not been seen again.  Generally one or two of the Rangers pass that way every other week or so.

            “Other than the stranger, didn’t see anythin’ unusual this time.”  He gave a look at Bard.  “What’s up with the Thain?  Him and the missus returned home yet?”

            “Yes, today.”

            “Took ’em long enough,” the Bounder grunted.  “What’s been keepin’ the two of ’em so long in Buckland this time?”

            “Learning how to make it up with Pippin.”

            “They manage it yet?”

            “I think so.”

            “’Bout time,” Beligard said.  “For all he’s not of age as yet, still he’s a fine Hobbit and a far more thoughtful one since he come back.  And he knows his business with that sword of his, I’ll have you know.  Him’n Merry both do.”  He smiled up as Pippa brought him an ale.  “Thank you, lass.  How come you don’t have you a likely lad askin’ you to step out with him yet, hmm?”

            She flushed prettily and swatted playfully at his shoulder, and he grinned openly.  “You’d best watch out, lass, or I’ll set my hat for you yet,” he told her.  He watched after her as she returned to the bar, a smile on her face, then looked confidingly at Isumbard.  “For all she’s plain lookin’ most of the time, there’s still a core o’ prettiness if’n you can get her smilin’, or so I’ve found out.”

            The discussion as they spoke was of Beligard’s rounds and how he and the other Bounders handled incursions now.  “Our orders from Cap’ns Merry and Pippin are pretty clear--we’re to get help if’n there’s more’n just one, isolate them from the folk as lives there near the borders, and hold ’em for whatever Rangers as we see ridin’ by next.  Pippin, he’s ridden right out there on the new road to talk with groups o’ the Rangers, and we have a signal flag now.  If’n we raise a red flag on it, they’ll stop and come to the border to wait and will take on any prisoner as we’ve got.  If’n there’s a white they’ll just stop to talk.  Green and they ride on by; yellow and they’ll melt away into the trees and we won’t see them at all after that, but they’ll scout out the area lookin’ for any dangers as we might of noticed.

            “Pippin’s ordered us to build a gaol of sorts to hold any prisoners as we might take.  He’s plannin’ to help with it next time as he comes down, although he’s got some steady folk workin’ on designs for it now.  Says as he wants three rooms suitable for big folk to stay in as are secure, with a cot and a decent mattress and proper sheets and blankets and all, table as is fixed to the wall, stool, proper chamber pots and basins and ewers, but says as he’ll see to gettin’ those from Bree fit for Men.  Got the idea as they ought to be of metal for a gaol, he does.”

            And so it went.  They ate quickly enough, then after Bard paid their bill they rose.  “You need to get back to Buckland right away, Brendi?” he asked.  “Can you stay the night with us in the Great Smial?  I think the Thain would be glad to host you.”

            Brendi had considered taking a room there in Michel Delving, but found he didn’t relish the idea of being alone that night.  “Certainly I’ll be glad of the company,” he said, and picking up the box he started for the door.

            Bobbin stopped them before they left.  “Beggin’ your pardons, masters,” he said, “but there’s one thing as I almost forgot.  Last time as Mr. Baggins was here he left some things as he was eatin’ his meal, he did.  Missus Aster--she come and got his water bottles as he’d left here, but I didn’t realize he’d left this other until near supper time, and another patron, he found it.”  He was holding a cloth-bound book in his hands, one with silver bindings.  “Perhaps you could return it to him, sir,” he said to Brendi, “seein’ as you’re kin and his lawyer and all.”  So saying he gave it into the lawyer’s hands, bobbed his head politely, and turned as Pippa came to him with a request from one of the other patrons.

            Brendi set the box on the floor, opened the book and realized it was not in Westron at all.  “It’s Frodo’s all right,” he murmured.  “Elvish.  Poetry, from what I can tell,” he added as he turned the pages.  Then he found a small square of paper with Bilbo’s spidery writing on it, very shaky but definitely legible:  I love you so, my boy.  I am so proud of you.  Brendi took a deep breath.  “He’ll have regretted not taking this, I think,” he said softly, handing the square to Bard to read; then he took it back and replaced it where he’d found it.  He took a deep breath, handed the book to Bard to carry for him, retrieved his box, and they went out to fetch their ponies.  Brendi found it a bit awkward riding Thrush with the box balanced before him and held with one hand, and Thrush herself was apparently not particularly happy about it but accepted it for his sake.  They rode quietly for the most part for the relatively short distance to the Tooklands and the Great Smial, and Bard led the way into the stableyard where Aldenard and his lads helped them dismount and took the ponies.  Accepting the box once more from the lad who’d held it while he dismounted, Brendi followed the two Tooks into the Great Smial and to the Thain’s private parlor.

            Once again Beligard gave his report, and described the tall stranger who’d camped there near the Men’s road Westward.

            “I wasn’t certain as this Man was a Ranger, though, for he wasn’t wearin’ one of their type o’ cloak or no star brooch like the rest, and his horse didn’t have no tack on it.”

            “No tack?” asked Bard.  “He’s riding his horse bareback?”

            Beligard nodded.  “Great grey, this horse is, too--silvery grey. Don’t look a good deal like the horses as the Rangers usually ride.  Fine animal, though.  Man was kitted out much like the rest o’ the Rangers, though, I must say, in spite of the fact as he had a different cloak.  Personal bags, bow, small quiver, great long sword in an inlaid sheath, several knives about him, green ridin’ leathers what was well worn.  The bag as he took the bacon from was different from most of the rest--looked to be woven of grasses, strong but light.  Beautiful work, that, the weavin’ and all.

            “It was the cloak as took me most by surprise, you see.  Grey-green, it was, and just like them the Travelers all come back with and wear so often.  And its brooch was the same as theirs, too--that tinted green leaf.”

            All sat up at that, looking at one another.  “Did he say he knew our lads?” asked Thain Paladin.

            “Yessir, he did,” Beli admitted.  “Said as he’d met them and as they’d met him.”

            Lanti looked from Bard to her husband.  “Well,” she said, “Lord Halladan had indicated he’d ridden home from Gondor with them, up to the road to Rivendell, at least.”

            “But he wasn’t wearing one of the cloaks like theirs,” Paladin commented.  “His was a silvery grey, and he had that star brooch to hold it closed.”  She nodded.  “I wonder if this one went to say goodbye to Frodo and Bilbo?” he continued.

            “Lord Halladan didn’t say anything about having sent anyone that way,” she countered.

            “True,” he sighed.

            Brendi asked, “Was he wearing a black glove?”

            “No,” the Bounder answered, shaking his head.  “Had a partial glove on his right hand with no fingers, like an archer might wear; but then he carried that bow and it looks as if it’s seen use.”

            “Not Lord Gilfileg, then,” the Brandybuck said thoughtfully as he lifted his mug to take a sip of the ale that had been pressed on him on his arrival.

            “Said as his name was Strider,” Beli said shrugging, then stopped, surprised as all eyes fastened on him and Brendi’s mug fell from nerveless fingers and splashed all around him.  Beli looked from one to another, totally confused.  “What did I say?” he asked.

            “The King!” Paladin said, his voice awed.  “You saw the King himself.”

            “No!” Beli said, shaking his head.  It had taken a time for all to realize that there was indeed a King again, but with their growing communication with the Rangers who rode the circuit of the Shire’s boundaries outside its limits he’d finally accepted that this was true.  But there was no way he could imagine the King would be riding those same roads as any common Ranger and sharing his bacon and eggs with a Hobbit.  “What for would the King be doin’ on that road?” he demanded.

            “Hoping to say farewell to Frodo and Bilbo,” the Thain said.  “He must have arrived too late, though, for the lads would have said if they’d seen him.”

            Brendi was fixing the Bounder with an intense stare, ignoring the ale sinking into the carpet about his chair and the dampness of his lap, legs, and feet.  “What precisely did he say?” he asked.

            “Said as he’d been West but was headin’ East to find his brothers, and his adar or somethin’ like had left for him eggs and bacon, and offered to share it with me.”

            Ferdibrand, who’d been sitting quietly so far, smiled at that.  “Adar is Sindarin for father,” he commented.  “I remember that much of what old Bilbo told us about Sindarin during my visits to Bag End when Frodo and I were still tweens.  I think mother is nana or something like that.  And as our Lord King was raised by Lord Elrond of Rivendell, I would think he’d been raised to call him adar.”

            “What day did you meet this stranger?” Paladin asked him.

            “Four days back,” Beli told him.  “But he couldn’t be the King!”

            “Apparently he was,” Pal answered absently as he turned toward Isumbard.  “Wonder if he’ll arrange to speak to the lads?”

            Bard shrugged.  “I suspect he will, Uncle.  After all, he’s there East of the Shire right now, probably, and they’re heading for Buckland.  I’m certain he’ll at least send in a messenger to ask them to come out to meet with him.”

            “Sara would invite him across the Bridge Inn, same as when we met with Lord Halladan.”

            Eglantine was shaking her head.  “You heard what Lord Halladan told us, Pal--the King won’t break his own edict.  No, Bard’s right--he’ll ask them to come out to him.  Will send in a Bounder from the gate or an Elf or something.”

            The Thain and his wife exchanged looks before he finally nodded reluctantly.  “I suspect you are indeed right, love,” he sighed.  He looked back at the Bounder.  “Tell us what exactly he said.”

            As closely as he could Beli complied.  At last, when he was finished, Pal thanked him and turned his attention to Bard and Brendi.  Brendi had accepted a napkin from Pearl and was mopping at the ale on his trousers.  He paused at the Thain’s look of inquiry and said, “It certainly sounds as if this is indeed the King.”  Then he paused.  He looked at Beligard.  “Would you recognize him if you saw a picture?” he asked.  He dropped the napkin over the spilled ale on the floor, then turned to his box, opening the toggles and lifting off the lid.  He brought out the picture Frodo had done of the King, then rose with it and crossed to Beligard. 

            The Bounder’s attention was first fixed on the woman, his eyes widening.  “Well, it certainly wasn’t her!” he said with appreciation.  “She’s beautiful!”

            “Yes, I know.  What about the Man?”

            Reluctantly Beli turned his attention from the woman to her companion.  “Well,” he said slowly, “certainly looks like him.”  At Brendi’s triumphant nod, he turned back to the Thain.  “But what’s he doin’ here about the Shire?”

            “We’ve told you twice, Beligard Took,” Paladin said with some exasperation.  “He apparently came hoping to bid farewell to Frodo and Bilbo.”

            “Bilbo?  You mean old Bilbo Baggins?  But what was he doin’ here in these parts?  And where would he and Frodo be goin’?”

            “Away from Middle Earth,” Paladin said quietly.  “Frodo’s left the Shire.”

            Beli went quiet as he considered this.  “He’s left the Shire?  For good?”

            “Yes.  The Elves took him and Bilbo West with them.”

            “Why?”

            Paladin dropped his gaze to his lap.  Raising his eyes again to meet the Bounder’s, he said, “Otherwise he would have died.  We’ve--we’ve learned that what they did out there--Frodo, Pippin, Merry, and Samwise Gamgee--was far more serious and important than we could ever imagine.  Frodo and Sam almost died saving us all, saving us and the rest of Middle Earth besides.  The Elves felt Frodo needed this, and took Bilbo because of his service to Middle Earth as well, as a companion for Frodo on the voyage.”

            “They went on a ship?” asked Beli.  At Pal’s nod he looked away.  “A Hobbit on a ship--and with Elves?  If that don’t beat all....”  After a moment of thought he commented, “He said, that Strider did, that when I got back I’d find Samwise Gamgee was now Master of Bag End.  Is that right, then?”  He looked at Brendi.

            Brendi nodded as he finished replacing the lid on his box from Frodo.  “Yes, Frodo made Sam his heir.”

            Beli nodded, taking this in and thinking on it and its implications.  Finally he looked about the room.  “One thing--this time, at least, there’s no Sackville-Bagginses to raise a stink about it.

            All were surprised when they found themselves laughing.

            After Beli had gone off to his own quarters the rest sat for some time.  Paladin and Eglantine had some questions for Brendi, Bard, and Ferdi about what they’d known, and listened courteously.  Finally Bard brought out the book, which he’d stowed in his pocket.  “Frodo left this at the inn there in Michel Delving.  Bobbin asked Brendi if he would return it to him.  Do you think he ought to give it to Sam?”

            Pal took the silver volume in his hands and examined it, then opened it.  “Elvish?” he asked, looking from Brendi to Bard and back.

            Brendi nodded solemnly.  “It appears to be,” he said quietly.  “It appears to be poetry of some kind.”

            Ferdi gave a great sigh.  “If I could see, I’d love to have it.  I learned a bit of the Elvish letters when I was young.”

            Pimpernel looked at her husband.  “I suppose that, for the moment at least, Sam’s about the only one in the entire Shire who could read it, then.  He knows Sindarin, I think.”

            Paladin found a piece of paper folded between leaves in the book, brought it out and opened it.  It was a letter Frodo had received from Pippin, apparently just before the last meal Frodo had shared with his older cousins.

Dear Frodo, I hope you’re continuing to be well now.  I got home safely, and of course Merry got here just after I did, and he was expecting me.  Was surprised I’d lasted as long as I did, I think, but he’s not rubbing my nose in it or anything like that.

            My da was trying so hard to be good--I suppose he must be pretty devastated now about yelling at me the way he did.  I know he doesn’t want to do things like that.  It’s just he wants so hard for all to not have been so hard for us.

            Please don’t tell him about the troll falling on me and all--it would terrify him.  He just doesn’t realize I was only doing what I had to to help you have time to get to the mountain, and to protect my friends I was with.

            Merry and I don’t understand why you don’t want us there for your birthday, but know this, you stubborn Baggins--we will be there the first week of October this time.  You’re not going to try to hide it this time, understand?

            We love you and care for you, our most stubborn of cousins.  We went across Middle Earth with you, and would do it again if we thought you needed our protection.

                                                Pippin

            Paladin took a very deep breath and held it, then read it out loud to the others.  Pearl bowed her head, and Pimmie was actually crying.  Their father handed the note to their mother, who read it and handed it back.

            “Perhaps,” the Thain said, “we shouldn’t have read that, but I’m glad we did.  To all of you who have watched Lanti and me make such fools of ourselves--please forgive us as Pippin has done.  We realize now we can’t protect you from what’s already happened, and we were very wrong in our treatment of both Peregrin and Frodo.”

            “You know that Frodo forgave you,” Brendi said.  “He understood.  May not have stopped him from being totally upset with you, but he understood.”

            Paladin and Eglantine nodded.

            “At least,” Lanti said, thinking, “we’ve not let the whole thing go on.  As it is, we almost destroyed the trust Pippin had for us.”

            Pearl rose and walked to her mother’s chair and knelt before it.  “You know he’s forgiven you, Mum,” she said, taking her mother’s hands.  “Shall we see what Frodo sent to us?”

            The case sent to the Great Smial was larger than that Brendi received.  The Thain received a silver mug Frodo had brought back from Gondor and a wooden model of a pony (or more probably a horse) from Rohan.  For Eglantine there was a brooch that had been Primula’s, and for Pearl, Pervinca, and Pimpernel there were combs of mother of pearl and silver, and bolts of silk cloth.  For Ferdi there was a cloak brooch of a silver ship with a swan prow.  The note with it indicated, “Prince Imrahil’s youngest son Amrothos gave this to me--it was from his own cloak.  It’s said that their family has Elven blood.  Certainly they are as close to Elven beauty as I’ve seen among Men.  The Elves travel in such ships, they tell me.”  Bard received a pair of crystal goblets such as Brendi had received, and Pervinca’s husband received a fine pipe.  “One of Aragorn’s Elven brothers carved this for Bilbo, but he’s given up smoking any more.  Says he’d fall asleep and set fire to his chair.  I don’t smoke either, and hope you will accept it.”

            Pearl looked at the brief letter addressed to her.  “I was sorry at the time you chose to pull away from my love, Pearl Took, and I never understood why.  I suppose somehow Lobelia, may she rest now peacefully, had something to do with it.  I never thought to ever say this, but I’m now glad you did; for had we ever married, the Ring would have destroyed our marriage and our love.  I’m so glad you married Bard, for I can see how much he loves you and how he would never knowingly allow any to hurt you.  I am so glad that you have the joy of your children and your husband.  Hold them to you, Pearl, and rejoice this is so.”  Pearl read this and found herself weeping softly.  “I will, Frodo Baggins,” she said, remembering how gently he’d kissed her in the days when she’d thought she wanted nothing more ever than to be his wife.  She looked at Bard and smiled through her tears.

            All went to bed soon after, remembering Frodo’s quietness, his smile, his sly jokes that could take a few moments to sink in, his stories told, the love he’d always shown them all.

            Far out upon strange seas Frodo Baggins sat in a small room on a couch of red leather, sitting by Bilbo, being coaxed to eat a bowl of brambleberries with a small amount of cream on them.

9:  In the Mayor’s House

            Aster hadn’t fully understood why her mother had insisted she, Bucca, and the children return in early October, for they’d been there in Michel Delving such a short time before.  Today, however, as she stood on the doorstep and watched her father walk slowly across the square from the door to the Council Hole she thought she understood.  She hurried to meet him, let him put his arm about her shoulder, and supported him as he limped.  “The knee bothering you today, Da?” she asked him.

            “Not just the knee,” he said quietly.  “I’m feeling more than a bit worn is all.  I’m getting too old for being Mayor, I think.”

            “Frodo Baggins is gone, then?” she asked.

            He turned his head to look down into her face.  “You knew?” he asked.

            She shrugged and looked away from his eyes.  “He begged us not to talk about it, Da.”

            He sighed.  “Yes, I suppose as he would.  Been a private one for years, Frodo.”  He looked at where Bucca now stood on the doorstep, watching their approach.  “I’m all right, Bucca,” he said when they were close enough not to need to yell.  “Would you go over to the stable, the section where the traps are kept?  There’s a case on the back of the one I drove today, and I need for it to be brought in.”

            “Course, Will,” Bucca said.  “Good to see as you’re back safe from Hobbiton.”  With a nod he set off to fetch the case.

            “Hello, Ganda,” said Dianthus as they entered.  She was coming from the kitchen to the parlor carrying a tray with mugs and the teapot under its cozy, along with the sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and honey pot.  She paused to let him enter first, then followed after and set the tray she carried on the table by her grandmother.

            Mina looked at her husband with compassion in her eyes.  “Frodo’s will was executed today?” she asked.

            He nodded.  “Last time as he was in,” he said as he sank into his chair and put his foot up on the padded stool Cando hastily set before him, “he brought it in, along with other documents.  He purchased Aramos Millpond’s library hole there near the Three-Farthing Stone from Bachelorbutton, to be a gift to the entire Shire, and he’s set up an endowment to open free schools for the children of the Shire, to start with one in Hobbiton itself for the children in the region around the Hill.  He bought a field there, too, in which to set up a healers’ herb garden and library.  Wants to see a guild for healers started here in the Shire to improve the training for healers and herbalists and all.  Wants Sam and Budgie Smallfoot to help organize the garden.”

            Aster looked at him with interest.  “Who’s Master of Bag End now, Da?” she asked.

            “Samwise Gamgee--him and his wife Rosie.  Sam was made Frodo’s primary heir.  Adopted him, he did.”  He took a deep breath.  “Left his outside interests to those twin cousins of his in Westhall, then asked that Narcissa Boffin be made their independent guardian.”

            “Did he die, Ganda?” Dorno asked, his face pale.

            Will shook his head.  “No,” he said quietly.  “He’s not dead, or at least no one thinks so.  Decided to leave the Shire, he did, like old Bilbo did.  Left with the Elves.”

            Dianthus looked up at him with an uncharacteristic solemnity.  “Did anyone see him go, Ganda?”

            He nodded.  “Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, and Samwise Gamgee saw him go, were there as he went aboard the Elven ship.  They tell me as Lord Elrond went with him, too, and that Wizard Gandalf, and--and old Bilbo.”  He looked to catch his wife’s gaze.  “Can you believe it, Mina?  Bilbo’s still alive!  Who’d of believed it?  He’s a hundred and thirty-one now.”  He sighed and rubbed at his left temple with his fingertips.  “They tell me as Lord Elrond is the greatest healer in all Middle Earth, and that he’ll be by Frodo’s side until he’s restored.”

            “Gandalf went, too?” Mina asked.  At  his nod, she looked at the mug she’d been holding in her hands.  “Then he has a chance.  Do you want sugar or honey, love?”

            “Honey this time, I think,” he answered her.

            She added two dollops of honey to his cup and a small measure of cream and stirred it, then handed it to him.

            Cando asked, “Then, he’s been ill?” 

            Dianthus looked from him to their grandmother.  She turned back to her brother, answering, “He said it wasn’t like a cold, but that he was empty.”

            Will sighed, looking between Dianthus and Cando.  Finally he said, quietly, “Budgie Smallfoot said that it was more than just that.  His heart has been failing him.  If he’d remained--if he’d remained, he’d of died.”

            Mina looked at her grandson.  “From what he told me, and what the others told us, that year they were away fighting the war he was bad hurt.  Like Dianthus said, he felt it emptied him.  Then he got back and found the war had come here, too.  Frodo and the others found they had to fight here, after the war was over everywhere else.”  Bucca entered with the case and set it down.

            “But Mr. Frodo and Mr. Sam didn’t fight.  They don’t even have swords!”

            But Bucca was shaking his head.  “I saw them riding down the road behind the shiriffs, comin’ to confront Lotho’s Big Men, son.  They all had swords--all four of them.  And I know as Reginard Took told me that Frodo kept them from killin’ those as laid down their weapons.  Said he didn’t understand why--not then.  Made the Tooks and the others hold their fire, hold their weapons.  Made them treat those as give up decent, give them food, water, what healin’ as they might need.  Made them take them to the borders and let them go.

            “He wouldn’t let them treat the bodies of the dead bad, neither.  Had them treated as gentle as the bodies of our own folk, set into the sand pit where they was laid gently, buried decent.  Made them as was buryin’ them act like Hobbits, not like the ruffians themselves.

            “There’s fightin’ and there’s fightin’, son.  Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, they fought alongside the armies of the King against the Enemy, fought with their swords, and they’re heroes out there as they is here.  But Mr. Frodo and Mr. Sam, they fought the Enemy, too, but didn’t do it with swords.  Instead, they fought with their wits and their courage and their ability to stay low and quiet, and they’re the ones as brought him down.  They’re bigger heroes out there than Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin.  You ask them you see them again, and they’ll tell you.

            “Mr. Frodo Baggins, when he come back here, you’d best believe he was fightin’, too.  He was fightin’ to keep us from becomin’ like the worst he saw out there, he was.  Then all four of them had to keep workin’, settin’ things right.  Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, they’ll keep makin’ certain as our borders are kept safe, and to make those as who’d come in and steal what we have or hurt us as they can stay out.  Mr. Sam, he saw to it the trees and the gardens was replanted and the homes redug and rebuilt.  But Mr. Frodo was workin’, too.”

            “But he didn’t do nothing!” Dorno protested.  “Just sat in Ganda’s office and sorted through papers.  Anybody could do that!”

            Will was stung.  “You truly think so, Dorno Sandheaver?” he demanded.  “Maybe you’d best think again, child.  Even I couldn’t of made sense of what was in the office when Sharkey was gone and the Big Men were thrown out.  They had to examine all as was there, sorting out the honest documents from the ones intended to cheat and steal.  They had to determine which of those as presented some of those lying documents were forced and which enjoyed what they were doing.

            “If Frodo had been strong enough in the body to help replant fields and orchards, you can bet as he’d of been out there doing that instead of spending precious days examining papers, finding patterns, uncovering villains.  He was never trained to read legal papers, Frodo wasn’t.  But he learned, and I couldn’t of done nearly as well had I been able to go right back to work.”

            “But what do legal papers have to do with Lotho’s Big Men?” Cando demanded.

            “That’s how it started--cheating folks through crooked contracts and unfair agreements and unequal partnerships.  That’s how Lotho started getting control of property and lives, and how he was getting much of the money to bring those Big Men in here.  He started by corrupting our laws, and that led to corrupting the land and the hearts of our people.”

            The two lads looked between their father and their grandfather, both of whom were equally steadfast in their gaze.  Bucca finally broke the silence.  “You want to destroy a person, start with what he believes and holds dear.  Take that away from him, and you can do the rest easy.  But what we believe we know in words.  Twist the words and get others to repeat them and accept them twisted, and they’ll lose the truth, and then you can get anythin’ past them.  Lotho’s folks--that’s how they started, twistin’ the words.”

            Dianthus looked sideways at Cando, then looked back to her grandfather.  “Then he really did go away on a ship?” she persisted.

            “Yes, he really did go away on a ship, on an Elven ship,” Will assured her.  “I don’t understand what he did out there, but I do know he’s been getting weaker and weaker since he got back, and he needed healing.  They say as he can get better going with the Elves, and all I can do is hope as they’re right.”  He looked back at the lads again.  “And the Shire would be in a world of hurt if he hadn’t been able to figure out who was part of Lotho’s plans and who was forced to do what they did.”

            Cando looked thoughtful, then apparently decided to change the subject.  “What’s in the box, Ganda?” he asked.

            “What Frodo left us.”  He signed for Bucca to bring it over by his chair, and together he and Bucca leaned over and untied the straps used to hold it closed.  Inside on top of everything else was a large box addressed to Mina containing a fine porcelain bowl Drogo Baggins had once brought to his wife from a trip out to Bree.  Under that lay a bolt of silk fabric with a square of paper pinned to it indicating this was intended for Aster.  For Cando there was a book of tales from Númenor, for Dorno one on the Founding of the Shire, for Dianthus tales of the Elves of Middle Earth.  Will received a portrait of his wife done in charcoal, surrounded by part of a poem extolling the virtues of good wives, mounted behind glass with carefully preserved leaves framing the picture.  Bucca received a bag of seed for fine hay and a large ale cup from Erebor.  At the bottom was another book addressed to Will--The Planning and Management of the Shire Farm by Goodson Oldbuck.  And inside the book were a portrait Frodo had done of Primula Brandybuck Baggins (a picture Mina claimed immediately), and a note to Will suggesting he discuss the book with Sam Gamgee, who was intimately familiar with the chapters on establishing kitchen gardens and working with root vegetables.

            Dianthus was paging through her book, and midway through the text found an illustration of a great ship tied up to a pier, a number of beautiful personages waiting to go aboard.  She held the picture out to her grandmother.  “What’s this story called?” she asked, for she could barely read as yet.

            Mina took it, realizing as she did so that this was a book Frodo himself had copied out and probably one he had bound as well.  She paused at the picture and examined it thoroughly, realizing these must be Elves.  Carefully she paged backwards until she came to the beginning of the chapter.  “It’s called Sailing to Elvenhome,” she said.

            “Can you read it to me?” Dianthus asked.

            Mina looked at the rest of her family.  Aster had taken the portrait done of her mother by Frodo and was working her way through the fragment of the poem that encircled the figure, her eyes soft; Bucca looked up from his proud examination of the mug he’d received; the lads looked up from their own books and Will from his examination of the book on farming; Dianthus already was watching her in anticipation.  At a shrug from her husband and a nod from her daughter, Mina cleared her throat and began to read.

            Those of the Eldar die not, save they are slain or come to grieve mightily for some great loss, for their lives are bound from birth to the remaining time given to Arda itself.  Yet, in time they may easily come to know great weariness of spirit, especially when they realize they must again see the loss of much they had come to love and cherish in the lands in which they have chosen to dwell.  For such is the nature of Time in the mortal lands that through its offices there must come at intervals either long or short great changes that lift up some lands and cast down others and completely change the features and feelings of others still.

            At such times particularly the Sea Longing will come upon great numbers of those of the Firstborn, and they will seek to take passage to the Undying Lands, the great landmass where dwell the Powers themselves and the greater part of all Elves born in the world of Arda.  This is not a decision lightly made, however, for those who make that sailing must accept that once the ship upon which they sail enters the Straight Path, they may no longer return to the hither shores of the Mortal Lands, and all they have known before and all folk they have loved who remain will be lost to them from that time on.  Only if those they love are of their own kindred and choose in their turn to answer the Sea Longing and sail themselves to Aman will they see aught they have abandoned again.

            So it has been since the great breaking of the world when the mighty lord of Men Ar-Pharazôn of Númenor sent his great armada toward those shores, seeking to bring war against the Valar Themselves, mistakenly believing that mere entrance into the Undying Lands would confer immortality.  Yet in this was he, who had been so advised by Sauron the great Deceiver, terribly wrong, for mortals may not live easily in those lands where the Light is unfiltered and the Air itself rich with the Breath of the Valar.  Even before that time, when Aman and Ennor lay yet in one plane, from the time of the Revolt of the Noldor against the Valar, return from the Undying Lands to the Mortal Lands was forbidden to the people of the Elves.

             As she read she saw a growing understanding in Dianthus’s eyes as she began to realize where it was Frodo had gone and why it was he had said he might never return.

            Between the last two leaves of this story was tucked a sheet of Frodo’s personal stationery.  All listened intently through the whole chapter, and when she was done and removed the single folded sheet of paper Frodo had placed there they remained silent.

            “Dearling,” she said, addressing her granddaughter, “Frodo left for you a note, here at the end of this story.  Shall I read it to you?”

            “Please, Gamma,” the lass replied.

            With a nod and the preparation offered by a deep breath, Mina unfolded the sheet.

Dearest Dianthus,

            Long ago when I was newly come to Hobbiton to live with my beloved Uncle Bilbo, he was involved in translating this book of stories lent to him from the libraries of Imladris by the Lord Elrond.  Once his translation was complete he had me copy the stories over to make a book, and he taught me how to bind the pages together into a proper volume.  I made three copies of this particular book, two of which Bilbo retained in his own library.  This was the last of those, and as I copied it I was moved from time to time to draw illustrations, usually drawing scenes I saw in those dreams brought about by the stories I was copying.

            By the time I drew the picture for this chapter I had myself met Elves from among those who from time to time will stay for a few days or a season in the wilder parts of the Shire or who travel between the Elven Lands of Rivendell, Lothlorien, and Mirkwood and the Elven Havens at Mithlond.  Many of those I had seen I used as models for the pictures I drew.  I have no idea if the piers of the Grey Havens are as I have drawn them or if they are different; but I drew them as I saw them in my imagination.  I had no idea I would ever find reason to seek out that harbor myself, much less ever consider taking ship there.

            Unto only a very few with mortal blood has been granted the right to sail West to the Undying Lands.  They tell me I may dwell there for a time, on the Isle of Tol Eressëa, until the proper time for my death according our kind must come upon me.  I may not return here to the Mortal Lands; I may not go further to the mainland of Aman itself.  It is unlikely I will ever see the faces of the Valar.  I will dwell mostly among Elves who dwelt for some time here in the Mortal Lands, Elves who have chosen to remain there on the threshold of Aman for a time.  I grieve that I must bring reminder of the losses they saw here in the Mortal Lands before them once again, and the understanding of what death means before those who have never seen such an occurrence.  Yet this is where I must go.

            At least I know that I will one day see you again, after I have passed from the bounds of Arda.  Perhaps that time will come soon, or perhaps it will be delayed by some years yet.  Yet I know it will come in time, and that knowledge itself is a relief for me.  I find I don’t envy the Elves their immortality, for I will be reunited with those I love most truly soon enough.

            Know I will carry with me the remembrance of your love, and I hope it will hearten me to remain for a time within the bounds of Arda.

                                                Yours ever,

                                                Your cousin Frodo Baggins

             As she finished reading the letter she saw acceptance and understanding in the eyes of Dianthus and Cando, and the beginnings of it in Dorno’s eyes as well.  Bucca was nodding as if he realized this was right and proper; Will appeared simply confused, but somehow reassured even if he didn’t understand it all.

            Mina carefully refolded the paper and slipped it back between the two pages where Frodo had originally placed it.  Then she returned the book to her granddaughter, realizing Dianthus would treasure this always, and her children would come to look on it as a precious heirloom.

10:  New Master

            Sam examined the room that had been Frodo’s at Brandy Hall with interest, noting the comfortable bed, bookshelves almost as full as those in Bag End, collection of colored stones carefully displayed on shelves fitted inside the window frame,  warm quilt softened and faded from years of use, pictures done by Merry over the years tacked to the walls, double portrait of Drogo and Primula Baggins over the dresser, the cheerful rag rug on the floor.  He looked through the titles of the books, seeing many familiar ones and a few he found sparked his own interest.   He examined the narrow desk and opened its front and its drawers, examined those books on the shelf below it.  He sat in Frodo’s chair, looking out the window at the view with which Frodo had been familiar.

            He walked through the gardens and the paddocks and the barns, and looked at the poultry pens and the sties for hogs.  He was shown Frodo’s favorite place to sit in the Master’s private garden, and Merry took him up on top of the ridge into which the Hall was dug to see the place to which Frodo would retreat when angry or upset or just needing privacy.  He walked along the river and was shown the places where Frodo swam or would just sit daydreaming, reading, or writing and drawing.  He was shown the place where Primula and Drogo Baggins would enter a rowboat to float down the river under the stars and talk, and followed the river’s course to the bay where they would usually finish their evening, and was shown where the body of Primula was found.

            Mac showed him the old mill building where it seemed all the lads would go to plan mischief.  Sam smiled as they entered it.  “Yes, I can see him likin’ a place like this,” he said, feeling the enchantment the building held for lads.  He walked to its center and looked around and about, peering upwards as much as along the floor.  There was the remains of a loft area opposite the door with a high window where the miller could examine the millwheel from above.  “Bet as he used to spend a fair amount of time up there,” he said, “just lookin’ off into the distance.  Had a better head for heights than I ever had.”

            Mac laughed.  “That he did, you know.”  He looked out the door.  “Used to be that large stream there went right by the mill here, but our Dad told us it changed its bed about a hundred twenty years ago after a big storm at the end of winter.  They spoke of digging a canal to bring it back, but decided against it.”

            A few of the great gears remained, and Sam examined them, running his hand over the teeth and examining the rods they’d turn.  “Millstones were here?” he asked, pointing to a raised basin-shaped structure.  At Mac’s nod Sam knelt to examine the place where the flour had rolled into the sacks while the mill wheel turned.  There was a bit of a hollow under it that caught his interest, and reaching into it he found a small stone, circular and flattened on each side, with a hole driven through the center.  It was of a soft green color, and translucent.  He and Mac examined it together.

            Mac smiled gently.  “Looks just like something he’d like, doesn’t it?”

            Sam nodded.  Finally he looked up.  “Would you mind if I kept it?” he asked.

            “Go ahead.”

            Sam held the green disk in his right hand and turned it between his fingers, and finally put it into his vest pocket.  In after years when thinking he would often put his hand into that pocket and roll it briefly between his fingers, an act that would put others in mind of the two previous Masters of Bag End, both of whom, however, had been rolling something quite other between their own fingers when they’d placed their hands in their vest pockets.

            When it was time to look at the hole where Frodo’s family had lived for a time near the river, Saradoc and Esme, escorted by Merry, guided Sam, Rosie, and Pippin to the place.  The hill into which the smial had been dug wasn’t particularly high, and the entrance was actually a bit sunken.  As Merry unlocked the door Sara explained, “No one was certain why Gart decided to dig a smial here, for at least once ever ten years, or so it seems, there will be a particularly heavy rain and the Brandywine will rise and cover this area, from about a mile upstream to a half mile downstream and roughly from that line of trees on the other side of the river to a few hundred feet that way.  It’s never been all that deep, mind you; but with the smial here somewhat sunken it tends to be about knee deep inside for as long as it lasts.

            “Had my father realized that Gart was selling the place to Primula and Drogo he’d have put a stop to it.  Gart had spoken of selling it as a summer place for someone who fished the river, which would have been bad enough.  Primula truly ought to have known better, for she’d seen the river overflow its banks on occasion, and she knew about how far it tended to overflow to, after all.  Also, she knew Gart well enough to have realized that if he was offering them such a bargain it must have been quite different from what it seemed.  But when the two of them saw the place they fell in love with its placement and the view of the river.”

            They now entered the hole, through the narrow entrance to the parlor on one side and the study on the other.  The floor was of tile in the entranceway and laid bricks throughout much of the rest; but these were overlaid by a layer of silt in most places.  The paneling and plaster on the lower walls was often warped and badly stained, save in the kitchen where up to the waist on most grown Hobbits the wall was surfaced with carefully laid stone.  Here the grout holding the stonework in place was often washed away near the floors, and many of the lower stones had slipped out of their places and lay on the floor near the walls.

            Yet the view from the windows, particularly on the side toward the river, was indeed charming; and Sam recognized the leaves of many wildflowers near to the hill, flowers which would make the surrounding landscape even more lovely when seen from inside.  Esme explained, “Primula immediately planted a lovely garden with roses and honeysuckle and so on around the smial; but the first flood two years after they moved in drowned much of what she’d planted, although a few of the bulbs came back.  Then we had a second flood only three years later, and shortly after that she lost the last bairn she carried.  It was then they bought the hole in Whitfurrow and moved there.  They never tried to sell this hole, though, and renamed it from River Place to Drogo’s Folly.

            “Primula had been amazed that the paneling and plasterwork had been recently done when they first looked at the place.  Well, looking at it now, you can imagine why Gart redid it just before he looked to sell the smial.”

            There were four bedrooms, and it was easy to guess which had been Frodo’s at one time.  An old table stood there near the cracked window, and by it stood a wobbly chair.  Bricks held up a board wide enough to serve as a narrow cot at need, and on it lay a very old mattress ticking stuffed with dried leaves and grasses, now beginning to fall into dust.

            Merry examined the room.  “I knew Frodo still had a key to the place,” he murmured, “but had no idea he was coming in here from time to time.  I wonder how many times when he’d disappear from the Hall he was actually hiding out here?”

            “There was the other hole, also--the one Drogo was having constructed on the ridge further from the river and upland from the Hall,” his mother added. “They were planning to go back and forth between the Eastfarthing and Buckland.  Drogo never truly felt comfortable staying in the Hall, you know.  Just not enough privacy for him, and Primmie recognized this need for privacy.  He may have appreciated the full table the Hall afforded, for he was one Hobbit who truly enjoyed his meals; but when he sat down in the evening to speak with his wife and tell stories to his son he resented it when he was interrupted by his wife’s sisters just knocking to enjoy her company just because they were walking down the passage and decided to stop in and talk for a time.  I think Frodo inherited that love of privacy of his from the Baggins side.”

            Pippin asked, “Who drew the portraits of Frodo’s folks in his room in the Hall?”

            “Aunt Asphodel,” Sara answered.  “She was also a gifted artist, and when she recognized the talent in Frodo when he was small she began training him.”

            On the fifth day Sam and Rosie indicated they would leave on the morrow, and that night they talked quite long with many of the older denizens of the Hall and heard still more tales of the days when Frodo was a part of the household.  Sam at last withdrew from the rest and went into the library where he began examining the books and identifying which had been copied and bound by his Master.  There Merry and Pippin joined him, sitting quietly and watching him for a time, and finally tentatively joining him in his search, with Merry also identifying those books Frodo had read the most in the days before he left the Hall for Hobbiton and Bag End.

            After first breakfast the next day the Gamgees called for their ponies, and with many hugs and warm goodbyes they mounted up, Sam took his daughter before him inside his Elven cloak, and the three set out for Hobbiton once more.  Never again, however, would Sam hold back from visiting Meriadoc Brandybuck in his own home.  The Hobbit who’d once balked at going further from home than he’d ever been now felt welcome in Buckland, no longer considering its inhabitants to be in any way odd or queer, seeing them instead now as friends.

            A week after they returned to Bag End Sam found himself having to go to Michel Delving to take a few more of Lobelia’s deeds to Will Whitfoot for the reparations fund.  He found Will alone in the Council Hole, reading through a marriage contract between a Banks and a Cotman from the Northfarthing.  He looked up and smiled as Sam entered.  “Good to see you, Sam,” Will said.  “Frodo gave me that book there and indicated it would be excellent for me to discuss a few of the chapters with you.”

            Sam recognized the volume that lay on the corner of the Mayor’s desk--The Planning and Management of the Shire Farm.  “So,” he said, “that’s what become of it then?  I’d wondered.  Not that I don’t have it pretty much memorized.  Old Mr. Bilbo bought it the first spring after Mr. Frodo come to stay with him, for Gandalf had said as I needed some education in the raisin’ of stock.”  He found a smile had managed to make its way to his face at the memory.  “I was pretty innocent in the knowledge of breedin’ and how it was done, you see.”

            “Well, you were just a young lad at the time, weren’t you?  You were what--ten or so?”

            “Yes sir, Will.  I was just that when he come to Bag End.”

            “Well, Frodo said as you were expert at the cultivation of root vegetables and the planning of kitchen gardens, so I was thinking to discuss this with you.  I’m looking to retire to the family farm when this term is over.  I have no intention at all to serve another term as Mayor--never intended to do so the last time, as you know.  So, tell me, Sam--how would you handle looking for one to train up to succeed me?”

            “Mr. Bucca up to it, do you think?”

            “Bucca has absolutely no interest in becoming Mayor--none whatsoever.  If I even considered suggesting the idea he’d flee the Shire in terror, I think.  Says as he has no head for understanding contracts at all, although I do know that at least he was wise enough never to enter into one with any of the Bracegirdles or Lotho.  Although I do believe one offered by Benlo or Bartolo would be safe enough.”

            “I’d never of thought as I’d find myself respectin’ a Bracegirdle, Will, but I find I even like Mr. Benlo, even as abrupt as he is.  Actually quite an honorable soul from what I can tell.  Don’t know about Mr. Bartolo--only know as he’s always shown jealousy of Frodo, which certainly ain’t warranted.  After all, his place there in Hardbottle’s quite fine by all accounts.”

            “Yes, and Delphinium has made it very beautiful with its own gardens and so on.  Seems the Bagginses always manage to find time to see to the gardens, or to find the perfect one to care for them.  But you look deep enough into Bartolo you’ll see as she’s left her mark on him.  He’ll never quite be comfortable doing anything that isn’t honorable.  May say what’s bothering him a bit too easily; but he’ll never actually do anything.  But you’ll find many throughout the Shire as envies Bag End and its gardens.

            “Now, show me what Benlo has brought this time.”

            Will and Sam examined the first of the deeds, and Will quickly learned Sam had already read it and was interested in learning more, what the language meant and how it was that this deed compared to the illegal ones Lotho and Timono had managed to put together.  After having fetched one of these from Everard’s section of the room, Will opened it and began pointing out the differences in the language and how unusual language usage could indicate actual intent.  He soon found his attention caught by Sam’s expression as he went through more of the deed and began to appreciate how the wording had been carefully chosen to mask the fact Lotho was actually insisting the former owner of the property complete an inordinate amount of work before he could expect to receive full payment.

            “This ain’t hardly fair,” Sam said, straightening.  “Lotho paid him only a quarter of its worth and so wrote this as he didn’t have to pay no more until a new well’s dug, a new bit of thatching’s put on the roof, a new barn’s put up, and a new drive of gravel’s laid.”

            “You caught all that, did you?” Will said, smiling.  “Well, as this place is a smial and not a house, you can imagine as how the demand for thatching was met by Pelto.  We’ve voided this contract and awarded Pelto monies received as recompense for the stress as it gave him.  But a good deal of damage was done to it by those Big Men as tried to stay there during the Time of Troubles, and Pelto’s hard put to prepare it for sale a second time.”

            Sam nodded his understanding.

            The gardener agreed to accompany Will back to the house for tea, and Mina was glad to add the extra plate at the table.  Young Dianthus was staying on in Michel Delving for a time, working on improving her reading and writing.  After the meal was over Sam sat by her at the table and listened to her read, now and then pointing out how this combination of letters was pronounced like this and this other one sounded like that.  Dianthus was thrilled, for all of a sudden some of what her mother and grandmother had tried to teach her made sense, and soon with Sam’s tutelage and encouragement her fluency began to improve.  Within an hour she had gone through a far greater amount of the book she was reading than she’d ever managed previously.

            After she’d stowed the book back into her room she confided, “Did you know as we’re going to have another bairn in the family in a few months, Mr. Samwise?  Mummy just told us.  I’m happy, and I hope as this time it’s another lass.  I’d love having a sister--after all, I have two brothers already.”

            Sam laughed.  “I hope as it’s not too terrible long afore my Elanorelle has a new little brother or sister herself, although it’s not come to that as yet.”  He took a deep breath.  “After all, I promised Frodo as I’d fill Bag End with life and family, and my Rosie and me look to keep that promise, you know.”

            The lass’s expression had become solemn.  “Do you miss him, too, Mr. Samwise?”

            His own face saddened.  “Yes, I do, lass, terrible bad at times.  But at least I know as he now has the chance to become as he was afore, and hopefully more than he was, if you take my meanin’.  He has the finest healers aside him, and old Mr. Bilbo for company, and old Gandalf for teachin’ and the showin’ of the way.  He won’t always find his shoulder achin’ and his head a-poundin’.  I hope as they’ll finally clean out whatever it is as makes the bite on his neck keep comin’ up infected so as it’ll finally heal.  I hope as he’s so surrounded by beauty as he’ll member us here always with hope and love and not just with longin’.  And I hope as his Light’ll shine and be appreciated by all as sees him, not like here where a full half or more looked on him with envy or without understandin’.”

            “Yes, I hope so, too,” Dianthus agreed.  “And I hope as he finds what he needs to fill up the emptiness, like.”

            As they finally bade farewell to the gardener and saw him headed over to the stable to fetch his Bill, Will and Mina found themselves exchanging glances.  Well, Will thought, maybe I’ve managed to find that replacement as I’d been looking for.  Frodo tried to tell me before as Sam was a good candidate for the job, and it appears he was indeed right.

            Sam, as he checked the girth on Bill’s saddle and mounted up, thanked Pease for caring for the pony and gladly paid his stabling fee, then rode out of Michel Delving toward Hobbiton with a song on his lips, unaware of the fact those he passed listened to the Elvish words of the hymn to Yavanna he sang with curiosity and admiration for how well he sang it.

Epilogue

            Will Whitfoot was surprised to find a letter from Mayor Gamgee in the missives Dorno handed him.  Will rarely visited Michel Delving any more, and hadn’t been even to Hobbiton since the birth of young Merry Gamgee--or Gardner as the family was increasingly coming to be known.

            He opened the envelope and carefully extracted the enclosed letter.  Dorno stood by curiously, noting the smile and shake of the head his grandfather was giving.  “What is it, Ganda?” he asked.  “What does Mayor Sam say?”

            “He wants to make certain as we come to the Free Fair this summer,” Will answered him.  “Seems that mannikin sculptor of the King’s has decided the Shire needs a statue or two, and is sending one to be placed in accordance with the pleasure of the Mayor, Master, and Thain; and those three have determined as it ought to go into the grounds for the Free Fair.”  He smiled at his older grandson.  “What do you say, Dorno my lad?  Shall we go see this new statue, do you think?”

            A week before the Free Fair was to begin a heavily tarped wagon arrived from the North from Annúminas where the King’s sculptor was working on the new capitol for Arnor.  This wagon was driven by two Dwarves, and was accompanied by still another who rode behind a tall, golden-haired Elf on a great horse.  Not many Elves traveled openly through the Shire; most of those who’d lingered in Eriador had removed to Rivendell.  Many looked on this one with his unusual companions with great interest and surprise.

            The small group paused at the Floating Log for their first night in the Shire, leaving early in the morning to take the road West to Hobbiton.  All watched with interest as they passed by.  Companies of Dwarves passing East and West along the Road had increased again in the years since the Travelers had returned to the Shire, although companies also followed the Men’s road South of the Shire’s borders.  Most of the innkeepers along the Road welcomed Dwarf custom and gladly accepted their coin, making certain to keep in stock the darker ales such patrons preferred.  But their second night in the Shire the company stopped not at an inn but in Bag End in Hobbiton where they spent the next few days with the Mayor and his wife.

            Will and Mina Whitfoot had offered to sell their house in Michel Delving to Sam and Rosie, but the latter pair had refused it.  Hobbiton and Bag End were their home, and they’d not have another.  Sam instead had a set of rooms he took so regularly in Michel Delving’s inn they were now dedicated solely to his use and that of whatever family members might accompany him during the three to four days a week he saw to the Mayor’s duties.  Two days before the Free Fair was to open Sam returned to Michel Delving alongside the wagon and the Elf’s horse, and led them into the fairgrounds.  There they were met by Master and Thain, who’d arrived the previous night, and there was a prolonged discussion held about where the statue was to be placed and whether or not there would be an official unveiling.  However, once the sculpture was straightened and its wrappings removed and all of them had actually seen it, they agreed immediately as to where it should be set, and that they’d not insist on any ceremony regarding it.

            So it was that those arriving at the Free Fair that year found a sculpture sitting on the edge of the dancing floor near the ale tent.  It wasn’t a particularly formal piece, for all it was done of fine silver-green marble.  It showed a grown Hobbit sitting on an ale barrel with a Hobbit lass seated in his lap, his left arm about her, his right slightly raised as if gesturing as he told her a story.

            Dianthus Sandheaver stood there for quite some time with her younger sister Primula, and the younger lass could tell her older sister was enthralled by it.  Trying to understand what about it so caught Dianthus’s attention, Primmie examined the lass’s features.  “You know who this reminds me of?” she asked.  “Cyclamen Proudfoot, that’s who.  You know--the one who came to stay with us and help out last summer when Mum was ill.”

            Dianthus gave the lass’s face in the sculpture a thorough evaluation, then smiled.  “You know what?” she said.  “I think you’re right!  But then the one who made the statue has stayed in Hobbiton and knows her, and so would very likely use her as a model for it.”  But her own eyes were drawn back to the face of the grown Hobbit.

            Primmie sighed and tried again to figure out what about the statue’s face so attracted her sister.  Finally she said, almost grudgingly, “The da has a nice face, I suppose.”

            “You think as he was her da, do you?” Dianthus asked.

            “Well, isn’t he?” Primmie asked.  “He is smiling at her just the way Da looks at us when he tells us stories, you know.”

            Her older sister smiled.  “Yes,” she said, “I suppose he does.”

            “It’s too bad they broke the finger off when they were bringing it here, though,” Primula continued.  “Do you think as it could be fixed?”

            Dianthus’s smile became deeper but more solemn as she shook her head.  “No, Primmie, the statue’s not broken.”

            The younger lass was becoming impatient.  Finally she pulled on her sister’s arm.  “Aren’t you done yet, Dianthus?  I want a candied apple, you know, and Cando’s promised to buy it for me.”

            Reluctantly Dianthus let herself be pulled away from the sculpture of the Storyteller.

            Later Will and Mina were led to the statue by their older granddaughter, and they spent a good deal of time admiring it.

            In after years this statue was surrounded by a small garden in which white Elven lilies and a variety of kingsfoil that had large white blossoms and broad leaves grew in profusion.  But everyone knew Mayor Sam had at times some odd ideas as to what was right and proper.  By the time he finally gave up his office the tradition of Elven lilies and kingsfoil about the statue was so entrenched that none would consider changing to more colorful flowers; and the missing finger seldom seemed to be noted any more.

            And behind the ale tent the tradition of story telling to the children of the Shire continued, the one telling the tales this year always sitting on an ale barrel as depicted in the sculpture.  The children of the Shire knew that there was no other way for it to be done, after all.

Author’s Notes

            When Frodo Baggins left the Shire, he did so with almost no warning.  Sam assumed Frodo was retiring to Rivendell with Bilbo; it is likely that few others in the Shire had much knowledge that Frodo was indeed leaving the land of his birth, much less Middle Earth completely.  He certainly tried to leave without advising Merry and Pippin and the bulk of his family, or so we must assume from the evidence given us by Tolkien.

            It’s unlikely that Tolkien himself was thinking of the impact of Frodo’s departure on any individuals other than himself, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.  Yet heroes don’t live, develop, and make decisions in vacuums; and in a civilization as clannish as the Shire it’s inevitable that Frodo’s leaving had to have been felt far and wide, by great and small alike. 

            After Primula and Drogo’s deaths the family of the Master of Buckland fostered their son; and probably the primary care of the lad fell to Saradoc and Esmeralda, who undoubtedly came to look on Frodo as if he were their own child and big brother to their biological son.  His departure would undoubtedly have left them doubly bereft, both for the grief it caused them and the knowledge of the greater pain it would afford Merry.  For Paladin and Eglantine the situation must have been similar, if not as intense.  As fosterling to Esmeralda he was probably expected to refer to Esmeralda’s brother and his wife as “Uncle” and “Aunt,” designations he probably also used for his foster parents; and as surrogate older brother to Pippin as well as Merry it is obvious that they also would feel for the grief his departure would cause in their son and perhaps their daughters as well.  All these would need to reconcile with their grief and loss once Frodo abandoned the Shire and Middle Earth.

            Among the few who would have had some knowledge of Frodo’s plans would be whoever helped him prepare his will, the revisions in the deed transferring title to Bag End to Sam and Rosie, and whatever other legal papers he had prepared to complete his business before he left the Shire completely.  And so I have postulated Brendilac Brandybuck, Frodo’s “Brandybuck lawyer” and more distant cousin who is the same age as Frodo, grew up knowing him and running with the same teen gang, and who received encouragement from him to follow his heart when he learned his sweetheart was dying of cancer, making the most of the time the two could know together.  I’ve also postulated Oridon and Ordo Goodbody, Frodo’s family financial advisors and surrogates.  These would undoubtedly know Frodo was leaving, even if they didn’t know all the details.  They would feel the loss of Frodo both professionally and probably personally as well, Brendi additionally due to the family relationship and personal associations from childhood, and the Goodbodies as their long-term client and perhaps due to familial ties as well, considering Great-great Aunt Lily married a Goodbody.

            If a part of the Mayor’s duties would be to register and countersign legal documents and wills, it’s likely Will Whitfoot would have become aware that Frodo was preparing to either leave or die, looking at the nature of the documents submitted on Frodo’s behalf--things such as revised wills, transfers of title for property, articles of adoption as heir, and so on.  That Frodo was made deputy Mayor almost immediately on his return from Gondor and other points south and east of the Shire indicates Will had likely been considering Frodo as a successor for some time and was taking advantage of the situation to jump-start the process of getting Frodo into the office by first making him deputy Mayor and hopefully then seeing him officially elected Mayor in his own right at Midsummer.  But instead, at Midsummer Frodo resigned as deputy Mayor, and Will himself was reelected to his old office yet again for one final term, after which the Master of Bag End finally followed him as Mayor--save now that Master was Samwise Gamgee rather than Frodo Baggins.

            The Mayor apparently had a relationship already with Frodo if he would think to convince the Baggins to assume the role of deputy Mayor as soon as he returned to the Shire.  He must have been confused when instead of accepting election to the office Frodo insisted on returning Will himself back to the Mayor’s position for an additional term.  That Will’s wife would be still another of Frodo’s myriad of relations throughout the Shire is another possibility; that the two of them would develop a relationship during the months Frodo served as deputy Mayor to the point that Mina would begin divining things about what Frodo had truly done outside the Shire and that he was in the end leaving is perhaps a romantic fancy, but a plausible one. 

            That Will and Mina’s family would find themselves responding to Frodo’s final departure is therefore likely.  And so they, too, find themselves having to reconcile their expectations with his leaving.  So it is the grandsons learn the difficult truth that Frodo, too, was actively helping in the reconstruction of the Shire in the months immediately following the downfall of Lotho and Sharkey; and that his wielding of the Mayor’s pen was as vital to the restoration of the Shire as the replanting and reconstruction guided by Sam or the cleansing of the Shire of the ruffians led by Merry and Pippin.  Will had to already have developed an appreciation of what Frodo’s actions as deputy Mayor had accomplished in returning the proper administration of Shire business and legal proceedings; now he was in a position to hopefully guide his grandsons to a proper understanding of just how vital this had been.

            For Dianthus there is a different need--the need to be assured that Frodo indeed was choosing life and fulfillment in his leaving of the Shire, as well as to appreciate what it is that Frodo had chosen.

            However, just as Merry and Pippin undoubtedly led Bounders and a properly constituted band of shiriffs and temporary militia drawn from volunteers and the archers of the Tooklands and perhaps of Buckland itself in the scouring of the Shire; and as Sam directed volunteers in the replanting, reforestation, and reconstruction of homes, inns, mills, and other destroyed structures as well as the removal of the vestiges of the Men’s occupation; Frodo must have had physical support in restoring the commercial and legal integrity of the Shire’s business.  As Michel Delving was most probably closely adjacent to the Tooklands, that Frodo would turn to the legal and commercial minds of his Took connections to achieve these goals was probable.

            The Shire is depicted as primarily agrarian in focus and nature; barefoot by physical design as well as focused on the production, harvesting, and consumption of food by nature, the Hobbits of all primate forms in Arda have a unique relationship with the land of the Shire and its fecundity.  That the rape of the Shire by Lotho, Sharkey, and their cohorts had been intellectual, legalistic, moral, and commercial in nature as well as physical would be harder to understand by the average Hobbit than the fact that Lotho had somehow gathered control of too much of the Shire’s lands while Sharkey was intent on destroying the Shire’s fertility and beauty as rapidly as possibility and the Men were actively assaulting the peace, comfort, and security of the Shire’s inhabitants.

            Tolkien himself indicated that the Shirelings had begun seeing Merry, Pippin, and Sam as heroes for what they’d done in restoring the Shire; but that Frodo’s far more vital role in protecting the Shire and all of Middle Earth from the dangers inherent in the Ring (and in helping restore equilibrium in the Shire afterwards) went largely ignored and unappreciated.  In the eyes of the Shire the Mayor’s most vital role is officiating at banquets and perhaps in performing marriages and the like.  In a land in which literacy isn’t particularly prized, how are they to fully understand the need for accurate records and legal integrity in the crafting of the complicated documents the Shire perversely insists upon?

            Yet still many of the everyday Hobbits must have also found themselves mourning the leaving of Frodo Baggins, as well as those who assisted Frodo in returning the Mayor’s office to a semblance of order, who helped administer reparations and investigate the excesses of Lotho, Sharkey, and their folk, who helped examine documents to identify those who’d fallen to the Dragon Sickness and temptation to take undue advantage of others.

            Isumbard Took stands as the example of those who assisted Frodo in his portion of the Scouring of the Shire--the former rival of Frodo Baggins who now accepts the truth that Frodo’s intellectual savvy as well as his moral guidance was as necessary as Merry and Pippin’s swords and martial leadership and Sam’s practical and botanical knowledge and expertise in effecting the healing of the Shire.

            The average folk who would find themselves mourning the loss of Frodo Baggins are again symbolized by Sam’s sisters Marigold and Daisy and Daisy’s husband Moro, by Mags and Timmins from the Ivy Bush, by Bobbin and Pippa from the inn in Michel Delving.  The dawning realization that Frodo’s personal relationship with the King is drawing the Shire out of its self-imposed isolation is shown in the persons of Nilo Bridgemaster, Beligard Took, and Garthfast the Bounder (who is likely a relation to Sam’s own family in Tighfield).

            Then there is the relationship between Frodo and those outside the Shire, depicted here in the relationship with Aragorn specifically.  I used to resent it when I was younger that Aragorn wasn’t among those who arrived to bid Frodo farewell; as a writer of fan fiction I therefore have the ability to set this right in my own eyes, although so as to not offend against canon Aragorn fails to make it in time to bid farewell before Frodo, Bilbo, Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf sail.  The realization that Frodo couldn’t have borne an additional farewell of such intensity is perhaps a sop to myself to justify the apparently fruitless journey the Man has made.  Yet he is able to meet with the rest of his friends and companions from the Shire, and to amaze a Bounder.

            All of these individuals had the need to reconcile themselves with the knowledge of Frodo’s decision to leave Middle Earth, and to reconcile in some cases with one another.  Pippin is able at last to communicate how much he’s loved his parents all along, and how their examples and early parenting helped to mold his decision to follow Frodo out of the Shire; his parents are now listening, and realizing their own roles in helping him prepare for his becoming a hero out there as well as to the folk of the Shire.  They are all reestablishing the loving bonds between themselves, and thus a major rift is healed by Frodo’s last sacrifice within Middle Earth.

            Merry is at last goaded to begin opening up and to communicate what was done outside the Shire.  He’s beginning to expose the scars he bears, physically and emotionally, for his family to see, finally allowing them to begin understanding what the four Travelers did and why, and what its implications are for both the Shire and the outer world as well.  He is finally beginning to reconcile with what he’s done, which is necessary to his own healing and readiness to assume his place eventually as Master of Buckland and the Marish.

            All are beginning to realize the Shire can’t remain isolated indefinitely; and in spite of the temporary (and later permanent) edict protecting the Shire’s borders from further incursions by Men, yet those borders are at last opening to allow open commerce between the Shire and the world of Men and mutual awareness and respect.  And again it is Frodo’s sacrifices that have brought this situation to be, allowing reconciliation between Men and Hobbits, Dwarves and Elves.

            Frodo’s choice first to bear the Ring out of the Shire and then to Orodruin has been the pebble in the pond allowing so many reconciliations and transformations to come to pass.  The long-legged vagabond of unsavory aspect has been transformed into the long desired King Returned; the ages old mutual suspicions and sometimes enmity between Men, Elves, and Dwarves has been transformed into amity, cooperation, and lasting friendships; the wilderness to which Arnor has devolved is opening up to proper development and habitation once more; the North and South Kingdoms are no longer sundered; treaties are being hammered out with former enemies in Rhun and Harad and will follow one day with other former enemies North, South, and East of Dúnedain administered lands.  The Elves have become reconciled to the fact that their day in Middle Earth is past, and it is now as safe as it will ever be to entrust the mortal lands to the stewardship of Men and to take ship to their proper place in Aman.  And all because a Hobbit was horrified to realize he carried danger to his own land in his pocket!

            I’ve had been criticized by some for my depiction of Frodo as deteriorating physically before choosing to leave Middle Earth.  There have been a few who have been offended by what they’ve characterized as the “invalidizing” of Frodo Baggins.

            Yet there is nothing in canon to specifically deny such could have been occurring, and good mythological precedent in accepting such as being true for Frodo.

            Early on in his letters to his son Christopher, according to what Christopher wrote in The End of the Third Age, Tolkien indicated that Frodo in choosing to leave with the Elves was thus becoming the Arthur of Middle Earth, the once and future mortal king or lord who went to the secret, sacred Elven Lands with the greatest Elven Ladies and Lords until perhaps he would be needed anew to save the Free Peoples again.  It was later in his letters that he departed from the mythic retiring lord to embrace rather the religious angle for Frodo’s choice--now Frodo, transformed beyond bearing by his experience as the Ringbearer and the multiple wounds he endured in the execution of his commission to carry the Ring to Orodruin, was going to the threshold of the lands of the Valar but no further, and now the time he, Bilbo, and Sam (and hopefully Gimli as well) spent on Tol Eressëa would become a Purgatory experience for them, blessedly helping them to prepare for their eventual deaths and hoped for return to the Presence.

            It makes an interesting task trying to work between the two disparate views Tolkien himself expressed regarding Frodo’s choice.

            The archetype of the Wounded King whose own unhealing wounds assist the rest of the realm to remain morally and spiritually whole was well known to Tolkien, of course; and it is Frodo Baggins who assumes this role not only for the Shire but for all of Middle Earth. 

            Frodo is a saint, and yet is not a Christ figure.  He is too definitely a creature of Middle Earth and kin to our own nature with his conflicting humility and vanity, his compassion for and impatience with the failings of others, his secretive nature and his profligate generosity.  He’s one who wounds when he would protect, who cannot decently bid farewell to his friends and family, who makes choices that will affect millions without consulting others, who allows even Sam to believe he’s merely retiring to Rivendell when the reality is he’s going where mortals ordinarily aren’t allowed.  He refuses to explain--or is it he finds he can’t?  The Frodo who wrote the experiences of the four Travelers and their companions into the Red Book is yet unable warn others what to expect as he prepares to leave them forever.

            So Frodo manages to muddle along and things come as right as they can in spite of him in the end.  Merry and Pippin are able to keep him from giving them the slip, but Aragorn isn’t so lucky.

            The lack of speech after bidding Sam to ride with him to the Havens indicates Frodo is withdrawing from life in Middle Earth, preparing for the transition to his new life.  There is no indication Frodo speaks with Merry and Pippin or again with Sam after that.  It could as well indicate physical deterioration as spiritual transition at this point, and is common in those who are physically dying.

            As much as possible Frodo has hidden his physical and spiritual deterioration from others, as well as the final choice to accept the grace to go to Elvenhome.  Yet there must have been some hints there for others to see; Sam obviously accepted Frodo needed to leave the Shire, after all.  That Frodo would have understated the seriousness of his condition mentally and physically in the Red Book and forced himself to believe (or at the least act as if) others didn’t recognize he was still in serious physical condition is a distinct possibility.  It is certainly consistent with the post-traumatic stress disorder Tolkien wrote into Frodo’s character.

            And so I’ve taken the road of writing Frodo as physically as well as spiritually at the end of his rope at the time he accepts the right to go to Tol Eressëa; and in essence he “dies” a third time aboard the ship, as he “died” of the Morgul wound and later on the slopes of Orodruin (Tolkien himself in his letters recognized this second “death”).  Each time he’s awakened to take up his new role, first as Ringbearer, then as survivor, and now as a mortal pilgrim on the threshold of the immortal lands.

            Yet, in actuality we are constantly in states of flux, with our realities being stripped from us and transformed sometimes from day to day or even from moment to moment.  Frodo’s threefold death and resurrection is therefore not inconsistent with actual mortal existence and experience.

            The recognition of Frodo and Sam as Lords of all the Free Peoples I feel is a reasonable extrapolation of the praise they receive on the Field of Cormallen and the use of and purposes for circlets of honor to crown them that day.  Also, if Merry and Pippin have received field commissions as it were as Knights of Rohan and Gondor, a similar honor ought to have been accorded those who risked not only their lives but their very souls in seeking the physical destruction of the Ring.  That they would feel uncomfortable with this form of reward for their services to all of Middle Earth and would do their best to have it hidden from their own folk, with Frodo not mentioning this further detail in the Red Book, is simply again an extrapolation of what we know of the humble nature of the personalities of both Frodo and Sam.

            The choice to depict Frodo as a spiritual brother to Aragorn and his and Sam’s depiction in some of my stories as having originally been intended to be Aragorn’s true brothers is also supported by mythology and even in part by Tolkien himself.  As I stated above Tolkien at one point equated Frodo’s leaving with Arthur being taken out of Britain to await the next need of his people.  Tolkien himself saw Frodo as being in some way Royal (which also supports the ennoblement of Frodo in particular).

            Yet this doesn’t subtract from the message that it is the choices of each and every individual on which hinge the final destiny of the world.  Perhaps Frodo isn’t seen as a great warrior but a somewhat reclusive scholar.  Perhaps Sam isn’t a great prince when he makes his choice but a gardener and day laborer.  Perhaps Merry and Pippin rise from being the somewhat profligate spoiled sons of privilege to become warriors capable of standing up to orcs, trolls, and Nazgul, not to mention dissolute Men and failed Uruk-hai and Wizards.

            Yet it isn’t just the actions of Frodo, Sam, and Gollum that combine to save Middle Earth and destroy Sauron’s lordship, but the actions and choices of every single individual who chooses to fight as he or she can.  Gandalf, forewarned by his own experience in Moria as well as Aragorn’s similar experience and Dúnedain foresight, yet chooses to enter the failed Dwarf kingdom, chooses to stand against the Balrog, chooses to let himself fall into the chasm of Khazad-dum.  Aragorn chooses to renounce the Ring, then to allow Frodo to go on alone so as to seek to rescue Merry and Pippin, then chooses to assist Théoden of Rohan, to look into the Palantir, to travel the Paths of the Dead, to display the tokens of Elendil at the Battle of the Pelennor; to accept the Winged Crown and the Sceptre of Annúminas.  Éowyn chooses to go in disguise with the Riders of Rohan, bringing with her the Hobbit who’d been commanded by her uncle to remain in the Mark, and so the two of them are there to combine to bring down the Witch King of Angmar.  Faramir chooses to accept the orders from his father and then to bring back as many as he can from the final fall of Osgiliath and the Rammas Echor, then to return when summoned back to life by the King.  All who march to the Black Gate in the feint intended to allow Frodo enough time to reach the Sammath Naur have to have known this is a futile gesture and that they are likely sacrificing themselves on the basis of only a faint hope that Frodo is even yet alive.

            Yet they choose, and it is the sum of all these choices that leads to the downfall of Sauron and the might of Mordor.

            If Frodo and Sam had indeed been Aragorn’s brothers, in the end the result would most likely have been the same--without all others combining their choices and efforts to fight Sauron each as he or she could, Middle Earth would have in the end fallen.

            In C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce, at the end of his dream Lewis sees the great lords and ladies of Heaven playing at the game of Life upon the board of time and the world, in this life taking various roles in which they might be great or small, mighty or weak, influential or insignificant.  Yet the roles taken here fail to diminish the fact the players are Royal/Blessed in ultimate reality.

            Whether it was the original spiritual nature of Frodo Baggins that made him Royal or his choices in pursuing the quest of the Ring that bring him to that point is in the end a meaningless debate; he is, in the end, Royal and deserving of the blessing and grace offered him; and both he and Middle Earth need for him to accept that grace. 

            As for why I write things as I do regarding Drogo and Primula and Frodo’s early life:  the family tree for the Baggins clan makes it plain that these are the Bagginses of Hobbiton and environs, and for this reason I have chosen to show Drogo and Primula living in the older family smial that predated the excavation of Bag End at the time of Frodo’s birth.  That Lobelia sought to insult Frodo by calling him a Brandybuck, however, indicates that for much of Frodo’s life he was more identified with the Brandybucks and Buckland than with Hobbiton; and so I have chosen to see Frodo’s parents choosing to move Frodo first to Buckland and then to a more central site in the Eastfarthing where they’d have easier access to any of their family members, whether Brandybuck, Took, Baggins, Proudfoot, Bolger, Goodbody, Boffin, or what have you; but I also have postulated a marked reluctance to return to the region of the Hill itself within the sphere of influence for the Sackville-Bagginses.

            One person in a review to a previous story took great exception to my referring to Sam’s family as the “Gardners,” assuring me that only Frodo-lad accepted that last name.  In rereading the appendices regarding this matter I have to take exception to that assertion.  If you question this, reread the appendices yourself beyond the family trees--you’ll find that the new last name was in time applied to all of Sam’s family, although Sam and Rosie were themselves probably still referred to as the Gamgees by those who had known them at the time of their marriage--here extrapolating from Hobbits being tradition-minded as well as my own experience with human nature.  There are always going to be some, like Sam himself, who are not easily going to change the name by which they know others.

            At the end I skip forward to the time the three remaining Travelers have taken on themselves the leadership roles each in the end holds for the Shire.  Pippin is Thain; Merry is Master; Sam is Mayor.  Ruvemir son of Mardil of Lebennin is now the King’s sculptor, and moved by some impulse he’s done a sculpture of Frodo as Storyteller as a memorial of Frodo to be placed somewhere within the Shire itself.  It’s decided that the one place almost all Hobbits will see the sculpture would be in the grounds of the Free Fair; but the debate as to where and under what circumstances the sculpture will be placed and exhibited goes on until they actually see it.

            Here is Frodo in one of his most common roles, telling stories to a child.  Yet he isn’t pre-quest Frodo, but instead Frodo of the Nine Fingers.

            Most either don’t recognize the identity of the subject or refuse to admit it.  Frodo, after all, has left the Shire, has abandoned it.  Well, if he’s too good to remain with us, we don’t have to acknowledge him, do we?

            Yet some are in on the secret; the three Travelers see the sculpture placed prominently on the edge of the dancing floor where Frodo also once shone before the Shire, and near where he used to tell stories to the children each year.  Then, as he did with Frodo’s window and the circle atop the Hill where Frodo used to sit, read, draw, write, and watch the Shire and sleep out at times under the stars, Sam surrounds the statue with Elven lilies and athelas plants, a declaration of the actual identity of the subject for those with eyes to see and hearts to understand.

            Dianthus Sandheaver clearly recognizes Frodo and seeks to fill her sight with his visage again.  Her little sister, born after Frodo left the Shire, sees it instead as a father telling stories to his daughter; and Dianthus doesn’t bother to correct her--or at least not yet.  Only on the assumption that the statue was broken does Dianthus correct little Primula.

            And so it sits there, never properly unveiled, allowed to become a part of the landscape of the fairgrounds, never officially recognized as a memorial to Frodo Baggins; yet becoming a part of the unspoken reality of all the Shire, the symbol of how life is to be lived--all rejoicing to have the traditions passed on to new generations behind the ale tent, the Storyteller seated ever on ale barrels, the children and their parents listening avidly.